"You'll have plenty of chances, right along the lake. If you fellers want to stop, we'll brile it, eh?"
"You couldn't drive me away, after getting a sight of that," grinned Nat. "Hurry it up, Billy. I can hardly wait."
Sladder and Musgrove worked with commendable speed, and within a few minutes the goose was broiling over the fire.
It took a long time to cook, but the boys were well repaid for their wait, especially as roast potatoes were included in the meal.
"Say, Sladder," remarked Nat Wingate, at length, balancing a tin dipper of coffee in one hand and a goose leg in the other, "what did you mean by making us think that your dog is fierce?"
Sladder grinned. "So you found out?" he said. "Well, Musgrove an' me thought it was a good joke, 'cause Bowser's the tamest dog I ever saw."
"And it was you who threw a lot of snowballs at our camp—honest—wasn't it?"
"No such thing!" protested Tim Sladder, warmly. "Eh, Billy?"
"Own up to it now."
"Certainly we won't! I tell you it wasn't us!" Musgrove managed to say, between huge mouthfuls.