The latter had apparently subsided, for no more shouts rang out. Frank discovered him lying there rubbing his eyes. He looked as though hardly knowing whether to burst out laughing or appear ashamed of having startled the others so.
“What’s all this row mean, Bluff?” demanded Frank sternly.
“Shucks! I guess I must have been dreaming, that’s all,” he was told.
“What nipped you? Because you acted as if it hurt,” Jerry asked.
“Why, you see,” explained Bluff, “I had come across that big Bill Nackerson, while roamin’ through the woods, and he managed to sneak my gun away when I wasn’t looking. Then what did he do but sic that mangy cur of his on me. I was kickin’ like everything at him. See how I sent my blanket out on the floor. All I wanted was one sound smack at his ugly jaws. I’m sorry I woke up so soon, because next time I’d have fetched him.”
“Well, go to sleep again, and let’s hope you dream of other things besides scrapping,” advised Jerry, as he proceeded to once more deposit his gun in a corner, and crawl under his blanket.
Bluff must have taken the advice to heart; at any rate his voice was not heard again until Frank pounded on the frying-pan to let the sleepers know it was time to creep out. Then each one in turn wanted to learn whether breakfast was ready.
As they ate they began to lay out plans for the day.
“Of course Bluff and Frank must try to get us some venison,” Will said; “and that’ll leave Jerry to assist me in camp. Besides, I want to find places to fix up my flashlight for the next night. If I can get a picture of some animal, taken by himself, it’ll please me a heap. What you know about the habits of these little creatures will help me out lots, Jerry.”
“I may be able to give a little advice, too, Will,” the latter remarked, as he helped himself to another flapjack; “because, you know, I went out with that gentleman who was stopping at our house late this fall. He had the flashlight habit about as bad as any one I’ve ever met.”