“Oh! Oh! Oh!”

A startled cry rang through the little camp shortly after daybreak the next morning.

Chot Duncan sprang up as if he had been shot, and Tom was not far behind him.

“What was that?” he cried.

They glanced around among the trees. A few birds were twittering in the branches, but otherwise the camp was apparently undisturbed.

“Sounds like someone in distress,” said Tom.

“Eh? What’s the matter, fellows?” cried Fleet, as he struggled up, rubbing his eyes.

“Heard a noise of some kind,” said Chot. “Woke me up.”

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” The cry came again in mournful tones, and from the blankets right at their feet. Looking down, the boys saw Pod, his face distorted apparently in great pain.

“What’s the matter—are you sick?” Chot asked, kneeling beside his little comrade.

“Sick nothing!” growled Pod. “There isn’t a muscle in my body that I can move. I don’t know what I’m going to do, fellows. You’ll have to go off and leave me.”

“Well, won’t that be too bad?” said Fleet. “Of course, we’ll go and leave you. Won’t give you anything to eat, either. We are cold, heartless creatures, Podsy, and we don’t care what happens to you.”

“Shut up with your sermons, Fleet Kenby. If you had my back and stomach, and arms and legs, and feet and——”

“And a few other things, why, then I’d be Pod Meelick, wouldn’t I?” and Fleet grinned broadly.

“Stop laughing at me! This is no laughing matter! Lend a hand, Chot, and see if I can sit up.”

Chot pulled the little fellow carefully into a sitting position, Pod letting off a groan or a shriek at every move.

“Oh, dear, I’ve counted so much on the delights of canoeing, fellows. I—I never thought I’d have to go through this—honest I didn’t.”

“Oh, be a man!” advised Fleet.

“Be one yourself!” was Pod’s retort.

“We’ll limber you up, youngster,” said Chot.

“No, no! Keep away! What are you going to do with me?”

“Give you what you need—a bath and a rub down.”

In a jiffy they had stripped Pod’s clothes off and put on his swimming trunks, and with Pod between them, groaning at every step, Chot and Tom rushed down to the water’s edge and plunged into the stream, followed more leisurely by Fleet.

Pod went under the water and came up puffing.

“Swimming will limber you up,” said Tom, “and a good rub down will finish the business off.”

Pod sent up a protest, but the water was deep where his chums had carried him, and he was forced to exert himself to keep afloat. Gradually some of the lameness left him, as stiff muscles began to limber under the exercise, and after a ten minutes swim, while still lame he was able to scramble up on to the knoll with some degree of comfort. The boys had each brought a rough bath towel, and these were now brought into play and their skins rubbed until they shone with a ruddy glow. Perfect pictures of modern young athletes were these lads, as they stood there on the river bank, their fine muscular development showing to its full advantage, their breaths coming in the long, even way that denotes strong lungs.

“I surely feel better,” said Pod. “Gee, when I woke up, though! I hate to think about it.”

“Don’t,” said Fleet, laconically.

“I don’t need your advice,” said Pod. “What I need is a cup of coffee.”

“We all need that,” said Chot.

“And some bread and jam,” said Fleet, smacking his lips.

“Who ever heard of bread and jam for breakfast?” asked Tom.

“I have,” asserted Fleet.

“That’s on the lunch or dinner bill of fare,” said Pod.

“No; it’s on the Fleet Kenby bill of fare,” said that worthy, “and that means any time of the day or night the spirit moves me.”

“Fleet’s right,” said Chot. “When it comes to eating, he moves both day and night. Why, I’ve known him to wake up in the night with a craving for pickles.”

“Wish I had a pickle now,” said Fleet.

“Oh, you do?” said Chot. “Well, there happens to be a bottle in your canoe. We’ll open it.”

“Why—er—never mind,” said Fleet. “I—I think I’d rather save the pickles for later in the day.”

“Bluffer!” cried Pod.

“You’re the bluffer!” replied Fleet, and gave chase to the little fellow. He caught him about fifty yards from the knoll, then the two ran a foot race back to camp, Pod winning by a narrow margin.

“You can’t run, you big porpoise,” he taunted.

“Maybe not,” was Fleet’s reply, “but I can eat better now. I needed a little violent exercise.”

The boys soon sat down to bread, cold beans and coffee—not a very substantial meal, but one eminently satisfactory when campers-out wake up hungry.

Fifteen minutes after the meal was over everything was packed into the canoes and the boys again shoved off into the river and headed up stream.

Pod continued to emit a few groans at intervals, but after a while paddling became easier, and the groans finally ceased. The boys set an easy pace for the little fellow, and the canoes turned bend after bend of the mighty river. Catskill was soon passed, then Hudson on the opposite side, and soon Athens came into view. The boys soon rounded a big bend above Athens, and with the sun behind a cloud and all feeling in fine fettle, Fleet proposed a race.

