“Look at him!” yelled Tom. “What in the world is he doing?”
“Who is he?” inquired Jack.
“Put around!” excitedly yelled Bert. “He’s coming after us!”
The man was swimming directly toward the boat as if he contemplated an attack, and for a moment, though they knew he could not seriously harm them, the boys were actually afraid. For the swimmer had a really ferocious look as he came on through the water. He got to a shallow place, and stood up, running toward the boys.
“What do you make of this, Tom?” asked Jack.
“I don’t know what to make,” answered Tom, as he turned the boat away from the man. “But I think I can guess who he is.”
“Who?” cried his three chums.
“That’s the hermit—the wild man—old Wallace—who has been hunting for the fortune in the mill so long that his mind is affected.”
“By Jove! I believe you’re right,” said Jack.
“But what’s he coming after us for?” asked Dick, for the aged man was swimming again now, and could not hear the talk in the boat.
“I don’t—” began Tom when the old man interrupted with another of his wild cries, following it with:
“Get out of this lake! What are you doing here? This is my lake! All this country around here is mine! Leave at once! Get out of my lake!” and again he yelled like a madman.
“This is fierce,” said Dick.
“It gets on my nerves,” admitted Tom. “Let’s hurry away. He may swim out after us so far that he can’t get back again, and I don’t want to be even indirectly responsible for any harm coming to him.”
“Speed up then,” advised Jack, “and we’ll get so far away that he’ll see it will be hopeless to keep after us.”
“That’s what I will,” agreed Tom, and, speeding up the motor, the Tag was soon well out in the water.
“Go away! Get out of my lake!” yelled the old man, as he again stood up in a shallow part, and shook his fist at the boys. “Never come here again!”
Then he turned and went back toward shore.
“Thank goodness for that,” spoke Tom. “He’s got some sense left, anyhow.”
“Whew! That was an experience,” remarked Jack, as the boat turned a point of land, and the hermit was out of sight. “I hope he doesn’t find our camp.”
“I don’t believe he will,” said Tom. “I guess he was just walking around, and when he saw the motorboat it sort of frightened him. I don’t suppose there’s ever been a craft like this on the lake before, and the old man may have imagined it was some sort of infernal machine. He came at us if he was going to throw us all overboard.”
“He’s a fierce character,” declared Bert. “The less we see of him the better.”
“And you don’t catch me monkeying around any mysterious old mill, if a fellow like that lives in it,” added Dick.
“You said he had a gun, too, didn’t you, Tom?” asked Jack.
“That’s what I heard, but maybe it’s a mistake. He didn’t have one this time, anyhow.”
The boys discussed their odd experience as they motored along, and soon they were back where they had left their camp stuff. It had not been disturbed, and there was no sign that the hermit had taken a short cut through the woods to get to their location, as Tom had half feared he might do.
“Now to get busy!” exclaimed our hero as they landed at the improvised dock. “There’s lots to do. In the first place we’ll have an election.”
“What for?” asked Jack.
“To choose a cook. We’ve got to eat, and some one has to cook. We’ll take turns at it.”
They selected a cook by the simple process of drawing lots, and the choice fell upon Dick, who made a wry face about it.
“What’s the matter?” asked Tom, with a laugh.
“I can’t cook a little bit,” was the answer.
“Oh, sure you can,” declared Jack. “Anyhow we’ve only got canned stuff so far, and you can read the directions and go by them. Start in now and get us up a meal. I’m hungry.”
“So am I!” came in a chorus from the other two.
“Well, if I’ve got to cook, you fellows have to get wood and water,” declared Dick. “That’s one of the rules of this camp.”
“All right,” agreed Jack, “only we won’t need wood with our oil stove. I’ll get you water though,” and he started toward the spring with a pail.
While Dick was getting out the food, and lighting the stove, Tom and Bert opened the tents and got ready to set them up. They also laid out their stores, and planned how they would arrange the camp. When Jack came back with the water he helped at this work and soon one tent was set up.
“Dinner!” called Dick, after fussing about the stove for some time.
“What are you going to give us?” asked Tom.
“And what are we going to eat from?” asked Jack. “Where’s your table cloth? Set out the knives and forks.”
“Table! Table cloth!” exclaimed Dick with a grunt. “Say, if you think this is a summer hotel you’ve got another guess coming. I’ve broken out the dishes, and knives, forks and spoons. You can use your lap or a log for a table, though we charge ten cents extra for logs. The money goes to found a home for aged cooks.”
“Never mind about that!” exclaimed Tom. “Just give us some grub and we’ll do the rest.”
“Where’s the bill of fare?” asked Jack. “I’m particular about what I eat.”
“Soup, corned roast beef, potato chips, bread, butter, jam, condensed milk and coffee,” rattled off Dick.
“I’ll take it all!” came from Bert.
“Same here!” chorused the other two, and soon the lads were passing around the food.
“Say, this is all right,” declared Tom, as he tasted the mock-turtle soup. They had brought along several cases of canned goods, soup among them.
“It’s easy to make,” explained Dick. “All you do is to open the can, chuck in some hot water, heat the mixture for a few minutes, and your soup is made.”
“How about the roast beef?” asked Bert.
“I—er—I boiled that,” explained Dick calmly.
“Boiled it!” cried Tom. “Boiled roast beef! Oh wow!”
“What difference does it make, as long as it’s hot?” demanded the young cook. “Here, you taste it, and see if it isn’t good. I put some ketchup on it, and a lot of spices, and it tastes——”
“It must taste like a mixture of Hungarian goulash and Chinese chop-suey!” laughed Tom. “Boiled roast beef! Oh my stars!”
