The seven Kingswood boys after leaving the cabin stood irresolutely for a moment.
"Talk about being disgusted," sniffed Nat Wingate. "Did you ever meet such a queer chap as that Piper?"
"Listen!" exclaimed Tom Clifton, raising his hand. "Didn't I hear a voice?"
After a short discussion, the group began to ascend the hill. They kept a sharp look-out for the others, and once or twice shouted their names loudly.
Not being in a hurry and stopping at intervals to talk, the boys had managed to use up the better part of a quarter of an hour when a bark from Bowser indicated the position of Sladder and Musgrove.
"Right over there, eh?" exclaimed Bob Somers.
"I see 'em," cried Tom Clifton. "What in the world are they doing?"
"Ha, ha!" laughed Hackett; "I told you so. If that isn't a dandy snowball, and—"
"They're going to send it where it will do the most harm, too, I'll bet," chuckled Nat.
"We ought to stop them," interposed Bob Somers, hastily.
"Too late! They've done it," put in Dick Travers. "Whew! it's traveling some, I can tell you."
"Ah—ah—but that was a smack for you!" exclaimed Tom Clifton, breathlessly, as the snowball struck the hut. "Will they—"
His further speech was interrupted by the three hunters, who burst furiously out of the door.
Enraged beyond measure, and fully believing that the Kingswood boys were responsible for the outrage, they charged toward them.
"Guess we'd better make a break for it, too!" exclaimed Nat Wingate, with a short laugh. "Christopher, I'll back Tommy against Musgrove any time, after seeing this."
Swiftly seven figures sped over the snow, while at a little distance came Piper and his friends, uttering loud calls for them to stop and take their medicine.
"Nice, pleasant evening," observed Nat, for the second time.
"Oh, ho," panted Dave, "society in the wilderness—social calls seem somewhat dangerous."
"Hello! Got discouraged pretty quick, eh?" put in Nat, looking over his shoulder.
The three young men had stopped, then began to retrace their steps. Seeing this, the boys slowed up, and, breathing hard, reached the edge of the lake.
"They're coming out again, fellows," exclaimed Sam Randall hastily, "and making this way, too."
Hackett's face began to darken. "We're seven," he exclaimed, in an angry tone. "Let's stand up to them."
"Oh, ho—might be better to avoid trouble, if possible," put in Dave Brandon. "Wait 'til they get in a more reasonable frame of mind."
Swiftly the boys began to cut over the icy surface. The moon had risen far above the hills, casting a silvery light over the broad, greenish expanse of lake, and touching the snow-drifts with sharp, glinting rays.
Glancing over their shoulders, the boys saw the dark forms of the pursuers coming steadily on.
It was an exciting chase. Occasionally the skaters plunged and floundered through snow-drifts, so as to keep a straight course for their camp. Gradually the shore grew more distinct, the dark, grim trees on the hilltop stood out clearly against the moonlit sky. Then the huts, bathed in the soft light, came into view.
"Great Scott!" panted Sam Randall. "Look, they have changed their course."
Puffing, and almost breathless from the wild race, the boys slackened their speed, then stopped, to gaze after the forms of the hunters now speeding down the lake.
"What?—what do you think of that?" gasped Nat Wingate.
"Looking for Sladder and Musgrove, perhaps," exclaimed Dick Travers, breathing hard.
"But you can just bet they will be coming back," put in Sam. "Let's get over to the place and be ready for them."
"It will take more than those chaps to drive us away, too," declared Bob Somers; "eh, Chubby?"
"Fellows," exclaimed the poet laureate, "what is the first law of nature?"
"Self-defense."
"Right you are. Now—in order to avoid trouble, we have considerably overheated ourselves, besides allowing an unjust suspicion to rest on the whole crowd."
"Well?" said Hackett, fiercely.
"It isn't well. But we can make no more concessions to ill temper. Hasty action must now meet with its proper reward."
"Hear—hear—what's coming?"
"Just this—let's make an enormous quantity of white pellets, otherwise known as snowballs, and in case hostilities are resumed, use them with promptness and dispatch."
"You must be going to become a pedagogue, Chub," laughed Hackett.
"We are losing valuable time by standing here gabbing," broke in Dick, impatiently. "Come ahead."
The remaining distance was quickly covered, and the boys, once more at the huts, removed their skates, and prepared to follow Dave Brandon's advice.
In a short time, by hard work, the seven boys had collected great piles of ammunition, and stood waiting.
"I suppose those chaps think that any time they choose to come along we'll run," observed Bob Somers.
"Piper and the others are pretty strong fellows," said Tom Clifton. "Did you ever notice what muscles Heydon has? I wouldn't like to get in a scrap with him."
This remark caused a hearty outburst of laughter, which considerably nettled young Clifton's feelings.
"Hi, hi—get out of that! Vamoose—skip!"
