"Where did that cry come from, Dave?"
"I think it came from the top of the cliff, Phil. Listen! there it goes again."
Both boys strained their ears once more, and now heard another voice, heavy and threatening.
"Leave this place! Leave at once, I command you! No one has any right to disturb me!"
"Don't hit me, I'll go!" returned the one who had first spoken, and a few seconds later he came into view at the edge of the cliff.
"Hello, it's Link Merwell!" burst out Dave, in amazement.
"Yes, and see, that wild man is after him!" added the shipowner's son.
He was right. Following closely upon the appearance of Link Merwell the boys at the foot of the cliff had seen some brushwood thrust aside, and now appeared the strange fellow who had so frightened the girls some time previously. He was dressed up more fantastically than ever, and had his face smeared with red and yellow. Overhis shoulder, suspended by a strap, he carried an old-fashioned fowling piece, and in his hands was a heavy club.
"Go away from here! Go away, I say, and never come back!" cried the strange individual, dancing around wildly and flourishing his club close to Link Merwell's head.
"All right, I'm going! Please don't hit me!" pleaded the youth, who was plainly in terror of his life. And then, in his haste to escape, he took several steps forward.
"Look out there, or you'll have a bad fall!" yelled Dave, in quick alarm.
The warning, however, came too late. Deceived by the brushwood and vines growing at the edge of the cliff, Link Merwell lost his footing, and the next instant came tumbling headlong.
"Ha, ha! I told you to keep away! Now don't come back!" yelled the fantastically-dressed man in the bushes behind the cliff; and then with another yell he suddenly disappeared from view.
Dave and Phil rushed forward fully expecting to find Merwell seriously hurt. But in falling the youth had been fortunate enough to catch hold of some of the trailing vines, and these had stayed his progress somewhat, so that all he received was a violent shaking-up.
"Don—don't let—let him sho—shoot me!" spluttered Link Merwell, as he turned overand scrambled to his feet. Then, for the first time recognizing those who stood before him, his face showed more concern than ever.
"Who's that fellow who attacked you, Link?" asked Dave, quickly.
"I don't know—some crazy old lunatic, I suppose," muttered the former student of Oak Hall. "Is he—he—coming after me?"
"No, he just dashed out of sight," answered Phil. "He's the same chap who nearly scared the girls to death," he added to Dave.
"How do you know? He didn't look like that fellow," returned our hero.
"I recognized him by his voice, even though he is dressed quite differently, Dave. He must be as crazy as they make them."
"Oh, so you know him, do you?" put in Link Merwell, questioningly. He had gotten to his feet and was now straightening out his apparel.
"I must say, Link, I didn't think I was going to have the pleasure of meeting you so soon," said Dave, with a little bit of pardonable sarcasm.
"Humph!" Link Merwell was on the point of saying more, but bit his lip and kept silent.
"So you were on board the steam yacht when she took fire," put in Phil.
"I was."
"Why didn't you show yourself; were you afraid?"
"That was my business. I didn't have to show myself if I didn't want to."
"We know well enough why you didn't show yourself, Link," broke in our hero. "And we also know why you left Mr. Appleby's camp so suddenly. You were afraid of arrest."
"Who told you that?"
"Nobody told us. We know it," went on Dave. "You have escaped several times, but I guess we've got you now."
"Hi! don't you dare to touch me!" exclaimed Link Merwell, in fresh alarm. "You haven't got any right to put your hands on me."
"Right or wrong, Link, we are going to make you a prisoner," declared Phil, and advancing he caught the youth who had helped to rob Mr. Wadsworth's jewelry works by the arm.
"You let me go, Phil Lawrence! If you don't it will be the worse for you!" bawled Link, and tried to wrench himself loose.
"Here, none of that!" broke in Dave, quickly, and stepping forward, he caught the evildoer by the other arm. "You just march along with us!"
"I won't go!" bawled the boy who had gotten himself into trouble. "Let go of me, I tell you!"
He started to struggle, and for a minute or two Dave and Phil had all they could do to hold him.Then, in sudden viciousness, Link kicked out, taking Dave in the shin.
"Oh, so that's your game, is it?" cried Dave, his anger rising. And then, as Link kicked out once more, he caught the foot and gave the youth a shove that sent him sprawling on his back. Before Link could arise, Dave rushed in and sat down heavily on him.
"Oh!" grunted the fallen one. "D-don't cru-crush my ribs!" he panted. "L-let u-up!"
"I won't let up until you promise to behave yourself," answered Dave, sternly. "For two pins, Link, I'd give you the thrashing of your life. You deserve it. What right had you to send me that note and call me a 'poorhouse nobody'?"
"That's right, Dave. Pitch into him! Give him what he deserves!" agreed Phil. "Maybe a good licking would knock some common-sense into him."
"D-don't you dare to—to t-touch me," panted the boy under Dave. "If you—you do, I'll ha-have the l-law on you!"
