Here Mr. Hocker winked slyly at Daddy Perkiss and the fishermen.

The old man failed to appreciate the joke.

"It's temptin' Providence," he cried shrilly, pounding his cane on the beach. "If you ever sees that weapon agin, Mose Hocker, I'll give you ten pounds of the best plug terbacker that Bill Smith has in his store."

"That's a bargain," exclaimed Mose. "You fellows can testify to what he said."

Then turning to Randy he added with a laugh, "Don't fail me now, lad. Ten pounds of terbacker ain't picked up every day."

"Just give me a fair show and I'll astonish you all before long," replied Randy, moving toward the boat. "Ned, will you go with me?" he added.

Ned willingly agreed, much to the amazement of Clay and Nugget, who expected him to oppose Randy's project with all his might. The truth of the matter was that Ned, being a sensible fellow, shared Randy's view, and was rather anxious to see the tables turned on the credulous rustics.

He was satisfied from the smooth and sluggish appearance of the water that a dive would not be attended with danger.

In some unaccountable manner the news seemed to have spread through the neighborhood, and when Ned and Randy embarked, the crowd had been augmented by three men and two bare-footed urchins. A wagon containing two farmers had stopped at the entrance of the bridge, and the occupants were tying the horse preparatory to coming down.

Mose Hocker's boat was a large, heavy craft, built on the order of a bateau, and was admirably adapted to Randy's purpose. The boys paddled up stream a little until they were directly below the rock Hocker had designated. Then, while the boat drifted down with a barely perceptible motion, Randy hastily undressed.

"It's a pity we didn't bring a fishing line along," observed Ned. "I could ascertain the depth for you in a minute."

"We don't need it," replied Randy. "I was never in better wind than I am now. If there's a bottom at all I'll find it."

The boat was now one hundred feet below the rock, and a stroke or two of Ned's paddle put it in line with the big buttonwood tree on the right shore.

"This is just about the exact spot," said Randy, surveying with a critical eye the rock and then the tree. "Hold the boat steady, Ned. I'll be ready in a second or two."

This was not a difficult task, for the water was as smooth as a mill pond and almost as motionless.

Clay and Nugget had by this time paddled out in their canoes to witness operations, and the little group on the shore were waiting in breathless silence.

Randy was prepared now, and suddenly he mounted the broad stern seat, and stood on the outer edge.

An audible murmur came from the shore, and Daddy Perkiss mumbled shrilly: "They're right over the middle of the Hole."

"Paddle down a little," said Randy in a quiet tone to Clay and Nugget. "You obstruct the view. Still in the right location, are we?" he inquired of Ned.

"Yes, as near as possible," was the reply. "Be careful, old fellow!"

Randy smiled and glanced at the expectant crowd on the shore. Then he drew a long breath, pressed his hands together and dived gracefully into the cloudy blue water. It was done so quickly and cleverly that no loud splash followed, nor was the boat violently shaken.

As the seconds passed on not the least sound broke the stillness; every eye was fixed on the spot where the lad had disappeared, and every heart was beating tumultuously.

The seconds grew almost to a minute, and still the smooth surface remained unbroken. Ned's hand trembled as he kept the boat in position, and Clay and Nugget exchanged frightened glances.

"I knew it," cried Daddy Perkiss in a cracked voice. "That lad will never be seen again. He's gone down to meet Jonas Rudy."

This ill boding prophecy had scarcely left the old man's lips, when Randy shot into view a few feet to the left of where he had disappeared. Half a dozen strokes brought him to the boat, and with Ned's assistance he scrambled over the side.

His hands were empty.

A burst of laughter came from shore, and Daddy Perkiss cried triumphantly: "Where's the gun, lad? Did you find bottom?"

Randy only waved his hand in reply. He was panting a little for breath, but his face wore a very peculiar smile—a smile that quite baffled the three eager boys.

"What luck?" queried Ned excitedly. "How far down were you? Did you find anything?"

"You will know before long," replied Randy with aggravating calmness. "Keep the boat in the same place, Ned. One more stroke. There, that's it Here goes for another."

He quickly mounted the seat again, and drew in his breath.

"Hold on, young fellar," cried Mose Hocker in a loud voice, "Don't risk your life a second time. I kin stand the loss of that terbacker."

Randy laughed, waved his hand, and went under head foremost.

The suspense was now greater than on the previous occasion. Ned began to count, and when the half minute expired his face grew pale.

Thirty-five—forty—three-quarters of a minute! No sign of the reckless diver. Had some undercurrent dragged him far down in those blue depths?

When the forty-ninth second had expired a loud murmur rose from the people on shore, and just a second later it changed to a deafening burst of applause as Randy shot above the surface holding in his right hand—Mose Hacker's gun.

His face was fairly purple for want of breath, and he had scarcely enough strength to gain the side of the boat. He threw the gun over first and then, with Ned's aid, rolled into the bottom, where he lay for a moment, panting for breath.

Cheer after cheer came from shore, and the boys joined in heartily. Randy was all right in a moment, and as Ned paddled across the creek, he hurriedly pulled on his clothes.

When the boat landed by the rocks such a scene ensued as no pen can describe. The men crowded about Randy with eager congratulations, and fairly pumped his arms off.

Mose Hocker snatched the gun and waved it triumphantly before Daddy Perkiss.

"What do you think of that?" he cried. "The lad brought it clean up from the bottom of Rudy's hole. I'll take that ten pounds of terbacker, Daddy, as soon as you please."

"Shoo, now! thar's some trick about the thing," mumbled the old man petulantly. "You can't make me believe that Rudy's Hole ain't two or three hundred feet deep."

"But here's the gun to prove it," said Mose, "an' we all saw the lad bring it up. Let him speak for himself, and say whether he touched bottom or not."

"Of course I touched bottom," returned Randy with a slight shiver at the recollection. "It was the biggest dive I ever made. The water must be fifteen or twenty feet deep. It's not any more than that, though. I thought I'd never come to the top the second time. I was just ready to burst when I found the gun, and the weight of it kept me from coming up rapidly."

Daddy heard the lad through, and then, with a contemptuous sniff, he rose and hobbled up the path.

"Don't forgit the terbacker," Mose Hocker shouted after him.

The old man made no reply, and was soon out of sight.

"It's a hard blow for Daddy," said one of the fishermen, "an' the same in fact fur all of us, I reckon. I've been brung up from a lad in the full belief that Rudy's Hole were well nigh bottomless."

"And I," "and I," cried half a dozen voices.

"It will be most amazin' news to the whole community," said Mose Hocker, "an' mebbe it'll teach folks to investigate things. I'm kinder sorry for Daddy Perkiss. It was his chief delight to tell that story to every stranger what come along, an' now he won't dare to open his lips about Rudy's Hole. When I get the terbacker I'll give you fellows a plug apiece."

Three or four of the men laughed at this, as though they had their doubts on the subject.

"Oh, I'll keep Daddy to his word," resumed Mose. "He kin easily afford it." Then turning to the boys he said abruptly, "I want you boys to come down the creek and spend the night at my place. I'll try to treat you well. The recovery of that gun means a good deal to me, and I want to do what I kin in return."

Several other invitations of a similiar nature were extended to the Jolly Rovers, but they accepted Mose Mocker's without hesitation. A few moments later they paddled down the creek, cheered loudly by the admiring spectators.



CHAPTER XVII

THE STORM BREAKS

The Jolly Rovers were agreeably surprised when they reached Mose Hocker's "place." Instead of the farmhouse, which they had confidently expected, it proved to be a snug little cabin standing in a dense bit of woods along the creek, and distant from Rudy's Hole about one mile.

Mose was a tall, wiry, middle aged man, with a smooth shaven face.

"I've always been fond of hunting and fishing," he explained to the boys, "an' about two year ago I built this place, an' moved in. It stands on my own land. I have a farm back yonder, but after my wife died I put a tenant on my property. The life didn't agree with me, somehow or other."

"I reckon I've got a streak of my daddy's wild blood. He was a great hunter in his day, and that's why I prize this gun so much. It was made in London by John Armstrong in 1874—so that silver plate on the breech says—and if it is old fashioned it kin shoot. You chaps ought to be here in the fall when the ducks and geese are moving—I'd show you some sport."

Mr. Hocker proved himself a delightful host. His cabin was crammed full of curious contrivances for catching fish and trapping game, the various uses of which he took delight in explaining to the boys. He was an adept at cooking—as the bountiful evening meal proved—and he possessed a fund of adventurous stories that made the hours pass quickly until bedtime.

He spread blankets and pillows on the floor for his guests, and after the wearisome events of the day they slept soundly until dawn.

A plunge in the creek was first in order, and then came a warm breakfast. An hour later, with many sincere expressions of regret at parting, the Jolly Rovers resumed their cruise. Mr. Hocker pressed them to stay a couple of days, but they deemed it best to push on, since they were yet many miles from home.

