"What?" demanded Greg.

"Didn't you see that—-out on the lake?" Tom demanded.

"I didn't see anything," Greg admitted.

"There it goes again!" cried Tom.

"Oh, I saw something rise from the water and fall back again," continued Greg.

"Do you know what it was?" Reade insisted.

"No."

"That was a black bass!" declared Reade, as though it were one of the seven wonders of the world.

"Keep cool, Reade," chaffed Danny Grin. "We all knew, that there are fish in the lake."

"But black bass——-" choked Tom.

"Are they any better eating than any other fish?" asked Hazelton.

"Not so much better," Reade confessed. "But black bass are gamey, and hard fish to land when you hook 'em!"

"They're no better food, but it's harder work to get them," laughed Greg. "Sit down, Tom, and keep cool"

"No real fisherman would ever talk that way," Tom insisted indignantly. "The greatest charm about fishing comes in hooking and landing the really good fighting fish!"

"How much does a black bass weigh?" asked Greg.

"That one probably weighed four pounds. Look! look! There he goes again. Did you fellows see him?"

"There isn't any four pound fish in water that can give me a fight," Danny Grin asserted solemnly. "I'd be ashamed to talk about having a fight with a four pound fish. It looks small and mean to me."

"Well, go after some bass, if they're so easy to catch," urged Greg. "I'll look on and see if you've over estimated your ability as a fisherman."

"You're a fine fisherman, aren't you?" demanded Tom scornfully.

"No fisherman at all," Holmes promptly confessed.

"If you knew the A-B-C of fishing," Reade continued, "you'd know that one must have a boat in order to go after bass."

"Don't they ever come near enough to shore to be caught without the aid of a boat?" Danny Grin demanded.

Tom snorted.

"Tell me," insisted Dalzell.

"You're stringing me," protested Tom.

"No; I'm after information," Dan asserted.

"If you really don't know," Tom resumed, "I'll tell you that black bass are generally caught only by trolling for them. That is, if I fish for bass I've got to keep playing my line over the stern while someone else rows the boat."

"You've a positive genius for picking out the easy half of the job," Danny Grin murmured admiringly.

"The trolling part of the job merely looks easy," Tom went on, good-humoredly. "The fellow who is doing the fisherman act must have all the brains, while the fellow at the oars may be a real dolt, for all he has to know. I'll take you out with me after black bass, Danny, if we can get hold of a boat one of these days."

"Who'll do the rowing?" asked Dalzell suspiciously.

"Naturally you will," was Reade's answer.

"Can't we find a boat somewhere about here?" asked Hazelton eagerly.

"I haven't seen one on any part of the lake that is visible from here," Prescott put in. "I don't know why, but this so called second lake doesn't seem to be a popular spot. There isn't a house to be seen anywhere along the shore on either side, and I doubt if there's a boat on this sheet of water."

"I don't believe there is a boat, either—-and just look at that!" cried Reade, as three distinct splashes about an eighth of a mile out showed how frequently the bass were leaping.

"It's tough—-not to have a chance at good sport!" declared Dave Darrin impatiently. "We fellows ought to search this old shore, anyway, to see if we can't find some sort of craft."

"Come along, then!" urged Tom, leaping to his feet. "I can't stand this state of affairs much longer. Look at that, out there. Four bass jumping within fifteen seconds. This is cruelty to fishermen!"

"Tom, you take Dan and Harry, and go up along the shore," proposed Dick. "I'll take the others with me, and we'll go down along the shore. Each party will walk and search for half an hour, and then return, unless we find a boat sooner."

"Aren't you going to leave someone to watch the camp?" asked Danny Grin.

"It is hardly necessary," decided Prescott.

"But Bert Dodge——-" suggested Greg.

"For Dodge to be out here so early he'd have to be up by five in the morning, and make an early start," Dick rejoined. "I don't believe he's industrious enough for that."

"The camp will be all right," Dave agreed.

"Of course," Tom assented. "Anyway, there's nothing here worth stealing that would be small enough to carry away."

"Except the food," hinted Danny Grin.

"This is too far off the main roads for tramps to come this way," Dick replied.

So Dalzell, with a sigh, rose to accompany Reade and Hazelton.

Dick and his two companions thoroughly explored the shore as far as they went on the lower part of the lake. From time to time Prescott consulted his watch. In all the time that they were out they passed only one building, a tumble-down, weather-beaten shack that looked as though it had not been inhabited in twenty years. Not even a vestige of a craft was found.

"It's time to go back," said Dick at last. "Too bad we couldn't find anything."

"There must have been boats on this lake at one time," hinted Dave, "or else there wouldn't be that broken-down old pier near the camp."

"I guess there was a time when this lake was a fishing ground to supply the Gridley and other near-by markets," Dick went on. "But, fellows, there's a curious thing about these fish markets that I don't know whether you've noticed. There are several fish stores in Gridley, and yet in all of them you couldn't buy a pound of fish except the kinds that are caught in salt water. I wonder if there are any fish markets in this part of the country that make a specialty of fresh-water fish?"

More slowly, Dick, Dave and Greg retraced their steps.

"Hoo-hoo! Hoo-hoo!" signaled Dick as they neared their camp.

From away up the shore the answering "hoo hoo!" came faintly.

"Tom didn't give up the search as easily as we did," commented Dave. "Poor old chap, he will be seriously disappointed if he hasn't found something that will float. He's the one sincere fisherman of the crowd, and the bass certainly have hypnotized him."

"Race you back to camp," offered Dick.

"Come back," laughed Dave, "and make a fair start."

But Dick kept on, laughing back at his distanced comrades. Prescott ran like a deer, as was to be expected from one who had played left end on the invincible Gridley High School eleven.

Just as he bounded on to the camp ground Dick's glance fell on a packing box some four feet long.

"This doesn't belong here," he muttered, bounding forward, then dropping on one knee beside the box.

In amazed wonder he read the following inscription, from a card tacked to the box:

"Will Dick Prescott accept the enclosed and keep it as trustee for Dick & Co.? From a most appreciative friend—-two of them, in fact!"

"Now, what on earth can this be?" Dick demanded, as Dave reached his side.

Darry read the message on the card with growing wonder.

"Greg," directed Dick, "trot into the camp and get a hammer and the cold chisel. Hustle!"

Full of curiosity, Greg Holmes carried out the order at a run.

"Here you are!" panted Holmes.

Dick took the cold chisel, placed the edge against one side of the lid, and was about to strike the first blow when Darry snatched the hammer from his hand.

"What ails you?" Prescott demanded.

"Suspicion," Dave replied dryly. "In fact, I've a bad case of suspiciousness."

"What are you talking about?" Dick insisted.

"I don't know," Dave admitted. "But I've something of a shivery hunch that perhaps we'd better not open that box."

"What, then? Toss it into the lake?"

"Even that might not be as foolish as it sounds to you," Darry went on. "How do we know what that box contains!"

"We never will know until we open it," declared Greg impatiently.

"And then we might be mighty sorry that we opened it," Dave continued.

"You think that there is something suspicious about the box?" queried Prescott.

"Oh, the box looks all right," Dave laughed. "But the contents might prove more than a disappointment. A real danger, for instance."

"Do you really think so?" Dick mused wonderingly.

"Well, let's not be too rash," Darrin urged. "When I try to think of the friends who might take the trouble to come away out here to leave something for us, about the dearest friends I can think of are—-Dodge and Bayliss."

"And what would they leave in the box for us?" pondered Prescott.

"Anything from a nest of rattlesnakes to an infernal machine," Greg Holmes suggested.

"That doesn't sound quite reasonable," Dick replied slowly. "Neither Dodge nor Bayliss amount to much, and both fellows are pretty mean; but do you imagine they would dare do anything that might come very close to murder? I don't."

"Oh, well, open the box, then," Dave agreed. "Whatever may be in it of a dangerous nature, I'll stand by and take my share of it."

"A few minutes won't make any difference," said Dick, rising and dropping hammer and chisel. "We'll wait until the rest of the fellows come in, and then we'll hold a pow-wow and vote on what's to be done."

"Tom! Oh, Tom! Fellows! Hoo-hoo!" roared Greg, making a megaphone of his hands.

"Wha-at's wa-anted?" came Reade's hail, still from a distance.

"Hurry up!" yelled Greg. "Hustle. Big doings here!"

"Have you found a boat?" came Tom's query.

"No! But—-hustle! Run!"

Greg was alive with curiosity. He could not wait. If the box were to be opened only after a pow-wow, then the sooner the council were held the sooner the mystery of the box's contents would be solved.

Tom, Dan and Harry came in at a trot.

"What's all the row about?" Reade demanded.

"That," stated Greg, pointing to the packing case.

"What's in it?" asked Reade.

"We don't know," said Dick.

"I fail to see what's to hinder you from knowing," retorted Reade. "I see that you have the tools for opening the case at hand. What were you waiting for—-my strong arm on the hammer? If so——-"

While speaking Tom had been glancing at the inscription on the card.

"I don't know just whether we ought to open it," Dave declared. "That box may come from Dodge and Bayliss, and we may be sorry that we meddled with it."

"There may be something in that," agreed Reade, laying down hammer and chisel and rising. "But I wish we knew."

"We all wish that," said Greg.

"Well, what are we going to do?" inquired Hazelton. "Are we going to remain afraid of the box and shy away from it?"

"I'm not afraid," replied Darrin, his color rising. "I'm willing to open it if you fellows say so."

"Then what has kept you back so far?" Tom wanted to know.

"If it's a job put up by Dodge and Bayliss, then I don't just like to be caught napping by them," Dave replied. "However, you fellows all get back a few rods—-and here goes for little David to solve the box mystery."

"Not!" advised Reade with emphasis. "I suppose we'll have to do something with this box, sometime, but I, for one, am in favor of considering the matter for a little while before we go any further. Dave, you are a foxy one, but I'm glad you are. It may save us all trouble."

So the box lay there through the forenoon, and Dick & Co. did little else but wonder and guess as to its contents.

Any member of Dick & Co. would have taken the risk of opening it, had he been chosen by his comrades to do so; but not one of them wanted one of the other fellows to take the risk.

In the meantime Greg Holmes could scarcely curb his rising curiosity.