"Don't talk about the law!" cried Dave. "The law will take care of you. When I caught you down on Cave Island, and you said that you were sorry that you had joined Jasniff in that robbery and that you were going to reform, I felt sorry for you. But you are a faker, Merwell, andI don't believe you ever will reform, and that's the reason I'm going to do my best now to place you in the hands of the law."
"You—you—you let me u-up!"
"I won't let you up until you promise to behave yourself and come along with us."
"A-all right, I pro-promise."
"Very well, then, you can get up," answered Dave, arising. "But remember, you have given us your word, and if you break it, I'll guarantee that Phil and I will come down on you like a ton of bricks. Now, if you know when you are well off, you'll do exactly as we tell you to."
"I've got a scheme, Dave," broke in Phil, bringing out an extra piece of fishline from his pocket. "Let's tie his hands behind him with this. Then I don't think he'll care to run away—not very far, anyhow."
"Humph! can't you let me walk along without having my hands tied?" grumbled the prisoner.
"We are not going to take any chances, Link," answered the shipowner's son. "Now that we have caught you we are going to see that you get where you belong—in prison."
"You send me to prison and my father will make it hot for you!"
"You stop threatening us, Link!" ordered Dave, sternly.
"All right. But you'll see!"
Much against his will, Link Merwell was forced to place his hands behind him, and in a few minutes Phil and Dave had secured the fishline around his wrists. Then they picked up his cap, which had fallen off, and placed it on his head.
"Now then, march!" ordered Dave. "And no funny work!" And he led the way back along the brook, with Merwell following and Phil bringing up the rear with the fishing outfits.
"Say, how do you expect a fellow to get over these rocks with his hands tied behind him?" grumbled Link Merwell, after he had slipped several times.
"You'll have to do the best you can," returned Phil, coldly. "A jailbird like you can't expect much consideration."
"Bah, you make me tired, Phil Lawrence!" growled the prisoner. "I don't think you'll be able to send me to prison; not for long, anyhow! My father's got plenty of money; he'll get me out some way."
"If he spends any money on you he'll be foolish," returned the shipowner's son. "Now go ahead, we are not going to waste all our time on you."
It was not long after this when they came in sight of the other boys. Ben and Roger werestill fishing, while Luke and Shadow were resting on the rocks, the latter telling one of his favorite stories.
"Hello! What luck?" called Ben, looking up. And then he added: "Great Cæsar's ghost! if it isn't Link Merwell!"
"Where did you run across him?" cried Luke, leaping to his feet, followed by Shadow.
"We found him running away from some kind of a wild man," answered Dave.
"The wild man who scared us into fits the other day?" queried Roger.
"We don't know if it was that fellow or somebody else," answered Phil.
Link Merwell was much crestfallen to confront so many of his former schoolmates of Oak Hall. He realized that he was "in the camp of the enemy" in more ways than one. At one time or another he had played each of them some sort of a scurvy trick, and he realized that not one of them would have a good word to say for him.
"Well, I see they have made you a prisoner," remarked Luke, as he noticed that Link's hands were tied behind him.
"Humph! they had no right to do it," growled the prisoner. "Where are you going to take me, anyhow?"
"We are going to take you to our bungalows," announced Dave. "There you will have thepleasure of talking the matter over with Mr. Wadsworth."
At the mention of the name of the man he had robbed, Link Merwell winced and his face paled. Evidently he did not relish what was in store for him.
"Say, having his hands tied behind him puts me in mind of a story," began Shadow. "Once there was a fellow——" and then, as the would-be story teller saw a look of disgust coming over the faces of his chums, he added hastily: "Oh, well, never mind. I'll tell you that story some other time."
"Is Mr. Wadsworth staying up here with you?" asked Link, while Ben and the others prepared to return to the bungalows.
"He is," answered Dave.
"Is his family with him?"
"Yes, we are all up here for a short vacation." Dave looked at his enemy squarely in the eyes. "Link, do you think you are treating me just right? I never put a straw in your way, and yet you have done everything you could to make things unpleasant for me. I tried to help you down on Cave Island, and in return for that you have been sending letters to Nat Poole asking him to help you in hurting me. And then the other day you sent that note calling me a 'poorhouse nobody.'"
"Oh, don't preach to me, Dave Porter!" growled the youth who had been made a prisoner. "I hate that kind of talk. You always tried to set yourself up as being better than any one else. Maybe you could get on the soft side of Gus Plum, but you can't play any such game as that on me. I know what I am doing."
"Link, I'm sorry to hear you talk that way," went on Dave, earnestly. "Do you want to spend all your life in prison?"
"Bah, don't talk to me! Didn't I tell you I don't want any preaching? If I've got to go to jail I'll go, but it won't be for long, mark my words! My father has got lots of money, and I guess the lawyers will know what to do. But let me tell you something, Dave Porter"—and now Link Merwell's face showed both cunning and hatred—"you found fault with that note I sent to you calling you a poorhouse nobody. Well, that is all you are; a poorhouse nobody!"
