“You are?” returned Dray. “Say, fellows,” to his own camp company, “the best thing we can do is to take what stuff we find left and hide up at the Mote. Those fellows will come down on us and won’t believe about the washed-away constitution. Who on earth put that indemnity clause in, anyhow?”
“Oh, Clem did. He’s studying engineering, and I suppose he is lonesome for his math. We ought to make him pay the assessment. But I agree with Dray,” continued Walter. “We ought to ‘beat it’ up to the Mote, quick. There are other tents flopping around, and everybody will be good and hungry, you can be sure.”
“Queer how old Denny made for his shack as soon as we got in,” Ed remarked. “I wonder if he thought that would be demolished?”
“No, not likely,” Jack said, “but the old fellow was pretty wet and played out. He’s plucky, all right, and I don’t believe we would be in yet but for him and Freda. But he is old, just the same, and only his pluck keeps him up to it. I would like to have been more decent to him, but he won’t give one a chance. We must fix it up some way, though.”
“We sure must,” agreed the others.
“There’s another,” announced Jack, as a perfectly flat tent almost blocked their way. This was evidently deserted, for not a boy was to be seen, either lamenting or trying to right the canvas.
“Funny,” commented Ed. “They must have gone to the hotel.”
“Hotel!” exclaimed Jack. “Why, they borrowed a pint of our kerosene this morning. They may have gone to jail.”
“Let’s run,” suggested Ed. “This funeral march is getting on my nerves. Besides, I am anxious to see the Couldn’t.”
In a few minutes the boys sighted their own tent. It looked all right.