CHAPTER VIII

THE MAN WITH THE HAUNTING FACE

The noon meal had been eaten, and the camp put to rights. The water before them and the woods behind them called to nature-loving Dick & Co., yet the invitations were ignored.

What could be in the innocent-looking box? That was the question that held six minds in the thraldom of curiosity.

"I can't stand this suspense any longer!" muttered Reade towards three o'clock in the afternoon.

"Open the box yourself," prompted Danny Grin.

"I will," offered Reade, advancing toward the box. "I don't care if it's a ton of dynamite, all fixed up with clock work and automatic fuses. I want to find it out."

But Greg Holmes sprang forward.

"Wait just a little longer, Tom," he urged. "Dick will be back in a few minutes and then we'll get him to agree to it."

"Dick Prescott doesn't open the box," Tom retorted.

"It's addressed to him, anyway," said Greg firmly.

"I guess that's right," interposed Dave, nodding. "And Dick will be here soon."

Dick reappeared within five minutes. He had taken two buckets and had gone to a spring at some distance from camp for water.

"Dick," said Greg, "there's Tom on the ground on the other side of that tree. He's growling like a Teddy bear because no one has opened the box."

"I think we'd better open it," nodded Prescott, after glancing at the faces of the others, for he saw that their curiosity was at fever heat.

"Hooray!" yelled Greg. "Come on, fellows!"

There was a rush for the hammer and cold chisel, but young Holmes won.

"You pry the lid up on one side, and then give me a chance at the other side," proposed Tom Reade.

But Greg, smiling quietly, soon had the entire lid off the box.

Nothing but a lot of multi-colored, curly packing paper met their gaze.

"The world destroyer must be underneath this ton of rubbish," grunted Darry, kneeling and prying the strings of paper out.

At last he delved down to a parcel wrapped in stout manila paper and securely tied with cord.

"Cut the strings," advised Reade, passing Dave a pocket knife with one blade open.

Darrin, however, had lifted the parcel out to lay it on the ground. It was fairly heavy, but Dave handled it with ease. Now he cut the strings. As the papers were pushed aside he and the others saw nothing at first but a lot of khaki-colored canvas.

"Fellows," declared Dick, "I don't believe this is a practical joke, at all. It looks to me as though someone had sent us something very much like a cook tent."

All thought of danger having now passed, Prescott and his comrades unfolded the canvas. At the bottom of the package they found something that caused them to send up a wild hurrah.

Two daintily modeled white maple paddles lay there. There were two other objects made of wood that looked like seats.

"Fellows," gasped Dick, "don't you understand what this is?"

"I do," nodded Tom huskily. "I do, if not another soul in the world does. Fellows, it's a collapsible canoe, all ready to set up and run into the water. It's our boat, that we've been wanting so badly. It's a beauty! Oh, shake it out! Lay it and let's put the braces in! I shan't be able to breathe again until I see this thing of beauty floating on the water!"

Yet Tom was no more excited than were the other members of Dick & Co. All took a hand, and all tried to work so nimbly that they got considerably in the way of one another. Yet at last the canoe was ready to be picked up and carried to the lake's edge.

"Here's even a painter to tie it to a tree with," shouted Dave. "Say! Whoever bought this canoe knew all about one!"

"Don't anyone try to get into the craft yet," ordered Dick, as the canoe was slid out upon the water, Prescott holding the painter, which he tied around a sapling growing near the water's edge. "We want to make sure that this canoe is waterproof. If it stands twenty minutes without taking in water we'll know it's all right."

Since they couldn't board the canoe, these delighted boys joined hands, dancing about in a ring. Then, suddenly, they started off in burlesqued figures of an Indian war-dance, whooping like mad.

While the excitement was at its height, Reade suddenly seized Hazelton by his collar, rushing him to the lake. Into it went both boys, Tom ducking Harry's head under the water.

"Wha-a-at's that for?" sputtered Hazelton as soon as he could talk.

"Because you needed it," replied Tom soberly. "Will you kindly do as much for me? We were all such chumps that we cheated ourselves out of the best black bass fishing to-day that ever mortal saw. So we all ought to be ducked."

Harry stared at his friend in some astonishment.

"On second thought, though," concluded Reade, "you needn't duck me. You may postpone it. I'm going bass fishing the very instant that the canoe is judged to be safe."

"And I'll be the bass-hunting pin-head who merely does the paddling," proposed Danny Grin meekly.

"I guess you're the biggest pin-head in camp, all right—-after myself," nodded Reade. "So we ought to hit it off as bass fishermen, Danny boy."

"Fellows," hinted Dick judicially, "I think we had better turn the canoe over to Tom for the first trip. His craze to go bass fishing is so acute that it fairly pains him. Tom can have the first trip, can't he?"

There was a general assent. Tom darted away to overhaul such tackle as he had for bass fishing. He came back with a small but tough jointed rod, some very long lines, and some flashily, bright spoons.

"Danny, get a shovel and dig for some grubs," Tom ordered, as he sorted tackle. "When you can't fool black bass with one thing you must try another. If you fellows see any tiny chubs swimming about in the little coves here, try to get a lot of them. We can keep them in a bucket of water. Perch? Bah! The real fishing is about to begin now!"

"Do you really expect to get any bass today, Tom?" Dick inquired.

"Hard to say," replied Reade, shaking his head as he glanced up from the tackle he was overhauling to look out upon the lake. "I haven't seen a single bass jump in five hours now. But I may get two or three. I certainly will, if the bass are sportsmanlike enough to give me any show at 'em."

By the time that Tom had his tackle in shape Dick and Dave pronounced the canoe wholly water tight. Dan Dalzell, equipped with one of the paddles, took a kneeling position just back of the bow seat. Tom got in next, squatting with his face to the stern of the canoe. None of the others were to go. At a pinch this ten-foot canoe might hold three, but fishermen as a rule do not care to have extra passengers in their boats.

"Give 'em a cheer, boys!" cried Darry, as Danny Grin, with a few deft strokes of the paddle, propelled the craft away from the shore.

"And let that cheer be the last," called back Tom, in a low voice that nevertheless traveled backward over the water. "Don't frighten my bass from coming up to take a look at me."

"Tom surely is the sincere old bass fisher, isn't he?" demanded Harry Hazelton.

"I don't know," Dick made answer. "We can tell better when we've seen him hook and land a few fish."

"Paddle slowly right across the lake, Danny," begged Tom, watching his trolling line.

From the camp the boys watched until they grew tired of the monotony. Reade did not seem destined to secure a single "strike" from bass that afternoon.

"At half-past four o'clock," proposed Darrin, "I'll go down to the old pier and see what I can do toward catching a string of perch for to-night."

"I'll go with you," nodded Hazelton.

"All right," agreed Dick. "Greg and I will get in the water and wood, and see to whatever else we're to have for supper. I don't believe Tom will bring us anything."

Nor did Reade himself believe it. For two solid hours Dan Dalzell paddled lazily wherever his skipper told him to. The nearest that Tom seemed destined to get a "strike" was when his hook caught in the weeds.

At last they were some distance out on the lake, perhaps a hundred and fifty yards from shore. Reade, wholly discouraged, was about to give the order to make for camp.

Turning about in the canoe, Reade discovered that Dalzell was in a brown study, slowly lifting his paddle and lifting it out again, but without watching his course.

"Look out, Danny boy," cautioned Tom, "or you'll scratch the sides of the canoe on those bushes right ahead."

Dan glanced up with a start, backing water. They had now passed in under the shadow of trees, for the sun was low, and it was somewhat dark and gloomy in there.

"It's queer for bushes to be growing so far out from shore," muttered Tom, "and it shows how shallow the water must be about here. You had better back water out of here, Danny."

Dalzell was about to do so when his glance fell on something that halted his arm.

In the same moment Tom Reade saw the object that had arrested Dan's attention.

From between the bushes peered a pair of deep-set, frightened eyes that looked out from the haggard, despairing face of a man whose head alone was visible.

Just for the moment neither Tom nor Dalzell could really guess whether the face belonged to the living or the dead. The sight caused cold shivers to run up and down their spines, for that face was ghastly and haunting in the extreme.

But quickly Tom Reade found his voice sufficiently to ask huskily:

"What's your trouble, my friend?"



CHAPTER IX

THE START OF A BAD NIGHT

Without noise, leaving barely a ripple behind, that head sank from view. It had vanished in an instant before the eyes of the two thoroughly startled high school boys.

"He's drowning now!" gasped Dan, as the head failed to bob up again into view. "Oh, Tom, we must save him!"

"Wait!" said Reade, in a quivering voice. His eyes expressed uncertainty as to how he should act.

"But he's drowning. You see, he hasn't come up again!" Dalzell insisted.

"Drowning—-in water shallow enough for small bushes to grow from the bottom?" demanded Reade. "Of course not! But what does it mean—-and why didn't the fellow speak?"

"Perhaps—-i—-i—-it was a—-dead man," suggested Dalzell.

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," replied Reade. "I—-I almost thought I saw the man's eyelids move."

"I thought so, too," agreed Dan, "but now I'm inclined to believe that we didn't. Wait! I'm going to get close to the bushes."

Dan drove the paddle into the water a few times, bringing the canoe up alongside the bushes, when it was seen that these were standing up from a square framework of wood.

"Now, what do you think of that?" asked Reade in perplexity. "These are freshly cut bushes, that have been fastened to this frame to-day. The frame will float wherever wind or current may take it. I thought this was shallow water. I'll soon know."

Tom had, among his tackle, a line with a sinker attached. He tossed the sinker over the side of the canoe, paying out the line until the sinker touched bottom. Then he pulled the line in again, carefully measuring by his arm as much of the line as was wet.

"Danny," he announced solemnly, "at this point the water is from twenty-seven to thirty feet deep."

"Then that man did drown!" breathed Dalzell, his face as white as chalk.

"Of course he did," Tom agreed, "provided he was alive when we saw him."

"But he had to be alive," protested Dan, "or else he couldn't have nailed the framework together and decorated it with branches from bushes."

"That is, if the man we saw made the frame," propounded Reade in a very solemn voice.

