Lightning seldom strikes twice in the same place, though I have known it
to do so, and Mike Murphy was too wise to try a second shot, when there
was not one chance in a million of repeating his feat. With his loftiest
air he proposed that he and Hoke should take turns in displaying their
skill.
“I’ve made a bull’s eye,—do the same or betther and I’ll take a whack
and beat _that_,—and so it will go. Am I corrict, dochther, in me
sintiments?”
“Undoubtedly; you can’t refuse Mike’s offer, Hoke.”
The latter saw he was caught and accepted the weapon as if eager for the
test, though it need not be said it was otherwise. A vague hope stirred
him that the same exceptional success might reward his effort. He aimed
with the care and deliberation shown by Mike, and then pulled the
trigger five times in rapid succession.
“One of the bullets will be sure to land,” was his sustaining thought,
but nothing of the kind took place. Close examination by the three
showed that Hoke had not so much as grazed the trunk of the sapling.
Neither Mike nor the doctor laughed, restrained from doing so by a
chivalrous sympathy, for Hoke could not wholly hide his chagrin. Mike
went so far as to say:
“Hoke, it was a chance shot on me part, and I couldn’t do it agin in my
life time.”
“And now let us adjourn to dinner,” said the doctor; “it is later than
usual, but the folks will wait for me.”
No words could be more welcome, but the fun of the proceeding was that
the direction taken by the man showed that Hoke and Mike were both
wrong—as the former had intimated—in locating the lake. The former
grinned and the latter answered with a wink. The theme was one
concerning which it was best to say nothing.
The call at the forest home of Dr. Spellman was so similar to what has
been described that it need not be dwelt upon. Sunbeam showed her
preference for the genial Irish youth, who certainly reciprocated her
affection, as he did in the case of Nora Friestone, whom he had met the
preceding summer farther up the Kennebec. The mother was always gracious
and won the good opinion of every one with whom she was brought in
contact.
When the meal was finished, and while mother and child were busy setting
things to rights, the doctor talked with his guests. Mike made known all
that had occurred since his previous meeting with the physician. The
latter was much interested in the experience of that forenoon.
“I never saw that pile of logs, which is doubtless the remains of some
fisherman or hunter’s cabin that either was never finished or has been
allowed to fall into decay. I must add one thing, however,” said the
doctor gravely; “I don’t like the way those tramps are acting.”
“It strikes me that about the only thing they are doing is getting
scared half to death or swimming or running for life.”
“But why do they stay in this neighborhood? The hobo doesn’t take to the
woods for long, though he may hide there when the officers make it too
hot for him. What can there be in this part of the world that attracts
them?”
“They may be looking for a chance to steal from the Boy Scouts,”
suggested Hoke.
“The last persons two hobos would tackle. What chance would they have
against twenty vigorous, active, fearless youths, who despite their
peaceful principles are yearning for stirring adventure?”
“Then it must be you, doctor, that they have designs upon.”
“I half suspect as much; I have been considerate to them despite their
insolence, more so than I shall be again if they annoy us further.”
Turning upon the youths, Dr. Spellman asked a question that fairly took
away the breath of the two Boy Scouts.
“Has either of you seen Uncle Elk and those tramps together?”
Hoke was not sure he understood the question. Mike was shocked.
“Why should they be togither, docther, unless the spalpeens called at
his cabin for food? Ye know his latchstring is always out, but I’ve
niver known of their being in his company.”
“Didn’t you hear them laughing or talking last night, along shore, and
not far from this spot?”
“Be the same token I heerd two men, but they were not the tramps.”
“How do you know that?”
“Uncle Elk told me so.”
There was reproof in Mike’s tones, for he resented the slightest
reflection upon the hermit, whom he held in high regard. The doctor made
no reply to the words of the youth, but smoked his cigar hard and seemed
to be turning over something in his mind that was of a displeasing
nature.
Mike knew of course of the unaccountable antipathy that Uncle Elk showed
toward the physician who was spending his outing in this part of Maine.
Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes were as much mystified as the Irish
youth, and the doctor himself claimed to have no theory that would
account for it. The last remark of the medical man sounded as if he
reciprocated the dislike of the hermit. Not only that but doubtless he
mistrusted him.
“You don’t seem any nearer the solution of the tramps’ behavior
yesterday than you were at the time, and it looks to me as if you will
have to wait until Uncle Elk is ready to tell you.”
“There saams no ither ch’ice, docther, though I’m riddy to make another
try for the same. Will ye jine us?”
“No; there will be danger of Uncle Elk and me meeting, and I am no more
anxious for it than he is. I don’t believe you will learn anything.”
“We sha’n’t by standing here, as Mickey Lanigan said whin the bull was
charging down upon him—whisht! what have we now?”
Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes walked out of the wood and smilingly
made the Boy Scout salute.
“Just in time not to be too late for dinner,” was the warm greeting of
Dr. Spellman, as he shook hands with the lads. They protested that they
could not permit his wife to bother with preparing a meal, when the
regular one had been finished a short time before, but the hospitable
host would not listen, and I am compelled to say the objections of the
guests were not very vigorous. All entered and crowded themselves as
best they could into the limited space.
