Tired as he was John realized that this was strange proceeding. He tried to pull himself up on the dock, but he was too weak and slipped back into the water.
“Grant,” he called, “give me a lift.”
“Come ahead,” cried Grant, bending over and extending his hand to John.
With this help the tired boy lifted himself out of the water and sank down on the dock almost completely exhausted. He lay flat on his back, his eyes closed.
“Where’s Hugh?” he panted. “Did I beat him?”
There was no answer.
“Grant,” said John. “Did I beat Hugh?”
Still no reply, and he opened his eyes to see what the reason for the silence was. He slowly raised himself to one elbow and looked about him. Black spots danced before his eyes and at first he saw nothing; then his eyes suddenly became accustomed to the surroundings and he gasped. For the moment he had forgotten that he had seen Mr. Maxwell jump into the water but he remembered it now and he saw the reason for it.
Grant had finished the race and not greatly tired had been standing alongside Mr. Maxwell watching the others approach. The race between John and Hugh was what interested them most for they saw that Thomas would finish an easy second and so the final outcome of the meet depended on these two.
“A pretty tight race,” remarked Grant.
“I should—” began Mr. Maxwell when he suddenly stopped and stared.
John had just turned over on his stomach again for the final dash. Hugh was at his shoulder and the onlookers were enjoying the close finish. Suddenly, however, Hugh disappeared from sight. He simply sank beneath the water with no warning whatsoever and John reached the dock alone.
“He’s exhausted,” cried Mr. Maxwell, and without waiting an instant he dived into the water, fully clothed as he was, to rescue his nephew.
When John opened his eyes he saw Mr. Maxwell in the water, swimming for the dock with one hand and holding Hugh by the hair of his head with the other.
“What’s the trouble, Grant?” demanded John.
“Hugh sank.”
“What was the matter with him?”
“He was tired out, I guess. Here, let me have him now,” he said to Mr. Maxwell and leaning out from the dock he seized Hugh by the arms. His uncle gave the half-drowned boy a boost and he was soon stretched out at full length on the little wharf.
“That was a close call,” exclaimed Mr. Maxwell grimly as he clambered out after him. “It’s a lucky thing he was so near the dock. Where are the rest of the boys?”
“Here are two of them,” said Grant as Franklin and Herbert swam leisurely up to the dock. Seeing that they were hopelessly beaten they had not exerted themselves the last seventy-five yards of the race.
“Where are the other two?” exclaimed John anxiously. He had recovered most of his breath and strength now and not seeing George or Fred was fearful lest the fate that Hugh had so narrowly escaped had befallen them.
“Turn around and you’ll see.”
George and Fred came walking towards the dock.
“Where did you two come from?” demanded John in surprise. “The last I saw of you was when we all dived off that rock together. How did you get up on shore that way?”
“Have you ever been kicked by a mule?” asked Fred.
“What are you talking about?” John was completely mystified.
“I asked if you’d ever been kicked by a mule.”
“What has that got to do with this race?”
“Simply this,” said Fred. “A mule kicked me in the stomach at the start of the race and I had to quit.”
“I think you’re crazy,” exclaimed John. “What happened to you, Pop?”
“He was the mule,” said Fred. “Who won the race anyway?”
“Tell us what you’re talking about first,” said John, beginning to get a little bit angry. “Stop talking in riddles.”
Fred explained how his stomach had come in contact with George’s foot and how, as a result, they had both been compelled to give up the race. The tale provided much amusement to the listeners and even Hugh, who had partly revived, joined in the laughter.
“I’m no mule though,” insisted George.
“You’ve got a kick like one just the same,” laughed Fred. “Tell me,” he continued, “who won the race.”
“Grant won,” replied Mr. Maxwell.
“Good work, Grant,” cried Fred. “Who was second?”
“Thomas.”
“When you tell me who was third you’ll also tell me whether we won the meet or not. Who was it?”
“John was third,” said Grant.
“John?” exclaimed George in mock surprise. “It can’t be possible.”
“Don’t get so fresh,” said John and he gave George a violent push which sent him flying off the end of the wharf into the water.
“Serves him right,” said Fred approvingly. “He’s very much too fresh.”
George came to the surface, gasping and choking.
