“Anyhow, it doesn’t thin out the game,” asserted Will stoutly.

Jerry stopped short to turn a look of pity on his comrade.

“Think how hungry we’d all go out in camp if we depended on your blessed old box for supper,” he suggested witheringly.

“All very true,” remarked Frank as they reached the other motorcycles, and prepared to continue their interrupted journey to the camp of the trapper; “which is proof of what I say, that many men, many minds.  There’s room for all kinds in a party.”

“Yes; and nobody likes to look over my prints more than Jerry,” grumbled Will, feeling quite offended.

“Don’t pay any attention to him.  He doesn’t mean anything by it.  You know how he likes to joke every one.  Now, we’re off again, boys.”

Once more they made their way along the rough road.  The sight of those two unfortunates sprawling upon the ground was a lesson, warning the riders against trying for speed under such conditions, so they made haste slowly.

Upon arriving at the cabin home of the trapper they surprised him very much; and when Jesse Wilcox learned the object of their visit he was more pleased than ever.

They spent some hours with him, and even assisted in getting the evening meal.  From their long experience now the boys had become quite proficient in this line, and were able to show old Jesse quite a few tricks that delighted him.

With the campfire blazing merrily, they ate supper alongside his rough cabin home.  Of course, they fairly deluged him with questions about the habits of the big game of the West, which he answered to the best of his ability.

“Wait till we get out with Martin Mabie, fellows.  He’s on the ground, and can set us straight.  Jesse has been trapping these little animals around here so long now he’s a back number,” joked Jerry, at which the trapper laughed, for he was very fond of these four lads, and nothing they said annoyed him.

As they had planned, the run home was made by moonlight.  This necessitated that they walk with their machines until the good road was gained, below the lumber camp.

“I wonder whether those two tramps hit the high places, and got out of this neighborhood for keeps?” Bluff was saying, after they had mounted and were bowling along merrily toward town.

“The chances are that way.  That tramp printer must be a bad sort of chap, it seems to me, and if Hank keeps along in his society I can see his finish,” answered Jerry over his shoulder.

They had not made more than a mile when once more Frank gave a quick toot of his horn that brought the little procession up in a hurry.

“What ails us now?” demanded Bluff.

“Frank’s bending over something in the road, as sure as you live!” called Will.

“Tell me about that, will you!  Seems as if our lively times haven’t stopped yet.  It never rains but it pours, fellows.  Hi!  Frank, what’s the matter?  Say!  Would you believe it?  There’s a man lying in the road!”