"See here, Link——" began our hero, his temper rising.
"Oh, now, just wait, Dave Porter! Just wait a little, and you'll find out what I mean. You are a poorhouse nobody and nothing else. Dave Porter? Why, you are not Dave Porter at all! You are a poorhouse nobody; that's all you are!"
"What's this you are saying, Link?" demanded Phil, who had overheard the conversation just recorded. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself to talk that way. Just because Dave spent part of his life in the poorhouse after he was stolen away from his parents is no reason why you should speak as you do."
"And that isn't the reason why I am talking this way," retorted the prisoner. "I've got another reason, and Dave Porter will find out what it is before very long."
"You just said that I was not Dave Porter," remarked our hero. "What do you mean by that?"
"Never mind what I mean; you'll find out sooner or later," answered Link, with an expression of cunning on his countenance.
"Oh, don't listen to him!" broke in Roger; "he is only trying to worry you, Dave. Let us get back to the bungalows and tell Mr. Wadsworth about this capture."
"I'm not going back with you," retorted LinkMerwell. And now, with his hands tied behind him, he made a leap over the rocks in the direction of the woods.
The sudden movement on the part of the prisoner, surrounded as he was by all of the boys, came somewhat as a surprise. But Dave, Roger and Phil were quick to recover, and away they bounded in pursuit of the fleeing one.
Terror lent speed to Link Merwell's feet, and soon he gained the edge of the growth, which at this point was quite heavy.
"Hurry up or he'll hide himself!" called Dave, who was in advance of his chums.
The runaway might have made good his escape had it not been for the fact that his hands were so tightly bound behind him. As he dashed between the first of the trees, his foot caught on an outcropping root. Unable to throw out his hands to save himself, he came down heavily, striking his forehead on another tree root.
"I've got him, come on!" cried Dave, and in a few seconds more was beside the fallen one. To his surprise Link Merwell lay motionless.
"Collar him! don't let him get away again!" yelled Roger, as he came up with Phil beside him.
"I think he hurt himself when he fell," answered our hero. "How about it, Link?" and he bent over his enemy as he asked the question.
There was no reply, and getting down on their knees, the three boys raised Link Merwell up and turned him over. He was unconscious, and the blood was flowing from a cut on his left temple.
You just said that I was not Dave Porter"You just said that I was not Dave Porter," remarked our hero. "What do you mean by that?"—Page 201.ToList
"You just said that I was not Dave Porter," remarked our hero. "What do you mean by that?"—Page 201.ToList
"He came down pretty hard, I imagine," said Dave. "Let us carry him down to the brook."
Not without some difficulty, the three lads raised the unconscious form and carried it toward the brook, meeting the other boys on the way.
"Hello! what did you do; sock him one?" queried Luke.
"No, he fell, and as he couldn't use his hands he hit his head on a tree root," answered Dave. "Get a little water, somebody, and we'll see if we can revive him."
The water was soon brought, and with this they washed off the wound, after which they bound up Link Merwell's head with several handkerchiefs. The sufferer groaned and gasped several times, and finally opened and closed his eyes.
"Say, he may be hurt worse than we think," remarked Roger, gravely.
"I guess he ought to have a doctor," added Dave. "But where to get one around here I don't know. I don't believe there is one at Carpen Falls."
"I know there isn't, because I heard my mother asking about it," added Ben. "But I think we ought to get him down to the bungalows."
All of the boys were agreed that this was thebest thing to do, and so, after putting up their fishing outfit, they began the return to the lake shore, taking turns at carrying the unconscious youth.
"O dear! who is hurt?" cried Laura, as she saw the party approaching.
"It's Link Merwell," answered her brother. "Call Mr. Wadsworth; will you?"
"Oh, Dave! so you've caught him; have you?" cried Jessie, while Laura ran off on her errand. "Did you have a fight?"
"Not much of a one, Jessie. He got hurt through a fall."
"What a very foolish boy he has been!" was Belle's comment. "But I think his father is partly to blame. He always allowed Link to do as he pleased on the ranch, and when Link went to the city he always gave him more spending money than was good for him, at least, so my father said."
"It was up to Link to do the square thing on his own account," broke in Roger. "He had all the chance in the world to make a man of himself. But he preferred the company of fellows like Jasniff. And this is the result."
Mr. Wadsworth was in his bungalow writing a letter. He was surprised and gratified at the news brought by Laura, and quickly followed her outside. A little later Mrs. Wadsworth and Mrs. Basswood joined the group. The boys hadunbound Link, and now they placed him on a large hammock with a comfortable pillow under his head. As the jewelry manufacturer approached, the sufferer opened his eyes and then struggled to sit up.
"Hello! I guess he isn't hurt as much as we thought," remarked Shadow, in a low tone.
"Maybe he's only playing 'possum," was Luke's comment.
"No, he was hurt, that's sure; the cut on his forehead shows it," answered Dave.