“Congratulations, String,” he cried as soon as he had shaken the water out of his eyes. “Glad you got a place; I thought you would.”
“You can’t keep that fellow down,” laughed Fred. “There’s no use in trying. He’s fresh and he knows it, but no matter what you do to him he keeps it up just the same.”
“He’s not fresh,” laughed Mr. Maxwell. “He’s just full of spirits.”
“I don’t know what we’d do without him anyway,” said Grant feelingly. “There are not many dull moments when Pop is around.”
“I would suggest,” said Mr. Maxwell, “that you boys go and put your clothes on. The sun is beginning to go down and it’ll be cold soon.”
“I’m cold now,” exclaimed John. “I’m going to get my clothes all right.”
He hurried off towards the tent closely followed by the seven other boys. A brisk rub down with heavy towels soon got their blood to circulating once more and no one felt any ill effects from all their exercises and exertion of the day.
“Now I shall present the prizes,” said Mr. Maxwell when the boys were assembled in front of the tent. “The blue team wins the meet by the margin of eight points to six. I congratulate them and take great pleasure in presenting to them the big American flag. They all know how I feel about it and I expect them to treat it as it should be treated.”
“Three cheers for the blue team,” cried Thomas lustily and they were given with a will, as Grant stepped forward to receive the trophy.
“And now the second prize,” said Mr. Maxwell. “It’s not as big as the first but the size doesn’t count. Everything depends on whether our hearts are with the flag or not. If I should happen to come back to this lake unexpectedly any time this summer I shall expect to see both these flags flying in front of their respective tents.”
“We’ll promise that all right,” said Thomas readily, and as he took the emblem from Mr. Maxwell’s hand, Grant led a cheer for the red team.
“One more prize,” continued Mr. Maxwell. “I brought something which I decided should go to the boy who in my judgment gave the best individual performance. That is who in any one event showed the most nerve and grit. Perhaps he didn’t win the event but he worked hardest and that is what to my mind deserves the credit.”
He produced a large four-bladed pocket knife and held it up for the eight boys to see. This was a surprise to them all and they looked at one another in amazement. They also cast many envious glances at the knife which was certainly a beauty and one of which any boy could well be proud.
“It was an awful job deciding,” said Mr. Maxwell. “Every one did so well I was almost in despair as to whom to give it to. I have finally decided, however, and I feel sure you’ll all think the boy deserves it.”
Not one of the boys had the least idea who was to become the fortunate owner of the knife and in keen suspense they all waited.
“I will now ask the winner to step forward,” continued Mr. Maxwell. “I watched him closely in the contest which I think entitles him to the prize and I don’t remember ever having seen a finer exhibition of pluck. I know just how tired he was and how much nerve he required to keep himself going. He didn’t win the race himself but he did win the meet for his team and I think he should have the credit. John, here is your knife. That was a great race you swam a few minutes ago.”
John was completely taken by surprise. He had not for a moment expected that he was to be the fortunate one and he was almost overcome.
“Yea, String!” shouted George heartily. “Let’s give the old thin fellow three cheers.”
Congratulations were in order and there was much laughter and fun. Every one was in excellent spirits and all pronounced the meet a decided success. The day was fast waning now and the party of visitors prepared to leave the island for their camp at the other end of the land. The four Go Ahead boys escorted them to their boat and good-bys were said. Promises that the eight boys would see one another soon were made and the Spruce weighed anchor and glided out of the little harbor.
“Well,” exclaimed Grant when their guests had gone, “I think we had a pretty fine time to-day.”
“We certainly did,” agreed Fred. “What we want now is a pole for our flag. It ought to be set right up in front of the tent there.”
“I’ll get the ax right now and we’ll go and cut one,” said George. “Come along, Fred.”
The days and weeks slipped by and still the life in the island camp did not pall on on the four Go Ahead boys. They were busy every moment with the thousand and one duties and pleasures of camp life and the summer days drifted by like a succession of pleasant dreams.
One of the boys’ favorite occupations was shooting at a target. Fred was the owner of a little twenty-two caliber, hammerless rifle, and many an hour was spent by the boys in practice with this small gun. It was surprising how skillful they had become.
