“Well, the best thing is to open another can of succotash and one of the corned beef, since we seem to have set our minds on that stew,” smiled Frank.
He immediately started operations.
“But are we going to sit here like a lot of babies while that scamp runs off with our supper?” demanded Bluff, indignantly.
“And he’s stolen one of your charming little aluminum kettles, too, Frank,” put in Will, in added horror.
“Well, there are plenty more where that came from, and an indulgent dad will, I am sure, supply me with all I want; but I should hate to have to tell him that I had filled a poor demented being with bird-shot just because the tantalizing odor of my favorite canoeist stew had tempted him beyond endurance.”
“How do you think the beggar ever did it?” asked Jerry at this juncture, as he craned his neck to look straight upward.
“I think I can see how. I noticed a cord of some sort. Evidently he had a hook attached. This he passed over that branch of a tree sticking out from the top of the bluff, so that the kettle might be kept away from the face of the cliff as it rose, and in that way prevented from spilling its coveted contents,” replied the one addressed.
“Talk to me about your aeroplanes, that was an ascension to beat the band! Wow! I had a chill run up and down my spinal column, for I give you my word, fellows, at first I really thought of ghosts, and that some invisible agency had reached down and gobbled our supper.”
“And I thought I was dreaming—that I’d fallen asleep by the fire, and you had eaten up all the stew, while Bluff was throwing up the empty kettle to practice shooting at, like he did our wash-basin that other time,” admitted Will.
“And that chap was angling for the bale of our kettle while we sat here and never once suspected what was going on. Say, we’re a husky lot of tenderfeet. Why, some night a thief will come and steal the blankets off us, and no one be the wiser until morning,” declared Bluff, in disgust.