"So-long!" exclaimed the ex-cowboy, as he dropped to the ground.
Frank did not know just then whether Tom Somers was trying to evade an
expected attack from the big cat, or had been startled and alarmed by
the suspicious "click" behind him, instantly followed by that electric
flash.
"He's gone!" whispered Bluff, excitedly.
Frank breathed a sigh of relief. The day had been saved by Will's
inoffensive camera after all, for there was no alarm, and they had
escaped an encounter with the poisonous claws of that beast of prey.
"And I bet I got a dandy picture of him, too, for Will. Say, this isn't
so bad, after all. Perhaps there can be some fun hunting with a camera,"
pursued Bluff.
"Silence, Bluff. Let's lie here a bit and listen. I hope we didn't
happen to be so close to their camp as to let them see that flash
through the trees," whispered Frank, dropping down.
Five minutes later they once more began to creep forward. At the
suggestion of Tom Somers, all of them were now on their knees, Bluff, as
before, bringing up the rear.
It was very thrilling work, and Bluff found himself trembling with
excitement as he trailed after his companions.
"Sure he's a peach at this sort of business, and it was a bully streak
of luck when we ran across the poor wretch tied up to a tree," he was
saying to himself, as he watched Tom Somers gliding along, keeping an
eye on the ground, and sometimes almost poking his nose against the
earth in order to solve a knotty problem.
He hoped they would run up against no more bobcats. While fortune had
smiled upon them on that last occasion, perhaps the same good luck might
not always be their portion; and Bluff found no desire in his heart for
a tussle at close quarters with the owner of a set of claws such as
these beasts sported.
Frank and the other fellow seemed to be conferring in low whispers, and
hence he crept up to learn what was in the wind.
"See anything, Frank?" he asked eagerly, as he pushed in beside his
chum.
"Softly, Bluff. Yes, if you look through this little opening you can see
it, too."
"Why, it's a house--a sort of old cabin, more like," said Bluff, as he
peeped.
"That's just what it is. Now, search your memory, both of you--do you
ever recollect hearing about any one living on Wildcat Island?" asked
Frank.
"Sure I do, now that you ask. There was a queer man once who used to
live like a hermit here. That was years ago. They found his skeleton in
his cabin. Nobody ever knew what he died of, but it was alone, excepting
for his dog, that ran wild till he was shot by a duck-shooter,"
whispered Bluff.
"Glory! this here place is some on thrills," grumbled Tom Somers.
"Never mind the things that are dead and gone. We have more to fear from
those that are living. It looks as though the tramps have taken up their
quarters in the deserted shack of the old hermit, doesn't it, Tom?"
asked Frank, in the ear of the other.
"It sure does, for a fact. Like as not the whole outfit is quartered
there right now. And somehow I got a suspicion that our grub meandered
this way, too. Seems like I see a familiar Boston baked-bean can lying
there by the door, where they hustled it out after eating the contents."
Frank made no reply to this insinuation. Whatever he thought he kept to
himself.
"Oh! I wonder is Jerry there?" said Bluff, longingly, but managing to
keep his tones lowered.
"That is something we mean to discover before a great while. I leave the
manner of our approach entirely to Tom here," declared Frank.
The outcast from Pet's camp had proven his ability to be of great
assistance to them, and Frank believed in encouraging a fellow. His
words doubtless gave the other more or less satisfaction. When a boy
feels that he is wholly trusted, he is very apt to do his level best.
"First of all I reckon there's a better way to crawl up close to the
shack than this one we're on. So let's trail around to the other side,
fellers," he said.
They succeeded in reaching the point he had in view. Even Bluff could
see the wisdom of the move. The undergrowth was much more dense here,
and extended quite up to the wall of the dilapidated cabin.
They could see that the new occupants had done some little rough
tinkering in order to make a roof that would shed water reasonably well.
From this it was easy to conclude that Waddy Walsh and his partner did
not know just how long they might have to utilize this place as a
hide-out, and thought it best to be ready to stand a rainy siege such as
the Spring was apt to produce at any day.