These cries, uttered in very loud tones, suddenly startled the camp. Tearing around the slope of the hill came three figures, with Piper well in the lead.
"What do you want?" yelled Bob Somers, holding up his hand to stay any hasty action.
"You'll find out quick enough," came an angry retort. "Something has happened to Musgrove's hut."
"Well, nothing is going to happen to ours."
"In just about two minutes—"
"Stay where you are, Piper," interrupted Hackett, fiercely. "We didn't roll that snowball against your pile of logs."
"Yes—better keep back!" warned Bob.
The three dark figures continued to advance.
Seven arms drew back and as many snowballs were sent spinning through the air.
The invaders, unprepared for so sudden a response, fell back in confusion.
"You'll pay dearly for this," yelled Piper.
A second hail of missiles, sent with precision, whirled against them. Then, before they could make a move, others landed with thuds and thumps, until the young men were forced to beat a hurried retreat.
Flying before the fusillade, Piper and his companions struck out for the lake, with a shower of snowballs rattling about them. Their anger and chagrin at finding themselves helpless before the machine-like attacks of the boys was unbounded.
"Oh, my, what a rout," puffed Nat, with a delighted grin. "Ha, ha! Guess Piper must be about boiling over."
"Hello! My gracious—what's that?"
Dave Brandon, who had interrupted the speaker, pointed across the lake.
A dull, fitful light had appeared, which gradually grew brighter, until a tongue of flame shot upward.
"Their cabin's afire," gasped Nat Wingate. "Gee! look at that!"
Hackett gave a lusty shout. "Hello, you pill-throwers," he cried; "look across the lake, and run for the fire company around the corner. Whoop—your shanty's a goner!"
Hostilities ceased on the instant. Piper and his companions gave one shout, and then began a rapid flight toward their camp.
"It's getting bigger and bigger," declared Travers, excitedly.
"I'd bet on those chaps in a race, now, Hacky," said Sam Randall. "Shall we go over and give them a hand?"
With all speed, the boys strapped on their skates, and, fairly leaping over the snow, made for the ice.
"Cracky—look at it now!" observed Tom Clifton. "Aren't those flames bright? Won't be anything but a pile of cinders when we get there."
John Hackett quickly took the lead, his long legs fairly seeming to fly, but Bob Somers pushed him closely. The flames grew brighter, and a veil of smoke could be seen drifting slowly in front of the dark trees, to rise like a blur against the clear, moonlit sky.
"Nothing can save the old shanty now," cried Hackett. "My eye—wow!—Say! We're sold—everybody sold! If this doesn't beat all!"
In making a long détour, so as to avoid a field of snow, the other side of the cabin came in view, disclosing an enormous bonfire, built at a safe distance from the structure. The flames, leaping furiously upward, cast a bright glare around.
For a moment there was silence, then a roar of merriment broke forth.
"Oh, my!" laughed Nat Wingate, holding his sides; "this is the richest joke yet. It's Musgrove's work—ha, ha! That's the time he outdid old Yardsley."
"It's the biggest bonfire I ever saw," laughed Sam Randall. "Guess they must have seen those chaps chasing us across the lake."
A couple of dark figures were seen to emerge from a mass of trees to their left, and strike out on the lake.
"Sladder and Musgrove," asserted Bob Somers. "You can't mistake Muzzy for any one else." In a few moments the two joined them.
"Don't believe you'll find much left of your hut," said Tom Clifton.
"No odds, sonny," replied Musgrove, calmly; "we didn't git the wust of it by a long shot."
Two days later, the boys, on a hunting expedition, in company with John Yardsley, stood on a barren ridge and saw before them a succession of rolling, snow-clad hills. Lake Wolverine had been left far behind, and the region was wild and desolate.
"A stormy time of it ye must hev had t'other night, cap'n," remarked the trapper, reflectively. "Sorry now I spoke ag'in them fellers so quick," he went on. "Suppose, if it hadn't been fur Musgrove actin' the way he did, mebbe nothin' would hev happened, but, arter all, I really done it—I'm sorry 'nough."
"I never saw such a sensitive chap as Piper," said Bob. "He reminds me of a firecracker."
"D'ye think those young scamps damaged their cabin much?"
"We didn't think it best to stay and find out," laughed Bob; "but I'll bet one side was nearly caved in."
"An' what did Piper an' his crowd do ter Musgrove's hut?"
"Not much—Billy and Tim fixed it up pretty quickly."
On reaching the base of the hill the march was continued along a timbered valley. Here and there, shafts of sunlight, finding their way between the trees, made the snow gleam with dazzling whiteness, while the frostwork covering underbrush and boughs sparkled brightly.
