He hastily started a fire of driftwood and branches, and until there should be coals upon which to put the frying-pan, he strolled with Bob back into the timber to look for more fuel.
Presently, unable to stay long away from the base of supplies, he returned to the camp. He had some news.
“You just ought to see!” he reported to Hal, who was squatting before the fire, frying potatoes and bacon together. “There’s a sort of dried swamp a little ways back in the woods, and it’s simply alive with young frogs. They’ll make splendid bait.”
“Let’s go and get a lot, after supper,” said Hal. “I don’t suppose the liver will be any good by morning. And, besides, it’s about all gone.”
Ned seated himself on the ground, and sniffed the air. Bob did the same.
“Nearly ready?” they asked—the one with his voice, the other with his dripping tongue, and glistening eyes, and nervous tail.
“Hold your plate,” commanded Hal. Ned eagerly obeyed; Bob, having no plate, gazed covetously. Hal shoveled out a generous portion from the hissing frying-pan, and saying: “Here, Bob,” laid another portion upon a slab of bark. The rest he kept.
Each boy poured for himself, from the tin pail, a pint cup of coffee, and all fell to. Bob went coffee-less—which no doubt was just as well, considering that at home neither he nor his master drank any coffee, let alone a pint cup full!
Still, out camping one does many things which would not agree with one at home.
The coffee was very hot. The bacon and potatoes were very hot. Bob circled his bark plate, with mingled anticipation and disgust; hunger urged him on, while the memory of a certain burning mouthful held him back. He suspected a trick.