Little did they think as they paddled away from the cabin, that they and their friendly host would meet again under far different circumstances in the near future.

All that day—which was Wednesday—the boys paddled steadily. They camped in the evening at the water works dam, one mile out from Carlisle, and while Clay and Randy prepared supper, Ned and Nugget went to town for mail. Fortunately they visited the express office as well, and found a cake there addressed to Randy. They brought it triumphantly back to camp—a straight road precluded the possibility of losing the way on this occasion—and had a glorious feast before going to bed.

Thursday was a repetition of the previous day. Nothing occurred worthy of special mention. The boys covered ten or fifteen miles in spite of the dams that frequently blocked the way.

About four o'clock in the afternoon, while passing through a lonely and beautiful strip of country, they came upon five tiny islands grouped together in mid channel. The largest was not more than a dozen yards long. All were grassy and shaded by trees, and they made a pretty picture with the water rippling softly through the narrow winding channels that separated them.

As the bushes and timber on both banks of the creek were very dense, the boys chose one of the islands for a camping place—the left hand one of two that lay a little farther down stream than the others. It was two or three feet above the surface of the creek, level and grassy on top, and contained seven or eight good sized trees.

The largest of these—a massive buttonwood—stood at the extreme lower end, and its whitened, far stretching roots had been laid bare by the current that came sweeping down each side, formed a shallow swirling eddy.

Here the boys landed, and seeing that the steepness of the bank would make it a difficult task to carry the canoes up—if indeed there was room to spare above—they tied them in a bunch to the roots of the tree. Then stripping off their shoes and stockings, they waded about in the shallow water unloading what articles they wanted, and carrying them up on the bank.

The tent was staked in the center of the island, and the boys did not discover, until too late, that the entrance faced up stream.

"Let it go," said Ned. "It's a little unhandy for the canoes, that's all. We must be careful not to trip over the ropes, though."

There was another reason why the tent should have faced the opposite way. It was exposed, in its present position, to any storm that might come up from the west.

But this did not occur to the boys, and very naturally, since the sky was cloudless and the air but moderately warm. It had not been such a day as usually brews July thunderstorms.

After considerable searching, two stones suitable for the fireplace were found in the eddy. There was an utter lack of fuel on the island, so Ned and Randy paddled to shore and loaded their canoes with driftwood.

Two weeks of camp life had now familiarized each lad with the duties that were assigned to him, and by working in unison supper was soon prepared.

The boys lingered over the meal a good while, and it was quite dark when the dishes were washed and put away.

At nine o'clock all were sleeping soundly behind the tightly drawn tent flaps, and the fire was mingling its red flashes with the moonlight glow on the rippling surface of the creek.

Ten o'clock came—eleven—twelve. Not a breath of air was stirring; a dead, oppressive calm, like the sultriness of noonday, had settled down on land and water. Half an hour later the west was inky black with massed storm clouds and fleecy forerunners of the coming tempest were straying one after another across the moon.

All unconscious of impending danger the boys slept peacefully, nor did they awake until the storm was upon them in all its fury. Dazed and terrified they crouched close together, watching the jagged purple flashes that turned night into noonday, listening to the furious patter of the rain and the crashing of thunder, and shivering where the oozing drops fell in their faces from the saturated canvas.

Streams of water were trickling across the ground, and the tent was tugging, like a thing of life, to free itself from the iron stakes.

Ned groped about until he found the lantern, and with great difficulty he lit it. Nugget was trembling like a leaf, but the others were, so far, more disgusted than frightened. A possible ducking, and the loss of a night's sleep, was the most they dreaded.

But soon the presence of a real and actual danger made itself known. The wind rose to such a point of violence that it was little short of a hurricane. Trees began to go down here and there, and the passage of the gale through the forest on each shore was like the whirring flight of myriads of quail.

The tent was slightly protected by the timber on the upper point of the island; otherwise it must have yielded to the first onslaught of the storm.

"This is terrible," whispered Ned. "If it grows any worse I'm afraid we will fare badly. The tent is strained to its utmost now."

"Even the iron stakes won't hold it if the wind gets through the flaps," said Randy in a dismal tone.

They were silent for a moment, listening to the increasing fury of the gale.

"Oh! this is awful," wailed Nugget. "The water is running down my neck, and I'm sitting in a big puddle. It's coming in all around me."

"You ought to be thankful you're not sitting in the open air," muttered Clay. "That may be the next thing."

At Ned's suggestion—which, strange to say, had not occurred to any one before—the boys overhauled their clothing bags and put on their rubber coats. Each was provided with one of those useful articles.

As they sat about the flickering flame of the lantern a more furious gust than any that had preceded came shrieking down the creek. In the midst of its passage a great crash was heard, so loud and so near that the very ground seems to tremble.

The boys could not repress a cry of terror. A tree had fallen close by, and they dreaded lest another would crush the tent.

"Gracious! what if that was the big buttonwood!" cried Randy. "Our canoes—"

His agitated face finished the sentence more plainly than words could have done.

Ned rose, pulling his coat close about him, and seized the lantern.

"I must see about that," he said hoarsely. "Stay right here. I will be back in a moment."

Before the others could utter a word of protest, he lifted the rear end of the canvas half a foot, and, with lantern in hand, squirmed through like a snake, leaving the tent in utter darkness.



CHAPTER XVIII

AT THE MERCY OF THE TEMPEST

The wind was so violent that Ned dared not stand erect. He crossed on hands and knees the brief stretch that separated the tent from the lower end of the island.

The buttonwood was still standing—much to his relief—and the canoes were so far uninjured, though the gale was knocking them together pretty forcibly.

Bracing himself against the buttonwood, Ned turned the lantern in all directions, and soon discovered the tree which had caused such alarm by its fall. It lay prostrate on the other island, but as a channel barely half a dozen yards wide separated the two, it was not surprising that the crash should have sounded very near.

The storm still raged with unabated fury. The lightning played incessantly over the heavens, and the thunder was continuous.

Ned took advantage of a lull in the wind to start on his return, but he had scarcely left the tree when the lantern slipped from his hand, and was extinguished by the fall. He found it after a short search, and as he could see plainly enough without a light, he pushed on toward the tent, bending his body forward to escape the cutting rain.

A sudden fierce blast of wind compelled him to crouch close to the ground, and just as he rose a jagged flash of lightning turned the blackness into a purple glare. Ned's eyes happened to be resting on the channel between the two islands, and in that brief instant of light he saw a boat gliding swiftly down the current, cutting gracefully through the great waves that rose to meet it.

On the rear seat, paddle in hand, sat a man. A dark slouch hat, pulled far down, concealed his features. He seemed perfectly at home, and in no wise discomfited by the storm that was raging around him.

As the vivid light faded away Ned ran back to the buttonwood tree, and watched the blurred shape of the boat as it came down the channel. He breathed a sigh of relief when it passed out from the islands and continued on through the gloom, for his first thought had been that some danger menaced the camp.

Why a man should voluntarily expose himself to such a pitiless storm, and at such an hour of the night, was a mystery too deep for Ned's comprehension. It was certain, at all events, that the stranger was abroad for no good purpose.

Either his errand was in no wise connected with the Jolly Rovers, or else he had passed close by the tent without seeing it—even when the flash of lightning made the night as bright as noonday.

Ned waited beside the buttonwood tree until another flash gave him a brief glimpse of the boat far below the island. Then he hurried back to the tent and crawled under the rear end. The boys immediately besieged him with questions, and their anxiety was quickly allayed.

"The canoes are safe," said Ned, as he relighted the lantern. "The tree that fell was on the other island. I don't think the storm can last much longer, I believe the wind is subsiding a little now."

He was about to tell them of the strange boat and its occupant that had passed down the channel, when a terrific blast checked the words on his lips. The tent swayed to and fro, and just at this critical moment one of the front flaps tore free of the strings that held it to the pole.

The gale instantly swept under the canvas, lifted the tent bodily, and whirled it through the air, leaving the amazed boys exposed to the driving rain.

Ned snatched the lantern and ran down the island. The others followed him, and when they reached the buttonwood tree they saw the tent floating limply on the waves twenty feet beyond the canoes.

"We must recover it at all hazards," cried Ned hoarsely. "Our cruise is ruined if we don't. Who will go with me?"

"I will," replied Randy.

"And I," added Clay.

"One is enough," said Ned. "I'll take Randy. If the wind prevents us from getting back don't you fellows be alarmed. Keep out of the rain as much as possible, and if your clothes get wet put on dry ones."

There was no time to lose, for the tent had drifted into the fierce current below the island, and was already out of sight. There was great danger of its sinking as soon as the canvas became thoroughly soaked.

Hastily untying their canoes from the roots of the tree, Ned and Randy paddled away in the darkness, leaving Clay and Nugget to make the best of their desertion.

It was a bad night to be on the water. The storm was still raging, and the surface of the creek was lashed with great foamy billows. The boys did not find the tent immediately.

