That breakfast was, in truth, one not to be soon forgotten. Such appetites as those boys had, whetted and sharpened by bounding health and the tonic of the great, clean, unpolluted outdoor world! It was the tempting sight and delightful odor of trout frying in a pan of deep fat that really put the feather edge on their hunger. Fortunately, they had bread enough, and, even though Carl Duckelstein had not appeared with milk for their coffee, never in the memory of one there had food tasted so delicious. “Um-mum!” mumbled Crane, his mouth full. “I cal’lated I’d et fish before, but, by Jinks! I was mistook; this is the fust time. Stoney, either yeou’re a rip tearin’ cook, or them’s the sweetest trout that ever swum.” “I opine Ben is sure some cook,” said Grant; “but, likewise, I reckon these trout must be pretty good.” “They ought to be,” grinned Springer, forking another fish on to his tin plate. “We had to fuf-fight for ’em. That is, Rod did.” “It wasn’t really a fight,” said the Texan. “I wonder if we’ll hear anything more from James Simpson.” “Don’t believe so,” said Phil. “It’s my opinion he got enough to satisfy him. What’s the matter, Sleuthy? You’re yawning. Didn’t you sus-sleep well last night?” “Bah!” mocked Piper. “You know I didn’t sus-sus-sleep well. I feel like a fool this morning.” “Sort of a natteral feelin’, hey?” laughed Crane unsympathetically. “Go to the ant, thou sluggard,” put in Stone, by way of a thrust. “I really don’t wonder that you shot a hole in that old sleeping bag, Pipe, for it certainly was alive.” “Is it possible,” said Grant, “that you failed to acquire wisdom from the owl last night? If you had listened attentively to its ‘frightful voice’ I’m sure the creature would have told you _who’s who_ around here.” “Yah! I s’pose you think you’re funny, the whole of you!” rasped Piper, whose sense of humor, if he had any, was doubly dulled by the fact that the joke was on him. “I s’pose you’ve got to have somebody to pick on, but don’t rub it in too hard. That’s all I’ve got to say: don’t rub it in too hard. Many a man, driven desperate by similar treatment, has risen in his wrath and given his torturers just cause to rue their rashness.” “Look aout for Sleuthy,” warned Crane. “Don’t forget that we’re in the land of the bloodthirsty Wampanoags, and if we drive him to desperation mebbe he’ll turn renegade and betray us into the hands of murderous redskins.” “That,” observed the Texan soberly, “would be right bad for us. I know,” he added reminiscently, “for didn’t I have an experience with painted Indians shortly after coming to Oakdale? Why, they even tried to burn me to the stake.” “And by sus-so doing,” declared Springer, “they made a mistake, as they afterwards found out. I ought to know, for I was one of those redskins.” Crane breathed a sigh, rubbed his hand over his stomach and gazed regretfully at the remnants of the fried fish.