Grant and John were lying on the wharf one afternoon trying to shoot the heads off some water lilies that grew near the shore on the opposite side of the harbor.
“Now just suppose that one was an Indian,” exclaimed John, taking careful aim at an unsuspecting lily bud. The sharp spit of the little rifle followed and the bullet struck the water some two feet the other side of the “Indian.”
“You’ll have to do better than that,” laughed Grant. “We’ll all be scalped in a minute unless you get him. Let me try.”
John passed over the gun and on his first attempt Grant split the bulb clearly in halves.
“Good shot, Grant,” exclaimed John. “You saved our lives.”
“Just suppose that had been a lion or a tiger or a rhinoceros or some animal like that charging down upon us,” said Grant. “Suppose we were caught in a little ravine and we either had to kill the animal or be killed ourselves. What would you do?”
“I’d probably be so scared I’d faint or something,” laughed John.
“It would take nerve all right, wouldn’t it?”
“More than I’ve got, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I think most people are brave when it comes right down to the point.”
“I hope I’d be, anyway,” exclaimed John. “I think a coward is about the worst thing in the world.”
“Some people that seem the most timid have the most nerve when it’s really needed,” remarked Grant. “The ones that talk the loudest are not always the bravest by a long shot.
“Perhaps they try to make up by noise what they lack in nerve,” laughed John. “I’ve noticed that too, and I’ve also discovered that it doesn’t pay to make fun of anybody. Do you remember that boy at home? Everybody used to call him a ‘sis’ and a ‘willie-boy’ but when Bob Jackson’s dog fell into the mill-race he was the only one who had nerve enough to jump in after him. That taught me a lesson, I can tell you.”
“I wonder what animal is the most dangerous in the world.”
“A lion is, I guess.”
“I don’t think so. Lions are mostly scavengers they say and I’ve heard that tigers are worse than they are. A tiger doesn’t give any warning at all when he attacks.”
“Well, I’d just as soon not meet either one of them on a lonely road,” laughed John.
“Nor I,” agreed Grant. “I’ve heard though that a rhinoceros or an African buffalo is worse than either a lion or a tiger.”
“How about a grizzly bear?”
“They’re all pretty bad, I guess,” said Grant. “I wouldn’t stop to argue with any one of them.”
“Let me have that gun again,” exclaimed John. “If we’re going to meet all these ferocious wild animals we’ll need more practice in shooting.”
Just at this moment, however, George and Fred appeared. They came out of the clump of trees behind the tent and seemed very much excited about something.
“Hey, Grant!” called Fred. “Where’s the gun?”
“Right here. What’s the matter?”
“Do you remember what you said about wanting to shoot one of those big herons and have it stuffed?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Well, Pop and I discovered one just now in that little marsh over on the other side of the island.”
“Bring the gun along and maybe you’ll get a shot at it,” exclaimed George. “You’d better hurry though.”
“He won’t be there now,” said Grant.
“Why won’t he?” demanded Fred. “You won’t get him if you sit there and do nothing, like a great big galoot though. Let me have the gun if you don’t want it yourself.”
“Oh, I’ll go with you,” exclaimed Grant rising to his feet. “I don’t think for a minute he’ll still be there though. What was he doing?”
“Looking for fish, I guess,” said George. “He was wading around in the swamp on those great long legs of his; he looked as if he was on stilts.”
“Grant doesn’t seem very eager, Pop,” remarked Fred. “I wish he’d give us the gun.”
“Come along,” cried Grant. “I’ve been waiting for you to start.”
“Huh,” snorted Fred; “listen to that, I think we ought to have the bird anyway; we discovered him.”
“Did he see you?” asked John. The four boys were now hurrying along guided by Fred who was slightly in the lead.
“I can truthfully say that he did not,” said George decidedly and Fred snickered.
“What’s the matter?” inquired Grant suspiciously. “What are you laughing at?”
“Nothing,” said Fred quickly, but as he looked back at his companions the suspicion of a smile lurked upon his countenance.
“There’s something funny about this,” exclaimed Grant. “I tell you right now that if you two are putting up a game on me there’ll be trouble.”
“I don’t believe they saw a heron at all,” said John.
“I tell you we did,” exclaimed Fred earnestly. “Pop and I will both swear to it; we saw one in the swamp over here. Of course we can’t guarantee that he’ll still be there when you slowpokes arrive.”
