CHAPTER I_The Rival Campers Ashore; or, The Mystery of the Mill

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THE RIVAL CAMPERS ASHORE

Or, The Mystery of the Mill

RUEL PERLEY SMITH

Author of "The Rival Campers Series," "Prisoners of Fortune," etc.

Illustrated by Louis D. Gowing

Boston

The Page Company

Publishers

by The Page Company

Entered at Stationers' Hall, London

Made in U. S. A.

New Edition, May, 1925

The Colonial Press

C. H. Simonds Co., Boston, U. S. A.

[Illustration: "HE HANDED THE PACKAGE TO COLONEL WITHAM."]

CONTENTS

I. AN INLAND VOYAGE

II. TURNED ADRIFT

III. THE OLD MILL

IV. THE TROUT POOL

V. SOME CAUSES OF TROUBLE

VI. CAPTURING AN INDIAN

VII. A LONG RACE BEGUN

VIII. CONQUERING THE RAPIDS

IX. AN EXCITING FINISH

X. HENRY BURNS MAKES A GIFT

XI. COL. WITHAM GETS THE MILL

XII. THE GOLDEN COIN

XIII. A SAILING ADVENTURE

XIV. THE FORTUNE-TELLER

XV. A HUNT THROUGH THE MILL

XVI. THE GOLDEN COIN LOST AGAIN

XVII. A STRANGE ADMISSION

XVIII. GRANNY THORNTON'S SECRET

XIX. THE MYSTERY OF THE MILL

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

"HE HANDED THE PACKAGE TO COLONEL WITHAM"

"AT THE SOUND OF THE MAN'S VOICE, HENRY BURNS AND JACK HARVEY HAD SPRUNG

UP IN AMAZEMENT"

"THE WATCHERS ASHORE SAW THE CANOE SLOWLY TURN AND FACE THE SWIFT

CURRENT"

"HE SEPARATED THE LINE INTO TWO COILS, WHIRLED ONE ABOUT HIS HEAD AND

THREW IT FAR OUT"

THE RIVAL CAMPERS ASHORE

CHAPTER I

AN INLAND VOYAGE

The morning train from Benton, rumbling and puffing along its way

through outlying farmland, and sending its billows of smoke like sea

rollers across the pastures, drew up, ten miles from the city, at a

little station that overlooked a pond, lying clear and sparkling at the

base of some low, wooded hills. An old-fashioned, weather-beaten house,

adjacent the station, and displaying a sign-board bearing the one word,

"Spencer's," indicated that Spencer, whoever he might prove to be, would

probably extend the hospitality of his place to travellers. Here and

there, widely scattered across the fields, were a few farmhouses.

The locomotive, having announced its approach by a mingled clanging and

whistling that sent startled cattle galloping for the shelter of the

thickets, came to a dead stop at the station; but, as though to show

its realization of the insignificance of Spencer's, continued to snort

and throb impatiently. Certain important-appearing trainmen, with

sleeves rolled to the elbows, hastily throwing open the door of the

baggage-car, seemed to take the hint.

Presently a trunk, turning a summersault through the air, landed,

somewhat damaged, on the platform. A few boxes and packages followed

likewise, similarly ejected. Then, through the open doorway, there

appeared the shapely, graceful bow of a canoe. Whatever treatment this

might have received, left to the tender mercies of the trainmen, can

only be imagined; for at this moment two youths, who had descended from

one of the passenger coaches, came running along the platform.

"Hold on, there," said the larger of the two, addressing a man who stood

with arms upreached to catch the end of the canoe, "let me get hold with

you. We don't want to be wrecked before we start,--eh, Henry?"

"Hope not," responded his companion, quietly taking the bow of the

canoe, which the larger youth relinquished to him, while the latter

stepped to the car door and put a stalwart shoulder and arm under the

stern, passed to him by a man inside.

Together, the two boys deposited their craft gently on a patch of grass

near-by; the locomotive puffed away from Spencer's, dragging its train;

the station agent resumed his interrupted pipe. Soon the only sounds

that broke the stillness of the place were the clickings of a single

telegraph instrument in the station and the scoffing voices of a few

crows, circling about the tops of some pine trees that overlooked the

farmhouse.

