Malcolm pointed out the “stove,” a hollow between three big ragged boulders, already blackened by former fires, and Jelly set to work to pile the fuel there. The others climbed cautiously down the ledge and stumbled and scrambled their way to the tree line. Once there, fuel was plentiful, but it was no easy task to make the ascent again with one’s arms piled with splintered branches. They made two trips, however, and assembled a fine big pile of wood on the surface of the ledge. After that they laid themselves down flat on their backs and puffed and panted like three steam-engines. The fire was crackling and Jelly was feeding it assiduously. The sparks, driven by the wind, went flying over the edge of the ledge in a shower of orange and red.

“Have a look at this, will you, Malcolm,” called Jelly. “I guess I’ve got enough coals for you now.”

Malcolm pronounced the fire about ready for operations, and gave his attention to the provisions. There was steak in two big slices, plenty of potatoes for roasting, buttered rolls and a full dozen and a half of doughnuts. There was ground coffee and an egg for clearing it, and salt and pepper, sugar and condensed milk. The utensils included coffee-pot, frying-pan, tin plates and cups, forks, knives and spoons. Rob viewed the display approvingly.

“Looks good to me,” he said. “But your frying-pan isn’t big enough, Mal.”

“Well, I didn’t want to bother with a very large one. This will do all right. We can cook one slice at a time. Where’s the coffee-pot? Throw it over, will you? I’ll start the coffee first, I guess. I’ll—”

Malcolm stopped suddenly while an expression of utter dismay came into his face.

“What’s the trouble?” asked Evan. Malcolm settled back on the ground and stared blankly at the coffee-pot.

“I—we—”

“Out with it. What did we forget to bring along?”

“We forgot to bring any water,” murmured Malcolm.

“By Jove!” said Evan.

“What do you think of that?” muttered Rob disgustedly. The three looked at each other blankly. Finally,

“How far is it to the spring?” asked Evan.

“It’s almost half-way down the hill,” answered Malcolm.

“Thunder!”

“I don’t see how you came to forget it,” exclaimed Rob.

“I didn’t forget it any more than you did,” Malcolm defended.

“Oh, let’s do without coffee,” said Evan.

“I guess we’ll have to,” Malcolm answered. “I don’t believe any of us want to make the trip down there.”

“I’m plumb sure I don’t,” growled Rob. “But we’ve simply got to have something to drink. Hang it, I’m thirsty now! I didn’t realize it until I found there was no water.”

Jelly had joined them in time to learn the catastrophe.

“I’ll go down,” he said cheerfully. “I know where the spring is; been there twice.”

The others viewed him doubtfully, and then each other. Finally Rob shook his head.

“That’s nice of you, Jelly,” he said, “but you’d die if you climbed half-way up here again. I’ll go down myself.”

“No, I will,” said Malcolm. “After all, it was more my fault than any one else’s.”

“I’d be glad to go if I knew where the spring was,” said Evan. “Perhaps you can tell me so I can find it.” But Rob shook his head again.

“We couldn’t. I’ll go down. I don’t mind. You go ahead with dinner, Mal. I’ll be back as soon as I can, but I guess it will take me a half-hour.”

“Really,” protested Jelly, “I’d like to go. It won’t hurt me a bit if I take my time coming back. And besides, I want to get my weight down. Hopkins says I’m too fat for football. Where’s the can?”

“Haven’t any; you’ll have to take the coffee-pot. Are you sure you don’t mind?” asked Malcolm anxiously.

“Sure. I’d rather like it. Let me go, won’t you, Rob?”

“Why, yes, if you want to. But you take it slow coming back, Jelly; hear?”

Jelly promised, seized the coffee-pot and disappeared over the edge. The others watched him until he had reached the woods. There he turned and waved the pot at them cheerfully. The next moment he was out of sight.

“He’s a good little dub,” said Rob gratefully. “I suppose I ought to have done it myself, though.”