It was a shock to both of them. The whole incident had been uncanny and unreal, but the horror of that haggard, haunting face was still strong upon both of the beholders.

"Tom, we simply must get off our clothes and dive to see what we can do to find that poor fellow," urged Dalzell.

"All right," assented Reade. "I'll do all the diving myself, Danny, if you'll take command and give your orders. Where shall I dive? The bushes have already shifted position. We're floating away from the spot, too. Just where do you want me to make the first dive?"

"I don't know," Dan Dalzell confessed. "The whole affair has given me the creeps, I think."

"I know it has done that to me," smiled Tom unsteadily. "Whew! I'll dream of that face to-night—-all night long! Dan, there seems to be just about one chance in a thousand that that man will reach shore. Let's keep the craft headed to the shore, and watch for some minutes to come. At the same time, if we see a sign of the poor fellow, we'll swim to him, or paddle to him as fast as we know how."

Both boys knew, inwardly, that they would be heartily glad to get away from what seemed plainly to them to be a haunted spot. Yet neither cared to admit his dread to the other. So, talking rather busily, they remained on the spot for fully another ten minutes.

"We won't see anything come out of the water now," Tom asserted at last. "Even if we do, it will be a drowned man."

"I guess we may as well get back to camp," Danny agreed. "Yet it is going to be an awfully creepy night for all of us, with this weird mystery of the lake on our minds."

"Don't paddle yet," begged Tom. "I'll give a hail, and see if that brings any answer."

Raising his voice, Reade shouted lustily:

"Hello, there, friend? Are you safe? Want any help?"

"Anything we can do for you, friend?" bawled Dan Dalzell, in his most resonant tone.

Only the mocking echoes of their own questions came back to them.

"Beat the water with the paddle. Danny," advised Reade after they had waited for some moments. "We've more than a mile to go. Whip up the water. If you get tired, pass the paddle back to me."

"I'm not sorry to get away from that place," breathed Dalzell, after at least a hundred lusty strokes.

"Nor I," confessed Reade. "I'm beginning to get a headache already from trying to figure out what it all meant. Danny, describe that haunting face just as you saw it."

"Ugh! I hate to think about it again," protested Dalzell.

"You'll think about it more than once," retorted Tom. "You won't be able to help that, I promise you. So go ahead and describe the face as you saw it."

Dan did so, Tom listening attentively.

"Then that wasn't a case of imagination," Tom declared gravely. "If we had imagined it, each would have seen a different face. But the face that you describe, Danny, is the one that I also saw. Pass back the paddle, please. I want a little exercise."

Tom still had the paddle when he shot the canoe in close to the camp.

"Any luck?" called Dave, who had already returned with a string of perch.

"Catch any bass?" was Dick's question.

"Did you even see anything?" laughed Greg Holmes.

"Did we see anything?" groaned Tom, as he sent the canoe's prow to land.

"Danny looks as though he had been seeing all sorts of things," chuckled Hazelton, as Dalzell stepped ashore.

"Don't ask me," gasped Danny Grin, with a shudder.

At this the faces of those who had remained behind sobered instantly.

"You won't eat any supper, if we tell you," Tom declared, as he came ashore while Dave held the painter of the canoe.

"I'll accept that challenge," laughed Prescott, as Dave and Tom drew the collapsible canoe up on shore. "Fire away as soon as you're ready, Mr. Reade."

Perch and potatoes were frying, coffee bubbling and Dick had been mixing some kind of boiled pudding that he had learned to make so that it would not cause acute indigestion.

"Better wait until after supper," Reade advised.

"No; we want the story now," Prescott declared firmly.

So Reade told of the strange apparition they had seen, with many additions to the tale from Danny.

"I decline to shudder," asserted Dave.

"That's just because you've only heard about the face, instead of seeing it," Tom muttered.

"Dick, what do you make of the whole affair?" asked Greg.

"I only wish I could guess the answer," Prescott made answer solemnly, "but I can't."

"What are we going to do about it?" asked Tom Reade.

"Let it alone," proposed Harry Hazelton.

"No, we won't," said Dick promptly. "Not unless we have to, just because of inability to find out anything. Fellows, it's too late to try to do anything in the darkness to-night. If the man were drowned, we couldn't help him, anyway. But we'll go over there to-morrow and try to find out whether there is any other answer to the riddle."

"You won't need any supper to-night, anyway," declared Reade, in a tone of grim triumph.

"That is where you lose," Prescott answered quietly. "You'll be hungry, too, Tom, when the food goes on the table."

However, neither Reade nor Danny Grin ate very heartily that evening. Every few moments the haunting face rose before their memories. It proved a dull evening, too, in camp. The sky became overcast. It looked so much like rain that Dick & Co. voted in favor of retiring early.

First of all, however, the canoe was hauled into the tent for safety. Then, with only one lantern burning dimly, six sturdy but wondering high school boys rolled themselves in their blankets.

Just as five of them were dozing off uneasily Dave Darrin's voice sounded quietly:

"That thing couldn't have been a joke rigged up on us, could it?"

"A joke?" rumbled Reade. "No, sir! That face was real enough to suit the most particular individual. No, sir; that face wasn't a joke, nor did the face look as though the man to whom it belonged had ever heard a joke in all his life."

"Suppose you fellows shut up until the sun is shining again," proposed Danny Grin, who had been fidgeting restlessly in his blanket.

"That's right," agreed Dick blandly. "All ghost stories ought to be told in the broad daylight."

"Just the same——-" Tom began.

"Shut up—-please!" came a chorus of protest.

All was quiet after that. Hours must have passed. All the boys were sleeping at least fairly well when air and earth shook with a mighty explosion.

Instantly six bewildered high school boys leaped to their feet in alarm.



CHAPTER X

POWDER MILLS, OR JUST WHAT?

"If that's a thunderstorm," muttered Greg Holmes, barely half awake, "then it's going to be a dandy!"

But Dick seized him by one arm and shook him.

"Come to your senses, Greg! That wasn't thunder."

"No; but what was it?" wondered Dave.

"I'm going to dress and find out," rejoined Dick sturdily. He sat on the edge of his canvas cot and began to pull on his clothing.

BANG! All were awake enough now to appreciate fully the force of this second jarring explosion.

"I wonder if there are any powder works off in this wilderness?" asked Danny Grin.

But Dick, who had now dressed as fully as he intended to do, save for the lacing of his shoes, now came back from the doorway of the tent with the lantern, the wick of which he was turning up.

"No powder mills in this part of the world," he declared. "But, gracious! The explosion seemed big enough."

Tom Reade stepped over to Prescott, whispering in the latter's ear:

"What if this is another chapter in the lake mystery that we struck this afternoon?"

"That's possible," nodded Dick.

"What are you two fellows whispering about?" called Hazelton.

"We're using whispers in case there's anyone else near enough to hear speaking voices," Prescott explained in a low tone.

That was enough to fan the curiosity of the others, who, partially dressed, crowded about Prescott and Reade.

Leaving the lantern in the tent, Dick & Co. gathered in the darkness in the open air.

"What do you make of it, Dick?" Dave asked.

"Just as much as you fellows do—-no more," came the reply.

"If it isn't anything that carries danger to us," proposed Darrin, "we may as well go back and to bed."

"All who are sleepy enough may go back and turn in," Prescott suggested. "I'll stay up and watch for a while."

"So will I," promised Reade.

But it turned out that none of the party wanted to sleep. Even Darrin said he was interested enough in this newest mystery to stay up and try to fathom it.

"Whatever it is," smiled Dick, "it hasn't done us any harm."

"Oh, yes; there has been one casualty, at least," protested Holmes. "The explosion has caused a compound fracture in my bump of curiosity."

"There don't seem to be any more explosions," suggested Dick Prescott, after a few moments had passed, and some of the boys were yawning. "Anyone want to turn in?"

No one wished to do so, however.

"If we can't find out anything to-night," murmured Dick, in a low voice, "we'll at least make a strong effort in that direction after breakfast to-morrow morning."

"We have the lake mystery on for after breakfast," urged Hazelton.

"There's probably a connection between the lake mystery and the big explosions," whispered Tom Reade wisely. "Fellows, I've a notion that Danny Grin and I unintentionally bumped into someone else's business of some queer kind. Now the people who are peevish with us are trying to chase us out of these woods. At least, that's my idea."

"It will take something more than noise to chase us," smiled Dick coolly. "Our ear drums are as sound as the next fellow's. Just the same, I wish we might find out something about this mystery. If there's another explosion like that last one, then some of us ought to travel straight in the direction of the noise."

"And run straight into the hard, swift punch that is behind that noise!" muttered Danny Grin, with one of those facial contortions that had earned him his nickname.

"Whoever starts to playing with a boy's curiosity must be ready to abide by the consequences," chuckled Prescott. "Now, if anyone has started something against us, then we'll run the rascal to the earth."

"You don't suppose it's Dodge's work?" whispered Greg.

Before Dick could answer Darrin broke in with an emphatic:

"Not much! The lake mystery affair is one of too large calibre for Bert Dodge's poor, anaemic brain. There's something bigger and smarter than a mere Dodge behind the doings of this night."

"It's one o'clock, fellows," said Dick, after walking over to the lantern for a glimpse at his watch. "Tom, Greg and I will stay up until three o'clock and be ready to jump out together at the first sign of anything happening. The rest of you turn in and get some sleep. We'll call you at three o'clock and then take our turn at the pillow."

"You'll call us, of course, if anything happens?" asked Dave.

"If another powder mill blows up," chuckled Tom, "you won't need to be called. You'll be out here on the jump."

Dave, Dan and Harry thereupon turned in. Knowing that others were on watch the trio in the tent were all sound asleep within five minutes.

Only the sighing of the wind through the trees, the occasional splash of a leaping fish in the lake, and the subdued, musical hum of tiny night insects came to the ears of Dick and his fellow watchers.

Greg was soon yawning. Tom, for want of something better to do, began describing all over again the strange apparition he and Dalzell had seen that afternoon. Greg, finding the "creeps" in Tom's narration to be stronger than the interest, shivered and withdrew to a spot beyond the reach of Tom's whispers.

Not long after Greg, his back propped against a tree trunk, was sound asleep.

Tom liked to talk. Prescott was a good listener, putting in a question now and then.

