two whole glorious weeks by will worthington _a new author, and a decidedly unusual idea of the summer camp of the future: hard labor, insults, and hog kidneys!_ [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from worlds of if science fiction, october 1958. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] bertha and i were like a couple of city kids on their first country outing when we arrived at morton's place. the weather was perfect--the first chill of autumn had arrived in the form of a fine, needle-shower rain of the type that doesn't look very bad through a window, but when you get out in it, it seeks out every tiny opening between the warp and weft of your clothing and runs through your hair and eyebrows, under your collar and over the surfaces of your body until, as though directed by some knowing, invisible entity, it finds its way to your belly-button. it was beautifully timed: the ancient motor-bus had two blowouts on the way up the last half-mile of corduroy road that led to the place, and of course we were obliged to change the tires ourselves. this was a new experience for both of us, and on the very first day! everything was as advertised, and we hadn't even arrived at the admission gate yet. we didn't dare talk. on the way from the heliport we had seen some of the other folks at work in the swamp that surrounded the camp proper. they were digging out stumps with mattocks, crowbars and axes, and some of them stood waist-deep in the dark water. bertha had said "looky there!" and had made some remark about the baggy gray coveralls they wore--"just like convicts," she said. the driver, a huge, swinelike creature with very small, close-set eyes, had yanked the emergency brake and wheeled around at us then. "you shnooks might just as well get outa the habit o' talkin' right here an' now. one more peep outa ya, 'n ya git clobbered!" all we could do was look at each other and giggle like a couple of kids in the back pew of sunday school, after that. bertha looked ten years younger already. the gate was exactly as the brochure had pictured it: solid and massive, it was let into a board fence about ten feet high which extended as far as you could see in either direction and lost itself on either side in a tangle of briers, elder bushes and dark trees. there were two strands of barbed wire running along the top. a sign over the gate--stark, black lettering on a light gray background--read: _silence!--no admission without authority--no smoking!_ *** _morton's misery farm_ *** _30 acres of swamp--our own rock quarry--jute mill--steam laundry harshest dietary laws in the catskills_ a small door opened at one side of the gate and a short, stocky, well-muscled woman in a black visored cap and a shapeless black uniform came out and boarded the bus. she had our releases with her, fastened to a clipboard. she thrust this under my nose. "read and sign, shnook!" she said in a voice that sounded like rusty boiler plate being torn away from more rusty boiler plate. the releases were in order. our hands shook a little when we signed the papers; there was something so terribly final and irreversible about it. there would be no release except in cases of severe medical complaint, external legal involvement or national emergency. we were paid up in advance, of course. there was no turning away. another attendant, who also looked like a matron of police, boarded the bus with a large suitcase and two of the baggy gray garments we had seen the others wearing in the swamp. no shoes, socks or underwear. "strip and pack your clothes here, shnooks," said the woman with the empty suitcase. we did, though it was pretty awkward ... standing there in the aisle of the bus with those two gorgons staring at us. i started to save out a pack of cigarettes, but was soon disabused of this idea. the older of the two women knocked the pack from my hand, ground it under her heel on the floor and let me have one across the face with what i am almost certain must have been an old sock full of rancid hog kidneys. "what the hell was that?" i protested. "sock fulla hog kidneys, shnook. soft but heavy, know what i mean? just let us do the thinkin' around here. git outa line just once an' you'll see what we can do with a sock fulla hog kidneys." i didn't press the matter further. all i could think of was how i wanted a smoke just then. when i thought of the fresh, new pack of cigarettes with its unbroken cellophane and its twenty, pure white cylinders of fragrant turkish and virginia, i came as close to weeping as i had in forty years. the ground was slimy and cold under our bare feet when we got down from the bus, but the two viragos behind us gave us no time to pick our way delicately over the uneven ground. we were propelled through the small door at the side of the gate, and at last we found ourselves within the ten-foot barriers of the misery camp. we just looked at each other and giggled. inside the yard, about twenty other guests shuffled around and around in a circle. their gray coveralls were dark and heavy with the rain and clung to their bodies in clammy-looking patches. all moved sluggishly through the mud with their arms hanging slack at their sides, their shoulders hunched forward against the wet chill, and their eyes turned downward, as though they were fascinated with the halting progress of their own feet. i had never seen people look so completely dispirited and tired. only one man raised his head to look at us as we stood there. i noticed that his forehead had bright purple marks on it. these proved to be "_no. 94, property of mmf_," in inch-high letters which ran from temple to temple just above his eyebrows. incredibly enough the man grinned at us. "you'll be sah-reeeee," he yelped. i saw him go down into the mud under a blow with a kidney-sock from a burly male guard who had been standing in the center of the cheerless little circle. "leave the welcoming ceremonies to us, knoedelhead!" barked the guard. the improvident guest rose painfully and resumed his plodding with the rest. i noticed that he made no rejoinder. he cringed. we were led into a small office at one end of a long, wooden, one-story building. a sign on the door said, simply, "_admissions. knock and remove hat._" the lady guard knocked and we entered. we had no hats to remove; indeed, this was emphasized for us by the fact that the rain had by now penetrated our hair and brows and was running down over our faces annoyingly. * * * * * as soon as i'd blinked the rain from my eyes, i was able to see the form of the person behind the desk with more clarity than i might have wished. he was large, but terribly emaciated, with the kind of gauntness that should be covered by a sheet--tenderly, reverently and finally. picture the archetype of every chain-gang captain who has been relieved for inhumanity to prisoners; imagine the naked attribute meanness, stripped of all accidental, incongruous, mitigating integument; picture all kindness, all mercy, all warmth, all humanity excised or cauterized, or turned back upon itself and let ferment into some kind of noxious mash; visualize the creature from which all the gentle qualities had been expunged, thus, and then try to forget the image. the eyes were perhaps the worst feature. they burned like tiny phosphorescent creatures, dimly visible deep inside a cave under dark, overhanging cliffs--the brows. the skin of the face was drawn over the bones so tautly that you felt a sharp rap with a hard object would cause the sharp cheekbones to break through. there was a darkness about the skin that should have been, yet somehow did not seem to be the healthy tan of outdoor living. it was a coloring that came from the inside and radiated outwards; perhaps pellagra--a wasting, darkening malnutritional disease which no man had suffered for three hundred years. i wondered where, where on the living earth, they had discovered such a specimen. "i am in full charge here. you will speak only when spoken to," he said. his voice came as a surprise and, to me at least, as a profound relief. i had expected an inarticulate drawl--something not yet language, not quite human. instead his voice was clipped, precise, clear as new type on white paper. this gave me hope at a time when hope was at a dangerously low mark on my personal thermometer. my mounting misgivings had come to focus on this grim figure behind the desk, and the most feared quality that i had seen in the face, a hard, sharp, immovable and imponderable stupidity, was strangely mitigated and even contradicted by the flawless, mechanical speech of the man. "what did you do on the outside, shnook?" he snapped at me. "central computing and control. i punched tapes. only got four hours of work a month," i said, hoping to cover myself with a protective film of humility. "hah! another low-hour man. i don't see how the hell you could afford to come here. well, anyway--we've got work for climbers like you. real work, shnook. i know climbers like you hope you'll meet aristocracy in a place like this--ten hour men or even weekly workers, but i can promise you, shnook, that you'll be too damned tired to disport yourself socially, and too damned busy looking at your toes. don't forget that!" remembering, i looked down quickly, but not before one of the matrons behind me had fetched me a solid clout on the side of the head with her sap. "mark 'em and put 'em to work," he barked at the guards. two uniformed men, who must have sneaked in while i was fascinated by the man behind the desk, seized me and started painting my forehead with an acrid fluid that stung like strong disinfectant in an open wound. i squinted my eyes and tried to look blank. "this is indelible," one of them explained. "we have the chemical to take it off, but it doesn't come off till we say so." when i had been marked, one of the guards took his ink and brush and advanced upon bertha. the other addressed himself to me. "there is a choice of activities. there is the jute mill, the rock quarry, the stump-removal detail, the manure pile...." "how about the steam laundry?" i asked, prompted now by the cold sound of a sudden gust of rain against the wooden side of the building. _splukk!_ went the guard's kidney-sock as it landed on the right hinge of my jaw. soft or not, it nearly dropped me. "i said there _is_ a choice--not _you have_ a choice, shnook. besides, the steam laundry is for the ladies. don't forget who's in charge here." "who _is_ in charge here, then?" i asked, strangely emboldened by the clout on the side of the jaw. _splukk!_ "that's somethin' you don't need to know, shnook. you ain't gonna sue nobody. you signed a _release_--remember?" i had nothing to say. my toes, i noted, looked much the same. then, behind my back, i heard a sharp squeal from bertha. "stop that! oh stop! stop! the brochure said nothing about--" "take it easy lady," said the other guard in an oily-nasty voice. "i won't touch you none. just wanted to see if you was amenable." i would like more than anything else in the world to be able to say honestly that i felt a surge of anger then. i didn't. i can remember with terrible clarity that i felt nothing. "so he wants a nice inside job in the steam laundry?" said the man behind the desk--"the captain," we were instructed to call him. another gust of wet wind joined his comments. "put him on 'the big rock candy mountain.'" he fixed me then with those deep-set, glow-worm eyes, coldly appraising. the two sisters of gorgonia, meanwhile, seized bertha's arms and dragged her from the room. i did not try to follow. i knew the rules: there were to be three husband-and-wife visiting hours per week. fifteen minutes each. the captain was still scrutinizing me from under the dark cliff of his brow. a thin smile now took shape on his lipless mouth. one of the guards was beating a slow, measured, somewhat squudgy tattoo on the edge of the desk with his kidney-sock. "you wouldn't be entertaining angry thoughts, would you shnook?" asked the captain, after what seemed like half an hour of sickly pause. my toes hadn't changed in the slightest respect. * * * * * it must have been then, or soon after that, that my sense of time went gently haywire. i was conducted to "the big rock candy mountain," which turned out to be a brobdingnagian manure heap. its forbidding bulk overshadowed all other features of the landscape except some of the larger trees. a guard stood in the shadow of a large umbrella, at a respectable and tolerable distance from the nitrogenous colossus, but not so distant that his voice did not command the entire scene. "_hut-ho! hut-ho! hut-ho haw!_" he roared, and the wretched, gray-clad figures, whose number i joined without ceremony or introduction, moved steadily at their endless work in apparent unawareness of his cadenced chant. i do not remember that anyone spoke to me directly or, at least, coherently enough so that words lodged in my memory, but someone must have explained the general pattern of activity. the object, it seemed, was to move all this soggy fertilizer from its present imposing site to another small but growing pile located about three hundred yards distant. this we were to accomplish by filling paper cement bags with the manure and carrying it, a bag at a time, to the more distant pile. needless to say, the bags frequently dissolved or burst at the lower seams. this meant scraping up the stuff with the hands and refilling another paper bag. needless to say, also, pitchforks and shovels were forbidden at the farm, as was any potentially dangerous object which could be lifted, swung or hurled. it would have been altogether redundant to explain this rule. i have absolutely no way of knowing how long we labored at this augean enterprise; my watch had been taken from me, of course, and of the strange dislocation of my normal time-sense i have already spoken. i do remember that floodlights had been turned on long before a raucous alarm sounded, indicating that it was time for supper. my weariness from the unaccustomed toil had carried me past the point of hunger, but i do remember my first meal at the farm. we had dumplings. you usually think fondly of dumplings as being _in_ or _with_ something. we had just dumplings--cold and not quite cooked through. impressions of this character have a way of entrenching themselves, perhaps at the cost of more meaningful ones. conversation at the farm was monosyllabic and infrequent, so it may merely be that i recall most lucidly those incidents with which some sort of communication was associated. a small man sitting opposite me in the mess hall gloomily indicated the dumpling at which i was picking dubiously. "they'll bind ya," he said with the finality of special and personal knowledge. "ya don't wanta let yaself get bound here. they've got a--" i don't now recall whether i said something or whether i merely held up my hand. i do know that i had no wish to dwell on the subject. if i had hoped for respite after "supper," it was at that time that i learned not to hope. back to "the big rock candy mountain" we went, and under the bleak, iridescent glare of the lights we resumed our labor of no reward. one by one i felt my synapses parting, and one by one, slowly and certainly, the fragile membranes separating the minute from the hour, the now from the then, and the epoch out of unmeasured time softened and sloughed away. i was, at last, number 109 at work on a monstrous manure pile, and i labored with the muscles and nerves of an undifferentiated man. i experienced change. i knew now that my identity, my ego, was an infinitesimal thing which rode along embedded in a mountain of more or less integrated organisms, more or less purposeful tissues, fluids and loosely articulated bones, as a tiny child rides in the cab of a locomotive. and the rain came down and the manure bags broke and we scrabbled with our hands to refill new ones. the raucous alarm sounded again, and a voice which might have been that of a hospital nurse or of an outraged parrot announced that it was time for "beddy-by." and in a continuous, unbroken motion we slogged into another long building, discarded our coveralls, waded through a shallow tank of cloudy disinfectant solution and were finally hosed down by the guards. i remember observing to myself giddily that i now knew how cars must feel in an auto laundry. there were clean towels waiting for us at the far end of the long building, but i must have just blotted the excess water off myself in a perfunctory way, because i still felt wet when i donned the clean coverall that someone handed me. "beddy-by" was one of a row of thirty-odd slightly padded planks like ironing boards, which were arranged at intervals of less than three feet in another long, low-ceilinged barracks. i knew that i would find no real release in "beddy-by"--only another dimension of that abiding stupor which now served me for consciousness. i may have groaned, croaked, whimpered, or expressed myself in some other inarticulate way as i measured the length of the board with my carcass; i only remember that the others did so. there was an unshaded light bulb hanging directly over my face. to this day, i cannot be sure that this bleak beacon was ever turned off. i think not. i can only say with certainty that it was burning just as brightly when the raucous signal sounded again, and the unoiled voice from the loudspeaker announced that it was time for the morning cheer-up entertainment. * * * * * these orgies, it turned out, were held in the building housing the admission office. there was a speech choir made up of elderly women, all of whom wore the black uniform of the farm matrons. the realization that a speech choir still existed may have startled me into a somewhat higher state of awareness; i had assumed that the speech choir had gone out with hair-receivers and humoristic medicine. the things they recited were in a childishly simple verse form: _one and two and three and four; one and two and three._ these verses had to do with the virtues of endless toil, the importance of thrift, and the hideous dangers lurking in cigarette smoking and needless borrowing. i am happy to report that i do not remember them more specifically than this, but i was probably more impressed by the delivery than the message delivered. i could not imagine where they had discovered these women. during their performance, some sense of duration was restored to me; while i could be certain of nothing pertaining to the passage of time, it is not possible that the cheer-up period lasted less than two hours. then they let us go to the latrine. after a breakfast of boiled cabbage and dry pumpernickel crusts--more savory than you might imagine--we were assigned to our work for the day. i had expected to return to the manure pile, but got instead the rock quarry. i remember observing then, with no surprise at all, that the sun was out and the day promised to be a hot one. the work at the rock quarry was organized according to the same futilitarian pattern that governed the manure-pile operation. rock had to be hacked, pried and blasted from one end of the quarry, then reduced to coarse gravel with sledge-hammers and carted to the other end of the excavation in wheelbarrows. most of the men commenced working at some task in the quarry with the automatic unconcern of trained beasts who have paused for rest and water, perhaps, but have never fully stopped. a guard indicated a wheelbarrow to me and uttered a sharp sound ... something like hup! i picked up the smooth handles of the barrow, and time turned its back upon us again. it was that night--or perhaps the following night--that bertha and i had our first fifteen-minute visit with each other. she was changed: her face glowed with feverish vitality, her hair was stringy and moist, and her eyes were serenely glassy. she had not been more provocative in twenty-five years. an old dormant excitement stirred within me--microscopically but unmistakably. she told me that she had been put to work in the jute mill, but had passed out and had been transferred to the steam laundry. her job in the laundry was to sort out the socks and underwear that were too bad to go in with the rest of the wash. we speculated on where the socks and underwear could have come from, as such fripperies were denied to us at the farm. we also wondered about the manure, considering that no animals were in evidence here. both, we concluded, must have been shipped in specially from the outside. we found it in us to giggle, when the end of the visit was announced, over our own choice of conversational material for that precious quarter hour. thereafter, when we could catch glimpses of each other during the day, we would exchange furtive signals, then go about our work exhilarated by the fiction that we shared some priceless cabalistic knowledge. the grim captain made an appearance in the rock quarry one morning just as we were beginning work. he stood on top of a pile of stones, swinging his kidney-sap from his wrist and letting his eyes sweep over us as though selecting one for slaughter. when the silence had soaked in thoroughly, he announced in his cold, incisive tone that "there will be no rest periods, no chow, no 'beddy-by,' until this entire rock face is reduced to ballast rock." he indicated a towering slab of stone. we raised our heads only long enough to reassure ourselves of the utter hopelessness of the task before us. not daring to look at each other closely, fearing to see our own despair reflected in the faces of others, we picked up our hammers and crowbars and crawled to the top of the monolithic mass. the film must have cleared from my eyes then, momentarily. "why--this thing is nothing but a huge writing slate," i said to a small, bald inmate beside me. he made a feeble noise in reply. the captain left, and the only other guard now relaxed in the shade of a boulder nearly fifty yards away. he was smoking a forbidden cigar. suddenly and unaccountably, i felt a little taller than the others, and everything looked unnaturally clear. the slab was less than six inches wide at the top! "if we work this thing right, this job will practically do itself. we'll be through here before sundown," i heard myself snap out. the others, accustomed now to obeying any imperative voice, fell to with crowbars and peaveys as i directed them. "use them as levers," i said. "don't just flail and hack--pry!" no one questioned me. when all of the tools were in position i gave the count: "_one--two--heave!_" the huge slab finally leaned out, wavered for a queasy moment, then fell with a splintering crash onto the boulders below. after the dust settled, we could see that much of the work of breaking up the mass was already accomplished. we descended and set to work with an enthusiasm that was new. long before sundown, of course, we were marched back to the latrine and then to the mess hall. later i had expected that some further work would be thrust upon us, but it didn't happen. the grim captain stopped me as i entered the mess hall. i froze. there was a queer smile on his face, and i had grown to fear novelty. "you had a moment," he said, simply and declaratively. "you didn't miss it, did you?" "no," i replied, not fully understanding. "no, i didn't miss it." "you are more fortunate than most," he went on, still standing between me and the mess hall. "some people come here year after year, or they go to other places like this, or permit themselves to be confined in the hulls of old submarines, and some even apprentice themselves to medical missionaries in equatorial africa; they expose themselves to every conceivable combination of external conditions, but nothing really happens to them. they feel nothing except a fleeting sensation of contrast--soon lost in a torrent of other sensations. no 'moment'; only a brief cessation of the continuing pleasure process. you have been one of the fortunate few, mr. devoe." then the film dissolved--finally and completely--from the surface of my brain, and my sense of time returned to me in a flood of ordered recollections. hours and days began to arrange themselves into meaningful sequence. was it possible that two whole glorious weeks could have passed so swiftly? "you and mrs. devoe may leave tonight or in the morning, just as you prefer," said the captain. * * * * * bertha and i have had little to say to one another as we wait in the office for the car that will take us to the heliport. for the moment--this moment--it suffices that we stand here in our own clothes, that we have tasted coffee again, brought to us on a tray by a matron whose manner towards us bordered on the obsequious, and that the aroma of a cigarette is just as gratifying as ever. we will go back to our ten-room apartment on the ninety-first floor of the new empire state hotel; back to our swimming pool, our three-dimensional color television, our anti-gravity sleeping chambers, our impeccably efficient, relentlessly cheerful robot servants, and our library of thrills, entertainment, solace, diversion and escape--all impressed on magnetic tape and awaiting our pleasure. i will go back to my five kinds of cigars and my sixteen kinds of brandy; bertha will return to her endless fantasy of pastries and desserts--an endless, joyous parade of goodies, never farther away than the nearest dumb-waiter door. and we will both become softer, heavier, a little less responsive. when, as sometimes happens, the sweet lethargy threatens to choke off our breath, we will step into our flying platform and set its automatic controls for miami, palm beach, or the cote d'azur. there are conducted tours to the himalayas now, or to the "lost" cities of the south american jungles, or to the bottom of any one of the seven seas. we will bide our time, much as others do. but we will survive these things: i still have my four hours per month at central computing and control; bertha has her endless and endlessly varying work on committees (the last one was dedicated to the abolition of gambling at las vegas in favor of such wholesome games as scrabble and checkers). we cannot soften and slough away altogether, for when all else fails, when the last stronghold of the spirit is in peril, there is always the vision of year's end and another glorious vacation. the underpup by i. a. r. wylie the penguins were always breaking out with something. miss thornton, who had run camp happy warriors for years and still believed there was good in everyone, said it was merely their age. the penguins were older than the peewits, who still trailed attenuated clouds of glory; and were younger than the pelicans, who were beginning to talk mysteriously about life, beaux, and parties--things so far removed from the peewits that they weren't even interested, but near enough to the penguins to exasperate them into having marvelous ideas of their own. so the penguins were wonderfully set up when they first realized that they had a social conscience. they felt that even priscilla ("prissy") adams, their counselor, who generally thought their ideas dreadful, would have to admit that a social conscience was a good idea. clara vansittart had brought it to camp with her, just as the previous summer she had brought the first pair of white mice. clara was a fat, earnest child with spectacles, who would one day be chairman of a women's club. her mother, who was several chairmen already, had discovered the poor that winter--rather to their consternation--so that clara knew that at the very moment when the penguins were sitting round their campfire, surrounded by trees and stars and lakes, and faintly nauseated with toasted marshmallows, there were poor, half-starved children literally gasping for air in new york city's crowded, stifling streets. there was even a place called hell's kitchen, it was so hot and awful. clara knew all the best words like "underprivileged," and by the time the last marshmallow had been drawn from its prong the penguins were in tears. "but it's no use just crying," little janet cooper said. she was usually so afraid of everyone, including herself, that they all stared at her. "we ought to _do_ something," she said. and dived back into the shadow like an alarmed young tadpole. no one had ever accused the penguins of inertia. they proceeded at once to do something. and the counselors wished afterward that it had been white mice again. * * * * * thus it came about that one april morning the following year pip-emma binns sat at her desk by the classroom window and wrote an english composition called "trees." or rather she was not writing. she was chewing bits out of a wooden pen-holder and balefully regarding the back of vittoria emanuella perozzi, the class' champion essayist. vittoria used words which miss perkins called metaphors and similes and which pip-emma called baloney. if a person looked white, why not just say so? why bring in sheets? however, miss perkins thought a lot of that sort of thing, and so, no doubt, would the dames who were giving a prize of two months' vacation in some swell kids' camp for the best description of trees. what did a tree look like? in pip-emma's opinion it looked like a tree. but she knew that wouldn't get her anywhere--certainly not to camp happy warriors, where pop and ma were hell-bent on her going. she pulled her dark brows together. she wiped an inky hand over her black hair drawn back into a short defiant pigtail. then inspiration struck her, too. very carefully she wrote two sentences. "i can't describe trees. i haven't seen any." and signed it emma binns. it was like a metaphor. it wasn't true. it was baloney. but to mrs. vansittart and her committee it was just too heart-rending. no trees. poor little emma binns! as for vittoria emanuella perozzi, she had evidently seen so many trees so often and so beautifully that, in the committee's opinion, there was no urgent need for her to see any more of them. * * * * * the happy warriors were gathered with their counselors and under their respective banners in grand central terminal, and clara vansittart inspected the penguins like a colonel inspecting a regiment before battle. she gave last orders. after all, the social conscience had been her idea, and it had to go over with a bang so that even the pelicans would be impressed. "every penguin," she said, "must remember to be kind. the poor kid won't be able to do the things we do, and i guess she'll do a lot we don't. but you're not to look s'perior or call her down so as to hurt her feelings. we've got to remember we'd be like her if we didn't belong to the privileged classes." it was a prepared speech and had more than a suggestion of mrs. vansittart's firm handling of committees. "and don't laugh at her mother," clara concluded. "she's sure to be pretty awful." as it happened, mrs. binns, who went out as daily help, had no time to go running round after a lot of queer-sounding birds. she'd given pip-emma's new middy costume a final admonitory twitch. "and mind you behave like a lady," she'd said, swallowing her tears, "or i'll sock you." mr. binns, who might have been heavyweight champion of the world if he hadn't busted his hand early in life on the skull of a certain black bruiser, drove emma to the station in the cab of his truck. "keep yer chin covered, pip," he said, grinning, "and don't pull your punches." pip-emma, staggering through the unfamiliar immensities of grand central under the weight of her suitcase, felt sickish. she hated leaving pop and ma. she loathed being a penguin. she'd seen a penguin once at the zoo, and she'd seen no sense in it. she despised her costume. it would take weeks to live down the jeers and cheers which had greeted and pursued it to the end of 45th street on eighth. she hated leaving the gang. it was her gang. she ruled it with despotic efficiency. in fact, when she and clara vansittart, introduced by a worried prissy adams, shook hands, two born chairmen unconsciously locked horns. clara said, "how d'you do?" and pip-emma said, "i'm fine." it was one of those social blunders that clara had foreseen and that had better be dealt with at once. clara said kindly: "i'm so glad you're fine. but i didn't really want to know, you know." "why not?" pip-emma asked. in the perceptible silence a peewit was heard to titter, and the outrageous sound startled clara out of her poise. she said, "just because i don't," quite rudely. and pip-emma, remembering pop and ma, retorted that it was dumb to ask questions if you didn't want to know the answers. it was a short but sharp encounter--mr. binns would have described it as a feint with the left followed by a nice right to the jaw. clara vansittart had a blinking, winded look, and all the penguins said, "how d'you do?" as though they couldn't help themselves. only little janet added very timidly, "i hope you'll have a swell time." and pip-emma said, "sure," much too much as though she were sure. but she stayed right by janet. if you find yourself among a bunch of strange kids, you gotta get yourself a gang. you gotta pick out some poor mutts that don't know how to hold their end up and sock anyone who jumps on 'em. then they're your gang. pip-emma knew on sight that janet couldn't hold her end up to save her neck, and that sooner or later she, pip-emma, would have to sock the fat girl in the eye. clara vansittart did not know this. she sat next to emma binns in the pullman, determined, without heat or anger, to explain social usages and camp customs. but pip-emma did not seem to want to listen. from her middy pocket she had produced three small sea shells and a tiny flexible rubber ball, and she was doing things with them on the back of her suitcase. it was mr. binns' favorite method of getting himself a free drink, and pip-emma was no slouch herself. also if you're getting a gang, you don't run after it. you let it come to you. if kids saw you up to something they didn't understand, they flocked round like a bunch of hungry sparrows. gradually the penguins' excited chatter died down. they were watching her. they were beginning to flock. pip-emma knew without looking at them. there was a lot pip-emma knew, though she didn't always know she knew it. "i don't see what you're doing," clara said fretfully. "what is it? a game?" "sure. i put the ball under one of the shells--like that--and you bet where it is." "all right. i bet. it's there." "but you haven't betted anything." clara blushed hotly. as a well-bred penguin, she found it impossible to explain that all the penguins had sacrificed their first week's pocket money to the maintenance of emma and their social conscience. "i can't. i--i haven't anything." "you gotta bead necklace." "all right. i bet it." it was incredible. her eyes had deceived her. pip-emma took the necklace. other penguins, shocked at their leader's failure and convinced of their own right-sightedness, backed their guesses with small gold rings and other detachable possessions. janet cooper, who hadn't anything else, bet her penguin badge, which was like pledging the family bible. but, as it happened, janet won. she was the only winner. pip-emma nodded approval of her. "you're not such a dumb cluck," she said. some peewits, perched respectfully on the outskirts, burst into disrespectful squeaks, and the penguins refused to meet one another's eyes. at that moment prissy bore down on them. she was kind but firm. "what a clever trick, emma! but it is a trick, isn't it? it wouldn't be quite fair to bet about it, would it? besides, happy warriors don't bet." pip-emma handed back her winnings. she was thoughtful and deliberate. she made no protest. but the pullman, usually the scene of such happy tumult, sank into an oppressive silence. * * * * * but on the bus ride from the station to the camp the penguins began to preen their damp feathers. they loved the camp. they were proud of the big dining room built like a woodman's cabin and the open sleeping tents circled with military precision round the campfires. they were proud of themselves. they got up to the bugle on the coldest mornings and made their beds and fetched water and built fires. they were strong and brave, as happy warriors should be. when emma binns saw how wonderful it all was and what a fine bunch they were, she'd feel pretty small. and they'd have to be awfully nice to her and not rub things in. so they felt better and began to sing. and the twins, pauline and claudine bennett, bounced joyfully in their seats. it was pip-emma's longest journey. she was getting tired and homesick. she'd never been homesick before. it was like toothache in the wrong place. right now pop and ma would be sitting down to ma's special steak and onions. afterward, it being saturday, they'd go to an early show at the movies and finish up with a pineapple temptation or maybe a banana royal at hader's drugstore. they'd be feeling pretty mean, too. they hadn't really wanted her to go. they'd wanted her to have a swell time and live like the rich kids did, with butlers waiting on you behind your chair and maybe breakfast brought you on a tray, like in the movies. because one day pip-emma, who was smart as a whip, was going places, so she'd better know how things were done before she got there. the gang would be out now in force. pip-emma's heart contracted. maybe they were missing her. maybe, though, if she sent them post cards showing the swell way she was living, they'd be kinda sunk. she'd tell 'em she had a gang of her own already and that they were swell kids. they weren't, of course. she looked them over gloomily. sissies. just to look at their nails was enough. as to her gang, it consisted for the moment of one pale small kid who jumped if you spoke to her. the station bus swung round a curve. "there!" the penguins shrieked together. and they all looked at emma. "there!" they said. pip-emma looked. "it's our camp," janet explained in her thin high voice. "there's the lake. and that's our dining hall. and there, among the trees, is the penguin circle, where we sleep." emma said nothing. it was as though, at the wave of a wicked wand, roxy's and all its ushers had been bewitched into ruins and rags. and it was more than emma, at that moment, could bear. her sharp, sallow little face puckered. to the penguins' consternation, she burst into a storm of tears. before supper clara vansittart summoned the penguins to a hasty powwow. they drew prissy into it, the situation being beyond them. "p'raps it was the trees upset her," janet hazarded. "you know, she's never seen any." the twins shook their heads. "it wasn't the trees. when we showed her our tent, she said her uncle slept in a place like that." "what's her uncle?" the penguins demanded indignantly. "he's a w.p.a. worker," the twins said in unison, "and he's helping build a post office somewhere. she said there weren't any houses, so they had to live in tents." clara vansittart drew a shocked breath. the truth was obvious. to emma binns their camp was just a camp. when she heard that she'd have to make her bed, light fires, and wash dishes, she'd write home. she'd tell her people--probably dreadful people--that that was how the vansittarts lived. clara took a firm lead. she proposed at once that emma binns should not make beds. when the time came, she was to be led away to some remote spot while the penguins made hers and did her share of the chores. clara explained that bed making was the sort of thing that poor emma probably had to do at home. it wasn't a treat. and maybe she was underfed. she didn't look very strong. it was their duty, belonging as they did to the privileged classes, to make sacrifices. it was a simple supper, nourishing but spartan. when pip-emma, seated at the penguin table, thought of the pineapple temptation ma might be eating at that very moment, her gloom deepened. but she wasn't going to cry again. not if she had to bite her tongue out. she'd never cried like that before in her life. the penguins suddenly burst into song: "we are the happy penguins- we play without a care; we don't worry who wins the game, so long as we play fair!" at that moment every penguin was stricken by the same thought. the memory of their unpaid gambling debts rose in their midst like a reproachful specter. their song wavered and sank to silence. from her point of vantage at the pelican table miss thornton viewed them anxiously. "the penguins seem depressed," she said. "is anything the matter?" "i guess it's their social conscience," prissy adams said grimly, "getting the better of them." after taps clara vansittart laid a packet on emma's cot. she had no business to be talking at all. and it was almost another speech. "we feel," she concluded, "that prissy didn't understand." in tense silence emma undid the parcel. it contained her legitimate winnings. she didn't want their darned old beads, but she wrapped the things up again and slipped them under her pillow. "o.k.," she said. the penguins crept into their beds. they had made a noble gesture. they had cleared their consciences. but for some reason or other they slept badly. * * * * * the penguins followed each other on the springboard in rapid succession. they performed every dive they knew and some they didn't, with an almost desperate fervor. and after each feat they turned anxious faces to the small figure in the cheap black bathing suit perched on the landing stage, its face between its fists, like a gothic imp peering down malevolently on the world from a cathedral buttress. but in fact pip-emma wasn't even looking at them. she was worrying about pop and ma and the gang. prissy adams climbed out of the water and stood beside her. "don't you want to go in, too, emma?" she said. "don't you want to learn to swim?" "nope," pip-emma said. "it's cold, and i'm scared." "of course you're not," prissy said. "happy warriors are never scared," she said with a brightness that she hoped wouldn't become a habit. "i ain't a happy warrior," emma said. "and i'm scared." "but supposing someone were drowning, wouldn't you want to be able to save them?" "we don't drown down our way," pip-emma retorted bleakly. "we ain't got no water." it was almost as pathetic as the absence of trees. and, as a statement, much more accurate. except on hot summer nights when good-natured street cleaners turned their hoses on the ecstatically squealing gang, there was no water. pip-emma, remembering those glorious occasions, hunched herself dismally, and the defeated prissy strode on her way. at the same moment janet bobbed up from among the woodpiles. "gee, that was swell of you, emma!" pip-emma peered down. "what was?" "saying you were scared. i'm always scared. but i'd be too scared to tell anyone." pip-emma stretched out a skinny arm and pulled janet up beside her. "what you scared of?" "'most everything." "why?" janet sighed. "it's something wrong with me. the doctors say it's--it's a complex. an in--inferiority complex." "what's that?" "it's a thing you get, like measles." pip-emma looked at janet dubiously. "i don't see no spots." "you don't have spots. you just feel mean. you want dreadfully to do things. but you know you can't. so you don't." "what things?" "well, like the swimming race next saturday. mummy and dad are coming up for it. prissy says i could win the penguin trophy if i didn't have my complex. but clara knows she's going to win. so she will. she hasn't got any complex. she just overeats." they sat side by side in melancholy silence. but pip-emma's misplaced toothache was easing off. janet might not be the gang. but she belonged to emma. ever since emma had said she wasn't a dumb cluck she'd followed emma round like a little lost dog that had been found. if anyone belonged to you like that, you had to look out for them. "i wish my pop and ma were coming up," pip-emma said suddenly. "why? are you homesick, too, emma?" "i dunno. i want pop and ma." "it's no good wanting, is it?" "well, you've got yours, haven't you?" "not really. not together. i mean--they don't live together." "why not?" "they don't have to. dad's got a place in florida and long island and maine and new york. so when they quarrel, they just go off. different places. and i can't be with either of them because the other won't let me," janet choked. "i guess they'll quarrel saturday," she said. "gee, that's tough." pip-emma gave a small hoarse chuckle. "pop and ma get mad sometimes. but ma says, 'you old son-of-a-gun, i guess i gotter live with you and like it.' and pop says, 'i like it fine, you old so-and-so.' and he takes us out and gives us a sundae at the drugstore. ma says you can't stay mad in two rooms." "i wish we lived in two rooms," janet said. pip-emma knitted her black brows. "maybe," she said, "you might tell 'em so." "i'd be too scared." but pip-emma was after her thought like a terrier after an elusive rabbit. "if my pop and ma were here, i'd jump into their darned old water. i wouldn't care how cold it was. i wouldn't be scared. maybe if your pop and ma are along, you'll win the race, and then you'll never be scared again." "but i shan't win it. i'll lose my breath like i always do. and clara's so fat. she just has to float." "maybe if she was sick--if she eats something--" "she can't. prissy's got her on a diet. she's prissy's pet." pip-emma put her arm over janet's shoulder. it was an accolade, and janet knew it. "gee--you poor kid!" pip-emma said, and relapsed into deep thought again. the two wandered off the landing stage together. outside the gameroom claudine was writing up a notice on the blackboard. the twins went to a progressive school where you learned spelling only if you felt the urge. the twins had never felt it. "you don't spell saturday with an 'a' in the middle," pip-emma said. a hot and flustered twin rubbed out the word with a lofty air of apprehended carelessness, and pip-emma wrote it in for her. "if i spelled like you do," she said, "old perks would give me hell." * * * * * the harassed penguins pinned one of their last hopes on horses. it seemed probable that if pip-emma had never seen any trees, she had never seen horses, either--or only from a distance--and that she would be impressed. but it turned out that pip-emma's uncle had a horse--not the w.p.a. uncle but the mounted-cop uncle--and that it was a bigger and better horse than anything in the camp stables. pip-emma had actually ridden it from ninth to tenth avenue. moreover her uncle had chased squint-eyed peters down forty-fifth street and shot him and his armored car so full of holes that it was hardly worth while cleaning them up. pip-emma told the story after taps and in such gory detail that the penguins didn't know or care that discipline was going to the dogs. they learned at the same time that mr. binns, in his unregenerate youth, had been an englishman and had fought in the great war and that emma's name was pip because in english soldier language pip-emma meant anything that happened after midday. and emma had happened in hell's kitchen at 3:30. the penguins sat up in their beds and listened spellbound. the glamour surrounding wall street, big business, and the kind but stoutish and baldish gentlemen who were their fathers was suffering an acute depression. the prospect of their fathers' appearance on saturday and of pip-emma's dispassionate appraisal filled the penguins with uneasiness. things had come to such a pass that when on friday evening, after the camp singsong, clara felt emma's arm slip through hers, the vansittart pride positively glowed. it was the first time that pip-emma had seemed to notice clara--which was a humiliation in itself, seeing that pip-emma was really clara's own idea. and clara, thanks to prissy's training diet, was low in her mind anyway. "guess what i've found!" pip-emma whispered. but of course clara couldn't guess anything. "i've found where they've got all tomorrow's ice cream. buckets and buckets of it." clara, as top penguin, wavered. some lingering penguin rectitude still glowed in her, but only faintly. after all, she was hungry. she was being starved to death. and no one cared. only emma binns seemed to know what she was suffering. "dare you!" pip-emma said. it was clara's chance. now she could show the stuff in her. being born on park avenue didn't mean necessarily that you were a dumb cluck. she let pip-emma lead her by devious paths through the deserted kitchen. then to the huge icebox. and there it was--buckets and buckets! clara's first handful didn't even make a dent. "i bet i can eat more than you can," pip-emma said. at breakfast the next morning miss thornton made an unusual appearance. she was grave and even troubled. "children, a serious thing has happened. last night someone must have broken all our camp rules. someone opened the icebox and ate several pints of our ice cream. i hope--i'm sure--the culprit will stand up at once and not spoil our happy day for us." pip-emma stood up at once. "it was me, miss thornton." "but, emma, dear, why? didn't you have enough to eat? were you hungry?" pip-emma said simply and bravely, "i guess i'm always hungry." miss thornton felt the sudden tears come into her throat. poor little emma binns! no trees. never enough to eat. and not without a forlorn charm. prissy adams, who had caught a glimpse of clara's greenish countenance, remained grim and unmoved. "dear child, you should have told me. come to my tent afterward. we can talk it over. meantime it was fine and brave of you to tell the truth. it shows that you are a real penguin--" she gave her warm, beloved chuckle--"almost, but not quite, perfect." everyone laughed and cheered except the penguins, who for some unknown reason sank into the profoundest gloom. clara vansittart had left the table hurriedly. * * * * * pip-emma peeked out of the tent. the penguin circle was near the lake, and she could see the parents, looking better from a distance, lined up on benches along the water's edge. she could pick out janet's parents because they were younger than the others. they didn't seem to be quarreling. they didn't seem even to be speaking to each other. "o.k.," pip-emma said. she walked beside janet like a trainer. she gave last instructions. everyone knew janet was her gang. so janet, who had never won anything, had to win. it was prissy's opinion that if janet did win, the penguins, as a class, were licked. she said sharply to clara, "if you feel as bad as you look, you'd better throw up the sponge." it was an unfortunate suggestion. clara gulped. but she was game. the prestige of the penguins, the vansittarts--one might say the whole social register--was in her hands. she mumbled, "i'm a' right," and slid with a smothered moan into the water. mr. and mrs. cooper waved dutifully to janet. in her white cap and bathing suit she looked like a pet white mouse in charge of a dark and aggressive field mouse. both parents had the same thought, with one small but important variation: "if he (she) had made a decent home for the poor child, she might have amounted to something." "how's the little old complex?" pip-emma asked. "i--i don't know, pip. i think it's all right." "don't think about it. you ain't got it, see? so you're going to win. 'cause you swim better than any of 'em. you just got to know it, and you'll be fine." "honest, pip-emma?" "honest." from the water janet looked up with adoration in her eyes. "i'll try." "sure. i got my shirt on you, kid." janet paddled to the starting line. it was true that she swam better than the others. she'd learned all the strokes from the best teachers. but it hadn't seemed to help. everyone knew that anyone could beat janet cooper. now pip-emma believed that she was going to win. she'd put her shirt on her. janet watched the flag. she kept her heart steady, saying to herself, "pip-emma's shirt--pip-emma's shirt--" mr. cooper looked away as the flag dropped. he couldn't have said why, except that he hated to see the poor little runt left at the post. gosh, hadn't they fed her every vitamin on god's green earth? he had a dim notion that the dark field mouse had flashed past in front of him yelling like an indian and that he had a sharp pain in his arm. mrs. cooper had pinched him savagely. "look!" she said. mr. cooper looked. it was worth looking at. the white cap was level with the leader--it was drawing ahead--smoothly, with clean, rhythmic strokes. the green cap made a game spurt. probably those last five yards were the bravest effort of clara vansittart's life. but everything was against her--ice cream, conscience, and pip-emma. she lost her stroke, took a mouthful of lake, and foundered. the watchful prissy in the motorboat hauled her in like a drowning puppy. the rest of the entry, consternated, gave up the struggle. they were up against the imponderable--sheer inspiration. pip-emma's gang flashed past the winning flag like a silver fish. the penguins cheered. their pride, their self-esteem, had foundered with their leader. but honorable camp tradition demanded that they should cheer. pip-emma collapsed breathless. she saw janet climb out of the water and her pop and ma go to meet her, trying to look as though they weren't fit to burst. janet threw her wet arms about them both, and then the three of them turned toward the tents, janet walking in the middle. she walked differently. she had her head up and was swinging her cap and talking hard, like someone accustomed to being listened to. pip-emma stood up. alone and hidden by the trees, she performed an exultant war dance. she did not know it. but it was hell's kitchen dancing on park avenue. * * * * * to celebrate miss thornton's birthday the happy warriors went on a two days' hike. the peewits camped on the other side of the lake, which gave them the illusion they had hiked an enormous distance. the penguins were to climb the little mountain, and the pelicans the big mountain. miss thornton stayed in camp. having been wakened at the crack of dawn by eager voices singing "happy birthday, miss thornton," she felt justified. at the last moment one of the penguin counselors went down with a cold, and prissy had to take on the penguins single-handed. ordinarily she wouldn't have cared. the penguins, as campers, were almost annoyingly efficient. but they were in bad shape. their morale was shot to pieces. they had lost faith. they weren't even sure whether they liked hiking, or the camp, or one another, or themselves. they watched pip-emma and wondered anxiously what she thought. pip-emma wouldn't have told them for the world. in fact she didn't really know. but as she climbed up through the cool shadows of the forest, with janet tagging at her heels, something happened. it was as though she really were seeing trees for the first time. they weren't the dusty, forlorn exiles she had known in central park. they weren't even the sheltering, friendly camp trees. they were free and proud. it was terribly exciting to come out suddenly on an open space and look down on them brandishing their branches in the wind like the spears of a great army. and when at midday the penguins built a fire and cooked sausages and bacon over the embers, that was fun. pip-emma felt that even ma would think it fun to cook under trees. one day when pip-emma was rich and famous, she'd bring pop and ma up here and show them how. pride in herself as a woodsman who knew where you should build a fire and where you shouldn't began to kindle in her. when she got back, she'd tell the gang. there were a lot of things the gang didn't know that pip-emma knew now. she'd sit on the stoop of the shabby brownstone house, with her face between her fists, and tell them: "then, one day, we went on a two days' hike. gee, that was swell!" she wouldn't tell about her gang, because it consisted of just one penguin. and the kids wouldn't understand. * * * * * they began to climb again. but there was a change somewhere. the wind had died down. they were surrounded by a dense silence. and when they looked at one another, faintly uneasy, they saw that a thin veil hung over them. prissy saw it first. she didn't like it. but just when she made up her mind that one of the mountain mists was creeping up on them and that they'd better turn back, she put her foot on a hidden root and went down as though she'd been shot. the pain was so bad that she cried out. only once. then she set her teeth. but she couldn't get up. "it's my ankle," she said quietly. "i guess i've broken it." the penguins knew all about splints and first aid. prissy sat very white with the sweat running down her cold face. she'd seen pip-emma watching her intently, and not for a king's ransom would she have so much as groaned. in a sort of way she was glad this had happened. she'd show pip-emma something. "one of you had better go back to the camp for help," she said. and even as she said it she knew that no one must go. the mist was like a besieging enemy whose scouts having found them defenseless now bore down on them in full force. they could hardly see one another. they'd have to stay together till the fog lifted. sometimes, if the wind didn't come up, a fog lasted for two days. and their provisions had been sent ahead to their night's camping place. "better build a fire," prissy said calmly. she was worried and in bad pain. but she mustn't show it. the fire was hard to start. the wood was damp, and they'd used all their kindling. they sat as close as they could get to the sullen, smoky warmth. pip-emma put her arm over janet's shoulders. clara sat on her other side. clara was shivering a little. almost unconsciously she and pip-emma edged closer to each other. they took turns finding wood. night added black shadows to the muffling fog. it was getting colder. pip-emma had saved one of her sausages, wrapped greasily in a paper napkin. she'd been hungry before--that time pop and ma had both lost their jobs. there'd been days and days when pip-emma had had this gnawing pain. so it didn't worry her. but fat old clara must be feeling real bad. she was always hungry anyway. "here," pip-emma said softly. clara vansittart gave one look at the sausage. then she shut her eyes tight. "thanks--i guess i won't, though. the others haven't anything." pip-emma looked at the sausage, too. she glanced anxiously at janet. janet shook her head. so pip-emma tossed the sausage over her shoulder into the forest. it was no good to any of them. one of the twins grinned at her--a friendly, shy sort of grin. and suddenly pip-emma was sorry. she was sorry she'd made old clara sick before the race. after all, clara couldn't help being fat and always hungry. she was sorry she'd taken the kids' beads. prissy was right--the shell trick was just a trick. so it wasn't fair. prissy was a good guy. she had guts; she could take it. the twins had put their extra coats over prissy. there'd been quite a gay argument about it. now prissy leaned exhausted with pain against a tree, trying to smile at them. "it's a real adventure," she said. they nodded and tried to laugh back at her. all the same they were just kids. they were scared, too, and awfully cold and hungry. they were fighting back tears. pip-emma knew. and suddenly pip-emma began to sing. "we are the happy penguins- we play without a care . . ." at first they just gaped at her. they couldn't believe their ears. she'd never sung their songs. she'd made them feel how silly they were. and now suddenly, joyfully, they understood. pip-emma was a penguin. she was one of them. and with a sensation like the breaking of a bad pain pip-emma knew, too. they were all her gang. the fog-smothered forest rang with their young voices. * * * * * prissy had fallen into a doze, and janet lay close to her for warmth. but clara and pip-emma talked softly to each other. "we gotter do something," pip-emma said. "i bet i could find the way," clara whispered back, "if you'll come with me." "sure. you bet," pip-emma said. they stood up cautiously. the penguins roused themselves from their half-frozen torpor to look at them. clara made an authoritative gesture, silencing them. after all, she was still top penguin. "we're going for help," she whispered. the two slipped out of the clearing. they held hands. they knew that if they let go of each other they would be lost. they had only two ideas--to keep together and to keep going down, hoping that at the bottom they'd strike some familiar landmark. it wasn't much of a hope. they were like blind children, picking their way. things hit them in the face and clutched at them. and when they stopped, breathless and shivering, they heard soft dreadful sounds. their clothes were torn. their hands and faces, though they did not know it, were scratched and bleeding. "you awfully scared, clara?" pip-emma asked. "not awfully--not with you, pip." hell's kitchen and park avenue pushed on together. and at daybreak the forest ranger opened the door of his cabin to them. he and his wife had been up two nights with a sick child, and he was half-asleep and not at all sure that he wasn't seeing things. "we're happy warriors," pip-emma said, "and we're all lost." it wasn't anyone's fault that the forest ranger's child had the measles and that the penguins who had never had the chance to catch anything went down with it like ninepins. the penguin circle was quarantined, and at night pip-emma sat alone by the campfire. the doctor had said: "she'll be all right. she's been exposed probably to every germ known to man. she's a survival of the fittest." so pip-emma was allowed to help nurse the penguins and sit on their beds when they were convalescing and tell them hair-raising stories of hell's kitchen. she made up some of them. and the adventures of the mounted-cop uncle grew gorier and gorier. the penguins seemed to like them gory. little janet was sicker than any of them. but when pip-emma held her small feverish hand, she'd fall contentedly asleep. except for janet's feeling so bad it was kind of fun. at night pip-emma and one of the pelicans lighted the penguin campfire so that the penguins in their open tents could see the flames dance. and as they got better, pip-emma would start them singing--"we are the happy penguins." pip-emma had a song of her own which she'd learned from pop, who had sung it on salisbury plain: "i'm 'enry the eighth, i am. i've 'ad seven wives before, and i don't mind if i 'ave one more--" it was a ribald, not very intelligible song. but it had a rousing chorus. miss thornton, in her tent writing reassuring letters to anxious parents, looked up at prissy, who was helping in her wheelchair. "is that a camp song?" she asked. "no," prissy said. "but it's all right." * * * * * and then came the last night of all. and pip-emma sat alone by the campfire for the last time. everything was packed and ready. tomorrow they were all going home. tomorrow pip-emma would be back with pop and ma and the old gang. she'd have an awful lot to tell them--about their great adventure, and the camp powwows and singsongs and marshmallow feasts. she'd learned some things, too, that she'd have to break to pop and ma very gently--the way you wore your napkin, for instance, and not picking your teeth, or making noises with your soup. she'd never see janet again or clara or prissy or miss thornton or the trees or the stars or the lake shining under them. she wasn't going to cry about it, though. she was trying so hard not to that she didn't know she wasn't alone any more. there was a little scuffling sound. she looked up. and there were the penguins, all around her, wrapped in their blankets and looking just like penguins. clara vansittart was making a speech again. "we want to give you this, pip-emma," she said, "and we hope you'll always wear it." it was the sacred penguin badge. "gee, you bet," pip-emma said huskily. they were gone, as quickly, as silently as they had come. it was as though they knew how pip-emma felt. but little janet crouched beside her. "don't cry, pip." "i ain't--i'm not crying." "yes, you are. i'm crying, too. listen, pip. next year you're to come back. miss thornton says so. 'cause you're a real penguin." "honest?" "honest. and daddy wrote. he says that was a swell idea about not staying mad in two rooms. he says you must be a swell kid. you're to spend the christmas holidays with us--and p'raps i can stay with you. daddy says your pop and ma might be able to knock some sense into us all." pip-emma choked. janet was holding her hand hard. "pip--" "yes?" "we're going to be friends always, aren't we?" "you bet." taps sounded. it was a sad, lonely sound in the night. pip-emma stood up bravely. "we gotter go in now," she said. because, after all, she was coming back next year, and some day she was going to be top penguin. so she must keep discipline. [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from good housekeeping magazine, october 1938. this submission was copyright-cleared under project gutenberg's clearance rule 6. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] in camp on the big sunflower by lawrence j. leslie [illustration: making preparations for the feast] contents chapter i.--an alarm in the camp ii.--treasure hunting iii.--what owen knew iv.--the unknown shell gatherers v.--a puzzler for max vi.--the first crop from the river vii.--bandy-legs wants to know viii.--a great find ix.--max wonders still more x.--at dead of night xi.--the new cook springs his surprise xii.--danger ahead on the trail xiii.--max plays the good samaritan xiv.--setting the man trap again xv.--the mystery solved--conclusion in camp on the big sunflower. chapter i. an alarm in the camp. "hey, bandy-legs, what d'ye suppose ails toby there?" "he sure looks like he'd just seen a ghost, for a fact, steve. where are max and his cousin owen just now?" "oh, they walked down along the river bank to look for signs of fresh-water clams. so we'll just have to run things ourselves, bandy. hello! there, toby, what under the sun are you staring at?" and the boy called steve jumped to his feet as he called out. it was night in the woods, with a cheery camp fire blazing close to where the restless river fretted and scolded along its crooked course. the boy called toby, whose last name happened to be jucklin, also scrambled to his feet when thus hailed by his campmate, steve dowdy. he was a broad-shouldered chap, unusually husky in build, and apparently as strong as an ox; but all his life poor toby had been afflicted with an unfortunate impediment in his speech that gave him no end of trouble. when the third boy also stood erect it was plain to see how he came by his name. his legs were bowed, and appeared too short for his body. "now open up and tell us what you saw, toby," demanded steve, who was by nature inclined to be what his chums called "bossy." "l-l-land's sake, didn't you s-s-see it, fellows?" asked the troubled one, his voice trembling with the excitement under which he was laboring. "stick a pin in him, steve," advised bandy-legs; "that's the easiest way to make him talk straight english, you know." "don't you dare try it, now, i tell you," warned the other, forgetting to even stutter in his indignation. "i'm going to tell you about it just when i'm good and ready. g-get that, now?" "please commence then, toby," pleaded the shorter boy. "was it a real ghost you saw, or a snake? i'm terribly set against the crawlers, you remember." "s-shucks! 'twan't no s-snake, bandy; i give you my word for that. but it had the awfulest glittering eyes you ever s-saw, boys." "wow! listen to that for a starter, will you?" cried steve. "keep going, toby; don't let up now," begged the boy with the crooked legs. "i just couldn't make out for sure, b-but b-back of the eyes i thought i could see----" "oh, what?" asked bandy-legs, feverishly. "a long body just l-like that of a b-b-b----" toby seemed to swell up as he tried in vain to say the word he wanted, but it was apparently hopeless. "why don't you whistle, toby, you silly?" cried steve. "yes, that always helps you out, you know," the short boy declared, as he clapped a hand on the shoulder of the now red-faced stammerer. upon which toby screwed up his rather comical face, puckered his lips, and emitted a sharp whistle. strange to say, the action seemed to cure him for the time being of his trouble. "was it a bear?" asked bandy-legs, impatiently. "come off," remarked the other; "i was only going to say it looked like a big cat." "he means a wildcat, steve!" exclaimed one of those who listened with all his nerves on edge. "or, perhaps, it might have been a panther," remarked steve, a tinge of eagerness in his voice, for steve wanted to distinguish himself while on this camping trip by doing some wonderful exploit. "and here we stand like a lot of gumps, when our guns are within reach. right now that terrible beast may be making ready to jump on us." as the short-legged boy spoke he made a flying leap in the direction of the tent that had been erected. both of his campmates were at his heels, and doubtless quite as anxious as himself. there was a confused series of sounds following their disappearance. then they came crawling out again, each one gripping some sort of weapon. "now, show me your blessed old tiger cat!" cried steve, handling a double-barreled shotgun valiantly. "yes, who cares for a measly wildcat; let him step up and get what's coming to him!" declared bandy-legs, who was waving the camp hatchet ferociously. "i'm b-b-badgered if i c-c-care what it is right now. this rifle belonging to max h-h-holds six bullets, fellows," spluttered toby. "listen!" exclaimed steve, with more or less authority in his voice. "oh, what did you think you heard, steve?" asked the wielder of the hatchet. "was it a whine, a cry just like a baby'd make? i've heard that's the way these panthers act just before they spring. be ready, both of you, to shoot him on the wing." "rats! it was voices i heard," declared steve. "then it must be max and owen coming back to camp from the river," bandy-legs asserted. "just as like as not," steve admitted. "but what if the savage beast drops down on the shoulders of our chums?" said the other in tones that were full of horror. "c-c-come on, b-b-boys!" panted toby. "where to?" demanded steve. "i'm comfortable just as i stand. what's eating you now, toby jucklin?" "d-d-didn't you see, we've j-j-just got to warn our c-c-chums, and s-s-stand that t-t-terrible beast off? h-h-hurry, boys!" "yes, i see _you_ hurrying," said steve, with a laugh; "why, you'd fall all over yourself, toby, and perhaps try to swallow our only hatchet in the bargain. besides, there's no need of our sallying forth to stand guard over max and owen, because here they come right now." "sure they are," declared bandy-legs, "and mebbe we'll be able to find out whether it was a wildcat toby saw, a panther, or one of those awful injun devils they say come down here from the canada woods once in a long time." "all right, you c'n laugh all you l-like," the boy who stammered said, obstinately; "but wait and s-s-see what max says." the two boys, who strode into the camp just then, eyed the warlike group with positive surprise. "what's going on here?" asked the one in the lead, who seemed to be a well-put-up lad, with a bold, resolute face, clear gray eyes, and of athletic build. "why, you see, max," began steve in his usual impetuous way, "toby here thought he saw a hungry cat sizing us up, being in want of a dinner; and so we got ready to give him a warm reception." "y-y-you b-b-bet we did!" exclaimed the party in question, shaking his hatchet ferociously. the boy called max turned and looked toward his cousin owen, and there were signs of amusement in his manner. "d'ye suppose it could have been a bobcat?" steve went on, he having his own opinion, which was to the effect that toby had imagined things. "suppose we find out?" suggested max, promptly. "oh, no use asking _him_!" declared steve. "as soon as he tries to tell he gets to tumbling all over himself. he saw a pair of staring eyes, and imagined the rest. for my part, i've made up my mind 'twas only a little old owl." bandy-legs laughed, while toby grunted his disgust. "huh! think so, d-d-do you, mister know-it-all? j-j-just you wait and s-s-see," he remarked. "wait for what?" demanded the scoffing steve. "why, max is g-g-going to find out," asserted toby. "g-g-guess owls don't leave tracks, d-d-do they? well, max c-c-can soon tell us. huh! an owl!" "oh, i reckon we'll soon be able to settle that part of it, all right," said max, soothingly, for he saw that his two friends were growing a little too earnest in their dispute. "t-t-told you s-s-so," chuckled toby. "now, first of all, toby, answer me a few questions, please," began max, steadily. "s-s-sure i will; just c-c-crack away," the other piped up, cheerfully enough. "sit down again in exactly the same place where you were at the time you saw these yellow eyes staring at you--they were yellow, all right, i suppose?" max continued. "r-r-reckon i did s-s-say that," admitted toby, "b-b-but i might's well confess right n-n-now that i couldn't s-s-say for sure whether the eyes were g-g-green or y-y-yellow. all i k-k-know is they s-s-stared like anything at me." "listen to him, would you!" exclaimed steve; "he's backing off his perch i tell you, taking water to beat the band." "t-t-tain't so," stoutly declared toby. "i s-s-saw the eyes, and believed i c-c-could make out all the rest. g-g-go on, max; what's next?" "are you sitting in the same place?" asked the other, quietly. "i am," replied toby. "now point exactly to the spot where, as you say, you saw the staring eyes," max went on. "t-t-that's easy done. s-s-see where that bunch of wintergreen p-p-pokes up l-like the tuft of an injun's war bonnet--r-r-right there it was, max." "all right," remarked the other, quickly. "now, the rest of you just hold your horses a bit and give me a chance to look around." "you bet we will," declared bandy-legs. "if anybody can find out the facts, max will," asserted steve. the four boys watched with considerable interest to see what max would do. they had the greatest confidence in this chum, whose knowledge of things pertaining to the woods far exceeded that of any other member of the club. first of all max stepped to the fire, and they could see that he was looking it over carefully. "he's after a torch, that's what," asserted steve. "s-s-sure he is," echoed toby. "there, he's found what he wants," declared the boy with the crooked legs; "and it's a jim dandy one, too. now he's heading for the place you saw your big cat, toby." "n-n-never said 'twas _my_ cat!" flashed up the other, aggressively. "well, you're the only one that saw the beast, anyhow," declared bandy-legs, stoutly. "oh, let up on all that talk, fellows, and watch what max does," steve broke in, impatiently. "and," remarked owen hastings, speaking for the first time, "if it should turn out to be any sort of a wild animal, look out how you shoot." "i s-s-should s-s-say yes," added toby. "g-g-go mighty slow, boys, w-w-while our c-c-chum is in front." "then don't you think of throwing that tomahawk, toby, remember," cautioned bandy-legs. "shucks! you're only t-t-talking to hear yourself," grunted the other, in scorn. meanwhile max had advanced, torch in hand. he gave no evidence of any concern, and to all appearances seemed to take very little stock in the possibility of meeting with some species of dangerous wild beast. they saw him bend down, and at the same time thrust the blazing fagot of wood closer to the ground. "he's discovered something, sure as you live, and i bet you it's a track," asserted bandy-legs. "huh! s-s-see him pickin' something up. p'r'aps it's an owl's feather," sneered toby. "now he's beckoning to us to come on, fellows!" cried the eager steve. with that the entire bunch started forward, filled with a desire to learn what max had discovered. he was smiling as they hurriedly approached, and yet at the same time the frown upon his face told that max found himself puzzled. "say, was it a w-w-wildcat?" bubbled forth toby. "or a big virginia horned owl?" demanded steve. max shook his head to both questions. "nixy, fellows, you've got another guess coming," he remarked, soberly. "fact is, the eyes toby saw staring at him through the bushes belonged to a half-grown boy, and a badly scared one at that!" chapter ii treasure hunting. strange to say, toby, usually the last to gather his wits together, was on this occasion the first to give expression to his overwrought feelings. "gee! that's a s-s-screamer you're g-g-giving us, max," he burst out with. "but what makes you say it's a boy, max; why not a man, when you're about it?" asked the skeptical steve. max held up something he clutched in his hand. "that's a boy's cap, reckon you'll all admit," he asserted, quietly. "it sure looks like it," admitted bandy-legs, bending forward to examine the article in question. "and a mighty tattered cap in the bargain, i should say," remarked owen, who was something of a bookworm, filled with a theoretical knowledge concerning subjects that, as a rule, his cousin max had personal acquaintance with. "all right," max went on, "i found this here, right where toby saw the staring eyes. but that isn't all, fellows. look down where i point, and tell me what you see." bandy-legs and toby could not make anything out of the queer-looking marks they saw revealed by the light of the torch. with the others it was different. "somebody's been kneeling here, for a fact," declared steve. "here's where his knees pressed in the earth; and you can see how his toes dug holes yonder," owen remarked, pointing. "just so," max went on; "and when you notice how short the distance between knees and toes is, you'll agree with me it was a boy." "that's all right, max," spoke up steve; "but why would he be a scared boy--why didn't the chump walk right into camp and join us?" "perhaps this boy has some reason to be afraid. perhaps he got an idea in his head that we'd come up here to hunt for him! and when he saw toby looking straight at him, he fell into a regular panic right away." "you m-mean he s-s-s-s----" and finding that the word was going to prove too much for him toby quickly puckered up his lips, gave a little whistle, and wound up by speaking the objectionable word as plainly as anyone could have done--"skedaddled?" "yes, ran away as fast as he could," max continued. "i'm sure of that from the tracks he made, and only wonder how he could have done the same without you hearing him." "where are his tracks?" asked steve. "yes, show 'em to us, max," added bandy-legs. "look here, and here, and here, then. you can see by the size that these footprints were made by a boy. and, yes, his shoes are just about falling to pieces in the bargain. he's got one tied with a piece of twine, wrapped several times around." "gosh! however do you know that, max?" asked the astonished bandy-legs. "why, once you learn how to read signs, it's as easy as falling off a log," laughed max, as he proceeded to show them just how he figured things out. "that's t-t-too bad," muttered toby. "just why?" inquired max. "if he'd only had the n-n-nerve to step up, and m-m-make our acquaintance, there's that bully pair of m-m-moccasins, you know, i'd like to have g-g-given him. always pinch my t-t-toes dreadful. just f-f-fit him, i bet," declared toby, who had a very warm heart. "well, it's too late now, because the fellow's far enough away by now," commented max. "perhaps we might happen to run across him some other time?" suggested steve, consolingly. "like as not," the other remarked, "and now, let's return to the camp, and think of what we'll have for supper. i'm as hungry as a bear, for one." "same here," declared bandy-legs enthusiastically; for, though short of stature, he was known to have full stowage capacity when it came to disposing of appetizing food. there was soon more or less of a bustle around the camp. each one seemed willing to help, and from the orderly way in which they went about their several tasks it was evident that these campers had reduced things to something of a system. and while the supper is in process of preparation it might be as well for us to learn a little more about these five lively lads. they belonged in the town of carson, which lay some fifteen miles to the south of the camp. always warm friends and chums, they had lately organized themselves into a little club, which they called the outing boys of carson. the main object of this association was camping out, and having a good time generally. but max and owen had by degrees conceived ideas far in advance of these early plans. it was on account of these ambitious projects that they had now come up into this wilderness where the boys of carson were never known to penetrate before. max had a good home, and his cousin owen, who was an orphan, lived with him. steve was the only son of the leading grocer in carson, which fact more than once aroused the keen jealousy of toby jucklin, who, like bandy-legs, never seemed able to get enough to eat. toby himself lived with an uncle, and perhaps this gentleman did not fully appreciate the enormous appetite of a growing boy, and failed to satisfy his needs. besides, nathan jucklin was known all over that section as close-fisted, and capable of "squeezing a penny." then there was bandy-legs. of course he had a name by which he was known among his teachers at school and at home. it was clarence; but to every boy in town he went by the significant name of bandy-legs. they had come up the narrow and tortuous evergreen river in a couple of old boats, capable of carrying all the camp material; though so leaky that frequent baling out was necessary in order to keep things dry. sometimes they had been able to use the oars to advantage, and cover a mile or two in pretty good fashion. then, again, they were compelled to use poles in order to push the boats; or, else going ashore, drag them by means of long ropes, for the rapids were swift. it had taken them from early morning to nearly dusk to cover these fifteen-odd miles; but now that the camp was established, the tent up, the fire crackling, and supper being prepared, they forgot their tired backs and muscles. "hey, max!" called out bandy-legs, turning around from where he was attending to the bubbling coffee. "what is it?" asked the other, who had managed to arrange a temporary rude table, a slab of wood having been brought along for the purpose. "you forgot to tell us about it, don't you know?" the other went on. "somehow, all the excitement about that silly kid in the bushes knocked it clean out of my head." "it did now, f-f-for a fact," spoke up toby. "so t-t-tell us what the p-p-p-p"--whistle--"prospects are, won't you?" max and his cousin exchanged a quick look, after which the former placed a finger on his lips. "wait a little, toby," he said, cautiously. "when we gather around the festive board, and get our heads close together, i've got some bully good news to tell the bunch of you." "h-h-hear that, will you, boys?" remarked toby, in more or less excitement. "say no more now, please. how about that coffee?" max continued. "s-s-she's cooked to a turn, and i h-h-hope the rest of the g-g-grub is ready, too." "all right here," announced bandy-legs, seizing the frying pan, which was filled with potatoes, seasoned with a few onions, and hurrying over to where the low table had been arranged. inside of five minutes they were busily engaged disposing of the savory mess. five hungry lads can make away with considerable food, given the chance; but all due allowance had been made for even the astonishing appetites of toby and bandy-legs, when making preparations for the feast. once the edge was taken off their appetites, and the boys remembered the promise made by max. "now tell us what luck you had, max," steve asked, as he broke open a fresh paper package of crackers, and appropriated a generous portion of cheese. "y-y-yes, that's the t-t-ticket!" exclaimed toby. "i did promise, didn't i?" max started out to say; "and it's time i kept my word. you know the idea wasn't mine at all, but came from owen here, who had been reading up on the subject. we wanted to discover some way of earning a nice little sum of money this summer, in order to carry out certain plans we've got in our minds; and among all the schemes hatched up, his one struck us as the smartest." "besides, it gave us just the jolliest chance to come up here and pitch camp," asserted steve. "something we'd been talking of doing for ever so long, fellows," bandy-legs put in. "all of which is true," max went on to say. "well, what was this bright little idea owen sprung on us! nothing more nor less than a treasure-hunting expedition. only, instead of trying to unearth the gold and jewels some captain kidd of these northern woods has hidden away, we expect to find something in the way of gems that no mortal eye has ever looked on up to now." apparently these words of max gave the others quite a thrill, for they exchanged looks, and their faces betrayed evidence of intense interest. "owen had taken a great deal of stock in this new industry of finding pearls in mussels, or fresh-water clams," max went on. "he managed to learn that long ago our river had been pretty well stocked with these shellfish, though the town people had eaten them up clean. but owen believed, and i agreed with him, that some miles up-stream the chances were we might find a good lot of mussels, big fellows that had never been disturbed except by some hungry 'coon or fox." "and so we just made up our minds to start out on what seemed to be an innocent camping trip," broke in steve, chuckling. "that would give us all the chance we wanted to see whether there was anything in this pearl-fishing business along fresh-water streams." "and we're here, all right, ready for work," remarked bandy-legs. "would you mind passing me that frying pan, owen? it's a shame to waste such a lot of tasty grub." "huh! n-n-no danger," grunted toby, enviously. "we had to hurry for all we were worth to get up here before dark," steve remarked; "for owen said the best place would be at the junction of the two little streams that go to make the evergreen. and so we didn't have any chance to make a hunt on the way up." "but we saw lots of empty shells, you know," broke in bandy-legs. "yes, looked as if muskrats, or something like that, had been living off mussels right along," steve admitted. "and so, while we made camp, our two learned leaders strolled up the river known as the big sunflower to see what the chances were for a crop," bandy-legs went on. "now, please make your report, max, because, you see, we're just burning up with anxiety to know. a whole lot depends on whether we've come up here on a fool's errand or not. did you find what you expected? are the full shells here a-plenty?" and, smiling at the eagerness of steve, max drew out several large mussels from his pockets, which he clapped upon the rude table. "they're here, all right, boys," he said, earnestly, "but as to whether we'll find any pearls in the same, that remains to be proven." chapter iii. what owen knew. "well, i declare, is that the kind of mussel they've been finding pearls in?" demanded steve dowdy, as he took one of the long-shaped bivalves in his eager hands, the better to examine it. "they agree with the description to a dot," owen replied, confidently; "and, to my mind, these seem particularly fat and promising." "t-t-tell me about that, now, will you?" gasped toby, who was also examining a prize. "s-s-say, max, why looky here, i've picked up these s-sort of c-c-clams many a t-time when d-diving." "i reckon we all have, and opened them, too, to eat," replied max, with a good-natured laugh; "but not being wise to the pearl racket at the time, it never struck us that we ought to examine the shellfish closely before swallowing." "bet you more'n one pearl has gone down my red lane then," grinned bandy-legs; "because, you see, i always used to be mighty fond of fresh or pickled mussels. say, perhaps i'm a walking jewelry shop right now, fellers. mebbe i'm carrying around a whole pearl outfit. wow! it makes me feel uneasy-like." "d-d-don't you worry any, my b-b-boy," broke in toby; "no danger of anybody t-t-trying to k-k-kidnap you, even if your pouch was lined with p-p-pearls." "that's wise of you to say such kind things, toby! i'll remember it, too," said the other, reproachfully. "but, see here," remarked steve, "what's to hinder us from breaking open these mussels right now, and finding out if they've got anything worth saving sewed up inside?" "be sure and keep the meat, then, fellows," broke out the boy with the crooked legs. "two apiece all around means ten, and that ought to make a nice little dish of stewed mussels." "yes, j-j-just so, for t-two," asserted toby. each boy thereupon set eagerly to work opening the pair of shellfish that had fallen to his share. being unfamiliar with the methods employed they were doubtless all more or less clumsy. one by one they succeeded in accomplishing the task, and immediately set to work examining the contents for any sign of a prize. silence reigned for several minutes. then max addressed his four chums, inquiring: "are you all through?" an affirmative answer came from each one of the others in turn. "what luck, owen?" asked the master of ceremonies, turning upon his cousin. "nothing doing here," came the response. "how about you, bandy-legs?" max went on. "all a bluff; nary a show of color," was the way the disappointed one made answer. "steve?" "nixy, nothing from me. i've searched every particle of the blooming old things, but pearls seem to be as scarce as hens' teeth. perhaps these ain't the right kind of fresh-water clams, after all." "yes, they are," replied max; "and how is it with you, toby?" and there seemed to be something like confidence in the way he turned to the last member of the ranger boys' club, for he had not been secretly watching toby for nothing. "i found only a r-r-rotten little p-p-pebble," replied toby. "let me see it, then?" asked max. "oh! c-c-come now, max, you're j-just trying to string me. s-sure that ugly little crooked thing could never be a valuable pearl?" remonstrated toby. "perhaps not, toby, but all the same i'd like to take a look at it," answered max. "fork over, toby," commanded bandy-legs, with almost too great a vein of authority in his voice. the stutterer looked halfway belligerent; then, as if thinking better of his first desire for a wordy conflict, he passed the tiny object across the table to max. both he and owen examined it by the aid of a strong magnifying glass. "it's a pearl, all right," announced max, finally. "oh! joy! joy!" exclaimed toby, ready to leap to his feet and begin a jig. "but without any particular commercial value," owen said, once again freezing the enthusiasm of the stammering, excited toby. "all the same, it ought to encourage us to begin work dredging the big sunflower," remarked steve, as he started in to examine the first find of the expedition. "it certainly will," owen declared. "but, see here, max, what are you grinning about?" "he's found something in his old oyster, bet you a cooky!" ejaculated bandy-legs, excitedly. "is that so, max? did you see our friend toby, here, and go him one better?" asked steve. max was still smiling broadly. "you've got me up against the fence, fellows," he admitted. "caught me with the goods on, as they say. yes, it's a fact, i _did_ find something in that second tough old mussel shell i opened." "was it really a decent pearl, max?" pleaded steve. "look for yourselves, boys, and tell me what you think." as he spoke, max opened his left hand. the action allowed a small, milk-white object, much smaller than a pea, to escape. it rolled upon the board which composed the table; and as the fire burned brightly, all of the boys could easily examine it. one by one they picked the tiny white object up and held it at several angles, to see how the glow of the fire seemed to reflect in faint prismatic colors from its surface. "say, this _is_ a pearl, all right, and a jim-dandy one, too," declared steve, after he had had his turn at handling the discovery, "i ought to know, because my mother's got a string of the same--left to her by an old aunt over in england." "owen, what d'ye suppose it's worth!" demanded max, turning on his cousin. "well, now, you've got me there, fellows," declared the bookworm. "you see everything depends on how pure and perfect it happens to be." "that's a fact," said steve, thoughtfully, as he feasted his eyes on the little beauty. "d'ye know, fellows, i've always been fond of pearls. why, when i was only a little kid my mother says i used to notice a ring my aunt wore, and would hang around her all the time, wanting to touch the pretty little gem. i reckon the old admiration still holds good." steve even sighed as he reluctantly passed the new-found pearl along. max smiled to notice how his eyes seemed to follow it. "well, we've proved one thing, sure," remarked bandy-legs, as he scraped the skillet carefully for the third time, evidently believing it was a sin to waste a single scrap of good food. "yes," spoke up toby, who was watching this action with signs of disapproval, for he believed he would be compelled to complete his meal with crackers and cheese; "we k-k-know now there are p-pearls in some of these b-b-blessed old m-m-m"--whistle--"mussels, there!" "but don't let's get too big notions, fellows," owen thought fit to put in just then. owen was what his teacher at school always described as "conservative." he lacked the impulsive sanguine disposition of steve. at the same time he was no "croaker," and far from being a "doubting thomas." owen often acted as a safety brake in connection with his chums. when some of them showed signs of rushing pellmell along the road, regardless of difficulties and unseen pitfalls, it was owen who would gently draw them in, and counsel caution. they looked to him as a mentor, nor were any of them in the least offended when he restrained their headlong rush. "in what way, owen?" asked steve. "you see, it's like this," the other went on. "from what max and i learned, we don't fancy there can be any great quantity of these mussels up here. perhaps we won't find a single one along the other little stream, which they call the elder river." "how about that, max?" asked bandy-legs. "it's the simple truth. i was told we might get a few of the shellfish up along the big sunflower, but none in the water of the other creek," replied the one addressed. "h-h-how do they account f-for that?" asked toby, always eager to learn. "must be something in the water that prevents mussels from breeding in the elder," owen replied; and so great was the confidence those fellows placed in the knowledge of their bookworm chum that not one of them dreamed of disputing his theory. "go on, please," steve remarked. "you had it on your tongue to say something more, didn't you, owen?" "only this. we might scrape in a hundred, five hundred or a thousand shellfish, and not be able to duplicate this lovely little gem once." "t-t-that's so," observed toby. "they s-s-say pearl hunting's the b-b-biggest lottery in the whole w-w-world." steve was sitting there with his elbows on the table, both hands holding his head, and his eyes glued on the pearl that lay between them. "that would be a tough deal," he muttered. "i'd give a heap to have a handful of those pretty little things. my! just to think what luck to strike one the first pop." "besides," owen went on, lowering his voice, as he seemed to cast a quick suspicious glance to the right and to the left, "that isn't all, fellows." his manner somehow thrilled toby and bandy-legs. even steve raised his head to stare at owen, though it required an effort for him to break the strange spell the milk-white pearl seemed to have cast about him. "tell us what you mean, owen," begged the broad-shouldered young samson, with the bowed legs. "yes, p-p-please do, b-because you s-s-see, we're all worked up now." "then listen, fellows," said owen, impressively. "it's only fair, as max and myself have decided, that you should know all we've found out." "that's right," muttered steve. "as well as what we suspect," owen continued, in the same mysterious way. steve was so deeply impressed with the seriousness of owen's manner, that, perhaps unconsciously, he allowed his hand to steal over to where the double-barreled shotgun leaned against the trees, and rest confidingly upon the same. max had occasion to remember afterwards just how much steve was worked up. "well, what was it?" asked bandy-legs, after owen had allowed some seconds to elapse. "for the last half mile, when we were pushing up toward the forks of the river," owen went on, "we noticed that the empty shells along under the banks seemed to grow more numerous." "yes, and all of us felt tickled to see it," broke in steve, "because it was a good sign. it told us the mussels were here, all right." "and it also told us," owen continued, "that there were a lot of little fur-bearing animals living along the stream, with a mighty strong taste for fresh-water clams." "as what?" asked bandy-legs. "oh! mink, otter, muskrats, raccoons, and perhaps fisher. all these used to be plentiful through these parts in years gone by. i've heard of men trapping them, but of late it's been lost sight of, so i reckon they've increased at a great rate." "well, i don't see anything about that to bother us much," argued steve. "i reckon there'll be plenty for all of us. what the minks and musquash get won't keep us from making our try, will it?" "no," said owen. "but it wasn't that i was speaking about. the fact is, we made a disagreeable discovery a little while ago, when we went out to investigate--ran across a heap of mussel shells piled up by human agency, and not through that of fur-bearing animals in search of a meal." the three others who heard this startling fact for the first time stared at owen, as if hardly able to grasp the full dimensions of the calamity that threatened their pet project. chapter iv. the unknown shell gatherers. steve was, as usual, the first to recover from the sudden shock. "whew! that sounds like a tough deal, fellows!" he remarked, with a grimace. "here we are, thinking we've got the field all to ourselves; and expecting to spring a big surprise on the sleepy folks of carson when we come marching home with a pocketful of valuable fresh-water pearls, that would give the ranger boys all the money they need to carry out their pet plans. and squash! almost as quick as you can wink, it's all knocked into a cocked hat. yes, a tough deal, boys, and perhaps no more of these little beauties for us." he picked up the lone pearl again, as if unable to wholly resist its attractions. "huh! and instead of having the field all to ourselves, it looks like we might be poaching on the preserves of some other fellow." bandy-legs gave voice to his bitter disappointment after this fashion. "t-t-too bad," muttered toby, who seemed to feel that upon an occasion like this every member of the club ought to allow himself to be heard. "say," broke out steve, suddenly, "perhaps it's that little prowler toby sighted spying on the camp?" "i wonder!" exclaimed bandy-legs, his face lighting up with new interest. "perhaps the boy may have some connection with the gathering of the shells," owen went on, "but it was a man's big footprint we saw alongside the pile of empties when we struck a match." "what do you think about it, max?" suddenly asked steve, turning around to stare at the one he addressed. max had apparently seemed quite content to let his cousin do the talking, for he had remained quiet during this discussion. upon being directly appealed to, however, he was not at all backward about replying. "i've been doing a heap of thinking since owen and myself examined that pile of shells," he started in to say, "and if you care to hear the conclusion i've come to, all right." "you b-b-better b-b-believe we do, max," was toby's immediate explosion. "don't hold back a thing," observed steve; "because we're all dyed-in-the-wool chums; and what concerns one concerns all." "cough it up, max. we're holding our breath, you understand, wanting to know. and none of us come from missouri, either," bandy-legs observed, eagerly. max smiled at the expressive way his comrades had of urging him on. nor could he fail to be deeply touched by their confidence in his ability to fathom the puzzle. "i took occasion to examine some of those empty shells by the light of other matches," he continued; "and on many of them i was surprised to find plain marks of small teeth!" "wow! i'm g-g-getting on to what you're going to spring on us!" exclaimed toby, whose wits were not slow, if his speech had that affliction. "i don't believe any of those mussels had been opened by human hands," max went on to boldly declare. "whoever is up here must be collecting them just for the sake of the mother of pearl. you know, i suppose, that these shells are used for making pearl buttons and such things?" "yes, they are worth so much a hundred pounds," remarked owen. "the price is high enough to pay some men for collecting them when they can be found in any decent quantities." "then, max, you don't think these parties are onto the pearl racket--is that it?" asked steve. "honest injun, boys, that's the conclusion i've reached after studying it out. they are just collecting the empty shells, and never dreaming how one little pearl like this would be worth perhaps a full ton of shells." and max took the prize from steve, who seemed a bit reluctant to let it go. max had apparently made up his mind as to what would be a safe hiding place for the little beauty. all of them watched him wrap the pearl in a wad of pink cotton, deposit this in a small cardboard box about two inches long by one wide, and half as thick; which, in turn, was carefully thrust into a haversack hanging from the center pole of the tent. that same haversack was used as a "ditty" bag. all sorts of small articles, likely to prove useful in camp, were deposited in its capacious depths. and when anything was wanted, the boys usually searched in this leather pocket before proceeding to any trouble. "a snug nest for our first prize, eh?" bandy-legs took occasion to remark, as he watched how carefully max pushed the little packet down into the depths of this depository. "it sure ought to be safe there," steve declared, with a sigh as of genuine relief. "nothing could happen to it, with five fellows sleeping around. and max is so ready to wake up that he'd even hear a cat moving," owen remarked, with a laugh. "do you expect we'll have any trouble with these pearl-shell gatherers, max?" steve demanded. "i hope not," was the ready reply. "we don't expect to interfere with their business at all. fact is, we'd just as lief turn over what shells we gather to these parties to pay for trespassing on their preserves." "but not the pearls we find--if so be we're lucky enough to run across more?" flashed steve. "surely not," max answered, sturdily. "they don't own this country; and i'm sure they've got no lease on the waters of the big sunflower. so we have just as much right up here as they do. but we're a peaceable crowd, you know; that's one of the leading rules in the constitution of the ranger boys' club." "yes," chuckled bandy-legs, "we're set on having peace even if we have to fight for it." "well," put in toby, aggressively, "all i c-c-can s-s-say is, they'd b-b-better think twice before t-t-trying to bother our crowd. we're only b-boys, but we've got rights." "hear! hear!" broke out bandy-legs, clapping his hands as if to encourage the speaker. "and we know how to s-s-stand up f-for 'em," wound up toby, shutting his teeth hard on the last word, and looking very determined. "you bet we will," remarked steve. "i'd just like to see anybody have the nerve to try and steal that bully little gem we've captured first pop. my stars! don't i hope we'll have the mate to it in short order." presently the talk drifted to other things connected with their home life in carson. the names of several boys were mentioned; and from the way bandy-legs and toby expressed opinions of those same school fellows, it appeared that they suspected the others of having watched their movements of late. "lucky we played that fine trick," the former declared, "and started on our up-river voyage before daybreak, while ted shafter, amiel toots, shack beggs, and the rest of the gang were tucked away in their little trundle beds fast asleep." "s-s-say, don't you b-b-believe there was a high j-j-jinks of a time to-day when ted f-f-found we'd slipped away, and nobody knew where?" "but they know we had boats," remarked max, "because we caught one of the crowd spying on us. that's why we had to keep our stuff under lock and key, with old stump griggs to watch it." "yes," complained steve, bitterly, "because a fellow as mean as ted is wouldn't stop a minute if he found a chance to upset our plans. ten to one the prowler old stump scared away night before last was ted himself; and i wouldn't put it past that bad egg to burn the boathouse down, just to get even with our crowd." "but the outing boys don't scare worth a cent," declared bandy-legs, given to boasting a little more than any of his chums. "oh, well!" observed max, cheerfully, "we expect to hide our boats in the morning, you know, and perhaps, even if ted and his scrappers do work up along this way, they won't find us. if we're wading in the river searching for mussels we're apt to hear them coming in time to get away." "guess you're right there, max," said owen. "sure thing," remarked bandy-legs. "there ain't a time but what some of tad's crowd are snapping at each other to beat the band. every little while a fight is on the carpet. takes tad half the time keeping peace in the family." "huh!" chuckled steve. "i've seen him do it by knocking down both of the scrappers, just as neat as you please. ted likes that way of keeping the peace. it gives him exercise, you see, and makes the fellow respect him more 'n more." the supper tins were washed, and for quite a long time the five boys sat around the crackling fire, talking, writing in their note books, and amusing themselves in many ways. it was no longer dark. a moon, slightly past the full, had crept above the horizon before they finished supper; and while the trees prevented those in camp from getting all the benefit of this fine sky lantern, for the most part the shadows that lurked in the woods were banished. finally some of the boys began to show signs of sleepiness. toby was yawning about every minute, while bandy-legs rubbed his eyes and stretched himself, like a tired boy nearly always does. "guess it's about time we turned in, fellows," max declared, himself feeling the effect of getting up at three o'clock in the morning in order to leave town before peep of dawn. "that's what i say," agreed bandy-legs. "i'm sore all over from poling that clumsy old boat up-river. and once i hit the straw you'll never hear a peep from me till morning." "move we adjourn!" sang out toby, so suddenly that he actually neglected to stammer. "all in favor say 'aye'!" max proceeded to observe; and immediately a chorus of approval was the signal to send them hurrying into the tent. ten minutes later and silence rested all over the camp on the big sunflower. a hungry raccoon came prowling around, eager to pick up what crumbs had fallen from their table. the big moon climbed higher and higher in the clear sky, and, mounting above the tops of the trees to the east, looked down, and smiled upon the peaceful scene. max was a light sleeper, just as one of his comrades had declared. no matter how sound his slumber appeared to be, if there happened to be any unusual movement in the camp it was sure to arouse him. he did not know just how long he had been dead to the world at the time something moving caused him to open his eyes. the moon had climbed so high that he knew some hours must have passed. yes, there was certainly some one moving about in the tent. max, of course, first of all thought of ted shafter and his cronies, and wondered if, after all, the rival carson crowd could have found them out. next his thoughts flew to the unknown shell gatherers, and a suspicion that perhaps one of them had invaded the camp, bent on stealing the valuable pearl, filled his mind. this caused max to raise his head, and turn his eyes toward the tent pole where the haversack containing the precious pearl hung. sure enough, there _was_ some one standing there, and actually fumbling with the bag. to the intense surprise of max he recognized the dimly seen figure. it was steve. chapter v. a puzzler for max. max could hardly believe his eyes. it seemed so remarkable for steve to be examining the haversack at this midnight hour. perhaps the other had been dreaming, and as the pearl was much in his mind he may have gotten up to ascertain whether the little package still reposed safely in the pouch? max came to this conclusion as he lay there and watched. steve seemed to give a satisfied grunt presently. then he turned away, stepped gingerly over the forms of bandy-legs and toby, bent down for a few seconds, as if fumbling with his clothes, and still muttering to himself, finally crawled under his own blanket. max was chuckling as he dropped back on his rude pillow made of leaves that had been crammed into a flour sack. "guess steve is deeper in this pearl business than the rest of us," he muttered, "since he has to climb out of a warm blanket just to make sure nobody's got away with our first prize. well, he's welcome to stand guard. me to get some more sleep." so little impression did the circumstance make upon max's mind that in less than five minutes he had drifted away once more to the borders of slumberland. in the morning it was owen who awakened the balance of the campers. "here, suppose you fellows show a leg, and take a dip in the creek," he announced, poking his head into the tent. "i smell bacon!" cried bandy-legs, as he sat up hurriedly. "and that must sure be the odor of c-c-coffee that comes s-s-stealing in here!" declared toby, bounding erect. soon the four were floundering about in the cool waters of the big sunflower. they did not prolong their bath because owen had declared breakfast almost ready. as bandy-legs remarked, they could take a dip at any old time; but breakfasts only cropped up once in every twenty-four hours. and, hence, it was not long before they were seated around the table, enjoying the bacon and fried eggs, hominy and coffee, that the cook of the morning had provided; flanked by an abundance of home-made bread and country butter. the conversation turned from one subject to another. first it was the chance of their being discovered and annoyed by the crowd that ran with ted shafter. then came talk of the mysterious shell gatherers, whose secret industry the sudden coming of the ranger boys might interfere with. max was several times tempted to bring up the subject of the pearl, just to find an opportunity for asking steve if it had been a bad dream that sent him from his warm blanket to make sure the little packet was safe. then he decided to hold back just a little longer, and let one of the others start the ball rolling. no doubt steve would volunteer a satisfactory explanation without being prodded, given time. sure enough, it was bandy-legs who brought the conversation around to the subject of the pearl. he and toby seemed to disagree as to the size of the prize, the latter stubbornly insisting that it was as large as a little marble. "aw! rats! what is getting you, toby!" exclaimed bandy-legs, in disgust. "sure you must have been dreaming over it, and things have been growing all night. i tell you it was smaller'n a pea even." "r-r-reckon i know," grumbled toby, as stubborn as he could be; "and i'll b-b-believe it till you p-p-prove the other way." so, of course, bandy-legs, feeling that he had been challenged, sprung to his feet. "i'll do it, then, just to show you!" he exclaimed, as he made for the opening of the tent. a minute later they heard him grumbling and growling within. then his voice came welling forth: "say, max!" "hello!" "was i dreaming, or did i see you put that thing in this haversack?" "you sure saw me, bandy-legs," replied max, feeling a queer burning sensation dart all over his flesh, as though a suspicion of coming trouble suddenly took possession of him. "you tucked it away in pink cotton, didn't you?" demanded the one inside the tent. "that's what he d-d-did," answered toby, before max could speak. "and say, max, did you take her out again?" asked bandy-legs, reproachfully. "i did not," answered max, firmly. he shot a glance toward steve. that individual seemed to be staring, just as the others were. max could discover not the faintest indication on his part of amusement. indeed, he even looked indignant and aroused. "well, all i c'n say then, is, it's mighty funny," bandy-legs kept on repeating. "can't you find the little cardboard box?" called out max. "not any; i tell you it ain't here!" came in reply. "oh! s-s-shucks! you n-n-need a pair of specs i g-g-guess, bandy!" jeered toby. "fetch the bag out here," ordered max; and as he was the recognized head of the club, his word in a case of this kind was law. the broad-shouldered boy quickly hove in sight. he was carrying the leather haversack; and his face seemed puckered up in a frown. "specs, nothing!" he snapped. "just you ram your paw inside, toby jucklin, and let's see how much better you c'n succeed." of course, being thus challenged, toby felt in honor bound to make the trial. everyone watched with rapidly growing interest; and when max stole another look at steve he was more puzzled than before. was steve trying to play a trick on his chums; or could it be possible that the strong fascination which he admitted pearls always had for him was tempting him to deceive his comrades? max hated to even allow such a suspicion to gain lodgment in his mind; but after what he had seen, how could he help it? he determined to say nothing to anyone, not even his cousin owen, but just watch developments. of course toby's confidence quickly gave way to something akin to dismay. he seemed to rattle the contents of the bag around again and again, but apparently without success. "well," scoffed bandy-legs, realizing that it was his turn to crow, "why don't you produce the goods, toby? you said i needed specs, didn't you? the first pair we find floating down the big sunflower goes on _your_ nose. why don't you show up? let's see that little cardboard box." toby withdrew his hand. he seemed about to try and peer within the leather pouch when the voice of max stopped him. "turn it inside out, toby!" said the leader, quietly. "yes, dump everything on the table. that's the ticket!" it was steve himself who said this. if he was playing a joke steve certainly knew how to keep a straight face. he looked eager, indignant, even alarmed; but max could see not one single sign of secret laughter. even his eyes, those tell-tale orbs by which the secret thoughts are so often betrayed, failed to disclose the twinkle max fully expected to find. toby obeyed instructions. quite a motley collection of various things that were apt to prove useful rattled on the rough board table as he held the pouch up by two corners. the little cardboard box was missing. toby, as if to make the matter so positive that there could be no mistake, even turned the bag inside out. "she's gone, fellows!" ejaculated steve, hoarsely. "after all our boasting some sly thief has crept right into our midst, and got away with our little beauty! it's rotten luck, that's what i say. and for the life of me i don't see how he ever did it." max opened his mouth, as though the temptation to speak was more than he could stand; but he closed it quickly again. "i'll wait and see what his little game is," he kept saying to himself. "if it's a trick, i never believed steve would be guilty of such a thing. and he's carrying it out just like he meant it, too." the others were beginning to turn their eyes in the direction of max. "you've always been such a light sleeper, max; how is it you didn't hear the thief creep in, and search our bag?" bandy-legs asked. max shrugged his shoulders. "all i can say, fellows, is that i only woke up once during the night, thinking i heard some one moving about. but i give you my word there was no one in the tent then who didn't belong here." max was looking straight at steve when he said these words. he really expected to see the other turn red with confusion, perhaps laugh a little, and then in his usual frank way acknowledge that he had taken the pearl just to give his chums a little shock. to the surprise of max he saw no such sign of guilt upon the face of his friend. apparently, for some reason or other, steve meant to brazen it out. remembering how the other had seemed to be so strangely fascinated by the handsome pearl, made max shiver a little, he hardly knew why. "we all saw you put it in the bag, max," declared bandy-legs. "i tell you what let's do," said owen. "perhaps some fellow is bent on playing a joke on the rest of us. let's settle that point so we won't ever think of it again." "g-g-good idea, owen. you r-r-run the g-game to suit yourself," piped up the eager toby. "shall i repeat a form of assertion, max, to which each one of us will subscribe?" asked owen, with his customary readiness. "certainly; and put it up to me first," replied his cousin. "then here goes. i hereby affirm that to the best of my knowledge and belief i've neither seen nor handled that little cardboard box containing our pearl since the time max dropped the same in this bag. how is it with you, max; can you truthfully declare the same thing?" "i can, and hereby do so affirm," replied the other, solemnly. "bandy-legs, hold up your hand," owen went on. "sure thing. now put me to the test," flashed the broad-shouldered boy, as he quickly raised his hand. "the other one, bandy-legs, your right hand. there, that's the ticket. do you solemnly give your word the same as max and myself did, that you haven't seen or handled that little box since it was dropped in this bag by my cousin?" "i never have," replied the one on the stand. "toby, how is it with you?" owen kept on. "i s-s-say exactly the same. so far as i k-know i haven't seen, h-handled or even s-smelled that little b-b-box since max hid it in h-h-here. i'm completely f-f-f-f"--whistle--"flabbergasted at finding it gone." "and steve, what about you?" owen asked. max hastings was more bewildered than ever when he heard the one he had positively see fumbling at the leather bag while the others slept promptly declare: "so far as i know, fellows, i've never seen or handled that little box since max took it off this table and stuck it in the bag. and that's my sworn affidavy, believe me!" chapter vi. the first crop from the river. after that strange declaration on the part of steve, max felt that his lips must be sealed more than ever. he wanted a little time to think things over. besides, max even began to wonder whether he could have just dreamed that he saw steve fumbling at the haversack in the middle of the night, and mumbling to himself all the while. so he concluded to hold his tongue, say nothing of what he _believed_ he had seen, watch steve closely, and wait for new developments to arise. boys are, as a rule, not much given to long spells of depression. there is something in the natural buoyancy of a lad's nature that throws off the gloom, and invites the cheery sunlight to enter. so the whole five were soon eagerly planning as to their work for the day. first of all the two old boats which had served to carry them up to the forks of the evergreen river must be securely hidden. this was mainly on account of those prank-loving boys who, under the leadership of the town bully, ted shafter, they half expected to follow them to this region. "if they ever came across our boats," declared steve, wrathfully, "you all know what would happen." "easy enough to smash in the bottoms with a few big dornicks," declared bandy-legs. "huh! and m-m-make us peg it all the w-w-way b-back to town," grunted toby, who was not known as a great admirer of leg exercise. "all right, then," said max, promptly; "you and bandy-legs better get busy taking the boats to that big cove where the tall reeds grow so thick. seems to me you ought to be able to hide our craft so well there, the chances of discovery would be next to nothing." "we c'n do it all right," affirmed bandy-legs, as he started up. "come on, toby, get a move on you." "wait a minute, c-c-can't you? what's your h-h-hurry. r-r-rome wasn't built in a d-day, i g-g-guess." "well, go ahead and have it out, because i can see you've got something on your mind. now, what's eating you, toby?" the other complained. "i only w-wanted to ask max if it wouldn't be g-g-ood p-p-p-p"--whistle--"policy for us to mark the place where we leave the boats. there! do you get that, bandy-legs?" toby asked this question triumphantly. strange to say, that whenever he stumbled most in his speech, so that he was compelled to halt, and give that short whistle, toby was able to finish what he was saying without a single hitch. steve often declared it reminded him of a country railroad crossing. there you beheld the warning sign: "stop! look! listen!" and upon complying immediately heard the whistle, after which everything moved on smoothly. "toby, that's a sensible suggestion of yours," max hastened to declare. "if so be you hide the boats away so well that we couldn't ever find the same again we'd sure be in a nice pickle, eh, owen?" "i should remark," the one addressed replied; "that tramp to carson would be anything but a peach. and with all our camp stuff to tote along, too." "excuse me!" bandy-legs exclaimed. "make sure we'll mark the place, boys. now, get a move on, toby. where will we find the rest of you when we get through our job?" "oh! somewhere around here," max replied. "you see we've got a big job ourselves, taking down the tent, putting it up again some distance away from the water, removing every sign of our having camped here, and then disappearing. you'll be back long before we're done." his prediction was fulfilled, for when half an hour later toby and his companion showed up, the tent had vanished, steve and owen were carrying blankets, food, and cooking utensils deeper into the woods, while max was working like a beaver close to the water's edge. "what's going on now, max?" asked bandy-legs, as he watched the actions of his chum. "i'm doing my best to wipe out all the 'sign' we've made around here," replied max. "and it looks to me like you're doing a good job of it, too, partner," declared the other, his eyes filled with admiration, as he saw how deftly max smoothed out all traces of where the boats had been pulled up on the pebbly shore of the river. "oh, well, i'm only a greenhorn at this sort of thing," laughed the busy worker, patting a telltale footprint until it was merged with the surrounding soil; "i'd be reckoned a bungler by any experienced woodsman, you know. but in this case it's an easy job to pull the wool over the eyes of ted and his crowd." "meaning that they're about as ignorant of all these things as i am?" bandy-legs went on. "perhaps. but that won't be for long, let me tell you. i'm bound to show you everything i know about these things, and pick up more myself in the bargain. did you get the boats hidden away all right, bandy-legs?" "gilt-edge, i give you my word. and we tied some of the reeds together near the spot. only a feller who was lookin' for the tag'd notice where we did it. toby or me, why we could go straight to the spot, with only one eye open." "all right. then suppose you get busy helping steve and owen. nobody must step back here again to leave fresh tracks after i've rubbed these all out." max continued to work as steadily as a beaver. step by step he retreated backward, removing all traces left by the campers. it was an arduous task, especially when he came to where the tent and fire had stood. but really the boy proved to have a natural talent for this sort of thing. he utterly removed all the ashes, scattered some brush over the spot, and at the end of an hour max stood on the border of the dense woods casting a last careful look over the field of his recent labors. "i ought to pat myself on the back over that job," he chuckled; "and it wouldn't be throwing any bouquets either. ten to one ted shafter and his gang could land here, cook a meal, and lie around, without ever once dreaming we'd spent a night on the same camp ground." then he withdrew from the scene of his recent operations. picking his way through the woods, after a time he heard voices, and then discovered the tent. the new camp site had been selected by owen, and it certainly did him credit. max stood for a few minutes watching his chums work, and smiling with pleasure over the prospect of a full week or more in that delightful secluded spot. trees grew densely around the place, and until one drew very near, it was next to impossible to discover the dingy old waterproof tent that nestled in the midst of the thick undergrowth. a clear little gurgling spring sang close by, affording all the water they would need for drinking and cooking purposes. but, as max stood and looked, the happy smile gradually left his face, to be succeeded by an expression of grave concern. as he was watching the movements of steve at the time, it could be easily understood what pressed upon his mind. "oh, come, this won't do at all," max presently muttered, pressing his teeth together resolutely. "it's all going to come out right, sooner or later. of course it looks mighty queer just now, and i can't for the life of me understand it; but i've known steve all my life, and he's never yet been called a _thief!_ i'll just bottle up, and hold my horses, and watch what he does, because i'm bound to find out." so he strode into the new camp, walking all around, and quite free with his hearty compliments concerning the fine way owen and steve had done their part of the business. "but looky here," burst out the impatient steve, after a while, "we're wasting time, you know. some of us might as well be up the river gathering a few pecks of mussels." "t-t-that's so," declared toby. "and it's up to max to s-s-say who goes out f-f-first." "suppose, then, steve and myself lead off, and make the first try," max suggested. he had a double object in nominating steve as his working partner on this occasion. in the first place he knew the impatient nature of the fiery lad, and that his heart was more set upon the finding of other pearls like unto the lost one than any of the others. this was not all. having steve in his company for a couple of hours would give max a good chance to study the other closely. perhaps, too, if steve were really playing a practical joke on his comrades he might, without meaning to do so, let a hint drop that would serve to betray the object he had in view. "here, don't forget the bags we fetched along to carry the mussels in," said bandy-legs. "and i h-h-hope i g-g-get a chance to make a t-t-try this afternoon," remarked toby, not a little disappointed because he had been passed over when max selected the one to accompany him on the first hunting expedition. so the two boys walked off, taking with them a couple of bags. max also thought it wise to shoulder the reliable old shotgun. "it isn't the game season, i know," he said, as the others looked their surprise, "and about the only thing we ought to shoot right now would be woodcock. i saw a marsh where i reckon i'll find some of the long-billed mud diggers. you know they get their food by sticking their bills deep down in the mud. that's why you always look for woodcock in a wet spot or marsh. ready, steve? all right, we'll make another start." about twenty minutes later the two boys had reached the bank of the little river, half a mile or so above their first camp site. they lost no time, but set to work at once, removing shoes and socks, and rolling the legs of their trowsers above their knees. then, with selected, sharp-pointed sticks, after wading into the shallow water, they began to poke carefully around in all such promising places as mussels would most likely be found. steve gave the first triumphant cry. "i've got one, max! and say, he's just a jim-dandy big fellow, too, believe me! now, i wonder if he's going to present us with the mate of that little beauty of a pearl we lost so queerly." max was watching his chum closely. "he says that just as naturally as if he meant every word of it," the boy muttered; puzzled more than ever; and then raising his voice he went on to say: "you'll just have to take it out in guessing, then, old chap, because we can't bother stopping to open every find we come across." "i should say not," replied steve, and immediately added: "hey! what d'ye think, here's another of the blessed old shellfish, just poking his nose out of the sand like he wanted to invite me to gather him in." "good enough! i haven't picked up my first one yet; and here you're walking away from me double-quick. guess i'd better get busy." the truth was max had been so wrapped up in watching his chum that as yet he had hardly tried to make a find. but he now set industriously to work. there were times when the mussels came in fast; and again they seemed to fall off. gradually the boys worked up-stream, crossing and recrossing as they searched. "we're covering the ground all right," asserted steve, as his laugh announced another prize; "and believe me, we clean 'em out as we go. how many have you got in your bag, max?" "about nine or ten, i reckon, steve." "i've got fourteen, and some busters among 'em. i'll be pretty badly disappointed if one out of the lot don't turn out a good milk-white pearl," the other called out. "perhaps it'd be better not to mention that word so loud again, steve," cautioned the other. "are you saying that just on general principles like, max, or is there a reason?" and steve, as he made this demand, splashed closer to his chum. "oh, well!" max went on, "you know they say that sometimes even the trees and rocks have ears. and we don't know who might be hiding around, watching us right now." "did you see or hear anything to make you think that way?" asked the nervous steve. "can't say i did," replied max; "but i thought it good policy to sling my gun over my back by the strap, and not leave it ashore. sorry now i brought it along; but we don't want it stolen like our pearl was." "that's right, we don't," asserted steve, without the slightest hesitation. "if these shell gatherers have got the nerve to sneak into our tent and make way with our first pearl, i reckon they wouldn't hold back at taking a good old scatter-gun that chanced to be lying around loose." "let's get busy again, steve." "right-o! i'd like to make my score an even two dozen before we meander back to camp for lunch. and i s'pose the other feller's 'll want to have a try next time. anyhow, you and me can be amusing ourselves opening these mossbacks, and finding out what's inside." half an hour later max called a halt. as steve had only twenty-three mussels in his bag he did hate to give up the work the worst kind; but the demands of his appetite made him willing to return to the camp. "they're heavy enough to tote along," steve admitted when almost there. "and, after all, you had no use for your gun, max." "i'll slip over to the marsh this p. m., and see what luck i can have," returned the other. "there's the camp, with owen cooking dinner. but look at bandy-legs, would you, max? he sure acts as if he'd run up against some hard nut to crack!" chapter vii. bandy-legs wants to know. "say, i wonder what next is going to disappear around this old camp?" bandy-legs was saying in a disgusted tone, as the two who had been over to the river drew near. "why, what do you miss now?" asked max. "you remember that old cap we found last night?" the other went on. "why of course i do," max replied. "do you mean to say you kept it?" "well, i had an idea i'd give it back to the poor feller if ever we ran across him," bandy-legs continued, for he was really a warm-hearted boy, as his chums well knew; "and when we came here to this new camp i remember as plain as anything sticking that same old cap on the end of this bush that grows to a point. then just now i noticed it was gone." "that's as sure as the nose on your face, bandy-legs," remarked steve. "now don't you go to making fun of my nose," the other retorted. "it's a good, honest nose, if it is big. and it never yet made a habit of sticking itself in other people's business. that's the way with all griffin noses; they mind their own affairs every time." max knew there was danger of an argument, because steve was likely to take this as a challenge. therefore, to promote peace, max thrust himself between the other two. "have you asked owen and toby about it?" he inquired of bandy-legs. "sure i did, right away," came the answer. "and they denied touching it?" max went on, determined to sift the matter down, trifling though it might appear to be at first sight. "both of 'em declared they'd never even been near this same old bush," the other replied. "that looks queer," steve broke in. "owen did say he saw the old cap just where i stuck it," bandy-legs continued. "how long ago, owen?" demanded max. "oh, i should say half an hour or so. i happened to look that way and got quite a start, because at first i thought it was somebody watching us. then when i saw how bandy-legs had fixed it on the bush i had to laugh." "mebbe the wind carried it away," suggested steve. "that's so; i never once thought of that," ejaculated the puzzled one, eagerly clutching at a straw that promised to explain the mystery. "how about it, max?" asked steve. "well, your idea sounds all right, steve, but unfortunately it has one weak place." "as what, now?" asked bandy-legs. "why, there hasn't been a breath of wind all the morning," max went on, with a chuckle. "i remember wishing it would come up, for the sun was sure something fierce when we were wading about, looking for clams." "you're right, max," called out owen, who could easily hear all that was said, "no breeze ever carried that cap away, and i know it." "what did, then?" demanded bandy-legs, bent on getting some sort of solution to the puzzle. "this old country must be hoaxed or bewitched, i guess," grumbled steve. "things just seem able to disappear without anybody taking 'em. first we had to lose our bully little pearl that just took my eye; and now even a ragged old cap has to walk off by itself." "oh, not quite so bad as that, i think, steve." max laughed as he said this. "when that cap went away it was through the agency of legs, according to my notion." "oh, i see now what max means!" cried bandy-legs; "he believes some gay old mother squirrel just took a notion to line her nest with that ragged cap, and made off with it." "rats!" exclaimed steve; "max don't think anything of the kind. see him examining the ground right now, will you? i reckon he thinks that same runt of a boy came back after his cap, and got it, too, in the bargain." at that max laughed aloud. "good guess, steve, old chap. that's just what happened, and if you look where i point, all of you can see the same small footprint we found last night where the old cap lay." "he's right, fellows, for here it is!" cried steve. they all had to crowd around for a look, although max warned them to be careful, so that the impression of the boy's ragged shoe might not be trodden upon. "well, just to t-t-think what b-b-bright fellers we are," said toby, in apparent disgust; "when even a r-r-runt of a boy c'n steal up and s-s-spy on us without a b-b-blessed one knowing it." "huh!" grunted bandy-legs, who seemed in a peculiar frame of mind for one who was usually so good natured, "who's got a better right to that cap, i'd like to know, than the boy that owns it. put yourself in his place, toby, and tell me if you wouldn't just grab your own cap if you saw it? course you would--we all would, and i don't blame the kid a little bit." "too bad he didn't like the looks of our crowd," steve remarked. "what makes you think he didn't?" owen asked, smiling. "well, he acted like he was afraid of us," replied steve. "t-t-tell you what, boys, i reckon it wasn't our looks, after all, that s-s-scared him, though bandy-legs does resemble a terrible p-p-pirate when he wears that old zebra s-s-sweater of his." "then what did?" demanded the one who had been thus picked out as a special mark, while he ran a hand fondly up and down the sleeve of the white-and-black striped garment, worn in spite of the heat of the day. "our g-g-guns!" broke out toby triumphantly. "that's a good guess, toby," remarked max. "perhaps the boy believes we're some sort of deputy sheriffs, and up here to give the man he's with trouble. anyhow, i have a pretty good idea myself that it was our guns that made him so shy." "all right," remarked steve, "the pitcher may go to the well once too often. you mark my words, if he keeps on sniffing around our camp much longer he'll get caught." "sure he will," echoed bandy-legs, grimly. "we want that pearl back, don't we, boys?" "and we're going to have it, too," observed another of the group, in a positive way. max had that queer feeling pass over him again; for it was steve who made this half-angry remark. what could it mean? he had always believed steve to be as honest as the day was long, his only faults being a hasty temper, and a desire to do things without sufficient preparation. but that the boy would deliberately _steal_, simply because he happened to be fascinated by the beauty of the pearl, seemed beyond belief. no wonder, then, that the bewildered max sighed, and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, as though hardly knowing whether he were awake or asleep. as nothing more could be done, the five boys adjourned to the camp, where owen quickly completed his preparations for lunch. they had decided to have the heavy meal, called dinner, in the evening, so that the work of the day might not be interfered with. when those who had been off hunting shellfish had returned, tired with their labors, it would be nice to gather around, and take their time in enjoying the bountiful meal that had been prepared by the cook appointed for that day. each of them expected to take a hand at this necessary job. in anticipation of the opportunity to shine as a talented _chef_ bandy-legs had in secret been coaxing the hired girl at home to teach him a lot of things. as his turn would come on the second day, he could hardly restrain his impatience. he surely calculated that when his chums saw what wonderful things _real talent_ could accomplish, they would easily vote him a prize. but bandy-legs had much to learn. his ambition was all right, but he would soon discover the vast difference between cooking at a gas range or the family coal stove and trying to accomplish the same result out in the wilds over an open wood fire. then, again, he had stuffed his head so very full of different recipes that the chances were poor bandy-legs must get the formulas mixed, which would result in some mighty queer messes to be tried upon his patient campmates. after the meal was finished those who were to do the grand wading act of the afternoon got ready to go forth. they took the bags, and received minute directions from max concerning the best way for finding the mussels, half buried as they were in mud or sand. max also made a rude map on paper, taking in the supposed course of the winding river, as well as the country that came between. "here you can see the trail i've marked as the shortest cut to camp," he finished, pointing to a dotted line that seemed to be almost straight. "it runs exactly southwest, you notice, boys." "but how are we going to always know what _is_ southwest?" asked bandy-legs, receiving the chart. at that toby gave a snort of disdain. "w-w-what d'ye s'pose this is for, s-s-silly?" he demanded, dangling a little nickel-plated object before the eyes of his companion. "that's right, we're going to have the bully little compass along with us," declared the doubting one, looking considerably relieved; for truth to tell, if bandy-legs feared any one thing more than another, it was the haunting idea of being lost in a great big wilderness, and meeting a slow and dreadful death through starvation. "and even if we should l-l-lose this useful t-t-trinket," continued toby, exultantly, "i'd know how to t-t-tell which was north, all right." "huh! why, of course, by the moss on the sides of the trees," observed bandy-legs. "guess i heard max tell that, all right. never forget it, either. but how the dickens is a feller to ever remember _which_ side of the big trees this moss always grows on?" "stop and think," said max, who had an idea that some day this information might be useful to his chum; "the hard storms of winter generally come out of the northwest, don't they?" "reckon you're right; though to tell the truth i'd never noticed it much," bandy-legs replied. "well, you want to wake up and notice everything that happens," advised max, seriously. "it's the fellow who keeps awake, and sees and hears it all, that gets on in this world, bandy-legs. and you know it, too." "sure. i know my weak points, max; and the best thing about me is the fact that i want to wake up and do better. but about that moss--does it always grow exactly on the sides of the trees pointing toward the northwest?" "in the majority of cases," replied the other; "here and there it may vary some, but anybody with half an eye can decide the right direction. then in the night you have the north star, which you know can always be found by drawing an imaginary straight line along the two stars forming the end of the bowl of the dipper, generally called the great bear." "oh! that's easy. but once i heard you say a common ordinary watch could be made to serve as a compass; how about that, max?" added bandy-legs, showing considerable interest in the subject. "so it can, but i'll explain that at another time. you fellows had better be moving now," and max turned his back on the other as the best way to shut him off; for bandy-legs was a great questioner. "so-long!" called out toby, cheerfully, as he started to follow the trail left by max and steve on their way from the river, half a mile away. "if we meet up with this mysterious shell gatherer, what ought we to do?" asked the second boy, halting. "act friendly, and pay attention to your own business, that's all. nobody will hurt you," max called out, as he turned into the camp. chapter viii. a great find. "when do we begin, max?" steve asked this question a short time after the three left in the camp had cleaned up the tin pans used in preparing and eating the warm meal, and owen had gone off to try and secure a mess of bass for supper. steve had been usually fast in his share of the work, even for him. max had noticed this fact, and could give a good guess as to what was spurring the other on to such exertions. "begin what?" he asked, as if in dense ignorance. "why, in opening our catch, you know," steve replied, jerking his thumb to where the little pile of mussels lay, close by the camp fire. steve had himself emptied the two bags, upon their arrival in camp. evidently he did not mean to take any chances of having the precious bivalves stolen by the prowling half-grown wild boy. and in order to provide against such a catastrophe he had been very careful to deposit their morning's "catch" in an open spot so destitute of shrubbery that no one could approach within ten feet unseen. max smiled. truth to tell he was a little eager himself to set to work investigating the insides of these shells. the remarkable luck attending their first attempt gave him more or less hope that other prizes might crop up to reward their continued efforts. and the outing boys had outlined such a glorious programme for the long vacation, if only they could raise the large amount of money needed to carry out their ardent plans, that naturally max was heart and soul interested in the result. besides, max had a half-formed resolution that if luck favored them, so that they found another pearl, he would set a trap that very evening. he was burning with eager curiosity to discover whether steve might repeat his strange action of the preceding night. and in case this happened, max was grimly resolved to settle the matter once and for all by clutching hold of the other while in the act. "oh! you're wondering whether we're going to find anything in that lot; is that it!" max remarked, as he picked up an old oyster knife he had carried along for the purpose of prying open the mussels, no easy task for greenhorns at the business, as the boys' cut fingers already testified. "you just bet i am," returned steve, possessing himself of the heavy kitchen knife. "come along and let's see if we had our wading and toting the find all the way to camp for nothing." "just as you say," max continued. "what d'ye take that kettle for!" asked steve. "to hold the mussels as we get 'em out. let the meat and juice drop in here. then we'll examine the whole thing several times for results. and don't forget, both toby and bandy-legs made us promise to have a mess of these same fresh-water clams cooked for supper." so, taking the vessel and the much-used oyster knife, max squatted on the ground tailor fashion alongside the pile of shellfish. both of them set to work, max calmly, as was his wont, but steve showing the greatest nervousness. finding that his method of trying to open the stubborn bivalves was awkward, as they could not be handled like oysters, max took a second knife. placing the mussel in an upright position he would drive the blade down between the two shells by giving it several sharp taps with a piece of wood. when the stubborn mussel finally yielded to this treatment max was able to turn back one shell, and then scrape out the entire contents of the other. a dozen had been opened presently, and so far as they could see, there was not a sign of a pearl, large or small. steve's disappointment made itself manifest in the look that gradually crept over his face. "guess we've drawn a blank this time, max," he remarked, when the seventeenth bivalve failed to yield up any gleaming little milk-white prize. "oh! that isn't a dead sure thing," replied the other, never ready to yield his hopeful spirit, "this is a lottery, you know. the pearls are to be found. we know that, steve, by our first success. if not in this lot, perhaps in what our chums bring later. there are other days to follow; and we're bound to put in a week trying our luck." that was the sort of talk to buoy up steve's spirits. he was always an impulsive chap, and had often been called "touch-and-go steve," because of his quick temper. it had many times carried him into serious trouble, though, as is usually the case with these impetuous fellows, steve always quickly repented of his wrath, and was apt to apologize. "here goes for the eighteenth," he remarked, picking up another mussel, and setting to work industriously. "this is a scrawny looking one, and i just reckon it'll be time wasted," he added. "you never can tell," laughed max, himself busily engaged. "that's so," steve went on; "because they do say these precious little pearls are manufactured by the oyster or mussel to cover up some gritty object that has managed to work into the shell, and which they just can't eject." "yes, that's the accepted theory," max asserted. "when i read that, i remember figuring out how a smart genius might make a few millions," remarked steve. "you mean by introducing the same kind of grit in some hundreds of shellfish, and making the things work up a lot of fine pearls, eh, steve?" "that's what. don't you think it could be done, max?" "well, i've heard it's been tried, but since the price of pearls has advanced all the while, i guess the success of the experiment wasn't so much," the other went on to say, as he bent his head down quickly to scrutinize the contents of his opened shell. "oh!" gasped steve, catching his breath. "what's the matter?" asked max, his own voice as steady and calm as ever. "looky here, will you, max--ain't that a beaut, though?" the excited steve managed to pluck some small object out of the opened shell he held, though his fingers trembled like the quivering leaves of an aspen. when he placed this in the palm of his hand it was seen to be a lovely little milk-white pearl, nearly half the size of a buckshot. "that looks good to me," remarked max. "just as fine as the one we lost, eh, steve?" "you bet it is; and we'll make sure no thief lays hands on this beauty, max," replied the delighted finder of the new treasure. "now, suppose, just for luck, i took a notion to go you one better," chuckled max. "hey! what d'ye mean?" exclaimed his chum. "have you been shaking hands with good luck as well as me? open up, and show what you've got." "shut your eyes, and count five," laughed max; "now look, and see what i found." "my goodness gracious; why, it's half again as big as my find; a regular jim-dandy pearl, max," cried steve, trembling all over with, eager delight, as his enraptured eyes fell upon the object max exposed. "yes, much larger, i admit," the other went on to say with due deliberation; "but not quite so perfect in form. your pearl might prove to be the more valuable one when it came to selling them." "oh! just to think of it, max, we've got two already," steve remarked as he took both the prizes in his hand, and surveyed them with that wistful look in his eyes; for, as he had more than once admitted, pearls always had a peculiar fascination for him. max was watching his companion's face closely, trying to read the emotions that chased each other across steve's features. "yes, and the chance is still open," he said, slowly. "meaning that we may find a lot more; is that it, max?" steve demanded. "who can say? it's a lottery all around. the next mussel might give us another prize. then, again, perhaps we'll clean out the stream and never get any reward." max had a way of looking things squarely in the face. he seldom allowed his enthusiasm to get the better of his calm, deliberate judgment. and consequently he did not suffer the grievous disappointment that came so frequently to excitable steve. "anyway, we ought to get quite a bunch of money for these two dandy gems," steve remarked. "i wouldn't be surprised at all," max assented. "what d'ye think they're worth, max?" "well, now, that's where you get me. i'm as green as the next one when it comes to putting a value on pearls. only an expert can tell that," the other quickly replied. "shucks! but you can give a guess, can't you?" persisted steve, not to be wholly disappointed. "it would have to be a wide one, then, steve." "all right; let's have it!" observed the other. "well, i don't doubt but what we'll be able to sell each of these pearls for a hundred apiece," max asserted. "dollars, you mean, max?" "sure thing. and perhaps they may bring us five or ten times as much. i'll have my father take them to the city, and consult an expert," max went on. "wow! that's going some, now, i tell you!" cried the other, with delight pictured on his glowing face. "two hundred sure, first pop, and mebbe a thousand! say, max, it begins to look like our wildest dreams might come true, and we'll be able to carry out all those bully old plans we made." "yes," said max, deliberately, "if we can only guard our new find better than we did the other." "we must make sure to have one chum doing sentry duty all the time," remarked steve, solemnly. "that's only good sound sense, i take it, max." "guess you're right about that, my boy," asserted the other, with a peculiar little smile that, however, steve failed to notice. "and, now, suppose we finish up the lot we've still got to open." "right you are," declared steve. "but, first, please let me have those pearls. i'd hate to have them lost in this grass here. and i believe i can keep them safe in this red handkerchief of mine till we find a chance to stow 'em away in the haversack, after the boys examine our find." "in the haversack!" echoed steve. "why, that's where we had the one that disappeared, box and all." "sure thing," max asserted. "but think of the risk--" steve began. "oh, we've got to hide 'em _somewhere_, you know," laughed max; "and they say lightning never strikes in the same place twice. besides, you forget that we expect to post a sentry, so that your eyes, or mine, or those of owen, toby or bandy-legs, will be on the bag all through the night. i'll take the pearls now, please." steve somehow seemed a little loth about letting the lovely little gems pass out of his possession. as he handed them over, his chum plainly heard him give a sigh; and he caught him repeating the words: "in the haversack, and we've got to look out." then both of the boys set to work. the remaining shellfish were soon opened, and although the young pearl seekers searched eagerly, with hope tugging at their hearts, no new prize rewarded their efforts. "the queerest thing of all," remarked steve, after he had mastered his disappointment, "was in our finding the pair of beauties at the same time." "yes, and i believe my mussel was as thin and scrawny looking a fellow as the one you complained of," laughed max. "forget that, please," remarked his chum, with a grimace. "and just to think, i came near throwing that consumptive looking one away as worthless. it's taught me a lesson, sure, max." "yes, and one you'll never forget, eh, steve?" "i never will," declared the other, vehemently. "whenever i think of this lucky strike i'm going to understand that you never can judge things, people also, by outside looks." "sometimes the finest gems come in the meanest of coverings, you mean, eh, steve?" "right-o. and now what'll we do?" asked the other. "carry the shells away, because in a few days we'd object to the rank odor so near our tent. listen, steve. make a heap of the things, under some tree you can remember well. we can call that our shell pile, you know." "see here, you've got a meaning back of all that, you know it," complained steve. max laughed aloud. "how smart we're getting, old chap," he remarked. "but between us i don't mind saying that i'm curious to see what will happen." "that is, you mean to give _some one_ a good chance to get away with all these mussel shells, if so be they feel inclined, eh, max." max nodded his head in the affirmative. "meaning this man and boy who seem to be hiding out up here, just like they were afraid to be seen, and employing their time in raking in all the scattered shells left by the muskrats and 'coons--how about that, max?" steve continued, as he gathered the opened shells in an extra bag, preparatory to removing them. "you hit the nail on the head when you say that, steve. they seem to know the mother-of-pearl inside lining of the shells will bring in some money. and i reckon they're piling the shells up in some cave or secret place, meaning to get them down the river in a dugout canoe sooner or later." "well, they're welcome to all the shells we gather," remarked steve, with a shake of the head; "but they'd better not try to steal any more of our pearls, that's what"; and so saying he marched off with his load, leaving max more sadly puzzled than ever. chapter ix. max wonders still more. the afternoon wore on. steve kept busy doing things until owen turned up with a mess of perch, the bass declining to take his worm bait. then the story of the find had to be gone over again, and the prizes exhibited. owen was just as much pleased as the others, and declared that it began to look as though the best of their dreams had a chance of coming true. "i think i saw that boy, come to mention it," owen remarked, after they had talked over the splendid good luck that had fallen to their lot, until the subject was pretty well exhausted. "how did that happen?" asked max. "did you get a chance to talk with him, and ask him why he grabbed our pearl?" demanded steve. "oh! not much," chuckled owen. "fact is, he seemed pretty much like a scared rabbit. first thing i knew he was staring at me over a bunch of brush. then he turned and scooted off like fun." "but you called out to him, didn't you?" asked steve. "of course, but it only seemed to make him fly the faster. say, he's a sprinter, all right. that fellow could get down to second base before the ball seven times out of seven, i don't care who the catcher was," owen went on to say, positively. "then you couldn't catch him?" asked max, in a disappointed tone. "huh! guess i didn't even start, after i saw what he could put up in the running line. besides," owen went on to say, "you must remember that i was tired, and carrying my fishing rod, as well as a bully old string of perch, which i calculated to clean for supper. then, i hadn't lost any boy, you see. so i just hollered after him, and tried to let the silly goose know we didn't mean to hurt him." "but it was no go?" remarked steve. "oh! he turned to look back a few times, but all the same he disappeared from sight. perhaps next time he won't be quite so frightened," owen observed. "there may be some reason for it we don't know about," suggested max. "you mean that they don't want people to know about their collecting these shells, for fear that their little business might be broken up?" steve asked. "that's one reason why they'd try to hide things," max admitted, "but there might be another. i spoke of it before, you may remember, boys?" "sure you did, max," declared steve, quickly; "and mebbe you hit the bullseye when you said this man might be hiding out up here--that p'r'aps he'd gone and done something to break the law; and when he saw our guns he expected we might be sent by the sheriff to arrest him." "i still stick to that idea," max declared; "but we may know the truth sooner or later. one thing we must do if ever we get the chance, and that is let these shell gatherers know we don't mean to harm 'em even a little bit." "but they've just got to let our pearls be, or else they're going to get into trouble, that's what," remarked the pugnacious steve, with a determined shake of his head and a gritting of his teeth. max saw and heard, and was more deeply bewildered than ever. he could not for the life of him understand such contrary actions on the part of steve. max could positively declare that he had seen steve taking something from the haversack on the preceding night, when their first prize pearl vanished so mysteriously; and yet here he was apparently aroused over their loss, and denouncing the thief with greater vim than any of the rest. "but i'm bound to find out what it all means," max consoled himself by saying over and over. "if it takes all summer i'll fight it out on this line, like grant did in the battles of the wilderness. steve acts like he was innocent; but i guess i've got a pair of good eyes, and it was _him_ i saw fumbling at the haversack, all right." it had been the intention of max to try and find a few woodcock in the wet ground of the marsh. other things coming up caused him to put this project off until another day. it was really no time for hunting, with a hot sun beaming down. perhaps later on he might find plenty of chances to indulge in his favorite sport. owen had cleaned his catch, and supper was being started when voices were heard approaching. "here comes toby and bandy-legs," sang out steve, who had at the first sound made as if to reach for the guns that rested against the tree close to the opening of the tent. "well," remarked owen, looking up, "it's good to know they didn't go and get lost, anyhow. perhaps that compass kept 'em from straying out of the trail you said you made, max?" "huh! we made it so plain," remarked steve, "that a baby ought to be able to follow our tracks. but then toby and bandy-legs always seem to tumble into trouble if there's just half a chance to get mixed up. say, they've got the bags pretty well filled up with mussels, anyhow." "you bet we have," panted bandy-legs, as he set his burden down. "g-g-great s-s-sport," remarked toby, following. "glad you like it," laughed max, "because we expect to do a heap of wading while we're up here." "d-d-did you open the others?" "we sure did," chuckled steve. "f-f-find anything in 'em?" "did we? say, show up, max; give these poor tired fellows a peek, that'll make 'em forget all their troubles," and steve grinned happily as he watched the other deliberately take out his bandana, unroll its folds, and then disclose to the wondering eyes of toby and bandy-legs the two lovely white pearls that snuggled against the red background. "whoop!" gurgled bandy-legs, excitedly, his eyes round with wonder and delight. toby on his part became so excited that for the time being he could not say a word. his breath came in gasps, and his lips moved vainly as he tried to express his feelings. finally, after steve had pounded him on the back a few times, poor toby managed to pucker up his lips and emit the customary sharp whistle which seemed to act like magic upon his overwrought feelings, just as the safety brake does with a runaway car. then he drew in a long breath, and enunciated, as plainly and clearly as max himself could have done, the one significant word: "bully!" "gee whiz! i guess i'll get busy right away," remarked bandy-legs, eagerly. "no need," spoke up owen. "your turn will come to-morrow. i'm serving as cook this afternoon. don't you smell fish frying? i've been over to the river myself and hooked a bunch of nice perch." "f-f-fine. g-g-good for you, owen," said toby, slapping the other on the back. "oh, shucks! i didn't have any idea of wanting to knock you out of a job, old fellow. where's that oyster knife, max?" asked the returned pearl hunter. "say, he wants to begin opening his catch right away," remarked steve. "and i'll have to show him how we did it, max." this he proceeded to do with alacrity, and the three were soon busily engaged. bandy-legs proved more or less clumsy, and not only cut himself several times on the sharp edges of the shells, but banged his fingers with the heavy stick with which he pounded. but one way or another by degrees every one of the mussels were opened. disappointment followed, for while three pearls were discovered two were so small as to give but little promise of returns; while the third proved to be irregular in shape. "never mind," said max, when he learned the result of the hunt. "better luck to-morrow. we've fared splendidly already. and we know our scheme is going to be a success. cheer up. there's owen calling us to supper. and we can eat our catch as long as it tastes good to us. draw around, fellows, and sample our new cook's stuff." the five boys were soon engaged in satisfying the cravings of hunger. and through the nearby woods crept the appetizing odors of coffee and fried fish that must have been very tantalizing to any prowler less fortunate than themselves. chapter x. at dead of night. so the night found them. toby and bandy-legs had managed to recover from their keen disappointment over the poor result of their afternoon's work. "reckon we must have struck a bad place," the latter remarked, as they all lounged around the cheery fire after supper had been finished. "that's a f-f-fact," commented toby, nodding his head in a wise fashion; "i've read that these p-p-pearls happen in a q-q-queer way. f-f-find 'em all in a h-h-heap, and then nothin' doin' for w-w-weeks." "then our chums must have struck the jolliest place on the whole river," bandy-legs observed. "h-h-hope they m-m-marked it, then," toby went on. "how about it, max, steve?" demanded the other pearl hunter of the afternoon. "sure we did," grunted steve, who somehow seemed strangely quiet for him, a fact that gave max considerable uneasiness, knowing what he did. "and i remember telling you where we did most of our tramping in the water," he observed. toby grinned rather foolishly. "g-g-guess that's so," he admitted. "yes," spoke up bandy-legs, "but you see we expected that you'd cleaned out that place pretty well; and as we wanted to pick up a good load we went higher up." "that's where you made the mistake, then," remarked owen. "perhaps max and steve located something like a pocket. if i take a turn in the morning i believe i'll go over all the ground they did and pick up a few shells." "i'll go along to show you if you say so," steve suggested. "how about it, max?" inquired owen. "call it settled at that," came the ready response. they talked and compared notes, and laid plans for the glorious future, as the cheery fire crackled and the hour grew later. max had shaped the little scheme he had in mind. the pearls were supposed to be safely lodged in a tiny packet which he had placed in the haversack in the presence of all the others. this, however, was all a delusion and a snare, for in pursuance of his plans max had secretly managed to quietly slip the two really valuable gems into his pocket, where he afterwards made them secure. all this was done with a definite object in view, for he more than half expected that before another dawn came the haversack would be visited again. by degrees the boys fell away, since max had plainly announced that he would take the first watch. no one seemed disposed to dispute the honor with him, because they were all very sleepy. first toby crawled under the tent, and by his heavy breathing they knew he was dead to the world. next steve followed suit, and then bandy-legs. "wake me early, mother dear, because to-morrow will be the first of may," the latter sang out, as he vanished. this left only max and owen. now, the weight of his secret was weighing so heavily upon max that he had made up his mind to take owen into his confidence should a good chance arise. it seemed to be on hand. accordingly, after binding his cousin to secrecy, max began to relate the strange thing he had seen on the preceding night. of course owen was properly shocked. he, too, had the utmost confidence in steve dowdy, and found great difficulty in believing that the other could ever descend to such a low state as making a thief out of himself. "the plaguy pearls must have fairly turned his head, max," he declared, with almost savage earnestness. "just what i was beginning to believe," the other admitted, with a shake of his head. "but what can we do about it, max?" "i'm going to watch," replied the other. "to-night, you mean?" "yes. the fever is still in steve's veins. he doesn't seem to act like himself. and, owen, d'ye know, i've read somewhere that some people are strangely affected by certain kinds of gems. they seem bewitched when looking at or handling the same." "that's it, max. pearls must have some sort of terrible fascination for poor steve." "he admitted as much himself, and you all heard him say so," declared max. "all right. count me in," owen went on. "what d'ye mean by saying that, cousin?" asked max. "only that you won't have to watch alone, max." "just as you say, my boy. glad to have your company. but we'd better be making preparations to keep our eyes on that bag," max went on. "why, i can see it from here, so long as the fire keeps blazing," owen asserted. "i purposely hung it in that place, and drew back the tent flap so i could keep an eye on the bag all the time. so owen, let's settle down here, and make ourselves as comfy as we can." "all we have to do is to drop a little wood on the fire once in a while, eh, max?" "that's right; and while we watch we can talk in whispers if we feel like it, owen." "still, it would be better to keep quiet, i suppose," suggested the cousin of max. "of course. he might hear us, and lie low," replied the one who was engineering things. "but you've fixed it so that while we lie here on our blankets, no one would be apt to notice us from the tent. you had a purpose in doing that, i expect?" questioned owen. "i thought he might take a look around first to see where i was; and not discovering me in sight would believe i had gone to sleep on my post," max went on. "this is a nightmare of a time," grumbled owen. "that's right," echoed the other, promptly. "seems to me i must be dreaming when i find myself suspecting steve of such a nasty thing. but wait up and see, owen. if nothing happens i'll be surprised, likewise mighty well pleased." they accordingly lapsed into silence. minutes glided by. to both the boys they seemed to be shod with lead, so slowly did the time pass. when the fire burned low, as it did on several occasions, max would crawl out, manage to toss an armful of wood upon the red embers, and immediately seek his hiding place again. one, two hours had gone, and so far nothing out of the common had come to pass. owen found himself getting somewhat sleepy, and in various ways he fought against the drowsy sensation. "that's an owl, i reckon, ain't it, max?" he whispered when certain queer sounds floated to their ears out of the depths of the forest. "of course," replied the other, in the same cautious tone, which could not have been heard ten feet away. "and those are tree frogs croaking close by?" continued owen, who knew all about these things from reading; while his cousin did the same through practical experience. "they're calling for more rain!" chuckled max; "but i hope the old fellow up above, who turns on the sprinkler when he takes a notion, don't pay any attention, because rain in camp is generally a nasty time." once more the two boys lapsed into silence. perhaps another half hour had passed when owen, whose eyes were getting very heavy, so that he found himself nodding, felt something touch his arm. he started violently, possibly under the impression that some snake or wild animal from the woods had reached them unawares. "h-s-sh!" why, to be sure, it was max who hissed this warning in his ear. and, of course, it must be his cousin's hand that was laid on his own arm. "look!" the one word proved sufficient to make owen remember what they were lying there for. accordingly he craned his neck so as to see the interior of the tent. the fire was burning fairly well, and as max had fastened the canvas flaps unusually far back, in order to admit plenty of air, as he had said at the time, it was easy to see. owen felt another thrill, immediately succeeded by a chilly sensation. there was a movement within the tent, as if some person might be advancing toward the spot where the haversack hung in plain sight. the firelight fell plainly upon a face, and owen had no difficulty in recognizing--steve! almost holding their breath the two boys watched to see what their strange chum did. they saw him deliberately open the haversack and plunge his hand inside. "oh! look! he's got the little package, max," whispered the horrified owen. max pinched his arm. "keep still," he made out to say in the other's ear. he feared that owen's disturbed voice might have reached the ears of the prowler; but there was no sign to indicate such a thing. indeed, steve went about his task with a deliberation that puzzled both the watchers. "there! he's gone back to his blanket again," muttered owen, unable longer to keep still; "and max, did you see where he put that little packet which he believes holds all our prizes!" "yes," replied the other, "inside that old extra coffee pot we fetched along to use in case anything happened to the one we have on the fire three times a day." "that's the funniest thing i ever heard of, sure," continued owen. "he's crazy, that's what. who'd ever think of looking in that bum old coffee pot for anything worth while, tell me that, will you?" "i can't. i'm all up in the air myself," admitted max. "still, we saw him do it, didn't we! it wasn't a dope dream, was it, max!" "i'm going to prove it pretty soon, owen." "as how?" demanded the other. "by getting that old coffee pot out here, and looking it over, that's how," replied the other. "bully idea!" exclaimed owen, quickly. "say, looky here, perhaps now you really expect to find our other lost pearl in there?" "wouldn't surprise me one little bit," chuckled max. "oh! can't you sneak in now and crib the coffee pot?" begged owen. "give him ten minutes to settle down," came the reply. at the end of what seemed the longest ten minutes he had ever known, owen saw his agile cousin begin to move toward the opening of the tent. on the way max picked up a long, stout stick that had a slight turn at the end. "he's going to fish for the coffee pot," whispered owen, in more or less delight; for he did so enjoy seeing max undertake anything that required brains. the fishing met with speedy reward, for once the crook at the end of the pole had been inserted into the handle of the coffee pot, and the rest was easy. so max came back to where he had left his comrade, bearing in his hands the old cooking utensil that thus far had not been needed, and might, if the other only held out, only prove a form of insurance against possible disaster. deliberately max opened the coffee pot and thrust his hand inside. "here's a package," he said, drawing something out. "no need to open that," observed owen, quickly; "because we know it only holds the three poor pearls found in the catch brought in by the last squad. feel deeper, max. strike anything?" for reply the other drew his hand out, nor did it come into view empty. "the little cardboard box you put the first prize in," gasped owen. "please hurry and open it up, max." his chum was no less eager to see what the contents of the box would prove to be. no sooner had he removed the lid than the enraptured eyes of the two boys fell upon the lost pearl! yes, there it rested on its pink cotton bed, looking even more beautiful in owen's eyes than either of the two later prizes. after staring at it for some time the boys allowed their eyes to exchange a look. max was pale and distressed, while his cousin, on the other hand, seemed to be excited, as though indignation and even anger had surged up within him. chapter xi. the new cook springs his surprise. "well, what d'ye think of that, eh?" owen exclaimed. "it's hard to believe," replied the other. "but all the same, we saw him with our own eyes, max," declared the other. "yes, that's so," answered max, reluctantly. "he took the first pearl; and meant to hide the other pair of beauties!" owen went on. "looks like it," max admitted. "then that ends it. steve dowdy can't train in our camp, or go along the same trail as we do, after this," and owen shook his head in a very determined way as he made this assertion. "oh! hold your horses a little while, can't you, owen?" "what! do you mean to give him another trial--is that it, max?" "just one more, if we're lucky enough to find a prize," replied the other. "perhaps after all we'll have to use this jolly little milk-white chap over again." "huh! i hope not," grumbled owen. "say, you mean to put it with the others in your pocketbook, don't you, and let the little box go empty?" "of course. but try and forget all about this for a while, owen. give me another day to figure it out, please." "say, i bet you've got an idea right now, max; you're always so quick to see through things." "if i have i must think it over," replied the other. "well, let me say this just once, and then i'll ring off for good," owen went on. "if he tries this same measly old game to-morrow night, you just ought to jump on steve, and demand to know what he means by treating his chums in this way." max laughed a little. "maybe i will, owen," he remarked. "the idea struck me before you mentioned it. just wait and see how things are going to turn out." "but you'll bait the trap again, max, so steve'll know, or believe the game is worth the candle?" "well, i guess yes," replied the other. "how about telling toby or bandy-legs?" asked owen. "better not," came the quick reply. "neither of them are worth shucks about keeping a secret, and chances are they'd give it away." "just as you say, max. i depend on you to run this game down. but it makes me feel awful sore. i never would have believed it of good old steve." "well, just hold your judgment in the air for a little while longer, owen," max said, calmly. his cousin looked hard at him. then he shook his head as if completely puzzled. "gee! but you do beat the dutch, max," he muttered. "i honestly reckon you're hoping to make me doubt what my own eyes saw. but, anyhow, i'm game to stand it out to the end." "well, let's crawl in now with our blankets," suggested max. "what! don't we keep watch any more, or wake up one of the others to take our place?" owen demanded. "stop and think; what's the use?" chuckled max. "glory! that's so. the performance is over for this night, anyhow. guess you're about right, max; and i do sure feel mighty sleepy." so both boys managed to find the places reserved for them under the canvas, and slipped in without disturbing their comrades. steve was rolled up in his blanket very much after the manner of a mummy. max cast a sharp look that way, and even bent over steve as he arranged himself in his rather cramped quarters. "seems to be sleeping as sound as a bug in a rug," was his mental comment, as he caught the even and natural breathing of the suspected chum. the balance of the night passed away without any further alarm. when morning came toby and bandy-legs took max to task because he had not called on them to serve as sentinels over the camp. "owen and i looked to that all right," max laughed back. "then you are sure nobody made a sneak on us and got away with the second batch of prizes?" it was bandy-legs who put this question. both toby and steve seemed intensely interested in the answer. "sure, why, of course, we are," replied max, confidently. "nobody who didn't belong here had a chance to poke his nose into our tent last night." toby and bandy-legs declared themselves satisfied with this assurance. as for steve, though he made no remark on the subject, his face seemed to indicate contentment. "is it because he thinks he wasn't seen?" max kept asking himself, uneasily; but found no answer. the plans for the morning were soon arranged. steve was to pilot owen to the river over the trail he and max had made. and at the last moment toby begged for a chance to accompany the expedition. "i w-w-want to show that i w-w-wasn't the jonah yesterday," he remarked, after max had said he could be spared. "oh! rats!" spluttered bandy-legs, whose turn it was to attempt the cooking; but max thought he did not seem quite as cheerful as ordinarily. max himself really meant to have a try in the marsh for woodcock, as they were known to frequent the low ground when feeding. so the three boys went off, each with his empty bag, which he hoped to bring back partly filled with mussels, some of which might develop prizes when finally opened up. bandy-legs pottered around the fire for a while, but max could see how unnaturally he acted. "that boy's got something on his mind, it is dollars to doughnuts," he kept saying to himself, as he watched the nervous movements of the new cook. this uncertainty caused him to postpone his departure in search of the only game available at that time of year. he thought he would hasten developments, and bring bandy-legs to the point. "something bothering you a bit, old fellow?" he remarked, presently. the other looked around uneasily. "sure they won't come back on us yet a while, eh, max?" he asked, eagerly. "no danger of that," assured max. "you can say what you want, and nobody will hear you." "oh! max, it's dreadful," began bandy-legs. "what is?" asked the other, though a sudden suspicion of the truth flashed through his mind. "about steve. how could he be so mean?" bandy-legs went on. "hello! what do you know about it?" demanded max. "_i saw him!_" answered the cook, shaking his head in a dolorous fashion. "say, i've been thinking it over all the time. i was awake when you and owen came in. and somehow, max, i just feel awful about it. he must be half crazy to do such a thing." "perhaps he is," admitted max, cautiously. "but look here, do you mean you were awake last night, and saw what steve did? is that it, bandy-legs?" "yes. and, max, he put the pearls in our old coffee pot, would you believe it?" the other went on, excitedly. max took out the stout little pocketbook which was intended for silver. as he opened this he remarked: "hold your hand, bandy-legs." "good gracious! two, three beautiful pearls! say, are they ours, the first one as well as the other two? and how did you get hold of them, max?" cried the other when he could catch his breath. so, of course, max had to tell him the whole story. "and we must keep mum about it till you play your hand; is that it?" asked the wondering and awestruck bandy-legs, at the conclusion of the recital. "try and forget all about it, and act just the same as usual toward steve," said max. the other agreed to do his best. "but, max," he added, "i'm awful sore over it. steve dowdy was never known as having light fingers all the time i went to school with him. fact is, only that i saw him do it with my own eyes, nothing could make me believe steve a thief. oh! it's just rank!" max sauntered off, gun in hand, while the cook busied himself about the fire. bandy-legs had brought his wonderful cookbook along. this contained dozens of recipes given him by the black "mammy" at home. these bandy-legs had written out after his own idea as to what should be used. but, perhaps, he may have misunderstood the directions in some cases; and the most astonishing results were apt to follow his attempt to surprise his campmates with some new dish calculated to tickle their healthy appetites. he heard max fire frequently. "run across game, all right," chuckled bandy-legs as he worked on industriously. eating in all its phases appealed to bandy-legs; and the very thought of game for supper tickled his fancy. when max did show up later on he was carrying a very nice little bundle of the long-billed woodcock with their attractive breasts. "how many?" demanded bandy-legs, turning away from the fire where he had something boiling furiously. "count and see," laughed max, placing his shotgun against a tree, and sitting down to rest. "just five," remarked bandy-legs, presently; "say, that was mighty kind of you not to skip me, max. one apiece all around, eh? wow! i hope now my book tells just how woodcock are to be done, for blessed if i know a thing about it. to tell the honest truth, i don't recollect ever having seen the gamy-looking bird before." "we'll manage that part of the programme all right, never fear, bandy-legs. pretty near time for the boys to be showing up, ain't it? hey! something's boiling over and trying to put out the fire." with a whoop bandy-legs made a wild dash for his station, and apparently managed to "save his bacon," as max called out, laughingly. presently the sound of voices told that the rest of the camping party had arrived. each of them seemed to be carrying something of a load on his back. the catch was heaped in a pile, and bandy-legs left his fire long enough to admire the product of the morning "wading act." "get ready for dinner, you fellows," he remarked, with a trace of anxiety in his voice. the rude table was set with the usual tin cups, pie pans for plates, knives, forks, and spoons. in addition there was a pile of bread, some cheese and crackers, part of a boiled ham, a mess of cold rice left over from the previous day, and a dish of hot boston baked beans. "bring on the coffee," sang out steve, sitting down. "s-s-say, what you got in the p-p-pot?" demanded toby, suspiciously. "a surprise," grinned bandy-legs. he filled four bowls with something from the pot and set them before his chums. it had a queer odor, and the boys sniffed at it first, looking toward each other. toby was the first one bold enough to put a spoonful into his mouth. "yum-yum!" he seemed to gurgle, and the others took this as an indication of approval, for immediately the three followed the example set by the "taster." at once shouts and laughter went up, as every boy, even including the artful toby, made haste to get rid of his mouthful as fast as possible. "ugh! what a horrible mess!" cried owen. "what did you fool us for, toby?" demanded steve. "huh! t-t-think i w-w-wanted all the t-t-taste to m-m-myself?" demanded toby. "but whatever did you put in this stew to make it taste so funny?" demanded max. "h-h-hope he didn't p-p-poison us?" broke out toby. "why, i only put some salt in it," explained the cook, greatly broken up over his first attempt at "surprising" his chums. "what did you take that salt out of?" asked owen. "this little glass jar here; but what're you grinning at? ain't it salt at all?" demanded bandy-legs. "taste it and see," owen fired back. the cook did so, and made a wry face. "baking soda!" he gasped; "and i spoiled my stew." "and burnt it in the bargain," laughed max, remembering the boiling-over episode; "but there's plenty to eat besides. so pitch in, boys, and after we get through we'll see what sort of luck you had this morning." chapter xii danger ahead on the trail. "look at steve!" it was owen who muttered these three words in the ear of his cousin. "yes, i've been keeping an eye on him," replied the other, uneasily. it was to be expected that those who had gone off on the morning hunt for shellfish would show more or less eagerness to get at their catch, in order to learn just what sort of luck had attended their labors. but long before either toby or owen had finished eating, steve hurried over to the pile, and squatting down, tailor fashion, began opening mussels. just as the rest began to leave the vicinity of the fire they heard him give a shout. "say, looky there at steve--he's dancing around like a wild injun!" cried bandy-legs. "b-b-bet you he's f-f-found a jim-dandy p-p-pearl," spluttered toby. all of them hastened over to where their comrade was carrying on so extravagantly. "what you got, steve?" demanded bandy-legs. "the best one yet, sure as you're born," and with these thrilling words steve opened his palm. it was certainly a larger pearl than any they had yet found, and presented a more imposing appearance. all of them crowded around to admire, and many were the pleased expressions which the young pearl hunters gave vent to. "couldn't hardly believe my eyes when i saw that beauty lying in the shell," remarked the excited steve; "and the funniest part of it all is i picked up that shell myself." "how d'ye know that?" asked owen. "there were two others along, perhaps you remember." "sure," laughed steve, as pleased as a child, his eyes beaming, and his face flushed. "i'll tell you how it is, fellows. notice this queer mark like a five-pointed star on the shell? i remember stopping to look at it after washing the mud off the outside. gee! little did i suspect what i was holding in my hand." "g-g-guess not," wabbled toby. "if you d-d-did i just reckon you'd g-g-gone ashore and b-b-b-b--" of course, when toby floundered in the depths one of his chums as usual pounded him on the back vigorously; but that would not have wrought a cure only that the unfortunate stutterer managed to give his whistle, and then cry triumphantly: "busted it open--there!" "you just bet i would," admitted steve. "say, we forgot to notice something," declared bandy-legs. "as what?" asked owen. "whether the shells of those other oysters that held prizes were also marked with a star," bandy-legs went on; at which the balance of the crowd laughed uproariously. "what d'ye think of that?" cried steve. "he expects that when a mussel starts in to grow a nice healthy pearl he scratches a star on his shell to let the hard-working hunter know when he's struck a bonanza!" "oh! my, how k-k-kind," chuckled toby. "anyhow," asserted bandy-legs, stoutly, as he held the shell in question in his hand, "me to keep tabs when i'm doing the grabbing act this afternoon. and i give you all fair warning that if i do run across a shell with the star, i'm going ashore to open the same." "good luck to you, then," laughed steve. "here, max, take charge of this, won't you, and put it with the rest of our prizes? i want to keep on opening shells, and see if my luck holds out." max and owen exchanged a quick look. apparently steve was perfectly sincere when he gave utterance to this natural remark. their bewilderment grew more and more, and both boys, as well as bandy-legs found it impossible to understand what it could mean. max walked back to the tent as if meaning to deposit the pearl in the haversack along with the others. of course he would really slip it into his little leather coin purse where the three valuable pearls already reposed in safety. "what d'ye make of him, max?" owen asked this question as he bent over his chum, while the other was making a great pretense of handling the haversack. "ask me something easy, please," the other replied, shaking his head from side to side. "what bothers me is to understand why he called out, and let us all know he'd struck a find," owen continued. "same here," max added. "you'd think that if steve was the thief he seemed to be, his first act would have been to quietly pocket this big pearl, and just keep mum. ain't it so, max?" "seems that way," came the ready answer. "to do that would save a heap of trouble in taking it out of the bag while the rest of us slept." "but perhaps steve really enjoys that exciting part of the business," suggested owen. "do you know, a thought struck me, though i can't take much stock in it," max went on. "let's hear it, anyhow," remarked his chum. "well, in order to make sure of the valuable pearls here, i'm putting them away in my private purse. well, what if some notion like that has struck our comrade, and he's hiding 'em unbeknown to us, either for a trick, or to make doubly sure they don't get lost." owen sneered plainly, as if to express his disbelief in this far-fetched theory. "it's just like you to try and screen a chum, old fellow," he observed; "but the idea seems too thin for me to take any stock in it. to tell the truth, i'd call it fishy. it won't wash, and you know it." max sighed as he closed the bag that really held only the three next to worthless pearls. "own up," persisted owen; "say that you just can't believe such a thing yourself, much as you'd like to." "yes, it is so; there must be some other explanation that we haven't struck yet. but i believe i'm on the right trail. don't ask me any more, owen. to-night will see the answer, i reckon." "hope so," grunted the other, and from his manner it was plain to be seen that owen did not share the sanguine spirit of his chum. "now let's go back and see if there's anything doing with the rest of the fresh-water clams," suggested max. but, although every shell was opened and carefully examined, only a couple of seed pearls were found, not worth mentioning alongside the four fine ones. "anyhow," said toby, as the last mussel was passed, "it wasn't a s-s-skunk. we g-g-got one b-b-bully old p-p-prize, didn't we, steve?" "me to look for the star brand of mussels!" declared bandy-legs; "they're the only kind worth toting to camp over that long trail." it was max and bandy-legs who started out shortly after, bent upon new conquests. "look out for him, max," said owen; "don't let him throw away all he finds, just because they don't happen to bear the star brand." "oh! i'm not that big a silly," chuckled bandy-legs, starting off; "come on, max." max saw a chance to remark in a low voice to his cousin: "he knows all about it, and has promised to keep a close tongue." "then you told him when you were alone here this morning?" remarked owen, and his tone announced that he doubted the propriety of confiding in bandy-legs. "that's where you're away off," chuckled max. "fact is, he began to tell _me_ about steve going to the bag in the middle of the night, and hiding something in the old coffee pot." "you don't say?" exclaimed owen. "how the dickens would bandy-legs know about that?" "happened to be awake and saw it all. so i thought i'd tell him what we knew, so as to make him keep a close mouth. i guess he won't leak, owen." "then toby is really the only one out of the secret?" owen went on to say. "yes. and there's no use telling him--yet. time enough to-night when we spring the trap. but i'm off now, after bandy-legs. so long, owen." "be mighty careful about that coin purse," warned the one who was to stay in camp during the afternoon. "it would give me a big pain if you let it drop out of your pocket while you were wading in the river." "can't. i've fastened the pocket up snug with a big safety pin," chuckled max. he soon caught up with bandy-legs, who was following the now plainly marked trail that stretched through the forest between the river and the camp. arriving at the water's edge max soon decided that it might pay them to work a little lower downstream. so both removed most of their clothes and started to tread for the mussels that lay concealed in the mud or sand of the river's bed. max was very careful to make sure that the little coin purse was safely pinned inside his shirt. he would not have risked leaving that ashore for a good deal. an hour passed. "i see you've picked up quite a little load," remarked max, as the two pearl hunters happened to come close together while continuing their work. "all of two dozen, i reckon," grunted bandy-legs. "many marked with the star brand?" asked max. "shucks! never a single one, the more the pity," replied the other, grinning. "still, i live in hopes. found one that's got a cross on the shell. might be that's another mark to tell how the old hermit inside has taken to hatching out a pearl." "well, let's make one more try of, say half an hour," proposed max. "all right," agreed the other. "it's getting a little tiresome, i tell you. and i cut my toe on a sharp shell. sing out when the time's up, max. here goes to try along that point. looks promising there." "yes, because some sort of a bar sets out from the shore. i'll head that way, too, only covering different ground." max kept up the good work until the time limit had been reached. by then the two boys had about all the load they cared to carry over the trail to the camp. "hope nobody holds us up on the way, and makes us hand over all we've got," suggested bandy-legs. "not that he'd get much out of me, because thirty-seven cents is about the limit of my fortune now; but i'm thinking of them pearls you carry, max." "i've still left the coin purse pinned on the inside of my shirt," remarked max; "so the chances are he wouldn't be apt to find it on me." they finished dressing, and, throwing the partly filled gunny sacks over their shoulders, started back along the trail for camp, max in the lead. "huh!" remarked bandy-legs, as he trotted along at the heels of his companion, "the fun about all this thing is the uncertainty of it. ain't that so, max?" "it sure is," replied the other, without turning his head. "here we are, toting over five dozen mussels on our backs up and down, in and out, and we're just in a state of blissful eagerness and suspense. perhaps we carry a prize worth a whole vacation of sport; and then, again, chances are we draw a blooming blank." "all right," remarked the cheerful max, "no matter how things turn out from now on, i don't see that any of us ought to kick. we've got four pearls that are bound to give us many times as much as we really hoped to earn. and that's enough to make us happy." "it sure is, because now we'll be able to carry out all of those bully plans we made. wow! i c'n hardly believe it ain't all a dream, max," and bandy-legs drew a long sigh, as if trying to assure himself that he was really awake. "you'll begin to believe it when we send off for our motorcycles, and map out the summer campaign," laughed max. "glory be! that makes me thrill all over. if it does come to pass, won't we be the luckiest crowd that ever came down the pike?" assented bandy-legs. "oh! i'd hardly say that," remarked the other. "we've worked for all we've got so far. the idea was, after all, the main thing, and we owe most of that to my cousin owen reading so much about how these pearls are found in indiana and missouri streams." "oh! take care, max!" suddenly cried bandy-legs. "what is it?" demanded the other, instantly. "danger ahead; because i saw somebody poking a head out of the bushes there," bandy-legs went on, breathlessly. chapter xiii. max plays the good samaritan. max instantly dropped his sack of shellfish. he had picked up a good stout stick, which he used as a cane while walking, poking ahead in every clump of bushes where it was possible a snake might lie coiled up in waiting. bandy-legs had followed suit, and he, too, flourished a substantial hickory staff, which looked capable of doing good work in a pinch. "now where did you see all this?" asked max. "over yonder where that thick vine crawls all over things," came the quivering answer. "all right; let's investigate then," suggested max, as he took a bold forward step. at this demonstration bandy-legs gasped. "say, are you really going to tackle him, max?" "oh! i don't know," replied the other, carelessly, yet with a firm ring to his voice, and a determined look on his face. "if he's lying in wait to ambush us, we might as well turn the tables around, and start the ball rolling ourselves." "but--gosh! he might have a gun!" suggested bandy-legs. "let's hope not," max went on, cheerfully; "because that would be unfair, as we've left all our shooting-irons in camp. anyhow, it might pay us to put a bold face on the matter. so come along, bandy-legs." "w-w-who's afraid?" gurgled the other, trying to look and act like his chum, though the effort was not wholly a success. accordingly the two boys advanced straight toward the clump of bushes bordering on the camp trail, and which were overrun by the luxuriant vine. "there he is again, max!" hissed bandy-legs. "yes, i see him; and i reckon now that it's only that half-grown boy again, after all, bandy-legs." the other gave a sigh, perhaps of relief. "guess you hit the nail on the head that time, when you said what you did; because it's sure enough no big-bearded man waiting to hold us up. wonder what he wants with us, max?" "don't you see he's beckoning right now?" asked the other, in a puzzled tone. "that's right; but please go slow, max." "why do you say that?" demanded the other, keeping his eyes on the eagerly beckoning boy who was emerging from the thicket. "might be a trap, you know," bandy-legs went on. "heard about such things. the little critter may be just toling us on like they train a dog to do down in the duck regions along chesapeake bay." "oh, rats!" max remarked. "that look of terror on his face ain't put on. you mark my words, bandy-legs, he's in a hole of some kind, and wants us to lend him a hand, see?" "but where's the hole?" asked the other. "oh! come off, won't you? i mean he's in trouble. but here we are, and we'll soon know." as max said these last words he allowed a reassuring smile to creep over his face. he realized that the ragged boy was in some condition of genuine distress; and max had too kind a heart to even dream of adding to the poor lad's mental agony. "hello! who are you, and what's the matter?" he asked, as they drew up alongside the smaller boy. "i'm jim, mister, an' i'm in a heap o' trouble," the boy said, with an effort. "well, jim, we want to be friends," max went on. "suppose you tell us what it's all about, won't you?" something in his cheery tone, as well as the kind expression upon his face, seemed to give renewed confidence to the poor little chap. this may have been the first time a stranger had ever spoken to him after such a fashion. perhaps he had had a cruel experience with the world, and was accustomed to looking upon all strangers as enemies. but, now, the look of fear left his face, though there still remained that expression of agony. "reckon as how he's goin' tuh cash in, stranger," he said; and max grasped the meaning of his words, although they were next door to greek to bandy-legs. "who do you mean by saying he?" asked max. "dad," answered the forlorn specimen, drawing down the corners of his mouth. "is he sick?" continued max. "nope. got hurted bad. falled down a big drop. reckon like he's a sure goner," the boy whimpered. "where is he now?" the other asked, briskly. "in our shack. he done crawled part way, an' wen i diskivered him i helped drag him home." the lad said this latter a little proudly, as though he wanted these boys to understand that while he might look thin and puny, still he was not lacking in pure grit, and the ability to "do things." "what do you want us to do, jim?" asked max. "i seed yuh goin' along hyah, an' i thort as how p'r'aps yuh wont come over an' see dad. he's got a leg broke, that's flat; but yuh see he feels so pow'ful bad inside he's 'feared he's hurt thar. cain't yuh come 'long with me, mistah?" not for a moment did warm-hearted max hesitate. "sure we will. lead the way, jim. i suppose you can bring us back here again to get our bags of mussels," he said, promptly. "i sartin kin, an' i will, mistah," replied the boy, a faint look as of hope appearing on his brown face. "but, max--" whispered bandy-legs, plucking at his companion's coat sleeve. "what ails you?" asked max, impatiently. "is it safe, d'ye think?" demanded the other; "wouldn't it be better for us to go on to camp, pick up a gun, and then join jim here?" "you can, if you want to," said max; "as for me, i'm going to believe in the story he tells." but he did not throw away the stout stick which at the time he chanced to be carrying. the boy had turned around. he wanted to see what they meant to do, and a new dread seemed to be gripping him. but when max once again started forward, bandy-legs, as if a little ashamed of his suspicion, kept him company. thus, following the uncouth little fellow closely, they began to pass through a very dense section of forest. max considered that since they were going to all this trouble in order to do a good deed, it might be as well to learn a few things. accordingly he quickened his pace, so that he drew up alongside jim. "what's your dad's name, jim?" he asked. the boy seemed to hesitate, as though even in his young mind he doubted the propriety of giving away family secrets. "calls hisself tom jones, mistah," he finally replied; but max readily understood that the chances were the man had another name, which he did not like to own, as possibly it was connected with a prison sentence, or some crime. however, max did not allow himself to feel any sort of curiosity in this direction. it was enough for him to know that the unfortunate man had fallen upon evil days, and was lying there with a broken leg, perhaps even dying, and far removed from all doctors. "we've seen signs around that made us think you were collecting these mussel shells," he went on. the boy nodded his head in the affirmative. "no use denyin' it, mistah, 'case yuh'd see our shack wen yuh git thar, anyways," he muttered. "and you've been thinking we'd come up here to beat you out in the game--is that it?" max continued. another vigorous nod, and a gloomy look answered him. "well, that's where you're away off, jim," max went on. "we don't care for the shells, and you're welcome to all we happen to gather, after we've taken out and eaten the meat. i suppose your dad means to get a load down the river, and sell the same to some factory that manufactures pearl buttons?" "yep. an' we was a gettin' heaps o' 'em; but if dad he draps off, it's all busted," jim replied. his manner told max that at least he must cherish a certain amount of affection for his father. "ain't we nearly there?" grunted bandy-legs, who had proven clumsy, so that several times, catching a foot in some concealed creeper, he had almost fallen flat. "jest a leetle bit furder, mistah," replied jim, eagerly, as though he feared that these new-found friends might grow suspicious or weary, and desert him in his time of great need. five minutes later and they stepped into a little open space. the hill rose abruptly before them. max realized that they must be close to the camp of the shell gatherers, even before he saw this opening, for he could detect an odor in the air far from delightful, and which he knew must come from a collection of hundreds and hundreds of shells, many of them possibly recently opened. jim's father had found a natural cave under a great shelf of rock that jutted out from the base of the hill. here the two were safe from the violent summer storms; and with a couple of worn blankets, a few cooking utensils, and a scant allowance of food, they were able to carry on the business of gathering the fine shells, with their mother-of-pearl lining, so necessary in the button trade. several piles of shells caught the eyes of the two boys as they approached the strange camp. max, however, looking farther, discovered a form upon the ground, partly covered by a blanket. a dreadful suspicion came over him that the man might have died while jim was seeking help. this, however, was speedily dissipated, for he saw "tom jones" raise himself on one arm and stare hard at them. fear was in those burning dark eyes, such fear as might be shown by a fugitive from justice, one who believed every honest man's hand was raised against him. but max would not allow himself to even think of this. the poor fellow was in trouble; he needed help the worst kind, and it was no business of theirs to ask questions. "we've come to see if we can help you, mr. jones," he remarked, in his customary cheery tone, as he bent over the injured man. "jim got yuh, did he?" muttered the other. "knowed 'twar the on'y thing tuh be did, no matter wat follered." "make your mind easy, because there's nothing going to follow. now, it happens that even if i am only a boy, i've always had an itching to be a surgeon some day. so i know a little about setting broken bones. i'm going to play doctor, if you'll let me, mr. jones." as max said this he stripped off his coat. the boy watched him in awe, while the man showed signs of newly awakened hope. for quite some time max examined his patient, even turning the man over so that he could test his ribs thoroughly. "now i'm going to set that leg the best i can, with splints to hold it. after all it's a simple fracture a little way above the ankle. those black and blue marks don't count for anything, mr. jones. make up your mind you're going to pull through nicely. you were lucky, for it might have been much worse." "but i'm sore up in the body," said the man. "yes, you're bruised some, and i expect a rib or two may be broken. but they'll mend all right. don't worry for a minute. i'll come and see you again once or twice before we go back to town. and i'm going to send you up some things from the store." the man could hardly express his gratitude, but max saw tears in his eyes. he was ragged and wore a rough beard, but his face was not unkind. and jim seemed to set considerable store by his father, which would indicate that the boy was not abused. "gettin' shells, too, i reckon?" the man remarked, as max shook hands with him preparatory to leaving. "well, no," replied max, and then, obeying a sudden inspiration, he went on; "it might pay you after this to carefully examine the _inside_ of every fresh-water clam you gather, because we've found some good pearls that are worth ten times as much as all your shells. good-by, tom jones. i'm coming again to-morrow to see you, and bring some coffee and bacon. now, jim, show us the way back to where we left our sacks." chapter xiv. setting the man trap again. jim was only too delighted to act once more as guide. the look of fear had quite left his face, and both max and bandy-legs saw that after all the poor little chap was rather a decent-looking boy. "say, is he agoin' tuh git well, mistah?" he asked, turning when they were once more fairly on the way back to the trail leading to the camp. "sure he is, jim," answered max. "but he'd 'a' gone dead on'y for you uns comin' tuh help. reckon as how we orter be kinder 'bleeged fur doin' this away," went on the boy, awkwardly trying to prove that he knew what gratitude meant. "that's all right, jim," max smilingly said. "perhaps he wouldn't have died on account of his broken leg, but he'd never walked again without a limp. but look here, don't you say another word about it, jim." "but--" "because," max went on, quickly, "it's been a pleasure to me to attend your dad. i'm wanting to be a surgeon some day, and every little bit of practice helps. now, if you don't mind, we'd like to know something about you, jim. where'd you come from? i never saw you or your father around carson, which is the name of the town where my chum here and myself live." the boy actually turned red in the face. his confusion told the sharp-eyed max that there must be some sort of unpleasant story connected with the past. "hold on, jim, i take that back," he hastened to say. "it's none of my business, and you needn't tell me anything about what you've been through." "but i jest has tuh, 'case it's been a-burnin' in here ever so long, an' never anybody tuh tell," and jim slapped his hand on his breast as he spoke. "oh! well, please yourself, jim," max observed, seeing that the confidence would really satisfy the boy, who had evidently never known a friend in all his life, save his wandering father. "and, jim," put in bandy-legs, seriously, "just you make up your mind that we'll never whisper a word of what you tell us to a living soul, eh, max?" "that's a sure thing," replied the other. jim fell back a little, so that he might be closer to these two splendid friends, who were already assuming the rã´le of heroes in his eyes. "'tain't so bad, i reckons," he started in to say. "yuh see, dad, he never done as they sez. lots o' times he tells me as how sum other man he tries tuh rob that ole farmer. but they ketched him in our camp, an' totes him tuh the farmhouse. i heerd 'em say as how they means tuh kerry dad tuh town an' hev him shut up, when mawnin' kims along." the boy drew a long breath. his eyes flashed with the memory of the wrongs that had been heaped upon his father; and max chuckled with glee to see that after all he had more or less "spunk" in his small body. "i take it from what you say, jim, that you weren't made a prisoner at the same time they nabbed your father?" he remarked. "naw," replied the boy, "i chanct tuh be away from camp jest then, yuh see. wen i kim back i seed three big men a-hustlin' dad along, an' him a-saying all' ther time he never done nawthin'." "of course you followed them?" said max. "yep. they wasn't nawthin' else tuh be done," came the answer, as the boy grinned a little. "bet you he helped his dad skip out, max," was the suggestion bandy-legs put up. "did you, jim?" demanded the other. "i sartin did that same, mistah," came the prompt reply, a little proudly. "seen whar they done locked dad in the smokehouse. tried the door, but it wa'n't no go. then i started tuh tunnel under the wall." "well, i declare! what d'ye think of that, now?" exclaimed the wondering bandy-legs. "ain't he just the little boss schemer, though?" "and did you succeed--did you get your dad out all right?" asked max. "i sartin did. took a heap o' time, i tell yuh. reckon 'twas nigh mawnin' wen he crawled through the hole, an' we lit out foh the woods." "and since that time you've been in hiding, afraid to show yourselves in any town?" max continued, bent on knowing all the particulars, for he had taken a decided interest in little jim. "yep, we jest stuck tuh the woods," the other went on to say. "dad, he 'membered hearin' some feller say as how these yer shells was wuth money, if so be they cud be gathered in heaps. an' so yuh see we ben gatherin' 'em right along." "how'd you ever get feed?" asked bandy-legs, whose mind always traveled to this very important question. "dad had jest a leetle money, left over from his last job," jim replied. "then we set traps an' ketched a few rabbits. i fished some, too. reckon we managed tuh get along. lots o' times, though, i was that hungry i cud 'a' et a raw turnip." "you say your father worked--was he a farm hand?" max asked. "naw. dad he's a travelin' printer, an' a good un, too, mistah. but he jest cain't stay ennywhere long. he's got gypsy blood, yuh see, and the travel bug he sez is in his body. so arter a little we gets out on the road again tuh see the sights." "a traveling printer, eh?" remarked bandy-legs; "say, that's kind of queer now. reckon he'd strike a job if he dropped in on mr. robbins, the editor of the _carson weekly town topics_." "what makes you say that?" demanded max. "because i chanced to hear him say his typesetter was bound to leave him in the lurch, and he didn't know where he'd get a man by the first of the month," bandy-legs replied promptly. "there, do you hear that, jim?" remarked max. "yep. but reckons as how it ain't a-goin' tuh do we uns any good," answered the boy, dejectedly. "why not? by that time your dad's leg ought to be fairly well. and a couple of us boys could take him down to carson soon in one of our boats." jim looked into the face of his kind friend while max was speaking. there were tears in the little chap's eyes. "reckon yuh done forget, mistah!" he sighed. "now you mean about the trouble your dad fell into on account of that old farmer; is that it, jim?" demanded max. the boy nodded his head in a forlorn fashion. "how long ago was this, jim--about a month?" max asked. "reckon she be all o' that, mistah." "and did you hear the name of the old farmer whose house had been robbed, jim?" "i never done forgot that. i seems tuh heah it whispered by every leetle wind thet blows. wenever i waked up in the night it kim a-stealin' along past the ledge o' rock, an' makin' me shiver, i tell yuh. he was a orful hard-lookin' ole man, mistah." "but perhaps not quite so hard as he seemed, jim. was that name griffin, jim?" asked max. "yep," piped the boy, shivering; "an heah's them two bag o' mussels, jest whar yuh left 'em." "all right, jim. i didn't expect they'd be stolen. now listen to what i say, jim." "yas, suh." "when you go back to your dad tell him i said he needn't be afraid to show himself in carson, or any other town around these diggings; because the tramp who robbed old griffin's place was caught, and all the stuff found on him!" "that's right," interrupted bandy-legs, anxious to have a part in the developments; "and i saw the chief of police bring him into town, too. he was sure a tough-looking case. your dad looks like a gentleman beside that hobo thief." "old griffin is a just man," max went on. "i'm sure he's felt sorry for treating your father as roughly as he did, without having any evidence against him. and if you two showed up at his place to-day chances are he'd take you both in and give you jobs." "but," said bandy-legs, "there ain't no need of that. i'm bent on seeing tom jones get that vacancy on the local paper." "is tom jones your father's real name?" asked max. "you needn't be afraid to say, jim, because nobody is going to harm him now." "it's thomas archer. he kin talk jest as good as you kin, wen he wants tuh to do it. but the fellers we tramps with done lawf at him, so he larns tuh talk like they does. but yuh done makes me happy, tell yuh, mistah. glad now i waited on the trail foh yuh." "you belong down south, don't you, jim?" asked max. "reckon nawth car'liny was the place i was borned into this world, suh, but i don't jest see how yuh guessed that," the boy answered. "never mind. suppose you trot along with us to our camp now. i'd like to send back a few things, like coffee and bacon, for your dad and you." jim could only clutch the hand of max when he said this and squeeze it. but the other felt something moist drop on the back of his hand, and was sure it must be a tear. the boys were once more taken in charge, and their interrupted march along the trail resumed. when they entered the camp various were the exclamations of surprise from the three who had been left in charge. of course a perfect rain of questions followed, and for some time both max and his fellow laborers in the shellfish industry were kept busily employed answering these interrogations. finally, as the sun was sinking low, jim was allowed to depart, fairly laden with the various good things which the campers insisted on sending to the unfortunate tramp printer. "we can spare them easy enough," max had remarked. "sure we can, and more, too," echoed owen. "b-b-besides, we've b-b-been so lucky, you k-k-know, in our hunt for p-p-pearls, we ought to be g-g-g-g--" again came the usual pounding on the back, which produced no results; but as soon as toby could pucker up his lips, so as to whistle, he immediately calmed down enough to shout at the top of his voice: "generous--there!" "well, i should say we could," observed steve, rubbing his hands together exultantly. "even if we did lose that first beaut of a gem, haven't we still got three elegant ones? and perhaps you fellows may have fetched the mate of the lost one along in this last batch. you never can tell." max could not help looking toward owen, who raised his eyebrows after a peculiar fashion that could only stand for bewilderment. steve certainly had these three loyal chums guessing. but max was fully determined that the mystery must not remain such over another night, if he could arrange matters so that the solution might be hastened. to this end he presently started to assist bandy-legs open their catch of the afternoon, steve and toby being engaged in getting supper. another prize rewarded their search, a pearl not so fine as the one steve had discovered, but so perfect in shape, and so milk-white in color, that they agreed it ranked with any of the rest in value. so max was very careful to wrap this last prize up in some paper, and thrust it into the haversack, with all his comrades looking on, especially steve. the latter stared as usual, as though fascinated by the sight of the beautiful gem. "he'll try again, my word on it," whispered bandy-legs in the ear of max; whereupon the other put a finger on his lips to enjoin silence. the five boys spent the evening as usual in merry conversation and song. all seemed to be in high spirits, even steve joining with a vim in the school songs so dear to their hearts. then, as the hour grew later, they began to yawn; and first toby crawled inside the tent, then owen, and finally steve, bandy-legs, and max. apparently the idea of keeping guard over the camp had been abandoned, now that they knew jim and his father were honest. a long time passed, with only the heavy breathing of the boys to disturb the silence. the fire, prepared by max ere he turned in, continued to burn briskly. it must have been midnight again when owen felt the hand of his cousin shake him, and, raising his head a little, he saw that there was something doing. chapter xv. the mystery solved--conclusion. steve was on his hands and knees, and apparently in the act of getting to his feet. strangely enough he did not seem to show any sign of nervousness or caution; and owen looked in vain to see the suspected thief glance suspiciously around, as though to observe whether his comrades were all sound asleep at the time. bandy-legs did not stir, and, judging from his heavy regular breathing, he must have dropped asleep, despite his intention of staying awake. the exertions and excitement attending that afternoon tramp had proven too much for bandy-legs, and neither of the others thought it worth while to awaken him. truth to tell, both max and owen were staring at steve, holding their very breath with surprise. the other had by now reached the pole of the tent to which the strap of the haversack was attached. they could plainly hear him grumbling to himself as he thrust his hand inside. drawing out the little wad of paper in the midst of which max had secured the latest find, steve could be seen carefully closing the bag again. he did not look around once to see if he was observed, a fact that puzzled owen greatly; but passing over to where the cooking outfit lay he calmly picked up the extra coffee pot, raised the lid, pushed the packet in with the other stuff that seemed to lie hidden there, and once more placing the strange pearl bank down, steve made his way back to his blanket. he stepped over the forms of toby and bandy-legs while so doing, and never once touched them with his feet. max believed he could hardly have duplicated the act, and his astonishment increased accordingly. steve seemed to give a satisfied grunt as he settled down again under his blanket. it was about what one would emit after having felt that he had done his duty. owen heard max laughing softly to himself. "what does it all mean, max?" he whispered, as he heard steve begin to breathe regularly once more. "tell you in the morning," replied the other. "too long a story for now. besides, i want steve to be around at the time, you see." "that's mean of you," grumbled the disappointed one. "can't help it; go to sleep and don't worry, owen." "but, say, hadn't we better make sure of that last pearl? it goes against my grain to have such valuables kicking around in old coffee pots," owen protested. "shucks! then you didn't see me palm the pearl. i put a pebble in place of it. right now that pearl is in my coin purse, keeping company with the rest," and max chuckled again as he snuggled down under his blanket. "gee! you're a wizard, all right," said owen, in a whisper, as he reluctantly followed suit. no doubt he lay awake for a long time, puzzling his head for a solution of the mystery. but the balance of the night passed, and morning found the boys wide awake, hungry, and ready for another day at the delightful task they had set for themselves. it was when breakfast was about over that max chose to spring his little surprise. steve had just announced his intention of being in the party that would follow the trail to the river that morning. "hope i duplicate my luck of yesterday, fellows," he was saying, with a big sigh, when max, leaning forward so as to catch his eye, remarked: "by the way, steve, do you happen to remember having any odd little tricks as a kid--anything that'd be apt to give your mother and father cause for anxiety _in the night_?" bandy-legs, who had been secretly told concerning the happenings of the night, held his breath; owen, too, immediately assumed an eager look, and toby, not knowing what it was all about, stopped eating, and listened. "in the night--we have tricks, you say? now, whatever in the wide world can you mean?" asked the apparently astonished steve. "well, like walking in your sleep let's say," continued max. "did you ever do such a thing, steve?" the other grinned and looked a little foolish. "i sure did, when i was a kid, and it's a fact, fellows," he admitted. "but, say, i've been cured of that a long time." "you _think_ you have, you mean?" max persisted, while owen and bandy-legs exchanged a look of intense relief, now beginning to grasp the theory that max was working along. "haven't done any stunts that way for nearly five years, give you my word, boys!" declared steve, looking a little worried at the same time. "oh! yes, you have, steve," laughed max. "you've fallen back into your old bad ways again, it seems. for the last few nights you've been prowling around our camp here, and giving me the biggest shock ever." "you don't say?" exclaimed the other. "what did i do, max. tell me right away, please." "well, you seemed to have our precious pearls on your mind all the while." "good gracious! i hope now i didn't try--say? did i go anywhere near that old haversack?" demanded steve, plainly embarrassed. "every time, straight for it," replied max. "and took something out?" pursued steve. "your one object," said max, "seemed to be a terrible fear that some thief might rob us. and so as to block this little game you set out to hide the pearls in a new place." "as where?" demanded the astounded steve. "remember the second coffee pot we fetched along? well, you hit on that as the new hiding place"; and even as max spoke, the other, scrambling to his feet, hastened over to where the spare cooking utensils lay. coming back with the extra coffee pot he proceeded to drag out its contents. when the papers and the little cardboard box that contained pink cotton had all been opened, with the result that only the pebble and the few less valuable pearls were found, steve stared in dismay. "oh! they're all gone!" he cried, hoarsely. "i've lost the whole bunch, just because i kept thinking about them so much, and worrying about their being stolen. whatever will we do, max?" "we don't have to do anything," replied the other, with a laugh, as he drew out his coin purse; "because i've got every one of the little beauties safe right here." "even the one that was lost first of all," spoke up bandy-legs, as though proud to show that he had been in the secret right along. steve's hand trembled when max emptied the little white objects into his palm. and perhaps there were tears in his eyes, even as there was certainly a suspicious quiver to his voice as he went on to say: "that's a low-down trick of mine, boys, and this time it came mighty near blocking all our fine plans by losing the pearls that are going to get us the money we need. don't ever leave anything valuable lying around while i'm in camp. it works on my mind, i guess. ugh! ain't i glad you saw me do it? how tough we'd feel if none of us could give a guess where the blessed little things had gone. here, put 'em away again, max. it sure ain't safe for a feller with my failing to be handling such pretty things." max, of course, did put them away securely. but his heart as well as those of owen and bandy-legs felt much lighter. now that suspicion had given way to a knowledge of steve's sleep-walking weakness, they could look out in the future, and guard against such a thing. and all of them were happy in the conviction that their comrade's fair name had been entirely cleared, for steve would have been sorely missed had he been dropped from the list of members in the club. although those who went out returned with a fair bag, no reward followed the opening of the bivalves. "p'r'aps we've cleaned up the old river, and there ain't another pearl to be found," suggested bandy-legs. the others were loth to accept this view of the case; and for several days they searched industriously for the now elusive fresh-water clams. "guess we'll have to call it off," remarked max, when on the third day the hunters came back with a scant dozen mussels, none of which yielded a profitable harvest. "but seems to me we've got all we need, and several times over," owen declared, positively. "all in favor of returning to carson to-morrow hold up a hand," suggested max. he saw four hands instantly raised. "that makes it unanimous," he laughed; "and i guess i can see what ails you all. it's how much are we going to get for our catch; and will the money buy the five motorcycles we're aiming to get." "likewise supply us with a fund to purchase grub while on our trip," remarked bandy-legs. "hear! hear!" sang out toby, who always agreed with his rival whenever the question of eating arose. "i've an idea we don't need to worry about that," declared owen, confidently. "what about jim and his daddy?" asked steve. "we'll have to make a stretcher, and carry the man down to our boats," replied max. "his leg is knitting bang-up," asserted owen, as he cast a proud look toward his cousin and chum. "well, let's get busy here, so we can leave early in the morning," max remarked, hastily, for he was modest, and did not like praise. they set to work with a vim, and the packing was speedily accomplished. then in the morning all the stuff connected with the camp was carried down to the river and carefully loaded in the two boats, which, of course, were found safely just where they had been left. after that, tom archer was carried on a rude litter, and made comfortable in one of the boats. it was about the middle of the afternoon when the little expedition reached carson. one of the ted shafter gang saw them come in and managed to get word to his leader, as well as shack beggs. the three gaped to see a lame man carried to a wagon, and asked many questions; but had to restrain their curiosity until the story became known through the community. when it was learned that the mussels along the big sunflower had yielded up a number of fine pearls, said to be quite valuable, everybody in town, and not a few eager men in the bargain, set to work searching the adjacent waters. but, apparently, max and his chums must have about exhausted the mine of good luck, for when every mussel within twenty miles of carson had been caught, the result was so meagre that the searchers gave up the new "get-rich-quick" game in disgust. true to their promise the boys saw the editor of the weekly paper, and just as soon as he was able to limp, with the aid of a crutch, to the print shop, tom archer began work at the case. he vowed he would try and curb his roving spirit so that little jim might have a chance to get some schooling in the fall. and both jim and his father declared they owed more than words could express to max, who had brought light when the darkness was greatest. what about the pearls? well, two of them were taken into the city and pronounced as fine as any discovered through the famous fresh-water pearl industries located along the rivers of indiana and other states. when max told the amount that was deposited in bank to their credit, his four chums were fairly wild with delight. "let's send off right away for our motorcycles and get started on our trip!" cried steve, impatiently. "and be sure to get mine with a short tread, because, you know, i haven't got the reach the rest have," observed bandy-legs, cautiously. in due time the five motorcycles were ordered, and then a period of anxious waiting followed. what wonderful plans these five chums had in view when the machines finally arrived, and had been fairly mastered, will be given in detail in the pages of the next volume of this series to be entitled: "the rivals of the trail." the end. tom slade on mystery trail by percy keese fitzhugh _author of_ tom slade, boy scout, tom slade at temple camp, roy blakeley, etc. illustrated by r. emmett owen published with the approval of the boy scouts of america grosset & dunlap publishers :: new york made in the united states of america * * * * * copyright, 1921, by grosset & dunlap * * * * * contents chapter page i the three scouts 1 ii another scout 4 iii the "all but" scout 10 iv hervey learns something 15 v what's in a name? 26 vi the eagle and the scout 31 vii the streak of red 35 viii eagle and scout 38 ix to introduce orestes 44 x off with the old love, on with the new 48 xi off on a new tack 57 xii as luck would have it 62 xiii the strange tracks 67 xiv hervey's triumph 72 xv skinny's triumph 77 xvi in dutch 83 xvii hervey goes his way 91 xviii the day before 96 xix the gala day 102 xx uncle jeb 109 xxi the full salute 113 xxii tom runs the show 119 xxiii pee-wee settles it 123 xxiv the red streak 132 xxv the path of glory 141 xxvi mysterious marks 147 xxvii the greater mystery 152 xxviii watchful waiting 156 xxix the wandering minstrel 161 xxx hervey makes a promise 169 xxxi sherlock nobody holmes 175 xxxii the beginning of the journey 179 xxxiii the climb 185 xxxiv the rescue 188 chapter the last. y-extra! y-extra! y-extra! 194 * * * * * tom slade on mystery trail chapter i the three scouts at temple camp you may hear the story told of how llewellyn, scout of the first class, and orestes, winner of the merit badges for architecture and for music, were by their scouting skill and lore instrumental in solving a mystery and performing a great good turn. you may hear how these deft and cunning masters of the wood and the water circumvented the well laid plans of evil men and coöperated with their brother scouts in a good scout stunt, which brought fame to the quiet camp community in its secluded hills. for one, as you shall see, is the bulliest tracker that ever picked his way down out of a tangled wilderness and through field and over hill straight to his goal. and the other is a famous gatherer of clews, losing sight of no significant trifle, as the scout saying is, and a star scout into the bargain, if we are to believe pee-wee harris. i am not so sure that the ten merit badges of bugling, craftsmanship, architecture, aviation, carpentry, camping, forestry, music, pioneering and signaling should be awarded this sprightly scout (for pee-wee is as liberal with awards as he is with gum-drops). but there can be no question as to the propriety of the music and architecture awards, and i think that the aviation award would be quite appropriate also. yet if you should ask old uncle jeb rushmore, beloved manager of the big scout camp, about these two scout heroes, a shrewd twinkle would appear in his eye and he would refer you to the boys, who would probably only laugh at you, for they are a bantering set at temple camp and would jolly the life out of daniel boone himself if that redoubtable woodsman were there. listen then while i tell you of how tom slade, friend and brother of these two scouts, as he is of all scouts, assisted them, and of how they assisted him; and of how, out of these reciprocal good turns, there came true peace and happiness, which is the aim and end of all scouting. chapter ii another scout it was characteristic of tom slade that he liked to go off alone occasionally for a ramble in the woods. it was not that he liked the scouts less, but rather that he liked the woods more. it was his wont to stroll off when his camp duties for the day were over and poke around in the adjacent woods. the scouts knew and respected his peculiarities and preferences, particularly those who were regular summer visitors at the big camp, and few ever followed him into his chosen haunts. occasionally some new scout, tempted by the pervading reputation and unique negligee of uncle jeb's young assistant, ventured to follow him and avail himself of the tips and woods lore with which the more experienced scout's conversation abounded when he was in a talking mood. but tom was a sort of creature apart and the boys of camp, good scouts that they were, did not intrude upon his lonely rambles. the season was well nigh over at temple camp when this thing happened. not over exactly, but the period of arrivals had passed and the period of departures would begin in a day or two--as soon as the events with which the season culminated were over. these were the water events, the tenderfoot carnival (not to be missed on any account) and the big affair at the main pavilion when awards were to be made. this last, in particular, would be a gala demonstration, for mr. john temple himself, founder of the big scout camp, had promised to be on hand to dedicate the new tract of camp property and personally to distribute the awards. these events would break the backbone of the camping season, high schools and grammar schools would presently beckon their reluctant conscripts back to town and city, until, in the pungent chill of autumn, old uncle jeb, alone among the boarded-up cabins, would smoke his pipe in solitude and get ready for the long winter. it was late on thursday afternoon. the last stroke of the last hammer, where scouts had been erecting a rustic platform outside the pavilion, had echoed from the neighboring hills. the usually still water of the lake was rippled by the refreshing breeze which heralded a cooler evening, and the first rays of dying sunlight painted the ripples golden, and bathed the cone-like tops of the fir trees across the lake with a crimson glow. out of the chimney of the cooking shack arose the smoke of early promise, from which the scouts deduced various conclusions as to the probable character of the meal which would appear in all its luscious glory a couple of hours later. a group of scouts, weary of diving, were strung along the springboard which overhung the shore. a couple of boys played mumbly-peg under the bulletin board tree. several were playing ball with an apple, until one of them began eating it, which put an end to the game. half a dozen of the older boys, who had been at work erecting the platform, sauntered toward the scrub shack, leaving one or two to festoon the bunting over the stand where the colors shone as if they had been varnished by that master decorator, the sun, as a last finishing touch to his sweltering day's work. the emblem patrol sauntered over to the flag pole and sprawled beneath it to rest and await the moment of sunset. several canoes moved aimlessly upon the glinting water, their occupants idling with the paddles. it was the time of waiting, the empty hour or two between the day's end and supper-time. upon a rock near the lake sat a little fellow, quite alone. he was very small and very thin, and his belt was drawn ridiculously tight, so that it gave his khaki jacket the effect of being shirred like the top of a cloth bag. if he had been standing, he might have suggested, not a little, the shape of an old-fashioned hour glass. a brass compass dangled around his neck on a piece of twine as if, being so small, he was in danger of getting lost any minute. his hair was black and very streaky, and his eyes had a strange brightness in them. no one paid any attention to this little gnome of a boy, and he was a pathetic sight sitting there with his intense gaze, having just a touch of wildness in it, fixed upon the lake. doubtless if his scout regalia had fitted him properly he would not have seemed so pathetic, for it is not uncommon for a scout to want to be alone in the great companionable wilderness. suddenly, this little fellow's gaze was withdrawn from the lake and fell upon something which seemed to interest him right at his feet. he slid down from the rock and examined it closely. his poor little thin figure and skinny legs were very noticeable then. but he picked up nothing, only kneeled there, apparently in a state of great excitement and elation. presently, he started away, looked back, as if he was afraid his discovery would take advantage of his absence to steal away. again he started, hurrying around the edge of the cooking shack and to the little avenue of patrol cabins beyond. as he hurried along, the big brass compass flopped about and sometimes banged against his belt buckle, making quite a noise. several boys laughed as he passed them, trotting along as if possessed by a vision. but no one stopped him or spoke to him. in the patrol cabin where he belonged, he rooted in great haste and excitement among the contents of a cheap pasteboard suit case and presently pulled out a torn and battered old copy of the scout handbook. he sat down on the edge of his cot and, hurriedly looking through the index, opened the book at page thirty. he was breathing so hard that he almost gulped, and his thin little hands trembled visibly.... chapter iii the "all but" scout in that same hour, perhaps a little earlier or later, i cannot say, tom slade, having finished his duties for the day, strolled along the lake shore away from camp and struck into the woods which extended northward as far as the dansville road. he had no notion of where he was going; he was going nowhere in particular. for aught i know he was going to ponder on the responsibility which had been thrust upon him by the scout powers that be, of judging stalking photographs preliminary to awarding the audubon prize offered by the historical society in his home town. perhaps he was under the influence of a little pensive regret that the season was coming to an end and wished to have this lonely parting with his beloved hills and trees. it is of no consequence. about all he actually did was to kick a stick along before him and pause now and again to examine the caked green moss on trees. when he had reached a little eminence whence the view behind him was unobstructed, he turned and looked down upon the camp. perhaps in that brief glimpse the whole panorama of his adventurous life spread before him in his mind's eye, and he saw the vicious little hoodlum that he had once been transformed into a scout, pass through the several ranks of scouting, grow up, go to war, and come back to be assistant at the camp where he had spent so many happy hours when he was a young boy. and now there was not one thing down there, nor shack nor cabin nor shooting range nor boat nor canoe, nor hero's elm (as they called it), nor gold cross rock, which had the same romantic interest as had this young fellow to the scouts who came in droves and watched him and listened to the talk about him and dreamed of being just such a real scout as he. he moved about unconsciously among them, simple, childlike, stolid, but with a kind of assurance and serenity which he may have learned from the woods. he was singularly oblivious to the superficial appurtenances of scouting. he had passed through that stage. the pomp and vanity of the tenderfoot he knew not. the bespangled dignity of the second-class and first-class scout, these things he had known and outgrown. his medals were home somewhere. and out of all this alluring rigmarole and romantic glory were left the deeper marks of scout training, burned into his soul as the mark is burned into the skin of a broncho. the woods, the trees, were his. that, after all, is the highest award in scouting. it is a medal that one does not lose, and it lasts forever. as tom slade stood there looking down upon the camp, one might have seen in him the last and fullest accomplishment of scouting, stripped of all else. his face was the color of a mulatto. he wore no scout hat, he wore no hat at all. it would have been quite superfluous for him to have worn any of his thirty or forty merit badges of fond memory on his sleeves, for his sleeves were rolled up to his shoulders. he wore a pongee shirt, this being a sort of compromise between a shirt and nothing at all. he wore moccasins, but not indian moccasins. he was still partial to khaki trousers, and these were worn with a strange contraption for a belt; it was a kind of braided fiber of his own manufacture, the material of which was said to have been taken from a string tree. as he resumed his way through the woods he presently heard a cheery, but rather exhausted, voice behind him. "have a heart, slady, and wait a minute, will you?" tom's pursuer called. "i'm nearly dead climbing up through all this jungle after you. old mother nature's got herself into a fine mess of a tangle through here, hey? don't mind if i come along with you, do you? look down there, hey? pavilion looks nice. i've been wondering if i stand any chance of being called up on that platform on saturday night. looks swell with all the bunting over it, doesn't it?" the speaker, who had been half talking and half shouting, now came stumbling and panting up over the edge of the wooded decline where the thick brush had played havoc with his scout suit but not with his temper. "some climb, hey?" he breathed, laughing, and affecting the stagger of utter exhaustion. "i bet you knew an easier way up. the bunch told me not to beard the lion in his den, but i'm not afraid of lions. here i am and you can't get rid of me now. i'm up against it, slady, and i want a few tips. they say you're the only real scout since kit carson. what i'm hunting for is a wild animal, but i haven't been able to find anything except a cricket, two beetles and a cow that belongs on the hasbrook farm. don't mind if i stroll along with you a little way, do you? my name is willetts--hervey willetts. i'm with that troop from massachusetts. i'm an eagle scout--_all but_." "but's a pretty big word," tom said. "you said it," hervey willetts said, still wrestling with his breath; "it's the biggest word in the dictionary." chapter iv hervey learns something they strolled on through the woods together, the younger boy's gayety and enthusiasm showing in pleasing contrast to tom's stolid manner. he was a wholesome, vivacious boy, this willetts, with a breeziness which seemed to captivate even his sober companion, and if tom had felt any slight annoyance at being thus overhauled by a comparative stranger, the feeling quickly passed in the young scout's cheery company. "they told me down in camp that if i need a guide, philosopher, and friend, i'd better run you down, or up----" "if you'd gone a little to the left you'd have found it easier," tom said, in his usual matter-of-fact manner. "oh, i suppose you know all the highways and byways and right ways and left ways and every which ways for miles and miles around," hervey willetts said. "i guess they were right when they said you'd be a good guide, philosopher, and friend, hey?" "i don't know what a philosopher is," tom said, with characteristic blunt honesty, "but i know all the trails around here, if that's what you're talking about." "oh, you mean about guides?" hervey asked, just a trifle puzzled. "that's an expression, _guide, philosopher, and friend_. it comes from shakespeare or one of those old ginks; it means a kind of a moral guide, i suppose." "oh," said tom. "but i need, i need, i need, i need a friend," hervey said. "you seem to have lots of friends down there," tom said. "a scout is observant, hey?" willetts laughed. "i mean you always seem to have a lot of fellows with you," tom said, ignoring the compliment. "everybody likes your troop, that's sure. and your troop seems to be stuck on _you_." "_good night!_" hervey laughed. "they won't be stuck on me after saturday. that'll be the end of my glorious career." "what did you do?" tom asked, after his customary fashion of construing talk literally. "oh, i didn't exactly commit a murder," the other laughed, "but i fell down, sla--you don't mind my calling you slady, do you?" "that's what most everybody calls me," tom said, "except the troop i was in. they call me tomasso." "sounds like tomato, hey?" hervey laughed. "no, my troubles are about merit badges. i've bungled the whole thing up. when a fellow goes after the eagle award, he ought to have a manager, that's what i say. he ought to have a manager to plan things out for him. i tried to manage my own campaign and now i'm stuck--with a capital s." "how many merits have you got?" tom asked him. "twenty," hervey said, "twenty and two-thirds. just a fraction more and i'd have gone over the top." "you mean a sub-division?" tom asked. "that's where the little _but_ comes in," hervey said. "b-u-t, but. it's a big word, all right, just as you said." "is it architecture or cooking or interpreting or one of those?" tom asked. hervey glanced at tom in frank surprise. "maybe it's leather work, or machinery, or taxidermy or marksmanship," tom continued, with no thought further from his mind than that of showing off. "guess again," hervey laughed. "then it must be either music or stalking," tom said, dully. his companion paused in his steps, contemplating tom with unconcealed amazement. "right-o," he said; "it's stalking. what are you? a mind reader?" "those are the only ones that have three tests," tom said. "so if you have twenty merits and two-thirds of a merit, why, you must be trying for one of those. maybe they've changed it since i looked at the handbook." hervey willetts stood just where he had stopped, looking at tom with admiration. in his astonishment he glanced at tom's arm as if he expected to see upon it the tangible evidences of his companion's feats and accomplishments. but the only signs of scouting which he saw there were the brown skin and the firm muscles. "they change that book every now and then," tom said. still hervey continued to look. "what's that belt made out of?" he asked. "it's fiber from a string tree," tom said; "they grow in lorraine in france." "were you in france?" "two years," tom said. "how many merit badges have you got, anyway, mr.--slady?" "oh, i don't know," tom said; "about thirty or thirty-five, i guess." "you _guess?_ i bet you've got the gold cross. where is it?" hervey made a quick inspection of tom's pongee shirt, but all he saw there was the front with buttons gone and the brown chest showing. "i couldn't pin it on there very well, could i?" tom said, lured by his companion's eagerness into a little show of amusement. "where is it?" hervey demanded. "i'm letting a girl wear it," tom said. "oh, what i know about _you!_" hervey said, teasingly. "you can bet if i ever get the gold cross or the eagle badge (which i won't this trip) no girl will ever wear them." "you can't be so sure about that," said tom, out of his larger worldly experience, "sometimes they take them away from you." "you're a funny fellow," hervey said, while his gaze still expressed his generous impulse of hero-worship. "i guess i seem like just a sort of kid to you with my twenty merits--twenty and two-thirds. maybe some girl is wearing your distinguished service cross, for all i know. but we fellows are crazy to have the eagle award in our troop. i suppose of course you're an eagle scout?" "i guess that was about three or four years ago," tom said. "once a scout, always a scout, hey?" "that's it," tom said. they strolled along in silence for a few minutes, hervey occasionally stealing a side glimpse at his elder, who ambled on, apparently unconscious of these admiring glances. now and again tom paused to examine a patch of moss or some little tell-tale mark upon the ground, as if he had no knowledge of his companion's presence. but hervey appeared quite satisfied. "i'll tell you how it is," he finally said, selecting what seemed an appropriate moment to speak; "i was elected as the one in our troop to go after the eagle award. we want an eagle scout in our troop. we haven't even got one in the city where i live." "hear that?" tom said. "that's a thrush." "a thrush?" "yop; go on," tom said. "so they elected me to win the eagle award. some choice, hey? i had seven badges to begin with; maybe that's why they wished it onto me. i had camping, cooking, athletics, pioneering, angling, that's a cinch, that's easy, and, let's see--carpentry and bugling. that's the easiest one of the lot, just blow through the cornet and claim the badge. it's a shame to take it." "you mean you've won thirteen more since you've been here?" tom asked. "that's it," said hervey. "first i got my fists on the eleven that have _got_ to be included in the twenty-one, and then i made up a list of ten others and went to it. i chose easy ones, but some of them didn't turn out to be so easy. music--oh, boy! and when i started to play the piano, they said i wasn't playing at all, but that i really meant it. can you beat that?" tom could not help smiling. "so you see i've been pretty busy since i've been here, too busy to talk to interviewers, hey? i've piled up thirteen since i've been here; that's a little over six weeks. that isn't so bad, is it?" "it's good," tom said, by no means carried away by enthusiasm. "i thought you'd say so. so now i've got twenty and i know them all by heart. want to hear me stand up in front of the class and say them?" "all right," tom said. "no sooner said than stung," hervey flung back at him. "well, i've got first aid, physical development, life saving, personal health, public health, cooking, camping, bird study----" "that's a good one," tom said. "you said it; and i've got pioneering, pathfinding, athletics, and then come the ten that i selected myself; angling, bugling, carpentry, conservation or whatever you call it, and cycling and firemanship and music hath charms, not, and seamanship and signaling. and two-thirds of the stalking badge. i bet you'll say that's a good one." "there's one good one that you left out," tom said. "i thought you'd think of it on account of that last one." "you mean stalking?" "i mean another that has something to do with that?" "now you've got me guessing," hervey said. "well, how do you want me to help you?" tom asked, thus stifling his companion's inquisitiveness. "well," said hervey, ready, even eager to adapt himself to tom's mood, "all i've got to do is to track an animal for a half a mile or so----" "a quarter of a mile," tom said. "and then i'm an eagle scout," hervey concluded. "but if i want to be in on the hand-outs saturday night, i've got to do it between now and saturday, and that's what has me worried. i want to go home from here an eagle scout. gee, i don't want all my work to go for nothing." "you want what you want when you want it, don't you?" tom said, smiling a little. "it's on account of my troop, too," hervey said. "it isn't just myself that i'm thinking about. jiminies, maybe i didn't choose the best ones, you know more about the handbook than i do, that's sure, and i suppose that one badge was just as easy as another to _you_. maybe you think i just chose easy ones, hey?" "well, what's on your mind?" tom said. "do you know where there are any wild animal tracks?" hervey blurted out with amusing simplicity. "i don't mean just exactly where, but do you know a good place to hunt for any? a couple of fellows told me you would know, because you know everything of that sort. so i thought maybe you could give me a tip where to look. i found a horseshoe last night so maybe i'll be lucky. all i want is to get started on a trail." "sometimes there are different trails and they take you to the same place," tom said. no doubt this was one of the sort of remarks that tom was famous for making which had either no particular meaning or a meaning poorly expressed. hervey stared at him for a few seconds, then said, "i don't care whether it's easy or hard, if that's what you mean. is it true that there are wild cats up in these mountains?" "some," tom said. "well, if you were in my place, where would you go to look for a trail? i mean a real trail, not a cow or a horse or chocolate drop's kitten. [chocolate drop was the negro cook at temple camp.] if i can just dig up the trail of a wild animal somewhere, right away quick, the eagle award is mine--ours. see? can you give me a tip?" tom's answer was characteristic of him and it was not altogether satisfactory. "i'm not so stuck on eagles," he said. chapter v what's in a name? "_you're not?_" hervey asked in puzzled dismay. "you can bet that every time i look at that little old gold eagle on top of the flag pole i say, 'me for you, kiddo.'" "i like star scout better," tom said, unmoved by his companion's consternation. "why, that means only ten merit badges," hervey said. "it's fun studying the stars," tom added. "oh, sure," hervey agreed. "but star and eagle, they're just names. what's in a name, hey? is that the badge you meant that i forgot about? the astronomy badge?" "no, it isn't," tom said. "you're too excitable to study the stars. it's got to be something livelier." "you've got me down pat, that's sure," hervey laughed. tom smiled, too. "well, you want the eagle badge, do you?" he said. "you seem to think it doesn't amount to much," hervey complained. "i think it amounts to a whole lot," tom said. "when i get my mind on a thing----" hervey announced. "that's the trouble with you," tom said. "there you go," hervey shot back at him; "you've been through the game and walked away with every honor in the book, and you know the book by heart and you can track with your eyes shut and you've been to france and all that and you think i'm just a kid, but it means something to be an eagle scout, i can tell you." doubtless tom slade, scout, was gratified to receive this valuable information. "and there's just the one way to get there, is that it?" he answered quietly, but smiling a little. "i always heard that a scout was resourceful and had two strings to his bow." "you just give me a tip and i'll do the rest," said hervey. "it must be about tracking, hey?" "that's it; test three for the stalking badge. _track an animal a quarter of a mile._" "well, let me think a minute, then," tom said. "up on that mountain, maybe, hey?" hervey urged. "maybe," tom said. so they ambled along, the elder quite calm and thoroughly master of himself, the younger, all impulse, eagerness and enthusiasm. his generous admiration of tom, amounting almost to a spirit of worship, was plainly to be seen. it would have been hard to say how tom felt or what he thought. at all events he had not been jostled out of his stolid calm. "did you ever hear any one say that there is more than one way to kill a cat?" he finally inquired, pausing to notice some bird or squirrel among the trees. "i don't want to kill a cat," hervey said. "i want to find some tracks, i----" "you want to be an eagle scout," tom concluded; "and you've got your mind set on it. that it?" "that's it; but it's for the sake of my troop, too." still again, they strolled on in silence. a little twig cracked under tom's foot, the crackle sounding clear in the solemn stillness. some feathered creature chirped complainingly at the rude intrusion of its domain by these strangers. and, almost under their very feet, a tiny snake wriggled across the trail and was gone. the shadows were gathering now, and the fragrance of evening was beginning to permeate the dim woods. and all the respectable home-loving birds were seeking their nests. and so these two strolled on, and for a few minutes neither spoke. "well then, suppose i give you a tip," tom said. "will you promise that you'll make good? you claim to be a scout. you say that when you get your mind set on a thing, nothing can stop you. that the idea?" "that's it," hervey answered. "you wouldn't drop a trail after you once picked it up, would you? some animals take you pretty far." "you bet nothing would stop _me_ if i once got the tracks," hervey said. "i wouldn't care if they took me across the desert of sahara or over the rocky mountains." "hang on like a bulldog, hey?" tom said. "that's me," said hervey. "all right, it's a go," tom concluded. "i'll see if i can give you a pointer or two down near camp in the morning. ever follow a woodchuck--or a coon? only i don't want any badge-getter falling down on a trail, if i'm mixed up with it. that's one thing i can't stand--a quitter." "i wouldn't anyway," hervey said with great fervor; "but as long as i've got you and what you said to think about, you can bet your sweet life that not even a--a--a jungle would stop me--it wouldn't." "that's the kind of a fellow they want for an eagle scout," tom said; "do or die." "that's me," said hervey willetts. chapter vi the eagle and the scout and so these two strolled on. and presently they came to a point where the wood was more sparse, for they were approaching the rugged lower ledges of a mighty mountain, and the last rays of the dying sun fell upon the rocks and scantier vegetation of this clearer area, emphasizing the solemn darkness of the wooded ascent beyond. few, even of the scouts, had ever penetrated the enshrouding wilderness of that dizzy, forbidding height. there were strange tales, usually told to tenderfeet around the camp-fire, of mysterious hermits and ferocious bears and half-savage men who lurked high up in those all but inaccessible fastnesses, but no scout from temple camp had ever ascended beyond the lower reaches of that frowning old monarch. at temple camp, when the cheery blaze was crackling in the witching hour of yarn telling, the seasoned habitués of the camp would direct the eye of the newcomer to a little glint of light high up upon the mountain, and edify him with dark tales of a lonesome draft dodger who had challenged that tangled profusion of tree and brush to escape going to war and had never been able to find his way down again--a quite just punishment for his cowardice. but time and again this freakish glint of light had been proven to be the reflection of that very camp-fire upon a huge rock lodged up there and held by interlacing roots. tom and hervey stood upon a ledge of rock just outside the area of a great elm tree, and as they looked down and afar off, black lake seemed a mere puddle with toy cabins near it. "i bet there are wild animals up there," hervey said. "here's one of them now," commented tom, pointing upward. high above them in the dusk and with a background of golden-edged clouds, which gave the sun's last parting message to the earth, a great bird hovered motionless. it seemed to hang in air as if by a thread. then it descended with a wide, circling swoop. in less than ten seconds, as it seemed to hervey, its body and great wings, and even its curved, cruel beak, were plainly visible circling a few yards above the tree. it seemed like a journey from the heavens to the earth, all in an instant. "watch him, watch him," hervey whispered. but tom was not watching him at all. he knew what that savage descent meant and he was looking for its cause. stealthily, with no more sound than that of a gliding canoe, he stole to the trunk of the tree and looked about with quick, short, scrutinizing glances, away up among its branches. then he placed his finger to his lips, warning hervey to silence, and beckoned him into the darker shadow under the great tree. "did you see anything beside the bird?" he whispered. "no," said hervey. "why? what is it?" "shh," tom said; "look up--shh----" it was the most fateful moment of all hervey willetts' scout career, and he did not know it. chapter vii the streak of red "look up there," tom said; "out near the end of the third branch. see? the little codger beat him to it." looking up, hervey saw amid the thicker foliage, far removed from the stately trunk, something hanging from a leaf-covered branch. even as he looked at it, it seemed to be swaying as if from a recent jolt. at first glimpse he thought it was a bat hanging there. "see it?" tom said, pointing up. "you can see it by the little streak of red. i think the little codgers head is poking out. some scare she had." then all in an instant hervey knew. it seemed incredible that the great bird, hovering at that dizzy height, could have seen the little songster of the woods which even he and tom had failed to see. and the thought of that smaller bird reaching its home just in time, and poking its head out of the opening to see if all was well, went to hervey's heart and stirred a sudden anger within him. "i didn't know they could see all that distance," he said. "well, that's one thing you've learned that you didn't know before," tom said in his matter-of-fact way. scarcely had he spoken the words when the foliage above shook and there was a loud rustling and crackling of branches, while many leaves and twigs fell to the ground. the monarch of the mountain crags, having circled the elm, had found a way in where the foliage was least dense, and had thus with irresistible power carried the outer defenses of that little hanging citadel. and still the little streak of red showed up there in the dimness of those invaded branches, and one might have fancied it to be the colors of the besieged victim, flaunting still in a kind of hopeless defiance. down out of the green twilight above floated a feather, then another--trifling losses of the conqueror in his triumphal entry. "you're not going to get away with that," said hervey in a voice tense with wrath and grim determination; "you're--you're--not----" what happened then happened so quickly as almost to rival the descent of the destroyer in lightning movement. before tom slade realized what had happened, there was hervey's khaki jacket on the ground, his discarded hat was blowing away, and his navy blue scout scarf was plastered by the freshening breeze flat against the trunk of the tree. hervey willetts, who had dreamed and striven all through the vacation season of "capturing the eagle," as they say, was on his quest in dead earnest. chapter viii eagle and scout up, up, he went, now reaching like a monkey, now wriggling like a snake. now he loosed one hand to sweep back the hair which fell over his forehead. again, unable to release his hold, he threw his head back to shake away the annoying locks. tom slade, stolid though he was, watched him, thrilled with amazement and admiration. the great bird was embarrassed in the confines of the foliage by its big wings. but the freedom and strength of its cruel beak and talons were unimpaired and every second brought it nearer to the hanging nest. but every second brought also the scout nearer to the hanging nest. up, up he went, now straddling some bending limb, now swinging himself with lightning agility to one above. once, crawling on a horizontal branch, he slid over and hung beneath it, like an opossum. twisting and wriggling his way out of this predicament, he scrambled on, handing himself from branch to branch, and once losing his foothold and hanging by one hand. tom slade watched spellbound, as the agile form ascended, using every physical device and disregarding every danger. more than once tom almost shuddered at the chances which his young companion took upon some perilously slender limb. once, the impulse seized him to call a warning, but he refrained from a kind of inspired confidence in that young dare-devil who by now seemed a mere speck of brown moving in and out of the darkened green above him. once he was on the point of shouting advice to hervey about what to do in the unlikely event of his reaching the nest before the eagle, or in the more serious contingency of an encounter with that armed warrior. for, thrilled as he was at the young scout's agility and fine abandon, he was yet doubtful of hervey's power of deliberation and presence of mind. but no one could advise a creature capable of being carried away in a very frenzy of nervous enthusiasm, and tom, sober and sensible, knew this. hervey willetts would do this thing or crash his brains out, one or the other, and no one could help or hinder him. amid the crackling sound of breaking limbs and a shower of leaves and smaller twigs, the mighty bird of prey, extricating himself from every obstacle, tore his way into the leafy recess where his little victim waited, trembling. every branch seemed agitated by his ruthless, irresistible advance, and the hanging nest swayed upon its slender branch, as the cruel talons of the intruder fixed themselves in the yielding bark. the weight of the monster bird upon the very branch which his little victim had chosen for a home caused it to bend almost to the breaking point, and the hanging nest, agitated by the shock, swung low near the end of the curving bough. [illustration: hervey saves the little bird from the eagle. _tom slade on mystery trail. page_ 42] that was bad strategy on the part of the invader. as the end of the bough descended under his weight, there was the appalling sound of a splitting branch, which made tom slade's blood run cold, and he held his breath in frightful suspense, expecting to see the form of his young friend come crashing to earth. but the boy who had ventured out so far upon that straining branch had swung free of it just in time, and was swinging from the branch above. the great bird had played into the hands of his dexterous enemy when he had placed his weight upon the branch above, from which the nest hung. hervey could not have trusted his own weight upon that upper branch, and he knew it. but even had he dared to do this he could not have passed the enraged bird who stood guard within a yard or two of his little victim. when the weight of the bird's great body bent the branch down, hervey, close in toward the trunk just below, saw his chance. he did not see the danger. scrambling out upon that slender branch, he moved cautiously but with beating heart, out to a point where the bending branch above was within his reach. if the eagle had left the branch above, that branch would have swung out of hervey's reach and he would have gone crashing to the ground when his own branch broke. he knew that branch must break under him. he knew, he _must_ have known, that the chances were at least even that the eagle would desert the branch above in either assault or flight. hervey's chance was the chance of a moment, and it lay just in this: in getting far enough out on the branch before it broke to catch the branch above before it sprang up and away from him. also he must trust to the slightly heavier branch above not breaking. it would be impossible to say by what a narrow squeak he saved himself in this dare-devil maneuver. his one chance lay in lightning agility. yet, first and last, it was an act of fine and desperate recklessness--the recklessness of a soul possessed and set on one dominating purpose. this was hervey willetts all over. and because he had a brain and the eagle none or little, he thus used his very enemy to help him accomplish his purpose. in that very moment when tom slade heard with a shudder the appalling sound of that splitting branch, something beside the brown nest was also dangling from the branch which the baffled eagle had suddenly deserted. right close to the swaying nest the boy hung, his limbs encircling it, his two hands locked upon it, trusting to it, just trusting to it. it bent low in a great sweeping curve, the nest swayed and swung from the movement of the swing downward, a little olive-colored, speckled head peeking cautiously out as if to see what all the rumpus was about. it must have seemed to those little frightened eyes that the familiar geography of the neighborhood was radically changed. but there was nothing near to strike terror to it now. there was nothing near but the green, enshrouding foliage, and the brown object hanging almost motionless close by. this was hervey willetts of the patrol of the blue scarf, scout of the first class (if ever there was one) and winner of twenty-one merit badges.... no, not twenty-one. twenty and two-thirds. chapter ix to introduce orestes hervey moved cautiously in along the limb to a point where he felt sure that it would hold his weight, and as he did so it moved slowly up into place. what the little householder thought of all this topsy-turvy business it might be amusing to know. for surely, if the world war changed the map of europe, the little neighborhood of leaf and branch where this timid denizen of the woods lived and had its being, had been subject to jolts and changes quite as sweeping. now and again it poked its downy speckled head out for a kind of disinterested squint at things, apparently unconcerned with mighty upheavals so long as its little home was undisturbed. hervey willetts straddled the branch and calculated the thickness of it. "you all right?" he heard tom call from below. "yop," he called back; "did you see his nobs fly away? back to the crags for him, hey? wait down there a few minutes, i'm going to bring a friend." hervey had now a very nice little calculation to make. in the first place he must not frighten his new acquaintance by approaching too near again. neither must he make any sudden and unnecessary noise or motions. he knew that a nest of that particular sort was more than a home, it was a comparatively safe refuge, and he knew that its occupant would not emerge and desert it without good cause. one of those precious twenty badges was evidence of that much knowledge. his purpose was to cut the branch as near to the nest as he dared, both from the standpoint of the bird's peace of mind and his own safety. the further from the nest he cut, the thicker would be the branch, and the more cutting there would be to do. to cut too near to the nest might frighten his little neighbor on the branch, and endanger his own life. yet if he cut the branch where it was thick, how could he handle it after it was detached? how would he get down with it through all that network of lower branches? in his quandary he hit on a plan involving new peril for himself and doubtless some agitation to his little neighbor. he would not detach the nest from its branch, for how could he ever attach it to another branch in a way satisfactory to that finicky little householder? he knew enough about his business to know that no bird would continue to live in a nest which had been tampered with to that extent. so he advanced cautiously out on the branch again till he could reach the nest. then very gently he bound his handkerchief about the opening. having done this, he cut into the branch with his scout knife within about six or eight inches of the nest. when he had cut the branch almost through it was a pretty ticklish matter, straddling the stubby end, for he had the tip of the branch with the nest still in his hand and was in danger of losing his balance. sitting there with his legs pressed up tight against the under side of the branch so as to hold his balance on his precarious seat, he held the end in one hand while he carefully pulled away the twigs from the end beyond the nest. thus he had a piece of branch perhaps twenty inches long, with the nest hanging midway of it. this he held with the greatest care, lest in turning the branch the delicate fabric by which it hung should strain and break away. you would have thought that that little prisoner of the speckled head owned the tree, which in point of fact was owned by temple camp, notwithstanding its distance from the scout community. so it was really hervey's more than it was little downy-head's if it comes to that. it is not every landlord that goes to so much trouble for a tenant. chapter x off with the old love, on with the new "all right, we're coming down; kill the fatted calf," hervey called with all his former gay manner. "no more up and down trails for me. this is moving day." when he had descended a little nearer, tom heard the cheery voice more clearly. "it's no easy job moving a house and family. i have to watch my step. oh, boy, _coming down!_ this tree is tied in a sailor's knot." "are you bringing the bird?" tom called. "i'm bringing the bird and the whole block he lived in," hervey called back merrily. "i'm transplanting the neighborhood. he's going to move into a better locality--very fashionable. he's coming up in the world--i mean down. _o-o-h, boy_, watch your step; there was a narrow escape! i stepped on a chunk of air." so he came down working his way with both feet and one hand, and holding the precious piece of branch with its dangling nest in the other. "talk about your barbed wire entanglements," he called. then, after a minute, "this little codger lives in a swing," he shouted; "i should think she'd get dizzy. no accounting for tastes, hey? whoa--boy! there's where i nearly took a double-header. if i should fall now, i wouldn't have so far to go." "you won't fall," said tom with a note of admiring confidence in his brief remark. "better knock wood," came the cheery answer from above. and presently his trim, agile form stood upon the lowest stalwart limb, as he balanced himself with one hand against the trunk. his khaki jacket was in shreds, a great rent was in his sleeve, and a tear in one of his stockings showed a long bloody scratch beneath. in his free hand he held the piece of branch with its depending nest, extending his arm out so as to keep the rescued trophy safe from any harm of contact. "some rags, hey?" he called down good-humoredly, and exposing his figure in grotesque attitude for sober tom's amusement. "if mother could only see me now! get out from under while i swing down. back to terra cotta--i mean firma. here goes----" down he came, tumbling forward, and sprawling on the ground, while he held the branch above him, like the statue of liberty lighting the world. "here we are," he said. "take it while i have a look at my leg. it's nothing but an abrasion. it looks like a trail from my ankle up to the back of my knee. what care we? i've got trails on the brain, haven't i?" tom took the branch and stood looking admiringly, yet with a glint of amusement lighting his stolid features, at the younger boy, who sat with his knees drawn up humorously inspecting the scratch on his leg. "well, what do you think of eagles now?" tom asked, in his dull way. "decline to be interviewed," hervey said, with irrepressible buoyancy. "what kind of a crazy bird is this that lives upside down in a house that looks like a bat. it reminds me of a plum pudding, hanging in the pantry. what's that streak of red, anyway? his patrol colors? you'd think he'd get seasick, wouldn't you?" "you've got the bird badge," tom said, smiling a little; "can't you guess?" what tom did not realize was that this merry, reckless, impulsive young dare-devil, whose very talk, as he jumped from one theme to another, made him smile in spite of himself, could not be expected to bear in mind the record of his whole remarkable accomplishment. he was no handbook scout. there is the scout who learns a thing so that he may know it. but there is the scout who learns a thing so that he may do it. and having done it, he forgets it. perhaps there is the scout who learns, does, and remembers. but hervey was not of that order. he had made a plunge for each merit badge, won it and, presto, his nervous mind was on another. it takes all kinds of scouts to make a world. perhaps hervey was not the ideal scout, but there was something very fascinating about his blithe way of going after a thing, getting it, and burdening his mind with it no more. he lived for the present. his naïve manner of asking tom for a tip as to a trail had greatly amused the more experienced scout, who now could not understand how hervey had used the handbook so much and knew it so imperfectly. "didn't you ever see one before?" tom asked. "not while i was conscious," hervey shot back, "but if he likes to live that way it's none of my business. he's inside taking a nap, i guess. he had some rocky road to dublin coming down. i wonder what he thinks? that wasn't the right kind of a trail, was it?" "wasn't it?" tom queried. "no; i want a trail along the ground." "still after the eagle, huh? do you realize what you have done?" "i've torn my suit all to shreds, i know that. right the first time, hey? i'd look nice going up on the platform saturday night? good i won't have to, hey?" "i thought you were going to," tom said soberly. "so i am," hervey shot back at him; "trails up in the air don't count. never mind, i'll find a trail to-morrow. it's my troop i'm thinking of. i'll land it, all right. when i get my mind on a thing.... hey, slady, what in the dickens is that streak of red in the nest? is it a trade mark or something like that? you're a naturalist." "it's an oriole's nest," tom said, with just a note of good-humored impatience in his voice. "i thought you'd know that." "you see my head is full of the eagle badge just now," hervey pleaded, "but i'm going to look up orioles." tom smiled. "i'm going to look up orioles, and i'm going to get doc to put some iodine on my leg, and i'm going to do that tracking stunt to-morrow. there's three things i'm going to do." tom paused, seemingly irresolute, as if not knowing whether to say what was in his mind or not. and presently they started toward the camp, hervey limping along and carrying the branch. "an oriole picks up everything he can find and weaves it into his nest," tom said; "string, ribbon, bits of straw, any old thing. he likes things that are bright colored." "he's got the right idea, there," hervey said. tom tried again to interest the rescuer in this little companion, imprisoned within its own cozy little home, whom they were taking back to camp. he could not comprehend how one who had performed such a stunt as hervey had just performed, and been so careful and humane, could forget about his act so soon and take so little interest in the bird which had been saved by his reckless courage. but that was hervey willetts all over. his heart went where action was. and his interest lapsed when action ceased. "somebody in a book called the oriole orestes, because that means dweller in the woods," tom ventured. "he dwells in a sky-scraper, that's what _i_ say," hervey commented. "in a hall bedroom upside down, twenty floors up." tom tried again. "what do you mean to do with her now that you've got her?" he asked. "i'm going to turn her over to you, slady. you're the real scout; none genuine unless marked t. s. you've got the birds all eating out of your hands." "you didn't tear the nest from the branch," tom said. "you must have had some idea." "well," said hervey, "my idea was to stick it up in an elm tree down at camp. think she'd stand for it?" "guess so," tom said. "you see i'm all through bird study," hervey said with amusing artlessness, "so i think you'd better adopt erastus--is that the way you say it?" "orestes," tom corrected him. "pardon _me_," hervey said. "maybe you don't even care if i tell them what you did?" tom queried. "tell them whatever you want," hervey said. "i don't care. what i'm thinking now is----" "the next stunt," tom interrupted him. "you said it," hervey answered cheerily; "just about a mile or so of tracks. i guess you think i'm kind of happy-go-lucky, don't you?" "i don't blame you for not remembering all the things you've done," tom said, "and all the rules and tests and like that. but most every scout goes in for some particular thing. maybe it's first aid, or maybe it's signaling. and he keeps on with that thing even after he has the badge." "that's right," hervey concurred with surprising readiness. "you've got the right idea. my specialty is the eagle badge. see?" "well, that's twenty-one badges," tom said. "right-o, and all i need to do now is test three for the stalking badge and i'm _it_. and if i can't go over the top between now and this time saturday, i'll never look the fellows in my troop in the face again, that's what." tom whistled to himself a moment as they strolled along. perhaps he knew more than he wished to say. perhaps he was just a little out of patience with this sprightly, irresponsible young hero. "well, there isn't much time," he said. "that's the trouble, slady, and it's got me guessing." chapter xi off on a new tack it is doubtful if ever there was a scout at temple camp for whom tom felt a greater interest or by whom he was more attracted than by this irrepressible boy whose ready prowess he had just witnessed. and the funny part of it was that no two persons could possibly have been more unlike than these two. hervey even got on tom's nerves somewhat by his blithe disregard of the handbook side of scouting, except for what it was worth to him in his stuntful career. the handbook was almost a sacred volume to sober tom. still, he was captivated by hervey, as indeed others were in the big camp. "well, you were after the eagle and you got an oriole," he said, half jokingly. "that's what i meant when i said that sometimes you don't know where a trail will bring you out. you got a lot to learn about scouting. what you did to-day was better than tracking a half a mile or so." "the pleasure is mine," said hervey, in bantering acknowledgment of the compliment, "but if there's anything higher in scouting than the eagle award, i'd like to know what it is." "how much good has it done you trying for it?" tom asked. "nobody is supposed to go after a thing in scouting the same as he does in a game. he's supposed to learn things why he's going after something," he added in his clumsy way. "you went through the bird study test and you didn't even know it was an oriole's nest that you rescued. and you forgot all about something else too, and it makes me laugh when i think about it; when i think about you and your tracks." "you think i'm a punk scout," hervey sang out, gayly. "i think you're a bully scout," tom said. "if i win the eagle you'll say so, won't you?" "maybe." "and do you mean to tell me that a scout can be any more of a scout than that--an eagle scout?" "sure," said tom uncompromisingly. for a few seconds the young hero of the lofty elm was too astonished to reply. then he said, "gee, you're a peachy scout, everybody says that, but you're a funny kind of a fellow, that's what _i_ think. i don't get you. the eagle award is the highest award in scouting. it means, oh, it means a couple of hundred stunts--hard ones. you can't get above that. you're one yourself, you can't deny it. no, sir, you can't get above that--no, _siree_.... do you mean to tell me that there's anything higher in scouting than the eagle award?" he asked defiantly, after a pause. "yop, there is," said tom, unmoved. hervey paused in consternation. "well, i'm for the eagle award, anyway," he finally said. "that's good enough for _me_. and i'm going to get it, too; right away, quick." "you'll get it," tom said. "think i will?" "i don't think, i know." "you mean you're _sure_ i will?" "that's what i said." "_positive?_" "that's what i said." "well, then i'd better get busy hunting for some tracks, hadn't i? i've got to make good to _you_ as well as to my troop, haven't i?" "you ask a lot of questions," said tom in his funny, sober way. "you don't need to make good with me." "believe _me_, i've got you and my troop both on my mind now. are you going to give me a tip about some tracks?" "maybe--to-morrow," tom said. "do you know what i think i'll do, slady?" hervey suddenly vociferated as if caught by an inspiration. "i think i'll follow this ledge around a little way and see if there are any prints. good idea, hey?" this was too much for tom. "aren't you coming back to camp with me?" he asked. "they'll want to hear about your adventure. it's getting pretty late, too." "oh, i'm a regular night owl," hervey said. "you take asbestos back to camp and hang him up in a tree and i'll blow in later. i'm going on the war path for tracks. so long." before tom had recovered from his surprise, hervey was picking his way along the rocky ledge at the base of the mountain, apparently oblivious to all that had happened, and intent upon a rambling quest for tracks. it was quite characteristic of him that he based his search upon no hint or well considered plan, but went looking for the tracks of a wild animal as one will hunt for shells, along the beach. and there stood tom, holding the memorial of hervey's heroism in his hand. hervey had apparently forgotten all about it.... chapter xii as luck would have it hervey picked his way among the rocks, looking here and there in the crevices and upon the intervening ground as if he had lost something. a more random quest could scarcely be imagined. tom watched him for a few minutes, then took the shorter way to camp with his little charge. hervey followed the rocky ledge for about fifty yards to a point where the dry bed of a stream came winding down out of the mountain. it ran in a tiny canyon between two rocks and so out upon the level fields to the south where the camp lay. the twilight was well advanced now, the last vivid patches were mellowed into a pervading gray, which seemed to cover the rocks and woods like a mantle. clad in this somber robe, the wooded height which rose to the north seemed the more forbidding. not a sound was to be heard but the voice of a whip-poor-will somewhere. even hervey's buoyant nature was subdued by the solemn stillness. suddenly something between the two rocks caught his eye. the caked earth looked as if a narrow board had been drawn over it. bordering this broad line, about half an inch from it on either side, were two narrow fancy lines--or at least that is what hervey called them. examining these carefully, he saw that they were made up of tiny, diagonal lines. in the place where this ran between the rocks, in the deep shadow, these singular marks were surprisingly legible, and bore not a little the appearance of a border design. the big stones formed a sort of shadow box, causing the markings to appear in bold relief. hervey knew nothing of the freakish influence of light on tracks and trails, but he saw here something which he knew had been made by a moving object. the continuous design was so nearly perfect that it seemed like the work of human beings, but hervey knew that it could hardly be this. what, then, was it? where the lines emerged from between the rocks the marking was less regular and less clear, but plain enough in the damp, crusted earth which covered the mud in the old stream bed. with heart bounding with joy and elation, hervey followed the bed of the stream. the tracks, or whatever they were, were so clear that he could keep to the side of the muddy area and still see them. it was characteristic of him that having made this great discovery, he did not trouble himself about the direction he was taking. in point of fact he was going in a southwesterly direction toward the camp. for perhaps a quarter of a mile the strange markings were clearly legible in the dusk, running as they did in the yielding caked surface of the stream bed. they were as clear as tracks in caked snow. then the path of the dried up waterway petered out in an area of rocks and pebbles and beyond that there was no clearly defined way; the brook had evidently trickled down into the lower land taking the path of least resistance among the rocks. no doubt tom slade could have followed that water path to its end, but hervey was puzzled, baffled. yet the enthusiasm which carried him, as though on wings, to his triumphs was aroused now. he had the prophecy of tom slade to strengthen his determination. he must make good for tom's sake now, as well as for the sake of his troop. he had told tom that if he only once found a trail, nothing would stop him--_nothing_. very fine. all that talk about there being something higher than the eagle award was nonsense, and tom slade knew it was nonsense. "he said i'd do it, and i'm going to," hervey muttered to himself. hervey had no patience with obstacles, he must be always moving, so now he began frantically scrutinizing the ground to see if he could find some sign of the marks which had eluded him. since he could no longer distinguish the stream bed, he looked for some sign of those marks outside the stream bed. and presently he was rewarded by the discovery of tracks, animal tracks sure enough, without any ribbon, so to speak, printed between them. there they were upon the hard, bare earth, two lines of claw marks, continuing to a point where they disappeared again at the edge of a close cropped field. evidently his mysterious predecessor had known just where he wished to go and had forsaken the stream bed when it no longer went in his direction. these were no aimless tracks, they were the tracks of a creature that had particular business in the southwest, and that knew how to get there. chapter xiii the strange tracks hervey had not the slightest idea in which direction he was going, but in point of fact he was heading straight in the direction of temple camp. but he had found his precious tracks and nothing would stop him now. he would go over the top in a blaze of glory next day, and then perhaps a telegram could be sent to scout headquarters to have the eagle badge sent up immediately so that he could receive the very award itself on saturday night. he was on the home stretch now, as luck would have it, and nothing would stop him--nothing.... _nothing!_ he would send a line to his mother that very night and tell her all about it, and put e. s. after his name. _eagle scout._ the bicycle his father had promised him when he should attain that pinnacle of scout glory, he would now demand. that would be where dad lost out.... if tom slade knew some secret about a higher award, that meant more stunts, hervey would do those stunts, too; the more the merrier. he should worry.... yes, he was on the trail at last, and at the end of that trail was the stalking badge--and the eagle award. _hervey willetts, eagle scout._ it sounded pretty good.... he realized now that this discovery of his was just a streak of luck, that the chances would have been altogether against his finding real tracks in these two remaining days. "i'm lucky," he said. which must have been true, else he would have lost his life long ere that.... darkness was now coming on apace, and it must be long past supper-time. but this was no time to be thinking of eating. nothing would stop him now, _nothing_. when he set his mind on a thing.... the tracks changed again in traversing the fields. they were not tracks at all, in fact, but a narrow belt of trampled grass, which was not visible close by. it was only by looking ahead that hervey could distinguish it. half way across the field he lost it altogether, but, remembering the fact that it could be seen better at a distance, he climbed a tree and there lay the long narrow belt of trampled grass running under the rail fence at the field's edge and into the sparse woods beyond. he had not to follow it, only pick out the rail of the fence near where it passed and hurry to that spot. and there it was, waiting for him. if hervey had been well versed in tracking lore and less of a seeker after glory, he would have scrutinized the lowest rail of the fence, under which the track went, for bits of hair. but hervey willetts was not after bits of hair. it was quite like him that he did not care two straws about what sort of animal he was tracking. he was tracking the eagle badge. in the sparse woods the tracks appeared as regular tracks again, sharply cut in the hard earth. where the ground was bare under the trees, the tracks were as clear as writing on a slate, but in the intervening spaces the vegetation obscured them and he found them with difficulty. this tracking in the woods was the hardest part of his task because it required patience and deliberation, and hervey had neither. but he managed it and was beginning to wonder how far his tracking had led him and whether he was near to covering the required distance. when he felt certain of that, he would drive a stake in the ground, fly his navy blue scarf from it to prove his claim, and go back to camp in triumph. he had made up his mind that he would at once report his feat in council shack, and offer to escort any or all of the trustees back over the ground in verification of his crowning accomplishment. the only eagle scout at temple camp, except tom slade; and tom slade didn't count.... still, as he looked back, the base of the mountain seemed almost as near as when he had made his discovery, the fields and wood which had seemed so long to the tracker were but small to the casual glance and he realized that his whole journey was yet far short of a quarter mile. the tracks now ran, as clear as writing, across one of those curious patches of damp ground with a thin, slippery skin, which was torn straight across in a kind of furrow. hervey was so intent on studying this that he did not notice in the shadow about a hundred feet ahead of him a log directly in line with the tracks. when suddenly he looked up, he paused and stared ahead of him in consternation. some one was sitting on the log. chapter xiv hervey's triumph as soon as hervey's dismay subsided he approached the log, and as he did so the figure appeared familiar to him. there was something especially familiar in the scout hat which came down over the ears of the little fellow who was underneath it, and in the hair which straggled out under the brim. the belt, drawn absurdly tight around the thin little waist, was a quite sufficient mark of identification. it was skinny mccord, the latest find, and official mascot of the bridgeboro troop, one of the crack troop of the camp. alfred was his christian name. the queer little fellow's usually pale face looked ghastly white in the late dusk, and the strange brightness of his eyes, and his spindle legs and diminutive body, crowned by the hat at least two sizes too large, made him seem a very elf of the woods. at camp or elsewhere, skinny was always alone, but he seemed more lonely than ever in that still wood, with the night coming on. nature was so big and skinny was so little. "hello, skinny, old top!" hervey said cheerily. "what do you think you're doing here? lost, strayed, or stolen?" skinny's eyes were bright with a strange light; he seemed not to hear his questioner. but hervey, knowing the little fellow's queerness, was not surprised. "you look kind of frightened. are you lost?" hervey inquired. for just a moment skinny stared at him with a look so intense that hervey was startled. the little fellow's fingers which clutched a branch of the log, trembled visibly. he seemed like one possessed. "don't get rattled, skinny," hervey said; "i'll take you back to camp. we'll find the way, all right-o." "i'm a second-class scout," skinny said. "bully for you, skinny." "i--i just did it. i'm going to do more so as to be sure. will you stay with me so you can tell them? because maybe they won't believe me." "they'll believe you, skinny, or i'll break their heads, one after another. what did you do, alf, old boy?" "maybe they'll say i'm lying." "not while i'm around," hervey said. "what's on your mind, skinny?" "i ain't through yet," skinny said. "i know your name and i like you. i like you because you can dive fancy." "yes, and what are you doing here, alf?" hervey asked, sitting down beside the little fellow. "i'm a second-class scout," skinny said; "i found the tracks and i tracked them. see them? there they are. those are tracks." "yes, i see them." "i tracked them all the way up from camp and i've got to go further up yet, so as to be sure. you got to be _sure_--or you don't get the badge. so now i won't be a tenderfoot any more. are you a second-class scout?" "first-class, skinny." "i bet you don't care about tracks--do you?" hervey put his arm over the little fellow's shoulder and as he did so he felt the little body trembling with nervous excitement. "not so much, skinny. no, i don't care about tracks. i--eh--i like diving better. how far up are you going to follow the tracks?" "i'm going to follow them away, way, way up so as i'll be _sure_. they might say it wasn't a half a mile, hey?" the hand which rested on the little thin shoulder, patted it reassuringly. "well, i'll be there to tell them different, won't i, skinny, old boy?" "will you go with me all the way up to where the mountain begins--will you?" "surest thing you know." "and will you prove it for me?" "that's me." "then i won't be a tenderfoot any more. i'll be a second-class scout." "is that what you have to do to be a second-class scout, skinny? i forget about the second-class tests. you have to track an animal, or something like that? i've got a rotten memory." "and i'll--i'll have a trail named after me, too; it'll be called mccord trail. these are _my_ tracks, see? because i found them. only maybe they'll say i'm lying. anyway, how did _you_ happen to come here?" he asked as if in sudden fear. "i was just taking a walk through the woods, skinny." skinny continued to stare at him, still with a kind of lingering misgiving, but feeling that gentle patting on his shoulder, he seemed reassured. "i was just flopping around in the woods, skinny; just flopping around, that's all...." chapter xv skinny's triumph and that was the triumph of hervey willetts, who would let nothing stand in his way. "_nothing!_" a hundred yards or so more and the stalking badge would have been won, and with it the eagle award. the bicycle that he had longed for would have been his. the troop which in its confidence had commissioned him to win this high honor would have gone wild with joy. hervey willetts would have been the only eagle scout at temple camp save tom slade, and, of course, tom didn't count. yet, strangely enough, the only eagle that hervey willetts thought of now was the eagle which he had driven off--the bird of prey. to have killed little skinny's hope and dispelled his almost insane joy would have made hervey willetts feel just like that eagle which had aroused his wrath and reckless courage. "not for mine," he muttered to himself. "slady was right when he said he wasn't so stuck on eagles. he's a queer kind of a duck, slady is; a kind of a mind reader. you never know just what he means or what he's thinking about. i can't make that fellow out at all.... i wonder what he meant when he said that a trail sometimes doesn't come out where you think it's going to come out...." hervey had greatly admired tom slade, but he stood in awe of him now. "well, anyway," said he to himself, "he said i'd win the award and i didn't; so i put one over on him." to put one over on tom slade was of itself something of a triumph. "he's not _always_ right, anyway," hervey reflected. he was aroused from his reflections by little skinny. "i followed them from camp," he said. "they're _real_ tracks, ain't they? and they're _mine_, ain't they? because i found them? ain't they?" "bet your life. i tell you what you do, alf, old boy. you just follow them up a little way further toward the mountain and i'll wait for you here. then we can say you did it all by yourself, see? the handbook says a quarter of a mile or a half a mile, i don't know what, but you might as well give them good measure. i can't remember what's in the handbook half of the time." "you know about good turns, don't you?" "'fraid not, except when somebody reminds me." "i'm going to keep you for my friend even if i _am_ a second-class scout, i am," skinny assured him. "that's right, don't forget your old friends when you get up in the world." "maybe you'll get that canoe some day, hey?" "what canoe is that, alf?" "the one for the highest honor; it's on exhibition in council shack. all the fellows go in to look at it. a big fellow let me go in with him, 'cause i'm scared to go in there alone." "i haven't been inside council shack in three weeks," hervey said. "i don't know what it looks like inside that shanty. i'm not strong on exhibitions. i'll take a squint at it when we go down." "the highest honor, that's the eagle award, isn't it?" skinny asked. "i suppose so," hervey said; "a fellow can't get any higher than the top unless he has an airplane." "can he get higher than the top if he has a balloon?" skinny wanted to know. "never you mind about balloons. what we're after now is the second-class scout badge, and we're going to get it if we have to kill a couple of councilmen." "did you ever kill a councilman?" "no, but i will, if alf mccord, second-class scout, doesn't get his badge. i feel just in the humor. go on now, chase yourself up the line a ways and then come back. i'll be waiting at the garden gate." "what gate?" "i mean here on this log." "do you know tom slade?" "you bet." "he likes me, he does; because i used to steal things out of grocery stores just like he did--once." "all right," hervey laughed. "go ahead now, it's getting late--asbestos." "that isn't my name." "well, you remind me of a friend of mine named asbestos, and i remind myself of an eagle. now don't ask any more questions, but beat it." and so the scout who had never bothered his head about the more serious side of scouting sat on the log watching the little fellow as he followed those precious tracks a little further so that there might be no shadow of doubt about his fulfilling the requirement. then hervey shouted to him to come back, and shook hands with him and was the first to congratulate him on attaining to the dignity of second-class scout. not a word did hervey say about the amusing fact of little skinny having followed the tracks backward; backward or forward, it made no difference; he had followed them, that was the main thing. "they're _my_ tracks; all mine," skinny said. "you bet," said hervey; "you can roll them up and put them in your pocket if you want to." skinny gazed at his companion as if he didn't just see how he could do that. and so they started down for camp together, verging away from the tracks of glory, so as to make a short cut. "i bet you're smart, ain't you?" skinny asked. "i bet you're the best scout in this camp. i bet you know everything in the handbook, don't you?" "i wouldn't know the handbook if i met it in the street," hervey said. skinny seemed a bit puzzled. "i had a bicycle that a big fellow gave me," he said, "but it broke. did you ever have a bicycle?" "well, i had one but i lost it before i got it," hervey said. "so i don't miss it much," he added. "you sound as if you were kind of crazy," skinny said. "i'm crazy about you," hervey laughed; and he gave skinny a shove. "anyway, i like you a lot. and they'll surely let me be a second-class scout now, won't they?" "i'd like to see them stop you." chapter xvi in dutch that hervey willetts was a kind of odd number at camp was evidenced by his unfamiliarity with the things that were very familiar to most boys there. he was too restless to hang around the pavilion or sprawl under the trees or idle about with the others in and near council shack. he never read the bulletin board posted outside, and the inside was a place of so little interest to him that he had not even seen the beautiful canoe that was exhibited there, and on which so many longing eyes had feasted. now as he and skinny entered that sanctum of the powers that were, he saw it for the first time. it was a beautiful canoe with a gold stripe around it and gunwales of solid mahogany. it lay on two sawhorses. within it, arranged in tempting style, lay two shiny paddles, a caned back rest, and a handsome leather cushion. upon it was a little typewritten sign which read: this canoe to be given to the first scout this season to win the eagle award. "that's rubbing it in," said hervey to himself. "that's two things, a bicycle and a canoe i've lost before i got them." he sat down at the table in the public part of the office while skinny, all excitement, stood by and watched him eagerly. he pulled a sheet of the camp stationery toward him and wrote upon it in his free, sprawling, reckless hand. to whom it may concern: this will prove that alfred mccord of bridgeboro troop tracked some kind of an animal for more than a half a mile, because i saw him doing it and i saw the tracks and i came back with him and i know all about it and it was one good stunt i'll tell the world. so if that's all he's got to do to be a second-class scout, he's got the badge already, and if anybody wants to know anything about it they can ask me. hervey willetts, troop cabin 13. after scrawling this conclusive affidavit and placing it under a weight on the desk of mr. wade, resident trustee, hervey sauntered over to the cabins occupied by the two patrols of his troop, the leopards and the panthers. they were just getting ready to go to supper. "anything doing, hervey?" his scoutmaster, mr. warren, asked him. "nothing doing," hervey answered laconically. "maybe he doesn't know what you're talking about," one of his patrol, the panthers, suggested. this was intended as a sarcastic reference to hervey's way of losing interest in his undertakings before they were completed. "have you got a trail--any tracks?" another asked. hervey began rummaging through his pockets and said, "i haven't got one with me." "you didn't happen to see that canoe in council shack, did you?" mr. warren asked him. "yes, it's very nice," hervey said. mr. warren paused a moment, irresolute. "hervey," he finally said, "the boys think it's too bad that you should fall down just at the last minute. after all you've accomplished, it seems like--what shall i say--like columbus turning back just before land was sighted." "he didn't turn back," hervey said; "now there's one thing i didn't forget--my little old history book. when columbus started to cross the delaware----" "listen, hervey," mr. warren interrupted him; "suppose you and i walk together, i want to talk with you." so they strolled together in the direction of the mess boards. "now, hervey, my boy," said mr. warren, "i don't want you to be angry at what i say, but the boys are disgruntled and i think you can't blame them. they set their hearts on having the eagle award in the troop and they elected you to bring it to them. i was the first to suggest you. i think we were all agreed that you had the, what shall i say, the pep and initiative to go out and get it. you won twenty badges with flying colors, i don't know how you did it, and now you're falling down all on account of _one single requirement_. "is that fair to the troop, hervey? is it fair to yourself? it isn't lack of ability; if it was i wouldn't speak of it. but it's because you tire of a thing before it's finished. think of the things you learned in winning those twenty badges--the morse code, life saving, carpentry work. how many of those things do you remember now? you have forgotten them all--lost interest in them all. i said nothing because i knew you were after the eagle badge with both hands and feet, but now you see you have tired of that--right on the threshold of victory. you can't blame the boys, hervey, now can you?" "tracks are not so easy to find," hervey said, somewhat subdued. "they are certainly not easy to find if you don't look for them," mr. warren retorted, not unpleasantly. "i heard a boy in camp say only this evening that that queer little duck in the bridgeboro troop had found some tracks near the lake and started to follow them. there is no pair of eyes in camp better than yours, hervey. but you know you can't expect to find animal tracks down in the village." "in the village?" "two or three of your own patrol saw you down there a week ago, hervey; saw you run out of a candy store to follow a runaway horse. you know, hervey, horses' tracks aren't the kind you're after. those boys were observant. they were on their way to the post office. i heard them telling tom slade about it." "what did _he_ say--tom slade?" hervey queried. "oh, he didn't say anything; he never says much. but i think he likes you, hervey, and he'll be disappointed." "you think he will?" "you know, hervey, tom slade never won his place by jumping from one thing to another. the love of adventure and something new is good, but responsibility to one's troop, to oneself, is more important. how will your father feel about the bicycle he had looked forward to giving you? you see, hervey, you regarded the winning of the eagle award as an adventure, whereas the troop regarded it as a commission--a commission entailing responsibility." "i'm not so stuck on eagles," said hervey, repeating tom slade's very words. "there might be something better than the eagle award, you can't tell." "oh, hervey, my boy, don't talk like that, and above all, don't let the boys hear you talk like that. there's nothing better than to finish what you begin--_nothing_. you know, hervey, i understand you thoroughly. you're a wizard for stunts, but you're weak on responsibility. now you've got some new stunt on your mind, and the troop doesn't count. am i right?" hervey did not answer. "and now the chance has nearly passed. tomorrow we all go to the college regatta on the hudson, the next day is camp clean-up and we've all got to work, and the next night, awards. even if you were to do the unexpected now, i don't know whether we could get the matter through and passed on for saturday night. i'm disappointed with you, hervey, and so are the boys. we all expected to see mr. temple hand you the eagle badge on saturday night. i expected to send your father a wire. walley has been planning to take our picture as an eagle troop." "well, and you'll all be disappointed," said hervey with a kind of heedlessness that nettled his scoutmaster. "and if anybody should ask you about it, any of the troop, you can just say that i found out something and that i'm not so stuck on the eagle award, after all. that's what you can tell them." "well, i will tell them no such thing, for i would be ashamed to tell them that. i think we all know what the highest honor is. perhaps the boys are not such reckless young adventurers as you, but they know what the highest scout honor is. and i think if you will be perfectly honest with me, hervey, you'll acknowledge that something new has caught your fancy. come now, isn't that right?" "right the first time," said hervey with a gayety that quite disgusted his scoutmaster. "well, go your way, hervey," he said coldly. chapter xvii hervey goes his way so hervey went his way alone, and a pretty lonesome way it was. the members of his troop made no secret of their disappointment and annoyance, he was clearly an outsider among them, and mr. warren treated him with frosty kindness. hervey had been altogether too engrossed in his mad career of badge-getting to cultivate friends, he was always running on high, as the scouts of camp said, and though everybody liked him none had been intimate with him. he felt this now. in those two intervening days between his adventure in the elm tree and the big pow-wow on saturday night, he found a staunch friend in little skinny, who followed him about like a dog. they stuck together on the bus ride down to the regatta on the hudson and were close companions all through the day. hervey did not care greatly for the boat races, because he could not be in them; he had no use for a race unless he could win it. so he and skinny fished for a while over the rail of the excursion boat, but hervey soon tired of this, because the fish would not coöperate. then they pitched ball on the deck, but the ball went overboard and mr. warren would not permit hervey to dive in after it. so he made a wager with skinny that he could shinny up the flag-pole, but was foiled in his attempt by the captain of the boat. thus he was driven to the refuge of conversation. balancing himself perilously on the rail in an unfrequented part of the steamer, he asked skinny about the coveted award. "they're not going to put you through a lot of book sprints, are they?" he inquired. "i'm going to get it saturday night," skinny said. "i bet all my troop will like me then, won't they? i have to stand up straight when i go on the platform. some fellows get a lot of clapping when they go on the platform. i know two fellows that are going to clap when i go on. will you clap when i go on? because i like you a lot." "i'll stamp with both feet," said hervey. "and will you clap?" "when you hear me clap you'll think it's a whole troop." "i bet your troop think a lot of you." "they could be arrested if they said out loud what they think of me." "my father got arrested once." "well, i hope they won't trip you up. that was a fine stunt you did, skinny. when those trustees and scoutmasters once get busy with the handbook, _good night_, it reminds you of boyhood's happy school days." "it's all on page thirty," skinny said; "and i've done all of those ten things, because the tracking made ten, and mr. elting said as long as you said you saw me do it, it's all right, because he knows you tell the truth." "well, that's one good thing about me," hervey laughed. "and he said you came near winning the eagle award, too. he said you only just missed it. i bet you're a hero, ain't you?" "some hero." "a boy said you gave the eagle a good run for it, even if you didn't get it. he said you came near it." hervey just sat on the rail swinging his legs. "i came pretty near the eagle, that's right," he said; "and if i'd got a little nearer i'd have choked his life out. that's how much i think of the eagle." skinny looked as if he did not understand. "did you see that bird that tom slade got? he got the nest and all. it's hanging in the elm tree near the pavilion. there's an oriole in that nest." "get out!" "didn't you see it yet?" "nope." "all the fellows saw it. that bird has got a name like the one you called me." "asbestos?" "something like that. why did you call me that name--asbestos?" "well, because you're more important than an eagle. see?" "that's no good of a reason." "well, then, because you're going to be a second-hand scout." "you mean second-_class_," skinny said; "that's no good of a reason, either." "well, i guess i'm not much good on reasons. i'd never win the reason badge, hey?" "do you know who is the smartest fellow in this camp?" skinny asked, jumping from one thing to another in his erratic fashion. "tom slade. he knows everything. i like him but i like you better. he promised to clap when i go on the platform, too. will you ask your troop to clap?" "i'm afraid they don't care anything about doing me a favor, alf. maybe they won't feel like clapping. but your troop will clap." "pee-wee harris, he's in my troop; he said he'd shout." "good night!" hervey laughed. "what more do you want?" chapter xviii the day before so it seemed that tom slade had brought the rescued oriole, bag and baggage, back to camp, and had said nothing of the circumstance of his finding it. he was indeed a queer, uncommunicative fellow. surely, thought hervey, this scout supreme could have no thought of personal triumphs, for he was out of the game where such things were concerned, being already the hero of scout heroes, living among them with a kind of romantic halo about his head. hervey was a little puzzled as to why tom had not given him credit for finding that little stranger who was now a sort of mascot in the camp. for the whole scout family had taken very kindly to orestes. in the loneliness of the shadow under which he spent those two days, hervey would have welcomed the slight glory which a word or two from tom slade might have brought him. but tom slade said nothing. and it was not in hervey's nature to make any claims or boasts. he soon forgot the episode, as he forgot almost everything else that he had done and got through with. glory for its own sake was nothing to him. he had climbed the tree and got his scout suit torn into shreds and that was satisfaction to him. the next and last day before that momentous saturday was camp clean-up day, for with the lake events on labor day the season would about close. all temporary stalking signs were taken down, original conveniences in and about the cabins were removed, troop and patrol fire clearings were raked over, two of the three large mess boards were stored away, and most of the litter cleared up generally. what was done in a small way each morning was done in a large way on this busy day, and every scout in camp did his share. hervey worked with his own troop, the members of which gave him scant attention. if they had ignored him altogether it would have been better than according him the cold politeness which they showed. no doubt their disappointment and humiliation were keen, and they showed it. "what'll i do with this eagle flag?" one of them called, as he displayed an emblem with an eagle's head upon it, which one of the sisters of one of the boys had made in anticipation of the great event. "send it back to her," another shouted. "we ought to have a flag with a chicken's head on it. we counted our chickens before they were hatched." "_some_ fall-down; we should worry," another said, busy at his tasks. "eagle fell asleep at the switch, didn't you, eagle?" they called him eagle in a kind of ironical contempt, and it cut him more than anything else that they said. "eagle with clipped wings, hey?" one of the troop wits observed. "help us take down this troop pole, will you?" will connor, hervey's patrol leader, called. "we should bother about the eagle; our eagle isn't hatched yet." "some eggs are rotten," one of the panthers retorted, which created a general laugh. hervey turned scarlet at this and his hands trembled on the oven stone which he was casting away. he dropped it and stood up straight, only to confront the stolid face of the young camp assistant looking straight at him. "getting all cleared up?" tom asked in his usual sober but pleasant way. hervey willetts was about to fly off the handle but something in tom's quiet, keen glance deterred him. "you fellows going home soon?" "tuesday morning," volunteered the panthers' patrol leader. "we usually don't stick to the finish. we're a troop of quitters, you know." "what did you quit?" asked tom, taking his informant literally. "oh, never mind." "it's all right, as long as you don't quit each other," tom said, and strolled on to inspect the work of the other troops. hervey followed him and in a kind of reckless abandonment said, "well, you see you were wrong after all--i don't care. you said i'd win it. so i put one over on you, anyway," he laughed in a way of mock triumph. "tom slade is wrong for once; how about that? the rotten egg put one over on you. see? i'm the rotten egg--the rotten egg scout. i should bother my head!" "go back and pick up those stones, willetts," said tom quietly, "and pile them up down by the woodshed." "you didn't even tell them i saved that little bird, did you?" hervey said, giving way to his feelings of recklessness and desperation. "what do you suppose _i_ care? i don't care what anybody thinks. i do what i do when i do it; that's me! i don't care a hang about your old badges--i----" "hervey," said tom; "go back and pile up those stones like i told you. and don't get mad at anybody. you do just what i tell you." "did you hear----" "yop. and i tell you to go back there and keep calm. i'm not interested in badges either; i'm interested in scouts. they'll never be able to make a badge to fit you. now go back and do what i told you. who's running this show? you or i?" chapter xix the gala day as long as the cheerful blaze near the lakeside gathers its scouts about it on summer evenings, temple camp will never forget that memorable saturday night. it is the one subject on which the old scout always discourses to the new scout when he takes him about and shows him the sights. the one twenty-two train from the city brought john temple, founder of temple camp, sponsor of innumerable scout enterprises, owner of railroads, banks, and goodness knows what all. he was as rich as the blackberry pudding of which pee-wee harris (official cut-up of the ravens) always ate three helpings at mess. his coming was preceded by telegrams going in both directions, talks over the long distance 'phone, and when at last he came in all his glory, a rainbow troop consisting of honor scouts was formed to go down to catskill landing and greet him. one scout who would presently be handed the gold cross for life saving was among the number. others were down for the star scout badge, and the silver and the bronze awards. others had passed with peculiar distinction the many and difficult tests for first-class scout. one, a little fellow from the west, had won the camp award for signaling. there were others, too, with attainments less conspicuous and who were not in this gala troop, but the whole camp was out to honor its heroes, one and all. roy blakeley, of the silver foxes, had a wooden rattle which he claimed could be heard for seven miles--eight miles and a quarter at a pinch. the tigers, with bert winton at their head, had some kind of an original contrivance which simulated the roar of their ferocious namesake. the church mice, from down the hudson, with brent gaylong as their scoutmaster, had a special squeal (patent applied for) which sounded as if all the mice in christendom had gone suddenly mad. pee-wee had his voice--enough said. the panthers and the leopards, with mr. warren, watched the departure of this rainbow troop with wistful glances. then the scoutmaster took his chagrined followers to their bare cabins, stripped of all that had made them comfortable and homelike in their long stay at camp. hervey was not among them. no one in all the camp knew how he had suffered from homesickness in those two days. he wanted to be home--home with his mother and father. to his disappointed troop mr. warren said: scouts, we have not won the coveted award. but in this fraternal community, every award is an honor to every scout. we will try to find pride in the achievements of our friends and camp comrades. our mistake was in selecting for our standard bearer one whose temperament disqualified him for the particular mission which he undertook. no shortcoming of cowardice is his, at all events, and i blame myself that i did not suggest one of you older boys. if we have not won the distinction we set our hearts on, our stay here has been pleasant and our achievement creditable, and for my part i give three cheers for the scouts who are to be honored and for the fortunate troops who will share their honors. this good attempt to revive the spirits of his disappointed troop was followed by three feeble cheers, which ought to have gone on crutches, they were so weak. hervey was not in evidence throughout the day, and since no news is good news, one or two unquenchable spirits in his troop continued to hope that he would put in a dramatic appearance just in the nick of time, with the report of a sensational discovery--the tracks of a bear or a wild cat, for instance. it is significant that they would have been quite ready to believe him, whatever he had said. but mr. warren knew, as his troop did not, of hervey's saying that he wasn't so stuck on eagles, and he was satisfied from the talk that he had had with him that hervey's erratic and fickle nature had asserted itself in the very moment of high responsibility. he could not help liking hervey, but he would never again allow the cherished hopes of the troop to rest upon such shaky foundation. whatever lingering hopes the troop might have had of a last minute triumph were rudely dispelled when hervey came sauntering into camp at about four o'clock twirling his hat on the end of a stick in an annoyingly care-free manner. tom slade saw him passing council shack intent upon his acrobatic enterprise of tossing the hat into the air and catching it on his head, as if this clownish feat were the chief concern of his young life. "you going to be on hand at five?" tom queried in his usual off-hand manner. "what's the use?" hervey asked. "there's nothing in it for me." tom leaned against the railing of the porch, with his stolid, half interested air. "nothing in it for me," hervey repeated, twirling his hat on the stick in fine bravado. "so you've decided to be a quitter," tom said, quietly. hervey winced a bit at this. "you know you said you weren't so stuck on eagles," hervey reminded him, rather irrelevantly. "well, i'm not so stuck on quitters either," tom said. "what's the good of my going? i'm not getting anything out of it." "neither am i," said tom. "you got stung when you made a prophecy about me, didn't you?" hervey said with cutting unkindness. "you and i both fell down, hey? we're punk scouts--we should bother our heads." again he began twirling his hat on the stick. "i couldn't sit with my troop, anyway," he added; "i'm in dutch." "well, sit with mine, then; roy blakeley and that bunch are all from my home town; they're nice fellows. you know pee-wee harris--the little fellow that fell off the springboard?" "i ought to like him; we both fell down." "well, you be on hand at five o'clock and don't make matters worse, like a young fool. if you've lost the eagle, you've lost it. that's no reason you should slight mr. temple, who founded this camp. we expect every scout in camp to be on hand. you're not the only one in camp who isn't getting the eagle award." "you call me a fool?" "yes, you're twenty different kinds of a fool." "almost an eagle fool, hey?" he went on up the hill toward his patrol cabin, tossing his hat in the air and trying to catch it on his head. as luck would have it, just before he entered the little rustic home of sorrow, the hat landed plunk on his head, a little to the back and very much to the side, and he let it remain in that rakish posture when he entered. the effect was not pleasing to his comrades and scoutmaster. chapter xx uncle jeb at five o'clock every seat around the open air platform was occupied. every bench out of scout chapel, the long boards on which the hungry multitude lined up at supper-time, every chair from council shack and main pavilion, and many a trunk and cedar chest from tents and cabins and a dozen other sorts of makeshift seating accommodations were laid under contribution for the gala occasion. and even these were not enough, for the whole neighboring village turned out in a body, and gaping summer boarders strolled into the camp in little groups, thankful for something to do and see. there was plenty doing. those who could not get seats sprawled under the trees in back of the seats and a few scouts perched up among the branches. upon the makeshift rustic platform sat the high dignitaries, scoutmasters, trustees--the faculty, as hervey was fond of calling them. in the big chair of honor in the center sat mr. john temple and alongside him commissioner something-or-other and committeeman something else. they had come up from the big scout wigwam, in the dense woods on the corner of broadway and twenty-third street, new york. resounding cheers arose and echoed from the hills when old uncle jeb rushmore, retired ranchman and tracker, and scout manager of the big camp, took his seat among the high dignitaries. he made some concession to the occasion by wearing a necktie which was half way around his neck, and by laying aside his corn-cob pipe. tom slade, who sat beside his superior, looked none the less romantic in the scout regalia which he wore in honor of the occasion. his popularity was attested as he took his seat by cries of "tomasso!" "oh, you, tomasso!" "where did you get that scout suit, tomasso?" "oh, you, tommy boy!" tom, stolid and with face all but expressionless, received these tributes with the faintest suggestion of a smile. "don't forget to smile and look pretty!" came from the rear of the assemblage. as was usual at temple camp festivities, the affair began with three resounding cheers for uncle jeb, followed by vociferous appeals for a speech. uncle jeb's speeches were an institution at camp. slowly dragging himself to his feet, he sprawled over to the front of the platform and said in his drawling way: "i don't know as thar's anything i got ter say. we've come out t'the end of our trail, en' next season i hope we'll see the same faces here. you ain't been a bad lot this year. i've seen wuss. i never seed a crowd that ate so much. i reckon none uv yer hez got homes and yer wuz all starved when yer come. "yer made more noise this season than anything i ever heard outside a arizona cyclone. (laughter) you've been noisy enough ter make a thunder-shower sound like a indian lullaby. (roars) "if these here honor badges thet mister temple is goin' ter hand out'll keep yer quiet, i wish thar wuz more uv them. as the feller says, speech is silver and silence is gold, so i'm for gold awards every time. onct i asked buffalo bill what wuz th' main thing fer a scout n' he says _silence_. (uproarious laughter) so i reckon th' best kind uv a boy scout is one that's deaf and dumb, but i ain't never seen none at this camp. i guess they don't make that kind. "i wish yer all good luck and i congratulate you youngsters that are getting awards. if yer all got your just deserts----" "i get three helpings," came a voice from somewhere in the audience. it was the voice of pee-wee harris. "i get _my_ just desserts!" amid tumultuous cheering and laughter, old uncle jeb lounged back to his seat and mr. john temple arose. chapter xxi the full salute great applause greeted mr. temple. he said: "gentlemen of our camp staff, visiting scoutmasters, and scouts: "a friend of mine connected with the scout organization told me that he heard a scout say that temple camp without uncle jeb would be like strawberry short cake without any strawberries. (great applause) i think that most scouts, including our young friend in back, would wish three helpings of uncle jeb. (laughter) "coming from the bustling city, as i do, it is refreshing to see uncle jeb for i have never in all my life seen him in a hurry. (laughter) all scouts can claim uncle jeb, he is the universal award that every boy scout wears in his heart. (uproarious applause) "scouts, this is a gala day for me. it beats three helpings of dessert----" "sometimes we get four," the irrepressible voice shouted. "i have been honored by the privilege of coming here to visit you in these quiet hills----" a voice: "sometimes it isn't so quiet." "and to distribute the awards which your young heroes have earned. you can all be scouts; you cannot all be heroes. that is well, for as the old song says, 'when every one is somebody then no one's anybody.' (laughter) "i wonder how many of you scouts who are down for these awards realize what the awards mean? they are not simply prizes given for feats--or stunts, as you call them. to win a high honor merely as a stunt is to win it unfairly. every step that a scout takes in the direction of a coveted honor should be a step in scouting. the gold cross is given _not_ to one who saves life, but to a _scout_ that saves life. before you can win any honors in this great brotherhood, you must first be a scout. and that means that you must have the scout qualities. "scouting is no game to be won or lost, like baseball. after all, the high award is not for what you _do_ alone, but for what you _are_. you are not to use scouting as a means to an end. "in trying for a high award a scout is not running a race with other scouts. there is no spirit of contest in scouting. to be a hero, even that is not enough. one must be a _scout_ hero. he must not use the animals and birds and the woods to help in his quest of glory, whether it be troop glory or individual glory. he must not ask the birds and animals to tell him their secrets simply that he may win a piece of silver or gold to hang on his coat. but he must learn to be a friend to the birds and animals. for that is true scouting. "you will notice that on the scout stationery is printed our good motto, _'do a good turn daily.'_ there is nothing there about high awards. evidently the good turn daily is considered of chief importance. nothing can supersede that. it stands above and apart from all awards. kindness, brotherliness, helpfulness--there is no metal precious enough to make a badge for these." as mr. temple turned to take the first award from mr. wade the assemblage broke into wild applause. perhaps mr. warren, sitting among his disappointed troop, hoped that mr. temple's words would be taken to heart by the absent member. but none of the troop made any comment. after the distribution of a dozen or so merit badges, mr. temple called out, "alfred mccord, elk patrol, first bridgeboro, new jersey troop." there was a slight bustle among the bridgeboro boys to make way for their little member who started threading his way among the throng, his thin little face lighted with a nervous smile of utter delight. "bully for alf!" some one called. "greetings, shorty," another shouted. he stood before mr. temple on the platform, trembling all over, and yet the picture of joy. his big eyes stared with a kind of exaltation. for once, his hair was smooth, and it made his face seem all the more gaunt and pale. this was the crucial moment of his life. he stood as straight as he could, his little spindle legs shaking, but his hand held up in the full scout salute to mr. temple. oh, but he was proud and happy. if hervey willetts, wherever he was, saw him one brief thrill of pride and satisfaction must have been his. "alfred mccord," said mr. temple; "your friends and i greet you as a scout of the second-class. let me place on you the symbol of your achievement." he stepped forward, just one step. oh, but he was happy. he stood upon the platform, but he walked on air. mr. temple shook hands with him--mr. john temple, founder of temple camp! yes, sir, skinny and mr. john temple shook hands. and then the little fellow turned so that the audience might see his precious badge. and the wrinkles at the ends of his thin little mouth showed very clearly as he smiled--oh, such a smile. then the scouts of temple camp showed that their wonted disregard of skinny was only because they did not understand him, queer little imp that he was. for cheer after cheer arose as he stood there in a kind of bewilderment of joy. "hurrah, for the star tracker!" "three cheers for the sleuth of the forest!" "no more tenderfoot!" "hurrah for s-s-s!" which meant skinny, second-class scout. "i congratulate you, alfred," said mr. temple, pleased at the ovation. "you have the eyes that see, and this feat of tracking which i have heard of is a fitting climax to all your efforts to win your goal--to finish what you began. let every tenderfoot follow your example. and may the scouts of the second-class welcome you with pride." skinny saw mr. temple's hand raised, saw the fingers formed to make the familiar scout salute--the _full_ salute. the full salute for him! he saw this and yet he did not see it; he saw it in a kind of daze. then he went down and stepped upon the earth again and made his way back to his seat. those who saw him thought that he was walking, but he was not walking, he was floating on wings. and the noise about and the big trees in back, and the faces that smiled at him as he passed, were as things seen and heard in a dream.... chapter xxii tom runs the show "william conway, anson jenks, and george winters, for star scout badge, and merritt roth and edward collins for bronze life saving medals. these scouts will please step forward." amid great applause they made their way to the platform and one by one returned, greeted with cheers. "gaynor morrison of edgemere troop, connecticut, is awarded the gold cross for saving life at imminent hazard of his own. congratulations to him but more to his troop. scout morrison will please come forward." that was the moment of pride for edgemere troop, connecticut. gaynor morrison, tall and muscular, stood before mr. temple and listened to such plaudits as one seldom hears in his own honor. he went down overjoyed and blushing scarlet. "and now," said mr. temple, "the last award is properly not an organization award at all. it is the temple camp medal for order and cleanliness in and about troop cabins. it is awarded to willis norton of the second oakdale, new jersey, troop. and that, i think, concludes this pleasant task of distributing honors. i think you will all be glad to know that one who is a stranger to no honor wishes himself to say a few words to you now. whatever tom slade may have to say goes with me----" he could not say more. cries of "bully old tom!" "hurrah for tomasso!" "what's the matter with old hickory nut?" "oh, you, tom slade," "spooch, spooch!" "hear, hear!" arose from every corner of the assemblage and the cries were drowned in a very tempest of applause. [illustration: mr. temple congratulates hervey willetts. _tom slade on mystery trail. page_ 124] he never looked more stolid, nor his face more expressionless than when he arose from his chair. he was neither embarrassed nor elated. if he was at all swayed by the sudden tribute, it was as an oak tree might be swayed in a summer breeze. he knew what he wanted to say and he was going to say it. he waited, he _had_ to wait, for at least five minutes, till temple camp had had its say. then he said, slowly, deliberately, with a kind of mixture of clumsiness and assurance which was characteristic of him. "maybe i haven't got any right to speak. i'm not on the staff, and as you might say, i'm through being a scout----" "never, tomasso!" said a voice. "but i saw something that none of you saw and i know something that none of you know about--except mr. temple, that i told it to, and the trustees. "since i been assistant to uncle jeb--that's two years--i saw the eagle award given out twice----" "you won it yourself, tomasso!" "i saw it given to a scout from virginia and one from new york. you always hear a lot of talk about the eagle award here in camp. lots of scouts start out big and don't get away with it. i guess everybody knows it isn't easy. if you're an eagle scout you're everything else. you got to be. "i've seen scouts get it. but in the last couple of days i saw one chuck it in the dirt and trample on it. that's because when a fellow gets so far that he's really an eagle scout, he doesn't care so much about it. a fellow's got to be a scout to win the eagle badge. and if he's enough of a scout for that, he's enough of a scout to give it up if there's any reason. what does _he_ care? if he's scout enough to be an eagle scout, and gives it up, he doesn't even bother to tell anybody. being willing to give it up is part of winning it, as you might say. "maybe you people didn't know who you were cheering when you cheered alfred mccord. but i'll tell you who you were cheering. you were cheering the only eagle scout in temple camp. and he doesn't care any more about the eagle badge than he does about what every little tin scout in his own troop thinks of him, either. and i'm standing here to tell you that. i saw that scout give up one badge and win another at the same time. i saw him lose the stalking badge and win the animal first aid badge all inside of an hour. he thought he lost out by giving up his tracks to alfred mccord, when he might have scared the life out of the little fellow and chased him back to camp. "but all the time he had an extra badge and he didn't know it. that's because he doesn't bother about the handbook and because he wins badges so fast he can't keep track of them. he's an eagle scout and he doesn't know it. he threw one badge away and caught another and he's coming up here now to stand still for two minutes if he can and listen to the paper that mr. temple is going to read to him. come ahead up, hervey willetts, or i'll come down there and pull you out of that tree and drag you up by the collar!" chapter xxiii pee-wee settles it for half a minute there was no response, and the people, somewhat bewildered, stared here and there, applauding fitfully. "come ahead, i know where you are," tom pronounced grimly; "i'll give you ten seconds." the victim knew that voice; perhaps it was the only voice at camp which he would have obeyed. there was the sound of a cracking branch, followed by a frightened cry of "look out!" some one called, "he'll kill himself!" then a rustling of leaves was heard, and down out of the tree he came and scrambled to his feet, amid cries of astonishment, hervey willetts was running true to form and the moment of his triumph was celebrated by a new stunt. "never mind brushing off your clothes," said tom grimly; "come up just the way you are." but he did not go up the steps, not he. he vaulted up onto the platform and stood there brushing the dirt from his torn khaki suit. the crowd, knowing but yet only half the story of his triumph, was attracted by his vagabond appearance, and his sprightly air. the rent in his sleeve, his disheveled hair, and even the gaping hole in his stocking seemed to be a part of him, and to bespeak his happy-go-lucky nature. as he stood there amid a shower of impulsive applause, he stooped and hoisted up one stocking which seemed in danger of making complete descent, and that was too much for the crowd. even mr. temple smiled as he said, "come over here, my young friend, and let me congratulate the only eagle scout at temple camp." and so it befell that hervey willetts found himself clasping in cordial grip the friendly hand of mr. john temple with one hand while he still hauled up his rebellious stocking with the other. it was a sight to delight the heart of a movie camera man. his stocking was apparently the only thing that hervey could not triumph over. "my boy," said mr. temple, "it appears that we know more about you than you know about yourself. it appears that your memory and your handbook study have not kept pace with your sprightly legs and arms----" "how about his dirty face?" some one called. "and his stocking?" another shouted. "these are the honorable scars of war," mr. temple said, "and i think i prefer his face as it is. i think we shall have to take hervey willetts as we find him, and be satisfied. "hervey willetts," he continued, "you stand here to-day the easy winner of the greatest honor it has ever been my pleasure to confer. stand up, my boy, and never mind your stocking. (laughter.) you have won the eagle award, and you have made your triumph beautiful and unique by working into it one of the best good turns in all the history of scouting. i doubt whether a youngster of your temperament can ever really appreciate what you have done. but of course you could not escape tom slade--no one could. he has your number, as boys say----" "bully for tom slade!" a voice called. "what's the matter with tomasso?" "hurrah for old sherlock nobody holmes!" "oh, you, tommy!" "tag, you're it, hervey!" "i have here a paper procured by tom slade," mr. temple continued, "and bearing the signatures of three scouts--john weston, harry bonner and george wentworth. these scouts testify that they were in catskill village drinking soda water----" "that's all they ever go there for," a voice shouted. "they saw hervey willetts stop a runaway horse, saw him unfasten the harness of the animal when it fell, frightened and exhausted, and saw him procure and pour cool water on the animal's head. this was never reported in camp till tom slade made inquiries. hervey willetts had neglected to report it." "he's a punk scout," some one called. "i have here also," mr. temple continued, "the testimony of tom slade himself that hervey willetts climbed a tree and in a daring manner saved a bird and its nest from the ruthless assault of an eagle. that bird's nest, with its little occupant, hangs now in the elm tree at the corner of the pavilion." (great applause.) "thus hervey willetts won the animal first aid badge without so much as knowing it. (applause.) he had won twenty-one merit badges and he did not know it. (great applause.) he was then and there an eagle scout and he did not know it. (deafening cheers.) but tom slade knew it and said nothing----" "thomas the silent," some irreverent voice called. "so you see, my friends, it really made no difference whether our young hero tracked an animal or not. he was an eagle scout. he could go no higher. he had reached the pinnacle--no, not quite that. to his triumph he must add the glory of a noble, unselfish deed. never knowing that the coveted honor was already his, he set out to win it by a tracking stunt which would fulfill the third requirement to bring him the stalking badge, and with it the eagle award. he had said that nothing would stand in his way, not even mountains. he had made this boast to tom slade. "and that boast he failed to make good. something _did_ stand in his way. not a mountain. just a little tenderfoot scout. you have seen him up here. alfred mccord is his name. (applause.) "and when hervey willetts found this little scout hot upon the trail, he forgot about the eagle award, forgot about his near triumph, braved the anger and disappointment of his friends and comrades----" the troop of which hervey was a member arose in a sudden, impetuous burst of cheering, but mr. temple cut them short. "just a moment and then you may have your way. hervey willetts cared no more about the opinion of you scouts than this big oak tree over my head cares about the summer breeze. there were two trails there, one visible, the other invisible. one on the ground, the other in his heart. and hervey willetts was a scout and he hit the right trail. if it were not for our young assistant camp manager here, hervey willetts would this minute be witnessing these festivities from yonder tree, and little would he have cared, i think. "but he reckoned without his host, as they say, when he sought the aid of tom slade. (deafening applause.) tom slade knew him even if he did not know himself. "my friends, many scouts have sought the eagle award and a few have won it. but the eagle award now seeks hervey willetts. he threw it aside but still it comes to him and asks for acceptance. he deserves something better, but there is nothing better which we have to give. for there is no badge for a noble good turn. tom slade was right." "you said something!" some one shouted. "to be enough of a scout to win the eagle award is much. to be scout enough to ignore it is more. but twenty-one badges is twenty-one badges, and the animal first aid badge is as good as any other. the technical question of whether a bird is an animal----" "sure a bird's an animal!" called a voice from a far corner which sounded suspiciously like the voice of pee-wee harris. "everybody's an animal--even i'm an animal--even you're an animal--sure a bird's an animal! that's not a teckinality! sure a bird's an animal!" "well, then, that settles it," laughed mr. temple amid a very tempest of laughter, "if that is mr. harris of my own home town speaking, we have the opinion of the highest legal expert on scouting----" "and eating!" came a voice. thus, amid an uproarious medley of laughter and applause, and of cheering which echoed from the darkening hills across the quiet lake, hervey willetts stood erect while mr. john temple, founder of the camp and famous in scouting circles the world over, placed upon his jacket the badge which made him an eagle scout and incidentally brought him the canoe on which so many eyes had gazed longingly. and then one after another, pell-mell, scouts clambered onto the platform and surrounded him, while the scouts of his own troop edged them aside and elbowed their way to where he stood and mobbed him. and amid all this a small form, with clothing disarranged from close contact, but intent upon his purpose, squirmed and wriggled in and threw his little skinny arms around the hero's waist. "will you--will you take me out in it?" he asked. "just once--will you?" "the canoe?" hervey said. "you'll have to ask my troop, alf, old top; it belongs to them. what would a happy-go-lucky nut like i am be doing, paddling around in a swell canoe like that?" "let me--let me see the badge," little skinny insisted. but already hervey had handed the badge over to his troop. probably he thought that it would interfere with his climbing trees or perhaps fall off when he was hanging upside down from some treacherous limb or scrambling head foremost down some dizzy cliff. no doubt it would be more or less in the way during his stuntful career.... chapter xxiv the red streak there was one resident at temple camp who did not attend that memorable meeting by reason of being sound asleep at the time. this was orestes, the oriole, who had had such a narrow squeak of it up at the foot of the mountain. orestes always went to bed early and got up early, being in all ways a model scout. it is true that just at the moment when the cheering became tumultuous, orestes shook out her feathers and peered out of the little door of her hanging nest but, seeing no near-by peril, settled down again to sweet slumber, never dreaming that the cheering was in honor of her scout rescuer. the housing problem did not trouble orestes much. one tree was as good as another so long as her architectural handiwork was not desecrated, and having once satisfied herself that her little home still depended from the very branch which she had chosen, she did not inquire too particularly into the facts of that magic transfer. the branch rested across two other branches and orestes was satisfied. that was a happy thought of tom's to call the oriole orestes, which means dweller in the woods, but thanks to hervey the name became corrupted in camp talk, and the nickname of asbestos caught the community and became instantly popular. the shady area under asbestos' tree was already a favorite lounging place for scouts, and lying on their backs with knees drawn up (a favorite attitude of lounging) they could see that mysterious little red streak in their little friend's nest. in the late afternoon, which was ever the time of sprawling, the sun had a way of poking one of his rays right down through the dense foliage plunk on asbestos' nest, and then the little red streak shone like brick warner's red hair after he had been diving. but no one ventured up to that little home to investigate that freakish streak of color. "i'd like to know what that is?" pee-wee harris observed as he lay on his back, peering up among the branches. half a dozen scouts, including roy blakeley and hervey willetts, were sprawling under the tree waiting for supper, on the second afternoon after hervey's triumph. waiting for supper was the favorite outdoor sport at temple camp. orestes was already tucked away in bed, having dined early on three grasshoppers and an angleworm for dessert. "that's easy," said roy blakeley; "asbestos is a red--she's an anarchist. we ought to notify the government." "asbestos is an i.w.w. he ought to be deported," hervey said. "he's a _she_," pee-wee said. "just the same i'd like to know what that red streak really does mean," roy confessed. "it's better than a yellow streak anyway," hervey laughed; "maybe it's her patrol color." "that's a funny thing about an oriole," another scout observed; "an oriole picks up everything it sees, string and ribbon and everything like that, and weaves it into its nest." "they should worry about building material," roy said. "i read about one that got hold of a piece of tape and weaved it in," said the scout who had volunteered the information. "maybe that's tape." "sure, she ought to work for the government, there's so much red tape about her," roy observed. "it's the color of cinnamon taffy," pee-wee said. "there you go on eats again," roy retorted; "it's the color of pie." "what kind of pie?" pee-wee asked. "any kind," roy said; "take your pick." "you're crazy," pee-wee retorted. their idle banter was interrupted by westy martin of roy's and pee-wee's troop who paused at the tree as they returned from the village. westy was waving a newspaper triumphantly. "what do you know about this?" he said, opening the paper so that the scouts could see a certain heading. "oh, me, oh, my!" roy said. "isn't temple camp getting famous? talk about _red!_ oh, boy, watch hervey's beautiful complexion when he hears this. he'll have cinnamon taffy beat a mile." willy-nilly, roy snatched the news sheet from westy and read: temple camp has new hero yesterday was a gala day up at the scout camp. more than five hundred people from hereabouts, as well as the whole population of the famous scout community, cheered themselves hoarse when mr. john temple, founder of the big camp, distributed the awards for the season. for the first time in four years temple camp produced an eagle scout in hervey willetts of a massachusetts troop who won the award under circumstances reflecting unusual credit on himself and bringing honor to his troop comrades. mr. temple's remarks to this young hero were flattening in the last degree---"you mean flattering," pee-wee shouted. "excuse myself," said roy. and it was decided to give hervey the award, because scout harris proved excruciatingly--i mean exclusively--i mean conclusively--that a bird is an animal just the same as mr. temple is, only different---"let me see that!" shouted pee-wee. "you make me sick! where is it?" "here's something to interest you more," roy said; "here's the real stuff--a kidnapping. a kid was taking a nap and got kidded." "where?" pee-wee demanded. "there," roy said, pointing triumphantly to a heading which put the temple camp notice in the shade. "just read that." but for that sensational article, doubtless hervey would have been more of a newspaper hero instead of being stuck down in a corner. the article was indeed one to arouse interest and call for big headings, and the scouts, gathered about roy, peered over his shoulders and read it eagerly. millionaire harrington's son kidnapped alarm sent out for child missing more than week train hand gives clew police authorities throughout the country have been asked to search for anthony harrington, jr., the little son of anthony harrington, banker, of new york. the child, aged about ten, disappeared about a week ago and since then an exhaustive search privately made has failed to yield any clew of the little fellow's whereabouts. when last seen the child was playing on the lawn of his father's beautiful estate at irvington-on-hudson on friday a week ago. from that time no trace of him has been discovered. the only bit of information suggesting a possible clew comes from walter hanlon, a trainman who told the authorities yesterday that on an afternoon about a week ago his attention was drawn to a child accompanied by two men leaving his train at catskill landing. hanlon's train was northbound. he reported what he had seen as soon as the public alarm was given. hanlon said that he noticed the child, a boy, as he helped the little fellow down the car steps, because of an open jack-knife which the youngster carried, and which he good-naturedly advised him to close before he stumbled with it. to the best of hanlon's recollection the little fellow wore a mackinaw jacket, but he did not notice this in particular. it is known that the child wore a sweater when he disappeared. hanlon paid no attention to the child's companions and his recollection of their appearance is hazy. he says that the three disappeared in the crowd and he thought they joined the throng which was waiting for the northbound boat of the hudson river day line. if such was the case, the authorities believe that the party left the train and continued northward by boat in hopes of baffling the authorities. one circumstance which lends considerable color to hanlon's statement is the positive assurance of the child's parents that their son had no jack-knife of any description. this, therefore, may mean that the child was not the harrington child at all, or on the other hand, it may mean, what seams likely, that the men gave the little fellow a jack-knife as a bribe to accompany them. hanlon thinks that the knife was new, and is sure that the child was very proud of it. so much of this sensational article was in conspicuous type. the rest, in regulation type, pertained to the unsuccessful search for the child by private means. a couple of ponds had been dragged, the numerous acres of the fine estate had been searched inch by inch, barns and haystacks and garages and smokehouses had been ransacked, an old disused well had been explored, the neighboring woodland had been covered, but little anthony harrington, jr., had disappeared as completely as if he had gone up in the clouds. "you fellows had better be getting ready for supper," said tom slade, as he passed. "look here, tomasso," said roy. tom paused, half interested, and read the article without comment. "some excitement, hey?" said roy. "it's a wonder they didn't mention the color of the sweater while they were about it," tom said. "the kid had on a mackinaw jacket," roy shot back. "how do we know what was under the mackinaw jacket?" tom said. "come on, you fellows, and get washed up for grub." "mm-mmm," said pee-wee harris. chapter xxv the path of glory the affair of the kidnapping created quite a sensation at camp, partly, no doubt, because stories of missing people always arouse the interest of scouts, but chiefly perhaps because the thing was brought so close to them. catskill landing was the station for temple camp. it was there that arriving troops alighted from boat or train. it was the frequent destination of their hikes. it was there that they bought sodas and ice cream cones. scouts from "up ter camp" were familiar sights at catskill, and they overran the village in the summertime. of course it was only by reason of trainman hanlon's doubtful clew that the village figured at all in the sensational affair. at all events if the harrington child and its desperate companions had actually alighted there, all trace of them was lost at that point. the next morning after the newspaper accounts were published a group of scouts hiked down to catskill to look over the ground, hoping to root out some information or discover some fresh clew. they wound up in warner's drug store and had a round of ice cream sodas and that was all the good their sleuthing did them. on the way back they propounded various ingenious theories of the escape and whereabouts of master harrington's captors. pee-wee harris suggested that they probably waited somewhere till dark and proceeded to parts unknown in an airplane. a more plausible inspiration was that they had crossed the hudson in a boat in order to baffle the authorities and proceeded either southward to new york or northward on a new york central train. the likeliest theory was that of westy martin of roy's troop, that an automobile with confederates had waited for the party at catskill. that would insure privacy for the balance of the journey. the theory of one scout that the party had gone aboard a cabin cruiser was tenable, and this means of hiding and confounding the searchers, seemed likely to succeed. the general opinion was that ere long the child would be forthcoming in response to a stupendous ransom. but this means of recovering the little fellow did not appeal to the scouts. perhaps if tom slade, alias sherlock nobody holmes, had accompanied the group down to the riverside village, he would have learned or discovered something which they missed. but sherlock nobody holmes had other business on hand that morning. "do you want to see it? do you want to see it?" little skinny had asked him. "do you want to see those tracks i found? do you want to see me follow them again? do you want to see how i did it--do you?" and tom had given skinny to understand that it was the dream of his life to see those famous tracks, which had proved a path of glory to the golden gates which opened into the exalted second-class of scouting. "i'll show them to you! i'll show them to you!" skinny had said eagerly. "i'll show you where i began. maybe if we wait till it rains they'll get not to be there any more maybe." so tom went with him to the rock close by the lake shore where the path to glory began, and starting here, they followed the tracks, now becoming somewhat obscure, up into the woods. "before i started i made sure," skinny panted, as he trotted proudly along beside his famous companion. "the scouts they said you'd be too busy to go with me, they did. but you ain't, are you?" "that's what," said tom. "i bet you don't shake all over when mr. temple speaks to you, do you?" "not so you'd notice it." "i bet he's got as much as a hundred dollars, hasn't he?" "you said it." "maybe if i wasn't a-scared i'd ask him to look at the tracks too, hey? first off i was a-scared to ask _you?_" "tracks are my middle name, alf." "now i can prove i'm a second-class scout by my badge, can't i?" "that's what you can. but you've got it pinned on the wrong side, alf. here, let me fix it for you." "everybody'll be sure to see it, won't they?" "that's what they will." "hervey willetts, he's a hero, isn't he?" "you bet." "i'd like to be like him, i would." "he's kind of reckless, alf. it's bad to be too reckless." "i wouldn't let you talk against him--i wouldn't." tom smiled. "that's right, alf, you stand up for him." "maybe you don't know what kind of an animal made these tracks, maybe, hey?" indeed tom did not know. but one thing he knew which amused him greatly. they were following the path of glory the wrong way. not that it made any particular difference, but it seemed so like skinny. he had not actually tracked an animal at all, since the animal had come toward the lake. he had followed tracks, to be sure, but he had not tracked an animal. hervey must have known this but he had not mentioned it. the thought thrilled even stolid tom with fresh admiration for that young adventurer. hervey willetts was no handbook scout, but tom would not have him different than he was--no, not by a hair. he thought how skinny's beginning at the wrong end was like his pinning of the badge on the wrong side of his breast. poor little skinny.... and he thought of that other scout coming down through those woods, tracking that mysterious animal indeed, and stopping short, and sitting down on a log and throwing away his triumph like chaff before the wind. then there arose in his mind the picture of that bright-eyed, irresponsible youngster with his hat cocked sideways on his head, off upon some new adventure or bent on some new stunt. not a very good scout delegate perhaps, but the bulliest scout that ever tore a gaping hole in his stocking.... tom was aroused from his meditation by skinny's eager voice. "here's the log where he talked to me," he said; "here's just the very same place we sat down and he said he'd be my witness. he said i was old top, that's what he called me." "old top, hey?" said tom, smiling. chapter xxvi mysterious marks before reaching the log, tom's interest had been chiefly in his queer little companion. the tracks puzzled him somewhat, but since they had already served their purpose and were in process of obliteration he paid little attention to them. in his more ambitious rambles during late fall and winter, he had run across too many tracks of deer and bear and wildcat to become excited by these signs of some humbler creature of the woods. but on reaching that scene of skinny's memorable meeting with hervey willetts, tom's keenest interest was aroused by something which he saw there, and which both of the others characteristically had failed to notice. skinny, enthralled by his vision of the coveted badge, had been in no state for minute exploration, and as for hervey, these things were quite out of his line. besides, his sudden impulse of generosity toward skinny would have been quite sufficient (as we know it was) to cause him to forget all else. but tom was as observant and methodical, as hervey was erratic, and as he paused to rest upon the log, he noticed how it lay directly across the path of the tracks. thus the track line was broken for a couple of feet or so by this obstacle. supposing that the creature which had passed here had clambered over the log, tom's scouting instinct was aroused to examine the rough bark carefully for any little tuft of hair which the animal might have left. and not finding any, he was puzzled. for by its tracks the creature must have been very small, certainly too small to have stepped, and not at all likely to have jumped over the log. if then it had clambered over the log it seemed remarkable that it had left no trace, not even a single hair, upon that rough surface. tom knew that this was unusual. he knew that old uncle jeb would laugh at him if he went back and said that some small creature had crawled over that nutmeg grater and left no sign of its crossing. he knew that no animal could graze a tree in its flight but old uncle jeb would find there some tell-tale souvenir of its passing. tom's interest was keenly aroused now. he was baffled and a little chagrined. but no supplementary inspection revealed so much as a single hair. thus confounded, he examined the tracks more carefully. he followed them up to where they emerged from the lower reaches of the mountain. then he followed them back, aided where they were dim by the deeper prints of hervey's shoes. skinny sat upon the log waiting for him. on the side of the log nearest the mountain the tracks turned and went sideways along the log for perhaps a yard to a point where the log was low and somewhat broken. here, evidently, was where the animal had crossed. it must have been a very small animal, tom thought, to have sought an easy place for crossing. having thus determined the exact place of crossing, tom concentrated his attention on this spot, examining the bark systematically, inch by inch. but no vestige of a clew rewarded his microscopic scrutiny. he was baffled and his curiosity and determination rose in proportion to the difficulties. his big mouth was set tight, a menacing frown clouded his countenance, so that instinctively little skinny refrained from speaking to him. tracing the apparent line of the animal's crossing over the log, tom scrutinized the prints on the other side, that is, the side nearest camp. here the prints were very clear by reason of the crust of mud caused by the dampness usually found near logs and fallen trees. marks on this showed like marks on hard butter. suddenly tom's attention was riveted by something directly under the apparent line of crossing, something which he had never seen the like of in all his woodland adventures since he had become a scout. what he saw looked singularly out of place there. yet there it was printed in the hard crust of mud, and as clear as writing on a slate. no human footprint was near it. if a human being had made those marks that human being must have reached from the log to do it. and the printing was almost too nice for that. utterly dismayed, tom looked again for human footprints but the nearest were those of hervey on the other side of the log, some ten or a dozen feet beyond. "did either of you fellows do that?" tom asked, pointing. "does--does it mean i can't have the badge?" skinny asked, apprehensive of tom's mood. "did either of you fellows do that?" "n-no," skinny answered timidly. "have you brought any one else up here?" "honest--i ain't." "well then," said tom, with a kind of grim finality, "either some one else who didn't have any feet has been here or else that animal knows how to write. look there." skinny obediently looked again. there below the log and close to the tracks were printed as clear as day the letters h. t. they were about two inches in size. "take your choice," said tom with a kind of baffled conclusiveness which greatly impressed his little companion. _"either those letters were printed there by some one who didn't have any feet, or else the animal knew how to write. either one or the other. it's got me guessing."_ chapter xxvii the greater mystery since there was no solution of this singular puzzle, tom did not let it continue to trouble him. he was too busy with his duties incidental to the closing season to concern himself with mysteries which were not likely to reveal anything of value. the kidnapping was a serious affair, and the curious discovery which he had made in the woods was soon relegated to the back of his mind by this, which was now the talk of the camp, and by his increasingly pressing labors. [illustration: "did either of you fellows do that?" tom asked. _tom slade on mystery trail. page_ 151] moreover he believed that some scout or other had visited this now memorable spot and marked his initials on the mud, squatting on the log the while. to be sure, the absence of footprints close by, save those easily recognizable as skinny's, was perplexing, but since there was no other explanation, tom accepted the one which seemed not wholly unlikely. at all events, what other explanation was there? for an hour or more that same night tom lay under asbestos' elm pondering on his singular discovery. then realizing that his duties were many and various, he put this matter out of his head altogether and went to work in the morning at the strenuous work of lowering and rolling up tents. the papers which the boys brought up from catskill that afternoon were full of the kidnapping. master harrington's distracted mother was under the care of a dozen or so specialists, six or eight servants had been discharged for neglect, mr. harrington offered a reward of five thousand dollars, somebody had seen the child in detroit, another had seen him in canada, another had seen him at a movie show, another had heard heart-rending cries in some marsh or other, and so on and so on. in new york "an arrest was shortly expected," but it didn't arrive. the detectives were "saying nothing" and apparently doing nothing. master anthony harrington's picture was displayed on movie screens the country over. but out of all this hodge-podge of cooked up news and irresponsible hints there remained just the one plausible clew to hang any hopes on and that was trainman hanlon's recollection of seeing a child in a mackinaw jacket and carrying a jack-knife in the company of two men who alighted from a northbound train at catskill, within ten miles of temple camp. one other item of news interested the camp community, and that was that boy scouts throughout the country had been asked to search for the missing child. meanwhile, the kidnappers sat tight, expecting no doubt that their demands for a large ransom would be more fruitful after the chances of legitimate rescue had been exhausted. the great fortune of anthony harrington of wall street was quite useless until a couple of ruffians chose to say the word. and meanwhile, master anthony, jr., might be hacking himself all to pieces with a horrible jack-knife. it was just when matters were at that stage that pee-wee harris, elk patrol, first bridgeboro troop, went in swimming for the last time that summer in the cooling water of black lake. he gave a terrific cry, jumped on the springboard, howled for everybody to look, turned two complete somersaults and went kerplunk into the water with a mighty splash. chapter xxviii watchful waiting in a minute he came up sputtering and shouting. "what's that? a hunk of candy?" a scout sitting on the springboard called. for pee-wee seldom returned from any adventure empty handed. "a tu-shh-sphh----" scout harris answered. "a which?" "a turtshplsh--can't you hearshsph?" "a what?" "a turtlsh." "a turtle?" "cantshunderstand englsphish?" he dragged himself up on the springboard dripping and spluttering, and clutching this latest memento of his submarine explorations. "it's a turtle--t-u-r-t-e-l--i mean l-e--can't you understand english?" pee-wee demanded as soon as the water was out of his mouth and nose. "not submarine english," his companion retorted. "you can't keep your mouth shut even under water." it was indeed a turtle, which had already adopted tactics for a prolonged siege, its head, tail and four little stubby legs being drawn quite within its shell. nor was it tempted out of this posture of defense when pee-wee hurled it at tom slade who was standing near the mooring float, watching the diving. "there's a souvenir for you, tomasso," pee-wee called. tom caught the turtle and was about to hurl it at another scout who stood a few yards distant, when he noticed something carved on the upper surface of the turtle's shell. he pulled up a tuft of grass, rubbing the shell to clean it, and as he did so, the carving came out clearly, showing the letters t. h. the scout who had been ready to catch the missile now stepped over to look at it, and in ten seconds a dozen scouts were crowding around tom and craning their necks over his shoulders. "somebody's initials," tom said without any suggestion of excitement. "maybe--maybe it was that kid who was kidnapped," pee-wee vociferated. "only his initials are a. h.," tom answered dully. "no sooner said than stung," piped up one of the scouts. "what'll we do with him? keep him?" asked another. "what good is he?" tom said, apparently on the point of scaling the turtle into the lake. "some scout or other cut his initials here, that's all. i don't see any use in keeping him; he isn't so very sociable." "lots of times you crawl in your shell and aren't so sociable, either," pee-wee shot back at him. "i say let's keep him for a souvenir." "we'll have a regular bronx park zoo here pretty soon," a scout said. "we'll have to give him a name just like asbestos." tom set the turtle on the ground and everybody waited silently. but the turtle was not to be beguiled out of his stronghold by any such strategy. he remained as motionless as a stone. pee-wee gave him a little poke with his foot but to no avail. they turned him around, setting him this way and that, they tried to pry his tail out but it went back like a spring. they moved him a few yards distant in hopes that the change of scene might make him more sociable. but he showed no more sign of life than a fossil would have shown. so again they all waited. and they waited and waited and waited. they spoke in whispers and went on waiting. but after a while this policy of watchful waiting became tiresome. apparently the turtle was ready to withstand this siege for years if necessary. disgustedly, one scout after another went away, and others came. tempting morsels of food were placed in front of the turtle, in a bee line with his head. "gee whiz, if he doesn't care for food what _does_ he care for?" pee-wee observed, knowing the influence of food. that settled it so far as he was concerned, and he went away, saying that the turtle was not human, or else that he was dead. others, more patient, stood about, waiting. and all the famed ingenuity of scouts was exhausted to beguile or to drive the turtle out of his stronghold. at one time as many as twenty scouts surrounded him, with sticks, with food, and scouty, the camp dog, came down and danced around and made a great fuss and went away thoroughly disgusted. the turtle was master of the situation. chapter xxix the wandering minstrel with one exception the most patient scout at temple camp was westy martin of the interesting bridgeboro, new jersey, troop. he could sit huddled up in a bush for an hour studying a bird. he could sit and fish for hours without catching anything. but the turtle was too much for him. "we ought to name that guy llewellyn," he commented, as he strolled away; "that means _lightning_, according to some book or other. there was an old marathon racer a couple of million years ago named llewellyn." "that's a good name for him," tom admitted. "you going to hang around, slady?" "i'm going to fight it out on these lines if it takes all summer," tom said. thus the two most patient, stubborn living things in all the world were left alone together--the turtle and tom slade. tom sat on a rock and the turtle sat on the ground. tom did not budge. neither did the turtle. the turtle was facing up toward the camp and away from the lake. tom rested his chin in his hands, studying the initials on the turtle's shell. if they had been a. h. instead of t. h. they would indeed have been the very initials of master anthony harrington, jr. but a miss is as good as a mile, thought tom, and t. h. is no more like a. h. than it is like z. q. this train of thought naturally recalled to his mind the letters he had seen imprinted in the mud up in the woods. but those letters were h. t. and there was therefore no connection between these three sets of letters. tom knew well enough the habit of the temple camp scouts of carving their initials everywhere. the rough bench where they waited for the mail wagon to come along was covered with initials. and among them tom recalled a certain sprightly tenderfoot, theodore howell by name, who had been at camp early that same season. doubtless this artistic triumph on the bulging back of llewellyn was the handiwork of that same tenderfoot. and likely enough, too, those letters up in the woods were the initials of harry thorne, still at camp. tom would ask harry about that. and at the same time he would remind some of these carvers in wood and clay not to leave any artistic memorials on the camp woodwork. it was part of tom's work to look after matters of that kind. about the only conclusion he reached from these two disconnected sets of initials was that he would have an eye out for specialists in carving.... but tom's authority was as naught when it came to llewellyn. the turtle cared not for the young camp assistant. he sat upon the ground motionless as a rock, apparently dead to the world. tom had now no more interest in the turtle than a kind of sporting instinct not to be beaten. he could sit upon the rock as long as his adversary could sit upon the ground. in a moment of exasperation he had been upon the point of hurling the turtle into the lake, but had refrained, and now he was reconciled to a vigil which should last all night. llewellyn had met his match. for fifty-seven minutes by his watch, tom waited. then the tip end of llewellyn's nose emerged slowly, cautiously, and remained stationary. eleven minutes of tense silence elapsed. then the tip end of llewellyn's nose emerged a trifle more, stopped, started again and lo, his whole head and neck were out, craned stiffly upward toward the camp. tom did not move a muscle, he hardly breathed. soon the turtle's tail was sticking straight out and one forward claw was emerging slowly, doubtfully. silence. another claw emerged and the neck relaxed its posture of listening reconnoissance. then, presto, llewellyn was waddling around like a lumbering old ferry boat and heading straight for the lake. as he waddled along in a bee line something which tom had once read came flashing into his mind, which was that no matter where a turtle is placed, be it in the middle of the desert of sahara, he will travel a bee line for the nearest water. but his recollection of this was as nothing to tom now, when he saw with mingled feelings of shame and excitement something which seemed to open a way to the most dramatic possibilities. as the turtle entered the muddy area near the lake tom realized, what he should have known before, that the tracks which hervey willetts had followed from the mountain and which skinny had followed from the lake were the tracks of a turtle! _the tracks of a turtle coming from a locality where it did not belong, straight for the still water which was its natural element._ with a quick inspiration tom darted forward into the mud catching the turtle just as it was waddling into the water. he did not know why he did this, it was just upon an impulse, and in making the sudden reach he all but lost his balance. as it was he had to swing both arms to keep his feet, and as he did so the turtle fell upside down in the drier mud a few feet back from shore. as tom lifted it, there, imprinted in the mud were the letters h. t. the initials t. h. on the creature's back had been reversed when he fell upside down. and tom realized with a thrill that what had just happened before his eyes had happened at that log up in the woods. llewellyn, the humpty-dumpty of the animal world, had slid off the log, alighting upside down. for a moment tom slade paused in dismay. so teddy howell and harry thorne had nothing to do with this. this lumbering, waddling creature had come flopping along down out of the silent lower reaches of that frowning mountain, straight to his destination. he was not the first printer to print something the wrong way around. who, then, was t. h.? not master anthony, jr., at all events. but some one afar off, surely. abstractedly, tom slade gazed off toward that towering mountain whence this clumsy but unerring messenger had come. it looked very dark up there. tom recalled how from those lofty crags the great eagle had swooped down and met his match before the hallowed little home of orestes. in a kind of reverie tom's thoughts wandered to orestes. orestes would be in bed by now. orestes had lived away up near where that turtle had come from. and the thought of llewellyn and orestes turned tom's thought to hervey willetts. he had not seen much of hervey the last day or two.... tom fixed his gaze upon that old monarch where again the first crimson rays of dying sunlight glinted the pinnacles of the somber pines near its summit. how solemn, how still, it seemed up there. the nearer sounds about the camp seemed only to emphasize that brooding silence. it was like the silence of some vast cathedral--awful in its majestic solitude. and this impassive, stolid, hard-shell pilgrim, knowing his business like the bully scout he was, had come stumbling, sliding, rolling and waddling down out of those fastnesses, because there was something right here which he wanted. and he had brought a clew. should the human scout be found wanting where this humble little hero had triumphed? "i never paid much attention to those stories," tom mused; "but if there's a draft dodger living up there, i'm going to find him. if there's a hermit i'm going to see him. if there's...." he paused suddenly in his musing, listening. it was the distant voice of a scout returning to camp. he was singing one of those crazy songs that he was famous for. tom looked up beyond the supply cabin and saw him coming down, twirling his hat on a stick, hitching up one stocking as often as it went down--care-free, happy-go-lucky, delightfully heedless. he looked for all the world like a ragged vagabond. the evening breeze bore the strain he was singing down to where stolid tom stood and he smiled, then suddenly became tensely interested as he listened. tom often wondered where hervey got his songs and ballads. on the present occasion this is what the blithe minstrel was caroling: saint anthony he was a saint, and he was thin and bony; his mother called him anthonee, but the kids they called him tony. chapter xxx hervey makes a promise "_tony!_" the word reached tom's ears like a pistol shot. _tony._ his mother called him anthonee, and the kids they called him tony. anthony--tony. why, of course, tony was the universal nickname for anthony. and if any kids were allowed within the massive iron gates at the harrington estate, undoubtedly they called him tony. tom, holding the turtle like a big rubber stamp, printed the letters several times on the ground--h. t. he scrutinized them, in their proper order on the turtle's back--t. h. tony harrington. could it be? could it really mean anything in connection with that lost child? was it possible that while detective something-or-other, and lieutenant thing-um-bob, and sheriff bullhead and captain fuss-and-feathers were all giving interviews to newspaper men, this sturdy little messenger was coming down to camp with a clew, straight from the hiding place of a pair of ruffians and a little boy with a---_with a new jack-knife!_ tom was thrilled by this fresh thought. for half a minute he stood just where he was, hardly knowing what to do, what to think. "you're a good scout, llewellyn," he finally mused aloud; "old rough and ready--slow but sure. do you know what you did, you clumsy old ice wagon? you brought a second-class scout badge and an eagle award with you. and i'd like to know if you brought anything else of value. that's what i would." but llewellyn did not hear, at least he did not seem at all impressed. his head, claws and tail were drawn in again. he had changed himself into a rock. he was a good detective, because he knew how to keep still. tom strolled up to supper, as excited as it was in his nature to be, and greatly preoccupied. on his way up he dropped llewellyn into tenderfoot pond, a diminutive sheet of water, so named in honor of the diminutive scout contingent at camp. he would have room enough to spend the balance of his life resting after his arduous and memorable journey. and there he still abides, by last accounts, monarch of the mud and water, and suns himself for hours at a time on a favorite rock. he is ranked as a scout of the first-class, as indeed he should be, but he is frightfully lazy. he is a one stunt scout, as they say, but immensely popular. one hundred dollars in cash was offered for him and refused, so you can tell by that. after supper tom sought out hervey. "herve," he said, "i don't suppose you ever tried your hand at keeping a secret, did you? where's your eagle badge?" "my patrol has got it." "well, if you can't keep a badge do you think you can keep a secret? you were telling me you wouldn't let a girl wear an honor badge of yours----" "that was three days ago i told you that. girls are different from what they were then. can you balance a scout staff on your nose?" "i never tried that. listen, hervey, and promise you won't tell anybody. i'm telling you because i know i can trust you and because i like you and i think you can help me. i want you to do something for me, will you?" "suppose while i'm doing it i should decide i'd rather do something else? you know how i am." "well, in that case," said tom soberly, "you get a large rock tied to your neck by a double sailor's knot, and are gently lowered into black lake." "i can undo a double sailor's knot under water," said hervey. tom laughed in spite of himself. "hervey," said he, "do you know what kind of tracks those were you followed?" "a killyloo bird's?" "they were the tracks of a turtle and i was a fool not to know it. that turtle had the letters t. h. carved on his shell. do you know what those letters might possibly stand for?" "terrible hustler? how many guesses do i have?" "those letters were printed wrong way around in the mud up near that log when the turtle fell off the log upside down," tom continued soberly. "he fell all over himself, hey?" "you didn't happen to notice those letters up there, did you?" "not guilty." "it's best always to keep your eyes open," tom said. "not always, slady." "yes, always." "when you're asleep?" tom was a trifle nettled. "well, are you willing to help me or not?" he asked. "slady, i'm yours sincerely forever." "well then, meet me under asbestos' elm tree at quarter of eleven, and keep your mouth shut about it. we're going to see if we can find anthony harrington, jr." "t. h.?" "tony is nickname for anthony; you just said so in your song." "when my soul burst forth in gladness, hey? the scout caruso, hey, slady? what are we going to meet under the elm tree for?" "you'll see when we get there. all you have to do in the meantime is to keep still. do you think you can do that?" "silence is my middle name, slady; i eat it alive." chapter xxxi sherlock nobody holmes since tom slade, camp assistant, said it would be all right for hervey to meet him at quarter of eleven under the elm tree, hervey was only too glad to jump the rule, which was that scouts must turn in at ten thirty, directly after camp-fire. this stealthy meeting under the old elm tree near the witching hour of midnight was quite to hervey's taste. he found tom already there. "now for the buried treasure, hey, slady?" he said. "i want you to promise me not to sing," tom said soberly. "now listen," he added, whispering. "that turtle came from way up in that mountain. it has t. h. cut on its shell, and i think the carving is new. that trainman said two men with a kid got out at catskill. he said the kid had a jack-knife. his folks said he had a sweater. maybe the men put the jacket on him--keep still till i get through. maybe they wanted to disguise him. "it's bad enough for detectives to make fools of themselves and get that kid's family all excited, without scouts doing it. maybe i'm all wrong but we're going to make sure." "are you going up there, slady?" hervey whispered excitedly, as if ready to start. "no, not yet. we're going to find out something about the sweater first." "no one is in this but just you and i, hey?" "and llewellyn and orestes. now listen, i want you to climb up this tree and don't scare the bird whatever you do. you can climb like a monkey. don't interfere with the nest, but feel with your fingers and see if you can give me an idea what that red streak is made of. don't call down. all we know now is that orestes and llewellyn came from pretty near the same spot. two little clews are better than one big one if they match. go on now, beat it, and whatever you do don't call down or i'll murder you." hardly a rustling of the branches tom heard as the young scout ascended. one silent leaf fluttered down and blew in his face. that was all. a minute, perhaps two minutes, elapsed. then tom saw the agile form slowly descending the dark trunk. "i'd make a good sneak thief, hey?" hervey whispered. "you're a wonder on climbing," tom said, with frank admiration. "it's kind of like worsted, slady," hervey whispered, as he brushed the bark from his clothing. "it's all woven in with other stuff but it feels like--sort of like worsted. i put my flashlight on it, it's faded--" "i know it is," tom said, "but it was bright red when we first saw it and that's what makes me think it hasn't been in the nest long. i don't believe it had been there more than a couple of days or so when we found the nest. all i want to know now is whether it's wool, or anything like that. you think it is?" "sure it is." "all right, then one thing more and we'll hit the trail. you meet me in the morning right after breakfast." chapter xxxii the beginning of the journey early the next morning tom and hervey hiked down to catskill. "i don't see why we don't hike straight for the mountain," hervey said; "it would be much nearer." "didn't you ever sail up the hudson?" tom asked him. "all the trails up the steep mountains are as plain as day from the river. if you want to discover a trail get a bird's-eye view. don't you know that aviators discover trails that even hunters never knew about before? if the kidnappers went up that mountain, they probably went an easy way, because they're not scouts or woodsmen. see? it would be an awful job picking our way up that mountain from camp. if those men are up that way they knew where they were going. they're not pioneers, they're kidnappers." "slady, you're a wonder." "except when it comes to climbing trees," tom said. at catskill they hired a skiff and rowed out to about the middle of the river. from there hervey was greatly surprised at what he saw. his bantering mood was quieted at last and he became sober as tom, holding the oar handles with one hand, pointed up to a mountain behind the bordering heights along the river. upon this, as upon others, were the faintest suggestions of lines. no trails were to be seen, of course; only wriggling lines of shadow, as they seemed, now visible, now half visible, now fading out altogether like breath on a piece of glass. it seemed incredible that mere paths, often all but undiscernible close at hand, should be distinguishable from this distance. but there they were, and it needed only visual concentration upon them to perceive that they were not well defined paths to be sure, but thin, faint lines of shadow. they lacked substance, but there they were. "that's old tyrant," tom said. "see?" hervey would never have recognized the mountain. the side of it which they saw was not at all like the familiar side which faced temple camp. that frowning, jungle-covered ascent seemed less forbidding from the river, but how tom could identify it was beyond hervey's comprehension. it was apparent that by following a road which began at catskill they would skirt the mountain along its less precipitous ascent, and tom assumed that the trail, so doubtfully and elusively marked upon the height, would be easily discoverable where it left the road, as undoubtedly it did. deduction and calculation were not at all in hervey's line; he would have been quite satisfied to plunge into the interminable thicket on the side near camp and get lost there. "you see there is more than one way to kill a cat," tom observed. "i was thinking of the kidnappers while you were thinking about the mountain. as long as they went up i thought i might as well let them show us the easy way." "you're a wonder, slady!" "there are two sides to every mountain," tom said. "like every story, hey?" "you're a good scout only you don't use your brain enough. you use your hands and feet and your heart, i can't deny that." "the pleasure is mine," said hervey. "we're going to sneak up the back way, hey?" "no, we're going up the front way," tom smiled. "llewellyn came down the back way." "he's a peach of a scout, hey?" "the best ever." hervey had soon a pretty good demonstration of the advantage of using the brain first and the hands and feet afterwards. and he had a pretty good demonstration of the particular kind of scout that tom slade was--a scout that thinks. they hit into the road about fifty yards from the boat landing and followed it through a valley to where it ran along the foot of the mountain. "are you sure this is the right mountain?" hervey asked. "they all look alike when you get close to them." "yop," said tom; "what do you think of it?" "oh, i'm not particular about mountains," hervey said. "they all look alike to me." following the road, they watched the bordering woods on the mountainside carefully for any sign of a trail. several times they clambered up into the thicket supposing some tiny clearing or sparse area to be the beginning of the winding way they sought. hervey was thoroughly aroused now and serious. once they picked their way up into the woods for perhaps a dozen yards, only to find themselves in a jungle with no sign of trail. tom returned down out of these blind alleys, his hands scratched, his clothing torn, and resumed his way along the road doggedly, saying little. he knew it was somewhere and he was going to find it. suddenly he paused by a certain willow tree, looking at it curiously. "what is it?" hervey asked excitedly. "looks as if a jack-knife had been at work around here, huh? somebody's been making a willow whistle. look at this." tom held up a little tube of moist willow bark, at the same time kicking some shavings at his feet. "looks as if they passed this point, anyway," he said. "ever make one of those willow whistles? i've made dozens of them for tenderfeet. if you make them the right way, they make a dickens of a loud noise." chapter xxxiii the climb at last they found the trail. it wound up and away from the road about half a mile farther along than where they had found the shavings. "i guess no one would have noticed those but you," hervey said admiringly; "i guess the detectives would have gone right past them." "a lot of little clews are better than one big one," tom said as they scrambled up into the dense thicket. "the initials on the turtle, the new jack-knife, the willow shavings, all fit together." "yes, but it takes tom slade to fit them together," hervey said. "maybe we might be mistaken after all," tom answered. "anyway, nobody'll have the laugh on us. we didn't talk to reporters." their journey now led up through dense woods, but the trail was clear and easy to follow. now and again they caught glimpses of the country below and could see the majestic hudson winding like a broad silver ribbon away between other mountains. "hark!" tom said, stopping short. hervey paused, spellbound. "i guess it was only a boat whistling," tom said. "it's pretty lonesome up here," hervey commented. the side of the mountain which they were ascending was less precipitous than the side facing the camp, and save for occasional patches of thicket where the path was overgrown, their way was not difficult. "but i think it's longer than the trip would be straight from camp," hervey said. "sure it is," tom said; "llewellyn proves that; he went down the shortest way. he might have come down this way to the hudson, only he hit a bee line for the nearest water." after about three quarters of an hour of this wearisome climb they came out on the edge of a lofty minor cliff which commanded a panoramic view of temple camp. they were, in fact, close to the edge of the more precipitous ascent and near the very point whence the eagle had swooped down. from this spot the path descended into the thicket and down the steep declivity. below them lay black lake with tiny black specks upon it--canoes manned by scouts. the faintest suggestion of human voices could be heard, but they did not sound human; rather like voices from another world. suddenly, in the vast, solemn stillness below them a shrill whistling sounded clear out of the dense jungle. it might have been a hundred yards down, or fifty; tom could not say. he was not at all excited nor elated. holding up one hand to warn hervey to silence, he stood waiting, listening intently. again the whistle sounded, shrill, clear-cut, in the still morning air. chapter xxxiv the rescue "take off your shoes and leave them here," tom whispered; "and follow me and don't speak. step just where i step." tom's soft moccasins were better even than stocking feet and he moved down into the thicket stealthily, silently. not a twig cracked beneath his feet. he lifted the impediments of branch and bush aside and let them spring easily back into place again without a sound. hervey crawled close behind him, passing through these openings while tom held the entangled thicket apart for both to pass. he moved like a panther. never in all his life had hervey willetts seen such an exhibition of scouting. presently tom paused, holding open the brush. "hervey," he said in the faintest whisper, "they say you're happy-go-lucky. are you willing to risk your life--again?" "i'm yours sincerely forever, slady." "we're going home the short way; we're going down the way the turtle did," tom whispered. "it's the only way--look. shh." with heart thumping in his breast, hervey looked down where tom pointed and saw amid the dense thicket a glint of bright red. even as he looked, it moved, and appeared again in another tiny opening of the thicket close by. "what is it?" he whispered. "a. h." tom hardly breathed. "it's little anthony harrington--shh. don't speak from now on; just follow me. see this trickle of water? there's a spring down there. they can't have their camp there, they'd roll down. the kid is there alone. if you're not willing to tackle the descent, say so. if we go down the regular way we'll have them after us. we've got to go a way that they _can't_ go. say the word. are you game?" "you heard them call me a dare-devil, didn't you?" hervey whispered. "they claim i don't care anything about the eagle award. they're right. i'd rather be a dare-devil. go ahead and don't ask foolish questions." for about twenty yards tom descended, stealthily pausing every few feet or so. hervey was behind him and could not see what tom saw. he did not venture to speak. then tom paused, holding the brush open, and peering through--thoughtfully, intently. he looked like a scout in a picture. hervey waited behind him, his heart in his throat. he could not have stood there if tom had not been in front of him. it seemed interminable, this waiting. but tom was not the one to leap without looking. suddenly, like a flash of lightning, he threw aside all stealth and caution and, tearing the bushes out of his path, darted forward like a hunted animal. hervey could only follow, his heart beating, his nerves tingling with excitement. what happened, seemed all in an instant. it was over almost before it began. tom had emerged into a little clearing where there was a spring and the next thing hervey knew, there was his companion stuffing a handkerchief into the mouth of a little fellow in a red sweater and lifting the little form into his arms. hervey saw the clearing, the spring, the handkerchief stuffed into the child's mouth, the little legs dangling as tom carried the struggling form--he saw these things as in a kind of vision. the next thing he noticed (and that was when they had descended forty or fifty yards below the spring) was that the child's sweater was frayed near the shoulder. down the steep declivity tom moved, over rocks, now crawling, now letting himself down, now handing himself by one hand from tree to tree, agilely, carefully, surely. now he relieved one arm by taking the child in the other, always using his free hand to let himself down through that precipitous jungle. never once did he speak or pause until he had left an almost perpendicular area of half a mile or so of rock and jungle between them and the spring above. then, breathless, he paused in a little level space above a great rock and set the child down. "don't be frightened, tony," he said; "we're going to take you home. and don't scream when i take this handkerchief out because that will spoil it all." "is it safe to stop here?" hervey asked. "sure, they'll go down the path when they want to hunt for him. they'll never get down here. the mountain is with us now." "i didn't drop my whistle," the little fellow piped up, as if that were his chief concern. "good," said tom, in an effort to interest him and put him at ease. "that's a dandy whistle; tell us about it. because we're your friends, you know." "am i going to see my mother and father?" "you bet. away down there is a big camp where there are lots of boys and you're going to stay there till they come and get you." "they sent me to the spring to get water and i took my whistle so i could soak it in the water, because that makes it go good. i made it myself, that whistle." tom, his clothes torn, his face and hands bleeding from scratches, sat upon the edge of a big rock with the little fellow drawn tight against him. "and when you whistled we came and got you, hey? that's the kind of fellows we are. and i bet i know how that nice sweater got frayed, too. a little bird did that." "i left it hanging on a tree near the spring when they sent me to get water," the boy said, "and i left it there all night." he poked his finger in the frayed place as if he were proud of it. "and i'll show you who did it," tom said; "because that little thief is right down there in that big camp. and i'll show you the turtle you carved your initials on too. because he came to our camp, too. there's so much fun there. and you're going to step very carefully and hold on to me, and we're going down, down, down, till we get to that camp where there is a man that knows how to make dandy crullers. i bet you like crullers?" a camp where even birds and turtles go, and where they know how to make crullers, was a magic place, not to be missed by any means. and little anthony harrington was already undecided as to whether he would rather live there than at home. chapter the last y-extra! y-extra! the ragged little newsboys in the big city shouted themselves hoarse. "y-extree! y-extra! anthony harrington safe! rescued by boy scouts! y-extree! mister!" and those who bought the extras learned how the kidnappers of anthony harrington allowed him to purchase for nine cents a turtle from a little farm boy whom he met at the station at catskill. and of how that turtle walked off and gave the whole thing away. llewellyn and orestes got even more credit than tom slade, but he did not care, for a scout is a brother to every other scout, and it was all in the family. and so, as i said in the beginning, if you should visit temple camp, you will hear the story told of how llewellyn, scout of the first-class, and orestes, winner of the merit badges for architecture and music, were by their scouting skill and lore instrumental in solving a mystery and performing a great good turn. they are still there, the two of them; one in her elm, the other in tenderfoot pond. and orestes (but this is strictly confidential) has a little scout troop of her own, tenderfeet with a vengeance, for they are out of the eggs scarcely ten days. the end * * * * * the tom slade books by percy keese fitzhugh author of "roy blakeley," "pee-wee harris," "westy martin," etc. =illustrated. individual picture wrappers in colors. every volume complete in itself.= "let your boy grow up with tom slade," is a suggestion which thousands of parents have followed during the past, with the result that the tom slade books are the most popular boys' books published to-day. they take tom slade through a series of typical boy adventures through his tenderfoot days as a scout, through his gallant days as an american doughboy in france, back to his old patrol and the old camp ground at black lake, and so on. tom slade, boy scout tom slade at temple camp tom slade on the river tom slade with the colors tom slade on a transport tom slade with the boys over there tom slade, motorcycle dispatch bearer tom slade with the flying corps tom slade at black lake tom slade on mystery trail tom slade's double dare tom slade on overlook mountain tom slade picks a winner tom slade at bear mountain grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york * * * * * the roy blakeley books by percy keese fitzhugh author of "tom slade," "pee-wee harris," "westy martin," etc. =illustrated. individual picture wrappers in color. every volume complete in itself.= in the character and adventures of roy blakeley are typified the very essence of boy life. he is a real boy, as real as huck finn and tom sawyer. he is the moving spirit of the troop of scouts of which he is a member, and the average boy has to go only a little way in the first book before roy is the best friend he ever had, and he is willing to part with his best treasure to get the next book in the series. roy blakeley roy blakeley's adventures in camp roy blakeley, pathfinder roy blakeley's camp on wheels roy blakeley's silver fox patrol roy blakeley's motor caravan roy blakeley, lost, strayed or stolen roy blakeley's bee-line hike roy blakeley at the haunted camp roy blakeley's funny bone hike roy blakeley's tangled trail roy blakeley on the mohawk trail grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york * * * * * the pee-wee harris books by percy keese fitzhugh author of "tom slade," "roy blakeley," "westy martin," etc. =illustrated. individual picture wrappers in color. every volume complete in itself.= all readers of the tom slade and the roy blakeley books are acquainted with pee-wee harris. these stories record the true facts concerning his size (what there is of it) and his heroism (such as it is), his voice, his clothes, his appetite, his friends, his enemies, his victims. together with the thrilling narrative of how he foiled, baffled, circumvented and triumphed over everything and everybody (except where he failed) and how even when he failed he succeeded. the whole recorded in a series of screams and told with neither muffler nor cut-out. pee-wee harris pee-wee harris on the trail pee-wee harris in camp pee-wee harris in luck pee-wee harris adrift pee-wee harris f.o.b. bridgeboro pee-wee harris fixer pee-wee harris: as good as his word grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york * * * * * =every boy's library= =boy scout edition= the books in this library have been proven by nation-wide canvass to be the one most universally in demand by the boys themselves. originally published in more expensive editions only, they are now re-issued at a lower price so that all boys may have the advantage of reading and owning them. it is the only series of books published under the control of this great organization, whose sole object is the welfare and happiness of the boy himself. adventures in beaver stream camp, major a. r. dugmore along the mohawk trail, percy keese fitzhugh animal heroes, ernest thompson seton baby elton, quarter-back, leslie w. quirk bartley, freshman pitcher, william heyliger billy topsail with doctor luke of the labrador, norman duncan the biography of a grizzly, ernest thompson seton the boy scoots of black eagle patrol, leslie w. quirk the boy scouts of bob's hill, charles pierce burton brown wolf and other stories, jack london buccaneers and pirates of our coasts, frank r. stockton the call of the wild, jack london cattle ranch to college, r. doubleday college years, ralph d. paine cruise of the cachalot, frank t. bullen the cruise of the dazzler, jack london don strong, patrol leader, w. heyliger don strong of the wolf patrol, william heyliger for the honor of the school, ralph henry barbour the gaunt gray wolf, dillon wallace grit-a-plenty, dillon wallace the guns of europe, joseph a. altsheler the half-back, ralph henry barbour handbook for boys, revised edition, boy scouts of america the horsemen of the plains, joseph a. altsheler jim davis, john masefield kidnapped, robert louis stevenson last of the chiefs, joseph a. altsheler the last of the mohicans, james fenimore cooper last of the plainsmen, zane grey lone bull's mistake, j. w. shultz pete, the cow puncher, j. b. ames the quest of the fish-dog skin, james w. schultz ranche on the oxhide, henry inman the ransom of red chief and other o. henry stories for boys, edited by f. k. mathiews scouting with daniel boone, everett t. tomlinson scouting with kit carson, everett t. tomlinson through college on nothing a year, christian gauss treasure island, robert louis stevenson 20,000 leagues under the sea, jules verne grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york * * * * * transcriber's notes: 1. punctuation has been made regular and consistent with contemporary standards. 2. double column booklist for "every boy's library" at end of book was rendered in single column for readability. 