So they continued to sit there and fairly gorge themselves until Steve could hardly sigh, he was so full; but then all boys are built pretty much alike in that respect, so we can easily forgive Steve in particular. Cutting wood does put an edge on a naturally keen appetite that knows no limit save capacity; and Steve had many good qualities to more than balance his greediness. Later on when they lay around enjoying the sight of the crackling fire, and casting pleased glances toward the capacious khaki-colored waterproof tent that stood close by, they talked of many things that had some connection with their intended stay in the Pontico Hills country. "This sweet little stream with the ice-cold water is the Spruce Creek you've got marked on your map, of course, Jack?" suggested Toby. "Now how far away would you say Paradise River lies from our camp?" "Oh! not more than ten minutes' walk from here, I imagine, and in that direction," and Jack pointed as he spoke, showing that he already had his bearings pretty well fixed in his mind. "Why do you suppose those loggers ever made camp here when they expected to get their timber out through the river, and the lake below, perhaps shipping by way of Chester?" Toby asked this question as though he sought information, and if so, he appealed to the right person, for Jack was quick to reply. "Why, I understand that the ground lies pretty low down by the river, Toby; and a camp there might be in danger of being flooded out with the spring rise. You know Paradise River does get on a tear some years, and pours into our lake like mad. These lumbermen had long heads, and didn't mean to take chances of being drowned out of their camp. This higher ground served them better, just as it will us now. That's the only answer I can think of." "And it comes mighty near being the true one, I'm telling you, Toby," affirmed Steve, positively. "I'm right glad we've been wise enough to look out for that sort of thing. Huh! had one nasty experience of being flooded in a camp, where we had to wade up to our necks in the stream that grew in a night, for the little island was all under water. No more of that sort of thing for this chicken, thank you." They talked until all of them began to grow sleepy. Then the horse was looked after for the last time, and found to be lying down, well satisfied with the feed of oats and sweet grass that had made up his supper. Inside the tent there was plenty of room, for the three intending sleepers. Apparently Mr. Whitlatch, the photographer, carried quite a lot of paraphernalia with him when going off on his periodical excursions, taking pictures of Nature as found in the vicinity of Chester; and meant to have an abundance of room in which to keep his camera and other traps safe from the heavy rainfalls that frequently deluged that section of country.