So at least another hour passed. Then——-

Boo-oom!

That crash was so close at hand that it seemed as though the earth must open.

Tom's first startled glance was at the sky. Then, with a whisking sound, several fragments of something passed over their heads.

"We're being bombarded?" gasped Tom inquiringly.

"This is getting too noisy to be interesting," protested Greg, waking and leaping over to the place where his chums stood.

"I thought you fellows were going to put a stop to that racket!" complained Darry from the tent.

Dick Prescott's whole thought and effort had been centered on the task of placing the location of that latest explosion.

"You fellows look after the camp," Dick called in a low voice to those in the tent. "Come on, Tom and Greg!"

His two chums hurried to overtake him as the young leader rushed off in the darkness. Prescott was traveling up the slope in a direction that ran in an oblique line from the lake front.

"Are you sure it was just exactly in this direction?" whispered Reade, as he reached Dick's side.

"In this direction as nearly as I could judge," Dick affirmed.

For some moments they traveled onward. Then they halted to listen.

"I don't know whether I'm any good at judging distances," Dick whispered, "but it seemed to me that whatever exploded was not much more than three hundred yards from camp."

"About that distance, I should say," Tom agreed.

"Then we've gone about as far as the place of the explosion. Suppose we keep very quiet and listen."

"Ugh!" grunted Greg. "I hope the earth doesn't blow up under our feet."

"Go back to camp, if you're nervous," smiled Dick, but Greg remained where he was.

"I'm going out a little way and prowl," whispered Dick, pointing in the direction he had chosen. "Tom, why don't you travel in about the opposite direction?"

Reade nodded.

"Where shall I go?" asked Greg.

"You had better remain right here," Prescott whispered. "If you should hear either of us yell for help then you could start in the direction of the sound."

"Then I'll get into those bushes," whispered Greg. "When you come back, come straight to the bushes, so I'll know that it's one of my own crowd. If any strangers appear, I'll listen to 'em if they halt near here, or trail them if they try to go past here."

Dick nodded. This seemed about the best that could be done. Of course, back in camp, he had three more good and courageous fellows to draw upon as added forces, but with such strange doings afoot in the night it didn't seem wise to call the others away from the camp. Above all, the camp had to be watched and guarded.

In half an hour Dick returned. He had found nothing to throw light on the puzzle of the night. Tom was back already, having beaten Dick to Greg's hiding place by about two minutes.

"We may as well go back to camp," whispered Greg.

"Not much!" Prescott retorted. "If anyone is trying to do anything to us, then we want to run the mystery down and put an end to it. My idea is that the best thing we can do is to get up to the road, post ourselves at fair intervals and watch to see if anyone should pass."

"Correct!" clicked Reade. "And I think that would have been the best plan in the first instance."

"If the powder-mill explosions are to keep up through the night," hinted Tom, "then there ought to be another one due within a few minutes. In that case our tormentors may be getting ready to plan something now. So let's hike for the road at once."

Dick led the way, all three boys moving as noiselessly as they could. Prescott posted his friends, then chose his own post, so that they were stationed at intervals of about a hundred yards. All had hiding places within plain view of this rough country road.

Now the time dragged again. Strain their ears as they might, none of these young outposts of Dick & Co. could hear a single suspicious sound. They must have remained there all of three quarters of an hour.

Bang! sounded a terrific crash. Tom and Greg, without showing themselves in the road, hurriedly, silently reached their leader.

"Pshaw!" uttered Prescott in disgust. "With all our care we were on the wrong side of camp to be near the explosion. Come along, now, but don't make any noise if you can help it, and don't step out into the road. We'll go straight toward that latest noise. If it takes all summer we're simply bound to find out who is trying to blow up these woods just to scare out a few little rabbits like ourselves!"



CHAPTER XI

IN A FEVER "TO FIND OUT"

Our trio had nearly reached what they judged to be the scene of the latest explosion when Dick suddenly gave a low, sharp "hist," at the same time bending over to the ground while still peering ahead.

Palpitating with excitement, Tom and Greg halted, also looking.

Out of the shadow ahead emerged something only vaguely outlined in the dark. Whether wild animal or human being it would be hard to say there in the darkness. Indeed, the slight sound caused by its progress close to the road had more to do with warning Dick and his friends than anything their eyes saw at first.

"Come on!" whispered Dick, heading suddenly for the road. In a jiffy Tom and Greg were also in hot pursuit, though young Prescott managed to keep somewhat in the lead.

But the object of their pursuit took alarm, too, and gaining the road, flew like the wind.

"Hold on there, you!" challenged Dick. "We want a little conversation with you at once."

At that vocal warning the fugitive put on an even better burst of speed.

"It must be a man!" exclaimed Dick. "He evidently understood me."

"No use for you to try to get away!" shouted Reade. "We intend to get you if we have to chase you all the way to the seaboard."

That was enough to make the fugitive veer suddenly and dart in under the trees. Tom vented an exclamation of disappointment, for he knew the chances were easy for escape in the deep shadows of the forest.

At that instant Dick raised his right hand. In it he held a small stone that he had picked up at the first instant of discovering the presence of the stranger.

Now Dick threw the stone, with the best judgment that he could command in the darkness.

Ahead there went up a cry, as though of pain. Then all three pursuers distinctly heard an angry voice say!

"Hang him! He hit me in the heel!"

If there were any reply to this from a confederate of the injured fugitive neither Dick nor his chums heard it.

After a minute all three stopped at a low uttered order from young Prescott.

"Hush!" whispered Dick.

"Sh!" confirmed Tom Reade.

As they stood there in the forest not a sound of another human being was audible.

For some five minutes the trio of high school boys stood without stirring from their tracks.

"We've lost the trail," whispered Dick at last. "We could remain here, of course, waiting for more things to happen, but my belief is that daylight would find us still standing here, like so many foiled dummies. We might as well return to camp. What do you think?"

"Yes; we'd better go back to camp," assented Tom.

"I'm agreeable," murmured Greg

So back to camp they went, going by the open road as much of the way as served their purpose.

"There's the camp," muttered Tom, as they caught sight of a light between the trees. "Why the fellows have started a campfire."

"What do you say if we slip up on them and give them something to jump about?" laughed Greg.

"That might work with some people," negatived Dick, "but Darry is there, and he's impulsive. He might half kill us before he discovered his mistake. O-o-o-h, Dave!"

"Hello!" answered Darrin, coming away from the campfire. Then he waited until the trio were close at hand before he went on:

"I judge you didn't have any luck."

"We got close to one of the scamps," muttered Tom, "whom Dick seems to have hit on the heel with a stone, but he slipped away from us under the trees."

"It's only half an hour to dawn," yawned Dave, looking at his watch. "We can turn in, now, I guess, for the rascals must be about through with the guessing match they've put up for us."

"We could turn in now," suggested Danny Grin. "We don't have to go to sleep, you know, but we could lie in our blankets and talk the time away until dawn. The campfire will keep going until after daylight comes on."

That seemed rather a sensible course. Dick nodded, and all hands, after Darry had thrown a few more sticks on the fire, went into the tent, undressed, donned pajamas and slipped in under a single thickness of blanket apiece, and lay there talking.

Yet it proved to be a case of gape and yawn. One after another their eyes closed and more regular breathing started.

Dick Prescott was the last one to drop off. Yet he had barely more than lost himself in slumberland when there came a blast so close at hand that, to the boys, it seemed as though they must have been blown from their cots.

"That was right up toward the road!" panted Dave Darrin, leaping from his cot barefooted and clad only in pajamas. "Don't stop to dress. Come on! Chase 'em!"

"Go as far as you like!" chuckled Dick, stopping to pull on his shoes and fasten them, as did most of the others. Hazelton went only to the doorway of the tent, but Danny Grin followed Darrin, keeping at the latter's heels.

Prescott and Reade were hardly sixty seconds later in heading up the slope toward the road, Greg and Harry remaining at the camp.

As they came out from under the trees and into the road Dick discovered that the first signs of dawn were appearing. In a few minutes more it would be possible to see clearly over a stretch of road more than half a mile in length. Already objects were beginning to take shape. Dave was coming back, followed by Dan. Both were limping slightly, for neither boy was accustomed to traveling barefoot and both had picked up slight stone bruises in their progress.

"Did you sight anything or anyone?" called Dick.

"No," grumbled Darrin, in deep disgust. "The odds are all against us, anyway. The scoundrels know which way they are going; we can only guess at their course."

"One thing looks rather certain, at any rate," yawned Dick, covering his mouth with his hand. "Whoever the unknowns are, they were trying only to bother us. Or, if they were trying to injure us, they were rank amateurs at the destructive game.

"But what was it that blew up, anyway?" queried Dave.

"It sounded like a keg of gunpowder each time," Tom declared. "Yet to carry around five kegs of gunpowder would call for a lot of muscular work."

"I'm going back to camp to put on my shoes," Dave declared.

"So am I," Danny Grin added.

"We'll wait here for you," said Dick. "When you come back there may be light enough for us to look into matters a little."

Dave and Dan returned in a little more than five minutes afterwards. The daylight was now becoming stronger.

"Are Greg and Harry keeping awake?" was Prescott's first question.

"They are," nodded Darrin.

"Then they can be trusted to look after the camp," Dick continued.

"And to look after the canoe," Reade amended.

"Now, we'll explore the woods a bit," Prescott went on. "We know about where we heard the explosions, and we'll look for whatever evidence we can find."

For this purpose each explorer went by himself. Ten minutes later Dave Darrin set up a loud hello. This brought the others to him on the run.

"Give us another call," demanded Dick.

"Here!" called Dave, from the depths of the woods.

Dick went in, followed by Tom and Dan.

"I've found this much," Dave announced, holding up a scorched bit of colored paper. It was such paper as is used for the outer wrapping of fireworks.

Dick took the fragment of paper, reading therefrom the title, "The Sploderite Pyrotechnic Co."

"Nothing but fireworks, after all," ejaculated Danny Grin in great contempt, now that it was broad daylight.

"But I would like to have seen the fireworks before they blew up," retorted Tom Reade. "They were surely the loudest I ever heard. I don't believe anything but the heaviest cannon could make as much noise."

