Comrades on River and Lake Part 3

Chot and Pod unrolled the tent, which was "V" shaped, with no sides, being intended merely for a roof. They stretched it between the trees, spread four blankets on the soft gra.s.s, took the cus.h.i.+ons out of the canoes, and the sleeping quarters of the party were ready for occupancy.

Then each boy turned his attention to the preparing of the meal. The coffee was soon steaming in a kettle over the fire, kindled by Pod with some dry leaves and branches. Tom cut slices of rye bread, and spread tempting pieces of boiled ham between them. Fleet opened two cans of beans, and a jar of raspberry jam, and all was ready.

To say that the boys enjoyed their first meal would be but half expressing it. Fleet ate everything that was put before him and cried for more.

"These beans are the finest I've ever had," said he, though his mouth was so full that his words were hardly intelligible to his chums.

"Don't forget your table manners," said Tom. "Remember your mother taught you not to talk with your mouth full."

"He's not talking," said Pod. "He's only trying."

"Blub-blub-blub-I'll-I'll-gug-gug-gug-get-you-fuh-fuh-blub-blub--"

spluttered Fleet.

"Swallow it!" cried Chot, "and don't do it again. We're running a respectable boarding house-not a pig pen."

Fleet swallowed as Chot told him, coughed violently, then seized one of the water bottles and drank long and hard.

"Leave the bottle, and we'll fill it again," said Tom.

With tears in his eyes Fleet waved his hand for them to desist. Pod jumped up and patted him on the back with no gentle force, which straightened the fleshy one out in a hurry.

"What do you think you're doing, anyway?" he demanded, glaring at his little comrade. "I'm no punching bag!"

"That so? Thought you were."

"Fleet has eaten enough to last him three days," said Chot. "Remember, fellows, he gets nothing but water during that time. There must be something left for the rest of us."

"Humph! I'd like to see you fellows keep me from eating!" snorted Fleet.

"Oh, you'd like to? Well, then, watch us."

It was ten o'clock when the boys had finished telling stories and discussing their trip. By that time all were sleepy, and Pod was beginning to feel lame all over.

"Gee! I hate to lie down, fellows," he said. "I know I won't be able to move in the morning."

Then the boys rolled up in their blankets, and fifteen minutes later were so deep in Slumberland that not even Fleet's snoring created an impression.

CHAPTER III-THE RACE

"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.