"Well, Merwell, so they have caught you; have they?" began Mr. Wadsworth, as he stepped up in front of the youth. "I thought we would get you sooner or later."
"I—I can't talk to you no-now," faltered the prisoner.
"I don't think it will be necessary to do much talking, Merwell," went on the jewelry manufacturer. "We can do our talking later—possibly in the police court."
"All right, have your own way about it," growled the prisoner. "You've got me and I'm down and out, so you can do your worst." And with this he rolled over on the hammock once more and again closed his eyes.
"Talk about nerve!" whispered Ben. "Doesn't that take the cake!"
"I'd like to know whether he is really hurt somuch, or only shamming," added Phil. "He always was a sly one."
"Tell me how you came to capture him," said Mr. Wadsworth.
Thereupon Dave and Phil related how they had gone up the brook to the vicinity of the cliff, and there heard the words between Link and the so-called wild man.
"O dear! is that awful creature around here again?" cried Jessie.
"Yes," answered Dave. "And I wish he would keep away."
Then Dave and Phil related how Link Merwell had plunged over the cliff and had been made a prisoner, and then how, later on, he had tried to escape, struck his head on the tree root, and how all of the boys had brought him to the bungalows.
"I am glad he didn't get away from you," said Oliver Wadsworth. "I think he ought to be in prison to keep Jasniff company."
"How will you get him to jail?" questioned Phil.
"I don't know what we can do except to march him down to Carpen Falls. But we can't do that to-day, for he seems too weak. Perhaps we can take him down there to-morrow, or else some of us can go down and get an officer to come up here and take charge of him."
The matter was talked over at some length, andit was finally decided that nothing more should be done that day. Link Merwell did not join in the discussion, nor even open his eyes to look at them. But by close observation, Dave became satisfied that the prisoner was listening intently to every word that was said.
"What will you do with him to-night?" asked Roger.
"We might lock him up in one of the rooms in the bungalow," suggested Dave.
"I don't think we'll give up one of our rooms to that fellow!" put in Mr. Wadsworth. "I think a bunk in the woodshed will be plenty good enough for him."
"Oh, Pa, wouldn't that be rather hard on him?" questioned Jessie, who did not want to see even a rascal like Merwell suffer physical discomfort.
"I dare say he has been putting up with worse than that in the woods here and while he was on Cave Island and in the far West," returned her father. "We'll place an old couch and some blankets in a corner of the shed, and that will be plenty good enough for him."
"But somebody will have to watch him," answered Dave. "I'll do it if you want me to."
"That wouldn't be quite fair, Dave," broke in Phil. "If he has got to be watched, let us take turns at doing it."
"We might bind him fast to the cot," suggested Mr. Wadsworth.
"He's so slick I'd be afraid to risk that," answered Dave. "I'll not mind staying up watching him."
"Let us all take a hand at it," broke in Ben. "Every fellow can go on guard-duty for two hours, and call the next fellow." And so, after a little discussion, the matter was arranged.
"I suppose I'm not to have anything to eat?" grumbled Link Merwell, a little later, when they were arranging to place him in the woodshed, which was a small lean-to of the Wadsworth bungalow. This place was used for the storage of firewood, but just now was almost empty.
"Oh, yes, we'll see to it that you get something to eat," answered Mrs. Wadsworth, quickly.
"I haven't had a square meal for twenty-four hours," went on the prisoner.
"Give him all he wants, but nothing fancy," said Mr. Wadsworth. "He deserves nothing but the plainest kind of victuals."
"Where have you kept yourself since you ran away from Mr. Appleby's camp?" questioned Phil, curiously.
"Oh, I just roamed around in the woods," was the somewhat sullen answer.
"Did you meet that wild man more than once?" questioned Roger.
"No. If it hadn't been for that fellow, whoever he is, you wouldn't have caught me," added Link, bitterly.
"I wonder what the Pooles will do when Mr. Basswood tells them what we think, that it is Mr. Wilbur Poole," came from Dave. "Perhaps they will send some of the sanitarium authorities up to try to catch him."
"I hope they do catch him!" came from Jessie. "I'll never feel safe as long as that man is at large."
Mr. Dunston Porter had been down to Carpen Falls for a walk and to get the mail. He returned late that evening, bringing several letters with him. He was of course much surprised to learn of the capture of Link Merwell, and listened with interest to the details concerning the affair.
Among the letters which his uncle had brought along was one for Dave, which he read with deep interest. It was from Nat Poole, who evidently had not yet heard anything regarding his missing uncle.