Snowbirds flitted about, and, as if rejoicing in the weather, the redbirds uttered their cheerful notes, and occasionally darted like a flash of flame against the darker background. Chattering squirrels leaped lightly from branch to branch, and rabbits, disturbed by the intrusion, quickly disappeared in the friendly shelter of tangled thickets.
"Hey! Where are you bound for, Hacky?" asked Nat, as the slim boy ambled slowly ahead.
"Just going to look around a bit. Say, Somers, want to come along?—good!"
"Don't stay long, cap'n," interposed Yardsley; "an' by the time yer git back, we'll have a good blaze a-goin'."
"Let's go around the point," suggested Hackett, with a move of his hand, indicating a part of the hill which jutted out for a considerable distance.
Keeping a careful watch for game, the hunters glided ahead with long, swinging strides, soon passing and skirting around the point. The rocks rose rather abruptly for a short distance, then sloped upward in a gentle curve.
Bob, who was several yards distant from his companion, suddenly stopped and gazed earnestly toward the rocks. Hackett, puzzled at his action, followed suit, without seeing anything more than a mass of underbrush.
"There's a cave over there," declared Bob.
"I don't see anything."
"You will from here."
"Yes, it's a cave," said Hackett, a moment later, with great interest, "and we ought to take a look inside."
Spreading the bushes apart, Hackett boldly pushed inside.
"Talk about blackness," came a muffled voice, as the twigs rustled back in place. "Whew! a lump of pitch would make a light in here."
"Better strike a match."
A few moments passed, then Hackett followed his companion's advice, and a feeble light flickered against the blackness.
"How big is it?" began Bob, with his face close to the opening. "I—"
But his further words were stopped by a loud yell. It came with such abruptness, and expressed so much fright, that Bob Somers jumped quickly backward, with an exclamation.
Before he had time to frame a question, Hackett suddenly reappeared, without his rifle. His eyes were wild and staring, and, almost hurling himself through the opening, he sprawled in the snow.
"What—what's the matter?" cried Bob, in alarm.
The slim boy instantly picked himself up, and, with a terror-stricken glance over his shoulder, yelled, hoarsely, "Mind your eye, Somers! Lose yourself! It's big as a house, and comin' right out!"
Blending in with his words came a deep, ominous growl. Then another, rising in a sort of crescendo, while a pair of eyes suddenly flashed against the blackness. Then a huge black bear, evidently furious at having his domain invaded, lumbered forth, while the two boys, with rapidly beating hearts, retreated.
Out of the corner of his eye, Bob saw Hackett's long legs fairly flying over the ground. But bruin was not particular as to whom he should charge. Lunging forward, the animal, with a hoarse growl, made directly for him.
Though his nerves tingled with excitement, Bob Somers quickly recovered his wits. As the bear rose on its hind legs, he fired point-blank.
His bullet only rendered the beast still more furious. Dropping upon all fours, and accompanying the act by another angry snarl, he charged again, with such suddenness and speed, that Bob Somers had scarcely time to dodge aside. Before he could make another move, the ponderous beast again rose.
For an instant it seemed as if nothing could save him. But Bob Somers, despite the unsteady feeling which attacked his legs at this critical moment, mastered himself, and fired again.
Almost simultaneously with the sharp report of the rifle, bruin crashed heavily to the ground and lay in a heap. His head sank low, and all the dignity of his towering strength was gone.
For an instant Bob Somers, scarcely realizing that the peril was over, stood gazing at the animal, half expecting to see it arise and renew the attack. Then, moving cautiously forward, he touched the motionless form with the muzzle of his rifle, and his face flushed with triumph.
"Hello—hello!" came a hail from the distance. It was Sam Randall's voice, and looking up, they saw him waving his hand.
"Come on over!" yelled Bob, anxious to show his prize.
Sam, perceiving that something unusual had occurred, soon joined them.
He opened his eyes wide with astonishment when he saw the great, dark form stretched out in the snow.
"Who shot him?" he exclaimed, excitedly. "You, Bob? Well, I was never more surprised in my life!"
"And won't I have a dandy souvenir of the trip, Sam!" exclaimed Bob, gleefully. "Just look at that slick coat! I'll get Yardsley to skin him—but come on—I want to see Chubby open his eyes."
"What's the matter, cap'n?" exclaimed Yardsley, as the three appeared. "You look kinder joyous!"
"Had a little adventure over there, and shot a bear," said Bob, with sparkling eyes.
A variety of exclamations greeted his words. The speaker, with great satisfaction, then told his story.
"Jest listen ter him," exclaimed Yardsley, delighted. "Cap'n, I'm proud of yer. A born hunter—an' never lost yer nerve, I'll be bound."
Lunch was soon over, and the group of hunters hurried to the scene of the encounter.
"H'm—a regular monster," cried Tom Clifton with wide-open eyes, as they approached. "Just look at those paws! One crack and it would have been all over, eh?"