“Well, you don’t have to eat it,” fired back Dick, as he dished out a curious mixture. The boys tasted it, and to their surprise it was very good, or perhaps their appetites made it seem so. Then with bread, jam and coffee the meal progressed, and they all declared it a good one.
“Now for finishing up the tents, and getting ready for the night,” suggested Tom.
The cooking tent was put up, with an awning connecting it with the sleeping quarters, and with a table that was made of pieces of packing boxes. They had folding cots, and these were set up, and the bed clothes gotten out. Then each one picked his cot, arranged his personal belongings near or under it, and the camp was in fairly good shape.
“And now to begin to enjoy ourselves,” said Tom.
“If only the old hermit doesn’t come puttering around to bother us,” suggested Jack. “Bur—r—r—r! When I think of the fierce way he started after us it gives me a cold shiver.”
“He was sort of uncanny,” agreed Bert. “But I guess he won’t bother us. I don’t know what the rest of you are going to do, but I’m going fishing. I think some nice fresh fish would be pretty nearly as good as boiled roast beef. Oh, wait until I tell the fellows about that!” he laughed. “We’ll have to have it at one of our midnight suppers in Elmwood Hall.”
“That’s right,” agreed Tom. “But don’t you let ’em worry you, Dick. You’re doing fine.”
“They can’t worry me,” declared Tom’s country chum. “I can do queerer stunts in cooking than that. You just wait.”
“Well, if we’re going fishing let’s go,” suggested Jack.
The boys had brought their rods and tackle with them, and soon they had dug some worms, caught a few grasshoppers, and were casting in from some rocks and logs on the shore of the lake.
They had been fishing for perhaps half an hour, and no one had had more than some nibbles, when Jack, who was perched on a high rock, close to deep water, suddenly felt a jerk on his line.
“A bite! A bite!” he cried. “And a big one, too! Oh, fellows, I’ve got a dandy. Watch me pull him in!”
His reel was whirring at a fast clip, singing the song of the fish, and he was holding the butt, and winding in as fast as he could.
There was a splash in the water, and a flash of silver drops as a big fish broke.
“Give him line! Give him line!” cried Tom.
“Reel in! Give him the butt more,” suggested Dick.
“Pull him in!” yelled Bert.
Jack was working frantically. The big fish leaped and plunged. Suddenly Jack leaned over a bit too far, lost his balance, and a moment later he was floundering in the lake.
“Help! Get a boat! Help me out! Blub! Splub! Come on!” stammered and yelled Jack, as he went down under the water, and came up again, somewhat entangled in his fishing tackle.
“Don’t let the fish get away!” cried Tom.
“Grab him by the tail!” advised Dick.
“Hold him, no matter if you do get wet,” was Bert’s contribution. “You’ve had all the luck!”
“Luck! Luck!” retorted Jack. “If you call it luck to fall in the lake I——”
He was interrupted by a flurry of the big fish, that had not yet gotten off the hook, and, as Jack had instinctively kept hold of the rod, the finny prize was still a captive.
“It’s luck to get a fish like that,” declared Tom. “If I had him I wouldn’t let go,” and he started across the rocks to the aid of his chum. Dick and Bert had also laid aside their rods and were hurrying to the immersed one.
By this time Jack had managed to swim ashore, as he was only a few feet from it, and he was clambering up the rocky bank, keeping hold of his rod and line as best he could.
“Is he off?” asked Tom anxiously, as he joined his comrade. “Have you got the big fish yet?”
“Say, you care more about the fish than you do about me!” objected Jack.
“Why shouldn’t I?” asked our hero, with a laugh. “This is the first fish any of us caught. Reel in now. Never mind about yourself, you’ll dry, but we want that fish!”
Jack did have enough sporting blood to forget his own condition, and soon he was reeling in the fish, which was still on the hook. But most of the fight was gone from him, and it did not take much of an effort to land him. The prize proved to be a large bass.
“That will be great when Dick cooks it!” exclaimed Bert, as he held up Jack’s catch.
“Me cook it!” cried the village lad. “Say, I thought everyone had to cook his own catch.”
“Not much!” exclaimed Tom. “You’re cook for this week, and you have to serve up all the fish and game we bring in. I’m thinking of bringing in a bear soon.”
“And I’ve got an idea where I can get a lot of frogs’ legs,” added Bert.
“I’ll manage to furnish a mock turtle, and we can make more soup,” added Jack. “Or, if you like, I’ll keep on with the fish.”
“Say!” cried Dick. “You fellows can cook your own game. I’ll manage the canned stuff and——”
“Yes, and I suppose you’ll fricassee the baked beans if we don’t watch you,” put in Tom with a laugh.
“Oh, get out!” ejaculated the exasperated cook.
“Well, I got the fish, anyhow,” said Jack as, dripping water from every point, he held up his prize. “It’s a beaut, too.”
“It nearly got you,” commented Tom. “But say, there must be great fishing in this lake when they come right up to shore and take the bait that way.”
“Oh, we’ve struck a good place all right,” declared Jack. “As soon as we get straightened out we’ll go out in the middle, and pull in some of the big ones.”
“I think I can get another like yours right here at shore,” said Tom, and he threw in. Shortly he had a bite, and almost duplicated Jack’s catch.
Meanwhile Jack was cleaning and scaling his prize, and drying himself out. The other boys had fair luck with rod and line, and then it was up to Dick to cook the fish, which he did, frying them in bacon and corn meal.
