“‘Mr. Fenn Masterson,“‘Dear Sir:—I understand you have quite a collection of mud turtles. Would you be willing to part with them? I mean for a consideration, of course. If you would kindly communicate with me. I will pay you a good price for all the turtles you have. But I must make this stipulation, which, at first may seem odd to you. But I have a reason for it. I can not meet you personally. If you are willing to sell your turtles will you write a note to that effect, and leave it in the dead sycamore tree on the edge of Oak Swamp? That is the only way in which you can communicate with me. Kindly let me hear from you soon.’”
“‘Mr. Fenn Masterson,
“‘Dear Sir:—I understand you have quite a collection of mud turtles. Would you be willing to part with them? I mean for a consideration, of course. If you would kindly communicate with me. I will pay you a good price for all the turtles you have. But I must make this stipulation, which, at first may seem odd to you. But I have a reason for it. I can not meet you personally. If you are willing to sell your turtles will you write a note to that effect, and leave it in the dead sycamore tree on the edge of Oak Swamp? That is the only way in which you can communicate with me. Kindly let me hear from you soon.’”
As Fenn had said, there was no signature. He turned the strange letter over and looked at the back. It was blank.
“Well, wouldn’t that jar you!” exclaimed Bart, as he took the note from Fenn’s hand.
“This must be a joke,” remarked Fenn, at length, after he had once more read the note. “Sandy Merton, or some of the other fellows, who want to have some fun with us, wrote that.”
“I think not,” said Frank, thoughtfully.
“Why?” inquired Ned.
“Some man wrote that,” went on Frank. “That’s no boy’s handwriting. There’s too much character to it. What are you going to do about it, Fenn?”
“Nothing, I guess. Of course, I’d sell my turtles and things, if I got a chance, for I think I’m going to collect different kinds of wood now, and——”
“What did I tell you?” interrupted Ned triumphantly. “I knew Fenn’s fad wouldn’t last much longer.”
“It would, if we weren’t going camping,” declared the stout youth, with vigor. “Only when I’m away there’ll be nobody to look after the things. Mother is afraid to feed ’em, and dad won’t, so if I had a good chance to get rid of ’em I’d do it. OnlyI wouldn’t do business with a fellow like this, who doesn’t sign his name, and who wants me to act as if I was leaving money in response to a black-hand note. I’ll not pay any attention to it.”
“I would, if I were you,” said Frank, quietly, but with some determination.
“You would?” asked Bart, in some surprise.
“Sure. I think there’s something back of this,” went on Frank. “If I were Fenn I’d enter into a correspondence with him, and try to find out what was at the bottom of it.”
“What do you think it is?” asked Ned. “Let’s make another examination of the letter, detective style, and see what we can deduce from it.”
“I think the man who wrote that letter is the same man we have met several times—the mysterious stranger who entered the school—the man who stole the diamond bracelet,” spoke Frank, quickly.
“Then if you’ve got it all figured out, we don’t need to puzzle over this letter,” decided Ned.
“Oh, I don’t say I’m altogether right,” came from Frank quickly. “That’s only one theory.”
“And I think it a good one,” added Bart. “Fenn, suppose you answer this letter, and leave your reply in the dead sycamore tree.”
“What shall I say?” asked the heavy-weight chum.
“Oh, you don’t need to be specific. Say you don’t like to do business this way, that you prefer to meet the writer. Then we’ll leave the letter in the tree, hide, and nab him when he comes for it.”
“Good!” cried Ned. “That’s the stuff. Regular detective business, fellows. Come on, Fenn, write the letter.”
“I think that would be a good plan,” commented Frank, who, being more sober-minded than his chums usually were, often said the final word when some scheme was afoot. “If the writer wants to resort to such tactics as leaving an anonymous letter on the doorstep, we can retaliate by playing the spy on him. Get busy, Fenn.”
“When shall we leave it in the tree?” asked the stout lad.
“To-morrow,” answered Bart promptly. “We haven’t any too much time before going to camp. We’ll try to catch him to-morrow, and maybe we can solve the mystery of the diamond bracelet.”
It took some time to compose a letter to the satisfaction of all four lads, as each one had some suggestion to make, but it was finally done, and enclosed in a strong, manilla envelope, ready to be left in the dead sycamore tree. Then the chums planned to go to Oak Swamp the next afternoon, early.
The appointed time found them at the place, and,as they came in sight of the tree, they adopted precautionary tactics previously agreed upon.
“For,” Bart explained, “we want to catch that man, and we’ve got to go about it right. He’s given us the slip a number of times. Now, naturally, he’ll expect us to-day, and he’ll be in hiding somewhere near the tree. Look around carefully, and see if we can’t spot him before we deposit the letter.”
Accordingly, the lads made a cautious approach, but there was no sign of a man, or any one else near the big tree. The approach to the swamp appeared deserted, and on that afternoon, with a dull, leaden sky overhead, and a mournful wind sighing through the trees, Oak Swamp was anything but a cheerful place.
“It’s going to snow,” observed Ned, as they walked slowly on toward the tree.
“Keep quiet,” advised Bart, in a sharp whisper. “The man may be in hiding.”
There were patches of snow on the ground about the sycamore, but an examination of them did not disclose any human footprints, though there were squirrel and rabbit tracks which gave the boys hope that they would get plenty of game when they went to their winter camp.
“He hasn’t been here,” was Fenn’s opinion, as hetook his letter and stuck it in a conspicuous place in a crack in the bark.
“Then we’ll hide and wait for him,” decided Bart.
The four lads hid themselves in the thick underbrush not far from the tree, where each one could command a good view of it, and the path leading to it. They agreed, on a signal from Bart, to rush out, and, if possible, grab the mysterious man in case he should appear.
Then began a period of waiting, and it was made all the more tiresome from the fact that the boys could not be together and talk. They had to crouch down, in uncomfortable positions, not moving, for fear of betraying themselves, and, of course, it was out of the question to talk. The hours dragged. It seemed to grow dark suddenly, but it was due to the thickening of the storm clouds overhead. Then came some flurries of snow, which ceased from time to time, and then, with a suddenness that was startling, the storm broke.
