"Oh ho, it seems to me there is nothing but work," groaned Dave, with a yawn. "Why not sleep on the ground?"
"You lazy duffer!" exclaimed Dick. "Come on; think what fun you'll have making all these things."
"I feel in a generous mood," laughed Dave. "I'm perfectly willing to give you all my share."
The ridge lay some distance inland, but from its elevated position, the motor boat could be kept in view.
Lots were drawn. To Tom and Dick fell the task of cutting poles and collecting brush for the lean-to, while Dave, with a terrible grimace, set about chopping sufficient fire-wood for their present needs. Bob Somers and Sam Randall took their guns and started to look for game.
"Let's skirt along the river, if possible," suggested Bob; "perhaps we may get a shot at some ducks."
"Agreed," said Sam; "but that underbrush looks a little thick right here; I guess we'll have to go around."
The boys found that it was not an easy matter to push their way along in any given direction. Growth of all kinds was luxuriant. Tangled vines, provided by nature with very sharp little thorns, continually impeded their progress, besides causing much discomfort, as it was hard to entirely avoid them.
They were careful to keep their guns pointed away from each other, and to keep the triggers free from low-hanging branches or underbrush.
At length, after a detour, the greenish expanse of river flashed in view between the tree trunks.