“Why, it’s only our old Moses after all!” cried Steve, as though the astounding truth had burst upon him like a thunderbolt from a clear sky.

“And he’s trying to founder himself with the whole supply of oats, the rascal!” Toby added, indignantly.

But Moses was not afraid of foundering, apparently. He just gave another contented whinny of delight, whisked that impudent stump of a tail of his, and plunged deeper into the oat sack, which he had succeeded in getting open.

Jack was perhaps the least surprised of the trio, and even he had not more than begun to suspect the true state of affairs when the light was turned on. He doubled up with laughter, for it was really comical to see how eagerly Moses was delving into his oat supply, as though he feared he was now about to be divorced from his feast, and retired in disgrace, wherefore he wished to gobble all he could while the golden opportunity lasted.

After they had all had several convulsions of merriment Steve concluded it was time they took things in hand. Such dreadful liberties could not be allowed, or the offense condoned.

98“We’ve got to make him break away from those oats, that’s all there is about it,” he went on to say, seriously. “A poor old nag of a horse never knows when he’s had enough.”

“Horses don’t happen to be alone in that class, Steve,” chirped Toby.

“Never you mind about that,” snorted the other; “and it doesn’t become you to give me a dig, Toby, because for a fellow of your size you can go me one better when it comes to eating. But, Jack, we ought to put a stop to this midnight feast, hadn’t we? Oats cost money, and even horses have their price in the market.”

“Sure thing, Steve,” chuckled the one addressed, as stepping forward he endeavored to lead Moses away from the tail end of the wagon.

The old horse strenuously objected, and upon finding Jack determined he took one farewell grab at the fine contents of the sack, so that he could have something to munch on for a while afterwards. He gave repeated backward looks toward the wagon, and seemed very unhappy when all his dreams of a glorious feast had been knocked on the head after this rude fashion.

“Now, you hold him a minute or two, Steve,” remarked Jack, “while I go and get into some clothes. This night air is salubrious all right, but apt to set a fellow’s teeth to chattering.”

“That’s right, it is so,” Toby acknowledged; but despite his shivering he would not retreat to his warm blanket until the show had ended.

99Jack hurried as best he could, having pity on his chums. When he came back partly dressed he sent them to their beds.

“I’ll tie up old Moses so he won’t be apt to get loose again in a hurry,” Jack advised them, and adding a bit reproachfully, “for you must have been in a hurry after watering him in the evening, Steve. After this I’ll make it a point to see he’s all right before I turn in.”

So the horse was led away, and his rope once more fastened, this time in such a secure fashion that there was no possibility of its getting untied. He could move around within a certain radius, and nip the sweet grass, as well as dream of how close he had been to the greatest banquet of his natural life.

Before he went into the tent Jack reset the tin-pan trap. It had already paid for what little trouble it caused him, because only for the alarm having been given none of them might have heard Moses at his surreptitious work; and consequently he would have devoured the entire two weeks’ supply of oats, or killed himself in the endeavor to dispose of them, which would have been a calamity in several ways, both for Moses and the camping party.

Again did the little hand-torch come in for a meed of praise on the part of the one who had to carry out all these things in the middle of a dark night. Both the others seemed to be pretty far gone along the road to dreamland when Jack 100 crept under his blankets. Toby did drowsily grunt, and ask if everything was all right, but apparently hardly knew what he was saying; so Jack only answered with a word, and cuddled under his coverings, for he felt a trifle chilled.

There was no further alarm that night. The expected prowler did not show up, much to the satisfaction of all concerned; and morning found them in good shape. Moses was already whinnying as to remind them that horses got hungry. Apparently the old reprobate never knew what a close call he had had; left to his own resources, morning might not have been so calm for him, if he lived to see the sun rise at all. And as Toby wisely said, horse doctors must be as “scarce as hens’ teeth” up in the Pontico Hills district.

Somehow the adventure of the night seemed to appear even more comical when viewed in the broad light of day. Toby in particular laughed every time he thought of old Moses standing there, monarch of all he surveyed, and trying to gulp the oats down like mad, as though he feared it was too good a thing to last.

“Do you know,” Toby observed, as they sat at breakfast that morning, “Moses actually seemed to have tears in his eyes when Jack here forced him to leave the end of the wagon. Why, that was the one grand opportunity of his life to stuff–a regular Thanksgiving jamboree spread out before him. He kept turning his head and looking back as if he had lost his best friend. If he’d been 101 going to the execution block I don’t think he could have shown more regret. Poor old chap, it was almost cruel to cheat him out of his feast.”

Then they turned their thoughts to other subjects, because, as Jack wisely said, while this escapade on the part of Moses may have been a great event in his life, it was only an episode with them.