"I want to tell you of what has happened here lately," (wrote Nat). "I have received two visits from a young fellow named Ward Porton, who is, I believe, a moving-picture actor, and the same fellow that you helped to rescue from a burning steam yacht. This fellow was in town once with Link Merwell, and then came here alone. He has been visiting a number of people who are well acquainted with you, and also visited the poorhouse here and talked to several of those in authority, and those who used to have the runningof the poorhouse years ago, when you were an inmate there. This Ward Porton acted as if he had something of great importance on his mind, but what it was he would not tell, but he did let slip that it was something concerning you—that there was a big surprise in store for you. He also let slip that he, too, had been in a poorhouse when he was a little boy, and that he had never been able to learn where he had really come from."I am writing this to put you on your guard in case he should show himself either at your camp or at the Wadsworth mansion after your return. I must confess that I don't like the fellow's manner, and I rather surmise he is laying pipes to play you some trick."
"I want to tell you of what has happened here lately," (wrote Nat). "I have received two visits from a young fellow named Ward Porton, who is, I believe, a moving-picture actor, and the same fellow that you helped to rescue from a burning steam yacht. This fellow was in town once with Link Merwell, and then came here alone. He has been visiting a number of people who are well acquainted with you, and also visited the poorhouse here and talked to several of those in authority, and those who used to have the runningof the poorhouse years ago, when you were an inmate there. This Ward Porton acted as if he had something of great importance on his mind, but what it was he would not tell, but he did let slip that it was something concerning you—that there was a big surprise in store for you. He also let slip that he, too, had been in a poorhouse when he was a little boy, and that he had never been able to learn where he had really come from.
"I am writing this to put you on your guard in case he should show himself either at your camp or at the Wadsworth mansion after your return. I must confess that I don't like the fellow's manner, and I rather surmise he is laying pipes to play you some trick."
Dave read this letter over several times, and was much perplexed. He had not forgotten what Link Merwell had said to him shortly after being captured, nor had he forgotten the fact that he had seen Link and Ward Porton in Crumville at the old Potts farm.
"Those fellows are certainly up to something," our hero told himself. "Link said that I was not Dave Porter. Now, what did he mean by that? Those fellows must be hatching up some plot against me."
"Dave, you look rather worried," remarked Phil, as he caught the youth reading the communication for the third time. "No bad news I hope?"
"I can't tell whether it is or not, Phil," was the reply. And Dave handed the letter to his chum.
"Phew! This looks like a mystery," was the comment of the shipowner's son. "Dave, do you think this had anything to do with what Link Merwell said when we caught him—that you were not Dave Porter?"
"That's the way it looks to me, Phil."
"But that's rank nonsense. We all know you are Dave Porter."
"Well, I've always thought I was Dave Porter, ever since I met my Uncle Dunston out in those South Sea Islands."
"Why of course you are! Don't you look just like your Uncle Dunston? This is some game, Dave."
"I think so myself."
"What are you fellows confabbing about?" asked Roger, walking up.
"We're talking about a letter I just received," answered Dave. And then the senator's son also read the communication.
"Say, this is a mystery and no mistake!" was Roger's comment. "And so Nat thinks that Ward Porton is mixed up in it, eh? That is strange."
"What do you suppose he has to do with it, Roger?" questioned Phil.
"I am sure I don't know. But come to think of it, he did look like——" And then Roger broke off in confusion.
"Look like what, Roger?" asked Dave, quickly.
"Oh, never mind, Dave, let's drop the subject and talk about what we are going to do with Link Merwell."
"I think I know what you were going to say," went on our hero, and he tried to speak calmly although his heart gave a sudden jump. "You were going to say that Ward Porton looked like my Uncle Dunston and like me."
"Well, if you must know it, Dave, that is what did come into my mind. I don't think he resembles you quite as much as he resembles your uncle, to be really honest."
"Oh, say, Roger, drop that!" interposed Phil, hastily. "I think Dave looks a good deal more like his uncle than Porton looks like Mr. Porter."
"It's a queer mystery, that's certain," returned Dave, slowly. "I don't like it, I must say," and his face showed more concern than it had for a long while.
"Don't you take this too seriously, Dave!" cried Roger. "I believe at the most it's only some game gotten up by Link Merwell. Nowthat we have him a prisoner and can send him to jail for that robbery, more than likely you won't hear anything further about it."
"I sincerely hope you speak the truth," was our hero's sober reply.
After a plain but substantial meal, Link Merwell was taken to the woodshed and told he would have to remain there until morning. Then the boys cast lots to find out who should go on guard first.
"I'm number one," announced Phil, after drawing one of a number of slips of paper placed in a cap.
"And I follow you," announced Luke.
"I'm guard number three," came from Ben, and the other boys announced what slips they had drawn.
Usually the woodshed was dark, but now a lantern had been hung on a nail to illuminate the place. There were two doors, one connecting with the bungalow proper, and the other leading into the backyard of the place. There was also a small window, over which in times past several stout wooden bars had been nailed to keep out prowling wild animals.
"Think I'll run away, eh?" remarked Link Merwell, as he sat down on the couch which had been placed in the woodshed.
"You'll not get the chance," returned Phil, whohad armed himself with one of the double-barreled shotguns. "If you try to get away, Link, you'll get a dose of shot in you, just as sure as fate."
