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[Illustration:
“THE LEGEND OF LOVERS’ LEAP.” “YOU SEEM INCLINED TO
TAKE EVERYTHING TOO LITERALLY,” SAID GRANGER. —Page 132
]
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OAKDALE BOYS
IN CAMP
BY
MORGAN SCOTT
AUTHOR OF “BEN STONE AT OAKDALE,” “BOYS OF OAKDALE
ACADEMY,” “RIVAL PITCHERS OF OAKDALE,” ETC.
_WITH FOUR ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS
BY MARTIN LEWIS_
NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
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Copyright, 1912,
BY
HURST & COMPANY
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CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE CAMPING PARTY 5
II. MAKING CAMP 14
III. EVENING AT PLEASANT POINT 26
IV. A BAD NIGHT FOR PIPER 36
V. WITH ROD AND REEL 53
VI. A MORNING’S SPORT 64
VII. THE ENCOUNTER AT THE BROOK 74
VIII. ONE FROM THE SHOULDER 84
IX. CARL DUCKELSTEIN FISHES 91
X. AN EXPERIMENT WITH FLAPJACKS 106
XI. THE LEGEND OF LOVERS’ LEAP 117
XII. THE STORY OF THE HERMIT 131
XIII. QUEER SLEUTH 144
XIV. THE HAUNTED ISLAND 154
XV. THE MYSTERIOUS LIGHT 165
XVI. ANOTHER ENCOUNTER 176
XVII. WHAT CARL’S PAIL CONTAINED 188
XVIII. DISPOSING OF UNWELCOME NEIGHBORS 200
XIX. THE HERMIT’S CABIN 209
XX. GRANT TO THE RESCUE 221
XXI. ESTABLISHING FRIENDLY RELATIONS 232
XXII. PIPER GROWS SECRETIVE 244
XXIII. CRANE RELENTS 253
XXIV. STRANGE BEHAVIOR OF SLEUTH 262
XXV. A TERRIBLE PREDICAMENT 274
XXVI. PIPER MEETS THE GHOST 284
XXVII. THE SECRET 296
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ILLUSTRATIONS
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PAGE
“The Legend of Lovers’ Leap.” “You seem
inclined to take everything too
literally,” said Granger. _Frontispiece_
There was a swirl, a snap at the line, a
sharp bending of the rod—the fish was
hooked. 63
He dove headlong from the canoe without
upsetting it. 230
Parting the bushes gently, he thrust his
head into them and looked forth into the
clearing. 277
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Oakdale Boys in Camp
CHAPTER I.
THE CAMPING PARTY.
The afternoon of a lazy midsummer day was waning as an old white horse
drew a heavily loaded, creaking, complaining farm wagon along a crude,
seldom used road which wound through the depths of a silent stretch of
timberland. A sleepy looking, tow-headed boy with round apple cheeks sat
on the wagon-seat and held the reins. Behind the wagon five more boys
straggled along on foot, stumbling over the rocks and “cradle knolls.”
The party, with the exception of the drowsy driver, who had been engaged
to transport the camping outfit from Pemstock, the nearest railroad
station, was bound for Phantom Lake, the objective point of the
expedition.
As originally planned, the company had been made up of four Oakdale
lads, Phil Springer, Sile Crane, Ben Stone and Rodney Grant; but,
listening to their talk of the sport they would have on such an outing,
Sleuth Piper had become inspired by a longing to join them, and almost
at the last moment he had succeeded in securing permission of his
parents. The five mile jaunt from Pemstock to Phantom Lake followed a
journey of twenty odd miles by rail; but, despite the dust, heat and bad
roads, the enthusiasm of the boys showed no symptoms of waning.
Carrying a double barreled shotgun and wearing an old leather-banded
cowboy hat and a belt supporting a sheathed hunting knife, Piper
followed close behind the writhing wagon, peering with an exaggerated
air of caution and keenness into the timber and bushes on either hand.
The rustling of a running chipmunk, the distant chatter of a red
squirrel, or the cawing of a crow, lazily wheeling overhead, was
sufficient to cause Piper to halt with quickly uplifted hand and the
pose of one who sensed an impending danger.
“Oh, what’s the matter with yeou naow?” drawled Sile Crane in
exasperation, as he finally stumbled against Sleuth’s heels. “Yeou
couldn’t shoot anything if yeou saw it, and, anyhaow, the old gun ain’t
loaded.”
“Hush!” sibilated Sleuth. “We’re in the enemy’s country, and peril
menaces us on every hand. Who knows that the chatter of yonder squirrel
or the sudden cry of the soaring crow does not betoken the near presence
of some prowling varmint? There may be bloodthirsty redskins lying in
ambush for us, and, unless we preserve extreme caution, perchance our
scalps tonight will dangle in the wigwams of the Wampanoags.”
“Oh, go on with yeour dinged fol-de-rol,” snorted Crane. “Yeou’ve read
so many of them cheap Injun stories that yeou’re half nutty. Between
them yarns and the detective stuff yeou sop up, yeou’ll go clean off
yeour base if yeou don’t look aout. Come, pudge along.” He ended by
giving Sleuth a vigorous shove that nearly sent the smaller lad
sprawling.
“Careful, Sile,” begged Ben Stone. “Have you forgotten that it was
Sleuthy’s clever work which practically saved me from the stigma of a
crime? If you have, I haven’t, and I’m not liable to forget it.”