"Whoever touched off fireworks like these," uttered Dave, "didn't care a hang whether or not he set the woods on fire."

"There was no fire danger," Dick rejoined. "The grass and everything in these forests is as green as can be. But let's look about and see if we can't find evidences of the explosion at this point."

"There ought to be a good-sized hole in the ground right under where this piece of fireworks exploded," Tom guessed. "We ought to find, not far from here, some evidences of what explosives can do in ripping up the ground."

"Now I remember that one of the explosions in the night sent something whizzing through the air over our heads."

"Pieces of the pasteboard enclosing the mine, bomb or whatever kind of fireworks it was," Dick suggested. "But let's look for other debris around here."

That single bit of scorched paper, however, was all that any of them could find.

Tom discovered a spot where he thought the ground had been blackened, but Dave thought the blackened appearance due to humus soil, and so nothing came of the argument.

"I think," yawned Dick, "this search will lead to the same result that the others did during the night. About all we can do is to go back to camp."

The sun was up by the time that all six members of Dick & Co. were once more gathered about the remains of their campfire.

"I don't know what you fellows are going to do," yawned Tom Reade. "As for me, at present a nap looks better than any shower bath or breakfast that was ever invented. No matter how much objection I hear, I'm going to get an hour or two more of sleep."

That idea met with rather a hearty reception. Within three minutes all six high school boys were lying between blankets again, composed for sleep.

No more explosions came to disturb their slumbers, which were deep and broken only when at last Dick Prescott called out:

"Fellows, we're regular Rip Van Winkles! It's half-past nine o'clock!"

"And we've that lake mystery to solve today!" uttered Greg Holmes, leaping up.



CHAPTER XII

DICK MAKES A FIND

"Now, I don't know how it is going to hit the rest of you," remarked Tom Reade, as he put down his coffee cup at the end of the hasty breakfast, "but I'll confess that I'm not wholly keen about solving the puzzle of the lake mystery."

"Why not?" challenged Dave in astonishment.

"It's just like this," Tom went on. "Solving human riddles is all right in the daytime, but it's likely to spoil our rest at night. I can't help feeling that last night's Sploderite function was a mark of displeasure over our unwelcome interest in the lake mystery."

"Suppose we grant that," Dick answered, "yet how would last night's rascals expect us to connect the bang concert with Tom and Dan's canoe trip and discovery yesterday afternoon?"

"There's something in that idea," Reade admitted. "The unknowns might hardly expect us to show as much human reasoning power as all that. Yet I'm of the opinion that we'll continue to rest badly at night as long as we continue to feel any unhealthy curiosity about the lake mystery. In other words, my belief is that our interest in the affairs of perfect strangers is regarded by the unknowns as rudeness that must be rebuked."

"I don't care a hang about the lake mystery, anyway," gaped Dan, who was giving forth a series of yawns, his mouth only partially hidden by his right hand.

"There's just one strong point to the other side of the question," Dick argued. "There's a very fair amount of reason to believe that a man may have been drowned late yesterday afternoon, and that Tom and Dan saw him go down for the last time. That probability existing, I believe we are bound, as good citizens, to see if we can find any trace of a drowned man. If we can, then as good citizens it is clearly our further duty to report the matter to the authorities. If we can't find the remains of the drowned man, then I am under the impression that, at the least, Tom and Dan must report to some county officer just what they did see, and the county can then take up the question in any way it pleases. First of all, however, we ought to look for the body of a drowned man."

This view prevailing, Tom and Dan launched the canoe, Dick entering as passenger, while the other two handled the paddles.

Some brisk work took the canoe over, as nearly as Tom could judge, to the spot where the haunting face had been seen so briefly on the afternoon before.

Under the bright morning sun the waters were clear here, though the bottom could not be seen.

"Paddle half a mile up the lake, then down," Dick ordered.

This was done, Prescott and the paddlers keeping a sharp lookout. No body of a drowned man was seen, however, either on the surface or under the water.

"I don't believe anyone was drowned," re marked Dick at last. "There is no wind today, and hardly any such thing as current on this placid water. Whoever the man was, he got ashore."

"That's my belief," agreed Reade.

"Where's that brush arrangement?" asked Dan suddenly. "That frame all trimmed with green boughs."

Nor was this to be seen, either, though an object of that size would have been visible at any point on the water within half a mile.

"The man got ashore, all right, and he took care of the bush-trimmed frame as well," was Prescott's conclusion. "Whoever the man was, whatever happened, I don't believe that anything tragic happened in the water. For that matter, fellows, isn't it possible that, in the gathering gloom, and with the sky somewhat overcast, you were deceived about the ghastly, haunted look in that face? Isn't it likely that the look you thought you saw in the man's face was merely an effect of the unusual light of late yesterday afternoon?"

Tom shook his head emphatically.

"Why don't you ask us," demanded Dan ironically, "if it weren't just imagination on our part that we saw the face at all?"

"I don't doubt your having seen the face," Dick replied. "That wasn't anything that the light supplied."

"Then where is the man?" quizzed Dalzell.

"Safe on shore somewhere, beyond a doubt," Dick answered

"Then the chase takes us ashore, doesn't it?" asked Dan.

"Yes; if we're going to follow up the matter any further," Dick replied.

"We ought to follow it up," Reade insisted.

"Why?" asked Prescott.

"For one thing," smiled Tom, "it will give us something interesting to do."

"Should we find our interest in meddling with other folks' business?" wondered their leader.

"We've a right to, when those people come around and spoil our night's rest for us," Tom retorted.

"It was a bit like a challenge, wasn't it?" Dick laughed.

"Besides," Dan urged, "we certainly saw enough yesterday afternoon to show us that there is something tragic in the air around this sleepy old lake. If anyone is in trouble we ought to try to help that one out of trouble. And there was real, aching trouble in that face if ever I saw evidences of trouble."

"I guess we'll put in part of the day looking into the matter," Dick assented.

"Where shall we land?" asked Dalzell.

"As nearly as possible opposite the exact spot where you saw the man's head," Prescott made answer.

"Over there where that bent birch shows between the two chestnut trees," announced Reade, pointing with his paddle.

"Pull for that place," Dick ordered.

In a few minutes the canoe was drawn up along the shore so that Dick could step on land.

"You'd better come with me, Tom," said Prescott.

"And I'm the nifty little boat-tender who stays here and dozes in the shade?" asked Danny Grin, with a grimace.

"Are you good and strong this morning?" queried Dick, with a smile.

"Strong enough to walk, anyway," Dan retorted.

"Then perhaps you're strong enough to paddle back across the lake and bring over two more fellows. Then, when you get back here, leave one of the pair here in the canoe, and we will get them to keep it a hundred feet or more off shore. We don't want our craft destroyed. And be sure, Dan, that the fellow who stays behind on the other side of the lake understands that he's to stick right by the camp and watch it for all he's worth."

"I've got my orders," clicked Danny Grin, with a mock salute.

"Then let's see how well you can paddle alone."

Dalzell gave a few swift, strong turns of the paddle that sent the light canvas canoe darting over the water.

"Now, come along," urged Tom. "I'm anxious to get busy this morning."

First of all, the two high school boys walked up the lake shore for some distance, keeping their eyes wide open and all their senses on the alert. Then, returning, they walked for a considerable distance down the shore.

"There are our reinforcements coming," announced Tom, pointing across the lake. "Danny and his load will be here within fifteen minutes."

"We'll wait for the other fellows, before going away from the shore," Dick proposed. "If we started now they wouldn't know where to find us."

Returning to the landing place, Dick silently waved his hat until he caught the attention of Dave Darrin, seated in the bow of the canoe, who answered the signal just as silently.

Presently the craft came up to the shore.

"Who's going to stay in the canoe?" Dick inquired.

"I am," Harry Hazelton declared dolefully. "We drew lots on the other side. Greg drew the shortest twig, so he had to stay at the camp. I got the next shortest twig, so my job is boat-tender."

Dave and Dan stepped ashore. Heaving a sigh, Harry paddled out on the lake some hundred and fifty feet from land.

"Now, how are we going to beat up the country on this fine July morning?" Tom wanted to know.

Dick stood looking at the surrounding ground.

"I think I know as good a plan as any," he announced, after a pause. "Dave, you and I will walk down the lake, using our eyes and ears. Tom and Dan will go in the opposite direction. Each pair will keep along until our watches show that we've been going ten minutes. Then we will walk up the slope a hundred steps and turn toward the centre, meeting probably about the end of the second ten minutes. After that, if we decide to do so, we can go further inland from the lake. If there's a house or hut, or any fellow camping out in this neighborhood we ought to find him without much trouble. What do you fellows say to my plan?"

"It's about as systematic as anything could be," Dave agreed. "But what if one pair of us find something?"

"We'll try our best to communicate with the other pair," Dick rejoined. "Suppose, Dave, that you and I run into something interesting and don't want to leave it? Tom and Dan, not meeting us at the appointed place, will know enough to keep right on over our course until they find us."

"That looks plain enough," nodded Reade thoughtfully.

"All right, then," Dick declared. "Now we'll start."

He and Dave started off at a swinging gait. The first time Prescott turned to look behind him Reade and Danny Grin had already vanished.

Dick kept close to the shore, Dave moving in a parallel line a few steps up the slope.

"There isn't any hut, lodge or camp down there," Dave called softly, "or else we'd have seen it from our camp on the other side of the lake."

"I know it," Dick nodded. "What I'm trying to do is to see if I can find any hint, on the shore, of how that fellow landed yesterday, without Tom or Danny catching sight of him. Of course, a very clever swimmer could have gone quite a distance under water. and I want to see if I can find any sign of anything that would have hidden his landing from the fellows in the canoe."

"Oh!" nodded Dave understandingly.

The full ten minutes of searching passed without the slightest trace of a discovery.

"Halt," Dick called up smilingly. "Now, join me, Darry, while I count off the hundred steps up the slope."

This done, the chums started backward, keeping a course as nearly parallel with the shore as was possible.

"Now, try to be keener than ever," Dick urged, as Dave paced off another twenty steps higher up. "We're in a growth of deeper forest, with a bigger tangle of underbrush and it will be easy enough to overlook something."