"That it would," agreed Yardsley.
"But how about the bear's skin?" asked Bob, eagerly. "I'd give anything to take it home with me."
"Make yer mind easy on that score, cap'n. I'll tend ter the hull thing fur yer to-morrer. An' a bit of bear meat won't go bad, either. We'll jest drag him back where he come from, block up the hole, an' yours truly will fix the rest."
In a short time, the party came in sight of a lake. The opposite shore, fringed with a dark line of evergreens, became almost lost in a veil of bluish haze which enveloped the distance, while against the sky rose a line of low snow-clad hills.
"That there we call Goose Lake," announced Yardsley, "an' it's a good name, too, fur durin' the fall yer never seen so many of them birds in yer life as comes 'round."
"Many here now?" asked Hackett, eagerly.
The trapper shook his head. "Yer kin see 'em, but they ain't plentiful."
The lake was soon crossed, and on reaching the opposite shore they found themselves in a pine forest, dark, sombre and silent. In about twenty minutes the trapper held out his hand as a signal to halt.
"We're right by the shore," he whispered, "an' the geese is somewhere near."
Silently, the group spread out, each one heading for the lake, which could be seen between the trees.
To the eager and expectant hunters, it seemed an age before they reached the edge of the woods. Again Yardsley held up his hand.
Upon a gravelly bank which a combination of circumstances had kept partially free from snow was a flock of geese.
As it was still too far off to make it worth while to risk a shot, the hunters, scarcely breathing, crept slowly on.
Finally Yardsley paused. He looked at the boys, nodded, and raised his gun, the others instantly following suit. A roar, as the reports blended in one tremendous volume of sound, fairly deafened them all; the separated wreaths of smoke joined into a bluish cloud, while the eager hunters dashed quickly forward.
Swiftly flying against the clear blue sky, could be seen all of the flock that had escaped the massacre, and there, on the ground, lay many birds—ten in all.
"This here is Goose Lake, an' them is geese," remarked Yardsley, dryly.
A loud cheer followed his words.
"Simply great, isn't it?" cried Nat, enthusiastically.
"And all big fellows, too," commented Bob Somers, gleefully. "We'll have a feast fit for a king."
It was unanimously decided to return at once to camp.
It was a long, toilsome tramp, and the sun hung low on the horizon when Yardsley's log cabin at length came in view.
"I am so glad," sighed Dave Brandon, wearily. "I can scarcely move."
"What is that stuck on the door?" asked Bob Somers, as his eye caught sight of a white patch showing out clearly against the logs.
"It looks like a sheet of paper," asserted Nat Wingate.
"Powerful strange," commented Yardsley. "Some chap must hev left his visitin' card—an' it's tacked on, too."
In a moment, the trapper tore the paper loose.
As he turned it over, and glanced at a message written on the reverse side, he gave an exclamation of astonishment.
"What is it?" questioned Bob Somers, with interest.
"The most powerful strange thing I ever hearn tell of, cap'n."
"Hurry up, and tell us," put in Nat, impatiently.
"Cap'n, read it ter the lads." Yardsley extended the paper.
Bob whistled. "This is the funniest thing yet," he exclaimed. "Listen:
"'If you want to know where your furs are hidden, go to the place where you found the sled. There is a gully about fifty feet to the north. It is half full of snow, and a stick marks the spot. Dig—dig—and dig some more. Yours, The Unterrified Band of Near-Bandits.'"
"I don't understand this," said the trapper, blankly, scratching his head. "It can't be that them furs weren't stole, arter all? Bless me, what does it mean?" He stared in a bewildered manner at the others.
"That this is a very funny region," mused the poet laureate. "It's another one of those things that makes a fellow's head ache to think about."
But the trapper's hopeful expression soon vanished. He shook his head, soberly. "No sich luck, mate," he said. "This here is jest the work—"
"Of the Bounding Brotherhood of Brilliant Jokers," broke in Nat, with a laugh. "Do you suppose that this is Musgrove's doings?"
Hackett sniffed. He picked up the paper, which had fallen in the snow, and held it under his chum's nose. "Look at that writing, and tell me if you think either Sladder or Musgrove could have done it," he said. And as a doubting look came over Nat Wingate's face, he added, significantly, "How about the Piper gang? Perhaps they are trying to get square with Yardsley for suspecting them, eh, Chubby?"
"I feel myself drifting into deep thought, in spite of everything," replied the stout boy, solemnly. "You may be right, Hackett. It does look that way—just a hoax."
"An' what's your opinion, cap'n?"
"That you'd better do as this paper says."
"Then I'll take yer advice. It can't do no harm."
As no amount of discussion could solve the mystery, the subject was finally changed.
"Then we'll see you in the morning, eh?" asked Bob Somers, as they trooped out.
"Yer sartingly will—good-night!"