As the two ate, Mike and Hoke told them of their experience at the
western end of the lake earlier in the day, while the new arrivals had
their own interesting story to relate. They had seen two strangers enter
Uncle Elk’s cabin, only to depart soon after in his company, as the
canoe was paddled away. The rather curious feature of this proceeding
was that neither Mike nor Hoke, who had scanned the lake more than once,
caught sight of the craft, and Dr. Spellman heard of it for the first
time, though of necessity the canoe passed quite close to his home.
Whatever the thoughts of the physician may have been he kept them to
himself. He had already expressed his distrust of Uncle Elk to Mike
Murphy, who was quick to resent it, and it would be the same with Alvin
and Chester, for they held the old man in too much esteem to listen with
patience to anything in the way of censure of him.
It might have been difficult for the doctor to convince any unprejudiced
person that there was the slightest understanding between the recluse or
the vagrants. In fact, the only foundation for such a charge, not taking
into account the mutual antipathy, was the knowledge which Uncle Elk
showed of the cause of the hobos’ panic. And yet there was a reasonable
explanation of such knowledge, which would have acquitted the old man of
any improper motive, and it was singular that it did not occur to Dr.
Spellman.
The explorers, as they may be called, now numbered four. With warm
thanks to the members of the family they bade them good-bye and set out
to continue their quest.
It will be borne in mind that the spot which they were to visit lay
quite a little way to the westward of Dr. Spellman’s home. It was there
that Mike Murphy had passed under the overhanging vegetation from which
Uncle Elk soon afterward emerged, and where the Irish youth had detected
the odor of a cigar and heard chuckling laughter. Mike and Hoke by
pushing into the woods, and partly losing their way, had left this
locality so far to one side that they saw nothing of it. The four now
intended to make their way thither.
“Couldn’t it be that Uncle Elk wint back, while ye were thramping to the
docther’s house?” asked Mike, as they straggled forward.
“There wasn’t fifteen minutes at a time that we were out of sight of the
lake,” replied Alvin; “we surely should have seen him.”
“He might have come back through the woods.”
“That is true,” said Chester, “but I see no reason why he should do so.”
“Doesn’t the same gintleman do lots of things for which we see no
raison?”
“Far more than we can understand. Now I have been wondering whether he
won’t be offended by our trying to pry into matters which should not
concern us.”
“I think it is the other way,” said Alvin; “he is amused by our
curiosity, and doesn’t tell us the secret because he enjoys our efforts
to discover it for ourselves.”
“And there’s no saying how long his fun will last,” commented Mike, who
because of his previous visit to this section took upon himself the part
of guide.
They had tramped less than half an hour when Mike halted and looked
about him with a puzzled air.
“We oughter to be there,” he remarked, “but it saams we’re somewhere
ilse.”
Alvin pointed to where the undergrowth, a short distance in advance, was
less abundant than in other places.
“There seems to be a wagon track that has been traveled lately.”
Hurrying over the few paces, they found the supposition correct. There
were the ruts made by wagon wheels and the deep impression of horses’
hoofs. The greatest wonder was how any team could drag a vehicle through
such an unbroken forest. Trees stood so close together that there seemed
hardly room for a wheelbarrow to be shoved between, and yet a heavily
laden wagon had plunged ahead, crushing down bushes and even small
saplings, with the hubs scraping off the bark from large trunks, but
ever moving undeviatingly in the direction of Gosling Lake.
“It’s the trail of the chuck wagon!” exclaimed Chester; “it brings our
supplies that are taken across to the bungalow.”
“And this is the day for it,” added Alvin, who had scarcely uttered the
words when a threshing of the wood was heard, accompanied by the sharp
cracking of a whip and a resounding voice:
“Gee up! Consarn you, what’s the matter with you? You’re purty near
there!”
Two powerful horses, tugging at a ponderous open wagon piled high with
boxes of supplies, labored into sight, while the driver, a lean,
sandy-haired man perched on the high seat, snapped his whip, jerked the
lines, clucked and urged the animals to do their best, which they
certainly did.
The boys stepped aside out of the way of the team, and saluted the
driver as he came opposite and looked down upon them. He nodded, but
nothing more, for his animals required his attention. Our young friends
fell in or followed the wagon to the edge of the lake only a brief
distance away, where the driver flung his reins to the ground and leaped
down. He was bony, stoop-shouldered, without coat or waistcoat, and had
his trousers tucked into the tops of his cowhide boots.
“Say, I see by your dress you b’long to the Boy Scouts,” he remarked,
addressing the whole party.
“We are proud to say we do,” replied Alvin.
“And the Boy Scouts be proud to have us belong to ’em,” added Mike.
“I should think they would be blamed proud of _you_,” said the man with
a grin.
“Your perciption of the truth is wonderful, as me mither exclaimed whin
Father Meagher said I was the purtiest baby in Tipperary.”
“And you chaps believe in doing a good turn every day to some person?”
“Right again.”
“What good turn have you done anybody to-day?”
“Modesty kaaps our lips mute,” replied Mike, who for the life of him
could not recall a single incident of the nature named.
“Wal, would you like to do _me_ a good turn?”
“We certainly shall be glad,” Alvin took upon himself to reply.
“Help me unload this wagon; the stuff is for the Boy Scouts, so you’ll
be helping yourselves.”