Just then Thad’s guardian, a genial old man who was known far and wide as “Daddy,” Brewster, found that he had urgent need of communicating with a gentleman by the name of Carson, who had recently gone up into Maine on his annual moose hunt in the big game country. As he might not come out before January, and the necessity of giving him certain documents was great, Thad had been asked to make the trip.

They had long been counting on a chance to visit the home country of their Maine fellow scout, Allan Hollister; and most of the scouts eagerly seized on this opportunity to carry out the project, though two of the patrol were unable to be along.

And so they were now in a condition to thoroughly enjoy the outing, since Thad had carried out his mission, and given the papers into the keeping of Mr. Carson; receiving a message in return which he had wired to the old gentleman when in touch with a telegraph station.

Thad himself had believed that there was not the slightest cloud along the horizon; and now that this Cale Martin business had cropped up, he began to realize that after all it might not be such clear sailing as they had figured on.

Still, Thad was not the one to borrow trouble, though ready to grapple with it in any shape or manner, once it found them out.

They camped early on that night, because all of them were a little tired; and the location on the shore looked especially fine.

“Hey, look at what Giraffe’s going to do!” exclaimed Bumpus, after they had carried part of their things ashore, and were busily engaged in putting up the two big tents supplied by Jim Hasty from his camp stores, such as all Maine guides delight to possess.

“Why, ain’t it a part of my business to start the fire every time?” demanded the party in question, who was on his knees; “didn’t Thad promise me that job if I’d keep on being careful about startin’ fires every-which-way? I ain’t had a blessed match on my person since I gave that promise, have I, Thad? And what’s wrong about my getting the blaze in my own way, tell me that, Bumpus?”

“But we want supper, and we don’t mean to sit around here an hour or two, just watchin’ you tinker with that silly old bow and stick, twirling away like you had to saw through to China. How about that, Thad?” and Bumpus turned appealingly toward the patrol leader, well knowing that whatever he said would go.

“Bumpus is right, Giraffe,” the other said, kindly but firmly. “You’re welcome to spend all the time you want with that contraption, after you’ve started our cooking fire; but it wouldn’t be fair to hold up the whole bunch just to please yourself. Your own good sense tells you that, Giraffe.”

Giraffe, of course, had to appear to be convinced.

“Just when I had a new scheme in my head, too, that I just know would have made the fire come,” he grumbled, as he hung the little bow on a twig of a tree near by, and produced flint and steel, and a little bag in which he kept tinder, in the shape of tiny shavings which he was always preparing at odd moments; “and before I get another chance to try it, I’ll have forgotten the combination, sure. But that’s always the way it goes; though don’t you dare think Bumpus Hawtree, that I’m going to give up so easy. I’ll fight it out this way if it takes all winter.”

Being an adept with the flint and steel, Giraffe quickly had his fire started.

“And that’s the way it’ll be after I’ve just got that one little snag passed,” he took occasion to remark, for the benefit of the fat scout, who was hovering near by. “Everything’s easy as tumbling off a log, once you know how. P’raps you remember what a time you had learnin’ to ride a bike; and yet now you can cut around corners, and even stand on the saddle while she’s going. Well, you wait and see my smoke.”

“Huh! that’s all I ever will see, I’m afraid,” chuckled Bumpus.

But presently Giraffe managed to drift into a more amiable humor. That was when the coffee pot was bubbling on the fire, sending out its cheery aroma; and the last of the eggs they had managed to buy from a potato grower on the bank of the Aroostook were sizzling in the two large frying-pans.

Most boys possess hearty appetites, and Giraffe was no exception to the rule. Indeed, like most lean fellows, he had an enormous stowage capacity somewhere about him, and could dispose of more food on occasion than any two of his mates. Bumpus always declared he had hollow legs, and used them for receptacles, when other places were filled to overflowing. But not one of the scouts could remember the time when Giraffe complained of having eaten too much. Like the crowded street car, there was always room for more.

“Wish we’d struck this section of country an hour or two before dark,” Bumpus ventured to remark, complacently, as he sat there with his fat legs doubled under him, tailor-fashion and munching at the crackers and cheese he had made a sandwich out of.

“For why?” asked Giraffe, looking up.

“Oh! a feller might have just taken a little turn around here, and knocked over a deer, or something of the sort,” Bumpus replied, with the utmost assurance in the world; just as though such a thing were of common occurrence in his life. “Looks right gamey around here; how’s that, Thad?”

“Oh! Jim Hasty told us that much!” declared Step Hen, before the scoutmaster could find a chance to say anything. “Didn’t you hear him tell how every season there’s been a moose or two killed within ten miles of where we’ve got our camp right now. But we can’t hold up yet to do any hunting; so you’ll just have to put a crimp in that sporting spirit you’ve developed so suddenly, Bumpus.”

“Listen to him talk, would you?” exclaimed Giraffe; “and only a little while back you couldn’t get Bumpus to even touch a gun. Say, you’re a marvel, all right, Bumpus. They’ll have you set up as the eighth wonder of the world soon, ahead of the telephone, wireless, moving pictures, and even the talking machine. Edison and all the rest of those old wizards had better take a back seat when you come around.”

Joking and chatting, they made the time pass very happily. If Jim Hasty were in reality much concerned over the prospect of his meeting with the ugly poacher who had a bone to pick with him, he at least did not show it outwardly any longer. But then Jim was a man of few words as a rule; and it was hardly to be expected that so hardy a fellow would tremble, just at the mention of a name.

There was room for them all under the shelter of the tents, though as a rule, so long as the weather kept on being fairly pleasant, the two hardy guides declared that they much preferred to wrap up in their blankets and sleep under the stars. Such men become used to what would seem hardships to the city bred person, and in truth think very little of enduring them. And it was by no means cold enough as yet, to drive them into taking shelter under the canvas.

Giraffe had been working away at his fire-making business pretty much all of the evening, and Bumpus had watched him for a while; but growing tired of seeing the other sawing away as if for dear life, he had finally laughed, and turned away.

If Giraffe came near making things “go” that evening, at least once more the glory of a full success slipped away from his eager hands, outstretched to clutch it; for when it came time for them to “shut up shop,” as Thad said, and crawl into the two tents, he had not brought about his expected blaze, though his face looked more determined than ever.

Bumpus, Giraffe and Allan occupied one tent; while the other three scouts were assigned to