"I'll drive one on each side of the fire, nail another across the top, then hang the kettles with a piece of wire. Want anything better than that, fellows? Fall to—peel some potatoes and onions. What's that, Dick? Yes, go ahead and help Sam and Tom."
Bob Somers placed two logs upon a mass of hot, glowing embers, sufficiently far apart to hold a frying-pan. Then some pieces of bacon began to sizzle.
In due course, the delicious odor of rabbit stew filled the air, and, as dusk began creeping on, the club gathered around the camp-fire.
Each helped himself to a plate of hot, savory stew and a cup of steaming coffee.
"This is all right," chuckled Dick.
"Never tasted anything better," said Bob, with his mouth full.
"Look at Tom. He eats like a primitive savage."
"Huh! You'd better not talk. You're eating with your fingers yourself. This isn't the place to put on any style, is it, Dick?"
"Of course not. Another plate for mine."
"Me, too," chimed in Dave.