The young hunters lost no time in reaching camp, and, tired from their long tramp, immediately turned in.
Early next morning, John Yardsley skated across Lake Wolverine, and half an hour later the boys saw him returning, in company with Piper and his friends.
"Humph!" muttered Hackett, "here comes that nice crowd again."
"Don't care, I'm sure," said Nat, with a rather peculiar glance toward Piper.
To their surprise, however, the hunters from across the lake greeted them pleasantly.
"Boys," said Robinson, with an embarrassed air, "too bad about that little misunderstanding we had the other night. We were certain it was you who rolled the snowball."
"Why didn't you take a little time to find out?" interposed Nat Wingate, curtly, with a flash of his brown eyes.
"Oh, come now," put in Heydon, "no hard feelings. We're not any of us perfect, you know."
"Well," said Hackett, "what made you fellows change your minds, after being so sure?"
"The fact is," said Robson, with a sorry attempt to appear at his ease, "we found a note under the door of the shack. It was written by that precious young scamp, Musgrove, and he said that you fellows had nothing to do with it."
"How was the handwriting?" asked Bob Somers, quickly.
"Villainous, the spelling remarkable, and the grammar on a par with Musgrove's intellectual expression."
"Then," said the poet laureate in a low tone to Bob Somers, "the mystery deepens."
"We came over yesterday to tell you about it," added Piper, "but no one was here."
"Wal, lads, as these young gentlemen think it might be a good plan ter go an' dig fur them skins, I think we'd best be goin'," said Yardsley.
Armed with two shovels, the party soon started off on their strange expedition.
"If it wasn't fine weather you wouldn't catch me on such a wild goose chase as this," growled Hackett. "Look at Yardsley—by the way he's getting along, you might think he had discovered a gold mine."
Without hesitation, the trapper kept on, and finally, to the great relief of his tired followers, slowed down considerably.
"We're gittin' near there, mates," he announced. "Now you fellers divide up, an' look fur the gully what the note speaks about."
This suggestion was quickly acted upon, and in the course of a few minutes a hail was heard from Sam Randall.
"Look!" cried Sam, eagerly. He held up a paper. "I fished it off the stick with a branch," he explained.
"Another message?" asked Bob Somers.
Sam laughed and proceeded to read the following:
"'This is the place. Dig—dig—and dig some more.
"'The Unterrified Band of Near-Bandits.'"
"Great wits, eh?" laughed Piper. "Give me a shovel; we'll soon find out something."
Heydon followed his example, and, with much vigor, the young men attacked the work. Snow fairly flew off to the sides, while an eager group crowded expectantly around.
"Only a hoax!" groaned Yardsley, as the minutes flew by and nothing was revealed.
Heydon finally paused, a look of disgust came over his face, and he was about to make some remark, when Robson's shovel struck a hard object.
"Hello! What's this—a box?" he exclaimed.
"Doesn't feel as if anything was in it," remarked Heydon, giving the box a rude shove with his foot.
"The mean rascal," groaned Yardsley. "All this tramp fur nothin'—jest ter find an empty box—never was so riled in my life."
A portion of the cover being loose, Robson ripped it off, and putting his hand inside, drew out another paper.
"Ah ha! Maybe this is a solution of the mystery!" he cried. But, as his glance fell upon it, an impatient exclamation escaped him. "Of all the foolish stuff, this is the worst. Listen!
"'Go back where you came from,'" he read, "'and consider yourselves being laughed at. Ha, ha! U. R. Easy."'Yours—The Unterrified Band of Near-Bandits!'"
"'Go back where you came from,'" he read, "'and consider yourselves being laughed at. Ha, ha! U. R. Easy.
"'Yours—The Unterrified Band of Near-Bandits!'"
"What does this mean?" cried Piper, sternly, looking from one to another. A queer light gleamed in his eye.
"And we working like slaves," cried Robson, angrily.
"See here, Yardsley, and you chaps," broke in Piper, now quite convinced that they had been duped, "I have my opinion of a man of your age who does such tricks!"
Piper spoke in a loud and threatening manner, while Robson and Heydon seemed no less angry than himself.
"Softly," interrupted Yardsley. "Human natur' is queer—a bad case of misunderstandin' t'other night, an' a powerful wuss one now. I have a failin', I'll admit, but on my honor, Piper, this time the joke is on me."
His sincerity could not be doubted, and the three young men began to feel that they had acted too hastily.
"Well," said Piper, stiffly, "it looked mighty suspicious."
"Like the other night," snapped Hackett.
"Oh, come now," put in Bob Somers, "a wretched joke like this is enough to put any one in a bad humor, but there's no use in quarreling."
"That's right, Somers," observed Robson, thoughtfully, "and we can't find out anything by talking here all day."
"Jest so," sighed Yardsley. "We might as well git back."
