"Yes, yes, read us a line or two; go ahead, Chubby," pleaded Dick.
The poet laureate gave a negative gesture. "Oh, no! Not yet, boys," he laughed. "Don't forget, too, that in becoming cook, I was fired from my proud position as chief poet."
"But now you are put back again," insisted Sam.
Dave, however, could not be persuaded, so Bob Somers, who had a good voice, came to his rescue by starting a song they all knew. Then stories were told until bedtime.
Before turning in, the one remaining duck was hung on a pole outside the tents.
The Ramblers were soon sleeping soundly. It was a typical summer night. The moon finally rose, but the sky was considerably overcast. On the western horizon, an occasional gleam of lightning shone with a deep copper hue.
Little Tommy Clifton, who occupied the smaller tent in company with Dave Brandon, was disturbed by a curious dream. He thought that a dragon, uttering a weird cry, had attempted to enter the tent. This caused him to awake with a start, cold chills creeping along his spine.
The tent was partially open, and Tom stared at the view outside, mechanically taking in the shore and gray expanse of lake extending off to meet the sky.
A curious crackling of twigs drove all thoughts of sleep from the boy's mind, while a strange, vague terror took possession of him. Sitting bolt upright, he listened, undecided whether to awaken his companion or not.
With startling abruptness, a low, rasping cry almost froze the blood in his veins. Then a pair of blazing green eyes, but a few paces from the tent, brought his terror to a climax. Tom Clifton gave a loud cry of alarm and struggled to his feet.