“That’s right,” chimed in George. “We certainly did see one not five minutes before we came back to the dock to tell you about it. I don’t see why you need be so suspicious about it.”
“Well, I wouldn’t trust you two,” said Grant. “You’ve acted sort of funny about it too.”
“You only think we have,” retorted Fred. “Careful now, the marsh is just ahead of us.”
“Why don’t we sneak up behind those bushes?” suggested George, pointing to a clump of elderberries a few yards in front of them.
“That’s a good scheme,” exclaimed Fred. “We can hide behind them and get a good view of the marsh without being seen ourselves.”
Stealthily the four boys made their way until they reached the spot George had designated. On the other side of the bushes and extending for a hundred yards or so was the swamp where the heron was reported to have been seen.
“Careful now,” whispered Fred as they crouched behind the clump of elderberry bushes. “We don’t want to scare him away.”
“If he’s still there,” muttered Grant. He had been suspicious of Fred and George; their manner had seemed somewhat peculiar to him but they were serious enough now and his doubts were removed.
“Do you see him?” asked John eagerly, as Fred peered out through an opening in the bushes.
“Not yet.”
“Where was he when you saw him before?” demanded Grant.
“Down by that point. I don’t see him there now though.”
“Let me look,” pleaded Grant excitedly. “I haven’t seen him yet.”
“Look along the shore,” directed Fred, yielding his place to Grant. “He’s more likely to be there than any place else I think.”
As Grant searched the marsh George suddenly made a peculiar noise. It might have passed for a sob or a chuckle or he could have even been accused of choking.
“Stop that,” cried Fred fiercely, hitting George sharply in the ribs with his fist.
“What’s the matter with you two?” exclaimed Grant. He turned quickly around and eyed his two companions narrowly.
“I choked,” stammered George. “I couldn’t help it.”
“If you’ve been fooling me you’ll do worse than choke,” muttered Grant fiercely. “You two are acting very queerly it seems to me.”
“Because I choked?” demanded George. “I don’t see what there is queer about that.”
“Will you swear you saw a heron here?” demanded Grant.
“I will,” exclaimed Fred. “I declare to you, Grant, there was one here. We saw him first down by that point where I showed you.”
“He’s not there now,” said Grant. “That much is sure.”
“He may have moved along you know. Just because he isn’t in that same spot doesn’t mean that he has left.”
“Well, I don’t see him anyway.”
“Let me look,” exclaimed George. “My eyes are better than yours.”
Grant exchanged places with George who now seemed to have recovered from his recent affliction; he scanned the nearby marsh eagerly and was quiet and serious now.
“Well?” demanded Grant after a moment had elapsed.
George turned and looked at the speaker. “Come here,” he whispered, crooking his finger mysteriously.
Grant, much excited now, crowded up close beside George. Together they peered out across the swamp.
“See that dead log lying on the beach down there?” inquired George.
“Yes.”
“Do you see anything the other side of it?”
“No.”
“Not a thing?”
“I don’t see anything but the old dead limb of a tree sticking up.”
“That’s not a dead limb, Grant.”
“Sure enough,” cried Grant excitedly. “Say,” he exclaimed, “I saw that thing before but I thought it was a stick.”
“It’s not though,” said George triumphantly. “It’s a heron and Fred and I accept your apology for all you’ve thought about us.”
“Why doesn’t it move?” demanded Grant.
“Don’t you know that herons often stand like that for a long, long time? If you’re going to shoot that fellow you’d better get a move on yourself though.”
“I can’t hit him from here.”
“Don’t try. Sneak up closer.”
“Give me the gun, Grant,” exclaimed Fred. “If you don’t care anything about shooting him I’d like a try at it myself.”
“No, you don’t,” said Grant quickly, and rising to his feet he crouched low and began to run swiftly down towards the shore of the lake.
“Follow those bushes along the shore,” directed George. “Don’t let him see you, whatever you do.”
“He’s all right so far,” said Fred. “He’s got good protection down as far as the water anyway.”
“I hope he gets it,” exclaimed John eagerly. “He’s certainly a good shot and that ought to help some.”
