W
HENhalf an hour passed, a quarter-gale of wind making the only sound that came from outside.
"I think that must have been a sailor's ghost," remarked Prescott, at last, "and he got his bearings wrong. He said, half an hour ago, that he was coming in—but he didn't."
"How can you t-t-talk about g-g-g-ghosts like that?" shuddered Dutcher, whose face was still invisible to the others.
"We might as well go to bed," proposed Dave, using one hand to cover an imitation yawn that was intended to urge the others to courage. "Whatever wild spirit was traveling around here has wandered off in some other direction."
"Don't go to bed," pleaded Hen. "I won't have any one to talk to if all you fellows go to sleep."
For answer Tom Reade climbed up into his bunk, though he kept his shirt and trousers on.
"I'll tell you what," offered Dick. "We'll take turns staying up on guard, just in case something real should happen. The fellow who stays up will walk back and forth, to be sure of remaining awake. He'll also see to it that the fire is kept up."
"Who'll take the first watch?" Harry wanted to know.
"Let Hen do it!" came, in the same breath, from Dave, Tom and Greg.
"I—I wouldn't be any good at that," pleaded Dutcher anxiously.
"No," smiled Dick dryly, "I don't believe you would. As I proposed the guard stunt, I'll take the first dose of my own medicine. Later in the night I'll call Dave, and when he's through he'll call Tom. All you fellows pile back into bed and get some sleep."
"You take the air rifle, then," urged Dan,passing it over. As this rather insignificant weapon mightpossiblybe of some use, in the event of more definite trouble, Dick accepted it.
One after another the fellows dropped off to sleep, all except Hen, who lay very still, with heart thumping wildly.
Half an hour after Prescott's tour of guard duty began three wild wails, wordless, smote the air, one after the other. Dave, Tom and Dan awoke.
"It's all right," Dick called to them, softly. "Nothing but noises. Don't be afraid but I'll call you if its needed."
So those who had a chance, dozed off. Hen didn't have any chance; his cowardly soul wasn't made for sleep when there was any danger about.
It was twenty minutes past three when Dick stepped over and nudged Dave gently, next whispering:
"It's about time for you, now. You call Tom at a little after five, and then tell him to call us all at seven o'clock."
Dave hurriedly dressed and took the air rifle from Dick, the latter then getting back into his bunk and soon dropping off in sleep.
"Seven o'clock! All out! Step lively! Change cars for breakfast!" were the next words that Dick Prescott heard.
By the time that the fellows had dressed, in the warm cabin, and had started to pry the shutters back, the first dim promise of daylight was showing in the east. A little later it was broad daylight.
By this time, too, after most of the fellows had slept soundly for hours, the situation seemed altogether different. Even Dutcher slipped out of his bunk and began to dress briskly.
"Say," he grinned, "but you fellows were somewhat scared last night."
"Yes," admitted Dave. "Weren't you?"
"Not a bit," asserted Hen bravely. "Sa-ay——"
He paused, looking around him in wonderment, then demanded tartly:
"What on earth are you fellows laughing at?"
"Laughing just to—to think what boobies we were when we had the brave Hen Dutcher with us to set us a better example," answered Tom Reade sarcastically. "No use in talking, Hen! You're the only fellow in this outfit that has any sand."
"Say, you needn't try to get too funny, now," remarked Hen suspiciously. "You fellows were all so scared that maybe you thought I was as bad as you. But I was only putting it on, just to see how far you'd all go."
"You must have been satisfied, then," returned Dick grimly, "for we surely were uneasy."
Hen blandly took to himself all the credit that was offered him for his "courage," seeing which the Grammar School boys winked slyly one at another, then busied themselves with the tasks of getting breakfast.
"To-day's programme will be more work, I suppose," began Tom, as the lads seated themselves around the table.
"As I see it, it will have to be a day of work," Dick nodded. "For that matter, we're learning that it's no use for boys to go camping, especially in the winter, unless they're willing to work."
"What's to be done first?" Dave wanted to know.
"Well, we'll need more wood, and more water," Prescott replied.
"As it doesn't make much difference which we do first, I'm for getting the wood, if that suits the rest of you. Our path of yesterday is blown over a bit with snow, but we can dig it out again in a little while. And, while we're at that, we may as well dig through to the cook shack again. I want to get a good look in there this time."
"Expect to find Mr. Fits there?" Dave asked.
"Hardly, if we didn't find him there yesterday. But, the more I think about it, the more I feel certain that the noises of last night were in some way connected with the shack."
"I'd like to believe that," muttered Tom. "If that's the case, some of us might sleep in there to-night and catch hold of the noise maker."
"Who'd sleep there?" grimaced Dan.
"Well," responded Reade slowly, "we might let Hen sleep there. He's the bravest of the lot, you know, and so he's just the fellow for the job."
Dutcher choked over the food he was swallowing, and shifted his feet uneasily.