“No use waiting any longer,” called Fenn, rising up from behind his bush, and peering through the swirling flakes. “He won’t come now.”
“Keep quiet, he may,” ordered Bart, and though the storm raged, they kept up their vigil half an hour longer. By this time it was so dark that the sycamore tree could scarcely be distinguished, and evenBart declared it was useless to remain longer. They started for home, the storm increasing every minute, and they left the letter in the tree, in case the man might arrive.
“This will be fine weather for camping,” cried Ned exultantly, as he plowed through a small drift.
They began their preparations for camping the next day. It did not take them long to get their things in readiness, for they had spent several days overhauling their outfits. The tents, one for sleeping and the other for cooking and eating in, were rolled up, cots were folded, the stove, cooking pots and pans, were placed in boxes, provisions were purchased, and the bedding examined. Of course, the lads did not forget their guns, and they had a good supply of ammunition.
As to the location of their camp, they had settled on it only after a strenuous debate. Fenn and Frank were for going to the one where they had previously had such good luck hunting wild turkeys, but Bart and Ned wanted to go to a less frequented part of the State, where larger game, such as an occasional bear or deer, could be had, and, in the end they carried their point, though it meant a longer trip, and necessitated going by railroad.
Finally all was in readiness, the last of the packing had been done, good-byes had been said, Alice hadmade up a little medicine chest for her brother, and Jennie Smith had even composed an “original poem” in honor of the occasion.
Jed Sneed had taken the camp stuff to the express office in his big sled, and was to come back for the four chums, who carried their guns with them. The storm had hardly ceased, and there was plenty of snow on the ground.
“What’ll you boys do if you get snowed in?” asked Mr. Keene as he watched his son and the others getting in Jed’s sled, for the start was made from Bart’s house.
“Oh, we’ll wait until it thaws,” replied Ned.
“Take care of yourselves,” admonished Mrs. Keene.
“And drink hot ginger tea in case you get wet,” ordered Alice, with her most professional air.
“All right,” chorused the boys.
“All ready?” asked Jed, as he looked around.
“All ready!” replied Bart.
“Gid-dap!” called Jed, cracking the whip, and the horses plunged forward into a drift, the bells jingling a merry tune. The start for camp had been made.
Jogging along the road to the depot, the four chums asked each other all sorts of questions, as to whether this or that article had been included in the camping outfit. For so much remained to be done at the last minute, in spite of preparations some time ahead, that they were afraid something would be forgotten. But, fortunately, everything necessary seemed to have been put in the packages, which had been shipped on ahead, so they would be there when the campers arrived. They were to get out at the railroad station of Cannistota, and drive ten miles into the woods.
“Say, what did you do about your mud turtles, Fenn?” asked Bart, as the sled bumped along, for the road was rough.
“Oh, I arranged with Sandy Merton to feed them. I’m going to pay him for it. He promised to look after them. I hope he doesn’t forget. Hello! there he comes now. Hello, Sandy!” called Fenn, as he saw the president of the Shamma Shig secret society plodding along through the snow.
“Hello,” responded Sandy, transferring his bundle of books from one arm to the other. “Say, but you fellows are lucky chaps! Cutting out several weeks of school, and going off hunting. I wish I was you!”
“Don’t forget my turtles,” pleaded Fenn.
“I’ll attend to ’em, Stumpy,” promised Sandy. “Bring me back a bear skin; will you?”
“If we get enough for ourselves we will,” agreed Bart, and Sandy went on to school, looking back at the chums with envious eyes, for, as has been explained, the campers left about a week before the Christmas holidays began.
“Well, maybe we’ll have a good time—I mean ofcoursewe will,” said Frank, “but, all the same, Sandy is better off than we are—in one respect.”
“How?” asked Ned.
“He isn’t under suspicion of having stolen a valuable diamond bracelet.”
“That’s right. Hang it all! I wish we could clear that thing up,” remarked Bart, with energy. “Never mind, maybe it will clear itself up before we get back.”
“Whoa!” called Jed, suddenly, pulling up his team.
“What’s the matter?” asked Ned.
“The nigh horse jest stumbled with its left forefoot,” explained the driver, as he got out of the sled.
“Hurt?” inquired Bart.
“No, but it’s a sign of bad luck, and I don’t like it, especially when you fellows are going off on a pleasure trip.”
“What are you going to do?” Frank wanted to know, for Jed was kicking away the snow in front of the horses.
“I’m looking for a black stone,” he explained. “If you can find a black stone, after a horse stumbles like that, it’s all right.”
The boys wanted to laugh at the almost childish superstition exhibited by Jed, but did not want to make him feel bad, so they managed to keep sober faces, as he kicked about in the small drifts. Finally he uttered a triumphant cry.
“I’ve found it!” he announced, as he pocketed a small black stone. “Now it will be all right. Gid-dap, ponies,” and the horses started off again, utterly indifferent to signs of all kinds.
The four chums talked of nothing but camp on the way to the station, and, as for Jed, he was so occupied in watching for signs and omens, good and bad, that he was not a brilliant conversationalist. Just as they approached the depot the driver pulled sharply to the right, turned out of the main road, and urged his horses in a circle around the standpipeof the water tank that supplied the locomotive tenders. Then he swung the team up to the platform.
“Why did you do that?” asked Ned, in curiosity.
“For good luck,” replied Jed. “Nothing better for good luck than going around in a circle just before you start off on a journey. It’s sure to bring you back safe, and I want to see you lads again.”
“How do you make it out that a circle will bring any one back safe?” inquired Frank.
“Because, it stands to reason, don’t it?” asked Jed, with conviction. “A circle’s round, ain’t it? Very well, bein’ round it hasn’t got any end, nor yet any beginnin’. That means you’ve got to come back to the place where you started. I know a circle always brings good luck when you’re goin’ on a journey. I know it for sure. Once I went over to Hampton Junction without goin’ around in a circle before I started. What was the result? A feller stole my pocketbook that had a dollar an’ nineteen cents in it. Don’t tell me there’s nothing in signs.”