"Humph! I don't think I'll want to run away," grumbled the prisoner. "There is no place to run to in this forsaken section of the country. What you folks can find here to make it pleasant is a mystery to me."
The door leading to the outside had been closed and bolted. The other door leading to the bungalow proper was left open for ventilation, and Phil sat on a low stool beside it, with the shotgun across his knees.
"Are you quite sure you can manage him, Phil?" questioned Mr. Wadsworth, as he came to the doorway after the others in both bungalows had retired.
"Yes, I can manage him easily enough," returned the shipowner's son. "I've got this, you see," and he tapped the shotgun suggestively.
"Well, don't have any shooting unless it becomes absolutely necessary," answered the jewelry manufacturer; and then he, too, retired.
For a short while Link Merwell lay down on the couch and turned over as if to go to sleep. But he was restless, and presently, when all was quiet, he turned over again and sat up.
"What are you going to do with me when you get me to Carpen Falls?" he questioned.
"We are going to hand you over to the authorities."
"Is Dave Porter going along to the Falls?"
"I don't know about that. That's for Mr. Wadsworth to say," answered Phil. "By the way," he continued, "what did you mean by telling Dave that he was not Dave Porter?"
"Never you mind, you'll find out soon enough," grumbled the prisoner.
"Very well, Link, if you don't want to tell me you don't have to. Just the same, if you are trying to hatch out some plot against Dave, I warn you to be careful. He has stood about as much as he intends to stand."
"This is no plot; this is something real," grumbled Link Merwell. "Just you wait, that's all," and then he lay down on the couch once more and pretended to go to sleep.
At the proper time Luke came to relieve Phil, and was followed by Ben, and then by Shadow.
"Say, it's cold to-night," remarked the former story-teller of Oak Hall, as he took the shotgun and sat down on the stool. "If this weather keeps on, before long we'll have frost up here, and we'll all be thinking of going home."
"Better put on an extra coat; here is one," answered Ben, and passed the garment over. Then he returned to the other bungalow, for he was tired.
Shadow had expected to have quite a talk with the prisoner, but in this he was disappointed, for Link appeared to be asleep, and he did not have the heart to awaken the prisoner. He sat on the stool, thinking over several of the stories he had told from time to time, and trying to invent one or two new ones.
In the midst of his revery a sound from outside startled him. It was the hooting of an owl, and so close that the mournful sound made Shadow shiver.
"I'd like to shoot that owl," he told himself, as the hooting continued. "If I brought him down I could have him stuffed," he thought, with some satisfaction.
Shadow looked at the motionless form on the couch, and then arising from the stool, tiptoed his way into the big living-room of the bungalow. One of the windows was wide open, and he looked out of this to see if he could locate the owl. The hooting was now closer than before and seemed to come from a tree not twenty-five feet away.
"Say, there's a chance for a shot," murmured the youth to himself. "If I could only spot that owl I'm sure I could——"
Thump! Shadow received a staggering blow in the back of the neck, and then felt himself hurled to one side, while the shotgun was wrenched from his grasp. Then, before he could recoverfrom his astonishment, a figure leaped through the open window and dashed across the moonlit dooryard.
"Hi! Stop!" yelled Shadow, as soon as he could recover his breath. "Stop! Help!"
"What's the racket?" The cry came from Roger, and then he and Dave burst into the room, followed by Phil.
"Merwell! He's escaped! He got the gun away from me, and jumped through the window!" panted poor Shadow. "Oh, what a fool I was to think he was asleep!"
"Where did he go?" questioned Dave, and at the same time bounded back into the bedroom, to don his shoes and part of his clothing.
"He jumped out of the window with the gun. That's all I know about it," answered Shadow.
"Didn't you have a fight?" questioned Phil.
"No, I came to the window to look at an owl that was hooting around here. Link came behind me and gave me a fierce crack in the neck. Then he grabbed the gun and went through the window like a flash. And I thought he was asleep!"
By this time Dave had returned, partly dressed, and catching up another one of the fowling pieces in the bungalow he, too, leaped through the window, followed by Shadow. A few seconds later the other boys joined them.
"Have you any idea which way he went?" questioned our hero.
"I don't know exactly, Dave, but I think he went that way," and the former story-teller of Oak Hall pointed with his hand.
"Let's scatter a little," ordered Dave, and while he passed in the direction pointed out, the other boys separated to both sides of him. All advanced to the edge of the woods and there came to a halt. While the moon made it fairly bright in the open space surrounding the bungalows, beneath the trees it was dark, and consequently little could be seen.
"Might as well look for a pin in a haystack," grumbled Roger. "If he got into these woods it's good-bye to him. We might search all night and not get a trace of the rascal."
"I guess you're right, Roger," answered Dave, "but let's search around a little anyway."
Long before this the alarm had become general, and now Dunston Porter and Mr. Wadsworth appeared, followed shortly by Mrs. Wadsworth and Mrs. Basswood and the girls.
