Clay seemed disposed to side with Randy, while Nugget favored both sides of the question. He wanted to go, and he was just as anxious to catch some more bass down at the point of rocks.
Ned hesitated for a moment. He knew that it would be the more prudent plan to break camp at once, but the same time he was not inclined to insist upon it, and thus incur the ill will of his companions.
"I see that the majority is against me," he said good naturedly. "But if we get in any kind of a scrape you fellows will shoulder the blame, that's all."
The boys appeared to be satisfied with this arrangement. They trooped off to the brook to wash, while Ned turned aside to make the fire.
After breakfast Randy shouldered his gun and started down the creek in search of snipe or woodcock. Clay and Nugget caught a pailful of minnows and departed for the point of rocks, for this was the time of day when the bass would probably bite best.
Ned did not accompany them. He had the true appreciation of outdoor life, and was never happier than when doing odd bits of work around the camp. He occupied himself in this way for an hour or two—arranging the interior of the tent, hanging the blankets out to air, stacking the wood neatly by the fireplace, and scrubbing the frying pans and the outside of the coffee pot with sand and gravel.
He was scooping out a little fish pond at the mouth of the brook when Randy returned.
"What luck?" he asked, looking up from his work.
"Not a thing," answered Randy in a disappointed tone. "The snipe are all on the other side of the creek. I'm going after them now in my canoe. I tramped along the shore for at least a mile, Ned, and I didn't see a trace of anybody, either on this side or on the other. Our midnight visitors must have cleared out for good."
"I hope they have," said Ned. "What luck are the boys having?"