The boys laughed, and Jed did not seem to mind. They leaped out on the station platform, and paid the teamster, who wished them all sorts of good luck, in addition to having worked the “circle degree” on them, as Ned expressed it.
“Here!” exclaimed Jed suddenly, as the chumswere about to go and purchase their tickets, and he held out a black object to Bart.
“What is it?” inquired the lad.
“That black, lucky stone I picked up when the horse stumbled. Take it along. It will keep you from having an accident, Bart.” The youth was about to refuse, but not wishing to hurt Jed’s feelings he put the rock in his pocket.
A little later the train pulled in, and, getting aboard, the four chums waved a farewell to Jed, who could be observed standing up in his sled, making some queer signs, evidently with the idea of bringing more good luck.
“Well, we’re off at last,” remarked Ned, as the train gathered speed, “and some of Jed’s signs seem to be coming true.”
“How do you make that out?” asked Frank.
“It’s going to clear,” replied Ned, with a look at the sky. “I shan’t mind snow, after we’ve got our camp established, but it’s no fun to set up tents in a storm, so I’m glad it’s going to clear. Jed’s signs are all right.”
It was a ride of several hours to Cannistota, and the boys beguiled the time as best they could. About noon, when the train was passing through a lonely mountainous region, where the woods were as dense as if they had never been cut, Frank remarked:
“Well, what do you say to lunch? It’s about time,” for they had brought along a goodly supply of food, as they could get no meals on the train.
“I’m with you,” announced Bart, as he reached up to the rack over the seats for the baskets. He was standing on his tip-toes, for the rack was high, and was just taking down one of the small hampers, when there came a sudden crash, followed by a ripping, tearing sound, and before Bart knew what had happened he was deposited in a heap on top of Fenn, who, in turn, was mixed up with Frank and Ned.
Bart lay stunned for a few seconds and then, as he picked himself up, and the other lads regained their feet, they saw that every passenger in the car had been hurled from his or her seat.
“What happened?” cried Bart.
At the same moment from the car in which were the four chums, as well as from the other coaches, there arose the shrill screams of women, and the crying of children. The train had rolled on for a few feet, after the crash, but had come to a sudden stop.
“An accident!” cried Fenn. “The train’s wrecked! Come on, let’s get out,” and he scrambled to his feet and started for the door as the conductor and a brakeman ran through the car toward the engine.
After the first paralyzing shock of the crash the passengers seemed to come to their senses. Women who had been screaming ceased, and children stopped their frightened crying. Men began to gather themselves together, to crawl out from under seats where the sudden stop had thrown them, and prepared to leave the car.
“What’s the matter, conductor?” called Bart to that official, as he was hurrying out of the car.
“Don’t know—yet,” was the answer flung back over his shoulder.
“We’ll go see,” spoke Ned. “Anyhow, our car’s not smashed; that’s one good thing.”
“No, and it doesn’t seem to have left the track,” observed Frank. “Maybe we only hit an obstruction.”
By this time the four chums were out of their car, and they were followed by a number of men passengers. From other cars a like stream was pouring.
One glance sufficed to show that whatever the wreck was, it was not a terrible one, for there were no telescoped coaches, and, in fact, none seemed to have left the rails, while as for the engine that, too, seemed to be in its usual place at the head of the coaches. The crowd was moving toward the forward end, and thither Bart and his companions went. Matters were becoming quiet, and it was evident that no one was seriously hurt.
The boys found quite a throng around the engine, and they could now see that the cab, on one side, was splintered, and that the forward end of the coach next to the engine, which was the baggage car, was also damaged.
“What’s the matter? What happened?” scores of voices asked the railroad men, who, including the fireman and engineer, were examining the locomotive.
“Driving rod broke,” explained the conductor. “It threshed around like a flail, and smashed the cab, on the fireman’s side of the engine. Luckily he was putting on coal, or he’d been killed. Then the engineer threw on the emergency brake, and the front end of the baggage car crumpled up. Luckily it’s no worse. Has any one heard of any persons being hurt?” the conductor asked the crowd.
“I guess bruises and cuts from broken windowswill be about the extent of the injuries, conductor,” replied a fat man. “But how long are we likely to be delayed here? I have an important engagement in Vailton to-day.”
“We’ll have to wait until we can telegraph for another engine,” replied the railroad man. “It will take several hours, I’m afraid.”
There were some expressions of dismay, but, in general, the crowd was thankful that it was no worse. The engineer and fireman were busy trying to get the bent driving rod loose from where it had jammed up somewhere in the interior of the locomotive.
“Let’s go back in our car, and look after our things,” proposed Bart. “We can’t do any good here, and it’s cold,” for they had rushed out without their overcoats. The other passengers were returning to their coaches by this time, leaving the problem of moving the train with the railroad men.
The four chums had been in their seats but a short time, having found their possessions somewhat scattered, but safe, when a brakeman came hurrying in. He hastened to the glass-fronted toolbox, fastened near the ceiling in the center of the car.
“I’ve got to get out that sledge-hammer, axe and saw,” he explained to a woman, who was sitting in the seat under the case. “May I ask you to move,madam?” She did so, and then the brakeman was in a quandary, for it was necessary to break the glass in order to get at the tools. The trainman looked about helplessly, for he had not been on the road long. Bart saw his difficulty.
“Here, I’ll break the glass,” volunteered the lad. “Stand back,” Bart produced the black, lucky stone which Jed had given him, and threw it through the glass front.
There was a crashing, splintering sound, and the glass was in fragments. The brakeman could get at the tools, which he quickly did, hurrying out with them.
“Well, that lucky stone came in handy, after all,” remarked Ned.
“It sure did,” agreed Bart, “though he could have used the end of a flag stick just as well, if he had thought of it.”
While the engineer, firemen, and some of the brakemen worked over the disabled engine, another trainman walked back to the nearest telegraph office to summon a relief engine. Meanwhile the passengers waited with what patience they could.
