"There doesn't seem to be anything here," he said.
"Oh, it's in there, all right," spoke Blake, confidently.
Hardly had the words left his lips than there was a scurry in one of the boxes, and a big, grayish animal ran out.
"There he goes!" cried Joe. "Pop him over! Get him!"
Blake did not answer, but he threw the rifle to his shoulder, took a quick aim, and pulled the trigger.
There was a sharp report, a little squeal, and then the animal, which had run out to seek new shelter, curled up near the edge of the raft—dead.
"There's your muskrat," said Blake, calmly. "Now let's eat him. We can't be squeamish."
"Muskrat? That's no muskrat!" yelled C. C. Piper, as he came running up to inquire the cause of the shot.
"What is it, then?" asked Blake.
"It's a 'possum, and a fine fat one, too!"
"Opossum!" repeated Blake. "Is it good to eat? That's what interests me now, more than what sort of an animal it is."
"Good to eat! I should say so!" cried the