In fact the wind and the current together drove them a quarter of a mile down stream before they could control their canoes sufficiently to head them around. And even when they accomplished this they found it out of the question to return. Not one inch could they gain in the teeth of the blast, though they paddled hard and fast.

Fortunately the canoes were empty, and this rendered them safe and buoyant, so that they rose lightly on the crest of every wave. They would surely have swamped had the usual loads been in the hatches.

"We stand a poor show of getting back to the island this night," cried Randy in a loud enough tone for his companion to hear. "I'll be satisfied if we find the tent. Do you think it is still afloat?"

With a half a dozen desperate strokes Ned then brought the Pioneer alongside the Water Sprite.

"I don't know," he replied. "If the tent is still on the surface it must have drifted pretty near by this time. We've been trying to force our way up stream for nearly ten minutes. Keep a sharp lookout on your side, Randy, and I'll do the same on mine."

This was by no means an easy matter. It was difficult to see with any clearness at a distance of ten yards, and though Ned still had the lighted lantern in his cockpit, it was impossible to make use of it and to paddle at the same time.

For a few moments longer the boys continued the futile struggle with the wind and current. The rain was still falling in torrents, but their rubber coats kept them fairly dry, and the canvas aprons buttoned tightly over the cockpits, prevented the canoes from filling.

At last, when both lads were quite in despair, a flash of lightning revealed the tent a few yards to the left, rising and falling with the waves.

When the difficult operation of turning the canoes down stream was safely performed, the tent was some yards away. It was still dimly visible and the boys soon caught up with it.

It threatened at first to be a sort of white elephant on their hands, for the three poles were still in position, and the canvas was hopelessly tangled about them.

Had the boys been in a boat their task would have been comparatively easy. As it was they had to be very cautious for fear of upsetting.

Finally, by getting the unwieldy mass between them and employing their paddles instead of hands they succeeded in dragging a portion of it upon the fore deck of each canoe. The center still sagged in the water, but it was impossible to make any better arrangement.

"Paddle very carefully now," was Ned's caution. "We will run into shore at the first opportunity, and if the storm abates one of us can go up for Clay and Nugget. The island can't be more than half a mile away."

This project, simple as it sounded, was quite impracticable at the present time. The wind had fallen some, but the waves were still so violent that the only safety for the heavily encumbered canoes lay in keeping parallel with the current. A flank movement toward shore would have brought speedy disaster.

The boys realized this and stuck to mid-channel. The continued speed of the current mystified them considerably, and they were quite at a lost to account for it until Ned raised the lantern, and turned it on the surface of the creek.

"Good gracious!" he cried. "The water is yellow with mud. The creek is rising. No wonder it runs like a mill race. This same storm must have deluged the upper end of the valley before it reached here."

Proof of Ned's assertion was not wanting, for that instant the canoes rustled through the protruding grass of a submerged island.

The water Sprite stuck fast on what was probably the crest, and the Pioneer instantly swung around with the current, shaking off the folds of the tent.

Randy turned sideways to see how his companion was faring, and his face suddenly blanched.

"Look! look! Ned," he cried in a hoarse, frightened voice. "What is that?"

Randy's alarming cry was called forth by the discovery of a long dusky object that was bearing rapidly down upon the canoes.

The same chilling fear entered the hearts of both lads they watched its noiseless approach. They believed it to be an upturned canoe—a message fraught with tidings of disaster.



CHAPTER XIX

ADRIFT ON A LOG

An instant later the shadowy object assumed the unmistakable form of a huge drift log, and before Ned could realize his peril or deal a single paddle stroke, the current whirled the heavy mass upon him, and the blunt end pounded broadside into the Pioneer. The canoe was bowled over like a tenpin, and Ned went head first into the yellow flood. He came to the surface a dozen feet below, and when he found he was out of his depth he made a valiant effort to swim up to Randy, who was fighting hard to drive the Water Sprite off the island, so that he might hasten to his friend's rescue.

Half a dozen strokes convinced Ned of the utter futility of breasting such a current. As he ceased struggling, and allowed himself to drift at will, he saw the log bearing down upon him. It had swung clear around after capsizing the canoe, and was shooting along at a rapid pace, as though to make up for lost time.

With scarcely an instant's deliberation Ned decided what to do. His canoe was floating toward him from above, but being still broadside to the current, its movements were painfully slow.

Moreover, it offered doubtful security in its inverted position, and was likely to sink if any weight was put upon it.

A few vigorous strokes brought Ned alongside the drifting log as it swung past him. He straddled it a little beyond the middle, holding on with both hands.

It sank a little with his weight, causing the front end to tip upwards, but his head and shoulders were clear out of water. Turning cautiously around, he saw to his dismay that Randy was still aground on the island.

"Push off as soon as you can," he shouted. "Overtake my canoe and paddle for the left bank. I'm safe for the present, and will try to reach land."

"All right!" came the reply an instant later. "I'll do my best."

The words had a vague, far away sound, for already the distance had widened considerably. The log went swiftly on its course, heading straight through mid-channel, and leaping and plunging in the turbid water.

Ned clung to it with might and main. He was not a little worried by his strange and perilous position. The yellow flood stretching on all sides of him was a terrifying sight.

The thunder and lightning had almost entirely ceased, and the wind had fallen, leaving the creek as smooth as a millpond; but the rain still poured with a steady persistency that threatened a long continuance.

Ned did not mind this much. The air and the water were both warm, and he felt fairly comfortable.

He was more concerned for his companions than for himself. It would be a difficult matter, he reflected, for Randy to manage the two canoes and the tent.

He wondered how Clay and Nugget were faring—whether they still remained on the island, or had ventured to embark in search of their companions, now that the violence of the storm was past.

Meanwhile Ned was not oblivious to his own danger. While these things were passing through his mind, he was striving to guide the log toward shore by paddling with his left hand and leg. At first he seemed to make no progress.

The current was running swift, and the log remained obstinately in mid-channel. The flood was rising, too. Plain proof of it was seen in the debris that floated on all sides—patches of grass and bushes, broken limbs, and here and there a fence rail.

The sky was still overcast with dark clouds, and the gloom behind him showed Ned no trace of Randy or the canoes. He worked harder and harder to gain the shore, and finally he discovered to his great delight that he was getting the log under control.

It steadily pursued a diagonal course, veering constantly nearer to the left shore. Occasionally a swirl of the current pitched it toward midstream, but a little perseverance put it right again.

The scene of Ned's capsize was now a good mile in the rear, and he was satisfied that he would reach the bank in a short time—unless some unforseen event occurred.

This was exactly what destiny had in store for the lad. A moment later a sharp bend—unseen until too late—cast the log in the very center of the creek, and while the sting of this misfortune was still fresh, Ned heard a dull booming noise—the certain herald of either rapids or a dam. The sound, though not loud, came from no great distance.

Its subdued tone showed that if rapids were ahead, they were not very bad ones; if a dam, that it could not be high, else the falling water would make a greater noise.

But Ned had no desire to tempt his fate in either. With what strength was left in his numbed limbs he tried hard to drive the log shoreward.

Had a little more time been granted him he might have succeeded, but the ruthless current swept him on with unceasing speed, and when the log was still fifty feet from the left bank he saw the smooth stretch of water before him merge into a seething line of turbulent waves and tawny foam.

The rude outline of a mill suddenly appeared on the left, proving conclusively the existence of a dam.

All hope of reaching the shore was gone now. It was some slight consolation to know that the dam was not a high one, and Ned boldly faced the ordeal by swinging the log around until it pointed straight to the line of foam. Then he hugged it closely to him and waited.

The suspense was brief. One swift rush to the brink, a quick slide down a glistening slant of water—and then a headlong plunge into the seething waves.

The log rushed on nobly, now under the billows, now high on their crest until it struck a rock endwise, and turned broadside in the twinkling of an eye. Ned parted company with it then and there—he couldn't help it—and struggled on alone. He was in comparatively shallow water now, and though the force of the current and the waves was terrific, he finally gained a foothold on the slippery rocks, and waded waist deep toward shore.

The water soon shallowed, and with a grateful heart he staggered out on a stony beach.

He sat down for a moment to recover from his exertions, and then went up the slope to the building, which was only a few yards away. It proved to be a saw mill, and even in the somber gloom Ned could see that it was very ancient and rickety, and had probably not been in use for many years.

The locality was a wild and lonely one. Steep wooded hills lay on both sides of the creek.

Further investigation showed Ned that the saw mill abutted on the corner of the dam, and that a narrow sluiceway conducted the water to the machinery. He could hear the splash and gurgle of the torrent as it swept under the rotting timbers of the mill and rushed on to freedom through the wasteway beyond.

As the depth of the latter was uncertain Ned crossed the sluice by a shaky plank that spanned the sides, and found himself among thick bushes at the foot of a steep hill. He was tempted to go back and seek shelter in the mill, for his limbs ached with weariness, and his wet clothes chilled him at every step.