3. page 5: "in talking mood." changed to "in a talking mood." 4. page 58: "learn things why" changed to "learn things while" 5. page 67: "hitting straight in the direction" changed to "heading straight in the direction" the hilltop boys on the river by cyril burleigh contents chapters i. getting a motor-boat ii. trying out the new boat iii. evil intentions thwarted iv. the boat affair unsettled v. an alarm in the night vi. the mystery of the gold watch vii. more mystery about the watch viii. what jack and dick overheard ix. another claimant for the watch x. disappointments xi. the cat out of the bag xii. the owner of the watch found xiii. the prize poem xiv. billy's nocturnal adventure xv. fun on the river xvi. the prizes awarding xvii. a puzzling matter settled xviii. the departure of the bullies xix. the troubles of the surveying party xx. getting at the bottom of things xxi. what appearing on billy's plates xxii. everything is settled chapter i getting a motor boat "if you are going with the boys on the river, jack, you will have to get a motor-boat. won't you let me buy you one?" "no, not a bit of it, dick." "but you want one?" "certainly, and i am going to have one." "but motor-boats cost money, jack. why, mine cost me-----" "never mind what it cost, dick. you spend a lot more money than i can afford to spend, and you have a gilt-edged affair, of course. i want a boat to use as well as to look at." "but you want a serviceable boat, jack?" "i am going to have it, and it will not cost me anything like what your boat cost. just let me look around a bit, dick." "all right, i'll let you do all the looking you want, but i'd like to buy you a boat just the same." "no doubt you would, and so would jesse w. and harry and arthur and a dozen other boys, but i am going to get one myself, and it will not cost me much either, and will give me all the service i want. we don't go into camp under a week, and that will give me all the time i want to build---" "you are not going to build you a motor-boat, are you, jack sheldon?" asked dick percival in the greatest surprise. "well, not altogether build it, dick. put it together, i may say. i did not mean to let the cat out of the bag, but now that she is out you need not scare her all over the neighborhood so that everybody will know that she is out. let pussy stay hidden for a time yet." "yes, but jack, how are you going to-----" "no, no, dick," laughed jack, "you have seen the cat's whiskers, but you haven't seen her tail yet, and you won't until i get ready. i have told you more now than i meant to, and you must be satisfied with that. i'll have the boat, don't you be afraid." the two boys were two of what were called the hilltop boys, being students at an academy situated in the highlands of the hudson on top of a hill about five miles back from the river, as the crow flies, but considerably more than that by the road. jack sheldon was a universal favorite in the school, and although he had been obliged to work to pay for his schooling at the start he was not thought any the less of on that account. two or three strokes of fortune had given him sufficient money to more than pay for his education, and to provide his widowed mother with many extra comforts in addition, so that now he could give his time to study and not be distracted by work. he had long known the value of money, having learned it by experience, and he was now averse to spending more than was necessary on things that gave pleasure rather more than profit. he would not let dick percival, who was the son of rich parents, and had more money to spend than was really good for him, buy him a motor-boat, nor would he spend too much money on one himself when he would use it only for the smallest part of the year. the school term was over, but dr. theopilus wise, the principal of the academy, had arranged to continue it for a portion of the summer, not in the academy, but in a camp on the river where the boys would have plenty of open air, exercise, relaxation, and all the fun they wanted, besides doing a certain amount of school work to keep them from getting rusty as they expressed it. the summer school was to begin its session in a short time, and, meanwhile, jack remained at the academy instead of going home, some distance away in another county, giving his attention to certain matters in which he was interested. he had done work for the editor of a weekly paper of a town on the river, the nearest large town to the academy and was well known in the place besides, having many acquaintances there among business people. being fond of the water, and knowing that many of the boys would have boats of one kind or another, but mostly motors, jack had already looked about him, and had already not only formed his plans, but had put some of them in operation. leaving percival, who was his principal chum among the hilltop boys, jack went on his wheel to riverton, the town nearest to the academy, and called in at the office of the news where he found the editor, mr. brooke, pecking away at a typewriter in his sanctum, using two fat fingers only in doing his writing rather than all of them as an expert would do. brooke had learned to use the machine in that way, however, and would adopt no other, although he had been shown by jack, who was a rapid writer on a machine, and could compose on it, that he could do much faster work by the other method. "how do you do, sheldon?" said brooke, looking up. "got any news?" "what are you going to do with that little gasolene engine that you used to run your little presses with?" asked jack. "i don't know, sell it, i guess. it isn't good for much except junk." "how much do you want for it?" "oh, you can have it if you think you can do anything with it," said the editor carelessly. "no, i don't want it for nothing. i'll pay you for it." "what are you going to do with it? it's too little to run any but the small presses. ain't going to start a paper, are you?" "no. i can fix it up so as to make it do good work. i want to put it in a motor-boat." "it might do for that, and if you can fix it up you're welcome to it. you have a mechanical bent, i know, and i guess if any one can fix it up, you can. well, say ten dollars." "all right. it will cost me another ten to put it in shape, but after that it will do all right. will you deliver it to a man that i send after it? i'll take it down to the riverton shops and work on it. they let me tinker things there whenever i want to." "certainly. send an order, and i'll let the man have it." "very good. that's all for the present," and jack went out. his next call was at the machine shop he had spoken of, and going on their wharf he looked around, saw an old rowboat lying on the ground, took a good look at it, and then went to the foreman and said: "what do you want for that rowboat lying on the wharf? i'd like to buy it. it will just suit me." "it is not worth much, mr. sheldon," said the foreman. "you can have it if you want it." "no, i want to buy it." "oh, well, say a dollar, but you'll be a dollar out if you buy it." "i don't think so," said jack, who knew what the boat was worth, and that a little money expended on it would not be wasted. "may i have a bench for a few days?" "yes, for as long as you like." jack hired a man to take the boat to the shop, bought some paint and brushes and some narrow boards used for flooring, and then sent for the engine, which he placed near the boat. he was of a mechanical turn of mind, as brooke had said, and knew a good deal about engines, and by the purchase of a few necessary articles, and by working himself he managed in the course of a day or so to put his engine into a condition that thoroughly satisfied him. then he bought a propeller, lamps and other necessaries, had the engine fitted into his boat, and then proceeded to deck it over forward, having already remedied any defects that it had, and making it perfectly watertight, and like a new boat with a fresh coat of paint and varnish. he was a week on the work, but at last his boat was ready and was put in the water with the aid of two or three men from the shop. he took a run of a mile or so up the river, and then back to the shop, greatly satisfied with the result, having fitted up a boat for less than half what a craft of the cheapest kind would have cost him had he bought it at retail. he tied his boat up, covered it over and told the foreman that he intended to leave it there for a day or so, and would then call for it. "looks to me as if you had a pretty good boat, mr. sheldon," said the foreman. "i saw you going up the river. you made a good ten-mile gait, i shouldn't wonder." "yes, and i can do better yet," said jack, smiling. "i was just warming her up a bit. she'll do better when she gets seasoned." all this time jack had said nothing to percival about his boat, which certainly did not look like a made-over affair now that she was painted and decked over, had her lights and all her appurtenances, an engine in her hold and a flagstaff at her bow, meaning to give his friend a surprise. the day before they were to leave the academy and go into camp on the river percival asked jack if he had secured his boat yet, and added: "i have mine, and she is a beauty, cost me three hundred dollars, but it's worth all that." "mine did not cost me a hundred," said jack, "and she is sixteen feet long, and makes good speed. i'll have her down to-morrow when we go to camp. she is in a machine shop in riverton, and it will be easy enough to take her down to our quarters." "so you have one, eh?" exclaimed dick. "where did you buy it? you've been very quiet about it. did you send to the city for it?" "no, i got everything around here, as i said i would, fixed it up myself from one thing or another, but i don't think you'd know it, for she is like a new boat." "and you did all the work on her yourself?" "certainly," laughed jack. "it is nothing new for me to wear overalls and a jumper, and get my hands greasy. i can wash them." "the first time i saw you it was in overalls. dress doesn't make a boy. i believe you'd look all right in anything. but i'd like to see the boat now, jack, and not wait till to-morrow." "well, i don't mind showing her to you, dick, so if you will get out your runabout we'll go down and i'll give you a trip on the river." "to be sure i will," replied percival eagerly. "come along." chapter ii trying out the new boat in half an hour the two boys were at the wharf of the machine shop, and jack was showing his new acquisition to percival, whose delight could hardly be expressed in words. "why, i say, jack, she looks as if she had just been turned out of the shops. why, she's a beauty and no mistake. and you did all the work on her yourself?" "i did not build the boat, dick, but i fixed her up, caulked, painted, and decked her over forward, put the rail around the standing room, and put in the seats, installed the engine, set the propeller, and got her in the shape you see her now. she's all right?" "all right? well, i should say she was. i'd never believe that you hadn't just got her brand new from the shop. no wonder you get along, jack. a fellow who shows a knack for doing things that you do and goes ahead in spite of all obstacles is bound to get on. come on, let me see how she can go. my boat is a lot fancier than yours, but i doubt if she can make the same speed or last as long. come ahead, get aboard!" the boys got on board, and jack took his seat, started his engine, took the tiller and glided out upon the river, and then down toward the railroad station, percival noting the speed, the smoothness with which everything worked, and the apparent ease with which jack managed it all, as though he had always been used to such things. "you're doing fine, jack," he chuckled. "i suppose you can go faster if you like. will you let her out a bit?" "wait till i get away from the railroad station and the docks, dick. i'll have a clear way before me in a little while, and then i can show off, but just now i'd rather take it easier." "h'm! you take it easy enough as it is. why, one would think that you had been used to motorboats all your life." "not quite as long as that, dick," with a smile. as they were passing the railroad station they saw two big boys with not very prepossessing faces standing on the wharf near a motor-boat moored alongside, one of them, the biggest and most disagreeable looking, saying in a loud voice and with a sneer which seemed habitual with him, as in fact it was, his conversation being directed at the boys in the boat: "huh! percival has hired sheldon to run his boat for him. it's all he's good for, and dick don't know any more about boats than a cat." "gets him to run his auto, too," said the other. "he'd drive dick's carriage if he had one. blacks his boots and brushes his clothes, too, i'll bet. he's nothing but a valet anyhow." percival flushed crimson at these insults to jack, the boys being two of the most disliked in the academy, and said hotly: "i'll come and throw you two brutes in the river if you say any more. because jack sheldon had to work you think he is no good, but he has you fellows skinned, in studies and in everything else. you never did any work in your lives, you're too-----" "don't answer them, dick," said jack quietly, heading for the middle of the river. "it won't do any good, and they'll talk all the more. i don't mind it, and neither should you." "come and chuck us in the river, why don't you?" jeered the first of the boys on shore, peter herring by name, and the chief bully of the school. "you daren't! you're afraid of wetting your pretty clothes. yah! what an old tub! you'll never get back with that scow!" "i'd like to thrash them!" sputtered percival, who was of an impulsive disposition. "i'm sorry that they are going to be with us this summer, but i guess their fathers think they are better off with the doctor to keep them in check than they would be sporting away their money at fashionable summer resorts." "we do not have to be with them any more than we can help, dick," said jack quietly, managing his boat in the deeper water and in a stronger current as well as he did nearer shore. "they like to stir you up, and you only please them the more when you answer them." "if pete herring and ernest merritt think they can shut me up they are mistaken," growled percival. "they are getting ready for a good thrashing and they'll get it. i am not the only hilltop boy who is ready to give it to them. here comes a steamer, jack." "yes, i see her," said the other quietly. "i will look out for her." one of the big river steamers was coming up, but jack kept far enough away from her and managed his head so that her wash did not affect him, and the boat passed without causing him any trouble. "that was well done, jack," said percival when the boat was well up the river, and jack went in nearer shore. "i would not be afraid to trust myself in any boat with you. run 'em before, have you?" "not this sort, dick, but a boat is a boat whether you run her by gas or pull the oars or have sails. you must look out for yourself." "and that's just what you do. i suppose that was their boat that they were looking at? must have cost something." "yes, it looked like it," carelessly. "you don't have to spend a lot of money to get fun out of a boat, however. some fellows' boats cost them about fifty cents a mile, but this won't." "h'm! i must look out that mine does not," laughed dick. "i am a great fellow for spending money. guess if i had to earn it i'd be more careful of it. that's what the governor is always saying, but i get it just the same." when the boys were on their way back to the wharf they met herring and merritt in the motorboat they had seen, herring shouting out with his usual sneer and a contemptuous look: "we'll race you for ten dollars, percival, if you think you can trust your helper. two to one we'll beat you hands down." "this happens not to be my boat," said percival, "and i would not race with you if it was." "ah, go on! you can't make us believe that sheldon can earn money to buy a motor-boat by picking fruit!" jack did not say anything, and the others turned and came after them so as to force them into a race. "you could beat them, couldn't you, jack?" asked percival in a low tone, so as not to be heard by the others. "yes, but i am not going to race with them." "they will try to beat you. don't let them do it." "i shall pay no attention to them, dick," quietly. "yes, but jack, i should hate to have them pass us. they'd never grow tired of telling it all over the academy." "let them," said jack, keeping on at the same steady speed, and making for the wharf. herring, who evidently owned the boat, put her to her speed so as to pass jack, and merritt shouted derisively as they drew nearer: "we'll give you a tow, you fellows!" the ferry boat running from riverton to the town on the other side of the river had just put out, and was coming on at a good gait, blowing her whistle to warn the smaller boats to keep out of the way. jack went on across her bow with plenty of room to spare, but herring slowed up and caught her wash, his boat dancing and rocking in the liveliest fashion, taking in water and causing both him and merritt to shout and go into a panic. they turned and took in more water, and merritt, jumping up excitedly, waving his arms and scolding both herring and the steamer captain, suddenly lost his balance and fell into the river. "he can swim, can't he?" asked jack, seeing the accident. "yes, and there are other boats on the river. let them pick the fellow up. serves him right, anyhow. he ought to keep still in a boat." merritt speedily came up, swam to the boat and tried to clamber aboard, herring shouting at him and warning him off. "get out, you'll upset me!" he shouted. "why didn't you keep still? you're as clumsy as a cow in a boat, you are. get out of here, or i'll hit you! keep away, i tell you!" "there is a rowboat coming," said percival, turning his head. "he will be all right, but he'll have to go back to the academy in wet clothes. no danger of catching cold now, but he'll be a sight all the same, and serves him just right." herring kept on, but made for the railroad wharf, while the rowboat that dick had seen took in merritt, and shortly landed him at one of the docks along the river. by this time the boys had reached the dock of the machine shops and jack tied up, covered his engine and walked up to the street with percival, the latter saying: "it will be like those fellows to say that we were the cause of merritt's going overboard. they did not pass us at any rate." "let them talk," laughed jack. "talk costs nothing, and won't hurt us." the boys went to the office of the news where jack gave the editor a few little items, writing them out on the typewriter, percival looking on in great admiration, although he had seen jack write before. "one would think you had been born at a typewriter, jack," he said. "now i could not do that. the very noise of the thing would bother me and then, having that bell ring every few seconds would get on my nerves." "don't listen to it, dick. you don't mind the chug of an auto or of a motor-boat, do you? this is not nearly as bad." "well, no, i suppose not, but i don't see how you can think with that thing making such a clatter. it would drive all the thoughts out of my head in a minute. none too many there, to start with!" leaving the office at length they came upon herring on the main street, his late companion not being with him. "you fouled us!" growled the bully. "i'd have passed you in another second. you'll have to pay for erne's clothes and his doctor's bills, too. he's taken an awful cold. it'll cost you something, let me tell you." just then merritt himself, in a ready made suit of clothes came out of a hotel on the corner, the boys seeing him before he saw them or herring got sight of him. "he does not seem to have suffered any," said percival in a whisper. "no, he has bought another suit of clothes, and does not appear to suffer from colds or influenza or any of those things," laughed jack. "hello, pete, why didn't you wait?" merritt called out, and then herring saw him and he saw the boys. "huh! you made me fall into the river!" merritt snorted, "and i had to buy a suit of clothes. you'll have to pay for them." "and for the doctor's prescription?" said percival pointedly, for the bully's breath smelled of something stronger than milk or lemonade. "spirits may be good to prevent a chill, merritt, but you want to be careful how you use them." "come on, pete," snarled merritt, turning red. "they aren't worth wasting time on," and the bullies went one way while jack and dick went another. "there won't be any trouble, dick," said jack. "no, i don't think there will" chapter iii evil intentions thwarted the hilltop boys marched down to their camp the next day, and after they were settled jack went with percival to get his boat, dick's having been sent down to the camp in the morning. the camp was on the river away from the railroad in a pleasant bit of woods a mile or so below the town so that they had all the charms of country life about them with the town near enough at hand in case they wanted to get anything. there were tents to sleep in, a dining tent and one for the kitchen, and a big pavilion where the boys could do what little work they were expected to do during their stay on the river. a very black, very jolly looking negro, who rejoiced in the name of bucephalus, and who was the coachman and head waiter at the academy, now had the position of head cook and general handy man, and the boys knew that they would be well looked after, bucephalus being a general favorite. besides the professors there was the military instructor and drillmaster, colonel bull, a fat little man with a great deal of self-importance, who looked after the physical side of the boys' instruction, while the professors attended to the mental side. there were a number of motor-boats, several of the boys going partners in these, and there were also rowboats and canoes, a considerable number of the hilltop boys being accustomed to the water, and spending a good deal of their time on it. harry dickson and arthur warren, chums of jack and dick, had a boat together, as did herring and merritt, and there were several boys who had boats alone, like percival and jack, one of these being a little fellow, the smallest boy in the academy, who had his full name, jesse w. smith, painted on the stern of his boat, which he managed alone with considerable dexterity. percival's boat was a costly affair, and was fitted with cushions and an awning, had silver trimmings and was lined inside with mahogany and other costly woods, being a very handsome affair, but no better as a boat, as its owner himself remarked, than jack's made-over craft. "that's the way i do things, jack," he said when the boys were out on the river in his boat after bringing jack's down to the camp. "i can't begin to make the speed with this boat that you can with yours, but i have a regular floating palace, as you might say. why, the hudson river boats are not any better fitted up than this, size considered, but i can't get any speed out of it. maybe you can." "i'll try, at any rate," returned jack, as he did, making better time than percival had done, and handling the boat with greater dexterity. "h'm! i believe you could get speed out of a canal-boat," said dick, as they sped along. "there's a nasty looking cloud coming down from thunder mountain, jack. are you afraid of it?" "no, not much, although i wouldn't like to see some of those boys too far out if it cuts up rough on the river. there's young smith out in his boat, by the way. i think we had better warn him." at that moment herring and merritt came along in their boat, and herring said in a tone of disdain: "that boat of yours is pretty enough to look at, percival, but she's of no more use than a society girl in the kitchen. want a tow?" jack passed the other boat with ease, although they were doing their best, and called out to young smith: "come in, jesse w., there will be trouble on the river in a few minutes, and you will be better off on shore." "oh, he will depend on the name of his boat, which is bigger than the boat," said billy manners, one of the chief funmakers of the hilltop boys, who was coming along with another boy in a motor-boat. "young j.w. is full of pluck." the smaller boy was taking jack's advice by this time, and there was need of it, for there was a squall coming and all the boys were making for the shore. "huh! you fellows are all afraid!" shouted herring. "what's a little blow to fellows like us? go on shore, you weaklings." "there is danger, isn't there, jack?" asked percival, as jack was running for shore, having seen that young smith was safe. "yes, there is," shortly, "and those fellows will find it out before long. they should be told of it." "yes, and get abuse for our trouble," snapped dick. "i won't do it for one." "better come in!" shouted jack, all except the two bullies being now close to shore, and getting ready to make a landing. "mind your business!" shouted herring. "we know how to look out for ourselves if you don't!" "i don't like to say 'i told you so,' jack, but i did," said percival. "if anything happens, the fault will be all theirs." at that moment colonel bull, on the bank, blew a tremendous blast on a bugle to call the boats in, and herring obeyed, knowing that he would be cut short of many of his privileges if he did not. as it was the two boys narrowly escaped an upset, and merritt was deathly pale and shaking like a man with the ague when at last they got ashore, none too soon. the river was white with foam, and it was no place for a small boat with the wind blowing sharply down from the mountains. "you should have come in with the others," said the colonel sharply when the two bullies landed. "if you take another such risk you will be prohibited from going on the river at all. as it is, you will not go out again to-day." herring knew that there was no appeal from this decision, as the colonel was the physical instructor as well as drillmaster, and the doctor never disputed his word in cases which were so palpably just as in this instance. "pete wanted to show off," chuckled billy manners, "and got come up with. he can't bully the colonel if he can bully the small boys." "he can't bully all of them either," said harry, "for some of them won't take it from him even if they can't fight him." as it happened to be pleasant in the afternoon, and many of the boys were out on the river in boats, herring felt the effect of his foolish boasting, and was greatly chagrined that he was cut off from a very enjoyable sport. jack took percival's boat out and made very good speed with it so that dick said with a grin: "well, the boat is all right, i see, and i am the fellow that needs to take a lesson, not the boat. as i said before i believe you could get speed out of a canal-boat." "you can get speed out of this one if you will study it a bit, and not think only of using up gasolene. besides, there is fun to be had out of the boat, even if you do not go like the wind all the time." "yes, i suppose there is, but i like to go fast, and i guess every boy does. if one does not there is generally something the matter with him." herring was not only smarting under not being allowed to go out with the rest, but also from the knowledge that jack was a better boatman than he was, and that the boat which he had made himself, for this was known to all the boys now, could make better time than the expensive one his father had bought him and he said to merritt, who had no one to go out with him, and was not allowed to run herring's boat: "i'd like to fix that boat of sheldon's so that he couldn't run it. he'll be crowing over me all the time, and that is something i won't stand. it'll be an easy thing to get at it at night." "of course," agreed merritt. "make a hole in his tank, do something to the engine or cut a hole in the bottom. anything will do. then we can say that the boat was no good in the first place, and every one will believe you. that's easy." "i won't say anything about it. wouldn't he suspect something if i was to speak about it? you don't show any sense!" "i show as much as you do, staying out there on the river when there was a squall coming down from the mountain," sulked merritt. "don't you talk. that was the biggest fool thing i ever saw any one do." "shut up!" snarled herring. "what we want to do is to fix the boat so that it won't run. sheldon can't afford to buy another, and we will have all the fun, while he has to stay on shore." all right. to-night will be a good time. how are you going to manage it? he may be watching." "why should he? he won't suspect anything. after all the boys have gone to sleep we can steal down to the shore and fix it all right. all we have to do is to see where he puts it." it was a lovely night with a moon and stars, and a number of the boys were out on the river with their boats, skimming over the water like fireflies, and sending paths of colored light in every direction from their side lamps or with their pocket flashlights. herring was prohibited from going out as the day was not yet over, and he fretted at the prohibition, although it gave him a chance to watch jack when he came in and see where he tied up. "that's all right," he whispered to merritt. "it's in a line with the tent where he and percival sleep and right on the beach. we'll be able to find that all right." "yes, and when sheldon goes out in his boat to-morrow we'll be able to walk right away from him. it's a pity you can't get him to bet on it, but he won't bet on anything." "no, but percival might. he likes to spend money. i'll get him to bet and win a lot from him." the boys went to bed at the usual time, and before long all the tent lights were out, only a few of the camp lights being seen, as the moon was still up and there was light enough for all ordinary purposes. there was a deep shadow on the bank of the river, however, on account of the trees and the mountains behind them, and when all was still herring and merritt stole from their tent and hurried toward the shore. they wore soft shoes, so as not to betray themselves, and were dressed in dark clothes so as not to be seen readily, having prepared themselves for any possible emergency. they had agreed between them that the safest thing to do was to bore a hole in the bottom of the boat so as to cause it to leak, and they had provided themselves with augers for the purpose. stealing down to the river noiselessly they easily found jack's boat, as they thought, and were preparing to bore the hole when suddenly a voice piped up out of the darkness and from the boat itself: "hi! what are you going to do with this boat?" the voice was that of young smith who at the next moment stood up and turned the light of a pocket flash upon them as they hastily beat a retreat to the tents. chapter iv the boat affair unsettled the conspirators had not mistaken the boat, and got hold of young j.w.'s by mischance, but had really begun operations on jack's boat when surprised by the boy who they supposed to be fast asleep. it had happened that the little fellow had wanted to know some particular point about the engine, and had asked jack's permission to look at his, which was simple and easily understood. jack had told him he could do what he liked, and the boy was under the cover with his electric light turned on the engine when the evildoers came up and got to work. the first turn of the auger startled him, and he called out sharply wanting to know what they were doing. then he suspected mischief, and immediately threw aside the cover, and turned his light upon the fleeing rascals. he was unable to identify them, because there were several of the boys of the same build, but he was satisfied that they would not return. that was not enough, however, and he raised an alarm and brought out bucephalus and a number of the servants, and said: "somebody's been trying to monkey with jack sheldon's boat. there ought to be a watch kept. other camps have sentinels, and this should have one. stay on watch to-night, boys, and i'll give you a dollar apiece." "a'right, sah," said bucephalus with a broad grin. "so dey tried to hu't mistah jack's boat, did dey? wha' yo' doin' in it you'se'f, sah? was yo' goin' to sleep in it?" "me?" exclaimed the little fellow indignantly. "no indeed. i was looking over the engine to get the hang of it. jack told me i might. go to sleep nothing! if i had been asleep i would not have caught these rascals at their dirty work." "but yo' didn' cotch dem, sah, dey done runned away." by this time jack, percival, harry and arthur, and a number of the boys, aroused by the noise, had come down to see what was the matter. young smith turned his light on the bottom of the boat, it having been drawn up on the beach, and saw the mark of the auger quite plainly. it had not gone in deep enough to do any harm, and what, hole there was could be caulked with very little trouble. the rascals had dropped their tools in their hurry, and jack picked these up and examined them carefully. "i can't tell where these were bought," he said to dick, "and many of the boys have tools just like them. i will keep them for further use." "wait till some one wants to borrow something like this," said percival, "and then we may find out something. it was a dirty trick, whoever did it, and i wish that jesse w. had seen them plainer." "they were big fellows," said young smith quietly to jack and percival, "but there are a good many big fellows among the boys, and that does not tell us much. i only wish i could have seen their faces." "well, i am glad you drove them away," said jack. "they might have done considerable damage. still, it is likely that i would have seen the hole when i went to put the boat in the water unless they plugged it up with sand, which they might have done." "if any of our boys are doing things like this, which i would be very sorry to know," added percival, "we are in a pretty bad way. if it was done by strangers we shall have to set a guard at night." "h'm! standing guard duty is not very pleasant," said billy manners dolefully. "i am too fond of sleeping to do that." "nobody will like it," rejoined dick, "but we shall have to do it if this sort of thing continues. i hate to think that any of our fellows are mean enough to do it." there were many of the boys who thought that there were some of their number who were just mean enough, but no one was accused, the matter being too serious an affair for one to make charges unless they could be proved conclusively. "did you see which way the rascals went, j.w.?" asked percival when the three were quite alone. "that might tell us something." "well, you know that it is dark along shore, dick," returned young smith, "and they made very little noise. they started to run the minute i spoke, and when i turned the light on them they were going pretty fast. all i could tell was that they were big boys, but i could not say now just which way they went, it was so dark." "well, they won't try it again, that is certain, but it may come to having a regular guard at night, and none of the boys will like that." "i told buck and the others that i would give them a dollar apiece to keep watch to-night, dick." both jack and dick laughed at the young fellow's earnestness, and jack said pleasantly: "that was kind of you, j.w., but i don't think it will be necessary to-night. besides, if any one pays the men to keep watch it should be myself, and not you, old chap." "imagine pete herring and fellows like that offering to pay men for watching another boy's boat!" sputtered percival "i see them doing it!" "well, no harm has been done, fortunately, dick, and with you i do not think it will be repeated. come, let's go back to bed." there was no further disturbance during the night, and in the morning nothing was found to be the matter with jack's boat beyond what had been done before, and this could be easily remedied. percival watched herring and others very closely to see if he could detect anything suspicious in their looks, speech or actions, but they were evidently prepared and on guard, for he could see nothing which would warrant his bringing an accusation against them. he did not tell jack that he suspected them, but, nevertheless, determined to watch them closely to see if there were any ground for his suspicions other than they had bad reputations and did not like jack. matters went on as usual in the camp during the day, the boys dividing their time between study and recreation, with a little drill and some gymnasium practice, considerable apparatus having been erected at one side of the camp for that purpose. jack had a friendly race with percival, first in his own boat and then in his friend's, and beat him in both, but nothing could induce him to race with herring, and no one could say that he was afraid of his boat, for it was clear that he could do marvels with it. he was willing to race with harry and arthur, with billy manners and jasper seymour, and even with young smith, to whom he allowed odds, but he declined all offers to compete with herring or any of his kind, much to their chagrin and anger. "you're afraid!" growled herring with his customary sneer, but jack did not pay the slightest attention to the charge, and the other boys laughed, this making the bully more angry than ever. nothing was said about patrolling the camp at night, and the boys had an idea that the doctor did not know what had happened the night before, and would, therefore, take no precautions. they were considerably surprised, therefore, when they discovered that buck, as the cook was often called, was corporal of the guard, and had the house servants for his assistants. they kept watch at turns during the night, but nothing unusual occurred, and percival said to jack with a laugh: "our pickets did good service last night, but i wonder if they will be on to-night?" "we can't tell. the doctor has said nothing, and we don't know if he has done this on his own initiative or because of what he may have heard." "well, it is evident that we boys won't be called on to act as guards, and i am glad of it, for if there is anything i do not like it is having to parade up and down in the cold and dark for nothing when i might better be in my bed." "i can sympathize with you," said jack. during the morning percival saw bucephalus alone, and said to him, holding one hand behind his back: "was it your idea to keep guard last night, buck?" "no, sah, ah was ready to do it, 'cause young mistah smith done offah me a dollah fo' de service, but de doctah done intimate dat he t'ought it would be judicious." "how did the doctor know that we needed a picket?" "ah donno, sah, ah reckon he thought it was acco'din to military etiquette, sah. it am de custom in military camps to set a picket an' all presume he argued from dose premises, sah." "then you did not tell him of what occurred the other night?" "no, sah, ah didn't communicate nothing, sah. mebbe it was one of de odah fellahs." "you are sure that you said nothing?" "yas'r, ah is suttinly shuah dat ah made no communication whatsoeber regardin' de events of de perceedin' night, sah. ah was suttin dat young mistah smith would keep his wo'd abo 't de extra remuneration, sah, an' ah didn't wanter prejudice de situation, sah." "oh, i see," laughed dick. "then dr. wise acted on his own initiative from information received elsewhere, is that it?" bucephalus scratched his woolly head, and answered: "ah donno abo't de inflammation an' de oder misery, sah. am it so bad as all dat, sah?" "i mean that he did it on his own account, and not because of anything that you may have told him." "all reckon so, sah," said bucephalus, greatly relieved. "ah done told him nothin', an' ah don' guess nobody else told him." percival went away laughing, but tossed the coin he held in his hand to bucephalus, who caught it deftly and grinned. "the doctor either found it out himself or some one has told him," he said to himself, "but it is clear that he knows about it. he would not set a guard on the camp unless he had a good reason, for strangers do not visit us, and the riverton police probably have orders to keep their eyes on the place." seeing jack shortly afterward, dick told his friend what he had learned and added: "the riverton police would simply keep a watch against strangers, but the doctor evidently thinks that some of our own hilltoppers need watching, and he has, therefore, taken this means of doing it. "i am sorry that he has had to," said jack, "but after all the doctor appears to be living up to his name. we must find out who the fellows were, dick, for the sake of the decent boys of the academy, not that i care so much about my boat." "we will do it, jack," said percival shortly. chapter v an alarm in the night the day passed as usual, percival saying no more about trying to discover the miscreants who had sought to injure jack's boat, and jack being too busy to think of it. that evening they had visitors from a fine house in the neighborhood, the owner of which, quite a wealthy man, complimented dr. wise on the good character of the boys, adding in rather a pompous manner: "i must say, doctor, that since you have been encamped on the river i have had nothing to complain of on account of your boys. most boarding school boys are inclined to be mischievous, and to cause a good deal of annoyance to persons living in the neighborhood, but i must say-----" "the academy is not an ordinary boarding school, mr. vanderdonk, and the character of the young gentlemen in my charge-----" "i beg your pardon, sir, but your pronunciation of my name shows that you do not quite understand the way it is divided. it is van der donk, with an equal emphasis upon each syllable, not vanderdonk, with the accent on the first. i am most particular about the pronunciation of the name, which is that of one of the earliest settlers of the hudson valley, and a very distinguished one, i may say. i am exceedingly proud of my origin, pardonably so, perhaps, but still most proud." "dr. wise does not care anything about genealogy, father," spoke up miss margaret, daughter of the proud descendant of the van der donks, "and you should not have spoken of the academy boys as boarding school boys. they attend a military academy, the fame of which is as great as that of your ancestors. everybody along the hudson valley knows the hilltop boys and any young gentleman might be proud to be one of them." miss margaret was a very pretty girl, a bit spoiled, perhaps, but the idol of her father and the puzzle of her mother, who wished her to be a young lady of society, and was greatly grieved because she preferred doing something by which she could earn her living if necessary. "far from saying anything against the character of the hilltop boys, my dear," said the father, "i must say that i find them a very fine set of young gentlemen. why, we have not had our lawn tramped over by them, nor our fruit trees pilfered, nor have we suffered from any annoyances which boarding school boys are prone to commit upon neighbors. i am really-----" "why, father, you speak as if the boys were from a primary school, and had not learned the first rules of manners," laughed margaret gaily. what do you expect, father dear? that the boys shall be young ruffians?" "well, perhaps not that, my dear," replied van der donk loftily, "but the city boys who come out here-----" "the poor fellows never saw a tree before in their lives, and they just wanted to make love to them," interrupted margaret, again laughing in the gayest fashion. "could you blame the poor unfortunates for wanting to shin up them and pick peaches and apples and everything else? the only fruit they had ever seen was stale and on city stands, and when they saw the real article it was no wonder that they wanted it. you could not blame them." then miss margaret admired the boats, and accepted jack's invitation to take her out on the river, her father and mother accompanying her, of course, and percival going along to talk to the old folks and give jack a chance to devote himself to the young lady. jack was quite taken with the girl whom he considered very natural and a good deal better company than her father who was forever trying to impress everybody with the renown of the van der donks, past and present, and after the company had gone dick said to him: "very pretty girl, miss margaret, and has lots of sense, but what a tiresome old bore that father of hers is." "yes, indeed," laughed jack, "but there and many persons who parade their blue blood and fine ancestry before the world just as much as he does. what is he, pork merchant or something like that?" "pretty good, jack," said percival with a grin. "he was a butcher at one time, but don't mention it if you don't want to earn his everlasting scorn. it is never spoken of. he is one of the wealthiest men along the river, and employs a man to do nothing but cut off his stock coupons. they may invite us to the house, although they are a very exclusive sort and are supposed to associate only with millionaires, and the descendants of the oldest and best families." "the girl does not seem to have any of that nonsense," said jack, "and she is really very pleasant company. by the way," with a smile, "she did invite me to the house, but i guess you did not hear it." "well, well, you are coming on, jack!" exclaimed dick. "of course she would invite you. why not?" "and she asked me to bring you, dick," with another chuckle. "that is all right, too, isn't it?" "why, of course!" and dick grinned again. "we will go as soon as we can, jack." the visit to the fine house back of the river was made sooner than the boys anticipated, and in a most unexpected and unusual fashion. it was about twelve o'clock at night, and everything was quiet in and about the camp when all at once there was a wild alarm, a sudden ringing of bells and shouting of voices, and bucephalus tore through the camp shouting at each tent: "wake up, sah, dere am a big fiah, wake up!" jack and percival were the first to be aroused, and to run out of their tent at the sudden alarm. "there is a fire somewhere!" exclaimed jack, smelling smoke and seeing a light in the sky. "it is up at van der donk's," cried percival. "that is the direction, i am sure. hurry and get dressed, jack. we may be needed." other boys were now coming out, asking questions, staring this way and that, rubbing their eyes or standing in a bewildered fashion, and wondering what all the commotion was about. a messenger came running into the camp from the big house asking for help to put out the fire, which had just been discovered, and which had already gained considerable headway. the fire was, indeed, at mr. van der donk's, and it was feared that the fine mansion with its costly furnishings would have to go, as there was no fire engine company within a mile or more, and it would be hard to get word to them at this time. "stir yourselves, boys!" cried the little colonel, bustling about half dressed. "we can at least form a bucket brigade. form the lines quickly, percival, and get the boys to moving." jack, dick and others quickly got the boys out, and, not more than half dressed, most of them, they quickly formed in good order, and went on the double quick out of the camp and toward the big house. every boy had a bucket to draw water from the river for washing purposes, and now they each seized one and went on the run toward the house. it was a matter of a few minutes only to reach it, and once there jack and dick formed them into a double line reaching from the house to the well, and to an artificial pond on the grounds. once the line of buckets got started the boys went into the house, on the balconies and everywhere convenient, and the work went on rapidly. bucket after bucket was passed to the boys at the end of the lines, and passed back empty after their contents had been dashed upon the flames, the work going on rapidly. the boys had been at work nearly ten minutes and had done much to stay the progress of the flames if not to subdue them when a fire company from riverton arrived, and with a lot of noise and bustle, but with very little system, got to work to put out the fire. then their engine would not work, orders were misunderstood or not obeyed, and there was a great deal of confusion, during which the hilltop boys worked steadily on and soon began to show the effects of their efforts, the flames being under control in many places and entirely out in a few. jack was hard at work taking bucket after bucket, and throwing water on the flames that poured from a corner of the piazza roof when margaret ran up to him, almost fainted in his arms, and gasped: "my baby brother! he is in the room up there in the extension. no one has thought of him. save him, jack!" "yes, just as soon as---here, billy, arthur, take my place. i must go up to the extension." one of the boys quickly took his place at the head of the bucket line, and he ran inside and up the stairs to the room indicated by margaret, covering his mouth with his hand to keep from breathing smoke. he found the door, burst it open, and saw a bed in a corner with a small child asleep. seizing the infant he wrapped it in the blankets, pressed it close to him, and rushed out and down stairs to the open air. "here you are!" he cried, and a nurse ran up to him, and took the baby from his arms. "oh, thank you, thank you a thousand times!" she cried hysterically. "i do not know what i would do if the baby was lost. i shall lose my place." "h'm! thinking more of herself than of the baby!" sputtered percival, who had run to support jack. "are you all right, old man?" "yes, but it was a close shave. look! the place is all in flames now. it was lucky i went up there when i did." "you are very brave," said margaret, running up to him and seizing his hand. "i do not know how to thank you." "never mind trying, miss margaret," said jack simply. "i am glad that i was able to do something. how was the child overlooked?" "every one supposed that the nurse had attended to him. she is always with him at night. i suppose she was frightened and left him, and then at the last moment thought of him." the girl nearly fainted again in her excitement, and fell against jack's shoulder, percival raising her and saying: "there, there, brace up. it is all right, and jack sheldon has shown himself a hero as he has done many times before." "i shall never forget him!" exclaimed margaret, and then her father and mother took her away, and the boys continued their work. the fire company was getting down to business by this time, but if the hilltop boys had not made a good beginning for them they could have done nothing. the fire was, before long, under control, and, although considerable damage had been done, the house was saved. the boys were presently marched back to the camp, and jack and percival sought their tent, tired out and excited. "hello! what is this?" exclaimed jack, as he was undressing, seeing something drop out of his trousers pocket. it was a lady's gold watch. chapter vi the mystery of a gold watch "what have you got there, jack?" asked percival, seeing jack stoop and pick up something. "a gold watch, a lady's watch, apparently. how did it get in my pocket? i don't remember picking it up. it is a very handsome one, and quite expensive i should judge, although i never bought a gold watch." "and it dropped out of your pocket?" "yes, that is the strangest thing about it. how did it get there? i did not put it there, i am certain." percival examined the watch, which jack handed to him, and said: "yes, it is a very expensive gold watch, aside from the case, which is set with diamonds. the watch itself is one of the best foreign makes, and probably cost anywhere from one to two hundred dollars for the works alone. then add the price of the case, and you have a nice little sum to pay for a little watch such as a lady carries." "but how did i get hold of it, dick? could i have picked it up at the fire, and not known anything about it? we were all pretty well excited, and this might have happened." "i am sure i don't know, jack. i did not see you pick it up. you don't remember anything about it?" "no, not the first thing, dick. well, i shall give it to the doctor in the morning, and ask him to make enquiries about it. if i picked it up anywhere it must have been at the fire." "yes, i don't know where else you could have done it." the boys were not required to get up as early as usual the next morning on account of having been deprived of two or three hours' sleep to go to the fire, but as soon as they were through breakfast and drill jack took the watch he had so singularly found to the doctor, telling him how he had found it, and asking him to seek an owner for it. "h'm, ha, well, i declare!" said the doctor, turning the watch over and over, and examining it closely. "quite a valuable article, sheldon. and you don't know how it came in your pocket?" "no, sir, i have not the slightest idea." "h'm, ha, very singular!" and the doctor looked the watch over again. "if you did not have a very good reputation, sheldon, i should say that there was something very suspicious about this, but i am as much puzzled to get at the solution of this mystery as you are. well, well, i will take charge of it, and if no one speaks of it will advertise it in the local paper." "that is a good idea, sir. i can get mr. brooke to advertise it. his paper is taken very extensively in this section." "could the young lady have dropped it when you met her at the fire?" asked dr. wise. "she nearly fainted in your arms, i understand." "possibly, sir," said jack. "perhaps it will be well to ask mr. van der donk if he has missed the watch. there are no initials on it to show the owner, but it is likely that it belongs to miss margaret, being a lady's watch. will you enquire?" "certainly. it is likely that some one from the house will be at the camp this morning in any event." an hour later mr. van der donk called with his daughter to compliment the boys on their services of the night before, and to thank them personally for what they had done. the doctor asked him if he had missed a valuable watch, and showed him the one which jack had found. "it does not belong to any of us," said the gentleman. "i would very much like to have one like it," said margaret, "but it does not belong to me. you say it was found last night at our house?" "the young gentleman found it in his pocket, but, of course, it got there by accident. it is very singular." "we have missed nothing, which is rather singular, seeing that there were so many strangers at the house. of course, i do not include the boys. we would hardly call them strangers, being such near neighbors, and having the reputation they have, besides doing such a great service to." "and the watch does not belong to you?" asked dr. wise, who was growing rather tired of the fulsome praise of the descendant of one of the oldest and best families in the hudson valley. "no, it does not," said margaret. "then i shall have to advertise it. it is very singular. i thought it might be yours, but this makes it all the more mysterious." the boys were obliged to listen to a long speech of thanks from mr. van der donk, at the end of which they were presented with an engrossed set of resolutions drawn up by the donor, which he had had copied that very morning, the language being as full of flourishes as the penmanship. "some one must respond to the speech, and thank the gentleman for his very complimentary gift," suggested the doctor, and with almost one accord the hilltop boys selected jack sheldon as their spokesman. in a well chosen speech of five minutes, expressing more in that time than the descendant of an old family had expressed in his hour, jack thanked him on behalf of the boys, stopping when he had finished and not repeating himself, as too many impromptu speakers do. then mr. van der donk replied, and said all that he had said before, prating on till the boys began to yawn and to shift their feet from one side to the other, for they had been standing all this time, and were very tired. when the gentleman had gone, the boys were dismissed, and some of them went to their tents, others going out on the river. "old van is a tiresome old bore, jack," said percival when the two boys were out on the river, gliding along side by side. "i would not like to have to listen to him all day as his family must." jack smiled, but did not express any opinion regarding the gentleman in question, making it a rule never to give an adverse opinion of any one if he could not praise. "i suppose if there is no owner found for the watch it will go to you, jack?" dick continued. "i am sure i don't want it, dick. it is not a boy's watch, and it is altogether too expensive a thing for me to carry. the rest of my things don't match it at all." "you could sell it, i suppose? or you might make a present of it to miss margaret. you said she was greatly taken with it." "yes, she was, but what business have i got making costly presents to a girl that i never saw before last night? be sensible, jack." "but i'm sure you are as good as she is, jack." "maybe, but look at the difference in fortune. and, as i said before, what business have i making presents, costly or otherwise, to people i have just met? it would be a piece of impertinence." "you must not take me too seriously, jack," laughed dick. that afternoon the boys went up the river in jack's boat, and jack inserted an advertisement in the news, which appeared the next morning. the advertisement was simply to the effect that a watch had been found, and could be had upon proving property, and paying for the advertisement, no description being given. about the middle of the forenoon the next day a crafty-looking man came to the camp, and asked to see jack. "did you find a watch?" he asked when the boy came up. "yes," said jack simply. "what sort of watch was it? maybe it was mine you found. i have lost one." "what sort did you lose?" asked jack. "describe your watch, and i will tell you if it is the one i found." "well, what sort of watch did you find?" snapped the other. "if i say it was an open face watch you will say it wasn't. tell me the kind of watch you found, and i'll tell you if it is mine or not." "you may say it was yours in any event," said jack quietly. "do you mean to say i would lie for the sake of a watch?" the man snapped, flushing deeply, and it was plain to see that this was just what he would do. "describe your watch to the doctor," said jack. "he knows what sort of a watch i found, and he will tell you if it is the one you lost." "you are a lot of swindlers and don't mean to give it up," the man stormed, getting redder in the face, and quite breathless from excitement. "i'll see if i am going to be robbed like this. you will hear from me again, young fellow!" "he won't come back," laughed percival, who was with jack at the time. he was quite correct, for nothing more was seen of the indignant fellow, and the boys made up their minds that he was only a swindler who had imagined that as he had only boys to deal with he would obtain a watch at very little cost. "i wonder if we will have any more claimants?" said jack when an hour or more had passed, and no one else had called. "if you had said more in your advertisement you might," said dick. "but you were very wise not to do so." "i always try not to say too much," said jack. chapter vii more mystery about the watch shortly before noon a showily dressed woman came to the camp and asked to see the doctor, saying excitedly: "i understand that one of your boys found a watch, dr. wise. may i see it? i lost mine the other day and---" "this one was found last night, ma'am," said the doctor shortly. "why, yes, i suppose so, but i could have lost it before then, of course. what sort of watch was it? may i see it?" "where did you lose it, ma'am?" "why, i am not certain about that. you see i go about a good deal, and it may have been in one place or maybe in another. i could not tell just where i lost it or i would not have lost it." "it was lost somewhere in town, i suppose?" "why, yes, i suppose it was." "this watch was not found in town, ma'am." "oh, well, i do go out of town occasionally," said the woman quickly. "why, yes, now i remember, i was down this way yesterday afternoon, looking at the camp and enjoying the view. i would know the watch in a moment. may i see it, doctor?" "it was a gentleman's watch, was it? probably a keepsake? your husband's or son's, perhaps, and you don't like to-----" "yes, it was my father's, and i value it very highly. let me see it-----" "this is not the watch you lost, ma'am, this is a lady's watch," said dr. wise tersely, being convinced that the woman was an imposter, and that she had not lost a watch of any sort. "you might at least let me see it," said the woman persuasively. "some of my friends may have lost a watch, and i could take it back to them. i know them all." "if your friends have lost their watches, ma'am, let them come after them," said the doctor shortly. "good morning, ma'am." "h'm! i don't think you have any manners to boast of!" snapped the woman as she went away. she had not been gone more than ten minutes before another woman came to the camp, and asked to see the boy who had found a watch the night before. she was sent to the doctor and said to him, evidently disappointed at not seeing the boy himself: "ah, good morning, i understand that one of your young gentlemen found a lady's watch last night. ah, i have lost mine, and would like to look at it to see if-----" "how did you know it was a lady's watch?" asked the doctor. "the advertisement merely mentioned a watch. what sort of watch was yours, domestic or foreign, stemwinder or keyed, open face or hunting case, gold, silver, or nickel case? if the watch is as you describe it, it is yours. otherwise i shall have to hold it." "really now, i could not describe it so accurately as all that. ah, do you mind showing it to me? i am very what you may call hazy on descriptions. i could not really say if it was large or small, those terms being relative, you know. yes, it is in a gold case and is a stemwinder, that much i remember. it is an american, of course, but whether elgin, waltham, howard, thomas or---or any other make i really could not tell you." "you are sure it is american make?" "oh, yes, positively, and in a gold case, and about half this size," closing her thumb and first finger to form a circle. "well, i am very sorry, ma'am, but this is not an american watch. i trust that you will find yours, but this is not it. i wish you good morning, ma'am," and bucephalus showed the lady out evidently greatly disappointed. half an hour later a self-satisfied looking man came into the camp and asked to see the boy who had found a watch, and had advertised the same in the riverton paper. billy manners happened to see him first, and, seeing jack at a little distance with percival, called out: "hello, jack, come here, somebody wants you!" jack came up with percival in a few moments, and the self-satisfied man, eyeing him fiercely, said: "you are the boy who found a watch, i believe. describe it to me." "excuse me," laughed jack, "i have not lost a watch. i have found one. if you have lost one describe it, and we will see if it is the same as the one i have found." "i have not lost a watch," snapped the other. "i am in the detective service, and if i have the description of the article i can enquire who has lost one like it, don't you understand?" "and you wish to be a sort of middle man between me and the owner?" and jack laughed again. "i advertised for the owner of the watch, not for an agent who would help me find the owner. i cannot see that we need spend any more time on the affair." "how do i know that you have not stolen the-----" it was very fortunate for the man that jack was nearer to him than percival, who suddenly aimed a swinging blow at him. jack threw up dick's arm, and said quickly: "dick! what are you about?" "it is lucky for you, sir," said dick hotly, "that my friend stopped me. is it a part of your business to insult people without provocation?" "sir," said the other, "i come in contact with very many persons of a suspicious character and-----" "yes, i should suppose you might," said dick significantly. "we do not, and it is not at all necessary that you should consider this boy one of that sort. let him talk to the doctor, jack." the boys were walking away when the man interrupted them hastily with: "i am in search of a watch which has been stolen. it is a lady's watch, heavy gold case, about an inch and a quarter diameter, hunting case, set with five or six small diamonds, made in switzerland, jurgensen movement, worth from three hundred to five hundred dollars. there are no initials nor monograms, but the number is---" "that describes the watch the doctor has," said jack. "we will see what the number is, and if it is the same as what you mention there is no doubt that this is the watch. we will go and see him." "where did you find this watch?" asked the other, as he hurried after the two boys. "excuse me, but that has nothing to do with it," said jack. "i found a watch, and your description tallies with it all but the number, which i do not know. that we will ascertain." the boys led the way to the cottage, which the doctor occupied, and went to his study where they found him. "write the number of the watch you are in search of on a piece of paper, and let the doctor see the number of the watch," said jack to the detective, after telling the doctor why they had come. then we will see if this is the one or not. the man wrote a number on a card, and handed it to the doctor, who took the watch from a pigeon hole in his desk and opened it. "the number is identical," he said, and handed the watch and the card with the number on it to jack that he might compare them. "yes, so they are," the boy said, showing them to dick. "this is certainly the watch you are in search of." "may i ask you where and how you found it?" asked the detective, still with the accusing air that both dick and jack himself resented. "i found it in my pocket after coming from the fire at mr. van der donk's house last night or this morning," he replied. "in your pocket? was not that a singular place to find it? how did it get in your pocket?" "you know as much about that as i do," said the boy quietly. "are you sure you did not put it there yourself?" asked the man in an insinuating manner, which jack resented. "dr. wise," he said, flushing, "will you tell this person what i told you when i gave you the watch this morning? i am afraid i cannot keep my temper if i talk with him any longer." "and i know i shall not!" sputtered percival. "the young gentleman did gallant work at the fire last night, and came home very much fatigued," said the doctor. "while undressing with his companion who is here, this watch dropped from his trousers pocket. percival will doubtless tell you the same. this is what he told me when he handed me the watch this morning. if you suspect him you do him an act of the rankest injustice." "this watch has been stolen," said the other. "the thief was traced to riverton. he went to the fire last night with a number of suspicious characters who generally congregate at such places in the hope of gain. the watch was doubtless passed from one person to another, for it was not in the possession of the suspected man who denies all knowledge of it. now i want to know how this boy got hold of it." "he does not know any more than you do, and i have told you just what he told me, and which i believe." "it sounds very queer," said the detective. "i shall have to hold him for the grand---" "i beg your pardon, you will do nothing of the sort, in fact, you cannot," said the doctor. "just let the hilltoppers hear him, and see what they will have to say about it!" sputtered percival under his breath. chapter viii what jack and dick overheard "i beg your pardon, mr.---, i did not catch your name," continued dr. wise, "but you have no authority in this case. you are not a civil magistrate, not even a police court judge, and you cannot hold this boy for any jury, grand or little. you can make a charge against him, it is true, and then if the local magistrate considers the evidence good he will be held for the grand jury. you are doubtless unaware, being a stranger to the section, that i am a magistrate myself, although seldom called upon to adjudge cases." "i was not aware of it, sir," said the other, a little shamefaced. "i may have been hasty, but my association with suspicious characters-----" "has made him one himself," muttered percival, whereat jack could not help smiling. "has made me suspect persons unjustly, perhaps," the detective went on. "still you must admit yourself that the finding of the watch, as related by you, is, to say the least, singular." "singular, yes; suspicious, not necessarily. you say yourself that the watch was supposedly passed from one person to another. why could not one of the suspected men have slipped it in sheldon's pocket, either designedly or by mistake? it is certainly possible." "i wish you'd let me go out and tell the hilltop boys that this man has more than intimated that jack sheldon is a thief, doctor," said percival "i can imagine what they will have to say about it, and what they will do to him. the river is very convenient!" "restrain yourself, percival," said the doctor. "if i have given the young gentleman an unenviable reputation," the detective rejoined, his face red, "it is on account of the reports i have heard of him from-----" and he stopped short. "who told you this?" demanded the doctor. "there is not a more exemplary boy in the whole academy than john sheldon. ask any one of the instructors, ask the boys themselves, ask the editors of the riverton papers, ask the heads of the business houses, the superintendent of the machine works, the chief of police himself, and they will all tell you the same. who was your informant to the contrary?" "i am not at liberty to reveal the name of my informant," said the detective, a little abashed, "but i had it from more than one source." "then let me tell you that you were maliciously misinformed, for there is not a boy in the academy who bears a better character than john sheldon. i will retain this watch until i have a better authority to deliver it than yours. i wish you a very good morning." just then the bugle blew to call the boys to dinner, and as they always formed in regular order to march into the dining tent there was not the opportunity, which percival so much desired, of pitching the detective into the river or at least giving him a sound hissing. "as you please, sir," the man said, as he bowed himself out. "you cannot expect me to believe all that this young gentleman says after what i have heard of him from-----" "you could have consulted me, at any rate," said the doctor. "i think i am best competent to judge of the characters of the boys put in my charge. good morning, sir. boys, the bugle has sounded." the detective went away in a hurry, looking a good deal crestfallen, the boys getting into line with the rest, this operation preventing percival from giving the man the send off that he had meant to give him. "i'd like to know where that fellow got his information about you, jack," he said to his friend when they were seated at table. "i don't care to know, dick, so long as the doctor speaks well of me," jack returned. "well, i'd like to know just the same. there are some boys here who would say all they could against you, and the man may have seen them before he saw the doctor, and heard what they had to say. you could see that he was prejudiced from the start." "yes, he presupposed my guilt before giving me a chance to speak for myself, dick. however, it is fortunate that i have a good reputation." "which is what some of the hilltop boys have not. i am not mentioning any names," and percival began eating his soup with a good appetite. an hour or two after dinner jack asked percival to go up the river in his boat, having one or two errands in town to do, and wanting company. dick was glad to go in jack's boat, as the boy managed it so well, and he would have very little to do himself. finishing his errands in town jack was proceeding down the river when, with a sudden impulse, which he could not explain, he said to dick: "suppose we go up the creek a bit. the tide is that way now, and we shall have water enough, and it will not be against us." "you don't want to go to the academy, do you, jack?" asked percival. "you can run in as far as the ravine. you came down that way once." there was quite a deep ravine on the bill where the academy was located, from which a turbulent creek or kill ran to the river, and jack had once had a tumble into this, and had made his way to the little station at the foot of the hill along its banks, and, incidentally, had discovered a considerable sum of money stolen from a bank in riverton and hidden there. "no, i don't want to go all the way, dick," answered jack with a smile, "but we might go a short way up." they put into the little kill, and went beyond the business part of the town, finally getting into the woods and finding banks of some height on either side. the kill was full, and the current set their way, so that they had no trouble and kept on for a mile beyond the town, finding themselves in a most wild and picturesque spot, most of the time in deep shadow, and hearing no sounds except those of the woods, now and then seeing a drowsy bird on a bough or hearing the low hum of insects as they flew past. "you'll get to the station before long, jack," said percival at length. "i think the tide is beginning to turn. we get considerable of it even here. do you think-----" jack raised his hand as a sign for his friend to be quiet, and at that moment somewhere on the bank above them they heard a querulous voice: "why do you give me it if it is worth so moche, and there is alarm about it?" they heard in a high-keyed, querulous voice, evidently that of a woman, and jack started involuntarily. he had heard that voice before, but at the moment he could not tell where, or when it was. "what have you done with it?" asked a man in a low tone, which jack caught, nevertheless, all being silent in the place. "how i know where i have lose it?" answered the woman. "i have be in a many exciting time. if there was suspicion you should not give it. i do not know, and maybe i show it to some friend to make her jealous." "did you?" growled the man. "you should have more sense." "but you do not tell me. now it is lose. i do not know where. i am glad. you should not have give me it." jack now recognized the voice as that of the nurse who had taken the van der donk child from him the night before, but he was still at a loss to know what she was talking about. "i gave it to you to keep safe for me until i could dispose of it," the man answered. "the detectives were after me. luckily i got rid of it in good time, but now that they have nothing against me i can dispose of it to advantage. and you have lost it?" "i have tell you that i have," the woman answered in her high voice, with a strong foreign accent, jack now remembering that she had seemed to be french or italian, although he had met her but a few moments. "i have lose it, and i am glad. why shall i get into prison for you? you shall keep your gold and diamond watches for yourself, and not give them to me." "sh! not so loud!" cautioned the man. "somebody may hear you." it was the watch he had found in his pocket that the woman was talking about, and jack had some trouble in restraining his surprise. "but how did you lose it?" the man continued. "did you carry it with you? you don't go to throwing such things about, do you?" "i don't know. there is much excitement at the house, there is the big fire, there is the boy of the academy coming to put it out, there is the man from riverton, and there is the baby, which i forget, and the boy go up in all the smoke and bring him down. i shall lose my place if the baby is lose. how can i remember a watch, which i cannot carry, for fear some one say i steal? ah! you should not give!" "and now you have lost it!" growled the man. "haven't you any idea? couldn't you have mislaid it? you are not lying to me, you have really lost it, gabrielle?" "yes, i tell you i have lose it, and i am glad!" cried the woman in a higher key than before, and with great excitement. the tide now began to take the boys back down the hill, and jack quickly steered so that he would go down with it, being speedily out of sound of voices. "what do you think of that, jack?" whispered percival. "that the mystery of the watch seems to be as deep as ever." chapter ix another claimant for the watch the boys made their way down to the mouth of the kill, and out upon the river, no more being said concerning what they had heard until they were on the river gliding down stream. "that must have been the nurse you saw last night," said dick. "yes, but i don't know the man. he must be a bad character." "decidedly. there is one thing i cannot make out, though. how did that watch get in your pocket?" "i don't know myself unless the girl slipped it in during the short time i saw her. it was evidently not passed from hand to hand as we thought. the girl had it, but i cannot see that any one else did. i am as much in the dark as ever." "and we still have to learn who it was who gave you a bad reputation to the detective. he won't tell." "he may not know," rejoined jack musingly. "i don't care very much. my reputation does not depend upon what he says nor upon what some of the boys here may say. i have enough friends among the boys of hilltop, and the faculty, not to mind the rest." "true enough, jack. hello! there are some of those fellows now looking for a race if not trouble." herring and merritt just now appeared in their boat off the railroad dock, and waited till jack and percival came up when herring shouted: "come on if you want to race. we'll meet you on the way back." "race 'em, jack, just to show them you can beat 'em!" whispered dick hoarsely. "no, dick, i won't," said jack with emphasis. "i'll race any one else for the fun of it, but i will not race with those fellows." herring started off at a good pace, expecting that jack would follow, and when they had a good lead, jack having turned and gone up the river, billy manners and young smith in the latter's boat set off after them. "we'll give you a race, pete!" shouted billy. "whoop her up, j.w., and see how we'll leave 'em behind!" young smith was managing the boat and doing it well, and now, anxious to show off, he shot ahead, and soon began to gain on the other boat. "you can watch the fun even if you don't race, jack," chuckled percival. "turn around, old man, and follow." "i don't mind that," said jack, "and if anything should happen to either billy or to j.w., we will be on hand to help them." young smith was putting his boat to its paces, and as jack turned to follow had nearly reached the leading boat. "go ahead if you are going!" shouted billy manners with a laugh, greatly enjoying the excitement. "chuck us a line and we'll tow you." "huh! you can't beat anything!" shouted merritt. "let's see you beat us!" snarled herring, forging ahead. young smith put on a spurt and came on behind at a swift pace, shortly being even with herring. "watch 'em, jack!" exclaimed dick excitedly. "i'd give a dollar to see young jesse w. beat those fellows, yes, five. i hope he'll keep it up." the boy did keep it up, for in a few minutes he passed herring and merritt, and gained a good lead on them, much to billy's delight. the joker laughed and shouted, and seemed greatly to enjoy the fun, while the younger boy kept up his speed and increased the lead, jack following till a bend in the river hid the two boys in the first boat from sight. he would not pass herring and merritt, but went across the river where he could get sight of young smith, who was going on at a good rate, herring trying his best to reach him, but in vain. "that's the best yet," laughed percival uproariously. "beaten by little jesse w. smith, and those fellows claim to have the fastest boat on the river. i think they will have less to say now." "probably herring will say that there was something the matter with his boat, and yet he was ready to race with us just a moment before. he'll get out of it somehow, you'll see. it's just like him." herring did not overtake the other boys, and they were ashore some little time ahead of him, jack coming along leisurely and letting herring land first. "did you see that?" asked billy in great glee when jack came ashore. "we won't hear any more boasting from that quarter i guess." "we didn't have enough gasolene to go fast," growled herring, who came up at that moment. "we got out without knowing it. we'll race you for ten dollars to-morrow." "oh, we are satisfied," chuckled billy, while percival looked significantly at jack, and said: "what did i tell you, jack? a poor excuse is better than none." jack said nothing, and he and percival went off into the woods. within a short time of the supper hour when the boys returned they were told by bucephalus that the doctor wished to see them, and they went at once to the cottage where they found a well-dressed stranger talking with the principal. "this is the young gentleman who found the watch," said dr. wise. "will you describe it to him?" "it is a lady's watch," said the other slowly, and in well modulated tones. "it was a present to my wife, and, of course, i am sorry to lose it, and will give a good reward for its return. it was stolen from the house where i live a few weeks ago, and i have been trying to find it ever since. i did succeed in tracing the man whom i suspected of stealing it, but when he was arrested the watch was not in his possession. i saw an advertisement in the paper only this afternoon, which made me think that perhaps this might be the watch i am in search of." jack looked closely at the man who did not have the marks of a bad character anywhere, being well dressed, well spoken, and evidently a man of easy means and considerable culture. there was something about him, nevertheless, that made jack think he was not what he seemed, and he tried to think what it was and to place him in his mind. "will you describe the watch, please?" "certainly, with the greatest of pleasure," and the man proceeded to give an accurate description of the watch, not omitting the slightest detail, giving the name of the maker, the size, the number of diamonds on the case, and, in fact, everything about it. "number, please?" said jack, still looking fixedly at the man. "you will know the number of the watch, of course? persons who own valuable watches always make a record of the number." "the number?" said the other. "oh, yes, to be sure. i have it in my pocket-book. the rest of the description is accurate, is it?" "let me hear the number," said jack quietly. "two watches may be exactly alike, but have different numbers. i have not said that your description is correct. you have the number?" "why, of course!" said the other somewhat impatiently, and all at once a light broke in upon jack. the man was the one he had heard, but had not seen, talking with the foreign nurse maid on the bank of the kill earlier in the afternoon. he had tried to place the man's voice, but while he talked in low, pleasant tones, with a good inflection, he was puzzled, knowing and yet not knowing it. the instant that the man spoke in impatient, angry tones, such as he had used on the bank of the kill, jack recognized him, and he wondered that he had not done so before. the man took a slip of paper from his pocketbook, and read out a number written in pencil, the exact number of the watch which jack had found. "is that correct?" he asked jack with a certain tone of triumph. "perfectly so," the boy answered. "and the description is correct also?" "absolutely." "ah, i am glad of that. i mentioned a reward a few minutes ago, and i am perfectly willing to pay it. will a hundred dollars be sufficient?" "it would be more than ample in the event of my having the actual owner of the watch to deal with," in a quiet tone. the man flushed, glared angrily at the boy, and cried excitedly: "what do you mean by that, you young scoundrel? do you dare to say that i am not---" and then he stopped short, laughed, and said in his former pleasant tones: "but this is a joke, of course." "no, it is not, it is the truth," said the boy. "dr. wise, don't give it to him. he is not the real owner of the watch. have you forgotten your conversation with gabrielle this afternoon?" to the man himself. "well, i have not, nor has my friend, and we both heard it. it was on the banks of a little kill that runs into the hudson a few miles from here, and about a mile up from the river." before the boy had finished the man uttered an inarticulate mutter, and flushed deeply, dashing out of the room as the sentence was completed. chapter x disappointments "come on, dick, the man must not escape!" cried jack excitedly. "excuse us, doctor, we've got to watch him. come ahead, dick!" both boys left the cottage in haste, seeing the man running toward the river when they reached the outside. "hello! stop that man!" shouted dick. "catch him!" echoed jack. jack's boat was at the shore, not hauled up on the bank as usual, and now this man made directly for it, sprang in, started the engine in a few moments, and was out on the river as the two boys and some others came running down. "i am going to take your boat, j.w., if it's ready!" shouted jack to young smith whom he saw approaching. "i must catch that fellow!" "all right, jack!" cried the boy. "do what you like with it." jack sprang into the smaller boy's boat, started the engine and set off after the runaway at a good speed. the man was going up the river, and already had a good lead, but jack did not hesitate, relying on getting help to stop him before he had gone much farther, or, at any rate, when he reached town, where he was evidently making his way. the fugitive kept as close in to shore as possible, and made the highest speed he could; jack realized that his boat was a good one, and would have some trouble to keep it in sight, although young smith's boat was capable of making good time. "i am glad i know what young j.w.'s boat can do," he said to himself, "and if that fellow had not had a lead on me i would have been up to him by this time. i think i can beat him in the long run, as he does not know my boat as well as i do, and i know this one now." jack hoped that by the time he reached town he might get aid to stop the man even if he had not overhauled him, and he kept on at a good rate. "that fellow must know something about motor-boats," he thought, "for he is managing mine in good shape. i could do better with her, but he is doing very well. i only wish some one would come along so as to head him off. i don't like to lose him." when they neared the mouth of the kill jack shot a hasty glance ahead to see if there was any one coming to whom he could shout, and saw a little tug put out from the railroad dock. he was about to shout to them when to his great annoyance he saw the man in his boat shoot into the kill and disappear. "h'm! i don't know where he will go now!" he muttered in disappointment, hurrying after the fugitive. he was not far behind as it was, and as he entered the creek, having put on extra speed, he saw the man only a short distance ahead. not far away there was a turn in the creek, and the runaway presently disappeared around it, jack following and gaining ground. in a short time he came in sight not of the man, but of his boat, tied up at the bank, the man having disappeared. "well, i have my boat at any rate," laughed jack rather ruefully, "and that is something i suppose. i wanted the man, but i shall have to be satisfied with what i can get." he got into his own boat, and towed the other out of the creek and down the river, disappointed, of course, but, on the whole, glad that it was no worse, and that he had not lost his boat. he met percival and some of the boys on his way back, the boys questioning him excitedly as they came up. "did you get him, jack?" "you have got your own boat back anyhow. did you catch him?" "how did he get away, jack?" asked percival. "did he put up a fight?" "no, he ran into the kill, and as soon as he got out of sight around a bend tied up my boat and skipped out," said jack in a tone of disgust. "that's too bad. i hoped that you would catch him" "young j.w. will think all the more of his boat after this," said billy manners. "you made it go, jack." "haven't i told him that he could get speed out of a canal-boat?" percival retorted with a laugh. "no one will want to race with jesse w. after this," remarked arthur. "they won't make fun of his boat now, nor of him either." "well, he got away from me," said jack, as the boys turned and went back with him, "and now i suppose he will be harder than ever to find. he has not got the watch anyhow." when the boys reached camp supper had already started, but bucephalus looked after them, and the doctor readily excused them on account of the importance of their errand. "he got away from me, doctor," said jack, "but i recovered my boat and that is something." "percival told me of the conversation you heard this afternoon, and so i readily, understood why you were so anxious to apprehend the man. i was prepared to turn the watch over to him, being convinced that he was the owner, and your accusation came as a great surprise, therefore." after supper jack suggested to percival that they go up to the van der donk house and see the nurse, as they might learn more about the man who had claimed the watch. "it is a good idea, jack," said dick, "but i guess you will need to be careful how you proceed with that excitable creature, who is ready to go up in the air at the slightest notice." "yes, it will be necessary to observe caution if we wish to learn anything. these foreigners are very excitable, especially the women, and one has to be cautious in dealing with them." early in the evening the two boys went up to the van der donk house, being met by margaret, who seemed very glad to see them, and said: "we have been busy putting things to rights, and if it does not look very tidy here you must excuse it. gabrielle has gone away, no one knows why or where." jack glanced significantly at percival, and said carelessly: "gabrielle? she was the nurse?" "yes, and i have been obliged to look after the baby, to help the maids with the cleaning and dusting, to assist the cook, to look after things generally and to keep father and mother from getting into the dumps." "did gabrielle do all these things?" "oh, no, but when one maid goes the others want to, and it has been a difficult matter to keep them all contented and busy. gabrielle was a good nurse, but a bit flighty and quite excitable." "but you don't know that she has gone for good?" "she took her boxes, and went away very unexpectedly. it may have been on account of the fire, but we don't know. she has never gone away like this before, but i suppose an excitable person, such as she was, is liable to do strange things at any time." "it must be very awkward to be without help at such a time, and if we are any trouble---" "oh, no, don't think of going," said margaret hurriedly. "by the way, did you find an owner for the watch?" "we have had several claimants, but no real owner," said jack. "it is a very handsome one, and almost anybody might be excused for wanting it." "yes, indeed. i would like very much to have it myself. how could it have been here when it does not belong to any one in our family?" "there were strangers here last night, and we think that the man who stole it put it in jack's pocket by mistake when he saw that the police were watching him." "but we did not miss anything ourselves. one would think that if thieves were about they would try to pick up something when there was so much excitement. it seems very mysterious to me." "yes, and to every one," said percival. mr. and mrs. van der donk came in shortly, and for a time there was a very pleasant conversation, but at last the old gentleman got upon the subject of his family, and before long the boys were yawning, and the old lady fast asleep. "you will have to excuse us," said percival, getting up, "but we boys had very little sleep last night, and we have to be back at nine o'clock in any event." the boys took their leave, and when once clear of the house percival said with a grin: "i could not stand the old man and his genealogy, although we could have stayed an hour longer easily." "i saw that you were beginning to yawn, and i must confess that i felt a bit drowsy myself." "we won't find out anything about the watch through that girl, jack," said percival a little later. "our plans of being cautious and all that did not amount to anything." "no, and we are as much in the dark as before regarding the real owner. we may never know who he is, dick." "it looks like that," said dick. chapter xi the cat out of the bag as the boys were nearing the camp on their way back they suddenly heard the sound of angry voices, and percival whispered: "wait a minute, jack. some of the boys are having a quarrel, and i believe i know who they are." "i told you to let my boat alone, you idiot!" the boys heard herring say just ahead of them. they were in the woods adjoining the camp, and the two quarreling boys were very close to them. "well, i didn't hurt it!" they heard merritt say angrily. "you are making a lot of fuss over an old tub that isn't any good anyhow. look how little smith beat us this afternoon, and he the smallest boy in the academy. i didn't hurt your boat." "i say you did, and i told you not to go out with it. you've busted the engine." "no, i didn't. it wasn't any good anyhow. you tried to put sheldon's boat out of business, but you couldn't." "you had as much to do with that as i did!" sputtered herring. "well, you started it, same as you started telling that detective that sheldon had a bad name in the academy, and---" "shut up! somebody will hear you. you had as much to do with that as-----" percival suddenly let out a great bellow, such as a calf in search of its mother might make. "gracious! what's that?" cried herring in alarm, making a dash for the camp, the lights of which could be plainly seen. merritt followed in hot haste, frightened out of his wits, and percival broke into a hearty laugh, not caring if the two conspirators heard him or not, and greatly enjoying their terror. they may have done so, but they did not pause until they reached the camp, and were challenged by the sentry. "that's good!" laughed dick. "and we have found out something as well. now we know who it was who tried to put your boat out of commission. i have always suspected those rascals of having had something to do with it, and now i am certain." "yes, but that was not as bad as-----" "as trying to make you out a bad character. no, it is not. i had my suspicions on that score, too. if you had asked me to name the fellows who were most likely to do a thing of that sort i would have named them in a moment. they are just mean enough." "well, it does not matter," said jack. "no one would believe them who knows me. it is not worth thinking about." "but i think it is!" said percival hotly. "you don't know how far a thing of that sort might go. suppose the detective had arrested you before he saw the doctor or you had a chance to explain? it would have taken a long time to explain things away." "i do not think so," jack replied. "i have friends enough in town to say nothing of the academy. besides, who is going to arrest me in any such peremptory fashion as all that? do you suppose i would submit to it?" "no, i guess not!" and percival laughed again. "you are a quiet sort of fellow, jack, but when it comes to a thing of that sort you can be as lively as any one, myself for instance. i remember the time you knocked this same herring bully down for insulting you. it was a surprise to him, and to all of us, for we all thought you were a quiet chap who would stand most anything for the sake of peace." "well, i don't seek quarrels," jack replied, "but being in one-----" "as shakespeare says you stick it out," and percival laughed again. "i think it ought to be known that herring and merritt tried to give you a black eye, jack. it is no more than right." "but they did not give it to me, dick, and there is no use in stirring up trouble. let it go. both herring and merritt must know by this time that the hilltop boys in general will not believe their lies." "well, if they do not they must be very stupid," grunted percival, and by this time the boys were in the camp. "pete herring and erne merritt saw a ghost!" laughed billy manners, as the boys came in. "they were frightened to bits. i believe myself that it was nothing but a white calf." "you were frightened by a calf yourself once, billy," chuckled dick, "and declared that it was a roaring bull." "did i?" asked billy innocently. "when was that?" "you know well enough," said percival, "so you need not be so innocent. however, i know what frightened herring and merritt." "what was it?" asked billy, and a number of others. "guilty consciences!" said dick shortly, and with some emphasis, and then he and jack went on to their tent. "they will want to know more, dick," said jack. "you should not have given them a clue like that." "i won't say any more, then. they are within hearing and they will understand, and you will see that they are careful how they talk about you to any one after this." "let them talk," laughed jack. for two or three days things went on as usual in the camp on the river, the boys doing a certain amount of study, drilling a little, exercising in the outdoor gymnasium, skimming along the river in their boats and otherwise occupying themselves, the time, on the whole, passing very pleasantly. then one day a messenger came from a boys' camp some miles down the river asking them to take part in a regatta, which was going to take place at the other camp in a day or so. "we know you hilltop boys," said the messenger, "and we would like to have some representatives of your academy at our sports. will you send a few of them?" the messenger had met percival and jack, and percival now answered: "we shall be very glad to send any number. do you intend to have any other besides aquatic sports? any running, jumping, or anything of that sort? our boys are good at all of them." "mostly water sports, but i suppose we could have some of the rest. there will be races for motor-boats, shells, canoes, a tub race, and a swimming match. we have a good stretch of river at our camp, and there is plenty of room." "and the affair takes place the day after tomorrow?" "yes, beginning at two in the afternoon. that will give you time to get home after it is over, either by train or in your own boats." "very well. we will be on hand. i cannot tell you whom we will send, for the doctor will have something to say about that, but there will be some of us there beyond a doubt." "you have a boy named sheldon, who is a dandy at running a motor-boat, haven't you?" the other boy asked. "yes, and he can get speed out of a canal-boat," laughed dick. "do you want him?" "we certainly do," said the other emphatically. "we have heard of him, and we certainly want him." "here he is now. you can ask him yourself." the other boy was a bit surprised at seeing the very boy he had been talking about, and said: "but i thought you were bigger. they said you were strong and wiry, and i expected to see a giant. why, you are no bigger than i am. and you can run a motor-boat?" "certainly he can," replied dick. "size does not count in a thing like that. why, i am bigger than jack, but he can beat me running a boat. then there is little jesse w. smith, who is the smallest thing in the way of a boy in the academy, and he has beaten boys twice his size." "and you will be down?" to jack himself. "if i am chosen to represent the hilltop boys, i will certainly be on hand," jack replied. "i should like nothing better." other boys now came up, and percival told them about the regatta to be held at the other camp on the next day, but one, all of them being greatly excited over it. "even if we don't take part i suppose we can go?" asked billy manners. "there ought to be a lot of fun in it." "there will be if you race, billy," said percival. "there is going to be a tub race as one of the attractions." "good enough! i can win a tub race as well as anything else if i put my mind on it," laughed billy. "i think i'll enter for it." "anything to make things lively," said the messenger, and then he shortly took his leave, while the hilltop boys were greatly excited over the coming contest wherein they hoped to take more than one prize. chapter xii the owner of the watch found on the second day following, a number of the hilltop boys went down to the other camp to take part in the athletic games appointed for that day, and to witness the sports, the greater part of them being present. the doctor had selected jack sheldon to take part in the motor-boat races, percival as a runner and also a boatman, harry, arthur, and young smith in the second-class motor-boats, herring and one or two others as swimmers, and billy manners and seymour to take part in the tub race, besides a few others in other contests. dick percival was not altogether pleased that herring should have been chosen to represent the school in anything, but as the bully was really a fine swimmer, as well as runner and jumper, he swallowed his chagrin, and said nothing. "they may like pete's swimming," he said to himself, "but if they get an idea that the rest of the hilltoppers are like him it will be pretty rough on the rest of us." jack, dick, and a number of the boys went down in their boats, while herring, merritt, holt, and quite a number more took the train. the boys were well received and jack, dick, herring and the rest who were to take part in the sports went to the dressing rooms back of the club house used by the other boys. there were many residents of the neighborhood present, and a goodly showing from riverton as well, the seats along the river and in the club house balconies being very well filled. the sports opened with a footrace between three or four of the strangers, and the same number of the hilltop boys, these being percival, harry and two others, being the first heat. percival and harry and two of the others won the heat, and would run in the final later in the afternoon. then jack sheldon and another of the hilltoppers represented the academy against two of their opponents, jack and the boy who had brought the message winning for the final. "i don't think there is any doubt as to who will win it, sheldon," said the rocky hill boy, "but i am going to try all the same. it is some fun to race with a boy like you. you are as straight as a house, and you make a fellow hustle, which is good for any one." then there was a tub race in which billy manners, young smith, and two or three others, attired in bathing tights, as fitted the occasion, competed with as many of the rocky hill boys. each boy's craft was a big washtub, which he was required to propel a certain distance without sinking it, the one who went the farthest being adjudged the winner. billy had a bright red bathing suit and as he was rather fat and chubby, with a fair complexion and reddish hair, he was bound to attract a good deal of attention, which he increased by his remarks. "grand race of ocean liners for a purse of ten thousand dollars!" he shouted, as he entered his tub and started on the course. young smith presently collided with him, and upset his own tub, and was obliged to swim for the bank, but billy managed to avert disaster, and went on in great style. "a life on the ocean wave is nothing to this!" he shouted, whereupon there was more laughter; still billy went on, beginning to take in water, but keeping afloat, and avoiding collisions with the others. two or three had already been obliged to swim ashore besides jesse w., some being hilltop boys and some from the other camp. billy finally had to swim for it, his tub going under just as he got to the goal well ahead of every one else, and he was adjudged the winner amid considerable applause. "honest merit will assert itself whether it is in a tub or an ocean liner," he remarked, as he accepted the trophy, a miniature washtub decorated with ribbons, whereupon there was another laugh, and billy retired to dress himself. there were other contests between the hilltop boys alone, and the rocky hills alone, as well as between teams made up of both camps, the winners being about evenly divided and the best of good feeling prevailing. in the final motor-boat race jack sheldon won by several lengths, his opponent saying with a smile: "well, i did push you a bit, sheldon, but you left me a long way behind for all that. i was scarcely second, you might say." herring had won a swimming match, but was beaten in running, percival coming a long way ahead in the footrace, to the great delight of the boys from the hilltop camp. jack had noticed margaret and mr. and mrs. van der donk on the club house balcony, and heard with considerable pleasure her cheers of delight, and saw her wave the hilltop colors frantically when he won the race with his boat, and could not help feeling a certain amount of pride. later when he and percival and a number of the boys went up on the balcony to receive their prizes and accept the congratulations of their friends, margaret, who was seated with some distinguished-looking strangers, said to the boy after congratulating him on his victory: "have you learned any more about the watch, mr. sheldon?" "i have not found an owner yet," jack replied, "and i don't know what to do with it. it is altogether too costly an article for me to wear, besides being a lady's watch, and my mother would feel that it was too much of a task to live up to it. however, i may find the owner yet." one of the ladies with margaret seemed greatly interested, and she now turned to jack, and asked: "what is the watch that you speak of? one that you found?" "yes, ma'am," said jack, "and in a very strange manner. it was the night of the fire at miss van der donk's. when i got back to the camp i found it in my pocket without knowing how it came there. it does not belong to miss margaret nor to any of the family, and they are as puzzled to know how i found it as i am myself. it was stolen i now know, but i do not know to whom it belongs." "you know it was stolen?" "yes, i overheard a man tell the nurse at miss van der donk's that he had stolen it. he gave it to her, in fact, and she lost it or threw it away, perhaps, fearing that it would make trouble." "why, you never told me that!" exclaimed margaret in great astonishment. "when did you learn all this?" "the day after the fire. dick and i went to your house the night after to see if we could get anything out of the nurse, gabrielle, but she had gone during that day. i did not have a chance to tell you, and then your father came in and-----" "talked genealogy till you fell asleep," laughed margaret. "but, mrs. hamilton, why are you so interested in this matter?" "i'll tell you in a moment. you say it was a lady's watch?" to jack. "yes, and a very handsome one. it is a jurgensen with a gold case set with diamonds. i understand these watches are very valuable." "do you know the number?" "yes, madame, do you?" jack returned. "pardon me, but i have grown cautious. several persons have claimed the watch who had no title to it whatever, and i have become cautions. have you lost a watch of this sort?" "yes, and i know its number by heart. is it this?" and the lady gave the exact number of the watch, which jack himself remembered. "yes, that is right," he said. "i will tell you something else about it, which, perhaps, you do not know, my boy," the lady continued. "the upper part of the case, the one with the diamonds on it, is double, and the top of it will unscrew, showing a small space beneath. in this is a photograph of a little girl, one i lost, and a small gold coin. when you return take off the top of the jeweled side of the case, and if you find it as i say then you will know that the watch is mine." "i did not deny this, madame," said jack, coloring a little, "but you can readily understand that i would be cautious after so many persons have tried to get the watch away from me. by the way, did you employ a detective, a rather self-important person, to find it for you?" "higgins!" laughed the lady. "yes, i did, and he told me that he had discovered the person who had it." "this was since the fire?" "no, the day before." "and you have not seen him since?" "no, nor heard from him." jack laughed, and told how the detective had tried to get the watch from him, and how and why dr. wise had refused to give it up. "higgins always struck me as being a bit too zealous," said the lady. "i do not wonder that the doctor refused to deliver it after the man's poor account of you. you seem to be a great favorite both with the doctor and with the hilltop boys." "and deservedly so," echoed percival. "we won't hear a word against jack, and it has not spoiled him either." "and you know about the watch, too?" "yes, being in the tent when it dropped out of jack's pocket. i hoped he might keep it, but now-----" "but now you think that i have a right to it?" "to be sure, and i only meant that jack should keep it in case he could find no owner for it:" it was now time for the boys to return to the camp, and they took their leave, jack promising to examine the watch when he got back, and to report if it was as the lady had said. after supper jack and percival went to the doctor's, and jack told what the lady had said, and asked to see the watch. the top of the upper part of the case could be removed, just as she had said, and jack found the photograph and the little coin under it. "well, that is all right," he said to dick. "i am satisfied that the owner has now been found, for that thing has bothered me a good deal. i wonder what higgins has been doing all this time, however, not to report his failure to get the watch?" "a sudden rush of sense to the head may have affected him," laughed dick, "and he was ashamed to say anything about it. if he had told that he had discovered the watch, and that you had it he would have been obliged to tell why it had not been given to him, and that would have been altogether too much for his vanity." "i suppose so," said jack with a smile. chapter xiii the prize poem jack sent the watch to the lady he had seen with margaret the next day, dr. wise being satisfied that it belonged to her, and suggesting that it be forwarded to her by express without delay. the next day he received a very pleasant letter from the lady, together with a handsome locket to wear at the end of his watch chain. "i suppose i can take this, dick?" he said to his chum. "it is really a reward for having found the watch, and i did not expect any. however, it is not money, which i could not have taken, but it cost money just the same." "keep it, jack," said dick. "the lady feels that you ought to have something for your trouble, and you cannot very well refuse her gift." "no, i don't suppose i can, but i did not want it, nevertheless. my mother is fond of things like that, and i can give it to her." "well, the lady could hardly object to that, but i would wear it for a time. she might see you shortly, and she would miss it." "very good," said jack carelessly. "i will do it." just now the doctor was offering a prize for a poem to be written by one of the boys, not to exceed a certain length, and to be written upon some historical event, preferably one connected with the hudson. the poem must be entirely original, but must be unsigned and accompanied by a sealed envelope containing the writer's name, this not to be opened until the prize had been awarded to the best poem, at which time the name of the winner would be made known. "that makes it fair for everybody," declared percival. "i am not much of a poet, jack, but you might try for this." "you have had as much training in this line as i have, dick," replied jack. "there are plenty of subjects to choose from, arnold's treason, the capture of stony point by wayne, the firing upon the highland forts, montgomery and clinton, the burning of kingston and the hanging of the man with the silver bullet and a lot more. let your imagination loose, dick, and i think you can win." "if it were a case of letting my temper loose," laughed percival, "it would be a sure thing, but the imagination is different." jack knew that his mother would be pleased if he won the prize, and so he determined to try for it, and began setting himself to work on some verses having to do with the very location where the academy was situated. when billy manners heard of the contest he said to arthur, harry, young smith, and a few others who were down on the shore fixing their boats: "oh, say, can you see by the dawn and so forth!" he exclaimed, "that is fine. think of the inspiration we get from this historic river. look at the mountains all around us, full of patriotic memories, and then say that you can't do anything. why, the poetry fairly bubbles out of me." "give us a sample, william," chuckled harry. "there was another poet named william once. perhaps you inherit some of his genius. i never saw any suspicion of it on you, but it may be there all the same. give us a sample, there's a good fellow." "why, certainly," billy rejoined. "historical subject, eh? and one that occurred on the hudson? why, that's easy. listen to this:" then billy threw up his arms, gazed straight up into the sky, and delivered himself of his poetic thoughts as follows: _"when freedom from her mountain height unfurled her banner to the skies, not a creature was stirring, not-----"_ "you've got things mixed, billy," roared harry. "try again. besides, that is not original. it must be original to pass." "oh, well, all poets are plagiarists more or less," said billy, "but this time i will give you something of my own." then billy struck a pensive attitude, and began again: _"'twas midnight; in his guarded tent, not a drum was heard, nor a funeral note, by thy cold, gray stones, oh, sea! once upon a midnight dreary, a gentle knight was pricking on-----"_ "worse and worse!" yelled arthur. "halleck, poe, tennyson, spenser, and i don't know who else in a regular literary hash! that will do for you, my boy.' a little of that goes a long way." "didn't i tell you i was bubbling all over with poetry?" "you're a bubble yourself," laughed harry, "and you'll burst if you get too full of that sort of stuff." "you wait till i really put my mind on it," said billy with a droll look. "you'll be surprised, my boys." "we don't doubt that in the least," said harry. "why, i never heard such poetry," chuckled young smith. "it actually makes me cry," said arthur. "you will be surprised when i take the prize," answered billy, taking all this chaff good-naturedly. "yes, i think we will be," replied seymour. "surprised is no name for it. we will be actually thunderstruck." "oh, you boys are jealous," grinned billy. "shall i give you another sample?" "another piece of patchwork, you mean," grinned harry. "no, please don't. i have not recovered from the other yet." "you fellows do not appreciate real genius, and here is the river right at your feet to inspire you to noble thoughts. come on, let's take a spin." "you have set our brains to spinning already," said arthur. "no, one good turn deserves another," quoted jesse w., with a broad grin. "come on, boys, before billy breaks out again." "i may astonish you boys yet," laughed billy, as he got into his boat and set off down stream. jack worked industriously on his poem, and percival became serious and did some really good work on one that he had begun when he knew that jack was at work, a number of the boys getting to work at the same time. "i don't expect to do better than jack," percival said to arthur, "but if he knows i am going in for this he will do all the better, and i want him to come out on top." "he may anyhow, dick," returned arthur. "he has been doing something of this sort for the news in riverton. they have not been signed, but i know that they were his from a line or two that i heard him repeating to himself in the tent when he did not know that any one was around. i recognized them afterwards in one of the poems published in the paper. jack is a modest fellow and does not blow his own trumpet." "did any one else hear him, art?" "yes, harry. we did not say anything about it, but we know the pieces were his. then you know that he has done something in that line for the hilltop gazette, of course?" "to be sure i do. the academy paper is doing fine since jack took the editorship. it is some magazine now." "i should say it was. jack will write something good i know, and i want to see him win the prize." "so do i, art, as i told you before," replied percival heartily. percival let it be known to jack that he was trying for the prize and this, instead of making the boy feel envious, as some would have done, encouraged him and caused him to put forth his best efforts. "i hear that you are going to compete for the poetic prize, dick," he said to his friend. "that's fine. i hope you will get it. you used to do a lot of good things, and i don't see why you should not do them still. i'd like to see you get it, dick." dick chuckled over this to harry and arthur and billy, and said: "jack is putting his best foot forward, as i hoped he would. he thinks that i will beat him, and so he is doing his best. that's just what i wanted, and i hope he will win the pennant." "h'm! you talk as if this was a baseball series," laughed billy. "well, you know what i mean anyhow," returned dick. the boys put in their poems and the blank sealed envelopes containing their names and the titles of their productions, the envelopes not to be opened till after the prizes were given. the doctor had all the manuscripts in his study, and was to go over them with the professors, the majority to decide which was the best. on the night when the various manuscripts were in the doctor's study in the little cottage he occupied in the camp, billy manners was a bit restless, not from his literary efforts, but from having eaten something which greatly disagreed with him. he occupied a tent with young smith, and at a late hour awoke for the third or fourth time, and suddenly heard some one say in a whisper: "it's all right, i've got it!" billy thought the voice was herring's, but was not certain in his sleepy condition, and with pains gripping his bowels. "can you fix it?" somebody asked, and billy thought this might be either holt or merritt, not being sure which it was, for the same reason that made him uncertain of the other. "fix it?" the first speaker retorted with a low chuckle, "of course i can fix it, and fix his winning the prize, too." "there's some mischief going on," thought the young joker. "i wonder what it is?" the voices he had heard had come from the next tent, but whether it was the next on the right or the left he could not tell, not knowing whether he may have turned in his sleep or not, having a habit of finding himself in all sorts of queer positions when he awoke. while he was thinking the matter over, and trying to locate the tent from which the voices proceeded he fell asleep, his pain having left him for a time. he did not know how long it was when he was awakened again, as well by the pain as by hearing voices. "that will do first rate," he heard some one say, and then he thought he detected a light in the tent next to his. young smith was fast asleep, and oblivious of everything, "and billy did not think it worth while to arouse him. "they won't notice the difference?" asked either merritt or holt, billy was not certain which. "no, and now to put it back." "put what back, i wonder?" said billy to himself, as he sat up. "and give the doctor a surprise." "huh! he won't be the only one surprised!" growled some one, and billy thought it was herring this time. "that fellow is up to some mischief," he muttered, "and i must find out what it is." then he jumped out of bed, put on his trousers and shoes, and crept softly outside. chapter xiv billy's nocturnal adventure it was dark in the camp, but billy, as he stole out of the tent, could distinguish a dark form moving swiftly down the camp street, and followed without making any noise, taking care to keep as much as possible in the shadow. unless the person he was following should happen to look around, there was very little danger of his being seen, but he took all the precautions he could to avoid being detected. "it is not a thief," he said to himself, "and it isn't any one who has designs on one of the boats. he left that tent, but who is he and what does he want?" the silent figure, moving rapidly forward, presently left the line of tents, and made for the cottage occupied by the doctor. "i wonder if it is the doctor walking in his sleep?" thought billy. "that would be a great joke, wouldn't it?" he thought he saw a flash of light for a moment, but was not sure of this, and hurried on after the midnight prowler, having just time to see him enter the window of the doctor's cottage. "can it be the doctor after all?" he muttered. "that would be funny after all. i wish i had brought my light with me. that's just like me, though, thinking of things when it is too late." he stepped under the front window of the cottage, through which he had seen the figure disappear and listened: "i don't hear anything," he muttered. "i wonder if it could have been the doctor? burglars would have no good excuse for coming to the camp. who is it anyhow?" listening intently, he fancied he could hear some one moving about in the cottage, and then the steps approached the window. he was about to step back, but was a little too late in that, as he had been in thinking of his pocket light. in another moment some one dropped out of the window, and he was upset most unceremoniously. the person, whoever it was, had landed on his head and shoulders, and he was thrown down in an instant. "hello! who is that?" he exclaimed, as he felt himself lying on the bare and rather damp ground. some one was struggling to his feet with a startled exclamation, and billy snatched quickly at him, and caught a leg or an arm, he could not be certain which. "i've got you now!" he cried, "and you've got to give an account of yourself, my man!" the stranger, whoever he was, certainly did give an account of himself, but not in the manner which billy meant. there was a sudden shooting out of a brawny fist, and billy was taken between the eyes, and for a moment saw stars. "ouch!" he ejaculated, letting go of the person he had seized, then somebody rolled him over with a quick move of the foot, and by the time the unfortunate joker arose his nocturnal combatant was out of sight, as well as hearing. "h'm! that's too bad!" sputtered billy. "i don't know now whether it was a burglar, a nightmare, or what it was. i think i'd better go back to bed. being out in the air may have done me a lot of good, but i guess i've had enough of it." with this conclusion he set out upon his return, but when he reached the line of tents was not certain whether he was in the right one or not, and began studying the appearance of things as much as he could by the very uncertain light. "i wonder if this is our street after all?" he asked himself. "let me see, we are the sixth tent from the top. or is it the seventh? six one way and seven the other, i guess. wait till i see." then he went on, counting the tents one by one till he came to the sixth from the start. the flap was thrown back, and billy made up his mind that he was at the right one and went in. when he found his cot, however, he found some one on it. "h'm! that's young j.w., and i must not awaken him," he muttered. as a natural consequence his own cot must be just opposite jesse w.'s, and he turned and went in that direction. to his surprise he found the other cot occupied also. "hello, who is that?" asked harry dickson. "it's me," said billy. "i guess i must have got in the wrong tent. have i been walking in my sleep?" "how should i know?" laughed harry. "you are in the wrong tent, that's all i do know. arthur and i have this tent. aren't you in with young jesse w. smith?" "i thought i was," said billy dolefully, "but i seem to have got twisted up a bit to-night. i've had the stomach ache." "that will twist any one," chuckled harry, "but really it is no laughing matter, my boy." "no, i should say not. well, i think i had better cut my call short. would you kindly show me the way to my own tent?" this was said in such a comical, and at the same time doleful tone, that harry was forced to laugh. "why, certainly," he chuckled. "you've got on the wrong street, that is all. you can go through right here without having to go to the top or bottom and then down or up." "who is on the other side of the street?" asked billy. "jones and robinson." "h'm! and they are right back of us. all right. i guess i can find the way now all right." then billy started to go between two tents so as to reach his own on the next camp street. "look out for---" "ouch! what's that?" harry was about to warn him to look out for the tent ropes, but billy tumbled over them before he could be warned. "i am having all sorts of fun to-night!" he said in a tone of disgust, as he picked himself up and made his way through to the other street. then he found his own tent and went in, but to make sure, even after he had found his bed unoccupied, got out his pocket light and turned it on. "that's all right," he muttered, "but the next time i go wandering about the camp of a night without a light i'll stay at home!" either the light flashing in young j.w. smith's face or billy's mutterings awoke that young gentleman, and he sat up in bed, asking in a very drowsy tone: "is it time to get up, billy? what's the matter?" "oh, nothing, i've been a bit restless, that's all, but i feel better now, so go to sleep, j.w., and get a good night's rest." at that moment a distant church clock struck twelve, and then a rooster crowed. "h'm! guess it is time i got to sleep!" grunted billy, as he tumbled into bed, put out his light and was soon fast asleep. in the morning when he and young smith arose, the latter said to him in some surprise: "why, billy, what is the matter, what have you been doing? you have got the blackest eye i ever saw on a boy." "me?" cried billy. "are you sure? isn't it dirt? where should i have been to get a black eye?" "i am sure i don't know, but that's what it is all right. look at it yourself, billy, and see if it is not." there was a little looking glass in the tent, and billy now surveyed himself in this, finding that young smith was right, and that he did have one beautiful black eye, the other being only slightly discolored. he knew where he had obtained it, but did not think it necessary to explain the matter to young smith. "i'll wait and see who has the most to say about it," he thought, "and then i will know who it was that i followed last night, who it was that gave me this lovely decoration." when he met the boys, however, all of them had something to say, and harry said with a laugh: "you must have got that when you stumbled over the tent rope last night, billy." "yes, i guess i did," said billy, but to himself he remarked that now there was very little chance of learning the truth. chapter xv fun on the river that day a number of the boys from the camp down the river came up on the invitation of the hilltop boys to pay them a visit, and to compete for various prizes offered by the doctor, and some of the people of the neighborhood who had gone to the other camp on the occasion of the regatta. "some of our boys took away prizes from you the other day," said percival who received the visitors, "and it is only fair that we should give you a chance to capture something from us." "we won't from you or sheldon," replied one of the visitors, "but we will try to compete with the rest of your boys. there is no use trying to beat you, however." "you won't if you don't try, at any rate," said dick. "we are glad to see you, at any rate, and we will endeavor to make you enjoy yourselves." percival arranged a program, and at the suggestion of the leader of the visitors, although he would have liked not to do so, included herring in an exhibition of swimming, and a match with four or five others, boys from both camps. there was a three-legged race between billy manners and seymour as one set of three legs, and two of the rocky hill boys as the other, which caused considerable amusement. billy's left leg was strapped to his partner's right so that they had really to run out of step in order to keep step, which seemed a paradox, but it was really the only way in which they could get along at all. "when i put out my right leg do you put out your left," billy cautioned his partner, "and put out the tied legs together. keep out of step, in fact, and don't try to go too fast. this is the sort of race where you cannot be too quick if you want to win." the efforts of the two teams, the funny mistakes they made, the many narrow escapes from tumbling, and the serious manner in which they took things, made a lot of laughter, and when finally billy and his partner came in first there was a loud applause from every one. "that makes a lot of fun for the rest of you," said billy, in a lugubrious tone, as he rubbed the leg that had been bound to that of his partner, "but it is not so funny for the legs." this remark made more laughter and then there was a flat race between teams from both camps, at least a dozen boys competing, which caused a good deal of excitement. the race was won by herring, merritt, and two of the boys from the other camp, these four coming out in the lead and later the final was to be run, herring expecting to win it. in the meantime, he gave an exhibition of swimming, and a little later swam against two of the rocky hill boys. as they were nearing the end of the course, herring forging ahead and rapidly gaining on his opponents, intending to beat at the finish, one of the other boys was seen to throw up his hands and sink. herring would have kept on, claiming that this was only a trick of the boy to give his mate a chance to win the match, but a loud shout from the boys on the bank compelled him to stop. jack sheldon happened to be at the shore in his boat, ready to start in the next event, when the shout arose. in a moment he started his engine to going, and glided rapidly out upon the river toward where the boy had gone down. he was confident that the boy would speedily rise, although not just where he went down, and he kept his eyes on the water so as to determine the spot at which he would come up. he presently detected a certain motion of the water at a point a little to one side of his course, and in a moment steered his boat for that place, but not at too great speed. he had calculated right, for when the boy came up jack was within two feet of him and quickly made up the distance, reached out, caught him under the arms, and, by a dexterous move, lifted him into the boat. the boy was nearly exhausted, but upon jack's speaking cheerily to him, he revived sufficiently to assist his rescuer, and his getting into the boat was attended with no accident. he collapsed when he was in, however, and jack put for the shore at a rapid pace, a number of the boys being ready to take the fainting boy out as they came up the shelving beach. "why didn't you go to the boy's aid, herring?" asked percival, as the bully came in. "couldn't you see that he had a cramp?" "i have had that trick played on me before," retorted herring in a surly tone. "how was i to know that it was real?" "our boys do not resort to such tricks?" declared the leader of the visiting team warmly, "and i do not think that the hilltop boys in general can be accused of doing so." "i don't know what you fellows do," said the other in the same surly tone, "because i have seen very little of you, but i know that that trick has been worked on me before, and i was prepared for anything. that's why i did not go to help him. why didn't his own chum do it?" "you were nearer," said dick, and then he went away to see how the other boy was coming along. fortunately, he was out of danger, and was doing very well so that it was not necessary to stop the games, but herring did not again have anything to do and shortly left the camp, and went off into the woods with holt, leaving merritt to finish the final of the flat race, losing to the boys from the other camp. jack won the race for motor-boats against a considerable fleet, and was the most popular boy in camp, not only on this account, but because of his timely action at the moment of danger whereby a catastrophe was averted. "that's only another time when jack sheldon has shown his nerve," declared harry warmly. "why, the very first time i met him he saved a mighty bad situation by his coolness, and he has been doing those things ever since. talk about nerve! why, he is full of it!" "somehow he never seems to lose his head when it is most required," added percival, "although to look at him you would not suppose that he had such a command over himself. it's when you get to know him that you find these things out." "why, he would as soon jump into a flying machine as get in a motor-boat," said billy, "provided there was something to be done. he is a bird as well as a fish, and just as good at either." the sports were closed by a tub race, every one being desirous of seeing billy manners in another of these amusing contests. there were a dozen or more boys in the race, all prepared for a spill in the water, which seemed to be the inevitable end of such affairs. billy had a bathing suit of the hilltop colors, and said as he got into his tub: "this is the great race of the submersibles. mine is the i.o.u.---99, the fastest tub on the river. if she were fast i couldn't go---fast to the bank, i mean." "she'll be fast on the bottom, at any rate, billy," said harry. jack, percival, and a number of the boys who did not usually take part in such sports, went into this for the sake of making more fun, but the visitors were not asked to enter, as they had not brought their bathing suits, and could not very well get along without them. the tubs started out, the boys propelling them rapidly with their hands, avoiding collisions when they could, and doing their best to keep afloat as long as possible. "you are not going to win this race, billy," laughed percival, as he spun ahead. "you can't take all the prizes, my boy, and i am going to beat you this time." "maybe not!" chuckled billy, using both hands and making the water fly. "this is a u.s., not a u-boat, and i'm bound to win." jack was full of the spirit of the thing, and pushed the acknowledged rivals hard, presently passing percival, and shouting to billy: "look out, my boy, i am coming after you! don't take in too much water. it isn't good." "come on, jack!" shouted billy. "i am not going to the bottom yet, my-----" just then young smith collided with him, and his tub filled in an instant, forcing him to swim for the shore in a hurry. "you have a submarine now, at any rate!" laughed the younger boy, who went on a few feet farther, and then had to swim for it. jack and percival were now in the lead, and the nearest to the goal, all the rest having had to swim for it by this time, and there was considerable excitement. both boys were great favorites and the fact of their entering such a novel contest just for the fun of it, and to please the boys and their visitors, was admired by everybody. there was an even chance for each of the boys, but the odds were in favor of jack, although percival was no less liked by the hilltop boys. "keep her up, jack!" roared forty boys. "go ahead, dick!" shouted as many more. percival had to take to the water a second or two ahead of jack, who won the race, much to the delight of all the boys, dick included. chapter xvi the prizes awarded it was the day when the prizes were to be announced in the literary contest, and all the hilltop boys were gathered in the pavilion eager to hear the result of the committee's consultation. the doctor arose when all were present, and spoke of the contest, saying that it had brought out the best powers of a number of the boys and showed that they all had considerable ability when they put their minds on affair of this sort, and concluding by saying: "i will now read the poem which i consider the best. in fact, it is the unanimous opinion of the committee that it is." thereupon the doctor began to read the opening lines of the poem, which were as follows: "_from the hills of the beautiful hudson, rendered sacred by patriot blood, come to us most inspiring traditions, swelling on in a glorious flood._" "_the mighty achievements of clinton, of brave putnam and---"_ here pete herring suddenly jumped on his feet, and waving a paper in his hand, cried excitedly: "that's plagiarism! that thing was not written by any of the hilltop boys. it has been taken bodily from a paper published up the state, which i get every week, and was written by-----" "why, those verses were written by jack sheldon himself!" cried percival, getting up excitedly. "they were published in the riverton news, but were unsigned. i know that jack wrote them." "please be seated, percival," said the doctor. "sit down, herring. i will give you an opportunity to speak presently. this poem purports to have been written by sheldon. is that so?" "yes, sir," said jack, "or at least what you have read was written by me. i don't know if the rest was. i cannot tell till i hear it." "and you say that the lines i have just read were not written by him?" dr. wise asked, turning to herring. "no, they were not, they were written by miss sadie may, and were published in a paper up the state. here it is. i received it this morning, and was reading it as i came in." "will you kindly read the entire poem?" herring had a good voice when he wanted to display it, and he now read the lines that the doctor had read, the poem being about twice as long as the portion already given. "the poem i have here contains these lines," said the doctor, who had been following the manuscript in his hand, "but it is considerably longer." "i did not put those verses in the poem that i submitted, sir," said jack. "they had already been published in the news, and i would not think it right to submit any but entirely new matter. will you read the rest of the poem? i can tell if it is mine, and i have a copy in my desk. if the rest is mine i do not see how these lines got in it, for i certainly did not put them in." "the other poem is certainly jack's," said percival. "he showed it to me at the time he wrote it, and i have a copy of the paper containing it. i would not wonder if other boys had it also." "i have!" spoke up five or six of the boys, harry, arthur and young smith among the number. "will you kindly let me see the out-of-town paper you have, herring?" asked the doctor. "certainly," said herring, taking the paper to the desk. "when was your poem published, sheldon?" "two weeks ago." "and this paper is a week old. you say you got it this morning?" to herring, who was on his way to his seat. "yes, but they sometimes come late or two or three together. a friend sends them to me." "have you the paper containing the poem handy, percival?" asked the doctor. "would you kindly fetch it?" "certainly, sir," and percival left the pavilion, returning in a few minutes with a copy of the riverton paper in his hand. the doctor compared the verses in both and found them to be identical, saying with a puzzled look: "the one in the news is the same as this other, but it is not signed. the other is signed sadie may. do you use that as a nom de plume, sheldon?" "no, sir, i do not," said jack with a smile. "then it strikes me that this other paper has been taking liberties with the news, not only taking things 'written especially for the news,' as printed over the poem, but declining to give any credit to the paper, and putting on the name of another besides the writer. reputable newspapers are not supposed to do this." many of the boys smiled, and the doctor continued: "didn't you recognize this poem when you read it in the out-of-town paper, herring?" "i had never seen it before," herring answered, and it was noticed by some of the boys that he seemed a bit restless. "then you do not read the riverton paper?" "no, sir, i do not." "i seldom read it myself," the doctor remarked, "or i would have remembered these verses. they are very clever and breathe the true spirit of patriotism. they really fit admirably into the rest of the poem, which i will read. will you get your copy of the verses, sheldon, and let some one compare them?" "certainly, sir," and jack arose and left the place, returning shortly and handing a copy of his poem to percival. then the doctor read the poem, and percival showed by his expression that it was identical with the one in his hand. "it is the same, sir," he said, "but it does not contain the opening lines which you read before." "i don't see how they got in there, dick," said jack. "i am sure that i did not put them in. how could i? it would have been a most astonishing piece of absent-mindedness. besides, i have only the printed copy now." "however, it happened that the opening lines belong to another poem," observed the doctor, "both by the same author, it does not alter the fact that both fit the subject admirably, and might easily be a part of one production. the metre is the same, and the subject as well. the first serves excellently as an introduction to the other." "i can see that they do, sir,", replied jack, "but i am certain that i did not submit both. by the way," with a sudden inspiration, "may i see the manuscript, sir?" "if you will come to the desk i shall be pleased to show it to you." jack went forward, took the copy of the poem, looked it over carefully a few moments, and suddenly said: "the opening lines are not in my handwriting, doctor. it is similar, but not the same. these lines have been inserted by some one else. i never put them in. you may see that they are at the top of the page, which had a wide margin. all the other pages had, but this one now has not. the title has been erased and written in at the top. some one has tampered with the manuscript. you can see for yourself, doctor." "yes, but who would do this, sheldon? you certainly do not accuse me of doing it? or any of the professors?" "hardly, doctor," with a smile, "but some one has done it." "but why should they, sheldon, especially as both poems are your own? what reason would any one have to do this? if the inserted lines belonged to another poem so that you might be accused of plagiarism, then there would be some color to this argument, but the whole thing is yours." "it is strange," said jack, going back to his seat, all the boys seeming to be greatly puzzled, and talking to each other about the matter in low and earnest tones. "i will now read the poem which took second prize," said the doctor, and proceeded to read percival's poem, very much to the latter's surprise and delight. "well, i came somewhere near you, at any rate, jack," he said, "but i never expected to come in second." there were other poems read, one receiving a prize and the best honorable mention, the boys being thoroughly satisfied with the awards, and cheering the winners loudly. jack was still puzzled about his poem, but he said nothing, having certain ideas about the matter, but not caring to make them known at the time, preferring to wait till he had more information. after the exercises were over the boys went off in little groups of four or five in different directions. percival went with jack on the river, taking young smith along, and when they were out from shore dick said: "you have an idea who inserted the verses of your other poem in your new one, haven't you, jack?" "how did herring happen to hit upon some other verses of mine which a paper up the state had stolen?" asked jack. "he might do that, of course, but how did they get into the poem you had submitted two days before if he got the paper only this morning?" "the paper was a week old, dick." "then you think that herring may have been lying, jack?" asked dick pointedly. "other persons besides herring may have seen the verses in the other paper, dick. i cannot prove---now---that herring wrote them in." "but you may do so at some other time?" "that's what he means," said young smith, "but jack never says anything against a fellow unless he is sure of it." "that's right enough, j.w., and we agree with you." "do you remember a night or so ago when billy manners had the black eye?" asked the young fellow suddenly. "he said he must have got it tripping over a tent rope, and harry said he got into their tent by mistake. i asked him what he was doing outside, and at first he would not tell me, but afterward he said there was some funny business going on the night before, and he thought that herring and merritt were in it, but he could not tell what it was." "well?" asked percival. "then he told me that he had gone to the doctor's cottage, and that some one got out the window, fell over him and gave him a black eye. herring, as he thinks, said that he would fix somebody and keep him from getting the prize. he told me not to say anything, but-----" "that's all right, j.w., it's as well you did, for now i think we will get at the bottom of this affair," said percival in decided tones. chapter xvii a puzzling matter settled at the same time that jack sheldon, dick percival and young smith were on the river together, billy manners, arthur warren and harry dickson were going up the road leading to the van der donk house, although they had no idea of going there. when they were well away from the camp and there were no other boys in sight, billy stopped short suddenly, and said: "funny thing about herring's recognizing that girl's poem in jack's verses, wasn't it?" "why, i saw those verses two weeks ago, and knew they were jack's," replied harry. "funny about my getting that black eye the other night, too, wasn't it?" billy went on. "yes, but what has that got to do with-----" "i'll tell you. that night i woke up and heard some one say in the next tent to ours: 'it's all right, i've got it,' and somebody else asked, 'can you fix `t?' and the first fellow answered, 'fix it? of course i can fix it, and fix his winning the prize, too.' that's all i heard then." "in the next tent?" said arthur. "who is in the next tent?" "herring and merritt on one side and seymour and blaisdell on the other. it was not them i heard. it was herring and merritt. i was not sure of it at the time, being half asleep, but from what has happened since-----" "hello!" exclaimed arthur. "this is getting interesting. go on to how you got the black eye, billy." "well, i knew that there was mischief of some sort going on, but i did not bear any more and fell asleep. later i woke up again and heard one of the fellows say, 'that will do first rate,' and the other one asked, 'they, won't notice the difference?' and the first one, herring i am sure, said: 'no, and now to put it back.' then they said something about the doctor being surprised, and i knew that there was some mischief on foot and i jumped out of bed and went out." "well, and what then?" asked arthur. "i saw somebody hurrying along, and followed till i came to the doctor's cottage when i stood just under the open window. i could hear some one inside and finally came to the window. i was too late, and the first thing i knew somebody jumped out and upset me. i grabbed him by the leg, and he gave me a crack in the eye that made me see stars. then he got away, and i found myself in your tent at last instead of my own, and later i fell over the tent rope and got another bump." "and what do you make out the fellow was doing in the doctor's cottage?" asked harry. "putting back the manuscript he had fixed up. he had written in the lines he thought were some one else's, and then he put it back. he must have just come from taking it away when i first heard him." "things fit in pretty well, art," said harry. "pete herring has always had it in for jack since he first came here. do you remember what jack said to him? 'what was your father?' asked pete in that nasty way he has, when jack told him his father was dead. 'a gentleman,' said jack and the emphasis he put on the word just hammered home the idea that he didn't think pete was one. it was the neatest thing i ever heard. do you remember it?" "yes, and i guess pete hasn't forgotten it either." "well, he was pretty sure that jack would take the prize, as he generally does, and he fixed up this plot, never supposing that he had got hold of one of jack's own poems." "he always makes some stupid break like that," said billy, "that upsets him. it takes a smart fellow to be a rogue, and pete isn't quite smart enough. another time when he tried to get back on jack he made some such blunder as this, and gave himself away." "you didn't say anything this morning?" said arthur. "no, for i was thinking things over. when i got to talking about it with you fellows it all came out straight." "well, jack got the prize anyhow," remarked harry, "and i don't suppose there is any use in saying anything about it. if you didn't actually catch pete in the act and recognize him, he could easily say that he was not out of his tent that night, and merritt would back him up." "yes, of course, but if he knows that i and young smith and a lot more of the boys know it he won't put on so many frills after this;" "no, he won't, but we don't go with him anyhow, and he bullies his own set into doing just what he wants, so that he never wants for company. you can't send him to coventry very well, so i don't know that it will do much good to let him know that we know all about it." "it will take down his conceit, hal," said arthur, "and that is one of his biggest assets. a bit of ridicule of his fine plot will take the starch out of him, and that's what he needs." "yes, to be sure." the boys were in sight of the van der donk house by this time, but as they had no intention of calling they turned around and went back to the camp where they met jack and his two friends just coming ashore. "i have just heard how you got your black eye the other night, billy," laughed jack. "j.w., here, said he was not to tell, but we excused him under the circumstances. we came to the conclusion that you got your black eye in trying to stop herring when he was getting out of the window of the doctor's cottage after he had put back the manuscript he had been 'fixing,' as he called it." "that's what we think," said harry. "billy has just been telling us about it. we laughed at him that night, but he was cute enough to keep the thing quiet until he found out more about it." "harry thinks it won't do any good to expose herring," said arthur, "but i think it will." "there is no especial need of it," rejoined jack quietly.. "he has only made a stupid mistake, and done me no harm whatever, and it is really not worth while to pay any more attention to it. i shall not, at any rate." "i am sorry he is here, anyhow," said arthur. "he is always making a lot of trouble. the fellows don't like him and after the other day when he claimed that he thought the rocky hill boys were playing a trick on him, and would not go to the aid of the one who had the cramp, not only our boys, but the other fellows are sore on him, and if there are any more meets they will look out that he is not asked." "they probably won't have any," added percival. "they are really bound to ask the whole academy, and so they won't ask any one. that will put an end to these meets, for they won't come up here as long as they know they will meet herring. for my part i think he ought to be exposed, but, of course, it should be as jack thinks. he is the one most concerned." "he may not stay here after this," said jack. "he did not care to stay here in the beginning, i understand, preferring to go to some more lively place, and it is likely that he will leave after this." "we'll wait a little and see," answered percival. "if he goes, that will settle the matter without any trouble. however, i want to see what brooke will have to say about that paper using your poem without his consent, and putting it under another name." the boys went to town in jack's boat, and called at the office of the news, where they found the editor busy as usual. jack had the copy of the other paper with him, and showed it to the editor, asking him if he knew anything about it. "i don't exchange with it," brooke said, "but some one may have seen the poem in our paper and sent it to him. i'll call him up." there was a long-distance telephone in the office, and the editor called up the other editor, and said: "this is brooke of the riverton news. how about your printing a poem last week written especially for us, and putting another name to it? the poem was called 'the message of the hudson.' you remember it?" "yes. it was written by a young lady stopping at the hotel here, and given to me." "oh, no, it was not. it was written by a young gentleman of the hilltop academy, and written especially for us, and not signed. i have his original manuscript in the office, and he is here now." "well, i am very sorry, but the young lady told me she wrote it, and, as i thought it was very good, i published it." "you were right enough there, for it is good, but i have a copyright, which the young lady should have seen and respected. will you make a correction in your next issue?" "i certainly will, mr. brooke, and be glad to. you don't think that i would have published the verses had i known the truth?" "no, i hope not. you might call the young lady's attention to the fact, while you are about it." "i would do so gladly, but she has left town. she is making a tour of the towns in the neighborhood." "and getting up a reputation on other persons' literary efforts," laughed brooke. "well, send me the paper. sorry you were fooled that way. take the news and you won't be again. goodbye." "that is the cheekiest thing i ever heard," laughed percival, "taking a thing bodily and claiming it as your own. i should call that stealing, if i were asked about it." "that's what it is," replied brooke, "but it is a very common practice with some papers. why, i had an editor show me an article of my own, and ask me if i did not think it quite clever. one of his compositors had written it, he said. i said a few things myself." "i imagine you did!" chuckled dick. "well, i am glad we have settled this matter. we might not have known anything about it only for a blunder made by a fellow who has not the sense to read the news every week." the editor looked puzzled and percival explained briefly, brooke laughing and adding: "that was very funny, accusing sheldon of plagiarizing his own stuff. i never heard anything quite so queer." "and all on account of his not reading your paper," rejoined percival with a wink at jack. "you should make an editorial of this, mr. brooke." "thank you, i think maybe i will," replied the editor, beginning to peck savagely at his typewriter, and the boys left the office. when they returned to camp after doing a few errands they were met at the landing by billy manners, who said with a grin: "well, it is settled. pete herring and merritt have gone to saratoga, so we will not be bothered with them any longer." "just as i thought," said jack. chapter xviii the departure of the bullies dr. wise had had something to do with the going away of herring and merritt, although the two bullies had already decided that the camp on the river would not be a very pleasant place for them in view of what had occurred in the matter of the prize poem. while the boys were out on the river and in the woods the doctor called herring into his study, and looking at him fixedly through his big black-rimmed spectacles, said slowly: "don't you think there are some very peculiar circumstances connected with your discovery of sheldon's supposed plagiarism, herring? it strikes me that there are." herring said nothing, but looked very surly, and the doctor went on. "does it not strike you as peculiar that you should have a week old paper in your pocket at the very time we were to pronounce upon the poems submitted by the students? and also that you had not noticed these verses before when they were published in a town paper? you can imitate different hand writings, can't you?" the doctor suddenly broke off. herring flushed, but said nothing. "you have never liked sheldon," said the doctor, going on to another side of the subject, "and have tried to injure him in many ways. this is known to all the hilltop boys. would it not be natural, therefore, that you would try to throw discredit on him at this time?" "it would not do me any good," muttered the other. "i did not compete for the prize." "i know you did not, but your dislike of sheldon might induce you to endeavor to injure his reputation. don't you think you went very clumsily to work about it?" "you are assuming that i did this thing," growled herring. "what proof have you that i did? suppose i should deny it?" "do you?" asked the doctor pointedly. "there haven't been any direct charges brought against me as yet, only hints and innuendoes," growled the other. "sheldon has not accused me of anything, and he is the one most interested. what is it to me if a woman up the state stole his poem? i didn't." "no, you did not, but who inserted the lines claimed by another person in the manuscript submitted? were you in the cottage the other night? some one was, for my servant heard some one prowling about, and a little later there was some sort of fracas outside. how did manners receive his black eye? can you tell me that?" "he got to wandering in his sleep and fell over a tent rope, i understand. that might give him a black eye." "didn't he seize you by the leg and shout that he had got you, and that you must give an account of yourself?" the doctor asked. "my servant heard some one say this." "i was in my tent all night when manners got his black eye," said herring, who did not fancy having this evidence brought suddenly before him. "with a light burning?" asked the doctor. "one of the guards saw a light at occasions shining from your tent. what were you doing with it?" "could it not have been merritt?" asked herring. "i do not occupy the tent alone." "you were writing in those lines, were you not? did you observe that the first page had more on it than the others? i suppose it would have taken too long to copy the entire poem, insertion and all?" "i don't know anything about it," snarled herring. "what evidence have you that i did these things that you charge me with doing?" "i have not charged you with them, herring. i am merely asking you a few questions. i have circumstantial evidence, however, that you did these things." "circumstantial evidence has hanged innocent men before now," said the bully. "haven't you any corroborative evidence?" he was beginning to grow defiant now, feeling that the doctor had no real evidence against him. "don't you think that a trip to some more lively spot for the rest of the summer would be advisable, herring?" the doctor suddenly asked, looking quizzically at him. "better for all concerned, perhaps? you don't altogether like this camp life, do you, herring?" "oh, i am satisfied with it," said herring, putting on an air of braggadocio, seeing that the doctor was giving him a loophole by which to get out. "i don't see that i need---" but then he stopped, seeing a look in the doctor's face like a danger signal. "you think on the whole that it might be as well to go somewhere else for a few weeks?" the doctor got up, and herring took the hint and went out, saying nothing further upon the subject. by the time percival and the others had returned he was packing up, and when jack and dick came back from riverton he had gone, and merritt and one or two others had gone with him. shortly after this jack and percival, while in riverton one day, came across gabrielle, the former nurse maid for mrs. van der donk, and percival, recognizing her said shortly: "how do you do? will you tell me how you happened to put that watch in my friend's pocket the night of the fire at your employer's house?" "what you say?" asked the girl in the high key customary with her. "i do not know you, i have not meet you before." "but you know me," said jack. "you remember the watch with the diamonds on the case that your friend gave you? you were talking about it on the banks of the kill one afternoon and said you had lost it. you did not lose it, did you? didn't you put it in my pocket?" "who are you?" asked the girl, making a move to pass the boys. "i brought the baby down from the room in the extension, and you took him from me and thanked me very much. you remember this? you said you would lose your place if the baby had been burned." "ah, then you are the young gentleman so brave who save the babee from being burn? ah, yes, that was very brave. the ladee give you the reward, yes? that was very good." "yes, but what about the watch? you need not be afraid. the owner has been found." "an, yes, and you find the watch in your pocket? that is very droll!" and the girl began to laugh. "yes, it was very funny," said jack, "but how did it get there?" "i put it there, me, myself. i am afraid to carry so fine a watch and i wish to get rid of him. when you give me the baby and are tangle in the blanket i put him in your pocket." "the baby?" laughed percival. "the babee?" said the girl with a look of scorn. "no, the watch. how i can put the babee in the boy pocket? that is stupid. it is easy to do when i am so close to the boy and he not know it. you have the watch then. you are be arrest, yes?" "no, i was not arrested, and i found an owner for it. your friend tried to get it, but i had heard him say that he had stolen it, and i would not give it up." "an, and now he has go away and i do not see him. you want that you shall arrest him?" "no, i don't care anything about him," said jack, "but i did want to know how the watch got in my pocket without my knowing it." "an, that is one easy thing to do," laughed the girl. "then you do not mean to make me arrest?" "no, certainly not," said jack. "i am very glad. good morning, sir," said gabrielle, and in a moment she had whisked past the boys, and when they turned to see where she had gone she had disappeared. "well, that thing is explained at any rate," said percival. "we thought she might have done it, but i don't see now how she managed it." "she is evidently very quick in her motions," suggested jack, "and from what we know of the man she was with, she may have been just such a character herself, and have learned deftness of fingers from him. he was evidently a pickpocket, and perhaps she had practiced the trade herself. that is the only explanation i can give." "no doubt it is the correct one, but it does not matter. it is really the only feasible explanation there is. she had had the watch, and she was the only one who was close enough to you that night to have done it." "well, we shall probably not see her again to find out just how she did it, and very likely she would not tell us, as that would be revealing one of the secrets of the trade, and, of course, she could not do that." chapter xix the troubles of the surveying party shortly after the meeting with gabrielle the boys were greatly surprised by the doctor's announcing that he had received a proposition from the company which operated the mountain railroads in that section for the hilltop boys to survey a new line and afterward build it. "this will give those of you who are studying engineering and surveying some practical experience," the doctor added. "just the surveying for the branch road will be done at this time, and later, some time in the fall, before the regular term begins, you will do the building. if you are agreeable we will move our camp in a day or so and begin the work at once. not all of you will care to go, of course, as all are not far advanced enough for the work." percival, jack and a number of others were fit to go into the work, however, and they were delighted at the prospect of a change of scene and of doing other work, and the party was quickly made up. being settled in their new camp, the young surveyors set out, carrying their instruments, a number of the boys who were not engaged in the work following them out of curiosity to see them at work. percival and his gang went ahead, and shortly after they had started, jack and his boys followed, jack with a level over his shoulder and boys with flags, axes, chains and other things necessary in the work, accompanying him, all in high spirits. billy manners had a magazine camera slung over his shoulder and as the boys set out at a brisk walk he ran ahead of the party, turned his camera upon them, and took a snap shot, saying with a laugh: "there, that's the first exhibit. that shows us on our way to build a railroad." "you did not get yourself in it, billy," said jack as they went on. "there isn't room on the plate for him; he's too fat," remarked young smith, who carried a pair of signal flags and a pole. "you would need a bigger lens to get billy on the plate." the boys went on at a good gait and at length were surprised by hearing a considerable noise ahead of them, loud and angry voices of men being the principal part of the disturbance. "hello! there is trouble ahead," cried harry. "i wonder what it is all about?" "we will find out in a few minutes," said jack, hurrying forward, the others quickly following. in a short time they came to a little station in the woods, not much more than a shack, by the way, and here they saw percival and his gang opposed by a number of men of rough appearance, who were talking in loud and angry tones and with threatening gestures. "hello! i've got to get this!" exclaimed billy, pointing his camera at the group and giving the bulb a squeeze. "this'll be the second exhibit, trouble on the line. i wonder what it is all about?" the arrival of the other party was somewhat of a surprise to the men and they fell back a pace, jack hurrying toward percival and asking: "what is the matter, dick? what do these men want?" "they say that we are going to ruin their farms by running a road through them," replied percival. "i'd like to know where they are. i never heard of any farms through here, nor any one else." "well, they is!" snarled one of the men, a big, rough-looking fellow with a shaggy beard and long hair which seemed not to have been combed in a month. "they is farms here and they's trout brooks an' pasters an' we ain't goin' to have 'em ruined by no railroad." "you will have to see the company," answered jack quietly. "we are not going to build immediately anyhow. we are only surveying now. the company has given us the right to do this, and if they were going to ruin any farms they would not do it. where are the farms? i am pretty well acquainted with this section and i don't know of any farms worth mentioning in all of it. we have authority from the railroad to make our surveys and you had better see some of the officers before you make trouble. dr. wise also will give you all the information you require. he is with the rest of the boys, about half a mile back." "well, we was told you was going to ruin our farms, and we won't stand fer that. you talk all right, but the fust thing we know we'll be druv out o' house an' home an' all our crops sp'iled." "you should have them in by this time. who told you that your farms would be ruined?" "well, we was told, anyhow, an' we warn ye that if any damage is done to our farms or crops ye'll have ter suffer fer it. we ain't goin' to be ground under by no graspin' mono'ly, we ain't, an' yer' goin' to know it fust as last." "there is no grasping monopoly in it," said percival impatiently. "we have a right from the railroad to make our surveys and we are going to make 'em. i don't believe there is a farm within ten miles and you don't look like farmers." "send some one back for the doctor, dick," said jack, who saw that his friend's words had angered the men. "who told you that we were going to ruin your farms?" he added, turning directly to the big man. "i don't have to tell ye!" blustered the other. "i know what railroads is an' we ain't goin' to have none on 'em rootin' up our land, an' if ye sot up any o' them machines here we're goin' ter---hi! don't shoot!" billy manners had suddenly turned his camera upon the follow, considering him a good subject for a picture, and was just about to squeeze the bulb when the man caught sight of him and sprang back. "ah! keep still," cried billy in disgust. "you've spoiled the picture. it would've been a fine one if you'd kept quiet." "i don't want my picter took!" growled the big man, falling back among the others. "ye want ter use it ag'in me, that's what. i know you fellers. an' ye ain't goin' to run no railroad, nuther!" jack looked around and quickly discovered that young smith was missing, and at once came to the conclusion that he had gone off to get the doctor so as to settle the dispute about the surveying. "if you will wait till we can send for dr. wise," he said to the men, "he will assure you that we have every right to make the survey, as well as to build the road. will you send some one, dick?" "i will go," said kenneth blaisdell, who was one of percival's party. "all right, ken, go ahead," and the boy set off through the woods, jack noticing at the same time that two of the men slipped away with the evident intention of waylaying him and preventing him from delivering the message to the doctor. "i suspected as much," he thought. "well, they don't know that young j.w. has already started. he will get through all right, for although he's little, he can be depended upon." then jack gave percival a wink and stepped back a little. chapter xx getting at the bottom of things "what is it, jack?" asked percival as he joined jack a short distance from the group of men now standing idly about. "they have sent some one to intercept blaisdell. i have already sent young smith, or at least he has taken the hint and gone off himself. he will get there, but i think we had better send some one to help ken." "you are sure, jack?" "yes, i saw the man slip away. here are art and harry. they will go." harry dickson and arthur warren now came up, and jack quickly told them what he expected and asked them to follow blaisdell and assist him if necessary, both the boys slipping away without being noticed by the party of men collected at the little station house and now talking among themselves and paying no attention to the boys. percival got all the boys together, including those who were not of the surveying party but had merely come along to see the work started, and said to them: "it is my opinion that these men have been influenced by some one who has been telling them a lot of lies, and maybe for the purpose of getting money out of us. they don't any of them look over intelligent, and i don't believe there is a regular farmer among them. they are squatters, i believe, and don't own half an acre of land among them. we don't want to have a fight with them, and i believe the doctor will settle the whole affair without any trouble as soon as he comes back with blaisdell." meantime harry and arthur had hurried on along the path through the woods and it was not long before they heard the sound of voices ahead of them, and hastened on, expecting that blaisdell was in trouble. in a short time they came upon the boy, with his back against a tree and a defiant look in his face, saying at that moment: "if you fellows attempt to touch me you will get hurt. you have no business to detain me and you will get the worst of it." "what are you doing to that boy?" cried arthur, hurrying forward. "if you want this matter settled, why don't you let him alone and allow him to go and get the doctor and have this matter arranged satisfactorily?" the arrival of two extra boys where they had expected to deal with only one rather surprised the men, and one of them said with a growl: "how do you know we was goin' to do anything to him? we've got traps an' snares here, an' we thought he was goin' to meddle with 'em. we gotter look arter our property." "it is not the time for setting snares," said arthur. "we know what you are up to. get ahead, ken. we'll keep these fellows from following you. they are a bad lot, but we will take care of them." the two boys had picked up stout sticks, and they now advanced upon the men so as to give blaisdell a chance to get away. the men fell back, being natural cowards, and one of them now said to the boys in sullen tones: "what you makin' such a fuss about, anyhow? we was only foolin' with the boy. we wasn't goin' to hurt him none." "well, i don't think you will," replied harry as blaisdell set off toward the camp of the hilltop boys, knowing that the two would be able to take care of the men. "how did you men get the idea that your farms were going to be injured?" asked arthur. "who gave you that notion?" "bill said so," replied one. "who is bill? is he the big man that did the most of the talking just now? he does not look as if he knew very much." "yes, bill's a big feller." "well, bill had better study up a bit before he goes to making trouble for people. where is his farm, anyhow? has he got one?" "ah, you talk too much!" growled the man as he walked toward the station, shortly after the return of harry and arthur blaisdell, a dozen boys came running in, the former saying: "here we are, boys. the doctor is coming as fast as he can. you have not had any fight since i went away? young smith got there ahead of me and some of the boys had already started before i got there, so i did not go all the way, but came back with them to see the fun." dr. wise, all in black and wearing big spectacles came up soon and asked percival and jack who were the men who had made the trouble at the branch. jack pointed out the big man and the doctor said to him: "what is the matter, my man? why do you wish to oppose this work? we do not intend any harm to you or to any one. the railroad company has given me full authority to make a survey and to build a branch road. what is your objection?" "it'll hurt our farms," growled big bill. "who told you that?" "phil watts, that feller yonder." "how did you learn this, watts?" asked the doctor. "jim jenkins told me." "well, well, this seems to be all hearsay information," muttered the doctor. "where is jenkins? we must learn where he got his information. who is jenkins?" "that's me," said one of the men who had hung back. "and who told you that we were going to hurt your farms by building the branch road? i do not know of any farms in this section, and if there were any it would help rather than injure them by giving you a chance to get your produce to market sooner. who told you that it would injure them, jenkins? i want to get at the bottom of this affair." "well, i wasn't the only one what was told it," growled jenkins, glaring around at his companions, "though it's been put up to me as if i started it. bill calthorpe heard it as well as me, an' so did phil watts. we was all told it together." the big man did not seem to like this admission and moved uneasily, first on one foot and then on the other. "yes, yes, but who was the person who told you?" asked the doctor a little impatiently. "we want to get at the first person who gave this information. was it one of yourselves or a stranger? do you actually know the person who told you this?" "no, i don't," growled jenkins, "but i can tell you this, and that is that he was a big young feller and had a uniform under his coat which come open while he was talkin', so's i could see it plain; an' if it wasn't the same identical uniform them boys wear, i'll eat my hat!" "do you see him now?" asked the doctor. jenkins looked around and bill calthorpe and the other squatters did the same, the first speaker's admission not being denied by any of them. "no, he ain't here now," said jenkins. "was he here at all to-day?" suddenly asked billy manners in a tone that brought attention upon him in an instant. "yes, he was!" said jenkins doggedly, and all the boys gave a gasp. chapter xxi what appeared on billy's plates the statement of jim jenkins that a boy wearing the uniform of the hilltop boys had told him and others that the building of the branch line would injure them had already caused considerable excitement among the young students, and jim's second statement to the effect that the boy had been there that very day only served to increase it. the doctor did not seem to care about pressing this point, however, and said somewhat impatiently: "well, whoever it was who gave you this information, it was false, and i will prove to you that we have every authority for going on with this work and that it will not injure you in the least." dr. wise then produced maps, letters and other documents and proceeded to enforce his point. the men seemed little interested, however, and several of them went away while the doctor was stating his case, the big man at length saying in a surly tone as he turned away: "that's all right, go on with yer old road, but i'd just like-----" and he went away muttering, followed by the greater part of the men still remaining, some having already left. "ha! very strange, quite incomprehensible, yes, yes," said the doctor. "well, well! i really can't---well, never mind. go on with your work, young gentlemen. i do not think it will again be interfered with." percival had not waited for the word to go ahead, but had already set up his theodolite while the doctor was explaining matters to the men, and had taken a number of sights, set his first bench mark and was getting his boys to work, jack being ready to follow behind with his levelers as soon as the work ahead was far enough advanced. the greater part of the men went away with calthorpe, but a few of them remained behind to watch the boys at work, showing considerable interest. percival took his sights, fixed his direction and went ahead rapidly, setting his stakes and running his line roughly, jack coming on later and settling the level. after supper, when it was quite dark and the boys were sitting around the camp fires, enjoying the warmth fully as much as the light, billy manners came quietly to jack, who was sitting with percival, the latter playing softly on a guitar, and whispered in his ear: "come with me, jack. i've got something to show you that will give you a surprise and set you to thinking." "what is it, billy?" asked jack. "come and see!" was the mysterious answer, and jack arose and followed billy to a little tent in a bit of thick woods outside the camp. "what is it, billy?" asked jack as billy opened the flap of his little tent where the light of a small red lantern shone upon a bench where there were hard rubber trays, a few big bottles and a pail of water. "i have been developing," said billy. "i can take out the plates i have already exposed and leave the others in the camera. it's a magazine, you understand." "yes, i know all about them. well, what are you going to show me?" "there are developments which we did not expect," laughed billy. "never mind your puns, billy, but get to business. i know you have developments, but what are they?" "here is one," said the other, holding up a developed plate between his friend and the light of the ruby lamp. "what do you see on it?" jack examined the plate a few moments, and said: "it is the station in the woods. some one has just jumped aside. you can see a bit of a blur on the edge like a man's arm and hand." "yes, and what do you see behind where the man was?" "two persons talking. why, one of them is herring." "that's all right. now look at this one," and billy held up another plate which was still wet. jack took it in his fingers and held it to the light. "this is in the woods," he said. "yes. it was the first one i took when we came up and found that the men were making trouble for percival. what do you see on it, jack?" "i see some men making a disturbance, gesticulating and talking excitedly to dick and his boys." "yes, that's all right. what else?" "ah, here are two persons, almost out of focus and talking very interestedly together at one side. they are down in front at one side and their figures are larger than---why, billy, they are jenkins and herring." "exactly!" said billy with a deal of satisfaction. "i thought you'd see them if i said nothing and i'm glad you found them yourself. i am going to have a print of that plate as soon as it gets dry enough. i can dry it by a little stove i have and then take a bromide print of it in soft grays. that will fetch it up all right." "but, billy, what are herring and jim jenkins doing together and what are they so interested about?" "didn't jenkins say that a boy wearing the uniform of the hilltops had told him and the rest that running the branch would hurt them?" "this picture shows that herring had something to do with jenkins and yet everybody supposed he was in saratoga." "that's herring all right and that's jenkins," said billy. "i'll dry the plate and take a print of it. it won't hurt anything to have a light now as i have no undeveloped plates about." billy then raised the red glass of the lantern to the top and shoved a plain one under it, and then, lighting a little oil stove, proceeded to carefully dry his plates, presently standing them up not too near the stove and getting out his printing frames and a package of photographic paper done up in a thick sheet of heavy black paper which excluded the light. the little tent was lined with tar paper which had no glaze and was of an intense black, expelling all white rays which might be injurious to his exposed plates, the red rays not doing this. when his plates were dry billy put one of them in his frame, which contained a sheet of plain glass, and slipped one of his sensitized sheets under it, closing the frame with a cleat under the back. passing this in front of the lamp for a few moments, he removed the paper and placed it in a tray containing a developing fluid, when at once the print began to show very plain. when it was dark enough he removed it from the tray and put it in another which contained a fixing fluid which prevented further development, and presently washed it thoroughly in clear water. "what do you think of that?" he asked jack, with a tone of triumph. "it is convincing, isn't it?" "it shows herring talking to jenkins, but you cannot tell what he says," remarked jack with a smile. "no, i have not got to taking talking pictures yet," laughed billy, "but the very fact that he was with jenkins at all means something." chapter xxii everything is settled the boys left the little developing room after putting out the lights and seeing that all was safe and that there was no chance of fire, and made their way to the middle of the camp, where there was an open space in which a number of the boys had gathered to amuse themselves. there were several good singers among the boys and a number of them had musical instruments, banjos, guitars and mandolins, so that it was an easy matter to get up a concert at any time, the boys whiling away many an hour in this fashion. some of the musicians had already begun to play when the three boys arrived, their absence not having been noticed, and now arthur, who played the banjo, called upon a number of the boys to join in a plantation melody and later a number of the old and new college songs. blaisdell had a good voice and he started the songs, the others quickly joining him, till there were a dozen or more and fifty for the chorus, the woods fairly ringing with the melody, which could be heard a mile away by the men who had tried to stop the boys from surveying. "huh! they're singin' up there!" growled the big man. "we hain't got nothin' yet, an' that young feller said he was goin' to pay us." "we orter got pay afore we done anythin', that's the trouble," growled jenkins. "he was a sneak. arter promisin' to pay us for makin' trouble, he run away an' left us." "mebby if we tell the ingineers who he is they'll pay us," suggested one of the men. "we gotter get something out o' this." "that's true enough," echoed calthorpe. "we can't do things for nothing. we gotter make something." "i guess if we tell the young feller that we know who it was what sot us ag'in' him he'll pay us something," added jenkins. "it don't make no difference to me where i get money, so long as i get it." "o' course not," said a number of the men in a breath. "one feller's money is as good as another feller's." "let's go down there and see 'em," suggested calthorpe. "if the feller what hired us won't pay up, we'll get it from some other feller. that's all right enough, i guess." half an hour later bucephalus called percival to the edge of the camp, telling him that he was wanted, jack and billy going with dick. "did you want to see me?" he asked, seeing jenkins and calthorpe. "yes, i guess so," stammered jenkins. "you're at the head of the ingineers, ain't ye?" "i am with them," percival replied. "you are one of the men who tried to stop us, aren't you? you are jenkins, i believe?" "yes, that's me. what i wanted to say is this. i know who the feller was what told us we'd be hurt ef the road went through, and mebby you'd like to know who he is. i kin tell ye, for i know his name an' he's one of-----" "we know who he is," broke in jack, "and you can tell us nothing." jenkins seemed a good deal put back by this speech and stammered not a little as he replied: "huh! yer didn't know who he was this afternoon, 'cause ye asked me if i had saw him. guess ye're only bluffin' an' don't know-----" "look at this!" said jack, suddenly shoving the print he had received from billy that very evening under the man's nose, there being light enough for him to see it. "do you recognize any one there?" "by jinks!" exclaimed jenkins, who recognized his own portrait first of all. "you've been takin' our picters to use ag 'in' us. gimme that!" jenkins tried to snatch the picture as jack drew it back, but percival, by a quick movement, threw his hand up and said sharply: "no, you don't, my man! we want to keep that picture for evidence. besides, even if you got it, we can print a hundred more of them." "ain't you goin' to give us anything for telling you who it was?" jenkins asked in a tone of disappointment. "no, for you have not told us." "but i told you it was one of your fellers this afternoon. you wouldn't ha' known anything about it if i hadn't." "oh, yes we would," laughed billy. "that picture was already taken when you mentioned the matter, and the minute we saw it we would have known that something was wrong, even if you hadn't said a word." "and we ain't goin' to get nothing?" "no!" said jack in a tone of decision. "you may get what you don't want, though i won't say but that you deserve it all right," laughed percival "i mean a term in jail." "and so this was what you sent to us for?" said jack. "you might have known you would get nothing. come, dick. come, billy. there is no use wasting any more time on these fellows." "you look out that we don't go on our own hook and stop your workin' the branch," snarled calthorpe. "we can make trouble for you and we-----" "herring cannot have paid them anything for what they did," remarked percival as they walked back toward the middle of the camp. "that is like him, to promise them something for a service and then forget all about it. i don't believe he ever intended to pay them." "that's nothing new for pete," said billy. "the man or boy who relies on that fellow keeping his word is going to get left." the work was resumed the next morning and progressed rapidly, many of the boys from the camp who were not of the surveying party coming to see how things were getting on. then, greatly to the disgust of the hilltoppers, peter herring and some of his cronies came along and stopped to watch the surveyors. "i thought we would see him before long, dick," said jack in a low tone to percival. "he could not stay away." "huh! surveying, are you?" sneered herring. "much you know about such things! fine old railroad you fellows could build." "i wouldn't want to ride on it, would you, pete?" asked merritt. "the only time it would go smooth would be when the cars was off the track." "i thought you were at saratoga," said percival. "so i was, but it was too slow there." "so you thought you'd come here and make trouble for us?" "huh! i only got here just now. me and a friend was motoring and heard that there were some surveyors around, and we came to watch them." "then you were not talking to jenkins and calthorpe and the other squatters and telling them that we wanted to ruin their farms?" "don't know what you're talking about!" blustered herring, but jack saw him turn color and knew that he had been taken by surprise. "who are jenkins and calthorpe?" "and you have not been anywhere near this place till just now?" asked jack quietly. "no, of course i haven't! i told you i just came." "then how about this?" and the boy suddenly thrust the print billy had taken right under the bully's nose. "what were you saying to jenkins when billy snapped this? jenkins said a boy who answered to your description told them that we would ruin their farms." herring flushed deeply and seemed utterly taken aback, it being clear that he had not suspected the existence of this picture, which was the clearest kind of evidence against him. he tried to snatch it out of jack's hand, but the boy was too quick for him and drew it back, saying: "what were you saying to jenkins at the time that picture was snapped, herring?" "i was telling him that there was no use to bother you about the surveying," growled herring. "why would i want to get 'em to trouble you for? it was nothing to me what you did." "but just now you said that you had not seen jenkins and did not know him. this shows that you must have done so, and in fact jenkins himself said that one of our boys, a big fellow-----" "ah, what do i care what he said?" growled herring, turning quickly and walking toward the road, followed by his companions. they did not see him again and were not troubled by jenkins or any of the pretended farmers, the work of surveying going on rapidly after that. at length it was completed to the satisfaction of everyone and the camp was broken up, the boys dispersing to their several homes. those who have been interested in the fortunes of jack sheldon and his friends will welcome the next volume of the series, which will show the young surveyors completing the work already begun and contain much to interest and instruct, as well as to amuse. jack spent a part of his vacation with percival, and when the two parted dick said earnestly: "you'll be on hand for the building of the railroad, jack?" "i certainly will, dick." the end [illustration: hervey fixed his eyes upon the one remaining light and ran with utter desperation. tom slade's double dare. frontispiece--page 40] ----------------------------------------------------------------------tom slade's double dare by percy keese fitzhugh author of tom slade, boy scout, tom slade at black lake, roy blakeley, etc. illustrated by r. emmett owen published with the approval of the boy scouts of america grosset & dunlap publishers :: new york made in the united states of america ----------------------------------------------------------------------copyright, 1922, by grosset & dunlap ---------------------------------------------------------------------- the life of a scout is bold, so bold, his adventures have never been told, been told. his legs they are bare, and he won't take a dare, the life of a scout is bold. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- contents chapter page i the light goes out 1 ii the bridge 10 iii an important mission 14 iv the tree 21 v win or lose 26 vi shadows of the night 33 vii the light that failed 37 viii almost 44 ix the hero 51 x proven a scout 57 xi the new scout 63 xii the gray roadster 68 xiii the unknown trail 74 xiv on the summit 80 xv a scout is thorough 85 xvi the wandering minstrel 90 xvii tom's interest aroused 97 xviii triumph and--- 101 xix hervey shows his colors 104 xx tom advises goliath 116 xxi words 123 xxii action 130 xxiii the monster 133 xxiv gilbert's discovery 140 xxv a voice in the dark 145 xxvi love me, love my dog 151 xxvii tom learns something 157 xxviii the black sheep 164 xxix stunts and stunts 169 xxx the double dare 173 xxxi the court in session 181 xxxii over the top 187 xxxiii questions 198 xxxiv the message 205 xxxv the hero 209 xxxvi harlowe's story 213 ----------------------------------------------------------------------tom slade's double dare chapter i the light goes out if it were not for the very remarkable part played by the scouts in this strange business, perhaps it would have been just as well if the whole matter had been allowed to die when the newspaper excitement subsided. singularly enough, that part of the curious drama which unfolded itself at temple camp is the very part which was never material for glaring headlines. the main occurrence is familiar enough to the inhabitants of the neighborhood about the scout camp, but the sequel has never been told, for scouts do not seek notoriety, and the quiet woodland community in its sequestered hills is as remote from the turmoil and gossip of the world as if it were located at the north pole. but i know the story of aaron harlowe from beginning to end, and the part that tom slade played in it, and all the latter history of goliath, as they called him. and i purpose to set all these matters down for your entertainment, for i think that first and last they make a pretty good camp-fire yarn. * * * * * for a week it had been raining at temple camp, and the ground was soggy from the continuous downpour. the thatched roofs of the more primitive type of cabins looked bedrabbled, like the hair of a bather emerging from the lake, and the more substantial shelters were crowded with the overflow from these and from tents deserted by troops and patrols that had been almost drowned out. the grub boards out under the elm trees had been removed to the main pavilion. the diving springboard was submerged by the swollen lake, the rowboats rocked logily, half full of water, and the woods across the lake looked weird and dim through the incessant stream of rain, rain, rain. the spring which supplied the camp and for years had been content to bubble in its modest abode among the rocks, burst forth from its shady and sequestered prison and came tumbling, roaring down out of the woods, like some boisterous marauder, and rushed headlong into the lake. being no respecter of persons, the invader swept straight through the cabin of the silver fox patrol, and the silver fox patrol took up their belongings and went over to the pavilion where they sat along the deep veranda with others, their chairs tilted back, watching the gloomy scene across the lake. "this is good weather for the race," said roy blakeley. "what race?" demanded pee-wee harris. "the human race. no sooner said than stung. it's good weather to study monotony." "all we can do is eat," said pee-wee. "right the first time," roy responded. "there's only one thing you don't like about meals and that's the time between them." "what are we going to do for two hours, waiting for supper?" a scout asked. "search _me_," said roy; "tell riddles, i guess. if we had some ham we'd have some ham and eggs, if we only had some eggs. we should worry. it's going to rain for forty-eight hours and three months more. that's what that scout from walla-walla told me." "that's a dickens of a name for a city," said westy martin of roy's patrol. "it's a nice place, they liked it so much they named it twice," roy said. "there's a troop here all the way from salt lake," said dorry benton. "they ought to have plenty of pep," said roy. "there's a troop came from hoboken, too," will dawson observed. "i don't blame them," roy said. "there's a troop coming from kingston next week. they've got an eagle scout, i understand." "don't you suppose i know that?" pee-wee shouted. "uncle jeb had a letter from them yesterday; i saw it." "was it in their own handwriting?" "what do you mean?" pee-wee demanded disgustedly. "how can a troop have a handwriting?" "they must be very ignorant," roy said. "can you send an animal by mail?" "sure you can't!" pee-wee shouted. "that's where you're wrong," said roy. "i got a letter with a seal on it." "can you unscramble eggs?" pee-wee demanded. "there you go, talking about eats again. can't you wait two hours?" there was nothing to do but wait, and watch the drops as they pattered down on the lake. "this is the longest rain in history except the reign of queen elizabeth," roy said. "if i ever meet saint swithin----" this sort of talk was a sample of life at temple camp for seven days past. those who were not given to jollying and banter had fallen back on checkers and dominos and other wild sports. a few of the more adventurous and reckless made birchbark ornaments, while those who were in utter despair for something to do wrote letters home. several dauntless spirits had braved the rain to catch some fish, but the fish, themselves disgusted, stayed down at the bottom of the lake, out of the wet, as roy said. it was so wet that even the turtles wouldn't come out without umbrellas. rain, rain, rain. it flowed off the pavilion roof like a waterfall. it shrunk tent canvas which pulled on the ropes and lifted the pegs out of the soggy ground. it buried the roads in mud. hour in and hour out the scouts sat along the back of the deep veranda, beguiling their enforced leisure with banter and riddles and camp gossip. on friday afternoon a brisk wind arose and blew the rain sideways so that most of the scouts withdrew from their last entrenchment and went inside. you have to take off your hat to a rain which can drive a scout in out of the open. it began blowing in across the veranda in fitful little gusts and within an hour the wind had lashed itself into a gale. a few of the hardier spirits, including roy, held their ground on the veranda, squeezing back against the shingled side whenever an unusually severe gust assailed them. there is no such thing as twilight in such weather, but the sodden sky grew darker, and the mountainside across the lake became gloomier and more forbidding as the night drew on apace. the few remaining stragglers on the veranda watched this darkening scene with a kind of idle half interest, ducking the occasional gusts. "how would you like to be out on the lake now?" one asked. the question directed their gaze out upon the churning, black sheet of water before them. the lake, lying amid those frowning, wooded hills, was somber enough at all times, and a quiet gloom pervaded it which imparted a rare charm. but now, in the grip of the rain and wind, the enshrouding night made the lake seem like a place haunted, and the enclosing mountains desolate and forlorn. "i'll swim across with anybody," said hervey willetts. he belonged in a troop from western new york and reveled in stunts which bespoke a kind of blithe daring. no one took him up and silence reigned for a few minutes more. "there's the little light on the top of the mountain," said will dawson of roy's patrol. "if there's anybody up there, i hope he has an umbrella." but of course there was no one up there. for weeks the tiny light away up on the summit of that mountain wilderness had puzzled the scouts of camp. they had not, indeed, been able to determine that it was a light; it seemed rather a tiny patch of brightness which was always brighter when the moon shone. this had led to the belief that it was caused by some kind of natural phenomena. the scouts fixed their gaze upon it, watching it curiously for a few moments. "it isn't a reflection, that's sure," said roy, "or we wouldn't see it on a night like this." "it's a phosphate," said pee-wee. "it's a chocolate soda," said roy. "you're crazy!" pee-wee vociferated. "phosphate is something that shines in the dark." "you mean phosphorus," said westy martin. that seemed a not unlikely explanation. but the consensus of opinion in camp was that the bright patch was the reflection of some powerful light in the low country on the opposite side of the mountain. "it's a mystery," said pee-wee, "that's what it is." suddenly, while they gazed, it went out. they watched but it did not come again. and the frowning, jungle-covered, storm beaten summit was enshrouded again in ghostly darkness. and the increasing gale beat the lake, and the driven rain assailed the few stragglers on the veranda with lashing fury. and across the black water, in that ghoul-haunted, trackless wilderness, could be heard the sound of timber being rent in splinters and of great trees crashing down the mountainside. suddenly a word from westy martin aroused them all like a cannon shot. "look!" he shouted, "_look! look at the springboard!_" every one of them looked, speechless, astonished, aghast, at the sight which they beheld before their very eyes. chapter ii the bridge there, just below them was the springboard an inch or two above the surface of the lake. ordinarily it projected from the shore nearly a yard above the water, but lately the swollen lake had risen above it. now, however, it was visible again just above the surface. this meant that the water had receded more in an hour than it had risen in a whole week. the strong wind was blowing toward the pavilion and would naturally force the water up along that shore. but in spite of the wind the water in the lake was receding at an alarming rate. something was wrong. the little trickle from the spring up behind the camp had grown into a torrent and was pouring into the lake. yet the water in the lake was receding. down out of the mountain wilderness across the water came weird noises, caused no doubt by the tumult of the wind in the intricate fastnesses and by the falling of great trees, but the sounds struck upon the ears of the besieged listeners like voices wild and unearthly. the banging of the big shutters of the pavilion was heard in echo as the furious gale bore the sounds back from the mountain and the familiar, homely noise was conjured into a kind of ghostly clamor. "there goes pee-wee's signal tower," a scout remarked, and just as he spoke, the little rustic edifice which had been the handiwork and pride of the tenderfoots went crashing to the ground while out of the woods across the water came sounds as of merry laughter at its downfall. "something's wrong over on the other side," said westy martin of roy's patrol; "the lake's breaking through over there." scarcely had he uttered the words when all the scouts of the little group were at the railing craning their necks and straining their eyes trying to see across the water. but the wind and rain beat in their faces and the driving downpour formed an impenetrable mist. as they withdrew again into the comparative shelter of the porch they saw a young fellow standing with his bare arm upraised against the door-jam, watching and listening. this was the young camp assistant, tom slade. he had evidently come out to fasten the noisy shutters and had paused to contemplate the tempest. "some storm, hey, tomasso?" said roy. "i think the water's going out through the cove," said tom. "it must have washed away the land over there." "let it go, we can't stop it," said roy. "if it's running out into the valley, it's good-night to berry's garage, and the bridge too," said tom. the young assistant was popular with the boys at camp, and struck by this suggestion of imminent catastrophe, they clustered about him, listening eagerly. so loud was the noise of the storm, so deafening the sound of rending timber on that gale-swept height before them, that tom had to raise his voice to make himself heard. the danger to human life which he had been the first to think of, gave the storm new terror to these young watchers. it needed only this touch of mortal peril in that panorama of dreadfulness to arouse them, good scouts that they were, to the chances of adventure and the possibility of service. "we can't do anything, can we?" one asked. "it's too late now, isn't it?" "it's either too late or it isn't," said tom slade; "and it's for us to see. i was thinking of berry's place, and i was thinking of the crowd that's coming up tonight on the bus. if the water has broken through across the lake and is pouring into the valley, it'll wash away the bridge. the bus ought to be here now. there are two troops from the four-twenty train at catskill. maybe the train is late on account of the weather. if the bridge is down...." "call up berry's place and find out," said westy martin. "that's just what has me worrying," said tom; "berry's doesn't answer." chapter iii an important mission temple camp was situated on a gentle slope close to the east shore of the lake. save for this small area of habitable land the lake was entirely surrounded by mountains. and it was the inverted forms of these mountains reflected in the water which gave it the somber hue whence the lake derived its name. on sunless days and in the twilight, the water seemed as black as night. directly across the water from the camp, the most forbidding of those surrounding heights reared its deeply wooded summit three thousand feet above the sea level. a wilderness of tangled underbrush, like barbed wire entanglements, baffled the hardiest adventurer. no scout had penetrated those dismal fastnesses which the legend of camp reputed to be haunted. beside the rocky base of this mountain was a tiny cove, a dim, romantic little place, where the water was as still as in a pool. its two sides were the lower reaches of the great mountain and its neighbor, and all that prevented the cove from being an outlet was a little hubble of land which separated this secluded nook from a narrow valley, or gully, beyond. sometimes, indeed, after a rainy spell the water in the cove overflowed this little hubble of land enough to trickle through into the gully, and then you could pick fish up with your hands where they flopped about marooned in the channel below. probably this gully was an old dried-up stream bed. about a mile from the lake it became wider and was intersected by a road. here it was that the bridge spanned the hollow. and here it was, right in the hollow near the bridge, that ebon berry had his rural garage. along this road the old bus lumbered daily, bringing new arrivals to camp and touching at villages beyond. if, indeed, the swollen lake had washed away the inner shore of the cove, the sequel would be serious if not tragic at that quiet road crossing. the question was, had this happened, and if so, had the bus reached the fatal spot? all that the boys knew was that the bus was long overdue and that berry's "did not answer." and that the fury of the storm was rising with every minute. tom slade spoke calmly as was his wont. no storm could arouse him out of his stolid, thoughtful habit. "a couple of scoutmasters have started along the road," he said, "to see what they can find out. how about you, hervey? are you game to skirt the lake? how about you, roy? there may be danger over there." "believe me, i hope it'll wait till we get there," said hervey willetts. "i'll go!" shouted pee-wee. "you'll go--in and get supper," said tom. "i want just three fellows; i'm not going to overload a boat in this kind of weather. i'll take roy and hervey and westy, if you fellows are game to go. you go in and get a lantern, pee-wee." "and don't forget to leave some pie for those two troops that are coming on the bus," added roy. pee-wee did better than bring a lantern; he brought also three oilskin jackets and hats which the younger boys donned. he must also have advertised the adventurous expedition during his errand indoors, for a couple of dozen envious scouts followed him out and watched the little party depart. the four made their way against a blown rain which all but blinded them and streamed from their hats and rendered their storm jackets quite useless. tom wore khaki trousers and a pongee shirt which clung to him like wet tissue paper. if one cannot be thoroughly dry the next best thing is to be thoroughly wet. they chose the widest and heaviest of the boats, a stout old tub with two pairs of oarlocks. each of the four manned an oar and pulled with both hands. it was almost impossible to get started against the wind, and when at last their steady, even pulling overcame the deterring power of the gale they were able to move at but a snail's pace. they followed the shoreline, keeping as close in as they could, preferring the circuitous route to the more perilous row across the lake. as their roundabout voyage brought them to the opposite shore, their progress became easier, for the mountain rising sheer above them protected them from the wind. "let her drift a minute," said tom, panting; "lift your oars." it was the first word that any of them had spoken, so intense had been their exertions. "she's going straight ahead," said westy. "what's that?" said roy suddenly. "look out!" he spoke just in time to enable them to get out of the path of a floating tree which was drifting rapidly in the same direction as the boat. its great mass of muddy roots brushed against them. "it's just as i thought," tom said; "the water must be pouring out through the cove. we're caught in it. let's try to get a little off shore; we'll have one of those trees come tumbling down on our heads the first thing we know." "not so easy," said hervey, as they tried to backwater and at the same time get out from under the mountain. "put her in reverse," said roy, who never failed to get the funny squint on a situation. but there was no use, the rushing water had them in its grip and they were borne along pell-mell, with trees and broken limbs which had fallen down the mountainside. they were directly opposite the camp now, and cheerful lights could be seen in the pavilion where the whole camp community was congregated, safe from the storm. the noises which had seemed weird enough at camp were appalling now, as out of that havoc far above them, great bowlders came tumbling down into the lake with loud splashes. tom realized, all too late, the cause of the dreadful peril they were in. out on the body of the lake and toward the camp shore the wind was blowing a gale from the mountains and, as it were, forcing the water back. but directly under the mountain there was no wind, and their position was as that of a person who is _under_ the curve of a waterfall. and here, because there was no wind to counteract it, the water was rushing toward what was left of the cove. it was like a rapid river flowing close to the shore and bearing upon its hurrying water the dã©bris which had crashed down from that lonesome, storm-torn height. the boat was caught in this rushing water and the danger was increased by its closeness to the shore where every missile of rock or tree, cast by that frowning monster, might at any minute dash the craft to splinters. the little flickering lights which shone through the spray and fine blown rain across that black water seemed very cheerful and inviting now. chapter iv the tree "we're in a bad fix," said tom; "let's try to make a landing and see if we can scramble along shore to the cove." it is doubtful whether they could have scrambled along that precipitous bank, but in any case, so great was the impetus of the rushing water that even making a landing was impossible. the boat was borne along with a force that all their exertions could not counteract, headlong for the cove. "what can we do?" roy asked. "the only thing that i know of," said tom, "is to get within reach of the shore in the cove. if we can do that we might get to safety even if we have to jump." presently the boat went careening into the cove; an appalling sound of scraping, then of tearing, was heard beneath it, it reared up forward, spilling its occupants into the whirling water and, settling sideways, remained stationary. the boys found themselves clinging to the branches of a broken tree which was wedged crossways in the cove, its trunk entirely submerged. it formed a sort of makeshift dam and the boat, caught in its branches, added to the obstruction. if it had not been for this tree the boat would have been borne upon the flood, with what tragic sequel who shall say? "all right," said tom, "we're lucky; keep hold of the branches, it's only a few feet to shore; careful how you step. if you let go it's all over. we could never swim in this torrent." "where do you suppose this tree came from?" roy asked. "from the top of the mountain for all i know," tom answered. "watch your step and follow me. we're in luck." "you don't call this luck, do you?" westy asked. "watch me, i can go scout-pace on the trunk," said hervey, handing himself along. "never mind any of those stunts," said tom; "you watch what you're doing and follow me." "the pleasure is mine," said hervey; "a scout is always--whoa! there's where i nearly dipped the dip. watch me swing over this branch. i bet you can't hang by your knees--like this." there are some people who think that trees were made to bear fruit and to afford shade, and to supply timber. but that is a mistake; they were made for hervey willetts. they were the scenes of his gayest stunts. he had even been known to dive under the water and shimmy up a tree that was reflected there. he even claimed that he got a splinter in his hand, so doing! upside down or wedged across a channel under water, trees were all the same to hervey willetts. he lived in trees. he knew nothing whatever about the different kinds of trees and he could not tell spruce from walnut. but he could hang by one leg from a rotten branch, the while playing a harmonica. he was for the boy scout movement, because he was for movement generally. as long as the scouts kept moving, he was with them. he had a lot of merit badges but he did not know how many. "he should worry," as roy said of him. "here's a good one--known as the jazzy-jump," he exclaimed. "put your left foot...." "you put your left foot on the trunk and don't let go the branches and follow me," said tom, soberly. "do you think this is a picnic we're on?" "after you, my dear tomasso," said hervey, blithely. "i guess we're not going to be killed after all, hey?" "i'm afraid not," said tom. "i wish i had an ice cream soda, i know that," said roy. "careful how you step ashore now," tom said. "terra cotta at last," said roy; "i mean terra firma." "jump it," called hervey, who was behind roy. thus, emerging from a peril, which none but tom had fully realized, they found themselves on the comparatively low shore of the cove. the tree, itself a victim of the storm, poked its branches up out of the black water like specters, which seemed the more grewsome as they swayed in the wind. these had guided the little party to shore. so it was that that once stately denizen of the lofty forest had paused here to make a last stand against the storm which had uprooted it. so it was that this fallen monarch, friend of the scouts, had contrived to check somewhat the mad rush of water out of their beloved lake, and had guided four of them to safety. chapter v win or lose the dying mission of that noble tree suggested a thought to tom. the water from the lake was pouring over it, though checked somewhat by the tree and the boat. if this tree, firmly wedged in place, could be made the nucleus of a mass of wreckage, the flood might be effectually checked, temporarily, at least. one thing, a moment's glance at the condition of the cove showed all too certainly what must have happened at the road-crossing. that the little rustic bridge there could have withstood the first overwhelming rush of the flood was quite unthinkable. berry's garage too, perched on the edge of the hollow, must have been swept away. [illustration: the tree poked its branches up out of the black water and guided them to safety. tom slade's double dare. page 25] [illustration: (transcriber's note: map including black lake, the rustic bridge, and berry's garage.)] and where was the lumbering old bus? that was the question now. if it had been a motor bus its lights might have foretold the danger. but it was one of those old-fashioned horse-drawn stages which are still seen in mountain districts. in all that tumult of storm, tom slade paused to think. all about them was bedlam. down the precipitous mountainside hard by, were crashing the torn and uprooted trophies of the storm high in those dizzy recesses above, where eagles, undisturbed by any human presence, made their homes upon the crags. the rending and crashing up there was conjured by the distance into a hundred weird and uncanny voices which now and again seemed like the wailing of human souls. the rush of water, gathering force in the narrow confines of the cove, became a torrent and threw a white spray in the faces of the boys as it beat against the fallen tree. it seemed strange that they could be so close to this paroxysm of the elements, in the very center of it as one might say, and yet be safe. nature was in a mad turmoil all about them, yet by a lucky chance they stood upon a little oasis of temporary refuge. "there are two things that have to be done--quick," said tom. "somebody has got to pick his way down the west shore back to camp. it's through the mountains and maybe two of you had better go. here, take my compass," he added, handing it to westy. "have you got some matches?" "i've got my flashlight," said roy. so it fell out that westy and roy were the ones to make the journey back to camp. "keep as close to the shore as you can, it's easier going and shorter," tom said. "anyway, use the compass and keep going straight south till you see the lights at camp, then turn east. you ought to be able to do it in an hour. tell everybody to get busy and throw everything in the water that'll help plug up the passage. chuck in the logs from the woodshed." "how about the remains of pee-wee's signal tower?" "good, chuck that in. throw in everything that can be spared. most of it will drift over here and get caught in the rush. if the wind dies it will all come over. hurry up! i'll stay here and try to get in place anything more that comes in in the meantime. there are a lot of broken limbs and things around here. hurry up now, _beat it!_ and don't stop till you get there.... don't let anybody try to start over in a boat," he called after them. scarcely had they set off when he turned to hervey willetts, placing both his hands on the boy's shoulders. the rain was streaming down from hervey's streaked hair. the funny little rimless hat cut full of holes which he wore on the side of his head and which was the pride of his life had collapsed by reason of being utterly soaked, for he had very early discarded the oilskin "roof" in preference for this old love. one of his stockings was falling down and he hoisted this up as tom spoke to him. "hervey, i'm glad you're going alone, because you won't have to do any stunts for anybody's benefit. you're going to keep your mind on just one thing. understand?" "i can think of nine things at once," said hervey, blithely, "and sing _over there_ and eat a banana at the same time. how's that?" "that's fine. now listen--just two seconds. you're to hit right straight up through this country--north. you notice i gave the compass to roy? that's because i know you can't get rattled when you're alone and when you put your mind on a thing. you're to go straight north till you reach the road. i'll have to keep the lantern here, but you won't need it. you've got about a quarter of a mile of rough country and then easy going. straight north beyond the road is crows nest mountain. turn around, that's right. shut your eyes. one--two--three--four--five. now open them suddenly. you see that black bulk. that's crows nest. now you know how to see a dark thing in the dark...." "do you know how to tell time with a clothespin?" "never mind that. about every ten minutes stop and shut your eyes and old crows nest will guide you. don't get rattled. when you get to the road wait for the bus and _stop it_. if it has passed by now, we can't help it. i'm afraid it has. but if it _hasn't_, there are two troops in it and their _lives depend on you_. now get out of here--quick!" "what was that?" hervey said, pausing and clutching tom's arm. "what was what?" "that sound--away off. hear it?" amid the wild clamor of the tempest, the dashing of the impeded water close by, and the ghostly voices up in that mountain wilderness, there sounded, far off, subdued and steady, a low melodious call, spent and thin from the distance, and blended with the myriad sounds of the raging storm. "_it's the train_," said tom. still hervey did not move, only clutched his companion's arm. one second--two seconds--three, four, five, six. the sound died away in the uproar of wind and rain.... still the two paused for just a moment more, as if held by a spell. "a mile and a half--four miles," said tom. "four miles of road. a mile and a half of hills and swamps. they're at the station now. you _can't_ do it, kid. but you'd better fail trying than not try at all. what do you say?" there was no answer, for hervey willetts had already plunged into the torrent, by which hazardous act ten minutes might be saved. or everything lost. tom caught a glimpse of that funny perforated hat bobbing in the rushing water of the cove, pulled tight down over its young owner's ears. sober as his thoughts were in the face of harrowing peril, he could not repress a smile that hervey should toss his life so blithely into the enterprise and yet be careful to save that precious hat. he was more proud of it than of all his deeds of reckless valor. tom knew there was no restraining him, or advising him. he knew no more of discipline than a skylark does. he was either the best scout in the world or no scout at all, as you choose to look at it. he was going upon this business in reckless haste, without forethought or caution. he would stake his life to save twenty yards of distance. there was no discretion in his valor. blithe young gambler that he was, he would do the thing in his own way. no one could tell him. tom knew the utter futility of shouting any last warnings or instructions to him. for hervey willetts was like a shot out of a rifle. with him it was a case of hit or miss. he had no rules.... chapter vi shadows of the night one thing hervey did bear in mind, and that was what tom had told him about how to distinguish a dark object in the dark. he would not remember this twenty-four hours hence, but he remembered it then, and that is saying much for him. he tried to improve upon the formula by experimenting with his eyes cross-eyed, but it didn't work. skirting the lower western reach of the mountain and beyond, in the comparatively flat country, he kept squinting away at old crows nest and its shadowy, black mass guided him. "slady's got the right dope on mountains," he said to himself. the race was about as tom had said; four miles for the horses, against a mile and a half for hervey. both routes were bad, hervey's the worse of the two. all things considered, hills, muddy roads, trackless woodland, swampy areas, it should take the heavily loaded team a little over an hour to reach the bridge. by tom's calculation it must take hervey at least an hour and a half. so there you are. going straight north, hervey would have that dim black mass, hovering on the verge of invisibility, to guide him. traveling a little west of north he might have reached the road at a nearer point. but here the traveling was bad and the danger of getting lost greater. tom had weighed one thing against another and told hervey to go straight north. hervey found the first half hour of his journey very difficult, picking his way around the base of the mountain. beyond the country was flat and comparatively open, being mostly sparse woodland. the wind was very keen here, since there was no mountain to break its force and the rain blew in his face, almost blinding him. again and again he wiped his dripping face with his sleeve and plodded on, picking out his beacon now and again in the darkness. it was surprising how easy it was for him to do this by the little trick of which tom had told him. his eyes would just catch the mountain for a second, then it would evaporate in the surrounding blackness, like breath on a pane of glass. suddenly, something happened which quite unnerved him. he was hurrying through a patch of woodland when, not more than ten feet ahead of him, he was certain that he saw something dark glide from one tree to another. he stopped short, his heart in his mouth. the minutes, he knew, were precious, but he could not move. the wind in the trees moaned like some lost soul, and in his stark fear the beating of the drops on the leafy carpet startled him. he heard these because he was standing still, and the ceasing of his own footfalls emphasized the steady patter. somewhere, in all that stormy solitude and desolation, an uncanny owl hooted its dismal song. hervey did not move. it was not till he bethought him of those horses lumbering along the road ever nearer and nearer to that trap of death that he got control of himself and started off. it was just the gloom of those dark woods, the play of some freakish and deceptive shadow conjuring itself into a human presence, that he had seen.... who would be out in that lonely wood on such a night? with a sudden, desperate impulse to challenge his fear and have done with it, he stepped briskly toward the tree to glance about it and dispel his illusion. if it was just some branch broken by the wind and hanging loose.... he approached the trunk and edged around it. as he did so a form moved around the trunk also. hervey paused. the pounding of his heart seemed louder than the noises of the storm. in his throat was a queer burning sensation. he could not speak. he could not stir. the dark form moved again, ever so little.... chapter vii the light that failed the suspense was worse than any outcome could be, and hervey, in another impulse of desperation, took a step to the right, then quickly another to the left. this ruse brought the two face to face. and in a flash hervey realized that he had little to fear from one who had tried so desperately to escape his notice. the figure was that of a young man, his raiment torn and disordered and utterly drenched. he wore a plaid cap, which being pulled down over his ears by reason of the wind, gave him an appearance of toughness which his first words belied. "you needn't be afraid," he said. "i'm not afraid," said hervey. "who are you?" "did you hear some one scream?" the stranger asked. "scream? no. it was the wind, i guess. are you lost, or what?" "i want to get out of here, that's all," the young man said. "this place is full of children screaming. did you ever kill anybody?" "no," said hervey, somewhat agitated. the stranger placed a trembling hand on hervey's shoulder. "do you know a person can scream after he's dead?" he said. "i don't know," said hervey, somewhat alarmed and not knowing what to say. "anyway, i have to hurry; it's up to me to save some people's lives. there's a bridge washed away along the road." he did not wait longer to talk with this singular stranger, but thoughts of the encounter lingered in his mind, particularly the young fellow's speech about dead people and children screaming. as he hurried on, hervey concluded that the stranger was demented and had probably wandered away from some village in the neighborhood. he had reason later to recall this encounter, but he soon forgot it in the more urgent matter of reaching the road. he had now about half a mile of level country to traverse, consisting of fields separated by stone walls. the land was soggy, and here and there in the lower places were areas of water. these he would not take the time to go around, but plunged through them, often going knee deep into the marshy bottom. it was sometimes with difficulty that he was able to extricate his leg from these soggy entanglements. but he no longer needed the uncertain outline of that black mass amid the surrounding blackness to guide him, for now the cheerful lights of an isolated house upon the road shone in the distance. there was the road, sure enough, though he could not see it. "that's what slady calls deduction," he panted, as he trudged on, running when he could, and dragging his heavy, mud-bedraggled feet out of the mire every dozen steps or so. over a stone wall he went and scrambled to his feet and hastened on. the lights in the house cheered and guided him and he made straight for this indubitable beacon. "mountains are all--all right," he panted, "but kerosene lamps--for--for--mine. i hope that--bunch--doesn't go to--bed." his heart was pounding and he had a cruel stitch in his side from running, which pained him excruciatingly when he ran fast. he tried scout pace but it didn't work; he was not much of a hand for that kind of thing. "it's--it's--all--right when--you're running through--the--handbook," he said, "but--but...." over another stone wall he went, tearing a great gash in his trousers, exposing the limb to rain and wind. the ground was better for a space and he ran desperately. every breath he drew pained him, now and again he staggered slightly, but he kept his feet and plunged frantically on. then one of the lights in the house went out. then another. there was only one now. "that's--that's--what--it means for--for--people to--to go to--to bed early," he panted with difficulty. "i--i always--said----" he had not the breath to finish, but it is undoubtedly true that he had always been a staunch advocate of remaining up all night. he fixed his eyes upon the one remaining light and ran with utter desperation. his breathing was spasmodic, he reeled, pulled himself together by sheer will, and stumbled on. on the next stone wall he made a momentary concession to his exhaustion and paused just a moment, holding his aching side. then he was off again, running like mad. the single little light seemed twinkling and hazy and he brushed his streaming face with his sleeve so that he might see it the more clearly. but it looked dull, more like a little patch of brightness than a shining light. either it was failing, or he was. he had to hold his stinging side and gulp for every breath he drew, but he ran with all his might and main. he was too spent and dizzy to keep his direction without that distant light, and he knew it. he was not tom slade to be sure of himself in complete darkness. he was giddy--on the verge of collapse. the bee-line of his course loosened and became erratic. but if his legs were weakening his will was strong, and he staggered, reeled, ran. on, on, on, he sped, falling forward now, rather than running, but keeping his feet by the sheer power of his will. his heart seemed up in his mouth and choking him. with one hand he grasped the flying shred of his torn trousers and tried to wipe the blood from the cut in his leg. thus for just a second his progress was impeded. that was the last straw. the trifling movement lost him his balance, his exhausted and convulsed body went round like a top and he lay breathing in little jerks on the swampy ground. one second. two seconds. three seconds. in another five seconds he would rise. he raised himself on one trembling arm and looked about. he brushed his soaking hair back from his eyes and looked again. "where--what--where--is--it--anyway?" he panted. he did not know which direction was north or south or east or west. he only knew that a dagger was sticking in his side and that he could not rise.... yes, he could. he pulled himself together, rested a moment on his knees, staggered to his feet and looked around. "where--where--th--the dickens--is north?" he turned and looked around. he looked around the other way. nothing but desolation and darkness. he thought of what tom had told him and, closing his eyes, opened them suddenly. the mountain must have been too near to show in outline now; it had probably melted into the general landscape. there was just an even, solid blackness all about him. the wind moaned, and somewhere, high and far off, he heard the screech of an eagle. but at least the rain did not assail him as it had done. this, however, was small comfort. he had lost, _failed_, and he knew it. in pitiable despair, in the anguish of defeat, he looked about him again in every direction, as if to beseech the angry night to give him back his one little beacon, and let him only save those people if he died for it. but there was no light anywhere. it had gone out. chapter viii almost well, he would not go back. they should find him right there, his body marking the very last foot he had been able to go. he would die as those brother scouts of his would have to die. he would not go back. that good rule of the scouts to stop and think was not in hervey's line. but he would do the next best thing--a thing very characteristic of hervey willetts. he would take a chance and start running. yes, that would be better. there would be just one chance in four of his going in the right direction. but he had taken bigger chances than that before. anyway, the rain was ceasing. and he soon overcame the sentimental notion of just lying there. the momentary rest had restored some measure of his strength. the aching in his side was not so acute. the land was not so muddy where he was and he took off his jacket and washed some of the heavy mud from his shoes. then he started off pell-mell. who shall say what good angel prompted him to look behind? perhaps it was the little god billikins of whom you are to know more in these pages. but look behind hervey willetts did. and there in the distance, very tiny but very clear, was a spark bobbing in the darkness. he paused and watched it over his shoulder. it moved along slowly, very slowly. it disappeared. then appeared again. and now it moved a little faster. a little faster still. now it moved along at an even, steady rate. the long, hard pull up cheery hill was over, and the horses were jogging along the road. oh, how well hervey knew that lantern which hung under the rear step of the clumsy, lumbering old bus. _then it had not passed._ hervey willetts was himself now. tearing a loose shred from his tattered trousers, he soaked it in a little puddle, then stuffed it in his mouth. he clasped his jack-knife in one fist and a twig in the other. he drew up his belt. he took that precious hat off and stuffed it in his pocket, campaign buttons and all. ah, no, he did not throw it away. he ripped off another rag and tied it fast around his neck and he bound his scarf around his forehead. he knew all these little tricks of the runner. it was not thought, but _action_ now. but, oh, hervey, hervey! what sort of a scout are you? did you not know that the shriek of the eagle must have been from the mountain in the north? did you not know that eagles live on mountain crags? why did you not face into the wind and you would have headed north? when the rain did not blow in your face or against either cheek, that was because you were facing _south_. it had not stopped raining. it was raining and blowing for _your_ sake and you did not know it. you were hunting for a kerosene lamp! but there are scouts and scouts. bareheaded, half naked, he sped through the darkness like a ghostly specter of the night. he headed for a point some fifty yards ahead of the bus. he knew that coming from behind he could not catch it in time. he was running to _intercept_ it, not to _overtake_ it. he was running at right angles to it and for a point ahead of it. therein lay his only chance, and not a very good chance. by all the rules there was _no_ chance. by the divine law which gives power to desperation, there was--a little. he ran in utter abandonment, in frenzy. some power outside of himself bore him on. what else? like a fiend, with arms swinging and head swathed in a crazy rag, he moved through wind and storm, invincible, indomitable! his head throbbed, his mouth was thick, his side ached, but he seemed beyond the power of these things now. over the fences he went, leaving shreds of clothing blowing in the gale, and tearing his flesh on stone walls. in the madness of despair, and in the insane resolve that despair begets, he sped on, on, on.... the bus was now almost even with his course. he changed his course to keep ahead of it. the lumbering old rattle-trap gave out a human note now, which cheered the runner. he could hear the voices within it. very faint, but still he could hear them. he knew he could not make himself heard because the wind was the other way. besides which, he had not the voice to call. his whole frame was trembling; he could not have spoken even. on, on, on. the trees passed him like trees seen from a train window. he turned the wet rag in his mouth to draw a little more moisture from it. he clutched his sweating hands tighter around the knife and twig. he shook the blowing, dripping hair from his eyes. forward, _forward!_ if he slackened his speed now he would fall--collapse. like a top, his speed kept him up. running straight ahead he would about run into the bus, which meant that it was gaining on him. again he bent his course to a point ahead of it. each maneuver of this kind narrowed the angle between himself and the bus until soon he would be _pursuing_ it. the angle would be no more. he would be running _after_ the bus and losing ground. by a supreme, final spurt, he had now a fair chance to make the road and intercept the bus before it reached the broad, level stretch to the bridge. should it reach that point his last chance would have vanished. in this desperate pass he tried to shout, but found, as the spent runner usually does, that he was almost voiceless. a feeble call was all he could manage, and on the contrary wind and noise of the storm, this was quite inadequate. he could only stumble on, borne up by his indomitable will. he was weakening and he knew it. yet the light of the bus so near him gave him fresh hope, and with it fresh strength. it seemed a kind of perversity of fate that he should have reached a point ordinarily within earshot, and yet could not make his approach known. just as the bus was passing his course, and when it was perhaps three or four hundred feet distant, hervey, putting all his strength into a final spurt, sped forward in a blind frenzy like one possessed. he saw the bus go by; heard the voices within it. throwing his jack-knife from him in a kind of frantic, maniacal desperation, he tried to scream, and finding that he could not, that his voice was dead while yet his limbs lived, and that his panting throat was clogged up and his nerves jangled and uncontrollable, he bounded forward in a kind of delirium of concentrated effort. then, suddenly, his foot sank into a hole. perhaps with a little calmness and patience he could have released it. but in his wild hurry he tried to wrench it out. a sudden, sharp pain rewarded this insane effort. he lost his balance and went sprawling to the ground, another quick, excruciating twinge accompanying his fall, and lay there on the soggy ground like a woodchuck in a trap. the old bus went lumbering by. chapter ix the hero the best account of this business was given by darby curren, the bus driver, or curry, as the boys called him. "we was jes' comin' onter the good road, we was, and i was jes' about goin' ter give lefty a taste o' the whip ter let 'er know ter wake up. them kids inside was a hollerin', '_hit 'er up!" 'step on 'er!' 'give 'er the gas!_' and all sech nonsense. well, by gorry, i never seed sech a night since noah sailed away in the ark, i didn't. so ye'll understand i was'n' fer bein' surprised at nuthin' i see. ghosts nor nuthin'. "well, all of a sudden lefty begins to jump and rear step sideways and was like to drag us all in the ditch when what do i see but that there thing, like a ghost or somethin' it was, hangin' onter her bridle. it was makin' some kind of a noise, i dunno what. first off i thought plum certain it was a ghost. then i thought it was hasbrooks' boy, that's what i thought, on account o' him havin' them fits and maybe bein' buried alive. it was me that druv the hearse fer 'im only a week back. and i says then to corby that was sittin' with me, i says, no son o' mine that ever had them fits would be buried in three days, not if i knowed it. safety first, i said, dead or livin'. "well, i hollered to him what he wanted there and i didn't get no answer so i got down. and all the rest o' that howlin' pack got out, and the two men. i guess they thought we was held up, jesse james like. only the little codger stayed inside. "well, there he was, all tore and bloody and not enough duds left to stop up a rat-hole. and we hed ter force his hand open, he was hangin' onter the bridle that hard." well, that was about all there was to it; the rest was told by many mouths. they forced open his grip on the horse's bridle and he collapsed and lay unconscious on the ground. they lifted him and carried him gently into the bus, and laid him on one of the long seats. his left foot was shoeless and lacerated. there were a couple of first aid scouts in the party, and they did what they could for him, bathing his face and trying to restore some measure of repose to his jangled nerves. they washed his torn foot with antiseptic while one kept a cautious hold upon his fluttering pulse. they administered a heart stimulant out of their kit, and waited. he did not speak nor open his eyes, save momentarily at intervals, when he stared vacantly. but the stout heart which had served him in his superhuman effort, would not desert him now, and in a little while the brother scout who held his wrist laid it gently down and, in a kind of freakish impulse, made the full scout salute to the unconscious figure. that seemed odd, too, because at camp he was not thought to be a really a-1 scout.... the two scoutmasters of the arriving troops remained in the bus with the first aid scouts and a queer little codger who seemed to be lame; the others walked. hervey willetts had ridden on top of that bus (contrary to orders), but he had never before lain quietly on the seat of it and been watched by two scoutmasters. he was always being watched by scoutmasters, but never in just this way.... so the old bus lumbered on. soon he opened his eyes and mumbled something. "yes, my boy," said one of the scoutmasters; "what is it?" "s--sma--smashed--br--," he said incoherently. "yes, we'll have a doctor as soon as we reach camp," the scoutmaster said soothingly. "try to bear it. don't move it and perhaps it won't pain so." hervey shook his head petulantly as if it were not his foot he spoke of. "br--oken--the--br--look out----" and again he seemed to faint away. the scoutmaster was puzzled. in a few moments he spoke again, his eyes closed. but the word he spoke was clear. "ahead," he whispered. the scoutmaster was still puzzled but he opened the bus door and called, "gilbert, suppose you and a couple of the boys go on ahead and watch your step." then to the other scoutmaster he said, "i think he's a bit delirious." so it happened that it was gilbert tyson of the troop from hillsburgh, forty or fifty miles down the line, who shouted to darby curren to stop, that the bridge had been washed away. a funny part of the whole business was that the little duffer in the bus, who was attached to that troop, thought that tyson was the hero of the occasion. he was strong on troop loyalty if on nothing else. so far as he was concerned (and he was very much concerned) tyson had saved the lives of every scout in those two troops. subsequent circumstances favored this delusion of his. for one thing, hervey willetts cared nothing at all about glory. you could not fit the mantle of heroism on him to save your life. he never talked about the affair, he was seldom at camp, except to sleep, and he did not know how he had managed the last few yards of his triumphal errand. for another thing, the hillsburgh troop kept to themselves more or less, occupying one of the isolated "hill cabins." as for tom slade, he seldom talked much. he had seen too many stunts to lose his head over a new one, and he was a poor sort of publicity agent for hervey. thus goliath, as the little codger came to be known, had the field all to himself, and he turned out to be a mighty "hero maker." chapter x proven a scout the bus came to a stop a hundred feet or so from the ruined bridge and its passengers, going forward cautiously, looked down shudderingly into the yawning chasm. for a few seconds the very thought of what might have happened filled them with silent awe. goliath was the first to speak. "it's good tyson saved our lives, isn't it?" he piped up. "we'd all be dead, 'wouldn't we?" "very dead," said one of the scouts; "so dead we probably wouldn't know it." "wouldn't _know_ it?" asked goliath, puzzled. for answer the scout gave him a bantering push and tousled his hair for him. the little fellow took refuge with one of the scoutmasters. "will we get to that camp soon?" he asked. "pretty soon, i hope. perhaps some one will come down and show us the way." "are we lost?" "no, we're saved." "i'm glad we're in tyson's troop, aren't you?" the scoutmaster laughed. "you bet," he said. "are there wild animals in that camp?" "scouts are all wild animals," the scoutmaster laughed again. "am i a wild animal?" "surest thing you know." "are you?" "that's what." "is that fellow that's inside lying on the seat--is he dead?" "no--not dead. but you mustn't go in and bother him." the scene about the bridge was one of utter ruin. no vestige of the rustic structure was left; it had probably been carried away in the first overwhelming rush of water. the flood had subsided by now, and only a trickle of water passed through the gully. in this, and upon the sloping banks and the wreckage which had been ebon berry's garage, the scouts climbed about and explored the scene of devastation. after a while a scoutmaster and several boys arrived from camp by way of the road. they had fought their way through mud and storm, bringing stretchers and a first aid kit, in expectation of finding disaster. "this is not a very cheerful welcome to camp," one of the scoutmasters said. "the lake broke through up yonder. the boys have checked the flood with a kind of makeshift dam. we were afraid you had met with disaster. all safe and sound, are you?" "oh, yes, several of our boys went ahead and one of them shouted for us to stop----" "that's the one right there," piped up the little fellow. "maybe he'll get a reward, hey? maybe he'll get a prize." "i guess we're all safe and sound," said the other arriving scoutmaster; "but wet and hungry----" "especially hungry," one of the scouts said. "that's a common failing here," said the man from camp. "there's a funny fellow inside; want to see him?" piped up goliath. "he hasn't got any clothes hardly, and he don't know what he's talking about; he hasn't got any conscience----" "he means he's unconscious," said the scoutmaster. "we ran into him on the road. he really hasn't spoken yet, so we don't know anything about him. he seems a kind of victim of the storm--crazed. i think it just possible he intended--come inside, won't you? i think we'll have to take him with us on a stretcher. i suppose he belongs in the countryside hereabouts." thus it was that hervey's own scoutmaster looked down upon the unconscious form of his most troublesome and unruly scout. it was no wonder that the others had not thought him a scout. he looked more like a juvenile hobo. but sticking out of his soaking pocket was that one indubitable sign of identification, his rimless hat cut full of holes and decorated with its variety of badge buttons. ruefully, mr. denny lifted this dripping masterpiece of original handiwork, and held it between his thumb and forefinger. "this is one of our choicest youngsters," he said. "he is in my own troop. the last time i saw him, i explicitly told him not to leave camp without my permission. i suppose he has been on some escapade or other. i think he's about due for dismissal----" "i don't think he's seriously injured, sir." "oh, no, he has a charmed life. nine lives like a cat, in fact. well, we'll cart him back." "he doesn't look like a scout fellow," goliath said. "well, he isn't what you would call a very good scout fellow, my boy," mr. denny said. "good scout fellows usually know the law and obey it, if anybody should ask you." "if they ask me, that's what i'll tell 'em," said goliath, "hey?" "you can't go far wrong if you tell them that," mr. denny said. "and they have to save lives too, don't they?" the little codger piped up. "why, yes, you seem to have it all down pat," mr. denny said. "we've got one of them in our troop," the little fellow said; "he's a hero." "well, i hope he reads the handbook and obeys the scout laws," said mr. denny significantly. "i'm always going to have good luck," the little fellow said, rather irrelevantly. "i got a charm, too. want to see it?" "i think we'd better see if we can get to camp and find some hot stew," said mr. denny. "that's the kind of a charm for me," said one of the scouts. so it fell out that on this occasion, as on most others, goliath was not permitted to dig down into the remote recess of his pocket to show that wonderful charm. chapter xi the new scout "well," laughed mr. baxton, scoutmaster of the troop to which that little brownie of a boy belonged; "since we have a hero, we may as well use him. suppose you stay here, gilbert, and stop any vehicles that happen along." "i think one of our boys from camp ought to do that," said one of the other scoutmasters. "how about you, roy?" the boy addressed was of a compact, natty build, with brown curly hair, and with the kind of smile which was positively guaranteed not to wash out in a storm. on his nose, which was of the aggressive and impudent type, were five freckles, set like the stars which form the big dipper, and his even teeth, which were constantly in evidence, were as white as snow. across the bridge of his nose was a mark such as is seen upon the noses of persons who wear spectacles. but he wore no spectacles, though the imprint between his laughing, dancing eyes was said to have been caused by glasses--soda water glasses which were continually tipped up against his nose in obedience to the dictum that a scout shall be thorough. "we'll both stay," he said; "if a ford comes along we'll carry it across." "well, don't leave the spot, that's all," said mr. denny. "far be it from such," said roy. "if we go away we'll take it with us. we should worry our young lives about a spot. only save some stew for us. this night has been full of snap so far, it reminds me of a ginger-snap. we'll sit in one of those old cars, hey?" gilbert tyson stared at roy. he thought it wouldn't be half bad to stay here with this sprightly scout. the rest of the party, guided by mr. denny, started picking their way along the road to camp, carrying hervey on a stretcher. darby curren, the stage-driver, doubtless tempted by the mention of hot stew, unharnessed his team and leaving the horses to graze in the adjacent field, accompanied the party. roy and gilbert tyson watched the departing cavalcade till it was swallowed in darkness. the rain had ceased now, and the wind was dying. in the sky was a little silvery break, and by its light flaky clouds were seen hurrying away, all in one direction like a flock of birds. it seemed as if they might be fleeing quietly from the wreck which they had caused. "if one of the lights on those cars is working, we might use it for a signal," roy said. the cars of which he spoke were in the wreckage of berry's garage. it had not been much of a garage, hardly more than a shack, in fact, and the two cars which now stood more or less damaged and exposed to the weather, had been its only contents, save for a work-bench and a few tools. mr. berry's flivver was quite beyond repair, having been overturned and carried some yards and apparently dashed against the bridge. there is no wreck in the world like the wreck of a ford. the heavier car had evidently withstood the first onrush of water and had made a stand against the flood, its wheels deep in the mud. this car was a roadster. its side curtains were up, completely enclosing the single seat. it had evidently been used since the rainy weather started. it was not altogether free from damage, one of the fenders was bent, the bumper in front almost touched the ground on one side, an ornamental figurehead had been broken off the radiator cap, and the face of the radiator was dented. this car was equipped with a searchlight fastened on one end of the windshield, and as gilbert tyson handled this it lighted, sending a penetrating shaft of brightness into the night. "it's funny the battery works after the soaking it got," said roy. "let's keep playing that light on the road. anybody could see it half a mile off." "spell danger with it," gilbert said. "sure, but i don't think anybody from camp will be along." "you never can tell who knows the morse code and who doesn't," gilbert said. "keep playing it on the road, anyway." the position of the car was such that this searchlight could be shown upon the road for perhaps the space of a quarter of a mile. it would have been quite sufficient to give pause to any approaching wagon or machine. roy and gilbert climbed into the car and sat upon the seat in the cosy enclosure formed by the curtains. it was quite pleasant in there. since it was more agreeable to be fooling with the light than to let it shine steadily, roy amused himself by spelling the word danger again and again. pretty soon one of the curtains opened and a voice said, "what's all the danger about?" chapter xii the gray roadster it was tom slade. with him was one of the best all-around scouts in camp, patrol leader of the royal bengal tigers, eagle scout and winner of the gold cross, bert winton. "what's this? the annual electrical show?" he asked. "what's the matter with you kids? lost, strayed or stolen? who's this fellow?" "look at the bridge, it's gone!" said roy. "don't bother to look at it. it isn't there anyway. we're a couple of pickets--i mean sentinels." "well, you guided us through the woods, anyway," said tom. "the pleasure is ours," said roy. "we can sit in a car and guide people through the woods; we're real heroes. what's the news?" "do you know anything about the stage?" tom asked. "we know _all_ about it. it's right over there. this fellow comes from hillsburgh. he got out and walked ahead and stopped it. didn't you? hervey willetts blew in from somewhere or other and they're carrying him to camp. nothing serious. got any candy?" "the crowd from the bus is all right then?" "positively guaranteed." "and hervey?" "he's used up another one of his lives, he's only got three left now. he must have hit the trail after westy and i left the cove. he's going to get called down to-morrow. he should worry, he's used to that." "where did they run into him?" tom asked. "they found him hanging onto one of the horses. curry thought he was a ghost, that's all _i_ know. this fellow went ahead and shouted back that the bridge had sneaked off. didn't you, gilly?" it was characteristic of roy that he had already found a nickname for gilbert tyson. "hervey say anything?" "mumbled something, i don't know what." tom pondered a few moments. "humph," said he, "that's all right." he was satisfied about hervey. the other phases of the episode did not interest him. what scoutmasters said and thought did not greatly concern him. he did not give two thoughts to the fact that hervey was to be "called down." he had known scouts to be called down before. he had known credit and glory to miscarry. hervey had done this thing and that was all that the young camp assistant cared about. it would not hurt hervey to be called down. the picturesque young assistant, the very spirit and embodiment of adventure and romance, made a good deal of allowance for visiting scoutmasters and handbook scouts. he was broad and kind as the trees are broad and kind; exacting about big things, careless about little things. they knew all about scouting. he was the true scout. they had their manuals and handbooks. the great spirit of the woods was his. hervey had made good. why bother more about that? so he just said, "not hurt much, huh? well, if you kids want to go up to camp, we'll take care of this job." "whose car is this, anyway?" asked bert winton. "i never saw it before. it's got bunged up a little, hey?" tom looked at the roadster rather interestedly, whistling to himself. "it's gray," said bert; "i never saw it before." "it wasn't damaged in the flood," said tom. "why wasn't it?" roy demanded. "because it's facing down stream. anything that hit it would have hit it in the back. i don't know whose it is, but it came here damaged, if you want to know." "sherlock nobody holmes, the boy detective," vociferated roy. "we're not going to let it worry our innocent young lives, anyway, are we, gilly? oh, here comes somebody along the road! the plot grows thicker!" tom and winton had cut through the woods, direct from the cove where they had been assisting in throwing together the makeshift dam. fortunately the searchlight had made their journey easy. the figure which now approached along the road turned out to be ebon berry, owner of the wrecked garage, who had ventured forth from his home as soon as the storm had abated. "well, 'tain't no use cryin' over spilled milk, as the feller says," he observed as he contemplated the ruin all about him. "you're about cleaned out, mr. berry," said winton. "whose car is this? i never saw it before." "that? well, now, that belongs to a feller that left it here, oh, i dunno, mebbe close onto a week ago. i ain't seed him since. said he'd be back for it nex' day. i ain't seed nothin' of 'im. i guess that's what you'd call a racer, now, hain't it?" "what are you going to do about it?" tom asked. "it was damaged when it came here, wasn't it?" "yes, it were. well, now, i don't jes' know _what_ i'd auter do. jes' nothin', i guess." "'tisn't going to do it any good buried here in the mud," tom said. "well, 'tain't my loss, ony six dollars storage." "let's give it the once over," tom said, in a way of half interest. the efforts of the night had been so strenuous that his casual interest in the car was something in the form of relaxation. it interested him as whittling a stick might have interested him. "take a squint into that pocket there, roy." there was nothing but a piece of cotton waste in the flap pocket of the door nearest roy, but gilbert tyson's ransacking of the other one revealed some miscellaneous paraphernalia; there was a pair of motorist's gloves, a road map, a newspaper, and two letters. "here, i'll give you the light," said roy, as tyson handed these things to tom. "you keep the light on the road," said tom. "let's have your flashlight." "now we're going to find out where the buried treasure lays hid--i mean hidden," said roy. "we're going to unravel the mystery, as pee-wee would say. 'twas on a dark and stormy night----" "let's have your flashlight," said tom, dryly. chapter xiii the unknown trail gilbert tyson and roy sat in the car. tyson had removed one curtain and tom, standing close by, examined the papers in the glare of the flashlight which tyson held. bert winton and mr. berry peered curiously over tom's shoulder. the map was of the usual folding sort, and on a rather large scale, showing the country for about forty or fifty miles roundabout. "there's my little old home town," said tyson, putting his finger on hillsburgh, "home, sweet home." "and here's little old black lake--before the flood," said roy. "there's the camp, right there," he added, indicating the spot to tyson; "there's where we eat, right there." "and here's a trail up the mountain," said tom. "see that lead pencil mark? you go up the back way. see?" so there then was indeed a way up that frowning mountain opposite the camp. it was up the less precipitous slope, the slope which did not face the lake. the pencil marking had been made to emphasize the fainter printed line. "humph," said tom, interested. "there's always _some_ way up a mountain.... maybe the light we saw up there ... let's have a squint at that letter, will you?" "have we got a right to read it?" winton asked. "we may be able to save a life by it," said tom. "sure." but the letter did not reveal anything of interest. it was, in fact, only the last page of a letter which had been preserved on account of some trifling memorandums on the back of the sheet. what there was of the letter read as follows: hope you will come back to england some time or other. i suppose america seems strange after all these years. you'll have to be content with shooting indians and buffaloes now. but we'll save a fox or two for you. and don't forget how to ride horseback and we'll try not to forget about the rattle wagons. reggy. "that's very kind of reggy," said roy. "indians and buffaloes! poor indians. if he ever comes here, we'll teach him to shoot the shutes. if he's a good shot maybe we'll let him shoot the rapids." "they all think america is full of indians," said winton. "indian pudding," said roy; "_mmm, mmm!_" "well, let's see the newspaper," said tom. "i don't suppose there's anything particular in that. somebody that lived in england has been trying to go up the mountain--_maybe_. that's about all we know. we don't know that, even. but anyway, he hasn't come back." "maybe he's up there shooting indians and buffaloes," said roy. "we should worry." "when was it he came here?" tom asked. "'bout several days ago, i reckon," said mr. berry. "that light's been up there all summer," winton said. "until to-night," tom added. for a few moments no one spoke. "well, let's see the paper," said tom, as he took it and began looking it over. he had not glanced at many of the headings when one attracted his attention. following it was an article which he read carefully. autoist kills child negligence and reckless driving responsible for accident driver escapes an accident which will probably prove fatal occurred on the road above hillsburgh yesterday when a car described as a gray roadster ran down and probably mortally injured willy corbett, the eight-year-old son of thomas corbett of that place. two laborers in a nearby field, who saw the accident, say that the machine was running on the left side of the road where the child was playing and that but for this reckless violation of the traffic law, the little fellow would not have been run down. the driver was apparently holding to the left of the road, because the running was better there. exactly what happened no one seems to know. the autoist stopped, and started again, and when the two laborers had reached the spot where the child lay, the machine was going at the rate of at least forty miles an hour. all efforts of town and county authorities to locate the gray roadster have failed. "that's only about ten miles from where i live," said gilbert tyson. tom seemed to be thinking. "let's look at that letter again," said he. "humph," he added and handed it back to roy. "what?" roy asked. "nothing," said tom. "i guess this is the car all right." "i don't see it," said winton. "just because it's a gray roadster----" "well, there may be other little things about it, too," said tom. "about the car or the letter or what?" winton asked. "answered in the affirmative," said roy. "well, anyway," tom said, "it looked as if the owner of the car might have gone up the mountain. and he hasn't come down. at least he hasn't come after his car. i'd like to get a look at him. i'm going to follow that trail up a ways----" "to-night?" "when did you suppose? next week? i'd like to find out where the trail goes. i'm not saying any more. the bright spot we saw from camp went out to-night. and here's a trail on the other side of the mountain that i never knew of. here's a man that had a map of it and he went away and hasn't come back. i'm not asking anybody to go with me." "and i'm not asking you to let me," said roy. "i'll go just for spite. you don't think you're afraid of me, am i, quoth he. now that we're here, we might as well be all separated together. what do you say, gilly? yes, kind sir, said he. we'll _all_ go, what do you say? indeed we will, they answered joyously----" "well, come ahead then," said tom, "and stop your nonsense." "says you," roy answered. chapter xiv on the summit the two facts uppermost in tom's mind were these: some one had marked the trail up that mountain, and the patch of brightness on the top of the mountain which had lately been familiar to the boys in camp had that very night disappeared. the owner of the gray roadster had not come back for it. he might be the fugitive of the newspaper article, and he might not. if tom had any _particular_ reason for thinking that he was, he did not say so. there are a good many gray roadsters. one thing which puzzled tom was this: the car had been in storage at berry's for a few days at the very most, but the bright patch on the mountain had been visible for a month or more. so if the owner of this machine had gone up the mountain, at least he was not the originator of the bright patch there. but perhaps, after all, the bright patch was just some reflection. [illustration: suddenly roy called, "look here! here's a board!" tom slade's double dare. page 83] "let's have another look at that letter," said tom. he read it again with an interest and satisfaction which certainly were not justified by the simple wording of the missive. "come ahead," he said; "we can't get much wetter than we are already. we might as well finish the night's work. i guess mr. berry'll take care of the searchlight." mr. berry had no intention of leaving the scene of his ruined possessions to the mercy of vandals. moreover, it seemed likely that with the abatement of the storm the neighboring village would turn out to view the devastation. once the end of the trail was located, the ascent of the mountain was not difficult, and the four explorers made their way up the comparatively easy slope, hindered only by trees which had fallen across the path. the old mountain which frowned so forbiddingly down upon the camp across the lake was very docile when taken from behind. it was just a big bully. as tom and the three scouts approached the summit, the devastation caused by the storm became more and more appalling. great trees had been torn up as if they had been no more than house plants. these had fallen, some to the ground and some against other trees, their spreading roots dislodging big rocks which had gone crashing down against other trees. some of these rocks remained poised where the least agitation would release them. nature cannot be disturbed like this without suffering convulsions afterwards, and the continual low noises of dripping roots and of trees and branches sinking and settling and falling from temporary supports, gave a kind of voice of suffering and anguish to the wilderness. these strange sounds were on every hand and they made the wrecked and drenched woods to seem haunted. now and again a sound almost human would startle the cautious wayfarers as they picked their way amid the sodden chaos. in places it seemed as if the merest footfall would dislodge some threatening bowlder which would blot their lives out in a second. and the ragged, gaping chasms left by roots made the soggy ground uncertain support for yards about. toward the summit the path was quite obliterated under the jumble of the wreckage, and the party clambered over and threaded their way amid this dã©bris until the tiny but cheering lights of temple camp were visible far down across the lake. there the two arriving troops were about finishing their hot stew! far down and nearer than the camp was a moving speck of light; some one was on the lake. the boys did not venture too near that precipitous descent. suddenly roy, who had been walking along a fallen tree trunk, called, "look here! here's a board!" he had hauled it out from under the trunk, and the others, approaching, looked at it with interest. in all that wild desolation there was something very human about a fragment of board. somehow it connected that unknown wilderness with the world of men. "that didn't come up here by itself," said tom. "you're right, it didn't," said tyson. "here's a rusty nail in it," roy added. the board, unpainted and weather beaten as it was, seemed singularly out of place in that remote forest. suddenly roy grasped tom's arm; his hand trembled; his whole form was agitated. "_look!_" he whispered hoarsely. "look--down there--right _there_. see? do you see it? right under.... oh, boy, it's _awful_...." chapter xv a scout is thorough scout though he was, roy's hand trembled as he passed his flashlight to tom. he could not, for his life, point that flashlight himself at the grewsome object which he had seen in the darkness. lying crossways underneath the trunk was the body of a man, his face looking straight up into the sky with a fixed stare, and a soulless grin upon his ashen face. somewhere nearby, mud was dripping from an exposed root, and the earth laden drops as they fell one by one into the ragged cavity gave a sound which simulated a kind of unfeeling laughter. it seemed as if that stark, staring thing might be chuckling through its rigid, grinning mouth. roy's weight and movement on the trunk communicated a slight stir to the ghastly figure and its head moved ever so little.... "no," said tom, anticipating winton's question; "he's dead. get off the log, roy." "well, i wish that dripping would stop, anyway," said winton. tom approached the figure, the others following and standing about in silence as he examined it. they all avoided the log, the slightest movement of which had an effect which made them shudder. raising one cold, muddy hand, tom felt the wrist, laying it gently down again. there was not even a faint, departing vestige of life in the trapped, crushed body. "is it him?" gilbert tyson asked in a subdued tone. "guess so," said tom, kneeling. the others stood back in a kind of fearful respect, watching, waiting.... now and then a leaf or twig fell. and once, some broken tree limb crackled as it adjusted itself in its fallen estate. and all the while the mud kept dripping, dripping, dripping.... lying on the dead man's open coat, as if they had fallen from his pocket, were two cards and a letter. these tom picked up and glanced at, using roy's flashlight. one of the cards was an automobile registration card. the other was a driver's license card. they were both of the state of new jersey and issued to aaron harlowe. the letter had been stamped but not mailed. it was addressed to thomas corbett, north hillsburgh, new york. this name tallied with the name of the child's father in the newspaper. here was pretty good proof that the man who had met death here upon this wild, lonely mountain was none other than the owner of the gray roadster, the coward who had fled from the consequences of his negligence, and turned it into a black crime! "are you going to open it?" bert winton asked. "i guess no one has a right to do that but the coroner," tom said. "we have no right to move the body even." "well," said bert winton, his awe at the sight of death somewhat subsiding at thought of the victim's cowardice, "there's an end of aaron harlowe who ran over willie corbett with a gray roadster and----" "and was going to send a letter to the kid's father," concluded tom. "and here's his footprint, too. i'd like to take his shoe off and fit it into this footprint," tom said. "what for?" roy asked. "just to make sure." but tom soon dismissed that thought and the others did not relish it. moreover, tom knew that the law prohibited him from doing such a thing. with the mystery, as it seemed, cleared up, there remained nothing to do but explore the immediate vicinity for the sake of scout thoroughness. their search revealed other loose boards, a few cooking utensils and finally the utter wreck of what must have been a very primitive and tiny shack. this was perhaps a couple of hundred feet from the body and below the highest point of the mountain. it was conceivable that a fire here might have shown in a faint glare down at camp. the blaze could not have been seen. amid the ruin of the shack were a few rough cooking utensils. the soaking land and the darkness effectually concealed the charred remnants of any fire. "well, he'll never shoot any buffaloes and wild indians," said roy. tom replaced the cards and letter, or rather put them in the dead man's pocket for fear the wind might blow them away, though being under the lee of the trunk they had been somewhat protected. then the party retraced their path down the mountain and, circling its lower reaches, found themselves at last upon the lake shore. thus ended the work of that fretful night, a night ever memorable at temple camp, a night of death and devastation. the mighty wind which smote the forest and drove the ruinous waters before it, died in the moment of its triumph. the sodden, sullen heaven which had cast its gloom and poured its unceasing rain, rain, rain, upon the camp for two full weeks, cleared and the edges of the departing clouds were bathed in the silver moonlight. and the next morning the bright, merry sun arose and smiled down upon temple camp and particularly on goliath who sat swinging his legs from the springboard. chapter xvi the wandering minstrel he was defying, single handed, half a dozen or more scouts who were flopping about in rowboats under and about the springboard. they had just rowed across after an inspection of the washed-out cove, and were resting on their oars, jollying the little fellow whose legs dangled above them. "where did that big feller go?" he asked. "to the village." "he found a dead man last night, didn't he?" "that's what he did." "i know his name, it's slade." "right the first time. you're a smart fellow." "i like that big feller. he says gilbert tyson is all right; i asked him. i bet gilbert tyson can beat any of you fellers. he's in my troop, he is. i bet you were never in a hospital." "i bet you were never in prison," a scout ventured. "i bet you never got hanged," goliath piped up. "i bet i did," another scout said. "when?" "to-morrow afternoon." "to-morrow afternoon isn't here yet," goliath said, triumphantly. "sure it is, _this_ is to-morrow afternoon. somebody told me yesterday. if it was to-morrow afternoon yesterday it must be to-day." "posolutely," said roy blakeley. "what was true yesterday is true to-day, because the truth is always the same--only different." "sure," concurred another scout, "to-morrow, to-day will be yesterday. it's as clear as mud." goliath thought for a few moments and then made a flank attack. "gilbert tyson is a hero," he said; "he saved the lives of everybody in that bus--he did." "that's where he was wrong," said roy blakeley; "a scout is supposed to be generous. he mustn't be all the time saving." "isn't it good to save lives?" goliath demanded. "sure, but not too many. a scout that's all the time saving gets to be stingy." goliath pondered a moment. "gilly is all right but he's not a first-class scout," said roy. "a first-class scout," said westy martin, "is not supposed to turn back. gilbert turned back. then he shouted '_stop_.' law three says that a scout is courteous. he should have said '_please_ stop.' law ten says that a scout must face danger, but he turned his back to it. he wasn't thinking about the danger, all he was thinking about was the bus. all he was thinking about was being thrifty--saving lives. i've known fellows like that before. it's just like striking an average; a scout that strikes an average is a coward." "you mean if the average is small?" said roy. "oh, sure." "because it all depends," roy continued; "a scout isn't supposed to fight, is he? but he can strike an attitude. the same as he can hit a trail. suppose he hits a poor, little thin trail----" "then he's a coward," said connie bennett. "not necessarily," said westy, "because----" "_a scout has to be obedient! you can't deny that!_" goliath nearly fell off the springboard in his excitement. "that other feller is going to get sent away because i heard a man say so!" this was not exactly an answer to the well-reasoned arguments of roy and his friends, but it had the effect of making them serious. moreover, just at that juncture, mr. carroll, scoutmaster of the hillsburgh troop, appeared and very gently ordered goliath from his throne upon the springboard. the little fellow's mind had been somewhat unsettled by the skillful reasoning of his new friends. he trotted off in obedience to mr. carroll's injunction that he go in and take off his wet shoes. "boys," said the new scoutmaster, in a pleasant, confidential tone which won all, "i want to say a word to you about the little brownie we have with us. you'll find him an odd little duck. i'm hoping to make a scout of him some time or other. meanwhile, we have to be careful not to get him excited. it's a rule of our troop to take with us camping each summer, some little needy inmate of an orphan home or hospital or some place of the sort, and give him the benefit of the country air. this little fellow is our charge this year. you won't talk to him about his past, because we want him to forget that. we want to take him home well and strong and i look to you for help. make friends with him and get him interested in things about camp. his heart isn't strong; be careful." good scouts that they were, they needed no more than these few words. temple camp usually took new boys as it found them, anyway, concerning itself with their actions and not with the history of their lives. half the scouts in the big summer community didn't know where the other half came from, and cared less. from every corner of the land they came and all they knew or cared about each other was limited to their intercourse at camp. "you don't suppose that's true, do you?" one of them asked when mr. carroll had gone. "what? about willetts?" "sure." "dare say. he's about due for the g. b., i guess. but if you want to cook a fish you've got to catch him first." "where is he, anyway?" one asked. "i thought his foot was so bad." "i saw him limping off this morning, that's all _i_ know," another said. "it would take more than a lame ankle to keep _him_ at camp," said dorry benton of roy's patrol. "did you see that crazy stick he was using for a cane?" "the wandering minstrel," another scout commented. "he stands pat with slady, all right." "gee, you can't help liking the fellow." "i have to laugh at him," westy said. "you can't pal with him, that's one thing," another observed. "that's because you can't keep up with him; even mr. denny has a sneaky liking for him." "do you know what one of his troop told me? he told me he always wears that crazy hat to school when he's home. some nut!" "reckless, happy-go-lucky, that's what he is." "come on over and let's look on the bulletin board." they all strolled, half idly, to the bulletin board which stood outside the main pavilion. it was a rule of camp that every scout should read the announcements there each afternoon. then there would be no excuse for ignorance of important matters pertaining to camp plans. upon the board were tacked several announcements, a hike for the morrow, letters uncalled for, etc. conspicuous among these was the following: hervey willetts will report _immediately_ to his scoutmaster at troop's cabin, upon his arrival at camp. wm. c. denny. chapter xvii tom's interest aroused on that same day a solemn little procession picked its way carefully down the trail from the storm-wrecked summit of the mountain. four of the county officials bore a stretcher over which was tied a white sheet. with the party was tom slade who had guided the authorities to the grewsome discovery of the previous night. in this work, and in the subsequent assistance which he rendered, he was absent from camp throughout the day. this unpleasant business had not been advertised in camp. of the tragic end of aaron harlowe nothing more was known. several days previously he had come to the neighborhood in his gray roadster, a fugitive, with the stigma of cowardice upon his conscience. he had tried to compromise with his conscience, as it appeared, by enclosing a sum of money in an envelope and addressing it to the father of the child he had run down. but his death had prevented the mailing of this. the telltale finger of accusation was pointed at him from the newspaper which was in his car. his identity was established to the satisfaction of the authorities by the name upon the license and registration cards found with his body. why he had ascended the mountain and remained there several days only to be crushed to death in the storm, no one could guess. the conclusion of the authorities was that he was crazed by fear and remorse. this seemed not improbable, for his weak attempt to make amends with money showed him to be not altogether bad. with the taking of the body by the authorities, tom's participation in the tragic business ended. yet there were one or two things which stuck in his mind and puzzled him. there had been a light on the mountain before ever this harlowe had gone up there. there had been a crude shack near the summit. the light had disappeared amid the storm. the boys, watching the storm from the pavilion, had seen the light disappear. did harlowe, therefore, climb the mountain to _escape_ man or to _seek_ man? harlowe's life went out in that same tempestuous hour when the light went out. but how came the light there? and where was the originator of it? one rather odd question tom asked the authorities and got very little satisfaction from them. "do you notice any connection between that article in the newspaper and the letter the dead man got from england?" he asked. "no manner uv connection; leastways none as i kin see," said the sheriff. "the paper showed what he done; the map showed whar he went; the license cards showed who he was. and thar ye are, sonny, whole thing sure's gospel." "it's funny about the light," said tom, respectfully. "i ain't botherin' my head 'baout no lights, son. i found aaron harlowe 'n that's enough, hain't it?" it was in tom's thoughts to say, "you didn't find him, i found him." but out of respect for the formidable badge which the sheriff wore on one strand of his suspenders, he refrained. the next morning the newspapers told with conspicuous headlines, the tragic sequel of aaron harlowe's escape. "_found on lonely mountain_," they said. "_fugitive motorist killed in storm_," one of the write-ups was headed: "_storm wreaks vengeance on autoist_," which was one of the best headings of the lot. "_sheriff's posse makes grewsome find_" was another. and all told how aaron harlowe, fleeing guiltily from his crime, had met his fate in the storm-tossed wilds of that frowning mountain. they dwelt on the justice of providence; they made the storm a kind of avenging hero. it was pretty good stuff. and that, as i said in the beginning, was where the public interest in aaron harlowe ended. the rest of the strange business was connected with temple camp and the scouts, and never got into the papers.... * * * * * it was exactly like tom slade that something should interest him in this tragic episode which did not interest the authorities. he left them, quite unsatisfied in his own mind, and with some kind of a bee in his bonnet.... chapter xviii triumph and---_at_ about the time that tom was starting back to camp, rather thoughtful and preoccupied, hervey willetts was arriving at camp, not at all thoughtful or preoccupied. his ankle was strained and bruised, and he limped. but his rimless hat of many holes and button-badges was perched sideways toward the back of his head and had a new and piquant charm by reason of being faded and water soaked. putting not his trust in garters, which had so often, betrayed him, he had fastened a string to his left stocking by means of an old liberty loan pin. the upper end of this string was tied to a stick which he carried over his shoulder, so he had only to exert a little pressure on the stick in front to adjust his stocking. he had evidently been to see one of his farmer friends, for he was eating a luscious red tomato, and fate decreed that the last of this should be ready for consumption just as he was passing within a few yards of the bulletin board. for a moment a terrible conflict raged within him. should he despatch the remainder of the tomato into his mouth, or at the bulletin board? the small remnant was red and mushy and dripping--and the bulletin board won. brandishing the squashy missile, he uttered his favorite passwords to good luck, one for courage one for spunk one to take aim and then---suddenly he bethought him of an improvement. sticking the remnant of tomato on the end of his stick, he swung it carefully. one for courage one for spunk one to take aim and then--_kerplunk!_ those magic words were intended, especially, for use in despatching tomatoes and they never failed to make good. there, upon the bulletin board was a vivid area which looked like the midday sun. from it trickled an oozy mass, down over the list of uncalled for letters, straight through the prize awards of yesterday, obliterating the _council call_, and bathing the list of new arrivals in soft and pulpy red. the "hike for to-morrow," as shown, was through a crimson sea. hervey approached for a closer glimpse of his triumph. no other incentive would have taken him so close to that prosy bulletin board. he had vaulted over it but never read it. but now in the moment of supreme victory he limped forward, like an elated artist, to inspect his work. there, in front of him, with a little red river flowing down across the middle of it, was the ominous sentence. hervey willetts will report _immediately_ to his scoutmaster at troop's cabin upon his return to camp. wm. c. denny. chapter xix hervey shows his colors "_if_ i hadn't fired the tomato i wouldn't have known about that," said hervey. which fact, to him, fully justified the juicy bombardment. "that shows how you never can tell what's going to happen next." and this was certainly true of hervey. but to do him justice, what was going to happen next never worried him. he took things as they came. he was not the one to sidestep an issue. the ominous notice signed by his scoutmaster had the effect of directing his ambling course to that officer's presence, on which detour, he might encounter new adventures. to reach his troop's cabin he would have to pass the cooking shack where a doughnut might be speared with a stick. all was for the best. he would as lief go to troop cabin as anywhere else.... in this blithe and carefree spirit, he approached the rustic domicile which he seldom honored by his presence, singing one of those snatches of a song which were the delight of camp, and which rounded out his rã´le of wandering minstrel: oh, there is no place like the old camp-fire, as all the boy scouts know; and the best little place is home, sweet home- when there isn't any other place to go, go, go. when there isn't any other place to go. mr. denny, standing in the doorway of the cabin, contemplated him with a repressed smile. "hervey," he could not help saying, "since you think so well of the camp-fire, i wonder you don't choose to see more of it." "i can see it from all the way across the lake," said hervey. "i can see it no matter where i go." "i see. it must arouse fond thoughts. i'm afraid, hervey, to quote your own song, there isn't any other place for you to go but home, sweet home. you seem to have exhausted all the places. sit down, hervey, you and i have got to have a little talk." hervey leaned against the cabin, mr. denny sat upon the door sill. none of the troop was about; it was very quiet. for half a minute or so mr. denny did not speak, only whittled a stick. "i sometimes wonder why you joined the scouts, hervey," he said. "your disposition----" "a fellow that sat next to me in school dared me to," said hervey. "oh, it was a sort of a wager?" "i wouldn't take a dare from anybody." "and so you joined as a stunt?" "i heard that scouts jumped off cliffs and all like that." "i see. well, now, hervey, i've written to your father that i'm sending you home." hervey began making rings in the soil with his stick but said nothing. mr. denny's last words were perhaps a little more than he expected, but he gave no other hint of his feelings. and so for another minute or so there was silence, except for the distant voices of some scouts out upon the lake. "it is not exactly as a punishment, hervey; it is just that i can't take the responsibility, that's all. you see?" "y---yes, sir." "i thought you would. your father thought the influence of camp would be good, but you see you are seldom at camp. we can't help you because we can't find you." "you can't cook a fish till you catch it," said hervey. "that's just it, hervey." "if you don't want to leave any tracks the best thing is to swing into trees every now and then," hervey informed him. "ah, i see. now, hervey, my boy, i'm anxious that you and i should understand each other. you have done nothing disgraceful and i don't think you ever will----" "i landed plunk on my head once." "well, that was more of a misfortune than a disgrace." "it hurt like the dickens." "i suppose it did." mr. denny paused; he was up against the hardest job he had ever tackled. it was harder than he had thought it would be. "you see, hervey, how it is. last week you stayed away over night at some farm. i had told you you must not leave camp without my knowledge. for that i had you stay here all day, making a birchbark basket. i thought that was a good punishment." "i'll tell the world it was," said hervey. mr. denny paused before proceeding. "did it do any good? not a bit." "the basket was a punk one," said hervey. "again you rode down as far as barretstown, hitching onto a freight train." "i'd have got all the way down to jonesville, if it hadn't been for the conductor. he was some old grouch, believe _me_." "then we had a little talk--you remember. you promised to be here at meal times. look at mr. ellsworth's troop, harris, blakeley and those boys. always on hand for meals----" "i'll say so; they're some hungry bunch," hervey commented. "and you gave me your word that you wouldn't leave camp without my permission. _you think as little about breaking your word as you do about breaking your leg, hervey_," mr. denny added with sober emphasis. hervey began poking the ground again with his stick. "that's just the truth, hervey. and it can't go on any longer." "am i out of the troop?" hervey asked, wistfully. "n--no, you're not. but i want you to learn to be as good a scout in one way as you are in another. you have won merit badges with an ease which is surprising to me----" "they're a cinch," hervey interrupted. "i want you to go home and stop doing stunts and read the handbook. i want you to read the oath and the scout laws, so that when the rest of us come home you can give me your hand and say, 'i'm an all round scout, not just a doer of stunts.'" "h--how soon are--the rest of you coming back?" hervey asked with just the faintest suggestion of a break in his voice. "why, you know we're here for six weeks, hervey. don't you know anything about your troop's affairs? you know how much money we have in our treasury, don't you?" hervey did not miss the reproach. he said nothing, only kept tracing the circle with his stick. finally it occurred to him to mark two eyes, a nose and a mouth in the circle. mr. denny sat studying him. i think mr. denny was on the point of weakening. hervey seemed sober and preoccupied. but the face on the ground seemed to wink at mr. denny as if to intercede in its young creator's behalf. mr. denny gathered his strength as one does on the point of taking an unpalatable medicine. "yesterday, hervey, i expressly reminded you of your promise not to leave camp. i did that because i thought the storm might tempt you forth." "they call me----" "yes, i know; they call you the stormy petrel. you went across the lake with others. they returned but you did not return with them. where you went i don't know. and i'm not going to ask you, hervey, for it makes no difference. i understand young mr. slade was there, but _that_ makes no difference. blakeley and one of his troop, westy martin, reached camp and reported conditions in the cove----" "he's all right, blakeley is----" "hours passed, no one knew where you were. i was too proud, or too ashamed, to go and ask slade if he knew. i am jealous of our troop's reputation, hervey--even if you are not----" hervey leaned against the cabin, looking abstractedly at his handiwork on the ground. "there was great confusion and excitement here," mr. denny continued. "the whole camp turned out to save the lake, to stem the flood. but you were not here. your companions in our troop worked till they were dog tired. but where were you? helping? _no_, you were off on some vagabond journey--disobedient, insubordinate." mr. denny spoke with resolute firmness now and his voice rang as he uttered his scathing accusations. "you were a traitor not only to your troop, but to the camp--the camp which held out the hand of good fellowship to you when you came here. a _slacker_----" hervey broke his stick in half and threw it on the ground. his breast heaved. he looked down. he said nothing. mr. denny studied him curiously for a few seconds. "that is the truth, hervey. one wrong always produces another. you were disobedient and insubordinate, and that led to--what?" hervey gulped, but whether in shame or remorse or what, mr. denny could not make out, he was to know presently. "it led to shirking, whether intentional or not. and to-night, because there is no train, you are going to sleep in the camp which you deserted. you will, perhaps, row on the lake which others have saved for you. you see it now in its true light, don't you? you had better go and thank blakeley and his comrade for what they did, if you have any real feeling for the camp." "i----" "don't speak. nothing you could say would make a difference, hervey. i know from mr. carroll and his boys where you showed up. i know they found you clinging to one of the stage horses. i was there later and saw you. you might have been plunged into that chasm with all the rest of them and been crushed to pieces, if one of those scouts hadn't gone ahead, as he was _told_ to do, and if he hadn't kept his mind on what he had been _told_ to do, instead of disregarding his scoutmaster and----" he paused, for hervey was shaking perceptibly. he watched the boy curiously. should he go on with this thing and see it through? he summoned his resolution. "no, hervey, as i said, i have written to your father. i have said nothing against you, only that you are too much for me here, where my responsibility is great. i want you to get your things together and take the train in the morning. we'll expect to see you when we come home. there is no hard feeling, hervey. when we come home you're going to start all over again, my boy, and learn the thing right. you----" with a kind of spasmodic effort hervey raised his head and, with a pride there was no mistaking, looked his scoutmaster straight in the face. he was trembling visibly. if there was any contrition in his countenance, mr. denny did not see it. he was quite taken aback with the fine show of spirit which his young delinquent showed. there was even a dignity in the old cap with its holes and badges, as it sat perched on the side of his head. there was a touch of pathos, even of dignity too, in his fallen stocking. "i--i--wouldn't stay here--now--i wouldn't--i--not even if you _asked_ me--i wouldn't. i wouldn't even if you--if you got down on your knees and begged me----" "hervey, my boy----" "no, i won't listen. i--i wouldn't stay even _to-night_--i wouldn't. do you think i need a train? i--i can hike to jonesville, can't i? you say i'm--i'm no scout--tom slade he said----" "hervey----" "i don't--anyhow--i don't care anything about the rest of them. i wouldn't stay even for supper. even if you--if you apologized--i wouldn't----" "apologize? why, hervey----" "for what you said--called me--i wouldn't. i don't give a--a--damn--i don't--for all the people here--only except one--and i wouldn't stay if you got down on your knees and begged me--i wouldn't----" mr. denny contemplated him with consternation in every feature. there was no stopping him. the accused had become the accuser. there was something stirring, something righteous, in this fine abandon. in the setting of the outburst of hurt pride even the profane word seemed to justify itself. the tables were completely turned and hervey willetts was master of the situation. chapter xx tom advises goliath it was late afternoon when tom slade, tramping home after his day spent with the minions of the law, crossed the main road and hit into the woods trail which afforded a short cut to camp. it was the laziest hour of the day, the gap between mid afternoon and supper time. it was a tranquil time, a time of lolling under trees and playing the wild game of mumbly-peg, and of jollying tenderfoots, and waiting for supper. roy blakeley always said that the next best thing to supper was waiting for it. the lake always looked black in that pre-twilight time when the sun was beyond though not below the summit of the mountain. it was the time of new arrivals. in that mountain-surrounded retreat they have two twilights--a tenderfoot twilight and a first class twilight. it was the time when scouts, singly and in groups, came in from tracking, stalking and what not, and sprawled about and got acquainted. but there was one who did not come in on that peaceful afternoon, and that was the wandering minstrel. if tom slade had crossed the main road ten minutes sooner, he might have seen that blithe singer going along the road, but not with a song on his lips. the sun of that carefree nature was under a cloud. but his loyal stocking kept descending, and his suit-case dangled from a stick over his shoulder. his trick hat perched jauntily upon his head, hervey willetts was himself again. not quite, but _almost_. at all events he did not ponder on the injustice of the world and the cruelty of fate. he was wondering whether he could make jonesville in time for the night train or whether he had better try for the boat at catskill landing. the boat had this advantage, that he could shinny up the flagpole if the pilot did not see him. the train offered nothing but the railing on the platforms.... if tom had been ten minutes earlier! the young camp assistant left the trail and hit down through the grove and around the main pavilion. the descending sun shone right in his face as he neared the lake. it made his brown skin seem almost like that of a mulatto. his sleeves were rolled up as they always were, showing brown muscular arms, with a leather wristlet (but no watch) on one. his pongee shirt was open almost down to his waist. his faded khaki trousers were held up by a heavy whip lash drawn tight around his waist. not a single appurtenance of the scout was upon him. he was rather tall, and you who have known him as a hulking youngster with bull shoulders will be interested to know that he had grown somewhat slender and exceedingly lithe. he had that long stride and silent footfall which the woods life develops. he was still tow-headed, though he fixed his hair on occasions, which is saying something. you would have been amused at his air of quiet assurance. perhaps he had not humor in the same sense that roy blakeley had, but he had an easy, bantering way which was captivating to the scouts. dirty little hoodlum that he once was, he was now the most picturesque, romantic figure in the camp. in tom slade, beloved old uncle jeb, camp manager, seemed to have renewed his own youth. scouts worshipped at the shrine of this young confidant of the woods, trustees consulted him, scoutmasters respected him. as he emerged around the corner of the storage cabin, several scouts who had taken their station within inhaling distance of the cooking shack fell in with him and trotted along beside him. "h'lo, slady, can we go with you?" "i'm going to wash my hands," said tom, giving one of them a shove. "good night! i don't want to go." "i thought you wouldn't." in tent avenue the news of his passing got about and presently a menagerie of tenderfoots were dogging his heels. "where you been, slady? can i go? take me? take us on the lake, slady?" as he passed the two-patrol cabins goliath slid down from the woodpile and challenged him. "hey, big feller, i got a souvenir. want to see it? i know who you are; you're boss, ain't you?" "h'lo, old top," said tom, tousling his hair for him. "well, how do you think you like temple camp?" goliath had hard work to keep up with him, but he managed it. "i had two pieces of pie," he said. "good for you." "maybe i'll get to be a regular scout, hey?" "not till you can eat six pieces." "were you ever in a hospital?" "yop, over in france." "i bet you licked the germans, didn't you?" "oh, i had a couple of fellows helping me." "a fellow in my troop is a hero; he's going to get a badge, maybe. a lot of fellers said so." "that's the way to do," said tom. "his name is tyson, that's what his name is. do you know him?" "you bet." "he saved all the fellers in that wagon from getting killed because he shouted for the wagon to stop. so he's a hero, ain't he?" "well, i don't know about that," said tom cheerily; "medals aren't so easy to get." "there was a crazy feller near that wagon. i bet you were never crazy, were you?" "not so very." "will you help him to get the medal--tyson?" "well, now, you let me tell you something," said tom; "don't you pay so much attention to these fellows around camp. the main thing for you to do is to eat pie and stew and things. a lot of these fellows think it's easy to get medals. and they think it's fun to jolly little fellows like you. don't you think about medals; you think about dinner." "but after i get through thinking about dinner----" "then think about supper. you can't eat medals." goliath seemed to ponder on this undesirable truth. he soon fell behind and presently deserted tom to edify a group of scouts near the boat landing. of course, tom did not take seriously what goliath had said about awards. he knew tyson and he knew that tyson would be the last one in the world to pose as a hero. but he also knew something of the disappointments which innocent banter and jollying had caused in camp. he knew that the wholesome spirit of fun in roy blakeley and others had sometimes overreached itself, causing chagrin. there was probably nothing to this business at all but, for precaution's sake, he would nip it in the bud. one incidental result of his little chat with goliath was that he was reminded of hervey's exploit, a matter which he had entirely forgotten in his more pressing preoccupations. tom was no hero maker and he knew that hervey would only trip on the hero's mantle if he wore it. as time had gone on in camp, tom had found himself less and less interested in the pomp and ceremony and theatrical clap-trap of awards. bravery was in the natural course of things. why make a fuss about it? for that very reason, he was not going to have any heads turned with rapturous dreams of gold and silver awards. he was not going to have any new scouts' visit blighted by vain hopes. he did not care greatly about awards, but he cared a good deal about the scouts.... chapter xxi words after he had prepared for supper he went up the hill to the cabin occupied by mr. carroll's troop. it was pleasantly located on a knoll and somewhat removed from the main body of camp. mr. carroll was himself about to start down for supper. "h'lo, mr. carroll," said tom; "alone in your glory?" "the boys have gone down," said mr. carroll. "they'll be sorry to have missed a visit from tom slade." "comfortable?" tom asked. "couldn't be more so, thank you. we can almost see home from up here, though the boys prefer not to look in that direction." tom glanced about. "sometimes new troops are kind of backward to ask for things," he said. "we're not mind readers, you know. so sing out if there's anything you want." "thank you." "kid comfortable?" "yes, he's giving his attention to pie and awards." "hm," said tom, seating himself on a stump. "pie's all right, but you want to have these fellows go easy on awards. the boys here in camp are a bunch of jolliers. of course, you know the handbook----" "oh, yes." "and you know tyson doesn't stand to win any medal for anything he did last night. strictly speaking, he saved your lives, i suppose, but it isn't exactly a case for an award." "oh, mercy, no." "i'm glad you see it that way, mr. carroll. because sometimes scouts get to enjoying themselves so much here, that they forget what's in the handbook. these things go by rules, you know. i like gilbert and i wouldn't want him to get any crazy notions from what these old timers say. there's some talk among the boys----" "i think the little fellow's responsible for that," mr. carroll laughed. "gilbert is level-headed and sensible." "you bet," said tom. "well, then, it's all right, and there won't be any broken hearts. i've seen more broken hearts here at camp than broken heads.... you're a new troop, aren't you?" he queried. "oh, yes, we haven't got our eyes open yet." "goliath seems to have his mouth open for business." "yes," mr. carroll laughed. "shall we stroll down to supper?" "i've got one more call to make if you'll excuse me," said tom. "come up again, won't you?" "oh, yes, i make inspection every day. you'll be sick of the sight of me." he was off again, striding down the little hill. he passed among the tents, around visitors' bungalow, and toward the cabins in good turn grove. somewhat removed from these (a couple of good turns from them, as roy blakeley said) was the cabin of mr. denny's troop. the boys were getting ready to go down and they greeted tom cheerily. "where's hervey?" he asked. he had not seen hervey since late the previous night, just after returning from the mountain. hervey was then so exhausted as hardly to know him. the young assistant fancied a sort of constraint among the boys and he thought that maybe hervey's condition had taken an alarming turn. "ask mr. d.," said one of the scouts. "h'lo, mr. denny," said tom, stepping into one of the cabins. no one was there but the scoutmaster. "where's our wandering boy to-night?" "he has been dismissed from camp, i'm sorry to say," said mr. denny. "sit down, won't you?" tom could hardly speak for astonishment. "you mean the camp--down at the office----" "oh, no, i sent him home. it was just between him and myself." "oh, i see," said tom, a trifle relieved, apparently. "it wasn't on account of his hurt?" "oh, no, he's all right. he just disobeyed me, that's all. that sort of thing couldn't go on, you know. it was getting worse." mr. denny had now had a chance to review his conduct and he found it in all ways justified. he was glad that he had not weakened. moreover, there was fresh evidence. "only just now," he said, "one of the scoutmasters came to me with a notice from the bulletin board utterly ruined by a tomato which hervey threw. he was greatly annoyed." "sure," said tom. "i don't exactly blame you, slade----" "me?" "but you took hervey with you across the lake. he had promised me not to leave camp. where he went, i don't know----" "you _don't_?" "no, and i don't care. he was picked up by the people in the bus, and if it hadn't been for that i suppose i'd be answerable to his parents for his death. he was very insolent to me." "he didn't say----" "oh, no, he didn't say anything. he assumed an air of boyish independence; i don't know that i hold that against him." "but he didn't tell you where he had been--or anything?" "why, no. i had no desire to hear that. his fault was in _starting_. it made no difference where he went." "oh." for a few seconds tom said nothing, only drummed with his fingers on the edge of the cot on which he sat. "this is a big surprise to me," he finally said. "it is a very regrettable circumstance to me," said mr. denny. there ensued a few seconds more of silence. the boys outside could be heard starting for supper. tom was the first to speak. "of course you won't think i'm trying to butt in, mr. denny, but there's a rule that the camp can call on all its people in an emergency. the first year the camp opened we had a bad fire here and every kid in the place was set to work. after that they made a rule. sometimes things have to be done in a hurry. i took hervey and a couple of others across the lake, because i knew something serious had happened over there. i think i had a right to do that. but there's something else. hervey didn't tell you everything. you said you didn't want him to." "he has never told me everything. i had always been in the dark concerning him. this tomato throwing makes me rather ashamed, too." "yes," said tom, "that's bad. but will you listen to me if i tell you the whole of that story--the whole business? i've been away from camp all day. i only got here fifteen minutes ago. i know hervey's a queer kid--hard to understand. i don't know why he didn't speak out----" "why, it was because i told him it wouldn't make any difference," said mr. denny, a bit nettled. "the important point was known to me and that was that he disobeyed me. i don't think we can gain anything by talking this over, slade." "then you won't listen to me, mr. denny?" "i don't think it would be any use." tom paused a moment. he was just a bit nettled, too. then he stood. and then, just in that brief interval, his lips tightened and his mouth looked just as it used to look in the old hoodlum days--rugged, strong. the one saving, hopeful feature which mr. ellsworth, his old scoutmaster, had banked upon then in that sooty, unkempt countenance. they were the lips of a bulldog: "all right, mr. denny," he said respectfully. chapter xxii action tom strode down to the messboards which, in pleasant weather, were out under the trees. he seemed not at all angry; there was a kind of breezy assurance in his stride and manner. as he reached the messboards where some of the scouts were already seated on the long benches, several noticed this buoyancy in his demeanor. "h'lo, kiddo," he said to pee-wee harris as he passed and ruffled that young gourmand's hair. reaching mr. carroll, he asked in a cheery undertone, "may i use one of your scouts for a little while?" "i'll have the whole troop wrapped up and delivered to you," said mr. carroll. "thanks." reaching gilbert tyson, he laid his hand on gilbert's shoulder and whispered to him in a pleasant, offhand way, "get through and come in the office, i want to speak to you." in the office, tom seated himself at one of the resident trustees' desks, spilled the contents of a pigeon hole in hauling out a sheet of the camp stationery, shook his fountain pen with a blithe air of crisp decision and wrote: to hervey willetts, scout:- you are hereby _required_ to present yourself before the resident court of honor at temple camp, which sits in the main pavilion on saturday, august the second, at ten a. m., and which will at that time hear testimony and decide on your fitness for the scout gold cross award for supreme heroism. by order of the resident council. pushing back his chair, he strode over to council shack, adjoining. "put your sig on that, mr. collins," said he. he reã«ntered the office just as gilbert tyson, wearing a look of astonishment and inquiry, and finishing a slice of bread and butter, entered by the other door. "tyson," said tom, as he put the missive in an envelope, "i understand you're a hero, woke up and found yourself famous and all that kind of stuff. can you sprint? good. i'm going to give you the chance of your life, and no war tax. hervey willetts started for home about three quarters of an hour ago. never mind why. deliver this letter to him." "where is he?" gilbert asked. "i haven't the slightest idea." "started for the train, you mean?" "now, tyson, i don't know any more about it than just that--he started for home. to-day's thursday. he must be here saturday. now don't waste time. here's the letter. now _get out_!" "just one second," said gilbert. "how do you _know_ he started for home?" "how do i know it?" tom shot back, impatiently. "do you think a fellow like willetts would go home? i'll deliver the letter wherever he is. but he isn't on his way home. i know him." "tyson," said tom, "you're a crackerjack scout. now get out of here before i throw you out." chapter xxiii the monster it is better to know your man than to know his tracks. gilbert tyson had somehow come to understand hervey in that one day since his arrival at camp, and he had no intention of exhausting his breath in a futile chase along the road. there, indeed, was a scout for you. he was on the job before he had started. the road ran behind the camp, the camp lying between the road and the lake. to go to catskill landing one must go by this road. also to make a short cut to jonesville (where the night express stopped) one must go for the first mile or so along this road. the road was a state road and of macadam, and did not show footprints. tyson did not know a great deal about tracking, but he knew something of human nature, he had heard something of hervey, and he eliminated the road. he believed that he would not overtake hervey there. across the road, at intervals, several trails led up into the thicker woods. one led to the morton farm, another to witches' pond. tyson, being new at camp, did not know the direction of these trails, but he knew that all trails go somewhere. he had heard, during the day, that hervey was on cordial terms with every farmer, squatter, tollgate keeper, bridge tender, hobo, and traveling show for miles around. so he examined these trails carefully at their beginnings beside the road. only one of them interested him. upon this, about ten feet in from the road, was a rectangular area impressed in the earth which, in the woods, was still damp after the storm. with his flashlight gilbert examined this. he thought a box might have stood there. then he noticed two ruffled places in the earth, each on one of the long sides of the rectangle. he knew then what it meant; a suit-case had stood there. if he had known more about the circumstance of hervey's leaving, he might have been touched by the picture of the wandering minstrel pausing to rest upon his burden, there at the edge of the woods. so this was the trail. elated, gilbert hurried on, pausing occasionally to verify his conviction by a footprint in the caked earth. the consistency of the earth was ideal for footprints. yes, some one had passed here not more than an hour before. here and there was an occasional hole in the earth where a stick might have been pressed in, showing that the stormy petrel had sometimes used his stick as a cane. for half an hour gilbert followed this trail with a feeling of elation, of triumph. soon he must overtake the wanderer. after a little, the trail became indistinct where it passed through a low, marshy area. the drenching of the woods by the late storm was apparent still in the low places. gilbert trudged through this spongy support, all but losing his balance occasionally. soon he saw something black ahead of him. this was witches' pond, though he did not know it by that name. as he approached, the ground became more and more spongy and uncertain. it was apparent that the pond had usurped much of the surrounding marsh in the recent rainy spell. gilbert had to proceed with caution. once his leg sank to the knee in the oozy undergrowth. he was just considering whether he had not better abandon a trail which was indeed no longer a trail at all, and pick his way around the pond, when he noticed something a little distance ahead of him which caused him to pause and strain his eyes to see it better in the gathering dusk. as he looked a cold shudder went through him. what he saw was, perhaps, fifty feet off. a log was there, one end of which was in the ground, the other end projecting at an angle. its position suggested the pictures of torpedoed liners going down, and there passed through gilbert's agitated mind, all in a flash, a vision of the great _lusitania_ sinking--slowly sinking. for this great log was going down. slowly, very slowly; but it was going down. or else gilbert's eyes and the deepening shadows were playing a strange trick.... he dragged his own foot out of the treacherous ground and looked about for safer support. there was a suction as he dragged his foot up which sent his heart to his mouth. "_quicksand_," he muttered, shudderingly. was it too late? he backed cautiously out of the jaws of this horrible monster of treachery and awful death, feeling his way with each tentative, cautious step. he stood ankle deep, breathing more easily. he was back at the edge of that oozy, clinging, all devouring trap. he breathed easier. he looked at the log. it was going down. it stood almost upright now, and offering no resistance with its bulk, was sinking rapidly. in a minute it looked like a stump. it shortened. gilbert stood motionless and watched it, fascinated. instinctively he retreated a few feet, to still more solid support. he was standing in ordinary mud now. down, down.... a long legged bird came swooping through the dusk across the pond, lit upon the sinking trunk, and then was off again. "lucky it has wings," gilbert said. there was no other way to safety. down, down, down--it was just a hubble. the oozy mass sucked it in, closed over it. it was gone. there was nothing but the dusk and the pond, and the discordant croaking of frogs. then, close to where the log had been, gilbert saw something else. it was a little dab of yellow. it grew smaller; disappeared. there was nothing to be seen now but a little spot of gray; probably some swamp growth.... no.... just then gilbert saw upon it a tiny speck which sparkled. there were other specks. he strained his eyes to pierce the growing darkness. he was doubtful, then certain, then doubtful. he advanced, ever so cautiously, a step or two, to see it better. yes. it was. utterly sick at heart he turned his head away. there before him, still defying by its lightness of weight, the hungry jaws of the heartless, terrible, devouring monster that eats its prey alive, stood the little rimless, perforated and decorated cap of hervey willetts. joyous and buoyant it seemed, defying its inevitable fate with the blithe spirit of its late owner. it floated still, after the log and the suit-case had gone down. and that was all that was left of the wandering minstrel. chapter xxiv gilbert's discovery gilbert tyson was a scout and he could face the worst. he soon got control of himself and began considering what he had better do. he could not advance one more step without danger. yet he could not think of going back to camp, with nothing but the report of something he had seen from a distance. he had done nothing. yet what could he do? he was at a loss to know how hervey could have advanced so far into that treacherous mire. he must have picked his way here and there, knee deep, waist deep, like the reckless youngster he was, until he plunged all unaware into the fatal spot. the very thought of it made gilbert shudder. had he called for help? gilbert wondered. how dreadful it must have been to call for help in those minutes of sinking, and to hear nothing but some mocking echo. what had the victim thought of, while going down--down? good scout that he was, gilbert would not go back to camp without rescuing that one remaining proof of hervey's tragic end. at least he would take back all that there was to take back. he pulled out of his pocket a fishline wound on a stick. at the end of the line where a hook was, he fastened several more hooks an inch or two apart. the sinker was not heavy enough for his purpose so he fastened a stone to the end of the line. as he made these preparations, the rather grewsome thought occurred to him of what he should do and how he would feel if hervey's head were visible when he pulled the cap away. it caused him to hesitate, just for a few seconds, to make an effort to recover it. suppose that hat were still on the smothered victim's head.... with his first throw, the stone landed short of the mark and he dragged back a mass of dripping marsh growth, caught by the fish-hooks. his second attempt landed the stone a yard or so beyond the hat and the treacherous character of the ground there was shown by the almost instant submergence of the missile. it was with difficulty that gilbert dragged it out, and with every pull he feared the cord would snap. but as he pulled, the hat came also. the line was directly across it and the hooks caught it nicely. there was no vestige of any solid object where the cap had been. gilbert wondered how deep the log had sunk, and the suit-case and--the other.... he shook the clinging mud and marsh growth from the hat and looked at it. he had seen hervey only twice; once lying unconscious in the bus, and once that very day, when the young wanderer had started off to visit his friend, the farmer. but this cap very vividly and very pathetically suggested its owner. the holes in it were of every shape and size. the buttons besought the beholder to vote for suffrage, to buy liberty bonds, to join the red cross, to eat at jim's lunch room, to use only tyler's fresh cocoanut bars, to give a thought to ireland. there was a camp-fire girls' badge, a harding pin, a cox pin, a debs pin ... hervey had been non-partisan with a vengeance. with this cap, the one touching memento of the winner of the gold cross, gilbert started sorrowfully back to camp. the dreadful manner of hervey's death agitated him and weakened his nerve as the discovery of a body would not have done. there was no provision in the handbook for this kind of a discovery; no face to cover gently with his scout scarf, no arms to lay in seemly posture. one who _had been_, was _not_. his death and burial were one. gilbert could not fit this horrible thought to his mind. it was out of all human experience. he could not rid himself of the ghastly thought of how far down those--those _things_--had gone. slowly he retraced his steps along the trail--thinking. he had read of hats being found floating in lakes, indubitable evidence of drowning, and he had known the owners of these hats to show up at the ends of the stories. but _this_.... he thought of the alighting of that bird upon the sinking end of the log. how free and independent that bird! how easy its escape. how impossible the escape of any mortal. to carelessly pause upon a log that was going down in quicksand and then to fly away. there was blitheness in the face of danger for you! gilbert took his way along the trail, sick at heart. how could he tell tom slade of this frightful thing? it was his first day at camp and it would cast a shadow on his whole vacation. soon he espied a light shining in the distance. that was a camp, no doubt. by leaving the trail and following the light, he could shorten his journey. he was not so sure that he wanted to shorten his journey, but he was ashamed of this hesitancy to face things, so he abandoned the trail and took the light for his guide. soon there appeared another light near the first one, and then he knew that he was saving distance and heading straight for camp. he had supposed that the trail went pretty straight from the vicinity of camp to that dismal pond in the woods. but you can never see the whole of a trail at once and it must have formed a somewhat rambling course. anyway there were the lights of camp off to the west of the path, and gilbert tyson hurried thither. chapter xxv a voice in the dark gilbert soon discovered his mistake. when a trail has brought you to a spot it is best to trust that trail to take you back again. beacons, artificial beacons, are fickle things. gilbert had much to learn. he had lost the trail and he soon found that he was following a phantom. one of the lights was no light at all, but a reflection in a puddle in the woods. the woods were still full of puddles; though the ground was firm it still bore these traces of its recent soaking. and the damage caused by the high wind was apparent on every hand, in fallen trees and broken limbs. there was a pungent odor to the drenched woods. gilbert picked his way around these impediments of wetness and dã©bris. the night was clear. there were a few stars but no moon. doubtless, he thought, the reflection in the puddle was the reflection of a star. presently he saw something black before him. in his maneuvers to keep to dry ground he had in fact already gone beyond it, and looked back at it, so to say. now he could see that the reflection in the puddle was derived from a light on the further side of the black mass. other little intervening puddles were touched with a faint, shimmering brightness. gilbert approached the dark object and saw that it was a fallen tree. the wound in the earth caused by its torn-up roots formed a sort of cavern where the slenderer tentacles hung limp like tropical foliage. if there was a means of entrance to this dank little shelter it must be from the farther side. even where gilbert stood the atmosphere was redolent of the damp earth of this crazy little retreat. for retreat it certainly was, because there was a light in it. gilbert could only see the reflection of the light but he knew whence that reflection was derived. he approached a little closer and was sure he heard voices. he paused, then advanced a little closer still. doubtless this freakish little shelter left by the storm was occupied by a couple of hoboes, perhaps thieves. but gilbert had played his card and lost. he had forsaken the trail for a light, and the light had not guided him to camp. he doubted if he could find his way to camp from here. you are to remember that gilbert was a good scout, but a new one. he approached a little closer, and now he could distinctly hear a voice. not the voice of a hobo, surely, for it was carolling a blithe song to the listening heavens. gilbert bent his ear to listen: oh, the life of a scout is free, is free; he's happy as happy can be, can be. he dresses so neat, with no shoes on his feet; the life of a scout is free! the life of a scout is bold, so bold; his adventures have never been told, been told. his legs they are bare, and he won't take a dare, the life of a scout is bold! the savage gorilla is mild, is mild; compared to the boy scout so wild, so wild. he don't go to bed, and he stands on his head, the life of a scout is wild! gilbert stood petrified with astonishment. in all his excursions through the scout handbook he had never encountered any such formula for scouting as this. no scout hero in _boys' life_ had ever consecrated himself to such a program. there was a pause within, during which gilbert crept a little closer. he hardly knew any of the boys in camp yet, and the strange voice meant nothing to him. he knew that no member of _his_ troop was there. "want to hear another?" the singer asked. "shoot," was the laconic reply. "this one was writ, wrot, wrote for the camp-fire girls around the blazing oil stove. "if i had nine lives like an old tom cat, i'd chuck eight of them away. for the more the weight, the less the speed, and scouts don't carry any more than they need; and i'd keep just one for a rainy day. "good? want to hear more? second verse by special request. they're off: "if i could turn like an old windmill, i'd do good turns all day; with noble deeds the day i'd fill. but you see i'm _not_ an old windmill. and i ain't just built that way, i ain't." gilbert decided that however unusual were these ballads of scouting, they did not emanate from thief or hobo; and he climbed resolutely over the log. even the comparative mildness of the savage gorilla to this new kind of scout did not deter him. the scout anthem continued. "if i was a roaring old camp-fire, you bet that i'd go out; oh, i'd go out and far and near, for a camp-fire has the right idea; and knows what it's about!" gilbert crept along the farther side of the log till he came to an opening among the tangled roots. it was a very small but cozy little cave that he found himself looking into. in a general way, it suggested a wicker basket or a cage, except that it was black and damp. within was a little fire of twigs. tending it was a young fellow of perhaps twenty years of age, wearing a plaid cap. he was stooping over the little fire. nearby, in a sort of swing made by binding two hanging tentacles of root, sat the wandering minstrel, swinging his legs to keep his makeshift hammock in motion. gilbert tyson contemplated him in speechless consternation. there he was, the ideal ragged vagabond, and he did not cease swinging even when he discovered the visitor. "h'lo," he said; "gimme my hat, that's just what i wanted; glad to see you." dumbfounded, gilbert tossed the hat over to him. "i wouldn't sell that hat," said hervey, putting it on, "not for a couple of cups of cup custard. sit down. here's the chorus. "then hurrah for the cat with its nine little lives, and the good turn windmill, too. and hurrah for the fire that likes to go out, when the hour is late like a regular scout; for that's what i like to do, _i do._ you bet your life i do!" chapter xxvi love me, love my dog "where did you find the hat?" hervey inquired. "i bet you can't sit on this without holding on. were you in the swamp? this is my friend, mr. hood--robin hood--sometimes i call him _lid_ instead of _hood_. call him _cap_ if you want to, he doesn't care," he added, still swinging. mr. robin hood did not seem as much at ease as his young companion. he seemed rather troubled and glanced sideways at gilbert. "we should worry about his name if he doesn't want to give it, hey?" hervey said, winking at gilbert. "what's in a name?" gilbert was shrewd enough not to mention tom but to give his visit the dignity of highest authority. "well, this is a big surprise to me," he said, "and i'm mighty glad it's this way," he added with a deep note of sincerity and relief in his voice. "i was sent from the office to find you and give you this note. i tracked you to the pond and i thought--golly, i'm glad it isn't so--but i thought you went down in the quicksand. i near got into it myself." "me?" "yes, how did you----" "easiest thing in the world. i knew if i could get to the log--did you see the log?" "it isn't there now." "i knew if i could get to that i could jump from it to the pond." "and did you?" "surest thing. i kept chucking the suit-case ahead and stepping on it. i had an old board, too. i guess they're both gone down by now." "yes." "when i got to the log i was all hunk--for half a minute. 'one to get ready,' that's what i said. oh, boy, going down. toys and stationery in the basement." just in that moment gilbert thought of the bird. "yes?" he urged, "and then?" "one to get ready, one to jump high, one to light in the pond or die." "and you did it? i heard you were reckless. here, read the note," gilbert said with unconcealed admiration. the wandering minstrel had made another capture. he was, however, a little sobered as he opened the envelope. he had never been the subject of an official missive before. he had never been honored by a courier. he had won badges and had an unique reputation for stunts. but when the momentary sting had passed it cannot be said that he left camp with any fond regrets. on the other hand, he bore the camp and his scoutmaster no malice now. he who forgets orders may also forget grievances. in hervey's blithe nature there was no room for abiding malice. "what are they trying to hand me now?" he asked, reading the notice. "i don't know anything about it," said gilbert; "i think you have to come back, don't you?" "sure, i've got the gold cross wished on me." "the cross?" said gilbert in admiring surprise. "what for?" "search me. they're going to test some money or something--testimony, that's it. something big is going to happen in my young life." "you'll go back?" gilbert asked anxiously. "sure, if robin hood can go with me. love me, love my dog." "i don't want to go there," said the young fellow; "you kids better go." "then that's the end of the red cross," said hervey, still swinging. "i mean the gold cross or the double cross or whatever you call it. what'd'you say, hoody? they have good eats there. will you come and see me cop the cross?" "he just happened to blow in here," said the stranger, by way of explaining hervey's presence to gilbert. "i was knocking around in the woods and bunking in here." gilbert was a little puzzled, but he did not ask any questions. he was thoughtful and tactful. he had a pretty good line on hervey's nature, too. "of course, hervey has to go back," he said, as much for hervey's benefit as for the stranger's. "i say all three of us go. you'll like to see the camp----" "they've got a washed-out cove and an oven for making marshmallows, and a scoutmasters' meeting-place with a drain-pipe you can climb up to the roof on, 'n everything," said hervey in a spirit of fairness toward the camp and its attractions. "they've got messboards you can do hand-springs on when the cook isn't around. i bet you can't do the double flop, hoody." "well, then, we'll all go?" gilbert asked rather anxiously. hervey spread out his arms by way of saying that anything that suited gilbert and the stranger would suit him. so the three started off to camp, the stranger rather hesitating, gilbert highly elated with his success, and hervey perfectly agreeable to anything which meant action. it was characteristic of hervey that he really had not the faintest idea of why he was to be honored with the highest scout award. he had apparently forgotten all about his almost superhuman exploit. he would never have mentioned it nor thought of it. he did recall it in that moment of humiliation when mr. denny had talked with him. but he would not speak of it even then. he would suffer disgrace first. and how much less was he likely to think of it now! surely the gold cross had nothing to do with that fiasco which had ended in unconsciousness. that was not supreme heroism. there was something wrong, somewhere. _that_ was just a stunt.... well, he would take things as they came--quicksand, a frantic run in storm and darkness, new friends, the gold cross, anything.... was there one soul in all that great camp that really understood him? as they picked their way through the woods, following his lead (for he alone knew the way) he edified them with another song, for these ballads which had made him the wandering minstrel he remembered even if he remembered nothing else. "you wouldn't think to look at me that i'm as good as good can be- a little saint. you wouldn't care to make a bet, that i'm the teacher's little pet- i ain't." chapter xxvii tom learns something tom's absence through the day had resulted in an accumulation of work upon his table. his duties were chiefly active but partly clerical. after supper he started to clear away these matters. the camp had already been in communication with mr. temple, its founder, and plans had been made for an inspection of the washed-out cove by engineers from the city. it was purposed to build a substantial dam at that lowest and weakest place on the lake shore. there was a memorandum asking tom to be prepared to show these men the fatal spot on the following morning. matters connected with the meeting of the resident court of honor next day had also to be attended to. several dreamers of high awards would have a sleepless night in anticipation of that meeting. hervey willetts would probably sleep peacefully--if he went to bed at all. it was half an hour or so before tom got around to looking over the names of new arrivals. these were card indexed by the camp clerk, and tom always looked the cards over in a kind of casual quest of familiar names, and also with the purpose of getting a line on first season troops. it was his habit to make prompt acquaintance with these and help them over the first hard day or so of strangeness. in glancing over these names, he was greatly astonished to find on the list of mr. carroll's troop, the name of william corbett. the identity of this name with that of the victim of the automobile accident greatly interested him, and he recalled then for the first time, that this troop had come from hillsburgh, in the vicinity of which the accident had occurred. yet, according to the newspaper, the victim of the accident had been killed, or mortally injured. as tom pondered on this coincidence of names there ran through his mind one of those snatches of song which hervey willetts was fond of singing: some boys were killed and some were not, of those that went to war; and a lot of boys are dying now, that never died before. before camp-fire was started tom hunted up mr. carroll. "i see you have a william corbett in your troop, mr. carroll," said he. "oh, yes, that's goliath." "he--he wasn't the kid who was knocked down by an auto?" "why, yes, he was. you know about that?" tom hesitated. the newspapers had not yet had time to publish the sensational accounts of harlowe's tragic death on the mountain and the facts about this harrowing business had not been made public in camp. "i thought the kid was killed," tom said. "oh, no, that was just newspaper talk. it's a long way from being mortally injured in a newspaper to being killed, mr. slade." "y-es, i dare say you're right," said tom, still astonished. "yes, the little codger has a weak heart," said mr. carroll. "when the machine struck him it knocked him down and he was picked up unconscious. probably he looked dead as he lay there. i dare say that's what frightened the man in the machine. no, it was just his heart," he added. "a couple of the boys in my troop knew the family, mother did washing for them or something of that sort, and so we got in touch with the little codger and there was our good turn all cut out for us. "you know, slade, we have a kind of an institution--troop good turn. ever hear of anything like that? so we brought him along. he's a kind of a scout in the chrysalis stage. he doesn't even know what happened to him. a good part of his life has been spent in hospitals; he'll pick up though. i think the newspaper reporters did more harm than the autoist. do you know, slade, i think the man may have just got panicky, like some of the soldiers in the war." "i've seen a fellow shrink like a whipped cur at the sound of a cannon and then i've seen him flying after the enemy like a fiend," said tom. "yes, human nature's a funny thing," said mr. carroll. tom's mind was divided between admiration of this kind, tolerant, generous scoutmaster and astonishment at what he had learned. "well, that's news to me," he said. "yes, the main thing is to build the little codger up now," mr. carroll mused aloud. "mr. carroll," said tom, "gilbert didn't say anything about going up the mountain with me last night?" "n-no, i don't know that he did." "the trustees didn't want anything said about the matter here in camp, or the whole outfit would be going up the mountain. but i suppose the papers will have the whole business by to-morrow, and you might as well have it now. the fellow who ran down the kid was found crushed to death on the mountain last night. his name was aaron harlowe." tom told the whole harrowing episode to mr. carroll, who listened with interest, commenting now and again upon the tragic sequel of the auto accident. it was plain, throughout, however, that his chief interest was in his little charge, goliath. "that's a very strange thing," he said; "it has a smack of divine justice about it, if one cares to look at it that way. have you any theory of just how it happened?" "i haven't got any time for theories, mr. carroll; not with four new troops coming to-morrow. it's a closed book now, i suppose. there are some funny things about the whole business. but one thing sure, the man's dead. i have a hunch he got crazed and rattled and hid here and there and was afraid they'd catch him and finally went up the mountain. he thought he had killed the kid, you see. i'd like to know what went on inside his head, wouldn't you?" "yes, i would." several of mr. carroll's troop, seeing him talking with tom, approached and hung about as this chat ended. wherever tom slade was, scouts were attracted to that spot as flies are attracted to sugar. they stood about, listening, and staring at the young camp assistant. "well, how do you think you like us up here?" tom asked, turning abruptly from his talk with their scoutmaster. "think you're going to have a good time?" "you said something," one piped up. "where's gilbert?" another asked. "oh, he'll be back in a little while," tom said. "i sent him on an errand and i suppose he got lost." "he did _not_!" several vociferated. "no?" tom smiled. "you bet he didn't!" "well," said tom, laughing, "if you fellows want to get into the mix-up, keep your eyes on the bulletin board. everything is posted there, hikes and things. you'll like most of the things you see there." "i'm crazy about tomatoes," one of the scouts ventured. tom smiled at mr. carroll and mr. carroll smiled at tom. there seemed to be a sort of unspoken agreement among them all that hervey willetts should be thought of ruefully, and in a way of disapproval. but, oddly enough, none of them seemed quite able to conceal a sneaking liking for him, shown rather than expressed. and there you have an illustration of hervey's status in camp.... chapter xxviii the black sheep the scouts were all around the camp-fire when gilbert tyson returned with his captives. as they crossed the road and came upon the camp grounds, the stranger seemed apprehensive and ill at ease, but hervey with an air of sweeping authority informed him that everything was all right, that he would fix it for him. "don't you worry," he said; "i know all the high mucks here. you leave it to me." he was singularly confident for one in disgrace. "i'll get you a job, all right. when you see slady or uncle jeb you just tell them you're a friend of mine." robin hood seemed somewhat reassured by the words of one so influential. by way of giving him a cheery reminder of certain undesirable facts and reconciling him to a life of toil, hervey sang as they made their way to the office. "you gotta go to work, you gotta go to work, you gotta go to work- that's true. and the reason why you gotta go to work _is_ the work won't come to you _see?_ "i gotta go to bed, i gotta go to bed, like a good little scout- you see. and the reason why i gotta go to bed _is_ the bed won't come to me. d'you see? the bed won't come to me." this ballad of toil and duty (which were hervey's favorite themes) was accompanied by raps on gilbert's head with a stick, which became more and more vigorous as they approached the office. here the atmosphere of officialdom did somewhat subdue the returning prodigal son and he removed his precious hat as they entered. this matter was in tom slade's hands and he was going to see it through alone. from camp-fire his watchful eye had seen the trio passing through the grove and he was in the office before they reached it. the office was a dreadful place, where the mighty john temple himself held sway on his occasional visits, where councilmen and scoutmasters conferred, and where there was a bronze statue of daniel boone. hervey had many times longed to decorate the sturdy face of the old pioneer with a mustache and whiskers, using a piece of trail-sign chalk. at present he was seized by a feeling of respectful diffidence, and stood hat in hand, a trifle uncomfortable. robin hood was uncomfortable too, but he was in for it now. he was relieved to see that the official who confronted him was an easy-going offhand young fellow of about his own age, dressed in extreme negligã©e, sleeves rolled up, shirt open, face and throat brown like the brown of autumn. it seemed to make things easier for the trio that tom vaulted up onto the bookkeeper's high desk, as if he were vaulting a fence, and sat there swinging his legs, the very embodiment of genial companionship. "well, gilbert, you got away with it, huh?" "here he is," said gilbert proudly. "i found him in a kind of cave in the woods----" "gilbert deserves all the credit for finding me," hervey interrupted. "you've got to hand it to him, i'll say that much." "it isn't everybody who can find you, is it?" said tom. "believe me, you said something," hervey ejaculated. "well, i'm going to say some more," tom laughed. "this is my friend," said hervey; "robin hood, but i don't know his real name. he's a good friend of mine, and he can play the banjo only he hasn't got one with him, and i want to get him a job." "any friend of yours----" tom began and winked at gilbert. "what did i tell you?" said hervey. "didn't i tell you i'd fix it?" "i'm glad to meet you, mr. hood," said tom. "we're expecting to be pretty busy here, i can say that much," he added cautiously. "i was just roaming the woods," said the stranger. "i haven't got any home; out of luck. the boys insisted on my coming." "strangers always welcome," said tom cheerily. it was, indeed, true that strangers were always welcome. temple camp was down on the hobo's blue book as a hospitable refuge. stranded show people had known its sheltering kindness. moreover, tom was not likely to make particular inquiry about hervey's chance acquaintances. the wandering minstrel had brought in laid-off farm hands, a strolling organ grinder with a monkey, not to mention two gypsies, a peddler of rugs and other strays. "well, tyson," said tom, clasping his hands behind his head and swinging his legs in a way of utmost good humor, "suppose you take mr. hood over to camp-fire and see if he can stand for some of those yarns. tell uncle jeb he's going to hang around till morning. you stay here, hervey. i'd like to hear about your adventures. let's see, how many lives have you got left now?" "believe me, i did _some stunt_," said hervey. chapter xxix stunts and stunts for a minute or two, tom sat swinging his legs, contemplating hervey. "when it comes to stunts," said he, "you're down and out. you belong to the '_also rans_.'" "me?" "yes, you." "i can----" "oh, yes, you can do a lot. you ought to join the camp-fire girls. you were asked to stay at camp--i'm not talking about yesterday. i'm talking about all summer. there's an easy stunt. but you fell down on it. don't talk to me about stunts." "do you think it's easy to hang around camp all the time? it's hard, you can bet." "sure, it's a _stunt_. and you can't do it. little pee-wee harris can do it, but you can't. don't talk stunts to me. i know what a stunt is." "what's a stunt?" hervey asked, trying to conceal the weakness of his attitude with a fine air of defiance. "why, a stunt is something that is hard to do, that's all." "you tell me----" "i'll tell you something i want you to do and you're afraid to do it--you're _afraid_." "i won't take a dare from anybody," hervey shouted. "well, you'll take one from me." "you dare me to do something and see." "all righto. i _dare_ you to go up to your troop's cabin after camp-fire and tell mr. denny that you've been a blamed nuisance and that you're out to do the biggest stunt you ever did. and that is to do what you're told. tell him i dared you to do it, and tell him what you said about not taking a dare from anybody. tell him you never knew about its being a stunt. "of course i know you won't do it, because it's hard, and i know you're not game. i just want to show you that you're a punk stunt-puller. i _dare_ you to do it! i _dare_ you to do it!" "i won't take a dare from anybody!" said hervey, excitedly. "oh, yes, you will. you'll take one from _me_. you're a four-flusher, that's what you are. go ahead. i _dare_ you to do it. you won't take a dare, hey? i _double_ dare you to! there. now let's see. go up there and tell mr. denny you're going to get away with the biggest thing you ever tried--the biggest stunt. and to-morrow morning before the court meets you come in here and see mr. fuller and uncle jeb and me. now don't ask any questions. you came in here all swelled up, regular fellow and all that sort of thing, and i'm calling your bluff." "you call me a bluffer?" hervey shouted. "the biggest bluffer outside of pine bluff." "me?" "yes, you." "i wouldn't take a dare from you or anybody like you!" "actions speak louder than words." "i never saw the stunt yet----" "well, here it is right now. i dare you. i _dare_ you," said tom, jumping down and looking right in hervey's face, "i double dare you!" hervey grabbed his hat from the bench. "a kid that gives a double dare for shame and grins he must prepare." he shouted. "that's me," said tom. before he realized what had happened, he heard the door slam and he found himself alone, laughing. hervey had departed, in wrath and desperation, bent upon his next stunt. chapter xxx the double dare mr. denny's troop had turned in with the warmth of the roaring camp-fire still lingering in their cheeks when the black sheep went up the hill. the scoutmaster, sitting in his tepee, was writing up the troop's diary in the light of a railroad lantern. he showed no great surprise at his wandering scout's arrival. "well, hervey," said he. "back again? i told you it would be better to wait till morning. missed the train, eh? you see my advice is sometimes best after all." he did not look up but continued writing. if hervey had expected to create a sensation he was disappointed. "better go to bed and catch the nine fifty-two in the morning," said mr. denny kindly. "i came back because tom slade sent for me. i've got to get a medal, but i don't care anything about that." "so? what's that for?" "i always said that fellow slade was a friend of mine, but i wouldn't let him put one over on me, i wouldn't." "you mean he was just fooling you about the medal?" "maybe you can tell," said hervey. "because anyway i didn't do anything to win a--the gold cross." mr. denny raised his eyebrows in frank surprise. "the gold cross?" "i don't care anything about that, anyway," said hervey; "but i wouldn't take a dare from anybody; i never did yet." "no?" "he said--that fellow said--he said i wouldn't dare to come up here and tell you that i can--do anything i want to do." "that's just what you've been doing, hervey." "but you know i'm good on stunts? and he said--this is just what he said--he said i couldn't do that kind of a stunt--staying here when i'm told to. he dared me to. would you take a double dare if you were me? they're worse than single ones." "n-no, i don't know that i would," said mr. denny, thoughtfully. "he said i wouldn't dare--do you know what a four flusher is?" "why--y-es." "he said i wouldn't _dare_ to come up here and tell you that i know i'm wrong to make so much trouble and he said i couldn't do a stunt like staying in camp. would you let any fellow call you a camp-fire girl--would you? gee williger, _that_ stunt's a cinch!" mr. denny closed his book, leaving his pen in it as a book-mark, and clasping his hands, listened attentively. it was the first slight sign of surrender. he looked inquiringly and not unkindly at the figure that stood before him in the dim lantern light. he noted the torn clothing, the wrinkled stocking, the outlandish hat with its holes and trinkets. he could see, just see, those clear gray eyes, honest, reckless, brave.... "yes, hervey?" "of course you don't have to keep me here, i don't mean that. because that's another thing, anyway. only i want you to tell slade that i _did_ dare, because i wouldn't take a double dare not even from--from mr. temple, i wouldn't. so then he'll know i'm not afraid of you. because even you wouldn't say i'm a coward." "no." "i can do any stunt going, i'll let him know, and i won't take a double dare from anybody. because i made a resolution when i was in the third primary grade." "and you've always kept it?" "you think i'd bust a resolution? you have bad luck for eight years if you do that." "i see." "no, siree!" "and so you think you could do this stunt?" "i can do any stunt going. do you know what i did----" "just a second, hervey. i'd like to see you get away with that stunt." "but i'm not asking you to keep me here," hervey said, giving his stocking a hitch, "because i'm a good loser, i am. but i want you to tell that fellow slade--i used to think he was a friend of mine--i want you to tell him that i bobbed that dare." "bobbed it?" "yes, that means put it back on him." mr. denny paused. "why don't you tell him yourself, hervey?" "because he doesn't have to believe me." "has any one ever accused you of lying, hervey?" "do you think i'd let anybody?" "hmm, well, i think you'd better bob that dare yourself. but of course you ought to follow it up with the stunt." "oh, sure--only----" "i'll give you the chance to do that. my sporting blood is up now----" "that's just the way with me," said hervey; "that's where you and i are alike." "yes. i think we'll have to put this fellow slade where he belongs." "you leave that to me," said hervey. there was a pause of a few moments. the whole camp had turned in by now and distant voices had ceased. a cricket chirped somewhere close by. an acorn fell from a tree overhead and rolled down the roof of the troop cabin a few yards distant, the sound of its falling emphasized by the stillness. hervey hitched up his stocking again. mr. denny watched him. perhaps he was studying this wandering minstrel of his more closely than ever before. it may have been that the silence and isolation were on hervey's side.... "anyway, you don't have to keep me here, because--and i didn't come back for that." "hervey, you spoke about a medal--the gold cross. you don't mean the supreme heroism award, of course. slade didn't try to lure you back with hints about such a thing?" "hanged if i know what he meant." "he sent a note after you? have you it with you?" "i made paper bullets out of it to shoot at lightning bugs on the way home." "did he actually mention the gold cross?" "i think he did--sure i never did anything to win that, you can bet." "no. and i think slade adopted very questionable tactics to get you back. doubtless his intentions were good----" "i wouldn't let that fellow ruin _my_ young life--don't worry." "well, you'd better turn in now, hervey, and don't stay awake thinking about dares and stunts and awards." and indeed hervey did not stay awake thinking of any such things, especially awards. in more than one tent and cabin on that friday night were sleepless heads, tossing and visioning the morrow which would bring them merit badges, and perhaps awards of higher honor--silver, bronze.... but the head of hervey willetts rested quietly and his sleep was sound. he took things as they came, as he had taken the letter out of gilbert's hands. there was a mistake somewhere, or else tom slade had caught him and brought him back by a mean trick and a false promise. but he did not hold that against tom. what he held against tom was that tom had made him take a double dare. he knew he had done nothing to win so high an honor as that golden treasure, so rare, so coveted.... what he had done was already ancient history and forgotten. and it had no relation to the gold cross. and so he slept peacefully. the thing that he most treasured was his decorated hat, and so that this might not get away from him again, he kept it under his pillow.... chapter xxxi the court in session from his conversation with tom, mr. denny knew (if indeed he had not known it before) that the young assistant had a strong liking for this bah, bah black sheep. he knew that tom had been responsible for hervey's latest truancy and he believed that tom, knowing that a little trick was the only way to bring hervey back, might have played such a little trick, then sent him up the hill to square himself. mr. denny was quite in sympathy with the stunt and double dare business, but he did not approve of trying to circumvent hervey by dangling the gold cross before his eyes. he was afraid that hervey would not forget this and that the disappointment would be keen. as we know, tom was dead set against this kind of thing. mr. denny did not know that. but he did know that hervey was unfamiliar with the rigorous requirements for winning the highest award, for most of the pages in hervey's handbook had been used to make torches and paper bullets. mr. denny was resolved that tom slade should not get away with such tactics unrebuked. he was resolved to speak to the honor court about it in the morning. he would not have one of his boys made the victim of vain hopes.... * * * * * early in the morning, tom took a little stroll with robin hood and improved his acquaintance. tom liked odd people as much as hervey did and he found this unfortunate stranger rather interesting. one thing, in particular, he learned from him which was of immediate interest to him and which hervey, with characteristic heedlessness, had forgotten to mention. "i dare say we can dig you up something to do," said tom, "when the work on the dam gets started. that'll be in two or three days, i guess. suppose you hang around." "i'd like to stay right here for the rest of the summer," said the young fellow. "i'm out of luck and i'm all in." "france?" tom queried. for soldiers out of luck were not uncommon in camp. "no, just hard luck; lost my grip, that's all." "well, hang around and maybe you'll pull together. i've seen lots of shell-shock; had it myself, in fact." "oh, it's nothing like that." "come in and see the supreme court in session, won't you? it's great. we have this twice during the summer. reminds you of the league of nations in session.... h'lo, shorty, what are you here for? more merit badges?" outside the main pavilion the choicest spirits of camp were loitering; pee-wee harris still working valiantly on the end of his breakfast, roy blakeley of the silver foxes, bert winton on from ohio with the bengal tigers, and brent gaylong, leader of the church mice from newburgh. he was a sort of scoutmaster and patrol leader rolled into one, was brent, a lanky, slow moving fellow with a funny squint to his face, and a quiet way of seeing the funny side of things. you had only to look at him to laugh. "tickets purchased from speculators not good," he was saying. inside, the place was half filled with scouts, with a sprinkling of scoutmasters. the members of the resident court of honor were already seated behind a table and business was going forward. much had already been despatched. after a little while mr. denny came in and sat down. other scoutmasters sauntered in, and scouts singly and in groups. one proud scout went out with three new merit badges and was vociferously cheered outside. another didn't quite make the pathfinder's badge; another the camp honor flag for good turns. still another got the life scout badge, and so it went. honor jobs for the ensuing week were given out. there were many strictly camp awards, not found in the handbook. the temple paddle was awarded to a proud canoeist. scouts came and went. sometimes the interest was keen and sometimes it lagged. hervey willetts came sauntering up from the boat landing, his hat at a rakish angle, and trying to balance an oar-lock on his nose. he had an air of wandering aimlessly so that his arrival at the pavilion seemed quite a matter of chance. a morning song was on his lips: the life of a scout is sweet, is sweet, the rubbish he throws in the street, the street. he uses soft words, and he shoots all the birds; the life of a scout is sweet. being a lone, blithe spirit, a kind of scout skylark as one might say, he had not many friends in camp. the rank and file laughed at him, were amused at his naã¯ve independence, and regarded him, not as a poor scout, but rather as not exactly a scout at all. they did not see enough of him; he flew too high. he was his own best companion. consequently when he sauntered with a kind of whimsical assurance into that exalted official conclave most of them thought that he had dropped in as he might have dropped into the lake. there was a little touch of pathos, too, in the fact that the loiterers outside did not speak to him as he passed in. it was just that they did not know him well enough; he was not one of them. he was the oddest of odd numbers, a stormy petrel indeed, and they did not know how to take him. so he was alone amid three hundred scouts.... chapter xxxii over the top tom had waited patiently for hervey to arrive. his propensity for _not_ arriving had troubled tom. but whether by chance or otherwise there he was, and tom lost no time in getting to his feet. "before the court closes," he said, "i want to ask to have a blank filled out to be sent to the national honor court, on a claim for the gold cross award. i would like to get it endorsed by the local council to-day so it will get to national headquarters monday." you could have heard a pin drop in that room. the magic words gold cross brought every whispering, dallying scout to attention. there was a general rustle of straightening up in seats. the continuous departing ceased. faces appeared at the open windows. _the gold cross._ mr. denny looked at tom. the young assistant, in his usual negligã©e, was very offhand and thoroughly at ease. he seemed to know what he was talking about. all eyes were upon him. "if you want the detailed statements of the three witnesses written out, that can be done. but the national court will take the recommendation without that if it's endorsed by the local council. that was done in the case of albert nesbit, who won the gold cross here three years ago. i'd rather do it that way." "what is the name, mr. slade?" "willetts--hervey willetts. you spell it with two t's." "this can be done without witnesses, on examination, mr. slade." "the winner isn't a good subject for examination," said tom; "i think the witnesses would be better." "just so." "i might say," said tom, "that this is the first chance i've had to tell about this thing. on the night of the storm i sent willetts from the cove and told him to catch the bus and stop it before it reached the bridge. i didn't think he could do it but i didn't say so. he had two miles to go through the storm, running all the way. the wind was in his face. of course we all know what the storm was. his scoutmaster had told him not to leave camp. if this was an emergency then it comes under by-law twenty-seven. you'll have to decide that. it was on account of the flood i took him, not on account of the bus. the lake was running out." "did he reach the bus?" mr. fuller asked. "he reached the bus, but he doesn't know how. the last he remembered is that he fell because his foot was caught in a hole. i don't know, nobody knows how he did that thing. here's a man who was in the woods that night and saw him. he met him about half way and says he was so exhausted and excited he couldn't speak. he told this man that he had to _hurry on to save some people's lives_. he meant the people in the bus. how he got from the place where he fell to the bus is a mystery. when he did get there he couldn't speak, so he grabbed one of the horses. his foot was wrenched and he was unconscious. "when they got him in the bus he muttered something and they thought he was talking about his foot. it was the bridge he was talking about. but what he said prompted mr. carroll to send another scout forward, and _he_ stopped the bus. that's all there is to it. he got there and it nearly killed him. darby curren, who is here to tell you, thought he was a spook. "now these three people, mr. hood, darby curren and mr. carroll, can tell you what they know about it. it's one of those cases where the real facts didn't come out. hervey willetts saved the lives of twenty-two people at _grave danger_ to his own. that satisfies the handbook. he doesn't care four cents about the gold cross, but right is right, and i'm here to see that he gets it. stand up, hervey. stand out in the aisle." suddenly tom was seated. so there stood the wandering minstrel, alone. even his champion was not in evidence. nor was his troop there to share the glory with him. his scoutmaster was there, but he seemed too dazed to speak. and so the stormy petrel stood alone, as he would always stand alone. because there was no one like him. "willetts is the name? hervey willetts?" "i got a middle name, but i don't bother with it." "what troop?" and so the cut and dried business, so strange and unattractive to hervey, of filling in the blank, went on. he did not greatly care for indoor sports. there was a lull in the general interest. scouts began lounging and whispering again. in that interval of restlessness, an observant person might have noticed, sitting in the back part of the room, the rather ungainly figure of the tall fellow, brent gaylong, organizer of the church mice of newburgh. he seemed to be the center of a clamoring, interested, little group. roy blakeley's brown, crinkly hair could be seen through the gaps made by other heads. gaylong's knees were up against the back of the seat in front of him, thus forming a sort of slanting desk, on which he held a writing tablet. his head was cocked sideways as if in humorous but stern criticism of his own work. on somebody's suggestion he wrote something then crossed it out. there were evidently too many cooks at the broth, but he was ludicrously patient and considerate, being no doubt chief cook himself. there was something very funny about his calm, preoccupied demeanor amid that clamoring throng. the proceedings in the room interested him not. nor did the business interest many others now. there was a continuous drift toward the door and the crowd of loiterers outside increased and became noisy. the wandering minstrel stood alone. the voice of the chairman droned on, "hill cabin twenty-two. right. we will talk with these gentlemen afterwards. it may be a week or two before you get this, willetts. it has to come from the national court of honor. meanwhile, the camp thanks you, and is proud of you, for your extraordinary feat of heroism. it's most unusual----" "trust him for that," some one interrupted. "i could run faster than that if i had sneaks," said hervey. "i'm afraid no one would have seen you at all, then," said mr. carlson. "all you've got to do is double your fists and look through them and you can see a mile. it's like opera glasses." [illustration: "stand up, hervey. stand out in the aisle." tom slade's double dare. page 190] "so? well, let us shake hands with you, my boy." the next thing hervey knew, mr. denny's arm was over his shoulder, while with his other hand he was shaking the hand of the young camp assistant. "that's all right, mr. denny," said tom. "slade, i want you to know how much i respect you----" "it's all in the day's work, mr. denny." "i want you to know that hervey appreciates your friendship. you believe he----" "i believe he's a wild indian," tom laughed. "or maybe a squirrel, huh? hey, hervey? on account of climbing.... you know, mr. denny, those are the two things that can't be tamed, an indian and a squirrel. you can tame a lion, but you can't tame a squirrel." mr. denny listened, smiling, all the while patting hervey's shoulder. "well, after all, who wants to tame a squirrel?" said he. * * * * * so these two lingered a few minutes to chat about lions and indians and squirrels and things. and that was hervey's chance to get away. no admiring throng followed him out. his own troop was not there and knew nothing of his triumph. probably he never thought of these things. a scoutmaster grabbed his hand and said, "wonderful, my boy!" hervey smiled and seemed surprised. outside they were sitting around on railings and steps and squatting on the grass. there was a little ripple of murmuring as he passed through the sprawling throng, but no one spoke to him. that was not because they did not appreciate, but because he was _different_ and a stranger. perhaps it was because they did not know just how to take him. he didn't exactly fit in.... his ambling course had taken him perhaps a hundred feet, when he heard some one shout, "let'er go!" before he realized it, his own favorite tune filled the air, they were hurling it straight at him and the voices were loud and clear, though the words were strange. "_everybody!_" "he's one little bully athlete, so fleet; at sprinting he's got us all beat, yes, beat. he can climb, he can stalk, he can win in a walk; he's a scout from his head to his feet- that's you. he's a scout from his head to his feet." he turned and stood stark still. some of them, in the vehemence of their song, had risen and formed a little compact group. and again they sang the verse, the words _that's you_ pouring out of the throat of pee-wee harris like a thunderbolt. hervey blinked. his eyes glistened. through their haze he could see the lanky figure of the tall fellow, brent gaylong, sitting upon the fence, his feet propped up on the lower rail, a pair of shell spectacles half way down his nose, and waving a little stick like the leader of an orchestra. he was very sober and looked absurdly funny. "let him have the other one!" some one shouted. gaylong rapped upon the fence with his little stick, and then gave it a graceful twirl which was an improvement on sousa. the voices rose clear and strong: "we don't care a rap for the flings he springs; he doesn't mean half of the things he sings. we're all down and out when it comes to a scout that can run just as if he had wings and things. that can run just as if he had wings!" if hervey had waited as long on the log in the quicksand as he waited now, there would have been no gold cross. but he could not move, he stood as one petrified, his eyes glistening. the wandering minstrel had been caught by his own tune. "over the top," some one shouted. he was surrounded. "that's you! that's you!" they kept singing. he had never been caught in such a mix-up before. he saw them all crowding about him, saw roy blakeley's merry face and the sober face of brent gaylong, the spectacles still half way down his nose and the baton over his ear like a lead pencil. they took his hat, tossed it around, and handed it back to him. "no room on that for the cross," said gaylong; "he'll have to pin it on his stocking; combination gold cross and garter. supreme heroism--keeping a stocking up----" there was no getting out of this predicament. he could escape the quicksand but he couldn't escape this. he looked about as if to consider whether he could make a leap over the throng. "watch out or he'll pull a stunt," one shouted. but there was really no hope for him. the wandering minstrel was caught at last. and the funny part of the whole business was that he was caught by one of his own favorite tunes. the tunes which had caught so many others.... chapter xxxiii questions hervey had now no incentive to leave the vicinity of camp. doubtless he could have performed the great stunt without outside help (now that he knew it to be a stunt) but luck favored him as it usually did, and the new work going forward in the cove was enough to occupy his undivided attention. he made his headquarters there and hobnobbed with civil engineers and laborers in the true democratic spirit which was his. the consulting engineer they called him, which was odd, because hervey never consulted anybody about anything. the men all liked him immensely. another to benefit by the work on the new dam was robin hood, or mr. hood as he was respectfully called. he ran the flivver truck between the camp and the cove, carrying stone, and also cement and supplies which came by the railroad. they had to cut a road from the main road through to the cove. but one thing was not brought by the flivver, and that was the suction dredge, a horrible monster, a kind of jumble of house and machinery which came on a big six-ton truck and was launched into the lake. its whole ramshackle bulk shook and shivered when it was in operation sucking the bottom of the lake up through a big pipe and shooting it through another long pipe which terminated on the land. thus sand and gravel were secured and at the same time the lake was dredged by this mammoth vacuum cleaner. the pipeline which terminated on the shore was supported on several floats a few yards apart, and the first scout to perform the stunt of walking on this pulsating thing was---guess. about a week after work on the dam had begun, tom rode over to the cove on the truck with robin hood. he had struck up a friendship with the stranger and liked him, as every one did. the young man was quiet, industrious, intelligent. he did not encourage questions about himself, but tom was the last one to criticise reticence. moreover, labor was scarce and willing workers in demand. one thing which gave the young man favor in camp was his liking for the younger boys, who frequently rode back and forth with him. "well, it's beginning to look like a dam, isn't it?" tom said, as they rode along. "you won't be able to get much more stone up behind the pavilion.... the dam ought to raise the lake level about five or six feet, the engineers say. that'll mean moving a couple of the cabins back. storm was a good thing after all, huh?" "i guess it will be remembered around these parts for a good many years," tom's companion said. "and you were out in the thick of it," said tom, in his usual cheery way. "up on the mountain it was terrible." "on the mountain? i was--i was just in the woods. it was bad enough there." he looked sideways at tom, rather curiously. he liked tom but he could never make up his mind about him. it always seemed to him, as indeed it seemed to others, that tom's cheery, simple, offhand talk bespoke a knowledge of many things which he did not express. it was often hard to determine what he was really thinking about. "i think i'll see that face whenever it storms," tom said. "what face?" "harlowe's; he was just staring up in the air. ever see a person who has suffered violent death, hood?" "once." "funny thing, did you ever hear how the eyes of a dead man reflect the last thing he saw? i know over in france they often saw images in the eyes of dead soldiers. near toul, where i was stationed, they carried in a dead frenchy and you could see an airplane in his eyes just as sure as day." "did _you_--did you ever see anything like that?" "oh, sure. ask any army surgeon or nurse." hood did not seem altogether satisfied with the answer. he was clearly perturbed. but he did not venture another question, and for a few minutes neither spoke. "another thing, too, speaking of france," said tom. "we could always pick out a fellow that came over from england as soon as they set him to driving an ambulance. he'd always go plunk over to the left side of the road. you know they have to keep to the left over there instead of to the right----" "yes, i know----" hood began, and stopped short. "been over there, eh?" "i'm not english, but i lived there several years, and drove a car." "yes?" tom laughed. "well, now, i just noticed how _you_ kept edging over to the left. i didn't think anything about your coming from england, but i just happened to notice it. takes a long time to get a habit out of your nut, doesn't it? people might say you were reckless and all that when really it would just be that habit that you couldn't get away from. i've got so as i can tell a pittsburgh scout, or a canadian scout just from little things--little habits." "you're a pretty keen observer," said hood; "that about the eyes of a dead person interests me. when you made that discovery up on the mountain, do you mean----" "your engine isn't hitting on all four, hood," tom interrupted. they both listened for a minute. "guess not," said the driver. "wire off, maybe," tom suggested. hood stopped the machine and got out. it would have been more like tom to jump out and investigate for himself, especially since he had run the old truck long before hood had ever seen it. but he did not do it. instead, he remained seated. hood was right, there was nothing whatever the matter with the engine. he wondered how tom could have thought there was. tom seemed not greatly interested until his companion climbed in, then he craned his neck out and looked down where hood had been standing. "all right," he finally said; "i was wrong, as usual." "i think you're usually right," laughed hood. whatever the cause, tom seemed thoughtful and preoccupied for the rest of the journey. he whistled some, and that was a sign that he was thinking. once he seemed on the point of saying something. "hood, do you----" he began. then fell to whistling again. and so in a little while they came to the cove. chapter xxxiv the message the altogether thrilling and extraordinary occurrence which is all that remains to be told in this narrative, was witnessed by a dozen or more scouts. it happened, as deeds of heroic impulse always happen, suddenly, so that afterwards accounts differed as to just how the thing had occurred. there are always several versions of dramatic happenings. but on one point all were agreed. it was the most conspicuous instance of outright and supreme heroism that temple camp had ever witnessed or known. and because there was no scout award permissible in the occasion, the boys of camp, with fine inspiration, named the new dam after the hero, who with soul possessed challenged the most horrible monster of which the human mind can conceive, threw his life into the balance with an abandon nothing less than sublime, and found his reward in the very jaws of horrible and ghastly death. and the dam was well named, too, for it represented strength superseding weakness. if you should ever visit temple camp you should end your inspection in time to row across the lake in the cool of the twilight, when the sun has gone down behind the mountain, and take a look at _robin hood's dam_. the scene was the usual morning scene. the slanting sifter was dropping its rain of dirt through the grating and sending the stones rolling down. the mixer was revolving. a hundred feet or so from the shore the clumsy old dredge was drawing up sand from the bottom of the lake, and the big pipeline running to shore was pulsating so that the floats supporting it rocked in the water. at the end of this pipeline was a big pile of wet sand from the lake. men were carrying this sand off in wheelbarrows. a few of the scouts were busy at their favorite pastime of walking along this shaking pipeline to the dredge from which they would dive, then swim to the nearest point on shore and proceed again as before. hervey willetts had been the christopher columbus to discover this endless chain of pleasure and he had punctuated it with many incidental stunts. it was not altogether easy to walk on the trembling wet piping, but those who did it were of course in bathing attire, and with bare feet it was not so hard, once one got the hang of it. the sight of this merry procession proceeding on its endless round proved too much for one pair of eyes that watched wistfully from the shore. one after another the dripping scouts came scrambling up out of the water, proceeded to the shore end of the pipeline, walked cautiously along it, feet sideways, crossed the dredge, dived and presently appeared again. "_follow your leader_" they were singing and it was funny to hear how they picked up the tune and got into time upon emerging. this kind of thing was hard to resist. it is hard not to dance when the music is playing. there was an alluring fascination about it. suddenly, to the consternation of every one, there was goliath in the procession, moving along the pipeline, keeping his foothold by frantic gesticulations with his arms. he was laughing all over his little face. he swayed, he bent, he almost fell, he got his balance, almost lost it, got along a few steps, and then down he went with a splash into the water. this climax of his wild enterprise occurred in a gap of the procession. some scouts had fallen out, others were clambering out the other side of the dredge. so it happened that the splash was the first thing to attract attention. goliath did not reappear and before any one had a chance to dive or knew just where to dive, something was apparent, which sent a shudder through tom slade, who was standing near the end of the pipeline. the pouring forth of the wet sand out of the pipe ceased, or rather lessened and the substance shot out in little jerks. tom, ever quick to see the significance of a thing, knew this for what it was. it was an awful message from the bottom of the lake. something was clogging up the suction pipe there. chapter xxxv the hero this thing, as i said, all happened in a flash. there was shouting, there was running about.... "stop the machinery!" some one yelled. "reverse your engine!" tom felt himself thrust aside, lost his balance and fell into the deposit of wet sand. the pouring out of this had ceased. "_don't let him do that! he's crazy!_" some one shrieked. "reverse the engine; he'll come up. don't dive--you! you'll be chewed to pieces." "who dived?" said tom, scrambling to his feet. "the body will come up when the suction stops." "both bodies, you mean; that crazy fool dived." "they won't come up if they're wedged in. keep her going--reversed." everybody crowded to the shore and to the deck of the dredge. the pulsating of the big line had ceased. men shouted to do this, to do that. others contradicted. all eyes were upon the water. they crowded each other, watching, waiting.... then a red spot appeared on the surface. it spread and grew lighter in color as it mingled with the water. the watchers held their breath--gasped. the tension was terrible. then (as i said, it all happened in a flash) a hand covered with blood reached up and tried to grasp the nearest float. it disappeared, but tom slade had seen it and, jumping to the float, he reached down. "i've got him--keep back--you'll sink the float----" "don't let go." it was not in the nature of tom slade to let go. presently a ghastly face with red stained hair streaming over it, appeared. "let me take him," said tom. but the man with bleeding, mangled shoulder would not give up what he held, as in a grip of iron, with his other arm. and so tom slade dragged the wounded creature up onto the float and there he lay in a pool of blood, still clinging to his burden. the little boy was safe. he opened his eyes and looked about. his face was smeared with mud, one of his shoes was gone, his foot seemed to be twisted. it was all too plain that he had been _within_ the suction pipe, within the devouring jaws of that monster serpent, when his frantic rescuer had dragged him back. but he was safe. his rescuer was utterly crazed. yet he seemed to know tom. "safe--alive----" he muttered. "yes, he's safe; lie still. get the doctor, some of you fellows--quick." "send, send--them away--all. you know--do you--i'm square--yes?" "surely," said tom soothingly. "lie still." "he's alive?" "yes." "listen, come close. i'll tell _you_--now. i _murdered_ a kid once--now--now i've--i've saved one----" "shh. it's the same one, harlowe." "you--you know?" "yes, i know. we'll talk about it after. hold your head still--quiet--that's right. don't think about it now. shh--i think your arm is broken; don't move it." "i--i--killed----" "no, you never killed any one. lie still--please. i know all about it. we can't talk about it now. _but you never killed any one_, remember that." "you know i'm harlowe?" "yes. don't talk. that was little willie corbett you saved. now don't ask me any more now; _please_. you don't think i'm a liar, do you? well, i'm telling you you never killed _anybody_. see? you're not a murderer, you're a hero. i know all about it.... lie still, that's right.... don't move your arm...." chapter xxxvi harlowe's story aaron harlowe was lying on his cot in the little rustic hospital at temple camp. it was worth being sick to lie in that hospital. it was just a log cabin. the birds sang outside of it, you could hear the breeze blowing in the trees, you could hear the ripple of paddles on the lake. tom slade sat upon the side of the cot. "you see when i found the map, i knew you had gone up the mountain. and i didn't think you'd go up there unless there was some one up there that you knew. the light was up there before you went up. now that you tell me you went up there to hide with that friend of yours, everything fits together. i knew there must have been two of you up there, because i saw your footprint. you have a patch on the sole of your shoe and the dead man didn't. see? when i asked you to get out of the auto it was just because i wanted to see your footprint. your always getting over to the left hand side of the road made me a little suspicious. footprints don't lie and that clinched it." "but did you see my image in the eyes of the dead man?" harlowe asked weakly. "i saw an image of a man; i couldn't tell it was you. but i knew some one else had been there. do you feel like telling me the rest now? or would you rather wait." "you seem to know it all," harlowe smiled. it was pleasant to see that smile upon his pale, thin face. "it isn't what you _know_, it's what you _do_ that counts," said tom softly. "and see what _you_ did. talk about heroism!" it was from the desultory talk which followed that tom was able to piece out the story, the mystery of which he had already penetrated. harlowe, in fear of capture after his supposed killing of the child, had sought refuge in the hunting shack of his friend upon the mountain. there the two had lived till the night of the storm. when harlowe's friend had been crushed under the tree, harlowe had bent over him to make sure that he was dead. it was then, in the blinding storm, that his license cards had fallen out of his pocket and, by the merest chance, on the open coat of the dead man. harlowe said that after that he had intended to give himself up, but that when he read that _harlowe_ had been discovered, and no doubt buried, he had resolved to let his crime and all its consequences be buried with the dead man, who like himself was without relations. but harlowe's conscience had not been buried, and it was in a kind of mad attempt to square himself before heaven, and still the voice of that silent, haunting accuser, that he had performed the most signal act of heroism and willing sacrifice ever known at temple camp. as tom slade emerged after his daily call on the convalescent, a song greeted his ear and he became aware of hervey willetts, hat, stocking and all, coming around the edge of the cooking shack. he was caroling a verse of his favorite ballad: "the life of a scout is kind, is kind, his handbook he never can find, can find. he don't bother to look, in the little handbook. the life of a scout is kind." "hunting for your handbook, hervey?" "i should fret out my young life about the handbook." "walking my way?" "any way, i'm not particular." "cross come yet?" "i haven't seen it. do you think it would look good on my hat?" "why, yes," tom laughed. "only be sure to pin it on upside down." "why?" "why, because then when you're standing on your head, it'll be right side up. see?" "good idea. i guess i will, hey?" "sure, i--i _double dare_ you to," said tom. end [illustration: by candle-light. _frontispiece._] stories of the saints by candle-light by vera c. barclay 1922 the faith press, ltd. london: the faith house, 22, buckingham st., charing cross, w.c. 2 =to= the memory of sixer frank sparks and second bob smith two faithful cubs of the "cardinal's own" pack this book is dedicated by their old wolf. r.i.p. contents nine days in camp, and nine stories by candle-light about this book 1 the first day: getting there. the story of st. benedict 2 the second day: the story of st. guthlac 17 the third day: the story of st. martin 27 the fourth day: the story of st. edmund, king and martyr 42 the fifth day (sunday): the story of st. francis (i.) 56 the sixth day: the story of st. francis (ii.) 67 the seventh day: the story of st. antony 83 the eighth day: the story of st. patrick 96 the ninth day: the story of st. george 107 good-bye 118 stories of the saints by candle-light nine days in camp, and nine stories by candle-light about this book once upon a time there were fifteen cubs who spent nine wonderful days in camp. they were london cubs, and the camp was on a beautiful little green island whose rocky shore ran down in green, tree-covered points into the bluest sea you ever saw. these nine days were the most splendid days in those cubs' lives. and so they often think of them, and dream about them, and live them over again in memory. so that they may more easily go over those days their old wolf has written down all about them in this book. perhaps other cubs will like to come away, in imagination, to that fair, green island, and so have a share in the nine days. now, one of the very "special things" about those days in camp were the candle-light stories which the cubs listened to every night, seated in a big, happy pile, pyjama-clad, on their palliasses. all day they used to look forward to those stories, and sometimes, in the middle of a shrimping expedition, or a paddling party, one or another would remark, "story to-night, boys!" and turn his thumbs up to show he was pleased at the thought. and so you will find the candle-light stories, too, in this book; and remember that all the stories in this book are _true_--both those about the cubs and those about the saints. the first day the train steamed slowly out of victoria station. "now we're off!" shouted a cub, and he and all the others began to jump for joy, which was not easy in a railway compartment packed like a sardine-tin. then someone began to sing the pack chorus, and everyone joined in with all their strength: let the great big world keep turning, now i've joined a wolf cub pack; and i only know that i want to go to camp--to _camp_--to camp! oh, i long to set off marching with my kit-bag on my back. let the great big world keep on turning round, now i've joined a wolf cub pack! then someone yelled "are we down-hearted?" and the cubs yelled "no!" so loudly that akela thought she would be deafened for life. presently the train ran out into the country, and plodded along between woods and fields. and the early morning sun shone brightly, and the sky was very blue. the country, the country! and, very soon, the sea! there were some of them who had never been to the country, and "spongey," the youngest of the party, had never even been in a real train. "talk about _hot_!" said someone, panting, when the train had thundered on for about an hour. and, my word, it _was_ hot! besides, there were blacks and dust, and everyone began to get very grimy--specially the people who were eating bread-and-jam and sticky fruit, and the people who had to crawl under the seat to pick up things that had got lost. "never mind," said akela, "we shall be in the sea this evening, and then we shall be cool." that started everyone jumping for joy again, of course. presently the train passed arundel castle--its white towers and turrets and battlements rising up amidst the dark green woods like an enchanted castle in the days of knights and fairies--and the cubs learnt that there are castles in real life as well as in story-books. after that they began looking out of the window to see who would be the first one to catch sight of the sea. "bunny" was the first to, and his friend bert, the senior sixer, came a close second. at last the train got to portsmouth harbour, and, shouldering their kit-bags, the cubs ran down on to the steamer. the harbour was thrilling: battleships, cruisers, torpedo-boats, the royal yacht, the admiralty yacht, and, most interesting of all, nelson's ship, the _victory_. as if the steamer knew that a crowd of eager cubs were longing to see all round the _victory_, it went out of its way to steam right round it, slowly and quite near, and the cubs had a splendid view. the boys all wanted to be the first to _touch_ the sea, but bunny, who had _seen_ it first, forestalled them again, by letting down a ball of string over the edge of the boat and pulling it up all wet. at last the ship reached the isle of wight, and the cubs and their great mountain of camp luggage went down the long pier. i forgot to tell you that besides akela there was the senior sixer's father and mother, who were coming to help look after the camp--they became the "father and mother of camp"; and there was also a lady who was a very kind camp godmother. the grown-ups and the luggage were soon packed into a large motor-car, and then, relieved of their kit-bags, the cubs set out to walk the two miles along the sea-front to the village called sea view. the way lay along a thing called a "sea-wall"--a high stone wall about six feet broad running along above the shore, with the sea lapping up against it at high tide. along this the cubs walked (or rather ran and jumped), their eyes big with wonder at the great stretch of blue, blue sea, with here and there a distant sailing-boat, and, above, the sky even bluer than the sea. "i didn't know the sky _could_ be so blue!" said a cub; and that was just how they all felt. it was very hot walking in the midday sun. there was no hurry--nine days to do just as they liked in--so halfway along the sea-wall the cubs and akela scrambled down some steep stone steps on to a tiny stretch of sand not yet covered by the incoming tide. boots and stockings were soon off, sleeves and shorts tucked up, and everybody paddling deep in the cool green water. when they had all got thoroughly cool they went on their way, and at last arrived at the stable. this was where they were to sleep. it consisted of a courtyard, a couple of stalls, a coach-house, a shed, and two tiny rooms. akela occupied one of these, and the cubs were divided into two groups. the stable was in charge of bert, the senior sixer, and in his stall he had bunny (a second), dick (a big cub very nearly ready to go up to the scouts), and patsy, a small but lively irishman. sam, another sixer, had in his stall four young terrors--terry, wooler, jack, and "spongey" ward. then there was the coach-house. this was in charge of bill, the last senior sixer, now a cub instructor. the other occupants were jim, a sixer (bill's young brother), "mac," a second, two brothers, "big andy" and "little andy," and a rather new cub called bob. it took a good while to stuff the palliasses with straw and unpack. but when this was finished everyone had a good wash and changed into cool old clothes--shorts and cotton shirts. tea followed, in a jolly old garden behind the bake-house. there was a seesaw in it, and the grass was long and soft, and the shade of the apple-trees very cool. then the party ran up the hill to the camp field. here there was a lot to do: the bell tent to be pitched, the fireplace made, wood to be chopped, water fetched, all the pots and pans unpacked, a swing and a couple of hammocks to be put up, the two great sacks of loaves to be fetched, and, oh! a hundred other things. but all the cubs set to and did their best, and at last all was ready. "now for the shore!" said akela, and everyone cheered and ran for their towels and bathing-drawers. it was only a few minutes' walk down to the most lovely shore you can imagine--stretches and stretches of golden sand and little, lapping waves. on one side you could see rocky points running down into the greeny-blue sea, with trees growing right down to the shore. an old, brown-sailed coal barge moved slowly past on the gentle wind, the many browns of its patched sails forming a rich splash of colour in the evening sun. the cubs soon turned into "water babies." boots and stockings had been left behind at the stable, and now they got rid of clothes as well. how cool the sea was! that first bathe seemed to wash away all the heat and smoke and grubbiness of dear old london. after the bathe came a splendid paddle among brown, sea-weedy rocks, and the cubs caught their first baby crabs and found their first shells, and got just as wet as they liked. but the sun was sinking down behind the grey line of sea, and the clock there is inside every cub was telling supper-time. so, with hands full of sea-weed and shells, they made their way back to camp. the camp-fire was burning merrily. "godmother," in a large blue overall, was stirring a steaming dixie of cocoa, and "mother and father" were cutting up bread and cheese. after supper there was time for a little play in the field. then, as it began to get dusk, a whistle-blast called the cubs in for night prayers. it was still quite light enough to read, so each cub had a little homemade book of morning and night camp prayers. kneeling in a quiet corner of the field, with just the evening sky overhead, with a pale star or two beginning to appear, it was easy to feel god near and to pray. the camp prayers started with "a prayer that we may pray well." it was a very old prayer, really, but it seemed just to fit the cubs, and help them to _do their best_ in their prayers as in all other things. the prayer was this: "open thou, o lord, my mouth to bless thy holy name; cleanse also my heart from wandering thoughts, so that i may worthily, devoutly, and attentively recite these prayers, and deserve to be heard in the sight of thy divine majesty. through christ our lord. amen." then followed the "our father" and some short prayers. and after that the cubs said altogether: "i confess to almighty god that i have sinned against him in thought, word, and deed." then akela read out very slowly the following questions, and each cub answered them in his heart--not out loud, but silently, for god only to hear: "have i done my best to pray well when saying my private prayers and at camp prayers? "have i really meant to please god to-day? "have i done my best in my orderly duties, and in other things i have had to do? "have i given in to other people quickly and cheerfully when given an order? "have i spoken as i should not? "have i been disobedient? "have i been unkind to another boy--selfish? quarrelsome? unfair? "have i told a lie? "have i done anything else i am sorry for?" then, after a pause, akela said: "tell god you are truly sorry, on your honour as a cub, that you have grieved him by the sins of to-day." then there was perfect silence for a moment, and after that, the cubs said, all together: "may almighty god have mercy upon us, and forgive us our sins, and bring us to life everlasting." then they said a short psalm, and the following beautiful little hymn: now with the fast departing light, maker of all, we ask of thee, of thy great mercy, through the night our guardian and defence to be. far off let idle visions fly, and dreams that might disturb our sleep; naught shall we fear if thou art nigh, our souls and bodies safe to keep. father of mercies, hear our cry; hear us, o sole-begotten son! who with the holy ghost most high reignest while endless ages run. amen. then came "a prayer that we may be forgiven any wandering thoughts we have had while reciting these prayers," and, to end up with, "our father" once again, because it is the prayer that christ our lord specially told his friends to use. the nine o'clock gun booms out across the solent as the cubs and akela, having bidden good-night to father and mother and godmother, walk down the hill to the stable. the sea looks like a great piece of shimmering grey silk. "look at the little twinkle lights!" says a cub. it is the street lamps over on the mainland, but they look like so many winking diamonds. there is quite a cluster of them on the grey ghost of a battleship, and the old, round fort has a light which looks like the red end of a cigar. "please, _please_ let us go down to the front and look at the little twinkling lights," beg the cubs. so, on condition they get undressed in five minutes, akela says "yes." a few minutes later the stable and the coach-house are having an undressing race. one of the two tiny rooms has been made into a little chapel. in less than two minutes the first cub ready whisks once round the yard in his night-shirt, like a white moth in the dusk, and into the chapel to say his prayers. the door stands open. in the red light of the tiny lamp you can see the little white form kneeling on the floor, very quiet and devout. presently he is silently joined by another--there is only room for two, it is such a wee chapel. several impatient people in pyjamas think it would be fun to start jazzing in the courtyard, till akela warns them, "no story if you start ragging." soon all prayers are said, and the people in the coach-house are in bed, and ready to "invite" the stable. the stable having been duly invited, its eight occupants come in, and each finds a place on a palliasse. it is a warm, still night. the great doors of the coach-house stand wide open. the stars are out thick by this time. little black bats flit and swoop about in the darkness. if you keep very still you can just hear the gentle "hshshsh, hshshsh" of the sea. the candle flickers as the night gives a little sigh. a few cubs are rolling about on their straw beds. "shut up, all!" commands an imperious sixer. "now, miss, go ahead." akela is sitting on a palliasse already occupied by two people. silence reigns, for these cubs belong to a story-telling pack, and it is almost the only time they are ever quite quiet. "well," begins akela, "many hundreds of years ago there lived a boy----" the story of st. benedict. many hundreds of years ago there lived a boy called benedict. he lived in italy. his father and mother were rich people, and lived in a beautiful house on a beautiful estate. st. benedict and his twin sister must have been very happy playing among the olive-trees and vines of sunny italy, where the sky is nearly always blue, and where there are all sorts of lovely wild-flowers and fruits we don't get in england, and lizards and butterflies and all sorts of things. st. benedict was brought up a good christian, though lots of the people round were still pagans in those days. there were terrible wars and troubles going on in italy and in all the countries round, like there have been in our days. but the boy benedict in his happy home knew little of these. little did he know that the beautiful fields of italy were being left to be overgrown with weeds and over-run with wild beasts; that the children had never heard of god; that the poor were dying of starvation. to him the world was a happy place, where one played and had a good time, and where people loved christ and obeyed his words. but some day he was to learn the truth. for god was going to use the boy benedict to do more than any _one_ man has ever done to _civilize_ the world. this story i'm telling you is the story of how st. benedict discovered all god's great plan for him, and worked it out, bit by bit. when st. benedict had learnt all that his tutors could teach him at home his father sent him to the great city of rome to learn there from the scholars and learned men, and attend lectures and classes. st. benedict was a very clever boy, and he must have got on very quickly and pleased his masters very much. he could probably have carried off all sorts of prizes and won great fame and praise for himself, but there was something which stopped him caring for things like that. in the great city of rome he saw two things--one of them was all sorts of wicked, selfish, horrible, and ungodly pleasures in which men wasted their lives and altogether forgot god; and the other was the beautiful, holy lives of the christians, many of whom could tell wonderful stories of the martyrs who had been killed in rome not so very long before, and whose bodies lay in the catacombs. there were some beautiful churches in the city, and st. benedict loved to go to the solemn services. as he knelt there in the holy stillness, or listened to the chanting, he began to _think_. and more and more he felt that all the glamour and selfish pleasures and greediness of the people was stupid and wrong, and that what was really worth having was a good conscience, and peace, and the friendship of god. and as he thought, he began to care less and less for his learning and his chances of glory, and he began to feel as if he wanted to get right away from people and have the chance of thinking about god. when st. benedict had these feelings he knew they came from god, and so, instead of not listening and just letting himself get keen on his study and his amusements, he made up his mind that he would always _do his best_ to follow god's will, and would keep his heart _always listening_, so that if god _did_ want to call him away to some special kind of life he would be ready to hear and to obey. well, when anybody does this god does not fail to tell him what to do, and so, when st. benedict had been seven years in rome, and was still only a boy, god made known to him that he must leave rome, and his friends and his masters, and go right away into the mountains. his old nurse, cyrilla, had always stayed with him, faithfully; and now she decided to go with him wherever it was that god was leading him. so, one day, st. benedict and cyrilla set out secretly, and made their way by hidden paths towards the mountains. at last they reached a certain village, and st. benedict went into the church to pray god to make known his will. when he came out the peasants who lived near the church pressed him to stay with them. st. benedict took their kindness as a sign that it was god's will, so he and his old nurse settled down in the village. it was while the boy was living here that (so the old books tell us) a miracle happened which made people feel sure that god was specially pleased with him. one day, as st. benedict returned home from the church where he had been praying, he found his old nurse very unhappy; in fact, she was crying. this distressed him very much, because he hated to see other people miserable. at first he wondered why cyrilla was crying, and then he saw the cause. she had accidentally broken an earthenware bowl that one of the good villagers had lent her. full of pity for his old friend, st. benedict took up the two pieces and went outside the house with them, and knelt down. then he prayed very hard that the bowl might be mended. and, as he opened his eyes and looked at it, sure enough, it was whole! very pleased, and thinking how good god is to those who really trust him, he ran into the house and gave it to cyrilla. st. benedict had not thought of himself, but only of god's wonderful power and kindness. but cyrilla and the village people to whom she told the miracle all began to talk a lot about st. benedict, and say he was a young saint, since he could do miracles. people even came in from the places round to stare at him. do you think this pleased him? no; he wasn't that sort of boy. if he had been, god would never have done anything for him. he was very distressed at the way people went on; and more and more he felt that god was calling him away, and had something very important to say to him. and one day it came to him that he must leave even his faithful old nurse and go away. you can imagine how terribly sad he must have been at that thought, not only because he loved her and had always had her near him since he could remember, but because he knew how very, very much she loved him, and that if he left her she would be sad and lonely, with no one to comfort her. but you remember what i told you about how st. benedict had made up his mind to do his best always to carry out god's will, and not give in to himself and pretend he had not heard; so, because he knew that it is more important to be faithful to god than to any person on earth, he made up his mind to go away. he did not tell his old nurse, but one day he set out, alone. he must have felt very strongly that it was god's will, otherwise he would not have dared go out all alone and unarmed into the mountains, and with no money or food. don't you think it was very brave of him? perhaps you think it was foolish? well, people have often been thought fools for doing god's will faithfully, but in the end god proves that really they were quite right. anyway, something very soon happened to st. benedict to show that god was with him. as he tramped on, along the mountain-sides, between the flower-covered banks and thickets full of birds' songs, he prayed to god to guide him in the right way. and so when, after some hours of solitary tramping, he saw a man coming towards him out of a lonely mountain pass, he felt sure this was someone sent by god to help him. the man's clothes showed that he was a monk. as he drew near he looked curiously at st. benedict, wondering who this noble-looking boy could be walking all alone among the wild mountains. he, himself, had come out there to meditate and be alone with god and his thoughts. stopping st. benedict, he asked him kindly who he was and where he was going. st. benedict quite simply told him the truth: that he had come out to seek god's will, and didn't know where he was going, except that he was seeking some place where he could live hidden from the whole world. at first the monk romanus tried to argue with him and show him that it was foolish to come out like that alone. but st. benedict spoke so wonderfully about god's call that romanus saw he was right, and made up his mind to help him find somewhere where he could live alone for a while. so he led him up a steep winding path, and showed him a cave opening into the rugged mountain-side. the cave was about seven feet deep and four feet broad, and there was just room on the rocky ledge outside to make a little garden. st. benedict stepped into the cave with his heart full of joy, feeling sure that at last he had found the place he was seeking. before going away, romanus gave him a long garment made of sheep-skin, which was what the monks of those days used to wear. he also promised to supply him with food. his monastery was far up, on the top of the great rock in which the cave was. he said that every day he would let down a basket with bread in it for st. benedict, and he promised faithfully to keep his secret. then he went away. what happened in the time that followed no one knows--it is a secret between god and st. benedict. but we can guess that god made known many wonderful things to his faithful young servant--things that later he was to teach to thousands of men; and that he filled him with grace and strength to do what he would have to do, to make the world a better place. also, we can be sure that he was very, very happy, in spite of the loneliness, and the dark, cold nights, and the hard ground he had for his bed. three years st. benedict lived like this, and then one sunny easter morning god made known st. benedict's secret to a certain holy man who lived in those parts, and told him to go to the cave and take st. benedict some of his easter fare. st. benedict was very pleased to see him, but surprised to hear it was easter, for he had lost all count of time. so the priest laid out the good things he had brought, and they said grace, and then they had a meal together, and then a talk. after the priest had gone some shepherds and country-folk climbed up the steep little path to see where he had been, and they found st. benedict. he welcomed them, and spoke so wonderfully to them that they saw he was a man specially taught by god. they felt he was their true friend and loved them for god's sake, and so they often climbed the steep path to visit him and ask his help and advice. but very soon news of him spread beyond the mountain shepherds, and people of all sorts from far and near flocked to see the holy man and ask his prayers and his advice. sad, wicked people went away with sorrow for their sins, and became good. cowards went away full of strength and courage. and many people began to learn a new way of serving god truly, always _doing their best_ for love of him, and never "giving in to themselves." it was then that god allowed st. benedict to have a terrible temptation, to test him. suddenly he felt within him a great desire to give up all he was doing for god and return to the wicked city he had left and live a life of ease and pleasure. it was the devil who put this thought into his mind, but god's grace in st. benedict was stronger than the devil. with all his heart he vowed that he would _never_ give up doing god's will, and, to punish himself for the thoughts that had entered his mind, he threw himself into a mass of sharp, thorny briars and stinging-nettles, so that his flesh was all torn and stung. after that he was so strong that no temptation was ever able to conquer him, and he was able to lead thousands of souls to victory. the time had come when god wanted st. benedict to leave his cave. he had learnt what god had to tell him in secret, and now his great work was to begin. a large number of men who wished to serve god with all their hearts began to collect round st. benedict. gradually they formed twelve monasteries, all within about two miles, and got st. benedict to rule over them all. this was the beginning of st. benedict's great work for god. he drew up a rule which showed men how they could live in the way most pleasing to god. it was not so terribly hard as to be impossible for ordinary men, like some of the holy hermits and saints in the past had taught. and so thousands and thousands of men began to promise to keep this rule and to live together in monasteries, doing good. st. benedict had many wonderful adventures during the rest of his life, but i must keep those stories to tell you another time. the end of this one is that after god had called st. benedict to heaven, his great work went on. his followers began to travel all over the world as missionaries, teaching the pagans about christ, and bringing peace and goodness to the poor, sad, wicked world. they cultivated the land and made it fruitful; and built churches and hospitals and schools; and taught the children, and looked after the poor, and _civilized_ the world. it was they who brought the christian faith to england, for st. augustine was one of st. benedict's monks, and did more than anybody else to make england the great country which she became; for before st. benedict's monks came the country was all wild and the saxons were heathen. so, you see, by listening for god's voice, and doing his best to obey faithfully, the boy benedict became one of the men who have done very great things for the world. * * * * * "tell us some more," said the cubs sleepily. "tell us all the adventures st. benedict had." "no, no," said akela; "that was a long story. now you must go to sleep and dream about st. benedict, and then you will be ready to get up and have a glorious day to-morrow." so the stable boys stumbled sleepily back to their own quarters, and akela tucked each of them up in his blankets. a quarter of an hour later everyone was asleep. as akela crept softly round she could only hear the regular breathing of sound sleepers. true, at midnight patsy made some loud conversation, and thought he could do without any blankets at all, but he did not wake up even then, and was soon tucked up quietly again. so ended the first day. the second day the sun has already been up some time when the first cub wakes up and wonders where he is. finding he is in camp, he feels sure it would be a good turn if he thumped the sleeping form next him and woke him up, that he, too, may have the delight of remembering that "to-morrow" has actually come--the first real day in camp! these two make conversation to each other, and become so cheery that soon everybody else has woke up. it is 6.30, so akela gives leave for everyone to turn out. there is a tap in the stable-yard. soon everyone is washing in a tin basin. the two cooks have dressed quickly, said their prayers in the little chapel, and are off up the hill to the camp field. at the stable it is some time before everyone is thoroughly washed and dressed, beds are tidied, and everything spick and span. then the crowd of happy cubs race off to the field. the fire is burning merrily, and a big dixie of porridge bubbling for all it is worth. away, between the trees, you can see the blue sea glinting and sparkling. overhead the sea-gulls circle on silver wings, and cry good-morning to each other as they pass with swoops and dips, like so many tiny aeroplanes. the dew is thick on the grass, the blackbirds sing, the sun shines, and the camp-fire sends a steady column of blue smoke into the fresh morning air. how different to early morning in london! with a howl of joy the cubs scatter over the field. here comes godmother in a big blue overall and a sun hat; and father and mother appear at the same moment from the farther corner of the field. they take over the cooking, and the two cooks run off for a bit of sport after their labours. then everyone collects in the council circle for prayers. a short run wild again, and then a series of whistle-blasts calls the pack in for breakfast. in come rushing the ravenous cubs, and each squats down where the cooks have placed their mugs in a circle. caps off, and all stand quiet for a moment, for grace, and then porridge and mountains of bread-and-butter begin to disappear at a great rate. breakfast finished, the pots and the pans washed up, the pack invades the post office, and, armed with picture postcards and pencils, the cubs squat along the sea-wall and write to their mothers. that duty done, and spades, pails, boats, and shrimping-nets bought, they lose no more time in getting down on to the shore. it is a happy and hungry crowd with wet and rumpled hair that turns up again at camp, all ready for the splendid dinner mother and father have cooked. after dinner a rest, while godmother reads aloud. the day ends up with a wonderful shrimping-party. besides shrimps, the cubs catch every kind of funny little sea-creature--star-fishes, jelly-fishes, baby sea-anemones, tiny, tiny crabs, a devil-fish, baby dabs, and everything else you can think of. the tide is right out, and there are mysterious green pools under the pier, full of feathery red sea-weed and little darting fishes. of course, sam falls into one in his clothes, and comes out looking like a drowned rat. akela wrings him out and sends him home to get into dry clothes, for the sun is beginning to sink. supper, night prayers, a race down the hill, a few minutes, to see the little twinkling lights, and the happy family is getting undressed in double quick time, for akela has promised a good story to-night--a "nexiting" one about a robber chief. soon everyone in the coach-house is settled on his palliasse, and has invited a stable cub to share it with him. the candle has been lighted and stuck with a dab of grease on the ledge. "fire ahead, miss," commands a sixer. silence reigns. "the story i told you yesterday," said akela, "was about a boy who started good, and went on being good all his life. to-night i am going to tell you about a boy who started good, but became bad, and was very wicked until he grew up, when something happened which sent him on the great adventure of serving god." the story of st. guthlac. many hundreds of years ago, in the days when england was ruled over by the saxon kings, there lived a boy called guthlac. he was a very intelligent boy, not dull, like some children; he was obedient to the grown-ups, and, as the old book says, "blithe in countenance, pure and clean and innocent in his ways; and in him was the lustre of divine brightness so shining that all men who saw him could perceive the promise of what should hereafter happen to him." but when he got to be about fifteen he forgot all the things he had been taught as a child. when he felt a kind of restless longing for adventure rising up inside him, and a desire to do wild things, and a cruel feeling that he did not care what happened to other people so long as he had a good time, he _gave in to himself_ and began the most wild and reckless life you can imagine. he armed himself with a great ash-bow and a sharp spear from his father's armoury. he slung a shield on his back, and stuck his belt full of knives and daggers and arrows. then he went about and collected a gang of all the wildest boys he could find, and put himself at their head. then, going through all the country round, these wild boys attacked anybody they thought was an enemy of theirs, paid off old grudges, killed and wounded innocent people, set fire to their houses, and did all the damage they could. mad with excitement and lust for blood, they soon became just a robber band, attacking friend and foe alike, killing just for the pleasure of killing, or sacking farms and houses to satisfy their greed. they knew all the woods and by-ways so well that no one could catch them. after a time they began to build themselves huts where they could sleep, and also hide the treasure they had plundered from rich men. you can't imagine any wicked or horrible thing they did not do. and, of course, they forgot god entirely, though once they had been christian children and had been brought up to know and love god. nine years passed like this, and then something happened. one night as guthlac, the chief, lay on his bed of rushes and soft, warm skins in the darkness of the wooden cabin, thinking over the excitements of the day and planning all the wicked things he would do the next day, a wonderful thought flashed into his mind, and it seemed to swallow up all the other thoughts. he lay still, gazing into the darkness and trying to understand what it was. then, gradually, he found that it was _god_ he was thinking about--god, whom he had forgotten for nine long years. he did not turn away his mind, but went on thinking about god until his heart was full of a kind of glow that was _love_. he was surprised, for he knew he did not really love god; for he was spending all his days fighting against him by every wicked thing he could imagine. and then he began to understand that this feeling inside him was sent by god--it was god's love for him, and not his love for god. could it really be that god loved him? he was so very wicked and cruel, and god--god was so good and just and merciful. the robbers, sleeping on their rush beds, breathed heavily; they were tired after a hard day. guthlac listened to their breathing. they were his men; they obeyed him as their chief. he remembered the day, nine years ago, when he had thought of the bold robbers and sea-kings and brave men of the past, and longed to show that he was as daring as they, and could lead men to war. but as he lay, very wide awake, with the strange feeling of god near, he began to think of other great men he had heard of in his childhood--men just as brave and daring as the sea-kings, just as good leaders of men, more famous and wonderful, and--lovers of god. god loved them, and they loved god and gave all their strength and courage to serve him. they were his special friends. and now it seemed to guthlac that god was filling his heart with love and asking him to be his special friend. a great feeling of shame came over him. how could god forgive him and want him for a friend after all the terrible things he had done? but suddenly a great longing filled him to be one of god's special friends, and obey him, and go on always loving him. he longed for christ to become his chief and leader; and then he began to understand that this would mean he must tell god from the bottom of his heart that he was sorry for all the wicked things he had ever done, and must promise on his honour that he would never again do a single one of them. guthlac sat up in bed and thought hard. this would mean that he must give up being a robber, give up his free life in the woods, give up leading his daring followers, give up all the unlawful pleasures of which his life was made up. it would be a terribly big giving up . . . but then, what a big, big thing he would get in exchange! he would get the friendship of god, and the knowledge that he had become very pleasing to him. stretching wide his arms in the darkness, he told god that he gave up _all_, _all_, _all_ that was wicked, and he begged to be forgiven and made clean once more, like an innocent little child. then, very happy, he lay back on his bed of skins and fell asleep. the sun was streaming into the long, low room when guthlac awoke. it was a glorious english spring morning. the sleeping robbers were stirring, one by one, beneath their warm deer-skins. they little thought that their chief, sitting up in bed with the morning sun in his eyes, was thinking about god, and how wonderful it was that he had come to him in the night and called him to become one of his friends. it was rather difficult to believe, in the light of day, with the coarse laughter and wild voices of the robbers ringing out on the morning air, and yet guthlac knew it was true, and _knew that he had made a great promise_. he was too brave a man to go back on a promise, however hard to keep, so he stood up with a strong purpose in his heart. the first step would be to tell his men. that would be terribly hard. he suddenly felt very lonely, and wished there was someone else there to back him up. then he remembered that the lord christ was his chief. surely he would be near and help him in his first adventure? so he stepped out into the dewy woods, where all the birds were singing as if they, too, loved god with all their hearts. and he called his men about him to hear the important thing he had to say. they all came crowding round, expecting to hear some splendid new adventure that guthlac, their chief, had planned for them. then he stood up, taller than any of them and more splendid, and in his clear, ringing voice he told them that a wonderful thing had happened--god had called him to join the band of his brave friends. when god calls there's no hanging back. and so he had given up for ever the robber's life. he was no longer their chief. he had found a new chief for himself, and was off, at once, on the adventure of god's service. and so he bade them--good-bye. the robbers looked at each other in horror and surprise. what had happened to their chief? was he mad? what would happen to them without their brave leader? falling down on their knees about him, they begged him to stay; but guthlac's eyes were already looking away at the new adventure he saw before him. the pleasures of his old life did not seem worth anything now; he scarcely heard the voices of his friends as they pleaded with him. at last they gave up all hope of persuading him, and guthlac walked away through the woods, leaving his old life behind him for ever. he did not know where to go at first, but he felt sure christ, his new chief, would help him; and, sure enough, he presently remembered that not very far away there was an abbey of st. benedict's monks. he knew those men were all christ's friends, and he was quite sure they would welcome him. so he walked through the woods until he came to the abbey. there he knocked loudly on the great door, and presently a brother opened it. he must have been terrified when he saw the tall young chieftain standing before him, for all the countryside feared guthlac. but very soon the brother saw the love of god shining in guthlac's eyes, and the gentle humility in his voice showed that he was no longer the cruel robber, but a servant of christ. the monks took guthlac in and made him welcome. soon he found that conquering himself and the devil was a harder fight than he had ever fought against his enemies in the world, but he threw himself into the battle with all his heart. he did not do things by halves, but began to serve god with all his might, because before he had fought so hard against him. remembering how often he had got drunk with the wine he had stolen, he now would not drink one single drop even of the wine the monks were allowed to have. at first the brothers did not like this, but soon they began to understand the strong resolve of the young robber, and, seeing how very pure his heart was and how much he loved god, they all loved him. the curious old book which tells all about him says: "he was in figure tall, and pure in body, cheerful in mood, and in countenance handsome; he was modest in his discourse, and he was patient and humble, and ever in his heart was divine love hot and burning." for two years he lived in that monastery, and then he began to long to live a harder life for christ's sake. he heard about the hermits of old days who used to live apart from other men in wild places, and he got leave from the abbot to follow their example. so one day he set out. he did not choose the beautiful green woods that he had once roamed in, but turned towards a most horrible place--a great marsh full of pools of slimy black water, and reeds, and rough scrub and bushes. it was the most lonely place you can imagine, and people feared to go there because they said it was haunted by evil spirits. on an island in this lonely fen st. guthlac settled down with two servants. it was a very hard life, and the devil sent him all sorts of horrible temptations and haunted him and gave him no rest; but st. guthlac rejoiced in the chance of fighting under his captain, christ, against the evil spirits. it would take too long now to tell you of all the wonderful things that happened to st. guthlac on this island--we must keep them for another time. for god rewarded his love and his courage by giving him a wonderful gift of miracles and of great wisdom, so that the news of him gradually spread all over the country, and people began to understand that the great robber had now become a great saint. and so from far and near, the people flocked to him. but one thing more about him i will tell you. though he had now no human companions, and chose to set all his love on god, he had a wonderful friendship with the wild animals that shared the island with him. in those days there were many wild beasts in england, such as wolves. these would come to st. guthlac and eat out of his hand. even the fishes would come to him; and as to the birds, they did not fear him at all. the swallows, which are very timid birds, would come and settle all about on him, and there were some ravens which were a trouble because they were so tame and would come and steal things from his house. once a holy man called wilfrith, who had come to see st. guthlac, was surprised to see the swallows settle on him, and (as the old book says) asked him "wherefore the wild birds of the waste sat so submissively upon him." st. guthlac explained to him in these words: "hast thou never learnt, brother wilfrith, in holy writ, that he who hath led his life after god's will, the wild beasts and wild birds have become the more intimate with him? and the man who would pass his life apart from worldly men, to him the angels approach nearer." so it was that the wild place called croyland became a place of god, and st. guthlac, through god's power, was able to do more good to his fellow-men than ever he had done them harm in his wild days. but though st. guthlac was doing miracles as wonderful as those of the old testament prophets, and preaching in his wilderness as wonderfully as st. john the baptist did in his, god did not mean to leave him there very long, for he wished to have his brave and true friend in heaven. after fifteen years st. guthlac, who was still almost a young man, fell ill. knowing that god was calling him to heaven, he gladly began to prepare. his illness lasted only seven days, and he himself knew that he would die on the eighth. but he had nothing to fear, for he had so truly repented of his sins that night when god spoke to him first that they had been all washed away. so he lay in his little house waiting. and when one of his faithful servants, who was some way off, at his prayers, chanced to look up, he saw the house with a kind of bright cloud of glory round it. and this brightness stayed there till day broke. and at dawn st. guthlac called his servant and gave him last messages for his friends. "and after that," says the old book, "he raised his eyes to heaven and stretched out his arms, and then sent forth his spirit with joy and bliss to the eternal happiness of the heavenly kingdom." * * * * * "that was a good one," said the cubs. but they were too sleepy to ask for another story, as usual, and in less than five minutes every one was asleep, sailing away through the dream-sea towards the golden, sunlit country called "to-morrow." the third day seven o'clock and no one awake yet! akela crept softly out and roused the cooks. sam woke quickly, but bill was just like a hermit crab--the more you poked him, the more he drew back into his shell and hid his head under his blanket. presently, however, he began to uncurl, opened his eyes very wide, sat up, and discovered it was not his mother calling him, but that he was at camp. he got up quickly, and was the first ready. gradually they all woke up, but no one was in such a hurry to turn out this morning. they put on uniform and boots and stockings, for it was not to be a shore day. breakfast over, haversacks were packed with grub, and the whole party tramped off along the sea-wall to ryde. the first thing that happened was a beautiful service in a very beautiful little church, for on this day (august 15th) the pack always goes to church. then five of the younger ones who didn't fancy a long tramp went home with father and mother, and the rest set off on an adventure. along the roads and lanes they went, but the way did not seem long, for they talked of so many interesting things. after about two miles, as they were going along a narrow lane, they suddenly came on a man sitting on the bank, who stood up and said, "hullo!" the cubs gave a yell and fell upon him, for, you see, he was their scoutmaster. he led the way past an old ruin, under a ruined archway, and along a little path, till they got to a great building called quarr abbey, where he was staying. there, under the shade of the trees, the weary travellers sat and had an enormous lunch. three big jugs of cider had been provided for them. it was the first time they had ever tasted cider, and akela began to be afraid they would never be able to walk home straight if they drank any more; so it was decided to pour the remainder into the water-bottles, and take it back for the five boys in camp. after dinner the scoutmaster took the cubs for a row in the creek, and afterwards they bathed. then they had a good tea, and were allowed to see over the abbey and go down in the crypt under the church. it interested them very much to see a wonderful library of eighty thousand books! some were hundreds and hundreds of years old, and all done in writing and painting, because there was no printing in those days. some were books done in the very first days of printing. there was one enormous book you could hardly carry, and by it a tiny wee little book you could put in your waistcoat-pocket. at last it was time to go home, and they set out once more to tramp along the lanes. the evening sun shone down through the thick green leaves, and the blackbirds sang as if they were saying all sorts of important things to each other, if only you could understand. the grey, broken arches of the ruined abbey seemed to tell sad tales of long ago--seemed full of secrets nobody will ever hear. "it's been a good adventure," said the cubs, and they tramped home contentedly, for their minds were full of things to think about. even at the end of a four-mile tramp they were ready to run up the grassy hill into the camp, each keen to be the first one to tell father and mother about the eighty thousand books, and the ruin, and the cider, and the crypt. the five cubs enjoyed the cider, and everyone talked at the same time round the camp-fire that night, all telling different things. "story to-night, miss?" said a cub, suddenly. "yes," said akela. "good one?" "yes--a very good one about a soldier-saint." "hooray! buck up, boys, and let's get down to the stable for the story," cried the cub, cramming the last bit of bread-and-cheese into his mouth. the trampers were quite ready to lie down on their beds that night. "it's been the best day we've had yet," they said; "and now, please, tell the story." so akela curled up on someone's palliasse, and silence fell. the story of st. martin. a little more than three hundred years after our lord formed the christian church and then went back to heaven, having promised always to be in spirit with his people, a boy called martin was born in hungary. this boy god chose to be a very great leader among his people, the christians, and so he began to arrange martin's life in such a way that he should be led, little by little, to the fulfilment of god's plans. now, part of god's plan was that martin should be given the chance of _conquering himself_, and, with the addition of a lot of god's grace, be made strong and able to bear bravely the terrible dangers and hardships that were bound to go with a high position in the church of christ in those days of persecution. this story i am going to tell you is the story of all the hard things and disappointments and adventures god sent to the boy martin, in order to prepare him well, and bring him, at last, to the position he was to fill in the church. well, the first thing that happened was that the holy spirit put into the little boy's heart the idea of praying to a wonderful, unknown being, whom he called "the god of the christians." you see, his father was a pagan, and martin had never been taught anything about god, and must have picked up this idea all on his own. he had no church to go to, or anything, so he set to and built himself a little chapel on the top of a hill near his home, and there he often ran off and prayed to the god he knew so little about, but who, he felt sure, was a kind and loving friend of little boys. well, god was pleased to see that martin had answered so well to the idea he had sent into his heart, so he rewarded him by making something happen, which was the next bit of his plan, so to speak. martin's father was a soldier, and had risen from the ranks to the position of colonel in the roman army. to repay him for his good services he was given a farm in italy. and so, when martin was ten years old, his father and mother moved to this farm, and martin found himself living in a country where the christian faith was openly practised and people loved and served "the god of the christians," whom martin had so much longed to know more about. you can imagine how pleased the boy was; and before long he had discovered the house of the priests who taught young pagans all about the christian faith, and had begun to go to them regularly to learn. his father did not take much notice of this, and thought his small son would soon forget all about it when he got old enough to enter the life his father had decided he should follow--the exciting life of a soldier. but martin was not dreaming of battles and the adventures of a soldier's life, for he had discovered that among christians there was such a thing as specially giving yourself to god, and bravely breaking away from all the things you love by nature--like riches and fine clothes, and nice food, and friends, and adventures in the world, so as to love christ only, and follow the adventures of the spirit to which he will lead his loyal soldiers. while still a boy martin decided that this was the life for him, and he began to long to leave his comfortable home and go and join the hermits who lived in caves. so you can imagine that when his father began to talk about his starting his military training he was very much dismayed. being a frank and honest kind of boy, he looked his father bravely in the face, and told him straight out that he wanted to be a christian and give up his whole life to it. martin's father was very angry indeed. he stormed at the boy, and when he found that was no good, he thrashed him. but nothing could make martin change his mind, and at last he decided the only way was to run away from home. but i told you god meant martin to become a leader. to have run away and lived with the hermits would not have given him just the kind of training he needed, and the chance of showing he could stick to god through real difficulties. so god let the next bit of his plan happen. martin's father told the roman officials that his son had come to the age at which all boys had to undergo their military training (though he hadn't, really). and as martin would not go and "join up," a kind of press-gang lay in ambush one day and captured him, and he was led away in chains and forced to take the oath of military allegiance. his father being a colonel, martin was given a good position in the army straight off, and had his own horse and his own servant. of course, nearly all his companions were pagans, and the life of the army was of a pretty low standard. but martin stuck faithfully to the kind of life he knew was pleasing to god, and tried in his dealings with his fellow-men to do things in the brave, kind, generous, unselfish way christ would have done them. of course, this made all the soldiers and his fellow-officers love him, and they must often have wondered why he never got angry, or cheated, or grumbled and swore at unpleasant things; and why he was so very kind to his servant, and always ready to give up his place or any little privilege to other people. though no one knew it, even his pay he gave away to the poor. and yet he was not yet a baptized christian, for in those days people used to wait a long time and prepare themselves very carefully for the great honour of being made one of the children of god; and during this time of waiting they were called catechumens. it was at this time, while martin's regiment was stationed in france, that a very wonderful thing happened to him--for god was still planning his life and giving him chances; and, if he took them, rewarding him with special graces which should turn him gradually into a brave "soldier of jesus christ." one cold wintry day, as the wind whistled down the narrow streets of amiens, martin's troop came clattering through the old gateway, the soldiers wrapping their great military cloaks close round them, for the bitter french winter seemed to freeze their southern blood. by the gate of the city they noticed, as they swung by, an old, ragged man. the wind fluttered his tattered rags about, and he stretched out his thin hands, all blue with cold, hoping for a few pence to buy himself some food. the soldiers, however, passed him by and gave him nothing. but when martin reached the corner and saw the piteous sight his heart was touched, and he reined in his horse. he felt in his pockets, but, alas! they were empty, for he had given away all he had to some other poor person. he was very sad, because he always felt the poor were a kind of _chance_ given him by god of showing his love for the lord christ, who had said that if you served the poor and naked and hungry and unhappy you really served _him_. well, martin felt he simply _couldn't_ pass on and give the old man nothing. and suddenly the idea came to him that he was warm in his big cloak, and the old man very cold. what if he gave his cloak? but it was his uniform, and he knew that he must not ride out without it altogether, so he took it off, drew his sword, slashed it in half, and then, bending down with a smile, put the warm folds about the old man's cowering shoulders. of course, the soldiers and other officers laughed; but martin didn't care--he was willing to be what st. paul calls "a fool for christ's sake." and now comes the wonderful thing. that night as martin lay in bed, asleep, a wonderful vision came to him. suddenly his room seemed full of angels, and in the midst of them was christ. _and_--on his shoulders was martin's half-cloak! then our lord spoke. "martin," he said, "dost thou know this mantle?" and then he turned to the angels, and he said: "martin, yet a catechumen, hath clothed me with this garment." you can imagine what st. martin felt! but besides the joy in him, there was a feeling that our lord was a little disappointed because he was only a catechumen still, and not yet baptized and made a real part of his church, a real child of god. and so, feeling that god wished him to have the great honour of baptism, he went to the priests, and started on the long, hard preparation that they used to have in those days. no meat might he have, nor wine, and he must pray a lot, and often watch in the church the whole night, and in many other ways practise not giving in to himself. only at easter and whitsun were the catechumens baptized; and then they were clothed in white garments, which they wore for a week. these were meant to show the perfect purity of their souls, from which all stain of sin had been washed away by the waters of baptism. at last the great day came, and martin received the wonderful sacrament with great love and humility. but now he felt that he simply couldn't let his hands be stained with the blood of his fellow-men, and that the soldier's life was not for him. and so, when the emperor came one day and inspected his regiment, which was shortly to go into battle, he asked him if he might leave the army. "until now i have fought for you," he said; "let me henceforth fight for god. . . . i am a soldier of christ, and it is not lawful for me to take part in a bloody battle." the emperor was very angry. "coward!" he cried. "it is not religion that causes you to refuse to fight--you are _afraid_." so, to show them he was not afraid, martin offered to go into battle in the very front rank, but to go unarmed (since he would not shed human blood). and, to show that he trusted in christ as his protector, he said he would go without armour or helmet. his challenge was accepted, and he was put under arrest, lest he might try to escape. of course, he spent the night praying, and the next day everyone was astonished by some strange news. the enemy had sent a despatch to sue for peace, and to say they would agree to the emperor's terms. so there was no battle; and not only was martin's life saved, but the lives of many other brave men. probably the emperor saw god's hand in the unexpected action of his powerful enemy, for he at once gave martin leave to go free. at last martin found himself at liberty to follow the life he had always felt called to; and once again god sent him where things should happen to him which would finally lead to the accomplishment of god's great plan. after making a pilgrimage to rome, which was now not only the head of the worldwide empire, but the kind of headquarters of the christians, he returned to france, so as to put himself under the guidance of a very holy man, called st. hilary, the bishop of poitiers. st. hilary soon saw that martin was no ordinary young soldier, but was a very promising "soldier of jesus christ," and that his services would be very valuable. he saw, also, that he had received a special call from god, so he proposed to ordain him deacon. but martin was very humble, and he refused the honour. in the end he let st. hilary ordain him exorcist. but directly after this he was ordered by god in a dream to go back to his native land and visit his relations and bring them into the christian faith. st. hilary was disappointed, but he let him go, making him promise, however, that he would return to the diocese of poitiers, to which he now belonged. after many adventures, including falling into the hands of robbers and escaping in a marvellous way, which must have been through god's help, martin reached his old home, and had the joy of seeing his mother received into the church, as well as seven of his cousins and his two great-uncles. at this time the church was being persecuted by a very strong party called the arians. they were heretics, who taught that our lord was only a man and not god, and as the church turned them out on account of their false teaching, they did nothing but fight against her. of course, martin, the brave soldier of christ, stood up for what he believed, so that one day he was seized by the arians, beaten, and banished from his own country. he began to make his way back to st. hilary, but when he reached milan he learned that his friend had been banished from poitiers, and that an arian bishop ruled in his place. so martin stayed at milan; and this, too, was a part of god's plan, because it was his stay here which started him on an idea which in the end developed into one of the most important things in his life. this idea was to form a kind of little monastery outside the city, where he and a handful of other young men lived, and tried to do good and to live in a way specially pleasing to god, and more perfect than they could do in the busy rush of the ordinary world. but after a while the arians got strong in milan, and drove out martin and his followers. for a while martin and a friend of his lived as hermits on a wild little island off the coast of spain. but, hearing that st. hilary had been restored to his see, martin went to poitiers so as to fulfil his solemn promise. but once more st. hilary was to be disappointed, for this time martin begged to be allowed to continue his hermit's life. st. hilary gave him leave, and martin now withdrew to a forest about eight miles from poitiers. here he built himself a hut, and was soon surrounded by men who wished to lead the same kind of holy life. this was the beginning of all the wonderful monasteries of france, which civilized the whole country in time and taught it to be christian. that martin's new life was really pleasing to god was soon shown, for god gave him the gift of doing miracles, and twice he even raised the dead to life. you will remember how our lord specially promised that his faithful followers, in the years to come, should do miracles like he had done, and even greater ones. well, st. martin was one of the men who showed that our lord's promise was fulfilled. all the men to whom the church has given the title "saint" have done wonderful miracles, that god's name might be glorified and people see that "with god all things are possible." st. martin now lived in very close communion with god, and his miracles showed that he was not just an _ordinary_ good man. besides training his monks, st. martin was working very hard among the heathen gauls. he would press forward through the forests and preach in the little villages, and do miracles, and, after instructing the people in the true faith, baptize them all, and leave a happy christian village where he had found a miserable, frightened, heathen one. st. martin's tender pity for all suffering things is shown by this little story. one day, as he walked in the country, he saw a poor, terrified hare dashing along with starting eyes, and nearly exhausted, for a party of huntsmen and their hounds were close upon it. st. martin saw that in a few minutes it must be torn to bits by the hounds, for there was no cover for it. his tender heart longed to help it to escape, because it was weak and small and frightened. so he called out to the hounds to stop! and, strange to say, they pulled up short in their mad rush, and all stood still as if frozen to the ground, and the poor little hare scurried away into safety. now, this kind of life was just what suited st. martin, and he was very happy. he lived apart with god, and yet had work to do in training his monks in the way of perfection and teaching the faith to the ignorant pagans. but he had not yet arrived at the end of god's great plan for him. and if god now called him away from the life he loved to a life he did not want at all, we must not be surprised, for christ said that those who would be his disciples must _deny themselves_ and take up their _cross_ and follow him, and that is what all good christians must be ready to do--that is, live according to _the way god wants_ instead of according to the way _they want_ themselves. well, the change came when st. hilary died; for of course the people wanted st. martin to become bishop in his place. to be bishop was a very great honour, and one that many men would have been glad to accept. but st. martin was humble, like all saints; and he also felt that if he was to remain pure of heart and close to god he must live in the quiet solitude and silence of his monastery, so he refused to become bishop. but that he should be bishop was god's will, and also the people were quite determined to have him. they got him by making him think there was a poor sick woman who wanted him to come to her. he came out of his monastery, all unsuspecting, and the people carried him off by force to poitiers, and he had to consent to be consecrated bishop. he did not look very like a bishop as he was brought into the city. he was clad in a poor, thin old habit, and his head was closely shaved, as the monks were accustomed to do, and he was thin and pale with fasting and his hard life. but even his humble appearance made the people cheer him all the more; and the church was absolutely packed at the solemn service of his consecration as bishop. now began a life in which his own will was altogether given up to that of god. he lived in a poor little hut adjoining the church--the poorness of it pleased him; but all day he was at it, doing things for people--now visiting a sick man to pray over him, now making peace between quarrelsome people, now blessing oils, that they might bring healing to the sick; preaching sermons, talking to people, and explaining holy scripture in the way he could do so wonderfully; visiting his priests, or listening to the worries and troubles they came to tell him; and when there was nothing else, there was always a crowd of people waiting just to see their beloved bishop's holy face and go away cheered with a patient smile from him. but just sometimes he slipped away for a little peace alone with god, at a beautiful monastery called marmontier, which he formed near the city, and which later became very famous, and kept the rule of st. benedict i told you about before. there were many things that were serious worries and very bitter sorrows and trials to st. martin at this time, but i can't tell you all about these now. but there were also joys; and one of these i will tell you about, because it was the companionship of a little boy. he was nearly ten when st. martin baptized him and then adopted him. as they travelled together soon after the boy's baptism, and while he still had on the beautiful white robe i told you about, which showed outwardly the new purity of his soul, they came to the river loire. a little way ahead of them they saw a poor blind beggar waiting for someone to help him across. "son," said st. martin to the boy, victorius, "go to that man; wash his face and eyes with water from the river; then bring him to me." so the boy went and did as st. martin had told him; and as soon as he had washed the poor man's eyes, the man opened them and found he could see! with joy he looked about at the blue sky and the river; and when he heard that it was the holy bishop who had sent the white-robed boy to him, he praised god for what had happened, and ran and fell down at st. martin's feet. the poor beggar was very excited about it all, and didn't know how to thank st. martin and the boy. so st. martin said: "calm thyself, cease talking, and come; for with me in this boat thou shalt cross the river." so the beggar stayed with them three days, and victorius was allowed to look after him, and, as the old book says, "eagerly brought him everything to eat that he liked best." victorius stayed always with st. martin, and went about everywhere with him, scarcely ever leaving his side. even to the church he would go with him for the night offices; or on his tours visiting the churches or preaching to the heathen. st. martin taught victorius, and in return the boy waited on him; also, i think, he must have cheered up the old bishop, and often made him feel a boy again. but don't you think victorius was a very lucky boy? he saw a great many wonderful miracles of the saint, and was even allowed to have a hand in the doing of some of them, as in the case of the blind beggar. when victorius was old enough, st. martin made him a priest, and _himself_ cut off the young man's hair in the way priests used to have it cut. there are a great many more wonderful stories about st. martin which i haven't time to tell you now; but gradually, gradually he was establishing the christian faith very firmly in france. god's great plan was being fully worked out, for, you see, st. martin had never resisted god's will in any point; always he had done just what he felt god was gently leading him to do, never mind what it cost him at the time. and so he took each step that god arranged for him, and each one led on to the next, and all led on to the wonderful life of building up the church of christ, and making it bigger, stronger, purer, more healthy; and the great work, too, of turning a heathen land into a powerful christian country. at last came the day when the tired old bishop felt, with unspeakable joy, that he was to go and receive his reward at the hands of christ, whom he had loved so faithfully and so long, and was to enter into his rest. one day, after a long journey, st. martin was thinking of returning to his beloved marmontier, when a great weakness came over him. "the moment of my deliverance is at hand," he said. his monks and other faithful companions were nearly broken-hearted. "oh, father, will you then leave us?" they cried. "ravening wolves will fall on your flock, and who will protect it when the shepherd is struck? we know your longing to depart and to be with christ, but your reward is assured and will be greater by delay. have pity on us who must remain." so st. martin prayed a beautiful prayer, because he loved his children more than himself, and he was even willing to put off his reward and his longed-for rest for love of them. "lord," he said, "if indeed i still be necessary to thy people, i refuse not the labour. let only thy will be done." [illustration: s. martin, victorius and the blind beggar. _see page 39._ ] but it was not our lord's will that his faithful soldier should fight any longer. christ was waiting for him, all ready to say, "well done, good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy lord." and so, lying humbly upon a bed of sackcloth, st. martin, apostle of france, finished the work that god had given him to do, and passed into the glory and eternal rest of the blessed. the fourth day a gorgeous day of steady, hot sun that made the sea sparkle like a million diamonds scattered on a great stretch of blue, blue satin. the tide was very far out, leaving a golden stretch of sand that simply asked to be tunnelled into and dug into holes and trenches and castles. the cubs all got into their bathing-costumes (the cubs' "costumes" were _mostly_ bare cub!), and spent the whole morning burrowing like moles into the sand, and getting cool in the sea when they felt like it. akela tried to write something "very important," but the cubs didn't seem to think it nearly as important as akela did, and not much writing got done. after dinner and rest, when the tide had come up, like a great green monster swallowing up the shore, and clutching with foamy fingers at the rocks, akela hired a boat and took half the cubs at a time for a row, while the other half ran along the shore ready to scramble in, when their turn came. the wind had got up, and out to sea there were no end of "white horses" shaking their manes and galloping after each other. do you know what "white horses" are? they are the white crests of the waves that break out all over the sea on windy days. some of the "white horses" came galloping close in to shore, and the cubs had a very exciting time landing to give the others a turn. this is how they did it. one large cub rolled up his shorts as far as they would go, and stood ready in the bow. akela then turned the boat shorewards suddenly, and pulled at the oars for dear life, and all the cubs helped by cheering. "crash--scrunch," the boat went ashore; the cub in the bow leapt out, and held her nose steady while everyone else scrambled out. a few "white horses" jumped over the stern and made things a bit wet, but nobody minded. in scrambled the next boatful of cubs, and, with a good shove, the boat was out again. a very little make-believe and you were lifeboat-men landing survivors from a wreck. there was to be a long and _very exciting_ story to-night, so the cubs bustled down to the stable extra early, and were undressed before you could say "jack robinson." in fact, terry began to undress in the street, and was out in the stable-yard in his night-shirt before akela and the last cub had got through the gate. "tell us a long, long, long one," begged the cubs; "we aren't a bit sleepy. let it last till midnight." "i'll tell as long as the candle lasts," said akela, sticking a stump of candle on the ledge. the cubs curled up, and the candle-light fell in a golden flicker on their ruddy, sunburnt faces. fifteen pairs of eyes were fixed on akela. you couldn't hear a straw rustle. only the faint "swish-sh-sh--_sha-a-a-ah_" of the "white horses" breaking on the shore broke the stillness. "now we are going back, back, back into a thousand years ago," began akela, and the cubs gave a wriggle of satisfaction, and prepared to take that mighty journey with the greatest ease. the story of st. edmund, king and martyr. now we are going back, back, back into a thousand years ago, and more. we shall stay in england, but it is a strange, wild england, covered with deep, mysterious green forests, where speckled deer roam about, and on moonlight nights you can hear the wolves howling. the englishmen of these days are nearly as fierce as the wolves. if you met one coming down a forest path i believe you'd be a bit afraid of him, with his fierce eyes and shaggy head of hair, his round shield and sharp spear. a good many of these englishmen are still heathens. but st. benedict's monks have been hard at work for the last few hundred years turning the wild country into the beautiful england we know, and the fierce, cruel saxons into brave christian knights, with kindly, noble hearts as well as fearless spirits. well, in a part of the country called east anglia there lived an old king called offa. he was a christian, and descended from a line of brave and noble kings called the uffings. poor old offa was very sad, because he felt he was getting old, and he thought that when he died the royal line of uffings would end, for he had no son to succeed him. as a matter of fact he _had_ got a son, but many years before god had called this boy to give up all thoughts of worldly glory and become a holy hermit, giving up his life to prayer. when god calls a man to serve him and him alone, he does not let the world suffer by his loss. god had a plan of his own for replacing offa's hermit son by one of the most glorious kings that ever reigned in england, and it is the wonderful story of how he was found, and of his thrilling adventures as the young king of east anglia, that i'm going to tell you to-night. well, something--perhaps it was a whisper from the holy spirit--made old king offa feel that if he prayed very hard he might in some wonderful way obtain an heir to his throne. in those days, when people wanted to pray very hard and show god they _really_ wanted a thing, and really believed he would give it them, they used to do what was called "going on a pilgrimage." it was like _doing_ instead of only _saying_ a great prayer, for the whole, long, dangerous journey was one act of faith and devotion or of thanksgiving. so old offa set out on a pilgrimage to the very best place you could pilgrimage to--the land where our blessed lord lived and died, where there are still the very same rocky paths his blessed feet touched, the same mountains and lakes his eyes rested on, the very hill where his precious blood poured down from the cross, dyeing the grass and the little white daisies red. somehow the king felt that if he could go and pray where our lord had prayed he would get some wonderful answer. so he started off, crossed the blue sea and landed on the opposite coast. now, god is so ready to grant the prayers of people who have so much love and faith that he sometimes answers almost before they have asked. that's what happened with the old king. his way lay through saxony, the kingdom of his cousin acmund. one day he rode up with his men-at-arms to the court, and decided to spend a few days there. acmund, of course, welcomed his cousin, and received him joyfully to the palace. well, as king offa sat resting on one of the low couches covered with the skins of wild beasts that acmund had killed in the chase, there was a light footfall outside the chamber, the heavy curtain was drawn back from the doorway, and there stood before him a tall, slim boy of thirteen, with fair hair, truthful blue eyes, and a face tanned with the sun and wind of his open-air life. something seemed to jump up in the old king's sad heart. oh, if only that noble boy were his son, his heir! he was a true uffing. what a king he would make for east anglia! in the next few days offa and the king's son, edmund, became great friends. edmund took upon himself the job of looking after his old cousin, and seeing that he had all he needed and enjoyed his visit at the court. and offa watched edmund with a feeling of love and interest such as he would have had for his own son. he saw that the boy was brave and clever, a good shot with his bow, able to throw a spear straight and ride a horse. he saw that he was loved by all, and always ready to do good turns and put the wishes of others before his own. but he saw something that pleased him more--that edmund was a true, loyal christian. in all the excitement of the chase and the gaiety of the court, his first thought was of god--to serve him and please him, to keep from all sin for his sake. the more offa saw of edmund, the more sure he felt that god had led him to this court that he might find his heir. still, though it seemed as if his request was already granted, he did not give up his pilgrimage, but decided to press on, if only as an act of thanksgiving to god. before starting once more on his way, the king called edmund aside. taking a gold ring from his finger, he put it on edmund's hand, and told him that if it were god's will this might some day mean great things for him. then he said good-bye, and rode away towards the east. young edmund must often have wondered what it was that god held in store for him, and as he looked at the gold ring on his finger i feel sure he used to promise god that whatever it was he would _do his best_ to fulfil his holy will. well, old offa reached palestine all right. his heart thrilled with joy and love as he saw the very village where jesus was born, and where the shepherds came that early christmas morning to adore the little new-born king. he remembered the three kings of the east, who came plodding along on their camels, bearing gifts for mary's little son. then he went on to mount calvary, and the tears ran down his old face as he saw the hill where our blessed lord suffered such agony, with such glorious courage, for our sakes. he prayed and gave thanks, and then, with a confident heart, left all the future in god's hands and started homewards. but he had not got very far before he fell ill, and soon his men saw that he was dying. calling them about him, he told them that it was god's will that young edmund, acmund's son, should be their king. taking from his finger the signet-ring that had been placed upon it by the bishop at his coronation, he commanded that when he was dead it should be carried as quickly as possible to the boy. then, heaving a last sigh of peace and gratitude, he closed his eyes on the world, and his faithful soul went to god. _the coming of st. edmund._ now we will go back to england. the people have heard of the death of their king, and they are not at all sure that they want a strange young prince from saxony to come and rule over them. they have collected in a great crowd on the shore, for the galleys from across the sea have come in sight, bearing down before the wind. the ships draw every moment nearer, and the people wait. as long as most of them can remember they have been ruled over by king offa; and for many generations their kings have been uffings--tall, fair, blue-eyed men, with noble, fearless hearts. what will this strange boy be like? and on the ship young edmund pushed his way forward to the prow. he could see the green, tree-covered cliffs of his new kingdom, and the crowd of people on the shore. his heart beat fast, and he fingered the ring old offa had put on his hand. oh, if only these people knew that he came to them ready to _do his best_ to be to them a good king--to _do his best_ for them, for the love of god! splash, splash!