“Well, suppose we eat now,” proposed Bart.
“Good!” exclaimed Frank. “Pass out the sandwiches,” which Bart proceeded to do.
In the seat across the aisle from the boys was alittle girl. Hungrily she eyed the food as it came out of the baskets, and, in a voice that could be heard from one end of the car to the other, she piped out:
“Mamma, I’m hungry. Why didn’t we bring some lunch?”
“Hush, dear,” said the child’s mother. “We will soon be at our station, and we can get something to eat.”
“Not very likely to be there soon, ma’am,” observed the fat man, who was in a hurry. “By Jove, I wish I’d thought to bring a snack. I will, next time I travel on this road.”
“But, mamma, I’m awful hungry,” insisted the child, as she gazed eagerly at the chums who were munching away in great enjoyment.
“Hush!” begged the mother, but the child repeated her request for something to eat.
“Here,” spoke Bart, suddenly, and passed over a chicken sandwich to the little girl. “Will you let her take it?” he asked the mother.
“Certainly, but I’m afraid it will be robbing you.”
“Not at all, we have plenty. Perhaps you’d like one too?” and Bart handed the woman one, which she received with thanks.
“I’ll give you a dollar for two sandwiches, young man,” said the fat man, eagerly.
Bart hesitated. At the same time several other children in the car, seeing the girl eating, began to demand food.
“I say, fellows,” said Bart, quickly. “I’ll tell you what’s let’s do! We’ll distribute our lunch among the youngsters on the train. There must be several of them, and they’re all hungry. It will be some time before they can get to where there’s lunch.”
To the credit of the Darewell Chums be it said that they did not hesitate a moment.
“Go ahead,” exclaimed Ned, and the others nodded assent.
“I wish you’d accept my offer before you came to that conclusion,” sighed the fat man. “But go ahead. The kids will be glad to get it. I’ll have to dine off chocolate caramels, I guess.”
Bart’s plan was soon in operation, to the delight of a number of boys and girls, no less than their distracted mothers. As for the chums, they had each eaten a sandwich before giving away their lunch, and they thought they could stand it until they got to Cannistota. They were given an informal vote of thanks by the grateful parents.
Then ensued tedious waiting until the relief engine came. There were many murmurs, and much fault-finding, but there was no help for it. The candy boy sold out his stock of sweet stuff in recordtime, even down to the chewing gum. At length a welcome whistle was heard, and soon the train was under way again.
“Well,” remarked Ned, as he settled back in his seat, “we will enjoy our supper, anyhow.”
“Yes,” remarked Bart. “I don’t altogether believe in Jed’s good luck signs. I’d just as soon he would have omitted some of ’em.”
“Oh, well, we’ll be in camp to-morrow,” announced Frank. “Then we can eat whenever we feel like it.”
The chums were late in arriving in Cannistota, and they went at once to a hotel. They had arranged to do this anyhow, as they knew there would not be time to put up tents the same day that they started off on their camping trip. After a substantial meal, to make up for their light dinner, they inquired at the express office, and learned that their camp stuff had arrived safely. They arranged for a teamster to take it to the woods where they had decided to pitch their tents, and early the next morning they were under way.
“It’s a dandy day,” observed Fenn, as he looked at the cloudless sky overhead, and saw the piles of snow on every side.
“A little too warm,” was Bart’s opinion. “Still, it may not be thawing so much in the woods. I’manxious to get a shot at something. We can’t hunt deer, you know, when there’s tracking snow, but I hear there are bears where we are going.”
“A feller I know killed a big one last week, not a great ways from where you’re going,” observed the teamster.
“That’s the stuff!” cried Bart, as he looked to make sure he had his favorite rifle.
In due time the camping site was reached, the teamster helped them unload, and then drove back, leaving the four chums alone in quite a lonely stretch of wilderness. But they were used to depending on themselves, they knew they had plenty of food, and they hoped to procure more with their guns.
“First thing on the programme is to make the camp-fire, and then set up the tents,” declared Bart, who constituted himself a sort of leader.
Previous experience stood the boys in good stead, and in a short time a roaring fire was blazing, and a kettle of soup in the making was suspended over it. Then the canvas shelters were put up.
It was not easy work, and the boys labored hard, but at last the white tent stood among the trees, making a picturesque spot in the wilderness. Then the cooking shelter was put up, and the stove set, after which Fenn, who constituted himself cook on this occasion, served dinner.
The rest of the day was spent in cutting firewood, seeing to the fastenings of the tents, putting up cots, arranging their baggage and food supplies, and in putting together their shot guns and rifles, for each lad had two weapons.
By this time it was nearly night-fall, and some lanterns were lighted, and hung within and without the tent, giving the place a cheerful look.
As Fenn was walking about, getting ready for a late supper, he stumbled over something, and nearly fell.
“What’s that, a tree root?” asked Bart. “If it is, chop it out, or we’ll all be doing the same thing.”
“It wasn’t a tree root,” observed Fenn, as he turned to examine the object. “By cracky, boys!” he exclaimed. “Look here! It’s a whopping big mud turtle!”
Fenn’s chums hurried over to where, in the gleam of a lantern, he was contemplating the slow-moving reptile. The turtle was a large one, of a common species, and was ambling along as if it did not at all mind the attention it had attracted.
“Grab it, Fenn!” exclaimed Ned. “It’ll be a dandy for your collection.”
“That’s what it will,” agreed the stout youth, and he grabbed up the turtle, which at once drew in its tail, head and claws, presenting no vantage spot to an enemy.
“By Caesar, here’s another!” exclaimed Bart, a moment later. “Another turtle, Fenn!”
“Yes, and here’s a third one!” added Frank. “It’s a big one, too, Fenn. Shall I catch it for you?”
“Wait a minute, fellows,” replied Fenn, earnestly. “Don’t touch those turtles!”
“Why not?” asked Ned. “Are they poisonous?”
“No, but there’s something queer about so many being out in the woods in the middle of winter. Itisn’t natural. There is something out of the ordinary, and we must see what it is.”
