without number thinking about what bliss it would be to actually snap off a few pictures of those same animals right where they live? How tame to go to a menagerie and get a photo of a poor old bear behind the bars, when a fellow has a chance to take him in the open!"
Of course it was Will who made this remark. He was the official photographer of the Rod, Gun and Camera Club, as our four boy friends called themselves, and his ambition to secure striking scenes, with wild game in the center of the stage, had already led him into quite a few scrapes, just as it would again when the opportunity presented itself.
"But what I have told you isn't quite all," remarked Frank presently, when the chatter of voices allowed him a chance to get in a few words edgewise.
"What else have you got up your sleeve?" demanded Bluff.
"Yes, confess everything, and perhaps we'll forgive you," came from Will.
"Well, I've had a letter." And Frank held something up.
"From that old side partner of Jesse Wilcox, the trapper whose camp we used to visit during our fall hunt?" cried Jerry.
Frank nodded his head.
"
And what does he say? Hurry up, and tell. Can't you see that Bluff, here, will be overboard? He's leaning so far over the side that the water is ready to pour in over the gunwale. Will Martin Mabie take us out?" asked Jerry.