MORE MYSTERY IN THE AIR
It was nearly dark, after an afternoon of hard work for five members
of the party, and an afternoon of wonderful sport for Dick Prescott.
A crude raft had been built. That part of the work had been easy,
and it was swiftly performed. But three trips with the small
raft had been needed to bring over the tent, the supplies, the
push cart and everything belonging to the old camp.
Now the new camp stood pitched at a short distance from the cave,
but near to the edge of the lake. The tent had been put up in
a natural clearing, behind a line of timber, so that the canvas
was not visible from the other side of the lake.
At trout fishing Dick had proved himself more than an expert.
Now that darkness was coming, Dick was bending over a low fire,
watching a frying pan in which four speckled beauties, well dipped
in batter, were sizzling merrily.
"This is the finest food I've ever had," declared Greg Holmes,
swallowing another mouthful of trout and leaning back with a contented
sigh.
"It certainly is great," agreed Dave Darrin. "Fellows, I've wasted
some of my life in the past, for I never before knew the taste
of brook trout."
"I tried 'em once," said Reade, "but they didn't taste as fine
as these. With trout, I've heard, a tremendous lot depends upon
the way they're cooked."
"Of course the cooking has a lot to do with bringing out the full
flavor," Dick admitted modestly. "But, Tom, perhaps you hadn't
done any hard work before eating trout that time. Exercise brings
hunger, and hunger is the best sauce that food can have---as we
all ought to know."
"Exercise?" repeated Tom, with a laugh. "Yes; I've had that this
afternoon, all right. You had me guessing when you told me you
had such an important job for me. I didn't know, then, that you
wanted me to boss the raft building and transporting the camp
over here. It was exercise, all right. We ought to have taken
an entire day to it."
Dick rose with the frying pan, dropping hot trout on four plates
in turn, omitting only Holmes.
"You shall have a trout out of the next serving, Greg," Dick promised.
"I'm not worrying about myself," Greg returned. "But are you
going to have anything left for yourself, Dick?"
"I'm not worrying about that, either," laughed Prescott. "It
was mighty nice of you fellows to do all the work this afternoon,
and leave me to enjoy myself all the time at sport. So the trout
belong to you fellows."
"I don't suppose you worked at all, Dick," said Tom quizzically.
"Of course whipping up and down a stream in rubber boots, over
stones and all sorts of obstacles, isn't anything like work."
"It would be pretty hard work for a fellow who didn't like trout
fishing, I suppose," Dick answered. "But, to me, it was only
so much glorious sport. Here's your trout, Greg. Who else wants
some more?"
"Don't ask foolish questions," chuckled Danny Grin.
But at last the five boys had to admit that they had eaten their
fill out of the splendid result of Dick's afternoon of sport.
There were still several trout left, all cleaned and ready to
be dipped in the batter.
"Now, you sit down at the table, and let us wait on you," urged
Greg, going over to Dick.
Dave took hold of one of young Holmes' suspender straps, pulling
him back.
"You simpleton," expostulated Darry, "are you going to spoil Dick's
reward by letting a chump cook attend to the trout? Dick wants
to cook his trout for himself, but we'll do everything else.
I'll appoint myself to make the coffee for all hands."
Dick soon had a pan full of trout ready for his own plate. As
he seated himself at the table he was fully conscious of how tired
and sore he was from the afternoon of whipping up and down stream
after these handsome, speckled fish, but he was careful not to
admit his fatigue to the others, who, also, were very tired.
Dick had to fry a second pan of trout, eating the last one of
the lot he had caught, ere he found his appetite satisfied.
Then, with only the light of a lantern on the table, the boys
sat about sipping their coffee and feeling supremely contented
with their day of effort and its results.
"There are not so many mosquitoes over here," Tom announced.
"They haven't found us out yet," chuckled Danny Grin. "They will
do so, later."
"I'm ready for bed any time the word comes," confessed Harry Hazelton.
"But, see here, fellows," suggested Dave soberly, "we're now right
in the enemy's country. That is to say, we're on the same side
of the lake with the man of mystery and his companions, if he
has any. I don't doubt that resentful eyes have watched the erecting
of this camp on its present site."
"Sorry to have hurt anyone's feelings," yawned Tom. "Still, I
guess we've as much right here as anyone else."
"But the point is this," Dave went on. "Last night some persons
must have crossed the lake in order to annoy us. To-night we're
on the same side of the lake with them. We'll be much more accessible
to the people who object so strenuously to our presence."
"Where did these unknown people find a boat for crossing the lake?"
queried Reade. "We couldn't find one anywhere until the canoe
was left at our camp."
"Anyone might have a boat or canoe here, and keep it hidden easily
enough when not in use," Dave asserted. "Just as we---have brought
our canoe up here and hidden it in the tent, for instance. Now,
we'll all have to admit that we're extremely likely to have unwelcome
visitors here to-night? Are we going to keep a guard?"
"It might not be a bad idea to keep someone on watch through the
night," Dick suggested.
"I'll stand the first watch trick," proposed Dave. "It need be
only an hour long. I'll drink some more coffee, and then walk
a while, so as to be sure to keep awake."
"I'll take the second trick," nodded Dick.
The schedule for watch tricks was quickly made up. Then all but
Dave hastily sought their cots. Darkness was not an hour old
when Dave was the only member of the camp awake. Had the high
school boys been less healthy and sturdy their hearty suppers
might have summoned the nightmare, but they slept on soundly.
Dick, however, stretched, gaped, then sprang up when Darry called
him. Some of the others, when their turns came, did not respond
as readily, and had to be dragged from their cots and stood upright
before they were thoroughly awake.
It was shortly after one o'clock in the morning when Tom Reade,
then on watch, stepped lightly into the tent, passing through
the round of the cots, shaking each sleeper in turn.
"Those of you who want to listen to something interesting, get
up instantly!" Tom exclaimed in a low voice.
Three boys drowsily rolled over, going immediately back into sound
slumber. Dick and Dave, however, got up, pulling on their shoes.
"What's all that racket across the lake?" was Dick's prompt question
as he stood in the doorway of the tent.
"That comes from the former camp site," chuckled Tom.
"Guns!" cried Dave Darrin in amazement.
"It sounds like a big fusillade," Dick cried, as he stepped out
into the night.
"But surely no one can be trying to attack our camp, thinking
we are still there," Tom protested. "We don't know any people
who are wicked enough to plan an attack upon our camp."
"No," Dick agreed. "But this much is sure. There are those who
dislike us enough to try to spoil our rest night after night."
Dave began to laugh merrily.
"I half believe it's Dodge and Bayliss," he remarked quietly.
"I don't," Reade objected. "Both of them are too lazy to motor
up into the wilderness each night, over such rough roads, all
the way from Gridley. No, no! It's someone else, though who
it is I can't imagine. If it were the man of the lake mystery,
or any of his people, they'd be likely to know that we're on this
side of the lake."
From the edge of the timber line near by came the sound of a crackling
twig, followed by a groan as of a soul in torment.
Wheeling like a flash, Tom Reade produced the pocket flash lamp.
Staring toward the boys, his face outlined between the close-growing
trunks of two spruce trees, were the startling features of a man.
"That's he---the Man of the Haunting Face!" came from Tom Reade
in a hoarse whisper.
"Then we'll get him!" cried Dick Prescott, leaping forward. "Hold
the light on him!"
CHAPTER XV
THE SCREAM THAT STARTED A RACE
Yet even as the three boys dashed toward the two spruce trees
the light went out.
Tom pressed frantically on the spring of the lamp as he ran, but
the lamp gave forth a flickering gleam that was little better
than no light at all.
The long use of the lamp in the cave had weakened the storage
battery.
"Give us the light!" called Dave, as they reached the tree.
"Can't! The battery's on a strike," answered Reade grimly.
Dick Prescott, who was ahead of his companions, now halted, whispering
to the others to do the same.
The man they sought had vanished. No betraying sounds came to
indicate where he had gone.
"Dave and I'll stay here," whispered Dick. "Tom, run back for
a lantern. Hustle!"
Fifteen minutes of eager searching, after the lantern was brought,
failed to give any clue to the whereabouts of the man whom they
sought.
"This is more ghostly than human," laughed young Prescott.
They felt compelled to give up the search. As they returned to
the camp the firing on the opposite side of the lake broke out
anew. At the distance, however, it was not loud enough to disturb
the other three, who still slept in the tent. Dick flashed the
lantern inside to make sure that the sleepers were safe.
At intervals the racket across the lake broke out anew.
"It's my turn to go on watch again," said Darry, glancing at his
watch by the light of the lantern. "You two might as well turn
in."
"We'll dress and bring our cots out into the open," Dick proposed.
"You might as well have us, Dave, where you can get us instantly,
and ready for action, by just touching us on the shoulder."
But the night passed, without any further disturbances than the
occasional distant firing, and the rousing, every hour, of a new
watchman for the camp.
It was past seven in the morning when Dick finally turned out,
to find Greg and Harry busy preparing breakfast, while Darrin
still slumbered.
"Where are Tom and Dan?" Prescott asked.
"Look through the trees, and presently you'll discover them out
in the canoe," answered Greg. "Tom simply couldn't wait any longer
to go out after bass."
"I'm going trout fishing, if I can do it without shirking," said
Dick, as he rose and stretched.
"And if no one kicks I'm going with you," added Darrin, opening
his eyes. "How about it, Greg? Are you and Harry willing to
do the camp watch this morning?"
Greg had turned around eagerly, seeing which, Hazelton broke in:
"Go right along with 'em, Holmesy, if they'll take you. There
won't be much to do in camp after, the dishes are washed."
"But it's rather a shame to leave you alone," hinted Greg wistfully.
He wanted, with all his heart, to see some of the rare sport
that Dick had described, but he didn't want to be unfair to anyone.
"I won't be lonesome," protested Hazelton. "We have some good
books along, and I can read one of them."
"But what if the camp should be molested?" asked Greg. "You know,
there is at least the Man with the Haunting Face, and there may
be others."
"Whoever tries to molest this camp will be molested in his turn,
I promise you," laughed Harry. "I'm no weakling, so run right
along, Holmesy. Even if serious trouble should arise, I have
this, you know."
He produced a long-barreled fish horn that he had used in celebrating
the night before the Fourth of July.
"Two or three loud blasts on this bugle would carry a long way,
and you fellows would know what I wanted," finished Hazelton.
"All right, then, I'll go," said Greg, his face beaming.
"We've trout flies in plenty, you know," Dick went on, "but we've
only two poles that are suited to trouting, so we'll have to take
turns."
"You may keep one pole all the time. Dick," suggested Darry.
"Greg and I can take turns with the other pole."
"That will hardly be fair to you two," replied Dick, with a shake
of his head.
"It wouldn't be fair to the whole crowd to take your pole away
from you any part of the time," retorted Greg. "Remember, Dick,
you are the expert trout fisherman of the party, and all the fellows
want some more trout. We'll never forget those of last night."
Greg and Hazelton now had breakfast ready. It was eaten rather
hastily, after which all hands fell to setting things to rights.
"Here, come out of the tent," called Hazelton, as Dick started
inside to use a broom there. "You fellows are the providers,
and I can do the little housework that's left to do."
So Dick, Dave and Greg brought out their long-legged rubber boots
and got into them with little delay. Then there came a sorting
of flies, and the rigging of lines and reels. Within a few minutes
the three were ready to start out.
As they went up the stream Dick cut and trimmed two crotched sticks
on which to string the fish they might catch.
"That looks almost boastful," chuckled Dave. "It looks as though
we thought it a cinch that we're going to get a lot of trout."
"It all depends on us," Prescott rejoined. "The brook is simply
full of trout, that we can catch if we display the requisite amount
of skill. The mystery to me is that this brook has escaped the
knowledge of the trout fishermen in Gridley. Not even Mr. Morton
ever heard of this stream."
"Well, Mr. Morton can't be expected to know everything," argued
Greg. "He's already the most capable sub-master in Gridley High
School and the finest coach the Gridley football squad ever had."
"He's also an A No.1 trout fisherman," Dick went on. "Fellows,
we mustn't tell everyone about this trout stream, but Mr. Morton
is such an all around fine fellow that I think we owe it to him
to tell him, when we see him, just how to reach this brook."
"If the real estate men of Gridley knew of this place," laughed
Greg, "they'd buy up the ground around here and then sell bungalows
at fancy prices to amateur fishermen of means."
"And then the brook would soon cease to be a trout stream," retorted
young Prescott. "A large proportion of the trout would be caught
within a few days, and the rest of 'em scared away to safer breeding
grounds. The only way to keep a trout stream in working order
is not to let many people know about it. It sounds selfish, but
it's good sportsmanship."
Dick soon halted, eyeing a pool so deep that its bottom could
not be seen.
"This looks like a good place to start in," he announced. "I
believe I'll go a little way up stream, and then whip down past
this pool and below. Now, talk only in whispers, if you can remember,
fellows. Trout are shy creatures. Has either of you ever fished
for trout before?"
Both Dave and Greg shook their heads.
"Then I think you had better watch me for a while, and catch some
of the knack of it," their leader advised. "Notice particularly
how I whip. If I get a nibble, then note, particularly, that
I don't make an immediate effort to land the trout. I play the
line out a bit and let him play with the fly, and beat about and
get himself better imbedded on the hook. When I am sure I have
him well hooked, then you'll see the peculiar motion with which
I bring him out of the water and throw him on the ground. That
landing trick is one that you need to get just so. Study it,
and develop it. Don't be disappointed if you lose quite a few
trout. You will lose them often until you get the hang of the
thing."
Some distance above the pool Dick stepped into the water. He
walked along slowly, not stirring up much dirt from the bottom.
All the time he kept his line behind him, frequently lifting
it and whipping it into the water again. The gayly colored flies
and the glistening spoon just above the hook flashed in the sunlight
every time he made a whipping cast.
Not twenty feet had Dick gone when he felt a sudden, violent tug.
With the true patience of the trout fisherman, Dick didn't become
at all excited. His hand on the reel, he let the line fly out
as the finny captive darted up stream.
Presently Dick played the fish in gently, then suddenly gave it
plenty of slack line. These tactics were repeated, while Dave
and Greg almost danced in their eagerness.
Suddenly Dick flipped his pole sharply. There was a swish of
line in the air. Something speckled and glistening dropped on
the ground at least ten feet from the brook, where it lay floundering
and gasping.
"Hoo-ray!" yelled Greg, with all his pent-up enthusiasm.
"Do that again, Holmesy, and I'll chase you back into camp," warned
Dick, with his patient smile. Then he stepped ashore, took the
trout from the line and impaled it on a stick, which he gave Greg
to carry.
Within two minutes there was another strike. The same patient
tactics, and Dick had another trout---this time a two-pounder
as against about three quarters of a pound for the weight of the
first trout.
The third trout got away, despite the most careful handling, but
the fourth and fifth biters were soon landed.
"I can't stand this any longer," quivered Dave. "I've got to
start in. Where do you want me to go, Dick?"
"Better go about a quarter of a mile upstream," Prescott suggested,
"and then work down this way. Greg can go along with you and
carry the stick for your string. I'll look out for my own string."
For nearly half an hour Prescott saw nothing of his friends.
Then Dave and Greg came in sight. Dick held up a string now numbering
eleven trout, some of them unusually large.
For answer Greg held up a crotched stick with not a single trout
dangling therefrom.
"There's more knack to this game than I can catch," muttered Darry
disconsolately, "but I'd give a good deal to get the knack of it."
"No man save the first trout fisherman of all ever learned without
a teacher," Dick assured his chum. "Greg, you take a place farther
down the stream, and I'll stay with Dave and try to show him some
of the tricks. You may have my pole and line, Greg, for I shall
be busy watching Dave."
Many a pull at his line had Darrin, and many a fish was lost ere,
under Prescott's patient instruction, he managed to land a trout
weighing about a pound.
"Whew!" muttered Dave, mopping his brow. "At this moment I believe
I feel prouder than any general who ever captured a city."
"You'll soon have the hang of it, now, Dave," was his chum's encouraging
assurance. "Now, I'm going to hunt up Holmesy, and see if I can
show him some of the knack."
Greg proved a grateful though not very clever pupil. He was all
enthusiasm, but the art of landing a trout appeared to him to
be one of the most difficult feats in the world.
"I don't believe I'll ever land enough to fill a frying pan,"
he said dejectedly. "Dick, the fellows are depending upon you.
Take this pole and use it for the next hour."
Later in the forenoon Greg had one small trout on a stick he had
cut and trimmed for himself. Dave Darrin looked almost triumphant
as he displayed three of the speckled ones. Both stared in envy
at Dick's string of thirty-four trout.
"Of course it'll take a few days of patient study of the game
to enable you to make big catches," was Dick's consoling assurance.
"I'd put in all summer, if I were sure I could master the trick
in the end," said Dave.
Greg said nothing, but felt less resolute about it than Darrin
did.
"Why, it's only fifteen minutes before noon," cried Dave, glancing
at his watch.
"Then it's high time to be going back," nodded Dick, "in case
the fellows are depending upon us for their meal. If Tom has
a lot of bass, though, we can store these trout in our new ice
box---the cave."
"And let the Man with the Haunting Face slip in there, after dark,
and help himself!" grumbled Darry. "Somehow that idea doesn't
make any hit with me."
"Then we'll have to put in the afternoon," proposed Prescott,
"in building a log-lined pit in the ground and moving ice from
the cave to fill it. Then we can keep our fish supplies right
up under our noses in front of the tent."
"That's a little more satisfactory in the way of an idea," nodded
Darry.
For the purpose of taking a short cut they soon left the brook,
going through a stretch of woods on their way to camp.
Hardly had these high school boys entered the woods when they
halted, for an instant, in intense consternation.
On the air there came to them a sudden scream.
"That was a girl's voice!" gasped Greg.
"Or a woman's," nodded Dick. "We've got to-----"
Again a piercing scream, then more screams in two voices.
"Hustle!" finished Dick, as the three boys broke into a run in
the direction whence the sound of the voices came to them.
CHAPTER XVI
THE CAMP INVADED AND CAPTURED
Clad in their long fishing boots, none of the boys made anything
like his usual speed in running.
Grumbling inwardly at their clumsy gait, all three hurried as
fast as they could into the near-by stretch of forest.
There, in a path, they came upon a middle-aged woman accompanied
by four girls, all of whom showed signs of unusual alarm.
"Oh, Dave," called Belle Meade, "I'm so glad to see you!"
"You usually are," laughed Darrin, "but I never knew you to make
so much noise about it before."
"What's the trouble?" Dick inquired, after a hasty greeting to
Mrs. Bentley, Laura Bentley, Belle Meade, Fannie Upham and Margery
White, the latter four all Gridley High School girls.
"A man---he must have been crazy!" replied Laura. Her voice shook
slightly, and she was still trembling, though the color was beginning
to return to her face.
"Did he offer to molest you?" flared Dick.
"No, indeed!" replied Mrs. Bentley promptly and laughing nervously.
"In fact, I think we must have frightened the man, for his desire
seemed to be to get away from us as fast as he could."
"But that face!" cried Miss Fanny. "I never want to see it again."
"It must have been our Man of the Haunting Face," murmured Dick,
turning to his chums.
"That was he---just who it was!" declared Belle, with emphasis.
"I don't know whom you're talking about, but 'haunting face'
just describes the man who frightened us."
"It was so silly of us!" murmured Laura Bentley. "It was clear
nonsense for us to be so frightened, but when, we saw that face
peering at us from behind a tree we simply couldn't help screaming."
"Are you alone?" demanded Prescott in some astonishment, for these
were carefully brought-up girls, and it was not like their parents
to let them go into the woods without other guard than that of
a chaperon.
At that instant Dick's question was answered by the appearance
of Dr. Bentley, who, on account of his weight, panted somewhat
as he ran.
"Did---these---young men frighten---you so badly---that you---made
such a commotion---and caused me nearly to breathe---my last in
running to---your aid?" demanded the good doctor gaspingly, his
eyes twinkling.
"No, sir; we came, like yourself, when we heard the girls scream,"
Dick Prescott explained.
Then, amid much talking, and with as many as three people speaking
at once, the story was quickly recounted for Dr. Bentley.
"We've seen the fellow before," Dick explained, "but he always
fakes alarm and vanishes. We call him our man of mystery---the
Man with the Haunting Face."
"Some poor, simple-minded fellow," suggested Dr. Bentley. "Probably
one whose mild mania leads him to prefer to live in the woods,
a regular hermit. My dears, I'm surprised that any of you should
be so easily startled and make such noisy testimony to your alarm."
"I'm indignant with myself now---when there are men standing by,"
laughed Belle. "But I wish you had seen that man's strange face,
Doctor."
"I would like to see it, and punch it, too!" muttered Dave.
"Not a bit of it!" objected Dr. Bentley heartily. "No doubt the
poor fellow is sadly afflicted mentally. He's what the Arabs
call a 'simple,' and the Arabs have a beautiful faith that all
'simples' are under the direct protection of Allah. So, woe to
him who offends one of Allah's 'simples.'"
"How do you boys come to be here?" asked Laura.
"I might ask the same question of your party," smiled Dick. "As
for us, we are away on a vacation fishing and camping trip."
"I knew you were going away," said Dr. Bentley, "but I didn't
know just where. We are touring again, in my seven-passenger
car. We are headed for the St. Clair Lake House, eight miles
below here. But the roads are so bad that the chauffeur said
it would take us more than an hour to get through. So I proposed
to Mrs. Bentley and the girls that we leave the car at the road
and cross over here to have our luncheon on the shore of this
second lake. I have been here before, and remember it as a beautiful
spot. Mrs. Bentley and the girls started on ahead, and I brought
up the rear with the baskets of food. But they got further ahead
of me than I thought. Now I must go back after the baskets, which
I set down before I started to run here. Greg, will you go back
with me and help me bring the baskets?"
Greg at once accompanied the physician. When they came to the
spot, however, they found but one basket, and that nearly empty.
The second basket had disappeared altogether.
"Fine!" grunted Dr. Bentley. "Greg, our committee of two must
go back and report the disquieting news."
"Not so very disquieting, sir," smiled young Holmes. "We have
a camp full of food to offer you."
That invitation Dick and Dave very quickly seconded when the doctor
rejoined the party.
"Especially if you can eat trout, sir," Dick went on.
"Don't! Don't be cruel!" remonstrated Dr. Bentley. "I used to
eat trout when I was a boy, but they are now an extinct fish."
"Are they, sir?" inquired Dick, unwrapping a paper from around
part of the morning's heavy catch, while Dave exhibited the contents
of a similar bundle.
Dr. Bentley rubbed his eyes.
"Bless me, these are a fine imitation of brook trout as I recall
them," he murmured.
"What did you mean by saying that trout were an extinct fish?"
asked Laura.
"They're extinct for all but the wealthy," replied the physician.
"Brook trout, in these days, generally cost all of a dollar and
a half a pound, and I've heard of as high as two dollars a pound
being paid for them."
"There are plenty hereabouts, just now," Dick replied. "But we
may take them all out of the water before we move from here."
"Of course," nodded Laura's father. "That's what trout are for.
They won't do anyone any good as long as they remain in the water."
"Let's hurry back, please," urged Dick. "I am anxious to see
your luncheon under way."
"Yes," teased Belle, "the sooner you have satisfied our appetites
the sooner you may expect to see us gone and be able to enjoy
yourselves and your comfortable solitude once more."
"Now, just for saying that, Belle," uttered Dick reproachfully,
"I'm going to consider the revenge of burning two of your trout
in the pan."
"Mercy!" cried Belle Meade. "Are you going to cook the trout?"
"After you've eaten a trout cooked and served up by Dick Prescott,"
Dave declared, "you won't want them cooked by anyone else. Dick
is the one trout chef in this part of the country."
"Where did he learn?" teased Belle with a pretense of suspicion.
"Mr. Morton---Coach Morton, of our high school eleven---taught
Dick how to do it," Dave explained.
"Right here, young ladies---attention!" called Dr. Bentley, holding
up a warning finger. "If brook trout are as fine eating as they
used to be when I was a boy, then you simply won't be able to
keep it a secret that you've eaten some recently. Yet on one
point I must insist. None of you must be dishonorable enough
to name any spot within fifty miles of here as the scene of your
trout luncheon. If you let the secret out all the trout fishermen
in four counties will be swarming here to destroy all the fun
your young men friends are having. So, please remember! Utter,
dark, uncompromising secrecy!"
"Is it as bad as that?" asked Belle.
"Every real trout fisherman knows enough to keep his own secrets
as to the streams that contain trout," Dave nodded.
By this time they came within sight of the camp. Nor was it long
before Tom, Dan and Harry caught sight of the visitors and ran
forward to meet them.
"Our friends have come just in time to have a trout feast," Dick
announced.
"I shall be jealous if they eat the trout," Tom retorted.
"Or envious?" laughed Belle.
"No; jealous," Tom assured her. "Dan and I have been fishing,
too. Come and see what we caught."
Tom led the way to where he had cleaned more than a dozen black
bass, while in buckets of water lay nearly thirty more fine,
sleek-looking fish.
"Didn't you catch anything but bass?" Dave asked.
"A few other fish," Tom admitted, "but we threw the inferior fish
back into the water. Now, girls, which are you going to have---trout
or bass?"
"Both---if we may," ventured Laura, with a smile.
And both were served at the meal. Motherly Mrs. Bentley laid
aside her motoring dust coat and marshaled the girls for the various
tasks to which she assigned them.
What a hubbub there was in preparing the feast!
Dick built two small fires for his own exclusive use. Tom built
two more, while Dan and Greg skirmished for more wood. Dr. Bentley,
his coat off and shirt sleeves rolled up, constructed a "warm
oven" with stones topped by a large baking tin. Then he built
another.
Dick fried the trout, while Dr. Bentley started low fires under
the two crude warming ovens. As fast as trout were fried they
were dropped into one oven, Tom's bass being dropped into the
other. Potatoes were boiling in one pot, tinned peas in another,
and tinned string beans in still another. Tinned pudding was
set in another pot of water to heat, while Mrs. Bentley made a
sauce, and the girls set the table and made the other necessary
preparations for the luncheon.
Presently the meal was ready, though the boys did not seat themselves
until they had seen their welcome guests served.
"Daddy," murmured Laura, "I don't blame you for regretting your
boyhood, if you had many trout feasts."
"How's the bass?" asked Tom, almost jealously.
"Just splendid," replied Laura, sampling her first fork full.
"You boys are camping in a fisherman's paradise," declared Dr.
Bentley. "I don't blame you for liking this life. When I was
a boy fresh water fish were almost as plentiful as salt water
fish. Now, we rarely find any fresh water fish in the markets.
I can't understand how this choice retreat for fishermen has
escaped notice, unless it is because of the almost total lack
of inhabitants in this section, and the miserable apologies for
roads. Once again I must caution all of you young women not to
be indiscreet and spoil this fisherman's paradise for your young
friends by talking about it to anyone."
All four of the girls promised absolute secrecy.
After they had all satisfied their hunger, Dick asked Dr. Bentley
all about the St. Clair Lake House. He learned that it was a
fine, modern hotel, accommodating about one hundred and fifty
guests. It was just on the edge of the good roads, Dr. Bentley
explained; this side of the hotel no roads worthy of the name
existed. Dick was very thoughtful after receiving the information,
for he had something on his mind.
"How about that chauffeur of yours, doctor?" asked Dave suddenly.
"Oh, we left him with a comfortable luncheon," replied Dr. Bentley.
"He can't leave the car, you know."
"Will you take him two or three trout, sir?" urged Dick.
"And a bass, sir?" added Reade.
"We'll wait for him to eat them in the car," replied the physician,
"provided the poor fellow hasn't gorged himself on plainer food
and has no room left for real fare like this."
When the time came that the guests must really leave, five of
the boys accompanied the party to the road. Hazelton remained
to watch the camp.
"Now, let's hustle!" urged Dick, as the car rolled out of sight.
"When we get back to camp we have many long hours of work to do."
"Work of what kind?" inquired Tom.
"First of all," replied Prescott, with his most mysterious air,
"we are going to build, close to camp, a make-believe ice-box.
Then we're going to fill the box with ice."
"And what will all that be for?" Dave wanted to know.
"If you can't guess now," smiled young Prescott, his eyes gleaming,
"you'll soon begin to see daylight through my plan! I don't know---but
I believe that the plan I have in mind is going to work out in
great shape!"
CHAPTER XVII
DICK MAKES FISH TALK
"That's the longest eight miles I've ever done," muttered Hazelton.
"The map is wrong. It's a hundred and eight," affirmed Dave.
"No matter, if the trip turns out to have been wisely planned,"
remarked Dick, a wistful look coming into his eyes. "Of course,
I may have overshot the mark."
"That's a chance we had to take," declared Dave promptly. "We
won't be disappointed if we find that we haven't made such a big
move, after all."
The three high school boys had halted in the shade of some trees
by the highway. A quarter of a mile away, around the head of
the body of water known as the third lake, stood a handsome hotel,
the St. Clair Lake House.
It was now nearly nine o'clock in the morning. Dick and his two
comrades had been on the way, over the rough road, propelling
the heavily laden push cart, from which water now dripped from
melting ice. The boys had built their ice-house, or ice-box,
whichever one preferred to call it, and they had stocked it with
ice from the cave. Dick, Dave and Greg had whipped up and down
the stream in turn; Tom and Dan had trolled the lake for bass.
As fast as the fish were brought in they were stored on the ice.
After two days of hard fishing the boys arose before four o'clock
in the morning, for Dick was now ready to test his venture.
"Stay close by that box, Harry," warned Dick, as he took hold
of the handles of the push cart.
"Won't I, though?" Hazelton demanded.
Dick and Dave trudged onward, taking brief turns at the cart.
Thus they entered the hotel grounds at the rear, continuing until
they were close up to the rear porch. Then Dick ascended the
steps and knocked at the door. As no one answered, he stepped
into the corridor.
"What do you want here?" asked a well-dressed, portly man of fifty,
who stepped out of a nearby room.
"I would like to see the manager, or steward, sir," Prescott replied.
"We don't want any help," replied the man.
"I haven't any help to offer, sir," Dick smiled. "Can I see the
steward, or the manager?"
"I'm the proprietor, if that will do," answered the man, giving
Dick a sharp look. He saw that his youthful visitor was evidently
a well-bred boy, but that did not prove that Dick was not looking
for work. College boys often serve as bell-boys or waiters at
summer hotels.
"If you will step outside then, a moment, sir," Prescott continued,
"I think I can show you the nicest lot of black bass you ever saw."
"A string of bass, eh?"
"No, sir; quite a load."
"I'll look at them," said the proprietor briefly.
When he saw the quantity of bass, and noted the plumpness of the
fish, the proprietor was more interested. It is always a problem,
with a summer hotel, to serve enough novel food. But the proprietor
offered less than half the price Dick named. The high school
boy, however, stuck to his price.
"I can't deal with you, then," said the owner, with a shake of
the head, starting to reenter the hotel.
"The Kelway House is about a mile and a half below here, isn't
it, sir?" asked Prescott, preparing to push the cart along.
"Yes; but they won't buy fish at that price."
"I'll try them, anyway, sir. Thank you for the trouble you've
taken for me. Good morning, sir."
"Hold on, there," interrupted the hotel proprietor. "Perhaps
I can offer you a little more."
In his own mind the hotel man was determined that the rival Kelway
House should not have the chance to serve these bass.
More haggling followed, but Dick stuck to his price. In the end
he got it. Scales were brought and the fish weighed. The total
came to eighteen dollars and thirty-three cents.
"I suppose an even eighteen dollars will satisfy you?" asked the
hotel man.
"Yes, sir," admitted the greatly delighted Prescott.
While the money was being counted over, Dave slipped away with
the push cart.
"In about ten minutes, sir," said Dick, after he had pocketed
the money and had thanked the hotel man, "I'll have something
else to show you."
"What?" asked the man, eyeing Dick keenly.
"Now, if you don't mind, sir," coaxed Dick, with a smile, "I'd
rather not destroy, in advance, the keen delight you're going
to feel when you see the next cartload."
"How many of these cartloads have you lying around?" asked the
proprietor quickly.
"The next one will be also the last, sir. May I call you out
when my friends get here with it?"
"I---I guess so," assented the hotel man, and then went inside.
Dick found a seat on a nearby bench and waited.
Dave and Harry presently came along with the cart. Dick once
more went after his prospective purchaser.
"What have you now---more bass?" asked the hotel man, eyeing the
heavy box on the cart. Water was dripping from the ice and running
to the ground.
"No, sir; just look!" begged Prescott, lifting some jute bagging
from the top of the box, then digging down through the top layer
of cracked ice.
"Brook trout?" cried the hotel man. "Where on earth did you get
them?"
"We have a factory where we turn 'em out nights, sir," volunteered
Dave, with a grin.
"What do you want for them---same price as for the bass?" demanded
the proprietor.
"We could hardly afford to do that, you know," Prescott replied.
"Down in a town like Gridley these brook trout ought to retail
for a dollar and a half a pound. We'll offer them to you, sir,
at sixty cents a pound---flat."
"Take 'em away!" ordered the hotel man, with an air of finality.
This time it was plain that he did not propose to purchase.
"You won't be sorry after we're gone, will you?" asked Dick politely.
"I can't afford to put sixty-cents-a-pound fish on my bill of
fare," said the hotel man.
At this moment two well-dressed, prosperous-looking, middle-aged
men came strolling around the corner of the building. As Dick
was about to cover his fish one of them caught sight of the speckled
beauties, and stopped short.
"Hello! Aren't these fine, Johnson?" the man demanded of the
proprietor. "Going to buy these trout for the hotel?"
"I can't afford to put such costly fish on the bill of fare,"
replied Johnson candidly.
"Man, you don't have to," replied the other. "Send these trout
to the grill-room ice-box. Let guests who want brook trout order
them as extras. Why, I'll eat a few of these myself, if you serve
'em."
"Certainly," nodded the other man.
Proprietor Johnson had caught a new idea from the suggestion of
serving the trout as an "extra" in the grill-room of the hotel.
All of a sudden he began to scent a profit.
"All right, young man," smiled Mr. Johnson. "Begin to unload.
I'll have the scales brought out again."
The weight proved to be a little over one hundred pounds. Dick
accepted an even sixty dollars, while Harry Hazelton nearly strangled
himself in his efforts to keep from cheering lustily.
This money, too, was counted out.
"Are you going to bring any more fish this way?" asked Mr. Johnson.
"I can hardly say as to that, sir," Dick hesitated.
"If you do, I can't agree positively to buy, but I'll be glad,
anyway, if you'll give me the first chance. I will see how these
trout 'go' in the grill-room in the meantime."
"We'll give you the first call, sir," Dick nodded. "Thank you
very much for this morning's business."
"That boy is a budding merchant," thought Johnson, staring after
Dick as the three high school boys trundled their cart away.
But in this estimate the hotel man chanced to be wrong.
"Let's hurry up and get away from the hotel---a long way off,"
urged Hazelton.
"Why?" asked Dave. "It was a fine place---for us."
"Yes; but I want to yell, with all my might," Darry declared.
"Seventy-eight dollars---think of it!"
"Nothing to get excited about," Dick declared calmly.
"When did we ever make so much money in life same time before?"
blurted Hazelton.
"Never, perhaps," Prescott admitted. "We made money, this time,
because we had something that everyone wants, and the supply of
which isn't large. We would have made far more money if we had
had a cart full of diamonds in the rough."
"What are you talking about?" demanded Hazelton. "We don't know
where to find diamonds."
"I didn't say that we did," Dick rejoined. "But we had something
that is rare, and in demand. The rarer a thing is that everyone
wants the better price can be had for it. The bass didn't bring
anywhere near as much money as the trout, just because people
don't call for black bass as much as they will for brook trout."
They were entering the little village beyond the hotel. They
had to go there in order to mail their letters, for all the boys
had taken advantage of this opportunity to write home.
"We'll be nervous with this seventy-eight dollars in camp, in
addition to the few other dollars we have," Dave suggested.
"We won't keep a lot of money in camp," Dick replied. "I'm going
to buy a money order for seventy-five dollars, payable to myself,
and send it to my father to hold for me until we get back. Then
I'll cash the order in Gridley and turn the money into our common
fund."
"And we'll add to that fund," proposed Hazelton eagerly.
"If the bass and the trout hold out," supplemented Dick.
"Say, wouldn't it be mighty nice if only we could get some home
letters here?" asked Hazelton, as the three left the cart at the
curb and turned to enter the post-office.
"We can look for home letters on our next trip here," Dick suggested.
"On Tom's, Greg's and Dan's letters I'm going to add a note on
the outside of the envelope to the effect that letters may be
sent to this office for us. And I'm going to add a postscript
to my letter to my father and mother. You fellows had better
do the same thing."
Dick's first move was to get a money order blank and fill out
his application. Then all hands attended to their postscripts.
This done they went outside.
"There's a little grove down that street," said Dave, pointing.
"Why not go down there and take a brief nap?"
"I want a long one," Dick laughed. "Traveling over that road
was harder work than I've ever done on the football field."
Their nap lasted until a little after noon.
"Whee! But I'm hungry," grumbled Hazelton.
"I think we may feel justified in finding a restaurant, and getting
a good meal," assented Dick.
"I want a steak for mine," proposed Darry. "It seems a year since
we've had one."
"Great idea!" nodded Dick. "And, while we're about it, we'll
get steaks and some stewing meat the last thing before we leave
town and take it back to the fellows. We've had so much fish
that red meat will hit a tender spot with all the fellows."
"It will make a big hit with Tom Reade, I know," laughed Hazelton.
Pushing the cart through the street, the high school boys found
a restaurant that looked as though it would be within reach of
their purses. The boys put their cart in a back yard, then went
in and asked permission to wash up. This being granted, they
soon after took seats at a table in the restaurant.
It was an odd little place, equipped with several booths, each
containing a table and seats for four persons.
"We'll take the booth away down at the end of the room, where
we won't be seen by better-dressed people," proposed Dave.
Accordingly they occupied the last booth in the row. There they
ordered a meal that made their mouths water in advance.
Hazelton, poking his head out of the booth as he heard some one
enter, hastily drew it in again.
"Guess who's coming!" he whispered.
"Can't," replied Dick.
"Dodge and Bayliss," replied Harry.
"Keep out of sight, and don't talk," ordered Prescott.
Bert Dodge and his chum came down the room, taking the booth next
to that of the high school boys, yet without seeing Dick and his
chums.
When the waiter appeared Dodge ordered two ice creams.
"Queer what became of the mucker gang," observed Bayliss, after
the waiter had departed.
"Not a bit queer," retorted Bert. "That was why I wanted to meet
you here this morning. I've found out where they are."
"How did you find out?" demanded Bayliss.
"Do you see this post card?" demanded Bert, laying a card on the
table. "It was written by Laura Bentley to Susie Sharp, and mentions
their having had lunch at the camp of the high school muckers.
And this message gives a clear enough idea of where their camp
is, too. Laura must have dropped the card in the street, for
that's where I found it."
"Say, that's a great find!" chuckled Bayliss.
"You may wager that it is," grinned Dodge. "We broke up one night
of sleep for the muckers with those bombs, but I've an idea that
the night we shot off sixty rounds of blank shotgun shells that
they had already moved. But now I have a brand-new one that we
can use and make them break camp and run for home as fast as they
can go. Then we'll pass the story of their scare all around Gridley,
and they'll never hear the last of the laugh against them."
"I'm all attention, old fellow!" Bayliss protested eagerly.
"So are we!" thought Dick grimly, as he glanced at Dave and Harry.
CHAPTER XVIII
A KETTLE OF HOT WATER FOR SOMEONE
It was a wonderfully elaborate scheme to which the high school
boys were privileged to listen. Such a scheme, really showed
Dodge, in a way, to be possessed of more brains than people in
Gridley commonly credited him with possessing.
But Dick smiled at Dave Darrin's scowl as the plot was unfolded
in the next booth.
Fortunately for Dick and his chums the steak order was delayed
in the serving. Thus Dodge and Bayliss finished their ice cream
and left the place without discovering the presence of their intended
victims.
"Say, aren't that pair just going to enjoy themselves at our expense?"
chuckled Hazelton, after the plotters had left.
"Unless I miss my guess, they're going to dance to our music to-night,"
laughed Dick gleefully.
Their meal was served soon after, and eaten with relish. As soon
as it had been finished Dick asked the waiter for a sheet of paper
and envelope.
"Don't worry about any weird doings you may hear of from our camp,"
Prescott wrote his mother. "We've just learned of a big scare
Dodge and Bayliss are planning to spring on us up at our camp.
We're going to turn the tables on them---that's all. But I write
this for fear you may hear some awful tales when that pair reach
Gridley."
As they left the restaurant, Dick returned to the post-office,
mailing this second letter to his mother.
"Now, we must buy a few things here," Dick explained to his friends.
"Then we must get out of this village by a back road, and we
must make sure that we don't run into that pair of ex-soreheads."
The "sorehead" reference, as readers of our "_High School Boys
Series_" will recall, had to do with Dodge and Bayliss, ere they
had been chased out of Gridley High School. These boys had belonged
to the notorious "sorehead faction" in the high school football
squad.
Going in different directions, Dick, Dave and Harry were able
to make all their needed purchases in a short time. Right after
that, they got out of the village, and back upon the rough trail
for camp without having met their enemies.
It was nearly seven o'clock when the three travelers, all but
fagged out, pushed their cart in sight of camp and gave a hail
that brought the other chums running to meet them.
First of all, word was passed as to the successful outcome of
the fish-selling expedition.
"I thought you fellows would bring us some fresh meat," Tom cried,
when Dave unloaded the cart. "Fresh vegetables, too? Wow! Won't
we live? I told the fellows not to try to get supper until you
got back, as you'd be sure to bring something that would make
us sorry we had eaten. We've the fires all ready."
"And now, listen!" commanded Dick Prescott, after the first preparations
had been made for supper.
Thereupon the young leader of Dick & Co. repeated the plot they
had heard Dodge and Bayliss unfold that noon.
"Hang those two heathens!" sputtered Tom Reade indignantly.
"Oh, I'm glad they're coming," laughed Dick. "All I hope is that
nothing will happen to keep them from coming to-night."
Then Dick outlined his plan. Tom Read, after listening for a
few moments, lay on the ground, rolling over and over in his glee.
"Wow! But won't that be great?" demanded Greg, laughing until
the tears ran from his eyes.
"Say, we mustn't talk any more now. We must eat supper, and then
get ready if we're to play the reception committee successfully
tonight."
At a very early hour, considering the lateness of the evening
meal, Reade, with his knack in woodwork, and with no other tool
than his jackknife, had fashioned the stocks for two "rifles."
These Hazelton carefully treated with mud from the lake so as
to give them a dark color.
"If the guns are seen by the light of the campfire, the stocks
and barrels ought to be of different colors," Dick explained.
Dave was now fashioning two straight sticks into semblance of
rifle barrels. These were lightly treated with mud and fastened
to the two stocks. Then two additional "rifles" were to be manufactured.
Other work was performed, and all was gotten in readiness. Prescott
had a number of mysterious-looking little packages that he had
bought in the village.
"Oh, dear, but I hope nothing happens to keep Dodge and Bayliss
from coming to-night," breathed Tom, as he labored fast. "David,
little giant, hurry up with those barrels. There can be no telling
how soon we shall have to defend ourselves with these 'Quaker'
guns!"
As they worked, the high school boys indulged in many a chuckle.
"It takes something like this to keep me awake to-night," Dick
yawned. "If there were no excitement coming, I'm so dead sleepy
that I could go right into dreamland standing up."
"So could I," chirped Dave. "But I manage to keep awake by enjoying
the thought of how thoroughly we'll wake up someone else tonight!"
"If our plans don't miscarry," warned Dick.
"Please don't croak about failure or disappointment," begged Tom
tragically. "My warm, impulsive young heart won't stand any
disappointment to-night."
So they toiled on, their preparations all along the line taking
shape rapidly.
By ten o'clock they had everything completed, including the
manufacture of the "Quaker" rifles.
"Now, to our posts," chuckled Dick, after a rapid distribution
of things from the packages brought up from the village.
The campfire was allowed to burn low. Some light was still needed
for the full success of their plans.
Tom and Dan took up their stand in front of the tent, each armed
with a "Quaker" gun.
CHAPTER XIX
BERT DODGE HEARS FRIGHTFUL NEWS
Half an hour passed. At last there came the long-drawn, doleful
note of the screech owl.
It was but an amateurish imitation; an Indian would have treated
it with contempt, but it was well enough done to deceive untrained
ears.
Tom glanced at Danny Grin, smiling quietly. The imitation note
of the screech owl was a signal from Dick that Dodge and Bayliss
had arrived, and were starting their nonsense.
Still Tom did not speak of this to Dan. There could be no telling
whether Dodge or Bayliss might be within hearing already. So
Tom and Dan, gripping their quite harmless weapons, became more
alert in appearance.
It was true enough that Dodge and Bayliss were now on the scene.
They had hidden their car off at the side of the road, a mile
or more below, and had crept forward with their outfit for the
night's big scare.
Dodge carried half a dozen large hot-air balloons, which he had
made for the purpose. Under the other arm be carried a package
that looked as though it had come from a department store.
Bayliss, a broad grin on his face, carried the working parts of
a new style siren whistle, intended for automobiles, but a machinist
had succeeded in flutting some new notes and effects into the
screech of this ear-splitter.
"I hope they won't take the noise of this siren for the cry of
a screech owl," whispered Bayliss, as the pair stole stealthily
along.
"If they do, they'll soon get over that idea, and find their real
fright up in the air," Bert Dodge whispered in response.
"I wonder how much further on their camp is, or whether we're
anywhere near it?" Bayliss asked.
"We'll soon know how close we are, for the lake can't be much
further on. I just caught sight of the water in the starlight,"
Bert answered.
How astounded both mischief makers would have been had they known
that certain members of Dick & Co. were even now trailing them.
"There's the tent!" whispered Dodge suddenly, checking his Companion,
as they came to a spot on the slope where they could see the white
of the canvas faintly displayed by the glow from a dying campfire.
"Two of them are about, too!" muttered Bayliss disgustedly.
"Then they're all the more certain to see what they're going to
see soon," chuckled his companion. "Only we must work quickly."
Bayliss separated one of the balloons from the string held by
Bert. The package was opened and from it Bayliss took and fitted
over the balloon enough filmy gauze to cover it to a length of
six or seven feet. Tying a longer string to the balloon, Bayliss
allowed the white, filmy mass to soar upward. When the balloon
had reached a height of twenty feet above the near-by tree tops,
Bayliss made it fast to a tree trunk. Then he and Dodge skipped
hastily to a point some eighty yards away, where they speedily
sent up another. In a very short time all six balloons were flying
on the night air, each with its trail of white fleecy stuff hanging
therefrom.
"They do look like ghosts flying in the air, don't they?" demanded
Bayliss exultantly.
"Not to me," muttered Bert. "But that's because I know what they're
made of."
"Let's hustle now with the rest," urged Bayliss.
"Right you are," agreed Bert.
They hurried along, going a bit nearer to the camp, until Dodge
pointed to a tangle of bushes.
"That'll be a good place to hide with the siren. You get in there
with it, but don't start it until about sixty seconds after you
hear the big noise. Then I'll hustle right back here to you."
"Don't let any of Dick Prescott's friends catch you," urged Bayliss,
who would have gasped had he known that at that moment two of
them crouched close enough to hear every word.
Now Bert hastened down the slope, carrying a fireworks' bomb very
much like those that he and Bayliss had set off on the opposite
side of the lake on another evening long to be remembered.
Treading cautiously, Bert reached a point not far distant from
the doorway of the camp tent. Here, crouching in the screening
bushes, Bert placed the bomb in position. It was only a fireworks'
bomb of the kind used on Fourth of July nights. It was harmless
enough to one who stood more than thirty feet from it.
"The fuse will burn a minute before it goes off," murmured Bert
to himself. "That will give me almost time to reach Bayliss before
the big noise comes. The noise will bring them all out of the
tent. Then the remainder of our programme will do the rest."
But, even as Bert reached for the match with which to touch off
the fuse he heard Dalzell call in a voice audible at the distance:
"Look at those things up in the air, Tom!"
"He has sighted our 'ghosts,'" laughed Bert to himself.
"They must be some sort of signal kites, flown by the moonshiners,"
answered Reade in an interested tone.
"Kites! Is that what he takes our ghosts for?" wondered Bert
Dodge in deep disgust.
But the mention of the word "moonshiners" gave the listener a
start. In a general way he knew that "moonshiner" is the term
applied to men who try to cheat the United States Revenue Service
by distilling liquors on which they pay no tax. Bert had heard
that moonshiners are deadly men, indeed, and that they make little
of shooting down the government officers who are sent to ferret
out their hiding places and arrest them.
"I wish we hadn't run into those moonshiners," said Danny, rather
dolefully. "And I wish Dick hadn't thought it necessary to go
and send word to the United States authorities. I'm afraid there's
going to be an awful row here to-night."
"What's that?" wondered Bert, pricking up his ears.
"I rather wish Dick hadn't been in such an awful rush," Tom admitted
slowly. "Anyway, we fellows should have gotten out of here and
left it to the marshals to have it all their own way. I'm afraid
there is going to be a big fight to-night, and these old woods
may be full of humming bullets. And I'm worried about Dick, too,
going off as guide to the marshals. There were only eight of
the marshals, and, even with four of our fellows, they still have
to face nearly twenty of the moonshiners---and I'll wager that
the moonshiners are all desperate fighters."
"Oh, dear!" wailed Danny Grin.
Bert Dodge's face was a study. With the prospect of a running
fight between United States' marshals and desperate moonshiners
about to take place, these woods seemed likely to be anything
but a safe place.
"At least, the marshals did a decent thing in leaving us rifles
here to protect ourselves with," Dan Dalzell continued.
Raising his head, Bert took a long look at the camp. Not far
away stood Tom Reade, the outlines of a rifle in his grasp showing
very distinctly. Dalzell was over nearer the shadow of the tent,
yet Bert made sure that Dalzell had a rifle also.
"Gracious! There is likely to be real enough trouble in the woods
to-night!" muttered Bert. "Those boys didn't have guns when they
left Gridley. The authorities have probably furnished them."
Just then a popping fire rang out further up the lake slope.
"There it goes!" almost yelled Danny Grin. "The marshals have
run into the moonshiners. The fight is on. Oh, I hope none of
our fellows are being hit!"
Certainly the firing continued briskly. Dodge forgot all about
lighting the fuse of the fireworks' bomb.
Instead, he crouched low, then darted from the bushes, running
as fast as he could to the point where he had left his companion.
"In here!" chuckled Bayliss gleefully. "I didn't know you had
anything with you but the bomb, Bert."
"That's all I did have," whispered Dodge, white-faced. "Hustle
out of here, Bayliss!"
"What's the matter?"
"Hear that firing?"
"I thought you had been setting off fire crackers, Bert."
"Fire crackers nothing!" ejaculated Bert, his face ghastly. "Man
alive, that's a fight going on up the slope between United States
officers and a lot of desperate moonshiners! There goes the firing
again."
Bayliss heard it; he couldn't help that.
Then still nearer rang out the firing.
"We've got to get out of here as fast as our legs will take us,"
Bert insisted. "Hustle before the bullets reach us."
At that moment Dave Darrin broke from cover, running as fast as
his legs could carry him. As he raced toward camp Darrin called:
"Reade! Danny! This is Darrin. Get ready to run or fight.
It's a fearful affair. Four of the marshals were down when I
left, and Dick Prescott is done for, too! Oh, it's fearful!
There won't be any of the government party left!"
Apparent terror rang in Darrin's voice as he ran forward flourishing
his "Quaker" rifle.
"Great Scott!" groaned Bayliss, trying to rise and run, though
his legs shook under him.
"Buck up! Don't be a coward!" hissed Dodge, seizing his companion
by the arm. "Come on! Run for it---before we're hit."
Thus the two made their escape, running, stumbling through the
woods, heading blindly for the spot where they had left their
car.
Back of them fresh sounds of firing rang out. How could the frightened,
dazed fugitives know that it was Dick Prescott, pursuing, and
dropping lighted strings of fire crackers as he ran?
"It's a running fight, and coming right our way!" gasped Bert.
"Let's drop down and crawl to safety!" almost screamed Bayliss.
"No, you don't!" retorted Dodge angrily. "Our only safety lies
in getting into that car and throwing the engine wide open. I
don't care if we wreck the car if only we can cover a couple of
miles of ground first. Run! Hustle!"
Had he suffered from a little keener fear, Bayliss would have
collapsed utterly. As it was, fear lent him extra speed. He
fairly tore over the ground, darting through bushes, plunging
on in headlong haste. Bert kept with him.
"We'll soon be all right," cried Dodge encouragingly. "Now,
jump right across the road. Our car is in there, and headed the
right way."
Just as they reached the car and Bert's pale face showed right
in front of the headlights a third figure dashed up.
Harry Hazelton, his head swathed in a red-stained bandage, and
what appeared to be blood dripping from his left arm, sprang at
them, the butt of his rifle showing, but its barrel wrapped in
his jacket.
CHAPTER XX
A FRENZIED RIDE TO SAFETY
"Wait!" gasped Hazelton. "You've got to take me, too."
"Not much," hissed Bayliss, his voice trembling. "This car is
built only for two."
"You've got to take me, I tell you," Harry insisted, his voice
trembling. "Do you think I'm going to be left behind?"
"This car is built for-----" Bayliss started to insist again.
"Then you will stay behind, Bayliss, at that rate," Harry retorted.
"Remember, I am able to enforce my wishes. Do I go, too?"
Bert had started the engine, and now sprang in at the wheel.
Hazelton leaped in also, taking the other seat.
Bayliss, quivering in every muscle, leaped in, crouching between
them.
"I see that you've decided to come along with us," mocked Harry.
"Hang you!" snarled Bayliss. "If you didn't have that gun we'd
see about it."
"Start her, fast, Dodge!" ordered Harry.
With a roar of the engine the car lurched forward.
"What happened to the others in your crowd?" asked Bert in a weak
voice, as he steered carefully down the rough road.
"All flat---all five of 'em!" affirmed Harry, but be neglected
to state that his five chums were lying on the ground, rolling
over in their mirth.
"None of 'em got away, then, but you?" chattered Bayliss.
"Do you think I'd let you take this car away from here?" demanded
Hazelton indignantly, "if there were any more of our fellows to
get away from here? What would you fellows count for if it were
necessary to save more of my friends?"
"It must have been a fearful fight," shivered Dodge.
"It was," said Harry grimly, striving with all his might to keep
from bursting out in laughter. "I never had any idea that a gun
fight was such an awful thing!"
"Prescott got his, then?" asked Bayliss.
"All five of my friends," replied Hazelton, in a choking voice.
"And I've some traces of the fight to show myself."
"How badly bit are you?" demanded Dodge.
"I'll last all right until I get to Gridley," Harry predicted,
"if you fellows don't keep me talking too much."
"I didn't intend going to Gridley to-night," Dodge replied.
"Yes, you will," Hazelton replied firmly. "I must go to Gridley.
You drive straight there. I'll hold you responsible, if you
don't."
Bert began to believe that he _would_ be held accountable if he
failed to take Hazelton to Gridley, so he gave in without protest.
At any rate, both Dodge and Bayliss wanted to get as far as possible
from the recent "horror," and as speedily as they could do it.
"There's no chance of our being attacked on the road to Gridley?"
asked Bayliss by and by, in a quavering voice.
"No," replied Hazelton. "The lake will be between us and the
trouble makers."
It was rough going most of the way. Hazelton was disinclined
to talk. Bayliss' nerves were too shattered for him to feel like
indulging in conversation. Dodge, white-faced, his cap pulled
well down over his eyes, showed all that he knew about running
a car carefully and as speedily as was possible over such rough
roads.
It was after two o'clock in the morning when the car turned into
the stretch of Main Street, Gridley.
"We'll go to the police station with the fearful news," proposed
Bert Dodge.
"No, we won't," retorted Hazelton. "We'll go to the 'Blade' office.
Mr. Pollock, the editor, is one of Dick's best friends, and he'll
know better than anyone else in town what ought to be done."
So with hands that trembled Bert drove the car up in front of
the "Morning Blade" office. All three leaped out, Dodge and Bayliss
eager to get into the glow of lights and among human beings.
As Harry's feet struck the sidewalk he remembered his character
as a wounded man and tried to totter up the steps in a realistic
fashion.
In the "Blade" building the press was rumbling busily as the inside
pages of the paper were being run off.
Mr. Pollock, all alone in the editorial part of the plant, looked
up in astonishment as the ghastly-hued Dodge and Bayliss appeared.
The editor's feeling turned to consternation when he saw Hazelton's
seemingly pitiable condition.
"Hazelton, what can have happened?" gasped the editor, leaping
to his feet.
"Take me into another room!" pleaded Harry. "You two fellows,"
indicating Bert and his chum, "stay out here."
Though he didn't guess the answer, Mr. Pollock led young Hazelton
into the mailing room and turned on the light there.
"Sh-h-h!" warned Hazelton, his face lighting up impishly. "Dodge
and Bayliss tried to play a trick on Dick & Co. and Prescott has
turned the laugh on them."
"But these blood-stained bandages?" questioned the astounded editor.
"It's stuff that is used for coloring strawberry ice cream. Dick
bought it at a store. Looks like the real thing, doesn't it?"
"It looked real enough to give me a bad turn," admitted the editor
dryly.
Then, in whispers, Harry told the story as rapidly as he could.
Mr. Pollock's face took on a broader grin as he listened.
"I'd hate to have young Prescott for my enemy," confessed the
"Blade's" editor. "But this is the most atrocious joke I've ever
known him to put up."
"We had to put a stop to Dodge and Bayliss," Harry smiled. "Perhaps
you'd better go back to Dodge and Bayliss, now---but please don't
let 'em know that it's all a joke."
"I won't spoil the thing," promised the editor, and hastened out.
"I'll be with you in just a minute, gentlemen," nodded Mr. Pollock
to Dodge and Bayliss, as he entered the editorial room, then sprang
into the telephone closet, closing the door after him.
Mr. Pollock telephoned the sheriff of the county, and also the
officer in charge at the Gridley police station, giving the officials
a hint of the joke at the second lake, so they wouldn't rush away
on a fool's errand in case the wild story reached their ears.
"Now I'll listen to what you two may have to tell me," announced
Mr. Pollock, coming out of the telephone closet. "Then I'll have
to ask you to hurry away, as Hazelton will have to be attended
to and many things done. Talk fast, if you please."
Dodge and Bayliss poured out what they knew of the night's business.
"And how did you two happen to be there?" inquired Mr. Pollock.
"Oh, we---we---we were touring in that part of the country, and
were fixing a break-down when Hazelton came running up," stammered
Bert Dodge.
"It was fortunate, indeed, for Hazelton, that you had that break-down,"
replied the editor. Then his manner showed Dodge and Bayliss
that it was time for them to go. Both were glad to get out of
the "Blade" office, for they feared to stand too much questioning
from one as keen as the newspaper man.
CHAPTER XXI
REAL NEWS AND "PUNK HEROES"
"Bayliss, no matter what happens," whispered Dodge, as the two
young men climbed into the car outside, "don't you ever let it
be found out that we went to the camp of Dick & Co. to play a
joke on Prescott and the others. The awful way this night's work
has turned out would make the town too hot for us."
"Don't you be afraid of my becoming loose-tongued," chattered
Bayliss. "Ugh! I don't believe I'll ever want to talk to anyone
again. Bert, do you really believe that all of the fellows but
Hazelton were really wiped out?"
"They---they must have been," gasped Dodge.
"It's fearful!"
"It is," Dodge assented, as he threw on the speed. "I never liked
Prescott, but to-night's awful work is something that I'd have
been willing to have saved him from if there had been a way to
do it.
"Which way are you heading?" asked Bayliss suddenly.
"To Dr. Bentley's. If he's at home, I want to hustle him to the
'Blade' office. I believe he's the Hazelton family's physician.
Bayliss, any sign of attention to Hazelton on our part will look
well for us at a time when we're likely to be asked many questions
about how we came to be so near to their camp. We've got to be
mighty careful, or in the excitement that will follow the awful
fate of Prescott and his friends the town might grow so hot for
us that we'd be all but lynched. Now, no one can prove that we
weren't on a trip, and that our car broke down on the road; that
we heard the fire of rifles, and the next thing we knew Hazelton,
badly wounded, came rushing up to us, and that we brought him
in as fast as we could. Now, let's make up a story as to just
what trip we were taking when we broke down on the road a mile
from their camp."
The two plotters quickly planned out their story.
"Here's Dr. Bentley's office," said Dodge, as they turned a corner.
"You stay in the car, Bayliss. I can attend to this better."
So Dodge was soon pouring a tale of woe and tragedy up through
the night speaking tube into the astounded, half-suspicious ears
of Dr. Bentley.
Then Bert Dodge drove with Bayliss to the latter's home, after
which Bert quakingly drove the car around to his own home, where
he roused his father to hear the strange news. Nor was it long
ere the whole Dodge family was listening, awe struck.
In the meantime Hazelton was exhibiting to Mr. Pollock, with many
a chuckle, the "Quaker" rifle that he had brought into the office
wrapped in his jacket. Harry also displayed the bottle of strawberry
coloring for ice cream that had supplied the color to his head
bandage.
Ting-a-ling! rang the telephone. It was Dr. Bentley on the wire,
inquiring whether Dodge had been guilty of a hoax in calling him
up to go to the "Blade" office in order to attend Hazelton.
With many a chuckle Mr. Pollock told Dr. Bentley, under injunction
of secrecy, the story of the night's doings. When Dr. Bentley
heard the story of this latest "outrage" by Dick & Co. he laughed
heartily. "Well, well," he mused, "what will Dick and his friends
be up to next?"
"Hazelton," ordered Mr. Pollock, "you take the old overcoats you'll
find in that closet and arrange them on top of one of these long
tables. Get some sleep. I'll call you in time for you to get
word to the parents of Dick & Co. after six in the morning. As
for me, I shall expect to get no sleep until I've put this big
news story in shape."
Yet that morning's issue of the "Blade" didn't contain a word
on the subject. Mr. Pollock was wise enough to write the story,
then save it for appearance at the proper time.
By six o'clock Harry was aroused. A closed cab, its driver pledged
to secrecy, was at the door to carry Harry on his rounds. He
visited the parents of all the members of Dick & Co., informing
them that the story they might soon hear was not based on any
facts that need alarm them.
Before seven o'clock that morning Dodge and Bayliss, wild-eyed
and haggard looking, met at Bert's home. Mr. Dodge took them,
soon after, down onto Main Street with him.
The first public whisper of the news sent it flying fast over
Gridley.
By nine o'clock Main Street was unwontedly crowded. Groups of
men, women and young people everywhere discussed the "awful news."
Those who had been privileged to hear Dodge and Bayliss tell
the story were looked upon as most interesting people.
Of course a few Gridleyites tried to find the parents of the "slain"
boys and express their sympathy, but the parents of the members
of Dick & Co., strangely enough, could not be found.
With many repetitions of the story, Dodge and Bayliss almost
unintentionally began to picture themselves as heroes, who had risked
their lives in order to bring the single survivor away to safety.
"There's some good in young Dodge and Bayliss, after all," was
a not infrequent comment that morning.
"It must have taken real nerve, anyway, for them to make that
thrilling rescue of Hazelton," said others.
So Dodge and Bayliss, much to their astonishment and not a little
to their delight, found themselves somewhat in the hero class.
Their exhausted, wild-eyed, haggard appearance gave more color
to the story of the harrowing experience they claimed to have
undergone in rescuing Hazelton from that awful field of carnage
up by the second lake.
At ten o'clock Mr. Pollock's automobile drew up at the rear door
of the "Blade" building. Hazelton slipped out, crouching low
in the car, that he might not be seen and recognized, while Mr.
Pollock and his star reporter, Len Spencer, openly entered and
drove away. They made straight for the wilderness camp of Dick
& Co. Once out of the town Harry rose to a comfortable seat,
and made up some of his lost sleep during the trip.
One thing that puzzled the excited citizens of Gridley was the
placid way in which the chief of police and the sheriff of the
county appeared to take the sad news.
Mr. Pollock drove his car as close to camp as he could, after
which he and his companions hurried over the uneven ground until
they came upon five high school boys seated outside.
"How did it all work out, Harry?" shouted Dick, leaping up as
soon as he saw his approaching comrade.
"It is working in great shape, you young scoundrel!" roared Editor
Pollock, gripping Dick Prescott's hand. "And the yarn is going
to make the biggest and best midsummer sensation that the 'Blade'
has ever had!"
Mr. Pollock and Len Spencer remained at camp for something like
an hour and a half, enjoying a trout luncheon before they left.
It was four o'clock in the afternoon when editor and reporter
reached the "Blade" office.
At five o'clock the "Blade" put out a bulletin, around which a
crowd collected in no time. The crowd grew to such proportions
that the policeman on the beat tried in vain to make it "move
on."
That bulletin read:
"Lake Tragedy All a Tremendous Hoax: Read the 'Blade's' six o'clock
extra."
At a few minutes before six o'clock Len Spencer began to arrange
one of the street windows of the "Blade" office.
First of all, from hooks, he suspended Dodge and Bayliss' "ghosts"
of the night before.
"What does that mean?" asked the wondering onlookers.
Then an unexploded bomb bearing the trademark of the Sploderite
Company was put in the window. It was followed by the _siren_ whistle
that Bayliss had dropped in his flight. Then four "Quaker" wooden
guns, a red-stained bandage and a partly used bottle of strawberry
ice cream coloring appeared.
Promptly at six o'clock newsboys appeared on the street with the
exciting announcement:
"Extree! Extree 'Bla-ade'! All about Dick & Co.'s latest! The
best joke of the season!"
Papers went off like hot cakes. Before the evening was over more
than two thousand copies of that edition had been sold. Many
more than two thousand people had crowded to the "Blade's" show
window to catch a glimpse of the exhibits described in the rollicking
news story.
"Pshaw! Dodge and Bayliss, the heroes!" shouted one man in the
crowd, as he ran his eye through the story.
"Punk heroes!" answered someone else in the crowd.
The story was cleverly told. Dodge and Bayliss were not mentioned
by name, but described only as a pair of amateur jokers whose
plans had miscarried. Yet the plain, unvarnished story cast complete
ridicule over Bert and his friend.
While the fever of the reading crowd was at its height someone
shouted:
"Here they come now!"
Bert and Bayliss had just driven around the corner in the car.
During the last three hours both had slept at Bert's, but now
they were out and abroad again in order to hear the latest
developments.
Suddenly a hush fell over the crowd. Bert and Bayliss were allowed
to drive in silence to the curb.
Then, just as suddenly, a dozen men leaped at the car, dragging
both youths to the sidewalk.
"Wha-a-at's wrong?" faltered Bert Dodge.
"We'll soon show you!" came the jeering answer of the captors.
Then a mighty shout of derision went up from the crowd.
CHAPTER XXII
TOM TELLS THE BIG SECRET
"Take 'em to the horse trough!" roared more than one voice.
So Dodge and Bayliss, the centre---of a jeering, resolute crowd,
were dragged down the street a short distance. The crowd swelled
in numbers.
"Stand Dodge on the edge of the trough, and make him read the
paper!" shouted one man.
That was accordingly done. Bert was shaking so that he had to
be supported in the place chosen for him.
Bayliss was whimpering in abject terror.
"Now, read this in the 'Blade,' Dodge," ordered a tormentor, shoving
a paper forward. "Read it aloud."
Bert began, in a wavering voice.
"Louder!" yelled a score of voices from different points in the
crowd.
Bert tried to obey, but his voice was shaky.
However, he read the article through to the end, while the crowd
waited ominously.
"Heroes, weren't you?" jeered many voices when white-faced Bert
had finished the reading.
"Duck him!" came the answer.
Bert was well splashed in the water of the trough. Then Bayliss
shared the same fate.
"Now---git! Travel fast---both of you!" came the order.
Nor did Bert or Bayliss need any further commands. Frightened
as they were, they nevertheless summoned the strength to run
desperately. No one struck them, even in fun. Only jeers assailed
them. Neither boy made any effort to get back to the automobile, but
both kept on until they had turned a corner and vanished from
sight.
"Pity we didn't have some rifle fire to tie to their coat tails,"
laughed one citizen. For the "Blade" had made it plain that
firecrackers, exploded in packs, had provided the sounds of gun fire
up at the camp on the second lake.
"Oh, we'll make somebody sweat for this outrage!" quivered Bert,
his face dark and scowling, as he and Bayliss slowed up on a quiet
side street. "There are laws in this land! We might even get
damages out of someone!"
"I feel as if I had collected about all the damage I want for
a few days," muttered Bayliss, gazing down ruefully at his drenched
clothing and water-logged shoes.
"I wonder who'll take this car home?" asked one of the men in
front of the "Blade" office.
"Where is my son?" inquired Mr. Dodge, pushing his way through
the crowd without any suspicion of what had lately happened.
"Isn't my son here to take this car home?"
"I doubt if he'll come back," replied one man, with a twinkle
in his eyes.
"'Blade'? Extree 'Blade'?" demanded a newsboy, holding out a paper.
"Better take one, Mr. Dodge," advised a man in the crowd. "Mighty
interesting reading in this extra!"
Almost mechanically the banker paid for a paper, folded it, then
stepped into the automobile.
On his arrival home, and after having turned the car over to his
chauffeur, Mr. Dodge went to his library, despite the fact that
he knew his dinner was waiting.
There he spread out the extra "Blade" on a table and began to
read the featured news story.
As he read the elder Dodge flushed deeply. Though the names of
Bert and Bayliss were not mentioned, he had no difficulty in
connecting them with the ludicrous story.
Turning, Mr. Dodge rang. A man servant answered.
"Mrs. Dodge wishes to know, sir, when you are coming to dinner,"
said the man.
"Ask Mrs. Dodge, from me kindly to let the dinner go on, and say
that I am busy, now, but will come to the table as soon as I am
at leisure. Then ask Mr. Bert to come here to me at once."
Bert entered. He had removed his wet garments, and put on fresh
clothing. He had been at dinner when interrupted by his father's
message.
"This extraordinary story in the 'Blade' refers to you, does it
not?" inquired the banker, shoving the paper before the young
man.
"Yes, sir," Bert admitted sulkily.
"You and your friend, Bayliss, have been making fools of yourselves,
have you?"
"No, sir," cried Bert. "We were made fools of by others."
"When it comes to making a fool of yourself, Bert, no one else
is swift enough to get ahead of you," replied his father witheringly.
"So, you have succeeded in making the entire family objects of
ridicule once more? I had hoped that that sort of thing had ceased
when I sent you away to a private school."
"We were imposed on," flushed Bert angrily. "Nor has the outrage
stopped there. Bayliss and I were seized in front of the 'Blade'
office, and taken over to the horse trough and ducked!"
"Was it done thoroughly?" inquired the banker ironically.
"A thorough ducking?" gasped his son and heir. "I should say
it was thorough, sir!"
"Then I wish that the incident would make sufficient impression
on you to last you a few days," went on Mr. Dodge bitterly. "I
doubt it, however."
"Father, I want you to back me in having some of my assailants
arrested for that ducking!"
"I shall do nothing of the sort," rejoined the banker. "The ridicule
that this affair has brought upon my family has gone far enough
already. You are my son, but a most foolish one, if not worse,
and I feel that I am under obligations to the men or boys who
carried you to the horse trough and endeavored to cure you of
some of your folly."
"I had hoped, sir, that you would stand back of your own son better
than that. I am positive that Mr. Bayliss will not allow the
outrage to pass unnoticed. I believe that Mr. Bayliss will take
stern measures to avenge the great insult to his son."
"What Mr. Bayliss may do is Mr. Bayliss' affair, not mine," replied
the banker coolly. "Is young Bayliss in this house at present?"
"Yes, sir; he's at the dinner table."
"Then I won't urge you to be inhospitable, Bert, let him finish
his dinner in peace. After dinner, however, the sooner young
Bayliss returns to his home, or at least, goes away from here,
the better I shall be pleased. As for you, young man, I have
had enough of your actions. I have a nice, and very quiet, summer
place in mind where I am going to send you to-morrow. You will
stay there, too, unless you wish to incur my severe displeasure.
I will tell you about your new plans for the summer after breakfast
to-morrow, young man."
"You're always hard on me," grumbled Bert sullenly. "But what
do you think about Dick Prescott and his friends?"
"As for young Prescott," replied the banker, "he is altogether
above your class, Bert. You should leave him severely alone.
Don't allow yourself to attempt anything against Prescott, Reade,
Darrin, or any of that crowd. You will find that any one of them
has too much brains for you to hope to cope with. I repeat that
you are not at all in their class as to brains, and it is quite
time that you recognize the fact. Now, you may return to your
dinner. Be good enough to tell your mother that I will be at
table within fifteen minutes. Present my apologies to your mother
for not having been more prompt. Now---go!"
Bert Dodge left his father with the feeling that he resembled
an unjustly whipped dog.
"So I've got to go away and rusticate somewhere for the summer,
have I?" wondered Bert angrily. "And all on account of such a
gang of muckers as the fellows who call themselves Dick & Co.!"
Nor did young Bayliss fare any better on his return home that
night. He, too, was ordered away for the remainder of the summer
by his father, who had just returned from abroad, nor was he allowed
to accompany Bert Dodge.
What of Dick & Co. during all this time?
They had gone away on an avowed fishing trip and they were making
the most of it.
Harry Hazelton attended to perch fishing, when any of those fish
were wanted. Tom Reade and Dan made the most of the black bass
sport, while Dick, with Dave and Greg as under-studies, went after
trout.
Several trips were made down to the St. Clair Lake House, and
on each occasion large quantities of bass and trout were sold
to the proprietor. He took all their offerings.
As a result of the sales of trout and bass some substantial money
orders were forwarded to the elder Prescott, to be cashed by Dick
on his return.
One afternoon Dick, who had gone trout fishing alone, returned
with so small a string of the speckled ones that some of Tom's
bass had to be added to the supper that night.
"I've been doing rather an unsportsmanlike thing, I fear," admitted
Dick.
"Then 'fess up!" ordered Tom Reade.
"The trout are beginning to bite poorly," Prescott went on. "The
fact is, we've all but cleaned up the stream."
"There must be a few hundred pounds left there yet," guessed Dave.
"There may be, and I hope there are," Prescott went on, "but I've
decided not to take any more trout out of the stream this year.
Whatever are now left in the stream we must leave for next summer.
No good sportsman would ever deplete a stream of all its trout."
"The bass are still biting fairly well," mused Tom aloud. "However,
they're not as easy to catch as they were. Had we better leave
the bass alone, also?"
"We might take out what bass we want to eat," Dick suggested,
"but not attempt to catch any more than that this summer."
"Too bad," muttered Tom. "I was in hopes that we were going to
put by a big stake in the bank, to be divided later on."
"We already have money enough for our purpose," Dick suggested.
"We have sufficient funds to take us all away on a fine jaunt
during August, and these are the last days of July, now.
"I hate to go away from this lake," muttered Dave.
"It has been very pleasant here," Prescott agreed, "and if the
rest of you vote for it, I'll agree to put in the rest of our
summer vacation hereabouts."
"No," dissented Tom. "I reckon change of scene and air is as
good for us as it is for other folks."
"Tom wants to get where he can find more bass fishing," Greg laughed.
"I've had enough of that sport to last me for one summer," retorted
Reade.
The day was closing in a gorgeous sunset. In fifteen minutes
more the sun would be down, but there would still be left the
long July twilight.
"Did any of you ever see a more beautiful summer day than this
has been?" asked Harry Hazelton presently.
"I haven't anything to offer in the line of such experience,"
Tom confessed.
"There are some days," Hazelton went on half dreamily, "that somehow
makes a fellow feel thoroughly contented with himself."
"That's the way I feel to-night," Tom admitted, with an indolent air.
"I'd be contented if I knew one thing, and I suspect that you
fellows might be able to tell me, if you only would."
None noticed the twinkle in Prescott's eyes as he spoke.
"I'll offer!" cried Tom good-humoredly. "If it's anything I can
tell you, I'll do it."
"S-t-u-n-g!" spelled Dick slowly.
Tom suddenly sat up, glaring suspiciously at his chum.
"Now, what have I let myself in for?" demanded Reade.
"You gave your word you'd tell me, if you could, Tom," Dick went
on, "and no one else can tell me nearly as well as you can. What
I want to know is this: What happened to you, that night a few
weeks ago, when you broke a bottle under my window, and then started
down the street as fast as you could go with a crowd of Gridley
folks behind you?"
"You promised!" chorused the other four boys.
"Well, if that isn't a low-down way to dig out of me what is purely
my own business!" exclaimed Tom Reade, with a scowl.
Nevertheless Tom, like the other members of Dick & Co., had a
high idea of the sacredness of his word, so, after a sigh, he
went on:
"When I ran away from your window, Dick, with that pack of people
behind me, I dashed into a full-fledged scrape that was none of
mine. You know that Mr. Ritchie, whom some of the Central Grammar
boys plague so fearfully, just because he always gets so mad and
makes such threats against all boys in general?
"Well, it seems that, while I was helping Timmy Finbrink out of
his difficulties, and afterwards tried to fool you with the fake
window-breaking, some of the Central fellows had been down at
Ritchie's playing tick-tack on one of his front windows. Tick-tack
is a stupid game, and it got me into a mess that night.
"It seems that Mr. Ritchie had already been bothered that evening
before the Central fellows began, and he had telephoned to a friend
down the street who had two college boys visiting him. So the
friend and the two college fellows went out, on their way to Mr.
Ritchie's. Then he heard the tapping on his window again, and
Mr. Ritchie ran out through the front door. The fellows who had
been doing the trick had just time to drop behind a flower bed.
"I had shaken off the crowd that started after me from Main Street,
and had turned the corner down that side street. As luck would
have it, I had just passed the Ritchie gate when Mr. Ritchie opened
his front door. He thought I was the offender, and started after
me, yelling to me to stop. Just for the exercise I kept on running,
though not so fast, for I wanted to see how far Mr. Ritchie would
chase me. And then I ran straight into the friend and the two
college boys.
"Those college boys tried to collar me. I was foolish enough
to stop and tackle. I had one of them on his back, and was doing
nicely with the other, when the two men joined in. I was down
and being held hard, while Mr. Ritchie was threatening to have
me sent to jail for life---for something I hadn't done, mind you!
"As I ran by the Ritchie yard I saw the three Central Grammar
School boys hiding behind the flower bed. It made me mad, I suppose,
to think that college boys, who aren't real men, anyway, should
stoop so low as to try to catch a lot of grammar school prankers,
so I fought back at my captors with some vim. Of course I got
the worst of it, including the bruise on my cheek, but I mussed
those two college boys up a bit, too. Then, when I got on my
feet, the two college boys still holding me, I demanded virtuously
to know what it was all about. Mr. Ritchie explained hot-headedly.
I told him I could prove that I had just come from Main Street,
but my captors didn't let go of me until we came to Mr. Ritchie's.
Then I saw at a glance that the Central fellows had made a good
get-away, so then I told Mr. Ritchie how the trick had been done
against him. I showed him just how the string had been rigged,
and pointed out the spot where the Central boys had flopped down
behind the flower bed. Their footprints were there in the soil
to show it. By this time all hands were ready to believe that
a high school senior hadn't been up to such baby stuff, and Mr.
Ritchie apologized to me. I was pretty stiff about it, though,
and told Mr. Ritchie that I would consult with my parents before
I'd decide to let such an outrageous assault pass without making
trouble for my assailants."
"What did your folks say about it?" pressed Danny Grin eagerly.
"Dalzell, aren't you the little innocent?" asked Reade, with
good-humored scorn. "Of course I never said anything to my folks
about such a foolish adventure as that. But I'll wager that I left
Mr. Ritchie worried for just the next few days. Now, you fellows
know the whole yarn---and I don't think much of Dick's way of
buncoing me out of it, either."
"Don't all turn at once," said Dave in a very low tone, "but,
behind you, through the fork in the cleft rock, the Man with the
Haunting Face is staring this way. Be careful, and we may-----"
But, as if shot from spring guns, all five of the others were
up on their feet and running fast toward that strange man who
had furnished their lake mystery without solving it.
CHAPTER XXIII
"FOUR OF US ARE PIN-HEADS!"
"Oh, you fellows have spoiled it!" groaned Dave as he joined last
of all in the chase.
From the tent to the cleft rock was perhaps a hundred and twenty
yards.
For such sprinters as these members of the Gridley High School
eleven it did not require much time to cover the distance. Yet,
by the time that Danny Grin, in the lead, had reached the further
side of the rock there was no sign of the presence of the Man
with the Haunting Face.
"You dreamed it, Dave," charged Greg Holmes.
"No, I didn't, either," muttered Darrin, joining the group of
puzzled youngsters. "I saw the face as plainly and positively
as I see any of your faces."
"It's hard to believe that," muttered Tom, shaking his head.
"I was wide awake, and my eyesight is good," Darry insisted.
"Then where has your man gone?" asked Dick. "If he had run to
any point near here we would have found him."
Dave Darrin began to pry about, looking for some concealed opening
near the base of the cleft, rock. He explored diligently, but
could find no such clue as he had hoped.
"Nonsense! I'm going back to camp," declared Tom Reade.
"So'm I," Hazelton agreed.
"Dave can't have been mistaken," offered Greg.
"Thank you for one trusting soul," said Dave gratefully.
"But one thing I do know," Greg went on.
"What?" asked Darry.
"Even if our strange fellow was here, he is here no longer, and
moreover, he has succeeded in getting away without leaving any
trace," young Holmes continued. "So I'm going to join the delegation
that returns to camp."
Only Dick and Dave were left standing there by the cleft rock.
The sun had sunk below the horizon, but the light was still strong.
"If you fellows had taken it easily, as I asked," complained Dave,
"we might have gotten hold of that elusive chap. To me he looked
hungry. I thought he was eyeing our camp longingly, as though
he'd like to stroll down and ask us for food. But that startling
charge of the light brigade must have bewildered or frightened
him---and so he went up in smoke, as he has always done when we've
sighted him.
"It wouldn't surprise me if we could find which way he has gone,"
whispered Prescott.
"What do you mean?"
"Look where I'm pointing with the toe of my boot," Dick went on.
"I'm looking."
"Do you see anything?"
"The earth."
"Look harder!"
Down went Darry to his knees.
"Look out," warned Dick, "or you'll obliterate it."
"And I was bragging of my good eyesight," grunted Darry. "Why,
this is a footprint, and none of our crowd saw it."
"Besides, it's the print of a bare foot," Prescott went on. "You
see the way in which it is pointing?"
"Yes; toward that patch of low bushes yonder. But our chap couldn't
have run through those low bushes, or we'd have seen him."
"Yes; if he had been holding himself erect."
"Or even had he crouched and run," Dave affirmed.
"Dave Darrin, you've played baseball, if my recollection serves
me correctly."
"Of course."
"Did you ever slide for a base?"
"What-----"
"Or see anyone else slide for base?"
"Then our man-----"
"He held himself low and ran as far as the bushes," Dick went
on. "Then he fell and slid for it through the low bushes. See,
here's the second print of a bare foot, and the direction is the
same."
"Don't tell our mutton-head chums about it," Darrin begged. "Let's
follow it up ourselves."
"All right," nodded Dick; "but if we find our fellow, don't let
him suspect that we've reached his hiding place and know it.
We'll just see what we can find out, and not give ourselves away."
"Go ahead," begged Darry.
"Remember, I'm not certain that we can find the fellow's hiding
place before dark. It may be some distance from here. We'll
try, though, and hope for luck."
Dick sauntered easily along in the direction indicated by the
two footprints.
As they entered the patch of low bushes both boys noted the fact
that the ground had been slightly disturbed, as it might have
been by the sliding of a human body over it.
Dick, whose eyes were keener, easily followed the marks on the
ground. Indeed, he did so without appearing to pay much heed
to the earth under his feet.
Then the trailers passed three trees, behind which the escaping
man might have found good cover.
A hundred yards further on Dave and Dick entered the edge of a
grove of trees. Here there were also several rather thick tangles
of brush and bush.
Well inside of one clump Dave, with a start, fancied he saw something
that looked like a wall woven of green leaves. But Dick was trudging
on ahead. Prescott continued in the lead for another quarter
of a mile before he turned.
"You passed the one real sign," murmured Darry at last.
"I know I did," agreed Dick, "and we're going back wide of that
place. You mean the jungle where you saw a bit of what looked
like the brush-woven wall of a bush hut?"
"Yes," assented Darrin.
"It's a well-hidden place," declared Dick, "and I don't so much
wonder that we didn't find it before. But now we'll go back to
camp."
"And what next?"
"I don't know," Prescott confessed, looking puzzled. "We really
haven't any right to pounce on the man unless we catch him doing
something. Anyone has a right to lead the wild life in the woods,
unless he's a criminal or a lunatic."
"My vote is that our chap is a lunatic," suggested Darry.
"If he is, then he's a harmless one, anyway. Let's go back, by
a roundabout way, and tell the fellows."
"There are four pin-heads in this camp," was Tom Reade's decision,
when he heard the report brought back by the others. "Only two
of us have brains enough to see anything that's written right
on the face of the earth."
"But what are we going to do about our man?" asked Greg.
"That's what we must figure out," Dick replied. "I don't see
that we can do anything except send word to the authorities down
in the village, and let them act as they see fit."
"What authorities are there in the village?" Dave inquired.
"I don't know. That we'll have to find out. We-----"
Dick paused suddenly, listening keenly.
"Do you fellows hear that?" he whispered.
"I hear a rumble of wheels off in the distance," replied Greg.
"The air is so wonderfully still that sound carries a long way
this evening."
Dick ran into the tent, returning with an envelope and a pad of
paper.
"Come along, Dave," Dick requested. "And you'd better bring Tom's
flashlight. It will be dark before we get back."
The battery of the flashlight having had a good rest, now furnished
an excellent light again.
As the two chums set off at a trot Greg inquired:
"Now what are that pair up to?"
"Being one of the four pin-heads belonging to this outfit," Tom
made solemn reply, "I can only guess."
"Then what's your guess?" quizzed Danny Grin.
"From the sound that wagon makes rolling over the rough road,"
Tom answered, "I judge that it's headed for the village. If it
is, Dick is going to send in a note by the driver, and thus save
one or two of us the tiresome sixteen-mile round trip."
Which proved to be a very correct guess, for Prescott and Darrin,
returning three quarters of an hour later, informed the others
that Dick had halted the driver, asking the farmer to wait while
the note was being written.
"I sent the note to the post-master," Dick. went on. "If he
and the other folks in the village take enough interest in the
matter, I imagine a constable will be sent up to-morrow."
"Perhaps to-night," hinted Dalzell.
"If you were a constable," asked Tom, "would you want to be pulled
out of your bed and sent on such a trip in the night time?"
"I'll tell you one thing that we fellows want to do," hinted Darrin,
a few minutes later. "When we go to bed we want to take pains
to leave some food where it can be easily borrowed by our man
of mystery. I've an idea that he has been making night trips
down here once in a while to obtain something to eat."
"Two or three times I've thought I missed food in the morning,"
nodded Greg. "Yet, if our man has been getting all his food here,
then he is a very light eater."
"And welcome to the little he borrowed," Dick finished.
"Drowsiness is overcoming curiosity for me," yawned Reade, as
he rose and strolled toward the tent. "Any of you other fellows
going to turn in?"
"I will," yawned Dalzell, "if you'll permit me to sleep in the
same tent with you."
Fifteen minutes later all of the high school boys were sound asleep.
They all dreamed that night of the Man with the Haunting Face.
CHAPTER XXIV
CONCLUSION
"Where's that man you wanted us to look at?" demanded a farmer
whose trousers were tucked into his boots.
It was about ten o'clock the next forenoon when this man, accompanied
by another man with the same kind of boottops, strode into the
camp of Dick & Co.
"Are you a constable from the village, sir?" inquired young Prescott.
"No; we haven't any constable in the village," replied the farmer,
chewing at a straw. "I'm the Overseer of the Poor."
"We'll take you to where we think the man is hiding," Dick replied.
"Tom and Dave, suppose you two hurry ahead of us, around the
woods, and stand where you can head our man of mystery off in
case he tries to run the other way. Dave knows where the place is."
Reade and Darrin promptly departed.
"We can start in two or three minutes from now, after they get
in position, if that suits you, sir," Dick suggested.
"Suits me," nodded the Overseer of the Poor. "I'm in no great
hurry. Snug camp you boys have here."
"We've enjoyed ourselves greatly," Dick admitted.
"Going to stay here long?"
"No, sir; we're due back in Gridley soon."
After a little more chat Dick stated that he believed it was time
to go forward to the hut in the woods.
He and Greg went, accompanied by the two farmers. All four trod
stealthily. Prescott, in advance, went straight to the bushes
that surrounded the brush hut. Still in the lead, Dick, found
the doorway, screened by a tattered blanket, pushed it aside and
peered in.
On the floor of earth lay the Man with the Haunting Face. He
was so still that at first Dick thought him dead. Dick motioned
to the others to come forward.
"Humph!" grunted the Overseer of the Poor. "That's Ed Hoskins,
who lives over Pelham way."
At sound of the voice the sleeping man quivered, opened his eyes,
then, with a scream, sat up, trembling violently.
"You've got me!" he screamed. "You've found me---and I'm not
yet fit to go!"
Dick stepped aside to let the farmers in, while Darrin and Reade
approached the spot at a run.
"Keep quiet, Hoskins," ordered the Overseer of the Poor. "Quiet,
man; I tell you!"
"Oh, I didn't mean to do it!" moaned the unhappy captive. "I
didn't mean to do it, I tell you! And now I must lose my life
before I'm fit to go."
"'Touched' here," murmured Prescott, tapping his forehead.
"What are you making such a fuss about, Ed Hoskins?" demanded
the Overseer of the Poor.
"I never meant to harm my wife!" screamed Hoskins in an agony
of fear. "We had had words, and I meant nothing but to push her
aside so I could pass. But she fell downstairs. It wasn't my
fault that her neck was broken!"
"Whose neck was broken?" demanded the farmer.
"My wife's. But I never meant to do it."
"Humph!" remarked the Overseer of the Poor. "If your wife broke
her neck, Ed Hoskins, she doesn't know it yet. She's doing some
pretty husky work. She's the hired help over at St. Ingram's.
She went there to work after you went away."
"Don't try to fool me," trembled Hoskins. "Don't! My wife's
dead, and now I've got to go and pay the penalty of a crime I
never meant to commit."
"What you need, Ed," observed the Overseer of the Poor, "is a
bath, a couple of square meals, a little daylight, and a freight
load of common horse sense. Come out of this place. We'll take
you to your wife, and you'll find that she's very much alive,
and heart-broken over your running away from her. She's fretting
because she thinks her own conduct made you run away from her."
"I guess we don't belong here," murmured Dick to his chums. "Suppose
we hurry down to the camp."
Five minutes later the two farmers also reached camp, holding
Hoskins between them.
"It all shows what a man's fool way of reasoning---or, rather,
not reasoning---can bring him to," explained the Overseer of the
Poor in a low voice to the boys. "Ed Hoskins isn't exactly one
of life's heavyweights, but he was always a good enough fellow,
and industrious. He married a good-hearted, simple-minded girl,
and they were mighty devoted to each other. But, back the last
of May, Ed and his wife had a little bit of a tiff. They were
standing near the top of the stairs in their house. Ed, according
to his own story, went to push her aside so he could go downstairs,
when his wife lost her balance and fell half way down the stairs.
She fainted, I reckon, and Ed, in a great fright, thought she
had broken her neck. So he ran down the stairs past her, got
out of the house with a pair of blankets, a little food and a
hatchet, and started up this miserable road in the night time.
He says he knew he'd have to go to the electric chair some day
for his deed, but he wanted to come up here and prepare his soul
before he gave up his life. He says he got along all right until
you boys came up here on purpose to find him and run him down
for the law. He tells me that the first time some of you crossed
the lake in a canoe he rigged up some bushes to a wooden frame,
and swam, with his head inside the frame, hoping to get close
to you and hear what you had to say about him. Then, he tells
me, you moved your camp across the lake, and he knew you were
here on the law's business. He says he has known, for certain,
all along, that you'd get him sooner or later, but he couldn't
get up the strength of mind to leave here. What I told Ed about
his wife was true. She got nothing worse out of her fall than
a bruise on one elbow. Gosh! Ed's wife will be as tickled to
see him alive as he'll be to see her strong and well."
"Hoskins is a little touched in the upper story, isn't he?" Dick
asked.
"Maybe he has been lately," replied the Overseer of the Poor.
"But when he finds I haven't lied to him he'll be O.K. right
away. Ed was never too strong in his mental works, but he's a
good fellow, just the same, and he's bright enough for his
trade---blacksmith's helper. Now, I guess I'd better be going back
with him, for Ed will be all excitement and dread till he gets the
first word from his wife. Miss. Hoskins wife be terribly obliged
to you young men. I am, too, 'cause I'll be glad to see that couple
together again. They're so fond of each other that they've no
business apart. So I reckon, Master Prescott and the rest of you
young men, we'll be a-going now."
The visitors had soon left the camp behind them. The last seen
of Hoskins, he was walking with the dazed air of a man who knows
he's dreaming and is mortally afraid to wake up.
But that same day Mr. and Mrs. Hoskins were reunited and began
life anew together.
"It all goes to show," the Overseer of the Poor afterwards explained
philosophically, "what a fool a fellow is to be afraid to go
back and look at his work. It's the same spirit that makes automobile
cowards afraid to stop the machine and go back to look at the
child they've hit. Any fellow that's afraid to go back and look
at his mistake is bound to be mainly unhappy in life."
A very few days afterwards Dick & Co., still propelling the push
cart by turns, arrived in Gridley toward dark one late July evening.
They had so much to tell their relatives and friends that none
of them got to bed very early on that occasion.
However, the month of August lay before them. These boys now
planned the greatest summer vacation trip that they had ever enjoyed.
Part of the trail of this vacation lay over in Tottenville.
So, by ten o'clock the next morning, Dick Prescott, alone, hurried
up the side street on which he lived. Just as he neared the Main
Street corner he beheld a trolley car labeled "Tottenville" pass
the corner. Dick's shrill whistle rang out, but the conductor
failed to hear it.
Away raced Dick in the wake of the speeding trolley car. Down
the street for two blocks he dashed after it.
At first it looked as though the high school boy would overtake
the car. But when he saw the car turn a corner and go off on
the Tottenville road, young Prescott slowed down, panting and
wiping his perspiring face.
"Hey!" called a man standing in a group of others on the curbstone.
"Were you trying to catch that car."
"Was I trying to catch the car?" echoed Dick Prescott, his eyes
opening wide in amazement. "No, sir! I made a wager that I could
chase that car right off of Main Street! And I won the bet,"
Dick added proudly. "You all saw me do it!"
Then, while the man who had asked the question reddened under
the laughter of his companions, Prescott strolled slowly back
up Main Street to watch for the next car bearing the "Tottenville"
sign.
"Good morning, Prescott," came a greeting from Lawyer Ripley,
just then coming out of a store. "How did you young men enjoy
that collapsible canoe?"
"That canoe, sir? It made the vacation trip a perfect one. But
were you the one who sent it, Mr. Ripley?"
"Yes," assented the lawyer, "though acting as agent for another.
You remember how much Mr. Page wanted to do for you boys, after
your splendid work for him last summer? Mr. Page wanted to do
something for you this summer, and he and I hit upon the collapsible
canoe as a remembrance so simple and inexpensive that you young
men were quite likely to accept it."
"Mr. Ripley," begged Dick earnestly, "will you accept the very
best thanks of us all for that canoe? And will you please convey
our deepest gratitude to Mr. Page? We couldn't have had anything
that would have delighted us as much."
Readers of the preceding volume of this series are well aware
of the reason of Mr. Page's great gratitude to Dick & Co.
The next Tottenville car that came along had Dick Prescott for
one of its passengers.
This narrative, however, has been finished. That trolley, to
Tottenville really belongs to the next and final volume in this
series, which is published under the title, "_The High School
Boys' Training Hike; Or, Making Themselves 'Hard as Nails_."
This new story will be found to contain the full record of a most
wonderful vacation jaunt taken by six young champions of the Gridley
High School football squad.
Yet this jaunt did not consist wholly of training work, for Dick
& Co. fell in with a lot of tremendously exciting adventures.
What these were and how Dick & Co. acted under amazingly strange
circumstances will be set forth fully in that volume.