The prospect that met the eyes of the boys was most enticing. On one

hand lay the little pond, reflecting some great patches of cloud that

flecked the sky. All about them, as far as eye could discern, stretched

the country, rolling and irregular, meadow and pasture, corn and wheat

land, and groves of maple, pine and birch.

Flowing into the pond, a thin, shadowy stream wound its way through

alders and rushes, coming down along past Spencer's, invitingly from the

fields and hills. It was the principal inlet of the pond, flowing hence

from another and larger pond some miles to the westward.

"Well, Henry, what do you say?" said the larger boy. "Looks great,

doesn't it?"

"Ripping, Jack!" exclaimed the other. "I feel like paddling a mile a

minute. Let's pick her up and get afloat."

They reached for the "her" referred to--the light canoe--when the

station agent, welcoming even this trifling relief from the monotony of

Spencer's, approached them.

"That's a right nice craft of yours," he remarked, eying it curiously.

"Going on the pond?"

"No, we're going around through the streams to Benton," replied the

elder boy. "Think there's water enough to float us?"

"Why, p'raps," said the station agent. "It's a long jaunt,

though--twenty-five or thirty miles, I reckon. Calc'late to do it in one

day?"

"Why, yes, and home in time for a late supper. We didn't think it was

quite so far as that, though. How far do you call it to the brook that

leads over into Dark Stream?"

"Oh, two or three miles--ask Spencer. He knows more'n I do 'bout it."

Spencer, a deliberate, sleepily-inclined individual, much preoccupied

with a jack-knife and a shingle, "allowed" the distance to be a matter

of from a mile and a half, to two miles, or "mebbe" two and a half.

"Henry Burns, old chap, get hold of that canoe and let's scoot,"

exclaimed his companion, laughing. "Tom and Bob said 'twas a mile.

Probably everyone we'd ask would say something different. If we keep on

asking questions, we'll go wrong, sure."

Henry Burns's response was to pick up his end of the canoe, and they

went cautiously down through the tangle of grasses to the stream. The

buoyant craft rested lightly on its surface; they stepped aboard, Henry

Burns in the bow, his companion, Jack Harvey, in the stern, dipped their

paddles joyously together, and went swiftly on their way.

It was about half-past seven o'clock of a June morning. The sun was

lightening the landscape, yet it was by no means clear. The day had, in

fact, come in foggy, and the mist was slow in burning off from the

hills. Often, at intervals, it hung over the water like a thin curtain.

But the mystery of an unknown stream, hidden by the banks along which it

wound deviously, with many a sharp twist and turn, tempted them ever to

vigorous exertion.

Just a little way ahead, and it seemed as though the narrow stream were

ending against a bank of green. Then, as they approached, an abrupt

swerving of the stream one way or the other, opened up the course anew

for them. This was a matter of constant repetition. Theirs were the

delights, without danger, of exploration.

"Warming up a bit, isn't it, Jack?" said Henry Burns, laying aside his

paddle for a moment and peeling off a somewhat dingy sweater. "I'm not

so sure about getting the sun for long, though."

"Nor I," replied his companion, driving the canoe swiftly with his

single paddle till the other had freed himself of his garment and was

braced, steadily, once more; when he, too, laid his paddle across the

gunwales and stripped for the work. "I don't just like the looks of

those clouds. If we were in the old Viking now, I'd say put on all sail

and make for harbour; for it looks like rain by and by, but no wind."

"Well, this is all one big harbour from here to Benton," laughed Henry

Burns. "Avast, I sight a cow off the port bow. Never mind the cow? All

right, on we go. If it rains hard, we'll run ashore and hunt for a barn.

Wouldn't Tom Harris and Bob White laugh to see us poking back by train,

instead of making the trip?"

"Oh, we won't turn back," said Harvey. "Besides, there's no train in to

Benton till night. Fancy spending the day at Spencer's station! It's

through the streams for us now, rain or shine."

As though to demonstrate more fully his determination, Harvey dipped

with a sharper, quicker stroke, put the strength of two muscular arms

into his work, and they sped quickly past the turns of their winding

course. Perhaps either Tom Harris or Bob White, of whom Henry Burns had

spoken, might have wielded the paddles with a bit more of skill, have

kept the course a little straighter, or skimmed the turns a trifle more

close; but neither could have put more of life and vim into the strokes.

A large, thick-set youth was Harvey, strongly built, with arms bronzed

and sinewy--clearly a youth who had lived much out of doors, and had

developed in sun and air.

