"Get out! How are we going to know when they're coming?" asked Chub. "Suppose we see them peeking about to-day; maybe they won't come for three or four nights."
"Then how do they know you won't move the boats in the meantime?"
"Why—why we never do!"
"Oh, I guess I don't know the rules of the game," sighed Roy. "Sounds as though you were all woozy."
It was raining that morning when they arose, but the rain couldn't quench their enjoyment. A shelter tent was put up and they all crowded under it for breakfast. Afterwards the Utes challenged the Seminoles to a game of ring-toss under the trees. Roy was assistant cook that day and so he and Post—Post being chef—were out of it. The Utes won and were much set up about it, issuing challenges indiscriminatingly at dinner. The four fishermen came in just before the meal with a big catch, and Post, who knew less about cooking fish than anything else—and that's saying a good deal—was in despair. After dinner he and Roy took them to the water and cleaned them, but neither thought to remove the scales. The fish were served for supper and there was a popular demand for the speedy lynching of Mr. Post.
"I thought we ought to do something else to them," he explained in extenuation, "but I couldn't think what it was!"
"You want to watch out pretty sharp," said Horace Burlen with deep sarcasm, "or they'll employ you to cook at the Waldorf."
"Fish a la Post," murmured Chub. "Half portion two dollars and a quarter."
"They'd have to pay me more than that before I'd order any," responded Gallup.
"Post and Porter ought to take singing lessons," said Thurlow.