“How shall we spend today?” Jack asked.

“Well, since you want to know my opinion,” spoke up Toby, briskly, “I’ve got my mouth made up for another mess of those fine and frisky Paradise River bass; and I’d like a whole lot to have one of you fellows go over with me.”

“How about you, Steve?” queried Jack, turning to the partner of his previous day’s long trip.

“Reckon I’d be wise to lay off a spell, because, to tell you the truth that heel did give me a mite of bother, especially on the return trip. You go with Toby, Jack, and take your camera along. He says there are some dandy things you might want to snap off between here and the river. And in case either of you hook a four-pound bass you can get a picture of the fight that will be worth seeing, as well as of the beauty after he’s landed. I mean to get over there later and try my luck, don’t forget, Toby, so leave a few in the river, please.”

So it was settled. Jack somehow did not seem disposed to take that long tramp on two successive days, though doubtless he had certain plans arranged in his mind which could be carried out 102 later on. With nearly two weeks still ahead of them it was needless to hurry matters. “Rome wasn’t built in a day,” he often told the more impatient Toby, when the other was showing signs of fretting because things failed to move quite as rapidly as he wished.

“Just leave the things for me to look after,” said Steve, as they arose after finishing breakfast. “I’ve thought up a few jobs I’d like to tackle while you’re away. And I’ll also agree to see that old Moses doesn’t cut up any more of his capers. Have a bully good time, boys. When do you expect to get back, Jack?”

“By noon, so far as I know now,” he was told. “We ought to have all the fish we can use by then, if they bite at all; and the fishing is never worth much from eleven to three. I’ll be able to snatch off any pictures I’d care to take in addition; so look for us by twelve, Steve.”

“I’ll have lunch ready then, remember that, Toby,” called out the campkeeper, as the pair started to the tent to get their fishing outfits and the camera.

Toby having been over the route took it upon himself to act as guide to the expedition. Indeed, a tyro could have found the way, for in going and coming they had left quite a plain trail, easily followed.

Of course Jack was interested in everything he saw. Toby frequently called his attention to certain features of the landscape which apparently 103 had appealed to his love of the beautiful on the former occasion. This showed that Toby kept his eyes about him pretty much all the time; it also proved him to have an appreciation of Nature’s handiwork, rather unusual in a boy.

They did not take much more than half an hour to cross over to the bank of the Paradise River. Toby himself remembered skating this far up the stream several winters back, but everything looked so entirely different in the summer-time that he could hardly be positive about this.

It was a pretty scene, and with not a living human being in sight quite appealed to Jack. Birds flitted from tree to tree; small woods animals were to be seen frequently, and Toby even showed Jack where a deer had been down to drink, leaving there a plain series of delicate hoof tracks.

“Now let’s try the place that treated me best of all,” he went on to say, with all the consequential airs of a first discoverer.

“I want several pictures of this spot,” Jack remarked, “but they will do better along about ten o’clock, when the sun gets stronger, and the contrasts are more striking. Besides, the fishing must come first, and its always in its prime early in the morning. So get busy, Toby, and let’s see who lands the first bass.”

Jack himself was something of a fisherman, as Toby well understood. Indeed, he knew more about the habits of the tricky bass than any of 104 the boys in Chester; for as a rule they had been content simply to angle with a worm, and take “pot-luck,” while Jack had read up on the subject, and even done more or less fancy fly fishing amidst other scenes.

Nevertheless Toby got the first fish. Perhaps this was because he knew just how deep the water was, where a favorite swirl had yielded him several finny prizes on the occasion of his former visit; or possibly just through “dumb luck,” as he called it. There is no accounting for the freaks of fishing; a greenhorn is just as apt as not to haul in the biggest bass ever taken in a lake, where an accomplished angler has taken a thousand smaller fish from year to year, yet never landed such a prize. “Fisherman’s luck” has thus long become a famous saying.

However, Toby was not too exultant over his success. He fancied that before they were done with the morning’s sport Jack would be giving him a pretty lively chase for the honors.

They certainly did have plenty of fun, though perhaps the finny inhabitants of Paradise River may not have enjoyed the game quite as well, since it was too one-sided. Inside of an hour they had taken seven very good fish, really as many as they could well use; though Toby kept saying that it was hard to gauge that appetite of Steve’s, and one or two more wouldn’t come in amiss. It is so easy for even a conscientious fisherman to find excuses for continuing the sport as long as the 105 fish will bite, such is the fascination connected with the game.

Then the expected happened. Jack had a tremendous bite, and was speedily playing a fish that made his fine rod bend like a whip. Toby, forgetting his own line, began dancing up and down on the bank, and urging Jack to play him carefully.