"We come out with great hopes," sighed Yardsley, as he pushed open the cabin door. "Bless me, it was mean—give me the shovels, mates. I'll put 'em in the storehouse."
He opened the door which led to it, then the others heard a sharp exclamation.
"What's up now?" called Bob.
Yardsley did not answer, but hurriedly crossing the room, opened the outer door, admitting a flood of daylight. Then, almost speechless with astonishment, he stood, staring about him with wide-open eyes, while the others crowded in.
"What is it?" cried Bob—he stopped short, with a gasp.
There, neatly piled on shelves or stretched out on boards were the trapper's furs, exactly as he had arranged them before.
Yardsley glanced from one to another with a helpless expression, then stared at the bundles of furs as if doubting that he saw aright, while a variety of exclamations came from the astonished boys.
"Never was so beat in all my life," murmured the trapper, scratching his head. "Honest, cap'n! Ter think of goin' off on a chase like that, an' then findin' the hull shootin' match when we gits back."
Piper surveyed the speaker with a peculiar expression.
"And these are the furs and skins you claimed to have lost, Yardsley," he said, with strong emphasis.
"The identical ones, jist as they was afore."
"And how do you account for their being back on the shelves again?"
"Yer got me thar, Piper. Bless me—I don't know."
"Perhaps you will tell us that some woodland fairy boldly entered through a crack under the door, moved her little wand, and presto—the furs sailed through the air and landed on the shelves again—is that it?" asked Piper, with a sarcastic smile.
"Never seen sich chaps as ye be," said Yardsley, impatiently. "How many more times must I tell yer the joke's on me?"
"It strikes me," put in Bob Somers, quietly, "that we can soon find out how the cabin was visited."
"Of course," laughed Dave, "they either came in through the doors or window. Don't think we need consider the stovepipe."
"Well, the door we came in by was pad-locked, I believe," said Piper, stiffly.
"Quite correct."
"And the window is probably fastened."
Piper led the way into the main room, and Dave tried the window.
"Correct, again," he said.
"How about the storehouse door, Yardsley?" asked Piper.
"HOW ABOUT THE STOREHOUSE DOOR?"
"HOW ABOUT THE STOREHOUSE DOOR?"
"HOW ABOUT THE STOREHOUSE DOOR?"
"Wal," replied the trapper, with a faint grin, "we can't tell much from that, mates. When them furs was taken out, the bolt was knocked clean off. Then, not havin' nothin' of value left, I never fixed it."
"Nothing forgotten," sneered Piper.
"Hello, I believe there is another paper up there," broke in Dave Brandon, abruptly.
"Where, Chubby?" asked Dick.
"Sticking out over that bundle!"
The poet laureate spread the paper out, started to read, then suddenly paused.
"What's the matter?" asked Piper. He leaned over the stout boy's shoulder. "H'm, I don't wonder you stopped," he added. "Here's what it says, Heydon:
"'We feel sorry for the poor chump who dug, dug, dug. Oh, say—was it a hard job? Did your back ache? After this, consider yourself easy. Sit down and think it over."'The Unterrified Band of Near-Bandits.'
"'We feel sorry for the poor chump who dug, dug, dug. Oh, say—was it a hard job? Did your back ache? After this, consider yourself easy. Sit down and think it over.
"'The Unterrified Band of Near-Bandits.'
"That settles it," sneered Piper, wrathfully. "But we don't need to sit down and think it over. We'll stand up and think, and tell you what we think—of you. In the first place, Yardsley, I didn't know you wrote such a good hand.—My compliments."
The trapper looked at the angry face of his visitor and had difficulty in repressing a smile. "Young feller," he said, "I allow it all looks kinder queer, an' mebbe I shouldn't blame ye, but I tell yer fur the last time that this ain't none of my doin's, an' I want yer ter believe—"
A series of wild war-whoops suddenly interrupted him. Then, from behind a clump of trees, to the astonishment of all, Musgrove, Sladder and Bowser stepped slowly forth.
The Stony Creek boys presented a strange and picturesque appearance. Their cheeks were liberally daubed with red and white chalk; each wore a thick bunch of goose feathers in his cap, and carried in his right hand a club of tremendous size.
"We're the Unterrified Band of Near-Bandits!" roared Sladder, swinging his club vigorously.
"An' ain't afear'd of nothin' that walks!" yelled Musgrove. "Ha, ha—Pardsley won't never try no more funny tricks on us—ha, ha!"
"Ye young scamps," cried Yardsley, but there was no anger in his voice. His eyes beamed, and he chuckled, as the "Unterrified Band" defiantly leaned on their clubs. "Wal—wal! Paid back in me own coin, eh? It sartingly beats all! Them two chaps hev been clean too much fur us!"
