"Well," said Mr. Black, "I certainly supposed I was a law-abiding citizen; but I'm willing to pay the piper—it isn't often that I dance to such a merry tune. Those fish are worth any fine that I shall have to pay. I'll go down with you to-night if you'll tell me where to meet you; but I'm going to eat my share of those fish first—I assure you of that!"
Mabel, who had edged closer to the game warden, now relieved her mind.
"Say," she queried, "you won't put him in jail, will you?"
"Not if he's able to pay his fine," smiled the stout officer.
"Where," she next demanded, severely, "are your leggings?"
"Leggings!" exclaimed the puzzled man. "Why! They don't make any big enough to go round my fatted calves."
"I don't believe you are the game warden," declared Mabel. "You're just pretending."
The complacent officer, however, proved his right to the title by showing certain documents to Mr. Black. But, as Mabel leaned closer to inspect them, too, her weight upon the rotten log on which the bulky game warden sat proved too much for the time-worn timber. Down it crashed, taking Mabel and the astonished officer with it.
Fortunately, the water at this point was sufficiently deep to break their fall, for the river bottom near the bridge was of solid sandstone, and therefore pretty hard. Dave plunged in after Mabel, but permitted the gasping game warden to flounder out by himself. By way of atonement, Mr. Black invited the victim to supper and later loaned him some dry clothing. After this accident, the campers, somewhat subdued but fully alive to the wonderful charm of the day, proceeded toward home. It was five o'clock when the castaways, hungry but otherwise none the worse for their long day in the river, finally reached Pete's Patch; for the point in the pretty stream that was only three-quarters of a mile away by land was almost a day's journey by water, owing to the numerous twists and turns of the winding river that was so like Dave's queer conscience.