Soon after breakfast was over Dick, Dave and Tom stepped outside with the shovels. Here and there the path had been left fairly clear, though at other points they had to shovel industriously through the new drifts. At last, however, they reached the same window through which they had looked in the day before.
"No sign of any one inside," muttered Dick. "Nor have we seen any signs of fire from the chimney. I can see the stove, now, but there doesn't seem to be any sign of fire in it."
"Let's dig around to the door," proposed Dave, "and go inside."
Accordingly the three bent to the new work. A few minutes later Dick gave a tug at the latch-string and the door swung open.
"It doesn't seem as cold in here as you'd expect to find it," murmured Reade.
"That's because we've just come from where it's a good deal colder," Tom answered.
Dick stepped over to the cook stove, raising a lid.
"Look, fellows; here are a few live coals left here yet."
Dave and Tom joined him, staring at the embers in some astonishment.
"Yet there's no one here, and no tracks in the snow outside," observed Tom. "Say, if the tenant of this place can go over the snow without leaving a trail, it does look rather ghostly, eh?"
"A ghost wouldn't need warmth," Dick retorted promptly.
"Then what's the answer?" challenged Dave.
Dick shook his head, but went to one window after the other.
"No one left or entered here by way of the window," Prescott soon announced. "It struck me that Mr. Fits might have used a window, instead of a door, but if so, there'd be tracks under the windows."
"Mr. Fits hasn't been here at all," Dave replied, with a good deal of positiveness. "When we turned him out into the storm he went somewhere else."
"Then how about the ghostly noises, and the embers in the stove?" Reade wanted to know.
"Ask Dick," prompted Dave.
"I can't tell you," laughed Prescott. "I guess you'll have to ask Hen Dutcher."
"Well, there's no one here but ourselves," Tom went on, as the boys stood staring about the tiny shack. "As far as finding anything here is concerned we may as well go about our task of wood gathering."
"I wish we could get at the bottom of the ghost mystery," muttered Dick wistfully.
"So do I," agreed Reade, "but wishes aren't snow plows, and never were. Fred Ripley and his cronies would be mean enough to come down here and spoil our rest at night, but they'd never be brave enough to face the long trip through the deep snow."
"Well, let's go along and get in the wood," Dick urged. So they went, and more than an hour was spent in carrying logs into the main cabin. Of course Greg, Dan and Harry assisted in this, while Hen was put to his usual morning task of washing dishes and straightening things in the cabin.
For dinner the main dish was a platter of steak, broiled over the wood ashes in the fireplace, where the fire was briefly allowed to burn nearly out.
In the afternoon water hauling was the main occupation, as well as the only sport, for the boys had tried the slight crust on the snow, and had found that it would not bear.
"If it grows colder, and stays so for twenty four hours," declared Dalzell, "then we'll have a crust on all this white stuff that will be strong enough to bear our weight. Then ho for tramping, and for hunting with the air rifle!"
"Huh-m-m-m!" answered Harry. "Rabbits and rabbit stew!"
After the water hauling the Grammar School boys settled themselves for some quiet enjoyment inside the cabin. Dave, Tom, Harry and Greg picked out books and sat down to read near the windows. Dick, on the other hand, elected to rove about the interior of the cabin, looking into odd nooks.
"This water barrel might be a little nearer the fire," proposed Prescott. "Then we wouldn't have to break a crust of ice mornings. Dan, you don't seem to be doing anything. Suppose you come and help move the barrel."
"All right," nodded Dalzell, jumping up. "Where do you want to put it?"
Dick pointed to the spot. As the barrel was two thirds full of water it had to be rolled carefully, to avoid upsetting or spilling. It was no easy task for the two boys.
"Hen, you might come and help us a minute," Dick proposed.
"Whatcher take me for?" Dutcher grumbled. Whereat Tom Reade glanced grimly up from his book to remark:
"Son, when you're spoken to, say 'yes, sir,' and hustle!"
Something in Tom's look induced Hen to move rather promptly. The three boys succeeded in moving the barrel a couple of feet toward the spot desired.
"Hullo," muttered Dick, halting and glancing down at the ground where the barrel had stood since their arrival. "Look at that stone."
The stone lay partly imbedded in the dirt flooring of the cabin. It was a flat, nearly round stone, some fifteen inches in diameter.
"That stone looks like a lid, doesn't it?" Dick asked.
"Cover to a gold mine," sneered Hen.
Dick did not answer, but stepped over, bent and began to pry at the edges of the stone. It did not move easily. Dan brought the crowbar and quietly handed it to his chum.
"What have you got?" demanded Tom, glancing up from his book.
"Don't know yet," Dick laughed.
By the aid of the crowbar Dick pried the stone loose from its setting in the ground.
"There's a hole underneath, anyway," announced Dick. "And—Geewhillikins! Fellows, drop everything but your good names, and come here—quick! Hustle!"
B
REATHLESSwith excitement, Dick crouched over the hole in the dirt floor, unwilling to make a move until the other fellows had joined him. That didn't take long.
