Whack—"Nine-hundred-en-ten;" whack—"nine-hundred-en-'leven," whack, "Zare ees almoost une tousan trees what you boys mus' cut awraty. What you zink of zat?" said Paul Nez, the big French-Canadian lumber cruiser, as he hacked a blaze into a six-inch poplar and left his short hatchet wedged fast while he felt through his pockets for a handkerchief.

"Et will take you all ze Wintair for ze work mebbe, huh?" he continued, as he blew his nose with a loud blast.

"George! I shouldn't wonder if it would take us a couple of months at least," said Bruce Clifford as he sat down upon a stump and pushed his hat back upon his head.

"Yes, snow will be thick through here when we finally finish, I guess," added Jiminy Gordon, surveying the forest.

"Well, the Doctair Lyman he say he not such great rush," smiled the Canadian. Then he paused and seemed to search into the very heart of the wood with his coal black eyes, and all this time he kept sniffing the air.

"Camp 'round here sure. One no good camp too, mebby," said he finally as he pointed toward the west.

"I thought I smelled the smoke of a camp fire," said Bruce.

"So did I," added Jiminy.

"I smell heem smoke, I smell heem scraps, too. No good camp, no know woods. Mebby heem get seek. Come on. We all through now. We find 'em wood road now soon. Doctair Lyman heem line run cross by that blaze over tair; you see heem, huh? Heem end of Doctair Lyman's wood."

"So that's the line, eh? Well, twenty-five acres of woods is a lot of territory, isn't it, Bruce?" said Jimmy, as he picked up his scout hatchet and slipped into his belt.

The Canadian wrenched his hatchet free from the poplar and started swinging westward between the trees and the two Quarry Troop scouts fell in behind him in single file. And as they walked on the smell of the camp lire, and the tainted odor that emanates from a camp's garbage dump grew stronger to their nostrils.

Then presently the camp itself loomed up at the very side of the wood road for which the Canadian lumberman was headed.

A single wall tent of large proportions was the most conspicuous thing about the place. This had its flaps pinned back and in the doorway, reclining on a collapsible canvas camp chair with a bandage-swathed foot propped up on a soap box sat one of the occupants.

The woodsman and the two Quarry Scouts needed only a glance at the little clearing to know that those who had built it here knew nothing at all about the woods and were, moreover, very disorderly by nature. Blankets lay in a confused heap among leaves and twigs instead of being hung up to dry; empty cans, paste board boxes and scraps of paper littered the place; fire burned entirely too near a dry brush pile and there was no stone fireplace to hold it in check; loose papers were scattered about and to make matters even worse, the pots and pans that had been used to cook the last meal lay on the ground unwashed.

It was indeed a bungle of a camp but if the single occupant realized it he did not seem to care a whit for he sat serenely in the doorway of the tent so interested in a book that he did not hear Paul Nez and his young companions approaching.

"'Allo, you get heem broke foot, mebby?" said Paul with a grin as he moved toward the tent.

The camper looked up with a start, and then smiled. "Yes, I twisted my right ankle yesterday by falling down a gully, and ouch—don't make me move 'cause it hurts like sin. Glad it isn't sprained though. It ought to be well in four or five days. Anything you want? Anything we can do for you? If there is, go ahead and do it yourself. The rest of the fellows are off partridge hunting. What do you want, provisions, matches? I'll tell you where they are and you can help yourself. I can't move."

"We don't want heem nothin'. We go out of woods now right off, down wood road. Why you don't fix heem camp up good? Look um fire—poor, bad, very worse. Some day heem catch bush so, leaves mebby, and then heem timber fire. Burn out heem woods. Look um pans, pots, dirty dishes. Not good for smell. Not good for men in heem woods. Blankets, look um all get lousy. Not very good camp, heem," said the Canadian, plainly showing his disgust at the general disorder about the place.

"I know it, old chap. It looks like the sloppiest kind of a place to me, but then I'm not supposed to know anything about camps and woods. I come from Boston, you see. The other fellows are the campers. They are Vermonters, from St. Cloud City," said the man in the doorway sarcastically.

"Huh, a deuced of a lot they know about the woods and camping," said
Bruce in disgust as he surveyed the scene.

"They know more about keeping a pig sty," said Jiminy Gordon as he picked up the blankets and, shaking them free of the dust, hung them onto the branch of a nearby hemlock.

"Thanks, old chap, those blankets on the ground worried me a lot. And if you don't mind, will you scrape up a few of those papers? Jack and Bart (they are the fellows who are camping with me) run off every morning and leave a mess like that behind. They are off hunting most of the day and here I have to sit like a blooming invalid until they come back. But I don't mind so long as I have a good book. Thanks, that looks much better, doesn't it? I'm much obliged to you fellows—ah—er, what're your names anyway—mine's Dave—Dave Connors."

The two scouts introduced themselves and then because Paul Nez had started down the wood road they waved farewell to the camper with the injured foot and hustled to catch up to the timber cruiser.

"When you come into heem woods for cut um down?" asked the Canadian when the scouts finally caught up with him.