“Oh, he’ll get it all right,” said George. He and Fred looked at each other for a moment and then both burst into silent but uncontrollable laughter.
“What’s the matter with you two?” demanded John, completely taken aback by their strange behavior.
“Oh, String,” said George. “If you only knew.”
“Well, why don’t you tell me?” exclaimed John. “What sort of a game have you put up on Grant anyway?”
“Do you see that heron he’s after?”
“Yes, of course I do.”
“Well, it’s dead. Fred and I found it on the shore and stuck it up behind that log. Just wait till Grant finds it out,” and the two conspirators hugged each other delightedly.
Meanwhile Grant was stalking his game. He crouched low and making as much speed as was consistent with quietness, he hurried along.
“Just look at him!” cried George ecstatically, as now and again the hunter could be seen to stop and peer cautiously in the direction of his prey.
“I should think the fact that it hasn’t moved would make him suspicious,” remarked John.
“He thinks herons always act that way,” chuckled Fred. “I can hardly wait for him to shoot.”
“You follows nearly queered your whole game a couple of times all right,” said John. “We were both suspicious of you. Why, twice you had grins on your faces so long you could almost pin them in the back.”
“It was so funny,” laughed George. “To think how we planned the whole thing and how easily he fell into it. Why, it was almost too easy.”
“Don’t be too sure,” warned John. “He hasn’t fired yet, you know.”
“He will all right,” said Fred confidently. “The old bird has been dead for about a month and you just ought to smell it.”
“Won’t he be mad?” exclaimed George. This thought seemed to give him special pleasure.
“He’ll probably shoot us,” laughed Fred.
“Where is he now?” inquired John. “I don’t see him.”
“He’s down behind that rock,” said George. “There he comes.”
“He’d better shoot pretty soon,” chuckled Fred. “The bird will fly away if he isn’t careful.”
“Isn’t this rich?” exclaimed George. “Just think of putting up a game on Grant like this.”
“Look at him!” cried Fred. “He’s almost on his hands and knees now.”
“Shoot, Grant, shoot!” urged George.
Nearer and nearer to the heron Grant crept. He had his gun half raised as he stole along, prepared to shoot at any moment. His three companions intently watched him, thoroughly enjoying the whole affair.
“If he doesn’t shoot pretty soon he’ll see that it’s dead,” said John.
“He’s trying to get up behind that bush, I think,” said George.
“He’s taking a chance,” laughed Fred. “The heron will see him and fly away if he isn’t more careful.”
“There he goes!” exclaimed George. “He’s going to shoot.”
“And now for the fun,” cried Fred. “Won’t he be mad though?”
Grant stopped and sinking to one knee he raised the little rifle to his shoulder.
“Don’t miss him, Grant,” chuckled Fred.
The gun spoke, and a moment later the faint report came to the ears of the three boys who watched from behind the elderberry bushes.
“Did he hit him?” laughed George. “What’s he doing?”
Grant had jumped to his feet after the first shot and started to run along the shore. He came to the log where the dead heron had been propped up but he did not stop there. He continued on past this spot and the conspirators for the first time had an inkling that all was not going as they had hoped.
“What’s happened?” demanded John in surprise. “What’s he after?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Fred blankly.
Some fifty or sixty feet beyond the spot where the dead log lay Grant continued. Not one of his friends had been looking at this place for their attention had been riveted on the dead heron.
The grass grew level with Grant’s knees where he was now. He leaned over and seemed to be looking down at something on the ground at his feet.
“What do you suppose it is?” demanded George curiously.
“Look,” exclaimed John and as he spoke Grant lifted from the grass a great blue heron. He held it by the feet and turning towards the bush where his companions were he waved his gun. Then he slung the big bird over his shoulder and started to retrace his steps.
George, Fred, and John had watched these proceedings in open-mouthed amazement.
“Well, what do you know about that?” exclaimed George limply.
“I guess he’s got us all right,” sighed Fred. “Let’s skip back to camp before he gets hold of us.”
“We’d better stay and face the music,” said George with a sigh. “Doesn’t that beat all? Just when we thought we had him good and fooled, he turns around and puts the joke on us.”
“I don’t see yet what happened,” exclaimed John.
“Why, he saw another heron, that’s all,” said Fred. “It was a live one too, I guess.”
