“I want a fish for breakfast two feet long,” Alex declared. “I’ll catch it and cook it in Indian style. That will be fine!”
“How do you cook fish a la Indian?” asked Case.
“Aw, you know,” Alex replied. “First, you get your fish; then you dig a deep hole in the ground and fill it full of stones. Then you build a roaring fire on the stones. Then you wrap your fish up in leaves and put it on the hot stones and cover it up. Then, if you want it to cook quick, you must build a fire on top. They sell fish cooked in that way at two dollars an order in Chicago.”
“Cook it any way you want to,” Clay said, “only don’t muff it the way Case does when he tries to make biscuits. We’ll be hungry.”
Taking down the hammocks, the boys moved back to the Rambler. Clay, Alex, and Jule, after listening in vain for a time for more signals from the woods, finally went to their bunks, leaving Case sitting on the deck, across which a great tree on the east bank threw a long blur of shade.
Clay and Jule were soon sound asleep, but Alex lay awake listening. There was a notion at the back of his brain that the signals heard had been treated too lightly. He knew that Clay, always active and ready for any emergency, considered the party secure in midstream, but he was by no means satisfied that the best steps for the protection of the boat had been taken.
After a time he arose, dressed himself, and softly slipped out on deck, leaving the rest sleeping in the cabin.
“It isn’t morning yet,” Case said, speaking out of the shadow. “Why don’t you go back to bed? You’ll be sleepy to-morrow.”
“Have you heard any more owl talk?” asked Alex.
“Not a line,” replied Case. “Go on back to bed.”