The two boys trudged on. They were five minutes on their way back, perhaps, when Dick heard a sudden scrambling in the underbrush not far away. Then Prescott caught sight of a human figure, yet so fleetingly that he could have given no description of it.

"Is that you, Darry?" he called sharply.

But it wasn't, for no answer came back, save for the slight sound of someone going through the brush farther on.

"Dave! Darry!" shouted Prescott. "Here! Quickly!"

Then Dick dashed on in pursuit, calling again and again until Dave came in sight and joined in the chase.

"What was it?" panted Dave, as he came within hailing distance.

"Someone running away from me," Dick explained.

"What did he look like?"

"I didn't have a chance to see. Let's travel hot-foot."

Yet presently Dick halted. Dave stopped beside him.

"We've passed him; he has doubled on us," uttered Darrin in a tone of intense chagrin. "We belong in the primary class in wood lore."

Then, suddenly, they heard a slight noise again. Forward they dashed. Now they came out to a place where the ground was more open. Before the two high school boys rose a great boulder of rock, its front sloping backward, and running up to a height of fifty feet or more. They had already seen this boulder from the water.

"That fellow ran into the open, but he didn't have time to cross it," announced Dick in a tone of conviction, as the pair halted at the foot of the boulder. "He could have gone up this side; there are crevices enough for foothold. But in that case we'd have seen him."

Dave stood plucking absent-mindedly at the leaves of a bush in a clump that grew at the foot of the boulder. Suddenly Dick glanced down, noting that his feet were on boggy ground, though the surrounding soil was firm enough.

"Is there a spring running out of the solid rock?" wondered Dick, reaching out and pulling one of the bushes forward.

Then he gave a sudden shout of discovery:

"Look here, Dave! We're on the track of it! These bushes conceal the mouth of a cave! This is where our fugitive has gone!"



CHAPTER XIII

PERHAPS TEN THOUSAND YEARS OLD

"By Jove!" gasped Dave, also bending back a bush and glaring down, his eyes wide open with interest.

"That's where our man went," Dick whispered.

"Not a doubt of it," Dave assented. "We'll signal the other fellows, and then get him at our leisure."

"Unless there are other openings to this cave," Dick hinted.

"That's so! The fellow may be a quarter of a mile away from here already," Darrin quivered. "Let's not lose any time. I'll go in there first."

Dave was on his knees, quivering with eagerness, dominated by purpose, when Dick grabbed him, hauling him back.

"Let me alone," growled Dave. "Don't interfere with me!"

"But you don't know what you might run into in there, Darry," Prescott insisted firmly. "For one thing, you have no idea how many villains may have their secret home in there."

"Then, what are you going to do?" Darry demanded, looking up.

"I'm going to watch, right here, while you go forward and find Tom and Dan. Bring them here, and then we'll decide what ought to be done."

"That's rather slow," hot-headed Darry objected.

"It is, and a heap safer," Dick contended. "Hot-foot it after Tom and Dan. I'll stay right here and see to it that the mouth of the cave doesn't run away. Start—-at once, Darry, please! Don't let us waste time."

Knowing how stubborn Dick could be when he knew that he was wholly right, Dave lost no time in argument. He sprinted away, and presently Dick heard faint echoes of Darry's signaling, "hoo-hoo!"

A few minutes later the trio came up at a dog trot.

Not one of them spoke, as all had lost their breath in their haste. Tom, now in the lead, dashed up to where Dick stood on guard a few yards away from the bushes.

"Over there," nodded Dick, pointing to the bushes.

Tom and Dan pulled the bushes aside curiously.

"If we're going into that cave we may as well cut the bushes down," murmured Reade, producing a pocket knife. "Any objections, Chief?"

"No," smiled Dick, "and I'm not the Big Chief, either. Cut the bushes down, if you want. Move over, and I'll give you some help."

Within a short time the bushes had been cut down close to the ground, revealing an irregular shaped opening in the cave. This aperture was about three feet high and some five feet in width.

"Did you bring that pocket flash lamp, Tom?" asked Dick suddenly.

"Thank goodness, I did," replied Reade, producing the lamp.

Dick took it and crawled a few feet into the hole.

"There's water all along on the floor here," he called, "but just a dribble. Come in here and you'll find that you can stand up."

It needed no urging to induce the other boys to follow. Then they stood up, in almost complete darkness, save when the flashlight showed them their surroundings.

Some parts of the cave rose to a height of perhaps sixteen feet. Twelve feet was about the average height. From what the boys could see as they moved along, the cave extended for some sixty feet.

"I don't believe there's anyone in here except ourselves," muttered Darry in disgust, peering all around him. "In that case, we are wasting our time in this cave. Phew! How cold it is in here!"

"And well it might be," laughed Dick. "Do you see that mass just ahead of us?"

"What is it?" asked Dan. "Flash the light on it."

"Come over and look at it," Dick went on. "No one could live in this cold place. It is chilling me to the bone, just to stand here. And now you see why that little trickle of water keeps moving out through the mouth of the cave. Fellows, we're in one of nature's icehouses."

"But we're not after ice," Dave protested.

"We won't turn down ice in the wilderness, when we can find it in July," Dick rejoined.

"Not much!" answered practical Tom Reade. "Why, fellows, ice is just what we need at the camp. Let's get a closer look at it and make plans for an ice-box over at the camp."

"But I want to follow that man of mystery," protested Dave.

"Go ahead, David, little giant," Dick laughed. "We won't stop you. But we've lost our man of mystery, anyway, and this cave contains something that we really do want. Tom, you're the mathematician of the party. How much ice is there here?"

"If I could see better I could tell you better," sniffed Reade. "Hundreds of tons of it, anyway."

"How did the stuff get here?" asked Dan wonderingly.

Dick was now at the edge of the ice pile, and flashed the light at the roof of the cavern.

"See the rifts in the rock up there?" he asked. "Water must have leaked in here during the heavy winter rains. It was cold water, too. Then, in extra cold spells, such as this country experiences, the water must have frozen. As heat doesn't get in here in warm weather the ice may have been here for generations. Fellows, we may be looking upon ice that was here when George Washington was a boy."

"I've read, somewhere," declared Tom soberly, "that icebergs that float down from the polar regions in spring often represent ice that is at least ten thousand years old. Fellows, some of this very ice may have been here in this cave long, long before Julius Caesar went into the soldiering business!"

That thought had somewhat of an awesome effect upon Dick & Co. The four high school boys felt as though they were in the presence of great antiquity.

"But the practical side of it," declared Tom, "is that we must devise the best way of cutting some of this ice and getting it across the lake to the camp."

"Oh, you can break off enough for making ice water," replied Dave Darrin impatiently, "and take it over in the canoe, though the spring water is cold enough for anybody."

"All of Dave's thoughts are still on the man of mystery," Dick declared, with a chuckle.

"It's much more interesting than standing here figuring on how to get ice that we don't need," retorted Darry.

"Now, as to moving this stuff to the camp," Tom went on, "it seems to me——-"

"Of course," laughed Dick. "It has already struck you that we can fell a few small trees and build a raft on which we can tow a few hundred pounds of ice at a time."

"Oh, pshaw!" fidgeted Dave. "I am anxious to find the man of mystery."

"That isn't anything practical," scoffed Tom Reade, "while in hot weather a good supply of ice is eminently practical."

"You'll think there's a practical side to the man of mystery and his cronies when to-night comes, and there's so much noise about the camp that we miss another night's rest," hinted Darry sagely.

"Humph!" was Tom's greeting to that assertion. "I don't know but you're right."

"Well, we know where the ice is," remarked Dick. "We can get it at our convenience. Darry, we'll follow you in pursuit of your man of mystery. Come out of here, fellows."

Dick led the way out of the cave, flashing the light as he walked. All four blinked when they found themselves out in the sunlight.

"Now, which way are we going, David, little giant?" demanded Tom good-humoredly.

Now that he was put to it, Dave had to confess that he didn't know.

"Let's make a swift, thorough search all around here, and see if we can find any footprints not made by ourselves," Dave suggested rather weakly, at last.

This was done, and faithfully, for, now that they were out in the sunlight again, the interest in the mystery began to return. It grew stronger as they searched. At last, however, after more than an hour of fruitless effort that offered not an atom of promise, even Darry was willing to give it up for the time, at any rate.

"Let's keep on walking along the slope, then," Dick suggested, "until we come in sight of the canoe."

As they walked along they came to a brook that, at this point, was nearly the width of a creek. The water ran noisily down over the stones, save here and there where there were deep pools.

"It's narrow enough, at one point below here, to jump over," Dave volunteered.

"Thank you," replied Dick, "but just at present I'm not for jumping over this brook."

"Well, then, what on earth does interest you?" Dan asked. "This isn't the first time you've seen this stream. You passed it down by the lake, though down there it runs more smoothly."

"I know," Dick nodded. "I remember the fallen tree we used for a bridge, and I'm simply ashamed of myself that I didn't think more about this stream at the time—-but my head was then too full of the lake mystery and the chap with the haunting face. But now——-"

"Well?" demanded Tom impatiently.

"Reade, old fellow," Dick answered solemnly, turning back from peering at one of the quiet pools in the creek, "you're a wonder at black bass fishing, no doubt. My tastes ran to another form of sport. Mr. Morton taught me trout fishing; he lent me his tackle before we started, and I have it over at the camp now. Fellows, I believe, from the looks of things, that this stream is well stocked with trout. At all events, I mean to have a try at it."

"To-morrow?" asked Dave.

"No, siree! This afternoon——just as soon as possible! A little while ago we were talking about ferrying ice over to the camp. Instead, we'll ferry the camp over here, and keep the cave just as it is for our ice-house. Do you fellows know that brook trout make the most delicious eating to be had when the cook knows his business? I do, for Mr. Morton has cooked trout for me in the woods. Besides, brook trout are growing scarce these days. If we can make a good haul, we can get a pretty big price per pound for them! We have ice, now, and we could carry a lot of trout to market on our push cart, on top of enough ice to keep them. Come on! Back to camp! We'll shift it to this side of the lake at once. This crowd can't do better than to work out this trout stream. I know the trout are there! I can smell 'em! Tom, I've got an important job for you!"



