“I get you,” said Tom. “Doesn’t look as if it had been used much this year.”
“It hasn’t. There’s still so much snow on the passes that not many hikers have been over. But they’ll be along in a week or so, though. You go ahead and pitch your own tent now, for Joe—somewhere out there in the woods. I guess if you boys are scouts you know how to do it right.”
“Is the lake good to swim in?” Joe asked.
Big Bertha looked at him with a funny expression. “Sure,” he said. “Try it, after you’ve got your tent up! Oh, and say, look out for porcupines at night, boys.”
Only a few feet beyond the tepees the heavy woods began, not high woods, but a thick stand of fir about thirty or forty feet tall. The scouts took the tent and baggage in far enough to be out of sight of the camp, and screened from the view of the hotel across the lake, but still close to the shore. They found a dry, well-drained, level spot, threw a rope over it from tree to tree, and slung the tent. Then they cut pegs, fastened it down, set up their cots inside, and while Joe was making the beds, Spider hauled a lot of rocks up from the edge of the lake and built a fire pit.
“I s’pose it’s going to rain sometimes,” he said. “We ought to have a shelter over the kitchen.”
“Don’t look now as if it ever rained here,” Joe answered, from the tent. “I’ll build a lean-to over the kitchen while you’re running the camp. Gosh, I’m goin’ to feel like an awful grafter, just doing nothing, while you’re working all the time.”
“Aw, cut it out,” Tom answered. “You’ll be cooking for me, won’t you? You’re my housekeeper. I’m going to call you wifey.”
“If you do, I’ll put chestnut burrs in your bed,” Joe laughed.
“Where are you going to get the chestnuts?” asked Tom. “I don’t see anything around here but evergreen. Come to think of it, I’ve not seen a single hardwood all day.”