“Same here,” echoed Davy Jones.

But as for Bumpus, good-natured, jolly Bumpus, he seemed to have lost his tongue, for he failed to add his promise to that of the other two scouts.

Thad looked at him as he turned away. He had never dreamed that the fat scout would take anything so much to heart. Bumpus was not cut out for a good hunter, either by instinct or bodily favor. Some of his enemies in Cranford, like Brose Griffin and Eli Bangs, were wont to say that Bumpus was not only ponderous of body, but “fat-witted” as well, by which they probably meant his mind was slow to act.

Still, there have been successful fat hunters. Bumpus knew, for he had made it a point to investigate in every way possible, and he was resolved that he would shine as a successful Nimrod, despite the disadvantages under which he labored. So much the more credit to him when he finally proved his right to boast that proud title.

After the five hunters went away, Smithy found some bait, and wandered down to the base of the rapids to fish. The gentle art of angling was more in the line of the dude of the patrol than tramping through the big timber after elusive game.

Here Davy Jones presently joined him, saying that Bumpus had urged him to add a second rod and line to that Smithy already had out.

“Couldn’t get him to try it, though,” said Davy. “Told me he was no fisherman, and nearly always fell in, he was that clumsy. And between us, Smithy, that’s pretty near the truth.”

“Well, I can remember several occasions when Bumpus made a splash that he didn’t calculate on,” remarked Smithy, who was usually just as careful of his language as he was of his clothes, and no one could ever remember ever hearing him utter any slang phrase.

Meanwhile the five hunters had gone off in high spirits. The day was glorious, and a whole month of this sort of thing stared them in the face. That was enough to make any bunch of boys happy, especially when they cared as much for the Great Outdoors as Thad and his chums did.

Allan was a born hunter. What he did not know about stalking game and all such things that a successful hunter must be up in, the boys had not as yet learned.

He had noted the passing clouds, and observed the direction in which the prevailing wind blew. It was of considerable moment for the success of their fresh meat hunt, that they go up the breeze. In this way they would avoid having their presence in the timber made known in advance to the wary game, through the medium of the wonderful sense of smell which most animals possess.

The five scouts spread out at times in the shape of a fan, so as to cover as much ground as possible.

Again they would come together for a little consultation, when they could compare notes; and those who were not very much experienced in still hunting, pick up more or less valuable pointers.

Noon came, but as yet they had not met with any success. Around them the tall trees grew thickly, and some of them had trunks of such girth that the scouts easily understood why this region was always referred to as the “big timber.”

As they ascended higher up the slopes of the foothills that bordered the Rockies, they would find the trees growing smaller all the while, until far up the heights the stunted mesquite or the dwarfed cedar alone remained.

Not at all dismayed, after they had refreshed themselves with the lunch brought for that purpose, the young hunters again started out.

The wind had veered somewhat, and with this fresh start they changed their own course, so as to keep it coming toward them. Thad was just as well pleased, for this new direction would serve to keep them within a few miles of camp; and in case they did manage to secure meat, they would not have so far to transport it.

Still the time kept slipping away, and the sun could hardly have been more than two hours above the western horizon when suddenly a buck was started. Every one was so eager to get in a shot, that a regular volley rang out immediately.

There was positively no chance for the poor deer. He went down in a heap, and was so near dead when he reached the ground that he did not even give a last expiring kick.

Of course the boys were delighted, especially when Allan declared their united quarry was a nice young buck, and that his flesh ought by all rights be tender.

Using the greatest dispatch the deer was soon cut up. And when the various packages of meat had been judiciously distributed, the five scouts started on their return to camp.

Thanks to the knowledge of woodcraft possessed by Allan and Thad, they managed to make the camp on a line as straight as an arrow, almost. Indeed, Thad declared that a bee laden with honey, could make no more direct drive for the hive than Allan had in leading them toward the region of the camp.

It was just beginning to get a little dusk when they sighted the crackling fire, and hurrying along, entered camp. Thad looked around. Davy was busy over the fire, and the delightful smell of frying trout told what his occupation must be. Smithy was cutting up some small wood with the camp-hatchet. Both looked up as the hunters came in.

“Where’s Bumpus?” asked Thad, quickly scenting trouble.

Davy and Smithy exchanged glances.

“We hoped he’d found you, and come back,” observed the former.

“Found us? What do you mean by that?” demanded the scoutmaster.

“We went down to the foot of the pool to fish,” explained Davy. “An hour later I came back to get another hook, and I found that Bumpus had disappeared, taking his gun with him.”

Thad and Allan exchanged worried glances. With night at hand and that clumsy tenderfoot lost somewhere in the big timber, it was no wonder that a sense of impending trouble, that might yet end in tragedy, oppressed them.