“It won’t hurt him,” said Malcolm. “And it will take some fat off, I guess. Well, I suppose I might as well get the potatoes in.”

“Hello,” exclaimed Rob, “what’s happened to the wind?”

“That’s so; it’s quit, hasn’t it?” Evan looked down into the valley. “And it’s getting foggy. Look over there toward the bay, Rob.”

“I should say so! I bet it will rain before we get back.”

“Hope it will hold off until we’ve had dinner,” observed Malcolm. “I don’t fancy sitting up here in a rain with nothing over us.”

“I don’t believe that means rain,” said Evan. “It’s just fog. The wind has stopped and it’s sort of thickening up.”

“You talk like a weather bureau,” laughed Rob. “Anything I can do to aid the chef, Mal?”

“Not a thing. These potatoes will want a half-hour at least, I guess. Meanwhile we might as well take it easy.” He found a niche in the rocks and settled himself into it with a sigh of content. The others followed his example. Now and then Malcolm arose and added more fuel to the fire, at the bottom of which, in a bed of glowing gray ashes, the potatoes were hidden. They talked desultorily. It was very comfortable lying there and watching the fire. Now that the wind had died down it was quite warm, although there was a perceptible dampness in the air. At the end of a half-hour Malcolm bestirred himself. Taking a stick and shielding his face with his cap he poked around in the ashes until he had brought to view one of the potatoes. He coaxed it away from the fire and then broke it open.

“How is it?” asked Rob lazily.

“Pretty nearly done,” was the answer. “I’ll start the steak, I guess.” He raked some live coals to the edge of the fire, placed one of the slices of steak in the pan, sprinkled it with salt and pepper and placed the pan on the coals. Then he drew more coals around it and set about sharpening a two-foot stick.

“What’s that for?” asked Evan.

“To turn the meat with,” was the reply. “Think I want to singe my hair off?”

“Isn’t he the haughty chef?” murmured Rob. “Seems to me it’s about time Jelly was getting back.”

Evan arose and walked to the edge of the rock.

“See him?” asked Malcolm.

“N—no, but it’s so foggy that I can’t even see the trees,” Evan replied. “Yes, I do, though. Here he comes. Hello, Jelly!”

“Hello!”

“Did you get it?”

“Yep. Would you mind coming down and getting it, please? I don’t believe I’ll ever climb up the rock without spilling it.”

“All right.” Evan scrambled down and met Jelly at the foot of the ledge and relieved him of his burden.

“You wouldn’t think a quart of water could be so heavy,” panted Jelly. “You see, you have to hold it like this or it runs out the spout. That makes it awkward, doesn’t it?”

“Decidedly,” answered Evan. “I don’t know whether I can get it up there myself without losing most of it.”

But he did finally, and a minute or two later the coffee was “on the stove.” Jelly was pretty well fagged out and they made him lie down and rest. From the frying-pan came a heartening sizzle and, now and then, a fragrant whiff.

“May I cook my chops next?” asked Jelly.

“You may not,” Malcolm replied. “You just lie there on your silly back. I’ll cook them for you. You can start in on the steak, though, while they’re frying. Wonder if those potatoes are ready to come out.”

“Well, if I’d been in there as long as they have,” said Evan, “I’m sure I’d be ready to come out! Want me to help you?”

“Yes, will you? Get a long stick and poke around for them. But don’t get too near the coffee-pot, whatever you do!”

“No, Evan, if you upset that coffee-pot we will descend upon you and rend you limb from limb,” threatened Rob. “I’m so thirsty now that I could drink suds. Are these tin cups all the same size, Mal?”

“Of course. Why?”

“I was going to pick out the biggest one,” sighed Rob. “How are the potatoes, Evan?”

“All right, I guess. They look—er—a trifle well-done, but I suppose they’re all right inside. Want to see one?”

Rob deftly caught the blackened object that Evan tossed him but didn’t hold it long in his hand. “Wow!” he exclaimed. “Want to kill me?”

“Get your plates!” said Malcolm. “Dinner’s ready!”