"Why we are going to start cutting right away," said Bruce. "You see we get a fall vacation and that will help a lot. School closes tomorrow and remains closed until next Monday. The whole troop is coming up to Long Lake tomorrow afternoon after school closes, to start a camp and remain here the whole week. Then after that we are going to come up every Friday night and work all day Saturday until our contract is completed and we have enough lumber to build our log camp." They swung along down the wood toward Long Lake where they met the main highway that led back toward Woodbridge and Scout Headquarters.

The members of the Quarry Troop of Woodbridge had taken upon themselves a real contract. Indeed they felt that they had suddenly all become genuine business men as a result of a bargain they had made with the leading physician of the village, for you see their little stroke of dickering had put them in the way of securing material for a real log cabin on the shores of Long Lake, a site for the cabin, and a chance to make a little money for the troop treasury besides. It had come about this way.

Mr. Ford, the Assistant Scoutmaster of the Quarry Troop, had learned from Dr. Lyman that he intended to cut a great deal of the standing timber on his tract of twenty-five acres bordering the lake. This he intended to dispose of as pulp wood, the only purpose it was really good for. Mr. Ford had imparted this information to Bruce Clifford and Jiminy Gordon that same evening and it was not long before the leader of the Owl Patrol and his chum had discovered the possibilities of a business deal.

Accordingly after the next meeting the two lads visited Dr. Lyman and made him a proposition to the effect that the scouts would cut his pulp wood and take their pay in trees. These trees, the lads explained, were to be felled and used to construct a log cabin on the lake shore. As part of the bargain they asked for permission to use a section of Dr. Lyman's land that bordered the lake as a site for their camp.

The plan struck the physician as being capital and he was particularly pleased to find that the boys were eager to earn their pleasure with good hard work. In fact he was so pleased that he made a bargain whereby the boys would get one cord of wood in every four cut and they could have their wood either in trees or in cord wood lengths, just as they desired. Under this arrangement it was quite apparent that the boys would have more than enough lumber to build their log cabin and Dr. Lyman told them that he would buy whatever extra wood fell to their share and pay for it at the market price of pulp wood.

Moreover, to help the boys, the physician arranged to have Paul Nez, an experienced timber cruiser, traverse the woods, blazing each tree of the proper pulp wood species and size thus giving the boys a clear idea of what timber to cut and what to leave standing. And Bruce and Jiminy were asked to accompany him so that they might become familiar with the forest.

Tramping the length and breadth of twenty-five acres of wood land, blazing every tree between six and eight inches, was not the easiest sort of work the scouts had ever undertaken, and when they finally arrived at Woodbridge at four o'clock in the afternoon they were "plum tuckered," to quote Jiminy.

However, a brief rest and a hearty evening meal put them in fine shape once more and they were able to get to the troop headquarters betimes that evening, for a meeting had been called at which plans were to be laid for the start of the lumber camp.

Mr. Ford was at headquarters to hear the details of the cruise from Jiminy and Bruce, and he also gave the scouts some expert advice as to the equipment they would want for the beginning of the camp on the morrow.

Among other things he suggested that they build a winter camp immediately by putting up lean-tos with thatched roofs on the shores of the lake. These would be warmer than their tents and would make more or less comfortable quarters until along toward snow time, when the big log cabin the lads hoped to build would be well on its way toward completion. Then, too, these structures could be left in the woods and would always be ready for the boys, whereas if they used their tents they would have to make and break camp every Saturday. The Assistant Scoutmaster also made out lists of provisions, clothes and equipment for the boys and they spent a busy evening getting everything together and in shape for an early start next morning.

In the weird half light of dawn next day, long before Woodbridge was awake and stirring, nearly a score of scouts were hustling toward headquarters on the crown of Otter Hill. Every lad was in uniform and most of them wore mackinaws or sweaters to keep out the early morning chill.

Also each carried the family ax, and over his shoulder blanket roll and haversack.

"Old Nanc," the troop's automobile, stood in front of the old machine shop piled high with tarpaulins, cooking utensils, provisions, and a dozen and one other things that the scouts used in their summer camp, and in the driver's seat was Brad Henshaw, Dr. Lyman's chauffeur. Several of the boys found room for themselves on the running board; the others went on their motorcycles, which were to be brought back in the car, for there was no safe place in camp for such things.

It was with considerable groaning and grumbling that the home-made automobile finally got under way, but when she was safely started the rest of the expedition followed in her wake, and trundled on toward their destination.

A little after sun-up found the lads at the lake shore. Here "Old Nanc" and the cycles were halted, for there was no chance of her making her way along the uneven wood road that skirted the lake for half a mile before it turned and entered the heart of the forest.

At this point the scouts detrained, as it were, and deposited all their luggage on the ground. Then, having unloaded the automobile, they proceeded to reload her, this time with her brood of gasoline-fed ducklings. This done the outfit was turned over to Brad again who immediately started back to Woodbridge.

