"Sit down, and have a bite with us, won't you?" he remarked, making a
suggestive movement with his hand, as though calling attention to the
fact that there was still plenty of room on the log which he and Toby
Jucklin had occupied in common. "Sorry the trout's given out, but we've
got plenty of other grub, and be sure you're welcome."

The sturdy woods boy was looking them over. Bandy-legs, suspicious as
usual, rather took umbrage at this action. He eyed the newcomer as
though not yet quite willing to echo the warm invitation accorded him by
Max. But Steve was already getting an extra tin-cup for coffee; and
fortunately there still remained an abundant supply of the amber fluid
in the capacious pot.

Apparently the newcomer had determined that it would be prudent for him
to comply with the invitation thus cordially given. So he sat down and
made himself at home. Up there in the woods there exists a genuine
hospitality that never hesitates to extend the right hand of fellowship
to any straggler who chances to enter the camp. There seems to be
something in the healthy ozone of the wilderness that makes all men
comrades for the time being. The latchstring is always out in camp; and
never does an appeal for help go disregarded.

Max proceeded to immediately introduce himself and his three chums by
name. He of course mentioned the fact that they came from a town named
Carson, situated far away from that region; but then of course the woods
boy could never have heard of such a place before. Still, his eyebrows
arched, and he seemed to once again observe his entertainers with fresh
interest; but then when Max Hastings chose to exert himself to make a
favorable impression every one fell under his spell.