The party halted and turned to the right of the trail, where a great, lone pine tree stood on a little rise of ground, directly above the tiny spring.  This was to be the camping spot for the night.  Packs were quickly removed and unfolded, dry sticks gathered for the fire, and sweet-scented balsam boughs were cut and brought to the tree.  One generous bed was made, big enough for all, close in front of the camp-fire.  Mr. Allen cleaned and filled his small acetylene lamp—­“In case of need,” he said.  The guns were stacked in a handy place and supper operations gotten under way.

“It sure does smell awfully good up here,” began Phil.  “I wish we had gotten here before dark—­I’d like to have had a little look around before I went to sleep.  Who knows but we may be sleeping ten yards from a bear’s den.  We are up in a real wilderness, now!”

“Bears, your grandmother!” snorted Ham, as he deftly opened a can of baked beans with his pocket knife.  “A lot of great big bare spots is about all you could find.  Say, Phil, on the dead square, what would you do, now, if a black bear would sneak down here to-night and crawl into bed with you?” “I’d say, ’Mr. Bear, if you want a real sweet, tender morsel that’s easily digested, just help yourself to that little imported Ham over there.’” A roar of laughter went up from the others.

Chuck was philosophizing about the value of gathering food while it was yet day, as he sat stowing away his quart of fresh raspberries.

“You can have all you want of them,” retorted Mr. Allen.  “I’m seedy enough now, without eating those things.”

“What’s the matter, Willis?  Did we walk you too hard?” inquired Fat.

“No, I could walk a hundred miles yet to-night,” replied Willis, as he sliced up his bacon preparatory to frying it.  “But this has been a very wonderful day for me.  It’s all so new, you know, and I’m green, too.  Besides, it all has a very special significance to me, some way.  I love it.  I like it better than anything in the world.  I could live this way forever.  I’m sure I could write poetry to-night, or paint a great picture, or even sing.  It’s a wonderful feeling.  Did you ever feel that way?  It’s the charm of the great out-of-doors.”

“I think we had better picket Willis to-night,” dryly remarked Ham.  “He’s liable to be floating off in his enthusiasm.  But if he happens to be fortunate enough to lie on a friendly pine knot all night, he’ll feel differently in the morning.”

So the merry talk went on.  After supper bigger logs were laid on the fire.  A collapsible canvas bucket, filled with drinking water, was hung on a low limb of the tree, and the supply of night wood was conveniently placed near Mr. Allen’s end of the bed.