“I volunteer for the job!” cried Dol instantly, with the light of some sudden idea shining like a sunburst in his face.

“You don’t budge a step, old man, unless I go with you,” said Cyrus.  “Not much!  I don’t want to patrol the forests like a lunatic for five mortal hours in search of you, and then find you roasting your shins by some other fellow’s camp-fire.  One little hide-and-seek game of that kind was enough.”

“Well! the fact that I did bring up by Doc’s camp-fire shows that I am able to take care of myself.  If I get into scrapes, I can wriggle out 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!”