"I guess your dome needs repacking all right!" laughed Tommy.
"And then, when they come to the place where the rope has been cut off, they'll take a tumble for themselves, and you stand under the line and beat their heads off with an axe."
"Poor child!" laughed Tommy.
"If you leave it to me," George declared with a grin, "that story about how to kill mosquitos came out of Noah's ark on crutches."
The sun was setting over the great wilderness to the west, and the boys hastened to pile more wood on the fire. The forest was alive with the cries of birds, and the undergrowth showed curious eyes peering out at the intruders.
"This beats little old Chicago," cried George, bringing out a great skillet of ham. "When we live in the city, we've got to eat in the house and smell dishwater. When you live out doors, you've got a dining room about a thousand miles square."
"And when you live in Chicago," Tommy continued, "you can't get fresh fish right out of the brooks. When you want a fish here, all you've got to do is to run out to the river, grab one in your arms, and bring him in!"
"Then run out and get one now!" advised Will.
"Perhaps you think I can't!" shouted Tommy.
Seizing a head-net the boy dashed away to the margin of Moose river. His chums saw him walking about in quest of a minnow for a moment and then heard the swish of a line. In ten minutes he was back at the camp with a whitefish weighing at least five pounds.