“He’s sure to, if the Canadians find out the kind of a chap that he is,” Danny Grin declared solemnly.

“Come here, you fellows,” summoned Dick, “and hold a council of war over the supplies, to decide what we’ll have for supper.”

“I thought the steak was to be the main item,” Tom rejoined.  “With no ice it won’t keep until morning.”

“What do you want to eat with the steak?” asked Dick briskly.

The council—–­of six—–­quickly decided on the items of the meal.  Harry, catching up two buckets, started to the nearest spring for water.  Dave, with the coffee-mill between his knees, started to grind.  Dick, with an old knife, began to cut the steak up into suitably sized pieces.  Greg started a fire in one of the stove spaces,

Dan bringing more firewood.  A task was at hand for each of them.

When the first fire was ready an old grate was placed over it.  On this the pieces of steak were arranged.  Dave was boiling coffee on another grate over the second fire.

“Wood is mighty scarce around here,” complained Harry.

Dick glanced about him.  No one was immediately busy.

“All scatter!” called Prescott.  “Go in different directions.  Each fellow bring back an armful of dry wood.  Hustle!”

Dick himself was the first to return, about three minutes later.  He came in fast, for he expected that the steak would be ready to remove from the grate.

Long before he reached the stoves, however, Dick dropped his wood and his lower jaw simultaneously.

“Hurry up, fellows!” he called hoarsely.  “Hurry and see what has happened!”

That note of real distress in his voice caused the others to come running.

“Well, if you haven’t an appetite!” gasped Tom.  “To go and eat all the steak yourself!”

“I didn’t eat any of it,” Dick retorted grimly.  “From the looks of things none of the rest of us will eat any of it, either.”

“A dog got it, or some wild animal!” guessed Greg.

“No one animal could carry off four pieces of steak in his mouth at a time,” Prescott answered, thinking fast.  “And the tin plate I left here has gone with the meat.  Animals don’t lug off tin plates.”

“Dick and I will stay behind to watch and take account of stock,” Tom called.  “The rest of you scatter through the woods and try to come up with the thief.  If any fellow comes upon him, give a whoop, and the rest of us will hurry along.”

The four scouts went off on the run.

“Anything else missing?” asked Reade, as Dick looked among the supplies.

“Yes,” Prescott raged; “one of the bottles of Worcestshire sauce and two of the tins of corn.  Oh, it’s a two-legged thief that has spoiled our supper!”

“Perhaps you were too sure about Rip being off in Canada,” grinned Reade.

“Fred Ripley would hardly steal food,” Prescott retorted.  “Rip is seldom really hungry.  Tom, I’d give a dollar to know just who was hanging around this camp.”