ut of
them again," maintained the kid of the camp, with a brazen look, while
his eyes showed flinty sparks, caused by the inspiring purpose hidden
behind them, which had little to do with water-carrying.

"Why can't you both go without any more palaver?" suggested Herb, as he
started away towards a belt of young firs to cut stakes for the tent.
"Cruise straight across the bog, mark your track by the bushes as you go
'long, don't get into the woods at all, and 'twill be plain sailing. I
guess you'll strike a spring before very long."

Cyrus caught up the camp-kettle, and stepped out briskly over the
springy, spongy ground. Dol Farrar followed him. The two were half-way
across the bog before the elder noticed that the younger was carrying
something. It was the moose-horn.

"If we run across any moose-signs, I'm going to try a call," said Dol,
his strike-a-light eyes fairly blazing while he disclosed his purpose.
"You may laugh, Cy, and call me a greenhorn; but I bet you I'll get an
answer, at least if there's a bull-moose within two miles."

"That's pretty cheerful," retorted the Boston man; "especially as
neither of us has brought a rifle. Mr. Moose may be at home, and give
you an answer; but there's no telling what sort of temper he'll be in."

"I left my Winchester leaning against a tree on the camping-ground,"
said the would-be caller regretfully. "But you know you wouldn't fire on
him, Cy, unless he came near making mince-meat of us. If he should
charge, we could make a dash for the nearest trees. Let's risk it if we
run across any tracks!"

"And in the meantime, Herb will be wondering where we are, vowing
vengeance on us, and waiting for the kettle while we're waiting for the
moose," argued Garst. "It won't do, Chick. Give it up until later on. We
undertook the job of finding water, and we're bound to finish that
business first."

"If I wait until later on, I may wait forever," was the boy's gloomy
protest. "Tonight, when Herb is there, Neal and you will just sit on me,
and be afraid of my making a wrong sound, and spoiling the sport.

"And I _know_ we'll see moose-tracks before we get back to camp!" wound
up the young pleader passionately. "I've been working up to it all day.
I mean I've felt as if something--something fine--was going to happen,
which would make a ripping story for the Manchester fellows when we go
home. Do let me have one chance, Cy,--one fair and honest chance!"

There was such a tremen