Hen Dutcher was one of the first to get a glimpse at what had filled Prescott with so much excitement.
"Gracious! It must be Captain Kidd's treasure!" gasped Hen.
"Guess again," replied Tom Reade. "A pirate would be doing a poor business who didn't get a bigger lot of loot than that together."
"But this is a valuable lot of stuff," argued Harry Hazelton, as he took a look.
"I wonder who could have buried it here?" demanded Dan.
"I think I know," nodded Dick. "Now, then, stand back a little and I'll take the stuff out."
The first thing that Prescott drew out of thehole was a paper parcel. This he unwrapped, then gave a whoop of joy.
"The fan I bought mother for Christmas!" he almost shouted.
Something yellowish glinted and caught his eye down in the hole. Dick fished the object out.
"Who's is this?" he queried, holding up a curiously engraved gold watch.
"It looks like Dr. Bentley's," replied Dave Darrin, eying the timepiece. "I saw it often enough when I had diphtheria and he was taking my pulse."
"Yes; it's Dr. Bentley's," glowed Dick. "Won't he be the happy man, though?"
"He will if we manage to get it back to him," assented Tom dryly.
Then a dozen rings, some of them set with gems, and all tied on a string, came to light. There were half a dozen boxes containing jewelry; these boxes undoubtedly had been stolen from women in stores or on the street. A few more rather valuable articles came to light, and then Dick, after opening one jeweler's box and looking inside, emitted a whoop of wild joy.
"This must be the very watch that Fits stole from our parlor—the watch intended for my Christmas present," Prescott cried. "Yes, sir; I'll wager this is my watch."
But at last Dick put it aside with the other loot, and then applied himself to emptying the hole of its few remaining treasures.
"There must be five or six hundred dollars' worth of stuff in the lot," guessed Tom.
"More than that," said Dave.
"So, now, of course, you fellows can guess who hid the stuff here," Dick went on. "It was Mr. Fits who stole Dr. Bentley's watch, and who stole mine, too. So Mr. Fits must have hidden here all this stuff, which represents Mr. Fits's stealings."
"Then all I have to say," observed Tom, "is that if our friend Fits would apply the same amount of industry to honest work he'd be a successful man."
"Until the day before Christmas," Dick continued, "Fits had at least two confederates, whom we helped to put in jail. Probably this stuff was stolen by them all, and then hidden."
"And that was why Fits came back here, and was so anxious to get us out," muttered Dave. "Now, I begin to understand why Fits wanted a hiding place for his plunder even more than for himself. He wanted to leave the stuff in this lonely cabin, and be sure it was safe, until he could find a place where he could sell it. Naturally our coming here upset Mr. Fits's plans, and so bothered him into the bargain."
While the other boys were busy with examining the other pieces of loot, Dick took many an alternate glance at his mother's fan and his own watch.
"I wish we could get this back to Gridley at once, and turn it over to the rightful owners," sighed Greg.
"That wouldn't be the way to go about it, though," Dick responded.
"Why not?"
"Because stolen property, when recovered, has to be turned over to the police first of all. Then, if the thief is caught, the police have the loot as evidence against the thief."
"How long do the police keep the stuff?" demanded Greg.
"Until the thief's trial, if there is one, is over."
"Then, if Fits is caught, Mr. Dick, it may be a long time before you'll have the right to wear your own watch."
"I can wear it now, out here," retorted Prescott, slipping the silver watch into a vest pocket and passing the chain through a buttonhole.
"On second thought, though, I won't. We're not sure that Mr. Fits may not reappear. If he did, and found me wearing a watch, he would understand, and might get fighting mad. If Fits had a fellow rascal or two along with him,they could put up more fight than we boys could take care of. If Fits should come along, and not see any proof that we had found his plunder, he might wait until we are all out of the way before he made any effort to find it. Oh! While I think of it, Greg, I wish you and Hen would take buckets and go to the spring for water."
Dutcher grumbled a bit, though he felt that it wasn't safe to rebel openly. He and Greg were gone some time, for, as usual, the ice over the top of the spring had to be chopped away before the water could be obtained.
So, when Hen came in, after pouring his bucketful into the barrel, he noted that the plunder had vanished.
"What did you do with all the stuff?" Greg demanded curiously.
"It has vanished," smiled Dick.
Greg said no more, but started outside, followed by Hen. Later in the afternoon Greg was told, in whispers, where the plunder had been hidden anew. Hen, too, demanded this information, but the Grammar School boys thought it best not to enlighten him. If Dutcher were caught alone in the cabin by a fellow like Mr. Fits, Hen wasn't likely to hold out his knowledge against threats, and Fits must not be given another chance at the plunder he had first stolen and then hidden.
Soon after darkness came on supper was ready.
"I wonder if we're going to hear the ghosts to-night," muttered Greg.
