"See here—" began Hackett, angrily.
"Now, Billy Musgrove an' me's been a-wantin' to take a trip for a long time," resumed Tim Sladder, "so I says to mom, 'Why can't we go out huntin' an' trappin', an' sort of keep an eye on 'em?' an' she says, 'Just the thing an'—'"
"My eye!" put in Hackett, angrily, "I like that—I do, indeed. What do you think we are, anyway—a lot of two-year-olds?"
Musgrove laughed, while Tim Sladder surveyed the speaker for some moments in mild astonishment.
"I'm only tellin' you how we happened to come along," he continued. "Billy Musgrove an' me's got a bully camp up the lake a bit. We seen the light of your fire—get away, Bowser—an' didn't know but what it might be you fellows. So we walked over."
"And you've got the job of looking out for us, eh, Tim?" laughed Nat. "And that big four-legged brute is going to help?"
"Bowser's a corking good dog—he is."
The owner patted the head of the great hound. "Mild, when he knows you—have to be a little careful, at first. Lie down, Bowser. Say, are you coming over to see our camp to-morrow?"
"If you do," chimed in Musgrove, "we'll show you some real sport."
"What kind?" asked Hackett, with a show of interest.