--the big anchors go overboard and the chains rattle as they run out over the bows. soon edmund and his men are in small boats, being rowed swiftly to the shore. edmund's boat is the foremost and he himself stands up on the prow, ready to leap ashore. as the men of england look at him they see that he is no stranger, but one of themselves, a true uffing, and then and there a sense of loyalty springs up in their rough hearts. the nose of the boat grates on the shore. with a leap edmund has cleared the water, and is standing on the land of which he is to be king. his first act is to fall on his knees and ask god's blessing on himself and his people. his short prayer ended, he gets up and turns to greet his new friends; but to his surprise they are all falling on their knees, murmuring to one another, "a miracle, a miracle!" for a spring of clear water has bubbled up where edmund's knees touched the ground--a sign from heaven that he is the true king, a symbol of the power of the holy ghost that will well up like a spring in his heart. _the crowning of st. edmund._ after a time of study and preparation under a holy man, called bishop humbert, who became a true father to the boy and his lifelong friend, the time of st. edmund's coronation drew near. it took place on christmas day, and the old books tell us of the gorgeous procession and the wonderful service. st. edmund had to make a solemn promise of loyalty to god and his people, and after being anointed with holy oil he was clothed in certain royal garments by the bishop, while a thane stepped forward and put sandals on his feet, a purple cloak was put upon his shoulders, and in his hand a sceptre of mercy and an iron rod of justice. after that a naked sword was presented to him, and a helmet put on his head. then, laying aside all these, st. edmund stepped forward, and standing before the altar declared solemnly that by the grace of god he would fulfil all the duties of a good king. the bishop placed the crown upon his head, saying, "live the king for ever," and the people all cried, "amen, amen, amen." after that there was a solemn service of praise and thanksgiving to god, and the new king received holy communion. you can imagine how happy it made the holy young king that this should be the very first act of his reign, and what confidence it gave him that christ would stay with him through all the difficult years to come. _war._ for a long time there was peace in st. edmund's kingdom, though the people in other parts of the country were suffering terribly from their enemies, the danes, who came over in wild hordes from the north in their low, black-sailed boats, and, landing on the coast, went through the country burning and plundering and killing. st. edmund knew they would sooner or later invade his kingdom too. so he set to work to prepare for them. his chief way of doing this was to win the loyalty of all his subjects, so that if there was war he knew they would all rally round him. he made wise laws, and he was so fair to all, and so ready to listen to the poor and oppressed and help them, that soon everyone in the kingdom loved the young king and would do anything for him. they could see that god was with him, and they could not help feeling that in serving the humblest of his subjects he felt that it was christ himself that he served. st. edmund had, of course, prepared his army and had thrown up defences to try and keep the enemy out as long as possible. you can still see one of his great earthworks running from newmarket to the fen country. for hundreds of years it was called "edmund's dyke." he placed scouts and outposts all round his borders, and prepared in every way he could. at last the day came when the country people came running into the towns in terror. they had seen along the borders huge, fierce men, with flashing eyes and long red hair and beards. their leather tunics were stained dark with blood. huge round shields were slung across their backs; they were armed with spears, bows, clubs, and knives, and they shouted to one another in a strange language. st. edmund's scouts came running in to say that the danes were collecting in great crowds on the frontiers. soon they began creeping in at every point, burning houses and churches, and killing people, especially the christians. though it was an almost hopeless job, st. edmund led his brave army forward, and whenever it was possible he engaged the enemy in battles and drove them out. the danes had never before been so powerfully resisted, and thousands of them were killed. there's not time now to tell you all of the thrilling adventures st. edmund had at this time, and of his wonderful escapes from the danes. anyhow, the danes were so much weakened that they asked for peace, and after spending the winter in a great camp at thetford, they sailed away, full of rage and hatred and desire for revenge. _a cowardly plot._ for a time there was peace, and then a sad thing happened. one stormy day when the waves dashed and foamed up the shingly beach, and the sea and sky were a leaden grey, the fisher-folk who lived down by the shore saw a small boat, with tattered sails and broken mast, being driven before the wind. there seemed to be a man in it, but he was evidently weak and exhausted, and was doing nothing to help himself. presently the boat was thrown up on the shore, and the fishermen ran down and collected in a little crowd round it. looking down at the helpless man, still clinging to a spar and drenched with foam and sea-water, they soon saw he was not one of their people. "a dane, a dane!" they murmured with sullen hate. then one who had served in st. edmund's army suddenly gave a wild exclamation. "by heaven," he said, "it's lothparch!" lothparch was the leader of the danish army who had done such awful harm to east anglia only a few years before. "kill him!" growled one man. "throw him back on the mercy of the sea!" hissed another. but the man who had fought under st. edmund would have nothing of the kind. the king never allowed a helpless man, even a cruel enemy, to be killed. so lothparch was carried up to the royal palace. to the surprise of the fierce angles, st. edmund not only made the stranger welcome, but showed him every kindness. "love your enemies," said our lord, and sure enough st. edmund seemed truly to be obeying that command. everything the king did seemed right to his loyal subjects; but there was one man--berne, the king's huntsman--whose jealousy was so bitter at st. edmund's showing favour to a dane that he waited till he had an opportunity, and then he murdered lothparch. the king was very angry, of course; but he said that, though berne deserved to die for the crime, he would give him a faint chance of escape; he should be put in an open boat, and pushed out to sea and left to the mercy of the waves. after tossing for many days, berne was washed up on a strange coast. during those lonely days of tossing on the waves, instead of repenting of his crime, berne's wicked heart had been full of hatred for the king. so when he heard that the land he had come to was lothparch's own kingdom, and that his two sons, inguar and hubba, were reigning in his place, a horrible idea came into his mind. asking to be taken before the princes, he made up and told them an awful lie, saying that when their father, lothparch, had been washed up, helpless, on the coast of england, edmund the king had caused him to be cruelly put to death. of course, this enraged inguar and hubba, and they at once collected a huge and fierce army, and set out once more for east anglia. _a fight to the death._ landing in the north, and marching from york southward, the danes plundered every city they passed through. they burned the monastery that had been built at croyland (st. guthlac's isle), and also those at peterborough, ramsey, soham, and ely. meeting st. edmund's army, they defeated it completely, killed the brave general who commanded it, and took thetford by storm. then they sent st. edmund a message to say that he must give up half his kingdom and pay heavy taxes, or they would do the most terrible "frightfulness" throughout the land. but st. edmund and his men decided to make one great effort to keep their land in liberty and true to the christian faith. at the head of his gallant army, st. edmund marched on inguar's army, and a ghastly battle began. arrows flew thick; swords clashed on shields; great spears tore men open and left them to bleed to death. all day the battle raged, but at night the danes fell back exhausted, and st. edmund held the field, victorious. but as he stood in the moonlight and looked upon the scene his heart sank. before him stretched the great battlefield, its trampled grass all soaked in blood; and around him, silent for ever, lay his great army--an army of dead men. with a heavy heart he led back his little handful of tired and wounded soldiers to the camp. the next day came terrible news. hubba, with ten thousand men, had marched up and joined his brother. _the martyr._ it was hopeless to try and resist any more--the king knew it, and his people knew it, and they shuddered to think of their fate. then a great idea came to the king. it was he himself the danes hated so. if only they had him in their power, perhaps they would leave his beloved country in peace! the more he thought of this, the more certain he felt that, by giving himself up, he could buy the peace and happiness and safety of his people. christ, his captain, had done this--he had not feared to face the most cruel death to save mankind, and st. edmund's heart suddenly leapt with the thought that he would follow christ and do the same! at first his old friend the bishop, st. humbert, tried to hold him back. but after a while he saw that st. edmund was quite resolved. he spoke of it with such courage and joy that the aged bishop knew the holy spirit must be in his heart leading him to this glorious sacrifice of himself, this giving of his very life for his god and his friends, this quest for the martyr's crown. and so he gave him his blessing and bade him do as his brave heart prompted him. so, calling together his people, st. edmund told them what he was going to do. you can imagine what they felt--how they begged him with tears not to do it. but nothing would make him change his mind--he knew it was god's will. bravely he gave his last order to his men. it was that all the gates of the fortress should be thrown open, all the defences left unguarded, nothing done to stop the danes entering it. then he made his way to the chapel. unbuckling his faithful sword, he laid it on the steps of the altar, and knelt down, with no protection save god's mercy. the little chapel was very dim, and full of a holy feeling. all was still. it seemed to the young king as if he were far, far away from the rest of the world, from all the horror of bloodshed and crashing battle-axes that had filled the last few weeks like some horrible dream. he let his mind just rest on the thought of god and his love, and a wonderful peace came over him. near him knelt the old bishop, and his heart was near to breaking, for he loved st. edmund very much. the tears ran down his furrowed cheeks, and fell silently on the steps of the altar, but he spoke no word. silently the moments passed, and then, suddenly, a sound broke the stillness that sent a cold shiver through st. humbert. wild shouts, coarse laughter, the clash and clatter of armed men rushing in wild triumph through the fortress. it was the king they were seeking. where was he? they cared for nothing but to find him and wreak their revenge. the shouts came nearer . . . the tramp of feet . . . the clang and scrape of spears against the wall. nearer, nearer, until the chapel door burst open and a crowd of cruel faces peered in. then a wild oath rang through the quiet of the chapel. they had found the king! rushing in, they seized him and dragged him out. _"faithful unto death."_ in a field beyond the town the danes tied st. edmund to a tree. they were determined to have a full revenge. with long whips they began to scourge his naked body. each lash was like the touch of a red-hot iron, and left a long, bleeding wound in the bare flesh. but st. edmund only rejoiced that, at last, he could share truly what christ had suffered from the roman soldiers. no cry escaped him, except now and then the name of jesus. then, throwing down their whips, the danes took up their bows. the arrows fell thickly round st. edmund, piercing him in every part, until, as the old book says, he was as covered with arrows as a porcupine with quills. inguar, the danish prince, looked on with a horrible smile of cruel enjoyment. hearing the holy name break like a sob from the mouth of the martyr, he began to taunt him, telling him to give up his faith in christ, since it had only brought him to this. but st. edmund was "faithful unto death." soon, soon he would receive the "crown of life," the welcome of the king of kings. seeing that nothing could make st. edmund cry for mercy or give up his faith in god, inguar drew his long sword, and, with a hoarse laugh of triumph, cut the martyr's head from his body. free and glorious the soul of king edmund rose from his bloodstained body into the sunlight of heaven. * * * * * st. edmund had not sacrificed himself in vain. the danes, so greatly weakened by the bloody battles they had fought, gave up the idea of ruling east anglia, and sailed away to their country, leaving st. edmund's people in peace, and free to practise the christian faith. the fifth day (sunday) everyone dressed quickly and quietly, found his prayer-book somewhere in the far depths of his kit-bag, and ran down to sit on the sea wall and wait for akela and the last cub or two (the ones whose boots had got lost, or who were so fussy about parting their hair, etc., that dressing took rather a long time). very reverently they went into church, and very quietly came out again and up to the field. breakfast, a run round the field to let off steam, and then down to the shore for a bathe. in the afternoon every cub got hold of a piece of paper and a pencil, and sat, lay, knelt, or squatted in some corner, his tongue well out and his brow furrowed with thought, to write home. some wrote very private letters, all on their own, and didn't give the show away even to ask how to spell the hardest words, like "library" (which might just as well be "lybary," or "librurry," or "lieberry"). of course, library, in some form or other, came into all their letters, because they all wanted to tell about the adventure of going to quarr abbey. some cubs, sacrificing the privateness of their letters, decided that if akela or godmother did the writing, while they did the _saying what_, it would be much quicker, and much more could be told to "mother and all at home." so they brought their paper and pencils, and asked akela to do it in "proper, quick writing." they told _everything_--even what they had had for dinner each day, and one said his bed at camp was much "comfortabler" than his bed at home. after tea there was a little cricket practice and some tree-climbing, and then supper and, of course, night prayers. and then, feeling as if they had lived in camp all their lives, instead of only five days, the cubs walked contentedly down the hill to bed. patsy, as usual, was having a free ride on akela's back, and he was certainly quite a lot heavier than the first day. before long everyone was established in the coach-house and the candle lighted. "to-night," said akela, "i'm going to tell you about a very cubby saint. i know he would have loved cubs, because he loved small boys and wild animals; in fact, a certain wolf was a great friend of his; and he thought it worth while, once, to preach a beautiful sermon to a flock of birds. he was always laughing or singing or doing something cubby, and he had ideas he used to teach his followers, very much like our cub law and motto. his name was st. francis of assisi. now listen, for i specially want you to make friends with st. francis, because i love him very much." the story of st. francis--i. there was once a boy called francis, who lived in a curious old town in the mountains of italy. the town was called assisi. it was all funny little up-and-down streets and flights of long, crooked stone steps; and there was a wall all round (to keep enemies out), and big gates in the wall that were closed at night. the purple hills and mountains spread away as far as you could see beneath a blue, blue sky, and all round the city there were vineyards, and lovely little rocky paths winding about among the silvery olive-trees. francis was the son of a rich merchant called peter bernardone. he was a regular cubby boy--always laughing and singing, ready for mischief, but still more ready to do anyone a good turn. he was peter bernardone's only son, and he had a jolly good time of it, because his father had made up his mind that young francis should make a success of life, and end by being a great man in the town. he used to smile to himself and rub his hands together as he saw what a clever, handsome boy francis was growing up into, and how everybody loved him, and how he was always the ringleader in all the fun. as francis grew to be a young man his father would encourage him to give lots of feasts to his friends, not minding how much they cost, and it pleased him to see that it was always francis who was the life of these feasts, making jokes, leading cheerful singsongs, enjoying himself no end, and making everyone else enjoy themselves. but while peter bernardone chuckled to see young francis so gay and popular, francis' mother, pica, used to notice little things that made her happy too, only in a different way. she noticed that francis never really gave in to himself, like his wild friends; never overate himself in a greedy way or drank enough wine to make him drunk; never thought it funny to tell nasty stories or swear; and if ever god's name was mentioned, it seemed to make him serious for a moment. "one day," she said, "he will become a son of god." but her friends thought it a silly remark to make, for francis seemed to be living just to please himself and have a jolly time. but mothers are generally right in what they prophesy about their sons, and pica's remark was really a very true one. this story is all about how francis gave up being a rich merchant's son and became a poor man who found all his joy and his riches in calling _god_ his _father_. the change did not come easily, and a great many wonderful adventures befell him, which i am going to tell you now. it all began with a war between assisi and another city. of course, francis and his pals joined in the fray and thought it great sport, till they got captured and carried off prisoners. it was not sport at all being shut up in stuffy old houses with only a little food and nothing to do. francis used to cheer them up with troubadour songs and stories. but although he always seemed so cheerful, it was doing great harm to his health, and when, after a year, the prisoners were freed and returned to assisi, francis became very ill indeed. so ill was he that he came near dying, and this experience of nearly passing out into the next life made him begin to think seriously. when he was well enough to go out, walking slowly with a stick because of his weakness, he felt that life could never be quite the same; he must _do_ something, take a man's place in the world. well, the chance soon came, for all the young christian men were called out to fight in a crusade. a certain nobleman of assisi started getting up a party, and francis decided to join him. he soon had all his kit--armour, a bright sword, a good horse, and all complete; and with a gay heart, full of a thirst for adventure and a determination to do great things, he waited impatiently for the start. he had been rather puzzled as to what to do with himself, and now he felt he had hit on the right plan. so it was a bit of a surprise when, his very first night away, something happened which unsettled his mind altogether and made him feel it was not god's will that he should go to the crusades. the night before the party set out francis had had a very curious dream, about a beautiful palace, all hung round with knightly arms, which a mysterious voice told him was for him and his followers. this made him so happy that the next day, when someone asked him what good fortune he had had, he replied that now he knew for certain he was to be a great prince and leader of men. but the next night, as he lay in the hostelry on the first halt along the road, something still more strange happened. he was not asleep, and yet, through the still darkness, he heard the mysterious voice of his dream, and it said: "francis, whom is it better to serve, the lord or the servant?" "surely it is better to serve the lord," replied francis, softly, into the dark. and the voice answered: "why, then, dost thou make a lord of the servant?" then it all seemed to flash on francis, and he felt sure this was a voice from heaven, and he replied very humbly: "lord, what dost thou wish me to do?" and the voice said: "return to the land of thy birth, and there it will be told thee what thou shalt do; for it may behove thee to give another meaning to thy dream." he felt so positive that the voice was from heaven, that he felt he simply could not disobey it. so, although it cost him a lot to do it, he turned his horse's head northwards and rode home. there was nothing to do now but wait for god to show him his will. he tried to settle down again to his old life of feasting and gaiety, but somehow he couldn't throw himself into it. there was something he was feeling after, but he didn't know what. one day something happened which was the beginning of great things. francis had been out for a ride beyond the city. as he turned his horse's head homewards and rode slowly back towards the golden sunset, he suddenly saw, a little way ahead, something that made him shudder and almost turn aside on to another path. it was a poor leper, his filthy rags only half covering his wretched body, with its horrible running sores. his face was swollen and disfigured, and his eyes full of the frightened misery of a hunted animal. now, seeing lepers always made francis feel quite sick. he hated horrible sights. but somehow, to-night, a new feeling woke up in him--a sudden feeling of brotherhood with this poor man, almost of love for him. it was such terribly bad luck that he had caught leprosy and become a ghastly sight, so that he could not earn any money nor come near the town. francis felt in his wallet for a silver piece to give him, and then he thought how sad it must be to have money flung at you by strangers, who passed by with head turned away because they loathed the very sight of you. how the lepers must long for just a friendly look, a smile! a great idea suddenly leapt up in francis's mind, and it took all his courage not to give in to himself. as he came up with the leper, he jumped off his horse, took a silver piece from his pocket, and held it out to the man. the leper, full of surprise, held out his poor swollen stump of a hand, with several fingers already rotted away, to take the coin. but meeting the man's eyes, and seeing in them the look of hunger for friendship, francis took the poor hand in his, as he would the hand of his friend, pressed the coin into it, and then, stooping, pressed his lips upon it in a kiss. then, with his heart full of joy, he remounted his horse and rode home. with that kiss a wonderful new idea had sprung up in francis's heart--a sense of love for the poor, of longing not only to help them, but to share their very lives, to be one of them. at first he tried to satisfy his longing to help them by making great feasts and serving his poor guests with his own hands. one day he went on a pilgrimage to rome, and as he saw the crowd of beggars clustering round a certain shrine in hope that the pilgrims would give them money, he longed to become just one of them. so, taking one of them aside, he exchanged his fine clothes with the beggar for his dirty rags, and spent the whole day with his poor brothers in the dust and the scorching sun, enjoying the sense of being a mere outcast to whom rich men threw ha'pence. still, when he returned to his home he was as puzzled as ever as to what he should do. he took to spending long hours at prayer in a certain cave begging god to make known his will; and at last god answered his prayer, and i will tell you how. francis had been for a long walk outside the city, and as he returned along the stony little mountain paths, the evening sunlight dazzling his eyes, and the olive-trees whispering to each other in the soft evening air, he noticed a tumble-down little wayside church. something made him stop and turn in. it was very dim and cool and quiet. there was no one there--except god. a lamp burned with a feeble flicker in the sanctuary. francis knelt down and began to pray. then, out of the stillness a strange, wonderful voice spoke his name--"_francis_." he knew directly whose voice it was--our blessed lord's. "yes, lord," he answered, his heart beating rather fast, though he felt very happy. "francis, go and repair my church, which thou seest falling," said the voice. then all was still. the tones of that voice seemed to vibrate through and through francis. he was filled with a great desire to obey--to do anything, anything our lord wanted. "repair my church," he had said. he must mean this poor little tumble-down house of his, that was certainly on the point of falling. so francis jumped up from his knees and went out into the sunlight very happy. he found the old priest, who lived in a poor little house near by, and, telling him the wonderful thing that had happened, gave him all the money he had, and promised to return soon with enough to rebuild the church. then he hurried home. his father was away on a journey. so francis went down to the warehouse and picked out the most costly bale of rich stuff he could find. then he took a good horse, and, putting the bale of stuff on his back, set out for the town of foligno. here he sold both the stuff and the horse, and returned with a good sum of money. full of joy, he hurried along the little mountain path to the old priest's house, and held out the heavy purse of gold to him. but the priest was afraid to accept it, for he was not at all sure that francis's father would be pleased about it. francis was disappointed. he had got the money for the church, and certainly wasn't going to carry it home again; so he threw it into the deep recess of one of the windows of the little church, and left it there. then he told the priest he meant to stay, for here our lord had spoken to him, and he must stay and see to the building of the church. the old priest was very kind, and let francis share his little house and his poor fare, and francis began to feel like a kind of hermit, living a life of prayer. meanwhile peter bernardone returned from his journey. when he heard what francis had done, and his new, mad idea of living like a hermit on the mountain-side, he was furiously angry. taking a stick in his hand, he set out, saying he would teach the young fool a good lesson and bring him home. but one of the servants ran ahead by a short cut and warned francis. francis had no wish to meet his angry father armed with a stout stick, so he fled and hid himself in a cave, and peter bernardone had to go home again, even angrier than he set out. for about ten days francis stayed in hiding, the servant bringing him food. he spent this time in prayer. this made him braver, and he began to think that he had been a "funk" to run away and hide and not face the music, so he decided to make up for it by being braver. his time of hiding in the dark, dirty cave, with little food, had made him look thin, untidy, and a bit of a scarecrow. the people of assisi had heard what he had done, and they decided he must have gone mad. so when he appeared in the city the boys began throwing stones and rubbish at him, and calling after him. francis bore it all patiently, and felt rather a hero. but presently peter bernardone discovered that his son was being insulted in the streets. it filled him with rage, and he rushed out, dragged francis indoors, gave him a good flogging and shut him up in a little cell. here he had to stay for some time, until his father went on another journey and his mother let him out. of course, he went straight back to the little church on the hill-side, and here, when his father came back, he found him. peter bernardone stormed at him and demanded the money back, but francis would not give it, saying he had given it to god. so peter bernardone went to the bishop about it. the matter came up at the bishop's court, and the bishop had to tell francis to give back the money. bernardone was so angry with his son that he then and there disinherited him, and said he would not own him as his son any more. so francis took off his very clothes and gave them back to his father, saying, "now will i say no more peter bernardone is my father, but only 'our father who art in heaven.'" so, taking the bundle of clothes, old bernardone stalked out of the court. someone fetched francis a rough habit, such as was worn by the farm-hands. on this francis chalked a big cross, and, putting it on, stepped out joyfully, feeling that at last he was free to serve god, in whatever way he wanted him to, and share the life of the poor. he felt somehow that he must get right away, alone; so he started walking up over the mountains, not caring where he went. soon he was right up among the pines, and as night fell he found it was pretty cold, for the winter's snow still lay in the deep shade of the trees. but he was so happy that he did not care for anything, and as he went he sang aloud for joy. then, suddenly, out of the dark wood a band of robbers pounced on him. "who are you?" they cried. "i am the herald of the great king!" answered francis. so they stripped him of his habit, and threw him in a ditch full of snow. luckily, the next day he found a friend in a town the other side of the mountains, who gave him a pilgrim's cloak, a pair of shoes, and a staff. then, after a bit more wandering, st. francis returned to the little church and settled down with the old priest, meaning now in good earnest to build up the church. since he had no money to buy what was needed, the only thing was to beg. so he went out in the streets begging for stones to build up the little church. the poor people were very kind, and gave him stones, and some of them came and helped, and soon they and francis together had begun rebuilding the walls. every day francis went begging, and sometimes it was very hard not to _give in to himself_ and go skulking down a side-street when he saw a group of his old friends ahead. but he went bravely on, and faced their stares and laughter. one day it struck francis that he ought not to be eating the old priest's scanty store of food, which he noticed his kind old friend used to cook and try and prepare as nicely as possible for him. this was not what a true lover of poverty should do. "rise up, thou lazy one," he said to himself, "and go begging from door to door the leavings of the table." so, taking a big dish, he went round the houses of the townspeople asking for scraps. they gave him broken bits of messy old food, and he returned with his dish full. but when he sat down to supper he didn't feel at all like eating from that pile of scraps--the very thought made him feel quite sick. but he was learning to conquer himself, and by the time the meal was done he felt he had really accomplished something, and was at last really a poor man and ready to live on what god's mercy would give him from day to day. all this time he had been praying a great deal, and learning to know god very much better. more and more he felt that god meant to use him for something special--_what_ he did not know. at last the little grey church was all built up new and strong, and francis felt the job our lord had given him was done. but as god had not shown him anything else to do, he set out and found another tumble-down little church to build up, and started on that. when that, too, was finished, he started on a third one. the third one had been restored, and a service was being held in it for the first time since its restoration, and francis was assisting at this service, when something happened which sent him on a new adventure, and which proved to be the beginning of the great adventure which filled all the rest of his life. * * * * * "that's a good stop," said akela. "if we started on st. francis's next adventure, we could not finish it before you all fell asleep. so we will keep it for to-morrow night. to-morrow you will hear how the boy francis turns into the man st. francis, and what a wonderful life of service and suffering for god he begins to have, and how he ends in becoming a great saint, and one of the greatest leaders of men." the sixth day the splashing sound of cubs making good use of soap and water; snatches of cheerful song; the lamentation of someone who had lost the "relation" of his left sand-shoe; the sound of a sixer trying to make a sleepy-head turn out--all these sounds filled the sunny morning. presently there fell on the ears of akela (who was still in her "den") the sound of an argument. "i say it's _dirt_," cried one; "he's a dirty-neck, who doesn't know how to wash himself. . . ." "'taint!" squealed a small cub; "it's the sun what's made my neck _brown_." "garn! it's not using soap what's made your neck that colour, dirty little. . . ." _splosh!_ somebody got a wet flannel in the eye that time. "now, then, what's up?" cries a sixer, coming up to the group. quite a little crowd collects. "he says my neck's _dirty_," wails the small cub, "and really it's the sun. . . ." someone has a bright idea: "let's ask miss." so akela comes out, and scrubs the neck in question with soap and flannel. it turns out to be nearly all sunburn, with just a _little_ dirt. the sun is shining, and the sky is full of "flocks of sheep"--those tiny, steady white clouds that stretch in close rows across the sky in fine weather. the dew on the grass is nearly dry already when the cubs get to the field. "prayers!" calls akela, and the cubs come up quietly and form a kneeling circle. i haven't told you what the morning prayers of the cubs were, so i will tell you now. a prayer that we may pray well (_see page 6_). our father. _v._ incline unto mine aid, o god. _r._ o lord, make haste to help me. glory be to the father, etc. hymn. the star of morn to night succeeds, we therefore meekly pray: may god in all our words and deeds keep us from harm this day. may he in love restrain us still from tones of strife and words of ill; and may earth's beauties that we see remind us always, lord, of thee. _amen._ confession. i confess to almighty god that i have sinned against him in thought, word, and deed. (_pause a moment and think of your sins._) may almighty god have mercy upon us, and forgive us our sins, and bring us to life everlasting. _let us pray_ a prayer that this day may be pleasing to god. o lord god almighty, who hast brought us to the beginning of this day, defend us in the same by thy power, that we may not fall this day into any sin, but that all our thoughts, words, and works may be directed to the fulfilment of thy will. through our lord jesus christ, thy son. _amen._ our father. a prayer that we may be forgiven any wandering thoughts we have had while reciting these prayers. breakfast over, and orderly jobs finished, the pack went down to the shore and had a splendid bathe. several of the cubs had really begun to swim; while bill, dick, and mac, who could swim already, were getting good practice. mac meant to get his swimmer's badge as soon as he got back to london, so he practised floating and duck's diving and the other things you have to do. after dinner and rest father took some cricket practice, because to-morrow there was to be a match. "no one must talk to me," said akela, settling down in a sunny corner with some papers; "i'm doing something very important." cubs always want to know everything, so of course they said, _what was the important thing?_ "reading proof," said akela. "what's 'proof'?" said the cubs. "this is proof," said akela, holding out a long narrow strip of printed paper. "it's the way they print stories at first, and it has mistakes in it. i have to read it through and correct the mistakes. now, if you don't shut up and go away, the next instalment in the _wolf cub_ will have mistakes in it--see?" "is it the next bit of the 'mysterious tramp'?" cried the cubs. "yes." that did it. a cub sat down each side of akela and read over her shoulder, and one jumped up and down in front, saying: "miss, is it good?" every now and then akela made strange little squiggles in the margin--secret signs only the printer-man could understand. "_coo!_ what silly mistakes he makes!" said one of the cubs in derision. "i wouldn't have done that in dictation even when i was in standard i.!" "_i_ think he makes very few mistakes," said akela; "other printer-men make lots more. you see, this one is printing the _wolf cub_, so he has to _do his best_." the cricket people had been "doing _their_ best" at cricket to such good purpose that they had succeeded in splitting one of the bats. so after tea akela and some of them went down to the man who sells bats and golf-balls, down by the tennis-courts. the road where his shop is runs between the seashore and a big stretch of grassy land, called the dover. "that," said akela, "is the very place where billy got carried up by the giant kite." it was a favourite story of the cubs, so they were pleased to see the place. "is that the fierce bull?" said one. "no," said akela, "that's a sleepy old cow." the man said he would mend the bat in time for to-morrow's match. the story of st. francis.--ii. the little church st. francis had last restored was very wee, but it had a very long name. it was called the portiuncola, which meant "the little portion." it was built all among the trees and long grass, and mossy, fern-covered rocks; and the birds sang around it. st. francis loved the spot very much--it was like home to him--and he spent a lot of time there. besides, it was not far from the leper settlement, and he had now taken on himself the rather horrible job of serving the poor lepers--a job that was very pleasing to our lord, specially as he saw st. francis did it all for love of him, and served each wretched man as if he was jesus christ. then, too, the portiuncola was not very far from the town where francis begged his food. well, early one morning, while the sun shone outside on the dewy world, and the birds sang their morning hymns of praise, a priest said mass in the little chapel, and st. francis knelt praying with all his heart. presently the priest read out the gospel, and, as usual, st. francis listened with great attention. and suddenly, as he listened, he felt that those words of our lord which the priest was reading out were a message from heaven for _him_--_the very "orders" he had been waiting for_! these were the words: "going forth, preach, saying: the kingdom of heaven is at hand. . . . possess not gold, nor silver, nor money in your houses, nor scrip for your journey, nor two coats, nor shoes, nor a staff; for the workman is worthy of his meat. and into whatsoever city or town you shall enter, inquire who in it is worthy, and there abide till you go hence. and when you come into a house, salute it, saying: peace be to this house. . . . behold i send you as sheep in the midst of wolves. be ye therefore wise as serpents, but simple as doves. . . . but when they shall deliver you up, take no thought how or what to speak: for it shall be given you in that hour what to speak" (matt. x. 7-19). here were clear orders. something in st. francis answered to that call, and this something was the holy spirit of god speaking in his heart, as he always does in those who really wait and listen and _mean_ to obey should god speak. when the mass was finished, st. francis got the priest to read the words over to him again. and then, feeling quite sure he had discovered god's holy will, he began to obey it _at once_. he took off his shoes; he laid aside his second garment, making himself a rough brown habit; he put down his staff, and he exchanged his belt for a bit of rope. then, feeling full of joy, he set out along the stony road on his bare feet, towards the town--not to beg this time, but to give the greeting of "peace," and to tell the people to make up their quarrels and forgive each other, and turn with all their hearts to the lord christ. the people of the town did not laugh now, and jeer; they saw that st. francis was speaking to them from the bottom of his pure heart--a heart on fire with the love of god--and that the grace of jesus christ, his master, was upon him. and before long two men of assisi had joined him as the first of the great company who were to follow him--for you remember how he was to be a leader, and that the palace of his dream had been promised to him and his followers. this is the story of st. francis's first recruit. his name was bernard de quintavalle, and he was a rich merchant, serious and god-fearing, and not a bit like the gay, eager st. francis. but seeing how unselfish and hard-working a life st. francis led, and that god's holy spirit was with him, he began to visit the young preacher, and to receive him in his house. st. francis willingly gave his friendship to such a good man. bernard used to like st. francis to sleep on a bed in his own room. often at night he would lie awake, thinking; and he would notice that after a short sleep st. francis got out of bed and knelt down, and spent the rest of the night praying to god. the only words bernard could hear were just "my god and my all, my god and my all," which st. francis repeated over and over again, as if his soul was really seeing god, and his heart was so full of love for him that he could say nothing else. and bernard understood the secret of st. francis's holiness and purity, for to one who prays like that god pours out very much grace, so that he can begin to be all that he knows he ought to be if he is really to please the lord christ, his master. so one day bernard told st. francis that he wanted to give back to god all his riches and become his poor brother. so st. francis said what they ought to do would be to go to the church and read in the gospel, where the words of jesus christ would show them what to do. before going to the church, however, they called for another friend of theirs--a learned man called peter cathanii, who also wanted to serve god perfectly, and had been trying humbly to learn how from st. francis. but st. francis, though holy, and bernard, though rich, and peter, though clever at his books, did not any of them know their way about in the big bible that was kept open in the church for all to read (for there were no printed books in those days, and a bible was very costly, so that few people had a copy of their own). so st. francis prayed that he might come on the right place, and then he opened the book. this was what he read out: "if thou wouldst be perfect, go, sell that thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me" (matt. xix. 21). that seemed just right! but perhaps our lord had still another message. so he shut the big book, and opened it again, just anywhere, and it said: "take nothing for your journey, neither staff, nor scrip, nor bread, nor money; neither have two coats" (luke ix. 3). splendid! "just _one_ more, please, lord," he said in his heart, as he opened the book for the third time. and our lord told him something very wonderful and hard to follow, which was really the explanation of all the others: "if any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me" (matt. xvi. 24). so the three friends left the church very happy. and bernard sold all his rich stuffs and his house and his land; and peter sold all his precious books; and they carried all the gold to a square in front of the old church of st. george, and st. francis sat on the steps with his lap full of money, and gave away great glittering handfuls to all the poor people who crowded round. when none was left, the three poor brothers, smiling with delight at being really poor and true followers of christ, went off to the dear little chapel in the woods and began the life of the friars. not long after, a third recruit turned up, and i _must_ tell you about him. he was a simple working-man called giles. when he heard about st. francis and his two friars, and of this new way of learning to serve god perfectly, he laid down his tools, and left the vineyards and tramped into the town. he went to an early mass at st. george's church, hoping to find st. francis there, as it was st. george's day; but not doing so, he set out for the portiuncola. he didn't know where that was, so when he came to the crossroads he stopped and began to ask god somehow to show him the way. and just then st. francis came out of the wood. giles was delighted that god answered his prayer so quickly, and, kneeling down at st. francis's feet, "brother francis," he said, "i want to be with you for the love of god." st. francis saw at once that this was a true brother, so he said: "knowest thou how great a favour the lord has given thee? if, my brother, the emperor came to assisi and wished to choose one of the citizens to be his knight or chamberlain, many are they who would come forward to claim the honour. how much more highly, then, shouldest thou esteem it to be chosen by the lord from out of so many, and to be called to his court!" then st. francis took him back and showed him to bernard and peter, and said: "see what a good brother the lord hath sent us!" soon after this the four friars set out, st. francis and brother giles going together, and bernard and peter, to tramp the roads from place to place, and preach to the little knots of country or town people who collected round them in the market-places. so strange did they look, and so full of joy and love did they seem to be, that the people wondered at them very much, and though some believed them to be servants of god, others thought them mad. when they returned to the portiuncola three more men joined them. it was then that the townspeople began to get angry, and say that st. francis was turning rich men into _beggars_. even the bishop spoke seriously to him. now, if st. francis had not been so _sure_ that what he was doing was _god's plan_, and not his own, he might have got discouraged and given up trying to carry it out; but, relying on god's grace, he listened humbly while people spoke angrily, or scoffed, or argued, or pleaded, and then he bravely "carried on." for the first few months the brothers lived in their little hut at the portiuncola, and prepared themselves (by prayer and the studying of the perfect way of life and the correction of their faults) for the great work god held for them. part of the day was spent serving the lepers and doing simple work in the fields. one more journey they went, and then, four more brethren having joined them, and st. francis having had a wonderful vision which showed him that hundreds would soon be flocking to join his order from france and germany and england and all the countries, he set out for rome, to get the pope's approval of his work. at first the pope would not listen to this poor, unknown beggar-man, full of eager new ideas, but in the end he received him kindly and, after hearing all he had to tell, said: "my son, go and pray to jesus christ that he may show us his will; and when we know his will more certainly, we shall the more safely sanction your pious purpose." so the brethren all prayed hard. when st. francis went again, the pope was even more kind, for he recognized st. francis as the man he had seen in a dream. in his dream he saw a church nearly falling and being held up by a small man in a poor habit, and he knew it meant the church of christ was in trouble, and that this man was going to make it strong again through all the earth. so the pope gave the friars his blessing, saying: "go forth in the lord, brothers." and he gave them leave to preach penance, and told them to come back to him later and he would do even more for them. so the friars went back to assisi full of joy. for a time they lived in a kind of wayside shelter called rivo torto; but later on the monks on whose land was the portiuncola gave the little chapel and the bit of land to st. francis (or rather rented it to him, the payment being one basket of fish per year, caught in the river--for st. francis did not wish the friars to _own_ anything). some more men joined the brothers, and now they lived as a very happy family in their little huts, built of branches, around their beloved chapel. st. francis was like the loving father of this family, always kind, patient, cheery, ready to comfort the sad or nurse the sick, or explain things to those who felt worried and did not understand how to get rid of their faults and serve christ in perfect purity of heart. you cubs would have loved st. francis, for he was just like a boy himself. i wish i had time to tell you all the lovely little stories about him and the friars at this time while his family was still small, but we must keep them for another time, and go on now to the time when the order had grown so large that the friars could no longer all live at the portiuncola, and began to have their poor, simple houses all over the place, while hundreds of brothers set forth, tramping the world over, preaching the gospel of christ, not only to the poor, but to the heathen in barbarous countries. some of the brothers were cruelly martyred, and all had to suffer a lot of hardships, for often people would drive them away, so that they had to go hungry and cold, with nowhere to lay their heads for the night. we cannot follow all the brothers and hear all their adventures, so i will just tell you one or two which show what kind of men st. francis and his friars were. here is one which shows you their obedience and humility. i daresay it will make you laugh! the friars had by now become quite noted for their preaching, and would often go up into the pulpits of the churches, where large crowds gathered to hear them, the bishop even inviting st. francis to preach in the cathedral. now, among the brethren there was one called ruffino, who was very shy and nervous and felt he simply _couldn't_ preach and face a great crowd of people, all staring at him and waiting for his words. now, st. francis hated that any of his friars should _give in to themselves_ about _anything_. he also loved them to _obey quickly_, and do everything they were told at once, without a murmur. so one day he told brother ruffino to go to a big church in the city and preach. but brother ruffino, instead of obeying at once, begged st. francis not to command him this, as he had not the gift of preaching. st. francis was not pleased at this, and he said that, as brother ruffino had not obeyed quickly, he must now take off his habit and go to the city and preach, clad only in his breeches, and otherwise naked! so brother ruffino stripped, and went off humble and obedient. but, of course, when he went into the church and up into the pulpit dressed like that the men and children of assisi began to laugh and say the friars had gone mad. meanwhile st. francis presently began to be sorry he had sent off poor brother ruffino clad only in breeches, especially considering he had once been one of the noblest men in assisi. he began to call himself names for having been so hard on him; and, saying he would do himself what he had told his poor brother to do, he stripped himself of his habit and also set out, half naked, for the town! when he got to the church, of course everyone laughed all the more to see _another_ friar in his breeches. poor brother ruffino was in the pulpit struggling bravely to preach in simple words. then st. francis mounted the pulpit, and, standing by brother ruffino, preached a most wonderful sermon, so that all the people of assisi were touched to the heart, and many wept to think of their sins and of the passion of christ. then st. francis gave brother ruffino his habit and put on his own (for brother leo had brought them to the church), and they returned home rejoicing. once when st. francis was walking along the road he saw a great crowd of birds in a field, and saying he _must_ go and preach to his "little sisters, the birds," he went among them and preached a wonderful sermon to them, telling them how they ought to praise god for all he had given them. and the birds didn't fly away, but all crowded round to listen. at the end st. francis gave them his blessing and told them to fly away, and they rose up in the air and flew away in the form of a great cross, to north, south, east, and west. st. francis loved all animals, even earthworms, which he would pick up tenderly from the path and put into safety. and he would never allow people to cut trees quite down, but made them leave the roots, so that they might grow up all green and beautiful once more. little children he loved, too. some day i will tell you the story of a little boy who joined his order and became a little friar, and had the great joy of seeing st. francis at prayer one night out on the mountain-side, with a wonderful gold light all round him, and heavenly visions comforting him. but the little boy had to promise st. francis he would never tell anyone what he had seen as long as st. francis was living. i must leave, too, the story of how st. francis tamed a huge, fierce wolf; and of how he went right into the saracen camp during a crusade and preached to the sultan of turkey, and told him to be a christian; and how he called a great gathering of the friars at the portiuncola, to which _five thousand brothers_ came, and how the people of the cities round came with carts full of food and fed the friars for more than a week's time, freely. all these stories and many more i must leave, and go on now to tell you of the wonderful, beautiful, and holy end of st. francis's life, and of the mysterious thing that happened to him. i want you to remember that this mysterious thing is _perfectly true_, and really did happen to st. francis, and is a sign of how very closely his soul had become united to jesus christ and his passion on the cross--for he had never forgotten the heavenly message he had found in the book of the gospels: "he that will come after me, let him deny himself, _and take up his cross_, and follow me." st. francis's order was now established, and his friars were renewing the life of the church by their wonderful preaching, their holy example, and their pure lives. st. francis himself, though not really old at all, was almost worn out. his life of hardships; his great worries (for his enormous family gave him much trouble as well as joy); his burning zeal and passionate love of god and his fellow-men--all this had nearly used up his strength, and now he was in constant pain, and very nearly blind. he was always patient and happy--even merry, as of old. but at last came a day when he felt he must go away and be alone a little with god. so, taking a few chosen brothers with him, he retired to the top of a beautiful mountain, called mount alverna, which belonged to a nobleman who was a friend of st. francis. on this mountain, with only the sky and the rocks and the trees for company, with the lovely peaks of other mountains stretching away as far as eye could see, the six friars made themselves a little camp of huts; but st. francis had his hut right away from the other friars, and across a little rocky ravine which was crossed by a plank. here he could feel _quite alone_ with god. looking up, there was just the blue, blue sky and the steady clouds; and looking down, there was a steep rock falling away below him to a great depth, with little ferns and flowers clinging to it. in this rocky solitude lived a falcon who became a very dear friend of st. francis, and for whom he had a great love. it knew the time he liked to rise and pray in the night, and it would come and flap against his hut and wake him at the right time, and then stay near him while he prayed. the friars were not allowed to come near the spot; only brother leo came with a little bread and water each day, and to join at midnight with st. francis in the divine office. at times st. francis was very happy, and the joy that fills the blessed in heaven seemed to glow in his heart, so that he understood the secrets of god; and wonderful visions he had too. but sometimes he was filled with sorrow and pain and temptation, for the devil would torment him and try in every way he could to separate the heart of st. francis from god. one day, after he had had a very wonderful vision, he went with brother leo to the little chapel the friars had made, and, casting himself on the ground before the altar, he prayed to god to make known to him the mystery which he would teach him--for he felt there was some mysterious reason why god had made him come up this mountain and dwell apart. then he told leo to open the book of the gospels three times, and see what it said. and each place leo opened on was about christ's passion. then st. francis felt quite sure that it was god's will that somehow he should share his lord's pain, and reach the kingdom of god through suffering. and he longed very much for this, and also to have in his heart the love which made christ so willing to suffer for men. it was a few days after this that the strange and wonderful thing happened. st. francis was kneeling, absorbed in prayer, when suddenly a wonderful form came towards him, and stood on a stone a little above him. bright and shining was the form, with the most beautiful, beautiful face; and his arms were stretched out upon a cross, and feet joined together. and he had two great wings with which he flew, and two stretched up above his head, and two covered his body. and as st. francis gazed upon this crucified seraph with the beautiful face full of pain, a great throb of intense agony shot through his soul and his body, so that he had never felt such pain or sorrow before. and then the seraph spoke to him as to a friend and revealed many mysteries. when he had gone st. francis rose from his knees and wondered what it could mean; and then he saw what it meant. for in his own hands and feet had come the marks of the crucified christ: his hands and his feet were pierced right through with red wounds, and in the palms of the hands and on the instep of his feet were the round black heads of the nails, and their points came out the other side, bent back. and in his side was a big wound, as if made by a spear. and the pain of them all was very great. and st. francis understood that he had been allowed by god to share in our lord's passion. at first he said nothing to the friars; but after a while he told them, but he did not show them the wounds, but kept his hands hidden in his big sleeves. only to leo did he show them, so that he might wash and bandage them because of the pain and the bleeding. then, leaving the friars on the holy mountain, st. francis went down with leo; but he rode on a donkey, because of the nails in his feet. he scarcely noticed the places he passed through or the people he saw, though he did several wonderful miracles. and at last he came home to his beloved portiuncola. st. francis's body was almost worn out, and greatly weakened, too, by the bleeding from his wounds, but his soul seemed full of new life and joy and energy. so, riding upon a donkey, he set out for a last journey through the country he had loved so much, and along the familiar roads he had so often tramped. i cannot now tell you of all that happened on this journey and of the miracles that st. francis performed; but it was a wonderful last journey, and already the people had begun to speak of him as "the saint." but towards the end of his journey st. francis became so ill that he had to be carried in a litter; and so it was that at last he came back to the little portiuncola chapel to die. as you can imagine, he was not only brave in the face of death, but gay and cheerful. many friars had gathered round their beloved father, and he spoke comforting words to them and blessed them; but he gave a very special blessing to bernard, who had been the first man to come and join him in those early days when he was still alone. and he made the brothers sing, joyful and loud, the song he had himself made up on his last journey, called "the canticle of brother sun"--a beautiful song all about brother sun and sister moon, and the stars, and flowers, and birds, and grass, and brother wind, and how they must all praise god who made them. and when he knew he must very soon die, he cried, "welcome, sister death!" and he made them lay him on the ground, without even his habit, and spread sackcloth over him and sprinkle ashes upon him, and read to him the story of our blessed lord's passion and death from the gospel of st. john. all was still, and outside in the twilight the larks had gathered, and were soaring up into the evening sky, singing with all their hearts, as if rejoicing that in a few minutes the soul of their brother francis would be free to soar up with them, and away beyond even the reach of their swift wings, to the beautiful garden of god. and in the house all was of a sudden marvellously still. and the brothers, bending down over the form on the floor, saw, through their tears, that their friend and father had gone. only for themselves they wept, for they knew that st. francis, beautiful and young and strong and gay once more, was already with his friend and master, the lord christ, who with smile and outstretched hand would welcome him to his glorious reward. and the divine hand outstretched, and the hand of st. francis, would bear the same print of nails, and st. francis would understand the great and wonderful thing that god had granted him. the seventh day when akela woke up she could hear the roar of the sea dashing up on the rocks. there was a regular gale blowing, and every now and then the wind brought a lash of rain out of the grey sky. so she decided to let the cubs sleep as late as possible. it was 8.30 before the first one woke up. arriving at the field, they found that father and mother and the two orderlies had succeeded in getting the fire to burn (though the rain was coming down pretty fast now), and hot porridge and tea were all ready. prayers and breakfast both had to be in the store tent--a bit of a squash, but everyone was as cheery as usual. after breakfast it cleared up--luckily, for a party of choirboys from portsmouth were coming over for the day. they arrived about 1.0, and were quite ready for dinner, after the tossing they had had on the boat. dinner consisted of large beef and ham sandwiches, and "spuds," and jam roly-poly. there was a real hurricane blowing; the beef and ham and bread got blown off the plates as the orderlies handed it round! when everyone had eaten as much as they could hold, the cubs collected in the lee of the tent for their rest, and the choirboys, not being cubs, thought it a suitable moment to go in the swings and hammocks. after that there was a cricket match, and then the cubs and some of the choirboys bathed. a big london scout, who had met the cubs in the street and claimed brotherhood, also spent the day in camp. no one knew his name, and he was just called "kangaroo," because that was his patrol. when the choirboys had gone, kangaroo and the cubs had a good rag. that night in the coach-house the big doors had to be shut, or the candle would never have kept alight. you could hear the wind whipping up the white horses all over the great black sea, and laughing to see the way they jumped up over the rocks. but it was nice and cosy in the coach-house. the cubs had got out some extra blankets, and sat wrapped up in them like so many indian chiefs. "you promised to tell us st. antony to-night," said sam. "yes," said akela; "i know you will like the story of his life. well, he was one of st. francis's friars--the most famous one of all. but when you have heard his story you will see that with the saints it was possible for a man to be a 'wonder-worker,' as st. antony was called, and yet think nothing of himself at all, and expect no one else to pay him honour and respect. so much did st. antony hate swank and love humility that he let no one know what wonderful powers he had, until one day god made an adventure happen which showed everybody what he really was." "tell us--tell us," said the cubs. so akela squatted down in the middle of the listening cubs, and began. the story of st. antony. to understand the story of st. antony you must picture yourselves in the beautiful, sunny land of portugal. oranges and purple grapes and all kinds of lovely fruits ripen in the old gardens. galleys full of rich merchandise come sailing across the blue, blue sea and touch at the port of lisbon. all along the banks of the river tagus are the big houses of the nobility. it is in one of these houses that there lives a boy called fernando. fernando is one of those boys who will always have a good time. he is very clever and quick, handsome, and full of life. he gets on wonderfully well at school, and he has a fine time in the holidays, for his people lead a gay life--feasts, sports, the chase, grand parties of every sort. fernando has the chance of seeing a good deal of life, for he is the kind of boy the grown-ups are always ready to take out. he gets a lot of admiration, and he enjoys everything to the full. but, do you know, when he is alone there is a certain idea that often comes to him, and he sits on his window-sill and gazes away across the purple hills, and thinks and thinks and thinks. the idea is this: that, after all, this pleasure and gaiety is not worth much; it's all rather selfish and greedy and stupid. there must be something more worth while in life. for one thing, there's _god_. how little we know of god! and yet there is a lot to be learnt and understood about him if only there was time and quiet and books, and not all this bustle of parties and grand people. surely god wants men to get to know him, and not be so busy pleasing themselves that they quite forget all about him. then, again, how rotten it would be to die and feel you had _done_ nothing in life but please yourself! after all, there's no end of things to be done to make the world a better, holier, wiser place. fancy going out of the world knowing you were leaving it no better than when you came--or perhaps a little worse. surely a man must feel rather nervous about dying, and about the judgment day, when he knows he hasn't ever done anything useful or kind. why should god give such men the reward of heaven? _rewards_ are for people who have _worked hard_; and so is _rest_. and then, again, when god came to earth and lived among men, he didn't just spend his time seeking for pleasures; in fact, he seemed never to think of himself at all, but always of other people. that thought held the boy fernando more than all the others--the thought of christ, who could have made himself a king if he had liked, spending his days for others, preaching and doing miracles, and the whole long night out under the stars, under the whispering olive-trees talking to god. these thoughts used to come to fernando when he was quite a little chap, and he had a kind of idea that when he was a man he would give himself to god. but when he began to grow up a bit, and got about thirteen or fourteen, he found that if he didn't look out he would get so keen on the life of pleasure that he would become like the gay young men about him, and quite forget all about god. he began to see that if he meant to stick to his good ideas he must _do something_ about it before it was too late. so, after a very hard struggle, he promised god the whole of himself, with all his love and all the keen, strong desire within him to do great things. he knew it would mean giving up all the pleasures that filled his life, and all the riches and glory that would some day be his. but somehow nothing mattered so long as he obeyed this sense that god was calling. of course, his people told him he was a young fool, and did all they could to stop him; but he stuck to his idea, and at the age of fifteen he was admitted to a monastery of canons, just outside the city, and exchanged his rich clothes for the white habit. it was a beautiful monastery, full of holy men and hundreds of wonderful books, and in the quiet and peace young fernando was very happy. he felt he had really got near to god. he worked so hard at his studies that by the time he had become a young man he was admired by all the canons, who thought him very clever and gifted, and told each other that some day he would be a famous scholar and do great things. fernando himself felt that god had given him the gift of preaching; and that if he went out and preached he would be able to attract great crowds to listen, and win souls for god; so he worked and worked to learn all he could, so as to be ready to stand up and defend the christian faith against heretics. fernando had gone to another great monastery at coimbra, and had been there eight years, when something happened which was the beginning of a great change in his life--the beginning of a great adventure. one day five dusty wayfarers tramped into the town and stopped at the little house of the franciscans, not far from the monastery of the white canons. the five strangers were really five heroes, for they were five of st. francis's friars, bound on a quest so thrilling and so dangerous that they felt quite sure they would never come back. they were going to morocco, in africa, to preach to the heathen, and with shining eyes they spoke of dying there, for the love of christ, and winning the martyr's crown! full of joy they went on their way; but without knowing it they had set on fire the heart of the young canon, fernando. in the quiet of his peaceful monastery he could think of nothing but africa, the heathen, the chance of sharing christ's suffering, and dying for his sake. it was really the holy spirit who was stirring up those thoughts in fernando's heart. well, some months later news came that the five brave friars had been put to a most horrible death by the saracens. they were first scourged till the whiplashes had almost cut their bodies to pieces. boiling oil and vinegar was then poured over them, and they were rolled on the ground, over fragments of broken glass and pottery. they were then promised their lives if they would give up christ; but as, of course, they wouldn't, they were beheaded. these were the first martyrs of st. francis's order. can you imagine what fernando felt when one day a solemn procession stopped outside the church of his own monastery, and the coffins containing the bodies of the martyrs were laid within it for a while on their way to spain? fernando now felt more sure than ever that god was calling him to be a poor friar, and to set out barefoot for some hot, dusty land away beyond the seas, where cruel hands would torture him to death. once again he offered himself to god, but this time it took an even harder struggle than it had before, for he loved his quiet life of prayer and study in the beautiful monastery even more than he had loved the gay life of his boyhood. still, he did not _give in to himself_. next time the poor friars came, in their old, patched habits, to beg at the rich monastery, can you imagine their surprise when one of the most learned and famous young canons came out to them, in his stately white habit, his beautiful face lighted up with a great resolve, and asked them if they would give him a brown habit, and make him a friar, and send him to the saracen country to win a martyr's crown? of course, they were delighted, and promised to bring him a habit the very next day. fernando had a hard job to persuade the canons to let him go. but at last they did; and once more he turned his back on a happy home and set out on an unknown adventure. as he left the monastery, one of the canons, a great friend of his, called after him: "go--go! you will doubtless become a saint!" and fernando called back to him: "when you hear that i am a saint give glory to god!" for he knew very well that it is only god who can make a man into a saint, and that the man's own efforts can never do it. it must have been a great change for fernando to find himself in the poor little huts belonging to the friars, and obliged to go barefoot, dressed in a rough habit and cord, with only scraps of food to eat, begged from the houses of the rich. these friars were only poor, ignorant men--very holy, but with no learning or refinement. they did not know fernando was a very clever man, a scholar. of course, he did not tell them, but humbly took his place as the newest and least important of the brothers, never letting them see that he missed the wonderful library, or the beautiful music of the monastery, or the quiet cell where he had been able to pray and work in peace. so as to start life quite fresh, he even gave up his noble name, fernando, and took the name of "antony." so now we will begin to call him st. antony. [illustration: s. francis receives the marks of the passion. _see page 81._] of course, the one thing he kept thinking about was the quest of the martyr's crown, and at last he got his superiors to send him, with one companion, to the saracen country. but now came the greatest disappointment of his life, for no sooner had he got there than he fell ill. all the winter he lay between life and death, with a terrible fever, so ill that he could do nothing. he knew that he was now so weak that he would never be able to go and preach to the saracens and be martyred. he would have to go home again, a failure. this was much harder to him than any danger or suffering, and the way he bore it, cheerfully and patiently for the love of christ, made him much more pleasing to god than anything else. for god loves humble people, who are willing to do his will, instead of choosing for themselves. seeing that god wanted his life rather than his death, st. antony decided to go back to his own country and become as strong and well as possible. so he set sail. but when god sees that a man has altogether given up his own will, he takes full control of his journey through life, and makes things happen to show the man what to do. in this case god made st. antony's ship get driven ashore on the island of sicily. here there happened to be a small house belonging to the franciscans. it was while st. antony was resting there that he heard that there was going to be a great chapter (or general meeting) of the friars, at assisi, and that st. francis would be there; so he asked leave to go, and then set forth. this was to be the beginning of a new adventure. when he got to assisi he found two thousand friars collected there for the chapter. the country people were providing all their food free. you can imagine what st. antony felt when he saw st. francis! but when st. francis called for volunteers to go on a dangerous mission to the fierce germans, it must have cost him an awful lot to keep quiet. but he had learnt his lesson--god did not want of him a glorious death, only a patient life. when the chapter came to an end all the friars dispersed, some going gladly off on their dangerous quests, others collecting in little bands under their "ministers," as the head ones were called, and starting to tramp back to their friaries. but st. antony stood all alone. he had no brave quest to follow; no minister looked for him to go home with a party of cheerful friars; no one cared what became of the young portuguese stranger. so st. antony asked one of the ministers to take him and "form him in the practice of religious discipline." the minister little knew the wonderful gifts of this pale young stranger, with the beautiful, sad face, and sent him to a humble friary on the top of a steep, rocky mountain. there were only a few simple friars there. one of them had hewed out a little cave in the rock. this he gave to st. antony, who made it his cell. there he spent most of his day in prayer. but one job he specially made his own. what do you think it was? why, washing up the plates and greasy dishes. he didn't tell the friars anything about himself, and of course they never guessed that their new brother, who always chose the meanest jobs, was a nobleman's son and a famous scholar of one of the greatest monasteries in portugal. for a whole year st. antony lived like this. do you think he wished himself back in the beautiful monastery in portugal, with his books and his clever, interesting friends? no; for he loved what was god's will for him above all things. people should not pine for the past, nor be impatient for the future; they should live heart and soul in the present, because the present is always what has just been provided by god, and so it is the best possible thing. but god meant his faithful servant to be made known, and i will tell you, now, the wonderful way in which he made it happen. in the town, not far from st. antony's little friary, there was one day a meeting of franciscan and dominican friars for an important ceremony. after the service the superior asked the dominicans, who were clever men and good preachers, to preach a sermon. but they all said they were not prepared; and so did the franciscans. so the superior turned to st. antony, who had come as a companion of his minister, and ordered him to preach. st. antony tried to get out of it, but, finding he must obey, he walked slowly up into the pulpit. the friars did not expect much of a sermon. this was only poor brother antony, whose chief job was washing dishes. st. antony, ready to _do his best_ for god, did not think of himself a bit. he just turned over in his mind what would be the best thing to preach on so as to help his brothers and bring honour and glory to his god. by the time he was in the pulpit the holy spirit had put a text into his mind. he gave it out in his clear, ringing voice: "for us christ became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross." then he began to preach. the friars sat up and stared. the young, unknown friar was pouring forth a wonderful flood of eloquence, full of the deepest thought, and showing such learning as none of them possessed. only a scholar could preach like that; and only a scholar who was full of the fire of the holy ghost could move the hearts of his hearers as this man did! the friars and their superiors sat spellbound. they quite forgot the preacher, and were carried away by his words into a greater love of god. when at last he ceased, and walked quietly down from the pulpit, his eyes on the ground, deep humility in his heart, his hearers turned to each other in wonder and delight, and all said they had never heard such a preacher in their lives. of course, the superiors hurried off and told st. francis all about it, and you can imagine how delighted st. francis was to hear he had such a wonderful man among his friars. it ended in st. francis sending st. antony to do what many years ago he had longed to do--that is, preach to the heretics who were teaching wrong things about the christian faith. still as humble as ever, st. antony set out to tramp along the roads to the places at which he was to preach. through italy he went, and then france, and then spain, and back to italy, and on these journeys the most wonderful things happened. not only did god give him the power of preaching such marvellous sermons that the people crowded in thousands to hear him, but he gave him the power to do miracles, like he once gave to his apostles. as to the heretics, they simply couldn't stand up against st. antony, and thousands of them either had to stop their false teaching and keep quiet, or else were converted and came over to st. antony's side. because of this he got the name, "hammer of heretics." but it wasn't only to the heretics he preached. the ordinary people used to come in such crowds that there simply wasn't room in the churches for them, and st. antony had to preach out in the fields and plains. rich and poor used to come, clergy and ignorant peasants. the shopkeepers used to shut up their shops. the people were so much moved by his sermons that enemies forgave each other, men paid their debts, or creditors forgave their debtors; wicked people gave up their sinful life, and started trying to _do their best_ to become pleasing to god. one day a band of twelve brigands who lived in the forest and robbed passers-by heard about the famous preacher. so they disguised themselves, and went to see if what was said of him was true. when he began to preach he completely won their hearts, and they repented of their sinful life. after the sermon they spoke to st. antony, and confessed what wicked men they had been. he told them they must never go back to their robber life, and he said that those who gave it up would go some day to heaven, but that if any went back to it they would have miserable ends. and, sure enough, some who went back soon died horrible deaths. st. antony told them to try and do something to make up for having been so wicked. one of them, he said, was to go twelve times in pilgrimage to the tomb of st. peter and st. paul at rome. years and years after, when this robber was an old, old man, he met a friar on the road, and he told him how when he was young he had heard st. antony preach, and how he had told him to go to rome twelve times. "and now i am on my way back from rome for the twelfth time," he said. that shows you what power st. antony had. there's no time now to tell you of all the miracles he did; but they were so wonderful that he came to be called the "wonder-worker," and it showed everyone that god was with him. and do you think all this honour and glory, and big crowds running after him, and great men praising him, made st. antony proud or even the least bit pleased with himself? no; he stayed just as humble and retiring as he was in the days when he used to wash dishes in the mountain friary. but st. antony's hard life was beginning to tell on his health. for a long time he had secretly suffered from a very painful disease. it was now about nine years since the day he preached his first sermon and was sent forth by st. francis on his great mission. as the summer drew on st. antony ceased to preach, so as not to hinder the people's work in the vineyards. also, he knew the end of his life was near. he longed for a little peace and solitude and silence; he longed to be alone with god to prepare for his great journey into the next world. there was a nobleman called count tiso, who had a beautiful estate not far from padua, a city st. antony loved very much. here st. antony went for a time of rest. there was no rocky hill-side to make a cave which he might use as his cell, so he got count tiso to make him a cell in the great branches of a walnut-tree. these branches spread out not far above the ground, and between them count tiso wove reeds and willow twigs, and made a lovely little house for st. antony. the thick, leafy branches above sheltered him from the hot sun; a few rough steps led up to it; and here st. antony could spend his days in complete solitude. but one evening when he had come down to have his evening meal with his companions, in the little friary near by, he was taken very ill, and his pain was so great that he could no longer sit upright. he knew he was soon to die, and he longed to die at his beloved city, padua. he was really much too ill to be moved, but when his companions saw how much he wanted this, they fetched a rough ox-cart and laid st. antony in it. i told you how st. antony had longed to share christ's sufferings and die a martyr's death--well, now was his chance. he was in such frightful pain that any tiny movement hurt him, and now he had to go mile after mile in a rough cart with no springs, jolting over the stony roads, the broiling italian sun beating down upon him, the thick white dust choking his parched throat, the flies tormenting him. you can't imagine the agony he must have suffered. and yet he never grumbled--he was _glad_ of this chance of suffering; he felt he was really taking up his cross and following his beloved master along the painful way to calvary. when the cart had nearly reached padua, a friar who had been sent to inquire after st. antony met the little procession. he saw at once that st. antony would not live to reach the city, so he made the friars lift him from the cart and carry him to a little house of the friars near by. it had been st. antony's last great wish to die at padua; but even this he gave up patiently and gladly and without a murmur. in the little cell he lay, his pain getting worse and worse, and his weakness greater and greater. the friars gave him the last rites of religion. "then, raising his eyes," the old book says, "he looked fixedly on high. as he continued to gaze steadfastly towards heaven, the friars asked him what he saw. he answered: 'i see my lord.'" not long after, like one falling quietly asleep, he breathed out his last breath. "his loving, holy soul quitted the body, and, conducted by the good jesus, entered into the joy of his lord." the little cell where st. antony died still stands, and people can go in and look on the very walls his eyes looked on, the very floor on which his body lay. it is such a holy spot that a church has been built over it, and the little square cell stands inside the church. that is the story of one of the holiest and humblest men who ever lived. * * * * * very quietly the cubs lay down on their palliasses, and fell asleep thinking of their new friend, st. antony. the eighth day a pouring day! luckily the cubs remained in the sunny land of dreams till eight. meals had to be in the bell-tent. this was great fun! there was just room for a council circle, only you had to be careful not to put your feet in other people's porridge, or let your head rub against the tent. if you did, a stream of water soon began to run down your neck, and akela said it _served you right_. every now and then the rain _nearly_ stopped, and everybody dashed out for a few minutes; but no sooner were you out, than the weather-fairy seemed to say, "yah! sold again!" and down came another sheet of rain that sent everyone scuttling for shelter. the cubs decided that it would be a good day to have a concert, and that there might be a rehearsal in the morning and the grand performance later on. so they sat round and made a lovely row; and some people sang some very pretty solos--but i will tell you about them when i tell you about the grand performance. it cleared up for a little while before dinner, and the cubs went out for a search for dry wood. some of them went down to the shore, and there they found some boys with donkeys and ponies for hire, so they had some lovely rides up and down the sand, and no one fell off. just as they got home the rain started again in torrents. in the tent they found two visitors--old friends who had once known them in london. this made them think how lucky it was they had had a rehearsal, for now they would be able to give the visitors a concert, and then they would not be disappointed because of the rain. so after dinner the concert began. first the whole pack shouted the camp chorus--the same one which i told you they sang in the train. they then sang "john peel." then bunny sang a solo called "hush thee, my baby." this was followed by a very pretty duet by patsy and mac--"'tis the last rose of summer" (mac sang the alto very well). then the whole pack sang a song called "robin hood," which akela had once made up for them. after that bunny recited brutus' speech from shakespeare's play, "julius cã¦sar"--he made you feel he really _was_ brutus, and everyone clapped him. then four cubs sang "annie laurie," in parts. then they all made spongey sing a song. spongey was very shy, and said he couldn't. but in the end he sang a very short song, in a very deep voice, called, "oh-oh-oh, it's a loverly war." of course, everyone cheered themselves hoarse. then the pack sang "the golden vanity" right through all its many verses. this was followed by a solo from mac--a sad little irish song--and another duet by mac and patsy, "when irish eyes are smiling," followed by "oh wert thou in the cauld blast," sung in parts by jack, patsy, and mac. then everyone sang choruses. the visitors enjoyed it very much. by the end of the programme it was quite impossible for the cubs to sit still for another moment. you can't get much exercise in a wet bell-tent. so akela had a bright idea. if you were _in_ the sea the rain couldn't wet you--what about a bathe? everyone cheered, and got into their coats and macs, and ran down to the stable, where they changed into their bathing things. the sea felt awfully warm, and everyone shrieked and splashed and made such a row that the visitors, all shut up stuffy and cross in their lodgings, looked out of their windows and wondered who _could_ be so cheerful on such a day. coming back to tea, the cubs were delighted to find their scoutmaster sitting on the floor of the bell-tent, a large bun in one hand and a mug of tea in the other. he had tramped all the way over from quarr to see how far the whole camp had been drowned. in case there were any survivors, he brought two enormous bags of sweets. that night all the cubs prayed very hard for a real, proper, hot day for their last in camp. it certainly did not look possible. but spongey put the matter in a nutshell when he stood in his long night-shirt, one eye shut as usual, and remarked: "i think it'll sunshine to-morrer, 'cos i've prayed very hard it will." the cubs had turned in early, to get out of the wet world into their dry, cosy beds. there was plenty of time for a good long story, and they settled down with wriggles of satisfaction and waited for akela to begin. the story of st. patrick. nearly four hundred years after our lord had gone up to heaven, and left his disciples and their followers to carry on, a boy was born who was destined to be one of god's greatest saints, and to bring thousands and thousands of pagans into the christian faith. this boy was st. patrick, called the apostle of ireland, because he turned the whole of ireland christian. for many hundreds of years after st. patrick had died, ireland was like a fruitful garden in which sprang up hundreds of saints and holy and learned men, who helped to spread the knowledge and love of christ all over the world. so st. patrick was truly an apostle, and, like st. john and st. andrew and the others, one of the foundation-stones of christ's great church. but though he _ended_ in being so very important, and doing things that made a great difference to the whole world, he _began_ as an ordinary boy--and rather a naughty one, as he tells us himself. we know a great deal about st. patrick, and we know it is quite true, because when he was over one hundred years old he wrote it all down himself. he called the book his "confession," and though he told us such a lot about himself, beginning with the adventures of his boyhood, there is one thing he did not put down in the book. can you guess what? well, he did not put down how good he was. for, you see, the saints never thought themselves good, because, instead of comparing themselves with people _less good than themselves_, as we are all so fond of doing, they kept on comparing themselves with our blessed lord, and of course, that made them seem very, very far from perfect. when st. patrick was a boy he did not love god or believe all his christian teachers told him, nor was he obedient or ready to _do his best_. one day some fierce pirates raided the land where he lived with his father and mother, and carried him off captive with lots of other boys. sailing across the sea to ireland, the pirates sold the boys as slaves. st. patrick was bought by a great chief called milcho, and sent out on to the hill-sides to watch the sheep. do you think he was lonely and afraid? no. for, when torn away from his home, from the friends who loved him, he had discovered that there is one friend that you can't be dragged away from, and who can be with you even in the midst of the tossing green sea, on a pirate ship. for, though patrick had forgotten god, god had not forgotten patrick. "the lord," he says, "showed me my unbelief, and had pity on my youth and ignorance." so when he trudged out on to the mountain-side, he was not sad and alone, but glad in the knowledge that his unseen friend was with him. "christ with me, christ before me, christ behind me, christ in me, christ above me, christ beneath me, christ in the chariot, christ in the fort, christ in the ship." that is a prayer st. patrick made up himself. there, on the rough mountain-side, the boy st. patrick spent all his lonely days talking to god, so that, he says, "more and more the love of god and his faith and fear grew in me, and my spirit was stirred." he tells us that he would recite one hundred prayers in one day, and nearly as many in the night. he had to sleep out with the sheep in some rough cave or hut. "before the dawn," he says, "i was called to pray by the snow, the ice, and the rain." but he did not mind this outward cold, because of the burning heart within him. st. patrick had learnt his lesson--the lesson of where to find the only comfort and friendship and help worth having. god wanted him, now, for the great work he was to do. one night a mysterious voice told him that if he went to a certain place he would find a ship ready to take him home. the place was about two hundred miles away, and st. patrick had never been there. however, trusting in god's help, he started off. at last, after a long tramp, he reached the town, and, sure enough, there was a ship at the quay about to set sail. st. patrick asked to be taken on board, but when the sailors heard he had no money they refused him a passage. st. patrick went sadly away, but as he went he prayed. before long he heard someone coming after him. turning round, he found it was one of the sailors, who said after all they would take him. i can't tell you now of the adventures st. patrick had on his way home, but after being shipwrecked and nearly starved, and each time wonderfully saved by god, he reached his father's house. but though he was home again with those he loved, he did not forget the friend who had been his all in those cold, hard days in ireland. he thought of him all day, and of how best to please him. he had already begun studying for a life in god's service, when he had a wonderful vision of the people of ireland calling him to come to their help, and he knew it was a sign from god that this was the work he was to do. you can imagine how impatient he must have been to get a ship and go sailing back to ireland to tell the people about the true god, and how christ had died on the cross for them, and all the rest; but for such a difficult and dangerous job he needed a lot of training--not only in learning, but in the strength and holiness and obedience to god which should make him able to face the task before him. how long do you think god kept him at his training? thirty-eight years! at the end of this time a holy man who was his friend and guide was sent to preach in britain. st. patrick went with him. this was the first step, and it ended in his being made a bishop and sent--at last--to the lifework he had so long waited for, the conversion of ireland. when st. patrick's ship came to shore, the wild men of leinster would not let him land. so, trusting as usual to god, he sailed out again to sea, and landed a little farther to the south. there seemed to be nobody about, to stop him; and, tired out, i suppose, with a day of exploring in the strange land, st. patrick lay down and fell asleep. a little irish boy chanced to come along, and, seeing a stranger asleep, crept up on tip-toe to look at him. what a lovely, kind face he had! the boy thought to himself that he had never before seen anybody who looked so nice, and he longed to do him some good turn. he couldn't think of anything to do for someone who was asleep, but at last he got an idea. picking all the best flowers he could find, he put them round st. patrick for a surprise for him. when st. patrick woke up you can imagine how pleased he was with the flowers, and still more pleased to see a little irish boy smiling at him shyly from among the bushes. before long st. patrick and the boy had become great friends, and the boy simply wouldn't go away, but stuck to st. patrick. then god made known a secret of the future to st. patrick, and he said: "some day he will be the heir to my kingdom." and, sure enough, the boy, whose name was benignus, succeeded st. patrick as bishop of armagh. don't you wish you were that boy, always to stay with st. patrick? after this the most wonderful adventures began to befall st. patrick; but even more wonderful than the adventures were the miracles by which he managed to escape out of them, not only alive, but victorious. getting into his ship again, st. patrick landed farther north. once more the fierce irish set on him and his little band, and their chief, dichu, raised his sword to bring it crashing down on st. patrick's head. but, somehow, his arm stayed stiff in mid-air, and he could not strike the blow. dichu was an honest man, and soon understood that such a miracle must be a sign from the true god. if once you believe in god--well, the only possible thing is to serve him. so dichu became a christian, and humbly learned from st. patrick how he should serve god. then st. patrick went to the house of the very chief who had kept him as a slave, and converted his children to the true faith. but it was at easter that something very thrilling happened, and was the beginning of st. patrick's real triumphs. the chief-king of erin (as ireland was called) was just going to hold his solemn festival at tara. all the irish princes and all the priests of the pagan religion had collected together. one of their ceremonies was the lighting of fire at dawn, with magic rites and ceremonies. it happened to be holy saturday, and on that day the christians used to light a beacon. st. patrick lit his holy fire, as usual. the king saw it blazing on a hill-top, and was very angry. one of his priests (or druids, as they were called) said: "if that fire is not put out before morning, it never will be put out," and he meant the christian faith. so the king sent for st. patrick. surrounded by his druids and bards, and all the irish princes, the king sat, fierce and proud, and awaited the strangers. it was easter morning, so, as st. patrick and his little band advanced, they chanted the easter litanies. so noble and holy did st. patrick look that one of the bards rose as he drew near. this little act of politeness on the part of the bard brought him special grace from heaven, and he accepted the christian faith. standing quietly in the midst of the circle of priests and princes, st. patrick looked around him. he met countless pairs of fierce eyes fixed upon him, as the princes sat in silence, "with the rims of their shields against their chins"; and as he looked at them he longed to win them all for god, and he prayed for grace and power to do what was needed. then he told them why he had come to ireland. the king left his druids to reply. they did so by doing all sorts of horrible magic. and certainly they made things happen, much as people called "spiritists" do nowadays; but it was not by god's power, so it must have been the devil who helped them. whatever the druids did, st. patrick undid, and then did something more wonderful. the druids were furious, and no one knows what might have happened had not st. patrick caused an earthquake to happen, by god's power. so terrified were the irish that they went half mad and began killing each other, and st. patrick and his men escaped. but the next day st. patrick boldly came back, though he knew the king meant to kill him. he was given a cup of poisoned wine to drink. well, what of that? did not our lord say to his disciples, when he sent them out to convert the world, "if you drink any deadly thing it shall not hurt you"? st. patrick made the sign of the cross over the cup and drank it, and nothing happened. then the druids arranged a horrible test. they laid two great fires, one of dry faggots and the other of wet, green wood. on the dry wood they laid the boy benignus, dressed in a druid's white robe. on the green they put a druid, clad in st. patrick's cloak. then they said they would set fire to both piles. st. patrick accepted the challenge. (if you had been the boy, would you have "got the wind up," do you think, or would you have trusted st. patrick?) well, they set fire to the two piles of wood. strange to say, the green wood blazed up, with many sizzlings and cracklings and much smoke, but the dry wood simply wouldn't light. there was, however, a sudden flame, and the druid's robe on the boy flared up and was soon burnt to ashes, leaving benignus quite all right, and, i expect, very pleased with himself! meanwhile, horrible noises had been coming from the other pile, and when the smoke and flames died down there were only charred cinders where there had once been a druid. but st. patrick's cloak had not been burnt at all. as the king still would not believe, st. patrick had to make another earthquake happen, which swallowed up so many of the king's subjects that he gave in, and said st. patrick might preach, though he himself never accepted the faith. so, on the green plains of tara, st. patrick preached a wonderful sermon to the irish, who by this time had come crowding round to see the stranger who could beat the druids at their own game. during this sermon st. patrick stooped down and picked a leaf of shamrock, and, holding it up, showed the people how the little green leaf was _three_ and yet _one_. he said that would help them to understand how the blessed trinity is three--god the father, god the son, and god the holy ghost--and yet is really only _one god_. that is why the irish wear shamrock on st. patrick's day (march 17th). [illustration: s. patrick and the little boy benignus. _see page 101._] many more miracles did st. patrick which i can't tell you about now; and he went from place to place, winning thousands of men for christ, and giving spiritual life to their souls by baptizing them. one shrove tuesday st. patrick went up on to the top of a lonely, rugged mountain above the sea, and there he stayed without any food all through lent till easter. and all the time he prayed and prayed and prayed for the men of ireland and their fate on the judgment day. at the end of his long and painful time of prayer god sent an angel to tell him his request was granted. so, with his heart full of joy, st. patrick knelt and blessed ireland, and as he gave his blessing hundreds of poisonous snakes came out of their holes and went slithering away into the sea, where they were all drowned. (that is why you see pictures of st. patrick with snakes.) and now, every year, thousands of irish people go on pilgrimage up that mountain. before i end i must just tell you one little story about a young irish prince who _didn't give in to himself_. this prince and his followers, after hearing st. patrick preach, decided to become followers of christ and be baptized. st. patrick, being a bishop, carried a thing called a crozier--a kind of long staff, like a shepherd's crook, because _bishop_ means _shepherd_. st. patrick's crozier had rather a sharp point at the end, and during the ceremony of baptism, somehow, by accident, he pierced the prince's bare foot with it, but did not notice what he had done. the prince said nothing, and did not wince or seem surprised. afterwards, when st. patrick found out what he had done, and asked the prince why he had said nothing, the prince replied: "i thought it was the rule of faith." a bit of poetry has been written about it, which puts it rather nicely. the prince says, in it: "i thought, thus called to follow him whose feet were pierced with nails, haply the blissful rite some little pain included." everywhere st. patrick went he was loved, and soon the fame of him had spread through the whole country. the superstitious religion of the druids altogether died down, and ireland became a christian country. st. patrick made a set of wise laws, and by these the irish were governed for a thousand years. at last came the time when his great work was finished. the little boy, benignus, had grown up and taken over st. patrick's work. st. patrick had written his "confession." and now, at one hundred and twenty, he was quite ready for the rest and the reward of heaven. he was very happy; his great work had been accomplished. god had been very good to him. and so, satisfied, he lay down to die, knowing that all the men of ireland were praying for their beloved father. so, on march 17th, in the year 493, st. patrick passed from this world into the glory of heaven. the ninth day as the cubs one by one opened their eyes on the last day at camp, the first thing they saw was that their prayers of last night had been fully, _wonderfully_ answered. the sun shone with that clear golden radiance of early morning sun. the sky was a misty blue, with just a few small "flocks of sheep." the wind had dropped, and the world, washed clean by the rain, was going to enjoy itself to-day. quickly the cubs washed themselves and scrambled into their old clothes, and were away up to the field in record time. the smell of wood smoke; the cry of the sea-gulls; the _bigness_ of god's beautiful world--only one more day of it all! porridge out in the sunshine, and lots and lots of bread-and-jam. then down to the shore. on the way shorewards the cubs met a kind lady who lived in the little house at the end of the sea-wall. she had often seen them run past, and now she stopped and asked akela what they were. when she heard it was their last day she said they might have her boat for the whole morning! so the cubs and akela all got into their bathing things, and the boat was rowed round from where it was anchored to the bit of the shore where they always played. when everyone had been out and had learnt to row, first with one oar and then with two; and when the tide had gone down, down, down, as far as it could, akela anchored the boat in shallow water, and took away all the oars but one. then the cubs had a gorgeous time, rowing by themselves, as far as the long rope would allow. i don't know what that boat turned into--pirate vessels, the _golden hind_, and everything else you can imagine, while the gallant crew had many an adventure. meanwhile, _another_ kind lady had appeared on the scene. she lived in a nice house, with a very sloping lawn in front, and her garden steps came right down on to the bit of sand where the cubs always played. she came down and offered a prize for the best little house or model village or garden the cubs could make. four couples set to work, and by dinner-time there were some splendid models ready. then "big andy and little andy," clad only in their bathing-drawers, walked demurely up to the front-door of the house, and asked the lady to come and see. she came out carrying two lovely spades, two splendid shrimping-nets, and two very nice rubber balls. she decided the "andies" had got first prize; they had made a model of quarr abbey; sam and dick were second, with a church; while bert and bunny came in a good third, with a very nice house standing in a large and luxurious garden. after giving the prizes, this fairy godmother invited the whole pack to tea in her garden, at four o'clock, after the afternoon bathe! so, after dinner, they went to the stable and made themselves a little bit respectable, and then down to the shore and bathed, and afterwards went up the smooth, steep lawn to the fairy godmother's house. soon a maid brought out tea; and it was _some_ tea--cake of all sorts, and real bread-and-butter (not "marg."), and little jam-sandwiches (but, as one cub remarked, "it didn't _fill you up_, like camp-tea"). after tea, during which the cubs were wonderfully quiet and well-behaved, they entertained their hostess with various kinds of somersaults and cart-wheels, and then went through a large part of the famous concert for her benefit. before going they gave her a grand howl, and then all shook hands with her. after that they played on the shore, and then ended up with a last bathe, about seven. back to supper. camp prayers for the last time in the soft evening light. good-night to father and mother and godmother; and then to the stable, for the last story. but as they squatted round waiting for the story, someone made a remark that was the beginning of quite a long pow-wow. "miss," he said, "shall we be cubs in _heaven_, and will you be our cubmaster?" everyone had questions to ask about heaven--more than akela knew how to answer! and then they grew serious as someone mentioned two cubs who had died a year before. "do you think frank and bob have found each other in heaven?" "yes," said akela, "i'm sure they have; and i expect they've found those two cubs from two other westminster packs, who died of 'flu, last winter." and that is why this book is dedicated to frank and bob, for they were two of the most faithful cubs who ever lived. they died brave and unselfish--bob after a long and very painful illness, in which he never _gave in to himself_, but was always thinking of other people and his "little 'uns." at last, as he lay delirious, he used to think he was in camp again, and say: "oh, mother, look at the green fields--aren't they lovely?" and as akela knelt by his bed, holding his poor little hot hand, she felt sure that soon he would be playing in the green fields of heaven--the best camp of all, where the good shepherd was already waiting to carry him in his strong, kind arms. and now someone else had a splendid idea: "perhaps they've talked to the saints!" "_we_ shall know a lot of the saints when _we_ go to heaven," said another cub; "_i_ shall look out for st. antony first." and so they decided to try and get to know as many saints as possible before they died, _and to try and copy them_, so that some day they would find lots of friends in heaven, who would not be ashamed to receive the salutes of their little brothers, and to return them with kind smiles of welcome. then the cubs settled down for a last story. the story of st. george. "and now," said the cubs, "a last story! go on, miss--make it an _extra_ good one, exciting and full of adventures, and the best of all, because it's the last night." "very well," said akela, "i'll tell you the story of the patron saint of all cubs and scouts, and of england. who's that?" "st. george!" cried the cubs in chorus. and although many of them knew the story very well, they snuggled down in their blankets and prepared to enjoy themselves. well (said akela), i'm going to tell you the story of the saint who was more thought about and honoured in the old days than, perhaps, any other saint who ever lived. he was from the very earliest times--in fact, from directly after his death--called "the great martyr." he became the patron of many countries and orders of knighthood, but specially in england was he loved, and his feast was kept as a great holiday, equal to christmas. already, before william the conqueror came to england, our forefathers had begun to build churches in honour of st. george. but it was king richard coeur de lion who specially spread devotion to st. george in england, because he took him as his own patron, and used his name as his battle-cry. "for god and st. george!" he would shout, as he swung his mighty battle-axe in the air and charged at the head of his knights toward the saracen lines. st. george several times appeared on a white horse, and led the crusaders to victory when it seemed as if the enemy were going to put them to flight and come off victorious. many people think of st. george as a knight on a prancing horse, who killed a dragon and rescued a maiden in distress. but this is only a kind of parable or picture of the real st. george and what he did. the dragon is a picture of the wicked, heathen religion that tried to kill the beautiful young church that our lord had made. st. george fought this dragon, and gave his life in the battle, but he rescued the maiden (who represents the church); for his death seems to have rallied the christians and filled them with new courage to fight bravely and stick to it, until at last the heathen dragon was overcome, and the church of christ was able to fill all the world with joy and truth and light. well, now i will tell you what the old books say about st. george; but we have not many details about his life, as we have about st. francis's. st. george lived a bit more than three hundred years after christ. he was the son of a roman soldier, a christian, stationed in palestine, which was a roman colony. st. george was one of those brave, straightforward boys who are afraid of nothing--neither of themselves and their weakness, nor of other people and their unkindness. he practised "not giving in to himself," like a good cub; and he thought a great deal of his _honour_, like a good scout. and he knew that everything brave or good that he ever did was by the grace of his captain, christ, and not because he was any better himself than anybody else. he could ride well, shoot an arrow straight, and use a spear or a broadsword as well as any roman boy. but it was not so much this as his way of obeying quickly, and keeping his word, and never giving in to himself, which made him rise from promotion to promotion when he joined the roman army. he was still very young when he was made what we should now call a colonel, and given a great deal of responsibility. in fact, the emperor thought no end of him, and people whispered that some day he would be head of the army and one of the most important men in the roman empire. this was rather wonderful, because the emperor, diocletian, was a heathen and hated christians, and, as i told you, st. george was a very good christian. in those days the christian church was no longer hiding in the catacombs, but had come out into the open, and nearly half diocletian's empire was christian. but something--probably pride--made diocletian hate the christians, and he decided to do all he could to destroy the church of christ, and force the people back into the old religion, and worship a god that was really not very different from cã¦sar, the emperor, himself. so he first tried burning down the churches, and then imprisoning the priests and bishops. but one day he suddenly got mad, and gave an order that if the people would not worship the roman gods and offer incense to them, and swear that they no longer believed in christ, his soldiers would kill them like beasts and leave them in the streets, as a ghastly warning to any other fools who refused to obey. so the soldiers went forth, sword in hand, and every man, woman, and child who refused to give up christ was killed, or wounded and left to bleed to death. now, no one had thought that diocletian would ever go as far as this, and when the horrible news was brought to st. george he was filled with rage. the emperor was, of course, his master, but there and then he vowed that he would not stay in the service of a vile murderer, a coward who could stain his sword with the blood of women and little children; and he prepared at once to go to the emperor, and say straight out all that was burning in his heart. now, his friends knew that nothing would more enrage the emperor than this, because he thought a lot of st. george, and yet he was proud and obstinate, and nothing would make him stop persecuting the christians. if st. george spoke as he said he would, it would certainly mean _no chance of promotion_, no becoming head of the army; perhaps, even, it would mean imprisonment; possibly death. so they simply _begged_ st. george not to go. but do you think he was that sort? not much! the last thing he wanted was promotion in the army of a man who was the cruel enemy of christ and the murderer of his fellow-christians. so he set spurs to his horse, and rode off for the emperor's court. diocletian was surprised to see him arrive suddenly, travel-stained and apparently in a great hurry; and still more was he surprised when, instead of speaking with reverence and respect, he let the words almost burst forth from his full heart, and told the emperor that it would be better if he paid honour to the god from whom he had received his sceptre, instead of murdering the faithful servants of that god. diocletian was first surprised and then angry. but he tried to laugh it off, because he was really fond of st. george. then he tried reasoning with the young soldier, and explaining that he had to keep the christians in good discipline in case they might revolt or get proud and rebellious. but st. george would listen to no reasons or excuses, and, unbuckling his sword, he laid it down, resigning his commission in the army of a man who could act so dishonourably. then diocletian got very angry indeed. he gave orders that st. george should be put in a dark dungeon, and loaded with chains until his pride should be broken, and he should be willing to humble himself before the emperor. so angry was he that he made up his cruel mind that now he would even force st. george to give up the christian religion himself, and that no pains should be spared to make him do this. alone in the dark, dank, icy-cold dungeon, st. george lay in his heavy chains, and wondered what was going to happen next. it was very horrible, down there, and he ached in every limb, and he was very hungry; but somehow he felt kind of glad inside, because he knew he was suffering all this for christ's sake. one day, when his gaoler brought him his ration of hard bread, he told him that he had heard a rumour that the executioner was coming to the dungeon, and that if st. george did not give a satisfactory answer he would be put to torture. the gaoler said it would, he thought, be a very painful kind of torture, and st. george had better be reasonable. when he had gone st. george sat in the darkness with his heart beating rather fast. he wondered what sort of torture it would be, and if he would be able to stick it. then he remembered that our lord had suffered awful tortures, and had foretold that his friends would have to, as well. so he asked our lord to give him grace to be able to stick _anything_ the emperor should do, and then he felt quite happy again. well, the hours dragged by, and at last st. george heard the tramp of feet on the stone stairs. then there was a creak as the great key was turned in the lock, and bolts were shot back. the door opened, and there stood the executioner and two soldiers, one carrying a lantern. the executioner, who had known st. george as a colonel in the army, spoke respectfully. he gave st. george a message from the emperor, saying that if he would come back and offer incense to the gods, and apologize for his proud words, he would get his liberty and be given back his commission. st. george laughed, and said he certainly wouldn't. then the executioner said that in that case the emperor had commanded that he should be tortured till he agreed to do all he was told. the soldiers loosened his chains, and he was led out and up the stairs. the blazing, blinding sun dazzled his eyes after the dimness of the dungeon. the pavement of the courtyard seemed burning to his cold, bare feet. soldiers looked curiously at him as he passed, but of course didn't salute, now. he was taken away to the horrible place of execution, and there a new form of torture was applied to him--a great wheel full of spikes into which he was thrust. when he was dragged out his body was one mass of wounds, and his blood dripped down on to the floor. he was carried on a stretcher back to the dungeon; and the executioner felt quite sure that when he was well enough to answer he would agree to do anything the emperor wanted. st. george was dazed with pain and loss of blood. his body seemed to burn all over. the darkness made his eyes ache, and he lay hour after hour, wondering how soon he would die. he had got to the point when he thought he simply couldn't bear another moment, when he heard a voice in the darkness, and it said: "fear not, george, for i am with thee." his heart seemed to leap up, for he knew for certain that it was our lord's voice--he could not possibly mistake it. and suddenly all the pain seemed a thousand times worth while, and he was glad he had had it; and he didn't feel lonely any more; and he just lay in the darkness and talked to our lord, knowing that he was near. and he forgot his pain. well, when a roman officer came to receive his message to the emperor st. george was able to laugh--rather weakly this time--and say he had no message for the emperor, except that he had better stop murdering christians, and beg god's mercy before it was too late. the officer thought st. george was rather a fool, and a very brave man, and he went back to the emperor. a few days later the executioner arrived once more, and again led st. george across the sunny courtyard. st. george remembered the voice of christ saying, "i am with thee," and he was not afraid. this time they rolled a great heavy stone over his body, so that his bones were crushed and bruised, and then they carried him back to the dungeon. when the officer came for his answer he could hardly believe that st. george dared still to refuse. he told the emperor what st. george had said. the emperor was surprised and sorry, for he saw that st. george must be a very brave man. he also saw that it was no good waiting any longer, or trying to force him, so he sent the executioner once again. this time the executioner told st. george that his last chance had come. either he must give up christ, or he must face death. the words sent a kind of thrill through st. george--a thrill of horror at the thought of death, which turned into a thrill of joy at the thought of going into the presence of christ, and hearing his wonderful voice again, only this time seeing him, too. and he rejoiced, also, to think he would really be a _martyr_. so he whispered faintly--for he could hardly speak now--that nothing in all the world would make him give up christ. so the soldiers took off his chains and dragged him up to his feet, and he walked slowly, with weak, swaying steps, into the sun. "fear not." he said the words over to himself. no, he wouldn't fear! "i am with thee." how wonderful! "and soon," he said in his heart, "_i_ shall be with _thee_!" and so he knelt down and waited. and the executioner's great axe flashed in the sun as he swung it aloft, and the next instant the blood of "the great martyr" was streaming across the white pavement, as st. george's cross streams scarlet across the white ground of his flag. the soul of "the great martyr" had entered heaven, where the angels rejoiced at his coming, when the christians picked up his poor, broken body and carried it away. it was buried in a beautiful tomb, and before long a great church had been built over it. on every hand people talked of "the great martyr," and the christians rejoiced at his courage, and cheered each other on to resist bravely. many of the heathen, seeing that st. george could suffer tortures and die for his faith, began to believe in the christ he loved, and were baptized. diocletian himself began to fear a little, and the butchering stopped. and so it was that the maiden in distress, the persecuted church of christ, was saved by her brave knight, st. george. good-bye a grey morning, but quite fine. some of the cubs went off to bathe after breakfast, others to do final shopping and buying of presents to take home, while some stayed in the field to help with the packing. the tent was struck and rolled up, swings and hammocks taken down, palliasses emptied and done up in bales, and by twelve o'clock all was finished, and the time came to change out of the comfy old camp clothes into full uniform. how tight and hot boots and stockings seemed! after dinner the cubs gathered round into the council circle. everyone was feeling rather quiet. akela had a short pow-wow, and then the cubs squatted and let off a mighty grand howl, as a "thank you" to everyone concerned for the glorious time they had had, and as a sign that they were going back to london meaning to _do their best_ as never before. then they fell in, two deep, and, with a last look at the field, marched away. there was plenty of time before the boat was due to sail from ryde, so, after marching smartly through the village, they fell out and strolled along the wall or the seashore. on reaching ryde they fell in again, and halted near the fountain, two at a time falling out for drinks. at smith's bookstall akela bought a supply of "comics" to read in the train. on board the ship an adventure happened. big andy _of course_ dropped his cap overboard. the sea was rather rough and it seemed as if the cap must be lost, two stars and all. it was too far down to reach with the ship's mop or any stick. but luckily some thoughtful cub had brought a long piece of string with an open safety-pin on the end, in hopes of catching a fish on the crossing. with this the cap was fished for, while the people on the pier and the first-class passengers on the upper deck looked on with eager interest. akela thought there was no hope of ever seeing the cap again on andy's head. she little knew that two pious cubs were busy _praying_! presently the cap was triumphantly pulled up, amidst cheers from the pier and the upper deck. "i prayed he'd get it!" cried a cub. "and so did i!" exclaimed another. at portsmouth there was a terrible crush for the train, but, as usual, the cubs did well, for the kind guard gave them two first-class compartments and locked them in. and so they travelled back to dear, smoky old london, very much browner and a good deal fatter than when they set out. the end printed in great britain by billing and sons, ltd., guildford and esher * * * * * transcriber's notes: obvious punctuation errors repaired. page 42, "at" changed to "as" (important as akela) tom slade at temple camp by percy k. fitzhugh author of the tom slade books the roy blakeley books the pee-wee harris books published with the approval of the boy scouts of america whitman publishing co. racine, wisconsin ----------------------------------------------------------------------copyright, mcmxvii grosset & dunlap printed in the united states of america ----------------------------------------------------------------------table of contents i. roy's sacrifice 1 ii. indian scout sign 10 iii. pee-wee and mary temple 19 iv. tom and roy 25 v. first coup of the mascot 32 vi. the shelter 52 vii. the "good turn" 70 viii. bon voyage! 79 ix. the mystery 94 x. pee-wee's adventure 110 xi. tracks and trailing 124 xii. the long arm of the scout 136 xiii. temple camp 150 xiv. hero cabin 165 xv. coward 177 xvi. ostracized 188 xvii. the winning of the golden cross 197 ----------------------------------------------------------------------chapter i roy's sacrifice "rejected by a large majority--i mean, elected by a large majority." roy blakeley gathered up the ballots in his two hands, dropped them into the shoe box and pushed the box across the table to mr. ellsworth as if the matter were finally settled. "honorable roy blakeley," he added, "didn't even carry his own patrol." this humiliating confession, offered in roy's gayest manner, was true. the silver foxes had turned from their leader and, to a scout, voted for tom slade. it was hinted that roy himself was responsible for this, but he was a good politician and would not talk. there was also a dark rumor that a certain young lady was mixed up in the matter and it is a fact that only the night before roy and mary temple had been seen in earnest converse on the wide veranda at grantley square by pee-wee harris, who believed that a scout should be observant. be this as it may, tom had carried his own patrol, the elks, unanimously, and the silver foxes had voted for him like instructed delegates, while among the proud and dignified ravens there had been but one dissenting vote. someone had cast this for pee-wee harris, the silver fox mascot and the troop's chief exhibit. but, of course, it was only a joke. the idea of pee-wee going away as assistant camp manager was preposterous. why, you could hardly see him without a magnifying glass. "if this particular majority had been much larger," announced roy, "it wouldn't have been a majority at all; it would have been a unanimity." "a una _what_?" someone asked. "a unanimity--that's latin for home run. seems a pity that the only thing that prevented a clean sweep was a little three-foot pocket edition of a boy scout----" at this moment, pee-wee, by a miracle of dexterity, landed a ball of twine plunk in the middle of roy's face. "roy," laughed mr. ellsworth, "you're a good campaign manager." "he's a boss," shouted pee-wee, "that's what he is. a boss is a feller that has people elected and then makes them do what he says." "well, you were glad enough to vote for him with the rest, weren't you?" laughed the scoutmaster. and pee-wee had to confess that he was. but there was no doubt that roy had managed the whole thing, and if ever political boss saw his fondest wishes realized roy did now. "i think," said mr. ellsworth, "that it is up to tom to deliver his speech of acceptance." "sure it is," said westy martin (silver fox). "we want to know his policies. is he going to favor the elks or is he going to be neutral?" "is he for troop first or camp first?" asked doc. carson (raven and first-aid scout). "is roy blakeley going to come in for three or four helpings at mess because he ran the campaign?" asked connie bennett, of the new elks. "speech, speech!" called eddie ingram, of the silver foxes. tom looked uneasily at mr. ellsworth and on the scoutmaster's laughing nod of encouragement arose. he was not at his best in a thing of this kind; he had always envied roy his easy, bantering manner, but he was not the one to shirk a duty, so he stood up. he was about fifteen and of a heavy, ungraceful build. his hair was thick and rather scraggly, his face was of the square type, and his expression what people call stolid. he had freckles but not too many, and his mouth was large and his lips tight-set. his face wore a characteristic frown which was the last feeble trace of a lowering look which had once disfigured it. frowns are in the taboo list of the scouts, but somehow this one wasn't half bad; there was a kind of rugged strength in it. he wore khaki trousers and a brown flannel shirt which was unbuttoned in front, exposing an expanse of very brown chest. for tom slade's virtues you will have to plow through these pages if you have not already met him, but for his faults, they were printed all over him like cities on a map. he was stubborn, rather reticent, sometimes unreasonable, and carried with him that air of stolid self-confidence which is apt to be found in one who has surmounted obstacles and risen in spite of handicaps. it was often said in the troop that one never knew how to take tom. "i think pee-wee is right," he said, "and i guess roy managed this. i could see he was doing some private wig-wag work, and i think you've all been--what d'you call it--co-something or other----" "coerced!" suggested pee-wee. (cries of "no, you're crazy!") "but as long as i'm elected i'll take the job--and i'm very thankful. i won't deny i wanted it. roy won't get any favors." (cheers) "if i have any deciding to do i'll decide the way i think is right. that's all i've got to say--oh, yes, there's one thing more--one thing i made up my mind to in case i was lucky enough to get elected." (cries of "hear, hear!") "i'm not going to go by the railroad. i got an idea, like, that it doesn't took right for a scout to go to camp by train. so i'm going to hike it up to the camp. i'm going to start early enough so i can do it. when a scout steps off a train he looks like a summer boarder. i ask roy to go with me if he can start when i do. i don't want you fellows to think i was expecting to be chosen. i didn't let myself think about it. but sometimes you can't help thinking about a thing; and the other night i said to myself that if anything should happen i should get elected----" (a voice, "you didn't do a thing but walk away with it, tommy!") (cries of "shut up till he gets through!") "i wouldn't go to that camp in a train. i'm not going to set foot in it till i'm qualified for a first-class scout, and i'm going to do the rest of my stunts on the way. i want roy to go with me if he can. i thank you for electing me. i'll do my best in that job. if i knew how to say it, i'd thank you better. i guess i'm kind of rattled." the blunt little speech was very characteristic of tom and it was greeted with a storm of applause. he had a way of blurting out his plans and ideas without giving any previous hint of them, but this was something of a knockout blow. "oh, you hit it right!" shouted pee-wee. "gee, i do hate railroad trains--railroad trains and homework." "you don't mean you're going to hike it from here, tom, do you?" asked mr. ellsworth. "i had an idea i might canoe up as far as nyack," said tom, "and then follow the river up to catskill landing and hit in for leeds--but, of course," he added, "i didn't really expect to be elected." "oh, crinkums!" shouted pee-wee. "i'll go with you!" "well," said roy, when the laughter had subsided, "this is a new wrinkle and it sounds rather risky for a half-baked elk----" (hisses from the elks) "so far as i'm concerned, i think a hike of a hundred miles or so----" "you're crazy!" interrupted pee-wee. "you silver-plated fox----" "is too much," concluded roy. "in the first place, there would have to be a whole lot of discomfort." (hisses) "a fellow would be pretty sure to get his feet wet." (mr. ellsworth restrained pee-wee with difficulty.) "he would have to sleep out of doors in the damp night air----" (a voice, "slap him on the wrist!") "and he would be likely to get lost. scouts, it's no fun to be lost in the woods----" (cries of "yes, it is!") "we would be footsore and weary," continued roy. "you got that out of a book!" shouted pee-wee. "_footsore and weary_--that's the way folks talk in books!" "we might be caught in the rain," said roy, soberly. "we might have to pick our way along obscure trail or up steep mountains." "you ought to go and take a ride in a merry-go-round," cried pee-wee, sarcastically. "in short, it is fraught with peril," said roy. "you got _that_ out of a book, too," said pee-wee, disgustedly, "_fraught with peril_!" "i think it is too much of an undertaking," said roy, ignoring him. "we can get round-trip tickets." pee-wee almost fell off his chair. "but, of course," continued roy, soberly, "a scout is not supposed to think of himself--especially a silver fox. i am a silver fox--sterling--warranted. a scout is a brother to every other scout. he ought to be ready to make sacrifices." (mr. ellsworth began to chuckle.) "he ought not to stand by and see a fellow scout in danger. he ought not to stand and see a poor elk go headlong----" (hisses) "he ought to be ready with a good turn regardless of his own comfort and safety." (hoots and laughter) "i am ready with a good turn. i am ready to sac----" (jeers) "i am ready to sac----" (jeers) "i am----" (cries of "noble lad!") "i am ready to sac----" "well, go ahead and _sac_, why don't you?" shouted pee-wee in disgust. "you're a hyp----" "hip--hooray!" concluded several scouts. "you're a hyp--hyp--hypocrite!" pee-wee managed to ejaculate amid the tumult. "i am ready to sac----" "oh, go on, sac and be done with it!" "i am ready to sacrifice myself for tom slade," finished roy, magnanimously. "tom," he added, extending his hand across the table with a noble air of martyrdom, "tom, i will go with you!" the meeting broke up gaily, mr. ellsworth saying that he would certainly communicate roy's generous and self-sacrificing offer to national headquarters as a conspicuous instance of a memorable and epoch-making good turn. "he gets my goat!" said pee-wee to the scoutmaster. "i am very glad," said mr. ellsworth, soberly, "that our summer begins with a good turn. the silver foxes should be proud of their unselfish leader." then he turned to doc. carson and winked the other eye. he was a great jollier--mr. ellsworth. chapter ii [transcriber's note: an indian scout sign drawing was inserted here.] the old indian scout sign, which is the title of this chapter, means _there is nothing new along this trail and it brings you back to the same place._ if you are already acquainted with tom slade and his friends you will be safe in skipping this chapter but, otherwise, you would better read it for it will tell you a little of tom's past history and of the other scouts with whom you are to become acquainted in this volume. to know just how all this election business came about we must go back a year or so to a time when tom slade was just a hoodlum down in barrel alley and believed with all his heart that the best use a barrel stave could be put to was to throw it into the chinese laundry. he had heard of the boy scouts and he called them "regiment guys" and had a sophisticated contempt for them. then all of a sudden, along had come roy blakeley, who had shown him that he was just wasting good barrel staves; that you could make a first-class indian bow out of a barrel stave. roy had also told him that you can't smoke cigarettes if you expect to aim straight. that was an end of the barrel as a missile and that was an end of _turkish blend mixture_--or whatever you call it. there wasn't any talk or preaching--just a couple of good knockout blows. tom had held that of all the joys in the mischievous hoodlum program none was so complete as that of throwing chunks of coal through streetcar windows at the passengers inside. then along had come westy martin and shown him how you could mark patrol signs on rocks with chunks of coal--signs which should guide the watchful scout through the trackless wilderness. exit coal as a missile. in short, tom slade awoke to the realization not only that he was a hoodlum, but that he was out of date with his vulgar slang and bungling, unskilful tricks. tom and his father had lived in two rooms in one of john temple's tenements down in barrel alley and john temple and his wife and daughter lived in a couple of dozen rooms, a few lawns, porches, sun-parlors and things up in grantley square. and john temple stood a better chance of being struck by lightning than of collecting the rent from bill slade. john temple was very rich and very grouchy. he owned the bridgeboro national bank; he owned all the vacant lots with their hospitable "keep out" signs, and he had a controlling interest in pretty nearly everything else in town--except his own temper. poor, lazy bill slade and his misguided son might have gone on living in john temple's tenement rent free until it fell in a heap, for though mr. temple blustered he was not bad at heart; but on an evil day tom had thrown a rock at bridgeboro's distinguished citizen. it was a random, unscientific shot but, as luck would have it, it knocked john temple's new golf cap off into the rich mud of barrel alley. it did not hurt john temple, but it killed the goose that laid the golden eggs for the slades. mr. temple's dignity was more than hurt; it was black and blue. he would rather have been hit by a financial panic than by that sordid missile from barrel alley's most notorious hoodlum. inside of three days out went the slades from john temple's tenement, bag and baggage. there wasn't much baggage. a couple of broken chairs, a greasy dining-table which tom had used strategically in his defensive operations against his father's assaults, a dented beer-can and a few other dilapidated odds and ends constituted the household effects of the unfortunate father and son. bill slade, unable to cope with this unexpected disaster, disappeared on the day of the eviction and tom was sheltered by a kindly neighbor, mrs. o'connor. his fortunes were at the very lowest ebb and it seemed a fairly safe prophesy that he would presently land in the home for wayward boys, when one day he met roy blakeley and tried to hold him up for a nickel. far be it from me to defend the act, but it was about the best thing that tom ever did so far as his own interests were concerned. roy took him up to his own little camp solitaire on the beautiful lawn of the blakeley home, gave him a cup of coffee, some plum duff (silver fox brand, patent applied for), and passed him out some of the funniest slang (all brand new) that poor tom had ever heard. that was the beginning of tom's transformation into a scout. he fell for scouting with a vengeance. it opened up a new world to him. to be sure, this king of the hoodlums did not capitulate all at once--not he. he was still wary of all "rich guys" and "sissies"; but he used to go down and peek through a hole in the fence of temple's lot when they were practising their games. mr. ellsworth said nothing, only winked his eye at the boys, for he saw which way the wind was blowing. tom slade, king of the hoodlums, had the scout bug and didn't know it. then, when the time was ripe, mr. ellsworth called him down into the field one day for a try at archery. tom scrambled down from the fence and shuffled over to where the scouts waited with smiling, friendly faces; but just at that moment, who should come striding through the field but john temple--straight for the little group. what happened was not pleasant. john temple denounced them all as a gang of trespassers, ordered them out of his field and did not hesitate to express his opinion of tom in particular. mr. ellsworth then and there championed the poor fellow and prophesied that notwithstanding his past the scouts would make a man of him yet. after that tom slade came out flat-footed and hit the scout trail. he was never able to determine to whom he should be most grateful, roy blakeley or mr. ellsworth, but it was the beginning of a friendship between the two boys which became closer as time passed. there is no use retelling a tale that is told. tom had such a summer in camp as he had never dreamed of when he used to lie in bed till noontime in barrel alley, and all that you shall find in its proper place, but you must know something of how temple camp came into being and how it came by its name. john temple was a wonderful man--oh, he was smart. he could take care of your property for you; if you had a thousand dollars he would turn it into two thousand for you--like a sleight-of-hand performer. he could tell you what kind of stocks to buy and when to sell them. he knew where to buy real estate. he could tell you when wheat was going up or down--just as if there were a scout sign to go by. he had everything that heart could wish--and the rheumatism besides. but his dubious prophesy as to the future of tom slade, king of the hoodlums, came out all wrong. tom was instrumental in getting back a pin which had been stolen from mary temple, and when her father saw the boy after six months or so of scouting he couldn't have been more surprised--not even if the bridgeboro bank had failed. then poor old john temple (or rich old john temple) showed that he had one good scout trait. he could be a good loser. he saw that he was all wrong and that mr. ellsworth was right and he straightway built a pavilion for the scouts in the beautiful woods where all the surprising episodes of the summer which had opened his eyes had taken place. but you know as well as i do that a man like john temple would never be satisfied with building a little one-troop camping pavilion; not he. so what should he do but buy a tract of land up in the catskills close to a beautiful sheet of water which was called black lake; and here he put up a big open shack with a dozen or so log cabins about it and endowed the whole thing as a summer camp where troops from all over the country might come and find accommodations and recreation in the summer months. that was not all. temple camp was to be a school where scouting might be taught (oh, he was going to do the right thing, was old john temple!), and to that end he communicated with somebody who communicated with somebody else, who got in touch with somebody else who went to some ranch or other a hundred miles from nowhere in the woolly west and asked old jeb rushmore if he wouldn't come east and look after this big scout camp. how in the world john temple, in his big leather chair in the bridgeboro bank, had ever got wind of jeb rushmore no one was able to find out. john temple was a genius for picking out men and in this case he touched high-water mark. jeb rushmore was furnished with passes over all john temple's railroads straight through from somewhere or other in dakota to catskill landing, and a funny sight he must have been in his flannel shirt and slouch hat, sprawling his lanky limbs from the platforms of observation cars, drawling out his pithy observations about the civilization which he had never before seen. there are only two more things necessary to mention in this "side trail" chapter. tom's father bobbed up after the boy had become a scout. he was a mere shadow of his former self; drink and a wandering life had all but completed his ruin, and although tom and his companions gave him a home in their pleasant camp it was too late to help him much and he died among them, having seen (if it were any satisfaction for him to see) that scouting had made a splendid boy of his once neglected son. this brings us to the main trail again and explains why it was that roy blakeley had held mysterious conferences with mary temple, and suggested to all the three patrols that it would be a good idea to elect tom to go to temple camp to assist in its preparation and management. they had all known that one of their number was to be chosen for this post and roy had hit on tom as the one to go because he still lived with mrs. o'connor down in barrel alley and had not the same pleasant home surroundings as the other boys. a scout is thoughtful. chapter iii pee-wee and mary temple throughout the previous summer tom had been in roy's patrol, the silver foxes, but when the new elk patrol was formed with connie bennett, the bronson boys and others, he had been chosen its leader. "i think it's just glorious," said mary temple, when tom told her of his plan and of roy's noble sacrifice, "and i wish i was a boy." "oh, it's great to be a boy," enthused pee-wee. "gee, that's one thing i'm glad of anyway--that i'm a boy!" "half a boy is better than all girl," taunted roy. "_you're_ a model boy," added westy. "and mother and father and i are coming up in the touring car in august to visit the camp," said mary. "oh, i think it's perfectly lovely you and tom are going on ahead and that you're going to walk, and you'll have everything ready when the others get there. good-bye." tom and roy were on their way up to the blakeley place to set about preparing for the hike, for they meant to start as soon as they could get ready. pee-wee lingered upon the veranda at temple court swinging his legs from the rubble-stone coping--those same legs that had made the scout pace famous. "oh, crinkums," he said, "they'll have _some_ time! cracky, but i'd like to go. you don't believe all this about roy's making a _noble sacrifice_, do you?" he added, scornfully. mary laughed and said she didn't. "because that isn't a good turn," pee-wee argued, anxious that mary should not get a mistaken notion of this important phase of scouting. "a good turn is when you do something that helps somebody else. if you do it because you get a lot of fun out of it yourself, then it isn't a good turn at all. of course, roy knows that; he's only jollying when he calls it a good turn. you have to be careful with roy, he's a terrible jollier--and mr. ellsworth's pretty near as bad. oh, cracky, but i'd like to go with them--that's one sure thing. you think it's no fun being a girl and i'll admit _i_ wouldn't want to be one--i got to admit that; but it's pretty near as bad to be small. if you're small they jolly you. and if i asked them to let me go they'd only laugh. gee, i don't mind being jollied, but i _would_ like to go. that's one thing you ought to be thankful for--you're not small. of course, maybe girls can't do so many things as boys--i mean scouting-like--but--oh, crinkums," he broke off in an ecstasy of joyous reflection. "oh, crinkums, that'll be some trip, _believe me_." mary temple looked at the diminutive figure in khaki trousers which sat before her on the coping. it was one of the good things about pee-wee harris that he never dreamed how much people liked him. "i don't know about that," said mary. "i mean about a girl not being able to do things--scouting things. mightn't a girl do a good turn?" "oh, sure," pee-wee conceded. "but i suppose if it gave her very much pleasure it wouldn't be a good turn." "oh, yes, it might," admitted pee-wee, anxious to explain the science of good turns. "this is the way it is. if you do a good turn it's sure to make you feel good--that you did it--see? but if you do it just for your own pleasure, then it's not a good turn. but roy puts over a lot of nonsense about good turns. he does it just to make me mad--because i've made a sort of study of them--like." mary laughed in spite of herself. "he says it was a good thing when tom threw a barrel stave in the chinese laundry because it led to his being a scout. but that isn't logic. do you know what logic is?" mary thought she had a notion of what it was. "a thing that's bad can't be good, can it?" pee-wee persisted. "suppose you should hit me with a brick----" "i wouldn't think of doing such a thing!" "but suppose you did. and suppose the scouts came along and gave me first aid and after that i became a scout. could you say you did me a good turn by hitting me with a brick because that way i got to be a scout? roy--you got to be careful with him--you can't always tell when he's jollying." mary looked at him intently for a few seconds. "well, then," said she, "since you've made a study of good turns tell me this. if roy and tom were to ask you to go with them on their long hike, would that be a good turn?" "sure it would, because it would have a sacrifice in it, don't you see?" "how?" "because they'd do it just to please me--they wouldn't really want me." "well," she laughed, "roy's good at making sacrifices." "je-ru-salem!" said pee-wee, shaking his head almost incredulously at the idea of such good fortune; "that'll be some trip. but you know what they say, and it's true--i got to admit it's true--that two's a company, three's a crowd." "it wouldn't be three," laughed mary; "it would only be two and a half." she watched the sturdy figure as pee-wee trudged along the gravel walk and down the street. he seemed even smaller than he had seemed on the veranda. and it was borne in upon her how much jollying he stood for and how many good things he missed just because he _was_ little, and how cheerful and generous-hearted he was withal. the next morning roy received a letter which read: "dear roy--i want you and tom to ask walter harris to go with you. please don't tell him that i asked you. you said you were going to name one of the cabins or one of the boats for me because i took so much interest. i'd rather have you do this. you can call it a good turn if you want to--a real one. "mary temple." pee-wee harris also received an envelope with an enclosure similar to many which he had received of late. he suspected their source. this one read as follows: if you want to be a scout, you must watch what you're about, and never let a chance for mischief pass. you may win the golden cross if your ball you gayly toss through the middle of a neighbor's pane of glass. chapter iv tom and roy the letter from mary temple fell on camp solitaire like a thunderbolt. camp solitaire was the name which roy had given his own cosy little tent on the blakeley lawn, and here he and tom were packing duffel bags and sharpening belt axes ready for their long tramp when the note from grantley square was scaled to them by the postman as he made a short cut across the lawn. "what do you know about that?" said roy, clearly annoyed. "we can't take _him_; he's too small. who's going to take the responsibility? this is a team hike." "you don't suppose he put the idea in her head, do you?" tom asked. "oh, i don't know. you saw yourself how crazy he was about it." "pee-wee's all right," said tom. "sure he's all right. he's the best little camp mascot that ever happened. but how are we going to take him along on this hike? and what's he going to do when he gets there?" "he could help us on the troop cabin--getting it ready," tom suggested. roy threw the letter aside in disgust. "that's a girl all over," he said, as he sulkily packed his duffel bag. "she doesn't think of what it means--she just wants it done, that's all, so she sends her what-d'you-call-it--edict. pee-wee can't stand for a hundred and forty mile hike. we'd have to get a baby carriage!" he went on with his packing, thrusting things into the depths of his duffel bag half-heartedly and with but a fraction of his usual skill. "you know as well as i do about team hikes. how can we fix this up for three _now_? we've got everything ready and made all our plans; now it seems we've got to cart this kid along or be in dutch up at temple's. _he_ can't hike twenty miles a day. he's just got a bee in his dome that he'd like----" "it _would_ be a good turn," interrupted tom. "i was counting on a team hike myself. i wanted to be off on a trip alone with you a while. i'm disappointed too, but it _would_ be a good turn--it would be a peach of a one, so far as that's concerned." "no, it wouldn't," contradicted roy. "it would be a piece of blamed foolishness." "he'd furnish some fun--he always does." "he'd furnish a lot of trouble and responsibility! why can't he wait and come up with the rest? makes me sick!" roy added, as he hurled the aluminum coffee-pot out of a chair and sat down disgustedly. "_now_, you see, you dented that," said tom. "a lot _i_ care. gee, i'd like to call the whole thing off--that's what i'd like to do. i'd do it for two cents." "well, i've got two cents," said tom, "but i'm not going to offer it. _i_ say, let's make the best of it. i've seen you holding your sides laughing at pee-wee. you said yourself he was a five-reel photoplay all by himself." roy drew a long breath and said nothing. he was plainly in his very worst humor. he did not want pee-wee to go. he, too, wanted to be alone with tom. there were plenty of good turns to be done without bothering with this particular one. besides, it was not a good turn, he told himself. it would expose walter harris to perils---oh, roy was very generous and considerate of walter harris---"if it's a question of good turns," he said, "it would be a better turn to leave him home, where he'll be safe and happy. it's no good turn to him, dragging him up and down mountains till he's so dog-tired he falls all over himself--is it?" tom smiled a little, but said nothing. "oh, well, if that's the way you feel," said roy, pulling the cord of his duffel bag so tight that it snapped, "you and pee-wee had better go and i'll back out." "it ain't the way i feel," said tom, in his slow way. "i'd rather go alone with you. didn't i say so? i guess pee-wee thinks he's stronger than he is. _i_ think he'd better be at home too and i'd rather he'd stay home, though it's mostly just because i want to be alone with you. maybe it's selfish, but if it is i can't help it. i think sometimes a feller might do something selfish and make up for it some other way--maybe. but i don't think any feller's got a right to do something selfish and then call it a good turn. i don't believe a long hike would hurt pee-wee. he's the best scout-pacer in your patrol. but i want to go alone with you and i'd just as soon tell mary so. i suppose it would be selfish, but we'd just try to make up----" "oh, shut up, will you!" snapped roy. "you get on my nerves, dragging along with your theories and things. _i_ don't care who goes or if anybody goes. and you can go home and sleep for all i care." "all right," said tom, rising. "i'd rather do that than stay here and fight. i don't see any use talking about whether it's a good turn to pee-wee." (roy ostentatiously busied himself with his packing and pretended not to hear.) "i wasn't thinking about pee-wee so much anyway. it's mary temple that i was thinking of. it would be a good turn to her, you can't deny that. pee-wee harris has got nothing to do with it--it's between you and me and mary temple." "you going home?" roy asked, coldly. "yes." "well, you and pee-wee and mary temple can fix it up. i'm out of it." he took a pad and began to write, while tom lingered in the doorway of the tent, stolid, as he always was. "wait and mail this for me, will you," said roy. he wrote: "dear mary--since you butted in tom and i have decided that it would be best for pee-wee to go with _him_ and i'll stay here. anyway, that's what _i've_ decided. so you'll get your wish, all right, and i should worry. "roy." tom took the sealed envelope, but paused irresolutely in the doorway. it was the first time that he and roy had ever quarrelled. "what did you say to her?" he asked. "never mind what i said," roy snapped. "you'll get your wish." "i'd rather go alone with you," said tom, simply. "i told you that already. i'd rather see pee-wee stay home. i care more for you," he said, hesitating a little, "than for anyone else. but i vote to take pee-wee because mary wants--asks--us to. i wouldn't call it a good turn leaving him home, and you wouldn't either--only you're disappointed, same as i am. i wouldn't even call it much of a good turn taking him. we can never pay back mary temple. it would be like giving her a cent when we owed her a thousand. i got to do what i think is right--you--you made me a scout. i--i got to be thankful to you if i can see straight. it's--it's kind of--like a--like a trail--like," he blundered on. "there can be trails in your mind, kind of. once i chucked stones at pee-wee and swiped mary's ball. now i want to take him along--a little bit for his sake, but mostly for hers. and i want to go alone with you for my own sake, because--because," he hesitated, "because i want to be alone with you. but i got to hit the right trail--you taught me that----" "well, go ahead and hit it," said roy, "it's right outside the door." tom looked at him steadily for a few seconds as if he did not understand. you might have seen something out of the ordinary then in that stolid face. after a moment he turned and went down the hill and around the corner of the big bank building, passed ching woo's laundry, into which he had once thrown dirty barrel staves, picked his way through the mud of barrel alley and entered the door of the tenement where mrs. o'connor lived. he had not slept there for three nights. the sound of cats wailing and trucks rattling and babies crying was not much like the soughing of the wind in the elms up on the blakeley lawn. but if you have hit the right trail and have a good conscience you can sleep, and tom slept fairly well amid the din and uproar. chapter v first coup of the mascot anyway, he slept better than roy slept. all night long the leader of the silver foxes was haunted by that letter. the darkness, the breeze, the soothing music of crickets and locusts outside his little tent dissipated his anger, as the voices of nature are pretty sure to do, and made him see straight, to use tom's phrase. he thought of tom making his lonely way back to barrel alley and going to bed there amid the very scenes which he had been so anxious to have him forget. he fancied him sitting on the edge of his cot in mrs. o'connor's stuffy dining room, reading his scout manual. he was always reading his manual; he had it all marked up like a blazed trail. roy got small consolation now from the fact that he had procured tom's election. if tom had been angry at him, his conscience would be easier now; but tom seldom got mad. in imagination he followed that letter to the temple home. he saw it laid at mary's place at the dining table. he saw her come dancing in to breakfast and pick it up and wave it gaily. he saw john temple reading his paper at the head of the table and advising with mary, who was his partner in the temple camp enterprise. he knew it was for her sake quite as much as for the scouts that mr. temple had made this splendid gift, and he knew (for he had dined at grantley square) just how father and daughter conferred together. why, who was it but mary that told john temple there must be ten thousand wooden plates and goodness knows how many sanitary drinking cups? mary had it all marked in the catalogues. roy pictured her as she opened the letter and read it,--that rude, selfish note. he wondered what she would say. and he wondered what john temple would think. it would be such a surprise to her that poor little pee-wee was not wanted. in the morning roy arose feeling very wretched after an all but sleepless night. he did not know what he should do that day. he might go up to grantley square and apologize, but you cannot, by apology, undo what is done. while he was cooking his breakfast he thought of pee-wee--pee-wee who was always so gay and enthusiastic, who worshipped roy, and who "did not mind being jollied." he would be ashamed to face pee-wee even if that redoubtable scout pacer were sublimely innocent of what had taken place. at about noon he saw tom coming up the lawn. he looked a little shamefaced as tom came in and sat down without a word. "i--i was going to go down to see you," said roy. "i--i feel different now. i can see straight. i wish i hadn't----" "i've got a letter for you," said tom, disinterestedly. "i was told to deliver it." "you--were you at temple's?" "there isn't any answer," said tom, with his usual exasperating stolidness. roy hesitated a moment. then, as one will take a dose of medicine quickly to have it over, he grasped the envelope, tore it open, and read: "dear mary--since you butted in tom and i have decided it would be best for pee-wee to go with _him_ and i'll stay home. anyway, that's what _i've_ decided. so you'll get your wish, all right, and i should worry. "roy." he looked up into tom's almost expressionless countenance. "who--told--you to deliver it--tom?" "i told myself. you said you'd call the whole thing off for two cents. but you ought not to expect me to pay the two cents----" "didn't i put a stamp on it?" said roy, looking at the envelope. "if you want to put a stamp on it now," said tom, "i'll go and mail it for you--but i--i didn't feel i cared to trust you for two cents--over night." through glistening eyes roy looked straight at tom, but found no response in that dogged countenance. but he knew tom, and knew what to expect from him. "you old grouch," he shouted, running his hand through tom's already tousled and rebellious hair. "why don't you laugh? so you wouldn't trust me for two cents, you old elk skinflint, wouldn't you. well, then, the letter doesn't get mailed, that's all, for i happen to have only one stamp left and that's going to pee-wee harris. come on, get your wits to work now, and we'll send him the invitation in the form of a verse, what d'you say?" he gave tom such a push that even he couldn't help laughing as he staggered against the tent-pole. "i'm no good at writing verse," said he. "oh, but we'll jolly the life out of that kid when we get him away," said roy. it is a wise precept that where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise. pee-wee harris never dreamed of the discussion that had taken place as to his going, and he accepted the invitation with a glad heart. on the momentous morning when the trio set forth upon their journey, mary temple, as glad as they, stood upon the steps at grantley square and waved them a last good-bye. "don't forget," she called, "we're coming up in the car in august to visit you and see the camp and that dreadful jeb or job or jib or whatever you call him, who smokes a corn-cob pipe--ugh!" the last they saw of her was a girlish shrug of disgust at that strange personage out of the west about whom (largely for her benefit) roy and others had circulated the most outlandish tales. jeb rushmore was already ensconced in the unfinished camp, and from the few letters which had come from him it was judged that his excursion east had not spoiled him. one of these missives had been addressed to _mister john temple_ and must have been a refreshing variation from the routine mail which awaited mr. temple each morning at the big granite bank. it read: "thar's a crittur come here to paint names o' animiles on the cabin doors. i told him friendly sich wuzn't wanted, likewise no numbers. he see it were best ter go. bein' you put up th' money i would say polite and likewise explain ez how the skins uv animiles is propper fur signs an' not numbers bein' ez cabins is not railroad cars." this is a fair sample of the letters which were received by mr. temple, by mr. ellsworth, and even at national scout headquarters, which jeb rushmore called "the main ranch." the idea of putting the skin of a silver fox, for instance, on the patrol's cabin instead of a painted caricature of that animal, took the boys by storm, and to them at least jeb rushmore became a very real character long before they ever met him. they felt that jeb rushmore had the right idea and they were thrilled at the tragic possibilities of that ominous sentence, "he see it were best to go." the whole troop was down at the boathouse to see the boys off. tom and roy wore old khaki trousers and faded shirts which had seen service in many a rough hike; their scarred duffel bags bore unmistakable signs of hard usage, but pee-wee was resplendent in his full regalia, with his monogram burned in a complicated design into the polished leather of his brand new duffel bag. his "trousseau," as the boys called it, was indeed as complete and accurate as was possible. even the scout smile, which is not the least part of the scout make-up, was carried to a conspicuous extreme; he smiled all over; he was one vast smile. "don't fall off any mountains, pee-wee." "be sure to take your smile off when you go to bed." "if you get tired, you can jump on a train." "pee-wee, you look as if you were posing for animal crackers." these were some of the flippant comments which were hurled at pee-wee as the three, in roy's canoe, glided from the float and up the river on the first stage of what was destined to be an adventurous journey. the river, along whose lower reaches bridgeboro was situated, had its source within a mile or two of the hudson in the vicinity of nyack. from the great city it was navigable by power craft as far as bridgeboro and even above at full tide, but a mile or two above the boys' home town it narrowed to a mere creek, winding its erratic way through a beautiful country where intertwined and overarching boughs formed dim tunnels through which the canoeist passed with no sound but the swishing of his own paddle. the boys had never before canoed to the river's source, though it was one of the things they had always been meaning to do. it was a happy thought of tom's to make it a part of their journey now and strike into the roads along the hudson in that way. "oh, crinkums, i'm crazy to see jeb rushmore, aren't you?" said pee-wee. "i never thought i'd have a chance to go like this, i sure didn't! i never thought you'd want me." "we couldn't do without you, kiddo," said roy, as he paddled. "we wouldn't have any luck--you're our lucky penny." "cracky, you could have knocked me down with a feather when i got that note. at first, i thought you must be jollying me--and even now it doesn't seem real." the boys laughed. "well, here you are, kiddo," said roy, "so you see it's real enough." "do you suppose we'll have any adventures?" "why, as the little boy said when he spilled the ink on the parlor carpet, 'that remains to be seen.' we won't side-step any, you can be sure of that." "there may be danger awaiting us," said pee-wee. "well, i only hope it'll wait till we get to it," roy laughed. "what do you say, kiddo, shall we hit it up for nyack to-night or camp along the river?" they decided to paddle leisurely, ending their canoe trip next day. about dusk they made their camp on a steep, wooded shore, and with the flame of their campfire reflected in the rippling water, roy cooked supper. pee-wee was supremely happy. it is doubtful if he had ever before been so happy. "there's one thing," said tom, as he held the bacon over the flame. "i'm going to do my first-class stunts before we get there." "and i'm going to do some tracking," said roy; "here you go, pee-wee, here's a bacon sandwich--look out for the juice. this is what daniel boone used to eat." he handed pee-wee a sizzling slice of bacon between two cakes of sweet chocolate! "mmmmmmm," said pee-wee, "that's scrumptious! gee, i never knew chocolate and bacon went so good together." "to-morrow for breakfast i'll give you a boiled egg stuffed with caraway seeds," said roy. "give him a dan beard omelet," said tom. "what's that?" asked pee-wee, his two hands and his mouth running with greasy chocolate. "salt codfish with whipped cream," answered roy. "think you'd like it?" pee-wee felt sure he would. "and there's one thing _i'm_ going to do," he said. "tom's going to finish his first-class stunts and you're going to do tracking. i'm going to----" "have another sandwich?" interrupted roy. "sure. and there's one thing i'm going to do. i'm going to test some good turns. gee, there isn't room enough to test 'em indoors." "good for you," said roy; "but you'd better trot down to the river now and wash your face. you look like the end man in a minstrel show. then come on back and we'll reel off some campfire yarns." they sat late into the night, until their fire burned low and roy realized, as he had never before realized, what good company pee-wee was. they slept as only those know how to sleep who go camping, and early in the morning continued their journey along the upper and tortuous reaches of the narrowing river. early in the spring there had been a serious flood which had done much damage even down in bridgeboro, and the three boys as they paddled carefully along were surprised at the havoc which had been wrought here on the upper river. small buildings along the shore lay toppled over, boats were here and there marooned high and dry many yards from the shore, and the river was almost impassable in places from the obstructions of uprooted trees and other debris. at about noon they reached a point where the stream petered out so that further navigation even by canoe was impossible; but they were already in the outskirts of west nyack. "the next number on the program," said roy, "is to administer first aid to the canoe in the form of a burlap bandage. pee-wee, you're appointed chairman of the grass committee--pick some grass and let's pad her up." if you have never administered "first aid" to a canoe and "padded it up" for shipment, let me tell you that the scout way of doing it is to bind burlap loosely around it and to stuff this with grass or hay so that the iron hook which is so gently wielded by the expressman may not damage the hull. having thus prepared it for its more prosaic return journey by train, they left the boat on the shore and following a beaten path came presently into the very heart of the thriving metropolis of west nyack. "i feel as if we were lewis and clarke, or somebody, arriving at an indian village," said pee-wee. at the express office roy arranged for the shipment of the canoe back to bridgeboro, and then they started along the road toward nyack. it was on this part of their journey that something happened which was destined materially to alter their program. they had come into the main street of the village and were heading for the road which led to the hudson when they came upon a little group of people looking amusedly up into an elm tree on the lawn of a stately residence. a little girl was standing beneath the tree in evident distress, occasionally wringing her hands as she looked fearfully up into the branches. whatever was happening there was no joke to her, however funny it might be to the other onlookers. "what's the matter?" tom asked. "bird up there," briefly answered the nearest bystander. "she'll never get it," said another. "oh, now he's going away," cried the little girl in despair. the contrast between her anxiety and the amusement of the others was marked. every time she called to the bird it flitted to another limb, and every time the bird flitted she wrung her hands and cried. an empty cage upon a lawn bench told the story. "what's the matter?" said pee-wee, going to the child and seeking his information first-hand. "oh, i'll never get him," she sobbed. "he'll fly away in a minute and i'll never see him again." pee-wee looked up into the branches and after some difficulty succeeded in locating a little bird somewhat smaller than a robin and as green as the foliage amid which it was so heedlessly disporting. "i see him," said pee-wee. "gee, don't you cry; we'll get him some way. we're scouts, we are, and we'll get him for you." his reassuring words did not seem to comfort the girl. "oh, there he goes!" she cried. "now he's going to fly away!" he did not fly away but merely flew to another limb and began to preen himself. for so small a bird he was attracting a great deal of notice in the world. following pee-wee's lead, others including tom and roy ventured upon the lawn, smiling and straining their eyes to follow the tantalizing movements of the little fugitive. "of course," said pee-wee to the girl, "it would be easy enough to shin up that tree--that would be a cinch--anybody could do that--i mean any _feller_--of course, a girl couldn't; but i'd only frighten him away." "you'll never get him," said one man. "what kind of a bird is it?" tom asked. "it's a dwarf parrot," the girl sobbed, "and i'll never get him--never!" "you don't want to get discouraged," said pee-wee. "gee, there's always some way." the spectators evidently did not agree with him. some of them remained about, smiling; others went away. the diminutive pee-wee seemed to amuse them quite as much as the diminutive parrot, but all were agreed (as they continually remarked to each other) that the bird was a "goner." "is he tame?" roy asked. "he was _getting_ tame," the girl sobbed, "and he was learning to say my name. my father would give a hundred dollars--oh," she broke off, "now he _is_ going away!" she began to cry pitifully. pee-wee stood a moment thoughtfully. "have you got a garden hose?" he presently asked. "yes, but you're not going to squirt water at him," said the girl, indignantly. "if you get the garden hose," said pee-wee, "i'll bring him down for you." "what are you going to do, kiddo?" roy asked. "you'll see," said pee-wee. the other boys looked at each other, puzzled. the girl looked half incredulously at pee-wee and something in his manner gave her a feeling of hope. most of the others laughed good-humoredly. they hauled the nozzle end of a garden hose from where it lay coiled near a faucet in the stone foundation. pee-wee took the nozzle and began to play the stream against the trunk of the tree, all the while looking up at the parrot. presently, the bird began to "sit up and take notice," as one might say. it was plainly interested. the bystanders began to "sit up and take notice" too, and they watched the bird intently as it cocked its head and listened. pee-wee sent the stream a little higher up the trunk and as he did so the bird became greatly excited. it began uttering, in the modulated form consonant with its size, the discordant squawk of the parrot. the little girl watched eagerly. "get the cage," ordered pee-wee. roy brought it and laid it at his feet. the stream played a little higher, and the bird chattered furiously and came lower. "remind you of home?" pee-wee asked, looking up and playing the water a little higher. the bystanders watched, in silence. the bird was now upon the lowest branch, chattering like mad and flapping its wings frantically. the little girl, in an ecstasy of fresh hope, called to it and danced up and down. but pee-wee, like a true artist, neither saw nor heard his audience. he was playing the bird with this line of water as an angler plays a fish. and never was moth lured by a flame more irresistibly than this little green fugitive was lured by the splashing of that stream. "oh, can you catch him? can you catch him?" pleaded the girl as she clutched pee-wee's arm. "let go a minute," said pee-wee. "now, all stand back, here goes!" he shot the stream suddenly down at the base of the tree, holding the nozzle close so that the plashing was loud and the spray diffused. and as an arrow goes to its mark the bird came swooping down plunk into the middle of the spray and puddle. still playing the stream with one hand, pee-wee reached carefully and with his other gently encircled the little drenched body. "quite an adventure, wasn't it, greenie?" he said. "where'd you think you were? in the tropics?---if you ever want to take hold of a bird," he added, turning to the girl, "hold it this way; make a ring out of your thumb and first finger, and let his stomach rest on the palm of your hand. be sure your hand isn't cold, though. here you are--that's right." the girl could hardly speak. she stood with her dwarf parrot in her hand, looking at the stream of water which was now shooting silently through the grass and at the puddle which it had made, and she felt that a miracle had been performed before her eyes. roy, hardly less pleased than she, stepped forward and turned off the water. "good work," said a gentleman. "i've seen many a bird brought down, but never in that fashion before." "_we_ don't use the other fashion," said tom, with a touch of pride as he put his hand on pee-wee's shoulder. "do we, kid?" "if it was a canary," said pee-wee, "i might possibly have whistled him down, but not near enough to catch him, i guess. but as soon as i knew that bird came from the tropics, i knew he'd fall for water, 'cause a tropical bird'll go where the sound of water is every time. i guess it's because they have so many showers down there, or something. then once i heard that it's best to turn on the faucet when you're teaching a parrot to talk. it's the sound of water. did you get any water on you?" he asked, suddenly turning to the child. there was no water on her clothing, but there was some in her eyes. "i--i--think you're wonderful," she said. "i think you are just wonderful!" "'twasn't me," said pee-wee, "it was the water. gee," he added confidentially, "i often said i hated water, and i do hate a rainy day. and if you get any water in a carburetor--_goo-od-night_! but i got to admit water's good for some things." "oh, i want you please to wait--just a few minutes--i want to go and speak to my father," the girl said, as the boys started to move away. they were the only ones left now. "please wait just a minute." "we're on our way to nyack," said roy, suspecting her intention, "and i'm afraid we've lost as much time as we dare. we've got to do a little shopping there and our weather prophet here thinks we're going to have a _real_ tropical shower before long." "but won't you let my father give you each--something? you've been so good and it's--oh--it's just _wonderful_!" "pee-wee, you're the doctor," said roy. "i got to do a good turn every day," said the "doctor," "because we're scouts and that's the rule. if we took anything for it, why, then it wouldn't be a good turn. it would spoil all the fun. we're going on a long hike, up the hudson to our camp. we don't want to go near railroad trains--and things like that. these fellows are taking me with them; that's a good turn, but if somebody paid 'em to do it, it wouldn't be a good turn, would it? i'm thankful to you and your parrot that you gave me the chance. now i don't have to think of a good turn again till tomorrow. besides i just happened to know about parrots and water so it's no credit to me." that was it--he just happened to know! it was one of the dozens of things that he "just happened to know." how he came by the knowledge was a mystery. but perhaps the best thing he knew was that a service is a service and that you knock it in the head as soon as you take payment for it. the girl watched them, as they jumped the hedge, laughing gaily at pee-wee's clumsiness and, waving their hats to her, took their belated way along the road. it was not the most popular way of bringing down a bird, but there was no blood on pee-wee's hands, and it was a pretty good stunt at that! chapter vi the shelter "pee-wee, you're a wonder," said roy. "you're the only original boy scout; how did you get next to that stunt? what do you think of him, tom?" "some wrinkle," said tom. "crinkums!" said pee-wee. "i'm mighty glad i got him. if it hadn't succeeded i'd have felt cheap, sure; but when you're dealing with a girl, you always want to act as if you're sure of yourself. do you know why?" "can't imagine," said roy. "break it to us gently." "because girls are never sure of themselves and they'll never take much stock in what you say unless you seem to be sure of yourself. that's one thing i've noticed. i've made a study of girls, kind of---and you're more apt to succeed if there's a girl watching you--did you ever notice that?" roy laughed. "it's so," urged pee-wee. "and there's another thing about girls, too; they're repulsive." "what?" said tom. "_what?_" said roy. "they say the first thing that comes into their heads." "_im_pulsive, you mean," laughed roy. "well, they're all right on good turns," said tom. "they don't have any good turns in the camp fire girls," said pee-wee. "a girl might do a good turn and you'd never know anything about it," said tom, significantly. "cracky," said pee-wee, "she was tickled to get that bird back." in a little while they were tramping along the main street of nyack, heading for the lordly hudson. it was almost twilight, the shops were shutting their doors, and as they came around the hill which brought them face to face with the river, the first crimson glow of sunset fell upon the rippling current. across the wide expanse, which seemed the wider for the little winding stream they had so lately followed, the hills were already turning from green to gray and tiny lights were visible upon the rugged heights. a great white steamer with its light already burning was plowing majestically upstream and the little open craft at the shore rocked in the diminishing ripples which it sent across the water, as though bowing in humble obeisance to it. "gee, it's lonely, isn't it!" said pee-wee. "not getting homesick, are you, kiddo?" "no, but it seems kind of lonesome. i'm glad there's three of us. oh, jiminy, look at those hills." the scene was indeed such as to make the mightiest man feel insignificant. the map showed a road which led to haverstraw, and this the boys decided to follow until they should find a convenient spot in which to bivouac for the night. it followed the hudson, sometimes running along the very brink with the mighty highlands rising above it and sometimes running between hills which shut the river from their view. "hark," said tom. "what did i tell you! thunder!" a low, distant rumble sounded, and as they paused in the gathering darkness, listening, a little fitful gust blew pee-wee's hat off. "we're going to get a good dose of it," said tom. "i've been smelling it for the last hour; look at those trees." the leaves were blowing this way and that. "we should worry," said roy. "didn't i tell you we might have to get our feet wet? this is a risky bus----" "shut up!" said pee-wee. they had walked not more than a quarter of a mile more when they came upon a stretch of road which was very muddy, with a piece of lowland bordering it. it was too dark to see clearly, but in the last remnant of daylight the boys could just distinguish a small, peculiar looking structure in the middle of this vast area. "that's a funny place to build a house," said roy. "maybe it's a fisherman's shack," tom suggested. whatever it was, it was a most isolated and lonesome habitation, standing in the centre of that desert flat, shut in by the precipitous hills. "it would be a good place for a hermit," said roy. "you don't suppose anyone lives there, do you?" "cracky, wouldn't you like to be a hermit! do you know what i'd like to have now----" "an umbrella," interrupted tom. the remark, notwithstanding that it shocked pee-wee's sense of fitness, inasmuch as they were scouting and "roughing it," was not inappropriate, for even as tom spoke the patter of great drops was heard. "maybe it's been raining here this afternoon," observed tom, "and that's what makes all this mud." "well, it's certainly raining here now," said roy. "me for that shack!" the rain suddenly came down in torrents and the boys turned up their collars and made a dash across the marshy land toward the shadowy structure. roy reached it first and, turning, called: "hey, fellows, it's a boat!" the others, drenched, but laughing, followed him, scrambling upon the deck and over the combing into the cockpit of a dilapidated cabin launch. "what do you know about that!" said roy. "strike a light and let's see where we're at. i feel like a wet dish rag." presently pee-wee's flashlight was poking its bright shaft this way and that as they looked curiously about them. they were in a neglected and disheveled, but very cosy, little cabin with sleeping lockers on either side and chintz curtains at the tiny portholes. a two-cylinder engine, so rusted that the wheel wouldn't turn over and otherwise in a dubious condition, was ineffectually covered by a piece of stiff and rotten oil cloth, the floor was cluttered with junk, industrious spiders had woven their webs all about and a frantic scurrying sound told of the hurried departure of some little animal which had evidently made its home in the forsaken hull. "oh, but this is great!" enthused pee-wee. "this is the kind of an adventure you read about; _now_ our adventures have really started." "it'll be more to the purpose if we can get our supper really started," said roy. "how do you suppose it got here?" pee-wee asked. "that's easy," said tom. "i didn't realize it before, but the tide must come up over the road sometimes and flood all this land here. that's what makes the road muddy. there must have been a good high tide some time or other, and it brought the boat right up over the road and here it is, marooned." "maybe it was the same flood that did all the damage down our way," roy said. "well, here goes; get the things out, pee-wee, and we'll have some eats. gee, it's nice in here." it _was_ nice. the rain pattered down on the low roof and beat against the little ports; the boat swayed a little in the heavier gusts of wind and all the delightful accompaniments of a life on the ocean wave were present--except the peril. "you get out the cooking things," said roy, "while i take a squint around and see if i can find something to kindle a fire in." he did not have to go far. sliding open the little hatch, he emerged into the cockpit, where the wind and rain smote him mercilessly. the storm had grown into a tempest and roy wondered how it would be out on the wide river on such a night. in the cockpit was nothing but the shredded remnant of a sun awning and a couple of camp chairs, but a few feet from the boat something on the mushy ground cast a faint glimmer, and on going to it he found it to be a battered five-gallon gasoline can, which he brought back in triumph. by this time tom and pee-wee had the camp lamp burning and the supper things laid out. it was a very cosy scene. "see if there's a stillson wrench in that locker," said roy. among the rusted tools was a "stillson," and with this roy disconnected the exhaust pipe from the engine. he next partly "jabbed" and partly cut a hole in the gasoline can of about the circumference of the pipe. a larger hole in the side of the can sufficed for a door and he squeezed the end of the exhaust pipe into the hole he had made for it, and presto! there was a very serviceable makeshift stove with the exhaust system of the engine converted into a draught and chimney. "the new patent silver fox cooking stove," said roy. "a scout is resourceful. this beats trying to kindle a fire outside, a night like this. chuck that piece of wood over here." there was an old battery box knocking about and this roy whittled into shavings, while the others with their belt axes completed the ruin of the awning stanchions by chopping them into pieces a few inches long. "guess they weren't good for much," observed tom. "oh," said pee-wee, "i'd just like to live in this boat." it was no wonder he felt so. with the fire burning brightly in the old can and sending its smoke out through the boat's exhaust, the smell of the bacon cooking, the sight of their outer garments drying in the cheery warmth, while the wind howled outside and the rain beat down upon the low roof the situation was not half bad and an occasional lurch of the old hull gave a peculiar charm to their odd refuge. "could you dally with a rice cake, kiddo?" asked roy, as he deftly stirred up some rice and batter. "sling me that egg powder, tom, and give me something to stir with--not that, you gump, that's the fever thermometer!" "here's a fountain pen," said pee-wee; "will that do?" "this screw-driver will be better," said roy. "here, kiddo, make yourself useful and keep turning that in the pan. you're a specialist on good turns." pee-wee stirred, while tom attended to the fire, and roy to the cooking. and i might mention on the side that if you should happen to be marooned in a disused boat on a blustering night, and are ingenious enough (as roy was) to contrive the cooking facilities, you cannot do better than flop a few rice cakes, watching carefully that they don't burn. you can flop them with a shoe horn if you've nothing better at hand. they spread their balloon silk tent in the cockpit, holding fast to the corners until enough water had fallen into it to fill the coffee-pot, and they had three such cups of coffee as you never fancied in your fondest dreams. for dessert they had "silver fox slump," an invention of roy's made with chocolate, honey and, i think, horse-radish. it has to be stirred thoroughly. pee-wee declared that it was such a _table d'hote_ dinner as he had never before tasted. he was always partial to the scout style of cooking and he added, "you know how they have music at _table d'hote_ dinners. well, this music's got it beat, that's one sure thing. gee, i'll hate to leave the boat, i sure will." the boisterous music gave very little prospect of ceasing, and after the three had talked for an hour or so, they settled down for the night, two on the lockers and one on the floor, with the wind still moaning and the rain coming down in torrents. when they awoke in the morning the wind had died down somewhat, but it still blew fitfully out of the east and the rain had settled down into a steady drizzle. tom ventured out into the cockpit and looked about him. the hills across the river were gray in the mist and the wide expanse of water was steel color. he could see now that there was another road close under the precipitous cliffs and that the one which divided this lowland from the river was almost awash. through the mist and drizzle along this higher road came a man. he left the road and started to pick his way across the flat, hailing as he came. the three boys awaited him in the cockpit. "don't nobody leave that boat!" he called, "or i'll shoot." "dearie me," said roy. "he seems to be peeved. what are we up against, anyway?" "don't shoot, mister," called tom. "you couldn't drag us out of here with a team of horses." "tell him we are boy scouts and fear naught," whispered pee-wee. "tell him we scorn his--er--what d'you call it?" "hey, mister," called roy. "we are boy scouts and fear naught, and we scorn your what-d'you-call it." "haouw?" called the man. "what's that he's got on?" said tom, "a merit badge?" "it's a cop's badge," whispered pee-wee. "oh, crinkums, we're pinched." the man approached, dripping and breathing heavily, and placed his hands on the combing. "anybody here 'sides you youngsters?" he demanded, at the same time peering inside the cabin. "a few spiders," said tom. "whatcher doin' here, anyway?" "we're waiting for the storm to hold up," said roy; "we beat it from that road when----" "we sought refuge," pee-wee prompted him. "any port in a storm, you know," roy smiled. "are we pinched?" the man did not vouchsafe an immediate answer to this vital query. instead he poked his head in, peered about and then said, "don' know's ye are, not fur's i'm concerned. i'd like to hev ye answer me one question honest, though." "you'll have to answer one for us first," called roy, who had disappeared within the little cabin. "do you take two lumps of sugar in your coffee?" the man now condescended to smile, as roy brought out a steaming cup and handed it to him. "wall, ye've got all the comforts uv home, ain't ye?" "give him a rice cake," whispered pee-wee in roy's ear. "he's all right." "won't you come in?" said roy. "i don't know whose boat this is, but you're welcome. i guess we didn't do any damage. we chopped up a couple of broken stanchions, that's all." "i guess we'll let ye off without more'n ten year uv hard labor," said the man, sipping his coffee. "but i'll give ye a tip. get away from here as soon's ye can,--hear? old man stanton owns this boat an' he's a bear. he'd run ye in fer trespass and choppin' up them stanchions quick as a gun. ye come oft'n that outer road, ye say? strangers here?" "i can see now that road is flooded," said tom. "guess it isn't used, is it?" "this is all river land," said the man. "in extra high tides this here land is flooded an' the only ones usin' that thar road is the fishes. this rain keeps up another couple of days an' we get a full moon on top o' that the old hulk'll float, by gol! ye didn't see no men around here last night now, did ye?" "not a soul," said roy. "'cause there was a prisoner escaped up yonder last night an' when i see the smoke comin' out o' yer flue contraption here i thought like enough he hit this shelter." "up yonder?" tom queried. "you're strangers, hey?" the man repeated. "we're on a hike," said tom. "we're on our way to haverstraw and----" "thence," prompted pee-wee. "_thence_ to catskill landing, and _thence_ to leeds and _thence_ to black lake," mocked roy. "well, thar's a big prison up yonder," said the man. "oh, sing sing?" roy asked. "i never thought of that." "feller scaled the wall last night an' made off in a boat." the boys were silent. they had not realized how close they were to ossining, and the thought of the great prison whose name they had often heard mentioned sobered them a little; the mere suggestion of one of its inmates scaling its frowning wall on such a night and setting forth in an open boat, perhaps lurking near their very shelter, cast a shadow over them. "are you--are you _sure_ you didn't see a--a crouching shadow when you went out and got that gasoline can last night?" pee-wee stammered. "i'm sorry," said roy, "but i didn't see one crouching shadow." "his boat might have upset in the storm," tom suggested. "the wind even shook this boat; it must have been pretty rough out on the river." "like enough," said the man. "des'pret characters'll take des'pret chances." "what did he do?" pee-wee asked, his imagination thoroughly aroused. "dunno," said the man. "burglary, like enough. well now, you youngsters have had yer shelter'n the wust o' the storm's over. it's goin' ter keep right on steady like this till after full moon, an' the ole shebang'll be floppin' roun' the marsh like enough on full moon tide. my advice to you is to git along. not that you done no damage or what _i'd_ call damage--but it won't do no good fer yer to run amuck o' ole man stanton. 'cause he's a reg'lar grizzly, as the feller says." the boys were silent a moment. perhaps the thought of that desperate convict stealing forth amid the wind and rain still gripped them; but it began to dawn upon them also that they had been trespassing and that they had taken great liberties with this ramshackle boat. that the owner could object to their use of it seemed preposterous. that he could take advantage of the technical "damage" done was quite unsupposable. but no one knows better than a boy how many "grouchy" men there are in the world, and these very boys had once been ordered out of john temple's lot with threat and menace. "does _everybody_ call him 'old man' stanton?" pee-wee asked. "because if they do that's pretty bad. whenever somebody is known as 'old man' it sounds pretty bad for him. they used to say 'old man temple'--he's a man we know that owns a lot of railroads and things; of course, he's reformed now--he's a magnet----" "magnate," corrected roy. "but they _used_ to call him 'old man temple'--everybody did. and it's a sure sign--you can always tell," pee-wee concluded. "wall, they call _me_ 'ole man flint,'" said the visitor, "so i guess----" "oh, of course," said pee-wee, hastily, "i don't say it's always so, and besides you're a--a----" "sheriff," mr. flint volunteered. "so you got to be kind of strict--and--and grouchy--like." the sheriff handed his empty cup to roy and smiled good-naturedly. "where does old man stanton live?" asked tom, who had been silent while the others were talking. "'long the nyack road, but he has his office in nyack--he's a lawyer," said the visitor, as he drew his rubber hat down over his ears. "can we get back to nyack by that other road?" "whatcher goin' to do?" "we'll have to go and see old man stanton," tom said, "then if we don't get pinched we'll start north." mr. flint looked at him in astonishment. "i wouldn't say we've done any damage," said tom in his stolid way, "and i believe in that about any port in a storm. but if he's the kind of a man who would think different, then we've got to go and tell him, that's all. we can pay him for the stanchions we chopped up." "wall, you're a crazy youngster, that's all, but if yer sot on huntin' fer trouble, yer got only yerself to blame. ye'll go before a justice uv the peace, the whole three uv year, and be fined ten dollars apiece, likely as not, an' i don't believe ye've got twenty-five dollars between the lot uv yer." "right you are," said roy. "we are poor but honest, and we spurn--don't we, pee-wee?" "sure we do," agreed pee-wee. "poverty is no disgrace," said roy dramatically. the man, though not overburdened with a sense of humor, could not help smiling at roy and he went away laughing, but scarcely crediting their purpose to venture into the den of "old man stanton." "they're a queer lot," he said to himself. within a few minutes the boys had gathered up their belongings, repacked their duffel bags and were picking their way across the marsh toward the drier road. "we're likely to land in jail," said pee-wee, mildly protesting. "it isn't a question of whether we land in jail or not," said tom, stolidly; "it's just a question of what we ought to do." "_we_ should worry," said roy. chapter vii the "good turn" it was a draggled and exceedingly dubious-looking trio that made their way up the main street of nyack. they had no difficulty in finding the office of "old man stanton," which bore a conspicuous sign: wilmouth stanton counsellor at law "he'd--he'd have to get out a warrant for us first, wouldn't he?" pee-wee asked, apprehensively. "that'll be easy," said roy. "if all goes well, i don't see why we shouldn't be in sing sing by three o'clock." "we're big fools to do this," said pee-wee. "a scout is supposed to be--cautious." but he followed the others up the stairs and stepped bravely in when tom opened the door. they found themselves in the lion's den with the lion in close proximity glaring upon them. he sat at a desk opening mail and looked frowningly at them over his spectacles. he was thin and wiry, his gray hair was rumpled in a way which suggested perpetual perplexity or annoyance, and his general aspect could not be said to be either conciliatory or inviting. "well, sir," he said, crisply. "are you mr. stanton?" tom asked. "we are scouts," he added, as the gentleman nodded perfunctorily, "and we came from bridgeboro. we're on our way to camp. last night we got caught in the rain and we ran----" "took refuge," whispered pee-wee. "for that old boat on the marsh. this morning we heard it was yours, so we came to tell you that we camped in it last night. we made a fire in a can, but i don't think we did any harm, except we chopped up a couple of old stanchions. we thought they were no good, but, of course, we shouldn't have taken them without leave." mr. stanton stared at him with an ominous frown. "built a fire in a can?" said he. "do you mean in the boat?" "we used the exhaust for a draught," said roy. "oh--and what brings you here?" "to tell you," said tom, doggedly. "a man came and told us you owned the boat. he said you might have us arrested, so we came to let you know about what we did." "we didn't come because we wanted to be arrested," put in pee-wee. "i see," said mr. stanton, with the faintest suggestion of a smile. "isn't it something new," he added, "running into the jaws of death? boys generally run the other way and don't go hunting for trouble." "well, i'll tell you how it is," said pee-wee, making the conversation his own, somewhat to roy's amusement. "of course, a scout has got to be cautious--but he's got to be fearless too. i was kind of scared when i heard you were a lawyer----" mr. stanton's grim visage relaxed into an unwilling, but unmistakable, smile. "and another thing i heard scared me, but----" tom, seeing where pee-wee was drifting, tried to stop him, but roy, knowing that pee-wee always managed to land on top, and seeing the smile on mr. stanton's forbidding countenance, encouraged him to go on, and presently the mascot of the silver foxes was holding the floor. "a scout has to deduce--that's one of the things we learn, and if you heard somebody called 'old man something-or-other,' why, you'd deduce something from it, wouldn't you? and you'd be kind of scared-like. but even if you deduce that a man is going to be mad and gruff, kind of, even still you got to remember that you're a scout and if you damaged his property you got to go and tell him, anyway. you got to go and tell him even if you go to jail. don't you see? maybe you don't know much about the scouts----" "no," said mr. stanton, "i'm afraid i don't. but i'm glad to know that i am honored by a nickname--even so dubious a one. do you think you were correct in your deductions?" he added. "well, i don't know," began pee-wee. "i can see--well, anyway there's another good thing about a scout--he's got to admit it if he's wrong." mr. stanton laughed outright. it was a rusty sort of laugh, for he did not laugh often--but he laughed. "the only things i know about boy scouts," said he, "i have learned in the last twenty-four hours. you tell me that they can convert an exhaust pipe into a stove flue, and i have learned they can bring a bird down out of a tree without so much as a bullet or a stone (i have to believe what my little daughter tells me), and that they take the road where they think trouble awaits them on account of a principle--that they walk up to the cannon's mouth, as it were--i am a very busy man and no doubt a very hard and disagreeable one, but i can afford to know a little more about these scouts, i believe." "i'll tell you all about them," said pee-wee, sociably. "jiminys, i never dreamed you were that girl's father." mr. stanton swung around in his chair and looked at him sharply. "who are you boys?" "we came from bridgeboro in new jersey," spoke up roy, "and we're going up the river roads as far as catskill landing. then we're going to hit inland for our summer camp." mr. stanton was silent for a few moments, looking keenly at them while they stood in some suspense. "well," he said, soberly, "i see but one way out of the difficulty. the stanchions you destroyed were a part of the boat. the boat is of no use to me without them. i suggest, therefore, that you take the boat along with you. it belonged to my son and it has been where it now lies ever since the storm in which his life was lost. i have not seen the inside of it since--i do not want to see the inside of it," he added brusquely, moving a paperweight about on his desk. "it is only three years old," he went on after a moment's uncomfortable pause, "and like some people it is not as bad as it looks." the boys winced a little at this thrust. mr. stanton was silent for a few moments and pee-wee was tempted to ask him something about his son, but did not quite dare to venture. "i think the boat can very easily be removed to the river with a little of the ingenuity which you scouts seem to have, and you may continue your journey in her, if you care to. you may consider it a--a present from my daughter, whom you made so happy yesterday." for a moment the boys hardly realized the meaning of his words. then tom spoke. "we have a rule, mr. stanton, that a scout cannot accept anything for a service. if he does, it spoils it all. it's great, your offering us the boat and it seems silly not to take it, but----" "very well," said mr. stanton, proceeding to open his letters, "if you prefer to go to jail for destroying my stanchions, very well. remember you are dealing with a lawyer." roy fancied he was chuckling a little inwardly. "that's right," said pee-wee in tom's ear. "there's no use trying to get the best of a lawyer--a scout ought to be--to be modest; we better take it, tom." "there's a difference between payment for a service and a token of gratitude," said mr. stanton, looking at tom. "but we will waive all that. i cannot allow the boy scouts to be laying down the law for me. by your own confession you have destroyed my stanchions and as a citizen it is my duty to take action. but if i were to give you a paper dated yesterday, assigning the boat to you, then it would appear that you had simply trespassed and burglariously entered your own property and destroyed your own stanchions and i would not have a leg to stand upon. my advice to you as a lawyer is to accept such a transfer of title and avoid trouble." he began ostentatiously to read one of his letters. "he's right, tom," whispered pee-wee, "it's what you call a teckinality. gee, we better take the boat. there's no use trying to beat a lawyer. he's got the right on his side." "i don't know," said tom, doubtfully. he, too, fancied that mr. stanton was laughing inwardly, but he was not good at repartee and the lawyer was too much for him. it was roy who took the situation in hand. "it seems ungrateful, mr. stanton, even to talk about whether we'll take such a peach of a gift. tom here is always thinking about the law--our law--and pee-wee--we call this kid pee-wee--he's our specialist on doing good turns. they're both cranks in different ways. i know there's a difference, as you say, between just a present and a reward. and it seems silly to say thank you for such a present, just as if it was a penknife or something like that. but we do thank you and we'll take the boat. i just happened to think of a good name for it while you were talking. it was the good turn pee-wee did yesterday--about the bird, i mean--that made you offer it to us and your giving it to us is a good turn besides, so i guess we'll call it the 'good turn.'" "you might call it the 'teckinality,'" suggested mr. stanton with a glance at pee-wee. "all right," he added, "i'll send one of my men down later in the day to see about getting her in the water. i've an idea a block and falls will do the trick. but you'd better caulk her up with lampwick and give her a coat of paint in the meantime." he went to the door with them and as they turned at the foot of the stairs and called back another "thank you," roy noticed something in his face which had not been there before. "i bet he's thinking of his son," said he. "wonder how he died," said tom. chapter viii bon voyage! "now, you see," said pee-wee, "how a good turn can evolute." "can what?" said tom. "evolute." "it could neverlute with me," observed roy. "gee, but we've fallen in soft! you could have knocked me down with a toothpick. i wonder what our sleuth friend, the sheriff, will say." the sheriff said very little; he was too astonished to say much. so were most of the people of the town. when they heard that "old man stanton" had given harry stanton's boat to some strange boys from out of town, they said that the loss of his son must have affected his mind. the boys of the neighborhood, incredulous, went out on the marsh the next day when the rain held up, and stood about watching the three strangers at work and marvelling at "old man stanton's" extraordinary generosity. "aw, he handed 'em a lemon!" commented the wiseacre. "that boat'll never run--it won't even float!" but harry stanton's cruising launch was no lemon. it proved to be staunch and solid. there wasn't a rotten plank in her. her sorry appearance was merely the superficial shabbiness which comes from disuse and this the boys had neither the time nor the money to remedy; but the hull and the engine were good. to the latter roy devoted himself, for he knew something of gas engines by reason of the two automobiles at his own house. they made a list of the things they needed, took another hike into nyack and came back laden with material and provisions. roy poured a half-gallon or so of kerosene into each of the two cylinders and left it over night. the next morning when he drained it off the wheel turned over easily enough. a set of eight dry cells, some new wiring, a couple of new plugs, a little session with a pitted coil, a little more gas, a little less air, a little more gas, and finally the welcome first explosion, so dear to the heart of the motor-boatist, rewarded roy's efforts of half a day. "stop it! stop it!" shrieked pee-wee from outside. "i hung the paint can on the propeller! i'm getting a green shower bath!" he poked his head over the combing, his face, arms and clothing bespattered with copper paint. "never mind, kiddo," laughed roy, "it's all in the game. she runs like a dream. step a little closer, ladies and gentlemen, and view the leopard boy. pee-wee, you're a sight! for goodness' sakes, get some sandpaper!" the two days of working on the _good turn_ were two days of fun. it was not necessary to caulk her lower seams for the dampness of the marsh had kept them tight, and the seams above were easy. they did not bother about following the water-line and painting her free-board white; a coat of copper paint over the whole hull sufficed. they painted the sheathing of the cockpit a common-sense brown, "neat but not gaudy," as roy said. the deck received a coat of an unknown color which their friend, the sheriff, brought them saying he had used it on his chicken-coop. the engine they did in aluminum paint, the fly-wheel in a gaudy red, and then they mixed what was left of all the paints. "i bet we get a kind of blackish white," said pee-wee. "i bet it's green," said tom. but it turned out to be a weak silvery gray and with this they painted the cabin, or rather half the cabin, for their paint gave out. they sat until long after midnight in the little cabin after their first day's work, but were up and at it again bright and early in the morning, for mr. stanton's men were coming with the block and falls at high tide in the evening to haul the _good turn_ back into her watery home. pee-wee spent a good part of the day throwing out superfluous junk and tidying up the little cabin, while tom and roy repaired the rubbing-rail where it had broken loose and attended to other slight repairs on the outside. the dying sunlight was beginning to flicker on the river and the three were finishing their supper in the cabin when tom, looking through the porthole, called, "oh, here comes the truck and an automobile just in front of it!" sure enough, there on the road was the truck with its great coil of hempen rope and its big pulleys, accompanied by two men in overalls. pee-wee could not repress his exuberance as the trio clambered up on the cabin roof and waved to the little cavalcade. "in an hour more she'll be in the water," he shouted, "and we'll----" "we'll anchor till daylight," concluded roy. in another moment a young girl, laden with bundles, had left the automobile and was picking her way across the marsh. it proved to be the owner of the fugitive bird. "i've brought you all the things that belong to the boat," she said, "and i'm going to stay and see it launched. my father was coming too but he had a meeting or something or other. isn't it perfectly glorious how you chopped up the stanchions----" "great," said roy. "it shows the good that comes out of breaking the law. if we hadn't chopped up the stanchions----" "oh, crinkums, look at this!" interrupted pee-wee. he was handling the colored bow lamp. "and here's the compass, and here's the whistle, and here's the fog-bell," said the girl, unloading her burden with a sigh of relief. "and here's the flag for the stern and here--look--i made this all by myself and sat up till eleven o'clock to do it--see!" she unfolded a cheese-cloth pennant with the name _good turn_ sewed upon it. "you have to fly this at the bow in memory of your getting my bird for me," she said. "we'll fly it at the bow in memory of what you and your father have done for _us_," said tom. "and here's some fruit, and here's some salmon, and here's some pickled something or other--i got them all out of the pantry and they weigh a ton!" there was no time for talking if the boat was to be got to the river before dark, and the boys fell to with the men while the girl looked about the cabin with exclamations of surprise. "isn't it perfectly lovely," she called to tom, who was outside encircling the hull with a double line of heavy rope, under the men's direction. "i never saw anything so cute and wasn't it a fine idea giving it to you!" "bully," said tom. "it was just going to ruin here," she said, "and it was a shame." it was a busy scene that followed and the boys had a glimpse of the wonderful power of the block and falls. to an enormous tree on the roadside a gigantic three-wheel pulley was fastened by means of a metal band around the lower part of the trunk. several other pulleys between this and the boat multiplied the hauling power to such a degree that one person pulling on the loose end which was left after the rope had been passed back and forth many times through the several pulleys, could actually move the boat. the hull was completely encircled, the rope running along the sides and around the stern with another rope below near the keel so that the least amount of strain would be put upon her. they hitched the horses to the rope's end and as the beasts plunged through the yielding marsh the boat came reeling and lurching toward the road. here they laid planks and rollers and jacked her across. this was not so much a matter of brute strength as of skill. the two men with the aid of the stanton chauffeur were able, with props of the right length, to keep the _good turn_ on an even keel, while the boys removed and replaced the rollers. it was interesting to see how the bulky hull could be moved several hundred feet, guided and urged across a road and retarded upon the down grade to the river by two or three men who knew just how to do it. cautiously the rollers were retarded with obstructing sticks, as the men, balancing the hull upright, let her slowly down the slope into the water. pee-wee stood upon the road holding the rope's end and a thrill went through him when he felt the rocking and bobbing of the boat as it regained its wonted home, and at last floated freely in the water. "hang on to that, youngster," called one of the men. "she's where she can do as she likes now." as the _good turn_, free at last from prosaic rollers and plank tracks, rolled easily in the swell, pulling gently upon the rope which the excited pee-wee held, it seemed that she must be as pleased as her new owners were, at finding herself once more in her natural home. how graceful and beautiful she looked now, in the dying light! there is nothing so clumsy looking as a boat on shore. to one who has seen a craft "laid up," it is hardly recognizable when launched. "well, there ye are," said one of the men, "an' 'tain't dark yet neither. you can move 'er by pullin' one finger now, hey? she looks mighty nat'ral, don't she, bill? remember when we trucked her up from the freight station and dumped her in three year ago? she was the _nymph_ then. gol, how happy that kid was--you remember, bill? i'll tell _you_ kids now what i told him then--told him right in front of his father; i says, 'harry, you remember she's human and treat her as such,' that's what i says ter him. _you_ remember, bill." roy noticed that the girl had strolled away and was standing in the gathering darkness a few yards distant, gazing at the boat. the clumsy looking hull, in which the boys had taken refuge, seemed trim and graceful now, and roy was reminded of the fairy story of the ugly duckling, who was really a swan, but whose wondrous beauty was unappreciated until it found itself among its own kindred. "yes, sir, that's wot i told him, 'cause i've lived on the river here all my life, ain't i, bill, an' i know. yer don't give an automobile no name, an' yer don't give an airyplane no name, an' yer don't give a motorcycle nor a bicycle no name, but yer give a boat a name 'cause she's human. she'll be cranky and stubborn an' then she'll be soft and amiable as pie--that's 'cause she's human. an' that's why a man'll let a old boat stan' an' rot ruther'n sell it. 'cause it's human and it kinder gets him. you treat her as such, you boys." "how did harry stanton die?" tom asked. the man, with a significant motion of his finger toward the lone figure of the girl, drew nearer and the boys gathered about him. "the old gent didn' tell ye, hey?" "not a word." "hmmm--well, harry was summat older'n you boys, he was gettin' to be a reg'lar young man. trouble with him was he didn' know what he wanted. first off, he must have a horse, 'n' then he must have a boat, so th' old man, he got him this boat. he's crusty, but he's all to the good, th' old man is." "you bet your life he is," said pee-wee. "well, harry an' benty willis--you remember benty, bill--him an' benty willis was out in the _nymph_--that's this here very boat. they had 'er anchored up a ways here, right off cerry's hill, an' they was out in the skiff floppin' 'round--some said fishin'." "they was bobbin' fer eels, that's wot they was doin'," said the other man. "well, wotever they was doin' it was night 'n' thar was a storm. an' that's every bloomin' thing me or you or anybody else'll ever know about it. the next day croby risbeck up here was out fer his nets an' he come on the skiff swamped, over there off'n that point. an' near it was benty willis." "drowned?" asked roy. "drownded. he must o' tried to keep afloat by clingin' t' the skiff, but she was down to her gunnel an' wouldn' keep a cat afloat. he might o' kep' his head out o' water a spell clingin' to it. all i know is he was drownded when he was found. wotever become o' that skiff, bill?" "and what about mr. stanton's son?" roy asked. "well, they got his hat an' his coat that he must a' thrown off an' that's all. th' old man 'ud never look at the launch again. he had her brought over'n' tied up right about here, an' there she stood till the floods carried her up over this here road and sot her down in the marsh." "did the skiff belong with her?" roy asked. "sure enough; always taggin' on behind." "how did they think it happened?" asked tom. "wall, fer one thing, it was a rough night an' they may uv jest got swamped. but agin, it's a fact that harry knew how to swim; he was a reg'lar water-rat. now, what i think is this. th' only thing 't 'd prevent that lad gettin' ashore'd be his gettin' killed--not drowned, but _killed_." "you don't mean murdered?" tom asked. "well, if they was swamped by the big night boat, an' he got mixed up with the paddle wheel, i don't know if ye'd call it murder, but it'd be killin', sure enough. leastways, they never got him, an' it's my belief he was chopped up. take a tip from me, you boys, an' look out fer the night boat, 'cause the night boat ain't a-goin' t' look out fer you." the girl, strolling back, put an end to their talk, but it was clear that she, too, must have been thinking of that fatal night, for her eyes were red and she seemed less vivacious. "you must be careful," said she, "there are a good many accidents on the river. my father told me to tell you you'd better not do much traveling at night. i want to see you on board, and then i must go home," she added. she held out her hand and roy, who was in this instance best suited to speak for the three, grasped it. "there's no use trying to thank you and your father," he said. "if you'd given us some little thing we could thank you, but it seems silly to say just the same thing when we have a thing like this given to us, and yet it seems worse for us to go away without saying anything. i guess you know what i mean." "you must promise to be careful--can you all swim?" "we are scouts," laughed roy. "and that means you can do anything, i suppose." "no, not that," roy answered, "but we do want to tell you how much we thank you--you and your father." "especially you," put in pee-wee. she smiled, a pretty wistful smile, and her eyes glistened. "you did more for me," she said, "you got my bird back. i care more for that bird than i could ever care for any boat. my brother brought it to me from costa rica." she stepped back to the auto. the chauffeur was already in his place, and the two men were coiling up their ropes and piling the heavy planks and rollers on board the truck. the freshly painted boat was growing dim in the gathering darkness and the lordly hills across the river were paling into gray again. as the little group paused, a deep, melodious whistle re-echoed from the towering heights and the great night boat came into view, her lights aloft, plowing up midstream. the _good turn_ bobbed humbly like a good subject as the mighty white giant passed. the girl watched the big steamer wistfully and for a moment no one spoke. "was your brother--fond of traveling?" roy ventured. "yes, he was crazy for it," she answered, "and you can't bring _him_ back as you brought my bird back--you _can't_ do everything after all." it was tom slade who spoke now. "we couldn't do any more than try," said he. he spoke in that dull, heavy manner, and it annoyed roy, for it seemed as if he were making fun of the girl's bereavement. perhaps it seemed the same to her, for she turned the subject at once. "i'm going to sit here until you are in the boat," she said. they pulled the _good turn_ as near the shore as they could bring her without grounding for the tide was running out, and pee-wee held her with the rope while the others went aboard over a plank laid from the shore to the deck. then pee-wee followed, hurrying, for there was nothing to hold her now. they clambered up on the cabin, roy waving the naval flag, and pee-wee the name pennant, while tom cast the anchor, for already the _good turn_ was drifting. "good-bye!" they cried. "good-bye!" she called back, waving her handkerchief as the auto started, "and good luck to you!" "we'll try to do a good turn some day to make up," shouted pee-wee. chapter ix the mystery "what i don't understand," said tom, in his dull way, "is how if that fellow was drowned or killed that night, he managed to get back to this boat again--that's what gets me." "what?" said roy. "what are you talking about?" chimed in pee-wee. they were sitting in the little cabin of the _good turn_ eating rice cakes, about an hour after the launching. the boat rocked gently at its moorings, the stars glittered in the wide expanse of water, the tiny lights in the neighboring village kept them cheery company as they chatted there in the lonesome night with the hills frowning down upon them. it was very quiet and this, no less than the joyous sense of possession of this cosy home, kept them up, notwithstanding their strenuous two days of labor. "just what i said," said tom. "see that board you fixed the oil stove on? i believe that was part of that skiff. you can see the letters n-y-m-p-h even under the paint. that strip was in the boat all the time. how did it get here? that's what _i'd_ like to know." roy laid down his "flopper" and examined the board carefully, the excited pee-wee joining him. it was evidently the upper strip of the side planking from a rowboat and at one end, under the diluted paint which they had here used, could be dimly traced the former name of the launch. "what-do-you-know-about-that?" ejaculated roy. "it's a regular mystery," said pee-wee; "that's one thing i like, a mystery." "if that's a part of this boat's skiff," said tom, "then it proves two things. it proves that the boat was damaged--no fellow could pull a plank from it like that; and it proves that that fellow came back to the launch. it proves that he was injured, too. that man said he could swim. then why should he bring this board back with him unless it was to help him keep afloat?" "he wouldn't need to drag it aboard," said roy. "now you spoil it all," put in pee-wee. "i don't know anything about that," said tom, "but that board didn't drift back and climb in by itself. it must have been here all the time. i suppose the other fellow--the one they found drowned--_might_ have got it here, some way," he added. "not likely," said roy. "if he'd managed to get back to the launch with the board, he wouldn't have jumped overboard again just to get drowned. he'd have managed to stay aboard." there was silence for a few minutes while roy drummed on the plank with his fingers and pee-wee could hardly repress his excitement at the thought that they were on the track of a real adventure. tom slade had "gone and done it again." he was always surprising them by his stolid announcement of some discovery which opened up delectable possibilities. and smile as he would (especially in view of pee-wee's exuberance), roy could not but see that here was something of very grave significance. "that's what i meant," drawled tom, "when i told her that we could _try_--to find her brother." this was a knockout blow. "this trip of ours is going to be just like a book," prophesied pee-wee, excitedly; "there's a--there's a--long lost brother, and--and--a deep mystery!" "sure," said roy. "we'll have to change our names; i'll be roy rescue, you be pee-wee pinkerton, the boy sleuth, and tom'll be tom trustful. what d'you say, tom?" tom made no answer and for all roy's joking, he was deeply interested. like most important clues, the discovery was but a little thing, yet it could not be accounted for except on the theory that harry stanton had somehow gotten back to the launch after the accident, whatever the accident was. it meant just that--nothing less and nothing more; though, indeed, it did mean more to pee-wee and as he slept that night, in the gently rocking boat, he dreamed that he had vowed a solemn vow to mr. stanton's daughter to "find her brother or perish in the attempt." he carried a brace of pistols, and sailing forth with his trusty chums, he landed in the island of madagascar, to which harry stanton had been carried, bound hand and foot, in an aeroplane. the three, undaunted, then built a zeppelin and sailed up to the summit of a dizzy crag where they rescued the kidnapped youth and on reaching home, mr. stanton gave them a sea-going yacht and a million dollars each for pocket money. when he awoke from this thrilling experience he found that the _good turn_ was chugging leisurely up the river in the broad daylight. the boat behaved very well, indeed. she leaked a little from the strain of launching, but the engine pumped the water out faster than it came in. all day long they lolled in the cockpit or on the cabin roof, taking turns at the steering. roy, who best understood gas engines, attended to the motor, but it needed very little attention except that it missed on high speed, so he humored it and they ambled along at "sumpty-sump miles an hour," as roy said, "but what care we," he added, "as long as she goes." they anchored for several hours in the middle of the day and fished, and had a mess of fresh perch for luncheon. naturally, the topic of chief interest was the possibility that harry stanton was living, but the clue which appeared to indicate that much suggested nothing further, and the question of why he did not return home, if he were indeed alive was a puzzling one. "his sister said he had been to costa rica, and was fond of traveling," suggested tom. "maybe his parents objected to his going away from home so he went this way--as long as the chance came to him--and let them think he was drowned." roy, sitting on the cabin roof with his knees drawn up, shook his head. "or maybe he left the boat again and tried to swim to shore to go home, and didn't make it," he added. "that's possible," said tom, "but then they'd probably have found his body." "we aren't sure he's alive," roy said thoughtfully, "but it means a whole lot not to be sure that he's dead." "maybe he was made away with by someone who wanted the boat," said pee-wee. "maybe a convict from the prison killed him--you never can tell. jiminys, it's a mystery, sure." "you bet it is," said roy. "the plot grows thicker. if sir guy weatherby were only here, or detective darewell--or some of those story-book ginks they----" "they probably wouldn't have noticed the plank from the skiff," suggested pee-wee. roy laughed and then fell to thinking. "gee, it would be great if we could find him!" he said. and there the puzzling matter ended, for the time being; but the _good turn_ took on a new interest because of the mystery with which it was associated and pee-wee was continually edifying his companions with startling and often grewsome theories as to the fate or present whereabouts of harry stanton, until--until that thing happened which turned all their thoughts from this puzzle and proved that bad turns as well as good ones have the boomerang quality of returning upon their author. it was the third afternoon of their cruise, or their "flop" as roy called it, for they had flopped along rather than cruised, and the _good turn's_ course would have indicated, as he remarked, a fit of the blind staggers. they had paused to fish and to bathe; they had thrown together a makeshift aquaplane from the pieces of an old float which they had found, and had ridden gayly upon it; and their course had been so leisurely and rambling that they had not yet reached poughkeepsie, when all of a sudden the engine stopped. roy went through the usual course of procedure to start it up, but without result. there was not a kick left in it. silently he unscrewed the cap on the deck, pushed a stick into the tank and lifted it out--dry. "boys," said he, solemnly, "there is not a drop of gasoline in the tank. the engine must have used it all up. probably it has been using it all the time----" "you make me sick," said pee-wee. "i have known engines to do that before." "didn't i tell you to get gasoline in newburgh?" demanded pee-wee. "you did, sir walter, and would that we had taken your advice; but i trusted the engine and it has evidently been using the gasoline while our backs were turned. _we_ should worry! you don't suppose it would run on witch hazel, do you?" "didn't i tell----" began pee-wee. "if we could only reduce friend walter to a liquid," said roy. "i think we could get started all right--he's so explosive." "bright boy," said tom. "oh, i'm a regular feller, i am," said roy. "i knew that engine would stop when there wasn't any more gasoline--i just felt it in my bones. but what care we! 'oh, we are merry mountaineers, and have no carking cares or fears- or gasoline.' get out the oars, scouts!" so they got out the oars and with the aid of these and a paddle succeeded in making the shore where they tied up to the dilapidated remnants of what had once been a float. "there must be a village in the neighborhood," said tom, "or there wouldn't be a float here." "sherlock holmes slade is at it again," said roy. it would have been a pretty serious accident that roy wouldn't have taken gayly. "pee-wee, you're appointed a committee to look after the boat while tomasso and i go in search of adventure--and gasoline. there must be a road up there somewhere and if there's a road i dare say we can find a garage--maybe even a village. get things ready for supper, pee-wee, and when we get back i'll make a silver fox omelet for good luck." the spot where they had made a landing was at the foot of precipitous hills between which and the shore ran the railroad tracks. tom and roy, carrying a couple of gasoline cans, started along a road which led around the lower reaches of one of these hills. as pee-wee stood upon the cabin watching them, the swinging cans were brightened by the rays of the declining sun, and there was a chill in the air as the familiar grayness fell upon the heights, bringing to the boy that sense of loneliness which he had felt before. he was of the merriest temperament, was pee-wee, and, as he had often said, not averse to "being jollied." but he was withal very sensitive and during the trip he had more than once fancied that tom and roy had fallen together to his own exclusion, and it awakened in him now and then a feeling that he was the odd number of the party. he had tried to ingratiate himself with them, though to be sure no particular effort was needed to do that, yet sometimes he saw, or fancied he saw, little things which made him feel that in important matters he was left out of account. roy would slap him on the shoulder and tousle his hair, but he would ask tom's advice--and take it. perhaps roy had allowed his propensity for banter and jollying to run too far in his treatment of pee-wee. at all events, the younger boy had found himself a bit chagrined at times that their discussions had not been wholly three-handed. and now, as he watched the others hiking off through the twilight, and heard their laughter, he recalled that it was usually _he_ who was appointed a "committee to stay and watch the boat." this is not a pleasant train of thought when you are standing alone in the bleakness and sadness and growing chill of the dying day, with tremendous nature piled all about you, and watching your two companions as they disappear along a lonely road. but the mood was upon him and it did not cheer him when roy, turning and making a megaphone of his hands, called, "look out and don't fall into the gas tank, pee-wee!" he _had_ reminded them that they had better buy gasoline at newburgh, while they had the chance. roy had answered jokingly telling pee-wee that he had better buy a soda in the city while _he_ had the chance, and tom had added, "i guess the kid thinks we want to drink it." well, there they were hiking it up over the hills now in quest of gasoline and still joking him. if pee-wee had remembered roy's generous pleasure in the "parrot stunt," he would have been much happier, but instead he allowed his imagination to picture tom and roy in the neighboring village, having a couple of sodas--perhaps taking a flyer at a movie show. he did as much as he could toward getting supper, and when it grew dark and still they did not return, he clambered up on the cabin roof again and sat there gazing off into the night. but still they did not come. "gee, i'm a silver fox, anyway," he said; "you'd think he'd want one of his own patrol with him _sometimes_--gee!" he rose and went down into the cabin where the dollar watch which hung on a nail told him that it was eight o'clock. then it occurred to him that it would serve them right if he got his own supper and was in his bunk and asleep when they returned. it would be a sort of revenge on them. he would show them, at least, that he could get along very well by himself, and by way of doing so he would make some rice cakes. roy was not the only one who could make rice cakes. he, pee-wee, could make them if nobody stood by guying him. he had never wielded the flopper; that had been roy's province; but he could, all right, he told himself. so he dug into roy's duffel bag for the recipe book which was famous in the troop; which told the secrets of the hunter's stew; which revealed the mystery of plum-duff and raisin pop-overs in all their luscious details and which set you on the right path for the renowned rice cakes. between the leaves, right where the rice cake recipe revealed itself to the hungry inquirer, was a folded paper which dropped out as pee-wee opened the book. for all he knew it contained the recipe so he held it under the lantern and read: "dear mary: "since you butted in, tom and i have decided that it would be better for pee-wee to go with _him_, and i'll stay home. anyway, that's what i've decided. so you'll get your wish all right and i should worry. "roy." pee-wee read it twice over, then he laid it on the locker and sat down and looked at it. then he picked it up and read it over again. he did not even realize that its discovery among roy's things would indicate that it had never been sent. sent or not, it had been written. so this was the explanation of roy's invitation that he accompany them on the trip. mary temple had asked them to let him go. yet, despite his present mood, he could not believe that his own patrol leader, roy blakeley, could have written this. "i bet tom slade is--i bet he's the cause of it," he said. he recalled now how he had talked about the trip to mary temple and how she had spoken rather mysteriously about the possibility of his going along. so it was she who was his good friend; it was to her he owed the invitation which had come to him with such a fine air of sincerity. "i always--crinkums, anyway girls always seem to like me, that's one thing," he said. "and--and roy did, too, before tom slade came into the troop." it was odd how he turned against tom, making him the scapegoat for roy's apparent selfishness and hypocrisy. "they just brought me along for charity, like," he said, "'cause she told them to. cracky, anyway, i didn't try to make her do that--i didn't." this revelation in black and white of roy's real feeling overcame him and as he put the letter back in the book and the book back in the duffel bag, he could scarcely keep his hand from trembling. "anyway, i knew it all the time," he said. "i could see it." he had no appetite for rice cakes now. he took some cakes of chocolate and a couple of hard biscuits and stuffed them in his pocket. then he went out into the cockpit and listened. there was no sound of voices or footfalls, nothing but the myriad voices of nature, or frogs croaking nearby, of a cheery cricket somewhere on shore, of the water lapping against the broken old wharf as the wind drove it in shoreward. he returned to the cabin, tore a leaf from his scout notebook and wrote, but he had to blink his eyes to keep back the tears. "dear roy: "i think you'll have more fun if you two go the rest of the way alone. i always said two's a company, three's a crowd. you've heard me say it and i ought to have had sense enough to remember it. but anyway, i'm not mad and i like you just as much. i'll see you at camp. "walter harris." "p. s.--if i had to vote again for patrol leader i'd vote for you." he was particular not to mention tom by name and to address his note to roy. he laid it in the frying pan on the stove (in which he had intended to make the rice cakes) and then, with his duffel bag over his shoulder and his scout staff in hand, he stepped from the _good turn_, listening cautiously for approaching footsteps, and finding the way clear he stole away through the darkness. chapter x pee-wee's adventure a walk of a few yards or so brought him to the railroad track. he was no longer the clown and mascot of the _good turn_; he was the scout, alert, resourceful, bent on hiding his tracks. he did not know where he was going, more than that he was going to elude pursuit and find a suitable spot in which to camp for the night. matters would take care of themselves in the daytime. he wanted to follow the railroad tracks, for he knew that would keep him close to the river, but he knew also that it had the disadvantage of being the very thing the boys would suppose it most likely that he would do. for, feel as he would toward them, he did not for a moment believe that they would let him take himself off without searching for him. and he knew something of tom slade's ability as a tracker. "they won't get any merit badges trailing _me_, though," he said. so he crossed the tracks and walked a couple of hundred feet or so up a hill, grabbed the limb of a tree, swung up into its branches, let himself down on the other side, and retraced his steps to the tracks and began to walk the ties, northward. he was now thoroughly in the spirit of the escapade and a feeling of independence seized him, a feeling that every scout knows, that having undertaken a thing he must succeed in it. a walk of about ten minutes brought him to a high, roofed platform beside the tracks, where one or two hogsheads were standing and several cases. but there was no sign of life or habitation. it was evidently the freight station for some town not far distant, for a couple of old-fashioned box-cars stood on a siding, and pee-wee contemplated them with the joy of sudden inspiration. "crinkums, that would be a dandy place to sleep," he thought, for it was blowing up cold and he had but scant equipment. he went up to the nearest car and felt of the sliding door. it was the least bit open, owing to its damaged condition, and by moving it a very few inches more he could have slipped inside. but he paused to examine the pasters and chalk marks on the body. one read "buffalo--4--llm." there were the names of various cities and numerous strange marks. it was evident the car had been quite a globe-trotter in its time, but as it stood there then it seemed to pee-wee that so it must have stood for a dozen years and was likely to stand for a dozen years more. he slid the door a little farther open on its rusty hinges and climbed inside. it was very dark and still and smelled like a stable, but suddenly he was aware of a movement not far from him. he did not exactly hear it, but he felt that something was moving. for a moment a cold shudder went over him and he stood stark still, not daring to move. then, believing that his imagination had played a trick, he fumbled in his duffel bag, found his flashlight and sent its vivid gleam about the car. a young fellow in a convict's suit stood menacingly before the door with one hand upon it, blinking and watching the boy with a lowering aspect. his head was close-shaven and shone in the light's glare so that he looked hardly human. he had apparently sprung to the door, perhaps out of a sound sleep, and he was evidently greatly alarmed. pee-wee was also greatly alarmed, but he was no coward and he stood his ground though his heart was pounding in his breast. "you ain't no bo," said the man. "i--i'm a scout," stammered pee-wee, "and i was going to camp here for the night. i didn't know there was anyone here." the man continued to glare at him and pee-wee thought he had never in his life seen such a villainous face. "i'll--i'll go away," he said, "i was only going to sleep here." the convict, still guarding the door, leered brutally at him, his head hanging low, his lips apart, more like a beast than a man. "no, yer won't go 'way, nuther," he finally said; "yer ain't goin' ter double-cross _me_, pal. wot d'yer say yer wuz?" "a scout," said pee-wee. "i don't need to stay here, you were here first. i can camp outdoors." "no, yer don't," said the man. "you stay whar yer are. yer ain't goin' ter double-cross _me_." "i don't know what you mean by that," said pee-wee. the convict did not offer him any explanation, only stood guarding the door with a threatening aspect, which very much disconcerted pee-wee. he was a scout and he was brave, and not panicky in peril or emergency, but the striped clothing and cropped head and stupid leer of the man before him made him seem something less than human. his terror was more that of an animal than of a man and his apparent inability to express himself save by the repetition of that one sentence frightened the boy. apparently the creature was all instinct and no brains. "yer gotta stay here," he repeated. "yer ain't goin' ter double-cross _me_, pal." then it began to dawn on pee-wee what he meant. "i guess i know about you," he said, "because i heard about your--getting away. but, anyway, if you let me go away i won't tell anyone i saw you. i don't want to camp here now. i'll promise not to go and tell people, if that's what you're afraid of." "wot's in that bag?" asked the man. "my camping things." "got any grub?" "i've got two biscuits and some chocolate." "gimme it," said the man, coming closer. he snatched the food as fast as it was taken out of the bag, and pee-wee surmised that he had not eaten since his escape from prison for he devoured it ravenously like a famished beast. "got any more?" he asked, glaring into the boy's face menacingly. "no, i'm sorry i haven't. i escaped, too, as you might say, from my friends--from the fellers i was with. and i only brought a little with me." after a few minutes (doubtless from the stimulating effects of the food), the convict's fear seemed to subside somewhat and he spoke a little more freely. but pee-wee found it very unpleasant being shut in with him there in the darkness, for, of course, the flashlight could not be kept burning all the time. "i wouldn't do yer no hurt," he assured pee-wee. "i t'ought mebbe yer wuz a _de_-coy. yer ain't, are ye?" he asked suspiciously. "no, i'm not," said pee-wee, "i'm just what i told you----" "i ain't goin' ter leave ye go free, so ye might's well shut up. i seen pals double-cross _me_--them ez i trusted, too. yer square, i guess--only innercent." "i'd keep my word even with--i'd keep my word with you," said pee-wee, "just the same as with anyone. besides, i don't see what's the use of keeping me here. you'll have to let me go some time, you can't keep me here forever, and you can't stay here forever, yourself." "if ye stan' right 'n' show ye're game," said the convict, "thar won't no hurt come to ye. this here car's way-billed fer buff'lo, 'n' i'm waitin' ter be took up now. it's a grain car. yer ain't goin' ter peach wot i tell ye, now? i wuz put wise to it afore i come out by a railroad bloke. i had it straight these here cars would be picked up fer buff'lo the nex' day after i done my trick. but they ain't took 'em up yet, an' i'm close ter starvin' here." pee-wee could not help but feel a certain sympathy with this man, wretch though he was, who on the information of some accomplice outside the prison, had made his escape expecting to be carried safely away the next day and had been crouching, half-starved, in this freight car ever since, waiting. "what will you do if they don't take up the car for a week?" he asked. "they might look inside of it, too; or they might change their minds about taking it." he was anxious for himself for he contemplated with terror his threatened imprisonment, but he could not help being concerned also for this miserable creature and he wondered what would happen if they both remained in the car for several days more, with nothing to eat. then, surely, the man would be compelled to put a little faith in him and let him go out in search of food. he wondered what he should do in that case--what he ought to do; but that, he realized, was borrowing trouble. mr. ellsworth, his scoutmaster, had once said that it is _always bad to play false_. well, then, would it be bad to play false with an escaped felon--to double-cross him? pee-wee did not know. his companion interrupted his train of thought "they don' look inside o' way-billed empties--not much," he said, "an' they don't let 'em stan' so long, nuther. i got bad luck, i did, from doin' my trick on a friday. they'll be 'long pretty quick, though. they reckisitioned all th' empty grain cars fer buff'lo. i'm lookin' ter hear th' whistle any minute, i am, an' i got a pal waitin' fer me in the yards up ter buff'lo, wid the duds. when i get there 'n' get me clo's changed, mebbe i'll leave ye come back if me pal 'n' me thinks ye kin be trusted." "i can be trusted now just as much as i could be trusted then," said pee-wee, greatly disturbed at the thought of this enforced journey; "and how could i get back? i guess maybe you don't know anything about scouts--maybe they weren't started when you were---anyway, a scout can be trusted. anybody'll tell you that. if he gives his word he'll keep it. i don't know anything about what you did and if you ask me if i want to see you get captured i couldn't tell you, because i don't know how i feel. but if you'll let me go now i'll promise not to say anything to anyone. i don't want to go to buffalo. i want to go to my camp. as long as i know about you, you got to trust me some time and you might as well trust me now." if the fugitive could have seen pee-wee's earnest face and honest eyes as he made this pitiful appeal, he might have softened a little, even if he had not appreciated the good sense of the boy's remarks. "i'd ruther get me other duds on fust, 'n' i'd like fer ter hev ye meet me pal," he said, with the first touch of humor he had shown. "now, if yer go ter cuttin' up a rumpus i'll jest hev ter brain ye, see?" pee-wee leaned back against the side of the car in the darkness as despair seized him. he had always coveted adventure but this was too much and he felt himself to be utterly helpless in this dreadful predicament. even as he stood there in a state of pitiable consternation, a shrill whistle sounded in the distance, which was echoed back from the unseen hills. "dat's a freight," said the convict, quickly. pee-wee listened and his last flickering hope was extinguished as he recognized the discordant rattle and bang of the slow-moving train, emphasized by the stillness of the night. nearer and nearer it came and louder grew the clank and clamor of the miscellaneous procession of box cars. it was a freight, all right. "if--if you'll let me get out," pee-wee began, on the very verge of a panic, "if you'll let me get out----" the convict fumblingly took him by the throat. he could feel the big, coarse, warm fingers pressing into the sides of his neck and it gagged him. "if yer open yer head when we're bein' took up, i'll brain yer, hear that?" he said. "gimme that light, gimme yer knife." he flashed on the light, tore the scout knife from pee-wee's belt, and flung the frightened boy against the side of the car. keeping the light pointed at him, he opened the knife. the spirit of desperate resolve seemed to have reawakened within him at the sound of that long-hoped-for train and pee-wee was no more to him than an insect to have his life trampled out if he could not be used or if his use were unavailing. here, unmasked, was the man who had braved the tempestuous river on that dreadful night. truly, as the sheriff had said, "desperate characters will take desperate chances." "if yer open yer head or call out or make a noise wid yer feet or poun' de side o' de car or start a-bawlin' i'll brain ye, ye hear? nobody gets _me_ alive. an' if anybody comes in here 'cause o' you makin' a noise and cryin' fer help, yer'll be the fust to git croaked--see?" he pointed the light straight at pee-wee, holding the open jack-knife in his other hand, and glared at him with a look which struck terror to the boy's heart. pee-wee was too frightened and exhausted to answer. he only shook his head in acknowledgment, breathing heavily. in a few minutes the train had come abreast of them and stopped. they could hear the weary puffing of the engine, and voices calling and occasionally they caught the gleam of a lantern through the crack in the car. pee-wee remained very still. the convict took his stand in the middle of the car between the two sliding doors, lowering and alert, holding the flashlight and the clasp knife. soon the train moved again, then stopped. there were calls from one end of it to the other. then it started again and continued to move until pee-wee thought it was going away, and his hope revived at the thought that escape might yet be possible. then the sound came nearer again and presently the car received a jolt, accompanied by a bang. the convict was thrown a little, but he resumed his stand, waiting, desperate, menacing. those few minutes must have been dreadful ones to him as he watched the two doors, knife in hand. then came more shunting and banging and calling and answering, a short, shrill whistle and more moving and then at last the slow, continuous progress of the car, which was evidently now at last a part of that endless miscellaneous procession, rattling along through the night with its innumerable companions. "it's lucky for them," said the convict, through his teeth, as he relaxed. pee-wee hardly knew what he meant, he had scarcely any interest, and it was difficult to hear on account of the noise. he was too shaken up to think clearly, but he wondered, as the rattling train moved slowly along, how long he could go without food, how he would get back from buffalo, and whether this dreadful companion of his would take his stand, like an animal at bay, whenever the train stopped. after a little time, when he was able to get a better grip on himself and realize fully his terrible plight, he began to think how, after all, the scout, with all his resource and fine courage, his tracking and his trailing and his good turns, is pretty helpless in a real dilemma. here was an adventure, and rather too much of a one, and neither he nor any other scout could extricate him from his predicament. in books they could have done it with much brave talk, but in real life they could do nothing. he was tired and frightened and helpless; the shock of the pressure of those brutal fingers about his neck still distressed him, and his head ached from it all. what wonder if in face of this tragical reality, the scouts with all their much advertised resource and prowess should lose prestige a little in his thoughts? yet it might have been worth while for him to pause and reflect that though the scout arm is neither brutal nor menacing, it still has an exceedingly long reach and that it can pin you just as surely as the cruel fingers which had fixed themselves on his own throat. but he was too terrified and exhausted to think very clearly about anything. chapter xi tracks and trailing when the engineer blew the whistle which the convict had heard with such satisfaction and pee-wee with such dread, it was by way of warning two dark figures which were about to cross the tracks. something bright which they carried shone in the glare of the headlight. "here comes a freight," said tom. "let it come, i can't stop it," said roy. "je-ru-salem, this can is heavy." "same here," said tom. "i wouldn't carry another can of gas this far for a prince's ransom--whatever in the dickens that is. look at the blisters on my hand, will you? gee, i'm so hungry i could eat a package of tacks. i bet pee-wee's been throwing duck fits. never mind, we did a good turn. 'we seen our duty and we done it noble.' some grammar! they ought to put us on the cover of the manual. boy scouts returning from a gasoline hunt! good turn, turn down the gas, hey? did you ever try tracking a freight train? it's terribly exciting." "keep still, will you!" said tom, setting down his can. "can't you see i'm spilling the gasoline? don't make me laugh." "the face with the smile wins," roy rattled on. "for he ain't no slouch, but the lad with the grouch---pick up your can and get off the track--safety first!" "well, then, for goodness' sake, shut up!" laughed tom. it had been like this all the way back, tom setting down his can at intervals and laughing in spite of himself at roy's nonsense. when they reached the boat roy looked inside and called pee-wee. "where is our young hero, anyway?" he said. but "our young hero" was not there. they poured the gas into the tank and then went inside where roy discovered the note in the saucepan. he read it, then handed it to tom and the two stood for a moment staring at each other, too surprised to speak. "what do you suppose has got into him?" exclaimed tom. "search me; unless he's mad because we left him here." tom looked about as if in search of some explanation, and as usual his scrutiny was not unfruitful. "it looks as if he had started to get supper," said he: "there's the rice----" a sudden inspiration seized roy. pulling out the recipe book from his duffel bag he opened it where the letter to mary temple lay. "i thought so," he said shamefacedly. "i left the end of it sticking out to mark the place and now it's in between the leaves. that's what did the mischief; he must have found it." "you ought to have torn it up before we started," said tom. "i know it, but i just stuck it in there when i was brushing up my memory on rice cakes, and there it's been ever since. i ought never to have written it at all, if it comes to that." tom made no answer. they had never mentioned that incident which was such an unpleasant memory to them both. "well, we've got to find him, that's all," said tom. "gee, it seems as if we couldn't possibly get along without pee-wee now," roy said. "i never realized how much fun it would be having him along. poor kid! it serves me right for----" "what's the use of thinking about that _now_?" said tom, bluntly. "we've just got to find him come on, hurry up, get your flashlight. every minute we wait he's a couple of hundred feet farther away." for the first time in all their trip, as it seemed to roy, tom's spirit and interest were fully aroused. he was as keen as a bloodhound for the trail and instinctively roy obeyed him. they hurried out without waiting for so much as a bite to eat and with the aid of their flashlights (and thanks to the recent rains) had no difficulty in trailing pee-wee as far as the railroad tracks. "he'd either follow the track," said tom, "or else the road we took and hide somewhere till we passed. he wouldn't try any cross-country business at night, i don't believe." "poor kid!" was all roy could say. the thought of that note which he had carelessly left about and of pee-wee starting out alone haunted him and made him feel like a scoundrel. all his gayety had vanished and he depended on tom and followed his lead. he remembered only too well the wonderful tracking stunt that tom had done the previous summer, and now, as he looked at that rather awkward figure, kneeling with head low, and creeping along from tie to tie, oblivious to all but his one purpose, he felt a certain thrill of confidence. by a sort of unspoken understanding, he (who was the most all-round scout of them all and looked it into the bargain) had acted as their leader and spokesman on the trip; and tom slade, who could no more talk to strangers, and especially girls, than he could fly, had followed, envying roy's easy manner and all-around proficiency. but tom was a wizard in tracking, and as roy watched him now he could not help realizing with a pang of shame that again it was tom who had come to the rescue to save him from the results of his own selfishness and ill-temper. he remembered those words, spoken in tom's stolid way on the night of their quarrel. "_it's kind of like a trail in your mind and i got to hit the right trail._" he _had_ hit the right trail then and brought roy to his senses, and now again when that rude, selfish note cropped up to work mischief it was tom who knelt down there on the railroad tracks, seeking again for the right trail. "here it is," he said at last, when he had closely examined and smelt of a dark spot on one of the ties. "lucky you let him clean the engine; he must have been standing in the oil trough." "good he had his sneaks on, too," said roy, stooping. "it's like a stamp on a pound of butter." it was not quite as clear as that, but if pee-wee had prepared his sneaks especially for making prints on wooden ties he could scarcely have done better. in order to get at the main bearings of the engine he had, with characteristic disregard, stood plunk in the copper drain basin under the crank-case. the oil had undoubtedly softened the rubber sole of his sneakers so that it held the clinging substance, and in some cases it was possible to distinguish on the ties the half-obliterated crisscross design of the rubber sole. "come on," said tom, "this thing is a cinch." "it's a shame to call it tracking," said roy, regaining some measure of his wonted spirits as they hurried along. "it's a blazed trail." and so, indeed, it was while it lasted, but suddenly it ceased and the boys paused, puzzled. "listen for trains," warned tom. "there won't be any along yet a while," said roy. "there's one stopped up there a ways now." they could hear the shunting up the track, interspersed with faint voices calling. "here's where he's put one over on us," said roy. "poor kid." "here's where he's been reading sir baden-powell, you mean. wait till i see if he worked the boomerang trick. see that tree up there?" it was amazing how readily tom assumed that pee-wee would do just what he had done to elude pursuit. "tree's always a suspicious thing," said he; "this is a boer wrinkle--comes from south africa." he did not bother hunting for the tracks in the hubbly ground, but made straight for the tree. "poor kid," was all he could say as he picked up a few freshly fallen leaves and a twig or two. "he's good at climbing anyway." he examined one of the leaves carefully with his flashlight. "squint around," he said to roy, "and see if you can find where he stuck his staff in the ground." roy got down, poking his light here and there, and parting the rough growth. "here it is," said he. oh, it was all easy--too easy, for a scout. it gave them no feeling of triumph, only pity for the stout-hearted little fellow who had tried to escape them. a more careful examination of the lower branches of the tree and of the ground beneath was enough. tom did not even bother about the prints leading back to the railroad, but went back to the tracks and after a few minutes picked up the trail again there. this they followed till they came to the siding, now deserted. here, for a few minutes, it did seem as if pee-wee had succeeded in baffling them, for the prints leaving the ties ran over to the siding and there ended in a confused collection of footprints pointing in every direction. evidently, pee-wee had paused here, but what direction he had taken from this point they could not see. "this has got _me_ guessing," said tom. "he was tangoing around here," said roy, pointing his flashlight to the ground, "that's sure. maybe the little indian walked the rail." but an inspection of the rail showed that he had not done that, unless, indeed, the recent rain had obliterated the marks. they examined the platform carefully, the steps, the one or two hogsheads, but no sign did they reveal. "it gets me," said tom, as they sat down on the edge of the platform, dangling their legs. "he swore he wouldn't go near a railroad--remember?" said roy, smiling a little wistfully. tom slowly shook his head. "it's all my fault," said roy. "meanwhile, we're losing time," said tom. "you don't suppose----" began roy. "where do you suppose that freight stopped? here?" tom said nothing for a few moments. then he jumped down and kneeling with his light began again examining the confusion of footprints near the siding. roy watched him eagerly. he felt guilty and discouraged. tom was apparently absorbed with some fresh thought. around one footprint he drew a ring in the soil. then he got up and crept along by the rail throwing his light upon it. about twelve or fifteen feet along this he paused, and crossing suddenly, examined the companion rail exactly opposite. then he straightened up. "what is it?" asked roy. but he got no answer. tom went back along the rail till he came to a point twelve or fifteen feet in the other direction from the group of footprints, and here he made another careful scrutiny of both rails. the group of footprints was outside the track and midway between the two points in which he seemed so much interested. "this is the end of _our_ tracking," he said at length. "what's the matter?" "come here and i'll show you. see that footprint--it's only half a one--the front half--see? that's the last one of the lot. that's where he climbed into the car--see?" roy stood speechless. "see? now come here and i'll show you something. see those little rusty places on the track? it's fresh rust--see? you can wipe it off with your finger. there's where the wheels were--see? one, two, three, four--same on the other side, see? and down there," pointing along the track, "it's the same way. if it hadn't been raining this week, we'd never known about a freight car being stalled here, hey? see, those footprints are just half-way between the rusty spots. there's where the door was. see? this little front half of a footprint tells the story. he had to climb to get in--poor kid. he went on a railroad train, after all." roy could say nothing. he could only stare as tom pointed here and there and fitted things together like a picture puzzle. the car was gone, but it had left its marks, just as the boy had. "you put it into my head when you mentioned the train," said tom. "oh, sure; _i_ put it into your head," said roy, in disgust. "_i'm_ a wonderful scout--_i_ ought to have a tin medal! it was you brought me that letter back. it was pee-wee got the bird down and won a boat for us--and i've turned him out of it," he added, bitterly. "no, you----" "yes, i have. and it was _you_ that tracked him, and it was _you_ spelled this out and it's _you_--it's just like _you_, too--to turn around and say i put it into your head. the only thing _i've_ done in this whole blooming business is try to insult mary temple--only--only you wouldn't let me get away with it," he stammered. "roy," interrupted tom, "listen--just a minute." he had never seen roy like this before. "come on," said roy, sharply. "you've done all _you_ could. come on back!" tom was not much at talking, but seeing his friend in this state seemed to give him words and he spoke earnestly and with a depth of feeling. "it's always _you_," said roy. "it's----" "roy," said tom, "don't--wait a minute--_please_. when we got back to the boat i said we'd have to find him--don't go on like that, roy--please! i thought i could find him. but you see i can't--_i_ can't find him." "you can make these tracks talk to you. i'm a----" "no, you're not; listen, _please_. i said--you remember how i said i wanted to be alone with you--you remember? well, now we are alone, and it's going to be you to do it, roy; it's going to be _you_ to bring pee-wee back. just the same as you made me a scout a year ago, you remember? you're the only one can do it, roy," he put his hand on roy's shoulder, "and i'll--i'll help you. and it'll seem like old times--sort of--roy. but you're the one to do it. you haven't forgotten about the searchlight, have you, roy? you remember how you told me about the scout's arm having a long reach? you remember, roy? come on, hurry up!" chapter xii the long arm of the scout as tom spoke, there came rushing into roy's memory as vivid as the searchlight's shaft, a certain dark night a year before when tom slade, hoodlum, had stood by his side and with eyes of wonder watched him flash a message from blakeley's hill to the city below to undo a piece of vicious mischief of which tom had been guilty. he had turned the heavens into an open book for westy martin, miles away, to read what he should do. a thrill of new hope seized roy. "so you see it _will_ be you, roy." "it has to be you to remind me of it." "shut up!" said tom. they ran for the boat at top speed, for, as they both realized, it was largely a fight against time. "that train was dragging along pretty slow when it passed _us_," said tom. "sure, 'bout a million cars," roy panted. "there's an up-grade, too, i think, between here and poughkeepsie. be half an hour, anyway, before they make it. you're a wonder. we'll kid the life out of pee-wee for riding on a train after all. 'spose he did it on purpose or got locked in?" "locked in, i guess," said tom. "let's try scout pace, i'm getting winded." the searchlight which had been an important adjunct of the old _nymph_ had not been used on the _good turn_, for the reason that the boys had not run her at night. it was an acetylene light of splendid power and many a little craft harry stanton had picked up with it in his nocturnal cruising. pee-wee had polished its reflector one day to pass the time, but with the exception of that attention it had lain in one of the lockers. reaching the boat they pulled the light out, connected it up, and found to their delight that it was in good working order. "my idea," said roy, now all excitement, "is to flash it from that hill, then from the middle of the river. of course, it's a good deal a question of luck, but it seems as if _somebody_ ought to catch it, in all these places along the river. be great if we could find him to-night, hey?" "they'd just have to hold him till we could get there in the boat--they couldn't get him back here." "no sooner said than stung," said roy; "hurry up, bring that can, and some matches and--yes, you might as well bring the manual anyway, thought i know that code backwards." "you're right you do," said tom. he was glad to see roy himself again and taking the lead, as usual. "if there was only one of these telegraph operators--guys, as i used to call them--star-gazing, we'd pass the word to him, all right." "a word to the guys, hey? come on, hustle!" a strenuous climb brought them to the brow of a hill from which the lights of several villages, and the more numerous lights of poughkeepsie could be seen. "now, tomasso, see-a if you know-a de lesson--queeck! connect that up and--look out you don't step on the tube! i wish we had a pedestal or something. when you're roaming, you have to do as the romans do, hey? open your manual to page 232. no!" he said hurriedly looking over tom's shoulder. "_care of the fingernails!_ that's _259_ you've got. what do you think we're going to do, start a manicure parlor? _there_ you are--now keep the place to make assurance doubly sure. here goes! hello, folks!" he called, as he swung the long shaft fan-wise across the heavens. "now, three dots for s?" "right," said tom. roy sent three short flashes into the night, then paused and sent a longer flash of about three seconds. another pause, then three of the longer flashes, then a short one, two long ones and a short one. "s-t-o-p--stop," he said. "right-o," concurred tom. "now f--two shorts, a long and a short--is it?" "you know blamed well it is," said tom. thus the message was sent. _"stop freight going north; boy locked in car. hold. friends coming up river in boat flying yellow flag."_ they had on board a large yellow flag with temple camp on it, and roy thought of this as being the best means of identifying the boat for anyone who might be watching for it along the shore. three times they flashed the message, then hurried back to the boat and chugged out, anchoring in midstream. the course of the river is as straight as an arrow here. the lights in the small towns of milton and camelot were visible on either side; tiny lights flickered along the railroads that skirted either shore, and beyond in the distance twinkled the lights on the great bridge at poughkeepsie. "we're right in the steamer's path here," said tom; "let's hurry." roy played the shaft for a minute to attract attention, then threw his message again and again into the skies. the long, bright, silent column seemed to fill the whole heaven as it pierced the darkness in short and long flashes. the chugging of the _good turn's_ engine was emphasized by the solemn stillness as they ran in toward shore, and the splash of their dropping anchor awakened a faint echo from the neighboring mountains. "well, that's all we can do till morning," said roy. "what do you say to some eats?" "gee, it's big and wild and lonely, isn't it?" said tom. they had never thought of the hudson in this way before. after breakfast in the morning they started upstream, their big yellow camp flag flying and keeping as near the shore as possible so as to be within hail. now that the black background of the night had passed and the broad daylight was all about them, their hope had begun to wane. the spell seemed broken; the cheerful reality of the morning sunlight upon the water and the hills seemed to dissipate their confidence in that long shaft, and they saw the whole experience of the night as a sort of fantastic dream. but pee-wee was gone; there was no dream about that, and the boat did not seem like the same place without him. the first place they passed was stoneco, but there was no sign of life near the shore, and the _good turn_ chugged by unheeded. they ran across to milton where a couple of men lolled on a wharf and a few people were waiting at the little station. they could not get in very close to the shore on account of the flats, but roy, making a megaphone of an old newspaper, asked if a flash message had been received there. after much shouting back and forth, he learned that the searchlight had been seen but had been thought to be from one of the night boats plying up and down the river. it had evidently meant nothing to the speaker or to anyone else there. roy asked if they would please ask the telegraph operator if he had seen it. "he'd understand it all right," he said, a bit disheartened. but the answer came back that the operator had not seen it. at poughkeepsie they made a landing at the wharf. here expressmen were moving trunks about, a few stragglers waiting for some boat peered through the gates like prisoners; there was a general air of bustle and a "city" atmosphere about the place. a few people gathered about, looking at the _good turn_ and watching the boys as they made their way up the wharf. "boy scouts," they heard someone say. there was the usual good-natured curiosity which follows scouts when they are away from home and which they have come to regard as a matter of course, but the big yellow flag seemed to carry no particular meaning to anyone here. they walked up to the station where they asked the operator if he had seen the searchlight message or heard anything about it, but he had not. they inquired who was the night watchman on the wharf, hunted him out, and asked him. he had seen the light and wondered what and where it was. that was all. "foiled again!" said roy. they made inquiries of almost everyone they saw, going into a nearby hotel and several of the stores. they inquired at the fire house, where they thought men would have been up at night who might be expected to know the morse code, but the spokesman there shook his head. "a fellow who was with us got locked in a freight car," roy explained, "and we signaled to people up this way to stop the train." the man smiled; apparently he did not take roy's explanation very seriously. "now if you could only get that convict that escaped down yonder----" "we have no interest in him," said roy, shortly. he and tom had both counted on poughkeepsie with its police force and fire department and general wide-awakeness, and they went back to the _good turn_ pretty well discouraged, particularly as the good people of whom they had inquired had treated them with an air of kindly indulgence, smiling at their story, saying that the scouts were a wide-awake lot, and so forth; interested, but good-naturedly skeptical. one had said, "are you making believe to telegraph that way? well, it's good fun, anyway." another asked if they had been reading dime novels. the patronizing tone had rather nettled the boys. "i'd like to have told that fellow that if we _had_ been reading dime novels, we wouldn't have had time to learn the morse code," said roy. _"the motor boat heroes_!" mocked tom. "yes, volume three thousand, and they haven't learned how to run a gas engine yet! get out your magnifying glass, tom; what's that, a village, up there?" "a house." "some house, too," said roy, looking at the diminutive structure near the shore. "put your hand down the chimney and open the front door, hey?" but as they ran in nearer the shore other houses showed themselves around the edge of the hill and here, too, was a little wharf with several people upon it and near it, on the shore, a surging crowd on the edge of which stood several wagons. "guess they must be having a mass meeting about putting a new spring on the post-office door," said roy. "somebody ought to lay a paperweight on that village a windy day like this. it might blow away. close your throttle a little, tom and put your timer back; we'll run in and see what's up." "you don't suppose all that fuss can have anything to do with pee-wee, do you?" tom asked. "no, it looks more as if a german submarine had landed there. there wouldn't be so much of a rumpus if they'd got the kid." but in another moment roy's skeptical mood had changed as he saw a tall, slender fellow in brown standing at the end of the wharf with arms outspread. "what's he doing--posing for the movies?" "he's semaphoring," tom answered. "i'll be jiggered if he isn't!" said roy, all interest at once. "c--o--m--e---i--(he makes his i too much like his c)--n. _what do you know about that!_ come in!" the stranger held what seemed to be a large white placard in either hand in place of a flag and his motions were not as clear-cut as they should have been, but to roy, with whom, as he had often said, the semaphore code was like "pumpkin pie," the message was plain. as they ran alongside the wharf the khaki-clad signaler greeted them with the scout salute. "pretty brisk out on the water this morning?" he said. "we got your message--we were out canoeing last night; you use the international code, don't you?" "have you got him?" roy asked anxiously. "oh, yes, he's here; pulled in somewhere around midnight, i guess. he stayed all night with one of our troop; he's up there now getting his breakfast. great kid, isn't he?" he laughed. "he was telling us about rice cakes. we're kind of out of date up here, you know. i was a little balled up on your spacing," he added as they went up the wharf. "i haven't got the international down very good. yes, we were drifting around, a couple of us, telling ford jokes, when you sprung it on us." "have you got the signaling badge?" said roy. "oh, yes, i managed to pull that; i'm out for the star now." "you'll get it," said tom. "is the kid all right?" roy asked. "oh, sure; but he had some pretty rough handling, i guess. it was quite a little movie show when we dragged the other one out. lucky the station agent and the constable were there. he's up there now waiting for the men from ossining." through the surging crowd tom and roy could see, sitting on a bench at the station, a man in convict garb, with his hands manacled together and a guard on either side of him. in the broad light of day he was a desperate-looking creature, as he sat with his ugly head hanging low, apparently oblivious to all about him. "i don't understand," said roy. "didn't you know about him?" "not a thing--except we did know someone got away from sing sing the other night--but we never thought----" "didn't you know he was in the same car? that's why the little fellow couldn't get away. he'd have come back to you, sure." roy doubted it, but he said nothing and presently the mystery was cleared up by the arrival on the scene of pee-wee himself, accompanied by several scouts. they were laughing merrily and seemed greatly elated that the boat had come; but pee-wee was rather embarrassed and held back until roy dragged him forward. "kiddo," said he, looking straight into the boy's face, "the _good turn_ couldn't have lived another day without you. so you did hit the railroad after all, didn't you? gee, it's good to see you; you've caused us more worry----" he put his arm over pee-wee's shoulder and turned away with him, and the others, being good scouts, had sense enough not to follow. "pee-wee," said roy, "don't try to tell me--that can wait. listen, kiddo. we're in the same boat, you and i. we each wrote a letter that we shouldn't have written, but yours was received and mine wasn't--thanks to tom. we've got to forget about both those letters, pee-wee. i was ashamed of mine before i'd finished writing it. there's no good talking about it now. you're with us because we want you with us, not because mary temple wanted it, but because _i_ want you and tom wants you; do you hear? you know who it is that's always doing something for someone and never getting any credit for it, don't you? it's tom slade. he saved me from being a crazy fool--from sending that letter to mary. and i came to my senses the next day. he tracked you to that car, only it always seems to work around so that someone else gets all the glory. it makes me feel like a---listen to them over there now, talking about _signaling_. pee-wee, you gave us an awful scare. it didn't seem natural on top of the cabin last night without you--you little mascot! we're not going to have another word to say about this, kid--i'm your patrol leader, remember. we're going to hit it straight for camp now--the three of us--the big three--and you're with us because we can't do without you. do you get that?" "roy," said pee-wee, speaking with difficulty. "i--i had an--adventure." "well, i should think you did." chapter xiii temple camp the scouts of the village stood upon the wharf and waved a last good-bye to the three as the _good turn_ chugged merrily away. "i'm going to give that fellow the full salute," said tom, raising his hand to his forehead. "he's a wonder." the scouts on shore received this tribute to their comrade with shouts, throwing their hats in the air and giving three lusty cheers for the "silver foxes and the elks" as the launch, swerving out into midstream, bent her course for catskill landing. "he sure is a wonder," said roy. "i told him all about you," chimed in pee-wee, "and all the stunts you can do." "he seems to be prouder of his ford jokes than of his signal work," laughed roy. "he----" "oh, crinkums, he knows some dandy ford jokes, and his wrist is so strong from paddling that he can stick a shovel in the ground and turn it around with one hand; oh, he's got that paddle twist down fine, roy; but, gee, he says you're all right; even before you came he said that; as soon as i told him who it was that signaled----" "do you think they'll come up?" roy interrupted. "sure they will; i told them all about the camp and how they could have a cabin to themselves--they're only a small troop, one patrol, and he wants to know you better; gee, i told him all about you and how you could----" "all right, kiddo," laughed roy. "they're coming up in august. say, that fellow's got eleven merit badges, but the one thing he's crazy to get is the gold cross." "he'll get it," said tom, who had been wiping the engine. "he says the trouble is," added pee-wee, "that he can't save anybody's life with great danger to his own--that's what it says in the manual, isn't it?" "yes," said tom, quietly. "he says the trouble is nobody ever gets in danger. the trouble with his troop is they all know how to swim and they're so blamed clever that he never has a chance to rescue one of them. he said he tipped the canoe over with one fellow and the fellow just wouldn't be saved; he swam around and dived and wouldn't let garry imperil his life--and that's the only way you can do it, roy. you've got to imperil your own life, and he says he never gets a chance to imperil his life." "must be discouraging," said roy. "oh, jiminys, you'd laugh to hear him talk; he's got that quiet way about him, roy--sober like. i told him there's lots of different ways a feller can imperil his life." "sure, fifty-seven varieties," said roy. "well, i'm glad they treated you so well, kid, and i hope we'll have a chance to pay them back. what do you say we tie up in kingston and have a soda?" early the next day they came in sight of catskill landing. roy stood on top of the cabin like columbus, his rapt gaze fixed upon the dock. "we have arrove," said he. "gee, i'm sorry it's over." [illustration] the trip _had_ been enjoyable, but now their every thought was centered upon temple camp to which they were so near and they were filled with delightful anticipations as they made ready for the hike which still lay before them. the boating club, with the hospitality which a love of the water seems always to inspire in its devotees, gave them a mooring buoy and from this, having made their boat fast, they rowed ashore and set out with staves and duffel bags for the quaint little village of leeds. the distance to leeds depends upon who is making the journey, or from whom you get your information. the farmers will tell you it is five miles. the summer boarders are likely to tell you that it is ten. to be exact, it is somewhere between two miles and twenty miles, and you can't get back to catskill landing for dinner. "i think it's ten miles there and twenty miles back," said roy; "_we_ should worry! when we get to leeds we make our grand dash for the lake." "like peary," said pee-wee, already bubbling over with excitement. "something like him, yes." their way took them through a beautiful hilly country and for a while they had glimpses of the river, which brought them pleasant reminiscences of their rambling, happy-go-lucky voyage. "who does the _good turn_ belong to?" tom asked. "i think it belongs to honorable pee-wee harris," said roy. "he did the trick that won it." "i'll tell you who she belongs to," said pee-wee. "she belongs to the first bridgeboro troop, boy scouts of america." "raven, fox and elk!" said roy. "right you are, pee-wee. united we stand, divided we squall." a tramp of a couple of hours over country roads brought them to leeds, and they hiked along its main street contributing not a little to its picturesqueness with their alert, jaunty air, their brown complexions which matched so well with the scout attire, their duffel bags and their long staves. more than one farmer and many an early summer boarder stared at them and hailed them pleasantly as they passed along. "i like this village," said pee-wee. "i'll have it wrapped up for you," said roy; "take it, or have it sent?" "how do we get to black lake?" tom asked of a man who was lounging outside one of the shops. "ye ain't goin' to walk it, be ye?" he answered, scrutinizing them curiously. "right you are," said roy. "how did you guess?" "ye got a pooty smart walk afore ye," the man said, dubiously. "well, we're pretty smart boys," said roy. "break it to us gently, and let us hear the worst." "baout five mile 'f ye take th' hill rud." "gracious, goodness me!" said roy, "are they all the same length?" "haouw?" "the miles; lads, i'm just reckless enough to do it." "wall," drawled their informant, "ye go 'long this rud t'l ye come t' a field whar thar's a red caouw, then ye cut right through th' middle uv it 'n' go on over a stun wall 'n' ye'll come to a woods rud. ye foller that t'l ye come to a side path on the left on it that goes up hill. black lake's t'other side that hill. ye got to pick yer way up through the woods 'long that path if ye kin foller it, 'n' when ye git t' the top ye kin look daown 'n' see th' lake, but ye'll have a smart climb gettin' daown th' hill." "that's us," said roy. "thanks--thanks very much." when they had gone a little way he halted tom and pee-wee with a dramatic air. "lads," said he, "we've got the _motor boat heroes_ and the _dauntless chums_ and _submarine sam_ beaten to a frazzle! we're the _terrible trio series_, volume two million. lads, get out your dirks and keep up stout hearts. we have to cut through the middle of a red cow! that man said so!" three-quarters of an hour more along an apparently disused road and they came upon a trail which was barely discernible, leading up a steep and densely wooded hill. in places they had to climb over rugged terraces, extricating themselves from such mazes of tangled underbrush as they had never before seen. now and then the path seemed to peter out and they found it again with difficulty and only by the skilful use of scout tracking lore. the long, steep climb was filled with difficulties, but they pressed on amazed at the wildness all about them. at last, by dint of much hard effort and after many wasted steps through loss of the trail, they came out upon the summit, and looked down upon a sight which sent a thrill to all three. the other side of the hill was, perhaps, not as steep as the side which they had mounted, but it was thickly wooded and at its base was a sheet of water surrounded by lofty hills, all covered with dense forest, which extended right down to the water's edge. the lake was perhaps a mile long, and lay like a dark jewel amid the frowning heights which closed it in. the trees along shore were dimly reflected in the still, black water. the quiet of the spot was intense. it was relieved by no sign of habitation, save a little thin, uncertain column of smoke which rose from among the trees on the farther shore. the solemnity of the scene, the blackness and isolation of that sheet of water, the dense woods, rising all around it and shutting out the world, was quite enough to cast a spell on anyone, and the three boys looked about them awestruck and for a moment speechless. "jiminy crinkums!" said pee-wee, at length. tom only shook his head. "reminds you of broadway and forty-second street," said roy. they started down the hill and found that their descent was quite as difficult as the ascent had been, but at last they reached the foot and now, from this lower viewpoint they could catch a glimpse of the wood interior on the opposite shore. there were several log cabins harmonizing in color with the surrounding forest and, therefore, inconspicuous. farther from the shore the boys glimpsed another and larger structure and at the water's edge they now saw a boat drawn up. it was evident that the way they had come was not the usual way to reach the camp, for there was no sign of trail along the shore, and to pick their way around, with the innumerable obstacles which beset the way, would have taken several hours. "it must be lively around here on saturday nights with the crowd out doing their marketing, and the movie shows----" began roy. "aw, shut up!" said pee-wee. they raised their voices in unison and shouted, and the echo resounded from the hills across the water, almost as loud and distinguishable as their own call. roy yelled long and loud, slapping his open lips with the palm of his hand, and a pandemonium of similar sounds came back as if from a multitude of voices. "i tell you, when john temple does a thing he does it right!" said pee-wee. "gee, you can't deny that!" in a few moments a man approached on the opposite shore and leisurely got into the boat. as he rowed across, he looked around once in a while, and as the boat drew near the boys saw that its occupant had iron gray hair, a long drooping moustache, and a face deeply wrinkled and browned almost to a mulatto hue. "hello," called roy. "is that temple camp over there? i guess we came in the back way." "thet's it," said the man. "you some o' the bridgeboro boys?" his voice was low and soft, as of one who has lived long in the woods by himself. there was a humorous twinkle in his eye which the boys liked. he was long and lanky and wore khaki trousers and a coarse gray flannel shirt. his arms, which were bare, were very sinewy. altogether, the impression which he made on the boys was that he was perfectly self-possessed and at ease, so absolutely sure of himself that nothing in all the wide world could frighten him or disconcert him. the president of the united states, kings, emperors, millionaires--including john temple--might want to be rowed across and this man would come leisurely over and get them, but he would not hurry and he would be no more embarrassed or flustered at meeting them than a tree would be. nature, the woods and mountains and prairies, had put their stamp upon him, had whispered their secrets to him, and civilization could not phase him. that was the way he struck the boys, who from being scouts had learned to be observant and discerning. "are you mr. rushmore?" tom asked, and as the man nodded assent he continued, "my name is tom slade; we're members of the bridgeboro troop and i'm the one selected to help you. i don't know if you expected me yet, but my scoutmaster and mr. temple thought i better come ahead of the other fellows so's to help you and get acquainted--like. these fellows came with me just for fun, but, of course, they want to help get things ready. the rest are coming up in july." this was a good deal for tom to say at a stretch, and it fell to the voluble pee-wee later to edify mr. rushmore with all the details of their trip, winding up with a glowing peroration on roy's greatness. "waal, i reck'n i'm glad ye've come--the hull three on ye," jeb rushmore drawled. "that's some trail over that hill," said roy, as they rowed across. "we lost it about a dozen times." "thet? thet ain't no trail," said jeb. "thet's a street--a thurafare. i'm a-goin' t' test you youngsters out follerin' thet on a dark night." "have a heart!" said roy. "i could never pick that out with a flashlight." "a what? ye won't hev no light o' no sort, not ef _i_ know it." the boys laughed. "well, i see we're up against the real thing," said roy, "but if that's a thoroughfare, i'd like to see a trail--that's all." "ye don' need ter see it," drawled jeb. "ye jest _feel_ it." "you must have a pretty good sense of touch," said roy. "ye don' feel it with your hands, youngster, ye jest _sense_ it." "_good night!_" said roy. tom said nothing. he had been watching mr. rushmore and hanging with rapt attention on his every word. they found the hill on the opposite shore not as steep as it had looked from across the water, and here at its base, in the dim solitude by the shore, was temple camp. there was a large open pavilion built of untrimmed wood, which would accommodate eight or ten troops, allowing to each some measure of privacy and there were as many as a dozen log cabins, some large enough for two or three patrols, others intended evidently to accommodate but one. there was a shack for the storage of provisions and equipment, in which the boys saw among other things piles upon piles of wooden platters. "not much dishwashing here," said pee-wee, joyfully. here, also, were half a dozen tents and every imaginable article necessary to camp life. close by was a cooking shack and outside this several long mess boards with rough seats; and just beyond was a spring of clear water. jeb rushmore had a cabin to himself upon the outside of which sprawled the skins of as many as a dozen different sorts of animals--the trophies of his life in the west. john temple had certainly done the thing right; there was no doubt of that. he had been a long time falling, but when he fell he fell hard. temple camp comprised one hundred acres of woodland--"plenty of room to grow in," as jeb said. it was more than a camp; it was really a community, and had somewhat the appearance of a frontier trading post. in its construction very little bark had been taken from the wood; the whole collection of buildings fitted well in their wild surroundings; there wasn't a jarring note. but temple camp was unique not only in its extent, its rustic character and its magnificent situation; it was the fulfilment of a grand dream which john temple had dreamed. any troop of scouts could, by making timely application to the trustees, go to temple camp and remain three weeks without so much as a cent of cost. there was to be absolutely no favoritism of any kind (and jeb rushmore was the man to see to that), not even in the case of the bridgeboro troop; except that troops from cities were to be given preference over troops from country districts. jeb rushmore was to be the camp manager, working with the trustees and the visiting scoutmasters; but as it turned out he became a character in this scout village, and if he fell short in executive capacity he more than made up for it in other ways. before the first season was over people came miles to see him. there were also a doctor and a cook, though a troop occupying a cabin could do its own cooking and mess by itself if it chose. there were some rather interesting rules and regulations. if a scout won a merit badge while at camp this entitled his whole troop to lengthen its stay by two days, if it so elected. if he won the life scout badge, four extra days was the reward of his whole troop. the star badge meant an extra week, the eagle badge ten extra days. a scout winning the bronze cross was entitled with his troop to occupy "hero cabin" and to remain two extra weeks at camp. the silver cross meant three extra weeks; the gold cross four extra weeks. if a troop could not conveniently avail itself of this extra time privilege in the current season it could be credited with the time and use it, whole or piecemeal, in subsequent seasons. on the lake there were to be several boats which were not yet ready, and every scout winning a life saving medal was to have a boat named for him. at the time the boys arrived there was only one boat and that was named _mary temple_. chapter xiv hero cabin the history of temple camp during that gala season of its opening would fill a book; but this is not a history of temple camp, and we must pass at once to those extraordinary happenings which shook the little scout community to its very center and cast a shadow over the otherwise pleasant and fraternal life there. by the middle of july every inch of space in the pavilion was occupied, and among the other troops which lodged there was the little troop from down the hudson, of which garry everson was the leader. tom had tried to procure cabin accommodations for these good friends, but the cabins had all been spoken for before their application came and they had to be content with the less desirable quarters. during the early days of their stay the bridgeboro troop arrived in a blaze of glory; the ravens, with their pride and delight, doc carson, first aid boy; the rest of the silver foxes with westy martin, dorry benton and others; and tom's own patrol, the elks, with connie bennett, the bronson boys, the famous o'connor twins, all with brand new outfits, for this was a new patrol. three small cabins had been reserved for them and in these they settled down, each patrol by itself and flying its own flag. tom, by reason of his duties, which identified him with the camp as a whole rather than with any troop or patrol, occupied the cabin with jeb rushmore, and though he was much with the elks, he had delegated connie bennett to substitute as patrol leader for the time being. garry everson was a general favorite. not only had his stunt of receiving the signal message and restoring the fugitive pee-wee won him high regard with the bridgeboro boys, but his quiet manner and whimsical humor had made him many friends throughout the camp. he was tall and slim, but muscular; the water seemed to be his specialty; he was an expert at rowing and paddling, he could dive in a dozen different ways and as for swimming, no one at temple camp could begin to compete with him. tom's friendship with garry everson had grown quite intimate. they were both interested in tracking and made many little trips together, for tom had much time to himself. one morning, as tom, according to rule, was making his regular inspection of the pavilion, he lingered for a few minutes in garry's corner to chat with him. "you're not getting ready to go?" he asked in surprise, noticing that some of the troop's paraphernalia had been packed. "beginning to get ready," said garry. "sit down. why didn't you bring your knitting?" "i can't stay long," said tom. "i've got to inspect the cabins yet, and then i've got to make up the program for campfire yarns to-night. by the way, couldn't _you_ give us a spiel?" "oh, sure," said garry. "_the quest of the honor medal_. i'll tell how nobody ever gets into danger here--or imperils his life, as pee-wee would say. i'm going to put a notice up on one of the trees and get you to read another at mess with the regular announcements: wanted; by scout seeking honor medal; someone willing to imperil his life. suitable reward. apply temple camp pavilion. signed, would-be hero." tom laughed. "i'm like old what's-his-name, cã¦sar. ready to do the conquest act, but nothing more to conquer. believe me, it's no cinch being a would-be hero. couldn't you get bitten by a rattlesnake on one of your tracking stunts? get your foot on him, you know, and he'll be wriggling and squirming to get his head free, and his cruel fangs will be within an inch of your ankle and you'll just begin to feel them against your stocking----" "don't," laughed tom. "when all of a sudden i'll come bounding out of the thicket, and i'll grab him by the head and force his cruel jaws shut and slip an elastic band around his mug. that ought to pull the silver cross, hey? and i and my faithful followers would get three extra weeks in camp." "would you like to stay longer?" tom asked. "foolish question, number three million. haven't we had the time of our young lives? i never knew two weeks to go so fast. never mind, we've got two days more--and two days _only_ unless i get some answers to my 'ad.'" "where's your patrol this morning?" "stalking; they've a date with a robin. i would have gone along except i didn't see much chance of any of them imperilling their lives taking snapshots of robins. so i stayed home to do a little packing--things we won't need again. but no use thinking about that, i suppose; that's what i tell them. we've had some good times, all right. seems a pity we have to go just when mr. temple and his daughter have come. you're a lucky kid; you stay till the last gun is fired, don't you?" "yes, i'm going to stay till we close up. come on, stroll up the hill with me. i've got to raise the colors. if you've only two days more there's no use moping around in here." "all right, wait a minute and i'll be with you--dry the pensive tear, as your friend roy would say. he's an all-around scout, isn't he?" "yes, he came right off the cover of the manual, mr. ellsworth says." "you're a bully troop, you fellows. gee, i envy you. trouble with us," he continued, as they walked up the hill together, "is we haven't any scoutmaster. i'm scoutmaster and patrol leader rolled into one. we're going to get better organized this winter. there's only just the seven of us, you know, and we haven't got any money. you might think that because we live in a country village on the hudson everything's fine and dandy. but there's blamed little money in our burg. four of our troop have to work after school. one works all day and goes to night school down to poughkeepsie. i saved up two years to buy that canoe i was in when i caught your message." "well, you caught it all right," said tom, with a note of pride in his usually expressionless voice. "we'll come out all right, though," said garry, cheerily. "that's what i'm always telling them; only we're so gol-blamed poor." "i know what it is," said tom, after a pause. "maybe that's what makes us such good friends, sort of. i lived in a tenement down in bridgeboro. i've got to thank roy for everything--roy and mr. ellsworth. they all treat me fine and you'd never know most of them are rich fellows; but somehow--i don't just know how to tell you---but you know how a scout is supposed to be a brother to every other scout. well, it seems to me, kind of, as if a poor fellow is a brother to every other poor fellow--and--and--i understand." "it's easy to see they all think a lot of you," said garry. "well, we've had a rattling good time up here and i don't suppose we'll feel any worse about going away than lots of others will. if you miss one thing you usually have another to make up. we're all good friends in our little troop--we have more fun than you could shake a stick at, joshing each other about different kinds of heroic stunts, to win an honor medal, and some of them have thought up the craziest things----" "i wish you could stay," said tom. "well, if wishes were horses, beggars would ride, as some old duffer said." the wooded hill sloped upward behind the camp for a distance of some hundred yards, where it was broken by a sheer precipice forming one side of a deep gully. this was the work of man, having once been a railroad cut, but it had been in disuse for many years and was now covered with vegetation. you could walk up the hill till you came to the brink of this almost vertical chasm, but you could no more scramble down it than you could scramble down a well. on the opposite side of the cut the hill continued upward and the bridging of the chasm by the scouts themselves had been a subject of much discussion; but up to the present time nothing had been done and there was no way to continue one's ascent of the hill except to follow along the edge of the cut to a point where the precipice was low enough to allow one to scramble down--a walk of several miles. right on the brink of this old overgrown cut was a shack which had probably once been used by the workmen. although on the camp property it was rather too far removed from the other buildings to be altogether convenient as a living place, but its isolated situation had attracted the boys, and the idea of calling it hero cabin was an inspiration of roy's. mr. keller, one of the trustees, had fallen in with the notion and while deprecating the use of this remote shack for regular living quarters, had good-naturedly given his consent that it be used as the honored domicile of any troop a member of which had won an honor medal. perhaps he thought that, honor medals being not so easily won, it would be quite safe to make this concession. in any event, it was quite enough for the boys. a committee was formed with a member from each troop to make the shack a suitable abode for a hero and his court. impulsive roy was the moving spirit of the plan; pee-wee was its megaphone, and in the early days of the bridgeboro troop's stay a dozen or more scouts had worked like beavers making a path up through the woods, covering the shack with bark, and raising a flagpole near it. they had hiked into leeds and bought material for a flag to fly above the shack showing the name, hero cabin, and they had fitted it with rustic bunks inside. the idea was a good one, the boys had taken a great deal of pride and pleasure in the work of preparation, the whole thing had given rise to much friendly jealousy as to what troop should be honored by residence here and what fortunate scout should be escorted to this new abode amid acclamations. probably every troop in camp had dreams of occupying it (i am sure that pee-wee had), and of spending its "honor time" here. but apparently mr. keller, who was not much given to dreaming, was right in his skeptical conjecture for hero cabin remained unoccupied, though tom made it a point to tramp up and raise and lower the colors there each day. "some day, maybe next season," said he as they stood on the brink and gazed across the deep gully, "they'll bring somebody up here riding on their shoulders. you can't win an honor medal every day in the week. i think the bronze cross would be enough for _me_--let alone the silver or the gold one. i'd be satisfied with that, wouldn't you?" "except that the gold cross gives you four extra weeks," said garry, "and, of course, the more risk a fellow takes, the greater the honor is." he picked up a pebble and threw it at a tree across the gully. "i'd rather have one of those medals," he said, "than anything in the world--and i want a wireless outfit pretty bad, too. but besides that" (he kept throwing pebbles across the gully and spoke half absently), "besides that, it would be fine to have that extra time. maybe we couldn't use it _all_ this season, but--look, i can hit that thin tree every time--but i'm thinking of the little codger mostly; you know the one i mean--with the light hair?" "the little fellow that coughs?" "he doesn't cough any more. he did before we came up here. his father died of consumption. no, he doesn't cough much now--guess it agrees with him up here. he's---there, i hit it six times in succession." for a few minutes tom said nothing, but watched as garry, time after time, hit the slender tree across the gully. "i often dream about having an honor medal, too," he said, after a while. "we haven't got any in our troop. roy'll be the one, i guess. i suppose the gold cross is the highest award they'll ever have, hey?" "guess so." "there's nothing better than gold, is there?" "it isn't because there's nothing better than gold," said garry, still intent upon hitting his mark. "it's because there's nothing better than heroism--bravery--risking your life." "diamonds--they might have a diamond cross, hey?" "what for?" "in case they found anything that's better than heroism.[missing: "?] "what?" "oh, i don't know. there might be." garry turned and laughingly clapped tom on the back. "i might push you over this precipice and then jump down after you, hey?" he laughed. "you'd be crushed to death yourself," said tom. "well, stop talking nonsense or i'll do it. come on, get your chores done and we'll go down and have a swim. what'd' you say?" he ran his hand through tom's thick shock of hair and laughed again. "come on, forget it," said he. "i've only got two days more here and i'm not going to miss a morning dip. come on, i'll show you the double twist dive." he put his arm through tom's with the contagious gaiety that was his, and started down the hill with him toward the lake. "come on, wake up, you old grouch," he said. chapter xv coward! there were not many boys bathing at the time this thing happened. roy and several of the silver foxes were at a little distance from the shore practising archery, and a number of scouts from other troops lolled about watching them. three or four boys from a pennsylvania troop were having an exciting time with the rowboat, diving from it out in the middle of the lake. pee-wee harris and dory bronson, of tom's patrol, were taking turns diving from the spring-board. tom and garry joined them and, as usual, whenever garry was diving, boys sauntered down to the shore and watched. "here goes the temple twist," said he, turning a complete somersault and then jerking himself sideways so as to strike the water crossways to the spring-board. there was some applause as he came up spluttering. tom tried it, but could not get the twist. "try this on your piano," said garry, diving and striking the water flat. "that's what you call the bridgeboro botch," he laughed, as tom went sprawling into the water. "hey, blakeley," he shouted to roy, "did you see the bridgeboro botch?" "there's no use their trying _your_ tricks," roy called in genuine admiration. "i'm coming in in a few minutes, myself." but tom dived very well for all that, and so did pee-wee, but dory bronson was new at the game. the thing which was destined to have such far-reaching consequences happened suddenly and there was some difference of opinion among the eye-witnesses as to just how it occurred, but all were agreed as to the main fact. dory had just dived, it was pee-wee's turn next, tom would follow, and then garry, who meanwhile had stepped up to where roy and the others were shooting, and was chatting with them. they had dived in this order like clockwork for some time, so that when dory did not appear on the board the others looked about for him. just at that moment a piercing cry arose, and a dozen pairs of eyes were turned out on the lake where the boy was seen struggling frantically. it was evident that the boys in the boat were pulling to his assistance, but they were too far away and meanwhile he floundered and struggled like a madman, sending up cries that echoed from the hills. how he had gotten out so far no one knew, unless indeed he had tried to swim to the boat. the sight of a human being struggling frantically in the water and lost to all sense of reason by panic fright is one to strike terror to a stout heart. even the skilful swimmer whose courage is not of the stoutest may balk at the peril. that seemed to be the feeling which possessed tom slade as he stood upon the end of the spring-board and instead of diving cast a hurried look to where garry everson was talking with roy. it all happened in a moment, the cries from the lake, tom's hesitation, his swift look toward roy and garry, and his evident relief as the latter rushed to the shore and plunged into the water. he stood there on the end of the high spring-board, conspicuous against the blue sky, with his eyes fixed upon the swimmer. he saw the struggle in the water, saw the frantic arms clutch at garry, watched him as he extricated himself from that insane grasp, saw him catch the struggling figure with the "neck grip" as the only means of saving both lives, and watched him as he swam toward shore with his now almost unconscious burden. what he thought, how he felt, no human being knew. he stood motionless like a statue until the growing crowd below him set up a cheer. then he went down and stood among them. "didn't you see him drowning there?" a fellow demanded of him. "yes, i did," said tom. the other stared at him for a moment with a peculiar expression, then swung on his heel and strode away. tom craned his neck to see and spoke to those nearest him, but they only answered perfunctorily or ignored him altogether. he moved around to where roy stood, and roy, without looking at him, pressed farther into the crowd. "that's he," a boy near him whispered to his neighbor; "stood on the end of the board, watching. i didn't think we had any cowards here." in every face and most of all in the faces of his own troop tom saw contempt plainly written. he could not go away from them, for that might excite fresh comment; so he remained, trying to disregard the significant glances and swallowing hard to keep down the lump which kept rising in his throat. soon the doctor came, relieving doc carson of the ravens, and the half-drowned boy was taken to his cabin. "he--he's all right, isn't he?" tom asked of the doctor. "yes," said the doctor, briefly. "he's one of your own patrol, isn't he?" "yes--sir." the doctor looked at him for a moment and then turned away. "hello, old man," said garry, as he passed him, hurrying to the pavilion. "cold feet, eh? guess you got a little rattled. never mind." the words stabbed tom like a knife, but at least they were friendly and showed that garry did not entirely condemn him. he paused at the elks cabin, the cabin of his own patrol, where most of the members of his troop were gathered. one or two made way for him in the doorway, but did not speak. roy blakeley was sitting on the edge of dory's couch. "roy," said tom, still hesitating in the doorway of his own patrol cabin, "can i speak to you a minute?" roy came out and silently followed tom to a point out of hearing of the others. "i--i don't care so much what the others think," said tom. "if they want to think i'm a coward, all right. but i want to tell _you_ how it was so _you_ won't think so." "oh, you needn't mind about me," said roy. "you and garry--i----" "i guess _he_ knows what to think, too," said roy, coldly. "i guess he has his opinion of the first bridgeboro troop's courage." "that's why i care most," said tom, "on account of disgrace for one being disgrace for all--and honor, too. but there's something----" "well, you should have thought of that," roy interrupted impetuously, "when you stood there and let a strange fellow rescue one of your own patrol. you practically asked him to do it--everybody saw." "there's something----" "oh, sure, _there's something_! i suppose you'll be able to dig something out of the handbook, defending cowards! you're great on the handbook." again that something came up in tom's throat and the ugly word cut him so that he could hardly speak. "no, there isn't anything in the manual about it," said he, in his slow monotone, "because i looked." roy sneered audibly. "but i thought there might be another law--a 13th one about----" "oh, you make me sick with your 13th law!" roy flared up. "is that what you were dreaming about when you stood on the end of that board and beckoned to garry----" "i didn't beckon, i just looked----" "just looked! well, i don't claim to be up on the law like you, but the 10th law's good enough for me,--'a scout is brave; he has the courage to face danger in spite of fear.' this fellow will have the bronze cross, maybe the silver one, for rescuing one of _our_ troop, one of _your own_ patrol. _you_ know how we made a resolution that the first honor medal should come to us! and here you stand there watching and let a stranger walk away with it!" "do you think he'll get it?" tom asked. "of course, he'll get it." tom smiled slightly. "and _you_ think i'm a coward?" "i'm not saying what i think. i never _did_ think so before. i know that fellow will have the cross and they'll be the honor troop because in _our_ troop we've got----" "don't say that again, roy; please don't--i----" roy looked at him for one moment; perhaps in that brief space all the history of their friendship came rushing back upon him, and he was on the point of stretching out his hand and letting tom explain. but the impulse passed like a sudden storm, and he walked away. tom watched him until he entered the patrol shack, and then went on to his own cabin. jeb rushmore was out with the class in tracking, teaching them how to _feel_ a trail, and tom sat down on his own couch, glad to be alone. he thought of the members of his own troop, in and about his own patrol cabin, ministering to dory bronson. he wondered what they were saying about him and whether roy would discuss him with others. he didn't think roy would do that. he wondered what mr. ellsworth would think--and jeb rushmore. he got up and, fumbling in his duffel bag, fished out the thumbed and dilapidated handbook, which was his trusty friend and companion. he opened it at page 64. he knew the place well enough, for he had many times coveted what was offered there. there, standing at attention and looking straight at him, was the picture of a scout, very trim and natty, looking, as he had often thought, exactly like roy. beside it was another picture of a scout tying knots and he recalled how roy had taught him the various knots. his eyes scanned the type above till he found what he sought. "the bronze medal is mounted on a red ribbon and is awarded to a scout who has actually saved life where risk is involved. "the silver medal is mounted on a blue ribbon and is awarded to a scout who saves life with considerable risk to himself. "the gold medal is mounted on white ribbon and is the highest possible award for heroism. it may be granted to a scout who has gravely endangered his own life in actually saving the life of another." "it'll mean the silver one for him, all right," said tom to himself, "and that's three more weeks. i wish it could be the gold one." idly he ran through the pages of the book, pausing here and there. on page 349 were pictures of scouts rescuing drowning persons. he knew the methods well and looked at the pictures wistfully. again at page 278 was some matter about tracking, with notes in facsimile handwriting. this put the idea into his mind that he might insert a little handwriting of his own at a certain place, and he turned to the pages he knew best of all--33 and 34. he read the whole twelve laws, but none seemed quite to cover his case. so he wrote in a very cramped hand after law 12 these words: "13--a scout can make a sacrifice. he can keep from winning a medal so somebody else can get it. especially he must do this if it does the other scout more good. that is better than being a hero." he turned to the fly leaf and wrote in sprawling, reckless fashion: "i am not a coward. i hate cowards." then he tore the page out and threw it away. he hardly knew what he was doing. after a few minutes he turned to page 58, where the picture of the honor medal was. as he sat gazing at it, loud shouting arose in the distance. nearer and nearer it came, and louder it grew, until it swelled into a lusty chorus. around the corner of the pavilion they came, two score or more of scouts, yelling and throwing their hats into the air. tom looked up and listened. through the little window he could glimpse them as they passed, carrying garry everson upon their shoulders, and shrieking themselves hoarse. pee-wee was there and artie val arlen, of the ravens, and the little sandy-haired fellow with the cough, running to keep up and yelling proudly for his chief and idol. "hurrah for the silver cross!" they called. "three cheers for the honor scout!" "three cheers and three extra weeks!" they paused within a dozen feet of where tom sat, and pushing, elbowing, fell into the woods path leading up to hero cabin. tom listened until their voices, spent by the distance, were scarcely audible. then he fell to gazing again at the picture of the medal. chapter xvi ostracized the question was as to the bronze cross or the silver one, and it was the silver one which came. roy, who had been the most observant witness, testified before the honor court that the frantic struggling of the rescued scout must have incurred danger to the rescuer and that only his dexterity and skill had saved him. but after all, who can say how much risk is involved in such an act. it is only in those deeds of sublime recklessness where one throws his life into the balance as a tree casts off a dried leaf that the true measure of peril is known. that is where insanity and heroism seem to join hands. and hence the glittering cross of the yellow metal lying against its satin background of spotless white stands alone by itself, apart from all other awards. there was no thought of it here and least of all by garry himself. when asked by the court how much he believed he had jeopardized his life, he said he did not know, and that at the time he had thought only of saving dory bronson. he added that all scouts know the different life-saving "wrinkles" and that they have to use their judgment. his manner had a touch of nonchalance, or rather, perhaps of indifference, which struck one or two of the visiting scoutmasters unfavorably. but jeb rushmore, who was in the room, sitting far back with his lanky arms clasped about his lanky limbs, and a shrewd look in his eyes, was greatly impressed, and it was largely because of his voice that the recommendation went to headquarters for the silver medal. in all of the proceedings the name of tom slade was not once mentioned, though his vantage point on the spring-board ought to have made his testimony of some value. so garry everson and his little one-patrol troop took up their abode in hero cabin, and the little sandy-haired fellow with the cough raised and lowered the colors each day, as tom had done, and ate more heartily down at mess, and made birchbark ornaments in the sunshine up at his beloved retreat, and was very proud of his leader; but he had little use for tom slade, because he believed tom was a coward. in due time the silver cross itself came, and scouts who strolled up to visit the cabin on the precipice noticed that sometimes the little sandy-haired fellow wore it, so that it came to be rumored about that garry everson cared more about him than he did about the medal. there were times when garry took his meals up to him and often he was not at campfire in the evenings. but the little fellow improved each day and every one noticed it. in time the feeling toward tom subsided until nothing was left of it except a kind of passive disregard of him. organized resentment would not have been tolerated at temple camp and it is a question whether the scouts themselves would have had anything to do with such a conspiracy. but the feeling had changed toward him and was especially noticeable in certain quarters. perhaps if he had lived among his own troop and patrol as one of them the estrangement would have been entirely forgotten, but he lived a life apart, seeing them only at intervals, and so the coldness continued. as the time drew near for the troop to leave, tom fancied that the feeling against him was stronger because they were thinking of the extra time they might have had along with the honor they had lost, but he was sensitive and possibly imagined that. he sometimes wondered if roy and the others were gratified to know that these good friends of their happy journey to camp could remain longer. but the camp was so large and the honor troop stayed so much by itself that the bridgeboro boys hardly realized what it meant to that little patrol up at hero cabin. tom often thought wistfully of the pleasant cruise up the river and wondered if roy and pee-wee thought of it as they made their plans to go home in the _good turn_. two friends tom had, at all events, and these were jeb rushmore and garry everson. the honor troop was composed mostly of small boys and all except the little boy who was garry's especial charge were in tom's tracking class. he used to put them through the simpler stunts and then turn them over to jeb rushmore. apparently, they did not share the general prejudice and he liked to be with them. one afternoon he returned with three or four of these youngsters and lingered on the hill to chat with garry. he had come to feel more at home here than anywhere else. "how's the kid?" tom asked, as the sandy haired boy came out of the cabin and passed him without speaking. "fine. you ought to see him eat. he's a whole famine in himself. you mustn't mind him," he added; "he has notions." "oh," said tom, "i'm used to being snubbed. it just amuses me in his case." "how's tracking?" "punk. there's so much dust you can't make a track. what we need is rain, so we can get some good plain prints. that's the only way to teach a tenderfoot. jeb says dust ought to be good enough, but he's a fiend." "he could track an aeroplane," said garry. "everything's pretty dry, i guess." "you'd say so," said tom, "if you were down through those east woods. you could light a twig with a sun glass. they're having forest fires up back of tannerstown." "i saw the smoke," said garry. "there's a couple of hoboes down the cut a ways; we tracked them today, cooking over a loose fire. i tried to get them to cut it out; told 'em they'd have the whole woods started. they only laughed. i'm going to report it to j. r." "they on the camp land?" "if they were they'd have been off before this." they strolled out to the edge of the cut and looked off across the country beyond where the waning sunlight fell upon the dense woods, touching the higher trees with its lurid glow. over that way smoke arose and curled away in the first twilight. "there's some good timber gone to kindling wood over there," said garry. "it's going to blow up to-night," said tom; "look at the flag." they watched the banner as it fluttered and spread in the freshening breeze. "looks pretty, don't it?" said tom. "shall we haul it down?" "no, let the kid do it." garry called and the little fellow came over for the task he loved. "sunset," said garry. "now just look at his muscle," he added, winking at tom. "by the time this precious three weeks is up, he'll be a regular samson." garry walked a few paces down the hill with tom. "i wish i could have had a chance to thank mr. temple when he was here," he said, "for this bully camp and that extra time arrangement." "he deserves thanks," said tom. they walked on for a few moments in silence. "you--_you_ don't think i'm a coward, do you?" said tom, suddenly. "i wouldn't speak about it to anyone but you. but i can't help thinking about it sometimes. i wouldn't speak about it even to roy--now." "of course, i don't. i think you were a little rattled, that's all. i've been the same myself. for a couple of seconds you didn't know what to do--you were just up in the air--and by the time you got a grip on yourself--i had cheated you out of it. you were just going to dive, weren't you?" "sometimes it's hard to make a fellow understand," said tom, not answering the question. "i can't tell you just what i was thinking. that's my own business. i--i've got it in my handbook. but all i want to know is, _you_ don't think i'm a coward, do you?" "sure, i don't." garry turned back and tom went on down the winding path through the woods to camp. the breeze, becoming brisker, blew the leaves this way and that, and as he plodded on through the dusk he had to lower his head to keep his hat from blowing off. the wind brought with it a faint but pungent odor which reminded him of the autumn days at home when he and roy raked up the leaves and burned them behind the blakeley house. he avoided this train of thought. his face was stolid, and his manner dogged as he hurried on, with the rather clumsy gait which still bore the faintest trace of the old shuffle barrel alley had known so well. near the camp he ran plunk into roy. "hello," he said. "hello," said roy, and passed on. "roy," tom called after him, "i want to speak to you a minute." roy paused. "i--i was thinking--do you smell smoke, roy? it makes me think how we used to rake up the leaves." roy said nothing. "i understand the troop is going home tomorrow and some of you are going in the _good turn_. i hope you'll have a fine trip--like when we came up. i wish you could all stay longer. it makes me kind of homesick to see you all go." "we might have stayed longer," said roy, coldly, "only--is that all you want to say to me?" he broke off. "i just want to say good-bye and----" "all right, good-bye," said roy, and walked away. tom watched him for a few seconds, then went on down to supper. chapter xvii the winning of the golden cross the wind had become so strong that it was necessary to move the mess boards around to the leeward side of the pavilion. several fellows remarked on the pungent odor which permeated the air and a couple who had been stalking spoke of the woods fires over beyond tannerstown. garry was not at supper, nor the little sandy-haired fellow, but the others of his patrol came down before the meal was over. "guess we'll cut out yarns to-night," said jeb rushmore, "and hike out on a little tour of inspection." "there are a couple of tramps in the woods this side of the cut, right up the hill a ways," said tom. "we need rain, that's sure," said another scout. "maybe we'll get some with this wind," remarked another. "no, i reckon it's a dry wind," said mr. rushmore, looking about and sniffing audibly. "gol smash it," he added, rising and sniffing still louder. "thar's somethin' in the air." for a minute he stood near his place, then strode off up the hill a little way, among the trees, where he paused, listening, like an animal at bay. they could see his dark form dimly outlined in the darker night. "j. r.'s on the scent," remarked doc. carson. several fellows rose to join him and just at that minute westy martin, of the silver foxes, and a scout from a maryland troop who had been stalking, came rushing pell-mell into camp. "the woods are on fire!" gasped westy. "up the hill! look!" "i seed it," said jeb. "the wind's bringin' it." "you can't get through up there," westy panted. "we had to go around." "ye couldn't get round by now. b'ys, we're a-goin' ter git it for sure. it's goin' ter blow fire." for a moment he stood looking up into the woods, with the boys about him, straining their eyes to see the patches of fire which were visible here and there. suddenly these patches seemed to merge and make the night lurid with a red glare, a perfect pandemonium of crackling and roaring assailed the silent night and clouds of suffocating smoke enveloped them. the fire, like some heartless savage beast, had stolen upon them unawares and was ready to spring. jeb rushmore was calm and self-contained and so were most of the boys as they stood ready to do his bidding. "naow, ye see what i meant when i said a leopard's as sneaky as a fire," said jeb. "here, you bridgeboro troop and them two maryland troops and the troop from washin't'n," he called, "you make a bucket line like we practiced. tom--whar's tom? and you oakwood b'ys, git the buckets out'n the provish'n camp. line up thar ri' down t' the water's edge and come up through here. you fellers from pennsylvany 'n' you others thar, git the axes 'n' come 'long o' me. don't git rattled, now." like clockwork they formed a line from the lake up around the camp, completely encircling it. the fire crept nearer every second, stifling them with its pungent smoke. other scouts, some with long axes, others with belt axes, followed jeb rushmore, chopping down the small trees which he indicated along the path made by this human line. in less than a minute fifty or more scouts were working desperately felling trees along the path. fortunately, the trees were small, and fortunately, too, the scouts knew how to fell them so that they fell in each case away from the path, leaving an open way behind the camp. along this open way the line stood, and thus the full buckets passing from hand to hand with almost the precision of machinery, were emptied along this open area, soaking it. "the rest o' you b'ys," called jeb, "climb up on the cabins--one on each cabin, and three or four uv ye on the pavilion. some o' ye stay below to pass the buckets up. keep the roofs wet--that's whar the sparks'll light. hey, tom!" as the hurried work went on one of garry's troop grasped jeb by the arm. "how about our cabin?" said he, fearfully. "there are two fellows up there." jeb paused a moment, but shook his head. "they'll hev ter risk jumpin' int' th' cut," said he. "no mortal man c'u'd git to 'em through them woods naow." the boy fell back, sick at heart as he thought of those two on the lonely hill surrounded by flame and with a leap from the precipice as their only alternative. it was simply a choice between two forms of awful death. the fire had now swept to within a few yards of the outer edge of the camp, but an open way had been cleared and saturated to check its advance and the roofs of the shacks were kept soaked by a score or more of alert workers as a precaution against the blowing sparks. tom slade had not answered any of jeb's calls for him. at the time of his chief's last summons he was a couple of hundred feet from the buildings, tearing and tugging at one of the overflow tents. like a madman and with a strength born of desperation he dragged the pole down and, wrenching the stakes out of the ground by main force, never stopping to untie the ropes, he hauled the whole dishevelled mass free of the paraphernalia which had been beneath it, down to the lake. duffel bags rolled out from under it, the uprooted stakes which came along with it caught among trees and were torn away, the long clumsy canvas trail rebelled and clung to many an obstruction, only to be torn and ripped as it was hauled willy-nilly to the shore of the lake. in he strode, tugging, wrenching, dragging it after him. part of it floated because of the air imprisoned beneath it, but gradually sank as it became soaked. standing knee-deep, he held fast to one corner of it and waited during one precious minute while it absorbed as much of the water as it could hold. it was twice as heavy now, but he was twice as strong, for he was twice as desperate and had the strength of an unconquerable purpose. the lips of his big mouth were drawn tight, his shock of hair hung about his stolid face as with bulldog strength and tenacity he dragged the dead weight of dripping canvas after him up onto the shore. the water trickled out of its clinging folds as he raised one side of the soaking fabric, and dragged the whole mass up to the provision cabin. he seized the coil of lasso rope and hung it around his neck, then raising the canvas, he pulled it over his head like a shawl and pinned it about him with the steel clutch of his fingers, one hand at neck and one below. up through the blazing woods he started with the leaden weight of this dripping winding sheet upon him and catching in the hubbly obstructions in his path. the water streamed down his face and he felt the chill of it as it permeated his clothes, but that was well--it was his only friend and ally now. like some ghostly bride he stumbled up through the lurid night, dragging the unwieldly train behind him. apparently no one saw this strange apparition as it disappeared amid the enveloping flames. "tom--whar's tom?" called jeb rushmore again. up the hill he went, tearing his dripping armor when it caught, and pausing at last to lift the soaking train and wind that about him also. the crackling flames gathering about him like a pack of hungry wolves hissed as they lapped against his wet shroud, and drew back, baffled, only to assail him again. the trail was narrow and the flames close on either side. once, twice, the drying fabric was aflame, but he wrapped it under wetter folds. his face was burning hot; he strove with might and main against the dreadful faintness caused by the heat, and the smoke all but suffocated him. on and up he pressed, stooping and sometimes almost creeping, for it was easier near the ground. now he held the drying canvas with his teeth and beat with his hands to extinguish the persistent flames. his power of resistance was all but gone and as he realized it his heart sank within him. at last, stooping like some sneaking thing, he reached the sparser growth near the cut. two boys who had been driven to the verge of the precipice and lingered there in dread of the alternative they must take, saw a strange sight. a dull gray mass, with two ghostly hands reaching out and slapping at it, and a wild-eyed face completely framed by its charred and blackening shroud, emerged from amid the fire and smoke and came straight toward them. "what is it?" whispered the younger boy, drawing closer to garry in momentary fright at the sight of this spectral thing. "don't jump--it's me--tom slade! here, take this rope, quick. i guess it isn't burned any. i meant to wet it, too," he gasped. "is that tree solid? i can't seem to see. all right, quick! i can't do it. make a loop and put it under his arms and let him down." there was not a minute to spare, and no time for explanations or questions. garry lowered the boy into the cut. "now you'll have to let me down, i'm afraid," said tom. "my hands are funny and i can't--i can't go hand over hand." "that's easy," said garry. but it was not so easy as it had been to lower the smaller boy. he had to encircle the tree twice with the rope to guard against a too rapid descent, and to smooth the precipice where the rope went over the edge to keep it from cutting. when tom had been lowered into the cut, garry himself went down hand over hand. it was cool down there, but they could hear the wild flames raging above and many sparks descended and died on the already burned surface. the air blew in a strong, refreshing draught through the deep gully, and the three boys, hardly realizing their hair-breadth escape, seemed to be in a different world, or rather, in the cellar of the world above, which was being swept by that heartless roistering wind and fire. * * * * * along through the cut they came, a dozen or more scarred and weary scouts, their clothing in tatters, anxious and breathing heavily. they had come by the long way around the edge of the woods and got into the cut where the hill was low and the gully shallow. "is anyone there?" a scout called, as they neared the point above which hero cabin had stood. they knew well enough that no one could be left alive above. "we're here," called garry. "hurt? did you jump--both of you?" "three, the kid and i and tom slade." "tom slade? how did _he_ get here?" "came up through the woods and brought us a rope. _we're_ all right, but he's played out. got a stretcher?" "sure." they came up, swinging their lanterns, to where tom lay on the ground with garry's jacket folded under his head for a pillow, and they listened soberly to garry's simple tale of the strange, shrouded apparition that had emerged from the flames with the precious life line coiled about its neck. it was hard to believe, but there were the cold facts, and they could only stand about, silent and aghast at what they heard. "we missed him," said one scout. "is the camp saved?" asked garry. "mostly, but we had a stiff job." "don't talk about _our_ job," said doc carson as he stooped, holding the lantern before tom's blackened face and taking his wrist to feel the pulse. again there was silence as they all stood about and the little sandy-haired fellow with the cough crept close to the prostrate form and gazed, fascinated, into that stolid, homely face. and still no one spoke. "it means the gold cross," someone whispered. "do you think the gold cross is good enough?" garry asked, quietly. "it's the best we have." then roy, who was among them, kneeled down and put his arm out toward tom. "don't touch my hand," said tom, faintly. "it isn't that i don't want to shake hands with you," he added. "i wanted to do that when i met you--before supper. only my hands feel funny--tingly, kind of--and they hurt. "any of my own patrol here?" he asked after a moment. "yes, connie bennett's here--and will bronson." "then i'd rather have them carry the stretcher, and i'd like for you to walk along by me--i got something to say to you." they did as he asked, the others following at a little distance, except the little sandy-haired boy who persisted in running forward until garry called him back and kept his own deterring arm about the boy's shoulder. "i don't mind my own patrol hearing--or you. i don't care about the gold cross. it's only what it means that counts--sort of. i let garry save your brother, will, because i knew he needed to stay longer--i knew about that kid not being strong--that's all. i can go through water as easy as i can through fire--it's--it's easier--if it comes to that." "don't try to talk, tom," said roy, brokenly. "but i wouldn't tell even you, roy, because--because if he'd found it out he wouldn't think it was fair--and he wouldn't have taken it. that's the kind of a fellow he is, roy." "yes, i know what kind of a fellow he is," said roy. "anyway, it's no matter now. you see yourself hero cabin is burned down. a fellow might--he might even lose the cross. it's the three weeks that counted--see?" "yes, i see," said roy. "and tomorrow i want to go back with you fellows in the _good turn_--and see mr. temple. i want to ask him if that kid can stay with jeb 'till christmas. then i'll come back up to camp. i've thought a lot lately about our trip up in the _good turn_, roy." "yes--so have i, tom. but don't talk now. doc doesn't want you to." "we've got to find harry stanton," said tom, after a few minutes. "yes," said roy. but whether they ever did find him and the singular adventures attending their quest, are really part of another story. the end [illustration: a party of parents and friends came to see the campers start. _girls of central high in camp_ _page 49_] the girls of central high in camp or the old professor's secret by gertrude w. morrison author of the girls of central high, the girls of central high on lake luna, etc. illustrated the saalfield publishing co. akron, ohio new york made in u. s. a. copyright, 1915, by grosset & dunlap contents chapter page i. where, oh, where? 1 ii. plans for the summer 12 iii. visitors' day 20 iv. "lonesome liz" 29 v. the start 39 vi. prettyman sweet makes a friend 50 vii. the barnacle 61 viii. up rocky river 72 ix. the camp on acorn island 80 x. getting used to it 92 xi. liz sees a "ha'nt" 102 xii. the "kleptomaniantic" ghost 114 xiii. the search of the island 121 xiv. "more fun than a little" 128 xv. the barnacle has a nose 137 xvi. where the barnacle's nose led him 144 xvii. a perfectly unsatisfactory interview 152 xviii. an eventful fishing trip 159 xix. the young man with the gun 170 xx. laura keeps her secret 175 xxi. the sheriff with his dogs 182 xxii. where professor dimp comes in big 189 xxiii. liz on the defensive 196 xxiv. the barnacle trees something at last 201 xxv. "quite all right" 207 the girls of central high in camp chapter i where, oh, where? field day was past and gone and the senior class of central high, centerport's largest and most popular school, was thinking of little but white dresses, bouquets, and blue-ribboned diplomas. the group of juniors, however, who had made the school's athletic record for the year in the girls' branch athletic league, had other matters to discuss--and in their opinion they were matters of much greater moment. "boiled down," stated bobby hargrew, "to its last common divisor, it is 'where, oh, where shall we spend our vacation?'" they had decided some weeks before--bobby herself, laura belding, jess morse, the lockwood twins and dr. agnew's daughter, nellie--that a portion at least of the long summer vacation should be spent in camp. the mooted question was, where? "no seashore resort," nellie said, with more decision than she usually displayed, for nellie was of a timid and peaceful disposition. "no," agreed laura belding. "we'll eschew the three s's--'sun, sand, and 'skeeter-bites.' that is the slogan of the seashore resort. besides, it costs too much to get there." "that's an important item to take into consideration, girls, if _i'm_ to go," said jess morse. "i thought you were a millionairess?" laughed bobby. "where are the royalties from your play?" "those won't begin till the producer puts the play on next season," returned jess, who had been fortunate in writing a play for amateur production good enough to interest a professional theatrical manager. "well, we've got to have _you_, jess," said bobby (otherwise clara) hargrew. "for we're depending upon your mother to play chaperon for the crowd, wherever we go." "let's find a quiet spot, then," said jess, eagerly. "mother wants to write a book this summer and she says she would love to be somewhere where she doesn't need to play the society game, or dress----" "back to the garden of eden for hers!" chuckled bobby. "eve didn't have to dress--that is, not before _fall_." "aren't you awful, bobby?" cried one of the lockwood twins--but _which_ one it was who spoke could not have been sworn to by their most familiar friend. dora and dorothy looked just alike, dressed just alike, their voices were alike, and they usually acted in perfect harmony, too! "well," pursued laura belding, "if we are going to spend the first weeks of the summer vacation in camp, we must decide upon the spot at once. are we all agreed that we shall not go to the salt water?" "oh, yes!" cried her particular chum, jess, or josephine, morse. "none of the troubles of the seaside boarder for ours," bobby announced, hurriedly groping amid the rubbish in her skirt pocket and bringing forth a crumpled newspaper clipping. bobby insisted upon having a pocket in almost every garment she wore (it was whispered that she wore pajamas at night for that reason) and no boy ever carried a more heterogeneous collection in his pockets than she did. "see here! here's one seaside visitor's complaint," and she intoned in a singsong voice the following doggerel: "'why don't red-headed girls get tanned? why does a collar wilt? why is the sea so near the land? why were the billows built? why is the "crawl-stroke" hard to learn? why is the sea bass shy? why is the nose the first to burn? why is the stinging fly? "'why do mosquito nettings leak? why do all fishers lie? why does the grunter-fish always squeak? why do they feed us on clam-pie? why does the boardwalk hurt the feet? why is the seaweed green? why can't a bathing suit look neat? why won't straw hats stay clean? "'why----'" "stop it!" shrieked jess, covering her ears. "how _dare_ you read such preposterous stuff?" "'whys to the wise,' you know," giggled bobby. "i vote we refuse to allow bobby to go camping with the crowd unless she positively refrains from quoting verse on any and every occasion," drawled nellie. "hardhearted creature!" cried dora lockwood. "poor bobs couldn't live without that 'scape-gap." "by the way, girls," laura belding asked, briskly, "are we going to let any other girls join this camping party--or is it to be just us six?" "who else wants to go?" demanded bobby, quickly. "lil pendleton----" "always that!" ejaculated bobby, in disgust. "why, bobby!" cried dorothy. "i thought you and lilly kissed and made up?" "oh, yes--we did," grunted the smaller girl. "that is, we kissed. lil was already made up." "now, bobby!" admonished laura. "that's horrid of you, bobby," nellie declared. "you are incorrigible." yet they all had to laugh. bobby hargrew _was_ just a cut-up! "i'm worse than the long word you called me, nell," said little miss hargrew. "but we're not going to have any such spoil-sport as lil pendleton along." "but chet and lance say that prettyman sweet has begged so hard to go camping with _them_, that they're going to take him--just for the fun they will have at his expense, i s'pose," said laura. "that's why lil wants to go camping," dora said. "she's got such an awful crush on pretty sweet that she wants to do everything he does." "that dude!" scoffed bobby. "he and lil make a good pair," said jess. "wait a minute!" cried dorothy lockwood. "where are the boys going to camp this year, laura?" "on the shore of lake dunkirk, somewhere." "say, mother wit," cried bobby, addressing by her universal nickname the leader of the crowd of central high girls. "wouldn't it be fun to camp near--that is, providing the boys are all nice." "well, beside chet and lance and pretty sweet, there'll be short and long, reddy butts and arthur hobbs, anyway. i don't know how many more," laura said. "but you know that chet and lance wouldn't have any but nice fellows in their crowd." "barring pretty," said bobby, "they are all good chaps--so far. we wouldn't mind having them for neighbors. "and why can't we?" she added, suddenly. "why, girls! father tom has recently bought into the rocky river lumber company and that company owns acorn island." "acorn island? great!" declared jess. "that's the big island in lake dunkirk, you know," explained laura to the lockwood twins, who looked puzzled. "acorn island is just the finest kind of a place for a camp," said the enthusiastic jess. "it's just like a wilderness." "right! the company isn't going to cut the timber on the island till next winter. father tom says so." "i've been to picnics on acorn island," said nellie agnew. "it _is_ a beautiful spot." "acorn island it is, then," cried bobby. "hurrah! we'll spend our vacation there!" she almost shouted this declaration. the girls had been lingering to talk in the high school yard and were now at the gate. nellie suddenly tugged at laura's sleeve and whispered: "look there! _what_ do you suppose is the matter with professor dimp?" bobby spun around at the word, having heard the sibilant whisper. she likewise stared at the rusty-coated gentleman who had just passed the gate, having come from the main entrance of the central high building. "gee!" exclaimed the slangy bobby. "what's got old dimple now? what have _i_ ever done to him--except massacre the latin language?--and that's a 'dead one,' anyway!" the latin teacher--the bane of all careless and ill-prepared boys and girls of the latin class--was a slightly built, stoop-shouldered man who never seemed to own a new coat, and was as forgetful as a person really could be, and be allowed to go about without a keeper. he often passed the members of his class on the street without knowing them at all; the boys said you might as well bow to a post as to old dimple! but here he had taken particular notice of bobby hargrew; indeed, he stopped to turn around and glare right at her--just as though she had said something particularly offensive to him as he passed the group. "goodness!" murmured jess. "if you're not in trouble with gee gee, bobs, you manage to get one of the other instructors down on you. what have you done to the professor?" "nothing, i declare!" said bobby, plaintively. "if you'd murdered his grandmother he couldn't look any harder at you," chuckled dora lockwood. the professor suddenly saw that he had disturbed the party of schoolgirls. he actually flushed, and turned hurriedly to move away. as he did so he pulled a big, blue-bordered handkerchief from the tail pocket of his frock-coat. that pocket was notably a "catch-all" for anything the poor, absent-minded professor wished to save, or to which he took a fancy. once short and long (otherwise a very short boy named long) dropped a kitten into the professor's tail pocket and the gentleman did not discover it until he reached for his bandana to wipe his moist brow when he stood up to lecture his latin class. however, it was nothing like a kitten that followed the blue-bordered handkerchief out of the voluminous skirt-pocket. a crumpled clipping from a newspaper fell to the walk as professor dimp strode away. bobby hargrew's quick eye noted the clipping first, and she darted to retrieve it. she came back more slowly, reading the printed slip. "what is it, bob?" asked jess, idly. "why, clara!" exclaimed laura belding, "aren't you going to give it back to him?" "look here, girls!" ejaculated the excited and thoughtless bobby, looking up from the newspaper clipping. "what do you think of this? old dimple must be secretly interested in modern crime as well as in the murdered ancient languages. this is all about those forgeries in the merchants and miners bank, of albany. you know, they say a young fellow--almost a boy--did them; and he can't be found and they don't know what he did with the money obtained by the circulating of the false paper." "my! our aunt dora lost some securities. she just wrote us about it," dorothy lockwood said, eagerly. "and he wasn't much but a boy!" murmured nellie. but laura said, sharply: "bobby! that's not nice. run after professor dimp and give the clipping to him." "gee! you're so awfully particular," grumbled the harum-scarum. but she started after the shabby figure of the latin teacher and caught up with him before professor dimp had reached the end of the next block--for bobby hargrew had taken the palm in the quarter mile dash at the girls' branch league field day and there were few girls at central high who could compete with her as a sprinter. when she returned to the group of her friends, still eagerly discussing the plane for their camping trip, her footsteps lagged. laura noticed the curious expression on the smaller girl's face. "what _has_ happened you, bobby?" she demanded. "why! i'm so surprised," gasped bobby. "i must have done something _awful_ to old dimple. when he saw what it was i handed him, he grabbed it and just snarled at me: "'where did you get that, miss hargrew?' "and when i told him, he looked as though he didn't believe me and had to search his pocket to make sure he _had_ dropped it. and he looked at me so fiercely and suspiciously. goodness! i don't know what i've done to him." "he's odd, you know," suggested mother wit. "that's all right," said bobby, somewhat tartly; "but what the mischief he wants to bother himself about where we go camping----" "what do you mean, bobs?" demanded jess, while the other girls all looked amazed. "why he said to me just now," answered the disturbed girl, "'you girls better keep away from acorn island. that's no place for you to go camping.' and then walked right off with his old clipping, and without giving me a chance to ask him what he meant," concluded bobby hargrew. chapter ii plans for the summer bobby hargrew came to school the next morning with rather a sour face for her. "what's the matter, dear?" asked nell agnew, sympathetically. "i wish i were a bird," grumbled bobby. "so you could soar into the circumambient ether and leave all mundane things below?" queried jess morse, with a chuckle. "no," said bobby, in disgust. "so i wouldn't have a toothache. i was up with one of my old grinders half the night." "have it pulled," suggested laura. "say!" cried bobby. "that's the easiest thing in the world to say and the hardest to do. and you know it, mother wit! you can have an old toothache that will make you feel like committing suicide; and when you get to the dentist shop you wish you _had_ committed suicide before you got there," and jolly little bobby began to grin again. "suicide is a serious matter," said nellie, gravely. "surely, surely," the cut-up replied, dropping her voice to a gruesome pitch. "listen! "'beside a sewer a man lay dead, a dagger in his side; the coroner's decision read: "he died of suicide." 'now if this man at home in bed, had in this manner died, then could the coroner have said: "he died of homicide"?' "never joke about serious things, nell." "hush, bobby!" commanded laura belding. "tell us, do, if your father has agreed to let us go camping on acorn island?" "of course," replied the younger girl. "and he says there is a cabin there that can be made tight for ten dollars. it's all right to camp under canvas; but if a big storm should come up he says we'd be glad of that cabin." "great!" announced jess morse. "the cabin shall be your mother's particular shelter," said laura. "eh, girls?" "if she is kind enough to go with us," said nellie, "she should have the very best of everything." "she can have _my_ share of the wood ants and red spiders," chuckled bobby. "but it's all right, girls. father tom says we can have the island to ourselves. and believe me: this bunch of girls of central high will sure have a good time!" which was a prophecy likely to be fulfilled, if the past adventures of these same girls were any criterion of the future. for more than a year now the girls of central high, together with those of the other two high schools of centerport and the high schools of lumberport and keyport--all five--had been deeply interested in the girls' branch league athletics. in following the various games and exercises approved by their instructor, mrs. case these six girls introduced above, had engaged in many and varied enterprises and adventures. in "the girls of central high; or, rivals for all honors," the first volume of this series, laura belding ("mother wit") was enabled to interest one of the wealthiest men of centerport in girls' athletics so that he gave a large sum toward the preparation of a handsome athletic field and gymnasium for central high. the second volume is entitled: "the girls of central high on lake luna," and the third is "the girls of central high at basket ball"--the titles of which tell their own story. "the girls of central high on the stage," the fourth volume, tells of the writing and first production by her mates of jess morse's successful play, while the fifth of the series is entitled: "the girls of central high on track and field; or, champions of the school league." laura, jess, nellie, the lockwood twins and bobby were girls of dissimilar characters (that is, if we count dora and dorothy as "one and indivisible" like the union of the states). laura's brother chetwood, his chum, lance darby, billy long, and some of the other central high boys were usually entangled in the girls' adventures--sufficiently to give spice to the incidents. so, all considered, it was only reasonable that the girls should have eagerly agreed upon the site of their summer camp--acorn island. they knew that the boys would probably have their own camp on one shore or the other of the lake, and within sight of the island. chet, who seldom failed to walk home with jess and carry her books--unless the gymnasium called the girls after the school session--and lance, who filled like office of faithful squire to laura, joined the girl chums on this afternoon. "got it all planned, have you?" chet said. "i hear acorn island is going to be overrun with a gang of female indians right after graduation." "we have got to go up there to keep watch of you boys," laughed his sister. "but it's nice of bobby's father to let us camp there." "pull--sheer pull," grumbled lance. "we fellows tried our best to get permission to camp on the island." "well," said jess, demurely. "you can come to the island visiting. it will be perfectly proper. my mother says she will go to chaperon us, now that she knows there is a cabin there." "and bobby's father is going to send a couple of men up from lumberport to make the cabin tight and fix things up a little for us. we'll pitch our tents on the knoll right by the cabin," laura said, eagerly. "pretty spot," agreed chet. "we'll probably have our camp in sight of it and the lake between the south shore and the island is only about two miles broad." "oh! we'll have a bully time," his chum agreed. "say!" chet said, suddenly, addressing lance darby. "what was professor dimp saying to you about camping? i heard a word or two. something about going to the island?" "why! i forgot to tell you about that," returned lance, quickly, while the two girls cast enquiring glances at each other. "old dimple is certainly an odd stick." "as odd as dick's hat-band," agreed chet. "and no-end forgetful. he's been worse than ever lately. there certainly is something worrying him." "you boys," laughed jess. "something worse than boys," lance returned. "it's a shame how forgetful he is. say! did you hear what he did at mr. sharp's the other night?" "no," said the others, in chorus. lance began to chuckle. mr. franklin sharp was the principal of central high, and was very much admired by all the pupils; while professor dimp, because of his harshness and his queer ways, was the butt of more than a few jokes. "it was night before last when it rained so hard," resumed lance. "he was there going over latin exercises or something, with the doctor. mrs. sharp asked him to stay all night, when it came on so hard to rain, and the old prof thanked her and said he would. "mr. sharp went into his office to do something or other and left old dimple in the library for a while. the family lost track of him then. right in the middle of the hardest downpour, about eleven o'clock, the front door bell rang, and mr. sharp went to the door. "there was old dimple, under a dripping umbrella, his pants wet to the knees, and his pajamas and toothbrush under his arm----" "oh, lance!" ejaculated laura. "that is too much to believe." "fact. he'd gone home for his nightclothes. i got it from our hired girl and she got it from mrs. sharp's maid. so, there you have it!" "but you didn't tell us what the old prof was saying to you about camping," reminded chet, when the general laugh was over. "why! that's so. and it was odd, too, that he should take any interest in what we fellows were going to do this summer." "what about it?" jess asked. "he wanted to know if we were going to pitch our camp, too, on acorn island? he seemed to know you girls were going there." "how odd!" murmured laura and jess, together. and the latter added: "bobby said he seemed mad when he found out _we_ were going to acorn island." "well," drawled lance, "he seemed sort of relieved when i told him we fellows were going to camp on the mainland." "funny he should trouble his head about us out of school hours at all," chet said again. his sister made no further comment upon the professor's queer actions. nevertheless her curiosity was aroused regarding the old instructor's sudden interest in anything beside latin exercises and greek roots. chapter iii visitors' day the afternoon preceding the closing exercises of central high was visitors' day at the girls' gymnasium. this was an entirely different affair from the recent field day when laura belding and her particular friends had so well distinguished themselves. on _that_ occasion the general public had been invited. visitors' day might better have been called "mothers' day." mrs. case personally invited all those mothers who had shown little interest, or positive objection, to their daughters' athletic activities. for to the centerport ladies the fact that their daughters were being trained "like prize-ring fighters," as one good but misled mother had said in a letter to the newspaper, was not only a novel course but was considered of doubtful value. "and you must come, mother," begged laura, when mrs. belding seemed inclined to make excuses. mrs. belding was one of the mothers who could not approve of her daughter's interest in athletics. "really, laura, i am not sure that i should enjoy myself seeing you crawl about those ladders like a spider--or climbing ropes like a sailor--or turning on a trapeze like a monkey--or otherwise making yourself ridiculous." "oh, mother!" half-laughed laura. yet she was a little hurt, too. "aw, mother, don't sidestep your plain duty," said chet, his eyes twinkling. "chetwood! you know very well that i do not approve of many of these modern dances. i certainly do not 'sidestep'"---"that isn't a dance, mother," giggled laura. her husband chuckled at the other end of the table. "my dear," he said, suavely, "you should keep up with the times----" "no, thank you. i have no desire to. keeping up with the times, as you call it, has made my son speak a language entirely unintelligible to _my_ ear, and has made my daughter an exponent of muscular exercises of which i cannot approve." "pshaw!" said her husband, easily. "basketball, and running, and rowing, and the exercise she gets at that gymnasium, aren't going to hurt mother wit." "there you go!" exclaimed his wife. "you have begun to apply to laura an appellation which she has gained since all this disturbance over athletics among the girls, has arisen. "i can no more than expect," went on mrs. belding, seriously, "that, dissatisfied with basketball and the like, the girls will become baseball and football--what do you call them, chetwood? fans?" "quite right, mother," laura hastened to answer instead of her brother. "and all we girls of central high are fans already when it comes to baseball and football. i'd like to belong to a baseball team, myself, for one----" "laura!" gasped her mother, while her father and chet burst out laughing. "it's the finest game in the world," declared laura, stoutly. "hear! hear!" from chet. "i've been to see the games a lot with father saturday afternoons," began laura, when her mother interposed: "indeed? _that_ is why you are so eager always to spend your forenoons with your father on saturday?" "oh, mother! i really _do_ help father in the jewelry-store--don't i, dad?" "couldn't get along without you, daughter," said mr. belding, stoutly. "and he always takes me for a nice bite in a restaurant," pursued the girl, "and then if there's a game, we go to see it." "runaways!" said mrs. belding, shaking an admonishing finger at them. "so you encourage her in these escapades, do you, mr. belding?" "quite so, mother," he returned. "you're behind the times. girls are different nowadays--in open practise, at least--from what they were in our day. of course, i remember when i first saw you----" "that will do!" exclaimed mrs. belding, flushing very prettily, while the children laughed. "we will not rake up old stories, if you please." any reference to the occasion at which her husband hinted, usually brought his wife "to time," as chet slangily expressed it. she agreed to be present at the girls' gymnasium on that last day when the girls used the paraphernalia as they pleased, with mrs. case standing by to direct, or admonish, or advise. mrs. belding found in the gallery overlooking the big gymnasium floor many of her neighbors, church friends, or fellow club-members. "i've been trying to get here for months," one stout lady confided to the market street jeweler's wife; "but it does seem to me i never have a minute to spare. but lluella says that i _must_ come now, for the term is ending. that's lluella over yonder jumping on that mat. isn't she quick on her feet?" "grace is such a reckless child," complained the lady on mrs. belding's other side. "she's her father all over again--and he's got the quickest temper of any man i ever saw. gets over it right away, you know; but it's a trial to have a man get mad because the coffee's muddy of a morning." "oh, i know all about _that_," sighed the fleshy lady, windily. "i don't suppose there's really any danger of the children getting hurt here, mrs. belding?" proceeded the thin mother. "i believe not. laura says there is no danger----" "oh, your laura is a regular athlete!" interrupted the fat woman. "my lluella says she is just _wonderful_." "so does my grace," declared the thin lady on the other side. "she says there's nobody like 'mother wit,' as she calls laura." "i think there is no danger," murmured mrs. belding, not sure whether she was glad or sorry that her daughter was so popular. "oh, mrs. belding! are _you_ here?" broke in rather a shrill voice from the rear. "i told lily i would come to-day; but really, i hardly knew whether it was the thing to approve of this gymnasium business----" mrs. pendleton's voice trailed off as it usually did before she completed a sentence. she was a small, extremely vivacious, black-eyed woman, much overdressed, and carrying a lorgnette with which she eyed the crowd of girlish figures on the floor below. "of course," she murmured to mrs. belding, "if _you_ approve----" "where is grace now?" cried the thin lady, suddenly. "mercy! see where she has climbed to. do you suppose they can get her without a ladder?" grace, a thin, wiry child of the wriggling type, had successfully clambered up the rope almost to the beam overhead and was now surveying the gallery with lofty compassion, which included a lively appreciation of her mother's uneasiness. "oh, grace!" shrilled the thin woman. "get down this instant! or do you want me to bring you a ladder?" an appreciative giggle arose from some of the girls below. grace turned rather red around her ears, and began to descend. it was one thing to make her mother marvel; she did not want her "act" to be turned to ridicule. "they look real pretty--now don't they?" admitted mrs. pendleton, loftily, after surveying the gymnasium for some time through her lorgnette. "lily's dress cost us a deal of trouble. but she looks well in it. she's well developed for her age and--thank goodness!--she has a _chic_ way with her. "i thought we never would get the suit to fit her. and she changed her shoes three times," added the society matron. "finally i told her if she was going to have nervous prostration getting ready to take physical culture, she'd better wait and take it when she was convalescent." "i hope lluella will be careful of her hands," said the fleshy lady on mrs. belding's right. "she's always bruising or cutting her fingers. just like her aunt. her aunt always had to wear gloves doing her housework." "there! they are going to march," cried the thin lady, as mrs. case blew her whistle and the girl on the rope slid the last few feet to the floor. "grace is down, thank goodness!" "her music teacher says grace's ear is a regular gift--she keeps such good time." "i'm sure no sensible parent would ever have _bought_ those ears," whispered mrs. pendleton to mrs. belding. "they must have been a gift," for those organs on the agile grace were painfully prominent. "but she had _such_ a pretty smile when she looked up at her mother just now," whispered the kind-hearted mrs. belding. "that reminds me," said the society matron--though why it should have reminded her nobody knows! "that reminds me, my lily is crazy to go camping--positively crazy!" "i know," sighed mrs. belding. "laura is determined, too. and her father approves and has overruled all _my_ objections." "oh, it's not that with me at all," said mrs. pendleton, briskly. "i'm glad enough to have the child go. she's too much advanced for her age, anyway. if she spends this summer at newport, and bar harbor, and one or two other places where i positively _must_ appear, i'll never be able to get her back into school this fall. "it ages a mother so to have a growing daughter--and one that is so forward as lily," said this selfish lady, fretfully. "lily thinks she is grown up now. no. i approve of her going with a lot of little girls into camp. and she wants to go with your laura's crowd, mrs. belding." "i'm sure--laura would be pleased," said mrs belding, sweetly, without an idea that she was laying up trouble in store for mother wit. "oh, then, i can leave it with you, dear mrs. belding?" cried mrs. pendleton, with uncanny eagerness. "you will arrange it?" "why--er--i presume laura and her friends would have no objection to another of their schoolmates joining them. i understand mrs. morse will chaperon them----" "and quite a proper person for that office, too," agreed mrs. pendleton. "i presume they will take along a maid." "oh! i do not know," said mrs. belding, beginning to feel somewhat worried now. "i imagine the girls expect to do for themselves----" "oh! i will send a maid with lily. at least, i will pay the wages of one who will do for all the girls--in a way." she bustled away to find lily after the march. mrs. belding waited for her daughter in more or less trepidation. it had suddenly crossed her mind that lily pendleton was seldom at her house with the friends that mother wit gathered about her. chapter iv "lonesome liz" "oh, galloping grasshoppers!" gasped bobby hargrew, clinging tight to laura and nellie agnew in the dressing-room. "do you hear what she says?" "what language, bob!" said nellie, in horror. "how _can_ you?" "of whom are you speaking?" asked laura, with an admonishing look. "that lil pendleton. the gall of her!" "stop, bob!" commanded laura. "you talk like a street urchin." "i don't care if i talk like a sea urchin," complained the smaller girl. "she says she's going with us." "where?" asked nell. "camping." "who?" exclaimed laura, promptly. "that pendleton girl. says her mother just told her. _your_ mother said so, laura belding. so there!" "why--why----" "i don't want to complain of your mother, laura," said the grocer's daughter, "but it seems too bad we can't pick and choose whom we'll have go camping in our crowd." "mother doesn't understand! i am sure she never meant to _make_ us take lil if we didn't want her." "and surely we _don't_," declared the doctor's daughter, with more emphasis than she usually used in commenting upon any subject. "let's put the rollers under her and let her zip," exclaimed the slangy bobby. "if gee gee should hear you," laughed laura, referring to one of the very strict lady teachers of central high, miss grace gee carrington. "she's too busy with margit salgo--beg pardon!" exclaimed bobby. "margaret carrington, as she will in future be known. gee gee has scarcely called me down this week." "now, if it was margit who wanted to go," sighed nell agnew, speaking of the half-gypsy girl who had just come under the care of miss carrington. "or eve sitz," added bobby. "but eve says she gets out-of-door work enough on the farm in the summer. camping out is no fun for her." "i don't know what to say about lily," began laura. "i cannot understand mother promising such a thing. if anybody should decide, it should be jess' mother. _she_ is going with us." "oh! there's another thing," interrupted the fly-away bobby. "if lil goes, she's going to take along a lady's maid." "_what_?" gasped the other girls. "mrs. pendleton is going to pay the wages of a girl to go with us and do the camp work," announced bobby, and now she spoke with some enthusiasm. "goodness!" exclaimed laura. "not so bad," sighed nellie, who really did _not_ like hard work and had dreaded that division of labor which she knew must fall to her if they went camping without "help." "having a girl along to cook and do up the beds and wash dishes and the like wouldn't be so bad," announced bobby, growing braver as nell seemed to encourage the idea. "well! miss hargrew!" accused laura. "i believe you have gone over to the enemy. _you_ really want lil to go with us to acorn island." "no. but i'd be glad to have her mother pay the wages of somebody to do most of the hard work," grinned bobby. there was a regular "buzz society," as bobby called it, after the girls were dressed. the original six who had planned to go camping on acorn island _did_ hum like a colony of bees when they all learned that lily pendleton was likely to be foisted upon them. "it's a shame!" exclaimed jess, angrily. "she knows well enough we don't want her." "well," murmured one of the lockwood twins. "she asked us and we said the invitation would have to come through laura." "cowards!" exclaimed mother wit, dramatically. "that's why she got her mother to go to _mine_. and i am real angry with mother----" "oh, laura! we wouldn't offend your mother for anything," said nell, hastily. "or put her in an uncomfortable position," bobby added. "she's been too nice to us all." "and, of course, we have to stand lil in the school and gymnasium. she won't kill us; she's only silly," went on nell. "i believe you're all more or less willing to have lil go," declared laura, in wonder. "we-ell," drawled bobby. "there's the chance of having somebody to do the camp work for us----" "not lil!" shrieked jess. "she never lifts her hand at home." "no," said nell. "but mrs. pendleton will pay a maid's wages." "ah--ha!" ejaculated jess morse. "i smell a mice, as the dutchman says. we are to be bribed." and bribed they were. at least, none of them wished to put laura's mother to any trouble. so they agreed to let lily pendleton go camping with them. mrs. pendleton left it to the girls to find anyone they wanted to help about the camp, and promised to pay good wages. "i know just whom we can get," bobby said, eagerly, that evening when the girls--and some of the boys--were assembled as usual on the belding front porch. "who's that?" "that bean girl," said the groceryman's daughter. "who's she? miss boston bean?" chuckled chet. "lizzie bean! i know who she is," exclaimed laura. "she's the girl who's been helping the longs since alice came back to school. now alice will keep house for her father and the other children again, and lizzie will be out of a job," explained bobby. "whew! 'lonesome liz?'" ejaculated lance darby. "short and long calls her that. says she's about half cracked----" "i guess she isn't cracked enough to hurt," said dora lockwood, quickly. "is she, dorothy?" "of course not," agreed her twin. "and she keeps the house beautifully clean, and looks after tommy fine." "let me tell you master tommy long is some kid to look after," chuckled chet. "and that's no dream," agreed his chum, lance. bobby began to laugh, too. "did you hear his latest?" she demanded of the crowd. "who's latest," asked jess. "tommy long--the infant terrible?" "let's hear it, bobs," said jess. "if he can say anything worse than _you_ can----" "but this break on master tommy's part was entirely unintentional. alice was telling me about it. she sends him to sunday school and he has to memorize the golden text and repeat it to her when he comes home. "the other sunday he had been skylarking in sunday school, it was evident, for when she asked him to tell her the text, he shot this one at her: 'don't worry. you'll get the blanket.'" "_what_?" gasped laura. "that's a teaser," said lance. "what did the kid mean?" "that's what troubled alice," chuckled bobby. "she couldn't get it at all; but tommy stuck to it that he had given her the text straight. so she looked it up herself and what do you suppose tommy had twisted into 'don't worry. you'll get the blanket?'" "give it up," said jess. "let's have it." "why, the text was," said bobby, more seriously, "'fear not; the comforter shall come unto you.'" "that kid is a terror," said chet, when the laugh had subsided. "and so's short and long. i believe he agreed to let pretty sweet go along with us to lake dunkirk just because he likes to play jokes on purt." "dear me!" sighed bobby, with unction. "with pretty in your camp and lil in ours, the sun of no day should go down upon us without, seeing _some_ fun." "and if you have 'lonesome liz' along," chuckled lance, "you girls certainly won't forget how to laugh." it was agreed that laura and jess should see lizzie bean the next morning and engage her for the position--if she would accept. they started early, for although they were only juniors and would have another year to attend central high before graduation, this last day of school would be a busy one for them as well as for the graduating class. billy and alice long, who were their schoolmates, lived in a much poorer quarter of the town; it was down toward the wharves, and not far from the central high's boathouses. the street was a typical water-side street, with small, gaily painted cottages, or cottages without any paint at all save that put on lavishly by the ancient decorating firm of wind & weather. each dwelling had its own tiny fenced yard, with a garden behind. the longs' was neatly kept both front and rear, and the house itself showed no neglect by the tenants. mr. long was a hard working man, and although the children were motherless, alice, the oldest, kept the home neat and cheerful for her brothers and sisters. all the children were old enough to go to school save tommy; and he had been to kindergarten occasionally this last term and would go to school regularly in the fall. laura and jess, hurrying on their errand, came in sight of the long cottage abruptly, and of a wobegone little figure on the front step. "why, it's tommy!" exclaimed laura belding. "whatever is the the matter, tommy?" for the little fellow was crying softly. he was a most cherubic looking child, with a pink and white face, yellow curls that swept the clean collar of his shirt-waist, and a plump, "hug-able" little body. "yes, what _is_ the matter, dear?" begged jess morse. "h-he's gone an' cut off th-the tails of the pu-puppies," sobbed master tommy, his breast heaving. "who has?" demanded laura. "he. that man what co-comed here," choked the little fellow. "what a pity! i'm awfully sorry," laura pursued, soothingly. "the poor little puppies." "ye-yes. pa s-said _i_ should chop 'em off myself!" concluded master tommy in a burst of anger. "my goodness me!" gasped jess, horror-stricken. "will you hear that boy talk? he's a perfect little savage." "no, he isn't," said mother wit, shaking her head. "he's only a boy--that's all. you never had a brother, jess." "i know well enough chet was never like _that_," declared josephine, confidently. they went in by the front gate and walked around the house, leaving the disappointed youngster wiping his eyes. they expected to find lizzie bean at the back. in that they were not mistaken. at the well-curb was a lank, bony girl, who might have been laura's age, or perhaps a couple of years older. she was dreadfully thin. as she hauled on the chain which brought the brimming bucket to the top of the well, she betrayed more red elbow and more white stockinged ankle-bone than any _one_ person should display. "my goodness, she's thin!" whispered jess. "we are not looking for a hebe to help us at the camp," laura returned in the same low tone. lizzie bean turned to see who was approaching. her face was as thin as the rest of her figure. prominent cheek bones, a sharp, long nose, and a pointed chin do not make a beautiful countenance, to say the least. besides, the expression of her face was lachrymose in the extreme. it did seem, as jess afterward said, that lizzie must have lost all her relatives and friends very recently, and was mourning for them all! "goodness me!" she whispered to laura. "no wonder they call her 'lonesome liz.' she's so sad looking she's positively funny." chapter v the start "what do you girls want?" drawled the lean girl, resting her red elbows on the well-shelf and looking down at laura and jess morse. she did not speak unpleasantly; but she was very abrupt. laura saw that lizzie bean's flat, shallow appearing eyes were of a greenish gray color--eyes in which a twinkle could not possibly lurk. "we understand that you are not going to help alice much longer," laura said, pleasantly. "so we have come to see if you would like another position for a few weeks?" "what d'ye mean--a _job_?" proposed liz-bean, bluntly. "ye-yes," said laura, rather taken aback. "what doin'?" "why, we girls are going camping. there are seven of us--and mrs. morse. mrs. morse is the mother of my friend, here, josephine morse----" "please ter meet yer," interposed liz, bobbing a little courtesy at the much amused jess. laura went on steadily, and without smiling too broadly at liz: "there are seven of us girls and mrs. morse. we shall live very simply--in tents and in a cabin, on acorn island." "eight in fam'bly, eh?" put in the thin girl. "eight is a bigger contract than i got here." "oh! in camping out we don't expect anything fancy," laura hastened to say. "we want somebody to make beds, and wash dishes, and clean up generally. of course, the cooking will not _all_ fall on your shoulders----" "i sh'd hope not," said liz, briskly. "not if it was as solid as some folkses' biscuits. one woman i worked for once made her soda-riz biscuits so solid that if a panful had fell on yer shoulders 'twould ha' broke yer back." jess _had_ to explode at that, but the odd girl did not even smile. she only stared at the giggling jess and asked: "ain't ye well?" "oh, yes!" gasped jess. "well, i didn't know," drawled liz. "my a'nt what brought me up useter keep a bottle of giggle medicine for us gals. an' it was nasty tastin' stuff, too. she made us take a gre't spoonful if we laffed at table, or after we gotter bed nights. there was jala inter it, i b'lieve. i guess i could make ye some." jess stopped laughing in a hurry. laura tried to ignore her chum's indignant look; but it was quite plain that lizzie bean "had all her wits about her," as the saying is. "then you can cook?" laura observed. "well, i can boil water without burnin' it," declared the odd girl. "but i ain't no woodruff-wisteria chef." afterward the chums figured it out that liz meant "waldorf-astoria." "do you think you would like to go with us?" laura asked. "i dunno yet. where is it?" laura explained more fully about the camping site, how they were to get there, and other particulars of the project. "it listens good," liz said, reflectively. "though i ain't never cooked nothin' but soft-soap over a campfire." "oh! there will be a portable stove," laura said. "when ye goin'?" asked the girl. "day after to-morrow." "what'll ye pay?" was the next bluntly put question. laura told her the weekly wage mrs. pendleton had guaranteed. although lizzie bean's face was well nigh expressionless at all times, the girls saw at once that something was wrong. "i dunno," said liz, slowly. "i have worked mighty cheap in my life--and i ain't got no job when i leave here--an' i gotter eat. but that _does_ seem a _naw_-ful little wages." "why! i think that is real liberal," declared jess, with some warmth. liz eyed her again coldly. "you must ha' worked awful cheap in your life," she said. "i know," laura explained, quietly, laying an admonitory hand upon her chum's arm, "you know, that is what you will receive each week." "what's _that_?" demanded liz, with a jump, "say that again, will ye?" "we will pay you that sum weekly," repeated laura. "say--say it by the month!" gasped the lean girl, her eyes showing more surprise than laura had thought them capable of betraying. laura did as she was requested. a slow, faint grin dawned on liz bean's narrow countenance. "i been useter gittin' paid by the month--and sometimes not _then_. some ladies has paid me so little for helpin' them that i wisht they'd paid me only every _three_ months, so's 'twould sound bigger! "i gotter take ye up before somebody pinches me." "pinches you? what do you mean?" asked jess, doubtfully. "i don't want to wake up," declared liz. "i never got so much money since i was turned adrift when my a'nt died. don't _you_ wake up, neither, and forgit to pay me!" "i promise not to do that," laughed laura. "then you'll come with us?" "if i don't break an arm," declared lizzie bean, with emphasis. they told her how to meet them at the dock, and the hour they expected to start. "and bring your oldest clothes," warned jess. "what's that?" demanded liz. "we just about live in old clothes--or in a bathing suit--in camp," explained laura. "bless your heart!" exclaimed liz. "i ain't never had nothin' but old clo'es. been wearin' hand-me-downs ever since i can remember." "my goodness gracious!" said jess, and she and laura hurried off for school. "did you ever see such an uncouth creature? i don't wonder billy long says she's cracked." "i don't know about her being cracked, as you call it," laughed laura. "just because she's queer is no proof that she is an imbecile. you know the old parody on 'lives of great men all remind us,' don't you?" and she went on to quote: "'lives of imbeciles remind us it may some day come to pass, we shall see one staring at us from our trusty looking-glass!'" "shucks!" responded jess. "you'll get to be as bad as bobby hargrew with those old wheezes. but, did you _ever_ see such a girl before?" "no," admitted laura. "i honestly never did. but i am quite sure she is in the possession of all her senses----" "she may be; but i bet her senses are not like other folks'," chuckled jess. "she surely won't _bite_, jess," responded laura, smiling. "hope not! 'boil water without burning it!' what do you know about _that_?" "i think it's funny," said laura. "well! i only hope we get something to eat in camp," murmured jess. "we can't expect her to do all the cooking," laura said. "and i shall tell the girls so." "goodness! i don't know whether i want to go camping with this bunch, after all," said jess. "what some of them will do to the victuals they have to cook will be a shame!" however, the prospect of indifferent cookery made none of the girls of central high less enthusiastic in the matter of the preparations for camping out on acorn island, in the middle of lake dunkirk. they were all as busy as bees the next day, packing their bags and flying about from house to house, asking each other: "what you going to take?" "goodness me!" cried laura, at last; "it isn't what do we _want_, but how little can we get along with! discard everything possible, girls--do!" bobby hargrew declared lil pendleton had started to pack a saratoga trunk, and that she had been obliged to point out to lil that neither of the motorboats was large enough to ship such a piece of baggage. their gymnasium suits would be just the thing in camp. and of course they all had bathing suits. otherwise most of the girls got their apparel down to what jess morse called "an insignificant minority." "if the king of india, or the duke and duchess of doosenberry, comes calling at our camp, we shall have to put up a scarlet fever sign and all go to bed," said bobby. "we'll have nothing to receive them in." "but not purt sweet," chuckled billy long. "purt's packed a dinner jacket and a pair of spats. how much other fancy raiment he proposes to spring on us the deponent knoweth not. he'll be just a scream in the woods." "he asked me if there were many dangerous characters lurking in the woods around lake dunkirk," chuckled lance. "somebody has been stringing him about outlaws." "short and long looks guilty," said chet, suspiciously. "what you been stuffin' purt with, billy?" billy long, who straddled the piazza rail, swinging his feet, showed his teeth in a broad smile. "you read about that halliday fellow, didn't you?" he asked. "oh! the chap they say stole the money from that albany bank?" responded lance. "it was securities he stole--and forged people's names to them so as to get money," said laura. "the lockwood girls' aunt dora lost some money by him." "that is--if he did it," said chet, doubtfully. "well, the newspapers say so," jess observed. "what if they do?" demanded billy, belligerently. "they all said _i_ helped burglarize that department store last summer--didn't they? and i never did it at all." "no. it was another monkey," chuckled lance. the others laughed, for billy long had gotten them into serious trouble on the occasion mentioned, and it was long enough in the past now to seem amusing. but chet added: "it's a wonder to me that norman halliday had a chance to get hold of all those securities and forge people's names to them. and he knew just which papers to take. looks fishy." "well, he ran away, anyhow," lance said. "so did billy," bobby said. "and for the same reason, perhaps. he was scared." "my father says," chet pursued, "he has his doubts about halliday's guilt. he believes he is a catspaw for somebody else." "anyhow," said billy, "the papers say he's gone into the big woods south of lake dunkirk. and purt wants to carry a gun to defend himself from outlaws." "if he does," chet said, seriously, "i'll see that there are no cartridges in the gun. huh! i wouldn't trust purt sweet with a pop-gun." bobby, meanwhile, was saying to laura: "i wonder why old dimple was interested enough in that albany bank robbery to carry around that clipping out of the paper?" "maybe he lost money, too," laura suggested. "what's that about the old prof?" put in chet. "do you know he's gone out of town already?" "no!" was the chorus in reply. "fact. i saw him with his suitcase this forenoon. he took the boat to lumberport." "well, as we shall all start in that same direction to-morrow morning, bright and early----" "not all of us bright, but presumably early," put in bobby, sotto voce. "anyway, it's time we were in bed," finished mother wit. "off with you all!" whether laura's advice had a good effect, or not, nobody was really late at the rendezvous the next morning. prettyman sweet's motorboat _duchess_, a very nice craft, and the larger powerboat belonging to chet belding and lance darby, named _bonnie lass_, were manned by the boys before the girls appeared. these two boats were large enough to transport both parties of campers, and would likewise tow the flotilla of canoes. the _duchess_ tailed behind it three double canoes belonging to the girls and the _bonnie lass_ towed five belonging to their boy friends. it was a fine day and the lake was as blue as the sky--and almost as smooth to look upon. a party of parents and friends came to see the campers start. the girls and mrs. morse went aboard the _bonnie lass_. lizzie bean, with a bulging old-fashioned carpet-bag, appeared in season and joined the girls. in the bustle of departure not many noticed the odd looking maid. the girls and boys were too busy shouting goodbyes to those ashore, and the crowd ashore was too busy shouting good wishes, or last instructions, to the campers. mrs. pendleton had been driven down to the wharf, early as the hour was, to see her daughter off. "and be sure to wear your rubbers if it rains, lily!" the lady shrieked after the departing _bonnie lass_. "gee!" whispered bobby, to jess. "i s'pose somebody'll have to hold an umbrella over her, too, if it starts to shower." chapter vi prettyman sweet makes a friend lake luna was a beautiful body of water, all of twenty miles long and half as broad, with centerport on its southern shore and lumberport and keyport situated at either end. the first named stood at the mouth of rocky river which fed the great lake, while keyport was at the head of rolling river through which lake luna discharged its waters. centerport was a thriving and rich city of some 150,000 inhabitants, while the other two towns--although much smaller--were likewise thriving business communities. there was considerable traffic on lake luna, between the cities named, and up and down the rivers. cavern island was a beautiful resort in the middle of lake luna; but man's hand was shown in its landscape gardening and in the pretty buildings and the park at one end. acorn island, in lake dunkirk (thirty miles above lumberport, and connected with lake luna by rocky river) was a very different place. it was heavily timbered and had been held by a private estate for years. therefore the trees and rubbish had been allowed to grow, and one end of the island, as the girls of central high knew, was almost a jungle. but at the eastern end--that nearest the head of rocky river--was a pleasant grove on a high knoll, where the old cabin stood. there they proposed to camp. indeed, mr. tom hargrew, bobby's father, had been kind enough to send the girls' tents up to the island with the men he had directed to repair the cabin, and the party expected to find the camp pitched, and everything ready for them when they arrived at acorn island. this would scarcely be before dark, for there was some current to rocky river, although its channel was deep and there were no bridges or other barriers which the powerboats and their tows could not easily pass. the boys expected to have to rough it at the site of _their_ camp for the first night, and they had come prepared for all emergencies of wind and weather. all, did we say? all but one! in the confusion of getting under way the details of prettyman sweet's outing suit, and his general get-up for camping in the wilds, was scarcely noticed. once the boats were steering up the lake toward lumberport, a sudden shriek from billy long drew the attention of the girls and mrs. morse to the object to which he pointed. "it's not! it's not! my eyes deceive me!" panted short and long, who was the third member of the crew of boys aboard the _bonnie lass_, chet and lance being the other two. short and long was pointing to the other powerboat that was drawing in beside the _bonnie lass_, pretty himself was at the wheel of the _duchess_ for he had learned to manage her. "what _is_ the matter with you, billy?" chet demanded. "what _is_ it i see?" begged the younger boy, wringing his hands and glaring across the short strip of water between the powerboats. "i know there ain't no sech animile, as the farmer said when he first saw the giraffe at the circus." "what's eating you, billy?" asked lance, who was giving his attention to the steering of the _bonnie lass_. "don't frighten the girls and mrs. morse to death." "it's just some joke of billy's," began jess, when the very short boy broke in with: "if _that's_ a joke, may i never see another! it is a phantom! it's a nightmare! it's something that comes to you in a bad dream." "_what?_" demanded chet, suddenly shaking short and long by the collar. "don't, chetwood," begged billy. "i'm not strong. i'm sea-sick. that thing yonder has queered me----" "what thing?" asked laura. "we don't see the joke, billy." "there you go again--calling a serious thing like that a joke," cried the small boy. "look at it--at the wheel of the _duchess_! how ever did it crawl aboard? i bet a cent it's been living in the bottom of the lake for years and years, and has come up to the light of day for the first time now." "you ridiculous thing!" snapped lily pendleton. "do you mean prettyman sweet?" "my goodness gracious agnes!" gasped billy. "that's never purt sweet? _don't_ tell me he's disguised himself for a nigger minstrel show in that fashion?" they were all laughing at the unconscious purt by now--all save lily; and chet said, gravely: "there is something the matter with your eyesight, short and long. that's purt in a brand new outing suit." "he didn't dress like that to go camping?" murmured billy. "say not so! somebody dared him to do it!" it was a fact that the exquisite of central high had decked himself out in most astonishing array--considering that he was expected to "rough it" in the woods instead of appear at a lawn party on the "hill." "his tailor put him up to that suit," chuckled lance. "he told me so. as he expects to live in the sylvan forest, as did the 'merrie, merrie men' of robin hood, purt is dolled up accordingly." "gee!" breathed bobby. "do you suppose robin hood ever looked like that?" "that's lincoln green," announced lance, trying to keep his face straight. "you notice that the pants are short--knickerbockers, in fact. they are tied just below the knee with 'ribbands' in approved outlaw style." "oh, my!" giggled dora lockwood. "do you suppose they hurt him?" "what hurts him most is the leather belt at which is slung a long-bladed hunting knife so dull that it wouldn't cut cheese! but the knife handle gets in his way every time he stoops." "oh! he's so funny!" gasped dorothy lockwood. "you boys are certainly going to have a great time with pretty sweet on this trip." "i don't think it is funny at all," muttered lily pendleton. "that rude little thing, billy long, tries to be too smart." "but look at the cap!" gasped laura, who was herself too much amused to ignore the queer get-up of their classmate. "where did he get the idea of _that_?" "it's a tam-o'-shanter," said lance. "another idea of the tailor's. that tailor, i think, tries things out on pretty. if pretty doesn't get shot wearing them, then he puts similar garments on his dummies and risks them outside his shop door." "but what has he got stuck into the cap?" pursued laura. "a feather. rather, the remains of one," chuckled lance. "it was quite a long one when he started for the dock this morning; but he crossed the street right under the noses of si cumming's team of mules that draws the ice-wagon, and that off mule grabbed the best part of the feather. you know, that mule will eat anything." "well, one thing is sure," drawled bobby. "if purt is supposed to represent a sherwood forest outlaw, and he ever meets one of the outlaws of the big woods that he's been worried about, the latter 'squashbuckler' will be scared to death." "'squashbuckler' is good!" chuckled jess. "some of those old villains i expect _were_ squashes." "my dear!" ejaculated her mother. "i fear the language you young folk use does not speak well for your instructors of central high." "i guess we do not cast much glory upon our teachers, mrs. morse," rejoined laura, laughing. "it's only short and long, here, who 'does the teachers proud,'" said her brother, with a grin. "hear about what he got off in ancient history class the other day? professor dimp pretty nearly set him back for _that_." "aw--now," growled billy. "he asked for a date, didn't he?" "what's the burn?" demanded bobby, briskly. "why, old dimple asked billy to mention a memorable date in roman history, and billy says: 'antony's with cleopatra.'" "oh, oh, oh!" gasped jess. "that's the worst kind of slang." mrs. morse paid the young folk very little attention. she had withdrawn from the group and was busy with pencil and notebook. "when mother gets to work that way, she heeds neither time, place, nor any passing event," laughed jess. "she expects to sketch out her whole book while she is at camp with us." "she's going to be a dandy chaperone," declared chet. "suppose we'd had miss carrington along?" "goodness!" groaned bobby. "don't let's mention that lady again this summer." "and we can cut out old dimple, too," grumbled billy long. "he's off somewhere on a trip, so we won't have to bother about him," said chet, with confidence. the girls had begun to compare notes regarding what they had packed in their suitcases, long before the boats reached lumberport; and some of them discovered that they had neglected to bring some very essential things. "you'll just have to tie up beyond the main street bridge, and give us a chance to shop, chet," announced laura. "we're making good time as it is." "isn't that just like a parcel of girls?" grumbled billy. "now, we fellows didn't forget a thing--you bet!" "wait till we unpack at camp," chuckled chet. "we'll see about that, then." he and lance agreed to make the halt as the girls requested; and they shouted to the crowd on the smaller boat to do the same. as lily pendleton was one of the girls who must shop in lumberton, purt sweet was most willing to tarry and accompany the girls ashore. he was, in fact, the only escort the girls had when they went up into the town in search of the several articles they needed. the dude was evidently proud of his outing suit and, as billy suggested, "wanted to give the people of lumberport a treat." so he swaggered along up main street with the girls. not a block from the wharf at which the boats were tied he met with an adventure. "whatever impression purt is making on the good people of this town," whispered nellie agnew to laura, "he has certainly smitten a four-footed inhabitant with a deep, deep interest." "what's that?" asked laura, turning swiftly to see. bobby hargrew looked, likewise. purt and lily were behind, and bobby immediately shouted: "say, purt who's your friend?" "what's that, miss hargrew?" asked purt staring. "i weally don't get you--don't you know?" "but he'll get _you_ in a minute," chuckled bobby. "don't pay any attention to her, mr. sweet," said lily. "she's a vulgar little thing." but just then purt felt something at his heels and turned swiftly. one of the homeliest mongrel curs ever seen was sniffing at purt's green stockings. "get out, you brute!" gasped the dude, rather frightened. but the dog didn't seem to have any designs upon purt's thin shanks. instead, he jumped about, foolishly stiff-legged as a dog will when he thinks he has found a friend, and barked. "gee! he's glad to see you," said bobby. "where'd you find him, purt?" "weally!" declared the dude, trying to shoo the dog off. "i--i never did see the horrid brute before--i never did." "don't call him names. you'll hurt his feelings," suggested one of the lockwood twins, while laura said, seriously: "that dog certainly does know you, mr. sweet." "i declare, i never saw him before," said purt, making frantic efforts to frighten the dog away. he was a snarly haired dog, with one ear cocked up and the other half chewed off, his coat muddied, only half a tail, which he wiggled ecstatically, and the most foolish looking face that was ever given to a dog. "did you ever see such a looking thing?" gasped bobby, half choked with laughter. "and how well he matches purt's suit," said nellie, demurely. "i'm not going to walk with you if you don't get rid of that dog!" declared lily, seeing that many bystanders were laughing at the boy and the mongrel. she went ahead with the other girls while poor purt remained in the rear, trying his best to chase away the friendly animal. but the more purt shooed him, or attempted to hit him, or strove otherwise to send the brute about his business, the more the latter considered that the boy was playing with him, and he welcomed the game with loud and cheerful barks. soon a small crowd was collected, watching the performance with broad grins. the girls, giggling, but rather worried by the attention that was being attracted to their escort, darted into a store and left purt to settle the matter by himself. chapter vii the barnacle the crowd was laughing loudly and purt sweet (although he was frequently the source of mirth for his companions) did not enjoy it. he began to hate that mongrel cur with an intense hatred. "get away from me, you brute!" he exclaimed, trying to kick the dog. "look out there, son," drawled one on-looker. "if you abuse your dog the s. p. c. a. will do something to you that you won't like." "it isn't my dog! i weally never saw it before," gasped the dude, growing very warm and red as the dog leaped about him in delight. "you'll have to tell that to the judge," the man assured him. this really scared purt. he did not want to be arrested for abusing the strange dog. but he could not allow it to follow him, that was sure. the girls were already disgusted with him for having attracted the brute. "and i never meant to!" thought the boy, in despair. "oh! if i only had him out in the woods, and had a good rock!" but he dared not pelt the mongrel after what the bystander had said. the crowd became so numerous that a policeman came strolling that way. he saw purt with the dog dancing about him. "here! this is no place for a circus. you and your dog get out!" commanded the officer of the law. "move on!" he flourished his baton; the horrified purt made off around the nearest corner; the dog stuck like a porous plaster. "if i only had a club!" groaned purt. he escaped the crowd and sat down upon a dwelling house stoop. at once that imbecile dog rushed upon him, leaped into his lap, and lapped purt's face! "get out! you nawsty, nawsty brute you!" wailed the dude, beating the dog off weakly. the latter considered it all in the game. he had taken a decided liking to the boy from central high, and nothing would drive him away. purt had never really cared for dogs. most boys are tickled enough to get a dog--even a mongrel like this one. but the dude found himself with a possession for which he had never longed. the dog lay down on the walk in front of him, his tongue hanging on his breast like an inflammatory necktie, and laughing as broadly as a dog _could_ laugh. he evidently admired purt greatly. whether it was the lincoln green suit, or the tam-o'-shanter cap, or the dude's personal pulchritude, which most attracted his doggish soul, it was hard to say. suddenly a window went up behind purt and a lady put out her head. "little boy! little boy!" she called, shrilly. "i wish you'd take your dog away from here. i want to let my cat out, and dogs make her so nervous." "it isn't my dog--weally it isn't!" exclaimed purt, jumping up. immediately the dog leaped about, barking fit to split his throat. "you naughty boy!" gasped the lady in the window. "i have seen you with that dog go past here hundreds of times!" and she immediately slammed down the sash before purt could further defend himself. however the lady could have made the mistake of thinking she had seen purt before, is not easily explained. perhaps she was very near sighted. the central high dude "moved on," with the mongrel frisking about him. purt heartily wished the animal would have a sunstroke (for it was high noon now, and very warm) or would be taken with an apoplectic stroke, or some other sudden complaint! purt wanted to get back to main street and rejoin the girls; but he knew it would be no use in trying that unless he could "shake" the dog. the girls (especially lily pendleton, whom he so much admired) would not stand for that mongrel brute following in their train. so, finding that the dog was fastened to him like a new old man of the sea, prettyman sweet decided to sneak back to the dock, by the way of back streets, and escape the beast by going aboard the _duchess_. he set off, therefore, through several byways, coming out at last on a water-front street of more prominence. here were stores and tenements. the gutters were crowded with noisy children, and the street with traffic. a fat butcher stood before his shop, with his thumbs in the string of his apron. when he spied purt and his close companion, he gave vent to an exclamation of satisfaction and reached for the central high boy with a mighty hand. "here!" he said, hoarsely, his fat face growing scarlet on the instant. "i been waiting for you." "waiting for me, mister?" gasped purt. "weally--that cawn't be, doncher know! i never came this way before." "no, ye smart ike! but yer dog has," growled the man, giving prettyman a shake that seemed to start every tooth in his head. "oh, dear me!" cried purt. "i never saw you before, sir." "but i've seen yer dog--drat the beast! and if i could ketch him i'd chop him up into sassingers--that's what i'd do to _him_." "he--he's not my dog," murmured purt, faintly. fido had scurried across the street when he spied the butcher; but he waited there, mouth agape, stump of tail wagging, and a knowing cock to his good ear, to see how his adopted master was coming out with his sworn enemy, the butcher. "i tell yer what," hoarsely said the butcher, still gripping purt's shoulder, "a boy can deny his own father, but 'e can't deny his dawg--no, sir! that there brute knows ye, bub. only yisterday he grabbed several links of frankfurter sassingers off'n this hook right overhead 'ere. "i ain't goin' to have no dumbed dawg like him come an' grab my sassingers an' make off with 'em, free gratis for nothin'." a little crowd--little, but deeply interested--had gathered again. had purt been seeking notoriety in lumberport, he was getting it without doubt! the grocer next door, with a great guffaw of laughter, cried: "hey, bill! don't blame the dawg. he smelled some o' his relatives, it's likely, in the frankfurters, an' set out to rescue 'em!" "i do-ent care," breathed the fat butcher, growing more and more excited. "no man's dawg ain't goin' ter do what he done ter me an' git away with it. this boy has got ter pay for what the dawg stole." purt did not like to let go of money--among his school chums he was considered a notorious "tight-wad"--but he was willing to do almost anything to get away from the greasy-handed butcher. "what--what did the dog take? how much were the frankfurters worth?" he stammered. "the dog isn't mine--weally!