“Better come over to where the water flows out of the spring, and wash off,” suggested Ned, and Fenn agreed with him. The water with which he removed the worst of the mud from his clothes was unpleasant smelling, impregnated as it was with salt and sulphur, but there was no help for it. As the three labored to get Fenn into some sort of presentable shape, numerous turtles crawled around them, evidently disturbed by the unaccustomed visits.
“Well, I’ll do, I guess,” remarked Fenn, at length, trying to catch a glimpse of himself in the little stream of water. “Wow, but that’s dirty mud, though!”
“Next time don’t go so near,” cautioned Bart.
“You should have told me that first,” answered Fenn, with a grim smile.
With a final look at the place of the mud volcano the boys turned back toward camp. They had not learned much, save that the mysterious visitor had come in the direction of the boiling spring—why, they could not fathom. Fenn spoke of getting some of the less common turtles to add to his collection, but his chums persuaded him to wait until they were ready to go home.
Fenn’s first work, when he reached the tent, was to change his clothes, and then, making a good fire in the wood stove he took a bath, with water melted from snow. He felt better after this, and was about to proceed with the getting ready of supper, for they had taken their lunch with them on their tramp to the spring, and had made coffee on the way.
“Fenn, you sit down and rest, and I’ll get the meal,” suggested Frank, good-naturedly. “I think I’ll give you fellows a treat.”
“What’ll it be?” asked Ned.
“How would pancakes go?” inquired Frank with a triumphant air.
“Can you make ’em?” asked Bart, doubtfully.