to come back again," Lub pursued.

"Better hurry and get that strainer fixed on the top of our chimney,
Lub," advised Ethan, a little maliciously; "first a bear, and the next
thing to drop down on us might be a real man."

"Oh! leave that to me," the other assured him; "I haven't quite figured
it out in my mind just how I'll fix it, but after lunch I'll get busy.
And believe me, when the Fenwick screen is applied, not even a 'possum
or a squirrel can invade our cabin home. It'll be impervious to man or
beast."

"Better get out a patent right away on the thing then, Lub," he was
advised by the scoffing Ethan, "or some wise duck will be stealing the
idea from you."

"Where's X-Ray?" asked Phil, suddenly noticing that the fourth member of
the camping expedition was missing.

Ethan looked at Lub, inquiringly.

"You see I was so busy reading the signs of that trail I never once
thought a thing about any one else. Lub, you must have seen where he
went, didn't you?"

"Last I saw of him he was down on the lake shore," replied the other.
"He had his fishing rod along, and I understood him to say he meant to
look for some grasshoppers or crickets or something for bait, because he
felt trout hungry."

"X-Ray has a weakness for fish, you know," Ethan declared. "He said he'd
be the boss fisherman of the bunch while we were up here, and even dared
me to take him up, the one to win who could show the greatest number,
biggest variety, and the heaviest fish of all that were taken. I think
I'll go him, if I can find time to bother."

"And I'll encourage you both to the limit," chuckled Lub; "because that
means we're bound to have all the fine trout we can eat while we're
here. May the best man win. I know how to cook 'em to beat the band, by
rolling each trout in cracker crumbs, and then frying in hot grease from
fat salt pork. Makes my mouth fairly water just to mention it."

"We won't forget that, Lub," Ethan told him; "and you can consider that
you're hereby appointed the official fish frying man of the lot. For if
there's anything I hate to cook it's fish. Eating's another story, and I
always try to do my duty there."

"I thought I heard some one call out then," said Lub, looking around
him.

"Must have been a crow cawing, or a gray squirrel barking," suggested
Ethan.

They listened for a dozen seconds, but heard nothing.

"I reckon I was mistaken about it," admitted Lub, finally; "only I
wondered if X-Ray could ha