--but i'll pay----" "a dollar, then. and i'll lose by it, too," said the butcher, but with an avaricious sparkle in his eye. "a dollar's worth of frankfurters!" gasped purt. "yes. an' i wish they'd ha' chocked the brute," complained the butcher. "i wish they had--before he ever saw me," murmured purt. he paid over the money and hurried away from the laughing crowd. and there, within a block, the dog was right at his heels again--rather slinkingly, but with the joy of companionship in his eye. now purt was nearing the dock above the main street bridge where the motorboats were tied up. whether the girls had returned or no, he hated to face the other fellows with this mongrel trailing at his heels. the situation sharpened purt's wits. here was a store where was sold rope and other ship-chandlery. he marched in and bought a fathom of strong manilla line, called the foolish dog to him, found that he wore a nondescript collar, and hastily fastened the line to the aforesaid collar. it was in the boy's mind to tie the dog somewhere and leave it behind. if he had dared, he would have tied a weight to the other end of the rope and dropped both weight and dog overboard. just then, however, he met a group of ragged, barefooted urchins--evidently denizens of the water-front. they hailed the gaily dressed purt and the ragged mongrel, with delight. "what yer doin' wid the dawg?" inquired one. "takin' him to the bench-show, clarence? he'll win a blue ribbon, _he_ will." "naw," said another youthful humorist. "they don't let clarence out without the dawg. that's to keep clarence from gettin' kidnapped. nobody would wanter kidnap him if they had ter take that mutt along, too." purt was too anxious to be offended by these remarks. he walked directly up to the leader of the gang. "say!" he exclaimed, breathlessly. "do you want a dog?" "not if _that's_ what yer call a dawg, mister," said the other boy. "i'd be ashamed to call on me tony friends wit' that mutt. what i needs is a coach-dawg to run under the hind axle of me landau." "say!" breathed purt, heavily, and paying no attention to the gibes. "you take this dog and keep it--or tie it up somewhere so he can't follow me--and i'll give you a quarter." "when do i git the quarter?" demanded the boy. "right now," declared purt reaching into his pocket with his free hand. "hand it over," said the other, snatching away the rope. the dude sighed to think how this strange and unknown cur had already cost him a dollar and a quarter. a dollar and a quarter would have been far too much to pay for a dozen similar mongrels, and well purt knew it. but the instant the quarter was transferred to the other boy, the central high exquisite traveled away from there just as fast as he could walk. at once a mournful and heart-rending howl broke out. he looked back once; the dog was leaping at the length of his rope, nearly capsizing the holder of the same with every jump, and wailing hungrily for his fast disappearing friend. purt set off on a run. he did not know how soon that rope might break! he reached the dock just after the girls, who had arrived breathless with laughter, and full of the tale of purt sweet's new friend. "where is he?" was the chorus that welcomed purt. "i--i got rid of him," panted purt. "sure?" laughed chet, as they began to cast off. "i--i hope so," returned the worried purt. "i never _did_ see such a cweature--weally." "he must have been an old friend of yours, purt," said reddy butts. "dogs don't follow folks for nothing." "but weally, i never saw him before," purt tried to explain. "aw, that's all very well," billy long sang out. "but it's plain enough why he followed you." "why?" asked reddy, willing to help the joke along. "it was purt's shanks in those green socks that attracted the dog. i suppose the poor dog was hungry, and a hungry dog will go far for a bone, you know." purt was hurrying to get his _duchess_ under way, and he was so glad of getting rid of the dog that he did not mind the boys' chaffing. suddenly a wild yell arose from some of the boys on the dock. "what's this? see who's come!" yelled billy long. "the barnacle!" quoth chet, bursting into a roar of laughter. even lily pendleton could not forbear giving vent to her amusement, and she laughed with the others. down the dock tore the ragged coated dog, with a fathom of rope tied to his collar. he leaped aboard the _bonnie lass_ and then, with a glad yelp, sprang to the decked-over part of the _duchess_. purt sweet looked up with a cry of amazement and received the delighted dog full in his chest. they rolled together in the cockpit of the boat, the dog eagerly lapping purt's face, while the boy tried to beat him off with his fists. "the barnacle!" yelled chet again, and that name stuck. so did the dog. he refused to leave. the party left lumberton with the foolish beast sitting up in the prow of the _duchess_, wagging his ridiculous tail and barking a last farewell to the amused spectators gathered along the edge of the dock. chapter viii up rocky river the second start of the flotilla--that from lumberton--was a hilarious start indeed. poor prettyman sweet was the butt of everybody's laughter. the glare of rage he threw now and then at the ridiculous dog in the bow of the _duchess_ sent the boys into spasms of laughter. the girls in the other motorboat--even bobby--seeing that their laughter quite offended lily pendleton, began talking about something else and ignored the barnacle, as the dog had been so aptly named. reddy butts and art hobbs, however, loved to annoy the central high dude. they told purt that the barnacle possessed a family resemblance to the sweets that could not be denied. "he smiles just like you do, pretty," said arthur. "i declare i wouldn't deny the relationship." "you fellows think you are funny," snarled the dude, losing his temper at last. "i'll fix that beast!" "how you going to do it?" demanded reddy, grinning. "you come here and take the wheel," commanded the dude. "see that you steer right and keep in the channel, right behind chet's boat and his tow." "all right," said butts, and took the spokes in hand. purt, shooting an inquiring glance forward to see if the girls were watching, began to creep up on the dog. the beast was looking over the bow, his tongue hanging out, and evidently enjoying the rapid sail up rocky river. somebody had removed the rope from his collar since he had come aboard the _duchess_. there was nothing for purt to grab had the dog observed his approach and sought to get away. however, the dog remained unconscious of the attempt on his peace of mind. purt crept nearer and nearer, while the giggling boys in the cockpit watched him narrowly. reddy looked knowingly at arthur, and the latter pulled off his jacket and kicked off his sneakers. the water was warm and arthur was a good swimmer. the dude, earnestly striving to move softly, got within hand's reach of the dog. suddenly he threw himself forward. at the same moment reddy twisted the wheel ever so little to starboard. the _duchess_ was traveling at a good clip. the wave at her nose was foam-streaked and spreading broadly. the water in her wake boiled. the sudden thrust purt gave the dog cast the surprised brute overboard; with a yelp of amazement he sank beneath the foam-streaked surface as the motorboat rushed on. but another yelp echoed the dog's; when reddy butts swerved the boat's nose, the move was quite unexpected by purt. he dove forward, yelled loudly, and was cast over the edge of the deck just as sprawlingly as the barnacle himself! "man overboard!" yelled reddy, scarcely able to say it for laughter. the crowd on the other powerboat heard the shout, if they had not all seen purt's exhibition of diving. the dude went under just as deep as the dog, and did not come to the surface anywhere near as quickly. the barnacle, whether he was a water-dog, or not, was a good swimmer. when his head shot above the stream he yelped, started to paddle after the _duchess_ and her tow, saw that that was useless, and turned toward the southerly bank of the stream. the river was half a mile wide at this place, and the barnacle left a wake like a motorboat behind him. he was going to reach the shore all right. how about the master he had adopted? purt came to the surface more slowly, but when he got there he emitted a shriek like a steam whistle. the _duchess_ had gone ahead of him. arthur hobbs was poised to leap overboard; but there swept close to the dude one of the trailing canoes, and just by raising an arm purt reached it. he clung to the gunwale and was dragged on behind the _duchess_. at first the canoe tipped and threatened to turn over; purt slipped along to the stern, and there got a grip on both sides, and so trailed on behind, getting his breath. "he's all right," said reddy, chuckling. "let him cool off a little, art." the girls aboard the _bonnie lass_ were somewhat worried over purt sweet's predicament. "he'll be drowned!" lily pendeton declared, first of all. "i'm not afraid of that," bobby said. "but if that suit of his shrinks, what a sight he'll be!" "this is no time for light talk," declared jess morse. "purt isn't a very good swimmer." "well!" exclaimed nellie, rather tartly for her, "how did he know whether that poor dog could swim, or not?" "looks as though he had finally gotten rid of the barnacle, just the same," laughed laura. "we'll see about that," responded her brother, darkly. "that dog has the stick-to-it-iveness of fish-glue. wait and see." meanwhile arthur hobbs drew in the canoe purt was clinging to, and soon helped the gasping dude into the large boat. "oh! oh!" cried purt. "i might have known that horrid dog was bad luck." having seen the exquisite dragged aboard the _duchess_, most of the girls on the other powerboat gave their attention to the dog. indeed, his fate all the time had attracted more attention from lizzie bean, than had the trouble purt sweet was in. "why! he might have been drowned!" lily exclaimed in answer to something bobby said. "that's right. and it would be too mean," spoke up lonesome liz, as billy long secretly called the sad-faced girl. "he's a smart dog." "mercy! who cares about that horrid dog?" snapped lily. "i do, for one," said nellie agnew. "me, too. he was pushed overboard by purt, and it just served purt right that he went into the water," bobby declared. the mongrel cur had swum nobly for the shore. before purt was dragged aboard by art the dog was nearing his goal. they were well above the town of lumberport now, and the shore along here was a shelving beach. after fighting the current the dog would have been unable to drag himself out had the bank been steep. "he's done it!" exclaimed liz, eagerly. "well! i declare i'm glad." "gladder than you were over purt?" chuckled bobby. "well, if you ask me," drawled the maid-of-all-work, "i think the dog's wuth a whole lot more than that silly feller in the green pants." "how horrid!" ejaculated lily. "gee!" said bobby. "don't you know, lizzie, that there is only _one_ pretty sweet? i don't suppose you could find another fellow like him if you combed the zones of both hemispheres." "hear! hear!" drawled jess. "how many zones do you suppose there are, bobs?" "oh, a whole bunch of them," declared the reckless bobby. "there's one torrid, two temperate, two frigid, and a lot of postal zones." "how smart!" sneered lily, in no very good temper. meanwhile the dog had crawled out of the water. they saw him shake himself and then sink upon the shore, evidently exhausted. "well," said laura, "i guess purt has finally gotten rid of the poor creature. but it was too funny for anything." the shores of rocky river, as they advanced, were very pretty indeed. there were several suburban villages near lumberport; but the farther they sailed up the stream the less inhabited the shores were and the wilder the scenery became. "my!" ejaculated dorothy. "i had no idea this country was really so _woodsy_." "you know there is scarcely anything but forest south of us, until you reach the b. & p. w. railroad." "maybe there are bad people up in these woods, after all," suggested the timid nell. "never you mind. purt's got his revolver," chuckled jess. "lance says that it is one that hasn't been fired for twenty years and belonged to purt's father." "goodness!" exclaimed laura. "i _shall_ be afraid of that. it's those old guns that nobody supposes are loaded, that are always going off and killing the innocent bystander. you ought to confiscate that gun, chet." "don't worry," returned her brother, laughing. "i've taken the trigger screw out of purt's gun and he couldn't shoot it if he had forty cartridges in it. but i haven't told purt, for the dear boy seems to place implicit confidence in the old gat as a defense against anything on two or four legs in the big woods." chapter ix the camp on acorn island although it was high noon when they were at lumberport the girls of central high and their boy friends had not lunched there. indeed, they waited to reach a certain pleasant grove which some of them knew about, on the south shore of the river, and several miles above the spot where purt sweet had taken his involuntary ducking. as the motorboats put ashore and the boys tied them to stubs in the high bank, they all began joking purt about his plunge into the river. the dude had been obliged to exchange his natty outing suit of lincoln green for a suit of oil-stained overalls that he found in the cabin of the _duchess_. he could not find his own baggage, as the boys with him had hidden it. as for the tam-o'-shanter, it had fallen off and floated down the stream. purt would never see that remarkable headgear again. "but that isn't what the boy is worrying about," chuckled lancelot darby, as the party came ashore with the luncheon hampers. "it's the fate of the barnacle that is corroding purt's sensitive soul!" "how do you make that out?" demanded reddy butts, broadly grinning. "why, isn't it a fact that he went in after the dog? i saw him dive right after the poor thing when it fell overboard. it was a mighty brave attempt at rescue, i should say--especially when we all know that purt swims about as good as a stone fence." "some hero, purt is," agreed billy long, chuckling. "and didn't he make that dive gracefully?" demanded reddy, bursting with laughter to think how he had shot the dude overboard by a sly twist of the wheel on the _duchess_. purt was really ashamed of his present appearance. he felt it necessary to excuse it to the girls. "weally," he said, when he came ashore, "i am not pwesentible; but i hope you ladies understand that it was an unavoidable accident." "i don't know about that," said laura, gravely. "oh! i assure you, miss belding," purt hastened to say, "i had no intention of going overboard--weally!" "so you were not actually trying to rescue the dog?" demanded jess. "that howwible cweature!" gasped purt, in disgust. "i would fling him from the tallest cliff there is--could i safely do so." "and not try to dive after him--eh?" chuckled bobby. "you are cruelty incarnate!" exclaimed jess, gravely. "i am horrified to find that we have a boy at central high who would willingly destroy such a beautiful--oh! oh!" shrieked jess, who had been facing a thick path of woods below this open camping place. "what is _that_? it's a bear!" she concluded, asking and answering the question herself. she started in a very lively fashion for the boats. some of the other girls were quite as agile. like the word "mouse" in domestic scenes, the cry of "bear!" in ruder surroundings "always gets a rise out of the girls," as chet belding slangily expressed it. but it was not a bear. purt sweet was stooping to aid in blowing up the flame of the campfire over which they proposed making mrs. morse a cup of tea. he did not see the "bear" coming. but the other boys recognized the object that had so frightened jess, and they burst into a roar of laughter. out of the bushes and across the opening in the wood came a half wet, bedraggled dog, which, with a joyful whine, leaped upon the individual who had so fatally attracted his doggish love and loyalty! "the barnacle!" yelled chet. "what did i tell you? talk about 'the cat coming back?' crickey! the cat wasn't in it with this mongrel of purt's." in the exuberance of his joy barnacle fairly pitched purt across the fire, and tipped over the pail of water that had been hung over it to boil. the dude seemed fated to fall into trouble on this first day of the outing. but now purt was mad! he scrambled up, found a club, and chased the barking barnacle all about the camp. the dog would not be chased away. perhaps he had observed lizzie opening the lunch baskets. besides, he seemed to take everything purt tried to do to him as a game of play. "do leave the dog alone, purt!" exclaimed lil, at last. "you're making yourself perfectly ridiculous." lily pendleton's opinion had weight with pretty sweet. he sat down, gloomy and breathless, and tried to ignore the barnacle. the latter sat on his tail all through the _alfresco_ meal, directly behind purt. the dude gave him no attention; but the other boys threw pieces of meat and sweet crackers into the air for the barnacle to catch. could he catch them? why! it seemed as though the dog must have been trained for just that trick. he never missed a bite! when his appetite was satisfied the mongrel began to try to attract purt's attention. every time purt reached for anything, the barnacle's cold, wet nose was right there! it was a plain case of "love at first sight," as bobby remarked. nothing could convince that dog that purt was not his loving friend. but finally the dude's serious air and his efforts to reach the dog with a particularly well-shod foot, made an impression on the barnacle. he squatted down before purt and lifting up his head, uttered a howl that would have brought tears to the eyes of a graven image. "you'll break the poor dog's heart, purt," said jess, gravely. "give him a kind word." "he has the most sorrowful face on him of any dog i ever saw," declared dora lockwood. "look at him kindly, even if you can't speak." "yes," whispered dorothy, her twin. "he has almost as sorrowful a face as lizzie's." "gee! there's a pair of them," sighed bobby, ecstatically. "let's take the dog with us to be a comrade for liz." indeed, lizzie bean petted the mongrel, which hung around the camp until the picnickers started up the river again. there was another disturbance when purt tried to slip aboard the _duchess_ without the dog. the barnacle whined, and howled, and jumped aboard, and was finally driven ashore with an oar. the motorboats and their tows got off into the stream. there sat the deserted dog on his tail, howling most dismally as the boats drew up stream and left him behind. laura called to purt in the other boat: "never mind, mr. sweet, i don't think you'll be troubled with that dog any more. it's twenty miles to lake dunkirk. he will never follow you that far." "i bet the barnacle haunts purt in his dreams," exclaimed bobby. "oh! say not so!" begged billy long. "if purt has the nightmare and draws that 'family friend,' the faithful revolver, on the ghost of the dog--good-_night_! like enough he'll blow us all out of the tent." "i bet that barnacle dogs his 'feetsteps' for the rest of purt's mortal existence," declared chet, prophetically. "one thing," said lil pendleton, "the nasty beast can't follow us to acorn island." "and we won't get there ourselves to-day, if we don't hurry," chet said. "come on, pretty! let's see what your little _duchess_ can do," and he speeded up the engine of the _bonnie lass_. "we have some distance to go, that's a fact," said nellie. "the island is two miles beyond the end of rocky river." the bigger powerboat pulled away from the _duchess_ and the two parties ceased shouting back and forth. mrs. morse was trying to get a nap, so the girls did not sing. but they told jokes and stories, and of course bobby gave one of her jingles: "'there was an old man of nantasket who went to sea in a basket: when up came a shark, swallowed him and his bark--- now, wasn't that a fine funeral casket?'" "oh! i can beat that one," cried jess. "let's hear you," responded the black-eyed miss. "listen, then," returned her schoolmate: "'a canny young canner of cannee, one morning observed to his granny, "a canner can can a lot of things, gran, but a canner can't can a can, can 'e?"'" now, how is that for a match for _your_ limerick?" this started the ball a-rolling. dora lockwood raised her hand, crying, "please, teacher! i have one," and immediately produced this: "'there was a small boy who lived in jamaica, who bought a lobster wrapped in a brown paper; the paper was thin and the lobster grabbed him--- what an awful condition that small boy was in!'" this woke up dorothy lockwood, who would not be outdone by her twin. she recited: "'in huron, a hewer, hugh hughes, hued yew-trees of unusual hues. hugh hughes used blue yews to build sheds for his ewes; so his ewes a blue-hued yew shed use.'" "great scott, girl!" gasped chet. "that almost twisted your tongue out of kilter." "any more?" queried lance, who likewise had wonderingly listened to this display of talent. "ah-ha! i see nellie just bursting with one." "yes. i have a good one," admitted the doctor's daughter. "hear it: "'a right-handed writer named wright in writing "write" always wrote "rite." where he meant to write "write," if he'd written "write" right, wright would not have wrought rot writing "rite.'" now! let's hear you say _that_ fast?" this certainly was a teaser and the boys admitted it. finally somebody shouted for mother wit. "come on, laura! where are you?" demanded bobby. "are you going to let us mere 'amachoors' beat you? give us a limerick." mother wit was expected to keep up with the other wits, that was sure. so she obliged with: "'a smart young fisher named fischer, fished for fish from the edge of a fissure. a fish, with a grin, pulled the fisherman in. now they're fishing the fissure for fischer.' "and now, boys, while we have been entertaining you," concluded laura, "you have gotten behind the _duchess_ again." "that's right, lance," said chet. "give her some more power." "electricity is a wonderful thing," said jess, seriously. "just think how fast it travels." "how fast?" demanded bobby. "something like 250,000 miles a second, i read somewhere." "and so," remarked bobby, grinning, "if it hits anybody, it tells the judge it was going about ten miles an hour." they were out for a good time and could laugh at almost anything that was said, or was done. freed from what bobby called "the scholastic yoke," the whole world seemed a big joke to them. "i know we're going to have the finest kind of a time at acorn island!" the cut-up exclaimed. "well! i hope there's nothing much to do there to-night, save to eat supper," jess said, yawning. "so much ozone is already making me sleepy." "father tom promised to have a man there to meet us, who would even have the fire going and the teakettle boiling," said bobby. "you see, he's been up here hunting and fishing, and these guides all know him. he can get what he wants from them." the boats chugged on up the river and finally, as the evening began to draw in, they sighted the broadening sheet of water which they knew to be lake dunkirk. the lake was longer, but much narrower, than lake luna, and it was surrounded by an unbroken line of forest. the sun was setting. its last beams shone upon the island which lay about two miles above the entrance to rocky river, and that island looked like an emerald floating on the blue water. the light was fast fading out of the sky, save where the west was still riotous with colors. the big oaks on acorn island grew black as the shadows gathered beneath them. at the nearer end was the hillock where they were to camp. here the grove was open and they could see the cabin standing, with two tents beside it. one of the tents had a raised flap, and there was the stovepipe with a curl of smoke coming out of it. down at the edge of the shore--a smooth and sheltered bit of beach where the landing was easy--a man was sitting, smoking his pipe. a beautiful canoe, of indian manufacture, had its bow drawn up beside him. the boys and girls shouted a welcome as they drove in toward the shore. he rose, knocking the ashes from his pipe, and waved a hand toward the camp above. he was a tall man, almost as black as a negro, with long, black hair, and was barefooted. "all right!" he grunted, gutturally. then he pushed off, stepped into his canoe, and paddled away without another word. the boats were beached and the young people began to disembark. before the guide in the canoe got half way to the northern shore of the lake, he was lost to their sight, the darkness came down so suddenly. chapter x getting used to it the boys were in haste to get to their own camping site, which was across from the island on the southern shore of lake dunkirk. so they hurried the baggage belonging to mrs. morse and the girls to the cabin, and then prepared to embark again with their own boats. chet saw to it that everything appeared to be in good shape about the camp on the island knoll, and he drew up the three canoes belonging to the girls, himself. "now, if you girls get into trouble to-night, toot this thing," and chet produced an automobile horn which he had brought along for the purpose. "if you need us by day, laura knows how to wig-wag with those flags. i taught her." "for pity's sake, chet!" exclaimed jess, with some asperity. "do you suppose we are going to need you boys every hour, or so?" "i hope not!" added lil pendleton. "surely we ought to be able to get along in camp just as well as you boys." "hear! hear!" cried bobby. "how are you going to summon us if you need help, my dear little boys? sha'n't we give you each a penny whistle so you can call us?" chet only laughed. lance said: "we've been camping before; most of you girls haven't. of course you will get into trouble forty times to our once." "well! i like that," sniffed jess, who did not like it at all. "if girls aren't just as well able to take care of themselves, as boys, i'd like to know why." "jess is getting to be a regular suffragette," chuckled dora lockwood. "reminds me of the little girl whose mother was chasing the hens out of the garden," said laura, with her low laugh. "the hen-chaser declared that 'you can't teach a hen anything, to save your life,' when the little girl spoke up for her sex, and said: 'well! i think they know quite as much as the roosters!'" "and that's all right," teased lance, as the boys got under way. "i bet this bunch of hens on acorn island will holler for us roosters before we set the distress signal for _them_." "get out, you horrid thing!" cried bobby. "calling us hens. we're only pullets, at best." a lantern had been lit in each tent, for the shadows were thickening under the oak trees on the knoll. lizzie bean at once began to overhaul the cooking utensils and supplies in the cook-tent. this tent was divided into two parts. lizzie's own cot was in the rear apartment. there was a long table, roughly built but serviceable, in the front with the stove and chest of drawers. there were folding campstools in plenty. in the cabin was a comfortable straw mattress for mrs. morse in the wide bunk, a small table on which her typewriter case already stood, a rocker made in rustic fashion, a painted dressing case with mirror of good size, and shelves for books. a small fire was burning on the hearth, for the cabin was apt to be damp after its many months of abandonment. it had been swept and garnished with boughs of sweet-smelling spruce and pine. the girls' sleeping tent housed seven cots, all supplied with unbleached cotton sheets and heavy double blankets. lil pendleton looked about it when she brought in her bag, and shivered. "goodness!" she said. "i'm glad we're 'way out here in the wilderness if we're going to dress and undress in this thing. why! i shall feel just as much exposed as though the sides were made of window-glass." "what nonsense!" sniffed bobby, who had been camping with her father and had spent many a night in a tent. "you're too particular, lil." "who asked _you_ to put in your oar?" demanded miss pendleton, crossly. "i have a right to my opinion, i hope." "i should hope it was nobody else's opinion," returned miss bobby, quick to pick up the gauntlet. "hush, girls!" advised mother wit. "let us not be quarrelsome. we don't want mrs. morse to think we are female savages right at the start." lil sniffed; but good-tempered bobby said, quickly: "you're right, laura. i beg the company's pardon--and lil's particularly. we must be 'little birds who in their nest agree.'" "you're a fine bird, bobby," laughed dora. "come on! i hear the dishes rattling. let's see what lizzie has tossed up for supper." "i wonder if she managed to boil the water without burning it?" giggled jess. "she's the funniest girl!" "i should think you and laura could have found a maid who wasn't quite such a gawk," muttered lil, unpleasantly. "hush!" admonished mother wit. "don't let her hear you." "why not?" snapped lil. "you will hurt her feelings." "pooh! she's paid for it----" "not for having her feelings hurt," declared laura, sternly. "and i won't have it. she's odd; but she is quite as quick of hearing as the next person." "aw, you're too particular, laura," drawled lil. but she stood a little in awe of mother wit. they joined mrs. morse and filed into the cook-tent. lizzie's flushed face appeared behind the steaming biscuits and a big platter of ham and eggs. they did not really know how hungry they were until they sat down to these viands. lizzie stood with arms akimbo and waited for the verdict upon the cooking. "most excellent, lizzie," mrs. morse said, kindly. "suits ye, does it?" asked the strange girl. "i flatter myself them biscuits air light enough to sleep on." "they are a good deal more feathery than our 'downy couches' here in camp, i warrant, lizzie," laughed laura. "glad ye like 'em. there's plenty of biscuits--don't be bashful." jess giggled when she saw lil's face. "how rude!" muttered miss pendleton. "i don't see what you and mother wit were thinking about when you hired that girl." "thinking of you, lily--thinking of you," declared jess. "she will willingly do your share of the dish-washing." "dish-washing? fancy!" exclaimed lil. "i'd like to see myself!" "well i wouldn't," put in the omnipresent bobby. "not if i had to eat after your manipulation of the dish-mop." "but we didn't come to do anything like _that_," wailed lil. "just the same we have got to do a part of the camp work," declared mother wit. "it all can't be shoved off onto lizzie." "let us arrange about that right here and now," suggested mrs. morse. "oh, mrs. morse!" cried nell, eagerly. "first of all i vote that mrs. morse is not called upon to do a thing! she's company as well as chaperon." "i will make my own bed," said the lady, smiling. "you girls can take turns sweeping and dusting the cabin, if you like." "and making the beds and cleaning up our tent," added laura. "two at a time--it won't seem so hard if two work together." "a good idea," agreed mrs. morse. "but that leaves an odd girl," suggested jess. "we'll change about. the odd girl shall help the cook. and one meal a day--either breakfast, dinner, or supper--we girls must cook, and lizzie is going to have nothing to do with that meal." "why! _i_ can't cook," wailed lil again. "good time for you to begin to learn, then," laura said, laughingly. some of the other girls looked disturbed at the prospect. "i can make fudge," observed nell, honestly, "but i never really tried anything else, except to make toast and tea for mother when she was ill and the maid was out." "listen to that!" exclaimed the voice of lizzie bean, who had been listening frankly to the dialogue. "an' i been doin' plain cookin' an' heavy sweepin' and hard scrubbin' ever since i was knee-high to a toadstool!" bobby burst out laughing. "so have i, lizzie!" she cried. "only i have done it for father tom and my kid brothers and sisters when mrs. betsey was sick." lily pendleton turned up her nose--literally. "we're going to have trouble with that girl," she announced to nellie. "she doesn't know her place." but whatever lizzie knew, or did not know, she did not shirk her share of the work. she stayed up after everybody else had retired and washed every pot and pan and plate, and set her bread to rise for morning, and stirred up a big pitcher of flapjack flour to rise over night, peeled potatoes to fry, leaving them in cold water so they would not turn black, and set the long table fresh for breakfast. when the earliest riser among the girls (who was laura herself) peeped into the cooking tent at daybreak, the fire in the stove was already roaring, and lizzie had gone down to the shore to wash her face and hands in the cold water. laura ran down in her bathing suit. "what do you think of this place, lizzie?" she asked the solemn-faced girl. "for the land's sake, miss!" drawled lizzie bean, "i never had no idea the woods was so lonesome--for a fac'." "no?" "i sh'd say not! i went to bed and lay there an' listened. the trees creaked, and the crickets twittered, and some bird had the nightmare an' kep' cryin' like a baby----" "i expect that was a screech-owl, lizzie," interrupted laura. "they come out only at night." "goodness to gracious! do they come out _every_ night?" demanded the girl. "i expect so." "and them frogs?" "they are tree-toads. yes, they are here all summer, i guess." "goodness to gracious! and folks like to live in the woods? well!" "do you think you can stand it?" queried laura, much amused, yet somewhat anxious, too. "as long as i'm goin' to get all that money every week it'll take more than birds with the nightmare an' a passel of frogs to drive me away. now! when do you want breakfast, miss?" "not until mrs. morse gets up. and none of the other girls are out yet," said laura. but very soon the other girls began to appear. they had agreed to have a dip the first thing, and the girls who first got into the water squealed so because of the cold, that it routed out the lie-abeds. lily would not venture in. she sat on a stump, with a blanket wrapped around her, and shivered, and yawned, and refused to plunge in with the others. "and it's so early," she complained. "i had no idea you'd all get up so early and make such a racket. why, when there isn't school, i _never_ get up before nine o'clock." "ah! how different your life is going to be on acorn island," said bobby, frankly. "you'll be a new girl by the time we go back home." "i don't want to be a new girl," grumbled lily. "now, isn't that just like her?" said bobby, _sotto voce_. "she is perfectly satisfied with herself as she is. humph! lucky she _is_ satisfied, i s'pose, for nobody else could be!" chapter xi liz sees a "ha'nt" after their bath the girls got into their gymnasium costumes. then they clamored for breakfast, and had mrs. morse not appeared just then there certainly would have been a riot at the cook-tent. lizzie was a stickler for orders, and she would not begin to fry cakes until jess' mother gave the signal. flapjacks! my! weren't they good, with butter and syrup, followed by bacon and eggs and french fried potatoes? the girls ate for a solid hour. lizzie's face was the color of a well-burned brick when the girls admitted they were satisfied. the out-of-door air had given even lil an enormous appetite. "if my mother had any idea that i'd eat so much at this time in the morning she'd never have let me come camping," she said. "why! do you know--i only drink a cup of coffee and pick the inside out of a roll, at breakfast, at home." there was a general inclination to "laze" about the camp and read, or take naps after that heavy breakfast. but laura would not allow the other six girls of central high any peace. "of course, we have a big ham and a case of eggs with us," said mother wit. "but we don't want to eat ham and eggs, or bacon and eggs, three times a day while we stay here. "beside, the eggs, at least, won't hold out. we must add to the larder----" "what shall we do?" asked dora lockwood. "paddle to the mainland and kill some farmer's cow to get beef?" "no, indeed," laura said, laughing. "we must, however, make an attempt to coax some of the finny denizens of the lake out of it and into lizzie's fry-pan." "fishing!" cried dorothy. "i never went fishing in my life," complained lil. but the other girls of central high were not like lil--no, indeed! they had been out with the boys on lake luna--both in summer and winter--and every one of them knew how to put a worm on a hook. lil squealed at the thought of "using one of the squirmy things." "aw, you give me a pain!" said bobby. "don't act as though you were made of something different from the rest of us. a worm never bit me yet, and i've been fishing thousands of times, i guess." lil did not hear her, however. she was the only girl who had not brought fishing tackle. when she saw her six schoolmates going about the work of tolling the finny denizens of lake dunkirk onto the bank, she began to be jealous of the fun they were having. white perch, and roach, and now and then a lake trout, were being landed. lil got excited. she wanted to try her hand at the sport, too. yes! bobby had an extra outfit, and she even cut lil a pole. "but i tell you what it is, miss," said the black-eyed girl, "i'm going to hold you responsible for this outfit. if you break anything, or lose anything, or snarl the line up, you'll have to pay me for it. i paid good money for that silk line and those hooks." lil promised to make good if anything happened to the fishing tackle. she took her place on a rock near bobby and made a cast. the other girls were very busy themselves and paid lil very little attention. the fish were biting freely, for the morning was cloudy and these waters about acorn island were far from being "fished out." bobby hauled in a couple of perch and had almost forgotten about lil, when the latter said, mournfully: "say, clara." "well! what is it?" demanded the other. "what do you call that little thing that bobbed up and down on the water?" "the float," replied the busy bobby. "well, clara!" whined lil, mournfully. "well! what is it?" snapped the busy fisherman. "i'll have to buy you a new one." "buy me _what_?" demanded the surprised bobby. "a new float." "what for?" was the amazed demand. "because that one you lent me _has sunk_," mourned lily. "for goodness' sake!" shrieked bobby. "you've got a bite!" she dropped her own pole, ran to the amazed lily, and dragged in a big bullpout--sometimes called "catfish"--that was sulking in the mud at the bottom, with lil's hook firmly fastened in its jaws. lil shrieked. she would not touch the wriggling, black fish. she was afraid of being "horned," she said! bobby put her foot on the fish and managed to extract the hook. then she baited the hook again and bade lil try her luck once more. but the amateur fisherman was doomed to ill-luck on this occasion. she had scarcely dropped the bait into the water, when a fierce little head appeared right at the surface. it swallowed the bait--hook and all--at a gulp, and swam right toward the shore where lil stood. she began to squeal again: "a snake! a snake! oh, bobby, i'm deathly afraid of snakes." "so am i," rejoined bobby. "but you won't catch a snake in the water with a hook and line." "_i've caught one!_" gasped the frightened lil. "gee!" growled bobby. "you're more trouble than a box of bald-headed monkeys. what is the matter--oo! it's a snapper!" "a what?" cried lil, dropping the fishpole. "a snapping turtle," explained bobby. "now you _have_ caught it! i'll lose hook and all, like enough." she jerked the turtle ashore. lil had seen only its reptilian head. the beast proved to be more than a foot across. "makes bully soup," said the practical bobby. "but he won't willingly let go of that bait and the hook in a month of sundays." she ran up to the camp and came flying back in a minute with the camp-hatchet. lil grew bold enough to hold the line taut. the turtle pulled back, and bobby caught it just right and cut its head off! although lonesome liz had never seen a turtle before, she managed to clean it and with mrs. morse's advice made a pot of soup. lizzie was getting bolder as the hours passed; but she announced to laura that she believed there must be "ha'nts" in the woods. "what is a haunt?" asked laura, curiously. "dead folks that ain't contented in their minds," declared the queer girl. "and why should the spirits of the dead haunt _these_ woods?" asked laura. "seems to me it's an awfully out of the way place for dead people to come to." but lizzie would not give up her belief in the "spooks." that first day in camp the girls had no visitors. through their binoculars and opera glasses, they could see the boys very active about their camp across the lake. it was plain they were too busy to visit acorn island. the girls of central high, however, had plenty of fun without the boys. only bobby declared that lil principally spent the time staring through her opera glasses across the lake, wishing purt would come over in the _duchess;_ but lil angrily denied _that._ "and you stop trying to stir up a rumpus, miss," commanded laura, to the cut-up. "let us live, if we can, like a happy family." "my!" drawled jess, "mother wit is nothing if not optimistic." "ha! what is your idea of an optimist?" demanded nellie agnew. "why," jess said, smiling quietly, "i read of a real optimist once. he was strolling along a country road and an automobile came along and hit him in the back. it knocked him twenty feet. "'oh, well!' said he, as he got up, 'i was going in this direction, anyway.'" "aw, say!" put in bobby, "that's all right for a _story;_ but _my_ idea of a real optimist is a man who's dead broke, going into a restaurant and ordering oysters on the half shell with the hope that he can pay for the dinner by finding a pearl in one of the bivalves." they all laughed at that, and then laura said: "to get back to our original conversation, let us see if we can't get on in _this_ camp without friction. and that means that _you_, bobby, must set a watch on your tongue." "what do you suppose my tongue is--a timekeeper?" cried the irreverent bobby. laura herself helped get dinner, the main dish of which was fried fish. and how good they tasted, fresh out of the lake! mrs. morse had kept her typewriter tapping at a swift pace in the cabin, and she could scarcely be coaxed to leave her story long enough to eat dinner. "this quietude is an incentive to good work," she said, reflectively, at table. "i shall be sorry to go back to town." but it was very early in their experience to say _that._ lizzie bean was not yet an enthusiast for the simple life, that was sure. she and mother wit had gotten better acquainted during the preparations for the noonday meal. "i ain't never been crazy about the country myself," admitted liz. "cows, and bugs, and muskeeters, and frogs, don't seem so int'restin' to me as steam cars, and pitcher shows, and sody-water fountains, and street pianners. "i like the crowds, i do. a place where all ye hear all day is a mowin' merchine clackin', or see a hoss switchin' his tail to keep off the bluebottles, didn't never coax me, _much._" "the bucolic life does not tempt you, then?" said laura, her eyes twinkling. "never heard it called that afore. colic's it serious thing--'specially with babies. but the city suits me, i can tell ye," said liz. "i never seen no-one that liked the woods like you gals seem to before, 'ceptin' a feller that lived in the boardin' house i worked at in albany. he was a bug on campin' and fishin' and gunnin', and all that." "did you work in albany?" queried laura, surprised. "yep. last year. i had a right good place, too. plenty of work. i got up at four o'clock in the mornin' and i never _did_ get through at night!" "oh, my!" "yep. i love work. it keeps yer mind off yer troubles, if you have enough and plenty to do. but if yer have too much of it, yer get fed up, as ye might say. i didn't get time to sleep." laura had to laugh at that. "yep. that chap i tell you about was the nicest chap i ever see. he was kind to me, too. when i cut my thumb most off--see the scar?--a-slicin' bread in that boardin' house, the missis put me out 'cause i couldn't do my work." "how mean!" exclaimed laura. "ah! ye don't know about boardin' house missises. they ain't human," said liz, confidently. "but mr. norman, he seen me goin' out with my verlise, and he knowed about my sore thumb. he slipped me five dollars out o' his pocket. but he was rich," sighed liz, ecstatically. "he owned a bank." "owned a bank?" gasped laura. "yep." "and lived in a cheap boarding house?" for laura knew that liz could not have worked in a very aristocratic place. "well! he went to a bank every day," said the simple girl. "and if he warn't rich why should he have slipped me the five dollars?" "true--very true," admitted laura, much amused. but she did not think it so funny that evening when, as the girls sat about a fire they had made in the open, singing and telling jokes, and lizzie was washing up the supper dishes, a sudden shrill whoop arose from the cook-tent. "gee! what's that?" demanded the slangy bobby. "a mouse!" declared nellie. "that funny girl must be just as much afraid of them as _i_ am." "i hope it's nothing worse than a mouse," lil said, tremblingly. laura had sprung up on the instant and run to the cook tent. liz had dropped a pile of plates, and some of them were broken. she had deposited herself stiffly in a campstool. her body was quite stiffened and her eyes fairly bulged--and it was not easy for liz bean's eyes _to_ bulge! "what is the matter, liz?" demanded laura, seizing her by the shoulder. "i seen him," gasped liz. "you have seen whom?" "_him_." "but that doesn't mean anything to me," declared laura, shaking her. "who _is_ he?" "the feller i was tellin' you about. that feller that give me the five dollars." "_what_?" "yes, ma'am!" uttered liz, solemnly. "he was standin' right yonder--just at the edge of them woods. i took the cover off the stove and the fire flashed out and showed me his face--just as plain!" "you've been dreaming," said laura, slowly. "git out!" ejaculated liz, with emphasis. "i never fell asleep yet washin' greasy dishes--no, ma'am!" "well!" "i know what it means," liz said, solemnly. "yes, i do." "what _does_ it mean?" demanded laura, doubtful whether to laugh or be serious. "he's dead," said the odd girl. "dead?" "yes, ma'am." "but why should he appear to you, even if he _were_ dead?" demanded laura, seeing that she must never let this superstition take root in the camp. "do you suppose he's come to try to get his five dollars back?" "my goodness to gracious!" said liz. "no. the ha'nt of a man that owned a bank wouldn't come to bother a poor gal like me for money, would he?" chapter xii the "kleptomaniantic" ghost the other girls crowded around then and wanted to know what had happened. laura pinched liz and said: "she dropped those plates. guess we won't make her pay for the broken ones, girls. go on, now. i'll finish helping liz wipe them." so the matter of the "ha'nt" did not become public property just then. in fact, mother wit talked so seriously to the maid-of-all-work that she hoped the "ha'nt" had been laid, before they sought their cots that night. but in the morning there was a most surprising sequel to the incident. the larder had been robbed! "it can't be," said laura, who heard of the trouble first of all when she popped out of the sleeping tent. lizzie bean had awakened mrs. morse and that lady--bundled in a blanket-robe--had come to the cook-tent to see. "i ain't never walked in my sleep yet--and knowed it," stated lizzie, with conviction. "and there's the things missin'----" the remainder of the big ham, a strip of bacon, coffee, sugar, syrup, canned milk, and half a sack of flour were among the things which had disappeared. while the three stood there, amazed, bobby came. "bet it was those boys," said she. "playing a joke on us. they're over here somewhere." the sun was just rising, and its early beams shone on the camp across the lake. laura ran for the binoculars and examined the boys' camp. both powerboats were there, and the five canoes. the boys were all disporting themselves in the water--laura could count the six. "if they did it," she said, "they got back to their camp very early." "see this!" shrieked bobby, suddenly. she was pointing to the table, set as usual for breakfast. pinned to the red and white checked table-cloth was a crisp ten dollar bill. "whoever robbed us paid for the goods," mrs. morse said, feebly. "it was that ha'nt!" declared liz. at that the story of the man's face she had seen at the edge of the wood the evening before, came out. all the girls heard the story, and at once there was a great hullabaloo! "a man on the island!" gasped nellie. "i'm going home." "pooh!" said bobby. "liz says it's a ghost. a kleptomaniac ghost at that." "he can't be a kleptomaniac, bobby," said laura, laughing, "or he wouldn't have left money for the goods." "he's a kleptomani-_antic_ ghost, then!" giggled bobby. "how ridiculous!" said jess. "whoever heard the like?" "the fact remains," said her mother, "that some stranger has been here while we slept, and taken the provisions--and we shall have to get more." "the ten dollars will more than pay for what's missing," said laura, slowly. "what of that?" demanded nellie. "i don't like the idea." lizzie was somewhat flurried. "and me--i was sleepin' right behind that canvas curtain. not again! never! i'm goin' back to town." at this the girls all set up a wail. "oh, liz! you mustn't! you promised to stay! we're paying you good wages, liz! don't leave us to do all the work!" was the chorus of objections. "well! i ain't goin' to stay right here where that ha'nt can get me," declared liz. "but," put forth laura, seriously, though her eyes twinkled, "you shouldn't be afraid of _that_ haunt if he was such a nice young man as you say he was." "huh!" grumbled lizzie bean, practically. "no young man is nice after he's dead." there seemed to be no answer to this statement. but mrs. morse came to the rescue. "you can bring your cot into the cabin, lizzie," she said. "you will not be afraid if you sleep there with me, will you?" "no, ma'am. i reckon not," admitted the girl. "but how about _us_?" cried lil pendleton. "surely, we won't stay here if there are men on the island?" "it's big enough for them and us, too, i guess," said bobby, doubtfully. "maybe the man--or men--who stole our food, is no longer on the island," laura said, slowly. "and they paid for it!" exclaimed dora. "money isn't everything," said nellie. "what _is_?" demanded bobby. "our peace of mind," declared the doctor's daughter, "is more important. i shall be afraid to stay here if there are strange men on the island." "we'll settle that," laura declared, with vigor, "and at once." "how?" demanded dorothy, wonderingly. "search the island," said practical mother wit. "certainly not by sitting down and sucking our thumbs." "oh, laura!" wailed lil. "i wouldn't dare!" "wouldn't dare what?" was laura's rejoinder. "hunt for those men on this island. why! we don't _want_ to find them." "and i'd like to know why not? i don't care if they _did_ leave money for the food they took----" "but there must be something bad about them----" "how do we know that, lil?" asked laura. "there is, rather, something _good_ about them, or they would not have left the money for the stolen food." "dear laura is right--as she almost always is," said mrs. morse, fondly. "a real thief at heart would not have left that ten dollar bill." "an' i'm tellin' you that chap was the nicest one that lived at missis brayton's boardin' house," put in liz, reflectively. "what chap?" cried jess. "the ha'nt," said liz, simply. "oh, dear me, lizzie!" said laura, in some disgust. "don't keep that up." "well, then! if it wasn't his ha'nt, it was _himself_. guess i know him," declared the girl-of-all-work. "tell _me_ about it, please?" said jess' mother, "you girls run and get your baths and we'll get breakfast." "i--i don't want to leave the tent if there are thieves about," complained lil, to whom the water looked just as cold on this morning as it had the day before. "i--i've got some jewelry in my bag." "very foolish," said bobby, bluntly. "we told you not to bring anything to camp that you cared about." "gently! gently!" said laura, the peacemaker, "come on, lil. don't be afraid of either the kleptomaniantic thief, as bobby calls him, or the cold water--neither will hurt you, i guess." they had their plunge and that--or something else--stirred mother wit's "thinking machine." she said, as they trooped up to dress: "we'll wig-wag the boys and bring them over. they will help us search the island. besides, we shall need one of the powerboats to go for more food. it seems funny that a man who was willing to pay for what he took--and pay so well--did not go down to elberon crossing and buy at the store just what he took from us." "he's an outlaw--a murderer, maybe, fleeing for his life," suggested lil, tremblingly. "pooh! so are you!" scoffed jess. "more than likely he is some lazy fisherman who did not want to go to the store--some rich fellow from the city." "if liz knows what she is talking about," said laura, "it _is_ a rich fellow from albany. a mr. norman. and she told me last night that he was a great fisherman and hunter. "but what under the sun," demanded bobby, "should he take our food for?" "you can't tell me it is anything as simple as that," lil pendleton declared. "he is a thief, just the same. and it as dangerous for us to be on this island with him. why! i wouldn't stay another night--unless the boys were here to defend us." "ah! the cat is out of the bag," chuckled bobby. "lil wants purt over here with his revolver," and then the other girls laughed and lil got mad again. chapter xiii the search of the island laura dressed in a hurry and ran out with the flags. she took a slip of paper with her on which chet had marked down the code, to refresh her memory, and at once stood out upon a high boulder and began to wave the "call flag." without the glasses she could not see what the boys were doing about their camp; but jess came with the best pair of binoculars, and soon told her that the boys were evidently in much excitement. chet appeared with _his_ flags, and brother and sister carried on a silent conversation for some ten minutes. "no, girls," laura said, seriously, when she came down from the rock and led the way to the breakfast table. "chet assures me none of the boys have been over here. they were coming right after breakfast, anyway, and will come in the powerboats." "they know nothing about our loss, and chet is impressed with the seriousness of the affair. i wouldn't let him think we were scared at all, but asked to borrow a boat so as to get more provisions." "no! i should say not!" exclaimed jess. "after what they said about our calling them, when they left us the other night, we don't want to give then a chance to laugh at us." "who'll go for the provisions to this crossing you speak of?" asked nellie. "oh, a couple of the boys. the others will help us search the island," laura said, cheerfully. "make out a list of what is needed, laura," advised mrs. morse, as she retired to her typewriter. "and be sure to get a bottle of peroxide. it's good for cuts, or mosquito bites, or any poison." not long after breakfast the two powerboats, the _duchess_ and the _bonnie lass_, were seen approaching. all the boys had come, and they were all very curious as to the raid that had been made upon the girls' pantry. purt sweet had seemingly been transformed in the two days he had been "roughing it" in camp. he still wore the green knickerbockers, and the long stockings. the belt with its hunting-knife scabbard, was about his waist. and there was a suspicious bunch under his waistband that announced the presence of the ancient revolver. however, purt's mother would not have known his clothing, so stained, torn and bedraggled did his garments appear. the boys had made him do his share of the camp work. chopping wood had made his palms blister, sparks had snapped out of the fires he had made and burned holes in his clothes, and hot fat snapping from the skillet had left red marks on his hands and face. having fun in camp was the hardest work purt sweet had ever done; but he was ashamed to "kick" about it before the girls. he came ashore to assure lil pendleton that he would do his best to find and punish the marauders who had raided the camp on the island. "whether the fellow paid for what he got, or not," chet said, seriously, when he had heard the particulars, "we want to know if he is still here, and what he means by such actions." "we must know that he _isn't_ here, or i sha'n't want to stay," declared nellie agnew, who was really very timid. "leave it to us," said billy long, grandly. "we'll comb this island with a fine tooth comb----" "you don't suppose we girls are going to let you fellows do it all, do you?" demanded laura. "of course we shall help, short and long." "aw! you'll tear your frocks and scratch yourself on the vines, and stub your toes and fall down, and make a mess generally," declared short and long, loftily. "better stay here in camp and do your squealing." "well! i like that!" quoth jess, making a dive for the short boy. she was considerably bigger than he, and catching him from the rear she wound her long arms about him and so held him tight. "take that back, short and long," she commanded, "or i shall hold you prisoner." short and long found he could not get away from jess, and finally stopped struggling. "i didn't know you thought so much of me, jess," he said, grinning. "but it embarrasses me dreadfully, to have you hug me in public." "why!" laughed the big girl, "i'd think no more of hugging you, than i would your brother, tommy--and _he's_ a dear!" "you'd think so if you had that kid around all the time," grunted short and long, as jess finally allowed him to wriggle loose. "i think he's more of a terror than he is a dear." "he takes it from you, then," laughed bobby. "yep," said lance, grinning, "it runs in billy's family to be a cut-up--like wooden legs!" "what's tommy been doing now?" asked dorothy lockwood. "why, he is great chums with the kid next door, and they got into mischief of some kind the other day. the other kid's mother told them that if they did such things 'the bad man would get them.' 'who's the bad man, tommy?' our sue asked him, and tommy says: "'don't know. you'll hafter ask charlie's mother. she's well acquainted with him.'" "come on, now!" exclaimed lance. "who's going to take the _duchess_ and go to elberon crossing for this bill of goods? we can't all go hunting for robbers." "i shall stay here to help defend the girls, doncher know," stated purt, swaggering about the camp. "but any of you fellows can take my boat." "spoken like a nobleman, purt!" declared chet, laughing. "come on, now! let's arrange how we shall sweep the island, from shore to shore." but first it was agreed that lance and reddy should go with the _duchess_ for the new supply of food for the girls. they set off at once. the island was a quarter of a mile across at its widest point. even if the whole party entered on the search they would have difficulty in making so strong a human barrier across the isle that a fugitive in the covert could not escape through the line. but chet occasionally had a bright idea as well as his sister. he sent short and long--who could climb like a squirrel--to the top of a tall tree on the knoll. from that height he could see every opening in the wood, to the upper point of the island--which was nearly two miles long. "now we'll all go and beat up the brush and see if we can start anything bigger than a rabbit," chet declared. "spread out and try to push through the woods as straight as possible." "we girls, too?" cried nellie. "be a sport, nell, and come along," urged jess morse. "we'll be in sight and call of each other all the time." which was true enough, as they soon discovered. lil said it was her turn to help do the camp work. and of course neither mrs. morse nor liz could go. "don't you think," purt asked, seriously, "that one of us ought to remain here and defend--er--the camp?" "sure," said chet, quickly. "we'll leave art, if you say so. he rather admires lil, too, purt." this made the dude keep still; but he _did_ dislike this "manhunt" in the thick brush of acorn island. after they had gone half a mile or so, and found nothing--not even a trace of anybody else having camped on the island--they all took the situation more cheerfully. they believed whoever had stolen the girls' food had already departed. "some of these fancy city fishermen, like enough," chet declared, when they all came together at the western point of the island. "see yonder! there are two men in a boat, fishing, now." "if they were the robbers they would not boldly anchor off there," his sister said. "true enough, laura," said bobby. "i believe that whoever stole from us, is far away now. and everybody who comes to the lake knows that it is forbidden to camp on acorn island. the guides all know it." "how about what liz says about the man she saw last evening?" demanded jess. "she says he was a man she knew in albany." "she had been talking to me about him," laughed laura, "and i guess he was in her mind. why should such a man come and rob our camp?" "well! it's a mystery," chet said. "but i reckon you'll not be bothered again; the island seems empty save for ourselves." but later they thought that they might have been a little more careful in searching the upper end of acorn island. chapter xiv "more fun than a little" the girls were tired enough when they got back from the search; and it being an hour before dinner, mrs. morse advised them all to retire to the sleeping tent and lie down. however, it was too sultry for that, and they chose to put on bathing suits and take a second dip to cool off. the boys had their bathing suits, too, and the party had twenty minutes of fun in the lake, with mrs. morse sitting on a rock in the shade and enjoying the pranks. lil's bathing suit was very resplendent, and so was purt's. they were so much better dressed than anybody else that bobby declared she was ashamed to be seen in their company--so she dove under the water. the cut-up had the power of remaining beneath the surface a long time, and she crawled on the bottom to where lil and purt stood, waist deep in the water, without being observed. suddenly purt yelled, dropped lil's hand, and grabbed at the calf of his right leg. "a crab's got me!" he bawled. "a crab in fresh water?" jeered billy long. "that's a new one!" "it's one of those horrid snapping turtles!" shrieked lil, and started for the shore. not quickly enough, however, to escape bobby's thumb and finger. "it's that horrid bobby hargrew!" gasped lil, seeing the black-eyed one shoot up from beneath, and take a long breath. "aw, miss hargrew!" begged purt. "don't bother us so. it's weally too bad of you." "then act human!" ejaculated bobby. "don't you two stand around as though you were fashion pictures in the magazines. duck under and get your hair wet! you'll both get a sunstroke," and in passing them she managed to tip lil right over backward--and that beautiful bathing suit never _did_ look as well after it was all wet! they had dinner before lance and reddy returned from their errand. it had already been agreed that the boys should stay all day at acorn island and not return to their own camp until after supper. occasionally one of them took a squint at the camp across the lake through a pair of glasses. but nothing disturbed _that_ spot. their tents were erected in a clearing at the edge of the water, and they knew there was not a human habitation on that side of the lake within five miles. elberon crossing was at the head of rocky river, but a good half mile from the water and landing, where a "tote-road" went through the big woods to the lumber camps farther west. the _duchess_ was in sight of the girls' camp all the way from the landing on the south side of the river. on her return the party watched her approach, which was soon after the noonday meal. "hello!" ejaculated chet, suddenly grabbing up the glasses. "they have a passenger." "who have?" queried billy long. "lance and reddy. crickey! who have we here?" and then chet began to laugh uproariously. he tossed the glasses to short and long. the latter looked at the motorboat for a moment, and then began to laugh, too. some of the girls became interested, and they ran for their glasses. there was a third moving figure in the boat. it sat up forward and seemed to be gazing on the island eagerly. the girls began to giggle as well as short and long. "hush!" begged laura. "don't say a word." purt and lil were sitting together in the shade, and paid no attention to what was going on. almost everybody on the island but themselves realized the identity of the third figure in the _duchess_ before the boat neared the beach. suddenly purt gasped, and sat up straighter. he glanced all about and a sort of hunted expression came into his face. "what's the matter, mr. sweet?" demanded lil, in surprise. "i--i thought i heard--yes! i knew i could not be mistaken," said purt, in horror. "what _is_ the matter?" demanded his companion, with some tartness. she did not like mysteries. "i--i heard a dog bark," stammered purt. "well! what if you did?" "but on this--this island. who--who could have brought the howwid cweature here?" "not _that_ dog, purt!" gasped lil, suddenly remembering. there was a hail from the crew of the _duchess_. again the sharp bark of a dog sounded. purt leaped to his feet. he glared down upon the approaching motorboat. then he glanced around helplessly, as though tempted to run. the barnacle was fixed on his tail in the bow of the approaching boat, barking for all he was worth! "hi, purt!" yelled lance, standing up in the cockpit of the _duchess_ and bawling the news. "here's your canine friend!" purt fairly groaned. then he got mad and forgetting the girls were present, he blackguarded the jokers in the launch wrathfully. "oh, hush-aby! hush-aby, sonny!" begged bobby. "you wouldn't do all that to lance and poor little reddy--would you really?" "i'll get square with them!" stammered the dude, "and i'll kill that dog." "don't you bite him," warned short and long, "for if you do right now he will sure have the hydrophobia. take it easy, purt--cool and easy." but the dude could not. the very sight of that laughing, ragged-coated dog made his blood boil. he hunted a club with which to meet the brute when he landed. but lance explained about the barnacle before the _duchess_ came close enough for them to land. "why, there he was ready to meet us at the elberon store," laughed lance. "i found out that everybody along the big woods trails knows the mongrel. he had come up yesterday with a tote-team which was going into the woods. "he welcomed reddy and me as if we were his long-lost brothers. but it's purt he wants to see--believe me!" "i'll fix him!" threatened the dude, from the shore, and waving a club. "hold on!" begged lance. "i have a better idea than that. i didn't bring the barnacle along to be slaughtered to make a sweet holiday--no, sir! what do you think about leaving him at the island here with the girls, chet?" "great! he'll guard the camp," declared laura's brother. "nobody else will come around to steal grub." "that's a good idee, mister," said liz, from the cook-tent. "the dog is wuth more than any boy to watch for us." "hear that, will you?" demanded chet. "you girls have one fine suffragette in this lonesome liz, as billy calls her." "she's ripe for battle, when it comes to pitting the ladies against the mere male," laughed laura. "we have found _that_ out." against purt's objections the barnacle was allowed to come ashore. and the poor beast _did_ seem so delighted to be among them again that they had not the heart to treat him badly. at least, nobody hated him save lily and purt. barnacle was fed hugely by liz bean, and had to lie down after it and sleep. so he did not disturb purt during the afternoon. the girls had agreed to get supper all by themselves. liz and mrs. morse were to have nothing to do with it. bobby and laura made cake. there were chickens to roast--two pairs of them--that lance had thoughtfully bought of a woman at the crossing. these were handed over to the tender mercies of jess and nell. now, jess was a good cook; she did most of the housework at the morse cottage. but when they had had chicken, the butcher always cleaned the creature before sending it home. "my goodness!" sniffed nell. "what do you know about taking a chicken apart?" "not--not much, i am afraid," admitted jess, "and here are four of them! well, we ought to learn a good deal about it by the time we have butchered all four." "ugh! i don't want to cut into them. and some of their insides are the delicacies of the chicken, while other parts are no good. do you know one from the other, jess?" "i reckon i know the giblets--if i can once get at them," said jess. "mother and i took our sewing machine to pieces once, and fixed it," nellie said, "and that was pretty complicated. but we had a book of instructions----" "they don't issue a book of instructions with a roasting chicken," jess chuckled. "it's up to us, i expect----" then she called lance. they had to admit a boy _was_ good for something once in a while. lance knew all about cleaning and drawing chickens, and he did _that_ part of the work very neatly and with dispatch. it being such warm weather the girls made dressing enough to stuff only two of the chickens. they got on bravely with their share of the work and were ready to put the chickens in the oven in the big dripping-pan when laura's and bobby's cakes were done. meanwhile reddy and short and long had been very busy with the ice-cream freezer. the boys had brought over a can of milk and a big block of ice from the landing and mrs. morse had made the ice-cream. the boys froze it and packed it down in the shade. everybody began to get hungry early, for the odors from the cook-tent had been most delicious. as soon as the chickens and the baked potatoes were done, supper was served. liz, in a clean dress and a clean apron served it. everything was fine except the chicken stuffing. there was something just a little queer about _that_; but what it was nobody seemed able to tell. "i know i seasoned it with that same prepared seasoning of herbs that we use at home," wailed jess. "you must have left something out," said nellie, despairingly. chet was tasting the dressing critically. "no," he said, without a smile. "i don't think you could have done _that_." jess brightened visibly. "then it doesn't taste so bad?" she said, hopefully. "there's nothing you could have left _out_, jess, that would make it taste like this. it's something you've put in----" liz suddenly presented herself at the table shaking a box in her hand. "was _this_ what you took for seasonin' for that stuffin'?" she demanded, solemnly. "why--yes," admitted jess. "that's the very box i always buy it in at our grocer's." "yep," said liz. "it comes in that. but that's an old box i've had a long time, and there was lic'rish powder in it. i guess 'twon't hurt none o' yer; but i wouldn't eat much o' that stuffin'." "goodness!" murmured jess, as the laughter broke out. "i _thought_ that stuff smelt kind of funny when i shook it out of the can." chapter xv the barnacle has a nose aside from that single mistake the meal was declared to be a great success. the cake turned out a joy, and when it and the heaping dishes of ice-cream were brought on, the boys stood up and gave three cheers for the girls of acorn island camp. "but hold on!" exclaimed chet, suddenly investigating his share of the ice-cream with a spoon. "i have been given a premium with my supply. here! who has lost a perfectly good fly?" "alive?" demanded his chum, lance. "he can still crawl," admitted chet. "that fly's a perfect idiot," declared lance, warmly. "it's the same one that was in the hot gravy a little while ago. i hope he takes a chill. what does he think this is--a turkish bath?" they lingered long at the table, until finally liz (who had agreed to "clean up") drove them all out of the tent. they finished the ice-cream (which reddy and short and long declared _had_ to be eaten up because there was not ice enough to keep it out in the open), with the light fading out of the western sky and the early fireflies flitting about the edge of the wood. the barnacle began to bark vociferously, all of a sudden. lizzie, up at the lighted cook-tent, squealed. up rose the boys with a great whoop. "go for it!" yelled lance. "sick 'im!" which seems to be the approved way to set a dog on anything living. barnacle was barking his foolish head off. he dashed across from the cook-tent to the woods, and then back again. the boys all urged him on. the girls ran together in a frightened group, lil moaning: "oh, he's here again! that dreadful man is here again!" "hush you!" commanded liz, in disgust. "'tain't no man. 'tain't even a ha'nt. i seen it. it's a black and white kitten----" "oh, chet! call him off! call him off!" begged laura. "quick, chet!" added jess. "don't let that horrid dog hurt that kitty." "chetwood!" shrieked laura again, knowing more about the inhabitants of the woods than her chum. "chetwood! stop it! come back! that's _a polecat_!" "_what_?" gasped all the girls, and then bobby began to shriek with laughter. it was too, too funny--with jess begging the boys not to let the barnacle hurt "kitty." it was impossible, however, to call the dog off the trail. that camp scavenger, the american skunk, is the mildest mannered little creature in the world--providing he is left strictly alone. being timid and otherwise defenseless, god has given him a scent-sack which---"nobody can tell me that the skunk only brought a _cent_ into the ark," declared the exhausted bobby. "that fellow has a dollar's worth himself!" "why--why did the creator ever _make_ such a horrid beast?" demanded lil. "you ask that and wear those furs of yours in the winter?" said nellie, laughing. "the pretty little fellow that the barnacle has so unwisely chased away from our vicinity is becoming very valuable to the furriers. there are people who raise the creatures for the market----" "excuse _me_!" gasped bobby. "i'd want a chronic cold in the head, if i had to work on a skunk farm." as barnacle and his quarry went farther from the camp the odor that had risen drifted away, too; but for two days thereafter the girls could easily tell in which part of the island barnacle was running game, by the way in which the odor came "down wind" to them. liz fed him at the edge of the wood; the girls chased him from the vicinity of the tents whenever he appeared. the barnacle did not mind much; for he had struck a dog-hunter's paradise. he was a fiend after small game and there had not been a dog on acorn island for some years, in all probability. he was running and yapping all day and pretty nearly all night. how many groundhogs, chipmunks, muskrats, coons, and other small animals, besides the rabbits, he chased and caught there was no telling. perhaps he did not kill one. but he barked to his heart's desire and when he finally had driven everything to cover, he came back to the tents, purified in soul as well as in odor, and was willing to sleep during the day and sit up on his haunches at night (when they tied him to the corner of the cabin) and try to howl his head off at the moon. the girls--even lil and nellie--lost their fear of a second visit from the mysterious "kleptomaniantic." nobody would land upon the island to disturb them while that crazy dog was about. so they fished, and swam, and picked berries, and hunted flowers and herbs, and went out sailing with the boys in the powerboats, and drove their canoes up and down the lake, having a fine time every hour of the day. mrs. morse got on famously with her book, and allowed the girls to do about as they liked. they got into no mischief, however; but they all grew brown, and strong, and even lily began to put on flesh. at this season there were few fishermen at lake dunkirk. some days there were long processions of barges sailing past the island, making for rocky river and the ports down stream. and sometimes puffy tugs drew other barges westward, against the current. none of the crews of these boats disturbed the campers. acorn island had been placarded for years, and it had always been necessary to get a permit to have even a picnic there. just one couple of fishermen came within range of the girls' vision that first week or ten days. and that couple, in their clumsy canoe, were never near enough for the girls of central high to see their faces. "i wonder where _they_ camp at night?" said laura thoughtfully one evening as she and jess were paddling in for supper, being the last of the scattered girls to make camp. she had sighted the strange fishermen off the western end of acorn island again. "bet they are the fellows who took our food!" exclaimed jess, suddenly. "and have hung about here all this time? nonsense!" returned laura. "but don't let lil and nellie hear you say that." "all right. but i bet they are." "i'm more worried by that cloud yonder," said laura. "we're going to have a tempest." "hope not till supper's over," said the hungry jess. "we'll peg down the tents to make sure as soon as we get in," said the careful laura. they did so. half through supper the first drops of the storm fell. then the thunder rolled nearer and a tall tree was riven on the mainland, within sight of camp acorn. _that_ pretty well settled the supper for most of the girls. even the bravest had never experienced a thunder storm under canvas before. so they all ran into mrs. morse's cabin. it did not seem so bad there. in the midst of the downpour, however, and in a lull between thunder claps, barnacle, who had been tied to the corner of the hut and had crawled under the floor for protection, suddenly broke out with a terrific salvo of barks. he rushed out into the rain and leaped at the end of his rope, barking and yelping. "somebody's about the camp," murmured mrs. morse. "the dog's nose--if not his eyes--tells him so." "it's liz," ventured jess, for the maid-of-all-work had not come with them to the cabin. laura threw the door open, in spite of the flashing lightning. lil shrieked and even some of the other girls cowered as the lightning played across the sky. but before the thunder burst forth again, laura heard another sound--and it was not the barnacle baying. lizzie bean, in the cook-tent, was screaming in a queer and stifled way. chapter xvi where the barnacle's nose led him the rain descended in torrents before the cabin door. e'er laura could plunge into it, jess dragged her back and slammed the door. "don't be a goose, laura!" she cried. "she--she----something is the matter with liz," declared laura. "of course not!" "i tell you, i heard her. and there's the dog barking again." "you can't go through that rain----" "i will!" declared laura, and she wrenched open the door once more. jess could not hold her. mother wit plunged out into the storm. never having deserted her chum but once--and then involuntarily at a certain occasion long ago--jess was not going to be behind now. she dove likewise into the storm. the rain beat upon the two girls in a fashion to almost take their breath away. never had they been so beaten by the elements. they staggered, almost fell, clung together, and then bent their heads to the downpour and pressed on. the flickering lantern still illuminated the cook-tent. the awning was dropped and the canvas heaved and slatted against the poles. the rain made so much noise that they did not hear liz now. or else, she had ceased crying out. laura and jess pressed forward and--it being but a few yards, after all, to the tent--they burst into the kitchen in a moment more. "liz! liz!" gasped laura, almost breathless. there was a noise behind the fluttering canvas partition. was it the girl in the sleeping part of the tent? "oh! somebody's there!" muttered jess, clinging to her chum's hand. laura sprang forward and jerked apart the flap. she only feared that something was the matter with liz. and there was, apparently. she was crouching down, against the far wall of the tent, her hands over her face, and trembling like a leaf. afterward laura thought over this scene with wonder. lonesome liz did not seem like a girl who would be so terribly disturbed about a thunder storm. she had shown no fear when the tempest began and the other girls had scampered for the cabin. but now she was moaning, and rocking herself to and fro, and it was some moments before they could get a sensible word out of her. "oh! oh! oh!" wailed liz. "i want to go back to town. i don't like this place a little bit--no, i don't! oh, oh!" "stop your noise, liz!" exclaimed jess, suddenly exasperated. "you can't go back while it is storming so. and when it stops you won't want to." but laura was worried. she looked all about the tent. what had the barnacle barked so about? nor was he satisfied now. the storm held up after a time; but the dog kept rushing out and barking as though he had just remembered that there had been a prowler about, and he had not had a chance to chase him. laura understood that rain, or wet, killed the scent for dogs and like trailing animals. this that had disturbed the barnacle must have been a person who had come very close. they took liz to the cabin, and left her there after the storm was over and the six central high girls went to their own tent. but although laura did not say much about it, she was as dissatisfied as the dog seemed to be. in the morning she was up earlier than anybody else in the camp. the grass and brush was drenched with the rain. there were puddles here and there. the sun was not yet up and it would take several hours of his best work to dry up the wet places. laura had not won her nickname of "mother wit" for nothing. she had inventiveness; likewise she had a sane and sensible way of looking at almost any mysterious happening. she did not get scared as nellie did, or ignore a surprising thing, as jess did. now she was dissatisfied with the outcome of liz bean's "conniption," as bobby had termed it the evening before. the maid-of-all-work had shown no fear of thunder and lightning when the tempest began and the other girls were frightened. then, why should she wait until the storm was nearly over before showing all the marks of extreme terror? and, in addition, liz seemed to be fairly speechless about the matter, whereas she was naturally an extremely garrulous person. "why did the barnacle bark so?" demanded laura, when she stood, shivering, in the gray light of dawn before the cook-tent. "not just for the fun of hearing his own voice, i am sure." the ground before the cook-tent was soft, and trampled by the girls' own feet. laura went carefully around to the rear, stepping on firm ground so as to leave no marks. there was a rear opening to the cook-tent--out of the part liz had been sleeping in. but these flaps were laced down. however, there were marks in the soft ground right here--footmarks that could not be mistaken. they were prints of a man's boot--no girl in the crowd wore such footgear as those that made these marks! the boot-prints led right from the laced flaps of the tent toward the woods. laura could see fully a dozen of the marks, all headed that way. the man had come from the inside of the tent, for there were no footprints showing an approach to the tent from this end. "i knew that girl did not cry because of the thunder and lightning," was laura's decision. "this man burst into the tent while she was alone. and for some reason she is afraid to tell us the truth about him. "of course, she hasn't really told a falsehood. she just let us believe that it was the storm that had scared her. "now, who is the man? is she sheltering him because of fear, or for another reason? "and what did he want? why did he come to the tent in the storm? for shelter from the rain? not probable. i declare!" thought mother wit, "this is as puzzling a thing as ever i heard." she said nothing to anybody before breakfast about her discoveries. she did not wish to disturb mrs. morse, for that lady had come into the woods for a rest from her social duties, and for the writing of a book. why should she be troubled by a mere mystery? the detective fever burned hotly in laura belding's veins on this morning. from jess she could not keep her discovery for long; but she swore her chum to silence. then she took bobby hargrew into her confidence. despite the younger girl's recklessness, she was brave and physically strong. "we're going to run down lizzie's 'ha'nt,' if the barnacle has a nose," declared laura, after the trio had discussed the pros and cons of the affair. so they loosened the dog, laura holding him in leash, and slipped away to the woods when none of the other members of the party were watching. laura knew that the scent would not lie very strong after the pelting rain; but they could follow the trail by sight for a long distance. it led straight toward the far end of acorn island--the end which they and the boys had so carelessly searched the day after the larder had been robbed. here and there they came upon the print of the unknown man's boots in the softened soil. "gee, laura!" gasped bobby. "suppose he turns on us? we don't know whether he is a robber or a minister. what will we do when we find him?" "that depends altogether upon what he looks like," said laura. "now hush, bobby. the barnacle is pulling hard; he really smells something." "i hope it isn't another black and white kitten," chuckled bobby. they went down a slope to a small hollow, well sheltered by trees and rocks. there was a faint odor of wood smoke in the air. "a camp," whispered jess, having hard work to keep her teeth from nervously chattering, despite the heat of the day, "who do you suppose is here?" "we'll see," whispered laura in return, and slipped the dog's leash. the barnacle ran down into the dale at once. the three girls followed, cautiously parting the branches. they came in sight of the fire. it was the remains of a late breakfast-fire, without doubt. there was a single figure sitting at one side of the smoldering wood. barnacle was running about the encampment, snuffing eagerly for broken bits. he paid the figure by the fire no attention, nor did the man look at the dog. the man stooped, and his face was buried in his hands. he wore a shabby frock coat, and a disreputable hat. "that's one of those two fishermen we saw in the canoe," whispered jess. "wonder if you're right?" breathed bobby. just then the man raised his head and turned so that the three girls from central high could see his face. it was unshaven and the man looked altogether like a tramp. but there was no mistaking him for anybody but professor dimp, the latin and history instructor of central high! chapter xvii a perfectly unsatisfactory interview "goodness gracious!" gasped bobby, the first to find her breath. she fell limply against laura and jess. "what do you know about _that_? say, girls! do you see the same thing i do, or am i going crazy?" "hush!" commanded jess, hoarsely. "don't be ridiculous, child," advised laura, rather sharply. "he will hear you----" "will that be a crime?" demanded bobby, still in a whisper. "it may be," said laura, slowly. "we don't know why the professor is here." "to commune with nature, i judge," said jess, drily. "i can't imagine old dimple communing with nature--not as a pastime," giggled bobby. "he surely has some good reason for being here," laura murmured. "we won't accuse him of robbing the camp that time, i suppose?" asked jess. "or being up there last evening in the storm?" "that trail came this way," declared bobby, suddenly forgetting to laugh. "barnacle's nose might have deceived him," said laura. "i haven't faith in much of that dog _but_ his nose," declared jess. "he showed particular intelligence in following the trail down here. why should we suddenly suspect him of being foolish, just because we found what we didn't expect." "clear as mud!" exclaimed bobby. "'didn't expect' is good, however. if you had asked me a minute before we saw him, who was the most unexpected person to find at the end of our walk, i should have said old dimple." "why!" gasped jess, "it _couldn't_ be professor dimp." "you mean he couldn't have been the kleptomaniantic thief?" chuckled bobby. laura began to laugh softly herself. "nor could he have been the person we--and the barnacle--have been trailing," she said, suddenly. "why not?" demanded jess and bobby together. "did you ever notice professor dimp's feet?" asked mother wit. "horrors! no. never saw him barefooted," said bobby. "miss smartie! his shoes, then?" proceeded the unruffled laura. "i--i----why, no," admitted bobby. "look at them now. he's not a big man, but he has plentiful understandings," chuckled laura. "see?" "plain!" exclaimed jess, peering through the branches. "and those footprints we followed were of a person who wears a narrow, small boot. small for a man, i mean. i don't believe the old prof. ever _could_ get into such shoes." "hurrah for mother wit--the lady detective!" cheered bobby, under her breath. "i am going to ask him----" "what?" demanded jess, half frightened as laura started to press through the fringe of bushes. "if he knows anything about that young man." "what young man?" demanded the startled jess. "the young man who scared liz last evening in the storm. the same young man who took the things from our camp--and left the ten dollar bill." "the kleptomaniantic!" breathed bobby, tagging close behind. "then it's the man who has been fishing with the professor?" gasped jess. "you've guessed it," said laura. "they are together. this is a camp for two. you can see the fish-heads lying about. there are two tin-plates and two empty cups." "are you sure the--the old prof was one of those fishermen we saw in the boat?" asked bobby. "i recognize that old coat and hat," said laura, firmly. "i do not see why i did not recognize professor dimp, in spite of his disguise, before." "well!" sighed jess. "i am thankful one of our fellow-inhabitants of the island is nobody worse than professor dimp." "but _why_?" demanded bobby, wonderingly. "we'll find out what it means," said laura, with more confidence than she really felt. of course, she was not afraid of any physical violence. but the old professor was so terribly stern and strict that it took some courage to walk across the glade, where barnacle was chewing fish-heads, and face the shabby old gentleman. "what, what, what?" snapped professor dimp, rising up from the log on which he had been sitting. "girls from central high, eh? ha! miss belding--yes; miss morse--yes; miss hargrew--yes. well! what do you want?" he seemed grayer than ever. his outing in the woods (if he had been here ever since school broke up) had done him little good, for he was wrinkled and troubled looking. his thin lips actually trembled as he greeted the three girls in characteristic manner. his eyes, however, were as bright as ever--like steel points. he looked this way when the boys had been a trial to him in latin class and he was about to say something very sharp. "we are sorry to disturb you, professor dimp," said laura, bravely. "but we are in a quandary." "a quandary, miss belding?" "yes, sir. our dog has been following a man who came to our camp last night and frightened us. the dog led us right here to this spot. have you seen him?" "seen the dog?" demanded the old professor. "do you think i am blind?" "i mean the man," said laura, humbly. "what does he look like? describe him," commanded the professor, without a change of expression. laura was balked right at the start. she had no idea what the young man looked like, whom she believed liz bean knew, and whom she believed had come to the camp at the other end of acorn island twice. "i only know what his boots are like," she said, finally, and looking straight into the old professor's face. "well, miss?" "i think _you_ can supply the rest of his description," said mother wit, firmly. "what do you mean, miss?" snapped the old professor. "he wore narrow boots, and his footprints lead directly to this place," said laura. "surely you must have seen him." "why should i?" demanded the professor. "because you have had a companion here. two men made this camp--have eaten more than one meal here. where is your companion, sir?" "miss--miss belding!" exclaimed the professor in a tone of anger. "how dare you? what do you mean?" "i don't mean to offend you, sir," said mother wit, while jess tugged at her sleeve and even bobby stepped back toward the fringe of brush. the old gentleman looked very terrible indeed. "i don't mean to offend you, sir," repeated laura. "but that man has been twice to our camp. he has disturbed us. he was there again last night and frightened our little maid-of-all-work almost out of her wits. we have got to know what it means." "you are beside yourself, girl!" gasped the old gentleman, and instantly turned his head aside so that they could not see his face. "liz calls him 'mr. norman,'" laura pursued. "if you do not tell me who he is, and what his visits to our camp mean, i shall find out more about him--_in albany_!" professor dimp did not favor them with another word. he walked away and left the trio of girls standing, amazed, in the empty camping place. chapter xviii an eventful fishing trip jess and bobby were both disappointed and disturbed over the interview with professor dimp. laura said so little about it that jess was really suspicious. "can you see through it?" she demanded. "what do you think the dimple means?" "i haven't the least idea," said her chum, frankly. but there was another thought which laura belding was not so frank about. she spoke of this to neither jess nor bobby. they agreed, as they went back toward their camp, with barnacle, that they would take nobody into their confidence about the professor being up here at lake dunkirk, fishing. suspicious circumstances had attached themselves to the old gentleman's presence here; yet the girls could not believe that professor dimp had anything to do with the raid on their larder, or the frightening of liz bean the evening previous. however, laura took liz aside when they arrived at the camp and endeavored to get the truth out of her. "liz," she said to the sad-faced girl, who seemed gloomier than ever on this morning, "who was the man who scared you in the rain last evening?" the maid-of-all-work did not look startled. perhaps she had nerved herself already for just this question. she merely stared at laura unblinkingly and asked. "what, ma'am?" "don't pretend that you don't know what i mean, liz," said laura, impatiently. "i found the man's tracks and the barnacle found his camp for us. the man came right into this tent last evening in all that storm, and you let him out at the back and laced down the flaps. "of course, there was no harm in it. and there may be no harm in the man himself, or his reason for being here on acorn island. "but if the girls hear of it--all of them, i mean--they are going to be scared again, and it will break up our outing and spoil all our fun. now! i want to know what it means, liz." "don't mean nothin'," declared the girl, sullenly. "why, _that_ is no answer," cried laura. "then there ain't none," said liz, shrugging her narrow shoulders, and she turned to her work again. "you absolutely refuse to talk to me about him?" demanded laura, rather vexed. "i ain't got nothin' to say," muttered lizzie bean. "then i'll find out about him in some other way. it is that mr. norman you spoke about before--i am sure of _that_. and i shall write to albany and learn why he is up here and what he is doing. of one thing i am sure: he has no business on this island frightening the girls. the island is private property and is posted." if liz was at all frightened by this threat, she did not show it. and, to tell the truth, it was an empty threat. laura belding did not know whom to write to in the city. she did not know the address at which liz had worked there, and at which the mysterious mr. norman had been a boarder. some of the boys came over that afternoon and arranged with the girls of acorn island camp to go fishing up the lake the next day. there was a certain creek, which came in from the north side, that was supposed to be well stocked with perch and trout. "part of it is posted, i believe," said chet. "some old grouch owns a fishing right on the stream. but we can keep off his territory. and we'll show you girls how to fish with a fly, and to use your reels." "teach us how to fish with mosquitoes--they're more plentiful than flies since the rain," jess said, slapping at one which was just presenting his bill. "crackey!" exclaimed billy long. "you've got it good here. there are not many of the beasts on this island. but there's a swamp not far behind our camp, and it's a shame to call the things that come from that swamp, mosquitoes--they are more like flying tigers!" "i suppose the old sabre-toothed tiger, of our prehistoric days, was no more savage than these swamp fly-by-nights," chet laughed. "don't you have any other visitors over yonder?" laura asked. "oh, say! we had some this morning. did you hear the hounds baying?" "hounds?" "real bloodhounds," said her brother. "sheriff's posse----" "hush!" gasped laura, clapping a hand over his mouth. "haven't you any sense at all? want to scare lil and nellie out of their next five years' growth?" "wow!" muttered chet. "shut billy off, too. and then come and tell me all about it," commanded laura. chet grabbed billy by the collar and dragged him away from the girls. then, after whispering to the smaller boy, emphatically, for a minute, he let him go and rejoined his sister. "now, what do you want to know, sis?" he demanded. "all about it," said laura, eagerly. "is there really a sheriff's posse hunting him?" "who's who?" asked chet, in much amazement. "why--whoever they are chasing," replied laura, rather blankly. "just curiosity?" chet wanted to know. "you can call it that," responded the girl, smiling whimsically at him. "you never were just idly curious in all your life," declared chet, grinning at her. "well! the men were after that fellow who stole from the merchants and miners bank of albany." "oh!" "they got wind of his being up this way. somebody saw him, or thought he did. crackey! do you suppose _he_ was the fellow who took the food from your tent, laura?" "yes, i do," admitted his sister. "then he's far enough away from the lake now," said chet, nodding. "that amount would have lasted him till he got over the canadian border." "perhaps," said laura. "at any rate, those dogs won't be able to follow his trail much after the hard rain of last night." "sure not," chet rejoined. "that's what the sheriff said. he got us to promise to let him know at creeper station if we saw anybody who looked like norman halliday----" "that's it!" gasped laura, clapping her hands together. "what's 'it?'" demanded her brother, wonderingly. "his name." "of course it is. the fellow who stole the securities from the bank. they will get him of course." "with bloodhounds? how terrible!" "not at all. they are muzzled. and friendly brutes, at that. they only follow the scent they are put on, and probably would do their quarry no harm, even if they were unmuzzled." "well, it seems terrible, just the same," murmured laura. then she added: "suppose he was somebody _we_ had an interest in, chet?" "humph! that _would_ be tough. but he isn't." "just the same, promise me something," urged laura, clinging to his shoulder with both hands. "what is it, sis?" asked chet, in surprise. "_don't_ tell the sheriff if you should run across the poor young man. don't tell anybody!" "why, sis!" "i have a reason. i can't tell you what it is," laura said, half sobbing. "will you mind me, chet?" "surest thing you know!" declared her brother, heartily. "and without asking questions?" "that's putting a bit of a strain on me," laughed chet. "but i know you must have a good reason, sis. only remember, when you want help, you haven't any friend like your own 'buddy.'" "i know it, dear," said laura, kissing him. "you are the best brother who ever lived!" this was all "on the side." when they rejoined the others, neither chet nor laura revealed any particular emotion. the girls all promised to be ready for the fishing trip an hour after daybreak on the following morning. meanwhile, everything at acorn island went on as usual. liz bean seemed no more morose than before. mrs. morse was much too busy to notice small things. she had half-heartedly offered to accompany the girls and boys to bang-up creek for the fishing; but they had all assured her that it would be unnecessary. instead, they were to come home by mid-afternoon and all have supper at the island. the boys brought over a part of their own provisions, when they arrived in the bigger motorboat soon after sun-up. purt sweet was the only boy who did not have a smile on; he looked gloomy indeed. "what's the matter?" asked jess. "surely he isn't afraid of the barnacle, is he?" queried dora. "don't bother about _him_," said dorothy. "he's tied up, anyway, so as not to follow us." "how do you think that dog can follow us, when we're going ten miles by boat?" demanded reddy butts. "i don't know but the barnacle would sprout wings and fly through the air after purt," giggled bobby. "it isn't the dog this time that troubles purt--deah boy!" drawled lance darby. "what is it?" asked laura. "purt's day is spoiled," declared lance. "he has come off without his cigarettes." "cigarettes!" exclaimed jess. "i thought we had shown him the folly of smoking coffin nails long ago." "oh, he doesn't smoke any," lance returned. "but he always carries a case of them around with him. you know, he bought a thousand once with his monogram printed in gold on them, and he never _will_ get rid of them all. he thought it would be a good thing to bring them to camp with him so as to use them for a smudge to chase off the mosquitoes." "and they work all right," grunted chet. "the smoke chases the mosquitoes, you can believe. but then, the smoke chases _us_, too. purt's brand of cigarettes is made out of long-filler connecticut cabbage." "that's all right; don't make fun of the poor fellow," lance said, with exaggerated sympathy. "even if anybody had cigarettes to lend him, he couldn't smoke any with anothah fellah's monogram on 'em, don'tcher know, old top?" but it came out that there was something else on purt sweet's mind. he had a very expensive rod, reel, and book of flies. and to tell the truth, he had never strung a line on such a rod, and did not know any more about using the flies than a baby in arms! he hated to admit his ignorance, for the boys were not at all tender with the central high dude. however, chet and lance were not ill-natured, and purt plucked up courage finally to beg lance to take him privately up stream (when they reached the creek) and give him a lesson in fly-casting. lance had already taken laura under his wing--as was to be expected; but mother wit made him give purt the assistance he needed. the three wandered up stream, far above the series of quiet pools where the other members of the party were casting for trout, or fishing for perch. the trio passed a series of rapids, several rods long, and then struck a very beautiful stretch of calm water, with tree-shaded banks, and shallows where the cat-tails and rushes grew in thick clusters. "i see a sign up yonder," laura said to lance. "didn't you say a part of this stream was a private fishing preserve?" "so i've been told. we won't go beyond the sign," said lance. he got laura and purt properly stationed and then cast, himself. they were having good sport and had landed several beauties, when billy long came idly up the stream on the other side. "hello!" he grunted. "everywhere i go, there are girls. isn't there a place where a fellow can get away from them and fish? they chatter so much that they drive all the fish into the mud, with their fins over their ears--that's right!" "horrid thing!" said laura. "we can keep just as silent when we're fishing as any of you boys." "try it, then," advised short and long, gruffly. he kept on up stream. "look out there, billy," lance advised. "it's posted above there." "posted?" "yes. don't you see that sign?" "huh!" said the smaller boy. "i never _did_ believe in signs. and besides, it says there's no fishing here--and i believe it! i haven't had a bite all the way up this brook." he went on a bit farther and cast his fly again. quiet fell upon the long pool, where the shadow and sunshine lay in alternate blocks. suddenly there was a scrambling through the brush on the side of the stream where short and long was standing, and then appeared a big dog and a big man, the latter holding the former in leash. the man was just as ugly looking as the dog--and the barnacle was a howling beauty beside this dog! "hey, you!" exclaimed the man to short and long--and he certainly _did_ speak savagely. chapter xix the young man with the gun "oh, dear, lance!" gasped laura belding, in a whisper. "i am afraid short and long will get into trouble. that man looks perfectly savage!" but the small boy did not seem to be in the least disturbed. he had just made a very pretty cast into the stream as the dog and its master appeared. "say! can't you read that there sign?" demanded the man, very red in the face. the sign really was plainly to be seen, and easily read. in large black letters it said: private no fishing allowed the angler looked at the sign on the tree unabashed and observed: "i didn't notice it. you see, mister, they taught me never to read anything marked 'private.'" "well, it says 'no fishin' allowed,' anyway," snarled the farmer. "but i'm not fishing aloud," came from short and long, who was perfectly serious. "that's what i've been kickin' about. the other folks down stream are making so much noise that they'd give every trout in the brook nervous prostration. i tell you i came up here especially to be quiet about my fishing----" "you may think you're funny, youngster," interrupted the man; "but you're fishin' just the same, aren't you?" "not so's you'd notice it," declared short and long. "all i've managed to do so far is to give my fly a chance to swim. haven't even had a rise." "i'll give yer a rise, confound ye!" roared the man, coming with a rush through the bushes. "git out o' there, an' git out quick, or i'll set this dawg on ye!" here lance took a hand in the affair. he shouted across the stream: "have a care, there, mister! if that dog is savage, don't you turn him loose." "who the dickens are _you_?" snarled the farmer. "this is my land, and it's posted, and this here is my dawg----" "let me have that pistol of yours, purt," commanded lance, firmly, reeling in his line. the dude, who had stood open-mouthed and shaking, could not follow lance's lead worth a cent. "you--you know, lance," he stammered, "the pistol won't shoot----" "ho, ho!" cried the farmer, who had stopped abruptly when lance had spoken. "tryin' to scare me, was you? now you step lively, or i'll let the dawg go." "you poor sport!" gasped lance, scowling at the shaking dude. short and long, having tempted the fates far enough, was winding up his own line. and just before the fly left the surface of the water a trout jumped for it and caught the hook. "whee!" yelled short and long, as the line reeled out, singing shrilly. "stop that!" yelled the man. "that's my fish----" "i can't help it," responded the boy from central high. "i was reeling in, wasn't i? he came right up and jumped for my fly. call off your old fish, if you don't want him caught on my hook and line." but billy long was too saucy that time. he was playing the fish while he talked, just as well as he knew how. the farmer gave a yell, let the dog's strap run through his hand, and the beast, with an angry bay, dashed straight at the youthful fisherman. perhaps the farmer did not really intend doing such a cruel thing. for the dog would have torn billy long to pieces had he reached him. there was a shout from across the stream--on the side where laura stood--and a man leaped into the open. he carried a gun. as he reached the bank of the brook he threw up the shot-gun and erupted the contents of one barrel into the fore-shoulder of the angry dog. the distance was scarcely two rods. the small shot peppered the dog well, and gave him a whole lot to think of beside grabbing a defenseless boy. the farmer began to yell vociferously; the dog raised his voice even more loudly and, after falling and rolling over and over on the ground for a moment, he got to his feet and cut into the bushes like a flash. he was more scared than hurt. "i'll have you arrested for that!" yelled the dog's owner, shaking both clenched fists at the young man with the gun. "you'd better thank me that the beast did not grab that boy," was the reply. the young man with the gun seemed perfectly calm. he was a pale-faced young man, well dressed in a hunting suit, and with narrow boots on his rather small feet. he was doubtless a city sportsman. "i bet i know who you be, ye scoundrel!" bawled the farmer. the young man turned away instantly. laura saw that he flushed and then paled again. he did not stop to say a word to the party of young folk from centerport. instead, he stepped into the thick underbrush and was almost instantly lost to their sight. short and long had hastened to get over the border of the farmer's posted preserve. but he had brought the trout with him--and it weighed a good pound and a half! chapter xx laura keeps her secret they left the farmer threatening vengeance upon the strange young man who had used his shot-gun to such good purpose. "that fellow's all right, whoever he is," lance declared. "and how quick he was with his gun!" "he knows how to use one," short and long agreed, with admiration. "i wish i could have thanked him." "and this dummy here!" added lance, with a look of disgust at purt. "you had that old pistol in your pocket, didn't you?" he demanded of the dude. "ye-es," agreed purt. "then if you had kept still about it, i could have scared that farmer into holding his dog in leash. just as glad the brute was shot, though. he'll be tamed for a while, i bet!" "it is too bad the dog was trained so badly," laura said. "it is not his fault that he was taught to attack people." "well!" grunted short and long. "if he'd grabbed me, i reckon he'd have eaten me up before anybody could have helped." "you had no business on that man's land," said laura, admonishingly. "and you _did_ sauce him." "ugh! who'd have thought he was so mean?" growled short and long. "bet you have a care next time," said lance, grinning. "but who do you suppose that fellow with the gun was? i'd really like to meet him again." "good sort, whoever he is," short and long agreed. "no farmer." "not much! he was city-dressed all right." laura listened to their comments, but said nothing. she believed she could make a good guess as to who the young man was; but she was keeping that secret to herself. when she and the three boys rejoined their companions down stream, they had enough to tell about the adventure without declaring the identity of the young man with the gun. it was exciting enough to have had short and long almost "chawed up" by a savage dog, as lance expressed it. "and this useless piece of goods," he added taking purt by the collar, "made a foozle--right off the reel! i could have scared that big bully easily enough if purt had kept still about his old revolver being no good." "i don't care," complained purt. "the revolver would have been all right if you hadn't taken that screw out and thrown it away." "and you'd likely shot yourself--or somebody else--by this time." "no i wouldn't," said purt, gloomily. "how do you know?" asked chet. "why--i find that when i bought cartridges for that pistol i got thirty-eights--and the pistol is a forty-five!" the whole crowd laughed at that. purt sweet really _was_ too funny for anything. they got another good laugh on him before they went back to the island. there was a squatter's cabin near the bank of the brook and they trooped up there for a drink of cool milk, for the woman had two cows and was willing to sell the milk to them, right from her log buttery. the woman's daughter--a girl about lil pendleton's age--waited on them. she was a brown-skinned, big-eyed, healthy-looking girl--a regular country beauty. laura whispered: "isn't she a splendid creature?" purt had cocked an appreciative eye at her, and he murmured: "quite true--quite true, miss laura. she's as beautiful as hebe," and gave the name of the goddess the very best pronunciation, according to professor dimp. "beautiful as _he_ be?" drawled chet, in exaggeration of bucolic twang, looking amusedly at the lank and lazy squatter himself who lay snoring on the platform before the hut. "huh! she's a sight purtier than _he_ be. why, _he's_ as humbly as a hedge-fence--an' ye can see, purt, that the girl takes after her mother." "it sure is too bad how they rig you, pretty," laughed jess. "pretty's all right!" joined in billy long. "only one thing wrong with him. he starts easy, and he speeds up well, but just at the critical moment he always skids." "hear the motor talk from short and long! yow!" exclaimed reddy butts. "and old purt's not so slow at that!" "who said he was slow?" demanded short and long, with apparent indignation. "bet you can't do him, reddy." "bet i can--and for half a dollar, too," declared the youth with the radiant head of hair. this was after the party had returned to the creek and luncheon was in order. the other boys saw that the red-headed youth and short and long had a scheme between them, and they sat back and prepared to enjoy purt's discomfiture. "you can't fool purt in a hundred years," short and long reiterated, quite hotly. "can," returned reddy, briefly, with his mouth full. "got a half dollar, purt?" "what if i have?" demanded the dude, suspiciously. "you put it under that mug on the table, and i bet i can take the money without touching the mug." "you cawn't trick me," drawled port. "you couldn't do that, you know, reddy." "put your half dollar under the mug and see if i can't," chuckled the auburn-haired youth. thus urged, purt did as agreed. he placed a half dollar on the table, and carefully covered it with an inverted mug that he had been drinking milk from. everybody was interested now and was watching the proceedings. "better put a napkin over it, purt," advised reddy. "for i'm going to fool you a whole lot!" "you cawn't fool me, deah boy!" declared the dude, with growing conviction. but he carefully covered the mug. then reddy, with a grin, reached under the rough table they were using and soon pulled his hand back with a half dollar in the palm. the boys laughed, and wondered, and the girls were likewise puzzled. purt looked both amazed and vexed. then they began to laugh at him. "mighty easy way to make half a dollar," commented reddy, slipping it into his pocket. "i told you i'd get it, purt, without touching the mug." "but you didn't do it, doncher know!" cried purt, growing exasperated. "my half dollar is there." he whipped off the napkin, lifted the mug--and reddy, with a laugh, grabbed the coin that lay under it. "i told you i'd get it without lifting the mug, purt," he said, and the crowd burst into a chorus of laughter. purt had been made the victim of the joke, after all. it was all good fun, however. purt could well afford the half dollar, and after a minute he, too, laughed. they started back for acorn island in good season, with a nice string of speckled trout and some two dozen white perch--the promise of a splendid "fish-fry" that evening. on the way they passed the heavy canoe seen several times before on the lake. there was but one man in it now, fishing; and he sat with his shoulders hunched up and his hat drawn down about his face. "i wonder who that old man is?" chet said, reflectively, as the _bonnie lass_ sped by. "wonder where his camp is?" responded lance, idly. "he looks like a native," reddy said. "if he's no handsomer than that squatter back yonder, i wouldn't want to see him any closer to." laura, and jess, and bobby looked at each other surreptitiously. they knew that the man in the canoe was professor asa dimp, latin teacher at central high! chapter xxi the sheriff with his dogs another evening melted into night, leaving in the minds of most of the girls of central high now encamped on acorn island, a feeling of contentment and pleasure because of a well-spent day. their activities had been joyous ones; their fun and sport healthful; and nothing had really occurred to trouble their minds. of course, laura was an exception to the others. jess and bobby were to a degree disturbed over the mystery of the young man who had visited the camp on two occasions, and about their unexpected discovery of professor dimp's presence on acorn island. but it was mother wit who had thought out the true significance of these mysterious happenings. she had reason to believe that the "mr. norman" whom lizzie bean had talked about--and the man who had frightened the same lizzie and robbed the camp of food--and the norman halliday who was wanted by the sheriff for the robbery of the merchants and miners bank of albany, was one and the same person. not alone that, but he was camping on this island, without a permit from the rocky river lumber company; and his companion was their own respected, if not well-liked, professor dimp. certainly the old professor could have had nothing to do with the robbery of the bank; nor could he have reaped any benefit by such crime. laura was sure that the old professor was perfectly honest and respectable. he was surely not camping against his will, with the strange young man who had saved short and long from the farmer's savage dog. professor dimp must have some deep interest in him. laura, too, could not believe the young man with the gun to be a criminal of the character the newspapers had given the thief and forger who had betrayed his employers in the bank. "that young man has a good face. if lizzie's story is true, too, he has a good heart. and he was quick to act to-day when he saved billy long; he took a chance for a stranger, when it was unwise for him to show himself. "there is a mystery about him. the professor would not be with the young man if he were bad--oh! i am sure of that," concluded laura. this discussion laura carried on in her mind. she did not take even jess into her inmost confidence, and chet--of course--went back to the mainland with the rest of the boys, when bedtime came. poor old professor dimp! he had ever been the butt for his careless pupils' pranks. his eccentricities, his absent-mindedness, and his devotion to what bobby called "the dead parts of speech" had made him an object of the pupils' dislike and a subject for their wit. of course, they knew he was wonderfully well educated--that the depths of latin and greek were easily plumbed by his thought. but respect for a teacher's attainments does not always breed love for the teacher--nor an appreciation of the said teacher's softer qualities, either. laura had come to the conclusion that there must be a side to "old dimple's" character that few of his pupils had surmised. there was a bond between professor dimp and that mysterious young man from albany that laura belding did not understand. yet she sought her cot that night with a belief that the old gentleman was good and kind, and that the accusation against his young companion must be very, very wrong! could she have climbed a tree like short and long, laura would have gone to the top of one of the big oaks near the camp, the next morning at daybreak. from that height she knew she could see most of the open patches on the island, clear to the western end. she was very curious as to whether professor dimp was still camping in the little glade where she and her comrades had met him. and had the young man returned from the north side of the lake where she had seen him the day before? laura was an early riser, as ever, that morning. she was tempted, before the camp was generally astir, to run out to the end of the island and see if the professor's camp were still established there. but professor dimp had been so sharp with her and the other girls, that laura half feared to meet him. he was certainly a stern old gentleman, and she remembered now that, from the time the girls of central high had decided to come here to acorn island to camp, professor dimp had been quite put out about it. "why!" thought laura, "he was planning to come here himself at that time. he must have already arranged to meet the young man here. and he considers us interlopers. it's very, very strange!" nor did laura wish to discuss the affair with jess or bobby hargrew. she was afraid to tell anybody what she surmised about professor dimp's companion. it was after breakfast--which liz served with all the spirit and cheerfulness, so bobby said, of an egyptian mummy with the mumps!--that they first spied the big barge coming from the north shore of the lake. the slow-moving craft was under sail and there were several men aboard of her, as well as a pack of dogs which now and then gave tongue. immediately the barnacle went raving mad. the sigh and sound of so many canines heading toward the island that had been his own domain for a week, quite drove the barnacle out of such few senses as he possessed. he barked at the barge from the heights where the camp stood; then he raced down to the shore and emitted a salvo of barks from the landing on that side of the island. then he raced back again, and so returned to the shore--alternating in his rushes in the craziest possible way. meanwhile the barge drew nearer and nearer. the general question at the girls' camp was: "why were the men and dogs coming to acorn island?" "they can't land here without a permit," bobby declared. "the rocky river lumber company has posted the island." "and what sort of game can they hunt with hounds this time of year?" demanded jess. "those are bloodhounds," said her mother, calmly. "english bloodhounds." "goodness!" squealed bobby, suddenly. "bloodhounds? don't you all feel just like eliza crossing the ice, girls?" "not much!" cried dora, laughing. "on a hot day like this?" the cicadas were filing their saws in the tops of the trees and the promise of one of the hottest days of the season danced in the shimmer of haze over the water. "do you really suppose they are coming here with those dogs?" repeated nell. "they have no business to land," said bobby, again serious. "i know who they are!" jess cried, suddenly. "who?" asked her mother. "chet said something about a sheriff coming to the boys' camp over yonder. and he had a pack of bloodhounds with him." "but why should an officer of the law come _here_?" queried mrs. morse. laura, and jess, and bobby looked at each other. of course, mother wit had understood the approach of the barge from the first; but she had said nothing. now jess and bobby burst out with: "oh! he must be after that young man." "what young man?" was the chorus of the other campers. "the young man who is with professor dimp," said the thoughtless bobby. "isn't that it, laura?" laura groaned. the cat was out of the bag now, and she foresaw much trouble in the camp on acorn island. chapter xxii where professor dimp comes in big "what under the sun are you talking about, bobby?" demanded lil pendleton; and nell cried: "professor dimp! what do you know about the professor?" "is _he_ here?" demanded dora. "not old dimple?" chimed in her twin. "you surprise me, clara," said mrs. morse. "are you referring to your latin teacher? and is he anywhere near here?" "oh, gracious! i'm always putting my foot into it whenever i open my mouth," groaned bobby. "a highly impossible athletic feat, i am sure, bobby," said jess, unable to keep from laughing, although she knew bobby deserved chiding. "i want to know what this means," exclaimed lil again. "who is this sheriff after? and why is old dimple mixed up in it?" "it's the fellow who came and robbed our larder!" shrieked nell, guessing the enigma at last. "i am afraid that is who the sheriff is looking for," admitted laura, gravely. "and why _here_?" cried lil. "didn't that fellow take the food and get away from the island?" "we did not find him--that's sure!" said dora lockwood. "barnacle found his camp, and we saw professor dimp there," explained laura seeing that a clean breast of it was the better way. "who's 'we?'" demanded lil. "jess and bobby and i. we spoke to the old professor, and he was real cross to us. he would not tell us anything about the young man." "then liz _did_ see that mr. norman the night we were robbed?" said nell. "yes. i expect so." "'mr. norman?'" nell repeated, reflectively. "and the fellow who robbed that bank in albany is norman halliday? the very same!" "and you knew this all along, laura belding?" cried lil. "you mean thing!" "oh, quit, lil," advised bobby, gruffly. "why should laura stir up a row and scare you all? i never till this very moment guessed who the fellow might be, myself. of course the sheriff is looking for him!" "and on this island!" murmured lil. "a criminal!" "we don't know how much of a criminal he is," said laura, stoutly. "he was the fellow that saved short and long from that dog yesterday, i verily believe," and she wagged her head. "_he_ didn't look very desperate, i can tell you!" "my goodness! that's so," said bobby, eagerly. "let's keep the sheriff off." "how are you going to do it?" asked jess. "go down there and stone him when the barge comes near?" and she chuckled. "he hasn't any permit. this is private land----" "but can't he search the island for a lawbreaker?" asked dorothy. "i don't know that he has a right to, without a warrant." "but if we try to stop him," said laura, slowly, "won't he suspect that we don't want him to search the island?" "say!" exclaimed lil, angrily. "what do _we_ care?" "we don't want him to find that poor fellow," said bobby. "why not?" repeated lil, sharply. "after he saved short and long's life?" "humph! should we pass a vote of thanks to him for _that_?" demanded lil, with, sarcasm. "not for that, perhaps," laura said, gently. "but think of the old professor." "old dimple!" "the old prof?" "what about him?" the chorus rose loud and general. laura flushed, but held her ground. "our loyalty to central high ought to be enough to prompt us to help one of our teachers. in some way the old professor is connected with this young man who is in danger of arrest. i don't mean that we should actually thwart the officer of the law. but i, for one, certainly will not help the officer." "you are right, mother wit!" cried bobby. "i'll go a step farther. i'll try to keep that man from landing here with his dogs." "i know nothing about the right or wrong of the case," said mrs. morse; "but i am afraid of those awful beasts. there are five of them!" "and barnacle will only get into a fight with them if they land," declared jess, rather amused. "let's go down to the lake in a body and refuse to allow the dogs to come ashore." liz bean had listened from the cook-tent, but said nothing. her plain face was as expressionless as ever. now, when mrs. morse and the girls of central high started down the slope on the northern side of the knoll, liz slipped into the woods to the west, and quickly disappeared in the thick underbrush. the big mainsail of the barge had been dropped and the men with the sheriff were paddling the craft in to the shore. now and then a hound would lift its head and utter a mournful bay. then barnacle would strive to bark his own head off! laura recognized one of the paddlers with a start of surprise. it was the vicious farmer who had set his dog on short and long, on bang-up creek! if she had had any doubts about the right and wrong of an attempt to thwart the sheriff before, laura had none _now_. perhaps her course was indefensible; but intuitively she believed that farmer to be a bad man. and she was sure that he was the one who had set the sheriff on this trail. he had doubtless followed the young man with the gun and seen him join professor dimp. the two had paddled for acorn island. the farmer had communicated with the sheriff. right then, so hotly burned laura's righteous indignation, that she would have done her very best to keep the officer of the law from landing those bloodhounds, and chasing the mysterious "mr. norman" out of his hiding place. but it was bobby who put the ball into play first. "say, mister! don't you bring those dogs ashore here!" she called to the sheriff. he was a big, red-faced, beefy-looking man, with a bristling mustache and little, piglike eyes. "i wanter know!" he said, huskily. "who do you think you are giving orders to, young lady?" "you are a sheriff, aren't you?" "yes i be," said the man. "and you are searching all the woods around about for a convict?" "not perzactly. but he's likely ter be a convic' arter i git him," and he chuckled, hoarsely. "well, this island is posted. we have a permit to camp here, but i don't believe _you_ have any warrant for landing at all," said bobby, sharply. "and my father, who is one of the directors of the rocky river lumber company, certainly does not want a pack of hounds like those, running the game on this island--out of season, too." "this ain't that kind o' game, young lady," said the sheriff, slowly. then he stopped. a figure had suddenly appeared from the wood. it was a shabby but commanding figure, and the girls themselves shrank together and waited for the old latin professor to speak. "miss hargrew is quite right," said professor dimp, in his iciest tone. "those hounds must not land here." "i say, now!" growled the sheriff. "this is private property," continued professor dimp, coldly, "as miss hargrew tells you. you can see the signs. you will trespass here if you are determined. but i warn you that if you bring those dogs ashore you will be prosecuted." "i'm a-goin' to search this islan'," growled sheriff larkin, uglily. "you may. you have no warrant to do so, but you may. but you must not bring ashore those dogs. and," added the professor, turning and bowing with old-fashioned courtesy to mrs. morse, "you must keep away from the camp where this lady and her young charges are ensconced." he turned on his heel in conclusion, and walked into the woods again. "three rousing cheers!" whispered bobby under her breath. "what's the matter with old dimple? _he's_ all right!" chapter xxiii liz on the defensive the professor had spoken with such authority that sheriff larkin hesitated in his intention of landing the bloodhounds. besides, having learned that one of these girls was a daughter of a member of the powerful lumber company, he feared to make a misstep. the rocky river lumber company could make or break a sheriff easily enough. the political power of the men owning the corporation in monadnock county was supreme. "well, i tell ye what it is, ladies," he said, pulling off his broad brimmed hat to wipe a perspiring, red brow. "i gotter do my duty----" "with the prospect of five hundred dollars ahead of you!" interposed bobby, pertly. "that ain't neither here nor there," declared the man. "i got to search the island." "you know best what you must do, sir," said mrs. morse, coldly. "but i beg of you to leave your dogs on the boat. i am afraid of the brutes." "and don't come to _our_ camp, i pray, looking for any criminal," said laura, speaking for the first time. "why! i guess not, ma'am!" cried the sheriff. "come on, boys. leave them dawgs tied yere. and we'll go over the island. it's purty open timber this end, so he ain't likely to be near here." they had moored the barge. barnacle had barked himself hoarse. when the sheriff and four of his companions leaped ashore, he put his tail between his legs and scuttled up the hillside again. at the top he suddenly began to bark once more. he did not face down hill, but seemed distraught about something, or somebody, in the camp. "hey!" exclaimed the ugly farmer whom laura had taken a dislike to the previous day. "that dawg sees something." "he is crazy," spoke up laura, quickly. "he is like enough barking at our maid." "sure!" rejoined bobby. "liz is up there." "come on!" exclaimed the sheriff to his men, and started westward, in the direction professor dimp had taken. "whom do you suppose the barnacle is really barking at?" whispered jess to laura belding. "he'd never make all that 'catouse' over liz. in fact, he wouldn't bark at her at all." "hush!" warned laura, as the party started up the slope toward the camp. jess looked at her curiously. barnacle was still barking with desperate determination. liz appeared before the central high girls climbed to the top of the hillock, and catching the dog by the collar, dragged him over to the corner of the log cabin and snapped on his chain. "there!" laura heard her say. "ye kin bark your head off--but ye can't run." the girl went back to her cook-tent and began clearing up the breakfast things again. laura noted that she seemed to have done nothing while they were down on the shore. but that was not surprising; perhaps she had crept near to overhear the talk with the sheriff. now liz said nothing to any of them, and went grimly on with her work. "it's my turn to help you get dinner, lizzie," laura said, quietly. "what are we going to have? shall i begin by peeling the potatoes?" "no. don't want yer," said liz, shortly. "why! of course you want some help----" "don't neither!" snapped the maid-of-all-work. "why, lizzie!" said laura, in surprise--at least, in apparent surprise! "you surely don't want to do all the work yourself?" "i'd ruther," responded the girl, ungraciously. "you gals are in my way in the tent." now this, of course, was ridiculous. it could mean but one thing: liz was anxious to be alone in the cook-tent. and _why_? laura, however, merely said: "oh! very well. if you prefer not to be helped, lizzie, that is all right." and she walked away; but she did not lose sight of the cook-tent. there was somebody there beside the maid-of-all-work, and laura was sure she knew _who_. lil was inclined to feel abused. she thought that she should have been taken into the secret at the first. "but see how you would have kicked," said the slangy bobby. "why! you'd have wanted to go back home by the first boat." "i don't think we ought to have stayed here with that man on the island," grumbled lil. "with the old professor tagging after him?" chuckled jess. "my goodness! can there be anything more respectable than old dimple?" "if he is, why is he mixed up with this bank thief?" asked lil, bluntly. "i don't believe the young man is any such thing," announced laura, hearing this. "he doesn't look bad. and surely we can trust to the professor's judgment." "and we ought to help professor dimp," said nell. "poor old man! i am sorry for him." "say! old dimple's a good sort," declared bobby, enthusiastically. "and he certainly stood up to that red-faced sheriff this morning--oh, gee!" finished the tomboy, with a gasp. "here he is now." "here's who?" squealed lil, whirling around. "professor dimp?" demanded nell. but it was the sheriff. "'scuse me, young ladies," he wheezed. "but i feel it my duty to s'arch this yere camp. if you ain't a-hidin' of that thar feller, ye won't mind my pokin' around a bit, will yer?" laura did not say a word. she stood up and looked over at liz bean. for a moment the maid-of-all-work seemed petrified. then she dove for the growling barnacle. she untied the rope with which he was fastened. "hello!" exclaimed the puffing sheriff. "what's _that_ for?" liz held the barnacle with difficulty; the dog bared his teeth at the sheriff and uttered a series of most blood-curdling growls. "you come botherin' around _here_," said liz, desperately, "an' i'll let him fly at ye!" chapter xxiv the barnacle trees something at last both the girls of central high, and their brothers and boy friends, in the camp across the lake, had believed the barnacle to be "all bluff." he was a fine dog for barking, as short and long had said, but he acted as though he thought his teeth had been given him for chewing his food, and for nothing else. the savage way in which he bayed the sheriff, however, and tried to get at him as liz held him in leash, was really surprising. it was no wonder that sheriff larkin started back and cried out in alarm. "don't you dare set that dawg on me, young woman!" he cried. "i'll have the law on yer, if yer do." "he'll chaw yer up if i let him go," threatened liz. "git out o' here!" "why, lizzie!" gasped mrs. morse, coming to the door of the cabin, and speaking to the girl in a most amazed tone. "what does this mean?" "he's a body snatcher! he's a man hunter! he's ev'rything mean an' filthy!" exclaimed the girl, her face red and her eyes blazing. her appearance was really most astonishing. laura would never have believed that "lonesome liz" could display so much emotion. "let him bother this camp if he dares!" went on liz. "he was told by that old gentleman to keep away from here, wasn't he? then let him run, for i ain't a-goin' to hold this dawg in much longer!" it seemed that her threat would hold true. at every leap barnacle made, he seemed about to tear the rope from her grasp. "missis!" yelled the sheriff to mrs. morse. "you'd better call that gal off----" "she ain't got nothin' to do with it," declared liz. "i ain't workin' for her no more. i ain't workin' for nobody. i've struck, i have! you can't hold nobody responserble but me an' barnacle." "the gal's crazy!" squalled the sheriff, going rapidly backward, for the dog and liz were advancing. "well, you won't shet me up in no 'sylum," declared liz, grimly. "but ye _may_ send me ter the penitentiary." "did you ever hear the like?" gasped lil, clinging to nellie and jess. "that girl's mad." "she is brave," muttered jess. "but--but i wonder what she's up to?" laura did not question the maid-of-all-work. she thought she already knew. there was method in lizzie's madness, that was sure! she was driving the bullying sheriff away from the cook-tent--away from the camp, indeed. he was going sideways like a crab, and barnacle was growling and almost choking himself as he tugged at his collar. "git out! scat!" exclaimed liz. "i'm a-goin' to let this dawg _go_!" "don'cher dare!" shouted sheriff larkin. but the girl deliberately stooped over barnacle, and began to unfasten the rope. at that the officer of the law turned and lumbered down the hill. where his companions were the girls did not know. and the barge with the bloodhounds had been poled off shore a few rods. the keeper was sitting on it and calmly smoking his pipe. sheriff larkin was some rods from the shore. with a sudden roar barnacle slipped his leash and tore down the slope. the dog had run a lot of game on acorn island since being landed here; but never a quarry like this. the big man gave one glance behind and then lost all hope of reaching the boat. there was a low-branching tree before him: he leaped for the nearest branch and swung his booted legs for a moment while he tried to hitch up on the limb. the barnacle jumped for him. the dog fastened to his heel, and for the first time the girls saw that the mongrel-cur really had a terrific grip. sheriff larkin scrambled up into the tree; but for half a minute barnacle swung from him, clear of the ground. when he dropped to the ground the heel of the sheriff's boot came with the dog's jaws! barnacle crouched down and began to masticate the heel. but the glare that he turned upward at the man, from his red-rimmed eyes, proclaimed the fact that he would "just as lives" chew on the sheriff's anatomy. the camp on the top of the knoll had been left in confusion. the girls were talking rather wildly--some praising liz and others deploring the happening. mrs. morse commanded silence. she walked over to where the maid-of-all-work stood before the cook-tent. "what does this mean, lizzie bean?" she demanded. "i tell you i ain't workin' for you no more," cried liz, wildly. "i've give up me job." "but you had no right to do what you have done." "i don't care, i'd done more. i'd gone at that sheriff with my finger-nails if he'd come nearer. don't i hate him--_just_?" "why--why, lizzie!" gasped the gentle mrs. morse. here laura interfered. "i believe i know what is the matter with lizzie, mrs. morse," she said. "well!" snapped lil, in the background. "let's hear it. the girl's crazy. my mother would never have paid for such a creature to come here with us if she'd known." "your ma needn't give me a cent, miss," returned liz, sullenly. "what _is_ the matter with her, laura?" asked mrs. morse again. "she has somebody hidden in that tent," said mother wit, calmly. "isn't that the truth, lizzie? isn't mr. halliday in there--mr. norman halliday?" "the bank robber!" shrieked lil. "oh, oh!" gasped nellie. "hurray for liz!" exclaimed bobby, but in a low tone. "it cannot be?" queried mrs. morse. "yes he is. i got him here while youse folks was down talkin' to that red-faced sheriff. he was good to me when i lived at that boardin' house, in albany, he was! i wouldn't give him up to that sheriff." mrs. morse looked at laura very gravely. "_you_ have known about this for some time, laura? you knew that the young man was on the island?" "with professor dimp--yes," said mother wit, bravely. "professor dimp has his own actions to answer for," said jess' mother, gravely. "but i am quite sure your mother would not approve of your trying to help such a character as this young man seems to be." "wait a minute, mrs. morse," cried laura. "here come chet and the boys." "the boys!" chorused the other girls. "what has your brother to do with this affair?" asked mrs. morse, wonderingly. "i saw chet wig-wagging a little while ago, and i answered and read his message. he is bringing over a gentleman from albany--a lawyer--to see professor dimp and the young man who has been in hiding so long. i think something important is going to happen," said laura, complacently. "do let the barnacle keep the sheriff up in that tree for a little while longer." chapter xxv "quite all right" one amazing thing was happening after another. the girls of central high could scarcely keep up with the several happenings. on top of laura's statement the platform before the cook-tent heaved mightily, and a man's head and shoulders appeared. lil shrieked again. even mrs. morse stepped back in surprise. the young man continued to push his way out, and finally climbed to his feet. it was the same young man who had appeared on the bank of bang-up creek and saved short and long from the farmer's dog. his very good looking hunting suit was now sadly torn and wrinkled. he was without a hat. there was a scratch upon his face that had drawn blood, and he was altogether rather messy looking. he bowed gravely to mrs. morse. "i see," he said, "that this young lady," and he looked at laura, "knows who i am. and further introduction would be unnecessary." "ye--yes?" said mrs. morse, rather doubtfully. "i pray that you will not blame lizzie bean. she would sacrifice herself for my safety; but i could hardly allow her to do that, don't you know? i had an idea that that sheriff would really not come to this camp, and i could get away again after dark." lil had given over any intention of screaming again. she was examining the scratched face of the strange young man with growing approval. "isn't he romantic looking?" she whispered to nellie. "poor fellow," sighed the doctor's daughter. "he _doesn't_ look wicked, does he?" "he's a regular heart-breaker when he's dolled up, i bet," giggled bobby. "it's too bad!" murmured the lockwood twins, in unison. thus did the appearance of the young man, mr. norman halliday, tell upon the covey of frightened girls. mrs. morse herself began to recover from her disturbance of mind. _this_ was no criminal character, for sure! suddenly the sheriff in the tree set up a bellow: "that's the feller i want! that's him! don't you let him escape----" "why don't you come down and take him?" demanded bobby, wickedly. but immediately the barnacle began leaping under the tree and barking and sheriff larkin climbed higher. "you see, the police want me," explained the young man, simply. "we--we should judge so," gasped mrs. morse. "but i really don't want to be arrested. especially by this sheriff. i do not want the bank i work for to be put to the expense of paying him a reward for my apprehension." this sounded rather odd--from a criminal! "you see," went on the young man, with a more cheerful smile, "i am going to return to albany when my attorney lets me know that i may safely do so. had i remained when i was first charged with the crime of forging names to coupons and bonds, and selling the same for my own benefit, i could not have disproved the accusation." "it had been arranged to make me a 'scapegoat'--to railroad me to jail, in fact. but i have one good friend, at least--my uncle, professor dimp. you all doubtless know him, and know what a really fine old fellow he is," said the young man, heartily. "he is paying my lawyer's expenses, and he insisted, too, upon coming up here into the big woods and staying with me. that's why i was really obliged to rob your larder one night. i dared not appear at any store to buy food, and i could not let the dear old man go hungry. i hope the money i left was sufficient to pay for the food?" "certainly--certainly," murmured mrs. morse, while the girls listened in wide-eyed amazement. "the professor is just a brick," continued mr. norman halliday, "as of course you all know----" "you bet we do!" burst out bobby, her face aflame. "three cheers for old d----that is, for professor asa dimp!" "thank you, miss hargrew," said the dry voice of the absent-minded old professor. "i did not know i was so well appreciated by the girls of central high." but laura showed _her_ appreciation in an entirely unlooked for way. as the professor walked into the open from the woods, she darted for him, seized him tightly in her arms, and planted a kiss first on one, and then on his other unshaven cheek. "bless my soul! bless my soul!" gasped professor dimp, who had probably not been kissed before in years. "you're a perfect old _dear_!" declared laura, in a low voice. "and i am never going to be afraid of you again. your nephew showed that he had a tender heart when he was kind to lizzie bean; and i believe he gets it honestly--_from you_! _dear_ professor dimp!" "ha!" said the old gentleman, drily, yet flushing a little, too, "i can see very clearly that i shall hereafter have very mediocre recitations from the girls of central high. they will no longer fear me." at that moment the motorboat that had been skimming across from the main land, pushed her nose against the shore of the island. one of the first persons to land was a gentleman with a green bag in his hand who hurried up the hill to greet the professor and his nephew, the much disheveled mr. halliday. "the best of news mr. halliday--and you, my dear professor dimp," this gentleman said. "the evidence is concluded. the guilty director has been arrested and the reward for _your_ capture, mr. halliday, has been withdrawn. i have come to take you back to albany where your name will be completely cleared of the false accusation." "hurrah!" shouted bobby again, and waving her hand at the dog and the sheriff on the other side of the hill. "come away, barnacle; you may let the sheriff down out of the tree." dear me! it took nearly all day to explain affairs, after all. the sheriff, and his bloodhounds, and his posse departed unnoticed by the rejoicing party in the camp of the central high girls. the girls and boys made a hero out of professor dimp. and he was not a bad sort after all--as they found out upon closer acquaintance. "we shall not let professor dimp hide his light under a bushel," cried laura belding, otherwise mother wit. "whenever there is anything else exciting going on for the girls of central high, he shall be in it." all the males of the party later piled into the _bonnie lass_ to return to the boys' camp. there the lawyer had left a team with which he was going to take norman halliday out of the big woods to the railway station. but the professor promised to remain at least another week, as the guest of the boys. that week was the very jolliest week of all the vacation at lake dunkirk, both for the boys, and for the girls of central high. the end the janice day series by helen beecher long _12 mo, cloth, illustrated, and colored jacket_ a series of books for girls which have been uniformly successful. janice day is a character that will live long in juvenile fiction. every volume is full of inspiration. there is an abundance of humor, quaint situations, and worth-while effort, and likewise plenty of plot and mystery. an ideal series for girls from nine to sixteen. janice day, the young homemaker janice day at poketown the testing of janice day how janice day won the mission of janice day the nan sherwood series by annie roe carr _12 mo, cloth, illustrated, and colored jacket_ in annie roe carr we have found a young woman of wide experience among girls--in schoolroom, in camp and while traveling. she knows girls of to-day thoroughly--their likes and dislikes--and knows that they demand almost as much action as do the boys. and she knows humor--good, clean fun and plenty of it. nan sherwood at pine camp or the old lumberman's secret nan sherwood at lakeview hall or the mystery of the haunted boathouse nan sherwood's winter holidays or rescuing the runaways nan sherwood at rose ranch or the old mexican's treasure nan sherwood at palm beach or strange adventures among the orange groves note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see 43583-h.htm or 43583-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/43583/43583-h/43583-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/43583/43583-h.zip) transcriber's note: text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). [illustration: _the canoe rounded a bend in the river and came within full view of the burning resort._ (page 64) (the mystery of the fires)] the mary lou series the mystery of the fires by edith lavell a. l. burt company publishers new york chicago the mary lou series by edith lavell the mystery at dark cedars the mystery of the fires the mystery of the secret band copyright, 1935, by a. l. burt company printed in the united states of america _to my friend_ suzanne simonin [illustration: map of shady nook] contents chapter page i the burnt bungalow 13 ii clifford's story 29 iii the ditmars 42 iv another fire 54 v freckles' story 68 vi more suspects 79 vii the crazy woman 97 viii danger 103 ix the arrest 114 x the visit with rebecca 128 xi adelaide ditmar's plan 139 xii getting business 151 xiii the threat 163 xiv the search 177 xv captive 190 xvi weary waiting 205 xvii release 218 xviii return 233 xix conclusion 244 characters mary louise gay a girl detective. jane patterson her chum. mr. gay, mrs. gay her parents. joseph (freckles) gay her brother. silky her dog. david mccall a young insurance agent, visiting shady nook. boy-friends. max miller norman wilder _residents of shady nook_ reeds two adults and five young people. hunters mother and son. partridges four adults. mr. and mrs. flick owners of the inn. robinsons two adults and two boys. smiths two adults and three children. mr. and mrs. ditmar a young married couple. adams a farmer with three grown-up children. mr. and mrs. frazier owners of the royal hotel. eberhardt a village storekeeper. chapter i _the burnt bungalow_ "for the whole month?" jane patterson's eyes sparkled with anticipation as she repeated the invitation her chum had just extended. "yes," replied mary louise gay. "you see, we never could invite you before, because the bungalow is so small, and there's just room enough for our own family. but dad will be out west all of august. he doesn't expect to be back until labor day." "on a case?" inquired jane, for mr. gay was a detective on the police force. mary louise nodded. "yes. an important one. i almost wish i could go with him--it sounds so thrilling." "didn't you have enough excitement and mystery at dark cedars?" demanded jane. "i never have enough," returned the other girl. "well, please don't dig up anything to spoil our vacation at shady nook. still, i don't really suppose you could if you tried. the very name implies peace." "it is a peaceful spot," agreed mary louise. "not a bit like a big summer resort. just the mountains and the woods and the lovely hudson river. only half a dozen bungalows, so that everybody knows everybody else. it's all so friendly and nice." "then i shan't need any fancy clothes--like dance dresses?" jane's tone held a faint note of disappointment. she loved outdoor sports, but she was equally fond of parties. "you better take a couple along," replied the other girl. "across the river from shady nook there's a big modern hotel where we often go for dinners and dances. everybody wears their best clothes there. but most of the time we eat at flicks' inn. it's just a bigger bungalow, where they have a dining room for the shady nook people and a few boarders. very nice and informal." jane jumped up and started down the steps, across the lawn that separated the gays' house from the pattersons'. "i must go tell mother all about it," she explained, "and begin to get my clothing ready. what time do we start?" "seven o'clock tomorrow morning. rain or shine." left alone, mary louise opened the screen door and went into her own house. her father, with his suitcase on the floor beside him, was saying good-bye to her mother and to his young son joseph, whom everybody called "freckles." mr. gay put his hand upon his daughter's shoulder and said to his wife: "i am counting on mary louise to take care of you, dear. after the way she mastered that situation at dark cedars, i feel that she is capable of almost anything. far above and beyond most girls of sixteen!" "she is!" agreed mrs. gay proudly. "but i am not expecting any trouble at shady nook. i'm more worried about what may happen to you before you catch those criminals!" "i'll be all right," her husband assured her. "wire for me if you need me--and i'll come back by airplane." mrs. gay nodded, little thinking that she would have to follow his advice before the month was over. as soon as he was gone, the other three members of the family returned to the business of packing. silky, mary louise's little brown spaniel, trotted around after them, sniffing at everything and looking serious and important, as if he were doing most of the work. "i'm thankful your father left us the car," remarked mrs. gay, as the suitcases and packages were piled up near the back door. "we'll need it." "shady nook is so far from the junction," added mary louise. "yes, we're lucky. and isn't it nice i have my license, so you won't have to drive all the way?" "it certainly is," agreed her mother. "you've always been a big help to me, mary louise. and so have you, freckles," she added to the boy. at last everything was finished, in time to allow them all a good sleep before their trip. shady nook was almost a day's journey from riverside, if they took it in a leisurely manner, driving slowly enough to enjoy the beautiful hudson river, and stopping at noon at some pleasant inn to eat lunch and rest. jane was on hand early, helping the gays to stack the luggage in the back seat and on the rack provided at the rear of the car. "don't forget to leave a corner for silky!" freckles reminded the girls, "he can't be left behind!" "as if i could forget him!" returned his sister, picking up the little spaniel and giving him a hug. "didn't he save our lives that night we rode in harry grant's car?" jane shuddered; she could never forget the horror of that dark night or the terror she had experienced when the tramp commanded, "hands up!" good old silky, biting a piece out of the thug's leg while the girls made their escape! "who's driving first?" she asked, as the last bundle was stored away. "i am," answered mary louise. "you and silky in front with me, and mother and freckles in back. we'll shift places after lunch." it was a lovely clear day, not so hot as it often is in august, and the whole party was in the gayest of spirits. mary louise loved to drive, and she did it well. she would not have minded if she had been kept at the wheel all day. nevertheless, after their pleasant lunch at a quaint little tea room on the roadside, she was perfectly willing to exchange places with her mother and enjoy the better opportunity to look at the scenery. jane, however, was more interested in shady nook than in the country through which they were passing. she asked innumerable questions. "how many bungalows did you say there are, mary lou?" she inquired. "there were six last year, counting flicks' inn. but i understand that there were two new ones put up this spring." "and are there plenty of young people?" "not so many at the cottages, but it doesn't matter, because we have just as much fun with the middle-aged people. everybody swims and paddles and dances and plays tennis. besides, there are always extra young people boarding at flicks' for shorter vacations. and sometimes we meet the people at the royal hotel." "is that where they hold the dances?" inquired jane. "when we wear our flossy dresses?" "yes. that's the place. across the river from shady nook." "tell me some of the people's names," urged jane. "well, next door to us--only it really isn't next door, because there's quite a little woods between--is the loveliest cottage at shady nook. it was built by a man named hunter, who was very rich. he bought all the land around there on our side of the river and sold it to people he knew and liked. but he died last year, so only his wife and son came back this summer." "a son?" repeated jane, rolling her eyes. "not a babe in arms, i hope!" "a sophomore at yale," replied mary louise. "rather homely, but awfully nice--and piles of fun." "what's the youth's name?" "there you go! putting him down in your notebook already! his name's clifford. we all call him cliff." "naturally. but if he's your property, mary lou, just say the word, and i'll keep off." mary louise laughed. "nobody's my special property," she said. "not even max miller," she added, mentioning her particular boy-friend in their home town of riverside. "though he sometimes acts as if he believed i were his! i like cliff hunter a lot--everybody does. but we don't pair off much at shady nook, except sometimes to go canoeing. most of the time we're just one big family." "who else are there besides the hunters?" inquired the other girl. "i mean, what other families with young people?" "the reeds are about the jolliest family at shady nook," answered mary louise. "there are five children, and the father and mother are just as much fun as the kids. the two oldest girls--sue and mabel--are twins about our age. seventeen, i believe, to be exact. then there are two younger boys that freckles chums up with, and a little girl." "i'm afraid i'll never be able to keep all those names straight," sighed jane. "wait till we get there and you meet them one at a time," advised the other. "it's so much easier to remember people after you've seen them." this advice sounded sensible, and jane settled back in her corner to enjoy the remainder of the ride. the time passed quickly; at five o'clock they crossed the railroad junction and turned into the private road that led to shady nook. the trees were thick on one side of the road, but on the other they could see the lovely hudson river, gleaming blue in the august sunlight. jane went into ecstasies over the beauty of the spot. "here we are!" announced mrs. gay as she turned off to a dirt driveway and brought the car to a stop at a tin garage. "our back door!" "why, we're right in the woods!" cried jane, still unable to see the gays' cottage. "wait till you see the bungalow!" returned mary louise. "it's like a little dream house. you can borrow it for your honeymoon, if you like--provided you don't get married in the summer time." "thanks a lot! but i think i'll wait a few years before i accept your kind offer." in another moment they were all out of the car, following mrs. gay around to the front of the cottage, up to the screened porch, from which they had a good view of the river. as mary louise had said, the bungalow was charming. built entirely of logs, it combined the picturesqueness of olden times with the conveniences of the modern day. a huge fireplace covered one entire wall of the living room, and the chairs were big and soft and comfortable. a drop-leaf table at one end of the room was sometimes used for meals, because there was no dining room. but the spotless kitchen contained a breakfast nook where the gays always ate their first meal of each day. two bedrooms branched off from the living room, with a white bathroom between them. "a little bit too civilized for me," said freckles, in a most superior manner. "i sleep out back in a tent." "in good weather," amended mrs. gay. "now, girls, suppose we just unpack one suitcase apiece and get ready for dinner. we're going over to flicks', of course." "i got to have a swim!" announced freckles. "all right, if you'll be quick about it. and don't go in all by yourself." the group gathered together again at half-past six and started down the private road to flicks' inn, where they would have their supper. mary louise and jane had both put on light summer dresses and looked as rested and refreshed as if they had been at shady nook all summer. "and where is our next-door neighbor's cottage?" inquired jane, peering through the trees on the road. "or do the hunters live on the other side of you?" "no, the reeds live on the other side. theirs is the last bungalow. the hunters' is right in here." she paused at a path between two big oak trees. jane stepped to her side and looked in among the foliage. "i don't see it," she said. "it's been burnt down!" cried freckles, dashing up behind the girls. "i didn't have a chance to tell you. about a week ago, larry reed said. awful mysterious. in the night." "burned down!" repeated mary louise, rushing in through the trees beside the path. "honestly?" "see for yourself!" replied her brother. a few steps more, and they saw for themselves that it was only too true. the blackened trunks, the dry, scarred grass, and the faint smoky odor confirmed his statement. the beautiful cottage was gone forever. nothing remained but the charred stones of its foundation. "boy, don't i wish i'd been here!" exclaimed freckles regretfully. "it must have been some fire. but they say nobody saw it. it was practically out when they discovered it." "lucky that it was!" said mrs. gay. "suppose ours had caught too!" mary louise shuddered; such an idea was too dreadful to contemplate. "do you know any of the details, freckles?" asked his mother, as the party turned back to the road again. "no, i don't. nobody does. it just happened, at night, while everybody was over at a dance at the royal hotel across the river." "maybe we'll hear more about it at flicks'. come on, let's hurry." they passed one bungalow on the way to the inn, which mary louise pointed out to jane as belonging to the partridges--all middle-aged people, she explained--so that her chum was not interested. nobody over twenty-five was any use to jane patterson. the inn, a large square frame building, was completely surrounded by porches on which tables were placed where people were already eating their dinners. of the eight families at shady nook, all except one took their lunches and suppers at flicks'. besides them, there were at least half a dozen boarders. roughly, mary louise estimated there were about thirty-five people at the inn. they all seemed to know the gays, for everybody was bowing and smiling as the little party opened the screen door of the front porch. mrs. flick, a fat, good-natured woman of about fifty, came forward to welcome them. "my, it's good to see you all back again!" she exclaimed, with genuine pleasure. "but where is mr. gay?" "he had to go to california on business," explained mrs. gay. "so we brought mary louise's friend, jane patterson, in his place. mrs. flick, this is jane." "happy to meet you, miss jane," returned the landlady as she led the gays to their accustomed table. when they were seated, she pulled up a chair beside them to talk for a few minutes with mrs. gay. "tell us about the hunters' bungalow!" begged mary louise immediately. "there isn't much to tell. nobody knows much.... oh, here's hattie to take your order." and the newcomers had to exchange greetings with the waitress, the daughter of a farmer named adams who lived a couple of miles from shady nook. when the order had been given, mary louise repeated her question. "it happened a week ago--on a saturday," explained mrs. flick. "mr. clifford had four college boys visiting him, and they all went across the river that evening to a dance at the royal hotel. mrs. hunter went along with 'em. when they came back, the place was burned to the ground." "didn't anybody see the flames--or smell the smoke?" "no. the wind was the other way from the hotel, and there wasn't anybody at shady nook to notice. everybody, except pa and me, went to the dance. and we were sound asleep." hattie came back with the soup, and mrs. flick rose from her chair. "i'll see you later," she said as she hurried into the house. "it sounds very mysterious," muttered mary louise. "oh, there's probably some simple explanation," replied jane lightly. "we'll have to ask clifford hunter. where is he, mary lou? do you see him?" the other girl glanced hastily about the big porch and shook her head. "not here," she answered. "but he may be inside. there's another dining room in the bungalow." "this isn't clifford?" asked jane, watching a tall, good-looking, dark-eyed young man coming out of the door. mary louise turned around and smiled. "no. that's david mccall. he usually comes up just for two weeks' vacation and stays here at flicks'." a moment later the young man reached the gays' table and was introduced to jane. but he merely nodded to her briefly: his eyes seemed to devour mary louise. "i thought you'd never come, mary lou!" he exclaimed. "a whole week of my vacation is gone!" "but you have another week, don't you, david?" "yes. a measly seven days! and then another year to wait till i see you again!" his tone was not bantering, like the boys at home. david mccall was serious--too terribly serious, mary louise sometimes thought--about everything. "may i come over to see you after supper?" he pleaded. "of course," agreed mary louise lightly. "and then you can tell us about the fire. you were here when it happened?" "no. i didn't get here till sunday. but i can tell you something about it, all right!" mary louise's eyes opened wide with interest. "somebody set it on fire--on purpose, you mean, david?" "yes." "who?" the young man leaned over and whispered in her ear: "clifford hunter himself!" mary louise gasped in amazement. "but why?" she demanded. "to collect the insurance!" was the surprising reply. and, turning about, david mccall went back into the boarding house. chapter ii _clifford's story_ "what did he say?" demanded both jane and freckles the moment david mccall was out of hearing distance. mary louise leaned forward and lowered her voice. "he said cliff hunter set the place on fire himself--to get the insurance. now that his father is dead, the bungalow belongs to him." "how awful!" exclaimed jane. "do you believe that, mary lou?" "no, i don't--knowing cliff as i do. do you, mother?" "certainly not," replied mrs. gay emphatically. "it's just david's jealousy. he's poor himself, and he has a sort of grudge against all rich people." "maybe," admitted mary louise. "david never did like cliff, all the summers they've both been coming up here to shady nook." "i wish i could meet this young hunter," lamented jane. "i'm keen to get a look at him." "maybe he isn't here any more," remarked mary louise. "since the bungalow is gone, where would he stay?" "the hunters are living over at the royal hotel, i think," freckles informed them. "seems to me that's what larry reed said." "then cliff will be over to see you," observed mrs. gay confidently. her supposition proved correct: no sooner had the gays returned to their own bungalow after supper than a motorboat chugged its way across the river and anchored at their dock. a moment later clifford hunter stepped out. as mary louise had said, he was not a good-looking young man. his height was only medium, and he was so thin that even expensive tailoring could not make his clothes look well. but his big nose and his sandy complexion were offset by a pleasant smile and attractive gray eyes, which somehow made you feel as if you had known cliff hunter all your life. "hello, mary lou!" he called as he came towards the porch. "heard you were here!" he whistled a gay tune as he ascended the steps, and smiled. "not so homely after all," jane thought as she looked into his pleasant face. and his white flannels and dark blue coat were certainly becoming. they evidently did not wear sweaters at the royal hotel. "hurry up!" returned mary louise. "we're dying to hear the news!" "yes, of course." he shook hands with mary louise and her mother and was introduced to jane. "sit down, clifford," urged mrs. gay. the young man fumbled in his pocket and produced a pack of cards. "in a minute, thank you, mrs. gay," he replied. "but first--take a card, mary lou. i know some bully new tricks." mary louise burst out laughing. "haven't you gotten over that fad yet, cliff?" she asked. he regarded her reprovingly. "don't talk so lightly about my profession!" he said. "i'm going to be a magician. now--i'll explain the trick. you can look at the pack----" "oh, but we want to hear about the fire," interrupted mary louise. "take a card!" was his only reply. there was nothing to do but humor him. jane was delighted: she loved card tricks and listened eagerly. but mary louise was more interested in the burning of the bungalow. at last, however, clifford sat down beside jane on the couch-hammock and began to talk. "you saw the ruins?" he inquired. "yes. but nobody over at flicks' seemed to know how it happened." "most amazing thing you ever heard of! it was last saturday night. i had four fellows from the fraternity here for the week-end, and about nine o'clock we all piled into the boat and went over to the royal hotel to dance. there happened to be a bunch of girls staying there that we knew, so we were sure of a swell time. the whole gang from shady nook went across too--the reed family, the partridges, the robinsons--practically everybody except the flicks. so you see shady nook was deserted. "we danced till around twelve o'clock and had something to eat. then the fellows suggested we all get into the launch and go for a ride. mother was game: she went along too, and so did a couple of the girls. by the time we took them back to the hotel and came home, it must have been two o'clock." "hadn't you seen any flames?" interrupted jane. "from the river, i mean?" "not a flicker! but we had been motoring in the other direction, and you know the hotel isn't right across from our bungalow, so we shouldn't have been likely to notice when we were dancing. what wind there was blew the other way." "even when you reached your own dock, didn't you smell smoke?" demanded mary louise. "yes, we did then. but the flames were all out. the bungalow was gone--but the trees hadn't caught fire." "that was queer," remarked mrs. gay. "unless somebody put out the fire." "nobody did, as far as we know," replied clifford. "but it was out all right. and the bungalow gone, all but the foundation stones!" "what in the world did you do?" asked jane. "went over to the partridges'--they're the people who live next to us on the other side," he explained to jane. "fortunately they were still up, but they hadn't noticed the smoke for the trees; they had been at the dance themselves till about one o'clock. well, they gave mother their one extra bedroom, and we fellows slept in the living room. that was o.k., but it was pretty ghastly, losing everything at once. especially the clothes and things that belonged to our guests. if it was going to happen, i don't see why it couldn't have burned down when we didn't have any company." "yes, that must have been embarrassing," agreed mary louise. she was thinking of david mccall's accusation--that clifford set the bungalow on fire himself to get the insurance--and it seemed absurd to her. he certainly would have chosen a more convenient time. "what did you do the next day?" she inquired. "mother and i went to our new york apartment, and the fellows went home. i put in a claim for the insurance, and after we had bought new summer outfits, we came back here and took a suite at the royal. we expect to stay there all summer." "why not flicks'?" was mary louise's next question. "everybody goes there." "that's just why we didn't. they're so overcrowded, and mother likes plenty of room. we sure get that at the royal. the hotel's practically empty; i don't see how poor frazier can pay his taxes." "he charges too much," said mary louise. "if he'd be content to make a small profit, the way mr. flick does, he'd probably fill his hotel." "well, it's an expensive place to keep up. mother feels sorry for him, so she's entertaining a lot to bring him some business." "i don't feel sorry for him! i don't like him. remember that time we wanted to give an entertainment for the red cross and he tried to charge us fifty dollars for using his dining room? so we held it outdoors instead!" clifford nodded. "yes. but he says he's poor." "so poor he can't pay his waitresses a living wage! hattie adams--you remember, jane, the girl who waited on our table at flicks'?--said he tried to pay her two dollars a week and excused himself by telling her she'd make a lot on tips! she gets ten at flicks'!" "a man like that deserves to fail," agreed jane. "to get back to the subject of the fire," said mary louise, in her usual practical way whenever there was a mystery to be solved, "what is your idea of the way it started, cliff?" "i believe it was just an accident," replied the young man. "maybe it was some tramp or those kids. you know the smith boys and a few others. not the reeds, for they were at the royal. but they're all full of mischief. maybe they were smoking corn silk in our garage." "oh, i hope not!" exclaimed mrs. gay, for her son played a great deal with the smith boys. "tell freckles to snoop around a bit and keep his eyes and ears open," suggested clifford. "maybe he'll learn something. he'll enjoy being a detective." mary louise smiled; the young man did not know that she had proved herself a very good detective earlier in the summer. "what does your mother think?" she inquired. clifford frowned. "mother's suspicious. she believes there's been dirty work. actually thinks the place was set on fire--on purpose! by ditmar." "ditmar! who is he? i never heard of him." "probably not. but you soon will. he's a young architect who used to plan a lot of houses for my father before he died. you know the two new bungalows that were put up here this year--beyond flicks'?" "i heard there were two. but we haven't seen them yet." "well, ditmar drew plans for them both. and he and his young wife live in one of them." "i see. but why would your mother suspect mr. ditmar of setting fire to her cottage?" asked jane. "that's easy," replied mary louise. "so ditmar would get the job of designing a new one! but that seems dreadful. is this man the criminal type, cliff?" the latter shrugged his shoulders. "how can anybody tell who is the criminal type nowadays, when every day we read in the newspapers about senators and bankers stooping to all sorts of despicable tricks?" "true," agreed jane. "and is your mother going to rebuild?" "it wouldn't be mother--it would be i who would do it," explained clifford. "because dad left the place to me, and all this land up here at shady nook that hasn't been sold yet. but i don't expect to do anything for a while. mother's comfortable at the royal, and i don't mind. though i do like the people at shady nook a lot better." "oh, well, you can come over as much as you like," said mary louise. "which is just what i intend to do! and that reminds me, one of the things i came to talk to you about: a swell shindig for monday night!" "oh, what?" gasped jane in delight. "a party down on the island. everybody goes in some kind of boat--naturally--all dressed up. i mean, the boats are to be all dressed up, you understand. with a prize for the best decorated of each kind. then we'll have a feed and play games." "that's great!" cried jane enthusiastically. "what'll we go in, mary lou? the canoe?" "i thought maybe you girls would come in my motorboat----" "and lose the chance of winning a prize?" interrupted mary louise. "thanks just the same, cliff, but i've got an idea already." david mccall was coming up the porch steps just in time to hear the refusal, and he grinned broadly. this was just as it should be, he thought, looking possessively at mary louise. tall and dark and handsome, david mccall was indeed a contrast to clifford hunter in appearance. but jane had already decided that she did not like him. nobody twenty-two years old had any right to be so serious, even if he had been supporting himself for five years! mary louise was a trifle embarrassed as she greeted him, wondering how he and cliff would get along together. but cliff spoke to him cordially. "hello, dave," he said. "sit down. i've got a brand-new trick. you take a card----" jane giggled. how could anybody help liking a boy like cliff? "don't let's waste our time on card tricks," was david's reply. "the light's fading. we ought to be out on the river. or in it, if you prefer," he added, addressing mary louise. clifford, disappointed, put his cards away. "you can show me all your tricks tomorrow," whispered jane sympathetically. "i love them!" "it's a date!" exclaimed cliff eagerly. mary louise stood up, to conceal her nervousness at the sharp way in which david had spoken. "o.k.," she said. "let's go somewhere. where?" "in my motorboat?" suggested cliff. everybody agreed, and the arrangement proved satisfactory, for the boat was large enough for jane and cliff to be together at the wheel, and david and mary louise off in another corner. silky sat upright in the middle of the boat, as if he believed he were the chaperon and it was his sacred duty to keep his eye on everybody. the evening passed pleasantly, for the stars were out, and the breeze over the river delightfully cool, and the boat itself in perfect condition. even david forgot his grudge against rich young hunter and under the magic spell of the night joined happily in the singing. mary louise, however, insisted that they come home early, for though they hardly realized it, both girls were tired from their long trip. "it's been a glorious day!" exclaimed jane, after the boys had gone home, and the girls were preparing for bed. "i'm crazy about shady nook." "i think it's pretty nice myself," returned the other, with a yawn. "if only poor cliff's bungalow hadn't burned down." "tell me," urged jane, "which boy you really like best--cliff hunter or david mccall or max miller?" mary louise laughed. "i don't know. max, i guess. now you answer a question for me: who do you think set the hunters' bungalow on fire--cliff himself, or that mr. ditmar, the architect, or the kids?" "there you go!" cried jane. "being a detective instead of a normal girl on her vacation. who cares, anyhow? it doesn't hurt anybody but the insurance company, and i guess they can afford it." "oh, but i'd like terribly to know!" "well, don't let's waste our wonderful month being detectives," pleaded jane. "but it may be important," mary louise pointed out. "if it was done intentionally, there will probably be more fires. don't forget--our cottage is next door to hunters'!" jane opened her eyes wide in alarm. "i never thought of that," she admitted. "i've got to think of it," said mary louise. "daddy is trusting me to look after things, and i can't fall down on my job. nothing like that must happen." "what can you possibly do about it?" "investigate, of course." "how?" "i'll begin by talking to freckles tomorrow and see whether he's found out anything from the boys. then i'll make it a point to meet mr. ditmar--and follow up every clue i can get hold of." "you would!" yawned jane as she crept sleepily into her cot. chapter iii _the ditmars_ "freckles!" exclaimed mary louise as she entered the kitchenette of the bungalow the following morning. "where are you going?" the boy grinned mysteriously. "can't tell you that, sis," he replied. "it's a secret." "but i wanted to talk to you. and it's only a little after eight o'clock." "i know, but i'm a busy guy. important affairs!" "with whom?" freckles hesitated; then he decided to tell part of his secret. "the fellows up here have a secret band. it's called the 'wild guys of the road.' i was initiated last night." mary louise burst out laughing. she couldn't help it. "the 'wild guys of the road'!" she repeated. "regular hold-up men?" "well, not exactly," replied her brother. "but we've got some exciting adventures on." "who is the leader?" "robby smith. he's got some swell ideas." mary louise's eyes narrowed. "does burning people's houses come into his plan?" "gosh, no! we're not really bad, sis. we wouldn't do anything like that." "do you make fires at all?" "sure we make fires. we've got to cook our camp meals, haven't we? and have our ceremonies." "i see." she was thinking. "and sometimes those fires spread farther than you want them to?" "no, course not! now, don't you go blaming us guys for hunters' bungalow burning down!" "i'm not blaming _you_, freckles--you weren't even here. but i'm not so sure about those smith boys. they are pretty wild, once they get started. remember the time they locked that little boy in the boathouse and almost left him there all night?" "gee whiz, sis! they wouldn't have left him there. they just wanted to scare him." "i'm not so sure. they're spoiled kids. i wish you wouldn't play with them." "now, sis, don't be silly! everybody's in the gang together. i've got to play with the smith boys or else stay home by myself." with a yell of good-bye for his mother, the boy was off. mary louise and jane sat down to their breakfast. mrs. gay, who had eaten hers with freckles, came in to talk to them. "what have you on the program for today?" she inquired. "oh, the usual things," answered her daughter. "tennis with the bunch this morning, and i suppose everybody will go in swimming about eleven o'clock. david is coming over to talk about fixing up our canoe for the contest tomorrow night." jane coughed nervously. "i--uh--sort of promised cliff i'd go in his motorboat, mary lou," she said. "would that be all right?" "sure it's all right," agreed her chum. "it'll be even better, because the less weight we have in our canoe, the more decoration we can put on. and there's a prize for each type of boat, you know." "then i shan't be competing against you if i go in cliff's launch?" "oh no, we are in separate classes." after the girls had finished washing the dishes for mrs. gay, they started off for a little walk, with silky at their heels. "why not stop for the reed girls?" suggested jane, mentioning the twins who lived in the cottage on the far side of the gays. "i'm crazy to meet them." "you'll meet them when we go swimming later on," replied mary louise. "but just now i want to go in the other direction. to call on the ditmars." "the ditmars?" for the moment jane had forgotten who these people were, for she had heard so many new names the night before. "yes. don't you remember? the young architect that cliff told us about. the man mrs. hunter thinks set her bungalow on fire." "oh, yes, of course! in other words--a suspect." "that's right," agreed mary louise. "but how can we call on him if we don't know him?" asked jane. "we'll find a way!" "oh, sure we will!" teased jane. "trust the girl detective for that!" "sh! please don't call me that in front of anybody, jane. if people think i am snooping, they'll shut up like clams and won't tell me anything." although there were only eight cottages at shady nook, the distance from the reeds' on one end to the ditmars' on the other was over a mile. cliff's father, mr. hunter, who had planned the little resort, knew that even in a small friendly community like this, people still liked privacy, so he had left a small strip of woods between every two cottages. the girls walked along slowly, mary louise pointing out the bungalows as they passed by. "that's where the hunters' was, of course," she said to her chum. "and now we're coming to the partridges'. next is flicks' inn." "yes, i remember this much from last night," nodded jane. "but that's as far as we got. are there many cottages on the other side of flicks'?" "only the smiths' and the two new ones. the smiths don't actually live on the river road, and you can't call their place a cottage. it's really the grandest house around here. much bigger than the hunters' was. they have three children and a lot of servants. mr. and mrs. smith are usually off traveling somewhere, and even when they're here, they don't eat at flicks'." "so we can't count on them for any fun?" "no. freckles plays with the boys, but except for that, we never see them." a little farther on, the girls came to the two new bungalows, set right in the heart of the woods. they were both perfectly charming; it was evident that young mr. ditmar was an architect with both taste and ideas. "don't you love it?" whispered jane, as the two girls approached the ditmars' rose-trellised bungalow. "it looks like 'honeymoon cottage' in a jig-saw puzzle!" "i understand the ditmars are practically a bride and groom," returned mary louise.... "oh, there she is, in the garden! pretty, isn't she?" an attractive young woman in a pink dress looked up as the girls came nearer. she smiled pleasantly. "good-morning," said mary louise. "you are mrs. ditmar, aren't you? everybody knows everybody else here at shady nook, so we'll introduce ourselves. this is my chum, jane patterson, and i'm mary louise gay." the young woman nodded cordially. "i'm awfully glad to meet you both," she said. "this is a friendly place--i like it a lot. if only my husband did----" "doesn't mr. ditmar like shady nook?" asked mary louise in surprise. "no, he doesn't. but i guess it's just because he hasn't enough to do. you know how men are when they haven't any work: full of gloom." "well, things will be better this fall," remarked jane optimistically. "i don't know," replied mrs. ditmar. "at least--for architects. their work comes slowly. it was fine all spring, while horace had this bungalow to build, and the robinsons' next door. but now he can't get a thing." "maybe the hunters will rebuild," suggested jane openly. mrs. ditmar shook her head. "we did hope so. we went over to see them at the royal hotel soon after their house burned down, but mrs. hunter wasn't very nice to us. she almost acted as if it were our fault!" jane suppressed a giggle and muttered under her breath, "the plot thickens." "oh, i guess she was just all upset," remarked mary louise nervously. "she'll get over that." she smiled. "anyway, you don't have to be gloomy, mrs. ditmar. can't you get your tennis things on and play with us this morning?" "thanks awfully, but i don't think i had better leave horace here alone." "bring him along!" "he wouldn't come. no, i better not. but perhaps i'll see you in swimming later on in the morning. it's awfully nice of you girls to be so friendly." "we'll look for you in the water, then.... and, by the way, you'll come to the party on the island tomorrow night, won't you?" again the young woman refused. "no, we really can't afford that. it's two dollars for the supper, you know, and besides that; we'd have to hire one of mr. frazier's canoes." "couldn't you borrow one?" suggested jane. "no--i'm sorry--horace refused to go." mary louise sighed, as if to say how thankful she was that she wasn't married to a grouch like that. so the girls said good-bye and walked slowly back to their cottage. "she can't be over twenty, if she's that," surmised mary louise. "i certainly feel sorry for her." "so do i," agreed jane. "do you really think her husband is guilty, mary lou?" "i don't know. he sounds queer." she lowered her voice: there did not appear to be anybody around, but you never could tell, with all those thick trees to conceal possible eavesdroppers. "and if he believes it's his right to have work, he may try burning other cottages. that's what worries me." "well, he surely wouldn't pick on yours, mary lou," was jane's comforting assurance. "he'd select somebody's who was rich--like the smiths', or some place that was absolutely necessary, like the flicks'." the girls were passing the inn at this moment, and as they looked up they saw david mccall in his tennis clothes coming out of the door. "i was over at the bungalow looking for you girls," he said. "the reed girls are on the court, but they wouldn't let me play until i found a partner. so please hurry up!" "o.k.," agreed mary louise. "walk back with us, dave. i want you to tell me why you think cliff hunter set his own bungalow on fire--at such an inconvenient time. when they had company, i mean." david smiled knowingly. "that's his alibi, of course. what did he care about those four fellows? it didn't hurt them. you see, mary lou, i'm an insurance agent, and i'm up to all these tricks. the hunters' place was insured for ten thousand dollars, and if it had been offered for sale, cliff couldn't have gotten more than a couple thousand at a time like this." "but the hunters are rich," objected mary louise. "they don't need the money." "everybody needs money. and i happen to know that cliff wants to go around the world this fall." "he wouldn't give up college?" "no. there's a college course in the bargain. they study and travel at the same time. it costs a small fortune." "i don't believe he set that bungalow on fire," announced jane. "he's too honest. he just couldn't do a thing like that!" "besides," added mary louise, "we have another suspect." and she told david what she had just learned about horace ditmar. "i'm just as sure that ditmar didn't do it as you are that cliff hunter didn't," replied david when she had finished. "probably nobody set it on fire," concluded jane. "just an accident. let's forget it. come on in, mary lou, and we'll put on our sneaks. we'll be ready in a minute, dave." true to their promise, the girls returned a moment later, with silky at their heels, and all three young people made their way to the tennis court. there was only one court at shady nook--which the boys themselves had made--but there was another across the river on the hotel grounds. however, nobody ever seemed to mind waiting or taking turns, so the crowd usually stayed together. jane was introduced to the reed twins, who looked and dressed so exactly alike that she had not the faintest idea which was mabel and which was sue after a couple of minutes had elapsed. then there were three other young people who were staying at the inn for a short time, besides david mccall and themselves. to her dismay, cliff hunter did not come across the river to join the party. the whole crowd went in swimming about eleven o'clock, and here their elders joined them, with some of the younger children. not freckles, however, or the reed boys or the smiths: they had gone off hiking for the day. again jane did not see cliff hunter, and she was giving all her attention to a young man named stuart robinson, who lived in the new bungalow next to the ditmars', when she heard her name shouted from the shore. "jane! oh, jane!" raising her head from her swimming position and treading water, she peered towards the shore. it was cliff hunter--but not attired in a bathing suit. "come on out!" he called. jane swung into the crawl, and reached the young man in a couple of minutes. he was grinning broadly. "take a card," he said. jane burst out laughing. "how can i?" she asked. "i'm soaked." "oh, that's all right. i've got plenty of packs. this is a swell trick. i've been studying it all morning." jane dropped down on the grass and listened to his trick. the young man was enchanted. she stayed with him until mary louise literally dragged her back into the water. "how anybody could believe cliff hunter guilty of a despicable crime," she said later to her chum, "is beyond me. he's as innocent as a child." "i hope so," returned mary louise. "time will tell." chapter iv _another fire_ everybody at shady nook worked all day monday on the decorations for the boats. everybody, that is, except mr. and mrs. flick and a few of the older people, who were preparing the food for the supper on the little island that night. jane was helping clifford hunter paint pieces of wood which were intended to transform his launch into an auto-giro, and david mccall and mary louise picked flowers and leaves all afternoon to make festoons for her canoe. "i do think freckles and those other kids might have helped us," she remarked as she tied on the last cluster of sunflowers. "oh, we didn't need them," returned david, smiling. he had enjoyed having mary louise to himself all afternoon. "it's five o'clock now. we'll have to hurry and wash and dress. don't forget supper at flicks' is half-past tonight." the young man nodded. "i'll be ready, mary lou." mrs. gay's voice interrupted them from the inside of the bungalow. "has anybody seen freckles?" she called. "not since this morning," replied her daughter. "i tried to get him to help us, but he said he was off for the day with his gang." "yes, i know that. i gave him some lunch. but he ought to be home by now." "he'll probably be along in a minute." but he did not come. david went back to the inn, and mrs. gay and the two girls dressed for the picnic, but still freckles did not appear. "we can't go off and leave him without any supper," said mrs. gay. "because mrs. flick is going to close the dining room and lock up at six-thirty." "if we could only phone the smiths," sighed mary louise. "he's probably over there with the boys.... suppose jane and i run over?" "it's too far. it will make you late for supper." "not very late. we'll hurry. come on, jane. we'll be back in ten minutes. but you go on down to the inn, mother, and order the dinner." mrs. gay nodded, immensely relieved. what a comfort mary louise was! you never had to ask her to do anything for you. the two girls hurried away along the private road beside the river, past the flicks' and the robinsons', then turned up the hill to the smiths' house beyond. it was jane's first sight of the imposing-looking place at close range. she exclaimed in admiration. "what a marvelous house! they must be awfully rich!" "they are," replied mary louise. "but they don't appreciate this place a bit. mr. and mrs. smith are hardly ever here at all in the summer. those two boys just run wild. there's a nurse to look after the little girl--she's only four years old--but the boys do pretty much as they please and boss the servants around. that's why mother and i feel worried about freckles when he's with them." a sedate-looking butler answered the girls' ring at the door. "no, miss," was his reply to mary louise's question, "the boys haven't been here all day." "did they expect to go to the picnic tonight on the island?" "yes, miss. steve, the chauffeur, was to take them." mary louise sighed. there was nothing she could do. "well, if my brother comes back here, will you please send him right over to the inn?" she asked. "and tell him to hurry." the girls turned away and started back. "it's going to spoil mother's evening," remarked mary louise disconsolately. "oh, he'll be sure to turn up soon," returned jane reassuringly. "i know, but even if he does, he won't be able to get to the island. all the boats at shady nook are being used. even the rowboats. everybody's going except the ditmars." "poor adelaide ditmar!" sighed jane. "imagine missing all that fun just because of a grouchy husband! i'm glad i'm single." mary louise laughed. "all men aren't alike, jane. you know cliff hunter would never miss any fun. or max or norman," she added, mentioning their two best friends in riverside. mrs. gay looked up hopefully as the girls entered the inn, but her expression changed immediately. she could tell from their faces that they had not been successful. after supper was over, all was bustle and excitement as the people got into the boats and pushed them out into the river. there were six canoes, four rowboats, and three motorboats, all decorated beautifully or fantastically, according to the taste of the owners. three prizes were to be awarded for the cleverest boat of each type, and everybody was to vote on the style in which he or she was not competing. mary louise and david mccall stepped into their flower-covered canoe; mrs. gay joined the partridges in a rowboat, and jane waited for cliff hunter's motorboat to come puffing across the river. it arrived at the same time as the fraziers' rather seedy launch, and jane was introduced to them and to mrs. hunter. "you'll walk away with the motorboat prize, cliff," called mary louise to the young man at the wheel. she lowered her voice. "poor old frazier's launch is pathetic, and stuart robinson's is just funny!" "i hope the prize is a deck of cards," returned cliff. "mine are wearing out." mary louise laughed and dipped her paddle into the water. her canoe did look pretty, and it was a heavenly night. if only freckles were there! the boats began to move off, the launches puffing ahead, the canoes gliding gently behind them, and the rowboats progressing more ponderously. somebody began to play a ukulele, and gay voices took up the tune. the island, a small oblong strip of land, was situated about two miles down the river from shady nook. several years ago someone at the resort had discovered it, and everybody had taken a hand at fixing it up for picnic purposes. there was a glorious stone fireplace, and a large spot had been cleared for dancing and games. seats had been scattered about, and a couple of board tables had been erected near the fireplace. tonight the whole island was alight with japanese lanterns, giving it a gay and festive air. when the last rowboat had finally reached its destination, the crowd all gathered together on the grass near the shore to record their votes. the two robinson boys went about collecting them. mary louise was sitting close to her mother, watching her intently. "the reed boys aren't here either," whispered mrs. gay. "i was just talking to mrs. reed, and she said she hasn't seen larry or george since morning. but she doesn't seem much worried." "freckles must be all right if he's with the whole bunch," mary louise assured her. "nothing much could happen to five boys together." mrs. gay forced herself to smile. "i'll try not to worry, dear.... oh, listen! mr. robinson is going to announce the winners!" the jovial-faced man, stuart's father, stepped forward. "first prize for rowboats goes to sue and mabel reed," he said. "come forward, girls, and get your prize. it's a box of tennis balls." the twins, dressed exactly alike in blue dimity, came up together, bowing and expressing their thanks. "the prize for canoes--to mary louise gay," continued mr. robinson. "more tennis balls!" david mccall clapped loudly, and everybody else joined in the applause. mary louise was a general favorite at shady nook. "the prize for motorboats goes to my son stuart for his funny-looking contraption!" everybody clapped but jane; she was terribly disappointed. she didn't see why cliff's clever idea hadn't taken the honors. but glancing at the young man she could detect no resentment in his face. he was a wonderful sport. after the prizes had been disposed of, the games began, and continued until dark. almost everyone joined in the fun--even the middle-aged people. all except a few who were helping mrs. flick prepare the refreshments, and mrs. hunter and the fraziers, who were too stiff and dignified. "how do you like mrs. hunter?" whispered mary louise once when the two chums found themselves hiding side by side in a game. "kind of stuck up," replied jane. "but she's better than those fraziers. he's positively oily!" "didn't i tell you? i wouldn't stay in his hotel if our bungalow burned down--no matter how much money we had." "mrs. hunter seems to like him. but i think it's frazier who put the idea into her head that ditmar set her cottage on fire. because i heard him say to her, 'i wonder whose place will burn down tonight. ditmar stayed home!'" "oh, how awful!" "sh! oh, gosh, we're caught! why must girls always talk?" lamented jane. the moon came up in the sky, making the night more enchanting, more wonderful than before. the games broke up, and mrs. flick called the people to refreshments. "sit with me, mary lou," urged david, jealously touching her arm. "we must find mother," returned the girl. "she's over there with mrs. hunter and the hotel bunch. you don't want to be with them, do you?" "not particularly. but i do want to be with mother and jane and cliff. so come on!" david closed his lips tightly, but he followed mary louise just the same. mrs. gay made a place for them, and the young couple sat down. "you're not still worried, are you, mother?" asked mary louise as she passed the chicken salad. "i'm afraid i am, dear. if we could only see shady nook from here, perhaps the boys would flash their lights." "they're surely all right," put in mrs. hunter consolingly. "they're big enough to take care of themselves." "i'll say they are," remarked mr. frazier. "i caught them cutting my yew tree to make bows. there's nothing they can't do!" mary louise regarded the hotelkeeper with contempt, thinking again how stingy he was. anybody else would be glad to give the boys a branch of a tree! "so long as they don't set anything on fire," observed cliff lightly. "oh, cliff!" exclaimed mary louise in horror. david mccall nudged her meaningly. "criminals always try to cover up their crimes by laying the suspicion on somebody else," he whispered. "but only a cad would blame innocent children." mary louise cast him a withering look. she was beginning to despise david mccall. when the whole party had eaten all they possibly could, somebody started to play a ukulele, and the young people danced on the smooth grass that had been worn down by so many picnics. nobody apparently wanted to go home, except mrs. gay. finally mrs. reed, beginning to be anxious about her own two boys, seconded the motion for departure. "let's give the rowboats twenty minutes start," suggested cliff hunter. "and the canoes ten. we'll beat you all at that!" "if our engines don't give out," put in stuart robinson doubtfully. he never felt confident about his ancient motorboat. "suits me fine!" cried jane, realizing that the arrangement gave her twenty extra minutes to dance. the rowboats pushed off, and ten minutes later mary louise and her mother and david stepped into their canoe. it was a light craft, built for speed, and both she and david were excellent paddlers. in no time at all they were leading the procession. it was david's sharp eyes which first detected signs of a disaster. "there's a fire at shady nook!" he cried breathlessly. "oh!" gasped mrs. gay in horror, and turning about swiftly, mary louise thought that her mother was going to faint. but she didn't; she pulled herself together quickly and sat up very straight. "it's true," agreed mary louise, her voice trembling with fear. suppose it were their own cottage--and--and--freckles! the canoe rounded the bend in the river and came within full view of the little resort. the reeds' house was visible now--yes--and the gays'! thank heaven it was unharmed! "it's either the partridges' or flicks'," announced david. "and my bet is that it's flicks'. i was expecting it." "you were expecting it, david?" repeated mrs. gay in consternation. "what do you mean by that?" "because cliff hunter holds a big mortgage on flicks' inn," replied the young man. "it means ready cash for him." "don't be absurd!" commanded mary louise. "how could cliff have anything to do with it when he was with us all evening?" "haven't you ever heard of a bribe, mary lou?" he asked. the girl did not answer. the increasing noise of the engines behind them told them that the motorboats had caught up with them. everybody knew about the disaster now; mrs. flick was crying, and mr. flick was yelling and waving his arms wildly, calling upon everybody to help him. he was out of his boat first--he happened to be riding in the robinsons' launch--and he dashed madly through the trees that stood between his inn and the river. in his excitement, he almost knocked over a small boy carrying a pail of water from the river. "freckles!" cried mrs. gay, in a tone of both relief and fear: relief that her child was safe, fear that he had had something to do with the fire. "what are you doing?" "trying to save the trees," explained the boy. "the inn was gone when we got here, but us guys kept the fire from spreading." he looked up proudly, as if he expected a medal for his bravery. "i don't believe a word of it!" thundered mr. flick. "i believe you boys set the place on fire. and now you're trying to lie out of it!" "i wouldn't put it past 'em," muttered mr. frazier, at his side. the fraziers had landed at shady nook instead of crossing to the hotel's shore. "tell the truth, boys!" urged mrs. gay, for by this time both the smiths and the two young reeds had joined freckles. "we came along here about dark," said larry reed, who was the oldest of the group, "and smelled smoke. course, we investigated. the inn was gone. but the ashes were still smoldering, and there was smoke coming out from the bushes. so we ran over to gays' and to our house and got buckets and carried water from the river. it's about out now." "you're sure that's the truth?" demanded mr. reed. "on my honor, dad!" replied the boy solemnly. "did you see anybody in the woods or around shady nook?" inquired mrs. flick. "yeah. a big guy who looked like a tramp from the woods--it was too dark to see his face--and a funny-looking woman in a gray dress with a big pitcher under her arm." "together?" asked mary louise. "no. the big guy was in the woods. and the woman was running along the road that leads to four corners." "nothing but a made-up yarn!" denounced mr. flick. but the fire was really out; there was nothing anybody could do. frazier suggested that the flicks and their guests come over to his hotel, and the latter accepted. but the flicks, realizing that this was not a real invitation, that the hotelkeeper would present them with a bill later on, chose to stay with the partridges. so at last the group dispersed for the night. mary louise, however, was so exasperated with david mccall that she never even answered his pleasant "good-night!" chapter v _freckles' story_ "what in the world are you doing?" asked jane when she came out on the porch the following morning to find her chum studiously poring over a notebook. "you must think school has begun!" mary louise looked up. "it's harder than school--but it's more fun," she replied. "i'm working on the mystery of the fires." "mystery? you really don't think the flicks' inn was just an accident?" "no, i don't. if it were the first fire, i might believe that. but with the hunters' a week or so ago, the whole thing looks sinister to me. i'm frightened, jane. ours may be the next. we haven't any insurance to speak of. besides, something dreadful might happen to mother. people are burned to death sometimes, you know." "yes, that's true," replied jane seriously. "but what are you going to do?" "treat it just like a case, as i did dark cedars. list all the possible suspects and search the neighborhood for desperate characters." "such as gypsies?" "no, not gypsies. they wouldn't have any motive this time. but somebody must have a motive--unless it's a crazy person who is responsible." jane's eyes opened wide. "that's an idea, mary lou! there are people like that--crazy along just one particular line. they feel they simply have to light fires. firebugs, you know." "incendiary is the correct term, i believe," said mary louise. "oh, so you've already thought of it and looked up the word!" "yes, i've thought of it. who wouldn't have? it's the first explanation that jumps into your head when you hear of a fire. they say lighted cigarettes start them too, and small children." "small children? but not boys as big as freckles and the smiths?" an expression of pain passed over mary louise's face. "i'm afraid everybody suspects the boys. especially mr. flick.... i'm going to call freckles now and ask him just exactly what he did yesterday. then, if you're interested, jane, i'll read you all my list of suspects." "sure i'm interested. i love to play the part of watson to the great sherlock holmes gay!" mary louise stuck out her tongue. "don't be so fresh!" she said, but she was pleased and flattered to be called sherlock holmes. freckles, eating a bun and followed by silky, came leisurely through the screen door. mary louise asked him to sit down and talk to her. "can't long," was the reply. "have to go see old man flick." "don't speak of mr. flick in that disrespectful way!" said mary louise disapprovingly. "i will, though. i hate him. he thinks us guys set his old inn on fire, and we really saved his trees. sweatin' like horses, carryin' water from the river, and that's all the thanks we get!" "freckles," said his sister seriously, "you must tell me all about what you did yesterday. everything! no secrets. because this is important. it may save somebody innocent from imprisonment--and help spot the real criminal." "o.k., i will, sis." he sat down on the hammock, and silky jumped up beside him. he gave the little dog a piece of his bun, and then he began. "up in the woods beyond shady nook--past the ditmars', you know, and all the cottages--we're building a shack. a clubhouse for the 'wild guys of the road.' so yesterday we took our lunch--the two smiths, the two reeds, and i--to set to work." "did you make a fire?" demanded mary louise. "sure we made a fire. we got to have a fire. but don't you go thinking that fire spread to flicks'. if it had, why wouldn't ditmars' and robinsons' cottages have been burned? they're in between." "yes, that's true. did you stay there in the woods all day?" "yeah. cooked some hot dogs for our supper, and larry reed had a can of baked beans. boy, we had a swell feed! and never thought a thing about the picnic on the island till it started to get dark. then we put out the fire, packed our stuff away, and made tracks for home." "about what time was that?" asked mary louise. "i mean, when you finally left your camp?" "nine-thirty or ten, maybe. i don't know." "and you saw two people on your way back, you said?" "four people, really, because the ditmars were taking a walk in the woods. they were quarreling, i'm sure. she was mad at him. said she thought he was positively cruel!" "what!" exclaimed jane. "looks as if horace ditmar might have set the place on fire himself--just as mr. frazier was expecting!" mary louise wrote something in her notebook, and freckles continued: "then, a little farther on, we met a tramp. at least, we think he was a tramp, though it was too dark to see his face. he was a big man in shabby old clothes. overalls, i think. he was coming towards us--away from shady nook. we think he's the man you want!" "had you ever seen him before?" "i don't think so, but i wouldn't want to be sure. after we passed him, we saw the funny-looking woman with the big pitcher under her arm. the moon was out then, and we got a good look at her. we all think she was crazy--kind of talking to herself as she went along. "then, as we came nearer to shady nook, we smelled smoke and found out it was flicks'. the inn was burned down by then--it was all wood, you know--but there was plenty of fire smoldering around. so we got some buckets at our own houses and began carrying water from the river. we must have worked a couple of hours.... till you came along.... that's all." "you're going to tell this story to mr. flick?" "it's not a story!" cried the boy indignantly. "it's the truth!" "oh, i didn't mean it that way," mary louise hastened to assure him. "i believe you, freckles. but i do wish you had someone to swear to the truth of it--for the people who may not believe you. some witness, i mean. did the ditmars see you boys in the woods?" "no. when we heard their voices--and i told you she was good and mad--we beat it around another path. women murder their husbands sometimes, you know!" he added solemnly. "i don't believe mrs. ditmar would commit murder," replied his sister. "we met her yesterday morning, and she seemed awfully nice." freckles stood up. "guess i better be on my way. old man flick's got an awful temper." "well, be sure to keep yours," mary louise warned him as he walked down the steps. she turned to jane. "what do you think about it?" she asked. "i think it's a mess. but i don't believe anybody's guilty. probably just some careless servant girl." "i don't know. i'm going over to see mr. flick this morning. i'll have a good reason now that freckles is sort of involved. "now i'll read you my list of suspects and their motives, and you tell me what you think and whether you can add any names: "'horace ditmar--motive, to make work for himself. "'mr. flick and cliff hunter--owners, to collect insurance. "'tramp and queer-looking woman--firebugs. "'careless servants--and "'the boys.'... now, can you think of anybody else?" "it looks like mr. ditmar to me--or else the careless servants," replied jane. "i'd never believe it was cliff hunter. or mr. flick. why, mr. flick was making money this summer--he'd be a fool to set his place on fire. besides, he was at the picnic. how could he?" "things like that can be arranged," replied mary louise, thinking of david mccall's accusation. "that tramp, for instance, might have been bribed." "well, i'm sure he wouldn't want to. now, if it were that man frazier's place, the royal hotel, i mean, it would be possible. you know what cliff said about the way he's losing money. the hotel is practically empty, except for the hunters and their friends." "maybe it will give mr. frazier an idea," remarked mary louise, "and his hotel be the next to burn!" "you seem to feel sure that something is coming next!" "i'm afraid so. and i only hope it won't be our bungalow!" mary louise sighed and closed her notebook. "it's much more difficult than that mystery at dark cedars," she said. "because there you had only one place to watch. if i knew which cottage would be the next to burn, i could hide there and spy. but shady nook's a mile long, and i can't be everywhere." "no," agreed jane. "and you don't like to stay home from all the parties just on a chance that there will be a fire. has it occurred to you, mary lou, that both fires started when everybody from shady nook was off on a party?" "yes, it has. that's why it seems like a planned crime to me--not just an accident. as if the criminal picked his time carefully." the familiar "chug-chug" of a motorboat interrupted the girls' discussion. clifford hunter shut off his engine and threw the rope around the gays' dock. "hello, girls!" he called, with his usual grin. "i haven't had time to work up any new card tricks, but i hope i'll be welcome just the same." "oh, we have more serious things to think about than tricks," responded mary louise. "you mean that now you have to turn in and do the cooking since flicks' inn is gone?" "i really hadn't thought of that," answered mary louise. "though of course we shall have to do that very thing. we aren't rich enough to eat at the royal hotel." "it's not so steep, considering the service you get. maybe frazier will lower his prices, for he sure needs the business. but, of course, you have a large family. it would be kind of expensive." "where can we buy food?" inquired jane. so far, the gays' breakfasts had consisted of supplies they brought along with them, with the addition of milk, butter, and eggs from a farmer who stopped daily at flicks'. "there's a store over at four corners," replied her chum, naming the nearest village--about five miles away. "we usually drive over once a week for supplies. i suppose i better go in now and ask mother how soon she wants me to go." "be my guests tonight at the royal for dinner," suggested cliff. "then you won't have to bother about buying stuff." "thanks, cliff, but there are too many of us. besides, i'd have to go to the store anyway. we'll need things for lunch. you know how hungry we are when we come out from swimming." "by the way," asked jane, "where is david mccall staying? and the other people who were boarding at flicks'?" "they're all over at the hotel," answered cliff. "makes the place seem quite lively. frazier's stepping around at a great rate, looking pleased as punch." "oh!" exclaimed mary louise significantly, and she wrote another name into her notebook. she ran inside the cottage and five minutes later returned with her mother's list of groceries and the keys to the car. "i'm going over to four corners now, jane," she announced. "will you come with me or play around with cliff?" her chum stood up. "i'll go with you," she said. "if you'll excuse me, cliff." the young man made a face. "jane only likes me for my card tricks," he whined. "if i can't amuse her, i'm no use." both girls burst out laughing. "work up a new one while we're gone," advised jane. "and we'll see you in swimming." chapter vi _more suspects_ "i told mother we girls would take every other day at the housekeeping," said mary louise as she backed the car out of the garage and onto the road behind the cottages. "that will give her a chance to get some rest from cooking--some vacation. you don't mind, do you, jane?" "course i don't mind!" replied her chum. "maybe the family will, though!" "don't you believe it! we're swell cooks, if i do say it myself." she drove the car along past the backs of the cottages, turning at the road beyond ditmars in the direction of the little village of four corners--a place not much bigger than its name implied. it was a still, hot day; all the vegetation looked parched and dried, and the road was thick with dust. "i wish it would rain," remarked mary louise. "if we should have another fire, it might spread so that it would wipe out all of shady nook." "oh, let's forget fires for a while," urged jane. "you're getting positively morbid on the subject!... is this the grocery?" she asked as her companion stopped in front of a big wooden house. "it looks more like a dry-goods store to me. all those aprons and overalls hanging around." "it's a country store," explained the other girl. "wait till you see the inside! they have everything--even shoes. and the storekeeper looks over his glasses just the way they always do in plays." the girls jumped out of the car and ran inside. jane found the place just as mary louise had described it: a typical country store of the old-fashioned variety. "hello, mr. eberhardt! how are you this summer?" asked mary louise. "fine, miss gay--fine. you're lookin' well, too. but i hear you had some excitement over to shady nook. a bad fire, they tell me. can you figure out how it happened?" "no, we can't," replied the girl. "you see, everybody was away at the time--at a picnic on the little island down the river." "looks like spite to me," observed the storekeeper. "bet lemuel adams or his good-fer-nuthin' son done it!" "lemuel adams?" repeated mary louise. "who is he? any relation to hattie adams, who always waited on the table at flicks' inn?" "yep--he's her father. you ought to know him. he's a farmer who lives up that hill, 'bout a couple of miles from shady nook. well, he used to own all this ground around here, but he sold it cheap to a man named hunter. the one who started the settlement at shady nook." "yes, i knew him," said mary louise. "he was clifford hunter's father. but he died not long ago." "so i heard. anyhow, this man hunter got fancy prices for his building lots, and naterally old lem adams got sore. always complainin' how poor he is and how rich old hunter got on his land. reckon it got under his skin, and mebbe he decided to take revenge." "oh!" mary louise wanted to write the name of lemuel adams into her notebook then and there, but she didn't like to. should she add hattie's name too? had the girl taken any part in the plot? "what sort of looking man is mr. adams?" she inquired, thinking of the "tramp" whom the boys had mentioned seeing in the woods. "old man--with white hair. has a bad leg--rheumatism, i reckon. he walks with a limp," explained the storekeeper. mary louise sighed: this couldn't be the same person, then, for the boys would surely have noticed a limp. "here's my list," she said, handing her mother's paper to mr. eberhardt. "do you think you have all those things?" "if i ain't, i can get 'em fer you," was the cheerful reply. the girls wandered idly about the store while they waited for their order to be filled. jane had a wonderful time examining the queer articles on display and laughing at the ready-made dresses. at last, however, a boy carried their supplies to the car, and mary louise asked for the bill. "nine dollars and sixty-two cents," announced mr. eberhardt, with a grin. "you folks sure must like to eat!" "we do," agreed mary louise. "i suppose this will mean more business for you. or did the flicks buy groceries from you anyhow?" "no, they didn't. they got most of their stuff from the city.... yes, in a way it's a streak of luck fer me. the old sayin', you know--that it's an ill wind that brings nobody luck!... yes, i'll have to be stockin' up." mary louise and jane followed the boy to the car and drove away. as soon as they were safely out of hearing, mary louise said significantly, "two more suspects for my notebook!" "two?" repeated jane. "you mean lemuel adams and his son?" "i wasn't thinking of the son," replied mary louise, "though, of course, he's a possibility. no, i was thinking of mr. eberhardt, the storekeeper." "the storekeeper! now, mary lou, your ideas are running wild. next thing you'll be suspecting me!" "maybe i do," laughed her chum. "no, but seriously--if dad is working on a murder case, he always finds out immediately who profited by the victim's death. that supplies a motive for the crime. well, it's the same with a fire. didn't this storekeeper profit--by getting extra business--because flicks' burned down?" "yes, he did," admitted the other girl. "but, on the other hand, it didn't do him a bit of good for the hunters' bungalow to be destroyed." "no, of course not. but, then, that may have been an accident." "yet this lemuel adams might have been responsible for both fires. he seems a lot guiltier to me. if he hated mr. hunter particularly, he'd naturally burn his cottage first. then he'd go about destroying all the rest of shady nook." "your reasoning sounds good to me, jane," approved mary louise, her brown eyes sparkling with excitement. "and we've got to make a call on mr. adams right away. this very afternoon!" "not me," said jane. "i'm going canoeing with cliff hunter." mary louise looked disappointed. "suppose watson had told sherlock holmes that he had a date with a girl and couldn't go on an investigation with him when he was needed?" "watson was only a man in a book who didn't make dates. i'm a real girl who's full of life. i came up here for some fun, not just to be an old character in a detective story! and besides, mary lou, you have a date too. i heard you promise david mccall you'd go canoeing with him today." "i'm mad at david," objected mary louise. "he certainly made me furious last night." "what did he do?" mary louise frowned, but she did not tell jane what the young man had said about cliff hunter. no use getting her chum all excited, so she merely shrugged her shoulders. "oh, just some remarks he made," she replied. "but i really had forgotten all about the date. when did i promise him?" "yesterday afternoon, before i went off with cliff. oh, come on, mary lou! go along with us. let's pack a supper--it'll be easy with all that food we brought back from the store. maybe your mother and freckles will go along." "no, i really can't, jane. i don't want to be rude to you--you are my guest, i know--but honest, this is important. that i go see old mr. adams, i mean. if he has made up his mind to burn down the entire settlement at shady nook, our cottage will be included. i've just got to do something to save it--and everybody else's. you know--dad's counting on me!" "yes, i understand how you feel, mary lou. but you may be all wrong--these two fires may just have been accidents--and then you'll be wasting your perfectly good vacation for nothing." "oh, but i'm having fun! there's nothing i love better than a mystery. only this one does scare me a little, because we may actually be involved in it." "well, you do whatever you want," jane told her. "just regard me as one of the family, and i'll go my own way. i know everybody here now, and i'm having a grand time. only don't forget you have david mccall to reckon with about breaking that date!" they drove up to the back door of the cottage, and freckles, who had returned home by this time, helped carry in the boxes. mary louise asked him how he had made out with the flicks. "not so good," was the reply. "he's sore as anything. still believes we had something to do with starting the fire, though he admits he doesn't think we did it on purpose. they're going away today." "oh, that's too bad!" exclaimed mary louise. "i was hoping they would build some kind of shack and continue to serve meals." "nope, they're not going to. they've decided to go right back to albany, where they live in the winter." "where are they now?" demanded mary louise. she realized that she must hurry if she meant to interview them before they left shady nook. "mr. flick's on his lot, and mrs. flick is over at the partridges'. they stayed there all night, you know, sis." as soon as the supplies from the store were carefully stored away, the two girls walked over to the spot where the flicks' inn had stood. the charred remains were pitiful to see; the fire had been much harder on the flicks than the hunters' disaster had been for them, because the innkeeper and his wife were poor. and what they made in the summer went a long way toward supporting them all the year round. mary louise felt sorry for them, but nevertheless she resented their laying the blame upon her brother. the girls found mr. flick standing under a tree talking to some men in overalls--working men, whom mary lou remembered seeing from time to time around the hotel across the river. "may i talk with you for a moment, mr. flick?" inquired mary louise, as the former turned around and spoke to her. "yes, of course, mary louise," he replied. "i'll be with you in a minute." "you really don't think the boys are responsible, do you, mr. flick?" she asked directly, when he joined the girls. "i don't know what to think," replied the man. "it may have been an accident. that one servant girl we have is awfully careless." "which one?" "hattie adams. the one who waits on your table and washes the dishes." "hattie adams!" repeated mary louise. "lemuel adams' daughter!" "yes. and tom adams' sister." he lowered his voice. "that's tom over there--remember him?--he does odd jobs for both me and frazier sometimes." mary louise nodded and glanced at the young man. he was a big fellow with a somewhat sullen expression. he looked something like hattie. "how do you know lem adams?" inquired mr. flick. "i don't," replied mary louise quietly. "but the storekeeper over at four corners told me about him. how he used to own all this land and sold it cheap to mr. hunter. so he thinks maybe mr. adams is burning the cottages to spite the hunters." "but hunter is dead!" objected mr. flick. "and it doesn't spite the hunters one bit, because they are fully insured. that's the worst of it for me. my insurance only covers my mortgage--which cliff hunter happens to hold. i'm as good as wiped out." "oh, i'm so sorry," said mary louise sympathetically. "not half as sorry as i am." he scowled. "and when i get to albany i'm going to hunt up a lawyer. if those smith kids did it, their parents can pay for the damage!" "oh, but they didn't!" protested mary louise. "it's too bad if your brother was in it too. but if he was, he ought to be punished--though i blame that robby smith as the ringleader. boys like those aren't safe to have around. they don't have anybody to control them. they ought to be locked behind the walls of a reform school." there was nothing mary louise could say: the man was far too wrought up to listen to reason. so she and jane merely nodded goodbye and turned away. they stopped at the partridges' cottage to see mrs. flick and found her much calmer. "i blame the adams girl," she said. "hattie's so careless! and she was the last one at the inn. i never should have left her alone. but my other waitresses wanted to get back to their hometown, and they left early--before we did. so i can't lay the blame on them." "you really don't think the boys did it, do you, mrs. flick?" inquired mary louise anxiously. "no, i don't," was the reassuring reply, "even if my husband does!" "thank goodness for that!" exclaimed the girl in relief. "well, i'm going to call on the adams family this afternoon and find out all i can. i'll pump hattie, and old mr. adams too." "good luck to you, my dear!" concluded mrs. flick. chapter vii _the crazy woman_ jane went off early after lunch in cliff hunter's canoe, and mary louise sat on the porch waiting for david mccall. she was still angry at him for the way he had accused cliff to her the night before, but a promise is a promise, and she meant to see him. if she had had a chance to go swimming that morning, she might have tried to break the date. he came along about half-past two, smiling shyly, as if he were not quite sure how he stood with mary louise. "you're not still mad at me, mary lou, are you?" he asked, looking straight into her eyes. "yes, i am," replied the girl. "i'm disappointed that a boy with your brains can't reason more intelligently. the finest detective in the world wouldn't be sure that one certain person was guilty of a crime until he had made some investigations." "but it's so obvious, mary lou! hunter holds a big mortgage on one place and big fire insurance on another. he can't sell either of them, and he needs the money. so he sets them both on fire and collects that way! what could be simpler?" "there are lots of other people, besides cliff, who profited from those two fires. in fact," concluded mary louise, "the thing that worries me is that there are so many suspects. it's terribly confusing." david opened his eyes wide in amazement. "i don't see who----" he began. "oh, don't you!" snapped the girl. "then just listen to this bunch of names!" she opened her notebook and read him the list: "'horace ditmar, lemuel adams, eberhardt'--the storekeeper--'frazier, a tramp the boys saw in the woods, and a queer-looking woman.' not to mention the boys, because i really don't think they did it." david shook his head. "all possible, of course, but not any of them probable. of course, i understand you have reasons for suspecting ditmar, and i admit he is a queer cuss. still, i don't think he'd do a thing like that. but tell me why you suspect men like adams--i suppose he's the farmer, isn't he?--and frazier and eberhardt. sounds silly to me." "frazier and eberhardt both gained something by the fires: more business. and dad always tells me to hunt for motives." "they didn't get enough business to go to all that trouble," remarked david. "i'm not so sure. then, the storekeeper told me that lemuel adams felt spiteful towards the hunters because they made so much money out of his land. so adams may be doing it for revenge." "hardly likely, when the fires actually put money into the hunters' pockets." "well, i don't know. anyway, i'm going to do my best to find out who did it--to clear freckles, for one reason, and to prevent our own bungalow from burning down, for another." "you needn't worry about your bungalow," said david stubbornly. "cliff hunter hasn't any mortgage on it." mary louise gave him a scornful look. she stood up. "i can't go canoeing with you, david," she announced. "i'm driving over to adams' farm. you can come along with me if you want to," she added grudgingly. the young man looked disappointed. "you are mean, mary lou," he said. "my vacation's nearly over." "i'm being a lot nicer to you than you deserve," she replied. "letting you in on all the thrills of solving a real mystery.... well, are you coming or not?" "sure i'm coming," he muttered disconsolately. but he gazed longingly at the river and wished it were a canoe, and not a car, in which they were to spend the afternoon. remembering the farmhouse where hattie adams had said she lived, mary louise turned off the drive beyond shady nook into a dirt road which wound around to the top of a hill. she was going slowly--in second gear--when a strange-looking creature in a gray dress darted out from the bushes into the direct path of the car. with a gasp of horror, mary louise ground down her brakes, missing the woman by only a couple of inches. "what did you do that for?" shouted david. the woman looked up and smiled innocently at the two young people in the car. her eyes were vacant and expressionless; her gray hair hung about her face in tangled curls, tied with a faded blue ribbon, in a childish fashion. and under her arm she lugged an immense china pitcher--the kind that is used in the country for carrying water to the bedrooms. she was indeed a strange-looking person--probably the same woman the boys had noticed on the road the night before. "you better move out of the way!" called david. the woman wagged her head confidently: evidently she had no idea of the danger she had just escaped. "i'm looking for well water," she said. "well water to put out the dreadful fires." "fires?" repeated mary louise sharply. "yes, fires. the lord said in his holy book that he would burn down the cities of pleasure because of the sins of the people. but i am sorry for the little children. i must help put out the fires with pure water from a well. i am rebecca--at the well!" mary louise was horror-stricken. this woman might indeed be the "firebug" whom she and jane had considered as a possibility. although she seemed to want to put fires out, perhaps she lighted them first for that very purpose. "i'm sorry, but we don't know where there is a well," she replied. "but tell us where you live, rebecca. we'll take you home." the woman shook her head. "no, no, i can't go home. i must find water. there will be a fire tonight, and i must be ready to put it out. i must go." "where will the fire be tonight?" demanded mary louise apprehensively. "i don't know. one of those wicked cottages, where the people go about half clad, and where they dance and feast until past midnight. i can't tell you upon which the lord's anger will descend, but i know it will come. i know it. i must get water--pure water. i can't have innocent children burned to death." "but who are you?" repeated mary louise. "i am rebecca. and i am going to meet my bridegroom at the well. my isaac!" her eyes gleamed with happiness as she trotted off down the hill, carrying that ridiculous pitcher in her hand. david and mary louise sat still, looking at each other in speechless wonder, not knowing whether to laugh or to cry at the poor deluded woman. "but she seems happy," remarked david. "so i guess we needn't pity her." "she's like that bride in the dickens book," said mary louise. "the woman who was deserted on her wedding day and wore her wedding dress all the rest of her life, expecting her bridegroom to come back. remember? that always gave me the creeps." "but this woman is happier. she's sure she's going to meet her isaac at a well." he laughed. "no, i think we're more to be pitied than she is. for if she goes around setting fire to people's places----" "she ought to be locked up! yet that seems a shame, if she does happen to be harmless." mary louise stepped on the starter. "well, let's go on up to the adams'. maybe they can tell us who she is." they continued on up the hill to the farm and left the car at the entrance to the front yard, just outside the picket fence. the adams place was a neat-looking frame house, painted white, and pleasant to look at. a big porch surrounded it on all sides, and here they saw hattie adams, seated in a rocking chair, sewing. she waved to mary louise. "hello, folks!" she called genially. "come on up! any news?" "no, we haven't," replied mary louise as she sat down. "but i did want to ask you what you knew about the fire, hattie, because mr. flick is sort of blaming my brother and the other small boys, and i know they didn't start it. so will you tell us when you left flicks'--and all you know about it?" hattie nodded solemnly. "well, let me see," she began. "we had supper at half-past five last night, didn't we? and everybody was through eatin' about quarter to seven. even mis' flick. the other two hired girls helped me wash some of the dishes, and then mr. flick drove 'em over to the junction. he come back for mis' flick about half-past seven, i reckon. they put the car away and went to the picnic in a boat. i was just finishin' washin' dishes." "did you see the boys or anybody around at all?" questioned mary louise. "nary a soul. everybody went to the picnic, as far as i know. i expected to go home, get fixed up, and get my brother tom to row me over. but he wasn't anywhere around when i got back, and i didn't feel like gettin' the boat and goin' all by myself, so i just stayed home with dad. i never knew a thing about the fire till i went over this mornin' as usual to work at flicks'." "your brother--or your father--didn't know anything about it, either?" "dad didn't. i don't know about tom. i didn't see him. he was off milkin' the cows when i got up, and i left before he come in for his breakfast. i usually get it and set it on the table and then run down to flicks' quick as i can. but mis' flick never cares if i don't get there early, because we haven't many people for breakfast." "and that's all you know?" "yes. except what i heard this mornin' at shady nook--same as you heard." mary louise sighed. she didn't feel as if she were making any progress. she wanted to ask more about hattie's father--lemuel adams--but she didn't know how. and about this brother tom, too. if he had been away from the farm last night, maybe he was responsible for setting the inn on fire. instead, however, she inquired about the strange creature who wandered about the countryside with her big pitcher under her arm. "do you know a woman with gray hair who calls herself rebecca, hattie?" she asked. "we almost ran over her half a mile down the road. she stepped right in front of our car." the other girl laughed. "rather!" she said. "rebecca's my sister. she's never been right. but she's perfectly harmless, so we let her wander about as she wants. she wouldn't hurt a kitten." "but do you think she could be setting the places on fire?" "no," replied hattie positively. "rebecca's afraid of fires. she always wants to put 'em out. no, i wouldn't blame her." mary louise sighed and stood up. "i certainly wish we could find out what is the cause before anything else happens," she said. "i wouldn't worry about it if i was you," returned hattie. "they can't do anything to your brother without proof.... it's lots worse for me. i've lost my job. and so has my brother tom. he used to pick up a lot of work at odd times for mr. flick." mary louise stared in surprise; she had never thought of this angle of it. here were two people who actually lost out by the fire! surely this fact proclaimed the innocence of the entire adams family, with the possible exception of rebecca. "did you need the work, hattie?" she asked, gazing around at the big farm land that stretched out on all sides of the house. "oh, we won't starve without it! but it meant spendin' money for tom and me. and extra clothes. besides, i liked it. it's awful dull livin' on a farm with only the chores to do. i'd go to the city and get a job if there was any. but i know there ain't." "maybe mr. frazier will give you a job at the royal hotel," suggested mary louise. "now that he has more business. because i understand that most of the shady nook people are going to eat there." hattie wrinkled her nose. "i hate that guy. but i suppose i will ask him--it's better than nuthin'. tom goes every other day with butter and eggs and milk, so it would be easy to get there." "well, good luck to you!" was mary louise's parting hope. "we'll be getting on. i'd like a swim this afternoon." david mccall's eyes brightened. they were going to have some fun, after all! "we'll get into our suits and go out in the canoe," said mary louise as she directed the car towards shady nook. "maybe we can find jane and cliff and all go in together." the young man sighed: always this clifford hunter had to share his good times! but it was better than nothing, and later on, when the couple found not only jane and cliff, but the robinson boys and the reed twins, he had to admit that his afternoon had turned out pleasantly after all. chapter viii _danger_ "freckles," said mary louise at supper that evening, "will you lend us your tent tonight? jane and i want to sleep outside." jane raised her eyebrows. she couldn't remember expressing any such desire. but she said nothing: she wanted to see what mary louise was up to now. for her chum must have some purpose in the request: something to do with the mystery of the fires. it couldn't be just a desire for fresh air! "i suppose so," agreed her brother. "but you know my cot isn't very wide." "oh, we'll manage all right," returned mary louise. "and thank you very much." it was not until after supper, while the girls were waiting for their boy-friends to come, that jane had a chance to ask mary louise why she wanted to sleep outdoors tonight. "i want to sleep in my clothing, jane," was the surprising reply. "remember the scout motto, 'be prepared'? that's ours for tonight." "prepared for what?" "for a fire. i think there's going to be one. i'm only hoping that it won't be our cottage. but you never can tell." "what makes you think there will be one tonight?" demanded jane. "from something i learned this afternoon from that adams family. you remember hearing freckles describing a queer creature he saw last night on his way home from the woods? well, we almost ran over her this afternoon! with her pitcher, looking for well water! 'to put out the fires which the lord sends upon the wicked' were her words." jane giggled. "you think we're as wicked as that, mary lou?" she asked. "you know i don't believe that, jane." "then what do you believe? why do you think that there will be another fire?" "i think that either this crazy woman sets the cottages on fire herself, believing that she is appointed by the lord, or else that somebody she knows is doing it, and she has inside information somehow." "more likely she's just prattling," remarked jane. "i hope so. but, anyhow, i want to be prepared to jump up at the first sign of smoke. i'm going to rig up a hose with the river, so that i can put it out if it does happen around our cottage." "you sound almost as crazy as the old lady, mary lou! next thing you'll be taking your pitcher out for river water!" "now, jane, be yourself! you'll sleep out with me, won't you?" "i suppose so. but let's keep silky with us, in case one of those gypsies comes along and grabs you, the way she did at dark cedars." "there aren't any gypsies anywhere around here," mary louise assured her. "no, but there's a tramp. freckles saw him. and a crazy woman. and from the way mr. flick was carrying on this morning, he'll soon be crazy." "he's gone to albany. and the crazy woman is harmless. but you're wise about silky: he will protect us from any tramps that might show up." to mary louise's delight, mrs. gay raised no objection to the plan. after all, her daughter had often slept outdoors before. so, after a pleasant evening of games and dancing at the reeds' cottage, the two girls went out to the tent. "you forgot your pajamas, mary louise!" called mrs. gay as she fixed up the girls' room for freckles. "oh, of course," replied her daughter. no need to alarm her mother by telling her that they intended to sleep in their clothing. they took off their shoes, changed into sweaters and skirts, and climbed into the cot. silky lay down on the rug beside it. "it is close quarters," whispered jane. "but nothing like that could keep me awake." "me either," returned mary louise, with a yawn. five minutes later they were both sound asleep, entirely forgetful of fires or danger. but their rest was short. about one o'clock mary louise was awakened by a soft growl from silky. instantly she sat up and peered out into the darkness. it was utterly black at the opening of the tent, for the night was starless, and the trees closed out all view of the sky. yet she perceived something light--something white--coming towards her. for one wild moment a terrible thought took possession of her imagination: was this indeed the angel of wrath, coming to destroy their house--as that queer woman had predicted? but, no: common sense came to her rescue and assured mary louise things like that didn't happen nowadays. there must be some other explanation. it must be---a horrible inane laugh burst upon the silence of the night, wakening jane with a cry of terror on her lips. a long arm reached through the opening of the tent, touching the girls' cot, snatching at their feet. then another laugh, followed by hysterical sobbing. mary louise reached for the flashlight underneath her pillow. but she was calm now; she was sure of the identity of the intruder. it must be the crazy woman. she flashed the light into the creature's face, and the woman gasped in fear. "don't harm me! please!" she begged. "i'm the lord's messenger. to tell you that the smith's house is on fire. there are little children to be rescued. go! run! i'll follow as soon as i can fill my pitcher." jane and mary louise looked at each other in wonder. was what she said the truth, or only a figment of her crazy brain? but they did not dare take a chance. as the poor woman said, there were children at smiths' big house on the hill: three children, two boys and a little girl, with only servants to look after them. and servants, unlike parents, too often think of their own safety first. "we'll go right away, rebecca," mary louise assured her as she stepped into her pumps. "we're all ready." taking only their flashlight for protection, she and jane ran off as fast as they could go, with silky faithfully following them. as soon as they had passed the ruins of flicks' inn, they could see the smoke rising from the hill beyond. there could be no doubt about it. rebecca was right: the smiths' house was on fire. the girls redoubled their pace and tore up the hill. as they came nearer they saw the flames and heard wild shouts of excitement. then they met the smith boys and several of the servants racing madly about. "how did it start?" demanded mary louise breathlessly as she almost bumped into robby smith. "don't know. in the back, somehow. that's all wood, you know." "can they save it?" "doin' our best. all us men are working!" he stuck out his chest proudly, evidently enjoying the adventure immensely. money was never a thing to the smith boys. "where's your sister?" demanded mary louise. "around somewhere. everybody got out safe." "with her nurse?" inquired jane. "no. nurse took the canoe across to the royal--to phone to four corners for the fire engine." "then we better hunt up little ethel and take care of her," asserted mary louise. the child was only four--anything might happen to her. flames were rising upward from behind the house, lighting up the scene vividly, showing the chauffeur, the gardener, and two maids desperately pouring water from buckets and pails. but mary louise did not see little ethel. "ethel! ethel!" she cried wildly, raising her voice above the shouts of the men. "where are you?" "here me is!" came a plaintive reply, and a tiny head leaned out of a second-story window. "i comed up for my dolly!" a cold chill of horror crept over mary louise as she realized the dreadful peril of the child. but without a thought for her own danger she dashed through the front door and up the wide, smoke-filled staircase. "come to the steps, ethel!" she shrieked, her throat choking with smoke. "come here--i'll get you." "tan't. too smoky," replied the little girl, beginning to sob. mary louise took one desperate leap and dashed through the upstairs hall to the nursery. grabbing the child in her arms she groped her way back to the head of the stairs. she never knew how she reached the bottom of those steps. with her hand on the railing and her eyes tightly closed, she somehow made her slow progress. all she could remember was jane's voice at the door as she lifted the child from her arms. then darkness--choking for breath--silence, and blessed unconsciousness! when mary louise finally came to, rebecca was giving her water out of her huge pitcher and patting her shoulder gently. "speak, mary lou!" cried jane frantically. "oh, say you're still alive!" "i'm all right," replied her chum, managing a smile. "and little ethel?" "she's fine. with her nurse. she's back from across the river now." mary louise turned her head and saw the woman at her side, clutching the child in her arms and sobbing hysterically. other people had arrived by this time. mr. frazier had come over from the royal hotel, accompanied by cliff hunter, david mccall, and several other young people who were staying there, and mr. reed and all the robinsons had gathered from shady nook. in another minute the fire engine from four corners came, and the volunteers got the flames under control. the front of the house was saved; only the wooden structure at the back was completely destroyed. "how did it happen?" frazier was asking the smiths' chauffeur, half an hour later, when the crowd had finally gathered about mary louise. "nobody knows," replied the man. "everybody here was in bed and asleep. no signs of any prowler, either. the fire just started with the back shed--and spread. i was the first to wake up." david mccall looked knowingly at mary louise. "no signs of anybody?" he asked the chauffeur. "no clues at all?" "maybe this is a clue," interrupted one of the volunteer firemen, coming forward with a small box in his hand. "i found this pack of cards right where the fire must have started. but it had dropped into a pail of water--that's why it wasn't burned." "maybe the boys were playing cards and smoking corn silk," suggested cliff hunter lightly. the chauffeur took the box from the fireman. "no, they ain't our cards," he said as he examined them. "i know ours, because i've bought them for the kids." david mccall stepped nearer and uttered a sudden exclamation of surprise. "gosh!" he said solemnly. "recognize them, mccall?" inquired frazier. "i sure do. they're cliff hunter's. nobody else around here can afford to pay a dollar a pack. look--they're monogrammed!" mary louise glanced apprehensively at cliff. he was holding the cards in his hand, nodding his assent. "sure they're mine. the kids must have swiped them--or maybe i lost them and they found 'em. i myself haven't been up here to smiths' once this summer before tonight." "sez--you!" muttered david mccall under his breath. but not too low for mary louise to hear him and be genuinely frightened! chapter ix _the arrest_ when the girls came home from the fire that night they found mrs. gay and freckles both awake and dressed. the boy was pleading with his mother to be allowed to go to the smiths'. "the fire's out," announced jane, sinking wearily into the swing on the porch. "mary lou passed out for a few minutes, too." mrs. gay uttered an exclamation of alarm. "oh, but i'm all right now, mother," her daughter hastened to assure her. "only i would like something hot to drink. and my own bed to sleep in, if freckles doesn't mind changing again." "a hot drink?" repeated her brother, in amazement. "why hot?" briefly jane told the story of mary louise's daring act of heroism, and mrs. gay hurried off to make her daughter comfortable for the night. in their own soft bed again, the girls slept soundly until nearly noon the following day. mary louise was vexed with herself for wasting so much time when she saw the lateness of the hour. for if she was to do anything about solving the mystery of the fires she hadn't a single minute to lose. "have you heard any news this morning?" she demanded of her brother as the family all ate their breakfast-lunch together. "not much," replied the boy. "we went over to see the place, of course, as soon as we were up this morning. it must have been some fire! what's left of the house isn't fit to live in.... gee, sis, you and jane were lucky to be in on it!" "lucky for the smiths!" amended mrs. gay. "i shudder every time i think of what might have happened to little ethel." "where are the smiths now?" inquired jane. "moved over to the hotel. the chauffeur telegraphed mr. smith, and he and mrs. smith are coming this afternoon, with clothes and stuff." "did you see the boys this morning?" questioned mary louise. "yeah," replied the boy. "i took the canoe across the river, where they were in swimming early, with the chauffeur." "and couldn't they tell you anything more about the fire?" "nope. robby said he never wakened up till he heard the chauffeur yelling at them. then they all grabbed their clothes and ran. the nurse was sleeping in the same room with little ethel, and she saw to it that the kid got out safely." "and she went back for her dolly!" whispered mrs. gay, with a catch in her voice. "mother, please stop thinking about that!" begged mary louise. "everything came out all right--so do try to forget it." "i will, dear. but i think i've had enough of shady nook for one summer. i've about decided to pack up and go home tomorrow." "oh, no!" protested mary louise, aghast. "we can't--run away!" "if only your father were here, he'd find out what's the cause of all these disasters. but i feel so unsafe--so helpless without him!" "i'm going to find out!" announced mary louise, with determination in her voice. "just stay a little while, till we have a chance to see what develops!" "i won't promise. by the way, i've decided that we'll all go over to the royal hotel for dinner tonight. it will be a nice change--and you girls can dance afterwards, because practically everybody from shady nook eats there now." "everybody except the ditmars," said mary louise, with a significant look at jane. she said nothing further about the young couple now, but an hour later, when the two girls were getting into their bathing suits, she mentioned the ditmars again. "i've come to the conclusion that the criminal, the person responsible for the fires, is one of two people," she said, "with the possible chance of a third." "you suspect horace ditmar, of course?" asked jane. "yes. i think everything points to him. first, he has the _motive_. to get work for himself--to plan new houses to take the place of those that have been destroyed. if you've noticed, jane, the three places that have been burned have all been big, expensive ones. the finest at shady nook! the smiths and the hunters are rich people, well able to afford to rebuild. and flicks' was such a flourishing business that anybody would naturally expect them to want to start it up again. "next, horace ditmar had the _opportunity_. he was absent from the two parties which were going on when the hunters' and flicks' places burned, and he could easily have slipped out last night and set smiths' on fire. "and last--and most important of all, dad often says--ditmar's the kind of man who could do it. quiet, almost sullen, i think, and deceitful. i've never spoken two words with him, but that's my opinion." jane nodded solemnly: her chum's logic appeared sound. "but still," she remarked, "horace ditmar isn't profiting any by these fires. nobody seems a bit inclined to rebuild." "no. not yet. but wait till the smiths come, and see whether horace ditmar tries to chum up with them. you know adelaide ditmar admitted that they went over to call on mrs. hunter after their fire and the woman almost snubbed her." "true.... who's your other suspect, mary lou? is it--cliff?" "no. positively not cliff! in spite of that pack of cards they found over there last night. imagine cliff hunter setting fire to a house that had three children asleep in it! it's unthinkable." jane breathed a sigh of relief. "i'm glad to hear you say that," she said. "the other person i suspect strongly is rebecca adams," continued the young detective. "i hate to, for she seems harmless, but you just never can tell about a half-witted person like that. she wanders around at such queer times, and then her coming here last night, after predicting a fire in the afternoon, looks bad. she's got to be watched." "right again," agreed the other girl admiringly. "but go on, 'spencer dean'! who's your third suspect--the one you called a possible chance?" "the hotelkeeper, frazier. it's meant a lot to his business. he has the motive all right, but i just can't see how he could have actually accomplished setting the places on fire. he was with us all evening the night flicks' burned down, and cliff says he was at the hotel when the hunters' cottage burned. still, frazier's sly. he might have managed it." "i'll have to take a good look at him tonight when we go over to dinner," observed jane, "and try to size up his character." mary louise reached for her beach robe and stepped into her slippers. "come on, jane," she said. "we've got to hurry, or the crowd will go home before we get there." they ran out to the canoe and jumped in, paddling down the river half a mile to the spot which was generally accepted as the best swimming place near shady nook. here they found about twenty-five people gathered on the shore, all talking in the wildest excitement. and not a single person was in the water! "what's happened?" demanded jane. "anybody drowned?" "another fire?" asked mary louise. "neither," explained sue reed, turning to the newcomers. "but something almost as bad. a detective arrived from albany and arrested cliff hunter! as an incendiary, i believe he said. a person who sets things on fire." "no!" gasped jane in horror. "but how could he?" cried mary louise incredulously. "i mean, how could a detective from albany know about the fires here at shady nook--let alone suspect cliff?" "somebody wired," said sue. "who?" demanded both girls in the same breath. nobody seemed to be able to answer that question. all anyone knew was that cliff had gone off in the detective's car and that his mother had insisted upon going with him. mrs. hunter was positive that it was all a put-up job, a plot of some kind to kidnap her son. the talking died down at last, and the crowd dispersed into the water. but nobody seemed to enjoy the swim that day. discouraged and worried, mary louise and jane decided to paddle back home in their canoe. "all your detective work gone for nothing!" lamented jane miserably. "i'd just like to know, who's responsible for that arrest! it was such a dirty trick. i wonder if it was one of the smiths' servants." "i don't know, but i'm going to find out tonight," returned mary louise. "thank goodness we're going to the royal to dinner, where we'll see everybody! keep your eyes and ears open, jane." as soon as the girls reached their cottage they told mrs. gay the startling news about cliff hunter. she was as much distressed as they were over the announcement, for she had known the young man so long that he seemed almost like a son. and, like the girls, she was positive of his innocence. "let's get dressed early and go over to the hotel. maybe we can find out something there," she suggested. "that's just what we're hoping," replied jane. "and believe me, if we find that the smith chauffeur is responsible--or that sneaky frazier----" "it wasn't mr. frazier, i can assure you," interrupted mary louise. "he'll be losing money without the hunters and their friends. no--but maybe----" "maybe what?" "nothing. no use of making guesses in the dark. we'll wait and see." the girls went into their room to dress. mary louise was surprised to see jane take a simple white voile out of the closet. "why, jane, we're going to the royal hotel! to dine and dance. don't you want to wear your pink georgette?" her chum shook her head. "no. white's more appropriate for the way i feel tonight. i'm not in a party mood. maybe i'd wear black, if i had it!" mary louise lowered her voice. "do you care that much about cliff, jane?" she asked seriously. "i don't know about that part of it, mary lou--but i do feel dreadfully. cliff was always so care-free and happy--just like a child with his card tricks. and then for somebody to pounce down on him like that and carry him off without any chance to defend himself----" "don't worry about that, jane," interrupted mary louise. "don't forget that the hunters are rich, and mrs. hunter will hire the best lawyer in the whole state of new york to defend him." "well, that's comforting! but, just the same, it was a mean trick. and i'm going to miss cliff dreadfully.... by the way, where was david mccall today? i didn't see him in swimming." mary louise frowned. "neither did i," she muttered. jane swung about sharply. "mary lou, you think david sent that wire, don't you?" she demanded. "i'm trying not to think so!" responded her chum. "but we'll find out tonight." the girls were ready in a few minutes, but they waited for mrs. gay and freckles. they had expected to go across the river in the canoes, but stuart robinson stopped in to invite them to join their family in the motorboat, so that there was further delay. instead of getting off early, the party did not leave until after six. naturally, everybody talked of the arrest on the way over, but none of the robinsons knew who was responsible for it. stuart blamed it upon the smiths' servants. when they reached the porch of the hotel, they found it deserted. everybody ate early at the resort. the large dining room, with its pale yellow walls, its long screened windows, and its snow-white tables, was certainly a pleasant-looking place. the floors were of polished hardwood, so that when these same tables were removed the room was fine for dancing. the space was ample, too, for it was intended to accommodate a couple of hundred people at a meal. tonight it looked fairly well filled, with all the guests from shady nook in addition to the regular diners. mr. frazier himself came up and found two tables for the gays and the robinsons. the little man looked happy and confident tonight, pleased, no doubt, that business was more flourishing. "is david mccall here, mr. frazier?" asked jane abruptly. "yes," was the reply. "he's sitting with the smiths this evening. mr. and mrs. smith arrived this afternoon." "thank you," answered jane, without going into any explanation. mary louise smiled. "nothing like going right to the point, jane," she remarked when the hotelkeeper had turned away. "i mean to ask david point-blank! i hope i can make him ashamed of himself, if he did cause cliff's arrest!" "i'm afraid you can't do that," put in mrs. gay wisely. "these self-righteous people who feel that it is their duty to tell on others----" she stopped, wondering whether she was hurting mary louise's feelings by speaking thus about david mccall, but her daughter was scarcely listening. "i think he'll come over to see us," mrs. gay concluded as she gave her order to the waitress, "with the smiths." mrs. gay was correct in her surmise: when the smiths had finished their dinner, they came straight to the gays' table. mrs. smith, a well-dressed woman of perhaps thirty-five--though she looked much younger--put her hand on mary louise's arm. "i can never thank you enough for saving my baby, mary louise," she said. "all my life i'll be grateful to you!" mary louise smiled. "i'm thankful i was there in time, mrs. smith," she said. "ethel is such a darling." "i wish we could do something for you, mary lou," put in her husband. "can't you think of something you want?" he was too well bred to offer her a reward in money, the way old miss mattie grant at dark cedars had done. "all i want is to find out who really did start that fire at your house," replied the girl. "because i'm sure cliff hunter didn't!" she was staring past mrs. smith right at david mccall as she said this, with scorn in her eyes. jane couldn't keep quiet any longer. she turned angrily to the young man. "are you responsible for cliff's arrest, david mccall?" she demanded. "i am," he stated calmly. "i did it to protect our insurance company. it just happens that our company holds most of the insurance up here at shady nook. and they've paid enough already--or will pay. so i don't want any more fires. it's my duty to protect their interests." "oh, yeah?" retorted jane, hot with fury. "well, you're not doing it! cliff hunter never started those fires, and you'll find out soon he's innocent!" "how?" demanded david. "there will be another fire, just the same. we haven't got the guilty person yet. i know it!" mrs. gay shuddered. "oh, i hope not!" she exclaimed. "but i believe we'll go home tomorrow." "we're planning to stay on here at the royal while we see about repairing the damage," said mrs. smith. "but if it isn't safe----" "i guess the hotel's safe enough," put in her husband. "it's practically fireproof." david turned nonchalantly to mary louise. "will you dance with me after supper, mary lou?" he asked. "it's my last night here. i'm going to albany tomorrow." "i don't believe i care to dance," replied the girl icily--to jane's infinite delight. "jane and i are going to stay with mother this evening." the party moved on, and jane reached for her chum's hand under the table. "that's telling him!" she murmured in deep satisfaction. chapter x _the visit with rebecca_ the following morning mrs. gay relented from her decision to pack up the family's things and go home immediately. it was such a perfect day; the river sparkled beautifully in the sunlight, the birds sang sweetly in the trees beside the cottage, and her children seemed happy. yes, it would be absurd to run away from all this beauty. mary louise was overjoyed at her mother's decision. immediately she began to make important plans for the day. she would go over to adams' farm and find out where rebecca was. if necessary, she could have the boys trail her during the day, in case the crazy woman might be planning another fire for tonight. then she would call on the ditmars and make it a point to talk to the man himself. maybe she'd run over to eberhardt's store at four corners, later in the afternoon, just to check up on his business. oh, it promised to be an interesting day for mary louise! "where will the 'wild guys of the road' be today?" she asked her brother at breakfast. "over at our cabin, i guess," replied freckles. "why?" "i may want to call on you for some sleuthing," explained mary louise. "i am a little suspicious about rebecca adams--that queer-looking woman you boys saw the night flicks' inn burned down. remember her?" "sure i do! nobody'd forget a scarecrow like that!" "well, you stay around here, where i can get hold of you, while i drive over to adams' farm right after breakfast. if i can locate her, i'd like you boys to keep your eyes on her all day." freckles' face lighted up with excitement. "you can count on us, sis!" he assured her. "thanks a lot. now, you help mother with the dishes, and i'll run along. want to come with me, jane?" "yes, i do," replied her chum. "i'm really interested in the mystery of the fires. i admit now that they couldn't all be accidents." "and you'd kind of like to prove cliff hunter is innocent, wouldn't you, jane?" teased freckles. "naturally! who wouldn't?" was the retort. mary louise backed the car out of the garage and followed the same road she and david mccall had taken on their first visit to adams' farm. she drove very cautiously now, almost as if she expected rebecca adams to dart out again from the bushes into the path of her car. but nothing happened, and the girls reached the top of the hill in safety. an old man was sitting out on the porch with one leg propped up on a chair. a young man was standing on the steps talking to him. he was a big fellow in overalls; mary louise remembered seeing him at flicks' the day after the fire. he must be hattie's brother tom. the girls left the car at the fence and approached timidly, not quite sure how they would be received. "good-morning," began jane briskly, to hide her nervousness. "is hattie home today?" the old man looked questioningly at his son. "have you seen her since breakfast, tom?" he inquired. "yeah," replied the young man. "she's still in the kitchen, or else upstairs with rebecca.... well, i'll be movin' on, dad. i'll be away all afternoon--the hired man'll have to look after things." "where you goin'?" "four corners." "what for?" tom shrugged his shoulders: he wasn't going to tell his business in front of strangers, mary louise decided. then he shuffled off. "see that you get back in time for the milkin'," was his father's command. "and stop around at the back now and call to hattie. tell her she's got visitors." mary louise and jane sat down on the step and waited. "too bad about that fire night before last," remarked the old man. "lucky thing they saved the little girl." "it was mary louise who did that," announced jane proudly, nodding towards her chum. "hm! you don't say!" returned mr. adams. "well, i reckon girls are braver'n boys nowadays. my hattie's a good girl, too. can't say anything ag'in' her." "oh yes, everybody likes hattie," agreed mary louise instantly. she wished that she could ask mr. adams about his other daughter--rebecca--but she didn't know just how to begin. jane, however, came bluntly to the point, as usual. "mr. adams," she said, "may i ask a question? you wouldn't mind--if it was something about your family?" the old man grinned. "i know what it is, miss. it's about my daughter rebecca, ain't it? yes, go ahead. i ain't sensitive about her--we ought to be used to her by now!" "that's right," agreed jane. "do you think she could be starting the fires? do you know, she warned mary louise day before yesterday there would be another fire? and of course there was. and then she came to our tent that night and wakened us up to tell us that smiths' house was on fire." mr. adams nodded. "i can believe it. but i don't think rebecca would ever set anything on fire. she's afraid of 'em. she won't even light the stove or do any cookin' for that very reason. many's the time she's come in with her pitcher of water and poured it right on the coals in the stove. it's aggravatin' if you're ready to get dinner. hattie and me have both slapped her for doin' it, but she keeps right on.... no, i don't see how we could lay the blame on poor old rebecca." "i'm glad to hear you say that," said mary louise. "she seems like such a happy, harmless creature that it would be a shame to shut her up somewhere or accuse her of a crime." "didn't you say she is home now?" inquired jane. "she's upstairs in bed with a sore throat," replied mr. adams. "that's why hattie's stayin' around--and because my rheumatism is bad ag'in. otherwise i reckon she'd be over to the royal trying to get work. she was sorry to lose her job at flicks'." "yes, she told us." the girl herself appeared in the doorway. "oh, hello, girls!" she exclaimed. "glad to see you. come on into the kitchen. i'm fixin' some broth for rebecca. she's upstairs sick." the two girls entered the old farmhouse and followed hattie through the hall, back into the old-fashioned kitchen. it was a large room, with several chairs near the windows, and mary louise and jane sat down. "i am going to be frank with you, hattie," began mary louise, "and tell you why we've come. you've heard, i suppose, that they arrested cliff hunter on the charge of burning three houses, and jane and i believe he's innocent. so we want to find out who really is responsible. we thought there might just be a chance that it was rebecca." "i don't blame you for thinking that," agreed the girl. "but i'm sure she couldn't be guilty of that particular thing. she's crazy enough to do it--only she's scared of fires." "yes, so your father said. but she must know something, or how could she predict when they are going to occur?" "she's always predicting them," laughed hattie. "even when there aren't any. and sometimes when it's just a fire to toast marshmallows she gets all excited and swears it's the wrath of heaven descending on shady nook." "she came and warned us about the smiths'," put in jane. "she probably saw the flames. sometimes she gets up in the middle of the night and goes out with her pitcher. she was probably wandering around that night. i guess that's how she caught her sore throat." mary louise nodded. "could we go upstairs and see her when you take up her broth?" she inquired. "sure. but i'm afraid you won't get much sense out of her today. she has a slight fever, and her mind's wandering a lot." nevertheless, the girls followed hattie up the carpeted staircase to a room on the second floor. the blinds at the windows were pulled down, but they could see rebecca's face, surrounded by its tangled gray curls, on the pillow. she was muttering to herself when they entered the door. "here's some chicken broth for you, rebecca," said hattie cheerfully. "and a couple of visitors." the woman stared at the girls blankly, and then shook her head. "don't know them," she remarked. "of course you do!" insisted hattie, pulling up the window shade. "these are the girls who saved the little child at the smith fire the other night." rebecca sat up and peered at them. suddenly a smile broke over her face. "yes, oh, yes!" she exclaimed. "i do remember. mr. and mrs. smith are wicked people, traveling off and leaving their children alone, and the lord sent a fire to punish them. but i put the fire out with my well water, and these girls saved the baby. yes, yes, i remember." hattie straightened her sister's pillow and handed her the tray. "get me my well water," commanded the woman, indicating the familiar pitcher which she always carried with her about the countryside. "can't you tell us where you were when that fire started?" asked mary louise. "didn't you go to bed that night?" the woman sipped her broth slowly. "no, i didn't," she said finally. "i was sittin' on the porch till tom come home. about midnight, i guess you call it. and then it seemed as if i could see smoke over at shady nook. we're high up here on the hill; we can look down on the wickedness of you people in the valley." jane repressed a giggle. without noticing it, rebecca continued: "so i picked up my pitcher and ran down the hill to shady nook to warn the people. i saw smiths' house burnin' then, and i heard folks shoutin'. so i run along and tried all the doors at shady nook. all of 'em was locked. then i looked in that tent and found you girls sleepin' and give you the warnin'." apparently exhausted with the effort of eating and talking, she dropped over on her pillow asleep. hattie picked up the tray, and the girls followed her out of the room. "i wish we could talk to your brother," remarked mary louise as they reentered the kitchen. "if he was out late that night, maybe he saw the fire start. maybe he knows something----" "maybe he wasn't out at all," laughed hattie. "you can't depend on what rebecca says. for the most part she's sensible, but sometimes she gets sadly muddled. especially about fires. that's the one subject in particular that she's hipped about." "well, i guess we better be going, hattie," concluded mary louise, "if we want a swim this morning. why don't you come over and go in with the crowd, now that you haven't any job? we'd like to have you." "thanks awfully," returned the girl, "but i've got to stay here. tom's gone off in the ford, and i have to look after things. dad can't even cook his lunch, on account of his rheumatism." "where did your brother go?" inquired mary louise. "four corners, i think. he likes to play cards over there. i'm afraid he gambles. dad doesn't know about it." no sooner were the girls out of the gate than jane asked her chum why she had shown any interest in tom adams' whereabouts. "you don't suspect him, do you?" she questioned. "i suspect everybody," returned the other girl laughingly. "no, i really don't," she corrected, "because tom adams lost a job by flicks' burning down. that won't be so nice for him, especially if he likes to gamble and needs the money to pay his debts. but i just thought he might know something, if he really was out till after midnight the night before last. he might even be protecting somebody!" "so i suppose we have to go to four corners this afternoon?" sighed jane. "not till after we call on the ditmars," replied mary louise. "and a swim and a lunch come before that!" chapter xi _adelaide ditmar's plan_ "there are four new young men at the royal," announced jane as she set the table for lunch after their swim that morning. "who? how do you know?" demanded mary louise. "sue reed told me. she says they used to come to flicks' every summer for two weeks' vacation. so instead they are staying one week at the royal hotel. i don't know their names." her chum nodded. "i know now. i can't think of their names either, but they'll probably come to me. they're harrisburg people.... but, jane, how can you take an interest in men when your own boy-friend is in such trouble? last night you seemed so sad!" "you can't be sad all the time," replied the other girl. "it doesn't help cliff any. besides, i wasn't engaged to him, so i can get a kick out of meeting new men. can't you, mary lou?" "i don't believe i can at the present moment. i've too much else to think about. but what do you want me to do about them, jane? have a party and invite them over?" "oh no, nothing like that. sue asked me to come to her cottage this afternoon to meet them. she said to tell you to come along, in case she didn't see you to invite you herself." "you go by yourself." mary louise set a plate of chicken salad on the table. "it does look good, doesn't it?" she remarked--"if i do say it myself!" "yum! yum!" agreed jane. "but what makes you think you don't want to go over to the reeds' with me?" "because--i have other plans for this afternoon." "the mystery of the fires!" cried jane, rolling her eyes. "oh, mary lou, forget it for a while and have some fun!" "no, i can't. i've got to have a talk with the ditmars." "you better stay away from them!" warned jane. "you never can tell what that man might do if he got desperate!" nevertheless, mary louise was firm in her resolution not to join the young people, and she was thankful that she had stayed home, for no sooner had jane gone to the reeds' and her mother to the partridges' than mrs. ditmar herself came to the gays' bungalow! "oh, mary louise, i'm so glad to find you alone!" exclaimed the young woman. "have you any engagement, or can i talk to you for a while?" "i haven't a thing to do but knit," replied mary louise, smiling to herself. "jane has gone over to the reeds' to dance, but i was sort of tired, so i thought i'd just take it easy. and i'll be delighted to have you, adelaide." she addressed mrs. ditmar by her first name, for though she had a prefix of "mrs.," she was, after all, hardly more than a girl. and mary louise wanted to make her feel at home. "oh, thank you!" replied the visitor, sinking into a chair with a sigh of content. "you see, i haven't any friends up here at shady nook," she explained. "nothing's turned out right. i thought horace and i would have a lovely time with the young people--belong to the crowd and have lots of fun. but everybody avoids us. it's all horace's fault, of course, for people were friendly at first. but when you repeatedly turn down invitations and are grouchy when you do go anywhere, naturally nobody invites you again." "it's a wicked shame--for you, i mean!" exclaimed mary louise. "and yet i can't blame horace entirely. it's circumstances. nothing turned out right," she repeated. "tell me how you happened to come here, adelaide," urged mary louise. she wanted to hear the story from the girl's own lips, to see whether it coincided with cliff hunter's. "well, horace is an architect, you know," began adelaide. "and he did some work for mr. hunter last fall, just before we were married and before mr. hunter died. mr. hunter was so pleased with it that he gave horace a little piece of land up here as an extra bonus, to build a cottage for ourselves, and he got mr. robinson to let him design his too. "we got married, and everything went finely until mr. hunter died. then horace didn't have much work. but mr. hunter had indicated that it would be good business for us to live up here during the summer and meet wealthy people." "some of us are far from wealthy!" put in mary louise. "we didn't know that. we judged everybody to be like the hunters. besides, mr. hunter said that he owned a lot more land around shady nook, and as he sold it off in lots, he'd see that horace got the contracts to design the new cottages. "we came up early in the spring, and horace enjoyed designing our bungalow and the robinsons'. we had enough money left to see us through the summer, but no prospects for the fall, unless something unexpected turned up.... then horace began to worry.... "naturally, we thought mrs. hunter would be nice to us, but she was horrible. just icy. i really think she believes horace started that fire just to get the contract to build her a new cottage!" mary louise flushed. it was amazing to have adelaide ditmar calmly state the suspicion which was being whispered behind her back. it almost proved her husband's innocence, she thought. evidently adelaide did not notice mary louise's embarrassment, for she continued her recital in the same tone of voice. "i hate to tell you so much of my troubles, mary louise," she said, "but there's a reason for it. i have a plan, and i thought maybe you'd help me carry it out. you're so popular that anything you took a hand in would be sure to be a success." "popular?" repeated mary louise in amazement. even if she were, she wondered how popularity could help solve adelaide ditmar's worries. "i want to make some money to help horace, and i think i see a way. before i was married, i took a course in home economics, and i was assistant director of a y.w.c.a. dining room. so you see i really do know something about food." still mary louise did not see what on earth she was driving at. "so i'd like to start a dining room here at shady nook, now that the inn has been destroyed. no boarders, like flicks', but just lunch and dinner service. i believe we could do it by using our living room and dining room and porch. that young adams man--tom, i believe his name is--could knock together some benches and tables for us, and we could gather up enough dishes, i think. would you--go into it with me, mary louise?" mary louise was startled by the suggestion. what an idea! yet she could not help admiring adelaide's courage. "you really are serious?" she asked. "it would mean an awful lot of work." "oh, i know that! but i don't have enough to do now.... yes, i've thought it all out. we could hire hattie adams to wash dishes, and i could cook, and you and jane could wait on the tables.... would you, mary louise?" "i don't know," replied the other hesitatingly. "maybe--if mother is willing.... does your husband approve, adelaide?" "oh, yes, he's keen about it! he has promised to do anything he can to help me. buy all our supplies for us, and keep accounts, and even take turn in washing dishes, if we need him.... oh, mary louise, please!" adelaide seized her hand excitedly, and mary louise could not bear to refuse point-blank. "mr. frazier won't like it," she said. "who cares about that old stiff?" returned the other girl. "he has no business to charge such terrible prices. i'll bet the people of shady nook will be glad to get out of paying them!" still mary louise hesitated. was this plan just another proof of the ditmars' guilt in the burning of the cottages? no; that didn't seem possible. whatever crime horace ditmar might commit, mary louise felt sure that his charming wife could have no part in it. and she longed dreadfully to help her out. "i'll talk it over with mother and jane," she finally agreed, "and let you know tonight after supper. will you be home then?" "yes, indeed! horace and i will be waiting for you on the porch of our bungalow.... and now i must go, mary louise, and talk over the plans with him. i'm really thrilled about it--it'll give us a new interest in life. oh, i do hope you'll decide to help me!" and, pressing mary louise's hand affectionately, she darted off down the steps. for a long time mary louise sat still, her knitting lying forgotten in her lap, while she thought over adelaide's startling proposition. maybe it was the best thing in the world that could have happened; perhaps fate was playing right into her hands. the opportunity to know and to watch horace ditmar would be perfect; if he really were guilty, she surely ought to be able to find it out upon such close association. but, on the other hand, the work would take a great deal of time. time from recreation, time from following up other clues that might transpire concerning other suspects. her mother would probably disapprove, and no doubt jane would object. well, she wouldn't insist upon jane's helping her; no doubt mabel reed would jump at the chance of making some extra money, for she expected to earn her own way through college. she'd give it a try, she finally decided as she folded up her knitting and put it back into her bag. now she must turn her attention to other matters. she wanted to drive over to four corners and ask the storekeeper some questions about tom adams. and possibly have a talk with the young man himself. she wished she had kept freckles with her, even though she didn't need him to trail rebecca adams. with jane over at the reeds', she would have to drive to four corners alone. but, after all, it wasn't much of a trip--only four or five miles at the most. she found a list of needed groceries on a pad in the kitchen which her mother kept for that very purpose, and took her own pocketbook. twenty minutes later she drew up at the entrance to the store. as jane had remarked, eberhardt's looked like anything but a grocery store. it was an old-fashioned country house with a wide front porch, and although mary louise had never noticed it before, there was a screened-in porch around at the side, partially hidden by a huge elm tree. as she locked her car she heard voices from this porch: men's voices; and the remark which one of them made caused her to listen in astonishment. "i'm sick of your card tricks, tom adams!" he sneered. "think you'll make me fergit them hundred berries you owe me? well, i ain't a-goin' a fergit it! you pay me by tonight, or i'll----" "you'll what?" drawled tom adams in a voice which mary louise instantly recognized from having heard it that morning. "beat me up?" his laugh was contemptuous. evidently the other fellow was a little man, mary louise decided. "i'll see that nobody ever plays another game with you, tom adams, that's what i'll do! a liar and a cheat----" "hold on there!" interrupted the other. "i'm a-goin' a pay you, bill! don't i always square up my debts?" "you always win," returned his accuser. "this is my first streak of luck in a year!" "i'm payin' you tomorrow, after i collect a little bill a guy owes me!" "a little bill? who around here could owe you a hundred smackers?" "none of your business----" a voice from the store interrupted this argument. "boys, boys! not so much noise!" called the storekeeper. mary louise, realizing that she had been sitting in her car for several minutes, got out and went into the store. "quite a card party you have out there, mr. eberhardt," she remarked. the man's face flushed. "yeah. those boys are gettin' too old fer that sort of thing. i let 'em play games there when they was nuthin' but kids, but now they're growed up, and it gives my store a bad look. harmless, of course, but i reckon i better put a stop to it." "not so harmless if they gamble to the extent of owing each other a hundred dollars," remarked mary louise shrewdly. "oh, you must be mistaken about that, miss gay. that was only their little joke. nobody round here has a hundred dollars to throw away." mary louise smiled and pretended not to have any further interest in the matter. nor did she ask mr. eberhardt any questions about tom adams--for it wasn't necessary. she had learned plenty about the young man for herself! so she merely handed the storekeeper her list, paid her bill, and departed. "so tom adams does card tricks!" she muttered to herself as she started the car. "with cliff hunter's cards, no doubt!" she smiled with satisfaction: she'd write that fact to cliff tonight.... "but who," she asked herself, "could be paying tom adams a hundred dollars--and for what? surely not for the odd jobs he did for the people of shady nook, or for frazier at the royal hotel!" at last, she believed, she was on the right trail in solving the mystery of the fires! chapter xii _getting business_ no one was at home when mary louise returned from her visit to the store at four corners. what a splendid chance it was to write to clifford hunter to tell him about tom adams' card tricks! with this piece of evidence, a clever lawyer ought to be able to clear cliff of all suspicion. "tom adams probably left that pack of cards at the smiths' deliberately," she wrote. "i feel almost positive now that he is the person who is starting the fires. he had the _opportunity_; each time one occurred, he was nowhere to be found. i think he is doing it at somebody else's orders--for a sum of money. but i can't find out who is paying him, and i feel rather certain it isn't his father. "i intend to watch tom adams like a hawk for the next twenty-four hours, and as soon as i can find out who is responsible, i'll wire the police. but in the meantime, cliff, i think you ought to be freed, and i wish you and your lawyer would come back to shady nook." she signed and sealed the letter and took it immediately to the box at the entrance to shady nook, where the rural postman collected mail each day. then, feeling that a fine piece of work had been accomplished, she put away the groceries and started the evening meal. but mary louise made no mention of her suspicions to the family that evening, nor did she say anything about her letter to cliff. she'd tell jane later, when they were alone, for there was no need of bringing up the subject of the fires again in front of her mother. if cliff did return, it would be a pleasant surprise for mrs. gay--and the other inhabitants of shady nook. mary louise's only regret would be david mccall's absence: she would love to have the pleasure of saying, "i told you so!" to that cocksure youth. there was plenty to talk about at the supper table that evening, without bringing up the mystery of the fires. jane had to tell all about the new young men she had met and the fun they had had over at the reeds'. she thought it was a crime for mary louise to have missed it all. "but i had a caller," announced her chum. "in a different way, my afternoon was just as thrilling as yours!" "you don't mean david mccall, do you?" snapped jane. "oh no. he's gone home. no--not a man. a girl. adelaide ditmar." "adelaide ditmar! what in the world did she want?" "i'll tell you," replied mary louise. "and you must listen, too, mother, for i want your advice." and she proceeded to outline the proposition which the young woman had made to her. "i want to go into it," she concluded. "i think it means everything to adelaide. lots of people have been poorer than the ditmars at one time or another, but i don't believe anybody has ever been much more desperate." jane frowned. "i don't see why _we_ have to give up our vacation and work hard just because a married couple can't get on!" she objected. "you don't have to," replied mary louise. "but it happens i want to. and i think mabel reed will be keen to help--if you don't want the job, jane. so, if you don't mind, i'll run right over there after supper." "of course i don't mind," laughed jane. "anybody that's ambitious has a right to work! but you better wait a while, mary lou. the reeds may be over at the hotel, eating their dinner." "no, they're not," put in mrs. gay. "mrs. reed told me herself that they couldn't afford to go over there oftener than once a week--with all that family." "you don't mind my doing it, mother?" inquired mary louise. "no, dear--provided you don't get too tired. but if you do, you can easily stop. will you promise me that?" "of course i will, mother," agreed the girl as she started to gather up the dishes. "stop that!" protested jane. "i may not be ambitious, but i'm not going to let you get the supper and wash the dishes both. freckles and i are clearing up tonight. you run along, mary lou!" "suits me!" agreed her chum as she hurried off to the reeds' cottage. mabel reed listened to the proposition with delight and immediately consented to help. "let's go right around shady nook now," she suggested, "and get the people to sign up for the meals. then we'll have something definite to take to adelaide." "you are a business woman, mabel!" exclaimed mary louise admiringly. "but we'd have to quote prices, wouldn't we?" "make it the same as flicks' used to be--forty cents for lunch and sixty for dinner. the royal charges a dollar for lunch and a dollar and a half for dinner. so everybody would save a dollar and a half a day by eating with us!" "frazier is going to hate us," remarked mary louise. "of course he is. but who cares?" "he'll huff and he'll puff----" muttered mary louise, half to herself. "well, come on--let's go. i've got a pencil and paper." "you always have a pencil and paper with you," observed mabel. "is that because you expect to become a writer?" "no, i don't believe i'll ever be a writer, mabel. i'd rather _do_ things than write about them." she wished she might tell the other girl what she had accomplished earlier in the summer at dark cedars with the help of her notebook and pencil, but that would seem too much like bragging. besides, the only way to succeed in life is to forget about the past and keep looking forward. "write down seven reeds and four gays," said mabel. "and two ditmars. that makes thirteen already." "but four of those won't eat till the others are served, so we'll need only nine chairs so far.... now, let's see. where shall we go first?" "let's go right up the line of the cottages. hunters' is gone, of course, so we'll try the partridges. they have four in their family." "mrs. partridge is a great friend of mother's," observed mary louise. "i think they will sign up." the two girls walked a quarter of a mile up the private road that wound along beside the river, past the hunters' grounds, on to the pleasant five-room cottage that belonged to the partridges. as there were no young people in this family, mary louise did not know them so well, but she felt sure that they would like the idea of having their meals on this side of the river. mr. and mrs. partridge, and the two sisters who spent the summer with them, were just coming across the river in mr. frazier's launch when the girls reached the scene. the hotelkeeper himself was running the motorboat. mary louise smiled at them and waited until the launch had puffed off before she explained her plan. mrs. partridge was delighted. "of course we'll come--for our dinners," she agreed immediately. "my husband is going back to the city, except for week-ends, and we three women would just as soon have a bite of lunch at home. but i hate this bothering with a boat every night for dinner, although mr. frazier has been most kind." "then we can count on you three?" asked mary louise in delight. "yes--and mr. partridge too on saturdays and sundays," added the woman. mary louise marked down the names, and the two girls continued on their way, pleased with their success. "that's three more paying guests," she said, "totaling twelve!" "it's thrilling!" exclaimed mabel. it was even more thrilling to find the robinsons just as enthusiastic about the plan, adding four more names to their list. "that's all!" sighed mabel. "unless we go over to the royal and try to get the smiths." "they wouldn't come," returned mary louise, "because they'd have nowhere to sleep. and besides, they don't care about economy. they have piles of money." "true. but i'll tell you whom we can get, mary lou: those four harrisburg boys. they can put up tents in the woods and eat at ditmars'. they'll love it, and besides, it will make it possible for them to stay at shady nook a lot longer. their money will go so much farther than it would at the royal." "that is an idea, mabel!" cried mary louise. "and maybe they'd be willing to eat at a second table, so we shouldn't have to get extra chairs." "the very thing. sixteen chairs isn't so bad. i guess the ditmars have four, and we each have a card-table set. i suppose the robinson boys can knock together a bench and some chairs for a porch table." "adelaide ditmar suggested getting tom adams to do it." "then we'd have to pay him! no, i think we better ask the robinson boys or horace ditmar." the girls reached the bungalow and found the young couple waiting for them on the porch. horace ditmar was a good-looking man of perhaps twenty-five--not much older than david mccall, mary louise thought--and adelaide was scarcely twenty. they were a handsome pair: it was too bad if they weren't happy. adelaide's eager blue eyes were gazing into mary louise's as if she could not wait for her answer. "mabel and i have decided to help you, adelaide," announced mary louise immediately. "we just stopped at all the bungalows to find out how many people we can get to promise to come to the meals. we have sixteen for dinners and thirteen for lunches--besides all of us who will be working." "sixteen!" repeated the young woman in delight. "oh, mary lou, i knew everybody adored you! if i'd asked them myself they would all have refused." "now, dear!" remonstrated her husband, with such an affectionate look at his wife that mary louise was surprised. maybe horace ditmar was all right after all! the girls sat down on the porch and plunged right into the discussion of all the details of carrying out the plan. the young man was surprisingly helpful and resourceful. as adelaide had said, he was keenly interested. he not only promised to provide the needed tables and chairs, but he drew plans for placing them and for arranging the kitchen to utilize every bit of its space. he knew how to make home-made ice cream, he said, and he would drive over for all the supplies twice a week. in fact, he took so much of the work upon his own shoulders that the girls felt as if there was little for them to do in advance. they were to open for business the day after tomorrow. "and all we have to do is borrow some silverware and dishes," remarked mabel as the girls rose to go. "and engage hattie adams to wash them," added adelaide. "but i wish you wouldn't go home yet, girls. i was hoping we might play a little bridge." her tone was wistful. mary louise knew how eager she was to make friends. "we'll be over tomorrow," replied mabel, "but i think we ought to go now, because those harrisburg boys are over at our bungalow, and i want to see whether i can't get them to camp over here in the woods and take their meals with us. there are four of them." "good girl!" approved horace. "go right after the business!" so the girls said good-night and hurried off, full of excitement over their new adventure. all the young people who had gathered at the reeds' were enthusiastic too: they were tired of dressing up and going to the royal hotel, and enjoyed the informal intimacy of a small boarding house like flicks'. the four young men from harrisburg were only too glad to adopt mabel's suggestion, and planned to borrow the tents and start camping out the same day that the dining room was to open. during the entire evening the mystery of the fires was not mentioned. indeed, nobody thought of them until jane and mary louise were alone again, getting ready for bed. then the former referred to them casually. "i guess you won't have time for solving any more mysteries now, mary lou," she remarked, "with this dining room on your hands." "on the contrary," returned her companion, "that is just one reason why i wanted to go into the thing. i was anxious to get to know horace ditmar better. and i'm practically convinced that he had nothing to do with the fires!" "then who?" inquired jane. "rebecca adams?" "no, not rebecca. but i did get a new clue this afternoon, jane. i learned something that made me suspicious about her brother tom!" "tom adams? why, mary lou, i thought you dismissed him long ago. when we learned that the adams family are losing jobs by these fires." "yes, i know. but there's something we don't understand yet. anyhow, tom adams does card tricks." "card tricks?" "yes. he probably learned them from cliff, and maybe swiped his cards to do them!" jane's eyes opened wide with understanding. "that pack of cards at the smith fire!" she cried. mary louise nodded. "exactly! that's just what i've been thinking. so i wrote to cliff this afternoon and told him about it." jane threw her arms around her friend and hugged her. "you are a wonder, mary lou!... but--but--can you prove anything?" "not yet. but i mean to watch tom adams and see whether i can't learn some more." "if he really is guilty and finds out that you suspect him," observed jane, "he'll take out his spite by setting fire to this bungalow. you better be careful, mary lou!" "i expect to be," was the reply. "i'm looking for trouble!" but she hardly expected it in the form in which it came the following day. chapter xiii _the threat_ "is there anything i can do to help you people?" inquired jane of mary louise the following morning at the breakfast table. "pare potatoes--or something?" "no, thanks, jane," returned her chum. "we're getting along fine. i would like to have you pull a load of dishes over to the ditmars' for me, freckles," she added, turning to her brother, "in your wagon." "o.k., sis," was the cheerful reply. they left soon after breakfast, promising to be back again in time for lunch. it was a beautiful day, and mary louise was in high spirits, anxious to get everything arranged for the opening of the dining room the following morning. naturally, she expected adelaide ditmar to feel the same way; she was therefore taken aback when the young woman came to the door with a distressed expression on her face and actual tears in her eyes! "that husband of hers has done something," mary louise thought resentfully. "oh, why can't he behave himself?" "come in, mary lou," invited adelaide, repressing a sob. "you too, freckles, if you can keep a secret." "of course i can!" replied the boy proudly. they entered the charming little house, and their hostess closed the door behind them. then she reached into the pocket of her apron and took out a coarse piece of paper which she handed to mary louise. "read that," she said. mary louise held the paper in front of her so that her brother could see it at the same time. the message was printed in pencil, and the words were misspelled, but there could be no mistaking its meaning: "_clos up your place rite away, or expeck fire!_" mary louise read it twice before she handed it back to adelaide ditmar. "how did this come?" she demanded. "i found it under the back door," replied the young woman in a hoarse whisper. "but you didn't see anybody?" "no." "when did you find it?" "early this morning. about half-past seven." "did you show it to your husband?" asked freckles. "not yet," replied adelaide. "he's been so nervous, you know, and this work has just been wonderful for him. oh, i can't bear to give it up! it means more than money to us--it means an occupation for horace, saving him from melancholia, perhaps. mary lou, what can we do? isn't there some policeman we can get to watch our house?" "shady nook never had one," replied the other girl. "i certainly do wish my dad were here!" "your father? what could he do?" "he's a detective," explained mary louise. "the best detective in the world!" added freckles. "oh, where is he?" sobbed adelaide. "can't we send for him?" "i'm afraid not. he's out west somewhere, on a case. no, i don't see what we can do except watch. never leave the house." she turned to her brother. "you boys scan the woods for suspects, freckles--and keep a hidden guard around the cottage.... i'm going to look for tom adams--something made me suspicious of him yesterday. don't let him into the place, adelaide.... and you'll have to tell horace, because he will need to be on guard too--especially at night." "it's the work of a maniac, i'm sure," said adelaide. "nobody else would want to burn down all these cottages." "of course, it may be," agreed mary louise. "but i don't believe it's rebecca adams who's doing it. she's sick in bed.... of course, she might be up and around by this time--but i don't think so. anyway, i'm going over there this afternoon to engage hattie for the job here, and i'll make it a point to find out about rebecca then. in the meantime, let's get on with our work." adelaide dried her eyes, and freckles rushed off to round up his gang. mary louise settled down to work; when mabel reed came over an hour later, and horace ditmar returned in the car with his purchase of supplies, they were both amazed at the progress which had been made. the little house had been transformed into a tea room! with trembling hands adelaide showed the threatening message to her husband. she chose a time when mabel reed was out of the room, for mary louise had urged secrecy. no use frightening people away from the dining room! horace ditmar did not appear to be alarmed. "i think it's just a practical joke on the part of those smith kids," he said, "or maybe those harrisburg boys. the best thing we can do is ignore it. i don't think we need to worry." and he smiled so confidently that mary louise wondered for a moment whether horace ditmar could have set those other cottages on fire himself and because of this fact feel perfectly safe about his own? but, no, that wasn't possible, she felt sure. she had a new clue now: someone was objecting to the serving of meals to shady nook people. the same person who had destroyed flicks' inn by fire--the only person who could possibly resent the project. it was frazier, she thought, frazier who was guilty. the hotelkeeper could not bear to lose his business, and he was bribing tom adams to start the fires.... but how could mary louise possibly prove this fact? however, she said nothing of her suspicions to the ditmars or to freckles, but she warned the boy not to mention the threat at home, for fear of alarming her mother. so the gay family had a pleasant lunch that day, little thinking of the danger that was lurking so terribly near. they talked happily of the opening of the dining room on the morrow and of their plans for that afternoon. "we're all going to play tennis on the hotel court after lunch," announced jane. "the boys said they wanted to use it while they have the chance, because they're going to put up their tents over here tomorrow morning. and frazier will probably be so mad about losing them that he'll refuse us all the use of the court." "we've got a court of our own," observed mary louise. "yes, but it's not so good as the royal's. still, it will do," agreed jane. "i don't suppose you'd have time to play with us this afternoon, would you, mary lou?" "i don't know," replied her chum. "i have to hunt up hattie adams--or we'll have to do all the dish-washing ourselves tomorrow at the dining room. i'll paddle across the river with you--she may be working at the royal hotel. if she isn't, i'll have to come back and go see her at the farm." "you certainly do like to work on a hot day," yawned jane. "after all, it's not nearly such hot work as tennis--with those strenuous boys," returned mary louise. "well, if you do go to adams' farm, be sure to get back in time for a swim," urged jane. about an hour later the two girls put their tennis rackets into the canoe and paddled across the river. the tennis court was around behind the hotel, away from the shore. here they found half a dozen young people, four of whom were playing doubles. the two extra boys on the bench moved over and made room for jane and mary louise. "they'll be through in a minute--the score's five-two now," announced one of the young men. "then we four will have a set." "i don't believe i had better play now," replied mary louise, "because i have to go hunt up hattie adams." "who's she?" "a girl we want to get to wash dishes at our dining room. she may be working here now. or perhaps i can find her brother. do you happen to know tom adams? a fellow who does odd jobs around the hotel sometimes?" the boy nodded. "yes, i know the guy you mean. big brute with light hair? i think he's back in the garage now, fixing up frazier's truck." mary louise jumped to her feet: this was just the information she wanted. she would rather see tom adams than his sister, although she didn't actually want to talk to him. just to check up on his movements! "be back in a few minutes!" she called as she disappeared through the clump of bushes behind the tennis court. in her sneakers she skipped along noiselessly, unconscious of the fact that an outsider might regard her actions as "snooping." yet when she stopped just outside of the garage door because she heard men's voices inside, she realized then that she was really eavesdropping. immediately she identified the voices as belonging to mr. frazier and tom adams. the latter was evidently changing a tire on the truck. "i tell you i've got to have that money tonight!" snarled tom adams. "i owe a guy a hundred bucks, and i need the rest myself." "i can't pay it all now," whined frazier. "i just haven't got it. i can let you have three hundred and the rest when the job is finished." "oh, yeah? well, the job ain't a-goin' a be finished till you cough up! all the dough." frazier's tone became more whining. "business isn't any too good----" "what would it have been without me to help?" retorted the younger man. "did i--or did i not put money in your pocket?" "oh, sure you did. and i'm willing to pay you for it." there was silence for a moment, while mary louise waited breathlessly. she could not see the men's faces, but she had no difficulty in following their conversation. she heard the rattling of paper money and knew that frazier must be paying tom something. "want a receipt?" demanded tom presently. "good lord, no!" cried the other. "nothing in writing, tom. it might be used against us. guess i can trust you." "we've got to trust each other," sneered the younger man. "that's why i say you have no right to hold out on me. i'm doin' the dirty work." mary louise felt that she had heard enough. everything was perfectly clear to her. the only thing required was to wire the albany police. forgetful of her own danger and her need for secrecy until her discovery could be announced, she ran across the front of the garage to the kitchen door of the hotel. but not lightly enough: both frazier and tom heard her and stepped out of the garage to see who she was. "what do you want, mary louise?" demanded frazier, wondering whether or not she could have overheard their conversation. "lost a tennis ball?" "no--no--i'm--looking for hattie. hattie adams." her voice was trembling; she did her best to make it sound unconcerned. "hattie doesn't work here," replied mr. frazier. "hasn't for a long time. what gave you that idea?" "i thought maybe she would, after she lost her job with flicks'." "well, she doesn't. and i'd thank you to keep out of my kitchen and other places where you don't belong, miss mary louise gay!" returned frazier. like all guilty people, he was angry at the innocent, and he glared at the girl with hate in his eyes. "oh, i'm sorry, mr. frazier," replied mary louise. turning to tom she asked, "is hattie over at the farm?" "reckon so," muttered the young man. mary louise turned about and went back to the tennis court. another set was in progress. jane was playing now, and mary louise did not like to interrupt the game. so she merely picked up her tennis racket and told the young people on the bench that she was going home. "i'll have to take the canoe," she said. "but i guess some of you people can see that jane gets across the river in case i don't return in time." "o.k.," agreed the boys. mary louise walked rapidly toward the river, trying to formulate a plan as she went. but it was very difficult. since there were no police at shady nook, and the only telephone anywhere near was at the royal hotel, she didn't know how to proceed. there could be no doubt that frazier and tom adams were guilty of starting the fires at shady nook, but what were the first steps she should take in having them arrested? whom should she inform first? oh, if her father were only here to help her! "they'll burn the ditmars' down if i'm not quick," she thought. "and they may do something to me, because i think both men suspect that i overheard that conversation. oh, what shall i do?" she paddled across the river and tied the canoe to the dock. then she went inside the bungalow, debating whether or not to take her mother into her confidence. but that question was answered for her. mrs. gay was not at home, so there was no opportunity to tell her. mary louise sat down at the little desk in her bedroom and took out her notebook. while the conversation between the two men was fresh in her mind she'd write it down, to show to the police when they arrived. word for word, just as frazier and tom adams had spoken. after she had finished that, she sat still for a while, thinking. at last she decided upon a plan. "i'll go to adams first and make sure hattie will be over tomorrow," she thought. "because i mustn't let adelaide down. then i'll drive on to the railroad station and wire the police in albany. maybe i'll send mrs. hunter a telegram too, so that she can help me out on the other end." she glanced at her costume--a red-and-white sports dress, which she usually wore for tennis because of its short, full skirt. that would do, although it was a little conspicuous--easy for tom adams to identify in case he wanted to know what she was doing. she'd change her shoes, however, for she liked pumps better than sneakers. ready at last, she went through the back door of the bungalow to the garage. but here she met with a disappointment she had not expected. the car was not there! then she remembered. her mother had promised to take mrs. partridge and her sisters to a country fair that afternoon and would be gone until six o'clock! "so there's nothing for me to do but walk," she concluded. "oh, if cliff were only here so i could borrow his!" but if cliff were here and his house had not been burned, there would be no necessity of sending that wire. she started at once, cutting across a field and walking as fast as she could, in spite of the heat, for it was almost four o'clock now, and she and jane had promised her mother that they would prepare the supper. but jane was a good scout, mary louise thought; she'd go ahead just the same if she were alone, so that part needn't worry her. the important thing was to get that telegram to albany before anything disastrous happened. yet her fears were entirely for the ditmars as she trudged up the long hill to the adams farm. never once was she afraid for her own sake--not until her own horrible fate descended upon her with the suddenness of a clap of thunder. then, and then only did she realize what a risk she had taken by coming to this lonely place by herself. away from her friends, her family--everybody--alone, with a cruel enemy and a crazy woman! for mary louise gay was forcibly prevented from going to the station that afternoon to send the wire to the police in albany! chapter xiv _the search_ jane patterson finished her tennis match and came back across the river in a canoe belonging to one of the boys, just as mary louise had suggested. although she had hoped that her chum would return in time for the afternoon swim, she was not surprised when mary louise failed to appear. adams' farm was farther off than you thought--when you had to go the whole distance on foot. jane remembered that mrs. gay had taken the car to the fair. she managed to find freckles in the water and asked him to come right back to the bungalow after the swim. "mary lou has gone to adams' farm to see hattie," she explained. "she had to walk, so she'll be all in when she gets back. your mother will be tired too. so let's have supper ready, freckles. you can set the table and crack the ice for the tea." "o.k., jane," agreed the boy. "i'll be with you as soon as i can dress." the two young people worked fast: at six o'clock, when mrs. gay drove back from the fair, they had the meal on the table. "it certainly smells good, girls!" she exclaimed as she came through the kitchen door from the garage. "girls nothing!" retorted freckles. "you mean 'girl and boy,' mother. i did a lot of work for this meal." "that's fine, dear," replied mrs. gay. "but where's mary lou?" "she went over to adams' farm to see hattie," answered jane. "and she hasn't come back yet." "in all this heat? oh, that's too bad! she should have waited till i got home with the car. i didn't know she was going." "she wasn't sure of it herself. she was hoping to find hattie over at the hotel. but evidently she didn't, for she didn't wait to play any tennis." "well, i guess she'll be along soon," remarked mrs. gay cheerfully. "we'll keep a plate hot for her. but let's eat. we're all hungry, and this food is too good to spoil by drying up." the meal passed off pleasantly; nobody thought of being worried by mary louise's absence. but as the minutes went by and she did not come, freckles was the first to become anxious. for he remembered the threat to the ditmars on that coarse piece of paper that morning, and he knew that mary louise was involved in that same business. when seven o'clock struck and still his sister had not put in an appearance, he suggested that his mother take the car and drive over to adams'. "it's such a lonely road up to that farm," he explained, "that if mary lou had sprained her ankle or hurt herself on the way, nobody might pass by for hours to give her help." mrs. gay was startled. it had not occurred to her that anything might have happened to her daughter. mary louise was always so self-reliant, and shady nook was such a safe place. "you two people go," said jane. "i'll stay here and wash the dishes. i want to squeeze some lemons, because some of the bunch are coming over here tonight--if that's all right with you, mrs. gay." "certainly it's all right, dear. and mary lou will be delighted, too--i'm sure." mrs. gay backed the car out of the garage with freckles in the seat beside her and drove slowly up the dirt road which led to adams' farm. the boy kept a sharp watch on both sides of the road, to make sure that his sister was not lying helpless along the way. twice his mother stopped the car; and they both called mary louise's name. but there was no response. "she may just have stayed for supper with hattie," remarked mrs. gay. "and of course, since neither of us has a telephone, she couldn't let us know. she'd think we wouldn't worry so long as she got home before dark." "oh, sure," muttered the boy. but he was anxious: his mother didn't know what had happened that morning. they reached the adams' gate at last and got out of the car. old mr. adams was sitting alone on the porch with one leg propped up on a chair. "good-evening, mr. adams," began mrs. gay. "is mary louise here? i'm her mother." "no, she ain't," replied the old man, taking the pipe out of his mouth. "has she been here?" "not as i know of. hattie and i have been to the fair all afternoon. if your daughter was here, she must have turned right around and gone home again. nobody was home all afternoon except poor rebecca. and she's sick abed." a feeling of alarm crept over mrs. gay. what could have happened to mary louise? "was tom home?" demanded freckles, remembering his sister's warning. "don't reckon so. he was workin' over to the hotel today, after he helped our hired man this mornin'." "is he here now? could we ask him?" the old man shook his head. "tom packed up and left tonight, right after supper. hattie drove him down to the junction to catch the train. he's got a friend out west somewhere who owns a ranch. so tom decided all of a sudden to go there. i tried to stop him, for we need him here, as i'm all crippled up with rheumatism half the time. but he wouldn't listen to me. pig-headed, that's what i call it!" freckles' eyes opened wide with terror. it sounded as if mary louise had been right in assuming tom's guilt in connection with the fires at shady nook. running away proved it! but what had he done to mary lou first? "could we talk to rebecca?" inquired mrs. gay. "sure," agreed mr. adams. "but it probably won't do no good. she can't remember things straight, you know." "she might remember seeing mary louise, if she had stopped in," replied mrs. gay. "anyhow, it's worth trying." "go right up," said the old man. "room at the back of the house. you won't have no trouble finding it. sorry i can't go with you, but my leg's pretty bad tonight." "oh, that's all right!" responded mrs. gay. "i'll find the way by myself. you better stay here, freckles." the boy looked disappointed; he would have liked to take another look at that queer creature and size her up for himself. maybe she had done something to mary lou! but he sat down on the steps as his mother advised and waited patiently. mrs. gay hurried on up to rebecca's room, and found the woman in bed, as she had expected, with her tangled gray hair spread over the pillows. she stared blankly at her visitor. "i am mary louise's mother, rebecca," announced mrs. gay. "you remember mary louise? the girl who saved the smith baby in the fire?" the woman nodded. "yes, i know mary louise. she came to see me today. got me a drink of water. it wasn't well water, but it tasted good. she is a fine girl. i like mary louise." "what time was she here?" "i don't know. i can't tell time. it's all the same to me--except day and night. she was here in daytime." mrs. gay sighed. "where was she going after she left you?" she asked. "did she happen to say?" "no, she didn't.... i heard a car outside--i think it was my brother tom's. but i don't know if mary louise had gone before that or not. i can't remember." her voice trailed off as if she were half dreaming. "she said she'd look for well water for me, because i'm sick. she said she'd come again. oh, mary louise is a good girl." mrs. gay walked to the doorway. there was nothing more to be learned from rebecca. she wasn't even sure that the woman knew what she was talking about. if only she could talk to the brother! but it was too late now; the only thing to do was to wait for hattie to return from the junction and see whether she had any news. "rebecca says that mary louise was here this afternoon," she told mr. adams and freckles when she returned to the porch. "i'm afraid that don't mean nothin'," remarked the old man. "like as not, rebecca's confusing today with yesterday or even last week. she ain't got no memory at all." "do you think hattie will be back soon?" "i reckon so. sounds like the ford now, at the bottom of the hill. but she was away all afternoon, you recollect, at the fair." "i know," agreed mrs. gay. "but rebecca seems to remember a car arriving about the time mary louise left, and she thought it was your son's. so maybe he saw mary louise and mentioned it to hattie." freckles' heart stood still at these words. tom adams, with a car! what had he done to mary lou? but he did not say anything; he waited for hattie adams to drive her car into the garage. in another moment the girl appeared on the porch and nodded pleasantly to mrs. gay and freckles. "where's mary lou?" she inquired immediately. "that's just what we want to know!" cried freckles. "she's--lost! did tom say anything about seeing her?" "no, he didn't. he never mentioned her. why?" mrs. gay explained again what rebecca had said, but hattie was just as doubtful as her father had been about the veracity of any of rebecca's statements. "i wouldn't go by that," she said. "but mary lou may be home by this time, waiting for you. don't worry till you find out." this sounded like good advice, so mrs. gay and freckles got into their car and drove as quickly as possible back to shady nook. jane, the reed twins, stuart robinson, and the four new boys were all waiting anxiously on the gays' porch. but mrs. gay knew immediately from their expressions that mary louise had not returned. "get the boys together at once, freckles," commanded stuart robinson, "and we'll search the woods thoroughly. two of you fellows paddle across to the island, and two more go over to the hotel and hunt around there. mary lou may have sprained her ankle somewhere and be waiting for help." mrs. gay went inside the cottage, into her bedroom, and sat down, making a desperate effort to control her fears. but she couldn't help thinking of all the dreadful stories she had read in the newspapers--stories of kidnaping and sudden death. oh, if only her husband were here! she picked up his last letter from the bureau. he was in cleveland now and hoped to be with them soon. soon! she must have him immediately. she remembered the promise she had given him when they said good-bye--to send for him if she needed him. yes, she would wire tonight! she'd paddle across the river to the hotel and send a telegram over the phone. coming out of the door again she almost ran into horace ditmar, with freckles beside him. "we're afraid this is serious, mrs. gay," he said. "freckles said mary louise suspected tom adams of starting the fires at shady nook and writing us a threat, which we found under our door this morning. and now your boy tells me that tom adams has run away.... so we're afraid that he may have done something to mary louise." "oh no!" cried mrs. gay, aghast. "oh, it just isn't possible!" "but it is, mother," said the boy. "and mr. ditmar thinks we should send for the police immediately. he'll go over to the hotel and send a wire now." mrs. gay sank unsteadily into a chair. for an instant she thought she was going to faint. but she made a desperate effort to control herself; she realized that she needed all her powers in this terrible emergency. "yes, go, mr. ditmar," she said. "and telegraph to my husband at the same time." she scribbled a message on the envelope with mr. gay's address and handed it to the young man. mr. ditmar left immediately, and freckles brought his mother a glass of water. she drank it gratefully. "here comes mrs. reed," he announced cheerfully. "have her stay with you while i join the boys, mother," he said, bending down and kissing her. "for i can't leave you alone." in these last two hours the boy had suddenly seemed to grow up. his mother realized the fact, and, in spite of her trouble, she was grateful and proud. "i'll be all right, dear," she replied. "and you go along. mary lou knows your whistle better than anything else, and if she is somewhere in the woods, you'll surely find her.... go, dear!" freckles ran off, and a systematic search of all the country around shady nook began: with lanterns and flashlights and whistles, interspersed by frequent calls from the boys and girls. but as the darkness grew deeper and the silence of the woods more intense, an increasing sense of alarm took hold of all the searchers. joking and laughter ceased; the only singing that broke out was forced, because someone thought it might help find mary louise. but it was all in vain. midnight came, and the various groups made their way back to shady nook, tired, hungry, and disheartened. mrs. gay and mr. and mrs. reed and the three partridge women were all still sitting on the gays' porch, hopefully waiting for news. but they knew from the slow, silent manner of the young people's return that they had not been successful. "make us some coffee, and we'll begin all over again," said stuart robinson. "mary lou must be somewhere!" mrs. gay shook her head. "no, i think you better all go to bed. the children must have their sleep. in the morning the police will come. perhaps they will have some news for us." "if only we hadn't let tom adams get away from us!" muttered horace ditmar. "we went back to adams' and got the old man out of bed to try to learn tom's address. but he said he didn't know it, and i'm inclined to believe he was speaking the truth." even in her half-frenzied state, mrs. gay looked at the young architect and thought what an admirable man he was. how anyone could have thought him guilty of any crime was more than she could understand. he was more help to her in the crisis than anyone else--except freckles. so, accepting mrs. gay's advice, the group dispersed to their own cottages, intending to continue the search the following morning. chapter xv _captive_ mary louise was not far away from shady nook in the matter of miles, but she felt as if she were worlds away. everything was strangely different from anything she had ever known--grotesque and terrible. for the place she was taken to was an asylum for the insane! little did she think as she entered the adams' farmhouse that afternoon that her freedom was to be snatched from her. that she was to be held in hopeless captivity, without any means of communication with the outside world. a prisoner in a house that was far worse than a jail, enduring a life that was living death! when no one answered her knock at the adams' door that afternoon, she opened the screen and walked in, calling first hattie and then rebecca by name. finally the latter replied. "i'm up here, sick abed!" called the woman. "who be you?" "it's mary louise," she answered. "may i come up and see you, rebecca?" "yes, yes. come! have you found a well of clear water?" mary louise laughed to herself as she ran up the stairs. she wished that she could find some well water for the poor deluded woman, but there was none in the vicinity. she wondered what rebecca would do if she ever did discover a well. she entered the bedroom, smiling and shaking her head at the poor eager creature. "no, rebecca--not yet. but i'll find you one some day. how are you feeling?" "i'm better. i want to get out soon. will you get me a drink of water, mary louise?" "certainly," replied the girl. "from the kitchen?" "yes. from the kitchen." the woman sank back on her pillow, and mary louise went for the water. when she returned, rebecca was half asleep. "here's your water, rebecca," she said. "but where is hattie?" "i don't know. gone away, i guess. they've all gone away.... soon i'll go too...." her voice trailed off as if she were half dreaming, and mary louise walked to the door. she heard the sound of a car in the driveway below, and hoping that it might be hattie, she went down the stairs. but the car standing in front of the house was not the dilapidated ford that belonged to the adams family. it was a big black limousine which reminded mary louise of a hearse or a funeral carriage, and she shuddered. it might have been an ambulance, but ambulances were usually white. she wondered what a car like that could be doing at the adams farm. two men got down from the driver's seat in front, and tom adams came and joined them at the porch steps. they talked in low tones to each other. mary louise opened the screen door and came out on the porch. suddenly she heard her own name mentioned, and a cold chill of horror crept up her spine. what were they planning to do to her? "she says she's mary louise gay," remarked tom. "insists on it. and she does look like a girl by that name. but don't believe her. she's my sister rebecca." he raised his eyes and looked straight at mary louise. "hello, rebecca!" he said. "we're going to take you for a ride!" mary louise's brown eyes flashed in anger. "rebecca's upstairs, sick in bed," she retorted. "go and see for yourselves." suddenly, with the agility of panthers, the two men sprang forward and grabbed mary louise's wrists. "come along, rebecca," one of them said. "no use struggling. we're taking you to a nice farm." with a desperate effort to free herself from the men's grasp, mary louise kicked one of her captors in the leg. he let go of her hand, but the other man held her tightly. "wild little beast," he remarked. "now, sister, you take it easy. we ain't going to hurt you. you'll like it where you're going--you'll get better care than you do here. your brother says there's nobody here to look after you now that your mother's gone." "he's not my brother!" shouted mary louise. "and i can prove it! just drive down to shady nook--a couple of miles--and ask anybody!" but the men preferred to ignore this challenge; they picked mary louise up bodily and thrust her into the back of the limousine, shutting the door and turning the key in the lock! she found herself sitting on a long seat that ran the length of the car. there were no windows on the side; only two tiny oval glasses in the back door permitted a little light to enter the enclosure. before she could utter another sound she heard the engine start, and the vehicle went into motion. over the rough, stony driveway, onto the dirt road that led away from the farm, in the opposite direction from shady nook. mary louise's first impulse was to scream as loudly as she could in the hope of attracting the notice of the occupants of some passing car or of some farmer working in his field. but second consideration told her that such a proceeding would do her no good at all. as soon as those men in the front seat explained that she was a crazy person being taken to an insane asylum, nobody would believe anything she said. the realization of this fact brought a deathly hopelessness to her whole body. her arms and legs felt inert, her head sank back against the cushion as if her very spirit were flowing away. leaving her helpless--and finished with life. for perhaps ten minutes she sat thus, unmindful of the country through which she was being driven. as if she had been stunned by a physical blow and no aid were near. then suddenly she thought of tom adams, and a fierce anger took possession of her, reviving her spirits, bringing her back to life. she would not give up! she would fight to the bitter end; she'd make him pay--and pay heavily--for his diabolical cruelty! she moved along the seat to the far end of the car and peered through the tiny window. the road over which they were passing was narrow and rough; the country unfamiliar. it was not a main highway, mary louise instantly concluded, and she wondered in which direction it lay from shady nook. she wished now that she had watched it from the beginning. she did not even know whether they had crossed the river or not. "still, i suppose that doesn't really matter," she thought. "because, if i can manage to get away at all, i can easily find my family. they'll be hunting for me." tears of distress came to her eyes as she pictured her mother's anguish. and her father was so far away! "why did i ever try to be a detective?" she groaned. "the punishment is too horrible. mother and daddy would rather lose their cottage and have the whole settlement at shady nook burned than have me endure torture like this!" on and on they went through the lonely, unpopulated country. time seemed to stand still; it was as if the afternoon were to last forever. yet when mary louise glanced at her wristwatch she saw that it was not yet five o'clock! they crossed over a little stream, and the car turned at an angle and climbed a hill. up, up they went, until they reached a narrow road at the summit. looking down into the valley below mary louise could see a stream--not as wide as the river--winding its peaceful way in the summer sunshine. it was a beautiful spot--if you could enjoy beauty. but it meant nothing at all to the unhappy girl. "that looks like a main road across the valley on the opposite side of the stream," she thought. "if i can escape, i'll make for that. thank goodness i know how to swim!" she wished that she had thought to glance at her watch when the car started, so that she could roughly judge the distance from shady nook by the time it took to cover it. but she had been so miserable that she could not tell whether she had been riding twenty minutes or a couple of hours. at last, however, the car came to a stop at a high iron gate which reminded mary louise of a penitentiary. so this was the way they guarded feeble-minded people! one of the men got down from his seat, took a key from his pocket to unlock the gate, and swung the heavy iron doors open. when the car had gone through he locked them securely behind him. a shiver of horror passed over mary louise as she heard that final click. a sense of hopelessness overpowered her to such an intense degree that she felt physically sick. a life of utter emptiness was closing her in, as if her mind and her soul had been extracted from her body. how much more fiendish her existence would be than that of any ordinary victim of kidnapers! but then, tom adams had not kidnaped her because he wanted a ransom, but only because he desired to get rid of her. well, he had succeeded! nobody in the whole world would think of looking for her in an insane asylum. the car wound around a lovely driveway, shaded by trees, and stopped in front of a long, low plaster building that appeared to be at least a hundred years old. a man and a woman came out of the ivy-covered door as the driver unlocked the back of the limousine. with her head held high in defiance, mary louise stepped out. "how do you do, rebecca," greeted the woman, a plain-faced person of about fifty, in a gray dress. "there has been a ghastly mistake!" announced mary louise, trying to keep her tone dignified. "tom adams is a criminal, and because i found him out he has sent me here, calling me his feeble-minded sister. i am not rebecca adams--but mary louise gay!" the man and the woman exchanged significant glances. "mr. adams warned us that you would say that," replied the man. "he said you do look like a girl named mary louise gay. but try to forget it, rebecca. we have your papers, signed by your own brother and your cousin, so there is nothing you can do about it but submit." "my cousin!" repeated mary louise, thinking of her aunt's children, aged nine and six. how could they commit anybody to an insane asylum? "yes. stanfield frazier." "frazier!" she cried in scorn. "he's not my cousin! he's no relation. he's a crook too, like tom adams." "now, now, rebecca, calm yourself," advised the woman, taking mary louise's arm. "and just come along with me. you don't want to make trouble! wouldn't you rather walk by yourself than have these men carry you?" tears of anguish came to the girl's eyes; she looked desperately about at the group of people who were surrounding her, searching for some spark of sympathy or understanding. but the men were all regarding her with an amused expression of tolerance, as if her action were just what they had expected. "isn't there some way i can prove that i'm sane?" she demanded. "some test i can take?" "oh, don't get yourself all worked up, rebecca," answered the woman. "your brother told us you were all right most of the time and that you probably wouldn't give us any trouble. we're not going to put you into chains. you'll like it here." mary louise groaned. there was nothing she could do or say so long as they believed that wicked tom adams. so she meekly followed the woman into the house. its large hall and big reception room were plain and old-fashioned, with very little furniture in them, but she noticed that everything was scrupulously neat and clean. for that much she was thankful. often, she had read, the places where kidnapers confined their victims were filthy and germ laden. she need have no fear of disease here--except disease of the mind! a younger woman in the white uniform of a nurse came into the hall to meet them. "this is miss stone, rebecca," announced the older woman. "she will help you and take care of you. now go with miss stone to your room." "didn't you bring any bag, rebecca?" asked the nurse, as she led mary louise up a flight of stairs to a long corridor. mary louise smiled grimly. "kidnapers don't usually allow their victims time to pack their suitcases," she said. "and if you don't mind, miss stone, will you call me by my right name? it's mary louise gay." the young woman nodded solemnly. "certainly, mary louise," she replied. mary louise looked at the nurse hopefully, wondering whether she was really finding a friend. did the nurse believe her? all the doors along the corridor were closed, but mary louise had no way of telling whether they were locked or not until, down near the end, she suddenly heard a loud pounding. miss stone stopped and, taking a key from her chain, unlocked the door. a mild-faced woman of about thirty-five came out. "i just wanted to see who was coming," she said. "ah! a pretty girl." miss stone paused and introduced them courteously. the patient was dressed in the blue calico of the institution, but there was nothing queer or odd about her looks. she appeared to be much more normal than rebecca adams. "this is mary louise gay," said miss stone. "she has come to live with us. and this, mary louise, is joan of arc. the girl who saved france, you remember?" "oh!" gasped mary louise, in amazement. was miss stone joking, or did the patient really believe she was joan of arc? the woman in calico smiled proudly. "yes," she said. "i rode right at the head of my soldiers. i told them god was on our side. and we won! but they are going to burn me at the stake for being a witch if they ever find me. that's why i stay here. i'm safe here. aren't i, miss stone?" "yes, dear, you're safe," was the nurse's gentle assurance. a lump came into mary louise's throat. the pathos of it all! yet how kind and sweet miss stone was. oh, but--ghastly thought--the nurse was being kind to mary louise in the same way! that was why she humored her by calling her "mary louise." and all the time she believed her to be rebecca adams! three doors farther down the nurse stopped and unlocked another door. "this is to be your room, mary louise," she said. "it'll be nicer when you put some flowers in it. we have a lovely garden, and most of the patients have their own special flower beds. you can grow whatever you like best." mary louise looked about her. never in her life had she seen such a plain room. it contained only a bed and a washstand and one chair. not even a bureau or a table! the window was high and uncurtained. to her horror mary louise saw that it was protected by iron bars! "you take off your clothing now and have a bath. you can put your own things in the drawer of that washstand, and i'll bring you fresh clothing. everybody wears blue here." "where do i take my bath?" asked mary louise dully. not that she cared in the least, except that it would be something to do. "i'll take you to the showers when i come back with your new clothing," replied miss stone. and to mary louise's dismay the nurse locked the door from the outside as she departed. the next twelve hours seemed to mary louise the longest she had ever lived through. after her bath she was told to lie down until supper time. she was entirely alone in that bare room until six o'clock, with nothing to do but think. finally an attendant brought her a tray of food, well cooked and wholesome but far from dainty. nevertheless, mary louise ate it, for she knew that she must keep up her strength if she ever hoped to make an escape. another attendant removed the tray, and she was left alone again until eight o'clock. then miss stone returned. "we have a little vesper service in the reception room, mary louise," she said. "would you like to come and join us?" the girl jumped up eagerly. anything would be better than this dreadful idleness. "don't your patients have anything to do?" she inquired as she went down the hall with the nurse. "this doing nothing is enough to drive anybody crazy!" she smiled to herself at the use of the common expression and wondered whether miss stone noticed it. but the nurse gave no sign of any amusement. "oh, yes, mary louise," she replied, "there will be lots for you to do tomorrow. everybody takes some share in the work, if possible. unless they are too ill. and we go for walks around the grounds and work in the garden. but we thought you'd be too tired tonight and would just want to rest." they joined a group of perhaps twenty people in the reception room for the singing of hymns, and the same woman who had met mary louise at the door of the building read the bible. mary louise looked about curiously at her fellow inmates and did not find them particularly strange-looking. one or two of them had queer, staring eyes like rebecca adams, but for the most part they appeared normal. which fact made it all the harder for mary louise to prove anything about herself to the caretakers! at nine o'clock the service was over and everybody went to bed. but, exhausted as she was, mary louise could not go to sleep. she tried over and over to formulate some plan of escape, but with the locked doors, the constant supervision of nurses and attendants, and that high stone wall, it seemed absolutely hopeless. it was only when the first gray light of dawn broke in the sky that she finally dozed off and then fell into a deep, heavy sleep. chapter xvi _weary waiting_ like her daughter, mrs. gay did not go to sleep until dawn of the following morning. her mental torture was even keener than mary louise's, for her imagination suggested all sorts of horrible fates, worse than the one the girl was actually enduring. physical violence, association with hardened criminals, hunger, thirst--and--death. that was the most terrifying thought of all--the fear that mary louise might already be dead! like her daughter's, too, mrs. gay's suffering was all the more intense because she had to bear it alone through the long, silent night. freckles and jane, tired out from their vigorous search, had fallen instantly asleep. there was nobody to sympathize with the poor frenzied mother. she swallowed dose after dose of aspirin, until finally, with the first gray streaks of dawn, she at last fell asleep. freckles was the first person awake in the household the next morning, and he immediately started the breakfast. jane, arriving on the scene fifteen minutes later, was surprised and delighted at the boy's progress. "we better not waken mother," he said. "i don't suppose she got much sleep last night." "i'm afraid not." tears came to jane's eyes as they rested on the forlorn little dog sitting so disconsolately in the corner of the kitchen. "freckles, what do you think could have happened to mary lou?" she asked. "i think tom adams did something to her. kidnaped her, probably. but i had one idea this morning, jane, while i was making the coffee. maybe he hid her in his own house somewhere! we never thought to search that." "bright boy!" exclaimed jane, so loudly as to awaken mrs. gay, who heard her from her bedroom. for one ecstatic moment the woman hoped that her daughter had been found. but freckles' next remark dispelled any such idea. "it's worth looking into," he continued. "but i don't really think she's there, or hattie would come and tell us. i can't believe hattie is an enemy--or on tom's side. she's too fond of mary lou." mrs. gay, attired in a kimono and looking white and exhausted, peered in at the kitchen door. "that coffee smells so good," she said, "that i just can't wait for a cup of it." freckles grinned in delight and poured out the steaming liquid. it seemed to revive his mother, and she drank it eagerly. but she could not eat any breakfast. "we're going up to adams' first," announced the boy. "i'll get stu robinson to drive us in his car--and we'll take silky along. if mary lou should be hidden there, silky'd find her.... and, mother--if the police come, be sure to have them talk to horace ditmar and get a look at that threat he found shoved under his door yesterday!" "i will, dear," returned mrs. gay, smiling to herself at the idea of taking orders from her small son. but the boy was proving himself both practical and businesslike in the management of the whole affair. "i wonder whether adelaide ditmar will open her dining room today as she planned," remarked jane. a lump came into mrs. gay's throat, but she managed to reply calmly: "i think so. she has all her food bought, and besides, the people are expecting it. mrs. reed told me last night that sue and mabel are both going to help her--if--if--mary lou doesn't come back in time. you had better tell hattie adams to come down to the ditmars' as soon as she can, though i don't believe adelaide is planning to serve lunch." jane nodded, and finished her breakfast. after she and freckles and the little dog had gone, the people from the other bungalows began to arrive at the gays', to start upon a new search for the missing girl. horace ditmar sent them off in various directions while he and several of the older women stayed behind to help and to advise mrs. gay. at nine-thirty a small red car drove into shady nook and stopped at the gays' bungalow. three plainclothes men got out, displaying their badges for identification. "we want the whole story," they said. "so far we know nothing--except that mary louise gay, of riverside and shady nook, is missing." "we don't know much more ourselves," sighed mrs. gay. then she proceeded to tell the story of the girl's disappearance the preceding afternoon. "as far as we know, the last person who saw her alive is rebecca adams, a feeble-minded woman who lives over at a farm where we know that mary louise started to go. nobody saw her after that." "have you any suspicions at all?" inquired the detective. horace ditmar answered that question by telling about the three fires at shady nook and by showing the paper which had warned him of the possibility of a fourth. "mary louise suspected tom adams--the brother of this feeble-minded woman--though we don't know yet upon what clues she based her suspicions," he concluded. "but it looks as if adams was guilty, for he ran away. he didn't take mary louise with him--we know that, because his sister drove him to the junction--but we're afraid he did something to her first." "so our first duty is to find this tom adams," announced the detective, rising. "can you take us over to the farm now, ditmar? or rather, just one of us, for the other two better stay here and investigate that threat. and we want a picture of miss mary louise gay. we'll get one of adams and print them both in every newspaper in the country." "but that's not the only clue we'll work on," put in another of the men. "that may be entirely wrong, and miss gay may just have met with an accident, or even lost her memory. there are many cases of that, you know." mrs. gay nodded. that was just the trouble: so many dreadful things might have happened to mary louise! however, she resolved to keep up her spirits until she actually heard bad news. she could endure the tension in the daytime, she thought, by keeping herself active; perhaps, before night, her husband would come. so she hunted out some pictures of mary louise for the detectives and answered their questions for an hour. just as the two men left to go to ditmars, to investigate the threat and guard adelaide, the roar of an airplane in the sky drew mrs. gay's attention. it was an auto-giro, fluttering over a near-by field where there did not happen to be any trees. breathlessly she waited while it made its landing. but the motor did not stop, and only one man got out of the cockpit. then, as the auto-giro speeded away, the man on the field began to run towards shady nook. in another moment she identified him as her husband--detective gay, of the police force! he took the porch steps two at a time and, out of breath as he was, lifted his trembling wife into his arms. for the first time since the disaster mrs. gay broke down and sobbed. but what a relief it was to give way to her feelings at last! her husband shared her anguish and understood, comforting her as best he could with words of assurance. "we'll find her, dear, i'm sure we will!" he said. "mary lou isn't a baby: she'll show lots of pluck and courage. i'm counting on that daughter of ours every time!" "have you any plans at all, dear?" she inquired. "yes. lots. i'm going to do a lot of telegraphing as soon as i get the whole story. i was never so thankful before that i'd chosen the detective profession." "have you had anything to eat?" mr. gay smiled. "now that you mention it, i don't believe i have. you might fix me some coffee while you tell me just what happened." freckles and jane returned while mr. gay was eating his meal, but they had nothing to report. hattie was sure that tom could not be guilty; she believed that he was running away from his gambling debts. nevertheless, she had consented immediately to a thorough search of the house and barn for the missing girl. yet even silky's sharp nose could not find her. the boy was delighted to find his father at home; he felt immediately that a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. for, like mary louise, he believed that his father could almost accomplish the impossible. "we're going over to the other shore after lunch--with silky," he said, "and hunt some more." "that's right, son," approved mr. gay. "we'll never give up till we find mary lou!" none of the other searchers returned with any news all that afternoon. the day was hot and sultry, and to mrs. gay, interminable. everything was so strangely quiet at the little resort; no radios played, no young people shouted to each other or burst into singing. even the birds seemed hushed, as if they too sensed the tragedy of the usually happy little colony. late in the afternoon the four girls who were working at the ditmars' went into the river to cool off with a swim, and mr. gay decided to join them. but it was more like a bath than a swim, and nobody seemed to enjoy it. mr. gay dressed and joined his wife on the porch, waiting for the detectives to return. suddenly a noisy car came towards them--a bright green roadster which was somehow familiar yet did not belong at shady nook. it was dusty and dirty; its two occupants wore goggles, as if they had been participating in a race, and until they spoke neither of the gays recognized them. then they identified them instantly as max miller and norman wilder, from riverside. "any news yet?" demanded max eagerly as he jumped out of the car. "no, not a bit," replied mr. gay. "how did you boys find out about it? is it in the papers?" "it's in the afternoon edition," replied norman, handing a newspaper to the other. "but of course we started before that. there was a wire to the riverside police last night, that we got wind of. so we started early this morning." "i think it's fine of you both to come," said mrs. gay, though she could not at the moment see what possible help they might afford. "we're going to have a swim, clean up our car, and eat," announced max; "then we're going to drive all around here within a radius of a hundred miles, tooting our horn and going slowly." "i didn't know you boys knew how to drive slowly," remarked mr. gay teasingly. "well, we really won't need to toot our horn," returned norman in the same light manner, "because the color of our car is loud enough to shriek for us!" mabel and sue reed, passing by the bungalow on their way back to the ditmars', stopped in and met the boys. mrs. gay asked them to put two extra places at the dinner table for them. gradually the searchers returned--without any success--and everybody went to ditmars to dinner. it was a lovely meal. adelaide ditmar proved that she knew how to prepare food and serve it attractively, and, in spite of their anxiety, everybody enjoyed it. everybody except mrs. gay, who could only pick at her food. true to their resolve, max and norman drove off in their car immediately after supper, with freckles and jane along with them. the rest of the inhabitants of shady nook settled down to a quiet evening of waiting. waiting and hoping for news. about eight o'clock mr. and mrs. frazier came over from the hotel to offer their sympathy to the gays. "i don't want to alarm you, gay," said frazier, "but i think you haven't given enough thought to the river. mary louise was playing tennis on our court early in the afternoon, and the most natural thing in the world would be for her to take a swim afterwards. you know yourself that even the best of swimmers have cramps." mrs. gay clutched her husband's arm tightly in an effort to control herself. what a horrible suggestion! "terrible as it is, drowning is better than lots of things that might happen," remarked mrs. frazier. mrs. gay glared at the woman with hatred in her eyes. how could she sit there and talk like that? she rose abruptly. "you'll have to excuse us now, mrs. frazier," she said unsteadily. "my husband and i have things to do." the hotelkeeper and his wife got up from their chairs just as the detectives' car stopped at the bungalow. everybody waited tensely. "no news of your daughter, mrs. gay," announced one of the detectives, immediately. "but we are on adams' trail. he's been spotted, speeding across the country in a stolen car. this afternoon they found the car, abandoned near a woods. undoubtedly he's guilty." frazier's white face became even more pasty-looking. nobody noticed it, except mr. gay, who made it his business to watch people's reactions. "if i may say something," put in the hotelkeeper, looking straight at the detective, "i think you're on the wrong track. adams is guilty of a small theft--he stole two hundred dollars from me, and he left some gambling debts. that's why he's running away. but i believe your real criminal is right here at shady nook!" "who?" demanded all the detectives at once. "ditmar. horace ditmar. these fires have proved to be a good thing for him. ditmars took over all that boarding-house trade after flicks' inn burned down. mary louise was on the inside, so they were probably afraid she'd find out too much--and--disposed of her." "i don't believe a word of it!" cried mrs. gay angrily. "i'd trust both adelaide and horace anywhere. and how about that threat they got? you saw that?" she asked the detectives. "that was just a clever trick," explained frazier lightly, "to throw off suspicion. you notice it has not been carried out!" almost in hysterics, mrs. gay felt that she could not bear those dreadful fraziers another minute. desperately she clung to her husband's arm for support. "will you men come inside?" suggested mr. gay, realizing how his wife was suffering. "good-night, mrs. frazier. good-night, frazier." and so another long night passed without any news of mary louise. but it was not so terrible for mrs. gay as the first one, because her husband was with her. and max miller and norman wilder comforted her with the assurance that they were going to find mary louise the following day. somehow, by intuition, perhaps, mrs. gay believed them! chapter xvii _release_ while her parents and her friends at shady nook were imagining all sorts of horrors for mary louise, the day actually passed peacefully for her. it was a terrible shock to waken up in that bare little bedroom with the iron bars at the window, but after the first realization of it was over, she found comfort in work. for, unlike the previous night, she was not allowed to be idle. miss stone came in at seven o'clock with a tray of breakfast in her hands. "and how do you feel today, dear?" she inquired cheerfully. mary louise opened sleepy eyes and looked about her, trying to remember where she was. for one ghastly moment she felt as if she would scream as the horror of the whole thing came back to her. but, realizing that such an act would only help to confirm her nurse's belief in her insanity, she managed to control herself. the sun was shining, miss stone was kind--surely mary louise would find a way out. so she smiled back at the woman. "i'm fine, miss stone," she said. "am i supposed to get dressed?" "eat your breakfast first," was the reply. "after today you'll probably eat with the other patients. but the doctor is coming in to make an examination this morning." mary louise nodded. "and then what do i do?" "you tidy up your own room and then take some part in the household duties. you may have your choice of cleaning, cooking, washing dishes, or sewing. then you'll eat lunch in the dining room and spend an hour outdoors in the garden. after that there is a rest period, when you may read or sew, if you like. we have a small library, and there is a class in knitting too, if you prefer. then supper--and vespers." "it sounds fine--so much better than doing nothing," replied mary louise. "i think for my particular work i'll choose cooking. i'm pretty good at cakes and pies." "that's nice, dear," concluded miss stone, turning towards the door. "be ready to see the doctor in about an hour." "may i have a shower?" "yes. i'll come back in fifteen minutes to take you." "but i'm not a baby!" protested mary louise. "i'm quite used to giving myself baths." "i know, dear, but it's a rule. sometimes patients drown themselves if we don't watch them. maybe--later on----" she did not finish the sentence, but left the room, locking the door behind her. it was very like a nightmare, mary louise thought, as she picked up her tray--a dream in which you found yourself locked up somewhere without any means of escape. but she meant to get away just the same, if she had to climb that ten-foot wall to accomplish it! she decided immediately that she would be an exemplary patient, that she would work hard and do everything she was told to do. gradually, perhaps, her liberty would be increased as the attendants learned that she could be trusted. in spite of her blue calico uniform, mary louise looked exceedingly pretty that morning when the doctor came in to see her. her cheeks were glowing with perfect health, and her dark eyes were smiling. the room, as well as her person, was meticulously neat. she identified the doctor immediately as the man who had received her the day before at the door of the institution. "good-morning, miss adams," he said, regarding her with admiration. "you're looking well today." "i'm fine," replied mary louise. "only my name doesn't happen to be miss adams," she couldn't help adding. the physician smiled, and she detected a shade of pity in his expression. something like that in miss stone's face when she had humored that patient by calling her "joan of arc." but he made no reply and went ahead with the examination. when miss stone returned he told her that miss adams was in perfect physical condition. "it's only the brain," thought mary louise in secret amusement. how often she and her young friends had made that remark to each other! she resolved never to speak jokingly of insanity again. after the doctor's visit her day proceeded in the orderly manner which miss stone had outlined. she cooked and washed dishes and ate lunch with the patients. then she went out in the garden, where she was assigned a flower bed of her own. but mary louise was not interested in flower beds at the moment. she pretended to work, all the while looking about her at the grounds around the asylum, at the high stone wall below and into the valley beyond. across this valley, on a level with the institution, she could see a white road that ran like a ribbon along the hill in the distance. this road, she decided, must be a main highway, or at least a drive frequented by automobiles--otherwise it would not be so smooth and white.... staring at this road in silence, an inspiration came to mary louise. an idea that might bring about her longed-for release! she waited eagerly for the nurse to come over to where she was working, but she was careful to keep her tone matter-of-fact when she did make her request. miss stone must not guess her hidden purpose! "may i break off two sticks from some bush?" she asked indifferently. "i'd like to practice my semaphore." "what's that, dear?" inquired miss stone skeptically. "is it anything dangerous?" mary louise smiled. "oh, no. it's just part of a girl scout's training. you've heard of girl scouts, haven't you?" "yes, i believe i have. anyway, i've heard of boy scouts, so i suppose the girl scouts is an organization like theirs--for girls." "that's right," agreed mary louise. "and i have always been very much interested in it. i don't want to forget all that i have learned. so if i had a couple of sticks and a needle and thread, i could make a pair of flags and--and--practice every day." she uttered the last sentence haltingly, fearful lest miss stone might guess her reason for wanting them and refuse. but as the nurse had no idea that semaphore meant signaling messages, she was entirely unsuspicious. and it had always been her policy to humor her patients in pursuit of any harmless amusements. so that afternoon she brought mary louise needles and cotton and scissors and sat with her while she cut up her red-and-white sports dress for the flags. it seemed a pity, miss stone thought, to destroy such a pretty dress, but it was not likely that mary louise would ever need it again. it was a sad fact that few of their patients ever returned to the outside world! mary louise finished her flags just before supper and laid them carefully away behind the washstand. tomorrow--oh, happy thought!--she would try her luck. hope is indeed a great tonic. mary louise went right to sleep that night and slept soundly until morning. she performed her duties so quickly and with such intelligence that even miss stone began to wonder whether there had not been some mistake in confining the girl to the institution. but as they did not take a daily paper at the asylum, and as they were entirely cut off from the outside world, she had no way of knowing about the desperate search that was going on all over the country for mary louise gay. "now that i have finished my work, may i go out into the garden and practice my semaphore for an hour before lunch?" the girl asked her nurse. "yes, certainly," agreed miss stone. "i'll go with you, because i want to spray the rose bushes." mary louise was not so pleased to be accompanied, but after all, miss stone's presence would mean freedom from other attendants. nobody would molest her while her own nurse was with her. she selected a spot high up on the terrace, from whence she could plainly see the ribbon of white road across the valley. then she began to signal her message: "i am mary louise gay. help!" over and over again she repeated the same letters, hope coming into her heart each time a car swung into view, despair taking possession of her when it failed to stop. perhaps, she thought, she was too far away to be seen. she glanced behind her, at the green bushes, and moved along where she might have the gray wall of the institution for her background. red and white should show up brilliantly in contrast to somber gray. half an hour passed, during which perhaps a dozen cars went by without stopping, and mary louise's arms became weary. but she did not give up. sometimes, she was certain, one of her own friends' cars would come over that hill--and stop. miss stone, watching the girl out of the corner of her eye, nodded sadly to herself. she must be crazy after all, she decided, to go through that silly routine over and over again. intelligent on most subjects as she had discovered mary louise to be, she must be unbalanced on this particular obsession. still mary louise went on trying. "i am mary louise gay. help!" she signaled again, for the twenty-fourth time, as a small, bright car appeared on the road. the car was proceeding very slowly; it looked as if it could scarcely climb the hill. then, to the girl's intense joy, she watched it stop. perhaps it was only because of a faulty engine or a puncture--but--oh--it was stopping! her heart beat so fast and her hands trembled so that she could hardly repeat the message. but she forced herself to go through it again. this might be her one chance--her vital hope of escape! she knew now what it must feel like to be abandoned at sea and all at once to glimpse a sail on the empty waters, bringing hope, and rescue, and life--if it stopped. but, oh, the utter despair if it continued on its course unheeding! two figures which looked like little dwarfs in the distance jumped out of the car and stood still, evidently watching mary louise's motions. frantic with excitement, she spelled the message again, this time very slowly, forming the letters carefully and pausing a long second between each word: "i am mary louise gay. help help help!" the two tiny figures waited until she had finished and then waved their arms frantically. she watched them in feverish anguish as they returned to the car and took something from the back of it. for five long minutes they busied themselves in some way which she could not understand, while she waited, tense with emotion. miss stone strolled over and spoke to her, startling her so that she almost dropped her flags. "tired, dear?" inquired the nurse sympathetically. "no! no!" protested mary louise. "let me stay fifteen minutes more. please!" her eyes were still fixed upon the car across the valley. one of the men was stepping away from it now, holding up both arms, which waved two dark flags. made from clothing, perhaps, on the spur of the moment. and then he began to signal. breathlessly mary louise watched the letters as they came, spelling out words that brought floods of joy to her heart. overwhelming her with happiness such as she had never known before. for the message which she read was this: "we are coming mary lou. max and norman." great tears of bliss rushed to her eyes and rolled down her cheeks; her hands trembled, and her arms grew limp. in the exhaustion of her relief she dropped down weakly to the ground. miss stone came and bent over her anxiously, fearing that some curious spell had come over mary louise. a fit, perhaps, which would explain why her brother had wished to confine this girl in the asylum. "i'll help you up, dear," the nurse said, "and we'll go into the house. you had better lie down for a while." "but i'm all right!" exclaimed mary louise, jumping happily to her feet. "my friends are coming for me, miss stone!" she threw her arms around the woman and hugged her. "two boys from my home town--in riverside." "yes, yes, dear," agreed miss stone, sure now that mary louise was raving. "but come inside now and rest." "no, i don't want to rest," objected the girl. "you said i could stay out till lunch, and there's still ten minutes left. i want to wait for max and norman." "all right, dear, if you'll promise to calm yourself. sit down there on the step while i finish these rose bushes." mary louise did as she was told, keeping her eyes fixed on the gate, wondering how long it would take for the boys to get across that valley, hoping that they wouldn't get lost. she picked up her home-made flags and touched them lovingly. "suppose i had never joined the girl scouts--and suppose i had never become an expert signaler!" she thought. she shivered at the very idea. she did not have to wait long, however. in less than ten minutes she saw the gardener unlock the big iron gate and a dear, familiar green roadster speed up the hill and stop at the door of the asylum. in an instant both boys were out of the car. max was the first to reach mary louise. without any question of permission, he took her into his arms and kissed her again and again. then norman kissed her too, not quite so ardently as max. finally she freed herself laughingly from their embraces and introduced them to miss stone. the boys looked questioningly at the woman. if she had been responsible for the kidnaping of mary louise, why was the girl so polite to her? max took a revolver from his pocket, just to be prepared in case of violence. mary louise laughed merrily. "you don't need that, max," she said. "miss stone won't do anything desperate. she is a nurse." "a nurse? is this a hospital?" alarm crept into max's voice. "oh, mary lou, you're not hurt, are you?" "no, not a bit. don't you know what kind of place this is, max? it's an asylum for the insane! i'm supposed to be crazy." horrified, max sprang forward and seized miss stone by the arm. "what kind of diabolical plot is this?" he demanded. "whose accomplice are you?" he pulled a newspaper out of his pocket and shook it in the nurse's face. "the whole country's frantic over the disappearance of mary louise gay!" miss stone gazed at the picture in the paper with increasing fear. had she--and the rest of the staff at the asylum--been accomplices to a hideous crime? but mary louise replied for her reassuringly. "miss stone's innocent, max," she explained. "please let her go. so are the others here. they're just obeying orders. tom adams put me in here, calling me his feeble-minded sister rebecca. he really does happen to have one, you may have heard, and i understand her papers for confinement were filed once before. mr. frazier signed my commitment too, pretending to be a cousin. those two men are the only guilty ones." "tom adams!" repeated max and norman at the same time, and norman added: "yes, that's what freckles said. they're looking for tom adams. he ran away from shady nook--or wherever it is he lives. the police are after him." "how about frazier?" demanded mary louise. "is he guilty?" asked max. "more so than tom," replied the girl. "oh, i must get back to tell the police before frazier sneaks away!" she turned to the nurse. "may i go with the boys now?" "i'll have to ask the doctor," replied miss stone, hurrying inside to the office. it took no persuasion at all, however, to obtain the doctor's consent. as soon as he read the account in the newspaper and saw that tom adams was a fugitive from the law, he gladly agreed to let mary louise go free. in fact, he was anxious that she should, lest he be blamed for participation in the crime. so mary louise jumped into the car between the two boys, and in less than an hour she saw the dear familiar trees of shady nook in the distance. as the car approached her own bungalow, she could distinguish her mother--yes, and her father--sitting on the porch in an attitude of hopeless despair. oh, what fun it was going to be to surprise them so joyfully! chapter xviii _return_ both mr. and mrs. gay looked up disconsolately as the green car approached. suddenly their expressions of listlessness changed to incredulity--then to rapture. mary louise was home! in another second the girl had flown up the steps and was hugging both parents at once. mrs. gay could only gasp in her happiness. it was mr. gay who asked his daughter whether she was unhurt and unharmed. "i'm fine!" returned mary louise joyfully. "and, oh, so happy!" "darling!" murmured her mother, her voice choked with emotion. "now praise these wonderful boys," insisted the girl. "my rescuers." max and norman tried to look modest and to wave aside their accomplishment with a gesture. but mr. gay seized their hands in a fervor of gratitude. "i can't find words to tell you what it means to us!" he said. "you two boys have succeeded where four professional detectives failed. it's--it's marvelous." "oh, it wasn't anything at all, except persistence on our part," explained max. "the real credit goes to mary lou. it was a swell idea she had." "what idea?" demanded mr. gay. "signaling for help. with semaphore flags--just as we all used to do in the scouts." "but where were you, mary lou?" asked her father. "sit down and tell us all about it." "first tell me whether you're hungry," put in her mother. "no, not specially," replied mary louise. "they fed us pretty well at the insane asylum." it was fun to watch her parents' startled expressions at this announcement--fun now that the experience was all over. "insane asylum!" they both repeated in horror. and then for the first time they noticed her blue calico dress. mary louise nodded and proceeded to tell her story. briefly and quickly, for she remembered that she wanted to catch the two criminals. "has mr. frazier run away too?" she inquired, when she had finished. "no, he's over at his hotel," replied mr. gay. "i saw him this morning." "you must arrest him, daddy!" cried the girl. "he was the cause of the three fires at shady nook. i know it!" "but how do you know, mary lou?" asked her father. "what proof have you?" "i overheard him and tom adams talking in the hotel garage. they didn't actually mention fires, but i'm sure they meant them. i have their conversation down in my notebook. i left it in my desk. it's probably still there." "suppose," suggested mr. gay, "that you tell us the story of your suspicions--and clues--from the beginning." "while i'm getting lunch," added mrs. gay. mary louise ran into her bedroom and found the little notebook. "i'll just change my dress," she called laughingly, "and be with you in a minute.... but tell me where jane and freckles are." "out hunting for you. with silky!" was the reply. a couple of minutes later she returned to the porch, looking more like herself in her own modern clothing. she sat down on the swing and opened her notebook. "i first suspected tom adams the day after flicks' inn burned down," she began. "all of the people of shady nook were over on the little island that night on a picnic, and hattie adams told me she expected to have tom take her. but he wasn't anywhere to be found. and the boys saw a big fellow in the woods who answered his description. "but i sort of gave up the idea of his being guilty when i heard he had lost some work by flicks' inn burning down. it threw me off the track for a while; i really suspected his feeble-minded sister rebecca. "then the smiths' house caught fire, and rebecca gave us a warning--so i suspected her all the more. finding that pack of cliff's cards in the can of water didn't prove a thing to me. i never believed he was guilty." "it was absurd to arrest him," commented mr. gay. "the blundering idiot who caused it----" mary louise's laugh ran out merrily. "you and jane will have to get together, dad," she said. "you agree so perfectly about david mccall!" "never did care for the fellow," her father muttered. "give me men with brains--and sense!" he looked admiringly at max and norman. "but get on with the story, mary lou." "it was the day after the smiths' fire that i really seriously suspected tom adams," she continued. "i trailed him to the store at four corners and found him gambling. he told a man that he'd pay him a hundred dollars, which he expected to collect immediately. and that set me thinking." "why?" inquired max. "because a farmhand doesn't earn a hundred dollars so easily, especially from tightwads like frazier. everybody knows that man pays miserable wages.... then, besides that, i overheard tom adams explaining a card trick, and that fact made me guess that he had gotten hold of one of cliff's decks of cards and either accidentally or purposely dropped them at the smiths'." mr. gay nodded approvingly. he loved to watch the logical working of his daughter's mind. "so i began to put two and two together," she went on. "somebody was paying tom a lot of money--lots more than a hundred dollars, i learned--for doing something. what, i asked myself, could the job be except setting those houses on fire? and who wanted them burned down except frazier, or possibly horace ditmar, who, as you know, is an architect?" "so you narrowed your suspects down to two people--besides tom adams?" inquired mr. gay admiringly. "yes. and when adelaide ditmar got that threat i was positive frazier was responsible. he wanted the business, and he was doing everything he could to get it. but even then i had no proof." "so what did you do?" asked max. "and why did tom adams suspect that you knew anything?" "it was all because of this conversation," answered mary louise, opening her notebook. "i overheard it near frazier's garage, and then i was stupid enough to let them see me. i even told them i was going over to the farm to talk to hattie." "that was a mistake," remarked mr. gay. "a mistake i paid for pretty dearly," agreed the girl. "but it's all right now, so it really doesn't matter.... now let me read you the conversation between frazier and tom adams on the afternoon i was taken away." quickly, in the words of the two men, she read to her listeners of tom's demand for money and mr. frazier's reluctant compliance with his claims. when she had finished she looked eagerly at her father. "isn't frazier guilty?" she asked. "of course he's guilty," agreed the detective. "but he won't ever admit it. he'll squirm out of it, because we haven't got proof in so many words. he'll say he was talking about something entirely different to tom adams." "but can't he be arrested?" persisted mary louise, a note of disappointment creeping into her voice. "i don't see how--until we find tom adams. he'll establish frazier's guilt, all right. i can't see adams shouldering the blame alone." mary louise frowned; she hated the idea of the hotelkeeper's freedom, even though it might be only temporary. but suddenly her face lighted up with inspiration. "i have it!" she cried. "he can be arrested for signing that paper confining me to the insane asylum, can't he, dad?" mr. gay looked startled. "what paper?" he demanded. mary louise explained that, since the commitment had to be signed by two relatives of the patient, mr. frazier had posed as her cousin. that was enough, mr. gay said immediately: all that they needed as evidence was the paper itself. they would drive over to the institution that afternoon and secure it. luncheon was indeed a happy meal in the gay household that day. although freckles and jane did not return, the two boys and mary louise kept up a constant banter of laughter and merriment. mr. and mrs. gay were quieter, but a light of rapture shone in their eyes. just at the conclusion of the meal mrs. hunter and cliff arrived. prepared to enter a house of misery and fear, they could not believe their ears as they heard the gayety from within. "mary lou!" cried cliff incredulously. "cliff!" exclaimed the girl, jumping up and running to the screen door. "you're free!" "and you're home!" returned the young man, seizing both of her hands. in spite of his arrest, clifford hunter was the same care-free young person. in a few minutes he was showing his card tricks to max and norman, delighted to find a new audience. when the whole story had been retold to the hunters, with the caution that they say nothing of it to mr. frazier, mary louise and the three boys walked around the little resort to tell everybody there the glad news. then she and her father and max took the car and drove to the adams farm. mr. gay thought it would be wise to take old mr. adams with them to visit the asylum, and mary louise thought it would be interesting to bring rebecca--just to let miss stone and the other attendants meet the real rebecca adams! with max at the wheel they had no difficulty in finding the asylum. what fun it was, mary louise thought, to pass through those iron gates now--knowing that she was safe! yet instinctively she reached for her father's hand and held it securely as the car proceeded up the long driveway. the same doctor and the same head nurse came out to receive them as upon mary louise's first visit. mr. gay displayed his badge at once and explained his errand. the woman nodded and hurried into the office for the paper. while she was gone, rebecca adams, growing restless, stepped out of the car, lugging her heavy water pitcher in her arms. at the same moment miss stone, mary louise's special nurse, came out of the building. "miss stone, i want you to meet the real rebecca adams," said mary louise, with a twinkle in her eye. rebecca turned eagerly to the nurse. "can you show me where there is a well of clear water?" she asked immediately. "yes," replied miss stone gravely. "back of the building. we have a fine well." "oh!" cried the woman in ecstasy. "at last!" she looked over at her father, and there were tears of earnestness in her eyes. "let me stay here, father! this is my home, where i want to live!" her voice grew more wistful. "a well of clear water!" she repeated. "please take me to it, kind lady!" "perhaps it is for the best," agreed old mr. adams. "there's nobody to take good care of rebecca at home now that her mother's dead and i'm crippled up with rheumatism. she can stay if she wants to." and so, at her own request, rebecca adams took up her life at the quiet institution, and the rest of the party, with the paper which was to be used as evidence against frazier in their hands, drove back to shady nook. mary louise went into her bedroom and put on her prettiest dress, awaiting the arrival of jane and freckles and her friends. what a glorious evening it was going to be for them all! chapter xix _conclusion_ mary louise was putting the last dabs of powder on her nose when she heard a car stop at the porch steps. peering through the screened window of her bedroom she immediately decided that it must be the detectives. yes--and, oh, joy of joys!--they had tom adams with them! in another moment the men were out of the car and up on the porch, where her father joined them. "congratulations!" exclaimed mr. gay. "i see that you got tom adams. i remember him now." "yes," answered one of the men. "but he won't admit a thing about your daughter. he says he never saw mary louise after she went back to the tennis court that afternoon." "on what grounds could you arrest him, then?" demanded mr. gay. "he stole a car on his way to the west." mary louise repressed a giggle and turned away from the window. her father evidently meant to find out what he could before he announced his daughter's return. "you have a sister rebecca, haven't you, adams?" he inquired. the young man nodded. "yes. she's feeble-minded. why?" "we know that mary louise saw her the afternoon she disappeared. rebecca told us so, and she also said that you came home that afternoon just as my daughter started to leave the farm." "rebecca's mind wanders a lot," muttered tom. "she don't know what she's talkin' about half the time." he shifted his feet uneasily. "you--have been thinking of putting rebecca into an asylum?" persisted mr. gay. "yeah. we considered it. why?" "because she's in one now," announced mr. gay calmly. "of her own free will. an asylum about twenty miles from here. a dr. fetter, i believe, is the head of the institution." he paused and gazed intently at tom. the young man's jaw dropped, his face grew white, and his hands trembled. mr. gay burst out laughing, and mary louise came to the screen door. "hello, tom," she said quietly. the young man started as if he had seen a ghost. but he managed to stammer a reply. "hello, miss gay," he said. all three of the plainclothes men stepped forward in amazement. "you found her, gay?" they demanded of mary louise's father. "no," answered mr. gay. "to be frank, i didn't. two of her young friends from riverside did. she was confined in an insane asylum about twenty miles from shady nook, under the name of rebecca adams!" all of tom's pretence fell away from him at this announcement. he knew his game was up. his limbs grew weak; he groveled at the men's feet. "don't send me to the chair!" he cried. "i didn't harm her. she's all right, ain't she?" "we'll let the judge and the jury decide that," replied mr. gay. "now, suppose you sit down there and tell us the truth, adams. you might as well, for we know most of it already!" the young man crawled into a seat, but he made no attempt to tell his story. "we know that you burned three houses here at shady nook," said mr. gay. "we know, too, that you did it because you were bribed by frazier. didn't he pay you a certain sum of money to start those fires?" "yes, he did," acknowledged tom. "he gave me five hundred dollars." "why did he want them burned down?" asked one of the plainclothes men. "he figured that he'd get five hundred at least from the hunters during the summer, entertaining their friends and all. then flicks' fire turned out to be better business yet. all the folks from shady nook, except the ditmars, begun eatin' at the hotel, once the inn was gone. and smiths' burnin' down brought all them children and servants and even the ma and pa over to the royal." "did frazier expect to burn any more cottages?" was the next question. "no, he wasn't plannin' on it. only, when mrs. ditmar started up a boardin' house and took his business away from him, that made him sore. but i wasn't goin' a do no more dirty work. i figured i'd just get my money and clear out. i never did expect to burn ditmars'--only threaten 'em." "but what made you do that dreadful thing to mary louise?" demanded mr. gay. "i wanted to get rid of her till i made my get-away. frazier and me was scared she was onto somethin' and would send for you, and you'd figure it all out, mr. gay. frazier thought, if i was gone, he'd be safe. he'd just deny everything. the idea of callin' mary louise 'rebecca' just popped into my head when she told us she was goin' over to the farm to see hattie that afternoon. i knew hattie and dad was off to the fair. so i jumped in my car and run over to the asylum and made the arrangements. we just got back in time to nab her." one of the men stood up. "detective gay," he said, "i think you and i had better go over and arrest frazier now. these other two men can take charge of adams." he turned to mary louise, who was still standing in the doorway. "is there any question you want to ask this criminal, miss gay, before we take him away?" "yes," answered mary louise, stepping through the doorway. "i would like to know how that pack of cards came to be dropped at the smiths' the night of their fire--how tom happened to have them in his possession." the young man flushed. "one day i was watchin' hunter do a trick on the hotel porch. i noticed he put the cards in his coat pocket. later on, he hung the coat over the back of a chair while he went off to play tennis. so i sneaked up and took 'em out of his pocket, to use to show the trick to the boys. i thought they was marked, but they wasn't. hunter sure is clever at tricks. "then when i heard people was suspectin' him of burnin' his own cottage down for the insurance, i thought i might as well help that suspicion along. so i dropped his pack of cards into that can of water at the smiths'. and sure enough, it worked!" mary louise's eyes were filled with contempt, but she did not put her feeling into words. instead, she nodded to the detectives, and the men all left the porch. fifteen minutes later frazier's arrest was accomplished, and the three plainclothes men started for albany with both criminals in their custody. mary louise and her parents watched them go with a sigh of relief. "that's that," said her father, with a smile. "now, if only jane and freckles would come," added her mother, "we could be perfectly happy. it's time to go to dinner." in a couple of minutes mrs. gay's wish was granted. down the road half a dozen young people came running, for they had just heard the wonderful news that mary louise was back. silky reached his mistress first, then freckles arrived, with jane and four of the boys close behind. never, if she lived to be a hundred, would mary louise forget that wonderful dinner at the ditmars'. the joy of being back home again, the happiness of her friends, the companionship of her father--oh, everything seemed perfect that night to the lovely brown-eyed girl. and not least of it all was the satisfaction of knowing that the mystery of the fires was solved at last! shady nook was safe again for everybody--to enjoy for many, many summers to come! * * * * * * transcriber's note: --retained publication and copyright information from the printed exemplar (this book is public-domain in the u.s.). --obvious typographical errors were corrected without comment. possibly intentional spelling variations were not changed. note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see 23645-h.htm or 23645-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/3/6/4/23645/23645-h/23645-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/3/6/4/23645/23645-h.zip) the motor maids at sunrise camp by katherine stokes author of "the motor maids' school days," "the motor maids by palm and pine," "the motor maids across the continent," "the motor maids by rose, shamrock and thistle," "the motor maids in fair japan," etc. with four illustrations by charles l. wrenn [illustration: presently mr. lupo came in with a tray of cups and saucers and a pot of steaming hot coffee.--page 29.] m. a. donohue & company chicago new york copyright, 1914, by hurst & company made in u. s. a. contents chapter page i. off for the mountains 5 ii. the camp 19 iii. rules and regulations 34 iv. table top 50 v. in the bog 67 vi. the doctor 83 vii. phoebe 101 viii. the gypsy cooks 114 ix. a lesson by the wayside 132 x. alberdina schoenbachler 146 xi. a comedy of errors 162 xii. the return 177 xiii. billie and the doctor 190 xiv. chance news 204 xv. a warning 221 xvi. the attack 234 xvii. the force of eloquence 249 xviii. the morning after 262 xix. the mills of god 273 xx. a long sleep 286 xxi. comrades of the road 304 the motor maids in sunrise camp. chapter i. off for the mountains. "sunrise camp! what next, pray tell me?" sighed miss helen campbell. "but it doesn't mean getting up at sunrise, cousin helen," billie campbell assured her. "although papa says we would like it, once we got started. campers always do rise with the sun. it's the proper thing to do." "but why do they give it that uncivilized name?" continued miss campbell in an injured tone of voice. "why not sunset camp or meridian camp or even moonrise camp? there is nothing restful to me in the name of 'sunrise.'" "it will be restful, indeed it will, dear cousin, once you are used to the life, and it couldn't be called any of those other names because they would not be appropriate. you see there is a wonderful view of the sunrise from the camp, and every morning if you wake early enough you see a beautiful pink light all over the sky and you wonder where the sun is; and suddenly he comes shooting up from behind the tallest mountain in the range across the valley, and it's really quite late by then. he has been up ever so long, but he's been hiding behind the mountains." "and we are to sleep on the ground under those flimsy tents, i suppose?" asked miss campbell, who was not taking very kindly to the camping proposition. "no, no," protested her young cousin, laughing, "you're thinking of soldiers, and they do have cots. this camp is a log house, a really beautiful log house. there is one immense room without any ceiling, and you look straight up through the beams into the roof. papa says it's splendid." miss campbell bestowed upon billie a tolerant, suffering smile. "and back of that room," continued billie, speaking quickly, "is a long sleeping porch that can be partitioned off into bedrooms----" "no protection from rain and wild animals, i suppose?" put in miss campbell sadly. "oh, yes. there is a roof overhead and a floor underneath, and it's all enclosed with wire netting to keep out mosquitoes. it can't rain in far enough to wet the beds and, of course, nothing else matters----" "clothes?" groaned the little lady. "but khaki skirts, cousin, and rubber-soled shoes and pongee blouses,--water couldn't injure things like that." "i went camping once forty years ago," went on miss campbell, without seeming to notice billie's reply. "it was terrible, i assure you, it was quite too dreadful. one night there was a storm, and the tents that were not blown away by the high winds were swamped by rain. our clothes all mildewed, and the flies! i shall never forget the disgusting flies,--they were everywhere." "this camp couldn't possibly be blown away even by the strongest wind," broke in billie, ready to refute every argument, "and the screens make it just as comfortable as your own home would be." "how far is it from anywhere?" demanded miss campbell suddenly. billie hesitated. "it's twenty-five miles, but there is a good road from the railroad station and the 'comet' can take us across in no time. you see, there is a little village in the valley at the foot of our mountain, and in summer a 'bus runs twice a day with passengers and the mail, so the road must be fairly good. papa says lots of automobiles go over it." "twenty-five miles," groaned miss campbell. "twenty-five miles from a telegraph station----" "but there is no one for you to telegraph to if papa and i are with you, dear cousin, is there?" asked billie ingenuously. miss campbell's expression softened. nothing pleased her so much as for billie to make one family of the three. the young cousin had become such a fixture in her home that she had grown quite jealous of duncan campbell's possessive airs with his daughter. "one would think she really belonged to him more than to me," she would exclaim at such times, with some unreasonableness it must be admitted. but it was plain that the little spinster's resolutions against camping were beginning to crumble. "we are not to eat on the ground, then, or drink coffee from tin cups, or sleep in our clothes, or be bitten to death by mosquitoes, and finally exterminated by wild animals?" billie laughed joyously. she knew by these extravagant remarks that her cousin had been won over. "none of those things," she cried. "we are to lead a comfortable, beautiful rustic life, and i know you'll just love it. there are lakes, cousin, exquisite, beautiful little gems of lakes; and trails all through the pine forests, and the walking isn't a bit difficult----" "khaki skirts, did you say?" "yes, and sneakers." "what are they, child?" "rubber-soled shoes to keep you from slipping." miss campbell sighed. "and at my age!" she said aloud, answering some unspoken thought. "tell your father i accept, but it's the last straw, and i may never see my comfortable old home again." billie did not pause to disprove this dejected statement. she kissed her relative with the wild abandon of eighteen, rushed from the room and was down the stairs in a breathlessly short space of time. "she's going! she's going!" she cried, rushing into the drawing-room, where her three friends were anxiously awaiting news, and mr. campbell, almost as anxious himself, was pacing the floor, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. "good work, little daughter!" he said, pausing in his walk. "i knew you could win her over if anybody could, although last night i was afraid we hadn't the ghost of a show. she was dead set against it. the word 'camp' alone seemed to make her wild." "but, you see, she thought it was tents and flies and mosquitoes and tin cups." mr. campbell smiled. "i think we won't tell her any more, now that she has made up her mind. we'll give her a little surprise. call the camp a log hut and let it go at that." "now, about clothes----" began nancy brown, and her friends all smiled. "well, one must have clothes, even on a camping trip. don't you think a blue corduroy would be attractive, with a touch of coral pink in the silk tie, say; and high russet walking boots--the kind that lace, you know----" "they must have rubber soles," put in billie, "no matter what the tops are." "and a straw hat in the natural color, with a brim that droops slightly, and a pheasant's tail feather, slightly at one side----" there was another burst of laughter at this juncture, and mr. campbell joined in. "miss nancy," he said, "i'm afraid you'll have everything from hedge hogs to wood choppers at your feet if you make yourself so attractive in silks and velvets and russets----" "nothing perishable," protested nancy. "it will be quite suitable, of course. it's a mountain costume i saw in a french fashion magazine, and it was really intended for an alpine climber; only it was much fancier. the french lady in the picture wore a lace jabot and high-heeled shoes, and she carried an alpine stock with a pink bow tied just below the crook." "was the skirt hobble?" demanded billie. "it sounds to me like a little bo-peep costume," put in mary price. "i think one should dress quite quietly on a camping party," observed elinor butler. mr. campbell seized his hat. "my only advice to you, ladies," he announced as he reached the door, "is to wear shoes that won't turn your ankles; skirts that give you plenty of leeway for climbing, and shirts that may be easily washed, because laundries are not abundant in those regions. as for hats," he finished, "you'll probably not wear any after the first day, even the latest thing from the alps trimmed with the tail feather of a pheasant. as for colors, the first time you go camping you'll probably let your fancy run riot and wear assyrian purple or crushed strawberry. but the next time, you'll pass right down the line until you get to brown, because you will know by that time that brown fades brown. if campers had been born wild animals instead of human beings, nature would surely have provided them with brown coats for utilitarian as well as protective purposes." "i thought we could just wear old clothes," put in mary price, doubtfully. "i didn't know people had costumes made for camping." mr. campbell thrust his genial, handsome face back into the room. "camping clothes are like bathing suits," he remarked. "after the first wetting or so, they all look alike." "i'm sure blue corduroy will last," cried nancy. "the man at the store said it was unfadeable." "you mean that curly-haired clerk who wears the ruby scarf pin?" laughed billie. "what's his name?" "delosia moxley," answered elinor. "he is always giving nancy pointers about the latest modes. he was responsible for that spanish veil she would wear last winter----" "he was not," interrupted nancy. "he merely told me they were the fashion in new york. i needn't have bought it if i hadn't wanted to." "i suppose he furnished that french lady's alpine costume, too, didn't he, nancy bell?" nancy smiled good-naturedly. she never really minded being teased about her elaborate taste in dress. "his taste is extremely good," she said. "he expects to run a millinery shop in a year or so. he says he can trim hats charmingly." "my word!" exclaimed billie. "i suppose his mother will make your suit and he'll pin the feather on the hat, and between them they will equip you to climb the adirondacks. but, oh, nancy, i implore you to explain to mrs. moxley that hobbles don't go in the mountains." "she understands," replied nancy with much dignity. "she is going to make me the very latest thing in mountain-climbing suits, and she gets all her fashions straight from new york." her friends exchanged covert glances and said nothing. nancy's conferences with mrs. moxley, the dressmaker, were a source of endless amusement to them. it was mrs. moxley who had made nancy's graduating costume that june, and never had been seen on the platform of west haven high school such a fashionable _toilette_. it had a hobble skirt and a fancy little train that flopped about nancy's feet like a beaver's tail, and at the reception afterwards the boys had teased her until she left in tears. two weeks had passed since graduation and our motor maids were just beginning to feel the results of their hard winter's work. it had been a tough pull to catch up with their classes after the return from japan. there had been no gayeties for them during the christmas holidays, only continuous hard study, and for weeks afterwards billie and nancy and elinor were tutored every afternoon. mary price, the best student of the three, had outstripped them, and in the end had carried off first honors and a scholarship besides. but after the excitement of finals, the four friends had collapsed like pricked balloons. billie, mortified at what she considered a weakness in her character, had not been able to throw off a deep cold contracted in the spring. mary price was limp and white; elinor had grown mortally thin, and even nancy had lost her roundness, and her usually plump face was peaked and pale. "my child needs mountain air!" said mr. campbell on one of his flying trips to west haven. "she must not be in a hotel, and she must have her friends with her." with characteristic energy he had set to work to find a place somewhere in the mountains, and he had made three trips before he satisfied himself that "sunrise camp" in the adirondacks, to let furnished, was exactly what he had been searching for. the owners had gone abroad and were glad to rent it at a low price. to "sunrise camp" therefore, after due preparation, miss helen campbell, the motor maids and mr. campbell, who went up to install them, departed. at the station next day they found the "comet," still attired in his blue suit acquired in japan, in charge of a chauffeur from a nearby hotel. along twenty-five miles of mountainous road the faithful car carried them, patiently climbing the last steep grade which led to a kind of shelf in the mountain whereon stood "sunrise camp." chapter ii. the camp. "hurrah!" cried billie, trying to pretend that she was not at all tired after the interminable hot journey on the train and across the mountains. but her enthusiasm was not echoed by the others. even mr. campbell, who always felt the heat, sat silent and dejected. billie, however, usually endeavored to live up to her theories, and she had believed that pure mountain air would act as an instantaneous tonic on their jaded spirits. she was trying now to persuade herself that she was not hot and dusty and excessively weary. they had drawn up in front of a rustic hut built of logs with the bark left on. the roof had a graceful slant from the central peak, and over the gallery in front was another low-hanging roof like the visor of a cap. on one side of the camp, at no great distance from the house, a majestic army of pine trees had ranged itself in the manner of a silent and faithful guard. at the other side, the ledge sloped down in natural, uneven terraces to the valley far below. from the sleeping porches in the back could be seen a broad vista of low country encircled by a wall of mountains, now clothed in a mantle of purple shadows as the sun sank behind the crests of the opposite range. the air was hot and sweet and very dry, and the atmosphere vibrated with the hum of insects like the low, steady accompaniment of stringed instruments in a great orchestra. but at close view, it must be confessed, nature was very dingy. the pine trees had a rusty look and the parched earth cried out for rain. "well, ladies, we are here," remarked mr. campbell, "and i hope you'll find it to your several tastes." "i am sure we will," answered mary politely, while the others moved in a silent procession toward the house. miss campbell was already wondering how long they could endure this crude and lonely existence a hundred miles from anywhere. the contagion of doubt had indeed spread like a plague over the entire company, and all for the want of a bath, a supper and a good night's rest. "ah, here are mr. and mrs. lupo," exclaimed mr. campbell in a tone of relief, as a man and woman approached down the gallery. "they are half indians," he added in a low voice. "mrs. lupo will be cook and her husband, guide, protector and man of all work." miss campbell turned reproachful eyes upon her relative. so then they were to be left in charge of two half-breed indians in this wild mountainous place, while he was away. really, men were too incorrigible. but mr. and mrs. lupo, at first glimpse, were far removed from savages. they were, apparently, like two shy, gentle animals with dark, shining eyes, and when they spoke, which was seldom, it was almost as if they had broken a vow of silence. winter and summer they lived in these high places, and only occasionally did mrs. lupo descend to the valley to visit the little shops in the village and look upon the vanities of life. "well, mrs. lupo," said mr. campbell, after shaking hands with the husband and wife and properly introducing them to the others, "i trust you have some food ready for a crowd of very hungry people. it was too hot this afternoon to be enthusiastic about lunch at the valley inn and hunger has overtaken us." mrs. lupo looked gravely from one face to another but said nothing. "supper will be ready in fifteen minutes," answered her husband, and the strange pair promptly and quietly disappeared. "she reminds me," said mary to billie, "of one of those genii in fairy tales that appear when you want them and melt away when you have finished with them." "i wonder if she can cook," was billie's unpoetic reply. during these brief moments they had lingered on the dusty gallery, and now mr. campbell, eager as a boy for their approval, led them through the broad opening into the only room of the camp, of which they had caught glimpses as they waited outside. but they were quite unprepared for its vast size, capped by the unceiled roof now fast filling with shadows. "why, it's really grand," cried miss campbell, with a sudden spurt of enthusiasm. "it's like a cathedral." "isn't it fine?" answered mr. campbell. "i think the primeval huts must have looked like this, and when it came time to build churches it wasn't a very far cry." "i expect mr. primeval man would have been mighty glad to have had one of those nice morris chairs," observed billie. "it would have been good-by to cathedrals then," answered her father. "mr. primeval man would have passed so much of his time in the easy chair that he would never have got beyond the age of dull-edged tools." and in this thoroughly modern primeval hut there were plenty of inducements to be lazy. grouped about the stone chimney of an immense open fire-place were numerous easy chairs, and ranged against the dim confines of the walls were quite half a dozen cots to be used by people who might prefer to sleep indoors, mr. campbell explained. the heads of several deer with branching antlers looked down at them from the walls, and on the floor in front of the fire-place was stretched the skin of a great black bear. "papa, i think it's really beautiful," exclaimed billie, rubbing her cheek against her father's shoulder. "so do we all, mr. campbell," cried the other motor maids. "i am delighted and relieved," he answered, rubbing his hands together with pleasure over their pleasure. "better introduce cousin helen to her--er bedroom now, and wash up before supper," he added, winking and grinning behind that little lady's back. anybody would approve of the big room of the camp. it was indeed a splendid place, but how was miss campbell going to take to the dormitory? a flight of rustic steps at one end led to a gallery opening on this doubtful territory. "oh, how delightful," cried billie, rushing through the door with a great show of enthusiasm. "i have always wanted to sleep in the open and never had a chance except that one night on the plains. remember, cousin helen? and how you did enjoy it, too!" "one night, yes, my dear, but this is for some sixty nights or more," answered miss campbell, surveying a row of cots placed at intervals along the porch. "i never slept in the room with anybody in my life before." "but this is not sleeping in a room. this is sleeping in the world, under the great dome of heaven," exclaimed billie, laughing uneasily. "if you want privacy, you can draw a veil," remarked elinor, pointing to denim curtains on poles between some of the beds. "and be alone in the world, under the great dome of heaven? never!" cried miss campbell. "but do we dress out here in sight of the entire range of mountains? i should feel that each mountain had an eye turned on me." "really, cousin, you remind me of the old lady from skye," ejaculated billie: "'there was an old lady from skye who was so exceedingly shy, when she undressed at night, she put out the light, for fear of the all-seeing eye.'" miss campbell so far forgot her objections as to burst out laughing, and she was still further placated by finding at one end of the porch a good-sized locker room, and adjoining that a bathroom. "the water comes from the top of the mountain," announced billie. "it's just piped in and doesn't have to be pumped. think of bathing in such clear pure water as that. oh, i know camping like this will be perfect!" "it may and it may not be," observed miss campbell, bathing her hands and face in some of the crystal water. "good heavens, what's that?" she demanded, startled by the sound of a bugle in the twilight stillness. the call was loud and clear, reverberating among the mountains and coming back to them in a softened, muffled echo. "that's mr. lupo blowing the supper horn," called mr. campbell from the sleeping porch below. down they all filed and seated themselves anywhere around a long rustic table apparently loaded with food, for all the meal had been placed upon it regardless of ceremony, and people were expected to help themselves. "fall to, fall to, ladies," said mr. campbell, serving slices of broiled ham until the pile of plates in front of him was reduced to one. "let's introduce scientific management into this business," suggested billie. "with one deft movement of the arm, i'll help each plate to creamed potatoes, passing them along in order to nancy, who can dish out the baked omelette. while we are doing that mary can serve the butter and elinor can pass around the biscuits. there is no labor wasted and the food is distributed in the quickest possible time." "what shall i be doing?" asked miss campbell. "i don't see that i am being scientifically managed." "yes you are," answered mr. campbell with a mischievous glance at the pretty little lady. "you are being scientifically managed by not being allowed to do anything." there was a chorus of drowsy, good-natured laughter. the leavening influence of food at a journey's end was already beginning to take effect. presently mr. lupo came in with a tray of cups and saucers and a pot of steaming hot coffee, and mrs. lupo, silent and soft of foot, placed four tall wooden candlesticks on the table, the light from the tallow candles shedding a yellow glow on their faces. "excuse me," said mary, rising, after the hungry company had cleared up everything before them, "i want to go to the end of the room and see what we look like. i feel as if we were making a picture somebody ought to see. we are," she called presently from the far end of the vast apartment. "you've no idea how picturesque you look around that dark wooden table with those candles and the blue water pitcher and the pewter coffee pot." "and the empty omelette dish," called billie. "and only one biscuit left," added elinor. "i've no doubt mr. rembrandt would have painted us just so," said mr. campbell. "and called it 'the guild of the globe trotters'," miss campbell was saying, when mary gave a low exclamation of surprise. in order not to obstruct the beautiful view across the valley, the rustic porch had not been enclosed with screens, but the openings into the living room were screened, and, standing just outside the broad door, mary saw a man peering into the room. "i beg your pardon," he said, "i am afraid i frightened you. i was lost on the side of the mountain, and when i saw the light in the camp i thought i would stop and ask the way." "come in, won't you?" said mr. campbell hospitably. "have you had your supper?" "i am afraid not," answered the stranger with a short laugh. "mrs. lupo, will you get this gentleman some supper?" called mr. campbell, while miss campbell, almost lost in one of the big chairs, was wondering if this were the etiquette of campers, and if they would be expected to take in strangers after duncan had departed. "sit down," went on the incorrigible duncan. "we only arrived ourselves an hour ago, and we are hardly familiar with the house yet, but there is plenty of room. won't you stop over night? my name is campbell." "my name is st. clair," answered the stranger. "i live in a place called west haven. ever hear of it?" "percy st. clair!" cried the girls and miss helen. "where did you come from?" "the scheme worked pretty well, eh, percy?" laughed mr. campbell, after the young man, their old friend and playmate, had shaken hands all around and insisted on hugging miss campbell. "i thought i would keep you as a surprise. where's the motor cycle?" "it's outside. i walked it up the last climb." "did you have any trouble finding the way?" "considerable. that's why i'm so late. a fellow told me the wrong road, and i was lost for a while and had a foolish adventure besides." "what was it? what was it?" they demanded. percy seated himself at the supper table, while nancy poured out his coffee and billie served him with ham and eggs. "well, i asked a man the way and he said, 'are you a doctor?' i said, 'not yet, but soon.' then he showed me a road and told me there was a very sick woman in a house at the top, and would i call and see what could be done. you may imagine my feelings when i found that the road led straight to an old ruined hotel, and there wasn't a human being in it as far as i could see nor any sign of one. so i got on my cycle and went back down the mountain until i found a sign board that put me on the right track again. but it was queer, wasn't it, and rather uncanny, too." it was a strange experience, and after supper they sat under the stars discussing it until bedtime, and came to the conclusion that percy had met a crazy man. never had miss helen campbell slept so well as she did that night on the sleeping porch. toward morning there came a quiet life-giving rain that freshened the parched earth and brought out the pungency of the pine trees. only mary knew of the shower and of the soft wind that followed just before dawn, bearing with it the fragrance of the wet woods. only mary saw the miracle of the dawn; first the faint flush of pink; then a deep rosy blush; next, rays of orange and gold, and at last the sun bursting into view. it was mary who softly let down the bamboo blinds to keep out the sunlight and who finally slipped back to bed and went to sleep with the songs of innumerable forest birds in her ears. chapter iii. rules and regulations. at six o'clock they were awakened by a long, melodious trumpet call. the vigorous tripping melody drove the sleep from their brains like a dash of cold water. billie found herself sitting up in bed humming: "'oh, come to the stable, as soon as you're able and feed the horses grain. if you don't do it the captain will know it and raise particular cain.'" it was an energetic summons to rise and view a fresh and beautiful world, and billie, glancing at her watch, was aware that, as a concession to new arrivals, the summons had come half an hour later than scheduled. half-past five was to be the hour for rising in camp, provided the ladies were willing. and certainly they showed no signs of unwillingness at the six o'clock call. miss campbell glanced placidly down the line of white cots. then she inhaled a breath of the delicious air. "in all my life i never slept as i did last night," she announced. "did somebody put sleeping drops in my coffee, i wonder?" "i fancy the sleeping drops fell in the night in the form of showers," observed mary from her cot at the end of the line. "there was no storm, just one of those quiet steady rains, and i never saw people sleep so hard. i thought you were all dead until i heard miss campbell----" mary paused and blushed. "that is, until i heard some one breathing very heavily." "now, mary price, don't tell me you heard me snore. i never did such a thing in my life," cried miss campbell. with a laugh, billie leapt from her bed and ran to take a cold plunge in the mountain water which gurgled from the faucet with the pleasant song it had not left off singing when it leaped out of the side of the rock into the pipe. at seven o'clock came the clarion call for breakfast: inviting and persuasive it was, with a lingering last note that fell softly on the ear and gradually died into discreet silence. [illustration] "mr. lupo blows the horn with so much expression," said elinor. "i really think he must have had long experience in summoning people to breakfast who were never ready. he'll be giving 'weber's invitation to the dance' for dinner, i suppose." they had finished their morning toilets in the locker room, and were about to go downstairs when something tapped against one of the bamboo blinds. billie promptly drew it up and looked into the clearing below. "who's tapping at our chamber door?" she demanded. a long fishing pole on which dangled five little nosegays made of ferns and grasses and wild asters was thrust at her. "why, algernon percival," she called. "i never dreamed you were so energetic." "not guilty," answered that young man's voice from the lower porch. "when the bugle sounded just now, i was taking a shower bath. i'm still busy, but it doesn't take long to get into camping clothes. who is the only person we know who would get up at dawn and go tramping off for wild flowers?" a tall, lanky figure stepped out from the shadow of the gallery and lifted his handsome, thoughtful face up to the girls leaning over the railing. "why, it's ben austen," they cried. "dear old ben, when did you come?" "last night at ten o'clock," he answered. "the 'bus wouldn't come up from the village at that hour, so i walked. it was great. how are all of you?" he added, wiggling the nosegays in front of their noses. "we're as fine as silk," answered billie, with a happy laugh. "and it's such fun that you and percy are here. papa kept it a secret so as to surprise us, i suppose." "i hope it's a pleasant surprise." "the jolliest kind," they cried, running downstairs at the second call to breakfast. those of you who have read the first volume of this series, "the motor maids' school days," will recall percy st. clair and ben austen, two west haven boys who were great friends of the girls during that winter when billie campbell and her red car first made their appearance in the town. percy, in the transition from boyhood to manhood, has changed very little. he is of medium height, and his handsome fair face still flushes like a schoolgirl's, to his great annoyance. ben, at nineteen, is six feet tall. his face has developed since we knew him some years ago. his features are large and regular, his dark eyes filled with serious intent, and a mop of curly black hair covers his head like a thick cap. downstairs they found mr. campbell pouring for himself a cup of coffee. the camp table was never to be set for breakfast, but the dishes were to be piled at one end and the food at the other, and each camper was to help himself to what he chose. there was a good deal of laughing and scrambling at this morning meal. it started everybody off in a good humor, and in time it became the hour for jokes and absurdities that will never die out as long as there are boys and girls enough to keep them alive. after they had disposed of quantities of very good food, at least it seemed good to mountain appetites, mr. campbell took a sheet of letter paper from his pocket and rapped for quiet. "young people, i want to read you a few rules which must be obeyed if camp is to be run on a military basis, the only way a camp can be successfully conducted. here they are: "'rules for sunrise camp. "'unless physically unable, all persons must appear at breakfast promptly at six-thirty. penalty for not appearing--general housework for a day. "'every camper, except captain helen e. campbell, must make his own bed and keep his part of the dormitory in first rate order. "'there will be inspection twice a week by captain h. e. campbell.'" miss campbell bowed her head in acknowledgment of the honor. "'dinner at twelve-thirty, unless picnics interfere. "'supper at six. "'sub-rules for women members. "'females unattended or with each other are expressly forbidden to wander off bounds; that is, off the three trails which pass near this camp. "'picnics are forbidden without male attendants.'" "dear me," interrupted billie, "aren't there any laws for the men to follow? these are all against women." "they are merely for your protection, my dear." "that's what the men always say when they begin to trample on women's rights," declared billie. "all right, miss suffragette, just wait a minute. there'll be a few for the men. "'sub-rules for women members--continued. "'hobble skirts are forbidden.'" mr. campbell gave a jovial wink and glanced at nancy. "'any individual who introduces a parisian alpine climbing suit into camp must pay the penalty by being made to climb a mountain in it.'" "now, you know that's not on the list. you're making it up," exclaimed nancy, blushing. "'the tail feather of a pheasant is not recommended as trimming for a camp hat,'" he went on blandly. "'no woman member is permitted to wear a lavender silk polonaise with lace ruffles.'" "polonaise?" cried miss campbell. "what on earth are you talking about, duncan? do you mean negligã©e?" "oh, excuse my ignorance. i thought it was called polonaise," he answered humbly. "polonaise," exclaimed the little lady, amid a wild whoop of laughter. "it's a good thing you brought your daughter to a woman member to have her education finished. goodness me!" "dearest papa," said billie, kissing him, "don't you wear negligã©e shirts most all the time? it's the same thing." "i thought all ladies wore polonaises," insisted mr. campbell. "it certainly was the fashion in my youth, at any rate." "fashions change with the times and manners, my boy," said miss campbell. "but do give us the rules for the men of this household before you forget it." "'sub-rules for men members. "'men are required to look after the wants of the ladies and see that they obey their set of rules to the letter.'" "and is that all?" demanded the women members with a great show of indignation. "why, we have no rights at all and they have everything!" "no indeed, children," answered mr. campbell. "when a man is required to look after the wants of five ladies, he at once gives up all rights of his own and becomes a slave. there is no need of making any more rules for the men, but there is one more rule for general obedience. "'all questions and disputes arising shall be settled by helen eustace campbell, captain of sunrise camp.'" "three cheers for captain campbell," cried percy. miss campbell rose and lifted her little crinkled hand for silence. "i accept the responsibility of sunrise camp," she said, "under the conditions i am about to state: that i am not asked to go canoeing in one of those tippy little boats without seats; that i am not persuaded against my better judgment to climb to the top of a mountain, for i simply won't, i tell you beforehand; and that nothing shall interfere with my afternoon nap." "i am sure that these mild requests will be agreeable to all concerned," said mr. campbell. "will the company state objections, if any?" there was a dead silence. "captain campbell, consider yourself installed as absolute ruler in this camp." "papa, why be so businesslike?" asked billie. "because there must always be a certain amount of system in a camp or it won't run. i've lived in camp so much more than in houses that i know, and since i can't be with you until later, i think it wise to get things started in this way before i go----" "the car is ready, sir," said the village chauffeur at the door. the motor maids had begun to learn by this time that it was invariably mr. campbell's way to leave his guests in a cheerful frame of mind, and they all knew perfectly well that "rules for sunrise camp" had been prepared chiefly for billie's sake, that she would be still laughing when her father kissed her good-by and still smiling when he turned to wave his hat for the last time. she had been very homesick for him lately during his absences from west haven, perhaps because she had been run down in health and tired out. and to-day, in spite of all the laughing and joking, her eyes filled with tears as she watched the car creep down the mountain road to the valley. for a little while the camp seemed lonely and remote. "the truth is," thought mary, wandering down the path to look at the view, "mr. campbell is so splendid that when he goes away he always leaves a big empty space that doesn't seem to fill up. and billie is just like him. nobody ever could fill the emptiness she would leave." as if drawn by these loyal and devoted thoughts, billie had followed mary, and the two girls stood with clasped hands watching the distant motor, now a black speck in the valley. "dearest, dearest papa," exclaimed billie under her breath, as the tears welled into her eyes and slipped down her cheeks. mary pressed close to her side with silent sympathy. presently billie wiped her eyes and began to smile. "don't tell on me, mary dear. i'm just like a foolish little girl. but i do love papa so, and sometimes i can't bear to have him leave me. then i wish i had been born his twin brother and we never could be separated." mary was about to dispute this argument on the grounds that marriage would have separated them, when they noticed coming up the steep road a small bony horse drawing a little cart. a girl was walking at one side, holding the reins. she wore a broad-brimmed jimmy hat and an old gingham dress faded to a soft mellowed pink. the two girls watched her with admiration as she swung along the road, swaying slightly at the waist like one who had adopted the easiest way of walking up hill. they were so intent upon her that they hardly noticed the blackberries and vegetables in the back of the cart. presently the girl paused and turned her beautiful dark blue eyes on them without any embarrassment. "want to buy any vegetables?" she asked. "perhaps they will up at the camp," said billie. "ask mrs. lupo." the mountain girl looked at her strangely and shook her head. "do you know mrs. lupo?" asked billie. "yes, but i will not ask her." "very well, i'll buy something myself. what have you got?" "blackberries, onions and beets." billie bought a pail of berries. "you had better come up to the camp and let me empty them," she said. "keep the pail," answered the mountain girl, and swung on up the road, flicking the little old horse with a long switch. billie and mary followed with the berries, which they presently left in the kitchen where mrs. lupo was working. "i bought these from a mountain girl, mrs. lupo," said billie. the woman went on working without looking up. billie repeated what she had said. there was still no answer, and the girls went out of the kitchen somewhat disconcerted. "she's a queer, shy creature," said billie, and thought no more about it. chapter iv. table top. miss campbell was quite willing to trust her brood with ben austen. "he was always reliable," she remarked. "when he was a baby, his mother could depend on him not to cry at the wrong time, although, of course, he was only human." on the whole, she was relieved that her cousin had asked ben to make them a visit. mr. lupo was all very well and had guided their walking parties up the trails, or, seated beside billie in the "comet," had pointed out good roads for motoring; but miss campbell did not consider him as entirely to be trusted, because, as you probably recall, she never liked mixed bloods nor mixed colors, either. some days after their arrival, when they had quite recovered from that unconquerable disposition to sleep, which always attacks lowlanders visiting the mountains, billie proposed that they take a walking trip across a tableland which separated their mountain from the one behind, and finally scale the peak beyond, where the view, it was said, was magnificent. "let's go to-day while the spirit moves us and it's so delightfully cool," she suggested at breakfast. "but mr. lupo isn't here," objected miss campbell. "he's gone to the village." "we know the way, don't we, ben? mr. lupo showed us the trail yesterday. most of it goes through the woods. it's only two miles across 'table top' and then we get to the other mountain. i'm wild to go. i'm beginning to feel shut in, and i want to see what's on the other side of this chinese wall." "more chinese walls," observed ben gravely. "mr. lupo is such a restraining influence," put in nancy. "when he's along, we have no real conversation." "he is a kind of a wet blanket," observed percy. "you never know whether he has heard you or not. you generally have a feeling he has, but that your remarks are too trivial for comment." "all of which means," said miss campbell, "that you want to go off for the day without a guide." "please, cousin helen," pleaded billie. "dear miss campbell, won't you let us?" cried the other motor maids. "not because that feather-top percy is with you, but because ben is here, i suppose i might as well consent," said miss campbell. "old ben is just as much of a feather-top as i am, miss campbell," protested percy. "he deceives people because he looks like an indian. i've got a serious mind underneath all this curl and color." "i don't believe it," answered miss campbell. "but i wouldn't have you changed, my boy. i like you as you are." after this two-sided compliment, they took it for granted that consent had been given and billie rushed off to see mrs. lupo about the lunch. they had come to learn during that first week in camp that mrs. lupo was a law unto herself. for one thing, the blackberries that billie had purchased of the mountain girl had never come to the table, although the girls kept looking for them to appear in the form of a cobbler or a roly-poly pudding. what had become of them they never learned, but billie had an uncomfortable suspicion that they had been tossed into the garbage pail. "we can't do anything about it, my dear," miss campbell had informed billie. "the woman certainly holds us in the hollow of her hand unless we want to do our own cooking." billie smiled. miss campbell was never known to boil a kettleful of water, let alone cook a meal. if there was any culinary work to be done the motor maids would do it, and miss campbell might possibly arrange the salt cellars or offer to go over the silver with a polishing cloth. mrs. lupo dumbly acquiesced to the lunch. "we will be glad to make the sandwiches, mrs. lupo," said billie timidly. "please let us have some cold meat. i suppose there is plenty of bread? will you hard-boil a dozen eggs?" mrs. lupo rarely replied to any question addressed to her, but she went about getting the things for the lunch and billie breathed a sigh of silent thanks. "it's really terrible to be a slave to one's cook," she thought. "but i know perfectly well that if i ever tried to subjugate mrs. lupo i'd get mad, and she would just fold her tent like the arab and silently steal away, and one morning there would be no breakfast." billie had tried several methods with mrs. lupo. she had said good morning with a polite smile, but received no response. once she had added: "how do you feel this morning, mrs. lupo?" a dead silence had followed this courteous inquiry. "wires crossed," percy had cried. "try again, central." they had all laughed at this witticism and billie had hoped mrs. lupo had not understood. "if you had lived in the mountains all your life i guess you wouldn't be very communicative, either," she had admonished percy, after mrs. lupo had glided noiselessly out of the room. "i guess i wouldn't miss a call," answered percy. "if there was any one to call, i wouldn't hang up the receiver." there were times, however, when billie could scarcely conceal her irritation, and this morning nothing went quite as she had planned. there was only enough bread for a dozen sandwiches and there were only six eggs. "but i said a dozen eggs, mrs. lupo," she said, after she had sliced and buttered the bread and glancing up saw six eggs cooling in a pan. "you know we are going to take a long walk across table top to indian head." the silence was profound. "and we need more bread. will you get me another loaf, please?" no reply. mrs. lupo was quietly stringing beans on a bench by the door of the lean-to which served the camp as a kitchen. "did you hear what i asked?" demanded billie. nancy and mary, placing ham between the slices of bread, looked up quickly, half amused and half frightened. "did you hear me ask you a question, mrs. lupo?" repeated billie, exasperated beyond endurance. mrs. lupo went on stringing beans. brandishing the long carving knife, billie went over and stood in front of the strange woman. percy, peeping through the half open door, was grinning, and nancy stifled a giggle. "when i speak to you i expect an answer, mrs. lupo," said billie, trying to keep her voice smooth and even. "now, answer me at once." mrs. lupo looked up mildly surprised. "there ain't no more bread and there ain't no more eggs," she said, in a voice that sounded like an echo. billie went back to her work without a word, and later, when they had started on the walk with the small allowance of lunch packed in a candy box, percy teased her and called her the javelin thrower. "i _was_ almost tempted to pitch it at her," said billie. "she is the most aggravating human being i ever saw. i'll certainly never address another word to her, but it's so hard to remember not to be agreeable." the placid depths of billie's amiable nature had been so stirred by the incident that it took her some time to calm down, and she went blindly along the trail following ben without seeing anything or anybody. "don't let her jar you, billie," said ben, soothingly. "if you want to forget your troubles, just have a look at nancy-bell. she looks like a fashion plate lady standing on the top of mont blanc." nancy had disappeared just when they were ready to start and kept them waiting fifteen minutes, which had also served to aggravate billie's ruffled temper. "goodness me," exclaimed billie, laughing, "the child has put on her new walking costume made by delosia moxley's mother! when the climbing part comes, what will she do, ben?" ben shook his head doubtfully. "how do you like it, billie dear?" asked nancy in a honeyed tone, noticing her friend's backward glances. "it's awfully pretty, nancy. lovely color, but----" "you see, the skirt's quite broad," interrupted nancy, anticipating objections and endeavoring to spread the skirt to the full limit of its yard and a quarter. "just about as broad as one trouser leg," teased ben. nancy ignored the remark, and the pheasant's feather in her hat seemed to quiver with indignation. "where's the crook?" asked mary politely. "i'm her crook," put in percy. "you'll find she'll be using me as a staff presently when she has to take a step six inches instead of five." "we'll be carrying her yet," ben predicted. "i think you are all perfectly horrid," ejaculated nancy, who indeed looked as pretty as a picture in the blue velveteen. there was the coral tie at her throat, as she had planned, and perched on her curls was the jauntiest little hat imaginable that served only to keep the sun off the top of her head and was no protection whatever to her tip-tilted freckled nose. mary and elinor wore jimmies bought in the village, and billie wore no hat at all. "no, we aren't, nancy dear. we're just teasing," said billie. "you look sweet, but why have you never worn it before?" "to tell the truth, i was afraid of the scorn of mr. lupo," said nancy. "all of you are just like a family, so it didn't matter, but mr. lupo might have thought me, well--an amateur. i've been dying to wear it," she added, giving a dance step and looking down with pride at the snug-fitting skirt. "of course, i know the skirt is a bit narrow. you know how mrs. moxley is,--just determined to have her own way. it was all i could do to get her to put the extra quarter of a yard in the skirt. but i think i can manage it if we don't walk too fast. there is so much level ground on this walk, too,--all that table land, you know." ben gave a covert smile and the others laughed openly. "you funny child," said billie. "it's really beautiful to see a person enjoy clothes like that. you look sweet enough to charm a snake, and if the walking is too stiff, we'll just carry you." "so far so good," said ben, "but on the other side of table top there'll be some climb." nancy did not hear this prediction. so far, indeed, the trail was a broad and honest path leading through the pine forest; but after a while, as it descended toward the tableland, it grew so narrow as to be imperceptible to everybody but ben, whose eyes, trained by long months of camping and vacation walking trips, could pick out the faintest indication of a path where the others saw nothing at all. it was well past noon when at last they arrived at a scooped out area of land between the two mountains, connecting them half way to their summit, like the web foot of a duck. here, hungry and tired, they paused for lunch, and somehow, two sandwiches and a boiled egg apiece didn't seem to go very far. "i have to apologize," said billie. "there was nothing in the camp to eat. i suppose that's why mr. lupo made his mysterious visit to the village: to get supplies." "i'm thankful it's all gone and there is no more," announced percy. "it's something less to carry," he added, tying a cord around nancy's coat and his own and hanging them over his back like a peddler's pack. "be still," whispered elinor, raising a warning hand, "i was certain i heard music off in that direction." the six friends sat silently listening for strains of music. in the stillness of the forest they heard nothing but the songs of the birds, broken occasionally by the caw of a crow or the tapping of a woodpecker. but it was good to stop chattering for a while in this peaceful place, and billie, lying on her back looking up into the interlacing branches of the trees, smiled happily. how could she have been out of humor when just at their very doorstep lay the most wonderful enchanted forest? it would not be easy to recall silly domestic troubles in the midst of all this beauty. "curious. i was certain i heard the sound of some instrument like a mandolin or a zither," said elinor. "it was just one strain, almost as if the wind had blown over an aeolian harp." "it was fairy music," put in mary. "like enough," said ben; "and we had better be moving on," he added, rising and leading the way. "the fairies don't like human ears to hear their music and they might be playing tricks on us. then we'd be in the deuce of a fix out in the wilderness." "they don't mind at all," said mary. "you're entirely mistaken, ben. you are thinking of elves. the fairies are kind little people who never harm anyone." they had been walking for some time when they heard cries behind them. "help! help!" screamed the voice of nancy from around a curve in the trail. "what did i tell you," said ben, running back with the others to see what had happened, and then bursting into a perfect roar of laughter. there was percy in the act of killing a long black snake, which was curled up with head thrust out in an attitude of defence, and there was nancy, who had evidently started to run and, missing the trail, had rushed into a tall clump of bramble bushes. the brambles had wrapped themselves about her like the tentacles of an octopus, and the jaunty feather was caught in an overhanging branch. "don't kill the snake, percy," objected ben. "there are lots more just like him, and it won't help any to kill one. besides, they never start a quarrel." "all right, old s. p. c. a.," said percy, as relieved as the snake, which immediately glided off into the bushes as if it had actually understood that ben was making a plea for its life. with subdued giggles they released nancy from the clutches of the brambles. the feather was broken in half and dragged dejectedly over the crown of her hat, and there was a long scratch across her left cheek. "do you remember jim phipps in the fourth grade, ben," began percy, pointing to nancy's hat. "do you remember the poem called 'absalom' he recited? that is, he began it but he never got any farther than the first line, because he started out by saying, 'abalsom, my son abalsom.'" the laugh was against nancy, but she took it good-naturedly and joined in, while she broke the feather in half and left the lower end standing up in the band in a straight cockade. and now the path, although it was on level ground, seemed to grow more and more difficult. ben, glancing behind him, doubtfully remarked: "as long as there are only two miles of this, i suppose we can stand it, but if any person feels tired, sing out and we'll start back without trying to make indian head." "we are all right," they assured him. for a long time they walked on in silence. the ground was soft and squashy under foot, and billie privately believed that the trail lay only in ben's imagination. "ben," she said at last. "i think maybe we had better start back. we don't seem to be getting anywhere, and this ground is like a sponge." silently they turned their faces in the other direction, feeling all at once chilled and tired and hungry. ben, leading the way with billie, began to look serious. "billie," he said in a low voice after a while, "i am afraid i am not worthy the confidence miss campbell has placed in me. i am afraid i'll have to confess that we are lost." chapter v. in the bog. it was not an unique experience to billie to be lost. she had once known what it was to be out of sight of every human habitation on a western plain, and furthermore half dead with hunger and thirst. you will recall how the "comet" once carried the motor maids safely over an old wagon trail through a tropical forest in florida, and perhaps also you have not forgotten how billie and mary price were lost in the sacred groves of nikko in japan. therefore, billie was not in the least frightened when ben confided to her private ear that he had missed the trail. "we can't be very much lost," she answered. "'table top' is only two miles broad, and we'll have to reach one side or the other pretty soon." "i hope so," said ben, "but don't tell the others yet. if they lose confidence in me, it will only make matters worse. i wasn't prepared for this bog. i should think mr. lupo might have mentioned it." "there couldn't be a trail through a bog anyhow, could there?" "sometimes there is. i've seen a swamp with just a narrow path running through it. but a swamp path is the sneakiest kind of a trail. it hides itself wherever it can under tall grasses and bushes. of course, mr. lupo didn't know we were going, or he would certainly have stopped us, but do you suppose mrs. lupo understood we were taking this particular trail?" "she certainly did. i told her myself just before i drew the knife on her." ben smiled at the mental picture of billie brandishing a carving knife. "hey, ben," called percy. "is this a trail? i think it's a channel. i'm up to my knees." ben made no reply. he was deeply mortified, and hung his head with a kind of animal-like humiliation. "what's the matter, old man?" demanded percy, putting his arm affectionately on his friend's shoulder. "you look like my collie did when i caught him sucking eggs." "i've missed the trail," ben burst out with a choke in his voice. the others had gathered around now. their shoes were wet, their stockings torn with brambles, and their skirts splattered and stained with grasses and the juices of wild berries. but they were a valiant little company, even mary price, the weakest and frailest among them, and the sight of ben's unhappiness and remorse only added to their courage. "it's all right, ben," said elinor. "we'll find the trail again. we're obliged to. there is the mountain right over there. why not walk until we get to it?" "i'm afraid it looks nearer than it is," said ben, "and besides, it's not sunrise mountain. it's indian head. i thought some time ago we were getting well away from it, but these infernal bogs are so deceiving." "i move we start on," put in billie, briskly. "we're obliged to get somewhere some time." "i'll put it to the vote, then," announced ben. "shall we go toward indian head or sunrise? we are nearer to indian head, and we may strike a farm and hire a horse and wagon to take us home." this seemed a good suggestion, and they accordingly turned their faces toward the mountain, the rugged outline of which resembled the profile of an indian. anything to get on solid dry land again was the unspoken thought of the six friends. once on dry surfaces and out of the level treacherous monotony of the bog, they felt they might be equal to anything. for nearly two hours they worked their way through the morass without making any apparent progress toward the mountain. and now the sun was sinking behind the western range. ben watched the lessening rays with feelings very much like despair. "if i had been alone or with some of the fellows it wouldn't have mattered," he thought, "but with the girls----" in a little while table top took on the appearance of a vast plain shut in by high walls. it was a weird, lonely place. "it reminds me of the valley of the shadow of death in 'pilgrim's progress'," mary whispered to ben, who was helping her over the rough, uneven ground. "don't you remember the wilderness that christian had to pass through before he reached the celestial city?" "i'm afraid i never read 'pilgrim's progress'," ben confessed in grief-stricken tones, "but i can see what you mean, and the white mist that's rolling in looks like a troop of spirits." "would any person or persons care to hear me sing some cheerful ditty?" asked percy, and he forthwith began to sing in a rollicking tenor voice: "'it was a robber's daughter and her name was alice brown; her father was the terror of a small italian town, her mother was a foolish, weak, but amiable old thing, but it isn't of her parents that i'm going for to sing. "'as alice was a-sitting at her window sill one day, a beautiful young gentleman he chanced to pass that way, she cast her eyes upon him and he looked so good and true that she thought, "i could be happy with a gentleman like you."'" "help! help!" screamed nancy. "oh, ben, oh, percy, oh, billie, save me!" "what is the matter?" they cried. "don't come near me," she interrupted. "don't, don't! keep away. they'll kill you, too." nancy was jumping up and down in a perfect agony of fear, wringing her hands one moment and tearing at her skirts the next. "it's a hornet's nest," exclaimed ben. "keep still, nancy. don't run. they won't sting you if you are perfectly still." but it was needless to tell nancy not to run. what with her narrow skirt and the spongy ground she could scarcely walk. "there are dozens of them crawling inside my skirt," she sobbed, "and you tell me to keep still." "don't be frightened, nancy-bell. i'll stand with you," announced percy, boldly offering himself as a sacrifice to hornets, as he drew nancy's arm through his. "come on, hornets," he cried. "sting a man. don't attack a helpless girl." the others could not keep from laughing at the picture of nancy and percy standing arm in arm in the wilderness. "you remind me of a bridal couple walking up the aisle," exclaimed billie. but nancy was too frightened to withdraw her arm from percy's even at this witticism. she leaned on him in an attitude of relief and extreme confidence. "didn't i tell you i would be her staff before the day was over?" he remarked with a grin. "i've been stung in a dozen different places," sobbed nancy. "stand still," ordered ben. "they will leave you and go back to their nest if you are quiet." and as he had predicted, the hornets did leave off their attack and return to their home, but not until percy had been stung several times without a murmur. for the sake of nancy brown, he would voluntarily have stepped into any number of hornets' nests. at last the procession started on. in the misty twilight, they were a company of gray shadows moving silently along. when people are lost, really and unquestionably lost, their true natures rise to the surface: if there is any selfishness hidden away, it develops into complainings and reproaches; the faint-hearted make unhappy predictions; the lazy ones get tired before they have any right to. ben had always admired the motor maids, but never more than now when he saw them quiet and courageous in the face of a night in the swamp. nancy might shriek over hornets and snakes, but she would never confess to being tired or frightened. not once had they complained or reproached him, and now when the will-o'-the-wisps began their ghostly dance through the mists, and the great wall of mountain loomed up in front of them black and threatening, it seemed to poor ben that it would make it easier for him to bear his sorrows if some one would only make one little complaint. it was mary who gave out first. she was just sinking to her knees when billie called out cheerfully: "i see a light and it's not a will-o'-the-wisp." there indeed was a light sending out a kindly beam in the darkness, and while they watched it, it went out. "listen," exclaimed elinor, "i hear the music again." there came to them the sweet fairy notes of the zither. "halloo!" called ben again and again, and presently the others joined in the chorus. "what is it?" answered a voice quite near, and a figure bounded toward them through the mists. "we have been lost," answered ben. "do you think you could let these young ladies rest in your cabin while we get a vehicle and drive them home?" "yes," answered the voice, and billie then recognized the mountain girl who had sold them the blackberries that mrs. lupo had pitched out. [illustration: after a stiff climb up a rocky path, they reached a little cabin.