"Let us take the flashlights and lanterns and see if we can't get on the track of him," ordered the jewelry manufacturer. "We must capture him if it is possible to do so."
And then the search began in earnest.
"Did you see anything of him?"
"Not a thing. Did you?"
"I saw something move under the trees, but I guess it was a wild animal."
"He's gotten away, and that is all there is to it," said Dave, as he looked at his chums and at the men, who had also joined in the search for Link Merwell.
"This is certainly too bad!" remarked Mr. Wadsworth, with a shake of his head.
"And it was all my fault!" broke out Shadow, bitterly. "Oh, I could kick myself full of holes every time I think of it!"
Over an hour had been spent in the woods surrounding the clearing on Mirror Lake. During that time the men and the boys had stirred up several small wild animals, but that had been all.
"He must have legged it for all he was worth after he jumped through the window," was Roger's comment. "For all we know he may be miles away from here by now."
"If he ran straight into those woods it was ahazardous proceeding," said Dunston Porter. "He'll become hopelessly lost in the darkness, and when daylight comes he won't know how to turn to get out."
"Oh, perhaps he'll climb a tree and locate his surroundings that way," suggested Dave. "You must remember that Link isn't like a city fellow. He was brought up in the wild West, and knows how to do for himself in the open."
"We may as well give up the hunt," said Mr. Wadsworth, and turned toward Bear Camp, followed by the others.
"Oh, Dave, did you catch him?" The cry came from Jessie, who stood on the porch with the others, awaiting their return.
"No, he got away."
"That's too bad!"
"You should have kept him bound, Dave," said Laura.
"That's it, Dave," added Belle. "In the West they would tie a rascal like Link fast to a tree with a lariat. If you secured him properly he would stay there until you freed him."
"Well, there is no use in crying over spilt milk," remarked Mrs. Basswood. "I suppose we may as well go to bed again." And on this the others agreed.
Several days, including Sunday, passed, and nothing more was seen or heard of Link Merwellor Ward Porton. During that time the young folks went out on the lake several times, and also went fishing. Swimming was mentioned, but as the weather was getting colder rapidly, only Dave and Phil went in for a plunge. One day they planned to visit the moving-picture people, but it rained and they did not go.
"It will soon be time for hunting," announced Roger. "I hope we do get a chance to bring down something before we have to go back."
"Well, I'd like to have a crack at a deer, myself," answered Dave, who had not forgotten the sport he had had on Squirrel Island and at other places in the vicinity of Oak Hall.
"What's the matter with a crack at a bear?" interposed Phil. "A great big shaggy fellow that would weigh eight hundred or a thousand pounds."
"Say, Phil, you don't want much in life!" cried Ben. "Why don't you make it a two-thousand-pound bear while you are at it?"
"Say, speaking about heavy bears puts me in mind of a story I heard!" cried Shadow, his face lighting up for the first time since the escape of Link Merwell. "This yarn was told by an old western hunter and trapper, and he said it was strictly true. He said he was out on the ranges one day when he found himself suddenly pursued by three Modoc Indians. He shot at them several times without hitting anybody, and then, tohis consternation, he found that his ammunition had given out. He legged it up a mountain-side, and the three Modocs came after him, yelling to beat the band. Just as they were following him up the steep trail, he saw a monstrous bear come plunging out from a thicket near by. He was so upset that he hardly knew what to do, but he grabbed up a big rock and sent it at the bear. It struck the monstrous animal on the head and keeled him over, and the bear rolled down the steep mountain-side, and knocked over the three Modoc Indians, smashing every one of them."
"Wow! That's some bear story!" exclaimed Luke.
"Shadow, how could you bear to tell such a story?" asked Dave, reproachfully.
"That knocks out all the dime novels ever written," said Ben.
"Why, Ben! do you mean to say you have read them all?" cried our hero, in pretended surprise.
"All? I don't read any of them!" snorted Ben. "Just the same, that's the biggest whopper I ever heard."
"Well, I'm not vouching for the story," interposed Shadow, dryly, "I'm just telling it as it was told to me."
"Speaking about being frightened by a bear puts me in mind that it's queer we haven't seen or heard anything more of that wild man," remarked Roger.
"We don't want to see or hear anything more of him!" burst out Laura. "One scare was enough."
"It's queer that the Pooles don't send some one up here to look for him," remarked Jessie. "If he were my uncle I certainly wouldn't want him to be roaming around in the woods that way."
"If he is just roaming around I wonder how he manages to live," said Dave. "And where does he get all that outlandish outfit?"
"He must have some sort of a habitation here," returned Phil. "Maybe he has taken possession of some bungalow or cabin that was locked up. If he has, won't the owners of the place be mad when they find it out, especially if he is using their things!"
"I wonder if we couldn't go up to that cliff and track him in some way from there?" said Phil. "He may have left some sort of trail behind him. Unless he follows some kind of paths through the woods he would be apt to get lost, just like anybody else."