But first it was important that Randy should be found, so he pushed along the edge of the creek in the rain until he obtained an open view of the channel for some distance ahead.

The first glimpse rewarded him for his pains. He spied a bulky dark object about fifty yards up stream. It was approaching at a rapid pace and hugging the shore closely.

Ned put two fingers in his mouth and emitted a shrill, piercing whistle. It was answered in a similar manner, and a moment later the dark mass resolved itself into Randy, the tent, and the two canoes.

"By jove, I'm glad to see you," exclaimed Randy in husky tones, as Ned helped him to land. "I thought you were a goner this time, old fellow."

Ned hastily related his experience.

"It was a close shave," he concluded; "too close to be pleasant. But how did you manage to get here with this heavy load?"

Randy laughed. "I had a time of it, I can tell you. I jumped out in the water—it was only knee deep on that island—and dragged the whole tent on the foredeck of my canoe. Then I paddled after the Pioneer, and caught up with it near another submerged bar, where both the canoes stuck again.

"This gave me a chance to right the Pioneer and throw most of the water out of it. Then I slung the tent across both of them, tied the cockpits together, and started off. Of course I could only paddle on the right side, but I got along fairly well. The best of it is that I found your paddle on the way down. The lantern is gone, but I have a candle here, if we need it. It was in the pocket of my rubber coat."

"That's exactly what we do need," replied Ned. "It will help us to find some dry wood in the mill. But first of all we must drag the canoes and the tent on shore."

This proved a difficult task, but it was finally accomplished. The canoes were turned bottom up, and the tent was stretched over a clump of bushes. Then Ned led the way down stream to the saw mill.



CHAPTER XX

MR. DUDE MOXLEY

When the boys reached the corner of the dam Ned produced his waterproof match box and lighted the candle. This enabled them to cross the sluiceway in safety, and after noting with some alarm that the creek was still coming up rapidly, they entered the saw mill at the upper end, where the floor was level with the breast work of the dam—or rather a few feet above it.

The lower end was twelve or fifteen feet higher than the wasteway, and was supported by an open network of huge beams.

With the greatest caution the boys scrutinized their surroundings. The first floor contained nothing but debris—heaps of sawdust, strips of bark, and a few partially sawed logs. The machinery had all been removed.

There was great danger of falling through into the swirling torrent beneath, for in several places the flooring lacked entire planks, and those that remained were loose and rotten.

The light of the candle revealed a rickety flight of steps in the upper right hand corner, and without hesitation the boys mounted to the second floor. This apartment was in remarkably good condition. Not a drop of rain had penetrated through the roof or sides.

The floor was strewn with sawdust and shavings. A carpenter's bench stood on each side, and in the center was a huge old-fashioned sheet iron stove, with a pipe running straight to the roof. The room was lighted by three windows—one at each end, and one on the side facing the creek.

"This is what I call luck," exclaimed Ned. "A stove ready and waiting for us, and fuel lying about in plenty! We won't have to endure our wet clothes long."

"The owner may object to our taking possession, though," said Randy. "We don't want to get in any more scrapes."

"No one but a crusty old brute would refuse to let us dry ourselves," replied Ned. "And besides, I don't believe the owner lives anywhere within a mile. He probably uses this work room in winter—when there is hardly any farm work to do—and doesn't come near it in summer. The reason I think so is because the tools have all been taken away."

Ned's supposition was probably correct. At all events the boys did not scruple to make a blazing fire in the stove, and very pleasant the warmth felt after their long tussle with the storm.

Ned was soaked through and through in spite of his rubber coat, but Randy was only wet to the middle. They stood as near as possible to the stove, and so powerful was the heat of the wood fire, that in half an hour their clothes were entirely dry.

It was rather a risky undertaking, but both lads were hardy and vigorous and had no fear of taking cold.

As the fire burnt itself out the pale light of day shone through the windows. Friday morning had dawned.

"Still raining a little," said Ned, "and the sky is cloudy. We must start up the creek without delay now. My mind will feel a good deal easier when I know that Clay and Nugget are safe. They must be feeling pretty wretched if they stayed on the island all night in the rain."

"I don't think they would venture to leave after the directions you gave them," returned Randy. "Unless the island became flooded. I never thought of that before."

Ned walked quickly to the side window and looked out.

"The water is still on the rise," he said gloomily. "It is backing into the wasteway and crawling up the slope toward the mill. You can hardly see anything of the dam. To tell the truth, Randy, I believe the creek is quite high enough to cover that island."

Randy turned pale.

"What has become of the boys then?" he asked. "Could they have passed down the creek while we were drying ourselves?"

"Hardly," said Ned. "You forget the dam. But pull on your coat and we'll be off. It's not raining enough to hurt us."

Randy hastily obeyed, and after satisfying themselves that the lingering embers of the fire could do no damage, the boys went down the shaking flight of steps to the lower floor. With great care they crossed the rotten planks, and were half way to the door when a burly figure darkened the threshold—a roughly dressed man with a gun on his shoulder and a partially filled grain sack in his hand.

The boys stood still, half frightened, half astonished, but the stranger came quickly forward, lowering his gun as he did so.

"Good morning, my lads," he said in a gruff, mocking voice, "so the storm has driven you to my humble retreat. You are welcome—quite welcome. Make yourselves at home. This is an unexpected honor. I am sorry I was absent when you called."

The boys exchanged startled glances. There was an unpleasant ring to the stranger's voice that boded no good intentions.

"If you own this mill we are much obliged to you for the use of it," said Ned. "We got wet in the storm and came here to dry ourselves. We took the liberty of making a fire in the stove up stairs."

As he spoke he moved toward the door with Randy at his heels.

"Not so fast," muttered the man, pushing the boys forcibly back. "You can stay a while and keep me company. I've taken a fancy to you chaps, and want to get better acquainted with you. Over there is the portion of this domicile that I occupy at present. It ain't very palatial, but I reckon I can give you a log to sit on."

There was no choice but to obey, and the boys reluctantly crossed the rickety floor to the lower corner of the mill. Here was a great heap of sawdust, and two or three logs. The man sat down on the former—between the boys and the door—and motioned his companions to one of the logs.

It was now fully daylight, and the stranger's position, facing one of the broad windows on the creek side of the mill, gave the boys an opportunity to examine him closely.

He wore a dirty, greasy suit of tweed, patched here and there with different colored cloth. His shoes gaped at the toes, and his coat collar was buttoned tightly about his throat—no doubt in default of a shirt.

His face might have been handsome at one time, but it was now marred and brutalized by a life of dissipation. His nose and cheeks were purple, his eyes bloodshot, and a matted growth of brown hair strayed from beneath a ragged slouch hat.

Little wonder that Ned and Randy cowered fearfully before the gaze of this evil looking ruffian. They knew now that he was a tramp, and never before had they seen a worse specimen.

It suddenly occurred to Ned that this was the same man who had passed the camp in a boat on the previous night, and the knowledge by no means added to his peace of mind.

Immediately on sitting down the stranger had taken a short black pipe from his pocket, and filled and lighted it. But during the performance of this operation he was not oblivious to the keen scrutiny of his companions.

"I hope you chaps will know me again," he said in a sarcastic tone. "Or were you just admiring my beauty? Dude Moxley is what my friends all call me, because I dress with such taste, and take such good care of my complexion."

Suddenly changing his voice he demanded gruffly, "Where are the other two chaps?"

"Why—why—how did you know there were two more?" exclaimed Ned, thrown off his guard by the question.

Mr. Moxley smiled complacently. "I seen the canoes and the tent up yonder along the shore. As the canoes happened to be empty I judged the rest of the party were on behind somewhere. I just guessed at their bein' two more of you, but it seems I hit it."

This was a very lame explanation, but the boys were too greatly worried to notice its defects.

"I may as well tell him all," thought Ned. "Perhaps he will relent and let us go."

Acting on this impulse he related the occurrences of the previous night, and described the perilous situation of Clay and Nugget on the island.

"Won't you let us go and look for our companions now?" he asked. "If the island is flooded they are in great danger."

Ned had risen in his eagerness, and now he made a step toward the door.

"Sit down!" thundered Mr. Moxley. "If you lads try to escape I'll put a hole through you."

He lifted the gun and patted it significantly, and that instant Ned recognized the weapon. It was Mose Hocker's property—the identical muzzleloader which Randy had brought up from the depths of Rudy's Hole. Ned could see the silver plate set in the breech, and could partially read the inscription: "John Armstrong, Maker."

Randy was equally quick to recognize the gun. He gave a little gasp of astonishment and looked at Ned.

The agitation of the boys was not observed by the ruffian.

"Just sit still now," he growled. "If you don't you'll be the worse off. You needn't be alarmed about your friends. I reckon they'll be along this way purty soon."

While speaking Mr. Moxley happened to glance toward the upper end of the mill, and through a gaping crevice between the boards he saw something that caused a sudden wave of excitement to spread over his face.