--page 77.] "come this way," she added, and they presently realized they were on rising ground and that the morass with its glimmering will-o'-the-wisps and its floating veils of thin mist was now well below them. after a stiff climb up a rocky path they reached a little cabin built in a clearing, commanding a wide vista of the treacherous table top and the mountains beyond. at the door of the cabin sat the zither player, his hands traveling aimlessly over the strings while he listened to the approaching footsteps. "father," called the girl, "visitors!" "eh? eh?" answered the man. "physicians, with medicines? will they save her? come in! come in!" they filed slowly into the cabin wondering what sort of a person it was sitting in the darkness and calling for physicians. the girl struck a match and lighted two candles, and at least three of the visitors noticed that the candlesticks were of silver, tall and graceful in design, and as bright as rubbing could make them. the father like the daughter was tall and slender, with the same dark blue eyes, although his had a strange unseeing look in them. his hair was very thick and almost white, his frame spare to emaciation, but he carried himself erect and his shoulders were broad and well developed. "make a fire, father," the girl ordered, and he obediently left the room, presently returning with an armful of wood. oh, the joy of sinking to the floor in front of that warm blaze! ben consulted with the girl at the door of the cabin, and the strange father, rubbing his hands and smiling absently, remarked with an accent that was very different from mr. lupo's or any of the natives thereabouts: "not half bad, this fire, eh? rather cheerful on a dull night." presently his daughter began preparing supper on a little wood stove in the lean-to back of the house. swiftly and silently, with ben's assistance, she made coffee, scrambled eggs and fried bacon. "you may set the table," she said to percy, pointing to some shelves at one end of the cabin. percy obediently placed on the plain deal table six blue plates, nicked and cracked in a dozen places, but undoubtedly of canton; also in a tin box he found knives and forks and spoons, all shining as brightly as the candlesticks, and, he felt perfectly certain, all of silver. it was necessary to revive mary with some hot coffee before she could eat a mouthful, and after she had taken a little food, ben hoisted her in his arms and carried her into a small adjoining room where he laid her on a cot; all this under the supervision of the young mistress of the cabin. there was no attempt at conversation while they satisfied their ravenous appetites, but later, when the wanderers had risen and billie was consulting with ben and percy what was best to do, the father pointed to nancy sitting in the darkest corner of the room in a small huddled heap. "rosalind has come out of the forest of arden," he said. all eyes were turned on nancy who shrank into the shadow. suddenly percy seized one of the tall candlesticks and held it over her head. "why, nancy-bell," he cried, "what has happened to your----" nancy spread her hands over her lap and turned her large blue eyes to them with a piteous expression. "i took it off and threw it away in the swamp," she said tremulously. "i did hate the thing so, and it was full of hornets and not big enough to take a decent step in anyhow. i hoped no one would notice." they were tired, but not too tired to laugh. "if i had been dying, i should have died laughing," billie often afterwards remarked in telling of this incident. nancy, minus her narrow velveteen skirt, was really a beguiling figure in blue pongee knickerbockers. the straight velveteen jacket reached just below her waist, and with her rumpled curls and weary expression she might easily have been taken for rosalind, just arrived at the forest of arden with celia and touchstone. but the wonder of it was how a half-crazed mountaineer could know anything about the greatest comedy in the world. this did not trouble them until afterwards, however. "billie," observed ben presently, "i've been consulting with--with this young lady here. she knows the trail through the swamp and has consented to guide me back to the camp to-night. we may be able to make it in less than two hours by a short cut, she says, and we ought to start at once. miss campbell will be half wild with uneasiness. as soon as it's daylight, i'll come back by the road in the 'comet.' there are some bearskins and blankets. you can all put up here for the night. percy will stay of course." "but isn't that a great deal to ask of you, to take that long trip to-night?" asked billie gratefully, turning to the girl. "it is nothing," she answered shortly and set about lighting a lantern. then she beckoned to ben and they silently left the cabin. in a few moments, the father, who had been smoking a pipe at the cabin door, took one of the silver candlesticks from the mantel. "good night," he said courteously. "i trust you will have a pleasant rest after your journey. i presume you have been shown your rooms?" "yes, sir," answered percy. the man paused at the door of his bedroom at the other side of the cabin. "i trust the physician will come soon," he said. "with luck he may reach there before i do." "that's the man who sent me to the old ruined hotel," whispered percy. "he's certainly touched, but he's harmless." they found two steamer rugs and several blankets in a heap on a bench, left there by the mountain girl for their comfort; and it was not long before they lay in a circle around the fire, sound asleep. chapter vi. the doctor. after the young people had departed on the morning of that eventful day, miss helen campbell settled herself in a hammock on the upper porch with a novel and two new magazines. she loved the "children," as she called them, and the sound of their voices and laughter was as music to her ears, but occasionally she enjoyed a peaceful morning to herself without any chatter to disturb her quietude. who would have imagined as she sat there idly swinging in the hammock, that the dainty little lady was all the way to sixty years old? her eyes were as blandly blue and clear as a child's; her complexion had never lost its peach blossom glow, and the fine network of wrinkles around her eyes and at the corners of her mouth was only faintly visible. "but i'm getting old," she thought. "those long trips have rejuvenated my spirits but my body is tired. i haven't the physique for adventuring any longer. i don't think i could stand a shock of any kind, great or small." her thoughts broke off at this point and she idly touched the railing of the porch with one of her little feet and set the hammock to a gentle motion like a rocking cradle. "no, i shall not put myself in the way of shocks. i am glad we are not touring this summer; just taking life peacefully----" again her thoughts broke off. her eyes wandered across the wide vista of valley flanked by a range of mountains. the landscape was flecked by great shadows cast by lazily moving ribbons of cloud. the foliage of the trees and the undergrowth on the opposite mountains were like rugs of velvet. one might imagine a gigantic figure stretched out on the soft green patches of forest. there were no harsh outlines to the mountains. their rugged edges were veiled and softened by the shadows of the passing clouds. miss campbell closed her eyes. "life is very pleasant," she thought, "even at sixty." after a long dreamy period as untroubled as a summer sea, some instinct compelled her to open her eyes, and she found herself looking straight into the eyes of mrs. lupo who was standing at the foot of the hammock. mrs. lupo held her hands behind her back. miss campbell noticed at once that the woman's expression had changed. she had lost that look of a shy gentle animal. her eyes had narrowed into little slits and her upper lip was drawn back showing an even row of glistening teeth. without taking her eyes off mrs. lupo's, miss campbell sat up very straight and stiff. "well, what do you want?" she demanded, always holding the woman's gaze with hers. mrs. lupo moved a step nearer, still with her hands behind her back. "stand where you are," ordered miss campbell, fired with superhuman courage and never once shifting her gaze. "stand where you are," she repeated. there was not a tremor in her voice. "now, give me what you are hiding behind you." for at least a moment the two women stood looking at each other. if miss campbell had flinched, there is no telling what the half-savage creature, insane with rage, might have done. and even now, with a swift movement, mrs. lupo brandished a long carving knife in miss campbell's face. "drop that instantly," thundered miss campbell in a voice that did not seem to be her own. but the force of her splendid will and courage struck home. the carving knife slipped from mrs. lupo's hand and stood upright between them in the board floor of the porch. "get down on your knees," ordered miss campbell, and all this time she had never taken her eyes off mrs. lupo's. the knife was still swaying on the point of its blade, as the woman sank to the floor in a quivering, sobbing heap. "what do you mean by coming to me like this?" demanded miss campbell. "your daughter, she try cut my throat this morning with same. i take revenge," answered mrs. lupo between her sobs. "nonsense! absurd!" "she have dislike me from first," went on mrs. lupo, who seemed to eliminate all articles from her conversation. "she joke at me. she buy berries of girl i hate." miss campbell leaned against the rail and watched the woman crouched at her feet like a whipped dog. only an instant did she allow the thought to come to her that she was alone in camp with a half-crazed savage. "she is a very weak, pitiable object," she said to herself. "i must manage her and i shall. i am not afraid." suddenly she leaned over and put her hand very softly on the woman's shoulder. "i am so sorry for you," she said. "won't you let me help you? i think you are much too fine and capable to fly into rages like this. what is the reason of it?" "not know," answered mrs. lupo. "when they come, i see red. i wish to break up--kill." "do you love your husband?" "yes," answered the other with so much eloquence of expression that miss campbell knew she spoke the truth. "and he loves you?" "he loves me, but not so much. he leaves me for long time,--alone." "has he ever seen you in a rage?" "yes," answered mrs. lupo in a low voice, her head sinking on her breast. "of course, then, that is why he leaves you. men like gentleness in a woman. a violent-tempered wife never keeps her husband's love. if you were gentle and quiet, your husband would take you with him to the village. but you are jealous and uncontrolled. you make a spectacle of yourself and of him. you look very ugly as you looked a while ago, like an angry animal instead of a handsome young woman. try being gentle and always looking pretty and see how it works." mrs. lupo looked up. miss campbell had captured her interest and she was listening to that sage spinster's advice with entire attention. "you think me handsome woman?" "very, when you are in a good temper." "suppose i can't keep back anger?" "the next time your eyes see red, make a little prayer. it will always be answered." "to christ?" asked mrs. lupo, who had been to a mission school as a girl. "yes, to christ, who never spoke a harsh word even when he was struck in the face and spit upon and finally nailed to a cross." "what shall i say?" asked the other, as interested as a child. "when you feel the rage coming on, say over and over: 'oh, christ, take my anger from me and make me gentle and kind.'" mrs. lupo repeated the prayer several times. "and it will come true?" she asked. "always, always. try it and see." at last the half-breed rose to her feet. the knife stood upright between them swaying on its blade. "you forgive?" she asked. "i forgive." "i will go away. i am afraid yet when the daughter comes. there is still hate here," she pointed to her temples. "but it will be gone if i stay away. when lupo goes to village he stays long time. it is better for me not to see him when he comes back. until i learn, i will not see him no more. good-by. i'm thankful to you." mrs. lupo departed, leaving the knife where it had fallen. it was on the tip of miss campbell's tongue to say: "you must not leave me alone." but she checked herself. she doubted if she could exert her will another time like that. already beads of perspiration stood out on her brows. a feeling of extreme lassitude crept over her and she slipped back into the hammock with a sensation of nausea. then unconsciousness bound her with invisible cords and the brave little woman fainted dead away. as mrs. lupo turned into the gallery, she glanced back but she only saw the train of miss campbell's white wrapper fluttering from the hammock in the breeze. there had been several loud raps downstairs, but to miss campbell, fighting her way slowly back to consciousness, it sounded hundreds of miles away, like spirit rapping; or perhaps it was the pounding of her own pulses. a man entered the living room. he was of medium height and spare with a lean brown face, and he was dressed as men usually dress for walking trips, in knickerbockers, heavy shoes laced well up the leg, a gray flannel shirt open at the neck with a brown silk tie. he wore a pith helmet; on his back was strapped a flat knapsack, and he carried a cane and a telescope. as he hurried through the living room, he tossed his helmet into a chair. there was a bald spot on his head fringed with reddish hair turning gray. his features were distinguished and because of a certain dignity with which he carried himself, a certain air of command and confidence, people were apt to wonder who he was. "it was upstairs, i am certain," the visitor remarked to himself, glancing into the empty kitchen and then mounting the rustic steps to the upper sleeping porch. with quick, comprehensive eyes he took in the five white cots standing in a row, on the porch the group of wicker chairs, the murderous looking knife, swaying on the tip of its shining blade, and lastly the high-backed canvas sleeping hammock from which trailed the train of a white muslin dress. "whew!" he exclaimed, under his breath. for a moment it looked as if something unspeakably dreadful had happened that beautiful morning, and his fears were not set at rest even when he bounded past the knife and stood leaning over miss campbell's half conscious form. "water," she gasped faintly. "i wonder if there's a bathroom," he thought, running along the porch to the nearest door after the one leading to the passage. "of course they always have them in these so-called camps," he added, catching the flash of a porcelain tub beyond. in another moment he had wet miss campbell's lips from a glass of water and was dabbing her temples with the end of a wet towel. "better now?" he asked, as she opened her heavenly blue eyes. she nodded with a faint smile and closed them again. "curious how a doctor is always finding work to do even in the wilderness," he thought, feeling miss helen's pulse. with an exclamation, he hurried back to the bathroom, and among a perfect army of tooth powder and talcum powder boxes,--"enough for half a dozen people," he thought,--he spied a bottle of aromatic spirits of ammonia. he mixed a dose in the glass with professional dexterity and hurried back. "just as well i happened along," he thought, moistening her lips with the mixture. "that does the trick," he added, as she presently opened her eyes again and swallowed a little of the ammonia and water. the white, pinched look left her face, the color crept back to her cheeks, and she gave a sigh of relief as she shifted her position in the hammock. "my pillows?" she asked, feeling for the pillows which he had slipped from under her head to the floor. "better lie flat for a while," he ordered in a tone of authority. "i wonder where her people are?" the doctor added to himself, glancing again at the five cot beds. then he drew up a chair and watched miss helen campbell as she dropped into a doze. in a little while she exclaimed in a much stronger tone of voice: "please take me out of this wobbly thing; i want to lie on my own bed." the walking-doctor promptly lifted her in his arms like a little child and deposited her on one of the cots. her hands were cold, and he covered her with a roman blanket that lay on the foot of the bed. then he found two hot water bottles, marched down stairs, heated a kettle of water on the kerosene stove, searched for beef tea in the ice chest and by good luck found half a jar. with the water bottles at her feet and a little beef tea to nourish her, miss campbell at last fell into a deep sleep, while the doctor, sitting near at hand, read one of the magazines and, occasionally tip-toeing to her bedside, listened to her breathing and felt her pulse. toward late afternoon, he descended into the lower regions of the log house and foraged for food. he found crackers and cheese, a tin of beans and a bottle of ginger ale. having refreshed himself, he was about to return to his patient when mr. lupo staggered into the kitchen with a market basket on his arm. "where is my wife?" he asked in a thick voice. "she is not here and you'd better go, too, quick," answered the doctor. mr. lupo looked at him with an ugly expression, his eyes narrowing, as his wife's had done when she had approached miss campbell with the carving knife. "who are you?" he asked. "i am a doctor." "has anything happened? my wife, she is crazy when she is mad. is that the reason why she ran away?" "does your wife flourish carving knives?" mr. lupo retreated with a terrified expression. "she has--?" he was too frightened to finish. "no," replied the doctor. "the lady was too strong for her here." he touched his forehead with his finger. "she was not touched--the lady?" "no, but she has collapsed from fright,--she is very ill,--i could not answer for her recovery if you gave her another shock." without a word, mr. lupo rushed out of doors, jumped into a rickety wagon drawn by an old mountain-climbing horse and in another instant was clattering down the road. toward evening miss campbell grew stronger. the doctor raised her head and fed her by the spoonful a cup of malted milk, also found in the ice chest. "billie?" she said. "that's my name," answered the doctor. "william for long." "nice boy," she added, patting him on the shoulder, with a very small limp hand. "have the children got back?" "they will be here pretty soon, now," he answered, frowning and glancing at his watch. "ben is a safe guide. they are safe with him. wake me when they arrive," and turning over on her side, miss campbell went back to sleep. occasionally the doctor scanned the side of the mountain with his telescope. "the children are taking a long time," he said to himself. "they had better look alive, if they want to make it before nightfall." but night fell and there was no sign of the wanderers. the doctor lit a cigar and watched the shadows creep up the side of the mountains. he listened to the last twittering of the birds and then a silence, profound and deep, settled on the camp. again he descended to the living room of the camp now in darkness. presently he lighted the green shaded lamp and two lanterns, hanging one at the front of the house and the other at the back. he unpacked the market basket and cooked himself some supper, and finally with a glass of milk and a slice of bread for miss campbell when she waked, returned to the upper sleeping porch. "a telescope is an excellent thing," he observed, settling himself in a steamer chair, a lamp on the floor beside him with a tin protector to keep draughts from the flame. "i saw the woman plainly enough flourishing the carving knife. it must have been sheer force of will on the part of this little lady that made her drop it." and now the darkness had indeed fallen, a black, impenetrable curtain. only the outline of the opposite range could be seen. it seemed to have closed in on the camp, and like a gigantic wall, to shut it off from the outer world. an owl hooted in a tree not far away and from a cleft in the mountains came the weird song of the whippoorwill. chapter vii. phoebe. fate had chosen a very simple way of bringing about events of great importance to persons in this history. a doctor off on a walking trip had idly lifted his telescope to scan the village in the valley. as he swept his glass over the country, it had brought near to him glimpses of white farmhouses, men working in the fields and then looming quite close and unexpectedly large to his eye, a woman brandishing a long knife over the head of a person in white. the doctor lost no time in idle speculation. "it's in that camp on the lower ledge," he said to himself as he dashed down the path, and in some twenty minutes or more entered the living room of sunrise camp. it is not pleasant to think of what might have happened to miss helen campbell if the doctor's alert, intelligent eyes had not caught and instantly comprehended the significance of the picture brought to him by the telescope. how long might she have lain there unconscious, or how dealt with the half-intoxicated lupo if he had mounted the steps in search of his wife? then, as the hours slipped on and no human soul came near to minister to her and comfort her, and she had finally realized that her young people had never returned, how would she have endured that second shock? fate had brought the doctor in the nick of time to perform an inestimable service to the motor maids and to all those who knew and loved miss helen campbell. and through this service to the friends of miss campbell, another was to follow,--one filled with danger and interest, which would require all the skill of his profession. about ten o'clock miss campbell awoke, refreshed and rested. she took the milk and bread with an appetite. then she examined the stranger at her bedside with some curiosity. "i suppose they sent for you from the village?" she asked. "i happened to be nearer than that," he answered. memory was returning by slow degrees. "i had a shock of some sort; or was it a fall? i remember fainting and the next thing i recall was aromatic ammonia and you." the doctor smiled. "i suppose they are all in bed now. they were too tired to sit up." "it was so late, you see," he said apologetically. "they needn't have left me this enormous porch to myself. i know they will hate sleeping down there. can't billie come and speak to me?" "i am afraid he's sound asleep by now." "he?" ejaculated the patient. "but, of course, how could you be expected to know my young cousin by name. she is the tall girl with the gray eyes. i think she is beautiful. perhaps you might not--but you would--" the doctor started. he had heard a stealthy step on the porch below. "you will not think me impertinent if i ask you not to talk?" he said. "just a few more hours' quiet and you'll be quite fit. i'm going to leave you a moment." miss campbell gave him a good natured smile. she liked his fine face and his clear brown eyes. "very well, doctor," she said. "i see you know your business. i'll be obedient." taking the lamp he went downstairs. it could hardly be the gray-eyed billie and her friends returning, he argued. they would never come creeping back in that stealthy manner. "well, who is it?" he called in a low voice. mrs. lupo came out of the shadows and stood before him. "lady going die?" she asked in a terrified whisper. "pretty ill, but she's coming around." the woman looked vastly relieved. "young lady know?" "she has never come back." mrs. lupo raised both hands in a gesture of despair. "the marsh--i never told--i'm wicked woman!" she exclaimed. "good heavens!" said the doctor, "you mean to say you sent them through that bog? it's full of suck holes. you have done enough wickedness for one day. where is your husband? hurry up, quick. wake up the villagers. get lanterns. go find them!" mrs. lupo seized a lantern from the gallery. "i go myself," she said, and disappeared. all that night mrs. lupo searched table top. she knew the trail as intimately as the mountain girl, but at dawn she had found nothing. but as the light spread over the marsh, she saw something lying on the very edge of the most dangerous quicksand in the place. it was nancy's hobble skirt. "oh, oh!" groaned the poor woman over and over with a kind of savage chant. "oh, oh! i'm punished now." rolling the skirt into a bundle she turned her face from sunrise camp and disappeared in the pine forests. about an hour after mrs. lupo had left the camp, the doctor heard the noise of hurrying footsteps on the gallery at the front and hastening downstairs he found ben austen and his guide. "miss campbell--how has she stood it? is she all right?" demanded ben breathlessly. "not so loud," answered the doctor. then he told ben in a few words what had happened. "she doesn't even know you have been lost," he said. while the two men were talking together in whispers, the girl looked about her with much curiosity. was she in a palace? the high roof, the rugs and chairs were things new to her. and this was called a "camp"! what was the inside of a real house like, she wondered. "that virago!" she heard ben say. "no wonder she drives lupo to drink. this young lady here has saved us all and guided me back through the swamp." he indicated the barefooted girl. "i suppose we would have been there yet if she hadn't heard us call." "you must sit down," said the doctor kindly. "i'll just have a look at my patient and then help this young man get some supper. your name is--?" "phoebe," she answered, shrinking with shyness. "phoebe what?" "i have no other name." phoebe had been accustomed all her life to the courtesy and gentleness of one man, her father. the few others she had known were rough mountaineers, and here was she, barefooted and ragged, treated like a princess by two men. while the doctor fried ham and eggs, the staple of every camp, ben made a pot of tea, and presently drew up a table in front of her and placed on it a tray set as neatly as he knew how. phoebe watched the proceedings with wide frightened eyes. she tried to hide her bare feet under her ragged dress and to draw down the sleeves over her hands, brown and stained with blackberry juice. later, when they had made her a bed on one of the divans and left her to sleep until daylight, she was too bewildered to say good-night. all her life phoebe had lived in the little mountain cabin. she had never known a mother and she had never had a friend. her father had taught her many things, however, and one was to read from the books on the shelf. there were several books on astronomy; pilgrim's progress; the bible; a volume of shakespeare; a history of england; a translation of the "iliad", and some volumes of poetry:--keats, tennyson and browning. where her father had got these books and the silver and the blue china, she knew no more than he. he had tried and tried to remember, but he had forgotten. he had no identity, no past. his name, his family, everything connected with his early life had gone. his past life had stopped when he had gone for a physician. he had taught his little girl to read, as we have said, and when old enough she had often read aloud in the long winter evenings. he had seemed to listen with absorbed interest, but it is difficult to say how much he grasped of the words he heard, or whether they were mere words to him with no collective significance. with a certain instinct left to him from that mysterious dead past, he had imparted to his daughter an unmistakable refinement of speech and manner. about some things he was even fastidious,--her way of eating, the appearance of the table and the silver. he himself was excessively neat and orderly and had periods of great industry, weaving baskets of sweet grass and carving wood, not crudely, but with unusual taste, boxes and chalets, napkin rings and figures of animals. where he had learned these arts his daughter never knew, but she imagined from an old indian who had lived in the little cabin in the early days and had died when phoebe was still quite small. as far as a man may be sane whose memory extends back only some eighteen years and who has only one illusion, phoebe's father was sane. the baskets and woodcarving he and his daughter peddled through the country with success, because they were exceedingly well done, and the money earned was sufficient for their small needs. too excited from the unusual events of the night to sleep, phoebe lay on the divan in the living room and reviewed the mysteries that filled her life. she had a strange smattering of knowledge for a girl of eighteen. it would seem that she had been gifted with a memory for two since her father had none, and whatever she learned from the row of books on the shelves she remembered. that is, whatever interested her. she knew the constellations and the planets, and on summer nights had located them in the heavens by means of the book chart. she would point them out to her father, who glanced at them vaguely, smiled and went on playing the zither, his consolation in idle moments. she had read and re-read the history of england so many times that some of the chapters she could repeat word for word. she understood little of the poetry, but the rhythm of the lines sang in her head, and without knowing the meaning she could repeat in a sing-song voice long poems and sonnets. "pilgrim's progress" and the "iliad" and the new testament with the psalms were her solace on the long winter evenings. one after the other she read them with unending pleasure. she would read slowly so as not to finish too soon, as a child nibbles at her sweet cake to make it last the longer, and having finished one volume she would take up another with all the eagerness of one about to plunge into a new book. just how much she had gained from the teachings of christ was hidden deep in her own soul, but we will find later that phoebe had learned a secret which those who have had the advantage of broad education have often passed by. when at last the first pipings of the birds came to herald the dawn, she rose and went out to the gallery. the last star was fading into the grayness of the sky and already morning was at hand. in the growing light it might be seen that phoebe had an unusually beautiful face. her eyes, of very dark blue, were almost black at times; her reddish brown hair, coiled into a thick knot on her neck, grew low on her forehead. her features were well molded, her mouth fine and strong, and a full, rounded chin added sweetness to her expression. standing in the very spot where she had first seen billie and mary, she turned her face toward the east and watched for the sun. "i believe my prayers are answered," she said. some twenty minutes later, seated by ben in the motor car, she guided him along a mountain road, which led at last to a point near her father's cabin. chapter viii. the gypsy cooks. "dearest papa:" (wrote billie) "cousin helen has entirely recovered from her fright,--anger she calls it. she is not afraid of either of the lupos, although the dent in the plank where the knife was still standing when we finally did get home will always make me feel trembly. dr. hume is making us a visit. cousin helen will not hear of his leaving us. she says she will certainly have another attack of heart failure if he goes away, but that it's of a different variety from the last. i think we all have a touch of that kind of heart disease as a matter of fact, boys and girls. he is a wonderful man and has taken us on some beautiful walks over the mountain. nancy and percy always stay behind with cousin helen, and we are finally beginning to understand that it's as much preference as self-denial. nancy and i are doing the cooking with some help from ben and dr. hume. it's great fun. we cook on a camp fire outside and not on that wretched little stove, which is like a bad child and never behaves when it is expected to. ben and percy wash the dishes. thank heavens for that. i could never make a living as a scullery maid. it's a dog's life. elinor and mary make up our cots and keep things tidy. it is really and truly camping now, and such a relief not to have those lupos. but there is trouble about the laundry. nobody in these high places will stoop to wash clothes. if you could send us up a strong, fearless girl, it doesn't matter how little she knows, it would be fine. we want her strong to scour pans and wash clothes, and fearless enough to be left at the camp alone when we all go off in the 'comet' on a picnic. "the mountain girl who saved us is named phoebe. her father is not insane, but he has no memory. his accent might be english. at any rate it's better than ours. nobody on the mountain knows anything about them. an old indian brought them to the cabin when phoebe was a baby and took care of them both for several years. the people call the man 'frenchy,' why i'm sure i can't imagine, perhaps because he seems foreign. he does really beautiful wood carving and basket weaving and he seemed quite pleased over getting orders from us. we all of us want to do something for phoebe but she is not the kind you can approach easily. i would not dare even offer her a pair of shoes, and she's generally barefooted. cousin helen thought perhaps she might like to work for us, but i would as soon think of asking our dear cousin herself. i'm the best coffee maker in the compound and i've learned by the cookbook how to poach eggs, after breaking six to get the hang of it. dr. hume knows a scotch dish that's a dream and so easy to make. nancy and i are going to give them a surprise. it's 'mock duck,' made of beefsteak stuffed with many things, and then rolled up like a mummy and tied with strings. we shall roast it over hot embers on a spit ben has rigged up, with a thing he calls a 'gutter' to catch the juices. good-by, dearest papa. don't forget the strong, fearless girl. your devoted daughter, billie." in due time a telegram was telephoned from the railroad station to the nearest hotel and from thence to the postoffice in the village at the foot of sunrise mountain. here it was written down on a scrap of paper and in the course of events reached billie campbell. it said: "meet alberdina, fearless swiss-german. 4.30 train saturday. father." ben brought the message with the evening mail friday afternoon while nancy and billie, much heated and excited, were in the act of cooking the mock duck. "what are you roasting? an indian papoose?" he demanded, after they had laughed over the name of the new, fearless maid. the spurious fowl made of a large flat piece of meat stuffed out to plump proportions and tied at each end did resemble a fat little indian baby. "don't worry us," exclaimed nancy. "we have enough to bother us now. the potatoes are taking forever to cook and the beans are almost done." "the onions are just as bad," put in billie. "why don't you put the onions and potatoes in the same pot with the beans? maybe it will bring them luck," suggested ben. "do you think it would affect the flavor?" billie asked eagerly. but nancy, of a more adventurous spirit in cooking, recklessly dumped all the vegetables together into one pot and set it on the kerosene stove, which had been carried out by the ever-useful ben and placed at no great distance from the open fire. percy came up just then. "how are the gypsy cooks? is the pot boiling? what's that thing that looks like a pig in a blanket? or is this a cannibal feast?" "run away, algernon percival, and don't ask so many questions," replied billie, stirring the pot. "i've brought the dinner horn along," said percy in an insinuating tone of voice. even the gypsy cooks laughed at this. percy was the last person to rise in the morning. he usually appeared with the coffee and eggs, but the moment he waked up, he seized the trumpet from a nail in the wall at the side of his bed and blew a long triumphant aria with variations. then from the camp fire at a safe distance from the log hut would come shouts of derision from the others who had been up quite an hour. the table had been carried out under the trees, and here in the early morning they had their breakfast. here also, they had their supper if it was ready before dark and there were no lights to attract the myriads of night-flying insects. but it did look this evening as if they would be obliged to transfer all dishes and stools, table and eatables into the house, unless the potatoes and onions could be impressed with the importance of submitting to the inevitable. dr. hume, just in from a long walk, tired and mortally hungry, now made his appearance, and miss helen campbell in dainty white, and without any traces whatever of her recent experience with mrs. lupo, came trailing across the clearing. there was an expectant expression on her face, as of one who is thinking with inward pleasure of dinner. elinor came with a bowl of michaelmas daisies and mary brought up the procession, carrying a platter of bread sliced so as not to destroy the shape of the loaf, an accomplishment she was proud of. percy, seeing the gathering of the company, promptly lifted the trumpet to his lips and blew a blast so startling and unexpected that mary gave a nervous shriek and dropped the bread to the ground. "oh, you wretch," she cried, "see what you have done! and what was the use anyway, since dinner isn't ready and we are all here?" "don't be so hasty in your judgments, lady mary," answered percy, composedly gathering up the slices of bread. "that was a song of joy because a beautiful damozel approached with bread for the hungry." "hungry?" repeated miss campbell, watching, unmoved, the process of shaking the pine needles from the bread. "starving, rather. if i don't have my dinner in a minute, i shall be light enough to float away like a thistledown." "who said starving?" cried dr. hume, joining the circle. "if there were a stronger word, i'd use it." "famished?" suggested ben. "perishing for want of food," added elinor. nancy and billie exchanged glances of dismay and billie impotently poked the pot of vegetables with a long peeled wand. "what's that thing that looks like an emigrant's roll?" demanded the doctor. "it won't explode, i hope," remarked miss campbell, noticing that the roll of meat seemed to be bursting its bonds in the process of roasting. "poor thing, it does seem to be suffering," said dr. hume gravely. "there is some enlargement taking place in its internal organs, due to heat expansion, i judge." "i guess that animal, whatever it is, feels something like an early christian martyr," put in percy. "what is the creature?" inquired miss campbell, raising her tortoise shell lorgnette in order the better to see the writhing form over the flames. "it's a duck," answered billie, desperately stirring the kettle of vegetables. "duck?" they shouted in a loud chorus. "there never was a duck on land or sea that looked like that." "where are its legs?" "was it a winged duck?" "perhaps it's a species of wingless, legless mountain duck, unknown to low countries?" "well, if you must know," cried billie, now very hot and red over the fire, and wishing devoutly that that brutally truthful speech about watched pots had never been made, "if you demand the truth, it's mock duck----" "it sounds like the name of a chinese laundry-man," put in percy. "made by a famous southern recipe. we didn't know it would take so long to cook." she was ashamed to mention the potatoes and onions. "if you are all so famished, you might start on the bread and butter." instantly they gathered around the table and percy passed around the bread tray. from bread they turned to the salad of tomatoes and cucumbers. lettuce did not seem to flourish in that country. they drank the ginger ale and ate all the olives, and still the spurious fowl remained a mockery to cooks. it sent forth rivulets of juices and made a great to do over the fire, like people who are all promises and talk and no action, but it would not get done. then the doctor slipped away and presently returned with his contribution to the supper. he had made it in the morning and it had been standing in the ice chest all day. "i thought we might help this so as there would be no delays after we had dispatched that talkative fat person in the blanket," he said. "i hope you will like it. my mother used to call it 'piddling.' it was a wash-day dessert and we always had it mondays, made from sunday's cake." elinor busied herself serving the wash-day dessert into china saucers. it was made of slices of cake soaked in fruit juice and spread with jam. "when there is cream in the house, it adds of course," observed the doctor with some pride over his success as a cook. "the flavor's delicious," observed miss campbell, testing a small piece daintily on the edge of her spoon. "it's bully," exclaimed ben. the doctor was really vain over his efforts. "and i made it from memory," he informed them, "without any recipe. i call that pretty good for a first attempt." they wondered if he had ever done anything in his profession that gave him as much childish delight as making this simple dessert of his boyhood. after a brief silence, broken only by the tinkle of spoons against saucers, the campers around the table glanced at each other guiltily. except for the portions reserved for the two cooks, there was not a crumb of piddling left. "better hide the plates and cover the dish," said the doctor in a conspirator's whisper. "it's enough to provoke them into a mutiny. time enough to break the news after they have eaten their mock turtle." "duck," choked percy. but the gypsy cooks had noticed nothing. they were too absorbed with straining the beans and the onions now cooked to shreds, from the adamantine potatoes. the cooked vegetables they arranged in the bottom of a large meat platter as a becoming bed for the mock duck which billie, with mingled feelings of fear and triumph, now prepared to loose from his fastenings with a long fork and the historic carving knife. but mock duck to the end was a rogue and a trickster. the poor little cook had just loosened him from the spit and was holding him precariously on the prong of a fork, when he gave a malicious leap into the air and plunged into the very centre of the hot embers. instantly a circle of flames rose high about him and the air was charged with the fumes of burning flesh. "oh, oh!" shrieked billie. "help! help!" they did what they could to save the remnants of mock duck. ben singed his eyebrows in an effort to spear him on a fork and raise him from his fiery bed. they were all very quick but the flames were quicker, and when at last mock duck was lifted from the embers his form was no longer recognizable and the surface of his outer covering was burned to a cinder. the two little gypsy cooks wept with disappointment. they had worked so hard and were so hot and tired and hungry. their friends were consumed with pity. "there, there," cried dr. hume, too tender hearted to look upon tears without being moved. "don't cry, little cooks. look at all this nice gravy and these delicious vegetables." "why, my dearest children, you mustn't mind," exclaimed miss campbell. "see what a beautiful mixture we can have. pour the gravy right into the platter with the beans and onions. we'll eat it on bread." how callous do the most fastidious become after a few weeks in camp! "come, come, there's no time to be lost," exclaimed the starving percy. but the two disappointed cooks had nothing to say. they choked back their tears and fell to with an appetite on beans and onions ingloriously mixed with bread and gravy. and as a final delicacy, the campers, who had commenced with dessert and salad, finished off with two very delicious mealy potatoes apiece. "if we stayed in this wilderness long, we'd revert to savages," miss campbell remarked, stirring a large cup of black coffee. "but on the whole, i think i am enjoying the reversion and my appetite is getting better every day." "if i were starving in the wilderness and somebody offered me mock duck, i'd refuse it," ejaculated billie irrelevantly, for nobody had mentioned mock duck for a long time. the ballad of mock duck. (poem by percy.) there was a haughty animal, lived in a meadow fine; a domesticated lady of the genus called bovine. like many other females, beast or human or divine, this domesticated lady of the family of kine gazed with rapture at her features, as reflected in a brook, when with unblushing ecstasy each morn she took a look. as she smiled at her reflection in the mirror of the stream, she indulged in gentle rev'ries of complacency supreme. "besides my gift of beauty and my cultivated mind, i have other choice attractions of a very varied kind. "my roasts and steaks are luscious, on my hash all have relied, my youthful veal's delicious, and my milk is certified." on these pleasing meditations broke a mother with her brood, sailing o'er that calm reflection in a most ungracious mood. "you may be steaks and roast beef and hash of quality, but you stoop to imitations of poor humble little me. "you may be a benefactor, but i'll just remind you, ma'am, that in one small particular you are a blooming sham. "don't let your sweet milk curdle and don't let it sour your luck, if i make so bold to mention that imposture called 'mock duck'!" so this web-footed lady, with a malice quite feline, disturbed the calm reflections of that innocent bovine. chapter ix. a lesson by the wayside. promptly at nine o'clock saturday morning the "comet" might have been seen crawling down the side of the mountain with billie at the wheel. dr. hume sat beside her and elinor and ben were in the back seat. it was with something of a holiday feeling that they went forth to meet alberdina, the new maid, whose presence was becoming a pressing necessity. "i don't mind the cooking a bit, doctor," billie was saying. "especially with nancy, although i suppose i am really her assistant. she makes things exciting enough. i think she's a kind of culinary speculator and takes a lot of chances, but she's awfully lucky. she takes all sorts of rag-tag ends of things, chops them into bits and turns out what she calls _ragouts_." "they're mighty good," said the doctor. "experimenting cooks generally have a sub-conscious instinct that carries them along when they seem to be going blindly. but it's difficult to work with them. they are always dictatorial and inclined to treat the assistant as a scullery maid." billie groaned. "i hope alberdina, strong and fearless, will relieve us of that awful scullery work. i have a feeling it would be a reflection on my character and on the campbell family if i didn't leave every pan bright and shining, but oh, dear, it's work! i think if i had to keep it up i should cook everything together, vegetables and meat, in one big kettle full of boiling water." "that wouldn't be such a bad mess," laughed the doctor. "the vegetable and meat juices would make a rich broth and you could serve soup, meat and vegetables all in one plate. think of the saving of that." "as cousin helen said, it wouldn't take campers long to revert to savagery," ejaculated billie. "we are already as brown as indians. we keep our sleeves rolled up and our collars turned in and wear creepers instead of shoes, and always khaki skirts, and never dress for supper. even cousin helen has slipped back a peg--" "it's the only possible way to enjoy camping," broke in the doctor. "but you would never get to be an all the way savage. look at that remarkable young woman, miss phoebe, who has never had anything else in all her life,--she is far from being a savage." "indeed she is," said billie. "she has never been to school in her life, but she knows a great deal more about some things than i do--astronomy, for instance, and english history." "there is more than that," put in elinor, leaning over to join in the conversation. "phoebe has learned something else that keeps her from ever being ill or tired or unhappy. i asked her what it was and she said it was a secret." "speaking of angels," remarked ben, "there is phoebe in front of us now, carrying a basket. i suppose she is going to the antler's inn to sell some of her father's work." far ahead of them, swinging along the dusty road, was phoebe. her tall, slender figure swayed gracefully with the movement of the walk, but her shoulders did not bend under the burden of the large basket. a hot, dry wind blew her skirts about her and flapped the brim of her jimmie hat. since the night at sunrise camp, phoebe had never gone barefooted again, and she now wore a pair of canvas creepers that gave a spring to her step as she hurried along. keeping time to the rhythm of her steps, phoebe chanted softly in a rich, clear voice: "'the lord is my shepherd: i shall not want. "'he maketh me to lie down in the green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.'" the whir of the motor car interrupted the chanting, and, with an absent-minded glance over her shoulder, she stepped to the side of the road to wait for it to pass. but the "comet" stopped short and all the occupants called out, "good morning," with an especial cordiality. phoebe bowed her head gravely. her eyes had a remote expression as if she had been awakened from a dream. ben opened the door of the car and jumped out, while billie exclaimed: "i am so glad we met you, phoebe, because now you will let us give you a lift." phoebe looked into billie's kind gray eyes for a moment and then smiled as if she had found something there that pleased her. "i will come," she said, as ben took the basket from her arm and helped her into the car. "have you walked across the mountain this morning?" he asked, when they had started on their way again. "i started early," she said, "when it was cool." "and you are not tired?" asked the doctor. [illustration: her eyes had a remote expression as if she had been awakened from a dream.--page 136.] "no, no, i am not tired. why should i be? this was my work for to-day. if i had been tired, i could not have done it." the doctor looked at her curiously. "you believe, then, you are given strength for each day's task?" phoebe did not reply. she was not accustomed to conversation and it was impossible to find words in which to express herself. she turned her dark beautiful eyes on him with a gaze that was almost disconcerting while searching her mind for an answer. the doctor put his question in a different way. "when it's your day's work to take a long walk across the mountain in the hot sun, what keeps you from getting tired?" "i sing," answered phoebe, and settled back in the seat between elinor and ben, her brown hands folded loosely in her lap. the ride over to meet the new maid was intended to be something in the nature of a picnic, and they had made an early start in order to eat lunch in the woods after the first stage of the journey. and now, as the sun crept up toward the meridian, their appetites began to clamor for food. about that time, too, they came near to the road which led to the antlers, where phoebe hoped to sell some of her baskets. she lifted the big basket into her lap and touched billie on the shoulder as a dumb signal to stop. "but we are not going to let you go, phoebe," exclaimed billie. "you must lunch with us in the woods. then we'll have time i think to drop you at the antlers and stop for you again on the way back." "i do not see why miss phoebe needs to visit the inn at all," put in dr. hume. "i wanted to get presents for my nieces and nephews. i will buy the basketful and that will save me no end of trouble searching for things in the village." phoebe thoughtfully considered these generous and hospitable propositions before she replied with great seriousness of tone and manner: "thank you, but it is too much; i cannot accept. it is too much." "but it is not, phoebe," protested billie. "we want you. we like to have you with us." "and i want the baskets, too," went on the doctor. "it will save me a hot, stupid journey to the village." phoebe looked from one to the other. her pride was struggling with her yearning to be with these new and wonderful friends. "we won't take 'no'," cried billie. "we are depending on you to show us a good place for our picnic and you can guide us over the last of the road to the station. you see, we have a reason for asking you. we want your help." the mountain-girl was therefore persuaded to remain with them for the rest of the trip, and presently they drew up near a pine forest where there was a little stream. ben lifted out the luncheon hamper and the tea basket, and while the girls unpacked the food, phoebe stood shyly by and watched the proceedings. with a heightened color she glanced from billie's and elinor's neat skirts and pongee blouses to her own faded calico dress. she spread out her brown fingers stained with berry juice, and looked at them sadly. then her face brightened. "i was almost forgetting," she said out loud, but to no one. "i am always in too great a hurry. i have waited a long time and now it is beginning to come. it was too soon last summer, but now at last it is time." dr. hume noticed phoebe talking to herself and shook his head. "too much alone," he thought. meanwhile, billie, piling sandwiches on the lunch cloth, was busy thinking of something far different. her glance shifted from dr. hume to phoebe and back again. she closed her eyes and the thought which at first she saw dimly in the dark recesses of her mind advanced to the open, took form and shape and presently boldly showed itself as a full-grown plan. billie, sitting abstractedly on the ground, piling and re-piling the sandwiches, was startled by ben's rather impatient voice. "i'll have to fall-to unless you give the word, billie; i'm famished." "excuse my absent-mindedness, ben," laughed billie. "i had just thought up a wild, though perfectly feasible scheme, and i couldn't turn my mind to mere food for a moment." "and the scheme is?" demanded elinor, seating herself at the lunch table while she waited for the water to boil. "i shall have to wait to tell you until it's ready to serve up," answered billie, "nice and brown and done through." "why, billie, what kind of kitchen talk is that?" exclaimed elinor, laughing. "you'll be seeing with the eyes of a cook next. sunsets will remind you of tomato soup and clouds will make you think of meringues and--" elinor broke off, her eyes wide with astonishment, and the others following the direction of her gaze saw that she was looking at a man who had crept into their midst so silently that no one had noticed him. in that haggard and unshaved face they recognized mr. lupo. "something to eat," he demanded fiercely. "i'm almost starved." without a word billie handed him several sandwiches and some fruit. "eat it over there," she ordered, pointing to a distant tree, "and afterwards you can tell us what is the matter." the others admired her calm assurance with the half-breed, but billie was tired of the lupos. the wife had come near being the death of her beloved cousin, and the husband was a lazy, loafing fellow. such was her judgment of them. "come, phoebe. come, dr. hume," she said, and the others gathered around the lunch cloth. mr. lupo lifted his sodden, bloodshot eyes at the word "phoebe," and saw with astonishment the young girl, whom billie knew the couple hated, now drinking tea and mingling on equal terms with the people of sunrise camp. his eyes narrowed into little slits. after choking down the sandwiches greedily, he stalked over into their midst. "what have you done with my wife?" he demanded. "we know nothing of your wife, lupo," answered dr. hume, who knew all about the couple by this time. "you had better go on now, if you have had enough food." "i don't want any more of your cursed food," answered lupo, looking very much like his namesake, the wolf, at that moment. "but i tell you if you've given my wife money to leave me, you will have to pay for it in another coin." "nobody has ever given your wife any money. she has never been back since the day she threatened miss campbell with a carving knife. if anybody has driven her away, it's you, with your drunken, low habits." lupo moved a step nearer and pointed his thumb at phoebe. "so you're trying to make a lady of her, are you?" phoebe took not the slightest notice. she was watching the antics of a squirrel leaping in the branches of a giant oak tree, but she turned her eyes gratefully toward billie, when that young woman burst out with: "she is a lady and my friend. i think you'd better go now, mr. lupo." "whoever meddles with those two shall pay for it," cried the man fiercely, just as ben seized him by the collar and flung him into a thicket of bushes, from where he presently crawled away out of sight, occasionally pausing to shake his fist in their direction. "a nice return for hospitality," exclaimed billie. "he's a dangerous fellow," said the doctor. "but i imagine he's mostly talk. what do you know of him, miss phoebe?" "i only know that years ago they tried to drive us away from our house. but an old man who lived with us, protected us. he owned the cabin and he left it to father and me. there was a will that made it ours. it became a home." they smiled at her quaint expression. "and the lupos have been turned against us always, but god has protected us from our enemies." they looked at her silently. it was impossible not to feel deeply impressed with the earnestness of her tone. billie felt ashamed. with all her advantages and the opportunities money and travel had brought her, phoebe, raised in a cabin on the mountain side, had learned something she had not. presently she went over and sat beside the mysterious girl. "i wish you would teach me a few things, phoebe. i feel that i am very ignorant." "but i have never been to school," replied phoebe in astonishment. "there are some things one doesn't learn at school," answered billie. chapter x. alberdina schoenbachler "you no lig i shall dos clothes coog?" asked alberdina, the monday after her arrival. "boil, you mean?" corrected miss campbell. "certainly. there is a clothes boiler, and goodness knows the things need it, and a good bleaching afterwards in the sun. they are as yellow as gold." when alberdina, the new german-swiss maid, had alighted from the train with her absurd little iron-bound trunk, about as big as a bread basket, billie had felt no misgivings. here, indeed, was a creature too healthy to know the name of fear, and too good-natured to object to hard work. the brilliant red cheeks and broad engaging smile immediately decided billie to put all her accumulated linen in wash at once. on top of alberdina's large peasant head was perched a small round hat, positively the most ludicrous thing ever seen in the shape of millinery. with its band of red satin ribbon and tiny bunch of field flowers, it seemed to defy the world to find anything funnier. "it's a real comedy hat," dr. hume observed. "the kind they wear when they sing: "'hi-lee-hi-lo-hi-lee-hi-lo, i joost come over; i joost come over.'" "but she's really a ministering angel, you know," said billie, "sent to do the washing and ironing and scullery work. except for cooking meals, we expect to take life easy from now on." and so, right gladly, they had carried alberdina schoenbachler over the twenty-five miles of mountain road and established her in sunrise camp. "i think she is the very person we needed, cousin helen," billie said. "not accomplished, you know, or trained in any way, but good enough for camping. and there is no reason now why we shouldn't take the trip to the lower lake if you feel well enough. the weather is perfect." "do you think we ought to leave her on the first day?" miss campbell replied somewhat doubtfully. "why not? she has enough to occupy her, goodness knows, with all that washing." "but suppose she should get lonely or frightened--?" just then a melodious swiss yodel broke the stillness of the early morning and billie laughed. "she isn't going to be lonesome. she is accustomed to the mountains. do let's take a holiday, cousin helen, please," and with miss helen's assent, billie rushed off to find the others and tell the good news. perhaps some people would regard it as a fault in billie's character that, having formed a plan, she was always filled with wild impatience to carry it out. but when we consider that billie's plans concerned the pleasure and entertainment of other people and that her impatience was only another form of earnest enthusiasm, it would be difficult to criticise her. while three of the motor maids busied themselves preparing the luncheon, billie and ben worked over the motor car, putting it in condition for a long trip, and percy, in blue overalls, washed the body of the car. "i am so glad to save you this drudgery," he observed, with an ingratiating smile. "you're not half as glad as we are, percival algernon," answered ben. "it's a double blessing, because it's good discipline for you and it gives us a chance to show how much we know about machinery." "don't boast, my son. you may have a sure enough chance before the sun sets," remarked percy in the tone of a prophet. "after you have washed him off well, rub him down with those cloths," ordered billie from under the car. "then stow the rubber curtains inside and see to the lights. it may be late before we get back." "all right, captain," answered percy respectfully. it was still not nine o'clock when the "comet," polished and oiled and looking as neat in his dark blue and buff uniform as a soldier on parade, stood ready for departure. the hamper of luncheon was strapped on behind, and underneath the middle seats in a pan of ice were bottles of root beer and ginger ale. presently he started down the steep road with his load. the rustic camp, perched on the ledge in the side of the mountain, with its guard of pine trees crowding almost to its doors, never looked more alluring. "i declare i hate to leave the place," said miss campbell, peeping through the glass window in the back curtain of the car. "it's in good hands," laughed the doctor, as the voice of alberdina floated to them, singing in fulsome tones: "ach, mein lieber augustine, augustine, augustine!" but the motor car with its load of campers had not been long gone when alberdina withdrew her arms, elbow deep in soapsuds, from the wash tub, and looked around her. "ach, mein lieber gott," she said turning her large cow-like eyes on the pile of linen, "i dis worg nod much lige. it is too many. i mag to coog dos clothes and rest. dis life it all hard worg ees." she lifted an armful of linen garments from the tub and stuffed them into the clothes boiler which she filled with water and set on the coal oil stove. then drawing up a steamer chair, she settled herself comfortably and closed her eyes, not noticing that in the boilerful of white things she had plunged a red silk handkerchief of percy's. nearly an hour had passed when alberdina awoke from her healthy, conscienceless slumber with a start. turning her head lazily, she noticed that the clothes were boiling and the water was running over the sides of the boiler. "mein gott!" she said in german. "that little mistress will make of me the hamburger. i must do some work." but to her horror and astonishment, when alberdina made an effort to rise from the low, easy chair, she could not move. she had been bound to the chair with a stout rope, the clothes line in fact. each fat red hand was secured to an arm of the chair, her feet tied together and her body strapped to the seat and back. alberdina groaned and her stupid eyes became humid with terror. "helb! helb!" she called. "helb bring. mein gott in himmel, helb!" no answer came from the silent camp. "ees it for dis, den, i haf to you come?" she cried, addressing the circle of mountains shimmering in opalescent light. far down from the valley below came the long clear note of a bugle, probably of some coaching party. an impudent woodpecker seated on a limb above her commenced an insistent, aggravating tapping. alberdina made another struggle to loose her bonds and then settled back weeping. at last merciful sleep brought her oblivion. the mountains shimmered in the heat waves. the sunlight slanting through the trees cast flickering golden shadows on the carpet of pine needles. the tinkle of a cowbell broke the stillness. in her dreams the swiss girl was reminded of her own cherished uplands, where in the festive cheese-making time she had gathered with other maids and youths and danced to the music of the zither. zither, did she say? but, had she been dreaming then, all the while? was not that a zither now mingling its fairy music with the notes of the cow bell? alberdina opened her eyes. "helb! helb! i asg you helb!" she called. the music stopped instantly and a man, tall, slender, with an indescribably distinguished air, approached, carrying the zither under his arm. "you called?" he asked courteously. alberdina burst into a torrent of excited german. she rolled her prominent eyes to indicate her bonds. streams of tears flowed down her cheeks, or taking a short cut, ran over the bridge of her nose and dropped down a precipice to her heaving bosom. phoebe's father watched her with an expression of gentle bewilderment. he seemed to be trying to recall something an infinite distance away, like one of those inexplicable reminiscences that flash through our minds and are gone before we can grasp their significance. "it's useless," he said, shaking his head. "but something has happened to you? oh, yes, you have been tied up." taking a bone-handled clasp knife from his pocket, he carefully cut the ropes wound about her. alberdina bounded out of the chair like a big, fleshy catapult. "ach, himmel, i thangs mag to you, sir," she cried respectfully, for there was something in this wanderer which commanded deference, although he did wear a threadbare suit and mountain brogans. "you know who did this, my girl?" he asked. she shook her head and ran into the camp beyond. the locker rooms on the two sleeping porches were in confusion. the contents of drawers and trunks had been dumped to the floor and writing portfolios overhauled. but, apparently, nothing had been taken, because there was nothing valuable enough to tempt the most eager burglar. what little ready money they had the campers had carried with them, and there was no jewelry to steal. only alberdina had been robbed. with many deep guttural exclamations she found that her own little emigrant trunk had not been overlooked in the pillage and her purse, containing ten dollars, was gone. the gentleman with the zither turned to go. "i came to find a physician," he said. "is there none here?" "i know nod," answered the girl, shaken with sobs. he lifted his old slouch hat. "i bid you good day," he said, and started away, then turning back, he exclaimed: "perhaps i ought not to leave you here alone. but i must not stay away so long. phoebe will be frightened. will you come with me to my home?" alberdina shook her head. she was half afraid of the strange man. who knows but it might have been this stranger, himself, who had robbed her of her savings? "no, no; i vill stay here. the vorst is over yet already. dey haf me robbed of my moneys. i no more haf. dey vill not come bag." having so spoken, she returned to her labors and was presently hanging on the line a long row of deep pink clothing, headed by the red silk handkerchief, the iniquitous author of the wicked deed. in the meantime the motorists had proceeded joyfully on their way. they sang and joked and made so merry that dr. hume felt that he had gone back fifteen years in his busy life and was a boy himself. the road as indicated on the map in the road book was cut through forests of primeval growth. sometimes it descended into the valley past villages and farm houses. once it took them through a splendid tract of land dedicated with its club house to st. hubert, patron saint of the hunt. at last it began by degrees to climb upward, and with a sudden turn around the mountain side, they came into view of an exquisite little lake, reflecting in its mirrored depths the peaks of the high mountains encircling it. hundreds of silver birches, slender and elegant, fringed its edges, gleaming white against a background of impenetrable green. at one corner of the lake were a small boathouse and restaurant, where customers are perpetually served with tea and maple cake. long ago they had eaten lunch and were quite ready for more refreshments. then everybody but miss campbell took a dip in the lake. the hours sped past and the sun was well on its downward grade before they realized it was time to return. in the meantime, billie, always eager to find out about new roads and new trails, had been questioning one of the guides at the boathouse. "he says there's a walk called the 'river trail' only two miles long that we could take, and meet the 'comet' at a bridge at the end. don't you think some of us could take it, dr. hume? it's right through the most wonderful pine forests,--one of the most beautiful walks in the adirondacks, he says." "but who will run the motor car?" asked the doctor, beetling his shaggy eyebrows. "i will," ben volunteered, and it was accordingly arranged that dr. hume and percy should conduct the girls along the river trail while miss campbell and ben proceeded by the road in the car. it was all very simple. miss campbell was to take a nap while ben looked after the "comet's" needs and in the course of half an hour, or at their leisure, they were to take the road. in the meantime, the others, with good walking, would have ample time to make the two miles through the forest. they bade each other a casual farewell since they were to meet again so soon, and led by the doctor, plunged into the forest. the ground had been cleared of undergrowth, so that looking up the side of the mountain, at the foot of which gurgled a little river, one could see a vast multitude of tall straight pine trees and occasionally the flash of a silver birch. rank on rank they stood in infinite perspective; and sometimes an aged beech tree generalled their march and sometimes a magnificent oak spread out his venerable arms with a gesture of command. but the rank and file were pines; gray grenadiers, still upright with the years; young stripling pines, eager to be on the march. and always they seemed to be going the same way over the mountains to the frontiers of the world, and always through their branches came the murmur of their martial song. nowhere had billie seen so impressive, so magnificent a forest. she thought of the cryptomerias in japan, but they were more like the gigantic pillars of a cathedral, while these hurrying hordes of pines and birches were like human beings. they suggested romances: lovers in the forests; knights in armor; wicked enchantresses. once dr. hume paused and pointed to a cleared space beyond. there, standing under a great pine tree looking at them with startled eyes were a doe and her young. in another instant they were gone, leaving the campers holding their breath. in a little more than an hour they reached the end of the trail, where a foot bridge made of two logs took them over the turbulent little river. but no "comet" stood waiting for them at the rendezvous with ben at the wheel and miss campbell on the back seat. to be sure the road was twice as long, as the trail had wound around the side of the mountain for some five miles, but that was nothing to a motor car. "might as well sit down and wait," suggested the doctor. they seated themselves in a row on a log expecting every minute to see the familiar blue car loom into sight. but the lagging moments dragged themselves into half an hour and still the "comet" lingered. "i think we'd better walk back," said billie, beginning to feel just a tinge of uneasiness. "perhaps it would be as well," echoed the doctor. "they have had a breakdown, no doubt." the band of wayfarers feeling very weary after the rough walk along the river trail began their march back toward the lake. chapter xi. a comedy of errors. the original lake party might have served as an excellent illustration of the history of many principalities and nations. having suffered a division and then a subdivision and finally a breaking up into fractional groups, it became as a weakened and shattered government, powerless to help itself. it soon became evident that mary price was too weary to take the long walk back to the lake. she was left therefore by the roadside with percy and elinor, while dr. hume, nancy and billie went on. "it will probably be no time at all before we pick them up," said the doctor cheerfully, but they made the entire walk to the lake house and there was no "comet" to be seen. "it left here two hours ago," the boatman informed them. "maybe they went on to the second bridge. that's half a mile beyond the first one. they'll tell a person anything, these people here will." "i suppose that's exactly what happened," billie exclaimed, much relieved. "they have been waiting at the second bridge and will be on their way back by this time. but i think they will have to come all the way. nancy has a blister on her heel." "now, don't blame it all on me, billie," said nancy. "you know you are dead tired yourself." billie smiled guiltily. "i am played out," she said. "i wouldn't think of allowing either of you young ladies to start on another tramp," put in dr. hume. "i am too good a doctor for that. you must stay right here and rest and i'll start back. i may meet the whole party any time, now." billie and nancy, therefore, settled themselves to rest on two benches near the lake while the good doctor trudged off along the dusty road. in the meantime, mary, who had more than overtaxed her strength that day, gave percy and elinor a bad fright by toppling over in a faint. they brought her to with water which percy carried from a brook in his hat, and then carried her into the wood a bit where she could lie on the pine needles and rest her head in elinor's lap. but percy hurried back to the road to keep watch, and seeing a motor car broken down in the distance hastened to catch up with it. it was a strange car, however, and the chauffeur had not seen the "comet." and all this while, ben and miss campbell, having waited an incalculable time at the second bridge, had gone on for half a mile. few people can stand the test of being kept waiting. their patience may be inexhaustible but their judgments are apt to take a bad twist and bring them right about face in the wrong direction. it is true that ben had yielded to miss campbell in going beyond the supposed meeting place, and now to make matters worse, the "comet" came to an inexplicable standstill. poor ben, with small knowledge of what to do, began a long and wearisome investigation of unfamiliar machinery. there was something of the dumb driven animal in ben when he entered unfamiliar territory, and his slow plodding methods had been known to irritate miss campbell profoundly. and now, one more separation remained to complete the disbandment of this innocent party of pleasure. ben, shamefaced and very humble, was obliged to confess to miss campbell that he could not locate the trouble with the "comet." deeply he regretted his inefficiency, but there was nothing to do but give up. "i'm thinking," he said, "that maybe i had better walk back a little ways and see if the others aren't coming up behind us." "very well," answered miss campbell with dignity. "you may go. i suppose nobody would wish to harm an old woman." presently, therefore, she found herself alone in the wilderness. there was something almost human and comforting about the "comet," however, that faithful mechanism that had borne them on so many pilgrimages, and miss campbell addressed herself to him as to a human companion. "i just believe you had more sense than that stupid ben austen," she said. "you wouldn't go on because you knew perfectly well that your mistress was behind you. you're a nice, good old thing." she paused and peered out of the car. darkness was falling and the road was filled with somber shadows cast by the far-reaching branches of the trees on either side. as far as she could see along the white strip of road there was no human soul behind her. her eyes swept the road in front. it was criss-crossed with light and shadow and it was difficult to make out anything moving, but miss campbell thought she saw an object approaching. yes, it was unquestionably an object. something large and white--a van. great heavens, it was a gypsy van! "ben!" she called, but ben was quite a quarter of a mile away by now. the only thing to do was to get out and hide behind a tree in the woods. she could not bring herself to face a band of gypsies. hurriedly climbing down from the car, miss campbell concealed herself in a thicket of trees near the road. presently the van drew up alongside the empty car. "by jove, here's an abandoned motor. where do you suppose the people are?" said a man walking at one side of the van and driving the horse. two women were comfortably seated in rocking chairs in the little front compartment of the vehicle. "how strange!" said one of them. "it's like finding a derelict at sea. where are the captain and the crew? where are the passengers?" "where indeed?" thought the lady behind the tree. "it's like the mystery of the 'maria theresa,'" pursued the man. "a perfectly good ship abandoned in mid-ocean without the slightest explanation and all on board lost forever." this gruesome comparison made miss campbell decidedly uncomfortable. "shall we leave her to drift, ladies?" he asked affably. "i will protect the 'comet' with my life," she thought. "i don't believe they are gypsies anyhow. their accent is too good, and a gypsy would never address the women of his family as 'ladies.'" "i am afraid i am at present the sole survivor of the crew," she said politely to the young man. "if you would be kind enough to advise me, sir, i should be greatly indebted." immediately the man lifted his broad-brimmed hat and the women in the rocking chairs leaned forward in order the better to see this dainty, mysterious little lady in gray who had emerged apparently from a primeval forest. "with the greatest pleasure, ma'am," answered the young man, filled with curiosity, and they all listened with courteous attention while she related the history of the afternoon's mishaps. "and now that stupid ben, who is really a very nice boy under ordinary circumstances, has gone off and left me and almost anything could have happened,--wolves, indians, half-breeds--" she added, thinking of the treacherous lupos. after she had finished, the young man stood for a moment thinking. "my name is richard hook, ma'am, at your service," he said. "the only thing i could suggest is for me to unhitch dobbin here and ride him down the road to look for your party and leave you with my sister, maggie, and her friend. this is as good a place as any other for us to put up for the night. you might as well start supper, girls. perhaps this lady is hungry." "i am," interjected miss campbell fervently. so it happened that richard hook went ambling off into the twilight on old dobbin while maggie hook and her friend, amy swinnerton, made miss campbell comfortable in the van and prepared to cook supper. "and you are not gypsies after all?" asked the little lady, watching one of the girls light a bracket lamp on the wall of the van. "no, indeed," laughed maggie hook. "not by birth at least, but i think we have something of the gypsy spirit because we love to spend our summers in this way. have you never seen a van?" miss campbell could not say that she had and looked about her with much interest. "these are our beds, you see," amy explained. "the top one folds up and we use the lower one for a divan. richard sleeps in a tent. this is the dressing room," she continued with as much pride as a custodian showing a sightseer over an ancient castle. a little space had been curtained off in the back and behind this hung a mirror over a small dressing table, and a row of hooks for clothes. "and this is your kitchen?" asked miss campbell, indicating a row of plates and cups on a plate rack and a small kerosene stove, at one side opposite the beds. "that and a chafing dish and a camp fire," answered maggie hook. "but we mostly prefer the fire. i'll get things started here to-night and when richard comes he can make us a fire if he dares. i believe the laws around here are pretty strict about fires." "well, my dears, it is assuredly the most complete and delightful little traveling home i ever saw," exclaimed miss campbell, after she had looked over the entire van and then seated herself in a rocking chair to watch preparations for supper. it did not take long for her to make friends with these nice young girls who were indeed about the age of her own charges. "how many are in your party, miss campbell?" asked maggie, in the act of breaking eggs into a bowl. "there are eight of us, but i hope you aren't thinking----" "oh, but i am," insisted maggie. "i am sure they will be very tired and hungry, and, besides, we have plenty in the larder for everyone,--a whole ham!" she added archly. "dear me, i wish billie were here," said miss campbell. "i believe she always keeps things stored away in the 'comet' for an emergency." "i'll beat up some johnnie cakes," announced amy. "we can cook those on the wood fire later." in the meantime, the waiters who had waited in vain and the wanderers who had wandered fruitlessly, began to realize that the situation was serious. billie grew desperately impatient. at last she succeeded in engaging a carry-all and two horses from a man at the moat house and soon she and nancy, seated face to face, were hurrying along the road. dr. hume had met percy. ben had discovered elinor and mary standing fearfully on the edge of the forest. by the time that richard hook had got anywhere at all with his old nag, the lake-party, with the exception of miss campbell, was re-united in billie's carry-all and driving comfortably in the direction of the "comet." they were very tired and hungry but a graven image would have melted to laughter over this comedy of errors, and richard hook, hearing the gay chorus of voices approaching, was quite sure it was another picnic party. but he was not a young man to take chances, and having taken his position across the middle of the road, he waved his arms and yelled, "stop!" "do you know anything about a little lady in gray and an abandoned automobile?" he asked. "cousin helen and the 'comet,'" cried billie, consumed with anxiety. "oh, ben, how could you have left them?" "but----" began ben. "i assure you the lady is in good hands," interrupted richard. "my sister is looking after her." there were more explanations and presently they started on their way again, and in a little while drew up beside the gypsy van and the abandoned motor car. and the upshot of the whole adventure was that the two parties joined forces and provisions. the boys built a fire against a great boulder on the river bank and there was a wonderful supper. all the very best of everything was brought out for the occasion. they ate johnnie cakes from wooden platters and drank black coffee from glasses, russian fashion. later they sang songs and told stories around the camp fire. never did people commingle so agreeably as the caravanners and the motorists. somehow sunrise camp and alberdina schoenbachler faded into the dim recesses of their memories. "of course you can't go home," richard hook remarked to billie. "we'll camp out to-night. you'll never be able to mend that car in all this blackness, and it would be a pretty hard road to follow at night anyhow. we've just come over it. dobbin can pull the car over to one side of the road, and miss campbell and miss price can sleep in the van." "and we'll show you what a bed really is," ben went on eagerly. "not a motor car cushion affair either." to their surprise, miss campbell was agreeable to the plan. "there's nobody at home to worry but alberdina," she said, "and it won't hurt her to lose a little flesh, anyhow." the boys worked hard over the beds. springy couches they made of spruce branches, covered with blankets, and, at last as care-free as a lot of gypsies, they all slept as soundly as they had ever slept in their own beds at home. chapter xii. the return. with the exception of her three best friends, billie campbell had never met people who pleased her so much on short acquaintance as the hooks and their guest. it had not taken them half an hour to bridge over the gap of unfamiliarity. "what is it?" she asked of maggie hook, richard's small, whimsical sister, black haired, black eyed, with quick alert movements like a bird's. "i can tell you exactly the reason," replied maggie. "it's because we all belong to the road. there is a bond between us. we go gypsying in our van and you go gypsying in your car. we be all of one blood like kipling's mowgli and the animals in the jungle." "only we aren't the real thing as much as you," said billie modestly. "the 'comet' is a dear old thing, but he's not a house." "you wouldn't enjoy it if he were," said maggie. "a motor traveling van would never do. you see the point of this kind of life is that it's lazy and contemplative. we just amble along and it doesn't matter whether we make ten miles or five. we are not attempting long distance records. we are just getting intimate with the ups and downs of the country; the streams and rivers; the little valleys and bits of green by the roadside. sometimes, if we find a place that's secluded enough, a little glen or a grove that screens off the road, we stay there for several days." "but what do you do?" "we all do the things we like best. richard reads and takes long walks or fishes, if there is a stream. i clean the van from top to bottom and polish everything up and bake a cake in the little oven. then i darn all the stockings and mend the clothes." billie laughed. "you're not a gypsy," she said, "if you are a black-eyed wanderer. they never mend or clean anything. but what does miss swinnerton like to do? is she fond of housework, too?" "amy? no, not specially. she sketches and paints in water colors, and botanizes, and looks for bits of stones and rocks which she examines through a glass, and translates french and generally potters around. she's always busy. she can do anything from making an omelette to painting a picture." billie turned her eyes half wistfully toward the plump brown-haired amy swinnerton. she felt suddenly very inefficient and worthless. "i can't do anything," she said, frowning. "i'm ashamed of myself." "you can run a motor car and keep it in order," answered the new friend. "i never knew another girl who could." "that's ground into me by experience. but i hate sewing. i'm not a good cook and i can't draw or paint or play the piano. we met a girl this summer who has been brought up in a cabin on the mountain and has never been to school in her life, who knows a lot more than i do." billie told what little she knew of the strange history of phoebe. "it would make a wonderful story," observed maggie. "i should like to put it into a book." "do you write, too?" asked billie eagerly. maggie blinked her dark, bright eyes. "when you see my name appear in book reviews and magazines and things, then you'll know i write," she replied. this conversation occurred the next morning at breakfast. billie had risen at dawn and repaired the "comet" and the motor party was soon now to start on its homeward journey. richard hook presently joined his sister and billie. sitting cross-legged on the ground at their feet, he munched a bacon sandwich and sipped black coffee from a tin cup. he reminded billie of one of shakespeare's wise fools. all he lacked were the cap and bells. his whimsical, humorous eyes were rather far apart; his dark hair, cropped close, stood up straight over his forehead. his nose was distinguished in shape and his flexible mouth turned up at the corners. he talked slowly with a sort of twang like a farmer from the east coast and there was a kind of hidden humor under whatever he said. he had charming old-world manners, and an old-fashioned way of saying "i thank you," or "permit me, ma'am," or "at your service, ma'am." he was really quite a delightful person, they unanimously decided; and so was his sister and so was her friend. billie wondered what richard hook's work was; or whether perhaps he was still in college. she wondered a great many things about him, and she felt quite sure that he was not well off. presently she said: "it's too bad when we are all just beginning to be friends that we must part so soon. why can't you turn old dobbin right about face and come back and see us at camp sunrise?" "why not, indeed?" answered richard. "do come," urged billie, never dreaming that in giving this invitation she had been moved by something stronger than her own friendly wish to know more of these nice people, and that destiny itself had a hand in the business. richard hook took a little calendar from his pocket and contemplated it gravely. "another month has perished with her moon," he remarked. "we're in august, little sister. did you realize that? i see no reason why we shouldn't travel toward sunrise camp before----" "before----" repeated maggie, and the brother and sister exchanged a swift glance. "then you do accept," exclaimed billie joyfully. "with the greatest pleasure," answered richard, "if you think old dobbin can climb the hill." "of course he can," replied billie. "but, richard, do you think we dare?" asked maggie in a low voice. richard's mouth turned up at the corners and his eyes gave a humorous blink. "we dare anything," he said. "pray excuse this little aside, miss billie. it's only that we are obliged to consider certain complications that arise to vex us at times. i think we can easily arrange to go to camp sunrise." billie was more certain than ever that money was the complication. but surely that was an inexpensive way of spending one's vacation, provided one owned the van and the horse. "how much longer does your vacation last, mr. hook?" she asked. "it depends. my boss is a very notionate old party. he might let me go wandering on like this for several weeks longer or he might suddenly decide to send for me, and i should have to go hiking back in the midst of my holiday." maggie laughed, and billie wondered what kind of work this unusual young man did that sent out sudden calls in the very middle of hard-earned vacations. however, it was arranged that the caravanners should meander back toward sunrise camp and in the course of time stop there for a visit. "they are delightful young people," miss campbell said. "i don't know who they are, i'm sure, nor what the young man does, but i find them quite the most charming young people with the exception of my own that i ever met." "it's rather strange about his work," remarked dr. hume. "i don't know what he does now, but he wishes above all things to be a farmer, he informed me. he's always looking for farms as he journeys along the road. that's one of the reasons why he got the van, in order to see the country and decide where he'd like best to locate." they were not so merry on the journey back as they had been on the trip of the morning before. for one reason those who had slept in open camp had not had off their clothes for twenty-four hours, and all of them felt the crying need of baths after the two dusty journeys. but there was another reason besides these physical ones. they were beginning to feel conscience-stricken about alberdina. how had she taken their long, unexplained absence? would she still be singing "ach, mein lieber augustine!" when they returned, and would there be a long clothes line bowed under the weight of clean white linen bleaching in the sun ready to be ironed? so restless did they grow under these speculations, that they did not pause for lunch and, urging the "comet" to the limit of his speed, they reached home a little before noon. alberdina was there. thank heavens for that. they could see her plainly as they turned the curve in the road. but her appearance was not promising. perched on her head was that absurd comedy hat. she was sitting down, quite low, on the iron-bound trunk, in fact, leaning on her large cotton umbrella, as one prepared to depart on a journey. if you have ever lived in a remote spot with an uncertain maid, you will recall how apologetic you were to her for your own shortcomings. "oh, dear, what shall i say to her?" exclaimed miss campbell. "she looks as if she were ready to go this minute." "why can't we tell her the truth? we simply couldn't help it," said billie. "she ought not to be angry over something we couldn't control." "you don't know them, but i'll just brazen it out. i know we're entirely dependent on the creature for the comforts of life, but i won't let her bully me. well, alberdina," she called, as the car drew up at the camp door, "have you been lonesome?" "lonesome?" repeated alberdina, not moving from her ridiculous trunk. "i no time haf had for lonesomes. many peoples to dis house come--crazy peoples--men and vimmen, hein? they haf my moneys took already yesterday! ach, gott! they haf me tied wid ropes. they have nogged and nogged in the night times. dos vimmens, i hear the boice already yet. i no lig dees place. i to my home go bag to-day. dey have robbed dis house. dey haf made to turn red dos vite clothes." in dead silence they descended from the motor car and filed into the house to investigate alberdina's wild, incoherent story. there were certainly signs of an invasion in the locker rooms, everything tipsy turvy on the floor. alberdina showed them the ropes that had bound her. with rivers of tears she mentioned her loss of ten dollars. "and the red clothes?" asked billie doubtfully. this had been reserved to the last by the wily-innocent swiss girl. with cries of sorrow they beheld their underclothing and blouses all tinged a deep pink. suddenly miss campbell marched up and stood in front of the girl with a very cold steely look in her cerulean eyes. "answer me this instant," she said, "and speak the truth. you boiled those clothes with a red silk handkerchief?" alberdina broke down and wept copiously. "i knew not about dos red," she exclaimed. "but when you saw the clothes were turning red, why didn't you take them off the fire?" asked billie. "i did nod see." "not see? and why not, pray?" demanded miss campbell. "i was asleeb and when i wog, i was wit rope tied." "who cut the rope?" asked dr. hume, beginning to doubt the whole story. "a gentlemans who mag to play music on the zither." "phoebe's father!" exclaimed the girls. they glanced at each other with a wild surmise. "it couldn't have been----" "no, no, i'm sure he never would----" "hush," said ben, "here comes phoebe." the mountain girl, looking pale and distraught, her hair flying, her face and hands scratched from contact with brambles, rushed into their midst. "my father," she cried. "he has been lost all night. i have looked and looked and i cannot find him. oh, if he should be in the marshes----" she fell on her knees at billie's feet and broke into sobbing. chapter xiii. billie and the doctor. several things had to be done before any steps could be taken to find phoebe's father. first alberdina must be roundly scolded for her carelessness about the clothes and then placated with a ten dollar bill to compensate her for her loss. there must be lunch prepared for hungry travelers, and phoebe, herself, must be given food and made to rest. in the meantime they questioned her concerning her father's movements. he had left the cabin with his zither the morning of the day before and had not been seen since, except when he had appeared at the camp and cut alberdina's bonds. "has he ever stayed away before at night?" asked dr. hume. "no, never. when he is not weaving baskets or carving, he is very restless and often is away for hours, but he always comes back before bed time. he never forgets me. that is why i am so uneasy now," she went on, clasping and unclasping her hands in the agony of her uncertainty. "phoebe," said the doctor, "what is it that gives you strength to do your day's work, even if it means walking across a mountain in the hot sun carrying a heavy basket?" phoebe lowered her eyes and a flush spread over her sunburned face. "i forgot," she said. "i was so unhappy that i forgot. it has helped me, oh, so many times when we have had no money. many times we have been snowed in on the mountain without food and it has always come. it saved us from the lupos. i was lonesome and it brought me friends." she glanced at the girls busily preparing lunch and at ben and percy talking in low voices on the porch. "don't you think it will help you now?" "it has left me. i can't find it," replied poor phoebe. "it is because i am so frightened. it never comes if you are frightened." "my child," said the good doctor, "you are worn out. you must have lunch and take a good rest. in the meantime we will do everything we can to find your father. perhaps he has lost his way and is wandering in the woods somewhere." "no," said phoebe, shaking her head miserably, "he never loses his way. he knows the trails better than i do myself." the doctor himself brought phoebe a tray of lunch. she was ravenously hungry. "the poor little thing hasn't eaten for hours," he thought, glancing at her covertly, as he returned with a basin of water, a soft towel and miss campbell's private bottle of eau de cologne. when she had finished eating, he made her stretch out on the divan while he gave her face and hands and wrists an aromatic bath. never before had phoebe been ministered to and waited on. she smiled at the doctor with dumb gratitude. "when people are hungry and tired and discouraged, they have a pretty hard time holding on to their faith, phoebe," he said. "even when they haven't anything to worry about, it's hard enough. you go to sleep now and i promise you we will start on the search for your father at once." phoebe raised her eyes gratefully to his. in those clear brown depths she read strength, gentleness and sympathy. she felt she was looking into the face of an angel with a shiny bald head and shaggy red-gray eyebrows. "i believe god sent you," she said, and in a few moments dropped off into a deep exhausted sleep. after luncheon or dinner, whatever that meal might be called in camp, percy got out his motor cycle and proceeded to the antler's inn to ask for news of phoebe's father. ben took the trail to indian head and billie and dr. hume went down to the village in the motor car to drum up a search party or find guides to help them scour the mountains. in neither attempt were they in the least successful. on the way down the mountain, billie decided to unburden herself of something that had been on her mind for a long time. "you have never seen phoebe's father, have you, dr. hume?" the doctor shook his head. "have you ever heard of a case like his? i mean forgetting one's past." "oh, yes. i have seen a number of cases. the patient usually loses his memory altogether in time and goes insane." "but he's not insane, doctor. he's not even going insane. really and truly, except about always trying to find a physician, his brain is as clear as anybody's." the doctor smiled. he liked this earnest, enthusiastic girl who was always doing things for other people and modestly disclaiming credit. there was something masculine in her disregard for small things and the largeness of her views. "a very nice man has instilled her with extremely big ideas about life," he reflected. "she is furthermore a wholesome, healthy young creature with a high order of intelligence and a very warm, tender heart." so much engaged was he in his diagnosis of billie's character that he had almost forgotten the subject of the conversation when she spoke up again rather timidly. "what i'm driving at is this, doctor, and i've been thinking about it for days. don't you think you could operate on phoebe's father, put a silver plate on his skull or lift whatever's pressing on his memory bump? don't you think you could undertake it, doctor? i know you are a famous surgeon. papa wrote that to me long ago, but i knew it before he told me. i could tell just from seeing and being with you that you were a great man." the doctor laughed over these artless compliments. "are you a mind reader, miss billie?" "but you will undertake it, doctor?" she urged. "we must first catch our man, my child, and then have a look at him. a good many things would have to be considered: whether he would consent himself; whether he would be able to stand the shock of a serious operation, and whether he may not have some disease an operation wouldn't help; paralysis or softening of the brain." "at any rate, you will undertake it?" cried billie joyfully. "do you wish it so much?" he asked, watching her face as she guided the car down the steep road. "i do, i do! think what it would mean to phoebe to have this mystery cleared; think what it would mean to him, too!" "i was thinking of it," answered the doctor gravely. "that's just the point. suppose phoebe's father would not thank me for bringing his past back? suppose, after all, he would be happier in this state than with his memory restored. do you realize that a man like that, a man of education and refinement, i mean, must have had some very good reason for hiding himself away in these mountains? that he may have been flying from something?" the enthusiasm died out of billie's face. "oh, dr. hume," she began, "i hadn't thought of that. indeed, i couldn't connect anything of the sort with phoebe and her father. they are not a bit like that." "you never can tell. the people who have given way to some wild impulse that will cause them everlasting regret are not always bad people by any means. his reasons for hiding himself and his wife in a cabin in these mountains of course may have been entirely innocent; or he may have hoped to find oblivion and forgetfulness up here out of the world. if i give him back his memory, providing of course i can do it, i may give him the very thing he is running away from." "don't you think he has been punished enough and that phoebe ought to have a chance?" argued billie. "is there anything to prevent phoebe's having a chance without knowing her father's past?" asked the doctor. "nothing, except there would always be that mystery hanging over her. don't you think it would be very unpleasant not to know who you were or even your father's name?" "i am a living example to the contrary," said the doctor with a laugh. "my father and mother were really my adopted parents. they took me out of an orphan asylum when i was a little lad about five years old. i remember it vividly. afterwards they had other children, but they always treated me like a beloved eldest son. i never knew any difference and i never bothered my head about my real parents. whoever they were, they had died or shuffled me off on an institution. my adopted mother was the finest woman i have ever known and if hume isn't my real name, it doesn't matter. i shall do everything i can to make it an honored one." "you are a wonderful man, doctor," exclaimed billie, quite overcome by this bit of confidence about his past. "it was because you were so fine that they were good to you. perhaps god picked you out from all the other orphans to have a good home because he saw what fine material there was in you." "no indeed, my dear young lady," laughed the doctor. "it was just a matter of chance. the little orphans were like the two women sitting in the market place. the one was taken and the other left. if they chose me for anything, it was solely and entirely because i had brown eyes." "you may say what you please," protested billie. "they looked deeper than that, i am certain." "simply luck, miss billie. i have always been lucky. the fellows at college called me 'lucky bill.' but to return to the original subject of the discussion: i don't want to disappoint an unselfish, fine young woman like you,--you see i can pay compliments, too,----" he added, watching the flush of pleasure mount to billie's face; "i don't want to make any promises about this man i can't carry out, but i promise this much: i will do what i can." "thank you a thousand times, dr. hume," said billie gratefully. "i would just like to shake hands with you if i could, but you see i have to guide the 'comet.' it will be a wonderful thing to give a man back his senses after eighteen years." "maybe so; maybe not," answered the doctor as the car turned into the village street. they stopped in front of the only hostelry in the place, a cheap two-story wooden house with a horse trough in front of it. here usually could be found several guides for camping trips and driving parties, and here dr. hume looked for help in rescuing phoebe's father. the owner of the house, a thin sallow-faced man with pale shifting eyes came out to speak to them. "you ain't meanin' it's old crazy frenchy you're after?" he asked. "i don't wonder he's lost if it's him." "that's the man," answered dr. hume, "but i don't understand what you mean." "i guess he's got wind he's suspected of settin' razor back mountain on fire and he's vamoosed. he ought to be shut up anyhow. he's a dangerous character runnin' around the country." billie was shocked and angry. "he is not," she burst out. "i know mr.--mr. french quite well----" the man broke into a loud rasping laugh. "mr. french!" he repeated. "he's incapable of setting a mountain on fire and he is as gentle and courteous as possible." there was another laugh. this time it came from within the house and billie and the doctor recognized the voice of mr. lupo. "you're a friend of lupo, i see," remarked the doctor looking very hard at the man. "i guess that's none of your affair," answered the other angrily. "and nothin' agin' him nor me either, for the matter o' that." the doctor lifted his eyebrows. "i'd like to hire two or three guides. are there any about?" "there ain't no guides connected with this here establishment goin' to go huntin' for crazy frenchy," announced the man roughly, "if that's what you're wantin' with them. most of 'em is fightin' the flames anyhow." the doctor sat silently for a moment looking at the mountaineer, whose eyes shifted uneasily under his steady gaze. "i would advise you and your friend, lupo, not to meddle too much in this affair," he said, as the inn keeper with a snarling laugh shuffled back into the house. billy turned the automobile and they went slowly down the street. "if we were in the kentucky or the virginia mountains, i should call this a feud," remarked the doctor, "but up here there is something more than a revenge for a quarrel two generations old that creates a situation of this kind. that man has got some ugly reason for withholding his guides. he's a sinister looking wretch, and no man with a shifting pair of eyes can be trusted around the corner." "but what are we to do?" asked billie. "if we can't get guides,--we'll just go alone," answered dr. hume. "i think we'll have to find your mr. french, miss billie, seeing that a lot of cut-throats are trying to keep us from doing it." chapter xiv. chance news. billie and the doctor were indeed in something of a quandary as to what to do about phoebe's father. it was evident from further inquiry that the tide of general opinion had been turned against crazy frenchy; not one soul could be interested in the search for him, not even after an offer of liberal pay. "he ain't no good anyhow," one man said. "he and his daughter holds themselves above common people even when they don't have enough to keep body and soul together. they lives on property that ain't theirs by rights, and they don't belong in this section of the country. the father's crazy and the neighborhood will be glad to git rid of him." "an' i'd jes' like to mention," added another man, "the people as takes up for 'em ain't goin' to find it no ways a easy proposition." certainly lupo had enlisted the sympathies of the entire village in his own behalf. "i told your friend at the hotel a moment ago," said the doctor, "that he and lupo had better be careful how they meddled in this business. if you don't want to engage yourself to me to find this unfortunate man, you have a perfect right to refuse. it's only a common act of kindness at any rate. but i would warn you that if you and your friends intend to make trouble, you will get into trouble. that's all." the mountaineer scowled. "we can prove he set razor back on fire," he said. "he was seen in the neighborhood prowling about with a can of oil yesterday morning." "at what time?" demanded billie quickly. "i don't know the exact hour, lady, but it was some time in the forenoon." "well," ejaculated billie angrily, "that shows how much evidence you have to go upon. there's not a word of truth in it and you have no right to spread that wicked report founded on a falsehood. mr. french was at sunrise camp just about that time and he couldn't have got anywhere near razor back mountain in hours. we have a witness to prove what we say." "it may not have been forenoon, come to think of it," said the man doggedly. "nonsense," exclaimed the exasperated billie, as the "comet" dashed away with a contemptuous honk-honk, leaving the defeated mountaineer standing in the middle of the road. only one person was awake in all the camp when the doctor and billie returned: alberdina, busy ironing pink-tinted clothes in the lean-to. miss campbell and the girls were napping on the upper porch and phoebe still slept on a couch in the living room, while ben and percy had not returned from their search for news of her father. "miss billie," remarked the doctor, "if you will be kind enough to fix me up a lunch, i think i'll pack my knapsack and start on the road again. i can't say how long i shall be gone, but you mustn't be uneasy if i don't get back for a day or two. the boys will look after you and if you have any real trouble, you had better telegraph your father. if possible, try and keep phoebe right here. those men will go no further than threats in regard to us. they know we are too powerful for them, but i couldn't say the same for that poor girl and her father. i suppose jealousy and lupo's treachery are the motives behind it. the father does better work than any of them can do and the mountaineers resent the difference between them, whatever it is, birth, breeding, education. but we can't judge them by the usual standards, of course. they have never had any chances, these people, shut in by this wall of mountains. there is not much inspiration to be charitable and kind, living in one of these little shanties during the long cold winters. it's a pretty fine nature that doesn't get warped and narrowed by the life." "phoebe's didn't," thought billie, while she sliced bread for the doctor's lunch. after he had departed with his staff and his telescope and his knapsack, billie sat down in a steamer chair under the trees and began to think. she lifted her eyes to the wall of mountains now mystical and unreal under their mantle of blue shadow. how could treachery and hatred and jealousy exist where there was so much beauty? it seemed to her that she had only to look about her to be inspired and uplifted; but billie was too young to realize that it takes more than scenery to furnish that kind of inspiration. "i am not tired and i am not sleepy," she thought. "must i sit here all the afternoon waiting for the others to wake?" she glanced at her watch. "only a quarter to three. why can't i take a walk? it's against the rules as laid down by papa for women members, but that was only a joke anyhow and i shan't go far." billie chose a trail they often took after supper for the reason that it was brought to an early finish by the bed of a creek dry in summer, though probably a brave stream in the spring after the thaws. but it was a pretty walk, tunneled through the forest, carpeted with dried pine needles and bordered on either side by ferns. strolling along, billie thought of many things; of the mountain on the other side of indian head on which fires had started and where bands of men were now fighting the flames. that was a dreadful thing to do, to set a forest on fire; a crime against nature as well as against man. she thought of phoebe's father, perhaps injured, or worse, who could tell? then with a mental leap she thought of richard hook and his sister maggie; the charm of their personalities; their simplicity; their joy in living. billie wondered if she could be happy if she were poor, really quite poor. it was rather fun cooking, with alberdina to clean up after them. it was only for a little while and it was just a sort of game. "it would be a dog's life to keep up forever," thought billie, "but richard and maggie hook would never admit it. they make the best of being poor and pretend that living like gypsies is the most delightful way of spending one's vacation. i think they are just fine. there is phoebe, too. how well she has got on without anything, education, money, friends. she is wonderful." who was phoebe? who was her father? were they not mysterious people? when the veil was lifted at last, billie felt convinced that it would disclose no ordinary identity. they had the marks of distinguished people in exile. there was a look of family about them both that no ragged attire could disguise. toward the end of the trail, billie saw an old woman hobbling toward her, leaning on a stout stick. she looked remarkably like one of the aged forest trees unexpectedly come to life. a gnarled, brown, weather-beaten old creature she was, who reminded billie of a dwarfed apple tree she had seen in japan, a little old bent thing said to have been over two hundred years old. attached to the woman's waist was a pocket apron bulging with herbs, camomile and catnip, wood sorrel and sassafras root. "now, if mary were here," thought billie, "she would at once make a story of this: 'the princess and the old witch.' i am sure mary would call me a princess," she added modestly. when the young girl and the old witch met, they paused without exactly knowing why. the herb gatherer had a strange, small, yellow face, crossed and re-crossed with wrinkles. "good afternoon," said billie politely, not knowing what else to say. the old woman waved aside this greeting with her stick. "you come from sunrise camp?" she asked in a voice as cracked as her face was wrinkled. billie nodded. "i bring message. you look for somebody?" "yes," replied billie eagerly. "you not find him now. too much enemies." "where is he?" she demanded. no answer came to this question. "you will not tell me?" "no tell," answered the old creature. "is he ill or hurt?" the herb gatherer touched her forehead. "he safe," she answered. "but people not safe who look for him. too much enemies." after that not another word could billie get out of the obstinate old creature. who had sent her? who was looking after phoebe's father, if he were hurt or a prisoner? could not phoebe see him? nothing would she reply to all these questions. [illustration: the old woman waved aside this greeting with her stick.--page 212.] "i'm much obliged for that much anyhow," said billie at last. "you must be tired and hungry. won't you come back to the camp and let me give you----" she paused to consider. what could an old stunted apple tree like? somehow it didn't seem as if she could live on real food. "will you drink a cup of tea?" she added hastily. the wrinkled face remained inscrutable. "or coffee?" "coffee?" repeated the old soul, and suddenly without the faintest warning, smiled and billie smiled back. "i can make delicious strong coffee," announced the girl proudly. "you will come, won't you?" "i come," answered the herb-gatherer. "coffee? i come!" they walked briskly back to camp, this ill-assorted couple, and it was not long before billie had established her companion in a chair under the trees and the coffee pot on the kerosene stove, where it was soon sending out a fragrant aroma. "don't you get very tired gathering herbs on the mountains?" asked billie, by way of making conversation. "when i tired, i rest," answered the other briefly. presently billie brought out a tray with a cup and saucer, sugar and cream and some thin slices of buttered bread. from the upper gallery there came to her the low hum of conversation. the sleepers had awakened and were getting bathed and dressed. "do you know phoebe?" she asked, while she poured the coffee. the herb-gatherer smacked her lips and sniffed the air expectantly. "i've seen her." "don't you feel sorry for her to lose her father? she is very unhappy." "no sugar," exclaimed the old woman, ignoring the question. "good!" she exclaimed. "fine coffee!" presently billie poured out another cup and finally another. "you like coffee, don't you?" she said. "this fine coffee." "we send away for it. the village coffee is not good." "i never tasted the like before." "if you will answer me a question," said billie suddenly, "i will get my father to send you enough of this coffee to last all winter." the old woman picked up the coffee pot and drained it to the last drop. "if i tell," she said, warmed and stimulated by the hot drink, "it make lot trouble." "trouble for whom?" "much trouble for all." "all i am to say to phoebe then is that her father is in good hands and she is not to look for him?" the herb-gatherer nodded. "how soon will he be coming back?" she shook her head and seizing her staff, rose to go. "are you a friend of the lupos?" there was no answer. billie tried again. "did mrs. lupo ever go back to her husband?" "lupo very angry. she not go back." "she needn't stay away on our account. my cousin forgave her long ago." "i go now," announced the old woman, not taking the slightest notice of billie's remarks. "i am very much obliged to you for the news of phoebe's father. every time you bring us any news, you may have coffee, and if you show us where he is,--quite secretly, you know,--you shall have a great deal of coffee and money, too." "i go now," repeated the strange old creature, pretending not to understand billie's offer, and she promptly took her leave without another word. billie gathered up the tray and the coffee things and carried them into the kitchen. "it looks like rain, alberdina. i think we had better eat indoors to-night," she said. something, perhaps the east wind charged with wet, had made her feel dispirited and uneasy. she was homesick for her father and she wished that dr. hume had not gone away. she almost wished they had never set eyes on phoebe and her father at all. how complicated life had suddenly become! they were just a party of well-meaning campers taking a summer holiday on the mountainside, meaning no harm to anybody on earth; and having done a little kindness to a poor girl and her half-crazed father, they had obtained the enmity of an entire village. how cruel and ignorant these people were! how warped and uncharitable! "have percy and ben got back yet?" asked nancy, appearing at the door of the lean-to in a fresh blue linen dress, her hair all dewy from her bath, her eyes bright and clear from the long rest. "heavens, nancy, you make me feel like a dusty old shoe," exclaimed billie, realizing for the first time that she was tired and hot and crushed. "no, no one has come and dr. hume has gone to look for phoebe's father." then she told nancy of the experiences of the afternoon. "if the old woman spoke the truth all we have to do is to lie low and say nothing, like br'er rabbit," said nancy. "do you know what i intend to do, nancy," announced billie, glancing through the open door at phoebe in the distance on the divan. "phoebe's awake. you see she's sitting up. i am going to set her fears at rest about her father first. then i'm going to take her upstairs and after she's bathed, i'll dress her in some of my things. she shall swallow her pride. cousin helen shall ask her to visit us until her father is able to come back, and to-morrow i mean to take her down to the village in the 'comet.' she shall wear my best and only pink linen. won't she be stunning? i'm glad i took your advice and brought it along now, and we'll just show these people that phoebe is not a poor ragged mountain girl." "take anything of mine you want," said nancy generously. "phoebe's taller than i am, but she can wear my 'undies,' i suppose." "i think i have plenty," replied billie, "that is, if alberdina schoenbachler ever gets through ironing the pink wash." phoebe was a good deal cheered by the message of the old herb gatherer. "oh, yes, i know her quite well. she likes me. once when i had a fever she came and nursed me for several days and gave me herb tea." phoebe also submitted to being dressed up, after a good deal of persuasion. "you know we are under a great obligation to you and you must give us a chance to get rid of a little of it," billie said. "besides, dr. hume said that on no account were you to leave the camp. you wouldn't like to disobey him, would you?" "no, no," phoebe answered, and finally permitted herself to be led to the women's quarter of the camp, where for the first time in her life she bathed in a porcelain bath tub, with scented soap and toilet water and sweet smelling talcum powder and violet ammonia and all kinds of women's luxuries at her service on a hand shelf by the tub. when billie proudly led phoebe downstairs that evening, the others, already gathered around the supper table, were filled with amazement. instead of the ragged, disheveled mountain girl, they saw a beautiful young woman in a white duck skirt and a muslin blouse. her throat rose like a slender column from the lace yoke of the blouse and her soft hair was rolled into a loose knot on her neck. "i know now she is a princess," said mary. ben and percy, returned from their search, had brought no news. chapter xv. a warning. the next day billie had much difficulty in persuading phoebe to put on the beautiful pink linen. "it is not right," phoebe kept saying, although her eyes shone with a new luster when she gazed at the pretty frock. "i am very grateful for what you have done but you must not do too much. i am sure my father would not approve of my accepting so many favors." "nonsense," exclaimed billie. "can't one girl lend another a few clothes without its being called 'favors'? i shouldn't hesitate to borrow from you, phoebe, if i were--well--in your situation. and it seems to me that this dress would be very becoming to you. it suits your complexion better than mine because it matches your cheeks. i usually wear blue but i was over-persuaded by nancy-bell to get pink." in the end, phoebe was induced to put on the pink dress. it had been wonderful enough to wear a neatly fitted duck skirt and a lace-trimmed blouse, but in this embroidered linen frock the color of wild roses phoebe was in a dream. "oh," she exclaimed, glancing at her flushed image in the mirror, "i never understood that clothes would make so much difference. i feel like someone else." she looked down at her white canvas pumps, which were, as a matter of fact, a shade too long for her, although she had run barefoot over the mountains. "and my feet look really small." when billy placed on her head a white panama hat trimmed with a broad band of black velvet, phoebe's eyes filled with tears. "am i phoebe?" she ejaculated. "phoebe without a name, who lives in a log house? oh, miss campbell----" "not miss campbell," interrupted billie. "you must call me billie. aren't you my guest and almost the same age? besides, i never recognize myself with 'miss' tucked on before my name." "billie, then," went on phoebe, blushing because she had never known a girl before to call by the first name. "do you think it is right that i should dress up so beautifully when--when my father is hidden away somewhere?" "but i feel perfectly sure he is safe," said billie. "perhaps someone has told him it would be safer to keep away for a while." "but why? he has never injured anyone in his life." "it is all lupo's doings and that is one reason why we want you to go with us down to the village and show yourself, so that they can see you have a number of very good friends to look after your interests." the girls all left off their khaki camping clothes and attired themselves in light summer frocks that morning. there was a reason for this unusual "hike" as percy called it, and it pleased nancy extremely, who took that opportunity to wear her best blue batiste and her prettiest hat. billie wore no hat. it annoyed her when she drove the car, she said; but as a matter of fact she had lent her only hat to phoebe. from time to time, as the car went down the mountain road, miss campbell glanced admiringly at the mountain girl beside billie in front. "dear, dear," she exclaimed in a low voice, "what clothes will do for one. and how well the child wears them. she might have been accustomed to pretty things all her life." "she puts us all in the shade," whispered nancy. if billie had intended to create a sensation in the village, she succeeded beyond her wildest hopes. at first phoebe was not recognized, but at the village store where everything was sold from groceries to indian moccasins, a man loafing at the door exclaimed: "by golly, that there's phoebe from up on the mountains!" phoebe blushed scarlet and then smiled. "i suppose it will be a surprise to them," she said. they waited some time at the general store for purchases and letters, and by the time the "comet" had borne them slowly onward to the small hotel, the news had spread down the street. at the water trough, they came to a full stop. they had no errands at the hotel, but billie pretended to examine the "comet's" interior mechanism with careful interest. pretty soon, nearly two dozen people had gathered at the trough. the innkeeper himself appeared, pale-eyed and sly; and lupo made bold to show his face. "look at crazy frenchy's gal diked out in all them duds," one of the company exclaimed. "she do look good, crazy or no crazy," remarked a swarthy-faced guide eying phoebe with admiration. the young girl seemed entirely unconscious of all the attention she was attracting. she looked straight ahead down the village street and never even glanced at the group of rough men gathered near the car. "how do we know but she didn't aid and abet frenchy?" burst out the innkeeper. "how do we know but she didn't help him start them fires on razor back? the two is always together, 'ceptin' now when he's a-hidin' and she's put on fine clothes to drive around with her rich friends." phoebe turned her startled gaze on the man. her lips parted. "don't answer them," whispered billie, and with a grand flourish she swept the "comet" around in a circle and turned his nose up the street. "do they accuse my father of setting razor back on fire?" asked phoebe, tremulously. "they tried to, but they couldn't prove it," answered billie. "my father loves the mountains," protested poor phoebe. "he loves the forests. he wouldn't harm even one tree. how cruel these people are! always they have hated us and we have never injured any of them. oh, billie, i feel that i must go to my father. i know he needs me." "you remember the doctor's message," answered billie; "that it would be dangerous for you to leave camp. i am certain he knew what he was saying. besides, didn't you say the old herb woman was a friend? she would not have deceived you, would she?" "no," answered phoebe, half smiling. "once i pulled a thorn out of old granny's foot and washed and bound it, and she has been good to me ever since. the time she nursed me, she never left me day or night until i was well." "so you see," said billie, "it would be foolish for you to start out to hunt your father when you know old granny can be depended upon and dr. hume, too." phoebe was not the only one who felt restless in camp that afternoon. all of them had the sensation of waiting for something. only alberdina seemed placidly content. having been forgiven the pink clothes and having had her stolen money refunded, she went about her work, singing and yodelling in a melodious voice, and for lunch surprised them with a german cinnamon cake she had made during their absence in the village. "why, you can cook, alberdina?" exclaimed billie, on whom cooking was beginning to pall. "i can a leedle coog." "then you shall cook the dinner," announced billie firmly, and alberdina, who had not mentioned cooking in the bond, quailed before her stern gray eye and consented. the afternoon dragged slowly along. it was very hot and the women members of the camp lay on their cots in kimonos reading and napping. percy, underneath, snored lustily, and ben chopped wood and piled up the logs scientifically for a fire that evening. alberdina's supper was distinctly german in flavor, but it was good and billie and nancy enjoyed freedom from the bondage of cooking the evening meal. after supper the wind freshened and it grew much cooler. "it's going to be a dark night. there's no moon," remarked ben, wistfully. "shall i light the camp fire? and then we can sit around and tell stories and sing songs," and because no one either assented or objected, owing to the peculiar restlessness that possessed them, he put a match to the pile of logs and presently the clearing was illuminated. the camp house stood out in bold relief against the background of the mountains. little clouds were scurrying across the sky like schools of fish, and an occasional flash of heat lightning lit up the mountains and valley with strange distinctness. elinor had brought out her guitar and they had just begun one of the old familiar songs, when a ragged boy appeared in their midst so suddenly that he might have sprung up full grown from the earth. he faced ben without looking at the others. "the doctor wants both gem'man to come. i show the way. quick." phoebe sat up very straight and looked at the boy. "i don't know you," she said. "who are you?" "i come from that away," answered the boy, pointing with his thumb toward indian head. "the doctor said you would know it was all right by this here," he added, unbuttoning his coat and taking out the doctor's well remembered cane. "an' he don't want none of the ladies to come. jes' the men." "but i will go," exclaimed phoebe. "my father----" "is your father frenchy?" "yes," answered the girl, lowering her eyes. "the doctor says frenchy's gal was not to be skeered. frenchy is safe and well." "are you sure?" demanded phoebe. "so help me," answered the boy, raising his hand to heaven. "but what does it mean?" broke in miss campbell. "i don't like the sound of it at all. why has the doctor sent for both of you boys? why should we be left alone? it's not like the doctor at all." "they ain't got to go no distance much, lady," the boy assured her. "they'll be back inside of fifteen minutes," and being the prince of liars and an actor of precocious ability, he succeeded in persuading them that ben and percy must follow him without delay. the girls were still gathering up the rugs and cushions preparatory to going into the house, when there came another interruption that frightened miss campbell so much that she gave a little cry and seized billie's arm. "it's only old granny, the herb-woman," billie assured her. "what is it, granny?" "phoebe! they gona' tar and feather phoebe an' her father if they can find him. go, quick. lupo an' his men comin' up mountain. hurry and shut house." "but i don't want to bring this danger on my friends," exclaimed phoebe. "i will go with you, granny." "no, no, too dangerous," answered the old woman. "lupo, he see in dark." "indeed, you shall not go," broke in miss campbell indignantly. "you'll stay right here and they shall not tar and feather you or anybody else. the low wretches!" "shut up house, quick," was granny's last piece of advice as she melted away in the darkness. nobody paused to beat down the camp fire or gather up the rugs and cushions. into the house they scurried and lost no time in drawing the great iron-bound winter doors across the openings into the living room, and bolting them. the doors to the sleeping porches were all carefully closed and locked from the inside. then they sat down in the immense vaulted room and waited. phoebe, sitting apart from the others, seemed very quiet and calm in the face of the danger which threatened her, and billie knew she was calling on the faith which had never failed her. chapter xvi. the attack. they were filled with hot indignation over the situation. they felt sure now that ben and percy had been lured away, but they were not uneasy for their safety. billie had told them what dr. hume had said: that the mountaineers would not dare injure any of the campers. but all of them realized that phoebe might be treated with cruel indignities. only a few weeks before, billie had read an account in a newspaper of how a pretty young school teacher had been tarred and feathered by a mob of people who were jealous of her beauty and refinement. if lupo could persuade the villagers that phoebe and her father were responsible for the forest fires, billie felt certain they would have a very unreasonable lot of visitors to deal with that night. she wished with all her heart that someone with an eloquent tongue would appear and address these narrow, stupid men, someone who understood their natures and knew how to deal with them. she believed that violence would only aggravate their rage. someone would have to talk to them. the other motor maids sat on a divan whispering together, and miss campbell, calm as was her wont in the presence of danger, paced up and down the room, examining the bolts of the heavy shutters. alberdina, with her little iron bound trunk beside her, sat grumbling in a corner. "is it for thees i haf gome?" she murmured. "i to new yorg return to-morrow. they will keel me already yet." "you are perfectly safe, alberdina," said miss campbell, "and you are not to go back to new york to-morrow. you are to stay with us and see this thing through. i shall telegraph mr. campbell in the morning and have the law on these people. i am sick and tired of their savagery and injustice. the cruel wretches! i----" a long shrill whistle interrupted her outburst. it penetrated the stout walls of their fortress so unexpectedly that it brought them all to their feet with low exclamations. "there they are," whispered mary. alberdina groaned, "mein lieber gott," and sank upon a couch with the expression of a condemned man about to be executed. it was some moments after the whistle before the enemy made its next advance. that also was unexpected and terrifying,--loud knocks on the wooden shutters of the large entrance. nobody moved or spoke. again the knocks came and a voice called: "we want that gal and her father. you ain't got no right to shelter criminals. open in the name of the law. i reckon a sheriff will make you listen to reason." "break the door down, lupo," said another voice. "the law's in its right to git what it wants. they ain't nobody that kin refuse the law without payin' for it." although they were so confident of the law, the girls felt sure the mention of a sheriff was a blind, and that the mountaineers were not going to do anything so incriminating as to break in the doors. then there followed a period of consultation outside. footsteps could be heard along the galleries; the stout shutters on all the openings were shaken and pounded upon; but sunrise camp was indeed as strong as a fortress when it was closed. storms had beaten against it in vain, and unless the mob outside resorted to hatchets and saws, it would not be easy to break in. at last the voice of lupo spoke from the front gallery. "ladies, i'm only askin' justice. you got two dangerous people in this here house. the law wants 'em. we don't mean no harm to you an' we'll leave peaceable if you'll hand over the prisoners. i'm goin' to give you five minutes to decide in an' if you don't open the door, we're goin' to break it open with this here axe." "you'll do nothing of the sort, lupo," cried miss campbell, her voice ringing with indignation. "and i warn you that unless you wish to serve a long term in the penitentiary, you'd better leave this place at once with your friends. mr. campbell would never stop until he saw all of you well punished for this night's work. you've already broken into the house and robbed our maid----" "who said i did?" shouted lupo. "it was frenchy done that, too. he's a dangerous man to live in a peaceable place. we've been puttin' up with him and his daughter for too long, and we citizens ain't goin' to put up with 'em no longer. they gona' be punished first, and then they gona' give up that there home that ain't theirs by rights and leave this here part of the country forever." miss campbell decided not to reply to lupo's outburst. it only excited him and it was evident her arguments had no effect. and now, after what seemed an interminable time, the door resounded with the blows of a woodman's axe. "go up into the gallery, phoebe," ordered miss campbell, trembling in spite of her determination not to be frightened. phoebe rose and walked to the middle of the room. her face was transfigured and she looked almost unearthly. "i am not afraid," she said. "i believe that i will be saved from my enemies. god is sending someone to save me." but the motor maids and miss campbell had no such faith to bolster up their faltering courage. during the long, lonely evenings on the mountainside when phoebe had read aloud to her father from the new testament, which he seemed to like best, there had grown in her mind a belief as strong as it was simple. there had never been any people to shake her convictions with arguments, nor books to suggest doubts. and now in her soul she had called for help and she believed it would come even at the eleventh hour. billie, whose faith in prayer was not unmixed with a desire for action of a very vigorous and immediate variety, seized an old rifle hung from a nail on the wall. she had no idea whether there were any loads in it, but she had made up her mind to use the butt-end on the first man who entered the room. in the meantime, the axe had crashed through one of the thick, hardwood panels, making a slit broad enough to see through. "i'll shoot any man who comes into this room," called billie. "keep out." an eye was placed at the hole in the door. billie felt instinctively it was lupo's. "that there old rusty gun ain't got no loads in it, miss. you kin shoot all you like." there was another pause, and the blows began again. alberdina gave evidence of wishing to speak, but miss campbell interrupted her. "never mind, alberdina," she said impatiently. "you may go up into the gallery if you like. you are quite safe. they only want miss phoebe." but alberdina would not be silenced. perhaps somewhere in the remote history of her ancestors there had been a warrior who had ranged the german forests dressed in the skins of wild beasts, his helmet decorated with a pair of fierce upstanding horns. who knows but a drop of his fighting blood had come down through the generations to stir this sluggish descendant into action just at this particular moment when something had to be done? "come," she called, with unexpected energy. "i asg you, come. we will a high wall mag already. you will see. hein?" again the axe crashed through the door and without a word they followed her into the gallery, billie carrying the rifle and elinor the breakfast horn. alberdina hurried into the locker room and presently returned with a trunk hoisted on her shoulders. this she placed at the top of the stairs. "good," exclaimed billie. "why didn't we think of that before? it will keep them off for a little longer, at any rate." alberdina did not listen to these honeyed words of praise, however. she never paused until she had piled three trunks, one on top of the other in a very effective barricade. at the far end of the gallery, elinor and mary appeared to be very much occupied at a little window placed in the roof for ventilation, but now closed. finding the bolt rusty, elinor took off her slipper and broke a pane of glass. mary, her lieutenant, then handed her the breakfast horn. it was like elinor to wipe off the mouth piece carefully with her handkerchief before she placed it to her lips. but the blast she blew must have startled the mountaineers outside, for the blows on the door ceased for a moment. again and again she signaled, always the same long agitated note. "i think anybody would recognize that as a call for help," she said, pausing for breath; and while the axe crashed through the door, she continued to blow the bugle with all her strength. billie, however, felt fairly certain that a trunk barricade and a bugle blast for help would not keep off the savages long. "we need some kind of ammunition, nancy," she said. "if only this rifle was loaded." "did you look through the barrel?" asked nancy, slightly more experienced with firearms than billie. she seized the rifle and held it up before a lamp that alberdina had set in a corner of the gallery, cocked it and looked through with one eye professionally squinted. "why, it is loaded," she announced. "it only has two empty what do you call them--chambers?" "must i shoot at somebody?" asked billie. "you could try and i could try," answered nancy, "but i don't think either one of us would hit an elephant." just then miss campbell put out the light. at the same moment the axe made a breach in the door and a man crawled through. billie lifted the rifle and, taking a long breath, aimed at his foot. the man was looking about him in a bewildered way. it was the innkeeper, second leader of the gang. billie pulled and pulled, but nothing happened, and in another moment a dozen mountaineers had crawled through the opening. the one lamp cast a small circle of light near the fire-place. the rest of the room was in darkness. in the gallery the anxious watchers were invisible to the band of men, but the watchers themselves could see the outlaws plainly now gathered in a group in the center of the room, rather uneasy after breaking down the door of sunrise camp. "ladies, i'd advise you to give up the prisoners," called lupo, addressing the darkness. "we ain't goner touch none of you, but we wants them two furriners right away." "git some torches," ordered the innkeeper, who seemed really to be the boldest man in the lot. several men disappeared and in a moment returned with pitch torches which cast a lurid, flickering light through the room. it was a weird scene, looking down from the gallery. all of the men wore masks except lupo and the innkeeper, who were boldly undisguised. they peered about the room. suddenly lupo's eye caught a corner of the staircase at the far end. "they're upstairs. come on, men," he called. billie raised the shotgun to her shoulder. "i'll shoot the old thing off this time if it flies to pieces," she said, and pulled the trigger with all her might. "bang!" went the gun, and down she sat very hard, not knowing where she had aimed. there was a great confusion of voices below and she thought she heard someone cry out with pain. "could i have shot anyone?" she asked herself tremulously as she picked herself up from the floor. her shoulder ached and her finger was bruised, but she put the gun into position again. "i'll shoot any man who comes up those steps," she called. the outlaws had gathered under the gallery now, holding their torches high and gazing with some curiosity at the women grouped above them. miss campbell stood with her arm around phoebe's waist. elinor and mary were still at the window. nancy was with billie, and alberdina crouched behind the barricade. lupo fell back angrily. "i guess you ain't got but one load in your old shotgun," he called. "come on, men. we'll make a run for it." billie turned the gun straight on him. she felt almost more afraid of the unwieldy thing than she did of the man himself. "if it jumps again," she thought, "it'll break my shoulder. and it's so undignified to have to sit down every time i shoot it off." the innkeeper made a leap for the steps and lupo followed him. billie ran to the other end of the gallery so as to get a better aim, and pulled at the trigger. the trunks were swaying and alberdina had rushed from behind them. "oh, nancy, i can't make it go off," billie sobbed under her breath. "give it to me," whispered nancy, seizing the gun and leveling it with trembling hands at lupo. "look out, lupo," called a man below, as the barricade went down with a crash. but lupo was in no mood to listen to warnings. bounding over a fallen trunk, he wrenched the gun from nancy's hand. at this moment, a man walked into the room and marched straight up to the group of mountaineers. "i beg your pardon, gentlemen," he said in a voice loud enough to be heard by everybody, "is this sunrise camp?" chapter xvii. the force of eloquence. phoebe gazed at the newcomer as if she were seeing a visitor from heaven. all the women in the gallery experienced enormous sensations of relief and alberdina smiled down at him broadly. "mein lieber gott, helb has gome already yet," she exclaimed. they hardly seemed to comprehend in their relief that one man had to deal with a dozen or more. "who are you?" demanded lupo, roughly, coming to the top of the stairs. "my name is hook, at your service. may i ask if you are giving a performance of private theatricals? the scene is a good deal like a band of highwaymen attacking a number of helpless women." "we're in the rights of the law," put in the innkeeper. "why wear masks then?" asked richard hook. there was no answer to this pointed question and three of the maskers slunk toward the door. "we've come here to git two criminals hiding illegally in this here camp," burst out lupo. "have you a warrant for their arrest?" "we don't need no warrants in these here mountains." "oh, yes you do," insisted richard politely. "law and order must be respected just as much on the mountains as in the valleys. people who don't respect them soon find out what happens." two more men slunk toward the door. "i think," went on richard, "that you had better follow your friends out quietly and go to your homes. i am certain most of you have wives who would be glad to see you again after this dangerous little adventure. jail isn't a pleasant place, you know, especially to people who are in the habit of breathing mountain air." only six men remained now of the original number. even lupo had been silenced, but at the mention of wives he flared up again. "they have taken my wife away from me," he cried, shaking his fist at the women in the gallery. "they have given her money to leave me. i ain't so forgivin'." "do you want to know the real reason why your wife left you?" said richard in a tone of such conviction that lupo was deceived into thinking this perfect stranger knew all about him. "she was afraid of you and your lawless ways. when you have been drinking, as you have to-night, you're a dangerous man. you begin by breaking into private houses. you're disorderly and violent. men like you end in the penitentiary. you hide yourselves perhaps for a while, but these mountains are difficult to hide in nowadays. you would be caught sooner or later, and do you think you'll get much sympathy with the court after one of these ladies, perhaps, has told the history of to-night's work? fifteen years would be a short sentence. your wife is right, i think. you're not a very safe companion." lupo looked about him bewildered. only one of the band remained: the watery-eyed innkeeper. "i was in the rights of the law," exclaimed lupo, half-crying as he crept down the gallery steps. "i am afraid not," said richard gently. "but you take a little trip to another county and get some good honest work, and you will soon find out how much happier and safer it is to be within the limits of the law. decidedly more agreeable than being hunted through the mountains by a sheriff with his bloodhounds, sleeping out in the cold, going hungry, slinking around the edges of villages when everybody is asleep for a chance piece of bread. earning honest money with your wife happy beside you is heaven in comparison, i assure you." lupo hung his head until his eyes were hidden by the brim of his felt hat. "i'm goin'," he said sullenly. "i guess your argyments is too good for the likes of me to try an' answer. i wants my wife back more'n i wants to git even with frenchy and his gal. they done me a injury once, but i'm willin' to call it square if you are." "call it square," said richard, and the two mountaineers slunk out of the room and disappeared in the night. and now the ladies of sunrise camp and richard hook found themselves quite alone in the vast living room. the danger was over and the last and most impious of the outlaws departed. miss campbell and her girls standing in a row in the gallery looked down into the whimsical face of their deliverer. billie recalled that only a little while before she had wished for someone with a persuasive tongue to appear and address the outlaws. phoebe, too, had believed that god would send a deliverer. whose prayer had brought the young man to sunrise camp in the nick of time? hers or phoebe's, billie wondered. perhaps it was their combined wishes. she understood little about the psychology of wishes. at any rate, here they all stood, safe and sound, and presently they found themselves laughing at the ludicrous thing that might have turned into a tragedy but for richard hook's persuasive tongue. already alberdina was removing the barriers. "whose idea was that? yours, miss billie?" asked richard. "no, no. we really owe our temporary safety to alberdina, there. she thought of it herself." the german girl was well pleased over the fame the one intelligent act of her life had brought her. she smiled broadly at richard as she cleared the way for the ladies to descend. "before we settle down to talk," remarked the young man, "suppose we open the doors and windows and light the lights. this room is fairly close and it would be a good idea to illuminate for the sake of your friends who might happen to be returning. by the way, where are the criminals?" "here is one of them," answered miss campbell, smiling. "this is our friend, miss phoebe--" she hesitated, "miss phoebe french. does she look like a criminal?" phoebe, who all this time had been watching richard with a sort of rapt expression, was startled out of her dream. she blushed and looked down at the floor. the girls had never seen her so shy. "this is mr. hook, phoebe," continued miss campbell. "i think we ought all to offer him our united thanks for his courage." "i do thank you, sir, with all my heart," said phoebe fervently, timidly offering her hand. richard stretched out his left hand. "i--i ask your pardon for giving you my left hand," he said, and for the first time they noticed that his right arm was hanging limply at his side. "oh, rich--oh, mr. hook," cried billie, as red as a beet. "what have i done--i shot you--oh, dear, i am so sorry!" "don't you worry, miss billie. it's just a coat sleeve wound. the bullet cut through the cloth and scratched my arm. it's lodged there in the wall now, i suppose, as a memento of your nerve." "why, boy, your sleeve is soaked in blood," exclaimed miss campbell. "and you're as white as a ghost. sit down here quick. alberdina, a basin of water. billie, some bandages. hurry, all of you. why are you standing around like a lot of wooden images?" phoebe was too inexperienced to join in the general rush for bandages, peroxide of hydrogen, absorbent cotton and witch hazel: all the first-aid-to-the-injured the camp afforded. she stood at the foot of the couch and watched richard hook with large innocent eyes. his own eyes, very dark gray, wide apart and extremely intelligent, returned her gaze with a kind of amused admiration. in the meanwhile, miss helen campbell snipped up his shirt sleeve with a pair of small scissors and billie, overwhelmed with contrition, stood ready to bathe the wound, which was more bloody than serious. "i call this pretty nice," remarked richard, glancing at the circle of anxious faces leaning over him. "it's worth being shot to have so many ministering angels about one; and a seraph with a flaming sword at the foot of my couch to guard me," he added, glancing again at phoebe, now holding a lamp high with a perfectly steady arm, so that the others could see to work. having washed and bound the wound, they propped his head on two pillows and drew their chairs about the couch. never was a young man so coddled before. "you haven't explained to us yet, mr. hook, how you happened to drop down from the skies," said miss campbell. "i dropped up and not down, on the contrary, miss campbell. the van isn't so very far away. the girls wanted to put up for the night at the foot of the mountain, but i was stubborn for once and we worked old dobbin until his limbs refused to go any farther. after they had got settled for the night, i thought i'd take a stroll. i supposed you would all have gone to bed but i had a feeling i'd like to see sunrise camp by starlight. i wouldn't have found it, however, if i had not heard the calls for help on the bugle. there wasn't a light to be seen from the road." elinor felt a secret pride at this statement. it was she, then, who had brought the rescuer! billie felt sure it was her own strong wish that had drawn richard to them in their great need, while phoebe, filled with the conviction of her faith, believed he had been sent in answer to her fervent prayers. if richard had been consulted about this and had spoken the truth from his heart, could he have explained the irresistible impulse that had urged him to climb the steep road up the mountain on that dark night? at this juncture, ben and percy, more dead than alive from running, almost fell into the room. "great caesar's ghost," percy ejaculated in a weak voice, "but we have had a fright about you, and here you are giving an evening reception!" "nothing has happened, then?" ben managed to gasp. "that little arch fiend led us into a jungle and lost us," went on percy. "we heard the bugle calls for help. gee! but we have had a run." "and you're all right? you're safe?" cried ben, counting them over. "and mr. hook has been protecting you? thank heavens for that." "my dear young man," observed miss campbell with some irritation, "will you please to turn around and look at that front door or slide or whatever you call the thing? i wish you to know that we have had one of the most exciting evenings of our lives. this house was attacked and broken into by a dozen ruffians and if it hadn't been for alberdina, there, who has the mind of a general and knew exactly how to build a barricade with trunks, phoebe would certainly have been tarred and feathered, even before mr. hook came to our rescue----" "he heard my bugle," announced elinor. "i wished for him," thought billie. "i prayed for him," said phoebe in a low voice. "if richard hook had not appeared and permitted himself to be shot by billie without uttering a sound----" "oh, i let out a yell," broke in richard. "we would have all been murdered, like enough." "but where are your sister and miss swinnerton?" asked ben. "i suppose i had better be getting back to them," said richard, who had quite forgotten that he had left two unprotected maidens asleep in a traveling van on a ledge half a mile below. percy and ben offered to go back for him, but he would not consent, and billie, solicitous and full of contrition for her reckless shooting, had the "comet" out in a jiffy although richard had asked to be allowed to walk. they found the van dark and quiet. evidently the girls had heard nothing of the rumpus on the mountain and had felt no uneasiness about richard, who was accustomed to taking strolls at untimely hours. it did not take long to bring the motor car back to camp and before midnight a peaceful calm had settled over the log hut. phoebe, stretched on her cot in the living room, lay staring up into the darkness of the unceiled roof. she tried to think of her father somewhere out on the mountain, but always her thoughts reverted to the new young man with the kind, smiling eyes. once she chanted in a low voice: "'how beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings!'" chapter xviii. the morning after. miss campbell felt no ill effects from the visit of the mountaineers. she had not even thought of ill effects, in fact. somehow, the presence of phoebe, unruffled and calm through all the danger, had had its influence on all of them. even alberdina's emotions had been hushed by contact with that peaceful nature. it was well past six o'clock before the exhausted household awakened next morning at percy's trumpet call. hurrying down before the others, billie was amazed to see the traveling van drawn up in a clearing at the edge of the grove. old dobbin, tethered to a rope, stood nearby peaceably munching his breakfast from a wooden pail. amy swinnerton was seated in front of an easel sketching the log cabin and from inside of the van came the crisp voice of maggie hook, singing: "'i loved a lass, a fair one, as fair as e'er was seen; she was indeed a rare one, another sheba queen: but, fool as then i was, i thought she loved me, too: but, now alas! she's left me, falero, lero, loo!'" "good morning!" cried billie, running over to the van. "you must have muffled old dobbin's feet to have crept in so quietly. how is ri--mr. hook?" she added, all in one breath. maggie popped her head out of the front of the van. she reminded billie of a little bird peeping from a bird house. "not 'mister,'" she called, smiling brightly. "remember, billie, that we brothers and sisters of the road never use titles." "oh, yes, i mustn't forget that i'm one of the fraternity," answered billie, smiling. "'--gypsy blood to the gypsy blood ever the wide world over,'" called maggie, with much animation, from the top step of the van. "you'll have to know her better to understand her dual nature, billie," observed amy swinnerton, glancing up from her easel. "after she's been a good housewife and got things shipshape and free from the dust of the road she loves so much, she's ready to turn gypsy and muss them all up again." "i never mussed anything up in my life," broke in maggie. "i only clean up other people's musses." "but how is your brother richard?" persisted billie. "you see i feel some natural anxiety because i was the one who shot him last night. has the wound been dressed?" "shot him?" repeated the other girls. "that was why he made me drive old dobbin this morning," said amy. "and to think he never told," broke in maggie, "and he's gone off now, goodness only knows where." "and he didn't tell you about the attack and how he saved us?" demanded billie. "not a word." billie gave them an account of what had happened the evening before. it was exciting enough to tell about and the girls listened breathlessly. richard's courage and tact with the outlaws when all the time his sleeve was soaked with blood from the wound in his arm, fired her with unusual eloquence. "i don't think they intended to harm any of us," she finished. "it was phoebe they wanted, and her father, who is hiding somewhere on the mountain. but we shall be thankful to him all our lives for what he did. why didn't he tell you?" "it's too like him," said maggie. "i don't know whether it's modesty or indifference, but he never, never tells stories where he figures as a hero." "do you wish us to stop here now after so much excitement?" amy asked. "i don't think it's any time for outsiders to intrude in spite of maggie's rhymes about gypsy blood and brothers of the road." "indeed, we wouldn't think of letting you go," cried billie hospitably. "you are not strangers to us, i assure you, after all your kindness. but i do wish i could find your brother. the place on his arm bled a lot last night. i am certain a wound like that should be washed and dressed every few hours. do you think he could have gone very far away?" "oh, dear," exclaimed maggie. "richard is incorrigible. he does make me so uneasy sometimes." "there is nothing to do but wait patiently until the spirit moves him to come back," put in amy calmly. "he is so strong and well that perhaps his wounds don't have to be dressed as often as other people's. there seems to be a special providence that looks after him anyhow. it would be foolish to worry." nevertheless, billie did worry considerably in her heart, and even phoebe, who presently joined them and was introduced to the girls, looked startled and uneasy when she heard that richard hook, her deliverer, had gone away without having his wound dressed. the caravanners were greatly interested in seeing phoebe, whose history they had heard. "she is very beautiful," amy observed, "but she doesn't look human, somehow. she has the expression of a person who sees visions, air pictures invisible to other people." "she is very religious," billie replied. "not like the religious people we know, but--well like people in the time of christ might have been. you see she got it all herself without any outside teaching. she just learned it out of the new testament mostly, and she practices it all the time. it's part of her life. sometimes, i think it would be a pity to interfere with it." "how can you interfere with it, billie?" asked nancy. "by taking her back to wicked west haven with all its temptations," laughed billie. "but shall you?" they asked in a chorus. "we can't leave her in this wild place." "and her father?" put in mary. "you'll have to ask dr. hume about that," answered billie, and not another word would she say on the subject. that morning the "comet" conveyed a load of young people down to the village. miss campbell ordered a telegram to be sent to her cousin, demanding his immediate presence at the camp. also a carpenter was secured to build a new door for the living room. this time the village street was singularly empty. no faces peeped from the half opened doors and no crowd gathered at the town pump. the rickety old wooden hotel was closed and the blinds drawn at every window. evidently richard hook had frightened lupo and the innkeeper very effectually. "i don't think they will ever trouble us again, phoebe," billie remarked as they circled the pump and started home. "they are sorry," said phoebe compassionately. "they are like children, and mr. hook understood that when he spoke to them as children. he is very wonderful and very good." "he is indeed," agreed billie. "he is a very remarkable young man." phoebe seemed about to speak again, but kept silent. it was difficult for her to carry on a conversation. "i love him," she said at last, so simply and innocently that billie smiled in spite of the earnestness of phoebe's expression. "you love everyone, do you not, phoebe? it is what you have learned by yourself up here in the mountain." "i cannot do that," answered phoebe. "i have tried but i cannot. but i love mr. hook. may god protect him always and reward him for his kindness." billie looked away abashed. she had never heard anyone speak like that before outside of a church. she, too, hoped that god would protect richard, but she would not have said it for worlds. she hoped also that richard would be waiting for them at sunrise camp when they returned. he was not there, however. miss campbell, with nancy and percy, had looked for him in vain. "no, he has not come back," said the little lady. "and neither has dr. hume. where is that foolish man? he shouldn't have left us without news all this time." "richard should remember that he is a guest and not an independent traveler," exclaimed maggie hook. "i don't think he has any right to go off and stay like this." "now, maggie, you are worrying and it's very foolish," put in practical amy swinnerton. "you know perfectly well he'll be back by nightfall." nobody felt quite in the humor to do anything. the day was exceedingly hot and the sun on its downward course in the heavens was like a red ball. most of the party scattered for naps and letter writing and did not meet again until sunset. that afternoon as they gathered around the supper table, alberdina brought a note to miss campbell, written in a strange, old-fashioned handwriting on a scrap of paper. it read: "do not be uneasy. i have gone in search of mr. hook. phoebe." miss campbell groaned as she read the message aloud. "really, billie," she exclaimed reproachfully, "you and your father between you induced me to come to this place for peace and rest----" billie's eyes filled with tears. "never mind, child," added the distracted lady. "it's not your fault." "it all came about," remarked mary, who was fond of tracing things to their beginnings, "because billie bought a pail of blackberries from phoebe one morning and mrs. lupo was angry." this might be considered an interesting and perfectly true statement, but nobody heard it, because they were busy organizing a search party. a few moments later billie and ben went down to the village in the motor car for guides, and this time guides were forthcoming. chapter xix. the mills of god. it was not often that billie lost a night's rest from anxiety, but that night her eyes refused to close and she lay staring into the darkness, straining her ears for sounds in the forest. even richard's sister, maggie, was not so abjectly miserable as billie. she tried to explain to herself that it was all because she had been the one to shoot the young man in the arm. "i'd much rather have shot that horrid lupo," she sobbed under her breath. "suppose i've killed richard? the wound may be much worse than we thought it was." she wiped her eyes on the sheet and lay very still listening. away off on the mountain somewhere a dog began to howl. the weird sound made her shiver and hide her face in the pillow. "oh, god protect him," she whispered, and then blushed furiously. "i suppose i have a perfect right to pray for a friend?" she thought in reply to some unspoken thought. besides the anxiety she felt, all sorts of new and unusual sensations were disturbing her peace of mind that wakeful night. she experienced a kind of irritation against phoebe, which she could not explain to herself. "he'll think she's lots braver than i am," she thought, naming no names, "because i wouldn't dare go out in the woods alone at night to hunt for him. she is braver and better than i am. she is wonderful and--and so beautiful. i--i wish my hair wasn't so straight," she added to the pillow into which she had poured these girlish secrets. at last when the first gray streaks of dawn appeared, billie rose and, quietly dressing, crept downstairs. "how silly i have been," she was admonishing herself, irritably, when she saw phoebe run around the side of the house and stand looking up at the sleeping porch. billie dashed across the clearing. "phoebe, have you found him? is he all right?" she demanded, grasping the girl's shoulders and shaking her in her impatience. "yes. i found him and took him to my home," answered phoebe proudly. "he was lost in the marsh just as you were. his arm was bleeding and he was very weak." "he is very ill?" "no, no. it was from losing so much blood, they said." "they?" "old granny and dr. hume. my father is there, too." phoebe clasped her hands. "oh, god is good to me," she cried. "that i should find my father and mr. hook on the same day." billie felt strangely irritated, and then reproachful of herself. "and your father, phoebe," she asked kindly. "what happened to him?" "on the day he came to the camp, he said, the language of the german girl stirred up something in his mind. after he went away he must have been very confused and he only remembers walking for a long time and then falling. you would not guess who found and has cared for him all this time? old granny and mrs. lupo. they brought him to granny's cabin, where mrs. lupo has been hiding. then the doctor came, and they got a wagon and moved him down the mountain to our home. that was yesterday." "i am so glad," said billie, endeavoring to be sympathetic, but feeling really much more relieved over the safety of richard hook. "the doctor has sent you some written messages," went on phoebe, giving billie a little note book. "they are inside." * * * * * "my dear miss billie," the note read, "not long ago you asked me to restore the sleeping memory of our friend and i told you it was sometimes best to let sleeping memories lie. since that time i have become deeply interested in the personality of phoebe's father. he is a gentleman, undoubtedly, in birth and breeding. he is perfectly aware that he has lost his memory and has discussed the mystery of his identity with me so intelligently that i may say i feel it my duty to do what i can. even his illusion regarding the physician is more in the nature of a deep and lasting impression evidently made just before he took the plunge into forgetfulness. i have mentioned that to him, too. he has never talked to people before on these subjects because there has never been anyone to talk to, but i have suggested the operation and he is keen to have it done. i must confess i am filled with curiosity about him. who knows what distinguished niche he may have occupied once somewhere? i may be restoring--well, never mind. there is no use making guesses now. in spite of his broken leg, he is in good physical condition and i am going to have the thing over with. i am therefore asking you to send the telegrams you will find further over, to two young surgeons i know who will be interested enough in the case to put up with the inconvenience of the place. i would not risk exciting this mysterious person by moving him to a hospital. mrs. lupo appears anxious to make amends and will remain to cook and help generally. i think you had better bring over the 'comet' to take back your friend, mr. r. hook, who seems strangely eager to return, although i have done my best to entertain him. i wonder if it could be a princess disguised as a beggar girl or a princess undisguised, who has so stirred young richard's soul. i need not say which princess has stirred mine. "faithfully, william hume." * * * * * now, what did the doctor mean by all this nonsense, billie asked herself. it was true that phoebe, when she had gone in search of richard had put on her old faded gingham, and certainly richard owed a great deal to the beggar maid in disguise, but she--billie--did wish the doctor wouldn't tease. billie blessed the "comet" that morning from the bottom of her heart. it was a busy time and the swift, faithful machine enabled them to accomplish in a few hours what with a horse and wagon might have taken them at least a day to do. after breakfast he carried them down to the village, where dr. hume's telegrams were sent, and where something happened that set billie wondering about the identity of phoebe and her father. while ben sent the telegrams and maggie hook and mary looked over the souvenir post cards in the general store, billie sat on the steps outside reading a letter from her father. only phoebe, once more attired in the white blouse and duck skirt, remained in the car. a big touring car containing two men and a chauffeur drew up alongside the "comet," and while one of the men went into the store, the other paced up and down outside. he was a man about mr. campbell's age, tall and foreign looking with a soldierly bearing. billie glanced at him only once and went on reading her letter. presently she noticed that he was standing in front of her, his hat in his hand. "will you pardon me if i interrupt you?" he asked in good english with an accent. "may i take the liberty of asking you a question?" "oh, certainly," answered billie politely. "may i inquire the name of the young lady in the motor car, if it is not too great an impertinence? i ask not from curiosity, but because i perceive a strong likeness." "her name is 'phoebe,'" billie answered. "and her surname?" billie hesitated. after all it was absurd to assert that phoebe's last name was "french." "you do not know her last name?" "well,--you see--she hasn't any," billie stammered. "she--her father has forgotten who he was." "so?" ejaculated the stranger. "and they live?" "they live on indian head mountain in a little cabin." "will you pardon me if again i seem inquisitive? the young lady--you say she lives in what you call a _cabeen_ and yet she seems not to be poor--that is, in appearance, i mean." billie flushed again. it did seem very much like gossiping to answer all these questions, but this stranger was commanding,--rather elegant in his manner. "the young lady has friends, perhaps? people who have helped her?" "yes, that is it," said billie. "another question and i shall not trouble you further. where is this--er--_cabeen_?" "it is on a ledge over 'table top' on 'indian head mountain,'" answered billie promptly, having good reason to remember that location. "take the road to the right at the end of this street and it takes you straight there. it's called 'indian head road.'" the stranger took a notebook and pencil from his pocket and wrote down the names. when he closed the book, billie saw that it was of russian leather with a coat of arms in dull gilt embossed on the back. the pencil fitted into a flat gold case on which also was the coat of arms. she glanced quickly at phoebe and her heart gave a leap. it was not difficult to connect coats of arms and grand things with phoebe. billie could easily picture her in the midst of fine surroundings. "she is a princess," she thought wistfully. "and beautiful and good." the stranger also was watching phoebe. his face worked with emotion and he said something in german in a low voice. "and her father?" he asked suddenly. "where is he?" "at the cabin," answered billie. "you are indeed very kind," and the stranger, making a low foreign bow, joined his companion in the touring car and in two minutes the great machine was lost in the distance. billie's mind was filled with conjectures on the journey to phoebe's home a little later. when they left the car to climb the path to the cabin, she lingered behind the others, thinking deeply, although she had seen richard from below standing on the very edge of a rocky shelf scanning the road with the doctor's telescope. with a shy obstinacy new to her candid nature she pretended not to notice him or to mind that phoebe with ingenuous joy had run ahead to speak to him first. "i've been waiting for you a long time, miss billie," he exclaimed, having left the others and run down the path to meet her. "we had to go to the village first," answered billie. "no, no. i mean it has seemed an infernal long time since the 'comet' pulled up down there in the road and you lagged behind." "not ten minutes." "i guess it would have seemed long to you if you had been sitting here since eight a. m. watching every vehicle that passed. not long ago a big black car stopped down there and i was pretty sure it had come to fetch me." he gave her one of his ingratiating smiles. "who was it?" asked billie. "i don't know. they saw the doctor for a minute and then went on. but i don't want to talk about them. why didn't you hurry?" "i always heard that sick men were children," laughed billie, "and i can see that you are quite ill because you are such a child. we shall take you home now and feed you up on cream and eggs, providing we can get any." billie was glad to see dr. hume again. they clasped hands like old comrades. there was a peculiar radiance in his brown eyes as he looked at her. "you've had a great honor paid you, miss billie," he said. "what in the world?" "the gods have chosen you to turn their mills a while and you are turning them pretty fast, i can tell you." chapter xx. a long sleep. the song of the "comet's" motor broke the stillness of the afternoon some ten days later as he cheerfully pushed upward on the indian head road. mr. campbell was at the wheel and beside him sat billie, glancing up at him from time to time with eyes full of loving devotion. on the back seat was phoebe, silently contented beside richard hook, and the other occupant was alberdina schoenbachler, that absurd little hat perched atop her big smiling face. there had been many days of anxiety and suspense for the people at sunrise camp. it was impossible not to feel deeply interested in the strange things that were transpiring in the little cabin on indian head. the two young surgeons had arrived; a tent had been pitched alongside the cabin, and one morning early the operation was performed. since that time the patient had lain in a stupor. and now dr. hume had sent mrs. lupo, tamed and domestic, to take alberdina's place at the camp, and alberdina was to come at once to the cabin. mrs. lupo could give no reason; that was all the message stated, except that the patient was doing well. the doctor went down the path to meet them, when the car stopped under the brow of the hill. he shook hands with richard hook, patted phoebe on the cheek, and said: "hang on to your faith, little girl. it's a wonderful reservoir to draw on." then he grasped hands with mr. campbell, whom he had met several times now and liked immensely, nodded to alberdina, and drawing billie's arm through his, marched on ahead. "anybody might think my little girl was a consulting physician," remarked mr. campbell, amused at the earnest conversation the young girl and the great surgeon had plunged into,--and proud, too, that it should be so. "oh, they have lots of secrets from us, mr. campbell," replied richard hook. "miss billie is confidential adviser to the doctor. i don't believe he takes a step without consulting her first." "wise man," answered billie's father. "he'll get some good sound advice, if not entirely professional." in the meantime, billie was saying: "oh, doctor, what has happened? is he conscious? has he spoken? does he recognize anyone?" "how could he, child, when there is no one for him to recognize? recollect that in coming to, the man has taken up the thread of his life of eighteen or twenty years ago. i would not trust him to see phoebe at this point. only the faces of strangers are safe for him for the time being." "and the stranger never came back who inquired about him that day?" "no. i told him two weeks would be safer. there is no doubt the man was a personage of some sort. his companion said, 'yes, excellency,' as they went down the path. i suppose he's got some kind of a title." "did he seem excited?" asked billie. "i could hardly say excited. he appeared a good deal moved by the story of phoebe and her father. he asked me if any money was needed." "of course you said 'no'?" observed billie. "i did. it's my turn now. his turn may come later. i explained to him that any excitement or sudden recognition immediately after the operation might prove fatal or disastrous, and he took himself off. but i consider that phoebe's father is practically identified." "is he conscious?" asked billie with subdued excitement. "not only conscious, but, my dear child, what do you think? speaking german; not english." billie gasped. "that's why you wanted alberdina." "yes, i needed someone who could speak with him, and a servant would be excellent; better, really, than an educated german. just now the man's mind is in terrible confusion. he is back in another country somewhere, but he is holding his own, and if he can get over the shock which must come when he links his past with his present, i believe we need have no fear for his reason; but it will be a pretty ticklish moment." the doctor looked down into billie's eager, earnest face, and his eyes were filled with admiration. "oh, doctor," she exclaimed, "you are so wonderful. next to papa, the most wonderful man i have ever met. richard and i----" "what!" interrupted the doctor, smiling, "do you mean to say that that young whipper snapper, with his gypsy notions and his clever tongue, has already photographed himself on your mind? i should never have bathed and bound his wounds if i had guessed it." "you know you would," laughed billie, blushing a little. "but he's only a comrade." the doctor looked into her eyes again. "that's what they all should be, miss billie," he said. "comrades. and if i were only fifteen years younger, i should be looking for just such a comrade as you." "but i am your comrade," protested the young girl. "just as much as richard's. i'm proud to be. it's the greatest honor that's ever been paid to me." "oh, to be young again," sighed the doctor with a humorous lift to his eyebrows. "oh, to be young, like young richard, there. but i must remember that i am a very busy middle-aged person with an extremely interesting patient to pull through. i trust he'll thank me for the job." "don't you honestly believe he is some distinguished person?" "i couldn't say, little comrade, but i could guess that he's no ordinary one." they had reached the cabin now. the others had come up, and they all stood outside talking in low voices. after a brief word with alberdina, dr. hume conducted her into the little room where the motor maids and their friends had once found refuge. from the doorway, billie could see the silver candlesticks on the mantel shelf. mrs. lupo had kept them brightly polished and they lent a strange charm and refinement to the bare apartment. phoebe crept in and knelt outside her father's door. "now, alberdina," said the doctor as a last caution, "you understand that you are not to speak unless the gentleman inside asks you a question in german. answer him in three words if you can. then come out quietly. if he calls, you may go back." alberdina laid aside her comedy hat and followed the doctor into the sick room. the others gathered noiselessly outside the window and listened. there was a long silence. then the man on the bed spoke in a low, weak voice. it was only a mumble of sounds to billie and richard, but mr. campbell understood german and listened intently. alberdina replied not in three words but in a long voluble speech. they held their breath. "come out," called the doctor softly. the sick man had begun to speak again. he seemed to be giving orders. at the door phoebe was weeping softly. her father, restored to himself, was a stranger who spoke in a foreign tongue. billie was fairly shaking with excitement. "do you suppose he's forgotten english?" she whispered to richard, who made the most absurd reply that had nothing whatever to do with phoebe's father and lost memories. "i think the doctor had better take you in hand," said billie. "i have an incurable disease," answered the young man, not in the least ashamed. mr. campbell had joined the doctor and alberdina at the other end of the house where their voices could not be heard in the sick room. the young surgeons were also in the group. when billie and richard came up, the german girl was saying: "i cannot from the german english mag. he is a german already yet?" "of course," answered the doctor impatiently, "but what did he ask you?" alberdina broke into german. "no, no. in english." "he very sig yet ees----" the doctor gave poor alberdina a withering glance. "i think i can tell you most of the conversation, doctor," put in mr. campbell. "the patient asked alberdina if she were one of the maids at the palace. she answered at great length that she was laundress at sunrise camp. 'this was not a palace,' she explained, 'but a hut.' "'i have been in an accident?'" the sick man asked, as mr. campbell translated it. "when alberdina acquiesced, he told her to call franz or karl. "seeing her shake her head, he said: "'the baron von metz is here?' "'no,' answered alberdina. "'none of the household?'" then he gave her orders to telegraph the baron von metz at an address in dresden and sign it a. j. mr. campbell had failed to catch the telegram, although he distinctly heard the second telegram to a "miss phoebe jones," at an address in england. it said she was not to worry. he had been detained by illness. twice he made the blundering maid repeat the telegram, and finally exhausted with the mental effort, dropped into unconsciousness. was it not strange and terrible to take up the thread of one's life where it had been so ruthlessly snapped off some two decades ago? richard and billie, seated on a rock out of hearing distance of the cabin, discussed the anomaly together. "it's like rip van winkle," billie observed, "only worse because there have been so many inventions." "yes, there are motor cars, for instance. they were only on trial then; and flying machines." "and hobble skirts," added billie with an inward laugh, remembering nancy's. "it's very interesting," said richard, "a good deal like missing the middle act of a drama." "don't you imagine that phoebe's father belonged to a noble family? perhaps he was a younger son, and fell in love with a pretty english girl named phoebe jones. they eloped to america and hid themselves in the mountains, and the old archduke or prince or baron who was the father perhaps gave it out that his son was insane. they always do that, you know." "very romantic," said richard, "but why has he been speaking only english all these years?" "don't ask me anything so scientific, please." "it would go hard with me," pursued richard, "if i got a blow on the head over my english-language bump, because i wouldn't have any other to take its place." having arranged the history of the sick man to their own satisfaction, and as a matter of fact, to the doctor's and mr. campbell's also, they returned to sunrise camp, leaving alberdina and phoebe behind them. poor phoebe had watched billie and richard together from the doorstep of the cabin. then she had folded her hands with a gesture of resignation and closed her eyes. something had hurt her. she still felt the pain and not all her faith nor prayers could ease it. that night the campers gathered around the fire and discussed the mystery of the "prince in exile," as they had named phoebe's father. they told stories of similar cases, of men with double identities who had been lost for years, of men who had made new lives for themselves and even earned fortunes. "i knew he was a prince the first time i saw him," mary exclaimed. "and now phoebe will be a princess and perhaps very rich," observed elinor. "think of stepping from a cabin to a palace," went on amy swinnerton. "from being a barefooted girl selling blackberries on the mountain to being a noble lady with a retinue of servants." and so they all talked and discussed and enjoyed themselves immensely until a motor horn interrupted them. a car had evidently stopped in front and someone now hurried over to the group around the fire. "well, children," called dr. hume, "i daresay you'll be interested in the news i am bringing you." "wasn't i right?" cried billie. "he was a prince?" "or a duke, perhaps?" "even a baron is pretty good." there was a long pause. "you are wonderful guessers," said the doctor. "he lived in a palace." "i knew it," cried mary. "would it disappoint you very much if i were to tell you that the gentleman without a memory who lived in a palace was not a prince, nor a duke, nor a baron, but at one time a clergyman?" "oh!" they exclaimed in varying tones of surprise and disappointment. "then how the palace?" asked maggie hook. "the rev. archibald jones, a highly educated english gentleman of no means to speak of, was tutor in a noble family in germany." "but his wife? she was a princess?" cried mary, almost weeping. "every woman is a princess, my dear young lady," replied the gallant doctor. "but a real one, doctor? one who lived in a palace?" "she lived in the palace, yes. she was attached to the household as english governess. the tutor and the governess met, as well they might even in a grand castle, and being in the same boat as regards teaching and birth, they fell in love. the lady was very beautiful, i understand." "and then?" demanded the chorus. "then they came to america where the field was larger even than in a palace with the _noblesse_. the young wife fell sick and the young husband, having saved a bit of money, brought her up into the mountains. the night phoebe was born he tried to take a short cut down the mountainside to get a doctor who was stopping at a hotel now in ruins----" percy bowed his head. "i recognize the spot," he said. "and the young tutor husband not of the nobility fell and hit his head against a rock. he was brought back insensible by an old indian grandfather of mrs. lupo. the beautiful young wife only lived a few days, and when the father was better and the baby stronger the indian took them and their belongings across the valley to indian head, where they have lived ever since." "poor things," exclaimed miss campbell. "what a pitiful, sad story!" "and the wife's name was phoebe jones?" asked billie. "wrong again," replied the doctor. "would you have a jones marry a jones?" "then who, pray, was miss phoebe jones?" "aunt of the rev. archibald. for some reason he remembered the name and i suppose gave it to the child." "then who was the german gentleman who recognized phoebe?" "now you are getting down to real romance," replied the doctor. "he was the young noble for whom the rev. archibald acted as tutor." here the doctor spoke slowly and impressively. "he loved the english governess and when she married the poor tutor, his noble heart was broken and never has been mended." "and he never married another?" piped up mary's small voice. "oh yes, my dear. the nobility always marries. singleness is against the rules. he married and has a family of six." "and is that the end of the story?" asked billie. "no, there is a sequel. it seems that when the rev. and mrs. archibald jones disappeared from the stage of life without explanation only one person, after a decade or more, still clung to the belief that they were not dead. none other than miss phoebe jones herself, spinster, living in surrey, england. she recently died leaving her property to her nephew, his wife or possible heirs. it seems that the gentlemen who just now dropped me at your door----" "the disappointed lover?" "yes. the broken-hearted noble with a wife and six children, knew about this will because the lawyers in trying to trace mr. jones and his wife had got into communication with him." "and so they won't be poor," said nancy. "i'm glad of that. phoebe looked beautiful in good clothes." everybody laughed, and then the doctor remarked: "and so the story has a plain ending, after all. phoebe is not a princess and you are all disappointed." "no, no, no," they protested, but the doctor knew better. chapter xxi. comrades of the road. already the scarlet sumac lit the road with its flaming torch, and here and there on the mountainside a flash of scarlet like a redbird's wing appeared among the masses of foliage. autumn was at hand, the autumn of the adirondacks, when the evening air is nipped with the hint of frosts to come and the sky is a deeper blue than ever it is at mid-summer. summer comrades of the road may not linger in the hills at this enchanting season. there is work to be done in the valleys where the busy people live. in a few days now the shutters of log cabin camps will be closed and traveling vans will be sent to winter quarters. the boys and girls who have lingered around the campfire, singing songs and telling stories under the great harvest moon, all comrades of the road, must turn their thoughts to soberer things than roasting apples and school day reminiscences. the grown people, too, stretched out in their steamer chairs, have been idling away the hours. vaguely, as in a mist, a great surgeon recalls that there is a hospital somewhere he has been neglecting for weeks. an engineer is thinking of his tunnel only just started through the heart of a mountain. a little old spinster, fair and fresh as a rose, recalls with a start that for many weeks she has been sleeping under the stars and eating strange food on a bare deal table; and down in the valley her beautiful old home, filled with memories of her girlhood, is waiting to shelter her. near the spinster sits a tall man with a delicate, nervous face. he sits with folded arms, his eyes fixed on the back wall of mountains across the valley. he is thinking not of the future of the little home in surrey that awaits him, but of the twenty black years behind him, as blank and empty as the years of a prisoner spent in solitary confinement. sometimes, with a curious, startled gaze, he turns his eyes toward his daughter, seated in the circle with the young people. while we have been taking this leisurely view of our friends, alberdina has approached, smiling broadly over a great tray of cakes and ginger ale. mrs. lupo is hovering in the background. "it was that skirt of the young lady's that brought me really back to my senses," mrs. lupo had confessed to miss campbell. "i thought the young lady had sunk in the mire. the misery that come to me then made me see things different; that and the prayer you taught me. lupo, he's workin' now in the valley and when the camp is broke up, i guess we'll forgive and forgit." miss campbell, glancing at mrs. lupo now in the background, wondered if that awful memory of the carving knife was not a dream. "papa," billie called from her place near the campfire, "you mustn't forget to send pounds and pounds of really good coffee to old granny, the herb gatherer, enough to last her all winter." "i'll make a note of it, daughter. are there any other old parties you wish to pension off with coffee or tea this winter?" "no, papa. but i'd like to keep old granny in coffee for the rest of her life because she loves it so." "ladies and gentlemen," called percy, rising and flourishing an apple on the end of a long stick, "i made a discovery this morning through a letter from a friend, and i've been saving it until this moment to spring it on the motor maids and company." "about whom is this discovery?" asked richard uneasily, raising his eyebrows and blinking his humorous eyes. "it's about two impostors who travel around in a little wooden house on wheels and live like gypsies----" "oh, dear," cried maggie, "now what have you been finding out about us, pray?" "i know," said richard. "you've found that we are really gypsies and only pretending to be amateurs." "nothing of the sort. i've discovered that you have been traveling under a disguise----" "my name is certainly 'hook,'" put in richard. "and mine is maggie," piped his sister. "maybe so," went on percy. "that's not the disguise. you've been wearing the cloak of poverty, when you are really as rich as cream, the pair of you, with an old grandfather in england who has a title and castles and much pleasing property; and every now and then the old grandpapa sends for you and you have to give up gypsying and fly." "and _he's_ your boss who's always interfering with your vacations?" interrupted billie. "and you just _pretend_ to be poor for the novelty of the experience?" asked nancy. "i wish i could pretend to be rich in the same way." "but we are gypsies at heart," put in maggie, "and i do love to scrub and cook. grandpapa's is so dull." "and where does grandpapa think you are now? not in a traveling van, i'll wager," said miss campbell. maggie laughed. "we are supposed to be visiting aunt lucretia. she's our american aunt, papa's sister, who brought us up, before grandpapa decided to recognize us. you see mamma would marry papa, who was poor then, and came from maine. he looked just like richard and i don't blame her. grandpapa lets us come every summer to visit aunt lucretia now." "and where does aunt lucretia think you are?" "why, visiting amy swinnerton." who could keep from laughing over this brother and sister who loved the life on the road and the campfire? "thank fortune, i'm not in line for the title," richard whispered to billie under cover of the conversation of the others, "and grandpapa or no grandpapa, i shall buy that farm,--do you guess where?" "i can't imagine," answered billie. "in west haven. i've never seen it, but that is the place you like best, isn't it?" "i think i like the traveling van best," answered billie irrelevantly,--"that is, next to the 'comet,'" she added with a sudden feeling of loyalty toward the faithful motor car. "the traveling van would be a part of it and the 'comet,' too, for that matter." then he calmly slipped his hand over hers under the folds of her scarlet cape. "shall we be comrades of the road?" he whispered. "some day, perhaps," billie answered, not taking her hand away, but glancing shyly at her father, who was watching her face in the fire light. then she smiled at richard. after all, she was past eighteen and richard,--well, richard was the most delightful person she had ever met in all her life. let us take leave of our young people before they go back to the valleys where work is waiting for them. brown and strong and happy, they sit in a circle talking and laughing, as boys and girls will, under the light of the harvest moon. while they are still comrades of the road, we will bid them good-night. good-night, little mary, calm and sweet, watching the stars twinkling through the tree tops. good-night to you, nancy, dimpling and smiling, while percy whispers in your ear; and elinor, too, talking quietly and happily to ben. and now a last good-night to billie, best of comrades, kindest and truest of friends. the end. * * * * * * the "how-to-do-it" books by j. s. zerbe carpentry for boys a book which treats, in a most practical and fascinating manner all subjects pertaining to the "king of trades"; 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or, the search for the carteret ghost. 7. storm-bound; or, a vacation among the snow-drifts. 8. afloat; or, adventures on watery trails. 9. tenderfoot squad; or, camping at raccoon lodge. 10. boy scout electricians; or, the hidden dynamo. 11. boy scouts in open plains; or, the round-up not ordered. 12. boy scouts in an airplane; or, the warning from the sky. 12mo. lintex. postpaid, price each 50c m. a. donohue & company 701-733 s. dearborn street, chicago * * * * * * the boys' elite series 12mo, cloth. price 75c each. contains an attractive assortment of books for boys by standard and favorite authors. printed from large, clear type on a superior quality of paper, bound in a superior quality of binders' cloth, ornamented with illustrated original designs on covers stamped in colors from unique and appropriate dies. each book wrapped in attractive jacket. 1. cudjo's cave trowbridge 2. green mountain boys 3. life of kit carson edward l. ellis 4. tom westlake's golden luck perry newberry 5. tony keating's surprises mrs. g. r. alden (pansy) 6. tour of the world in 80 days jules verne the girls' elite series 12mo, cloth. price 75c each. contains an assortment of attractive and desirable books for girls by standard and favorite authors. the books are printed on a good quality of paper in large clear type. each title is complete and unabridged. bound in clothene, ornamented on the sides and back with attractive illustrative designs and the title stamped on front and back. 1. bee and the butterfly lucy foster madison 2. dixie school girl gabrielle e. jackson 3. girls of mount morris amanda douglas 4. hope's messenger gabrielle e. jackson 5. the little aunt marion ames taggart 6. a modern cinderella amanda douglas for sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of 75c m. a. donohue & company 711 s. dearborn street, chicago the high school boys in summer camp or the dick prescott six training for the gridley eleven by h. irving hancock contents chapters i. the man in the four-quart-hat ii. dick and some high finance iii. the human mystery of the woods iv. dave darrin is angry v. dick grapples in the dark vi. danger comes on the hoof vii. fighting the mad stampede viii. visitors for the feast ix. dick's woodland discovery x. setting a new trap xi. a hard prowler to catch xii. "tag" is the game--tag mosher! xiii. in a fix! xiv. thrashing an ambulance case! xv. the interruption of a training bout xvi. ten minutes of real daring xvii. during the big storm xviii. mr. page's kind of father xix. seen in a new, worse light xx. some imitation villainy xxi. the medical examiner talks training xxii. plating ragtime on mr. bull xxiii. what tag "borrowed" from the doctor xiv. conclusion chapter i the man in the four-quart hat "you'll find your man in the lobby of the eagle hotel or in the neighborhood of the hotel on main street," said dick prescott. "you can hardly miss him." "but how will i know mr. hibbert, when i see him?" pursued the stranger. "i don't know that his name is hibbert," dick answered. "however, he is the only young man who has just reached town fresh from europe. his trunks are pasted all over with labels." "you'll know the young man, sir," tom reade broke in, with a quiet smile. "he always wears a spite-fence collar. you could bill a minstrel show on that collar." "a collar is but a slight means of identification, in a city full of people," remarked the stranger good-humoredly. "well, then, sir, your man also wears a four-quart silk hat, and a long black coat that makes you think of a neat umbrella covering," tom went on. "and lavender trousers," supplemented greg holmes. "always wears these things, you say?" questioned the stranger. "he has, so far," dick nodded. "mr. hibbert has been in town only since late yesterday afternoon, and it's only four in the afternoon to-day." "i shall be able to find my man all right," smiled the stranger. "you've informed me that he is stopping at the eagle hotel. until now, i knew only that mr. hibbert was in gridley. thank you, young gentlemen." "now, i wonder how he knew that," murmured tom reflectively. "knew what?" demanded dave darrin. "that we're gentlemen," tom responded. "oh, he guessed that," suggested harry hazelton. "he's a good guesser, then," remarked tom. "i always like to see a man so discerning. i'm ashamed to confess it, but dick is the only fellow in our crowd who looks at all like a gentleman. he is dressed in his sunday best. look at us!" the other five certainly looked neat enough, even though they did not wear their "sunday best." "now, fellows, what's the lowest i'm to take for the canoe?" dick inquired, after a glance at his watch. "the train is due in two minutes." instantly his five chums looked thoughtful. "you'll get the most that you can, of course," greg insisted. "i shall try to get a good price," dick nodded, "but i may find myself up against close bargainers. so hurry up and vote as to the lowest price that i'm to accept under any circumstances." "what do you say?" asked tom reade, looking at dave. "we ought to get sixty dollars for it, at the very lowest," darrin replied, slowly. "i'd like to pull in seventy-five dollars, for we need every penny of the latter amount." "we might get along with seventy," hinted harry hazelton. "suppose we say seventy dollars as the lowest possible price that we can consider." "sixty-five dollars, anyway," urged dan dalzell, otherwise known as "danny grin." "what's your own idea, dick?" asked tom reade, as the distant whistle sounded. "if you fellows are going to be content with a sixty or seventy-dollar bottom price," suggested prescott, "i wish you'd elect someone else to go in my place." "do you think we'll have to take fifty?" asked tom reade looking aghast. "if you send me, and leave the trade in my hands," retorted young prescott, "then you'll have to accept ninety dollars as the very bottom price, or there won't be any sale." "hurrah!" chuckled danny grin. "that's the talk! ninety---or nothing!" "do you think you can get that much?" asked dave doubtingly. "i'll have to, or i won't make any trade," dick smiled, though there was a glint of firmness in his eyes. "let it be ninety dollars or nothing, then," agreed tom reade, adding, under his breath, "with the accept on the 'nothing.'" as dick glanced about him at the faces of his chums they all nodded their approval. "i have my final instructions, then," dick announced, as the east-bound train rolled in at the gridley station. it had been from the westbound train, a few minutes before, that the stranger seeking mr. hibbert had alighted. "wish you luck, old chap!" cheered dave, as dick ascended the carsteps. "i wish us all luck," dick called back from the car platform, "and i'll try to bring it back to you." the train was moving as dick entered one of the day coaches. silently his chums wished that they might all have gone with dick, instead of turning away from the station, as they were now doing. funds were low with dick & co., however, and all hands had contributed to buy young prescott's round-trip ticket to porthampton, more than an hour's ride away. "do you believe dick can get ninety dollars for the canoe?" asked dave at last, when the high school boys were half way to main street. "why not? it's a six-paddle war canoe, a genuine one, and in good condition for the water," tom reade replied. "but it's only a second-hand canoe," darrin argued. "it was second-hand when we bought it at the wild west auction a year ago." "that canoe is in just as good order as it ever was," greg maintained. "it's a shame for us to sell it at all. we could have had a lot of fun with it this summer." "yes," sighed danny grin, "if only harry and i hadn't been forbidden by our parents to have anything more to do with the canoe." "one thing is certain," spoke up tom promptly. "with two of our fellows barred from entering the canoe we couldn't have any fun. dick & co. have always pulled together, you know. there are six of us, but we don't break up into smaller parties, and we don't recruit our ranks with newcomers." "i don't see why my father had to kick so about the canoe," sighed harry hazelton. "we enjoyed the good old canoe all last summer, and not one of us got hurt in it, or from it." "i understand why your father objects, harry," broke in darrin. "with five drowning accidents from canoes hereabouts, already this summer, and two of those accidents on our own river, your father has some right to be nervous about the canoe." "i can swim," argued harry. "so could both of the fellows who were drowned right here in the river," rejoined reade. "harry, i don't blame either your father or dan's mother for objecting. anyway, think of the fun we're going to have, this summer, of a different kind." "if we sell the canoe," darrin laughed. "but we haven't sold it yet." "oh, dick can get something for the canoe," insisted reade. "yes; but 'something' won't fill the bill, now, for you all heard dick say he wouldn't take less than ninety dollars for it. when dick says a thing like that he means it. he will bring back ninety dollars, or-----" "or nothing," finished dave. "somehow, i can't just figure out what any man would look like who'd give ninety dollars for an old second-hand war canoe, even if it is of indian model." "and made of genuine birch bark, which is so hard to get these days," added reade. "fellows, i can't believe that our old dick will come back whipped. defeat isn't a habit of his, you know." so the "co." of dick & co. wandered up on to main street, a prey to suspense. some hours must pass ere they could hope to know the result of their young leader's mission at porthampton. all the member of dick & co. are assuredly familiar enough our readers. these six young americans, gridleyites, amateur athletes and high school boys, were first introduced to the reader during their eventful days of early chumship at the central grammar school. their adventures have been related in detail in the "_grammar school boys series_." how they made their start in athletics, as grammar school boys, and, more important still, how they made their beginnings in character forming, have all been related in that series. we next came upon dick & co. in the "_high school boys series_." all of our readers recall the rousing story of "_the high school freshmen_." young prescott and his chums were bound to be "different," even as freshmen; so, without being in the least "fresh," they managed to make their influence felt in gridley high school during their first year there. though, as freshmen, they were not allowed to take part in athletics, they contrived to "boost up" gridley high school athletics several notches, and aided in putting the athletic association on a firmer basis than it had ever known before. they did several other noteworthy things in their freshman year, all of which are now wholly familiar to our readers. their doings in the second high school year are fully chronicled in "_the high school pitcher_." in this second volume the formal and exciting entry of dick & co. into high school athletics is splendidly described, with a wealth of rousing adventure and humorous situations. this present series, which is intended to describe the vacations of our gridley high school boys in between their regular school years, opened with the preceding volume, "_the high school boys canoe club_." within the pages of that volume are set forth the manner in which dick & co. secured, at an auction sale of a wild west show, a six-paddle indian war canoe. all their problems in getting this canoe into serviceable condition made highly interesting reading. the host of adventures that surrounded their vacation at lake pleasant proved thrilling indeed to our readers. how they met and contested with the canoe clubs from other high schools was delightfully set forth. the efforts of fred ripley to spoil the fun of dick & co. during that vacation, formed another strong feature of the tale. we now find our young high school friends, just after the fourth of july, at a very exciting point in their careers. as has been intimated, harry hazelton's and dan dalzell's parents had grown nervous about the canoeing sport, and had urged their sons not to enter the craft again. as dick & co. had always been companions in all forms of sport, the other four chums had promptly decided to sell the canoe, if possible, and to devote the proceeds to going off in the "real woods" to camp. and now a probable customer at porthampton had been found, and dick had departed by train to see whether the sale could be effected. "i've twenty cents left. is there money enough in the crowd to buy five ice creams?" asked tom reade, displaying two dimes. "i've a whole half dollar, though you won't believe it until you see it," laughed dave darrin. "then there's enough for cream," decided tom. "i'll put in my half, if you fellows say so," dave went on. "but we may soon be in need of quite a bit of money. wouldn't it be better to hold on to our fruit of the mint?" "when we sell the canoe we'll have plenty of money," suggested danny grin. "very true, old smilax," nodded dave. "but what if dick doesn't sell it?" "then we won't have plenty of money," responded greg promptly. "if dick doesn't make a sale to the parties he has gone to see," dave went on argumentatively, "we may want money to buy him a ticket to some other town. it won't be wise to spend our little capital until we see some more money coming in." "that sounds like common sense," agreed reade, dropping his dimes back into his pocket. "still, i'm sorry that we're not rich enough to finance the ice cream proposition and still have enough capital left." "so am i sorry," sighed danny grin. "this waiting for dick prescott to get back with the news is a wearing proposition." "come down to my house," suggested dave. "i've got that catalogue from the tent and camping goods house. let's go and look over the catalogue, and try to decide just what we want to buy for our camp when dick gets the money for the canoe." "that would be bully fun, if we really knew that dick had sold the canoe," smiled young holmes wistfully. "however, until we do know, i suggest that we avoid all false hopes and keep away from all catalogues." at this instant tom nudged dave. two men were passing, and one of them was saying to the other: "yes; i sold the double house for eighty-two hundred dollars---a clear profit of twenty-two hundred. then i put four thousand more with that money and bought the miller place. within a couple of years i'll get rid of the miller place for at least sixteen thousand dollars. i've never known a time when real estate money came in as easily." "is he talking about real money?" grunted darrin. "he can't be!" "he is," tom declared. "that's buller, of wrenville. he is a very successful man in real estate. father knows him." "humph! talking of thousands, when a few ten dollar bills would fix us for the summer," muttered dave darrin. "i wonder if men ever stop to think how it feels for a boy to go around broke." "i spoke to my dad along those lines once," smiled tom. "what did he say?" asked danny grin. "oh, dad told me there was no objection whatever to my starting out and earning a lot of money. he explained that was how he had gotten his." the other youngsters were smiling now, for, as was well known to them all, mr. reade wasn't credited with possessing a great deal of money. "well, are you fellows coming down to my place to look over the catalogue?" dave proposed once more. "it'll help to kill time during our suspense." though they felt rather foolish about spending their dollars before they obtained them, the four high school boys turned to follow darrin, when a voice behind them called: "oh, boys! just a moment, please!" "it's the man in the four-quart silk hat," tom whispered, as the five chums baited and turned. "man?" echoed darry, though also in a whisper. "humph! hibbert looks more like a boy who has run away from home with his father's wardrobe." certainly, as he hurried toward them, mr. hibbert did look youthful. he couldn't have been more than twenty-two---perhaps he was a year younger than that. he was not very tall, nor very stout. his round, rosy, cherubic, smoothly shaven face made him look almost girlish. he was faultlessly, expensively dressed, though on this hot july afternoon a black frock coat and high silk hat looked somewhat out of keeping with the day's weather report. "i just wanted to ask you boys to do me something of a favor," mr. alonzo hibbert went on. "name the favor, please," urged tom with drawling gentleness. "can you tell me what shop that is over there?" inquired mr. hibbert, pointing, with a dapper cane, across the street. "that is anderson's ice cream emporium," tom answered gravely. "let's go over there," proposed mr. hibbert smiling, as he glanced from one face to another. "that proposition was just before the house, and was voted down," tom continued. "what was the matter, boys?" demanded young mr. hibbert beamingly. "didn't you have the price?" "on the contrary, we had the price," reade answered, as gravely as ever. "however, after discussion, we decided that we had other uses for our capital." "but i haven't any other uses for my present capital," pursued mr. hibbert, as smiling as ever. "so come along, please." instead of jumping at the offer, dick's partners regarded the man in the four-quart hat with some doubt. often, when offered a courtesy from strangers that they would like to accept, these boys were likely to regard the offer with this same attitude of suspicion. it was not that dick & co. meant to be ungracious to strangers, but rather that their boyish experience with the world had taught them that such offers from strangers usually have strings attached to them. "don't you young men like ice cream?" asked mr. hibbert, looking fully as astonished as he felt. "certainly we do, mr. hibbert," tom responded. "but what's the idea? what do you want us to do for you?" "i ask you for the pleasure of your company," explained mr. hibbert. "i'm a stranger in this town, and i'd like a little company." "and---afterwards?" pursued reade. "'afterwards'?" repeated alonzo hibbert looking puzzled. "what do you want us to do for you by and by?" tom asked. "oh, i see," replied hibbert, laughing with keen enjoyment. "you think my invitation a bait for services that i expect presently to demand. nothing of the sort, i assure you. all i want is someone to talk to for the next half hour. won't you oblige me?" "mr. hibbert," broke in dave suddenly, "i've just happened to remember that there is a man in town who wants to talk with you. we met him at the station, and he inquired where he could find you." "i think i know whom you mean," admitted hibbert. "we told him you were stopping at the eagle hotel," greg added. "then, if the man who is looking for me went to the eagle hotel, he has already learned that i am elsewhere. it's his business to find me, not mine to run about town seeking him. he can find me as well in the ice cream shop as in any other place. will you young men oblige me with your company?" at a nod from darrin the others fell in line. mr. hibbert led the way across the street, entering the shop, which proved to be empty of other customers. as the waitress approached the two tables to take the orders for ice cream the host of the occasion turned to his guests. "give the young woman your orders, gentlemen," said alonzo hibbert. "strawberry," said tom. "vanilla," requested dave. "oh, fudge!" interposed their host. "we haven't any fudge ice cream, sir," remarked the waitress without smiling. "i cried fudge on their orders," remarked hibbert gayly. "they are too modest. young woman, have you still some of those cantaloupes, which you cut open and fill with different flavors of cream and water ice?" "yes, sir." "then, young gentlemen, permit me to change the order to one of those cantaloupes for each of you." the waitress departed on her errand, while reade and darrin glanced at each other, somewhat aghast. the delicacy ordered by mr. hibbert cost a quarter of a dollar a portion. when the orders were brought and placed on the table, alonzo hibbert draw from his pocket a roll of bills, stripping off the outermost and handing it to the waitress. yet their host gave no sign of attempting to make a vulgar display of his money. he seemed rather unconscious of the possession of it. "are these favorites of yours?" inquired mr. hibbert presently of greg, indicating the multi-colored load of ices, each resting in a half of a cantaloupe. "not exactly favorites," greg replied. "we don't often have the money to spend on such an expensive treat." "don't you?" inquired hibbert in a tone of considerable surprise, as though wondering why everyone in the world wasn't as well supplied with money as he himself was. then, after a pause, their host asked of greg: "would you like always to have plenty of money?" "i suppose everyone would like that," murmured young holmes. "shall i make a prediction?" inquired hibbert. "by all means, if it pleases you," greg answered politely. "then, greg holmes, i venture to assert that you will very shortly find yourself a millionaire." this was said with so much earnestness, and apparent sincerity, that all five of the chums now regarded their host intently. "how soon is that going to happen?" greg laughingly inquired. "within a week," alonzo hibbert replied as seriously as ever. he glanced at greg with a look full of friendly interest. tom reade snorted, almost audibly, then drew down the corners of his mouth to keep himself from laughing outright. dave, too, took another swift look at their smiling young host. "i wish you were a sure prophet," murmured greg trying hard not to laugh. "i am," declared mr. hibbert seriously. "mind what i tell you, greg holmes, within a week you will know yourself to be a millionaire." "real money?" demanded greg. "real money," nodded hibbert positively. "or else it will be in stocks, bonds or real estate that could be converted into real money." by this time, tom, dave and the others, greg included, had taken alonzo hibbert's measure or believed they had. their host, then, was a lunatic. a harmless and very amiable lunatic, to be sure, yet none the less the victim of a deranged mind. "eaten up your creams?" asked mr. hibbert, glancing around. "then we'll have another apiece." he signaled the waitress, giving the order. "don't ask me---yet---how i know," continued their host, turning once more to greg holmes, "but you're going to find yourself a millionaire within a week. i know it. it's all in your ear." as he spoke hibbert gave greg's right ear a playful tweak. "all in greg's ear?" muttered tom reade under his breath. "i knew that from the outset." "all in your ear, holmes!" hibbert repeated. "yet it will all be very real money. oh, won't you be astonished!" "i---i think i shall, when the wealth rains down upon me," murmured greg, now afraid to raise his eyes to meet the mocking glance that darry was sending toward him. at this moment the stranger of the railway station entered the room, then came toward the table. "mr. hibbert, here is the man who was inquiring for you at the station," tom announced in a low voice. hibbert turned, glancing inquiringly at the stranger. "are you mr. hibbert?" asked the latter. "yes," nodded the man in the four-quart hat. "my name is colquitt," explained the stranger. "i am from-----" "er---yes, quite so," murmured mr. hibbert. "and here is the boy. he is named greg holmes. do you observe his right ear?" "i do," colquitt assented, after a swift, keen glance. "he is the boy," hibbert repeated after a moment's hesitation. "where do you live, young man?" asked colquitt. greg supplied the name of his street and the number. "name of your family physician?" went on the stranger. "dr. bentley." "has he always been your family physician?" "ever since i can remember," greg declared. "thank you," and colquitt turned to leave. "won't you stay and have an ice with us?" urged hibbert. "too much to do," replied colquitt, shaking his head and walking out. now the high school boys found themselves doubly, trebly puzzled. if mr. hibbert were an amiable lunatic, what of colquitt? both had appeared to know something mysterious about young holmes. tom reade, also, was thinking deeply. dave darrin was frowning. dan dalzell was grinning slightly, while hazelton was giving his whole attention to the second ice before him. hibbert, however, passed to other topics as lightly as though he had already forgotten all about fortunes and ears. the time passed pleasantly until all of the five chums felt that they could hold no more ices. then hibbert, having paid the bill, left the ice cream place with them. outside they encountered mr. colquitt once more. "may i have a word aside with you, sir?" demanded colquitt. "a dozen," agreed hibbert readily. the two walked apart from the boys, going down the sidewalk together slowly. but the youngsters heard hibbert say earnestly: "i tell you, colquitt, that is the boy. he has the ear and all. and he'll be in luck with the money he'll have!" "and i tell you, mr. hibbert, that he isn't the boy at all," retorted colquitt, with even greater positiveness. more was said, but the two passed out of hearing. "greg," declared tom reade solemnly, "it appears that you're the million-dollar kid!" "i know it," grinned young holmes. "i am! also it seems equally certain that i am not!" "what do you make of the whole business, fellows?" tom asked, turning to the other chums. "i've my own idea," laughed dave darrin. "give it us, quickly!" begged danny grin. "my idea," dave declared, "is that hibbert is a rather harmless lunatic, yet one who has to be watched a bit." "then what about colquitt?" urged hazelton. "colquitt," guessed darry, "is hibbert's keeper." "the mild lunatic idea," tom observed, "fits in well with a chap who, in this sweltering july weather, will insist on wearing a four-quart silk hat, a spite-fence collar and a long, black, double-breasted coat." "there's only one part of the whole dream that i'd like to believe," sighed young holmes. "i'd be quite willing to have it proved to me that i'm a young millionaire!" "what would you do if you had the million---right in your hand?" quizzed danny grin. "i'd transfer it to my pockets," greg answered. "what next?" pressed dan. "i'd hurry to the bank with the money." "and---then?" dan still insisted. "then," supplied practical tom reade, "he'd end our suspense by paying dick ninety dollars for our war canoe!" "i would," greg agreed. chapter ii dick and some high finance "i feel like a fellow without any manners," complained dave darrin. "what have you done now?" asked greg, coming out of his million-dollar trance. "it's what i haven't done," darry answered. "it's also what none of us have done. we haven't thanked our very pleasant, even if slightly erratic, host for his entertainment." "we can't very well butt in," declared reade, glancing down the street. "hibbert and his kee---i mean, his friend---are still talking earnestly. i wonder if they lock poor hibbert up part of the time?" colquitt and young mr. hibbert had now turned in at the eagle hotel. dave glanced at his watch, remarking: "fellows, it's ten minutes after six. those of you who want any supper will do well to hurry home." "i'm certain that i can't eat a bit of supper," declared hazelton, looking almost alarmed. "i've eaten so much of that cream and cantaloupe that i haven't a cubic inch of space left for anything else." nevertheless the high school boys parted, going their various directions, after having agreed to meet by seven o'clock. all wanted to be on hand when prescott got back to town. after supper greg had not been out of the house five minutes when mr. hibbert appeared at the gate of the holmes cottage, and passed inside. the caller inquired for greg's father, met that gentleman, and the two remained in private conversation for some five minutes. ere the first minute was over, however, greg's father might have been heard, from the sidewalk, laughing uproariously. finally mrs. holmes was called into the conference. she came forth again, looking somewhat amused. from that meeting hibbert went back to main street, where he fell in with tom colquitt. "are you satisfied, now?" demanded the latter. "i'm puzzled," replied hibbert, with the air and tone of a man who hates to give up a delusion. colquitt and hibbert had not gone a block and a half ere they encountered dave, tom and the others, only dick being absent from the gathering of the chums. curiously, too, the meeting took place before the same ice cream shop. "just in time to have some more cream, boys," suggested young mr. hibbert. "and we'd enjoy it, too, thank you," responded tom courteously, "but there is a point, sir, past which it would be imposition to go. so we are going to content ourselves with enjoying a very pleasant recollection of the good time we had with you this afternoon." "better come inside with us," urged mr. colquitt. "i notice a table, away over in the corner, where we can be by ourselves. you see, boys, after what hibbert said to one of your number this afternoon, we feel that an explanation is due to you. we can explain inside much better than we could on a street corner." that crowbar of curiosity wedged the boys away from their fear that they were accepting too much from strangers. so they followed their mysterious conductors inside. young mr. hibbert ordered ices similar to those that had been enjoyed that afternoon. then mr. colquitt, with a brisk air, began: "concerning that suspicion that young holmes might be the missing heir to a large sum of money, i'll tell you how mr. hibbert got his idea." then, as though fearing that he had made too great a promise, mr. colquitt paused. "it's this way," he went on, at last. "many years ago there was a railway wreck in this part of the state. a good many passengers were killed. among them was the wife of a wealthy man. the husband escaped with his life, but he was so badly hurt that, for a year or so, his mind suffered. he had to be taken abroad. there were a few babies among those killed in the wreck, and the infant son of the couple was supposed to be one of them. the father is now well and healthy, but a very lonely man. within the last few weeks this father has had some reason to believe that his son didn't perish in the wreck, but that other people, believing both parents had been killed, took charge of the infant. "that is all," continued mr. colquitt, "except that the missing infant had a small v-shaped nick on the outer edge of his right ear. probably with the boy's growth, if he is still alive, the nick has become so small as to be barely noticeable, like the nick in holmes' right ear. mr. hibbert came to gridley only yesterday, and it happened that one of the first young men he saw, close to the hotel, was young holmes. rather by chance hibbert saw that very small nick, that usually would escape notice. in great excitement hibbert telegraphed the anxious father, and the father wired blinders' detective agency, which sent me down to gridley." "it isn't possible that greg can be the missing son," breathed tom reade incredulously. "he isn't," declared tom colquitt promptly. "i made sure of that very soon after i reached town to-day. first of all, i found out the name of the family physician, dr. bentley. i saw that gentleman, and he assured me he knew that young holmes was the son of mr. and mrs. holmes, for dr. bentley told me that he signed young greg's birth certificate. that was proof enough, but i also saw mr. and mrs. holmes, a few minutes ago. the missing son of the wealthy man in question had two other marks on his body that would identify him." "what are those marks?" asked dave darrin deeply interested. tom colquitt hesitated, glancing at young mr. hibbert. "tell 'em," nodded the young man of the four-quart hat. "the young man we are seeking," replied the detective, "will have a brownish mole over his right shoulder blade and a reddish mark to the left of his breast bone. the boy was born with those marks. the nick in his ear resulted from an accident when the nurse was handling the child." "we'll find the youngster for you," promised danny grin lightly. "and is mr. hibbert a detective, too?" asked tom reade. "no," replied colquitt, with great promptness, while mr. hibbert, grinning sheepishly, added: "i haven't brains enough for that, i guess. but, master holmes, please tell me, to satisfy my last doubt. have you any such marks as mr. colquitt has described?" "i never noticed such marks on myself," greg replied. "he hasn't them," dave interjected, "or the rest of us would have noticed the marks when we've been in swimming." "then your last idea that gregory holmes is the missing young man must vanish now, my dear mr. hibbert," smiled mr. colquitt. "i'm vanquished," confessed alonzo hibbert, with a sigh. "i'm no good at anything. i wouldn't even make a detective." "i must leave you now," suggested mr. colquitt, rising. "i must wire to---er---to my client. poor man, he will be greatly disappointed." as the detective rose and passed outside hazelton leaned over to murmur to young holmes: "don't you wish it had turned out that you were the million-dollar kid?" "not if i had to give up my father and mother," greg replied, with great promptness. "i seem to be a fool at everything," sighed alonzo hibbert in disgust. "no; i would say, sir," suggested tom reade, "that you made the mistake of proceeding on one sign, instead of looking for all three." "have another ice!" urged mr. hibbert, brightening at once. "you have set me straight. i wasn't a fool, after all---merely too swift" but the boys shook their heads as they murmured their thanks. so they were about to rise when a voice called cheerily behind them: "stay where you are, fellows. we'll have an ice cream all around." "dick!" cried five eager voices at once, as prescott came smilingly to join them. then their eyes all framed the same question, which their lips refused to utter. "did you sell the canoe?" as dick glanced inquiringly at young mr. hibbert, dave darrin presented him. dick also learned that hibbert had been a willing host to five of the chums. "now, you'll turn about and eat an ice cream with us, won't you, mr. hibbert?" urged young prescott. this the young man consented to do, though, as soon as the dainty had been disposed of, he begged to be excused that he might go and have further talk with tom colquitt. "you sold the canoe, i think, dick?" said tom, as soon as their late host had left them. "yes," beamed their leader. "you might tell us what you got for it," urged danny grin. "guess," hinted dick. "fifty," said dave promptly. "he said he wouldn't take less than ninety," retorted hazelton. "ninety dollars," guessed tom. "fellows," laughed dick, "at one time on the train i was so downhearted and glum over the chances of a trade that i believe i would have jumped at fifty dollars. then i remembered my promise not to take less than ninety dollars. with that i soared to a hundred dollars, then down, by degrees, to seventy. but my promise pulled me back to ninety." "it wasn't exactly a promise," dave broke in. "anyway, dick, it wasn't the kind of promise that had to be kept." "half the time i felt that the promise had to be kept, and the other half of the time i felt that it might better be broken," prescott went on, laughingly. "just as i reached porthampton, however, and saw all the fine summer homes there, my figures began to rise. i realized, of course, that a birch bark canoe is a good deal of a rarity in these days; that such a boat hasn't anything like a hard-and-fast, staple value. a birch bark canoe, in other words, is worth what it will bring." "and no more," nodded dave darrin. "so you were wise to take the fifty dollars." "who said that i took fifty dollars for the canoe?" dick smiled back. "what did you get?" insisted harry hazelton, his impatience increasing with every minute. "do you really want to know what i got?" teased dick. "of course i do," snorted harry. "we all do!" "then i'll tell you," nodded dick. instead, however, he began feeling in his pockets. "tell us, then!" ordered hazelton gruffly. "i got a check," smiled dick. "for how much?" pressed hazelton. "well, let me explain," said dick, still laughing. "you see, i didn't have to do any describing or praising of the canoe, for mr. eades, who bought the canoe for his crowd, was here three days ago, as you know, and looked the canoe over, in water and out. it was just a question of settling the price of the canoe. so, when i reached mr. eades, we started in to bargain. he asked me how much i wanted for the canoe. i guess, fellows, my nerve must have gone to my head, for i told him two hundred dollars." "you didn't get it?" gasped hazelton. "i didn't," dick answered soberly. "how much-----" "mr. eades told me he represented himself and associates, who wanted the canoe to put on the little lake down at their country club. i told him it seemed to me that a canoe like ours was an expensive sort of thing to put in a pond. then he offered me seventy-five dollars." "that's a good, round sum, and will help us out a lot this summer," nodded dave darrin. "i'm glad you accepted it." "i didn't," smiled dick. "mr. eades finally offered eighty, and i told him i regretted that we hadn't done the trading at the time that he came over to gridley to see the canoe. mr. eades replied that at the time he came here he wasn't authorized to speak for his friends, but merely to look at the canoe and report. after that he made one or two more small increases in his price, but i seemed to have lost interest in the subject of a trade and looked at my time table to see when the next train left for gridley. then we talked about other matters, and, fellows, i was pretty glum, though i didn't allow the fact to show. finally, he offered me more money, and then a little more. at last i came down on my price, and made him my final offer. mr. eades didn't seem to like it, and then, all of a sudden, he took out his check book and wrote a check for me." "close to a hundred dollars?" asked dave, with deep interest. for answer dick threw the check on the table. there was a wild scramble for it. "a hundred and fifty dollars!" gasped tom reade. "let me see that check!" demanded greg holmes unbelievingly. the check went from hand to hand, each of the fellows looking at it half bewildered. yet certainly the check said one hundred and fifty dollars. "see here, dick," asked tom anxiously, "are you sure---positive, that is---that it was honest to charge a hundred and fifty for that canoe of ours?" "you may be sure that i thought of that," prescott answered. "i don't want to defraud any man. but birch bark suitable for canoes is getting to be a thing of the past in this country. our friend, hiram driggs, the boat builder, told me that a birch bark canoe, nowadays, is simply worth all one can get for it. but, after mr. eades had written the check and handed it to me, he said: 'now, the trade is made and closed, prescott, what do you really consider the canoe worth?' i answered him a good deal as i've answered you, and offered to return the check if mr. eades wasn't satisfied. fellows, for just a moment or two my heart was in my mouth for fear he'd take me up and ask for the return of his check. but mr. eades merely smiled, and said he was satisfied if i was." "i'll bet he'd have gone to a two hundred dollar price," declared hazelton. "dick, weren't you sorry, afterwards, that you didn't hold out flat for two hundred dollars?" "not i," young prescott answered promptly. "if i had been too greedy i'd have deserved to lose altogether, and very likely i would have lost. fellows, i think we can be well satisfied with the price we've obtained." "i am!" declared dave darrin promptly. "we've realized a hundred dollars above my wildest dream." incidentally it may be mentioned that mr. eades found, from his friends, that he had a prize, indeed, in the fine old war canoe. the grounds committee of another country club offered two hundred and fifty for that same canoe a month later. "now, fellows," dick went on, "suppose we leave here and decide how we're to lay out this money for our summer camp?" the vote was carried instantly. with a whoop of glee the chums started for dave's house. chapter iii the human mystery of the woods "now, get to work!" shouted dick prescott. "destruction to all shirkers!" "please may i beg off for five minutes?" begged danny grin, raising one hand. "why?" queried prescott sharply. "i want to take that much time to convince myself that it's all true," replied danny. "you'll know that it's all true when you wake up to-morrow morning," laughed dick. "but it won't look half as real if any fellow shirks any part of his work now. all ready, fellows?" "ready!" came the chorus. "tom reade will make the best foreman, won't he?" appealed prescott. "tom has a knack for just such jobs as this, and it's going to be a tough one." the boys stood in the middle of a half acre clearing in the deep woods, five miles past the town of porter. here the woods extended for miles in every direction. as these young campers glanced about them it seemed as though they possessed a wealth of camping material---far more than they had ever dreamed of owning. the tent, twelve feet by twenty, and eleven feet high at the ridgepole, with six-foot walls, was their greatest single treasure. it had cost thirty-five dollars, and had been bought from the nearest large city. "we'll get the tent up first," called reade. "of course," smiled dave. "that's all you're boss of anyway, tom." "come on, then, and spread the canvas out," tom ordered. "bring it over this way. we want it under the trees at the edge of the clearing. dan, you bring the longest poles." under tom's further direction the canvas was spread just where he wanted it. then the ridge-pole was secured in place across the tops of the highest two standing poles. "run it in under the canvas," tom directed. "we'll get the metal tips of the poles through the proper roof holes in the canvas. there, that's right. dick, you and greg stand by that long pole; dave, you and dan by the other. now, then---raise her!" up off the ground went the two uprights and the ridge-pole, the canvas hanging shapelessly from the ridge-pole. "bring that wooden sledge over here, harry," was foreman reade's next order. "now, drive in this stake while i hold it. remember to hit the stake, not my hands." the stake being soon driven into place reade slipped the loop of a guy-rope around it, partly tightening the rope. then he slipped to the next corner, where the process was repeated. "hurrah!" burst from danny grin, as the fourth corner stake was driven, and now the tent began to take shape. "you fellows holding the poles may let go of them now," called tom. "come and help with the other stakes and guy-ropes." as soon as the ropes along a given side of the tent had been made fast the side wall poles were stepped into place. at last the task of tent-raising was completed, save for the final tightening of all the ropes. now dick and dave, under their foreman's orders, began to drive the shorter stakes that held the bottoms of the tent walls in place. "hurrah!" went up from several throats, as the boys stood back to take in the full dimensions of their big, new tent. "my but she's a whopper!" exclaimed danny grin, pushing back the door flaps and peering inside. "we won't find the tent any too large for a crowd of our size," dick declared. "you all remember how crowded we were in the tent that we used last summer. you'll find we can fill this tent up when we get it furnished." "dick," called tom, "take all of my gang except harry. he and i will lay the floor." reade and hazelton thereupon began to carry in two-by-four timbers and lay them where they wanted them on the ground inside the tent. next they nailed boards across. they had bought all of this timber in gridley secondhand at a bargain. "dave, you and dan can start the furnace, while greg and i unpack supplies," suggested prescott. thereupon darrin and danny grin started in to move a small pile of bricks. next a tub of mixed mortar was carried to the level spot decided upon as the place whereon to erect the "furnace." it was not much of a stove that dave and dan built, yet it was fitted and destined for the preparing of many a meal in record time. first of all, dave marked off the space to be used. four parallel lines of bricks, each line five bricks long, were laid on the ground. dave, with a two-foot rule, measured a distance of sixteen inches between each row. then began some amateur brick-laying. it was not perfectly done, by any means, yet these four parallel walls of brick that were presently up afforded three "stoves" lying side by side. as soon as the mortar was reasonably dried---and fire would help---grates and pieces of sheet iron could be laid across the tops of the walls over the three fires. it was one of the simplest and most effective cooking devices that such a camp could have. there was even a gas-stove oven, an old one, furnished by dick's mother. "it makes me hungry to look at the stove," declared danny grin. "it's four o'clock now, so you'll have two hours more to wait," smiled dick, as he glanced at his watch. out of packing cases and some odds and ends of lumber dick and greg had constructed some very fair cupboards, with doors. "oh, if we only had ice for use in this hot weather!" sighed greg. "but we haven't," returned dick, "so what's the use of thinking of it." in the tent tom and harry were putting in some of the last taps of the hammer. they had made a very creditable job of the flooring. it was now five o'clock. dick & co. had worked so briskly that they were now somewhat tired. it had been an exciting day. they had left gridley in the forenoon, journeying for an hour and a half on the train. arriving at porter the boys had eaten luncheons brought along with them. then they had hunted up a farmer, had bargained with him to haul their stuff and then had tramped out to their camping place. but the camp looked as though bound to prove a success. it was their camp, anyway, and they were happy. "i'm glad enough of one thing," murmured dick as he rested, mopping his brow. "i'm glad of several things i can think of," rejoined darry. "the thing i refer to," chuckled prescott, "is fred ripley." "it never occurred to me to feel glad about ripley," muttered tom dryly. "i mean, i'm glad that he has gone to canada with his father this summer," dick continued. "we shan't have a lot of things happening all the time, as we did last summer. rip was a hoodoo to us last summer. this year we know that he's too far away to be troublesome." "it will seem a bit strange, at first," assented reade, "to return to our camp and not discover that, while we were away, rip had been along and slashed the tent to ribbons, or committed some other atrocious act." "let's not crow until we're out of the woods," suggested darrin. "rip might come back from canada, you know." "he's sure to, if the canadians find out the kind of a chap that he is," danny grin declared solemnly. "come here, you fellows," summoned dick, "and hold a council of war over the supplies, to decide what we'll have for supper." "i thought the steak was to be the main item," tom rejoined. "with no ice it won't keep until morning." "what do you want to eat with the steak?" asked dick briskly. the council---of six---quickly decided on the items of the meal. harry, catching up two buckets, started to the nearest spring for water. dave, with the coffee-mill between his knees, started to grind. dick, with an old knife, began to cut the steak up into suitably sized pieces. greg started a fire in one of the stove spaces, dan bringing more firewood. a task was at hand for each of them. when the first fire was ready an old grate was placed over it. on this the pieces of steak were arranged. dave was boiling coffee on another grate over the second fire. "wood is mighty scarce around here," complained harry. dick glanced about him. no one was immediately busy. "all scatter!" called prescott. "go in different directions. each fellow bring back an armful of dry wood. hustle!" dick himself was the first to return, about three minutes later. he came in fast, for he expected that the steak would be ready to remove from the grate. long before he reached the stoves, however, dick dropped his wood and his lower jaw simultaneously. "hurry up, fellows!" he called hoarsely. "hurry and see what has happened!" that note of real distress in his voice caused the others to come running. "well, if you haven't an appetite!" gasped tom. "to go and eat all the steak yourself!" "i didn't eat any of it," dick retorted grimly. "from the looks of things none of the rest of us will eat any of it, either." "a dog got it, or some wild animal!" guessed greg. "no one animal could carry off four pieces of steak in his mouth at a time," prescott answered, thinking fast. "and the tin plate i left here has gone with the meat. animals don't lug off tin plates." "dick and i will stay behind to watch and take account of stock," tom called. "the rest of you scatter through the woods and try to come up with the thief. if any fellow comes upon him, give a whoop, and the rest of us will hurry along." the four scouts went off on the run. "anything else missing?" asked reade, as dick looked among the supplies. "yes," prescott raged; "one of the bottles of worcestshire sauce and two of the tins of corn. oh, it's a two-legged thief that has spoiled our supper!" "perhaps you were too sure about rip being off in canada," grinned reade. "fred ripley would hardly steal food," prescott retorted. "rip is seldom really hungry. tom, i'd give a dollar to know just who was hanging around this camp." "i'd give two dollars to know," snapped reade, "but i'd take the money from the camp treasury." "queer that the fellow didn't take the potatoes, too," mused dick, turning back to the stove. "the potatoes weren't done," suggested reade wisely, "and probably our visitor didn't think it wise to wait until they were. the hulled corn will serve his purpose very well, though." "it was a mean trick to play on us," quivered dick. "of course it was---unless the thief were really very hungry," answered tom. "in that case, i don't believe i'd blame the fellow so much," dick admitted. "but now, what are we going to have for supper?" "i've an inspiration," tom declared, as he thrust a fork into some of the potatoes in the pot. "these potatoes will be done in two or three minutes more. open three tins of the corned beef." "tinned corned beef isn't so much of an inspiration, as inspirations go," laughed dick. "open the three tins," tom insisted. "here are the onions. i'll peel a few---and do the weeping for the whole camp." tom was busy at once. dick, after watching his friend start, caught something of the spirit of quick work. "dump the meat into this chopping bowl," tom continued, as he hastily dropped peeled onion after onion into the wooden bowl. "now, get the potatoes off the fire, and we'll drain and peel 'em." this work was quickly under way. "do you see what the poem is to be?" grinned reade. "looks like corned beef hash," smiled dick. "it will taste like it, too," predicted reade. "come on, now!" potatoes were quickly made ready. tom began to chop the mixture, while prescott got out one of the frying pans. "get out the lard," urged tom. "let's have some of this stuff cooking by the time that the fellows come in. it will console them a bit." "it begins to smell good," murmured dick presently, as he stirred the cooking mixture. tom busied himself with setting the table. "all ready, when the fellows come in," announced dick, as he removed the coffee pot and began to cut bread. "better call 'em." placing his hands over his mouth, megaphone shape, tom sent several loud halloos echoing through the woods. dan was the first one in. greg arrived next, harry third. "where can dave be?" asked tom, after several more halloos. "we'll go and find him, if he doesn't show up," suggested harry. "but first of all, let's stow some of this supper inside of us." "we'll wait for dave before we eat," dick retorted quickly. "hello, dave, hello!" roared reade and prescott in concert "supper is ready! hurry up." "queer there's no answer," said greg, after a minute's wait. "something must have happened to dave," suggested danny grin anxiously. "what could happen to him?" demanded hazelton scornfully. "darry can take care of himself. he'll be in presently." "let's call him again!" urged dan. they called in concert, their voices echoing through the woods. "did you hear that?" asked dick eagerly, after a pause of listening. "there it goes again." "it's dave, answering us," harry declared. the hail sounded distant. "come on!" cried dick, leaping forward. "that yell was one of trouble, or i'm a bad guesser. dan, you and hazelton stand by the camp. tom and greg come along. if dave is in trouble he'll be sure to need some of us!" chapter iv dave darrin is angry "keep on calling, dave!" shouted dick, as they ran toward the sound of the voice. "this way!" answered darry, his voice sounding louder as they neared him. "what's up?" tom asked as they ran. dave's voice sounded in wrathful explosion. "eh?" tom pressed him. "wait until you get here, and you'll see," retorted dave. "you're not hurt?" dick shouted. "no; but my feelings are!" vented darrin indignantly. another minute and the trio headed by dick, reached the spot. by this time darkness was coming on through the woods. prescott, who was in the lead, at first received the impression that dave was standing beside a tree. and so dave was, though the reason for his standing there was yet to be explained. a moment more and tom and dick had reached the spot where the wrathful darrin was standing. "well, of all the-----" began tom wonderingly. "outrages!" finished darry angrily. prescott laughed outright. "i suppose i must be a comical-looking object," admitted dave darrin ruefully. "but just wait until i lay my hands on the rascal who played this trick on me! oh, i'll make him ache for his smartness." though darrin had an unusually quick temper, he generally had it under excellent control. now, however, he was so indignant that he fairly sputtered, and the humorous side of the situation did not appeal to him. what dick saw was that dave stood with his back to the trunk of the tree. around darry's neck a noose was fast. back of the prisoner the rope had been wrapped once around the trunk of the tree. next, several folds of rope had been passed both around darrin and the tree trunk in such fashion that the boy's arms were pinioned fast to his sides. in addition, a single turn of rope had been taken around each arm. finally, the rope had been knotted several times at the opposite side of the tree from that on which darrin stood. "you must have stood pretty patiently for anyone to be able to tie you up in that artistic fashion!" blurted tom reade. "patient? patient nothing!" growled darry between his teeth. "i was so angry all the time that i couldn't keep from sputtering, but that rascal had me fast, and kept making me more secure." "how old a man was he?" asked dick. "i don't know whether he was a man or a boy." "is your eyesight failing, dave?" asked tom. "i haven't eyes in the back of my head," snapped darry. "say, aren't you fellows going to hurry up and free me?" "can't you free yourself?" suggested reade. "if i could have done that i'd now be ranging these woods in search of the perpetrator of this outrage," darry declared. "hurry up and untie me!" "we will, but please be patient for a moment or two longer," begged young prescott. "this is such a cleverly artistic job that i want to study out just how it was done. how did the fellow attack you?" "from behind," muttered darry. "but how?" "wait, and i'll tell you," dave went on, forcing himself to talk a trifle more calmly. "when i'm free i'll show you the spot over there, in the thicket between the two clumps of bushes. well, i had gotten this far when i saw the missing steaks. they rested on a tin pan on the ground in the thicket. it looked as though the thief of our supper had gone away to get water or something. i had just stepped, on tiptoe, of course, past this tree when i heard a soft step behind me. before i could turn, the noose was dropped over my head, and then down on my neck. it was jerked tight, like a flash, and i was pulled against this tree. the fellow took some kind of hitch around the trunk of the tree to hold me-----" "yes; i see the hitch," assented dick. "it was well done." "so well done that it held me, for a moment," dave went on. "the noose choked me, for a brief space, so that i didn't have much presence of mind. before i recovered myself, the fellow had passed the rope several times around my body and arms, and had taken the extra loops on my arms. by that time i was so helpless that i couldn't stir to free myself." "and you didn't see the fellow?" asked dick. "not a glimpse of him. he worked from behind, and did his trick like lightning." "but there are no steaks, nor any plate, on the ground in the thicket now," reade reported, after looking. "no," darry grunted. "the fellow who tried me up like this passed over my eyes a dirty cloth that perhaps he would call a handkerchief. then i heard him over by the thicket. next he was back here and had whisked that cloth away from my eyes. that was the last i heard of him." "why didn't you set up a roar as soon as he attacked you?" demanded tom reade. "the noose bound my throat so tightly, i couldn't," darry explained. "i was seeing stars, and i was dizzy. after he had taken a few hitches of the rope around me he eased up on the noose a bit." "did you 'holler' then?" questioned dick. "no," dave darrin admitted honestly. "i used up all my breath telling that unknown, unseen fellow just what i thought of him." "if you want to know what i think of the fellow," uttered young prescott, "it seems to me that the unknown chap is clever and bright enough to be capable of better things than stealing supper from other people. this tie-up is about the most ingenious thing i've seen in a long time." "maybe i'd appreciate it more," retorted darry, "if i could see it as you do, on another fellow. are you going to hurry up and cut away this rope?" "not if you are able to wait calmly while i untie it," dick answered. "it's surely a good piece of rope. it will go part way toward paying for the steaks." with that prescott began to untie the knots. when his fingers ached from this from of exercise, greg took his place. meanwhile, tom reade explored the thicket where dave had seen the plate of steaks. there was no sign of the food taken from the camp. this tom made out by the aid of lighted matches, as the long shadows were now falling in the woods. "i'm glad, now, that you didn't cut the rope," said dave, as at last he stepped free. "we'll save his rope, for i hope to find that fellow again." "what will you do to him if you catch him?" grinned reade. "maybe i'll need the rope to lynch him with," uttered darry grimly. tom threw back his head, laughing heartily. "our dear, savage, blood-thirsty old darry!" reade laughed. "you talk as vindictively as a pirate, but if you found your enemy hurt you'd drop everything else and nurse him back into condition. darry, you know you would!" "let's get back to camp," urged greg. "supper is ready, but no one has had any yet. my stomach feels like an empty balloon." "all right, then," agreed darrin gruffly, "though i'd sooner catch that fellow than eat." "that word, 'eat,' sounds like a poem!" sighed greg, tightening his belt as the quartette turned campward. "so you didn't get a single glimpse of your---your annoyer?" asked prescott. "not what you could call a glimpse," darrin responded. "two or three times i caught sight of the fellow's shirt sleeves as he passed the rope around me. his shirt sleeves were of a light tan color, so i suppose that is the color of his entire shirt. that, however, is the sole clue i have to the scoundrel's description." "i'd like to meet the fellow," mused dick. "maybe you'll have that pleasure," hinted darry with the nearest approach to a smile he had yet shown. "you mean you'd like to see me tied up in the same fashion, and then discover whether i could keep my temper under such circumstances?" laughed young prescott. "never mind what i mean," dave retorted. they were soon in camp, now, after calling to dan and harry two or three times in order to locate their way. at last, however, they came in sight of the glowing embers of fire and the rays of the two lanterns that dan had lighted and hung up. "i smell something that smells mighty good," sniffed dave. "did any of you fellows recover the steaks? have you been keeping something back from me?" "i don't believe you'll find the steaks in camp," dick retorted, "but you'll find something that will taste fully as good." with that the quartette charged into camp. everything was ready for the table by the time each fellow had washed his hands and face in the one tin basin that served the camp. "put one of those lanterns on the table, dan," called dick, as he finished drying himself on a towel. "another night, if we eat after dark, we'll try to have a campfire that'll light the place up like an electric light." "another night, unless some of our neighbors move," predicted darry, "we won't have food enough left to make it worth while to try to have supper!" the boys sat down in great good humor, even dave softening when he saw the bountiful supper that had been prepared. not one of them felt nervous about the possible nearness of the late prowler. the boys were six to one, whoever the prowler might be. besides, this mysterious stranger seemed to prefer humor to violence. yet, all the time they were eating and chattering---and dick did his full share of both that young man, prescott, was also busily thinking up plans by means of which he hoped to be able to gain a closer view of the recent prowler. of these plans he said no word to his chums, for there was more than a chance that the human mystery of the woods was even then within earshot, off under the shadows among the trees. chapter v dick grapples in the dark at last the meal was finished, this time without the help of the prowler. dave and dan washed the dishes, while tom and harry carried water enough to fill the hogshead that had been brought along as part of their camp equipment. at the same time, dick and greg unstrapped and set up the six light-weight folding canvas cots, standing them in a row in the tent. next they arranged the bedding that had been loaned by mothers at home, and made up the six beds. enough fuel to start a fire in the morning was also brought in. "and now, what did we come out here in the woods for?" inquired dick smilingly. "to get our fill of sleep," yawned tom. "to eat," suggested hazelton hopefully. "to fish," added dave darrin promptly. "just to lie down and take things easy," declared danny grin. "as for me," piped up greg holmes, "i'm not going to bother my head, to-night, as to why we came here. i'm going to get a ten hour nap, and in the morning i'll try to solve the riddle for you, dick, of why we came here." a tired lot of boys, not really ready, as yet, to admit that they were used up, lay down on their cots without undressing. they intended, later, to get into their pajamas. a single lantern, its wick turned low, hung from one of the posts. prescott did not trust himself to lie down, for his eyes, despite his efforts to keep awake, were heavy, and he did not want to sleep for some time yet. within ten minutes darrin alone had his eyes open, and even he was making a valiant struggle against sleep. at last, however, he yielded, and soon settled into sound slumber. "they're off in another world," smiled dick, as he listened to the deep breathing of his chums; then he slipped away from his cot. from under a box in one corner of the tent he took out a large cup of coffee that he had hidden some time earlier. it was still warm and he drank it with relish, though his main purpose in using the beverage was to make sure of keeping himself awake. his next move was to extinguish the lantern. now he made his way to the bucket of water and basin. dashing the cold water into his face, and wetting his eyes well with it, prescott took a few deep breaths. he now felt equal to keeping awake for some time. outside, by this time, all was darkness, save where a few embers of the recent camp fire glowed dully. dick threw himself down, resting his head on his elbows, in the doorway of the tent. "now, don't you dare go to sleep!" he ordered himself, repeating the command frequently as a means of aiding himself to keep his eyelids from closing. "you keep awake!" he half snorted, as he felt drowsiness getting nearer. he pinched himself, inflicting more than a little pain. at last, however, the young leader of dick & co. found that his drowsiness had passed for the time being, like the sentinel in war time. "now, i think i can keep awake until daylight, if i have to," muttered young prescott to himself. "at daylight it won't be so very mean to wake one of the other fellows and let him take my place." yet, after an hour had passed, dick was almost doomed to discover that nature had some rights and knew how to assert them. his eyes had just closed when he awoke with a start. someone was treading lightly past the wall of the tent, coming toward the door. dick had barely time to glide back behind the flap of the tent when the unknown someone stopped at the doorway. it was too dark to make out anything distinctly under the canvas, but the stranger listened to the combined snorings of five of the six boys, then chuckled softly. "oh! funny, is it, to think that we're all asleep, and that you may help yourself at will to the food that cost us so much money!" thought dick wrathfully. the stranger hearing no sound from the apparently sleeping camp soon passed on in the direction of the fire. here much of the provisions had been stacked in the packing case cupboards, for the reason that to store food in the tent would seriously curtail the space that the boys wanted for comfort. out of the tent crept dick, crouching. his heart was beating a trifle faster than usual, perhaps, for he saw at once that the prowler was larger than himself. before one of the box cupboards the prowler halted and rummaged inside with his hands. "i guess this is where i need a light," mused the stranger, half aloud. "pardon me, but what do you want with a light?" inquired prescott, at the same time pushing the stranger forward on his face. dick now seated himself on the other's shoulders. "don't make a fuss," prescott advised. "i like to think myself a gentleman, and i don't want to muss you up too much." the stranger laughed. it was an easy, confident laugh that destroyed a bit of the gridley boy's sense of mastery. "what are you doing, up at this time of night?" asked the stranger. "minding my own business, in my own camp," dick replied easily. "and what are you doing here? whose business are you minding?" "my own, too, i reckon," replied the prowler more gruffly. "in other words, attending to your hunger?" pressed prescott. "i'm looking out that i don't have too much hunger to-morrow," came the now half sullen answer. "is this the way you usually get your food?" dick demanded dryly. "this is the way i get most of it," came the reply. "stealing it, eh?" "well, what of it?" came the sulky retort. "the world owes me a living." "to be sure it does," dick answered blithely. "the world owes every man a living. that's just why you don't need to steal. just sail in and collect that living by means of hard work. are you the chap who collected our steaks this evening?" "none of your business. and, now, if you've given me as much chatter as you want, get off my shoulders!" "i've a little more to say to you yet," dick responded. "get off my shoulders!" "i will---when i'm through with you," dick agreed. "you'll get off at once, or i'll roll you off!" came the now angry threat. "try it," dick urged coolly. right then and there the stranger did try it. he "heaved," then attempted to roll and grapple with the young camper. he would have succeeded, too, had prescott relied upon his strength alone. but dick employed both hands in getting a neck-hold that hurt. "now, quit your fooling," prescott advised, "or i'll let out a whoop that will bring five more fellows here. do you know what they would do to you? they'd just about lynch you---schoolboy fashion. do you know what a schoolboy lynching is?" "no," sullenly answered the stranger, as he started to renew the struggle. "you will know, soon, if you don't stop your stupid fooling," dick told him. "hang you, kid. get off of me, and keep your hands away, or i'll hurt you more than you were ever hurt in your life, and i'll get away with it, too, before your friends come!" so lively did the struggle become that dick was obliged to use his clenched fist against the side of the prowler's jaw. that quieted the stranger for an instant. leaping lightly from his troublesome captive, dick snatched up a heavy club of firewood that lay nearby. "that's right," dick agreed, swinging the club, as the other rose to a sitting posture. "sit up, but don't try to get up any farther unless you want to feel this stake, which is tougher than those other steaks!" prescott kept nimbly out of reach of the other's arms, though he took pains to keep himself where he could jump in with a handy blow at need. "now," remarked the high school boy, "you are getting an idea as to who's boss." "well, what do you want?" asked the other sullenly. he had already drawn down a tattered, battered old cap so that it screened his face. "i want to get a better look at you," prescott replied. "i want to be able to know you anywhere. tan colored woollen shirt; brown corduroy trousers; low-cut black shoes; cap defies description. now, let me see your face." with that dick bent quickly, picking up an oil-soaked bunch of faggots that he had prepared before the others had turned in for the night and dropped them upon the campfire. like a flash he was back, close to the stranger. "don't you dare try to get up!" dick threatened, swinging the club. "hit me, if you dare!" leered the other. "i'm going to get upright now!" with that he made a lurching move forward. prescott swung the club, though of course he did not intend to beat the stranger about the head. his indecision left him off his guard. the stranger closed in on the club, wrenching it from prescott's hand and tossing it far away. but dick dropped, wrapping his arms about the other's legs and throwing him. just as the two went down in a crash the fire, which had been smoking, now blazed up. "i'll show you!" roared the stranger, now thoroughly aroused, as he grappled with prescott and the pair rolled in fierce embrace over the ground. dick was not afraid, but he didn't want this night hawk to get away, so he bellowed lustily: "fellows! gridley! gr-r-r-id-ley! quick!" "stop that!" hissed the stranger, who was now easily uppermost, and holding prescott with ease. "quick!" yelled dick. the stranger grasped the high school boy by the throat, then as swiftly changed his mind, for someone was stirring in the tent. up leaped the prowler, yet, swift as he was, dick was also on his feet. "keep back!" warned the prowler, as he turned to run. "you're mine---all mine!" vaunted young prescott, making a gallant leap at the unknown foe. but that brag was uttered just a few seconds too soon. chapter vi danger comes on the hoof smack! against dick's face came the palm of the larger youth's right hand. it was the old, familiar trick of "pushing in his face." so quickly did that manoeuvre come that dick, caught off his balance, was shoved backward until he tripped and fell. then the stranger vanished with the speed of one accustomed to flight through the woods. his eyes full of sand from the fall, dick struggled to his feet, rubbing his eyelids, just as dave darrin came running up. "what was it?" demanded dave. "come on! we ought to catch him yet!" cried young prescott, turning and running into the woods. but dick's eyes were not quite as keen as they had been, and darry, once he had the general direction, outstripped his chum in the race. once away from the blazing fire of oil-soaked wood, however, the boys found themselves at a disadvantage in the woods. at last darry stopped, listening. then, hearing sounds, he wheeled, dashing at a figure. "get out with you, darry!" laughed prescott good-humoredly. "i thought you were-----" "the other fellow! yes; i know," laughed dick. "where is he? listen!" but only the night sounds of the woods answered them. "we'd better put for camp," whispered dick, "or that fellow will slip around us and pillage the supplies before we get there." dave started back at a dog trot, dick following at a more leisurely gait. both were soon by the campfire again. "was it the same fellow?" demanded darry, in a low voice. "it must have been," dick nodded, "though you didn't see him at all when you encountered him, and i didn't get a view of his face. but he had on a tan colored shirt. he also had on brown corduroy trousers and low-cut black shoes. he kept his torn cap pulled down over his eyes so that i couldn't get a look at his face that would enable me to know it again if i saw it." "hang the fellow!" growled darry. "does he take us for a human meal ticket with six coupons?" "he must be hungry," rejoined dick, "when he could get away with all that steak and then come back, within a few hours, for more of our food." "how did you come to catch him?" dave asked curiously. prescott explained how he had managed to remain awake and on guard, against a possible second visit from the young prowler. "so we've got to stay up the rest of the night, and mount guard every night, have we?" grunted darry disgustedly. "fine!" "we'll either have to watch, or part with our food," dick assented. "we ought to have brought harry hazelton's bull-dog. that would have spared us guard duty." "i'm glad we didn't bring the pup," dick rejoined. "that pup is growing older, and crosser. he'd bite a pound or two out of some prowler's leg, and we don't want that to happen." "why not?" demanded dave grimly, opening his eyes very wide. dick laughed softly by way of answer. "i'd just as soon have a tramp chewed up as have our food supplies vanish," darry maintained. "little david, your temper has the upper hand of you at this moment," laughed prescott. "when that temper is on top you're dangerous---almost bloodthirsty. when your temper is in check you're as kind and gentle as any good-natured fellow. you wouldn't really want to see any human being mangled by a bull-pup's teeth." "well, maybe not mangled," darry agreed. "but i don't believe harry's pup would do any more than take hold---and keep hold." "we won't have the pup, anyway," dick replied, in a low voice. "why not?" dave again demanded. "because, as you know well enough, harry's father was afraid the pup would only get us into trouble by chewing up someone, and so declined to let us bring the dog." "that was a shame," dave insisted. "i don't think so. if six of us can't take care of one stray tramp, not much larger than any of us, then we're too tender, and ought to be sleeping in little white cribs at home." "oh, stop that talk!" urged dave. "i mean what i said," dick retorted. "we're big enough, and numerous enough, to guard our own camp." "of course we are; but we'll have to give up some sleep to accomplish that," dave contended. "whoever loses sleep in the night time can make it up in the day time. and now, darry, get to bed!" "but we've got to remain on watch." "you'll feel bad, in the morning, if deprived of your sleep. i'll stay up for a while yet, and then call tom reade." "so i'm no good for guard duty, eh?" snorted darry. "not a bit," said dick cheerfully. "you're as sleepy and as cross as can be, right at this minute. go and tuck in, davy." darrin snorted again, then glared at dick's placid face. suddenly dave broke into a hearty chuckle, slapping his chum on the back. "you're all right, dick," he declared. "you know how to keep your temper, talk smoothly, and yet hit harder than if you used a club. no, sirree! i'm not cross, even though i may be tired. i'm not cross, and i can thrash into subjection any fellow who dares hint that i'm cross, or that my temper is on a rampage. you go and turn in, dick." "not yet." "then we'll both stay up and watch together." "i'll tell you what," proposed dick. "well?" "bring your cot out here. i'll let you sleep for an hour by my watch. then i'll call you, and you hold the watch and let me sleep for an hour. there is no sense in both of us losing our rest at the same time. yet, if either fellow needs the other, he'll have him right under his hand." "all right," nodded dave. "anything, as long as i'm not accused of being a sleepy head." "a sleepy head?" prescott repeated. "why, when i called to you fellows for help you were the only one who responded. no; i wouldn't call you an incurable sleepy head, darry." now wholly restored to good humor dave went back into the tent, lifting his cot and bringing it out to within a few feet of the campfire. "you take the first nap, dick," begged dave. "no; you take it." "but i'm not sleepy; honestly i'm not." so prescott lay down on the cot, closing his eyes. the sunlight, streaming into his face, awakened him. "why---why---where's darry?" thought dick, sitting up straight. the sound of deep breathing answered him. dave sat with his back propped against a tree, sound asleep. he had slept for hours, evidently, having fallen asleep through sheer, uncontrollable drowsiness. rising from the cot dick stretched himself for he was still drowsy. then he tip-toed over to where the food was stored, peering in. "i can't see that our friend, the enemy, has been here again," dick smiled. he glanced at darry, but did not awake that tired youngster. as noiselessly as he could prescott busied himself with starting a small campfire that could be made larger when needed. this done, he set water to boil. "ho-hum!" yawned tom reade, dressed only in underclothes and trousers, as he stood in the tent doorway half an hour later. dick placed his fingers to his lips, whispering: "don't rouse the other fellows. they're tired." "darry certainly looks tired," smiled tom, regarding dave in the uncomfortable posture by the tree. yet, though he must have been quite uncomfortable had he been awake, darry slumbered on. greg came out, looked at dave and smiled. then hazelton, next dalzell, came outside. "what is the cot doing out here?" danny grin was the first to inquire. "we had a visit from the prowler in the night," dick replied, "and dave and i stayed on guard." "was darry as efficient all through the guard tour as he is just now?" demanded reade ironically. "that's all right for you fellows," retorted dick, "who even slept right past my call for help. let dave alone. let him finish his nap, no matter how long he sleeps." but at that moment darrin opened his eyes, then leaped to his feet, a victim of red-faced confusion. "what are all you fellows laughing at?" dave demanded. so far none had done more than grin, but now a very general roar went up. "i'm a chump, on guard duty, and i admit it," darrin went on, looking sheepish. "dick, when you found me asleep why didn't you call me?" "because," prescott answered, "when you went to sleep i judged that you did so because you needed the rest." "i must have been sound asleep from at least one o'clock in the morning," dave went on ruefully. "oh, i am a fellow to be trusted, i am!" "if you've been sleeping, with your back against that tree, from one in the morning, you must be as stiff and lame as you could possibly be," reade suggested. "i am pretty lame," darrin confessed. "are you fellows ever going to hustle about and make some moves toward getting breakfast?" inquired young prescott. "what have you been doing in that line?" danny grin wanted to know. for answer dick prescott pointed to the merrily blazing campfire and the steaming kettle of water. "i am ready to do a lot more, too," dick added, "as soon as the rest of you will show signs of life." at that there was a general bustling. "why didn't you wake me up in time to save me from all the joshing?" darry demanded, with a note of reproach in his voice, as soon as he got a chance to speak with dick alone. "tom reade won't be through all summer with tormenting me about being asleep at the switch." "no one would have known anything about it, if you hadn't given it away yourself, both by look and words," prescott returned. "i hadn't said a word that enlightened anyone." breakfast was soon ready, for hungry boys, in the woods, are always ready to eat. while the meal was being disposed of prescott told his chums of the visit during the night, and of his own share and dave's in trying to nab the tantalizing prowler. "how many such regiments of guards as darry, would it take to guard this camp properly at night?" asked tom dryly. "it seems to me," prescott remarked, "that you fellows will do very well to sing mighty low about dave's drowsiness. when i had to call for help last night he was the only one with an ear quick enough to hear me and come to my support. what was the matter with the rest of you, sleepy heads, or did you hear and feel that it might be dangerous to turn out in the middle of the night?" that last taunt had the desired effect. darrin was allowed to eat his breakfast in peace. after the meal was over the boys sat around the camp for a few minutes. each hated to be the first to make a move toward the drudgery of dish-washing and camp cleaning. "after we get things to rights," inquired reade, "what is to be the programme for the day?" "there's a pond east of us that is said to hold perch," dave answered. "i'm going to take fishing tackle and go in search of a mess of fish. anyone going with me?" "i will," offered danny grin. "as for me," spoke up tom, "i have a line on a place where blueberries grow in profusion. harry, will you go along with me and pick berries?" "if it isn't over five miles away," hazelton assented cautiously. "then what are we going to do!" asked greg holmes, turning to prescott. "from the plans we've heard laid down," smiled dick, "i think we will have to stay right here and keep the prowler from dropping in to carry away the rest of our provisions." "bother such sport as that!" snorted greg. "humph! it may turn out to be the liveliest sport of all," declared dick dryly. "certainly if that fellow turns up it will take two of us to handle him with comfort. he's a tough customer." "dan, you always were an artist with a shovel," suggested darry insinuatingly. "suppose you get out the spade and see what sort of perch bait you can turn up in this neighborhood." "me?" drawled dalzell protestingly. "shucks! i'm no good at finding bait. never was." "get the spade and try," ordered darry. "if you don't find some bait we'll have to put off fishing until some other day." that brought dan to terms. he shouldered a spade, picked up an empty vegetable can and started away, while dave began to sort tackle and to rig on hooks suitable for catching perch. tom and harry started in to unpack supplies from a pair of six-quart pails that they needed for the morning's work. "say, hear that, fellows!" demanded tom, straightening up suddenly. from the distance to the northward came a dull rumbling sound. "thunder?" suggested danny grin, glancing wonderingly up at the clear sky. "if there's a storm coming it will upset a day's berrying," reade announced. "fellows," dick broke in, "it's a rumbling, yet it doesn't sound just like thunder, either. it sounds more like-----" "cavalry on a gallop," suggested greg. "just what it does sound a lot like," prescott nodded. then he dropped to the ground, holding one ear close to the earth. "and, whatever the rumble may be," prescott went on, "it travels along the ground. just get your ears down, fellows." "it's something big, and it's moving this way," cried dave. "it can't be cavalry," tom argued. "there are no manoeuvres on; there is no state camp ever held in this part of the state, either. what do you-----" but dick prescott was up on his feet by this time. furthermore, he was running. he stopped at the base of the trunk of the first tall tree. up he went with much of the speed of a squirrel. higher and higher he made his way among the branches. "say, be careful there, dick!" called tom reade, warningly. "if you get a tumble-----" "i'm not a booby, i hope," dick called down, as he went to still loftier heights. he was now among the slender uppermost branches, where a boy would need to be a fine climber in order to make such swift progress. even dick prescott might readily enough snap a branch now, and come tumbling to earth. "stop!" warned tom. "if you don't you'll butt your head into a cloud, the first thing you know." "can you see anything?" called danny grin. "i see quite a cloud of dust to the northward." "how far off?" asked dave. "about a mile, i should say, and it's headed this way, coming closer every minute." "what's behind the cloud? can you make out?" greg bawled up. "i'm trying to see," dick replied. "there, i got a glimpse then. it's some kind of animals, heading for this camp at a gallop." "it can't be cavalry," shouted reade. "you don't see any men, do you?" "no," prescott called down, shielding his eyes with one hand. "say, fellows!" "have you guessed what it is?" demanded harry hazelton. "i know what it is---now!" dick answered. then he began to descend the tree with great speed. "careful, there!" shouted tom reade. "that isn't a low baluster you're sliding down." "keep quiet, until i reach the ground," gasped dick. as he came nearer those below saw that he looked truly startled. then dick reached the low branches, and began to look for a chance to jump. "we've got to get out of here, fellows!" he called. "you know the trick that cattle---owners have in this part of the county of turning their cattle out to graze in one bunch. that bunch is headed this way---hundreds strong, and it's going to rush through this camp, trampling everything in the way!" chapter vii fighting the mad stampede "nothing doing, and don't get excited," replied tom reade, shaking his head. "there will be a lot doing in three or four minutes," prescott retorted excitedly. "the cattle are stampeded, and they'll sweep through here like a cyclone." "the trees will break up the stampede," tom insisted coolly. "not much they won't," dick answered. "the cattle are headed along a natural lane, where the trees are less thick than in other parts of the forest." "the trees will stop 'em before they get here," reade insisted. "the trees will do nothing of the sort," uttered dick, glancing swiftly about him. "the cattle are among the trees already. just hear that rumble. and it's a lot closer now." "i reckon we'd better move, do it now, and do it fast," cried hazelton, who knew that dick's judgment was generally the best. "and leave our camp to be trampled down and made a complete wreck by a lot of crazy cattle?" gasped greg holmes. "i'd rather have the camp trampled than my face," retorted dalzell. "i don't want to flee from here and leave the camp to be destroyed, and our summer's fun spoiled," protested greg. "we must stop the cattle, or split their stampede." "all right, holmesy," agreed tom ironically. "i appoint you to do my full share in stopping a stampede of cattle." reade's face had suddenly grown very grave as he now realized that the trees were not stopping the frenzied cattle. dick, who had been thinking, suddenly wheeled, making a break for the supplies. "get a box of matches, each one of you!" he shouted. "then sprint with me for that patch of sun-baked grass just north of us." "what's the idea?" dave asked, but dick was already running fast. "get your matches and come on!" dick called back over his shoulder. as speedily as could be done the others followed suit. dick reached the sun-burned strip of grass, whose nearer edge was some two hundred yards north of camp. "hey! he's starting a forest fire!" gasped dan dalzell, as he caught sight of young prescott bending over the dried, yellowish grass. "scatter, all along the strip!" shouted prescott, rising as soon as he had ignited a clump of grass. "get this whole strip of burned grass blazing. it's the only chance to save the camp---or ourselves!" dalzell shivered. nor could dan understand how such a course would serve to save their camp. but he saw the others following their leader's orders. "get over the ground, dan!" bellowed dick, as he sprinted to another point. "start a lot of blazes!" so danny grin fell in line with the movements of the others, though he felt not a little doubt as to the wisdom of the course. flame was now spurting up over more than an acre of the sun-baked strip of grass. "get a lot more of the grass going, fellows!" panted dick, who was working like a beaver and dripping with perspiration. "it's our only hope. hustle!" with the flames arose a dense cloud of smoke. as the wind was from the southwest the smoke was in the faces of the onrushing cattle. "there! we've done all we can!" bellowed dick, running down the line formed by his chums. "now, get back out of this roasting furnace." close to the edge of the burning strip of grass the six high school boys now stood side by side gazing at their work. "we'd better scoot!" counseled danny grin. "where can we go?" dick shouted, in order to make himself heard over the crackling flames and the greater noise of the pounding hoofs. "if we're not safe behind a curtain of flame, there is no other place near where we'd be safer." danny grin turned to bolt, but darry reached out, catching him by the collar and throwing him to the ground. "don't be a fool, danny, and don't be panic stricken," darrin advised. "we're safer here, at least, than we can be anywhere else within a quarter of a mile." the bellow of a bull through the forest---a bellow taken up by other bulls---made all of the boys quake in their shoes. but none of the lads ran away. gazing between the trees they soon made out a stirring sight. on came the stampede, cattle packed so tightly that any animal falling could only be trampled to death by those behind. "my, but that's a grand sight!" cried tom reade. not one of the six boys but longed to take to his heels. to them it seemed absolutely impossible for the cattle to turn aside as they must dash on through the blazing grass, such was the pressure from behind. yet not one of dick & co. turned to run. suddenly three of the bulls went down to their knees, snorting and bellowing furiously. half a dozen cows held back from the flames, only to be trampled and killed. somehow, the powerful bulls staggered to their feet, then broke to one side. a dozen more cows plunged on into the blazing grass, then sank, overcome by the heat. it seemed like a miracle as, following the bulls, the herd split, some going east, others west, and carrying the swerving cattle after them in two frantic streams. in some way that the boys could not understand, the pressure of cattle from the rear accommodated itself to the movement of the forepart of the herd. the herd divided now swept on rapidly, going nearly east and west in two sections. not until some six hundred crazy cattle had passed out of view did the boys feel like speaking. indeed, they felt weak from the realization of the peril they had so narrowly escaped. "i think, fellows," proposed dave darrin huskily at last, "that we owe a whopping big vote of thanks to good old dick prescott!" "after we pass that vote," proposed hazelton, "we'd better make all haste to get out of these woods before the owner of this stretch of forest comes along to nab the fellows who set his timber afire." "do you see any trees ablaze?" dick demanded. now, for the first time, two or three of the fellows began to realize the value of dick's idea. the sun-burned grass, some three acres in extent, was a clearing devoid of trees. here the july heat had baked the turf. on all sides, under the trees beyond, the grass was still green. any boy who has ever been in the country knows that green grass won't burn. hence the blaze was limited to a small area. a few trees whose trunks were near the edge of the clearing were smoking slightly, but no damage was done to the timber. there was really no work to be done in extinguishing this fire, which, furious while it lasted, was now dying out. "let's get back and see how our camp fared," proposed hazelton. "we don't have to," dick replied. "we saw the directions taken by the cattle, and they didn't go anywhere near our camp. let's wait, and, as soon as the ground is cool enough, let's get out to the injured cows, and see if we can help any of them." hardly had dick spoken when one of the cows, right at the edge of the blackened clearing, rose clumsily, then moved slowly northward. presently another cow followed suit. "we can get over the ground now," said dick. "let's go out and look at these animals." they counted eight dead cows, their unwieldy carcasses lying motionless on the burned grass. "probably killed by the hot air that they drew into their lungs," commented tom reade. "we killed the poor beasts," said danny grin, with a catch in his breath. "perhaps we did," dick admitted. "but we had to do something. anyhow, we broke the force of the stampede, and, if that hadn't been checked, a still greater number of cows would have been killed. they would have fallen, exhausted, and then they would have been trampled on and killed by the plunging cattle behind them." "that's true enough," nodded tom. "even if we did kill a few, i guess we're more entitled to praise than reproach." two more cows presently got up and limped away, but there were four others still alive, yet too badly hurt to attend to themselves. nor could the high school boys help, further than by carrying buckets of water to the suffering animals. dick & co. had no firearms along, and could not put the injured cows out of their misery. "now, let's get out of here," urged dick at last. "we can't do any good here, and this is no pleasant sight to gaze upon." "it seems too bad to leave all this prime roast beef on the ground, doesn't it?" hinted tom. "and we fellows have such good appetites." "the cattle are not ours," dick rejoined. "we have no right to help ourselves to any cuts of meat from the dead animals." so they returned to the camp, which they found, of course, quite undisturbed. it so happened that the four members of the party who had proposed going to other scenes for the forenoon forgot their projects. chapter viii visitors for the feast bang! bang! sounded in the direction of the burned-over clearing. "let's go over and see what that means," proposed tom. he jumped up, ready to sprint over to the clearing. "if you want advice," dick offered, "i'd say to wait until the shooting is over. you might stop a stray bullet not intended for us." "but what can the shooting mean" wondered greg. "when anyone is turning bullets loose," remarked darry, "i'm not too inquisitive." so the boys waited until the firing had ceased. then they heard what sounded like the noise of a horse moving through the brush. "hello, there!" called dick. "hello, yourself!" came the answer, and a mounted man rode into view. he did not look especially ugly or dangerous; his garb was plainly intended for the saddle. as he came into sight the man slipped a heavy automatic revolver into a saddle holster. "what was up?" inquired dick, rising and going forward to meet the newcomer. "stampede," replied the other briefly. "we know something about that," dick rejoined. "do you know anything about the burning of the clearing?" asked the horseman, reining up and eyeing the lads keenly. "yes, sir; we fired the grass," prescott acknowledged. "to break the stampede?" "no, sir; to save our camp, which would have been destroyed." "shake," invited the stranger, riding forward and bending over to hold out his hand. "your fire cost us a few cattle, but i reckon it saved the destruction of a lot more, for there would have been many of 'em killed if they had charged on into the deeper forest." "then the stampede has been stopped?" asked prescott. "yes; two of my men followed the parted trails, and came back to report the two herds halted and grazing. my name is ross. i'm the owner of about a fourth of the cattle in the big herd." "i hope you don't feel angry with us for doing the best we could to save our camp," dick went on. "you saved myself and the other owners a greater loss," replied mr. ross, "so i thank you." "you're quite welcome, mr. ross," smiled tom reade. "but what was the shooting about?" "i shot some of the cattle that appeared to be still alive, to put an end to their suffering. you boys haven't any ice here, have you?" "no, sir," dick replied. "too bad," said mr. ross. "if you had ice i could offer you a prime lot of beef that it will hardly pay me to move, as i can't get the animals cut up quickly enough and on ice, after the long haul i would have to make." "are you going to leave the cattle on the clearing?" dick asked in sudden concern. "we'll bury the carcasses," smiled mr. ross. "if we didn't the smell would soon force you boys to move your camp a mile or two. but see here! ever have a barbecue?" "no, sir," dick made answer, his voice betraying sudden interest. "would you like one?" went on the owner. "a barbecue, real western style, with a whole cow on the fire?" "it would be great!" answered nearly all of dick & co. in concert. "then we'll have one, as soon as i can call my men in," replied mr. ross cheerfully. "i'm bound to get some good out of the dead cattle." "we'll want a lot of firewood for that, won't we?" asked dick, his eyes gleaming. "more than a little," nodded mr. ross. "and big wood, at that." "dave, you and tom had better take the axes and get some real wood," prescott called. "harry and dan will help you and bring it in. where shall we put the wood, mr. ross?" "in the middle of the burnt clearing will be better," replied the cattle owner. "then the fire won't have a chance to spread in any direction. besides, you won't want the heat of a great fire too close to your camp. after the meat is cooked we can bring it over here. have you boys plenty of canned vegetables and the like?" "plenty, sir," dick answered cheerily, though his heart sank a trifle as he thought of how the cattle owner and his helpers might clean out their stock. dick and greg busied themselves with carrying over to the clearing such things as mr. ross said that they would need. then it was decided that the vegetables should be cooked at the camp. "let me see your stock of provisions and perhaps i may get another idea," proposed the cattle owner. "i see that you have flour, and oh, yes; you have all that will be needed for a pudding, and one of my men knows how to make one of the best boiled puddings you ever ate out under the sky." drawing a small horn from one of his side pockets, mr. ross blew a long, shrill blast. "jim will come in as soon as possible, after hearing that sound," smiled the cattle owner. jim hornby rode in within five minutes. he was a lean, long, roughened and reddened farm laborer, but when told that a boiled pudding was wanted he walked straight to the place where the supplies were kept. "everything here but berries," jim explained. "any of you boys know where to get some blueberries?" greg knew, and promptly departed with a pail. crackle! crackle! two brisk fires were now going in the burnt clearing, started by dick at mr. ross' direction. by this time mr. ross' other helper had come in, reporting that the cattle were quiet and grazing, and now this helper and his employer began to remove the hide from one of the cows. "this cow was overcome by smoke and hot air as soon as it rushed into the blaze," explained mr. ross. "therefore, this will be safe meat to eat. when an animal, however, dies in pain, after much suffering, its flesh should never be used for food. bill, now that we've gotten the hide off you mount and ride back to the wagon. bring it along." dan and harry were still bringing in heavy firewood and stacking it up, while the ring of axes in the hands of dave and tom was heard. it was a busy scene. "prescott, you'd better begin piling on the big wood now," suggested mr. ross, after noting the sun's position. things moved rapidly along. "you might as well halt your wood cutters, unless you want their product for your own camp," suggested the cattle owner, and prescott sent the word to stop chopping. within twenty minutes the big wagon, drawn by a pair of mules, came up with bill hopple driving and his horse tied to the tailboard. with a speed and skill born of long practice, mr. ross began to cut up the carcass of the cow. bill was busy making greenwood spits and arranging them over the two fires, dan and harry helping him. almost at a dead run came greg holmes through the woods, with two quarts of blueberries. over at the camp, as soon as he saw the berries, jim hornby began mixing his pudding batter. he had already prepared his fire and had found a suitable kettle. from watching the pudding game, tom strolled through to the two fires in the clearing. "this begins to look like a fine chance to eat," sighed tom full of contentment. "doing anything, reade?" inquired the cattle owner, who had quickly learned all their names. "no, sir." "then suppose you take this heart of the cow over to your camp. put it on the fire in a kettle of salted water, and let it boil slowly. by that means you will be able to serve up the heart for your evening meal." "is there no end to this cow?" gasped tom. "well, a good-sized cow provides several hundred pounds of meat," replied mr. ross. "oh, what a shame that you boys have no ice, and no way of getting it or keeping it! i could fix you for a month's supply of meat!" "dick, do you remember what we came out here in the woods for?" queried tom. "to camp, and have a good time," prescott laughed. "and, so far, we win. we're having a bully time!" "what else did we come out here for?" "to harden and train ourselves so that we can make a hard try for the gridley high school football eleven this fall." "will a week of training table undo the harm of to-day's big feasts?" groaned reade. "no fellow is obliged to make a glutton of himself," retorted dick. "maybe not," quoth tom, "but everyone of us will be sorely tempted. you ought to see that pudding that jim hornby is putting up." "young man, are you going to get that heart to cooking before it goes bad in the sun?" asked mr. ross sharply. tom meekly turned and started toward camp. "what's greg doing?" dick called after him. "holmesy is watching, learning the way jim hornby puts up a boiled pudding," reade called back. honk! honk! sounded an automobile horn from the rough trail of a roadway an eighth of a mile away. the honking continued until dick, realizing that it was a signal, gave a loud halloo. "is that prescott's camp?" called a voice. "it's the camp of prescott and his friends," dick shouted back. "get ready for visitors, then!" called the voice again, and this time dick recognized the voice as that of dr. bentley. "we won't eat you out of supplies, though," called the doctor, now heading through the forest. "we're bringing with us our own cold lunch." "cold lunch!" dick chuckled back. "you won't be able to eat it after you see what we have!" through the trees now the fluttering of skirts could be seen. high school girls were on their way to share the barbecue, though as yet they did not know of the treat in store for them. chapter ix dick's woodland discovery "you couldn't have come at a finer time!" cried dick joyously, as he raced to meet the most welcome visitors. "we're barbecuing a whole cow." "then i trust, prescott, that you came honestly by the cow," rejoined dr. bentley his eyes twinkling. besides dr. and mrs. bentley, there were eight girls. the visitors quickly explained that, besides the bentley touring car, that of the sharps was being used on this expedition, susie sharp being one of the girls of the party. the sharps did not employ a chauffeur, but their general man knew how to run the car, and he was now engaged in taking the cars to a spot well off the road. "i'll send one of the fellows to get him," dick promised, as he led the numerous though welcome guests to camp. "lucky i made a special big pudding," grinned jim hornby. "the girls may have my share," gallantly offered tom reade, though he groaned under his breath. "there's pudding enough for a lot more people than we have here," returned jim. "i don't bother making small puddings." the boys were all called in quickly to greet the girls and dr. and mrs. bentley. of course, the girls had to see the interior of the tent, and all the arrangements of the camp. "i wish i were a boy," sighed laura bentley enviously. "i'm glad you're not," spoke dick gallantly. "you're ever so much nicer as a girl." honk! honk! sounded over by the road. the noise continued. "greg," said dick, "that's miss sharp's father's man. evidently he wants something. you'd better run over." in less than five minutes back came greg with three other men, all of them unexpected. mr. alonzo hibbert, minus his four-quart hat, and wearing a flat straw hat instead, as well as light clothes and silk negligee shirt, came in advance of tom colquitt, the man from blinders' detective agency. still to the rear of them was a third man, slightly bent and looking somewhat old, though there were no gray streaks in his light brown hair. "how do you do, boys?" called mr. hibbert airily, as he came swiftly forward. "we saw a big smoke over this way, and so we stopped to find out what was the matter. young holmes has asked us to stop for your barbecue, but it looks to me like a terrible imposition on you, and so-----" here mr. hibbert paused, looking highly embarrassed as he caught sight of mrs. bentley and the girls coming out of the tent. "you already have other company," murmured hibbert apologetically. "no; most decidedly we must not intrude on you." "how do you do, mr. colquitt?" was dr. bentley's greeting. then other introductions followed, and, ere he knew it, hibbert and his friends were members of the party and destined to partake of the barbecue feast. the oldish-looking man with the new arrivals proved to be mr. calvin page. "he's the millionaire father of the missing boy that colquitt and i are trying to find," hibbert explained to dick. "have you any clue, as yet?" prescott inquired. "nothing worth while," sighed lon hibbert. "it's too bad," murmured dick. "mr. page is a fine-looking man, but he must be lonely." "he is," agreed lon hibbert. "his wife is dead, isn't she?" "yes; and page would give the world to find that boy of his." "perhaps if he doesn't find his son it may be as well," dick hinted. "why, as well?" "the missing son, brought up by others, might have turned out badly," prescott suggested. "pooh!" quickly rejoined lon hibbert. "that missing son, no matter how wild or bad he may be, is still young enough to reform. prescott, no matter how bad that son may be, it will be a blessing for my friend page to find his boy! i pray that it may be my good fortune to run across that son, one of these days, and that i may be the first to recognize the boy." "prescott," broke in mr. ross, coming forward, "you don't begin to have enough knives, forks and plates to take care of this crowd, do you?" "i'm sorry to say that we haven't," dick smiled. "but we'll manage that all right. my friends and i will play waiters, and sit at second table after the dishes have been washed." "you won't have to," replied the cattle owner. "i have a folding table and dishes in my wagon, and i'll send bill hopple after 'em." so the tables were set under the shade of the trees, not far from the campfire. the sharps man came up, and was seated with jim and bill. everything being now cooked, the feast began. "i've never had anything as wonderful as this happen to me before," cried belle meade, as she seated herself and looked over the two tables with sparkling eyes. "girls, we didn't look forward to such a treat as this when we left gridley this morning." "you intended to look in on us, didn't you?" inquired darry. "yes; but we brought our own luncheons," said laura. "we didn't expect you to do anything for us---unless you boys had happened to catch a mess of fish." "we were planning to go fishing this morning," tom reade explained, "although we do not know whether the fishing near here amounts to much. may i pass you some of this sirloin, miss marshall?" gay spirits ruled, as they usually do and always should when young people are together out in the open, far from studies or from any of the other cares of life. dick told the story of the stampede, while mr. ross added much about the peculiarities of stampeding cattle and the impossibility of controlling the animals while their mad fright lasts. "i am certain that this is the finest meal i have ever eaten," declared mr. page, who, up to the present, had been rather silent. "there is only one thing it needs," rejoined mr. ross. "if we had about six roasted ears of corn for each diner then this barbecue would be a huge success." "not even the corn could improve it," declared laura bentley, as dick helped her to more of the roasted meat. "don't forget that pudding, ladies and gentlemen!" called out jim hornby, from where he sat. "that pudding is my best kind, and the best one of its kind that i ever turned out. when you have the pudding you won't be thinking of a little thing like roasted ears of corn." "no more, thank you," replied clara marshall, as greg tried to secure her plate in order to help her to more food. "until the pudding comes on," prompted jim hornby. "until the pudding arrives," smiled clara. "but no one may think of having pudding yet," insisted mr. ross, with mock gravity. "i forbid that anyone should have pudding, or even think of it, until we have tried the one really delicious dish of this feast." "and what may that be?" called dr. bentley. "the best part of the cow," replied mr. ross. "a big rib roast, served with cracked bones with the marrow cooked in them. come along, bill. we'll bring back the roast and the marrow." ross and his man moved briskly out of sight. only a few moments had passed when mr. ross' voice was heard from the clearing: "_thieves_! the rib roast is gone---so is the marrow!" dick glanced swiftly at his chums. the same idea was in the minds of all the members of dick & co. "our friend, the prowler, has been here," muttered prescott, rising hastily. "this thing has got to be stopped. come along, fellows! friends, please excuse us for a few moments." at a dog trot dick led the way to the clearing. there stood mr. ross, looking the picture of indignation. "i didn't know there were tramps in these woods," muttered the cattle owner. "tramp, thief, or whatever he is," exclaimed dick prescott, "that fellow must move on out of this part of the country. if he doesn't we'll catch him. after we get through with him, he'll be glad enough to move on." "if he's able," added dave darrin significantly. "oh, what's the use of making a fuss, this time?" demanded tom reade good-humoredly. "for once we have so much meat that we could spare a hungry man two hundred pounds and not miss it." "it's the principle of the thing," muttered dick, who was studying the ground intently. "that big, hulking fellow doesn't care a rap whether we have plenty, or whether he takes all we have. we've got to suppress him. we must catch him, and put a stop to his thieving. see! here's where he went off through the woods. come on! we'll trail him!" "and, if we find him?" asked greg. "we'll try to reason with the fellow," responded prescott rather grimly. just as the boys started off on the trail that prescott had discovered, other figures appeared on the scene. "now, may i ask what you girls are doing here?" asked tom, his tone more agreeable than his words. "we want to see the fun, whatever is going to happen," declared susie sharp. "oh, there will be plenty of that, i promise you, if we can find the fellow," asserted darry bluntly. "come along, girls!" cried belle meade gleefully. "but there may be something disagreeable happen, you know, girls," dick warned them. "if we overtake this fellow there may be a fight." "if you could call it a fight, when six gridley high school boys attack one man, then i shall have to change my mind about our high school boys," hinted laura bentley teasingly. it was plain enough that the girls were bent on following them, so no more objections were raised. "we'll travel so fast that the girls won't be able to keep up," whispered tom reade to dick. "we'll lose 'em, and they'll be glad to hike back to the table." this, however, proved to be not quite as easy as had been expected. the trail into the woods was rather a plain one, though it could not be followed at a run. "keep behind me, fellows," urged dick. "if you keep up with me you may blot out the trail." so his five chums came after him, with the girls in the rear, in a straggling line. into the deepest woods the trail led. "the girls will soon tire of this chase, and face about," tom told darry. which was precisely what happened. in the deepest part of the woods dick parted a tangle of bushes through which the trail led. then, in a voice vibrant with agitation, he shouted: "come on, fellows! quick!" chapter x setting a new trap what dick had caught sight of, and what had made him call to his chums was the figure of the camp prowler partially dressed seated on the edge of a pool of water fed by a forest brook where evidently he had been bathing. he had heard dick's cry, however. these few instants of time had been enough for the bather to jump up, snatch up the remainder of his clothes and set off through the woods with the speed of an antelope. "come on!" cheered dick prescott. "full speed! we'll catch him. he hasn't his shoes on, and his bare feet will soon go lame on the twigs and stones that he'll step on in running. he can't go far before we nab him." "spread out, fellows!" called tom reade. "don't let the rascal slip through our line. dick, did you get a good look at him?" "a fine peep," prescott affirmed. "was he the thief?" dave demanded. "the very fellow!" dick called back, for he was still in the lead. "don't talk any more," reade warned his friends cautiously. "we'll use up our wind." as he ran dick had an important secret on his mind. this was not quite the time to impart it to his chums, however, so he held his peace and did his best to save his wind. thus half a mile, at least, was quickly traversed. by this time the high school boys, running as they had done, began to feel winded. "i can't go any further," gasped hazelton, halting and leaning against a tree. "i'm in the same fix," muttered danny grin. as he, too, came to a stop. reade, darrin and prescott ran on some distance farther, but at last dick called a brief signal for a halt. "where are you, friend?" bawled dick, using his last wind in one resolute vocal effort. "friend!" scoffed reade. "of course the fellow will call and tell us where he is!" jeered darry. "we won't hurt you---won't try to," dick promised solemnly, again sending his voice as far as he could make it travel. "all we want to do is to talk to you---and we're friends honestly!" "say, what are you trying to give that thief?" protested tom, in an indignant undertone. "why are you telling him we're friends, and won't hurt him?" insisted dave darrin. "because i mean just what i say," retorted prescott, so crisply that, for the moment, no one pressed him with any more questions. dick continued his calls, but received no response. "by this time that fellow's a mile from here, and still running," mocked dave. "or else he doubled on us, somewhere, and is hidden where he can watch us, and laugh at us slyly," suggested tom, as the three high school boys turned to walk back to camp. "if he's hiding on our trail, the thief had better not let me catch him laughing at us!" growled darry indignantly. "now, see here, both of you," dick prescott went on, earnestly. "if we come across that fellow, don't either of you make a grab at him. just let me handle him---and i'll do it by talking alone. we mustn't use our fists." "you've changed your tune wonderfully within the last few minutes," muttered dave. "if i have," dick answered impressively, "it's because i know something now that i didn't know a little while ago." "and what's that?" asked tom eagerly. "i'll tell all hands presently," dick answered mysteriously. "oh, fudge!" growled darry, under his breath, for he was fully as curious as tom reade had been. but dick walked on as briskly as his almost winded condition would permit. so they returned to the place where harry and dan awaited them. to these two dick repeated his instructions in the unlikely case of their meeting the thief during their walk back to camp. nothing was seen of the fugitive, however, and the boys picked up greg holmes close to the little swimming pool. "i knew i could not catch up with you fellows," explained holmes, "so i took the girls back to camp and then put in my time prowling about here and trying to locate the marrow bones that the sneak stole." "dick doesn't want us to hurt the fellow, if we run across him," said dave grimly. "why not?" asked greg, opening his eyes very wide. "i don't know," sighed dave. "ask dick." "i'll tell you all by and by," smiled dick. "but now, let us hurry back to camp. i want to see mr. colquitt just as soon as i can." "bosh! a detective like colquitt doesn't take up with such trifling mysteries as missing marrow bones," jibed reade. "besides, we can't afford to hire detectives." "i don't want to hire a detective," dick replied enigmatically, "but i'd like about one minute's talk with mr. colquitt, and i mean to have it. don't let us dawdle on the way back, fellows." so the six boys hurried on and soon came within sight of the camp. "there they come!" cried belle meade. "did you get the thief, boys?" "no," called dave, "and it seems that the fellow is no longer a thief, but a distinguished fellow citizen whom we must honor at sight, like a bank draft." "what are you talking about?" half frowned belle. "i haven't the least idea what i am talking about," dave admitted cheerfully. "you'll have to ask dick for the map to my few remarks." "where are mr. colquitt and his party?" dick demanded. "gone," replied laura bentley. "how long ago?" dick asked, paling somewhat and looking troubled. "about two minutes ago," replied dr. bentley. "they excused themselves and went away in their car." "can't you take me in your car, doctor, and help me to pursue them?" asked prescott anxiously. "yes," agreed dr. bentley good-naturedly, "if you've any idea which direction to take in looking for them. a mile to the east three roads cross; half a mile to the west four roads cross. our friends may be on any one of the seven roads, or they may have gone by a trail of their own." dick came to an abrupt stop, clenching his hands tightly. "isn't that luck for you?" he demanded ironically. then, suddenly, his face brightened. "no matter," he said. "they can be reached through the eagle hotel, in gridley." "why should you want to reach them?" asked laura curiously. "will you mind if i keep that to myself, for just a little while?" asked dick, so pleasantly that laura took no offense at all. "how about my pudding?" called jim. "anyone going to want any of it?" did they? it was enjoyed to the full, and there was pudding left over, to be heated for another meal. "now, you boys had better come with me, and i'll show you how to keep some of the cooked meat over, in summer, without ice," proposed mr. ross. "and my party must be getting along, or night will overtake us here," declared dr. bentley, rising from what had been a most hospitable board. "then fellows, please excuse me if i write a short note and ask dr. bentley to mail it," urged dick. so dave darrin mustered the other chums, marching them off in the wake of mr. ross, while dick hastily scribbled a note, placed it in an envelope, and addressed it to alonzo hibbert, or thomas colquitt, eagle hotel, gridley. as dick came out his other chums halted their labors long enough to take leave of dr. bentley and his party. they escorted the departing guests to their automobiles, and saw them start away. such of the roast meat as was to be saved was packed in metal pails, covered, and then the pails lowered into a brook, where the cool water would to a certain extent take the place of ice. then mr. ross and his helpers removed the folding tables and other loaned articles. "thank you, boys, for what you did to break the stampede of the herd," said mr. ross, waving his hand after he had sprung up into the saddle. once more dick & co. had their camp all to themselves. "i wish we could have such visitors every day," cried darry enthusiastically. "yes," grinned tom, "but how long would our canned goods hold out? we'd have to be rich, fellows, to entertain so many people every day, even if the meat end of the feast did come to us without cost." "we want to make the camp shipshape again," dick remarked, looking about. "there's a lot of refuse food to be burned. greg, you start a fire. dan you gather up every scrap of food that must be thrown away and burn it on said fire. dave, you can set the tent to rights. i'll take an axe and hustle after some firewood. dave, suppose you help me. tom might put the camp to rights." with the labor thus divided all hands set briskly to work. by the time that all the tasks had been performed the boys were glad to lie down on the grass and rest until it was time to prepare a light supper. after that meal was over dave asked: "we're going to keep regular guard to-night, aren't we?" "yes," dick answered. "we'll turn in at nine o'clock and keep guard until six in the morning. that will be nine hours---an hour and a half of guard duty for each fellow. suppose we draw lots to decide the order in which we shall take our tricks of guard duty." this was done. to prescott fell the second tour, from ten-thirty until midnight. reade had the first tour. at a few minutes after nine all was quiet in the camp. five tired high school boys were soon sound asleep, with reade, hidden in the deep shadows, watching outside. it seemed to young prescott that he had no more than dropped off into slumber when tom shook him by the shoulder. "half-past ten," whispered reade, as dick sat up. "go out to the wash basin and dash cold water into your eyes. that will open 'em and freshen you up." "have you seen anything of the prowler?" whispered dick, as he got upon his feet. "not a sign," declared tom. "it would be too early for him to prowl about yet," whispered dick, as he passed out into the summer night. "good night, tom." only a faint stirring of the light breeze in the tree tops, the droning hum of night insects, and the occasional call of a night bird---these were all the sounds that came to the ears of the young camp guard. dick dashed the water into his eyes, then felt wonderfully wide awake. "if mr. prowler comes, he'll probably go for the canned vegetables and the biscuit," prescott decided. "he must already have more meat than he can handle all day to-morrow---if it doesn't spoil." so dick posted himself where he could easily watch the approach of any outsider toward the boxes that served as cupboards for the canned supplies. the time slipped away, until it was nearly midnight, as prescott knew from stepping into the tent and lighting a match briefly for a swift glimpse at his watch. as dick came out of the tent he fancied he heard a distant step, crackling on a broken twig. "if there's anyone coming i'd better slip into the shadow of the canvas," prescott told himself, acting accordingly. presently the stealthy steps sounded nearer to the camp. "someone is coming, as sure as fate," dick said to himself. "shall i rouse one or two of the other fellows? but they might alarm the prowler. i'll handle him myself." chapter xi a hard prowler to catch it was the prowler. close to the tent he stopped to listen to the heavy breathing that came from the sound young sleepers. dick crouched farther back into the shadow. uttering a low grunt, that was half chuckle, the prowler slipped along in the darkness, making toward the cupboards. "my friend, i want a little talk with you," suddenly spoke dick prescott, slipping up behind the uninvited visitor. the prowler wheeled quickly about. "you don't want anything to do with me," he corrected, in a harsh voice. "i could eat two or three like you, and then have plenty of appetite left." "perhaps," smiled dick prescott undaunted. "and i'll do it, too, if you don't stand back." "but i want to talk with you, my friend," dick insisted. "i don't want to talk with you," snapped the prowler. "you would, if you knew what i want to talk with you about," prescott continued. "is it about food?" demanded the young stranger grimly. "then it's about jail," sneered the other harshly. "why about jail?" asked dick. "because that's where you'd like to see me!" "why should i want to see you in jail?" prescott demanded. "because i've been visiting your kitchen," leered the other. "but you can't stop me. not all of your crowd can stop me!" "why do you wish to clean us out of food?" prescott asked. "because i know how to eat," replied the young stranger significantly. "is that the only reason you have for trying to clean us all out of food?" "why should i have any other reason? and why isn't being hungry a good enough reason?" counter-queried the prowler. "it has struck me," smiled dick, "that perhaps you don't want us in these woods, anyway." "i don't just hanker after your company," admitted the stranger, with gruff candor. "are we bothering you any here?" "no matter," came the sullen retort. "to return to the first subject, that matter about which i want to talk with you-----" "not to-night," growled the young prowler. turning on his heel, he started to walk away. but dick kept close at his side. "shake my trail, you!" ordered the other gruffly. "if you don't you'll be sorry!" with that the stranger broke into a loping run. at first glance this gait didn't seem to be a swift one, but it was the long, easy, loping stride of the wolf in motion. young prescott found that he had to exert himself in order to keep up with the other. "go back to your shack!" ordered the prowler. "hold on a minute, so that i can talk with you," urged prescott. by this time they were at a considerable distance from the camp. suddenly the prowler halted, wheeling about like a flash, glaring into young prescott's eyes. "now, i'll learn you!" growled the prowler. "do you mean that you'll _teach_ me?" queried prescott. "what?" "i'll learn you," growled the other, "not to keep on banging around me when i don't want you!" "do you happen to have any idea," dick persisted coolly, "that your name is probably page, and that you undoubtedly have a very rich father, who is trying to find you?" "where did you read that fairy tale?" sneered the prowler. "partly on your skin to-day," dick rejoined, "when i came upon you as you were dressing near that pool." "stop kidding me!" commanded the other sternly. "and now back to you cosy little bed for you! fade! vanish! if you don't then you'll soon wish you had!" but dick held his ground, despite the very evident sincerity of the other's threat, and gazed unflinchingly back at the prowler. "let me tell you," dick went on. "of course i cannot be positive, but there is a missing heir who has, on his chest and one shoulderblade just such marks as i saw on you to-day when you were sitting by the pool putting on your shirt?" "oh, forget that thrilling stuff!" jeered the other. "don't you suppose i know who my father is? old bill mosher hasn't suddenly grown rich. how could bill get rich when he is in jail for drunkenness?" "so you think your name is mosher?" pursued prescott. "i know it is," replied the prowler harshly. "and, around this neck of the woods a fellow couldn't have a harder, tougher name than mosher." "but if your name were really page-----" pressed dick. "no use stringing me like that," snapped the other. even in the darkness, lit only here and there by starlight, the scowl on his face was visible. "tell you what," declared mosher, an instant later. "well?" "beat it!" "i don't under------" "yes, you do," retorted the self-styled mosher. "vamoose! twenty-three in a hurry! make your get-away!" "until i've made you listen to reason," prescott insisted, "i won't leave you." "oh, yes, you will, and right now, or-----" "no!" "see here!" mosher held a hard, horny fist menacing before dick's face, but the high school boy failed to wince. "git! now, or crawl later!" warned mosher. "i'm going to make you listen to-----" "put up your guard!" at least mosher was "square" enough to give warning of his intentions. he threw himself on guard, then waited for perhaps five seconds. "are you going to cool down and listen!" demanded dick prescott firmly. out shot the mosher youth's left fist. dick dodged. it was a feint; dick nearly stopped mosher's right. blows rained in thickly now. not every one could prescott dodge, though he was more agile and better trained than this more powerful youth. at last, smarting from a glancing blow on the nose, dick darted in and clinched with his adversary. it was bad judgment, but punishment had stung him into desperate recklessness. "stop it!" panted the high school boy. "won't!" retorted mosher, increasing his pressure about the smaller boy's waist until prescott felt dizzy. in that extremity the gridley boy worked a neat little trip. down they went, rolling over and over, fighting like wild cats until mosher secured the upper hand and sat heavily on the high school boy. "i gave you all the chance i could," growled mosher, planting blow after blow on dick's head, face and chest, "and you wouldn't help yourself anyway. now, you'll take all your medicine, and next time you meet me you'll know enough to leave me alone." held as he was, without really a show, dick prescott fought as long as he could, and with desperate courage. but at last he felt forced to yell: "fellows! gridley! here---quickly!" "they're too far away, and, besides, they're asleep," jeered mosher, to the accompaniment of three more hard blows. "now, i reckon you've had enough to know your own business after this and let mine alone. if i had any cord i'd tie you here. as it is-----" leaping suddenly to his feet, mosher turned and ran swiftly through the woods. dick badly hurt, yet as determined as ever, pursued for a few score of yards. then realizing that he could hear no sound of the other's steps to guide him in the right direction, the high school boy halted. "i may as well give it up this time," he said to himself grimly. "besides, my main job is to guard the camp. if i go roaming through the woods, mosher, as he calls himself, will double back on the camp and clean out our provisions while i'm groping out here in the dark." so dick paused only long enough to make sure of his course back. then he plodded along, wincing with the pain of many blows that he had received. "i'm lucky, anyway, that i didn't get an eye bunged up," he reflected. "i smart and i ache, but i can see straight, and i don't believe i've received any blow that will disfigure me for the next few days. my, what a steam hammer that fellow is in a fight! i wonder if he really is the son of that hard character called bill mosher?" as dick neared the camp he stepped more softly. he wanted to see whether mosher really had come back. but no figure was discernible in the clearing beyond the camp. dick walked in more confidently. his first care was to examine the food supply. "nothing gone," dick murmured. then he looked about for a stick large enough to serve as a weapon at need. while doing so his glance fell upon an axe. "i wouldn't use that," prescott told himself. "but there is no knowing what mosher would do if he got cornered by more than one of us. hereafter we mustn't leave this thing outside." dick carried the axe into the tent, hiding it without awaking any of the other sleepers. then he went outside, searching until he found a club that he thought would answer for defense. taking this with him he went over to the wash basin, where, wetting a towel, he bathed his battered face. "almost one o'clock," he remarked, after striking a match for a look at his watch. "i won't call dave at all, but will stay up and call harry at half-past one." chapter xii "tag" is the game---tag mosher! "now, come in with the sprint!" dick sang out to hazelton. "greg, dave and tom, you block him. get through, harry---some way! don't let 'em stop you." it was three days later, and dick & co. were at work at their main task during this summer camping, which was to train hard and try to fit themselves for the football squad when high school should open again. hazelton came on, at racing speed. he ducked low, making a gallant effort. he nearly succeeded in getting through, but tom's tackle brought him to ground just at the right moment. "now, try that over again," prescott said. so the work went on, vigorously, for another hour---until all of the boys were tired out, hot and panting. "that's the most grueling work i ever did in the same space of time," muttered reade, mopping his face. "yes; it's the kind of work for which football calls," rejoined prescott, also mopping his face. "dan, get up off the ground!" "i'm hot," muttered dalzell, "and i'm tired." "then rest on a campstool. don't chill yourself by lying on the ground when you're so warm." after a few seconds of contemplated mutiny, danny grin rose and found a seat on a stool. "as soon as you're cool, three of you go to the water and wash off," dick ordered. "the other three of us will stay here until you get back." that was the order of the day now. at least two, and usually three of dick & co. always remained near camp. if mosher planned to come again he would find a "committee" waiting to receive him. there were more supplies, too, to guard now than there had been. on the morning after dick's encounter, a farmer had driven into camp. his wagon had been well laden with all manner of canned food supplies, even to tins of french mushrooms. these had come from alonzo hibbert, with a note of thanks for the entertainment of himself and friends. "these provisions are mighty welcome," prescott had remarked at the time, "but i'm not sure but that i would rather have hibbert himself here---i've so much to tell him." "he'll come, in time, when he gets your letter at the eagle house," reade had answered, for dick had told all his chums his suspicions regarding young mosher. "what are we to do this afternoon?" asked dave, seating himself beside prescott as three of the chums started for the swimming pool. "gymnastics," dick replied. "especially bar work. and some boxing, of course." "you ought to be excused from boxing for the present," grinned darry. "you look as though you had had enough for a while." for dick's left cheek was still decorated with a bruise that young mosher had planted there. the boxing of dick & co., this summer, was real work. it was done with bare knuckles, though, of course, without anger or the desire to do injury. boxing with bare knuckles was prescott's own idea for hardening himself and his chums for the rough work of the gridiron. "i'll take my share of the boxing," dick retorted. "having a sore spot on my face will make me all the more careful in my guard." "queer we don't hear from hibbert," mused greg holmes. "not at all," dave contended. "hibbert simply isn't back at the eagle house yet, and perhaps the hotel people have had no orders about forwarding his mail it may be a fortnight before we hear from him." "thanks to the thoughtfulness of hibbert we can remain in camp a good deal more than a fortnight longer," observed prescott, glancing over the greatly increased food supply. "perhaps it was all right for hibbert to repay our courtesy the other day, but he has sent us something like twenty or thirty times as much food as his party ate." "i guess hibbert has more money than he knows what to do with," mused greg aloud. "even if he has," prescott smiled seriously, "there is no reason why he should feel called upon to keep us in food. i'd give four fifths of that food to know where to reach hibbert, or any of that party, in a hurry. jupiter!" "what's up?" asked dave, eyeing his chum in astonishment, for dick had suddenly leaped to his feet, and was now dancing about like an indian. "say, but we must have fried eggs in the place of brains!" cried young prescott reproachfully. "what calls forth that severe remark?" demanded darry. "why, we know well enough where to get hold of hibbert's party," dick went on. "do we?" asked greg. "certainly," cried dick triumphantly. "just send a note to mr. colquitt in care of blinders' detective agency. i'm going to write the note now!" dick was half-way to the tent when darry called after him: "by the way, in what city is the blinders' agency located?" dick halted short, looking blank. "i don't know," he admitted. "do you fellows?" none of them did. then they waited until the others came in from the pool. but none of them knew what city had the honor to shelter the blinders' agency. "i'll write the note, anyway," dick insisted. "if i can't do better, i'll put the address as simply the united states, with a request on the envelope for the post-office people to find the right city and deliver the letter." "go ahead with the letter," urged tom. "after dinner i'll walk over to five corners and mail the letter. incidentally, i'll make inquiries over there and see whether anyone knows the city in which the blinders' crowd has its headquarters." so dick wrote the letter, while others were preparing the noon meal. at one o'clock in the afternoon tom started, on his round-trip tramp of twenty-two miles. "a trip like that will take the place of training for one half day," reade explained. hazelton offered to go with him, but tom declined on the ground that he could get over ground faster without harry. it was an hour after dark when reade returned that night, hot, tired, dusty and hungry. but he had found the correct address of the agency and the letter had started on its journey. "your supper is all ready," dick announced. "and i'm ready to meet any supper more than half way," reade retorted. "just a minute, until i wash up." the other five boys sat and chatted by the table while tom ate. "dan, won't you throw a lot more wood on the fire?" asked dick, as the meal came to a close. "we ought to have the camp better lighted than this." greg sprang to help dalzell. soon the flames leaped up, throwing their ruddy, cheerful glow over the camp and making dancing shadows beyond under the trees. while they were still chatting over the day's doings, steps were heard, followed by the arrival in camp of two rough-looking, stern-faced men. dave darrin sprang to pick up a club. "you boys haven't been doing anything wrong, have you?" questioned one of the men, with a trace of a smile. "of course not," dick indignantly replied. "then you needn't be afraid of us, though i admit that we do look rough," answered the same man, displaying a badge. "we're officers of the law." "what can we do for you, sir?" prescott inquired more respectfully. "do you boys know anything about tag mosher?" demanded the same speaker. "son of bill mosher?" dick counter-queried. "the same. know anything about him?" "nothing, except that he bothered us a good deal when we were first camped here," prescott replied. "do you know him by sight, then?" "we all do." "when was tag here last?" pressed the officer. "about three days ago," dick answered. "he stole quite a bit of our food supply." "that's an old trick of that young tough," rejoined the deputy sheriff. "that's how the boy got the nickname of 'tag.' he won't work, and lives on other people's work. anything that he can say 'tag' to he thinks belongs to him." "then, in other words, sir," asked dave darrin, "tag mosher is just a plain thief?" "a good deal that way," replied the deputy. "but with this difference: up to date tag never stole anything except what he needed at the moment for his own comfort. he never robbed people to enrich himself, but just to save himself the trouble of working. now, however, we've a more serious charge against him." "what?" asked dick, "i don't know whether the courts will call it felonious assault," replied the deputy. "but tag stole two chickens out of the chicken coop of henry leigh, a new farmer in these parts. leigh trailed tag to the woods and found him cooking the chickens. leigh tried to grab tag, but tag caught up a big stone and just slammed it against leigh's head. leigh is now in bed at home, with a fractured skull, and likely to die. he described tag to us, and we're after him. the county has put a reward of two hundred and fifty dollars on tag's head. after we've come up with him i guess it will be many a year before tag mosher will have a chance to do any more stealing or fighting. but if you haven't seen him here in three days we may as well be moving on. thank you. of course, if you see tag, you won't tell him anything about our being here?" "certainly not, sir," dick answered. "by the way, do you want any help?" "meaning some of you boys?" asked the deputy. "some of us will help you, if we can," dick assured him. "how many?" "we ought to leave half our number to guard the camp, for tag may show up here and wreck things. three of us can go with you." "you may run into some ugly fighting, if you go with us," warned the deputy. "tag mosher is no coward!" "we're not afraid of fighting, when we're in the right," prescott replied promptly. "besides, we've got a grudge of our own against tag mosher, anyway," dave said. "not a grudge, i hope," dick rebuked his chum. "but we'll stand by to help the law, if we get a chance." "i reckon maybe we could use three of you," meditated the deputy aloud. "boys can beat up woods as well as men. but we may not be able to get you back here before to-morrow noon. "that will be all right," dick assured him. "dave and greg, you'll join me in going with the officers, won't you?" darry and holmes both assented eagerly. "if you've any extra grub, then, put it up and come along," urged the deputy. "there's room for five in the automobile we're using." "how did you men know that we were here?" reade inquired, while dick and greg made haste to get food together for the trip. "saw your campfire," replied the deputy laconically. "we didn't believe tag would build such a large fire, but we took a chance and looked in. if you haven't anything else to do, young long-legs, you might pick out three stout clubs for your friends." laughing good-naturedly at the nickname, tom bestirred himself. within three minutes all was ready. dick, dave and greg stepped away after the officers. not far away was the road, where the automobile stood with the engine running. "does tag know how to run a car?" prescott inquired. "don't know," replied the deputy. "if he does, and had happened to be about, he could have taken your car in good shape," smiled dick. "true," nodded the officer, "but there were only two of us, and nabbing tag mosher is two men's work." "i ought to know that," laughed dick. "he gave me a stiff enough beating." "here is where you can even the score," laughed dave grimly. "i don't want to even any score," replied prescott gravely. "i'm sorry for the fellow, especially when he was so close to a chance to turn about and make something of himself." "do you mean to say that you don't hold even a bit of a grudge for that severe beating you got?" demanded darry wonderingly. "of course i don't," dick retorted. "when two fellows fight one of them must receive a beating---that's the sporting chance. all my feelings for tag are of sympathy." "not enough so you'd let him get away, if you met him?" put in the deputy quickly. "of course, not, sir," dick answered quickly flushing. "that would be as much as to say that i'm a bad citizen. if i find tag i'll do my best to hold him until help comes. you may be sure of that." "then get into the car," ordered the deputy briefly. "the back part of the car is for you youngsters. that reminds me. we don't know each other's names. mine's simmons." the other deputy's name proved to be valden. the boys quickly introduced themselves. away went the car, over the rough roads. to avoid sending warning too far ahead the lights were turned low. on account of the condition of this rough forest road the speed was slow. "if tag hasn't been to your camp within three nights," said mr. simmons, leaning back while mr. valden ran the car, "then it's because he isn't in this neighborhood. so we'll travel on a few miles before we stop to do any real searching." "i don't understand how you can expect to find anyone out here in the night time," dick observed. "i've some plans in my mind," was all the explanation simmons offered. when the road became a little better, valden put on a bit more speed. "better slow down," advised simmons presently. "there's a bridge ahead that isn't any, too strong." that bridge was closer than the deputy thought. just then the automobile top brushed heavily against foliage in making a wooded turn in the road. "there's the bridge!" yelled simmons almost excitedly. "slow down---stop!" valden tried to obey, but the bridge was altogether too close for stopping in time. out over the planks ran the car. r-r-rip! crash! some of the boards were already missing from the rude bridge. others gave way almost like paper. down through the structure fell the car, then landed with a splash, overturning to the accompaniment of cries of fright and of pain from its occupants. chapter xiii in a fix! as the water in the creek was barely three feet deep, officer valden sprang from the car, holding his right hand, which had been caught in the brake mechanism. deputy simmons appeared to be uninjured. greg holmes went under water, his head striking a stone violently enough to bring a splash of blood to his forehead. dave darrin's head struck against the side of the car, bringing a cry of pain from him. yet, though he was dizzy from the concussion, darry displayed the coolest head of any of them in the first few moments. "where's dick?" he called, when he saw the others accounted for. then dave wrenched off one of the lamps, holding it to aid his vision. "there he is!" shouted darrin, as his foot touched something. "his head is under water. up with him, quickly!" dave brought the rays of the lantern to bear more directly, while simmons sprang to the rescue. greg, too, joined in. "he's pinned down by the car!" gasped deputy simmons after finding prescott's submerged body and giving it a hard tug. "valden, help me lift the car on this side! you two boys pull your friend out when we lift the car. now!" though deputy valden was able to employ only his left hand, he used it with all his strength. "here he comes," panted dave, tugging at dick's body with all his might. "gracious! i hope he isn't drowned!" greg, too, exerted all his strength. though it seemed ages to the anxious ones it was really but the work of a few seconds. as dick's head emerged above the surface of the water he gave a quick gasp. then another. "oh, the air seems good," he moaned. "i tried to keep from opening my mouth or breathing, but it nearly burst my lungs!" "are you all right now?" asked darry, holding his chum up. "if you'll help me to the bank i shall be, i think," answered prescott weakly. "why, what-----" began dave anxiously. "i was badly bruised by being pinned under the car," dick admitted, in a still weaker voice. "no bones broken, eh?" broke in greg holmes. "i---i think not," dick answered. "don't keep him talking," ordered dave sternly. "put in your strength and help me lift good old dick up into the road." "i guess i can do that job better," interposed simmons, who had let go of the car. "let me have the boy." dick was borne up to the road in the deputy's strong arms. "can you stand?" asked simmons. "put me on my feet, sir, and let me see," begged dick. he took a few steps, wincing, his face white. "dick, old fellow," faltered dave, "i'm afraid you've broken a leg." "no; or i couldn't stand on my legs and walk," prescott replied. "it hurts up here, where the side of the car rested." he placed one hand on his right hip. "then your hip is broken," groaned darry. "i don't believe that, either," argued dick. "if my hip were broken i don't believe i could move my leg or step." he took two or three steps, wincing painfully, to show what he could do. "nothing but a hip bruise, or i'm guessing wrong," smiled the white-faced sufferer. "in any case, you're meat for a doctor," put in deputy simmons, with rough sympathy. "all right," replied dick. "i'll walk to the doctor's office. how many miles is it?" "about fourteen," replied simmons. "i'll bring the doctor to you. it's only about six miles to ross' farm. i'll borrow his car. then i can make good time getting the doctor and bringing him here. but you'd better sit down before i start." "aren't you going to do anything with the car in the creek?" inquired prescott. "what can we do?" demanded the deputy laconically. "there isn't muscle enough in this crowd to hoist the car up the bank. anyway, her engine is damaged beyond a doubt. no, no, prescott, you sit down, or lie down, and the rest of you had better wait here until i bring help. i can be back in three hours at the latest. darrin, will you place one of the lamps at either end of where the bridge was? that may save some farmer from driving in on top of the car." dave complied willingly enough. then simmons turned to prescott. "now, you sit down, young man," ordered the deputy. "i'd rather not," dick replied. "i haven't anything worse than a bruise. if i keep too quiet the injury will stiffen all the more. i must move my hip a bit, or i may be in for a worse time." "that may be true," nodded the deputy thoughtfully. "well, be good, all of you. i'll be back again, as soon as possible." with that he strode down into the creek, wading through and coming out at the farther side. then he was lost among the shadows. though it hurt to keep on his feet, dick, after some minutes, found that he could move about a little more freely, despite the pain. "that shows there are no bones broken," he assured his distressed chums. "does it?" asked darrin. "hang it, i wish i knew more about injuries of this sort. then i might be able to help you." "why, i may be all right, and able to sprint in another half hour," smiled dick. "yes, you will!" jeered greg. "dick, you won't run for a few days to come, anyway." "a nice lot we are, to set out to aid the law's officers," remarked dave disgustedly. "dick can take only a half a step per minute. mr. valden can use only one hand. greg's head looks gory. the lot of us couldn't scare a baby now!" "i can still say, boo!" prescott laughed. "is it wise to try to do so much walking?" questioned darry, as greg went back to the creek to wash the blood from the shallow cut on his forehead. "yes; for i don't want to grow stiff until i'm where i can take care of myself," dick answered, taking a few more steps. "no; don't help me. i want to move alone, and i'm strong enough for that." so dave threw himself on the grass to rest until he bethought himself that, wet as they all were, it might be a good idea to build a fire for drying purposes. he busied himself in that way, while dick started slowly, very painfully, down the road. only a step at a time could he go. greg, returning, ran after him, but prescott sent him back, so holmes stretched himself on the ground near the fire. at times dick found he could move about very easily. then the hip would stiffen and he would be obliged to lean against a tree for a few moments. for ten minutes or longer he moved thus down the road. "i'd better be getting back soon, i guess," he mused, "or i may find it too much of a job." looking back, as he turned, he could just make out the glow of the fire, very dim, indeed, from where he stood. "i've got a beacon," smiled dick, as he rested against a tree trunk just off the road. he was about to take a step when a figure glided stealthily by. "by all that's astonishing, it's tag mosher!" prescott gasped. he clutched at the tree trunk again, watching, for tag had halted and appeared to be peering hard through the foliage at the fire some distance away. "i wouldn't want him to find me, now!" thought dick, a cold chill running over him at the thought of tag's desperate savagery. but at that moment prescott accidentally made a sound, which, slight though it was, caught young mosher's ear. in a twinkling tag wheeled about, listening, peering. then, straight toward prescott he came. "oh, it's you, is it?" demanded young mosher harshly. "yes," prescott admitted, speaking as steadily as he could, though his heart sank for the moment. he knew that tag would have time to give him a beating that would be doubly severe in his present condition of weakness and pain. that beating could be given in a few swift seconds, and the help within reach of dick's voice could not arrive until young mosher had had time to slip away among the trees of the forest that he knew so well. "what do you want with me?" demanded tag, bringing his leering face closer to prescott's. chapter xiv thrashing an ambulance case! "i want you to stand right where you are until some of my friends come," dick made answer. then he braced himself for the violent assault that, he felt, was sure to come. to his intense astonishment, however, tag heaved a sigh of dejection, then muttered: "i may as well do it. you owe me a grudge, anyway, and you've got the upper hand this time." what on earth could it mean? for a brief instant dick almost believed that the exciting incidents of the night had been but parts of a dream. but he raised his voice to shout: "dave! oh, dave! come here! you, too, greg." "coming," came the call, in darry's voice. the sound of running feet sounded on the road. tag mosher glanced uneasily about, as if meditating flight. then his keen eyes scrutinized prescott's face. "what's up?" demanded dave, as, even in the darkness he caught sight of another figure. "darry," smiled dick, "i wish to present my friend, mr. tag mosher." "what?" gasped darrin. "this tag mosher. by jove, it is, it? how on earth did you make him wait for us?" then, all in a flying heap dave projected himself against young mosher, clinching with him and bearing him down to the ground. in order to make doubly sure greg joined in the assault. but tag, though he struggled, did not put up much of a fight. "quit!" he ordered sullenly. "i'm all in. can't you fellows see that? but if i hadn't been sick i'd either have gotten away, or would have given you fellows a fight that you'd never forget!" quick-witted dave was not long in discovering that tag really was weak, as though from a recent illness. "say," demanded darry, "have we been exerting ourselves to thrash an ambulance case?" his voice rang with self disgust. "if i'd been a well one," growled tag, "you never would have put me down, or held me. but i'm like a kitten to-night----strength all gone!" "what's going on here?" asked deputy valden, putting in a more leisurely appearance. "something right in your line," dick answered. "dave and greg are holding down tag mosher." "you're not fooling, are you?" demanded the deputy. "you're not making any mistake, either?" "we know tag mosher when we see him," darry retorted. "we've good enough reason for knowing him." with his uninjured left hand deputy valden reached for his pair of handcuffs, passing them to dave. "here you are, darrin," said the officer. "you know how to put these things on, don't you?" "i can figure the job out, sir," dave made reply. tag submitted, wearily, to having the steel bracelets snapped over his wrists. then he heaved a sigh that had something of a sob in it. "i let you put these on, but i wish you'd take them off again," he said, addressing valden. "i know i'm bad, and i know i'm tough, but i never had these things on my hands before. take 'em off, won't you? please!" such submission was tame, indeed. deputy valden, who had never seen young mosher before glanced sharply at young prescott. "this fellow doesn't seem much like the hardened criminal i've been told about," remarked the officer. "did prescott tell you i was tough?" demanded the prisoner. "he ought to know! he had a touch of my style when i was feeling better than i feel to-night. i suppose i've been nabbed for helping myself to a sandwich or two from their camp." "do you demand to know why you're under arrest?" inquired deputy valden. tag nodded. "well, then," continued the deputy, "you're wanted for cracking the skull of a farmer named leigh. there's a doubt if leigh will live and you may be charged with killing him." "i? killed a farmer?" demanded tag, in what appeared to be very genuine amazement. "leigh says you're the chap that did it," valden answered. "i never heard of a man of any such name," argued tag. "still, if he says i did it, oh, well, he ought to know, and i suppose it will be all right." "it'll have to be all right---whatever the courts may do to you, mosher," deputy valden rejoined curtly. "darrin, will you help the prisoner to his feet and lead him back to where the bridge was? simmons will expect to find us there when he gets back." so darry and greg holmes assisted young mosher to his feet. dave took hold of tag's arm, though the latter did not resist, but walked along like one in a dream. "want any help, dick?" asked greg. "i believe i wouldn't object to having a friendly arm to lean on," prescott replied. "i've been standing here so long that my hip is stiff again." as the leader of dick & co. moved down the road, tag turned in astonishment. "what's the matter?" tag asked, at last. "we were in an automobile accident, and i was slightly injured," dick confessed. "and you can hardly walk?" "i can walk only with effort and considerable pain," said dick. tag mosher whistled softly. "my luck is leaving me," declared mosher ruefully. "prescott, when i saw you and looked you over i didn't see that you are a cripple. i thought you were in as good shape as ever. as for me, i can't do much to-night, i'm so weak. i thought that, if i tried to fight, you'd handle me easily enough. if i ran, i knew i couldn't run far, and you'd jump on my back and bear me to the ground. so i thought it easier to let you have your own way with me. whee! i didn't do a thing but surrender to a cripple that ought to be on crutches! my luck is gone!" this last was said with an air of great dejection, as though tag never looked to have any further pleasure in life. presently he muttered, half aloud: "and now they say that i've committed a murder! they'll prove it on me, too. tag mosher, you're done for." "anyway, you're in a rather bad fix, young man," confirmed deputy valden. "even with the best luck you'll be locked up for some years to come." "that will kill me!" muttered tag sullenly. "i can't live anywhere outside of the big forest. in jail---why, i'd die of lack of fresh air! my father, old bill mosher, can get along in jail all right---he's used to it. but me? the first two weeks behind bars will kill me!" "you should have thought of that before you cracked leigh's skull," retorted deputy valden. "i tell you that i didn't do it, and that i never before heard of a man of that name!" cried tag mosher fiercely. "leigh says you did," the deputy again informed the prisoner. "oh, well, then, we'll say that i did," agreed tag moodily. "i'm as good as finished, if the charge has been made. no one around here would think of believing anything that tag mosher might say." somehow, despite the unsavory reputation of the prisoner, dick prescott found himself feeling more than ordinary sympathy for this dejected prisoner. could it be possible that tag really was innocent of this last and most serious charge against him? it didn't seem likely that the officers had gone after the wrong young man. "tag is bad, and yet there's also good in him that is very close to the surface," prescott told himself. "it seems really too bad to think of this young fellow being locked up, away from the sunshine and the fresh air of the woods. and yet, if he makes a sport of manslaughter, of course he'll have to be put away where he can't do any harm. oh, dear! i wonder why i feel so much sympathy for a fellow of this kind?" they were at the broken bridge, now, with the wreck of the automobile lying in the creek. "mosher," said the deputy sternly, "officer simmons suspects that you believed we'd be after you, and that you tore up some of the planks from this crazy old bridge, so that our car would be wrecked. did you do that?" "oh, i suppose i must have," replied tag, with the air of one who feels it fruitless to deny what peace officers were prepared to charge against one of his bad reputation. "then you admit damaging the bridge?" asked valden. "i admit nothing of the kind," tag retorted. "who ripped the boards up?" "i don't know." "we'll prove it against you," declared valden positively. "oh, i s'pose you will," grumbled tag. "it's easy to prove anything against old bill mosher's son. my dad's where he can't help me." "are you going to play the baby act?" asked the deputy, half-sneeringly. "wait until i've had a week of good eating and sound sleeping, and then see if you can find anything babyish about me," snapped the prisoner. dick prescott watched the pair, feeling a rising resentment against the deputy. yet valden was only resorting to tricks as old as the police themselves---the taunting of a prisoner into talking too much and thereby betraying his guilt. "pardon me, tag," dick now interposed, "but it's a principle of law that a prisoner doesn't have to talk unless he wants to. i don't believe, if i were you, i'd say anything just now." "i'm not going to say anything more," tag retorted moodily, yet with a flash of somewhat sullen gratitude to prescott. "humph! you'd better talk, and get all you know out of your system," advised deputy valden contemptuously. "and the first thing you'd better own up to is pulling the missing planks up from this crazy old bridge." tag snorted, yet had no word to say. instead, as best he could with his hands in the steel bracelets, he helped himself to a seat on the ground his back against a tree. either he was extremely weary, or he was pretending cleverly. "come! i guess you can talk better standing up," admonished deputy valden, seizing tag by the coat collar and dragging him to his feet. mosher accepted the implied order in sullen silence. "is it necessary, mr. valden, to torment the prisoner?" asked dick quietly. "the way i handle a prisoner is my business," replied valden rather crisply. "you'd rather sit down, wouldn't you, tag?" dick inquired. young mosher answered only with a nod. "it makes you feel weaker to stand, doesn't it?" prescott continued. another nod. "mr. valden," dick pressed, "i hope you won't think me too forward, but i believe this prisoner, and i am going to urge you to let him find comfort by sitting down and resting." "what have you got to say about it?" demanded mr. valden, so brusquely that dick flushed. "i'm not in a position of authority, and i admit it," prescott replied. "but i think i have a right to object when i see a human being tormented needlessly, haven't i?" "you have no right to interfere in any way with an officer," rejoined valden less brusquely. "nor do i intend trying to interfere with a peace officer in anything proper that he does," dick went on quietly, though with spirit. "it seems that tag mosher has a right to rest himself by sitting down. if he tries again to sit down, and if you stop him from so doing, then tag, if he wishes, may have me summoned to court to tell how he was tormented. i'll be willing to tell just whatever i may see here." valden snorted, almost inaudibly, then turned away. tag slid down to the ground again, resting against the tree trunk, and preserving absolute silence. the time passed slowly, but at last deputy simmons came in a car, followed by another car which contained a young man whom he introduced as dr. cutting. "i'll take you right back to camp," announced dr. cutting, after simmons had looked over his prisoner and then introduced the physician to prescott. "i can examine you better when i have you at your summer home and handy to your bed. can you get into the car?" "i can use my arms to draw myself up," dick answered. "then let me see how well you can do it," urged the young physician, stepping back to watch prescott, yet ready to assist him if necessary. dick got himself into the tonneau of the car, after some painful effort. "doc, you'll take the boys back to their camp, won't you?" called simmons. "certainly." "and remember, prescott," called simmons, "you've been aiding the county to-night, and the county will pay doctor cutting's bill." valden and simmons exchanged some words in an undertone, after which the latter deputy came over to where prescott sat. "valden tells me you have been interfering between him and tag mosher," began the officer. "how was it?" dick gave a quick, truthful account of his interference. "you did right, prescott," agreed simmons, gripping the boy's hand. "remember that any citizen has a right to interfere when he sees a prisoner being abused. valden is a good fellow at bottom, and he's a brave fighter in time of real trouble. but he's just like a lot of other policemen who feel that they have to get all the evidence in a case. all a peace officer has to do is to find a criminal and make the arrest. it's the district attorney's business to get the evidence, but there are a good many peace officers to whom you can't teach that. prescott, the next time you see a prisoner being abused you are to do the same as you did this time. i hope your hip will soon be all right again. i'll try to look in on you in a day or two at your camp. thank you for what you did for law and order to-night. good night!" chapter xv the interruption of a training bout "hazelton, the trouble with you is that you tackle a dummy just the way you'd catch a sack of potatoes that was being thrown out of a burning house!" laughed dick. "i don't see any other way to tackle a dummy," grunted harry, looking puzzled. "why, you are supposed to tackle the dummy just as you'd tackle a running football player coming toward you," prescott rejoined. "greg, stand off there about fifty yards. at the word, run straight toward harry. hazelton, you grab hold of holmes and don't let him get by you. just hang on, and try to put him on the ground at that. all ready, greg! run. tackle him, harry!" this time hazelton entered into the play with great zest. just in the nick of time he leaped at greg, tackled him and bore him to the ground. "that's the way!" cheered dick. "now, you look alive, hazelton." "that was because i had something to tackle that was alive," harry retorted. "it's much easier to tackle a living fellow than a stuffed dummy. what's the good of using the dummy, anyway, when we have plenty of live fellows around here?" "oh, the dummy has its uses," dick replied wisely. "a lot of faults can be better observed with a dummy for a background than is the case when you tackle a live one. the dummy is better for showing up the defects in your work. now, reade, you make a few swift assaults on the dummy." tom did his work so cleverly as to call forth admiration from all the onlookers. a stout pole had been lashed across the space between two trees, being made secure in the forks of the lower limbs of the trees. the dummy itself had been made of old sail canvas and excelsior. it was not a very impressive-looking object, but it made a good substitute for the football dummies manufactured by sporting goods houses. it was a little more than a week since the night when tag mosher had been captured. dick's hip which had been pronounced by doctor cutting as only bruised and strained, had now mended so far that nothing wrong could be observed in his gait. in fact, prescott had all but ceased to remember the accident. for the others, the days had been full of football training, with long tramps and fishing and berrying jaunts thrown in for amusement. now that tag mosher was safely locked up in the county jail there had been no more raids on the food supplies of the camp. it was now necessary, therefore, to leave but one boy at a time in the camp, and dick, while his hip was mending, had usually been that one. every member of dick & co. was brown as a berry. muscles, too, were beginning to stand out with a firmness that had never been observed at home in the winter time. enough more of this camping and hard work and training, and dick & co. were likely to return to gridley as six condensed young giants. nothing puts the athlete in shape as quickly as does camping, combined with training, in the summer time. this morning the work had begun with practice kicks, passing from that to the work of tackling the dummy. two hours of hard work had now been put in, and all were comfortably tired. "let's keep quiet and cool off," urged dick at last. "then for the swimming pool and clean clothes." "i wonder if tag has died yet, as he expected to, now that he's out of the forest and locked up in a jail?" mused tom reade aloud. "he must be in fearfully depressed spirits," muttered dick sympathetically. dave darrin regarded his chum curiously. "dick, you seem to have a positive sympathy for that fellow." "i have," prescott avowed promptly. "you even seem to like him," pressed darry. "i do like him," dick assented. "darry, i believe that a lot of good might be found in tag mosher if he could have the same chance that most other fellows have. usually, when a fellow says he has had no chance in life, the fact really is that he has been too lazy to take his chance. but i don't believe that tag ever had a real, sure-enough chance. he has spent his days with a drunkard and a vagabond." "yet tag has been to school," objected tom reade. "tag talks like a fellow who has had a very fair amount of schooling. schools teach something more than mere book lessons. they give a fellow some of the first principles of truth and honor. despite his schooling, however, tag prefers to steal as a means of supplying all his needs. and now, at last, he is in jail, charged, perhaps, with killing a fellow being." "i wonder if mr. leigh is dead yet?" mused dick. "i like being off here in the deep forest like this, but there's one drawback. we don't hear much news." "what news do you want?" asked a familiar voice behind him. soft-footed deputy simmons stalked into the circle. "we were just wondering, mr. simmons," spoke prescott, rising, "if mr. leigh is dead yet?" "not yet," replied the peace officer, "but the doctors say that he is likely to die any day now." "then will tag be charged with manslaughter---or murder?" "he may be charged with murder, if we can catch him," replied the deputy. "if you can ca-----why, what's up?" asked dick eagerly. "tag broke out of jail last night," replied the officer. "he's---at large?" "that's what he is," nodded simmons. "tag was looked upon as a kid, and wasn't watched as carefully as he should have been. so he got out. not only that, but he visited the warden's office, late at night. so, when he left, he took with him a sawed-off shotgun---one of the wickedest weapons ever invented---and a revolver and plenty of ammunition. that's what i'm doing in the woods now. i came to see if you had seen tag to-day, but your asking for news of him shows me that you haven't." "is mr. valden with you?" asked dick. "yes; he's over at the road, in the car. he wouldn't come to camp. i guess the truth is"---simmons' eyes twinkled---that valden is ashamed to see you after the rebuke you gave him the other night, prescott. after we got young mosher to the jail and locked up, i gave valden a talking-to, and told him i'd report him to the sheriff if i ever heard of his abusing a prisoner again." "so tag escaped, with some field artillery, and you officers are out after him?" tom asked. "yes; and three other pairs of deputies are out also," nodded mr. simmons. "did you get that car out of the creek?" asked darry. "we never heard." "that car was a complete wreck," replied the officer. "we got it out of the creek, but left it in the woods nearby. the bridge has been rebuilt, and is stronger than before. how's your hip, prescott?" "as well as ever, thank you," replied dick. "i'm glad to know that, boy. meant to drop in on you before. i must hurry along now. of course, if tag shows up about your camp, you won't tell him that you've seen me." "certainly not, sir," nodded dick. "we'll also try to get word to you, if we see him. where is your home?" "five corners is my address," replied the deputy. "so long, boys! glad to have seen you again." the cat-footed deputy was soon lost to sight among the trees. dave was the first to speak, and that was some moments later. "dick, you're foolish to feel any liking for tag mosher. he's bad all the way through. as it was he was locked up on a charge of possible manslaughter, and now he has escaped, taking with him firearms and ammunition enough to rid the county of peace and police officers. he'll do it, too, if he's cornered. now, where's the good in that kind of a pest?" "i don't know how to answer you," sighed dick. "perhaps i am foolish, but i'm not yet prepared to admit it. instead, i still contend that i feel a sneaking liking for poor tag." "'poor tag,' indeed!" mimicked tom reade. "poor wives and kids of the deputy sheriffs whom tag may shoot down in their tracks before he's cornered at last! dick, young mosher is a budding outlaw and a bad egg all around." "no decent citizen should feel any sort of sympathy for him," affirmed harry hazelton. "let dick alone," objected greg holmes. "dick generally knows what he's about, even in regard to his emotions and sympathies." "what do you say, danny?" asked dave. "may the sheriff deliver me from tag mosher!" replied danny grin. "you're a prejudiced lot," smiled dick, as he rose from his camp stool. "who'll watch camp this time while the rest of us go to swimming pool?" "i will," darry volunteered. carrying clean underclothing, soap and towels from the tent, the other five started through the woods to a new swimming pool that had been discovered lately. when they returned dave went away alone for his bath. tom reade, as the cook for the day, lifted the lid of the soup pot to examine the contents. "i wish one of you fellows would go out into the woods and bring in some of that flowering savory herb for the soup," called tom. "i know the kind you mean," nodded prescott. "i'll go and get it." he strolled off in the opposite direction from the pool. yet, truth to tell, his mind was very little on the herb he was seeking. his mind dwelt almost completely on the thought of tag mosher, once more at large, and most likely roaming about somewhere in this vast expanse of woods. "i don't believe it's so much badness in tag, as it is that he's just a plain, simple savage, with the instincts and the passions of the savage," dick reflected. "i wonder if tag ever did really have a chance to be decent? poor fellow! if he must be caught and returned to jail, and by and by pay the penalty of his attack upon farmer leigh, then i don't believe he ever will have a real chance to try to be decent again. i wonder if i'm wrong and the other fellows are right? perhaps tag would scorn a chance to be an all-around decent fellow. i wonder. i wonder!" his musings led prescott rather far afield. at last he halted, looking about him in some bewilderment. "humph! that's queer!" he muttered. "now, i wonder if i can really remember what it was i came out here for?" for a few moments the bewilderment continued. "oh, yes! now, i know," he laughed. "i am after some of that savory herb for the soup." it was necessary to retrace his steps considerably, and to go in a somewhat different direction. at last he came upon a patch of the herb. "this stuff has been burned by the sun," he said to himself, turning away from the first specimens of the herb. "over there in the shade it will be fresher and greener." dick took a few rapid steps, halting before a fringe of bushes. bending over, he extended a hand to pick some of the herbs. just then he heard a slight sound, like the catching of someone's breath. starting, prescott raised his head just a trifle, to find himself looking straight into the eyes of tag mosher, as that youth lay flat on the ground. two muzzles of a shotgun stared dick in the face, while the fingers of the fugitive rested on the triggers of the gun. "if you're looking for me," grimaced tag, "you've found me! i'm right here, and this is going to be my dizzy day!" chapter xvi ten minutes of real daring still keeping his eyes turned on the fugitive, dick took three quick, backward steps. "halt!" ordered tag. "i was going to stop, anyway," smiled dick. "now, put your hands up!" "why?" "because i'm boss here!" remarked tag. "i didn't know that you were boss of anything," dick replied, still smiling. "i'm telling you," declared mosher. "want me to make good?" "i wish you'd make something of yourself, instead," rejoined prescott in a voice of intense earnestness. "get your hands up!" ordered tag, with a decided increase in emphasis. "that's a silly demand on your part," dick retorted calmly. "why should you want my hands up? i'm not armed, and am in no position to attack you. are you such a coward, mosher, that you're afraid of an unarmed fellow that you could thrash even if you were unarmed? i can't bring myself to believe that of you. "you've a mighty fine opinion of me, haven't you?" jeered tag. "i'd like to have a fine opinion of you," prescott declared. "oh! and what must i do to win that fine opinion?" demanded tag mockingly. "if you want to know, i'll tell you," dick continued. "just put down that gun and step away from it." "and then you'll pounce on it and hold me up!" jeered tag. "fine!" "you get away from your weapon," prescott urged, "and i'll give you my word of honor not to touch it without your leave." "your word of honor?" asked tag, driven to wonder despite himself. "what good would your word of honor be?" "it would be as good as anything i'm capable of," prescott responded. "tag, didn't you ever have any respect for a man's word of honor? didn't you ever respect your own?" "i got that game played on me at school, once," leered mosher. "as soon as i swallowed the bait the other fellow kicked me in the shins and ran off and left me there. now, prescott, i don't want any more nonsense. put up your hands!" "i've already declined," dick smiled calmly. "to that refusal i'll add my thanks." "put up your hands, or i'll keep the gun turned on you and pull a trigger or two." "then the gun isn't loaded," chuckled dick. "oh, isn't it?" "no, for you're not bad enough, tag, to shoot down an unarmed person who isn't your enemy." "you'll tell the officers you saw me here, won't you?" "certainly." "then you're my enemy," young mosher argued, with thorough conviction. "so you'll put up your hands, and take further orders, as long as i give 'em, or you'll be found taking a long nap on the grass here!" "that's another wrong guess you've made, tag." laughing softly, dick dropped to a seat on the grass. "you're a mighty sassy fellow," scowled young mosher. "i'm very disobliging sometimes," prescott admitted. "for instance, tag, i won't believe that you're half as bad as you try to paint yourself." "bad?" snorted young mosher, with something of sullen pride in his voice. "i'm about as mean as they make them. you know what they say i did to that farmer?" "well, did you?" challenged prescott. "i'm not saying," came the gruff answer. "for one thing, it wouldn't do me a bit of good to deny it. when a fellow has a bad name everywhere any judge and jury will hang him. now, i happen to object to being hanged, or even to being locked up for perhaps twenty or thirty years. queer in me, isn't it?" "what you ought to do," pursued dick, "and what you will do, if you are brave and manly, is to drop that gun, face about, and march yourself back to jail." "and be locked up some more?" quivered tag in excitement. "if you're guilty of assaulting mr. leigh, you should be also brave and manly enough to walk back to jail, ready to pay the price of your act like a man. if you're not guilty, then you should be man enough to face the world and prove your innocence like a real man. don't be a cowardly sneak, tag!" "a coward?" blurted the other angrily. "you ought to know better'n that. and the officers know better, too; i may be only a boy, but the officers are out in packs, hunting for me. i know, for i've seen two pairs of those fellows go by on the road to-day." "are you going to be a man, tag, or just a sneaking coward?" asked dick, as he rose. "sit down!" commanded tag sharply. "if you really want to talk with me, and will say 'please,' i'll sit down," dick smiled back coolly at the angry boy. "but if you're just simply ordering me to sit down, then i won't do anything of the sort. do you want to talk with me?" "sit down!" "you didn't say 'please.'" "i'm not going to say it." "then good-bye for a little while." though the muzzles of the sawed-off shotgun stared wickedly at him, dick prescott turned on his heel, walking off. "are you going, now, to tip the officers off that you've seen me?" called tag. "yes." behind dick, as he kept on his way back toward camp there came a snort of anger. prescott was not quite as cool as he appeared to be. he knew there was at least a chance that savage tag mosher would send the contents of one or both barrels of the gun into his back. dick, however, had mastered the first secret of bravery, which is to conceal one's fear. again snorting, young mosher cocked both hammers of the shotgun, dick heard the clicks, but still walked on. "i hate to do it!" called tag warningly. "oh, you won't do it," dick answered in a tone of calm self-assurance. young prescott kept on for another hundred yards. no sound came from behind him. unless young mosher were creeping upon him, prescott knew that he was now out of range of the shotgun. impelled by curiosity, dick wheeled about tag mosher was nowhere in sight. "either that fellow isn't half as bad as he pretends to be, or else not half as desperate as he likes to think himself," dick chuckled. then, remembering, in a flash, the herbs that he had come to get, the gridley high school boy deliberately walked back to the spot where he had left this strange vagrant of the forest. but tag was no longer there---not in sight, at any rate. bending over, prescott collected a goodly bunch of the herbs. then, after glancing at his watch, he started back to camp. it was late when he returned. dave was back from his swim, the table was set, and all was in readiness to sit down. "too late to use the herbs to-day, i guess," said tom, as dick laid them down. "you were gone a long time, old fellow." "i had quite a way to go," dick replied quietly. then he cut a number of grass stalks, trimming them to different lengths. "fellows, i want you to draw lots. i don't feel any too much like a walk to five corners after dinner, but if i get the short straw i'll go." "no; you'd better not try it," warned darrin. "your hip might begin to give you trouble before you get back. if someone has to go, let the other five draw." but dick insisted that the draw should decide it all. "what's the matter?" asked tom reade shrewdly. "have you found traces of tag mosher?" "i've seen him," dick replied, "and talked with him. come to think of it, i believe two fellows had better go. the two who are to go will be those who draw the shortest straws. all ready?" dick covered one end of the grass stalks, so that no one could be sure as to which lot he drew. the lots fell to reade and darrin. "now, tell us about the meeting," begged hazelton. "let's sit down and begin to eat," prescott proposed. "as we eat i will describe the meeting." plates passed rapidly until all were served. then dick told his chums the story of the meeting with tag mosher. chapter xvii during the big storm "hoo-hoo! hoo-hoo!" "who's there?" cried dick, starting up. then, to the accompaniment of some giggling, came in feminine tones, high-pitched, the famous battle yell of gridley high school. "t-e-r-r-o-r-s! wa-ar! fam-ine! pes-ti-lence! that's us! that's us! g-r-i-d-l-e-y h.s! rah! rah! rah! rah! _gri-i-idley_!" "a lot of mere girls trying themselves out as real war-whoop artists!" uttered reade in a tone of pretended disgust. but dick and dave had jumped up, and were now running for the road as fast as they could. it was ten days after the last word from tag mosher. the officers had been promptly notified by the messengers from dick & co., and presumably were still scouring the great stretches of forest, though so far without result. "how did we do it, boys?" called the laughing voice of laura bentley, as dick and dave came in sight. "don't ask me!" begged dave. "girls never ought to try school yells. they ought to content themselves with waving handkerchiefs." "mr. smarty!" cried clara marshall. all eight of the girls were now in the burned clearing, surrounding the two boys laughingly, while greg and dan now ran up. out of the woods near the road came dr. and mrs. bentley. "prescott," called the doctor, "we forgot to write and secure your permission for this latest vagary of mine." "i don't know what the vagary is, sir, but the permission is assured in advance," laughed dick. "what are you going to do, anyway, sir?" "i'm afraid the idea will bore you," laughed dr. bentley, "but back in the road are the same two automobiles, also two two-horse wagons, loaded to the gunwales, so to speak. we've brought two small, portable houses, a couple of tents, a lot of bedding and supplies, and other things needed, and we're going to try to pitch a camp not too far from yours. does the information convey any jar to your spine?" "not a jar," answered dick promptly, standing with his hat off in the presence of mrs. bentley and the eight girls. "the only thing i notice in the way of sensation over the news is a great thrill of delight." "it's a pity that dave and some of the other boys couldn't find their tongues and make as good use of them as dick has just done," pouted belle meade. "dick prescott is our captain, always," replied darry, with a comical sigh, "and his sway extends even to the point of his bartering away our liberties." "let us go on, farther into the woods," urged belle, turning to dr. bentley. "i think not," replied the doctor dryly. "since prescott has been the only one to hold out the gracious hand, i believe we'll settle right down here, as a reward to prescott and as a punishment to the others." "hooray for punishment!" laughed darry. "i can take a lot of it." "that's the first nice thing you've said," declared miss meade. "i'll say a lot more if you're going to be here for the rest of the summer vacation," promised darry. "not quite as long as that," declared dr. bentley. "but we'll be here for a few days. then we'll go on to other camping places." "you're going to be just in time for dinner to-day," dick informed the new arrivals. "we'll be just in time to get our own dinner," smiled laura. "we have an abundance of supplies with us, and we're not going to eat you boys out of the woods. the first meal with guests will be when you come over to our camp and take revenge for the descent that we made upon you the other day." "dick," inquired the doctor, "where do you think we could pitch camp best?" "it depends upon the size of your houses and tents," prescott answered. "naturally. your answer is a good deal more sensible than my question." "anyway," dick suggested, in an undertone, "your camp should be just far enough away so that neither camp will intrude on the privacy of the other. i think i know a spot, if your houses are not too large." dr. bentley mentioned the sizes of the two portable houses. "the spot that i have in mind will do finely," dick declared. "and i think you can drive the wagons in there." dan dalzell was sent to the road to instruct the teamsters to drive in at the point which young prescott mentioned. it was not long before the two wagons were at the spot. reade now remained at the boys' camp, to look out for things, while the other five went over to the new camp to be of assistance. dr. bentley, having removed his coat, was now busily at work. the two wagons were unloaded of a host of things, after which the teamsters started, at once, to erect the portable houses. as these were of a pattern requiring but little work, they were up within a few hours. dick & co. pitched the tents, also busying themselves in various other ways. now, mrs. bentley, aided by the high school girls, started in to prepare the noon meal. "we shall want you boys over here about tomorrow noon," said laura. "by that time we shall be all to rights and ready to act as hostesses." "can't we come over again before to-morrow?" asked dick, with a wistfulness that caused a general smile. "if you don't come over except when you're especially sent for," declared miss meade, "you'll wake up some morning in the near future and find us gone on to the next camping place." dick had already told dr. bentley of the fugitive, tag mosher, and the fact that that young offender was at large in the woods, and armed. "i'm not afraid of him," declared the doctor bluntly, "and i shall always be within sound of the camp. it wouldn't take you boys long to get over here, either, at need." dick now reluctantly called his chums away, as mrs. bentley and the high school girls might want a little time to themselves. "it's going to be great to have such company right at hand," declared darry gleefully. "only i must warn you of one thing," retorted dick. "what?" "you remember the errant that brought us into the woods?" "football training!" "exactly, and even the welcome presence of the girls mustn't be allowed in the least to interfere with the serious and hard work that we have ahead of us for the honor of good old gridley high school!" "that goes, too," nodded greg. "though i am afraid the girls will feel almost neglected." "no, they won't," darry retorted. "the girls all belong to gridley high school as much as we do, and they're just as big football boosters when it comes to that. they'll endure a little neglect when they know it's for the honor and glory of our school." "besides," suggested dick, "they may be glad to put in a little time watching us train." there will be no objection to that, will there?" "not a bit," declared the others. tom reade, having been left in charge of the camp, had also taken upon himself the preparing of the dinner, though this was not his day for such service. the others now turned to help him. "i'm glad the girls have come, and i'm also sorry," declared reade. "if we stick to training as conscientiously as we ought to they'll feel that we're not showing them all the attention they've a right to expect." "we won't neglect training," dick retorted, "and the girls won't feel neglected, either. we've talked that over on the way here, and we'll explain it to the girls when we see them again. they're gridley high school girls, and they're sensible." it was not long ere dinner was ready. six famished boys sat down at the table. "i wonder what on earth is the reason that we haven't heard from mr. hibbert, or from the blinders agency, either?" spoke dick, when the meal was half over. "i had almost forgotten about those parties," tom rejoined. "not hearing from hibbert, as i take it, means that that generous young friend of ours has broken off communication with the eagle hotel in gridley. but i can't understand why the agency hasn't communicated with us in some way." dinner was eaten in quicker time than usual. dick and dave, perhaps some of the others, felt a secret desire to slip over to the other camp, but no one mentioned any such wish. instead, the dinner dishes were washed, the cooking utensils cleaned, and the camp put in a very good semblance of order. "in forty-five minutes more," remarked prescott, glancing at his watch, "we must be back at training work." "not to-day," replied tom. "what's the matter?" demanded dick, looking sharply at him. "in forty-five minutes more," exclaimed reade, "we'll be sitting inside the tent, looking out at the weather." "what are you talking about, tom?" asked darry. "read your answer in the skies," retorted reade. though none of the other five boys had noticed it, the sky had been gradually clouding. the wind was becoming brisker, too, and there was more than the usual amount of moisture in the air. "pshaw! that's a shame," muttered dick. "i wish we might arrange it with the weather clerk to have it rain at night, after ten o'clock, and have dry ground in the day time," sighed dave darrin. yet none of the boys spoke the thought that was uppermost in more than one mind---the wish that they might go over to the bentley camp to spend the time that it rained in the society of the girls. it was reade, who was perhaps less attracted by girls' society than the others who finally suggested: "we ought to send someone over to the other camp to see if they are all fixed to stand the coming rain." "good idea!" nodded dick. "you run over, tom." reade was away less than ten minutes. "dr. bentley says they'll be as snug as can be in the biggest kind of a summer rain that the weather clerk has on tap," tom reported. flashes of lightning were now illumining the gradually darkening sky. distant rumblings of thunder also sounded. "i hope it won't be much of a thunderstorm," sighed dick. "some girls are very uneasy in a thunderstorm." "laura is afraid of one, i know," said dave. in a few minutes more the big drops of rain began to fall. soon after swirling sheets of water descended. dick & co. had all they could do to keep dry in such a downpour. "this is where the portable house has the advantage of a tent," grunted tom. "the portable houses yonder are even equipped with some kind of rubber roofing. if this storm keeps up through the night at this rate, we'll be washed out long before daylight." "i can stand it," retorted prescott, "as long as i know that mrs. bentley and the girls are protected from the weather. yet i won't mind if the storm does let up after an hour or two." conversation ceasing, after a time, all but reade and dalzell got out books to read from the slender stock of literature that they had brought with them into the woods. the heavy storm made it a dull afternoon, where there might have been so much fun. but not one of dick & co. had the least idea of the excitement in store for them. the storm held more than rain for many people. chapter xviii mr. page's kind of father as though the heavy downpour did not sufficiently indicate that the storm was still raging as heavily as ever, harry hazelton went to the tent doorway to peer out at the sky. just as suddenly he ducked back again. "hist!" he called. "there's someone at our canned goods stock, and i think it's tag!" in a twinkling dick and dave were by hazelton's side. the heavy rain supplied a curtain like a light fog. "i think that's tag!" muttered dick. "we'll go after him." there was a quick diving into rubber coats. dick and dave were first to get outside. but the figure seen through the rain was already under way, heading away from the tent. this figure, just as it stole under the great trees, turned to point a sawed-off shotgun their way. "that's tag," muttered dick. "come on; we'll catch him." "yes; if he'll kindly permit us to get close to him," rejoined darry, as he ran at dick's side. evidently the figure ahead had made a successful raid on the food, for he carried a gunnysack, and that appeared to have a load inside. "we can catch him---if we can run fast enough," declared dick, for just then the fugitive darted ahead with renewed speed. "unless he stops us with the gun," objected dave. "don't let him stop you with that. i don't believe he would dare use it on us." "if it's only a question of 'daring,'" responded dave, "i don't believe there is anything that tag mosher would be afraid to do at a pinch." owing to the storm it was dark in the great woods. shadows were deceptive. though dick and dave ran on at pell-mell speed they presently came to a sudden halt, looking inquiringly at each other. "which way did that fellow go?" demanded dave. "blessed if i know," dick admitted. "are we still on the right trail, and merely a mile behind him?" "i wish i knew even that," admitted prescott. "we might as well go back," proposed darry. "in these woods all we'll get is---wet." "all right," nodded prescott. discouraged with the chase, they turned to retrace their way nearly half a mile through the soggy, dripping woods. they had not gone far on their return when they came upon tom and greg. "hello, where have you fellows been?" asked reade. "we weren't very far ahead of you," dick answered. "greg and i didn't see or hear you ahead." "and tag mosher was just as invisible and unfindable to us," laughed dick, "so we came back." "i'm growing disgusted," muttered dave, "with the stupid way that we let that fellow carry off all of our property. it begins to look as though we ought to camp in one of our own back yards, where our parents can keep a watchful eye over us and protect us!" there could be no doubt that darry was completely angry. had he encountered young mosher at that moment he would have "sailed into" the thief with his fists, regardless of any consequences that might follow. "well, shall we go on hunting for him?" demanded dick. "it's just as darry says," offered tom, "i'm willing to remain out in this weather if dave wants to." "oh, what's the use?" grumbled dave. "that fellow knows the woods a hundred times better than we do, and he has made his get away. did you leave anyone back at the camp?" "dan and harry are there," nodded tom. "we may as well join them," sighed dave. so the party headed toward camp. just as they stepped out into the clearing, they sighted a rubber-coated party of three men entering the clearing from the direction of the road. "why, that must be our friends, hibbert, colquitt and mr. page!" announced prescott, halting, then running forward. "they must have gotten our note at last. oh, mr. hibbert!" the three travelers waved their hands. then it was the oldest of the trio who ran at top speed in an effort to reach prescott quickly. "my boy!" panted mr. page, seizing dick by the shoulders. "you have found him? we received your note this morning, and have been breaking the speed laws ever since in our effort to get here. my boy! you know where he is! perhaps he is now one of your own party? you have told him, and have kept him here against my coming?" "no, sir; he's not here just now," dick answered, shaking his head. "but come into the tent, sir. there is a lot to tell you." "i can hardly contain myself to wait for the news!" cried the eager father tremulously. nevertheless, silence was preserved until the tent had been entered. mr. page, hibbert and colquitt were given seats on camp stools, some of the boys finding seats on empty boxes. "now, my boy---my son! tell me all about him," pleaded mr. page. "is he well? does he know that i am looking for him?" "i have hinted to him," prescott answered, "that he is not the son of the man whom he has grown up to regard as his father. i have told him that you were looking for him, and-----" "oh, my boy!" cried mr. page. "was he pleased---or even curious?" prescott swallowed hard, twice, and did some rapid thinking, ere he went on, with all faces turned toward him: "mr. page, if this boy turns out to be your son-----" "describe him to me---minutely!" ordered the father. dick fell into a personal description of tag mosher. others, as they now watched mr. page closely, felt that tag must be his son. the description, as to complexion, features, hair and eyes, all tallied closely with mr. page's own appearance. "now, don't keep me in suspense any longer," begged mr. page. "take me to him, that i may help decide for myself." "if he is your son, sir," dick went on solemnly, and hating his task, "i am much afraid that you are going to be disappointed in him. the boy is known as tag mosher. he believes a dissolute, drunken, thieving fellow named bill mosher, who is now in jail, to be his father. tag is himself a wild young savage of the forest, and maintains himself by st---poaching." "if this young man is, indeed, my son," murmured mr. page, his eyes glistening, "how fortunate that i am about to come up with him! he will have no need to steal hereafter. he shall have comfort, protection, proper training at last! but where is he? why are you keeping me from him? how long since you have seen him?" "only a few minutes ago," dick answered. "he had just robbed our food supply. we pursued him, but lost him in the woods." "then these woods must be scoured until the boy is found!" cried mr. page. "colquitt, this is a task for you. employ as many more of your force of detectives as you may need, but you must find the boy without an hour's delay." "i must tell you something else, sir," dick went on in a distressed tone. "even for my own peace of mind i must have it over with as early as possible. mr. page, the boy is now roaming the woods armed with a shotgun and a revolver. he is a fugitive from justice." "what is that you say?" cried mr. page, his face growing haggard and ghastly. "my boy----my son---a fugitive from justice!" "he may not be your son, sir," broke in tom colquitt. then the whole story came out. with it dick described the birthmarks he had seen on tag when the latter was at the swimming pool. "that's my boy---my son!" declared mr. page. "and, oh! to think of the fate that has come upon him. wanted, perhaps for homicide!" then suddenly the flash of determination returned to the father's eyes. he rose, stood erect, and went on: "if he is my son, he needs guidance, aid---protection of such rights as he may still have left. above all, he must surrender himself and go back to face the laws of the land like a man! if he has done wrong, he must bow to the decision of a court, whatever that may be. if this boy is my son, i will see to it that he does all of this. if he is not my son, then-----" "then you will do well to drop him like a piece of hot metal," interposed the detective quietly. "silence!" flashed mr. page. "if tag mosher is not really my son, then i will stand by his last spark of manhood as though he were my son, and in memory of my own boy!" "if you will permit me," proposed tom colquitt, "i will go back to the road, get into the car and order your man to drive me to the county jail. there i will see old bill mosher, and drag the truth out of him. what mosher has to say will be to the point." "go, by all means!" pleaded mr. page, who had now sunk down into his seat trembling. "and i'll go with him," declared hibbert, jumping up. "cheer up, my old friend, and we'll find out all the facts that there are to be learned. we'll be back here as speedily as possible." the hours passed---hours of rain at the camp. it was a deluge that kept all hands in the tent, though even that place was wet. a pretense of supper was prepared over two oil stoves. mr. page made an effort to eat, but was not highly successful. the hours dragged on, but none thought of going to bed. at last quick steps were heard outside. "that must be colquitt and hibbert!" cried mr. page, starting up, trembling, though he soon recovered his self-control. "don't go out in the rain. wait for another moment, sir," begged dick, placing a hand on the man's shoulder. "do you think i could wait another minute?" demanded mr. page excitedly. then he darted out into the downpour. "hibbert, is that you?" he screamed. chapter xix seen in a new, worse light "it's hibbert," was the reply from the darkness. then two figures came tramping through the rain, over the soggy ground, next splashing into the tent, the flaps of which dick and harry held aside. as they came in mr. page almost tottered toward them. "well," he demanded impatiently. "what did you learn?" "i guess the boy is yours, mr. page," colquitt answered. "bill mosher told us a pretty straight story. he found the child at the railway wreck, and he and his wife took it home, expecting that parents or friends would soon claim it. bill says his wife was a good woman, and, when no one claimed the boy, she kept it and loved it as her own. bill admits that his part in the transaction was due to the hope of receiving a reward. after his wife died, bill, it seems, went to the dogs, followed his naturally shiftless bent, and, from a common vagrant, became a drunkard and common thief. yet bill claims, with an air of a good deal of virtue, that he never stole anything he didn't really need, and that he brought tag up the same way." mr. page, white-faced and trembling, listened to the detective's dry recital. "you have taken pains to find further verification of the fact that this unhappy boy is my son, haven't you?" "oh, yes," the detective went on. "bill described with great minuteness the clothing the child wore when found, even to the embroidered letter 'p' on the underclothing. and bill tells me that his sister has kept that clothing ever since, in the hope that something might come of it. the sister also has two pictures of tag, taken when a baby." "where does that sister live?" cried the father. "take me to her home at once!" "she lives in another state, some four hundred miles from here," smiled tom colquitt. "mr. page, i advise that you find the boy, first. there isn't any real doubt as to his being your son. you had better wait for further proofs until after you have found the boy---who, according to all accounts, stands badly in need of a real father just now." "you are right---quite right," admitted mr. page. "yes, we will find my son first. but tell me something more. didn't the boy know that bill mosher wasn't his real father?" "no; it had never been hinted to him," colquitt answered. "bill kept the truth from the child, and, after bill's wife died, they moved over into this part of the country, where no one knew their past history." "and has my son never been in school?" "oh, yes; the compulsory education law came to the rescue, and the boy had a grammar school education before he took to the woods altogether." "i know something definite, at last," sighed the unhappy father. "i know that my boy is alive, and that he needs a father. moreover, i feel certain that he is at this moment not far away from me. what shall we do next? did you wire for more detectives from your agency?" "there was no need to do so," colquitt replied. "there are several officers now looking for the lad, and they are certain to come upon him. hibbert and i will aid in the search. the chauffeur will bring in four folding cots and some blankets. we shall have to impose upon these young men for shelter to-night, as this is the point from which we must take up the chase in the morning." at least one man in the tent lay with eyes wide open all night, and that was mr. page. by daylight the rain had stopped. the sun came up, drying the ground in the open spaces, raising a semi-fog under the big trees as the moisture steamed up. it was a close, humid morning, yet all rose so early that breakfast had been eaten before six o'clock. then mr. page's party went away in the automobile, on some errand of their own. "i wonder how the girls got through the rain last night?" mused dave darrin. "they must have gotten along all right," dick replied. "they had two dry houses in, which to sleep." "i've a good mind to go over now, and make some inquiries," dave pursued. "will you come with me?" "no, and i'd advise you not to go, either. six in the morning is too early to call on young women." "that's so," dave assented. "what time should we go over?" "as this is camp life, i should say it might be all right for us to drop over there soon after nine o'clock," dick said slowly. "how does that strike you?" "if that's too early," pondered darry wonderingly, "then we might go within sight of the camp, as if looking for firewood, but not go over to them unless we get a hail." "that would be a subterfuge," dick replied, shaking his head. "straight dealing is always the best rule in anything." however, dr. bentley settled the question of etiquette himself, by coming over to the boys' camp shortly after eight o'clock. "mrs. bentley sent me to see if you got through the night without being drowned," smiled the physician. "we look pretty healthy, don't, we, sir?" smiled dick. "speaking professionally, i would say that you do," agreed dr. bentley. "however, i believe you must have had a pretty dismal time in all that downpour. have you been in the woods this morning? they are pretty wet, aren't they?" "the woods are damp, sir," prescott answered, "but not really wet. the water has soaked fairly well into the ground since sun-up." "are the woods dry enough for a little botanizing?" asked the doctor. "laura and belle say they have a few plants in mind that they want to add to their collection of botanical specimens. are you two young men ready to escort them?" "certainly, sir," dick nodded. "and the forenoon will be the best time, as we must go through our training work this afternoon." "hang my luck!" muttered darrin in sudden disgust. "this is my day to do the cooking here." "one of the other fellows will take your turn," suggested prescott. "i won't ask anyone to do it," sighed darry. "i'm man enough to shoulder my own share of the camp work. dick, you can look after both girls, can't you? and you'll make my excuses satisfactorily to miss meade?" "that's right---just right, david," spoke the physician. "do your own work like a man. i'll undertake to make your excuses so well that belle will have a higher opinion of you if that were possible. dick, shall the girls look for you within the next few minutes?" "i'll be there soon, doctor." five minutes later dick presented himself at the other camp. he went first to mrs. bentley and inquired as to her comfort during the storm. "we know dave can't come, but where are the other boys?" inquired clara marshall. "over at the camp," smiled dick. "don't they think that we need attention?" asked susie sharp. "tom is hauling firewood," dick explained. "greg is chopping it up. harry is hauling the water supply and dan is doing the housework in the tent." "laura and belle have an escort for their trip into the forest, but it's not a rosy outlook for the rest of us," clara pouted. "can't we all go together?" proposed dick. "surely, one guide ought to be enough for a party of eight girls." susie decided to join the botanizing party. the other girls made up their minds to take a walk under dr. bentley's escort. so dick started away with the trio. belle and laura carried the regulation oval cans for holding such plant specimens as they might collect. prescott promptly offered to carry both cans, but the two girls declared that they were not going to permit him to impose upon himself. for fifteen minutes the young people went on, farther into the forest. though the girls wore overshoes, dick went ahead to pick out the drier paths. collecting botanical specimens, though interesting to amateurs or experts, is dull work for onlookers. as both belle and laura were enthusiastic workers, dick found himself walking chiefly with susie sharp. there was much waiting while laura and belle dug their mosses and plants. finally, dick and susie found themselves standing together, some feet from laura and belle, who were gathering wild flowers. "look at those beautiful purple blossoms over there!" cried susie in sudden enthusiasm. "are you going to turn collector, too?" smiled dick. "to the extent of wanting a bouquet of those flowers," susie declared. "will you help me?" "with great pleasure. if you will wait here, i will get the bouquet for you. it will take me hardly a minute." dick started away alone. by the time that he had picked a good-sized handful, susie started to meet him. for the moment she was out of sight of the other girls. dick came toward miss sharp, holding out the gorgeous blossoms. "will these be enough?" he inquired. "oh, yes! thank you so much!" "it was a very slight service," prescott laughed. "i am glad to have pleased-----" a sudden scream brought his gallant speech to an abrupt stop. "oh, dick! be quick!" sounded the voice. "pardon me," said prescott to susie, as he sprang forward through the brush. it was a startling scene that met the high school boy's gaze as he bounded forward. tag mosher, holding his shotgun under his left arm, stood confronting laura and belle. in his right, hand he held a gold chain and locket that he had snatched from laura bentley's neck. in one of his pockets, out of sight, now rested two valuable rings that he had forcibly stripped from one of belle's hands. "sorry, girls," he was saying. "i never did anything quite as bad as this before. but if you knew how badly i need to get away from these parts you'd know why i'm holding up girls to get money to pay my fare, and-----" just then tag mosher caught sight of dick prescott. "stand back!" warned tag hoarsely. "i don't want to have to do anything worse than i've just done. stand back, or by the blue sky-----" chapter xx some imitation villainy "oh, dick, do keep back. he won't harm us further," cried laura. prescott ran forward by leaps and bounds. "if you will have it-----" growled tag, cocking both hammers of his ugly weapon. laura uttered another scream, then, with sudden frenzy, seized the barrels of the gun. "let go!" yelled dick, racing up. "if he fires, even accidentally, you'll be killed." "then let him put down the gun," panted laura without releasing her hold. belle seized tag by his right arm, hanging on frantically. but dick, reaching the spot, laid hands on the shotgun. "let go, laura," he commanded sternly. "i have hold of this gun." it was the tone of the high school boy, not her own fear, that made laura bentley obey. "let go of his arm, belle," dick insisted. "you girls get back out of harm's way." "i won't let go," belle insisted. then she resorted, excusably under the circumstances, to the somewhat feminine trick, of pinching tag mosher's arm sharply. that started the real fight. dick tripped the bigger fellow, and the pair went down together as belle leaped back. click! click! sounded both descending hammers of the sawed-off shotgun. for an instant---prescott's heart was in his mouth, for he knew something of the wicked scattering power of such a weapon, when discharged, and he feared for the girls. the next instant, however, his common sense told him that the hammers had descended harmlessly. by desperate force he wrenched the piece out of tag's hands, hurling it away. laura's locket, and chain falling to the ground, belle darted in and rescued them. "he has my rings in his right-hand coat pocket," belle announced. "he'll give them up, then!" predicted dick grimly, making a dive for that pocket. he was on top, in the mix-up, and secured the rings, tossing them toward belle. then tag, by a violent effort, hurled prescott from him and rose, ready for battle. but dick landed close beside the sawed-off shotgun, which he snatched from the ground as he rose to his feet. "you cur!" said dick. "robbing girls!" "i hated to do it," growled tag, looking somewhat shamefaced. "but i've got to have money to get away from this corner of the world. the deputies are out after me, and they'll get me yet, if i stay here." with a quick movement dick threw the gun open at the breech. "it isn't loaded," tag informed him grimly. "this is the piece of iron that holds cartridges." from a hip pocket he brought a heavy, long-barreled revolver into sight. "you can't scare me with firearms," declared dick doughtily. "nor are you going to rob these young women, who are my best friends." "i'm not going to try again," announced tag. "what i want is for you to keep away from me, and not follow me. if you do---well, you can guess the answer! now, as i'm going, give me that gun." "i won't," dick declared firmly, holding it by the muzzle and ready to employ the weapon as a club. "you'll make a lot of trouble and danger for yourself and the girls if you don't put the gun on the ground and walk away from it," warned tag, glowering. "i won't drop the only weapon that i have," dick returned firmly. "you could down me easily unless i had something like this to swing. as long as these young women are under my protection i will not give up the only weapon that i have." "if i press the trigger of this pistol," challenged tag, "will you be able to offer the girls much protection then?" "perhaps not," prescott rejoined. "but shooting me will be the only way that you can get this gun from me." there could be no doubt that the high school boy meant just what he said. tag, who was not accustomed to wasting time in crises, turned angrily on his heel. "hold on there a moment," called dick. the other boy baited, turning about. "do you remember what i told you the other day?" demanded prescott. "you've told me a lot of things i never took from any other kid," growled tag. "do you remember what i told you about your father, his love for you, and his desire to meet and claim you?" "old bill mosher's love?" laughed tag harshly. "i'd stay and laugh a while at that, but i've other business for to-day." "no; your real father, mr. page!" dick cried after him, as tag started away. "bill mosher found you in a railroad wreck. your real father is a man of wealth. he is nearly broken down from the many anxieties of trying to find you. he spent last night at our camp. this morning he and friends of his started off to find you. tag, come back here, and i'll take you into camp." "no, thank you!" leered the larger boy. "i've been taken into camp before, and you're the lad that turned the trick. you turned me over to valden and simmons, and they turned me over to the warden at the jail. i'm not going back to that jail---_alive_!" "you foolish fellow! can't you understand?" bellowed dick, following tag as he once more turned away. "i'm telling you the truth, and your father is only too anxious to employ all his wealth in protecting whatever rights you may have. bill mosher was seen at the jail yesterday, and he admitted that you were not his son, but that he found you as a baby at a railroad wreck! tag, use your brains, for once, and come back to camp to meet your father!" "good-bye!" laughed the larger boy derisively, increasing his fast walk to a run. desperately, dick prescott followed. as tag sprinted, so did the high school boy. looking back, young mosher tripped over a root, and fell heavily. the revolver flew from his hand landing several feet away. prescott was now so close that tag sprang to his feet and ran on without making any effort to recover his lost weapon. then the larger boy dived into a thicket. he did not appear again. master of every hidden path in these forests, he seemed likely enough to get away without leaving a trace of a trail. dick halted, brought to his senses by the realization that he had deserted the three high school girls who had been entrusted to his escort. he turned about. at the spot where tag had tripped he bent over to pick up the abandoned revolver. one glance into the cylinder was enough. there wasn't a cartridge in the weapon. "just as i thought," laughed dick triumphantly. "tag had no notion of shooting anyone. for fear he might do so, if too closely cornered, he threw away the ammunition. he relied on the bad reputation of the moshers to make officers hesitate if they encountered him with firearms in his hands." then prescott called for the girls, whom he quickly rejoined. "you didn't catch him?" asked laura. "not i," laughed dick. "he knows every trail in these woods and in a sprint, tag mosher could leave me hitched to a tree." "i'm thankful you didn't catch him," quivered miss bentley. "he's a terrible fellow." "is he?" laughed prescott good-humoredly. "as a bad man tag mosher, or young page, as he really ought to be called, is about the biggest bluff that i've ever heard of. look at these weapons. both unloaded. yet, when tag broke jail, he carried away ammunition enough to hold a company of militia at bay. tag doesn't want to shoot anyone. all he wants to do is to scare pursuers." "he's a ruffian, anyway," belle declared. "why? was he very rough with you?" dick inquired. "did he tear your rings off recklessly, and hurt your hands?" "no; but be held my hand so firmly that i simply couldn't pull it out of his clutch," belle replied. "then he took off my rings as easily and in as matter-of-fact way as though they were his own property." "he really didn't mean to hurt you," dick explained. "he has been trained, from babyhood, to make his living by appropriating other people's belongings, and he was only obeying his training. the officers are after him, and tag, not wishing to be caught, wants to put considerable distance between himself and these woods. yet no matter what he does, or where he goes, the officers will finally find him. law is supreme, and triumphs in the end. no man may defy the police and courts of a nation and get away with it for any great length of time." "would you have tried to catch him, if we hadn't been with you?" asked laura. "yes," dick admitted. "though under the circumstances i had no right to do anything but stay here with you and try to protect you. shall we go on with the collecting?" "if the other girls want to do so," agree susie sharp. "if we want to?" laura echoed. "after the fright we've had? all that we want to do is to-----" "get back to camp?" smiled dick. "i'm wholly agreeable. truth to tell, i've had such a fright that my nerves are shattered." "your nerves shattered?" echoed belle scornfully. "tell that to someone who never lived in gridley, dick prescott! you flew at that fellow like a tiger." "but look at the magnificent help i had!" smiled dick. chapter xxi the medical examiner talks training "do you want a suggestion, prescott?" inquired dr. bentley. the physician and his party had been over at the high school boys' camp for something like twenty minutes, that same afternoon, watching the training work that the young athletes were undergoing. "yes, sir," dick answered promptly. then a sudden thought striking him, he added: "perhaps i can make a suggestion, doctor, that is even more immediate in its nature than yours." "then i shall be glad to have it," smiled laura's father. "did you leave that chauffeur to watch your camp?" "no; he has gone to five corners to post the young women's numerous letters. but the camp doesn't need a guard, does it?" "it does, as long as tag mosher is at large, sir. harry, won't you go over to the doctor's camp and stay there until the chauffeur returns?" "yes," agreed hazelton. "if you sight tag, or any other doubtful-looking characters, just give a yell, and we'll all come over." "would that young scamp bother our camp, really?" inquired the physician. "certainly he would," dick went on promptly. "mosher, page, or whoever he really is, is just as natural an anarchist as the world ever saw. he has never had anything of his own, and whenever he sees anyone else's property that will serve him, he just says, 'tag, you're it!' that's the way he got his nickname." "i believe i'll go over with harry and see if anything is missing," declared dr. bentley. "in the meantime, prescott, suppose you and your squad rest until i return. just make yourselves agreeable to the girls. i'll endeavor to be back promptly. when i come back i shall be prepared to offer you some training suggestions that may be of value to you." so the flushed young athletes rested, except harry, who departed with the physician. in fifteen minutes dr. bentley returned. "your warning came too late, prescott," announced laura's father cheerily. "our camp has been visited." "tag mosher?" gasped prescott. "impossible to say," was the smiling answer. "the caller forgot to leave a card. but someone has cleaned us out of about a dozen tins of food and some packages of biscuit. it must have been quite a little load. just by chance i also happened to think to look at my medicine case. one vial is missing therefrom." "what medicine did he take, did you say, sir?" asked dave darrin much interested. "i believe i didn't say," replied dr. bentley. "perhaps later on i shall tell you." "if the thief took only a dozen tins," said mrs. bentley, "there is food enough left so that we needn't worry about immediate famine. and we have two cars, either one of which may be despatched to bring further supplies." "tag is really going to move away from here, then," decided dick thoughtfully. "why do you say that?" asked dr. bentley. "because tag has a fine appetite, and an abundance of muscle. instead of a dozen tins he would have taken three or four times that amount. it is only his need for traveling in light marching order that made him so moderate in the tax he levied." "it's only an incident," continued dr. bentley. "and i am glad of it. it shows that the young scamp is still in this neighborhood, and that means that there is still a fair chance of his being captured." "i wonder why he stole one particular drug from your case?" dick mused aloud. dr. bentley smiled, not relieving prescott's curiosity as to the name of the missing drug. "it can't be that tag means to commit suicide, as a last resort, can it?" dick suggested. "i think not," smiled dr. bentley. then the leader of dick & co. gave up further effort along this line to secure the desired information. "i started in to offer you a suggestion, prescott," continued the medical man. "yes, sir; it had something to do with training, i believe." "before i tell you what i have to say, prescott, suppose you put each of your 'men' through the stunts they were doing before." "which one first, sir?" "any one of the young men." "dave!" called dick. darrin stepped forward. "one moment," said dr. bentley. he felt dave's pulse, then nodded. "go ahead, darrin." dave started in with the work. "speed it up!" ordered dick. "faster! drive!" darry continued at his training work until dr. bentley called: "stop! now, stand still, young man." bending over, dr. bentley placed one ear against dave's chest, watch in hand, while the others looked on curiously. "just what i thought," nodded the physician, looking up at last. "prescott, you have a lot of bright ideas in training, but you're driving your squad too hard. darrin's heart doesn't come down to normal speed as soon as it should." "anything wrong with the heart, sir" asked darry. "nothing. it's the trainer that's wrong," replied dr. bentley. "it is a fault with a lot of trainers without long experience that they work an athlete's heart overtime. darrin's heart should have slowed down in a little more than half the time required in this instance. set another man at work, prescott. i can show you how to do this properly. let the others work as hard as darrin did. i want data to work on. then i'll lay down a few suggestions that will serve you well." this not being interesting to the high school girls, they chatted among themselves. in the end dr. bentley read off some figures he had jotted down, and explained to prescott what he must regard as a satisfactory heart performance after each bit of training work. "now, whenever you don't bring your work, fairly close to these limits you'll know that you're overdoing the training," dr. bentley explained. "if you overdo on training then you injure the chances of the men of your squad. the wise trainer keeps within limits. keep within such limits, and you'll find that, bit by bit, your men can endure more and more, and still pass satisfactorily as to diminishing heart speed after stopping grilling." "it's mighty good of you to explain all this to us, sir," dick protested, gratefully. "not in the least," replied dr. bentley. "you may recall the fact that i'm medical examiner to the high school athletic association." "and i also recall, sir," prescott rejoined, "that for your work with the high school athletes you accept a salary of only one dollar a year, in place of the hundred dollars that the athletic association offered." "well, if i cut prices in selected instances, that's my own affair, isn't it?" smiled the physician. "now, we'll go on with the training work," dick soon announced, stepping forward. "reade! darrin!" so the work went on, though it was not quite so grilling after that. the girls looked on with interest, at first, but there was no contest in hand---nothing for any "side" to win, so presently the high school girls found the spectacle less interesting. tom, standing by, mopping his face, turned to see that miss marshall, her red parasol resting over one shoulder, had strolled away. "that was kind of clara," laughed tom. "what was?" inquired belle. "to take that red sunshade further off. it made me perspire to look at it." "red silk shuts out some of the worst rays of the sun," laura explained wisely. "does it?" asked tom. "i know there must be some excuse for carrying a red sunshade." then suddenly he colored, remarking: "that wasn't very gallant of me, but i didn't mean it quite the way it sounds." "and a red parasol helps throw a little tinge of color over a face that hasn't any too much color of its own," added susie. "clara is always more or less pale in summer." "she might be a lot more pale if any of those wild cattle were to roam back this way," smiled dr. bentley. hardly had he uttered the words when, from the edge of the woods, there came a piercing scream, followed by a deep, bass bellow that seemed to shake the ground. all hands turned instantly, to see clara running frantically, waving the parasol in her fright, while not very far behind her charged a bull, its head lowered. "drop your parasol!" cried greg. "throw it away." "then turn and run in another direction!" shouted darrin. neither dr. bentley nor dick prescott uttered a word. they had no advice ready at the instant, but turned and ran toward the imperiled girl as fast as they could go. unused to such exercise, dr. bentley, who got the first start, was quickly panting and red of face. by him like a streak shot dick prescott, running with the speed of the sprinter. to face the bull empty handed was worse than useless. dick had to form his plans as he ran. chapter xxii playing ragtime on mr. bull "drop your parasol! throw it away!" screamed her friends in unison. but clara, emitting another shriek, seemed too frightened to comprehend. she tried to redouble her speed, but the bull was rapidly gaining on her in the pursuit. as all stood gazing at the panic-stricken girl, dick prescott shot across the field. what happened next was that dick snatched the flaming red parasol from her hand, then swung her shoulders about, thus forcing the girl to face in another direction. "run---the way you're headed!" he yelled hoarsely. the bull was close upon them. giving the parasol a flourish in the maddened animal's face, prescott started off in the direction from which the bull had come. "get up a tree, prescott, as quickly as you can!" panted dr. bentley. but dick, not even pausing to shake his head, put all his effort into a fresh burst of speed. running away from the camp, flaunting the red parasol, dick was followed closely by the bellowing bull. for a short distance, anyway, the sprinter could run as fast as the pursuer. dick swiftly decided, now that he had the bull in voluntary tow, to lead the animal where the trees were thicker. here an agile candidate for football honors ought to be able to daze and exhaust the bull by darting from tree to tree. the plan had its dangers, however, and dick knew them well. once in among the trees dick tossed the parasol to one side, then darted off on an oblique line. bellowing, stumbling, the bull turned clumsily to follow him. again dick changed his course, though, purposely, he took pains not to get too far from camp. now he saw his chums running towards him. "keep away! don't get near the bull!" he yelled. "we've sent dan to get the rope in the tent," reade called back. "now, what in the world do the boys think they're going to do with a rope?" prescott wondered. suddenly, as he dodged off on a new track to escape the bull, a plan flashed into prescott's mind. "get up a tree!" yelled dave. "hardly time enough," dick retorted, dodging again and sprinting briefly out of harm's way. "when dan brings the rope throw it so that one end will rest in the lowest fork of that young chestnut tree." dave darrin heard, understood and nodded. "rope's ready in the chestnut tree," he called, as dick started on still another track, pursued, clumsily, by the angry bull. "get back out of harm's way," shouted dick. "get back, or you will hinder me." in three changing sprints dick manoeuvred to reach the chestnut tree, though the clumsy bull was barely twenty feet behind him and coming fast. as the rope hung from the crotch of the tree both ends trailed on the ground. seizing both lines dick went up rapidly hand over hand, his feet braced against the tree trunk. in this position he was able to run nimbly up the side of the trunk. bump! the bull's head landed against the tree, the shock nearly bringing the high school boy to the ground. dick managed to hold on to the rope, though his feet slipped from the trunk. rapidly he drew himself up into the crotch of the tree. bump---again! any animal with a head less hard would have been stunned outright. even mr. bull, after the second charge at the tree, backed off, head lowered, pawing the ground, willing to consider ere making a renewed attack. the tree was in no danger of snapping. it was too stout for that. prescott's only danger, just at present, was that of being dislodged by the force of those mad charges. turning, and beholding his friends closer than was safe, prescott shouted to them: "get back, fellows! you can't do any good here now, and the bull may turn on you. get 'way back! i'll call you when i'm ready for your help." "what do you think you're going to be able to do up that tree?" jeered danny grin, as he nevertheless backed away with the others. "i'm going to do something, if there's any way to do it," dick answered. "how is clara?" "safe," pronounced tom. "hysterical?" "no; only trembling." dick had hauled up the rope. now, with a speculative air, he was making a slip noose at one end. he still hadn't a very definite idea of what he was going to do to the bull. prescott was making a lariat, though he had no skill in the use of such a thing. presently, however, the mad animal came closer, stamping, head lowered. "nice fellow! nice fellow!" dick called mockingly. "wouldn't you like to have me come down to talk with you?" attracted by the voice, the bull raised its head, showing its flaming eyes. "i wonder!" mused dick, half aloud, as he leaned out cautiously over a limb. "i wonder." then, by way of finding out, he dropped the noose suddenly. it fell over the animal's head and around its neck. warned by the touch of the rope, the bull backed hastily off, nearly hauling the high school boy out of the tree. "there's just one chance to get you, and that's happening now," mused dick prescott, as, still holding to the rope, he fairly shot down the tree trunk. for an instant the bull watched as though incredulous. it gave dick time to touch his feet to the ground, passing the rope loosely once around the tree trunk. as the bull lumbered forward prescott pulled on his rope, while retreating in the opposite direction. all in a twinkling the bull's head was close to the tree, and dick with the end of the rope in his hands, and aided by the twist around the tree, had a leverage that enable him to hold the bull there. for a few moments the dirt fairly flew before the maddened animal's efforts to free itself. then, finding itself a prisoner, with its head fastened close to the tree, the bull again stopped to consider. "you fellows can come over here now," dick called. "the bull is safely caught---provided neither the rope nor the tree break." with a yell of delight dick's chums ran to the spot. dr. bentley came, too, though he walked. dick's success did not seem destined, how ever to last. a halt and a rest seemed to give the bull strength far greater than it had used in pulling against the rope before. with an angry snort the animal dug its hind hoofs into the soil and began to back away. "help!" called prescott, suddenly, for he found the rope slipping through his fingers, the friction burning his flesh. mr. bull had succeeded in backing four feet away from the tree. he would speedily be able to free himself altogether. tom and dave now came running. they threw their weight and muscle upon the rope to hinder the captive animal. but that great creature seemed likely soon to overcome the strength of all those combined against him. "come on!" called dick, backing away on a new course. "off this way, to the next tree behind me. hold on and pull for every pound you're worth." seeing his opponents plainly engaged in making some new move the wild animal halted, eyeing them balefully. that hesitation proved fatal to his immediate freedom, for dick had succeeded in getting the rope around the tree behind him. now he took another quick hitch, supplementing this with a knot, then another and a third. "i guess we may all let go of the rope now," prescott smiled. "i don't believe the bull can pull successfully against that triple knot." mr. bull was trying it, at any rate. his angry bellows were almost as loud as the roaring of a lion. dirt flew. the beast exerted its whole power in its efforts to get free. "the knot will hold," pronounced dr. bentley, after a critical survey. "the great danger is friction, which may wear out that part of the rope hitched around the first tree. if that happens we shall all have to run for our lives. come back here, prescott! what are you going to do?" for dick, leaving the little group, had started on a run for the bull. chapter xxiii what tag "borrowed" from the doctor "i want to see how the rope is faring," dick explained. "if it fares badly," called dr. bentley dryly, "you will find your curiosity possibly fatal. come back here. it is time for us to be getting away. i am sorry we have no fire arms, or we could settle mr. bull very quickly. come along, boys! come, dick!" but prescott, for once, didn't prove over, tractable. he went closer, anxiously studying the condition of the rope wound around the first tree. until dick was ready to go none of his chums would leave the scene. dr. bentley had turned away; but when he found himself unaccompanied, he wheeled about once more. "you can't do anything---except run in danger, dick," the physician called anxiously. "i am studying this business trying to find out if there isn't something that i can do," prescott replied. "there isn't," dr. bentley assured the boy, walking over to him, "and by staying you're only putting your life in almost certain jeopardy." but prescott shook his head and went on studying the turn of rope around the tree trunk. "you foolhardy fellow, i wish i had authority to order you away from here," exclaimed the physician irascible. "i know you think i'm foolhardy, sir," dick answered respectfully, "but, from the way the rope is fraying, this beast is going to be free presently. i feel that i simply have to find a way to prevent his doing mischief. we boys can take to trees, but how about the girls? how about mrs. bentley?" "they can get inside of the wooden houses at need," urged dr. bentley. "it is hardly likely that even a crazy bull would attack a wooden house." "he might charge through our camp, though, and frankly, doctor, we can't afford to lose that camp," prescott argued. "you other boys get back!" commanded dr. bentley, but dick's chums came closer. "hoo-hoo! hoo-hoo!" sounded a masculine voice from the direction of dick & co.'s camp. "hoo-hoo!" dick answered, in his loudest tone. "who are you?" "hibbert," came the reply. "i understand you are bull chasing!" "yes." "want any help?" "yes; if you're an expert in handling wild bulls," dick shouted back, between his hands. "i guess that will hold him, for a little while," chuckled dave. "the idea of hibbert handling wild bulls with those dainty little white hands of his!" soon the sound of running steps was heard. then on the scene came hibbert, carrying a second rope that he had found. "a queer hitch-up you've got there," murmured the dapper little man, as he halted near the group. "yes; and the bull is going to get away pretty soon, according to all predictions," replied tom reade. "though, perhaps, mr. hibbert, you may have an idea that hasn't occurred to our addled brains." "that's hardly likely," murmured the young man, as he began to tie a running noose in one end of the rope with an air of preoccupation. "i don't know very much about cattle." "i suppose not," tom nodded. "the very little that i know about the beasts," hibbert went on quietly, "was what i picked up during my college vacations, when my good old dad sent me west to rough it on a ranch. i'm not a cowboy at all, you know. all i know about them i discovered merely by sitting in saddle and watching the cowboys." now hibbert slipped around to the rear of the bull, which, for the moment, was behaving very quietly. "look out!" yelled prescott suddenly, for hibbert, slipping in closer, had begun to tease the beast's left quarter. mr. bull, as though resenting such familiarity with all his force, reared, plunged, snorted. the rope hitched about the tree seemed likely to snap at any moment. just as the bull came down on its hind legs, its forefeet raised in the air, hibbert made a swishing throw. "hurrah!" broke swiftly from the onlookers, for the dapper young man had made a throw that had roped the animal's forelegs together. hibbert made a sudden haul-in on the rope, with the result that the bulky beast crashed sideways, falling. then, all in a twinkling hibbert leaped in, hobbling the thrown beast effectively. having done this he made a few knots in the rope with workmanlike indifference. "now, the beast won't run about very fast, if he get's up," remarked mr. hibbert, rising from his task. "for that matter, i hardly believe he'll get up." hibbert next busied himself with gathering in the rope that dick had used. cutting this off beyond the point where some of the strands had become frayed, hibbert made a new cast about the bull's head, then tied that animal effectively to the tree. "fixed the way he now is," remarked mr. hibbert pensively, "i believe mr. bull, unless he has human aid in freeing himself, will still be here when the meat inspector gets around." "for a man who knows nothing about cattle," said tom reade, breaking the silence of the on-lookers, "it seems to me that you've done a most workmanlike job with that bull." "to an amateur like you or me," admitted hibbert modestly, "it looks like a very fair little tie-up. but i'm afraid my former friends on the three-bar-x would feel decidedly ashamed of me. shall we now go back to camp, or were you intending to go further into the woods?" "i believe we'd better go back to camp," said dr. bentley. "you didn't come alone, did you, mr. hibbert?" "oh, no, indeed," replied the dapper little man. "mr. page and colquitt are waiting back at the camp." as the party came in sight of the camp the women were plainly still agitated. "we've treed the bull!" shouted dr. bentley. "at least, i mean, he's safe." "he's been safe all along," cabled back mrs. bentley. "but are we safe, too?" "the bull is roped so that he will do no harm," dr. bentley answered. "none of you need feel the least uneasiness now. the work that young prescott started so well mr. hibbert has finished satisfactorily. the bull cannot get loose and do you any harm. he will stay just where he is until some of the local cattlemen come along to take care of him." just before dark, it may be added, two of the tenders employed by the owners of the cattle were stopped in passing. they led the bull away, the animal's legs being partly hobbled. "you haven't seen my boy," remarked mr. page wistfully, as dick and his chums reached the space before the tent. "i am afraid we hardly expected to see him again, sir," prescott answered. "as you've doubtless heard, sir, your son has been back this way, and visited dr. bentley's camp. from there, i take it, he meant to make his escape out of these woods for good and all. i have an idea, mr. page, that a further hunt will lead far away from here." "my son ought not to be able to get far away," went on the father, holding out a handbill. "i have felt obliged to proclaim a reward of a thousand dollars for the boy's discovery within a week, with a further thousand if it happens within three days, and still another thousand for his being brought to me within twenty-four hours." "then you can expect results, sir!" dick went on, brightening. "money talks, i've heard." "and talks in every language," added reade. "mr. page, a lot of men who are not police or peace officers will be out hunting for young mr. page. 