"No one knows that," Dick answered. "But I think we'd better keep one fellow on guard when the rest go to bed. The guard can take a two hour trick. He can keep the fire going, and, if anything happens, he can warn the other fellows in turn."
So, at nine o'clock, when the others turned in, Greg, the air rifle in one hand, paced softly up and down the cabin, watching, listening.
But nothing happened during Greg's watch. At eleven he called Tom Reade to relieve him.
Just before midnight the same wailings as on the night before started in again. Within sixty seconds all of the Grammar School boys were awake and listening. The wailings continued, and soon came the same sepulchral warnings of death approaching.
"Queer that the racket doesn't bother us the way it did last night, isn't it?" smiled Dick Prescott.
"It's awful enough!" shivered Hen Dutcher. But he was the only one in the cabin who was much alarmed.
"We went all through it last night, and nothing happened," chuckled Dave. "To-night ouraddress is Missouri, and we'll have to be shown what we're asked to believe."
"Call us promptly, Tom, if anything real happens," Dick urged, and sank back in his bedding to compose himself for more sleep. Soon Reade's watch was a lonely one, for most of his companions were either snoring or breathing heavily.
"Whoever got this trick up will have to think of something newer and more 'scary,'" thought Reade, as he paced the floor.
"Well, you fellows might as well wake up," called Dick, after what seemed to Greg like an interval of possibly five minutes. Greg was the only boy, beside Dutcher, who hadn't been called in the night for a share in the watch duty.
"Say, I thought you didn't go on guard until five o'clock, Dick," remarked Greg drowsily.
"I didn't, but it's seven, now," Dick laughed. "It'll be broad daylight in a few minutes more. Move! Get a hustle on!"
Hen Dutcher, though awake, didn't stir. Greg and Harry Hazelton soon tumbled out of their bunks. Then something odd dawned upon them.
"Where are the rest of the fellows?" questioned Greg. "I don't see Dave, Tom or Dan."
"You should have long range vision to see them," smiled Dick. "They've been gone nearly an hour."
"Gone? Where?" Harry wanted to know.
"To the nearest house—for help."
"Help against what?" This from Holmes.
"Greg, the shack behind us had a tenant last night," Dick went on rapidly. "Mr. Fits was in the shack. At a little after five this morning I saw him as plainly as I now see you. He was standing by the nearest window of the shack, and there were sparks traveling up the chimney."
"How on earth did you see him?" demanded Harry. "Did you shove a shutter back?"
"Come with me, and I'll show you."
That caught even Hen, who made up in curiosity what he lacked in courage. Dutcher was out of his bunk in an instant, slipping on shoes and some clothing before he followed the others.
"You see," Dick was explaining, "I've been thinking of this matter ever since we heard the first 'ghost' noises. I knew the noises had to come from something. Now, while I was scared, I don't believe in such things as ghosts. Well, then, the noise must have come from some human throat. When I got up at five this morning I began to think harder than ever. Then I went and got this gimlet out of the little tool box and bored a tiny hole through the wood in this shutter. When I peeped I saw a light, surely enough, in the shack. There were sparks, too, coming upout of the chimney. Then I saw a shadow, and next I saw Mr. Fits himself at the window for a moment. Next I waked up Dave, Tom and Dan, and they dressed as quietly as they could, and took some peeps, too. Then Dave said it was so cold that perhaps the snow had a real crust on it. He went to the door and opened it. We all went out on the snow. We found the crust so hard and thick that we could stamp on it with force. Dave said that that was a good enough crust for him. So off he started, and Tom and Dan went with him. They ought to be back, with men to help, in an hour more."
"Hurrah!" glowed Greg. "Oh, I do hope that the constables get here in time to nab Mr. Fits."
"It'll be a good thing, all around, if that happens," nodded Dick. "But now—are you fellows hungry?"
Greg and Harry scurried away to wash hands and faces.
"I think you had a cheek to let three fellows go after help," grumbled Hen.
"Well, why?" asked Dick patiently.
"S'pose old Fitsey takes it into his head to come over here, on top of the crust, while there's just us four here?" shuddered Hen.
"There are only three of us here, Dutcher. You don't count," interposed Greg ironically.
"Fitsey'd eat us up alive if he guessed the truth and came over here," contended Dutcher stubbornly. "Hey, Dick! What on earth are you doing?"
"Shoving one of the shutters back," Prescott answered, going on with his task.
"Hey! Don't do that!" pleaded Hen hoarsely, running over to Dick and grabbing one of the latter's arms. "Why, this is—it's suicide, that's what it is!"
"Yes?" Dick queried calmly, shaking off Hen's hold and going on with his task.
"It certainly is," Dutcher maintained fearfully. "Why, with a shutter open, Fitsey can jump right through the window glass and be in here on top of us in a jiffy. Please close the shutter."
"Not much!" Prescott rejoined energetically, and threw back the shutter in question. "This window doesn't look out upon the shack, but it does look out the way that Dave and the others will return. I want to see the fellows when they come."