“Maybe they’re hunting for the one of their number who wears the diamond bracelet,” suggested Bart, with a laugh, for, in spite of the gravity of the loss, he could not forbear an occasional joke at Fenn’s rather odd theory.
“No, it isn’t that,” went on Fenn earnestly. “But I did have a notion that perhaps the turtles might have escaped from the queer man who wrote and offered to buy my collection—the man we suspect of stealing the bracelet.”
“Why he isn’t in this vicinity,” remarked Frank.
“You don’t know whether he is or not,” was Fenn’s answer. “This seems to be a good place for turtles, though I can’t understand why they should be out in cold weather. But perhaps there is some reason for it.”
There was, and a strange one, as the boys soon discovered.
“Anyhow, they’re here,” observed Ned, “and what are we going to do about it?”
“Don’t touch ’em, I want to see in what direction they are traveling,” called Fenn, who, as soon as he had placed in a safe place the turtle he had caught, came over to where his chums were contemplating the other two.
“They’re both heading for the same place, wherever that is, if that’s any help to you,” remarked Bart.
“Yes,” spoke Fenn, “it may indicate something,” and he looked at the big reptiles, who were crawling along.
“They’re going in the same way as the one was you got,” declared Frank, and the others confirmed this.
For some minutes Fenn observed the movements of the turtles, until they disappeared under some bushes. Then he straightened up and said:
“Well, I don’t believe that mysterious man is in this vicinity, and certainly none of these turtles is wearing a diamond bracelet. I admit I’m away off on that, fellows. But there’s something queer here, and I’m going to get at the bottom of it. It isn’t natural for turtles to be out so plentiful this time of year, and there must be some cause for it.”
“Fenn, you can theorize about turtles all you like, but I want my supper,” called Ned.
“Same here,” came from Frank. “Dish it up, cook!”
Thereupon Fenn gave over watching the turtles, and, a little later, seated cozily in the tent, the chums partook of a supper of canned baked beans, with hard-tack or pilot biscuit, and coffee. Then they sataround, discussing various matters, from the railroad accident to their arrival in camp.
Cots were provided, with plenty of blankets, so they would not suffer from cold, and as an additional precaution a small fire was kept going in the small, sheet-iron, wood-burning stove, which they had brought along to warm the sleeping tent.
“Ah, fellows, this is something like life,” remarked Bart, as he arranged himself on his cot. “Listen to the wind howling outside. We’ll have more snow, I expect, before morning.”
“Let it snow!” exclaimed Frank. “We’re all right now. We’ll have to have our Christmas tree here, fellows. Did you bring anything along to put on it?”
“Oh, we’ll hang up our stockings instead of having a tree,” suggested Ned with a laugh. “But what’s the matter with you, Fenn? Why are you so quiet?”
“He’s thinking of some of the girls he left behind him,” mocked Bart. “Aren’t you, Stumpy? Which particular one last gave you a lock of her hair?”
“Oh, cut it out!” begged Fenn. “I wasn’t thinking of such nonsense at all. I was wondering where those turtles came from. This is a regular stamping place for them, and in the morning I’m going to go on a search.”
“Do you really think so many of them around here means anything?” asked Frank.
“It means something, certainly,” replied Fenn. “This part of the State is noted for turtles, however, there being a number of different species, but I never knew before that they came out in winter. That’s what puzzles me.”
“Maybe we’re over a hidden volcano, and it’s warmer than anywhere else in the neighborhood,” suggested Ned.
“Maybe,” assented Fenn, “only it doesn’t seem very warm just now. There’s a draught somewhere. Bur-r-r-r! No wonder!” he exclaimed. “The tent flap has come open. Who fastened it?”
“I did,” confessed Frank. “I’ll fix it.” The canvas was soon made secure, and then, while the wind whipped itself into a gale outside, the boys fell asleep in their warm tent, Fenn’s last thoughts being about a place where he had seen the three turtles.
Bart’s first act, on awakening in the morning, was to go to the tent flap, and look out. Then he called to his companions, who were still asleep:
“Say fellows, it’s a fine day; only it’s snowing.”
“Did you wake us up to tell us that?” demanded Ned, as he turned over for another nap.
“Well, you don’t want to sleep all day, do you?” asked Bart, looking at his watch. “It’s eight o’clock. If we’re going to do any hunting we’d better get a move on.”
There was much yawning and stretching, but finally the chums were up and dressed, and breakfast was served.
“Now for a nice lot of game,” exclaimed Bart, as he got out his rifle, and looked over his supply of ammunition. “I think I’ll load for bear to-day.”
“Do you mean to say you expect to go shooting in this storm?” asked Frank, for it was still snowing. The white flakes were of a considerable depth on the ground, but the two tents, standing as theydid under some gigantic pine trees, were much protected.
“Of course we’re going hunting to-day,” declared Bart. “That’s what we came for. Some bear steak wouldn’t go at all bad, especially as we can’t get fresh meat here.”
“No, nor fresh bread, either,” added Ned. “I miss my rolls with my coffee.”
“I’m going to bake some biscuits for dinner,” declared Fenn. “I brought along some self-raising flour.”
“Good for you, Stumpy!” cried Ned. “Pity, though, you didn’t bring along some self-baking bread, and some washless dishes.”
“Well, if we’re going, let’s go,” proposed Frank. “Will it be safe to leave our stuff in camp, unprotected?”
“We can’t take it with us,” said Bart. “Besides, there isn’t any one within ten miles of this place. That’s why I wanted to camp here. It will be all right. Well, I’m ready if you are.”
“I’m going to take my shot-gun,” decided Frank. “Maybe I’ll see some wild turkeys or some partridge. They’ll do if Bart doesn’t get his bear.”
Fenn, instead of getting ready his gun, as the others were going, had gone to the box where he had placed the large turtle, captured the night previous.
“For cats’ sake!” exclaimed Ned, “aren’t you done playing with that yet, Fenn?”
“I’m not playing,” was the retort. “I’m going to try an experiment.”
“Aren’t you going hunting with us?” asked Bart.
