Dave Porter and the Runaways: or, Last Days at Oak Hall

“Nobody down by this bonfire,” remarked Dave. “Say, this is careless work,” he added. “The wind might shift and set the woods on fire.”

“I didn’t think they’d start a fire so far from the others,” answered his chum.

“Let us kick it into the water,” suggested our hero, and this they started to do, when, unexpectedly, a voice hailed them, and they saw a student sitting in a tree that grew in the hedge which separated the campus from the woods.

“Let that fire alone!” the youth called, angrily.

“Why, it’s Nat Poole!” exclaimed Roger, in a low voice. “Whatever is he doing in that tree?”

“I am sure I don’t know,” returned Dave.

“Is he alone?”

“He seems to be.”

“Do you hear what I say?” went on the money-lender’s son. “Leave that fire alone.”

“Did you build it?” asked Dave.

“I did, and I want you to leave it alone.”

“All right, Nat, if you say so,” answered Roger. “We thought it had been abandoned and that it might set fire to the woods.”

To this Nat Poole did not reply. Plainly he was annoyed at being discovered in his present position. Dave and Roger looked around, to see if anybody else was in the vicinity, and then, turning, walked in the direction of the other bonfires.

“What do you make of that, Dave?” asked the senator’s son, presently.

“It looked to me as if Nat was waiting or watching for somebody, Roger.”

“So it did. The question is, Who was it?”

“I don’t know. But I’ve got something of an idea.”

“Some of the students?”

“No. That wild man.”

CHAPTER XII

PLANS FOR A SPREAD

“That wild man?” exclaimed the senator’s son, stopping short to stare at Dave.

“Yes.”

“How do you make that out?”

“Because I think Nat is interested in the fellow, although just how I won’t pretend to say. But you’ll remember how excited he got when he found out that the wild man called himself the King of Sumatra.”

“Oh, I see. You think he knows the fellow and thought that the bonfire might attract him to the place.”

“Yes. I’ve heard it said that crazy folks were sometimes attracted by the sight of fire. Maybe Nat has heard the same and wants to see if it will work in the case of this man.”

“Shall we go back and see what happens?” suggested Roger.

Dave mused for a moment.

“Would it be just right to play the spy, Roger?”

“Well, this isn’t playing the spy in the ordinary sense of the term, Dave. That wild man ought to be locked up.”

“But it may not be the wild man he is looking for.”

“Oh, let us go back a little while, anyway,” urged the senator’s son.

They retraced their steps until within fifty feet of the bonfire and then walked to the shelter of the hedge. They thought they had not been seen, but they were mistaken.

“Humph! so you think you are going to spy on me, after all!” cried a voice, and Nat Poole came towards them, with a deep frown on his face.

“It’s rather queer you are in the tree,” answered Roger, somewhat sharply.

“It’s my affair, not yours, Roger Morr!” roared the money-lender’s son. Then, without another word, he walked to the bonfire, kicked the blazing sticks into the river, and strode off in the direction of the Hall.

“He’s good and mad,” was Roger’s comment.

“And we didn’t learn anything, after all,” added our hero.

Dave and his chum rejoined the merry throng at the other bonfires. But the celebration in honor of the baseball victory was practically at an end, and a little later the students retired, to skylark a little in the dormitories, and then settle down for the night.

A week passed, and Dave stuck to his studies as persistently as ever. During that time he sent off several letters, and received a number in return, including one from Jessie, which he treasured very highly and which he did not show to his chums.

“Here is news of Link Merwell,” said Luke Watson, one day, as he came along with a letter. “It’s from a friend of mine who knows Merwell. He says he saw Link in Quebec, Canada, at one of the little French hotels in the lower town.”

“What was Merwell doing?” questioned Dave, with interest.

“Nothing much, so my friend writes. He says Link was dressed in a blue suit and wore blue glasses, and he thought his hair was dyed.”

“Evidently doing what he could to disguise himself,” was Phil’s comment.

“My friend writes that he saw Merwell only one evening. The next day he was missing. He made inquiries and says he was at the hotel under the name of V. A. Smith, of Albany, New York.”

“He does not dare to travel around under his own name,” remarked Shadow. “Say, that puts me in mind of a story,” he went on, brightening up. “Once a chap changed his name, because–”

“Say, cut it out,” interrupted Phil. “We want to hear about Merwell.”