"If he really is Wilbur Poole, I'd like to capture him and send him back to the sanitarium; where he belongs," remarked Roger. "I think Nat would like us to do it."
"What do you say about starting on a regular hunt to-morrow?" asked Dave. "We might go out directly after breakfast and carry our lunchwith us. Who knows but what in looking for the wild man we might run across some trace of Link Merwell."
"Oh, Dave, you mustn't get into any trouble!" cried Jessie, hastily.
"If we go out we'll go armed and be on our guard," he replied.
The matter was talked over for some time, and at last it was decided that the boys should start out in a body directly after breakfast the following morning, provided it remained clear. They were to carry a shotgun and a rifle, and also a substantial lunch, and were not to return to Bear Camp until evening.
"I'd like to go on such a tramp myself," announced Belle. "It would be lots of fun climbing over the rocks and up the mountains."
"I think you girls had better remain around the bungalows," said Mrs. Wadsworth. "You can go out some other time, when the boys are not looking for that wild man and Link Merwell."
During the past few days those at Bear Camp had seen but little of the moving-picture company. That afternoon the old hunter, Tad Rason, stopped at the dock in his rowboat, and made the announcement that the company had gone to the other end of the lake, to take pictures for several more dramas.
"Mr. Appleby wanted me to tell you that thatyoung feller, Ward Porton, ain't goin' to be with 'em no more," announced Tad Rason to Dave. "He says the young feller writ a letter sayin' that he was on the track of his parentage, and he guessed as how he'd have plenty of money of his own when he could prove who he was."
This announcement was of great interest to Dave, and he immediately questioned Tad Rason, to learn if the old hunter knew anything further. But that was all Rason could tell. He even did not know how long Ward Porton had remained with the moving-picture company after his arrival in the Adirondacks.
"The huntin' season will be openin' to-morrow," announced Tad Rason, in reply to a question from Phil. "I'm bound down the lake now to meet a party of hunters comin' from Albany. I take 'em out every season, actin' as guide."
"Perhaps we'll get you to go out with us some day," said Roger.
"All right, boys. I'll be glad to go, if I ain't got any job with them other fellows," announced the old hunter.
Although he was not willing to admit it to the others, Dave was greatly worried over the news brought by Tad Rason. Coupling it with what he had heard from Link Merwell and Nat Poole, he could reach but one conclusion, which was that in some way Ward Porton was going to try to provethat the boy from the Crumville poorhouse was not the real Dave Porter.
"Maybe he'll come along with a story that he is the real Dave," thought our hero, bitterly. "He said he was raised in a poorhouse, just like myself, but he also said it was away down East and not anywhere near the vicinity of Crumville. How he is going to get around that is beyond me. I don't think he'll be able to make anybody believe his story. Just the same, I wish this thing hadn't come up. I'd like to forget those poorhouse days entirely." And at the remembrance of those bitter times, Dave sighed deeply.
"Dave, you look awfully worried," said Jessie, that evening when the boys were getting ready for their next day's tramp. "What is the trouble?"
"Oh, it isn't much," he answered, evasively. "I was just thinking over what Link Merwell said."
"Dave, don't let him worry you so!" cried the girl, sympathetically. "He is a bad boy, and everybody knows it."
"But he said some things that I don't like at all, Jessie. I don't like him to call me a poorhouse nobody."
"Dave, don't you mind him! I don't care if you did come from the poorhouse. I think just as much of you anyway," and Jessie's eyes showed her earnestness.
"It's splendid of you to say that," he returned, in a low tone, and catching both her hands, he squeezed them tightly. "It's a grand good thing to have somebody who believes in you."
Early in the evening there was a slight shower, and some of the boys thought they were in for a steady rain. But soon the clouds passed, and the moon and stars came out as brightly as ever.
"A perfect day!" announced Roger, on arising the next morning. "Just cool enough to make mountain climbing a pleasure."
The servants had an early breakfast ready for the boys, and by the time the girls and the others appeared they had partaken of the repast and were ready to depart. Dave carried the rifle and Roger the shotgun, while the others were loaded down with several knapsacks of provisions and some extra wraps and a blanket or two.
"You want to take plenty of things with you," Dunston Porter had cautioned them. "You may get farther away from home than you anticipate, and may have to stay out all night."
"That's true, Uncle Dunston," Dave had answered. "And that being so, if we don't turn up at a reasonable hour, don't worry about us."
"But what will you do if you capture that wild man?" asked Mrs. Basswood.
"If it's Wilbur Poole, we'll make him a prisoner and bring him with us," announced Dave.
"Well, good luck to you!" cried Dunston Porter, as the boys prepared to leave. "Remember the hunting season opens to-day, so if you get a chance at any game don't let it slip you."
"Trust us for that, Uncle Dunston!" cried Dave.
With shouts of good-bye, the boys turned away from the bungalows, and a few minutes later disappeared along the path running beside the brook.