'tag mosher' will be more eagerly sought for than ever before in his life. "i don't see how tag has a ghost of a show to get away," observed dave darrin. "whew, but i'm thirsty," remarked dr. bentley, going over to the spot where the drinking dipper hung. "and it looks as though it were my turn to go after water." "is there no water there?" prescott inquired. "not a drop." "then i'll get some water, doctor," offered dick, coming forward and taking up a pail. he went briskly away to the spring where the boys obtained their water supply. the spring was some distance from camp. dick reached the little glade where the spring lay, and turned down into it. as he did so he saw a movement of the bushes, as though some animal had crawled into shelter. "anyway, it wasn't anything as large as a bull," laughed dick, as he bent over the spring, bucket in hand. he filled the bucket, then set it down on the ground. "i wonder what is under those bushes?" he muttered, boyish curiosity coming to the surface. prying the bushes apart, stepping forward, he suddenly halted, a cry of astonishment coming to his lips. "you, tag?" he questioned, in astonishment, gazing down at the sullen face of the larger boy who lay on his back in the thicket. "yes; it's tag, and i'm it," mocked the other. "what are you doing here?" "waiting for you to call your friends, the officers. there's a reward offered for me, i suppose." "yes; there is," answered dick, wondering why tag didn't leap up and scurry away. "and guess who offers the reward?" "who?" "your father!" "bill mosher?" laughed tag, despite his sulky air. "what does bill offer? the next dozen of eggs?" "tag, bill mosher isn't your father, and he has admitted it. you were a strange child that came into his care, and he kept you, at first, hoping for a reward. your real name is page, and your real father is now over at camp. i'll call him." "you may as well," agreed tag sullenly. "but page is a new name. is that what they call the sheriff now?" "tag, aren't you ever going to be serious?" demanded dick, flushing with eagerness. "not while you go on springing the same old line of fairy tales on me," retorted the other lad. "is my father, as you call him, as rich as he was yesterday and the day before? has he still barrels of money that he's waiting to hand me? money? humph! if it hadn't been for money i wouldn't be in the fix i am now. prescott, i'll tell you something. i've kept the cupboard full by stealing. i'll admit that. but i never stole money before to-day. i went through those dog-houses---what do you call them?" "do you mean the portable houses of the bentley party?" asked dick. "i guess that's the right name. anyway, i went through those houses to gather in some food, for i was going to leave these woods for good and all." "so i guessed," nodded dick. "and i came across two twenty dollar bills. prescott, i've always helped myself to food, because, some way, it always seemed to me that food belongs to the fellow who needs it most. but i had never taken any money, before, from anyone. that's honest---flat! but the twenties looked fine to me. they would carry me a long way on the railroad, and i haven't had any notion to stay here and go to jail for something i didn't do anyway. so i took the money, the grub, too, and stepped off fast through the woods. but, prescott, you may believe me or not, that money got heavier with every step. remember, i've never had any practice in stealing money. by the time i'd gone three or four miles that money in my pocket got so heavy that i couldn't drag my feet another step. i took the money out and threw it away. but that didn't help me any, either, so i went back, found the money, and started back this way to put that money back where i got it. i never knew that anything i helped myself to would grow so heavy, but back i had to come with that money. i can't understand what made me feel that way about a little money. maybe it was" "conscience," suggested dick promptly. "conscience?" repeated tag wonderingly. "what's that? i know i've heard that word somewhere---some time." dick was wondering how to make sure of tag this time. if he shouted to his friends in camp prescott felt positive that tag would leap up, knock him down and glide away. give him a start of a hundred yards in these forests, and tag mosher, otherwise young page, was quite certain to distance and elude all pursuit. chapter xxiv conclusion as a last resort the high school boy decided to make one more effort to use persuasion. "tag" he urged, "be a real fellow. show some grit, and purpose. no matter what you've done, or what you haven't done, show that you've sand enough to get up and walk back into camp with me---to meet your father. come, get up and come along, like a real fellow with real grit, won't you?" "get up?" echoed tag bitterly. "if i could, do you suppose i'd be lying here talking to you now?" "are you hurt?" cried dick. "if i hadn't been, do you suppose i'd have stayed with you as long as i have?" mocked the other indignantly. "it all came of that money, too, and what you call 'conscience.' if i hadn't come back with the money i wouldn't have had that nasty tumble over the root, and my ankle would be as sound as ever." "do you mean that you can't walk?" dick demanded. "i can crawl, and that's all," tag declared. "i was at the spring, getting a drink, when i heard you coming. then i crawled back in here, but not fast enough to keep you from seeing something moving here. it was right over yonder that i fell and wrenched my ankle. i crawled over here so as to be near water until my foot got so that i could use it again." "hoo-hoo!" bellowed prescott, through his hands. "hoo-hoo the camp! hoo-hoo!" "that's right," jeered tag. "go in after the reward, when i can't help myself. serves me right for taking money when i should have contented myself with my old game of stealing victuals only!" "hoo-hoo the camp!" repeated prescott. "hoo-hoo!" "that you, dick?" came in darrin's voice. "yes; come here on the jump, dave. and bring the others." "where?" "at the spring." "say," remarked tag shrewdly, "you oughtn't to call a whole crowd that way. there will be more to get a share in the reward, and you won't get as much for yourself." "oh, bother the reward!" spoke prescott impatiently. "all i'm thinking of, tag, is the bother you've given us, first and last." "i suppose i always have been a trouble to folks," tag assented glumly. "but i'll be game---now that i'm caught." all the chums save hazelton came on a run. "here's tag, fellows," dick hailed them. "he has hurt his ankle and i guess we'll have to carry him to camp." "that'll be easy enough," declared broad shouldered tom reade. "i believe i can pick, him up alone." tom tried. the feat would have been possible, but it would not make for the comfort of the injured boy. "you and i will make a queen's chair," suggested dick. then dave, greg and dan lifted tag to the seat thus formed. "you'll find me heavy before you get me far," tag informed them. "pshaw!" retorted tom. greg, running ahead, informed the others in camp who was coming. the bearers were met by mr. page, hibbert and colquitt, running in the order named. "here's the boy you want, mr. page," called dick prescott. "but look out for his injured ankle, sir." this last caution was necessary, for the older man, in his eagerness to embrace the lad whom he believed to be his son, almost crashed into him. "so you're my son---my boy, egbert!" cried the father. "that's the fairy tale that has been shied at me a good many times lately," replied tag gruffly. mr. page fell back, in some astonishment, at this ungracious reception. then, understanding, and remembering tag's unhappy past, he patted the boy's shoulder. "that's all right---all right, egbert," declared the father. "perhaps the news has come upon you too suddenly. but you and i will talk it over. it won't take us long to know each other, my boy." as the party came into camp it was noted that mrs. bentley and the girls had withdrawn, returning, through delicacy, to their own camp. hazelton, thus released from guard duty at the other camp, soon came running over. but dr. bentley had slipped into the tent, quickly arranging one of the cots with the skill of the hospital worker. "bring the young man in here," called the physician, appearing in the doorway of the tent. "we'll soon find out how bad the injury is." tag was lowered down upon the blanket. "which foot is it?" asked dr. bentley. "left," replied tag. dr. bentley deftly removed the shoe, causing hardly more than a trace of pain. tag insisted on raising himself on his elbow to look on. it was the first time he had ever been under a doctor's care. dick took one look at the wistful eyes of the father, as mr. page stood by the head of the cot, resting one hand on his supposed son's shoulder. "come outside, fellows," called dick. "doctor, we'll be outside if you want anything." the onlookers in the tent started to go outside, except the father and the physician. "come back, hibbert," called mr. page softly. "you've been at least a son to me during the last year. now, remain and help me to get acquainted with my own son." tag was silent. he could take punishment, and dr. bentley was now hurting him quite a bit in his effort to get at the exact nature of the injury. "reade," called the physician, "start a fire in a hurry. heat half a kettle of water for me as fast as you can. prescott, run over to my camp and ask mrs. bentley for my emergency case, the two-quart bottle of bicarbonate of soda and a roll of four-inch gauze." dick sped toward the bentley camp as though on wings. while mrs. bentley was gathering the things for him the girls crowded about, asking eager questions about tag, or egbert page, as he might prove to be. but dick delayed to talk only until mrs. bentley had placed the desired things in his hands. then he sped back, in time to hear the physician saying: "only a sprain. a painful one, to be sure. but this young man may be moved in an automobile in an hour or two. by to-morrow morning he ought to be able to get about with the aid of a crutch." "in jail is where i'll do my moving about," grunted tag. "no matter where it be, my boy," protested mr. page, "if they lock you up they'll have to take me, too. besides, i have money, and bail is possible." "bail?" repeated tag. "would you go my bail, and trust me not to jump it?" "the page honor would never permit you to jump bail," replied the old man, with simple but positive belief in his tone. hardly had dr. bentley finished dressing and bandaging the ankle than a new arrival appeared. deputy valden had dropped in, alone, to discover whether there was any news. "you may wait, deputy, and go with us," declared mr. page, as though the sheriff's officer were some subordinate of his. "we will go to the jail as soon as my son is rested and is comfortable enough to be moved." "humph! i like that!" jeered the deputy. "this boy is my prisoner, and i'll take him when i please. see here, tag, i don't want you faking any injuries as a slick way to-----" "you get outside, my man!" broke in detective colquitt quietly, but he took hold of the deputy so forcibly that valden was quickly on the outside of the tent. "now, you come along with me, my man," colquitt continued, "and i'll tell you who's who. first of all, this boy is mr. page's son. mr. page can produce all kinds of money merely by signing a check. he is indignant with you, already, for maltreating his son when you had him under arrest at another time. mr. page may employ lawyers and bring proceedings to have you ousted from your job by the sheriff. you-----" here their voices died out in the distance, but valden went along willingly enough. when the pair returned the deputy seemed to have lost his swagger. "doc, you've been good to me," said tag at last, "and now i'll tell you how i came to hurt my ankle. you know, of course, that i visited one of your shacks and helped myself to some of your kitchen stuff. while i was there i came across a queer little black bag. i opened it, and found a whole lot of queer little bottles. medicines, i guess, though i don't know, for i never had any. then i came across one little bottle that i couldn't see inside of. i took out the cork, and inside i found some paper rolled up and tucked away. two twenties were what i found. money was just what i needed, to buy a railway ticket with, so i slipped the money into a pocket. then i started off, but, doe, that money got so heavy---so awfully heavy-----" from there on tag repeated the story he had told young prescott. during the recital dick had stepped into the tent. "i knew you had my money, my boy," smiled dr. bentley, "but i didn't say anything about it." "you didn't start off to put the officers on my track?" demanded tag incredulously. "not i," laughed dr. bentley. "i had a different idea. i suspected you'd buy a railway ticket. this evening i had intended to drive, to a telegraph station and telegraph about until i found where and to what station a chap answering your description had bought a ticket. then i would telegraph to the sheriff just where you were to be picked up as you left the train. i'll admit that i wasn't very anxious to turn you over to the law. what i wanted was to get on your trail, and then see you turned over to your father." "you told me that tag took a drug from one of your vials," dick murmured, smiling. "so he did," nodded the doctor. "money is a drug in the market---in some places." "what kind of places, sir?" prescott inquired. "such places as the united states treasury, for instance," laughed dr. bentley. "or the national city bank of new york." then turning to mr. page, the physician completed his explanation. "money is a strange thing perhaps, mr. page, to carry in a vial in a doctor's drug case. but sometimes, when i've been on the road, and a long way from home on the day's work, i've found that i needed money just when i least expected to want it. so, for some years, i've always had two twenty dollar bills tucked away in an opaque vial, where it would not be seen and invite theft. i never told anyone what i carried in that vial." what dr. bentley did not explain, however, was that, generally, when he wanted extra money, it was for some charitable work the need of which became apparent when he was visiting the sick and needy. the generous physician had many "free patients." some two hours later, tag, his father, hibbert, colquitt and valden started for the county jail in the big page car. on the way they stopped at the home of farmer leigh, to which dr. bentley had gone ahead of them. "mr. leigh is conscious and able to be seen," the physician reported to detective colquitt. "bring your prisoner inside at once." then there came a dramatic surprise. farmer leigh, when confronted by tag, positively denied that tag was the one who had assaulted him. mr. leigh, it will be remembered, was a newcomer in the neighborhood. he had never known tag, but, after his injury, and before brain fever came on, the farmer had described his assailant, and that description had seemed to fit tag mosher to a dot. the real criminal, however, a young tramp some years older than tag, was found later on, and punished according to law. dick prescott was the only one of the high school boys on hand to see the clearing of tag of the accusation against him. dick had come along in dr. bentley's car. "prescott," whispered the physician, "slip downstairs. you'll find my car all ready. all you need to do is to press the starting button. drive over to porterville and get mr. james, the district attorney. never mind if you have to drag him out of bed and thrash him into submission---bring him here as quickly as possible. don't fail, you understand." with heart beating rapidly, but feeling wholly happy, young prescott slipped downstairs and out of the house. a few moments later he was speeding over the lonely country road. at one o'clock in the morning he came back with district attorney james, who heard farmer leigh's statement, reduced it to writing and had it signed under oath before many witnesses. "officer valden," said the district attorney, "i authorize you to take your prisoner to porterville, not to the jail, but to the granite hotel. as soon as court opens in the morning i will secure the formal discharge of your prisoner." this was done. dick, who returned to camp with dr. bentley just before daylight, did not see tag released, but heard of it. proof came in rapidly after that to satisfy mr. page that "tag mosher" was his son egbert. best of all, even young egbert himself was convinced. young page underwent a speedy and complete reformation. later he went to school to prepare for college. in time egbert promises to be a strong man in his community and a force for good. old bill mosher died soon after leaving jail. mr. page tried hard to make dick & co. accept the offered reward of three thousand dollars, but neither the boys nor their parents would listen to any such transaction. dick & co. had done their duty in manly fashion, and that was reward enough. dr. bentley's party broke camp a few days later. dick & co., however, remained for several weeks, training hard, putting on tan and muscle and fitting themselves to compete for places on the famous gridley high school eleven in the coming fall. just what happened to our boys in the school year that followed will be found fully and thrillingly explained in the third volume of the "_high school boys series_," which is published under the title, "_the high school left end; or, dick & co. grilling on the football gridiron_." the further vacation doings of these splendid american boys will be found in the next volume of this "high school boys' vacation series." the book is published under the title, "_the high school boys' fishing trip; or, dick & co. in the wilderness_." our readers will find it a story full of rousing incident, persistent adventure, delightful humor and absorbing human interest. proofreaders the camp fire girls at camp keewaydin or, down paddles by hildegard g. frey chapter i on the way "all aboard!" the hoarse voice of captain maclaren boomed out like a fog horn, waking a clatter of echoes among the tall cliffs on the opposite shore of the river, and sending the seventy-five girls on the dock all skurrying for the _carribou's_ gangplank at once. "hurry up, hinpoha! we're getting left behind." agony strained forward on the suitcase she was helping hinpoha to carry down the hill and endeavored to catch up with the crowd, a proceeding which she soon acknowledged to be impossible, for hinpoha, rendered breathless by the hasty scramble from the train, lagged farther behind with every step. "i--can't--go--any--faster!" she panted, and abruptly let go of her end of the suitcase to fan herself with her hand. "what's the use of rushing so, anyway?" she demanded plaintively. "they won't go off without us; they can see us coming down the hill. it wasn't _my_ fault that my camera got wedged under the seat and made us be the last ones off the train," she continued, "and i'm not going to run down this hill and go sprawling, like i did in the elevator yesterday. are the other girls on already?" she asked, searching the crowd below with her eyes for a sight of the other winnebagos. "sahwah and oh-pshaw are on the boat already," replied agony, "and gladys and migwan are just getting on. i don't see katherine anywhere, however. oh, yes," she exclaimed, "there she is down there in the crowd. what are they all laughing at, i wonder? oh, look, katherine's suitcase has come open, and all her things are spilled out on the dock. i thought it would be strange if she made the trip without some kind of a mishap. oh, dear, did you ever see anyone so funny as katherine?" "well," observed hinpoha in a tone of relief, "we don't have to hurry now. it'll take them at least ten minutes to get that suitcase shut again. i know, because i helped katherine pack. i had to sit on it with all my might to close it." "_all aboard_!" came the second warning roar from captain maclaren, accompanied by a deafening blast of the _carribou's_ whistle. agony picked up hinpoha's suitcase in one hand and her own in the other, and with an urgent "come on!" made a dash down the remainder of the hill and landed breathless at the gangplank of the waiting steamer just as the engine began to quiver into motion. hinpoha was just behind her, and katherine trod closely upon hinpoha's heels, carrying her still unclosed suitcase out before her like a tray, to keep its contents from spilling out. migwan was waiting for them at the head of the gangplank. "we've saved a place for you up in the bow," she said. "hurry up, we're having _such_ a time holding it for you. the boat is simply _packed_." the four girls picked their way through a litter of suitcases, paddles, cameras, tennis rackets and musical instruments that covered every inch of deck space between the chairs, and joined the other winnebagos in their place in the bow. hinpoha sank down gratefully upon a deck chair that oh-pshaw had obligingly been holding for her and agony disposed herself upon a pile of suitcases, from which vantage point she could get a good look at the crowd. the _carribou_ had turned her nose about and was gliding smoothly upstream, following the random curvings of the lazy onawanda as it wound through the low-lying, wooded hills of the shenandawah country, singing a carefree wanderer's song as it flowed. it was a glorious, balmy day in late june, dazzlingly blue and white, sparklingly golden. it was the _carribou's_ big day of the year, that last day of june. on all other days she made her run demurely from lower falls station to upper falls, carrying freight and a handful of passengers on each trip; but every year on that last day of june freight and ordinary passengers stood aside, for the _carribou_ was chartered to carry the girls of camp keewaydin to their summer hunting grounds. the winnebagos looked around with interest at the girls who were to be their companions for the summer, all as yet total strangers to them. girls of every shape and size, of every shade of complexion, of every age between sixteen and twenty. a number were apparently "old girls," who had been at camp keewaydin in former years; they flocked together in the bow right behind the winnebagos, chattering animatedly, singing snatches of camp songs, and uttering conjectures in regard to such things as whether they would be in the alley or the avenue; and who was going to be councilor in all saints this year. a number of these old girls were grouped in an adoring attitude around a pretty young woman who talked constantly in an animated tone, and at intervals strummed on a ukulele. continual cries of "pom-pom!" rose on the air from the circle surrounding her. it was "_dear_ pom-pom," "pom-pom, you angel," "o _darling_ pom-pom! can't you fix it so that i can be in your tent this year?" and much more in the same strain. "pom-pom is holding her court again this year, i see," said a biting voice just behind agony. agony maneuvered herself around on her perch and glanced down at the speaker. she was a decidedly plain girl with a thick nose and a wide mouth set in a grim line above an extraordinarily heavy chin. her face was turned partly away as she spoke to the girl next to her, but agony caught a glimpse of the sarcastic expression which informed her features, and a little chill of dislike went through her. agony was extremely susceptible to first impressions of people. the girl addressed made an inaudible reply and the first girl continued in low but emphatic tones, "well, you won't catch me fetching and carrying for her and playing the part of the adoring slave, i can tell you. i think it's perfectly silly, the way the girls all get a crush on her." there was a pause, and then the other girl asked, somewhat hastily, "who do you suppose will get the buffalo robe this year?" "oh, mary sylvester will, of course," came the reply. "she nearly got it last year. now that peggy atterbury isn't coming back mary'll be the most popular girl in camp without a doubt. look at her over there, trying to be sweet to pom-pom." "isn't she stunning in that coral silk sweater?" murmured the other girl. "she has too much color to wear that shade of pink," returned the sarcastic one. agony's eyes traveled over to the group surrounding pom-pom and rested upon the girl who, next to pom-pom herself, was the center of the group. she was very much like agony herself, with intensely black hair, snow white forehead and richly red lips, though a little slighter in build and somewhat taller. a frank friendliness beamed from her clear dark eyes and her smile was warm and sincere. agony felt drawn to her and jealous of her at the same time. _the most popular girl in camp_. that was the title agony coveted with all her soul. to be prominent; to be popular, was agony's chief aim in life; and to be pointed out in a crowd as _the_ most popular girl seemed the one thing in the world most desirable to her. she, too, would be prominent and popular, she resolved; she, too, would be pointed out in the crowd. the sarcastic voice again broke in upon her reverie. "have you seen the hippopotamus over there in the bow? i should think a girl would be ashamed to get that stout." agony glanced apprehensively at hinpoha, who was staring straight out over the water, but whose crimson face betrayed only too plainly that she had heard the remark. the rest of the winnebagos had undoubtedly heard it also, as well as a number of others rubbing elbows with them, for a sudden embarrassed silence fell over that corner of the boat and a dozen pairs of eyes glanced from hinpoha to the speaker, who, not one whit abashed, continued to stare scornfully at the object of her ridicule. "of all the bad manners!" said agony to sahwah in an indignant undertone, which, with the characteristic penetrating quality of agony's voice, carried perfectly to the ears of the girl behind her. a light, satirical laugh was the reply. agony turned to bestow a withering glance upon this rude creature, and met a pair of greenish tan eyes bent upon her with an expression of cool mockery. in the instant that their eyes met there sprang up between them one of those sudden antagonisms that are characteristic of very positive natures; the two hated each other cordially at first sight, before they had ever spoken a word to each other. like fencers' swords their glances crossed and fell apart, and each girl turned her back pointedly upon the other. broken threads of conversation were picked up by the group around them, shouts of laughter came from the group surrounding pom-pom, who was reciting a funny poem, and the tense moment passed. the other winnebagos forgot the incident and gave themselves over to enjoyment of the beautiful scene which was unrolling before their eyes as the _carribou_ bore them further and further into the wilds; great dark stretches of woodland brooding in silence on the hillsides; an occasional glimpse of a far distant mountain peak wreathed in mist, and near by many a merry little stream romping down a hillside into the mother arms of the onawanda. gradually the shores had drawn close together until the travelers could look into the cool depths of the forests past which they were gliding, and could hear the calling of the wild birds in their leafy sanctuary. just past a long stretch of woods which hinpoha thought might be enchanted, because the trees stood so stiffly straight, the _carribou_ rounded a bend, and there flashed into sight an irregular row of white tents scattered among the pines on a rise of ground some hundred or more feet back from the river. "there's camp," sahwah tried to say to hinpoha, but her voice was drowned in the shriek of ecstasy which rose from the old campers. handkerchiefs waved wildly; paddles smote the deck with deafening thumps; cheer after cheer rolled up, accompanied by the loud tooting of the _carribou's_ whistle. captain maclaren always joined in the racket of arrival as heartily as the girls themselves, taking delight in seeing how much noise he could coax from the throat of his steam siren. amid the racket the little vessel nosed her way up alongside a wooden dock, and before she was fairly fast the younger members of last year's delegation had leapt over the rail and were scurrying up the path. the older ones followed more sedately, having stopped to pick up their luggage, and to greet the camp directors who stood on the dock with welcoming hands outstretched. last of all came the new girls, looking about them inquiringly, and already beginning to fall in love with the place. chapter ii getting settled along the bluff overlooking the river, and half buried in the pine trees, stretched a long, low, rustic building, the pillars of whose wide piazza were made of tree trunks with the bark left on. a huge chimney built of cobblestones almost covered the one end. the great pines hovered over it protectingly; their branches caressing its roof as they waved gently to and fro in the light breeze. on the peak of one of its gables a little song sparrow, head tilted back and body a-tremble, trilled forth an ecstasy of song. "isn't it be-yoo-tiful?" sighed hinpoha, her artistic soul delighting in the lovely scene before her. "i wonder what that house is for?" "i don't know," replied sahwah, equally enchanted. "there's another house behind it, farther up on the hill." this second house was much larger than the bungalow overhanging the water's edge; it, too, was built in rustic fashion, with tree-trunks for porch posts; it was long and rambling, and had an additional story at the back, where the hill sloped away. it was into this latter house that the crowd of girls was pouring, and the winnebagos, following the others, found themselves in a large dining room, open on three sides to the veranda, and screened all around the open space. on the fourth side was an enormous fireplace built of stones like those they had seen in the chimney of the other house. over its wide stone shelf were the words camp keewaydin traced in small, glistening blue pebbles in a cement panel. although the day was hot, a small fire of paper and pine knots blazed on the hearth, crackling a cheery welcome to the newcomers as they entered. in the center of the room two long tables and a smaller one were set for dinner, and from the regions below came the appetizing odor of meat cooking, accompanied by the portentous clatter of an egg beater. there was apparently an attic loft above the dining-room, for next to the chimney a square opening showed in the raftered ceiling, with a ladder leading up through it, fastened against the wall below. up this ladder a dozen or more of the younger girls scrambled as soon as they entered the room; laughing, shrieking, tumbling over each other in their haste; and after a moment of thumping and bouncing about, down they all came dancing, clad in middies and bloomers, and raced, whooping like indians, down the path which led to the tents. "are we supposed to get into our bloomers right away?" oh-pshaw whispered to agony. "ours are in the trunk, and it hasn't been brought up yet." "i don't believe we are," agony returned, watching mary sylvester, who stood talking to pom-pom in the doorway of the camp director's office. "none of the older girls are doing it; just the youngsters." just then mrs. grayson, the camp director's wife, came out of the office and announced that dinner would be served immediately, after which the tent assignments would be made. the winnebagos found themselves seated in a row down the side of one of the long tables, being served by a jolly-looking, muscular-armed councilor, who turned out to be the camp director's daughter, and who had her section of the table feeling at home in no time. "seven of you from one city!" she remarked to the winnebagos, when she had called the roll of "native heaths," as she put it. "that's one of the largest delegations we have here. you all look like star campers, too," she added, sizing them up shrewdly. "seven stars!" she repeated, evidently pleased with her simile. "we'll have to call you the pleiades. we already have the nine muses from new york, the twelve apostles from boston, the heavenly twins from chicago and the three graces from minneapolis, beside the lone wolf from labrador, the kangaroo from australia, and the elephant's child from india." "oh, how delicious!" cried sahwah delightedly. "do you really mean that there are girls here from australia and india?" sahwah set down her water glass and gazed incredulously at miss judith. miss judith nodded over the pudding she was dishing up. "the kangaroo and the lone wolf are councilors," she replied, "but the elephant's child is a girl, the daughter of a missionary to india. she goes to boarding school here in america in the winter time, and always spends her summers at our camp. that is she, sitting at the end of the other table, next to mother." the winnebagos glanced with quick interest to see what the girl from india might be like, and somewhat to their surprise saw that she was no different from the others. they recognized her as one of the younger girls who had been hanging over pom-pom on the boat. "oh--she!" breathed agony. "what is her name?" asked hinpoha, feeling immensely drawn to the girl, not because she came from india, but because she was even stouter than herself. "her name is bengal virden," replied miss judith. "bengal?" repeated sahwah. "what an odd name. i suppose she was born in bengal?" "yes, she was born there," replied miss judith. "she is a rather odd child," she continued, "but an all round good sport. her mother died when she was small and she was brought up by her father until she was old enough to be sent to america, and since then she has divided her time between boarding schools and summer camps. she has a very affectionate nature, and gets tremendous crushes on the people she likes. last summer it was pom-pom, and she nearly wore her out with her adoration, although pom-pom likes that sort of thing." "who is pom-pom?" asked agony curiously. "i have heard her name mentioned so many times." "pom-pom is our dancing teacher," replied miss judith. "she is the pretty councilor over there at the lower end of mother's table. all the girls get violent crushes on her," she continued, looking the winnebagos over with a quizzical eye, as if to say that it would only be a short time before they, too, would be lying at pom-pom's feet, another band of adoring slaves. without knowing why, agony suddenly felt unaccountably foolish under miss judith's keen glance, and taking her eyes from pom-pom, she let them rove leisurely over the long line of girls at her own table. "who is the girl sitting third from the end on this side?" she asked, indicating the heavy-jawed individual who had made the impolite remark on the boat about hinpoha, and who had just now pushed back her pudding dish with an emphatic movement after tasting one spoonful, and had turned to her neighbor with a remark which made the one addressed glance uncomfortably toward the councilor who was serving that section. miss judith followed agony's glance. "that," she replied in a non-committal tone, "is jane pratt. will anyone have any more pudding?" the pudding was delicious--chocolate with custard sauce--and miss judith was immediately busy refilling a half dozen dishes all proffered her at once. agony made a mental note that miss judith had made no comment whatever upon jane pratt, although she had evidently been in camp the year before, and she drew her own conclusions about jane's popularity. "who is mary sylvester?" agony asked presently. "mary sylvester," repeated miss judith in a tone which caught the attention of all the winnebagos, it was so full of affection. "mary sylvester is the salt of the earth," miss judith continued warmly. "she's the brightest, loveliest, most kind-hearted girl i've ever met, and i've met a good many. she can't help being popular; she's as jolly as she is pretty, and as unassuming as she is talented. for an all around good camper 'we will never see her equal, though we search the whole world through,' as the camp song runs." agony looked over to where mary sylvester sat, the center of an animated group, and yearned with all her heart to be so prominent and so much noticed. "i heard someone on the boat say that she would probably get the buffalo robe this year; that she had almost gotten it last year," continued agony. "what is the buffalo robe, please?" "the buffalo robe," replied miss judith, "is a large leather skin upon which the chief events of each camping season are painted in colors, and at the end of the summer it goes to the girl who is voted the most popular. she keeps it through the winter and returns it to us when camp opens the next year." "oh-h," breathed agony, mightily interested. "and who got it last year?" "peggy atterbury," said miss judith. "you'll hear all about her before very long. all the old girls are going to tie black ribbons on their tent poles tomorrow morning because she isn't coming back this year. she was another rare spirit like mary sylvester, only a bit more prominent, because she saved a girl from drowning one day." agony's heart swelled with ambition and desire as she listened to miss judith telling about the buffalo robe. a single consuming desire burned in her soul--to win that buffalo robe. nothing else mattered now; no other laurel she might possibly win held out any attraction; she must carry off the great honor. she would show nyoda what a great quality of leadership she possessed; there would be no question of nyoda's making her a torch bearer when she came home with the buffalo robe. thus her imagination soared until she pictured herself laying the significant trophy at nyoda's feet and heard nyoda's words of congratulation. a sudden doubt assailed her in the midst of her dream. "do new girls ever win the buffalo robe?" she asked in a voice which she tried hard to make sound disinterested. "yes, certainly," replied miss judith. "peggy atterbury was a new girl last year, and the girl who won it the year before last was a new girl also." her doubt thus removed, agony returned to her pleasant day dream with greater longing than ever. the conversation at their table was interrupted by shouts from the next group. "oh, miss judy, please, please, can't we live in the alley?" another group farther down the table took up the cry, and the room echoed with clamorous requests to live either "in the alley" or "on the avenue." the elephant's child came in at the end with a fervent plea: "please, can't i be in pom-pom's tent _this_ year?" "tent lists are all made out," replied miss judith blandly. "you'll all find out in a few moments where you're to be." she sat calmly amid the buzz of excited speculation. "what do they mean by living 'in the alley'?" asked sahwah curiously. "there are two rows of tents," replied miss judith. "the first one is called the avenue and the second one the alley. this end of camp, where the bungalows are, is known as the heights, and the other end the flats. there is always a great rivalry in camp between the dwellers in the alley and the dwellers on the avenue, and the two compete for the championship in sports." "oh, how jolly!" cried sahwah eagerly. "where are we to be?" she continued, filled with a sudden burning desire to live in the alley. "you'll know soon," said miss judith, with another one of her quizzical smiles, and with that the winnebagos had to be content. in a few moments dinner was finished and mrs. grayson rose and read the tent assignments. the tents all had names, it appeared; there was bedlam and avernus, jabberwocky, hornets, nevermore, gibraltar, tamaracks, fairview, woodpeckers, ravens, all saints, aloha, and a number of others which the winnebagos could not remember at one hearing. three girls and one councilor were assigned to each tent. sahwah and agony and hinpoha heard themselves called to go to gitchee-gummee; gladys and migwan were put with bengal virden, the elephant's child from india, into a tent called ponemah; while katherine and oh-pshaw were assigned, without any tentmate, to "bedlam." the winnebagos smiled involuntarily when this last assignment was read, knowing how well katherine's erratic nature befitted the name of the place. gitchee-gummee, sahwah found to her delight, was the tent nearest the woods; next to it, but on the other side of a small gully, spanned by a rustic bridge, came aloha, pom-pom's tent; on the other side of aloha stood ponemah, in the shadow of twin pines of immense height; while bedlam was farther along in the same row, just beyond avernus. avernus, the winnebagos noticed to their amusement, was a tent pitched in a deep hollow, the approach to which was a rocky passage down a steep hillside, strikingly suggestive of the classical entrance way to the nether regions. only the ridgepole of avernus was visible from the level upon which bedlam stood, all the rest of it being hidden by the high rocks which surround it. bedlam, on the other hand, was built on a height, and commanded a view of nearly all the other tents, being itself a conspicuous object in the landscape. to their secret joy, the winnebagos saw that their tents were all in the back row, in the alley. agony, especially, was exultant, since she saw that mary sylvester was also in the alley. mary was in aloha, pom-pom's tent, right next door, and agony had a feeling that wherever mary sylvester was, there would be the center of things, and being right next door might have its advantages. "we're going to have miss judith for a councilor," remarked sahwah joyfully, as she dumped her armful of blankets down on one of the beds--the one on the side toward the woods. "i wonder which bed she would like," said hinpoha, standing irresolutely in the center of the floor with her armful of bedding. "here she comes now," announced agony. "let's wait and ask her." "well, she wouldn't want _this_ one anyway," remarked sahwah, as she straightened the mattress on her bed preparatory to spreading the sheets, "it sags in the middle like everything. i didn't take the best one if i did take first choice"--a fact which was apparent to all. bedlam's councilor, who had been announced as miss armstrong, from australia, had already staked her claim when katherine and oh-pshaw arrived, although she herself was nowhere in sight. one of the beds was made up and covered with a blanket of such dazzling gorgeousness that the two girls were almost blinded, and after one look turned their eyes outdoors for relief. all colors of the rainbow ran riot in that blanket, each one trying to outdo the others in brilliancy and intensity, until the effect was a veritable vesuvius eruption of infernal splendors. "think of having to live with _that_!" exclaimed oh-pshaw tragically. "my eyesight will be ruined in one day. imagine the effect after i get out my pink and gray one." "and my lavender one!" added katherine. "we won't ever dare roll up the sides of our tent," continued oh-pshaw. "we'll look like a beacon fire, up here on this hill. our tent is visible from the whole camp." "cheer up," said katherine philosophically, "maybe there are others just as bad. anyway, let's not act as if we minded; it might make miss armstrong feel badly. she probably thinks it's handsome, or she wouldn't have it. coming from australia that way, she may have quite savage tastes." "i wonder what she'll be like," ruminated oh-pshaw, standing on one foot to tie the sneaker she had just substituted for her high traveling shoe. as if in answer to her wondering, a clear, far-carrying call came to the ears of both girls at that moment. "coo-_ee_! coo-_ee_! coo-_ee_!" "what is that?" asked oh-pshaw, pausing in her shoe lacing with one foot poised airily in space. the call was repeated just outside their tent door, and then trailed off into silence. "is that someone calling to us?" asked katherine, hurriedly pulling her middy on over her head and throwing back the tent flap. no one was in sight outside. "must have been for someone else," she reported, looking right and left along the pathway. "there's nobody out here." she came back into the tent and began arranging her small possessions on the shelf which swung overhead. "how i'm ever going to keep all my things on one-third of this shelf is more--" she began, but her speech ended in a startled gasp, for the floor of the tent suddenly heaved up in the center, sending bottles, brushes and boxes tumbling in all directions. the board which had thus heaved up so miraculously continued to rise at one end, and underneath it a pair of long, lean, powerful-looking arms came into view, followed by a head and a pair of shoulders. katherine and oh-pshaw sat petrified at the apparition. "did i scare you, girls?" asked a deep, strong voice, and the apparition looked gravely from one to the other. it was a dark-skinned face, bronzed by wind and weather to a coppery, indian-like tinge, and the hair which framed it was coarse and black. only the head and shoulders of the apparition were visible beside the arms, the rest being concealed in the depths underneath the tent, but the breadth of those shoulders indicated clearly what might be expected in the way of a body. after a moment of roving back and forth between the two girls, the dark eyes under the heavy eyebrows fastened themselves upon katherine with a mournful intensity of gaze that held her spellbound, speechless. after a full moment's scrutiny the dark eyes dropped, and the apparition, using her arms as levers, raised herself to the level of the floor and stood up. she was taller even than they had expected from the breadth of her shoulders; in fact, she seemed taller than the tent itself. katherine, who up until that moment had considered herself tall, felt like a pigmy beside her, or, as she expressed it, "like carver hill suddenly set down beside one of the alps." never had she seen such a monumental young woman; such suggestion of strength and vigor contained in a feminine frame. oh-pshaw looked timidly at the human colossus standing in the middle of the tent, and inquired meekly, "are you miss armstrong? are you our councilor?" "i am," replied the newcomer gravely, replacing the board in the floor with a nonchalance which conveyed the impression that coming up through floors was her usual manner of entering places. "why did you come in that way?" burst out katherine, unable to contain her curiosity any longer. "oh, i just happened to be under the tent," replied miss armstrong, speaking in a drawling voice with a marked english accent, "looking for the broom, when i spied that loose board and thought i'd come in that way. it was less trouble than coming out and going around to the steps." "less trouble," echoed katherine. "i should think it would have been more trouble raising that heavy board with my suitcase standing on it." "was your suitcase on it?" inquired miss armstrong casually. "i didn't notice." "didn't notice!" repeated katherine in astonishment. "it weighs thirty pounds." "i weigh two hundred and thirty," returned miss armstrong conversationally. "you do!" exclaimed katherine in amazement. "you certainly don't look it." indeed, it seemed incredible that miss armstrong, tall as she was, could possibly weigh so much, for she looked lean and gaunt as a wolf hound. "you must be awfully strong, to have raised that board," katherine continued, squinting at the muscular brown arms, which seemed solid as iron. for answer miss armstrong took a step forward, picked katherine up as if she had been a feather, threw her over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes, held her there for a moment head downward, and then swung her up and set her lightly on the hanging shelf, while oh-pshaw looked on round-eyed and open-mouthed with astonishment. just then a shadow appeared in the doorway, and katherine looked down to see a shrinking little figure with pipestem legs standing on the top step. "hello!" katherine called gaily, from her airy perch. "are you our neighbor from avernus? do you want anything?" she added, for the girl was swallowing nervously, and seemed to be on the verge of making a request. "will somebody please show me how to make a bed?" faltered the visitor in a thin, piping voice. "it isn't made, and i don't know how to do it." "daggers and dirks!" exploded katherine, nearly falling off the shelf under the stress of her emotion. "what's the matter with the rest of the folks in avernus--can't they make beds either?" asked miss armstrong, surveying the wisp of a girl in the doorway with an intent, solemn gaze that sent her into a tremble of embarrassment. "my 'tenty' hasn't come yet," she faltered in reply. "who's your councilor?" "i don't know; she isn't there." the voice broke on the last words, and the blue eyes overflowed with tears. katherine leaped from the shelf to the bed and down to the floor. "i'll come over and help you make your bed," she said kindly. "all right," said miss armstrong, nodding gravely. "you go over with her and i'll find out who's councilor in avernus and send her around." to herself she added, when the other two were out of earshot, "baby's away from it's mother for the first time, and it's homesick." "poor thing," said oh-pshaw, who had overheard miss armstrong's remark. "she'll get over it," replied miss armstrong prophetically. if miss armstrong was a novelty to the tenants of bedlam, the councilor in ponemah also seemed an odd character to the three girls she was to chaperon--only she was a much less agreeable surprise. she was a stout, fussy woman of about forty with thick eye-glasses which pinched the corners of her eyes into a strained expression. she greeted the girls briefly when they presented themselves to her, and in the next breath began giving orders about the arrangement of the tent. the beds must stand thus and so; the washstand must be on the other side from where it was; the mirror must stay on this side. and she must have half of the swinging shelf for her own; she could not possibly do with less; the others could get along as best they might with what was left. "we're supposed to divide the shelf up equally," announced bengal virden, who had begun to look upon miss peckham--that was her name--with extreme disapproval from the moment of their introduction. bengal was a girl whose every feeling was written plainly upon her face; she could not mask her emotions under an inscrutable countenance. her dislike of miss peckham was so evident that migwan and gladys had expected an outbreak before this; but bengal had merely stood scowling while the beds were being moved about. with the episode of the swinging shelf, however, she flared into open defiance. "we're all to have an equal share of the shelf," she repeated. "nonsense," replied miss peckham in an emphatic tone. "i'm a councilor and i need more space." bengal promptly burst into tears. "i want to be in pom-pom's tent!" she wailed, and fled from the scene, to throw herself upon pom-pom in the next tent and pour out her tale of woe. migwan and gladys looked at each other rather soberly as they went out to fill their water pitcher. "what a strange person to have as councilor," ventured gladys. "i thought councilors at camps were always as sweet as they could be. miss peckham looks as though she could be horrid without half trying." "maybe it's just her way, though," replied migwan good temperedly. "she may be very nice inside after we get to know her. she's probably never been a councilor before, and thinks she must show her authority." "authority!" cried gladys. "but we're not babies; we're grown up. i'm afraid she's not going to be a very agreeable proctor." "oh, well," replied migwan gently, "let's make the best of her and have a good time anyway. we mustn't let her spoil our fun for us. we'll probably find something to like in her before long." "i wish i had your angelic disposition," sighed gladys, "but i just can't like people when they rub me the wrong way, and miss peckham does that to me." "there's going to be trouble with the elephant's child," remarked migwan soberly. "she has already taken a strong dislike to miss peckham, and she is still childish enough to show it." "yes, i'm afraid there will be trouble between bengal and miss peckham," echoed gladys, "and we'll be constantly called upon to make peace. it's a role i'm not anxious for." "let's not worry about it beforehand," said migwan, charmed into a blissful attitude of mind toward the whole world by the sheer beauty of the scene that unrolled before her. the river, tinged by the long rays of the late afternoon sun, gleamed like a river of living gold, blinding her eyes and setting her to dreaming of magic seas and far countries. she stood very still for many minutes, lost in golden fancies, until gladys took her gently by the arm. "come, migwan, are you going to day-dream here forever? there is the spring we are looking for, just at the end of that little path." migwan came slowly out of her reverie and followed gladys down the hill to the spring. "it's all so beautiful," she sighed in ecstasy, turning to look back once more at the shimmering water, "it just makes me _ache_. it makes everything unworthy in me want to crawl away and lose itself, while everything good in me wants to sing. don't you feel that way about it, too?" "something like that," replied gladys softly. "when nature is so lovely, it makes me want to be lovely, too, to match. i don't see how anyone could ever be angry here, or selfish, or mean. it's just like being made over, with all the bad left out." "it does seem that way," replied migwan. "here is the spring!" cried both girls in unison, as they reached the end of the path and came upon a deep, rocky basin, filled with crystal clear water that gushed out from the rock above their heads, trickling down through ferns to be caught and held in the pool below, so still and shining that it reflected the faces of the two girls like a mirror. "oh-h!" breathed migwan in rapture, sinking down among the ferns and lilies that bordered the spring and dabbling her fingers in the limpid water, "i feel just like a wood-nymph, or a naiad, or whatever those folks were that lived by the springs and fountains in the greek mythology." withdrawing her fingers from the water and clasping her hands loosely around her knees, she began to recite idly: "dian white-armed has given me this cool shrine, deep in the bosom of a wood of pine; the silver sparkling showers that hive me in, the flowers that prink my fountain's brim, are hers and mine; and when the days are mild and fair, and grass is springing, buds are blowing, sweet it is, 'mid waters flowing, here to sit and know no care, 'mid the waters flowing, flowing, flowing, combing my yellow, yellow hair." "that poem must have been written about this very place," she added, dreamily gazing into the shadowy depths of the pool beside her. "who wrote it?" inquired gladys. "i've forgotten," replied migwan. "i learned it once in literature, a long time ago." both girls were silent, gazing meditatively into the pool, like _ gazing into a future-revealing crystal, each absorbed in her own day dreams. they were startled by the sound of a clear, musical piping, coming apparently from the tangle of bushes behind them. now faint, now louder, it swelled and died away on the breeze, now fairly startling in its joyousness, now plaintive as the wind sighing among the reeds in some lonely spot after nightfall; alluring, thrilling, mocking by turns; elusive as the strains of fairy pipers; utterly ravishing in its sweetness. migwan and gladys lifted their heads and looked at each other in wonder. "pipes of pan!" exclaimed migwan, and both girls glanced around, half expecting to see the graceful form of a faun gliding toward them among the trees. nothing was to be seen, but the piping went on, merrily as before, rising, falling, swelling, dying away in the distance, breaking out again at near hand. "oh, what _is_ it?" cried gladys. "is it a bird?" "it can't be a bird," replied migwan, "it's a _tune--sort_ of a tune. no, i wouldn't exactly call it a tune, either, but it's different from a bird call. it sounds like pipes--fairy pipes--pipes of pan. oh-h-h! just _listen_! what _can_ it be?" the clear tones had leaped a full octave, and with a mingled sound of pipes and flutes went trilling deliriously on a high note until the listeners held their breath with delight. then abruptly the piping stopped, ending in a queer, unfinished way that tantalized their ears for many minutes afterward, and held them motionless, spellbound, waiting for the strain to be resumed. they listened in vain; the mysterious piper called no more. soon afterward a bugle pealed forth, sounding the mess call, and coming to earth with a start, the two girls raced back to ponemah with their water pitcher and then hastened on into the dining room, where the campers, now all clad in regulation blue bloomers and white middies, were already assembled. chapter iii the great mystery sound after supper the camp was summoned to the smaller bungalow for first assembly and sing-out. over the wide entrance doorway of this picturesque building among the trees was painted in large ornamental letters: mateka the house of joyous learning this house, dr. grayson explained, was the place where all the craft work was to be done. the light from the lamps fell upon beautifully decorated board walls; wood-blocked curtains, quaint rustic benches and seats made from logs with the bark left on; flower-holders fashioned of birch bark; candlesticks of hammered brass, silver and copper; book covers of beaded leather; vases and bowls of glazed clay. at one end of the long room stood a piano; at the other end was the huge cobblestone fireplace whose chimney the winnebagos had noticed from the outside; in it a fire was laid ready for lighting. the seventy-five girls filed in and seated themselves on the floor, looking expectantly at dr. grayson, who stood before the fireplace. he was an imposing figure as he stood there, a man over six feet tall, with a great head of white hair like a lion's mane, which, emphasizing the ruddy complexion and clear blue eyes, contrived to make him look youthful instead of old. in a beautiful speech, full of both wisdom and humor, he explained the ideals of camp life, and heartily welcomed the group before him into the family circle of camp keewaydin. he spoke of the girls who in past years had stood out from the others on account of their superior camp spirit, and led up to the subject of the buffalo robe, which at the end of the season would be awarded to the one who should be voted by her fellow campers as the most popular girl. a solemn hush fell over the assembly as he spoke, and all eyes were fastened upon the buffalo robe, hanging over the fireplace. agony's heart gave a leap at the sight of the beautiful trophy, and then sank as she saw innumerable eyes turn to rest upon mary sylvester, sitting on a low stool at dr. grayson's feet, gazing up at him with a look of worship in her expressive eyes. when he had finished speaking of the buffalo robe dr. grayson announced that the first fire of the season was to be lighted in the house of joyous learning to dedicate it to this year's group of campers, and kneeling down on the hearth, he touched off the faggots laid ready in the fireplace, and the flames, leaping and snapping, rose up the chimney, sending a brilliant glow over the room, and causing the most homesick youngster to brighten up and feel immensely cheered. the fire lighted, and the house of joyous learning dedicated to its present occupants, dr. grayson proceeded to introduce the camp leaders and councilors. mrs. grayson came first, as camp mother and chief councilor. she was a large woman, and seemed capable of mothering the whole world as she sat before the hearth, beaming down upon the girls clustered around her on the floor, and there was already a note of genuine affection in the voices of the new girls as they joined in the cheer which the old girls started in honor of the camp mother. the cheer was not yet finished when there was a sound of footsteps on the porch outside and a new girl stood in the doorway. she carried a blanket over one arm and held a small traveling bag in her hand. her face was flushed with exertion and her chest heaved as she stood there looking inquiringly about the room with merry eyes that seemed to be delighted with everything they looked upon. her face was round; her little button mouth was round; the comical stub of a nose which perched above it gave the effect of being round, too, while the deep dimple that indented her chin was very, _very_ round. two still deeper dimples lurked in her cheeks, each one a silent chuckle, and the freckles that clustered thickly over her features all seemed to twinkle with a separate and individual hilarity. an involuntary smile spread over the faces inside the bungalow as they looked at the newcomer, and one of the younger girls laughed aloud. that was the signal for a general laugh, and for a moment the room rang, and the strange girl in the doorway joined in heartily, and dr. grayson laughed, too, and everybody felt "wound up" and hilarious. mrs. grayson left her chair by the hearth and made her way through the group of girls on the floor to the newcomer, holding out her hand in welcome. "you must be jean lawrence," she said, drawing the girl into the room. "you were to arrive by automobile at green's landing this noon, were you not, and come across the river in the mail boat? i have been wondering why you did not arrive on that boat." "our automobile broke down on that road that runs through the long woods beyond green's landing," replied jean, "and when father found it could not be fixed on the road he decided to go back to the last town we had passed through and spend the night there; so i had to walk to green's landing. it was nearly nine miles and it took me all afternoon to get there. the mail boat had, of course, gone long ago, but a nice old grandpa man brought me over in a row boat." "you walked nine miles to green's landing!" exclaimed mrs. grayson in astonishment. "but, my dear, why didn't you wait and let your father drive you down in the morning?" "oh, i wouldn't miss a single night in camp for anything in the world!" replied jean. "i would have walked if it had been _twenty_-nine miles. i nearly died of impatience before i got here, as it was!" mrs. grayson beamed on the enthusiastic camper; the old girls sang a lusty cheer to the new girl who was such a good sport; and, twinkling and beaming in all directions, jean sat down on the floor with the others to hear the camp councilors introduced. dr. grayson began by quoting humorously from the proverbs: "where no council is, the people fall, but in a multitude of councilors there is safety." one by one he called the councilors up and introduced them, beginning with his daughter judith, who was to be gymnastic director at the camp. miss judy got up and made a bow, and then prepared to sit down again, but her father would not let her off so easily. he demanded a demonstration of her profession for the benefit of the campers. miss judy promptly lined all the other councilors up and put them through a series of ridiculous exercises, such as "tongues forward thrust!" "hand on pocket place!" "handkerchief take!" "noses blow!"--performance which was greeted with riotous applause by the campers. miss armstrong was called up next and introduced as "our little friend from australia, the swimming teacher, who, on account of her diminutive size goes by the nickname of tiny." tiny was made to give her native australian bush call of "coo-ee! coo-ee!" and was then told to rescue a drowning person in pantomime, which she did so realistically that the campers sat in shivering fascination. tiny, still grave and unsmiling, sat down amid shouts for encore, and refused to repeat her performance, pretending to be overcome with bashfulness. dr. grayson then rose and said that since tiny was too modest to appear in public herself, he would bring out her most cherished possession to respond to the encore, and held up the gaudy blanket that katherine and oh-pshaw had already made merry over in the tent, explaining that tiny always chose quiet, dull colors to match her retiring nature. with a teasing twinkle in his eyes he handed tiny her blanket and then passed on to the next victim. this was pom-pom, the dancing teacher, who was obliged to do a dance on the piano stool to illustrate her art. pom-pom received a perfect ovation, especially from the younger girls, and was called out half a dozen times. "oh, the sweet thing! the darling!" gushed bengal virden, going into a perfect ecstasy on the floor beside gladys. "don't you just _adore_ her?" "she's very pretty," replied gladys sincerely. "pretty!" returned bengal scornfully. "she's the most beautiful person on earth! oh, i love her so, i don't know what to _do_!" gladys smiled indulgently at bengal's gush, and turned away to see jane pratt's dull, unpleasant eyes gazing contemptuously upon pom-pom's performance, and heard her whisper to her neighbor, "she's too stiff-legged to be really graceful." the lone wolf from labrador, summoned to stand up and show herself next, was a long, lean, mournful-looking young woman who, when introduced, explained in a lugubrious voice that she had no talents like the rest of the councilors and didn't know enough to be a teacher of anything; but she was very good and pious, and had been brought to camp solely for her moral effect upon the other councilors. for a moment the camp girls looked at the lone wolf in silence, not knowing what to make of her; then sahwah noticed that mrs. grayson was biting her lips, while her eyes twinkled; dr. grayson was looking at the girls with a quizzical expression on his face; miss judy had her face buried in her handkerchief. sahwah looked back at the lone wolf, standing there with her hands folded angelically and her eyes fixed solemnly upon the ceiling, and she suddenly snorted out with laughter. then everyone caught on and laughed, too, but the lone wolf never smiled; she stood looking at them with an infinitely sad, pained expression that almost convinced them that she had been in earnest. the lone wolf, it appeared, was to be tent inspector, and when that announcement was made, the laughter of the old girls turned to groans of pretended aversion, which increased to a mighty chorus when dr. grayson added that her eye had never been known to miss a single detail of disorder in a tent. thus councilor after councilor was introduced in a humorous speech by dr. grayson, and made to do her particular stunt, or was rallied about her pet hobby. the two arts and crafts teachers were given lumps of clay and a can of house paint and ordered to produce a statue and a landscape respectively; the sing leader had to play "darling, i am growing old" on a pitch pipe, and all the plain "tent councilors" were called upon for a "few remarks." all were cheered lustily, and all gave strong evidence of future popularity except miss peckham, who drew only a very scattered and perfunctory applause. gladys and migwan, who glanced at each other as miss peckham stepped forward, were surprised to hear that she was dr. grayson's cousin. "that accounts for her being here," gladys whispered, and migwan whispered in return, "we'll just have to make the best of her." bengal glowered at miss peckham and made no pretense of applauding her, and migwan saw her whispering to the group around her, and saw bengal's expression of dislike swiftly reflected on the faces of her listeners. thus, before miss peckham was fairly introduced, her unpopularity was already sealed. it takes very little to make a reputation at camp. estimates are formed very swiftly, and great attachments and antipathies are formed at first sight. young girls seem to scent, by some mysterious intuition, who is really in sympathy with them, and who is only pretending to be, and bestow or withhold their affections accordingly. in the code of the camp girl classifications are very simple; a camper is either a "peach" or a "prune." all the other councilors were "peaches"; that was the instantaneous verdict of the keewaydin campers during the introductions; miss peckham, regardless of the fact that she was dr. grayson's cousin, was a "prune." the last councilor to be introduced was a handsome, white-haired woman named miss amesbury, who was introduced as the patron saint of the camp, the designer of the beautiful mateka, the house of joyous learning. miss amesbury was neither an instructor nor a tent councilor; she had just come to be a friend and helper to the whole camp, and lived on the second story balcony of mateka. word had traveled around among the girls that she was a famous author, and a ripple of expectation agitated the ranks of the campers as she rose in answer to dr. grayson's summons. migwan gazed upon her in mingled awe and veneration. a famous author--one who had realized the ambition that was also her cherished own! she almost stopped breathing in her emotion. "isn't she lovely?" breathed hinpoha to agony, her eye taking in the details of miss amesbury's camping suit, which, instead of being made of serge or khaki, like those of the other councilors, was of heavy japanese silk, with a soft, flowered tie. smiling a smile which included every girl in the room, she cordially invited them all to come and visit her balcony and share the beautiful view which she had of the river and the gorge. then she added a few humorous comments upon camp life, and sat down amid tumultuous applause. then dr. grayson asked her if she would play for the singing, and she rose graciously and took her place at the piano. the sing leader stood up on a bench and directed with a wooden spoon from the craft table, and the first sing-out began. for half an hour the mingled voices were lifted in glee and round, in part song and ballad, until the roof rang. the new girls, spelling out the words in the song books by the rather pale lamplight, came out strongly in some parts and wobbly in others, producing some tone effects which caused the old girls to double up with merriment, but the new girls showed their good sportsmanship by singing on lustily no matter how many mistakes they made, a fact which caused dr. grayson to beam approvingly upon them. in the midst of a particularly hilarious song the bugle suddenly blew for going to bed, and the old girls, still singing, began to drift out of the house and make for the tents in groups of twos and threes, with their arms thrown around each other's shoulders. the new girls followed, some feeling shy and a bit homesick this first night away from home; others already perfectly at home, their arms around a new friend made in the short time since their arrival. one such was jean lawrence, who, upon being informed that she was to be "tenty" to katherine and oh-pshaw in bedlam, expressed herself as being unutterably delighted with her tent mates and walked off with them chattering as easily as though she had known them all her life. there was more or less confusion this first night before everyone got settled, for many of the girls had never camped before and were unskilled in the art of undressing rapidly in the close quarters of a tent, and "taps" sounded before a number were even undressed. the lone wolf was lenient this first night, however, and did not insist upon prompt lights out, an act of grace which added greatly to her popularity. sahwah's bed sagged somewhat in the middle and she was not able to adjust herself to its curves very well; consequently she did not fall asleep soon. camp quieted down; the last rustle and whisper died away; silence enfolded the tents around. sahwah, lying wide awake in the darkness, her senses alert, heard the sound of footsteps running at full speed along the top of the bluff and across the bare rocks at the edge. here the footsteps seemed to come to a pause, and an instant later there came a sound like a loud splash in the water below. filled both with curiosity and apprehension, sahwah leaped from bed and raced for the edge of the bluff, where she stood peering down at the river. no unusual ripple appeared on the placid surface of the river; as far as she could see it lay calm and peaceful in the moonlight. a footstep behind her startled her, and she turned to see miss judy coming toward her from the tent. "what's the matter?" called miss judy, when she was within a few yards of sahwah. "it sounded as though someone jumped off the cliff," replied sahwah. "i heard footsteps along the edge of the bluff, and then a splash, and i ran out to see what was going on, but i can't see anything." to sahwah's surprise, miss judith laughed aloud. "oh," she said, "did you hear it?" "what was it?" asked sahwah, curiously. "that," replied miss judy, "is what we call the great mystery sound. we hear it off and on, but no one has ever been able to explain what causes it. our 'diving ghost,' we call it. father wore himself to a frazzle the first year we were here, trying to find out what it was. he used to sit up nights and watch, but although he often heard it he never could see anything that could produce the sound. some people about here have told us that that sound has been heard for years and they say that there is an old legend connected with it to the effect that many years ago an indian girl, pursued by an unwelcome suitor, jumped off this bluff and drowned herself to escape him, and that ever since that occurrence this strange sound has been noticeable. of course, the people who tell the legend say that the ghost of the persecuted maiden haunts the scene of the tragedy at intervals and repeats the performance. whatever it is, we have never been able to account for the sound naturally, and always refer to it as the great mystery sound." "what a strange thing!" exclaimed sahwah in wonder. "those footsteps certainly sounded real; and as for that splash! it actually made my flesh creep. i had a panicky feeling that one of the new girls had wandered too near the edge of the bluff and had fallen into the water." "it used to have that effect upon us at first, too," replied miss judy. "we would all come racing down here with our hearts in our mouths, expecting we knew not what. it took a long time before we could believe it was a delusion. "and now, come back to bed, or you'll be taking cold, standing out here in your nightgown." still looking back at the river and half expecting to see some agitation in its surface, sahwah followed miss judy back to gitchee-gummee and returned to bed. chapter iv the alley initiation folk-dancing hour had just drawn to a close, and the long bugle for swimming sounded through camp. the sets of eight which had been drawn up on the tennis court in the formation of "if all the world were paper," broke and scattered as before a whirlwind as the girls raced for their tents to get into bathing suits. sahwah, as might be expected, was first down on the dock, but close at her heels was another girl whom she recognized as living in one of the avenue tents. this girl, while broader and heavier than sahwah, moved with the same easy grace that characterized sahwah's movements, and like sahwah, she seemed consumed with impatience to get into the water. "oh, i wish miss armstrong would hurry, hurry, hurry!" she exclaimed, jigging up and down on the dock. "i just can't wait until i get in." "neither can i," replied sahwah, scanning the path down the hillside for a sight of the swimming director. "do you live in the avenue or the alley?" asked the girl beside her. "in the alley," replied sahwah. "which tent?" "gitchee-gummee. which one are you in?" "jabberwocky." "that's way up near the bungalow, isn't it?" "yes, where are you?" "the very last tent in the alley, that one there, buried in the trees." "oh, how lovely! you're right near the path to the river, aren't you? i wish i were a little nearer this end. it would save time getting to the water." "but you're so near the bungalow that you only have to go a step when the breakfast bugle blows. you have the advantage there," replied sahwah. "we down in gitchee-gummee have to run for all we're worth to get there before you're all assembled. we have hard work getting dressed in time. we put on our ties while we're running down the path, as it is." the other girl laughed, showing a row of very white, even teeth. "did you see that girl who came running into the dining-room this morning with her middy halfway over her head?" sahwah laughed, too, at the recollection. "that was bengal virden, the one they call the elephant's child," she replied. "she lives in ponemah, with some friends of mine. she had loitered with her dressing and didn't have her middy on when the breakfast bugle blew, so she decided to put it on en route. but while she was pulling it on over her head she got stuck fast in it with her arms straight up in the air and had to come in that way and get somebody to pull her through. i never saw anything so funny," she finished. "neither did i," replied the other. they looked at each other and laughed heartily at the remembrance of the ludicrous episode. all this while sahwah was trying to recollect her companion's name, but was unable to do so. it was impossible to remember which girls had answered to which names at the general roll call on that first night in mateka. just then the other said, "i don't believe i recall your name--i'm very stupid about remembering things." "that's just what i was going to say to you!" exclaimed sahwah, with a merry laugh. "it's impossible to remember so many new names at once. i think we all ought to be labeled for the first week or so. i'm sarah ann brewster, only they call me sahwah." "what a queer nickname! it's very interesting. is it a contraction of sarah ann?" "no, it's my camp fire name." "oh, are you a camp fire girl?" "yes." "how splendid! i've always wished i could be one. what does the name mean?" "sunfish!" replied sahwah. "the sun part means that i like sunshine and the fish part means that i like the water." "oh-h!" replied the other with an interested face. then she began to introduce herself. "i haven't any nice symbolic name like yours," she said, "but mine is sort of queer, too." "what is it?" asked sahwah. "undine." "undine!" repeated sahwah. "how lovely! i've always been perfectly crazy about undine since i got the book on my tenth birthday. undine was fond of water, like i was. what's the rest of your name?" "girelle," replied undine. "do you live in the east or in the west?" asked sahwah. "you don't speak like the easterners, and yet you don't speak like us westerners, either. what part of the country are you from?" "no part at all," answered undine. "my home is in honolulu." "not really?" said sahwah in astonishment. "really," replied undine, smiling at sahwah's look of surprise. "i was born in hawaii, and i have lived there most of my life." "oh," said sahwah, "i thought only hawaiians lived in hawaii--i didn't know anyone else was ever _born_ there." "lots of white people are born there," replied undine, politely checking the smile that wreathed her lips at sahwah's ingenuous remark. "but," she added, "most of the people in the states seem to think no one lives in hawaii but natives, and that they wear wreaths of flowers around their necks all the time and do nothing but play on ukuleles." sahwah laughed and made up her mind that she was going to like undine very much. "i suppose you swim?" she asked, presently. undine nodded emphatically. "it's the thing i like to do best of anything in the world. do you like it? oh, yes, of course you do. you call yourself the sunfish on that account." sahwah affirmed her love for the deep, and thrilled a little at discovering an enthusiasm to match hers in this girl from honolulu. the rest of the winnebagos, although good swimmers, did not possess in an equal degree sahwah's inborn passion for the water. sahwah and undine both felt the call of the river as it flowed past the dock; to each of them it beckoned with an irresistible invitation, until they could hardly restrain themselves from leaping off the boards into the cool, glassy depths below. "here comes miss armstrong!" shouted somebody at the other end of the dock, as the big australian came into view down the path, and there was a scramble for the diving tower. the swimming place at camp keewaydin was divided into three parts. a shallow cove at the left of the dock, where the curve of the river formed a tiny bay, was the sporting ground of the minnows, the girls who could not swim at all; the perch, or those who could swim a little, but were not yet sure of themselves, were assigned to the other side of the dock, where the water was slightly deeper, but where they were protected by the dock from the full force of the current; while the sharks, the expert swimmers, were given the freedom of the river beyond the end of the pier. the diving tower was on the end of the pier and belonged exclusively to the sharks; it was fifteen feet high, and had seven different diving boards placed at various heights. besides the diving tower, there was a floating dock anchored out in midstream, having a springboard at either end. there was also a low diving board at the side of the pier for the perch to practice on. miss armstrong came down on the dock in a bright red bathing suit which shone brilliantly among the darker suits of the girls. she rapidly separated the minnows from the other fish, and set them to learning their first strokes under the direction of one of the other councilors. then she lined the remaining girls up for the test which would determine who were sharks and who were perch. the test consisted of a dive from any one of the diving boards of the tower and a demonstration of four standard strokes, ending up with a swim across the river and back. about a dozen dropped out at the mere reading of the test and accepted their rating as perch without a trial; as many more failed either to execute their dives properly or to give satisfaction in their swimming strokes. sahwah, burning with impatience to show her skill, climbed nimbly up to the very top of the tower and went off the highest springboard in a neat back dive that drew applause from the watchers, including miss armstrong. she also passed the rest of the test with a perfect rating. "you're the biggest shark so far," remarked miss armstrong, as sahwah clambered up on the dock after her swim across the river, during which she had almost outdistanced the boat which accompanied her over and back. sahwah smiled modestly as one of the old campers started a cheer for her, and turned to watch undine girelle, who was mounting the diving tower. when undine also went off the highest springboard backward, and in addition turned a complete somersault before she touched the water, sahwah realized that she had met her match, if not her master. heretofore, sahwah's swimming prowess had been unrivalled in whatever group she found herself, and it was a matter of course with the winnebagos that sahwah should carry off all honors in aquatics. now they had to admit that in undine girelle sahwah had a formidable rival and would have to look sharply to her laurels. "isn't she wonderful?" came in exclamations from all around, as undine sported in the water like a dolphin. "but then," someone added, "she's used to bathing in the surf in hawaii. no wonder." there were about fifteen put in the shark class in the first try-out, of whom sahwah and undine were acknowledged to be the best. hinpoha and gladys and migwan also qualified as sharks; katherine went voluntarily into the perch class, and agony failed to pass her diving test, although she accomplished her distance swim and the demonstration of the strokes. agony felt somewhat humiliated at having to go into the second class; she would much rather have been in the more conspicuous shark group. sahwah had already made a reputation for herself; hinpoha drew admiring attention when she let her glorious red curls down her back to dry them in the sun; but she herself had so far made no special impression upon the camp. why hadn't she distinguished herself like sahwah, or undine girelle, agony thought enviously. others were already fast on their way to becoming prominent, but so far she was still going unnoticed. her spirit chafed within her at her obscurity. oh-pshaw, alas, was only a minnow. the fear of water which had lurked in her ever since the accident in her early childhood had kept her from any attempt to learn to swim. it was only since she had become a winnebago and had once conquered her fear on that memorable night beside the devil's punch bowl that she began to entertain the idea that some day she, too, might be at home in the water like the others. it was still a decided ordeal for her to go in; to feel the water flowing over her feet and to hear it splash against the piles of the dock and gurgle over the stones along the shore; but she resolutely steeled her nerves against the sound and the feel of the water, forcing back the terror that gripped her like an icy hand, and courageously tried to follow the director's instructions to put her face down under the surface. it was no use; she could not quite bring herself to do it; the moment the water struck her chin wild panic seized her and she would straighten up with a choking cry. she looked with envy at the other novices around her who fearlessly threw themselves into the water face downward, learning "dead man's float" inside of ten minutes. she would never be able to do _that_, she reflected sorrowfully, as she climbed up on the dock before the period was half over, utterly worn out and discouraged by her repeated failures to bring her head under water. beside her on the dock sat a thin wisp of a girl whose bathing suit was not even wet. "didn't you go in?" asked oh-pshaw. "no," replied the girl in a high, piping voice, and oh-pshaw recognized her as the dweller in avernus who had come over that first day and asked them how to make her bed. carmen chadwick, they had found out her name was. "i'm afraid of the water," continued carmen. "mamma never let me go in at home. she doesn't think it's quite ladylike for girls to swim." oh-pshaw smiled in spite of herself. "oh, i don't think it makes girls unladylike to learn how to swim," she defended. "it's considered to be a fine exercise; about the best there is to develop all the muscles." "oh!" said carmen primly. "that's what mamma doesn't like, to have my muscles all lumpy and developed. she wants to keep me soft and curved." oh-pshaw stifled a shriek with difficulty, and turning aside to hide her twinkling eyes she caught sight of the lone wolf standing on the dock not far away, gazing mournfully into the minnow pond. "what do you think of _her_?" asked oh-pshaw hastily, steering the conversation away from muscles and kindred unladylike topics. "she's my councy," replied carmen. "your what?" "my councy--my councilor. i'm frightened to death of her." "why, what does she do?" asked oh-pshaw in consternation. "she doesn't do anything, in particular," replied carmen. "she just stares at me solemn as an owl and every little while she puts her head down on her bed under the pillow. do you know," she continued, sinking her voice to a whisper, "i believe there is something the matter with her mind." "really!" said oh-pshaw, her voice shaking ever so slightly. "she doesn't seem to realize what she is saying, at all," said carmen. "do you remember when dr. grayson introduced her he said she was real good and pious, but she isn't a bit pious. she didn't bring any bible with her and she didn't say any prayers before she went to bed." "maybe she said them to herself after she was in bed," remarked oh-pshaw, when she could control her voice again. "lots of people do, you know." "i don't believe she did," replied carmen in a tone of conviction. "i watched her. she made shadow animals with her fingers on the tent wall in the moonlight the minute she got into bed, and she kept it up until she went to sleep." out of the corner of her eye oh-pshaw saw the lone wolf moving toward them, and hastily changed the subject. "why did you put your bathing suit on when you didn't have any intention of going into the water?" she asked, seizing upon the first thing that came into her mind. "it looks so well on me," replied carmen. "don't you think it does?" "y-yes, it d-does," admitted oh-pshaw, her teeth suddenly beginning to chatter, and she realized that she was sitting out too long in her wet bathing suit. "i g-guess i'll g-go up and get dressed," she finished, between the shivers that shook her like a reed. the lone wolf came up to her and taking her own sweater off wrapped it around her and hustled her off toward her tent. just then the cry of "all out!" sounded on the dock and the swimmers came flocking out of the water with many an exclamation of regret that the time was up. "oh, please, tiny, may i do this one dive?" coaxed bengal from one of the boards on the tower. "i'm all in a position to do it--see?" "time's up," replied tiny inexorably, and bengal reluctantly relinquished her dive and climbed down from the tower. "next test for sharks a week from today!" called tiny in her megaphone voice to the perches, as she mounted the diving tower in preparation for her own initial plunge. the swimming instructors had their own swimming time after the girls were out of the water. gladys and migwan were dripping their way back to ponemah, one on either side of bengal virden, who was entertaining them with tales of former years at camp, when they were startled to see miss peckham standing on top of a high rock wildly waving them back. "don't go near the tent!" she shrieked. "why not?" called migwan in alarm, as the three girls stood still in the path, the water which was dripping out of their bathing suits collecting in a puddle around their feet. "there's a snake underneath the tent, a great big snake," answered miss peckham in terrified tones. "well, what of it?" demanded bengal coolly. "i've seen lots of snakes. i'm not afraid of them. come on, let's get a forked stick, and let's kill it." she stooped to wring out the water which had collected in the bottom of her bathing suit and then started forward toward ponemah. miss peckham, high on her rock, raised a great outcry. "stay where you are!" she commanded. "don't you go near that tent." bengal kept on going, looking about her for a forked stick. "bengal _virden_!" screamed miss peckham, in such a tone of terror that bengal involuntarily stood still in her tracks, dropping the stick she was in the act of picking up. "it's a deadly poisonous snake," gasped miss peckham, beginning to get breathless from fright, "a monstrous black one with red rings on it. i saw it crawling among the leaves. it reared up and menaced me with its wicked head. don't you stir another step!" she commanded as bengal seemed on the point of going on. "what's the matter?" asked a voice behind them, and there was miss judy, just coming out of her tent with her wet bathing suit in her hand. "there's a terrible poisonous snake under our tent," replied miss peckham. "i was just coming out of the door after my nap when i saw it gliding underneath. it's down there now, under the bushes." "how queer!" replied miss judy, looking with concern at her wildly excited cousin. "we've never had large snakes around here. what color did you say it was?" "it had broad, alternate rings of red and black," replied miss peckham, with the air of one quoting from an authority, "the distinguishing marks of the coral snake, one of the seventeen poisonous reptiles out of the one hundred and eleven species of snakes found in the united states." "a coral snake!" gasped miss judy, in real alarm, while the other three, taking fright from the tone of her voice, began to back down the path. other dwellers in the alley came along to see what the commotion was about and were warned back in an important tone by miss peckham. the timid ones took to their heels and fled to the other end of camp, while the more courageous hung about as near as they dared come and stared fascinated at the miniature jungle of ferns and bushes that grew under ponemah to a height of two or three feet. sahwah, whose insatiable curiosity as usual got the better of her fears, climbed a tree quite close to ponemah and peered down through the branches, all agog with desire to see the dread serpent show itself. "come down from there--quick!" called someone in a nervously shaking voice. "don't you know that snakes climb trees?" "nonsense," retorted sahwah. "whoever heard of a snake climbing a tree?" an argument started below, several voices upholding each side, some maintaining emphatically that snakes did climb trees; others holding out quite as determinedly that they didn't. "anyway, _this_ one might," concluded the one who had started the argument, in a triumphant tone. "what are we going to do?" someone asked miss judy. "i'll get father to come and shoot it," replied miss judy. just then there came an excited shriek from sahwah. "it's coming out! i see the bushes moving." the girls scattered in all directions; miss peckham, up on her rock, covered her ears with her hands, as though there was going to be an explosion. "here it comes!" sahwah, leaning low over her branch, nearly fell out of the tree in her excitement, as her eye caught the gleam of red and black among the bushes. miss judy scrambled up on the rock beside miss peckham. there was a violent agitation of the ferns and bushes underneath ponemah, a sort of scrambling movement, accompanied by a muffled squeaking, and then a truly remarkable creature bounced into view--a creature whose body consisted of a long stocking, red and black in alternate stripes, in the toe of which some live animal frantically squeaked and struggled, leaping almost a foot from the ground in its efforts to escape from its prison, and dragging the gaudy striped length behind it through a series of thrillingly lifelike wriggles. "hi!" called sahwah with a great shout of laughter. "it's nothing but a stocking with something in it." in reaction from her former alarm miss judy laughed until she fell off the rock, and sat helplessly on the ground watching the frantic struggles of the creature in the stocking to free itself. hearing the laughter, those who had fled at the first alarm came hastening back, and all promptly went into hysterics when they saw the stocking writhing on the ground, and all were equally as helpless as miss judy and sahwah. "only tiny armstrong's stocking!" gasped miss judy, wiping away her tears of merriment with her middy sleeve. "i told her they would cause a riot in camp!" only miss peckham did not laugh; she looked crossly around at the desperately amused girls. "oh, miss peckham," gurgled bengal, "you said it reared up and menaced you with its great, wicked h-head! you said its hood was swelled up with ferocity and venom, and it hissed sibilantly at you." bengal rolled over and over on the ground, shrieking with mirth. miss peckham, her face a dull red, moved off in the direction of the tent. others came up, excitedly demanding to know what the joke was. "she thought it was a coral snake, and it was tiny's stocking," giggled bengal, going into a fresh spasm. "well, what if i did?" remarked miss peckham, turning around and looking at her frigidly. "it's a mistake anybody could easily make, i'm sure." and she went stiffly up into the tent. sahwah and miss judy had somewhat recovered their composure by this time, and having captured the wildly agitated stocking they released from it a half-grown chipmunk, who, beside himself with fright and bewilderment, dashed away into the woods like a flash. "how frightened he was, poor little fellow!" cried migwan compassionately. "it wasn't any joke for _him_. he must have been nearly frantic in there. how do you suppose he ever got in?" "walked in, or fell in, possibly," replied miss judy, "and then couldn't find his way out again. tiny had those modest little stockings of hers hanging on the tent ropes this morning, and it was easy enough for a chipmunk to get in." carrying the stocking between them, and followed by all the girls who had been standing around, sahwah and miss judy started for bedlam to tell tiny about the panic her hosiery had caused, but halfway to bedlam the trumpet sounded for dinner and the deputation broke up in a wild rush for the bungalow. miss peckham carefully avoided miss judy's eye all through dinner. when the winnebagos sauntered back to their tents for rest hour they all found large, wafer-sealed envelopes lying in conspicuous places upon their respective tables. sahwah pounced upon the one in gitchee-gummee and looked at it curiously. on it was written in large red letters: to the dwellers in gitchee-gummee important!!! "whatever can this be?" she asked in mystified tones. miss judy was not in the tent. "open it," commanded agony. sahwah slit the envelope with the knife that she always kept hanging at her belt, and pulled out a sheet of rough, brown paper, on which was drawn the picture of a girl bound fast to a tree by ropes that went round and round her body, while a band of indians danced a savage war dance around her. underneath was printed in the same large red letters as those which adorned the outside of the envelope: be down on the dock at sundown without fail prepared to undergo the ordeal which all dwellers in the alley must suffer before being welcomed into the inner circle of alley spirits. warning: mention not this summons to a living soul or awful will be the consequences. signed: the terrible twelve. p.s. bring your bathing suits. "what on earth?" cried hinpoha in bewilderment. "it's the alley initiation!" exclaimed sahwah. "i heard someone asking when it was going to be. mary sylvester and jo severance and several more of the old girls were talking about it while they were in the water today. it seems that the girls who have lived in the alley before always hold an initiation for the new girls before they let them in on their larks." "i wonder what they're going to do to us," mused hinpoha. "that advice to bring your bathing suit sounds suspicious to me." "do you suppose they're going to throw us into the river?" asked agony. "nonsense," replied sahwah. "half the new girls in the alley can't swim. dr. grayson wouldn't allow it, anyway. he made a girl come out of the water during swimming hour this morning for trying to duck another girl. they'll just make us ridiculous, that's all." "well, whatever they ask us to do, let's not make a fuss," said hinpoha. "here comes miss judy. put that letter out of sight and act perfectly unconcerned." sahwah whipped the envelope into her suitcase and flung herself down on her bed; the others followed her example; and when a moment later miss judy stepped into the tent and looked quizzically at the trio she found them apparently wrapped in placid slumber. shortly before seven that evening, when the avenue girls were dancing in the bungalow, sahwah and hinpoha and agony quietly detached themselves from the group and slipped down to the dock to find katherine and oh-pshaw and jean lawrence already down there, swinging their feet over the end of the pier and waiting for something to happen. down the hillside other forms were stealing; migwan, and gladys, and bengal virden, followed by tiny armstrong, until practically all the inhabitants of the alley were gathered upon the dock. miss judy was leaning over the edge of the pier untying the launch. the neophytes watched intently every move that the old girls made, and were somewhat reassured when they saw that they had brought their bathing suits, too. "are all assembled?" asked miss judy, straightening up and looking over her shoulder inquiringly. "not yet," answered mary sylvester, taking an inventory of girls present. "who isn't here yet?" "carmen chadwick and the lone wolf. oh, they're coming now, so is miss amesbury." migwan felt a little flustered as miss amesbury came smiling into their midst. she didn't in the least mind being initiated, but she did rather hate to have miss amesbury see her made ridiculous. she would much rather not have her looking on. carmen chadwick looked quite pale and scared as she joined the group on the dock, and took hold of katherine's arm as if to seek her protection. "all ready now?" asked miss judy. "ay, ay, skipper," replied tiny armstrong. "man the boat!" commanded miss judy. the girls got into the launch and miss judy started the engine. they rode a short distance up the river to the whaleback, a small island shaped, as its name indicated, like a whale's back. it was quite flat, only slightly elevated above the surface of the water. on one side it had rather a wide beach covered with stones and littered with driftwood; behind this beach rose a dense growth of pines that extended down to the very edge of the water on the other side of the island. the initiation party disembarked upon the beach. a huge fire was laid ready and miss judy lit it, then she requested the new girls to sit down in a place which she designated at one side of it, while the old girls seated themselves in a row opposite. sahwah took note that the new girls were in the full glare of the firelight, while the old ones sat in the shadow. miss judy opened the ceremonies. stepping into the light, she addressed the neophytes. "since the dwellers in the alley live together in such intimate companionship it is necessary that all be properly introduced to each other, so that we shall never mistake our own. we shall now proceed with the introductions. as soon as a new girl or councilor recognizes herself in the pictures we shall proceed to draw, let her come forward and bow to the ground three times in acknowledgment, uttering the words, 'behold, it is i! who else _could_ it be?'" she poked up the fire to a brighter blaze and then sat down beside tiny armstrong on the end of a log. as she seated herself jo severance rose and came forward demurely. jo was an accomplished elocutionist, and a born mimic. assuming a timid, shrinking demeanor, and speaking in a high, shrill voice, she piped, "mother, may i go out to swim?" "yes, my darling daughter, put on your nice new bathing suit, but don't go near the water!" "don't you think it's unladylike to have your muscles all hard and developed?" * * * * * oh-pshaw buried her face in her handkerchief with a convulsive giggle. the voice, the intonation, the expression, were carmen chadwick to a t. but how did the alleys know about her attitude toward bathing? she had not told anyone. then she recalled that the lone wolf had walked behind them on the pier that morning when carmen had been talking to her. had the lone wolf also heard them talking about her? agony wondered in a sudden rush of embarrassment. there was no mistaking the first "portrait." all eyes were focused upon carmen, and blushing and shrinking she went forward to make the required acknowledgment. "beh-hold, it is i; w-who else could it be?" she faltered, and it sounded so irresistibly funny that the listeners went into spasms of mirth. carmen crept back to her place and hid her face in katherine's lap while jo severance passed on to the next "portrait." climbing up an enormous tree stump, she flung out her arms and began to shriek wildly, waving back an imaginary group of girls. then she proclaimed in important tones: "it had broad, alternating rings of black and red, the distinguishing marks of the coral snake, one of the seventeen poisonous reptiles out of the one hundred and eleven species of snakes found in the united states. it reared up and menaced me with its great, wicked--" the remainder of her speech was lost in the great roar of laughter that went up from old and new girls alike. miss peckham turned fiery red, and looked angrily from jo severance to miss judy, but there was no help for it; she had to go forward and claim the portrait. "behold, it is i; who else _could_ it be?" she snapped, and the mirth broke out louder than before. the "who else _could_ it be?" was so like miss peckham. one by one the other candidates were shown their portraits, that is, as many as had displayed any conspicuous peculiarities. "o pom-pom! o dear pom-pom, o _darling_ pom-pom!" gushed jo, rolling her eyes in ecstasy, and bengal virden, laughing sheepishly, went forward. miss amesbury watched the performance with tears of merriment rolling down her cheeks. "i never saw anything so funny!" she exclaimed to mary sylvester. "that phrase, 'who else _could_ it be' is a perfect gem." agony was somewhat disappointed that her portrait was not painted; it would have drawn her into more notice. so far she was only "among those present" at camp. none of the old girls had paid any attention to her. after all the portraits had been painted the rest of the girls were called upon to do individual stunts. some sang, some made speeches, some danced, and the worse the performance the greater the applause from the initiators. one slender, dark-eyed girl with short hair whistled, with two fingers in her mouth. at the first note migwan and gladys started and clasped each other's hands. the mystery of the fairy piping they had heard in the woods that first afternoon was solved. the same clear, sweet notes came thrilling out between her fingers, alluring as the pipes of pan. the whistler was a girl named noel carrington; she was one of the younger girls whom nobody had noticed particularly before. her whistling brought wild applause which was perfectly sincere; her performance delighted the audience beyond measure. she was called back again and again until at last, quite out of breath, she begged for mercy, when she was allowed to retire on the condition that she would whistle some more as soon as she got her breath back. noel's performance closed the stunts. when she had sat down miss judy rose and said that she guessed the alley dwellers were pretty well acquainted with each other, and would now go for a swim in the moonlight. soon all but carmen chadwick were splashing in the silvery water, playing hide and seek with the moonbeams on the ripples and feeling a thrill and a magic in the river which was never there in the daylight. after a glorious frolic they came out to stand around the fire and eat marshmallows until it was time to go back to camp. "initiation wasn't so terrible after all," carmen confided to katherine in the launch. "heaps of fun," replied katherine, laughing reminiscently. "isn't miss peckham a prune?" whispered sybil's voice behind katherine. "i'm glad she's not my councilor." "she's mine, worse luck," answered bengal virden's voice dolefully. "too bad," whispered sybil feelingly. the launch came up alongside the dock just as the first bugle was blowing, and the alley, old girls arm in arm with the new, went straight up to bed. chapter v on the road from atlantis "would you like to come along?" agony, sitting alone on the pier, idly watching the river as it flowed endlessly around its great curve, looked up to see mary sylvester standing beside her. it was just after quiet hour and the rest of the camp had gone on the regular wednesday afternoon trip to the village to buy picture postcards and elastic and kodak films and all the various small wares which girls in camp are in constant need of; and also to regale themselves on ice-cream cones and root beer, the latter a traditionally favorite refreshment of the camp keewaydin girls, being a special home product of mrs. bayne, who kept the "trading post." agony had not joined the expedition this afternoon, because she needed nothing in the way of supplies, and for once had no craving for root beer, while she did want to finish a letter to her father that she had commenced during rest hour. but the hilarity of the others as they piled into the canoes to be towed up the river by the launch lured her down to the dock to see them off--miss judy standing at the wheel of the launch and tiny armstrong in the stern of the last canoe, as the head and tail of the procession respectively. beside miss judy in the launch were all the minnows, gazing longingly back at the ones who were allowed to tow in the canoes. only those who had taken the swimming test might go into the canoes--towing or paddling or at any other time; this rule of the camp was as inviolable as the laws of the medes and the persians. and of those who could swim, only the sharks might take out a canoe without a councilor, and this privilege was also denied the sharks if they failed to demonstrate their ability to handle a canoe skilfully. sahwah and hinpoha were among the new girls who had qualified for the canoe privilege during the very first week; also undine girelle. the other winnebagos had to content themselves thus far with the privilege of towing or paddling in a canoe that was in charge of a councilor or a qualified water witch; all except oh-pshaw, who had to ride in the launch. agony looked at oh-pshaw standing beside miss judy at the wheel, laughing with her at some joke; at sahwah and undine sitting together in the canoe right behind the launch, leaning luxuriously back against their paddles, which they were using as back rests; heard jean lawrence's infectious laugh floating back on the breeze; and she began to regret that she had stayed at home. she found she was no longer in the mood to finish her letter; she lingered on the pier after the floating caravan had disappeared from view behind the trees on whaleback. she looked up in surprise at the sound of mary sylvester's voice coming from behind her on the dock. "i thought you had gone to the village with the others," she said. "i was almost sure i saw you in the boat with pom-pom." "no, i didn't go, you see," replied mary. "i am going off on an expedition of my own this afternoon. the woman who took care of me as a child lives not far from here in a little village called atlantis--classic name! mother asked me to look her up, and mrs. grayson gave me permission to go over this afternoon. i'm going to row across the river to that landing place where we got out the other night, leave the boat in the bushes, and then follow the path through the woods. it's about six miles to atlantis--would you care to walk that far? it would be twelve miles there and back, you know. i'm just ripe for a long hike today, it's so cool and clear, but it's not nearly so pleasant going alone as it would be to have someone along to talk to on the way. wouldn't you like to come along and keep me company? i can easily get permission from mrs. grayson for you." agony was a trifle daunted at the thought of walking twelve miles in one afternoon, but was so overwhelmed with secret gratification that the prominent mary sylvester had invited her that she never once thought of refusing. "i'd love to go," she exclaimed animatedly, jumping up with alacrity. "i was beginning to feel a wee bit bored sitting here doing nothing; i feel ripe for a long hike myself." "i'm so glad you do!" replied mary sylvester, with the utmost cordiality. "come on with me until i tell mrs. grayson that you are coming with me." mrs. grayson readily gave her permission for agony to go with mary. there was very little that mrs. grayson would have refused mary sylvester, so high did this clear-eyed girl stand in the regard of all camp directors, from the doctor down. mary was one of the few girls allowed to go away from camp without a councilor; in fact, she sometimes acted as councilor to the younger girls when a trip had to be made and no councilor was free. mrs. grayson would willingly have trusted any girl to mary's care--or the whole camp, for that matter, should occasion arise, knowing that her good sense and judgment could be relied upon. so agony, under mary's wing, received the permission that otherwise would not have been given her. "yes, it will be all right for you to go in your bloomers," said mrs. grayson, in answer to agony's question on the subject. "our girls always wear them to the villages about here; the people are accustomed to seeing them. that green bloomer suit of yours is very pretty, agony," she added, "even prettier than our regulation blue ones." "i spilled syrup on my regular blue ones," replied agony, "and had to wash them out this morning; that's why i'm wearing these green ones. do you mind if i break up the camp color scheme for one day?" "not at all, under the circumstances," replied mrs. grayson, with a smile. "if it's going to be a choice of green bloomers or none at all--" she waved the laughing girls away and returned to the knotty problem in accounts she had been working on when interrupted. "isn't she lovely?" exclaimed mary enthusiastically, as they came out of the bungalow and walked along the alley path toward gitchee-gummee to get agony's hat. "she has such a way of trusting us girls that we just couldn't disappoint her." "she is lovely," echoed agony, as they went up the steps of gitchee-gummee. "i think i'll leave a note for the girls telling them i won't be back at supper time," said agony, hastily pulling out her tablet. "they will be wondering what has become of me." it gave her no small thrill of pleasure to write that note and tuck it under hinpoha's hairbrush on the table: "gone on a long hike with mary sylvester; won't be back until bed time." how delightfully important and prominent that sounded! the others admired mary, too, but none of them had been invited to go on a long hike with her. she, agony, was being drawn into that intimate inner circle of the alley dwellers to which she had hitherto aspired in vain. they were soon across the river, with the boat fastened in the bushes, and, leaving the shore, struck straight into the woods, following a path that curved and twisted, but carried them ever toward the north, in the direction where atlantis lay. the way was cool and shady, the whiff of the pines invigorating, and the distance uncoiled rapidly beneath the feet of the two girls as they fared on with vigorous, springy footsteps along the pleasant way. ferns and wild flowers bordered the path; there were brilliant cardinal flowers, pale forget-me-nots, slender blossomed blue vervain, cheerful red lilies. in places where the woods were so thick that the sun never penetrated, great logs lay about completely covered with moss, looking like sofas upholstered in green, while the round stones scattered about everywhere looked like hassocks and footstools which belonged to the same set as the green sofas. once mary stopped and crushed something under her foot, something white that grew up beside the path. "what was that?" asked agony curiously. "deadly amanita," replied mary. "it's a toadstool--a poisonous one." "how can you tell a poisonous toadstool from a harmless one?" asked agony. "they all look alike to me." "a poisonous one has a ring around the stem, and it grows up out of a 'poison cup,'" explained mary. "see, here are some more." agony drew back as mary pointed out another clump of the pale spores, innocent enough looking in their resemblance to the edible mushroom, but base villians at heart; veritable borgias of the woods. "aren't you afraid to touch it?" asked agony, as mary tilted over a sickly looking head and indicated the identifying ring and the poison cup. "no danger," replied mary. "they're only poisonous if you eat them." "you know a great deal about the woods, don't you?" agony said respectfully. "i ought to," replied mary. "i've camped in the woods for five summers. you can't help finding out a few things, you know, even if you're as stupid as i." "you're not stupid!" said agony emphatically, glad of the opportunity to pay a compliment. "i'm the stupid one about things like that. i never could remember all those things you call woodcraft. i declare, i've forgotten already whether it's the poisonous ones that have the rings, or the other kind." mary laughed and stood unconcernedly while a small snake ran over her foot. "it's a good thing miss peckham isn't here," she remarked. "did you ever see anything so funny as that coral snake business of hers?" she added, laughing good naturedly. "poor miss peckham won't be allowed to forget that episode all summer. it's too bad she resents it so. she could get no end of fun out of it if she could only see the funny side." "yes, it's too bad," agreed agony. "the more she resents it the more the girls will tease her about it." "i'm sorry for her," continued mary. "she's never had any experience being a councilor and it's all new to her. she's never been teased before. she'll soon see that it happens to everybody else, too, and then she'll feel differently about it. look at the way everybody makes fun of tiny armstrong's blanket, and her red bathing suit, and her gaudy stockings; but she never gets cross about it. tiny's a wonder," she added enthusiastically. "did you see her demonstrating the australian crawl yesterday in swimming hour? she has a stroke like the propeller of a boat. i never saw anything so powerful." "if tiny ever assaulted anyone in earnest there wouldn't be anything left of them," said agony. "she's a regular amazon. they ought to call her hypolita instead of tiny." "and yet, she's just as gentle as she is powerful," replied mary. "she wouldn't hurt a fly if she could help it. neither would she do anything mean to anybody, or show partiality in the swimming tests. she's absolutely fair and square; that's why all the girls accept her decisions without a complaint, even when they're disappointed. everybody says she is the best swimming teacher they've ever had here at camp. once they had an instructor who had a special liking for a certain girl who couldn't manage to learn to swim, and because that girl was wild to go in a canoe on one of the trips the instructor pretended that she had given her an individual test on the afternoon before the trip, and told mrs. grayson the girl had passed it. the girl was allowed to go in a canoe and on the trip it upset and she was very nearly drowned before the others realized that she could not swim. tiny isn't like that," she continued. "she would lose her best friend rather than tell a lie to get her a favor that she didn't deserve. i hate cheats!" she burst out vehemently, her fine eyes flashing. "if girls can't win honors fairly they ought to go without them." this random conversation upon one and another of the phases of camp life, illustrating as it did mary's rigid code of honor, was destined to recur many times to agony in the weeks that followed, with a poignant force that etched every one of mary's speeches ineradicably upon her brain. just now it was nothing more to her than small talk to which she replied in kind. they stopped after a bit to drink from a clear spring that bubbled up in the path, and sat down to rest awhile under a huge tree. mary leaned her head back against the trunk and drawing a small book from her sweater pocket she opened it upon her knee. "what is the book?" asked agony. "_the desert garden_, by edwin langham," replied mary. "oh, do you know _the desert garden_?" cried agony in delighted wonder. "i've actually lived on that book for the last two years. i'm wild about edwin langham. i've read every word he's ever written. have you read _the silent years_?" mary nodded. "_the lost chord_? i think that's the most wonderful book i've ever read, that and _the desert garden._ if i could ever see and speak to edwin langham i should die from happiness. i've never felt that way about any other author. when i read his books i feel reverent somehow, as if i were in church, although there isn't a word of religion in them. the things he writes are so fine and true and noble; he must be that way himself. do you remember that part about the bird in _the desert garden, _ the bird with the broken wing, that would never fly again, singing to the lame man who would never walk? and the flower that was so determined to blossom that it grew in the desert and bloomed there?" "yes," answered mary, "it was very beautiful." "it's the most beautiful thing that was ever written!" declared agony enthusiastically. "it would be the greatest joy of my life to see the man who wrote those books." "maybe you will, some day," said mary, rising from her mossy seat and preparing to take the path again. it was not long after that that they came to the edge of the woods, and saw before them the scattered houses of the little village of atlantis. mary's old nurse was overjoyed to see her, and pressed the two girls to stay and eat big soft ginger cookies on the shady back porch, and quench their thirst with glasses of cool milk, while she inquired minutely after the health of mary's "ma" and "pa." "mrs. simmons is the best old nurse that ever was," said mary to agony, as they took their way back to the woods an hour later. "i'm so glad to have had this opportunity of paying her a visit. i haven't seen her for nearly ten years. wasn't she funny, though, when i told her that father might have to go to japan in the interests of his firm? she thought there was nobody in japan but heathens and missionaries." "shall you go to japan too, if your father goes?" asked agony. "i most likely shall," replied mary. "i finished my school this june and do not intend to go to college for another year anyway; so i might as well have the trip and the experience of living in a foreign country. father would only have to remain there one year, or two at the most." "how soon are you going?" asked agony, a little awed by mary's casual tone as she spoke of the great journey. evidently mary had traveled much, for the prospect of going around the world did not seem to excite her in the least. they were sitting in mrs. simmons' little spring house when mary told about the possibility of her going to japan. this spring house stood at some distance from the house; down at the point where the lane ran off from the main road. it looked so utterly cool and inviting, with its vine covered walls, that with an exclamation of pleasure the two girls turned aside for one more drink before beginning the long walk through the woods. seated upon the edge of the basin which held the water, mary talked of japan, and agony wheeled around upon the narrow ledge to gaze at her in wonder and envy. "i wish _i_ could go to japan!" she exclaimed vehemently, giving a vigorous kick with her foot to express her longing. the motion disturbed her balance and she careened over sidewise; mary put out her hand to steady her, lost _her_ balance, and went with a splash into the basin. the water was not deep, but it was very, very wet, and mary came out dripping. for a moment the two girls stood helpless with laughter; then mary said: "i suppose i'll have to go back and get some dry things from mrs. simmons, but i wish i didn't; it will take us quite a while to go back, and it will delay us considerably. i promised mrs. grayson i'd be back in camp before dark, and we won't be able to make it if we go back to mrs. simmons's. i've a good mind to go on just as i am; it's so hot i can't possibly take cold." "i tell you what we can do," said agony, getting a sudden inspiration. "we can divide these bloomers of mine in half. they're made on a foundation of thinner material that will do very well for me to wear home, and you can wear the green part. with your sweater on over them nobody will ever know whether you have on a middy or not. we can carry you wet suit on a pole through the woods and it'll be dry by the time we get home, and you won't have to lose any time by going back to mrs. simmons's." "great idea!" said mary, brightening. "are you really willing to divide your bloomers? i'd be ever so much obliged." "it's no trouble," replied agony. "all i have to do is cut the threads where the top is tacked on to the foundation. it's really two pairs of bloomers." she was already cutting the tacking threads with her pocket knife. mary put on the green bloomers and agony the brown foundation pair, and laughing over the mishap and the clever way of handling the problem, the two crossed the road and entered the woods. "what's that loud cheeping noise?" agony asked almost as soon as they had entered into the deep shadow of the high pines. "sounds like a bird in trouble," answered mary, her practised ear recognizing the note of distress in the incessant twittering. a few steps farther they came upon a man sitting in a wheel chair under one of the tallest pines they had ever seen, a man whose right foot was so thickly wrapped in bandages that it was three times the size of the other one. he was peering intently up into the tree above him, and did not notice the approach of the two girls. mary and agony followed his gaze and saw, high up among the topmost swaying branches, a sight that thrilled them with pity and distress. dangling by a string which was tangled about one of her feet, hung a mother robin, desperately struggling to get free, fluttering, fluttering, beating the air frantically with her wings and uttering piercing cries of anguish that drove the hearers almost to desperation. nearby was her nest, and on the edge of it sat the mate, uttering cries as shrill with anguish as those of the helpless captive. "oh, the poor, poor bird!" cried mary, her eyes filling with tears of pity and grief. at the sound of her voice the man in the wheel chair lowered his eyes and became aware of the girls' presence. as he turned to look at them mary caught in his eyes a look of infinite horror and pity at the plight of the wretched bird above him. that expression deepened mary's emotion; the tears began to run down her cheeks. agony stood beside her stricken and silent. "how did it happen?" mary asked huskily, addressing the stranger unceremoniously. "i don't know exactly," replied the man. "i was sitting here reading when all of a sudden i heard the bird's shrill cry of distress and looked up to see her dangling there at the end of that string." "can't we do something?" asked mary, putting her hands over her ears to shut out the piercing cries. "she'll flutter herself to death before long." "i'm afraid she will," replied the man, "there doesn't seem to be any hope of her freeing herself." "she shan't flutter herself to death," said mary, with sudden resolution. "i'm going to climb the tree and cut her loose." "that will be impossible," said the man. "she is up in the very top of the tree." "i'm going to try, anyway," replied mary, with spirit. "let me take your knife, will you please, agony?" the lowest branches of the pine were far above her head, and in order to get a foothold in them mary had to climb a neighboring tree and swing herself across. the ground seemed terrifying far away even from this lowest branch; but this was only the beginning. she resolutely refrained from looking down and kept on steadily, branch above branch, until she reached the one from which the robin hung. then began the most perilous part of the undertaking. to reach the bird she must crawl out on this branch for a distance of at least six feet, there being no limb directly underneath for her to walk out on. praying for a steady balance, she swung herself astride of the branch, and holding on tightly with her hands began hitching herself slowly outward. the bough bent sickeningly under her; agony below shrieked and covered her eyes; then opened them again and continued to gaze in horrified fascination as inch by inch mary neared the wildly fluttering bird, whose terror had increased a hundred-fold at the human presence so near it. there came an ominous cracking sound; agony uttered another shriek and turned away; the next instant the shrill cries of the bird ceased; the man in the chair gave vent to a long drawn "ah-h!" agony looked up to see the exhausted bird fluttering to the ground beside her, a length of string still hanging to its foot, while mary slowly and carefully worked her way back to the trunk of the tree. in a few minutes she slid to the ground and sat there, breathless and trembling, but triumphant. "i got it!" she panted. then, turning to the man in the chair, she exclaimed, "there now, who said it was impossible?" the man applauded vigorously. "that was the bravest act i have ever seen performed," he said admiringly. "you're the right stuff, whoever you are, and i take my hat off to you." "anybody would have done it," murmured mary modestly, as she rose and prepared to depart. "how could you do it?" marveled agony, as the two walked homeward through the woods. "weren't you horribly scared?" "yes, i was," admitted mary frankly. "when i started to go out on that branch i was shaking so that i could hardly hold on. it seemed miles to the ground, and i got so dizzy i turned faint for a moment. but i tried to think of something else, and kept on going, and pretty soon i could reach the string to cut it." the boundless admiration with which agony regarded mary's act of bravery was gradually swallowed up in envy. why hadn't she herself been the one to climb up and rescue that poor bird? she would give anything to have done such a spectacular thing. deep in her heart, however, she knew she would never have had the courage to crawl out on that branch even if she had thought of it first. silence fell upon the two girls as they walked along in the gradually failing light; all topics of conversation seemed to have been exhausted. mary's clothes were dry before they were through the woods, and she put them on to save the trouble of carrying them, giving agony back her green bloomers. "thank you so much for letting me wear them," she said earnestly. "if it hadn't been for your doing that i wouldn't have been in time to save that robin. it was really that inspiration of yours that saved him, not my climbing the tree." even in the hour of her triumph mary was eager to give the credit to someone else, and agony began to feel rather humble and small before such a generous spirit, even though her vanity strove to accept the measure of credit given as justly due. when they were crossing the river they saw dr. grayson standing on the dock, shading his eyes to look over the water. "there's the doctor, looking for us!" exclaimed mary. "it must be late and he's worried about us." she doubled her speed with the oars, hailing the doctor across the water to reassure him. a few moments later the boat touched the dock. "mary," said the doctor, before she was fairly out, "a message has come from your father saying that he must sail for japan one week from today and you must come home immediately. in order to catch the boat you will have to leave for san francisco not later than the day after tomorrow. there is an early train for new york tomorrow morning from green's landing. i will take you down in the launch, for the river steamer will not get there in time. be ready to leave camp at half past five tomorrow morning. you will have to pack tonight." mary gasped and clutched agony's hand convulsively. "i have--to--leave--camp!" she breathed faintly. "i'm--going--to--japan!" chapter vi a camp heroine mary sylvester was gone. sung to and wept over by her friends and admirers, who had risen at dawn to see her off, she had departed with dr. grayson in the camp launch just as the sun was beginning to gild the ripples on the surface of the river. she left behind her many grief stricken hearts. "camp won't be camp without mary!" bengal virden had sobbed, trickling tearfully back to ponemah with a long tress of black hair clutched tightly in her hand--a souvenir which she had begged from mary at the moment of parting. next to pom-pom, mary sylvester was bengal's greatest crush. "i'm going to put it under my pillow and sleep on it every night," bengal had sniffed tearfully, displaying the tress to her tentmates. "what utter nonsense!" miss peckham had remarked with a contemptuous sniff. miss peckham considered the fuss they were making over mary's departure perfectly ridiculous, and was decidely cross because bengal had awakened her with her lamenting before the bugle blew. migwan and gladys, on the other hand, remembering their own early "crushes," managed not to smile at bengal's sentimental foolishness about the lock of hair, and gladys gravely gave her a hand-painted envelope to keep the precious tress in. completely tired out by the long tramp of the day before, agony did not waken in time to see mary off, and when the second bugle finally brought her to consciousness she discovered that she had a severe headache and did not want any breakfast. miss judy promptly bore her off to the "infirmary," a tent set off by itself away from the noises of camp, and left her there to stay quietly by herself. in the quiet atmosphere of the "infirmary" she soon fell asleep again, to waken at times, listen to the singing of the birds in the woods, feel the breezes stealing caressingly through her hair, and then to drop back once more into blissful drowsiness which erased from her mind all memory of yesterday's visit to atlantis, and of mary sylvester's wonderful rescue of the robin. as yet no word of mary's heroism had reached the ears of the camp; she had departed without the mead of praise that was due her. councilors and all felt depressed over mary's untimely departure, especially miss judy, tiny armstrong and the lone wolf, with whom she had been particularly intimate, and with these three leading spirits cast down gloom was thick everywhere. morning sing went flat--the high tenors couldn't keep in tune without mary to lead them, and nobody else could make the gestures for the lone fish ball. it seemed strange, too, to see dr. grayson's chair empty, and to do without his jolly morning talk. everyone who had gotten up early was full of yawns and out of sorts. "what's the matter with everybody?" asked katherine of jean lawrence, as they cleaned up bedlam for tent inspection. "camp looks like a funeral." jean's dimples were nowhere in evidence and her face looked unnaturally solemn as she bent over her bed to straighten the blankets. "it feels like one, too," replied jean, still grave. "with bengal crying all over the place and miss judy looking so cut up it's enough to dampen everybody's spirits." talk lapsed between the two and each went on cleaning up her side of the tent. a moment later, however, jean's dimples came back again when she came upon katherine's toothbrush in one of her tennis shoes. that toothbrush had disappeared two days before and the tent had been turned upside down in a vain search for it. katherine pounced upon the truant toilet article gleefully. "look in your other shoe," she begged jean, "and see if you can find my fountain pen. that's missing too." jean obligingly shook out her shoe, but no pen came to light. "there's something dark in the bottom of the water pitcher," announced oh-pshaw, who was setting the toilet table to rights. "maybe that's it." she bared her arm to the elbow and plunged it into the water, but withdrew it immediately with a shriek that caused katherine and jean to drop their bed-making in alarm. "what's the matter?" asked katherine. "it's an animal, a horrid, dead animal!" oh-pshaw gasped shudderingly, backing precipitously away from the water pitcher. "it's furry, and soft, and--ugh! stiff!" "what is it?" demanded katherine, peering curiously into the pitcher, in whose slightly turbid depths she could see a dark object lying. "don't touch it!" begged oh-pshaw, as katherine's hand went down into the water. "nonsense," scoffed katherine, "a dead creature can't hurt you. see, it's only a little mouse that fell into the pitcher and got drowned. poor little mousy, it's a shame he had to meet such a sad fate when he came to visit us." "katherine adams, put that mouse away!" cried oh-pshaw, getting around behind the bed. "how can you bear to touch such a thing?" "doesn't he look pathetic, with his little paws held out that way?" continued katherine, unmoved by oh-pshaw's expression of terrified disgust. "i don't doubt but what he was the father of a large family--or maybe the mother--and there will be great sorrow in the nest out in the field when he doesn't come home to supper." "throw it away!" commanded oh-pshaw. "let's have a funeral," suggested jean. "here, we can lay him out in the lid of my writing paper box." "grand idea," replied katherine, carefully depositing the deceased on the floor beside her bed. a few minutes later the lone wolf, coming along to inspect the tent, found a black middy tie hanging from the tent post, surmounted by a wreath of field daisies, while inside the mouse was laid out in state in the lid of jean's writing paper box, surrounded by flowers and leaves. word of the tragedy that had taken place in bedlam was all over camp in no time, and crowds came to gaze on the face of the departed one. a special edition of the camp paper was gotten out, with monstrous headlines, giving the details of the accident, and announcing the funeral for three o'clock. dr. grayson returned to camp early in the afternoon, bringing with him a professor friend whom he had invited to spend the week-end at camp. as the two men stepped from the launch to the landing a sound of wailing greeted their ears; long drawn out moans, heartbroken sobs, despairing shrieks, blood-curdling cries. "what can be the matter?" gasped the doctor in consternation. he raced up the path to the bungalow and stood frozen to the spot by the sight that greeted his eyes. down the alley came a procession headed by a wheelbarrow filled with field daisies and wild red lilies, all arranged around a pasteboard box in the center; behind the wheelbarrow came two girls with black middy ties around their heads, carrying spades in their hands; behind them marched, two and two, all the girls who lived in the alley, each with a black square over her face and all wailing and sobbing and shrieking at the top of their voices. the procession came to a halt in front of the bungalow porch and katherine adams detached herself from the ranks. mounting a rock, she broke out into an impassioned funeral oration that put mark anthony's considerably in the shade. she was waving her hands in an extravagant gesture to accompany an especially eloquent passage, when she suddenly caught sight of dr. grayson standing watching the proceedings. the mourners saw her suddenly stand as if petrified, the gesture frozen in mid air, the word on her lips chopped off in the middle as with a knife. following her startled glance the others also saw dr. grayson and the visitor. an indescribable sound rose from the funeral train; the transition noise of anguished wailing turning into uncontrollable laughter; then such a shout went up that the birds dozing in the trees overhead flew out in startled circles and went darting away with loud squawks of alarm. "go on, go on," urged dr. grayson, with twinkling eyes, "don't let me interrupt the flow of eloquence." but katherine, abashed and tongue-tied in his presence always, could not utter another word, and, blushing furiously, slid down off the rock and took refuge behind the daisy-covered bier. the procession, agitated by great waves of laughter, moved on toward the woods, where the mouse was duly interred with solemn ceremonies. "will your father think i'm dreadfully silly?" katherine inquired anxiously of miss judy later in the afternoon. "not a bit," replied miss judy emphatically. "he thought that mouse funeral was the best impromptu stunt we've pulled off yet. that kind of thing was just what camp needed today. the novelty of it got everybody stirred up and made them hilarious. that funeral oration of yours was the funniest thing i ever heard. miss amesbury thought so too. she took it all down while you were delivering it." "daggers and dirks!" exclaimed katherine, more abashed than ever. "that made the first coup for the alley," continued miss judy, exulting. "the avenue is green with envy. they'll rack their brains now to get up something as clever." "jane pratt didn't think it was clever," replied katherine, trying not to look proud at miss judy's compliment. "she said it was the silliest thing she had ever seen." "oh,--jane pratt!" sniffed miss judy, with an expressive shrug of her shoulders. "jane pratt would have something sarcastic to say about an archangel. don't you mind what jane pratt says." from avernus to gitchee-gummee the alley rang with praises of katharine's cleverness. "what's the excitement?" asked agony wonderingly as she returned to the bungalow in time for supper after resting quietly by herself all day. "the best thing the alley ever did!" replied bengal virden enthusiastically, and recounted the details for agony's benefit. at the same moment someone started a cheer for katherine down at the other end of the table, and the response was actually deafening: you're the b-e-s-t, best, of all the r-e-s-t, rest, o, i love you, i love you all the t-i-m-e, time! if you'll be m-i-n-e, mine, i'll be t-h-i-n-e, thine, o, i love you, i love you all the t-i-m-e, time! agony cheered with the others, but a little stab of envy went through her breast, a longing to have a cheer thundered at her by the assembled campers, to become prominent, and looked at, and sought after. sewah had "arrived," and now also katherine, while she herself was still merely "among those present." rather pensively she followed the winnebagos into mateka after supper for evening assembly, which had been called by dr. grayson. usually there was no evening assembly; morning sing was the only time the whole camp came together in mateka with the leaders, when all the announcements for the day were made. when there was something special to be announced, however, the bugle sometimes sounded another assembly call at sunset. "i wonder what the special announcement is tonight?" hinpoha asked, coming up with sewah and agony. "i don't think it's an announcement at all," replied sahwah. "i think the professor friend of dr. grayson's is going to make a speech. miss judy said he always did when he came to camp. he's a naturalist, or something like that." agony wrinkled her forehead into a slight frown. "i hope he doesn't," she sighed. "my head still aches and i don't feel like listening to a speech. i'd rather go canoeing up the river, as we had first planned." she sat down in an inconspicuous corner where she could rest her head upon her drawn up knees, if she wished, without the professor's seeing her, and hoped that the speech would be a short one, and that there would still be time to go canoeing on the river after he had finished. the professor, however, seemed to have no intention of making a speech. he took a chair beside the fireplace and settled himself in it with the air of one who intended to remain there for some time. it was dr. grayson himself who stood up to talk. "i have called you together," he began, "to tell you about one of the finest actions that has ever been performed by a girl in this camp. i heard about it from the storekeeper at green's landing, who was told of it by a man who departed on one of the steamers this morning. this man, who was staying on a farm on the atlantis road, and who is suffering from blood-poison in his foot, was taken into the woods in a wheel chair yesterday afternoon and left by himself under a great pine tree at least a hundred feet high. in the topmost branches of this tree a mother robin became tangled up in a string which was caught in a twig, and she hung there by one foot, unable to free herself, fluttering herself to death. at this time two girls came through the path in the woods, took in the situation, and quick as thought one of them climbed the tree, swung herself out on the high branch, and cut the robin loose. "the man who witnessed the act did not find out the names of the two girls, but the one who climbed the tree wore a camp keewaydin hat and a dark green bloomer suit. the other was dressed in brown. i don't think there is anyone who fails to recognize the girl who has done this heroic thing. there is only one green bloomer suit here in camp. mrs. grayson tells me that she gave agnes wing permission to go to atlantis with mary sylvester yesterday afternoon. where is she? agnes wing, stand up." agony stood up in her corner of the room, her lips opened to tell dr. grayson that it was mary who happened to have on the green bloomer suit and had climbed the tree, but her words were drowned in a cheer that nearly raised the roof off the craft house. before she knew it miss judy and tiny armstrong had seized her, set her up on their shoulders, and were carrying her around the room, while the building fairly rocked with applause. thrilled and intoxicated by the cheering, agony began to listen to the voice of the tempter in her bosom. no one would ever know that it had not really been she who had done the brave deed; not a soul knew of her lending her suit to mary because of the mishap in the springhouse. mary sylvester was gone; was on her way to japan; she would never hear about it; and the only person who had witnessed the deed did not know their names; he had only remembered the green bloomer suit. the man himself was unknown, nobody at camp could ever ask him about the affair. he had gone from the neighborhood and would never come face to face with her and discover his mistake; the secret was safe in her heart. in one bound she could become the most popular girl in camp; gain the favor of the doctor and the councilors--especially of miss amesbury, whom she was most desirous of impressing. the sight of miss amesbury leaning forward with shining eyes decided the question for her. the words trembling on her lips were choked back; she hung her head and looked the picture of modest embarrassment, the ideal heroine. set down on the floor again by tiny and miss judy, she hid her face on miss judy's shoulder and blushed at dr. grayson's long speech of praise, in which he spoke touchingly of the beauty of a nature which loved the wild dumb creatures of the woods and sought to protect them from harm; of the cool courage and splendid will power that had sent her out on the shaking branch when her very heart was in her mouth from fear; of the modesty which had kept her silent about the glorious act after she returned to camp. when he took both her hands in his and looked into her face with an expression of admiring regard in his fine, true eyes, she all but told the truth of the matter then and there; but cowardice held her silent and the moment passed. "let's have a canoe procession in her honor!" called miss judy, and there was a rush for the dock. agony was borne down in triumph upon the shoulders of miss judy and tiny, with all the camp marching after, and was set down in the barge of honor, the first canoe behind the towing launch, while all the alley drew straws for the privilege of riding with her. still cheering agony enthusiastically the procession started down the river in a wild, hilarious ride, and agony thrilled with the joy of being the center of attraction. "i have arrived at last," she whispered triumphantly to herself as she went to bed that night, and lay awake a long time in the darkness, thinking of the cheers that had rocked the craft house and of the flattering attention with which miss amesbury had regarded her all evening. chapter vii the business of being a heroine agony awoke the next morning to find herself famous beyond her fondest dreams. before she was dressed she saw two of the younger girls peeping into the tent for a glimpse of her; when she stood in line for flag raising she was conscious of eyes turned toward her from all directions while girls who had never noticed her before stopped to say good morning effusively, and seemed inclined to linger in her company; and at breakfast each table in turn sang a cheer for her. jo severance, who was one of the acknowledged camp leaders, and whose friendships were not lightly bestowed, ostensibly stopped and waited for agony to catch up with her on the way over to morning sing and walked into mateka with her arm around agony's waist. "will you be my sleeping partner for the first overnight trip that we take?" she asked cordially. "certainly," agony replied a little breathlessly, already well enough versed in camp customs to realize the extent of the tribute that was being paid her. at camp keewaydin a girl never asked anyone but her dearest friend to be her sleeping partner on an overnight trip, to creep into her poncho sleeping bag with her and share the intimate experience of a night on the ground, heads together on the same pillow, warm bodies touching each other in the crowded nest inside the blankets. and jo severance had chosen her to take the place of mary sylvester, jo's own adored mary, who was to have been jo's partner on all occasions! before morning sing was over agony had received a dozen pressing invitations to share beds on that first camping trip, and the date of the trip was not even announced yet! and to all this fuss and favor agony responded like a prism placed in the sunlight. she sparkled, she glowed, she radiated, she brought to the surface with a rush all the wit and charm and talent that lay in her being. she beamed upon everyone right and left; she threw herself with ardor and enthusiasm into every plan that was suggested; she had a dozen brilliant ideas in as many minutes; she seemed absolutely inspired. her deep voice came out so strongly that she was able to carry the alto in the singing against the whole camp; she improvised delightful harmonies that put a thrill into the commonest tune. she got up of her own accord and performed the gestures to "the lone fish ball" better even than mary sylvester had done them, and on the spur of the moment she worked out another set to accompany "the bulldog and the bullfrog" that brought down the house. it took only the stimulating influence of the limelight to bring out and intensify every talent she had ever possessed. it worked upon her like a drug, quickening her faculties, spurring her on to one brilliant performance after the other, while the camp looked upon her in wonder as one gifted by the gods. the same exalted mood possessed her during swimming hour, and she passed the test for sharks with flying colors. immediately afterward she completed the canoe test and joined that envied class who were allowed to take out a canoe on their own responsibility. a dozen new admirers flocked around her as she walked back to gitchee-gummee at the close of the swimming hour, all begging to be allowed to sew up the tear in her bathing suit, or offering to lend her the prettiest of their bathing caps. what touched agony most, however, was the pride which the winnebagos took in her exploit. "we knew you would do something splendid sometime and bring honor to us," they told her exultingly, with shining faces. "i'm going to write nyoda about it this minute," said migwan, after she had finished her words of praise. "what's the mater, agony, have you a headache again?" she finished. "no," replied agony in a tone of forced carelessness. "i thought maybe you had," continued migwan solicitously. "your forehead was all puckered up." "the light is so bright on the river," murmured agony, and walked thoughtfully away. days passed in pleasant succession; mary sylvester's name gradually ceased to be heard on all sides from her mourning cronies, who at first accompanied every camp activity with a plaintive chorus of, "remember the way mary used to do this," or "oh, i wish mary were here to enjoy this," or "mary had planned to do this the first chance she got," and so on. life in camp was so packed full of enjoyment for those who remained behind that it was impossible to go on missing the departed one indefinitely. the first camping trip was a thing of the past. it had been a twenty-mile hike along the river to a curious group of rocks known as "hercules' library," from the resemblance which the granite blocks bore to shelves of books. here, among these fantastic formations, the camp had spread its blankets and literally snored, if not actually upon, at least at the base of, the flint. when bedtime came katherine had found herself without a sleeping partner, for she had forgotten to ask someone herself, and it just happened that no one had asked her. she was philosophically trying to make her bed up for a single, by doubling the poncho over lengthwise into a cocoon effect, when she heard a sniffle coming out of the bushes beside her. investigating, she found carmen chadwick sitting disconsolately upon a very much wrinkled poncho, her chin in her hands, the picture of woe. "what's the matter, can't you make your bed?" asked katherine, remembering carmen's helplessness in that line upon a former occasion. "i haven't any partner!" answered carmen, with another sniffle. "i had one, but she's run away from me." "who was it?" asked katherine. "jane pratt," replied carmen. "i asked her a long time ago if i might sleep with her on the first trip, and she said, certainly i might, and she would bring along enough blankets for the two of us, and i wouldn't need to bother bringing any. so i didn't bring any blankets; but when i asked her just now where we were going to sleep, she said she hadn't the faintest notion where _i_ was going to sleep, but _she_ was going to sleep alone in the woods, away from the rest of us. she laughed at me, and said she never intended to bring along enough blankets for the two of us, and that i should have known better than to believe her. what shall i do?" she wailed, beginning to weep in earnest. katherine gave vent to an exclamation that sent a nearby chipmunk scampering away in a panic. she looked around for miss judy, but miss judy was deep in the woods with the other councilors getting up a stunt to entertain the girls after supper. "where's jane pratt?" asked katherine. "i don't know," sniffled carmen. "didn't you bring any blankets at all?" "no." "carmen, didn't it ever occur to you that jane was making fun of you when she said she would bring blankets for two? nobody ever does that, you know, they'd make too heavy a load to carry." carmen shook her head, and gulped afresh. "no, i never thought of that. i wanted a sleeping partner so badly, and everyone i asked was already engaged, and when she said yes i was _so_ happy." "of all the mean, contemptible tricks to play on a poor little creature like that!" katherine exclaimed aloud. "what's the matter?" asked agony, appearing beside her. katherine told her. agony's eyes flashed. "i'm going to find jane pratt," she said in the calm tone which always indicated smouldering anger, "and make her share her blankets with carmen." jane, who, with the practised eye of the old camper, had selected a smooth bit of ground thickly covered with pine needles and sloping gently upward toward the end for her head, and had arranged her two double blankets and her extra large sized poncho into an extremely comfortable bed for one, looked up from her labors to find agony standing before her with flushed face and blazing eyes. "jane pratt," agony began without preliminary, "did you promise to sleep with carmen chadwick, and lead her to think she did not need to bring any blankets along on this trip?" jane returned agony's gaze coolly, and gave a slight, disagreeable laugh. "carmen's the biggest goose in camp," she said scornfully. "anybody'd know i didn't mean--" "_carmen_ didn't know you didn't mean it," agony interrupted. "she thought you were sincere, and believed you, and now she's dreadfully hurt about it. you ought to be ashamed of yourself, hurting a poor little girl's feelings like that." "if anybody's green enough to come on an overnight trip without any blankets and actually think someone else is going to bring them for her--" "well, as it happens, carmen _was_ green enough, and that's just the point. she's never been away from home and because she's so desperately homesick she's having a hard time making friends. if one person treats her like this it'll be hard for her ever to believe what people tell her and it'll be harder for her to get acquainted than ever." jane shrugged her shoulders. "what she believes or doesn't believe doesn't concern me." "why, jane pratt!" jane smiled amusedly at agony's reproachful exclamation. "my dear," she said patronizingly, "i never sleep with anyone. there's no one i like well enough. i thought everyone in camp knew that." "then why did you tell carmen you would sleep with her?" "because she's such a goose it was no end of fun taking her in." "then you deliberately deceived her?" asked agony witheringly. "well, and what if i did?" retorted jane. "you have absolutely no sense of honor," agony remarked contemptuously. "deceiving people is just as bad as lying, or cheating." stung by agony's tone, jane flushed a little. "well, what do you expect me to do about it?" she demanded. "what business is it of yours, anyway?" "you're going to let carmen take one of your blankets," replied agony. "i'll do no such thing," returned jane flatly. "it's going to be cold here tonight and i'll need them both." "and what about carmen?" "bother carmen! if she's such a goose to think that i meant what i said she deserves to be cold." "why, jane pratt!" "why don't you share your own blankets with her, if you're so concerned about her?" "i'm perfectly willing to, and so are the rest of the girls, but we're giving you the _opportunity_ to do it, to help right the mistake." "i suppose you've told all the girls in camp about it and will run and tell mrs. grayson to come and make me give up my blankets." "i'll do no such thing. if you aren't kind hearted enough yourself to want to make carmen feel better it wouldn't mend matters any to have mrs. grayson make you do it. but i shall certainly let the girls know about it. i think they ought to know what an amiable disposition you have. i don't think you'll be bothered with any more overtures of friendship." jane yawned. "for goodness' sake, are you going to preach all night? that voice of yours sets my nerves on edge. take a blanket and present it to carmen with my love--and let me alone." she stripped the top blanket from her bed and threw it at agony's feet; then walked off, calling over her shoulder as she went, "good bye, miss champion of simple camp infants. most courageous, most honorable!" she did not see the sudden spasm that contorted agony's face at the word "honorable." it suddenly came over agony that she had no right to be calling other people cheats and liars and taking them to task about their sense of honor, she, who was enjoying honors that did not belong to her. the light of victory faded from her eyes; the angry flush died away on her cheek. very quietly she stole back to carmen and held the blanket out to her. "jane's sorry she can't sleep with you, because she never sleeps well and is apt to disturb people, but she's willing to let you take one of her blankets," she said gently. "oh, thank you!" said carmen, much comforted. "i'm going to sleep with katherine. with this blanket there'll be enough bedding to make a double. i'm glad i'm not going to sleep with jane," she confided to katherine. "i'm afraid of her. i would lots rather have had you for my partner from the beginning, but i was afraid to ask you because i was sure you were promised to somebody else." "motto," said katherine, laughing. "faint heart never won lanky lady. don't ever hesitate to ask me anything again. come on, let's get this bed made up in a hurry. i see the councilors coming back. that means their show is going to commence." of course, it was not long before agony's little passage of arms with jane pratt in behalf of timid little carmen was known all over camp, and agony went up another point in popular favor as jane pratt went down. the councilors heard about it, too, for whatever bengal virden knew was promptly confided to pom-pom. miss judy told it to dr. grayson, and he nodded his head approvingly. "it's no more than you would expect from the girl who rescued that robin," he said warmly. "the champion of all weaker creatures. diplomatic, too. tried to save carmen's feelings in the matter by not telling her the exact spirit in which jane gave up the blanket. a good leader; another mary sylvester." then, turning to mrs. grayson, he asked plaintively: "mother, _why_ do we have to be afflicted with jane pratt year after year? she's been a thorn in our flesh for the past three summers." "i have told you before," replied mrs. grayson resignedly, "that i only accept her because she is the daughter of my old friend anne dudley. i cannot offend mrs. pratt because i am under various obligations to her, so for the sake of her mother we must continue to be afflicted with jane pratt." dr. grayson heaved a long sigh, and muttered something about "the fell clutch of circumstance." "we seem rather plentifully saddled with 'obligations,'" he remarked a moment later. "meaning?" inquired mrs. grayson. "claudia peckham," rejoined the doctor. "sweet claudia peckham: how she used to scrap with my little brothers when she came to visit us! she had a disposition like the bubonic plague when she was little, and by all the signs she doesn't seem to have mellowed any with age." "doctor!" exclaimed mrs. grayson reprovingly. "sad, but true," continued the doctor, his eyes twinkling reminiscently. "when she came to visit us the cat used to hide her kittens under the porch, and the whole household went into a regular state of siege. by the way, how is she getting on? i've lived in fear of the explosion every minute. i never thought she'd last this long. who has she in the tent with her?" "that brown haired madonna you think is so sweet, and the pretty, golden haired girl who is her intimate friend," replied mrs. grayson. "those two, and--bengal virden." the doctor gave vent to a long whistle. "bengal virden in the same tent with claudia peckham? and the tent is still standing?" "bengal doesn't sleep in the tent," admitted mrs. grayson. "she has moved underneath it, into a couch hammock. she thinks i don't know it, but under the circumstances i shall not interfere. we have to keep cousin claudia _somewhere_, and as long as they'll put up with her in ponemah i don't care how they manage it. she _would_ be a tent councilor." "how do the other two get along with her?" asked the doctor, "the two that have not moved underneath, as yet?" "i don't know," replied mrs. grayson in a frankly puzzled tone. "they must be angels unaware, that's all i can say." chapter viii the shoe begins to pinch "tramp, tramp, tramp, the bugs are marching, up and down the tents they go, some are brown and some are black, but of each there is no lack, and the daddy-long-legs they go marching too!" so sang sahwah as she tidied up her tent after morning sing. it was war on bugs and spiders this morning; war to the knife, or rather, to the broom. usually there was no time between morning sing and tent inspection to do more than give the place a swift tidying up; to sweep the floor and straighten up the beds and set the table in order. bugs and spiders did not count against one in tent inspection, being looked upon as circumstances over which one had no control; hence no one ever bothered about them. but that morning sahwah, lying awake waiting for the rising bugle to blow, saw a round-bellied, jolly-looking little bug crawling leisurely along the floor, dragging a tiny seed of grain with him, and looking for all the world like the father of a family bringing a loaf of bread home for breakfast. as she watched it traveling along a crack in the board floor, a very large, fierce-looking bug appeared on the scene, fell upon the smaller one, killed and half devoured it, and then made off triumphantly with the seed the other had been carrying. "no you don't!" shouted sahwah aloud, waking agony out of a sound sleep. "what's the matter?" yawned agony. sahwah laughed a little foolishly. "it was nothing; only a bug," she explained. "i'm sorry i wakened you, agony. you see, i was watching a cute little bug carrying a seed across the floor, and a bigger bug came along and took it away from him. i won't stand for anything like that here in gitchee-gummee. we all play fair here, and nobody takes any plums that belong to someone else." she rose in her wrath, reached for her shoe, and made short work of the unethical despoiler. agony made no comment. the words, _we all play fair here, and nobody takes any plums that belong to someone else_, pierced her bosom like barbed arrows. she lay so still that sahwah thought she had dropped off to sleep again, and crept quietly back to bed so as not to disturb her a second time. like the tiger, however, who, once having tasted blood, is consumed with the lust of killing, sahwah, having squashed one bug, itched to do the same with all the others in the tent, and when tidying-up time came there began a ruthless campaign of extermination. agony, having made her bed and swept out underneath it, departed abruptly from the scene. somehow the sight of bugs being killed was upsetting to her just now. she wandered down toward the river, listening pensively to the sweet piping notes of noel sanderson's whistle, coming from somewhere along the shore; then she turned and walked toward mateka, planning to put in some time working on the design for her paddle before craft hour began and the place became filled to overflowing with other designers, all wanting the design books and the rulers and compasses at once. as she passed under the balcony which was miss amesbury's sanctum, a cordial hail floated down from above. "good morning, agony, whither bound so early, and what means that portentous frown?" agony looked up to see miss amesbury, wreathed in smiles, peering down over the rustic railing at her. agony flushed with pleasure at the cordiality of the tone, and the use of her nickname. it was only the girls for which she had a special liking that miss amesbury ever addressed by a nickname, no matter how universally in use that nickname might be with the rest of the camp. agony's blood tingled with a sense of triumph; her eyes sparkled and her face took on that look of being lighted up from within that characterized her in moments of great animation. "i was coming down to mateka to put in some extra work on the design for my paddle," she replied, in her rich, vibrating voice, "and i was frowning because i was a little puzzled how i was going to work it out." "industrious child!" replied miss amesbury. "come up and visit me and i'll show you some good designs for paddles." the next half hour was so filled with delight for agony that she did not know whether she was sleeping or waking. sitting opposite her adored miss amesbury on a rustic bench covered with a bright indian blanket and listening to the fascinating conversation of this much traveled, older woman, the voice of conscience grew fainter and nearly ceased tormenting agony altogether, and she gave herself up wholly to the enjoyment of the moment. in answer to miss amesbury's questioning, she told of her home and school life; her great admiration for edwin langham; and about the winnebagos and their good times; and miss amesbury laughed heartily at her tales and in turn related her own school-girl pranks and enthusiasm in a flattering confidential way. agony rushed up to the winnebagos after craft hour, radiant with pride and happiness. "miss amesbury invited me up to her balcony," she announced, trying hard to speak casually, "and she lent me one of her own books to read, and she helped me work out the design for my paddle. she's the most wonderful woman i've ever met. she wants me to come again often, she says, and she invited me to go walking with her in the woods this afternoon to get some balsam." "o agony, how splendid!" cried migwan, with a hint of wistfulness in her voice. migwan did not envy agony her sudden popularity with the campers one bit; that was her just due after the splendid deed she had performed; but where miss amesbury was concerned migwan could not help feeling a few pangs of jealousy. she admired miss amesbury with all the passion that was in her, looking up to her as one of the nameless, insignificant stars of heaven might look up to the evening star; she prayed that miss amesbury might single her out for intimate friendship such as was enjoyed by mary sylvester and some of the other older girls. migwan never breathed this desire to anyone, but if miss amesbury had only known it, a certain pair of soft brown eyes rested eagerly upon her all through morning sing, as she sat at the piano playing hymns and choruses, even as they were fixed upon her during meals and other assemblies. and now the thing that migwan coveted so much had come to agony, and agony basked in the light of miss amesbury's twinkling smile and enjoyed all the privileges of friendship which migwan would have given her right hand to possess. but, being migwan, she bravely brushed aside her momentary feeling of envy, told herself sternly that if she was worth it miss amesbury would notice her sooner or later, and cheerfully lent agony her best pencil to transfer the new paddle design with. "supper on the water tonight!" announced miss judy, going the rounds late in the afternoon. "everybody go down on the dock when the supper bugle blows, instead of coming into the dining room." there was a mad rush for canoe partners, and a hasty gathering together of guitars and mandolins, which would certainly be in demand for the evening sing-out which would follow supper. agony, being in an exalted mood, had an inspiration, which she confided to gladys in a whisper, and gladys, nodding, moved off in the direction of the bungalow and paid a visit to her trunk up in the loft, after which she and agony disappeared into the woods. the river was bathed in living fire from the rays of the setting sun when the little fleet of boats pushed out from the shore and began circling around the floating dock where miss judy and tiny armstrong, with the help of three or four other councilors, were passing out plates of salad, sandwiches and cups of milk. having received their supplies, the canoes backed away and went moving up or down the river as the paddlers desired, sometimes two or three canoes close together, sometimes one alone, but all, whether alone or in groups, filling the occupants of the launch with desperate envy. a dozen or more girls these were, still in the minnow class, still denied the privilege of going out in a canoe because they had not yet passed the swimming test. oh-pshaw, alas, was still one of them. she looked wistfully at agony, a shark, in charge of a canoe with hinpoha and gladys and jo severance as companions, gliding alongside of sahwah and undine cirelle on the one side and katherine and jean lawrence on the other. she heard their voices floating across the water as they laughingly called to each other and sang snatches of songs aimed at miss judy and tiny armstrong on the floating dock; heard tiny armstrong remark to miss judy, "there's the best group of canoeists we've ever had in camp. won't they make a showing on regatta day, though!" oh-pshaw longed with all her heart on floating supper nights to belong to that illustrious company and go gliding up and down the river like a swan instead of chugging around in the launch, sitting cramped up to make room for the supper supplies that covered the floor on the trip out, and baskets of used forks and spoons and cups on the trip back. it was not a brilliant company that went in the launch. jacob, dr. grayson's helper about camp, ran the engine. being desperately shy, he attended strictly to business, and never so much as glanced at the girls packed in behind him. half a dozen of the younger camp girls, who never did anything but whisper together, carve stones for their favorite councilors, and giggle continually; three or four of the older girls who sat silent as clams for the most part, and never betrayed any particular enthusiasm, no matter what went on; carmen chadwick, who clung to oh-pshaw and squeaked with alarm every time the launch changed her course; and miss peckham, who from her seat in the stern kept shouting nervous admonitions at the unheeding jacob; these constituted the company who were doomed to travel together on all excursions. oh-pshaw labored heroically to infuse a spark of life into the company; she wrote a really clever little song about "the exclusive crew of the irish stew," but she could not induce the exclusive crew to sing it, so her first poetic effort was love's labor lost. so she looked enviously upon the canoes and resolved more firmly than ever to overcome her fear of the water and learn to swim, and thus have done with the launch and its uninspiring company for all time. migwan's eyes, as usual, went roving in search of miss amesbury, but tonight, to her sorrow, they did not find her anywhere in the canoes. "where is miss amesbury?" she asked of miss judy, as her canoe came up alongside of the "lunch counter." "she didn't come out with us tonight," replied miss judy, tipping the milk can far over to pour out the last drop. "she wanted to do some writing, she said." migwan sighed quietly and gave herself over to being agreeable to her canoe mates, but the occasion had lost its savor for her. supper finished, the canoes began to drift westward toward the setting sun, following the broad streak of light that lay like a magic highway upon the water, while guitars and mandolins began to tinkle, and from all around clear girlish voices, blended together in exquisite harmony, took up song after song. "oh, i could float along like this and sing forever!" breathed hinpoha, picking out soft chords on her guitar, and looking dreamily at the evening star glowing like a jewelled lamp in the western sky. "so could i," replied migwan, leaning back in the canoe with her hands clasped behind her head, and letting the light breeze ruffle the soft tendrils of hair around her temples. "it is going to be full moon tonight," she added. "see, there it is, rising above the treetops. how big and bright it is! can it be possible that it is only a mass of dead chalk and not a ball of burnished silver? gladys will enjoy that moon, she always loves it so when it is so big and round and bright. by the way, where _is_ gladys? i saw her in a canoe not long ago, but i don't see her anywhere now." "i don't know where she is," replied hinpoha, glancing idly around at the various craft and then letting her eyes rest upon the moon again. the little fleet had rounded an island and turned back upstream, now traveling in the silver moon-path, now gliding through velvety black shadows, and was approaching a long, low ledge of rock that jutted out into the water just beyond the big bend in the river. a sudden exclamation of "ah-h!" drew everybody's attention to the rock, and there a wondrous spectacle presented itself--a white robed figure dancing in the moonlight as lighty as a bit of seafoam, her filmy draperies fluttering in the wind, her long yellow hair twined with lillies. "who is it?" several voices cried in wonder, and the paddlers stopped spellbound with their paddles poised in air. "gladys!" exclaimed migwan. "i thought she was planning a surprise, she and agony were whispering together this afternoon. isn't she wonderful, though!" migwan's voice rang with pride in her beloved friend's accomplishment. "too bad miss amesbury isn't here to see it." the dancer on the rock dipped and swayed and whirled in a mad measure, finally disappearing into the shadow of a towering cliff, from whence she emerged a few moments later, once more in the canoe with agony, and changed back from a water nymph into a camp keewaydin girl in middy and bloomers. "it was agony's idea," she explained simply, in response to the storm of applause that greeted her reappearance among the girls. "she thought of it this afternoon when the word went around that we were going to have supper on the water." then agony came in for her share of the applause also, until the woods echoed to the sound of cheering. "too bad miss amesbury had to miss it." thus agony echoed migwan's earlier expression of regret as she walked down the alley arm in arm with migwan and hinpoha after the first bugle. "she's been working up there on her balcony all evening, and didn't hear a bit of the singing. we were too far up the river." "couldn't we sing a bit for her?" suggested migwan. "serenade her, i mean; just a few of us who are used to singing together?" "good idea," replied agony enthusiastically. "get all the winnebagos together and let's sing her some of our own songs, the ones we've practicsed so much together at home. you bring your mandolin, migs, and tell hinpoha to bring her guitar. hurry, we'll have to do it fast to get back for lights out." miss amesbury, wearily finishing her evening's work, was suddenly greeted by a burst of song from beneath her balcony; a surpassing deep, rich alto, beautifully blended with a number of clear, pure sopranos, accompanied by mandolin and guitar. it was a song she had not heard in years, one which held a beautiful, tender association for her: "i would that my love could silently flow in a single word--" a mist came over her eyes as she listened, and the gates of memory swung back on their golden hinges, revealing another scene, when she had listened to that song sung by a voice now long since hushed. she put her hand over her eyes as if in pain, then dropped it slowly into her lap and sat leaning back in her chair listening with hungry ears to the familiar strains. when the last note had echoed itself quite away she leaned over the balcony and called down softly, "thanks, many thanks, girls. you do not know what a treat you have given me. who are you? i know one of you must be agony, i recognize her alto, but who are the rest of you? the winnebagos? i might have guessed it. you are dear girls to think of me up here by myself and to put yourselves out to give me pleasure. come and visit me in the daytime, every one of you. there goes the last bugle. goodnight, girls. thank you a thousand times!" the winnebagos scurried off toward the alley, in high spirits at the success of their little plan. migwan actually trembled with joy. at last she had been invited up on miss amesbury's fascinating little balcony. true, the invitation had been a general one to all the winnebagos, but nevertheless, it was a beginning. "miss amesbury must have been very tired tonight," she confided to hinpoha. "her voice actually shook when she thanked us for singing." "i noticed it, too," replied hinpoha, beginning to pull her middy off over her head as she walked along. when agony reached the door of gitchee-gummee she remembered that she had left her camp hat lying in the path below mateka, where they had stood to serenade miss amesbury, and fearing that the wind, which was increasing in velocity, might blow it into the river before morning, she hastened back to rescue it. she moved quietly, for it was after lights out and she did not wish to disturb the camp. miss amesbury's lamp was extinguished and her balcony was shrouded in darkness by the shadow of the tall pine which grew against it. "she must be very tired," thought agony, remembering migwan's words, "and is already in bed." agony felt carefully over the shadowy ground for her hat, found it and started back up the path. but the beauty of the moonlight on the river tempted her to loiter and dream along the bluff before returning to her tent. enchanted by the magic scene beneath her, she stood still and gazed for many minutes at the gleaming river of water which seemed to her like pure molten silver. as she stood gazing, half lost in dreams, she saw a canoe shoot out from the opposite shore some distance up the river and come toward keewaydin, keeping in the shadows along the shore. just before it reached camp it drew in and discharged a passenger, which agony could see was a girl. then the canoe put off again, and as it crossed a moonlit place agony saw that it was painted bright red, the color of the canoes belonging to the boy's camp located about a half mile down the river. agony realized what the presence of that canoe meant. one of the girls of keewaydin had been out canoeing on the sly with some boy from camp alamont--a thing forbidden in the keewaydin code--and was being brought back in this surreptitious manner. who could the girl be? agony grimaced with disgust. she waited quietly there in the path where the girl, whoever she was, must pass in order to go up to her tent. in a few moments the girl came along and nearly stumbled over her in the darkness, crying out in alarm at the unexpected encounter. agony's swiftly adjusted flashlight fell upon the heavy features and unpleasant eyes of jane pratt. "o jane," cried agony, "you haven't been over at that boys' camp, have you? you surely know it's forbidden--dr. grayson said so distinctly when he read the camp rules." "well, what if i have?" jane demanded in a tone of asperity. "dr. grayson makes a lot of rules that are too silly for words. i have a friend over at camp altamont that i've known for years and if i choose to go canoeing with him on such a gorgeous night instead of going to bed at nine o'clock like a baby it's nobody's business. by the way, what are _you_ doing here?" she demanded suspiciously. "why aren't you in bed with the rest of the infants?" "i came out to get my hat," replied agony simply. "strange thing that your hat should get lost just in the spot where i happen to come ashore," remarked jane sarcastically. "how long have you been spying upon my movements, miss virtue?" "i haven't been spying on you," declared agony hotly. "i hadn't any idea you were out. to tell the truth, i never missed you this evening when we were on the river." "well, i suppose you'll pull mrs. grayson out of her bed now to tell her the scandal about jane pratt," continued jane bitingly, "and tomorrow morning at five o'clock there'll be another departure from camp." "o jane!" cried agony, in distress. "will she really send you home?" "she really will," mocked jane. "she sent a girl home last year who did the same thing." "o jane, how dreadful that would be," said agony. "and how sorry you would be to have me go--not," returned jane derisively. "jane," said agony seriously, "if i promise not to tell mrs. grayson this time will you promise never to do this sort of thing again? it would be awful to be sent home from camp in disgrace. if you think it over you'll surely see what a much better time you'll have if you don't break rules--if you work and play honorably. won't you please try?" the derisive tone deepened in jane's voice as she answered, "no i will _not_. i'll make no such babyish promise--to you of all people--because i wouldn't keep it if i did make it." "then," said agony firmly, "i'll do just as we do in school with the honor system. i'll give you three days to tell mrs. grayson yourself, and if you haven't done it by the end of that time i'll tell her myself. what you are doing is a bad example for the younger girls, and mrs. grayson ought to know about it." jane's only reply was a mocking laugh as she brushed past agony and went in the direction of her tent. chapter ix an exploring trip "miss amesbury wants us to go off on a canoe trip with her," announced agony, rushing up to the winnebagos after craft hour the next morning. "wants who to go on a canoe trip with her?" demanded sahwah in excitement. "why, us, the winnebagos," replied agony. "just us, and jo severance. she wants to take a canoe trip up the river, but she doesn't want to go with the whole camp when they go because there will be too much noise and excitement. she wants a quieter trip, but she doesn't want to go all alone, so she has asked dr. grayson if she may take us girls. he said she might. we're to start this afternoon, right after dinner, and be gone over night; maybe two nights." "o agony!" breathed migwan in ecstacy, falling upon agony's neck and hugging her rapturously. "it's all due to you. if you hadn't done that splendid thing we wouldn't be half as popular as we are. we're sharing your glory with you." she smiled fondly into agony's eyes and squeezed her hand heartily. "good old agony," she murmured. agony smiled back mechanically and returned the squeeze with only a slight pressure. "nonsense," she replied with emphasis. "it isn't on account of what--i--did at all that she has asked you. it's because you serenaded her the other evening. that was _your_ doing, migwan." "but we wouldn't have ventured to serenade her if she hadn't been so friendly with you," replied migwan, "so it amounts to the same thing in the end. that's the way it has always been with us winnebagos, hasn't it? what one does always helps the rest of us. sahwah's swimming has made us all famous; and so has gladys's dancing and katherine's speechifying." "and your writing," put in hinpoha. "don't forget that indian legend of yours that brought the spotlight down upon us in our freshman year. that was really the making of us. no matter what one of us does, the others all share in the glory." a tiny shiver went down agony's back. "and i suppose," she added casually, "if one of us were to disgrace herself the others would share the disgrace." "we certainly would," said sahwah with conviction. agony turned away with a dry feeling in her throat and walked soberly to her tent to prepare for the canoe trip. "have you noticed that there is something queer about agony lately?" migwan remarked to gladys as she laid out her poncho on the tent floor preparatory to rolling it. "i haven't noticed it," replied gladys, getting out needle and thread to sew up a small rent in her bloomers. "what do you mean?" "why, i can't explain it exactly," continued migwan, pausing in the act of doubling back her blanket to fit the shape of the poncho, "but she's different, somehow. she sits and stares out over the river sometimes for half an hour at a stretch, and sometimes when you speak to her she gives you an answer that shows she hasn't heard what you said." "i _have_ noticed it, now that you speak of it," replied gladys, straightening up from her mending job to give migwan a hand with the poncho rolling. then she added, "maybe she's in love. those are supposed to be the symptoms, aren't they?" "gracious!" exclaimed migwan in a startled tone. "do you suppose that can be what's the matter with her. i hadn't thought of that." "it must be," said gladys with a quaint air of wordly wisdom, and then the two girls proceeded to forget agony in the labor of rolling the poncho up neatly and making it fast with a piece of rope tied in a square knot. when agony reached gitchee-gummee on her errand of packing, there was jo severance waiting for her with a letter. "letter from mary sylvester," she called gaily, waving it over her head. "it just came in the morning's mail and i haven't opened it yet. thought i'd bring it down and let you read it with me." an icy hand seemed to clutch at agony's heart, and she gazed at the little white linen paper envelope as though it might contain a bomb. here was a danger she had not foreseen. mary sylvester, even though she had left camp, corresponded with her bosom friend, jo severance, and very naturally she might make some reference to the robin incident. agony gazed in fascinated silence as jo opened the envelope with a nail file in lieu of a paper cutter and spread out the pages. little black specks began to float before her eyes and she leaned against the bed to steady herself for the blow which she felt in her prophetic soul was coming. jo, in her eagerness to read the letter, noticed nothing out of the way in agony's expression. dropping down on the bed beside her she began to read aloud: "dearest jo: "when i think of you and all the other dear people i left behind me in camp it seems that i must fly right back to keewaydin. it still seems a dream, my coming away so soon after arriving. i have done nothing but rush around since, getting my things together. we are in san francisco now, and sail tonight." ... so the letter ran for several pages--descriptions of things she had seen on the trip west, and loving messages for her friends at camp, and closing with a hasty "goodbye, jo dear." not a word about the robin. the choking sensation in agony's throat left her. weak-kneed, she sank down on the bed and lay back on the pillow, closing her eyes wearily. unnoticing, jo departed to show the letter to the girls to whom mary had sent messages. agony lay very still, thinking. even if mary had not mentioned the robin incident in this letter, she might in a later one; the danger was never really over. and on the other hand, jo severance, dear jo, who had become so fond of agony in the last few weeks, would certainly tell mary about the robin when she answered her letter. jo had already written it to her mother and to several friends, she had told her. jo never grew tired of talking about it, and displayed a touching pride in having agony for an intimate friend. yes, without doubt jo would write it to mary, and then mary would write back and tell the truth. agony grew hot and cold by turns as she lay there thinking of the certainty of exposure. what a blind fool she had been. if only she had told the story the minute she got home that day, instead of keeping it to herself, then the moment of temptation would never have come to her. if only mary hadn't been called away just then! could she still take the story back, she wondered, and tell it as it really had been? her heart sank at the thought and her pride cried out against it. no, she could never stand the disgrace. but what if the truth were to leak out through mary--that would be infinitely worse. her thoughts went around in a torturing circle and brought her to no decision. should she make a clean breast of it now and have nothing more to fear, or should she take a chance on jo's never mentioning it to mary? while she was debating the question back and forth in her mind bengal virden came running into the tent. bengal was beginning to tag after agony as she had formerly tagged after mary sylvester. agony often caught the younger girl's eyes fastened upon her with an expression of worship that fairly embarrassed her. it was the first real crush that a younger girl had ever had on agony, and although agony laughed about it to her friends, she still derived no small amount of satisfaction from it, and had resolved to be a real influence for good to stout, fly-away bengal. the girl came running in now with a leaf cup full of red, ripe raspberries in her hand, and laid it in agony's lap. "i picked them all for you," she remarked, looking at agony with an adoring gaze. "oh, thank you," said agony, sitting up and fingering the tempting gift. she selected a large ripe berry and put it into her mouth, giving an involuntary exclamation of pleasure at the fine, rich flavor of the fruit. this, she reflected, was the reward of popularity--the cream of all good things from the hands of her admirers. could she give it up--could she bear to see their admiration turn to scorn? "and agony," begged bengal, "may i have a lock of your hair to keep?" the depths of adoration expressed in that request sent an odd thrill through agony. she knew then that she could not bear it to have bengal be disappointed in her; could not let her know that she was only posing as a heroine. the die was cast. she would take her chance on no one's ever finding it out. right after dinner the little voyaging party pushed out from the dock and headed upstream; three canoes side by side with ponchos and provisions stowed away under the seats, and the winnebago banner trailing from the stern of the "flagship," the one in which miss amesbury rode, with sahwah and migwan as paddlers. migwan and hinpoha had constructed the banner in record time that morning, giving up their swimming hour to finish it. no winnebago expedition should ever start out without a banner flying; they would just as soon have gone without their shoes. oh-pshaw waved them a brave farewell from the dock, philosophically accepting the fact that she could not go in a canoe and making no fuss about it. jo severance, who had paddled up the river before, and knew its course thoroughly, acted as guide and pilot. for the first night's camping ground they were going to a place where jo had camped on a former trip, a place which she enthusiastically described as "just made for four beds to be spread in." it had all the conveniences of home, she assured them; a nearby spring for drinking water and a good place to swim, and what more could anyone want! by common consent they paddled slowly at the outset, wisely refraining from exhausting their strength in the first mile or so, as is so apt to be the case with inexperienced paddlers. the winnebagos had paddled together so often that it was unnecessary for them to count aloud to keep together; the six paddles flashed and dipped as one in time to some mysterious inner rhythm, sending the three canoes forward with a smooth, even motion, and keeping their noses almost in a straight line across the river. "how beautifully you pull together!" exclaimed miss amesbury in admiration, leaning back and watching the six brown arms rising and falling in unison. "we're used to pulling together," said sahwah simply. the boys from camp altamont were at their swimming hour when they passed, and hailed them with great shouting, which they returned with a camp cheer and a salute with the paddles. the red canoes were drawn up in a line on the dock and agony wondered which one it was that had made the stealthy voyage to camp keewaydin the night before. this brought back to her mind the subject of jane pratt, and she wondered if jane had really taken her seriously when she had demanded that she confess her breaking of the camp rule; if jane would really tell mrs. grayson herself, or force her to inform upon her. it came over her rather forcefully that she was not exactly in a position to be telling tales about other deceivers--that she was in their class herself. "why so pensive?" inquired miss amesbury brightly, as agony paddled along in silence, looking straight ahead of her and paying no attention to the gay conversation going on all about her. agony collected herself and smiled brightly at miss amesbury. "i was just thinking," she replied composedly. "did i look glum? i was wondering if i had put my toothbrush in my poncho, i forgot it on our last trip." miss amesbury laughed and said, "you funny child," and thought her more entertaining than ever. up beyond camp altamont lay a number of small islands and beyond these the river began to bend and twist in numerous eccentric curves; the woods that bordered it grew denser, the banks swampy. signs of human occupation disappeared; there were no more camps; no more cottages. great willow trees grew close to the water's edge, five and six trunks coming out of a single root, the drooping branches sweeping the surface of the river. in places rotting logs lay half submerged in the water, looking oddly like alligators in the distance. usually there would be a turtle sunning himself on the dry end of the log, who craned his neck inquisitively at them as they swept by, as if wondering what strange variety of fish they were. hinpoha tried to catch one for a mascot, "because he would look so epic tied to the back of our canoe, swimming along behind us," but finally gave it up as a bad job, for none of the turtles seemed to share her enthusiasm over the idea, sinking out of sight at the first preliminaries of adoption. in places the banks, where they were not low and swampy, were perforated like honeycombs with holes some three inches in diameter. "oh, what are they?" asked agony in surprise. "all snake holes?" "bank swallows," replied sahwah. "they make their nests in the mud along river banks that way, until the banks are perfect honeycombs. i don't see how each one knows his own nest; they all look alike to me." "maybe they're all numbered in bird language," remarked miss amesbury, in her delightfully humorous way. the scenery grew wilder and wilder as they glided forward and the talk gradually became hushed into a half awed contemplation of the wilderness which closed about them. "i feel as if i were on some great exploring expedition," exclaimed sahwah. "everything looks so new and undiscovered. i wish there was something left to discover," she continued plaintively. "it's so discouraging to think that there's nothing more for explorers to do in this country. what fun it must have been for la salle and pere marquette and lewis and clark to find those big rivers that no white man had ever seen before, and go poking about in the wilderness. that was the great and only sport; everything else is tame and flat beside it. i'll never get done envying those early explorers; how i wish i could have been with them!" "but sahwah, girls didn't go on long exploring journeys," gladys interrupted quietly. "they couldn't have borne the hardships." "couldn't they?" sahwah flashed out quickly. "how about sacajawea, i'd like to know?" "goodness, who was she?" asked gladys. "the indian woman who went with lewis and clark on their expedition to the columbia river," replied sahwah with that tone of animation in her voice which was always present when she spoke of someone whom she admired greatly. "her husband was the interpreter whom lewis and clark took along to talk to the indians for them, and sacajawea went with the expedition too, to act as guide, because she knew the shoshone country. she traveled the whole five thousand miles with them and carried her baby on her back all the while. lewis and clark both said afterwards that if it hadn't been for her they wouldn't have been able to make the journey. when there wasn't any meat to eat she knew enough to dig in the prairie dogs' holes for the artichokes which they'd stored up for the winter; and she knew which herbs and berries were fit for food. and on one occasion she saved the most valuable part of the supplies they were carrying, when her stupid husband had managed to upset the boat they were being carried in. while he stood wringing his hands and calling on heaven for help she set to work fishing out the papers and instruments and medicines that had gone overboard, and without which the expedition could not have proceeded. she tramped for hundreds of miles, over hills and through valleys, finding the narrow trails that only the indians knew, undergoing all the hardships that the men did and never complaining or growing discouraged. on the contrary, she cheered up the men when _they_ got discouraged. now, do you say that a woman can't go exploring as well as a man?" sahwah's eyes were sparkling, her cheeks glowed red under their coat of tan, and she was all excitement. the blood of the explorer flowed in her veins; her inheritance from hardy ancestors who had hewn their way through trackless forests to found a new home in the wilderness; and the very mention of exploring set her pulses to leaping wildly. far back in sahwah's ancestry there was a strain of indian blood, which, although it had not been apparent in many of the descendents, had seemed to come into its own in this twentieth century daughter of the brewsters. not in looks especially, for sahwah's hair was brown and not black, and fine and soft as silk, and her features were delicately modeled; yet there was something about her different from the other girls of her acquaintance, something elusive and puzzling, which, for a better name her intimates had called her "laughing water" expression. then, too, there was her passionate love for the woods and for all wild creatures, and the almost uncanny way in which birds and chipmunks would come to her even though they fled in terror at the approach of the other winnebagos. was it any wonder that robert allison, seeing her for the first time, should have exclaimed involuntarily, "minnehaha, laughing water"? thus sahwah was in her element paddling up this lonely river winding through unfamiliar forests, and in her vivid imagination she was sacajawea, accompanying lewis and clark on their famous exploring expedition; and the gentle onawanda turned into the mighty rolling columbia, and the friendly pine woods with its border of willows became the trackless forest of the unknown northwest. late in the afternoon jo severance suddenly cried out, "here we are!" and called out to the paddlers to head the canoes toward the shore. glad to stretch their limbs after the long afternoon of sitting in the canoes, the winnebagos sprang out on to the rocks which lined the water's edge, and drew the boats up after them. the place was, as jo had promised, seemingly made for them to camp in. high and dry above the stream, sheltered by great towering pine trees, covered with a thick carpet of pine needles, this little woodland chamber opened in the dense tangle of underbrush which everywhere else grew up between the trees in a heavy tangle. down near the shore a clear little spring went tinkling down into the river. "oh, what a cozy, cozy place!" exclaimed migwan. "i never thought of being cozy in the woods before--it's always been so wide and airy. this is like your own bedroom, screened in this way with the bushes." "we'd better get the ponchos unrolled and the beds made up before we start supper," said sahwah briskly, getting down to business immediately, as usual. the others agreed with alacrity, for they were ravenously hungry from the long paddle and anxious to get at supper as soon as possible. when they came to lay the ponchos down, however, there was something in the way. the whole narrow plot of smooth ground where they had expected to lay them was covered with evening primroses in full blossom, the fragile yellow blooms standing there so trustfully that they aroused the sympathy of the winnebagos. "it's such a pity to crush them under the beds," said tender hearted migwan. "i'm sure i couldn't sleep if i knew i was killing such brave little things." the other winnebagos stood around with their ponchos in their arms, uncertain what to do, loath to be the death of these cheery little wild things, yet unable to see how they could help it. "isn't there some other place where we can camp, jo," asked migwan, "and let these blossoms live? it seems such a pity to crush them." miss amesbury turned and looked at migwan with a keen searching glance which caused her to drop her eyes in sudden embarrassment. jo took up migwan's suggestion readily, though disappointed that they were not to stay in her favorite place. "i think we can find another spot," she said, and moved toward the canoes. tired and hungry, but perfectly willing to give up the desired spot to save the flowers, the winnebagos launched out once more, and after paddling for half a mile found another camping ground equally desirable, though not as cozy as the first had been. there was more room here, and the ponchos were laid down without having to sacrifice any flowers. the sun had set prematurely behind a high bank of gray clouds during the last paddle up the river and there were no rosy sunset glows to reflect on the water and diffuse light into the woods, where a grey twilight had already fallen. there was enough driftwood along the shore to build the fires, and these were soon shining out cheerily through the gathering gloom, while an appetizing odor of coffee and frying bacon filled the air. the girls lingered long around the fire after supper listening to miss amesbury telling tales of her various travels until one by one the logs fell apart and glimmered out into blackness. "and now," said miss amesbury, "let's sing one good night song and then roll into bed. we want to be up early in the morning and continue our voyage. there's a heap of 'exploraging' for us to do." some time during the night sahwah was aroused by a gentle pattering noise on her rubber poncho. "it's raining!" she exclaimed to hinpoha, her sleeping partner. hinpoha stirred and murmured drowsily and immediately lay still again. "it's raining _hard_!" cried sahwah, now wide awake. one by one the others began to realize what was happening, and burrowed down under their ponchos, only to emerge a few moments later half smothered. "everybody lie still," called sahwah, "and keep your blankets covered. hinpoha and i will go out and bring up canoes for shelters." as she spoke she reached for her bathing suit, which was down under the poncho, and wriggled into it. hinpoha, still half asleep, but mechanically obeying sahwah's energetic directions, got into her bathing suit and wriggled out of the bed, drawing the poncho up over her pillow and blankets. the two sped down to the shore, where the canoes were drawn up on the rocks, and hastily turning one over sideways and packing all their provisions under it, they carried the other two back to the camping ground and inverted them over the head-ends of the beds, their ends propped up on stones, where, tilted back at an angle which shed the water off backward, they made an admirable shelter. underneath these solid umbrellas the pillows of the girls were as dry as though indoors, and the ponchos protected the blankets. let the rain come down as hard as it liked, these babes in the wood were snug and warm. as though accepting their challenge to get them wet, the drops came thicker and faster, until they pounded down in a perfect torrent, making a merry din on the canoes as they fell. "it sounds as if they were saying, 'we'll get you yet, we'll get you yet, we'll get you yet,'" exclaimed migwan. sahwah and hinpoha, snugly rolled in once more, began to sing "how dry i am." the others took it up, and soon the woods rang with the taunting song of the winnebagos to the rain bird, who replied with a heavier gush than ever. thunder began to crash overhead, lightning flashed all about them, the great pines tossed and roared like the sea. but the winnebagos, undismayed, made merry over the storm, and gradually dropped off to sleep again, lulled by the pattering of the raindrops. in the morning the rain was still falling, rather to their dismay, for they had expected that the storm would soon pass over. the thunder and lightning had ceased, the wind had subsided, and the rain had turned into a steady downpour that looked as if it meant to last all day. "we'll have to find or build a shelter," remarked sahwah, thrusting her head, turtle like, from under the edge of the canoe and scanning the heavens with a calculating eye. "this is a regular three days' rain. who wants to come with me and see if we can find a cave? i have an idea there must be one among the rocks on the hillside just farther on. who wants to come with me?" "i'll come!" cried hinpoha and jo and agony and katherine all in a breath. cramped from lying still so long, they welcomed the prospect of exercise, even in the early morning rain. leaving migwan and gladys to keep miss amesbury company, the five set out into the streaming woods, and katherine and hinpoha and sahwah came back half an hour later to report that they had found a cave and jo and agony had stayed there to build a fire. "fire, that sounds good to me," remarked gladys, shivering a little as she got into her damp bathing suit and drew her heavy sweater over it. carrying the beds, still wrapped up in the ponchos, the little procession wound through the woods under the guidance of the returned scouts. the guides were not needed long, however, for soon a heart warming odor of frying bacon came to meet them, and with a world-old instinct each one followed her nose toward it. "did anything ever smell so good?" exclaimed hinpoha, breathing in the fragrant air in long drawn sniffs. "those blessed angels!" was all miss amesbury could say. a moment later they stepped out of the wet woods into the cheeriest scene imaginable. in the side of a steep hill which rose not far from the river there opened a good sized cave, and just inside its doorway burned a bright fire, lighting up the interior with its ruddy glow. on a smaller fire beside it a pan of bacon was sizzling merrily, and over another hung a pot of steaming coffee. to the eyes of the wet, chilly campers, it was the most beautiful scene they had ever looked upon. they sprang to the large fire and toasted themselves in its grateful warmth while they held up their clothes to dry before putting them on. "thoughtful people, to build us an extra fire," said miss amesbury, stretching out luxuriously on the blanket migwan had spread for her. "we knew you'd want to warm up a bit," replied agony, removing the coffee pot from the blaze and beginning to pour the steaming liquid into the cups. "how did you ever make a fire at all?" inquired miss amesbury. "every bit of wood must be soaked through." "we dug down into a big pine stump," replied agony, "or rather, sahwah did, for i didn't know enough to, and got us some dry chips to start the fire with, and then we kept drying other pieces until they could burn. once we got that big log started we were all right. it's as hot as a furnace." "what a difference fire does make!" said miss amesbury. "what dreary, dispirited people we'd be by this time if it were not for this cheering blaze. i'd be perfectly content to stay here all day if i had to." miss amesbury had ample opportunity to test the depth of her content, for the rain showed no sign of abating. hour after hour it poured down steadily as though it had forgotten how to stop. a dense mist rose on the river which gradually spread through the woods until the trees loomed up like dim spectres standing in menacing attitudes before the door of their little rocky chamber. warm and dry inside, the winnebagos made the best of their unexpected situation and whiled away the hours with games, stories, and "improving conversation," as jo severance recounted later. "i've just invented a new game," announced migwan, when the talk had run for some time on famous women of various times. "what is it?" asked hinpoha, pausing with a half washed potato in her hand. hinpoha and gladys were putting the potatoes into the hot ashes to bake them for dinner. "why, it's this," said migwan. "let each one of us in turn tell some incident that took place in the girlhood of a famous woman, the one we admire the most, and see if the others can guess who she is." "all right, you begin, migwan," said sahwah. "no, you begin, sahwah. it's my game, so i'll be last." sahwah sat chin in hand for a moment, and then she began: "i see a long, low house built of bark and branches, thickly covered with snow. it is one of the 'long houses', or winter quarters of the algonquins, and none other than the chief's own house. inside is a council chamber and in it a pow-wow of chiefs is going on. the other half of the house, which is not used as a council chamber, is used as the living room by the family, and here a number of children are playing a lively game. in the midst of the racket the door opens and in comes one of the chief's runners. as he advances toward the council chamber a young girl comes whirling down the room turning handsprings. her feet strike him full in the chest, and send him flat on his back on the floor. a great roar of laughter goes up from the braves and squaws sitting around the room, for the girl who has knocked the runner down is none other than the chief's own daughter. but the old chief says sadly, 'why will you be such a tomboy, my child?'" "tomboy, tomboy!" cry all the others, using the algonquin word for that nickname. "who is my girl, and what is her nickname?" "that's easy," laughed migwan, "who but pocahontas?" "was 'pocahantas' just a nickname?" asked hinpoha curiously. "yes," replied migwan. "'pocahontas', or 'pocahuntas', is the algonquin word for 'tomboy'. the real name of powhatan's daughter was ma-ta-oka, but she was known ever after the incident sahwah just related as 'pocahontas.'" "i never heard of that incident," said hinpoha, "but i might have guessed that sahwah would take pocahontas for hers." "now you, agony," said migwan. "i see a young girl," began agony, "tending her flocks in the valley of the meuse. she is sitting under a large beech, which the children of the village have named the 'fairy tree.' as she sits there her face takes on a rapt look; she sits very still, like one in a trance, for her eyes are looking upon a remarkable sight. she seems to see a shining figure standing before her; an angel with a flaming sword. she falls upon her knees and covers her face with her hands, and when she looks up again the vision is gone and only the tree is left, with the church beyond it." "joan of arc!" cried three or four voices at once. "o, _how_ i wish i were she!" finished agony fervently. "what a life of excitement she must have led! think of the stirring times she must have had in the army!" "i envy her all but the stake; i couldn't have borne that," said sahwah. "now you, gladys." "i see a young english girl, fourteen years old, dressed in the costume of tudor england, stealing out of westminster palace with the boy king of england, edward the sixth. free from the tiresome lords and ladies-in-waiting who were always at their heels in the palace, they have a gorgeous time wandering about the streets of london until by chance they meet one of the royal household, and are hustled back to the palace in short order." "poor lady jane grey!" said migwan. "i'm glad i wasn't in her shoes. i'm glad i'm not in any royalty's shoes. with all their pomp and splendor they never have half the fun we're having at this minute," she continued vehemently. "they never went off on a hike by themselves and slept on the ground with their heads under a canoe. it's lots nicer to be free, even if you _are_ a nobody." "i think so too," sahwah agreed with her emphatically. "my girl," said jo, in her turn, "was crowned queen at the age of nine months and betrothed to the king of france when she was five years old. that's all i know about her early days, except that she had four intimate friends all named mary." "mary, queen of scots," guessed gladys, who was taking a history course in college. "somehow i never could get up much sympathy for her; she seemed such a spineless sort of creature. i always preferred queen elizabeth, even if she did cut off mary's head." "every single one of the heroines so far has died a violent death," remarked miss amesbury. "is that the only kind of women you admire?" "it seems so," replied migwan, laughing. "we're a bloodthirsty lot. go on, katherine." katherine dropped the log she was carrying upon the fire and kept her eye upon it as she spoke. "i see a brilliant assemblage, gathered in the palace of the empress of austria to hear a wonderful boy musician play on the piano. as the young lad, who is none other than the great mozart, enters the room, he first approaches the empress to make his bow to her. the polished floor is extremely slippery, and he slips and falls flat. the courtiers, who consider him very clumsy, do nothing but laugh at him, but the young daughter of the empress runs forward, helps him to his feet and comforts him with soothing words." "i always did think that was the most charming anecdote ever related about marie antoinete," observed migwan. "she must have been a very sweet and lovable young girl; it doesn't seem possible that she grew up to be the kind of woman she did." "another one who lost her head!" remarked miss amesbury, laughing. "aren't there going to be any who live to grow old? let's see who hinpoha's favorite heroine is." hinpoha moved back a foot or so from the fire, which had blazed up to an uncomfortable heat at the addition of katherine's log. "i see a puritan maiden, seated at a spinning wheel," she commenced. "the door opens and a young man comes in. he apparently has something on his mind, and stands around first on one foot and then on the other, until the girl asks him what seems to be the trouble, whereupon he gravely informs her that a friend of his, a most worthy man indeed, who can write, and fight, and--ah, do several more things all at once, wants her for his wife. then the girl smiles demurely at him, and says coyly--" "why don't you speak for yourself, john?" shouted the other six girls, with one voice. "you don't need to ask hinpoha who her favorite heroine is," said migwan laughing. "ever since i've known her she's read the story of priscilla and john alden at least once a week." "well, you must admit that she _was_ pretty clever," said hinpoha, blushing a little at the exposure of her fondness for love stories. "and sensible, too. she wasn't afraid of speaking up and helping her bashful lover along a little bit, instead of meekly accepting standish's offer and then spending the rest of her life sighing because john alden hadn't asked her." "that's right," chimed in sahwah. "i admire a girl with spirit. if lady jane gray had had a little more spirit she wouldn't have lost her head. i'll warrant priscilla mullins would have found a way out of it if she had been in the same scrape as lady jane. now, your turn, migwan." "i see a girl living in a bleak house on the edge of a wild, lonely moor," began migwan. "all winter long the storms howl around the house like angry spirits of the air. to amuse themselves in these long winter evenings this girl and her sisters make up stories about the people that live on the moors and tell them to each other around the fire, or after they have crept into bed, and lie shivering under the blankets in the icy cold room. the stories that my girl made up were so fascinating that the others forgot the cold and the raw winds whistling about the house and listened spellbound until she had finished." "i know who that is," said gladys, when migwan paused. "mig is forever raving about charlotte bronte." "the more i think about her the more wonderful she seems," said migwan warmly. "how a girl brought up in such a dead, cheerless place as haworth churchyard, and knowing nothing at all about the world of people, could have written such a book as _jane eyre_, seems a miracle. she was a genius," she finished with an envious sigh. miss amesbury looked keenly at migwan. "i think," she observed shrewdly, "that you like to write also. is it not so?" migwan blushed furiously and sat silent. to have this successful, widely known writer know her heart's ambition filled her with an agony of embarrassment. "migwan does write, wonderful things," said hinpoha loyally. "she's had things printed in papers and in the college magazine." then she told about the indian legend that had caused such a stir in college, whereupon miss amesbury laughed heartily, and patted migwan on the head, and said she would very much like to see some of the things she had written. migwan, thrilled and happy, but still very much embarrassed, shyly promised that she would let her see some of her work, and in the middle of her speech a potato blew up with a bang, showering them all with mealy fragments and hot ashes, and sending them flying away from the fire with startled shrieks. since the potatoes were so very evidently done, the rest of the meal was hurriedly prepared, and eaten with keen appetites. during the clearing away process somebody discovered that the rain had stopped falling, a fact which they had all been too busy to notice before, and that the mist was being rapidly blown away by a strong northwest wind. when they woke in the morning, after sleeping in the cave around the fire, the sun was shining brightly into the entrance and the birds outside were singing joyously of a fair day to come. overflowing with energy the late cave dwellers raced through the sweet smelling woods, indescribably fresh and fragrant after the cleansing, purifying rain, and launched the canoes upon a river sparkling like a sheet of diamonds in the clear morning sunlight. how wonderfully new and bright the rain-washed earth looked everywhere, and how exhilarating the fresh rushing wind was to their senses, after the smoky, misty atmosphere of the cave! exulting in their strength the winnebagos bent low over their paddles, and the canoes leaped forward like hounds set free from the leash, and went racing along with the current, shooting past islands, whirling around bends, whisking through tiny rapids, wildly, deliriously, rejoicing in the thrill of the morning and the call of a world running over with joy. soon they came to the place where they had first planned to camp, and there were the primroses, a-riot with bloom, nodding them a friendly greeting. "aren't you glad we didn't stay here?" said sahwah. "we'd have been soaked if we did, because we probably wouldn't have found the cave. the primroses saved the day for us by growing where we wanted to lay our beds." they sang a cheer to the primroses and swept on until they came to the place in the woods where the balsam grew. dusk was falling when, with canoes piled high with the fragrant boughs, they rounded the great bend above keewaydin and a few minutes later ran in alongside the camp keewaydin dock. "i feel as though i had been gone for weeks," said migwan, as they climbed out of the canoes. "so do i," said sahwah, dancing up and down on the dock to take the stiffness out of her muscles. "doesn't it look civilized, though, after what we've just experienced? i wish," she continued longingly, "that i could live in the wilds all the time." "i don't," replied migwan, patting the diving tower as if it were an old friend. "camp is plenty wild enough for me." chapter x topsy-turvy day "why, where _is_ camp?" asked sahwah in perplexity, noticing that the whole place was dark and still. it was half past six, the usual after-supper frolic hour, when camp was wont to ring to the echo with fun and merriment of all kinds. now no sound came from mateka, nor from the bungalow, nor from any of the tents, no sound and no movement. before their astonished eyes the camp lay like an enchanted city, changed in their absence from a place of racket and bustle and resounding laughter, to a silent ghost of its former lively self. "what's happened?" exclaimed the winnebagos to each other. "is everybody gone on a trip?" mystified, they climbed up the hill, and at the top they found miss judy going from tent to tent with her flashlight, as if making the nightly rounds after lights out. "o miss judy," they called to her, "what's happened?" "shh-h-h!" replied miss judy, holding up her hand for silence and coming toward them. "everybody's in bed," she whispered when she was near enough for them to hear her." "in bed!" exclaimed the winnebagos in astonishment. "at half past six in the evening? what for?" "it's topsy-turvy day," replied miss judy, laughing at their amazed faces. "we're turning everything upside down tonight. hurry and get into bed. the rising bugle will blow in half an hour." giggling with amusement the winnebagos sped to their tents, unrolled their ponchos, made up their beds in a hurry, undressed quickly and popped into bed. not long afterward they heard the dipping of paddles and the monotonous "one, two, one two," of the boatswain as the crew of the turtle started out for practice. the turtle's regular practice hour was the half hour before rising bugle in the morning. tired with her long paddle that day hinpoha fell asleep as soon as she touched the pillow, and was much startled to hear the loud blast of a bugle in the midst of a delightful dream. "what's the matter?" she asked sleepily, sitting up and looking around her in bewilderment. "what are they blowing the bugle in the middle of the night for?" "they aren't blowing the bugle in the middle of the night," said sahwah with a shriek of laughter at hinpoha's puzzled face. "this is topsy-turvy day, don't you remember? we're going to have our regular day's program at night time. it's ten minutes to seven, and that's the bugle for morning dip. are you coming?" sahwah was already inside her bathing suit, and agony had hers half on. hinpoha replied with an unintelligible sound, one-eighth grunt and seven-eights yawn, and rising tipsily from her bed she looked around for her bathing suit with eyes still half sealed by sleep. sahwah helped her into the suit and seizing her hand led her down to the water, where half the camp, shaking with convulsive merriment at the absurdity of the thing, were scrupulously taking their "morning dip," with toothbrush drill and all the other regular morning ablutions. the rising bugle blew while they were still at it and they sped back to the tents to get dressed, making three times as much racket about this process as they ever did in the morning. most of the tents had no lights, because ordinarily no one needed a light to undress by and so the lanterns which had been given out at the beginning of the season were scattered everywhere about camp as especial need for them had arisen upon various occasions. but getting dressed in the dark is harder than getting undressed, and most of the tents were in an uproar. "i can only find one stocking," wailed oh-pshaw, after vainly feeling around for several minutes. "where's my flashlight, katherine?" "i'm sorry, but i just dropped it into the water jar," replied katherine, "and it won't work any more." katherine herself was hopelessly involved in her bloomers, having put both feet through the same leg, and was lying flat on the floor trying to extricate herself. "can i go with only one stocking on?" oh-pshaw persisted plaintively. "i haven't another pair here in the tent." "_i_ can't find my middy," jean lawrence was lamenting, paying no heed to oh-pshaw's troubles in regard to hosiery. tiny armstrong, reaching down behind her bed for some missing article of her costume, gave the bed such a shove that it went flying out of the tent carrying the rustic railing with it, and they heard it go bumping down the hillside. "strike one!" called tiny ruefully. "that's what comes of being so strong. i'll knock the tent down next." "will somebody please tell me where my middy is?" jean cried tragically. "i can't find it anywhere." "will someone tell _me_ where the other leg of my bloomers is?" exclaimed katherine. "i've shoved both feet through the same leg three times, now. there goes the breakfast bugle!" "oh, where is my other stocking?" "where is my middy?" "who's gone south with my shoes?" the threefold wail floated down on the breeze as footsteps began to run down the alley in the direction of the bungalow. a few minutes later the occupants of bedlam slid as unobtrusively as possible into the lighted bungalow; oh-pshaw with her bloomers down around her ankles in a turkish effect, to hide the fact that she had on only one stocking; jean with her sweater buttoned tightly around her, katherine with her red silk tie bound around one knee to gather up the fullness of her bloomer leg, for the elastic band had burst from the strain of accommodating two feet at once; and tiny had one white sneaker and one red pullman slipper on. glancing around at the rest they saw many others in the same plight--middies on hindside before, odd shoes and stockings, sweaters instead of middies, and various other parodies on the regular camp uniform--and immediately they ceased to feel conspicuous. taking their places around the table the campers proceeded to sing one of the morning greetings: "good morning to you, good morning to you, good morning, dear comrades, good morning to you!" "did you have a good night's sleep?" was a question that made the rounds of the table, with many droll replies, as the cereal was being passed. hilarity increased during the meal, as the absurdity of eating cereal and fruit and toast at eight o'clock in the evening overcame the girls one after the other, and the room rang with witty songs made up on the spur of the moment. at "morning sing" which followed breakfast, they solemnly sang "when morning gilds the skies," "awake, my soul, and with the sun," "kathleen mavourneen, the grey dawn is breaking," and other morning songs; the program for the day was read, and dr. grayson gave a fatherly lecture on the harmfulness of staying up after dark. getting the tents ready for tent inspection without lights was a proceeding which defies description. tiny armstrong was still on the hillside searching for her runaway bed when the lone wolf reached bedlam in her tour of inspection, and was given a large and black zero in consequence. she finally gave up the search and wandered into mateka, where, with lanterns hanging above the long tables, craft hour was in full swing, the girls busily working at clay modeling, wood-blocking and paddle decorating, while the moon, round-eyed with astonishment, peeped through the doorway at the singular sight. still more astonished, the same moon looked down on the tennis court an hour later, where a lively folk dance was going on to the music of a graphaphone; couples spinning around in wild figures, stepping on each other's feet and every now and then dropping down at the outer edge of the court and shrieking with laughter, while the dance continued faster and more furiously than before, till the sound of the bugle sent the dancers flying swiftly to their tents to wriggle into clammy, wet bathing suits that seemed in the dark to be an altogether different shape from what they were in the daylight. standing on top of the diving tower when tiny's cry of "all in!" rang out, sahwah leaped down into the darkness and had a queer, thrilling moment in mid air when she wondered if she would ever strike the water, or would go on indefinitely falling through the blackness. laughing, shouting, splashing, the campers sported in the water until all of a sudden a red canoe shot into their midst and the director of camp altamont, accompanied by two assistants, came in an advanced stage of breathlessness to find out what the matter was. they heard the noise and the splashing of water and thought some accident had occurred. "no accident, thanks, only camp keewaydin stealing a march on old father time and turning night into day," dr. grayson called from the dock, and amid shouts of laughter from all around the messengers paddled back to their camp to assure the wakened and excited boys that nothing had happened, and that it was only another wild inspiration of the people at camp keewaydin. at midnight, when the bugle blew for dinner, everyone was as hungry as at noon, and the kettle of cocoa and the trays of sandwiches were emptied in a jiffy. "now what?" asked dr. grayson, looking around the table with twinkling eyes, when the last crumb and the last drop of cocoa had disappeared. "rest hour," replied mrs. grayson emphatically. "rest hour to last until morning. blow the bugle, judy." "wasn't this the wildest evening we ever put in?" said katherine, fishing her hairbrush out of the water pail. "where's tiny?" she asked, becoming aware that their councilor was not in the tent, "down on the hill looking for her bed." replied oh-pshaw. "goodness, let's go down and help her," said katherine, and oh-pshaw and jean streamed after her down the path. they stumbled over the bed before they came to tiny. it had turned over sidewise and fallen into a tiny ravine, and as she had gone straight down the hill searching for it she had missed it. katherine stepped into the ravine, dragging the two others with her, and at the bottom they landed on top of the bed. getting an iron cot up a steep hill is not the easiest thing in the world, and when they had it up at the top of the hill they all sat down on it and panted awhile before they could make it up. then they discovered that the pillow was missing and katherine obligingly went down the hill again to find it. "i shan't get up again for a week," she sighed wearily as she stretched between the sheets. "neither will i," echoed tiny. jean and oh-pshaw did not echo. they were already asleep. katherine had just sunk into a deep slumber when she started at the touch of a cold hand laid against her face. "what is it?" she cried out sharply. a face was bending over her, a pale little face framed in a lace boudoir cap. katherine recognized carmen chadwick. "what's the matter?" she asked. "my councy's awful sick, and none of the other girls will wake up and i don't know what to do," said carmen in a scared voice. "what's the matter with her?" asked katherine. "she ate too many blueberries, i guess; she's got an awful pain in her stomach, and chills." katherine hugged her warm pillow. "take the hot water bottle out of the washstand," she directed, without moving. "there--it's on the top shelf. there's hot water in the tank in the kitchen. and have you some jamaica ginger? no? take ours--it's the only bottle on the top shelf. now you'll be all right." katherine sank back into slumber. a few minutes more and she was awakened again by the same cold hand on her face. "what is it now?" "the jamaica ginger," asked carmen's thin voice in a bewildered tone, "what shall i do with it? shall i put it in the hot water bottle?" katherine's feet suddenly struck the floor together, and with an explosive exclamation under her breath she sped over to avernus and took matters in hand herself. she had tucked carmen into her own bed in bedlam, and she spent the remainder of the night over in avernus, taking care of the lone wolf, snatching a few moments' sleep in carmen's bed now and then when her patient felt easier. it was broad daylight before she finally settled into uninterrupted slumber. chapter xi edwin langham camp was more or less demoralized the next day. miss judy overslept and did not blow the rising bugle until nearly noon, so dinner took the place of breakfast and swimming hour came in the middle of the afternoon instead of in the morning. after swimming hour agony went up to miss amesbury's balcony to return a book she had borrowed. miss amesbury was not there, so agony, as she often did when she found her friend out, sat down to wait for her, passing the time by looking at some sketches tying on the table. turing these over, agony came upon a letter thrust in between the drawing sheets, at the sight of which her heart began to flutter wildly. the address on the envelope was in mary sylvester's handwriting--there was no mistaking that firm, round hand; it was indelibly impressed upon agony's mind from seeing it on that other occasion. in a panic she realized that the danger of being discovered was even greater than she had thought, since mary also wrote to miss amesbury. was it not possible that mary had mentioned the robin incident in this letter? it now seemed to agony that miss amesbury's manner had been different toward her in the last few days, on the trip. she seemed less friendly, less cordial. several times agony had looked up lately to find miss amesbury regarding her with a keen, grave scrutiny and a baffling expression on her face. to agony's tortured fancy these instances became magnified out of all proportion, and the disquieting conviction seized her that miss amesbury knew the truth. the thought nearly drove her mad. it tormented her until she realized that there was only one way in which she could still the tumult raging in her bosom, and that was by finding out for certain if mary had really told. with shaking fingers she slipped the letter out of the open envelope, and with cheeks aflame with shame at the thing she was doing, she deliberately read miss amesbury's letter. it was much like the one mary had written to jo severance, full of clever descriptions of the places she was seeing, and it made no mention either of the robin or of her. with fingers shaking still more at the relief she felt, she put the letter back into the envelope and replaced it between the sketches. then, trembling from head to foot at the reaction from her panic, she turned her back upon the table and sat up against the railing, holding her head in her hands and looking down at the fair sunlit river with eyes that saw it not. miss amesbury returned by and by and was so evidently pleased to see her that agony concluded she must have been mistaken in fancying any coldness on her part during the last few days. "i've a letter from mary sylvester," miss amesbury said almost at once, "and because you are following so closely in mary's footsteps i'm going to read it to you." she smiled brightly into agony's sober face and paused to pat her on the shoulder before she fluttered over the pile of sketches to find the letter. agony sat limply, listening to the words she had read a few minutes before, despising herself thoroughly and wishing with all her heart that she had never come to camp. yet she forced herself to make appreciative comments on the interesting things in the letter and to utter sincere sounding exclamations of surprise at certain points. "i've something to tell you that will please you," said miss amesbury, after the letter had been put away. "what is it?" asked agony, looking up inquiringly. "someone you admire very much is going to visit camp," replied miss amesbury. "who?" agony's eyes opened up very wide with surprise. "edwin langham. he has been camping not very far from here and he is going to run down on his way home and pay dr. grayson a flying visit. they are old friends." "edwin langham?" agony gasped faintly, her head awhirl. it seemed past comprehension that this man whom she had worshipped as a divinity for so long was actually to materialize in the flesh--that the cherished desire of her life was coming true, that she was going to see and talk with him. "goodness, don't look so excited, child," said miss amesbury, laughing. "he's only a man. a very rare and wonderful man, however," she added, "and it is a great privilege to know him." "when is he coming?" asked agony in a whisper. "tomorrow afternoon. he is going to stop off between boats and will be here only a short time." "do you suppose he will speak to me?" asked agony humbly. "i rather think he will," replied miss amesbury, smiling. "you see," she continued, taking agony's hand in hers as she spoke, "it just happened that edwin langham was the man who sat under the tree that time you climbed up and rescued the robin. he was laid up with blood poisoning in his foot at the time and he had been wheeled into the woods from his camp that afternoon. his man had left him for a short time when you happened along. he was the man who told about the incident down at the store at green's landing, where dr. grayson heard about it later from the storekeeper. dr. grayson did not know at the time that it was his friend edwin langham who had witnessed the affair, but in the letter dr. grayson has just received from mr. langham he gives an enthusiastic account of it, and says he is coming to camp partly for the purpose of meeting the girl in the green bloomers who performed that splendid deed that day. so you see, my dear," miss amesbury concluded, "i think it is highly probable that you will have an opportunity to speak to your idolized edwin langham." for a moment things turned black before agony's eyes. she rose unsteadily to her feet and crossed the balcony to the stairs. "i must be going, now," she murmured through dry lips. "must you go so soon?" asked miss amesbury with a real regret in her voice that cut agony to the heart. "come again, come often," floated after her as she passed through the door. agony sped away from camp and hid herself away in the woods, where she sank down at the foot of a great tree and hid her face in her hands. the thing she had desired, had longed for above all others, was now about to come to pass--and she had made it forever an impossibility. the cup of joy that fate had decreed she was to taste she had dashed to the ground with her own hands. for she could not see edwin langham, could not let him see her. as long as he did not see her her secret was safe. he did not know her name, or mary's, so he could not betray her in that way. only, if he ever saw her he would know the difference right away, and then would come betrayal and disgrace. there was only one thing to do. she must hide away from him; and give up her opportunity of meeting and talking with him. it was the only way out of the predicament. when the steamer swung into view around the bend of the river the next afternoon agony stole away into the thickest part of the woods and proceeded toward a place she had discovered some time before. it was a deep, extremely narrow ravine, so narrow indeed that it was merely a great crock in the earth, not more than six feet across at its widest. it was filled with a wild growth of elderberry bushes, which made it an excellent hiding place. she scrambled down into this pit and crouched under the bushes, completely hidden from view. here she sat with her head bowed down on her knees, hearing the whistle of the steamer as it neared the dock, and the welcoming song of the girls as the distinguished passenger alighted. a little later it seemed to her that she heard voices calling her name. yes, it was so, without a doubt. tiny armstrong's megaphone voice came echoing on the breeze. "a-go-ny! a-go-ny! oh-h-h-h, a--go--ny!" * * * * * she clenched her hands in silent misery, and did not raise her head. then the sound of a bark arrested her attention, coming from directly overhead, and she sat up in consternation. micky, the bull pup belonging to the camp, had discovered her hiding place and would undoubtedly give her away. "go away, micky!" she commanded in a low tone. at the sound of her voice micky barked more loudly than ever, a joyous, welcoming bark. having been much petted by agony, micky had grown very fond of her, and seeing her walk off into the woods today, he had followed after her, and now gave loud voice to his satisfaction at finding her. "micky! go away!" commanded agony a second time, throwing a lump of dirt at him. micky looked astonished as the dirt flew past his nose, but refused to retire. "well, if you won't go away, come down in here, then," said agony. "here, micky, micky," she called coaxingly. micky, clumsy puppy that he was, made a wild leap into the ravine and landed upon the sharp point of a jagged stump, cutting a jagged gash in his shoulder. how he did howl! agony expected every minute that the whole camp would come running to the spot to find out what the matter was. but fortunately the wind was blowing from the direction of camp and the sound was carried the other way. agony worked frantically to get the wound bound up and the poor puppy soothed into silence. at last he lay still, with his head in her lap, licking her hand with his moppy red tongue every few seconds to tell her how grateful he was. thus she sat until she heard the deep whistle of the returning steamer and the farewell song of the girls as they stood on the dock and waved goodbye to edwin langham. when she was sure that the boat must be out of sight she shoved micky gently out of her lap and rose to climb out of her hiding place. her feet were asleep from sitting so long in her cramped position and as she tried to get a foothold on the steep side of the ravine she slipped and fell headlong, striking her head on a stump and twisting her back. it was not until night that they found her, after her continued absence from camp had roused alarm, and searching parties had been made up to scour the woods. tiny armstrong, shouting her way through the woods, first heard a muffled bark and then a feeble answer to her call, coming from the direction of the ravine, and charging toward it like a fire engine she discovered the two under the elderberry bushes. agony was lifted gently out and laid on the ground to await the coming of an improvised stretcher. "we hunted and hunted for you this afternoon," said jo severance, bending over her with an anxious face. "the poet, edwin langham, was here, and he wanted especially to see you, and was dreadfully disappointed when we couldn't find you. he left a book here for you." "oh," groaned agony, and those hearing her thought that she must be in great physical pain. "how did you happen to fall into that ravine?" asked jo. agony was becoming light headed from the blow on her temple, and she answered in disjointed phrases. "didn't fall in--went down--purpose. micky--fell in--hurt shoulder--i bandaged it--fell trying--to--get--out." her voice trailed off weakly toward the end. "there, don't talk," said dr. grayson. "we understand all about it. the dog fell in and hurt himself and you went down after him and then fell in yourself. being kind to dumb animals again. noble little girl. we're proud of you." agony heard it all as in a dream, but could summon no voice to speak. she was _so_ tired. after all, why not let them think that? it was the best way out. otherwise they might wonder how she happened to be in the ravine--it would be hard for them to believe that she had fallen into it herself in broad daylight, and it might be embarrassing to answer questions. let them believe that she had gone down after the dog. that settled the matter once for all. the stretcher arrived and she was carried to her tent, where dr. grayson made a thorough examination of her injuries. "not serious," was his verdict, to everybody's immense relief. "painful bump on the head, but no real damage done, and back strained a little, that's all." once more agony was the camp heroine, and her tent was crowded all day long with admirers. miss amesbury sat and read to her by the hour; the camp cook made up special dishes and sent them out on a tray trimmed with wild flowers; the camp orchestra serenaded her daily and nightly, and half a dozen clever camp poets made up songs in her honor. fame comes easily in camps, and enthusiasm runs high while it lasts. agony reflected, in a grimly humorous way, that in the matter of fame she had a sort of midas touch; everything she did rebounded to her glory, now that the ball was once started rolling. and worst of all was the book that edwin langham had left for her, a beautiful copy of "the desert garden," bound in limp leather with gold edged leaves. inside the cover was written in a flowing, beautiful hand: "to a.c.w., in memory of a certain day in the woods. from one who rejoices in a brave and noble deed. sincerely, edwin langham." on the opposite page was written a quotation which agony had been familiar with ever since she had become a winnebago: "love is the joy of service so deep that self is forgotten." she put the book away where she could not see it, but the words had burned themselves into her brain. "to a.c.w. from one who rejoices in a brave and noble deed." they mocked her in the dead of night, they taunted her in the light of day. but, like the boy with the fox gnawing at his vitals, agony continued to smile and make herself agreeable, and no one ever suspected that her gayety was not genuine. chapter xii the stunt's the thing "where would a shipwreck look best, right by the dock, or farther up the shore?" sahwah's forehead puckered up with the force of her reflection. "oh, not right by the dock," said jo severance decidely. "that would be too modern and--commonplace. it's lots more epic to be dashed against a rocky cliff. all the shipwrecks in the books happen on stern and rockbound coasts and things like that." "it might be more epic for those who are looking on, but for the one that gets shipwrecked," sahwah reminded her. "as long as i'm the one that get's wrecked i'm going to pick out a soft spot to get wrecked on." "why not capsize some distance out in the water and swim ashore?" suggested migwan. "of course!" exclaimed sahwah. "why didn't we think of that before? geese!" "this is the way we'll start, then," said migwan, taking out her notebook and scribbling in it with a pencil. "scene one. sinbad the sailor clinging to wreckage of vessel out in the water. he drifts ashore and lands in the kingdom of the keewaydins." she paused and bit the end of her pencil, seeking inspiration. "then, what will you do when you land, sahwah?" "oh, i'll just poke around a bit, and then discover the keewaydins in their native wilds," replied sahwah easily. "then i'll go around with you while you go through the events of a day in camp. o, i think it's the grandest idea!" she interrupted herself in a burst of rapture. "we'll get the stunt prize as easy as pie. the avenue will never be able to think up anything nearly as good. how did you ever manage to think of it, migs?" "why, it just came all by itself," replied migwan modestly. anyone who had ever spent a summer at camp keewaydin, passing at that moment, and hearing the conversation, would have known exactly what week of the year it was without consulting a calendar. it was the second week in august--the week of camp keewaydin's annual stunt night, when the avenue and the alley matched their talents in a contest to see which one could put on the best original stunt. next to regatta day, when the two struggled for the final supremacy in aquatics, stunt night was the biggest event of the camping season. rivalry was intense. it was a fair test of the talents of the girls themselves, for the councilors were not allowed to participate, nor to give the slightest aid or advice. the boys from camp altamont came over with their councilors, and together with the directors and councilors of camp keewaydin they voted on which stunt was the best. originality counted most; finish in working out the details next. the alley's stunt this year was a sketch entitled the last voyage of sinbad the sailor, and was a burlesque on camp life. the idea had come to migwan in a flash of inspiration one night when dr. grayson was reading the arabian nights aloud before the fire in the bungalow. she communicated her idea to the rest of the alley and they received it with whoops of joy. now it lacked but three days until stunt night, and the alleyites, over on whaleback, where they would be safe from detection, were deep in the throes of rehearsing. sahwah, of course, was picked for the role of the shipwrecked sinbad, for she was the only one who could be depended upon to stage the shipweck in a thrilling manner. "what kind of a costume do i wear?" she inquired, when the location of the shipwreck itself had finally been settled. "what nationality was sinbad, anyhow?" "he came from bagdad," replied sahwah brilliantly. "but where was bagdad?" "in syria," declared oh-pshaw. "asia," promptly answered gladys. "turkey," said katherine, somewhat doubtfully, and "persia," said agony in the same breath. then they all looked at each other a little sheepishly. "the extent to which i don't know geography," remarked sahwah, "is something appalling." "well, if _we_ don't know what country bagdad was in, it's pretty sure that none of the others will either," said hinpoha brightly, "so it doesn't make much difference what kind of a costume you wear. something turkish is what you want, i suppose. a turban and some great big bloomers, you know the kind, with yards and yards of goods in them." "but you can't swim in such awfully full bloomers," sahwah protested. "that's so, too," hinpoha assented. "well, get them as big as you _can_ swim in," said migwan pacifically. "who's going to make them?" sahwah wanted to know. "we haven't much time." "oh, just borrow tiny armstrong's regular ones," migwan replied. "they'll look like turkish bloomers on you." "won't she suspect what we're going to do if i borrow them?" sahwah demurred. "nonsense! what could she suspect? she will know of course that you want them for the stunt, but she couldn't guess _what_ for." "we've got to have her other pair, too, for the person who is going to impersonate tiny," agony reminded migwan. "so we do," replied migwan, making a note in her book. "and her stockings, too, those red and black ones. we're going to do that snake business over again. somebody will have to get these without tiny's knowing it, or she'll suspect about the snake. who's in her tent?" "we are," replied katherine and oh-pshaw. "we'll manage to get them for you. who's going to impersonate tiny armstrong?" migwan squinted her eyes in a calculating manner and surveyed the girls grouped around her. "it'll have to be katherine, i guess," she finally announced. "she's the biggest of us all. but even she isn't nearly as big as tiny," she added regretfully. "couldn't we put two of us together?" suggested sahwah. "carmen chadwick is as light as a feather and she could get up on katherin's shoulders as easy as not." "but we need katherine to impersonate the lone wolf. she's the only one who can do it well," objected migwan. "somebody else will have to be the bottom half of tiny. hinpoha, you'll do for that part. gladys, you'll be pom-pom, of course. there, that's three councilors taken care of. as soon as your parts are assigned will you please step over to that side, girls. then i can see what i have left. now, who'll be miss peckham?" there was a silence, and all the eligibles looked at one another doubtfully. nobody quite dared impersonate miss peckham--and nobody wanted to, for that matter. "jo?" migwan began hesitatingly. "you're such a good mimic--no--" she broke off decidely, "you have to be dr. grayson, of course, because you can play men's parts so beautifully." she looked from one to the other inquiringly. her eye fell upon bengal virden. "bengal, dear--" bengal looked up with a jerk and a grimace of distaste. "i wouldn't be pecky for a thousand dollars," she declared flatly. "i hate her, i tell you." then something seemed to occur to her, and a mischievous twinkle came into her eyes. "oh, i'll be her," she exclaimed, throwing grammar to the winds in her eagerness. "please let me. i want to be, i want to be." "all right," said migwan relievedly, putting the entry down in her notebook and proceeding with the assignment of parts. but agony, having seen the mischievous gleam that came into bengal's eyes when she so suddenly changed her mind about impersonating miss peckham, wondered as to its meaning. she called bengal to come aside with her, and bengal, enraptured at being noticed by her divinity, trotted after her like a delighted newfoundland puppy, bestowing clumsy caresses upon her as they proceeded. "oh, i've got the best joke on pecky!" she gurgled, before agony had had a chance to broach the subject herself. "yes?" said agony. "did you know," confided bengal, with a fresh burst of giggles, "that pecky shaves?" then, as agony gave a little incredulous exclamation, she hastened on. "really she does, her whole chin, with a razor, every morning. i found it out a couple of days ago. i guess she'd have a regular beard if she didn't. you've noticed how kind of hairy her chin is, haven't you? i found a little safety razor among her things one day--" "bengal! you weren't rummaging among her things, were you?" "no, of course not. but once when we were all up in the bungalow she found that she'd forgotten her watch, and sent me back to get it out of her bathrobe pocket, and there was a little safety razor in where the watch was. i didn't think anything about it then, but after that i noticed that she always went off by herself in the woods. while the rest of us went for morning dip. yesterday i followed her and saw what she did. she shaved her chin with that safety razor. oh, won't it be great fun when i do that in the stunt? won't she be hopping mad, though!" bengal hopped up and down and chortled with anticipatory glee. "bengal!" said agony firmly, "don't you _dare_ do anything like that? don't you know that it's terribly bad taste to make fun of people's personal blemishes?" "but she deserves it," bengal persisted, still chuckling. "she's such a prune." "that has nothing whatever to do with the matter," agony replied sternly. "do you want to ruin our stunt for us? that's what will happen if you do anything as ill-bred as that. it would take away every chance we have of winning the prize." "well, if _you_ say i shouldn't do it i won't," said bengal rather sulkily. "but wouldn't it have been the best joke!" she added regretfully. "bengal," agony continued, realizing that even if bengal could be suppressed as far as the stunt went, she would still have plenty of opportunity for making life miserable for miss peckham now that she had learned her embarrassing secret, "you won't mention this to any of the other girls, will you? you see, it must be very embarrassing for miss peckham to have to do that, and naturally she would feel highly uncomfortable if the camp found it out. you see, you found it out by accident; she didn't tell you of her own free will, so you have no right to tell it any further. a girl with a nice sense of honor would never think of telling anything she found out in that way, when she knew it would cause embarrassment if told. so you'll give me your promise, won't you, bengal dear, that you will never mention this matter to anybody around camp?" bengal flushed and looked down, maintaining an obstinate silence. "please, won't you, bengal dear?" coaxed agony in her most irresistible manner. "will you do it for me if you won't do it for miss peckham?" bengal could not hold out against the coaxing of her adored one, but she still hesitated, bargaining her promise for a reward. "if you'll let me wear your ring for the rest of the summer, and come and kiss me goodnight every night after i'm in bed--" "all right," agony agreed hastily, with a sigh of resignation for this departure from her fixed principles regarding the lending of jewelry and about promiscuous demonstrations of affection, but peace in camp was worth the price. bengal claimed the ring at once, and then, after pawing agony over like a bear cub, said a little shamefacedly, "i wish i were as good as you are. you're so honorable. how do you get such a 'nice sense of honor' as you have? i think i'd like to have one." "such a nice sense of honor as you have!" agony jerked up as though she had been jabbed with a red hot needle. "such a nice sense of honor as you have!" the words lingered in her ears like a mocking echo. the smile faded from her lips; her arm stiffened and dropped from bengal's shoulder. the frank admiration in the younger girl's eyes cut her to the quick. with a haggard look she turned away from bengal and wandered away to the other part of the island, away from the girls. just now she could not bear to hear their gay, carefree voices. what would she not give, she thought to herself, to have nothing on her mind. she even envied rabbit-brained little carmen chadwick, who, if she had nothing in her head, had nothing on her conscience either. "who am i to talk of a 'nice sense of honor' to bengal virden?" she thought miserably. "i'm a whole lot worse than she. she's only a mischievous child, and doesn't know any better, but i do. i'm no better than jane pratt, either, even though i told mrs. grayson about her going out at night with boys from camp altamont." this matter of jane pratt had tormented agony without ceasing. true to her contemptuous attitude toward agony's plea that she break bonds no more, she had refused to tell mrs. grayson about her nocturnal canoe rides and thus had forced agony to make good her threat and tell mrs. grayson herself. she had hoped and prayed that jane would take the better course and confess her own wrong doing, but jane did nothing of the kind, and there was only one course open to agony. it was the rule of the camp that anyone seeing another breaking the rules must first give the offender the opportunity to confess, and if that failed must report the matter herself to the doctor or mrs. grayson. so agony was obliged to tell mrs. grayson that jane was breaking the rules by slipping out nights and setting a bad example to the younger girls if any of them knew about it. the matter caused more of a stir than agony had expected, and much more than she had wished for. dr. grayson prided himself upon the high standard of conduct which was maintained at his camp, and he knew that the mothers of his girls gave their daughters into his keeping with implicit faith that they would meet with no harmful influences while they were at camp keewaydin. if a rumor should ever get about that the girls from his camp went out in canoes after hours keewaydin's reputation would suffer considerably. dr. grayson was outraged and thoroughly angry. he decided at once that jane should be sent home in disgrace. that very day, however, mrs. grayson had received a letter saying that jane's mother was quite ill in a sanatarium and that all upsetting news was being carefully kept away from her. she particularly desired that jane should not come home, as there was no place for her to stay, and she was so much better taken care of in camp than she would be in a large city with no one to look after her. it was this letter that brought about a three-hour conference between the doctor and mrs. grayson. dr. grayson was firm about sending jane home in disgrace; mrs. grayson, filled with concern about her well loved friend, could not bear to risk upsetting her at this critical time by turning loose her unruly daughter. in the end mrs. grayson won her point, and jane was allowed to stay in camp, but she was deprived of all canoe privileges for the remainder of the summer and forbidden to go on any of the trips with the camp. she was taken away from the easy-going, sound-sleeping councilor whose chaperonage she had succeeded in eluding, and placed in a tent with mrs. grayson herself. dr. grayson called the whole camp together in council and explained the matter to the girls, dwelling upon the dishonorableness of breaking rules, and when he finished his talk there was small danger that even the smallest rule would be broken again during the summer. the sight of jane pratt called out in public to be censured was not one to be soon forgotten. agony was commended by the doctor for her firm stand in the matter, and praised because she did not take the easier course of remaining silent about it and running the risk of letting the reputation of the camp suffer. since then jane, though somewhat subdued, had treated agony with such marked animosity of manner that agony hardly dared look at her. added to her natural embarrassment at having been the in-former--a role which no one ever really enjoys--was the matter which lay like lead on agony's own conscience and which tortured her out of all proportion to its real significance. "pretender!" the whole world seemed to shriek at her wherever she went. thus, although agony apparently was throwing herself heart and soul into the preparations for stunt night, her mind was not on it half of the time and at times she was hardly conscious of the bustle and excitement around her. these last three days the camp were as a house divided against itself, as far as the avenue and the alley were concerned. such a gathering of groups into corners, such whispering and giggling, such sudden scattering at the approach of one from the other side! sahwah spent two whole afternoons over on the far side of whaleback, rehearsing her shipwreck, while the rest of the alleyites worked up their parts on shore, trying to imitate the voices and characteristics of the various councilors. all went fairly well except the combination tiny armstrong. carmen chadwick, on top of hinpoha, and draped up in tiny's clothes, made a truly imposing figure that drew involuntary applause from the rest of the cast, but when tiny spoke, the weak, piping voice that issued from the gigantic figure promptly threw them all into hysterics. the real tiny's voice was as deep and resonant as a fog horn. "that'll never do!" gasped migwan through her tears of merriment. "that doesn't sound any more like tiny than a chipping sparrow sounds like a lion. we'll have to get somebody with a deeper voice for the upper half of tiny." "but there isn't anybody else as light as carmen," hinpoha protested, "and i can't carry anybody that's any heavier." migwan wrinkled her brows and considered the matter. "oh, leave it the way it is," proposed jo severance. "they'll never notice a little thing like that." "yes, they will too," gladys declared. "anyway, you can't hear what carmen says, and we want the folks to hear tiny's speech, because it's so funny." "but what are we going to do about it?" asked migwan in perplexity. "i know," said katherine, rising to the occasion, as usual, "let the other half of tiny do the talking. hinpoha can make her voice quite deep and loud. it doesn't make any difference which half of tiny talks, as long as the people hear it." "just the thing!" exclaimed migwan delightedly. "katherine, that head of yours will make your fortune yet. all right, hinpoha, you speak tiny's lines." hinpoha complied, and the effect of her voice coming apparently from beneath tiny's ribs, while tiny's mouth up above remained closed, was a great deal funnier than the first way. "never mind," said migwan firmly, while the rest wept with laughter on each other's shoulders, "it sounds more like tiny than the other way. you might stand with your back turned while you talk if sinbad can't keep his face straight when he looks at you. you'd all better practice keeping your faces straight though. katherine, you won't forget to get that gaudy blanket off the lone wolf's bed, will you?" migwan, her classic forehead streaked with perspiration and red color from the notebook in her hands, directed the rehearsal of her production all through the hot afternoon, until the lengthening shadows on the island warned them that is was time to get back to camp and prepare for the real performance. the stunts were to begin at six-thirty, and would be held in the open space in front of mateka, overlooking the river. the avenue's stunt was to go on first, as the long end had fallen to them in the drawing of the cuts. there was a great scurrying around after props after the alleyites came back from the island after that last rehearsal. migwan, checking up her list, was constantly coming upon things that had been forgotten. "did somebody get tiny armstrong's red striped stockings?" she asked anxiously. nobody had remembered to get them. katherine departed forthwith in quest of the necessary hosiery and found one of the stockings hanging out on the tent rope. the other was not in evidence. she was about to depart quietly without going into the tent, for one stocking was all that she needed, when a toothbrush suddenly whizzed past her ear, coming from the tent door. laughing, she turned and went into the tent, first hastily concealing tony's stocking in the front of her middy. the flinger of the toothbrush turned out to be tiny herself, who was sitting up in bed with her nightgown on. "what's the matter, tiny?" katherine asked solicitously. "are you sick? aren't you going to get up to see the stunts?" "get up!" shouted tiny wrathfully. "i _can't_ get up--i haven't any clothes." "no clothes?" murmured katherine in a puzzled tone. "everything's gone," continued tiny plaintively, "bloomers, middies, shoes, stockings, hat, everything. somebody has taken and hidden them for a joke, i suppose. i went to sleep here this afternoon, and when i woke up everything was gone." katherine suddenly grew very non-committal, although she wanted to shriek with laughter. oh-pshaw, who had been sent after a suit of tiny's that afternoon, had apparently made a pretty thorough job of it. "somebody must be playing a joke on you," katherine remarked tranquilly, although she was conscious of the lump that tiny's one remaining stocking made under her middy. "never mind. tiny, i'll go out and borrow some things for you to wear." "but there's nothing of anybody's here that i can get into," mourned tiny. "i'm four sizes bigger than the biggest of you. you'll have to find out who's hidden my things and bring them back." katherine was touched by tiny's predicament, but the stunt had first claim on her. she came back presently with tiny's bathing suit, which she had hanging on a nearby tree, and a long raincoat of dr. grayson's, together with his tennis shoes. she even had to beg a pair of his socks from mrs. grayson, for all of tiny's that had not been borrowed were away at the laundry. and in that collection of clothes tiny had to go and sit in the judges' box at the stunts, but her good nature was not ruffled one whit on account of it. katherine was still getting tiny into her improvised wardrobe when a loud hubbub proclaimed the arrival of the boys from camp altamont, and at the same time the bugle sounded the assembly call for the girls. the alleyites, bursting with impatience for the time of their own stunt to arrive, settled themselves in their places to watch the avenue stunt. the bugle sounded again, and the chairman of the avenue stunt stood up. "our stunt tonight," she announced, "tells a hitherto unpublished one of gulliver's travels, namely, his voyage to the land of the keewaydins." the alley sat up with one convulsive jerk. "gulliver's travels!" that sounded nearly like their own idea. then the stunt proceeded, beginning with gulliver wrecked on the shore of the land of the keewaydins. undine girelle was gulliver, and her shipwreck was trully a thrilling one. she finally landed, spent with swimming, on the shore, and was taken in hand by the friendly keewaydins, who proceeded to show him their customs. the alley gradually turned to stone as they saw practically the very same things they were planning to do, being performed before their eyes by the avenue. there was miss peckham and the stocking-snake (that explained to katherine why she had only been able to find one of tiny's red and black stockings); there was tiny herself, and made out of two girls, just as they were going to do it! there was dr. grayson, there were all the other councilors; there was a burlesque on camp life almost exactly as they had planned to do it! the boys and the councilors applauded wildly, but the alleyites, too surprised and taken back to be appreciative, merely looked at each other in mute consternation. "somebody gave away our secret!" was the first indignant thought that flashed into the minds of the alleyites, but the utter astonishment of the avenue when the alley said that their stunt was practically the same, soon convinced them that the whole thing was a mere co-incidence. "it's a wonder i didn't suspect anything when i found that all of tiny's clothes were gone," said katherine. "that should have told me that someone else was impersonating her." the alley at first declined to put on their stunt, since it was so nearly the same as the other, but the audience refused to let them off, insisting that they had come to see two stunts, and they were going to see two, even if they _were_ alike. "we can still judge which is the best," said dr. grayson. "in fact, it is an unusual opportunity. usually the stunts are so different that it is hard to tell which is the better, but having two performances on the same subject gives a rare chance to consider the fine points." so the alley went ahead with their stunt just as if nothing out of the way had occurred, and the judges applauded them just as wildly as they had the others. in the end, the honors had to be evenly divided between the two, for the judges declared that one was just as good as the other and it was impossible to decide between them. "and we were so dead sure that the avenue would never be able to think up anything nearly as clever as ours," remarked sahwah ruefully, as she prepared for bed that night. "i'm beginning to come to the conclusion," replied hinpoha with a sleepy yawn, "that it isn't safe to be too sure of anything. you never can tell from the outside of people what they are likely to have inside of them." "no, you can't" echoed agony soberly. chapter xiii their native wilds miss judy's hat was more or less a barometer of the state of her emotions. worn far back on her head with its brim turned up, it indicated that she was at peace with all the world and upon pleasure bent; tipped over one ear, it denoted intense preoccupation with business affairs; pulled low over her eyes, it was a sign of extreme vexation. this morning the hat was pulled so far down over her face that only the tip of her chin was visible. katherine, stopping to help her run a canoe up on the bank after swimming hour, noticed the unnecessary vehemence of her movements, and asked mildly as to the cause. miss judy replied with a single explosive exclamation of "monty!" "monty!" katherine echoed inquringly. "what's that?" "you're right, it _is_ a 'what'," replied miss judy emphatically, "although it usually goes down in the catalog as a 'who.' it's my cousin, egmont satter-white," she continued in explanation. "he's coming to pay us a visit at camp." "yes," said katherine. "what is he like?" "like?" repeated miss judy derisively. "he's like the cock who thought the sun didn't get up until he crowed--so conceited; only he goes still farther. he doesn't see what need there is for the sun at all while he is there to shed his light. he's the only child of his adoring mother, and she's cultivated him like a rare floral specimen; private tutors and all that sort of thing. now he's learned everything there is to know, and he's ready to write a book. he regards his fellow creatures as quaint and curious specimens, 'rather diverting for one to observe, don't you know,' but not at all important. i suppose he's going to put a chapter in his book about girls, because he wrote to father and announced that he was going to run up for a week or so and observe us in our native wilds--that was the delicate way he put it. he'll probably set down everything he sees in a notebook and then go home and solemnly write his chapter, wise as solomon." "what a bore!" sighed katherine. "i hate to be stared at, and 'observed' for somebody else's benefit." "monty's a pest!" miss judy exploded wrathfully. "i don't see why father ever told him he could come. he's under no obligations to him--we're only third cousins, and monty considers us far, far beneath him at best. but you know how father is--hospitality with a capital h. so we're doomed to a visitation from monty." "when is he coming?" asked katherine, smiling at miss judy's lugubrious tone. "the day after tomorrow," replied miss judy. "the thursday afternoon boat has the honor of bringing him." "'o better that her shattered hulk should sink beneath the wave,' eh?" remarked katherine sympathetically. "katherine," said miss judy feelingly, "_vous et moi_ we speak the same language, _n'est-ce pas_?" "we do," agreed katherine laughingly. that evening when all the campers were gathered around the fire in the bungalow, listening to dr. grayson reading "the crock of gold" to the pattering accompaniment of the raindrops on the roof, miss judy went into the camp office to answer the telephone, and came out with a look of half-humorous exasperation on her face. "what is it?" asked dr. grayson, pausing in his reading. "it's cousin monty," announced miss judy. he's at emmet's landing, two stops down the river. he decided to come to camp a day earlier than he had written. he got off the boat at emmet's landing to sketch an 'exquisite' bit of scenery that he spied there. now he's marooned at emmet's landing and can't get a boat to bring him to camp. he decided to stay there all night, and found a room, but the bed didn't look comfortable. he wants us to come and get him." "at this time of night!" dr. grayson exclaimed involuntarily. he recovered himself instantly. "ah yes, certainly, of course. i'll go and get him. tell him i'll come for him." "but it's raining pitchforks," demurred miss judy. "ah well, never mind, i'll go anyhow," said her father composedly. "i'll go with you," declared miss judy firmly. "i'll run the launch." as she passed by katherine on her way out of the bungalow she flashed her a meaning look, which katherine answered with a sympathetic grimace. in the morning when camp assembled for breakfast there was cousin egmont sitting beside dr. grayson at the table, notebook in hand, looking about him in a loftily curious way. he was a small, slightly built youth, sallow of complexion and insignificant of feature, with pale hair brushed up into an exaggerated pompadour, and a neat little moustache. in contrast to dr. grayson's heroic proportions he looked like a vest pocket edition alongside of an unabridged. "nice little camp you have here, uncle, very," he drawled, peering languidly through his huge spectacles at the shining river and the far off rolling hills beyond. "nothing like the camps i've seen in switzerland, though. for real camps you want to go to switzerland, uncle. a chap i know goes there every summer. of course, for a girl's camp this does very well, very. pretty fair looking lot of girls you have, uncle. all from picked families, eh? require references and all that sort of thing?" dr. grayson made a deprecatory gesture with his hand and looked uneasily around the table, to see if egmont's remarks were being overheard. but mrs. grayson sat on the other side of egmont, and the seat next to the doctor was vacant, so there was really no one within hearing distance except the lone wolf, who sat opposite to mrs. grayson, and she was deeply engrossed in conversation with the girl on the other side of her. monty prattled on. "you see, uncle, i wouldn't have come up here to observe if i thought they were not from the best families. anybody i'd care to write about--you understand, uncle." "yes, i understand," replied dr. grayson quizzically. "have you taken any notes yet?" he continued. "nothing yet," monty admitted, "but i mean to begin immediately after breakfast. i mean to flit unobtrusively about camp, uncle, and watch the young ladies when they do not suspect i am around, taking down their innocent girlish conversation among themselves. so much more natural that way, uncle, very!" dr. grayson hurriedly took a huge mouthful of water, and then choked on it in a very natural manner, and miss judy's coming in with the mail bag at that moment caused a welcome diversion. "ah, good morning, cousin judith," drawled monty. "i see you didn't get up as early as the rest of us. perhaps the fatigue of last night--" "i've been down the river for the mail," replied miss judy shortly. then she turned her back on him and spoke to her father. "the weather is settled for this week. that rainstorm last night cleared things up beautifully. we ought to take the canoe trip, the one up to the falls." "that's so," agreed dr. grayson. "how soon can you arrange to go?" "tomorrow," replied miss judy. "ah, a canoe trip," cried monty brightly. "i ought to get quantities of notes from that." miss judy eyed him for a moment with an unfathomable expression on her face, then turned away and began to talk to the lone wolf. all during morning sing monty sat in a corner and took notes with a silver pencil in an embossed leather notebook, staring now at this girl, now at that, until she turned fiery red and fidgeted. after morning sing he established himself on a rocky ledge just below bedlam, where, hidden by the bushes, he sat ready to take down the innocent conversation of the young ladies among themselves as they made their tents ready for tent inspection. katherine and oh-pshaw were in the midst of tidying up when the lone wolf dropped in to return a flashlight she had borrowed the night before. she strolled over to the railing at the back of the tent and peered over it. a gleam came into her eye as she noticed that one of the bushes just below the tent on the slope toward the river was waving slightly in an opposite direction from the way in which the wind was blowing. stepping back into the tent she stopped beside bedlam's water pail, newly filled for tent inspection. "your water looks sort of--er--muddy," she remarked artfully. "hadn't you better throw it out and get some fresh? here, i'll do it for you. i'm not busy." she picked up the brimming pail and emptied it over the back railing, right over the spot where she had seen the bush waving. immediately there came a curious sound out of the bush--half gasp and half yell, and out sprang monty, dripping like a rat, and fled down the path toward the bungalow, without ever looking around. "why, he was down there _listening_," katherine exclaimed in disgust. "oh, how funny it was," she remarked to the lone wolf, "that you happened to come in and dump that pail of water over the railing just at that time." "it certainty was," the lone wolf acquiesced gravely, as she departed with the pail in the direction of the spring. cousin monty flitted unobtrusively to his tent, got on dry garments, fished another notebook out of his bag, and set out once more in quest of local color. he wandered down to mateka, where craft hour was in progress. a pottery craze had struck camp, and the long tables were filled with girls rolling and patting lumps of plastic clay into vases, jars, bowls, plates and other vessels. cousin monty strolled up and down, contemplating the really creditable creation of the girls with a condescending patronage that made them feel like small children in the kindergarten. he gave the art director numerous directions as to how she might improve her method of teaching, and benevolently pointed out to a number of the girls how the things they were making were all wrong. finally he came and stood by hinpoha, who was putting the finishing touches on the decoration of a rose jar, an exquisite thing, with a raised design in rose petals. hinpoha was smoothing out the flat background of her design when monty paused beside her. "you're not holding your instrument right." he remarked patronizingly. "let me show you how." he took the instrument from hinpoha's unwilling hand, and turning it wrong way up, proceeded to scrape back and forth. at the third stroke it went too far, and gouged out a deep scratch right through the design, clear across the whole side of the vase. "ah, a little scratch," he remarked airily. "ah, sorry, really, very. but it can soon be remedied. a little dob of clay, now." "let me fix it myself," said hinpoha firmly, with difficulty keeping her exasperation under the surface, and without more ado seized her mutilated treasure from his hands. "ah, yes, of course," murmured monty, and wandered on to the next table. by the time the day was over cousin monty was about as popular as a hornet. "how long is he going to stay?" the girls asked each other in comical dismay. "a week? oh, my gracious, how can we ever stand him around here a week?" "is he going along with us on the canoe trip?" katherine asked miss judy as she helped her check over supplies for the expedition. "he is that," replied miss judy. "he's going along to pester us just as he has been doing--probably worse, because he's had a night to think up a whole lot more fool questions to ask than he could think of yesterday." and it was even so. monty, notebook in hand, insisted upon knowing the why and wherefore of every move each one of the girls made until they began to flee at his approach. "why are you tying up your ponchos that way? that isn't the way. now if you will just let me show you--" "why you are putting that stout girl"--indicating bengal--"in the stern of the canoe? you want the weight up front--that's the newest way." "now uncle, just let me show you a trick or two about stowing away those supplies. you're not in the least scientific about it." thus he buzzed about, inquisitive and officious. katherine and miss judy looked into each other's eyes and exchanged exasperated glances. then katherine's eye took on a peculiar expression, the one which always registered the birth of an idea. at dinner, which came just before the expedition started, she was late--a good twenty minutes. she tranquilly ate what was left for her and was extremely polite to counsin monty, answering his continuous questions about the coming trip with great amiability, even enthusiasm. miss judy looked at her curiously. the expedition started. monty, who had miss peckham in the canoe with him--she being the only one who would ride with him--insisted upon going at the head of the procession. "i'll paddle so much faster than the rest of you," he said airly, "that i'll want room to go ahead. i don't want to be held back by the rest of you when i shall want to put on a slight spurt now and then. that is the way i like to go, now fast, now slowly, as inclination dictates, without having to keep my pace down to that of others. i will start first, uncle, and lead the line." "all right," replied dr. grayson a trifle wearily. "you may lead the line." the various canoes had been assigned before, so there was no confusion in starting. the smallest of the canoes had been given to monty because there would be only two in it. conscious that he was decidedly ornamental in his speckless white flannels and silk shirt he helped miss peckham into the boat with exaggerated gallantry, all the while watching out of the corner of his eye to see if pom-pom was looking at him. he had been trying desperately to flirt with her ever since his arrival, and had begged her to go with him in the canoe on the trip, all in vain. nevertheless, he was still buzzing around her and playing to the audience of her eyes. by fair means or foul he meant to get the privilege of having her with him on the return trip. miss peckham, newly graduated into the canoe privilege, was nervous and fussy, and handled her paddle as gingerly as if it were a gun. "ah, let me do all the paddling," he insisted, knowing that pom-pom, in a nearby canoe, could hear him. "i could not think of allowing you to exert yourself. it is the man's place, you know. you really mustn't think of it." miss peckham laid down her paddle with a sigh of relief, and monty, with a graceful gesture, untied the canoe and pushed it out from the dock. behind him the line of boats were all waiting to start. "here we go!" he shouted loudly, as he dipped his paddle. in a moment all the canoes were in motion. monty, at the head, seemed to find the paddling more difficult than he had expected. he dipped his paddle with great vigor and vim, but the canoe only went forward a few inches at each stroke. one by one the canoes began to pass him, their occupants casting amusing glances at him as he perspired over his paddle. he redoubled his efforts, he strained every sinew, and the canoe did go a little faster, but not nearly as fast as the others were going. "what's the matter, monty, is your load too heavy for you?" called out miss judy. "not at all," replied monty doggedly. "i'm a little out of form, i guess. this arm--i strained it last spring--seems to have gone lame all of a sudden." "would you like to get in a canoe with some of the girls?" asked dr. grayson solicitously. "i would _not_," replied monty somewhat peevishly. "please let me alone, uncle, i'll be all right in a minute. don't any of you bother about me, i'll follow you at my leisure. when i get used to paddling again i'll very soon overtake you even if you have a good start." the rest of the canoes swept by, and monty and miss peckham soon found themselves alone on the river. "hadn't i better help you paddle?" asked miss peckham anxiously. she was beginning to distrust the powers of her ferryman. "no, no, no," insisted monty, stung to the quick by the concern in her voice. "i can do it very well alone, i tell you." he kept at it doggedly for another half hour, stubbornly refusing to accept any help, until the canoe came _to_ a dead stop. no amount of paddling would budge it an inch; it was apparently anchored. puzzled, monty peered into the river to find the cause of the stoppage. the water was deep, but there were many snags and obstructions under the surface. something was holding him, that was plain, but what it was he could not find out, nor could he get loose from it. the water was too deep to wade ashore, and there was nothing to do but sit there and try to get loose by means of the paddle, a proceeding which soon proved fruitless. in some mysterious way they were anchored out in mid stream at a lonely place in the river where no one would be likely to see them for a long time. the others were out of sight long ago, having obeyed monty's injunction to let him alone. monty, in his usual airy way, tried to make the best of the situation and draw attention away from his evident inability to cope with the situation. "ah, pleasant it is to sit out here and bask in the warm sunshine," he murmured in dulcet tones. "the view is exquisite here, _n'est-ce pas_? i could sit here all day and look at that mountain in the distance. it reminds me somewhat of the alps, don't you know." miss peckham gazed unhappily at the mountain, which was merely a blur in the distance. "do you think we'll have to sit here all night?" she asked anxiously. monty exerted himself to divert her. "how does it come that i have never met you before, miss peckham? really, i didn't know that uncle clement had such delightful relations. can it be that you are really his cousin? it hardly seems possible that you are old enough. sitting there with the breeze toying with you hair that way you look like a young girl, no older than judith herself." now this was quite a large dose to swallow, but miss peckham swallowed it, and much delighted with the gallant youth, so much more appreciative of her than the others at camp, she sat listening attentively to his prattle of what he had seen and done, keeping her hat off the while to let her hair ripple in the breeze the way he said he liked it, regardless of the fact that the sun was rather hot. in something over an hour a pair of rowboats came along filled with youngsters who thought it great sport to rescue the pair in the marooned canoe, and who promptly discovered the cause of the trouble. it was an iron kettle full of stones, fastened to the bottom of the canoe with a long wire, which had wedged itself in among the branches of a submerged tree in the river and anchored the canoe firmly. "somebody's played a trick on us!" exclaimed miss peckham wrathfully. "somebody at camp deliberately fastened that kettle of stones to the bottom of the canoe to make it hard for you to paddle. that's just what you might have expected from those girls. they're playing tricks all the time. they have no respect for anyone." monty turned a dull red when he saw that kettle full of stones, and he, too, sputtered with indignation. "low brow trick," he exclaimed loftily, but he felt quite the reverse of lofty. "this must be cousin judith's doing," he continued angrily, remembering the subtle antagonism that had sprung up between his cousin and himself. his dignity was too much hurt to allow him to follow the rest of the party now. disgusted, he turned back in the direction of camp. by the time he arrived he began to feel that he did not want to stay long enough to see the enjoyment of his cousin over his discomfiture. he announced his intention of leaving that very night, paddling down the river to the next landing, and boarding the evening boat. miss peckham suddenly made up her mind, too. "i'm going with you." she declared. "i'm not going to stay here and be insulted any longer. it'll serve them right to do without my services as councilor for the rest of the summer. i'll just leave a note for mrs. grayson and slip out quietly with you." when the expedition returned the following day both pecky and monty were gone. bengal raised such a shout of joy when she heard of the departure of her despised councilor that her tent mates were obliged to restrain her transports for the look of the thing, but they, too, were somewhat relieved to be rid of her. the reason of the double departure remained a mystery in camp until the very end, but there were a select few that always winked solemnly at one another whenever dr. grayson wondered what had become of his largest camping kettle. chapter xiv regatta day the long anticipated, the much practiced for regatta day had dawned, bringing with it crowds of visitors to camp. it was camp keewaydin's great day, when the avenue and the alley struggled for supremacy in aquatics. the program consisted of contests in swimming and diving, canoe upsetting and righting, demonstrations of rescue work, stunts and small canoe races, and ended up with a race between the two war canoes. visitors came from all the summer resorts around, and many of the girls' parents and friends came to see their daughters perform. the dock and the diving platform were gay with flags; the tents had been tidied up to wax-like neatness and decorated with wild flowers until they looked like so many royal bowers; in mateka an exhibition of craft work was laid out on the long tables--pottery and silver work and weaving and decorating. hinpoha's rose jar, done with infinite pains and patience after its unfortunate meeting with cousin egmont, held the place of honor in the centre of the pottery table, and her silver candlesticks, done in an exquisite design of dogwood blossoms, was the most conspicuous piece on the jewelry table. "hinpoha'll get the craft work prize, without any doubt," said migwan to agony as they stood helping to arrange the articles in the craft work exhibit. "she's a real artist. the rest of us are just dabblers. it's queer, though, i admire that little plain pottery bowl i made myself more than i do hinpoha's wonderful rose jar. i suppose it's because i made it all myself; it's like my own child. there's a thrill about doing things yourself that makes you hold your head higher even if other people don't think it's anything very wonderful. don't you feel that way, agony?" "i suppose so," murmured agony, rather absently, her animation falling away from her in an instant, and a weary look creeping into her eyes. "that's the way you must feel all the time since you did that splendid thing," continued migwan warmly. "no matter where you are, or how hard a thing you're up against, you have only to think, 'i was equal to a great emergency once; i did the brave and splendid thing when the time came,' and then you'll be equal to it again. o, how wonderful it must be to know that when the time comes you won't be a coward! o agony, we're all so proud of you!" cried migwan, interrupting herself to give agony an adoring hug. "all the winnebagos will be braver and better because you did that, agony. they'll be ashamed to be any less than you are." "it wasn't anything much that--i did," agony protested in a flat voice. migwan, busy straightening out the rows of bracelets and rings, did not notice the hunted expression in agony's face, and soon the bugle sounded, calling all the girls together on the dock. only those who have ever taken part in regatta day will get the real thrill when reading an account of it in cold print--the thrill which comes from seeing dozens of motor boats filled with spectators lined up on the river, and crowds standing on the shore; the sun shining in dazzling splendor on the ripples; the flags snapping in the breeze, the starters with their pistols standing out on the end of the dock, the canoes rocking alongside, straining at their ropes as if impatient to be off in the races; the crews, in their new uniforms, standing nervously around their captains, getting their last instructions and examining their paddles for any possible cracks; the councilors rushing around preparing the props for the stunts they were directing; and over all a universal atmosphere of suspense, of tenseness, of excitement. the alleys wore bright red bathing caps, the avenues blue; otherwise they wore the regulation camp bathing suits, all alike. first on the program came the demonstrations--canoe tipping, rescuing a drowning person, resuscitation. sahwah won the canoe tipping contest, getting her canoe righted in one minute less time than it took undine girelle, so the first score went to the alley. the avenue had a speedy revenge, however, for undine took first honors in the diving exhibition which followed immediately after. even the winnebagos, disappointed as they were that sahwah had not won out, admitted that undine's performance was unequalled, and joined heartily in the cheers that greeted the announcement of her winning. in the smaller contests the avenue and the alley were pretty well matched, and at the end of the swimming and small canoe races the score was tied between them. this left the war canoe race, which counted ten points, to decide the championship. a round of applause greeted the two crews as they marched out on the dock to the music of the camp band and took their places in the war canoes. sahwah was captain of the dolphins, the alley crew; undine commanded the avenue turtles. agony was stern paddler of the dolphin, the most important position next to the captain. prominence had come to her in many ways since she had become the camp heroine; positions of trust and honor fell to her thick and fast without her making any special efforts to get them. if nothing succeeds like success it is equally true that nothing brings honor like honor already achieved. to her who hath shall be given. besides sahwah and agony the dolphin crew consisted of hinpoha, migwan, gladys, katherine, jo severance, jean lawrence, bengal virden, oh-pshaw, and two girls from aloha, edith anderson and jerry mortimer, a crew picked after severe tests which eliminated all but the most expert paddlers. that the winnebagos had all passed the test was a matter of considerable pride to them, and also to nyoda, to whom they had promptly written the good news. "i am not surprised, though," she had written in return. "i am never surprised at anything my girls accomplish. i always expect you to do things--and you do them." quickly the two captains brought their canoes out to the starting line and sat waiting for the shot from the starter's pistol. the command "paddles up!" had been given, and twenty-four broad yellow blades were poised stiffly in air, ready for the plunge into the shining water below. a hush fell upon the watching crowd; the silence was so intense that the song of a bird on the roof of mateka could be plainly heard. a smile came to sahwah's lips as she heard the joyous thrill of the bird. an omen of victory, she said to herself. then the pistol cracked. almost simultaneously with its report came her clear command, "down paddles!" twelve paddles dipped as one and the dolphin shot forward a good five feet on the very first stroke. the race was on. the course was from the dock to whaleback island, around the island and back to the starting point. until the island was reached the canoes kept practically abreast, now one forging a few inches ahead, now the other, but always evening up the difference before long. as the pull toward whaleback was downstream both crews made magnificent speed with apparently little effort. the real struggle lay in rounding the island and making the return pull upstream. the dolphin had the inside track, a fact which at first caused her crew to exult, because of the shorter turn, but they soon found that the advantage gained in this way was practically offset by the force of the current close to the island, which made it difficult for the boat to keep in her course. it took all of agony's skill as stern paddler to swing the dolphin around and keep her out of the current. the two canoes were still abreast when they recovered from the turn and started back upstream. as they rounded the large pile of rocks which formed a bodyguard around whaleback, the current caught the dolphin and gave her a half turn back toward the island. agony bore quickly down on her paddle to offset the pull of the current; it struck an unexpected rock underneath the surface and twisted itself out of her hands. in a moment the current had caught it and whirled it out of reach. only an instant did agony waste looking after it in consternation. "give me your paddle," she said quickly to bengal virden, who sat in front of her, and took it out of her hand without ceremony. the dolphin righted herself without any further trouble and came out into the straight upstream course only a little behind the turtle. then the real race began. in a few moments the turtle had forged ahead, and it soon became apparent that the dolphin, carrying one member of the crew who was not paddling, could not hope to keep up. "bengal," megaphoned sahwah, taking in the situation at a glance, "you'll have to get out. you're dead weight. jump and swim back to the island. the water isn't deep here." bengal refused. "i want to stay in the race." sahwah gave a disgusted snort into the megaphone. agony cast herself into the breach and made use of bengal's crush on her for the sake of the alley cause. "if you do it, bengal, i'll come and sleep with you all the rest of the time we're in camp." bengal rose to the bait. "i'll do it for you," she said adoringly, and promptly jumped out of the canoe and swam back the short distance to the island where she was soon picked up by one of the visiting launches and carried to the sidelines. relieved of bengal's weight, which had been considerable, the dolphin quickly recovered herself and caught up with the turtle; then slowly worked into the lead. she did not lose the lead again, but came under the line a good three feet ahead of the turtle. the long anticipated struggle was over and the alley was the victor. the rest of the alley rushed down upon the dock and dragged the victorious crew up out of the dolphin as she came up alongside of the dock, and lifting them to their shoulders carried them to shore in a triumphal procession, with waving banners, and ear splitting cheers, and songs which excess of emotion rendered slightly off key. bengal was brought over and given a separate ovation for having so nobly sacrificed herself for the cause of the alley; agony also came in for a great deal of extra cheering because she had acted so promptly when she lost her paddle, and sahwah--well, sahwah was the captain, and when did the captain of a victorious crew ever suffer neglect from the side he represented? until taps sounded that night the alley celebrated its victory, and the last thing they did for joy was to carry all the beds out of the tents and set them in one long row in the alley, and when miss judy went the last rounds there they lay, all linked together arm in arm, smiling one long smile which reached from one end of the alley to the other. chapter xv the buffalo robe "sunset and evening star, and one clear call for me!" the familiar lines slipped softly from miss amesbury's lips as she leaned luxuriously against the canoe cushions, watching the vivid glows of the sunset. it was the hour after supper, when the camp girls were free to do as they pleased, and agony and miss amesbury had come out for a quiet paddle on the river. the excitement of regatta day had subsided, and camp was jogging peacefully toward its close. only a few more days and then the _carribou_ would come and take away the merry, frolicking campers, and the alley and the avenue alike would know desolation. all over there were signs that told summer was drawing to a close. the fields were gay with goldenrod and wild asters, the swamp maples had begun to flame in the woods, and there was a crisp tang in the air that sent the blood racing in the veins like a draught of strong, new wine. all these things, as well as the westward shifting of the summer constellations, which a month before had reigned supreme on the meridian, told that the summer was drawing to an end. never had the friends at camp seemed so jolly and dear as in this last week when the days together were numbered, and every sunrise brought them one degree nearer the parting. everyone was filled with the desire to make the most of these last few days; there was a frantic scramble to do the things that had been talked of all summer, but which had been crowded out by other things, and especially there was a busy taking of pictures of favorite councilors and best friends. pom-pom, miss judy, tiny armstrong and the lone wolf could be seen at almost any hour of the day "looking pleasant" while some girl snapped their pictures. "if anyone else asks me to pose for a picture today i shall explode!" declared tiny armstrong at last. "i've stood in the sun until i'm burned to a cinder, and i've 'looked pleasant' until my face aches. i'm going on a strike!" agony found herself possessed in these last days of an ever increasing desire to be with miss amesbury, to hear her talk and watch the expressions play over her beautiful, mobile face. for this brilliant and accomplished woman agony had conceived an admiration which stirred the very depths of her intense, passionate nature. to be famous and fascinating like miss amesbury, this was the secret ambition that filled her restless soul. to be near her now, to have her all to herself in a canoe in this most beautiful hour of the day, thrilled agony to the verge of intoxication. her voice trembled when she spoke, her hand shook as she dipped the paddle. the wide flaming fire of the sunset toned down to a tawny orange; then faded into a pale primrose; the big, bright evening star appeared in the west. from all the woods around came the goodnight twitter of the birds. "sunset and evening star--" repeated agony softly, echoing the words miss amesbury had spoken a few moments before. "oh," she declared, "sunset is the most perfect time of the day for me. i feel just bewitched. i could do anything just at sunset; all my dreams seem about to come true." and drifting there in the rosy afterglow they talked of dreams and hopes, and ambitions, and agony laid her soul bare to the older woman. she spoke of the things she planned to do, the career of social service she had laid out for herself, and of the influence for good she would be in the world--all of this to take place in the golden sometime when she would be grown up and out of school. miss amesbury heard her through with a quiet smile. agony looked up, encountered her gaze and stopped speaking. "don't you think i can?" she asked quickly. "it is possible," replied miss amesbury tranquilly. "everything is possible. 'we are all architects of fate;' you must have heard that line quoted before. everyone carries his future in his own hands; fate has really nothing to do with it. whatever kind of bud we are, such a flower we will be. we cannot make ourselves; all we can do is blossom. this other person that you see in your golden dreams is after all only you, changed from the you that you are now into the you that you hope to be. if we are little, stunted buds we cannot be big, glorious blossoms. the future is only a great many nows added up. it is the things you are doing now that will make your future glorious or abject. to be a noble woman you must have been a noble girl. you are setting your face now in the direction in which you are going to travel. every worthy action you perform now will open the way for more worthy actions in the future, and the same is true of unworthy ones." agony sat very still. "it is the thing we stand for ourselves that makes us an influence for evil or good," continued miss amesbury, "not the thing that we preach. that is why so much of the so-called 'uplift work' in the world has no effect upon the persons we are trying to uplift--we try to give them something which we do not possess ourselves. we cannot give something which we don't possess, don't ever forget that, dear child. be sure that your own torch is burning brightly before you attempt to light someone else's with it. "you know, agony, that after jesus went away out of the temple at the age of twelve years we do not hear of him again until he was a grown man of thirty. what took place in those years we will never know exactly; but in those silent years he prepared himself for his glorious destiny. he must have conquered self, day by day, until he was master over all his moods and desires, to be able to influence others so profoundly. he must have developed a sympathetic understanding of his friends and playfellows, to know so intimately the troubles of all the multitudes which he afterwards met. these are _your_ silent years, agony. what you make of them will determine your future." * * * * * "why, where is everybody?" agony asked wonderingly as they drew their canoe up on the dock and went up the hill path. nobody was in sight, but a subdued sound of cheering and laughter came from the direction of mateka. "oh, i forgot," cried agony. "there _is_ something tonight in mateka, a meeting. dr. grayson announced it this noon at dinner, but i forgot all about it and hurried through supper tonight so i could come out on the river with you. i wonder what it was about. come on, let's go up, maybe we can get there before it's over." they were just going up the steps of mateka when half a dozen girls rushed out of the door and fell upon agony. "where on earth have you been? we've been hunting all over camp for you. you're elected most popular camper! you've won the buffalo robe! oh, agony, you've won the buffalo robe!" it was oh-pshaw who was speaking, and she cast herself on her twin's neck and kissed her rapturously. agony stood very still on the steps, looking in a dazed sort of way from one to the other of the faces around her. "oh, agony, don't you understand? you've won the buffalo robe!" oh-pshaw repeated laughingly. "we had the election tonight. you won by a big majority. it's all on account of the robin. nobody else had done anything nearly so splendid. oh, but i'm proud to be your twin sister!" then all the rest came out of mateka and surrounded agony, telling her how glad they were she had won the buffalo robe, and they ended up by taking her on their shoulders into mateka and setting her down before the robe where it hung on the wall. it would be formally presented to her at the farewell banquet two nights later. "we're going to paint a robin on it as a record of your brave deed," said migwan. "hinpoha is working on the design right now." agony's emotions were tumultous as she stood there in mateka before the buffalo robe with the girls singing cheer after cheer to her. first triumph flooded her whole being, and delight and satisfaction that she had won the biggest honor in camp took complete possession of her. the most popular girl in camp! the desire of her heart, born on that first, far off day at camp, had been realized. the precious trophy was hers to take home, to exhibit to nyoda. she was the center of all eyes; her name was on every lip. then, in the midst of her triumph the leaden weight began to press down on her spirits, pulling her back to realization. her smile faded, her lips trembled, her voice was so husky that she could hardly speak. "it's--so--hot--in--here," she panted. "let me go out where it's cool." and all unsuspecting they led her out and bore her to her tent in triumph. chapter xvi the torch kindles even the winnebagos wondered slightly at the extremely quiet way in which agony received the great honor that had been bestowed upon her. she did not expand as usual under the influence of the limelight until she fairly radiated light. she hummed no gay songs, she played no pranks on her friends; she did not outdo herself in work and play as she used to in the days of yore when she was the observed of all observers. silent and pensive she wandered about camp the next day and seemed rather to be shunning the gay groups in mateka and on the beach. most of the girls believed that agony's silence proceeded from the genuine humility of the truly great when singled out for honor, and admired her all the more for her sober, pensive air. she found herself overwhelmed with requests to stand for her picture, and the younger girls thronged her tent, begging for locks of hair to take home as keepsakes. agony escaped from them as best she could without offending them. she sedulously avoided mateka, for there sat hinpoha busily painting robins on the place cards for the banquet which was to take place the following night. this banquet was given each year as a wind-up to the camp activities, with the winner of the buffalo robe in the place of honor at the head of the table. agony felt weak every time she thought of that banquet. why had she not the courage to confess the deception to dr. grayson, and give up the buffalo robe, she thought miserably. no, she could never do that. the terrific pride which was agony's very life and soul would not let her humble herself. the pain it would give dr. grayson, the astonishment and disappointment of the winnebagos, the coldness of the beloved councilors--and jane pratt! how could she ever humble herself before jane pratt and witness jane's keen relish of her downfall? she could hear jane's spiteful laughter, her malicious remarks, her unrestrained rejoicing over the situation. and miss amesbury! no, she could never let miss amesbury know what a cheat she was. no, no, the thing had gone too far, she must see it through now. better to endure the gnawings of conscience than give herself away now. and nyoda--nyoda who had praised her so sincerely, and slim and the captain, who thought it was a "bully stunt"--could she let them know that it was all a lie? she shrank back shuddering from the notion. no, she must go on. no one would ever find it out now. other people had received honors which they hadn't earned; the world was full of them; thus she tried to soothe her conscience. but she averted her eyes every time she passed the buffalo robe hanging over the fireplace in mateka. slumber came hard to her that night, and when she finally did drop off it was to dream that the buffalo robe was being presented to her, but just as she put out her hand to take it mary sylvester appeared on the scene and called out loudly, "she doesn't deserve it!" and then all the girls pointed to her in scorn and repeated, "she doesn't deserve it!" "she doesn't deserve it!" until she ran away and hid herself in the woods. so vivid was the dream that she wakened, trembling in ever limb, and burrowed into the pillow to shut out the sight of those dreadful pointing fingers, which still seemed to be before her eyes. once awake she could not go back to sleep. she looked enviously across the tent at hinpoha, who lay calm and peaceful in the moonlight, a faint smile parting her lips. she had nothing on her mind to keep her awake. sahwah, too, was wrapped in profound slumber, her brow serene and untroubled; she had no uncomfortable secret to disturb her rest. how she envied them! she envied oh-pshaw, who had taken the swimming test that day after a whole summer of trying to learn to swim, and was so proud of herself that she seemed to have grown an inch in height. there was no flaw in her happiness; she had won her honor fairly. then, as agony lay there, her favorite heroines of history and fiction seemed to rise up and repudiate her--robert louis stevenson, with whom she had formed an imaginary comradeship; there he stood looking at her scornfully and coldly; joan of arc, her especial heroine; she turned away in disgust; so all the others; one by one they reproached her. agony tossed for a long while and then rose, slipped on her bathrobe and shoes and stockings and wandered about for awhile, finally sitting down on a rustic bench on the veranda of mateka, where she could look out on the river and the wide sky. even the beauty of the night seemed to mock her. the big, bright stars, which used to twinkle in such a friendly fashion, now gleamed coldly at her; the light breeze rustling in the leaves was like so many spiteful whispers telling her secret. she had plucked a red lily that grew outside her tent door as she came out, and sat twirling it in her fingers. in an incredibly short time it whithered and let its petals droop. agony gazed at it superstitiously. an old nurse had once told her that a flower would wither in the hand of a person who had told a lie. the idle tale came back to her now. was it perhaps true after all? did she have a withering touch now? the things miss amesbury had said to her at sunset on the river the day before came back with startling force. "we carry our destiny in our own hands. we are what we make ourselves. whatever kind of bud we are, just such a flower we will be. you are setting your face now in the direction in which you are going to travel. to be a noble woman you must have been a noble girl. the future is only a great many nows added up. every worthy action you perform now will make it easier to perform another one later on, and every unworthy one will do the same thing. if your lamp is dim you can't light the way for others...." agony looked at herself pitilessly and shuddered. was this the road she was going to travel; was this the direction in which she had set her face? cheat, deceiver, that was what she was. the winds whispered it; the river babbled it; the very stars seemed to twinkle it. agony closed her eyes, and put her hands over her ears to shut out the little insinuating sounds; and in the silence her very heart beats throbbed it, rhythmically, pitilessly. * * * * * in the hour before dawn miss amesbury sat up in bed, under the impression that someone had called her name. yes, there was someone on her balcony; in the dim light she could make out a drooping figure beside her bed. "miss amesbury," faltered a low, but familiar voice. "why agony, child!" exclaimed miss amesbury, now well awake and recognizing her visitor. "what is the matter? are you sick?" "yes," replied agony quietly, "sick of deceiving people." and there, in the dim light, she told her whole story, the story of vaulting ambition and timely temptation, of action in haste and repentance at weary leisure. "so that was it," miss amesbury exclaimed involuntarily, as agony finished. "it seemed to me that you had something on your mind; it puzzled me a great deal. how you must have suffered in conscience, poor child!" she put out her hand and drew agony down on the bed, laying cool fingers on her hot forehead. agony, entirely taken aback by miss amesbury's sympathetic attitude, for she had expected nothing but scorn and contempt, broke down and began to weep wildly. miss amesbury let her cry for awhile for she knew that the overburdened heart and strained nerves must find relief first of all. after awhile she began to speak soothing words, and gradually agony's tempestuous sobs ceased and she grew calm. then the two talked together for a long while, of the dangers of ambition, the seeking for personal glory at whatever cost. when the rising sun began to redden the ripples on the river agony's heart once more knew peace, and she lay sleeping quietly, worn out, but tranquil in conscience. she had at last found the courage to make her decision; she would tell the camp at morning sing the true story of the robin, and decline the honor of the buffalo robe. agony's torch, dim and smoky for so long, at last was burning bright and high. * * * * * it was over. agony sat on the deck of the _carribou_ beside miss amesbury. camp had vanished from sight several minutes before behind an abrupt bend in the river, and was now only a memory. agony sat pensive, her mind going back over the events of the day. it had been harder than she thought--to stand up in mateka, and looking into the faces about her, tell the story of her deceit, but she had done it without flinching. of course it had created a sensation. there was a painful silence, then several audible gasps of astonishment, and nervous giggles from the younger girls, and above these the scornful, unpleasant laugh of jane pratt. but agony was strangely serene. being prepared for almost any demonstration of scorn she was surprised that it was no worse. now that the weight of deceit was off her conscience and the haunting fear of discovery put at an end the relief was so great that nothing else mattered. she bore it all tranquilly--dr. grayson's fatherly advice on the evils of ambition; the snubs of certain girls; oh-pshaw's sympathetic tears; jo severance's unforgettable look of unbelieving astonishment; bengal virden's prompt transferring of her affections to sahwah; the loving loyalty of the winnebagos, who said never a word of reproach. and now it was all over, and she was going away with miss amesbury to spend a week with her in her home, going away the day before camp closed. miss amesbury, loving friend that she was, realized that it was well both for agony and for the rest of the girls that she should not be present at that farewell banquet where she was to have been presented with the buffalo robe, and had borne her away as soon as possible. and now once more it was sunset, and the evening star was shining in the west, and it seemed to agony that it had never seemed so fair and friendly before. agony's face was pensive, but her heart was light, for now at last she knew that she was not a coward, and that "when the time came she would be able to do the brave and splendid thing." bob hunt in canada by george w. orton, ph.d. graduate coach of track and cross country teams university of pennsylvania, joint manager of camp tecumseh, n. h., and author of "bob hunt at camp pontiac," and "bob hunt, senior camper." whitman publishing co. racine, wis. copyright, 1916, by george w. jacobs & co. printed in 1924 by western printing & lithographing co. racine, wis. printed in u. s. a. table of contents i off to canada 7 ii up the escoumains 30 iii camp at lake parent 45 iv across the portage 60 v the short trail to escoumains 71 vi pierre's bear story 82 vii bob's clue 94 viii the wireless in the wilderness 106 ix a week on the trail 117 x moccasins as food 130 xi a rescue in the rapids 145 xii pierre's big salmon 157 xiii the platinum mine 168 bob hunt in canada off to canada "hey there, pud. come here," yelled bill williams one day late in may to pud jones, as the latter sauntered across the athletic field. "i'm coming," said pud, as he rushed across, and grabbing bill by the shoulders slammed him up against the fence around the track. "what do you think this is?" asked bill. "a football game, or do you take me for a tackling dummy?" "well, some kind of a dummy," replied pud, as he held bill so firmly that he could not get at him to punch his head. "that'll do, you big rhinoceros," said bill, as pud released him. "what's the news?" said pud. "i've just had a letter from bob hunt and he wants us to go up to canada with him to a fishing and hunting camp there," said bill. "that would be fun but i don't know whether my father would let me go or not. he's been talking about having me work this summer," said pud. "well, you see what you can do with your father and i'll get after mine," replied bill. "i rather think that i won't have much trouble as father was saying just the other day that he thought the open air life was the only thing for a boy in the summer." "all fathers think that, but some of them want to have us around during the summer," said pud, rather gloomily for him. "yes, i've noticed that oftentimes they make cheap chauffeurs out of us," said bill. "they tell us they cannot spare us during the summer and then make us drive them around at all hours. that's quite a snap for them, i think, but it doesn't get us any place." "you're right," assented pud. "i had a very poor time last summer for my family was always having me drive them some place where i did not want to go. they couldn't see that i would much rather get out on a lot in the hot sun and have a game of ball than take the finest drive there is." "you ought to have been at pontiac last year. we had a great time. there was something doing every minute," said bill. "yes, i heard that you had a great summer," said pud. "how did you get along without bob as a pitcher?" "we certainly missed him as he was a whole team by himself," said bill. "that's one reason why i would like to go to canada with bob, for i haven't seen him since two summers now, and i would like to spend another summer with him." "so would i," said pud. "whereabouts in canada does bob want to go?" "wait," said bill, pulling a letter out of his pocket. "i'll read you what he says. here it is: 'father wants me to go up to a camp in canada called camp tadousac. it is situated east of the saguenay river and there is some wonderful fishing to be had there. i've decided to go and i hope that your father will let you come along. it will be a new experience for us. this camp has no permanent quarters but the members go from one part of the country to the other and live out of doors all the time. they use shelter tents sometimes but often they will be away for a week with only one's pack and sleeping bag as protection against the weather. i'm eager to try it for father says that it is fine sport. he's been up in that country and says it is a sportsman's paradise. he was farther west in the lake st. john region, but it should be even better farther east. so, bill, get busy. talk it up with father and write me that you'll be with me.' that sounds good, don't it?" concluded bill. "it 'listens' very well," said pud. "but, don't you let professor gary hear you say 'don't it' again or you'll get into trouble." "doesn't it. doesn't it, you boob," said bill impatiently. "mr. shields told us a good one this morning about a boy who would write 'i have wrote' instead of 'i have written.' the teacher kept him in after school one day and made him write it out one hundred times. the teacher was called from the room and the boy got through his task. he waited a few minutes but as the teacher did not return, the boy wrote a note as follows. 'dear teacher, i have wrote "i have written" one hundred times. you have not came back so i have went home.'" "ha, ha, ha!" roared pud. "that's a good one, but to get down to cases, are you really going up to canada with bob?" "i am if i can get father and mother to let me go," replied bill. "well, i'll see what i can do, for i think that a month or six weeks up in those canadian woods would make me real husky." "you, real husky," said bill in a commiserating tone. "i suppose that you're not as hard as nails and nearly two hundred pounds in weight. now, don't get in wrong at home by telling them that you would like to go to canada to get husky. that would be no reason at all for you to go there. tell them anything you like but that." "i'll see them to-night and let you know to-morrow," said pud. the two boys then separated, pud to go in to get his baseball suit and bill to go out to the diamond, as he already had his suit on. both boys were members of the school team. bill was now the best player in the school, having made quite a reputation in scholastic circles as a pitcher. he was the captain of the team, which shows better than anything else how he had developed since first we met at camp pontiac's junior camp. pud was waiting for bill the next morning at the school gate. "i'm going, i'm going!" cried pud, as soon as bill appeared. "that's fine," said bill in rather a gloomy tone. "what's the matter?" asked pud. "don't they want you to go?" "i'm not sure," said bill. "father is willing, but mother is making a big fuss. she's almost as bad as she was before i went to pontiac." "gee, that's bad. i don't think they'll let me go unless you go," said pud, and he too looked as if he had just lost his best friend. "i'll just bet that your father persuades your mother to let you go," said pud. "he did the other time, you know." "yes, that's so, but he told me as we walked down to school this morning that there really was some danger in such a trip as we planned and that he did not feel that he should persuade mother to let me go. he said that if he did and then something happened that he wouldn't have an excuse," said bill. "that's so," said pud in a hopeless voice. "i guess it's all off, then, and i was counting on having such a fine summer." "it's not all off. i'll have a chance to talk to mother this afternoon and i'll show her why she should let me go," said bill. "it's not so dangerous, is it?" asked pud. "no, of course not," replied bill. "mr. waterman, the head of the camp, told me that he was always careful and that unless one got careless or foolhardy that there was little real danger. he said that they got tipped over now and then and were sometimes temporarily lost, but that these things only lent spice to the summer and were the things remembered in after years." "he's right," said pud. "well, i hope that you can get your mother on your side for my parents did not raise any objections." "it's going to help me tell mother that you're going and that your father and mother are contented about it. i'll bring her round all right." "i hope you do," said pud, as they separated to go to their classes. the next morning, bill was waiting for pud at the school gate. there was such a light in bill's eye that pud exclaimed on seeing him. "don't tell me. don't tell me, bill. i can see in your eyes that you're going to canada." "you bet i am," said bill, swelling up his chest. "i talked mother over and she even got enthusiastic before i got through. father was all right as soon as mother felt satisfied." "let's write bob to-day that we'll be with him," said pud. "don't worry," said bill, with a twinkle in his eye. "i did that last night and i'm going round to see mr. waterman to-night to find out what i'll have to get for the trip." "i'll go with you," said pud. "we'll both need the same kit, for i have never been to a real fishing camp before, nor have you." "that's right," said bill. "we'll have to get a whole lot of things we didn't have to get for camp pontiac; dunnage bags, sleeping bags, tump lines, fishing tackle, a lot of flies--" "a lot of flies,--why, you dummy, we'll have to take some stuff along to get rid of the flies, from all i hear." "you big dub, don't you know that they fish with flies?" said bill in a disgusted tone. "how do you catch them?" asked pud. "say, what are you driving at?" asked bill. "do you really mean that you do not know that they fish with artificial flies?" "oh, artificial flies," said pud. "yes, i've heard of that, but i never saw any. my father's not a fisherman like yours." "i should think not," said bill. "well, don't swell up and bust because you know more about artificial flies than i do," said pud, digging bill in the ribs. "before we come back, i'll be telling you a few things." "stop your kidding, you small giant," said bill. "you can't be even sure of going until you see mr. waterman. i would not be surprised if they charge you two prices, for they will surely have to get an extra guide to carry the big canoe they'll have to have for you and another extra man to carry extra grub." "now, bill, stop kidding and let me know if you really are going around to see mr. waterman to-night, for if you are, i'll go along," said pud in a serious tone. "yes, i'm going," said bill. "for heaven's sake, don't let on to mr. waterman that you've never seen an artificial fly or he'll be disgusted. thank goodness, you learned to paddle a canoe well and to swim well as camp pontiac, for those two accomplishments are really necessary for such a trip." "i'll be all right in that way," said pud. "well, don't boast, for though you can probably swim better than any guide we may see, they'll show you a few things about handling a canoe that you never dreamed of. father says that the lake st. john guides are wonders and we'll be only a little farther east, so our guides should be just as clever," said bill enthusiastically. "gee, it's going to be some summer," said pud. "i wouldn't miss it for the world." * * * * * two weeks later, bob hunt, pud jones and bill williams left broad street station for canada. they were going to travel to tadousac at the mouth of the saguenay river, where they would be met by mr. waterman or one of his men. all three boys were big enough to make such a journey alone. the boys had their dunnage bags with them and had practically no other baggage excepting a suitcase. mr. waterman had told them to take their dunnage bags right along with them so they would run no risk of having them held up in the custom house at quebec. they were all provided with passports, as the big european war was going on and they might have use for this means of identification. the boys arrived in new york without any unusual happenings, but pud got separated from them at the big pennsylvania railroad station and they were worried until they saw his big good-natured form looming up at the train gate at the grand central station. "where have you been?" asked bill. "gee, i'm glad i found you," said pud. "how did you get lost?" "we get lost, you big duffer," said bill. "why, you were the one that got lost. we've been looking all over for you." "that's rich," said pud, breaking out into a big laugh. "i thought that you were lost. i know new york like a book." "you remind me of a little boy," said bob. "a policeman found him wandering round the pennsylvania railroad station and on going up to him, the little boy said, 'have you seen my muvver. i think she's got losted. i can't find her any place.'" "ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!" laughed pud. "that's good, but i don't see how you can liken me to a little boy." "all aboard! all aboard for the montreal and eastern canada express!" yelled the crier. "that means us, fellows," said bob. "let's hustle." the three boys went through the gate and were soon sitting in the pullman bound for quebec. "that was some idea of father's to get us this drawing-room," said bill. "we'll certainly enjoy life on this trip." "you bet," said pud. they certainly were traveling in style. they tossed up to see who would get the lower berth or the sofa. pud was the one left over and he got the upper berth, whereupon bill, who had the lower, said that he would not take any chances but would take the upper berth himself. a good-natured, argument followed and the result was that bob took the lower berth, pud the sofa and bill went upstairs. they awoke in the morning to find themselves at sherbrooke and to get their first taste of the canadian habitant. when they got down to stretch their legs before breakfast, they found most of the canadians speaking french. "here's a chance to spout your french, bob," said bill. "who told you that i talked french?" asked bob. "father told me some time ago," answered bill. "he said that you could talk it like a native." "i could a few years ago, but i'm rusty now, as i haven't talked french for at least five years," replied bob. "they don't talk real french here anyway," said pud. "oh, yes, they do," said bill. "it's a kind of dialect, but father tells me that it is much easier to understand a french-canadian than many of the french people from paris." "that's very true," said bob. "my father, as i've told you before, has been up in the lake st. john region, and he says that he gets along quite well with the inhabitants. he says that they have some peculiar expressions, but that it is quite easy to talk to them as they speak a pretty pure dialect of french." they were soon off again, now headed for quebec. they got a seat in the dining-car and watched the scenery as they rode along. they found the quaint little canadian cottages of the habitants much like the farmers' homes in new england. the land was rolling and, as usual, they followed the course of some river. as they went along, they heard less and less english and bob was often called on to translate the cries that were heard at the different stations. "i'll soon get my french back up here," said bob. "they seem to talk pretty good french. i can understand them quite easily." about ten o'clock, they came into a hilly country and found evidences of mining being carried on. on bob's inquiring, they found that they were asbestos mines and that it was practically a new industry for this part of canada. they also noted that many new farms were being cleared by the young frenchmen and that much lumber was being transported both by the rivers and the railroad. the look of the people was quite foreign by this time and the boys felt that they were indeed in a foreign land. "have you ever been in toronto?" suddenly asked bill. "no," said pud. "well, that is certainly different from this part of canada," said bill. "you can hardly tell that you are out of the united states when you are there." "i should think that the french talk would make it seem foreign anyway," said pud. "that's it," said bob. "you don't hear any more french there than you do in chicago, philadelphia or any other american city. i remember that i was up there to the great toronto fair and i hardly knew that i was in canada." "this is certainly different," said bill. "many people that visit only quebec and montreal have an entirely wrong impression of canada. they think there are just as many french all over as they find in those cities. the fact is that outside of the province of quebec, canada is just as much an english-speaking country as the united states. "is that so?" said pud. "why didn't we go, then, to some place where they talk sense? i'm going to have a fine time getting along with these fellows. i can't talk french." "get busy and you'll learn a lot this summer," said bob. "mr. waterman told me that two of the guides talk english a little, so we'll get along all right." "i'm glad they talk english," said bill. "all the french i know you could put in your eye tooth." a short time later, they arrived at levis and saw the majestic heights of quebec opposite. "this st. lawrence is some river," said pud. "i should think it is," said bob. "the biggest ocean liners can come up this far, while there is a twenty-seven-foot channel all the way up to montreal." "you don't say so," said pud. "well, there is one thing sure that i'm learning some geography at first hand this morning." "when do we leave for tadousac?" asked bill. "we go down to-morrow on the boat," said bob. "that's fine," said pud. "we can see the town this afternoon." "you bet we will," said bill. "where are we staying?" asked pud. "at the chateau frontenac," said bob. "it's that building up on the cliff there." "that's some hotel," said pud. "you'll think so before to-morrow," said bill. "say, let's go up to the plains of isaac and see where john paul jones fell when he captured quebec from the english," said pud. at this, bill and bob just curled up and laughed until they nearly fell off their chairs. "what's the matter?" asked pud. "isn't that the real place to see in quebec?" "you need some history lessons as well as geography," said bill. "well, let's have it," said pud. "i know i'm always getting things fatally twisted." "you mean the plains of abraham," said bob. "oh, abraham, jacob or isaac, it's all the same, isn't it?" said pud, apparently rather disgusted that they had blamed him for such a natural mistake. "and, who ever heard of john paul jones taking quebec?" asked bill, looking at bob. "well, who was it?" said pud. "those historical names always get me." "it was wolfe, the famous young english general. he was killed in the moment of victory, and the french general, montcalm, also was killed," said bob. "well, let's go out there and see the place," said pud. "it must be interesting." by this time, they were across the st. lawrence and at the mercy of about a hundred cab drivers. bob led the way and they were soon going up the hill to the chateau. in the dining-hall, they heard practically nothing but english spoken as the chateau was the place where most of the tourists stayed. after an excellent lunch, they sauntered out to see the sights. they were again mobbed by the cabbies. "let's take one of those funny-looking cabs," said pud. "that's just what i was looking for," said bob. "father told me to be sure and have a ride in a 'caleche,' as he called it." they got into the 'caleche,' which is just like a hansom cab except that the old-fashioned leather springs were used, and instead of the driver sitting behind, he rode in front on a sort of wide dashboard. away they went and the driver plied the whip. the horse was not large but proved strong and wiry. in a short time, the boys were out on the plains of abraham, looking at the various monuments marking the great battle which meant the end of the french dominion in canada. they saw the monuments to wolfe and montcalm and enjoyed the view far south into the united states. their guide showed them the path up which wolfe climbed with his soldiers to surprise the french that memorable morning. after seeing the sights there, they drove back and went through part of the citadel. this proved to be one of the strongest forts in america, and its strength, the number of british tommies about, the guns of large caliber that could be seen, so impressed the boys that bob at last broke out. "this is some fort. it would take a real siege gun to make much of an impression on those walls and ramparts while i guess those big cannon would do a little talking themselves." "i should think so," said pud. "wait a minute," said bill. "i'd like to get some photos." thereupon, he pulled out a little pocket kodak he had, and got ready to focus on a big gun set in an embrasure of the walls. before he could move almost, a soldier was at his side and said, "you are under arrest. it is forbidden to bring kodaks or cameras of any kind within these walls." "i didn't know that," said bill. "i simply wanted to take a few photos of the place." "you'll have to explain all that to the commandant," said the tommie, as he led the way. the whole thing had happened so suddenly that neither bob nor pud had time to say a word before they saw bill turn to follow the soldier. "may we not go with our friend?" asked bob of the tommie. "i was about to ask that you accompany us, for though you are not under arrest, i'll have to bring you along as witnesses." "don't worry, pud," said bob. "it'll be all right. we're not at war and we were not doing anything very wrong." "that's all very well," said pud also in a low tone. "they may take us for spies and keep us locked up here all summer." "oh, tommyrot," said bob, though at heart he did not know just what was liable to happen. in the meantime, the party went along the walk until they came to a big door. they entered and soon were asked to seat themselves in a large room in which there were many desks with officers seated and busily writing. gold lace, silver spurs, bright officer's swords, red caps, and the air of discipline and business that characterized the whole room did not fail to have its effect on the boys. nor did they fail to notice that each of the doors was guarded by soldiers with fixed bayonets standing at attention. the tommy who was escorting them took them up to one of the desks and said, "captain davidson, i have here under arrest, this young man with these two others as witnesses." "of what are they accused?" asked the officer, as he glanced sharply at the three of them. "of espionage," said the soldier. "of espionage?" said the officer. "that is a serious offense." "i know it is but that is the term under which the offense comes," replied the soldier. "this must be taken up by the commandant himself," said the captain, as he touched a bell at his side. immediately a young officer appeared. "captain abercrombie, tell major-general norris, the commandant, that we have here a prisoner accused of espionage." the orderly saluted and was soon lost to view behind a door at one end of the hall. he was back in a few minutes. during that time, our three adventurers stood and watched with interest the varied scene that was taking-place before them. "this is some lark," said bill to bob in a low tone. "no communication between the prisoner and witnesses," said the tommy at once, as he moved nearer as if to enforce his demands. pud looked over at bill with a sort of reproach in his eyes, for he had heard the remark. bob kept his eyes front for he was very much interested in the comings and goings of the officers, orderlies and soldiers that came and went throughout the hall. "captain davidson," said the orderly as he returned, "the commandant requests that you send in the prisoner and witnesses to him at once.' "very well," said the captain. "here they are and i hand them over to you together with private watkins, who arrested them." they were then marched into the next room where they found a big white-haired man sitting at a desk busily engaged. the orderly stopped his charges at a respectful distance. the commandant kept on writing for a few minutes but suddenly he turned around and gave a sharp and piercing look at the young americans. "americans," said he, in rather a relieved tone. "captain abercrombie, let me know the gist of this affair." "major-general norris, i shall have to ask private watson to give you the details at first hand, for as yet i know nothing about the matter, except that one of these young men is accused of being a spy." "private watson, give me the details of the matter." "your excellency," said private watson, "i know nothing more than that as i stood at my post on the ramparts, near gun no. 145, i saw this young man (pointing to bill) suddenly produce one of those very small german cameras and try to take a photo of the gun and its location." "young man, is this so?" asked the commandant in a serious voice. "it is so, except that i did not intend to do any harm; the gun seemed very picturesque to me and i wanted a photo of it," said bill. "were you not told that you should leave cameras of all kinds with the gateman?" asked the commandant. "no," said bill. "we came in a carriage and nothing was said to us." "then, you were given a card and asked to read it, were you not?" continued the commandant. "yes," said bill, "but to tell the truth, i didn't read it carefully." "where is that card?" was the next question. bill fumbled in his pocket and in a moment held it out. "private watson, kindly show the prisoner the order relating to cameras," said the commandant. private watson then came forward and, taking the card, he showed bill the paragraph stating that all cameras must be left at the gate. "i am very sorry, sir, that i was so careless," said bill. "i did not think that anything i could do would get me into trouble here and i didn't think it necessary to read the card. there were so many things to see that i just put it in my pocket." "that is not much of an excuse," said the commandant in a stern voice. "you must remember that you are here in a military fortress and that we can't be too strict in some matters." "i recognize that now, but i assure you that i had no motive whatever in taking the picture except to get a unique photo," said bill humbly. the commandant for the next ten minutes put the three boys through a regular third degree examination. they told him who they were, where they came from, who their parents were, what business they were in, and a hundred other questions. "boys," said the commandant, "i'm afraid that i'll have to detain you until captain abercrombie here can verify some of your statements." then, turning to the orderly, he said, "captain abercrombie, call up the chateau and see if these three are registered there as they state. send private watson out to the west gate to get the driver who took them to the plains of abraham this afternoon. call up the richelieu and ontario navigation company's office and see if passage is booked for to-morrow for three in the name of hunt. look through their luggage at the chateau and report as soon as possible." "very well, your excellency," said the captain, and saluting, he vanished. "private watson," said the commandant. "at your orders, sir," said the private, clicking his heels as he saluted. "take these young gentlemen to the guard-house and remain with them until i send captain abercrombie to you with orders for their release." "very well, your excellency," said private watson, as he led the way out of the room. the boys followed him through the big room, out into the air and along a path until they came to a smaller building with iron bars at the windows. private watson had to stop and tell the nature of the errand to the soldier at the door, who finally saluted and let them in. they found themselves in a rather large antechamber. after a talk with the captain in charge, the boys were led to a bright airy room on the second floor. "i've brought you here, boys," said private watson, "because you can look out of the windows and find something to interest yourselves with. i can tell by the way in which major-general norris spoke that he thinks you are all right, so i'll give you the benefit of the doubt. when you get tired of seeing the scenery, take a look at those old guns in the cases over there." thereupon, their escort left them and could be seen pacing in front of the door. "you're a fine specimen," said pud, as soon as the door was closed. "ah, what's the matter?" said bill. "i suppose you think that i brought the camera along just to get us into trouble." "you didn't seem to think it was serious a little while ago," replied pud. "then, you said it was a lark. this is a fine lark. if we're kept here, we'll miss our boat to-morrow and that will make us miss the other boat to escoumains and then mr. waterman won't know where we are and it will ball everything up." "dry up, you old tear-bag," said bob. "this isn't very serious. i can see why it's only right that they should be very careful around a fortress and any trouble we're in is our own fault, but captain abercrombie will find everything straight and we'll be out of here just in time to have a good dinner and to talk over our experience with gusto." "i hope so, i hope so," said pud, in such a dejected tone that even bill had to laugh at him. "gee, i'm sorry, bob, to get you two into all this trouble," said bill to bob. "don't worry. things will be all right." the boys then busied themselves watching the boats ply to and fro on the broad st. lawrence. the people seemed like small flies far down on the esplanade near the chateau frontenac, while further down on the wharves, they could see a jumbled mass of people, carriages, carts, wagons, etc., all indicating how busy things were in quebec. they found plenty to interest them, but at last they turned and began to examine the old muskets and arms in the cases by the walls. "gee, here's a good one," said bill. "it's a musket that used to belong to old count frontenac. what do you think of that?" "who was fronty?" asked pud. "count frontenac was one of the greatest governors that canada ever had in the time of the french regime." "he was a great man, as our forefathers found out in the time of the french and indian wars," said bob. "there are so many stories told, showing what a wonderful man he was. it's like a touch of the past to look at a gun that such a famous man once used." "that's all right," said pud, "but it don't help us any in getting out of here." "don't get impatient," said bob. "it will take some time to look up the various things about us." "that's so, but it's commencing to get dark and i'm getting hungry," said pud. "i thought so," said bob. "i thought it had something to do with your stomach." "it's too bad that i got into this," said bill. "cut it out, bill," said bob. "i've really enjoyed myself so far, for when you come to think of it, we're not in the slightest danger. at the worst, we can call for aid on the american consul here and make him straighten out the matter." "that's so," said pud. "i never thought of that." "of course, you didn't, you big puddenhead," said bob. "at your time of life, you have difficulty in thinking of anything but your stomach." a little later, captain abercrombie came to the door. the boys rushed over to hear what he had to say. "i am instructed by major-general norris, the commandant, to say to you that he regrets the inconvenience to which you have been put. he finds that the information given him is correct in every particular, and he feels that there was no idea of spying on your part. at the same time, he desires to recommend to all of you that in future, on going into a fortress, whether here or elsewhere, that when given a card of instructions, you read and act according to the same. he desires that you be set at liberty at once and has a military carriage at the west gate to drive you to the chateau. private watson, will you kindly see the gentlemen to the west gate, where you will find the carriage ready? with your permission, i shall also accompany you as far as the commandant's office." "hurray," said pud. "i knew it would be all right." "i'm sorry to have put you to all this trouble, captain," said bill. "i'm sure that i'll be more careful in the future." "it was no bother. i am glad that you got off so easily. we have to be careful here at all times, for this is, you know, the strongest fortress in his majesty's great dominion, and its secrets must be guarded." on arriving at the commandant's office the captain left them, and it was not long afterwards that they were sitting around a table at the chateau frontenac, chatting and laughing and having a good feed, as pud expressed it. "that experience of ours seems just like a dream to me," said bob, as the waiter left to get the dessert. "it was no dream," said pud. "if that old major-general norris had not been such a thoroughbred, he might have given us a peck of trouble." "never again for me," said bill. "if ever i go into a public place and they give me directions, i'm going to listen and do what's ordered." "what's doing to-night?" asked pud, who was always looking for fun in some form or other. "nothing much," replied bob. "i understand that there's a band concert by the highland regiment band on the esplanade this evening. we can listen to that for a while and then get to bed. we must be up early as the boat leaves for tadousac at seven o'clock to-morrow morning." "i'll never make it," said pud. "you'll make it, all right," said bob. "we're all sleeping in the same room and i have a call in for five-thirty. that will give us time to get up and have a decent breakfast before going." the boys enjoyed the band concert after their dinner. on the broad-walk on the river side of the chateau, a large crowd gathered and sauntered up and down listening to the excellent music. the scene was interesting to the boys mainly because of the many kinds of military dress that was sprinkled throughout the crowd. the military men gave a touch of the old world to the scene that was different from anything that the boys had ever noted in the united states. in good time they turned in, and five-thirty saw bob out of bed and on top of pud, who said that he could not get awake. "i'll waken you up, you lazy dog," said bob, as he jumped on pud's bed. this action thoroughly aroused pud, and a five minutes' wrestling match resulted in bob's being finally buried beneath the covers. "help, bill," yelled bob. "this big elephant will crush the life out of me if you do not come to my assistance." bill, thereupon, rushed over and grabbed pud by the shoulders with such a force that he finally had to cry quits. "oh, all right," said pud, "but it takes two of you to do it." "let's hurry," said bob. "i have ordered oatmeal, buckwheat cakes and maple sirup, poached eggs on toast, chops--" "stop, stop," yelled pud. "my mouth's watering now. i'll beat you all to the dining room." ten minutes later they were having their last breakfast in quebec for many a long day. a little later, they drove down to the wharf and were soon on board. they found the boat large and roomy and filled with tourists, taking the saguenay trip, that is, the trip from quebec to murray bay, to tadousac and up the far-famed saguenay to chicoutimi. the scenery is noted all over the world as this is one of the big sight-seeing trips of the western continent. it was not long until they swung out into the stream and headed for the ile d'orleans which lies just below quebec. further along, they looked over to the northern bank of the river and saw the famous montmorency falls. "i was going to suggest yesterday that we go down to montmorency for dinner last night," said bob. "father told me to do this, but our adventure at the citadel made this out of the question." "that's too bad," said bill. "that was some business," said pud. "i thought it was all over with us for awhile. i was dreaming of dungeons deep for weeks to come." "don't exaggerate, pud," said bob. "we might have had a lot of trouble. i wonder what that fine church over there is." "that's the well known st. ann de beaupre cathedral," said an englishman or canadian standing nearby. "i never heard of it," said bill. "it's easily seen that you're not a roman catholic," said the stranger. "i can't imagine a catholic ever coming to quebec without knowing of the virtues and miracles of st. ann." "i must confess my ignorance too," said bob. "well, st. ann de beaupre is the patron saint of this particular parish and for many, many years she had been doing miracles in that little town over yonder. that magnificent church is a tribute donated by the hundreds that have been blessed by her ministrations." "in what special field does the gracious saint consent to show her power?" asked bob, with his best manner. "towards the crippled," said the stranger. "hundreds of crutches have been left in that church as proof of the divine powers of st. ann." "is that so?" said pud. "yes, and there really seems to be some miraculous influence at work." "we must go there when we are coming home," said bob. "it will pay you," said the stranger, "for you will see there some things to be seen in no other part of north america except in mexico." as they went down the river it gradually broadened, until they were steaming along on what looked more like an inland sea than a river. in due time, they came to the famous northern watering place, murray bay. the ship stopped there for some time and the boys had a chance to hire a carriage and go up into the town. they saw some nice hotels and evidences of fashionable country places. it was getting dark as they came off the mouth of the saguenay river, and the high rocks on either side as they moved on gave one the impression of great depth. this impression was correct, as the river flows along a cleft in the strata rather than along any bed that has been made by the action of the waters themselves. they moved into a wharf that merely jutted out from the rocky shore. everything was confusion, for there did not seem to be any one but frenchmen on the wharf. the boys got off and waited in the glare of a big torch light, made after the fashion of the lights used by itinerant showmen. no mr. waterman appeared. "what was the name of that hotel?" asked bob of bill. "i can't remember it, but i have it in my notebook," said bill. "look it up, for if mr. waterman does not come soon, we'll go up there as he directed us. let's get our baggage." they collected this and were just on the point of making a start when bill was slapped on the back and turned to see mr. waterman standing before them, dressed for the woods. "how are you boys?" asked mr. waterman, as he turned to bob and pud. "fine as silk," said pud. "we were just going to try to find that little hotel you wrote us about." "we'll go up there to-night anyway and take the early boat down the river in the morning. i've engaged rooms for you there and an early breakfast." "oh, lord!" said pud. "early breakfast again. i'll be a 'shadder' of my former self if this early rising stunt is to be my regular medicine." "get used to it," said mr. waterman, "for you'll be up early from now on, only some days it will be earlier than others. but i'll guarantee that you'll get all the sleep that's good for you." "all right, i'm game," said pud. "i came up here to have a good time and get into condition. you're the doctor and i'll not kick on taking the medicine." "it will be the sweetest medicine you ever had," said mr. waterman. "why, boy, we're going to have a real man's time this summer and you'll be the first one to say so six weeks from now." chapter ii up the escoumains about five o'clock the next morning, bob was awakened by what sounded like a parade under his windows. he got up and saw a lot of women and men coming from the little church on the opposite corner. bob's action and noise in opening the window had awakened the others, as they were all sleeping in a sort of dormitory. "what the deuce is going on outside?" asked bill williams. "has the circus come to town or why this procession so early in the morning?" "you must remember that you are in a real catholic country and that the roman catholic religion plays a very big part in the life of the people here. the so-called procession you will hear any morning as it is merely the good souls of the parish returning from the mass or the matin service," said mr. waterman. "well, let's get up now that we're all awake," said bill. "not all," said bob, pointing to pud, who slept on, totally unconscious of all that had aroused the others. "little lord fauntleroy is still peacefully sleeping." "not so loud," said mr. waterman. "you'll wake him up." "no fear of that," said bill. "what's the answer, bob? shall we merely mob him or what shall it be?" "let's dump him on the floor and have some fun with him," said bob. the two boys then went over and with a mighty shove, they dumped pud on the floor and turned cot and mattress over him. they both climbed on top and only smothered sounds could be heard from beneath the pile. then like goliath in his wrath, pud arose, cot, mattress, blankets, two yelling boys, and all, and shook himself. he made a bull-like rush at bob but bill got him from behind and for five minutes there was some pretty rough-house work in that room. "ye gods! i'm hot," at last cried bob, stepping back for a breathing spell. "same here," said pud, sitting down on a cot and wiping off the sweat with a pajama top that had gotten separated from its master during the melee. "let's get dressed and get some breakfast," said bill. "is this the regular setting up exercises that this little company of mild-eyed anarchists have every morning?" asked mr. waterman in his quiet way. "if so, i am afraid that i cannot recommend it for persons nervously disposed." "oh, this is nothing," said bob. "this will just give us an appetite." "well, i hear madame colombe busy getting breakfast ready, so we'll just be in time," said mr. waterman. ten minutes later, the party was seated around a table in the dining room eating a breakfast of oatmeal, milk, ham and eggs, hot biscuits and coffee. "the boat leaves at six-thirty so we haven't much time to lose," said mr. waterman. "we'll be with you in a minute," said bob. the boys hurried upstairs and came down with their dunnage bags. they had expected to carry these down to the boat, but a little hotel cart came along and took them down. they had a few minutes to spare as they arrived at the wharf, so they went out to the little observation house in the middle of the pond right near the wharf. this pond was used by the government as a fishery station and there were scores of magnificent salmon in the pond. the boys were much interested in watching these wonderful game fish. they could see them swimming around and occasionally one of them would jump clear out of the water after a fly or some other insect. "we'll have to catch a few like those this summer," said mr. waterman with a glistening eye. "will we really have a chance to catch salmon as large as those?" asked bob. "oh, yes, on our portneuf river trip, we should get some salmon just as fine as these," said mr. waterman. "what do you catch them with? i'm sure i have nothing big enough to hold a fish like that," said pud. "we catch them with the regular rod and fly," replied their leader. "don't say 'we'; say 'i' catch them, for i should think it would have to be a real fisherman that could land such a big fish with such a small line and rod," said pud. "that's why we're coming up here," said bill williams. "my ambition is to get one of those salmon and i don't want it unless i can catch it with my regular tackle." "that's talking like a real fisherman and sportsman," said mr. waterman. "boys, this fishing is or should be considered a sport. that being so, we must make it a matching of our wits against that of the fish. it should not be merely our strength against theirs. we, as sportsmen, should give them a chance." "that's the idea," said bob. "well, i'll consider that i am developing into a real fisherman when i am able to land one of those big fellows." just then the boat whistle was heard and the boys hurried on board. the vessel that was to take them to escoumains was an old side-wheel steamer apparently of the vintage of about 1812. it did some wheezing and puffing before it got straightened out for the trip. the boys looked over the boat with interest, paying special attention to the people who were on board. they were greatly interested in the talk and gestures of the frenchmen that composed the crew and most of the passengers. a little old frenchman with a fiddle also attracted their attention. a few pennies soon had him playing away for dear life and calling off the figures in french in a singsong voice. on their way down the river, the boat stopped at two places, at both of which lumbering seemed to be the main industry. at last, the boat put in for escoumains. two large tramp steamers were anchored off the town loading lumber from big barges. the steamers drew too much water to get into the town wharf, thus requiring two handlings of the lumber. quite a few people were on the wharf. mr. anderson, one of mr. waterman's men, was awaiting them. as soon as they were off the boat, he had a carriage ready and they were off for the little village a half mile away. they stopped at madame lablanche's boarding house, where mr. waterman had made arrangements for keeping their "store" clothes while they were out in the woods. they were shown upstairs and in a short time, the boys were getting into their real wool suits. mr. waterman brought in the shoepacks that he had made for them according to the measurements he had taken previously. all fitted nicely, though mr. waterman looked over them carefully. "it pays to be sure that your shoepacks are right," said mr. waterman, "for they are the real boots for use in canoeing trips. they should be comfortable." "are these waterproof?" asked bob. "father told me that his shoepacks were tight as a drum and that he stepped right out of the canoe into the water whenever he wanted to." "that's right," replied mr. anderson. "it is possible that they may leak just a little the first two days until the seams swell, but after that they will be just as dry as rubber boots." this information caused bill and pud to look at their shoepacks with more care. they were both anxious to try them out. finally, they were ready for the woods, with everything unnecessary put away at madame lablanche's. their sleeping bags, extra shirts, moccasins, etc., were in their dunnage bags and all of these were piled outside the door on the porch. "we still have about a half hour before lunch so let us go over to the store, as i want you all to meet sandy macpherson, the owner," said mr. waterman. "sandy is the big man of this village. he runs the big saw mill, owns the store and manages scores of lumbermen in the winter when the trees are cut many miles up the valleys. he's a good man to know as everybody here does as he says. in addition, he talks english and that helps when one cannot talk french very well." they all went over to the store and found it the center of male society at least for the village. several men were gathered there while others came and went, buying things in the store, which was quite a large store for such a small village. sandy seemed delighted to meet the boys. "i'm delighted to meet you, boys," said he. "you're in for a fine time if you're going into the woods with mr. waterman. if you get in trouble, just call on me." the boys thanked him for his good wishes and after taking a look at the big saw mill, they went back to the boarding house. "fill up, boys, as this is the last meal you'll eat in a house for some time," said mr. anderson. "that's all right, but i wager that they'll enjoy some of the meals we're going to have on lac parent or corbeau more than any they have had in a long time," said mr. waterman. madame lablanche outdid herself at this lunch for she had a very good chicken dinner for the boys, with pie, cake, preserved raspberries and crabapples for dessert. "this is a fine meal to start one off for the woods," said pud. "i couldn't walk a step if you paid me five dollars." "you won't have to walk for some time," said mr. anderson. "we're going to drive in about sixteen miles and i'll wager that this dinner will be pretty well digested by the time we get there. we're going in on an old wood road so you will hardly find it like the macadamized roads you have in the park in philadelphia." a short time later they were off. two carriages were to take them into the woods, each drawn by a hardy looking though rather small french-canadian horse and driven by a habitant. bob was in the front seat with the driver, with pud and mr. waterman in the back seat. bill and mr. anderson were in the other buggy. "well, here's a chance to begin talking french," said mr. waterman to bob. "bill tells me that you spout it quite well." "bill is exaggerating," said bob. "i used to talk french rather well and i hope to pick it up soon again." "you will," said mr. waterman. "you will also find that these habitants speak a pretty good dialect of french. in no time, bob, you will be able to talk just like the natives." "allons, gi-may," cried the driver to the horse as he touched him with the whip. the horse responded nobly and they bowled along right merrily. bob tried to think what "allons, gi-may" meant. he got the first word all right. that meant "giddap or go-along" in the vernacular but what that "gi-may" meant he could not think. he did not want to ask mr. waterman so soon for information. taking the bull by the horns, bob began a conversation with the driver. to be sure it was very limited, for bob had his troubles, but after a little while he got along very well. he was soon asking the driver for the names of the various trees they noted along the road. bob thought that this would be valuable in the woods. all the habitants in such a place as escoumains are woodsmen, and the driver, as such, knew the names of everything in the woods. but, every once in a while, he would cry out "allons, gi-may" and bob would wonder what that word "gi-may" meant. soon the road led by a small farmhouse that had about two acres cleared around it. "that's the last house you'll see," said the driver to bob. bob asked mr. waterman if this was right. "that's right," said mr. waterman, "and you will soon know that it is so, for the road gets worse from now on." this proved correct and pud was bounced around so that he had no trouble digesting his dinner. "this is some road," said pud. "all the same, we must keep going for we want to ford the river before dark," said mr. waterman. "what river?" asked pud. "the escoumains," said mr. waterman. "that is the name of the river at the little village from which we started. the village is called after the river. you will get to know this river well before the summer is over, for we'll run down it to the village some time." "are there any rapids?" asked bob. "you can't find any river in this country without fast water here and there," said mr. waterman. "the only difference is that some rivers have faster water than others. after i have seen you on the lakes awhile and have had the guides teach you a few things we'll take a try at some fast water and you'll think that there is no better sport than shooting a rapid." "it must be great fun," said bob. shortly afterwards, they struck the river and the road led up along the bank. it followed the windings of the river and it was slow work. every now and then the driver yelled "allons, gi-may," and bob racked his brain to think what "gi-may" meant. at last it came to him in a flash. he turned to the driver and asked in french, "is the horse named gi-may?" "oh, yes," said the driver. "he belongs to monsieur macpherson and he calls him gi-may." "oh, you mean jimmy," said bob. "but, yes, gi-may," said the driver, and bob had solved the riddle. he then told mr. waterman how he had tried to think what "gi-may" meant, thinking at first that it meant something like "allons" but that he had found out it was the horse's name. it was getting dark when they came to the ford. mr. anderson yelled like an indian and his call was answered by a real indian yell. a moment later, two men appeared on the opposite bank. "that's joe and pierre," said mr. waterman. "how are we going to get across?" asked pud. "that's easy," said mr. waterman. the driver answered pud by driving the horse down the bank into the water. the stream ran swiftly and the horse put his head down sniffing the water as if frightened. the driver used the whip and the horse proceeded. "the river's pretty high," yelled mr. waterman to mr. anderson. "you had better put those dunnage bags on the seat. that buggy of yours is lower than this one." "all right," came back the cry, almost drowned by the noise of the carriage as it bumped on the rocks at the bottom of the river, the swish of the water and the noise of the horse's hoofs. each took his dunnage bag on his lap and in the center of the river they had to lift up their feet as the water came into the body of the buggy. it almost seemed that they would be swept down the river. bob looked at the driver and at mr. waterman. both had a look of unconcern on their faces so bob felt that things were all right. this turned out to be the case, for five minutes later the horse came out on a sort of sand bar. the driver drove down stream a little and then, putting the whip to the horse, they tore up a steep bank and along a wood road. they had gone only a little distance before they came to an opening where they found joe and pierre busy about a fire. the other buggy came up in a moment and everything was dumped out on the side of the road. mr. waterman had bought a lot of supplies and this was the real reason why the two guides had met them for they were needed to get the stuff back into the camp where they planned to stay for a week or more. after paying off the drivers, the latter turned and drove back. "are they going all the way back to escoumains to-night?" asked bob. "yes," said mr. anderson. "they will go back as far as that logging camp we passed about four miles away. there they will give their horses a little grain and as soon as the moon comes up they will be off, and back in escoumains about midnight. those little canadian horses are very strong and can stand a lot of hard work." bob, pud, and bill stood around watching the guides and the two men as they busied themselves about the fire. "let's have supper first," said mr. waterman. "afterwards we'll pack up the stores we have brought in and get them ready to carry so that we can make a real early start and get to our camp in lac parent in time for breakfast." this was voted a good scheme by the others. pierre was the guide that was most noticed by the boys. he was a full blooded montagnais indian and could not speak a word of english, though he talked french and his own indian tongue. he was straight as an arrow and moved with the litheness and silence of the real indian. though his expression never changed, the boys could see that he missed nothing that went on about him. joe was a little frenchman. he could talk a little english and was very proud of that fact. "the dinnaire is prepair," said he to bob with a smile. "ah, that's the kind of french i can understand," said pud, as he moved over towards the fire. "now be prepared to shout," said mr. anderson. "here's some real trout caught within the hour and cooked as only joe can cook them." he gave each of the boys a whole trout out of the frying pan and this, with bread, butter, prunes and coffee, was their supper. the trout was hot and all three boys stated that they had never tasted anything better in their lives. they all meant it too. at their praise, joe's face lighted up, for he was proud of his cooking. they formed a real woodsman picture as they sat or squatted around the fire eating their supper without the use of plates or a table. the picture was rather out of harmony, for the indian and the frenchman were the typical woodsmen, the two older men hardened fishermen, but even the merest novice could see that the three boys were unused to the woods and their present surroundings. but, in any case, the scene was not lost on the boys. the bright light cast by the fire on the faces of the men and the dark shadows of the woods formed a contrast that was fascinating to the boys. they could not keep their eyes off pierre with his silent but speedy movements, and his impassive face, nor from joe, who formed such a contrast with his animation and gestures, his good-natured talk and his smile. mr. waterman and mr. anderson sat to the side talking in low tones, and the boys felt that these were two men worthy of their confidence. they looked as though they would be ready for any emergency that might arise. they were startled by a splash in the river. pierre seemed to vanish as if by magic into the trees on the side towards the river. though he went with great speed, the boys listened in vain to hear him tearing through the bushes. all ears were tensed but not a sound was heard. "pierre will let us know what it is," said mr. waterman in a matter-of-fact tone, as he motioned the boys to sit down again. "don't worry, there's nothing up here to do us much harm. even the bears run from us and it's necessary to hunt them carefully if you want to see one, though we see traces of them every day." as they were talking, pierre came back almost as quickly and silently as he had gone. he sat down by the fire and said about three words to mr. waterman and relapsed into silence again. "'big fish,' he says," translated mr. waterman. "it sounded like a deer to me," said mr. anderson. "we'll look for tracks in the morning before we leave," said mr. waterman. he then turned to pierre and talked to him in french. "'no deer. big fish,' he says," said mr. waterman as he turned around. "well, if he's sure of it, he's right," said mr. anderson. "they have ways of knowing some of these wood matters that seem uncanny to us." "well, let's get to bed," said mr. waterman. they all turned to their dunnage bags and got out their sleeping bags. pierre and joe had only a blanket and they lay down by the fire, wrapping the blanket around their shoulders but otherwise making no further preparation. "is that the way they sleep all the time?" said bob. "no, they probably did not want to burden themselves with anything extra, as they have lots to carry to-morrow." the guides had cut down some boughs and the boys soon had a fine bed ready. they were stretched out looking up at the stars in a very few moments and bob felt that this was just the beginning of what promised to be a most interesting summer. for some time he lay there, watching lazily the fire as it occasionally threw into relief the green branches of the trees, or made the shadows deeper and more mysterious. it was not long, however, that he lay thus undisturbed, for the gnats, "les moustiques" as the guides called them, began to buzz around and made his life miserable. over the fire, bob had not been much bothered by this pest but further away they soon became unbearable. "ye gods!" said pud, as he sat up in his blankets. "i'm getting eaten alive." "let's make a smudge," said bob. "that will help some." the two boys got up and soon had a real smudge throwing out a sickly smoke over their blankets. all this time bill slept peacefully. it seemed that with his head buried in his blankets he was able to stand the gnats, but the smoke got him. evidently a good puff got under his blankets, for he woke up suddenly and said in a choked voice, "what in sin's going on? i'm choking. what's the idea?" just then a swarm of gnats enveloped his head and he ducked under his blankets. no more was said, for bill knew why the smoke was there. all three covered up their heads and were soon asleep. it got real cold in the middle of the night and the gnats became too torpid to move. the boys slept like logs for they were tired. it could not have been more than four o'clock when the cheery voice of mr. waterman was heard calling them up. "out of your blankets, boys. we're going all the way to lac parent before breakfast and that will take some hiking." in a few minutes, the camp was a scene of the greatest activity. the guides filled large dunnage bags with the provisions that had been brought in. this was soon done and the boys had also packed their blankets in their bags. "is everything ready?" asked mr. waterman. "i think so," said mr. anderson. "you boys will have about all you can handle to carry in your dunnage bags. we'll manage the rest all right, i guess." the guides led off after loading themselves with two large bags. each of them carried at least one hundred and fifty pounds. the indian seemed to handle his load with the greatest ease. he looked back and helped the boys adjust their bags more comfortably, or so that they would carry more easily. they had gone only a half mile when they came to a small lake. it was only a quarter mile across it, but the guides had canoes there. the loads were soon in the boats and they got the other side very quickly. then to the surprise of the boys, the indian and mr. waterman got the packs on their backs and then, lifting the canoes, they got them over their shoulders and away they went. "gee whizz!" said bill. "i thought you two had a big load on before but you walk away with those canoes with ease." "there's a great knack in carrying canoes," said mr. waterman. "that's all right," said pud. "but those two men must have at least two hundred pounds on their backs and they are going right along." "i'll admit," said mr. anderson, "that they have a larger load than usual, but they are not going far and we'll relieve them on the next portage." the way led up across a ridge. part of it was rather steep and the boys found themselves panting as they got to the top and began the descent to the next little lake beyond. they found mr. waterman and pierre already there and with the canoes in the water. "that was some pull," said mr. waterman. "pierre is in better condition than i am. he doesn't seem to mind it a bit, but i found that a little heavy before breakfast." "we'll help with the dunnage on the next portage," said bob. "my bag does not feel very heavy. let me try the canoe." "i'll let you have the canoe," said mr. waterman, "but i'll take your stuff." this was done. mr. waterman showed bob how to arrange the paddles so that they would rest on his shoulders. he also showed him the use of the small rope that bob had noticed along the middle stay of the canoe. this was put over the head so that when the canoe was rightly placed bob was carrying it on his shoulders, his forearms and also his head. he found the weight well distributed and he walked away like a veteran. he found it awkward work at first to keep to the trail and to avoid bumping the canoe into the trees. he soon got used to this and went along finely. he had no trouble until they got to the top of the little divide between the two lakes and started down. they had gone down only a little piece before he stepped on a piece of slippery moss, his feet flew out from under him, and down he came with the canoe on top of him. rather crestfallen, he got up and began to arrange the paddles, etc., in place again. "had a tumble?" said mr. waterman. "that was because you didn't have the weight well balanced coming down the hill. you'll soon learn. do you need any help with the canoe?" "no, i think that i can manage," said bob. he then caught hold of the gunwales of the canoe and started to lift it over his head, but he plunged forward and down came the canoe again. "let me help you this time," said mr. waterman. "when we get to camp and get rid of these packs, i'll show you just how to do it. it's easy when you know how." bob once more had the canoe on his shoulders and arrived at the next lake without further mishap. they found every one waiting for them. they were soon across and after one more portage, they reached lac parent. far down the lake, they saw smoke rising. "jean is waiting for us," said mr. anderson to mr. waterman. "is there another guide?" asked bob. "oh, yes," replied mr. waterman. "we have pierre's son with us. he was told to have breakfast ready for us at six o'clock and i'll bet he's been waiting for some time, as it has taken us a little longer than i expected to get here." the two canoes sped down the lake. the boys looked around with much interest. there was a real mountain on the far shore of the lake, part of which came down to the water very precipitously. the small islands in the lake made it more picturesque. they soon rounded a point of land and came full on the camp lying before them. with its line of tents, the smoke curling up from the fire, and the beauty of the forests in the background, it made a scene that would rejoice any fisherman's eye. as they came to the shore, jean came running down. he was a big fellow for his age, seventeen. he had very regular features like his father, and was remarkably well built. the boys landed and one and all felt that at last they were fairly in the woods and ready for whatever might befall. chapter iii camp at lake parent no sooner had they landed than jean announced that breakfast was ready. "let's get something into our stomachs before we think of anything else," said mr. waterman. "that suits me," said pud, and all the others joined in so that the motion was carried unanimously. the party went across a little stream and sat down at a table made of logs that had been split fairly in two. the middle sides of the logs were up, thus making a smooth surface, but this was really made a fact by big strips of birch bark that covered the top. a long seat at each side of the table was also made out of a split log, while a sawed-off stump made a special seat for mr. waterman at the head of the table. this table was under a big tent fly. jean had set the table with tin plates and cups and a goodly portion of prunes was on each plate. they set to at once and after the prunes, some good oatmeal was brought on. to the surprise of the boys, they had milk. "where do you get milk up here?" asked bill. "oh, we get it from the mountain goats," said mr. anderson, with a wink to mr. waterman. "we're lucky," said the latter. "we now have four mountain goats that are getting real tame, though it takes some time to round them up each morning." "why this tastes like real milk to me," said pud. "of course," said mr. anderson. "very few people can tell the difference between goat's milk and the ordinary cow's milk." "i'll have to watch you milk them," said pud. "it must be interesting." "it is interesting," said mr. waterman. "i really think that we'll soon have another goat around here." at this, mr. anderson laughed heartily, and pud saw that the laugh was on him. "i'm easy," said pud; "i know i'm easy. but seriously speaking, where do you get this milk? it's a little thin but otherwise it's o.k." "it's evaporated milk," said mr. waterman. "it comes in cans and is easy to make, as it requires only the proper quantity of water to make it fairly good. you'll get a lot of it this summer for that's the only kind one can have in the woods." "we're having ham and eggs this morning," said mr. anderson. "we're going to let you have the pleasure of getting your own fish for dinner." "oh, heavens," said pud. "i'm afraid that i'll go hungry, for i've never cast a line in my life." "well, the lake is full of them, and even a very poor fisherman is sure to catch a few," said mr. waterman. "that's good news," said bill. "i'm a novice at the game, but i certainly am anxious to see what i can do and to try my hand." "that's the spirit," said mr. anderson. "it won't take long for you boys to learn. as soon as we get things settled a bit here, we'll go after the shiny beauties." after their breakfast, the boys had a chance to look around. they were delighted with the site of the camp. it was on a level spot at the shore and the camp was divided by a little stream. on the far side of the stream was the tent for the guides, the cook tent, and the dining tent, which consisted of the table described before with the big tent fly over it. looking across the little stream, the layout was not only very picturesque, but it also served to divide the camp very well from what might be called the social standpoint. the guides had put quite a little time on clearing up the shore so that there was a very nicely cleared spot in front of the five shelter tents, all of which faced the lake. they made a very fine appearance. the view from the front of the tents was very good. the lake opened out, and right opposite there was a big bluff that shot straight down into the lake from a height of at least three hundred feet. the whole camp, including the tents for the guides, stretched along the water front for about one hundred yards. there was one other feature of the camp which proved especially interesting to the boys. the guides had broadened this stream which divided the camp into a sort of pool near the edge of the lake, with a little log bridge at each end of the pool. into this pool, they had put any unusually fine trout they had caught, and already there were nearly a hundred speckled beauties swimming around in the clear water. each end of the pool had been fixed with crossed willow wands so that the fish could not get out. this pond had proved a never-ending source of pleasure to the boys, for it must be remembered, that they had practically never seen a trout before. "when do you expect jack back?" mr. waterman inquired of mr. anderson. "he said he'd be back some time to-day," replied the latter. "who's jack?" asked pud. "he's one of the guides," said mr. waterman. "he's a corker. he's been up in through to lac corbeau trimming up some of the portages." "you'll find jack the best fellow in the world," said mr. anderson. "he knows the woods like a book and he can cook very well. we won't know what real grub is until he gets back." "can he talk english?" asked bill. "sure," said mr. waterman. "he's a yankee. i brought him up here the first year so i would be sure to have one dependable guide." "well, let's go fishing," said pud, as if that was all there was about it. "all right," said mr. waterman, "but first of all, you'll have to be initiated into the abc's of fishing, namely, getting your rods and lines ready." "what's hard about that?" asked pud. "oh, nothing much if you know how, but quite a little if you have never set up a rod and line," said mr. waterman. "get your tackle and come over to the table," said mr. anderson. they were all soon there and under the skillful tutelage of mr. waterman and mr. anderson, the boys soon had their rods in readiness. pud was much surprised at the care taken by mr. waterman in seeing that everything was ship-shape before he would pass the tackle as perfect. pud learned more about reels, lines, leaders and flies than he had ever heard tell of before. at last they were all ready. "i'll paddle, bob. you, mr. anderson, take bill and i'll have joe look after pud," said mr. waterman. "what's the idea?" asked bill. "fishing in this lake, two generally go together, one paddling and the other casting," said mr. waterman. "that would be the best way to-day in any case," said mr. anderson. "we can each show the boys how to cast and, in fact, give them a lesson in the art of trout fishing. when you see joe here, or jack or mr. waterman casting, boys, you will agree with me that real trout fishing is an art." "we'll need the instruction," said bob. they were soon out on the water. "let's have your rod a minute, bob," said mr. waterman. bob handed it over and his tutor showed him how to cast. bob was awkward at first but he was soon casting very nicely. bob was so interested trying to get the knack of casting that he wholly forgot that he was on a lake full of trout. he was therefore very much surprised to feel his fly snatched away like an arrow. "you've got one," called mr. waterman. bob pulled in quickly and his rod bent almost double. "give him line, give him line," cried mr. waterman. bob let out his line and all at once the tension ceased. "i believe he's got away," said bob. "reel in, reel in!" cried mr. waterman. bob did so, and the fish made another rush. this time bob let out his line and when the trout stopped he began to reel in. he soon saw the trout near the canoe and tried to pull him out of the water into the canoe with a motion as fast as he had often done when fishing for catfish on the banks of a river. he got the trout out of the water, but with a mighty wiggle, the trout hopped off the hook and disappeared like a silver streak in the water. "i didn't think you were going to do that," said mr. waterman. "i wasn't looking, as i was just getting the net ready. the next time, pull him easily to the side of the canoe and i'll get him with the landing net." "i'm sorry," said bob. "that's all right," said mr. waterman. "it was really my fault. the novice does just what you did nine times out of ten, and i should have remembered that and warned you." "i'll remember the next time," said bob, emphatically. "i wonder how the others are getting on," said bob, as he looked around. bill was down the lake casting in good fashion. pud was close by, and looked very awkward. "watch out," said joe to him, "or you will catch me in the eye." "don't worry," replied pud, "i'm much more likely to take off one of my own ears." "do it like you crack de whip," suggested joe. "all right," said pud. he gave the line a mighty heave but the fly flew too low and caught him in the back. it must have stuck in a little, for pud gave a lurch forward and, in spite of joe's frantic efforts with his paddle, over went the canoe. "hold on to your rod," yelled mr. waterman, when he saw pud go sprawling into the water. that was the last thing pud thought of for he cast the rod away and turned to the canoe. joe was already there. with an expert twirl, he righted the canoe with but little water in it. in another moment he was in the back seat, giving pud directions how to climb in without upsetting the canoe. three different times pud upset the canoe before he got in. as they started to row back to the camp pud felt something sticking him in the back. he felt and it was the fly which had remained fastened to him. "stay quiet, pud," yelled bob. "we'll come over and see if we can't save your rod." pud stopped paddling and they soon fished up his rod from the bottom of the lake. "you're lucky," said mr. waterman. "remember that rods do not grow on bushes up here. if you're tipped over again, hold on to your rod. paste that right in your hat and remember it." "i won't forget it," said pud. "i'll be back again when i get some dry clothes on. i'm going to catch a fish this morning if i have to dive for one." "you dive enough already," said joe in his serious way. bob and mr. waterman paddled off and it was not long before bob had landed his first trout. it was a beauty, about eighteen inches long and weighing about two pounds. in another hour he had seven in his basket and was getting more skillful each time. "suppose you paddle and let me fish for a while," said mr. waterman at last. "good," said bob. "i'll be glad to see you do it." "you won't see anything extraordinary," said mr. waterman. "i just want to show you a few things though. we've kept out in open water. well, the best place for trout is near the shore, under overhanging branches, near rocks or trees that have fallen into the lake. if i had brought you to such places at first you would probably have lost half your tackle. but, to be a good fisherman, you must not only know how to cast, but you must be able to cast accurately." bob then followed mr. waterman's directions and paddled close to the shore. with unerring aim, mr. waterman cast the fly almost to the desired inch. it seemed uncanny to bob, but trout after trout was hooked and played with a master hand. only one got away, due to no fault of mr. waterman. "we've caught plenty," said mr. waterman at last. "i guess we won't starve for a couple of days." "i should think not," said bob, as he looked in his basket and saw the mass of speckled beauties. their fishing had brought them down to the far end of the lake. "that's quite a mountain there," said bob, pointing to the far shore. "yes, the whole country here is filled with just such mountains with lakes on at least three sides. it is a curious formation, but this makes it very fine for hunting and fishing." the paddle back to camp was soon over. they found bill and pud also just getting out of their canoes. "that's some sport," said bill. "i have nearly two dozen fine trout. i hope to be able to cast well before long and then i'll do better." "how did you get along, pud?" asked bob. "oh, pretty well. it took me some time to get the knack of it, but joe at last said that i was improving. i knew i was, because after a while he stopped dodging every time i cast." the boys got out of the canoes and made for their tents. "wait a minute, wait a minute," said mr. anderson. "we all clean our own fish at this camp, so come along." the boys followed him, and under his direction they soon got so they could clean a trout in no time at all. they then made for their tents, got stripped and had a good swim. mr. waterman and mr. anderson watched the boys from the shore. "well, it's fine to have the boys with us again, isn't it?" said mr. waterman. "you bet," said mr. anderson. "they are a fine trio. i only hope that those who come later will be as agreeable." "i like that bob hunt," said mr. waterman. "he's very keen. he took to casting in no time. he'll be an expert in a month." "williams is a fine boy and pud is awkward, but i'm no judge of character if he isn't as big-hearted as they make them," said mr. anderson. "he's a card. it certainly was funny to see him casting. every time he cast joe would duck, and at last he caught himself in the back so hard that he tipped over the canoe." "is that so?" said mr. anderson. mr. waterman then had to tell him about the upset and they laughed heartily. "he's a good swimmer, so there wasn't any danger," said mr. waterman in conclusion. "he's good and strong and should make a good man for the carries," remarked mr. anderson, as he noted pud's bulky form as he came out of the water. "yes, some good portaging will take off about ten pounds of fat and make him as hard as nails," said mr. waterman. "what's that you say?" asked pud, as he turned towards them. "i was just saying," said mr. waterman, "that some good portaging would take ten pounds or so off you and make you as hard as nails." "lead me to it. i'm game," replied pud. "i came up here not only to learn how to fish, but mainly to get hardened up for football in the fall." "don't worry then," said mr. anderson. "anybody that charges you next october will think that he has run into a stone wall." "how long before dinner?" asked pud, as he looked longingly across the little stream where jean was busily engaged around the fire. "not very long," said mr. waterman. "let's go over and see if we can hurry things along." "all right," said pud. "just give me a minute to slip into my clothes." mr. waterman went over to the fire and he was joined there in a few minutes by all three boys. they were set at peeling potatoes and onions, for joe had three partridges the previous day and they were going to have a stew. the boys' task was soon through and it was not long until the smell of the partridge stew and the fresh trout on the fire fairly made the boys' mouths water. they soon set the table and then went off to try and get a look at a woodpecker they heard hammering away in the woods. they had just gotten under the big old tree on which the woodpecker was busy and were watching his diligent operations when they heard a welcome call and they broke for the camp. they arrived with pud bringing up the rear, puffing and blowing. they then sat down to what all the boys afterwards stated seemed to them the best meal they had ever tasted. partridge stew, fresh trout, hot bread cooked in an oven that stood before the fire and caught the heat in that way, plenty of tea and a dessert of stewed apricots formed the menu. it was indeed a merry party that sat around the table with mr. waterman at the head. the guides were the waiters and they were kept busy bringing the trout hot and sizzling from the fire to the table. "i take it all back," said bill williams, "i said i didn't like fish. i meant the kind we get in the city. but--this trout is fit for the gods. it is certainly good." "you're right," said pud. "i didn't think that any fish could taste so good." "my sentiments, too," said bob, "and as for this partridge stew, there's only one thing the matter with it and that there isn't enough of it." "that's something we don't have every day, but we have the fish always and we never get tired of it," said mr. anderson. at last, filled to repletion, they leaned back and began a general conversation. "i know one thing," said pud, with a sigh. "what's that?" asked bill. "i'll never take off any weight here. i've just eaten enough to feed a family." "don't worry," said mr. waterman. "you'll need all the food you get when you're carrying a canoe across some of the portages we'll be on this summer." "we'll take it easy for an hour, and then let us all get busy and get out balsam boughs for our beds. mr. waterman and i have a pretty good lot already, but a little more will help. we've left you the privilege of making your own beds as all good campers insist on doing." "that's a good idea," said mr. waterman. "that will take some time. there's a lot of cleaning up to do along the shore front also, so that we'll put in a little time each day on that. we'll kill two birds with one stone, as we'll get out a lot of firewood at the same time. that will leave the guides free to make us a landing." "where will you get the boards?" asked bill. "leave it to joe," said mr. anderson. "he'll have as nice a landing out there in a day or two as you would care to see, and there won't be a nail in it and it will be made entirely with his axe." "i'll watch them do it," said pud, with an air of unbelief. they all then went to their tents and for an hour they lounged around, dozing and talking. mr. anderson then roused them out. they got their short axes and went into the woods. each had a big bag and it was not very long until they returned laden with the fragrant tips. more than one trip was necessary, but at last all had downy balsam beds on which to lay their blankets. they made up their blankets for the night and did various other things around the tents. "let's go for a paddle," at last said bob. this was agreed to eagerly, and they all got into a canoe and went on an exploring expedition. first they went opposite and started to climb the bluff. they found it a harder task than they had supposed, as finally they had to go back some distance before they could get to the top. at last they came out on the edge and brought mr. waterman and mr. anderson down to the edge of the opposite shore by their shouts. they waved to the boys and then slowly disappeared in the trees. "this is some little mountain, isn't it?" said bob. "it certainly is," said bill. "let's roll down one of these big bowlders and see what happens," said pud. the front of the bluff was rather crumbly, with big rocks near the edge looking as if they had been left there by the frost, or rather as if the frost had pried away their brothers to let them crash down into the lake. they soon found a big rock that looked as if it would move easily. pud found a small tree that had fallen down, and with this as a lever they loosened the rock and it started down the cliff. it moved slowly at first and the boys drew close to the edge to watch its course. down it dashed, gathering momentum and finally taking along with it into the water a small tree that grew out from the mountain about half way down. in their eagerness to see the splash they went too near to the edge, and the ground began to give way beneath them. bob, as usual, was the first to act. he bumped bill back with his shoulder and then caught pud's coat just as it was disappearing. bill, quick-witted also, rushed to his assistance, and between them they hauled pud back, though all three were on the ground and nearly over the edge before the two could stop the heavy pud. a yell from the opposite shore told them that mr. waterman and mr. anderson had seen their predicament. bob and bill held on and slowly pulled pud up to them. when all three at last arose, probably only a minute later, they were bathed in perspiration, as they had all been under a terrible physical strain. "that was a close shave," said pud, as he walked over to the edge to look down. "come back, you crazy indian. don't you know that it was your weight that caused the trouble before, and there you are, trying to tempt fate again," said bob. "you're right, fellows. i'm some ungrateful cuss. i've not even thanked you for saving my precious neck." "don't thank me. thank bob," said bill. "he pushed me back and then caught you just as you were preparing to take a high dive that would have made steve brodie look like a piker. thank bob. he's always there with the presence of mind stuff when it's needed." "not a bit of it, pud," said bob. "bill is too modest. if he hadn't caught me in time, you would have pulled me over the edge, so you see we both owe our lives to him." "i guess it's up to me to do all the thanking, for if you had not grabbed my coat, you would not have been in any danger yourself." "well, let's forget it, fellows," said bob. just then they heard a voice from the water, and they looked down to see their two leaders in a canoe. "we're all right," yelled pud. "don't go near the edge," yelled mr. waterman. "it's dangerous." "all right," yelled bob. "we're coming right down, so don't worry." they found the two men waiting for them when they reached their canoe at the bottom of the cliff. explanations were in order. "we saw it all," said mr. waterman, "for when that rock started down that cliff it made such a racket that we rushed down to the shore. we felt like yelling at you to get back, but just as the thought occurred to us, we saw the rock under your feet giving way. then bob knocked bill back and caught pud's coat. we thought it was all over with the two of you, but bill recovered his balance just in time to grab bob and, i tell you, we sweat some while you were tugging to get pud back, for it was a wonder that the rock under you did not give way and let you all down." "you're a plucky lot of boys," said mr. anderson. "you will have to remember not to go too near to the edge of these cliffs up here, for the frost has made the face of some of them very brittle." "we certainly won't forget it," said bill. "we've had enough excitement for one day," said bob. "let's go back to camp and take it easy for the rest of the afternoon." "i'll take it back. i'll take it back," said pud, as he held up his hands in mock terror. "what's that you'll take back?" asked bob. "that i was bound to put on flesh up here. to get thrown out of a canoe in the morning and to come within an ace of making a three hundred foot dive in the afternoon is just about enough excitement to make any one lose weight. i bet i lost five pounds in that minute and a half when bob had me by the coat, and i was wondering whether he could hold on to my elephantine form; whether the rock would not give way, and whether i could get back to safety. i sweat like a bull." "it certainly made me sweat too," said bob. "that was because you were under terrific physical and nervous tension. a minute or even half a minute under such conditions will exhaust one more than half a day's hard work," said mr. waterman. "gee, i don't dare write home my full experiences of my first day at camp," said pud. "that mamma of mine would be up here taking me home." "yes, i guess we had both better let this story wait until we are home, for it would only worry them," said bob. "that's the sensible thing to do, for it is very unlikely that you will be exposed to such danger a second time," said mr. anderson. the two canoes started across the lake. they noticed the small tree dislodged by the bowlder. it was floating near the base of the cliff and had been snapped off like a pipe stem. in spite of the excitement of the day, the boys had a good appetite for their supper. afterwards they sat around the camp fire that had been made in front of mr. waterman's tent and talked of many things. the guides could be seen lying back on their balsam boughs before the fire, talking and gesticulating. "we'll have to go over and talk to the guides some time," said bob. "they seem to have a lot to tell each other." "yes, they are talkative to-night. generally they have not much to say unless you get them telling some of their experiences," said mr. anderson. "what do you say to a taste of portaging to-morrow?" asked mr. waterman of the boys. "that's fine," said bob, answering for the others. "where shall we go?" "we'll go up north to a little lake where the water always seems a little warmer than it is here, probably because it's shallower. we'll catch some fish, climb a mountain and have a good swim." "that 'listens' fine," said pud. "we'll take a lunch along and make a day of it," said mr. anderson. "for one, i'm going to turn in, as i have been up since four o'clock this morning, and i'm dead for sleep." "that's a good idea," said mr. waterman. in a short time, the boys were sound asleep and only the glowing coals told the starry sky that there human beings were to be found. chapter iv across the portage six o'clock the next morning found every one up and ready for a dip. mr. anderson, having heard of the fact that pud was bound to have his morning dip no matter how cold the water, thought to have some sport with him. "pud, have you seen our famous shower bath?" asked mr. anderson quietly. "no. where is it?" said pud. "it's just up this little stream. it's a little cold for me, but they tell me that you like cold water in the morning." "oh, yes," said bill, "pud has to have his cold shower every morning, winter or summer." "lead us to it," said bob. mr. anderson then led the boys up a path which finally came out right under a fifteen-foot waterfall. it certainly looked like a natural shower bath, for the water was broken in its fall by the jutting rocks. bill put his hand into the water and pulled it back with a jerk. "some cold," said he. bob did the same. "me for the lake. that's too cold for my blood," was bob's remark. it was certainly up to pud. he tried the water and could hardly restrain himself from pulling back. "fine, fine," said pud, as he pushed under the down-rushing water and stood there for a minute. he came out almost breathless because of the contraction of his muscles by the cold water. "won't you indulge?" asked mr. anderson, turning to bill and bob. "no, thank you," said bill. "to tell the truth, i really prefer the lake." "well, i'll beat you to it," said bob, and off they dashed down the path. in a moment mr. anderson and pud heard them splash as they plunged into the lake. "that's some cold shower," said pud. "i thought that you would like it," said mr. anderson seriously. pud looked at him said nothing as they went down the path. as they came out at the lake, mr. waterman said, "pierre objects to our using the stream for bathing purposes, as we use it for our drinking and cooking." "i didn't think of that," said mr. anderson. "neither did i until he spoke to me about it," said mr. waterman. "that's too bad," said pud. "i thought i was going to have a real cold shower every morning." he said it so seriously that neither mr. waterman nor mr. anderson knew whether he really meant it or not. to bob later, pud stated that the intervention of pierre was providential for he had never been under such a real icy shower before. after their swim they all sat down to breakfast and enjoyed every bit of it. after breakfast they spent some time cleaning up the camp. they got everything ship-shape in their tents first and then they cleared up a part of the beach. the boys enjoyed this as the experience of wielding an axe was new to then. they also had cause for wonder at the way in which their two leaders used the axes. they went at things very strenuously and seemed to be able to hit just where they wished. bob commented on their skill, but they both stated that they were mere beginners in comparison with the guides. about nine o'clock mr. waterman called a halt, and they got ready for their little journey. they took along just a loaf of bread and a small tin in which butter, salt and pepper were packed. the boys took along their rods and mr. waterman carried a small rifle. in explanation of the latter he said that they might have a shot at a duck or a partridge. they took two canoes. bob went with mr. waterman, while pud and bill carried mr. anderson as a passenger. to their surprise, mr. waterman led the way just around the bend and then to the opposite shore. the boys had not noticed a path, but on landing they could see a trail leading off along a little stream that emptied into the lake at this place. on landing, mr. waterman fixed the paddles in the right way, took up the canoe and was off. bob carried his gun, and he had all he could do to keep up with his leader. mr. anderson also wished to make the first portage, but pud prevailed, and after a little trouble, they started off. pud was soon puffing and blowing, for the path was steep. mr. anderson led the way for the other two had been lost to view even before the second party got started. "this isn't so easy as it looks," said pud to bill. "if you're getting tired, i'll take it," answered bill. "not on your life. i've got to learn the knack of this portaging, for i mean to do a lot of it this summer, and i might just as well get used to it now as any time," said pud, between his puffs. "let the weight rest on forearms, head and shoulders and you won't mind it," said mr. anderson. "as you say, there's a knack to it. also, it takes muscles that we don't use right along, and for that reason it's rather tiring at first." by this time they had topped the little divide between the two lakes and they began to descend. pud began to have his troubles, for like all novices, he carried the canoe poorly. he came near to falling several times, and it was with a sigh of relief that he came out on the shore of a small lake. bob and mr. waterman were in their canoe off the shore, evidently waiting for them. "how's the portaging?" yelled bob, as soon as pud came in sight. "fine," said pud. "but i have a crease here in the back of my neck that will be sore for a week." they were soon off again, with bob leading. the lake opened out and they found themselves in a stretch that gleamed a good mile ahead of them. all at once bob slowed down and mr. anderson called on the boys to stop paddling. "he sees something," said mr. anderson. all eyes were on mr. waterman as he got his gun ready. over to the left the boys saw three ducks swimming, and they knew that this was the reason for their stop. "bang!" went the gun, and one of the ducks toppled over, but the other two disappeared as if by magic. "pick up the bird," yelled mr. waterman to mr. anderson. "all right," replied the latter. mr. waterman looked around carefully, and a minute later the two ducks arose to the surface some distance farther on. bob and he took up their paddles and tried to get within a reasonable distance again. they had scared the birds so that they kept swimming away, keeping out of distance. at last mr. waterman laid down his paddle and got his rifle again. this time he missed, for it must be remembered that he was shooting with a rifle and not with a shotgun. it was only after three more trials that he bagged his second duck and it took a good hour longer to get the other one. for some reason the birds did not want to leave the lake and they were all three finally in mr. anderson's canoe. "that will make another fine pot-pie," said bill. "we haven't any pot to make it in," said pud. "we'll have it back at camp," said mr. anderson. "these ducks, with some dumplings and flour gravy, will be some dish." they made for the far end of the lake and then got out. by this time it was nearly twelve o'clock, and they debated whether to climb the mountain then or wait until they had had something to eat. "i tell you what to do," said anderson. "you fellows go and climb this mountain. i'll stay here, catch a few fish, then build a fire and have everything ready for you when you return." this was considered a good plan, so the three boys and mr. waterman set out. there was no trail this time, but mr. waterman strode ahead with confidence. "have you been over here before?" asked bob. "oh, yes," replied mr. waterman. "i want to come here again several times before the summer is over, for when we get to the top of this mountain you will see something that very few city dwellers have ever seen, namely, a real primeval forest." "i thought that this was all primeval, way up here," said bob. "no," was the reply. "the big lumber companies see to it that there is but little first growth any place where they can get the lumber to tide water." "well, how is it that we'll see first growth up here, then?" asked bill. "you'll see when we get there," replied mr. waterman. he walked on and they followed. pud was saying nothing, but he was having his troubles keeping up. he looked ahead at mr. waterman, who was apparently sauntering along, and he wondered how he did it. fortunately for him, mr. waterman was very observant, for he noted pud's distress and slackened his pace or stopped to point out some great pine tree or other object worth noting. "do you smell him?" suddenly said mr. waterman, as he stopped and looked around carefully. "smell whom?" asked pud, stopping in his tracks. "the bear," said mr. waterman. "can't you smell something in the air? i can. a bear has been here not very long ago. ah, there are his tracks." he pointed to an old pine stump, which had been clawed recently. the boys looked at the stump, but they saw no tracks. "come here," said mr. waterman, as he strode over the stump. "bears like grubs, ants, and things of that kind, so you will often know that bears are around by noting stumps, hollow trees, etc., when they have clawed at them." the boys came over. bob looked at the stump and then down at the ground. "there's a track," said bob, as he pointed at a rather big print in the soft earth on the lower side of the stump. sure enough, they could plainly see the footprint of the bear. "will he come after us?" inquired pud, looking around rather anxiously, with his eyes resting finally on mr. waterman's rifle. "i'll answer your unasked question first," replied mr. waterman. "no, this gun would be worse than nothing for a bear. it would only wound him, and that would only make sure of an attack. as for your real question, there is not one chance in a hundred that the bear will come for us. the bears in this part of the country are well-known black bears and they have hardly ever been known to attack men unless wounded or backed into a corner. judging by the fact that i smelt this bear even before i noticed this stump, i would guess that we disturbed him and that as soon as he smelt us, away he went, and he's probably a mile away by this time." they then went on, and after a good climb they came out on the top of the mountain. mr. waterman first led them to the southern side. the slope fell quite abruptly to a little lake far below. "do you see the st. lawrence?" asked mr. waterman. "no. where?" asked bob. mr. waterman then pointed to the south, and about fifteen miles away they could see the broad st. lawrence stretching as far as the eye could reach. "i thought that was a cloud," said bill. "i see now that it is water, and away off there to the right i can see a big steamer making for quebec." mr. waterman then pointed out several lakes, giving them names and telling them that they would visit practically all of them before the summer was over. he told them that lac parent, on which they were camping, was hidden from view by the mountains next to the one on which they stood. it was a fine day and bill thought that he could distinguish the andirondack mountains far off to the south in the united states. mr. waterman stated that this might be true, as they had been seen from this vicinity on very clear days. after thoroughly enjoying the view to the south, mr. waterman turned away and they went in a northeasterly direction. in a little while they came to another side of the mountain. in a short time mr. waterman led them out onto a bold rocky precipice that stood out from the mountain. they looked down into a gulch hundreds of feet below. they gazed at an immense coliseum, the sides of which were lined with giant trees. it was the wildest bit of scenery that the boys had ever looked on. "that looks just like some of the mining camps in the rockies," said bob. "i've seen pictures of several that look just like this." "that's just what struck me when i first looked down from this rock," said mr. waterman. "it certainly does look as if there might be some kind of mineral down there. as yet, i have not been able to find time to go down to the bottom. those trees interest me. they are the finest i have ever seen. i can't see any lake down there, but there must be some outlet for the water." "why not come over here some time and go down there and investigate?" said bill. "we'll do that, and i'll bring you along. let's go down the gulch a bit so you can get a look at some of these great tamaracks and cedars. you won't see them any place else." they followed their leader, who gave them another hour of hard climbing, though he finally brought them out, half way down the mountain. "ye gods!" cried mr. waterman, as he looked at his watch. "it's after two o'clock. let's hurry, for mr. anderson will think that we are lost." suiting action to the word, he plowed along, and though the boys were not sure in what direction they were going, they soon came out on a lake. mr. waterman gave a cry, which was answered immediately, not far off. in another moment they saw mr. anderson putting off in a canoe. they all got in, though it brought the gunwale of the canoe down pretty close to the water. paddling carefully, they soon landed, to find a fire burning, several fish all ready cleaned and ready for the fire, and bread all ready buttered. "we forgot the frying pan," said pud. "how are we going to cook the fish?" "that's easy," said bob. "haven't you ever cooked fish on a stick over the fire?" "never," replied pud. "well, you have something to learn, then," said mr. anderson. "you'll find pointed sticks all ready, so get busy, as it's getting late and we must be on our way." the boys found the sticks all ready prepared, and it was not long before they were all sitting around the fire, eating fish with one hand and holding another trout over the fire with the other. the two men had often cooked fish this way and they did theirs to a turn, but the boys more often than not had theirs burned outside and half raw within. but their exercise had given them such appetites that the fish disappeared as if by magic. they stopped when there was no more bread nor fish. "you boys are some feeders," said mr. anderson. "i thought i had more fish than we could eat." "i'm just getting into action," said pud, as he licked off his fingers and looked around for more. but more there was not, so they got into their canoes and were off down the lake. when they came to the portage bob took the canoe and marched off into the bushes followed by mr. waterman carrying rod and gun. bill insisted on carrying the canoe back, and he did very well considering that it was his first experience. he also found the going down hill rather difficult, but he soon balanced the canoe properly and had no more trouble. when they got to the end of the trail they saw bob and mr. waterman just rounding the point for camp. they set out after them, but by the time they arrived, they found them already stripped and in the water. "come on in, the water's fine," yelled bob. "we'll be with you in a minute," said bill. on getting out of the canoe they found that the guides had already been busy with the landing. four logs had been split in two and were ready at the chosen place. mr. anderson carried the ducks to the cook tent and he came back to assure the boys that they were in for a rare treat for supper. "jack's back, and he said that he would see to this pot-pie himself." the boys turned at once to note the new guide. they found a rather old man, sharp of feature and eye but not very strong-looking. "i thought he was a big fellow," said bob. "oh, no," replied mr. waterman. "jack's not very big, but he can tote quite a load over the hardest kind of portage. he's a wonder with the axe, and he can cook like a french chef. you'll find that out to-night." after a fine swim and bath the boys were quite content to lie around their tents until they heard the welcome call to supper. "i feel as empty as a barrel," said pud, as he walked over to the table. "gee, i'm stiff. i won't be able to get out of my blankets to-morrow." "that just shows how soft you are," said bob. "i'm a little stiff myself, but not very much. the back of my neck is sore." "so is mine," said bill. "that's where you rest the canoe when portaging," said mr. anderson, who had heard the remark. "you'll get a real callous there before the summer is over. just for curiosity, feel pierre's neck some time. he has been at this all his life, and he has a regular muscle there." what those hungry fellows did to that pot-pie would be a shame to tell. it disappeared very quickly, while the biscuits that jack made tasted even better than those that mother used to bake. even the big dish of prunes that topped off the meal was relished. "take me to my little bed," said pud as, with a sigh, he saw the last prune disappear from his plate. "impossible, impossible," said bob. "i think after that meal that you'll have to go around and not dare to cross the bridge over the trout pond. you'll break through." "not an extra step," said pud. "in fact, i've been wondering for the last five minutes if i can get to my tent. i'm so stiff i can hardly move." it was indeed only with difficulty that pud could navigate, for he had put in a hard day for a fat boy. "if i survive the summer," said pud, with a twinkle in his eye, "just watch me tear that old line to pieces this fall. this life should put the stuff into anybody." "yes," said mr. waterman, as he winked at bob, "this was a rather easy day. later we'll do some real work and cover some ground. i wanted to break you in easily at first." "now, what do you think of that?" queried pud of bill, as they crossed the trout pond to their tent. "he says this is an easy day. i wonder what he thinks of doing when he gets real strenuous?" "i guess he was joking," replied bob. "personally, i think that we had just about all the exercise to-day that we need." "jack's some cook, isn't he?" queried bill, as they sat before the fire a short time later. "we're all agreed on that," said bob. "i never tasted a better supper than we had." "if we can get some duck and partridge now and then, we'll certainly live high," said pud. "i could get along with the trout alone, for i have never tasted anything better than that." "i was going over and make the guides tell me some of their experiences to-night," said bob. "to tell the truth, i'm tired, and i think i'll get to bed early. anyway, i think i'd better wait a while until i get back my french again. they talk pretty good french. it's a sort of dialect, but i can understand them pretty well. i am told that it is easier to understand their patois or dialect than many of the dialects in france itself." shortly after night had fallen the boys turned in, and they were soon fast asleep, all weary after their strenuous day. chapter v the short trail to escoumains they were awakened the next morning by a rifle shot. the boys, as if with one accord, rose up on their elbows and looked around with startled glances. "what was that?" asked bob. "a rifle shot," answered bill. their discussion was cut short by another shot, and they heard voices down at the lake. they hurried down to the water and they found mr. waterman and pierre there, the latter with a smoking gun in his hand. "it's a loon," said mr. waterman, as they came up. "let me have a try," he said, turning to pierre and reaching for the gun. pierre handed it over and mr. waterman scanned the waterfront closely. in about a minute, a big bird rose to the surface about one hundred yards away and looked around carelessly. "no use. too far away," said pierre. mr. waterman took careful aim and blazed away, but the loon disappeared and the bullet was seen to hit the water right where the bird had been the previous moment. it looked too fast to be true. the stories that the boys had heard of the wonderful quickness of loons were proven to them right then and there. "i'll get him next time," said mr. waterman, as he jumped in another shell. "that blame loon is crazy. he thinks i can't hit him." "he's right," said pierre. "i go help fix breakfast," said the indian, as he walked away. sure enough, in a short time up came the loon, and swam around apparently defying fate. once more mr. waterman took steady aim, but the result was just the same. "that beats the dutch," said mr. waterman. "i thought i had him that time." "what!" said mr. anderson, as he came up. "trying to hit that loon again. if you get that bird you lose anyway, for you've already shot off more lead than he's worth." "all right," said mr. waterman. "let's have a plunge before breakfast. we'll just have time." they all hurried back to their tents, and were still in the water when they heard jack's cheery halloo calling them to the table. they were hungry and enjoyed the fare set before them. "we'll have another fishing lesson to-day," said mr. waterman, after they had eaten. "i think you had better take it easy after yesterday's strenuousness, so we'll all start out together at ten o'clock and see which boy gets the most fish by twelve." this was agreed on, and until the hour set, the boys busied themselves around their tents, helped to clear up more of the beach or watched the guides as they worked on the landing. the latter was a very interesting operation. they had three logs cut in half. it was easy to cut the ends of the logs so that they rested on a short piece on the shore and on the top of two small pieces that were driven in at the right distance from the shore. the whole was kept together by wooden spikes driven into place through holes made by fire in the logs. when the first section was completed, it was as solid as possible, making a landing over two feet wide and nearly twenty feet long. the guides planned to put in another section of the same length, and they expected to have more trouble with it. this extra section was being put in more for swimming and diving purposes than for any real need. mr. waterman made such a remark to jack, who said that it would be just the thing for him when the rest of the party were away on trips. "i'll just get out on the end of that little landing and i'll bet you i get just about as many trout as the rest of you," said jack. "i wouldn't be surprised if you would, you old wizard," said mr. anderson. "i think you must have some special bait, for those trout just come to your hook like flies to honey." the boys paired off about ten o'clock, and when they came back shortly before one o'clock, it was found that bill had had the best luck, with bob next and pud last. bill had twenty-six fine trout in his bag, bob twenty-one and pud fifteen. jack looked them over as they brought them to him. "well, i guess we won't starve for another day or two anyway," he said. "i'm glad to see that you can catch enough fish to supply yourselves. a fisherman is no good at all until he can do that." "you don't need to be much of a fisherman to do that up here," said bob. "yes, fortunately, that's so," replied jack, as he went on with his work. several days sped on and it became necessary to go out to escoumains to get the letters and some more grub. mr. waterman made this known one evening, stating that he thought that he would go out through an old indian trail that had not been used for some years. "this trail is much shorter than by the road, and, if we can open it up, it will be a fine thing for us." "yes, and it will be a fine thing for the habitants at escoumains," said mr. anderson. "i hadn't thought of that," said mr. waterman reflectively. "if we get too good a road in here they will be coming in themselves and bringing their friends." "you bet they will," said jack. "we don't want that bunch in here, so keep to the old road." "it would be a good thing to know this old trail. it is so much shorter," said mr. waterman. "then if we had need for speed we could get out, or pierre's cousin could bring in any important mail to us." "i'll go out that way anyway, and we'll not make any real improvements to the trail," said mr. waterman. "do you want any one to go with you?" asked bob. "i don't need any one, but i'll be glad to have you if you want to come. that stands for all of you," added mr. waterman, as the other boys looked up. the next morning they were up very early. the three boys, mr. waterman and jean were going into the village. joe, jack and pierre were going along part of the way to bring back the canoes, for they were going to portage through two lakes on the way. as they were coming back by the road, they would not be able to get the canoes back themselves. after a hurried breakfast they got in their canoes. much to the surprise of the boys, mr. waterman led them down the lake, around the bend and then into a cove on the same side of the lake from which they had started. they got out at what was evidently a very old trail. this led up very steeply. fast time was made, as pierre and mr. waterman carried the canoes and the others were going light. up they went, and came to a lake that must have been at least one hundred feet higher than their own lake. "it would be easy to drain that lake into ours," said bob, when he saw the new stretch of water. "yes," said mr. anderson. "the lake is just like a big reservoir on a hill. it could easily be drained into lac parent, but it is so high up that no water would be left. let's leave it as it is, for it will serve us well this morning." they set off across the lake with mr. waterman, bob and jean in the first canoe. on they went with strong strokes, so that pierre and mr. anderson, with four in their canoe, had to work hard to keep them in sight. the lake was not very long, and soon they were on the trail again. this time the portage was at least a mile long, and it led down a gradual slope. so far there was no trouble following the trail and the party went ahead without a stop. once more the canoes were launched, and this time they paddled through two lakes connected by a small stream. at the far end of the second lake the canoes were beached and the party landed. here they separated. at first they had no trouble following the trail, which led along a brook that evidently drained the two lakes over which they had just come. straight ahead they went, with mr. waterman leading. after they had gone steadily a little over a mile, jean called to mr. waterman and a halt was made. jean jointed off into the woods and after a consultation mr. waterman concluded that the young indian was right, and they turned off. the trail soon became very hard to distinguish, but each time that mr. waterman hesitated, the indian went by him, leading the way without a halt. as they were passing through some thick undergrowth mr. waterman halted and pointed to a partridge seated on a limb on a nearby tree, only twelve or fifteen feet from the trail. the bird, evidently trusting to its protective coloring, sat on the limb without moving a muscle. mr. waterman had just begun to explain to the boys that the bird was undoubtedly trusting to its instinct in remaining in quiet when, with a flutter of the wings, down fell the partridge from the tree to be grabbed almost instantly by the indian. jean had noted the bird just as quickly as mr. waterman, but he had followed his natural bent by swiftly dodging off the trail, cutting a stout little club from a hardwood tree, rushing back to the trail and with unerring aim knocking over the partridge with his improvised weapon. the boys could see that mr. waterman was put out, but he evidently knew that the indian would not be able to see his point of view, so he said nothing. the indian, with a gleam in his eye, walked ahead, having tied the bird to his belt. the boys were all sorry that the partridge had met such an untimely end, but they could not help admiring the woodcraft shown by the young indian. the only other excitement they had on the way was furnished by pud. about half way to the village they came to a little stream that was rather deep. they looked about and at last found a big tree that had fallen across the stream. all of the party except pud walked across the log without any trouble. he got about half way across when he lost his balance. he felt himself going, so he threw himself on the log and encircled it with his arms and legs. his weight proved too much for the bark, which had been loosened by the water, and it began to come off. it moved around the trunk in a body and pud followed it. in spite of his efforts, he gradually disappeared in the dark water. he tried in vain to get up on the log, but he could not make it and finally had to pull his body along in the water until he got to the other side. pud's acrobatic performance had brought peals of laughter from bob and bill. even the indian had a smile on his face as pud got out of the water. "what are you laughing at?" asked pud, as he got ashore, evidently sore at the joke on him. "oh, nothing," said bob. "only you reminded me of a fat monkey on a stick." "i'll 'fat monkey' you, letting me drown without so much as putting out your hand," said pud. "letting you drown," said bill. "you fat porpoise, don't you know that you couldn't sink if you tried?" "i bet he was just trying to practice walking the greasy pole so he could show us how to do that stunt," said bob. "that old tree has all the greasy poles you ever saw beaten to death," said pud with disgust. "perhaps that was a slippery elm tree," said bill. "what do you say, pud? did you taste it?" "no, i didn't taste it. i'll give you both a taste if you don't stop standing there laughing like two old women," said pud, as he dashed for them. he was evidently up to mischief, so they ran up the trail. pud soon gave up the chase, and as they came out at a habitant's farm shortly afterwards, he forgot all about his troubles and regained his habitual cheerfulness. just before they started down a hill on the outskirts of escoumains, they all stopped to empty out their shoepacks. all of them had at one time or other gotten into some hole filled with water and all had wet feet. they wrung out their socks and then put on their footgear again. "holy smoke," said bill, "if mother saw me do that little stunt she would call me back home at once." "what's that?" asked mr. waterman, who had thought nothing of the matter. "why, wringing out my socks and then putting them on again," said bill. "mother would be sure that that would mean pneumonia at least." "don't worry," said mr. anderson. "before we get home you will probably have your feet quite dry again and then much wetter. a little water will not do any one any harm when one is living out in the open air this way. of course, in the winter time, it would be different. then it would be serious to get one's feet so wet." "why so?" asked pud. "because then, wet feet unless one can get to the fire right away, generally mean frosted or frozen feet, and that always means trouble in the woods in the winter time." down they all trooped to escoumains. they stopped in at madame lablanche's boarding house to let her know that they would be there for lunch. "make us up some of those good biscuits of yours," said mr. waterman to her in french. she promised to do so and also said that her son would be ready at one o'clock to drive them all back to the woods. "are we going to drive back?" asked bob. "yes," said mr. anderson. "we'll take in quite a supply of grub, for we do not expect to come out except for mail for at least a month. we'll have to go in via the ford, as we did the first time, and you know that that is some sixteen miles away." the boys all received letters and busied themselves reading them and writing others. they spent the morning very pleasantly and were at the boarding house in good time. they presented quite a different appearance from the trim young city fellows that had eaten there on their arrival such a short time before. now they were clothed for the woods, with blue shirts, mackinaws, heavy trousers and shoe packs. at a distance, one could hardly distinguish them from the numerous woodsmen that were to be seen around the village. they brought back from the woods great appetites, and the famous lablanche biscuits disappeared by the plateful. chicken was once more the center of the meal, and it was thoroughly enjoyed. "thank heaven," said pud, as they got up from the table, "we don't have to walk back. i'm so full i couldn't walk if i tried." "you'll do some walking," said mr. waterman. "we have only one pair of horses and a wagon. we'll all walk on the hills." soon they were off, mr. waterman and mr. anderson on the front seat with the driver, and the boys seated on the bags that were stowed behind. the little canadian horses set off at a sharp trot. the boys nodded at every one they met as they went through the village, not forgetting even the vivacious, petite, dark-haired and dark-eyed french canadian misses that did not fail to come to many of the windows or doors as the wagon rattled by. it was a fine day and they were happy as the gods. they laughed and talked and sang and asked innumerable questions. their two leaders were also full of good spirits and gave them all the information they had. for the first five miles the horses went along famously. then the roads got poorer and the pace slackened. they soon struck a steep hill and they all got out except the driver. at the top of the hill, the wagon stopped and all got on but pud. he was slow as usual so the driver made believe that his horses had run away and pud ran along after them for nearly a mile. finally the horses were stopped and pud at last came up puffing, blowing and sweating. mr. waterman had cautioned every one to be quite serious and not give the joke away. "sacre," said the driver. "dese horse, he not get drive enough. he run away." "how's the running, pud?" asked bill. "never you mind. just let me in. i'm done out. i'm no runner like bob there," replied pud. "possibly your life was saved for when these horses ran away, we could hardly keep on this load," said bob, as he winked at mr. anderson. "yes, if you're born to be hanged you'll never get killed in a runaway, pud," said bill solemnly. "what's that?" said pud, who was having too much cleverness thrust at him to take it all in. away they went, and as the way was down hill, the driver once more gave the reins to his little horses and they started so fast that pud nearly went out over the back of the wagon. bill caught him and pud held on like grim death as the wagon bumped and rattled along the rough road. bill and bob laughed until they could hardly hold on themselves, for pud's face was a study. he knew that they had put something over on him but he could not exactly figure it out. in spite of the speed shown by the horses in the runaway, it was already four o'clock when they reached the ford. the driver drove right in and when he got to the other side he drove up such a steep part of the bank with such a rush that he spilled out not only the three boys but also about half his load. no one was hurt and the grub was soon on the wagon again. he drove for at least half a mile until the road could be followed no longer. the food was then dumped out on the ground, and with cheery good-by the driver was soon out of sight on the back trail. "let's get busy right away," said mr. waterman. "we want to get to camp to-night so we'll have to hustle." "i wonder where pierre, joe and jack are," said mr. anderson. "they'll be along right away, i'll bet," said mr. waterman. sure enough, before the boys had been loaded for the walk to the first lake, the three men hove in sight. it was really wonderful to see what they piled on each other. it is enough to tell, that when all were loaded down, they had taken care of everything that had been brought in the wagon. "when we get to the canoes, we can make this stuff more easily handled," said jack. "i did not think you were going to bring too much but i brought along some dunnage bags and tump lines." "that's the stuff," said mr. waterman. they moved off indian file, and though the boys carried only half that borne by the guides and their leaders, they had difficulty in keeping up with the procession. they soon came to the first lake to find three canoes there. in twenty minutes, the baggage was put into the dunnage bags and they were off across the lake. the boys were given a light bag and a canoe to carry and the men carried the rest. in this way, they soon got to the next lake, and a short time later they were on their own lake, making for their camp. "just carry everything over to the cook tent and leave it there for the present," said mr. waterman. "jack will put things in order to-morrow." this was done, and the guides at once set to work to get supper. it was a hurried meal but it was relished by all. the night had set in by the time the meal was cooked and they ate by the light of the fire, which was kept brightly going by one of the guides. bob thought as he looked at the lights and shades cast by the fire, the ruddy face here, the countenance half in shadow there, the greenness of the leaves that were lighted up by the fire, the solemn avenues of the trees stretching back into the woods, the animated movements of the guides and the whiteness of the tents as the light on them came and went, that he had never seen anything quite so close to nature, quite so picturesque. chapter vi pierre's bear story the boys slept a little later the next morning, though when they did get up it was evident that jack had been long busy. the entire stock of grub gotten the day before had been put away neatly and carefully and the dunnage bags and tump lines were piled in a heap at one end of the table. they spent the day quietly, fishing, swimming and fixing up things around the camp. they had an early supper and were down by their fire talking and joking. the guides were soon up in their tent, talking and showing much more life than usual. this gave bob an idea, and he proposed that they would go and visit the guides. this seemed good to all and they went over to the guides' tent. they were welcomed solemnly and quietly. it was evident that they considered their tent as their part of the camp. for the time being, they were the hosts and they were evidently flattered by the visit from the boys. jack soon had the attention of pud and bill and it was with a merry twinkle in his eye that he told of many incidents in his life either in hunting or in the lumber camps. bob being the only boy to understand french was soon in animated discussion with joe and pierre. the indian under the questioning of the boy forsook his usual taciturnity, and in the most casual way told bob of exploits in hunting and fishing that would make most interesting reading. to the indian, they were events likely to happen to any one that goes out in the dead of winter to trap and hunt. bob was a most interested listener and it was not until he had been called to twice by bill that he awoke to the fact that it was nearly ten o'clock. "mr. waterman says that we had better not keep the guides up too long or they will not want to be visited again," said bill. "i didn't think we had been here so long," replied bob. they said "good night" to the guides and were soon fast asleep. the next day was another quiet one. the boys fished in the morning and they had very good luck. it was a good day for fishing and but few of the speckled beauties got away from the boys, who were becoming more expert every day. even pud had caught the hang of casting and promised to be the best fisherman of the lot. in the afternoon, bob proposed another visit to the mountain opposite, the same one where they had so nearly come to grief before. "go ahead," said mr. anderson, "but for your own sake, be careful." "we'll promise not to get into trouble," said pud. "we just need a little exercise and that climb will about fill the bill." they started off and in a short time mr. waterman and mr. anderson, who were busy down on the water front putting the finishing touches to the landing place, saw them seated in the lee of a big rock looking out over the country. there they sat and for nearly two hours they could be seen with heads close together, evidently very much interested in their conversation. the fact of the matter was that pud and bill had asked bob to tell them what the guides had told him the previous evening. as they sat up on the mountain, they looked far off to the south and saw the mighty st. lawrence dividing the country as if with a giant silver knife. "the indians have had lots of experiences up north of here, hunting and trapping in the winter time," bob began. "what did pierre tell you?" asked pud. "has he ever scalped any one?" "you big dub," said bill. "indians don't go on scalping expeditions any more." "well, i thought that maybe some other indian tribe might have tried to attack them," said pud. "don't be foolish," said bob. "there are few indians up in this country and i guess from what pierre tells me that they have enough troubles fighting for their lives against the forces of nature to keep them from thinking of fighting one another. in addition, the canadian government would soon put a stop to that. anyway, these indians are just as peace loving as any white man." "i suppose you're right," said pud. "all the same, i like to think of an indian with tomahawk in hand having a fierce fight for his life with some other indians or with the pale faces." "you've been brought up on nick carter," laughed bill. "get that foolish rot out of your mind. indians are just ordinary human beings and that is all." "i don't know about that," said pud. "that young jean is some boy for his age. he can follow a trail just like the indians we read of, and he knows all about the woods, animals, birds and all that. he's certainly like the indians we read of in history." "yes," said bob. "jean is a fine specimen. he has all the good points of our ancestors, the real aborigines, without their failings." "but what about pierre? you were talking a long time with him, bob," said bill. "what was so interesting?" "he was telling me of his winter hunting trips and he has had some thrilling experiences. he says that every year he gets ready just as soon as the snow flies in the fall. this generally means about the middle of november in this country. as soon as the earth is blanketed with snow, he gets his dogs and sleds ready and starts out with provisions to last for three months. since his boy has grown up he takes him with him. sometimes they make up a small party of three or four. it is always better to have two or three companions because pierre says that it is not well to go alone into this wild, lonely region, for then a simple accident might mean death. he told me of several incidents where his life was in danger and only his quickness and presence of mind saved his life. "once, early in the spring, he had stayed too long in the woods. the trapping had been good and he had hated to leave while the skins were heaping up. at last a real thaw came and he had to start for escoumains. he was about sixty miles north of here, he said, and he rushed along with his dogs wallowing in the snow at every step. when he came to the port neuf river, he found the ice just ready to go out. as he got in the middle of the river, it started to break up. he feverishly drove ahead and though he lost part of his load, he got to the other side. his son was not so fortunate, for on looking back, he saw him on a big ice float that had become separated from the shore. he yelled to jean, who was then only fifteen years of age, and directed him what to do. the ice suddenly began to break up, and he followed his son down the river nearly a mile before he could get to land, and then he was on the wrong side of the river. "signing to him to stay where he was, pierre had to retrace his steps to get his dogs and sleigh. he found them nearly frozen to death, for with the going down of the sun, it began to get very cold. he at last roused them and started down the river. he could see the water steadily rising and knew that it would be only a short time until he would have to get back to higher ground. by hurrying, he reached a point opposite to where jean was. he yelled across and his cry was answered. he then started down the river, hoping that in some place the ice would still be holding. after going about two miles, the river narrowed and the ice had piled up into a jam. it was threshing around, munching and crunching like some giant monster. he stopped there and waited for the moon to rise. "the night had become cold and the fore part of the jam seemed frozen into a solid mass. he determined to risk a crossing. strapping everything tightly on the sleigh, he called to the dogs. they were frightened and he had to lick them to get them started. four or five times on the way across he thought they were lost, but they finally got to the other side. everything was drenched and he found himself in great danger of freezing to death, and he found jean in almost as bad shape. their first care was to find some rising ground. after slipping into several pools of icy water, they at last got to a small hill. with frost-bitten fingers and frozen feet, they both were almost helpless. by exercising the greatest determination, they at last succeeded in making a fire and they gradually warmed themselves. "so far, their experience had been very disheartening. they had lost one load of furs, together with the sled and the dogs. in addition, two of pierre's five dogs died before morning from their exposure to the icy waters. the next morning, they found themselves marooned on their little hill. the jam could be seen still holding and the waters had been backed up far over the banks. there was nothing to do except to wait for the jam to break. this it did that afternoon and the waters went out with a mighty roar, no doubt carrying devastation down through the valley. this made it possible for them to leave their refuge, but they did not dare do so at once for the thaw had continued all that day and it would have been impossible for the dogs to make any headway. "after careful deliberation, the father and son determined to make their way if possible down the river about twelve miles to an old lumber camp. they started about midnight to take advantage of the frost that had put a hard surface on the snow. the dogs went along finely for they were not too heavy for the crust on the snow. time after time, the two men broke through, frequently going up to their hips in water. they kept going and by dawn they had covered about half the distance. they again sought a hillock and once more thawed out their frosted hands and feet. both suffered intensely because of the hardships they had undergone. they again started a fire going and got a little sleep for the first time in two days. "they repeated their previous night's experience again and at last arrived at the lumber camp. their troubles were then nearly over for they found a canoe there. this they determined to confiscate as they had but few provisions since most of their supplies had been lost on the sled that had gone under the ice. they rested up a whole day and then as the ice had practically all gone down the river, they set out. the river was very high and they came near swamping on several occasions but at last they came to the mouth of the river and reached their friends safely. pierre stated that he lost two toes through the frost on that adventure. he said that it taught him a lesson for if he had not been so greedy for pelts and had come out when he knew he ought to, he would have had no trouble." "that was an ugly experience," said bill. "i guess it gets pretty cold up here in the winter time." "yes, pierre says that it often gets to forty below zero," replied bob. "he says that in such weather, he wears three suits and then can keep warm only by sticking close to the fire or by continual motion when outside." "three suits! and i think that one heavy suit is a little too much at times. but did pierre tell you any more of his experiences?" inquired pud. "yes," said bob. "he told me a great bear story, but it's getting late now, so don't you think i better tell you that to-night after supper? if we go back to camp now, we can have a swim before supper." "sure, that's a go," said bill. the boys were soon back in camp, and seen splashing around in the cool water. so after supper they sat around the fire that evening filled with the real and lasting content that comes only from living close to nature. "what were you young fellows so interested in this afternoon over on the mountain?" asked mr. anderson, interrupting the peaceful silence. "i saw you up there, for the longest time with your heads together as if you were plotting the destruction of the world." "far from that. bob was telling us some of the experiences that pierre has had in his winter hunting," replied bill. "pierre has certainly had some interesting experiences. it is rarely that one can get him to talk, but when he does he always has something worth telling," said mr. anderson. "yes, and he relates incidents of the most desperate character in that same colorless tone, just as if they were the most ordinary routine," said mr. waterman. "say, bob, tell us the bear story you promised?" demanded pud. "let's get pierre to tell it himself," suggested bob. "that would be all right for you, but you forget that we do not understand french," said bill. "i forgot about that. he's a clever indian for he talks two languages quite well and can make himself understood in english," said bob. "what two languages can he talk?" asked pud. "he speaks the montagnais language," replied mr. waterman. "he is a montagnais indian of the very same stock as was seen by jacques cartier when he first landed at tadousac when he was going up the st. lawrence river hoping to discover a new route to china." "well, tell us the bear story anyway," said mr. anderson. "we want to hear it." scenting a good tale, they all moved closer to the fire, and bob began. "pierre says that this experience with the bear happened in the late spring. he had been back from his winter's hunting about a month and the spring had opened up very finely. one day, the call to nature was too insistent. he got out his gun, told his wife to tell mr. macpherson at the store that he would not be down to the big saw mill to work for a few days, and he started back into the country. the rivers were rather swollen then, the woods were wet and damp, but there was the rush of life in the trees and in the very air itself. pierre swung along with jean by his side, his heart full of happiness. he had had a good winter's hunt and his wife had money for everything necessary. but more than anything else he wanted the golden sunshine, the ripple of the waters in the stream, the curved body of the salmon as they darted out of the water in their eagerness to get up the streams. he told his boy that though they had come out for game, he really just wanted to be in the woods when the buds were coming out and when he could feel the sap driving up from the ground into the furthest shoots of the bushes and trees. jean's face was just as bright as his own and he raised his head and sniffed the air as if in answer to the voice of spring that reigned everywhere. "back they went along the wood road. they stopped for lunch at the foot of a riffle where they very soon caught all the trout they wished to find. they made their whole lunch on the fish, using only a little salt to make it palatable; a simple fare but really good enough for a king. on they went after lunch and they were lucky enough to bag four partridges as they went along. early in the afternoon, they came to an old lumber camp and they decided to stay there for the night. it can well be imagined that though pierre and his son said little to each other, they were enjoying themselves just like two boys playing hookey from school. they had spent the winter in the freedom and wildness of the woods and a month of the dreary grind in the saw mill had made them as restive as colts. "they made a fine supper off the partridges and were up early the next morning. the remains of the partridges and some freshly caught trout set them on their way again with well filled stomachs and happy hearts. they had not gone far before pierre stopped dead. 