“Git him away from the tent, Phil—git him away somehaow,” urged Crane; “and keep him till you hear me whistlin’.”
A few moments later Phil shouted from the water’s edge far out at the extremity of the point:
“Ho, Sleuth! Come on out here! Sleuth! I say, Sleuth, hurry up!”
“Hey, what’s the matter?” Piper called back from the tent door. “Where are you?”
“Out here on the pup-point; out close to the water. There’s something jumping in the water, and I think it must be fish. You know all about fish, so cuc-come out and tell me if I’m right.”
Piper hesitated and grumbled, but the others urged him to go.
“We want to know if there’s fish araound here,” said Crane, “for if there is mebbe we can ketch a mess for breakfast. Go on aout, Sleuth, and see.”
His vanity thus appealed to, Piper issued forth, crossed the patch of light made by the reawakened fire and disappeared beyond, calling to Springer. Barely had Sleuth disappeared when Crane hastily found a lard pail in which various articles had been brought along, dumped the contents, warned the wondering Grant and Stone to keep still, and passed round to the rear of the tent, as the sound of his footsteps betokened. It was not long ere he was back, bringing the pail with the cover securely in place.
“Git holt of the mouth of that sleepin’ bag, you fellers,” he hissed. “Hurry up, before Sleuthy returns.”
“What are you up to, anyhow?” questioned Stone cautiously.