“Here’s where we’ll camp! Let’s unload and get the boat into the water. I want to see if she’ll run.”
“Got gasolene?” asked Jack.
“Yes, there’s plenty on the wagon, and I’ve arranged for a supply to be brought up to the lower end of the lake, and left there. A couple of barrels ought to last us all summer.”
It was hard work to unload the boat, and harder still to launch it, but it was finally accomplished, and when the tents and camping paraphernalia had been stacked up, the driver and his helper turned back toward civilization.
“Say, it sure is lonesome!” exclaimed Dick, when the rattle of the wagon had died away.
“It won’t be in a minute,” said Tom. “We’ve got lots to do to get our camp in shape. Come on, now, everybody get busy, and we’ll try out the boat.”
There was some little work to be done to it, and then, having filled the gasolene tank, and improvised a dock out of some dead tree trunks, the boys were ready for a spin.
“Now to see if she’ll run,” remarked Tom, as he prepared to turn over the flywheel.
There was a wheeze, a cough, a sigh and a groan, and the Tag started off as if she had never an idea of balking.