"Hello there, Fenton," came from the shore; "what crowd is that you've got?"
"Wait and see, Havens," replied Howard, smilingly.
The sail rattled down and the "Dauntless" glided slowly over the transparent water toward a boat moored close by. Havens caught a rope, and, in a moment, the boys were scrambling ashore.
Jim Havens was a sturdy-looking boy, with a rather pleasant face and manner, while Tom Sanders, slimly built, had sharp features and a loud voice. The Ramblers did not need to be told which was "Little Bill." That lad had the same aquiline nose, gray eyes and sour expression which characterized his uncle, the stage-driver.
"Come over to the camp, fellows," invited Havens, pleasantly. "This is a surprise, all right."
The Idleman's Club had chosen a most inviting situation. Not far away was a thick grove of trees, while the heights which rose back of them formed a most pleasing picture.
As the group walked toward the camp-fire, "Little Bill" trailed in the rear. He did not seem glad to see the visitors, and on learning who Bob Somers and his friends were, his manner became even less cordial.
Before the tent a brisk fire was burning. Suspended above it several pots were steaming merrily and sending forth a delicious odor.
The boys examined the camp with interest, peeped into the tent, and then looked at the game which the Idleman's Club had bagged the day before.
"Havens," said "Little Bill," suddenly, "I want to go over and see Mr. Barton this afternoon, an'——"