“Not this morning. I’m going to solve this mystery of the turtles, if I can. Besides you fellows will shoot all that’s necessary. I’ll stay around here, and get ready for a partridge pot-pie or a bear roast, just as you prefer.”
“Oh, come on hunting,” pleaded Bart. “What’s the fun in staying here?”
“Well, I don’t know as I shall stay right in camp,” went on Fenn. “I’m going to make this turtle lead me to where the other ones went. In other words, I’m going to use this one as a guide.”
“You’re crazy!” scoffed Ned.
“Maybe,” admitted Fenn, calmly. “You fellows go on with your hunting, and when you come back maybe I’ll have something to show you.”
They tried to induce Fenn to accompany them, but he was firm in his determination to solve the “turtle mystery,” as he called it, and, in the end, Bart, Ned and Frank tramped off through the storm, for it was still snowing, while the stout lad remained behind, watching the turtle, which he had placed on a cleared place on the ground in front of the tent.
“Now go ahead, my fine fellow,” spoke Fenn to the reptile. “Which way do you want to head?”
The turtle seemed undecided about it, for some time after Fenn had placed it on the ground it did not move, but remained with head, legs and tail withdrawn into the protecting shell. But Fenn was patient, and knew better than to poke the reptile to make it move. Presently a long, snake-like neck was thrust out, and black, beady eyes glanced cautiously around, while the parrot jaws were slightly parted, as if to ward off any attack.
Fenn kept behind the turtle, which, in a few minutes, finding that it was not disturbed, stuck out its legs, and began to raise itself up, as if taking an observation. Then it turned partly around, and, to Fenn’s delight, started to crawl in the same direction as that taken by the other two reptiles the previous evening.
“That’s the stuff!” cried Fenn. “That confirms my theory. There’s some place where these turtles hang out, and I’m going to find it. The three we found must have wandered away from the common camping ground of the turtles of this vicinity, but they all head back toward it. Now I’m going to find it.”
He did not wait for the reptile he had captured to lead him to the place. That would have taken toolong, but, after quickly scratching his initials on the back of the turtle’s shell, together with the date, so he would know the reptile again, Fenn replaced it on the ground, and started off through the woods in the indicated direction. He had his gun with him, but he did not expect to do any shooting, and he carried a pocket compass, for the woods were unfamiliar to him.
For a long distance Fenn tramped on, plowing through the woods, making turns now and then to avoid streams, partly frozen over, leaping them when he could, fording them at other times, for he had on high, water-proof hunting boots, but keeping as nearly as he could in the proper course.
“Maybe I’ll find a well-protected cave, where the turtles live during winter,” thought the stout lad, as he made his way under some low hemlock trees, well laden with a blanket of snow. “If I do, I can get some new specimens, anyhow, and perhaps enough to sell to that man who wrote me the letter. Mighty queer about him. I wonder who he was? I wonder if, by any possibility, he could be up here in these woods?”
This idea caused Fenn to look around somewhat apprehensively, but there was no one in sight. He did see something, however, that caused his heartto beat faster, and this was a brace of plump partridges on a tree, not far away.
“I wonder if I can shoot straight enough to bag them?” murmured the lad, as he quickly raised his gun, and banged away, first with the left, and then with the right barrel. Somewhat to his surprise when the smoke cleared away, Fenn saw the two birds lying in the snow. He had made a good shot.
“Well, we won’t go hungry to-night, anyway,” was his comment, as he picked them up and put them in the pockets of his hunting coat. “But I’m going to keep on,” he added.
He had gone perhaps half a mile farther, when he suddenly stopped and sniffed the air suspiciously.
“Sulphur spring,” he remarked, half aloud. “Guess I’ll go take a look at it. Whew! It’s strong enough. I don’t need any other guide than my nose.”
Making sure of the direction in which the strong odor of sulphur was wafted to him, Fenn temporarily abandoned his quest for the place of the turtles. The odor grew more pronounced, for some sulphur springs are so strongly impregnated with that chemical in solution that the smell carries for miles, especially on a windy day. The region where the chums had gone camping, as they learned later, was well supplied with these freaks of nature.
A few minutes later Fenn had come upon the object of his search. The spring gushed out from the side of a hill, and so strong was the sulphur that the stones, over which the spring, and the stream resulting from it, flowed were a yellowish white.
“Whew!” exclaimed Fenn again. “This ought to be good for whatever ails you, but I don’t like it.”
He remained looking at the spring for a few minutes, and, as he was about to move away he was startled by a deep, booming sound in the woods, off to his left. Fenn started.
“Blasting?” he exclaimed aloud, in a questioning tone. “No, it can’t be that, either,” he added. “They wouldn’t be blasting around here!”
The next moment he heard a pattering around him, and several large globules of mud came down, seemingly from the sky. Some struck on his hands, and others dotted the white snow about him.
“That’s queer,” murmured the lad. “It’s raining mud—or else—” he paused a moment, as the remembrance of the booming sound returned to him. “No,” he added, “there must be a spouting, boiling spring around here. That’s what it is! I’m on the track of it now.”
Fenn dashed off to the left, through the forest. He was eager to see what had caused the curiousshower of mud. In a few minutes he came to a little clearing in the woods—a clearing remarkable, among other things, from the fact that the ground there was devoid of snow. There was a warm, damp look about it, too, as when, in a snow storm, the sidewalk over a bakery oven is devoid of the white flakes.
But that was not the most curious thing that met Fenn’s eyes. He made out numerous mud turtles crawling about over the patch of ground that was free from snow. There must have been a score of the reptiles.
Then, as Fenn looked, a curious thing happened. He had just noted that, in the centre of the clearing, there was a large patch of water, and, a moment later the middle of this spring seemed to lift itself bodily up. Up and up the water spouted, and in an instant its comparative purity was changed to a deep mud color, as a miniature geyser of earth and liquid shot upward.
“A mud volcano!” exclaimed Fenn, as he understood what the phenomenon was. “A mud volcano! This explains the mystery of the turtles!”
An instant later he was under a shower of mud from the boiling spring.