“Where’s the one you and Pop fixed up for him?”
“Still there behind the log.”
“Grant never even looked at it,” said George. “He’ll make our lives miserable all the rest of the summer.”
“It’s almost over now,” said Fred. “He can’t tease us long.”
In silence the three boys sat and watched their comrade approach. John did not dread the meeting so much, for he had not been one of the original conspirators, but Fred and George looked forward to Grant’s arrival with anything but pleasure.
“What do you think of him?” cried Grant as he held up his prize for his friends to see. “Isn’t he a beauty?”
“He’s all right,” said George weakly.
“What’s the matter, Pop?” demanded Grant. “You don’t seem very enthusiastic. Don’t you like his looks?”
“He’s fine,” replied George in a hollow voice.
“Where did you find him?” demanded Fred bluntly.
“Right where I shot him,” said Grant. “You saw the spot where I picked him up, didn’t you?”
“We saw it all right,” said Fred grimly. “We haven’t a word to say either. You have the joke on us all right, Grant. All I ask is that you don’t rub it in too much.”
“I won’t,” laughed Grant. “It was awfully funny the way it turned out. I never suspected at first that the heron you pointed out to me was dead. I kept sneaking up as close as I dared and the thing never moved a bit and it began to strike me as sort of queer. Then I remembered how you fellows had snickered a couple of times and I felt pretty sure that something was wrong.
“All of a sudden I saw this bird just a few yards beyond the log. I knew then that my chance had come to turn the joke on you, but I was so anxious my arm was shaking like a leaf. I was afraid I surely would miss and when I saw that I hadn’t, I can tell you I felt pretty good. Here’s the heron and if you two fellows want yours you’ll find him down by that log. He smells a little strong though.”
“Let’s go back to camp,” exclaimed George.
“All right,” laughed Grant. “As long as you don’t like the subject, I won’t say too much about it.”
Laughing and joking they made their way back towards their camp. George and Fred realized how badly they had fared in their attempt to play a practical joke, but they were good sports and consequently good losers. They joined in the fun at their own expense, and were unstinted in their praise of the prize Grant had gained.
“We certainly got more than we were looking for that time,” said George laughingly. “You are——”
He suddenly ceased speaking and gazed in surprise in the direction of the tent.
“What’s the matter?” demanded John anxiously.
“Some man with a big black beard just ran around the other side of the tent,” exclaimed George.
“Are you sure you saw a man?” asked Grant skeptically.
“I know I did,” replied George with the utmost conviction.
“What did he look like?”
“He looked like a tramp; a rough looking sort of a fellow with a black beard and an old slouch hat.”
“Only one man?”
“That’s all I saw.”
“What shall we do?” demanded Fred blankly.
“We’ll go down and see what he wants,” said George in a matter of fact tone. “What else is there to do?”
“Suppose he’s looking for trouble?” suggested Fred.
“Well then, he’ll find it,” said George grimly. “There are four of us to his one.”
“He may not be alone,” said Fred. “I think we’d better go slow.”
“Grant has a gun.”
“But he’s not going to use it,” said Grant quickly. “You don’t catch me shooting at anybody, tramp or no tramp. I don’t want any blood on my head.”
“Suppose they attack us?” demanded George.
“‘They,’” exclaimed Grant. “I thought you said you saw only one.”
“That’s all I did see. There may be more of them though.”
“Probably a couple of guides,” said John. “Let’s go find out anyway.”
“I’d be careful,” warned Fred. “There’s no use in taking chances.”
“What’s the matter with you, Fred?” demanded George. “What are you so nervous about?”
“I don’t know. It seems funny to me though that a man like that should be hanging around our tent.”
“He’s probably waiting for us to come back.”
“Then why did he duck behind the tent the minute he saw us?”
“Maybe he didn’t see us at all.”
“The thing to do is to go down there and find out,” exclaimed Grant. “Come on, Pop, you and I will go anyway.”
“And so will I,” added John.
“I’ll go myself,” said Fred. “I’m not afraid; all I said was that I thought we ought to be careful.”
“We’ll be careful,” George assured him. “Come along.”
