Finally he aroused himself.

"Come, this won't do. I must get back to Jerry, and we'll have to do some hustling to reach the camp by dusk," he exclaimed.

When he arrived at the other mound he was surprised not to find his chum lying there sleeping. Jerry had vanished in a most incomprehensible manner!

At first, Frank thought the other might be trying to play one of his practical jokes upon him. He called, but there came back no answer.

Then he dropped down to examine the ground, having been tutored by the Pen.o.bscot Indians of the northern woods; and, finding tracks, he knew that the worst had happened. Jerry had undoubtedly fallen into the hands of their foes!

CHAPTER VIII--OLD ENEMIES APPEAR

"Bend your head a little. Now, look pleasant, as a fellow should after slaying a couple of ferocious wildcats. Ready? Then here she goes!"

Snap!

Bluff had been posing, with Jerry's gun in his hands. At his feet, artistically stretched out, were the two defunct invaders of the night camp. Will had his camera in position, and was taking a snapshot of the mighty Nimrod.

"After all it's only a big fake, for I never had a hand in the killing at all," declared Bluff, with a laugh.

"Fake? No more than most of the pictures you see, where some well-known person is photographed with a big bear at his feet, or perhaps it's a moose. I guess I know. But it gives me a picture, and neither Jerry nor Frank would bother posing. You're really the only accommodating pard in camp, Bluff," remarked Will.

"Oh, rats! you only say that because you can smooth me over, and get me to consent to helping you out in these dreadful frauds of pictures. I reckon I'll never hear the last of it if Mame Crosby ever learns how I stood for this, when others claimed the game," grunted Bluff.

"But I thank you ever so much, old fellow; you're so obliging," said Will.

"Well, I'd like to get one of the boats out, and try the fish. What are you going to do, now?" asked the other.

"I'll tell you. I've got some flashlight contrivances here that have been used successfully, they tell me, in making wild game photograph themselves. Just think how great that would be. The thing is set with a sort of trigger, you see. As the 'c.o.o.n or other beast creeps up along the log to get the piece of meat, he crosses a string that sets the flash afire. It's all over in a second, and there's your nice picture of Mr. c.o.o.n sitting up and looking startled."

"Huh! you believe you can do all that, do you?" asked Bluff, the skeptic.

"Why not, when others have met with great success. I've read up on the subject, and think I've got it all down pat. Anyhow, no harm done in trying."

"Of course not. Well, I'm going to leave this gun of Jerry's in your charge, as I'll hardly need it out on the lake. First I expect to dig some worms, and then try for the perch, just to see if they've wakened up from their winter's nap."

"You won't go far away, I hope?" remarked Will, a little nervously.

"See that point yonder? Well, off that I believe the perch are waiting for me. I remember catching a bully mess there last Spring when several of us came down here fishing. If you want me at any time just give a call and I'll be with you in a jiffy."

So Bluff went off to dig his worms in a promising spot, while Will began to get things in readiness for the clever little trick he intended to play upon B'rer 'c.o.o.n or Mr. 'Possum.

Half an hour later Bluff was anch.o.r.ed off the point. He found the perch ravenous, as they usually are after a winter's sojourn under the ice; and it kept him busy right along pulling in the wriggling, barred poachers, or baiting the hooks they denuded.

It was getting along toward noon when he fancied he detected the odor of cooking in the air.

"Let him have a try at it; I guess it's up to Will to show how much he has learned in the cooking line since last Fall. He's a green hand, and it's about time he took hold. I'm comfortable here. When grub's ready he'll call me," was what the sly Bluff was saying to himself, as he kept his back turned toward the camp, and continued to tempt the perch.

"Hey! you, Bluff!" came a shout just then.

"What d'ye want, bothering me in that way?" demanded the fisherman.

"For goodness' sake come ash.o.r.e and give me a hand. I can't find any more dishes, and the pesky thing still keeps bubbling over. Come quick, or we'll be smothered under a mountain of it!" shouted the one on sh.o.r.e.

"Now what under the sun has the fellow been up to?" said Bluff to himself, as he pulled in his anchor, and used the paddle to urge the canoe ash.o.r.e.

When he strode into the camp a minute or so later he stared, and then burst into a shout of laughter as he dropped upon the ground and rolled about.

"Well, I don't see anything so funny about it," declared Will, in an aggrieved tone as he looked at the various kettles and dishes heaped high with boiled rice, and the kettle on the fire still pouring up its white contents like a miniature volcano in action. "I never knew rice would expand like that. Why, it's dreadful the way it keeps boiling over. What can we do to hold the stuff?"

"Say, how much did you put in the kettle?" gasped Bluff, when he could speak.

"All there was, and even then I wondered if there would be any left for the rest."

Bluff acted as though he would have a fit.

"All there was," he shouted, "that beats anything I ever heard. And Frank said the grocery-man had doubled his order, and put up _four pounds_! Say, we'll have rice every way under the sun up to the day we pull up stakes and get out of here. Still she boils! If you don't take care the blooming thing'll put the fire out."

Finally he condescended to help poor Will, and some of the rice was scooped out of the kettle, relieving the congestion. Still, what to do with the vast quant.i.ty of half-cooked rice was a question calculated to appall Will during the balance of the day.

He finally compromised by secretly burying a large portion where he calculated none of his chums would find it again.

Bluff a.s.sisted in getting some lunch ready, and Will was very meek after that experience. He grimly determined that he would pay more attention to what the others were doing when preparing meals, and by degrees learn the secret of cooking.

"Did you get your little game trap set?" asked Bluff after they had eaten, and lay around taking it easy.

"Everything is ready for the coming of the night. I'll expect to find the cheap little camera which I brought along for that especial purpose, doing its work. No matter, it's worth a trial, anyway. Nothing ventured, nothing gained," remarked Will.

"Rice, for instance," ventured Bluff, turning his head to look at the great snow-white heap that covered a spread-out newspaper nearby, since they had to empty the cooking utensils which Will had filled one after the other.

"Oh! I admit that was a fine joke on me, all right, and I suppose I'll have to just stand the digs of the boys for a while. But it's spurred me on, and sooner or later I'm bound to be a _chef_ worth mentioning. I guess they haven't found any sort of game on their trip around the island, do you?"

"I heard no shot to tell of it," admitted Bluff. He was lying on his back and apparently ready for a nap.

"It was some hot out there on the water, son, and I'm inclined to be dopy. Please keep on guard while I take a dozen winks," he said, pulling his hat over his face.

His dozen winks stretched out for some two hours. During this time Will busied himself in reading a little book on camp cookery which he had brought along. It looked as though he were about to study up on the subject in earnest.

Finally Bluff gave a grunt, began to move and stretch himself, and then sat up.

"h.e.l.lo! I guess I must have been asleep," he remarked.

Will drew out his little nickel watch and surveyed it.

"Two hours and thirteen minutes to the dot. A few winks, eh? When am I going to get my chance to indulge?" he demanded, sternly.