g.

"No one animal could carry off four pieces of steak in his mouth
at a time," Prescott answered, thinking fast. "And the tin plate
I left here has gone with the meat. Animals don't lug off tin
plates."

"Dick and I will stay behind to watch and take account of stock,"
Tom called. "The rest of you scatter through the woods and try
to come up with the thief. If any fellow comes upon him, give
a whoop, and the rest of us will hurry along."

The four scouts went off on the run.

"Anything else missing?" asked Reade, as Dick looked among the
supplies.

"Yes," Prescott raged; "one of the bottles of Worcestshire sauce
and two of the tins of corn. Oh, it's a two-legged thief that
has spoiled our supper!"

"Perhaps you were too sure about Rip being off in Canada," grinned
Reade.

"Fred Ripley would hardly steal food," Prescott retorted. "Rip
is seldom really hungry. Tom, I'd give a dollar to know just
who was hanging around this camp."

"I'd give two dollars to know," snapped Reade, "but I'd take the
money from the camp treasury."

"Queer that the fellow didn't take the potatoes, too," mused Dick,
turning back to the stove.

"The potatoes weren't done," suggested Reade wisely, "and probably
our visitor didn't think it wise to wait until they were. The
hulled corn will serve his purpose very well, though."

"It was a mean trick to play on us," quivered Dick.

"Of course it was---unless the thief were really very hungry,"
answered Tom.

"In that case, I don't believe I'd blame the fellow so much,"
Dick admitted. "But now, what are we going to have for supper?"

"I've an inspiration," Tom declared, as he thrust a fork into
some of the potatoes in the pot. "These potatoes will be done
in two or three minutes more. Open three tins of the corned beef."

"Tinned corned beef isn't so much of an inspiration, as inspirations
go," laughed Dick.

"Open the three tins," Tom insisted. "Here are the onions. I'll
peel a few---and do the weeping for the whole camp."

Tom was busy at once. Dick, after watching his friend start,
caught something of the spirit of quick work.

"Dump the meat into this chopping bowl," Tom continued, as he
hastily dropped peeled onion after onion into the wooden bowl.
"Now, get the potatoes off the fire, and we'll drain and peel
'em."

This work was quickly under way.

"Do you see what the poem is to be?" grinned Reade.

"Looks like corned beef hash," smiled Dick.

"It