"It never occurred to me to feel glad about Ripley," muttered Tom dryly.

"I mean, I'm glad that he has gone to Canada with his father this summer," d.i.c.k continued. "We shan't have a lot of things happening all the time, as we did last summer. Rip was a hoodoo to us last summer. This year we know that he's too far away to be troublesome."

"It will seem a bit strange, at first," a.s.sented Reade, "to return to our camp and not discover that, while we were away, Rip had been along and slashed the tent to ribbons, or committed some other atrocious act."

"Let's not crow until we're out of the woods," suggested Darrin.

"Rip might come back from Canada, you know."

"He's sure to, if the Canadians find out the kind of a chap that he is," Danny Grin declared solemnly.

"Come here, you fellows," summoned d.i.c.k, "and hold a council of war over the supplies, to decide what we'll have for supper."

"I thought the steak was to be the main item," Tom rejoined.

"With no ice it won't keep until morning."

"What do you want to eat with the steak?" asked d.i.c.k briskly.

The council---of six---quickly decided on the items of the meal.

Harry, catching up two buckets, started to the nearest spring for water. Dave, with the coffee-mill between his knees, started to grind. d.i.c.k, with an old knife, began to cut the steak up into suitably sized pieces. Greg started a fire in one of the stove s.p.a.ces,

Dan bringing more firewood. A task was at hand for each of them.

When the first fire was ready an old grate was placed over it.

On this the pieces of steak were arranged. Dave was boiling coffee on another grate over the second fire.

"Wood is mighty scarce around here," complained Harry.

d.i.c.k glanced about him. No one was immediately busy.

"All scatter!" called Prescott. "Go in different directions.

Each fellow bring back an armful of dry wood. Hustle!"

d.i.c.k himself was the first to return, about three minutes later.

He came in fast, for he expected that the steak would be ready to remove from the grate.

Long before he reached the stoves, however, d.i.c.k dropped his wood and his lower jaw simultaneously.

"Hurry up, fellows!" he called hoa.r.s.ely. "Hurry and see what has happened!"

That note of real distress in his voice caused the others to come running.

"Well, if you haven't an appet.i.te!" gasped Tom. "To go and eat all the steak yourself!"

"I didn't eat any of it," d.i.c.k retorted grimly. "From the looks of things none of the rest of us will eat any of it, either."

"A dog got it, or some wild animal!" guessed Greg.

"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."

"d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k, 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 d.i.c.k.

"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,"

d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k.

"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. d.i.c.k, 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 d.i.c.k.

"It will taste like it, too," predicted Reade. "Come on, now!"

Potatoes were quickly made ready. Tom began to chop the mixture, while Prescott got out one of the frying pans.

"Get out the lard," urged Tom. "Let's have some of this stuff cooking by the time that the fellows come in. It will console them a bit."