Part 22 (1/2)

”Back to the hotel.”

”What good'll that do? n.o.body'll be up to let you in.” He looked at his watch. ”It's two o'clock,” he added.

”Well, there's a couple of hammocks on the veranda. That's good enough for yours truly.”

”Going to leave me here alone?”

”I don't give a hang what you do. You can let the old bear sleep with you if you want to. It's me for the hotel.” And he began lacing up his boots.

”Well, I'm not going to stick around here all alone--besides, you'd never find your way back alone in the dark.”

”_That's_ a good alibi!” said Bob. ”Guess you don't want to stay much yourself.”

”As a matter of fact, I don't--not alone,” Joe admitted.

They gathered up their provisions and blankets, poured the water for their morning coffee on the fire, and started back for the trail. It was hard work finding it, in the inky dark, and every time they heard a noise in the blackness around them Bob yelled, ”Beat it, you bear!” with the evident idea that would drive the creature away. They knew when they reached the trail only by the feeling of hard, even ground under their feet, but at the hotel the starlight over the lake was clear and comforting, and sneaking up on the veranda, they spread their blankets in the hammocks, and went to sleep again, with the soft lap, lap, lap of the water on the beach just below as a lullaby.

Joe woke early and roused Bob.

”Say, if we don't want to be guyed for the rest of the trip, we've got to beat it from here now, 'fore anybody spots us, and get our breakfast up the sh.o.r.e some place.”

”I know!” Bob whispered. ”We'll take a fish-pole and a boat from the boat-house and catch a breakfast! We can pay for the boat when the man gets up. What time is it?”

”Four o'clock.”

”Only four? Gee, it's day already, too. Come on.”

They piled their stuff into a boat, took a fish-pole from the eaves of the boat-house, found some bait in a pail, and rowed out as noiselessly as they could, and up along the sh.o.r.e. Joe rowed, while Bob kept casting from the stern. Finally he gave a yell, and Joe saw his line go under, and stopped rowing to watch the sport. He had a big one, all right, and it fought well. Bob was fifteen minutes in landing him, but had him in the boat finally, and hit him over the head.

The fish was as much as eighteen inches long, or more, and must have weighed four pounds.

”What's it, anyhow?” Bob asked.

”Cut-throat trout,” said Joe. ”I saw a man catch two or three at Lake McDermott. I'll bet it's good, too. Come on--we'll have some breakfast!

Good job you did landing him, too, without a reel. I thought your old line would bust two or three times.”

They rowed in to the heavily wooded sh.o.r.e, built a fire right by the lake, cleaned the fish, and Joe fried the choicest parts, with a few thin strips of bacon, coffee and biscuits.

Then they fell to. The grizzly, the restless night, the early rise--they'd really had only four hours of good sleep--were all forgotten while that hot, sizzling, delicious breakfast lasted.

”Say,” Bob remarked, as he swallowed his last mouthful, ”I feel like licking my chops, the way our old cat does! You sure are some cook. I'm going to learn to cook, too, and go camping every summer. This is the life!”

”Bears and all,” Joe laughed.

”Aw, forget the old bear! Don't seem so bad, now it's daylight.

Say,--not a peep, remember, about that old bear.”

”I won't say anything if you don't,” Joe promised.

They rowed back now, and found the boat-keeper up. Bob explained why they took the boat, and paid the rental for it, and for the fish-pole.