Piper gave his champion, a stocky, square built, somewhat
unprepossessing lad, a grateful look.
“I guess I opened their eyes some that time, didn’t I, Ben?” he grinned
proudly. “I made the fellers that had been poking fun at me sit up and
take notice. I had them all spellbound in court when I told my story and
gave my deductions.”
“Yes,” chuckled Phil Springer, who was wearing a canvas suit that
crinkled and rustled at every step. “It was so still in the court room
that you might have heard a gum-drop.”
“A pun that’s right worthy of Chipper Cooper himself,” observed Rodney
Grant, who, although a genuine Texan and the son of a cattleman, was the
most simply and practically dressed member of the party. “We must be
getting near the lake. It’s sure a wonder to me that the Dutchman hasn’t
rolled off the wagon-seat before this and broken his neck. Look at him!
There he goes! Oh, Dutchy, look out!”
The sleepy driver seemed to awaken and recover barely in time to prevent
himself from bounding like a ball beneath the forward wheels of the
wagon.
“Vat’s der matter?” he gurgled, yanking at the reins and turning to
glare, red-faced, over his shoulder. “Vy iss it you at me yell like dot
undt nearly make me off fall? Who vas you calling Tutchman already now?
I vould haff you understood dot I peen a Cherman.”
His indignation brought a shout of laughter from the boys.
“Pardon me for breaking in on your peaceful slumbers,” entreated the
Texan. “We were reckoning the lake must be right near by this time.”
The German lad rubbed his eyes, yawned, and looked around.
“Yah,” he said, “der lake hass almost reached us. It vill soon be here,
I peliefe. Not much more must we on go.”
“We’ll never reach the lul-lul-lake in the world if you gug-gug-get
twisted in gug-guiding as much as you do in tut-talking,” said Springer.
“Vot iss?” cried the young German in derision. “Anyvay, I do not up chop
my vurds, der vay you did. Ven dose vurds did out come your mouth from,
it iss mincemeats they vas already.”
This turned the laugh on Springer, who sought in vain to make a
sufficiently sarcastic retort, and became so excited through the effort
that he stammered more than usual.
“Oh, start up your old nag again, Dutch,” urged Crane. “Yeou and
Springer both murder language in a criminal fashion.”
“Maype dot peen so,” admitted the lad on the wagon; “but it iss py our
mouths we talk, undt not our noses through.” With which solid shot he
chirruped to the old horse, and the wagon creaked onward once more.
“It sure seems to me,” laughed Grant, “that Mr. Carl Duckelstein isn’t
near as sleepy as he looks. As we’ve engaged him to bring us butter,
eggs and milk daily, he may provide some amusement for us.”
In a few moments, the road taking a bend through the trees, they set the
woods ringing with shouts of satisfaction, for before them they caught a
glimpse of the placid blue waters of Phantom Lake. Soon the broad sweep
of the sheltered island-dotted lake, with a range of mountainous hills
rising directly from the shore at the further side, opened out before
them, the prospect being one to make their youthful hearts beat swiftly.
Eight miles in length and fully half as far across at its widest point,
the forest-surrounded, mountain-sentineled strip of water was one of the
most picturesque sheets to be found in old New England, remaining as yet
unspoiled by too many swarming campers and resorters, although a newly
opened hotel near the base of the highest and most precipitous cliff of
the range of hills was attracting increasing numbers of the latter
class. From Pleasant Point, which the Oakdale boys had now reached, the
hotel far across the lake could be glimpsed amid the green foliage at
the base of the purple cliff.
Springer capered like a colt, shouting again in joyous abandon as he ran
out on the point to get a good view of his surroundings.
“It’s gug-great, fellows,” he cried—“simply great! This is a corking
place to camp. Why, here’s deep water on one side right off the rocks,
and a cove with a sandy beach on the other sus-side. Gee whiz! it’s
fine.”
The enthusiasm of the others, excepting, of course, the seemingly stolid
German lad, was scarcely less unrestrained.
“It certain is all right,” was the decision of Rod Grant. “I’ll admit it
beats anything to be found in Rogers County, Texas.”
“Here’s a rippin’ place to go in swimmin’ right off the rocks,”
announced Crane, inspecting one side of the point. “Looks like a feller
can dive off into ten foot of water. By glory! we sartain ought to have
fun here.”
“Come over here,” called Stone from the other side. “Come on over,
fellows. Here’s a place where we can land with our canoe when we get it
over from Pemstock.”
With one foot crossed over the other, Sleuth Piper leaned on the muzzle
of the shotgun, in imitation of the pictured pose of some scout or
trapper he had seen on the cover of such a lurid yarn as pleased his
fancy, calmly surveying the prospect from the most sightly spot of the
point.
“We should not forget,” he said, “that we’re in the heart of the Dark
and Bloody Ground, afar from the nearest settlement. What seems so
peaceful and serene to the naked eye may hide a thousand deadly dangers.
Though the pizen redskin may not be near, through these trackless wilds
prowl innumerable ferocious beasts that—”
“Wake up,” cried Crane. “Turn over; yeou’re on yeour back.”
“Let’s get busy,” suggested Stone. “There’ll be plenty of time to look
around tomorrow, and we’ve got to hustle to pitch that tent and get
supper before dark.”
“Sure,” agreed Grant. “Everybody get busy. Come on.”