Lil Artha did not think it wise to spring the muskrat idea too suddenly on those unsuspecting fellows. He had a vague idea that should Elmer and himself meet with success, and knock over several of the marsh dwellers with the unenviable name, they might skin them, and let their chums imagine that they were eating squirrel or rabbit or something like that. Afterwards, when they had set the stamp of approval upon the dish, the truth could come out. Prejudice by then would have been overcome by the knowledge that "musquash," the Indian dish, was all right.
When the little struggling party reached the spot Elmer had selected, and every one had a chance to survey the situation, a unanimous approval of his choice was the result.
"You couldn't have done better if you'd tried," said George.
"Don't believe there's as good a camp-site within five miles," Toby added; but perhaps the tired condition of the boys had something to do with this endorsement on their part; just then any place would have satisfied their desires, which were not very exacting.
The heavy packs were quickly hung from the lower limb of a tree under which the camp fire was to be made. It was a pine, and beneath it the ground seemed to be fairly clear of snow, most of what had fallen still clinging to the tree itself.
"Better not waste any more time, had we, Elmer?" asked the tall scout, as he nervously handled his Marlin gun, anxious to start out after game.
"No, get busy, please," said Toby; "don't bother about us, for we know how camp ought to be made. All we ask is that you come back loaded down with something to eat."
"We don't care much what it is, if only you cut out crow," George added.
Lil Artha gave his fellow Nimrod a quick look, as much as to say, "that lets us out, and we can fetch home the musquash with a clear conscience—if so be we're lucky enough to bag any."
They went away in company. The last words George flung after the departing comrades was a caution.