Ethan looked at Lub, inquiringly.
"You see I was so busy reading the signs of that trail I never once thought a thing about any one else. Lub, you must have seen where he went, didn't you?"
"Last I saw of him he was down on the lake shore," replied the other. "He had his fishing rod along, and I understood him to say he meant to look for some grasshoppers or crickets or something for bait, because he felt trout hungry."
"X-Ray has a weakness for fish, you know," Ethan declared. "He said he'd be the boss fisherman of the bunch while we were up here, and even dared me to take him up, the one to win who could show the greatest number, biggest variety, and the heaviest fish of all that were taken. I think I'll go him, if I can find time to bother."
"And I'll encourage you both to the limit," chuckled Lub; "because that means we're bound to have all the fine trout we can eat while we're here. May the best man win. I know how to cook 'em to beat the band, by rolling each trout in cracker crumbs, and then frying in hot grease from fat salt pork. Makes my mouth fairly water just to mention it."
"We won't forget that, Lub," Ethan told him; "and you can consider that you're hereby appointed the official fish frying man of the lot. For if there's anything I hate to cook it's fish. Eating's another story, and I always try to do my duty there."
"I thought I heard some one call out then," said Lub, looking around him.
"Must have been a crow cawing, or a gray squirrel barking," suggested Ethan.
They listened for a dozen seconds, but heard nothing.
"I reckon I was mistaken about it," admitted Lub, finally; "only I wondered if X-Ray could have tumbled into any sort of trouble. He's spry enough as a rule, and not built like me."