Rising quickly to his feet, he seized both boys in an iron grasp and dragged them several yards across the floor to a big closet that occupied the corner of the mill. He unbolted the door and shoved his captives roughly inside.

"Don't you dare to whimper," he hissed savagely. "Mind that, my lads. Dude Moxley ain't to be trifled with."

The ruffian slammed the door and bolted it, and the next instant his heavy retreating footsteps shook the rotten floor.



CHAPTER XXI

A MYSTERIOUS WARNING

It is quite unnecessary to give a minute account of how Clay and Nugget spent the night on the island. As the absence of their companions was more and more prolonged they became worried and anxious, and gave but little thought to their own miserable plight.

The rubber coats shielded them from the rain, and by crouching under the trees they avoided the fury of the wind. Nugget faced the situation with remarkable fortitude, and uttered but few complaints.

After the gale subsided, and the thunder and lightning became less frequent, the boys made occasional trips to the buttonwood tree to see how the canoes were faring, and in this way they soon discovered that the creek was rising. So rapidly did the flood advance that on the fifth visit they found the roots of the buttonwood submerged, and the yellow tide within a few inches of the trunk.

At Clay's suggestion the canoes were dragged out on the island, and all the baggage was stowed in the hatches. When the task was completed the canoes were so heavy that the boys could scarcely lift them; and little wonder, since they held just double their usual load.

The water soon began to trickle over the island, and when it was three or four inches deep, the boys tied the canoes side by side to a large tree, and climbed into their seats. Here they sat, protected by rubber coats and canvas aprons until morning dawned.

The broad yellow expanse of the creek, as it whirled swiftly by the island with its burden of debris and driftwood, satisfied Clay that the absent ones had found it impossible to paddle back.

"There is no use in waiting here any longer," he said to Nugget. "The boys may have been carried far down the creek, and are probably looking for us at this minute."

"You think they are safe then?" asked Nugget.

"I hope so," replied Clay dubiously. "We'll know to a certainty before long. Hand me your knife till I cut the ropes. I tied them in a knot."

"Here you are."

An instant later the canoes drifted off the island, and plunged into the swirling flood. Their heavy loads caused them to sink almost to the gunwales, and this the boys noted with serious alarm.

"We must keep along shore," said Clay. "If we upset then the danger won't be so great."

With extreme caution the boys paddled diagonally to the left bank, where they found the current considerably less rapid. They were drifting along side by side when a man suddenly appeared from behind a tree a few yards ahead, and beckoned them anxiously with his finger.

"Come in here a minute, you fellows," he whispered hoarsely, when the canoes were close to him.

The boys ceased paddling, but hesitated to obey.

"I don't mean any harm," added the man. "It's for your own good."

"I wonder what he wants," said Clay. "Perhaps it's something about the boys. Let's talk to him, Nugget."

They ran the canoes into a shallow inlet where dry land had been but a few hours before, and the stranger came quickly toward them. His appearance was not calculated to cause the boys any alarm.

He looked to be about six and twenty. He was poorly dressed, and his rather boyish face was covered with a stubbly growth of light hair. Something in his features seemed to wake a chord of recognition in Clay's heart, and he struggled with his memory to account for it.

The man came close to the canoes, and after casting a furtive glance up and down the shore, said in a low voice:

"You needn't get out. I won't keep you long. Where are the other two chaps that belong to your party?"

This unexpected question amazed the boys, and they regarded the stranger with sudden suspicion.

"I don't mean any harm to you, indeed I don't," he added. "It's just the other way."

There was unmistakable sincerity in his words and manner, and after a brief deliberation Clay told him how the other boys had started after the tent, and had not come back.

"I thought you wanted to tell us something about them," he concluded. "Did you just come up the creek?"

"Yes," replied the man. "I was as far down as the next dam, but I didn't see a sign of your friends. I reckon they're below that somewheres, so you'd better push on and find them. I want to give you chaps a warning. Keep your eyes open for a big man with a purple face. If you run across him get out of the way as quick as you kin. He's somewhere about this neighborhood, too, for I seen his—"

The man stopped abruptly, and after another cautious survey of the woods, resumed in a whisper:

"If you fellows do chance to get in trouble through this party, why mebbe I'll be near at hand to help. It ain't certain, mind, because he may easily give me the slip again. If I kin find him afore he gets away this time, it ain't likely he will give you any trouble."

"I don't quite understand," said Clay in a perplexed tone. "Who are you, and who is this man that you are warning us about? Why should we be afraid of him?"

The stranger shook his head.

"It ain't quite the thing for me to tell," he said slowly. "You see nothin' may come of it after all. Just you fellows mind what I say, and keep your eyes open. When you find your friends paddle on down the creek for a good way before you camp. Good-by, I'm off."

He turned abruptly away, and hurried through the woods toward the base of the hill.

Clay called him two or three times, but in vain. He was already out of sight.

The boys looked at each other for a moment with unspeakable amazement.

"It's the queerest thing I ever heard of," exclaimed Clay. "I don't pretend to understand it. The man was serious in all he said, too."

"There was something familiar about his face," observed Nugget. "At least I thought so when I first saw him."

"Why, that's just what struck me," replied Clay eagerly. "I never saw him before, but I have seen some one that looks like him."

"That's about the way of it," assented Nugget. "We'll keep a sharp lookout for that purple faced man, anyhow."

"We certainly will," replied Clay. "Now then, let's be off. The fellow won't return again."

They backed out of the inlet and paddled on down the creek. Hardly a word was spoken. The mysterious stranger's warning had taken a deep hold upon both lads, and they were so deeply engrossed in puzzling over it that they failed to see the dam until it was close to them. The falling water made but little noise since the breastwork was almost submerged.

It was a weird and lonely scene that the boys gazed upon now—the broad yellow flood under a leaden sky, the gray crumbling mill looming through a pall of drizzling rain, and beyond, where the mists deepened, the foaming thread of the creek, visible for a brief stretch before it was lost among the steep, pine clad hills.

"What a desolate place!" exclaimed Clay. "I don't believe there is a human being within a mile. The boys must be farther down, and ten to one they shot the dam in the dark. It doesn't look very dangerous, but I hardly think we'll risk it, Nugget. That corner by the mill seems a likely place to carry around."

"So it does," assented Nugget. "Come ahead, we'll try it."

With cautious strokes they paddled on until a sudden glimpse of the sluiceway leading under the mill caused them to pull up short. They headed straight for shore, and as they scrambled out at the foot of the hill, and pushed through the bushes, intending to see what the chances were for a portage, they blundered into the two missing canoes and the tent.

"Here's luck!" cried Clay. "Ned and Randy must be—"

The sentence was never finished, for that, instant the bushes rustled, parted, and a big burly man with a purplish red face stepped out.

The blank amazement and fear on the faces of the two lads was a study for an artist. Before them was the living verification of the mysterious warning. There was no mistaking that ruddy countenance.

The stranger spoke first.

"You're just the lads I'm looking for. Your friends are lying in yonder mill. They went over the dam in their canoes this morning at daybreak.

"I happened to see them and saved their lives. They were pretty near drowned, but I managed to bring them around all right. They ain't able to walk yet, so they asked me to go up the creek and hunt you fellows. Come right along and I'll take you to them."

Was Mr. Dude Moxley's brain muddled that he should have inserted such a gross error in his otherwise plausible little story? Perhaps he did not have time to plan it thoroughly in his hasty advance from the mill, or had calculated on finding his new victims at any other place than this.

Frightened as the boys were they noted the discrepancy, and it opened their eyes to the seriousness of the situation. "If our friends went over the dam this morning," asked Clay with a touch of scorn, pointing to the canoes and the tent, "how do these come to be here?"



CHAPTER XXII

AN INSOLENT DEMAND

A dangerous glitter in the man's eyes showed that Clay's question was not at all to his liking.

"How them canoes got here is none of your business," he answered emphatically, "and I don't want no argument about it. Step lively now in the direction of that mill."

The mask was off, and the boys realized that they were prisoners. Their captor's sullen features and the gun that he bore on his shoulder forbade any attempt at escape.

With sinking hearts they trudged along the shore a few feet in advance of the ruffian. They had no doubt that their companions were confined in the mill, and it was some consolation to know they were going to join them. Why they had been captured at all, and what object was to be gained by it was a mystery too deep for comprehension.

From time to time the tramp uttered a brief order, and in this way he drove the boys before him, across the sluiceway, and then over the rickety floor of the mill to the lower corner. He unbolted the closet door and shoved them roughly in.

It was not by any means a joyful reunion for the Jolly Rovers, but they were very glad to be together again nevertheless. A crevice in the door admitted some light to the closet, and at the same time afforded a view of Mr. Moxley, who was then sitting on the sawdust heap, examining the contents of his grain bag.

He drew out two dead chickens, half a dozen ears of corn, and a quantity of apples and pears—a sure proof that he had secretly been plundering some farmer. He began to munch one of the apples, and the boys took advantage of the opportunity to narrate their adventures in low, whispered tones.