“Oh, say, maybe they don’t smell good!” cried Tom, as the savory odor was spread about the camp.
“They’ll taste better,” was Jack’s comment.
The evening meal was a great success and they all voted that Dick was a much better cook than he had given himself credit for.
“How are you on pies?” asked Tom, as they sat around the campfire that evening, after everything was ready for bed. “Think you can tackle them, Dick? We’ve got prepared flour, and you can use some jam, or canned apples, for filling.”
“I’ll try it,” agreed the amateur cook. “We’ll have pie to-morrow.”
They did not sleep very well that night, as the beds were rather hard, not having been properly made, and they were all rather excited over the events of the day.
Breakfast, however, with coffee, and bacon and eggs which they had brought from Wilden, put them all in good humor, and they made a merry meal.
“Now for some fishing!” exclaimed Tom, as he went down to look about his motorboat.
“And I’m going to take a gun and see if I can get anything in the line of game,” put in Jack. “It’s out of season for most things, but I may get something in the bird line.”
“And Dick is going to make pie,” said Bert. “Make four, old man, so there’ll be one apiece.”
“All right,” agreed the young cook good naturedly. “I won’t guarantee results, but I’ll do my best.”
Tom started out in the boat with Bert to do some fishing, while Jack wandered off in the woods with his shotgun. Dick did up the dishes and then began rummaging around in the supplies. Soon he was whistling away and, as Tom and Bert could see, from where they were in the boat, he was kept quite busy over something.
“Well, did you get ’em made?” asked Tom, when they had all assembled for dinner. “How about the pies, Dick?”
“There they are,” was the retort, and Dick pointed to the pastry.
“Hum! They smell good!” exclaimed Jack, as he whiffed an odor from the pies.
“They look good,” commented Tom.
“Let’s see if they taste good,” suggested Bert.
The pies were served as dessert, and at the first mouthful Tom let out a howl.
“For the love of tripe!” he cried. “What did you put in these pies, Dick?”
“Apples, of course,” replied the injured cook. “What did you suppose it was?”
“Well, if those are apples then they’re flavored with something funny,” declared Tom. “Where’s the can you used?”
Dick brought two empty tin cans up to the table, which was made from packing boxes.
“The paper labels soaked off,” he explained, “but there were cans of apples on top and below these so I thought it was all right. Isn’t it?”
Tom took a smell, and cried out:
“Say, fellows, he dumped a can of quinces in the apple pie stuff and baked that all together and then used baking soda for powdered sugar! Oh wow! What a taste!”
There was a general laugh, and Dick replied with:
“Well, if you fellows think you can do any better you can have my job. I’m sick of being cook.”
“Tut, tut! It’s all right,” said Tom hastily. “We were only fooling. You’re doing fine, Dick, only, after this, smell of a can if it hasn’t got a label pasted on it, and taste the powdered sugar.”
But if the pies were a failure, the rest of the dinner was good, and later on Dick proved that he could make good pastry when he used the right ingredients.
They had more fish that day, as luck was good, but the game was scarce, as might have been expected at that season of the year.
After dinner, the rest of the day was spent in getting the camp into better shape, and making the beds more comfortable. The boys were in the habit of making up a camp fire early in the evening, and sitting in the glow of it to talk. They did this on their second night, and when it had about died down Tom tossed on some heavy sticks of wood and remarked:
“Well, I’m going to turn in. I’m tired and I want some sleep. To-morrow we’ll take a long boat ride.”
“When are we going to the old mill?” asked Jack.
“Oh, maybe we can try that soon if we like,” said Tom.
It was nearly midnight, as Tom ascertained by looking at his watch, when he was suddenly awakened by hearing something moving about near the sleeping tent. At first he thought it was one of his chums, and he called out:
“Who’s that? You, Jack?”
There was no answer, and, looking across to the other cots, our hero saw the forms of his companions under the covers. They were all quiet.
“There’s some one out there,” he murmured.
Rising cautiously he stepped to the flap of the canvas shelter and peered out. In the dying glow of the camp fire he saw an old man silently walking toward the tents.
“For gracious sake!” breathed Tom to himself. “If that isn’t the old hermit of the mill I’m a lobster! I wonder what he’s doing here?”
With anxious eyes he watched, and as the moon came out from behind a cloud, to add to the glow of the campfire, Tom saw the light glint on a gun.
“He’s looking for us!” whispered Tom. “I wonder what I’d better do?”
For a moment the lad stood there at the flap of the tent, pondering over the situation. He realized that he might have a desperate character to deal with—a man who would not listen to reason, and who was impulsive, as evidenced by his leap into the water after the motorboat.
“But I’ve got to do something,” thought Tom. “If I don’t he may take a shot at us, not meaning to do any harm, but just because he’s erratic. And that sort of a bullet does just as much harm as any other. If he should fire into the tent——”
Tom did not finish out his thought, for at that moment there was a movement on the part of the old man. He had been standing still, silently regarding the camp, and now he again advanced.
“He’s going to see what sort of a place we have here,” mused Tom. “I wonder if I’d better awaken the boys?”
He thought it over for a moment and then decided that perhaps he could best deal with the old man alone.
“But how?” he asked himself.
Tom watched the hermit. He came on with a tread like that of a cat—silently—stealthily—peering from side to side. At times he muttered to himself.
“I’ll see if I can take him by surprise,” decided Tom. Stepping back, where he could not be seen, inside the tent, our hero suddenly yelled:
“Get out of here! What are you doing in our camp? Be off before I set the dogs on you!”