'i smell bear,' said he to jean. 'big black one,' said jean, as he looked around. how he had known that it was big and black will remain one of the mysteries that distinguish the real indian from his woodland imitators. they looked around and sure enough they had not gone far before they saw an old hollow tree that had been scratched and torn by the bear's big claws in his eagerness to get the grubs that no doubt were living among the rotting wood. they followed the bear's tracks. jean in his eagerness went ahead and the father watched his boy with pride as he followed the indistinct tracks with swiftness and sureness. finally the bear led them up one of the numerous mountains that are a feature of this country, as you know. soon the tracks could be followed only with the greatest difficulty. pierre was soon in the van and about noon he stopped dead and pointed off about half a mile where they saw the bear himself busy tearing away at another rotting tree. "as they were somewhat to the windward side of the bear, they turned off and went down the valley. an hour's swift walking and climbing brought them out on the ridge on which they had seen the bear. jean in his eagerness had gone ahead again. just as they rounded a point of rock, the bear rose up almost on top of jean. he had only a small caliber rifle, but he gave it to the bear at once. the bullet cut a hole in the beast's shoulder and with a growl of rage he rushed at the boy. jean gave him another, but it only seemed to enrage the bear the more, for he plunged right on and threw jean back with a mighty thrust. "in the meantime, pierre was in terror, not for himself but for jean. on the rather narrow ledge, he found his boy right in line with the bear and he did not dare shoot for fear of killing him. when the bullets from the small rifle failed to stop the rush of the wounded bear, pierre rushed forward, and as the bear thrust jean back, he stepped over the body of the boy, gave him a bullet from his rifle point blank and throwing away his gun, he plunged his hunting knife into the bear with all his might just as the monster flung him off as though he were a plaything. "pierre says that about ten or twenty minutes later, perhaps half an hour, he awoke to consciousness and started up on one elbow half dazed. he felt that he had just narrowly escaped death, but for a moment he could not just remember what had happened. then the whole thing rushed back to his mind and he got unsteadily to his feet. he found that he had a bad scalp wound and a big bump on the back of his head which he had hit on falling. when he got his dazed eyes to seeing properly, he was at first horror-struck, for the bear lay half over his jean. the latter was lying on his back with his breast laid bare by the cruel claws of the bear, deathly pale and to all appearances dead. one look at the bear showed pierre that it was dead. he hauled it with difficulty off his boy's legs and then felt his heart. "at first, he could distinguish no movement and he was almost overcome by grief, but a slight heart movement galvanized him into action. he at once looked around and seeing a spring a short distance away, he ran, and filling his coonskin cap with water he was back by the side of the boy in a moment. signs of life finally returned and jean was soon looking around trying with glazed eyes to come back from the happy hunting grounds to which his soul had just paid such a fleeting visit. in a short time, father and son were fully back to consciousness but it was only after a night spent right there that they felt like real live men again. "jean had a very ugly slash across his chest and the father felt sure that at least two of his ribs had been broken by the savage blow the bear had dealt him. though pretty sore himself, he felt fairly well, though his scalp wound left no doubt that he had come near to death. they camped there that day enjoying the bear steaks and getting off the skin. in fact, it was not until two days later, that they set out on the back trail. then, though they presented a rather dilapidated appearance, they managed to carry off the skin of the bear and the best portions of the meat. jean with his broken ribs went light and then had trouble in following his sturdy father, who thought very little of having tackled a bear with his hunting knife. pierre told me," concluded bob, "that he found that the death stroke given the bear was dealt by his hunting knife just as the bear closed in on him." "what a narrow escape! and i guess they think such events are commonplace. let's go up to their tents and ask them to show us the scars," said pud. "don't you believe pierre, then?" asked mr. anderson. "sure," said pud, "but i would like to see the scars. it would make the whole story more real." thereupon the boys went up to the tent and bob talked to pierre in french. pierre then pulled back the hair and showed the boys a white scar across his head and jean showed them a ragged scar that made pud's flesh creep. "gee," said pud, "that bear must have given jean some rip. ask pierre how he got that wound to heal." bob did so and pierre explained that he put some healing herbs on the wounds and that they got well very quickly. "de rib, she no get well queeck," said pierre, turning to pud. "she vera sore, some long time." "you two certainly had a narrow escape," said mr. anderson, as the whole party, admiring the wonderful bravery and courage of these indians, said good-night. "i wonder if any such thing as that would happen to us?" asked bill. "maybe," said mr. waterman aloud, but to mr. anderson, "in their sleep i guess." by this time the boys were ready for bed and they were soon lying snugly in their sleeping bags, no doubt dreaming of bears and what they would do if they saw a big black bear come rushing down on them when they were on a narrow ledge. some such dream was surely surging through the brains of pud and bill, for bob was awakened by an awful racket and nearly smothered to death by feeling two heavy bodies plunk down on him. "hey, there, get up!" yelled bob. it seemed that pud and bill had dreamt of the bear. bill in his dream jumped up just as the dream bear was rushing on him, and fell on pud just as pud in his dream was set grimly to await the onset of the monster. bill, though half awake, was sure the bear had him, and pud was just as sure when bill grabbed him that he was in the clutches of a mighty black bear. they threshed around a moment and did not really wake up until they fell on bob and nearly smothered him. bob had been too sleepy to dream of bears, but he got up very quickly. after a hearty laugh at their vivid dreams, the boys got into their blankets again and were not disturbed until morning. chapter vii bob's clue a week quickly sped with short trips here and there--a restful week for them all, yet a week in which the boys learned more fully the woodman's ways. for one thing they were becoming expert fishers and rapidly improving in portaging. even the two older men noticed how the boys were so quickly becoming adapted to the rough life. "i think you boys are getting into good enough shape to warrant a week's trip away from the home camp," said mr. waterman one morning. "i'm game," said bill. "so am i," said bob and pud together. "good! why not go down then and climb that mountain from which one can see so many lakes?" queried mr. anderson. "all right. that would be a beautiful trip," said mr. waterman. "that sounds fine," said the three boys. a half hour later, they were off in two canoes, and they paddled down to the far end of the lake. "stick together, fellows," said mr. waterman. "we are going by the compass and there won't be any trail. it's the easiest thing in the world to get lost here and i can tell you that it's the hardest thing in all creation to find your way back again, for all these mountains look alike." "i've noticed that," said pud, as they all got out of their canoes. the party swung off and made their way through the woods skirting the lower part of the mountain. at last, mr. waterman began to climb and the boys soon found that this was quite some mountain they were on. it went up interminably. on they plodded and at last they came to a very steep part just before reaching the summit. mr. waterman led the way. in a short time, they were climbing straight up the side of the rocks. it was hard and exciting work and more than once, mr. waterman turned and looked around carefully. "can we make it here?" asked mr. anderson in his quiet tones. "i think so," replied mr. waterman. "i thought that this was the place we came up last summer but evidently it isn't." up they climbed. "that old mont blanc hasn't anything on this for steepness," said bob as they stopped for rest. "i think i can see the top now," said mr. waterman. "we either have to go on or go back to where we started up. i think that we can make it, but be careful." by this time, they were climbing almost perpendicularly up the cliff. there was no trail and they wound back and forth and at times had to help each other up from rock to rock. as they neared the top, the rocks became more brittle and it was necessary to try the rocks above before trusting their weight to them. once when they strung out down the mountain for a hundred feet or more, mr. waterman, who was leading, broke off a big rock just as he reached a higher altitude. he shouted and every one below ducked. it went right over mr. anderson's head and crashed down the side of the mountain. "steady, steady," said mr. anderson. "don't kick up such a fuss." "that was a close call both for you and me," said mr. waterman. once again before they reached the top they started rocks down the mountain side but no one was hurt. at last they reached the top and the view they had more than repaid them for their exertions. this point was the highest elevation in that part of the country and they could see for many miles the cool, green, yet solemn-looking forests; the many lakes which reflected the clear blue sapphire sky, speckled with fleecy white clouds. they counted over thirty lakes. after enjoying the beauties of the view, they started down again. "we'll go down the natural slope of the mountain and then work back around the bottom to our lake," said mr. waterman. "then you can't heave any more rocks at us," laughed pud. they walked on for at least an hour and at last mr. waterman said: "we are now in our own valley. the small stream at the bottom of this mountain runs from our lake so if any of you should get lost, just follow the stream and you'll come out all right." this proved very good advice for after a half hour's walk, pud fell behind and before bob knew it, the others were lost ahead. they yelled but there was no reply. "let's take a short cut," said pud. "how's that?" asked bob. "we'll go down the mountain and then follow that stream as mr. waterman told us to." "all right," said bob. down they started and they soon came to the stream. they then had an argument as to whether mr. waterman had said that the stream emptied into their lake or ran from it. at last bob said, "i remember distinctly that mr. waterman said that this stream runs out of our lake so i'm going this way." "all right," said pud. "i know you're wrong, but if i don't go with you, you'll get lost for good, so lead the way." the undergrowth near the stream was rank, as might be expected, and the boys made slow progress. after about an hour's walk they stopped, as they felt sure they should have been at the lake. "we should have been there long ago," said pud. "i think we ought to be there soon," said bob. "we'll never get there going this way," said pud. "this is the right way all right for i noticed that we went generally in an easterly direction coming here and we have been going west for some time. let's hustle on." they did so and neither spoke a word for some time. at last they both paused, startled, for they heard a crashing in the bushes up the stream. they darted into the woods as quietly as they could and looked out. the crashing continued and came their way. finally, as they looked out they saw that it was a man and they both gave a shout. this was answered at once by mr. anderson's cheery voice. pud's short cut had proved a very long way home. bill and the two leaders had gone around the foot of the mountain and had saved a long distance in that way. after reaching the lake they had waited there for some time and at last mr. anderson, remembering the instructions that mr. waterman had given, had started down the stream to find them. he said that they did not have a very long distance to go. mr. anderson's appearance had acted like a tonic and the boys followed him eagerly. they soon heard voices and in a moment more they saw mr. waterman and bill sitting on a big log by the shore of the lake right near where the stream ran from the lake. bill kidded bob and pud about getting lost. "i didn't get lost," replied bob. "pud thought that by going down into the valley and then up the stream that we would beat you here." "it was much longer," said mr. waterman. "we merely skirted the edge of the mountain and came here almost directly." "it's a good thing that bob was with me," said pud. "how so?" asked mr. anderson. "i got mixed up when i got to the stream and i wanted to go down the stream instead of up," replied pud. "well, why didn't you then?" asked bill. "bob was sure we had to go up stream and he insisted on going in that direction," admitted pud. "you have to use your old bean up here," said bill. "when in doubt, pud, leave it to bob. he's full of gray matter whereas--" "don't 'whereas' any more, bill, or i'll give you a ducking," said pud, as he cornered bill so that if he rushed him, he would have to go out into the lake. "all right, all right," said bill. "i'll keep my further remarks about beans, mentality, cerebellum, etc., until we're ready for the swim." "you'd better," said pud strongly. they all then got into their canoes and got back to camp to find there an air of mystery that was noted at once by their leaders and shortly later by the boys. joe got mr. waterman aside right away and what he had to say made him look very serious. just then jack came up and mr. waterman listened to him very carefully. mr. anderson was called over and the boys saw the four of them talking very seriously together. "i wonder what's up," said bob. "something has gone wrong but i don't see anything the matter with the camp, do you?" "not a thing," replied bill. pud looked around in his easy-going fashion, just as if nothing could disturb him anyway. mr. anderson and mr. waterman did not offer any explanation when they came back to the boys and they soon were in the water having a fine swim. later on they found that in some mysterious way a bag of flour, a fitch of bacon, a small bag of salt, and a few other small articles had been taken from the cook tent. mr. waterman felt sure that he could rely on the honesty of his guides and he was greatly mystified. "it beats me," said mr. waterman. "if an indian or a stray fisherman really needed grub, he would know that we would be perfectly willing to help him out. no one ever refuses hospitality in the woods." "i can't make it out either," said mr. anderson. "perhaps it was a bear," said pud with one of his great inspirations. "why to be sure," said bill. "these bears up here have regular pouches like the australian kangaroo and i'll bet if we could see mother bear just now she'd be waddling up some rocky place, her pouch filled with flour, bacon, salt and other dainties for the little cubbies." everybody laughed at this but no one had any further suggestion. "i really can't figure it out," said mr. waterman, more seriously. "the worst of it is that this is not the first time this has happened. we have said nothing about it but the same thing happened about ten days ago. then we scoured the camp and could not find a trace of the thief. jack tells me that the four of them have been all over the lake to every trail and that they have seen nothing." "let's organize a real hunt after lunch," said bob eagerly. "that's just what i was thinking of doing," replied mr. waterman. everything was hurried through. bob and pud forgot the weariness they had felt while lost that morning. four different parties hurried away after they had eaten. bob and mr. waterman went together and they made for the trail that led up north. "i figure it out," said mr. waterman, "that whoever it is that has been at our cook tent came from the north." "how so?" asked bob. "well, it isn't far to escoumains and any one in real trouble would find food there. it's probably some stray indian who is afraid of being arrested for some crime if he goes back to the settlements. i can't figure out anything else." "did you bring a gun along?" asked bob rather anxiously. "no," said mr. waterman. "we won't need any gun if we catch up with this fellow. but first of all let us get some trace of him." they soon reached the beginning of the portage. they got out and searched carefully. they saw tracks, to be sure, for they had been over there just a few days before. no new tracks were to be seen. at last, mr. waterman picked up the canoe and said, "let's go on over the divide. keep your eye peeled for recent marks. if he came over here with a canoe, he will probably slip or slide some place. look for his tracks at the sides of the trail." they went along at a slow pace. more than once mr. waterman stopped and set down the canoe, only to pick it up a moment later and go on along the trail. just after they had reached the top of the divide in a very steep place, bob noticed a place near the side of the trail that was trampled down. mr. waterman set down the canoe and came back. after carefully looking at the bushes, he said, "i think that you're right, bob. he evidently got off his balance here and not wishing to make a bad slide on the trail, has stepped off in the bushes." "it looks to me as if he had tried to cover this up too," said bob. "look at this small branch. it was bent right over and evidently some one has tried to straighten it out." mr. waterman bent over and exclaimed, "you're right, bob. this is the way he came." the two then went on, but though they watched very carefully, they could not find a single further trace of the man they were seeking. they soon came to the little lake they had been on before. mr. waterman led the way and they got out at the further end as if both had agreed that the fugitive was heading for the north and would take this course. "now if we can get another trace of this son-of-a-gun on this portage, i'll bet some money that i know where he is staying," said mr. waterman. this time bob carried the canoe and mr. waterman went ahead. it was not until they had come almost to the next lake that mr. waterman noticed a tree from which a piece of bark had been chipped off. "that's funny," said he. "what's funny?" asked bob, who looked all around but could note nothing out of the way. "that tree," replied mr. waterman. "that piece of bark was knocked off by something out of the ordinary." "maybe he bumped into it with his canoe," replied bob. "hardly," replied mr. waterman. "a real woodsman does not bump his canoe into trees and other things along the trail. he avoids them by instinct." "that is probably true," said bob, "but the only time he could steal those things from camp would be at night, and he might hit a tree then." "you're right," said mr. waterman. once more they emerged at a lake. this one was fairly large. they paddled slowly around it but could see no sign of a trail except the one at the far end. this was a long trail over a low divide and mr. waterman did not seem to want to start on it. "i don't want to set out on this trail because it is about five miles long and we could not get home to-night. anyway, i have a hunch that this fellow has piked off to the north. it's the easiest thing in the world to cover up a trail. let's go around this north end of the lake again." they did so but without any success. "i guess we're stumped," said bob. "not on your life," replied mr. waterman. "that hunch of mine grows more insistent every minute. i tell you what i'll do. let me out here. i'll tramp around this north shore and if he has any hidden trail, i'll probably cross it sooner or later." bob paddled to the shore of the lake and mr. waterman got out. bob then paddled slowly along the shore. he expecting to keep in touch with mr. waterman by the noise he would make as he broke through the bushes. but not so. mr. waterman had been schooled for many years by the indians and he had many of their accomplishments. one of these was his ability to move through the woods with very little noise. the consequence was that the leafy background of the little lake swallowed up mr. waterman and not a sound was heard. the stillness seemed oppressive to bob as he slowly paddled to the other end of the lake. he had been there some time when he was startled by hearing mr. waterman say in his usual calm tones, "i've found it. my hunch was working properly." "let's follow it right away," said bob eagerly. "no," was the reply. "it will keep. we have just time to get back to camp for a late supper. i'll take pierre and jack to-morrow and we'll ferret out this matter." "can't i go along too?" asked bob. "no, i think that it would be best for just the three of us to go," replied mr. waterman. "i hope you change your mind about that," said bob. "i really think that i might be of some use. i hardly like to ask you to remember that i was the first to notice his tracks on the portage." "you're too modest, bob," replied mr. waterman. "you certainly have sharp eyes and know how to use them. i'll think it over and if possible i'll take you with me. i am afraid that there may be some trouble and, of course, i don't want to have anything happen to you." "i'm part irish," said bob. "what's that?" asked mr. waterman. "i said that i was part irish and you know that a real irishman always likes to be along when there's likely to be trouble." "you're part irish all right," said mr. waterman. "i think you've kissed the blarney stone some time." "that i did," replied bob, merrily. "i can remember my father holding me down from the tower by my heels to kiss the stone. if there's any virtue in having kissed the famous stone, i ought to have my share, for i skinned both my knee and my nose in doing the stunt." "i didn't know that you had ever been in ireland," said mr. waterman. "oh, yes, my father took me there one summer when i was a little fellow," replied bob, innocent enough. in the meantime they had reached the head of the lake. mr. waterman made off at once with the canoe as he said that they would be late for supper if they didn't hurry. he kept bob hustling to keep up with him, stopping only once on the way. that was on the last portage when they came to the spot where bob had noted the trampled bushes. mr. waterman looked very carefully at the marks and went on apparently satisfied. "what did you notice this time that you didn't observe before?" asked bob. "not very much," replied mr. waterman, "but enough to convince me that there was only one person over the trail." "well, if that's the case," said bob, "surely there won't be much danger in my going with you to-morrow." "why not? there might be four or five in this party for all we know," answered mr. waterman. "that's so," said bob. "i'm inclined to take you along for you have very good sense about most things, i notice," said mr. waterman, half to himself. bob blushed up to the ears at hearing this praise from his leader. "i'm sure, i'll try to be useful if you take me along," said bob. they were soon down on the shore of their own lake and they could hear the shouts of bill and pud as they wallowed in the water. "the rest of them are back," said mr. waterman. "i wonder if pud found any traces of his bear thief," laughed bob. as they came to the landing, the guides ran down eager to hear the news. "we found his trail," said mr. waterman. "get the guns ready, pierre and jack, and we'll go after the son-of-a-gun to-morrow." "did you see him?" asked jack. "no," said mr. waterman. "we just picked up his trail. i think i know where he is, but you had better put together enough grub to last us a week, for we don't know where he may be." "all right," replied jack. "we'll be ready." bob had to tell his various experiences to the boys, who listened with bated breath. on their part they had little to relate. they had gone out to the trails agreed on but could find no trace whatever of any stranger. they had arrived only a short time before bob had shown up. "ye gods, but i'm hungry," sighed pud. "you haven't anything on me," said bob. "that mr. waterman is some 'moose.' he tears along like a steam engine and never seems to get tired." "i noticed that the other day," said pud. "he had me puffing and blowing going up that mountain and he was breathing like a sleeping child." just then, tang! tang! tang! tang! went the stick against the wash pan in jack's hands and the boys made a rush for the table. they did more than justice to the great bill of fare prepared for them by jack. trout after trout, hot from the pan, disappeared like magic, not to speak of the hot biscuits and the apricots for dessert. "how did you get these apricots up here?" asked pud. "i'd think they would be too heavy to carry." "they would be if we brought in the canned variety," said mr. anderson. "but, thank you, we have plenty of good 'aqua pura' here without bringing in canned pears and such things." "well, how do you have them, then?" asked bill. "we bring in the dried fruit," replied mr. anderson. "this is very light and easily carried. we'll have our share of fruit here this summer all right. the only thing we won't get much of is fresh meat and that you can't get even at escoumains every day." "a few partridges now and then will help along the fresh meat problem," said bob. "you bet," said pud, licking his lips. "that partridge stew last week was as fine as anything to be had at the bellevue-stratford or kugler's in philadelphia." they had had a very strenuous day and they were all ready for bed. the morrows's expedition had livened their imaginations and they sat around the fire chatting and talking until the moon came out over the edge of the opposite mountain and warned them that it was time to seek their balsam boughs. chapter viii the wireless in the wilderness the sun had hardly touched with gold the tops of the mountains before bob felt a light touch on his arm. he opened his eyes to see mr. waterman with his hands to his lips in token of silence. he arose quietly and with a surge of pride and joy in his heart, for he felt that he was to be permitted to go on the expedition in search of the thief. "bring along your sleeping bag," said mr. waterman, when bob got out of the tent. "are we leaving right away?" asked bob. "yes, just as soon as jack can rustle a cup of coffee and something to eat for us. he'll be ready as soon as we can get our things in shape." bob hustled back to the tent and very quietly got his sleeping bag ready for travel. he made a neat pack of it and hurried over to the grub tent. jack and pierre were serving mr. waterman already so that bob got a hasty breakfast. he enjoyed it, for there was an atmosphere of suppressed excitement that was altogether new to him. ten minutes later they were getting into two canoes. when bob reappeared with his pack and his gun, mr. waterman asked, "what are you going to do with that gun?" "i don't know," said bob. "i saw that you all had guns and so i toted mine along." "now i know you're excited," said mr. waterman. "when a southerner begins to talk about 'you all' and 'toting' things, he's just plain excited." bob just laughed quietly, for he knew that mr. waterman was right. they at last got away without waking up the two boys. "i bet pud and bill will be mad as sin when they find me gone with you," said bob to mr. waterman. "yes, i suppose that they would like to come, but you know we may run into trouble of some kind and in that case, it will be best not to have too many along," replied mr. waterman. "i can't make this out," said jack. "there is something amiss, for every one knows that in this country, all one has to do is to ask and any grub that one has will be shared." "bad man," said pierre. "he no have to steal if he not be bad." "you may be right," said mr. waterman. by this time they were on the first portage. when they came to the place where bob had noticed the tracks, pierre and jack stopped and examined them attentively. "he no want to be seen," said pierre. "he's a corking good woodsman," said jack. "you're both right," replied mr. waterman. "later on, we shall see how clever he is in concealing a trail." when they came to the second lake, mr. waterman remarked to bob that he would paddle down the north end of the lake to see if either jack or pierre would notice the trail. this they did and despite the sharp eyes of the two guides, they did not notice any trail starting from the water's edge. mr. waterman led them back and taking a line on a very big tamarack tree that he had noted before, they got out of their canoes. they had gone only a few rods to the left when they came to what was evidently a new trail. they had gone only a short distance when pierre stopped and remarked that he was sure that no canoe had been brought over the trail. when mr. waterman heard this, he had the men retrace their steps to the lake. they then began a systematic search for a canoe. in about twenty minutes, jack's sharp eyes searched out the hiding place and the canoe was pulled out for inspection. they found it to be an ordinary peterboro, such as were to be found all through the country. "if he's left his canoe here," said mr. waterman, "he can't be very far off." "that's so," said pierre. "we had better go careful," said jack. all four then looked to their guns and took the trail, with mr. waterman leading. he went along very carefully. in an hour they were over the divide and going down into what seemed like a deep gulch. "this looks to me like the same gulch we visited the other day," said mr. waterman. "i am sure of it," said bob. "then, i noticed that big rock over there." "what's peculiar about that rock?" asked jack. "it looks like a big horse," said bob. "i am sure that it's the same one." "it does look like a horse," said mr. waterman. "i know the far side of this gulch pretty well, but i did not think that there was any way out of it so easy as the one we have come." they then proceeded very cautiously. mr. waterman gave way to pierre, who went ahead without any noise. bob tried to imitate his movements but he felt angry at himself, for he made a great noise as he went along. he now knew why mr. waterman had hesitated at bringing him. he did the very best he could and followed along, feeling the excitement tugging at his heart. mr. waterman and the two guides moved like shadows before him and only by the sudden gleam in their eyes could he see that they were at all excited. at last pierre came back a step or two and put his fingers to his lips in token of silence. "a log cabin not far ahead," said he to mr. waterman very quietly. mr. waterman and jack went ahead very stealthily, and they came back in a moment. "i guess we've treed our coon," said mr. waterman. "now, how shall we catch him?" "i go," said pierre. "i make believe that i'm just an indian fishing and i come back 'bimby.'" "that's a pretty good plan," said mr. waterman. they watched pierre disappear through the bushes and then settled down to wait. in only about twenty minutes pierre returned. they were all surprised to see him so soon. "no one at cabin," said pierre, as he came up. "how long since has there been some one there?" asked mr. waterman. "only short time. he come back any time now." in a few minutes they were all in the house with the exception of pierre, who stayed outside to keep an eye on things. as soon as they entered mr. waterman and bob at once noticed that this was no indian's hut nor that of the ordinary woodsman. the room was as neat as a pin. this was rather out of the ordinary for a cabin in the woods. but what attracted the attention of both of them was the sight of several chemical and wireless instruments that both recognized at once. "what's this?" said mr. waterman. "i'm not much on wireless, but i know that this is part of a wireless plant." "you're right," said bob. "i have one of them on my aerial for my wireless at home. this is merely for receiving." "now, what do you think any one would want with a wireless outfit away back here in the woods?" asked mr. waterman, more to himself than to bob. "do you think it has anything to do with the great european war that is raging at this time?" said bob. "that's the natural explanation, of course," said mr. waterman. "but what's the use of a wireless up here?" asked bob in his turn. "you think that this is only a receiving station. perhaps this is run by some german spy to discover just when the troop ships are leaving quebec for england." "if that's so," said jack, who had not said a word so far, but who had followed the conversation very closely, "we are likely to run into trouble, for any one that would do a thing of this kind would not hesitate to go to the limit." "that's very true," said mr. waterman reflectively. "at the same time, i hardly see why we should run into danger, as we are americans." "i think that we have to get a look at this fellow and let him know that after a certain date we shall be obliged to let the canadian government know what is going on. otherwise, if the canadian police run down this fellow, they may find out that we have been here and then arrest us as accomplices," said bob. "the boy's right," said jack. "and it would be a hanging job for us if they proved that we knew what was going on here and did not notify the constable." further conversation was cut short by a shot outside, followed almost immediately by another. hurried footsteps were heard and a big fellow rushed in and closed the door. "hands up!" cried mr. waterman, as he leveled his gun at the stranger. the latter made a quick movement, but a spurt of flame from jack's rifle was followed by the clatter of the stranger's rifle as it fell to the floor. coming in from the outside, the newcomer seemed to be unable to see clearly. "disarm him," said mr. waterman to jack, who moved over and removed a revolver from the hip of the owner of the hut. "well, what is it?" asked the man defiantly. "it took you a long time to find out this little place, didn't it?" "we're americans," said mr. waterman. "it is quite plain to any one of intelligence what you are here for. at the same time, i'm very much mistaken if you're not an american yourself, or at least passed for such until this war broke out. you know too much about the woods to be a native born german." "you're right," said the man, as he lowered his arms. "i'm from the west, and i'm an american, but in the pay of germany--and have established my post here." "you, of course, know that you must get out of here at once," continued mr. waterman. "i don't think that it is our duty to take you in, though pierre, who is just coming, is a canadian. there is the other door. here's your gun. we'll hold pierre for a few minutes and then let him do what he thinks best." "you're all right, men. i thought that the canadian police had me, as they probably have my companions." in a second he was out of the door and away down the trail. the members of the party waited for pierre. he came in very shortly and looked around with great surprise. "where is he?" asked he, as he looked around in astonishment. "i trail him here. you let him go?" "yes, we let him go," said mr. waterman. "why for dat?" asked the indian. "he bad man. he shoot at me twice but no hit me." "he was here trying to get news for the germans," said mr. waterman. "how he get news here? no news here. what news?" "i could not make you understand," said mr. waterman. "why not understand?" asked pierre. "have you ever heard that it is possible to speak miles and miles through the air?" "yes, great spirit speaks to all his children all over," said pierre devoutly. "i don't mean the great spirit, but men, just like you and i." "oh, no, no, that impossible," said pierre. "it is done, and this man was here listening, so that he would know things and then tell the enemies of canada." "i no understand. what enemies?" asked pierre. "have you not heard that england and canada are at war with the germans?" asked mr. waterman. "oh, yes, but that is far across the big water," said pierre. "quite true, but the germans are over here too. in some places, trying to do harm to canada," said mr. waterman. "this bad man, a german?" asked pierre, as his eyes lighted up. "yes," replied bob. "where he go?" asked pierre. "we, americans, have no war with germans. he goes that way," said mr. waterman, pointing up the trail. in another moment pierre was lost to view. "what do you think of that?" said jack. "i think i'll tag along behind for fear he gets hurt." "things certainly have come with a rush," said mr. waterman. "suppose you follow pierre, so that if the german gets him that you will be there to lend aid." "i'll be there," said jack, as he looked significantly at his rifle. "that skunk fired twice at pierre already. he may get him the third time. if he does, i'll take only one shot." "don't run into trouble, jack," said mr. waterman. "this is not our fight. but follow pierre and help him if he gets into trouble. bob and i will get down to escoumains and report the matter." the two men shook hands and jack disappeared after pierre just as quickly and as silently as the latter had done. "that will be some chase," said mr. waterman. "that german is a real woodsman and he'll lead them a merry chase." "it's a pity that jack did not go with pierre. how is he going to find him?" "leave that to him," said mr. waterman. "there are few indians more clever than jack in following a trail. he'll be up with pierre by nightfall." they then looked around and were surprised at the completeness of the outfit. evidently four or five men had been needed to get all these things into the woods. "how they ever got all this stuff here without arousing the suspicion of the canadian government passes my comprehension," said mr. waterman. going outside, they noticed a path, and following it, if soon led them to the top of a mountain that was opposite to the one they had climbed but a few short days before. sure enough, there was the wireless, hidden most cleverly by the trees and branches so that from the opposite hill; nothing out of the ordinary could be seen even with a glass. "this is rather an old instrument," said bob. "it is dated 1912." "that may explain the whole matter," said mr. waterman. "it is well known that the germans have a wonderful spy system. it is possible that all this may have been brought in here four or five years ago for this very purpose." "i guess that that's the answer," replied bob, "for it would be absolutely impossible for any party of men to get this stuff in here now." on returning to the hut they took a good look around and found everything in the best of order. there were supplies of all kinds there except food. "i guess that the canadian government got his mates all right, and that left him stranded here as far as grub was concerned. he had his nerve with him all right, for he was liable to be shot down at any time," said mr. waterman. they were soon on their way back. when they came to the lake they found that the german's canoe was gone. pierre was evidently right on his trail, for one of the two canoes they had brought along was also missing. "i wonder if jack has caught up with pierre so soon," mused mr. waterman. "it looks that way," replied bob, "for otherwise he would probably have taken our canoe, knowing that we could get back to camp even without a canoe." "you're right," said mr. waterman. they hurried on and in due time they arrived in camp. by this time it was getting late, so they determined to go into escoumains the next morning and inform the authorities of their discovery. they found bill and pud and jean quite excited. in a short time they had the story in full. "you did not see any one around here to-day, did you?" asked mr. waterman, addressing the young indian jean. "no," was the reply. "i am pretty sure that the german is making for the st. lawrence to try and get out of the country. let's go over to the old trail, just to see if any one has passed that way to-day," said mr. waterman. all of them went, for the trail was only a few minutes' paddle down the lake around a point of land that almost cut the lake in two. on arrival there it was plain even to the unpracticed eyes of the boys that more than one person had passed that way recently. mr. waterman and jean landed first. jean had been on land not more than a minute before he pointed to some tracks and said, "pierre here, jack there, other man there." they boys came over, but though they could see some tracks in the soft trail, they did not see how jean had identified his father and jack at once. "you're right," said mr. waterman. "three men have passed this way to-day. it looks as if pierre and jack are hot on his trail." they then returned to camp. bob was compelled to tell his mates all about the trip, and they were greatly excited when they were told of the scene in the hut when it was necessary to hold up the german in self-defense at the point of a rifle. when bob and mr. waterman arrived in escouniaias early the next morning-they found things in a great state of excitement. it seems that pierre and jack had gotten in about nine o'clock the night before, hot on the trail of the spy. to the chagrin of sandy macpherson, an old friend of his named field, had come into the store and without showing any signs of haste had made arrangements for a launch to take him down the river. this had been done and a half hour later pierre had arrived. he had tried to explain the situation, but it was not until jack had given his version of the matter that it dawned on the irate sandy that the innocent-looking and very friendly field was the german spy. when mr. waterman had told all that he knew about the matter sandy was angrier than ever. "that son-of-a-gun has played me for an easy mark for years," said sandy. "about three years ago he got me to take into the woods a lot of electrical stuff on the pretense that he wanted it in trying out some ores that he thought were valuable. then to put me farther off the scent, two years ago he came back with a story that his whole outfit had been burned down and totally destroyed." "have the government agents been here?" asked mr. waterman. "no," was the reply, "but they were up at tadousac about six weeks ago, and they arrested three men there, though they held them only on suspicion. when i come to think of it, one of them was a mr. samson that used to come into the woods with field. i think that samson is still held and he'll get his share anyway." the party, having told their end of the story, returned to the woods. some three weeks later, on returning to escoumains, they found out that field had apparently made good his escape. he had landed near riviere de loup, and no doubt had gotten over into the united states from there. chapter ix a week on the trail the previous days had been so full of excitement that they had altogether forgotten that they were to go on a week's trip. mr. waterman went ahead making preparations. on sunday evening, after the short devotions they always held on that day, said he: "boys, you remember that we are going on an exploring trip this week. so get ready. you will have to carry everything with you, so take those things that are absolutely necessary. in addition, remember that each of you boys is expected to carry his share of the grub for the week." the boys began to plan and they went to their blankets filled with the idea of taking a real trip under old-time voyageur conditions. "supposing it rains?" suggested pud. "well, what of it?" replied bob. "do you think that we're sugar and that a little rain will hurt us?" "don't worry very much," said mr. waterman. "if we have any really bad weather you will be surprised how quickly the guides will make a wood hut out of birch bark, and a few supports quickly cut in the woods." very early the next morning they were astir. bob had to give many suggestions to pud and bill, too, but at last they had their duffle all ready so that by means of tump lines they could not only bear their own blankets and sleeping bags, but also their share of the week's supplies. "we are going north," said mr. waterman. "let's go to the spy's cabin," said pud. "ah, do," chimed in bill. "you see, pud and i had no part in that adventure." "very well," said mr. waterman, "it won't be a bad thing for us to go there and see how much of the place the government agents have left." "have the police been there?" asked bob. "you can bet they've been there," said mr. waterman. "a party left escoumains the very day we were there." they were a picturesque party as they set out. pierre was the only one left behind. jean, jack and joe were there; joe with his little pointed hat, mackinaw and shoe pack, looking all the world like the pictures of the old voyageurs that one sees in the illustrations of the early french occupation of canada. with the three guides, mr. waterman, mr. anderson, and the three boys, there were eight in the party. mr. waterman led the way, taking bob in his canoe. jack had pud with him, jean was paired with bill, while mr. anderson and joe brought up the "honorable rear," as they say in japan. in their blue shirts, khaki trousers, bandanna handkerchiefs around their necks and shoe packs, they looked ready to tackle a journey to james bay. in fact, jean and joe had both made the trip to james bay and back, over the great divide almost due north of tadousac, going first up the st. john river from chicoutimi. they would have been quite willing to make the trip again but, no doubt, they would have objected to the presence of the boys on such a trip. such a canoe journey needs real woodsmen and is not for novices such as the boys were. they were soon over into the lake from which the path led to the spy's cabin. mr. waterman steered straight for the trail. they got out and were soon over the short divide and into the big gulch. they found the cabin still standing and apparently with everything just as it had been left by them. when, however, they came to the wireless on the top of the mountain, they could not find a trace of it. it had been taken away entirely. the boys enjoyed the view from the top of the mountain. "i almost believe that in clear weather field and his mates could recognize the ships on the st. lawrence if they had strong glasses, as they most probably had," said mr. waterman. "yes, it's so clear to-day," said mr. anderson, "that your idea seems not only possible but very probable. this was a very fine place for such a purpose. they could read the wireless messages that were sent from vessels going or coming from quebec, and if they could get out to the united states now and then they could very easily keep their government informed as to the movements of the british vessels, at least the most important vessels plying in and out of quebec." in a short time they were down the mountain and at the cabin once more. "i must come in here some time and look for the outlet of this gulch," said mr. waterman. "there is quite a big watershed here, and the fact that there is no lake shows that there is a good outlet. unless this outlet is underground it will lead down to either the portneuf river or the escoumains or some lake that empties into one or other of these streams." "have we time to look for it now?" asked mr. anderson. "no," was the reply, "i have planned the trip for the week and it will be best to make a day's trip here just for the purpose." they then went on their way and were soon over into another lake. "do you think you can stand another carry?" asked mr. waterman, turning to the boys. "sure," said bob. "ab-so-lute-el-y," said bill. "all right," replied pud. "why so modest?" asked mr. anderson. "i find it hard work," said pud. "i not only have to carry my load but about twenty-five pounds of superfluous flesh. i guess i can stand it if they can. i'm here to get in shape, so go ahead." "we can stay here just as well and go on to the other lake in the morning. it is only mid-afternoon now, though," said mr. waterman, "and we could make the next lake easily. i plan to stay there all day to-morrow." "don't mind me," said pud. so they went ahead. bob carried the canoe and a duffle bag full of grub, while mr. waterman kept piling on stuff until he had at least one hundred and fifty pounds on his back. with a tump line over his forehead, he moved ahead, apparently little concerned about the weight of his load. mr. anderson and the guides were also similarly loaded. pud elected to carry his bag and the portion of the grub. jack kept on piling up the stuff with a merry wink to bob. finally they moved off. the carry proved to be about a mile and a quarter long. they had to go up a fairly steep hill first. all did very well, though pud was puffing and blowing like a porpoise and sweating like a foundryman when they stopped at the top of the hill for a short rest. they were soon on their way again. jack stayed behind with pud and the others were soon lost to view. bob and mr. waterman walked ahead at a good pace and were soon at the lake, which opened out before them most invitingly. they were all in swimming when at last jack and pud hove in sight. pud was certainty the picture of fatigue. "don't overdo it, jack," said mr. waterman. "that was really too big a load for him to carry." "i guess you're right," replied jack. "i put it on him more for a joke than anything else, intending to take it myself later. but that kid's game. he would not let me have it, although i thought he would melt away before we got here. i won't overload him again. when he gets back to philadelphia he'll be hard as a rock. with his gameness and his weight and strength, he should tear things loose on that football team. i don't know much about the game, but they tell me it's rough. "it is a little rough," said mr. waterman, who himself had been a noted player when he went to college. "a little roughness in sport is really necessary for the full development of boys. they must get that personal contact and feel that they have to get the best of the other fellow through their own efforts. if this is done fairly, the roughness will not deteriorate into anything dangerous." in the meantime pud prepared for a swim, which was certainly a reward for him after such a long stretch of portage. "oh, you water," said pud, as he luxuriously lay out on his back floating. "that last carry was some hike. it had all the plattsburg full-equipment hikes beaten to death. i'm just going to load my pater down some day with what i had on my back and then ask him how he would like to tote that over a young mountain." "you did very well, pud," said mr. waterman. "i did not notice how much jack was piling on you or i would have taken part of it myself." "not on your life," said pud. "i'm here, and that extra sweat i had will do me good. i told jack i would switch with him now and then. i did not realize what a load he had. on the previous carries he walked along just as if he was out for a little jaunt. he's getting old, too. i don't see how how he does it." "they get used to it and know just how to distribute the load so that it will be carried most easily," said mr. waterman. while the boys were enjoying the water, the guides were busy. already they had cut a couple of poles, and with the aid of two trees they had made a very serviceable fireplace and was getting ready to make biscuits. "hey, you boys," called mr. waterman, "get busy. we'll clear up around here, but you fellows get out and catch us some trout for supper." "nothing easier," said bob, as he came ashore and put on his clothes. in a little while they were all three out on the lake casting like veterans. bob was in one canoe alone while pud paddled bill in the other canoe. in a very short time they had over thirty fine trout, and at a shout from jack they came back to camp. "well, did you have any luck?" asked jack, as they came to the shore. "bully!" said bob. "this lake is full of trout as fine as i have ever seen." "no wonder," replied jack. "there is no one here to catch them, and they keep on increasing." "well, i'll reduce the supply if we stay here a few days," said pud. "i could eat an ox, let alone a few trout." "you'll get all you want to eat and then some," said jack. the fish were soon cleaned, and twenty minutes later they sat around a table made of two big logs with birch bark spread over it. it was not quite so comfortable as in their home camp, where they had a rude bench to sit on, but not one of them even thought of any such luxuries. they had had a strenuous day with but a very small lunch, and they were as hungry as wolves. the way the biscuits, the trout and everything else disappeared was a tribute to jack's cooking. even pud at last drew back from the improvised table fully satisfied. "the germans have a proverb to the effect that 'hunger is the best cook,'" said mr. anderson. "that's true," broke in pud, "but when you have a fine cook and hunger too, then there is real enjoyment in eating even the most simple fare." "well said, old top," remarked bill. "'but first tell me when you got to be a philosopher." "the best time to philosophize," said mr. waterman, "is just after such a meal as we have had. then there is such a sense of bodily satisfaction that everything else appears to us as if detached from our own selves. the true philosophers are the woodsmen. they have time to think over life and its many chances, and they get to know things at their true worth. that is why men who are brought up near to nature are always such good judges of character either in men, women, or animals." "now we are philosophizing," said mr. anderson. "i think you're right, though, for practically the only true philosophers that i have ever known are men of the woods. pierre is a good example of this. his views of life and death would do credit to dr. talmage or any other of our great preachers." "well, all i can say is this," said pud, "i'm glad i'm here." at this everybody laughed, for it was typical of big, hearty, jovial pud, that any real serious conversation should go over his head, even though his own ideas may have started the talk. after supper the boys got their sleeping bags ready and everything else so placed that they would not be wet by the dew, which is very heavy in the saguenay region. then, like true sons of nimrod, they once more sought the limpid waters of the little lake in quest of the ever elusive and ever interesting trout. they all had good luck, which guaranteed them a hearty breakfast. as bob and pud came back to the camp they found jack out on a log casting. the woods were back of him and almost directly above him, but in some uncanny way he managed to cast his fly just where and just as far as he wanted to. as they came by he showed them a dozen fine specimens that he had hooked. "why go so far from camp?" said he, in his quizzical way. "they bite just as good here." "for you," said bob. "you're a wizard with the fly, but for a poor novice like myself it is better to seek the fish where they are pretty sure to be found. i'm no pied piper of hamlin to be able to draw fish to my fly as he did rats with his pipe." the camp fire proved more than usually attractive that evening. all gathered around, even the guides, after they had straightened everything up. "well, we don't need to worry much now," said mr. waterman. "we'll stay right here to-morrow and have a good day's fishing and possibly hunting." "what kind of hunting?" asked pud. "i was thinking merely of a partridge or two," replied mr. waterman. "arc you going to use your sleeping bag to-night?" asked bob. "sure thing," replied mr. anderson. "we're going to have a fine night, but about four o'clock to-morrow morning you are liable to make the acquaintance of some of those moustiques or gnats that pierre tells about. if you are in your sleeping bag you can then just pull over the flap and have another snooze." "it certainly looks like fine weather," said bill. "i think that i'll get up real early and visit that trout hole i found to-night. they just jumped at the fly. it was almost dark when i struck the place, so i had time only for a 'strike' or two." "i'm with you," said pud, with a yawn. "swell chance," said bob. "we won't be able to waken you to-morrow morning until you hear jack's voice yelling that breakfast is ready." "is that so?" replied pud. "now, don't you believe it. i've turned over a new leaf, and i'm going to get up promptly from now on." "the only thing you'll turn over to-morrow at dawn is yourself for another nap," said bill. "just try me and you'll see," said pud. "you're on," was the reply, "but i warn you that i'll call you just once." just then mr. waterman broke in by asking joe if this was not the lake where he had had such an experience with wolves some years before. joe nodded. the boys immediately wanted to know the story. bob sat down by joe and was soon lost as he listened to the vivacious tale of the french habitant. "that isn't fair," said bill, to no one in particular. "what isn't fair?" asked mr. anderson. "why, bob knows french, so he is having joe tell him the wolf story. we'd like to know that too." "it is really a fairly common occurrence; at least was some years ago in this country," said mr. anderson. "but bob will tell us, won't you?" said pud, turning to him. "sure." so bob began the interesting tale. "joe was up here with pierre and another indian hunting some years ago. the winter had been a very severe one with a wealth of snow. on this account, the wolves had been able to get but little to eat. they were then much more numerous than they are to-day. at that time there was a bounty on wolves and hundreds of heads were turned in to the government each winter and spring. joe and his party were coming back to escoumains after a good winter's hunt. they stopped on the next lake at a hunter's shack that was there at that time. as the weather promised to keep cold, they determined to stay there, feeling that if the spring should come with a rush that they would be able to get down to escoumains, as it was only a week's journey distant. "they therefore set their traps and went methodically about their business of gathering in the furry harvest made profitable to them through the desires of 'my lady' in the large cities, whose fair necks must be covered and protected from even the cold autumn's breath. one fine day joe set out to make the round of the traps. he had good luck and was going home about four o'clock in the afternoon, laden with two foxes and four rabbits. joe was hurrying on, for there was no moon and the shades of night fall very early in these latitudes even in march. they had heard a wolf occasionally, but had felt no fear of them, so that when joe heard the long-drawn note, he did not give it even a thought. he was intent on getting back before nightfall, so he failed to note that the howls were rapidly approaching. "as he reached the surface of the lake, which was of course frozen tightly at that time of year, he was astonished to hear the howl of a wolf, immediately followed by other howls only a short distance in his rear. he hurried on, but before he could get across the lake, he saw several dark forms dash out on the ice behind him. he broke into a run, but the pack rapidly overtook him. raising his gun to fire, he was thunderstruck to find that in some way he had jammed the trigger and that it would not work. "he did not have any time to waste, so he threw down two rabbits and hurried on. the wolves stopped only a moment, when they came to the rabbits. he could hear them snarling and quarreling over their small carcasses. he felt his blood run cold and wondered if he was to be torn to pieces in like manner. once more the pack came on, so he threw another couple of rabbits to them and ran ahead. they got quite near to him the next time, so he dropped the remainder of his load and fled for the shore. he felt that his only chance lay in getting ashore and up a tree. as he ran he tried to fix the trigger of his gun, but he could not get it working. he was quite near the shore now, but the wolves were close behind. with a last desperate rush, he sprang up the steep bank. turning around, he was just in time to strike down with his clubbed gun a big gray form that leaped at him with gleaming fangs. this lucky stroke probably saved joe's life, for the rest of the pack stopped to devour their comrade, thus giving joe time to get safely into the branches of a tree. the wolves, now with bloody mouths and glaring eyeballs, surrounded the tree and let out howls of such fierceness that they made joe tremble even though he knew that he was safe for the present. he was only about a mile and a half away from their shack, and he knew that if he did not turn up, that sooner or later pierre would be out to hunt him. "but, can you imagine how pleasant it must be to be up in a tree, with broken gun, a dozen hungry wolves beneath you and a cold night coming on? already joe began to get very cold, for in his race across the lake through the heavy snow he had broken out into a heavy perspiration. as darkness came down he could feel the cold hand of king frost, as it were, reaching for him and trying to throw him down to the beasts below. this idea took possession of joe's mind and he fought it off with all his strength. he tried as best he could in the gathering darkness to fix his gun, but it was hopelessly jammed. at last he gave this up and settled down to wait for the morning, which would surely bring pierre to his rescue. "as the cold became greater, his desire to sleep became the stronger. he felt himself nodding several times and once awoke just as he was on the point of falling from the tree. he grabbed a branch lower down, but his feet swung beneath and before he could get back safely on the limb one of the watchful band below by a mighty leap snapped at his leg and took a piece cleanly out of the calf, tearing his trousers leg almost entirely off him. the smell of the blood put the wolves into a frenzy and they tried again and again to reach him by leaping. they seemed maddened by hunger, for when one of their number fell after making a mighty upward bound, the pack was on him in a minute, and before the horrified eyes of joe, they tore their mate to pieces and in ten minutes there was neither hide nor hair of him to be seen. "joe now had to bind up his leg as best he could. he bound the rags of his trouser leg around so that it kept out the cold pretty well. this excitement kept him up for some time, but about twelve o'clock joe felt that the cold was sure to get the better of him if he did not do something. he thereupon undid the leather strap that he used ordinarily to carry his gun over his back when not in use. this strap, together with his belt, made a strap sufficiently long so that he was able to bind himself to the tree. he then felt easier, for he knew that at least, even though he went to sleep, that he would run no risk of falling down as prey for the murderous pack below. he wondered if he would be able to stand the cold night or whether when pierre came in the morning he might not find him stark and rigid, tied to the branch of the tree. "he shuddered as he remembered the gruesome sight he had once noted far to the north one day. then, on one of his fishing expeditions, he had come upon the body of a man hanging in a tree, evidently treed by wolves and then frozen. he wondered if some chance passer-by in after years would find his skeleton in a similar way and would pass on with only a 'dieu benisse' (may god bless) as he had done, and not even give him decent burial. he commenced to think that his present position was directly due to his haste on this former occasion. he begged god to forgive him and promised to burn a hundred candles for the soul of the unknown if he ever got back to escoumains. "at last human strength could hold out no longer and joe fell asleep, asleep with the cold, that forerunner of death. joe knew nothing until he awoke in the cabin with pierre busy about him. it seems that when he did not return pierre had gotten uneasy. he and his mate had started out. with pine torches they followed his trail, and when they saw the numerous wolf tracks they feared for the worst. they followed across the ice and were themselves attacked by the pack. their guns soon put them to flight and a few minutes later they found joe insensible up in the tree. they hurried him back to the hut and in a few days joe was none the worse for his experience except for the painful wound on his leg made by the champion high jumper of the pack." "are there any wolves up here now?" asked pud, as he looked out into the forest with its dark avenues of trees. "not so many," replied mr. anderson, "but sandy, down at escoumains, told me the other day that they were getting numerous again, and that a bounty had once more been put on their heads." "don't be dreaming of wolves and pounce on me again, as you did when dreaming of bears," laughed bob. "yes, to bed, to bed, now," cried mr. waterman. "i'm sure we all need the rest, for we have had a great day." they all agreed with him and were soon warm and cozy in their sleeping bags, sleeping as only tired men can sleep out of doors. the fire died down, the greenness of the nearby branches became gray and then black and were finally merged into the blackness of the surrounding woods, and not a sound told that here under god's own canopy slept human beings enjoying nature as the primeval men of old did. chapter x moccasins as food pud made good the next morning, for when bill woke him he got up at once, plunged into the lake for an eye opener, and was ready with rod and line as soon as bill. they were soon out on the lake and bill made at once for the trout hole that he had spotted the night before. they had remarkably good luck and returned in time for breakfast with twenty-five fine trout. these they cleaned and handed to jack, who soon had them sizzling on the fire and ready for breakfast. bob and mr. waterman had also gone fishing. they did not return until jack's cheery "halloo!" brought they in scurrying. after breakfast they divided into parties. bob and mr. waterman elected to go hunting partridges, while the others said that they would go fishing. bob and mr. waterman were soon off. arriving at the far end of the lake, they left their canoes and were soon lost in the depths of the forest. for some time they went along, but at last mr. waterman noted a partridge, and with a clever shot it was his. they wandered around, climbed a mountain and incidentally got three more birds, two of which bob had the good fortune to bag. "well, we'd best be going," said mr. waterman. "lead the way." bob said nothing, but started off confidently. mr. waterman followed on for a few minutes. he then asked, "let's see your compass, bob." bob felt in his pocket, but did not find it there. he then remembered that he had left it in his sleeping bag. he was compelled to confess as much to mr. waterman. "that's bad dope, bob," said mr. waterman. "you should never leave camp without your compass nor without first noting carefully in which direction you are going." "i know that," said bob. "i just forgot it." "which direction did we take this morning?" queried mr. waterman. "we first went east to the end of the lake, and since then we have been going mainly in a northerly direction." "that is right," was the reply. "now, if you can tell me which way is south, we can at least go in the right direction." "we're going south now, aren't we?" asked bob. "no," mr. waterman replied. "we are going north, or nearly so." he then pulled out his compass and showed bob that this was so. "now, supposing we had no compass, how would we be able to tell the points of the compass?" asked bob. "by the sun," answered mr. waterman, in his usual, quiet way. "how?" was the query. "it's quite simple. in this latitude the sun is to the south of us. we therefore turn and face the sun, as it is now near noon, and we are facing south. behind us is north, to our right, the west and to our left the east." "a woodsman certainly must be on the lookout," said bob. then they turned around and after quite a tramp they came to their own lake. they reached camp about three o'clock to find it empty. the others were evidently still out fishing. they busied themselves about the camp, finally opening out their sleeping bags and lying down on them. in due time the others returned and showed such a multitude of shining beauties that they were amazed. "this is one of the best lakes we have ever been on," said jack, as he went about preparing supper. "the trout are very numerous and of fine size. if we had time it would pay us to stay here a few days and get ready some smoked trout to take out with you when you go back to the city." "i'd like to do it," said mr. waterman, "but i want to carry out my original schedule, so we'll reserve your idea for later on in the season." once more they had a fine supper, consisting of partridge stew with dumplings, trout, biscuits and prunes for dessert. they spent another very pleasant evening around the camp fire. in the morning, after a hearty breakfast, they set out for another lake farther north and a little to the east. "i want to work over towards the escoumains river, so that we can come down that stream on friday and get our first taste this season of fast water," said mr. waterman. "that will be fine," said bob. "father has often told me of the exciting times he has had shooting the rapids in the lake st. john region." they were soon ready for their journey. when they came to the first portage pud was the first man out of the boat. he had his dunnage bag on his back and the canoe on his shoulders, and waited for jack to show the way. off they plodded, and in about an hour they came down again to another fine lake. the guides at once began to make camp, while the others looked to their sleeping bags and cleared up for the night. by ten o'clock they were settled for the day, and off they went in their canoes to try their luck on the new lake. they found it just as full of fish as the lake they had just left. when they returned at one o'clock they found that they really had more fish than they could use. "we'll have to stop fishing for the rest of the day," said mr. waterman. "there's no use catching trout merely to throw them back again." "let's climb some mountain this afternoon and have a good swim afterwards," suggested mr. anderson. after lunch the three boys, with their two mentors, left the camp and made for the opposite shore of the lake, as the mountain rose up sharply there. they scrambled up the sides of the mountain and had gotten nearly to the top when they were startled to see a party of men above them. when they came out on the top they found the strangers there apparently waiting for them. mr. waterman greeted them pleasantly, but they gave only gruff answers. they inquired at first very politely what they were doing there. mr. anderson gave them civil answers, but they evidently did not think that his answers were full enough, so they threw off all disguise, and the leader said, "we are government officials, sent up here to see if there are any more stations such as field had down near your camp. it looks rather suspicious that you should discover this man field so opportunely. we already know that food you bought in escoumains has been found in his cabin." "very true," said mr. waterman. "as i explained to mr. macpherson, that was the reason why we went out looking for the thief. it was on that quest that we found field and discovered his business. we notified the government immediately, which proves that we were honest in the matter." "perhaps it does and perhaps it doesn't," was the reply. "what you do not know is that we had ferreted out field's accomplices, and i have no doubt that we would have gotten him in a short time. it is possible that he knew this and made an arrangement with you to keep him supplied with grub." "nothing of the kind," said mr. waterman. "you evidently have not read the evidence i left with mr. macpherson. there i told him all about the scene at the hut, and if you have read that you must know that we knew nothing of field or his work. all we know is that he stole some of our grub and showed remarkable skill in doing so. all through, he was about as clever as one could imagine." "i'll grant that he was clever, and you seem clever yourself," was the reply. "don't forget that we'll keep our eye on you the rest of the summer, and that at the first suspicious move, we'll arrest you," said another official. "you will find that totally unnecessary. we have been coming up into this country for several years, and the delights of nature, the fishing, hunting and adventure are the only things we are after here," said mr. waterman. "i hardly know what to believe," said the spokesman of the party. "that man field was here on just the same plea that you have stated, and until a few days ago he was just as little suspected as you now actually are. pardon my questioning, but it seemed necessary. we are camping over on lac corbeau for some time, so if you see more of us do not be surprised. for the present we'll assume that things are just as you state they are. i sincerely hope so, for otherwise it will be a very serious matter for you." the two parties then separated, and mr. waterman led the way back down the mountain. they were just in time for a real good swim before supper. jack had been out and he had gotten four ducks, so that they had a very fine meal. duck, trout, biscuits hot from the pan, ginger-bread and apricots made up a meal that would have done credit to delmonico's, let alone a camp far away in the canadian wilds. they certainly enjoyed it. the next morning they were up early. they were going to get over to the escoumains river and this meant that they would have to portage through three lakes. "we'll have some hard work this morning, boys, so let's get away as early as we can," said mr. waterman. "how many portages have we?" asked pud. "three," was the reply. "it's all the same to me," said pud. "i'm getting to like the feel of that old canoe on my neck. it certainly does not seem half as heavy as it was ten days ago." "that's because you know how to distribute its weight so that you carry it with head, neck, and arms," said mr. anderson. "these canoes are especially made and they weigh only sixty pounds. you ought to carry the canoes we used the first year of the saguenay club. they were just the ordinary canoe and they weighed nearly one hundred pounds and were badly balanced. these canoes not only weigh less than any other canoes you will see in this country, but they are especially balanced so that they are thereby easier to carry." "i never used any other canoes," said bob. "now that i am used to these canoes, i do not mind them very much." "you must also remember that you boys are getting into the finest kind of physical shape," said mr. waterman. "we ought to up here," said pud. "i've done more real work here the past two weeks than i would do at home in six months. it certainly puts the muscle on a fellow." shortly after breakfast they had all their duffle packed and they were off. they went along from one lake to another without incident and in due time they arrived at the escoumains river. by this time it was nearly two o'clock, so they had a hurried lunch and then started up the river. then the boys had a taste of river canoe work that they had never seen before. it was well that for each of the four canoes there was an experienced man, for otherwise there would have been plenty of trouble. before they started the boys were surprised to see the guides come out of the woods with several long poles nicely trimmed up. these they laid in the canoes. "what's the idea?" asked pud. "of what?" asked joe. "the poles." "we use the pole getting up the rapids. one can go better that way," said joe. "i didn't know that one ever used anything but paddles in canoes," said bill. "you'll very soon find how much more power you can get out of the pole than out of a paddle when going up a stream," said mr. anderson. the canoes were pretty well loaded down but the party set out bravely. for some time the river was deep and by hard paddling they made progress against the current. then they came to a rapid. mr. waterman got out and went up the stream. in a little while he returned and stated that he thought they could get up all right if they poled. then the boys saw how this was done. generally they kept near the shore. the man with the pole stood in the rear and shoved the boat along. it was necessary to be real clever with the pole, as any one can make sure of by trying this manoeuver some time in fast water. finally they got up the first rapid, though frequently the boys thought that they were due for a wetting. when they came to the next rapids joe told mr. waterman that he knew these rapids well and that it would be necessary to portage. joe said that it was a full hour's portage, meaning that it was nearly two miles. they landed and were soon headed up the stream, laden with their canoes and duffle bags. it was hard work, though they found a well-beaten trail leading up the river. they got glimpses of the cool waters of the escoumains as it dashed foaming from rock to rock. they could hardly admire the scenery, for they were all well weighed down with their packs or canoes. at last they came out at the head of the rapids and found a fine sheet of water ahead of them. in fact, as often happens, they found the river broad and slow-flowing for several miles, and they made steady progress. "keep your eye out for a good camping place," said mr. waterman. hardly had he said this than they came around a curve of the river and saw before them a little opening in the woods that had been cleared. a little stream ran down into the larger river, forming a sand bar near its mouth. "here's the place," said mr. anderson. as if by one consent they all steered for the shore and quickened their strokes. in a little while they were practically ready for the night. it was well that they had stopped, for it was now close to six o'clock and they were all getting very hungry. "hurry up the grub, jack," said mr. waterman. "i could eat a moccasin." "i eat moccasin before now," said joe. "it ees hard to chew." "when was that?" asked bill, who scented a story. "it was many year ago, when i very hungry in dees wood," said joe. "let's have the story after supper," said mr. anderson. "oh, no, it is too difficile for me to speak engleesh," replied joe. "well, tell it to me," said bob, "and i can then tell it to the others." "all right, all right," said joe, "but you must not expect big story. it ees only what happened to me one long wintaire." the boys went in for a swim and they found the water a little colder than the lake on which they had camped the previous weeks. joe, jean and jack kept very busy, and it was not long before the noise of a stick beaten against a tin can made known to all that supper was ready. "trout will do us to-night, but to-morrow morning we must have salmon for breakfast," said mr. waterman. "an extra dish of prunes for the one who catches the first salmon." this offer does not mean anything to the ordinary person in the city, but on a trip out into the woods where the grub has to be rationed out, fruit of any kind is at a premium. it was almost dark when they got through their supper and were ready for the night. it was quite a cool night in spite of the hot day they had had. the guides piled on the wood and it was very comfortable after their hard day's paddling and portaging, to sit around the fire and talk over the events of the day or whatever happened to come up. bob soon sneaked away from the fire and went over to the smaller fire which the guides had made close to the little wood hut they had hastily thrown up. it did not take joe long to plunge into his story, and for quite a while bob stayed with the guides listening to joe. when bob returned to the main party he found them getting ready to seek their blankets. his return was greeted gladly by bill and pud, who remembered the story that bob had promised to get from joe and then relate to them. "well, how did you make out?" asked bill. "did joe tell you the story?" exclaimed pud eagerly. "yes, he told me the story in his matter-of-fact way. to him his experience was only an ordinary occurrence that may almost be expected by any hunter in a hard winter. i think that i had better keep the story until to-morrow night, as it is getting late," said bob, looking questioningly at mr. waterman. "go ahead, bob," said mr. waterman. "we are going to stay here and fish to-morrow, so it won't make much difference if we stay up a little later than usual. i don't think that joe has ever told us of this experience, has he?" added mr. waterman, turning to mr. anderson. "no. joe has told us a lot of very interesting experiences that he has had, but he never told us of the time he got so hungry that he tried to eat his moccasins," said mr. anderson. "well," said bob, "though joe told me the story in his own very laconic fashion, i am sure that it was much more interesting than i can make it. i'll do the best i can, however." "all right, then," said bill, "go ahead." "when joe was a young man he once came hunting far north of this country in the company of an old montagnais chief named howling wolf. they started out late in november, expecting to get back about christmas time. they went up the portneuf river, which was frozen over then, and made good progress. they had very good success from the start. contrary to what they had generally experienced, the further north they went the better was the hunting. they were led on by this unexpected factor to go much farther north than they had ever been before. they had three dog teams along and were provisioned for a three months' trip. their good fortune lured them on and it was almost christmas before they awoke to the fact that they must soon get started home or they might get into serious trouble because of lack of provisions. "let's see if we can get some deer meat so that we can stay longer," said howling wolf one day. joe consented and they went out with this idea in view. they were very successful. they both brought in a deer and at the end of a week, they had quite a lot of meat on hand. things thus went along until shortly after christmas, as sometimes happens, the game suddenly became scarce. they could not get a deer or even a rabbit. in addition, the winter came on in earnest. one heavy fall of snow was followed by another and they were kept close to their quarters. the heavy weather continued and they determined to make for the south just as soon as it became possible to do so. "about the tenth of january, they left for the south. they made good progress, though their provisions became lower and lower. at last they were on very short rations and it was under these conditions that howling wolf had the misfortune to break his leg. joe bound up the leg as best he could, but the injured man made progress all the slower. as joe found that the extra burden slowed down the dogs so much in the heavy snow, he determined to cache one load of pelts, make use of the extra dogs and hurry on. food was very low and if they should hit a week's storm he could easily see that he would have the greatest difficulty getting out to escoumains. "as bad luck would have it, a regular blizzard came on and for four days, joe and howling wolf had to lie low in a rude shelter that joe had hastily thrown up when overtaken by the blizzard. it was impossible to keep a fire burning as the snow came down in icy particles that made wandering from camp a foolhardy undertaking. howling wolf on several occasions begged joe to leave him there and go on his way. like the indian that he was, he felt that the storm gods were against them and he had given up. "before they left their improvised shelter, joe had to sacrifice three of the dogs to furnish food for the other dogs. joe also stated that he made his first hearty meal for several days on some dog steaks that he had kept for himself and howling wolf. at last they got away, but on the very next night they were attacked by a large band of wolves, and though they succeeded in driving them off it was only at the expense of almost their last cartridges and the loss of three more dogs. joe spoke again of the heroism of howling wolf, who sat up in his sledge and shot at the wolves, though they threatened to overwhelm him and joe on more than one rush that they made. joe said nothing of himself but one's imagination can easily picture these two hardy hunters, sheltered only by their sledges, making a fight for life against a large pack of hungry wolves. "when the storm was over and the wolves had been driven off, there were over a dozen dead wolves lying around. joe stated that knowing that he could not get the pelts out, he had been compelled to leave the wolves unskinned. in fact, the most vivid impression made on joe by this fight for his very life seemed to lie in the fact that twelve fine wolf skins had to be left there. the further loss of the dogs made it necessary for joe to cache all the rest of his pelts. he did this very reluctantly, for he felt that unless he could get back before the winter was over, he would lose all the fine skins they had gotten by their hard work. then, with hardly any grub and only a few cartridges, one dog team and a big heavy indian with a broken leg as a load, joe started off for escoumains, at least one hundred and twenty miles away. "when joe told me this, he did so in just as matter-of-fact a way as if it were the most ordinary occurrence for a man to find himself far to the north in the depth of winter, practically without grub and without ammunition. the latter was really practically useless anyway, for the heavy snow seemed to have sent everything alive into their winter burrows. joe could not take time to go hunting anyway, but he felt it would be useless, for though he kept his eyes alert, he did not cross a single track. bad luck seemed to follow their journey out just as good luck had urged them further and further north. "another heavy storm came on and for three days joe was compelled to lie quiet waiting for the weather to break. by this time the grub had entirely disappeared and only two dogs were left. though the storm stopped in the middle of the night, joe got his two eskimo huskies out of their snow beds, hitched himself to the sledge also and started on. by the end of that day they had covered nearly thirty miles, according to joe's reckoning, and both he and the dogs were practically exhausted. there was no food for man nor beast, so joe once more had recourse to the dogs. he had to kill one of his favorite dogs. this was the only part of the story in which joe showed any trace of excitement or sentiment. the killing of that favorite dog was evidently a very hard task for joe. "after only four hours' rest, joe and the only dog left took up their burden. by this time howling wolf was in a regular delirium, caused by his injured leg and his privations. joe struggled on all that day and far into the night. according to his calculations, he traveled nearly sixteen hours. in his naive way, joe excused himself for not keeping on farther by stating that his dog finally gave out completely and he had to stop. with no food again, joe took to eating the leather straps that had bound the grub on the sled. then the dog suddenly went mad shortly after midnight and joe was compelled to shoot him in self-defense. by hard work, he got a fire and made a good stew of dog's meat. a good meal of this also had a very stimulating effect on howling wolf, who quieted down and went to sleep. without waiting for the morning, joe hurried on, but the snow was deep and he made but very slow progress. "in the intervals between his delirium, the stoic indian urged joe to leave him and hurry on. joe makes no hero of himself, but he refused to do this, stating that they would either both reach escoumains or neither of them would get there. in this way, joe struggled on for two days more, living on the remains of the dog. this at last gave out. joe now found himself only twenty miles away from escoumains and he felt that if he could only hold out another day, he might get to some place of safety. thus, starving, but determinedly dragging his injured friend, joe staggered on. that night he eased the pangs of hunger by chewing on an old pair of moccasins that he found at the bottom of the sled. howling wolf also chewed away and cheered on his friend for, though he did not feel that joe should still keep on dragging him along, he felt that if he would do it that it was his duty to keep up joe's spirits. they both slept a few hours that night and long before dawn joe was toiling away. "at last, tired and exhausted, nature would have her due. joe became merely a driveling maniac, urged along by an insane desire to make progress. at times he would wander round and round, but eventually he would head on straight again. it was late that night that joe saw far ahead a welcome light. this spurred him on and for about half a mile he almost ran. this spurt soon died down and left him so weak that he could hardly move along. once or twice he fell but he kept on and was soon within hailing distance of the light. he tried to cry out but no sounds came from his exhausted lips. at last, when at the very end of his physical resources, he came to the door and knocked he heard a rustle within, but even before the door was open, he had fallen down in a faint. when he opened his eyes, he was in the cabin of his good friend antoine gagnon, who was bathing his head and feet with hot water and gently urging some hot liquid down his throat. already howling wolf was seated by the fire and telling the good wife, gagnon, what a brave man joe had been and how he had saved his life. when he lifted his head, the whole family crowded around and praised him for his wonderful endurance. joe stated that he had to spend a week in that house before he was strong enough to walk. howling wolf's leg got all right and joe was soon as strong as ever. "three weeks after his almost fatal trip, he was off to the north again with another indian and a week or more later returned with the pelts that had been bought almost with his life's blood. 'but,' concluded joe, 'i would give all the pelts i get in one-two-yessair, three wintaire, if i not kill my dear dog, marie, i love so well.'" "joe must have been some hardy youth twenty years ago," said mr. waterman. "i can assure you that everything he told you was true and probably even worse than he depicted it." pud and bill were greatly impressed with joe's story and sat a long time staring into the fire. pud, however, soon realized his own troubles, for he exclaimed, "gee, boys, i'm sleepy. i'm going to turn in." "i guess you had better, boys. you know, late hours are not on the camper's schedule," said mr. anderson. ten minutes later, not a sound could have been heard except the distant calling of a loon or the low roaring of the river as it rushed along its rocky bed. chapter xi a rescue in the rapids the same thought seemed to awaken every one the next morning. all were out early but they found jack making the fire. he stated that they were going to have some very fine biscuits that morning and so he was up early. no one thought of him in connection with the extra dish of prunes. the boys were soon on the water though they did not expect to get the first salmon. "ye heavens!" said pud. "if one of those big salmon got on my line, i wouldn't know what to do with it anyway. but all the same, i'm going to have a try." "same here," said bob. "i really would like to hook one because my father has told me so much about salmon fishing that i'm anxious to see if i can play one as he told me how to do it. he has caught salmon not one hundred miles from here, you know." "yes, it's all very well for them to tell us how to do it," said bill. "i'll bet, though, that we make a botch of it when we get one." they were soon separated by varying distances. bob got three trout but no salmon rose to his fly. pud was down the stream and as bob floated by, he said, "i don't believe there are any salmon here anyway. i've got four trout but nary a salmon." as if to rebuke his disbelief in the presence of salmon in that river, a big fish leaped clear of the water and tore away with pud's line. in a moment, pud was busy. he got so excited when he saw the wonderful fish make another flying leap that he forgot that he was on a frail canoe and over he went. bob hurried to his rescue and pud was soon in his boat again. pud had held on to the rod and when he got in the boat, he started to reel in but he was due for a rude awakening, as he was nearly yanked out of the canoe by a terrific rush from the fish. "he's still on," yelled pud. "give him line! give him line! now, careful. reel in," yelled bob. pud kept at it and for nearly an hour that fish kept him as busy as a bee. at the end of that time, pud drew the salmon gently towards the canoe. bob reached over to get him in the landing net when off he went again. it took another good twenty minutes before he was finally landed. bob and pud then paddled for the camp and reached there to find that mr. waterman and mr. anderson were already there each with a fine specimen. in a little while they all gathered around for breakfast when a big surprise awaited them. jack demurely brought on a fine baked salmon. when this appeared, mr. waterman hurried over to the tent, lifted the covering under which the three salmon he and mr. anderson had caught had been placed, and there were still the three salmon. "you old dog!" said mr. waterman. "when did you get that fish? i was up pretty early myself but you must have had it still earlier, for you have had plenty here to keep you busy since we got up." jack did not answer mr. waterman's question. instead, he merely queried in his quizzical way. "do i get them prunes?" for answer, mr. waterman went over to the shelter made for the grub and came back with a can filled with the succulent prune. jack took them with a merry twinkle in his eye. "i don't think that i ought to take them," said he. "sure. take them. i said that i'd give extra prunes to the man getting the first salmon and you did the trick," said mr. waterman. "that's all right, but i don't need them. let me give them to the first boy that gets a fish," said jack. "all right," said mr. waterman. "then you'll have to give them to pud, for he was the only boy to land one." jack then came over to the table and with grave ceremony, he handed the prunes to pud. the latter did not want to take them but finally yielded. they had a very merry breakfast and jack at last told them that he had gotten up about half past three and had hardly got out into the stream before he had a fine salmon on his line. he had a merry battle with the gamy fish but finally landed him and, hurrying back, he sneaked into camp without being seen. after breakfast, the various members of the party once more set out in quest of salmon, it being agreed that no one would catch more than two. when they reassembled at lunch, every one had at least one salmon. all were happy as kings, especially the three boys, who had had one of their ambitions realized in catching these wonderful game fish. they went exploring in the afternoon. mr. waterman took the boys back from the river into a part of the country that had been burned over. they made for a rather high ridge merely to get the view, with mr. waterman leading. as he topped the ridge, he was seen to sink suddenly to the ground and then hurry back to them. "two fine bears up there," said mr. waterman in a whisper when he got back to them. "where? where?" exclaimed pud. "just over the ridge. they're eating berries," said mr. waterman. "let's run," said pud. "none of us has even a revolver." "that's all right," replied mr. anderson. "bears won't hurt you. mr. waterman came back stealthily so that you could have a look at them. if they scent us we shan't get within a mile of them. so be careful." pud held back but bob hurried on with mr. waterman and bill was close behind. they very quietly got to the top of the ridge and both of the boys had a very good view of the two black bears that were busily engaged eating the raspberries that grew very luxuriantly there in the bare spots left by the ravages of the fire. mr. waterman had just begun to explain to them what very timid creatures they were when pud came up, and falling over a root crashed down, making a terrific racket. in a moment the bears were gone. they seemed to vanish. they seemed instinctively to keep in line with big rocks or trees so that even the lynx-eyed mr. waterman had great trouble in following their course. the boys did not see them again. "you big boob!" said bill. "what's the matter with you?" "i didn't mean to do it, honest to goodness," replied pud. "but were there really any bear here or were you stringing me as usual?" "of course there was a bear here," said bob. "but a big elephant came along and scared them away. i don't wonder they took to their heels when they heard the noise you made. you'd make a fine indian scout. you had better walk behind jean and note how noiselessly he moves along." "i'm sorry," said pud. the party then turned away after looking over the country from their high point of vantage. they could see far and wide and for miles the great forest fire had left only blackened stumps and dead trees. they got back to camp in time for supper. joe had had time to get out and as he had returned with five partridges, they had another great supper. "they told me when i wanted to come up here," said bob, "that if i wanted to live on bacon, prunes, hard dough, and beans all summer that this was the place to come." "yes, that is what they generally expect to get on such trips as this, but with just a little luck and a good cook like jack, the least thing to be objected to is the 'eats,'" said mr. anderson. "i should think so," replied bob. "i don't know that i have ever enjoyed my meals so much as up here." "the same here," piped in pud. "i think we get almost too good grub, that is as far as i am concerned, for i want to reduce and i have a swell chance to do that with partridge and trout, one night, salmon for breakfast, and salmon, trout, and duck for supper." "yes," said mr. waterman. "we've been unusually lucky this summer." after supper, they went for a paddle up the stream, going up for nearly three miles until they came to another rapid. bob and bill were in one canoe and pud and mr. anderson in another. they went up the rapid as far as they could paddle and then swung around and came racing back. when they came to the quiet part of the river again, bob said, "that's great fun. i bet we have some excitement to-morrow when we go down the river to a point opposite lac parent." "i guess we'll enjoy it all right. i pity pud if he gets in the drink," said bill. the next morning, the guides and their two leaders took the greatest precautions in binding up the duffle bags and the grub. everything was folded so that even though they might be capsized, there would be little risk of their kits and grub. "you are making preparations as if you expect trouble," said bob to mr. waterman. "not especially," was the reply. "it is always best to be ready for anything in fast water. a broken paddle, just a mistake in judgment, may spell disaster. however, i think you'll enjoy it this morning. the river has some fast water all right but it is not very deep and though we may get wet, there will not be much real danger." "how are we going to pair off?" asked bob. "jack will take pud. joe will pair with bill, you will come with me and jean and mr. anderson will make up the party." they were soon off, with mr. waterman and bob leading. they had quite a stretch of slow water first and the boys were given their directions then. "the main thing about getting through fast water is not to lose your nerve," said mr. waterman. "next you must have confidence in your steersman and do what he tells you just as soon as he tells you." "that's what i'm here for," said bob, in his position up in the bow. they soon swung into the rapids and it was exhilarating fun at first. then bob's heart came up into his throat for a minute as he looked ahead and could see only a smother of foam. mr. waterman steered straight for what seemed the worst part of it. in another moment they were in it and bob thought that the canoe would never rise to the wall of water ahead. but it did. in a second, they were shooting down with bob paddling for dear life trying as best he could to follow the calm directions of mr. waterman. the very speedy part of the descent lasted only a few minutes, but it was very exciting. then they swung once more into the calm waters of the broad reaches of the river. "did we cover those two miles that took us over an hour to do the other day when we were portaging up?" asked bob. "that we did," said mr. waterman. "we did it very well. after a few trips of this kind, you will qualify as an expert canoeist." "that's very kind of you to say so," replied bob. "i know though that if i had hit that water with pud or bill that we would have been swimming long before now." "well, it does help to have an old stager like me in the back end of the canoe," said mr. waterman with quiet satisfaction. "to tell the truth, that is really an easy stretch of water. if you ever go through some of the rapids on the shipshaw river or some of the larger rivers of this country, you will know what fast water really means. i went down the shipshaw three years ago with pierre and there were times when the slightest mistake would have meant death almost surely." "i'd like to try that sometime," said bob. "you may think so, but really it is a foolhardy proposition unless you have very clever guides with you," replied mr. waterman. "that's some sport," said bill, as his canoe came abreast of theirs. "i had my troubles," said jack. "this young baby elephant up in the bow is too heavy and makes the canoe very hard to steer." "that's right," said mr. waterman. "suppose, before we reach the next rapids, that you get out a moment, shift some of the load up into the bow and have pud sit back of the first thwart. that will balance the canoe better." "that's a good idea," said jack. "i'll do it." "why so quiet?" asked bob of pud as he looked across. "now don't kid me," said pud. "i really thought three or four times that i'd be swimming down those rapids a mile a minute, but jack brought me through all right. i'll give him all the credit." "don't you believe it," said jack. "he did fine. he obeyed orders, but his weight in the bow made it very hard and i wouldn't want to try it over again." a little later, pud and jack went ashore and fixed the cargo so that the canoe would not be down at the bow. then they were off again. once more they shot down through foam and spray, just missing rocks by a fraction of an inch. it proved the greatest sport that the boys had ever tried. they grew enthusiastic. "now, it's all right to like fast water," said jack, "but don't let that make you careless. you can never afford to be careless even in rather easy water. if you do, you'll come a cropper sure." they paddled on and went down three or four more easy rapids. by this time the boys commenced to think that they knew quite a little about how to take fast water. as they went along, mr. waterman warned them that they were now coming to a rather hard place but that it was very short. in another moment they were in it. bob and his teacher went through like a breeze. under the master hand of mr. waterman, the speedy descent of the waters was made without dipping a drop into the canoe. as they came down into the smooth reach at the foot of the rapids, mr. waterman turned the canoe around, saying, "let's watch the others come down this last bit. it certainly looks exciting but while you're in it you have little time to think of the exciting features." just then mr. anderson and jean came into view. they seemed poised almost on the brink of a cascade but the canoe came rushing down like a bird. at times, it seemed buried in the spray but it emerged triumphant at the foot. they also turned around to watch the others. pud and jack were next. jack made it seem so easy that the boys were amazed at the deftness with which he steered the boat. at one spot, by a peculiar wrist motion known only to the initiated, he made the boat move bodily over to the right just in time to miss a big rock that seemed sure to be their waterloo. it now remained only for joe and bill to come safely through. under the influence of the eddies, mr. waterman and bob had floated up almost to the very foot of the rapids. this was the big factor in what followed. jack and bill hove in sight and down they rushed. just before they struck the bad part of the rapids, bill was seen to hold up his paddle broken short off at the handle. he turned around to snatch up the extra paddle but in doing so he was too hasty and in another moment, the canoe was caught by a swell and overturned. anxiously the party at the foot of the rapids watched for the heads of joe and bill. joe came up and was seen to make frantic efforts to get back to the canoe, but he was swept on. bill did not appear. bob was out of his canoe and out on the bank before any one even thought of stopping him. in another moment, he was running up the trail that ran alongside the river. a minute later he was out on the rocks above where the overturned canoe was now seen to be jammed between the rocks. a moment later, he plunged into the foaming rapids and fortunately drifted down right on the canoe. when he came there he had the greatest difficulty in not being swept over the canoe. frantically he clung to the canoe, now finding himself helpless to save bill, who was partly pinned under the canoe and was rapidly drowning right before his eyes. bills eyes were turning glassy, bob thought, as he made a final effort to get the canoe free. he succeeded in doing this, but not as he expected, for his weight and the weight of the water as it swept along crumpled up the canoe and suddenly he found himself rushing down the rapids just like a wisp of straw on a miniature stream such as little boys sometimes make in the gutters. all at once he felt bill's body bump him and instinctively he grabbed it and though bruised in a hundred places, he finally shot out at the foot of the rapids still clutching bill's limp form. bob was himself practically unconscious, but struggled to keep himself and bill afloat as if under some superpower. a moment later, the others were there and they soon had bob and bill out on the bank. bill was far gone, as he not only had been half drowned when pinned under the canoe but he had knocked his head against the rocks in the latter part of his descent. first aid was given to him first. he was stretched out over a log and then his arms were worked to get the air back into his lungs. in about five minutes, bill opened his eyes and with a big sigh closed them again. a few minutes later he was sitting up, still in rather a dazed condition, but fast recovering. bob had received quite a cut on his head, but he had not actually lost consciousness and he fast recuperated. he was up and about in a little while, apparently none the worse for his strenuous exertions. "that was a close call," said mr. waterman. "i should think so," said pud. "when i saw bob plunge into those rapids, i thought he was a fool, for i could not see how he could do anything." "he saved my life all right," said bill. "i was pinned under that canoe and was nearly drowned when bob got there. i didn't get get this bump on the head until afterwards. i saw bob come, but i was so nearly all in that i could only struggle faintly to get a breath of air now and then. when the canoe suddenly broke in two, i shot down and i must have hit a rock for i knew nothing more until i woke up on the bank." "you deserve a great deal of credit, bob," said mr. anderson, "not only for your heroism but for the quick presence of mind you showed in doing the only thing that had a chance of saving bill's life." "you beat me to it all right," said mr. waterman. "the way you got out of that canoe and up that trail would have made me look like a snail so i stayed at the foot hoping to be of use there. i thought that bill might appear any moment at the foot of the rapids as i could not see that he was pinned down by the canoe." "i'm certainly glad you were there," said bob, "for i would never have gotten bill ashore by myself. i certainly was all in. i was not unconscious but i had big black spots before my eyes and i guess i was just about ready to pass out." "well, it's all over and we're very lucky," said mr. waterman. "we'll camp right here for the night and go on our way to-morrow morning. we can get back to camp all right even if a little later than we had planned." in the meantime, joe had come down the rapids unhurt and crawled into jean's boat as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. while the others were bringing bob and bill back to the world, he and jean set out after the broken canoe and captured it. owing to the great care with which their duffle bags had been made up that morning, nothing was really injured. bill and bob did not have much appetite for supper that evening as both were suffering more from shock than they recognized. in the morning, mr. waterman let them sleep until the last call for breakfast. after a swim, they were both just about as good as ever. "how are we going to get everything into the canoes this morning?" asked pud. "what's that?" asked mr. waterman in turn. "we had the canoes pretty well filled yesterday," said pud. "with one less canoe, we'll have to shift things around, won't we?" "who said that we had one less canoe?" asked mr. waterman quietly. pud looked to the bank of the stream and sure enough, there were four canoes there. "where did we get the extra canoe?" asked pud puzzled. "we didn't get it any place," replied mr. anderson. "joe and jean were up real early this morning and they fixed the one that seemed such a wreck last evening." pud went over to the canoes and sure enough, he saw where the canoe had been patched up. "this isn't a very good job," said mr. waterman. "when we get back to camp, they will take out those broken ribs and replace them entirely instead of splicing them up as they have done. it will do all right until we get home but when joe really gets through with that canoe, there won't be a sign of that smash-up." "he's certainly clever," said bill. "yes, he is in one sense, though in another he is just using the knowledge that he has acquired in years in the woods," said mr. anderson. "pierre, jean, joe or jack can all build a very good canoe as they have often done so," said mr. waterman. "can pierre make a birch bark canoe just like the indians used to have?" asked bob. "nothing easier," replied mr. anderson. "i'll get him to make me one ofter camp is over and send it down to me in virginia," said bob. "he'll be very glad to do it," said mr. waterman. after a good breakfast, they were on their way. it was a credit to the real courage of bob and bill that though they had to go down three rapids before they came to the ford near lac parent, that neither of them showed any sign of the white feather. both boys seemed to enjoy the exciting sport just as much as before the almost fatal accident of the previous day. on arrival at the ford, they found pierre there. two hours later, they were back at their home camp and settled in their shelter tents. that night around the camp fire they went over the events of the week and concluded that they had had more fun and excitement crowded into that week than they had had in any other similar space of time during their lives. they all went to bed glad to-morrow was the sabbath and that they could just laze around and enjoy the comparative comforts of their home camp. chapter xii pierre's big salmon the next night, bob visited the guides' tent after supper and he did not return to the others until nearly ten o'clock. "what did you find so interesting up there with the guides?" asked bill. "nothing much," replied bob. "pierre was telling me how he nearly lost his life landing a big salmon on the shipshaw river one summer." "let's hear the story," demanded pud. "it's too late to-night but i'll tell it to you to-morrow night if you want me to," replied bob. the next evening it was raining, so a fire had been built outside of bob's shelter tent. the boys were leaning back inside, all the more comfortable because of the dreary conditions outside. in spite of the rain, the birch logs burned brightly though accompanied by hissing, as big drops of rain came down now and then from the pines overhead. "this is a good night to do murder or some other light occupation," said pud to the others. "why not tell us that fish story of pierre's now?" queried bill. "that's a good idea," said pud. "all right," answered bob, "but i really wish i could give you the story just as pierre told it to me, with the sidelights of indian philosophy and the natural expressions of wood lore that made his story much more piquant and picturesque than mine could ever be. anyway, i'll do the best i can. "it seems that one summer he was sent out by one of the big lumber companies to scout for timber. he was told to get another indian or two and go up the shipshaw river and report the growth of timber near the water, whether he thought it could be rafted down or not, and any other information that would be valuable for the lumber companies. he took along two nephews of his, named jean and jacques, and an old indian, named montagnais because he was reputed to be the head chief of the tribe of that name to which all the indians of that part of the country belonged. the old indian told pierre before he started that there was plenty of big timber in the shipshaw valley but that he would find it practically impossible to raft it down. pierre told the lumber company this but they desired him to go anyway, stating that they wished to find out definitely about the matter that summer. "they started off and took the steamer to chicoutimi at the head of the saguenay river. they there got into their canoes and were soon going up the shipshaw. they found this river one of great volume, and they had many long portages to make and much fast water to pole up. it took them over three weeks of hard paddling and portaging to get near its source. at last they got as far up as the valley as pierre thought was necessary. it was pierre's idea that on the way down, they would stop off every few miles and go back into the country to look over the woods this they did, and, of course, this made their progress down rather slow. "one day they came on a real indian encampment at the foot of the rapids, and as it was near evening they determined to stop and enjoy the company of their brother tribesmen for the night. they found the indians very glad to see them. they told them that they had wintered far to the north of the great divide and that they planned to get down to the st. lawrence and in touch with white people and civilization once more. later in the evening, they learned that the little party had stayed at that one place for three full days, because the chief was determined to catch a big salmon that had tantalized him during that time. this salmon had been seen by all of them, as he lived in a big pool at the head of some rapids only a short distance down the river. it was then too dark to show this big fish to pierre and his companions, but early the next morning, pierre was down at the pool. he looked over a big rock into the pool, that was formed by a back eddy, and, sure enough, there was an especially large salmon swimming about in the quiet water. in another moment, pierre had out his fishing tackle, but to no avail. the big salmon would have nothing to do with anything pierre offered him. he tried one fly after another, but without effect. it seemed as if the big salmon despised his efforts. as if in defiance, every now and then the fish would swoop up to the surface and jump two or three feet out of the water. "pierre grew stubborn. all that day, he stayed by the pool, either he himself fishing or watching the old chief try every while to entice the giant salmon to take that hook. at night they all returned to camp and told stories of phantom fish that could not be caught except by black magic. they came to the conclusion finally that the big fish must be one of that kind, with something uncanny about him, and they decided that it would be bad medicine to try to catch him. pierre was the only one that dissented from this. "he got up even before dawn the next morning and was early down at the pool. he procured a little pitch and some black flies and stuck them together in such a way that, when they were thrown on the water, they looked just like a half dozen flies floating down the stream. he got out his smallest leader and fastened a hook among the flies. when he had finished, it looked very lifelike and pierre was proud of his handiwork. carefully approaching the stream without making any noise or permitting any shadow to fall on the water, he threw his semi-artificial fly far out on the stream, so that the back eddy would ultimately bring it into the pool. sure enough, the little black spot on the water whirled around and finally floated calmly and slowly around the pool. twice it made the circuit and pierre had just about decided that he was doomed to disappointment again, when he saw a streak fly into the air and his reel fairly sang as it spun around. unfortunately something jammed and the rod was jerked out of his hands. pierre saw it disappear over the edge of the rock, but he was after it and just caught the end of the rod as it was being dragged under. pierre held on like grim death. in another minute he found himself out in the river and a moment later he was in the powerful current at the head of the rapids. even yet he had time to get to shore but, with his usual obstinacy, he held on. a minute later he was going down the rapids, doing his best to keep his head above water, but with the line wound tightly around his arm. it was now a fight for life, and he had no time to think of the fish. down he went, carried hither and thither by the powerful currents. he knew that each moment might be his last but he struggled on. once he believed he heard a shout and thought he caught a glimpse of a canoe shooting after him, but the noise of the water and his fearful struggle to keep from being dashed upon the rocks that lined the river made this appear more like a dream than a reality. "he was on the point of exhaustion when he swung around a bend of the river and found himself in quiet water. in one sense he was saved, for he had come through the rapids safely, but in another he was just at the beginning of his struggle for he was practically exhausted and at least a half mile from shore. he lay back on the water and closed his eyes, feeling that he could never reach land. just then he heard a call, and his two nephews swung around the point and made for him. they pulled him into their canoe and paddled for the shore. when they reached there, they started to carry pierre up on the beach, but found the line tied around his arm. they disentangled this to find that the pole was still at the one end of the line. they then started to reel in and in a moment they felt a weight pulling on the line. they pulled warily, and a minute later the big salmon came into view. pierre had caught him after all. whether he was drowned by being pulled down the rapids, whether he had hit a rock when entangled in the line, or for whatever reason, the fact remained that the line had held and that the big fish was brought safely ashore. "jean proposed that they should camp there that day to celebrate the occasion. pierre was secretly very glad to do so, for he really was all in, not only because of his great exertion in coming down the rapids, but also because of the many bruises he had received from the rocks. he asked his nephews how they had come along so luckily to his rescue. they replied that they were just on their way to get a last look at the big fish when they saw him plunge over the rock by the side of the pool and then go down the rapids. he was some quarter mile ahead of them and they could not get near him in the rapids. they kept on going, however, although they were afraid that he would hit his head on some sharp rock and be drowned. "one of the nephews then went up the river by the portage trail, and in another hour the small tribe and the old montagnais chief were gathered around pierre, hearing of his remarkable escape from death in the rapids and his more remarkable catch of the giant salmon. they roasted the fish for dinner and had a great feast in honor of the occasion. pierre stated that this was the biggest salmon he had ever seen and that it was just luck that he had caught it. he gave himself some credit for the bait that had tempted the fish, but otherwise he felt that it was only luck that had brought the fish down through the rapids with him." bob stopped here and looked out at the rain which was still coming down steadily. "pierre has had some adventures in his life," said bill. "he told me another story about that trip up the shipshaw, and though i tried to explain it to him, he could not see it," said bob. "what was that?" asked pud. "according to pierre the good spirit showed that he was displeased at him for catching the fish. as they were going down a wide reach of the river two days later they saw a big pearshaped black object rise into view over the hilltops. it sailed on over them and just as it was above them, it dropped a rock which went right through pierre's canoe. if the other canoe had not been near, they would not have had time to save anything. as it was, they saved all their duffle, and, going ashore, they soon had the canoe in shape again. pierre felt that the great spirit had thus reminded him of his sacrilege in killing the big spirit fish. i tried to tell pierre that he had seen a big balloon, and i called to mind that in that very year a big balloon had floated far into the wilderness. pierre would have no such explanation. to him, the big object was a direct visitation of the great spirit, it completely terrorized, him and his mates, and he said that he would always remember it." here bob paused and pud took occasion to ask: "did pierre get back all right after his trip?" "oh, yes; though he had one more experience that was not very pleasant," said bob. "what was that?" asked bill. "as i have already mentioned, they got out of their canoes and went inland every few miles to scout around and see what timber was in the little valleys leading off the main valley of the shipshaw. on one of these occasions, pierre and the old indian went off on one side of the river, and the two others on the opposite side. they had only one rifle between them, for they were not out hunting and had taken it along merely from habit. pierre had the gun, while the old indian went ahead with his easy stride. though over sixty years of age, he was noted as one of the best walkers and sturdiest paddlers in the country. he led the way and pierre came after, thinking hard about the displeasure of the great spirit as shown by the sinking of his canoe. they broke through a very narrow ravine and came upon a she-bear with three cubs. the sight of the indians angered the bear and she made a rush for them. "pierre was not able to fire for a moment as montagnais was right in his path. at pierre's yell, the old indian stepped back and the gun belched forth almost in the bear's face. the ball did not take effect and did nothing except to add fury to the mad rush of the bear. she swept pierre aside ripping his shoulder with her claws, and caught montagnais fairly in the chest. the latter went down without a cry. fortunately, pierre's shoulder was not very badly hurt and he had not dropped his gun. he slipped another cartridge into the rifle and gave the bear her quietus by hitting her right behind the shoulder and striking her heart. pierre then looked at his old indian friend and saw that he had received a very bad wound. several ribs were evidently broken, while the chest bone seemed to be caved in. pierre hastened to a nearby brook and got some water in a hastily improvised birch bucket. the water brought montagnais to his senses, but a broken ankle made it impossible for him to move. he was evidently in great pain. "in the excitement, pierre had done nothing for himself and did not do so until he finally commenced to feel giddy and came near fainting. he then tore off his shirt and found that his weakness was due to loss of blood. he bound up his arm and sat down to rest and to think what to do. he tried to carry the old indian, but soon gave that up, both because he was too weakened to do so and because the great pain caused by moving his old friend made the latter faint. there was nothing to do except to stay with his friend and wait for jean and jacques to hunt them up, or else to get to the river and bring them back. he thought that the latter would be the better plan, so he made montagnais as comfortable as he could, propping him up against the old bear and giving him the rifle as defense. the cubs by this time had gotten over their scare and they came back to their mother and smelled around her with little whines and moans that were almost childlike. he left montagnais leaning against the old bear with a cub on each side of him. they were quite little and as harmless as kittens. "pierre found that he must have lost a lot of blood for he had some difficulty in getting back to the river. at last he reached there, and in due course of time jean and jacques came paddling across the river, singing a low indian love song, happy as any children of the forest should be when in their native haunt on a fine summer's day. they were all attention when they saw pierre and were ready to start at once even without their suppers. this pierre did not let them do as he felt that he himself would not be able to get back to his old friend without some nourishment. the two young indians hurried things along and pierre felt much better by the time supper was over. they then started off and, though by this time night had fallen, pierre led them straight to the gully and found old montagnais quietly sleeping with the three cubs lying around him. they built a fire and examined the injuries of the old man. he was now quite conscious and he told pierre and the others just how badly he was hurt and what they would have to do to get him out. "under his directions, they built a leafy litter and as soon as dawn showed the way, they carried him back to the river. they felt that it would be best to rest there for a few days. jean and jacques made a trip back to the gully and returned with the bear's skin, as much bear meat as they could handle, and the three cubs following them like puppies. by the end of their week's stay, the old indian was able to sit up and he said that he would be able to do his share if they got him into the canoe. pierre stayed three days more and then set out. it required skillful paddling for him to make some of the rapids but finally they emerged once more upon the bosom of the wide saguenay. in due time, pierre got back to escoumains and made his report about the lumber." "now, i know why pierre was not very anxious to go up the shipshaw with me two years ago," said mr. waterman. "he told me that he had been up the river but he did not want to go again." "he was no doubt thinking of the balloon," said bill. "do you think it was a balloon?" asked pud. "it undoubtedly was," said mr. waterman. "the very year that pierre went up the shipshaw, they held a long distance balloon race starting away over in the united states. one of the balloons was carried away to the east of the saguenay and the two pilots did not get back to civilization for over two weeks. they had a very hard time for they had to tramp out. the remains of the big balloon are up there in the wilderness and have probably more than once aroused the astonishment and amazement of wandering indians." "maybe no one has found them," said pud. "that's quite probable, for you know that we have been up here for quite some time, and we haven't seen anything of them," said mr. waterman. the rain still came down but, sheltered as they were, they rather enjoyed it. they talked for some time and then dispersed to their various tents. bob and bill were together. just before turning in, bob put two big logs on the fire and they lay down in their blankets watching the fitful flames that darted feebly up into the rain. "we're lucky to-night that we're not out on a trip," said bill. "how so?" asked bob. "well," replied bill, "if we were on a trip we should not have this shelter tent along and we should stand a good chance to get a soaking." "i shouldn't mind that much," said bob. "but don't you remember that last trip? we had a rainy night then and we did not get very wet. our sleeping bags kept us just as dry as punk all night, though i could hear the rain beating down like sin on my head." "that's true," said bill. "these sleeping bags are great stuff. all the same, i'm glad i'm here to-night." "are you going to keep the fire going to-night?" asked bob sleepily. "yes, if i happen to wake up," said bill. "i'm nearest the fire and i'll just throw on a log if i can reach one without getting out of my bag." "i've seen to that," said bob. "you can reach these logs easily enough. don't bother to do it though unless you wake. needn't keep it on your mind." "don't worry. i'm as sleepy as the dickens now, so i shall probably not bat an eyelid until morning." "good-night," said bob as he rolled over. "pleasant dreams," said bill in answer. ten minutes later the only sign of life about that part of the woods was the fire which blazed up now and then, only to be put down when a breeze knocked a lot of big drops from the trees. chapter xiii the platinum mine because of the experience that bob and bill had had, mr. waterman thought it best to stick around lac parent and take it easy for a few days. this they did. they found the trout fishing very good and concluded that after all there was nothing like fly fishing for the speckled beauties. fishing for salmon was a change but they all felt that if they were to fish for a summer they would much prefer the smaller fish. there seemed to be no lessening of the supply. on wednesday they all went into escoumains. they went by the trail, carrying their canoes through the first two lakes so that they had only about six or seven miles of walking. they did this because they made the trip more for the sake of a change than because they had to go to the village for supplies. sandy macpherson still talked of the german spy. "i have to admire both his nerve and his cleverness," said sandy. "to come here for that purpose and to do so for several years simply proves the excellence of the german spy system, considered by far the greatest and most far-reaching of any nation's in the world," said mr. waterman. "sure," said sandy, "that's the point. field has been here for the last five years so when he came in early this spring we thought nothing of it. the way he got me--me, the representative of the law, to help him in with those wireless instruments four years ago was the height of audacity. how did he know that i knew nothing about wireless?" "he had probably talked to you about it," said mr. anderson. "well, i bear him no ill-will," concluded sandy, "especially as the german submarines did not get a single troop ship that left either halifax or quebec." "did those revenue officers question you about us?" asked mr. waterman. "i should think they did," replied sandy. "i got mad at last and asked them if they suspected me of being disloyal. that shut them up. i guess the thing is over for good." they all went back to the camp via the short route with the exception of mr. waterman, who went back via the road with a load of provisions. as he left, he stated that he would camp at the ford that night and would expect them all over there very early in the morning to help him with the stuff. the party separated and the next morning even before daybreak, they all left the home camp and headed for the ford. the fact that the boys were quite willing to go along and would really have felt slighted had they been left behind showed how much they had developed since coming up to the camp. they not only thought nothing of getting up before daybreak and going off over two lakes but they knew that when they got there, they would merely load themselves down with grub and come back. what would have seemed to them a big day's work only a few weeks before, they were now eager to do before breakfast. such is the way of the wilderness. men get to see that every one must do his share and a little discomfort is scoffed at. the boys enjoyed the early morning paddle through the two lakes, while the portaging of the canoes was by this time mere child's play to them. they really thought nothing about it and took their turn when traveling light just as a matter of course. the improvement in pud was the most noticeable. he had lost weight and was quicker on his feet and handled himself much better. they arrived at the ford to find mr. waterman busy getting everything ready to move out. he had things in good shape and in ten minutes they were on the back trail. there were so many of them that the weight assigned each was comparatively light and they walked away at a rapid pace. before seven o'clock, they were back on lac parent and with appetites that would have been the delight of an epicure. jack was the only one that had remained behind and as soon as they disembarked, he called them. they all came running. he had salmon steaks, hot biscuits, porridge with milk and apricots. they certainly enjoyed the meal, went fishing as usual. coming back about eleven o'clock, they went in for a swim and got a lot of enjoyment out of this. in spite of the northern clime in which they were, the shallowness of the lakes permitted the water to get pretty well heated by the hot july and august sun, and swimming was a real pleasure. it was only now and then when they struck a lake fed mainly by springs that they found the water too cold for swimming. the next day, pud suggested that they should go over to the cabin in the gulch, called by all the german spy's hut, and explore. "that's a good suggestion," said mr. waterman. "we can easily do it in a day," said pud. "possibly not," said mr. waterman. "we'll take sufficient grub for a week for we do not know just where our search may lead us. we may come out on the portneuf river, fifty or sixty miles away." "i didn't think of that," said pud. they were soon ready. mr. waterman and pierre brought along their guns. the party was made up of the three boys, the two leaders just mentioned and mr. anderson. they were soon over in to the second lake. there they stopped to fish, except mr. waterman, who went off to one end of the lake as he thought that he was pretty sure to bag a duck or two there. he was right, as his gun was heard occasionally during the next two hours. the fishing was fine and when mr. waterman returned with six fine young ducks, the boys knew that they were going to have a big supper again. they had lunch and then went on to the cabin. they determined to stay there all night and just explore the gulch. "i have often been up on the sides of this gulch but i have never been down here to see what was here," said mr. anderson. behind the cabin they found an excellent spring with a little stream leading away from it. "i guess we'll make no mistake if we take this spring for a starting point to-morrow. this stream will surely lead us out of the gulch, as it must have an outlet," said mr. waterman. "there is sure to be an outlet because there is no lake here," said bob. the stream led them further down the gulch and they found themselves going down even further. when they had reached a point about a half mile from the cabin, they found that the path they had been following stopped and turned up the hill. this was not the path they had previously noted as leading to the top of the mountain. "let's follow this path," said bill. "all right," said pud. they turned off and they had not gone far before they came to what seemed like a mine. the boys were very excited as it seemed to them that they had discovered the reason why field and his friends had made their summer home in this gulch rather than in some other that would have been just as suitable from the wireless standpoint. "this looks like a mine to me," said bob. "it certainly does look that way," replied bill. "he has a lot of quartz over here," said bob as he went over to a little pile that had been made to one side. "it looks as if this were a recent discovery," said bill. "it certainly does," said pud. they examined the quartz but it did not look like anything they had ever seen. "let's take some of it back with us," said bob. "mr. waterman is quite an expert on metals, rocks, etc., and he will probably know what it is." "that's a good idea," said bill. "he told us the first time we climbed the mountain to the west of this gulch that it looked as if there should be some kind of minerals down here. from above, this gulch certainly looks like many a mining camp site in colorado." "i remember his saying that," said pud. the boys hurried back to the cabin and they had hard time restraining their impatience until mr. waterman returned. bob handed him the quartz without any comment. mr. waterman took it and after a short examination, he said, "where did you find this, boys?" "we found it off the little stream," said bob. "evidently field has recently discovered a mine of some sort and he has just started to work it, for not very much work has been done yet." "you have made a valuable discovery," said mr. waterman. "if i am not mistaken, this quartz has streaks of platinum and you know, platinum is more valuable than gold." "what!" yelled pud. "we've discovered a mine that is better than a gold mine." "now don't get excited," said mr. waterman. "it is most probable that field has had this place regularly staked out and claimed by some friend over here." "how can we find out?" asked bill. "we'll have to look it up at tadousac, where the records are kept," said mr. waterman. "lead me to your platinum mine," concluded he. they all went over to the hole in the ground and mr. waterman looked over the quartz that had been taken out. "i have no doubt that this is platinum," said he at last. "i may be mistaken, but i hardly think so." "let's hustle back and get out of tadousac right away and put in a claim," said bill. "now, don't hurry. it will keep, no doubt," said mr. waterman. "in any case, it will not be necessary for all of us to go to tadousac. i would suggest that mr. anderson and bill take the back trail and get out to tadousac in due time and put in a claim for the mine in the name of pud, bill and bob." "not on your life," said bob. "you and mr. anderson are in on this as we would never have come had it not been for you. in addition, you would have been sure to discover the mine yourself before the afternoon is over." bob spoke with such sincerity and he was backed up by the two other boys so earnestly that at last mr. anderson and mr. waterman gave in and consented to be given a share in the mine. "now don't go building any great castles in the air," said mr. anderson. "we may be mistaken and this quartz practically worthless." "i'll wager that that german knew what he was doing," said bob. "mr. waterman thought that he was from the west by the way he knew the woods and woodcraft and i bet he did not dig that big hole himself without feeling that he had something worth while." "you are probably right," said mr. waterman. "but here is another thought. if we put in a claim for this gulch, we may have a hundred mining sharks down here right away and that would spoil the whole thing, especially if there is more of the stuff." "well, let's lay claim to the whole gulch," said mr. anderson. "i'll give them the impression that we are buying this gulch because it is so picturesque and centrally located." "you may be able to get away with it if you go about it carefully," said mr. waterman. "don't you think that those revenue officers noticed that mine?" asked mr. anderson suddenly. "they probably did but thought nothing of it as they were so intent on catching field and finding out what he had been doing," said mr. waterman. "we can't be sure of that," said mr. anderson. "i think it would be best for bill and me to get out as fast as we can without attracting attention and put in a claim for this gulch at once." "you'll have to put in a mining claim for this to be any good," said mr. waterman. "i'll fix that," was the reply. "i'll put in a full claim, which means that if any minerals are found on the land, they belong to the owner of the land if found by him and half the same if discovered by any other person." "do you think that we can get to lac parent to-night?" asked bill. "if we start right away," said mr. anderson. everything was full of excitement until the two had departed on the back trail. we shall not follow them but merely mention that in due course of time, mr. anderson filed a claim for the gulch, the same to be paid for at the regular settler's rates. it seemed that the big timber companies had had men down into the gulch and because of the difficulties in getting out the lumber they had not bought the timber on this particular part of the country. this was very fortunate, for mr. anderson was thus able to buy the land outright, to be paid for after it had been regularly surveyed. the preliminary papers were signed and the two then heaved a sigh of relief as they now knew that they were secure in their discovery. we shall thus leave them and return to the others. these latter spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the sides of the gulch. mr. waterman saw further evidences of mineral wealth and grew very enthusiastic over the prospects. they slept in the spy's cabin that night and were very cozy around the open fireplace that had been built at one side of the room. "this is some cabin," said mr. waterman the next morning. "field was very comfortable here, i'll bet." "it must have been lonely," said bob. "it probably was after the revenue officers had rounded up his mates, but prior to that time, i have no doubt that they had a very fine time. they could get out to the north and go fishing, leaving one man to listen to the wireless, and they probably had their share of game. well, let's be going," finally said mr. waterman. they determined that the best way to travel would be to go right down the stream. pierre was detailed to go ahead and clear a trail where necessary. pud carried one canoe and bob the other. they also carried their packs, while mr. waterman carried the pack and a big load of grub. pierre carried only his little pack, which left him free to swing the ax. they made fair progress, though it was rough going. they found that the gulch was not so deep as it looked. in other words, the stream led them down and down. under other circumstances they would have found the scenery very beautiful. it is one thing to find a beautiful bridal veil falls fifty or sixty feet high when you have nothing to do but admire it. it is another thing altogether to come upon such a fall and to have to pick a way down the precipice carrying a canoe and other load. there seemed no end to the trail on which they were. down they went, and pierre was heard more than once to exclaim "sacre! mon dieu!" and a few other favorite expressions with him when he was exasperated. they went along at least five miles in this way and there seemed no end to the trail. "i take it back," said mr. waterman. "field and his pals did not come out this way to fish. that is sure. there is no sign of a trail." "it's a good thing we brought that grub along," said bob. "this trail is hard enough coming down, but it would take us all day to get back to the cabin." "you're right," said pud. "i'm getting into good shape but this trail is getting my goat." "don't worry," said mr. waterman. "i've been within a few miles of this place, and it can't be very long before we hit either the portneuf river or some lake that drains into it. i'll wager that the portneuf is within twelve miles of here." "twelve miles!" said pud, with a sigh. "that's nothing," said mr. waterman. "i think, though, that we'll soon hit a lake, for i have never had to portage more than six miles in this country without striking some lake or river." "oh, let it be soon," said pud. "not that i care. but simply so that bob won't play out." "don't worry about me," said bob. "you haven't heard me kicking, have you?" they stopped for lunch at the base of a forty-foot fall. there was a deep pool, flecked with foam, as was to be expected. mr. waterman got out his line and in fifteen minutes he had six fine trout out of the water. pierre soon had them cleaned and they had them for lunch. on they went again, but they traveled more than another five miles before they came to a small lake. mr. waterman looked at his compass and decided that the lake must flow into the portneuf river. they went to the far end of the lake, where a little stream flowed out. "i'll wager that we'll hit the portneuf river in less than an hour to-morrow," said mr. waterman. "to-morrow?" queried pud. "yes, i think that we have done enough for to-day. here is a fine place to camp and i think that the best thing for us to do is to fish for a couple of hours and then have a good dinner." this they did, and when they returned to the camping place they found that pierre had the ducks steaming in the pot and that supper was practically ready. they enjoyed that supper most heartily, for they had had a very hard day. they sat around the camp fire that night until a little later than usual for it was a wonderful night. the stars seemed right above them. one big planet stood right over the top of a distant mountain and it looked exactly like a big incandescent light hung there to light the travelers on their way. pierre was more talkative than usual. he told them that he had been on this lake and that he now recognized that he had been half way back to the gulch. he told of killing a big bear nearby one summer. he pointed off to a distant mountain and said that it had occurred over there. he had seen the bear while scouting for timber for one of the big lumber companies. the bear, when he saw him, was about two miles away on a mountain opposite to him. he determined to get him if possible. he crossed over to the other ridge and had great trouble in locating the bear again. finally he did so. he worked around to the other side of the bear so that the wind would not carry his scent to the bear. finally he got within one hundred yards of the bear. the latter then showed signs of uneasiness, and as there were some thick woods near pierre thought that he had better not take a further chance. he gave the bear one shot, which hit him in the shoulder. the bear, in a frenzy, rushed straight at him. he had only an old-fashioned rifle and before he could break his gun and put in another cartridge the bear was only a few feet away. taking hasty aim at the glaring eye of the bear, he pulled the trigger. the bullet hit the bear plump in the eye and he dropped dead in his tracks. "gosh!" said pud. "i don't know what i'd do if i saw a wounded bear coming right at me. i guess i'd drop my gun and run." "that would be the worst thing you could do, for in spite of their size, bears are remarkably active, and they go through the woods like a streak," said mr. waterman. "i bet that you'd stand your ground, all right," said bob. "you've lots of nerve, pud, and that's all that's necessary in a pinch." "i suppose i would, but at the same time, i am not aching for the experience," answered pud. "men are generally braver than they think," said mr. waterman. "i've known pretty poor sort of fellows that would stand up in a pinch and fight like sin, either against some animal like the bear, or even against their fellows." "i think that that's so," said bob. "you know that in time of war, practically everybody enlists." "yes," said pud, "but some of them are really forced to do it by public opinion." "that's very true," replied bob, "but even the fellows that do not care to enlist are just as brave as the others when a battle comes." the conversation drifted on until at last mr. waterman looked at his watch and piled them all off to their blankets. they were up early the following morning. after a hearty breakfast they set out down the stream. this proved so small that they were compelled to get out of their canoes and portage. a half hour later they came into another lake, which both pierre and mr. waterman recognized at once. "i've been here before," said mr. waterman. "the outlet of this lake leads directly north, so that we shall hit the portneuf river some seventy miles from its mouth. they journeyed on, and by that night they had reached the river. "we'll have some fast water that we had not counted on when we left," said mr. waterman. "very fast rapide," assented pierre. "can we make them?" asked pud. "can a duck swim?" replied mr. waterman, with a merry twinkle in his eye that betokened that he was ready for the fun ahead. "are these the rapids you told me of?" asked bob. "you bet," said mr. waterman. "there are some dangerous spots, but we'll manage them all right." once more they carefully packed their bags and the grub. practically all of the duffle was put into mr. waterman's canoe and it was all tied to the thwarts, so that if an upset occurred things would not be lost. bob went, with mr. waterman, while pud was with pierre. "i like this," said pud, with a frowning glance. "never mind. pierre and you will manage all right," said mr. waterman. "you'll find that the paddling will be easy. it is more a matter of steering. we'll hit some water this morning that will make that fast water in the escoumains look like a mill pond." "lead me to it," said bob. "come on, pud! don't stand there." they set off, and for some time they paddled along on a smoothly running current. it then began to get faster, and soon they were into the thick of it. bob and mr. waterman went through the first rapids just like ducks. it was most exhilarating sport. they waited at the foot of the descent for the other canoe, and they soon saw it shooting towards them. "that looks pretty dangerous," said bob, as he saw the canoe dash through a foam-flecked bit of water with sharp rocks on both sides. "it's a game for small children," replied mr. waterman. "in the hands of experts there is really not much danger in this water." "is there worse water ahead?" asked bob. "sure thing," said mr. waterman. "this was a pretty good one, but you'll know what real fast water is when we have passed through the devil's cauldron." "some sport," said pud, as their canoe swung alongside. "i'm trying to do my share, but i have full confidence in pierre, so why worry." "you're right," answered bob. "that had the escoumains rapids beaten hollow," continued pud. "mr. waterman says that there's some real sport ahead," said bob. "go ahead. i'm game," said pud. they went on and they came to a long series of rapids. down they went at railroad speed. bob was kept busy doing as directed by mr. waterman. several times they burst right through between rocks when bob could see nothing but a wall of mist before him. then at last they came to the famous devil's cauldron. here the river seemed to rise almost between cliffs, and the water boiled up on all sides. they rushed down what was practically a cascade, broken here and there by jagged rocks. mr. waterman steered the canoe most skillfully and they emerged at last on the smoother reaches below. once more they turned around and bob could hardly believe that he had come through such a swirl of waters in their frail canoe. just then the other came into view. it was most exciting to watch it dart from wave to wave, shooting now like an arrow and then stopping in its course as if held back by invisible hands. pierre sat in the stern and wielded the paddle just as calmly and nonchalantly as if they were paddling across a pond. his hand seemed sure, and the canoe came through like a swallow on the wing. "some sport," yelled pud, as they drifted past. "you bet my life," said pierre. "dat is ze grand sport. 'dat is ze life,' as my fren, monsieur waterman, sing." "that was the most exciting time i have ever had," laughed bob, as they ranged alongside and paddled on together. "that is the worst we'll find on the river," said mr. waterman. "we'll hit two or three more short stretches that will keep us busy." on they went and before the sun was low in the sky they had gone over fifty miles. "it's hard to believe that we have gone so far to-day," said bob. "the water is fairly high now," said mr. waterman. "that makes the river run fast, and it is easy to cover distance under such circumstances." "it's been the best day that i have ever spent," declared bob, as they stepped out of the canoe on a fine sandy beach, where they were going to spend the night. "i've enjoyed every minute of it," said mr. waterman. "fast water makes very fascinating sport. it's the danger, i suppose." "it's dangerous, all right," said bob. "if we had been tipped over going down that devil's cauldron, it would have been five to one against our ever getting out." "it would have been a hundred to one," replied mr. waterman. "at the same time, if no accident occurs, one should come through all right if one knows how to handle a canoe. i have been tipped over three or four times in all my life, and generally the accident was due to my own carelessness." they spent another happy night around the fire, with pierre telling them more of his experiences. "it is only on small trips like this that one can get pierre to talk," said mr. waterman. "when a bunch is along he either feels that he has no right around the fire with the others or he is too busy to get into the humor." "he has certainly had some experiences," said bob. they determined, before they sought their blankets, that the next day they would go down to the mouth of the portneuf river and then get the st. lawrence steamer up to escoumains. they decided to do this so that they would save time, as bob and his party had to leave the woods in a very few days. then again, they were all eager to find out what luck bill and mr. anderson had had in getting in a claim on the gulch. nothing exciting occurred the next day, as it was smooth sailing, or rather canoeing, until they hit the st. lawrence. at this place the st. lawrence is about forty miles wide. there was a southerly wind, so they kept to their original plan and took the river boat to escoumains, arriving there about four o'clock in the afternoon. mr. waterman hustled around and soon had a pair of little canadian horses. these hustled away with them and the two canoes, and by dark they were at the ford once more. the next morning they were up early, and by seven o'clock they were back on lac parent. jerry's cheery halloo proved to them that they had been expected. they found bill and mr. anderson already back, and mr. waterman was very much pleased with the way they had gotten results. "the gulch is ours, then," said mr. waterman. "we can easily raise the money, as land is cheap down here." "we won't have to pay the money until it is regularly surveyed, and that will not be until next summer, i expect," said mr. anderson. "i hope that it will keep, for i want to have three or four days' good fishing before i go," said bob. "i'd like to go over to the cabin again and get some more samples of that ore, so that we can have it examined in philadelphia when we get home," said bill. "we'll do that too," said mr. anderson. the next four days were quietly spent. fishing and a side expedition over the gulch furnished only moderate excitement, but everybody enjoyed himself. then one morning our three boys awoke to the fact that they had to leave the woods where they had had such a good time and in which they had learned so much and had such exciting experiences. as usual, they got up early. it really was not a happy party that left lac parent that morning. they went into escoumains over the old trail. the fact that they portaged the canoes through two lakes and then carried their duffle bags the rest of the way, showed in what excellent condition they now were. pud was as hard as nails. he walked along at the head of the party, with no more signs of being winded than bob or even mr. waterman. the latter was with them, and he was going to accompany them as far as quebec to get the samples of ore into the hands of some expert assayist. after reaching escoumains it was with sincere feelings of regret that the boys had to get into their civilized garments again. nothing of importance or special interest occurred on their way to quebec. they once more went up to the frontenac hotel and waited there for mr. waterman, who had gone at once to the assayist. in less than two hours he came back smiling. "what luck?" asked bob. "come up to the room," was the reply. when they got up there they all fired questions at him. "not all at once," he said. "i saw the assayist or geologist, and at the first glance he told me that the samples of ore were genuine and very valuable. he tried to find out where i had gotten them so i had to do some tall lying to lead him off the scent. when i left his office i was careful, and i looked around several times. i thought that i was being followed, so i went into stores and out again, and i think he will have his troubles finding out where the mine is." "if we really have made such a valuable discovery," said bob, "we must be careful not to say anything about it. when we have once gotten full title to the gulch we can then let others know where the mine is." "you're right," said mr. waterman. "according to the statement of the expert, we really have a big thing on our hands, and with careful handling, we can get rich through it." that evening the boys, with mr. waterman, went to visit the st. ann de beaupre cathedral. the boys, as well as mr. waterman, were deeply impressed with the solemn dignity and massive beauty of the church's interior. they also noticed the look of deep, sincere devotion on the faces of the worshippers as they paid homage to the blessed saint. it was hard to say good-by to their pleasant companions, but finally mr. waterman saw them off on the train the next morning, and the following evening they were back in philadelphia. here bob had to leave his friends, as he lived farther south. on shaking hands with them they promised to meet again the next summer and go north to develop their mine. they each declared that they had enjoyed the summer in the woods most heartily, and they swore eternal friendship to one another as young men of their age are apt to do. * * * * * transcriber's notes 1. punctuation has been changed to conform to contemporary standards. 2. the table of contents was not provided in the original text. friend emmy, who "fell off the planet" far too soon. the boy scouts of woodcraft camp by thornton w. burgess author of the boy scouts on swift river the boy scouts on lost trail the boy scouts in a trapper's camp [illustration] illustrated by c. s. corson the penn publishing company philadelphia 1922 copyright 1912 by the penn publishing company [illustration] [illustration: the chief greeted him pleasantly] _to my wife_ _whose faith and encouragement have placed me in her debt beyond my power to pay_ introduction the boy scout movement has appealed to me from the very first as a long step in the right direction. it stands for an organized boyhood on a world-wide plan. it has in it the essentials for a stronger and better manhood, based on character building and physical development. clear and clean thinking and self-reliance are its fundamental principles. its weakness has been and is the difficulty in securing leaders, men with an understanding of and sympathy with boys, who can give the necessary time to active work in the field with the patrols, and who are themselves sufficiently versed in the lore of the woods and fields. for years, before ever the boy scouts were organized, i had dreamed of a woodcraft camp for boys, a camp which in its appointments and surroundings should make constant appeal to the imagination of red-blooded, adventure-loving boys, and which should at the same time be a true "school of the woods" wherein woodcraft and the ways of nature should be taught along much the same lines as those on which the boy scout movement is founded. in this and succeeding volumes, "the boy scouts on swift river," "the boy scouts on lost trail," "the boy scouts in a trapper's camp," i have sought to portray the life of such a school camp under boy scout rules. "the boy scouts of woodcraft camp" has been written with a twofold purpose: to stimulate on the part of every one of my boy readers a desire to master for himself the mysteries of nature's great out-of-doors, the secrets of field and wood and stream, and to show by example what the boy scout's oath means in the development of character. many of the incidents in the succeeding pages are drawn from my own experiences. and if, because of reading this story, one more boy is led to the shrine of the hemlock, there to inhale the pungent incense from a camp-fire and to master the art of tossing a flapjack, i shall feel that i have not written in vain. the author. contents i. the tenderfoot 11 ii. woodcraft camp 26 iii. first impressions 39 iv. the initiation 56 v. the recall 71 vi. the specter in camp 86 vii. first lessons 100 viii. lonesome pond 116 ix. a shot in the dusk 136 x. a battle for honor 161 xi. buxby's buncombe 184 xii. lost 199 xiii. the honey seekers 220 xiv. the supreme test 237 xv. crafty mike 254 xvi. the poacher of lonesome pond 273 xvii. the haunted cabin 288 xviii. on guard 304 xix. for the honor of the tribe 319 xx. the home trail 337 illustrations the chief greeted him pleasantly _frontispiece_ diagram of woodcraft camp 41 "tell him you are to be a delaware" 51 he had built a fire 118 billy's apparatus for making fire 207 "run!" he yelled 233 the boys were drilled in wig-wag signaling 308 the boy scouts of woodcraft camp chapter i the tenderfoot in the semi-darkness of daybreak a boy of fourteen jumped from a pullman sleeper and slipped a quarter into the hand of the dusky porter who handed down his luggage. "you are sure this is upper chain?" he inquired. "'spects it is, boss, but i ain't no ways sho'. ain't never been up this way afore," replied the porter, yawning sleepily. the boy vainly strove to pierce the night mist which shrouded everything in ghostly gray, hoping to see the conductor or a brakeman, but he could see barely half the length of the next pullman. a warning rumble at the head of the long train admonished him that he must act at once; he must make up his mind to stay or he must climb aboard again, and that quickly. the long night ride had been a momentous event to him. he had slept little, partly from the novelty of his first experience in a sleeping car, and partly from the excitement of actually being on his way into the big north woods, the mecca of all his desires and daydreams. consequently he had kept a fairly close record of the train's running time, dozing off between stations but waking instantly whenever the train came to a stop. according to his reckoning he should now be at upper chain. he had given the porter strict orders to call him twenty minutes before reaching his destination, but to his supreme disgust he had had to perform that service for the darkey. that worthy had then been sent forward to find the conductor and make sure of their whereabouts. unsuccessful, he had returned just in time to hand down the lad's duffle. now, as the preliminary jerk ran down the heavy train, the boy once more looked at his watch, and made up his mind. if the train was on time, and he felt sure that it was, this was upper chain, the junction where he was to change for the final stage of his journey. he would stay. the dark, heavy sleepers slowly crept past as the train gathered way, till suddenly he found himself staring for a moment at the red and green tail lights. then they grew dim and blinked out in the enveloping fog. he shivered a bit, for the first time realizing how cold it was at this altitude before daybreak. and, to be quite honest, there was just a little feeling of loneliness as he made out the dim black wall of evergreens on one side and the long string of empty freight cars shutting him in on the other. the whistle of the laboring locomotive shrieked out of the darkness ahead, reverberating with an eery hollowness from mountain to mountain. involuntarily he shivered again. then, with a boyish laugh at his momentary loss of nerve, he shouldered his duffle bag and picked up his fishing-rod. "must be a depot here somewhere, and it's up to me to find it," he said aloud. "wonder what i tipped that stupid porter for, anyway! dad would say i'm easy. guess i am, all right. br-r-r-r, who says this is july?" trudging along the ties he soon came to the end of the string of empties and, a little way to his right, made out the dim outlines of a building. this proved to be the depot. a moment later he was in the bare, stuffy little waiting-room, in the middle of which a big stove was radiating a welcome warmth. on a bench at one side sat two roughly-dressed men, who glanced up as the boy entered. one was in the prime of vigorous manhood. broad of shoulder, large of frame, he was spare with the leanness of the professional woodsman, who lives up to the rule that takes nothing useless on the trail and, therefore, cannot afford to carry superfluous flesh. the gray flannel shirt, falling open at the neck, exposed a throat which, like his face, was roughened and bronzed by the weather. the boy caught the quick glance of the keen blue eyes which, for all their kindly twinkle, bored straight through him. instinctively he felt that here was one of the very men his imagination had so often pictured, a man skilled in woodcraft, accustomed to meeting danger, clear-headed, resourceful--in fact just such a man as was deerslayer, whose rifle had so often roused the echoes in these very woods. the man beside him was short, thick-set, black-haired and mare-browed. his skin was swarthy, with just a tinge of color to hint at indian ancestry among his french forebears. he wore the large check mackinaw of the french canadian lumberman. against the bench beside him rested a double-bladed axe. a pair of beady black eyes burned their way into the boy's consciousness. they were not good eyes; they seemed to carry a hint of hate and evil, an unspoken threat. the man, taking in the new khaki suit of the boy and the unsoiled case of the fishing-rod, grunted contemptuously and spat a mouthful of tobacco juice into the box of sawdust beside the stove. the boy flushed and turned to meet the kindly, luminous eyes of the other man. "if you please, is this upper chain?" he inquired. "sure, son," was the prompt response. "reckon we must hev come in on th' same train, only i was up forward. guess you're bound for woodcraft camp. so'm i, so let's shake. my name's jim everly--'big jim' they call me--and i'm goin' in t' guide fer dr. merriam th' rest o' th' summer and try to teach you youngsters a few o' th' first principles. what might yer name be an' whar be yer from?" "walter upton, but the boys mostly call me 'walt.' my home is in new york," replied the boy. "never hit th' trail t' th' big woods afore, did yer?" inquired the big guide, rising to stretch. "no," said walter, and then added eagerly: "but i've read lots and lots of books about them, and i guess i could most find my way along a trail even if i am a city tenderfoot. i've paddled a canoe some, and i know all about the habits of wild animals and how to build a fire and----" "son," interrupted big jim, "stop right thar! forget it--all this rot you've been a-readin'. woodcraft never yet was larned out o' books, and it never will be. i reckon you an' me are goin' t' hitch up together fine, an' when yer go back t' yer daddy this fall yer'll be able t' take him out in th' tall timbers an' show him a few stunts what ain't down in th' program o' city schools, but what every cottontail born in the north woods larns the second day he gets his eyes open. now yer jes' fergit all this stuff yer've been a-readin' and stick t' me; we'll git along fine. i'll make a woodsman o' yer yer dad will be proud o'. let's have a look outside t' see how the weather is." as he followed the big fellow out onto the platform walter felt his cheeks burn at this wholesale condemnation of his treasured books, one of which, "a complete guide to woodcraft," was at that moment within easy reach in the top of his duffle bag. despite his natural admiration for this big guide, to whom the mountains, lakes and woods were as an open book, and his unbounded delight in having made a good impression, walter was not yet willing to overthrow his former idols for this new one, and he was independent enough to stand by his opinions until convinced that he was wrong. "have you ever read any of them, mr. everly?" he inquired courteously. "me? read them books?" big jim's laugh rolled out infectiously. "what would i read 'em for, sonny? i've seen some o' them book-writers in th' woods, and thet's enough fer me. lordy!" and again jim's hearty laugh rolled forth. walter laughed a little too, but deep in his heart he resolved that he would yet show big jim that there was some good in the despised books. to change the subject he inquired about the low-browed owner of the axe back by the fire. "him? why, thet's red pete, a french canuck with some indian in him, an' th' meanest man in th' mountains," replied big jim. the mist had begun to burn off. even as they watched they saw it roll in great tattered masses up the side of the opposite mountain. with the coming of the sun walter was able to take note of his surroundings, and his eager eyes drank in the scene so strange to him but so familiar to his companion. it was one of those few moments which come to all of us, when we experience sensations which so impress themselves upon the memory that never are they forgotten. walter felt a thrill that made him tingle from head to foot and, from sheer delight, clinch his hands till the nails nearly bit into the flesh. since he was big enough to read "deerslayer" and "the pathfinder" and captain mayne reid's fascinating tales of adventure in forest and on the plains he had lived in an imaginary world of his own--a wonderful world, where he penetrated vast wildernesses, voyaged on great rivers and climbed snow-capped mountains. now he was really in the great woods; his dreams were coming true in a measure. indeed, it was a scene to stir any red-blooded boy. a gentle breeze, moving across an unsuspected lake, rolled before it great billowing masses of vapor. the sun, just rising above the eastern hills, drew the mist swiftly up the mountainsides in broken, detached masses that eddied, separated, came together and in an incredibly short time dissipated in thin, clear air, till naught remained save in the deepest hollows not yet penetrated by the sun's rays. walter drew a long breath. "oh!" he gasped, and again, "oh!" big jim looked at him curiously, while a sincere liking twinkled in his blue eyes. "never see a sunrise in th' mountains afore, did yer, sonny?" he asked. "jes' yer wait till yer see a sunup from th' top of old baldy, and watch forty lakes throw off their night clothes all at once." sordid enough was the scene now revealed close at hand in the clear morning light, the ulcer of so-called civilization, to be seen wherever man has pushed the outposts of commercialism into the great forests. a dozen log houses and a few ugly frame buildings, the latter unpainted for the most part, but with one a glaring red and another a washed-out blue, dotted an irregular clearing on either side of the railroad. close by, the tail of a log jam choked a narrow river, while the tall iron stack of a sawmill towered above the rough board roof that afforded some protection to the engine and saws. off to the right glistened the end of a lake of which the river was the outlet, its margin a mass of stark, drowned timber. the peculiar odor of wet sawdust filled the air. a sawdust road threaded its way among the scattered buildings, and all about were unsightly piles of slabs, heaps of bark and mill waste. but to walter it was all fascinating. the sky-scrapers of his native city seemed not half so wonderful as these moss and clay chinked cabins. he pinched himself to make quite sure he was awake, that it was all real. an engine and single dingy coach were backing down a siding. "thar's our train, son," said his companion. "better stow yer duffle aboard. it won't pull out for half an hour, and then it'll be a twenty-minute run over t' upper lake. i want to see tim mulligan over yonder t' th' store, but i'll join yer on th' train." taking the hint, walter put his duffle aboard the train beside the pack basket of his friend, and then, to kill time, started out to form a closer acquaintance with the town. from most of the houses thin columns of smoke and the odor of frying bacon or pork proclaimed that breakfast was being prepared. occasionally he had glimpses of weary-faced women in faded calico gowns. one, standing in the doorway of her cabin, was barefooted. a frowzy-headed, dirty-faced little urchin stared at him from the shelter of her skirts. the men he met were for the most part rough, good-natured fellows, dressed in the flannel shirt of the woods, their trousers thrust into high, laced, hobnailed boots. several nodded kindly or exchanged a "howdy" with the bright-faced boy. on his way back, as he neared a cabin somewhat apart from the others, he heard voices in angry dispute. turning a corner of the cabin he was just in time to see a boy of about his own age, but a good head taller, strike a vicious blow at a whimpering hunchback. in a flash walter confronted the astonished young ruffian, eyes flashing and fists doubled. "you coward!" he shouted. "you miserable coward, to strike a boy smaller than yourself, and a cripple!" for an instant the other stared. then his face darkened with an ugly scowl, and he advanced threateningly. "get out av here! this ain't any av your business, ye city dude!" he growled. "i'll make it my business when you hit a little fellow like that," replied walter, edging between the bully and his victim. "want ter foight?" demanded the other. "no, i don't," said walter, "but i want you to leave that little chap alone." "huh, yez do, do yez?" responded the other, and rushing in he aimed an ugly blow at walter's face. the fight was on. and just here the young ruffian was treated to the greatest surprise of his bullying career. instead of crushing his slight antagonist as he had contemptuously expected to, he lunged into empty space. the next instant he received a stinging blow fairly on the nose. for a moment he gasped from sheer surprise, then, with a howl of pain and rage, he rushed again. to all appearances it was a most unequal match. the young backwoodsman was not only taller, but was heavy in proportion; his muscles were hardened by work and rough outdoor life in a sawmill village, and hard knocks had toughened him as well. in contrast, the city boy seemed slight and hopelessly at a disadvantage. but underneath that neat khaki jacket was a well-knit, wiry frame, and muscles developed in the home gymnasium. moreover, walter's father believed in teaching a boy to take care of himself, and it was not for nothing that walter had taken lessons in boxing and wrestling. as before, he avoided the rush by lightly side-stepping, driving in a vigorous left to the ear and following this with a right which raised a lump just under his opponent's left eye. the latter backed away. then he came in again, but more cautiously. he was beginning to respect this elusive antagonist who hit so hard, yet managed to get away untouched. it was all so new in his experience that he was utterly at a loss to know what to expect. round and round they circled, each watching for an opening. suddenly walter took the offensive. as he started to rush he slipped in the wet sawdust. his opponent saw his advantage and swung hard, but walter caught the blow on his right forearm, and the next instant they were locked in a clinch. this was what the bully wanted. now he would throw his antagonist and, once he had him down, that would end the battle, for his ethics knew no quarter for a fallen foe. but again he reckoned without his host. scientific wrestling was an unheard-of art to the young giant, while in the home gymnasium walter had twice won the championship for his weight. for a few minutes they swayed this way and that, then walter secured the lock he was trying for, there was an instant of straining muscles, then the bully was pinned flat on his back. a big hand fell on walter's shoulder. "son," said big jim, "i hate t' break into yer morning exercise, but you an' me hev an engagement at upper lake, and we've got jes' two minutes t' ketch thet train." walter jumped up at once, and then held out his hand to the discomfited bully. "will you shake?" he asked. to the surprise of the delighted onlookers the fallen terror of the village arose and in a manly way, though sheepishly, shook the outstretched hand, for at heart he had the right stuff in him. "ye licked me fair an' square," he mumbled. "oi wish ye'd show me some av thim thricks." "i will if i ever have a chance. you ought to be a boy scout," shouted walter as he and big jim sprinted for the train. chapter ii woodcraft camp the light breeze which had lifted the mist at upper chain had dropped to a dead calm, and when walter followed the guide from the train down to the landing on upper lake not a ripple broke its placid surface. as far as he could see it lay like a great magic mirror, the heavily-wooded shores reflected so clearly that the inverted forest appeared no less real than the original, so marvelously counterfeited. in every direction mountain succeeded mountain, for the most part clothed to their summits with the variegated green of the mighty woodland growth, the somber spruce of the higher slopes, black against the lighter green of yellow and white birch, maple and ash, which had reclaimed to the wilderness the vast tracts ruthlessly laid bare by reckless lumbering twenty years before. one of the nearer mountains was crowned with bare, exposed ledges to which clung a few unsightly blasted trunks, mute witnesses to the devastation wrought by fire. by a peculiar optical effect produced by the angle of light in a dead calm at that time of the day, floating objects appeared magnified to many times their actual size, so that a launch some two miles distant, whose rapid put-put had drawn their attention when they first stepped from the train, appeared to be less than half that distance away. big jim looked at it long and steadily, shading his eyes with a big hand. "thet's 'woodcraft girl' all right," he said, "and i reckon they're comin' down fer us. yer make yerself t' home, son, while i run back up yonder t' th' hotel and rastle up some grub. we'll be some hungry before we reach camp if i don't." walter seated himself on the end of the pier and drank in the beauty of the exquisite scene. alongside a little mail boat was getting up steam, her crew busily stowing away express packages and supplies of all kinds for the various camps and hotels scattered along the lake. half a dozen passengers were already aboard. two adirondack skiffs, each pulled by a brawny guide, a fisherman lolling at ease in the stern, were just setting out for the fishing grounds. all was hustle and activity, in strange contrast with the quiet lake and the majestic calm of the mountains. in a few minutes big jim returned with some sandwiches, which they promptly disposed of while they waited for the approaching launch. it was now near enough for walter to make out the blue pennant with the magic words "woodcraft camp" fluttering at the bow, and a moment later there came a joyous hail of "oh, you jim!" from the figure in the bow, followed by a wild waving of a small megaphone. "oh, you bob!" bellowed the big guide, swinging his hat. the launch drew in rapidly and was deftly laid alongside. from it sprang two young fellows of seventeen or eighteen, in olive khaki trousers, flannel shirts and soft-brimmed hats, who straightway fell upon walter's companion and pounded and thumped him and shook both hands at once, and were pounded and thumped in return. when their somewhat noisy demonstration was over the one whom jim had called bob turned to walter and held out his hand. "guess your name is upton, isn't it?" he inquired with a pleasant smile. "my name is seaforth, and this is louis woodhull, the best fellow in woodcraft camp. dr. merriam sent us down to look for you, but i see you were already in good company. the doctor was some worried for fear you might have missed connections at upper chain, but if he'd known that you were trailing in company with this old son of the backwoods his mind would have been easy. jim, you great big stick of seasoned timber, it sure does a fellow good to look at you. stow this young fellow and the duffle in the launch while i get the mail and do some errands, and we'll be off. the whole camp's a-looking for you, though they don't expect you till to-morrow. you're sure needed. ed mulligan is guiding over on big moose and won't be with us this year, but his younger brother, tom, is taking his place, and i guess he'll make good." bob's errands were soon done, the supplies, duffle and mail pouch stowed away in the launch, and her nose pointed down the lake. bob took the wheel, while louis ran the engine. walter was up forward, "to be properly impressed," as bob put it. and if that was really the object in giving him the best post of observation, its success left nothing to be desired. with eager eyes he drank in the wonderful panorama constantly unfolding--as the launch sped swiftly over the lake. here the lake was less than half a mile wide, then abruptly it opened up great bays which made it more than twice that width from shore to shore. how he longed to explore those bays and coves! two big summer hotels on commanding bluffs were passed, showing but little life as yet, for the season had not fairly opened. on rocky points, or half hidden in sheltering coves, he caught glimpses of summer "camps," most of them built of logs, but in many cases little short of palatial, and the boy's lips curled with scorn at this travesty of wealth upon the simple life. gradually the camps became fewer and farther apart until only an occasional lean-to or a tent now and then, clinging on the very edge of the forest, was evidence of man's invasion, and walter felt that now in truth he was entering the wilds. from the good-natured chaff and talk of his companions he gathered that big jim had been chief guide at woodcraft camp ever since this famous school in the woods had been started, and that the two young men had been among his earliest pupils. with eager ears he drank in their talk of fish and lures, of deer, rifles and hunting lore. occasionally, as they skirted an island or ran around a sunken reef, one or another would recall a famous catch of bass or a big laker taken there. of the two young men, seaforth was the more talkative. he was dark, with sparkling black eyes and a merry, likable face, which, for all its irrepressible good-humor, had in it a strength and purpose which denoted a solid foundation of character. he was broad-shouldered, deep-chested, finely-developed, a splendid type of young american manhood. his chum was rather slight in build, but wiry, with light hair and a rather thin, clean, serious face which gave the impression of tremendous nervous energy habitually under control. he took but little part in the conversation, but his quiet smile at the sallies between bob and the guide was of a peculiarly winsome sweetness. his slight reserve drew rather than repelled walter, who instinctively felt that the friendship of louis woodhull was something well worth the winning. they had now come some twelve miles down the lake, and presently bob pointed out a long pier jutting out from the eastern shore, and beyond it, just to the left of a giant pine, a flagstaff from which old glory was fluttering limply in the light breeze just beginning to ripple the surface of the lake. "there you are, upton, your first glimpse of woodcraft," he said. "i hope you'll----" but what he hoped walter never knew. a shrill "hy-i-i-i-i! we want that tenderfoot!" cut him short, as a canoe manned by two youngsters of about walter's own age shot out from an island the launch was just passing. both boys were in trunks and jerseys and paddling like mad to intercept the launch. suddenly the one in the stern caught sight of the guide. for an instant he stopped paddling, while a look of pleased surprise passed over his face, and then with a wild yell of "jim, oh, you jim!" he redoubled his efforts. seaforth put the wheel over to port a couple of spokes. "no you don't, billy!" he called with a grin. "this boat carries uncle sam's mail, and it can't stop to pick up tows." "aw, louis, slow her down, won't you?" begged billy. louis smiled good-naturedly; but the engine slowed down not a bit. "ta-ta," called bob. "the indian attack is foiled, billy. i'm ashamed of you! your paddling is abominable. where's that new stroke that's going to win the championship? see you later." and then it happened. one moment two boys were frantically digging up the water with their paddles and the next a canoe was floating bottom up, one boy white-faced and frightened, clinging to the bow, and the other, with a malicious grin on his freckled face, swimming at the stern. the instant it happened seaforth put the wheel hard over and, describing a short circle, headed for the canoe. walter's heart had been in his mouth, but the others seemed not a bit disturbed. louis stopped the launch, and while the guide righted and emptied the canoe, he and seaforth hauled the victims aboard. "you little beggar!" growled bob as he grabbed billy by the slack of his jersey, "i've a mind to duck you until you howl for mercy. you did that purposely." billy grinned. "you didn't suppose i was going to let you land big jim and i not be there, did you?" he asked. "that's all right, billy, but this is going to be reported," broke in louis. "don't, please don't, louis," begged the culprit. "sorry, son, but it's got to be. we love you, billy, and because we love you we're going to report. you addle-pated little scamp, when will you ever learn that whatever risks a man may run himself he has no right to involve others in danger? how did you know that allen there would be able to take care of himself, plunged unexpectedly into the water? he's been in camp only three days, so what did you know of his powers of resource? no, my son, we hate to tell tales, but we've a duty to you to perform, so prepare to pay the penalty." the launch was now once more under way with the canoe in tow. walter was duly introduced to the penitent billy and his victim, harry allen, like himself a new recruit and therefore a tenderfoot. several boys had gathered on the pier to size up any newcomers the launch might bring, and walter felt himself the target for a battery of eyes. the ordeal was light, however, compared with what it would have been at nightfall or earlier in the day, for it was now nine o'clock and the boys were largely scattered in the duties and pursuits of camp life. as the launch was made fast billy whispered, "here comes dr. merriam; isn't he a peach?" walter looked up with just a little feeling of awe to see the man of whom he had heard so much--a scientist, explorer, author and lecturer, honored by many scientific societies and institutions of learning both at home and abroad, and now content to bury himself in the north woods as the founder and head of the most unique school in the world--a school with a purpose which was, as he himself whimsically expressed it, "to make big men of little boys." woodcraft camp was the outgrowth of years of study and observation of boy life and the needs of the tremendous army of youth annually turned loose upon the country for three months of idleness and mischief. it was, in effect, a vacation school, so cleverly masked in the guise of a camp that probably not one among the pupils, save a few of the older boys, recognized it as such. its courses were manliness, self-reliance, physical and mental health, strength of character, simplicity of desire and love of nature. the curriculum embraced all forms of athletic sports, swimming, canoeing, fishing, shooting, forestry, the rudiments of civil engineering, woodcraft in all its branches from the pitching of a tent or building of a lean-to to the cooking of a good meal, the shooting of a rapid and the way to live off of the country in an unknown wilderness. botany, ornithology, the rudiments of physiology, as taught by a knowledge of first aid to the injured--all these things and more were taught, while the boys, all unconscious that they were being systematically trained and developed, thought only of the jolly good times they were having. timid, nervous, under-developed youngsters entering the camp at the beginning of the summer vacation went forth to their studies in the fall brown, hearty, well muscled and with a quiet confidence in themselves and their own abilities to do things which won immediate recognition among their fellows. and not one among them but held in the secret places of his heart as his ideal in life the man whom walter now saw approaching with a quick, elastic step. he was about fifty years of age, medium height, thin, but sinewy, a human dynamo of nervous energy. he was clean shaven, slightly gray at the temples, with firm, square jaw, rather large mouth, prominent nose and eyes which seemed to see all things at once yet from which a smile seemed ever ready to leap forth. it was far from a handsome face, save in the beauty of strength, but was a face to love, a face once seen never to forget. it was now all alight with pleasure at the sight of big jim. the guide leaped forward to meet the doctor, and in the greeting there was plainly evident a mutual respect and liking between these men, so far apart in the social scale, yet beneath the veneer produced by circumstance, so closely bound in a common brotherhood. turning from the guide the doctor held out his hand to walter. "upton," he said with a kindly smile, "let me welcome you as a member of woodcraft camp. buxby," turning to billy, "you show upton the way to wigwam no. 1 and where to stow his duffle and wash up. by the way, buxby, you and your canoe look pretty wet. have an accident?" then without waiting for billy's reply he added, "you may police camp for the remainder of the day, buxby. carelessness and recklessness are equally reprehensible, and neither should ever go unpunished. upton, please report at my office in an hour. buxby will show you where it is." "and i never said a word; you can't fool the doctor," whispered woodhull to the discomfited billy, as the latter stooped to lift a package from the launch. billy made a wry face and then, good-naturedly shouldering walter's duffle bag, started up the trail toward a long log cabin. chapter iii first impressions woodcraft camp had originally been the headquarters for one of the largest lumbering crews operating in that section of the north woods. the location had been chosen with the same strategy a general in the field would display in selecting headquarters for the direction of important maneuvers. the site was on a broad level of ground sufficiently high to insure perfect drainage. a boiling spring furnished a perpetual supply of pure water. a logging road had been driven straight east, tapping a heavy hardwood belt on little knob, while branching from this road to the south another opened up the northwestern slopes of mt. sewell. a third, swinging to the north, brought all of the southeastern side of old scraggy under the dominion of the axe and peavy. thus the operations of three crews could be directed from the one central point, and the entire cut of this region be put into the lake with a minimum of effort. moreover, it was a scant half mile to the outlet of the lake, so that the rafting of the logs into the swift waters of the river was a comparatively easy matter. the magnitude of the operations and the comparative permanency of the camp called for substantial buildings, and the three log bunk houses, stables, storehouse and blacksmith's shop were splendid examples of the loggers' skill with axe and peavy. a long pier had been built into the lake, and the underbrush cut out for a considerable distance around the camp. with the despoiling of the once noble woodlands completed the camp had been abandoned to the occasional hunter or fisherman who passed that way. the clearing had grown up to a tangle of raspberry vines, and the deserted buildings had begun to show signs of neglect and decay, when dr. merriam chanced to camp there. at once he saw the opportunity to put into execution his long-cherished dream of a woodcraft school camp for boys. [illustration: diagram of woodcraft camp] the property, with some five hundred acres of adjoining land, was bought, the buildings repaired, with only such changes made as would adapt them to the needs of the proposed school, the land in the immediate vicinity cleared of underbrush, and the pier repaired. it was dr. merriam's idea to make as little change in appearance and arrangement as possible, that the camp might lose nothing of the romantic charm which surrounds every logging camp when seen for the first time by eager boyish eyes. walter, following billy up the trail, was ushered into the first of the three large cabins. inside it was almost as rough as the outside, yet he was at once conscious of that indescribable sense of comfort and security which the log cabin in the forest alone possesses. the low ceiling, which had originally divided the loft from the main room, had been removed to insure a better circulation of air. in a double tier down the two sides were built plain box bunks, each containing a tick filled with straw. sheets, gray blanket and a thin pillow, filled with aromatic fir balsam, completed the equipment. each bunk was numbered and a corresponding number appeared on the bedding in each. in the rear of the room was a huge fireplace capable of taking in six foot logs, and on either side a tier of lockers numbered to correspond with the bunks. tossing walter's duffle on to the nearest bunk, billy suggested that he open up for his soap, towel, brush and comb. supplied with these necessary adjuncts to the toilet he meekly followed billy out to a long, low shed located to the rear and midway between the cabin he had just left and another, which was of the same size and, as he later discovered, of precisely the same interior arrangement. a broad shelf ran the entire length of this shed. on this stood three pails of water, each with a dipper hanging above it, while beneath the shelf hung a row of graniteware wash-basins. big galvanized nails were driven at convenient points for the towels and the folding mirrors which were a part of every boy's equipment. it was primitive, very primitive, but quite in accord with dr. merriam's idea, and walter had to admit that it served his purpose admirably. while walter made himself presentable, billy plied him with questions. when he got through walter felt that he had been pumped dry, and that the garrulous billy knew his life history. finally he ventured a few questions himself. "is this your first year?" he inquired. "me? my first year? say, do i look like a tenderfoot?" demanded the indignant billy. "say, you are green. never was off of broadway before, was you? no, sir, this is my third year. say, if you want to learn woodcraft, just you trot with me a while." "said woodcraft consisting at the present moment in policing camp," broke in a quiet voice just behind them. "probably upton had rather be excused." both boys turned to find louis woodhull, who, walking with the noiseless step of the forest ranger, had come upon them unawares. "there's a lot of chips around the wood-pile, billy, and cook wants them right now, so trot along, son," he continued. "doctor told me to look out for upton," protested billy. "upton is quite equal to taking care of himself, from all i hear," said louis drily. "wood-pile's waiting for a good, strong, able-bodied forester who knows woodcraft, one of the first essentials of which is knowledge of how to swing an axe. insubordination----" but billy, with a grimace, had already started for the chip basket. louis laughed. "billy is one of the best hearted boys in camp, but he's a reckless little beggar, and he does hate work. look out he doesn't lead you into mischief, upton. by the way, big jim tells me that you've already started in to conquer the wilderness, and have laid one of the savages low. where did you learn to use your fists?" "my father taught me how to protect myself almost as soon as i could walk, and then i took boxing lessons at the gym. that was nothing this morning; i couldn't have licked him if he'd known what i know," replied walter modestly. "my boy," said the older lad earnestly, "right there lies the difference between success and failure--knowledge--the know how--the know why--the know when. knowledge is power. it is better than bull strength. you knew how to make the most of what muscle you have got, and you won. you'll find that's the answer all through life. the man with knowledge and the power to apply it is top of the heap every time. take these big woods here--how long do you suppose a greenhorn from the city dropped in the middle of 'em alone, with nothing but gun and blanket, would live? but take a fellow like big jim, with his knowledge of the wilderness and wilderness ways, and he'd hit the nearest settlement in three days and live like a lord all the way. now, if you're ready i'll show you the way to the office. by the way, i'm going to ask dr. merriam to put you in my tribe; i like your style." the "office" was a small detached cabin which had formerly been the headquarters of the logging camp boss. it was divided into two rooms by means of burlap curtains. in the front room was a desk, a plain deal table, three rustic chairs and book shelves occupying two-thirds of the wall space. the head of a magnificent ten-point buck looked down from above the fireplace. over the books were mounted specimens of salmon, trout, bass and muskelonge. mounted specimens of rare birds, a case of butterflies wholly unlike any walter had ever seen, and which he suspected were from distant lands, specimen stones and minerals from the surrounding mountains, added to the fascination of the room. before the fireplace lay the skin of a huge bear, and two tanned deer hides were spread on the floor. in one corner stood a collection of guns, rifles, paddles, fishing-rods and landing nets which caught the boy's eager eyes the instant he entered. through the parted curtains he had a glimpse of the same primitive sleeping arrangement, namely a box bunk, that he had found in the big cabin where he had left his duffle. could he have peeped farther within he would have found a neat single iron bedstead with a hair mattress and snowy counterpane, a dainty white bureau, low, comfortable rocking-chair, sewing-machine and other evidences of feminine comfort, for, though dr. merriam religiously insisted on having for himself nothing more luxurious than he gave his "boys," the comfort of mrs. merriam--she was "mother" merriam to the whole camp in the affections of the boys--was another matter, and no pains were spared to make things pleasant and comfortable for her. in fact, not only the boys, but the guides and others attached to the camp vied with each other in showing her little attentions and waiting upon her. as walter and louis entered "mother" merriam came forward at once to greet the newcomer, and while louis talked with the doctor for a few minutes this quiet, sweet-faced, tactful little woman put the newcomer so at his ease that when louis finally bade his superior good-morning and went out, walter turned to meet the head of the camp wholly free from the awe with which he had entered the door not five minutes before. "upton," said the doctor, "woodhull has just requested that you be assigned to his 'tribe,' an honor which you do not appreciate now, but which you will later. the camp is divided into four patrols or 'tribes,' each under the leadership and direction of one of our oldest and most trustworthy boys, known as 'chiefs.' woodhull is chief of the delawares, and seaforth, whom you met with the launch, is chief of the algonquins, the two tribes occupying the big cabin known as wigwam no. 1, to which buxby showed you on your arrival. wigwam no. 2 is occupied by the senecas and hurons, under chiefs avery and robertson. the rules of the camp are few and simple and every boy is put on his honor and is trusted to live up to them. reveille is sounded at five o'clock every morning, except sunday, when it is an hour later. at five-thirty on week-days and six-thirty on sunday mess is served to two of the tribes and half an hour later to the other two, the wigwams alternating in the order of service. "a detail from each wigwam is assigned to police the camp, that is, clear up all rubbish and keep the camp in order, wash dishes and chop fire-wood. noon mess is served from twelve to one o'clock and evening mess from five-thirty to six-thirty. at nine o'clock 'taps' is sounded, which means 'lights out' and every boy in bed. "each boy is expected to look after the making up of his own bed. there are certain defined limits on shore and on the lake beyond which no boy may go without a permit from his chief, sanctioned by me. "the building of fires at any time or place is strictly prohibited save when accompanied by a guide or chief. smoking is not allowed. violation of either of these two rules is sufficient cause for expulsion from camp. boys who cannot swim are not allowed in the boats or canoes unless accompanied by an older competent person, until they have learned to care for themselves. the carrying or use of firearms is forbidden except at the rifle range, where instruction is given daily by one of the guides. from time to time there will be 'special duty' squads, such as the surveying squad, forestry squad, logging squad, and others on which boys are expected to serve willingly, and in the performance of these duties they will be taught many of the essentials of woodcraft. "you will report this afternoon to mr. medcraft, our physical instructor, for examination, and will be expected to follow his recommendations for daily exercise. big jim has told me of your encounter at upper chain. my boy, i rejoice in the manliness and courage, in the sense of fair play, which led to your defense of the weak. of all men the bully is most contemptible. no bullies are allowed in this camp, and, upton, no fighting, unless all other means of settling a quarrel prove futile. then it is fought out with gloves in the presence of the whole camp and with an unbiased referee. it has happened but once; i hope it will not happen again. i mention this now, for i fear that you will find that you have established a reputation as a fighter, and such a reputation often leads one into difficulties which otherwise might be avoided. [illustration: "tell him you are to be a delaware"] "we are glad to have you as a member of woodcraft camp, and i hope we shall make a first-class scout and a thorough sportsman and woodsman of you. i will not add 'gentleman,' for we feel that every boy is that when he comes to us. if you are interested in any special branch of nature study come and consult me freely that i may aid you in its pursuit. "now you may report to chief woodhull, and tell him you are to be a delaware. he will inform you as to the minor rules of the camp and our methods of learning the most from this close communion and association with nature. we want you to go home in the fall feeling that you have had the best time a red-blooded boy could have, and that the summer has been profitable as well." with a pleasant smile the doctor shook hands warmly once more and walter started for the wigwam, secretly elated that he was to be under woodhull, and that he was to be a delaware, the tribe of uncas and chingachgook. he found woodhull waiting for him. the chief greeted him pleasantly. "so the big chief (that's what we call the doctor) has made a delaware of you? i'm glad of that." "so am i," responded walter. "now the first thing," the other continued, "is to get acquainted with the wigwam and stow away your duffle. the delawares have the east side, and the algonquins the west. your number is the skiddoo number, twenty-three, for bunk and locker, and i hope you'll make it a lucky number for the tribe. stow your duffle in your locker, and i'll show you around the camp and make you acquainted with some of the boys. by the way, upton, do you go in for athletics, besides boxing?" walter admitted that he ran a little, being best at the mile, was fairly good at the running broad jump, had once won a boy's canoe race, and had practiced a lot at a short range target with a small rifle. his chief received the information with manifest pleasure. "you see," he explained, "we have a big field day in august, and there is a lot of rivalry between the tribes, and especially between the two wigwams. a mounted deer's head is offered this year to the wigwam scoring the greatest number of points in woodcraft during the summer and in the field day sports, and we want it over our fireplace. the biggest fish caught each day counts five points and the biggest for the week fifteen points; the best photograph of wild animals or birds made during the summer counts twenty-five points; fifteen points each are scored for the rarest botanical specimen, best mineral specimen, largest number of birds positively identified, best collection of insects and largest number of trees identified. any exceptional feat of woodcraft scores to the benefit of the wigwam. the championship banner goes to the tribe winning the largest number of points in the successful wigwam. the hurons won it last year, but, son, the delawares have got to get it this year. then there are individual prizes well worth mentioning. we shall expect you to miss no opportunity to score for the honor of the tribe and wigwam. our wigwam leads now, but the algonquins have twenty points the best of the delawares. it's up to you to do your prettiest to help us get their scalps. by the way, don't be surprised if things are made some interesting for you to-night. whatever happens, keep your nerve and don't show the white feather." beyond this mysterious hint woodhull would vouchsafe no information, and walter could only guess at what might be in store for him. the tour of the camp included the big mess cabin, with the cook house in the rear, where they had a glimpse of billy and the chip pile, and the cabin of the three guides, where they found big jim very much at home, the other two being out with fishing parties, and where walter was introduced to mr. medcraft, the physical director, and to mr. burnham, a young y. m. c. a. man who was dr. merriam's assistant. these shared the cabin with the guides. they then went down to inspect the boats and canoes. several fishing parties were just coming in, and walter was introduced to some of his fellow tribesmen, as well as to members of the other tribes. as they turned back to the wigwam the bugle sounded for noon mess, and boys appeared as if by magic from every direction in a mad rush for the wash-house. presently walter found himself seated at a long table in the mess room, an agate-ware plate and cup before him, and an abundant supply of plain but well cooked food, in which deliciously browned trout were evidence of the practical lessons taught at woodcraft camp. chapter iv the initiation mess over, woodhull and seaforth took their stand at either side of the door, and walter noted that as each boy passed out he saluted the two chiefs with the scout's salute, and was saluted in return. it was a point of etiquette which he learned was never omitted, and which did much to maintain discipline and to instil the principles of respect for superior officers. once outside the mess room walter was free to inspect the camp in detail and at his leisure for, it being his first day, he was not assigned to any of the duty squads. there were fifty-two boys in camp, including the four leaders, or chiefs, and they were from all quarters, two being from as far west as chicago. they represented all classes in the social scale. a few were from homes of extreme wealth and one, according to billy, was a boston newsboy in whom the doctor took a personal interest. but in accordance with scout ideals all were on equal footing in the camp, and the most democratic spirit prevailed. achievement in scoutcraft alone furnished a basis for distinction. the camp had been established three years before the boy scouts of america came into existence, but dr. merriam had been quick to perceive the value of the new movement, the principles of which are, in fact, the very ones he had been seeking to inculcate in his unique school. this year the camp had been placed under scout regulations, and it was the doctor's desire to send every one of his boys home at the end of the summer as qualified scouts of the first class, fitted to take the leadership of home patrols. approaching from behind the wood-pile, where buxby's assignment to duty was keeping him busy, walter heard his own name and paused, uncertain whether to go on or not. billy was regaling the cook with an account of walter's exploit of the morning as he had wormed it out of big jim. "pretty spry with his fists, they say," concluded the talkative billy. then he added as an afterthought, "bet they'll get his goat to-night, though." walter waited to hear no more. he had not been wholly unconscious of the sly looks and mysterious winks passed between some of the boys he had met, and, though he did not allow it to show outwardly, he was inwardly not a little perturbed by the thought of the initiatory ordeal he felt sure he must undergo. chief woodhull's hint, together with the frequent exchange of meaning glances which he had intercepted, could mean but one thing--that his nerve and courage were to be put to some strange and crucial test. therefore it was with some trepidation that with the sounding of taps that night walter sought his bunk and turned in. in five minutes lights were out, and apparently the camp had settled down for the night. walter lay listening in suspense for some sound which would indicate that secret designs concerning himself were afoot, but nothing but the regular breathing of twenty-five healthy, tired boys rewarded his vigilance. it had been a long, strenuous day, with little rest the night before, and in spite of himself he soon fell asleep. he was awakened by the sudden removal of his blanket. despite his struggles he was bound and gagged. then his arms were loosed enough for his flannel shirt to be slipped on. his trousers and shoes followed, and then he was rolled in his blanket, picked up bodily and carried forth into the night. in absolute silence his captors bore him along what appeared to be a rough, little used trail. occasionally a dew-damp twig brushed his face. through the tangle of interlacing branches overhead he caught glimpses of the stars. the number of his captors he had no means of knowing. he was carried by relays, and though there were frequent changes he could not tell whether each time a new team of bearers took him or two teams alternated. once his bearers stumbled and nearly dropped him. once they seemed to lose the trail, stopping to hold a whispered consultation of which the victim could catch only a word here and there. after what seemed like an interminable length of time walter heard in the distance the tremolo of a screech-owl, answered by a similar call close at hand. a few minutes later they emerged in an opening. "are the canoes ready?" asked a subdued but sepulchral voice. "they are, chief," was the guarded reply. "then let them be manned," was the order. walter was carefully placed in a canoe amidship. he felt it gently shoved off, and then it floated idly while, to judge by the sounds, the other canoes were hastily put in the water. presently, at a low command from the rear of his own craft, there was the dip of many paddles and he felt the light craft shoot forward. flat on his back, he could see little but the star-sprinkled heavens. it seemed to him that never had he seen the stars so bright or apparently so near. by straining up and forward he caught the shadowy outline of the bow man's back, but the second time he tried it he was warned to desist. out of the tail of his left eye he sometimes caught the arm and paddle of the stern man on the forward reach. but thus far there had been nothing to give him the slightest idea whether he was in the hands of members of his own tribe or a captive of one of the rival tribes. swiftly, silently, save for the light splash of paddles and the gurgling ripple at the bow, the canoe sped on. never will walter forget the spell of that mysterious night ride on that lonely lake in the heart of the great north woods. his gag had been removed and, but for inability to move hand or foot, he was not uncomfortable. all the witchery of night in the forest was enhanced an hundredfold by the mystery of his abduction and the unknown trials awaiting him. a mighty chorus of frogs denoted low, marshy land somewhere in the vicinity. strange voices of furtive wild things floated across from the shore. once a heavy splash close to the canoe set his heart to thumping fiercely until he rightly surmised that it was made by a startled muskrat, surprised at his nocturnal feast of mussels. again, as they slipped through the heavy shadows close along shore, there was a crash in the underbrush which might or might not have been a deer. it was weird, uncanny, trying in the extreme, yet sending little electric thrills of fascination through the nerves of the city boy. how long the journey lasted walter could not tell, but he judged that it was at least half an hour before there suddenly broke out ahead a cry, so human yet so wild, that he felt the very roots of his hair crawl. once more it rang over the lake, a high-pitched, maniacal laugh that rolled across the water and was flung back in crazy echoes from the shores. in a flash it came to walter that this must be the cry of the loon, the great northern diver, of which he had often read. this time it was answered from the rear. a few minutes later the canoe grated on the shore. walter was lifted out, his eyes bandaged, the bonds removed from his legs and, with a captor on either side, he was led for some distance along what seemed like an old corduroy logging road. on signal from the leader a halt was made and the bandage was removed from the captive's eyes. curiously he glanced about, but in the faint light could make out little. apparently they were in the middle of a small opening in the forest. on all sides a seemingly unbroken wall of blackness, the forest, hemmed them in. in a half circle before him squatted some two dozen blanketed forms. one of these now arose and stepped forward. he was tall and rather slender. in the uncertain light his features appeared to be those of an indian. a single feather in his scalp lock was silhouetted against the sky. a blanket was loosely but gracefully draped about his figure. standing in front of the captive he drew himself up proudly to his full height and, leveling a long bare arm at the prisoner, addressed him in a deep guttural. "paleface, dweller in wigwams of brick and stone, it is made known to us that your heart turns from the settlements to the heart of the great forest, and that you desire to become a child of the lenape, whose totem is the tortoise, to be adopted by the delawares, the tribe of uncas and chingachgook; that you long to follow the trail of the red deer and to spread your blanket beside the sweet waters; to read the message of the blowing wind, and interpret aright the meaning of every fallen leaf. "you have come among us, paleface, not unheralded. our ears have been filled with a tale of valor. it has warmed the hearts of the delawares and their brothers, the algonquins. our young men have had their ears to the ground; they have followed your trail, and they yearn to make a place for you at their council fire. but, lest the tales to which they have listened prove to be but the chirping of a singing bird, it has been decided in secret council that you must undergo the test of the spirits. "alone in the wigwam of the spirits, where, it is said, on the fifth night in every month the spirit of a departed brave, stricken in the prime of his manhood, comes seeking the red hand of his slayer,--here alone you shall keep watch through the black hours of the night. thus shall we know if your heart be indeed the heart of the lenape; if you are of the stuff of which delaware warriors are made; if our ears have heard truly or if they have indeed been filled with the foolish chatter of a whisky jack (canada jay). "if you meet this trial as a warrior should, making neither sign nor sound, whate'er befall, then will the delawares receive you with open arms, no longer a paleface, but a true son of the tortoise, a blood brother, for whom a place in the council chamber is even now ready." turning to the shadowy group squatting in silence he threw out both arms dramatically. "sons of the lenape, do i speak truly?" he demanded. a chorus of guttural grunts signified assent. turning once more to the captive the speaker asked: "paleface, are you prepared to stand the test?" as the harangue had proceeded walter recalled that during the afternoon he had heard vague references to a haunted cabin across the lake. now the conviction was forced upon him that this was the place in which he was to be left to spend the night alone. in spite of himself a shiver of something very like fear swept over him, for the mystery of the night was upon him. but he had firmly resolved not to show the white feather. then again he was possessed of a large bump of sound common sense, and he felt certain that if, when left alone, he gave way to fear, sharp eyes and ears would be within range to note and gloat over it. in fact he shrewdly suspected that spies would be watching him, and that his solitude would be more apparent than real. he therefore replied: "i am ready." thereupon the leader gave some brief directions to the band, of whom all but two trailed off in single file and disappeared in the blackness of the forest. presently he heard the faint clatter of paddles carelessly dropped in canoes, and surmised that his late companions were embarking for camp. a few minutes later the hoot of a horned owl came from the direction they had taken. this seemed to be a signal for which his guard had been waiting. once more the bandage was placed over his eyes, and he was led for some distance along an old tote road. at length a halt was called. his legs were bound and he was picked up and carried a short distance. although he could see nothing he was aware by the change of air that they had entered a building. he suspected that this was the haunted cabin. he was deposited on a rough board floor with what appeared to be a roll of old burlap beneath his head. he was told that his hands and feet would be freed of their bonds, but he was put upon his honor not to remove the bandage from his eyes for half an hour. "keep your nerve, son, and don't sit up suddenly," was whispered in his ear. he could not be sure, but he had a feeling that the speaker was woodhull, and to himself he renewed his vow that, come what might, he would not show the white feather. he heard his captors silently withdraw and then all was silent. cautiously he felt around him. sticks and bits of bark littered the floor. rough hewn logs shut him in on one side, but on the other as far as he could reach was open space. feeling above he found that there was not room to sit upright, and he thanked his unknown friend for that last timely warning. the silence grew oppressive. it was broken by a light thump on the roof, followed by the rasp of swift little claws. "squirrels," thought walter, after the first startled jump. gradually he became aware of a feeling that he was not the only tenant of the cabin. once he heard something that sounded very like a long drawn sigh. he held his breath and listened, but there was not another sound. what were those tales he had heard of the cabin being haunted? he tried to recall them. how far from the camp was he? would they come for him in the morning or would he have to find his way in alone? in spite of his strange surroundings and lively imagination walter found difficulty in keeping awake. outraged nature was asserting herself. there had been little sleep for more than twenty-four hours, and now even the uncertainty of his position could keep him awake no longer. in fact he had not even removed the bandage from his eyes when he fell sound asleep. he was awakened by having this suddenly snatched off. for a few minutes he blinked stupidly while a mighty shout from the entire wigwam greeted him: "oh, warrior, tried and true, we hereby welcome you! we like your nerve! we like your sand! a place you've won within our band. you've won your feather fair- you are a del-a-ware!" then walter was hauled forth and shaken hands with and thumped and pounded on the back by a whooping, laughing crew of boys in all stages of undress. it was broad daylight and, to his amazement, walter found he was not in the haunted cabin but in his own wigwam, where he had spent the night on the floor underneath his own bunk. the boys, noting the expression of his face, shouted afresh and mercilessly guyed him till presently, realizing how completely he had been duped, he wisely joined in the laugh at his own expense. reveille had sounded. buxby joined him at the wash bench, and on the way to mess explained how the initiation was worked. when he had been placed in the canoe they had simply paddled around near camp for half an hour. he had then been led over an old trail to an opening near, but out of sight of the camp, and there woodhull, in the character of the indian chief, had delivered the harangue. at its conclusion all but the guard had gone to the wigwam and at once turned in, one of them first slipping down to the lake and rattling the paddles, afterward giving the owl signal. the guard had then led him back to the wigwam and put him under his own bunk, where the floor had been strewn with chips and bark to fool him when he felt around, as they had foreseen he would. "you're all right, upton, and say, wasn't louis a lulu?" concluded the garrulous billy. at mess walter realized that he had "made good," and was already accepted as one of themselves by the merry crew of sun-browned youngsters amongst whom he had come a total stranger less than twenty-four hours before. most of all he prized woodhull's quiet "good boy," as he saluted him at the door. chapter v the recall "oh, you delaware!" "come tell us that tale of the singing bird!" "looks pale; must have seen a haunt!" "got your goat with you?" "come join the young men at their council fire!" walter grinned at the good-natured chaff of a group of boys squatting in front of a shelter tent pitched on the shore of the lake. "where's the fire?" he asked. "what!" cried tug benson. "is he coming among us with the eyes of a paleface?" he spread his hands above the ashes of a long dead fire as if warming them. "and here," he added in an injured tone, "we've been sitting for an hour roasting that loon he heard last night, that he might feast with us. now he doesn't even see the fire!" he gave an exaggerated sniff. "he's done to a turn." "which?" asked billy buxby innocently. "walt or the loon?" "both," said spud ely with conviction. "say, upton, tell us about that scrap." "nothing to tell," replied walter. "modest, though mighty, as becomes a son of the tortoise," commented tug. "say, walt, did he have light curly hair and a front tooth missing?" "now you mention it, i believe he did," replied walter. "pat malone!" exclaimed tug triumphantly. "sure thing. say, fellows, pat's been hanging 'round camp for the last three or four days; what do you suppose he's after?" "looking for a chance to swipe something," said billy. "aw stow it, billy! pat's tough all right, but that doesn't make him a thief," said chip harley. "i saw pat talking with hal harrison up on the old scraggy trail just at dusk the other night," broke in ned peasely. "they seemed mighty 'fraid of being seen. wonder what's up?" "oh, probably hal's trying to impress on the natives a sense of his own importance and the power of the almighty dollar," said spud. "cut it out, spud," advised tug. "hal's all right. some day he'll forget he's the son of a millionaire. he's got good stuff in him." "sure thing," said chip. "say, did you know that he brought in another record fish this morning? six-pound small-mouth bass. that's what gets my goat. here he is, a tenderfoot, and yet he's putting it all over the fellows that have been here two or three years. he's rolling up points for the senecas to beat the band. say, i'll bet that pat malone has put him next to some secret fishing ground or new bait or something." "speaking of angels----" said billy. walter looked up with the others to see a boy of perhaps fifteen passing on the trail up from the lake. he wore the regulation camp dress, but there was something in his bearing, a suggestion of superiority, a hint of condescension in his curt nod to the group around the tent, that gave walter the feeling that he considered himself a little above his companions. yet, withal, there was something likable in his face, despite a rather weak mouth and the shifty glance of his eyes. instinctively walter felt that tug was right, and that beneath the supercilious veneer there was the stuff of which men are made, submerged now by self-indulgence and the misfortune of being born with a silver spoon in his mouth, as tug expressed it. "hear you've put another over on us. say, hal, put us wise to that private preserve of yours, will you?" called the irrepressible billy. "do a little scouting and find one for yourself," retorted hal, passing on up the trail. "i have it! we will do a little scouting. we'll trail him 'til we find out where he gets those big fish. what do you say, fellows?" "that we'll do nothing of the kind." the words were spoken quietly, but with a note of authority and finality that admitted of no contradiction. the boys turned to find woodhull in their midst. unseen he had come up just in time to hear billy's last words. they all saluted the chief, and then billy, who never was known to let the chance for an argument pass, took up the subject again. "why not, louis?" he demanded. "i thought it was a scout's duty to always keep on the trail of an enemy." "meaning whom?" asked woodhull. "why, harrison, of course. isn't he a seneca, and aren't the senecas the enemies of the delawares?" "wrong again, billy," responded the chief. "the senecas are rivals, not enemies of the delawares, and we are going to beat 'em to it in fair and open contest--if we can. but they are brother scouts, members of woodcraft camp as we are. just pin that in your hat. of all contemptible beings the most contemptible is a spy, save in actual warfare. no, my son, if hal has been smart enough to beat us all at locating the hiding-places of big fish he is entitled to the honors. put your powers as a scout to work and find the fish for yourself, my son; but no spying on fellow scouts. "tug, suppose you take upton out to the swimming raft and try him out. you know the hurons drew a prize in hampton, who came in last week. billy, i've got a bit of surveying to do on the little knob trail, and i need a rod man. are you on?" "you bet! you know i'd follow you to the north pole, louis," replied billy, rising with alacrity. tug and walter started for their tights, while the others continued to sprawl lazily around the tent. "the chief's right," said spud meditatively. "it wouldn't be a square deal to spy on hal. just the same i'd like to know where he gets those fish. you don't suppose----" he broke off abruptly. "you don't suppose what?" asked chip. "oh, nothin'!" "come, spud, out with it! what don't you suppose?" spud clasped his hands about his knees and gazed thoughtfully into the fireplace. "what does hal do with all his spending money?" he demanded abruptly. chip looked up, startled. "you don't mean, spud, that you think for a minute he----" "no, i don't," spud broke in. "i don't believe there's a fellow in camp low down mean enough to try to win points with things he'd bought. but why couldn't he have hired some one to put him next--guide for him?" the boys considered this in silence for a few minutes. "aw, forget it, spud," advised chip. "hal wouldn't do that. he's got us going, and we're sore, that's all. let's take a canoe and try for that big laker you lost the other day." "i'm with you," replied spud promptly. "bet he don't get away from me again!" meanwhile walter and tug had paddled out to the raft, where boys from both wigwams were enjoying a morning swim. walter was a fair swimmer, but he soon found that tug quite outclassed him. as a matter of fact tug was the star swimmer of the tribe, and in the water was as much at home as a fish. he watched walter critically for a few minutes. "you'll do best at long distance," he decided. "we'll put you in for the quarter mile. you're rotten on the crawl, and the crawl's the only thing for the hundred yards. you've got something to learn on that overhand, too. you fight the water too much. you don't get in your full power, and when you try to hit it up you waste your strength. here, let me show you!" with a clean-cut dive tug left the raft, and walter watched with admiration, not unmixed with envy, the powerful yet easy overhand strokes that sent the swimmer through the water without apparent exertion, yet at a speed that made his own best efforts seem hopeless. tug regained the raft, and walter noted that he was breathing as easily as if he had not been in the water at all. "say, tug, will you coach me?" he asked eagerly. "surest thing you ever knew! that's what i'm here for," was tug's hearty reply. "but you've got to keep at it every day. no soldiering, and, kid, no getting mad when i throw the hooks into you! if we can get even a third in the quarter we'll pretty near break even with the hurons. the algonquins have only one man we're really afraid of, and the senecas don't cut much ice in the water, but are all to the good on it." "paddling?" asked walter. "yep," replied tug. "they've got a great tandem team, and a four i'm afraid we can't touch at all. and then you know they've got a long lead on points for fish, thanks to harrison. by jove, i should like to know where he gets those big fellows, and what bait he uses. he's mum as an oyster." just as they stepped into the canoe to paddle back to camp the notes of a bugle rang clear and full across the water. "hello!" exclaimed tug, pausing to look over the camp. "that's the 'recall.' wonder what's up. that means everybody report at once. hit her up, kid!" as soon as the canoe touched shore the boys sprang out and turned it bottom up on the beach. as they hurried up to headquarters boys were pouring in from all directions, on every face a look of wondering curiosity. the recall was sounded only in case of an emergency. when the last straggler within sound of the bugle had hurried in, dr. merriam stepped from the office. his face was very grave as he studied the expectant faces turned toward him. an instant hush fell over the waiting boys. "scouts of woodcraft camp," began the doctor slowly, and it seemed as if he measured each word as he spoke, "i have had the recall sounded because of a discovery made an hour since--a discovery unprecedented in the annals of woodcraft camp. it is that there is or has been a thief in our midst." he paused for an instant while his keen eyes scanned the startled faces before him. then with one of his rarely beautiful smiles he added, "but i do not believe that any member of this camp is guilty." instantaneous relief rippled over the faces before him and the doctor, noting it, smiled again. then once more his face grew grave and stern, as he continued: "for some days little things have been missed around headquarters. that they were stolen we have not been willing to believe, preferring to think that they had been mislaid. but this morning occurred a loss which admits of no doubt that there has been a thief in camp. you all remember the little gold clasp pin in the shape of a maltese cross, set with three small diamonds, which mrs. merriam always wears at her throat?" the boys nodded. they would have been poor scouts indeed had they not noticed the one bit of jewelry which "mother" merriam allowed herself in camp. "this morning mrs. merriam laid the pin on the sill of the north window of her room. five minutes later she went to get it, but it was not there. nor was it on the ground outside or on the floor inside. the actual value is not great but, because of sentimental associations, the value is not to be computed in dollars and cents. to mrs. merriam that little pin is priceless. i have called you together to tell you of this loss, believing that there is not one among you but will gladly give of his time and best endeavor to discover the thief and secure if possible the return of mrs. merriam's valued keepsake. i ask each one of you to report to me privately any suspicious circumstances he may be aware of or may discover. that is all." the boys at once broke into excited groups. that there could be a thief among them was inconceivable. still, there had been few strangers in camp, two or three guides and a few lumber-jacks passing through, and all of these above suspicion. chip harley joined walter and tug, and the three walked on in silence. it was broken by chip. "say, fellows," said he, "you remember what was said about pat malone this morning? well, he was in camp just afterward." "how do you know?" asked tug. "saw him," said chip. "he came in while you fellows were swimming. left a message for tom mulligan. when he left he took the trail up past headquarters." tug and walter considered this information soberly. "looks bad," said tug. "shall you report to the big chief?" "i don't know," replied chip. "it's suspicious, any way you look at it." "don't do it yet," said walter. "you haven't got any real evidence, you know. and let's not say anything about it to the other fellows. it does look mighty suspicious, but i don't believe that a fellow who would take a licking and then get up and shake hands the way pat did with me would steal. let's do a little scouting before we say anything. what's the matter with us three working together on this thing?" "good!" agreed tug. "each night we'll get together and report all clues discovered. gee, but i'd like to find that pin for mother merriam!" "you bet!" said walter. "and i'd like to clear pat, too," he added to himself. the three shook hands on the compact, and separated to look for clues. true to their agreement, they said nothing about pat. but others had seen the sawmill boy in camp, and by night there was a pretty general conviction that pat was the thief, so easy is it for mere suspicion to pose as truth. a few of the more hot-headed were for rounding pat up the next day and forcing him to confess, but wiser council prevailed, and it was agreed that pat should be left alone until real evidence against him was produced. after evening mess chip, walter and tug met in a quiet corner to report. "well?" said tug. "footprints," said chip sententiously. "found 'em leaving the regular trail just north of the office, and pointing toward mother merriam's window. just about pat's size, they were. prints of the hobnails in the right showed clearly, and three are missing on the ball. sprinkled some dirt over the tracks so that no one else would find them. what did you find, tug?" "nothin', except that pat went from here straight up to the durant lumber camp," replied tug. "and you, walt?" "nothing but this," said walter, drawing the tail feather of a crow from his pocket. "found it caught in the window screen." "worse and more of it," growled tug. "pat usually has a feather sticking in that old hat of his. don't you remember?" "yep," responded chip. they sat in silence for a while, considering the evidence. "looks bad, doesn't it?" said chip gloomily. "it sure does," assented walter, "but footprints and a feather are mighty small things on which to brand a fellow a thief. let's wait till we get something else before we say anything." "right-oh!" responded tug, rising to stretch. "i'm going to turn in. nine o'clock sharp at the raft to-morrow, walt." "sure!" replied walter. then, with the sounding of "taps" the boys sought their bunks. chapter vi the specter in camp a shadow lay over woodcraft camp. the routine of daily life went on as before, but there was something lacking. the fun-making was not spontaneous. there was no enthusiasm in work or play. the old time jollying ceased. the rivalry between the tribes seemed falling into hopeless apathy. even spud ely's success in temporarily wresting the fishing honors from hal harrison and the senecas by landing a twelve-pound lake trout served to awaken no more than a passing interest. suspicion, the grimmest of all specters, strode back and forth through the camp. whenever a group of boys came together it peered over their shoulders and with bony fingers choked back laughter and song and strangled the old freedom of speech. it sat at mess, and the chill of its presence was felt in the wigwams at night. who had stolen mother merriam's pin? who? who? could it be that the thief was really one of their number? for more than a week nothing was seen of pat malone. to many, hasty of judgment, eager to rid themselves of the specter, this was construed as evidence of guilt. but still the specter would not down. the strain was telling not only on the spirits but on the tempers of the boys. under it they were becoming irritable, quick to take offense. every night tug benson, chip harley and walter met to report progress, or, rather, lack of it. finally, just a week after the sounding of the "recall," chip was sent on an errand to the durant lumber camp. as soon as evening mess was over he signaled tug and walter to meet him back of the wood-pile. there was a gleam of triumph in his eyes that belied the studied gloom of his face as he looked up to greet them. "well?" said tug. "it's pat, all right!" said chip sententiously. "are you sure? absolutely sure?" tug and walter cried together. "sure as--as--sure as i be that skeeters bite," replied chip, slapping viciously at his neck. "did you find the pin?" asked walter eagerly. "naw! you don't suppose he'd be such a fool as to have it lying around in plain sight, do you?" chip's tone indicated his supreme disgust. "but," he continued, "it's a cinch that he took it just the same. what'd we better do about it?" "how the deuce do we know, when you haven't told us your story yet? come, out with it, you tantalizing blockhead!" growled tug impatiently. chip shrugged his shoulders and grinned. "well," he began, "you know the big chief sent me over to the durant camp with a message this afternoon. after i'd delivered it i thought i'd just look round a bit, and do a little scoutin'. pat wasn't there. fact is, the whole gang was in the woods 'cept the boss and the cook. got kind of chummy with the cook, and he opened up a nice little can of his own private troubles and poured 'em out for my special benefit. "seems he ain't got much use for boys, and for pat malone in particular. nothin' special, i guess, only pat plays tricks on him and raids his cooky box pretty often. they're good cookies, all right," he added reminiscently. "well, i jollied him along," continued chip, "and went pokin' 'round like i'd never seen a lumber camp before. pretty soon i see a pair of spiked boots hanging on a nail. 'what'll you take for the boots, cookie?' says i. cookie grinned. 'them ain't mine,' says he. 'they belong to that young rascal pat malone. i reckon money wouldn't buy 'em of him. sets as much store by 'em as if they was pure gold. was give to him by one of the fellers over to your camp.'" tug looked up startled. "what's that?" he asked sharply. "you don't suppose--you--say, do you believe it could have been hal harrison?" chip grinned. "sure thing," said he. "found his name in the top of one of 'em." tug and walter looked at each other blankly, while chip went on with his tale. "when cookie wasn't looking i just naturally examined those boots a little closer, and measured 'em with a bit of string. they're just the size of those prints we found under mother merriam's window, and there's three nails missing from the soles of the right one!" he concluded dramatically. "now what do you fellers think we'd better do?" tug sat down and idly began to throw chips. "looks bad," he ventured. "bad!" snorted chip, "i call it open and shut, iron-bound, no-loophole evidence! pat's the thief, or i'll eat my shirt." "guess you'll find durant cookies better eating," said walter drily. chip looked a bit sheepish. then he slipped a hand into a capacious pocket and brought forth three crisp brown discs. "they are pretty good," he admitted as he passed one to each of the others. "might as well admit that i followed pat's lead. brought 'em along just to prove that i really was there, walt's such a doubter," he explained ingenuously. for a few minutes the boys munched the cookies in appreciative silence. when the last brown crumb had disappeared chip returned to the subject. "well, walt, what ought we to do?" he demanded. "nothing." chip got up from the chopping block and dramatically planted himself in front of walter. "say, what's chewing you, anyway?" he demanded. "you don't mean to tell us that you still think pat innocent!" "i'm not going to think him guilty until there is some proof," replied walter doggedly. "proof!" chip fairly yelped the word out. "proof! haven't i given you proof enough? what more do you want?" chip flung himself down on the chopping block in sheer disgust. "it's wholly circumstantial evidence, and--and----" walter hesitated. "and what?" demanded chip. "spit it out!" "why, the fact is----" walter hesitated again. "come on! come on! out with it!" tug broke in. "well, there is another pair of hobnailed boots of the same size in our own camp, and three nails are missing from the right one!" chip and tug stared at him blankly. then tug gave vent to a long whistle of incredulity. "say," he demanded, "what kind of a bunco steer are you givin' us, anyway? say that over again, you sawed off pocket edition of sherlock holmes!" walter was somewhat nettled and he replied rather tartly, "i said that there is another pair of boots in camp that might have made those prints." "whose are they?" chip demanded. again walter hesitated, and grew uncomfortably red in the face. "what is the honor of a scout?" he asked abruptly. "has one scout any right to cast suspicion on the honor of another scout? i don't believe that the owner of this second pair of boots knows any more than we do about mother merriam's pin, but if i should tell you who he is you couldn't help but wonder, and wondering, that kind of wondering, leads to suspicion. you couldn't help it. until this thing is cleared up you couldn't look that fellow straight in the face with quite the same feeling you do now. i didn't mean to say anything about it, but i had to to show how little real evidence pat's boots afford. by the way, chip, do you know just which nails are missing from pat's boot, and which three were lacking in those prints?" chip confessed that this was a detail he had wholly overlooked. "then that's where we all fall down on the footprint clue," said walter. "strikes me we're blamed poor scouts. the prints are gone now, and if we had both pairs of boots here what good would they do us? without knowing which nails were missing in the prints we couldn't tell which boots made 'em, and there you are! we'd simply be all the more suspicious of the owner of the second pair of boots." tug arose and impulsively held out his hand. "shake, old man! i for one don't want to know who owns those boots. my, my, this business is bad enough as it is!" he said. "them's my sentiments too," chip broke in. "it's bad enough to suspect one fellow outside the camp, and i should hate awfully to have that kind of feeling about a brother scout." walter's face cleared as the three shook hands. "i'm glad you fellows see it that way," he said. "we leave matters right where they were then, do we?" "sure thing!" tug spoke emphatically. "mum's the word. we'll just keep up our quiet little hunt and say nothin'. gee, but i would hate awfully to think that maybe some of the fellers thought i was a thief! of course i'm naturally curious about that other pair of boots, but i wouldn't listen now if you tried to tell me, for just as sure as little fishes have tails i'd get to thinkin' about that feller in a way i wouldn't want anybody to think of me. funny about those boots of pat's, ain't it? you don't suppose hal gave 'em to him to pay for---oh, rats! there it is! it's with hal just like it would be with the owner of that second pair of boots. we don't like him. he's licked us to a frazzle fishin', and here we are suspectin' he ain't on the level. let's cut it out! say, i've got an idea!" "phew! you don't say! i wouldn't have believed it of you, tug," drawled chip. "hold it down with both hands 'til walter can identify it." tug promptly back-heeled chip and calmly sat on his head while that unfortunate helplessly thrashed on the ground and in smothered tones begged to be released. "think you can be respectful to your elders?" inquired tug, holding his seat by pinning down both arms of his victim. a smothered mumble was translated to mean assent, and chip was released. tug proceeded to explain his idea. "you remember what louis said to billy the other day? well, what's the matter with us three hanging together to beat hal at his own game? we all like fishin', and there's just as big fish in this little old lake as hal has yanked out of it. if he can find 'em we can. we've been trustin' too much to luck, same as the rest of the fellers do. my idea----" chip cleared his throat, and tug turned to glare at his erstwhile victim. but that young gentleman looked so innocent as he inquired, "what's your idea, tug?" that the latter relaxed his belligerent attitude and resumed. "my idea is that we read up about the different kinds of fish around here, their habits, what they eat, when they feed, the kind of bottom they like best and all that sort of thing. the big chief's got a lot of books about fish, and he'll be tickled silly to have us read 'em. then we'll pump big jim and tom mulligan, and do some real scoutin'--for fish instead of thieves. if hal has anything on us then we'll just naturally take off our hats to him and give him the high sign." "bully!" cried walter. "we've got just time before 'taps' to read up a little on small-mouth black bass, and we'll get away at daybreak to-morrow mornin' for our first scoutin'. i'll go right up t' the big chief's and borrow the book. tug, you go hunt up louis and get permission for the three of us to take a canoe and leave before mess, and, chip, you hustle over and bamboozle cookie into puttin' up a lunch for us." the others agreed, and the three boys separated on their several errands. as they disappeared in the gathering dusk a rough unkempt figure crawled from behind the wood-pile and watched them, an ugly frown darkening his dirty but usually good-natured face. "yez think oi'm a thafe, do yez?" he growled. "oi don't know what yez think oi shtole, fer oi didn't get here in toime ter hear ut all, but if oi iver get yez alone oi'll make yez chaw thim wurrds and shwaller thim. oi'll--oi'll----" he shook a grimy fist at the retreating figures. his eyes rested a moment on walter's square, sturdy figure and he seemed to hear again the quiet voice: "i'm not going to think him guilty 'til there's some proof." gradually his face softened. "thot bye's all roight. he's sound timber, he is," he muttered. he slipped into the blackness of the forest and presently hit the durant trail. for the most part his thoughts were as black as the shadows around him. "thafe, is ut?" he muttered to himself. "oi guess ut ain't healthy fer the loikes av me around thot camp. what roight have th' loikes av thim ter be callin' me a thafe jist because oi'm poor an' live in the woods? what roight have they to be callin' me a thafe, an' me wid no chance ter say a wurrd? what show's a bye loike me got, anyway? whin thot walt bye licked me he said oi ought ter be a bye scout, an' oi'd begun ter think ut must be somethin' foine. but if this is the way they be afther doin', callin' a bye a thafe widout him iver knowin' what's been shtole, oi want nothin' ter do at all, at all wid bye scouts. oi wonder what thot honor bus'ness is thot walt bye talked so much about. oi'll pump thot bye wid his pockets full av rocks an' see what he knows about ut." abruptly his thoughts reverted to the fishing pact he had overheard and slowly a grin crept among the freckles. "goin' ter bate harrison, be yez?" he slipped a hand into a pants pocket and clinked some loose change there. "oi wonder now, have yez got the price? oi guess yez don't know what yez be up aginst. jist the same oi'd loike thot walt bye ter win out." a sudden thought struck him. "oi wonder now wud he----" he took a silver dollar from his pocket and held it up so that a ray from the rising moon was thrown up from it in a bright gleam. "no," he said, "no, oi don't belave he wud, though why not oi don't see at all, at all." he rapidly strode forward to the bunkhouse, and for once forgot to play a good-night trick on the long-suffering cook. the moon crept higher and higher. it filtered through the great forest and touched the white birches with ghostly gleam. it looked down upon a thousand tragedies among the little people of the night. it bathed the two camps in silvery light, and all unconscious of the greater tragedy in the hearts of men, it caressed into points of living flame the tiny diamonds in mother merriam's pin. but there was no one there to see, and for a few hours even the specter in the wigwams slept. chapter vii first lessons walter's skill with his camera gradually won for him the distinction of being the best photographer in camp. when, therefore, he somewhat diffidently told chief woodhull of his ambition to secure some flashlight views of deer the chief listened attentively to the plans suggested for securing them, and promised to lay them before dr. merriam. imagine walter's delight when on the following day the big chief sent for him, and after close questioning informed him that it was arranged for him to make a two days' trip to lonesome pond with big jim for the purpose of trying for the coveted photographs of wild deer in their native haunts. it was an almost unprecedented honor for a first year boy. the privilege of making such an expedition alone with one of the guides was reserved for the older boys, whose experience and training fitted them for the "roughing" which such a trip usually involved. walter fairly walked on air when he left dr. merriam to seek big jim and make the necessary arrangements. he found the guide tinkering with a jack-light. "dr. merriam says----" began walter. "i know all about it, son," interrupted the guide. "you an' me'll be pardners for a couple o' days, and we'll start before daylight to-morrow morning. rustle round now and get your picter machine ready. i reckon mr. peaked toes will be a mighty unsartin subjec', a leetle mite bashful. if you don't get him th' first shot, 'tain't likely he'll wait fer a second, so it's up to you t' hev everythin' in workin' order. run over an' tell cookie thet i want two loaves o' bread, a slab o' bacon, some butter in a wide-mouth jar, flour, salt, cocoa an' sugar fer a two days' trip. we're goin' light, so you won't need t' bring nothin' but yer fish rod, blankets, sneaks an' an extra handkercher. better turn in early, fer we want t' start at four o'clock sharp. hev cookie put up a lunch. now skip!" at quarter of four the next morning walter slipped out of the wigwam. the moon had not yet set, while in the east appeared the first faint flush of the coming day. the forest lay black and still. for a moment or two he shivered in the chill of the outer air after the warmth of the wigwam. there was a light in the guides' cabin, and thither he made his way at once. just outside the door stood a pack basket, a tightly rolled blanket lashed across it, and the handle of a frying-pan protruding from the top. big jim's favorite paddle leaned against it. as walter approached, the door opened and the guide stepped out. "hello, pard!" said he. "i was jes' comin' over t' pull yer out o' yer blankets. come in here an' hev a cup o' hot cocoa an' stow thet snack away; it's easier t' carry inside than out." when walter had gulped down the hot drink and eaten the lunch put up for him by the cook he felt ready for anything. as they took their way down the trail to the lake the hoot of a great horned owl suddenly broke the silence and wakened startled echoes on old scraggy. "whooo-hoo-hoo-hoo! whooo-hoo-hoo!" "ole fly-by-night must hev had poor huntin' last evenin'," said the guide. "do you see him, son?" walter searched the trees near at hand, but could make out nothing that resembled a bird, and his chagrin was deepened by the guide's next remark. "them books may tell yer where t' look, but they don't teach yer how t' use th' eyes god give yer. now any five-year-old born in th' woods would hev seen thet big swelled up bunch o' feathers fust thing. look at thet tall pine stump over thar t' th' right and----" "whooo-hoo-hoo-hoo! whooo-hoo-hoo!" rang the fierce cry again, and almost on the instant the top of the stump resolved into a huge, broad-winged bird, that swiftly and noiselessly dropped behind a low hemlock. a moment later it reappeared, a hare struggling in its talons, and flew heavily over toward a swamp. big jim promptly seized upon the episode to drive home a lesson in woodcraft. "pard," said he, "thar's a better lesson in the a b c o' wood life than i could give yer in a month o' talkin'. if thet hare hadn't let its narves go on th' jump, and had remembered what she ought t' hev knowed afore she was born, thet to sit tight an' not move a muscle when yer don't want t' be seen is th' first law o' th' woods, she'd be sittin' nice an' snug this very minute, instead o' stuffin' ole fly-by-night's craw. puss was narvous. the hoot startled her an' she moved jest a leetle bit. probably she rustled a leaf. them big owls is all ears. fact, son; the whole side o' th' head, pretty near, is an ear. he heared thet leaf rustle, an' he was johnny-on-the-spot in a jiffy. yer saw what happened. never make a sudden move in th' woods. sit tight if yer don't want t' be seen, or move so slowly thet nothin's goin' t' notice it. don't never ferget it! yer've jes' seen what fergettin' may cost. when yer go in th' woods leave yer narves t' hum." the pack basket and duffle were stowed in the middle of the canoe, walter took the bow seat and the guide, kneeling in the stern, for he had never outgrown his early training when canoes of his acquaintance had no seats, shot the little craft out into the lake. as they turned into the low marshy estuary which marked the outlet of the lake, the first rays of the rising sun glanced over mt. seward. once in the main channel of the river they felt the gentle force of the current, and under jim's powerful stroke they swept swiftly on. walter had been doing his full share, for he was a good paddler, but now the guide suggested that he put up his paddle and hold his camera ready for whatever they might surprise along the river's edge, or up some of the numerous setbacks. the boy put his paddle aside and, slipping a film pack into the camera, set the focus for one hundred feet. then with thumb and forefinger of his right hand on the focussing screw, ready to shorten the focus should they get within less than one hundred feet of a subject, he set himself to watch the shores. "remember now, no talkin' an' no sudden moves," cautioned the guide. alas for walter! the lesson had yet to be driven home. not five minutes later the canoe shot around a bend, and without a sound glided into a setback. almost instantly a low warning hiss from big jim put walter on his guard. the canoe seemed merely to drift, but if the boy could have seen the guide he would have witnessed a magnificent exhibition of the canoeman's art as, with paddle deep in the water and moving so slowly as to make hardly a perceptible ripple, he still kept the craft under perfect control. walter, every nerve tense, scanned the shores in a vain effort to discover the cause of the guide's warning. inch by inch the canoe crept on and still the boy saw nothing but the placid, pad-strewn surface of the water, and the forest-lined shore. presently his eager ears caught a faint splash off to his right. like a flash he turned, swinging his camera with him. the next instant he realized his mistake. with a sharp whistle of surprise and alarm a doe noisily splashed shoreward from a point not fifty yards distant, where she had been standing among the lily-pads. from the instant the canoe had first caught her attention and excited her curiosity she had remained so motionless that walter had failed utterly to pick her out from the background with which her protective coloring blended so marvelously. but the moment the boy moved she whirled for the shore, sending the water flying in a shower of silver. as the boy, in open-mouthed astonishment, watched her she lightly leaped a fallen log, and with a parting flirt of her white flag disappeared in the undergrowth. walter's chagrin was too deep for words. indeed, he was very near to tears as he realized what a rare opportunity he had missed, and how wholly his own fault it was. he did not dare look at big jim, and there was no comfort in the guide's slow, sarcastic drawl: "a clean miss, pard. did them books teach yer thet lightnin' whirl? 'pears t' me thet you an' puss back thar, keepin' company with ole fly-by-night, belong in th' same class. now if yer mem'ry had been as good as yer fergittery we'd most likely hev drifted right up t' thet thar deer. no use wastin' more time in here. some day when yer hev larned a leetle more woodcraft mebbe we'll run down an' try it agen." this surely was rubbing it in, and big jim meant it to be so. right down in his big heart he was almost as disappointed for the boy as was the boy himself, but he felt that this was the time to drive the lesson home. every word stung the chagrined young photographer like a whip-lash, and he could not trust himself to make reply. he was mortified beyond expression, for he had prided himself that he knew the value of noiselessness and motionlessness, and that when the test should come he would win golden opinions from the guide for his display of woodcraft. now, at the very first opportunity, he had failed miserably, acting like the veriest tyro, and he felt himself humbled to the last degree. had he turned he might have caught a kindly twinkle in the blue eyes watching the dejected droop of his figure, but he kept his face steadily to the front, gazing fixedly ahead, yet seeing nothing, while automatically he swung his paddle and gloomily lived over the bitterness of his mistake. they were now once more in the current, and in a matter-of-fact way the guide suggested that walter put his paddle up and be ready for whatever else might offer. as he adjusted the camera the boy resolved that this time, come what might, he would show big jim that he had learned his lesson. the opportunity came sooner than he had dared hope it would. the canoe swerved sharply toward the east bank, and presently walter made out a little brown bunch on the end of a log. with a nod of the head he signaled the guide that he saw, and then attended strictly to his end of the matter in hand. by this time the canoe was close in to the bank, so deftly handled that it would approach within twenty feet of the log before emerging from the screen of a fallen tree which the guide had instantly noted and taken advantage of. jim was paddling only enough for steerage way, allowing the current to drift them down. they were now close to the fallen tree, and the guide began to silently work the little craft around the outer end. walter had reduced the focus to twenty-five feet. as they drifted nearer and nearer to the subject he began to shake with nervous excitement, so that it was only by the exercise of all his will power that he could hold the camera steady. inch by inch they crept past the tree and walter strained his eyes for a glimpse of the old log with its little bunch of fur. he was holding his breath from sheer excitement. ha! there was the outer end of the log, and there, a foot or so back, sat a muskrat, wholly oblivious to their presence. slowly, with the utmost caution, walter turned in his seat, so slowly that it seemed ages to him. the guide had checked the canoe within less than twenty feet of the log and walter altered his focus accordingly. now in his reflecting finder he clearly saw the little fur bearer, a mussel in his paws. with a sigh of relief walter heard the click of the shutter in response to the squeeze of the bulb, held in his left hand. then as the rat made a frightened plunge, he remembered that he had forgotten to withdraw the slide before making the exposure. it is an error the novice frequently makes and that the expert is sometimes guilty of. it was, therefore, not surprising that under the stress of excitement walter should suffer this lapse of memory, but coming as it did immediately after his other fiasco, it was almost more than he could bear. big jim was chuckling delightedly over the supposed success. "reckon musky never set fer his picter afore! did he look pleasant? pard, yer sure did thet trick well. had a bit o' buck fever fust along, i reckon. thought yer seemed kind o' shaky. don't yer mind thet none. i've seen a feller with a clean open shot at a standin' deer within fifty yards wobble his rifle round so thet th' safest thing in thet neighborhood was thet thar deer. now we'll go on fer th' next." walter did not have the courage to tell the guide then of his second blunder, but resolved that when they got in camp that night he would own up like a man. for the next three miles nothing eventful occurred. then the boy got his third chance. it was a great blue heron this time. it was standing on one foot, the other drawn up until it was hidden among the feathers of the under part of the body. the long neck was laid back on the shoulders, the sharp bill half buried in the feathers of the breast. the big bird appeared to be dozing. the light fell just right, and as it was intensified by reflection from the water, walter felt sure of a good photograph. little by little the canoe drifted in. forty feet, thirty, twenty, ten--click! this time there was no mistake. working quickly but cautiously, with as little motion as possible, he pulled out and tore off the tab, set the shutter and, as the big bird spread its wings, a second click caught it at the very start of its flight. the shutter was set at the two hundredth part of a second, so that despite the nearness of the subject, walter felt reasonably certain that little movement would show in the photograph. "get him?" asked jim. "two of him," replied walter, a note of pardonable pride in his voice. "thet's th' stuff! ye're larnin' fast," said the guide, once more shooting the canoe into the current. this success went far to offset the previous failures and the boy's spirits rose. he began to enjoy his surroundings as he had not been able to since the episode with the deer. mile after mile slipped behind them, the limpid brown water sliding between the unbroken wilderness on either bank. try as he would he could not get over the impression of sliding down-hill, such was the optical effect of the swiftly-moving water. at last he heard a dull roar which increased in volume with every minute. then they rounded a sharp turn, and before them the whole river became a churning, tumbling mass of white, with here and there an ugly black rock jutting above the surface. the canoe felt the increased movement of the water and the boy's heart beat faster as the bow of the little craft still pointed straight down the middle of the river. could it be that big jim would try to run those tumbling, roaring rapids! "sit tight and don't move!" came the guide's sharp, terse command. the canoe all but grazed a great gray boulder. then dead ahead, not two inches under water, walter saw another. surely they must strike this, and then--he closed his eyes for just a second. when he opened them the canoe was just shooting through the churning froth on the edge of the rock, and that immediate danger was past. he realized then how completely the man behind him was master of the river and their craft. with fascinated eyes he watched each new danger loom up and pass almost before he realized its ugly threat. the roar of the rapids was now so loud that it drowned all other sounds. presently he became aware that they were no longer in mid-stream. with a few powerful strokes the guide shot the canoe into a back eddy and a second later it grounded lightly on a tiny sand beach where jim held it until walter could leap out and pull it up securely. "how'd yer like thet?" shouted the guide as he lifted his pack basket out. "great!" replied the boy, his eyes shining with excitement, as he helped take out the duffle. big jim adjusted the basket to his back, lashed the paddles across the thwarts of the canoe so that when they rested on his shoulders, with the canoe inverted over his head, it balanced perfectly, and leaving walter to follow with the rest of the duffle plunged into what seemed at first glance an almost impenetrable thicket of maple, birch and moosewood. walter found, however, that there was a well-defined trail, albeit a rough one. it followed the course of the river, over moss-grown decaying tree trunks, across old skidways, now firm to the foot and again a bed of oozy black swamp muck in which he sank half-way to his knees. after a mile of this they came out on the bank of the river just at the foot of the falls which marked the end of the rapids. the canoe was launched at once and in a few minutes they were again speeding down-stream. three and a half miles below they made another portage. this put them in a lake at the upper end of which a shallow stream connected with a string of three small ponds. the last of these was known as lonesome pond, and this was their destination. chapter viii lonesome pond lonesome pond was well named. a mile long by perhaps half a mile wide at its widest point, it lay like a turquoise in an emerald setting between two mountains whose upper slopes were dark with a splendid stand of spruce and pine. a magnificent growth of birch, maple and ash with an occasional pine or hemlock scattered among them grew to the water's edge, save along the southern end where they had entered. here for some distance a sphagnum swamp, dotted with graceful tamaracks, extended on either side of the narrow outlet, in places forming a natural open meadow. the pond was shallow at this end, with great masses of lily-pads, both of the white and the yellow or cow-lily. in contrast to this the shore of the upper end was bold and rocky, heavily wooded to the water's edge. here on a tiny patch of shingle, the only break in the rocky shore line, the canoe was beached. a trail led up for a hundred yards into a grove of hemlocks where, completely hidden from the lake, was the camp which was big jim's objective point. two comfortable lean-tos had been built perhaps ten feet apart and facing each other, with a stout windbreak closing one side between the two. the lean-tos were of hemlock bark, peeled from forest giants and flattened to huge sheets. these sheets formed the sides, back and steeply sloping roofs, the entire front of each, after the manner of all lean-tos, being left open. in the middle, between the two, were the charred embers of old fires, while the matted brown needles of small hemlock and balsam twigs in both lean-tos bore mute witness to the spicy, comfortable beds of other campers. a rough board table stood at one side of the fireplace. "here we be, pard," said big jim as he swung his basket to the ground. "you take this pail an' follow thet trail yonder till you find a spring, while i dig out th' grub. reckon you must be hungry. we'll hev a bit o' bacon now and a good square meal to-night." it was long past noon, and now that the excitement of the journey was over walter realized how empty his stomach was. he found the spring easily, and when he returned big jim already had his basket unpacked and was just starting the fire. he had cut two bed logs about six feet long and eight or ten inches in diameter. these he had flattened on top and one side and had placed side by side, flat sides opposite and some three inches apart at one end, spreading to ten inches at the other. between these he had built a fire of hemlock bark started with birch bark, which, by the way, is as good as kerosene for starting a fire. in a few minutes he had a bed of glowing coals over which the frying-pan was soon sizzling, and that most delicious of all odors, frying bacon, mingled with pungent wood smoke, assailed the boy's eager nostrils. by making the fireplace and fire in this way, big jim explained, the frying-pan rested on an even surface, with a steady even heat beneath it, and one could squat beside it in comfort without becoming unduly heated. at the same time the bacon was cooked thoroughly without scorching. [illustration: he had built a fire] a kettle of water was set over the coals to wash the tin plates, knives and forks when the meal was over. how good that bacon, bread and butter did taste, washed down by clear cold water! it seemed to the hungry boy that he never had eaten such a meal, its one fault being that there wasn't enough of it. but big jim laughed at him, telling him that that was only a lunch, but that he should have a real dinner at sundown. when the dishes were cleared away big jim took his axe and went back into the woods returning presently with half a dozen forked sticks of green wood. two of these about four feet long were driven into the ground, one at each end of the fireplace. across them, supported in the forks, was laid a straight young sapling which the guide called a lug-pole. then he took one of the other sticks and cut it off about three inches above the fork or crotch, leaving a good hand grasp. one branch was cut off some four inches from the fork, the other branch being left long enough so that when a small nail was driven in the end on the opposite side from the short part of the fork and the fork inverted over the lug-stick a pail hung from the nail would swing just over the coals. other sticks were made in the same way, but of varying lengths. the camp range was then complete. the long sticks (they are called pot-hooks) were for bringing a kettle close to the fire, while the shorter ones would allow of keeping things simmering without boiling or danger of burning. moreover, by simply taking up a pot-hook by the hand grasp a kettle could be moved anywhere along the lug-stick away from the hottest part of the fire without burning the hands. it was simple, quickly made, yet for all top cooking as effective as the gas range at home, and walter felt that he had learned an important lesson in woodcraft. after the dishes were cleared away big jim led the way to a balsam thicket, taking with him two straight sticks about four feet long, hooked at the lower end. with his axe he rapidly lopped over a mass of balsam twigs, showing walter how to slip them on to the long sticks so that when he had finished they had two big green spicy cylindrical piles of balsam with a hand grasp at the top to carry them by. returning to camp jim rapidly made up two beds. small boughs were laid first, overlapping so that the butts were hidden. a deep layer of the small twigs were then laid on in the same way and behold! a bed a king might covet! about four o'clock the guide told walter to rig his rod and they would go in quest of their dinner. paddling over to a cove where several springs fed the lake they drifted idly while the guide studied the various insects on and above the water. finally he told walter to rig two flies, a brown hackle for the tail and a professor for the dropper. the boy had already become fairly proficient in getting his line out cleanly and dropping his flies with that lightness which so closely simulates the falling of the living insects on the water. as yet he had seen no indications of fish, but he was impatient to try his luck. big jim, however, was lazily smoking, and walter was forced to be content with admiring the wonderful panorama of lake and mountain spread before him as they idly drifted. presently there was a splash on the edge of the shadows inshore, and then walter caught a gleam of silver as another fish broke the mirror-like surface. the fish had begun to rise. with the same noiseless stroke that walter had so much admired in the morning big jim worked the canoe shoreward toward the widening circle where the last fish had broken. at his signal walter cast, ten feet--twenty feet--thirty feet. the flies dropped lightly almost directly above the spot where they had seen the fish. hardly had the tackle touched the water when there was a swift flash of silver and with a deft twist of the wrist walter struck. with a rush the fish started for deep water, while the reel sang merrily. gently but steadily walter applied the pressure of the rod, when the first rush was checked, reeling in every inch of slack, until five minutes later he led the tired captive within reach of big jim's eager fingers, which closed in his gills and the prize was theirs, a shining half-pound spotted beauty, which the guide promptly and mercifully killed by slipping a thumb into the mouth and bending the head back till the spine broke at the neck. so they drifted alongshore, walter taking two more of about the size of the first one, and several smaller ones. as they approached a lone rock some fifty feet offshore he made a long careful cast just to the edge of the deepest shadow of the rock. the strike which followed was so fierce and the strain on the rod so great that but for the screaming of the reel walter would have been sure that he had caught a snag. but there was no mistaking the active form at the other end of the line. big jim had waked to the battle royal now in progress and was bringing to bear all his skill in the handling of the canoe. straight out into the lake shot the fish. "give him th' butt, boy, give him th' butt, but be careful!" shouted the guide. this walter did, elevating the tip of the rod until the springing little bamboo was bent almost double, the fish pulling against the full spring of the rod, clear from the butt. this served to check the rush. a period of sulking in deep water followed. then the line slackened until it hung limply from the end of the straightened rod. "he's off," thought walter, his heart sinking. but the guide was not so easily fooled. "reel, boy, reel!" he shouted, deftly turning the canoe as on a pivot. then walter waked to the fact that the fish had started a rush straight toward the canoe, hence the slack line. madly he reeled until a sharp tug that pulled the tip of his rod under water told him that he was still fast. with a sigh of relief he gently increased the pressure. "must be a four pounder, sartin," said the guide, skilfully keeping the canoe bow on. "funny he don't break water. he ought t' hev been in th' air half a dozen times 'fore this." thus far they had not had so much as a glimpse of the finny warrior. thrice he had come almost to the surface, but instead of the silver flash arching through the air, which is the joy of the fisherman, there had been no more than a sudden swirl of the placid surface, and the fish had again sought the depths. walter's wrist was feeling the strain. despite the excitement he was becoming tired. his heart was pounding with conflicting emotions, alternate hope of landing a record prize and fear of losing it. another fit of sulking gave him a few minutes' respite. when the next rush started he felt that it was weaker, nor was it as long. inch by inch he was recovering his line, not for one instant relaxing the steady strain on the fish. the rushes were short now and quickly checked. inch by inch, foot by foot the reel took up the line. at last in the clear depths he got a glimpse of a shadowy form as it started another rush. big jim had seen too. indeed, he had seen more than walter had. "two o' em, by gum!" he shouted. "steady now, pard! 'twon't be safe t' try t' land 'em in th' canoe without a landin' net. i'm goin' t' work in t' thet bit o' shingle over yonder. jes' yer keep 'em comin' an' don't let up on 'em fer a minute." the guide was right. both flies had been seized at once. by this time walter could occasionally see the two fish, and the sight brought his heart into his throat. could he save both? what a chance to score for the delawares! and what a record to send home to father! he understood now why there had been no leaping; the fish had checkmated each other. as the canoe grated on the pebbles the guide leaped over, knee-deep in the water. walter stood up and gently led the fish toward the waiting guide. so tired were they that they were almost passive, their broad tails feebly winnowing as, getting the line in his left hand, big jim drew them slowly to him. gently he sank his right arm in the water that no sudden move should startle the fish into a last frantic struggle. would he save them? walter sat down weakly, trembling with the strain and anxiety. slowly the guide's big hand slipped up the length of the fish on the dropper. the stout fingers locked in the gills, there was a deft throw--walter could never tell just how it was done--and both fish were flapping on the shore. jim threw himself upon them a second after, for his quick eye had seen that the tail fly had torn out. when he stood up he held out a fish in each hand, such fish! the young angler could hardly believe the evidence of his own eyes. "smallest'll weigh 'bout two an' a half pounds, an' t'other 'bout a pound heftier," said jim, eyeing them critically. "pard, thet's goin' some fer a beginner. reckon yer must carry a rabbit's foot in yer pocket fer luck." walter disclaimed any witch charms whatsoever as he produced the neat little spring scales which had been a parting gift from his father. these proved the accuracy of jim's guess, one being an ounce less and the other an ounce and a half more than the weights he had named. they were the true broad tails or speckled trout, commonly called brook trout (salvilinus fontinalis) than which no more beautiful fish swims. as he admired their exquisitely painted sides something very like regret for a moment subdued the boy's elation and pride, for he was one of the true nature lovers, to whom the destruction of life must ever bring a feeling of sadness. as the guide shoved off walter started to bend on a change of flies, but to this big jim quickly put a stop. "pard," said he, "no true sportsman will ever kill more'n he needs. we've got enough--all we can use. the man who kills jes' fer th' fun o' killin' ain't nothin' more'n a butcher. he'd better get a job in one o' them big slaughter-houses. when i find i'm guidin' fer one o' thet breed he most gen'rally don't hev no luck." walter felt the rebuke, but he was fair minded enough to appreciate and not resent it. nor did he ever forget it. back at camp big jim at once started preparations for dinner. going into the woods he cut a small log of hard wood about two feet long, out of which he split a slab about three inches thick. one side of this he rapidly smoothed. under his direction walter had, in the meantime, built a fire of small pieces of hard wood. this was soon a bed of glowing coals which would retain their heat for a long time, a property which soft woods do not possess, as the guide took pains to impress upon him. for this reason hardwood coals are always preferable for cooking. when the slab was smoothed to jim's satisfaction he propped it up in front of the coals. splitting the largest fish down the back its entire length, taking care not to cut through the belly, he cleaned it and wiped it dry. when the slab was hot he tacked the fish to it, skin side down, and spread full width. then the slab was once more propped in front of the fire and three strips of bacon were hung across the top so that the fat would try out and drip on the fish. when it became necessary to reverse the ends of the slab so that the fish would cook evenly the bacon was taken off and impaled on the pointed end of a small stick, it becoming walter's duty to hold this so that the drip would continue to baste the fish. while walter tended the fish the guide made a reflector according to an idea walter had given him. lashing together two sticks in the form of a t, one two and a half feet long and the other a foot long, he tacked a piece of birch about two feet wide to the ends of the t, thus forming a segment of a circle. the white side of the bark was turned in. a flat piece of hemlock bark was fitted across the sticks and a rough handle was lashed to the whole. the result was a crude but effective reflector to concentrate the light from a flash in a given direction. by the time this was finished the fish was done to a turn. a dash of salt and pepper was added, and it was ready to serve on the slab on which it was cooked. have you ever sat under the sweet smelling hemlocks, careless of all else in the world save securing your full share of the flaky pink flesh of a trout cooked in this way? if you have then your mouth is watering this very minute. if you have not--ah, why try to describe it? my advice to you is simply this: follow walter's example at the earliest opportunity. bread with butter and hot cocoa (dr. merriam tabooed coffee or tea for growing boys) completed the menu. when the dinner was finished, to the last shred of pink flesh clinging to crisp brown skin, walter felt that never before in all his life had he eaten half so delicious a meal. with dinner out of the way and camp made ready for the night they prepared to put into execution the plan which was the real object of the trip. there was no moon, for the sky was overcast, and the night promised to be very dark. this was much to jim's liking, for the blacker the night the less likelihood that the deer would see ought but the baleful, fascinating glare of the jack-light. it was nine o'clock when they left camp, walter in the bow as usual, but this time with nothing to occupy his attention but his camera and the jack-light strapped on his hat. the reflector was within easy reach of the guide, to whom walter had given careful instructions in its use. a flash, consisting of two no. 2 cartridges, had been prepared and wires connected from a couple of electric batteries. jim had merely to press a button to fire the flash. it was agreed that walter should set his focus for one hundred feet and that, should they be lucky enough to find the deer, the judging of the distance and setting off of the flash should be left to the guide. it was weird, uncanny, that paddle down the lake, the black water beneath them and a black formless void around and above them. a dozen strokes from shore walter felt as utterly lost so far as sense of direction was concerned as if blindfolded. but not so big jim. he sent the canoe forward as confidently as if in broad daylight. the jack was lighted but not uncovered. walter became aware presently that the canoe was moving very much more slowly and he suspected that they were approaching the lower end of the pond. at a whispered word he turned on the jack. the narrow beam of light cutting athwart the darkness made the night seem blacker by contrast. very, very slowly they were moving, and there was not so much as the sound of a ripple against their light craft. the boy sat motionless, but listen as he would he could detect no smallest sound to denote the presence of his companion, much less to indicate that he was paddling. but paddling he was, and the canoe steadily crept forward. a mighty chorus of frog voices in many keys evidenced the close proximity of the meadows surrounding the outlet. as the canoe's course was altered to parallel the shore the boy cautiously turned in his seat so that the rays from the jack were directed shoreward. at that distance, even in the very center of the beam of light, the shore was but a ghostly outline, and walter wondered how it could be possible that they could see the eyes of a deer. once the heavy plunge of a muskrat made him jump inwardly, for his nerves were keyed to a high pitch. he was beginning to feel cramped from so long maintaining one position. one foot and leg had gone to sleep. but he grimly ground his teeth and resolved that, come what might, he would not move. a slight tremor on the port side of the canoe attracted his attention and he realized that big jim was shaking it, the signal agreed upon should the guide see the deer first. walter forgot his discomfort. eagerly he stared at the shore. for a few minutes he saw nothing unusual. suddenly he became conscious of two luminous points--the eyes of a deer gazing in fixed fascinated stare at the light. he could discern no faintest outline of the animal, but the eyes glowed steadily, unwinking. inch by inch the canoe drifted in. suddenly the two glowing points disappeared. walter's heart sank. had the animal taken fright? no, there they were again! the deer had merely lowered its head for a moment. a shake of the canoe warned the boy that there was something more. turning his own eyes from the two burning there in the blackness he presently became aware of two more, smaller and lower down. a second later he saw a third pair. what could it mean? could it be that the deer had enemies stalking it? what if it should be a lynx or even a panther! his excited imagination conjured up a thrilling scene. what if he could photograph it! he longed to ask the guide what it all meant, but that was impossible. slowly, slowly they drifted in toward the three pairs of eyes. walter kept his camera pointed directly at them, the shutter open, not knowing what instant the flash might go off. still they drifted in, walter as fascinated by the six glowing points as were the deer by the jack. inch by inch, inch by inch they drew nearer. would the flash never go? walter felt that he must turn and see what big jim was doing. could it be that jim had disconnected the wires and was unable to fire the flash? even as this dread possibility entered his mind the water and shore directly in front of him were lit by a blinding glare. he had an instantaneous impression of a doe and two fawns staring in curious alarm from near the shore of a wild meadow flanked by ghostly tamaracks. quite automatically he squeezed the bulb that closed the shutter. then for a few minutes he could see nothing. but he could hear the plunging of the frightened animals as they fled for the shelter of the forest, and his heart leaped at thought of what that negative in his camera must hold. "git 'em, pard?" drawled the voice of the guide. "i guess so. i don't see how i could help it. anyway, i held the camera pointed right at them," replied walter. "guess thet'll do fer to-night, son," said jim, swinging the canoe about. "shut off th' jack an' git out yer paddle. it's us fer th' blankets now!" chapter ix a shot in the dusk day breaks in the great forest in a hushed solemnity, as if all nature bowed in silent worship. the very leaves hang motionless. the voices of the night are stilled. the prowlers in the dark have slunk back to their lairs. the furred and feathered folk who people the mighty woodland through all the hours of light have not yet awakened. the peace of the perfect stillness is at once a benediction and a prayer. it was at just this hour that walter awoke. there was no sound save the heavy breathing of big jim. for a few minutes he lay peering out through a break in the bark wall of the shack. swiftly the gray light threaded the forest aisles. a rosy flush touched the top of a giant pine and instantly, as if this were a signal, a white-throated sparrow softly fluted its exquisite song from a thicket close by the camp. another more distant took up the song, and another and another until the woods rang with the joyous matins. a red squirrel chirred sharply and his claws rattled on the bark of the roof as he scampered across. a rabbit thumped twice close at hand. cautiously raising himself on one elbow walter discovered the little gray-coated fellow peering with timid curiosity into the opposite lean-to. as if this were the morning alarm big jim yawned, then sprang from his blankets. brer rabbit dived headlong for the underbrush, but the guide's quick eyes caught the flash of bunny's white tail, and he laughed good-naturedly. "why didn't you invite him t' breakfast, son?" he inquired. walter grinned as he crawled out of his blankets. "felt too bashful on such short acquaintance," he replied. "prob'ly them's his feelin's, too," said the guide, producing two rough towels from the depths of his pack basket. "now fer a wash and then breakfast." there was a sharp nip to the air that made walter shiver at the thought of what the water must be like. he dreaded that first plunge, but he said nothing, and followed big jim's lead down to the lake. to his surprise he found the water warmer than the air, as if the heavy blanket of mist in which the lake was still shrouded was indeed a coverlid provided to hold fast the warmth absorbed from the sun of yesterday. a brisk swim followed by an equally brisk rub-down banished all thoughts of chill, and just as the first low-flung rays of the rising sun burned a hole through the slowly rising vapor they started back for camp and breakfast. "you start th' fire while i rastle round th' grub," said the guide, as he once more dug down into the pack. "how will flapjacks and th' rest o' them trout hit yer fer a lining fer yer stomach, pard?" while the guide prepared the batter walter showed how well he had learned his lesson in fire building the night before. between the two big bed-logs he placed two fairly good-sized sticks about a foot apart. dry twigs and splinters were laid loosely across, and on these at one side some strips of birch bark. two more sticks were now laid across the twigs at right angles, then another layer of small sticks. the next layer of larger sticks was laid at right angles to the former. so the pile was built up, log-cabin fashion, good-sized split hard wood being used for the upper layers. touching a match to the birch bark he had the satisfaction of seeing the whole mass leap into flame in less than a minute because, built in this way, air had immediate circulation to the whole mass, free access of air being essential to a brisk fire. then again the whole would burn down together to live coals, the object to be obtained for successful cooking. in the meantime big jim had stirred up the flapjack batter and gone in quest of the trout, which had been left in a pail hung on the stub of a dead branch of a pine near by. he returned with a look of chagrin on his good-natured face. "reckon, pard, thet we've had more visitors than thet leetle cottontail we ketched a glimpse o' this mornin'. if yer ain't no ways pertic'lar you an' me will have bacon stid o' trout with them flapjacks. ought t' known thet if leetle ole mr. mink really wanted them fish he wouldn't mind takin' th' trouble t' shin up a tree. if i'd hung thet pail by a wire as i'd ought t' hev, mr. mink wouldn't hev th' laugh on us now." walter laughed at the rueful face of the guide. "how do you know it was a mink?" he asked. "'cause thar's no other critter in these here woods likes fish well enough t' use his wits thet way t' git 'em. besides, he wasn't pertic'lar 'bout coverin' up his tracks. left 'em 'round most promiscus and insultin'. say, son," he added, his face brightening with a sudden thought, "you take thet tin dipper and hit th' trail past th' big pine over yonder. keep a-goin' till yer strike a patch o' old burned-over ground. yesterday i see a lot o' early blueberries over thar. pick th' dipper full and i'll give yer somethin' t' tickle yer ribs so thet yer'll fergit all about them trout." walter took the dipper and following the trail shortly reached the burned land. sure enough, there were the berries, so plentiful that it took but a short time to fill the dipper. before he reached camp he smelt the bacon and his mouth watered. a pot of steaming cocoa hung from one of the pot-hooks, and a plate of crisp bacon rested on one end of the fore-log where it would keep warm. big jim took the dipper with a grin of satisfaction and stirred the berries into his kettle of batter. then into the sizzling hot frying-pan, well greased with bacon fat, he poured enough batter to cover the bottom, and placed it over the glowing coals before which he squatted, watching the bubbling cake with a critical eye. suddenly he lifted the pan, and with a dextrous twist of the wrist, so deftly executed that walter did not see how the trick was done, the flapjack was sent into the air, where it turned over and was caught in the pan, brown side up as it came down. it was returned to the fire all in the one motion and two minutes later, buttered and sugared, was on its way to "line walter's ribs." "well, pard, how do yer like 'em?" inquired the cook, sending another spinning over to walter's plate. "they're just the best ever!" exclaimed the boy enthusiastically. "i'm going to teach cook to make 'em when i get home. wish dad could have one of these right now. say, jim, it's my turn to fry now." the guide tossed one more to begin on while walter was frying the next, and then turned the frying-pan over to the amateur cook. big jim's eyes twinkled as the boy reached for a knife with which to turn the cake. his big hand closed over the knife first. "nobody can be a side pardner o' mine who has t' take a knife t' turn a flapjack," he drawled, "and, son, i kind o' think i'd like you fer a side pardner. thet bein' so, up she goes!" walter grinned sheepishly and gave the frying-pan an awkward toss. the required twist of the wrist was wholly lacking and, instead of turning a graceful somersault in the air, the cake shot out at an angle and landed soft side down on the very spot the guide had occupied a second before. that worthy, with wisdom born of experience, had shifted his base at the first motion of the frying-pan, and was now rolling on the ground in huge glee, his infectious laugh rolling through the camp. walter, his face crimson with more than the heat of the fire, bit his lips in chagrin which he could not hide, but being blessed with a strong sense of humor he joined in the laugh and straightway prepared to try again. this time, under a running fire of comment and advice from big jim, who solemnly assured him that in his humble opinion "the landscape ain't really a-needin' blueberry frescoes t' improve its beauty," he succeeded in sending the cake into the air within catching distance of the pan, but it lacked the impetus to send it high enough to turn completely over, and fell back in the pan in a shapeless mass. big jim cast an appraising eye at the batter kettle and, evidently considering that his chances of a square meal were in jeopardy, reached for the pan and gave walter a practical demonstration. holding the pan slanting in front of and away from him he gave it a couple of preliminary easy flaps to get the swing, then flipped boldly and sharply. it seemed the easiest thing in the world, and in fact it is when you know how. returning the pan to walter he had the latter go through the motions several times until he was satisfied. then he bade him pour in the batter and go ahead. slowly at first, then faster the bubbles broke to the surface. presently the edges stiffened and with a little shake walter felt that the cake was loose and free in the pan. getting the preliminary swing he gave the pan a sharp upward flip and a second later the cake was back over the fire, brown side up. the guide nodded approvingly. "reckon yer goin' t' be a sure enough woodsman," he said. "nobody what can't toss a flapjack has any business t' think he's th' real thing in th' woods." breakfast finished it fell to walter to wash the dishes while the guide went out to look for deer signs. cleanliness is next to godliness in camp as well as at home, and hot water is as necessary to wash dishes in the one place as in the other. walter had finished his work and was hanging the towel to dry when he heard a queer noise behind him. turning, he was just in time to see a bird about the size of a blue jay, but gray and white in color, making off with the cake of soap which he had left on a log. flying to the nearest tree it started to sample its queer breakfast. but one taste was enough. with a harsh scream, which was a ludicrous blending of disappointment, disgust and rage, it dropped the soap and vigorously wiped its bill on the branch on which it was sitting. then scolding and protesting in a harsh, discordant voice, it flew to the next tree, stopping long enough to give the bill another thorough wiping on a convenient branch, only to repeat the performance on the next tree, and so on until it disappeared in the depths of the forest. walter laughed heartily, disgust was so clearly manifest in every motion of the bird and the torrent of invective being poured out was so very plainly aimed at him personally as the author of its discomfiture. the boy had never seen a bird of this species before, but he recognized it at once from its markings, the fine silky plumage and certain unmistakable characteristics in general appearance and actions, as a member of the jay family. it was, in fact, the canada jay, perisoreus canadensis, first cousin to the blue jay, and a resident the year through of the north woods, where it is often called the moosebird. big jim returned just in time to witness the last of the performance. "whisky jack seems t' think yer ain't been usin' him just right, son," said he. "what yer been doin' t' rile him up so?" walter told him the incident of the soap, and the guide chuckled with enjoyment. "serves th' old thief right," said he. "why, i've had one of them fellers sit on my tent just waitin' fer me t' go out so's he could go inside an' steal somethin'. he'll swipe a meal out of yer plate while yer back's turned. just th' same, it's kind o' sociable t' have him neighborly if yer happen t' be all alone in th' deep woods fifty miles from nowhar, 'specially in winter." "where did he get the name of whisky jack?" asked walter. "don't know, son, unless it comes from an indian name i heered a half breed in a canada lumber camp use once. he called one o' these jays thet hed got caught tryin' t' steal th' bait from a mink trap he had set a 'whis-kee-shaw-neesh.' when yer say it quick it sounds something like 'whisky john,' an' i reckon maybe thet's where th' trappers and lumbermen got th' name 'whisky jack.' anyhow, thet's what they all call him. ever see one before?" "no," replied walter, "but i knew it was a canada jay as soon as i saw it. you see i had read all about it in a bird book," slyly putting just the least emphasis on the word book. big jim grunted and then abruptly changed the subject. "been a-lookin' fer signs o' mr. peaked toes, an' they ain't none too plentiful. if it was two months later i should say this country hed been hunted hard. i wonder now----" he paused abruptly to gaze into the fireplace with an air of deep abstraction. "what do you wonder?" asked walter when the silence became oppressive. big jim reached for his pipe. "i wonder," said he slowly as with his fingers he deftly transferred a hot coal from the embers to the bowl of his pipe, "i wonder if some o' them sneakin' low-lived poachers ain't been a-killin' deer out o' season right round these here parts. durant's lumber camp has been havin' a right smart lot o' fresh 'veal' all summer, an' some one's been supplyin' it. you an' me will have a look around on th' ridges this morning--take a kind o' census, mebbe. this afternoon we'll have another try at th' trout t' make up fer those mr. mink had fer breakfast." while the guide exchanged his heavy boots for a pair of moccasins walter slipped on a pair of sneaks, for he realized that this was to be a still hunt, the highest form of sportsmanship, a matching of human skill against the marvelous senses of the most alert and timid of all the animals that live in the forest. it was to be his first deer hunt, for the jacking expedition of the night before could hardly be dignified by the name of hunt, the advantage lying so wholly with the hunters. now, however, the advantage would be reversed, lying wholly with the hunted, with ears trained to detect the smallest sound, suspicious of the mere rustle of a leaf, and with nostrils so acutely sensitive that they would read a dozen messages in the faintest breeze. it was still early and big jim at once led the way to the foot of a series of low ridges above a swamp that flanked one side of the pond, explaining as they went that deer are night feeders, coming down to the lowlands at dusk and spending the night in the swamps, and along the watercourses. "'bout now they'll be workin' back t' higher ground, till along 'bout ten o'clock they'll be well up on th' hardwood ridges where they'll lay up fer th' day, snoozin' behind a windfall or thick clump o' evergreens. then 'long 'bout four o'clock they'll git movin' agin, an' pretty quick begin t' work back t' low ground and a drink," said the guide. "now, pard," he continued, "yer watch them feet o' yourn, and put 'em down 'sif this here ground was made o' egg-shells. look out fer twigs and dead sticks. snap one o' 'em and it's good-bye mr. peaked toes! when i stop jest you stop, freeze in yer tracks, till i move on agin. guess yer larned yer lesson yesterday 'bout sudden movin'." by this time they were skirting the foot of one of the ridges and big jim moved forward slowly, his keen eyes searching the ground for signs, and sharply scanning the thickets. it was wonderful to the boy a few feet behind to note how without any apparent attention to where he was stepping each foot was planted surely and firmly without the rustle of so much as a leaf. it seemed as if the big moccasins were endowed with an intelligence of their own, and picked their way among the scattered litter of dead sticks without attention from the man whose huge form and heavy weight they bore so lightly. walter himself found that it required every bit of concentration of which he was capable to watch his path and at the same time keep an eye on his companion that he might be prepared to "freeze" should the latter stop suddenly. it was a nervous strain that rapidly became fatiguing in the extreme. he could not relax for an instant to look about him, lest in an unguarded moment there should be a fateful snap underfoot. he wondered if it could be possible that he would ever acquire that seemingly instinctive art of still walking which is inborn in the indian and has become almost a sixth sense in the trained woodsman. it was a relief when big jim suddenly stopped and pointed to a bit of soft ground just ahead of them. there, clearly defined, were the v shaped imprints of sharp-edged little cloven hoofs. the guide studied them a moment. "doe crossed here within five minutes," he whispered. "how do you know?" asked walter, imitating the guide's guarded whisper. "know it's a doe by th' size." he stooped and pointed to a slight film of moisture on the edge of one of the prints and even as he did so a tiny particle of wet soil loosened and fell. had more than five minutes elapsed the edges would have slightly dried out, and walter was enough of a scout to realize this and understand the significance of what he saw. the guide scanned the side hill to the right. "watch that old windfall," he whispered. walter looked in the direction indicated and studied the tangle of fallen timber a hundred yards away, but for the life of him he could make out nothing that in any way resembled an animal. a slow smile dawned on the good-natured, sun-browned face watching him. then slowly big jim stooped and picked up a good-sized stick, which he broke in his hands with a sharp snap. instantly there was a startled whistle, followed by a sudden crash at one end of the fall, and walter caught a glimpse of two slim reddish-brown legs and a white "flag" ridiculously like a magnified edition of the little bunch of cotton which had been his last glimpse of brer rabbit early that morning. there were two or three diminishing crashes beyond the windfall and then all was still. walter turned to look at the guide, whose mouth was broadly stretched in a hearty but noiseless laugh. "did you see her all the time?" he whispered. big jim nodded. "sure," he replied. "yer see, son, yer was lookin' fer somethin' thet wasn't thar--mrs. lightfoot right out on full dress parade like yer've seen 'em in a park, mebbe, and o' course yer didn't see her. now i was lookin' fer jest a leetle patch o' red, which couldn't nohow be leaves at this season o' year, and i see it right away. yer most generally see what you're lookin' fer--if it's thar. in the woods th' thing is t' know what t' look fer." his face clouded suddenly as he continued. "i don't nohow like th' way she dusted out. if it was th' huntin' season i wouldn't think nothin' o' it. but it ain't, and she ought not t' hev run more'n a couple o' hundred yards afore she got so blamed curious thet she'd hev stopped and then come a-sneakin' back t' see what had given her thet sudden attack o' heart disease. she was sure scared, and she's been worse scared quite lately." they resumed their tramp in the same cautious manner as before, finding several old tracks and two or three fresh ones, to none of which big jim gave more than a moment's attention. then they ran across a trail which, from the size of the prints, walter knew must have been made by a big buck. the guide wet a finger and carefully tested the direction of the wind, which was so faint as not to be perceptible to the dry skin. satisfied that the trail led directly into the wind he started to follow it, explaining as they went along that had the trail led down wind it would have been useless to waste time following it, for the game would have scented them long before they were near it. the course now led up to higher ground and only such trained eyes as the guide's could have picked it out. as they approached the top of the ridge big jim suddenly left the trail and made a wide dã©tour to the left, then circled back to the top of the ridge, along which he led the way with the utmost caution, stopping at every step to study the landscape in front and below. finally in the shelter of a young hemlock he stopped and nodded for walter to join him. "look in thet thicket o' young hemlocks a couple o' hundred yards down from th' top o' the ridge," he whispered. walter looked as directed, but for a few minutes could make out nothing unusual. then he recalled his lesson earlier in the day and looked for a "patch o' red." almost at once he saw it, low down under the hemlocks, and by looking intently soon made out the form of the buck lying down in unsuspicious contentment. "foxy old mr. peaked toes has been clear up on top o' th' ridge an' then doubled back and laid down whar he can watch his back track," whispered the guide. "but we've fooled him this time." for a few minutes they watched him. then the hush of the great forest was abruptly broken by the alarm notes of a crow, so close at hand that walter instinctively looked up, expecting to see the black mischief maker above their heads. but no bird was to be seen, and a glance at big jim's grinning face told him that the crow was none other than the guide himself. when his glance once more returned to the buck it was to behold a lordly animal standing with his magnificent head, crowned with ten point antlers still in the velvet, thrown up, his sensitive nostrils testing the wind for trace of possible danger. for a few minutes he stood motionless, ears forward to catch the least sound, big soft eyes searching the hillside, delicate nostrils expanded and a-quiver in the effort to read some warning in the air. so the king stood, suspicious but not alarmed, a royal animal in the full vigor of maturity. satisfied that ears and eyes and nose could detect no danger, but still suspicious, he suddenly bounded behind the hemlocks, clearing a fallen tree with a leap which was a marvel of lightness. the thicket shut him from their view, but presently big jim called walter's attention to a slight movement of bushes far up along on the ridge. "he's making a sneak t' high ground whar he can have a better look around. then he'll make a big circle t' try the wind from all quarters. did yer notice that scar on his shoulder? he's been burned thar by a bullet or had an ugly tear in a scrap with another buck. son, you've seen th' king o' lonesome pond. i've tried fer him for th' last three years in th' open season, but th' old rascal knows as well as i do when th' huntin' season begins and he's too smart fer me. no walkin' up on him then like we did to-day! i'd like t' get him and yet--well, fact is i'd hate t' see him dead. he sure is a king! now fer camp an' lunch an' then a try fer them trout. son, yer'll make a still hunter one o' these days, and, son, don't yer never fergit thet still huntin' is th' only real sportin', square deal way o' huntin' deer." these few words of approval from his companion amply rewarded the boy for his long effort to "keep his feet in the way they should go" and now as they tramped rapidly toward camp he felt within him for the first time the sense of mastery and self-reliance which is ever the woodsman's best reward. in the afternoon fishing walter failed to equal his record catch of the day before, but nevertheless landed some handsome trout, and they soon had all they could use. after an early supper the guide led the way to a deer run only a short distance from camp, where, he said, the animals were in the habit of coming down to drink. here at one side in a position to command an unobstructed view of a part of the run walter set up his camera, masking it with branches broken from the surrounding trees. a flash was arranged to be exploded by an electric spark from two dry cells which had been brought along for the purpose. a stout thread was fastened across the run in such a way that an animal passing up or down must strike it and the adjustment was such that the least pull would make the necessary contact and set off the flash. "thar's a couple o' other runs close by, and it's all a chance whether a deer will take this partic'lar run, but i think th' chance is good," said the guide. back at camp the guide put out the fire lest the smell of smoke should alarm the game. then they sat down to wait, big jim whiling away the time with stories of hunting and adventure which set the boy's pulses to faster beating. swiftly the shadows crept through the woods and dusk settled over the landscape. through the tree tops walter caught the gleam of the first star. "ought not t' be long now 'fore thar's somethin' doin'," said the guide. almost with the words the report of a rifle rang out from the lake in the direction of the run where the camera was set, and rolled in heavy echoes along the mountain. big jim was on his feet in an instant, his face contorted with rage, while he shook a brawny fist in the direction of the shot. "you hound, i'd wring yer blasted neck fer two cents!" he muttered. then he turned to walter and shook his head sorrowfully as he said, "it ain't a mite o' use t'-night, son. thet shot hit th' narves o' every deer within two miles o' here. might as well go bring in th' camera. i been sartin all day thet some such mischief as this was afoot. we didn't see half th' number o' deer we'd ought to this mornin' and them was so skeery thet i suspicioned they was bein' hunted right along. guess when we git back t' woodcraft we'll hev t' notify th' game warden and do a little still huntin' fer bigger game than peaked toes. reckon i could guess who th' feller is, but i ain't got no proof, not a mite. if yer was t' leave thet picter box out all night yer might ketch one 'long just 'fore daybreak," he added as an afterthought. walter agreed to this, and they set about preparing for the night, when both were startled by a distant flare of light. "the flash!" cried walter joyously. "you guessed wrong that time, you old croaker!" big jim's face was a study. "reckon i did, pard," he drawled. "must be one deer round these parts what is plumb foolish in her head. well, we'll go bring in th' camera." in a few minutes they reached the run. sure enough the thread was broken and the flash sprung. walter at once slipped in the slide, and gathering up the apparatus they returned to camp, the boy in high spirits, but big jim in unwonted soberness. chapter x a battle for honor reaching woodcraft late the next afternoon walter at once hurried to the dark room adjoining dr. merriam's office to develop his plates. to his dismay he found that needed chemicals for fresh developer were lacking, and he was unwilling to risk his plates in the old and necessarily weak developer on hand. there was nothing for it but to possess himself in such patience as he could until a fresh supply could be obtained from the city. dr. merriam promised to send at once. leaving big jim to report to the doctor the results of their trip walter sought the wigwam. he found tug rewinding his split bamboo and billy buxby assisting with a ceaseless stream of unheeded advice. "behold the mighty hunter!" exclaimed billy with an exaggerated bow of mock deference as walter entered. "what luck?" asked tug, as he tied the final knot and reached for the shellac. walter rapidly sketched a brief account of his two days at lonesome pond, but in his enthusiasm over the deer hunt forgot to mention his double catch of trout. "anything new here?" he asked finally. tug shook his head. "nothin' much. harrison came in with a three-pound brook trout this morning, and unless some one gets in to-night with something better that will give the senecas the score for this week. say, the gloom in this little old shanty is something fierce. if it was any one but harrison there'd be no kick comin'. he's gettin' such a swelled head he can't see anybody outside his own tribe. i'd like to punch it for him," growled tug savagely. "say," he added as he looked up, "what's the matter with you, you grinning cheshire cat?" "nothing much," replied walter, "only day before yesterday i landed a double, for a total of five pounds; brook trout, too." tug and billy fell on him as one. "say it again! say it again!" begged tug as they pinned walter to the floor and sat on him. "i got two trout at one cast, and they weighed five pounds. does that beat it?" gasped walter, giving up the struggle. "counts same as one fish," whooped billy joyously. "well, we win anyway, for one of them weighed over three and a half," said walter, giving a sudden heave that sent billy sprawling. "now what's the matter, you old gloom chaser?" "walt, you ain't foolin', are you? tell me, you rabbit-footed tenderfoot, have you got proof?" implored tug. "big jim's word for it, and a photo," replied walter. tug's face cleared. "that's good enough. oh, my eye, wait till that record is posted to-night!" he chortled. tug was not disappointed. the record held, and the delawares celebrated that night with a bonfire and war dance in which walter, to his confusion, found himself the central figure. harrison's chagrin was too evident to escape notice, and his defeat was rubbed in with a malice born of his growing unpopularity. the next morning when walter met him and offered his hand hal passed on as if the other lad were a stick or a stone. the insult was witnessed by several delawares and by members of hal's own tribe. that night a meeting of indignation was held by the delawares, and in spite of walter's protest and the efforts of woodhull and one or two of the older boys, it was voted to send harrison to coventry so far as the delawares were concerned, that is, he was not to be spoken to or recognized in any way. in his own wigwam hal was only a degree less unpopular. the leaders tried to induce him to make an apology, pointing out to him that he was violating both the spirit and word of the scout's oath, but the effort was without avail. the high-strung, undisciplined boy, accustomed from babyhood to having his own way, fawned upon by all with whom he had hitherto come in contact because of his father's great wealth, was utterly unable to adjust himself to the new conditions which surrounded him, to the democracy of which he was now a part yet of which he had no understanding. so he went his headstrong way, and if in his heart were bitterness and misery he made no sign. the senecas stood by him with half-hearted loyalty because he was a fellow tribesman, but there was not one whom he could call a friend. so he became more and more isolated, spending his days fishing, the proudest, loneliest boy in all the big camp. the fact that he continued to score with big fish gave him a measure of standing with his tribe, and to maintain this became his chief object in the daily life. walter was thinking of this and wondering what the outcome would be as early one morning he headed his canoe for a setback some three miles from camp, which he had discovered the day before. the entrance was so hidden in a tangle of alders and brush that it was only with the greatest difficulty that he could pick out the channel. he had passed the spot dozens of times without suspecting that anything lay beyond. patiently and carefully he worked his way through the tangle, once having to get out and lift the canoe over a jam of a dozen stranded logs. beyond this the channel was comparatively clear. unexpectedly it abruptly opened into a broad body of water perhaps half a mile long, deep in the middle, and with the upper end covered with an acre or more of lily-pads. walter's eyes sparkled. "gee, i bet there's pickerel in here!" he exclaimed, unconsciously speaking aloud. "bet yer life thar is," said a voice with a chuckle. walter turned to find a rude raft anchored behind the half submerged top of a fallen hemlock, and on it sat pat malone, catching young striped perch for bait. "hello!" exclaimed walter. "what are you doing here?" "seem ter be fishin'," replied pat, a broad grin spreading across his freckled face. walter grinned in return. "well, what are you catching?" he asked. "mostly fish--some skeeters," was the prompt retort. pat lifted a wriggling three-inch perch from the water. "do you call that a fish?" asked walter. "mebbe it is an' mebbe it isn't," said the lumber boy as he dropped the victim into a battered old pail half filled with water. "how about this?" he reached behind him and held up at arm's length a huge pickerel. walter allowed a long low whistle of admiration escape him. "are there any more like that in here?" he asked eagerly. "shure," replied pat. "that's nothin' but a minnie 'longside some old whopperlulus in here." "what'd you catch him with?" "bait an' a hook an' line." walter laughed. "pat, you win," said he. "i don't want any of your secrets, but i should like to catch just one fish like that one." a crafty look swept over the freckled face grinning across at him. "yez licked me once." walter nodded. "an' yez said that if iver yez had the chance yez'd show me some o' thim thricks what done it." again walter nodded. "will yez do it now if oi'll show yez where thim big fish is an' how ter ketch 'em?" asked pat eagerly. "i'll do it anyway, and you don't need to show me anything about the fish," replied walter heartily, driving the canoe ashore as he spoke. together they forced their way through the underbrush until they found a cleared place. "this isn't to be another fight?" asked walter, a sudden suspicion flashing into his mind. "course it ain't! what kind av a low-down hedgehog do ye take me fer, anyway?" retorted his companion indignantly. walter put out his hand and apologized promptly, ashamed to think that he should have been guilty of entertaining such a thought. then he began by briefly explaining the rules governing boxing, pointing out that a blow below the waist line constitutes a foul, that a man knocked down is allowed ten seconds in which to get on his feet again, and during that time must not be touched by his opponent; that wrestling is not allowed, and that matches usually are conducted by rounds of three minutes each, with a minute for rest in between. "no true sportsman will ever hit a man when he's down," concluded walter. this was difficult for the backwoods boy to grasp, and it was equally hard for him to understand why in a fight he should not scratch, kick and gouge, even use his teeth if opportunity offered, for in his hard life in the lumber camps he had witnessed many a rough and tumble fight where ethics are unknown, and where fighting men sink to the level of fighting beasts, employing every weapon with which nature has endowed them, and giving no mercy to a fallen foe. but pat was blessed with a strong sense of fair play, and when he had fully grasped the meaning of the rules they appealed to him instantly. "'tis jist a square deal both byes gits in a foight!" he exclaimed, a light breaking over his puzzled face. then walter showed him a few of the simplest guards, how to parry an opponent's blow with one arm while countering with the other, how to protect the body with elbows and forearms while the hands shield the face, how to step inside, and how to duck under a swing, how, by watching his opponent, to anticipate the coming blow and be prepared to avoid it. lastly he showed him the art of side-stepping, the little shift of the feet which while keeping the body perfectly poised allows the blow to pass harmlessly to one side or the other, at the same time opening an opportunity to counter on the opponent. naturally quick, and with an irishman's inborn love of battle, pat picked up the points readily and when at the end of an hour walter flung himself on the ground for a breathing spell pat executed a double shuffle. "shure it be the greatest dancin' lesson av me loife!" he whooped joyously, side-stepping, ducking and lunging into empty space. "come on, bye, come on! oi can lick yez now! come on, ye spalpeen! 'tis pat malone will give yez the greatest lickin' av yer life!" walter declined with thanks, lying back weak from laughter, while the young giant continued to dance around sparring, ducking and countering on an imaginary foe. "'tis meself will clane out the durant camp before anither sun is up as shure as oi be the eldest son av me mither," he chuckled, flinging himself beside walter from sheer exhaustion. when they had rested a bit walter proposed that they go try the fish, and that pat come in his canoe. in an instant the young woodsman had forgotten his newly acquired accomplishments, for a new idea had suddenly possessed him. "tell me, bye, what's this about catchin' the biggest fish at woodcraft camp?" he asked eagerly. walter explained the contest fully, and told how eager he was to score over the senecas. "'tis aisy," broke in pat. "what do you mean?" asked walter, a bit puzzled. pat struck one side of his nose with a dirty forefinger and winked solemnly. "oi wonder now, have yez forgot the big pickerel yez have lyin' down on the raft? 'twill weigh ten pounds if it weighs an ounce." "but that isn't mine!" exclaimed walter. "it's yours." "is ut now?" said pat, scratching his head. "shure oi disremimber ketchin' ut. oi'm thinkin' yez must hev caught ut in yer shlape an' didn't know ut." walter laughed and thanked his companion heartily, while he refused the gift. then seeing the look of hurt disappointment on pat's face he hastened to make clear why he could not accept the fish. "you see," he concluded, "a scout's honor is always to be trusted, and it would not be honorable to try to win with a fish i did not catch myself. a man's honor is the greatest thing he possesses." the other pondered this in silence for a few minutes trying to adjust his mind to a new idea. when he spoke it was slowly, as one feeling his way. "yez mane that ter score wid thot fish would be loike hittin' a man when he's down, or shtalin' from a blind pup." "exactly," replied walter. "an' do all the other byes feel the same way?" "of course they do." "no they don't! anyway, there's wan that doesn't." "what do you mean?" cried walter startled. "oi mane thot there's wan dirty blackguard has been winnin' points roight along wid pat malone's fish. oi mane thot thot spalpeen thot yez call harrison, the wan with his pockets lined with money, has been buyin' me big fish fer the last mont' an' payin' me good money fer 'em. oi mane thot if yez hadn't happened in here this marnin' yez moight hev seen him luggin' in thot big pickerel this very noight. 'tis his last fish he's had from me, the low-down blackguard." then he added ruefully: "sure 'tis a glad day fer pat malone an' a sorry wan fer his pockets ter hev found out what honor manes." the two boys returned to the canoe and spent the remainder of the morning in a vain attempt to land another big pickerel. when they parted it was with a mutual respect and liking and a promise on walter's part to return the next day in quest of the big fellows. "oi'm goin' ter hunt frogs fer bait this afternoon an' oi'll be waitin' fer ye at sunup," were pat's parting words. it was a sober boy who paddled back to woodcraft that afternoon. what he had learned that morning filled him with mingled feelings of contempt and gladness--contempt, for the fellow scout who had so perjured himself and violated his scout's oath, and gladness that his faith in the unkempt boy of the woods had been so fully justified. any lingering doubt of pat malone's innocence of the theft of mother merriam's pin which he might have entertained had been banished by what he had learned of the boy that morning. and in his own mind the boy was fighting a battle. where lay the path of duty? what did his honor as a scout demand of him? to go report what he had learned? to become a bearer of tales? the very thought was abhorrent to him! on the other hand had he any moral right to allow his fellow tribesmen to suffer through the dishonesty of which he held the proof? and hal's own tribesmen, was it fair to them to allow them to profit by points to which, though no fault of theirs, they had no right? it was a relief to see harrison's canoe approaching the landing as he pulled his own out. he would put it up to hal to do the square thing--redeem himself by playing the man for once. "hal," said walter in a low tone as the other landed, "i know where you get your fish." hal turned and faced him. "what are you talking about?" he said roughly. walter flushed and instinctively his fists doubled, but he kept a check on his temper. "you have bought your record fish of pat malone," he said evenly. it was the other's turn to flush, but he maintained his air of bravado. "that's silly," he jeered. "no it isn't, and you know it," replied walter. "well, what are you going to do about it?" asked the other sulkily, seeing that denial was useless. "i don't know," replied walter sadly. "say, hal, why don't you go own up to dr. merriam and ask him to try and put you right with the fellows?" "what do you take me for? i'm in bad enough now. if you don't blab who's going to know it? and if you turn telltale i guess my word's as good as yours," sneered hal. "for two cents i'd punch----" began walter hotly, then pity for the unfortunate boy before him calmed him. "hal, i'm not going to say anything to-night, anyway. do the right thing. remember your scout's oath," he begged. "remember it yourself," growled hal. "there's mighty little honor in telling tales." and with this parting shot he strode off to the wigwam. walter's preoccupation and sober face were bound to attract the attention of his mates, and he came in for a lot of guying. "who is she, walt?" "is her papa a big chief?" "take us round and give us a knock-down, walt." "romance of the big woods! walt, the tenderfoot, falls in love with an indian princess!" walter's replies to all these sallies were only half-hearted, and seeing that something was really amiss with him the boys dropped their banter. he retired to his bunk early, only to twist and toss uneasily all night long. over and over till his brain grew weary he kept repeating the perplexing question, "ought i to tell? ought i to tell? ought i to tell?" the problem was no nearer a solution when in the gray of dawn he slipped a canoe into the water the next morning and turned her bow toward the setback. pat was waiting for him on the old raft and, true to his word, he had a pocket full of lively little frogs, which were giving him no end of trouble in their efforts to escape. walter took him aboard, and they were soon skirting the lily-pads at the upper end. here pat bade walter rig his rod and, producing a lively green frog from his pocket, he impaled it on the hook by thrusting the barb through its lips, explaining that in this way the frog's swimming was not seriously interfered with. he then took the paddle and handled the canoe while walter cast. the frog had hardly struck the water before there was a swirl at the very edge of a patch of lily-pads followed by a strike that made the reel sing. a couple of good rushes and then, as is the way with pickerel, the fish was brought alongside with hardly a struggle. pat deftly scooped it into the canoe and killed it with a blow that broke its spine. it was fair for a beginning, weighing perhaps four pounds, and walter prepared to try again. for half an hour they worked along the pads, taking several smaller fish. at length they approached an outlying patch of pads where the water was deep and black. two canoe lengths short of it pat stopped the canoe. then he sorted over his remaining supply of frogs till he found one that suited his critical fancy. with this he rebaited walter's hook. "now, ye throw roight over ter the very edge o' thim pads, and don't ye be in no hurry," he commanded. the first cast was short, but at the second attempt the frog landed with a spat at the very edge of the pads and began to swim vigorously in an effort to reach and climb up on them. suddenly the water fairly boiled, and walter all but lost his balance and upset the canoe, so sudden and vicious was the strike. "ye have him! ye have him! shure 'tis the king av thim all, an' 'tis mesilf that knows ut, for 'tis tree times thot the ould feller has walked off wid me line and hooks!" yelled pat excitedly. "don't let him get foul o' thim pads!" walter soon found that he had the fight of his life on to keep the wary old warrior in clear water, but inch by inch he worked the fish away from the pads until finally he felt that the danger was past and that it was only a matter of time when the prize would be his. a few more heavy lunges, which threatened by the mere weight of the fish to break the slender rod, and the battle was over. softly pat slid his hand along till his stout fingers closed in the gills and the prize was in the canoe, where pat speedily put an end to the snapping of its cruel looking jaws by severing the spinal cord with his knife. walter brought out his scales, and could hardly believe that he read them aright. "thirteen pounds and a half!" he gasped. "an' there's two av me hooks in his mouth, bad cess ter him," said the matter-of-fact pat, deftly extracting his property. pat was for trying for another big fellow, but walter had had enough for that morning. besides, he was anxious to show his prize at camp, so reeling in his line they started for the mouth of the backset. "pat, did harrison ever have much luck in here?" asked walter. pat stared at his companion for a minute before he found speech. "what, do ye mane ter tell me ye be thinkin' oi iver showed him where oi was ketching the fish he bought?" demanded pat. "not he nor any ither o' the woodcraft byes knows about this setback. 'tis lucky ye was ter be findin' the way in yer own self. ye will kape ut ter yerself now, will ye not?" walter promised that he would. "say, bye, did ye tell the docther av the low-down thrick this harrison has been afther playin'?" pat suddenly inquired. walter confessed that he had not. then in a sudden burst of confidence he told the irish lad all about the dilemma in which he had become involved. "what would you do, pat?" he concluded. "me? shure oi dunno at all, at all. oi'm thinkin' oi'd side-step," replied pat, with a twinkle in his eyes. "but that's the trouble, i can't side-step," responded walter. the freckled face of the woods boy sobered. "'tis a quare thing, this honor ye be tellin' about, but oi'm thinkin' 'tis a moighty foine thing too," he said. then, his irish humor rising to the surface, he added: "there be wan thing oi wud do; oi'd knock the block clane off av that blackguard that's made all the throuble." walter laughed. "i'd like to," he confessed. they were now at the entrance and setting pat ashore walter turned his canoe toward camp. his arrival with the big pickerel, to say nothing of the smaller ones, created a wave of excitement among the boys who were in camp, and great jubilation among the delawares. it happened that harrison was among those present. "so," he sneered when no one was near, "you've tried the silver bait! how much did you pay for the bunch?" walter turned on his heel and walked away. all the joy of the day had vanished. he wanted to be alone to fight out to a finish the battle of honor. so immediately after noon mess he slipped away unseen, and sought the cool depths of the forest to find in the peace of the great woodland the solution of his difficulty. late that afternoon, his mind made up, he turned toward camp. as he approached he became aware of an air of suppressed excitement about the camp. buxby was the first to see him. "hi, walt! have you heard the news?" he shouted. "no," said walter. "what is it?" "the senecas' records have been wiped out; harrison's been buying those fish," whooped billy. walter's first thought was that hal had done the right thing and had confessed, and a great load fell from his shoulders. but billy's next words brought him up short. "pat malone came in this afternoon and told the big chief that he'd been selling fish to hal right along. brought in what money he had left, and said he guessed it wasn't quite the square thing for him to keep it. what do you think of that?" "what did the doctor do?" asked walter. "told pat that as he had sold the fish in good faith the money was his, especially as the camp had had the benefit of them. then he called hal in and paid him back all that he had given pat. then he wiped out from the senecas' score all of hal's records. don't know what he said to hal, but the word's been passed that the incident is closed. gee, but i'd hate to feel the way hal must! i guess pat's squared himself with the bunch on that pin business. a feller that would do what he did wouldn't steal." after the first burst of indignation the feeling of the camp settled into contempt, mingled with pity, for the boy who had so besmirched his honor. no reference was ever made to his disgrace, but for the most part he was left severely alone, only a few, of whom walter was one, endeavoring to hold out a helping hand. so the camp settled down to the usual routine once more. chapter xi buxby's buncombe the late afternoon sun shone warmly on a little clearing some two miles from woodcraft. it flooded with soft golden light the scar on the face of the great forest which nature, ever abhorrent of the ugly, was trying to mask under a riot of fireweed and early goldenrod. blackened stumps were half hidden under tangled canes of the red raspberry. in the more open places low bush blueberries carpeted the ground. at the upper end of the clearing two boys squatted beside the charred stump of a great pine. "there he comes, billy. line's started again," whispered one. "'tain't a he, it's a she," replied billy disgustedly. "don't you know that all worker bees are females? males don't make no honey; they're the drones." billy was strong on facts, if weak on grammar. "there comes another and another right behind. they're making a mighty short flight. we must be pretty close to the tree. gee, spud, i bet the eyes of some of the fellers will stick out when they see us luggin' in a barrel of honey!" "ain't got it yet," replied spud sententiously. "that tree is sure out of bounds, too. what we goin' to do about that?" "go on," said billy decidedly. "'tain't far out, and i reckon the big chief won't say nothin' when he sees that honey. gee, but this will score some for the delawares!" the two boys were billy buxby and spud ely. billy had been responsible for what he called the "big idea," which was to line out a bee tree, and spud had closed with it at once. with all his happy-go-lucky carelessness billy was well versed in outdoor life and by his powers of observation was continually surprising even those who knew him best. had he been less fun-loving and careless he might easily have been one of the trusted leaders among the younger boys of the camp. but billy's impulsiveness was apt to lead him into situations bordering on the reckless. he was always dreaming of doing big things and inclined to act on the inspiration of the moment, heedless of consequences. it is doubtful if another boy in camp had noticed that there were honey-bees working among the wild flowers. billy had kept his discovery to himself until he had perfected a plan whereby to win laurels for himself and score for the delawares. it would not have been billy, however, not to have dropped mysterious hints of the great coup in woodcraft which he was about to pull off, and, as he was never taken seriously, it was soon dubbed "buxby's buncombe" and became a standing joke. billy stood for all the good-natured chaff of his companions without a protest. in fact he rather encouraged it that his final triumph might appear the greater. he went about with an air of secrecy, and for one whole day was engaged in making a mysterious something of which he would allow no one a glimpse. this was nothing more or less than a bee box, made after a plan once shown him by an old bee hunter from whom billy had learned many tricks in the gentle art of "lining" bees. the box was a very simple affair, but admirably adapted to its purpose. it was made from an old cigar box and was perhaps three inches square by three and one-half deep. half-way down on one side billy made a slit just wide enough to admit a piece of ordinary window glass cut to fit. inside he tacked two little strips or guides on which the glass rested. when the glass slide was in place it divided the box into an upper and lower chamber. the cover had a half-inch hole in the middle with a piece of glass fastened over it on the inside. the whole thing was crude, but in a secret test billy found that it answered his purpose fully. it was then that he took spud ely into his confidence and it was arranged that on the following afternoon they would give billy's plan a try-out. preserving the utmost secrecy the two boys sought the old clearing, where billy had previously assured himself that the bees were also at work. in the lower compartment he put a piece of bread on which he poured a liberal amount of syrup, a two-ounce bottle of which he had begged from the cook. then he slipped the glass slide in place and was ready for business. it was not long before his experienced eyes singled out a honey-bee at work on a spray of goldenrod on the edge of the clearing. approaching softly with the box in one hand and the cover in the other he held the box just beneath the busy little insect and gently brushed her into it with the cover, immediately clapping this in place. "gee, that was easy!" exclaimed the admiring spud, who entertained a wholesome respect for all insects with stings. "pooh, that's nothin'! i've seen fellers pick 'em right up in their fingers. if you ain't afraid of bees they won't bother you none. they know when people are afraid of 'em and when they ain't," replied billy. the bee buzzed about angrily for a few minutes, but in her darkened prison presently quieted down, the boys taking turns at peeping at her through the glass in the cover. when she had taken to a quiet examination of her narrow quarters billy very gently pulled out the glass slide. it did not take her long to discover the syrup and, forgetful of everything but the unexpected store of sweets, she was soon busy "loadin' up," as billy expressed it. carefully he lifted the box and placed it on a convenient stump, then removed the cover. presently, loaded with all she could carry, the bee took wing. rising heavily she circled overhead once or twice to get her bearings, then shot away in a straight line across the clearing. "now what do we do, chase along after her?" asked spud. "naw, wait for her to come back, you numskull," replied billy. "and while we're waiting let's catch another." this was soon done, and the second bee was liberated as the first had been. to the surprise of the boys this one took a direction at right angles to the course of the first. "great snakes!" exclaimed billy excitedly. "these woods are full of bee trees!" spud glanced at the box and just then a bee disappeared within. "another bee has found the syrup! i just saw it go in!" he exclaimed, becoming more and more excited. "'tain't another one; it's the first one come back, just like i told you she would." billy peeped into the box. "i thought so," he added; "she's brought another bee with her. when they go back they'll bring some more till the whole darn hive knows just where this little old box is." it was even as billy said. presently the bees were clustering thick around the box and were continually arriving and departing, forming a double line straight to the hive in the hollow heart of some forest giant beyond the clearing. in the meantime the second bee had carried the good news home and rallied a force of workers, so that soon two lines were established. "what will we do, split up and you follow one line while i follow the other?" asked spud. "how do you expect to follow the line if you ain't got the box? think a bee's goin' to take you by the hand and lead you?" asked billy sarcastically, forgetful that this was a wholly new experience to spud. "we'll stick together and work out the first line, and then if we have time we'll try the other." he drew out his knife and blazed the stump on which the bee box sat. then squatting down he carefully sighted along the second line of bees and cut a rough arrow with the point indicating the exact line of flight. "now," said he, "we can come back any old time and run down that line." he next sighted along the line they proposed to follow out first till his eye encountered a slender young spruce on the far side of the clearing. with this for a marker he slipped the cover on the box while several bees were within, and taking it with him walked straight to the tree he had sighted. on the nearest stump he placed the box and removed the cover. at once several laden bees reã«stablished their bearings and started for home. it was the quick return of one of these which had drawn from spud the exclamation exposing his ignorance of the sex of working bees. the northern edge of the clearing marked "bounds" in that direction for the camp, and only by special permission might the boys go beyond. spud, less reckless than billy, or at all events less certain that even a "barrel" of honey would buy dr. merriam's pardon for deliberate infraction of the rules, hesitated. "let's give it up now, and run the line out to-morrow," he suggested. "we can tell the big chief and get his permission to go out of bounds." billy balked. "oh, you quitter!" he growled. "look at that line runnin' now and you talkin' about givin' it up! say, spud, i picked you to come in on this with me 'cause i thought you had some sand. you can go on back, but i'm goin' to find that tree! it can't be more'n a little ways in anyway, the bees are making such a short flight. anyhow, who's going to know if we do go out of bounds? we can find the tree and then to-morrow ask permission to go out of bounds. then we can open up the tree and get the honey." the excitement of the hunt led spud to lend an all too willing ear to billy's argument. "all right," he growled, "i'm with you, but let's hurry up and get back." imprisoning some bees as before they once more moved forward and after a short advance into the woods stopped to reã«stablish the line. this time the bees were back so quickly that billy knew that the tree was close by, but the trees were so thick that it was difficult to watch the bees and the amateur hunter was afraid that by continuing to advance along the line they might pass the tree without seeing it. he therefore stationed spud by the box and himself went forward along the line of flight as far as spud could see him, where he blazed a tree. returning he took the bee box with some captives and started off at right angles. at about one hundred and fifty yards he stopped, set his captives free and soon had a line started from that point. the locating of the tree was now simply a matter of each boy moving forward along his line and where the two lines intersected the tree would be found. they met at the foot of a huge pine. some fifty feet from the ground was a long gray strip from which the bark had fallen away, denoting dead wood and a probable hollow. studying this carefully they finally made out a hole just beneath the stub of a dead branch, and circling near this some tiny specks which billy promptly pronounced bees. "we've got it!" he whooped joyously. "we've got it! who says there isn't some class to us as scouts?" "bet that hollow comes half-way down the tree. must be a ton of honey in it," said spud examining the tree critically. "what you goin' to do, billy?" "goin' up to have a look at it," said billy, taking off his coat. "aw, quit your kiddin'; you can't climb that!" replied spud. billy pointed to a young spruce growing close to it. "i can climb that, though," said he, suiting the action to the word. "well, hurry up," growled spud. "it's gettin' darker'n blazes, and we'll be in a pretty pickle if we don't get out of here mighty quick." in the excitement the boys had lost all track of time and the shadows had begun to steal upon them unawares. up above it was still bright, but in the hollows it was already dusk. billy had reached a point where he could see the entrance clearly. a few belated stragglers were hurrying home with the last of the day's spoils. extending down from the entrance was a crack which widened slightly just opposite billy's position, and through it he got a glimpse of weather-stained comb. the temptation was too great to be resisted. working out on a branch of the spruce he managed to reach over to the tree and with his knife split off a sliver on one side of the crack. then things happened. spud, impatiently waiting below, was startled by a wild yell. he looked up to see billy descending at a rate that at first led him to think that the boy had lost his balance and was falling. in fact he was literally dropping from branch to branch. how he did it he never could tell. the last twenty feet he dropped clear, landing with a thump that for a minute knocked all the wind out of him. spud, genuinely concerned, hastened over to him and then for the first time realized what had happened. billy had not come down alone. a sharp pain beneath one eye admonished spud of the fact, and another on his chin drove the fact home. yes, billy had company, and the company was fighting mad. spud reached for billy's jacket and wildly fought the enemy, while billy scrambled to his feet. then, heedless of direction, they fled, their one thought to get as far as possible from the wrath which was being visited upon them. crashing through the underbrush, falling over mouldering logs, barking their shins, bumping into trees in the fast gathering dusk, they ran till breath gave out. the pursuit had been short, for the approach of night dampened the ardor of the avenging insects, and the hive had quieted down long before the boys stopped running. when finally they did stop and were convinced that they had nothing more to fear from the hot-tempered little fighters, they sat down to take account of injuries. billy had been stung in half a dozen places on the face, four places on his hands and three on his legs. spud had fared better, having but half a dozen in all, the most painful being the one beneath the eye, which was already puffed and swelling rapidly. billy was considerably bruised from his fall from the tree, and spud had scraped the skin from one shin. spud's concern for billy, excited by the latter's fall, had given place to righteous wrath. "a pretty bee hunter you are!" he sputtered. "what in blazes was you trying to do anyway? i've a good mind to punch your head for getting me into this mess." he advanced threateningly. then billy's pathetic appearance, with his bruised and swollen face, cooled his wrath as suddenly as it had blazed up. "i guess you've got yours all right, all right, and don't need nothin' more," he muttered. "now let's get out of here. this blamed eye of mine will be closed tight pretty quick. gee, how those little duffers can sting!" billy had "got his." there was no doubt about that. the stings were paining him acutely and he was stiff and sore from his bruises. but underneath his happy-go-lucky, careless disposition was the stuff from which true manhood is built. it showed now. "spud," he said slowly, "it's my fault all the way through. it's my fault that we came out of bounds, and it's all my fault that we got stung. i'm sorry, and when we get back to camp i'm going straight to the big chief and tell him that i'm to blame." "'tain't your fault no more'n mine," growled spud. "come, get a move on. which way do we go?" billy looked up startled, to see the same look reflected in spud's face. for the first time the boys realized that in their mad flight they had given no thought to direction. neither had the remotest idea of where the camp lay or even the direction of the bee tree. and for the first time they had become aware of how dark it had grown. "billy, we're lost!" whispered spud, a look of panic in his face. chapter xii lost the test of manhood is the ability to meet an emergency squarely, to put fear one side, think clearly and act sanely. the man who does not know fear may make no claim to bravery. courage he may possess, courage that may lead to mighty deeds, but the spirit of true heroism is not his until he has tasted of the bitterness of fear and conquered it. of the two boys sitting with blanched faces under the first shock of realization that they were indeed lost in the great forest, with night fast closing in, spud was some two years the older, stocky in build, well muscled, apparently fitted in every way to be the leader. billy, on the other hand, was rather under size, wiry, quick moving, with the activity of nervous energy, and highly imaginative. the sudden fear that whitened spud's sun-browned face clutched at billy's heart as well and prompted him to leap to his feet and plunge after spud in response to the latter's panic shaken, "come on! we better keep going, and maybe we'll come out somewhere!" for a few minutes they tore along in frantic haste. then billy showed the stuff of which he was made. "stop, spud!" he yelled sharply. it was the voice of authority. it cut through the terror of the fleeing boy in front and brought him up short. billy had taken command. he began to speak rapidly. "we're a couple of idiots. this ain't goin' to get us nowhere unless it's into more trouble, maybe. we're doin' just what always gets lost people into trouble and gets 'em more lost. the thing to do is to sit down and talk it over and try to decide just what we ought to do. pretty scouts we are, running like a couple of silly hens at the first scare! wonder what the big chief would say if he could see us, after all the lectures he's given on what to do when you get lost. here we are, and the question is, what are we going to do about it? what do you say?" "i--i don't know," confessed spud miserably. he was shaking a bit. "they'll send out searching parties when we fail to show up to-night. do you s'pose they'll come over this way?" billy made a wry face that instantly resolved into a grimace of pain because of his swollen features. "no, i don't," he replied. "you see i let some of the fellers think that we was goin' over toward old baldy, and you know some of 'em saw us start out on the baldy trail. they'll go huntin' over that way. spud, we might just as well make up our minds right now that we've got to spend the night in the woods. in the mornin' we can shin up a tall tree and p'raps get our bearings. what we want to do now is to make ourselves as comfortable as we can, and the first thing i'm goin' to do is to get some mud." "mud! what for?" asked spud in surprise. "to plaster on these blamed stings," replied billy. "jerusalem, how my face aches! just a little bit back there we came across a swampy place. come on and see if we can find it." retracing their steps in the direction from which they had made their last mad flight they soon found the place billy had noticed. with hasty fingers he dug up the wet black muck and plastered it thick over his swollen face and on his hands and legs. somewhat gingerly spud followed his example. the cool, moist plasters brought almost instant relief, and with the easing of the smarting wounds a measure of steadiness returned to the shaken nerves. spud even so far forgot his fears as to grin as he looked at billy. "gee, you are a sight! say, the fellows wouldn't do a thing if they could see you now! the wild man of borneo would be a beaut 'side of you." "can't have much on you," replied billy. "that eye of yours looks as if it was about closed up, and mud ain't becoming to your style of beauty. now let's make camp before it gets so dark we can't see nothin'." "where'll we make it, right here?" asked spud. "no," replied billy decidedly. "it's too wet. we've got to get on higher ground." he stooped and began to make a big ball of mud. "what's that for?" demanded the puzzled spud. "first aid for the injured. these beauty plasters are goin' to dry out pretty quick and we'll want some fresh ones. you'd better bring along some too," replied billy briefly. the advice seemed good, and spud followed billy's example. then they pushed on for drier ground, billy in the lead. already his active imagination had seized upon their predicament as savoring of real adventure. he pictured their return to camp the next day as heroes rather than culprits who had disobeyed one of the most stringent rules of the camp. he saw himself the center of admiring groups of his fellows because of his superior scoutcraft in knowing just what to do and how to do it in so severe a test as spending a night lost in the woods. the anxiety which would be caused by their absence never entered his head, or if it did was dismissed as of little consequence. he would show them that he was a real scout, able to take care of himself under any conditions. presently they became aware that the ground was gradually sloping up. it was firm and dry under foot. by this time it was so dark that it was with difficulty they could make out their surroundings. in front of two trees standing some ten feet apart billy stopped. "we'll camp here," he said. carefully putting his precious ball of mud at the foot of one of the trees he singled out a tall two-inch sapling. "here, spud, you bend this over as far as you can," he commanded. "what for?" asked spud. "never you mind; just get busy!" replied billy. by this time spud had accepted billy's leadership without question and he meekly obeyed. with his stout scout knife billy made a straight cut across the sapling at the point where the strain was greatest. the strained fibers of the wood yielded to the first pressure of the keen blade and in less than half a minute he had the tree in his hands with a clean square cut base. "you can cut down a big tree with a penknife if you can only bend the tree over far enough," said he as he trimmed the sapling. when he had finished he had a pole perhaps twelve feet long. fishing some stout twine from one of his capacious pockets he lashed the pole firmly to the two trees about six feet from the ground. "now hustle and get a lot of sticks 'bout ten feet long," he commanded. these were not so easily obtained, but by dint of much feeling around and effort on the part of the two boys enough sticks and young saplings were secured to answer billy's purpose. these were arranged with butts on the ground and other ends supported on the cross-bar between the two trees, all slanting evenly in the same direction. "now heap up all the brush and leaves you can scrape up," commanded the young architect, bringing up an armful of spruce boughs he had obtained from a nearby windfall. thatched in this way the rude lean-to was soon completed. it was a rough but effective shelter, and with a few balsam boughs spread on the ground beneath it billy felt that they could spend the night with a reasonable degree of comfort. "now if we only had a fire this wouldn't be half bad," he muttered. "got any matches, spud?" "what do you take me for? you know the rules," growled spud. billy knew. matches were absolutely tabooed in woodcraft camp, that there might be no chance of a forest fire from the carelessness of just such reckless youngsters as billy. "wish i'd brought my fire stick," grumbled billy. "i've got mine," said spud. "what! you blink-eyed owl! why didn't you say so before?" whooped billy. "trot it out!" the cautious spud demurred. "you know the rules, billy, and that building a fire without permission means expulsion," he protested. "expulsion nothin'!" replied billy. "do you s'pose the big chief's goin' to fire us for keepin' from freezin' to death? we'll be 'bout frozen by morning without blankets nor nothin'. here, you give it to me. you needn't have anything to do with makin' the fire. i'll make it, and tell the doctor so when we get in. there ain't any danger, 'cause one of us will be on watch all the time." [illustration: billy's apparatus for making fire fire-drill drill-socket fire-board or block leather thong bow put together in use] reluctantly spud produced from an inner pocket a little block of wood having in the middle a shallow pit, already charred with use. from this pit a v shape groove extended to the edge. from around his neck under his coat he unslung a small bow having a slack leather thong for a string. with this was a straight stick pointed at both ends. lastly he brought forth a small oval piece of wood having a shallow pit in the center, and a little bag of finely ground cedar bark. all of these things he turned over to billy. the latter first carefully cleared the ground of all leaves and rubbish for a considerable space in front of the shelter. he then felt around until he had gathered a little bundle of dry twigs and some shreds of bark from a fallen birch nearby. resting the block of wood or fire-board on a piece of bark he ordered spud to hold it steady. taking up the straight stick already mentioned he rested one pointed end in the hollow of the fire-board, looped the bow thong around it and, fitting the oval piece to the upper end of the straight stick by means of the hollow in the center, he was ready for business. holding the oval piece in his left hand he bore down lightly, at the same time grasping the bow in his right hand and moving it rapidly back and forth. this caused the straight stick or drill, as scouts call it, to revolve rapidly. it was too dark to see, but almost at once the boys smelled smoke, and a few seconds later a tiny coal glowed on the piece of bark on the edge of which the fire-board rested. dropping his tools billy picked up the piece of bark, and covered the coal with cedar bark from spud's bag, while he gently blew upon it. the bark was really tinder, prepared as the indians prepared it before ever the white man brought his own first crude fire-making methods to startle the red men. the smoke increased in volume. a tiny flame flickered, disappeared, flickered again, then hungrily licked at the edge of a strip of birch bark that billy held to it. hastily setting down the piece of bark holding the tiny fire he arranged the dry twigs over it in a loose pile and had the satisfaction of seeing the blaze leap up merrily. larger sticks were laid over the pile, and in a few minutes the dancing flames were making a circle of cheerful light that flooded the lean-to with warmth and cast weird shadows among the trees. by the light from the fire the boys were able to gather a supply of wood wherewith to keep it going through the night and under its cheering influence their spirits rose wonderfully. "if we only had something to eat----" began billy. "shut up!" interrupted spud. "i'll be chewin' pine-needles in a few minutes." billy had a sudden inspiration. fishing the bee box from his coat pocket he extracted the piece of syrup-soaked bread with which it had been baited and eyed it critically. "there's just half a bite apiece, and a swallow of syrup for each of us in the bottle," said he. "shall we have it now or wait till morning?" "i wouldn't trust you with it till mornin'. we'll have it now," grunted spud. the night had settled down still, and with a chill in the air that made the warmth of the fire very welcome. beyond the zone of the firelight a wall of blackness hemmed them in. now that camp had been made and there was nothing to do but wait for daylight the loneliness of their situation weighed upon their spirits. they drew closer together on an old log which they had drawn before the fire for a seat. suddenly billy raised a warning hand. "what is it?" whispered spud, edging a bit nearer. "i thought i heard a shot," replied billy. with straining ears the boys sat and waited what seemed an interminable length of time before they caught the faint sound of three shots fired in quick succession. spud sprang to his feet. "they're lookin' for us, billy. let's give 'em a yell," he cried. first one, then the other, then both together they yelled at the top of their lungs until their throats were strained and raw. then they realized the futility of wasting breath in this way. "'tain't no use, not a bit. may as well save our breath. we can't hear those shots plain enough to tell what direction they come from, so of course nobody can hear us," said billy, disconsolately resuming his seat by the fire. for a while they heard shots from time to time, and somehow they brought a certain amount of comfort. it seemed less lonely to know that others were abroad in the forest looking for them, even though they were miles away. but the shots ceased finally, and the brooding mystery of the night settled over and took possession of them. they said little, but sat absorbed each in his own thoughts or listening to the strange sounds and uncanny voices of the night. a pathetic picture they presented had any one been there to see, huddled together on the old log, their swollen, mud-smeared faces still further distorted by the uncertain flicker of the firelight. a stick snapping off in the darkness produced an answering jump in overwrought nerves, and the sudden scurry of a rabbit brought a startled "what was that?" from spud. presently the physical strain and excitement they had been under began to tell, and despite their strange surroundings both boys began to nod, while the fire died down to glowing embers. it was then that some evil genius prompted a great horned owl to take up his watch on a dead pine not fifty feet away and startle the woodland with his fierce hunting call: "whooo-hoo-hoo, whoo-hoo!" the sleepers awoke in a panic, frantically clutching each other. "d-d-did you hear that?" whispered spud, his teeth chattering. as if in reply again the fierce hunting call rang through the woods: "whooo-hoo-hoo, whoo-hoo!" billy gave vent to a hysterical little laugh of relief. "nothin' but an owl," said he as he heaped more wood on the fire. "he certainly got my goat that first time, though. say, spud, we're a couple of ninnies to both be sittin' out here asleep. what'd we build that lean-to for? you turn in there and sleep for a couple of hours and then you watch and i'll sleep. ain't any need of either of us keepin' watch so far as any danger is concerned, i s'pose, for there's nothin' in these woods to harm us, but we ought not to leave the fire burnin' without some one to watch it." this was sound advice, and spud stretched out on the fragrant balsam boughs in the lean-to and soon was sound asleep. billy began his lonely vigil. at first it was easy enough to keep awake. later an almost irresistible drowsiness took possession of him, and it was only by tramping back and forth or hunting fire-wood within the circle of light from the fire that he managed to keep awake. at the end of two hours he roused spud, and wearily threw himself in the latter's place on the balsam bed. it seemed to him that he had hardly closed his eyes when he felt spud shaking him. "go 'way," he murmured sleepily. "what you waking me up now for?" "it's your turn again to watch," spud growled, unceremoniously hauling billy off the boughs. if it had been hard and lonely work before it was doubly so now. it was past midnight, at the hour when vital forces and courage are at their lowest ebb. billy was stiff and sore. every movement was painful. he had never felt so utterly miserable in all his life. as he afterward expressed it, every bit of sand had run out. he piled fuel on the fire, and then sat down on the log and gave himself over to his misery. how long he had sat there he could not tell when he was brought out of a semi-drowse by a slight noise back of the lean-to. in an instant he was wide awake, straining his ears for a repetition of the sound. the fire had burned low and the circle of light had narrowed to a faint glow of but a few feet in diameter. billy held his breath. had he imagined it? no, there was a rustle of leaves back of the lean-to. something was moving there. then there followed a decided and pronounced sniff! billy felt his scalp prickle as if each individual hair was rising on end. with a wild yell he grabbed a glowing ember from the fire and hurled it in the direction of the sound. there was a startled "whoof," and the sound of a heavy animal lumbering off through the brush. spud came tumbling out of the lean-to white and shaky. "for heaven's sake, billy, what's the matter?" he gasped. billy's teeth were chattering so that he could hardly speak. "i--i--i th-think it wa-was a bear," he finally managed to get out. "go on, what you givin' us!" said spud. billy had by now so far recovered himself that he could give a connected account of what he had heard, and both agreed that their visitor could have been nothing less than bruin. needless to say there was no more sleep for either that night. they piled fresh fuel on the fire and kept watch together, starting nervously at the smallest sound. it was with a sigh of profound relief that they noted the gray of dawn stealing through the trees, and with the coming of the light their spirits rose perceptibly. "what shall we do now, make a break out of here?" asked spud when day had fairly broken. "not on your tintype!" replied billy. "i'm lost all i'm goin' to be. you get busy and build another fire over there about fifty feet. when it gets goin' good heap on a lot of green leaves and rotten wood to make a smoke. i'll do the same thing with this fire. there ain't a breath of wind; those two smokes will go straight up, and you know two smokes means 'lost.' some one will be up at the lookout on the top of old scraggy the first thing this morning, and he'll see the smokes. then he'll get word to camp and a party will come out and find us." wise billy. he had decided upon just the right course of action. after the return of the unsuccessful searching parties dr. merriam had spent an anxious night. before daybreak he had dispatched seaforth with one of the guides to the top of old scraggy. they had seen the signal smokes at once and heliographed the location of them to camp. a party led by big jim and louis woodhull had started immediately, and as soon as they reached the clearing where the boys had begun their bee hunt they saw the smoke lazily curling above the tree tops about a mile beyond. firing signal shots and stopping every few minutes to send a whoop ringing through the woods they pushed on and presently, guided by answering whoops from the two victims, found the camp. "mother of saints!" exclaimed big jim as he caught a glimpse of the swollen and mud-stained faces of the two boys. billy smiled feebly, for the effort was painful. "we found a bee tree," he said. "found a bee tree! found a bee tree!" echoed the guide. "'pears to me thet them bees did some findin' on their own account." then seeing what really pitiful condition the two youngsters were in he called an abrupt halt to all jollying by the rescuers and at once prepared for the return to camp. one of the party was sent on ahead to relieve the doctor of his worry, and the rest slowly worked their way out, for billy was too stiff and sore to hurry much. at the first brook a halt was made and the faces of the two victims were tenderly bathed and made a little more presentable to enter camp. billy's volatile spirits were already back to normal. he was full of the bee tree and the bear and already laying plans for getting the honey. at mention of the bear big jim smiled. "folks thet git lost in th' woods most generally meet up with a bar," he remarked dryly. "didn't give yer a lock o' his hair fer a soovineer, did he, son?" billy tried to make a face at the guide, but winced with pain. "i tell you there _was_ a bear, and he came right up to our lean-to," he sputtered indignantly. and so they came into camp where in front of the office dr. merriam stood gravely awaiting them. chapter xiii the honey seekers two very sober boys came forth from their interview with the big chief. it was not that their punishment for infraction of the two most rigidly enforced rules of the camp--jumping bounds and building fires--was to be so severe. in fact they were getting off much lighter than they had dared to hope for, being ordered to police camp for one month and also being denied the privilege of joining any of the various special parties going out with the guides for two and three day trips. dr. merriam considered that their experience had been in the nature of punishment, severe enough to warrant him in being lenient in his dealings with the culprits. he had simply talked to them, quietly, kindly, with no shadow of resentment, no suggestion of scolding. it was just a plain talk as man to man, in which the doctor made clear to them how the welfare of all is wholly dependent upon the individual, and that the breaking of laws made for the community in no way harms those in authority, but is an outrage upon the great body politic and in time is bound to react upon the lawbreaker. "the honor of woodcraft camp as a whole is to be safeguarded only by keeping unsullied the honor of each individual member. by your acts of deliberate disobedience yesterday you not only besmirched your own honor as scouts under oath, but you blotted the honor of the entire camp. buxby, by your own confession you have sought to take upon your shoulders the entire blame for this unfortunate affair. the motive does you credit. but, my boy," he concluded, turning to spud, "i want you to realize that weakness which allows one to follow another in wrongdoing is quite as blameworthy as the act of the leader, and that therefore i hold you equally culpable with buxby in this affair." his face lighted with one of his rare smiles. "i believe that from now on i can trust both of you implicitly," he said, giving each the scout's grip. "the thing that hurts me most is the fact that the big chief won't let the findin' of that bee tree score for the delawares. there's fifty points thrown away just because i wouldn't take your advice, spud, and wait till we got permission to go out of bounds," said billy, as half an hour later the two boys sat at one end of the mess table making up for their prolonged fast. spud stopped a huge slice of bread and butter half-way to his mouth. "what about that second line we ain't run down yet?" he asked slowly. billy stared at him for a minute, then suddenly choked over the cup of hot cocoa he was drinking. when he had recovered his breath a broad smile lighted his battered face. "spud, old scout, we win!" he exulted. "here's where we beat the big chief after all! why didn't i think of it before? it's as easy as picking up chips at a wood-pile. we haven't said a word about that second line. we won't, except to woodhull. we'll take him along and run that line clear to bounds. then we'll show louis how to use that bee box, and let him go on and find the tree. you know there are no bounds for the tribe leaders. fifty points for the delawares---oh, my lucky stars!" billy finished with a whoop that brought the cook running to see what the trouble was. in the meantime dr. merriam was having a conference with big jim at the headquarters. "i tell yer, doctor, thet leetle scatterbrain hev got more woods sense than three-fourths o' th' rest o' these youngsters put together. wish yer could see thet camp o' theirn. couldn't 'a' built it no better myself. an' then he had sense enough t' stick right thar and send up them smoke signals. if he only hed th' level top piece o' thet youngster thet went in t' lonesome with me he'd hev th' makin' o' one o' th' best leaders in camp, even if he did hear a bar." the big guide chuckled. "so you don't take any stock in the bear?" asked the doctor. "not th' least leetle mite," replied jim. "folks thet's lost allers hears bars or wildcats. i been watchin' out some sharp an' i ain't see no sign o' bar nigher'n ten mile o' this camp in th' last three years." "where did those bees come from?" asked the doctor. "feller thet lived in this camp th' summer 'fore yer bought it had a couple o' hives. guess some o' 'em must hev got away from him. thet youngster cert'nly did run 'em down slick. hadn't never noticed th' leetle honey bugs myself." the doctor smiled. "i had," said he, "and i had intended to line them out some day, but billy got ahead of me, and as you say, he certainly did the trick very cleverly. the thing that pleases me, however, is the fact that he was observing enough to notice them. i don't believe that there is another soul in camp beside myself who had discovered them. jim, that boy has got the right kind of stuff in him. we've got to take him in hand and develop his bump of caution and sense of responsibility." "if he could run with young upton fer a while----" began the guide. "the very thing i had in mind," interrupted the doctor. "when buxby's period of probation is over i think we'll have to plan a trip for you with those two youngsters, one that will put them on their mettle. it will be an interesting experiment. what do you think about opening that bee tree?" the guide grinned. "a leetle honey would kind o' sweeten things up some," he ventured. "all right," replied the doctor. "be prepared to take a small party in to get it day after to-morrow." big jim's "honey party," as he called it, was drawn wholly from the delawares, in honor of the tree having been discovered by members of that tribe. it included woodhull, tug benson, upton and chip harley. billy and spud were denied the privilege of going out of bounds, so could go no farther than the edge of the old clearing. spud announced that he had had enough of bees anyhow, and chose to stay in camp. but billy was heart-broken. however, he was fair minded enough to admit to himself that he deserved all that was coming to him, and hiding his chagrin led the expedition to the old clearing and gave the guide the line from the stump on the upper edge. he watched the others disappear into the woods in single file and then sat down to possess himself in such patience as he could until they should return. he had no doubt of their success in locating the tree and as big jim was no novice at cutting bee trees, he anticipated no trouble on that score. all the party wore gloves and carried mosquito netting to protect faces and necks from the maddened bees. in fact both tug and chip had their veils on when they entered the woods. the guide carried an axe, as did woodhull, while walter and tug each carried a galvanized iron water pail for the expected honey. billy knew that the guide would run no risk of having his charges badly stung and would undoubtedly smoke the hive well before laying it open. the minutes passed on leaden wings. what was the matter? why didn't jim whoop when he found the tree as he had agreed to do? could he have overrun it? a slight rustle in the bushes on the edge of the clearing some thirty yards to the right caught billy's attention. something was moving there. to kill time he started to investigate. "probably a porcupine," he muttered to himself, as he softly stole forward. creeping on hands and knees to the shelter of a fallen tree trunk he cautiously raised his head and peeped over. instead of the expected porcupine he saw a little brown furry animal vainly trying to pull over an old log, and emitting funny little discontented whines as it tugged. at first glance it looked something like a clumsy puppy, and then the truth flashed across billy and made his eyes pop out. it was a bear cub, a very little fellow at that. with impulsive billy to act first and think afterward was ever the governing principle. it was so now. quietly dropping down behind the tree trunk he hastily slipped off his jacket. then rising to his feet he reached forward and threw it over the head of the unsuspecting little animal, recklessly throwing himself after it. for a few minutes there was a desperate struggle accompanied by muffled squeals. then billy succeeded in getting the wildly clawing fore-paws smothered in the folds of the jacket and, pinning down the stout little hind-legs, he had his victim helpless. "gee, now i've got him what'll i do with him?" he panted. a sudden inspiration came to him. he remembered noticing a huge hollow stump in the middle of the clearing. if he could get him over to that and drop him into it he could be held prisoner until the bee hunters returned. wrapping the enveloping jacket still tighter around the imprisoned head and fore-paws billy gathered the struggling bundle in his arms and started for the stump. just before he reached it pandemonium broke loose in the woods behind him. there were wild yells in all keys from big jim's deep base to chip harley's shrill falsetto. billy chuckled. "must have stirred them bees up something awful," he muttered. "funny i didn't hear 'em choppin'. there, you little fiend!" he dropped the cub into the hollow and spread the jacket over the top. then for the first time he realized that a baby as small as his captive must have a mother at no great distance. his face went a trifle pale under its coat of tan. "i wish them fellers would quit fightin' bees and come out," he muttered. almost with the thought his wish was gratified. chip came first. the bee veil was still over his head and he looked not on the order of his coming. he floundered out of the brush, caught a heedless toe under a stick and fell headlong. he was up in a flash, blindly struggled through a raspberry tangle that he might have gone around, bumped into a half-hidden stump and went down again with a little moan. then he was on his feet again and passed billy as if he was trying to break the hundred yard sprint record. tug was a good second, and he had little advantage over chip in the method of his coming. he seemed to have some pressing engagement back at camp, and was "going strong" when he passed billy. walter and woodhull appeared next, but as they were unencumbered by veils they picked their footing with more discretion, and louis stopped as soon as he reached the open, walter following his example half-way to billy. lastly appeared big jim, who came out of the woods leisurely, his axe still in his hand. jim was grinning. it was clear to billy that something had happened, but that whatever it was the guide considered the danger past now. something had happened. following the guide in single file they had proceeded some distance when they became aware of a humming sound which steadily increased in volume as they advanced. suddenly big jim abruptly halted and held up a warning hand. there was a puzzled look on the guide's face. "somethin' has made them bees plumb mad fer sartin," he whispered. the volume of sound increased. it was as if off in the tree tops beyond a huge top was spinning. the brush was still too thick for them to see the tree itself. then into the steady hum of the bees there broke a new note, half growl, half whine, followed by the ripping sound of rent wood. the guide's face cleared. "you boys are goin' t' see somethin' in a minute yer won't likely ever see agen. now come on, and be mighty careful about not makin' no noise," he whispered. a few feet further on the thick young growth opened up and they came in full view of billy's bee tree. what they saw drew a startled exclamation from the three younger boys, at once silenced by a warning hiss from big jim. there, fifty feet from the ground, gripping the tree with hind legs and one huge fore arm, was an immense black bear. the long claws of the paw that was free had been hooked into the entrance hole and a long strip the length of the crack which had led to billy's undoing a few days previous had been torn out, exposing the hollow packed with comb. bruin was then occupied in scooping out great pieces of comb dripping with honey and transferring them to her mouth, whining and growling and stopping every other second to slap at the bees clustered in an angry cloud about her head. what no one did see, because all eyes were turned up instead of on the ground, were two little brown bundles of fur that scurried for the shelter of a windfall. "ain't a mite o' danger," whispered the guide, noting the panicky look on some of the faces. "in 'bout a minute yer'll see th' worst scared bar in the north woods. now don't run when she comes down if yer don't want th' hull camp laughin' at yer," he warned, seeing chip and tug already beginning to edge away. had jim been aware of the presence of the two cubs he would have adopted a very different course of action. he was counting on the fact that despite its great size and immense strength the black bear is one of the most timid of all wild animals in the presence of man unless wounded, cornered or called upon to protect its young. perhaps timidity is not quite a fair indictment. let us say rather that of all wild animals none has come to have a more wholesome respect for man, and it is a well-known fact that not even a deer will bolt quicker at man's approach than will this black comedian of the big woods. it was with this fact in mind that the guide advanced a few steps and suddenly sent forth an ear-splitting whoop. things happened then with a rapidity that left no time for thought. walter stoutly maintains to this day that the bear neither slid nor climbed down--that she simply let go and dropped. certain it is that the echo of jim's wild yell was still ringing in the woods when she landed with a thump that brought forth a grunt. then, instead of the mad flight on which the guide had counted, she reared on her haunches with her back to the tree, growling savagely, her little pig eyes red with rage. [illustration: "run!" he yelled] big jim took in the situation at a glance. "run!" he yelled, himself holding his ground and swinging aloft his double edged axe. even as he uttered the warning the bear charged. walter, who stood a little to one side, unconscious of what he was doing, hurled the pail he was holding full at the angry beast and turned to run. this proved the salvation of big jim. the rolling clattering object distracted the bear's attention for an instant. she paused long enough to give the pail a vicious blow which by chance sent it clattering noisily into the old windfall behind which the cubs had taken refuge. there was a frightened squeal followed by the sound of scurrying feet among dead leaves. big jim heard the squeal and understood. "cubs, by gum!" he exclaimed. the bear heard too. she stopped, irresolute, half turned toward the windfall, then faced the guide and reared, growling savagely. there was another faint squeal from beyond the windfall. the bear dropped to all fours and slowly retreated in the direction of her cubs, pausing every few steps to turn and growl threateningly over her shoulder. it was the guide's opportunity to retire in good order and he made haste to avail himself of it, reaching the clearing just in time to see chip and tug disappear down the home trail on the far side. now that the danger was over the humor of the situation tickled him immensely and as he with walter and woodhull approached billy all three were finding relief in a hearty laugh. all at once they became aware that there was something unusual about billy. he was dancing around the old stump like a lunatic, yelling, "i've got him, jim! i've got him! i've got him!" he was without his jacket and his shirt was in tatters. his face and arms were bleeding from deep scratches. the guide gaped at him open mouthed. "great smoke, sonny," he drawled, "yer look as if yer was th' one thet had met a bar, not us." "i have, jim, i have! it's in there!" yelped billy. the guide peeped into the hollow, and a long drawn whistle of astonishment escaped him. then abruptly his face sobered and he cast an apprehensive glance back at the forest. "must hev been three cubs," he said, reaching in and catching the whimpering little bear by the scruff of the neck. "bars don't generally hev but two, but i've heerd say thet sometimes they has three. this leetle chap must hev strayed off while his mother was a-clawin' fer thet honey. i reckon we better be movin' right along. it ain't goin' t' be no ways healthy round these parts when mrs. bar misses this leetle chap." wrapping the cub in billy's jacket once more big jim set the pace for camp at a rate that kept the smaller boys on a dog trot, not without many a fearful glance behind them. camp was reached safely, where the news of billy's capture spread like wild-fire, and for once he found himself the hero he had so often pictured himself; wherever he went he was the center of an admiring group. the doctor was petitioned in a round robin signed by every member of the camp for permission to keep the cub as a pet. this was granted, and "honey," as he was called, soon became one of the most important members of woodcraft, where his droll antics were a constant source of amusement. the delawares were jubilant, for billy's prize scored them fifty points, and when a few days later the second bee tree was successfully lined out and this time the honey obtained without adventure, billy's popularity was secure for all time, for this also added fifty points, as he had foreseen it would. "he was a harum-scarum before, and this sure will be the ruin of him," woodhull bewailed to his chum, seaforth. but woodhull was wrong. there was a change in billy. he was the same lovable, light-hearted boy as before, but the careless, reckless spirit that had so often led him into mischief was lacking. for the first time he seemed to have a serious purpose in life. and it dated back to the morning after the lonely night in the forest. billy was finding himself. "i reckon he did hear a bar thet night," said big jim to the doctor as they discussed billy's episode with the cub. and billy knows he did. chapter xiv the supreme test half-way between woodcraft and the durant lumber camp the trail crosses speckled brook, once a noted trout stream famed for the size of the spotted beauties that lurked in the black depths of its pools, or hung on the edge of its boiling rapids watching for the unfortunate grub or fly struggling helplessly on the shimmering surface of its swift current. persistent whipping day in and day out through the open seasons by anglers whose creed is little more than greed has robbed it of its fame for big strings, and the ruthless destruction of cover on its watersheds by the axe of the lumbermen has so reduced its water supply that a note of pathos has crept into the sweetness of its song and sadly marred the beauty of its forest setting. yet even now there is an indescribable charm about speckled brook, and in some of the deeper pools are finny warriors worthy the skill and patience of lovers of the rod. walter never could come within sound of its purling song without experiencing an irresistible desire to linger. it was calling to him now as with noiseless step he strode along the trail toward the durant camp. since his trip to lonesome pond he had continually practiced "still walking," whenever the opportunity offered. it had been the chief incentive for many a morning tramp. he had become fairly proficient by now, and on an ordinary trail walked with freedom and ease without giving conscious thought to his feet. twice he had surprised deer and frequently approached smaller game to within close range of observation before they became aware of his presence. each success brought with it a sense of growing skill, a feeling that in time he might fairly hope to pit his trained knowledge against the wonderful senses of the wild life around him with the advantage not wholly on their side. now as he came within sound of speckled brook he quickened his step that he might linger for a few minutes on the log bridge over which the trail ran. it was hidden from his view by a sharp turn so that he was almost upon it before he became aware that someone was before him. seated on a stringer of the bridge, his face buried in his arms, was a khaki and flannel clad figure. an expensive split-bamboo rod lay beside him unheeded, the tip jerking up and down in a way that evidenced something more than the current tugging at the end of the line. it was a pathetic figure, contrasting strangely with the joy of the beautiful morning. now and then there was a heave to the drooping shoulders, while a muffled sob mingled with the song of the brook. walter paused, irresolute. he had recognized harrison at the first glance, and his heart went out to the boy who had sought the sanctuary of the wilderness to give way to his misery where none should see. with an inborn delicacy of feeling walter turned softly, and without a sound stole back up the trail until the turn had effectually hidden him from view. the bitterest thing in a boy's life is to be seen in his hour of weakness by another boy. somehow it seems to rob him of something of his manhood. without analyzing it in this way walter felt that it would be unfair to hal to let him know that he had been seen crying. at the end of a hundred yards or so walter once more turned in the direction of the bridge, whistling shrilly. this time when he rounded the turn hal was on his feet rebaiting his hook, while a ten-inch trout flapped at his feet. his hat was pulled low over his face, but on his cheeks were traces of tears hastily wiped away. "hello, hal! what luck?" called walter cheerily as he approached. "i don't know as it's any business of yours. you see i'm not buying 'em, anyway," was the surly and bitter reply. walter flushed, and an angry retort rose to his lips, but with it came a vision of the picture of utter misery he had witnessed a few minutes before. he stepped forward and held out his hand. "don't, hal," he pleaded. "let's be friends." "you don't want me for a friend; nobody does," growled the other. "hal, i came pretty near punching your head once, or trying to, anyway. now i am coming back at you. when you say that i don't want you for a friend you are not telling the truth. now, are you going to punch my head or are you going to shake hands?" walter once more extended his hand, all his good humor restored. slowly the other reached forth and gripped it. "i--i guess i'll shake," he said, a sheepish smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. then he pushed back his hat and faced walter squarely. "it's mighty white of you, walt," he blurted out hurriedly. "i do want you for a friend. i guess i need friends if any fellow ever did. nobody's got any use for me back there," nodding in the direction of the camp, "and i can't get away, because i haven't anywhere to go. you see, my folks are all in europe for the summer. i'm stuck here, and i've got to stay." "i'm glad of it," said walter heartily. "wh-what do you mean?" demanded hal. "just what i say," replied the other. "i'm glad of it. you've got in wrong here with the camp. if you went away now you'd always be in wrong with the whole crowd. maybe you think that if you got away and never came back it wouldn't matter what the fellows think, but it would. they'd always remember you, not for what you really are but for what they think you are, and no matter how great a success you might make when you grow up you'd know all the time that a lot of people didn't believe in you. you've made a lot of mistakes. now you've got a chance to correct 'em right where you made 'em. you can't forget 'em yourself, and don't want to, but you can make the other fellows forget 'em; and they will, too, if you'll give 'em a chance. "your dad's got a lot of money, and i guess you've grown up to think that money is the only thing that counts. i s'pose it does count for a lot in the city, but out here in the woods it doesn't count a little bit. it's the fellow himself, the stuff that's in him, and not what he's got. you forget all about your dad, i mean his money, and sail in for everything that's doin' here, and you'll find that the boys will meet you more'n half-way. gee, i'm getting to be a regular preacher!" hal laughed, the first genuine laugh he had had for many a long day. "it's the best sermon i ever heard, walt," he said. his jaw suddenly shot forward in set lines. "by george, i believe you are right, and i'm going to fight it out right here!