Camp was made at half-past four that afternoon, nineteen miles having been covered.  The tent was pitched in a bit of woods, not far from the road, permission from the owner having been secured.

Dave had asked the owner if they might picket the horse out to graze, but Dick had instantly objected.

“We don’t want to feed our hired horse on green grass if we’re going to work him hard.”

“That’s right,” agreed the farmer, so twenty cents’ worth of hay was purchased, to be added to the feed of oats.

“It’s some fun to travel this way when we know we have money enough to pay our way like men,” Tom Reade remarked exultingly.

For Dick & Co. were well supplied with funds.  As told in the preceding volume in this series, they had, during July, realized enough from the sale of black bass and brook trout to enable them to have a thoroughly good time during this present month of August.

“Oh, Hazy!” called Reade, when it became time to think of supper.

“Here,” reported Harry, rising from a cot in the tent and coming outside.

“It’s time for you and Dan to rustle the firewood and bring in more water,” Reade went on.

“All right,” agreed Hazelton.  “Where’s Dan?”

Where, indeed, was Dalzell?  That soon became a problem for all five of the other boys.  Danny Grin was nowhere in sight.

“Dan!  Oh, Dan!” Dave shouted.

“Where is that grinning monkey of a football player?” demanded Tom in disgust.  “Did any of you fellows see him go away from camp?”

It turned out that none of them had.

“It isn’t like Dalzell to run away from his share of the work, either,” added Greg Holmes.

“If he won’t stay and do his share toward getting supper, then he ought to be passed up at table,” grumbled Darrin.

“Before we pass sentence,” proposed Dick, “won’t it be better to wait and find out whether he’s guilty of shirking this time?”

“I suppose it would be better,” Darrin admitted.

So the boys continued their preparations.

“What shall we have for the main thing to eat to-night?” Dick inquired, after supper preparations were well under way.

“Canned corned beef?” suggested Greg.

“That would be about as good as anything,” Tom nodded.  “It means two salted meats in one day, but this country is well supplied with water.”

“We can’t ask Danny Grin’s preference this evening,” Dick laughed.  “I wonder what Dan would like, anyway?”

“Who’s taking my name in vain?” demanded a laughing voice, as Dalzell appeared between the trees.

“Oh, you-----”

“Shirk!” Reade had been about to add, when Danny held up a fat string of fish.  These were horned-pouts, sometimes called “bull-heads.”

“How many?” asked Dick promptly.

“Nineteen—–­one for every mile we made in getting close to the creek,” Dan rejoined.