The little band once again started towards the tent. As Fred had remarked it seemed a strange thing that any man like the one George had seen should be loitering around their camp. They had had no visitors that summer aside from their opponents in the water sports and Mr. Maxwell, and the appearance of a stranger on the island was unusual enough to cause them some alarm.
Side by side they walked towards the spot where their tent was pitched. No further sign of their visitor appeared and this in itself made the four boys somewhat uneasy.
“Where did he go, do you suppose?” whispered John.
“Are you sure you saw a man, Pop?” demanded Grant.
“Of course I did. Do you think I’m crazy?”
“Where is he then? No one else saw him.”
George made no reply to this remark and in complete silence they continued on their way. At length they came to the tent itself but no one was to be seen. They peered inside, but it was empty of any living person. Grant turned to George triumphantly.
“You’re seeing things to-day,” he laughed. He laid the heron on the ground in front of the tent and placed his gun inside.
“I saw a man,” insisted George.
“And you tried to make me see a live heron that was dead,” said Grant.
“It’s certainly strange,” muttered George. “I know I saw a man. I’d take my dying oath on it.”
“But where is he?” demanded Grant.
“That’s just what I say,” rejoined George. “Where is he?”
“He doesn’t seem to be—” began John, when he suddenly stopped. “Look,” he cried and pointed towards the shore.
Two men were seated under a small tree which grew half-way between the wharf and the tent. Their backs were towards the boys so that it was impossible to see who they were. The back view however was not very reassuring. The strangers appeared to be rough and unkempt and were busily engaged in eating some food they had evidently helped themselves to from the stores of the four young campers. Both men seemed entirely unaware that they were being watched.
“How did they get there without our seeing them?” whispered John. “Pop saw one of them up by the tent.”
“The tent is between that tree and the place where we were standing,” said George. “It shut off our view and they probably walked down there while we were coming towards the tent.”
“What shall we do?” whispered Fred.
“Yell at them,” suggested John.
“Don’t you do it,” cautioned Grant quickly.
“For goodness’ sake,” exclaimed George suddenly in a low voice. “Don’t any one of you fellows move,” he ordered them. “Just wait here for me.”
He turned and darted quickly inside the tent while his three companions were completely mystified by his strange behavior. They gazed after him in amazement.
“What’s he after?” asked John in a whisper.
“Maybe he went for the gun,” suggested Fred.
“I wonder if he did,” exclaimed Grant. “We mustn’t have that,” and he started to follow George inside the tent.
Just as he was about to lift the flap and enter, however, George suddenly appeared. He held one of the young campers’ big balsam pillows in each hand and he wore a queer expression on his face. His three friends looked at him in amazement not unmixed with alarm.
“What are you going to do?” demanded Grant.
“Ssh!” hissed George. “Watch me.”
He cautiously stole forward in the direction of the two men. His companions were too surprised to make any effort to restrain him. Open-mouthed they stood and watched him stealthily approach the tree underneath which the two rough-looking men were seated.
“He’s gone crazy,” muttered Grant. “We should have held him back.”
On tip-toe and evidently trying to make as little noise as possible, George stole forward. Nearer and nearer he approached, the pillows still held firmly in his hands. He slackened his pace as he came closer and redoubled his efforts to move cautiously.
“They’ll turn and see him in a second,” whispered Fred, as much to himself as to anybody else. All three of the boys were tense with excitement as they riveted their attention on their companion who to them was doing such a remarkable thing.
George was scarcely ten feet distant from the men now. All at once he stopped. He slowly drew back his right arm and taking careful aim he let fly the pillow which he held. True to its mark it sped. It struck the larger of the two men squarely in the neck. The second pillow followed the other an instant later and it too scored a hit. Both had been aimed at the same man.
No sooner had George completed his bombardment than he uttered a wild whoop and rushed forward. He dashed straight towards the man he had been so successful in hitting and threw both arms around him.
Grant, Fred, and John were too taken aback to do more than stand and gaze stupidly at the strange proceedings taking place before their eyes. George’s actions to them were a complete mystery.
Suddenly he ceased hugging the rough looking man he had pounced upon so eagerly and turned to his three camp-mates.
“Grant!” he cried. “John! Fred! Come here and see who this is.”
“Who is it?” exclaimed John blankly. “Thomas and Hugh?”