CHAPTER XIX

MORE MYSTERY IN THE AIR

It was nearly dark, after an afternoon of hard work for five members of the party, and an afternoon of wonderful sport for Dick Prescott.

A crude raft had been built. That part of the work had been easy, and it was swiftly performed. But three trips with the small raft had been needed to bring over the tent, the supplies, the push cart and everything belonging to the old camp.

Now the new camp stood pitched at a short distance from the cave, but near to the edge of the lake. The tent had been put up in a natural clearing, behind a line of timber, so that the canvas was not visible from the other side of the lake.

At trout fishing Dick had proved himself more than an expert.

Now that darkness was coming, Dick was bending over a low fire, watching a frying pan in which four speckled beauties, well dipped in batter, were sizzling merrily.

"This is the finest food I've ever had," declared Greg Holmes, swallowing another mouthful of trout and leaning back with a contented sigh.

"It certainly is great," agreed Dave Darrin. "Fellows, I've wasted some of my life in the past, for I never before knew the taste of brook trout."

"I tried 'em once," said Reade, "but they didn't taste as fine as these. With trout, I've heard, a tremendous lot depends upon the way they're cooked."

"Of course the cooking has a lot to do with bringing out the full flavor," Dick admitted modestly. "But, Tom, perhaps you hadn't done any hard work before eating trout that time. Exercise brings hunger, and hunger is the best sauce that food can have—-as we all ought to know."

"Exercise?" repeated Tom, with a laugh. "Yes; I've had that this afternoon, all right. You had me guessing when you told me you had such an important job for me. I didn't know, then, that you wanted me to boss the raft building and transporting the camp over here. It was exercise, all right. We ought to have taken an entire day to it."

Dick rose with the frying pan, dropping hot trout on four plates in turn, omitting only Holmes.

"You shall have a trout out of the next serving, Greg," Dick promised.

"I'm not worrying about myself," Greg returned. "But are you going to have anything left for yourself, Dick?"

"I'm not worrying about that, either," laughed Prescott. "It was mighty nice of you fellows to do all the work this afternoon, and leave me to enjoy myself all the time at sport. So the trout belong to you fellows."

"I don't suppose you worked at all, Dick," said Tom quizzically. "Of course whipping up and down a stream in rubber boots, over stones and all sorts of obstacles, isn't anything like work."

"It would be pretty hard work for a fellow who didn't like trout fishing, I suppose," Dick answered. "But, to me, it was only so much glorious sport. Here's your trout, Greg. Who else wants some more?"

"Don't ask foolish questions," chuckled Danny Grin.

But at last the five boys had to admit that they had eaten their fill out of the splendid result of Dick's afternoon of sport. There were still several trout left, all cleaned and ready to be dipped in the batter.

"Now, you sit down at the table, and let us wait on you," urged Greg, going over to Dick.

Dave took hold of one of young Holmes' suspender straps, pulling him back.

"You simpleton," expostulated Darry, "are you going to spoil Dick's reward by letting a chump cook attend to the trout? Dick wants to cook his trout for himself, but we'll do everything else. I'll appoint myself to make the coffee for all hands."

Dick soon had a pan full of trout ready for his own plate. As he seated himself at the table he was fully conscious of how tired and sore he was from the afternoon of whipping up and down stream after these handsome, speckled fish, but he was careful not to admit his fatigue to the others, who, also, were very tired.

Dick had to fry a second pan of trout, eating the last one of the lot he had caught, ere he found his appetite satisfied.

Then, with only the light of a lantern on the table, the boys sat about sipping their coffee and feeling supremely contented with their day of effort and its results.

"There are not so many mosquitoes over here," Tom announced.

"They haven't found us out yet," chuckled Danny Grin. "They will do so, later."

"I'm ready for bed any time the word comes," confessed Harry Hazelton.

"But, see here, fellows," suggested Dave soberly, "we're now right in the enemy's country. That is to say, we're on the same side of the lake with the man of mystery and his companions, if he has any. I don't doubt that resentful eyes have watched the erecting of this camp on its present site."

"Sorry to have hurt anyone's feelings," yawned Tom. "Still, I guess we've as much right here as anyone else."

"But the point is this," Dave went on. "Last night some persons must have crossed the lake in order to annoy us. To-night we're on the same side of the lake with them. We'll be much more accessible to the people who object so strenuously to our presence."

"Where did these unknown people find a boat for crossing the lake?" queried Reade. "We couldn't find one anywhere until the canoe was left at our camp."

"Anyone might have a boat or canoe here, and keep it hidden easily enough when not in use," Dave asserted. "Just as we—-have brought our canoe up here and hidden it in the tent, for instance. Now, we'll all have to admit that we're extremely likely to have unwelcome visitors here to-night? Are we going to keep a guard?"

"It might not be a bad idea to keep someone on watch through the night," Dick suggested.

"I'll stand the first watch trick," proposed Dave. "It need be only an hour long. I'll drink some more coffee, and then walk a while, so as to be sure to keep awake."

"I'll take the second trick," nodded Dick.

The schedule for watch tricks was quickly made up. Then all but Dave hastily sought their cots. Darkness was not an hour old when Dave was the only member of the camp awake. Had the high school boys been less healthy and sturdy their hearty suppers might have summoned the nightmare, but they slept on soundly.

Dick, however, stretched, gaped, then sprang up when Darry called him. Some of the others, when their turns came, did not respond as readily, and had to be dragged from their cots and stood upright before they were thoroughly awake.

It was shortly after one o'clock in the morning when Tom Reade, then on watch, stepped lightly into the tent, passing through the round of the cots, shaking each sleeper in turn.

"Those of you who want to listen to something interesting, get up instantly!" Tom exclaimed in a low voice.

Three boys drowsily rolled over, going immediately back into sound slumber. Dick and Dave, however, got up, pulling on their shoes.

"What's all that racket across the lake?" was Dick's prompt question as he stood in the doorway of the tent.

"That comes from the former camp site," chuckled Tom.

"Guns!" cried Dave Darrin in amazement.

"It sounds like a big fusillade," Dick cried, as he stepped out into the night.

"But surely no one can be trying to attack our camp, thinking we are still there," Tom protested. "We don't know any people who are wicked enough to plan an attack upon our camp."

"No," Dick agreed. "But this much is sure. There are those who dislike us enough to try to spoil our rest night after night."

Dave began to laugh merrily.

"I half believe it's Dodge and Bayliss," he remarked quietly.

"I don't," Reade objected. "Both of them are too lazy to motor up into the wilderness each night, over such rough roads, all the way from Gridley. No, no! It's someone else, though who it is I can't imagine. If it were the man of the lake mystery, or any of his people, they'd be likely to know that we're on this side of the lake."

From the edge of the timber line near by came the sound of a crackling twig, followed by a groan as of a soul in torment.

Wheeling like a flash, Tom Reade produced the pocket flash lamp.

Staring toward the boys, his face outlined between the close-growing trunks of two spruce trees, were the startling features of a man.

"That's he—-the Man of the Haunting Face!" came from Tom Reade in a hoarse whisper.

"Then we'll get him!" cried Dick Prescott, leaping forward. "Hold the light on him!"



CHAPTER XV

THE SCREAM THAT STARTED A RACE

Yet even as the three boys dashed toward the two spruce trees the light went out.

Tom pressed frantically on the spring of the lamp as he ran, but the lamp gave forth a flickering gleam that was little better than no light at all.

The long use of the lamp in the cave had weakened the storage battery.

"Give us the light!" called Dave, as they reached the tree.

"Can't! The battery's on a strike," answered Reade grimly.

Dick Prescott, who was ahead of his companions, now halted, whispering to the others to do the same.

The man they sought had vanished. No betraying sounds came to indicate where he had gone.

"Dave and I'll stay here," whispered Dick. "Tom, run back for a lantern. Hustle!"

Fifteen minutes of eager searching, after the lantern was brought, failed to give any clue to the whereabouts of the man whom they sought.

"This is more ghostly than human," laughed young Prescott.

They felt compelled to give up the search. As they returned to the camp the firing on the opposite side of the lake broke out anew. At the distance, however, it was not loud enough to disturb the other three, who still slept in the tent. Dick flashed the lantern inside to make sure that the sleepers were safe.

At intervals the racket across the lake broke out anew.

"It's my turn to go on watch again," said Darry, glancing at his watch by the light of the lantern. "You two might as well turn in."

"We'll dress and bring our cots out into the open," Dick proposed. "You might as well have us, Dave, where you can get us instantly, and ready for action, by just touching us on the shoulder."

But the night passed, without any further disturbances than the occasional distant firing, and the rousing, every hour, of a new watchman for the camp.

It was past seven in the morning when Dick finally turned out, to find Greg and Harry busy preparing breakfast, while Darrin still slumbered.

"Where are Tom and Dan?" Prescott asked.

"Look through the trees, and presently you'll discover them out in the canoe," answered Greg. "Tom simply couldn't wait any longer to go out after bass."

"I'm going trout fishing, if I can do it without shirking," said Dick, as he rose and stretched.

"And if no one kicks I'm going with you," added Darrin, opening his eyes. "How about it, Greg? Are you and Harry willing to do the camp watch this morning?"

Greg had turned around eagerly, seeing which, Hazelton broke in:

"Go right along with 'em, Holmesy, if they'll take you. There won't be much to do in camp after, the dishes are washed."

"But it's rather a shame to leave you alone," hinted Greg wistfully. He wanted, with all his heart, to see some of the rare sport that Dick had described, but he didn't want to be unfair to anyone.

"I won't be lonesome," protested Hazelton. "We have some good books along, and I can read one of them."

"But what if the camp should be molested?" asked Greg. "You know, there is at least the Man with the Haunting Face, and there may be others."

"Whoever tries to molest this camp will be molested in his turn, I promise you," laughed Harry. "I'm no weakling, so run right along, Holmesy. Even if serious trouble should arise, I have this, you know."

He produced a long-barreled fish horn that he had used in celebrating the night before the Fourth of July.

"Two or three loud blasts on this bugle would carry a long way, and you fellows would know what I wanted," finished Hazelton.

"All right, then, I'll go," said Greg, his face beaming.

