The "Nimrod" had rounded a point.
"Fine hunters, to shoot at such long range as that," grumbled Sam. "What a nuisance they are."
"They spoil everything," declared Bob, in disgusted tones.
Disconsolately, the return trip was begun.
A series of harsh, rasping cries, issuing from the dim recesses of the woods, betokened the presence of a blue jay, while at intervals sounded the tap-tap of that busy workman of the forest—the woodpecker.
They concluded to return by the same route, in the hope of stirring up some other game. Fortune favored them this time, a couple of squirrels being bagged, which partly reconciled them to their previous disappointment.
They found, upon returning to camp, that the three other Ramblers had not been idle. Dave pointed with pride to a large pile of wood, while Tom and Dick showed equal satisfaction in exhibiting a mass of pine boughs, besides a number of poles. Nor was this all. Reposing on a flat stone were three good-sized fish.
"Where did you get them?" queried Bob, in pleased surprise.
"Just a little way up the river," responded Dick Travers, proudly.
"We can now have a meal fit for a king," exclaimed Sam.