The old man was evidently startled. He stiffened as he stood, but Tom was glad to see that he did not bring the gun to bear. From under the shaggy eyebrows the hermit gazed about him as if to determine whence came the voice.
But if Tom had any idea that he could frighten the man into going away he was mistaken. For the hermit of the mill came forward until he stood directly in front of the big tent, and then, straightening up, he fairly shouted:
“Ha! I have found you; have I? Those who brought their infernal puffing engine on my lake. Now you are in my woods. I have been looking for you. I warn you away! You must leave at once! I will not be cheated out of my fortune this way. Leave my woods or it will be the worse for you!” and he shook his fist at Tom, who had now stepped into view at the flap of the tent.
“Hello! What’s the row?” called Jack, suddenly awakening.
“Is the camp on fire?” asked Dick.
“What’s wrong, Tom?” cried Bert, and all three of our hero’s chums sprang from their cots and crowded around him.
“It’s our old friend the hermit of the mill,” explained Tom in a low voice. “He’s come to drive us out of the woods.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Jack.
“I don’t know. Let’s see what he does.”
“He may be dangerous,” commented Dick.
“And these may be his woods,” added Bert.
“Nonsense,” declared Tom. “I asked dad about it before I came up, and he said this part of the forest belonged to a big lumber company that was holding it for the trees to get bigger before cutting. This old man doesn’t own it any more than we do.”
“Then you’re going to stick?”
“I sure am!”
During this talk the old hermit remained motionless, regarding the boys with angry eyes. Then he spoke again.
“Well, are you going to take yourselves out of my woods? Are you going to leave at once? I demand that you go!”
“No, sir, we are not going,” declared Tom, firmly but respectfully, for after all, he thought the age of the man was entitled to some deference.
“You must leave my woods!” the hermit insisted. “I have been bothered enough in the search for the fortune hidden from me. I want to be alone in my woods. Go!” and he pointed his finger toward Wilden.
“I do not think you have the right to make us go,” said Tom. “I understand these are not your woods, and we have as good a right to camp here as you have to wander about. We are not going!”
For a few seconds the old man seemed dazed at the bold answer. Probably he had expected a meek compliance, but, as it developed, Tom’s answer was the best that could have been given.
Pausing a moment the hermit gazed almost reproachfully at the lads and then, with another shake of his fist at them, he called:
“Well, you have been warned, and now you must take the consequences. The price of your folly is on your own heads!”
He turned and vanished into the shadows of the woods.
“Whew! Quite dramatic!” exclaimed Tom, as he turned to his chums.
“I should say so,” agreed Jack. “Nice thing to be awakened from pleasant dreams and told to move on in a trackless forest at midnight. He’s as bad as Professor Skeel used to be.”
“Speaking of Skeel reminds me,” observed Tom. “Do you think he has come up here to camp?”
“Hard to say,” murmured Bert. “But I know one thing, as long as I’m awake I’m going to have something to eat. Are there any of those chicken sandwiches left, Dick?”
“I guess so. And there’s some cold tea.”
“Warm it up then, and we’ll have a lunch.”
“Say, what do you think this is; a quick-eat restaurant?” asked the amateur cook.
“Oh, go ahead,” suggested Tom. “We’ll all help, and maybe we’ll get to sleep again, after this interruption, if we eat.”
The oil stove was lighted, and the tea put on to warm, while Dick set out a plate of sandwiches he had made from canned chicken. Then the boys ate and talked.
“That old hermit is sure on our trail,” declared Tom.
“But he doesn’t seem to be as dangerous as the folks made out,” commented Jack.
“I guess he’s just simple-minded, thinking of the treasure in the old mill,” added Bert. “By the way, Tom, when are we going to visit the ruins, and have a try for the buried gold?” and he laughed.
“Oh, we’ll go over there some time,” agreed Tom. “I’d like to pick a day, though, when old Wallace wouldn’t be on hand. I’m not exactly afraid of him, but, from what I can understand, he does own the mill, though not these woods, and if he ordered us off that property we’d have to go.”
“But we can take a chance,” suggested Dick.
“Oh, sure,” came from Tom. “Say, but that old chap must spend all his time wandering about the woods. I wonder where he sleeps when he’s away from the mill?”
“Oh, he probably has plenty of bunks and caves that we never would dream of,” said Jack. “Well, I’m going to turn in,” he added, with a yawn. “If he comes back again kindly tell him, Tom, to wait until morning before doing any more ordering-off.”
Once more the lads sought their cots, to sleep undisturbed until morning. The day was spent in getting their camp more in ship-shape, and getting in a supply of wood for camp fires, and for cooking in case their oil gave out, or the portable stove failed.
In the afternoon they went fishing, and had good luck. Though they kept watch for the hermit, they did not see him. The woods and lake were as deserted as though they were in some country as yet unvisited by man, and there were no evidences that any camping parties had ever visited the region where the boys were.
“It sure is wild,” said Jack, as he gazed about.
“It’s just the cheese though,” declared Tom. “We couldn’t have picked out a better place.”
“And as soon as we get busy on the secret of the old mill there may be lots of happenings,” added Bert.
A week passed, during which our friends enjoyed life to the utmost. They fished, and as the lake had seldom been visited by devotees of the rod and line it proved a garden spot for such sport. One had but to throw in a line to have a bite. They hunted, too, but as the season was not open they managed to kill only a few foxes and skunks, and, as their fur was not of much value in the summer, even this they gave up as rather unprofitable work.