"We've trout flies in plenty, you know," Dick went on, "but we've only two poles that are suited to trouting, so we'll have to take turns."

"You may keep one pole all the time. Dick," suggested Darry. "Greg and I can take turns with the other pole."

"That will hardly be fair to you two," replied Dick, with a shake of his head.

"It wouldn't be fair to the whole crowd to take your pole away from you any part of the time," retorted Greg. "Remember, Dick, you are the expert trout fisherman of the party, and all the fellows want some more trout. We'll never forget those of last night."

Greg and Hazelton now had breakfast ready. It was eaten rather hastily, after which all hands fell to setting things to rights.

"Here, come out of the tent," called Hazelton, as Dick started inside to use a broom there. "You fellows are the providers, and I can do the little housework that's left to do."

So Dick, Dave and Greg brought out their long-legged rubber boots and got into them with little delay. Then there came a sorting of flies, and the rigging of lines and reels. Within a few minutes the three were ready to start out.

As they went up the stream Dick cut and trimmed two crotched sticks on which to string the fish they might catch.

"That looks almost boastful," chuckled Dave. "It looks as though we thought it a cinch that we're going to get a lot of trout."

"It all depends on us," Prescott rejoined. "The brook is simply full of trout, that we can catch if we display the requisite amount of skill. The mystery to me is that this brook has escaped the knowledge of the trout fishermen in Gridley. Not even Mr. Morton ever heard of this stream."

"Well, Mr. Morton can't be expected to know everything," argued Greg. "He's already the most capable sub-master in Gridley High School and the finest coach the Gridley football squad ever had."

"He's also an A No.1 trout fisherman," Dick went on. "Fellows, we mustn't tell everyone about this trout stream, but Mr. Morton is such an all around fine fellow that I think we owe it to him to tell him, when we see him, just how to reach this brook."

"If the real estate men of Gridley knew of this place," laughed Greg, "they'd buy up the ground around here and then sell bungalows at fancy prices to amateur fishermen of means."

"And then the brook would soon cease to be a trout stream," retorted young Prescott. "A large proportion of the trout would be caught within a few days, and the rest of 'em scared away to safer breeding grounds. The only way to keep a trout stream in working order is not to let many people know about it. It sounds selfish, but it's good sportsmanship."

Dick soon halted, eyeing a pool so deep that its bottom could not be seen.

"This looks like a good place to start in," he announced. "I believe I'll go a little way up stream, and then whip down past this pool and below. Now, talk only in whispers, if you can remember, fellows. Trout are shy creatures. Has either of you ever fished for trout before?"

Both Dave and Greg shook their heads.

"Then I think you had better watch me for a while, and catch some of the knack of it," their leader advised. "Notice particularly how I whip. If I get a nibble, then note, particularly, that I don't make an immediate effort to land the trout. I play the line out a bit and let him play with the fly, and beat about and get himself better imbedded on the hook. When I am sure I have him well hooked, then you'll see the peculiar motion with which I bring him out of the water and throw him on the ground. That landing trick is one that you need to get just so. Study it, and develop it. Don't be disappointed if you lose quite a few trout. You will lose them often until you get the hang of the thing."

Some distance above the pool Dick stepped into the water. He walked along slowly, not stirring up much dirt from the bottom. All the time he kept his line behind him, frequently lifting it and whipping it into the water again. The gayly colored flies and the glistening spoon just above the hook flashed in the sunlight every time he made a whipping cast.

Not twenty feet had Dick gone when he felt a sudden, violent tug. With the true patience of the trout fisherman, Dick didn't become at all excited. His hand on the reel, he let the line fly out as the finny captive darted up stream.

Presently Dick played the fish in gently, then suddenly gave it plenty of slack line. These tactics were repeated, while Dave and Greg almost danced in their eagerness.

Suddenly Dick flipped his pole sharply. There was a swish of line in the air. Something speckled and glistening dropped on the ground at least ten feet from the brook, where it lay floundering and gasping.

"Hoo-ray!" yelled Greg, with all his pent-up enthusiasm.

"Do that again, Holmesy, and I'll chase you back into camp," warned Dick, with his patient smile. Then he stepped ashore, took the trout from the line and impaled it on a stick, which he gave Greg to carry.

Within two minutes there was another strike. The same patient tactics, and Dick had another trout—-this time a two-pounder as against about three quarters of a pound for the weight of the first trout.

The third trout got away, despite the most careful handling, but the fourth and fifth biters were soon landed.

"I can't stand this any longer," quivered Dave. "I've got to start in. Where do you want me to go, Dick?"

"Better go about a quarter of a mile upstream," Prescott suggested, "and then work down this way. Greg can go along with you and carry the stick for your string. I'll look out for my own string."

For nearly half an hour Prescott saw nothing of his friends. Then Dave and Greg came in sight. Dick held up a string now numbering eleven trout, some of them unusually large.

For answer Greg held up a crotched stick with not a single trout dangling therefrom.

"There's more knack to this game than I can catch," muttered Darry disconsolately, "but I'd give a good deal to get the knack of it."

"No man save the first trout fisherman of all ever learned without a teacher," Dick assured his chum. "Greg, you take a place farther down the stream, and I'll stay with Dave and try to show him some of the tricks. You may have my pole and line, Greg, for I shall be busy watching Dave."

Many a pull at his line had Darrin, and many a fish was lost ere, under Prescott's patient instruction, he managed to land a trout weighing about a pound.

"Whew!" muttered Dave, mopping his brow. "At this moment I believe I feel prouder than any general who ever captured a city."

"You'll soon have the hang of it, now, Dave," was his chum's encouraging assurance. "Now, I'm going to hunt up Holmesy, and see if I can show him some of the knack."

Greg proved a grateful though not very clever pupil. He was all enthusiasm, but the art of landing a trout appeared to him to be one of the most difficult feats in the world.

"I don't believe I'll ever land enough to fill a frying pan," he said dejectedly. "Dick, the fellows are depending upon you. Take this pole and use it for the next hour."

Later in the forenoon Greg had one small trout on a stick he had cut and trimmed for himself. Dave Darrin looked almost triumphant as he displayed three of the speckled ones. Both stared in envy at Dick's string of thirty-four trout.

"Of course it'll take a few days of patient study of the game to enable you to make big catches," was Dick's consoling assurance.

"I'd put in all summer, if I were sure I could master the trick in the end," said Dave.

Greg said nothing, but felt less resolute about it than Darrin did.

"Why, it's only fifteen minutes before noon," cried Dave, glancing at his watch.

"Then it's high time to be going back," nodded Dick, "in case the fellows are depending upon us for their meal. If Tom has a lot of bass, though, we can store these trout in our new ice box—-the cave."

"And let the Man with the Haunting Face slip in there, after dark, and help himself!" grumbled Darry. "Somehow that idea doesn't make any hit with me."

"Then we'll have to put in the afternoon," proposed Prescott, "in building a log-lined pit in the ground and moving ice from the cave to fill it. Then we can keep our fish supplies right up under our noses in front of the tent."

"That's a little more satisfactory in the way of an idea," nodded Darry.

For the purpose of taking a short cut they soon left the brook, going through a stretch of woods on their way to camp.

Hardly had these high school boys entered the woods when they halted, for an instant, in intense consternation.

On the air there came to them a sudden scream.

"That was a girl's voice!" gasped Greg.

"Or a woman's," nodded Dick. "We've got to——-"

Again a piercing scream, then more screams in two voices.

"Hustle!" finished Dick, as the three boys broke into a run in the direction whence the sound of the voices came to them.



CHAPTER XVI

THE CAMP INVADED AND CAPTURED

Clad in their long fishing boots, none of the boys made anything like his usual speed in running.

Grumbling inwardly at their clumsy gait, all three hurried as fast as they could into the near-by stretch of forest.

There, in a path, they came upon a middle-aged woman accompanied by four girls, all of whom showed signs of unusual alarm.

"Oh, Dave," called Belle Meade, "I'm so glad to see you!"

"You usually are," laughed Darrin, "but I never knew you to make so much noise about it before."

"What's the trouble?" Dick inquired, after a hasty greeting to Mrs. Bentley, Laura Bentley, Belle Meade, Fannie Upham and Margery White, the latter four all Gridley High School girls.

"A man—-he must have been crazy!" replied Laura. Her voice shook slightly, and she was still trembling, though the color was beginning to return to her face.

"Did he offer to molest you?" flared Dick.

"No, indeed!" replied Mrs. Bentley promptly and laughing nervously. "In fact, I think we must have frightened the man, for his desire seemed to be to get away from us as fast as he could."

"But that face!" cried Miss Fanny. "I never want to see it again."

"It must have been our Man of the Haunting Face," murmured Dick, turning to his chums.

"That was he—-just who it was!" declared Belle, with emphasis. "I don't know whom you're talking about, but 'haunting face' just describes the man who frightened us."

"It was so silly of us!" murmured Laura Bentley. "It was clear nonsense for us to be so frightened, but when, we saw that face peering at us from behind a tree we simply couldn't help screaming."

"Are you alone?" demanded Prescott in some astonishment, for these were carefully brought-up girls, and it was not like their parents to let them go into the woods without other guard than that of a chaperon.

At that instant Dick's question was answered by the appearance of Dr. Bentley, who, on account of his weight, panted somewhat as he ran.

"Did—-these—-young men frighten—-you so badly—-that you—-made such a commotion—-and caused me nearly to breathe—-my last in running to—-your aid?" demanded the good doctor gaspingly, his eyes twinkling.

"No, sir; we came, like yourself, when we heard the girls scream," Dick Prescott explained.

Then, amid much talking, and with as many as three people speaking at once, the story was quickly recounted for Dr. Bentley.

"We've seen the fellow before," Dick explained, "but he always fakes alarm and vanishes. We call him our man of mystery—-the Man with the Haunting Face."

"Some poor, simple-minded fellow," suggested Dr. Bentley. "Probably one whose mild mania leads him to prefer to live in the woods, a regular hermit. My dears, I'm surprised that any of you should be so easily startled and make such noisy testimony to your alarm."

"I'm indignant with myself now—-when there are men standing by," laughed Belle. "But I wish you had seen that man's strange face, Doctor."