When all had been told the mystery was no nearer solution than before—in fact it was even more complex.

"I can't imagine why this fellow has gone to such trouble and risk to capture us all," said Ned. "I hardly think he will do any harm. We must wait patiently and see what happens."

"I can't understand that warning Nugget and I received," added Clay. "I hope the man will keep his word and help us out of this scrape."

"I wouldn't count on that," replied Ned; "and yet there may be more in it than we suppose."

"Hush!" whispered Randy with his eyes to the crevice. "Here comes the tramp."

Moxley rose and approached the closet. He partially opened the door, and then walked back a few paces behind one of the logs.

"Now step out, you chaps," he commanded sternly. "I have a little business to attend to, and I want it done quietly."

The boys tremblingly obeyed, and when they were grouped before the door the ruffian added, "Now go through your pockets and lay everything you have on this log. See that you don't keep anything back."

It was hard to submit to this audacious robbery, but there was no alternative. Moxley had the gun in his hands.

The boys deposited all they had about them on the log—watches, money, keys, fishing tackle, and handkerchiefs. The fellow made them turn every pocket inside out, and when he was satisfied that all were empty he appropriated the money, watches, and keys. The other articles he contemptuously rejected, and allowed the boys to take them back.

Then he drove his prisoners into the closet and bolted the door—much to their surprise and consternation, for they had confidently expected to be turned loose.

"No racket now," he growled. "I ain't going so far away but what I kin hear you. It won't do to yell or kick, for the door is too strong to break, and there ain't another living creature within a mile."

He tramped heavily across the floor and left the mill.

The loss of their valuables had made the boys so angry and indignant that they were little inclined to regard the warning. They soon came to the conclusion, however, that escape was really impossible.

The door was stoutly built, and rendered still stronger by heavy cross bars. The hinges and the bolts were massive. The combined efforts of all four failed to make any impression, and they soon abandoned the attempt.

"Great Caesar! I see it all now," exclaimed Ned suddenly. "That scoundrel is going to carry off our canoes, and leave us to get out the best way we can!"

No one doubted that Ned was right. The boys stared at each other in speechless consternation.

It was bad enough to lose their watches and money, but now they were about to be deprived of everything—clothes, canoes, and tent. It meant the sudden termination of the cruise, and an ignominious return home.

"Let's pound and kick with all our might," suggested Clay. "The door can't hold out forever."

Before any one could reply a heavy tread was heard, and looking through the crevice Ned made the startling announcement that the ruffian had returned.

The boys hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry at this piece of news. They feared a greater misfortune than the loss of all their property.

Crowding close to the crevice—which extended upward the length of the door—they peered eagerly into the room. Moxley had not returned empty handed. He had employed his brief absence in rifling the canoes, and was laden with their entire contents, excepting the dishes and the fishing rods.

He deposited his burden on the sawdust and sat down beside it. Very slowly and attentively he ransacked the bags of clothes, the packets of provisions, and the little japanned tin boxes in which the boys kept paper and envelopes, stamps, fishing tackle, and various other articles.

Then he took the empty grain sack and stuffed it with the clothes, and a large portion of the provisions. He appropriated all the stamps he could find, and pushed the tin boxes aside.

Having completed his arrangements he walked over to the closet and opened the door. Then he sat down on a log facing the boys with his gun across his knee.

"I think I have you chaps pretty tight," he said, wrinkling his face into an ugly smile. "I have a very particular engagement about twenty miles from here, and it was my first intention to start away this morning. But seein' as the rain is still coming down I have changed my mind and will give you the pleasure of my company fur a few hours longer.

"The fact is I've taken quite a fancy to you chaps—quite a decided fancy. There's one young gentleman in your party I'm 'specially anxious to see. I've had a cherished memento of him fur the last ten days, and it's quite a load on my mind because I haven't given him anything in return. It keeps me from sleepin' sound at nights."

Here Mr. Moxley threw out his right leg, and turned the trousers up a few inches, revealing half a dozen red scars on his ankle.

"That's the memento I speak of," he said. "It's a purty one, isn't it?"

There was a breathless pause. The boys turned pale before the ferocious glance of the scoundrel. The mystery was clear as daylight now.

Their captor was none other than Bug Batters's desperate companion. From sheer love of revenge he must have been tracking the Jolly Rovers ever since that momentous night nearly two weeks previous.

Moxley gloated over the consternation and the dread that were depicted on the faces of his prisoners. He did not speak for a moment, but gazed at the boys with a cruel smile that was more terrible than a manifestation of anger.

"Well," he said finally, "I reckon you know who I am by this time. I'll give you just five minutes to point out the lad who peppered me with salt. If you're sensible chaps you'll do it without hesitation. If you try to make a fool out of me I'll serve you all the same way I intend to serve him. I'm a fair minded man, and don't want to punish the innocent with the guilty if I kin help it."

The boys looked at one another without speaking. If Randy was a shade paler than the others it escaped the notice of Mr. Moxley, although he was scanning all the faces intently, with a view to picking out the guilty one by his own powers of perception.

"The allotted time is slipping away," he said grimly. "The right party had better speak up quick. Oh! you needn't look out of the windows. No one comes near this place in the summer, and there ain't a house within three quarters of a mile. I've got you right in my power, and there ain't no hope of escape."

"I hardly think you will get the information you want," said Ned in a firm but husky voice. "I for one shan't tell you, and I advise my friends to do the same. It's not likely we would put one of our companions in your power after the threats you have made. If you wish to avoid trouble in the future you will be satisfied with robbing us, and will let us go without any worse treatment. As for the shooting—no one was to blame but yourself. You had no business to attack our camp that night."



CHAPTER XXIII

A DARING ATTEMPT

Moxley's face turned a deeper shade of purple, and he made a threatening step toward Ned.

"You're a bold lad," he said with a harsh laugh. "There are not many would dare to speak to me in that way. But it wasn't you who fired the gun that night. I can tell by your actions that you're anxious to screen one of your companions."

He paused a moment and then went on: "You'll find out before long that Dude Moxley ain't to be trifled with. I'll get what I want out of you obstinate pig headed chaps if it takes a week. I know how to bring you to terms. Back you go in that closet now, and there you stay until you can listen to reason. When you hand over the lad I want the rest of you can go free, and so can the other one for that matter—when I'm through with him.

"Perhaps when he finds his companions are suffering for what he did, his conscience will make him confess. But mark you now, if this affair ain't settled by to-morrow's dawn I'll chop up your canoes and burn the tent. I'll do more than that, too. I'll bind and gag you, and leave you here alone. And not a bite do you get to eat, either."

With this ultimatum Mr. Moxley rose, and bolted the door. Then he sat down on the sawdust, and sorting out some crackers and jerked beef from the provisions began to eat greedily.

He was evidently quite satisfied to spend another night at the mill, for the rain was coming down faster than ever. What he had told the boys about the loneliness and security of the place was no idle boast, else he would have made haste to leave the locality with his plunder.

Meanwhile a very excited discussion was being carried on in whispers behind the closet door.

Randy, stricken with remorse for the troubles in which he had involved his companions, was resolved to admit the shooting.

"I'd sooner stand the punishment than see you fellows starving here," he said. "It will save the canoes and the tent, too. I don't believe the man will dare to harm me. He is only trying to scare us."

"Not a bit of it," replied Ned stoutly. "He's a thoroughbred villain, and will certainly take some revenge on you. Your resolve does you lots of credit, Randy, but it won't do. You might repent it all the days of your life."

Clay and Nugget were of the same mind, and earnestly urged Randy to abandon his rash intention.

"Help may be nearer than we think," said Clay. "The man who stopped us up the creek this morning was certainly Bug Batters, and it looks very much to me as though he has been following this Moxley on purpose to keep him from doing us any injury. He may feel grateful to us, you know, because we saved his brother—or rather you did, Ned."

"And Bug Batters knew that Moxley was in the vicinity," whispered Nugget. "That's who he was looking for when we met him."

"I have no doubt that the stranger was Bug Batters," said Ned, "and I think he is trying to prevent his old companion from carrying out his revenge, as Clay suggests. But what has become of Bug Batters now? That is the important question. I am afraid he has strayed off in some other direction. If he came near the mill he could not help finding the canoes."

"He told us he had been down the creek just before we met him," remarked Clay, "but he could not have been all the way to the mill, for the two canoes and the tent were there then, and he did not say anything about them."

"And when he left us he struck back toward the base of the hill," added Nugget.

"It looks very much as though he had lost the trail entirely," said Ned. "He may be three or four miles away. It would be very foolish to count on getting help from him, anyhow."

"Then we don't stand a ghost of a chance," muttered Randy. "You had better let me have my own way. I'll throw myself on that fellow's mercy."

"You won't do anything of the kind," said Ned firmly. "We won't let you. If anything serious happened we would have to shoulder the blame. If you are really sorry for being the cause of this scrape, prove it by dropping your foolish project."