"Of course; we all do," Greg broke in. "Dick you keep your eye mainly on the landscape beyond the window. Harry and I will get breakfast."
Dutcher groaned over the risk he knew they were taking, but he felt certain that no word ofhis would change the plan, so he wisely held his peace after that.
But breakfast was on and eaten, and still there was no sign of returning Grammar School boys.
"Dave and his crowd must-'a' gone through the deep snow at some point where it was soft," wailed Hen. "That's just what they've done."
"Oh—dry up!" Greg retorted.
"If they ain't back here in another hour you fellows will feel the same way I do about it," Hen Dutcher predicted stubbornly.
Dick Prescott made no answer, though, truth to tell, he was beginning to worry inwardly. A mishap in the forest, on this bitterly freezing morning, would be no simple matter.
"I
SEEsome one coming!" called Greg, who, after breakfast, had taken up the post by the unshuttered window.
Crash! Hen Dutcher dropped the crockery plate he was drying, then plunged headlong into Dick's bunk, burrowing under the blankets.
"It's our crowd!" cried Dick joyously, as he leaped to Greg Holmes's side. "And there are two men with 'em."
"Oh, pshaw! Why didn't you say so before?" came in a half smothered voice as Dutcher thrust his head partly from under the blankets. Then he added, suddenly, in a quaking voice:
"Say, you fellows better hide—quick! If old Fitsey is in the cook shack there's bound to be some shooting."
With that Dutcher hid his head once more. But Dick, Greg and Harry paid no heed to him. They were busy getting on coats, caps and mittens. A few moments later they had the door open, and stood out on the hard crust of snow, waiting to receive the approaching party.
Dave espied them, and waved one hand without calling.
"You'd better get back in here! You'll get hurt!" warned Hen Dutcher, standing well back from the doorway.
Like a flash Dick leaped for the doorway.
"Hen, you keep quiet in there. Don't set up a yell at the very time when a little stealth is needed."
"But it's dangerous to fool with people like Fitsey!" choked Hen.
"Keep quiet! If you can't help, don't hinder. Don't be an utter pinhead, Hen."
Now that they were in sight of the cabin, Dave and his companions, and the two men with them,put on extra speed. Dick stole off to meet the approaching ones.
"Fits hasn't gotten away, has he?" hailed Dave, in a hoarse undertone.
"We haven't seen him go," Dick replied. "For all we know he's still in the shack. Officers?"
Dick indicated the two men.
"One of them is a constable," nodded Dave; "the other is a neighbor sworn in as a deputy."
"If your thief is around here, sonny," grinned the constable, "we'll soon have him where he won't trouble you. Easy, now, with the talk. We don't want to give the fellow any warning."
The constable and his deputy slipped down in front of the log cabin, followed by the boys.
"Look out! That rascal will shoot!" screamed Hen, in an agony of fear about something.
At that instant the door of the shack flew open. The two men were just in time to see Mr. Fits step out, on snowshoes. In another instant Dick & Co., behind the officers, also got a glimpse of the fellow.
"Hold on, there, neighbor," advised the constable coolly. "Just wait until we have a word with you."
Officer and deputy ran over the snowcrust. Mr. Fits, looking, or pretending to be, a bitdazed, stood as if he expected to wait for the men to come up with him. But suddenly a grin appeared on the face of the rascal.
"Fine morning and fine crust for a race," he announced, and moved away a few yards, with an easy gliding movement, on the snowshoes.
"Halt, there!" called the constable firmly, reaching back to his hip pocket.
The deputy reached for his revolver, but, in his excitement, instead of aiming or firing, he hurled the weapon at the head of Mr. Fits. The pistol went by the head of the rascal, then struck the crust and skimmed on ahead of him.
"Much obliged!" called back Fits, now moving fast.
"Don't try to pick up that weapon!" shouted the constable, running as swiftly as he could over the crust. "If you do, I'll shoot."
"I reckon you'll shoot anyway," jeered Fits, making a swoop and picking up the revolver that had been thrown at him.
Constable Dock fired promptly. But Fits wheeled, a weapon now in his own hand.
Three jets of fire leaped swiftly from the muzzle of the pistol. Three sharp explosions followed, and bullets whistled back over the snow.
"Halt, there!""Halt, there!"
Constable Dock halted, dropping to one knee, for one of the leaden pellets had gone close tohis left ear. One of the bullets hit a tree just behind Prescott with a spiteful chug. Dick felt queer, but he was too much in motion to stop himself just then.
"Stop or I'll bring you down!" bellowed Constable Dock, taking careful aim. An instant later the officer fired, but at that very instant Mr. Fits skimmed off at a sharp angle with his late course, and so he escaped uninjured.
A derisive shout came back from the fugitive. He was now out of range of the officer's revolver, and knew it. The constable, too, realized the fact. He started in pursuit as rapidly as he could make it, calling to his deputy to follow.
"Going to join the chase?" called Dave to Dick.
