DISCOVERED
It was Sunday morning in Camp Golden. The name had been bestowed by
Paul, always fond of the high-sounding or romantic. And although David,
with customary pessimism, proposed that the broad, shelving ledge be
called "Camp Golden--It's-Barely-Possible" instead, Jones' suggestion
was accepted; partly because no one cared, in particular; partly because
his name possessed euphony, if not positive significance.
Anyway, Sunday morning it was and breakfast of coffee, corn cakes and
bacon, with strawberries after, rather than before the principal part of
the meal, was just over. The Auto Boys, in various attitudes of ease,
made no immediate haste to clear away the dishes.
Paul Jones sat on a cushion on the ground, with legs crossed like a
tailor on his bench. Billy made himself comfortable, on a convenient
box, both hands clasped around an up-turned knee--a favorite attitude of
his,--while Phil and Dave in equally unconventional positions occupied
camp stools. Their places were at opposite sides of an old-time trunk
which, turned half over, served as a table. Newspapers--quickly disposed
of in the fire when soiled,--no need to _wash them_--did duty as a
tablecloth.
It was a cheerful, pleasant scene, there amid the shade and sunshine and
green leaves. A low tent was erected with its back to the rocky cliff at
the rear of the ledge. Here were accommodated two beds of hemlock twigs
spread upon the ground and covered with blankets, also a box which, in
addition to holding wearing apparel and the like, served as a kind of
center table. Its lid was pretty well littered with an assortment of
young gentlemen's belongings this morning--an odd mixture of neckties,
collars, socks, clothes-brush, shoe brush, a revolver, fishing tackle, a
hatchet and a bottle of olives. Larger items of wearing apparel hung on
a line along the tent's rear wall.
In the shallow cave shelves formed by building up broad, flat stones
like a series of steps, accommodated sundry tinware, dishes and canned
provisions. A perfect cooling system, made by diverting a part of the
water from the spring to a small excavation in the gravelly floor of the
cave, afforded proper storage for a crock of butter and a pitcher of
milk set down in the little pool. Here, also, a bucket of other
provisions of a perishable nature was similarly disposed. Not even the
famous spring-houses of early days could have been more serviceable or
delightful.
The campfire was placed not quite in front of the tent, as the custom is
if prevailing winds do not blow the smoke in, but quite to one side. It
was the width of the ledge, rather than the winds, however, which in
this instance made desirable the location chosen. It would not do for
Chef Billy to have to work at the extreme edge of the declivity that
broke sharply down to the valley below--the "jumping off place," Jones
called it.
The improvised table was almost directly in front of the tent, but
slightly toward the right, the fire being on the left. Still further to
the right was a rough shelter for the car made of poles with a tarpaulin
and sundry green branches spread over them. Here were stored, likewise,
a couple of axes--brought all the way from the Retreat in Gleason's
ravine--and numerous other tools, spades and a pickaxe included.
"And now we're so comfortably settled, the pity is it's Sunday, and--"
"And we told the folks we'd keep track of the days of the week, and they
sort of took it for granted from that that we'd observe the seventh,"
broke in Phil Way, finishing the sentence Billy Worth began. "Pretty
good day to write some letters home, for one thing. And those other
matters you may have in mind, such as certain things that have been in
the woods, all undisturbed for a good many years, will probably keep
till to-morrow."
"If there had just been a text announced we'd have had a regular sermon
already," quoth Paul Jones, with that inimitable grin that made his
plain, freckled face delightfully attractive.
"Why, if a text is all you want, I'll give you one," spoke Way
instantly. "It isn't from the Bible but is a good text, anyway. 'To
thine own self be true.' It means just this: That we should not, away
off here in the wilderness, and no fellow should when away by himself
anywhere, be any less decent and respectable than he would be where
everybody knows all that is going on. It means enough more than this,
but the point for us is that it is just as much Sunday here as it is at
home. We'll be civilized."
"Well, that is a sure-enough sermon and a pretty good one, too," said
MacLester, quite soberly. "We'll sing something, and it will be the
same as going to church, almost."
Dave liked singing at any time, it may be remarked parenthetically, and
his bass and Paul's tenor did make the vocal efforts of the quartette
very pleasing. So now they sang "America," "Lead, Kindly Light," "The
Old Oaken Bucket," "Onward, Christian Soldiers," and "Tenting on the Old
Camp Ground." And although it must be admitted that their selections
were of wide variety, they were all full of the spirit of love,
thanksgiving and kindness and certainly not the slightest irreverence
was intended if any there was.
"No, sir! We'll sing no more till the dishes are washed and the camp, to
say nothing of ourselves, put in some kind of order," announced Billy
Worth in answer to Dave's, "What else do we all know?" He began a rapid
collection of the tin plates, cups and the like, but suddenly paused.
"Automobile!" cried Paul at the same instant.
All four boys rushed to an extreme point of the ledge, which commanded a
partial view of the public road. Again the horn of a car sounded and
they were just in time to see a heavy roadster, laden with traps and
baggage and three lads of their own age as passengers, sweep over the
bridge and, more slowly, up the stiff rise beyond.