“It’s the mill we want to head for,” insisted Jack. “Come on, Tom, let’s get up an expedition and go there. We can go in the boat, for, as you say, the mill is on the river that runs into the lake. Come on.”
“All right, we’ll go to-morrow,” agreed Tom.
Accordingly, having set their camp to rights, and having put up a lunch, for they would not be back to dinner, they set off in the Tag, heading up the lake to where the river entered it.
“She’s running better than she did at home,” remarked Dick to Tom, as he looked at the puffing motor.
“Yes, but don’t say anything,” cautioned our hero. “She may be holding back for a kick-up. I never praise this motor, for I actually believe it knows what you say. Let well enough alone,” and the others laughed at his quaint conceit.
It was a beautiful day, and the trip along the lake was much enjoyed. It was rather lonesome, but the boys did not mind that.
As they moved along the shore of a little cove Jack suddenly called:
“Hold on! I think I heard something moving near the bank there,” and he pointed just ahead.
“Slow down the engine,” called Tom to Dick, and the latter throttled down, making the machinery almost noiseless. Then they all heard a crashing in the underbrush.
“Maybe it’s the hermit,” suggested Bert.
“Very likely,” agreed Jack. “I hope he doesn’t begin on one of his tantrums again.”
The sounds in the bushes grew, and a moment later three figures suddenly stepped into view on the sandy beach of the lake.
“Look!” exclaimed Tom in a low voice. “If this isn’t the limit!”
All four boys gazed toward the figures, to behold their old acquaintances, Professor Skeel, Sam Heller and Nick Johnson!
Difficult it would be to say which party was the more surprised. Certain it was, though Tom and his chums knew that their former teacher intended coming to the vicinity, and though they realized that Sam and Nick had gotten off the train with camping stuff near Wilden, they never expected to meet the three in this spot.
And, for that matter, neither did Mr. Skeel and the two lads, with whom he seemed to be on friendly terms, think to behold Tom, for the former plainly showed the surprise he felt.
“Well what do you know about this?” asked Jack, in a low voice.
“It’s the limit,” agreed Tom.
“Mind your wheel or you’ll have us on shore,” said Bert. “There’s a big rock just ahead of you.”
Tom shifted the wheel with a rapid turn. He had been so interested in looking at the trio on shore that he had not noticed where he was steering.
“Shall we speak to ’em?” asked Jack.
“No, don’t,” advised Bert. “There’s no use getting into an argument.”
“And yet we might find out something about them, and what they are doing up here,” insisted Jack, who generally liked to take the initiative.
“I guess we’d better not,” spoke Tom. “Anyhow, they wouldn’t give us any satisfaction. If they hail us we’ll answer, and that’s all.”
But the three on shore evidently had no intention of speaking. After his first stare of surprise Mr. Skeel was seen to speak to Sam and Nick, and then, with a final glance at our friends, the trio turned and plunged back into the woods.
“Well, that’s over—for the time being,” remarked Dick.
“Yes,” assented Bert. “Can you see which way they’re going, Tom?”
“Why should we want to?”
“Because they may be going to the same place we are.”
“What, to the old mill?”
“Sure.”
“They don’t know anything about it,” declared Tom.
“How do you know? That story of buried treasure is more or less known all over this section, and the hunt old Wallace is making for it, too. So why shouldn’t Mr. Skeel, and Sam or Nick know of it?”
“Well, maybe you’re right,” agreed Tom. “But we can’t see which way they’re headed. The brush is too thick.”
“We’re not far from the mill, if I’m any judge,” said Jack.
“Why?” Tom wanted to know. “How can you tell? You’ve never been there.”
“No, but there’s a current setting into the lake now, and that means the river isn’t far off. The mill is on the river, so, naturally we’re near the mill. Q. E. D., as we used to say after we’d floundered through a geometry proposition.”
“Well, maybe you’re right,” admitted our hero.
“Another thing,” went on Jack. “If we’re near the mill, so are those fellows. So you see——”
“By Jove!” cried Tom. “I shouldn’t be surprised but what you were right, Jack. This man Skeel would be up to any proposition to make money, and he may, as you say, have heard the rumor of treasure in the old mill.”
“How do you account for him meeting Sam and Nick?” asked Bert.
“Oh, it probably just happened,” suggested Tom. “If they are camping near here, and Skeel is doing the same thing, it’s not out of reason that they should meet. Well, if they’re after the treasure in the old mill I don’t see what’s to prevent us having a go for the same thing.”
“If Old Wallace will let us,” put in Bert.
“Oh, well, we’ll have to take a chance with him,” said Tom. “We’ll have to wait until he’s away from home, which he seems to be most of the time.”
“And if we get the treasure, what will we do with it?” inquired Dick.
“Wait until we do,” laughed Tom. “I don’t believe there is one chance in a thousand of there being any treasure there, and if there is, it’s a hundred to one shot that we can’t find it, nor can anyone else. But it will be fun to have a go for it.”
“And if we do find it,” put in Jack, “we’ll all take a trip to Europe.”
“No,” spoke Tom, quietly, “if we do find any treasure, it will have to go to the one who owns it—the old hermit, very likely.”
“Oh pshaw!” cried Jack. “After the mean way he treated us, Tom?”
“Sure. Right is right. But say, don’t let’s get into an argument over such a remote possibility. Wait until we get to the mill, and have a look around. I’m an expert on buried treasure, and I can tell, as soon as I see a place, what the prospects are,” and Tom’s chums joined in his hearty laugh.
