“Didn’t know you had a secret society.”
“This is the Forest Wanderers,” put in Harry. “Teddy is now Head Chief of the Royal Frying Pan.”
“You’ve been cutting up high jinks,” said old Runnell, with a smile. “Well, it’s all right, but don’t none o’ you git hurt, that’s all,” and there the affair ended.
Joe and Harry had not forgotten about the three tramps, and were anxious to make a hunt for the rascals, but the next morning Joel Runnell asked all hands to go down to the lake front with him and help erect a shelter on the ice, from which they might spear some pike and other fish.
“It’s too cold to stay out there without a shelter,” said he, and directly after breakfast they set to work.
The fishing-wigwam, as the boys named it, was a primitive affair, built up of long tree branches, set in a circle of snow. The branches were fastened together at the top, like the poles of an Indian wigwam, and then snow was packed around on the outside to a point just above their heads.
“Now this will make a comfortable place to fish in,” said Joel Runnell, and with a sharp axe began to chop a hole in the ice about a foot and a half square. “Of course this hole will freeze over from time to time, but once we are through the main ice it will be an easy matter to cut away whatever forms later.”
The tree branches made the fishing shelter rather dark inside. On this account they could look down into the water with ease, for the latter was lit up by the light on the outside of the shelter.
“This is great!” cried Joe. “Why the water is almost as bright as day!”
At last the hole was cut and finished off to old Runnell’s satisfaction. In the meantime the boys had prepared a fishing bait which the old hunter approved. The bait was nothing but a little imitation fish, made of wood and a bit of tinfoil.