Fenn made a dash for the shelter of a spruce tree, and watched the descending shower of mud and water. It was soon over, and he stepped out again, to view the curious volcano. He crossed the open space, free from snow, and a number of turtles scurried away at his advance.
“That’s how it is,” remarked the lad, “that the turtles are so numerous around here. It’s as warm as toast around that mud volcano, and they don’t have to hibernate. The ones we found near our camp must have wandered away in search of food, and were on their way back here. I’ve solved part of the mystery, anyhow. Now to examine this curious place.”
The boiling spring, or mud volcano, as such phenomenons are variously called, consisted, in the main, of a large pool of muddy colored water, lying at the foot of a hill. All around it were dead trees, and the smell of sulphur, though not so strong as at the first spring Fenn had visited, was plainly noticeable.The water had a dead, stagnant look, after the eruption, and Fenn was careful not to approach too close, for he could not tell when the spring would spout up again. He saw a number of turtles on logs and bits of wood that extended out into the pool, and others plunged from the bank into the water at his approach.
“They don’t seem to mind the sulphur and the mud,” said Fenn to himself. The lad had read in his school books of the mud volcanoes. They are of a type similar to the hot geysers of Yellowstone Park, though not so large or numerous. Though called boiling springs in some parts of the country they do not boil or bubble on the surface, as a rule, though there is a constant supply of warm water from some subterranean source, so, that, as in the case with the spring Fenn was viewing, the water ran over from the pool, and trickled off through the woods.
Mud volcanoes or boiling springs, while not common, are to be met with in New York and Pennsylvania. The writer recently visited a large one in New York State, near Lake Ontario. It was around Christmas, and a cold blustering day, yet the water from the spring was quite warm, and had melted the snow for quite a distance in all directions. The water was impregnated with sulphur and salt, andthough there was not an eruption when the writer was present, there were marks on surrounding trees showing where mud had been hurled to a height of thirty or forty feet.
There are various theories to account for the action of the mud volcanoes. One is that steam is formed away below the surface, and, seeking an outlet, throws the mud and water with it. Another is that the force of water, flowing from some mountain lake, by an underground passage, spouts up through the boiling spring, being heated in some manner in its passage.
But Fenn did not trouble himself much about these theories as he looked at the curious spring. It was a gloomy, lonesome place, and the presence of so many turtles, some of them very large, added to the uncanny aspect.
“Well, there are turtles enough here to stock several collections,” murmured Fenn. “Lots of different kinds, too. I will take some home I guess. Now if I had that mysterious man’s address I’d send him word. This mud volcano will be a curious thing to show the other fellows. I wonder how warm the water is?”
He approached, to thrust his hand into the edge of the spring, when an ominous rumbling beneath his feet warned him. He jumped away just in time,and, as he ran for the shelter of the trees, there was another upheaval of mud, and he received a share of it. He remained in the shelter until the spring subsided, and then made his way back to camp.
His chums were there when he arrived, and something in their looks prompted Fenn to ask:
“Well, where’s the bear steak, and the partridges for roasting.”
“No luck,” declared Bart in disgust. “Never saw a bit of game! I guess we camped in the wrong place.”
“Oh, no we didn’t!” exclaimed Fenn in triumph, as he produced the two plump birds from his pockets. “Here’s what I got, besides bagging a boiling spring for my morning’s work.”
“Say, where’d you get those?” asked Bart eagerly.
“Come on, show us?” begged Ned.
“Time enough,” responded the stout lad. “I’m going to have dinner now, and then we’ll have these birds, roasted, for supper. There’s more where they came from. Now I’ll tell you about the mud volcano,” which he did, graphically, so that his chums were eager to go and see it. But they decided to wait until the next day, and to have a good supper of roast partridge that night. Fenn cooked his game to perfection, and was given a hearty vote of thanks.
A visit to the mud volcano was made the next day, and there were found to be more turtles than on Fenn’s visit. The volcano was observed in action, much to the wonderment of the three lads, who had never seen anything like it, and once Ned, who was too venturesome, was caught under an unusually large shower of mud.
“Well, let’s go hunting now,” proposed Bart, after a pause. “I haven’t had a decent shot since we came to camp. I’ve got to get that bear before I go back.”
They tramped off through the woods, their eyes eager for a sight of game, large or small. Each one had a compass, so that if they became separated they could make their way back to camp, for the forest was dense. The snow had ceased, and the weather was clear and cold.
Fenn and Frank had shotguns, and elected to try to bag some wild turkeys or partridges, so they went off to one side, while Bart and Ned, with their rifles, kept together.
Suddenly Bart, after an hour’s tramping in the woods, with never a sight of anything larger than a rabbit, which he would not fire at, came to an abrupt stop. Ned, who was right behind him, halted also.
“What is it?” he whispered.
“What is that over there?” asked Bart, also in awhisper, and he pointed to a black object near some bushes.
“A stump,” replied Ned promptly.
“Do stumps move?” inquired Bart.
“Of course not.”
“Well that one did, so it isn’t a stump. I think it’s a bear.”
Bart’s opinion was unexpectedly confirmed the next moment, for the animal turned and uttered a loud “woof!” as it sniffed at the snow at the foot of the bush, evidently in search of something to eat.
Bart dropped to one knee, and took quick aim. It was his first shot since arriving at camp, and it was one worthy of much care, for bears were none too common to risk missing one.
The rifle cracked, but there was no cloud of smoke, for Bart was using his new smokeless cartridges. The lad pumped another bullet into the barrel, and fired again, for the bear had not moved after the first report.
Then, as the echoes of the rifle died away, the two lads saw the animal quickly rear itself upon its hind legs, and swing around in their direction.
“Shoot again, Bart!” cried Ned. “You missed him!”
Bart had pumped another cartridge into place, but before he could pull the trigger the bear staggered a few paces toward him, and then fell in a convulsive heap. There was no need to fire again.
