“Well, I’ll try them all,” said Fred eagerly. “I don’t want just to catch trout; any one can do that. What I want is a big one.”
“One you can take home stuffed, I suppose,” suggested Grant.
“That’s it exactly. I mean to have one, too.”
“Well, we might fix up the beds first,” said John. “It won’t take long. All we want is four piles and we can spread the blankets out on them when we are ready to turn in. Just think of it; a nice soft sweet-smelling bed to sleep on and we won’t feel any of the rocks and roots and bumps that may be under us.”
“It sounds fine all right,” laughed Grant. “We’d better get to work soon, too, for it’ll be dark before long.”
“I should think Pop would be back by now, too,” said John. “You don’t suppose anything could have happened to him, do you?”
“Why, I don’t see how—” began Fred, when he suddenly ceased speaking and listened intently.
“What’s the matter?” demanded Grant.
“Ssh,” whispered Fred. “I thought I heard some one call.”