"You take things coolly enough," grumbled Randy. "Do you want us to stay cooped up here for a week, and lose everything we have? Go ahead, then. I won't say any more."

In truth Randy was glad enough to give up his resolve. Remorse had prompted him to make the offer, and he had secretly hoped that his companions would refuse to accept the sacrifice.

"I don't intend that we shall stay here a week, or even a night, if I can help it," said Ned, after a pause. "I have a little plan in my head, but it won't work until evening. If that fails we still have a slim chance left.

"The farmer from whom those chickens were stolen may stray down here in search of the thief, and it is not impossible that Mose Hocker is somewhere about here. This man certainly stole that gun from Hocker's cabin, and if he took the boat at the same time—which I believe he did—Hocker will surely try to recover his property, and will naturally look for it along the creek."

Ned's reasoning—and especially his intimation of a plan to escape—put the boys in a more cheerful mood. They were all thoroughly exhausted for want of sleep, but that was of little consequence compared with the pangs of hunger and thirst they were enduring. They had eaten nothing since the previous evening, nor had a drop of water touched their lips. And it was now past noon.

It was aggravating, nay, maddening, to know that their store of provisions was so close. Well they realized the futility of appealing to their merciless captor.

He had said they should have no food, and they knew he meant it. No doubt he would deny them water also, and they did not venture to ask it.

They could see the fellow plainly. He was sprawled in a lazy attitude on the sawdust, pulling at his foul black pipe. Occasionally he took a flat, greenish bottle from his pocket and tasted the contents with a satisfactory smack of the lips. The fumes of bad tobacco and whisky began to permeate the closet.

So the long afternoon wore on. Moxley seemed quite unconcerned about his prisoners. He was well content to lie on the soft sawdust with his bottle and his pipe, secure from the pelting rain that was falling outside.

Ned kept a close watch upon him, noting with satisfaction that he had frequent recourse to the bottle. His potations would likely induce sleep.

It seemed to the impatient boys that night would never come, but at last the gray light faded from the crevice, and the dusk of evening deepened the shadows in the old mill.

Before it was fairly dark Moxley lighted one of the lanterns that he had brought from the canoes and put it on a log. It was a bullseye, and he so trained it that the yellow glare shone on the sawdust heap.

Perhaps he fancied it an excellent substitute for sunlight, which all tramps love so dearly. At all events he basked in it while he smoked a couple of pipes, and then, after several ineffectual efforts to sit straight, he rolled over on his back.

A moment later heavy snores came from his parted lips. He was undoubtedly asleep.

It may be imagined with what anxiety Ned had been watching this little scene through the crevice.

"The time has come," he whispered to his companions. "Moxley won't wake in a hurry now. But to make sure, suppose you mount guard there, Randy."

"What are you going to do?" asked Randy, as he crouched down on the floor. "Break the door open?"

"Not much. I'll show you in a moment."

The closet in which the boys were confined was built right against the rear end of the mill. Its dimensions were ample—eight feet long and about four wide. Underneath was the wasteway, but its usual roar was now subdued by an influx of water from the flooded creek.

Ned had been quietly examining the situation during the day, and had noted the shaky condition of the floor planks. He now directed Clay and Nugget to stand close to the door. Then kneeling down he inserted both hands in a crevice between two of the planks and pulled with all his might.

A ripping noise, a sharp crack—and the worm eaten plank came free of the beams, leaving a gaping orifice in the very center of the floor, four feet long by a foot and a half wide.

Ned trembled like a leaf.

"Is it all right?" he whispered eagerly.

"Yes," replied Randy. "The rascal is sound asleep. He didn't budge."

"I'm glad of that."

The boys looked timidly down the hole, and crouched closer to the wall. Far below, through the network of crossed beams, they could see the eddying flood. It looked immeasurably distant.

"You don't expect us to go down there, I hope," queried Clay.

"No, but I intend you to lower me through," answered Ned. "If I can reach one of those rafters I will be all right. It won't be a difficult matter to get out on land. Then I will hurry around to the door, liberate you fellows, while Moxley is sleeping, seize his gun—and then away for freedom."

Ned drew a long breath at the prospect.

"Now this is what I want you to do," he resumed in a calmer tone. "If the rafters are too far below me you must let me down to them by one of your coats. Brace yourselves now so you can stand the strain."

The boys obeyed and Randy stripped off his coat in case it should be needed.

Then Ned lowered himself at one end of the hole, and swung clear down.

He pulled himself up, and clung by his elbows. "No good," he whispered hoarsely. "The nearest rafter is a foot below. Let me have the coat. It will be safer than trusting to your hands. I might drag you down with me."

The three boys braced themselves around the hole, and took a firm grasp of the upper part of the coat.

"All right," whispered Randy.

By a dexterous movement Ned transferred his hold from the planking to the more precarious support and slipped downward, hand over hand. An instant later his feet touched a broad, solid beam.



CHAPTER XXIV

AN UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER

The instant the tension relaxed the boys drew the coat up.

"All right!" came Ned's voice from the darkness. "Put the plank back in place now and keep very quiet. Wait a moment," he added quickly. "Something just occurred to me. I may be right and I may be wrong, but at all events don't you fellows be scared if you hear a big splash."

"We won't," whispered Randy.

Then the plank was dropped noiselessly over the hole.

Ned straddled the rafter—it was too dark to risk an upright position—and made his way to the nearest end, which terminated in one of the walls of masonry that formed the sides of the sluiceway, and on which the mill partially rested. Then he turned around and crept to the other end, where he found the same state of affairs.

His fears were now confirmed. The mill rose fairly from the two stone walls, and there was no way of escaping overhead, even had the other rafters been within reach. His only chance lay in the flooded waterway underneath.

Ned had more than half expected this, and was therefore prepared for the emergency. Without hesitation he swung from the rafter and dropped through eight feet of space into the turbid flood.

He went clear under, but came to the surface quickly, and swam with vigorous strokes down the wasteway. Both the air and the water were warm, and he felt little discomfort.

Between the reflex current from the creek on top, and the undertow from the sluiceway beneath, he was buffeted about considerably before he succeeded in emerging on the spit of land between the mill and the creek. He squeezed the water from his clothes as well as he could, and started up the slope through the stones and bushes. A misty drizzle of rain was still falling.

He redoubled his caution as he neared the upper end of the mill. Creeping on hands and knees to the door, he peeped cautiously over the threshold. He was hardly prepared for what met his gaze.

He had confidently expected to find Moxley sound asleep, and instead of that the fellow was sitting upright with his gun across his knees, and his bottle in one hand. Perhaps the splash made by Ned's drop into the wasteway had wakened him without arousing his supicions. He had no present intention of going to sleep, for he moved a little closer to the light of the lantern, and filled his pipe.

For a moment Ned felt the disappointment keenly. He knew what a severe blow it must be to his companions. It was out of the question to rescue them now, for Moxley was directly between the door and the closet.

Ned had been so sure of effecting his plan without hindrance, that it had not occurred to him what step to take in case of failure. But a brief consideration of matters raised his spirits, and he resolved to seek the nearest farmhouse and obtain help.

"That is a far better plan anyhow," he reflected with satisfaction. "Moxley will be captured, and we will recover our watches and money. And we won't have to start down this flooded creek in the dark, either, I must be quick, though, for Moxley might happen to open the closet and discover my absence. I wish there was some way of letting the boys know what I am going to do."

This was manifestly impossible, so Ned crawled away from the door and crossed the sluice to the foot of the hill. He could not withstand the temptation to go up the creek and have a look at the canoes.

He found them all safely out of reach of the flood, for Moxley was too shrewd a man to let them go adrift, and perhaps cause an investigation that would frustrate his plans.

As Ned was turning away his eye caught a sudden gleam from the cockpit of Clay's canoe, and on making an investigation he was surprised to find Randy's gun. Moxley must have overlooked it.

The weapon was useless, for the ammunition had been carried off, but Ned shouldered it and started briskly down the creek. At the sluiceway he found a well trodden footpath, and followed it along the rear side of the mill, and thence by the base of the hill to a wagon road which began abruptly at the edge of the wasteway, where there was no doubt a fording to the opposite neck of land.

Ned concluded that the road led to the home of the man who owned the mill, and he was about starting off in haste when his eyes fell on a boat that protruded from a clump of bushes a few yards down the shore.

On going close he recognized it instantly by the peculiar arrangement of the seats. It was Mose Hocker's boat. Moxley had carried it off when he stole the gun.

"I say, young fellow, don't be quick with that shootin' iron; I want to talk to you."

The voice came from a thicket a few feet up the bank, and as Ned stood still with fear and amazement, a man slipped out and stood before him.

Ned instantly guessed the identity of the newcomer.

"You are Bug Batters?" he asked quickly.