“I’d hate to race you,” said Pod.

“Why?”

“Because you take the sting of defeat too hard.”

“Now, you’re joking again. What do you other fellows say? Shall we race?”

“I’m willing,” said Chot.

“And I,” said Tom.

“Well, I hope you fellows will wait for me when you’ve finished—that’s all I’ve got to say,” said Pod.

“See that cat-boat moored to the wharf on the east shore?” asked Chot.

The boys nodded.

“We’ll race till we’re even with that, and the winner has to set them up at the first place we strike ice cream soda.”

“The loser, you mean,” said Fleet. “I don’t want to win this race and set them up in the bargain.”

“Well, the loser, then,” said Chot, winking at Tom.

Pod, of course, was not in the race. He was too inexperienced as yet to push his canoe at such a rapid pace, even though he could have stood the strain.

Chot and Tom removed the cushions from their canoes, and fitted in a cross-piece, on which they sat with their feet braced well in under. Fleet, however, could not manage his double-bladed paddle in this fashion, and continued to sit on his cushion, his feet braced out in front of him.

Pod watched the boys line up, and when all were even gave the word to go. Three paddles dipped simultaneously into the water and the canoes shot away up the river at a rapid pace. Pod paddled leisurely along in their wake, they having agreed to wait until he came up with them.

Tom took the lead at the start, with Fleet second and Chot last. The cat-boat to which they were racing was perhaps a mile up stream.

Fleet was puffing from his exertion at the end of a half-mile, but had the satisfaction of knowing that he led his chums by a full length. The big double paddle fell on either side with rhythmic precision. But Fleet was doomed to disappointment, for when within a quarter of a mile of the finish, both Chot and Tom paddled rapidly past him, smiled into his face, and crossed the finish line neck and neck.

“That was a put up job,” said Fleet. “But as long as the winner sets them up, I don’t care.”

“But the winner doesn’t set them up,” said Chot. “You remember we changed that to the loser at your suggestion.”

“That’s so; we did,” Fleet reluctantly admitted, after a moment’s thought. “In other words, little Fleetsy gets the warm end of the proposition all around.”

“That’s about the size of it,” said Tom.

“Methinks I see a village ahead. Thinkest thou, Tomsy, couldst get ice cream sodas there?” asked Chot.

“Ay, ay, me lord,” responded Tom, in a mock serious voice.

They paddled just enough to keep the canoes from drifting with the current down stream, and soon Pod caught up with them.

“Hope I get in on the ice cream soda,” he said.

“Of course,” said Chot. “Fleet has very kindly agreed to furnish all we can drink.”

“I have not,” said Fleet. “Once around, if you please. After that, someone else foots the bill.”

Half an hour later they landed at a small village on the west bank, and were lucky enough to strike a combination soda fountain, drug store and post-office right on the river front. They chipped in a nickel apiece to get a boy to watch their canoes, then proceeded to drink ice cream soda to their hearts’ content. It was nearly noon, so the boys concluded to buy some sandwiches for lunch, which would be eaten in the canoes farther up the river. Then they could provide a heavier meal at night. Fleet was reluctant to agree, believing that a juicy steak, some French fried potatoes and an omelet would set better on his stomach than a sandwich, but his chums argued him out of this.

“You can’t paddle well on a full stomach,” said Chot.

“If he can’t paddle well on a full stomach, let him turn over on his back,” said Pod, then dodged when Fleet made a pass at him.

They found a crowd of boys collected about the canoes, but the boy they had hired as guard was defiantly standing them off, and nothing had been touched. The boys chipped in and gave the little fellow an extra coin, and the urchin immediately decided that the canoeists were “bricks.”

The boys pushed off into the stream again. The sun was rather warm now, and paddling was not any great delight, so they contented themselves with a slow, easy movement. This was kept up for the better part of two hours, when an incident occurred that relieved the monotony of the cruise.

The boys were hugging the west shore, hoping the sun would soon hurry behind the highlands, when upon turning a bend in the river, a catboat was seen in midstream, headed south. She was perhaps a quarter of a mile away from them, and they could easily make out the form of a young lad at the tiller. It was some time before he caught sight of the canoes, but when he did, he started up in amazement. They saw him lash the tiller and tip-toe to the door of the little cabin down which he looked in a furtive manner. Then he advanced to the side of the boat and beckoned to the boys in the canoes.

“Wonder what that means?” said Fleet.

“He wants us to approach,” said Chot. “Guess we’d better see what he wants.”

So they headed their canoes out into the stream, and at the same instant the boy seized the tiller of the boat and brought her around to the wind so that she lay, her sails flapping idly, waiting for them to come up.