For an hour after the departure of the automobile the scouts were as busy as bees carrying their paraphernalia to the camp site which they had picked out on the lake shore at the point where the wood road turned and entered the forest. Here was a little stretch of high ground that had been partly cleared by wind-falls and Bruce and Jiminy had selected it as an ideal location for the camp and site for the troop's future log cabin headquarters.

With practically three patrols at work it did not take the lads long to clear away the underbrush and fallen logs in the open space. Indeed the whack, whack of their hatchets and the heavier cluck, cluck of their axes could be heard on all sides of the clearing and in a surprisingly short time a big space had been made ready for the camp. Dozens of young cedars and fir trees were felled for the lean-tos and in short order the lads were busy with hammers and nails putting up the frame-work of six of these shelters.

They worked with a will and the little forest settlement grew apace. After the frame work of the structures was completed the scouts set to work with clasp knives and hatchets and stripped the cedars and firs of their branches. Then with this material they began to thatch the sides and roof of the lean-tos working the twigs in and out until they formed a thickly matted protection against the weather. They worked with a will in spite of cut and blistered fingers and pitch blackened hands until it began to look as if they would have their little lumbering village finished and ready for occupancy by mid-afternoon.

At half past eleven Romper Ryan, Ray Martin and Buster Benson knocked off shelter-building, for they had been appointed cooks for the camp. Hastily they put together a big stone fireplace well away from any leaves and underbrush, and after they had a good fire going they began preparing the first meal at the Quarry Scout lumber camp.

The three lads elected to the commissary department were the best cooks in the troop, and they did themselves proud on that particular occasion, for when Romper finally sounded his call to quarters on the bottom of the tin dishpan there were stacks of golden brown country sausages, snowy white boiled potatoes, savory strips of fried bacon, three big pots of steaming hot coffee and last, but not least, nearly a hundred chocolate doughnuts which Jiminy Gordon's mother had contributed just by way of showing the boys how much she thought of them.

In a jiffy seventeen youngsters were assembled in line, tin plate and cup in hand. One by one they filed past the three cooks and received their portions, and shortly after they were all sitting cross legged on the ground, each devoting his full attention to filling a vacant space just under his belt. The only sound that could be heard was the scraping of knives and forks against the tin plates, and now and then a grunt of satisfaction, for their work in the open had given the lads appetites of young sharks.

"Um-m-m, Jiminy, that was some feed!" grunted Jiminy Gordon as he put down his plate and wiped his mouth on his handkerchief.

"You said it, only I wish I could have just one more helping of sausages and maybe a little more potatoes; I think I'd feel entirely satisfied then," said fat Babe Wilson, looking pleadingly at Romper.

"Aw give him enough to eat, Romper, he's only had three helpings already," jeered Bud Weir.

"Sorry, Babe, but you've cleaned us out. There isn't a potato or a sausage left," said Romper.

"Gee, that's a fine note. Want to starve him?" said Ray Martin, sarcastically.

"Hi, don't you talk. You got your share before we did. Pretty soft being a cook. I'd like to have that job myself," snorted Babe Wilson.

"You leave Ray alone, Babe. He's some cook, he is. So is Romper, too, only he lets his old fire smoke. Look at that yellow haze up there among the trees. Did your fire make all that smoke, Romper?" said Bruce.

"My fire—why—blame it all it's out. It's plum down to ashes—and, gee! I didn't heat any dish water. Hi, Buster, what did you let that fire go out for? I told you to put some wood on and heat water."

"I—I—aw, I was so hungry I forgot about it. Never mind I'll build it again. I—"

"Say, Romper, is your fire really out?" queried Bruce, looking at the fireplace. Then he added:

"Sure enough, but by gollies I smell some—I hope it isn't—gee, look over to the west there above the trees: Is that smoke? Is it? Say, fellows, can it be a forest fire? Gee, I hope not."

"Forest fire!" exclaimed half a dozen scouts.

Every lad jumped to his feet immediately and looked in the direction Bruce was pointing. And there they beheld a pall of yellow smoke hanging low above the tree tops. They could smell it, too. The pungent odor of burning hemlock was so strong as to be unmistakable. Then for the first time the lads noted that the sunlight seemed dimmed too.

"Jove, I believe it is a forest fire," cried Bud Weir.

"I'll bet—say, fellows, look at those big jack rabbits, and there's a fox, and look at the birds. It's a forest fire all right, or those animals wouldn't be running out in the open like that and streaking it for the lake. Cracky what'll we do? I— Hi, Bruce, what's getting you, you're as pale as a ghost?"

Every lad turned toward the leader of the Owl Patrol, who stood as if stricken dumb with horror. But even as they gazed at him he shook off the mental fetters and immediately became a lad of action.

"Fellows," he cried, "listen! There's a man in there—in the fire. Perhaps three of them. Jiminy, you remember, Dave—Dave, what's-his-name—Connors. You know, the fellow in camp over there with the twisted ankle. We saw him yesterday. He's probably in there yet. We must get him out. He can't move, and a forest fire's about the most terrible thing in the world. Quick, fellows! Get your blankets and wet 'em in the lake. Quick, now! Follow me!"