Fulmer Robson walked forward, extending his hand. "Yardsley," he said, "please accept my apologies. Too bad that this row occurred. I hope you have no hard feelings?"
"Not I!" replied the trapper, heartily.
"Ha, ha—look at Sniper an' Pardsley a-shakin' hands," cried Musgrove. "Oh, ain't it a purty sight, Tim?—Hey—want us ter come over? No more funny tricks, eh, Pardsley?" he asked suspiciously.
"Nary a thing—my word on it. All bad feelin's declared off."
The Stony Creek boys conferred together a moment, then, tightly clutching their clubs, marched forward.
But Yardsley's good-natured smile soon dissipated their fears.
"What's that, Pardsley—who writ them notes?—Why, me pal, Tim Sladder—he's a scholar, he is—yes, sir."
"Took a prize at school," asserted Sladder, proudly. "Keep me dad's books. I kin spell, too, all right, you bet."
"You sartingly can," laughed Yardsley. "Now, boys, tell us how yer done all these things, an' we'll call it square."
Billy Musgrove laughed. "Well, Pardsley, I tole yer in the fust place ter never try no more tricks on us."
"But how my friend, the animalist, would laugh at the way yer paid me back," said Yardsley, soothingly; "bless me, he would."
"Wal, of course, we know'd all about yer havin' the furs," said Musgrove, "an' watched our chance ter git 'em. Tim an' me pried open the door, took the stuff, an' hid the hull business under a pile of hemlock boughs. Then we covered it with snow." He pointed toward a thick copse of woods only a short distance off.
"Did yer ever hear the beat of it?" said the trapper.
"Yer own fault, Yardsley. Tim an' me puts a big rock on a sled, an' hikes away, an' if it hadn't been fur the storm yer'd have gone a sight further than yer did, eh, Tim?"
"Lucky for you we didn't know about it at the time," said Hackett.
"Huh!" Billy straightened up. "An' what would you an' Scummers have did, eh?"
"Finish yer tale, lad," put in Yardsley.
"Ain't much more ter say. Tim an' me didn't think the storm would turn out so bad, Wackett—that's honest. Anyways, we ain't a-goin' ter stay around these parts much longer, so Tim writ that note an' fixed it on the door. We had lots of time ter put them furs back, Pardsley, an' mebbe yer ain't been laughed at."
"Wal," said Yardsley, "I'm powerful glad ter git them furs back, an' jist as powerful glad that good feelin's been restored. Shake hands with Piper, lads, an' we'll call everything all right. Let's bury the hatchet.
"Now, fellers," added Yardsley, "I'll expect the hull crowd of yer ter come over here to-morrer night, an' pertake of the finest feast yer ever hearn tell of."
A unanimous chorus of assent immediately came from his hearers.
Early on the following morning, the boys, accompanied by Yardsley, set out with a couple of sleds to get Bob Somers' bear.
The carcass was found undisturbed, and the trapper immediately set to work to skin it, the "cap'n" assisting to the best of his ability. Yardsley cut up the meat, which the boys then placed upon the sleds.
The clouds were still edged with the tints of sunset when Piper and his companions arrived, and shortly before dusk three dark figures were seen slowly approaching, Bowser giving evidence of his presence by his usual doleful bark.
"Evenin', people!" greeted Billy Musgrove. "Hello, Wackett,—bear meat? H'm, smells good, don't it? Me an' Tim hasn't eaten nothin' all day—gittin' ready fur this."
"An' yer done well," said Yardsley. "It's pitch in an' help yerself, 'til natur' cries enough."
Nightfall came, and the fire sent up towering flames and showers of sparks, illuminating the surroundings with a fitful glare. The feast was ready.
"An' ter think that Scummers shot a bear," remarked Musgrove, reflectively, as he sliced off a huge piece of meat; "an' me an' Tim ain't seen one for a year, 'most."
At length the banquet was over; sighs of contentment came from many.
"An occasion sich as this ain't never complete without a bit of speech-makin'," suggested Yardsley, with a glance around. "Who wants ter start the ball a-rollin'?"
Dave Brandon slowly arose.
"I feel uncommonly like taking a nap," he said, with a smile, "but I suppose somebody must say a few words at such an auspicious time."
"He knows some big ones, all right," came a hoarse whisper from Musgrove.
"I think," continued Dave, "our winter camp has been a great success. Best of all, our friend, Nat Wingate, is now sound as a dollar. Life in the open has taught us many lessons, among them habits of self-reliance, and willingness to work. Oh, yes, I've watched you many times, boys, and was pleased to note the energy of everybody except yours truly. It's a good sign. We know that town boys can be hunters, and trappers gentlemen, and that a dinner in the wilds can furnish more enjoyment than one in the richest dining-room. I think I voice the sentiments of all, when I say that we greatly appreciate the efforts of our host, John Yardsley, and that we are thankful the bear furnished a meal for us, and not Bob Somers for the bear."
