SOLVING THE SECRET
Though the moon shone brightly, there were shadows in the forest that
surrounded the mysterious camp—mysterious in the sense that the boys did
not know whose it was. And these shadows made silent progress difficult.
Rick and Chot were very likely to slip and stumble over a rock or fallen
branch, making a noise that would arouse the sleeping men.
Several times they did stumble, and thus Ruddy had the advantage over
them, for his padded paws made no sound. But though the boys made
several noises none of them seemed to have any effect. It remained dark
and quiet in the camp—dark that is save for a glimmering camp fire and
the silvery moon, the light of which was very welcome to the boys.
There was little for the lads to discover in the camp itself. They had
learned this much while taking observations from their hiding place just
within the tunnel. From their vantage point they had seen the water
coming down a rocky defile, though its exact source they could only
guess at. They could not tell whether it came through another
tunnel—part of the series of mysterious underground channels in that
part of the country—or whether it flowed along in the open.
This secret they hoped to solve on their night-scouting expedition, and
after they had made a detour of the camp they listened for a sound of
rippling or gurgling water which would put them on the right track.
“Well, so far so good,” remarked Chot when they had gotten safely some
distance up the trail, above the log shack and the sleeping men.
“That’s right,” agreed Rick. “Ruddy, you’re a dandy!” he said to the
dog. “You didn’t make a false move.”
“And not as much noise as we did,” added Chot as they both petted their
canine companion.
“I should say so!” chuckled Rick. “That time we both nearly fell—I
thought sure they’d hear us.”
“So did I. But I reckon we’re all right now.”
“I guess so.”
They had come out from under a clump of trees and were walking along a
rough trail that led up the mountain. The moon shone gloriously making
objects very plain to see. There was little wind and soon the boys heard
the murmur of water off to their left—a sound for which eagerly they had
been listening.
“There’s the river,” exclaimed Chot.
“I hear it,” admitted Rick. “Either the one we’re after or another.
Let’s head over that way.”
They walked on side by side, with Ruddy trailing them. Rick had ordered
his dog to heel, for he did not want the setter rushing on ahead through
the brush, perhaps stirring up a skunk or some small wild animal that
might cause the dog to bark, thus betraying their presence.
As they went on, the noise of the water became louder to their ears,
until at last they emerged in view of a beautiful stream flowing in the
centre of a small valley, bordered on either side by trees and bushes.
Though the stream was called Lost River, or by various other names in
which the word “river” occurred, it must not be supposed that it was a
large waterway. In fact it was not more than a good-sized brook, in
places, though in others it attained the width of what, in some parts of
the country, is called a creek. But Lost River it had been christened
and so it shall remain, as far as I am concerned.
The boys stood for a moment impressed by the beauty of the scene that
they had come upon. Under the moon everything was glorified—the
rippling, sparkling water, the trees, the bushes and even the rough
rocks.
“Say, this is slick!” exclaimed Chot, paying one of the highest
compliments in his rather limited vocabulary.
“Nifty!” agreed Rick, adding his tribute.
But, boy like, they did not pause long to admire just the mere beauty of
the place, romantic as it was. They had come upon sterner business, and
Rick gave a hint of it when he said:
“Chot, I don’t believe this stream has flowed here very long.”
“Why not? How can you tell?”
“Because it’s too near the trees and bushes. And there aren’t many
stones along the banks. When a river has run a long time in a place it
washes away the dirt and leaves a lot of rocks, and where it washes away
the dirt from tree roots the trees partly die. But this looks like a
river that has suddenly been turned loose in the woods.”
“That’s what it does,” assented Chot. “Do you think the men turned it in
here?”
“I guess they did,” agreed Rick. “And the thing for us to do is to find
out where they turned it, and shift it back again so it will run into
Uncle Tod’s tunnel.”
“Do you think we can?” asked Chot.
“I hope so,” answered Rick. “Let’s keep on.”
They walked for a few minutes longer and then suddenly, over their heads
in a big tree, there was a rustling in the branches—a rustling not
caused by the wind, for there was no hint of a breeze then.
“What’s that?” whispered Chot, ready with his gun.
“I don’t know,” answered Rick, as he, too, brought his weapon around.
Uncle Tod had given the boys each a light shot gun, and they had learned
to pick off small game in the woods, shooting, however, only enough for
actual needs.
The lads stared up in the tree. The rustling of the branches continued
and Ruddy, seeing that some business in which he ought to take an
interest was afoot, stood at attention. Suddenly the dog growled and
immediately there was a hiss above the boys’ heads as if an angry cat
were there.
“Look!” whispered Chot, and Rick saw that his chum was pointing to two
blazing, greenish, reddish spots of light; the eyes of some animal on
which the moon reflected.
Chot raised his gun, but Rick said:
“Don’t shoot!”
“Why not?”
“It’s only a small bob cat and he won’t hurt us if we go away. Shooting
will only wake up those men, and we haven’t found what we want yet.”
“But aren’t bob cats dangerous?”
“Not if you leave ’em alone, Uncle Tod told me. And we’ll leave this one
alone.”
Ruddy had now seen the lithe form of the lynx stretched out on a tree
branch overhead. It was not a large animal—in fact not much larger than
some overgrown house cat. Of course it was more dangerous if cornered,
but, as Rick had observed, it would not needlessly attack them if not
molested.
Ruddy growled as if eager for the fray; but Rick knew even a large
setter dog is no match for a small bob cat, and he ordered Ruddy away.
The lynx continued to snarl as it glared at those it evidently regarded
as its enemies, and remained in watchful readiness on the branch as Chot
and Rick went on their way.
“I’d like to have taken a pop at him,” said Chot regretfully.
“So’d I,” admitted Rick. “But shot guns aren’t much good against a
lynx—not little shot guns like ours. And, anyhow, we don’t want to stir
up those men.”
Chot agreed to this, and they kept on up along the river.
“’Tisn’t so much a lost river now,” observed Chot as the stream murmured
beside them.
“No, but it’s lost as far as Uncle Tod is concerned,” remarked Rick.
“That is until he can shift it back—if he can.”
The boys made a turn in the trail and suddenly became aware of a
slightly different sound made by the water. It was a splashing noise, as
though a cascade were not far away.
“What do you imagine that is?” asked Chot.
“We’ll soon find out,” said Rick for, as they advanced they heard the
strange sound more plainly.
And then, as they pushed their way through a fringe of bushes growing
close to the edge of the stream the lads made a strange discovery.
They had solved the secret of Lost River!