"Yes," exclaimed Bluff, "don't you think you're the only pebble on the beach, Jerry."
"Why, what happened?" demanded the other, looking up.
"Why, what do you think we've got all those things on the bushes drying out for? Yes, one of the tents blew away in the middle of the storm. I think it must have been an hour or two before midnight, when the big gust came that tore it loose. We were all four of us under it, and there was some tall scurrying just then, believe me."
"I can well believe it, Frank. Where was Will with his camera then?" asked Jerry.
"Trying to keep the blessed thing from getting soaked," answered Bluff.
"Then he doesn't believe in wet plates?" laughed the other.
"Seems not; films are good enough for him. Well, we managed to get all the things under the shelter of the other tent, and shivered for some hours. Finally, after the storm passed, and it began to get very cold, we started a fire and waited to welcome the rosy dawn."
"Don't get poetic, Frank. I'm really too dead for sleep to appreciate it now. Wake me up, fellows, when lunch is ready, will you?" and, so speaking, Jerry curled up again, this time in earnest.
The others amused themselves the balance of the morning in various ways. Bluff declared that he believed he would stay in camp while the others went off. Frank looked at him curiously as if wondering what had struck him, for he considered that the trip was well worth taking, if only to see the husky-looking wild dogs Jerry had met and slain.
He could remember having heard one or two persons speaking about the pack that was giving the farmers so much trouble. To think that, after all, their comrade had been the one to relieve the situation, was pleasant indeed.