“Here’s your father, Fred,” called George loudly. “Don’t you want to see him?”
Fred started violently at these words. He stared ahead of him and then suddenly gave vent to a wild shriek.
“Dad!” he cried and rushing pell mell down the gradual incline he threw himself upon the smaller of the two “tramps.”
“Why it’s Mr. Button and Mr. Sanders,” exclaimed Grant in surprise. “Where do you suppose they came from?”
“All dressed up to look like tramps,” added John. “What do you suppose they are trying to do?”
“Play a joke on us, I guess,” laughed Grant. “Lets go down and see them.”
They soon joined the little group gathered underneath the tree and a happy gathering it was.
“What do you think of these two tramps, Grant?” inquired George when greetings had been exchanged all around.
“What do you think of a boy who would hit his poor old father in the back of the neck with two big pillows?” laughed Mr. Sanders. “That strikes me as pretty rough treatment.”
“It surely is,” agreed Grant. “We usually take him down and duck him when he gets fresh that way.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” said Mr. Sanders sorrowfully. “He has gotten so husky this summer I’d hate to tackle him now.”
“We didn’t know you were coming up here,” said Fred, addressing his father and Mr. Sanders.
“And we didn’t want you to know it either,” laughed Mr. Button. “We planned a surprise for you.”
“You gave it to us all right,” said John grimly. “We were sure you were two thugs of some kind who had come up here to rob us.”
“How do you like our costumes?” demanded Mr. Sanders jovially. “Do we really look like a couple of desperate characters?”
“You certainly do, Dad,” said George. “I never saw worse.”
“How did you dare to throw those big heavy pillows at me then?”
“I recognized you right away, even from the back. You need a pretty good disguise to fool your son you know.”
“So it seems,” admitted Mr. Sanders and he rubbed the back of his neck ruefully.
“Didn’t you see us coming?” asked John.
“No,” said Mr. Button. “We arrived here about twenty minutes ago and didn’t find a soul around anywhere. So we just made ourselves at home and decided we’d have a little luncheon.”
“I saw one of you duck behind the tent,” said George. “Then when we didn’t see you again it sort of worried us. Imagine how we felt when we saw these two rough looking men sitting under the tree here.”
“Where had you boys been?” asked Mr. Sanders.
“We went out to shoot a blue heron,” said Grant. “Ask George about it; he’ll be glad to tell you all the details,” and he nudged John who was standing next to him.
“I was the goat all right,” laughed George, and he proceeded to recount the story of how he and Fred had tried to put up a game on Grant but had had the tables turned on them.
The tale caused much merriment on the part of Mr. Button and Mr. Sanders. Curiously enough these two men happened to be the fathers of the boys who had been the victims of their own joke.
“It served them right, Grant,” laughed Mr. Button. “I hate these practical jokers and am always glad to see them fooled. I notice it usually happens that way too.”
The party had moved up to a spot directly in front of the tent now and all were seated in a circle on the ground. The day was waning and the sun was beginning to sink low in the western sky. A gray haze hung over the surrounding hills and forests. A strong wind blew off the lake.
“You know that breeze is cold,” exclaimed Mr. Button with a slight shiver, and he drew his coat closer about him.
“Why shouldn’t it be?” demanded Mr. Sanders. “It’s almost fall now and the summer is practically over.”
“I know it is,” exclaimed George. “I hate to think of it too.”
“You’ve had a good time up here, have you?” inquired Mr. Button.
“Wonderful,” replied all the young campers with one accord.
“You certainly look so,” laughed Mr. Sanders. “You’re as tanned as a lot of Indians and you look just about as wiry.”
“It’s been great fun,” said John. “We’ve been out in the air all summer and on the water so much we ought to be healthy.”
“We’ll have to come back here again next summer,” exclaimed George. “What do you say to that, Dad?”
“Personally I should think you’d rather go to some other place next time. I like different experiences myself.”
“So do I,” agreed Grant. “There are so many wonderful places and things in the world that it’s worth trying to visit and see all of them you can, I think.”
“That suits me,” exclaimed George. “What do you say, Dad? We’ll go to some other place next time.”
“As far as I’m concerned you may,” said Mr. Sanders. “Go ahead.”