“There isn’t any more to tell,” said Luke. “My friend tried to find out where he had gone but couldn’t.”

“He must be having a lonely time of it – trying to keep out of the hands of the law,” murmured Dave.

“And maybe he hasn’t much money,” said Buster. “His father may have shut down on him.”

Gus Plum listened to all this conversation without saying a word. But down in his heart the former bully of Oak Hall was glad that he had cut away from Merwell and Jasniff, and turned over a new leaf, and he resolved then and there that, come what might, he would never again turn aside from the path of right and honor.

“Say, why don’t you listen to my story?” pleaded Shadow, and then related a somewhat rambling tale of a man who had changed his name and, later on, lost some property because of it.

Another day slipped by and it was one of particular interest to Dave and Roger, for in the morning they made up the last of the back lessons imposed upon them by Job Haskers. They had done exceedingly well, but the harsh teacher gave them little credit. Phil and Ben had still three days’ work, but Professor Haskers said nothing of this.

“He doesn’t dare,” declared the shipowner’s son.

“That’s right,” chuckled Ben. “We could give him a good black eye before this whole school if we wanted to.”

Dave had already finished up the back lessons for the other teachers, so he was now free to spend his time on what was ahead of him. He was as enthusiastic as ever to make a record for himself, and pitched in with a will, and his enthusiasm was caught by Roger, who also resolved to do his best.

“Whoop! hurrah! What do you think of this?” came from Phil, late one afternoon, after the mail had been distributed. “Somebody hold me down! I guess I’m going to fly! Or maybe I’m only dreaming!” And he began to caper around gayly.

“What is it all about, Phil?” asked Dave. “Hit your funny-bone?”

“Money, boys, money! That’s what it is about,” replied the shipowner’s son. “I’ve got five thousand dollars, all my own!”

“Five thousand dollars!” gasped Buster.

“All your own?” queried Gus Plum.

“Where did you get it?” asked another.

“Why, it’s this way,” answered Phil, when he could calm down a little. “About two years ago a great-uncle of mine died, leaving considerable money. He was interested in various enterprises and his death brought on legal complications and some litigation. He left his money to a lot of heirs, including myself. My father and I never thought we’d get anything – thought the lawyers and courts would swallow it all. But now it seems that it has been settled, and yours truly gets five thousand dollars in cash.”

“When do you get it, Phil, right away?” asked Buster.

“Well, – er – I, of course, don’t get it until I am of age. It’s to go in the bank.”

“Oh!”

“Won’t you get any of it until then?” asked Shadow. “Your dad might let you have a little, just to celebrate–”

“That’s just it – just what he has done!” cried Phil. “I’ve got– But wait,” cried the shipowner’s son, interrupting himself. “I’ll plan this thing out. You shall all be my guests later on,” he added, mysteriously.

“Will you give a spread?” asked Chip Macklin.

“Don’t ask questions, only wait,” returned Phil. And that was all he would say on the point, although he talked freely about his inheritance.

The next morning Phil and Ben were seen in earnest conversation, and that afternoon the two boys left the school as soon as they could get away, bound on an errand to Oakdale.

“We ought to get a dandy spread for a dollar or a dollar and a half a head,” said Phil, as they hurried along. “And twelve at a dollar and a half will be only eighteen dollars.”

“The music will cost something,” said Ben.

“Yes, I’m counting on two pieces, a harp and a violin, for ten dollars. That’s the price Professor Smuller charges.”

The boys were bound for the Oakdale Union House, a new hotel which had just been opened by a man named Jason Sparr. It was a nice resort, without a bar, and catered to the better class of people, including the students at Oak Hall and at the Military Academy.

The boys found the hotel proprietor glad to see them, and willing to set any kind of a spread that they were able to pay for. Trade was not yet brisk, and Jason Sparr said he would do his best to serve them. He was a smooth, oily man, and a fellow who wanted all that was coming to him.

“I can set you an elegant table for eighteen dollars for twelve,” said he. “I’ll give you oysters, fish, two kinds of meat, several vegetables, salad, ice-cream, coffee, and also nuts, cake, olives, celery, and other fixings.”

“That’s the talk!” cried Phil, enthusiastically. “Just make a nice spread of it, and you can have all our trade in the future.”