Harvey's companion was considerably slighter of build, but of a

well-knit figure, whose muscles, while not so pronounced, played quickly

and easily; and whose whole manner suggested somehow a reserve strength,

and a physique capable of much endurance.

Had they possessed, however, more of that same skill and familiarity

with canoeing which comes only with practice, they would have perceived

more clearly the speed with which they were travelling, and how great a

distance already lay between them and the point where they had embarked.

"Queer we don't come to that inlet," remarked Harvey, at length. "I

haven't seen anything that looked like the land-arks: the two houses,

the road and a bridge, that Tom spoke of."

"No," replied Henry Burns, but added, reflectively, "unless we passed

them at least three-quarters of a mile back. But there wasn't any inlet

there. Hang it! Do you suppose Spencer was right after all?"

"May be," said Harvey. "Let's hit it up a little harder; but watch sharp

for the brook."

"Aye, aye, skipper," said Henry Burns.

But at this moment the glassy surface of the stream dimpled all over

with the sudden fall of raindrops; a compact, heavy cloud wheeled

directly overhead and poured its contents upon them, while, afar off,

the fields were still lit with patches of sunlight. They scrambled as

hastily as they could into their sweaters again.

"Let it come," said Henry Burns, resuming his wet paddle; "it's only a

cloud-bank that's caught us. We'll work out of it if we keep on. Then

the sun will dry us."

They pushed on in the rain, peering eagerly ahead for some signs of the

landmarks that would show them the brook. Then, all at once, to their

amazement, the stream they were following divided into two forks; the

one at the right coming down from higher land, broken in its course, as

far as they could see, by stones and boulders that made it impassable

even for the light canoe; the other branch emerging from a thick tangle

of overhanging alders and willows.

"Well now, what do you make of that?" cried Harvey, in disgust. "That

can't be the brook, to the right, and the other doesn't look as though

it led anywhere in particular." He stopped paddling, and squeezed the

water out of his cap.

"We've come past the brook," replied Henry Burns. "It's rainy-day luck.

We've got to go up to that farmhouse on the hill and find out where we

are."

"I haven't seen a farmhouse for more than half an hour," exclaimed

Harvey.

"No, but there are cattle in that pasture, and a track going up through

the grove," said Henry Burns. "We'll follow that. It won't be any

blinder than this stream."

They brought the canoe in upon the muddy bank, slumped into the ooze,

pulled the canoe half out of water and started off.

"Nice trip!" said Henry Burns. "And the worst of it is, I have a

suspicion I know just where that brook is. I can see it now. There was a

tiny bit of a cove, a lot of rushes growing there, and two houses back

about a quarter of a mile. But it was dry--no water running--and it was

so near the station I didn't suppose that could be the place."

"It isn't so dry by this time," remarked Harvey.

"No, and neither are we," said Henry Burns. "Look out!"

He dragged one leg out from a mud-hole into which he had sunk to the

knee. The path they were following led through clumps of fern and

brake, almost waist high. These, dripping with rain, drenched them as

they pushed their way through. Some fifteen minutes of hard travelling

brought them to a little rise of land, from the top of which they could

see, down in a valley beyond, a farmhouse.

"More wet day luck," muttered Harvey. "We're in for it, though. It's a

good half mile more."

They tramped on, in silence. The particular cloud that had first wet

them had blended much with others by this time, and it was still

raining. But they came up to the house soon, and, the big barn door

standing open invitingly, they entered there. A man and two boys, busily

engaged mending a harness, looked up in surprise.

"Sort er wet," the man commented. "Come from the city, eh? Well, I guess

it's only a shower. What's that? The brook that runs into Dark Stream!

Huh! You're two miles past it."

Henry Burns and Harvey looked at each other helplessly. Then Harvey

grinned.

"It's so tough, it's almost a joke, Henry," he said.

"Great--if it had only happened to somebody else, say your friend Harry

Brackett," replied Henry Burns. "Guess we won't tell much about this

part of the trip to Tom and Bob, though. What do you want to do, go back

to the station, or keep on?"

"Back!" exclaimed Harvey. "Say, I'm so mad, I'd keep on now if every

drop of rain was as big as a base-ball. I'll never go back, if it takes

a week--that is, if you're game?"

"Come on," said Henry Burns quietly.