"What's the use?" panted Prescott, halting. "Mr. Fits has a good start and can make fine speed. We could catch only the constable."
So the Grammar School boys slowed down. Constable Dock and his deputy were now almost out of sight among the trees, and no eye among the boys could see how much in the lead Mr. Fits was.
"They'll never catch him," sighed Dave.
"I'm afraid not," agreed Dick.
"And so, one of these nights, Mr. Fits will come back, ready to pay us back for our plan to turn him over to the police."
"We took care of him before, didn't we?" Prescott wanted to know.
"Yes; but Fits was alone, then, and the blizzard kept him from getting away to get help of his own choice kind. Now he can travel as much as he likes. We'll hear from him again, all right," Dave Darrin wound up.
"If we do, then we'll find a way to take care of him once more," hinted Prescott.
"Or we might vote that we've had a jolly good lot of camping, and go home," suggested Harry.
"What? Let that rascal chase us out of the woods?" flared Dick. "All who want to go home may start. I'll stay here as long as I want to, even if I have to camp alone."
"You know pretty well, Dick, that you won't have to stay in camp alone," offered Dave.
"Of course not," agreed Tom Reade. "We'll all stick. We'll hope that Fitsey won't come back. If he does, then we'll try to make him sorry that he returned."
From the doorway of the log cabin Hen Dutcher was seen to be peering forth cautiously.
"Say, you fellows," hailed Hen complainingly, "I thought you were never coming back. I thought you had all got scared and ran away."
"Then why didn't you run away with us?" Dave called out.
"That isn't my style," proclaimed Dutcher, throwing out his chest. "I'm no baby."
"No; you're the one hero of the whole outfit," grinned Tom.
"Did they catch old Fitsey?" queried Hen.
"Thanks to you, Hen, they didn't," Dave answered.
"Me? What did I have to do with the scoundrel getting away?" demanded Dutcher, with an offended air.
"You had to turn your voice loose," Darrin informed him. "That gave Mr. Fits warning. Then you yelled out again, just as we reached the cabin. Fits had had time to get on his snowshoes, and then he started. Whew, but snowshoes seem to be as swift as skates would be on the ice."
"Huh! You needn't blame me," sniffed Hen. "I didn't have anything to do with the rascal getting away. I'd have gone after him if I had had snowshoes."
The absurdity of this was so apparent that Dick & Co. burst into a chorus of laughter.
"Huh!" sneered Hen, though his face went very red. "You fellows think you're the only winds that ever blew."
"You wrong us, Hen," declared Tom solemnly. "Not one of us would lay any claim to 'blowing' as much as you do."
One thing the boys had noted, even while carrying on their conversation, and that was that no sounds of shots had come to their ears. The chances were that Mr. Fits had gained so on his pursuers that the latter had given up the chase.
Presently appetite asserted itself, and dinner was prepared and eaten. It was after the meal that Constable Dock and his deputy came by the door.
"Any thing in there to eat, youngsters?" inquired the constable, looking in through the doorway.
"Plenty, I think. Come in, sir—you and your friend," Dick made answer.
The boys bustled about, making coffee, broiling steak and reheating the potatoes that had been left over from their own meal. This, with bread and butter, satisfied the hunger of their guests.
In the meantime the constable described how he and his friend had followed the game for some five miles or more.
"It's my opinion that the scoundrel won't come back here at all," declared the officer.
"We have been afraid that he would, by night, or later," admitted Dick Prescott.
"No!" retorted the constable with emphasis. "That rascal would figure that I would be lyingin wait here for him. So he'll give the spot a wide berth. He doesn't want to be arrested."
"You'll be welcome to use the cook shack, if you want to wait there for him," volunteered Dick.
"Not a bit of use, my boy. I'd only be wasting my time. You've seen your last of that fellow around here. But now, another matter. One of your mates told me, Prescott, that you had uncovered a lot of plunder here in the cabin."
"Yes, sir; we did," Dick admitted.
"Where is it?" questioned the constable.
Dick started toward the new hiding place, then halted, turning.
"May I ask, Mr. Dock, why you want to know?"
"Because," replied the constable promptly, "as an officer of the law I want to take that plunder in charge. In turn I'll hand it over to the Gridley police."
"Oh, all right, sir."
Dick went to the hiding place, bringing forth all the plunder, including his own watch and his mother's fan.
"You'll give us a receipt for these articles, won't you, Mr. Dock?"
"Certainly, if you want one," nodded the constable. "Just place the stuff on the table, and I'll list it."
This was done, and Constable Dock wrote out a receipt in due form, which he handed to young Prescott.
"And now I'll be off and away," said the constable, rising and pulling on a heavy, short hunting coat. "I'll telephone to the Gridley police, of course. You won't see the rascal again. Rest easy on that score."
"I hope we won't see him," muttered Dave, as the boys stood outside the cabin watching the departing officers.
"If we do we'll get out of it better than Mr. Fits does, anyway," half boasted Dick.
