"That chap seems to be making himself right at home in our camp, doesn't he, Garry," remarked Phil.
"So he does, but that is the way of many of the old timers in the woods. They consider it all right to make use of anyone's camp so long as they take nothing and do no harm, and leave some sign that they have been there, provided the owners do not return before he leaves. He's a picturesque-looking old fellow, isn't he? Looks something like our old Hermit friend. Let's go and see who he is," concluded Garry.
They made their way to the lean-to, for they had stopped when they saw the new occupant of the camp.
"Howdy, stranger," hailed Garry.
"Howdy, boys," he returned. "This your camp here?"
"Yes, we just threw it up yesterday. Are you from round these parts?" asked Garry.
"Callate that's just what I am. Name's Dudley, George Washington Dudley, generally called 'Dud' for short by my friends."
Garry then proceeded to tell his name and those of his companions. The old man left off his cooking long enough to shake hands, and then resumed his turning of the bacon.
"Got hungry and didn't want to start a new fire somewhere, and so used your place here. Wasn't expecting to be gone so long today, and didn't bring anything with me. Just helped myself. Will make it all right next time I come this way. What you boys doing up here? 'Spose you're from the city, but you don't look as though you were exact strangers to the woods. Sensible looking clothes you've got on, too."
"We're figuring on camping here for a time, and looking the country over. What's your business?" asked Garry, with the true Yankee inquisitiveness.