"Pickton and Gaines and Perth!" cried Worth in astonishment. "And--"
"What do you know about that?" demanded Mr. Paul Jones in similar tones;
and again he said, "What _do_ you know about that?"--not, apparently,
because he had reason to suppose that any of his friends had information
pertaining especially to the Chosen Trio, or even because he expected to
gain intelligence of any description. Perhaps he really looked for no
answer to his inquiry. (In which case it would be difficult to say just
why he made it.) At any rate he received none.
"Well, sir, I never thought they'd have the gumption to carry out their
scheme of following after us," was Phil's comment. "If they only knew
how close they were just a minute ago!"
"Wouldn't make much difference," observed MacLester, dryly. "They'll
locate us now, but if we keep our wits about us they won't locate
anything else."
"Nothing of the kind!" Worth ejaculated. "Their hustling by so fast is
good enough evidence that they think we are still on ahead somewhere.
They'll never think of this woods, but likely only of the races."
"Sure thing!" put in Paul Jones, in his very positive, opinionated way.
"Nothing to it but keep out of their sight. They'll go clear through to
Queensville, likely. In three days more the whole county around the race
course will be alive with strange automobiles. They'll never get a line
on us if we keep out of sight. Simply means we've got to watch them
some, though, so's to be sure _they_ aren't watching _us_."
"Maybe we _had_ better look into what they're doing," Phil acquiesced
and all heartily agreed. The fun of the situation, a hide-and-seek game
in automobiles with the whole vicinity of the Gold Cup race course--a
stretch of territory twenty-five miles in length and as many broad--as
the grounds of action, appealed instantly to each one.
The best part of it, too, was that the Chosen Trio were "It"--the ones
who must do the searching. The desirable side of the game, as the ones
who were hunted, had fallen to the Auto Boys. Believing as they did,
that their hiding place was reasonably secure against discovery, too,
and there being never a rule of play to require them to call out or give
any sort of clue to their whereabouts, the prospect became all the more
interesting to the lads as they talked it over.
One thing of which all four boys assured one another was that they had
too much at stake to incur any sort of risk of their camp being found.
Also, they were agreed, there must be no underestimating of the
resourcefulness and cunning of the Trio. It was really surprising that
the latter had succeeded so well thus far in finding the route the
Thirty traversed. Their evident perseverance in doing so was, as well,
ample indication of their serious intention to do all they
threatened--find out the meaning of the mysterious expedition and play
mischief with that undertaking generally.
All day Saturday the Auto Boys had spent in erecting their permanent
camp and in establishing connections for such part of their food supply
as they could best obtain from some farm. The latter had not been easily
accomplished. There was little cultivated land in the immediate
neighborhood of the great woods. The nearest farmhouse was a half-mile
away and the next one an equal distance beyond.
Unluckily, too, it had been found necessary to go to the second of the
farms in order to obtain milk. It would mean a two-mile tramp each
morning, there and back. Either this or a trip in the car, and on
account of the rough ground between the camp and the public road, the
latter method was hardly desirable, as a daily practice.
Aside from this inconvenience the young campers were highly pleased with
their location. They had yet to make arrangements for sending and
receiving mail, but this they had planned to do on Sunday afternoon.
Their letters home having been written, the most convenient grocery or
other source of general supplies discovered, and all the odd tasks
incident to getting settled cleared away, they would be ready on Monday
morning, they planned, to begin the long contemplated attack upon the
secrets of the great, silent woods.
But now had come the unexpected arrival of Messrs. Gaines, Pickton and
Perth much nearer these scenes than any of the four friends had supposed
they ever would be. It might make an entire revision of the program
necessary.
"As to that same, we shall see," said Billy Worth, looking up from the
letter writing on which, barring numerous interruptions, all were
engaged.
"How d'ye spell 'barnacles'?" demanded Paul Jones, insistently, the same
moment.
"Huh! Barnacles! I'll bet that's the Trio," laughed Billy.
"Lot Jones knows about barnacles," sniffed MacLester.
"That so? Listen to my letter: 'The insectivorous barnacles on the face
of nature'--meaning Gaines and his bunch, of course--'them would-be
cutaneous young billy goats'--meaning Gaines and the rest again--'have
hurled their preposterous physiognomy unfrequented and unbid into this
locality.'"
A merry laugh greeted Paul's conclusion and he grinned his own delight
with himself.
"Still, I bet he don't know what a barnacle is," persisted Dave with
good-natured derision.
"Why, you certain species of shell fish! What do you mean by your
insolence?" demanded Jones, with mock dignity. "Barnacles--from the
Latin word 'barn,' meaning a kind of stable, and the Greek word
'culls,' meaning an inferior kind of anything. Together, then,
barnacles--an inferior kind of stable, a--a pig sty, say? So there you
have it; but you might have let it go without forcing me to use such a
low word as 'pigs' in the presence of gentlemen, just to make myself
clear in your laborious mental processes."