“Well, speed up,” suggested Jack, “and we’ll see what sort of an Eldorado lies before us. Westward ho!” and he struck a dramatic attitude.
Tom turned on more gasolene and advanced the spark, so that the Tag shot ahead. There was no further sign of Professor Skeel and the two boys.
“There’s the river!” exclaimed Bert, about a quarter of an hour later, as the boat went around a bend, and they came into view of a stream flowing into the lake. It was as wild and picturesque as the lake itself, with big trees on either bank, overhanging the water in places.
“Say, that’s great!” cried Tom. “I’m going to get some pictures of that. Take the wheel, Jack, while I get out my camera.”
Tom was soon snapping away, getting a number of fine views, while with Jack at the wheel, and Dick to watch the motor, the Tag swept slowly into the river. The current was not strong at this point, and it was possible to slow down to half speed, as the lads did not know the character of the water, nor how much depth there was, though the Tag did not draw more than two feet.
“Let’s see who’ll spot the old mill first,” proposed Tom, as he adjusted his camera to take more pictures when the ruin should be sighted.
“I’d rather get the first sight of the hidden treasure,” declared Jack, who seemed to have more faith in the existence of the secret horde than did the others. “Anyone can see a mill,” he went on, “but it takes an eagle eye to spot treasure.”
“And I suppose you think you’ve got the eagle eye!” laughed Bert.
“Sure I have. Say, Dick, isn’t it almost lunch time?”
“I don’t know. I’m not the cook this week. It’s up to Tom.”
“Can we eat, Tom?” asked his roommate at Elmwood Hall.
“Not until we get to the mill. Work before pleasure, my boy. That’s the rule here.”
“Well then, get ready with the grub,” said Jack, quietly, “for there’s your mill,” and he pointed just ahead of them.
“By Jove! So it is!” exclaimed Tom.
They had gone around a turn in the river, and on one bank, situated on a little rise, were the ruins of an old stone mill.
In its day it had been a big structure, built of field stone, and it must have been a substantial place to which the settlers for miles around probably came with their grain. But now it was in ruins, through the ravages of time and the hands of those who sought the treasure.
As the boat approached it the boys could see where a flume had been built to take the water from the river, and direct it over a big wheel. Of the latter there was little left. Trees and underbrush grew up close to the old structure, near which were the rotting remains of a wharf where, in the olden days, likely, the craft of the settlers had tied up when they came with grist.
“Say, it’s a wonderful ruin all right,” said Tom in a low voice. “Put over to shore, Jack, while I get a picture. Then we’ll get out and have a look around.”
As Tom focused his camera, and clicked the shutter, there was a movement in the tangle of vines and bushes near what had been the main entrance to the mill.
“Look out!” exclaimed Jack. “Some one’s coming!”
Holding themselves in readiness for whatever they might see, or for whatever might happen, the boys peered anxiously toward the place whence the noise and movement came.
“False alarm!” laughed Tom, as a fox leaped into view and then, seeing human enemies, slunk out of sight.
“It made noise enough for a man,” declared Jack. “I sure thought it was the hermit getting ready to repel boarders.”
“And treasure seekers,” added Dick.
“Well, let’s go ashore,” suggested Bert. “That is, if Tom is done taking fancy snap shots of the old ruin.”
“Sure, I’ve got pictures enough for now, though I may want some from the other side,” assented our hero.
Making the boat fast to the rotting wharf, the four lads climbed out and made ready to inspect the old ruin.
“Look out!” suddenly called Tom. “That’s a weak plank you’re stepping on, Jack. You’ll be through it in another minute!”
He made a grab for his chum, but it was too late. Jack, who had hurried on in advance of the others, had stepped on a board of the wharf that was but a mere rotten shell, and, an instant later, one foot went through it, and Jack slipped down to his hip, the other leg doubled up under him.
“Help! Help!” he cried, in mock seriousness. “One foot’s in the water, and the other will be in a minute.”
“Are you hurt?” asked Bert anxiously.
“No, but if this leg isn’t skinned all the way up I’m a loon. Pull me out, can’t you?”
As Bert and Dick started toward him Tom called:
“Stand back! If we all crowd up on those old boards we will all be through. Wait until I can lay another plank down, that isn’t so near gone. Then we can give you a hand.”
With the aid of Bert and Dick, our hero ripped off a more substantial board, and then, stepping on this they managed to pull Jack from his uncomfortable position, for he could not help himself.
“Well, how about you?” asked Tom, when they had all made their way off the old wharf to shore.
“Oh, so-so. I’m badly battered up, but still in the ring. One foot is well soaked, but it’s warm weather and I guess I won’t get the epizootic. Say, though, I’m going to be lame,” and Jack limped along.
An examination showed that his right leg was painfully skinned and bruised, where it had scraped on the edges of the hole in the plank, as his foot went through the timber.
“We’ll bandage it up when we get to camp,” said Tom, as he used an extra handkerchief on the worst cut of his chum’s leg. “Do you feel able to go on to the mill, or shall we turn back, Jack?”
“Go on, of course,” declared the injured one. “I’m not going to let a little thing like a game leg stand between me and a treasure hunt. Lead on, captain!”
“That’s the talk!” exclaimed Bert. “You’ll get the best of the pirates’ hoard yet.”
“Now go a bit easy,” cautioned Tom. “It may be that Old Wallace is around somewhere, and, as this is his property, he’d be justified in making a row if he found us here. So go a bit slow until we size up the situation.”