“You’ll be well pleased,” answered Jason Sparr.

“Can we have a private dining-room?”

“To be sure – the blue room over yonder,” and the hotel man showed the boys the apartment.

“I want some flowers, too,” said Phil. “You can put two dollars’ worth of roses on the table.”

“Very well – that will make an even twenty dollars.”

“When do you want me to pay?”

“Such spreads are usually paid for in advance,” answered Jason Sparr, shrewdly. He did not intend to take any chances with schoolboys.

“All right, here is your money,” answered the shipowner’s son, and brought forth one of the two crisp twenty-dollar bills his father had mailed to him, with the good news of his fortune.

“Tell him about the music,” suggested Ben.

“Oh, yes, I thought I’d have Professor Smuller furnish some music – harp and violin.”

“Fine! They can sit in the alcove, and we’ll put some of our palms around them,” returned Jason Sparr.

“Remember, this is for next Saturday night, seven o’clock sharp,” said Phil.

“I’ve got it down,” returned the hotel proprietor, as he wrote in his book.

“And don’t say anything to anybody about it. I want to surprise my friends.”

“Very well, mum’s the word,” and the hotel man looked very wise and knowing.

Leaving the place, Phil and Ben sought out the home of Professor Smuller, a violinist, who, with a friend who played the harp, often furnished music for dances and other occasions.

“Yes, yes, I can furnish music,” said the violinist. “Just tell me what you want.” Business was slow and he was glad to get any sort of an engagement.

The matter was explained, and the professor promised to be on hand and bring the harpist with him. He said he could play anything the students desired, including the well-known school songs. He would fill the engagement for the boys for eight dollars, although his regular price was ten. But he would have to have cash in advance.

Again Phil paid out his money, and then, the business concluded, he and Ben left the professor’s home and hurried along the road leading to Oak Hall.

“Have you made up your list yet?” asked Ben, when nearing the school.

“Not quite. I’ll have Dave and Roger and Shadow and Buster, of course. I’ll have to leave out some fellows, but that can’t be helped. I can’t afford a spread for the whole school.”

“Of course you can’t.”

“I think I’ll have Luke and Sam, and maybe Gus and Chip.”

As the boys drew closer to the school Ben had to stop to fix his shoe. Both sat down on some rocks, at a turn in the road. They were about to go on again when somebody made the turn of the road, coming from the town. It was Nat Poole.

“Hello! you been to town?” cried Ben, good-naturedly.

“Yes,” answered the money-lender’s son. “Haven’t I a right to go if I want to?” he added, and then hurried on ahead of them.

“Rather peppery,” mused Ben. “Say, Phil, there is one fellow you won’t invite, and I know it.”

“Right you are, Ben,” was the ready answer. “All I ask of Nat Poole is, that he leave me alone.”

But Nat was not to leave Phil alone, as events were quickly to prove.

CHAPTER XIII

THE CABIN ON THE ISLAND

“Dave, come on out for a row. You haven’t been on the river this year.”

It was Gus Plum who spoke. He was out in one of the craft belonging to Oak Hall, and hailed our hero as the latter was strolling along the river-bank.

“All right, Gus!” Dave cried, cheerily. “I don’t know but that a try at the oars will do me good, after the hard studying I’ve been doing.”

“You are bound to get a high-water mark this term, aren’t you?” went on Gus Plum, as he brought the rowboat up to the dock, so that Dave might get in.

“I’d like to graduate with honor, yes.”

“What are you going to do after you leave here, Dave?” went on the big youth, as the two rowed up the river.

“I don’t know yet. Have you made up your mind?”

“Oh, I think I’ll go into business, but I am not sure.”

“You won’t try for college?”

“No. You see, I don’t make much of a fist at learning, so what’s the use? But I love business – buying and selling things.”

The two boys continued at the oars until the vicinity of Oak Hall was left far behind.

“If we only had a power-boat we might run up to Squirrel Island,” remarked Gus.

“Perhaps Nat Poole will lend you his motor-boat,” suggested our hero, with a little grin.

“Humph! I’d not ask him,” returned the big youth, promptly. “I am done with Nat Poole. I want to stick to my new friends.” And the former bully of the school fairly beamed on Dave, who had done so much to make him reform.

“Have you seen the motor-boat this season, Gus?”

“Yes, