A SHOT IN TIME
Tom looked around at his chums. From the tent Jack poked his head,
having limped from his cot at the sound of Tom’s exclamation.
“Do you really think it was some sort of a ‘varmint critter?’” asked
Jack.
“Sure,” was the answer. “You can see plainly how he tramped around this
tree, and, smelling the bacon, just reared up on his hind legs, clawed
the door open, and made off with part of our provisions.”
“Well, it’s too bad the bacon is gone,” said Bert, “but this may make
good hunting for us. I’ve been wanting to get something bigger than a
fox.”
“It’s lucky the main part of our bacon is still in the original box,
with the cover nailed on, or the beast might have gone off with that,”
commented Dick.
“Yes,” agreed Tom. “We’ll have to be more careful after this, and I
guess it will be a good plan to keep the fire going more regularly.
Fire is a good thing to scare ’em off.”
“But we don’t want to scare ’em off,” said Jack. “I want to get a shot,
as soon as my leg gets better. I’ll get a bear, or something, before I
go back.”
“If they don’t get _you_,” commented Tom grimly. “Well, let’s get
supper over with, and then we’ll have a conference on that mysterious
paper.”
The meal was enjoyed, albeit they ate rather hurriedly, for they were
anxious to try to solve the puzzle. The dishes were washed by the
simple process of being put to soak in the lake.
“I’ll rinse them off with warm water in the morning,” promised Bert.
“What’s the use of being so fussy?” asked Tom. “The lake water is clean
enough.”
“But it’s cold,” spoke Bert, “and you need hot water, and soap, to get
the grease off.”
“Oh, we’re not as particular as all that,” declared Dick.
Lanterns were lighted as the dusk settled down, and then the lads
gathered in the main, or sleeping tent, around some boxes that had been
arranged in the form of a table. On it the paper Tom had found was
spread out.
“Well, what do you make of it now?” asked Bert, when he and the others
had stared at the document for some time.
“It’s a plan--a plan of the old mill,” declared Tom. “That much is
certain. See, here is the ground floor, with the main wagon entrance.
Then comes the second floor where we were, with the machinery,
mill-stones and the like. Then the third floor is shown, where there
were living rooms, evidently. That must be where the old hermit hangs
out when he’s home.”
“That part is all true enough,” said Bert, “but I don’t see where the
location of treasure is marked on here.”
“Of course not!” exclaimed Tom. “If it was you can wager Skeel or the
hermit would have had it long ago.”
“Then what good is the paper?” asked Dick.
“Well, don’t know yet,” Tom admitted frankly. “But I think it’s going
to come in useful.” And he little knew what a service that same piece
of paper was shortly to render him and his companions.
“I think it’s a sell,” declared Jack decidedly.
“I don’t,” fired back Tom quickly. “I tell you what I do think, though.
I think that this is only the beginning of a search Skeel and the
hermit have started for the hidden hoard. This is an old plan of the
mill, evidently a copy of the original, for you can see that some of
the words are spelled in the old-fashioned way, with ‘f’ for ‘s.’ And
the distances, too, instead of being in feet and inches are in chains
and links which, though they are still used by surveyors, are not in
such general use as they were in the old days.”
“Then you think that the old hermit somewhere found an original of the
old plans, and had a copy made?” asked Dick.
“I do, yes. And I think somehow our friend Skeel got in touch with him,
and secured one of the copies to work on.”
“But I can’t see the good of just a plan,” spoke Dick.
“I can only surmise, of course,” went on Tom, “but it seems to me that
what Skeel intends to do is this: He will look at the plan, and from
his knowledge of mathematics he’ll try to figure out the most likely
place for a secret chamber, where treasure would be apt to be put. That
would be more logical than digging here and there at random in the
walls, with the risk of bringing them down.”
“That’s so!” exclaimed Jack. “But what if the stuff was buried somewhere
outside the mill, Tom?”
“That’s different, of course. I don’t see any directions on this plan
for digging in the grounds about the mill. It may be that there is
another paper--a sort of map--that the hermit has, and if he doesn’t
find the fortune in the mill he’ll have a try in the grounds--the same
as others have had. But as all we have is this plan, we’ll work on
that.”