They were on the lower side of the mill now, the side nearest the river. The ancient structure consisted of three stories. The lower one was a sort of basement, on a level with the lower ground, where it was evident that wagons had driven in to receive their loads of grain. Here too, was some of the old machinery of the mill, the levers that controlled the water gate and other things, but now all rotted and fallen into decay.
“Say, this would be the place where the treasure would be buried, if anywhere,” declared Jack.
“I don’t think so,” spoke Tom. “It’s too conspicuous.”
“That’s just it,” argued Jack. “The more conspicuous a thing is, the harder it is to find it, sometimes. Nothing is more difficult to pick up, sometimes, than something right under your nose, as the saying is.”
“That’s right,” agreed Bert. “Did you ever play the geography game?”
“No. What is it?” asked Tom.
“Well, you take a big map, and ask a person to find some country, city, lake or river, as the case is. Most persons pick out for the puzzle a name printed in very small type, but those who know select a name printed in big letters, that take up half the map, maybe. And it most always happens that this is the hardest to find. I didn’t originate that,” he added, modestly. “I think Poe speaks of it in one of his stories.”
“That’s right,” agreed Tom. “At any rate some one has had a try for the treasure here, at any rate, if signs of digging go for anything.”
This was indeed so, for the ground was torn up, and in many places stones had been knocked out of the thick walls, as if some one had looked for secret hiding places.
“Well, we can’t stop to dig now,” said Tom. “But if things go right we may later. Let’s go up on the main floor,” and he started toward an ancient doorway.
“Not there!” cried Jack, holding back his chum.
“Why not?”
“The boards there will be as rotten as those on the wharf, and we’ll all take a tumble. Let’s go outside and around on the solid earth. I don’t want to put my other leg out of commission,” and he limped out of the basement of the ancient mill.
The others followed, and soon they stood in the doorway of what had evidently been the main entrance to the ancient structure. It was on a level with the higher ground, farther back from the river.
This floor contained the mill-stones, now fallen from their position, and encumbered with wreckage. There were several rooms, opening one into the other, now that the doors had fallen from their hinges, and here were holes that went through to the floor above. These holes had once contained the chutes through which the grain was fed to the mill-stones.
“There might be treasure here almost anywhere,” remarked Jack, as he looked about.
“And it’s been pretty well grubbed for,” commented Tom. “They’ve almost ripped the insides out of the mill looking for it. I suppose old Wallace has cut and sawed and pulled apart until it’s a wonder the old mill hangs together.”
“It’s a well-built old place,” said Dick. “The stone walls are thick. There may be a hiding place in them.”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” and Bert shrugged his shoulders. “Well, it’s going to be a job to take them apart all right,” and he looked at the stones imbedded in mortar that was as good still as it was the day it was mixed.
The boys wandered about the main floor, and looked for a place to ascend to the third story, but there seemed to be none.
“If we had a rope we could make it,” said Tom. “We’ll bring one next time.”
“Huh! How you going to get up there to fasten it?” asked Bert.
“Tie a stick on the end, throw the stick up, and when it catches, crossways, in one of the chute-holes we can go up easily enough.”
“Good boy! Bright idea!” complimented Jack. “Well, let’s see if we can find where old Wallace hangs out. We haven’t come across his living quarters yet.”
There were several rooms they had not yet explored, and they now proceeded to visit them. They had evidently been the living apartments of the former miller, but now they were pretty much in ruins.
“No signs of a course dinner having been prepared here,” commented Tom. “It smells as musty as time. He must hang out somewhere else.”
“Upstairs, I’ll wager,” said Dick.
“But how does he get up?” asked Jack.
“Oh, he has some secret way,” declared Tom. “We’ll have to get a rope and explore that third story all right.”
“Say, maybe we’re staying too long now,” suggested Bert. “Old Wallace may come along and nab us. We’ve seen all there is to, I guess, except upstairs.”
“But we haven’t seen any gold,” said Jack. “I want to find some before I go back.”
“Get out!” laughed Tom. “All the gold there is in this mill you can put in your eye. But I think it might be a good idea to look outside a bit. Maybe there’s some outbuilding, or some secret cache where the pirates or settlers hid their stuff. We’ll take a look.”
“And then we’ll have some eats!” suggested Jack. “I’m as hungry as the proverbial bear.”
They strolled about the old mill, and saw more signs of where a search had been made for the reputed treasure. Holes innumerable were on every side, but the attempts to locate the hidden gold had soon been given over, for the excavations were shallow.
“Now for the eats!” exclaimed Jack, as they started for the dock where their boat was tied. “Lands! but I’m stiff!”
He really was limping painfully, and his chums had to help him down the hill to the river. As they approached their boat Tom, who was slightly in advance, uttered an exclamation of surprise as he peered along a path that led up the river.
“What is it?” asked Dick.
“Look,” was the answer. “Old Wallace! We got away just in time.”
“And see who’s with him!” exclaimed Jack, in a hoarse whisper. “Professor Skeel!”
“By Jove! So it is!” gasped Tom. “Wonders will never cease. Have they seen us?”
It was evident they had not, but to make sure of it the boys hurried behind a screen of bushes, where they could see but not be observed.
“Look!” exclaimed Tom again. “They’re going to have a conference.”
As he spoke the others could see that the former professor and the old hermit had come to a halt in a place where the path widened. It was in a little glade, and, sitting down beneath the trees, the two men, one of whom had played such a strange part in Tom’s life, and the other, who was destined to, proceeded to talk earnestly.
What they said could not be heard, but it was evident that it was some subject that interested them both, for they held their heads close together as if afraid of being overheard. They little realized that they were being watched.