--if you'll help me," he added wistfully. "sure i'll help!" replied walter heartily, "and so will the rest of the fellows, if you'll give 'em a chance." hal gazed at the brook thoughtfully for a few minutes. "i--i hardly know how to begin," he said hesitatingly. "go hunt up chief avery of the senecas and tell him that you know you've made a mess of things and that you want to square yourself with the tribe and with the rest of the fellers. he'll help you out, and tell you what to do. he's white all through," advised walter. "i know he is," admitted hal. "he's been mighty decent to me. i guess if it hadn't been for him the other fellows would have refused to speak to me at all. i wish--i wish there was some way i could make up some of those points the tribe lost when i was found out. i can't do it fishing, for honest, walt, i don't know the fishing grounds at all. i tried to bribe pat malone to tell me where he caught those big fish, but he knew which side his bread was buttered. said he'd catch 'em for me, but i couldn't make him loosen up and show me where i could catch 'em myself. there's one fellow in the woods that money talks to all right, all right! he knew that as long as i had to have the points i'd pay for 'em, and he held me up a little stiffer each time. i don't see what got into him to come peach on me. did--did you put him up to it?" hal had the grace to blush as he asked the question, and before walter could reply he hastened to apologize. "i know you didn't. at first i was sure you did. i guess i was pretty sore. i thought you had it in for me, and i wouldn't blame you a little bit if you had had. but i don't see now what struck pat. do you know, i've always had more'n half a suspicion that he stole mother merriam's pin. i guess he could tell something about it if he was pinned right down to it." "forget it, hal," walter broke in. "you and most of the other fellows have got pat sized up all wrong. i don't know who stole the pin, but i do know it wasn't pat malone. i tell you that there isn't a scout in woodcraft camp that right down in his heart is whiter than pat. oh, he's tough, but that's because he's never had half a show. i didn't know a thing about his comin' into camp to see the big chief until it was all over. he did it because he's just begun to learn a few things about honor and what honor means. fact is, hal, i was up against it on this honor business myself. i didn't want to blab on you, and yet it wasn't fair to the other fellows to let you go on scoring when i knew that you weren't getting the points on the level. i was fishing with pat that morning and he found what was troubling me. he didn't say a word, but while i was off in the woods that afternoon he took a quick sneak into camp, and you know the result." hal nodded grimly. "i tell you, pat did a big thing," continued walter. "money doesn't grow on every bush in these woods, and those few dollars pat got from you meant more to him than a thousand dollar check would to you or me. and i don't think he did it just for me, either. i think he saw that you were playing it low down mean on the other fellows, and he began to see that by keeping mum and taking the money he was a party to it. pat came in and told, to clear himself in his own mind. i tell you he has the scout idea all right, and he's got it straight. i don't believe i'd have had the sand to do what he did." the expression on hal's face had changed curiously as walter spoke. he was seeing things in a light that he had never seen them before, getting a new perspective of life. "walt, did pat show you his fishing ground?" he asked abruptly. "no, i stumbled on it myself." the other laughed a little embarrassed laugh. "i just wanted to be sure," he replied. "i've tried mighty hard to fool myself into believing that you succeeded in bribing pat where i failed, perhaps not with money, but in some way. i heard all about how you licked him the morning you got here and i thought that--that maybe you--you----" he paused and flushed painfully. "you thought that i promised pat another licking if he didn't show me where the fish are," walter finished for him. "something of that sort," admitted hal. "i didn't really believe it, but i wanted to, and i guess i tried mighty hard. but all the time i knew you were on the level and--and it made me sore to have you beat me twice with fish when i'd risked so much to win the points." "well, that's all past, and we'll let the past dig its own grave and bury itself," said walter. "we're both on the level now, and we're goin' to stay there. i'd let you in on that fishin' ground, only when i found it i found pat there and i promised him not to tell a soul. isn't there somethin' else you're interested in that you can go in for points on?" "i don't know," replied hal thoughtfully. "i like to paddle pretty well." "great!" cried walter. "go in for it, and go in hard. you know i'm out for the quarter-mile swim. pluggin' at it every day. you do the same thing with your paddling. get next to avery and tell him what you want to do and that you really mean it. he'll get a coach for you before you can turn 'round. the senecas need every point they can get, and avery knows it. you see the delawares are just naturally goin' to trim you fellows," concluded walter with a grin. "they sure would if there were any more senecas like me," said hal mournfully. then his face cleared, and he began to reel in his line. "i'm goin' straight back to camp now and hunt up avery and ask for a chance to make good!" "that's the stuff!" cried walter heartily. "here's luck to you, old man! i'm awfully glad we're friends at last. i'm off to the durant camp. got a permit this morning. never was in a real logging camp, and pat's goin' to show me the whole thing. keep a stiff upper lip!" the boys shook hands warmly, and while walter with a light step and lighter heart hit the trail for the lumber camp hal resolutely set his face toward woodcraft. it was not an easy thing that lay before him. it was hard, bitterly hard. he had not realized how hard until he had left walter and faced the thing alone. never in his whole pampered life had he had to stand alone on his own feet. now he faced the severest test a boy can face. dimly he realized that it was a crisis in his life--a call to his manhood. could he meet it? could he? "i will! i will! i will!" he repeated over and over. "i will! i will! i will!" presently he began to run, fearing that his courage would fail him before he could find avery and make a clean breast of matters. when he came in sight of the camp he slowed down. it was going to be even harder than he had thought. perhaps avery wouldn't be there. he found himself hoping that he wouldn't. was it really necessary after all to so humiliate himself? perhaps if he waited a little he could do some big thing that would win the fellows over to him. other fellows were all the time doing things, why shouldn't he? there was billy buxby with his bee trees and bear. why couldn't he do something big like that? hal was fighting a battle, the hardest battle that boy or man is ever called to engage in--a battle with self, a fight to a finish for the right to look himself in the face without blushing, a fight for his manhood. beads of cold perspiration broke out on his forehead. and then he looked up and saw avery standing in front of the wigwam. the battle would be won or lost in the next few minutes. for an instant he faltered. then his jaw shot forward in hard set lines as it had back there in the woods with walter. "i will! i will! i will!" he muttered. somehow with every repetition of those little words the way seemed easier. and then in a flash came the idea for the supreme test of the manhood within struggling to come into its own. he began to run once more, to run away from the coward striving to hold him back, from the hal harrison he had known so long, that the whole camp knew. "chief," he panted, saluting avery, "may i--may i see you alone for a few minutes?" avery led the way into the deserted wigwam. what passed there is known only to the two lads themselves. when they came out the face of the younger boy was pale, but it bore a look of fixed resolve, and there were lines of character which had wiped out much of the old weakness. "you are quite sure you want to do this thing, hal? you know it is not necessary," said the chief. "yes it is necessary--for me," replied hal firmly, "and i've simply got to do it for--for myself." after evening mess chief avery requested the senecas to remain for a few minutes, and after the hurons had filed out he briefly announced that one of their number wished to say a few words. hal rose and faced his comrades. his knees shook so that he could hardly stand, and little streams of perspiration trickled down his face. but there was that new set to the jaw, and though he gulped painfully once or twice, he plunged into the task he had set himself. "fellow scouts," he began, "i--i want to apologize to all of you for what i have done and for the disgrace i've brought on the tribe. i'm sorry. i didn't realize what i was doin'. i knew that the fellows didn't like me, and--and i wanted to be popular," he blundered on. "i thought if i scored a lot of points for the tribe that maybe i should be and--and i didn't see any other way. i've made an awful mess of things, and i see it now. i'd like a chance to start over again, and--and maybe really do something for the tribe. i--i--want to make good and--and have some friends among the fellows," he ended lamely. he sat down weakly, and buried his face on his arms. at a sign from the chief the tribe filed out quietly. when the last one had gone he walked over and put his hand on the bowed head at the end of the table. "hal," he said gently, "you have made good. that was the bravest act i've ever seen in woodcraft camp. we're prouder to have you a seneca than we would be to win that deer's head. that was the supreme test, and we're proud, all of us, to have a fellow tribesman with the sand to meet it as you have done. you'll find that you have won your friends, boy." later, when hal had recovered his self-possession somewhat and went out among his comrades, he found that it was as avery had said. on all sides were friendly hands to greet him, and in a quiet unobtrusive way his fellow scouts made it clear to him that at last he was one of them. he had already made good. chapter xv crafty mike when walter parted from hal at speckled brook he quickened his pace to make up for lost time. presently he came in sight of the durant camp. pat malone, whose official capacity at the camp was that of "chore boy," was on his way to the spring with a couple of empty pails. his usual good-natured grin lighted his face at walter's approach. "oi'd begun t' think ye was afther fergittin' ye had an ingagement wid yer frind av th' woods," he called. "hello, pat! sorry i'm late," replied walter, offering to carry one of the pails. pat waved him aside. "shure, wud ye be takin' th' bread an' butter out av the mouth av a poor worrkin' man?" he demanded. "'tis me job fer which oi draws me pay, an' now oi've lost me market fer fish oi'm thinkin' oi'd best be shure av me shtupendous sal'ry." he picked up the pails brimming with cold spring water and started for the rear of the main cabin, whence the voice of "cookie" could be heard commanding him to hurry, and heaping anathemas upon him for a lazy, good-for-nothing ne'er-do-well. pat winked. "dogs that bark be afther havin' poor teeth," said he. "oi'll be wid ye in a minute." he was as good as his word, and was soon ready to play the host. walter found the camp similar in arrangement to woodcraft. it lacked the refinements of the latter, but was snug and comfortable, exactly adapted to the needs of the rough men to whom it was "home" the greater part of the year. when they had thoroughly inspected the cabins, stable and shop pat suggested that they visit the present "cutting." this walter was most anxious to do, for he had never witnessed actual logging operations. the trail was rough but well built, for upon the character of the trail depends much of the lumberman's success in getting his logs to the water. a poorly built trail means costly waste of time, energy and strength of man and beast when the time comes for getting the cut down to the driving point. wherever the trail dipped to low or swampy ground logs had been laid with their sides touching one another. this is called a corduroy road, and is the only practical and effective method of preventing horses and wagons miring in low, swampy ground. such a trail is rough traveling in dry weather, but when the heavy snows of winter have covered it and have been packed down and iced it forms an ideal slide for the lumber bobs with their huge loads of logs. the trail gradually led up the lower slopes of old scraggy, and some two miles from the camp the boys came upon one of the crews at work. the crash of falling trees, the rasp of saws, the sharp ringing blows of axes biting into hard wood, the shouting of rough voices and now and then a snatch of rude song proclaimed that the work of destruction was in full blast. the scene was one of intense interest to the city boy, and quite upset his preconceived ideas of how trees are felled. "why, i thought they chopped trees down!" he exclaimed. "not whin they've a good saw an' two good byes fer th' inds av it," said pat. they walked over to where a couple of saw men were preparing to cut a great pine. there was a fascination in watching the huge cross-cut saw with its double hand grasp at each end eat its way into the trunk of the great tree, the two men swaying back and forth in perfect rhythm, broken only when it became necessary to drive in the wedges that kept the saw from binding and that would eventually send the tree crashing down on the exact spot that they had picked out for it. soon there came the warning snap of breaking fibers, the great tree swayed slightly, leaned ever so little and then, as with a shout for all hands to stand clear the saw men sprang back, it slowly and majestically swung forward until, gathering speed, it fell with a mighty crash, carrying down several small trees that stood in its path, and shivering its upper branches as it struck the earth. it seemed to walter as if it had hardly struck before the axemen were upon it, their great double edged axes flashing in the sun as they stripped off branch and stub until in an incredibly short time it lay shorn of its glory, a huge bare pole fit to be the mast of one of the yankee clippers that were once the pride of the american marine. but no such honor awaited it. another team of sawyers attacked it at once, cutting it into mill lengths. then came "jim." jim, so pat proudly claimed, was "some hoss." clanking at his heels was a stout chain ending in a sharp heavy hook. this was driven into one end of one of the logs and then at a word from his master--one could hardly say driver, for there were no reins--the big horse set his neck into his collar and guided solely by the "gee" and "haw" of shouted command dragged his burden down to the skidway where the logs were piled to await the coming of snow. it was wonderful to see with what intelligence the horse picked his way through the tangled brush, and it was equally wonderful to see the lumber-jacks at the skidway catch the great log with their peaveys and roll it up to the very top of the huge pile already on the skids. a rough lot, these lumbermen, of many nationalities, english, irish, scotch, french "canucks," a half-breed or two, and some who boasted that they were pure "yank." they were rough in looks and rough of speech, ready to fight at the drop of a hat, but warm-hearted, loyal to a fault to their employers, ever ready for work or frolic. rough indeed, but theirs is a rough life. they took a kindly interest in walter, explaining the many things he found so strange, and it was with real regret that he finally took the back trail. and it was with something of sadness too, for he was a true lover of nature and there was something tragic in the crashing of those great trees and the despoiling of the great forest. but pat left him little time for thoughts of this kind. producing a bag of the famous cookies of which walter had once had a sample through the agency of chip harley, pat kept up a running fire of comment on his camp mates, while they munched the crisp brown wafers. as they sighted the camp the cook was hanging a wash. pat's eyes twinkled with mischief. motioning walter to follow him he stole in back of the stable. "shure 'tis meself that clane forgot to inthrodush ye to th' most important number av durant camp," he whispered. "shtay here till yez see some fun." he slipped into the stable, and in a few minutes was back, leaving the door open. peeping around the corner walter saw a crow walk out with the stately step of his tribe. "'tis crafty moike!" whispered pat. the black rascal stood for a minute or two blinking in the sun. then he flew up on the stable roof, where he appeared to have no interest in anything in the world save the proper preening and dressing of his feathers. in the meantime the cook finished hanging out his wash to dry and turned back to the cabin. hardly was he inside the door when crafty mike spread his wings and without a sound flew over to the clothes-line, where he quickly and deftly pulled out every pin, giving each a throw to one side. when the last pin was out and half the wash lay on the ground he flew swiftly to a tall pine on the far side of the clearing, cawing derisively as he went. it was plain that "cookie" knew only too well what the sound of that raucous voice meant. with a pot in one hand and a dish towel in the other he rushed from the cabin pouring out a perfect flood of vituperation and invective on his black tormentor, while behind the stable pat fairly hugged himself with glee. "caw, caw, billee, billee! caw, caw, caw!" shouted mike, sidling back and forth along a bare limb of the pine, evidently in huge enjoyment of the joke. "oi shplit his tongue so he talks a little, and billy is the cook's name," whispered pat, noting the look of amazement on walter's face when he heard the crow speak. "caw, caw, billee, billee!" mike was quite beside himself with enjoyment as he watched the angry cook pick up the fallen clothes, which he was too wise to rehang while the black rascal was at liberty. besides, many of them must be returned to the tub. "i'll blow your blasted head off, that's what i will!" shouted the cook furiously as he disappeared in the cabin with the last of the wash. in a moment he was out again with a shotgun in his hands. walter grabbed pat by one arm. "you're not going to let him shoot, are you, pat?" he asked in real alarm. pat chuckled. "don't yez worry about moike," he said. "'tis not fer nothin' oi named him crafty. he knows a gun as well as oi do, an' just how far it will carry." the cook was now sneaking toward the pine, apparently quite unconscious that he was all the time in plain view of his would-be victim. mike waited until he was half-way there, then spread his wings. the cook threw up the gun and blazed away with both barrels, though the range was hopelessly long, while mike's derisive, "caw, caw, billee, billee!" floated back from the shelter of a thick clump of hemlocks beyond. "but won't the cook get mike when he comes back?" walter asked with real concern. "moike won't come back to-night unless oi call him," replied pat. "'tis a woise burrd he be afther bein'! whin oi go in oi'll tell cookie how much the byes will enjoy th' joke whin they come in. he'll shware a bit an' thin he'll be afther beggin' me not to say a wurrd about it. oi'll promise if he'll promise to lave moike alone, an' that'll be th' ind av it till nixt toime." it was evident that pat and mike knew their man and were wise with the wisdom of experience. "moike is a great burrd," continued pat. "he's as full av tricks as a dog is av fleas, an' th' wurst thafe in three counties, bad cess ter him. he'd shtale th' shmoile off yez face if it was broight enough an' he could pry it loose. he'd follow me into th' prisince av th' saints. oi have ter shut him up whiniver oi lave th' camp or, glory be, he'll be taggin' along an' mebbe gettin' me in all sorts av throuble. but oi love th' ould rascal just th' same." at pat's mention of mike's thieving proclivities a startling thought flashed into walter's mind. had he at last found the long lost clue? "pat," he broke in abruptly, "did mike ever follow you to woodcraft?" pat scratched his head in an effort to remember. "oi couldn't say," he replied. "oi think loikely, fer there's few places he hasn't followed me." "would he follow you there now if you'd let him?" asked walter. "shure! oi couldn't lose him if he wance saw me hittin' th' trail." "can you call him now?" pursued walter. "sure!" pat answered promptly. "listen, pat," said walter eagerly, and he hurriedly told pat all about the loss of mother merriam's pin, discreetly omitting all reference to the suspicion against pat himself so long entertained at the camp. "th' dirthy thafe!" broke in pat indignantly. "now who could it be, oi wonder! none av th' byes here wud do a thrick loike thot, and yez say there was no sthrangers in camp. but what has all this got to do with moike?" "i'm coming to that," said walter. "maybe it hasn't anything to do with him. that's what i want to find out. maybe you don't remember coming into camp on an errand that morning and visiting dr. merriam's office, but you did. now, if mike had been following you, and had seen that pin on the window sill would he have been likely to have picked it up and carried it off?" "as sure as little pigs has curly tails," replied pat with conviction. "oh, th' villain! it's mesilf will wring th' black neck av him with me own hands wance oi git thim on him!" he exclaimed, a realizing sense of the situation and the position in which he had been placed dawning on him. "'tis a wonder yez didn't arrist me fer th' thafe, and oi wud not have blamed ye at all, at all! just lave me get th' two hands av me on that burrd! sure his heart be as black as his coat!" walter laughed. "wait a while, pat, wait a while," he said. "we don't know yet that mike had anything to do with it. now here's my plan: you call mike so that he can see us start down the trail to woodcraft. then you go with me until we get almost in sight of the camp. i'll leave you there and go ahead. i'll get a bright button or something and put it on the window sill of mother merriam's window and then get out of sight. then i'll whistle three times and you come along in as if you had an errand at the office. go right by the window and around to the front door, where i'll meet you. then we'll watch mike and see what he does." "walter, me bye, 'tis a great nut yez have on the two shoulders av yez!" exclaimed pat admiringly. "we'll do ut." he put his fingers to his mouth and whistled shrilly. at once there was an answering caw from the distant hemlocks, and mike appeared winging his way toward them but, with the canny wisdom which had earned him his name, giving the cabin a wide berth. he dropped down to pat's shoulder at once, where he jabbered in crow talk as if telling pat all about his joke on the cook, all the time studying walter with eyes so bright and sharp as to make the boy almost uncomfortable. without further delay they started for woodcraft, the crow riding on pat's shoulder or occasionally flying a short distance ahead. at the edge of the woods pat sat down to wait while walter hurried ahead. hunting through his ditty bag he found a bright brass button and hurried over to the office. fortunately no one was about. putting the button on the sill where the pin had been left the morning of its disappearance he slipped around in front and gave pat the signal. pat came at once, but mike, distrustful of the camp or perhaps plotting mischief, lingered behind. pat passed the window and joined walter in front of the office. then they cautiously peeped around the corner to watch mike. as soon as he discovered that pat was out of sight he quickened his flight and winged his way directly toward the rear of the office. the two boys watching could see him turn his head from side to side as he flew, his bright eyes scanning everything in sight. when he reached a point abreast of and above the window he made an abrupt half circle, dropped down to the sill as silently as a shadow, seized the button and then, mounting high, winged his way in strong swift flight "as straight as the crow flies" for durant camp. "the black scoundrel!" murmured pat. "the black-hearted thafe!" it was too late for walter to think of returning to the lumber camp that afternoon, and he had an engagement the next morning at nine. "lave it to me," said pat. "oi know ivery hidin' place av th' ould thafe, an' if he shtole the pin 'tis in wan av thim this very minnut. if thot robber took th' pin, an' oi misthrust he did, 'tis pat malone that will have it back here by half afther eight to-morrow marnin'." after evening mess walter called tug and chip to one side. "i've got a clue," he announced with pardonable excitement. "what is it? who is it?" they demanded as one. "i'll tell you to-morrow morning at half-past eight," replied walter, and that was all they could get out of him that night. walter slept but poorly. he was burning with curiosity to know the result of pat's search, and he was alternately filled with joy at the thought of being able to return the precious pin to mother merriam, and torn with the fear that crafty mike might have lived up to his name and hidden his prize beyond pat's reach. by eight o'clock the next morning he could wait no longer and started up the durant trail. it was just before he reached speckled brook that he heard pat's shrill whistle, and by the sound of it he knew that there was good news. a few minutes later pat swung into view. crafty mike, looking abject and bedraggled, was tucked securely under one arm, while the free hand was jammed in a trousers pocket. pat's freckled face stretched into a broad smile as he caught sight of walter. he drew his hand from his pocket and spread it wide open. there in the palm, side by side, lay mother merriam's pin and the brass button which had proved mike's undoing. walter sent forth a joyous whoop, and did a war dance that was expressive if not dignified. before going to the big chief tug and chip were taken into confidence and shown the pin and the thief under pledge of secrecy. then pat and walter started for the office. in response to dr. merriam's cheery "come in," the two boys entered, walter elated and pat diffident. walter had carefully prepared a little speech, but in the excitement of the moment it went completely out of his head. he did remember to salute his chief, and then he blurted out the news so fast that the words fairly tripped over each other: "we've found mother merriam's pin, and we've found who the thief is, and----" "wait a minute," interrupted the doctor, smiling. "what is this about mother merriam's pin?" for answer pat extended his hand with the pin on the broad palm. the doctor's face lighted with pleasure as he reached out to take it. "but the thief?" he said. "i don't quite understand." "here he is, sor," said pat, thrusting forward the protesting mike. the doctor's face was a study as he bade the boys sit down and tell him the whole story. when they had finished he quietly questioned them until he had drawn from walter all that he had hitherto kept from pat, how the latter had been suspected, how he had been sure that pat was innocent, how he had found the crow's feather caught in the screen, and how this fact had come to his mind as soon as pat had mentioned mike's thieving propensities. "upton, i want you and malone, and mike, too," he added with a whimsical smile, "to remain here until i return." he left the room, and a few minutes later walter was startled to hear the "recall" sounded. many of the boys had not yet left camp, and the others within hearing came hastening in. when they had all gathered the doctor stepped out in front. "some time ago," he began, "the 'recall' was sounded to tell you that a thief had been in our midst, and to ask you to give of your services in an effort to regain the pin which had been stolen. it seemed to me that it was quite as important to again sound the 'recall' to tell you that the pin has been recovered." he paused as a stir ran through the group of boys, and they broke out in a hearty cheer. "and," he continued when quiet had been restored, "the thief taken, and that this happy result has been accomplished by one of your own members. who that member is i am not going to tell you, but i want you to know that i consider that in his whole course of action he has displayed the very highest form of scoutcraft, for he has not only apprehended the thief and recovered the plunder, but what is of vastly more importance, he has removed unjust suspicion from one whose good name not one of you has had real cause to doubt." he then briefly sketched the story of the search for and the finding of the pin, no names being mentioned, and concluded by bringing forth the pin and crafty mike for all to see. sitting in the office walter and pat had heard every word, and walter's face glowed with pleasure at the doctor's praise. he felt that his reward had been great indeed, and when the doctor concluded by saying that fifty points would be credited to the delawares in recognition of his work, his joy was complete. an hour later pat malone paused on the trail to durant camp to look with shining eyes at a gold piece in his hand. "caw," said crafty mike, looking down from his shoulder with greedy eyes. "shut up fer a black-hearted thafe!" growled pat. "sure, 'tis me ruin an' me fortune that yez are loike ter be." chapter xvi the poacher of lonesome pond hal and walter stood at the landing waiting for the launch with the day's mail and express matter. there had been an unfortunate error in ordering the needed photographic chemicals, and walter was still in ignorance of the results of his trip to lonesome pond. as the packages were thrown out his eye caught the familiar label of the photographic supply house. "hurrah!" he shouted, pouncing on the long-looked-for package, "i'm off to get first crack at that dark room. want to come in with me while i develop, hal?" "i sure do," was harrison's prompt response. "i'm almost as anxious as you are to know what you've got on those films. the results may make a big difference to us senecas, you know. we can't give the delawares many more points." as they started toward the office big jim and a stranger passed them talking earnestly. the latter had come in the launch. he was a man of medium build. his hair and eyes were gray, the latter clear and keen. there was nothing to especially distinguish him from the general run of guides of that region. "who is he?" asked hal of billy buxby, who had saluted the stranger. "game warden," replied billy, briefly. "been a lot of deer shootin' round these diggings, so they say, and the big chief has been trying for some time to get the warden up here. now he's here i reckon there'll be something doing." walter thought of his experience at lonesome pond, and wondered if the warden would go in there. as the boys passed through the office to the dark room dr. merriam, big jim and the warden were in earnest conversation. "whom do you suspect, jim?" it was the warden who spoke. "red pete," replied the guide promptly. "but yer understand i ain't got a mite o' proof. ain't seen hide nor har o' him, but i've seen signs thet spells red pete t' me. o' course some o' th' boys up t' th' camp will go out and get a piece o' meat once in a while, but thet ain't doin' no great harm." "it ought to be stopped, jim!" the doctor broke in sharply. "the law is law, meant for the lumber-jack just as much as for the city sportsman. i have no patience with this attitude of the natives that the law is made for the other fellows, not for them. either the laws should be wiped off the statute books or they should be enforced to the letter without discrimination or favor." "thet may be so, doctor, but folks 'round here don't sense it thet way," replied big jim. "anyway, th' real harm thet's bein' done th' deer is from some low down skunk thet's too lazy t' do honest work an' is jes' shootin' fer th' lumber camps. an' if it ain't red pete may i never sight another rifle! nobody knows whar he is, or if they do they won't tell. you git yer hands on red pete, and this deer shootin' will stop." the boys passed into the dark room and heard no more. walter at once prepared his developer and also a fresh supply of hypo, for he was resolved that no precaution should be neglected to get all that might be in the negatives. "going to use tank development?" asked hal. "no," replied walter, "i'm not. ordinarily i should, but i'm going to give each of these films separate treatment, and develop each for all that it holds. you know i want another fifty points," he added. the daylight subjects were developed first and, with the exception of one fogged across one corner, were all that could be desired. walter was particularly pleased with the results of his first successful shots on the way in to lonesome pond, and as the image of the great blue heron rapidly increased in strength under his skilful manipulation of the developer he confided to hal how his rattled nerves had led him to miss two splendid chances previous to the opportunity afforded by the heron. a portrait of big jim holding up walter's double catch of trout would have been hard to improve, and hal, looking over the other's shoulder, blushed as he recalled the big trout he had bought only to be beaten by the catch of which he now saw the proof growing before his eyes. for the flashlights walter prepared a special developer, and as it washed over the first film both boys bent over the tray eagerly. almost at once three spots, one slightly above the other two, appeared, and these rapidly took outline until the eager watchers could see clearly the doe and three fawns of lonesome pond. "hip, hip hurrah!" shouted hal, slapping walter on the back. "there are your fifty points for the delawares!" "now for the last one of all," said walter as, the others all in the hypo, he picked up the negative made by the flash on the runway. "i knew what ought to be on the others, but i don't know what ought to be on this except that it ought to be a deer." he bent impatiently over the tray, gently rocking the developer back and forth over the negative. presently he looked up, and in the dim ruby light hal could see a puzzled frown wrinkling his forehead. "that's the queerest thing i ever got up against!" he exclaimed. "i can make out the horns of a big buck, but they seem to be all mixed up with the figure of a man. if i hadn't taken such mighty good care of these films i'd say that it was a case of double exposure. must be that i had another case of rattles, and forgot to pull the tab of the one made just before the flashlight, and so made the latter right on top of the former. yet this doesn't act like an over-exposed negative, and a double exposure would be an over-exposure. oh, well, i give it up! we'll see what it looks like when it comes out of the hypo. here it goes in. now open that door, hal, and i'll open the window. i'm about roasted." hal threw open the door and the two boys stepped out into the office. the doctor was still there, but big jim and the warden were nowhere to be seen. at the sound of the opening door the doctor looked up. "we beg your pardon, doctor, and hope that we haven't disturbed you," said walter. "not in the least, upton," he replied smilingly. "i presume you have been developing those lonesome pond negatives, and to tell you the truth i am almost as anxious to see them as you are yourself. you see big jim has told me all about that trip, and he was positively enthusiastic over the flashing of the three deer." the doctor came over to the dark room and stepped in. "i presume they are about fixed by this time," he said, dipping his hand into the fixing bath and taking out a negative. he held it to the light and examined it critically. "just a trifle over time, don't you think, upton? still it is an excellent negative, and the composition is admirable. hello, what's this?" he had dropped the first one into a tray of running water and had picked up a second which he was turning round and round in his hands as if he hardly knew which was top and which was bottom. "ha, i have it!" an expression of perplexity passed over his face and his brows puckered. "what's this, upton?" he asked. "i didn't hear anything about any such photo as this." walter stepped behind him and looked at the negative the doctor was holding to the light. at first he could make nothing of it but a tangle of foliage. then suddenly he saw against this background the figure of a man stooping beneath the burden of the body of a deer across his shoulders. walter's mouth gaped foolishly as he studied the negative. "what does it mean, upton?" the doctor repeated, a twinkle in his eyes as he saw the boy's vacant look. "i don't know, sir," replied walter truthfully enough. "but the negative is yours, isn't it?" persisted the doctor. "yes, sir. no, sir. that is--why, of course it must be mine," replied walter confusedly. "i don't understand it at all, sir." "how many flashlights did you make?" "two; the one of the three deer and the one on the run. this----" he paused as it flashed over him for the first time that this was a flashlight negative. "yes," said the doctor with a quizzical smile, "this is one of them. and as it certainly isn't the one of the three deer it is the one on the run." "but--but what does it mean?" asked hal, looking over the shoulders of the others. "it means," said the doctor gravely, "that upton has secured the evidence that will convict the poacher of lonesome pond." he dropped the film back in the fixing bath. "i see it is not quite clear yet. fix and wash it thoroughly and then if you can, upton, i wish you would make a print from this before jim and the warden return to-night. they have gone up to the durant camp to look about a bit. i must request you both to say nothing whatever about this matter until i give you permission. and of course you understand that the photograph is to be shown no one. bring the prints to me as soon as you have them made. if you have time make a print from each of your other negatives. we'll entertain the warden on his return." by noon the films were dry and by three o'clock that afternoon a complete set of prints was in dr. merriam's hands. late in the afternoon big jim and the warden returned, and shortly after the doctor sent for walter. "warden," said he, "this is upton, the lad who was with jim at lonesome. i've called him in thinking you may like to question him a bit as to conditions at lonesome, and also that he may have the pleasure of showing you some photos in which i know you will be interested, as will jim also. i tell you, warden, some of our boys are doing great work here! it takes something more than mere knowledge of photography to get such pictures as these! the man behind the camera has got to be something of a woodsman, as i think you will admit when you have looked these over." as he finished speaking he handed the package of prints to walter face down, and the boy, noting that they were numbered in consecutive order, instantly realized that this was a cue for him to show them in that order. as one by one the prints were laid on the desk big jim bent over them with all the enthusiasm of a great overgrown boy, telling the warden the story of each and making comments that made walter blush to the roots of his hair. when the beautiful picture of the doe and her two fawns was put before him jim's delight was without bounds. the doctor smiled. "so you think that's pretty good, do you, jim?" he asked. "good? it's the best i ever see!" exclaimed the guide. "upton has one that will interest you still more, i think, jim. show it, upton." the warden and guide leaned forward eagerly as walter placed the last print on the desk. for a full minute there was absolute stillness as the two men studied the print in surprised astonishment. walter will never forget the expression on the guide's face as he stared first at the doctor, then at walter and finally back at the print, while slowly comprehension of what it meant dawned. "what did i tell yer?" he roared, smiting the desk with a huge fist. "what did i tell yer? didn't i say it was red pete? is this evidence enough for yer, warden?" "it's evidence enough, jim; but say, i haven't got this through me yet. you didn't tell me anything about seeing red pete, let alone taking his photograph. it's a wonder he didn't put a knife in you for that." jim laughed. "i expect he would if he was sure what had happened," he replied. "yer see thet thar buck must hev taken one o' th' other runs an' reached th' lake, where pete was laying fer him. pete potted him, an' then waitin' just long enough t' bleed him an' take out his innards (i found 'em th' next mornin') he dug out 'fore we should come snoopin' round. he jes' happened t' hit th' run th' camera was on, an' o' course he fired th' flash. oh, glory! i wish i could hev seen his face right after thet flash! i bet every black har on his head was standin' on end an' thet pete was reelin' off prayers t' every saint he's ever heard o' as fast as his tongue could go!" "i notice that he held on to the deer," observed the warden dryly. "you bet he did!" replied jim. "thet flash jes' naturally blinded him fer a few minutes, an' he couldn't see nothin'! then he heered us comin' on th' jump an' he didn't hev no time t' look fer th' camera an' bust it. he jes' hit th' trail double quick a-trustin' t' luck thet we didn't git nothin'." "this is all the evidence i want," said the warden. "doctor, i want you to let me have jim for a couple of days. i need him, for pete's a slippery customer, and it'll need two of us to surprise him. we'll start for lonesome early to-morrow morning, and the less said about our movements the better. remember, boy, mum's the word," he added, turning to walter. jim had been studying the photograph closely. "whopping big buck pete's got thar!" he remarked, then added sharply, "son, come here an' tell me if this is a scratch on th' picter or if it's in th' picter!" the guide was pointing to a tiny white line on the shoulder of the deer. walter examined it closely. "it's in the picture," he said slowly. then, a startling idea slowly forming in his mind, he looked up at the guide, who instantly read his thought. "yes," said the big fellow with angry bitterness. "it's him. it's the king o' lonesome pond, th' big buck you 'n' me trailed thet mornin', murdered by a half-breed cutthroat who'd treat you 'n' me jes' th' same if he dared, an' he could see a dollar in it. i'm ready t' start when you are, warden, an' th' sooner i see his ugly mug behind th' bars th' sooner i kin enjoy my vittles agin." when the name of red pete was first mentioned it had sounded strangely familiar to walter, but try as he would he could not place it. now as he studied the photograph he recognized the low-browed, surly axeman who had been in the waiting room at upper chain the morning of his arrival in the woods, and there flashed through his mind big jim's characterization of pete that morning as the "meanest man in th' mountains." how little he had dreamed that their lines would ever cross, and now--he shivered involuntarily as he wondered what the outcome would be and what would happen if the outlaw should chance to learn of the evidence walter now held in his hand. "i--i guess you'd better keep the film and the prints," he said, turning to dr. merriam, and breathed easier as the doctor took them. then excusing himself, he hurried out to find hal and warn him not to breathe a word about the second flashlight picture. did red pete suspect? and if so what if he should happen to meet him alone in the woods? for the next few days he seldom went far from camp, and never alone. even then he had the feeling of being watched, and would turn suddenly half in fear and half in hope that he might catch a glimpse of the breed's threatening face peering from some leafy screen. walter's nerves were playing him tricks. nor did they become any easier when the warden and jim returned empty handed from lonesome pond. they had found plenty of traces of the poacher, in fact had found his camp, but it was evident that the outlaw had transferred his headquarters elsewhere. owing to other business the warden was obliged to postpone the search for the time being, but left with a promise to return at an early date to run pete down. in the meantime walter continued to feel uneasy, and the lumber camp to enjoy fresh "veal." chapter xvii the haunted cabin "what's on this afternoon?" "nothin' much." "come on, push it out! if it's nothin' much the sooner it's out of your system the better." "well, what's the matter with a visit to the haunted cabin? i guess we can get a permit all right." the speakers were hal harrison and walter. they had just met after noon mess, and the proposal to visit the haunted cabin came from hal. "great idea," exclaimed walter. "there's chief avery over there now! you tackle him while i hunt up woodhull. i'm pretty sure he'll let me go." permission was readily granted, and the two boys at once launched a canoe, and pointing the bow up and across the lake soon left the camp behind. the haunted cabin was the same to which walter had heard veiled allusions on his first day in camp, and to which he supposed he had been carried for his initiation ordeal. ever since then he had intended to visit it, but until now there had never seemed a good opportunity. it was located on the other side of the lake some three miles up, and was a half mile back from the water some little distance off to one side of a lumber trail. as it was out of bounds, it was necessary to get permission from the chiefs in order to visit it. "what do you know about it, walter?" asked hal as they sent their light craft swiftly over the water. "not much except that there was a murder or a fight or somethin' of the kind there years ago. do you know anything about it?" "only the stories that are floatin' 'round, and no two agree," replied hal. "i've been kind of interested, and have run down all the stories i could get hold of. i guess there was a tragedy there all right, but from all i can gather it was a fair fight, and not a cold-blooded crime. the story that seems to be most generally accepted is that there was a fight over a girl. the cabin was built by an old half-breed trapper before there were any lumber trails through these parts at all, and he lived there with his daughter, who was said to be a mighty pretty girl. the old fellow's name was duquesne, but he was more indian than french, and was commonly called indian joe. he was a grouchy old fellow, and people didn't have any more to do with him than they had to. "the girl was a beauty, and old joe was so jealous of her that he never would let her out of his sight when they came down to the village to trade, and the young fellows of the region found that the vicinity of old joe's cabin was anything but healthy. finally a young scotchman named bruce moved down here from canada and ran a line of traps up in the region that joe had come to consider his own special preserve. this was bad enough, and roused all the indian in him, but when he discovered that young bruce had fallen in love with the girl and that she was in love with him his rage knew no bounds and he made a lot of ugly threats, so that the friends of the young fellow warned him to keep away from the cabin, and i guess the girl begged him to also. "but bruce was hot-headed and afraid of nothing and no one. when he heard of the threats he rightly guessed that things were probably mighty uncomfortable for the girl, so he jumps into a canoe and heads straight for the cabin. when he got there old joe was out on his trap line and the girl begged bruce to leave. but he wouldn't, and waited till the old man came back. he was in the cabin when the old man returned and the latter got inside before he discovered the visitor. he started to throw his rifle up, but bruce was too quick for him and knocked it out of his hands. but the old man had a knife, and he didn't waste any time. he was all indian then, and was on bruce like a wildcat. "i guess bruce saw it was kill or be killed, with the girl for the stakes, so he whips out his own knife, and they turned that cabin into a shambles. "the young scotchman had the advantage of weight and youth, but joe was all indian, with every trick known to that kind of fighting, and with black hate in his heart. i guess it was some fight, all right, and the girl seeing the whole thing. finally bruce got in a lucky thrust that ended things and old joe with it. he was cut up something fierce himself and so weak from loss of blood that i guess he thought he was going to cash in. but the girl managed to bind him up and get him into the canoe, though how she did it no one knows, for the cabin is half a mile back from the lake. anyway, the first the village knew of it she came paddling in with bruce in the bottom of the canoe, more dead than alive. "you know lumbermen and backwoods people are awfully superstitious, and it wasn't long before they had the cabin haunted by indian joe's spirit, moaning for his lost daughter. hunters and trappers began to tell all sorts of stories of queer sounds around the cabin and soon no one would go near the old place. superstition's a queer thing, isn't it?" "you bet it is, and it isn't confined to lumbermen and backwoods people by a long shot!" replied walter. "what became of the girl?" "oh, bruce recovered, of course, and married her, and they moved up into canada. there's the landing at the lumber trail." a few minutes later they drew the canoe out on the shore. a lumberman's batteau was drawn up at one side, and they could hear voices ahead of them on the trail. "a party going up to the brown camp, i guess. i understand they've begun cutting about three miles back," said walter. the boys set out at a brisk pace along the trail. "avery says that the trail to the cabin is so overgrown that it's hard to find, but that there is a scout sign where it turns off of this trail, and then a line of old blazes," said hal. "it's on the right a short half mile from the lake." the boys slackened their pace, scanning the right hand side of the trail as they advanced. presently walter stopped and pointed to a little group of stones half hidden in the brush to the right. it consisted of a stone of fair size with a smaller one resting on top of it and a third on the ground to the right of the others. both boys recognized it as the old indian sign which means "trail to the right." turning in they soon found a tree with a blaze so old that it was nearly covered with bark. getting the direction from this they were able to sight the next blaze and so pick out the trail. "doesn't look as if any one had been over this for an age," said hal as they carefully picked their way along. in about fifteen minutes they saw an opening in the tree tops ahead and soon stepped out into what had once been a small clearing, but which was now overgrown with brush and berry thickets, and in places good stands of second growth birch and maple. in the midst of this dreary waste stood the "haunted cabin." the boys stood at a little distance and looked at it in silence for a few minutes, thinking of the tragedy which was said to have been enacted there. it was the usual type of log cabin, a one room affair with the remnants of a shed or small addition of some kind clinging to the rear. the cabin had been well built, for it was in a good state of preservation save that in places the roof had fallen, leaving black, yawning holes. it had been turfed at some time in its existence, and such parts as were intact were covered with a tangle of grass and weeds. altogether it was a desolate and dreary looking object. "gee, i don't wonder they think it's haunted! well, let's see what it looks like inside," said walter. they approached it from the front, and to their great surprise found the door still intact and closed. when they attempted to open it they were further mystified to find that it would not yield to their combined efforts. it was locked on the inside. "what do you know about that!" exclaimed hal. "let's try the back door." here a further surprise awaited them, for their entrance was as effectually barred as before. they stared at each other blankly. "wouldn't that get your goat!" muttered walter. "must be that some hunters have had nerve enough to use it, and have locked it up for safe keeping," he added with a half-hearted laugh. his eyes idly taking in the surroundings suddenly became fixed on a point a few feet distant. "say, hal," said he abruptly, "there's a path, and it looks to me as if it had been used lately. let's follow it." it certainly was a path, and with every evidence that it had been recently used. the boys followed it in puzzled silence until it abruptly terminated at a spring. it required no very keen observation to see that the spring had been cleaned out at no very distant day. as by a common impulse they turned and stared back at the cabin, which returned the stare with its gaping windows, as empty of life and forlorn in appearance as could well be imagined. and yet there was something sinister about the old ruin. it lay like a wet blanket on the buoyant spirit of adventure with which they had entered the clearing. walter gave a little embarrassed laugh as he said, "it's queer, but i've had a feeling of being watched ever since we struck the clearing. there's no reason for it, and yet i can't get rid of the idea that somebody's eyes are on us." "must be the 'hant,'" said hal with a laugh. but his face sobered as he added, "i've had an awfully uncomfortable feeling myself, walt. i don't believe i'm keen to crawl in one of those windows. reckon i've seen all i want to of the old place. what do you say if we go back?" "i've had enough," agreed walter. "i don't wonder they call the old thing haunted. guess that story got on our nerves all right. i never thought i was superstitious, but i sure would hate to spend a night here." the boys quickened their pace as they passed the ruin, throwing a hasty glance in at the yawning windows, but in the darkness of the interior they could make out little. "ugh!" said hal as they picked up the trail out, "i'm glad to leave the blamed old place. i guess it's haunted all right!" had he looked back and seen the venom in the pair of black eyes that, through one of the windows they had so recently passed, watched them disappear on the trail, he would have still further rejoiced that they were leaving the old ruin behind. they found the canoe where they had left it, but the batteau was gone. with hal in the stern and walter in the bow they soon had half a mile of open water between them and the shore. it was then that hal noticed for the first time that there was considerable water in the canoe and that it was increasing rapidly. his exclamation of dismay drew walter's attention to their predicament. the canoe had not leaked before--what did it mean? a hasty examination of the interior showed that the water was coming in slightly forward of walter's seat, and that at the rate it was gaining their little craft would soon be awash. there was nothing wherewith to bail except their hands or sneaks, and these were wholly inadequate in face of the fact that one must paddle. they did not dare go back whence they had come, for instinctively they felt that the source of their present difficulty lay there. camp was still some two and a half miles distant and the afternoon was growing late. it was a situation to test their powers of resource and scoutcraft to the fullest. walter hurriedly stripped off his trousers and shirt. "what are you going to do?" cried hal. "you can't swim from here to camp!" "don't intend to," responded walter hurriedly. "i'm goin' to try to find out what's happened to us. when i get out you get as far back on the stern as you can. that will put her bow clear out of water and give me a chance to see a good half of her bottom." with the words he plunged over, and hal crawled back as directed. walter came up at once under the bow and found that, as he had anticipated, he could examine easily the whole forward half of the canoe's bottom. it took but a moment to locate the trouble, two long gashes close to and parallel with the keel. "some one's cut it!" cried walter. "must be one of those lumber-jacks that was over there with the batteau did it. never knew of them doing anything like this before. they've played tricks on the fellows lots of times for fun, but never anything low down mean like this, or anything that meant danger. you stay back there and paddle a while, hal, and i'll swim. with her bow out that way she can't leak any more. by and by you can swim and i'll paddle. water's fine!" he added with a grin. the water had rushed to the stern and hal, sitting astride the canoe, was able to bail much of it out with one of walter's sneaks. then while walter swam he slowly paddled so as to remain close to the swimmer. the wind had begun to freshen a trifle and as they were heading it came from a point off the port quarter, and hal soon had his hands full to keep on the course at all, for the high bow was caught by every little gust and frequently he was spun around as if on a pivot. walter was swimming easily, but he realized that the distance to be covered was beyond his powers, and he thought rapidly as he swam. hal was not a strong swimmer, but would be able to cover a short distance while he had a breathing spell in the canoe. gradually he came to a realization of the struggle his comrade was having with the canoe, and that the latter's arms would be strained and weary when it came his turn to take to the water. they must try some other plan. studying the lines of the canoe he concluded that with both of them far back in the stern the gashes would be partly out of water, and that with both paddling they might make some distance before the water reached the danger point. then he could go overboard again and hal could bail out as before. this plan was at once tried and with both putting all their strength to the paddles they gained a full mile before it became necessary for walter to go overboard again. this time they were near a small island, and thither hal drove the canoe and had beached and emptied it by the time walter arrived. after a thorough rest they prepared to start again, when they spied a boat coming down the lake. one look was sufficient to assure them that their troubles were at an end. there was but one pair of shoulders in the woods like those sending the light craft toward them with powerful strokes. "jim! jim! oh, you jim!" they yelled shrilly. the rower stopped and turned toward them, then altered his course, and in a few minutes was resting on his oars alongshore while, both talking at once, they poured out their story and showed him the gashed canoe. the big fellow's face wore a look of perplexity as, with the boys in his boat and the canoe in tow, he headed for camp. "whar did ye say ye went when ye left th' canoe?" he asked. "up to the haunted cabin," replied walter. "was the hant t' hum?" he inquired with a grin. "no," said hal, "or if he was he was mighty seclusive. both doors were locked." "what's thet ye said, son?" demanded the guide sharply, as he stopped rowing for a minute. "i said the doors were locked and we couldn't get in," replied hal. "and there was a path down to the spring that looked as if some one had been using it," added walter. "prob'ly some lumberman been in thar fer a drink," said the guide with an assumption of carelessness, and then lapsed into such a state of abstraction that the boys gave up trying to interest him further. he came out of it as they approached the camp. "don't say nothin' 'bout this; jes' leave it t' me," he advised. "i'll explain it t' th' doctor. 'tain't like th' boys o' th' lumber camps t' do no sech trick as this, and i'd hate t' hev any feelin' stirred up. you boys jes' keep mum." the boys were quite willing to do so, and bidding them a hasty farewell jim strode off toward headquarters. "queer thing, the whole business," mused walter as they watched the guide disappear in the office. "i wonder what jim's got on his mind." and he would have wondered still more if he could have heard the guide exclaim, as he banged his big fist down on the desk at the end of a fifteen minutes' talk with the doctor: "it's him as sure as shootin'! we'll git him this time, or my name ain't jim everly!" chapter xviii on guard on the bald top of old scraggy stood a slender figure in khaki. the broad-brimmed regulation scout hat was tilted back, revealing a sun-browned face which was good to see. the eyes were clear and steady. the mouth might have been called weak but for a certain set of the jaw and a slight compression of the thin lips which denoted a latent force of will which would one day develop into power. it was, withal, a pleasant face, a face in which character was written, a face which denoted purpose and determination. the boy raised a pair of field-glasses to his eyes and swept the wonderful panorama of forest and lake that unfolded below him on every side. like mighty billows of living green the mountains rolled away to fade into the smoke haze that stretched along the horizon. the smell of smoke was in the air. over beyond mt. seward hung a huge cloud of dirty white against which rose great volumes of black, shading down to dingy sickening yellowish tinge at the horizon. through his glasses the boy could see this shot through here and there with angry red. there was something indescribably sinister and menacing in it, even to his inexperienced eyes. it was like a huge beast snarling and showing its teeth as it devoured its prey. on the back side of the camel's hump another fire was raging. but neither of these seriously threatened woodcraft camp, for a barrier of lakes lay between. "i'm glad they're no nearer," muttered the watcher half aloud. he swung his glasses around to the camp five miles away by the trail, though not more than three and a half in an air line, and his face softened as he studied the familiar scene. there was a song in his heart and the burden of it was, "they have got some use for me! they have got some use for me! they have got some use for me!" it was hal harrison. there had been a wonderful change in the boy in the few weeks since his meeting with walter upton at speckled brook. it had been a hard fight, a bitter fight; sometimes, it seemed to him, a losing fight. but he had triumphed in the end. he had "made good" with his fellow scouts. he had friends, a lot of them. with only one or two was he what might be called intimate, but on every side were friendly greetings. from being an outcast he had become a factor in the camp life. he was counted in as a matter of course in all the fun and frolic. he had done nothing "big" to win this regard. it was simply the result of meeting his fellows on their own ground and doing his share in the trivial things that go to make up daily life. he was thinking of this now and his changed attitude toward life, toward his fellow men. in a dim way he realized that a revolution had been worked within himself, and that his present status in the little democracy down there on the edge of the lake was due, not so much to a change in the general feeling of his comrades toward him, but in his own feeling toward them. his present position had always been his, but he had refused to take it. [illustration: the boys were drilled in wig-wag signaling] somehow money, which had been his sole standard whereby to judge his fellows, had dropped from his thought utterly as he strove to measure up his comrades. it had even become hateful to him as he gradually realized how less than nothing it is in the final summing up of true worth, of character and manhood. and with this knowledge all his old arrogance had fallen from him like a false garment, and in its place had developed a humility that cleared his vision and enabled him to see things in their true relations. "my, what a cad i was when i hit woodcraft, and how little i realized what the scout's oath means!" he murmured. "the fellows have been awfully white to me. if--if i could only do something to show 'em that i appreciate it, could only really and truly 'make good' somehow. seems to me this smoke is getting thicker." he turned once more toward seward. the wind was freshening and the smoke driven before it was settling in a great pall that spread and gradually blotted out mountain after mountain. the blue haze thickened in the valleys. when he turned again toward woodcraft it had become a blur. the sun, which had poured a flood of brilliant light from a cloudless sky, had become overcast and now burned an angry red ball through a murky atmosphere. his throat smarted from the acrid smoke. there was a strange silence, as if the great wilderness held its breath in hushed awe in the face of some dread catastrophe. hal was on guard. it was dr. merriam's policy to always maintain a watch on the top of old scraggy during dry weather that any fire which should start in the neighborhood might be detected in its incipient stages and a warning be flashed to camp. the boys were drilled in wig-wag signaling, and in the use of the heliograph, the former for use on a dull day and the latter on a bright day, the top of old scraggy being clearly visible from camp, so that with glasses the wig-wag signals could be read easily. at daybreak a watch was sent to the mountain station, while another went on duty at the camp to receive the signals. at noon both guards were relieved. only the steadiest and most reliable boys were detailed for this duty. this was hal's first assignment and, while he felt the responsibility, he had hit the scraggy trail with a light heart, for he realized the compliment to his scoutcraft. and was not this evidence that he was making good? the smoke thickened. the smart in his eyes and throat increased. uneasily he paced the little platform that had been built on the highest point. suddenly it seemed as if his heart stopped beating for just a second. why did the smoke seem so much thicker down there to the east at the very foot of scraggy itself? with trembling fingers he focussed the glasses. the smoke was rising at that point, not settling down! yes, he could not be mistaken, there was a flicker of red! there was a fire on the eastern slope! hastily he sprang for the mirror with which to signal his discovery, but even as his hand touched it he realized the futility of his purpose. the sun was hopelessly obscured by the smoke. the flags! he grasped them and turned toward the camp. where was the camp? vainly he sought to locate it. the smoke had drawn a curtain over it through which even his powerful glasses would not pierce. for a minute panic gripped him. then into the chaos of his mind broke the calm quiet voice of dr. merriam in one of his weekly talks at the camp-fire: "the man or boy to face an emergency is the one who keeps cool--who stops to think." deliberately hal forced himself to sit down on the edge of the platform and review the situation. it was five miles to camp. by the time he could get there and a party be organized and return the fire would have gained such headway that there would be no checking it. to the west, nearer by at least a mile and a half, lay the durant camp. but there was no broken trail there, nothing but a blazed trail which he had never even seen and which at best would be slow following. but hold on! the loggers were at work this side of the camp, not over two miles distant in a straight line! perhaps they would discover the fire. a moment's reflection, however, convinced him that this was unlikely, at least until it was too late. a shoulder of the mountain intervened. was he scout enough to hold his course for two miles through that tangle of wilderness? it seemed the only thing to do if he was to get a warning through in time. there was no time to lose! his lips tightened and he got up abruptly and began to tighten his belt. he would try it. he would do it! turning for another look at the fire his glance was arrested by a box half hidden beneath a corner of the platform. in a flash he was on his knees, half sobbing with relief as he dragged it forth. why hadn't he remembered jack appleby's wireless outfit before? jack had been on old scraggy the day before experimenting with wireless messages to camp, and had left his apparatus on the mountain, intending to return this afternoon to continue his experiments. how hal blessed the good fortune that had led him to take an interest in wireless and join the little group of boys who were continually experimenting with it in camp! there were several outfits there, and one or another was in use most of the time. he prayed with all his soul that such might be the case now, as, with hasty fingers, he adjusted the apparatus and sat down to the key. one after the other he sounded the private calls of all the stations in camp, between each call listening for a reply. would they never hear? click, click, click, click, over and over and over again he repeated the calls, while the cold sweat stood out on his forehead. would they never hear? would they never hear? should he give it up and make the plunge for the durant cutting? no, this was his best chance. click, click, click! what was the matter with them down there? ha! was that joe brown's answering signal? with feverish haste he pounded out in the morse code, "is this you, brown?" the reply came promptly: "yes. who are you?" with a sigh of relief hal bent over the key and forced himself to send his message slowly, that there might be no confusion in receiving it: "this is harrison, watch on scraggy. fire just started on eastern slope. warn doctor." "warn doctor of fire. all right," spelled the receiver at his ear. hal shouted aloud in his relief. hastily repacking the apparatus he turned to look down at the threatened danger. already the fire had gained great headway. would the doctor be able to bring help in time? a heavy stand of magnificent timber lay directly in the path of the flames. it was one of the choicest holdings of the durant company. the boy looked down at the durant cutting on the other side. if he could at once warn the men at work there they might reach the fire in time. he would try. carefully noting the direction with his pocket compass he headed straight for the cutting. that trip down the mountain is a nightmare to hal to this day. slipping, sliding down the steep upper slope, bruised by falls on rocky ledges, crawling under and over fallen timber, struggling through seemingly impassable windfalls, his shirt torn, his hat lost, his face and hands bleeding from numerous scratches he struggled on, running whenever the way was sufficiently open, stumbling, falling but doggedly holding to the course set by the little compass in his hand. it seemed an eternity before the sound of voices mingled with ringing blows of axes and the crashing of trees told him that he was almost there. a few minutes later he staggered out among the astonished loggers. his message was soon told, and almost before he had regained his wind the fire gangs were organized and with axes and shovels, the latter kept at hand for just such emergencies, were on their way to the scene of trouble. hal begged to go along, but the boss refused to let him. "you've done your part, my boy," he said kindly. "you can be of no help there and might be in danger. rest here a bit and then you trot along down to camp and tell cookie to fix you up and give you something to eat. son, you may not know it, but you're all in." hal did know it. now that the excitement was over he began to realize for the first time how utterly weary he was. he was weak and trembling. he felt the smart of his bruises and the ache of strained muscles. the boss was right. his place was in the rear, not on the firing line. a long rest at the durant camp and the friendly ministrations of cookie made him feel more like himself. late in the afternoon he hobbled into woodcraft. the camp was nearly deserted, for all of the older boys were on the fire line. walter was the first to see him, and hastened to congratulate him, for the whole camp knew by this time who had sent the warning. then others crowded around to shake hands and insist on hearing his story from his own lips. this hal told, omitting, however, to mention his terrific cross country struggle, explaining his bruises as the result of a tumble over a ledge. as soon as walter got a chance he drew hal to one side. "say," he began eagerly, "the game warden and a deputy started for the haunted cabin early this morning." "what for? to get the 'hant'?" asked hal. "exactly!" replied walter. "and the 'hant' is red pete! big jim figured it all out when he picked us up on the lake the other afternoon. you know they couldn't find pete up at lonesome pond. he probably got wise that jim would be on his trail after that shootin' while we were in camp there, and promptly vamoosed. when we told jim about the cabin's being locked and the path to the spring he tumbled in a minute. that was the safest place in the woods for pete, and he was probably right in the cabin when we tried the doors. jim went up there the next day and did a little scouting. he found a blind trail down to the lake a lot shorter than the trail we took. pete was probably afraid that we'd tell about the locked cabin and some one would get wise, so as soon as we were out of sight he made a quick sneak down to the lake ahead of us and slashed the canoe in the hope that we'd sink and get drowned. jim sent word to the warden, and now i guess there'll be something doing at the haunted cabin!" "how did you find out all this?" asked hal. "jim told me this morning. he was going in with the warden, but when your message came he had to go fight fire. he told me just before he started." "gee!" exclaimed hal. "some excitement to-day! do the other fellows know?" "no. jim said i could tell you, but that we're to keep it to ourselves." just after sundown the fire fighters returned, weary but triumphant. the fire had been gotten under control before serious damage had been done, but this would have been impossible but for the timely arrival of the durant gang, who were trained fire fighters, and who had reached the scene first. the boss had told the doctor of how he received the warning. the latter's first action on reaching camp was to issue orders for the preparation of a huge camp-fire to be started after evening mess. when this was lighted and the whole camp gathered round dr. merriam stepped into the circle for what the boys supposed was one of his usual camp-fire talks. he began by a brief review of scout principles and the need of coolness and clear thinking in the face of sudden emergency, and then briefly and forcefully he sketched hal's exploit of the day, ending by expressing his personal indebtedness to the boy who had, by using his head and supplementing this by a courageous act, saved property of great value. "it would not be inappropriate if there should be some expression of the camp's feeling at this time," concluded the doctor with a twinkle in his eyes. in a flash woodhull was on his feet. "the woodcraft yell for the seneca who has made good!" he shouted, and beating time with both arms he led the long rolling "whoop-yi-yi-yi! whoop-yi-yi-yi! whoop-yi-yi-yi! harrison!" then despite his efforts to escape hal was pushed to the center beside the big chief while the four tribes circled the fire in the mad dance of triumph. but the thing that was sweetest of all to the tired boy was the discovery that the senecas had been credited fifty points for his feat. at last he had done something to wipe out the old score. his cup was full. chapter xix for the honor of the tribe all of woodcraft who could get afloat were on the water, and those not so fortunate were ranged on points of vantage along the pier and on the shore. dr. and mother merriam, with some of the guests of the camp, parents of the boys in for the annual field day, occupied the end of the pier, which commanded the whole course and was directly on the finish line. among the most interested of the onlookers were mr. harrison and mr. upton, who had arrived that morning, taking their sons by surprise. the shore events had been run off in the forenoon, with honors well distributed. the algonquins, under chief seaforth, had won the rifle match. chief woodhull had scored heavily for the delawares by winning the trail finding contest, the stalking event and the mile cross-country "hike" without compass or trail. the relay race, high and broad jumps had gone to the hurons, while the senecas had taken the hundred yard and two hundred and twenty yard dashes. the points for the best individual work during the summer in the various branches of nature study had been awarded, and the total score in the contest between the two wigwams for the deer's head offered for the highest total was wigwam no. 1--1,460 points; wigwam no. 2--1,450 points. for tribal honors the delawares had a safe margin, but the championship banner would go to the winning tribe in the successful wigwam. excitement was at fever pitch, for on the outcome of the afternoon events hung the honors of the whole season. it was generally conceded that the hurons would take the swimming events handily, unless the delawares developed a dark horse. the senecas were strong in the canoe work, and they vowed that if the hurons tied the score with the swimming events they would win the canoe events. the swimming races were called first. before the first event chief woodhull called the delawares together. "i haven't much to say," he said as he looked into the eager faces of his tribe, "only this: i expect every delaware to do his best, not for his personal glory, but for the honor of his tribe and the honor of his wigwam. it is a great thing to win for yourself, but it is a greater thing to win for your fellows. when you reach the point where it seems as if you hadn't another ounce left just remember that the loss is not yours alone, but of the tribe who are pinning their faith to you. another thing; fight for second and third places just as hard as for first. it's the small points that are going to win that banner, and it's up to you individually to get every point you can. and," he added with a smile, "don't forget to cheer the other fellows when they win. if we must lose let's be good losers, but--_don't lose!_ that's all." the conditions were perfect for the afternoon's sport. the lake lay like a huge mirror, not a ripple breaking its glassy surface. clustered about the finish line were the camp canoes and boats and several launches filled with guests from the hotels at the other end of the lake. several batteaux filled with lumber-jacks from the durant camp lined the course. "gee, ain't it great?" said tug benson as he and walter paddled out to the raft from which the swimming races were to start. "you bet!" replied walter enthusiastically. "how you feeling?" "fine and dandy!" responded tug. "i'm goin' to take that hundred yards if i never swim another stroke!" "wish i felt as sure of a place in my event," said walter. "look a-here, you're goin' to get more than place--you're goin' to win that event! you've got to! what do you s'pose i've been coachin' you for all summer?" said tug savagely as he glared at his companion. they were to the raft by this time and as they hopped out and made their canoe fast they heard the starter announcing the first event, which was the hundred yard race. in all events for the afternoon first would count ten points, second five points and third three points. there were eight entries for this event, three hurons, two delawares, two senecas and one algonquin. "are you ready?" bang! there was one splash as the eight boys took the water. at the very first tug took the lead. the distance was too short to take any chances. he was using the crawl stroke, and his powerful muscles drove him through the water like a fish. but he had need of every bit of strength and skill he possessed. two of the hurons were pressing him close, and ten yards from the finish one of them forged up until the two boys were neck and neck. tug glanced ahead to locate the finish line, and gulped his lungs full of air. then, burying his face, he tore through the water like some strange amphibian, putting every last ounce of reserve strength into a supreme effort. bang! it was the finish gun, and the wild whoop of the delawares told him he had won, but he had hardly filled his strained lungs when the second and third guns told him by how narrow a margin he had snatched the victory. "two points to the good, anyway," he said grimly as woodhull helped him into a boat. this made the wigwam score 1,470 to 1,458 and the delawares and algonquins whooped deliriously. but their triumph was short lived. the two hundred and twenty yard event gave the hurons first and second and the senecas third. it was now the turn of the hurons and senecas to break loose, and they made the most of it, for this gave wigwam no. 2 a lead of six points. "it's up to you now," growled tug in walter's ear as they stood side by side awaiting the starting gun in the quarter mile event. "i haven't a look-in, for that hundred killed me. but i'm goin' to set the pace for the first half, and you stick right to me. don't you pay any attention to the rest of 'em, but stick right to me. when i give the word you dig out, and win. remember, this is no sprintin' match!" the starting gun banged. when walter had shaken the water from his eyes and looked around he found tug at his side, swimming easily with a powerful overhand stroke. off to the right two of the hurons were using the crawl and were rapidly forging ahead. already they had a lead that gave walter a panicky feeling. tug looked at him and grinned. "water's fine," he grunted, for all the world as if this was nothing more than a pleasure swim. "get your back into that stroke." tug was still swimming easily, but he was putting more power into his strokes. walter followed his example and kept neck and neck with him. they were now the last of the field. the sprint of the two hurons had given them a good lead, and this had had its effect on the other swimmers, all of whom were putting forth every effort to overhaul the leaders. walter found that it took every bit of will power he possessed not to do the same. the pace was beginning to tell on those in front, but tug never varied his strong easy stroke and presently walter noticed that they were slowly but surely closing up the gap between them and the nearest competitors. they had now covered a third of the course and the leaders were still a long way ahead. would tug never hit it up? what was he waiting so long for? perhaps he was, as he had said, "all in," and couldn't go any faster. ought he to stay back as tug had told him to? if he should lose out for place the blame would be laid to him, not to tug. ha! tug had quickened the stroke a bit! it was not much, but there was a perceptible gain with each swing of the arms and kick of the legs. the half-way mark, and still tug did not give the word. what was the matter with him? he glanced at him anxiously, but the grin on that astute young gentleman's face revealed nothing, certainly not anxiety. two or three of the swimmers had begun to splash badly, notably the two hurons in the lead. walter had his second wind, and he found that he was holding tug with less effort than at first. he could hear the shrill yells of the hurons and senecas at the finish line as they urged on their braves, and there was an unmistakable note of triumph in every yell. it gave him a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "now go!" screamed a voice almost in his ear. dimly he realized that tug had given him the word. quickening his stroke he put in every ounce of reserve strength, and at once the result began to show. one after another he overtook and passed the other swimmers until there was only one between him and the finish line. the two hurons who had led so long were splashing in manifest distress. they were behind him now, their bolt shot, but still struggling gamely. but the swimmer ahead was a huron who had come up strongly in the last quarter. the pace was beginning to tell. every muscle in his body ached, and his straining lungs seemed to gasp in no air at all. he was neck and neck with the leader now, but his tortured muscles seemed on the point of refusing to act altogether. if he could only rest them just a second! ha, what was that? "whoop! hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo! whoop! hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo! whoop! hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo! upton!" it was the long rolling yell of the delawares. it seemed to put new life into him. they were calling on him now for the honor of the tribe! he was almost there. could he make it? he would make it! he gulped his lungs full of air, buried his face in the water and swung into the crawl, and then it seemed to him that his movements were wholly automatic. "for the honor of the tribe. for the honor of the tribe. for the honor of the tribe." over and over his brain hammered that one phrase. the bang of the finish gun crashed into it, but for a minute he did not sense what it meant. "for the honor of the tribe," he murmured, weakly paddling the water with his hands. "and the honor of the boy!" cried a hearty voice, as strong hands caught the slack of his jersey and pulled him into a boat. he looked up in a daze into the face of woodhull. "did i win?" he gasped. "you sure did!" was the prompt response. "no, i didn't; tug did it," muttered walter to himself as he saw his coach wearily finish at the tail end. second place had gone to the hurons and third to the algonquins. the score now stood wigwam no. 1--1,483; wigwam no. 2--1,481, and the excitement of the visitors was hardly less than that of the tribes as they waited for the canoe events. the fours were called first. there were four entries, one crew from each tribe, four brawny boys in each canoe, captained by the four chiefs. the distance was half a mile with a turn, start and finish being opposite the pier. a pretty sight they made as they lined up for the start, each boy on one knee, leaning well over the side of the canoe, blade poised just over the water at his utmost reach. almost with the flash of the gun the sixteen blades hit the water and, amid a wild tumult of yells, the canoes shot away like greyhounds from a leash. "did you get on to that start of the hurons--one long stroke, then five short ones and then the regular long stroke!" yelled billy buxby, whose sharp eyes seldom missed anything new. as a matter of fact this little trick had given the hurons the best of the start, the quick short strokes getting their boat under full headway before the others. but their advantage was short-lived, and it could be seen that as the turning buoys were approached they were last. "wonder if they'll spring something new on the turn," muttered billy, leaning forward until he threatened to upset his canoe. "ah, i thought so!" the delawares had reached the turn first with the senecas a close second and the algonquins third, but the leaders had not fairly straightened out for home when the hurons turned their buoy as if on a pivot and actually had the lead. in silence the spectators watched the flashing blades draw up the course. it was anybody's race, a "heart-breaker," as spud ely expressed it. like clockwork the blades rose and fell. the algonquins were using a long body swing. the senecas swung their shoulders only, and their stroke was shorter and faster. the hurons had dropped a little behind, but between the three leaders there was little to choose. "it's quite primeval, isn't it?" said mr. upton as he returned the binoculars which mr. harrison had loaned him. "that just expresses it," replied the latter as pandemonium broke loose in shrill yells from the four tribes urging on their crews. "the forest setting, the indian craft--it's all like a picture out of early history." the voices of the captains could now be heard calling for the final spurt. the stroke in all four boats became terrific as, with heads bent, hanging far over the sides, the paddlers drove their blades through the water, recovered and drove them again, almost faster than the eye could follow. ten yards from the finish the senecas, paddling in perfect form, seemed fairly to lift their boat from the water. it was magnificent, and as they shot over the line, winners by a scant quarter length, all four tribes joined in giving them the woodcraft yell. the algonquins were second, beating the delawares by a scant half length. the score was tied. the single event was next, and in this both walter and hal harrison were entered. it was an eighth of a mile straight away. this event was confined to the younger boys, and walter felt that he had an even chance for place, though tobey of the hurons was generally picked to win. harrison was a dark horse. no one knew much about his paddling save his chief, who had coached him in private, and was very chary of his opinion to anxious inquirers. "i'm going to beat you, walt," said hal, as they paddled down to the starting line. "not if i can help it," replied walter with a good-natured laugh, "but if i'm going to be beaten there is no one i should rather have win than you, hal. but the delawares need those points, and i'm going to get 'em if i can." it was hal's first race, his novice event, and he was plainly nervous at the start, so that he got away poorly. but he soon recovered and settled down to his work in a way that brought a smile of satisfaction to the lips of chief avery watching from the finish line. hal had not told his father that he was entered for any of the events. mr. harrison had been talking with dr. merriam when the race was called, and had paid no attention to the boys going down to the start. it was not until the race was half over that he focussed his glasses on the canoes. "bless me, that looks like my boy out there!" he exclaimed, wiping his glasses to be sure that he saw clearly. then to the delight of the spectators the man of millions showed that he was wholly human after all. he whooped and shouted like an overgrown boy. "come on, hal! come on, boy!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs. "he's winning! he's winning! come on, hal! hit her up! hit her up!" and all the time he was pounding the man in front of him, quite oblivious of the fact that it was dr. merriam himself. hal was hitting it up. after the first few minutes of dumb surprise the senecas had rallied to the support of their new champion, and as the boy heard his name over and over again at the end of the seneca yell he ground his teeth and redoubled his efforts. little by little he forged ahead. walter was putting up a game struggle, but he found that his grueling swim earlier in the afternoon was telling now, and in spite of all he could do open water was showing between his canoe and hal's. "i'll get second, anyway," he muttered, and then as before the old slogan, "for the honor of the tribe. for the honor of the tribe," began hammering in his brain. it was hal's race, with walter second, buxby third, and tobey, the expected winner, a poor fourth. wigwam no. 2 was two points to the good. the suspense had become almost unbearable as the last event for the afternoon was called. this was a "pack and carry" race, a novelty to most of the spectators, and in some respects the most interesting of all. four canoes were placed side by side on the ground in front of headquarters. beside each was spread a shelter tent, blankets and cooking outfit. the four chiefs took their places, each beside one of the outfits. at the signal gun each began to pack his outfit. as soon as he had finished he picked up his canoe, inverted it over his head and carried it to the lake. returning for his pack he placed it in his canoe, paddled out around a buoy, back to shore, and carried canoe and pack to the starting point. woodhull won handily, but big bob seaforth, who got a good start and was counted on for second at least, broke a paddle and was put hopelessly out of it. this gave the senecas and hurons second and third respectively. the score was once more tied. it was incredible! never in the history of the camp had there been anything like it. the field sports over and the championship undecided! and now it hung on the outcome of a little woodcraft test that hitherto had been simply a pleasant part of the ceremony of lighting the last camp-fire--the test of the fire sticks. it was agreed that the winner should not only have the usual honor of lighting the fire, but that he should score five points for his tribe and wigwam, and that second and third should not count. evening mess was a hurried affair. there was too much excitement for eating. promptly at eight o'clock dr. merriam appeared with the other members of the camp force and a few guests who had remained, and the tribes gathered in a circle around the huge pile of fire-wood in front of headquarters. each chief selected five of his followers to represent his tribe. these squatted in four groups with their fire sticks before them on the ground. behind each group stood an umpire to announce the first bona fide flame. the silence was almost painful as dr. merriam raised his arm for the starting shot. there was a momentary stir as the boys hastily reached for their sticks, and then no sound save an occasional long breath and the whirr of the fire drills. twenty seconds, twenty-five, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three--"buxby's fire!" cried a voice sharply, and then a mighty yell arose from the delawares and algonquins as billy leaped forward and thrust his tiny blaze into the tinder of the dark pile before him. wigwam no. 1 had won! chapter xx the home trail walter stood on the pier at upper lake looking down the long stretch of water. a mist gathered before his eyes and blurred his vision. for the moment he was alone. his father and mr. harrison were over by "woodcraft girl," which was made fast farther down the pier, and were talking earnestly with louis woodhull. how beautiful it was, and how hard to leave. what a glorious summer it had been! his thoughts ran back to the morning when he had stood in this same place with big jim and felt for the first time the mystery of the great wilderness. was it possible that that was only eight weeks before? what a lot had happened in that short time! what a tenderfoot he had been! how much he had thought he knew of woodcraft, and how little it had been compared with what he knew now. and yet even now he had learned little more than the elementary lessons. big jim had been right; "woodcraft never yet was larned out o' books." and still how much he owed to those same books. in the light of the knowledge obtained from them how much better he had been able to apply the lessons learned from his practical experiences. even the big guide had come to see this, and had grudgingly admitted that there might be some good in the despised books, after all. walter stretched his arms out toward the lake and the mountains. "how i hate to leave it all," he said, unconsciously speaking aloud. "same here," said hal harrison, who had come up behind him unobserved. "and a few weeks ago i would have given anything i possessed to get away. now i can't wait for next summer to come, so that i can get back here. you'll be back, of course?" "i don't know. i want to. seems as if i'd simply got to. it's all a matter of whether dad can afford to let me," replied walter frankly. just then there was a warning toot from the engine attached to the single coach which was to take them over to upper chain to connect with the new york express. woodhull came up to say good-bye. he, with some of the older boys, would remain in camp for the opening of the hunting season. "i shall look for you back next year, upton," he said extending his left hand for the scout grip. "the delawares need him," he added, as he shook hands with mr. upton. then turning to hal with his winning smile he said, "hal, if we didn't have so much regard for avery the delawares would certainly annex you too." at upper chain there was a half hour wait, and the boys started out for a final look at the sawmill village. suddenly walter caught sight of a familiar figure. "jim! oh, you jim!" he whooped in delight. at the sound the big guide turned and his face lighted with pleasure as he strode over to the boys. "i was afraid i was goin' t' miss yer, son," he drawled. "jest got back from th' county seat, whar i've been t' see th' last o' a friend o' yourn, leastwise fer some time, i reckon." "red pete?" exclaimed both boys together. the guide grinned. "you've sure hit th' right trail," he said. "pete's on his way to whar he won't hev t' lock th' doors t' keep folks from takin' a look at his shakedown. he'll be in a sort o' permanent camp 'fore sundown--ten years at hard labor. when thet picter o' yourn, son, was sprung on him he broke down an' owned up t' a lot more mischief than jest th' killin' o' th' king o' lonesome. th' warden got him thet day o' the fire on old scraggy. when th' warden an' deputy got t' the hanted cabin they found pete wasn't ter hum. so they made themselves comfortable an' waited. long 'bout four o'clock in th' afternoon pete walked right into their arms, an' didn't seem none pleased t' see 'em. "i hed a suspicion thet pete knew somethin' 'bout thet fire on scraggy, an' when they charged him with it he owned up thet he hed set it t' git even with dr. merriam fer puttin' the warden on his trail. i reckon, son, thet if pete had knowed what thet leetle picter box o' yourn was goin' t' do t' him he'd 'a' smashed it plumb t' pieces th' mornin' yer met up with him an' me over thar in th' deepo. well," he sniffed the sawdust-scented air, "seems t' me th' air in these old woods will smell some sweeter now thet he ain't a-taintin' it no more." when they returned to the railway station they found another familiar face awaiting them. it was pat malone. a broad grin overspread his freckled face as they approached. walter was delighted. he had seen nothing of pat for the last week, and it was with real regret that he had left woodcraft without an opportunity to say good-bye. pat came forward and rather sheepishly shook hands with hal. the latter blushed, and then manfully he apologized to the irish lad for his fault in the fish buying episode of the summer. the other's eyes twinkled. "sure, 'tis more than mesilf has larned how ter shpell honor, oi be thinkin'," he said. "yez can buy no more fish av pat malone, but if ye coom in nixt summer 'tis mesilf will show ye where ter catch thim." turning to walter he thrust into his hands a pair of snow-shoes. "will ye take these ter show noo yorrk th' latest shtoile in shoes?" he asked hurriedly. "oi made thim for ye mesilf so ye will remimber th' bye in the woods ye licked--but thot ye can't lick now," he added, the twinkle reappearing in his eyes. "an' say," he concluded as the heavy express drew in to the station, "oi be goin' ter shtart a scout patrol av th' upper chain byes thot'll make yez hustle fer honors when ye coom back nixt summer." the farewells were over. lolling back in the luxury of a pullman seat walter and hal were rushing down through the mountains, back to the busy world, a world of brick and stone and steel, of clang and roar, of dust and dirt and smoke, of never ending struggle, the world to which they had been accustomed, of which they had been a part all their lives. yet now it seemed a very dim and distant world, an unreal world. they sat in silence, gazing out at the darkening forest, each buried in his own thoughts, each vaguely conscious that he was not the same boy who had taken this same iron trail into the wilderness a few short weeks before; that there had been a change, a subtle metamorphosis for which the mere passage of so brief a space of time could not be accountable. hal was the first to come out of the revery. "i guess," he said slowly and thoughtfully, "that i've just begun to learn what life is. they really live it back there." in the seat in front of them the fathers of the two boys were in earnest conversation, and mr. harrison was voicing almost the same thought. "i tell you, upton, that is real, genuine life up there! merriam's idea is right. it's great! that isn't a camp up there--it's a 'man factory.' why, look at that boy of mine! i sent him up there to get him out of the way and keep him out of mischief. sent him up there a helpless infant in all but years. been petted and coddled and toadied to all his life. my fault, i admit it. and yet less my fault than the fault of the unnatural and artificial conditions that wealth produces. on the impulse of a moment i run up there to have a look at him, and what do i find? a man, sir! "i tell you i never in my life put through a big financial deal with one-half the pride that i watched that boy push his canoe over the line yesterday! and when they told me about that fire exploit of his i was happier than i'd be if i cornered the market to-day. i'm proud of him, sir, just as you're proud of your boy! you've got to strip a man down bare to know whether he can stand on his own feet or not. he's got to, then, or go under. and merriam is showing them how to do it. now i've been thinking of a plan for next summer for these two youngsters, and perhaps a couple more from the camp, and the expense, you understand, is to be wholly mine." he leaned forward and for half an hour the two men were absorbed in earnest discussion. finally mr. upton turned to the seat behind. "walter," said he, "how should you like to spend next summer at woodcraft?" "like it!" cried walter. "there's nothing in all the world i'd like so much!" mr. upton smiled. "unless," said he, "you like equally well the plan that mr. harrison has just proposed, which is a canoe cruise." "a canoe cruise!" "yes, for you and hal, and one of the older woodcraft boys, and one other, if you can get them to go with you. how should you like that for the last two or three weeks of your vacation?" "hurrah!" shouted hal, throwing himself at his father, and giving him a bear hug. "that's the bulliest plan you ever made! we'll get louis woodhull to go with us, won't we, walt?" "the very one i had in mind," said mr. harrison. the train rushed on through the gathering night. it roared over bridges and rumbled through tunnels. it shrieked at lone crossings and slowed to a jolting halt at busy stations. but unheeding, oblivious to it all two happy boys sat in the pullman section and excitedly discussed who should be invited and where they should go when the next summer should bring to them the promised opportunity to launch their canoes on strange waters. the stories in this series are: the boy scouts of woodcraft camp the boy scouts on swift river the boy scouts on lost trail the boy scouts in a trapper's camp thornton w. burgess thornton w. burgess was born in sandwich, massachusetts, january 14, 1874. he graduated from the sandwich high school in 1891, afterward taking a course in comer's commercial college, boston. after a few years in business life he entered the editorial field as one of the editors of the phelps publishing and orange judd companies and was for several years one of the editors of good housekeeping magazine, for which he wrote extensively. [illustration] for some years he has been a contributor to many of the leading magazines. over the name of w. b. thornton he won recognition as a writer on out-door life and nature topics. he is an ardent lover of nature and since boyhood has spent his spare time in the woods and fields. his vacations have been spent with rod, gun and camera, camping and canoe cruising. among his books are: the boy scouts of woodcraft camp the boy scouts on swift river the boy scouts on lost trail the boy scouts in a trapper's camp transcriber's note minor punctuation errors have been repaired. hyphenation has been made consistent. page 39 has a reference to mt. sewell. based on the rest of the book, this should probably read mt. seward, but it is preserved as printed. the following amendments have been made: page 150--wonered amended to wondered--he wondered if it could be possible ... caption to the illustration facing page 306--'wigwag signalling' amended to 'wig-wag signaling' for consistency with the rest of the book. the frontispiece illustration has been moved to follow the title page. other illustrations have been moved where necessary so that they are not in the middle of a paragraph. dave porter at bear camp [illustration] edward stratemeyer [illustration: out came a kettle, a frying-pan, some knives and forks. _page 293._] dave porter series dave porter at bear camp or the wild man of mirror lake by edward stratemeyer author of "dave porter at oak hall," "the old glory series," "colonial series," "pan-american series," "soldiers of fortune series," etc. _illustrated by walter s. rogers_ [illustration] boston lothrop, lee & shepard co. published, august, 1915 copyright, 1915, by lothrop, lee & shepard co. _all rights reserved_ dave porter at bear camp norwood press berwick & smith co. norwood, mass. u. s. a. preface "dave porter at bear camp" is a complete story in itself, but forms the eleventh volume in a line issued under the general title of "dave porter series." as i have mentioned several times, this series was started a number of years ago by the publication of "dave porter at oak hall," in which my young readers were introduced to a typical, wide-awake american lad at an up-to-date american boarding school. the publication of this first volume was followed by that of "dave porter in the south seas," whither the lad journeyed to clear up a question concerning his parentage. then came "dave porter's return to school," telling of more doings at oak hall; "dave porter in the far north," in which he went on a second journey looking for his father; "dave porter and his classmates," relating more happenings at school; "dave porter at star ranch," in which our hero participated in many adventures in the wild west; "dave porter and his rivals," showing how he outwitted some of his old-time enemies; "dave porter on cave island," giving the particulars of a remarkable voyage on the ocean and strange doings ashore; "dave porter and the runaways," in which the youth taught some of his chums a much-needed lesson; and finally "dave porter in the gold fields," in which the lad and a number of his chums went in quest of a gold mine, all traces of which had been lost through a landslide. the present volume tells the particulars of a thrilling rescue from fire at sea, and how the boys and girls, along with some of the older folks, went for a vacation in a camp on the shore of a beautiful lake. here, most unexpectedly, dave fell in with one of his old enemies. the youth and his chums had some strenuous times, the particulars of which are given in the pages which follow. once again i avail myself of the opportunity to thank my young readers for all the pleasant things they have said regarding my stories. i trust that the reading of this volume will benefit them all. edward stratemeyer. _march 1, 1915._ contents chapter page i the boys on shipboard 1 ii something about the past 11 iii the rescue at sea 21 iv back to crumville 32 v dave at home 42 vi news of importance 52 vii link merwell again 62 viii off for bear camp 72 ix on the road 83 x caught in a storm 93 xi from one hardship to another 105 xii a stroke of lightning 116 xiii at bear camp 126 xiv something of a quarrel 137 xv visitors 148 xvi a strange communication 158 xvii the swimming race 169 xviii a cry from the cliff 180 xix the capture of link merwell 191 xx back in camp 201 xxi the escape 210 xxii more of a mystery 220 xxiii shooting a wildcat 230 xxiv the man at the cabin 239 xxv two deer 249 xxvi startling news 257 xxvii what happened in the night 266 xxviii della ford's statement 275 xxix the big bear 284 xxx good news--conclusion 295 illustrations out came a kettle, a frying-pan, some knives and forks (page 293) _frontispiece_ facing page dave caught her under the arms, and, treading water, brought both her and himself to the surface 24 then, as dave went after him, he broke into a run 64 and then all the young folks fell to eating with great gusto 102 "hello! hello! where are you going?" 154 "it's a snake, and a big one!" 180 "you just said that i was not dave porter. what do you mean by that?" 202 crack! bang! the two pieces rang out in quick succession 254 dave porter at bear camp chapter i the boys on shipboard "phil, your father seems to be a good deal worried this morning. i hope it isn't on account of the way we cut up on this ship last evening." "not at all, dave," returned phil lawrence. "i don't believe he noticed our monkey-shines. he is worried over the letter he received in the mail we got at our last stopping-place." "no bad news i hope?" said roger morr, another one of the group of boys seated on the forward deck of a small coastwise steamer. "well, i think it is rather bad news," answered the son of the vessel's owner. "poor dad stands to lose between twenty and thirty thousand dollars." "twenty or thirty thousand dollars!" exclaimed dave porter. "why, how can that be, phil?" "did he make a bad investment?" asked ben basswood, another youth of the group. "you can hardly call it a bad investment, ben," returned phil. "buying the land was all right enough in the first place. it's trying to get rid of it that's the sticker." "you are talking in riddles, phil," said roger morr. "won't you explain?" "maybe phil doesn't care to explain," broke in dave porter, quickly. "it may be his father's private business, you know." "oh, i don't think he'll object to my telling you the details," responded the shipowner's son. "it isn't very much of a secret where we live, or in east haven." "east haven? is that the place across the river from where you live?" queried dave porter. "yes. it's quite a bustling little town, too, although when my father and his older brother, lester lawrence, bought the tract of land there it didn't amount to much, and they got the ground for a song." "i'd like to buy some land for a song," put in another youth of the group. "then i might sell it and make a handsome profit. say," he continued, his face brightening up, "that puts me in mind of a story. once there was a man who wanted to----" "hold on, shadow. it isn't your turn to tell stories now," interrupted dave. "we want to hear what phil has to say." "this story wouldn't take but a minute," grumbled maurice hamilton, otherwise known as "shadow." "it's a dandy one, too." "all right, we'll listen to it later," returned roger morr. "let us first hear what phil has to tell." "it isn't so much of a story," said the shipowner's son. "you see, years ago my dad and his older brother purchased a tract of land at east haven, along the waterfront. for some time it was idle, and then it was leased to a lumber company, who used it for a number of years as a lumber yard. at that time east haven had no railroad, but the l. a. & h. line came through that way and wanted to cross the river at east haven, and wanted to locate their railroad repair shops along the waterfront there. they have made my father an offer for the land, and if that tract could be sold my folks would stand to make a profit of twenty to thirty thousand dollars." "well, why not sell the land then--unless you think it is worth more than the railroad company is willing to pay?" asked dave. "my father is willing enough to sell, and has been for some time; but he can't give the railroad a clear title, and consequently the deal is at a standstill." "oh, i see, phil," said roger morr. "that is the worst of buying land that has a flaw in the title." "there wasn't any flaw in the title when my father and my uncle lester purchased the ground," returned the shipowner's son. and now his face clouded. "the trouble has all come up within the last five years--that is, it wouldn't have come up at all if it hadn't been for what happened about five years ago." "oh, i think i know to what you refer, phil," cried dave, quickly. "i remember now that you told me about your old uncle lester. didn't you ever hear from him?" "not a word, dave. and that is why my father can't sell the land." "i don't understand this," said ben basswood. "and neither do i," added shadow hamilton. "well, it's this way: about five years ago my folks were connected with a trust company in the town where we live. my uncle lester was one of several men who had charge of certain funds, and these funds were kept in a safe-deposit vault belonging to the company. one day it was found that some of these funds had disappeared. suspicion pointed to my uncle, and although he protested his entire innocence, some of the other trust company officials were in favor of having him arrested. a warrant was sworn out, but before it could be served my uncle left home and went to another state. then the local paper came out with an article which stated that the bank officials had evidence that lester lawrence was undoubtedly guilty. my uncle got a copy of this paper--it was found later in the room he had occupied at a hotel--and this evidently frightened him so much that he disappeared." "do you mean to say that he disappeared for good?" queried ben. "yes, he took a train out of town, and that was the last seen or heard of him. my father did all he could to locate uncle lester. he had men searching for him, and he advertised in the newspapers. but up to the present time he hasn't heard a word from him or of him. he is half inclined to believe that my uncle is dead." "perhaps he went to some foreign country," suggested dave. "but how does that affect the title to the land?" questioned shadow hamilton. "easily enough," was the reply of the shipowner's son. "my uncle held a one-quarter interest in the tract. in order to give a clear title to the railroad company it would be necessary for uncle lester to sign the deed. the railroad company--nor any one else for that matter--won't buy the land without a clear title." "i don't wonder that your father is worried," said dave, sympathetically. "i suppose he feels just as bad over the continued absence of your uncle as he does over the fact that he can't sell the land and make a profit on it." "that's just it, dave," answered phil. "we'd give a good deal to know what has become of uncle lester." "i suppose he doesn't dare come back for fear of being arrested," was shadow's comment. "even if he is innocent they may be able to convict him." "oh, i forgot to tell you about that," burst out phil. "less than four months after my uncle disappeared, some men were arrested in springfield, for a theft committed at one of the banks there. during the trial it came out that one of these criminals had been in our town during the time when the funds disappeared from our trust company. this rascal's movements were traced by the authorities, and then he was given what they call 'the third degree.' at that examination he broke down, and admitted that he had taken the funds which my uncle lester was supposed to have stolen. the affair created a great stir, and those who had proceeded against my uncle made all sorts of apologies to my father. they also did their best to locate uncle lester." "and didn't they hear anything at all?" asked ben. "not a word. we got what we thought were clues, but every one of them proved false." "maybe he is dead." "that may be. but if we can't prove it, it leaves the matter of the land just as unsettled as before." "if your uncle is alive he must remember about the land, and must know that the matter will give your father a lot of trouble," suggested roger. "that is true, roger. but when a man is accused of a grave crime like that, he isn't apt to think about other things." "you say he is older than your father?" queried dave. "oh, yes, a good deal older--ten or twelve years, at least. if he is still alive he must be well advanced in years." "what does your father propose to do about the land?" questioned ben, after a pause in the conversation. "he doesn't know what to do. he's at a complete standstill." "won't the railroad company lease the land?" questioned dave. "no. they told dad that they wanted to buy and build. they prefer his land to any other in east haven, but at the same time, if they can't get his property, they are going to look elsewhere." "twenty or thirty thousand dollars is a heap of money to let slip through one's fingers," was shadow's comment. "it's a shame you can't find out where your uncle is, or what has become of him." "why not advertise again?" suggested dave. "if your uncle is still alive he must read some newspapers, and he might possibly see the notice." "father thinks something of doing that, dave, but it looks like rather a hopeless case," returned phil lawrence. he arose from the camp-chair on which he had been sitting, and stretched himself. "but come on, fellows," he continued. "there is no use of your worrying over our troubles. we came on this little trip to enjoy ourselves, and i want all of you to have the best time possible." "and we certainly have had a good time!" cried dave. "just as good a time as we had out in yellowstone park." "that is, dave, considering the girls are not along," remarked ben, with a wink at the others. "well, of course that makes some difference, ben," returned dave, his face flushing a trifle. "sure it does! a whole lot of difference!" declared roger. "just the same, we are having a dandy time, phil," he added hastily. "the first outing of the oak hall club is a big success." "it sure is!" broke in shadow hamilton. "only i did hope we'd see a whale or some sharks or something like that," he added, regretfully. "i suppose if you saw a shark, shadow, you'd jump right overboard to interview him, wouldn't you?" queried ben, and gave a snicker. "say, speaking of sharks puts me in mind of a story!" cried shadow. "once there was a sailor who had traveled all around the world. he met a lady in boston who wanted him to tell her a shark story. says the sailor: 'madam, i've seen sharks in the atlantic an' the pacific an' the indian oceans, but all of them sharks wasn't a patch to the shark i once met on land.' 'on land!' cried the lady from boston. 'do you mean to say that you met a shark on land?' 'i did, madam,' answered the sailor. 'i met a shark right in new york, and he did me out of every copper i had in my pockets. he was a hotel-keeper who played cards.'" and at this little yarn there was a general smile. "pretty good for a fish story," was roger's comment. "just the same, i don't want to fall in with any sharks whether on land or at sea." "before we land to-night, i want to settle about this outing we expect to take at mirror lake," said dave. "if you fellows are going along, we'll have to make the necessary arrangements." "well, you can count on me, dave," returned roger, promptly. "i told you at the start that i'd be glad to go with you." "and so will i be glad to go," added phil. "i've got to find out what my folks want me to do first," said shadow. he looked curiously at dave, who was gazing far out to sea. "what are you looking at, dave?" he asked. "i'm watching that smoke out there," was the answer. "that's only the smoke from some incoming steamer," returned ben. "i noticed that a few minutes ago." "maybe it is from a steamer," returned dave, "but i don't think it is coming from any funnel." "what do you think it is--a fire?" cried phil. and at these words all the boys on the deck rushed to the rail. "it looks that way to me. let us get the glasses and find out." "i'll get them!" cried roger; and lost no time in disappearing into the cabin. a minute later he reappeared with a pair of powerful marine glasses which he handed to phil. the glasses were quickly adjusted, and the shipowner's son took a hasty look seaward. "it's a small steamer, all right," he announced. "just as sure as you're born, there's a fire on board." "fire!" repeated roger. "if she's on fire we ought to go to the rescue!" exclaimed dave. chapter ii something about the past "what's this i hear about fire?" the question came from a burly, pleasant-faced man, who had just appeared on deck, close to the boys. it was mr. lawrence, the owner of the steamer. "why, dad, there's a steamer out there, and we think she's on fire," answered phil, quickly. "here, take a look at her." and he handed over the marine glasses. "on fire!" exclaimed mr. lawrence, and raised the glasses to his eyes. "by jove, boys, i think you're right! phil, call captain bradley, and be quick about it. you'll find him in the after cabin. i just left him there." the son darted off, and while he was gone mr. lawrence and the boys took turns in looking through the glasses at the distant vessel. the smoke was now increasing, and as it did not come from the funnel of the steamer, there was no doubt but that the vessel was on fire. "you sent for me, mr. lawrence?" inquired the captain of the steamer, as he hurried up with phil at his heels. "yes, captain. there's another steamer out there, and we are pretty sure she's on fire," answered mr. lawrence. "change your course and put on speed." and as he spoke the shipowner turned the glasses over to the captain. captain bradley gave one searching look. "it's true! she's on fire, and we had better get to her as soon as possible!" he cried, and then hurried away to give the necessary directions. soon the bow of the _eaglet_, which was the name of the steamer, was headed in the direction of the craft that seemed to be in trouble. "if she's really in danger, i hope we get there soon enough to help those on board," said dave. "captain bradley will do his best; you can rely on that," answered mr. lawrence, gravely. "but that steamer is farther off than some of you may imagine. distances over the water are rather deceptive." many of my young readers are doubtless already well acquainted with dave porter. for the benefit of those who are now meeting the youth for the first time, something of an introduction may not be out of place. when but a child of tender age, our hero had been found one day walking along the railroad tracks near the town of crumville. he could tell nothing about himself or where he belonged, and was taken to the local poorhouse, where he remained for a number of years, finally being bound out to a retired college professor, named caspar potts, who was then running a small farm for his health. the professor did what he could for the lad, giving him a fairly good education. but professor potts was no farmer and soon got into financial difficulties with a mean money-lender, named aaron poole, and would have lost his farm had it not been for something out of the ordinary happening. one of the main industries of crumville was a large jewelry factory, owned by mr. oliver wadsworth. mr. wadsworth had a beautiful young daughter, named jessie, and one day through an explosion of an automobile gasoline tank, the young miss was in danger of being burned to death when dave came to her rescue. this so pleased the wadsworths that they came not only to the aid of the boy, but also assisted caspar potts, who was discovered to be one of mr. wadsworth's former instructors at college. "the lad shall go to boarding-school and get a good education," said oliver wadsworth. and he accordingly sent dave away from home, as related in the first book of this series, entitled "dave porter at oak hall." at that school our hero made many warm friends, including phil lawrence, the son of a wealthy shipowner; roger morr, the offspring of a united states senator; shadow hamilton, who was known far and wide for his yarn-spinning qualities; and many others. in those days the great cloud resting over dave had been the question of his identity, and when some of his enemies spoke of him as "that poorhouse nobody," he resolved to find out who he really was. getting a strange clue, he set out on a remarkable ocean voyage, as related in "dave porter in the south seas," and was gratified to fall in with his uncle, dunston porter, a great hunter and traveler. then the lad came back to oak hall, as related in "dave porter's return to school." he next went in quest of his father, as told in "dave porter in the far north." "now they can't say that i'm a 'poorhouse nobody,'" he told his chums, after having met his father. and then, with a light heart, he came back to boarding-school once again, as related in "dave porter and his classmates." here he made more friends than ever, but likewise some bitter enemies, including one link merwell, the son of a ranch-owner of the west. merwell did all he could to cause dave trouble, but in the end was exposed and had to leave oak hall. "i hope i never fall in with link merwell again," dave said to his school chums, but this was not to be. dave had not only found his father and an uncle, but he had also found a sister, laura porter, who was very dear to him. laura had a young lady friend, named belle endicott, who lived in the far west, and through this friend dave and his chums, and also laura, as well as jessie wadsworth, received an invitation to spend some time at the endicott place. they had a great deal of fun and not a few adventures, all of which have been set down in "dave porter at star ranch." not far from the endicott place was the home of link merwell, and that young man, as before, tried to make trouble, but his efforts were frustrated and he left home under a cloud. from the ranch dave and his chums returned again to oak hall, as recorded in "dave porter and his rivals." then came the christmas holidays, and dave went back to crumville, where he and his folks were now living with the wadsworth family in their elegant mansion on the outskirts of the town. directly after christmas there was a thrilling jewelry robbery at mr. wadsworth's factory. it was dave, aided by some of his chums, who got on the track of the robbers and trailed them to the south and then to sea, as related in "dave porter on cave island." when our hero and his chums went back to oak hall they imagined that their adventures were at an end. but soon came in news of a strange man who was terrorizing the neighborhood. some very unusual things happened, including an attempt to blow up a neighboring hotel. some of the students were thought guilty, and fearing arrest, they fled in terror, as told of in "dave porter and the runaways." dave was not one of those who ran away, but he did go after the others, and made them come back to face the music, and also helped to clear up what had been a great mystery. then all the boys graduated from oak hall, dave receiving high honors. it is needless to say that our hero at that time was one of the happiest boys in the world. his folks and jessie wadsworth came to the graduation, which was celebrated with big bonfires, music by a band, and refreshments in the gymnasium. dave had promised roger morr that he would pay the senator's son a visit. he did so, along with phil and some others, and on that occasion heard about a gold mine which had been willed to mrs. morr, and which had been completely swallowed up by a landslide. numerous searches had been made for this lost mine, but up to that time without result. "let us go in search of the lost mine," dave had said. and how he and roger and some of the others made the trip to the west and went on a hunt for the mine has been told in detail in the volume entitled "dave porter in the gold fields." while the lads were on this quest, they again fell in with link merwell, who with job haskers, a former teacher at oak hall, was also trying to locate the lost mine. the two parties had many adventures, and when at last the missing mine was relocated, there came another landslide which nearly cost dave and his friends their lives. when they finally reached a place of safety they were joined by a man from the other party who had suffered severely, and who told them that link merwell and job haskers, as well as a third person of the party, had been swept away to their death. later on dave and his friends had looked for the missing persons, but had been unable to locate them. the finding of the landslide mine, as it was called, had been of great financial benefit to the morr family, and they had been so pleased that they had given dave and some of the others a share in the holding. in the meanwhile our hero and his chums, along with their friends, had finished their outing in the west by a grand tour through yellowstone park, on which they were accompanied by dave's sister, jessie and belle, and some others. "now you fellows have got to come on a little trip with me," phil had said, after coming east, and had explained that a small steamer belonging to his father was then tied up at philadelphia, getting ready for a trip to portland, maine, and back. "that will be fine," dave had answered; and a little later a party had been made up, including phil, dave, roger, and shadow, and also ben basswood, who, as my old readers know, was one of dave's old friends from crumville. with the boys went mr. lawrence. when embarking on this trip, none of those on board had dreamed of the strenuous time now so close at hand. "i wonder how long it will take us to reach that vessel?" observed roger, after mr. lawrence had followed the captain. "a quarter of an hour at least," replied dave. "it will depend somewhat on how much steam the firemen can get up. i don't believe we are running at full speed now." "this steamer used to be a pretty good boat," said phil, "but she is getting old now, and i heard dad say something about laying her up for repairs next fall." "wonder if we'll get a chance to do any rescue work," observed ben. "i guess we'll do all we can," returned shadow. "look! look!" cried dave, pointing with his hand. "the smoke is getting thicker than ever!" "maybe the poor people on that steamer will have to jump overboard before we can reach them," said phil. "a fire like that must be pretty hot." soon the youths knew by the pounding of the engine that the _eaglet_ was running at increased speed. the course had been changed, and now the craft was headed directly for the burning boat. "she's a rather small affair, that's certain," remarked roger. "looks to me as if she might be a pleasure boat," remarked phil, who, taking after his father, knew considerable about sea-going matters. "she's a private steam yacht, to my way of thinking." and later on this proved to be the case. as the _eaglet_ drew closer to the burning vessel, the boys saw that there was great excitement on board the steam yacht. sailors and others were rushing to and fro over the deck, and two streams of water from hoses were being directed to one part of the vessel, down a hatchway. the smoke was as thick as ever, and sometimes, as the wind shifted, the steam yacht was hidden entirely from view. fortunately the sea was comparatively calm, there being only a slight breeze from the northeast. as the _eaglet_ drew closer, the boys heard captain bradley giving directions to some of the sailors to get ready to launch two of the small boats. "dad, why can't we take another small boat and go out?" asked phil of his father. "we know how to row. we did lots of it on the river up at oak hall." "very well," answered mr. lawrence. "but i want all of you to keep out of danger." soon they were within hailing distance of the steam yacht. they could now see the persons on deck plainly, and made out fully a score of men, and three or four women, and also one or two children. the smoke was as thick as ever, but so far no flames were visible. "save us, oh, save us!" screamed some one aboard the burning vessel. "we are burning up!" the words had scarcely been uttered when there came from the interior of the steam yacht a dull explosion. then, of a sudden, something that looked like a bunch of rockets flew up into the air. with a loud hissing and with sparks flying in all directions, the bunch of rockets described a graceful curve and then headed directly for the deck of the _eaglet_! chapter iii the rescue at sea "look out there!" "don't let those rockets hit you!" "say, this is like a fourth of july!" such were some of the cries that came from the boys on the forward deck of the steamer when they saw the bunch of rockets flying swiftly toward them. they had barely time to leap to one side when, with a loud hissing, two of the rockets fell on the deck not far away. the others just grazed the rail and swept overboard. "we've got to put them out!" yelled phil, and started to rush forward, intending to stamp on the rockets, when dave hauled him back. "look out, phil! they may be on the point of explo----" bang! bang! dave did not have time to finish what he was saying when the rockets went off in rapid succession, hurling the bits of fire in all directions. phil was burnt a little on one cheek, and dave and roger each had a hand scorched, but that was all. then, realizing that the worst was over, all the boys rushed forward and stamped out what was left of the flames. "anybody hurt up there?" it was a cry from captain bradley, who came forward on a run, followed by mr. lawrence. "no. we're all right," gasped phil. "but we might not be if it hadn't been for dave;" and he gave our hero a grateful look. the explosion on the steam yacht had caused a wilder panic than ever, and in a twinkling a number of those on board leaped into the water. "man the boats!" was the order from captain bradley. the _eaglet_ had already heaved to, and two rowboats manned by the sailors and commanded by the first mate and a boatswain were soon lowered to the water. while this was being done, the boys, led by phil and dave, rushed to a third rowboat. "now be careful, boys," warned mr. lawrence. "perhaps i had better go with you." "just as you say, dad," answered phil. "we can take care of ourselves though." "all right then, i won't go, for you may want the room for those you pick up," answered the shipowner; and a moment later the rowboat was in the water and following the other small craft to the side of the burning vessel. seeing those from the _eaglet_ coming to the rescue, several others leaped overboard, so that those in the rowboats had all they could do to move without hitting any one. "save me! save me! don't let me drown!" yelled an elderly man, and caught hold of one of the oars. "all right, we'll save you. take it easy," returned the first mate of the _eaglet_; and soon those in the mate's rowboat had the man on board. in the meantime, the boat in command of the boatswain pulled in a woman and a little boy. dave and his chums had their craft headed to where they had made out the forms of a woman and a girl struggling in the water. they soon reached the first of the pair, and after considerable difficulty managed to drag her on board. "oh, thank you, thank you!" gasped the woman, as she sank down on the stern seat. "now save della! save della!" she cried, and then suddenly collapsed. dave had his eyes on the girl, and was on the point of reaching for her when she suddenly threw up her arms and disappeared. "she's gone under!" gasped roger. "will she come up again?" asked shadow, anxiously. "there she is! over there!" yelled phil, and pointed to a spot several yards away. a hand and an arm had shown themselves, but that was all. in less than two seconds they disappeared again. dave had done some rapid thinking. before leaving the steamer the boys had thrown off their coats. now standing up, dave cast his cap to the bottom of the boat, and made a quick dive overboard. "he's gone after her!" "good for dave! it's the only thing to do if that girl is to be saved." "row on and keep your eyes wide open," directed phil. "i don't think they'll get very far away." dave had calculated the distance as closely as possible, and once under water he pushed ahead with all speed in the direction where he had seen the hand and arm. while at oak hall he had learned the trick of swimming under water with his eyes open, and this now stood him in good stead. "there she is," he thought, as he caught sight of something white passing just to the left of him. he made a quick turn, and a few seconds later had the girl by the hand. then dave caught her under the arms, and treading water, brought both her and himself to the surface. "there they are!" he heard phil cry, and the next moment the rowboat came up close. "oh, oh! sa--sa--save m--me!" spluttered the girl; and breaking loose, she swung around and caught dave tightly by the neck. [illustration: dave caught her under the arms, and, treading water, brought both her and himself to the surface.--_page 24._] it was the strangle-hold of a drowning person, and our hero might have fared badly had not assistance been at hand. but as it was, roger and phil reached out, and while shadow and ben balanced the rowboat, this pair hauled the girl on board. then they aided dave in getting in. "oh, oh! is sh--she d--dead?" gasped the girl, as she looked at the woman who had collapsed on the stern seat. "no, she has only fainted," answered roger. "she'll soon be over it." "how brave you are to come to our rescue!" went on the girl, turning to dave. "i--i thought i was going to drown!" and she shuddered. "it was a pretty close call," answered phil. "my friend here jumped overboard just in the nick of time." there was just then little time to say more, for others were in the water crying for assistance. in the meantime, there was another cry from the deck of the steam yacht. "don't jump overboard! it isn't necessary. the fire is out!" "hello! did you hear that?" queried dave. "somebody said the fire is out." by this time the two other rowboats had picked up eight of those who had leaped overboard. the boys succeeded in getting on board two others, a short, fat man who was puffing like a porpoise, and a young man. "that settles it," snorted the fat man, as he sank down on one of the seats. "no more ocean pictures for me! all the dramas i act in after this will be on dry land." "and i sha'n't go to sea again for mr. appleby," answered the girl who had been rescued. she was rapidly recovering, and so was the woman on the stern seat. "got everybody?" yelled a man from the deck of the steam yacht. and by his cap and uniform the boys knew he must be the captain of the vessel. "i think so," answered the first mate of the _eaglet_. "it was foolish of them to jump overboard," grumbled the captain of the steam yacht. "i told all of them there was no danger." "no danger!" snorted the mate of the _eaglet_. "how do you make that out, with all that fire?" "it wasn't fire--that is, not much of it," was the answer. "it was mostly smoke. we have a moving picture company on board, and they had a lot of fireworks, some of 'em tied up in old sail cloth. the fireworks started to go off--why i don't know--and they set fire to the cloth, and when we wet that down it made an awful smoke. but all the stuff was in a zinc-lined compartment, so there wasn't much real danger. the worst was when those rockets went off and shot up right out of the hatchway." "and are you sure the fire is entirely out?" asked the mate of mr. lawrence's vessel. "just about. we'll have the men make a search, so that there won't be any further danger." after a little more conversation the three rowboats were brought close to the steam yacht, from the side of which a ladder had been lowered. "o dear! are we to go back to that boat?" queried the girl dave had saved from drowning. she was a miss of perhaps eighteen years, tall and slender, with brown hair and big brown eyes. she appealed to our hero as she spoke. "i don't see what else there is to do," he answered, "unless you want to be taken to our steamer." "what place is your steamer bound for?" "we hope to make portland some time this afternoon." "oh indeed! then i think i would rather go aboard that steamer than back on the yacht," answered the young lady. "what do you think, aunt bess?" she went on, appealing to the woman in the rowboat, who by this time had recovered from her plunge into the sea. "i think i would like to get ashore as soon as possible, della," returned the aunt. "i just hate the water, anyway, and i don't think i'll take another sea trip in a hurry." "oh, say, miss ford, you might as well go back on the steam yacht. i guess the danger is all over," put in the fourth person who had been picked up--a young man about dave's age. "didn't you hear the captain say that the fire was out?" "yes, i know," answered della ford. "but i'm so afraid, mr. porton," and the girl looked rather helplessly at those around her. "where is that steam yacht bound for?" questioned phil. "we were going somewhere outside of cape cod," answered the stout man who had been rescued. "but i guess mr. appleby will have to give the trip up for the present. he's the manager of our company, you know," he added, by way of explanation. "what sort of a company is that--a theatrical company?" asked shadow. "oh, no. this is a moving-picture company--one belonging to the appleby film corporation." "oh, then you are all moving-picture actors!" cried ben, with interest. "yes," answered the young man. "but we didn't come out to get into any such scene as this," he added, with a short laugh. by this time a number of those in the rowboats had been assisted to the deck of the steam yacht, and those above were calling down to those in the rowboat manned by dave and his chums. "say, young men, i'm very much obliged to you for what you did for me," cried the stout man, heartily, as he prepared to ascend the ladder. "i guess i was foolish to jump overboard when there was no great danger." "it's too bad case didn't get a picture of that scene," said the young man named porton. "it would have been a dandy to work into one of the sea dramas." "i guess that's right," returned dave, with a grim smile. "much obliged to all of you," went on ward porton. "if there are any charges, send the bill to mr. thomas appleby, the manager. he ought to reward you handsomely for saving a part of his company." and with these words he followed the stout man to the deck of the steam yacht. "aren't you folks coming up?" came a call from the manager of the moving-picture company, as he leaned over the rail. "oh, mr. appleby, i don't want to stay out here!" cried della ford, "and neither does my aunt bess! the young men here say their boat is going to portland. maybe we had better go there and take the train to boston." "oh, there is no use in doing that, miss ford," answered the manager. "the fire is out, and it is perfectly safe on board now. you had better come up here. i will help you," and he reached down with his hand. "i don't suppose it will be just the right thing to do, to desert the company," said mrs. ford, the girl's aunt. "we still have to act in several scenes on the ship, you must remember." "very well, aunty, just as you say," returned the girl. "but oh! i must thank this young man for what he did for me!" she went on. and at the danger of causing the rowboat to tip, she bent over and caught dave's hand in both of her own. "won't you please tell me your name?" "it's dave porter," was the answer. "come, let me help you up the ladder." "my name is della ford, and i belong in boston. you are a very brave young man, and i shall never forget you. some time when you are in boston you must come to see me." "thank you, miss ford, perhaps i will," answered dave. and after a word or two more, he assisted the young lady up the ladder. then the boys helped mrs. ford, who was still so weak that she could hardly stand. the first mate of the _eaglet_ was on the deck of the steam yacht, talking to the captain. in the meantime several sailors were at work putting out the last sparks of the fire. quite a quantity of fireworks had gone off, and the burnt portions were thrown overboard. the moving-picture manager explained that the fireworks had been brought along to be used in one of the film dramas. "might as well get back to the steamer," suggested roger, after several minutes had passed, during which time the boys had been calling to those on the deck of the steam yacht. "we can't do anything more here." "all right," returned phil, and gave orders to pull away. "good-bye, mr. porter!" called out della ford, waving her hand. "thank you ever so much for what you did. and don't forget to call and see me when you come to boston." "good-bye," returned dave; and a moment later the rowboat shot out of hearing and was headed toward the _eaglet_. chapter iv back to crumville "i think those on board that steam yacht can congratulate themselves because the fire was no worse," remarked roger, when the boys had returned to the _eaglet_. "yes indeed," answered dave. "some fires at sea are terrible things, and cause a great loss of life." "seems to me dave was the hero of the occasion!" burst out ben. "he did the really-and-truly rescue act." "come now, don't start anything like that!" interrupted dave, hastily. "i only did what any of you might have done." "i know one thing," remarked phil, closing one eye suggestively. "dave made some hit with the young lady he pulled out of the water." "that's right!" agreed shadow. "why, do you know i thought miss ford was going to throw her arms right around his neck." "oh, cut it! cut it!" said dave, growing red in the face. "shadow, your imagination will be the death of you." "oh, i don't know," replied the former story-teller of oak hall, coolly. "she certainly was smitten, dave." "not at all. she was grateful, that's all." "just the same, dave, if we get to boston you'll have to call on her," remarked roger, with a grin. "we can all call if you feel that way about it," answered our hero. "i rather think some of you were smitten pretty badly." and at this sally there was a general laugh. it was some time before the last of the rowboats returned to the steamer. the first mate brought a report to captain bradley and mr. lawrence, to which the boys listened with interest. the mate said that it was thought on board the steam yacht that the fire had started from a cigarette thrown away by one of the moving-picture actors, a young man named ward porton, but that this could not be proved. the mate stated that the captain of the steam yacht was quite upset over the occurrence, as he considered that the fire was due to carelessness, and nothing else. he had told the mate privately that it would be a long time before he would take out another moving-picture company on his vessel. "he says they are doing all sorts of stunts on the ship, and taking pictures of 'em," went on the mate. "he says some of the actors and actresses are pretty good people, but the rest of the bunch act like wild indians." "ward porton!" exclaimed dave, turning to his chums. "why, that is the young fellow we hauled out of the water!" "that's right," returned phil. "maybe he got scared when he found out that his cigarette had started the fire and that was one reason why he jumped overboard." "i didn't like the manner of that fellow at all," was shadow's comment. "he looked like a pretty loose sort of a character." "well, i don't know. i thought he looked like----" began ben, and then stopped suddenly, in some confusion. "looked like what, ben?" asked dave, curiously. "oh, it doesn't matter, dave," answered his crumville chum. "just the same, i can't help but think that--oh well, never mind, let it go." "but what did you think he looked like, ben?" put in phil. "come, what are you so mysterious about?" "oh, it doesn't matter, i tell you," answered ben, and now looked more confused than ever. "hello! ben is trying to hide some deep and dark mystery," put in shadow. "come now, little boy, unlimber your mind and let us know what it is." "well; if you've got to know, i'll tell you. i was thinking that in some way that ward porton looked something like dave." "say, that's right!" burst out phil, and then added quickly to our hero: "no offense, old man, but he did resemble you--only of course he was not so good-looking." "yes, there was some resemblance," said roger, "but i don't think it was enough to count; so dave needn't worry." "i guess mr. ward porton has a perfect right to his looks," remarked dave calmly. "and if he and i resemble each other, that is nobody's fault. i don't suppose i'll ever see that fellow again." but in this surmise our hero was very much mistaken; in the weeks to come he was to see a great deal of ward porton. it was not long after this when the _eaglet_ resumed her run for portland. as the other vessel was headed in the opposite direction, they soon passed out of sight of the craft. then portland light came into view, and before long the _eaglet_ was passing the numerous islands of casco bay. "this would be a dandy place to pass the rest of the summer," was roger's comment, as he and dave stood by the rail, watching the beautiful scene as it was unfolded before them. the bay was very calm, and the numerous islands dotting it in all directions made the spot one of unsurpassed beauty. "from all accounts, roger, i think we'll find the vicinity of mirror lake just as beautiful as this," answered dave. "i have never been there, but they tell me the scenery is simply grand." "we certainly ought to have a good time, scenery or no scenery," answered the senator's son, "with such a fine bunch of people as are going." "right you are!" broke in phil. "we ought to have the best times ever at the lake." it had been arranged by mr. lawrence that they should stop for three days at portland, the owner of the steamer having a number of business matters to transact. during that time the boys continued to sleep on board, but spent the days in visiting old orchard beach, cape elizabeth, peak's island, orr's island, and various other nearby resorts. "it certainly is a great place," remarked dave, on the evening of the second day. "i think a fellow could spend his whole summer here, and have a dandy time." it had been a question whether they would stop at boston on the return trip, but at the last minute mr. lawrence decided to go direct to new york city, as he had been informed that a cargo was waiting there for the steamer. "that cuts dave out of his visit to miss ford," remarked roger, after this announcement was made. "i think it cuts you out just as much as it does me, roger," returned our hero, with a smile. "i think, behind it all, you would like first-rate to call on her." "i'll tell you what i would like," answered the senator's son. "i'd like to see how they take moving pictures--i mean the kind indoors." "we may get a chance at that some day," said phil. "i know one or two men who are in that business." the run to new york city occurred without special incident, and soon the boys found themselves saying good-bye to mr. lawrence and captain bradley. it had been decided that phil should accompany dave and ben to crumville, he to remain with our hero at the wadsworth mansion. "take care of my boy," said the shipowner, as he shook hands with dave. "oh, we'll take care of him, mr. lawrence, don't fear," answered our hero. and then, leaving mr. lawrence to look after matters concerning his various vessels, the boys hurried to the grand central terminal, and were soon on a train which was to take them to their various destinations. as my old readers know, crumville was rather a small town; the only industry of importance being mr. wadsworth's jewelry works. the wadsworth mansion stood on the outskirts, a large and well-constructed building, set among a number of trees and bushes. when dave, phil, and ben alighted at the railroad depot, they found the wadsworth touring-car awaiting them. dunston porter, dave's uncle, was driving the car, and he had with him dave's sister laura, and jessie wadsworth. "oh, here they are!" cried laura, and leaped out to embrace her brother and to shake hands with the others. then jessie shook hands, giving dave an extra bright smile as she did so. "back from the salt, salt sea!" cried laura, merrily. "i'll wager you were all dreadfully seasick." "nothing doing on that score, laura," answered her brother. "we didn't have time to get seasick; we had too much fun." "and too many adventures," added phil. "oh, i can tell you, girls, we are heroes!" and he stuck his thumbs in the armholes of his vest, and began to strut around. "adventures, eh?" queried dunston porter. "what sort of adventures--a shipwreck?" "oh, mr. porter, please don't talk about a shipwreck!" pleaded jessie, agitatedly. "why, you don't want anybody to be drowned, do you?" "they don't look very much as if they had been in a shipwreck," responded dave's uncle, dryly. "i was only fooling." "we weren't in any shipwreck. but we saw a fire at sea, and we helped to pull some folks out of the water," said ben. "you did!" burst from both of the girls. "do tell us all about it," added laura. "was anybody lost?" asked jessie. and now even dunston porter looked much interested. "nobody was lost, and not even hurt, so far as i could find out," answered dave; and then he and the others gave a few details concerning the conflagration aboard the steam yacht. "and to think those poor people had to jump overboard!" came from jessie, sympathetically. "oh, dave, wasn't that dreadful!" "jessie, you ought to have seen dave playing the really-and-truly hero act!" burst out ben. "now, ben, quit it!" interrupted dave. "not much, dave! you deserve some credit, and i want the girls to know what a real, genuine, dyed-in-the-wool hero you are." "what did he do, ben?" asked laura. "he jumped into the briny deep, and rescued the beautiful heroine of the moving-picture company," was the answer. "oh, you just ought to have seen it, jessie. the poor girl was going down for the last time when dave, with a do-or-die look on his handsome face, leaped into the flying spume, and struck out boldly----" "ben, will you please stop?" pleaded dave. "i never heard such foolish talk before in my life!" "but he did jump overboard, and he did save the girl," broke in phil. "if he hadn't gone after her she might have drowned." "who was she?" asked laura; while jessie, wide-eyed, showed her interest. "the leading lady of the film company--a miss della ford," answered the shipowner's son. "a mighty nice young lady, too--real stylish--golden-brown hair, dreamy brown eyes, and all that sort of thing, you know." "oh, dave, that was splendid of you to save her from drowning!" said jessie. "indeed it was!" added ben. "and she was mighty grateful, too," he went on. "she grabbed dave's hands for all she was worth, and, at one time, i thought she was going to throw her arms right around his neck." "oh, ben!" "well, it seemed that way to me, anyway--and she was a stunning looking girl, too, i can tell you!" "she was not going to do anything of the kind, jessie! don't pay any attention to him," broke in dave, and now his face was decidedly red. "come on! let's get into the auto and get to the house; i'm hungry," and he started to help the two girls into the tonneau of the automobile. "we'll have to hear more of this later on," said dunston porter, as he started the car. "yes, i'd like to hear more about miss ford," added jessie, in a somewhat uncertain tone. chapter v dave at home mirror lake was a beautiful sheet of water nestling among the mountains of the upper adirondacks of new york state. at the lower end of the lake, where there was a well-defined trail running to several fashionable summer resorts some miles away, were located two beautiful bungalows, one of six rooms and the other of eight rooms. they were built on a plot of ground bordering on a small cove of the lake, and extending about a thousand feet back into the woods of the mountain-side. as my old readers will remember, ben basswood's father was interested in real estate, and, a year or two before, he and mr. wadsworth had gone into a land deal of considerable proportions. several important transactions had resulted, and in making one of the deals mr. wadsworth and mr. basswood had become possessed of the two bungalows on mirror lake, the two gentlemen owning both jointly. at first, on acquiring the property, the jewelry manufacturer had been in favor of selling it at public auction; but to this mr. basswood had demurred. "i think, mr. wadsworth," he had said, "if we hold that property for a few years it will be far more valuable than it is now. the state road has been built to within a few miles, and there is strong talk of its being carried directly past mirror lake. not only that; there is also talk of the railroad putting in a spur through that district, and of course that will help a great deal." "very well, mr. basswood. if you think we ought to hold the land, we'll do it," had been mr. wadsworth's reply. "but what are we going to do with the bungalows in the meantime?" "we can either use them or rent them," had been the answer. for the past season, and also during the early part of the present summer, the two bungalows had been leased to some people from rochester. but now both bungalows were unoccupied. it had been dunston porter's suggestion that they go up to mirror lake on the return from the trip to yellowstone park, and this idea had been quickly seconded by the young folks, especially by laura and jessie, who had never as yet spent any time in the adirondacks. "they tell me the mountains are lovely, especially during the autumn," said the daughter of the jewelry manufacturer. "oh, let us go, by all means!" "i am sure i would like it," laura had answered. "but who will go with us?" the matter had been talked over while the young folks were returning from yellowstone park, and also while dave and ben were at home, as well as during the voyage on the _eaglet_. as a result it had been arranged that mr. and mrs. basswood were to go up for part of the time, and also mr. and mrs. wadsworth. laura and jessie, as well as belle endicott, who was coming east, were to go, along with dave and ben and a number of their chums. mr. dunston porter and dave's father said they would make several trips back and forth during the time the others were up there. it may be said here that the bungalows were fully furnished, so our friends had no anxiety on that score. "we'll have the best time ever, jessie," said dave, in talking the matter over the day after his arrival home. "i am sure you will like it." "have you your things packed, dave?" questioned his sister, who was present. "you don't want to leave that until the last minute." "oh, packing is getting easy to me, laura. i feel like a regular traveler since i took those trips to cave island, and after the runaways, and to the landslide mine and yellowstone park." "oh, it was splendid, the way you relocated that gold mine, dave!" cried jessie. "how glad roger and his folks must have been." "they surely were glad," answered the youth. "i never saw roger look so happy in my life. it took a big weight off his shoulders." "and, just to think that they are going to give you and phil an interest in that mine!" remarked laura. "why, dave, if you keep on, you'll be a rich man some day." "well, i sha'n't complain if i am," answered the brother, coolly. it had been arranged that the start for mirror lake should be made on the following monday morning. some of the folks were to go as far as they could by train, but the young people had demurred, stating that they wanted if possible to make the trip by automobile. "we can take our machine and the basswood car," said dave. "it won't take us more than two or three days, and it will be lots of fun." "but what are we going to do with the automobiles after we reach carpen falls?" asked dunston porter. "you can't go any farther in an auto than that." "isn't there some sort of garage at carpen falls?" questioned ben, who was present. "probably there is. anyway, i know there is a livery stable there." "then we could leave the machines there until we were ready to bring them back," replied dave. "we'll see about this later," said dave's father, with a shake of his head. automobiling did not appeal to him quite as strongly as it did to his son and his brother. it was a beautiful afternoon, and dave and ben had arranged for a little run in the automobile, taking laura and jessie along. dave ran the car, with jessie on the seat beside him. their course was out of crumville, and then over the distant hills to a winding road which ran beside the river. "it seems so strange, dave, to think you are not going back to oak hall this fall," remarked jessie, when the automobile was bowling along over the smooth highway. "it does seem strange," was dave's somewhat grave reply. "do you know, sometimes i wish i were going back again." "why?" "well, if i had to do that i wouldn't have to bother about anything else just now, jessie. as it is, i've got to make up my mind what i am going to do. one minute i think i want to go to college, and the next i have a notion of going into some sort of business." "what does your father say, dave?" "he is leaving it entirely to me. he says if i want to go to college i can do so." "what would you like to do best of all?" "oh, as for that, i'd like to travel, just as uncle dunston does. i'd like to see the world." "i suppose that would be nice, dave. but still a person can't be traveling all the time," and jessie's face clouded a trifle. "i shouldn't want to be traveling all the time, jessie. some day i'll want to settle down." he gave her an earnest look. "i thought that was all settled." "settled? what?" and the girl gave him a quick look in return. "why, that i was going to settle down some day, and that you were going to settle down with me." "oh, indeed! that's the first i ever heard of it." "oh, but you know, jessie----" "dave, do you know that laura and ben are sitting right behind us?" "yes, but they are busy with their own talk." "maybe you only think so." "all right. but it's settled; isn't it, jessie?" "i don't know that anything is settled." jessie was gazing straight ahead at the road. "how about that beautiful young lady you rescued from drowning?" "oh, say! please don't bring that up," pleaded dave, hastily. "that was all some of ben's nonsense." "but you did pull her out of the water; didn't you, dave?" "what if i did? you wouldn't have me let her drown; would you?" "oh, of course not. but still ben said----" "oh, there you go again! didn't i tell you that was only some of ben's nonsense? you mustn't believe a word he says." "indeed! i always thought ben was a very truthful boy." "oh, well, if you're going to make a mountain out of a molehill----" "i haven't made a mountain out of anything, dave." "say, who's talking about mountains on the front seat?" interrupted ben. "i thought we were going down on the river road." "so we are," declared dave, somewhat sharply. "i hope we can go up to the adirondacks in the autos," said laura, eagerly. "it will surely make a splendid trip." "if we go in the autos who is going to drive?" questioned jessie. "i'll run our car, and i suppose dave will run this one," answered ben. "but we can change off with the other fellows if we want to." the top of a small hill had been reached, and now the automobile glided down the other side in the direction of the river road. here the way narrowed a trifle, and dave had to give all his attention to the running of the car. as the automobile turned in toward the stream, they passed several other touring-cars, and then came in sight of a horse attached to a buggy, the two wheels of which were deep in a ditch. "hello! that's mr. aaron poole's buggy!" exclaimed dave. "yes. but it is nat who is driving," returned ben. mr. aaron poole was a rich money-lender, who lived not far from crumville, and who had a son nat, who had gone to oak hall with dave and ben. mr. poole was a very grasping man, and in the past he and the porters had had a number of differences. nat had been almost as overbearing as his father, but during the early part of the summer he had told dave that he was going to turn over a new leaf. and since that time our hero had heard that the money-lender's son was quite a different sort of a boy, and growing better every day. "hello, nat! what's the trouble?" questioned dave, as he brought the automobile to a standstill beside the buggy. "trouble enough!" grumbled the money-lender's son. "did you notice those automobiles that just went by?" "i certainly did. they were going at some speed." "they were racing, that's what they were doing!" explained nat poole. "they were racing, and they made such a racket that it scared my horse and he landed me here in this ditch." "it's a good thing they didn't upset you, nat," said ben. "if they upset me, i would make them pay for the damages," retorted the youth in the buggy. "did you know them, nat?" asked laura, kindly. "i know one of them. he's a high-flyer from pittstown. the next time i see him i'll give him a piece of my mind. they've got no right to use this road for a race-track." "did they hurt you at all?" queried jessie. "i don't know as they did. but this mud in the ditch is mighty sticky, and i don't see how i am going to get out of it," grumbled the money-lender's son. "maybe we can give you a lift, nat," said dave, and got out of the automobile, followed by ben. "here, i'll hold the horse while you get out." "be careful. he's mighty skittish," warned the other. "if he gets to kicking he'll smash the buggy into kindling-wood." "i'm not afraid of him," answered dave, and took a firm hold on the horse's bridle. then nat leaped from the buggy, and he and ben took hold of the wheels and pushed, while dave led the horse forward. by this means, in a minute more, the turnout was safe in the middle of the roadway. "much obliged to you fellows for this," remarked the money-lender's son, when all danger seemed past. "don't mention it, nat. i am glad to help you," returned dave, quickly. "and so am i," added ben. "funny thing," went on the money-lender's son. "i was coming around to your house to see you," and he glanced quickly at our hero. "well, you'll have to come, nat, some time when i am home," answered dave. "we are going off on another trip next monday." "is that so? then i'm glad i met you as i did, because i wanted to see you before you went away. i've got some strange news to tell you." "what is it?" "link merwell is alive. he wasn't killed in that landslide at all," was nat poole's astonishing reply. chapter vi news of importance "link merwell!" "nat, you must be fooling!" put in ben. "why, we couldn't find a single trace of him after that awful landslide!" went on dave. "we made a thorough search, too." "i don't know anything about that," returned the money-lender's son. "but i know link merwell is alive. i got a letter from him yesterday." "are you sure that it was not an old letter delayed in delivery?" queried ben. "no, it was not an old letter. it was dated only a few days ago. it was sent to me from boston." "boston!" cried laura. "then he must not only be alive, but he must have followed us east." "did he say anything about job haskers?" queried our hero. "he said he didn't know what had become of haskers. he said they had separated a short while before the big landslide struck them. he was pretty well bruised up, and had to rest in a little mining camp up in the mountains for two weeks." "this is certainly the strangest news yet," was dave's comment. "i thought sure that he and haskers had been swallowed up in that landslide, along with that miner who was with them. nat, what caused him to write to you? i thought you told me that you had destroyed his last letter without answering it." "so i did destroy it, dave, without answering it," returned the money-lender's son. "i was as surprised to hear from him as you would have been. i thought he would know enough to let me alone." "what did he have to say, nat?" questioned ben. "of course you haven't got to tell us if you don't want to," he added, hastily. "that's all right. didn't i tell you i was coming to see dave? i was going to show him the letter. i've got it in my pocket. here it is," and nat brought forth the communication. the letter was a long and rambling one which need not be reproduced here. in it link merwell told something of how he had been caught in the landslide, and how he had escaped and had been carried by some miners to their camp. a search had been made for job haskers and the man named blugg, but without results. then merwell had obtained some money (probably from his father), and had come east, where he expected to obtain a position. he added that he was still as bitter as ever against dave and his chums, and would do his best some day to "square accounts." as in his previous communication to nat, he wanted to know if the money-lender's son would not aid him in making trouble for our hero. "the same old link merwell!" remarked dave, after he had read the letter, with ben looking over his shoulder. "wouldn't you think a fellow who had been so close to death would want to reform?" said his chum. "but i suppose link doesn't know what the word, 'reform,' means." "oh, dave, aren't you afraid he will make you a lot of trouble?" cried jessie, and her face showed her deep concern. "i never was afraid of link merwell, and i don't believe i ever shall be," returned dave, quickly. "at heart i think that fellow is a big coward." "yes, but you must be careful," warned his sister. "even cowards know how to strike in the dark, and that would be link merwell's way of attacking you." "i don't know how he is going to hurt dave when he is away off in boston," was ben's comment. "the chances are he has got to go to work and earn his living. probably his father is sick of putting up money for him." "merwell mustn't forget one thing," said dave. "he is still responsible for his part in that jewelry robbery. if the authorities get hold of him, they will certainly send him to prison. so far as that affair is concerned, he was no better than jasniff." "what makes me mad is his trying to connect-up with me," burst out nat. "i've told him twice now that i was done with him, and i want him to leave me alone." "were you going to answer this letter, nat?" questioned ben. "no. i was going to tear it up, the same as the other. it's only got 'boston' for an address, anyway." "it seems to me, nat, it might be a good thing for you to write to link and tell him exactly what you think of him," said dave. "tell him you are done with him forever, and that you don't want to get any more letters. perhaps that will settle him. send the letter to the general delivery." "that's what i was going to ask you about, dave. i don't want to have that fellow bothering me. i told you i was going to turn over a new leaf." and now for once in his life, nat poole looked dave and then ben squarely in the face. "then, by all means, write to him and tell him exactly where you stand," went on our hero. "make the letter good and strong, nat, so that there won't be any mistake about it." "i'll do it," answered the money-lender's son. and then after a few words more, he replaced the letter in his pocket and drove on, and dave and his party resumed their automobile trip. "that certainly is news," was ben's comment, as they rolled along the river road. "i thought from what you said, dave, he must have been buried alive." "so we all thought. his escape must have been nothing short of a miracle." "i don't begrudge him his life, but i don't want him to bother dave any more," said laura. "he is such a wicked fellow." "dave, didn't you say, after you came from cave island, that link said something about reforming?" asked jessie. "yes, he did talk that way. he was very humble, and sorry that he had gone into the robbery with jasniff. but i guess now that what made him humble was the fact that he was in danger of going to prison. as soon as he got away, his ideas changed." "i hope he doesn't come here to bother you, dave," sighed laura. "oh, please don't think of such a dreadful thing!" cried jessie. "if he is in boston, i hope he stays there." but this wish was not to be fulfilled, as we shall see later. the ride along the river road and over the hills beyond was much enjoyed by the young folks, and it was after dark when they returned to crumville. all told, jessie made it very pleasant for dave, but she could not forget the fact that the youth had rescued della ford from the sea, and she asked several times about the young lady and the moving-picture company to which she belonged. "i don't know much about the picture company," dave had answered. "i think there were about a dozen people in it, including miss ford's aunt and the young fellow and the fat man we picked up." "but you said you would call on her in boston; didn't you?" queried jessie. "i said i might call if i was in the city," dave replied. "and i suppose you'll go up there the first chance you get," pouted jessie. "maybe," he answered, not altogether liking her tone. and then before anything more could be said the automobile swept up in front of ben basswood's home, and the conversation became general. ben had been on the back seat with laura, and now as he left the party, jessie came into the tonneau to keep dave's sister company, so that on the journey to the wadsworth mansion the talk between jessie and dave could not be renewed. the next two days were busy ones for our hero. he had several matters of business to attend to for his father and his uncle. added to this, old caspar potts asked the youth if he would not accompany him to the old farm where the pair had spent so long a time together. "why, certainly, i'll go to the farm with you, professor," replied dave. "but what are you going to do there, if i may ask?" "i want to get a box of books that was left in the garret there when we came away," answered the old, white-haired gentleman. "i would have brought them here before, but it slipped my mind entirely. perhaps you remember the box?" "do you mean that old blue box that stood in the back of the garret?" questioned dave. "that's the one, david. i don't think the books in it are of very great value, but they might as well be added to the library here," went on the old professor. the wadsworth library comprised many hundreds of volumes, and was a source of great pride to professor potts, who had spent many days in classifying the books and getting out a private catalogue. to please the old gentleman, mr. wadsworth had, from time to time, added various books and pamphlets which he might not otherwise have purchased. since dave and caspar potts had left the old farm, the place had been leased to another party, but now it was unoccupied, and the cottage and stable were locked up. "looks natural," remarked dave, as he stood on the tiny piazza of the cottage and looked around on the familiar scene. then his thoughts went back to the past. what tremendous changes had taken place since he had left that home! he had found a father, a sister, and an uncle, and had made a host of friends. not only that; he was rich, and had received a good education, and was on the fair road to success. "david!" it was caspar potts who spoke, and his voice trembled. "how different it is from what it used to be! certainly your folks and mr. wadsworth have been great friends of mine," and the old gentleman blinked away the tears that stood in his mild eyes. unlocking the door of the little cottage, dave went inside and lost no time in throwing open a number of windows, so that the fresh summer air from outside might dispel the dampness within. then caspar potts entered, and both ascended the narrow stairway to the upper floor. here was a tiny garret, which in the past had been given over mostly to the storage of old furniture and other articles not in use. "i trust none of the tenants have disturbed that box," remarked caspar potts, when dave had lit a candle which he had thoughtfully brought along. "i see the box, professor," answered the youth. "here, if you will hold the candle i will get it out." and then dave worked his way over to a corner under the eaves, and from behind a broken rocking-chair and a dilapidated couch, dragged forth a small wooden box, painted blue. he threw back the cover, exposing to view thirty or forty books, covered with dust and yellow with age. "good! good!" murmured the old professor, as he brushed one of the volumes off with his coat sleeve. "some of these books are not very valuable, david, but a few of them will add quite a little to our library. i had those volumes when i was a student at college," he added proudly. "i'll carry the box downstairs," said dave. caspar potts, candle in hand, led the way to the floor below. as he came out into the kitchen of the cottage, he was somewhat surprised to find two persons on the porch, talking earnestly. "hello, you've got visitors!" said dave, as he set the box of books down on a bare table. "some one out for a look around, i suppose," he added. "maybe it is some one who would like to lease the farm," returned caspar potts. "let us go out and see," and he extinguished the candle. brushing the dust and cobwebs from his coat, dave followed the old professor to the porch of the cottage. the two visitors were so busy talking that, for the instant, they did not notice the others. "hello there!" exclaimed dave, in some surprise, as his eyes rested on the face of one of the visitors. "how in the world did you get here?" "i--er--i--er--it's mr. porter!" stammered the fellow addressed, and he leaped quickly to his feet. it was ward porton, the young man dave and his chums had rescued from the sea when the steam yacht was on fire. "dave porter! here!" came from the other fellow who had been seated on the stoop, and now he too leaped up. "--i guess we had better leave," he stammered. "link merwell!" ejaculated our hero. it must be confessed that now he was all but dumfounded. he had thought that link merwell must be in boston, and to find him here on the outskirts of crumville, and in company with ward porton, the fellow he had rescued, was almost beyond belief. chapter vii link merwell again link merwell showed signs of both suffering and dissipation. his face was thin and careworn, and his eyes had an uncertain, restless look in them. he had on a business suit much the worse for wear, and his tan shoes were worn down at the heels. evidently he had not fared well since dave had met him in the west. "i once thought you were dead, link," went on dave, after a pause, during which link merwell had taken several steps away from the cottage. "i thought you had been buried by that landslide." "i know it," was the bitter reply. "it would have pleased you immensely if i had been buried alive." "that isn't true. i wouldn't like to see anybody lose his life in that fashion," declared dave. and then he went on quickly: "did job haskers escape?" "i don't know anything about him--and i don't want to know," returned link merwell, and his tone was as bitter as before. "haskers didn't treat me right, and we separated before we got caught in the sliding rocks and dirt." "i didn't know that you knew merwell," said dave, turning to ward porton. "oh, yes. i have known him for some time," was the reply of the young moving-picture actor. "i think we had better be going," broke out link merwell, who had retreated a step or two further. he showed very plainly that he was afraid dave might lay hands on him. "oh, don't be in a hurry," answered ward porton. "now we've got the chance, i'd like to talk to porter." "i don't think i'll stay," and link merwell moved still farther away. "i'll meet you later, you know where." "see here, link! don't be in such a hurry," cried dave, advancing toward the youth. "i want to talk to you." "i know your game, dave porter! you want to catch me and hand me over to the authorities!" exclaimed link, and showed more fear than ever. "what makes you think that?" "never mind, you're not going to catch me this way! don't forget, porton. i'll see you later," and thus speaking, link merwell turned and started away on a swift walk. then, as dave went after him, he broke into a run, and reaching the roadway, dived into the woods beyond. "my, my!" came from old professor potts. "david, why did he run away?" "he's afraid of being arrested; that's why, professor," explained our hero. "don't you remember, he is one of the villainous fellows who robbed mr. wadsworth's jewelry works a year or so ago?" "oh, yes, to be sure!" murmured the old gentleman. "i remember now. what an awful thing for a young man like that to be such a criminal!" "you say he is a criminal?" asked ward porton, curiously. "he certainly is," answered dave. "hum! i didn't know that," returned the young moving-picture actor, and for the moment looked quite thoughtful. "may i ask what brought you to crumville?" queried our hero. "i thought you and your company were bound for boston." "we did go to boston, and the company is there now, unless it has gone up into the woods. i had a little business in this vicinity, and so i came here before going on the next trip with them." "did you come to crumville with merwell?" "i did, but i didn't know he was a criminal." "then you must have met merwell in boston?" "no, i met him on the steam yacht." [illustration: then, as dave went after him, he broke into a run.--_page 63._] "the steam yacht! do you mean the one that caught fire?" "of course." "then link merwell was on board that vessel?" cried dave, in added wonder. "yes." "was he a member of your company?" "he was. mr. appleby, our manager, took him on the day before we went on the trip. i don't know where mr. appleby met him." "that certainly beats the dutch! of course, merwell must have seen me and my friends in the rowboat." "he said he did." "he took good pains to keep out of sight!" "i don't know anything about that, porter. but he was on the boat, you can take my word for that." "and is he a regular member of your company?" "he is to be, provided he can make good at the business. i think he came to mr. appleby with some sort of a hard-luck story, and the manager said he would give him a chance. privately, though, i don't think he's very much of an actor. but then you know, a fellow has got to do something for a living." "he can probably act as well as the majority," answered dave. "but i am surprised to learn that he was on the steam yacht and didn't show himself to us. still, he was probably afraid to do so, and glad enough to keep out of sight. i suppose he brought you to this farm?" "oh, we just took a walk up this way," returned ward porton, with some hesitation. he gave dave a keen look. "you see, i was on my way to the crumville poorhouse. by the way, merwell told me that you had once been connected with that institution," and he gave dave another keen look. our hero's face flushed, and for the instant he did not know what to say. caspar potts, too, showed confusion. "david was not--er--connected with that institution, sir," said the old gentleman, hurriedly. "he was placed there when he was a child by those who found him wandering along the railroad tracks here. they did not know who he was, and----" "i don't think mr. porton will be interested in that story, professor," interrupted our hero. "well, to tell the truth i am interested," answered ward porton. "i once lived in a poorhouse myself." "indeed! is that so?" murmured caspar potts. "how interesting!" "it wasn't anywhere around here, though," went on the young moving-picture actor. "it was 'way down east. and believe me, it was a hard life! i don't really see how i pulled through," and he smiled, grimly. "i can't say that i had such a very hard time of it," said dave. "they treated me fairly well, and as soon as i got old enough to work, mr. potts here took me and not only gave me a good home, but also the beginning of a good education. then, after that, i found my folks--i had been stolen away from them you see when a baby--and since that time i have had an easy time of it." "you're the lucky one then," answered ward porton. he seemed on the point of saying something more, but evidently changed his mind. "well, if it's all the same to you, i'll be going," he concluded. "better take my advice, and drop link merwell," said dave, as the young man moved away. "if you don't, sooner or later he'll get you into hot water. the authorities want him, even though they got back the things he stole." "i'll remember what you say," was the answer, and then the young moving-picture actor walked away, and soon disappeared around a bend of the road. "it is very strange that they should have come here," remarked caspar potts, when he and dave re-entered the cottage to get the box of books. "i should say it was!" answered our hero. "i don't understand it at all. i believe link merwell is up to another one of his tricks. i'm going to keep my eyes open for him." when dave returned home he told the others there of having met link merwell and ward porton. mr. wadsworth was, of course, particularly interested in merwell, and he at once telephoned to the authorities to be on the lookout for that individual. but link merwell had probably taken warning, and did not show himself again. nor, for the time being, did dave see anything further of ward porton. on friday belle endicott, laura's friend from the west, arrived, and was followed on saturday morning by roger and phil. ben brought word that he had written to luke watson and shadow hamilton, and that those two former pupils of oak hall had also signified their willingness to accompany the party to mirror lake. "and say, dave, what do you think!" cried ben. "this place that we are to go to at mirror lake is known as bear camp. they tell me the bears just love that vicinity." "bear camp!" shrieked jessie, who was present. "oh, ben, you are fooling!" "not a bit of it, jessie. my father got a letter from tad rason, an old hunter and guide who lives in the vicinity of mirror lake. he says that that place has been known as bear camp for years. he told about shooting a big black bear there only a year or so ago." "o dear, if there are bears up there i don't know that i want to go!" said laura. "just think of having a big bear chase you!" "oh, you mustn't mind that, laura!" cried dave, gaily. "just think of the nice hug he could give you," and then he dodged, as laura threw a fancy pillow at him. "i think those bears will spoil everything," came from jessie, her face clouding. "i didn't know any wild animals were left in the adirondacks." "bear camp," mused laura. "what a queer name that is!" "i think it's a fine name," answered ben. "it suits me, anyway." the boys were glad to see belle endicott, who was a large, well-built girl, with a bright, breezy, western air about her. belle had much to tell concerning matters at star ranch; and dave asked her about many of the friends he had made among the cowboys at the place. "oh, i'll just love to see bears," said belle, when told about the camp. "they are such funny, clumsy creatures. why, i once saw a little cinnamon bear climbing up a tree, and he was the funniest fellow i ever looked at." "oh, belle! weren't you frightened?" asked jessie. "frightened? what, with sid todd with me? no, indeed! we just watched him until we got tired of it, and then todd up with his rifle, and that was the end of mr. cinnamon bear." "good for sid!" cried dave. "he was always on hand when wanted. i'd like to see him again." "well, he sent his regards to you, dave," was belle's rejoinder. shadow hamilton and luke watson, the latter carrying a case containing his guitar and his banjo, arrived on saturday afternoon. they came to ben's house, and, having been notified by telephone, dave hurried over to see them. "dave, you're a sight for sore eyes!" said luke watson, as he gave our hero's hand a grasp that made him wince. "my gracious, it seems to me that i haven't seen you in a year of sundays!" "one thing's sure, luke," answered dave, with a twinkle in his eyes. "you haven't seen me since i've seen you," and at this remark both laughed. "luke has brought his instruments along," said ben, "so we'll be sure to have plenty of music up at the camp." "it suits me, and will surely suit the girls," returned dave. "we can sit out in the moonlight nights, and have fine times singing," he added. "say! talking about singing in the moonlight, puts me in mind of a story," burst out shadow. "once on a time a young fellow went to serenade his girl, and----" "never mind the yarn now, shadow," said ben. "i've got something to tell you that is more interesting than a story. it's about nat poole's uncle." "nat poole's uncle?" queried dave. "you don't mean wilbur poole, the wild man we caught in the woods back of oakdale?" "that is the man." "what of him? i thought they had taken him to a sanitarium, and that he was getting better." "so he was getting better--in fact he was almost well, so nat said. but now what do you think has happened?" "what?" came from all of the other boys. "he has disappeared." "disappeared?" "that's it. he has run away, and nobody knows where he went to." chapter viii off for bear camp "who told you this, ben?" asked dave. "i just got the story from nat. he and his family are very much worried. they had an idea that wilbur poole was practically well again, and that is the reason why they did not watch him very closely." "of course they are searching for him?" "sure! nat said the authorities and also several other people were after him. nat himself was going to look for him to-morrow." "maybe we'll run across him," said luke watson. "i hope we don't, luke!" exclaimed dave. "that man gave us trouble enough up at oak hall." "right you are there!" burst out shadow. and then he added: "i wonder if he'll call himself the king of sumatra, as he did before?" "a man who is out of his mind is apt to call himself anything," said dave. "i feel sorry for nat. this must worry him and his family a good deal." it was not long after this when all the boys went over to the wadsworth mansion, there to complete their preparations for the trip to mirror lake. ben had had the basswood automobile thoroughly overhauled, and dave had likewise had the wadsworth touring-car put into the best possible running shape. "my, but there is going to be quite a bunch of us!" was dave's comment, as he looked at the boys and girls who were present. "mamma says we must finish all our packing to-night or else do it monday morning," said jessie. "she doesn't want any of it done on sunday." "my things are all ready, and so are belle's," returned laura. "but i don't know how it is with the boys." "we'll be all right; don't you worry," answered dave. "we never got left yet," added ben, with a grin. luke had brought along his banjo, and the others insisted that he play a tune or two. then they sang a couple of songs; and after that the wadsworth phonograph was started, and the young folks enjoyed an hour or so of dancing. sunday morning most of the young folks went to church, and in the afternoon some of them spent their time in writing letters. dave and several of the boys took a walk around the town. at the railroad station they ran across nat poole. "i am off to look for my uncle wilbur," said nat. "we've an idea that he went to plattsburg, new york. he used to have some friends there, and we think he started off to visit them." "i certainly hope you find him, nat, and that he's all right," answered dave, kindly. "by the way, i heard link merwell was in town," went on the money-lender's son. "yes. i met him at our old farm." "i should think he'd be afraid to show himself, fearing arrest." "he's a strange fellow, nat, and there is no telling what he will do. he has been knocked around so much the last few months that i suppose he doesn't care very much what happens next." "i don't want to see him. i've got troubles enough without running into link merwell," grumbled nat; and then his train came in and he was off. during their spare time the boys had studied an automobile road-map of new york state, and especially of the adirondack mountains. they had figured out that they would have good traveling nearly the whole of the distance, although there were a few bad stretches here and there to be covered, and also a number of mountains to be climbed. "but the mountains won't bother us," said dave, in reply to a question from luke. "our car can go up almost any hill, and the basswood auto is just about as good. of course we'll have to do some of the traveling on low or second gear." "the reason i asked was this," returned luke. "a couple of years ago some friends of mine started to tour the adirondacks in a runabout. they went up the side of one mountain, and then down on the other. they then found themselves in a valley, and couldn't climb the grade on either side. they tried for two days to get out, and then had to get a team of horses to pull them a distance of several miles." "we'll watch out that nothing like that happens to us," answered dave. "we won't go down into any hollow until we know something about how we are going to get out of it." as both touring-cars were large, it had been decided that mr. and mrs. basswood, as well as dunston porter, should accompany the young folks on the automobile trip. as all the baggage had been packed and either shipped forward by express or strapped on the touring-cars, it did not take long on monday morning to get ready to start. it was a clear and fairly cool day, and a slight shower sunday night had laid the dust. "all aboard that's going!" cried dave, gaily, when the wadsworth car had been run around to the front of the mansion. he had hardly uttered the words when there came the sound of an automobile horn from the road, and a few seconds later the basswood car came into sight with ben's crowd on board. "you'll say good-bye to us here, but we'll be at mirror lake before you get there," said mrs. wadsworth, as she kissed her daughter and the other girls. "now look out for accidents!" cautioned dave's father. "we'll be careful," answered dunston porter, with a smile. and then he added to caspar potts: "professor, don't forget to take good care of the place while we are away." "it shall be well taken care of, rest assured of that, sir," was the old gentleman's reply. "i trust all of you enjoy the outing," he went on, his kindly face beaming. dave was at the wheel, with his uncle beside him, and the others packed rather tightly in the tonneau behind. with many a shout and merry word, the wadsworth touring-car left the grounds, followed by the basswood machine, and passed out along the highway leading north from crumville. "now dave, do look where you are running," cautioned laura. "we don't want any punctures or blow-outs." soon crumville was left behind, and the automobiles were passing along the river road where some time before dave and his chums had assisted nat poole. then they began to climb the distant hills, and presently were on the highway leading to poughkeepsie, where they were to cross the hudson river. "if only this lovely weather holds out i'm sure we'll have a splendid trip," said jessie. "i suppose, belle, you'd rather be on horseback than in an auto," remarked phil. "well, i won't go back on horseback-riding," returned the western girl, "i love it too dearly. but this is very nice," she added, quickly. "very nice indeed!" by noon they reached the city on the hudson river, and there stopped for lunch. then they passed over the high bridge spanning the stream and struck out northward once more. mr. dunston porter was now running the car, and this gave dave more of a chance to talk to those behind him. that evening found them in albany, where it had been decided to spend the night. dunston porter had already telegraphed ahead for hotel accommodations, so there was no difficulty on that score. the older folks were glad enough to rest during the evening, but the young people went out for a walk up the hill leading to the capitol building. in the morning the tourists were rather alarmed to see that the sky had clouded over, and there were some indications of rain. "well, if it rains we can put on our raincoats and put up the tops," said dave. so far they had been traveling with the tops folded down. noon found them well up in the heart of new york state. they stopped only for a short while at lunch time, wishing to cover as much ground as possible before the storm might break. "if possible we want to make rayville to-day," announced mr. basswood, when the two cars had come to a standstill at a crossroads. "i've got some friends living there, and i want to make a call on them. besides, there's a good hotel there, where we can stop for the night," for they had made no arrangements beyond albany. there had been a signboard at the crossroads, but this had fallen down, so the tourists did not know which of the forks of the road to take. finally a man, coming along in a runabout, told them to take the highway on the left. "that other road is the regular one," he explained, "but it is pretty well torn up, and you'll make time by taking this one. but be careful of the hill, it's just a little bit dangerous." "we'll be careful," answered dave, who was now running the car once more. "want me to take the wheel?" questioned his uncle. "oh, no, i guess i can get along all right." the basswood car, with ben in charge, had already taken to the highway on the left, and the other turnout followed it at a distance of several hundred feet. ben had put on considerable speed, and dave had to watch closely to keep the other car in sight. "take it easy, davy," said his uncle dunston. "we don't want any accidents away out here from any garage." "i want to keep ben in sight. he's going it pretty lively," answered dave. "yes, it's a wonder his father doesn't hold him back a little. but mr. basswood said he was anxious to reach rayville, and that's at least twenty miles farther." ahead were several turns in the road, and at these dave lost sight of the car ahead. being cloudy, it was quite dark on the roadway, especially where the trees lined the highway, and soon dave found it necessary to turn on the headlights. then he sounded his horn, expecting to get a reply from ben, but to his surprise none came. "do you know what i think he's trying to do?" said our hero, hastily. "i believe he's trying to run away from us." "it's a foolish thing to attempt, dave, on a strange road like this," answered dunston porter, gravely. "i should think mr. basswood would stop it." presently they were climbing a long hill. the road wound in and out among the trees, and at one place the grade was so steep that dave had to throw the clutch into low gear. he and his uncle listened intently, and from a distance heard the chug-chug of the other car a long way ahead. "say, this is some climb, believe me!" cried roger, as they made another turn, and dave found it advisable to come down to low gear. "what will you do if you can't make it, dave?" queried phil. "oh, we'll make it--don't worry," was the answer. "i threw into low gear just for safety's sake. this road twists so a fellow can't see fifty feet ahead of him." "i don't hear the other car any more," declared roger, a moment later. to this dave did not reply. there was another turn ahead, and a particularly hard climb over some rather rough rocks. then, with a jolt, the big touring-car came out on the top of the hill. here was another turn, and then began a sharp descent. "stop here a minute, dave!" ordered the youth's uncle, and then, as our hero brought the machine to a standstill, he added: "that's rather a bad road ahead, and you had better give the other car a chance to get down before we try to make it." "a good idea, uncle dunston. we'll wait," answered dave. as they stood there all strained their ears to catch some sound from the other car. "i don't hear it at all," said roger. "all i hear is the breeze in the trees," put in laura. "they must be running without power," answered dunston porter. "if they are going down a really steep hill, it's a wonder we don't hear some squeak from the brakes," was phil's comment. "listen!" cried dave, suddenly, and held up his hand. all strained their ears once more, and now far below them they heard several cries mingled with a shriek. then came a sudden crash, followed by more shrieks. "they've had an accident!" "wonder what it was?" "we'll have to go and see!" cried dave, and put on the power once more. "that's right!" cried dunston porter: "get down there as fast as you can, dave. but be careful--we don't want to run into them, or have any accident of our own. there must be something wrong down there!" chapter ix on the road "perhaps they have gone off into some ditch!" "maybe they bounced off a rock and hit a tree!" "a fellow could easily break a wheel on this rough road!" "oh, i hope none of them have been hurt!" such were some of the remarks that came from those in the tonneau of the touring-car, as dave put on the power and started down the winding road which led to the bottom of the long hill. "better keep her in low gear, dave," said dunston porter, as the car struck a rather steep incline. "the engine will help hold her back." "i think i can hold her with the brakes, uncle dunston," answered the youth, who had already thrown off the power. he had the foot-brake well down, and now he threw in the emergency as well. on and on slipped and slid the big touring-car, bumping over a road which seemed to grow worse as they progressed. all of the lights were on full, and they were needed, for the road turned and twisted in such a fashion that but little could be seen ahead. in some places the highway seemed extra narrow, this being caused by the heavy trees and bushes lining both sides. at one point the water had caused quite a washout, and into this and out again they bumped with such violence that all the girls shrieked in alarm. "some bump that!" was roger's grim comment. "o dear, i thought sure i'd be jounced out!" cried jessie. "dave, can't you go a little slower?" "i'll try," returned the youth, and jammed down the foot-brake as hard as he could. for an instant the touring-car came almost to a standstill, but presently they slid onward again, coming a moment later to another bend. "look out! don't run into us!" it was a yell from in front, and now dave saw luke watson standing in the roadway, waving his handkerchief. down in the darkness beyond dave made out the red, rear-light of the basswood automobile. as the second touring-car came on luke leaped to one side, but his warning had had its effect, and now dave jammed on both brakes with all the force at his command, at the same time swerving slightly to the left. he just grazed a trunk strapped to the back of the first machine, and then came to a halt on a water-break a short distance beyond. "somebody get out and put a few stones under the wheels!" cried dave, who could not leave his seat because of one foot on the brake. "all right, we'll fix it!" cried his uncle, and leaped out, followed quickly by the boys in the tonneau of the car. loose stones were to be had in plenty, and soon the car wheels were well blocked. then dave was able to join those on the ground. "shall we get out?" asked laura, anxiously. "suit yourselves," returned dunston porter, who was already moving in the direction of the other car. the wadsworth machine contained a hand flashlight, and getting possession of this, dave and his chums hurried toward the other automobile. they had already seen at a glance that the basswood touring-car had swung around to the side of the road, and that one front wheel was held fast between a large rock and a fair-sized tree. apparently the car was not hurt, and no one seemed to be injured. "how did it happen, ben?" sang out dave, when he saw that the accident was not a serious one. "funniest thing you ever heard of," returned his chum. "you couldn't possibly guess it." "didn't you slip on the rocks?" queried phil. "it was a cow put us here," said mr. basswood, gravely. "just a plain, every day, red cow." and in spite of the accident his eyes had a twinkle in them. "a cow!" came from several of the others, in wonder. "yes, a cow!" answered ben, and his tone showed his deep disgust. "i was going down the hill just as nicely as you please when along came a cow. a man was driving her, and when he saw us coming he did his best to get the cow out of our way. but that mooly didn't budge from the middle of the road, so i had to turn to one side--and this is the consequence." "but i am so thankful that no one was hurt," broke in mrs. basswood. "think of what might have happened if the car had turned over!" and she shuddered. "but where is the cow?" questioned roger. "oh, as soon as she had put us in this hole she turned tail and ran down the hill as fast as she could, and the man went after her," explained mr. basswood. "i guess the man ran away because he was afraid we might hold him responsible for damages," remarked shadow. "say! this puts me in mind of a story," he added. "one time a cow got on the front piazza of a house, and----" "for gracious sake, shadow! i guess you'd want to tell stories at a funeral," burst out ben. "never mind your yarn now. let us see if we can get this machine out from between this rock and that tree." "you didn't break the steering-gear, did you?" asked dave, anxiously, as he allowed the flashlight to play over and around the touring-car. "i don't believe i hurt anything, dave. but of course i can't be sure until i try to run the car," answered ben. "what's worrying me is: how am i going to get out of this fix? i don't believe i can back out--in fact it wouldn't be safe." "looks to me as if we'd have to chop the tree down to get out of here," commented luke, who had come back from where he had signaled the other car. "i think i see a way of aiding you," said dunston porter, who was examining the rock that held the wheel to the tree. "i think if we dig under the edge of this rock, we can loosen it and roll it down the hill. then we'll be able to lift the front of the automobile around--that is if we can keep the machine from sliding down on us." "we can easily fix that part of it," answered dave. "all we've got to do is to take that towing-rope we brought along and fasten it to a tree and the back axle of the car." "that's the talk, dave!" cried his uncle. "get the rope and make it fast at once." while our hero and several of the other boys were adjusting the towing-line which had been brought along for emergencies, dunston porter and mr. basswood set to work to loosen the rock which held the wheel. this was no easy task, but finally, with the aid of a hammer and a small crowbar, it was accomplished, and the rock slid down the roadway. then the automobile began to start forward. "look out there!" cried one of the boys. "this line may not hold!" "that will hold two cars like that," answered dave. the rope strained and creaked, but did not break, and soon those in front of the car had the machine jacked around once more in a straight position, headed down the road. "now ben, i guess you're all right again," said dave. "provided i don't meet that cow again," was the retort. "how about that rope?" "i'll unfasten it for you just as soon as you are ready to start." "i think i'd rather walk to the foot of the hill," remarked mrs. basswood, timorously. "let us all walk down. i'll be glad of the exercise," cried belle, who was tired of being cramped up in the tonneau of the automobile. "oh, but maybe that cow will get after us," exclaimed jessie. "pooh! who's afraid of a cow!" cried the western girl, who had been brought up to face hundreds of animals on her father's ranch. "well, i think we had better let the automobiles go first, anyway," suggested laura. "we don't want them to come along and run over us," she added, playfully. soon ben and his chums were in the first of the touring-cars. dave released the rope, and the automobile resumed the descent of the hill. then the towing-line was wound up and thrown into the tonneau of the second car, and that also resumed its journey. down at the foot of the long hill they met the cow and her owner, a tall, cadaverous-looking individual, who eyed our friends frowningly. "i see you got your cow all right enough," remarked ben. "so i did, but i'd a mighty long run to stop her," growled the man. "you put us in quite a hole; do you know that?" went on ben. "'tain't none of my fault," replied the owner of the cow, quickly. "i have as much right on this road with my cow as you have with that there autymobile." "just the same, you had no right to let your cow keep to the middle of the road," cried ben. "if we had had a worse accident we might have held you responsible." "huh! hold me responsible, eh? well ye wouldn't have got a cent out of me," said the owner of the cow, and then he passed on up the hill once more, driving the animal before him. the cow was contentedly chewing her cud, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened to disturb her. a quarter of a mile further on our friends came to a small stream spanned by rather a shaky-looking bridge, over which each machine was run with great care. on the other side of the stream they came to another fork of the road. "here's a signboard anyway!" cried dave, whose car was now in advance. "_'rayville four miles._' we'll be there soon if this road holds out." "i think you'll find the roads around rayville all right," called mr. basswood to him. "my friend told me that they were in good condition, especially those on the other side of the town." a quarter of an hour later found the two touring-cars in the village where mr. basswood's friend resided. here, as the gentleman had said, was located a fairly good hotel, where accommodations for the night could be had. "now, i'm going to go around and see my friends," said mr. basswood. "ben, you and your chums can stay here at the hotel. we'll be back before it's time to retire," and then he set off in the touring-car, taking his wife with him. as the hotel at rayville made a specialty of catering to automobile parties, our friends found the accommodations there both ample and satisfactory. after the hard run of the day, the girls and the boys were glad to rest awhile. then they fixed up for dinner, which was served to them in a private dining-room, apart from the other patrons of the house. as might be expected, they had a good deal of fun, and shadow was allowed to tell several of his stories, much to his own satisfaction if not to that of his listeners. "by this time to-morrow night we ought to be at bear camp," said dave, after they had finished dinner and gone out on the hotel veranda to watch what little was going on in the town. "i guess it will be a good deal more lonely than it is here, dave," observed jessie. "there will be too many of us to be lonely," he answered. "i'm looking forward to some splendid times." "oh, so am i, dave, and i am sure the others hope to have good times, too." it was about ten o'clock when mr. and mrs. basswood came back to the hotel, having spent a very pleasant evening with their friends, who had wanted them to remain over night. "i've got some news that i want to telegraph to crumville," announced ben's father, as he came in. "news that may interest mr. poole." "what is that, dad?" questioned his son, curiously. "why, mr. dobson spoke about a strange sort of man who called on him yesterday. he thought the man was out of his mind. he said the fellow asked for work first, but then said he didn't care whether he got a job or not, because he had to take the night express for sumatra." "a strange man who wanted to take the night express for sumatra!" exclaimed dave. "it must have been 'the king of sumatra'--wilbur poole!" "just exactly what i think, dave," answered mr. basswood. chapter x caught in a storm "did you ever know this wilbur poole, dad?" questioned ben. "yes, i met him years ago at aaron poole's home. but of course he was in his right mind then. poor chap! i pity him very much." "i think we all pity him," answered dave. "nobody can be responsible after his mind breaks down." "i feel sorry for nat poole and his folks," said laura. "this will give them a great deal of trouble, not to mention the expense." "if wilbur poole was anywhere around rayville it might pay to start a hunt for him," suggested roger. "i don't think you'll find him anywhere around here," answered mr. basswood. "but it won't hurt to take a look around, if you boys care to take a walk." ben's father went off to send his telegram to aaron poole, and all the boys set off on a hunt for the wild man. they covered the streets of the village and some of the roads on the outskirts, but without success. they met three people who had talked to the strange individual, and from what had passed dave and his chums were sure that the man must have been wilbur poole. "i guess we'll have to give it up," said phil, when it was getting late. "i'm tired out. and remember, fellows, we have a hard ride before us to-morrow if we expect to reach carpen falls in time to hit the trail for bear camp before it gets dark." when the boys reached the hotel the girls were anxious to hear what they might have to tell. "it's too bad," said jessie, soberly. "i am glad it is not one of my relatives who is roaming around like that." both dunston porter and mr. basswood had suggested an early start on the following morning, so the entire party were downstairs and to breakfast by seven o'clock. in the meantime the two automobiles had been overhauled, and provided with oil and gasoline, as well as with water. "i've got rather a bad cut on one of the rear wheels," said ben. "perhaps i had better change the shoe before we start." "oh, take a chance on it!" cried luke. "i think you'll get through all right enough." "perhaps luke; but if i don't, that blow-out will cost me a fine inner tube. however, i'll take the chance. get in everybody, and we'll be off!" as mr. basswood's friend had said, the road leading from rayville northwestward was in fine shape, and they were able to cover the next thirty miles at a fair rate of speed. but then they got in among the hills, and here the road became as winding and dangerous as ever. not knowing much about the stopping-places ahead, the grown folks had had the hotel people put up a substantial lunch for the tourists, packed in two hampers. "it will be jolly fun camping out this noon," said laura. "it ought to just suit you, belle." "it certainly will!" was the answer from the western girl. "i'd rather eat in the open than in the stuffy dining-room of a hotel any time." "there may be one drawback to having lunch outdoors," said phil. "it looks like rain." "phil, if you say rain again i'll throw you out of the car!" cried roger. "i must admit it does look a little like rain," said laura, casting her eyes skyward. "that's an awfully black cloud over yonder. o dear, rain would spoil it all! i do hope it holds off!" dave had been running the car, but now his uncle insisted upon taking the wheel. then roger climbed over onto the front seat, giving the one he had been occupying beside jessie to our hero. they were in the lead, with the basswood turnout not far behind. "this is more like," said dave, in a low tone to jessie. "oh, well, i suppose you had to do your share in running the car, dave," she replied, giving him a bright look. "i don't believe uncle dunston cares as much for driving as he pretends," went on the youth. "behind it all, he is a good deal like belle--he prefers to be on horseback. he was brought up to it." "he has certainly been a great traveler, dave." "yes, indeed! and i would like to be just like him. i'd love to travel." "and where would you go if you had the chance?" "i don't know. maybe around the world," and dave's eyes lit up as he spoke. "around the world! and would you go all alone?" "all alone? not if i could get anybody to go along with me! wouldn't you like to take a trip like that, jessie?" and he gazed at her fondly. "oh, dave!" "well, it would be a great trip for both of us; wouldn't it?" "dave, don't be silly," and jessie blushed deeply. "we are not going around the world yet, we are going to bear camp, and that's plenty far enough." "yes, i know, jessie. but you see"--and dave lowered his voice--"i want to make sure that when i go you'll go with me. it will then be the finest trip that ever anybody----" bang! it was a report like that from a small cannon, and came from close beside them. jessie gave a scream, and so did laura and mrs. basswood, while cries of wonder and alarm came from the boys. the basswood car had come up alongside of the other automobile, and just at that instant the tire which ben had said was cut blew out, sending a shower of dirt and stones in all directions. mr. basswood, who was at the wheel, brought the car to a quick stop, and mr. porter also halted. "well, it went, just as i thought it might," remarked ben, grimly. "too bad!" returned luke. "i reckon it was my fault. i should have let you put on that other shoe before we started." "it's nobody's fault!" cried mr. basswood, quickly. "now then, boys, we'll see how soon we can get another shoe on." many hands made the labor of jacking up the car and changing the tire a light one. fortunately the automobile was equipped with a pump attached to the engine, so that blowing up the tire by hand was unnecessary. "this is only a little exercise to get up an appetite for that lunch," remarked dave, gaily. "we want to do full justice to the stuff in the hamper." "as if there was ever anything the matter with your appetite!" cried phil, dryly. "why philip, my son, you know i never eat more than a bird!" retorted dave, with a twinkle in his eye. "humph! a bird, eh? i guess you must mean an ostrich," retorted the shipowner's son, and at this sally there was a general laugh in which even dave joined. "just eleven o'clock," remarked luke, consulting his watch. "when do we stop for that lunch?" "at twelve o'clock precisely," answered mrs. basswood. "that is, of course, if we happen to be in the right kind of a place. we don't want to stop just anywhere." "might eat the lunch while we were running," suggested roger. "it would make it last so much longer." "wow! what a joke!" cried phil. "say, that puts me in mind of a story!" burst out shadow. "a fellow named william took his best girl for a trip by train to another town, and on the way they went into the dining-car for lunch. he said afterwards that it was the longest lunch he had ever eaten, and as the girl had ordered nearly everything on the bill of fare it was also the longest bill he had ever paid." "a long bill but a short story, shadow!" cried luke. "i'd like to know one thing, shadow," observed dave. "was it william who paid the bill or was it bill who had to put up several williams to pay for it?" "good gracious, dave! what are you talking about?" queried his sister, with a puzzled look on her face. "oh, that's easy, laura," answered roger. "william--bill, bill--william. don't you see the joke?" "yes, of course! how thick i am!" returned the girl, quickly. soon they were once more on the way. they had a long hill to ascend, the road winding in and out among the trees and around the rocks. it was a hard pull, and several times they had to change to second gear and even to low. "o my, what a beautiful view!" cried belle, when the top of the hill was gained. and in her excitement she stood straight up in the automobile to look around her. "it certainly is beautiful," returned jessie. "one can see for miles and miles in every direction!" "oh, mrs. basswood, don't you think this would be a lovely place to have lunch?" cried laura. at the mention of lunch, luke, shadow, and phil brought out their watches simultaneously. "seventeen minutes of twelve," announced the shipowner's son. "i've got quarter of," cried luke. "you must both be off," put in shadow. "i'm only fourteen minutes and a half of twelve," he announced, gravely. "have we got to wait till twelve o'clock?" he continued, anxiously. "i guess it'll be twelve o'clock before we get anything to eat," answered mrs. basswood, with a smile. "i think this would be just an ideal spot to rest." "oh, we've just got to stay here for a while, whether we eat or not!" cried belle. "i'm going to get out and run up on to the rocks over there," and suiting the action to the words, she leaped out of the automobile and started to make her way to the spot she had indicated. "look out that you don't fall over into the hollow," cautioned dave, as he assisted jessie and his sister to alight. to one side of the roadway was something of a cleared space, and into this the two automobiles were run. the boys got out the hampers and other things, and took them over to the spot which belle's quick eyes had picked out. here there was a patch of green grass shaded by several large trees, and in front of it a flat rock, beyond which was spread out a vast panorama of hills and valleys stretching for many miles. "it's a perfect picture!" cried jessie. "i must get a photograph of it." "yes. and we must take a photograph of the crowd at lunch," returned dave. "let's eat before we start to take any photographs," put in luke, who seemed to be extra hungry. "i never did look well in a picture taken before eating," and at this there was a general laugh. while the boys brought the various things from the cars, the girls and mrs. basswood spread a lunch-cloth partly on the grass and partly on the flat rock, and on this placed the various good things which had been brought along. "first call for lunch!" sang out dave, loudly, when all was in readiness. "i guess your first call will be the last, too, dave!" exclaimed jessie. "here! what will you have--a ham sandwich or one with chicken?" "i think i'll try the chicken," he answered. "oh, don't be backward about coming forward, dave!" cried luke. "why don't you try them both?" "i will before i get through." "we all will," declared roger. "there is nothing the matter with this air for giving one an appetite," he added. "i believe after we have been up at bear camp for a while we'll all be eating like wolves." "why not like bears, if we are going to bear camp?" suggested phil. "say, i can't bear a joke like that!" broke in roger. "it was a little barefaced; wasn't it?" commented dave. "oh, quit your joking, i'm hungry," pleaded luke. and then all the young folks fell to eating with great gusto, and it must be admitted that the older heads followed suit. the lunch lasted the best part of half an hour, and was thoroughly enjoyed by every one. then the young people got out their cameras, and various snap-shots and time-pictures were taken, to be developed and printed later on. "now then, let us pack up as quickly as we can, and finish this trip," said mr. basswood, presently. as he spoke he looked up at the sky, and the others did the same. off to the westward they saw a number of black clouds rolling up rapidly. "say, dave, that looks like a real storm to me," remarked roger, anxiously. "what do you think of it?" "it's a storm, all right," was the answer. "and if we don't catch it before we reach the end of our journey we'll be lucky." [illustration: and then all the young folks fell to eating with great gusto.--_page 102._] as quickly as possible, the various things were packed up and placed in the two touring-cars. then they started off once more, with mr. porter and mr. basswood at the steering wheels. they had covered less than five miles when they heard a rushing of wind through the woods. it seemed to come by fits and starts, but steadily increased in volume. the sky grew darker, and soon some large drops of rain fell. "we'll have to put up the tops!" cried dave. the basswood car had already come to a stop and those in it were hurrying to put up the top. as dave unfastened the straps on the wadsworth automobile, the drops of rain came down faster than ever. "we didn't get that up any too soon," remarked the boy's uncle, when the job was finished. "hadn't i better put up the side curtains, too?" queried dave. "you'll have to put up everything you've got, dave!" cried roger. "just look at what's coming!" there was no need to look, for already the rain was driving in on them. working with all possible speed, the boys soon adjusted the curtains. "uncle dunston, we can't run without chains if the road gets wet," cried dave. "i am going to run under yonder trees. we can put the chains on there," answered dunston porter, and they started forward once again, with the rain pelting down upon them furiously. chapter xi from one hardship to another "i guess i was right about the rain," remarked phil, grimly, as the drops pattered unceasingly on the cover of the automobile. "you sure were, phil!" cried belle. "it's coming down just as hard as ever it can." "if only the wind would stop blowing!" said jessie. "do you think there is any danger of our being blown over?" "oh, it isn't as bad as all that," answered dave. a few minutes later mr. porter espied a suitable place under several large trees, and here he brought the touring-car to a standstill. then the basswood car come close alongside. "going to put on the chains?" called out mr. basswood, to make himself heard above the noise of the elements. "i think we had better," returned dave's uncle. "i imagine we've quite a hill to descend a little farther on." there were raincoats in each touring-car, and these were now donned by dave and his uncle, and by ben and his father. then the chains for the back wheels for both automobiles were brought forth. even under the thick foliage of the trees the rain was coming down, although of course not nearly as hard as on the roadway beyond. the chains were straightened out on the grass, and each automobile was backed up a little so that the articles might be fastened on. the task took but a few minutes, and then those who had accomplished it got back into the machines. "i'll lead the way," called out mr. porter. "you had better not follow me too closely." "very well, i'll watch out," answered mr. basswood. "uncle dunston, don't you want to let me drive?" queried dave. "i've had a little more experience at it than you have had." "i can do it, dave," was the reply. "but, at the same time, if you think it would be safer, take the wheel. i must own up that i'd rather be on a horse or behind one than steering a car like this in such a storm." dave squeezed himself into the driver's seat, and a moment later they were off again over the plateau of the hill, and then down the other side. the wind was blowing as furiously as ever, and now from a distance came the low rumble of thunder. "o dear! what is that?" cried laura. "i guess it was thunder, but i don't think it will amount to anything," returned roger. the bottom of the hill gained, they traversed a narrow valley for a distance of seven or eight miles. then came another climb over a winding highway, which at certain points was filled with loose stones and dirt. "be careful, dave. we don't want to do any skidding," cautioned the youth's uncle. "i'm watching out all i can," was the grim reply. dave was bending over the steering-wheel, trying his best to see through the windshield. "i guess i'll have to open it a little," he went on, nodding in the direction of the glass. "i'll do it for you," answered dunston porter, and threw out the upper side of the shield. by this means dave was able to get a clear vision of the roadway directly in front of the machine. but the opening of the windshield let in considerable of the driving rain. "oh, dave, you'll get wet from the knees down!" cried jessie, solicitously. "can't help it," he replied. "i can't see with the windshield closed." the rumblings of thunder had increased, and now from over a distant hill came various streaks of lightning. the sky was much darker, and in order to see better, dave turned on the electric lights. looking back, those in the tonneau of the forward car saw that the basswood machine was also lighted. by the time the top of the next hill was gained, a distance of fully a mile, the thunderstorm was on them in all its fury. the wind tore through the woods, sending leaves and small branches flying in all directions. from the north and the west came vivid flashes of lightning, followed by sharp claps of thunder, which rolled and rumbled across the hills and mountains. "o dear, if we only had some place to stop!" cried jessie, timorously. "there isn't any sort of a building in sight," replied dunston porter, who had been looking on all sides for some time. "if there was i'd have dave head for it pretty quick." "according to the map we ought to be within a few miles of simpson's corners," said roger. "how about it, dave?" "just what i was thinking," answered our hero. "i was wondering if it wasn't on the other side of the next rise." they were running along another small valley, at the end of which was a sharp turn to the left and a rise of several hundred feet. here the downfall of rain had flooded the road for a considerable distance. coming to this place dave had to slow down, but he still kept on some power, not wishing to get stuck. "can you make it, dave?" asked his uncle, anxiously, as the chains of the automobile ground deeply into the mud and loose stones. "we've got to make it, uncle dunston!" cried the boy, grimly. the car proceeded more and more slowly even with the power turned on. dave had been running in second gear, but now he came down to low. mud and stones flew in all directions, while the water was splashed out on both sides as if coming from geysers. then, with one last effort, the automobile left the level roadway and started up the hill beyond. the wadsworth car was almost at the top of the rise when a turn in the road enabled its occupants to see the second car. "look!" burst out roger. "i do believe they're stuck!" "stuck! do you mean in that wet place?" asked dave, quickly. "that's it," put in phil. "they are stuck just as sure as you're born!" he added, a second later. the forward car had now reached a spot on the side of the hill which was comparatively level, so that dave had no trouble in coming to a halt. it was still raining as furiously as ever, and the thunder and lightning were just as incessant. looking down on the wet portion of the road below them, they saw that the basswood car was standing still, with water and mud half way up to the hubs. "he has shut off the power! that's no way to do!" cried dave. "he ought to keep his engine going, and either try to go forward or backward. if he stands still he will sink deeper than ever." "he's trying to back now, dave," returned phil, and he was right. soon they saw the wheels of the basswood car revolving rapidly, and the turnout itself moved slowly to the rear. then ben must have reversed the power, for the car came forward, but this time headed for the left side of the road. "i don't think he'll gain much by that move," observed dave. "i tried it, and found it rather soft over there." "look, he is backing again!" cried laura. "o dear! whatever will he do if he gets stuck fast?" "let us hope that nothing like that happens," answered her uncle, gravely. but that was just what did happen, and although both ben and his father did their best to free the car from the mud, it was without avail. they managed to get to within fifteen feet of the end of the wet place, and there they stayed, unable to budge either forward or backward. "listen! he is sounding his horn!" cried roger, during a brief lull in the storm. "i guess he wants us to come back and help pull him out," answered dave, and sounded a reply to show that he had heard the call of distress. "what are you going to do, dave--try to turn around here or back down?" asked roger. "oh, it's too narrow to turn here!" cried laura, in alarm. "you'll have us all over in the ditch if you don't look out!" came from one of the others in the car. "i see a little wider spot further ahead," answered dave, and turned on the power once more. soon he had reached the place in question, and there, by skillful maneuvering, he managed to turn the touring-car the other way. then he came down the hill slowly until within a few feet of the bad spot in the highway. "hello there!" called out mr. basswood. "i guess you'll have to get out that towing-rope again and give us a lift." "just what i thought," answered dave. "we'll have it out in a jiffy." he and his uncle alighted once more, taking with them the towing-rope that had been used before. mr. basswood was already out of the car, standing in water and mud over his shoe-tops. "here, catch the rope!" called out our hero, and sent one end whirling toward the other car in true cowboy fashion--a trick he had learned while staying at star ranch. mr. basswood caught the rope, and soon had it adjusted to the front axle of the car. in the meanwhile dave and his uncle fastened the other end to the rear axle of their own turnout. "now then, turn on your power when i sound my horn," directed dave. "right you are!" yelled back ben, who was at the wheel. mr. porter remained on the ground to watch proceedings, while dave re-entered the wadsworth machine and turned on the power. then our hero sounded the horn and began to advance. the towing-rope strained and cracked, and threatened for a moment to snap. slowly the wadsworth car went ahead inch by inch. the rear wheels of the basswood machine churned the water and mud furiously. "say! we don't seem to be getting out of this very fast," remarked shadow, who was in the rear car beside mrs. basswood. "put on all your power, ben. it's the only thing you can do," ordered the lad's father. the rear wheels of the second machine ground deeper into the mud and loose stones, throwing them and the water up into the air and even onto the cover of the machine. the towing-rope continued to creak ominously. "be on guard, everybody, if that rope breaks!" cried mr. basswood, warningly. he knew that if the towing-line parted near one end or the other there was grave danger of the flying rope coming back to damage one of the machines. inch by inch the second car moved forward. dave had not dared to turn on all power, fearing to snap the towing-line, but now, as the second machine gained a little headway, he added power steadily. "hurrah! here we come!" shouted luke, in a tone of relief. and a few seconds later the basswood car rolled out of the water and mud to the comparatively dry roadway ahead. "say, that was some stunt--to get out of there!" was shadow's comment. "i'm mighty glad the other car was here to help us," answered ben. "if it hadn't been here i guess we would have stayed there for a while," he added, grimly. "i think both our cars will need washing after this trip," observed dave, with a grin, as he coiled up the towing-line once more and stowed it away. "this sure is some ending to this trip!" observed ben, making a wry face. "we haven't seen the end of it yet, ben," answered dunston porter. "there may be worse roads than this ahead. i don't believe they are very good around carpen falls." with the rain pelting down unceasingly, the two cars proceeded on the journey. the thunder and lightning had let up a little, but now, as the top of the next hill was gained, it seemed to become more violent than before. "oh, this is dreadful!" cried jessie, as a particularly bright flash lit up the interior of the automobile. "what if we should be struck!" "let us hope that nothing like that happens!" answered laura. her face, too, showed her alarm. "i think i saw some sort of a village ahead," cried dave, who had been peering intently through the windshield. "i think i saw the white steeple of a church." "maybe it's simpson's corners," suggested belle. "i hope there is a hotel there and a garage," said dunston porter. "we'll want to have a chance to dry ourselves and get supper." "then you don't think we'll reach carpen falls to-night?" questioned phil. "i don't know what to think, phil. perhaps we may----" mr. porter did not finish what he was saying. just at that instant came a vivid flash of lightning that nearly blinded them. it was followed by an ear-splitting crash of thunder. then came another crash closer by, and an instant later dave and his uncle saw a large tree fall directly toward the roadway in front of them! chapter xii a stroke of lightning "look out!" "we are going into that tree!" "jam on both brakes, dave, just as hard as you can!" cried dunston porter. even before his uncle had spoken dave had pressed down both feet hard, thus putting on the foot-brake and releasing the gear-clutch. now his hand shot over to the emergency brake, and this came up with all the power at his command. but the grade was downward, and the road slippery from the rain, and instead of stopping, the touring-car went on, sliding through the mud and over the rocks until it was practically on top of the tree. then came a jar that threw everybody forward. the steering-wheel saved dave, but his uncle's elbow struck the windshield, cracking it in several places. "look, we've run into a tree!" "did the lightning hit the machine?" "say, roger, take yourself off my feet; will you?" this last cry came from phil, who was huddled up in a corner of the tonneau. "it isn't me, it's the handbag, phil," gasped out roger, who hung partly over the front seat of the touring-car. "anybody hurt?" questioned dunston porter quickly, as soon as the shock had come to an end. "i--i--think i am all right, uncle dunston," panted laura. "but dear me! wasn't it awful?" "i thought i was going to fly right over dave's head," wailed jessie, who had come up behind the youth with a great thump. "oh, dave, did i hurt you?" "knocked a little of the wind out of me, jessie; that's all," he answered. "but i won't mind that if only you are not hurt." "say, that was some stop, believe me!" was phil's grim comment, as he managed to straighten up and look ahead. "stuffed mackerel! what did we try to do, dave--climb a tree?" "no. we tried to take a running jump and go over it," replied roger, with a faint attempt at humor. "sound the horn, dave, as loudly as you can!" cried his uncle, quickly. "we must warn the others." and thus admonished, dave put his finger on the button of the electric horn and held it down for some time. looking backward, those in the wadsworth car soon saw the basswood machine come into sight and then slow down. the heavy clap of thunder was now followed by another fierce downfall of rain, while the sky grew blacker than ever. in the midst of this outburst the second touring-car came slowly forward. "did the lightning strike you?" yelled ben. "no. but we had a close call of it," answered mr. porter. "it hit this tree when we were less than one hundred and fifty feet away. then the tree came down as you see, and we ploughed right into it." "phew! that's some escape!" was mr. basswood's comment. "anything broken?" "we don't know yet," answered dave. he alighted from the car, and his uncle did likewise. an examination showed that one of the mudguards in front had been badly bent, and that a headlight had snapped off, but beyond this, and the windshield, the big touring-car seemed to be undamaged. "i'm thankful it's no worse," remarked dunston porter. "it's too bad the light had to go," returned dave. "it will make running at night rather dangerous until we can get it fixed." "oh, let us be thankful that no one was hurt!" cried laura. while dave and his uncle had been examining the car, mr. basswood and the others had been looking for some way around the tree, which covered the roadway completely. "i think i see a path through yonder trees," said ben, pointing to his left. "the ground seems to be pretty good there, and i think the opening is plenty large enough for our cars." mr. basswood moved forward in the direction his son indicated, and soon called to ben to start the car. he led the way on foot, and the machine followed slowly. they passed in and out among several trees, and then emerged once more on the highway, some distance beyond the obstruction. "hurrah! that's the way to do it!" cried luke. "now the others can back up and follow us." "so they can," answered shadow. "but what about leaving that tree in the roadway? it's mighty dangerous, and will be more so after dark." "we can notify the authorities at simpson's corners," said mr. basswood. "they can send somebody up here with a lantern." he went back to tell the others of what had been accomplished, and soon the wadsworth car was backed out from between the branches of the tree that shut off the highway. "well, i think the rain is letting up a little, anyway," announced roger, after the two touring-cars were once more under way. and he was right. that last downfall seemed to clear the sky, and soon they saw the clouds scattering. wet from end to end, and covered with mud, the two automobiles rolled into the little settlement that went by the name of simpson's corners. here an old man named simpson kept a general store to which, in the rear, was attached a small livery stable and garage. "you certainly must have had some trip over the hills in this storm," remarked mr. simpson, after the party had trooped into his place. "it's about as heavy a rainfall as we have had in some time. where are you bound?" "we wanted to get to carpen falls if we could," answered dunston porter. "but perhaps we'll stay in simpson's corners, if there are any accommodations." "ain't no hotel here," answered the storekeeper. "used to be one some years ago, but it didn't pay, so the feller that run it gave it up. but mrs. whittle serves lunch to travelers if you are hungry." "me for mrs. whittle's!" whispered phil. "good gracious, phil! you seem to be hungry all the time on this trip," was belle's good-natured comment. "maybe if we stay here an hour or two it will clear off," said dave, who was examining the sky closely. "i think the storm is shifting very rapidly." "i believe you're right, dave," answered his uncle. "yes, we'll stay here and get dried out a little, if nothing else." it was learned that mrs. whittle's place was just across the street, and the lady said she would be very glad to furnish them with a hot supper, and added that they could come in and dry themselves in her sitting-room, where she started an open fire. the machines were placed in mr. simpson's garage, and they purchased from the storekeeper some gasoline and oil. "only a little after five o'clock," announced roger. "i think by six o'clock the storm will be over," he added. while they were eating the supper provided by mrs. whittle, it stopped raining, and a little later they saw the setting sun over the hills to the westward. "how many miles is it to carpen falls from here?" asked luke. "fourteen by the automobile blue book," answered dave. "and what of the road?" questioned ben. "mr. simpson said it wasn't so bad but that it might be worse," answered dunston porter, who had been interviewing the storekeeper and who had told the man about the fallen tree, having learned that mr. simpson was the head of the township committee. "we don't want to get stuck, especially after it gets dark," said ben. "i wish we could stay here," sighed mrs. basswood. "but there don't seem to be any accommodations." "oh, we'll get through; come ahead!" cried dave. "if we don't reach carpen falls to-night mr. and mrs. wadsworth will worry about us." feeling in somewhat better spirits after having eaten, and after having had an opportunity to dry themselves, the tourists brought out their automobiles again, and soon simpson's corners was left behind. they had a long hill to climb, and then the road wound in and out among some particularly rough rocks. then they came out along the edge of a cliff with a vast panorama of woods and waters below them. "oh, isn't it perfectly lovely!" cried belle. "if i'm not mistaken, mirror lake lies off in that direction," said dunston porter, pointing with his hand. "that sheet of water away off yonder may be it." leaving the cliff, the road wound in and out of the forest for a distance of several miles. then they came to another little valley, in which the highway was wet and, in some spots, suspiciously spongy. "now then, dave, be careful," warned his uncle. "we don't want to get stuck if we can possibly help it." "i'll do my best, uncle dunston," was the answer. with the wheels sucking and sousing in the mud, the wadsworth machine moved forward as rapidly as the conditions would permit. close behind was the basswood car, and this time ben took care not to let the engine slow down too much. once dave was afraid that he was going to be stuck, but in a few seconds the danger was past, and in two minutes more they were out on the solid roadway once more. "we are coming to some sort of a settlement!" cried mr. porter, after several miles more had been covered. "see, there it is--right down at the foot of this hill!" "it must be carpen falls," announced dave. "see, there are the falls off to the right!" and he pointed to where a fair-sized stream of water came down between the trees and fell over the rocks. the falls were fifteen to twenty feet high, and made a beautiful sight. carpen falls was a settlement of some importance, for the campers on the lakes for miles around came there to do their trading. there were two general stores, one containing the post-office, and also a blacksmith's shop, livery stable and garage combined, and a small summer hotel. "oh, look! my father and mother!" cried jessie, as the two machines rolled up to the hotel. to the surprise of all, mr. and mrs. wadsworth stood on the piazza watching their approach. "oh, we thought you would never get here!" cried mrs. wadsworth, in relief. "we thought sure you had had some sort of accident on the road." "and how is it you are here?" asked dave, quickly. "we came in this morning to do some trading at the store," answered mr. wadsworth. "we were going back, when it began to storm so hard that we decided to stay here until the rain let up, and until you arrived. it certainly was a hard downpour!" "we came pretty near having several accidents," answered ben. and then after the party had alighted, they told of the various happenings on the journey. "we can remain here all night if you want to," announced the jewelry manufacturer. "but if you would rather go on to the bungalows i think we can make it. there are two old stages here, and the drivers are perfectly willing to make the trip." "now we have gotten so far, let us finish the trip," urged laura. "i think i would rather be at the bungalows than at this hotel," she added, with a look around that hostelry--a place that was not particularly inviting. "but you'll want supper first; won't you?" questioned mrs. wadsworth. "we had something to eat at simpson's corners," answered her daughter. the stages that mr. wadsworth had mentioned were certainly old-fashioned and dilapidated, but each was drawn by a pair of sturdy horses, and the drivers said that they were perfectly safe and could make the journey to mirror lake without trouble. so, having transferred the baggage from the automobiles to these ancient vehicles, and having placed the touring-cars in the garage, with orders to have the damaged car repaired, our friends piled into the turnouts, and then, with various calls to the animals and loud crackings of the whips, the two stages started for bear camp. chapter xiii at bear camp "talk about the old-time coaching days!" remarked dave. "i don't believe they were any worse than this." "oh, dave, you mustn't find fault!" cried jessie. "we'll soon be there, i hope." "providing we don't go down in some hole and break off a wheel," put in roger. "say, this road is some rough!" "i'll have it rolled down for you the next time, roger!" cried phil, gaily. "just imagine yourself in the wild west, in one of the old-time overland coaches, with the indians in full pursuit. how about that, belle?" "it sounds good enough for a dime novel," answered the girl from the west. "personally i never saw any indians in pursuit of a stage-coach or anything else. the indians around star ranch were as peaceable as one could wish." over the rough and rather narrow trail bumped the two stage-coaches. our friends frequently found themselves bounced off the seats, and more than once they were in danger of cracking their heads against the roofs of the turnouts. it was growing dark, and the only lights the drivers had were their smoking lanterns. inside of the stage-coaches the boys had their hand flashlights, which they used occasionally to illuminate the scene. "never mind! don't you care!" cried phil, and then added: "what's the matter with a song?" "let's give them our old oak hall song!" exclaimed dave, and a moment later he started their old favorite, sung to the tune of "auld lang syne." "oak hall we never shall forget, no matter where we roam, it is the very best of schools, to us it's just like home. then give three cheers, and let them ring throughout this world so wide, to let the people know that we elect to here abide!" "oh, how splendid!" was belle's comment. "please sing it again," and they did. then they followed with a number of familiar songs. the sound was caught up by those in the second coach, and soon they too were singing lustily. "gosh-all-hemlock!" was the comment of the stage-driver of the forward coach. "that there singin' is better'n a nigger minstrels!" "better join in," suggested dave, and then started up with "the suwanee river," and to the surprise of all the old stage-driver broke in with a heavy bass voice which really balanced the others quite well. the storm was a thing of the past, and as night came on the thin crescent of the new moon and numberless stars showed themselves. "o my, look!" "isn't that perfectly grand!" "i don't wonder they call it mirror lake!" such were some of the cries from the girls as the first of the stage-coaches rolled out on the edge of the sheet of water by which the bungalows were located. here, at a certain point, they could gaze down the full length of the lake. in spite of the rain that had fallen the surface of the water seemed unusually smooth, and it glistened in the light of the moon and the stars like silver. "oh, it's just too splendid for anything!" exclaimed jessie, as she clapped her hands in delight. "what a beautiful place to come to!" "i don't see how it could be any prettier than it is," added laura. "why, it's just like a scene from fairyland!" declared belle. "oh, i know i'm going to have just the nicest time ever while i'm here!" "i see the bungalows!" cried roger, and he pointed to a number of lights twinkling between the trees. "i told mary, the hired girl, to light up so we could see where we were going," said mrs. wadsworth. "this is about as far as we can go with the stages," announced the driver of the first turnout, as he came to a halt. "you'll have to walk the rest of the distance. bill and me will help you with the traps." soon the other stage came up, and all on board alighted. the two stage-drivers took the heaviest of the suitcases, while the boys and mr. porter and mr. basswood carried the others. mr. and mrs. wadsworth led the way along a trail that was still somewhat wet and slippery. "it's right in the woods, that's sure!" declared roger. "what do you think of it?" asked dave, as they approached the two bungalows, which stood only a short distance apart. "oh, i like it very much. i think we ought to have a dandy time here, dave." "just what i was thinking." their approach had been noticed by the servant girls, and this couple came out to meet them. then the two drivers were paid, and they returned to their stages and started back for carpen falls. "i'm glad that journey is ended!" remarked jessie, as she sank into a rustic rocking-chair. "my! but it was quite an adventure; now wasn't it?" "it certainly was, jessie," answered dave. "i don't suppose you'll want to go back by automobile?" "not unless you guarantee the weather, dave," she answered, with a smile. the basswood family, along with shadow and luke, had gone off to the second bungalow, leaving the others at the one over which mrs. wadsworth was to preside. the lady of the bungalow showed the girls and the boys the various rooms which they were to occupy. as all of the other baggage had arrived from the railroad station two days before, the tourists lost no time in getting rid of their damp garments and donning others more comfortable. after that all made an inspection of the bungalow, and then trooped over to the other building. "say, this suits me down to the ground!" said luke. "it couldn't be better." "i noticed a number of canoes and rowboats at the dock," said shadow. "we are bound to have some fine times out on that lake." "and did you notice the bath-houses?" added ben. "that means good times swimming." "providing the water isn't too cold," said phil. "in some of these lakes among the mountains it gets pretty cold, don't you know, especially if the lake happens to be fed by springs." "oh, pshaw! who's afraid of a little cold water?" cried his chum, disdainfully. "any danger of a bear coming to eat us up?" queried luke. "oh, don't say bears again!" cried jessie. "i don't want to hear of them, much less see them." "say, that puts me in mind of a story!" cried shadow, eagerly. "once a bear got away from his keeper and wandered around a little new england village until he came to a cottage where an old lady lived. all of the villagers were scared to death, and some of them started to get their shotguns and rifles with which to kill mr. bruin. but the old lady had her own idea of what to do. she grabbed up a broomstick and began to hammer that bear right on his nose, and would you believe me? mr. bruin got so scared that he ran away and then went straight back to his keeper and allowed himself to be chained up again!" "shadow, is that a true story or a made-up yarn?" asked laura. "it was told to me down east, and they said it was absolutely true," was the answer. "they even gave me the name of the old lady." "say, shadow, it was a wonder they didn't give you the name of the broomstick," said dave, and with that there was a short laugh. dave, roger, and phil had been given two rooms between them. one was considerably smaller than the other, and this dave occupied. on the other side of a little hallway were the girls, while mr. and mrs. wadsworth and dunston porter occupied large chambers next to the living-room. in the rear were two tiny rooms for the hired help. at the other bungalow ben and his friends occupied three little rooms, while mr. and mrs. basswood had a large apartment off to one side. at this bungalow there was an extra large living-room in which was placed, among other things, a small upright piano, somewhat out of tune but still usable. "now don't you boys dare to play any tricks to-night!" said laura, when she and her girl friends were about to retire. "you just keep your tricks for some other time." "all right, laura, i'll make roger and phil be good," answered her brother. "i guess we are all tired enough to sleep soundly." and he certainly spoke the truth as far as he personally was concerned, for hardly had his head touched the pillow than he was off to the land of dreams. the boys were up bright and early on the following morning. it was a beautiful day, with the sun shining brightly and a gentle breeze blowing from the west. to be sure, the forest back of the bungalow was still wet, but it had dried off down at the shore of the lake, and at the dock where were located two rowboats and several canoes. "let us all go out for a row after breakfast," suggested dave. "it will limber us up." the aroma of freshly-made coffee and of sizzling bacon filled the air between the bungalows, and soon the young folks who had gone down to the dock to look at the lake and the craft on it, came trooping back for their breakfast. "don't you think it would be more pleasant if we could all eat together, mrs. wadsworth?" said laura, while they were partaking of the repast. "perhaps so, laura, and maybe we'll be able to arrange it," answered the lady. "mrs. basswood spoke about it. they have a large living-room there that might be utilized as a dining-room for all, and in pleasant weather we might all eat out on our wide porch." "that's the talk!" cried dave. "i'd rather eat outdoors any time, if the weather would permit." "oh, yes, let us eat on the porch!" cried jessie. and so, later on, it was arranged, the entire party eating indoors only when it was wet. the canoes had been turned over and were perfectly dry, but the two rowboats had to be bailed out. various parties were made up to go out, and presently dave found himself in one of the canoes with jessie as his sole companion. "any particular place you'd like to go?" questioned our hero, as he dipped his paddle into the lake, and with a firm sweep sent the long and graceful canoe gliding away from the little dock. "supposing we go along the shore, dave?" answered the girl. "i would like to see how it looks beyond this cove." "all right, i'll keep as close to shore as possible," he replied. and then they set off, leaving the others to go where they pleased. "you don't suppose there's any danger of our upsetting?" queried jessie. "we won't upset if you keep perfectly still," answered dave. "i think i can manage this craft all right." on and on they went over the smooth surface of the lake, passing at times close to the shore and under the overhanging branches of trees, which at some points were very thick. in spots the water was shallow, and so clear that they could see the bottom with ease and occasionally catch sight of fishes darting in one direction or another. "i think we're going to have some fine times fishing up here," declared the youth, as a beautiful trout flashed by only a few feet away. they were coming around a long curve of the shore. just ahead was a high point of rocks, on which somebody had erected a rude summer-house of untrimmed tree-branches. "what a cute little place!" declared jessie, in delight. "it must belong to some of the cottages around the bend," answered dave. "i believe there is quite a colony somewhere up here." they passed around the point of rocks, and a few minutes later came in sight of several rustic cottages set in a grove of trees. in front of the cottages was a long, narrow dock, at which rested several craft, including a fair-sized motor-boat. "hello, i didn't know there was a motor-boat on this lake!" exclaimed dave. "whoever owns it must have had some job getting it here." no one was at the dock or on the motor-boat, and passing that point, dave sent his canoe along another picturesque bit of the lake shore. then, as they made another turn, they came in sight of a log cabin which had evidently been erected many years before. "well, i never! dave, what in the world are those folks doing?" the cry came from jessie, and not without reason, for they had suddenly come in sight of three or four men and several ladies, all stationed in front of the old log cabin. one of the men was dressed in the garb of a woodsman; and he held a large ax in his hands, raised over his head as if to strike down one of the younger ladies. then another of the ladies rushed up, and fell on her knees with upraised hands in front of the man. "hello, i know these people!" cried dave, in astonishment. "they are the moving-picture actors who were on board that burning steam yacht!" chapter xiv something of a quarrel "the moving-picture actors, dave?" queried jessie, in wonder. "yes. don't you see the man over there with the camera? he is grinding out a picture of that scene." "o my! is that the way they do it?" returned the girl, with interest. "i've read about it, but i never had a chance before to see how it was done." dave brought the canoe to a standstill, and both watched the little drama being enacted before the old log cabin. our hero saw that the young lady in the scene was della ford, and the elderly lady the one she had called aunt bess. "all over!" exclaimed a man, who stood beside the individual at the moving-picture camera. the latter had stopped turning the handle of the machine, and now he proceeded to cover the whole outfit with a black cloth. "well, i'm glad that's over!" those in the canoe heard della ford exclaim. "come, aunt bess, let us go back to the water." the young lady turned from the group, and as she did so she caught sight of the canoe and its occupants. she stared for an instant, and then her face lit up. "mr. porter! is it possible!" she exclaimed. "i certainly didn't expect to meet you up here. aunt bess, here is the young gentleman who saved us from drowning." "you don't tell me!" came from the aunt, and then both hurried their steps toward a tiny dock beside which the canoe was resting. "i certainly didn't expect to meet you again, and away up here in the adirondacks," answered dave, with a smile. and then, as the young moving-picture actress came closer, he introduced the girls to each other. "this is my aunt, mrs. bess ford," announced della, to jessie. "i suppose you saw us acting just now?" "we did," answered jessie. "it was quite interesting." "i suppose it is, to an outsider," responded the young actress. "it gets to be an old story with us; doesn't it, aunt bess?" "oh, i don't mind it," returned the aunt. "i'd rather be up here in the woods acting for the movies than down in some stuffy theater in this warm weather." "did mr. porter tell you what a grand hero he is, miss wadsworth?" asked della ford, turning to jessie. "oh, he's just the grandest hero i ever met!" and she beamed on dave. "come now, miss ford, please don't mention it again," expostulated dave. "i didn't do so very much, and you know it." "isn't saving my life a good deal?" demanded the young actress, archly. "oh, i don't mean that. what i mean is that anybody could have done what i did." "but you did it, young man, and you ought to have credit for it," put in mrs. ford, bluntly. "it was certainly a brave thing to do." "it was; and i shall never cease to thank mr. porter for it," went on della ford, and she gave dave another warm look, at which he blushed more than ever. this look was not lost on jessie; and she bit her lip in a way that showed she was not altogether pleased. then mr. appleby, the manager of the moving-picture company, came forward, followed by several others. "this certainly is a surprise!" said the manager. "first we meet on the atlantic ocean, and next in the heart of the adirondacks." "it's like some of your changes in the movies," answered dave, smiling. "you show us a shipwreck, and then, presto! you transfer us to an office in wall street. you must have to jump around pretty lively to get all the scenes of a drama." "we don't take just one drama," explained mr. appleby. "we sometimes do half a dozen or more. for instance, while we are up here we are going to take the outdoor scenes to fifteen or twenty dramas. then we'll go back to the city and finish up with a number of interiors." "wouldn't you like to be a moving-picture actor, mr. porter?" asked della ford, eagerly. "you could go into a nautical rescue scene very nicely." "there you go again, miss ford!" returned dave. "just the same, it must be some fun being in a moving picture." "oh, dave, don't you go into any moving picture," interrupted jessie, quickly. "why, what would be the harm?" he questioned. "oh, no particular harm, i suppose. only i shouldn't like it," she answered, in a low tone. "you might get into our next scene," went on della ford, ignoring jessie's remark. "we are going to have one that will show several canoes besides the motor-boat tied up at the dock around the bend." "well, i'll think about it," answered dave, hesitatingly; and then he went on to mr. appleby: "by the way, is ward porton still with you?" "he is with my company, yes; but he is not here just now," was the reply. "i expect him in a week or so." "i met him in crumville, where i live." "is that so? i thought he had gone to his old home down east. however, it doesn't matter; he has a right to go where he pleases." "by the way, mr. appleby, i would like to speak to you in private for a moment," went on dave, and leaping ashore he drew the manager to one side. "what is it?" "you have a new member of your company, a young fellow named link merwell." "yes, what of it?" "link merwell is a criminal--a fugitive from justice," answered dave. and then he gave the man some of the particulars already known to my readers. "if what you say is true, porter, i don't want that fellow in my company," said mr. appleby, warmly. "what do you want me to do when he comes, hold him a prisoner?" "i wish you would do that, and let us know. mr. wadsworth will take care of merwell." "all right, i'll do it--if he shows up. but he may not do that--if he has found out that you are in this vicinity," added the manager. "i'm thinking he will make himself scarce," returned dave, with a grim smile. in the meantime della ford had come down to the side of the canoe. "where are you staying, miss wadsworth?" questioned the young actress. "at a bungalow near the end of the lake," returned jessie, and explained about the location and who were in the party. "oh, how delightful! you will surely have a splendid time here. we are located in the cottage around the bend where you perhaps saw the motor-boat tied up. i am sure we'll be very glad to have you call on us." "thank you; perhaps we'll get this way again some time," returned jessie, somewhat coolly. "you must come and see us, mr. porter, by all means," went on the young moving picture actress when our hero returned to the side of the canoe. "and bring the others along, too. i liked the appearance of your chums. you all seemed to be so jolly." "dave, don't you think we ought to be going?" questioned jessie. "just as you say," he answered, and dipped his paddle into the lake. "then you don't want to stay and take part in that other picture?" called out della ford, as the canoe began to leave the dock. "not to-day, miss ford," called back dave. "but i may get into one of your pictures just for the fun of it." "do! and don't forget to call at the cottage," returned the young lady; and then the canoe passed out of hearing of those on the shore, and a dozen strong strokes of the paddle sent the frail craft out of sight around another headland. "that certainly was a surprise," was dave's comment, as they passed along under some overhanging trees. "i never dreamed of coming across that moving-picture company in such a fashion as that." "what did you get out for?" asked jessie, curiously. "i wanted to ask mr. appleby about link merwell. he didn't know link was a criminal. he says if link shows himself up here he will make him a prisoner and notify us." "isn't it queer that link should join that company!" "rather, although i suppose he has got to do something for a living,--and i guess he isn't the fellow to pick out hard work. acting in the movies must be easy--and lots of fun in the bargain." "you are not going to act with them, are you, dave?" questioned jessie, with her big round eyes full upon him. "oh, i don't know. i think perhaps it might be sport." "i don't think so." "miss ford tried to make a regular hero out of me. i wish she wouldn't do that." "well, it was a grand thing for you to do--to pull her out of the water, dave, and she ought to be exceedingly grateful. just the same, i don't think i like her very much," and jessie pouted a little. "is that so? why, i thought she was real nice." "she's awfully forward." "i didn't notice that. but maybe it's her calling makes her so. an actress can't be just like other people." "i think she might be when she wasn't acting. anyway, i think she was too--well, too gushing." "i noticed that you didn't give her any invitation to call when she invited you," went on dave, after a pause, during which they left the vicinity of the shore and swept out into mirror lake. "why should i? mamma might not approve of it. i don't think she has a very high opinion of moving-picture actors and actresses." "and i guess you haven't either, jessie," returned dave, somewhat bluntly. "oh, i don't know about that," and the girl tossed her head. "they have a right to act in the movies if they want to. they've got to earn their living some way, i suppose. don't you think we had better be getting back, dave?" "why, it's early yet, jessie!" "never mind, i think i would rather go back. now that the sun is overhead it is quite warm." dave started to answer, and then suddenly shut his mouth tightly. the paddle went deeper into the water, and the canoe shot around quickly in a long semicircle. "oh, dave! don't tip us over!" "don't fear. the canoe won't go over if you sit perfectly still," he replied, in a tone that was somewhat unsympathetic. "are you going back to the bungalows?" "why, certainly. that was what you wanted--to go back; wasn't it?" "we haven't got to race back, have we?" "i'm not racing; but i thought you wanted to get out of this hot sun." "dave, i think you're angry with me," returned jessie, reproachfully, but she did not raise her eyes as before. instead she kept them fastened on the bottom of the canoe. "angry? what foolishness! what is there for me to be angry about?" "oh, you know well enough." "i don't see why you should feel so cut up over miss ford. i can't help it if she is grateful--as you put it--for my saving her from drowning; can i?" "oh, it isn't that, dave. of course she ought to be grateful. but you--you----" jessie's voice broke a little and she could not go on. "me? i haven't done a thing! didn't you hear me tell her to quit it?" "oh, it wasn't what you said. it was----but never mind, let us get back to the bungalow." and jessie kept her eyes on the bottom of the canoe, refusing to look at her companion. "and i'm sure i didn't do a thing either. now please don't be silly and----" "dave! silly!" "i didn't mean that exactly, jessie. but you know----" "it's not a bit nice for you to call me silly!" retorted the girl, her face flaming. "i didn't mean just that, jessie. i meant----" "you did mean it! you think i am silly, do you? all right, you can think so! please paddle straight for our dock." "now, jessie----" began dave, entreatingly. "i don't want to hear another word! take me straight to the dock," retorted the girl. "very well, if you won't listen to me you don't have to," answered dave; and now he, too, showed that he was completely out of sorts. he struck the paddle deeper than ever into the water, and with long, telling strokes the canoe shot forward over the lake in the direction of bear camp. chapter xv visitors several days went by and during that time the coldness that had sprung up between dave and jessie increased, although both did their best to hide it from the others. one afternoon while the girl was off with laura and belle for a tramp along a brook that flowed into the lake not far from the bungalows, mr. appleby came into the cove in his motor-boat, bringing with him an old hunter and guide of that vicinity, named tad rason, and also della ford and her aunt bess. they found dave, roger, and phil at the dock, fishing. "any luck?" called out the manager of the moving-picture company, cheerily. "some, but not a great deal," answered dave, and he and the others pulled in their lines, so that they might not become entangled in the propeller of the boat. "you'll have to go to the other shore for good fishing," said tad rason, who had already shown himself at the bungalows and made himself known. "the fish are mighty scarce around here." "i'd like to go fishing sometime!" exclaimed della, with a smile and a nod to dave and his chums. "i never caught a fish in my life. mr. porter, couldn't you show me how to do it?" she asked, sweetly. "i might, if the fish was willing to be caught," answered dave, with a grin. "oh, i am sure i could catch one if you would only show me how," returned the young actress. "well, if you are going to fish with worms you've got to first learn how to put one on a hook," said phil. "o my! i'm sure that i don't want to put a squirming worm on any hook!" cried della, with a slight shudder. "i want to fish with one of those beautiful flies, it's so much more interesting." "i came down on a peculiar errand," broke in mr. appleby, after he had tied up at the dock. "i would like to borrow a little furniture from you for one day only." "furniture?" queried roger. "yes. you see, we have an interior scene up at our cottage, but we haven't got just the furniture that the drama calls for. i noticed when i stopped at your bungalows yesterday that you had several pieces that are just the ones required. if you will lend them to me to-day, i will see that you get them back safely by to-morrow." "you'll have to see mrs. wadsworth and mrs. basswood about that," returned dave. "not but that i think it will be all right," he added, hastily. "come up here to do some shooting, i suppose, just as soon as the season opens?" remarked tad rason, to the boys. "well, we won't object to bringing down a deer or two if we get the chance," answered our hero. "but i rather imagine deer are scarce around here. i haven't seen any of them yet." "oh, you'll find plenty of deer up at the head of the lake," returned the old hunter. "they don't come down here much. they always left this spot for the bears." "the bears! oh, mr. rason! you surely don't mean that?" cried della ford. "but i certainly do, ma'am. this was always a great place for bears. that's why they call this end of the lake bear camp. i shot one of 'em here last winter, and i got an old she-bear and her two cubs here two years afore that." "we haven't seen any traces of bears," said phil. "you'll see 'em sooner or later," returned the old hunter, with conviction. "they are bound to come here." "what makes you say they are bound to come?" questioned dave, curiously. "is there any particular reason for it?" "i think there is, young man. so far as i can understand it, i think the bears come here in the fall to get certain roots and herbs that they like to eat. i think they find more of 'em around here than they do anywhere else, and that's what fetches 'em." "and do you think the bears keep the deer away from here?" questioned roger. "i don't know as to that. but i do know that bears and deer don't mix very well," answered tad rason. while mr. appleby was negotiating with mrs. wadsworth and mrs. basswood for the loan of several pieces of rustic furniture which the bungalows contained, della ford and her aunt visited with the boys. the young actress wanted to know all about what the young folks at the bungalows had been doing, and expressed her delight at the cosiness of the place, and its beautiful surroundings. mr. appleby, aided by tad rason, carried the borrowed furniture down to the motor-boat. there was more of it than the manager had at first anticipated taking, and, as a consequence, the craft was well loaded. "i don't see how we are going to sit in there with all that furniture packed around us!" exclaimed della, in dismay, as she viewed the situation. "you might sit in that rocking-chair on the bow," suggested phil, with a broad smile; and at this suggestion there was a general laugh. "no, thank you. i have no desire to be spilled overboard. i went overboard once, and that was quite enough," answered the young actress. "i'll tell you what we might do," answered dave. "we could take you and your aunt in one of the rowboats, and have the motor-boat tow it." "oh, that would be lovely!" cried della. "what do you say, aunt bess; shall we do it?" "i'm willing, if it is safe," answered the aunt, "i don't want to go to the bottom of this lake any more than i wanted to go to the bottom of the atlantic ocean." "it's perfectly safe," answered dave. "the boat's a good broad one, so there is no danger of its tipping over--not unless mr. appleby makes a quick turn, and i don't suppose he will do that." "if i pull your rowboat i'll be as steady as an old freight engine," was the manager's reply. "it's very kind of you boys to do this." the best and broadest of the rowboats was brought around, and della ford and her aunt were assisted into the craft. then, after the boys had procured a pair of oars, they, too, embarked, and the motor-boat headed back for the moving picture company's camp. "hello! hello! where are you going?" the cry came from the shore at a point where the brook ran into the lake, and looking in that direction, those in the rowboat saw jessie, laura, and belle just emerging from behind some brushwood and rocks. the girl from the west was swinging her broad hat vigorously. "we are going to take these ladies home!" yelled dave. "we'll be back soon." "oh, see; the motor-boat is loaded with furniture!" exclaimed dave's sister. "what a funny sight!" "i didn't know those folks were going to visit us to-day," was jessie's comment, and her face showed she was not at all pleased. "see! they have miss ford and her aunt with them," said belle. "miss ford is a stunning girl; isn't she?" "she certainly is quite good-looking," returned laura. "what do you say, jessie?" "oh, i don't think she is any better-looking than lots of other girls i know," returned jessie, rather coldly. "come on, let's get back to the bungalows; this long tramp has tired me dreadfully." "you do look rather pale," said belle, kindly. "don't you feel well?" "i've got a little headache, that's all. i think i'll go back to the bungalow and rest," returned jessie; and went on ahead, soon disappearing within one of the buildings. "do you know, laura, i don't believe jessie likes that miss ford a bit," was the comment of the western girl, when she was alone with dave's sister. "why shouldn't she like miss ford, belle? she seems to be a nice enough girl, and i don't think the fact she acts in the movies ought to be held against her." "i don't think it is that, laura. it is something else." "something else? what do you mean?" "oh, i don't know that i ought to mention it. come on, let us get up to the bungalows." "but, belle, do tell me what you think," pleaded laura. "you know you haven't any right to keep back anything from me," and she caught her chum around the shoulder and held her tightly. "well, if you must know, it's this: jessie can't forget that dave saved miss ford from drowning." "oh, i see what you mean, belle! you think that because dave did that jessie thinks he might get more interested in her than would otherwise be the case." "not exactly that, laura. jessie may imagine that miss ford is quite interested in dave." [illustration: "hello! hello! where are you going?"--_page 153._] "oh, i see!" dave's sister was silent for a moment. "but you forget one thing, belle; dave saved jessie's life, too. don't you remember that i told you of it? a gasoline tank exploded, and she was in danger of being burned to death when dave jumped in and----" "oh, yes, i remember that very well, and you may be sure that jessie remembers it, too. but then this rescue was so much more recent." at these words laura grew more thoughtful than ever, and suddenly she caught her western chum by the arm and pulled belle into a path leading to the dock. "what now, laura?" "oh, belle! do you really think there is anything in that? do you think that is what has made jessie act so queerly for the last couple of days? i noticed she was not herself at all; and dave seemed to be different, too." "if you want the truth of it, i do think there is some sort of a quarrel between them. of course, i am not sure it is on miss ford's account. but they don't act as they used to." "it's too bad!" and laura's face showed great seriousness. "i wouldn't have anything come between dave and jessie for the world!" "it would be a great shame, there is no doubt of that," answered the girl from the ranch. when the pair entered the bungalow they found that jessie had gone to her room. she was lying on a couch, and though the light was dim, laura could see quite plainly that her friend had been crying. "you poor dear!" said dave's sister, going up and placing her hand on jessie's forehead. "is your headache worse?" "not much, laura," was the answer. jessie turned over with her face toward the wall. "i just want to be left alone awhile, and then i'll be all right." "don't you want me to get you anything at all?" "no. just leave me alone, that's all." laura stood by the side of the couch for a moment. she was on the point of speaking again. she wanted very much to relieve her mind, but concluded that it might not be a wise thing to do. she tiptoed to the doorway, where she encountered belle, and both walked to another part of the bungalow. "and do you really think it was a headache, laura?" whispered belle, when the two were safe out of earshot of any of the others. "she may have a headache, but i think it is more than that," was the reply from dave's sister. "oh, belle, if matters are as you think they are, what in the world are we going to do?" "i don't know of anything to do, laura. i don't believe it would be a wise thing to say anything to jessie." "then suppose i talk to dave?" "you can suit yourself about that. but if i were you i'd be very careful. boys are as touchy as girls when it comes to a subject like that." "do you really think so?" "i certainly do." "then i will be very cautious. but i've just got to say something," declared laura. chapter xvi a strange communication the three boys had quite some sport going up the lake with della ford and her aunt as passengers. being towed by the motor-boat, they had nothing to do but take it easy, and they spent the time in chatting of things in general, and of moving pictures and fun on mirror lake in particular. "we would be pleased to have you come up some evening and take dinner with us," said della ford, after consulting with the manager of the moving-picture company. "come up and bring that boy with his banjo, and we'll have a lot of fun." "all right, we'll be up some time," answered phil. "and don't forget, mr. porter, that some day you're to show me how to catch a fish," called out the young actress. "all right, i won't forget," answered dave; and then the three boys pushed the rowboat away from the dock, and started upon the return to bear camp. "she's a mighty pleasant girl, that's sure," remarked phil, as he took it easy on the stern seat, while dave and roger plied the oars. "i think dave has made a hit with her," responded roger, with a sly wink at the shipowner's son. "if you don't look out i'll make a hit with somebody in this boat," declared dave, his face flushing. "you attend to your rowing or we won't get back in time for dinner." "i thought you said that fellow, ward porton, was going to join the company up here," remarked phil, by way of changing the subject. "all i know about it is what mr. appleby told me," returned dave. "i'd like first-rate to see him again and ask him some more about link merwell." "do you think link will come up here?" asked roger. "i don't know what to think. he is likely to do almost anything. but i doubt whether he will want to place himself in any position where we can get hold of him." "what a fool link has been," was phil's comment. when the rowboat returned to the dock at the camp, the boys found only laura and belle on the veranda of one of the bungalows. "where's jessie?" asked dave. "she has a headache and is lying down," answered laura, and looked at her brother closely. "that's too bad," he answered. "can't you do anything for it?" "she wanted to be left alone, dave." "i wonder if i can't do something?" "i don't think so." roger and phil sat down on the veranda, and were soon joined by luke and shadow. "where is ben?" questioned roger. "he went to carpen falls with his father and mr. porter for the mail," answered mrs. basswood, who had joined the group. "i hope i get a letter from daddy," cried belle. "why, just think! i haven't had a letter for three days," she pouted. "i'd like a letter, too," put in phil. "i haven't had a word from home since i left," and his face clouded, as he remembered his father's troubles over the land question. dave had been seated on the end of the piazza, but now he arose and walked over to the other bungalow. here he met mrs. wadsworth just coming from jessie's room. "it's only a slight headache, dave," said the lady, in answer to his question. "i think jessie will be all right in the morning. she thought she had better stay where she is this evening." "i wish i could help her, mrs. wadsworth," returned the youth, quickly. "isn't there something i can do?" "nothing that i know of," was the reply, and then mrs. wadsworth walked out of the bungalow to join her husband, who was smoking a cigar in a little pavilion that overlooked the lake. dave took a turn or two across the living-room. he was very much disturbed in mind, and felt that he ought to do something. "i'll take a chance, and knock on the door anyhow," he told himself, and moving to the door of jessie's room, he tapped lightly. then, as there was no response, he tapped again. "who is it?" came from the girl. "it is i, jessie. can't i do something for you?" "no, i don't think you can," she returned, quickly. "the others told me you had a headache. i'm very sorry to hear that. i wish i could do something to make you feel better." "you can't do a thing." "i might get a hot-water bottle, or some chopped ice, or--or--something," he faltered, not knowing how to go on. "oh, dave, don't be silly!" "silly! so now i'm the one who's silly; am i?" he returned. but there was more of slyness than bitterness in his tone. "dave porter! was there ever such a boy! now you must go away and leave me alone!" "all right, jessie, if you want me to go away i'll go. just the same, i want you to know that i'm awfully, _awfully_ sorry that you have a headache. i'd rather have it myself." "would you indeed?" there was a creaking of the couch, as if jessie had turned and was sitting up. "well, i don't want you to have a headache. they are not a bit nice! they are horrid!" "are you lying down?" "i was lying down." "well, if you're not so very, very sick, jessie, won't you just come to the door a minute? i want to tell you something," went on dave, after a moment's hesitation. the girl came slowly to the door, and opened it several inches, showing a mass of disheveled hair, and cheeks that had traces of tears on them. "what do you want to tell me?" "a good many things, jessie," returned dave, in a low tone. "first of all, i don't want you to be angry with me. i simply can't bear it. and besides, i don't think you have anything to be angry about." "oh, indeed!" "no, i don't. i think you misunderstand me. why, jessie, i wouldn't have anything come between us for the world, and you know it!" "do i?" the door opened a little wider. "yes, you do. you know there isn't any one that i care for one-tenth part as much as i care for you. i didn't go up the lake this afternoon because i particularly wanted to; and those people came here of their own accord." "yes, dave----" "and i don't want you to act so cold, jessie. why, it cuts a fellow to the heart! if i thought----" a wild yell, followed by several screams of terror from outside, interrupted the conversation. dave stopped short to listen, and jessie threw wide-open the door to do likewise. another yell rang out, fierce and penetrating, and then came several more screams, and a rush of footsteps. "oh, dave! what can it mean?" cried jessie, in sudden alarm. "i don't know. i guess i had better find out," he returned, and ran toward the front doorway. "be careful, dave! be careful!" cautioned the girl, pleadingly. "maybe it's a bear!" "in that case i'd better get one of the guns," he returned. the party had brought a number of firearms with them, and several of the pieces were hung up on the walls, loaded and ready for use. catching up a double-barreled shotgun, dave ran outside with jessie at his heels. the commotion had continued, and now the youth found himself confronted by his sister and belle. "what is it, laura?" "i don't know, exactly. but it certainly was something awful!" "i think it must have been a wild man," broke in belle. "anyhow, if it wasn't, i don't know what else it could have been." the other boys had left the vicinity of the bungalows, and were running toward the woods, with mr. wadsworth following them. "they saw something, but they don't know what it was," said mrs. wadsworth, who was plainly much agitated. "it let out the most awful yells you ever heard." "maybe it was that wild man, wilbur poole!" exclaimed dave. "he might have followed us to this place, you know." he ran on, and soon joined the other boys and mr. wadsworth, who had come to a halt at the edge of the clearing on which the bungalows were located. "i think he disappeared over here!" cried shadow. "and i think he went this way!" returned luke. "when i saw him last he was by yonder bushes!" were roger's words. "i think he went over there, just as shadow said!" came from phil. "who was it?" asked dave. "wilbur poole?" "whoever he was, he had the most outlandish rig on a fellow ever saw!" exclaimed luke. "i think he must have borrowed it from some scarecrow." "if that was wilbur poole we had better keep our eyes open for him," said dave, seriously. he had not forgotten the trouble which the wild man who called himself the king of sumatra had given him and his chums in the past. "we were all sitting there enjoying ourselves when we heard the fellow give an awful yell or two," explained phil. "then he came dancing out from behind some bushes, waving a sort of sceptre in the air. he nearly scared the girls into fits, and that is what made them scream. then he caught up a stick of wood from the pile yonder, and disappeared between the trees. i guess he must have imagined he was a wild indian on the warpath." "i am afraid if that poor fellow isn't captured he will cause us a good deal of worry," was mr. wadsworth's comment. "as long as he is at large there is no telling what he will do." "if it really is wilbur poole, we ought to let the pooles know about it," said dave. the matter was talked over for some time, and then, after another search through the edge of the woods and among the rocks and brushwood of that vicinity, the boys and mr. wadsworth returned to the bungalows. they found all of the girls and mrs. wadsworth on one of the verandas, discussing the situation. even jessie had joined the group, declaring that the alarm had scared most of her headache away. "oh, i was so frightened when i first saw the man--if it really was a man!" cried laura. "he looked more like an orang-outang," declared the girl from the west. "if i had met him out on the range, and if i had had a gun with me, i surely would have shot at him!" "i brought a gun along," returned dave, exhibiting the weapon; "i thought it was a bear scare." the scare was the topic of conversation all through the dinner hour, and it was decided that a letter should be posted to mr. aaron poole the following morning, acquainting him with what had occurred. "it's queer that my husband and ben and mr. porter don't come," remarked mrs. basswood, when the meal was nearly over and it was growing dark. "it's quite a walk to carpen falls," said dave. "and you must remember the trail isn't any too good in some spots." "i think i see them coming now," announced roger, a minute later; and he was right. soon ben and his father and dunston porter came into full view near the end of the lake. "talk about an adventure!" cried ben, as they came up. "who do you think we met?" "the wild man!" burst out several of those present. "oh, then he was here, was he? was it wilbur poole?" "we are not so sure about that. we didn't get a very good look at him. he had on such a queer outfit that he was completely disguised." "that's just it!" broke in dunston porter. "we couldn't tell who he was, either. he appeared right in front of us on the trail, flourishing a big stick. he let out a whoop like an indian, gave a leap or two into the air, and then dashed out of sight behind some bushes." "he didn't attack you, did he?" questioned mrs. basswood, anxiously. "no," returned her husband, "but, all the same, i didn't like his actions. he might have done some serious damage with the stick he carried." "that man, whoever he is, ought to be put under guard," declared phil, and then he added quickly: "did you get any letters, ben?" "oh, yes, several of them. here they are," and placing his hand in the pocket of his jacket, the youth brought forth over a dozen epistles. there was a wild scramble, and the letters were quickly distributed. "oh, good! here's a letter from dear dad!" exclaimed belle. "excuse me while i read it," and she quickly tore open the communication. all of the girls had letters, and there was also one for dave and another for phil. as our hero looked at the communication addressed to him, he could not help but start. he thought he recognized the handwriting as that of link merwell. "i wonder what he has got to say now," he mused, and then as the others began reading their letters, he opened the envelope and took out the single sheet it contained. in a large, heavy hand were scrawled these words: "i think before long you will be getting what is coming to you, you poorhouse nobody." there was no signature. chapter xvii the swimming race dave read the brief communication over several times. as he did so his face showed both perplexity and anger. roger, who had received no letter and who therefore had nothing to read, looked at him curiously. "no bad news, i hope?" he said, as he came up to dave. "i think it's another communication from that good-for-nothing link merwell," returned dave. "here, you can read it for yourself," and he passed the letter over. the senator's son read the scrawl, and his face showed his disgust. "i guess you're right, dave, it must be from link merwell." "link merwell!" broke in shadow, who sat on a bench near by. "what about that rascal; have you heard something further of him?" "oh, it doesn't amount to anything," returned dave, hastily, and taking the communication he thrust it into his pocket. "don't say anything about it," he added to roger, in a low tone. "all right, i won't if you want it that way," answered his chum. "just the same, dave, this looks to me as if link was plotting once more to do you an injury." "if so, roger, would he be fool enough to notify me beforehand?" queried our hero, as the pair walked a little distance away from the others. "there is no telling what a fellow of link's stamp might do. he is just fool enough to brag about what he hoped to do rather than go and do it. it's an outrage that he should call you a 'poorhouse nobody.'" "i'd thrash him for it if i could get my hands on him," returned dave, quickly, and his face showed deep resentment. he had not forgotten how, in years gone by, his enemies had taunted him with being a "poorhouse nobody," and how he had had to fight his way through until his identity had been established. "anyway, dave, this gives you a chance to be on your guard," went on roger. "if i were you i'd keep my eyes wide open for link merwell." "i certainly shall, roger. and if i can lay my hands on him i won't be as considerate as i was on cave island," was the answer. "i'll hold him until i can turn him over to the authorities. he ought to be keeping company with jasniff in jail." the girls were chattering among themselves over the letters they had received, and shadow and luke soon joined in. as was to be expected, the former story-teller of oak hall had his usual anecdote to relate, to which the others listened with interest. phil had drawn apart from the crowd, and was now reading the letter he had received a second time. his face indicated unusual concern. "well, i hope you got good news, phil," remarked dave, as the shipowner's son came towards him and roger. "no, it's just the opposite," was the somewhat doleful reply. "what? do you mean it's bad news?" broke in roger, quickly. "it certainly is! instead of losing twenty to thirty thousand dollars, my dad stands to lose about fifty thousand dollars on that land deal i mentioned to you some time ago." "why, how is that?" queried our hero, curiously. "has the land gone up in value since then?" "i don't know about the value of the land itself, but it's this way: since that railroad made a bid for the acreage, another railroad has come into the field. they are going to run a rival line through that territory, and so they bid against the l. a. & h. then the l. a. & h. railroad increased their bid, and the other folks did the same, so that now, if my father could give a clear deed to the land, he could sell it for about fifty thousand dollars." "and hasn't he been able to get any trace of your uncle lester?" "he has something of a clue, but so far he has been unable to locate my uncle. it certainly is a strange state of affairs." "won't the railroad company take the land without your uncle being represented in the deed?" questioned roger. "i don't think so. if they were willing to do that my father would put the deal through without delay. it certainly is too bad!" added phil, with a sigh. "it seems to me if i were you i'd get on the trail of your uncle lester somehow," was roger's comment. "i wouldn't let that fifty thousand dollars get away from me. i'd hire detectives to scour the whole united states for the missing man." "my father's doing all he can, roger." phil turned to our hero. "you got a letter, didn't you?" "not much of a one, phil." dave hesitated for a moment: "here, you might as well see it. i showed it to roger. but don't say anything to the others about it, especially the girls. there is no use in worrying them. as it is, they have had scare enough from that wild man." the shipowner's son read the letter dave had received with interest. "sure, that's from link merwell! i know his handwriting almost as well as i know my own," he declared. "he always makes those funny little crooks on his capital letters. i guess that shows what kind of a crook he is," and phil grinned at his little joke. "what are you going to do about this, dave?" "i don't see that there's anything to do about it. as i told roger, if link shows himself around here i'll do all i can to place him in the hands of the authorities and see to it that he goes to jail." "it's a beastly shame that any one should write such a note as that," went on the shipowner's son. "you are not a 'poorhouse nobody,' and everybody knows it." "i've been wondering what link merwell can have up his sleeve," came from roger. "he certainly must be up to something, or he wouldn't send such a letter as that." the matter was talked over for a little while longer by the three boys, and then they rejoined the others. jessie declared that her headache was now gone completely, and the young folks spent the rest of the evening in the basswood bungalow, where belle played the piano and luke favored them with several selections on his banjo and his guitar. they also sang a number of songs, and altogether the evening ended quite pleasantly. the cloud that had come up between dave and jessie seemed to have vanished, much to their own satisfaction, and to that of their friends. on the following morning mr. basswood announced that he had to return to crumville for a few days on business. he said that as soon as he arrived home he would get into telephone communication with mr. aaron poole and acquaint him with the fact that some sort of a wild man had visited the vicinity of bear camp. "of course we may be mistaken as to the identity of that individual," said ben's father. "he may not be wilbur poole at all." "you want to be sure, dad, and let nat's father know that," said ben, "because if mr. poole spent money up here looking for his brother, and then found out that the wild man was somebody else, he would never forgive either himself or you for the outlay." and at this frank statement those who knew how miserly the money-lender of crumville was laughed outright. mr. basswood departed for carpen falls in the middle of the forenoon. as it promised to be a warm, clear day, one of the young folks suggested that they go in bathing at a little sandy beach a short distance below the bungalows. this suggestion was eagerly seconded, and as a consequence, a little later on, the young folks donned their bathing outfits and soon were having great sport in the water, with the older folks sitting on a fallen tree not far away watching them. "oh, but it's cold!" declared jessie, after her first plunge. "you'll get used to it after a bit," returned dave. "just strike out lively, and that will help to keep your blood in circulation." "come on for a race!" shouted luke, who was splashing around in great shape. "a race it is!" called back phil. "where shall we race to?" questioned roger. "if you are going to race, i'll be the referee and timekeeper," announced dunston porter. it was decided that the boys should swim from the beach to a rock standing out of the water on the far edge of the cove. "first fellow to stand up on the rock wins the prize," announced phil, and then he added quickly: "girls, what's the prize?" "a fresh flapjack to the boy who bakes it," announced belle, gaily. "say, speaking of flapjacks puts me in mind of a story," came from shadow, who was wading around in water up to his ankles. "once there were two old miners who were in a camp in the mountains. they got to disputing as to who could make the best flapjacks. says one of them----" shadow did not finish the story he had started to tell. unbeknown to him, roger had come up behind, and was now on his hands and knees in the water. luke gave the would-be story-teller a quick shove; and over went shadow backwards, to land in the shallow water with a resounding splash. "flapjack number one!" cried luke, gaily. "say, shadow, what are you making so much noise about?" "i'll noise you!" roared the former story-teller of oak hall, as he scrambled to his feet. then he started to rush after luke, but roger caught him by his ankle, and down he went into the water with another splash, this time sending the spray flying clear to those sitting on the fallen tree. "here! here! you boys stop that!" cried mrs. wadsworth. "we haven't any umbrellas." "oh, excuse me, i didn't mean to shower you," pleaded shadow. "anyway, it was roger's fault." "if you are going to race, start in!" ordered dunston porter. "well, what's the prize?" queried roger, doing his best to keep out of shadow's reach. "the fellow who wins gets the hole in the doughnut," returned dave, gaily. "all ready! line up!" ordered dunston porter, and after a general scramble and amid much merriment, the boys lined up. then came the order "go!" and all of them struck out lustily for the rock that marked the goal. at first ben, who had taken but little interest in the horseplay just enacted, kept well to the front. ben had always been a good swimmer, and many a time he and dave had raced each other in crumville creek. "you fellows won't be in it!" he shouted merrily. "don't you be too sure of that," returned luke. "this race isn't over yet." "you fellows had better save your wind," spluttered phil, who at that instant came up alongside of shadow. there followed a great splashing of water, and suddenly ben disappeared from view. "hey, you! who fouled me that way?" roared the leader. "whoever caught me by the foot ought to be put out of this race." "must have been a whale, ben," answered roger, mischievously. "i'll whale you if you do it again," was the answer. and then all of the boys stopped talking and with renewed vigor bent to the task of trying to win the race. soon half the distance to the rock was covered. ben was still in the lead, with roger and phil close behind him. luke and shadow had dropped so far to the rear that they gave up all hope of winning. "here is where i leave you fellows," announced phil, and made a sudden spurt that soon placed him slightly in advance of ben. "hi! hi! don't leave me this way!" yelled roger, and he, too, put on a burst of speed, followed a second later by dave. on and on, through the cool, clear waters of mirror lake plunged the four boys. the goal was now less than fifty feet away. "o my, see how hard they are swimming!" came from laura. "ben was ahead, but i think roger is up to him," announced mrs. basswood. "those four lads are pretty well bunched up," remarked dunston porter. "shadow and luke have dropped out of it," announced belle. "gracious, how those others are swimming! wouldn't you think it was for a prize of a thousand dollars?" the four who had remained in the race were now less than five yards from the goal, a large flat rock that was joined to the mainland by a series of other rocks. "here is where i win!" declared ben, and threw himself forward with all the strength left to him. "not much!" came from phil. "count me in!" panted roger. "also yours truly!" added dave. and then the four, lining up side by side, struck out fiercely, each doing his level best to touch the rock first. it was a neck-and-neck race, and in a moment more four hands went up on the rock at practically the same time. "i win!" "not much, my hand was here first!" "oh, look!" "don't climb up on that rock!" "what's the trouble?" "what is it?" "it's a snake, and a big one!" yelled dave. "back away from the rock, boys, just as fast as you can!" chapter xviii a cry from the cliff "it's a snake sure enough!" "my, what a big one!" "no climbing on that rock for me!" such were some of the cries which rent the air as the four youths dropped back into the lake and lost no time in getting away from the spot which had been the goal of the swimming race. "say, dave, what sort of a snake do you suppose that was?" queried roger. "did he drop into the water?" questioned ben, anxiously. "if it's a water snake maybe it's after us." "i don't know what kind of snakes are to be found around here," returned dave. "but it was dark in color and i think all of four or five feet long." "say, who won this race, anyhow?" came from phil, as the boys swam around not far from the rock. "i should say the snake did," laughed dave. in the meantime dunston porter, noticing that something unusual was going on in the vicinity of the goal, had leaped up and was running along the edge of the cove. [illustration: "it's a snake, and a big one!"--_page 179._] "what's the matter over there?" he yelled. "a snake, uncle dunston," called back dave. "better get a shotgun and go after it." "o dear! did you say a snake?" came from laura, in dismay. acting on dave's suggestion, dunston porter hurried back to one of the bungalows. he reappeared with a shotgun, and lost no time in making for the vicinity of the rock where the reptile had been seen. in the meanwhile the four boys rejoined luke and shadow, and all swam back to the dock. "oh, dave, are you sure the snake didn't drop into the water after you?" questioned jessie, and her face showed her anxiety. "no, it retreated to the rocks further back," was the answer. "was it a poisonous snake?" asked mrs. basswood. "i am sure i don't know." "if there are snakes in these woods i don't think i'll care to go out very much," commented laura, with a shiver. "snakes will just spoil everything," added jessie, dismally. while the boys and girls were dressing the report of a shotgun rang out. "if that was uncle dunston shooting, he must have found mr. snake," were dave's words. "i hope he did find the snake," answered roger. "if that reptile was left prowling around in this vicinity, none of the ladies would want to go out." "and i wouldn't care much about going out myself," added luke. having finished dressing, the boys lost no time in following dunston porter toward the rock which had been the goal of the swimming race. they found the old hunter and traveler searching through the brushwood back of the rocks. "did you get it, uncle dunston?" questioned dave. "i did," was the reply. "what's left of that snake is over yonder," and mr. porter pointed with his hand. "i'm looking around here to see if there are any more of them, but i rather fancy that is all there is." the charge from the shotgun had fairly torn the reptile to pieces, for when dunston porter had fired the snake had been coiled up, evidently ready for an attack. arming themselves with clubs and stones, the boys joined dunston porter in the hunt for more reptiles, but their search was unsuccessful; and a little while later all returned to the bungalows. "did you find any other snakes?" asked jessie, after she had been told about the one that had been killed. "no, and i don't think there are any others," answered mr. porter. "well, i hope there are not," put in laura, "but if there are i wish you had found them." "we can't find what isn't there," said luke, with a grin. "say, that puts me in mind of a story," burst out shadow. "wow!" ejaculated roger. "here comes another!" "oh, say! this is a good one," pleaded the would-be story-teller. "it's about an old college graduate who was a regular fiend for football. he would undergo almost any hardship for the sake of getting to a game. well, one time there was a great contest on between two of the big colleges, and although old bixby nearly broke his back to get there, he didn't arrive until late. 'say, how is it going?' he puffed to a gate-keeper. 'nothing to nothing, middle of the second half,' answered the gate-keeper. 'is that so?' returned old bixby. 'that's good! i haven't missed anything,' and he passed in." and at this anecdote there was a general laugh. in the afternoon while the young folks were enjoying themselves in various ways around the bungalows, they heard the put-put of a motor, and looking out on mirror lake, saw the craft belonging to the moving-picture company manager approaching, loaded with the furniture that had been borrowed. "here they come with our things!" cried ben. "looks like a house moving; doesn't it?" they saw that the boat was in sole charge of mr. appleby, and as the craft drew closer the moving-picture manager gave them a cheery hail. "going into the moving business instead of moving pictures, eh?" cried dave. "i thought i might as well bring this stuff back while i had a chance," answered the manager, and soon brought his motor-boat to a standstill beside the dock. then the boys made short work of taking the furniture back to the bungalows. "i've got news for you, mr. porter," announced the moving-picture man, after the job was finished. "i've seen that young rascal, link merwell." "you have!" exclaimed dave, eagerly. "up at your camp?" "that's it." "did you make him a prisoner?" asked phil. "i didn't get the chance. he was evidently on his guard, and as soon as i told him what i knew, and that i was going to hand him over to the authorities, he ran straight into the woods, and that was the last any of us saw of him. he even left his suitcase and a light overcoat behind." "well, it's too bad he got away," returned our hero. "i thought sure if he had the audacity to show himself here we'd get a chance to capture him." "i was foolish not to make him a prisoner as soon as he appeared," answered thomas appleby. "but i didn't think he would run away in that fashion, leaving his outfit behind. besides, what he'll do in the woods behind our camp is a mystery to me. i asked old tad rason if there were any roads back there, and he said not within a couple of miles; so merwell stands a good chance of losing himself completely." "great scott! supposing he should get into the woods and be unable to get out again!" burst out roger. "well, such things have happened," answered luke. "i heard only last winter of a man who was lost in the maine woods." "yes, and tad rason told of two brothers who were lost up here in the adirondacks for over three weeks," returned mr. appleby. "when they were found they were almost starved to death and next door to crazy." "if anything like that should happen to link, he will have nobody to blame but himself," announced roger. "did he know we were up here?" queried dave. "he knew you were somewhere in this vicinity, but he did not know that the camps were so close to each other. i think if he had imagined such to be the case he would have steered clear of this vicinity." "was that young actor, ward porton, with him?" "i really don't know whether they came together or not. porton showed up about two hours before merwell arrived. of course, they may have separated just before the camp was reached--porton not wanting to appear in the company of a fellow you had told him was a crook." "is porton at your camp now?" "yes. but he doesn't intend to stay very long. he says he has something else in view, although what it is i don't know. to tell you the truth," and mr. appleby lowered his voice a trifle, "i think he is sweet on miss ford, and as she doesn't care for him at all and has told him so, it has put his nose out of joint." "when you spoke to him about merwell did porton stand up for the fellow?" continued our hero. he was anxious to learn if possible just how close the companionship of the pair had been. "he didn't have much to say after i told him all i knew," responded thomas appleby. "previous to that, he remarked that you might be mistaken regarding merwell--that merwell had said that jasniff and somebody else were guilty of the jewelry robbery." "humph! he can't put it off on anybody else like that!" cried phil. "we know beyond a doubt that he and jasniff committed that crime." "perhaps i ought not to blame ward porton for sticking up for merwell," answered dave. "link is a mighty slick talker, and he probably told his story to suit himself and got porton to swallow it. just the same, porton is very foolish to chum with him." "i'll be rather sorry to lose porton, for he is a clever fellow in the movies," went on the manager. "he wanted to leave in a few days, but i persuaded him to stay for a week at least, so we could finish several dramas in which he is an actor. after he is gone i'll have to get some one to take his place. any of you young fellows want to have a try at it?" and mr. appleby looked full at dave. "oh, i don't know," returned our hero, slowly. and then he saw that jessie's eyes were turned upon him and that they showed she was troubled. "i don't think i care to take the matter up. you see, i came here for a rest and a good time." "i wouldn't mind taking a hand at it!" cried luke. "you can count me in, too!" added shadow. "i'd like first-rate to see myself on the screen in a moving-picture show," and his eyes lit up in anticipation. "well, you fellows come down some time and we'll talk it over," concluded the manager. "i've got to get back now. we are getting ready to put on quite an important drama to-morrow, and we have got to rehearse a number of scenes. if you folks want to come up and look on, you'll be welcome," he added, to the crowd in general. when the moving-picture manager had departed, the boys set out to fish along the brook that flowed into mirror lake. while getting ready for the sport the conversation drifted around once more to link merwell. "if he is in this vicinity, dave, you can make sure he'll try to get in on us somehow before he leaves," remarked phil. "i don't see what he can do," returned luke. "oh, a fellow like link can do lots of things!" burst out ben. "why, he might even try to burn down the bungalows!" "do you think he's as bad as that?" questioned shadow. "yes, i do!" was the flat answer. fishing in the vicinity of the lake was not very good, so the boys pushed further and further up the brook, until they reached a point where there was a little waterfall and a pool of considerable size. here fishing was better, and soon they had quite a number of specimens of the finny tribe to their credit. "come on, dave, let's go up a little farther," pleaded phil. "i'd like to see what this brook looks like beyond the falls." "all right, i'll go," answered our hero. "what about you fellows?" he asked, of the others. "i'll stay here and rest," announced roger. "i'm tired of scrambling over the rocks." "so am i," agreed ben. shadow and luke also said they would remain in the vicinity of the pool. dave and phil found it no easy task to follow the brook, which wound in and out among the rocks and brushwood. at one point they had to do some hard climbing, and once the shipowner's son slipped and came close to spraining an ankle. "say, i don't believe i'll go much farther, after all," declared phil. "this is rough and no mistake!" "it is better walking a little farther on, phil," announced dave. "come on, don't give up this way! maybe we'll find some extra large fish up there." once more they set out, and soon found themselves in a small clearing, backed up by a cliff fifteen or twenty feet in height, and overgrown with brushwood and trailing vines. "hark! what was that?" exclaimed phil, as both came to a halt preparatory to casting their lines into the stream. "i think it was a shout," answered dave. "maybe the others are calling to us." "no, i think the call came from up on the cliff, dave. listen, there it is again!" both strained their ears and soon heard another cry. this time it was much closer. "stop! stop! let me alone!" such were the words that floated to their ears. "please don't hit me! let me alone!" dave and phil looked at each other curiously. "who can it be?" questioned the shipowner's son. "i don't know, but i guess we had better try to find out," answered our hero. chapter xix the capture of link merwell "where did that cry come from, dave?" "i think it came from the top of the cliff, phil. listen! there it goes again." both boys strained their ears once more, and now heard another voice, heavy and threatening. "leave this place! leave at once, i command you! no one has any right to disturb me!" "don't hit me, i'll go!" returned the one who had first spoken, and a few seconds later he came into view at the edge of the cliff. "hello, it's link merwell!" burst out dave, in amazement. "yes, and see, that wild man is after him!" added the shipowner's son. he was right. following closely upon the appearance of link merwell the boys at the foot of the cliff had seen some brushwood thrust aside, and now appeared the strange fellow who had so frightened the girls some time previously. he was dressed up more fantastically than ever, and had his face smeared with red and yellow. over his shoulder, suspended by a strap, he carried an old-fashioned fowling piece, and in his hands was a heavy club. "go away from here! go away, i say, and never come back!" cried the strange individual, dancing around wildly and flourishing his club close to link merwell's head. "all right, i'm going! please don't hit me!" pleaded the youth, who was plainly in terror of his life. and then, in his haste to escape, he took several steps forward. "look out there, or you'll have a bad fall!" yelled dave, in quick alarm. the warning, however, came too late. deceived by the brushwood and vines growing at the edge of the cliff, link merwell lost his footing, and the next instant came tumbling headlong. "ha, ha! i told you to keep away! now don't come back!" yelled the fantastically-dressed man in the bushes behind the cliff; and then with another yell he suddenly disappeared from view. dave and phil rushed forward fully expecting to find merwell seriously hurt. but in falling the youth had been fortunate enough to catch hold of some of the trailing vines, and these had stayed his progress somewhat, so that all he received was a violent shaking-up. "don--don't let--let him sho--shoot me!" spluttered link merwell, as he turned over and scrambled to his feet. then, for the first time recognizing those who stood before him, his face showed more concern than ever. "who's that fellow who attacked you, link?" asked dave, quickly. "i don't know--some crazy old lunatic, i suppose," muttered the former student of oak hall. "is he--he--coming after me?" "no, he just dashed out of sight," answered phil. "he's the same chap who nearly scared the girls to death," he added to dave. "how do you know? he didn't look like that fellow," returned our hero. "i recognized him by his voice, even though he is dressed quite differently, dave. he must be as crazy as they make them." "oh, so you know him, do you?" put in link merwell, questioningly. he had gotten to his feet and was now straightening out his apparel. "i must say, link, i didn't think i was going to have the pleasure of meeting you so soon," said dave, with a little bit of pardonable sarcasm. "humph!" link merwell was on the point of saying more, but bit his lip and kept silent. "so you were on board the steam yacht when she took fire," put in phil. "i was." "why didn't you show yourself; were you afraid?" "that was my business. i didn't have to show myself if i didn't want to." "we know well enough why you didn't show yourself, link," broke in our hero. "and we also know why you left mr. appleby's camp so suddenly. you were afraid of arrest." "who told you that?" "nobody told us. we know it," went on dave. "you have escaped several times, but i guess we've got you now." "hi! don't you dare to touch me!" exclaimed link merwell, in fresh alarm. "you haven't got any right to put your hands on me." "right or wrong, link, we are going to make you a prisoner," declared phil, and advancing he caught the youth who had helped to rob mr. wadsworth's jewelry works by the arm. "you let me go, phil lawrence! if you don't it will be the worse for you!" bawled link, and tried to wrench himself loose. "here, none of that!" broke in dave, quickly, and stepping forward, he caught the evildoer by the other arm. "you just march along with us!" "i won't go!" bawled the boy who had gotten himself into trouble. "let go of me, i tell you!" he started to struggle, and for a minute or two dave and phil had all they could do to hold him. then, in sudden viciousness, link kicked out, taking dave in the shin. "oh, so that's your game, is it?" cried dave, his anger rising. and then, as link kicked out once more, he caught the foot and gave the youth a shove that sent him sprawling on his back. before link could arise, dave rushed in and sat down heavily on him. "oh!" grunted the fallen one. "d-don't cru-crush my ribs!" he panted. "l-let u-up!" "i won't let up until you promise to behave yourself," answered dave, sternly. "for two pins, link, i'd give you the thrashing of your life. you deserve it. what right had you to send me that note and call me a 'poorhouse nobody'?" "that's right, dave. pitch into him! give him what he deserves!" agreed phil. "maybe a good licking would knock some common-sense into him." "d-don't you dare to--to t-touch me," panted the boy under dave. "if you--you do, i'll ha-have the l-law on you!" "don't talk about the law!" cried dave. "the law will take care of you. when i caught you down on cave island, and you said that you were sorry that you had joined jasniff in that robbery and that you were going to reform, i felt sorry for you. but you are a faker, merwell, and i don't believe you ever will reform, and that's the reason i'm going to do my best now to place you in the hands of the law." "you--you--you let me u-up!" "i won't let you up until you promise to behave yourself and come along with us." "a-all right, i pro-promise." "very well, then, you can get up," answered dave, arising. "but remember, you have given us your word, and if you break it, i'll guarantee that phil and i will come down on you like a ton of bricks. now, if you know when you are well off, you'll do exactly as we tell you to." "i've got a scheme, dave," broke in phil, bringing out an extra piece of fishline from his pocket. "let's tie his hands behind him with this. then i don't think he'll care to run away--not very far, anyhow." "humph! can't you let me walk along without having my hands tied?" grumbled the prisoner. "we are not going to take any chances, link," answered the shipowner's son. "now that we have caught you we are going to see that you get where you belong--in prison." "you send me to prison and my father will make it hot for you!" "you stop threatening us, link!" ordered dave, sternly. "all right. but you'll see!" much against his will, link merwell was forced to place his hands behind him, and in a few minutes phil and dave had secured the fishline around his wrists. then they picked up his cap, which had fallen off, and placed it on his head. "now then, march!" ordered dave. "and no funny work!" and he led the way back along the brook, with merwell following and phil bringing up the rear with the fishing outfits. "say, how do you expect a fellow to get over these rocks with his hands tied behind him?" grumbled link merwell, after he had slipped several times. "you'll have to do the best you can," returned phil, coldly. "a jailbird like you can't expect much consideration." "bah, you make me tired, phil lawrence!" growled the prisoner. "i don't think you'll be able to send me to prison; not for long, anyhow! my father's got plenty of money; he'll get me out some way." "if he spends any money on you he'll be foolish," returned the shipowner's son. "now go ahead, we are not going to waste all our time on you." it was not long after this when they came in sight of the other boys. ben and roger were still fishing, while luke and shadow were resting on the rocks, the latter telling one of his favorite stories. "hello! what luck?" called ben, looking up. and then he added: "great cã¦sar's ghost! if it isn't link merwell!" "where did you run across him?" cried luke, leaping to his feet, followed by shadow. "we found him running away from some kind of a wild man," answered dave. "the wild man who scared us into fits the other day?" queried roger. "we don't know if it was that fellow or somebody else," answered phil. link merwell was much crestfallen to confront so many of his former schoolmates of oak hall. he realized that he was "in the camp of the enemy" in more ways than one. at one time or another he had played each of them some sort of a scurvy trick, and he realized that not one of them would have a good word to say for him. "well, i see they have made you a prisoner," remarked luke, as he noticed that link's hands were tied behind him. "humph! they had no right to do it," growled the prisoner. "where are you going to take me, anyhow?" "we are going to take you to our bungalows," announced dave. "there you will have the pleasure of talking the matter over with mr. wadsworth." at the mention of the name of the man he had robbed, link merwell winced and his face paled. evidently he did not relish what was in store for him. "say, having his hands tied behind him puts me in mind of a story," began shadow. "once there was a fellow----" and then, as the would-be story teller saw a look of disgust coming over the faces of his chums, he added hastily: "oh, well, never mind. i'll tell you that story some other time." "is mr. wadsworth staying up here with you?" asked link, while ben and the others prepared to return to the bungalows. "he is," answered dave. "is his family with him?" "yes, we are all up here for a short vacation." dave looked at his enemy squarely in the eyes. "link, do you think you are treating me just right? i never put a straw in your way, and yet you have done everything you could to make things unpleasant for me. i tried to help you down on cave island, and in return for that you have been sending letters to nat poole asking him to help you in hurting me. and then the other day you sent that note calling me a 'poorhouse nobody.'" "oh, don't preach to me, dave porter!" growled the youth who had been made a prisoner. "i hate that kind of talk. you always tried to set yourself up as being better than any one else. maybe you could get on the soft side of gus plum, but you can't play any such game as that on me. i know what i am doing." "link, i'm sorry to hear you talk that way," went on dave, earnestly. "do you want to spend all your life in prison?" "bah, don't talk to me! didn't i tell you i don't want any preaching? if i've got to go to jail i'll go, but it won't be for long, mark my words! my father has got lots of money, and i guess the lawyers will know what to do. but let me tell you something, dave porter"--and now link merwell's face showed both cunning and hatred--"you found fault with that note i sent to you calling you a poorhouse nobody. well, that is all you are; a poorhouse nobody!" "see here, link----" began our hero, his temper rising. "oh, now, just wait, dave porter! just wait a little, and you'll find out what i mean. you are a poorhouse nobody and nothing else. dave porter? why, you are not dave porter at all! you are a poorhouse nobody; that's all you are!" chapter xx back in camp "what's this you are saying, link?" demanded phil, who had overheard the conversation just recorded. "you ought to be ashamed of yourself to talk that way. just because dave spent part of his life in the poorhouse after he was stolen away from his parents is no reason why you should speak as you do." "and that isn't the reason why i am talking this way," retorted the prisoner. "i've got another reason, and dave porter will find out what it is before very long." "you just said that i was not dave porter," remarked our hero. "what do you mean by that?" "never mind what i mean; you'll find out sooner or later," answered link, with an expression of cunning on his countenance. "oh, don't listen to him!" broke in roger; "he is only trying to worry you, dave. let us get back to the bungalows and tell mr. wadsworth about this capture." "i'm not going back with you," retorted link merwell. and now, with his hands tied behind him, he made a leap over the rocks in the direction of the woods. the sudden movement on the part of the prisoner, surrounded as he was by all of the boys, came somewhat as a surprise. but dave, roger and phil were quick to recover, and away they bounded in pursuit of the fleeing one. terror lent speed to link merwell's feet, and soon he gained the edge of the growth, which at this point was quite heavy. "hurry up or he'll hide himself!" called dave, who was in advance of his chums. the runaway might have made good his escape had it not been for the fact that his hands were so tightly bound behind him. as he dashed between the first of the trees, his foot caught on an outcropping root. unable to throw out his hands to save himself, he came down heavily, striking his forehead on another tree root. "i've got him, come on!" cried dave, and in a few seconds more was beside the fallen one. to his surprise link merwell lay motionless. "collar him! don't let him get away again!" yelled roger, as he came up with phil beside him. "i think he hurt himself when he fell," answered our hero. "how about it, link?" and he bent over his enemy as he asked the question. there was no reply, and getting down on their knees, the three boys raised link merwell up and turned him over. he was unconscious, and the blood was flowing from a cut on his left temple. [illustration: "you just said that i was not dave porter," remarked our hero. "what do you mean by that?"--_page 201._] "he came down pretty hard, i imagine," said dave. "let us carry him down to the brook." not without some difficulty, the three lads raised the unconscious form and carried it toward the brook, meeting the other boys on the way. "hello! what did you do; sock him one?" queried luke. "no, he fell, and as he couldn't use his hands he hit his head on a tree root," answered dave. "get a little water, somebody, and we'll see if we can revive him." the water was soon brought, and with this they washed off the wound, after which they bound up link merwell's head with several handkerchiefs. the sufferer groaned and gasped several times, and finally opened and closed his eyes. "say, he may be hurt worse than we think," remarked roger, gravely. "i guess he ought to have a doctor," added dave. "but where to get one around here i don't know. i don't believe there is one at carpen falls." "i know there isn't, because i heard my mother asking about it," added ben. "but i think we ought to get him down to the bungalows." all of the boys were agreed that this was the best thing to do, and so, after putting up their fishing outfit, they began the return to the lake shore, taking turns at carrying the unconscious youth. "o dear! who is hurt?" cried laura, as she saw the party approaching. "it's link merwell," answered her brother. "call mr. wadsworth; will you?" "oh, dave! so you've caught him; have you?" cried jessie, while laura ran off on her errand. "did you have a fight?" "not much of a one, jessie. he got hurt through a fall." "what a very foolish boy he has been!" was belle's comment. "but i think his father is partly to blame. he always allowed link to do as he pleased on the ranch, and when link went to the city he always gave him more spending money than was good for him, at least, so my father said." "it was up to link to do the square thing on his own account," broke in roger. "he had all the chance in the world to make a man of himself. but he preferred the company of fellows like jasniff. and this is the result." mr. wadsworth was in his bungalow writing a letter. he was surprised and gratified at the news brought by laura, and quickly followed her outside. a little later mrs. wadsworth and mrs. basswood joined the group. the boys had unbound link, and now they placed him on a large hammock with a comfortable pillow under his head. as the jewelry manufacturer approached, the sufferer opened his eyes and then struggled to sit up. "hello! i guess he isn't hurt as much as we thought," remarked shadow, in a low tone. "maybe he's only playing 'possum," was luke's comment. "no, he was hurt, that's sure; the cut on his forehead shows it," answered dave. "well, merwell, so they have caught you; have they?" began mr. wadsworth, as he stepped up in front of the youth. "i thought we would get you sooner or later." "i--i can't talk to you no-now," faltered the prisoner. "i don't think it will be necessary to do much talking, merwell," went on the jewelry manufacturer. "we can do our talking later--possibly in the police court." "all right, have your own way about it," growled the prisoner. "you've got me and i'm down and out, so you can do your worst." and with this he rolled over on the hammock once more and again closed his eyes. "talk about nerve!" whispered ben. "doesn't that take the cake!" "i'd like to know whether he is really hurt so much, or only shamming," added phil. "he always was a sly one." "tell me how you came to capture him," said mr. wadsworth. thereupon dave and phil related how they had gone up the brook to the vicinity of the cliff, and there heard the words between link and the so-called wild man. "o dear! is that awful creature around here again?" cried jessie. "yes," answered dave. "and i wish he would keep away." then dave and phil related how link merwell had plunged over the cliff and had been made a prisoner, and then how, later on, he had tried to escape, struck his head on the tree root, and how all of the boys had brought him to the bungalows. "i am glad he didn't get away from you," said oliver wadsworth. "i think he ought to be in prison to keep jasniff company." "how will you get him to jail?" questioned phil. "i don't know what we can do except to march him down to carpen falls. but we can't do that to-day, for he seems too weak. perhaps we can take him down there to-morrow, or else some of us can go down and get an officer to come up here and take charge of him." the matter was talked over at some length, and it was finally decided that nothing more should be done that day. link merwell did not join in the discussion, nor even open his eyes to look at them. but by close observation, dave became satisfied that the prisoner was listening intently to every word that was said. "what will you do with him to-night?" asked roger. "we might lock him up in one of the rooms in the bungalow," suggested dave. "i don't think we'll give up one of our rooms to that fellow!" put in mr. wadsworth. "i think a bunk in the woodshed will be plenty good enough for him." "oh, pa, wouldn't that be rather hard on him?" questioned jessie, who did not want to see even a rascal like merwell suffer physical discomfort. "i dare say he has been putting up with worse than that in the woods here and while he was on cave island and in the far west," returned her father. "we'll place an old couch and some blankets in a corner of the shed, and that will be plenty good enough for him." "but somebody will have to watch him," answered dave. "i'll do it if you want me to." "that wouldn't be quite fair, dave," broke in phil. "if he has got to be watched, let us take turns at doing it." "we might bind him fast to the cot," suggested mr. wadsworth. "he's so slick i'd be afraid to risk that," answered dave. "i'll not mind staying up watching him." "let us all take a hand at it," broke in ben. "every fellow can go on guard-duty for two hours, and call the next fellow." and so, after a little discussion, the matter was arranged. "i suppose i'm not to have anything to eat?" grumbled link merwell, a little later, when they were arranging to place him in the woodshed, which was a small lean-to of the wadsworth bungalow. this place was used for the storage of firewood, but just now was almost empty. "oh, yes, we'll see to it that you get something to eat," answered mrs. wadsworth, quickly. "i haven't had a square meal for twenty-four hours," went on the prisoner. "give him all he wants, but nothing fancy," said mr. wadsworth. "he deserves nothing but the plainest kind of victuals." "where have you kept yourself since you ran away from mr. appleby's camp?" questioned phil, curiously. "oh, i just roamed around in the woods," was the somewhat sullen answer. "did you meet that wild man more than once?" questioned roger. "no. if it hadn't been for that fellow, whoever he is, you wouldn't have caught me," added link, bitterly. "i wonder what the pooles will do when mr. basswood tells them what we think, that it is mr. wilbur poole," came from dave. "perhaps they will send some of the sanitarium authorities up to try to catch him." "i hope they do catch him!" came from jessie. "i'll never feel safe as long as that man is at large." chapter xxi the escape mr. dunston porter had been down to carpen falls for a walk and to get the mail. he returned late that evening, bringing several letters with him. he was of course much surprised to learn of the capture of link merwell, and listened with interest to the details concerning the affair. among the letters which his uncle had brought along was one for dave, which he read with deep interest. it was from nat poole, who evidently had not yet heard anything regarding his missing uncle. "i want to tell you of what has happened here lately," (wrote nat). "i have received two visits from a young fellow named ward porton, who is, i believe, a moving-picture actor, and the same fellow that you helped to rescue from a burning steam yacht. this fellow was in town once with link merwell, and then came here alone. he has been visiting a number of people who are well acquainted with you, and also visited the poorhouse here and talked to several of those in authority, and those who used to have the running of the poorhouse years ago, when you were an inmate there. this ward porton acted as if he had something of great importance on his mind, but what it was he would not tell, but he did let slip that it was something concerning you--that there was a big surprise in store for you. he also let slip that he, too, had been in a poorhouse when he was a little boy, and that he had never been able to learn where he had really come from. "i am writing this to put you on your guard in case he should show himself either at your camp or at the wadsworth mansion after your return. i must confess that i don't like the fellow's manner, and i rather surmise he is laying pipes to play you some trick." dave read this letter over several times, and was much perplexed. he had not forgotten what link merwell had said to him shortly after being captured, nor had he forgotten the fact that he had seen link and ward porton in crumville at the old potts farm. "those fellows are certainly up to something," our hero told himself. "link said that i was not dave porter. now, what did he mean by that? those fellows must be hatching up some plot against me." "dave, you look rather worried," remarked phil, as he caught the youth reading the communication for the third time. "no bad news i hope?" "i can't tell whether it is or not, phil," was the reply. and dave handed the letter to his chum. "phew! this looks like a mystery," was the comment of the shipowner's son. "dave, do you think this had anything to do with what link merwell said when we caught him--that you were not dave porter?" "that's the way it looks to me, phil." "but that's rank nonsense. we all know you are dave porter." "well, i've always thought i was dave porter, ever since i met my uncle dunston out in those south sea islands." "why of course you are! don't you look just like your uncle dunston? this is some game, dave." "i think so myself." "what are you fellows confabbing about?" asked roger, walking up. "we're talking about a letter i just received," answered dave. and then the senator's son also read the communication. "say, this is a mystery and no mistake!" was roger's comment. "and so nat thinks that ward porton is mixed up in it, eh? that is strange." "what do you suppose he has to do with it, roger?" questioned phil. "i am sure i don't know. but come to think of it, he did look like----" and then roger broke off in confusion. "look like what, roger?" asked dave, quickly. "oh, never mind, dave, let's drop the subject and talk about what we are going to do with link merwell." "i think i know what you were going to say," went on our hero, and he tried to speak calmly although his heart gave a sudden jump. "you were going to say that ward porton looked like my uncle dunston and like me." "well, if you must know it, dave, that is what did come into my mind. i don't think he resembles you quite as much as he resembles your uncle, to be really honest." "oh, say, roger, drop that!" interposed phil, hastily. "i think dave looks a good deal more like his uncle than porton looks like mr. porter." "it's a queer mystery, that's certain," returned dave, slowly. "i don't like it, i must say," and his face showed more concern than it had for a long while. "don't you take this too seriously, dave!" cried roger. "i believe at the most it's only some game gotten up by link merwell. now that we have him a prisoner and can send him to jail for that robbery, more than likely you won't hear anything further about it." "i sincerely hope you speak the truth," was our hero's sober reply. after a plain but substantial meal, link merwell was taken to the woodshed and told he would have to remain there until morning. then the boys cast lots to find out who should go on guard first. "i'm number one," announced phil, after drawing one of a number of slips of paper placed in a cap. "and i follow you," announced luke. "i'm guard number three," came from ben, and the other boys announced what slips they had drawn. usually the woodshed was dark, but now a lantern had been hung on a nail to illuminate the place. there were two doors, one connecting with the bungalow proper, and the other leading into the backyard of the place. there was also a small window, over which in times past several stout wooden bars had been nailed to keep out prowling wild animals. "think i'll run away, eh?" remarked link merwell, as he sat down on the couch which had been placed in the woodshed. "you'll not get the chance," returned phil, who had armed himself with one of the double-barreled shotguns. "if you try to get away, link, you'll get a dose of shot in you, just as sure as fate." "humph! i don't think i'll want to run away," grumbled the prisoner. "there is no place to run to in this forsaken section of the country. what you folks can find here to make it pleasant is a mystery to me." the door leading to the outside had been closed and bolted. the other door leading to the bungalow proper was left open for ventilation, and phil sat on a low stool beside it, with the shotgun across his knees. "are you quite sure you can manage him, phil?" questioned mr. wadsworth, as he came to the doorway after the others in both bungalows had retired. "yes, i can manage him easily enough," returned the shipowner's son. "i've got this, you see," and he tapped the shotgun suggestively. "well, don't have any shooting unless it becomes absolutely necessary," answered the jewelry manufacturer; and then he, too, retired. for a short while link merwell lay down on the couch and turned over as if to go to sleep. but he was restless, and presently, when all was quiet, he turned over again and sat up. "what are you going to do with me when you get me to carpen falls?" he questioned. "we are going to hand you over to the authorities." "is dave porter going along to the falls?" "i don't know about that. that's for mr. wadsworth to say," answered phil. "by the way," he continued, "what did you mean by telling dave that he was not dave porter?" "never you mind, you'll find out soon enough," grumbled the prisoner. "very well, link, if you don't want to tell me you don't have to. just the same, if you are trying to hatch out some plot against dave, i warn you to be careful. he has stood about as much as he intends to stand." "this is no plot; this is something real," grumbled link merwell. "just you wait, that's all," and then he lay down on the couch once more and pretended to go to sleep. at the proper time luke came to relieve phil, and was followed by ben, and then by shadow. "say, it's cold to-night," remarked the former story-teller of oak hall, as he took the shotgun and sat down on the stool. "if this weather keeps on, before long we'll have frost up here, and we'll all be thinking of going home." "better put on an extra coat; here is one," answered ben, and passed the garment over. then he returned to the other bungalow, for he was tired. shadow had expected to have quite a talk with the prisoner, but in this he was disappointed, for link appeared to be asleep, and he did not have the heart to awaken the prisoner. he sat on the stool, thinking over several of the stories he had told from time to time, and trying to invent one or two new ones. in the midst of his revery a sound from outside startled him. it was the hooting of an owl, and so close that the mournful sound made shadow shiver. "i'd like to shoot that owl," he told himself, as the hooting continued. "if i brought him down i could have him stuffed," he thought, with some satisfaction. shadow looked at the motionless form on the couch, and then arising from the stool, tiptoed his way into the big living-room of the bungalow. one of the windows was wide open, and he looked out of this to see if he could locate the owl. the hooting was now closer than before and seemed to come from a tree not twenty-five feet away. "say, there's a chance for a shot," murmured the youth to himself. "if i could only spot that owl i'm sure i could----" thump! shadow received a staggering blow in the back of the neck, and then felt himself hurled to one side, while the shotgun was wrenched from his grasp. then, before he could recover from his astonishment, a figure leaped through the open window and dashed across the moonlit dooryard. "hi! stop!" yelled shadow, as soon as he could recover his breath. "stop! help!" "what's the racket?" the cry came from roger, and then he and dave burst into the room, followed by phil. "merwell! he's escaped! he got the gun away from me, and jumped through the window!" panted poor shadow. "oh, what a fool i was to think he was asleep!" "where did he go?" questioned dave, and at the same time bounded back into the bedroom, to don his shoes and part of his clothing. "he jumped out of the window with the gun. that's all i know about it," answered shadow. "didn't you have a fight?" questioned phil. "no, i came to the window to look at an owl that was hooting around here. link came behind me and gave me a fierce crack in the neck. then he grabbed the gun and went through the window like a flash. and i thought he was asleep!" by this time dave had returned, partly dressed, and catching up another one of the fowling pieces in the bungalow he, too, leaped through the window, followed by shadow. a few seconds later the other boys joined them. "have you any idea which way he went?" questioned our hero. "i don't know exactly, dave, but i think he went that way," and the former story-teller of oak hall pointed with his hand. "let's scatter a little," ordered dave, and while he passed in the direction pointed out, the other boys separated to both sides of him. all advanced to the edge of the woods and there came to a halt. while the moon made it fairly bright in the open space surrounding the bungalows, beneath the trees it was dark, and consequently little could be seen. "might as well look for a pin in a haystack," grumbled roger. "if he got into these woods it's good-bye to him. we might search all night and not get a trace of the rascal." "i guess you're right, roger," answered dave, "but let's search around a little anyway." long before this the alarm had become general, and now dunston porter and mr. wadsworth appeared, followed shortly by mrs. wadsworth and mrs. basswood and the girls. "let us take the flashlights and lanterns and see if we can't get on the track of him," ordered the jewelry manufacturer. "we must capture him if it is possible to do so." and then the search began in earnest. chapter xxii more of a mystery "did you see anything of him?" "not a thing. did you?" "i saw something move under the trees, but i guess it was a wild animal." "he's gotten away, and that is all there is to it," said dave, as he looked at his chums and at the men, who had also joined in the search for link merwell. "this is certainly too bad!" remarked mr. wadsworth, with a shake of his head. "and it was all my fault!" broke out shadow, bitterly. "oh, i could kick myself full of holes every time i think of it!" over an hour had been spent in the woods surrounding the clearing on mirror lake. during that time the men and the boys had stirred up several small wild animals, but that had been all. "he must have legged it for all he was worth after he jumped through the window," was roger's comment. "for all we know he may be miles away from here by now." "if he ran straight into those woods it was a hazardous proceeding," said dunston porter. "he'll become hopelessly lost in the darkness, and when daylight comes he won't know how to turn to get out." "oh, perhaps he'll climb a tree and locate his surroundings that way," suggested dave. "you must remember that link isn't like a city fellow. he was brought up in the wild west, and knows how to do for himself in the open." "we may as well give up the hunt," said mr. wadsworth, and turned toward bear camp, followed by the others. "oh, dave, did you catch him?" the cry came from jessie, who stood on the porch with the others, awaiting their return. "no, he got away." "that's too bad!" "you should have kept him bound, dave," said laura. "that's it, dave," added belle. "in the west they would tie a rascal like link fast to a tree with a lariat. if you secured him properly he would stay there until you freed him." "well, there is no use in crying over spilt milk," remarked mrs. basswood. "i suppose we may as well go to bed again." and on this the others agreed. several days, including sunday, passed, and nothing more was seen or heard of link merwell or ward porton. during that time the young folks went out on the lake several times, and also went fishing. swimming was mentioned, but as the weather was getting colder rapidly, only dave and phil went in for a plunge. one day they planned to visit the moving-picture people, but it rained and they did not go. "it will soon be time for hunting," announced roger. "i hope we do get a chance to bring down something before we have to go back." "well, i'd like to have a crack at a deer, myself," answered dave, who had not forgotten the sport he had had on squirrel island and at other places in the vicinity of oak hall. "what's the matter with a crack at a bear?" interposed phil. "a great big shaggy fellow that would weigh eight hundred or a thousand pounds." "say, phil, you don't want much in life!" cried ben. "why don't you make it a two-thousand-pound bear while you are at it?" "say, speaking about heavy bears puts me in mind of a story i heard!" cried shadow, his face lighting up for the first time since the escape of link merwell. "this yarn was told by an old western hunter and trapper, and he said it was strictly true. he said he was out on the ranges one day when he found himself suddenly pursued by three modoc indians. he shot at them several times without hitting anybody, and then, to his consternation, he found that his ammunition had given out. he legged it up a mountain-side, and the three modocs came after him, yelling to beat the band. just as they were following him up the steep trail, he saw a monstrous bear come plunging out from a thicket near by. he was so upset that he hardly knew what to do, but he grabbed up a big rock and sent it at the bear. it struck the monstrous animal on the head and keeled him over, and the bear rolled down the steep mountain-side, and knocked over the three modoc indians, smashing every one of them." "wow! that's some bear story!" exclaimed luke. "shadow, how could you bear to tell such a story?" asked dave, reproachfully. "that knocks out all the dime novels ever written," said ben. "why, ben! do you mean to say you have read them all?" cried our hero, in pretended surprise. "all? i don't read any of them!" snorted ben. "just the same, that's the biggest whopper i ever heard." "well, i'm not vouching for the story," interposed shadow, dryly, "i'm just telling it as it was told to me." "speaking about being frightened by a bear puts me in mind that it's queer we haven't seen or heard anything more of that wild man," remarked roger. "we don't want to see or hear anything more of him!" burst out laura. "one scare was enough." "it's queer that the pooles don't send some one up here to look for him," remarked jessie. "if he were my uncle i certainly wouldn't want him to be roaming around in the woods that way." "if he is just roaming around i wonder how he manages to live," said dave. "and where does he get all that outlandish outfit?" "he must have some sort of a habitation here," returned phil. "maybe he has taken possession of some bungalow or cabin that was locked up. if he has, won't the owners of the place be mad when they find it out, especially if he is using their things!" "i wonder if we couldn't go up to that cliff and track him in some way from there?" said phil. "he may have left some sort of trail behind him. unless he follows some kind of paths through the woods he would be apt to get lost, just like anybody else." "if he really is wilbur poole, i'd like to capture him and send him back to the sanitarium; where he belongs," remarked roger. "i think nat would like us to do it." "what do you say about starting on a regular hunt to-morrow?" asked dave. "we might go out directly after breakfast and carry our lunch with us. who knows but what in looking for the wild man we might run across some trace of link merwell." "oh, dave, you mustn't get into any trouble!" cried jessie, hastily. "if we go out we'll go armed and be on our guard," he replied. the matter was talked over for some time, and at last it was decided that the boys should start out in a body directly after breakfast the following morning, provided it remained clear. they were to carry a shotgun and a rifle, and also a substantial lunch, and were not to return to bear camp until evening. "i'd like to go on such a tramp myself," announced belle. "it would be lots of fun climbing over the rocks and up the mountains." "i think you girls had better remain around the bungalows," said mrs. wadsworth. "you can go out some other time, when the boys are not looking for that wild man and link merwell." during the past few days those at bear camp had seen but little of the moving-picture company. that afternoon the old hunter, tad rason, stopped at the dock in his rowboat, and made the announcement that the company had gone to the other end of the lake, to take pictures for several more dramas. "mr. appleby wanted me to tell you that that young feller, ward porton, ain't goin' to be with 'em no more," announced tad rason to dave. "he says the young feller writ a letter sayin' that he was on the track of his parentage, and he guessed as how he'd have plenty of money of his own when he could prove who he was." this announcement was of great interest to dave, and he immediately questioned tad rason, to learn if the old hunter knew anything further. but that was all rason could tell. he even did not know how long ward porton had remained with the moving-picture company after his arrival in the adirondacks. "the huntin' season will be openin' to-morrow," announced tad rason, in reply to a question from phil. "i'm bound down the lake now to meet a party of hunters comin' from albany. i take 'em out every season, actin' as guide." "perhaps we'll get you to go out with us some day," said roger. "all right, boys. i'll be glad to go, if i ain't got any job with them other fellows," announced the old hunter. although he was not willing to admit it to the others, dave was greatly worried over the news brought by tad rason. coupling it with what he had heard from link merwell and nat poole, he could reach but one conclusion, which was that in some way ward porton was going to try to prove that the boy from the crumville poorhouse was not the real dave porter. "maybe he'll come along with a story that he is the real dave," thought our hero, bitterly. "he said he was raised in a poorhouse, just like myself, but he also said it was away down east and not anywhere near the vicinity of crumville. how he is going to get around that is beyond me. i don't think he'll be able to make anybody believe his story. just the same, i wish this thing hadn't come up. i'd like to forget those poorhouse days entirely." and at the remembrance of those bitter times, dave sighed deeply. "dave, you look awfully worried," said jessie, that evening when the boys were getting ready for their next day's tramp. "what is the trouble?" "oh, it isn't much," he answered, evasively. "i was just thinking over what link merwell said." "dave, don't let him worry you so!" cried the girl, sympathetically. "he is a bad boy, and everybody knows it." "but he said some things that i don't like at all, jessie. i don't like him to call me a poorhouse nobody." "dave, don't you mind him! i don't care if you did come from the poorhouse. i think just as much of you anyway," and jessie's eyes showed her earnestness. "it's splendid of you to say that," he returned, in a low tone, and catching both her hands, he squeezed them tightly. "it's a grand good thing to have somebody who believes in you." early in the evening there was a slight shower, and some of the boys thought they were in for a steady rain. but soon the clouds passed, and the moon and stars came out as brightly as ever. "a perfect day!" announced roger, on arising the next morning. "just cool enough to make mountain climbing a pleasure." the servants had an early breakfast ready for the boys, and by the time the girls and the others appeared they had partaken of the repast and were ready to depart. dave carried the rifle and roger the shotgun, while the others were loaded down with several knapsacks of provisions and some extra wraps and a blanket or two. "you want to take plenty of things with you," dunston porter had cautioned them. "you may get farther away from home than you anticipate, and may have to stay out all night." "that's true, uncle dunston," dave had answered. "and that being so, if we don't turn up at a reasonable hour, don't worry about us." "but what will you do if you capture that wild man?" asked mrs. basswood. "if it's wilbur poole, we'll make him a prisoner and bring him with us," announced dave. "well, good luck to you!" cried dunston porter, as the boys prepared to leave. "remember the hunting season opens to-day, so if you get a chance at any game don't let it slip you." "trust us for that, uncle dunston!" cried dave. with shouts of good-bye, the boys turned away from the bungalows, and a few minutes later disappeared along the path running beside the brook. chapter xxiii shooting a wildcat less than half an hour later, the boys found themselves at the top of the cliff where dave and phil had seen the encounter between link merwell and the so-called wild man. a brief look around convinced them that the locality was deserted. "now to find the wild man's trail, if he left one," announced dave, and the boys scattered in several directions, looking at the ground and the brushwood with great care. "if we only had one of those reservation indians with us, he might help us pick up the trail," declared roger. "as it is, i must confess i'm not much of a trail-finder." "oh, don't give up so soon," returned dave. "remember we have the whole day before us." presently ben and luke, who had turned southward on the cliff, let out a shout. "here is something of a trail," announced ben, when the others came hurrying in that direction, and he pointed to footprints which led through some soft soil between a number of low bushes. a little further on they could see where somebody's shoes or boots had carried some of the mud up on to the rocks beyond. "that certainly does look like a trail," declared dave. "let us follow it up a bit, and see where it leads to." this was considered good advice, and soon, led by our hero, the whole party was moving through the brushwood and over the rocks. then they came once again to the woods, and here discovered a well-defined trail running southwestward. "this may be an animal trail for all we know," remarked shadow. "for my part, i can't tell one kind of trail from another." "it's quite likely that a fellow like that wild man would use any trail he came across, and so would anybody else trying to move around in a wilderness like this," answered dave. "i don't think it will do any harm to follow it for some distance." "better keep your eyes open, dave," cautioned phil. "it may lead us into danger." "i've got my eyes wide open, and i've got the rifle handy, too," answered our hero, as he once more led the march forward. the trail was very narrow in places, so that they had to walk in single file. it made a long curve through the forest, and then came out in a little clearing, backed up by a series of jagged rocks. here there was a small stream, and behind it a spring of pure, cold water. "it looks to me as if the animals used this trail when they wanted a drink," was luke's comment. "that water looks pretty good to me," and bending down, he took a deep draught. "it's fine," he went on; "try it!" the others did as requested, and agreed with luke that the water was as good as any they had ever tasted. then began more searching, and before long they found another trail, this time veering to the westward. the boys pushed forward once again, dave still in the lead; and thus a half mile more was covered. then they found themselves between a number of rocks where, presently, the trail seemed to lose itself. "say, dave, we don't seem to be getting anywhere," announced phil, as having climbed over several very rough rocks, he stopped to regain his breath. "that's right!" broke in luke. "and say, we had better go slow unless somebody wants to sprain an ankle. this is the roughest ground i ever tried to get over." "it is easier walking just ahead," announced dave, who now stood on the top of one of the rocks, gazing forward. "come on! i think i see the trail too," and he made a leap from one rock to another and was soon some distance in advance. the rough rocks left behind, the boys came out on a trail which seemed to come from the north and lead directly up a steep hillside well covered with tall trees. here the shade was very thick, and the slight breeze that was stirring made the atmosphere decidedly cool. "wonder what time it is?" remarked luke, and drew out his watch as he spoke. "well, i never! only ten o'clock! i thought it must be about noon!" "getting hungry already?" laughed dave. "if you are, we might stop for a bite." "that's it! let's have a bite to eat, and rest at the same time," cried phil. "we brought plenty of lunch along--enough for several meals." the boys sat in a sort of circle on some rocks and a fallen tree, and while thus resting partook of a light lunch from one of the knapsacks. then they moved forward, up the hillside, and presently found themselves on the top of the rise. "here is quite a view!" announced shadow, and they spent a little time in taking in the panorama spread before them. on one side they could see mirror lake, and on the other the nearby mountains and also a faraway wagon-road, which they rightly guessed was that running to carpen falls and the villages beyond. "see anything worth looking at outside of the scenery?" questioned roger of our hero. "i see some smoke down in yonder hollow," announced dave. "that must come either from some campfire or else from some cabin, and whether it is from a campfire or a cabin it means that some human being must be there." "right you are, dave! and that human being may be that wild man, or link merwell," answered ben, quickly. "how far do you think it is to that smoke?" asked phil. various guesses were made, and the consensus of opinion was that the smoke was not over half a mile distant. "let us take the trail leading off in that direction," said dave, and a few minutes later the boys struck out once more. much to their surprise, getting down into the hollow between the hills and the nearby mountain was by no means as easy as they had anticipated. the way proved exceedingly rough, and more than once one or another of them was in danger of a serious tumble. as it was, shadow slipped on the rocks and scraped his hands in several places. then luke gave a grunt, announcing that he had barked his left shin. dave was still in advance, and now he made a leap from a rock into some low brushwood. as he did this there came a sudden cry and a snarl, followed by the movement of some body through the brushwood a short distance ahead. "hello! what was that?" cried phil, who was nearest to our hero. "i didn't get a very good view of it, phil," answered dave, who now had his rifle ready for use, "but unless i was much mistaken, it was a wildcat." "a wildcat! great cã¦sar! we don't want to run into any such beast as that, dave." "did you see a wildcat? where is it?" demanded roger, quickly, as he, too, reached dave's side. "it went off in that direction," answered dave, pointing with the barrel of his rifle. "see! there it is!" as dave uttered the last words, roger and phil saw a small, tawny-colored body creep out of some distant bushes and make a leap onto a flat rock. the beast was indeed a wildcat, and as it came from cover it swung around for a brief instant to gaze savagely at the boys. then it crouched low, preparatory to making a leap to another rock higher up. crack! it was dave's rifle that rang out. and following the report the wildcat was seen to leap into the air and then fall back on the rock, where it whirled over and over several times. "you hit it, dave!" yelled phil and roger, simultaneously. "what did you shoot at?" called out ben, as he came plunging forward, followed by luke and shadow. "a wildcat! see, there it is on the rocks!" cried roger. "a wildcat! i didn't know there were any left around here," returned ben, and then he added, quickly: "there it goes! you didn't kill it after all, dave." as ben spoke, the wildcat gave another whirl on the rock, and then slipped off through the bushes out of sight of the boys. "i'll give him a shot from my gun if he needs it," announced roger, as he hurried forward. "be careful that he doesn't get at you first!" cried dave, warningly. "if he's only slightly wounded he'll be a dangerous customer to tackle." the other boys followed roger, and, having reloaded his weapon, dave followed suit. soon all were standing close to the flat rock where the wildcat had been hit. "where is it?" "i don't see him anywhere." "be careful, he may land on you before you know it!" "there! there! look yonder!" the last cry came from luke, and at his words all turned quickly, to see the wildcat crouch between two trees growing close to the rocks. with a snarl, the beast leaped out toward them, the blood flowing from a wound along one forequarter. roger had the shotgun ready, and without taking time to bring the weapon to his shoulder, he pulled the trigger. bang! went the piece, and then, with a final leap, the wildcat sprang toward the boys, only to drop dead at their feet. "good! that's the way to do it!" cried phil, enthusiastically. "that wildcat won't bother us any more." "dave hit him in the forequarter," announced roger, after an examination of the dead animal. "more than likely the beast would have died from that wound." "i don't know about that," returned our hero; modestly. "you are the one who settled him. that was a fine shot, roger. it couldn't have been better." and on this the others agreed. as no one cared to take the trouble to skin the wildcat, the beast was left where it had fallen, and the boys once more took their way along the trail leading to the spot where they had seen the smoke. soon the trail made another turn, and then came out on a path which was wider and showed considerable usage. "here are footprints," said ben, pointing to them. "i believe we are getting close to some sort of a house or cabin." a few minutes later the broad path they had discovered made another turn, and then in the distance they saw a neat log cabin, located on the bank of a small mountain torrent. from the chimney of the cabin a thin wreath of smoke was curling. "that's the smoke we must have seen," announced dave. "now the question is: who lives there?" "and how will they take our arrival," added phil. "wait a minute!" ordered dave, and put out his hand to stop his chums from advancing. he had seen a man come limping from the mountain torrent with a bucket of water in his hand. now the man stopped in front of the door to the cabin as if to look around before entering. "well, that isn't the wild man; that's sure! and it isn't link merwell, either," announced roger. "say, i've seen that man before!" cried phil, in sudden excitement. "you have, phil?" questioned dave. "who is he?" "who is he? unless i am greatly mistaken, that is my missing uncle, lester lawrence!" chapter xxiv the man at the cabin "that man is your uncle?" "do you mean the man who disappeared so mysteriously after that robbery?" "that's the man." phil's manner showed increased excitement. "isn't this the strangest thing that ever happened? to think of my running across my uncle in this out-of-the-way place!" "you want to make sure that he is your uncle first," warned dave. "perhaps he is only somebody who looks like your relative, the same as that ward porton resembles me," added our hero, with a grim smile. "oh, i am sure that man is my uncle," declared the shipowner's son. "do you think he is the same fellow we saw before--the wild man?" queried roger. "i don't know as to that. maybe he is," and phil's face now showed worriment. "i do hope my uncle hasn't lost his mind!" "well, he might do that because of his troubles," was shadow's comment. "it was trouble that affected wilbur poole, if you'll remember." during the course of this conversation, the boys had withdrawn to the shelter of some trees and brushwood. in the meantime the man with the bucket of water had disappeared within the cabin. "i noticed he limped considerably," remarked dave. "yes, and he had his left foot bound up," announced luke. "more than likely he hurt it in some way." "it would be an easy matter for somebody to hurt his foot if he cut up like that fellow who nearly scared the girls and link merwell to death," remarked ben. "i am going to the cabin and see what he has to say for himself," declared phil, resolutely starting forward. "if you go we had better go with you," announced dave. "but be careful, phil. if that man is out of his head he may be dangerous." "i don't think my uncle lester would hurt me even if he was out of his mind," answered the shipowner's son, as he moved toward the cabin, followed closely by the others. the boys were still a hundred feet or more away from the habitation when the man reappeared at the doorway. on catching sight of the newcomers he uttered a sudden cry of dismay, and then disappeared like a flash, banging the cabin door shut behind him. "evidently he's not very sociable," remarked luke, dryly. "i guess he doesn't want any visitors." advancing to the door, phil knocked loudly. "go away from here! i don't want to see any of you!" cried a heavy voice from within. "go away, i tell you!" "open the door, please. i want to speak with you," answered phil, as calmly as he could. "i won't talk to you! i don't want any one around this place!" came angrily from within the cabin. "go away, or i'll shoot!" "say, i don't like this!" cried shadow, in a low voice. "i guess we had better get out," and he started to retreat, followed by luke and ben. phil, however, stood his ground, and not to desert their chum, dave and roger did the same. "we are not going to molest you," called out phil, after several seconds of silence. "all i want to do is to talk to you." "i won't talk to anybody, i tell you! go away! if you don't i'll use a shotgun on you!" returned the man in the cabin. "aren't you mr. lester lawrence?" demanded phil. "what's that?" and now the voice of the man showed sudden interest. "i say: aren't you mr. lester lawrence?" repeated phil. "who said i was lester lawrence?" demanded the man, suspiciously. "if you are, i must talk to you. i am phil lawrence, your nephew." "phil lawrence!" the boys outside heard the man mutter to himself. "phil lawrence? oh, it can't be!" then he raised his voice: "you are trying to play some trick on me," he shouted. "it isn't any trick," put in dave. "this young man here is philip lawrence, and he is looking for his uncle, lester lawrence. he has good news for him." "good news? i can't believe it! it is some trick. i want you all to go away." "uncle lester, it isn't any trick. i am phil, your nephew. i want to talk to you. i've got the best kind of news for you; something that you'll be glad to hear. won't you please open the door and let me talk to you?" "it's a trick, i know it's a trick," came from the man, in almost a whine. nevertheless, he advanced toward the door, and with trembling hands threw off the bolt that had been shot into place. then, with great caution, he opened the door several inches and peered out. "who says he is philip lawrence?" he questioned, sharply. "i am, uncle lester," announced the shipowner's son. "don't you remember me? you used to think the world and all of me some years ago, when you lived across the street from us." the man opened the door a little wider, and gazed sharply into phil's face. then his manner seemed to change, and, allowing the door to swing wide open, he tottered back and sank down on a bench. "it's phil--little phil, sure enough," he murmured. "how in the world did you come to follow me to this faraway place?" "i didn't follow you, uncle lester," returned the youth. "i and my friends were looking for a wild man who is roaming around in this vicinity, scaring people, and we reached this place by accident. we saw you coming to the cabin with a bucket of water, and i easily recognized you at once." "i thought i was safe here--safe from the whole world," muttered lester lawrence. "but you said you had good news for me," he added quickly. "what is it?" "it's the best kind of news, uncle lester. don't you know that shortly after you disappeared the bank authorities and the police found the guilty parties?" "they did?" and now the man's face showed his amazement. "why, sure they did! and then, of course, they knew that you were innocent." "oh, phil! can this be true?" "it certainly is true, uncle lester, every word of it! you are an innocent man, and everybody at home knows it. father has been trying his best to get into communication with you. he inserted personals in the newspapers, and even put detectives on your track; but, as you know, without avail." "then the world knows that i am innocent! thank god for that!" exclaimed the man, with fervor. "oh, how i have suffered! and for such a long time, too!" and tears stood in his eyes. "but why didn't you communicate with father?" asked the nephew. "you ought to have known that he would be tremendously worried about you." "i was bitter, bitter against the whole world. i didn't think i had a friend left!" cried lester lawrence. "i didn't want to see anybody, and i didn't want anybody to see me. i was afraid that they might catch me and put me in jail, and then if i could not prove my innocence--and there was to my mind no way of doing that--they would send me to prison for a long term of years. that's why i made up my mind to disappear." "and you've been up here ever since?" asked phil. "no, i've been here only since last summer. before that i was in another section of the adirondacks." lester lawrence looked at dave and roger, who had followed phil into the cabin, and at the other boys, who were crowded around the doorway. "who are these; some of your school chums?" he questioned. "yes, uncle lester," answered the shipowner's son, and introduced his friends one after another. "they are all good fellows, and i hope you will consider them as friends." "i will do that, phil, if you want me to," was the reply. "your revelation has lifted a great weight from my shoulders. tell me all the particulars." sitting down beside his relative, the shipowner's son related all that he knew of the occurrences of the past. mr. lawrence listened to the recital with close attention and asked many questions, his face meanwhile showing his intense satisfaction. "what you have told me makes me feel ten years younger," he declared. "if all this is true--and i have no reason to doubt your word--i can once more face the world and those who are dear to me." "phil has got another surprise for you, mr. lawrence," put in dave, when the recital was at an end. "you will not only be a free man when you return to your former home, but you will also have a good deal of money coming to you." "indeed! and how is that?" "it's this way, uncle lester," answered phil, and thereupon gave a few of the details concerning the land which the rival railroads wished to purchase from the uncle and phil's father. "that certainly is splendid news!" declared lester lawrence, his eyes lighting up. "what a wonderful change the last hour has brought! before you came i thought i was doomed to live here, unknown and alone, for perhaps the rest of my life." "but how have you managed to live?" asked dave, curiously. "oh, that has been easy. you see, when i left home i had quite a little money that belonged to me. i buy necessary provisions down in one of the towns, and also do some hunting and fishing. this cabin belongs to the daughter of an old hunter who lived here for years, and as she did not wish to occupy it she let me have it at a very reasonable rental." "do you know anything of that wild man who is in this vicinity?" queried roger. at this direct question lester lawrence dropped his eyes and showed much confusion. "i am afraid i do," he answered, shamefacedly. "the fact of the matter is, it was i who played the wild man, dressing myself up in some old outfits that were left in this cabin by those who used to live here." "but what was your purpose?" questioned luke. "i wanted to scare the folks in this vicinity, so they would not come near this cabin. i was afraid if too many people came to this neighborhood, sooner or later somebody might recognize me and inform the authorities." "you nearly scared the ladies and girls in our bungalows to death," said ben, bluntly. "i am very sorry for it, now," was the reply. "but you see, what phil has told me has put an entirely different face on the matter. i looked at all strangers as enemies. i was very bitter against everybody." "well, i guess you had a right to feel bitter, uncle lester," returned phil, who could realize how his relative had suffered. "but it's all past now, and you must give up your life here and come home with me." "i am willing to go home, now that i know my name is cleared," answered lester lawrence. "but i can't travel just yet," he added, ruefully, looking down at his bandaged foot. "what is the trouble?" questioned dave, kindly. "i sprained my ankle the day i followed one of you boys--that is, i suppose it was one of your crowd. i mean the chap who fell over the cliff." "link merwell!" ejaculated phil. "he is no friend of ours, he is an enemy. by the way, uncle lester, have you seen him since then?" "he is an enemy, you say!" cried mr. lawrence. "is that so? yes, i saw him. he was here early this morning, and i chased him away." chapter xxv two deer "he was here, and you chased him away!" exclaimed dave. "have you any idea where he went to?" "i think he took the trail back of the house; the one leading to carpen falls," answered lester lawrence. "i slipped on my most outlandish costume, and i must have scared him out of his wits, for he ran like a deer," he added, with a smile. "in that case there is no use in our looking for him around here," announced roger. "i think i'll give the hunt up," said phil. "finding my uncle has changed matters completely. what i want to do is to send word to my father that my uncle is found. then, as soon as he is able to travel, i'll leave you fellows and take him home." "i think i'll be able to walk on the foot in a day or two," answered lester lawrence. "you see i can already hobble around. but that sprain was a pretty bad one, i can assure you!" after this the situation was discussed for some time--in fact, until well after the noon hour. then one of the boys suggested that they have dinner, and while phil and his uncle continued to talk over their personal affairs, dave and his chums set about getting ready the meal. while all in the cabin partook of the midday meal, the boys told the hermit about their life in camp, and also of their adventures at oak hall and in other places. lester lawrence listened interestedly to the recital, and asked innumerable questions concerning their doings, and also questioned phil regarding conditions at home. "i'll leave the matter of that land deal entirely to your father," he said to his nephew. "he always had a better head for business than i've got. he'll know the right thing to do." after the meal it was decided that phil should remain at the cabin with his uncle, while the other boys returned to bear camp. phil wrote out a message which he asked dave and the others to send to carpen falls, from which point it might be transmitted by telephone and telegraph to his parents, announcing the finding of the long-lost uncle. "now that i have found uncle lester, i don't want to leave him," said phil to dave and roger, as he drew his two particular chums to one side, out of hearing of the others. "uncle lester may be all right in his mind--in fact i hope he is--but at the same time, he has acted so queerly that i don't want to give him any chance to get away from me. besides, i think he ought to rest so that his lame ankle can get well. i'll do all the work around here and stay until some of you get back, which i suppose will be in a day or two." "all right, phil. you stay with him, by all means," answered our hero. "we'll attend to this message, and we'll wait to see if any message comes back from your father." the boys to return to bear camp had thought they must go by the way they had come, but lester lawrence told them to follow the mountain torrent for a distance of a quarter of a mile, and then they would reach a broad and well-defined trail leading to the brook which flowed into mirror lake. "it's a much shorter route," he said, "and you will find the traveling much easier." it was about half an hour later when dave and the others bid phil and mr. lawrence good-bye, and set out on the return to bear camp. our hero still had possession of the rifle, and roger carried the shotgun. under the heavy trees it was both dark and cold, and the boys hurried along as rapidly as possible, not only to make time, but also to keep warm. dave and roger were in advance, discussing the finding of phil's uncle. "i'm mighty glad on phil's account that his uncle has been found," remarked dave. "the selling of that land at a handsome profit will be a big lift for the lawrence family." "yes. and how it will please phil's parents to have mr. lawrence's brother back!" responded roger. "as it was, they did not know whether he was dead or alive. it's a terrible thing to----" roger broke off short, for at that instant dave clapped his hand over his chum's mouth and drew him quickly behind a nearby tree. they were well in advance of their friends, and now our hero motioned the others to keep back. "what is it? what is the trouble?" called out ben. "it's a deer, keep quiet!" answered dave, in a low tone. "a deer! where?" questioned roger. "over yonder, by the white birch." the senator's son looked in the direction indicated, but for the moment saw nothing out of the ordinary. then, however, a head appeared from between some bushes back of the white birch, and presently a beautiful deer stalked into view. "i see him," whispered roger, excitedly. "there is your chance, dave, plug him!" our hero already had the rifle raised. he was about to pull the trigger when he paused, for he had seen the bushes back of the deer move. "what's up? why don't you shoot?" whispered roger, his voice betraying excitement. "i think there's another deer there, roger," whispered our hero, in return. "yes, there he is! now then, you will have a shot yourself. take the one on the left and i'll take the one on the right." "all right," returned the senator's son, and raised the double-barreled shotgun. "are you ready?" "yes. when i say 'three,' fire," answered dave, quickly. "one, two, three!" crack! bang! the two pieces rang out in quick succession, and as the reports echoed through the forest both deer gave a wild leap into the air. then the animal at which dave had shot plunged forward on its knees and fell into some brushwood, kicking wildly. the other deer whirled around and started to run for cover. "give it the other barrel, roger!" yelled dave, as he ran forward. there was no need of this advice, for while dave was yet speaking the second barrel of the shotgun was discharged at the flying deer. roger's aim this time proved to be better than before, and plunging forward, the deer ran full tilt into a tree and then pitched over on its side, where it soon breathed its last. long before dave reached his quarry he was ready for a second shot should the game require it. but when he reached the deer's side he found that the end of the animal was close at hand. then he rejoined his chum, who was watching the other deer. "is he dead, roger?" he asked, quickly. "i think he is, dave," was the answer, and roger's tone showed his exaltation. "my! but this is luck; isn't it?" "i should say yes! two deer at a clip!" "how about the one you hit; is it dead?" "just about," was dave's reply, and then he hurried over to the game, to note that it was breathing its last. "how did you make out?" the cry came from ben, as he came running forward, followed by luke and shadow. "did you hit anything?" queried the former story-teller of oak hall. "did they hit anything!" yelled luke. "say, this is great, they got two of them!" "this is what i call wholesale hunting!" announced ben. "you fellows certainly opened the hunting season in great shape," was shadow's comment. "a wildcat and two deer all in one day!" the boys dragged the two deer together, and it must be confessed that dave and roger looked at their quarry with great pride. [illustration: crack! bang! the two pieces rang out in quick succession. _page 253._] "how are we going to get those down to the bungalows?" asked the senator's son. "i think the best thing to do will be to tie their feet together and slip each of them on a long pole," returned dave. a small hatchet had been brought along for possible use in cutting firewood, and with this the boys cut down two long and slender saplings. then they tied up the deer as our hero had mentioned, and a sapling was thrust between the front and hind legs of each of the game, allowing the body to hang below. "here, ben, you can carry the rifle," announced dave. "i'll take one end of one load." "and i'll help carry with you," announced luke. "i'll carry my share of the load," offered roger, and he picked up one end of the second sapling, while shadow took the other. thus carrying the loads between them, and with ben going ahead with the rifle, they continued on the return to bear camp. progress with such heavy loads was necessarily slow, and several times the boys stopped to rest. it was well toward nightfall when they reached the stream flowing into mirror lake. having gained the watercourse, it was an easy matter for them to continue onward until they reached the vicinity of the two bungalows. as soon as they came in sight of the camp, several set up a shout, which quickly brought laura and belle into view. "home again, and with lots of good news!" cried dave, swinging his cap. "oh, look, they have two deer!" exclaimed the girl from the west. "isn't that grand?" "it certainly is," returned laura; but her voice had little of enthusiasm in it. "where is uncle dunston?" cried dave. "i want him to look at what roger and i shot." "your uncle has gone home," answered belle. at the same time laura turned away. "gone home!" repeated dave, in bewilderment. "why, what made him do that? i didn't know he was going until next week." "he went with mr. wadsworth," continued belle. "they had some very important business to attend to." "what was it? laura, do you know?" "yes, i know, dave," answered the girl, and now her voice had a curious, uncertain ring in it. "oh, dave, it's the most awful thing i ever heard of! i don't see how i am ever going to tell you!" she burst out; and then, of a sudden, began to cry and ran into the bungalow. chapter xxvi startling news dave was so surprised that for the moment he knew not what to say or do. his eyes followed laura as she disappeared within the bungalow, and then he turned in bewilderment to belle. "laura takes it awfully hard, but i don't think she ought to--at least not yet," said the girl from star ranch. "there may not be a word of truth in the story. anyway, i'm not going to believe it until they prove it." "but what are you talking about, belle?" questioned dave, his face still showing his perplexity. "what is it all about? has anything happened at home? it isn't my father; is it?" "no, there is nothing wrong at your home, dave--at least not in the way you think." belle paused for a moment as if not knowing how to go on. "you remember what link merwell said; don't you?" "about me?" "yes. of course i don't believe it at all. but this young fellow, ward porton, sent word to your father, and that has upset him a great deal, so that he sent word to your uncle dunston and laura, as well as to mr. wadsworth. the word came in this morning, a couple of hours after you had left; and after talking the matter over, your uncle and mr. wadsworth made up their minds to return to crumville without delay." "and what did this ward porton have to say?" questioned our hero, and it was with an effort that he steadied his voice. "i can't give you all the particulars, because laura did not show me the letter. poor dear! it just broke her up completely, and i've had an awful time with her--and i've had an awful time with jessie, too." "but you must know something," went on dave, while the others gathered around, their faces showing their intense curiosity. "well, as near as i can make out, this ward porton has been investigating matters connected with himself and with you, and he claims that he is the real dave porter and that you are somebody else." "oh, say, that's nonsense!" burst out phil, quickly. "why, we proved dave's identity beyond question, when we came back from our trip to the south seas." "sure we did!" added roger. "dave's uncle went into all of the details with the crumville poorhouse authorities, and also got the particulars of how that fellow named sandy margot, the good-for-nothing husband of that crazy nurse, polly margot, abducted dave and took him on a railroad train, and then got scared and put him off at crumville." "i am sure i hope what you say is true, roger," responded the girl from the west. "what this porton bases his claim on i don't know. as i said before, i didn't read the letter dave's uncle turned over to laura." "i must go in and find out about this," said dave, in a curiously unnatural voice. his mind was in a whirl, and for the time being his good luck at hunting, and the finding of phil's uncle and the clearing up of the mystery of the wild man, were completely forgotten. he found laura in one of the bedrooms of the bungalow, sitting in a chair by the window, with her hands clasped tightly together and her face firm-set and drawn. as she looked up at him, two fresh tears stood out on her cheeks. "they tell me that uncle dunston got a letter about me," said the youth, doing his best to steady his voice. "will you let me see it?" "it's on the table," returned the girl, motioning with her hand. and then she added impetuously: "oh, dave, i can't believe it's true, i simply can't! why, it's the most dreadful thing that ever came up! i am sure there must be some mistake!" "i--i can't understand it," dave stammered in return, and then picked up the communication which had been sent by special messenger from carpen falls. the letter ran as follows: "dear dunston: "a most astonishing thing has come up, and i wish you would return to crumville at once; and it might be well to bring mr. wadsworth with you. "i cannot go into all the details because i am completely upset. briefly stated the matter is this: a young man named ward porton--the same fellow who was in crumville some time ago with link merwell--has written to me, stating that he has every reason to believe that he is the real dave porter, and that our dave is somebody else. his story is that he was left in a poorhouse at lumberville, maine, by an old woman who obtained him from sandy margot, who told her the child had been under the care of polly, his wife. the claim is also made that sandy margot had in reality stolen two children, little boys, at about the same time, and the theory is advanced that the other boy was the one dropped from the train at crumville. the young man states that he has gone into the matter very carefully, and has a number of proofs which he will submit whenever called on to do so. he adds that he feels sorry for dave, but hopes that i will find in him as good a son, and also hopes that laura will like him as well as a brother. "i am so upset that i hardly know what to think or what to do. if this young man's story is true, then all of us have made a sad mistake, and what dave is to do in the matter i don't know. come on as soon as possible and help me to get to the bottom of this terrible mix-up. "your affectionate brother, david breslow porter." dave read this letter with care, and then allowed the communication to slip from his fingers. if his mind had been in a whirl before, it was more so now, and for the moment he could hardly think straight. if he was not dave porter, who was he? a thousand ideas ran riot through his brain. "oh, dave! it can't be true; can it?" came half-pleadingly from laura. "i don't know," he answered dumbly. "i don't know." "but, dave, i thought that you and uncle dunston proved your identity completely, even before you found father and met me." "i always supposed we did prove it, laura," he answered. "we went into the matter very carefully at that time. nothing was ever said about sandy margot stealing two little boys. i always supposed he had taken only one child." "and to think this other young man is a perfect stranger," went on laura, dolefully. "there is no telling what sort of a person he is." "he's no stranger to me. i helped to pull him out of the water when the steam yacht was on fire," answered dave. "i guess he's all right as far as that goes, although i don't think much of his keeping company with link merwell." "do you suppose it can be a plot hatched up by link merwell?" "i don't know what to think. this news stuns me. i've got to consider it. maybe i had better go back to crumville, too." "no, uncle dunston said you had better stay here--at least for the present. he said if they wanted you they could send you word." "oh, all right," and now dave's voice showed a faint trace of bitterness. "maybe they don't want me around, if they have really settled it that i am not the real dave porter." "oh, dave! don't want you around!" laura sprang to her feet, and coming over to him, caught both his hands in her own. "don't talk that way. even if they should prove that you are not my brother, i shall always think just as much of you." "thank you for saying that, laura," he returned, with much emotion. "it's nice to know that there is somebody who won't go back on me." "i don't believe anybody will go back on you, dave--you have always been so good. oh, i think this is dreadful--just dreadful!" and laura showed signs of bursting into tears once more. "where are jessie and mrs. wadsworth, and mrs. basswood?" "i think jessie went over to the other bungalow with her mother. she was as much upset as i was." "does she think the story is true?" "she hopes it isn't. but of course she can't do anything--and i can't do anything either." "well, i don't see what i can do." dave took a turn up and down the room, and then sank on a chair. "this just knocks me endwise. i can't even seem to think straight," he added, helplessly. "you poor boy!" laura came over and brushed back the hair from his forehead. "you don't know how this hurts, dave. oh, it can't be true!" "i wonder how long i've got to wait before i hear from crumville?" "i am sure i don't know. i think, though, we'll get word just as soon as they know anything definite." at that moment came a timid knock on the door, and laura opened it to admit jessie. the appearance of the girl showed that she was much upset. her face was tear-stained and her hair awry. "oh, dave!" was all she said. and then coming straight toward him, she threw her head on his shoulder and burst into a fit of weeping. "there, there, jessie! don't you cry so," he said, soothingly. "i am sure it will be all right." "but da-dave, hasn't laura to-told you?" "yes, she has told me." "and did you read that letter?" "yes." "but it can't be true, dave! oh, tell me it can't be true!" went on the girl, pleadingly. "i can't tell you whether it is true or not, jessie, for i don't know," answered the boy, as bravely as he could. "i suppose they'll investigate the matter at crumville and at that place in maine, and let me know." he looked at her curiously. "what if they prove i am not the real dave porter, jessie--will you care very much?" "care? of course i'll care, dave! but don't misunderstand me," she added, quickly. "even if they prove you are not the real dave porter, it won't make any difference to me. i shall think just as much of you, no matter who you are." "do you really mean that?" and he clutched her tightly. "i certainly do! what difference will it really make? you will be yourself, no matter what your name is." "i know, jessie, i'll be myself; but who will i be? perhaps i'll be a 'poorhouse nobody' after all," and he smiled bitterly. "never!" returned the girl, emphatically. "you'll never be a nobody, dave. you are too true, both to yourself and to those around you. you'll make a name for yourself in this world even if they take your present name away from you;" and as she spoke the girl's words rang with earnestness. a great and peculiar joy seemed to creep over dave, and despite the blackness of the situation, his heart for the moment felt light. he gazed with emotion at both laura and jessie. "if that's the way you feel about it--and laura says she feels the same--i'm not going to worry just yet," he answered. chapter xxvii what happened in the night that evening the sole topic of conversation at bear camp was the news concerning dave. the other lads could not bear to question laura or jessie on the subject, knowing how badly both of them must feel; but they asked belle to tell all she knew, and also quizzed mrs. wadsworth and mrs. basswood. "it's the worst state of affairs i have ever known," was the way the jewelry manufacturer's wife expressed herself, in private to roger and phil. "we, as you know, think the world and all of dave, and we don't want him to drop back and become a nobody, even in name. he is a splendid boy, and no matter what happens we shall always think as much of him as we ever did." "i think all his friends will stick to him," answered roger. "at the same time, this will cut him to the heart; and what he'll do if they really prove he isn't dave porter, i don't know." "maybe the porters will continue to keep him in the family as an adopted son," suggested phil. "that is, if this report really proves to be true, which i don't believe will happen." "i have always thought a great deal of dave, ever since he saved jessie from that gasoline explosion," returned mrs. wadsworth. "should they find out that he is not a porter, i think i would be strongly in favor of my husband adopting him." "say, that wouldn't be half bad!" burst out phil, "and the suggestion does you credit, mrs. wadsworth. personally, i think dave is the finest fellow in the world." "i am sure we all think that," added roger. "since he went to oak hall he has made a host of real friends, and i don't think one of them will desert him." while this conversation was going on, the other boys were talking to our hero, doing their best to cheer him up and to convince him that, no matter what happened, they would stick to him. "you take it from me," declared luke, "this is some scheme gotten up by link merwell and this other fellow!" "certainly it's a scheme!" added shadow. "it puts me in mind of a story i once heard about a fellow down south who stole three watermelons, and----but, oh, pshaw! what's the use of trying to tell a story now? i'm going to cut them out until we get this thing settled," he added, in disgust. "don't you worry, dave. i am sure it will come out all right in the end," was what ben said, speaking with an apparent conviction that he did not by any means feel. "you're all kind, fellows, and i appreciate it very much," answered dave. "but this is a blow to me. if you'll excuse me, i'd like to take a little walk by myself and think it over." and thus speaking, the youth withdrew from the crowd, and walked slowly to the lake and along a footpath bordering the shore. "it's the rankest shame i ever knew!" declared ben, when the others were left to themselves. "if i had that ward porton here i'd wring his neck." "i guess we'd all like to do that," responded shadow. "nevertheless, if he is the real dave porter you can't blame him for trying to prove it." "there is only one thing about it that troubles me," said luke. "don't you remember that all of those who saw this ward porton agreed that he looked very much like mr. dunston porter?" "yes, but dave looks like dunston porter, too," came quickly from ben. "it's queer that he resembles his uncle more than he does his father," was shadow's comment. "maybe this ward porton resembles mr. david porter." "well, it's fierce; that's all i've got to say," declared ben. "and what dave is going to do if they prove he isn't the real dave porter is something i don't like to think about. in those days when we first went to oak hall, you'll remember how bitter he felt when some of his enemies referred to him as that 'poorhouse nobody,' and how eager he was to clear up the mystery of his identity, even though it cost him a trip to the south sea islands." dave walked on and on along the lake shore, paying little attention to where he was going. his mind was in a state bordering on bewilderment. in a faint, uncertain way he had anticipated some such calamity, but now that the blow had fallen, the matter looked almost hopeless to him. had he followed his own inclinations, he would have made preparations to return to crumville at once. "but evidently they don't want me there," he told himself, bitterly. "they want to solve this mystery without my interference. and if they do make up their minds that i am not the real dave porter, i wonder how they will treat me? of course, they may be very kind to me--the same as laura and jessie and the others up here. but kindness of that sort isn't everything. i don't want any one to support me if i haven't some claim on him." and then dave shut his teeth hard, clenched his hands, and walked on faster than ever. finally tired out because he had been on his feet since early morning, dave sat down on a flat rock to rest. as he did this, he heard the put-put of a motor, and presently around a bend of the shore showed the headlight of mr. appleby's motor-boat. "i wonder if they are simply going down to the end of the lake, or whether they are going to stop at our place," said dave, to himself. "i'd rather they wouldn't stop at bear camp to-night, when everything is so upset." as the motor-boat swung around, the headlight flashed full upon our hero and there followed an exclamation from the manager of the moving-picture company, who was at the wheel of the craft, with two men beside him. "hello there, porter! what are you doing--fishing?" "no, i just came down here to sit on the rock and do a little thinking," answered dave. "we are making a little trip around the lake," went on mr. appleby. "i was going to stop at your dock and deliver a letter that came in our mail by mistake. it's a letter for you, so i might as well give it to you now." "a letter for me, eh?" answered dave. "yes, here you are!" went on mr. appleby, as the motor-boat came to a standstill close by. "i'll put it in the newspaper and you can have that too, as we have read it;" and suiting the action to the word, the man placed the letter in the folds of the paper and tossed the latter ashore. "will you stop?" questioned dave. "not to-night. we are going to make a call on the other side of the lake. i just thought i'd give you the letter, that's all," and then, with a pleasant good-bye, the manager steered his motor-boat out into mirror lake again. it was too dark to read the letter without a light, and as dave did not happen to have even a match, he walked back to the bungalows. the lanterns were hung out on the porches as was the custom, and under the light of one of these he looked at the communication he had received. "it's from crumville!" he exclaimed to himself, eagerly, as he looked at the postmark. but then, as he recognized the handwriting, his face fell. "it's only from nat poole." the communication from the money-lender's son was a long one, containing much news which it will be unnecessary to give here. there was, however, one paragraph in the letter which dave read with great interest. "i am sorry if you put yourselves out trying to catch that wild man thinking he was my uncle wilbur. as i told you, my uncle got away from the sanitarium and they had quite a job to locate him. they found him up in the vicinity of oak hall, at one of the houses where he had once stayed. they got him to return to the sanitarium without any trouble, and the doctors think that he is now doing finely." "hello, dave! what are you reading?" remarked roger, coming up. "here's a letter from nat poole," and our hero told how he had received it. "you can read it for yourself. they have found wilbur poole, and have put him back in the sanitarium." "is that so? well, i am glad they caught him." and then roger read the letter, and went off to spread the news among the other boys. the next day was a long one for dave. while ben and luke went to carpen falls with a letter directed to phil's father, he spent part of the time dressing the two deer. but his heart was not in the work, and his friends noted his absent-mindedness. several times he looked down in the direction of the trail leading to carpen falls, and they knew he was hoping for some messenger to appear, summoning him to come to crumville. "it makes me sick to see dave so downcast," whispered ben to roger, that evening. "i wish we could cheer him up." "i don't see how we are going to do it. we can't lift that burden from his mind. we have simply got to wait until some word comes from the porters at crumville. i don't believe they'll keep dave waiting any longer than necessary." "but think of the terrible suspense!" "i know it. it's too bad!" the afternoon had been cloudy, and late in the evening it began to rain. then the wind came up, moaning through the forest in melancholy fashion and sending thousands of whitecaps across the surface of the lake. "it isn't mirror lake to-night," said belle, with a little shiver. "it's more like foamy lake." "i don't think i'd want to go out in a canoe to-night," returned phil, who was beside her. "i think we are going to have quite a storm," said laura. "just listen to that wind!" with fitful gusts tearing around the bungalows, no one felt much like going to bed. about ten o'clock came a hard downpour, lasting for half an hour. then the wind died away, and gradually the rain ceased. "i guess the worst of it is over," announced mrs. wadsworth, presently. "i think we may as well retire." and shortly after that all of the inmates of both bungalows were in bed. for a long while dave could not sleep. as had been the case the night previous, he tumbled and tossed on his couch, thinking of the trouble that had come to him. but at last tired nature claimed its own, and he sank into a profound slumber, from which he did not awaken until some time after sunrise. "hello! i must have overslept," he declared, as he leaped up, to see that his chums were almost dressed. dave was just finishing his toilet, and the other boys and some of the girls had started to walk down to the dock to look at the lake, when a cry came from the kitchen of the bungalow. "mrs. wadsworth! mr. porter!" came a call from the hired girl. "please come here!" "what is it, mary?" asked mrs. wadsworth, as she appeared from her own room. "sure, ma'am, a whole lot of things are missing!" declared the girl. "missing! what is missing?" "sure, ma'am, almost everything in the kitchen is missing, ma'am!" and the girl pointed around in a helpless sort of fashion. "all the knives and forks and spoons are gone! and so are some of the pots and pans and kettles!" "is that possible?" "yes, ma'am. and that ain't all, ma'am. sure, and most of the things in the pantry and in the ice-box are gone, too!" announced mary, running from one place to another. "sure, ma'am, we've been burglarized, ma'am!" chapter xxviii della ford's statement "burglars!" "did they take any of our valuables?" "oh, i wonder if they were in our rooms!" "mary, were all the things here when you went to bed?" questioned mrs. wadsworth, of the servant girl, who was now in the wildest possible state of excitement, wringing her hands and running from one room to another. "yes, ma'am, when i went to bed everything was in its place. i'm sure of it, ma'am." the boys as well as the girls crowded into the kitchen, and then looked into the pantry, in a corner of which was located the ice-box. "how about this pantry window, mary? did you leave it open last night?" asked dave, pointing to the window in question. "sure, sir, i did not! i always lock up well before i go to bed," answered the girl. "you didn't open the window this morning?" "no, sir." "then that is where the thief must have come in," remarked roger. "i think we had better take a look around and see just how much is missing," advised phil. "the thief may have cleaned us out more than we imagine." upon this, a systematic search was made through all the rooms of the bungalow. in the midst of the work ben came running over from the other place. "say, what do you know about this!" he called out. "somebody visited our bungalow last night and took nearly all our victuals and our tableware and our kitchen utensils!" "the same thing happened here, ben," answered dave. "we are just sizing up the situation, to find out how much is gone." "the others are at that now over at our bungalow. i thought i'd run over to tell you. i'll go back and tell them you are in the same fix. this is fierce; isn't it?" and then ben hurried away. an examination of the premises showed that all the tableware of value had disappeared, along with two rings which laura had left on the mantelpiece in the living-room. from the kitchen nearly everything used in cooking was gone, and likewise almost everything from the pantry and the ice-box. "oh, my two rings!" burst out laura. "the diamond that dad gave me and the beautiful ruby from uncle dunston!" "it's too bad, laura!" declared jessie. "that's what it is!" said dave. "we'll have to get after that burglar, whoever he is." "this looks to me like the work of some of these people who are camping out in the adirondacks," announced roger. "what would an ordinary burglar do with a lot of kitchen utensils, not to mention canned goods and stuff from an ice-box?" "maybe they took the stuff from the ice-box to eat," suggested dave. "it might be that they would rather camp out than run the risk of going to carpen falls, or to some of the hotels, for their meals." having completed the search in the bungalows, the boys, followed by the others, went outside. here they discovered a great number of footprints leading back and forth from the pantry window to the edge of the forest. among some jagged rocks, the trail was lost. "looks to me as if there must have been half a dozen fellows in this raid," announced roger. "what do you think of it, dave?" "either that, or else the fellow who did the job made a dozen trips or more. to me, the footprints look very much alike." presently the crowd went over to the basswood bungalow, and there learned that, among other things, some solid silver tableware which mrs. basswood had brought along had vanished. "i was foolish to bring such expensive silver," declared the lady of the house. "but i thought we could use it if we happened to have visitors. i never dreamed of being robbed up here." at the basswood bungalow an entrance to the kitchen and pantry had been effected through the woodshed, the door of which had been broken open. from this shed a trail led up to the jagged rocks previously mentioned. "the same rascal or the same crowd that did one job did both," declared dave. "i don't know what we are going to do for breakfast," declared mrs. wadsworth, rather helplessly. "we have next to nothing to cook, and nothing to cook it in." "we are in the same fix," answered mrs. basswood. "it certainly is a terrible state of affairs. i wish my husband was here to tell us what to do." "oh, don't worry about something to eat!" cried dave. "we can go down to carpen falls and get whatever we want, and also get some extra kitchen utensils, and don't forget the deer-meat. what worries me is the loss of laura's rings and mrs. basswood's silverware." "we might go up into the woods and look around," suggested ben, "although it's mighty wet up there from the rain." the matter was talked over for a while longer, and in the meantime the ladies and the girls, aided by the hired help, made an inventory of what was left in the way of eatables. "we can give all of you some coffee and some fancy crackers," said mrs. wadsworth. "and we have found two cans of baked beans," added mrs. basswood. "they'll go some distance toward filling up the boys," and she smiled faintly. "i'll tell you what we might do!" cried roger. "supposing four of us fellows jump into the four-oared boat and row up to the appleby camp? i am sure they have plenty of provisions, and they'll lend us some until we can get in a new lot from carpen falls. and maybe they'll lend us a few cooking utensils, too." "that's the thing to do!" returned ben. "come on, let's go up there at once;" and so it was settled. dave and luke accompanied ben and roger on the trip; and as the four youths had often rowed together on the leming river at oak hall, they soon covered the distance to the camp of the moving-picture people. they saw the crowd getting ready to depart for the enacting of the final drama in that locality. "hello, you're out bright and early in your boat!" cried mr. appleby, as he waved his hand to them. "taking a little exercise, eh?" "no, we came for assistance," called back ben. "assistance!" repeated the manager. "what's the trouble?" "we have been burglarized, and we have hardly anything left to eat!" broke in luke, and at this announcement all of those in the appleby camp came down to the dock to learn the particulars of what had occurred. "in one way you have come at just the right time to get those things," said the manager of the moving-picture company to the boys. "we are going to leave here to-morrow to go back to boston, so we shall want but little of the food that is on hand. and you'll be welcome to use our tableware and kitchen utensils. they belong here in the cottage, so all you'll have to do when you get through with them will be to bring them back." while rowing to the appleby camp, dave had been giving serious thought to his own affairs. he remembered what he had heard concerning ward porton and della ford, and resolved to question the young lady and the other members of the moving-picture company about the young man who claimed to be the real dave porter. our hero's chance came when the other boys were busy placing some provisions and cooking utensils in the rowboat. he motioned della ford and her aunt to one side, and the three walked out of hearing of the others present. "if you don't mind, i would like to ask you something about mr. ward porton," said our hero, to the girl. "o dear, i thought i was done with that young man!" cried della, with a toss of her head. "he bothered my niece so much while he was a member of the company she got quite sick of him," declared mrs. ford. "he was a very forward young man." "i'd like very much to find out about his past history: where he came from, and all that," went on dave. "it's something very important." "i know more about mr. porton than he thinks i do," announced della. "that's one reason why i dropped him." "but della, you don't want to get into any trouble," interposed the girl's aunt, quickly. "if you'll tell me what you know about ward porton, i'll promise that it won't get you into any trouble," answered dave, quickly. "i want, if possible, to find out where he came from, and who brought him up." "who brought him up?" queried mrs. ford. "didn't he live with his parents?" "he says not. he claims to have come from a poorhouse in a town down in maine." "why, you don't tell me, mr. porter!" exclaimed the lady, in astonishment. "he told me once that he had lived with his folks up to the time he was about ten years old, and that then his parents had died and he had gone to live with an uncle." "yes, and he did live with an uncle--or at least some man he called his uncle," added della. "are you certain of this?" asked our hero, eagerly. "i am, mr. porter." "and may i ask what the thing was that you knew about him that caused you to drop him?" continued dave. "wait a minute, della, before you answer that question," interposed mrs. ford, hastily. "i think we ought to know why mr. porter is after this information." "since we have gone so far, i may as well tell you," returned dave. and in as few words as possible he related how it had come about that ward porton was now claiming to be the real dave porter. "why, what a queer story!" declared mrs. ford. "it sounds like some novel." "i don't believe it's true, mr. porter!" cried della ford. "i believe he is a faker! at first i thought he was quite nice, but i soon discovered otherwise. he is addicted to gambling, and when he gets the fever he gambles away the very clothing on his back." "then that is why you broke with him?" "that was one reason. but as i said before, i know more about mr. porton than he imagined. one day we had been out walking, and after he left me i picked up a letter which must have dropped from his pocket when he pulled out his cigarette case. as the letter had no envelope, i did not know whose it was, and read it. it was evidently written by a very angry man. the writer, who signed himself obadiah jones, said that he was sick and tired of putting up for ward; that ward could no longer expect any assistance from him; that he cast the young man off, and never wanted to hear from him again." "and you say that letter was signed by a man named obadiah jones?" asked dave, eagerly. "yes. rather an old-fashioned name; isn't it?" "did the man give his address?" "no, there was no address of any kind on the letter," answered della ford. "was this obadiah jones the man he said was his uncle?" continued our hero. "i don't know about that," answered the girl. chapter xxix the big bear dave was very thoughtful as the four boys rowed back to the bungalows with the things procured from mr. appleby. his talk with della ford and her aunt had lasted until the others were ready to depart, but he had gained little information beyond that already known to the reader. "if only i had the address of that obadiah jones, i might go and see him and listen to what he has to say about ward porton," he told himself. "of course he may not be porton's uncle at all--i know lots of children taken from poorhouses and orphan asylums who call the folks aunt and uncle. but even if he isn't, he may be able to give me some information that will put me on the right track regarding this affair." the morning was spent by those at the bungalows in getting settled once more. the provisions brought from the appleby camp were divided between the two places, and likewise the kitchen utensils. "i'd like to set some sort of a trap and catch those burglars," declared ben. "i don't see how you're going to do it," returned our hero. "i doubt very much whether they will show themselves in this vicinity again. more than likely they are miles away." "dave, do you think link merwell had anything to do with this?" "it's possible, ben, although i don't see how he would have the nerve to come back here after what happened. i should think he would feel like quitting this territory entirely." another day went by, bringing no word from crumville. our hero and roger had tramped all the way to carpen falls, hoping for letters, but the only one to come in was a re-directed epistle for ben, inviting him to become a subscriber to some local charity. "o shucks! i suppose the charity is all right," said ben, when he got this letter, "but i'd like to get some real news from dad or somebody else at home." dave said little, but he felt more downcast than ever. he had thought that a letter would surely come by now. roger noticed how he felt, and placed a kindly hand on our hero's shoulder. "don't you worry, dave, old man," he said feelingly, "this will come out all right in the end." "i hope so, roger," was the answer. "but this suspense wears on a fellow." "perhaps if you went to maine to that town where the poorhouse is located that ward porton says he came from, you might be able to find out something about that obadiah jones," went on the senator's son, who had been told of what the fords had revealed. "i was thinking something of that, roger, and if i can't get on the track any other way, i'll go there," was the reply. "but i hate to think of leaving here until i get some kind of word from crumville." "well, some things move slowly, dave, don't forget that. more than likely your unc--i mean the folks down in crumville--are doing all they can to get to the bottom of the matter. most likely they are investigating the proofs that ward porton said he was willing to present." on the following morning there was something of a surprise. about eleven o'clock, while some of the lads were fishing, and dave had jessie out in a canoe, there came a shout from up the brook, and looking in that direction our hero saw phil approaching, with his uncle beside him, leaning on the youth's shoulder. "hello, mr. lawrence's ankle must have got better quickly!" cried dave. "and is that the so-called wild man?" returned jessie. "he doesn't seem to be very wild now." "you've heard us tell why he acted in that outlandish way," was the answer, as dave paddled toward the dock. soon the boys were surrounding the new arrivals, and mr. lawrence was led to a couch, upon which he was glad to sit down and thus rest his injured ankle. the ladies and the girls were introduced, and the man shook hands with them rather shamefacedly. "i'll have to apologize to you for acting so rudely," said lester lawrence, after the introductions were over. "i suppose the boys have told you why i did it?" "yes, mr. lawrence," answered mrs. wadsworth, kindly. "and under the circumstances we are quite willing to let bygones be bygones." "can we do anything for your ankle?" questioned laura, who was a natural-born nurse. "i guess about all it needs is rest," answered lester lawrence. "it was quite a journey from my shack to this place. but i saw that phil was getting anxious to rejoin you, so i told him we might as well make the venture to-day rather than wait. he has been hoping that you would have some word for him from my brother." "no word yet, phil," answered dave, "but there may be in the mail to-day." "say, we had some scare this morning just before we left the cabin!" declared the shipowner's son. "i was nearly frightened into a fit!" "what was that?" came from several of the others. "i was cleaning the dishes after breakfast, and i went outdoors to throw some scraps in a heap behind some bushes. just as i got there with my panful of stuff, up jumped--what do you think?--a great big bear!" "a bear!" shrieked the girls. "did you shoot him?" broke in shadow. "shoot him? what with--a frying-pan?" "then the bear got away?" asked roger. "i don't know whether the bear got away or i got away. i dropped that frying-pan, and i legged it for the cabin for all i was worth. in the meantime the bear disappeared among the trees just back of the cabin. i got my uncle's rifle and went out to look for him, but it was no use." "o dear, a bear!" murmured jessie. "suppose he comes down here?" and she gave a slight shiver. "why, that would be fun!" declared belle. "i'd like to see that bear, and get a shot at him, too," went on the girl from star ranch. "if that bear is anywhere in this vicinity we might organize a hunt for him," suggested luke, who, on the day previous, had gone out with ben and shadow and brought down a partridge. "that's the talk!" cried roger. "come on, let us go on a hunt! it will give us something to do." the matter was discussed for a quarter of an hour, and during that time roger and ben managed to take phil to one side and tell him about the news from crumville. the shipowner's son was, of course, much astonished. "i believe it's a fake!" he declared, flatly. "dave is dave porter, and no mistake! we cleared that matter up directly after our return from the south seas." "just what i said, phil," responded roger. "at the same time, i suppose the porters have got to listen to ward porton's claim." "bah! it's a conspiracy i tell you--a conspiracy gotten up by this fellow, porton, and by link merwell! you can't tell me any different!" and phil's face showed his earnestness. it was decided that all of the boys should go out directly after lunch, in a hunt for the bear. the number of shotguns and rifles on hand was enough to go around, so that each of them would be armed. they also provided themselves with some provisions, not knowing how late it would be before they got back. "oh, dave, do be careful!" pleaded jessie, when the boys were ready to depart. "don't let that bear eat you up!" "don't worry," he answered. "i'll take care of myself." and then he added with something of a sigh: "i hope you have good news for me when i get back." "i hope so too, dave. but just remember what i said," she went on, looking him straight in the eyes. "i'll think just as much of you even if they prove that you are not dave porter." phil was with the crowd, and all headed up the brook, and then along the trail leading to the cabin which had been occupied by lester lawrence. arriving there, a hunt was made through the forest back of the cabin. "it's a good deal like hunting for the proverbial needle in a haystack," remarked roger. "where did you see the bear last, phil?" questioned luke. "just about here," was the reply, and the shipowner's son pointed with his hand. "i think he went in that direction," he added. the boys spread out in a long, straight line, and in this fashion proceeded through the forest for the best part of a mile. during that time they thought they saw a deer in the distance, and roger might have taken a shot, but dave imperatively stopped him. "we can't shoot at anything if we want to get close to that bear," announced our hero. "bears are very scary creatures, and if you make too much noise that beast will run for miles and miles before he stops." late afternoon found the boys still on the search. they had seen nothing to shoot at, and some of them were growing disheartened. luke was limping slightly, having caught his foot between a crevice in the rocks. "i move we rest and have something to eat," announced ben, and this suggestion was quickly seconded by the others. then, when the sun was well down in the west, they decided to turn back toward the bungalows. it was a tramp of over a mile and a half, and as the footing in many places was uncertain, they had to proceed with great care. "such a hunt!" grumbled ben. "it's been all hunting and no shooting." "which puts me in mind of a story!" cried shadow. "oh, this is a short one, so you needn't frown at it," he went on quickly, glancing around. "it's about a fellow who came along and saw an old man fishing in a lake. 'how's fishing?' he asked of the old man. 'couldn't be better,' was the answer. 'catch anything?' 'no.' 'then what do you mean by saying the fishing is good?' 'so it is. i didn't say anything about the catching.'" and at this a grin went around. "we ought to be getting in sight of the bungalows soon," remarked roger, after they had climbed over some rough rocks and were walking through a dense patch of the forest. "say, this is a fine place to get lost in," remarked phil. "it will be all right as long as the sunlight lasts," answered dave. "i am using that for a compass." soon they came to the edge of a clearing, on the other side of which were a series of rocks with vines and brushwood. the boys were about to advance across the clearing when suddenly shadow's arms went up into the air. "st--st--stop!" he spluttered, in a low tone. "dr--dr--drop down, all of you!" the others saw that he was much in earnest, and immediately sank down behind the trees and rocks. then all gazed inquiringly at the former story-teller of oak hall. "it's the be--be--bear!" spluttered shadow. "sa--say, don't you think we had be--be--better run for it?" "the bear! where is it?" demanded dave. "i saw him just lift his head up among the rocks yonder," returned shadow. "say, he looked like an awful big fellow!" "well, if he is there, you bet we are not going to run away from him!" declared phil. "come on, let's see if we can't shoot him." "wait a minute, phil," advised dave. "if the bear is among yonder rocks, as shadow says, we had better spread out a little, and thus get a better chance at him." seeing that his companions were not frightened, shadow regained some of his composure and followed them, although keeping a little to the rear. with great caution, and holding their firearms ready for use, the whole crowd of boys crossed the clearing and gained the first of the rocks beyond. fortunately, the breeze was coming from ahead of them, thus carrying their scent away from where the bear was supposed to be. it had been agreed that when necessary dave should give the signal to fire. he was slightly in advance, and now with great caution he looked over some rocks just ahead of him. the sight that met his gaze was an interesting one. there was a slight depression there, partly filled with brushwood, and in the midst of this stood a big bear. he had his head down in a hole, and was digging out various things with his forepaws, flinging them to one side and behind him. out came a kettle, a frying-pan, some knives and forks, cups, saucers, a pie-plate, a dishpan, and numerous other articles, which clattered over the rocks. "great hambones, dave! what kind of a noise is that?" asked phil, who was beside our hero. "it's our stolen stuff, that's what it is, phil!" cried dave. "those burglars must have thrown the stuff in that hole!" "but what would the bear be doing among that stuff?" questioned luke. "he's after grub," answered our hero. "they must have thrown some of the food in there with the other stuff. come on, boys, get ready to fire!" fortunately for the lads, the bear was so interested in what he was trying to accomplish that he did not notice their approach. the noise of the flying kettles and pans drowned out the voices. "what's the matter with all taking a shot at him at the same time?" questioned phil. "all right, i'm willing," responded dave, quickly. "we might as well all have the glory of killing him--if we have that luck." every rifle and every shotgun was quickly raised and aimed at the bear. just as dave was on the point of giving the order to fire, the beast came out of the hole and looked around. then in alarm he raised up on his hind legs, a truly terrifying animal to behold. bang! crack! bang! went the rifles and shotguns in an irregular volley. and then, as the report died away, the huge beast gave a leap into the air, and coming down, sprang directly toward the boys. chapter xxx good news--conclusion "here he comes!" "give him another shot, boys!" crack! bang! crack! again the shotguns and rifles rang out. whether the shots were absolutely necessary or not it would be hard to say, for just as the boys discharged their various weapons the huge bear was seen to stumble and fall. he gave several convulsive shudders, and then lay still. "is he--is he de--dead?" gasped shadow, who was still a few feet in the rear of the others. "i think he is," responded dave. "load up again as quickly as you can and we'll watch him," and then he proceeded to take care of his own firearm. but watching was unnecessary, for the huge beast had breathed his last. it was a proud crowd of boys that surrounded the game. "say, that's some shooting!" declared phil, his eyes glistening. "won't the others be surprised when they hear of it?" "he certainly is a big one!" said ben. "i don't believe they grow them much bigger than that anywhere around here." and this assertion proved true, as the boys learned when, later on, tad rason saw the game at the bungalows. "well, we've got our kitchen utensils and most of the tableware back, anyway," declared roger, after an inspection of the hollow where they had first discovered the bear at work. "hello, here's the stuff mr. bruin was after!" he added, holding up a chunk of meat which still lay in a pan in the hollow. this meat had been taken from the wadsworth ice-box; but why it had been placed in the hollow was a mystery. "but it's a good thing the burglars put it there," declared luke. "that is what attracted the bear and made him dig." a careful search of the hollow revealed nearly everything that had been taken from the two bungalows except laura's rings and mrs. basswood's silverware. "i guess they thought those things too valuable to leave here," was dave's comment. "i am convinced of one thing," he added. "what is that?" questioned ben. "i believe link merwell is at the bottom of this. no ordinary burglar would bother his head about that kitchen stuff. merwell did it, just to cause us trouble. maybe he thought we'd have to give up camping here for the time being." "by jove, dave, i think you have solved it!" declared roger. "all of which doesn't give my mother her silverware nor laura her rings," returned ben. a sapling with some stout branches attached was cut down, and on to this the boys rolled the bear and tied him fast. thus they managed, after a good deal of hard labor, to haul the carcass down to the bungalows. "oh, here they come, and they've got a bear!" shrieked belle, who saw them first, and all the inmates of the bungalows hurried to the scene, even mr. lawrence hobbling up with the aid of a cane. "yes, we got a bear, and we got more than that!" cried ben, excitedly. "we've found all the kitchen stuff!" and he and the other youths gave the particulars. a little later some of the boys returned to the hollow and transferred the stolen stuff back to the bungalows. a good deal of the canned provisions was still in perfect condition. the other things, including the meat the bear had scented, were thrown away. "oh, dave!" cried jessie, as soon as she could motion our hero to one side, "i've got something i want to tell you! i think maybe it will be of assistance in proving your identity," and the girl's eyes glowed with anticipation. "what is it, jessie?" he asked, quickly. "have you heard something from home?" "no, but i've heard something from mr. lawrence, phil's uncle. isn't it the strangest thing ever! i was talking to him after you left, and told him what trouble you were having, and mentioned ward porton and that man the fords told you about, obadiah jones. and, would you believe it! years ago mr. lawrence had some business dealings with a man named obadiah jones, and he is quite sure that man had a nephew who was named ward!" "jessie! can this be true?" exclaimed dave, with pardonable excitement. "that's what mr. lawrence told me. i think you had better speak to him, and without delay." "i certainly will!" declared our hero, and going up to the crowd that was still around the bear, he touched phil's uncle on the arm. "what is it, porter? oh! i suppose you want to see me about that man, obadiah jones. well, i'll tell you all i know. come on back to where i can sit down. this lame ankle of mine is still rather weak." and thus speaking mr. lawrence led the way around to the front porch of the bungalow. "what i want to know is if this ward porton was really a nephew of obadiah jones," said dave. "yes, that's what miss jessie wanted to know, too. of course i don't know for sure, but i do know the boy's name was ward and that he called jones, uncle obadiah. you might write to obadiah jones and find out. he lives in burlington, vermont, and that's not so very far from here--just on the other side of lake champlain. his full name is obadiah l. l. jones. we used to always call him old l. l. about everybody in burlington knows him." "perhaps i'd better go and call on mr. jones," suggested dave. "i'd hate to wait for an answer to a letter." it was not long before the others in the camp knew what dave had learned concerning ward porton and his supposed uncle, obadiah l. l. jones. the boys agreed with dave that it might pay to make a trip to burlington to see him, and phil and roger volunteered to go along. "you might want a witness or two," declared the senator's son. the upshot of the matter was that the following day found the three boys bound for burlington. the other lads helped to row them to the upper end of the lake, and there, at a camp belonging to a rich new yorker, they managed to obtain a horse and buckboard on which they rode to the nearest railroad station. they were in time to catch the midday train for plattsburg, where they had to remain over night. then they caught the first boat across lake champlain to the city for which they were bound. dave had been told by mr. lawrence where they might find obadiah jones, who was interested in a coal, lumber, and real estate business. our hero, accompanied by his two chums, found the man in his office, a small, dingy coop of a place surrounded by huge piles of lumber. he was a short, stout, bald-headed individual, wearing large spectacles, and he looked up rather uninvitingly as they entered. "is this mr. obadiah jones?" questioned dave, politely. "that's my name, young man. what can i do for you?" demanded the lumber dealer, brusquely. "i came to get a little information from you, mr. jones, if you'll give it to me," went on our hero. "my name is dave porter. i came to see if you have a nephew named ward porton." "well, i did have a nephew by that name, but he's a nephew of mine no longer!" cried obadiah jones, his face showing sudden anger. "if you came here in his behalf, the sooner you get out the better! i wrote to him and told him i never wanted to see him nor hear from him again!" "i didn't come in his behalf, mr. jones. i came on my own account," answered dave. "all i want to know is: is he a real nephew of yours or not?" "yes, he's my real nephew--the son of my youngest sister, who married a good-for-nothing army man. but that doesn't make any difference to me, young man. i won't do a thing more for him, nephew though he is. he's a young scamp, and as i said before, i never want to see him nor hear from him again." "the reason i ask is, because there has come up a question regarding ward porton's identity," continued dave, who could scarcely conceal his satisfaction over the turn the conversation had taken. "porton declared to me that he had been brought up in a maine poorhouse." "that's all tommy-rot, young man! it isn't so at all!" stormed obadiah jones. "after his father ran away, to join some revolutionists in mexico, his mother was hard put to it to support herself, and when she took sick and died, he was placed in the lumberville poorhouse by some neighbors. as soon as i heard of it i sent for him to come to montpelier, where i was then doing business. after that i brought him here. i gave him a good education and did everything i could to set him on his feet, but he began to smoke and drink and gamble, and get into bad company generally, and finally he left here and went on the stage as an actor. i heard he didn't do very well at that business, and so he got into the moving-picture business." obadiah jones looked sharply at dave. "but what do you want to know all this for?" he questioned, quickly. "i'll tell you why, mr. jones," answered dave. and without waiting to be invited he sat down on a chair beside the lumber dealer and told the man the particulars of the trouble ward porton had caused him. "humph!" snorted obadiah jones at the conclusion of the recital. "that sounds just like one of ward's fairy tales. don't you take any stock in that story, because there is absolutely nothing in it. i have disowned him, it is true, but, nevertheless, he is my nephew, the son of my youngest sister, clarice jones porton. her good-for-nothing husband was lieutenant jarvey porton of the army, who was discharged because of irregularities in his accounts. i never wanted her to marry the lieutenant, but she wouldn't listen to me for a minute." after this a conversation lasting the best part of half an hour ensued. the lumber dealer became quite interested in dave's case, and readily consented to sign a document stating the facts concerning ward porton as he knew them. roger, phil and an office clerk witnessed the lumber dealer's signature, and then the boys bade obadiah jones good-bye and left. "dave, let me congratulate you!" cried roger, grasping our hero's hand warmly. "oh, i knew it would all come out right in the end!" cried phil, as he placed a loving arm over dave's shoulder. "say, you'll have one on ward porton when you show him that document!" he continued, with a chuckle. "you don't know what a weight this has lifted from my shoulders," murmured dave. and despite his efforts to control himself, two tears stood in his eyes. "the thought that i might not be the real dave porter after all was something terrible!" he murmured. "what will you do; send word to crumville and then go back to camp?" asked roger. "i suppose that would be best," answered dave. "i'll first send word home and wait in burlington for a reply." it was not long after this when they entered a local telegraph office, and there dave wrote out a telegram addressed to his father at crumville. he asked that a reply to the communication be addressed to a leading hotel of burlington, where the three lads afterwards went for dinner. "a telegram for mr. david porter!" called out one of the hotel boys, just after the lads had finished eating; and he passed the communication over to our hero. "it's from crumville, and from my father," said dave, as he glanced at the communication, which ran as follows: "your telegram received. glad to know the truth. we had suspected porton of trickery. merwell is in the game." "it's just as i thought," said dave, when he allowed his friends to read the communication. "link merwell told porton about how i had come from the poorhouse, and then the pair hatched up this game between them. i only hope my folks catch them and give them what they deserve." that afternoon found the lads again on the way to plattsburg, and early on the following morning they set out on the return to bear camp. "oh, dave! did you learn anything?" cried laura, when the boys appeared. "yes, laura, it's all cleared up!" he exclaimed, in a voice filled with joy. "ward porton is nothing but a faker. he is the real nephew of obadiah jones, and the son of jones's youngest sister. i've got a document in my pocket to prove it." "oh, dave, i'm so glad! so glad!" was the cry of the sister, and she threw herself into his arms and kissed him several times. then jessie came up and kissed him too, and so did belle, followed by mrs. basswood, and finally mrs. wadsworth, who held him closely to her. "i'm very, very glad for your sake, dave," said the wife of the jewelry manufacturer. "but if you hadn't proved to be dave porter, i should have been only too glad to have adopted you as my son." it was certainly a happy return, and that evening both bungalows were lit up brightly in honor of the occasion. shadow was allowed to tell some of his best stories, luke played on his banjo and his guitar, and the young folks sang one familiar song after another. three days, including sunday, passed, and then came another surprise. late in the evening dave heard a well-known whistle on the trail leading to carpen falls, and a little later one of the old stage coaches came into view. all in the bungalows ran out to meet the newcomers, who proved to be dave's father, his uncle, mr. wadsworth, and mr. basswood. "dad!" yelled dave, and rushing to his parent he caught him tightly in his arms. "my boy! my boy!" murmured mr. porter. "how very glad i am that this black cloud has passed away. but, dave, don't think that i believed that story. i thought it was a fake from the start." "and so did i," said dunston porter. "there couldn't be any dave porter but you!" and he gave dave a good-natured thump between the shoulders that nearly knocked the wind out of the youth. "we've got more news," declared mr. wadsworth, as he, too, came up for a handshake, followed by ben's father. "they have collared link merwell at last." "is that so!" cried our hero. "yes, they caught him in a pawnbroker's shop," said mr. basswood. "and the best part of it is that they caught him trying to pawn my wife's silver spoons and laura's two rings. the pawnbroker got suspicious, and as he happened to be an honest man, he called in a detective. this detective remembered the picture he had seen printed of link at the time he and jasniff stole the jewelry, and he at once placed link under arrest." "and then i went to see link in prison," broke in dave's father. "i had a long talk with him, about the burglary up here, and he admitted that he had thrown all that other stuff in the hollow just to inconvenience you. then i made him confess that he and ward porton had concocted this scheme concerning porton's identity between them. merwell tried to bribe me by saying he wouldn't tell the truth about porton unless i aided him to get clear of the charge made against him by mr. wadsworth. of course i wouldn't agree to do that." "it won't be necessary to have link merwell testify against porton," declared dave. "i've got a document here that shows up porton for just what he is;" and later on he allowed his father and the others to read the paper which he had had obadiah l. l. jones sign. "oh, to think i'm to have my rings back, and mrs. basswood is to have her silverware!" cried laura, with satisfaction. "isn't it perfectly lovely?" the days to follow at bear camp were happy ones indeed. the boys went hunting and fishing to their hearts' content, and often took the girls out in the boats or in the canoes. in the meanwhile some of the men folks returned to crumville, and phil took his uncle home. it may be stated here that phil's father and mother were filled with joy to have lester lawrence once more with them, and later on the land that the rival railroads wanted was sold to one of the roads for an even sixty thousand dollars, three-quarters of which amount went to phil's father and the other quarter to the boy's uncle. "i don't believe ward porton will ever bother you again, dave," said roger, one day, but the surmise of the senator's son proved incorrect. when ward porton learned that our hero had visited obadiah jones he lost no time in disappearing for awhile. but then he got back to his old tricks, and what he did will be related in another volume, to be entitled, "dave porter and his double; or, the disappearance of the basswood fortune." when link merwell was brought to trial, his father came forward and did everything he could for the wayward son. but it was proved beyond a doubt that merwell had been as guilty as jasniff, and he received an equal sentence of imprisonment. "poor link! i feel sorry for him," was dave's comment. "he might have made quite a man of himself." the weather was now growing colder every day, and soon there was a trace of snow in the air. "we'll have to leave bear camp very soon unless we want to be snowed in," declared mrs. wadsworth. and then after a conference, it was decided by all hands to pack up and go home. "well, in spite of our troubles, it's been a grand outing!" declared roger. "one of the best ever!" added phil. "i've had a perfectly lovely time!" came from jessie. "but i do hope dave never again runs into such trouble as he had up here." "well, a fellow has got to take things as they come," answered our hero. and here, with the future looking cloudless and bright, we will leave dave porter and say good-bye. the end dave porter series by edward stratemeyer "mr. stratemeyer has seldom introduced a more popular hero than dave porter. he is a typical boy, manly, brave, always ready for a good time if it can be obtained in an honorable way."--_wisconsin, milwaukee, wis._ "edward stratemeyer's 'dave porter' has become exceedingly popular."--_boston globe._ "dave and his friends are nice, manly chaps."--_times-democrat, new orleans._ =dave porter at oak hall= or the school days of an american boy =dave porter in the south seas= or the strange cruise of the stormy petrel =dave porter's return to school= or winning the medal of honor =dave porter in the far north= or the pluck of an american schoolboy =dave porter and his classmates= or for the honor of oak hall =dave porter at star ranch= or the cowboy's secret =dave porter and his rivals= or the chums and foes of oak hall =dave porter on cave island= or a schoolboy's mysterious mission =dave porter and the runaways= or last days at oak hall =dave porter in the gold fields= or the search for the landslide mine =dave porter at bear camp= or the wild man of mirror lake =dave porter and his double= or the disappearance of the basswood fortune =dave porter's great search= or the perils of a young civil engineer =dave porter under fire= or a young army engineer in france =dave porter's war honors= or at the front with the fighting engineers for sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers lothrop, lee & shepard co. boston +---------------------------------------------------+ | transcriber's note: | | | | typographical errors corrected in the text: | | | | page 132 rooom changed to room | | page 187 committted changed to committed | | page 195 fakir changed to faker | | page 203 soak changed to sock | | page 266 manfacturer's changed to manufacturer's | | page 282 fakir changed to faker | | page 304 fakir changed to faker | +---------------------------------------------------+ 