“How about you helping out a little on the supper?” queried Phil.
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You get the supper and let me get some more stuffing for under my blanket, and I’ll wash the dishes.”
This announcement was like a thunderbolt, for Dick hated dish washing above anything else. He would cut wood or carry water or cook without a murmur, but dish washing drew one constant grumble from him.
“Gosh, Garry, let him get all the boughs he wants. When Dick offers voluntarily to wash the dishes, it’s a day to celebrate. By the way, Dick, you might bring a few extra ones for me while you’re at it.”
“Dick must be sick or something,” laughed Garry, as he watched the fat boy depart.
In a short time Dick came struggling back under a load of boughs, and as supper was not yet ready, decided to re-arrange his bunk while waiting. He went into the lean-to and kicked away the boughs he had already placed.
Then his chums were startled out of a year’s growth by hearing him utter a piercing scream.
CHAPTER V
AN INDIAN TRICK
With the scream still ringing in their ears, Garry and Phil dashed into the lean-to to discover Dick staring spellbound at the ground.
“Look,” he gasped.