“What are they doing now?” asked Dick.
“The old hermit has some sort of a paper,” said Tom.
“And he’s showing it to Mr. Skeel,” added Bert.
“Maybe it’s some sort of map to tell where the treasure is,” suggested Dick.
“But why would he be showing it to our old professor?” asked Tom. “If he wants to keep it a secret why is he giving it away like that?”
“Hard to say,” commented Jack. “I think, though——”
He did not finish, for at that moment Mr. Skeel and the hermit leaped to their feet and gazed down the path as though they heard some one coming.
“Something new on the programme,” commented Tom in low voice.
“Do you think they heard us?” asked Dick.
“No, they couldn’t. And they don’t see us. They’re looking the other way,” said Jack.
“But there’s something doing,” declared Bert. “I wonder what it is?”
They had their answer a moment later, when there came into view around the bend in the path Sam Heller and Nick Johnson.
“Well, I’ll be jiggered!” gasped Tom. “We meet them at every turn.”
“I wonder how they got here so soon after we met them?” asked Bert. “It’s quite a distance to walk.”
“Maybe they took a short cut,” suggested Jack.
“Hush! Look what’s going on now,” advised Tom.
As they glanced toward where the professor and the hermit had held a conference, they saw the old man transported into one of his fits of rage.
He stamped about, and shook his fist at Sam and Nick, occasionally changing by making threatening gestures at Mr. Skeel.
“Say, he’s the limit!” murmured Dick.
“Listen,” cautioned Tom. “He’s saying something.”
“Leave here! Leave here at once!” commanded old Wallace, almost hitting the two lads as he shook his fists at them. “How dare you come on my property? You are after the treasure; are you? Well, you shall never find it! I will locate it! I will make the old mill give up its secret! Be off!”
“Wait, wait,” said Mr. Skeel in a calm voice, laying his hand on the hermit’s arm.
“Ha! You too are in a plot against me, I believe!” cried the angry hermit. “I am sorry I ever had anything to do with you. Go away!” and he took hold of the professor, and began shoving him away down the path.
“One minute,” said Mr. Skeel in soothing tones, much different from the harsh ones he had almost constantly used in his classes at Elmwood Hall. “What is it you object to?”
“These lads—what are they doing here? Are they spying on me?” and the aged man pointed at Nick and Sam.
“They are my assistants,” said the professor soothingly, and, though he spoke in a low tone, Tom and his chums could hear him. “Without their aid I can not help you,” Mr. Skeel went on, and when the hermit’s back was turned toward him our hidden friends distinctly saw the professor make a signal of caution and of acquiescence toward the two lads, who craftily nodded their understanding.
“Your assistants?” asked the hermit.
“Yes. If you want me to help you I must have them to help me. I would have told you about them, but I did not get the chance until they came so unexpectedly. Had they known that you objected to their presence they would have remained away. But I assure you that you can trust them.”
“Well,” said the hermit, bitterly, “since I have told you part of my secret, and trusted you with it, I suppose your assistants must be in on it. But no more! No more!” and he shook his fist toward the clouds, and glanced around as though he feared more intruders. “There were some other boys around the other day,” the aged man went on, “and if I find them sneaking about my mill it will be the worse for them.”
“Say, we did get away just in time,” whispered Jack.
“That’s right,” agreed Dick.
“But what in the world does Skeel mean by saying he is going to help Wallace, and that Sam and Nick are his assistants, I wonder?” asked Bert.
“That’s easy to guess,” answered Tom. “Skeel, somehow or other, has heard about the treasure. Now he’s trying to soft-soap the hermit into letting him have a hunt for it. Probably he’s promised to turn most of it over to the old man.”
“I think I see him doing it, if he finds it,” commented Bert.
“And Skeel has the nerve to say that Sam and Nick are his helpers,” said Jack. “Hot helpers they are!”
“Oh, that was just a bit of jollying, thought up on the spur of the moment,” declared Tom. “He didn’t figure on Sam and Nick following him, and he had to concoct some story to account for their presence. Though I don’t doubt but what Skeel, and those two cronies, are in thick about some scheme.”
“Searching for the treasure?” asked Dick.
“I believe so. Well, they’ve got one advantage of us, but maybe we can get ahead of them yet,” spoke Tom. “If only we can get a chance to do some exploring we’ll do it. But we can’t do anything more now.”
“No, let’s go down to the boat and eat,” suggested Jack. “I’m still hungry.”
“Wait a minute,” advised Tom. “I think they’re going to move on, and we don’t want to run into them.”
As they watched they saw Sam and Nick turn and retrace their steps back along the path. They had held a little conversation with Mr. Skeel, to one side, so that the hermit had not heard, though he eyed them suspiciously. Then Mr. Skeel and the old man resumed their talk.
“Lucky that Sam and Nick didn’t come this way,” said Tom, as he helped Jack to stand up. “Now don’t make any more noise than you can help, or they may hear us.”
“They’ll hear the boat when it starts,” said Dick.
“I’ll drift down the river a bit before I crank up,” spoke Tom. “Come on, everybody.”
They started down the bank, toward their boat, having come to a halt a little distance from it. Suddenly Dick, who was in the rear, uttered an exclamation.
“What is it?” called Tom sharply.
“They’re going away—Skeel and the hermit, and one of them has dropped a piece of paper on the path.”
“A piece of paper!” exclaimed Tom. “We must have that! Here, wait a minute! If they don’t miss it, and come back for it, I’ll get it.”
He crawled cautiously back to his former post of observation behind the screen of bushes.