“Not a bad idea, so slow up until the other boys arrive.  They may hardly feel like doing anything, now that we happen along.”

“I’d feel sure they wouldn’t if we could only coax Bluff to exhibit that awful pump-gun of his.  Talk about your scorchers, I think Andy would run a mile—­I know I would if I thought the murderous thing was going to be turned on me,” growled Jerry, who, as the reader must already have noticed, was a very persistent fellow, and hard to convince, especially when on his favorite subject of a fair deal for every living creature.

They moderated their speed, and passed the place where the hostile group stood, with two riders on either side of the supply wagon.

Then it was seen that Andy and his associates had impressed a hungry-looking, gaunt mule into their service, the said animal being fairly loaded down with an assortment of the most astonishing articles ever dreamed of in the mind of would-be campers.

Under the circumstances, with Erastus and Toby to help guard the camp outfit, Andy’s crowd did not dare lift a hostile hand; but they took especial pains to hoot at the little company as it wheeled past, making more or less sarcastic remarks, and yet being careful not to go too far.

The truth was, they did not wholly like the looks of the big colored man who sat there with old Toby, and of whose abilities as a fighter they happened to know something about.

When the rival campers had been left far behind, the boys considered it safe to part company with the supply train, and dash off.

“We’ve got lots to do, locating on a good campsite, remember, fellows; those sort of things don’t grow on every bush, I tell you; so, come along,” and Frank, as he spoke, let out another kink, the popping grew more furious, and away he shot up the road in a little cloud of dust, with Jerry at his rear, ready to take the lead as soon as there was any necessity for choosing at the forks.

Ten miles is a mere “flea-bite,” as Bluff Masters said, when a good, lively motor-cycle “takes the bit in its teeth,” and it seemed as though they had hardly more than got well started before the junction was reached, where Jerry swung ahead, and the rest trailed after him.

The pace had to be more moderate after this, for the going was not so even; but, nevertheless, they made fair time, and finally swung around at the head of the lake, where the logging camp was situated.

It was early in the season, but there were some timber cutters at work in the woods near-by, and a greasy man-cook stood in the doorway of the long log cabin where the gang put up throughout the winter, while conducting their operations of leveling the forest, or, at least, robbing it of all the spruce for the pulp mill over at Bedington.

Jerry held up at the lumber camp, for he wished to ask a few questions of the cook, who was a man he happened to know in a small way, though never particularly fancying Jock Stovers.