"Yes, I'm Bug Batters, and I reckon you are one of them canoein' chaps. I took you fur some one else at first—fur the man what put this boat here."

"You mean Dude Moxley," said Ned. "Well, I can tell you where he is. In spite of your warning we all fell into his hands, and I'm the only one that's free so far."

He went on with his story and quickly made the situation clear.

Bug was amazed to learn how close his old companion was.

"It's a purty bad fix," he said slowly, "but I reckon we can't get your friends out of it. It's a pity you have no loading fur that gun. You see, Moxley is a bad man and won't listen to argument. We'll have to think over the matter a little bit, and meanwhile I'll tell you how I come to be here."

Both sat down on the boat, and Bug began his narrative.

"I'm a purty rough customer, but I've got a heart like other men, and I'm grateful to you because one of you saved my brother from drowning. Moxley was awful mad when you gave him the slip, but he didn't think of going after you at first. Two or three days later he heard accidentally that you fellows was camping some place along the creek—I furget the name of it now—and knowin' from this that you weren't in any hurry he got into his head to go after you.

"I tried to talk him out of it, but it weren't any use, so then I let on I was agreed to it, meanin' all the time to stand by you fellows. Well, we traveled down the creek fur a couple of days until a rock knocked the bottom out of our boat and sunk it."

Bug hesitated briefly, and then resumed in a faltering voice: "We picked up another boat that night, and started off again, but I reckon Moxley must have suddenly got suspicious of me, for when morning came he gave me the slip and that was the last I seen of him. Knowin' that he meant mischief, and knowin' that you chaps couldn't be far away, I follered the creek on down.

"Before daylight this morning I found the boat here. I went up the creek then lookin' fur Moxley, and that's when I met two of your party and warned them."

"But where have you been all day?" interrupted Ned. "We thought you had gone off in some other direction."

"I'll tell you where I've been," muttered Bug angrily. "I had a streak of hard luck this morning. After I left your fellows I struck over the hill to the nearest farmhouse, thinkin' Moxley might be prowlin' around for something to eat. I reckon he'd been there before me, because the first thing I knew a big ugly farmer and his hired man had me fast. They swore I'd been stealin' chickens an' corn, and wouldn't let me say a word. They penned me up in an outbuilding, intending to lug me to Carlisle jail in the morning. But I broke out about an hour ago, and came straight down here, and when I seen the boat I knew Moxley must be somewhere around yet."

"That was hard luck," said Ned, smiling at the recollection. "Moxley had a whole bag of chickens, and corn, and fruit in the mill. The farmer thought you were the man that stole it. It was awfully kind of you to go to all this trouble and risk on our account. There are not many men who would have done it."

"You saved my brother's life," replied Bug doggedly. "It takes a good deal to square a debt of that kind. There's one thing I'd like to say though. It goes agin the grain to serve an old pal an ill turn—no matter how bad a man he is. I'm willing to get your friends free, an' save your money, and watches, an' everything else, but I ain't goin' to be the means of puttin' Moxley in jail—if I can help it. I'm afraid, for one thing, because he'd hunt me down as soon as he got out."

"Well, I'll leave the whole affair in your hands then," replied Ned. "I was just on my way to the farmhouse when you stopped me. What do you think we had better do? Wait for Moxley to go to sleep again, or try to capture him with this empty gun?"

Before Bug could open his lips to reply a slight noise was heard in the bushes, and three men suddenly appeared on the other side of the boat.

"We have you at last, you scoundrel," cried a harsh voice.



CHAPTER XXV

THE SIEGE BEGINS

The unexpected appearance of the three strangers stupefied Ned, but Bug turned like a flash and started to run. Two of the men instantly overhauled him and threw him roughly to the ground, while a third hastily opened the slide of a dark lantern that was strapped to his waist and cast a flood of light upon the scene.

Ned uttered a gasp of amazement. The man with the lantern was Mose Hocker.

The recognition was mutual.

"You here!" cried Hocker in a pained voice. "I didn't expect this. Is it possible that you lads came down to my cabin and stole the gun and the boat? I wouldn't have believed it of you without the evidence of my own eyes."

"And this here's the same feller I had locked up in the smoke house," exclaimed one of Bug's captors. "I'll bet he don't steal any more chickens for a while."

Ned stood pale and agitated before his accuser—quite at a loss for words to explain.

"I'm sorry for you," resumed Hocker, "but I must do my duty an' hand you over to constable Jeffries. Where are the rest of your party?"

The words came with a rush now as Ned eagerly denied his guilt and explained away the incriminating circumstances.

Then, while the others clustered about him, he commenced the story at the beginning, and went through with it thread by thread.

His excitement caused him to speak a little inarticulately; and he missed a few details, but by adroit cross questioning his hearers obtained a clear understanding of the whole situation—starting with the rescue of Bug's brother and ending with the events that had recently transpired at the mill.

Ned was so anxious to procure Bug's release that he quite forgot his suspicions of a few moments before—namely, that Bug was equally guilty with Moxley of the theft of the boat and the gun.

"Won't you let him go?" he pleaded. "It's all a mistake. He had nothing to do with stealing those things from the farmer. He was doing all he could to help us."

But Hocker had formed his own opinion after hearing Ned's story, and so had constable Jeffries and Mr. Zinn, the farmer.

"I'm mighty glad to know you lads ain't guilty," said Hocker, "and I ax your pardon for my wrong suspicion. As for this fellow, I ain't so sure about him. I don't doubt that he's really been trying to get you chaps out of a scrape though, and I promise you he'll get full credit for it. Meanwhile we'd better make sure of him—just as a matter of form, you know."

He nodded to Jeffries and the latter slipped a pair of bracelets on Bug's wrists.

Ned was surprised and indignant. He saw no reason for such a step.

"Don't be worried, lad," remarked Hocker soothingly. "He may be turned loose later on. You see I can't afford to let the guilty parties escape after the hard chase they've given me. Why, Jeffries and I have been scourin' all along the creek in a buggy. We happened to strike Zinn's farm this evening, and stopped fur information. Zinn told us he had a man locked up in the smoke house, but when we went to look the fellow was gone.

"I suspected it was the party I wanted, an' knowin' that in that case the boat couldn't be far away, we hurried down to the creek. And it's well we did for your sake as well as mine. The next thing is to rescue the lads and capture the rascal. We had better be quick or he will take alarm and leave the mill."

"Moxley is the fellow's name, is it?" said the farmer. "It has a kind of familiar ring to my ears."

"I know the man," spoke up Jeffries. "Dude Moxley he goes by, but that ain't his real name. He comes from a good family up the valley, and was well educated when a lad. Drink ruined him, and now he's one of the greatest scamps unhung. I know this other chap, too," added the constable. "His folks are sober, respectable people over at the Gap, but he ain't much better than Moxley. We've met more than once before. How is it, my man?"

Bug hung his head but said nothing.

The scene was inexpressibly painful to Ned, and he was greatly relieved when the conversation turned on the rescue of his companions. He little dreamed that the most exciting incidents of this already eventful night were yet to come.

"We had better cross to the neck of land in your boat, Hocker," suggested Zinn. "The plank over that sluiceway makes a lot of racket, and the scoundrel may hear us and slip away."

This happy idea was carried out. The entire party embarked, and landed a moment later about ten yards below the mill. The rain had ceased some time before, and the moon was now peeping through a rift in the scudding clouds.

As the men crept up the stony slope they saw through the gaping crevices of the mill the yellow gleam from Moxley's lantern. Suddenly it vanished, and a creaking noise was hear.

"The rascal is escaping. We must run for it," whispered Hocker. He bounded forward with Jeffries at his heels. Zinn fell behind, leaving Bug in charge.

The men swiftly turned the upper corner of the mill just as the door was slammed and bolted in their faces. Hocker began to kick savagely and wrench the handle.

"That won't do any good," exclaimed Zinn, as he reached the spot. "I made a strong job of that door, and it will take more than a little to break it down. There are plenty of other places that can be forced in."

A brief pause followed, and then a sullen voice issued from behind the door.

"I'll put a hole through the first man that tries to enter this mill. I mean what I say. Dude Moxley ain't to be trifled with."

The men hastily withdrew, first taking the precaution to remove the plank that covered the sluiceway.

"The rascal must have seen us coming up the slope in the moonlight," muttered Hocker. "I suppose he thought we had the place surrounded and every avenue of escape cut off. He's a desperate fellow, and may stand a long siege."

In truth Moxley seemed to be preparing for that very thing. He boldly drew in the shutters of the two windows that the faced the creek, and a moment later he began to roll logs about, evidently fortifying the weak places in the wall.

"That may be only a ruse," said Jeffries. "Is there any way of escape from the other side?"

"Of course there is," exclaimed the farmer. "He can easily drop from the second story window to the foot of the hill. Lend me that empty gun," he added, turning to Ned. "I'll cross the wasteway in the boat and get behind the trees a few yards up the hill. If the rascal attempts to crawl out the window I'll scare him back."