“Wait until he gets his fish,” Alex said. “When he comes up with a corker, big enough for all of us, I’ll help him cook it. I used to cook in the South Branch until the policeman on the beat came to the cabin and asked for my pies and things. You know I did, eh, Clay?”
“Yes,” replied Clay, gravely, “you used to cook so well that the policeman got the habit of asking who cooked the coffee before he tasted it. If you made it, he had business outside right away.”
“You’re having another dream!” shouted Alex. “If you think I can’t cook, just watch me serve the cold beans to-night.”
“That is where you shine,” laughed Alex, “serving cold beans!”
During this conversation Case had been getting out his fishing tackle and leading the canoe around to the side of the Rambler nearest the shore.
“Are you going with him?” asked Clay, of Gran, hoping to receive an affirmative reply, for he had decided to follow the lad if he went into the forest alone.
He was not taking to this role of a spy kindly, for it was with many twinges of conscience that he had made up his mind to keep a close watch on the boy.
“I think I’ll go,” Gran, in a moment, answered. “I want to see the big woods. While Case is cooking his fish on the bank, I can do some hunting. Another rabbit stew would be about right. I always liked rabbit stew! We’ll need it, too, if Case doesn’t catch any fish.”
“Don’t you worry about that,” Case broke in. “I’m the one that put the salmon in the Columbia river.”
“How are you both going to get ashore in that canoe—only half finished as it is?” asked Clay, presently, as Gran brought his gun and one of the searchlights from the cabin. “You can’t swim there, very well, for the water is too cold for pleasure, as Alex discovered not long ago. I don’t think two can ride in that contraption at the same time,” he added.