The Boy Scouts on Sturgeon Island | Page 8

to tell every one of the others could display a pretty good stowage capacity when it came to disposing of the meals. And so they were all anxious to help Bumpus when he started getting the camp supper ready.
Besides these six lads there were of course two others who went to, make up the full complement; of the Silver Fox Patrol; and who have figured in previous stories of this series.
These boys were named Robert Quail White, who was Southern born, and went by the name of "Bob White," among his friends; and Edmund Maurice Travers Smith, conveniently shortened to plain "Smithy."
These two had taken a different route to the lake, and expected to meet their six churns at a given rendezvous. They were intending also to make use of another boat, since the one engaged for the party would only accommodate seven at a pinch, and counting the scout-master they would have numbered nine individuals in all.
The other two had found that they wanted to see the wonderful Soo Canal, and the rapids that the St. Mary river boasts at that point, where the pent-up waters of Superior rush through the St. Mary's river to help swell the other Great Lakes, and eventually pass through the St. Lawrence river to the sea.
It is no joke cooking for half a dozen hungry scouts, and the one whose duty compelled him to be the chef for a day had to count on filling the capacity of coffee-pot and frying-pans, of which latter there were two.
Evening had settled down upon them by the time they were ready to enjoy the supper of Boston baked beans, fried onions with the steak that had been procured at the last town they had passed through; crackers, some bread that one of them toasted to a beautiful brown color alongside the fire, and almost scorched his face in the bargain; and the whole flanked by the coffee which was "like ambrosia," their absent chum Smithy would have said, until they dashed some of the contents of the evaporated cream into each tin cup, along with lumps of sugar.
"This is what I call living," sighed Giraffe, as he craned his neck visibly in the endeavor to see, whether there was a third "helping" left in the pan for "manners," which was another name for Conrad Stedman.
"Hadn't we better save this piece of steak for Tim?" suggested Step Hen, wickedly, for that was the name he had given to the captive owl.
"No, you don't," objected Giraffe, vociferously, just as the other had known he would do; "that's the very last beef steak we're apt to see for half a moon; and I say it would be a shame to waste it on a heathen bird. Besides, you couldn't coax Jim to take a bite till he's nearly starved; ain't that so, Thad?"
They always appealed to either the assistant scout-master or Allan, whenever any question like this came up, connected with bird or animal lore; and no matter how puzzling the matter might seem to the one who asked, it was promptly answered in nearly every instance.
"Yes, he isn't likely to take hold for a day or two," replied Thad. "By that time the old fellow will sort of get used to seeing us about; and he won't refuse to eat when you put something out for him; only all of you be careful that he doesn't prefer a piece out of your hand. Don't trust him ever!"
"You can make up your mind I won't give him a chance to grab me," asserted Bumpus, never dreaming that by accident he would be the very first to feel the force of that curved beak.
"Listen!" exclaimed Step Hen; "as sure as anything there's another! Why, this must be what you might call Owl-land."
From far away in the timber came the plain sound of hooting. All of the scouts knew what it was easily enough, though there had been a time when they were real tenderfeet, and could hardly distinguish between the call of an owl and the braying of a donkey; but camping-out experience had done away with all such ignorance as that.
"There, don't that make you feel foolish, Step Hen?" demanded Bumpus.
"Me? Whatever put that silly notion into your head, Bumpus?"
"Why," the other went on to say reproachfully, "it was you that really wanted to keep the poor old bird; and just listen to its mate mourning for it, would you? I'd think you'd feel so sorry you'd want to unfasten that chain right away, and give the owl its freedom."
"Not for Joseph, though I'll let you go and undo his chain if you feel inclined that way," Step Hen observed, knowing full well that Bumpus did not want to see the feathered captive set free quite that bad. "Besides,