“He’s dead!” cried Bart, exultantly, as he leaped forward. “My first bear, though it did take two shots to settle him.” But as he saw a few minutes later, when he examined his prize, the first bullet would have done the work, had he waited long enough, for it was in a vital spot.
“Now to get him to camp,” proposed Ned, when he and his chum had sufficiently admired the dead bear. “We’ll have enough fresh meat for a week.”
“Yes,” assented Bart. “Let’s see how we’re going to get him back.” He raised the fore end of the bear, by his paws, and grunted.
“What’s the matter—heavy?” asked Ned.
“Try it and see,” advised Bart. Ned did so, andgrunted in his turn. The truth of the matter was that the bear, though not of full size, was fat and plump, and of greater weight than the boys expected. Then, too, the weight was “dead,” which made it all the more awkward to carry. Bart and Ned tried again, by turns, and both together, but the bear was too much for them.
“We’ll have to get Fenn and Frank to help us,” said Bart and he fired his rifle three times, in quick succession, and then, after a pause, twice, more slowly—the prearranged call for assistance. Fenn and Frank came running up a little later, fearing that some accident had happened, and they were much relieved when they found that their help was wanted in transporting the bear.
At Fenn’s suggestion a long pole was cut, the bear’s paws were tied together and the pole thrust through them, and then, with two lads on either end of the shaft, and Bruin swinging between, the journey back to camp was safely made.
Bart insisted on skinning his prize, saying he was going to make a rug of the hide, and the best portions of the meat were cut off for future use. As it was desired to allow the flesh to cool a bit before using it, the campers prepared a meal of the food they had in stock, reserving the bear steaks for supper.
The rest of the day was spent around camp, several improvements being made, with a view of rendering life more comfortable during their stay. The bear steak, broiled with pieces of bacon stuck on it, was voted most delicious, and Fenn ate so much that he said it made him sleepy.
It grew much colder in the night, and before morning there was a demand for more blankets on the part of Frank and Ned. As there were no more, Bart volunteered to get up and replenish the fire in the stove, for it had died down.
As he was putting on more wood he suddenly paused, and seemed to be listening. Then he quietly went to the tent flap and peered out into the darkness, illuminated by a lantern hanging from the ridge pole.
“What’s the matter?” asked Ned. “Did you see another bear, Bart?”
“I thought I heard some one walking around,” was the answer. “It’s snowing again. I don’t see any one.”
He went back to bed, every one sleeping more in comfort now that the tent was warmer. In the morning, Bart was the first one up, and he opened the tent flap. As he looked out, noting that the sun was shining, though the weather was cold, the lad uttered a cry of astonishment.
“What’s the matter?” asked Fenn, pausing in his dressing operations.
“Some onewassneaking around last night!” declared Bart. “See the footprints!”
The campers rushed from the tent in various stages of negligee, and stared at a track of human footprints, clearly visible in the new-fallen snow.
“Whoever it was he came close to our tent, and was evidently going to look in, when I must have frightened him off by getting up to put wood on the fire,” said Bart.
“Who was it?” asked Ned.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” responded Bart, “only it was some one who evidently wanted to get away unobserved. Look, you can trace where he came out of the woods, approached our tent very cautiously, and then, when I frightened him, he took it on the run.” This was easy to confirm by the spaces between the footprints, for when the midnight visitor had approached slowly and stealthily the marks were comparatively close together, but where he had run they were far apart.
“Let’s get dressed, and have a look around,” said Fenn. But though they searched for some time they could not find the intruder, even if his footsteps were plainly visible, leading off into the forest.
“We’ll get breakfast and trace him up,” suggestedFrank. “Might as well do that as anything else.”
“Let’s look and see if he’s taken anything,” suggested Fenn.
“No need to do that, Stumpy,” was Bart’s opinion. “You can tell by his tracks that he wasn’t near enough to our camp to have stolen anything. Even the bear meat is safe,” and he looked to where it was suspended on a tree limb, by means of a long rope, a precaution taken to keep it out of the way of prowling animals.
With their guns in readiness for any game, the four chums set out after breakfast on the trail of the unknown, midnight visitor. The marks were easy to follow, for very little snow had fallen after Bart had replenished the wood in the stove.
“Say, do you notice which way he’s heading?” asked Fenn, excitedly, when they had gone on about a mile.
“Not particularly,” said Frank. “Why?”
“He’s gone to the mud volcano—that’s where he’s gone, fellows!” declared the stout youth. “I wonder what he wants there? Maybe he’s after mud turtles. Maybe he’s the same man who wrote to me.”
“He might be almost anybody, Stumpy,” wasNed’s opinion. “We can’t tell until we see him. Get a move on.”
The footsteps were becoming fainter now, for the wind had drifted the snow across them in a number of places, but they were sufficiently visible to indicate that the man had kept on in the direction of the boiling spring.
Just before the boys reached that phenomenon, the marks vanished altogether, coming to an abrupt stop in the snow, but it was evident that this was due to the wind covering the tracks with white crystals from the drifts, and not because the man had mysteriously vanished.
“Well, we may as well go on to the spring,” spoke Fenn. “Maybe we’ll find him there.”
But the vicinity of the mud volcano was deserted, though numerous mud turtles were crawling about over the warm ground, which was devoid of snow.
“I’m going closer and have a look,” decided Fenn, as he started away from his chums.
“Better be careful, Stumpy,” warned Bart. “It doesn’t look as if there had been an eruption lately, and you may catch it all of a sudden.”
“Oh, I’ll chance it,” said the heavy-weight lad.
He walked close to the edge of the spring, which was motionless save for the water that ran from it.Fenn was looking for footprints in the soft ground, but he and his chums had made so many on their own account, on their previous visits to the place, and, as they were still visible (for the ground had not frozen), the amateur detective was at a loss.
“There doesn’t seem to be anything here,” announced Fenn, as he turned to come away. Hardly had he spoken than he was seen to jump back. That is, he tried to do so, but he was too late. An instant later he was observed to throw up his hands and slowly sink into the marshy ground on the edge of the warm spring.
“Help! Help!” cried poor Fenn, as he felt himself going down. “Help, fellows!”