“Not the slightest. He and I started out together but he left me about three o’clock and went down toward the river. We were fishing that stream that comes down near the fork of the roads, you know; where we were the first day. That’s about half a mile further, but I don’t see why Chub has to go that far unless he can’t find his old pool any other way. Here’s the turn. Careful, or he may see us.” It was an abrupt curve and they went very slowly and softly until they could see the stretch of road ahead. It was quite deserted! “Shucks!” said Roy. “He’s got away from us, after all. Come on!” They broke into a trot and hurried along, looking sharply to left and to right as they ran. A moment or two later there was a rustling in the woods near the turn of the road and Chub came cautiously out, a broad smile on his face. Remaining in concealment, he watched his pursuers until another turn of the road hid them. Then he cut a branch from a small tree, sharpened one end of it, slit the other, and stuck it in the middle of the road. Searching his pockets he, at length, brought forth a crumpled piece of paper. Smoothing it out, he traced a single word on it and stuck it in the cleft of the stick. Then, chuckling aloud, he crossed the road and disappeared into the woods on the lower side. Some two hours later Roy and Dick came trudging back. They had five trout between them, but they were all small ones. They were very hungry and somewhat tired, and Roy almost walked into the stick in the road before he saw the piece of paper. When he had read it he laughed and handed it to Dick. “‘Stung!’” read Dick. He grinned, crumpled it up, and tossed it aside, and they went on for a moment without a word. Then, “You have to get up pretty early to get ahead of Chub,” said Roy, admiringly. “Get up early!” quoth Dick. “You have to stay up all night!” They trudged on home to the camp and dinner. Meanwhile Chub was having hard luck. Fully a mile away, where a stream rushed down a hill and paused for a while in a broad black pool lined with rocks and alders, he had been fishing diligently for over an hour with no success. He had tried almost every one of his brand-new assortment of flies, but, to use his own expression, he hadn’t even got a bid. It was getting along toward dinner-time, as his hunger emphatically informed him, and he recollected his agreement with regret. It wasn’t that he so much disliked to wash the dishes for once--although as a matter of principle he always schemed to avoid that task--but he hated to have Roy and Dick crow over him. And after the way in which he had fooled them that morning, he had no doubt but that they would crow long and loud!