A burst of cheers arose, as the poet laureate, beaming good-naturedly, sat down, and Musgrove was heard to remark, "There's a smart lad fur yer, Tim—talks like one of the real speechers."
"Our stout young friend has spoken words of wisdom," began Yardsley, rising. "I must say I never enjoyed a winter like this in me life, an' I hate ter think of yer leavin'. These here woods will sartingly seem like a silent, dreary place, arter this. I can say, without meanin' ter flatter no one, that I never come acrost a likelier crowd of young chaps—success ter ye all!"
The banquet was voted a grand success by everybody, and the moon had risen high in the heavens before the visitors began their march to camp.
In the latter part of March, the Kingswood high school had been restored to its former condition, and on the Saturday before the re-opening a great crowd of boys trooped through the building.
In the assembly room they saw just above the platform, resting on a bracket, a stuffed eagle, with wings outstretched in an attitude of flight. Beneath was a card which stated that the donor was Thomas Clifton, of Kingswood. It was a proud day for the young member of the Rambler Club.
Those who got a glimpse inside the president's office also saw a beautiful silver gray fox over the bookcase, and the reputation of the young hunters was now firmly established.
John Hackett's fawn had arrived safely, and was enjoying life in comfortable quarters. The huge bearskin had been converted into a rug and adorned a room in Mr. Somers' house.
One afternoon, just after school had begun, Bob Somers was seated in his study, engaged on the very problem which had occupied his attention on the night of the fire, when a domestic called him to the speaking tube.
"Mr. Griffin is in the drawing-room, and wishes to see you, Mr. Robert," she said.
"Mr. Griffin," repeated Bob; "guess he wants to see dad."
But the girl was quite certain that she had made no mistake.
"Well, tell him I'll be down," said Bob, in a puzzled tone. He closed his book and descended to the drawing-room.
As he entered, a tall, thin man with rugged, kindly features rose to meet him.
For an instant, Bob did not recognize his well-dressed visitor. Then, like a flash, memory served him. Yet in this man, clean-shaven and sprucely attired, there was little to suggest the trapper they had known in the wilds.
"Yardsley!" he gasped, in the greatest astonishment, wringing his hand. "Why—how—it scarcely seems possible—and Maggie made such a mistake—said Mr. Griffin wanted to see me."
"She was quite correct," laughed the other—"J. Yardsley Griffin, at your service."
Bob stared at him in surprise.
Mr. Griffin seemed to be considerably amused, and continued, slowly, "You know I promised to call on you—and I make it a point to always keep my word."
Bob Somers' astonishment was growing. The trapper's manner of speech had changed as much as his appearance. There was no suggestion of the backwoods vernacular, and divining his thoughts, Mr. Griffin laughed.
"I am fond of a practical joke, as you know," he said, with a twinkle in his eye, "and I must confess that I practiced an innocent deception. Let me add to my introduction—graduate of Harvard, 1885. I expect, soon, to be a professor."
"Professor Griffin!" gasped Bob. "Was I ever more surprised in my life?"
The former trapper sank back in his chair.
"Appearances are often deceptive," he said. "Clothes make the man, and suitable surroundings will add to any illusion."
"But haven't you lived a long time in the woods?" asked Bob.
"Oh, yes! Off and on for years. You see," he continued, with a laugh, "I am a zoölogist and naturalist who believes in studying nature at first hand."
"But didn't I hear you say once," asked Bob, "that you hadn't as much book learning as you wanted?"
"Exactly—and neither have I. There is such a vast amount of knowledge to be gained, that even the most learned are sometimes discouraged."
"And how in the world did you manage to keep up that backwoods talk, even when the furs were taken?" asked Bob.
"Well, the illusion pleased me, and, as I felt sure of seeing you some time in town, I kept it up, picturing in my mind your surprise. I must say, though, on the occasion when you and Hackett were lost, only my strong conviction that you would come out right enabled me to keep it up."
"Will wonders never cease?"
Professor Griffin laughed again and continued, "Well, my friend the 'animalist' has offered me a professorship in the college of which he is president, and I have accepted it."
"What will my father say to this, after all my talk about the trapper?" said Bob. "It is certainly a good joke on us," and he smiled.
"I hope to meet him," observed Professor Griffin, politely.
"You certainly shall. Can't you stay to dinner this evening? Please say yes!" And Professor Griffin accepted the invitation.
It was a merry dinner party that evening. Mr. and Mrs. Somers were delighted to meet the man who had helped to make the boys' outing a pleasant and interesting one, and all had many a hearty laugh, as they talked over the haps and mishaps of the Rambler Club's Winter Camp.
Other books in this series are:The Rambler Club AfloatThe Rambler Club in the MountainsThe Rambler Club On Circle T Ranch