It was found upon gathering the trophies of Steve’s skill as an angler that they had quite enough for a meal; consequently Steve announced that he guessed he needn’t start in again with rod and hook and grub.

All of them were soon busily engaged in fixing up the camp.  Since they had thought it best not to try and fetch a heavy tent along with them they knew it would be necessary to construct some such brush shanty shelter every night unless they could find a convenient ledge under which a camp could be made.  But all of these boys had often slept under the stars, with the heavens for a canopy overhead, so that they did not feel at all worried over the circumstance.

As the sun sank lower and lower toward the horizon the camp began to assume a comfortable air.  The brush shelter had been finished, and pronounced equal to any they had ever built before.  It might not prove wholly rain-proof, but as for keeping off the dew, and protecting them against the chilly night air, it offered them “all the comforts of home,” as Steve put it.

Then supper was started, a fire having been built after the most approved method in vogue among guides and hunters of long experience.  Indeed, Max and his companions were far from being green to the ways of the woods.  They had learned heaps through their many camping experiences; and some time before a visit to an old trapper had initiated them into dozens of secrets of the craft that would never be forgotten.[1]

Again the talk was of the strange mission that had brought them up to the Adirondacks.  Bandy-legs could not seem to get over his belief that they were bound to have all their trouble for their pains.

“What sort of a clue have we got to work on for a starter, fellows, tell me?” he went on to say, just as they were starting in to enjoy the supper that had been supervised by a trio of eager cooks, all as hungry as boys could well be, and continue to exist.  “All we know is that when this boy, Roland Chase, left Sagamere, almost two years back, he was a sickly, white-faced chap, and with only one decent trait about him, which was his love for outdoors; though up to then it had been mostly a yearning, because they wouldn’t let him get away from the house much on account of his delicate constitution.  Well, we’re looking for some such chap; but up to now we haven’t got on his track.”

[1] “With Trapper Jim in the North Woods.”

“But hold on, Bandy-legs,” expostulated Steve, “you forget that we did hear about a boy that answered that description, though nobody seemed to know his name.  He was sometimes seen in the company of a half-drunken old guide named Shanks somewhere around Mount Tom district.  And now we’ve come up this way in the hope of crossing his trail.  Not that I’ve got much expectation myself that we’ll be sure to find this same; Roland, who turns out to be a sort of will-o’-the-wisp to us; but since his old aunt was so kind as to finance this expedition, why we’re bound to do all we can to make it a blooming success, that’s what.”