“Most any man could,” smiled Bub. “Perhaps we could run the risk of a small blaze at that. I could pick out some sticks that would make practically no smoke. Now, keep quiet and we’ll see if we don’t run across a booby.” And he fingered his club eagerly.
Not many rods had been passed before Bub suddenly let his club fly and then darted after it with a low cry of triumph. He had knocked over a fine cock and by the time Stanley joined him he was finishing cleaning the bird.
“Now for a blaze, a very small one,” he rejoiced. “Hi! not the pine. I’ve told you once that pine is a smoker. Let me do it while you cut some green sticks, alders will do, for toasting forks.”
Under his careful manipulation a small bed of coals soon awaited their game. By the aid of several rocks he arranged the sticks so as to allow the divided bird to broil over the coals.
“We could hold them easier and cook the meat better,” criticised Stanley.
“We could if we were to be here,” agreed Bub. “But now that dinner is cooking we’ll move back into the woods and hide up. Then if any of the blood-thirsty rascals should creep up to the fire they wouldn’t find us at home. That clump of cedar bushes will do, only be
