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.