"Two or three loud blasts on this bugle would carry a long way, and you fellows would know what I wanted," finished Hazelton. "All right, then, I'll go," said Greg, his face beaming. "We've trout flies in plenty, you know," Dick went on, "but we've only two poles that are suited to trouting, so we'll have to take turns." "You may keep one pole all the time. Dick," suggested Darry. "Greg and I can take turns with the other pole." "That will hardly be fair to you two," replied Dick, with a shake of his head. "It wouldn't be fair to the whole crowd to take your pole away from you any part of the time," retorted Greg. "Remember, Dick, you are the expert trout fisherman of the party, and all the fellows want some more trout. We'll never forget those of last night." Greg and Hazelton now had breakfast ready. It was eaten rather hastily, after which all hands fell to setting things to rights. "Here, come out of the tent," called Hazelton, as Dick started inside to use a broom there. "You fellows are the providers, and I can do the little housework that's left to do." So Dick, Dave and Greg brought out their long-legged rubber boots and got into them with little delay. Then there came a sorting of flies, and the rigging of lines and reels. Within a few minutes the three were ready to start out. As they went up the stream Dick cut and trimmed two crotched sticks on which to string the fish they might catch. "That looks almost boastful," chuckled Dave. "It looks as though we thought it a cinch that we're going to get a lot of trout." "It all depends on us," Prescott rejoined. "The brook is simply full of trout, that we can catch if we display the requisite amount of skill. The mystery to me is that this brook has escaped the knowledge of the trout fishermen in Gridley. Not even Mr. Morton ever heard of this stream." "Well, Mr. Morton can't be expected to know everything," argued Greg. "He's already the most capable sub-master in Gridley High School and the finest coach the Gridley football squad ever had." "He's also an A No.1 trout fisherman," Dick went on. "Fellows, we mustn't tell everyone about this trout stream, but Mr. Morton is such an all around fine fellow that I think we owe it to him to tell him, when we see him, just how to reach this brook." "If the real estate men of Gridley knew of this place," laughed Greg, "they'd buy up the ground around here and then sell bungalows at fancy prices to amateur fishermen of means." "And then the brook would soon cease to be a trout stream," retorted young Prescott. "A large proportion of the trout would be caught within a few days, and the rest of 'em scared away to safer breeding grounds. The only way to keep a trout stream in working order is not to let many people know about it. It sounds selfish, but it's good sportsmanship." Dick soon halted, eyeing a pool so deep that its bottom could not be seen.