“There’s a snapshot worth getting,” announced Gif. “Come on! Let’s see what we can do.”
All were willing, and, throwing down their loads, they got out their cameras and were soon crawling cautiously towards the tree trunk. Then they prepared to snap their pictures, but just as they were ready the chipmunks took alarm and disappeared as if by magic.
“Sold!” cried Randy, in disgust. “A fine bunch of photographers we are!”
“We should have carried our cameras ready for use. Then we might have got some fine snapshots,” answered Spouter.
They advanced upon the tree trunk and looked all around that vicinity, but if the chipmunks were anywhere near they did not show themselves. So presently, with nothing else to do, the boys continued on their way. The Rovers knew of a good-sized shack several miles farther on, and there they thought they might rest for the first night out.
A little farther on they came rather unexpectedly upon a roadway, and here was located a fair-sized clearing where a man ran a small farm. As they came closer they heard a woman calling out shrilly.
“Tommy! The crows are after those little chickens again! Run and chase ’em away—quick! Oh, dear, with all those crows around we can’t raise anything any more!” And then a red-headed boy appeared, waving a gingham apron in his hand.
The Rover boys and their chums looked up and only a short distance away saw a large flock of crows circling over one side of the farm where were located several chicken houses. On the ground were a number of little chicks, and the crows were evidently after some of these.
“There’s our chance! Quick!” yelled Jack, and without further ado he unslung his gun.
The others understood, and all waited until each had his firearm ready for use. In the meantime Fred had run over to the boy and told him to stop waving the apron.