Once more they fell to studying the paper, but they could not seem to
get anywhere. The plan gave them no more clew than any blueprint of a
modern building would have done. The walls were shown, the partitions,
the location of the doors, windows, and various pieces of mechanism,
but that was all.
“Maybe those words and figures, that seem to refer to the building, are
a sort of cypher,” suggested Bert.
“Maybe,” admitted Tom. “I didn’t think of that. How do you work out one
of these cyphers, anyhow?”
“I know a couple of ways,” said Jack, and they tried his method, but
they only got a lot of meaningless words and figures, though they sat
up until nearly midnight.
“It’s no good!” exclaimed Tom regretfully. “Let’s go to bed, and have
another try to-morrow. I’m dead tired.”
They all were. So they turned in, after making a campfire blaze that
they hoped would at least glow until dawn. Nothing disturbed their
slumbers, and in the morning, after breakfast, they again began
studying the map.
They were forced to give it up, however, and Tom in desperation
exclaimed:
“We’ll just put this away for a few days, until we get another chance
to visit the mill. Then we’ll take it with us, and when we’re right on
the spot some idea may come to us that will put us on the right track.”
The others agreed that this was a good plan, and as a sort of recreation
they went for a ride in the motorboat. They fished, having fair luck,
and, having reached a large cove, not before visited, they went ashore
and cooked the dinner they had brought with them, broiling their fish
over the live coals of a campfire.
“Say, this is something like living!” exclaimed Bert, as he stretched
out on some moss, and picked his teeth.
“I should say so,” agreed Dick. “I’m glad you fellows let me come
along.”
“We’re glad to have you,” declared Tom. “Supposing we take our guns and
go off in the woods? Maybe we can have a shot at the critter who took
our bacon.”
“Sure! Come on!” exclaimed Bert.
“I’m afraid I’m not up to it,” said Jack. “My leg is just beginning
to get better, and I don’t want to strain it with walking through the
woods. I might stumble.”
“That’s so,” agreed Tom. “We’ll stay here then.”
“No, go on!” urged the injured lad. “Don’t let me hold you back. I’ll
be all right until you return.”
“I’ll stay with you,” volunteered Dick.
“No, you go along!” insisted Jack. “I’ll be all right alone. Besides, I
didn’t bring my gun, and I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have a game leg. Go
ahead.”
Thus urged, Tom and his two chums set off in the dense woods, taking
their route by a compass, so that they could more easily find their way
back.
Left to himself Jack took a comfortable position, leaned against a
stone that he had padded with leafy branches and ferns, and before he
knew it he had fallen asleep.
Meanwhile Tom and the others tramped on, looking eagerly about for some
sign of legitimate game that they could take a shot at. They roused
several foxes, for the forest was almost primitive in its wildness, but
they did not shoot the prowling creatures, as they were valueless for
food or fur.
Tom, however, saw a big, snowy owl, and, as he wanted it for a specimen
in his school den, he bowled it over.
“That’ll look great, stuffed and perched on our bookcase,” he said.
“It’ll give the place an air of wisdom.”
“It needs it badly enough,” said Bert, “with the small amount of
studying you and Jack do.”
“Get out, you traducer!” shouted Tom.
They went on for a mile or two farther, but saw nothing worth their
powder or shot, and, at Tom’s suggestion, they turned back.
“We don’t want to leave Jack alone too long,” he explained.
They thought perhaps they might meet the hermit, or Mr. Skeel and the
two cronies, but they neither saw nor heard anything.
Tom was in advance as they neared the place where they had left Jack,
and, as he came to a place where he could have a view of the motorboat
on shore, and his chum sleeping under a tree, our hero uttered an
exclamation of horror.
“What is it?” cried Bert.
“Look! That beast on the branch over Jack’s head!” whispered Tom,
hoarsely. “It’s just going to spring!”
They saw a tawny, yellow body, crouched on a limb directly over Jack,
and their chum was peacefully sleeping. The back of the beast was
toward them, but Tom had a clear view of the raised head. The tail was
twitching, and the body quivering in readiness for the leap upon the
sleeping lad.
“Shoot!” whispered Dick.
“I’m going to,” answered Tom, and, raising his rifle, he took quick aim
and pulled the trigger.
They could hear the thud of the bullet as it struck, and the next
instant, with a scream of rage and pain, the beast launched itself into
the air.