“I hope he has told you what we are to fetch along.  We’ve done some hunting, fellows, in our time, but that sort of thing, with big game in prospect, calls for heavier gear.  None of your repeating shotguns need apply this trip, Bluff, you understand?”

Jerry could never become wholly reconciled to the modern gun Bluff owned.  He professed to be such a clean sportsman that he always believed in giving the game a chance, and declared it to be next door to murder to have six shots in hand when hunting birds.  With big game, it was all right, because then a fellow’s life might often be in danger.

“Oh, Martin Mabie has written quite a long letter.  He seems to be an educated man, and not at all the brand we figured out from hearing Jesse talk about him.  Boys, we can now lay our plans, and make a start inside of a week,” declared Frank.

“Isn’t it just great?  Did ever a set of grads get such a chance for fun as this?”

“I don’t believe they ever did, or ever will, Bluff.  And our folks have been mighty good to give us this glorious opportunity to enjoy an outing such as we’ve hankered after for a year, remember that, fellows,” remarked Frank seriously.

“You can just wager that I make it a point to let the pater know my sentiments.  He’s the best dad going, and I mean to make him proud of me some day.  But tell us more about it, Frank.  Where is Martin Mabie to meet us, and what does he tell us to fetch along?”

“I’m not going to say another word, Jerry, until we get to the clubhouse, when every one of you can have a chance to read his letter,” remarked Frank as he prepared to cast off and throw his sails to the breeze again.

“A week, did you say?  Oh! what a long time to wait!” groaned Bluff.

“Still, there are lots of things to be done.  I think it may be necessary for one of us to run down to the city to lay in some things in the way of ammunition, and a few articles of clothing for mountain wear.”

“Then we’ll appoint you as a committee of one to see to such traps, Frank,” called Jerry as the other shot away with the wind, his canoe gliding over the little wavelets like a phantom craft.

Frank smiled.  It was certainly nice to know that his chums felt such sincere confidence in him at all times.  There was nothing he would not do to give them pleasure.

So the three cedar boats were soon heading for the clubhouse, and while they are thus employed it might be well for us to understand just who these chums were, and what they had been doing in the past to make them such firm friends.

Frank was from Maine, but his father, a banker, had come to Centerville a few years back; and among all the boys attending the Academy Frank had soon picked out as his especial friends these three, Will Milton, Jerry Wallingford and Bluff Masters.

After the Rod, Gun and Camera Club had been formed they had taken their first outing, using their motorcycles to reach the woods beyond the head of the lake.  What befell them on this occasion has been told in the first volume of this series, called “The Outdoor Chums; or, The First Tour of the Rod, Gun and Camera Club.”