Frank felt Bluff clawing at his legs. There was something in the act to
tell him his chum was desirous of speaking to him, and he allowed the
other to pull up alongside so they could put their heads together.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Didn't you hear it?" queried Bluff, as if surprised.
"What? I heard nothing."
"All that whistling on the lake. Sounded to me like that little tug,
_Rainy Day_, that tows the lumber down to the outlet. She was close by,
too," replied Bluff.
"It must have been away off, for I didn't hear a bit of it. Perhaps it
was the tug, too; but she belongs up at the other end of the lake. What
could bring her down here?"
"I had an idea that perhaps the sheriff and his posse might be aboard
her," ventured Bluff, and he was instantly seized by his comrade.
"That's just what it meant. I hope Will's met them and told how the land
lies here. If that is true it means the beginning of the end?" whispered
Frank.
"And perhaps we may be back in our good old camp by night time, who
knows?" answered the other, joyfully.
Still, neither of them had the slightest thought of relaxing their
efforts with regard to investigating the interior of that cabin, and
ascertaining whether their comrade was being detained there against his
will, perhaps in bonds, that cut his flesh cruelly.
Tom had noted the fact that the others were holding a little powwow, and
hence he did not push on so as to leave them. In fact, Tom was not at
all particular about quitting the society of these stout-hearted fellows
even for a minute, while in such a ghostly neighborhood. Tom believed in
spirits, and the story Bluff had told about that skeleton was ever
before him.
When they began to advance once more, he also started off.
They were now so close to the cabin that if any one had been talking
aloud inside those old moss-grown walls the boys could not have failed
to hear the sounds.
There had been a window, but it was closed with a bunch of dead grass,
and, of course, none of the boys thought of trying to remove this
obstacle in connection with their obtaining a view of the interior. The
only other opening, no doubt, was the door, which was allowed to remain
wide open all the time for air and light.
Dare one of them crawl around the corner of the cabin and try to look in
at that entrance? The risk seemed almost too much. Still, Frank
remembered that they had two guns among them, while, so far as they
knew, the hoboes possessed none; at least they had shown nothing of the
sort thus far.
He had been thinking this over, however, and concluded that it hardly
stood to reason that such desperate characters as these two, one an
escaped reform school inmate and the other a yeggman tramp, would be
entirely without some means of defence. Perhaps one of them might have a
revolver which he had up to now kept out of sight for some reason.
Tom was pulling at Frank's trousers entreatingly. Catching his
attention, he made a gesture with his hand, as talking was now out of
the question.
Following the line of his pointing finger, Frank saw what had attracted
the eye of the boy who had been West. Some animal had for a time used
the hut as a lodging-place, and as the door at the time may have been
closed, had dug a tunnel under the wall at the back of the place.
Possibly the men inside had filled the hole up beyond the wall, but they
had paid no attention to that which lay beyond.
Frank caught the idea instantly. It was to begin to tunnel under the
wall, drawing away the earth piecemeal until an opening was made, when
one of them might crawl through and make discoveries.
The idea appealed to him somehow or other, and, handing his gun silently
to Tom, he set to work lifting handfuls of loose dirt, and gradually
scooping out quite a hole. It was easy work because the place had only
recently been filled in. As he worked he wondered what sort of an animal
had made the tunnel under the wall; perhaps a wildcat, or it might have
been a 'coon, hardly a bear, though such big game could be occasionally
met with around Lake Camalot, especially along the headquarters of
Lumber Run up at the other end of the body of water.
The minutes passed in this way. Several times Frank caught some sound
beyond the wall, but could not make out what it might mean. He felt
positive, however, that it was the home of the hoboes he had reached,
and not a hiding-place of that strange creature so like a gigantic ape,
but which wore shoes like a man.
Now he felt the earth growing lighter, as though he might be coming
close to an end of his strange task. He was still digging away, eager to
learn whether his plan could be carried out, when without the slightest
warning something that moved came in contact with his flesh, and he felt
his fingers seized by a human hand!