Phil and Billy laughed at this sally but went on with their writing.
Dave must give one return shot, and it was:
"Jones, if words were water, you'd have been drowned long ago. The way
you flounder around in 'em makes me think of a tumble bug climbing
upstairs backwards."
Paul responded only with a solemn "Pooh! pooh!" as if he could not take
time to notice seriously any such childish prattle. And while it must be
admitted that there was nothing at all brilliant or elevating in the
exchange of youthful repartee that had taken place, who shall say that
both did not profit by it?
They had made each his thrust and parry and, give or take, without a
thought of losing temper. They had had a few seconds' practice in quick
thinking, which is always desirable. The whole difference between a
brain of snap and vim and one both slow and dull, is likely to lie in
practice in rapid, accurate work, or the lack of such training, rather
than in an original difference in capacity.
Yet it must not be supposed that even Paul and Dave were constantly in
an offensive and defensive attitude toward one another. That would never
have done at all. Sooner or later such a manner would have become
irritating. The tongue whose words are too frequently sharp, or by
constant habit, other than kind and considerate, will make trouble
inevitably.
By themselves Jones and MacLester rarely indulged in such exchange as
that of this morning. The fun of it was lacking when Phil and Billy were
not by to serve as an audience. Alone together, the two were harmonious
as could be. They were much more apt to differ at other times. An
instance when they did not, however, occurred directly after the verbal
contest lately recorded.
"We will make a run to Queensville, get a light lunch there and have
dinner in camp to-night," remarked Chef Billy, sealing the letter he had
written. He brought his fist down with a whack upon the envelope, not
for sake of emphasis but to make sure of the flap being fast.
"Aw, Bill! I'm most starved _now_!" protested Paul.
"Here, too!" MacLester urged. "Something in this air seems to make a
fellow want to eat all the time."
"Well, the point is, we've got to be starting. It's nearly noon," Worth
answered.
"Yes, that's so," Phil Way agreed. "Maybe we better have an egg sandwich
or something like that, all around, and it will do for now."
"Sure!" chirped Jones, emphatically. "Stuff will only spoil if we don't
eat it up."
"Risk anything spoiling around here," was Billy's earnest comment; but
he ordered that frying-pan and eggs be brought him forthwith, while he
proceeded to rake together the remnants of the fire.
The route to Queensville was, for the first part, straight ahead upon
the road bordering the Ship woods. Six miles distant, westerly, this
road effected a junction with a thoroughfare running to north and south.
Distant a mile or two, in the former direction, was the direct road to
Queensville. This and the north and south road were both a part of the
twenty-six-mile race circuit.
It was easy to locate the road to Queensville once Gilroy, with its one
general store, half dozen straggling dwellings, a church, a school and
blacksmith shop, was reached, for numerous automobiles were traversing
the course of the races in both directions. And how the Auto Boys
scanned every car! And what a collection of machines it was!--Runabouts,
roadsters and nondescript contrivances, the identity of the
manufacturers of which even Billy Worth could not determine. Some had
been rebuilt in one way, some another and some were of strictly home
production. But among all the cars, fine and otherwise, the lumbering
black and gray Roadster Mr. Soapy Gaines called his own, was not seen.
In a quiet side street of Queensville the four friends left the Thirty.
They were but a few steps from the main thoroughfare upon which the
business section was situated, and directly before them, as they turned
into the street was a sign: "Alameda Headquarters."
"Here's one of the likely cars, now," exclaimed Phil. "Jim Wilder,
cousin of our Mr. Wilder at home, drives her and he's great, they say!"
He would have added: "Let's see what they're doing," but already Billy,
Dave and Paul had hastened forward, bent on that very mission.
As the lads approached, the crowd about the entrance to the building
surged suddenly away and, waving his hand to all to stand back, a man in
overalls and jumper pulled the heavy door about and it swung shut with a
bang. The curious ones thus barred from further view of what was
within--the racing car and drivers, probably--formed an assemblage so
dense that those nearest the door were not visible to the Auto Boys, at
the edge of the gathering. But immediately the people began dispersing.
A minute later, through the thinning ranks, Paul Jones suddenly
discovered the Chosen Trio.
He had just time to whisper and, with his friends, slip back of a group
near the curbing when Gaines, Pickton and Perth passed at the inner side
of the walk. There appeared no room to doubt the Trio would go straight
forward and, when they were fairly beyond the crowd, Billy and Phil,
still watching them, stepped back into the open to get a better view.
The movement was unfortunate. Freddy Perth chanced to turn and his eyes
rested at once upon the lads. With a gay laugh he caught the hands of
Pickton and Gaines, wheeling them around. Pointing with his thumb, his
arm half outstretched:
"How do you _do-o-o_?" he called triumphantly to the crestfallen Way and
Worth.
"Hello!" Phil responded with a frown, but looking about as if to see how
Billy was bearing up, he was astonished to find himself alone.