"S
AY,you fellows——" began Hen, stepping out and joining Dick & Co.
All six turned to gaze at Dutcher. Then they looked at each other, the same thought in six minds. It was Dick who spoke:
"Hen, we came near overlooking the fact that this is your chance to get back to your friends. Get on your coat, your cap and mittens, and——"
"Whatcher talking about?" demanded Dutcher, looking almost startled.
"Hey! Mr. Dock!" bellowed Dave, using his hands as a megaphone.
The rather distant constable turned to look back.
"Please wait! There's a boy to go with you," Dave called.
"A-a-a-ll right," the answer came back.
"Hurry, Hen," Dick advised.
"But—but I don't want to go," protested Hen.
"You'd better," Dick advised him. "We housed you while it was necessary, but now there's a chance to get back to your uncle's, so you may as well go."
"I don't want——"
"Never mind about that," Dick continued firmly. "You'll be better off at your uncle's, and Constable Dock is headed that way."
"But my uncle doesn't want me," whined Hen.
"Then why should you think we can endure you, Hen, if your uncle can't?" demanded Tom Reade, with a short laugh.
"Don't keep the constable waiting, Hen," Dick pressed him. "Get your motion started."
"Oh, well, if you fellows want to be mean, I suppose I'll have to go," faltered Hen. "But I was enjoying myself here."
"You'll enjoy yourself better still with your aunt," Dick urged with a smile. "Besides,you'll have your aunt's good cooking and a real bed to sleep in. If the country highways aren't broken out yet, they will be in a day or two, and then you can get back to Gridley."
"All right, if you fellows bounce me out of camp," sighed Hen ruefully, as he began to pull on his overcoat. "But I think you're about the meanest——"
"Save the rest of it, Anvil, if you please, until we're all at home in Gridley," Dave begged him.
"Say, you stop calling me Anvil," snarled Dutcher. "I don't like that name."
"Why not?" pursued Dave. "It fits you."
"Tell that boy to hurry up, if he's going with us," bawled Mr. Dock from a distance.
"Brace, Hen," Tom advised. "There, now you're ready. Good-bye, and come again when you're grown up."
"Those fellows don't know much about good manners," thought Hen Dutcher ruefully, as he started to run over the snow crust.
"Now that Hen is gone we'll be able to stay here a day or two longer," Dave announced. "We'll have the food to do it with."
"There's one good point about Hen Dutcher, anyway," grimaced Tom Reade. "He's a good, sincere eater."
"He was eating us out of camp," Dick replied. "Now, fellows, with Hen and Fits gone, we're all by ourselves—just the crowd that we want. The snowcrust will bear, and we can move about. We ought to have a jolly time tramping about through the woods."
"Hunting!" proposed Harry. "We've got the air rifle."
"Fishing," added Tom. "We brought tackle on purpose. We must be able to find some pond hereabouts."
"But say!" Dick suddenly interjected. "Do you fellows realize that we haven't been in the old shack since Mr. Fits left it? Queer as it may seem to some of you, I believe that Fitsey had a hiding place even in that little room. Let's go in there and see what we can root out in the way of mystery explained."
All six of the boys trooped around to the smaller structure at the rear of their camp. The door was still partly open. Dick, in advance, pushed his way inside.
"Well of all the boobies, what do you think of us?" demanded young Prescott, in deep disgust.
"We wouldn't take any blue ribbons at a brains' show—that's certain," affirmed Tom Reade.
The cook shack went up to a pitched roof. Up under the roof some brackets had been madefast to the rafters. These brackets held a quantity of rough boards that looked as though they had been stored up there, years ago, to season indoors. Now, a rope hung down from this artificial garret.
"Let's see what we can find up there," suggested Dick. Taking hold of the rope, after shedding his overcoat, Prescott ascended, hand over hand.
"This is where Fitsey stayed daytimes," Dick called down. "And it's not a bad place, either. Here are two fur robes."
Dick tumbled them down below, followed by four pairs of warm blankets.
"It's all stolen stuff, I'll wager," Tom called.
"Likely enough," agreed Dick.
"See if you can find a lot of gold and gems up there," proposed Greg Holmes.
"Nothing in that line. But stand below, two of you, and catch."
Dick began to toss down canned goods, sealed paper cartons of crackers, canned fruits and the like.
"And to think that Fitsey took some of our poor food, when he had a grocery store like that up aloft!" complained Harry Hazelton.
"Well, he didn't want us to suspect what he had hidden away around the premises," Dick answered.
"Anything more up there?" called Dave.
"Nothing but one Grammar School boy," Dick announced, showing himself at the edge of the simple loft. "I'm coming down. Each of you climb up here, in turn, and see what a bully hiding place our old college chum had."
One after another the boys inspected the place. It was small, but every inch had been made to count by the late occupant.
"Fitsey pulled the rope up after him, and stayed here sleeping mostly in the daytime," Tom called down, when aloft. "Say, fellows, after this, when we're on the trail of a mystery, we want to look on the other side of anything as big as a lumber pile."
