“Great!” cried Greg.  “We haven’t had any fish, either, since we returned from our trip to the second lake.”

“How do you cook bull-heads?” Dave wondered aloud.

“With the aid of fire,” Hazy informed him with an air of superior knowledge.

“But I mean---I mean------” uttered Darry disgustedly, “how do
you prepare bull-heads for cooking?”

“First of all, you clean ’em, as in the case of any other fish,” proclaimed Tom Reade.  “I defy any fellow to dispute me on that point.”

“And then you wet the bull-head and roll him in corn meal, next dropping him into the pan and frying him to a fine brown,” Dick supplemented.

“But we haven’t any corn meal,” objected Hazy.

“Yes, we have,” Prescott corrected.  “I saw to that last night.  You fellows jump in and clean these fish, fast, while I get out the corn meal and put a pan on the fire.”

These boys knew much more about cooking than falls to most boys in their teens.  Frequent camping since their good old days in Central Grammar School had made them able to cook like veteran woodsmen.

Within two minutes, fat was sputtering in a hot pan, and Dick was shaking corn meal onto a plate.

“Bring ’em up!” he ordered.  “We’ll start this thing going.”

Twenty minutes later, using two pans, all the bull-heads had been cooked, and now lay on platters in the oven of the stove.

“Three apiece, and one left over,” Greg discovered.  “Who gets the odd one?”

“Shame on you!” muttered Reade.  “The horse gets the odd one, of course.”

“A horse won’t eat fish,” Holmes retorted.

“Didn’t you ever see a horse eat fish?” Tom challenged.

“I never did.”

“Well, I don’t know that I ever did, either,” Reade admitted.  “So we’ll give the odd one to Danny Grin.”

“Maybe we’ll be glad to,” laughed Dave.  “I’m not sure that all these bull-heads were alive when Dalzell picked them up.”

“Huh!” snorted Dan.

Nothing spoiled their appetite for the fish, however, which were cooked to a turn and of fine flavor.  Tom Reade, however, got the odd fish as being the only one whose appetite was large enough to permit of the feat of adding it to three other fish.

“And now, what are we going to do?” asked Dave, after the meal was finished and the dishes had been washed.

“Who has sore feet?” called Dick.

Not one of the six boys would plead guilty to that charge.

“Then we won’t have to heat water,” Dick announced.  “Each fellow can bathe his feet in cold water before turning in.  But, when one’s feet ache, or are blistered, then a wash in piping hot water is the thing to take out the ache.”

By nine o’clock all hands began to feel somewhat drowsy, for the day had been warm, and, at last, these youngsters were willing to admit that their road work had been as strenuous as they needed.