The boys reflected for a moment or two, and then a suggestion was offered by Phil.
"Seems to me that the only way to do anything is to keep watch there for a while. We could take turns at it, while the other two took hikes or did a little hunting. We could take it in half day shifts, for it isn't very far from here."
"That seems the only feasible thing to do, but how could we keep watch without the person or persons who inhabit that place discovering our presence?" asked the practical Garry.
"There's one way out of that difficulty," offered Dick, "and that is to effect an entrance to the big bunkhouse, and rig up some sort of a peephole, and keep watch of the place in that manner. It is unlikely that place would ever be entered by those who are using the shack. Then here's another thing. You could rig your wireless here, and use one of the sending sets in the bunkhouse, so that the lookout could summon help if necessary."
"The bunkhouse idea is great, really it's the only feasible way. But the wireless 'phone is not such a good idea. It would entail staying right here all the time waiting for a possible message, and would be too irksome, besides losing all chance of hunting or fishing. I for one am anxious to try that trout brook old Dud told us of. Besides, there should be no especial danger, if there was I'd advise against having anything to do with it. Shall we draw lots for the first whack at watching?"
This was agreeable to all, and Garry drew watch number one, which they decided was to begin in the morning. All three would go to the bunkhouse, effect an entrance, and plan a way of speedy exit in case of need.
After lunch they overhauled their fishing tackle, and made for the brook, determined to catch a good mess of trout for their supper that night. Starting for the spring, they followed the course of the brook, until they reached a place where it was considerably wider and deeper.
Under the natural culvert, formed by the trunk fallen across, they cast their lines, using flies from their hook. Not having rods with them on this trip, they were forced to use slender saplings, but they were after food and not sport, so they did not mind pursuing the amateur way of flipping the fish on shore without playing him in the fashion dear to the hearts of anglers.
"If we go to the lake, we'll make up for this, for we can procure rods there, and have a real battle with some of those fine big lake trout," promised Garry.
"There isn't much sport to this, it is true," remarked Phil, as he flipped a fine specimen weighing at least three-quarters of a pound to the shore, "but they're going to be mighty fine eating just the same."