Blankets, fur robes and food were transferred to the log cabin.
"But just how much better are we than thieves?" Greg suddenly asked. "We've just been taking things that didn't belong to us."
For a moment or two that was a poser, for every member of Dick & Co. tried, always, to be as open and honest as the day itself.
"Oh, well," grunted Dick at last, "we haven't been robbing Mr. Fits, for a man of his habits never has anything of his own. All that he has he steals from some one else."
"Then ought we not to try to find owners forthe food we've brought in from the shack?" queried Dave.
"Yes; if we can," agreed Dick. "But I doubt if the former rightful owners of this food stuff would know their own goods. It's just such stuff as one might find in anyone of a thousand grocery stores. We couldn't identify any of these cans, ourselves, if we found it in any one else's house. You see, these labels are all of common brands of tinned foods. On the whole, fellows, I believe we have a clear right to eat this food if we happen to need it while we're in the woods. It isn't like stuff that a former owner could remember and identify."
The more they talked it over, the clearer this view became to the Grammar School boys.
"We've time for a couple of hours of hunting, now, if any of you care to go," Dick suggested. "We'll have daylight that long. But it won't do, with any chance of Mr. Fits being about, for all of us to go at once. We must leave at least two of the fellows, and they must close the shutters and keep the bar on the door. The two fellows who stay behind can also begin to get things ready against the supper hour. I'll be one of the two to stay. Who'll be the other."
"No, you won't, Dick Prescott," retorted Greg. "You've been taking first tricks at all the hard work. You've worked like a horse in thiscamp. To-day you'll take the first trick at having some of the fun. I'll be one of the two to stay in camp."
Dan also volunteered. Thereupon the other four, Harry carrying the air rifle, started off into the woods, jogging along over the solid crust. Though the air was keenly cold, to the boys it was all delightful. They were warmly clad, even their feet being protected by heavy overshoes. With caps drawn down over their ears, and warm mittens on their hands, why should they mind if the mercury stood somewhat below zero?
Three of them were out on a trip of exploration. Hazelton, however, was the young Nimrod. He wanted to bag a rabbit! Yet, seeing no game, Harry finally persuaded Tom Reade to carry the rifle.
Then at last, all unexpectedly, Hazelton caught sight of a rabbit. The little animal had hopped briskly over the snow, coming within sight of the Grammar School boys. Ears pointing straight up, the rabbit sat on its haunches, curiously gazing at these humans.
"Tom! Psst! ps-st! Halt!" called Harry hoarsely over the snow.
"Hey?" answered Reade, and all four came to a halt.
"There's a rabbit," called Harry softly, pointing.
"Bless me, so there is," agreed Tom.
"Well, why don't you shoot it? What are you carrying that air rifle for?"
"To oblige you, I guess," responded Tom, not making any motion to raise the rifle. "If you want to shoot the rabbit, come here and get the rifle."
"If I move it will scare him away," protested Hazelton. "Quick! Get him before he goes off on a run!"
Sighting, Tom raised the rifle, glancing through the sights at the little white furred thing.
"Confound him! He looks too cute for anything," muttered Tom. "I haven't the heart——"
Abruptly Reade lowered the air rifle.
"See here, Harry, if your mouth is watering for rabbit stew you come here and get the gun, and do the shooting yourself. I'd feel like a criminal, taking the life of that cute, innocent little thing!"
"Huh!" growled Harry.
"Come here and get the rifle, if you want to shoot," insisted Tom.
Harry looked about as queer as he felt, for a moment. Then, picking up a piece of branch that had blown from a tree, Hazelton shied it at the rabbit, which promptly scampered away.
"That's much the better way to go hunting," nodded Dick approvingly.
After that no more was said about hunting. Tom continued to carry the air rifle, though plainly the weapon was all for show.
By and by the Grammar School boys came across a pond, an eighth of a mile wide, with a brook emptying into it.
"It will be worth while bringing the tackle to this place to-morrow, and trying for fish," proposed Dick.
"And then, if you get one, you'll get a tender hearted streak and put it right back in the water," grumbled Harry.
"Perhaps," Dick laughed. "But say, fellows, the sun is setting, and we're a good way from camp. Hadn't we better turn back?"
"My empty stomach says 'yes,'" nodded Darrin. So the youngsters trudged back over their course. It was dark before they got near the log cabin.
"Ha, ha, ha!" came a croaking laugh from inside the cabin as Dick and his chums neared the door. "That's a good one."
"Hen Dutcher's voice!" muttered Dave. "How on earth did that fellow get back here?"
Dick reached for the latch-string, opening the door. Then these four Grammar School boys received a big surprise.
Hen Dutcher was there, but so were Fred Ripley, Bert Dodge and a half dozen other young fellows, all of them older and larger than the members of Dick & Co. To make the intrusion still more impudent, Ripley's crowd were all at table, eating the best that the cabin afforded.