"Yes, it winds right up the mountain; but we'd better not keep to it, or some one will see us and take us back. We are going to be _real_ hunters and have adventures; so we must get lost, and find our way by the sun and the stars," answered Tommy, who had read so many Boys' Books his little head was a jumble of Texan Rangers, African Explorers, and Buffalo Bills; and he burned to outdo them all. "What will our mothers say if we really get lost?" asked Billy, always ready with a question. "Mine won't fuss. She lets me do what I like." That was true; for Tommy's poor mamma was tired of trying to keep the lively little fellow in order, and had got used to seeing him come out of all his scrapes without much harm. "Mine will be scared; she's always afraid I'm going to get hurt, so I'm careful. But I guess I'll risk it, and have some fun to tell about when we go home," said Billy, trudging after Captain Tommy, who always took the lead. These eleven-year-old boys were staying with their mothers at a farm-house up among the mountains; and having got tired of the tame bears, the big barn, the trout brook, the thirty colts at pasture, and the society of the few little girls and younger boys at the hotel near by, these fine fellows longed to break loose and "rough it in the bush," as the hunters did in their favorite stories. Away they went, deeper and deeper into the great forest that covered the side of the mountain. A pleasant place that August day; for it was cool and green, with many brooks splashing over the rocks, or lying in brown pools under the ferns. Squirrels chattered and raced in the tall pines; now and then a gray rabbit skipped out of sight among the brakes, or a strange bird flew by. Here and there blackberries grew in the open places, sassafras bushes were plentiful, and black-birch bark was ready for chewing. "Don't you call this nice?" asked Tommy, pausing at last in a little dell where a noisy brook came tumbling down the mountain side, and the pines sung overhead. "Yes; but I'm awful hungry. Let's rest and eat our lunch," said Billy, sitting down on a cushion of moss. "You always want to be stuffing and resting," answered sturdy Tommy, who liked to be moving all the time. He took the fishing-basket, which hung over his shoulder by a strap, and opened it carefully; for good Mrs. Mullin had packed a nice lunch of bread and butter, cake and peaches, with a bottle of milk, and two large pickles slipped in on the sly to please the boys. Tommy's face grew very sober as he looked in, for all he saw was a box of worms for bait and an old jacket. "By George! we've got the wrong basket. This is Mullin's, and he's gone off with our prog. Won't he be mad?" "Not as mad as I am. Why didn't you look? You are always in such a hurry to start. What _shall_ we do now without anything to eat?" whined Billy; for losing his lunch was a dreadful blow to him.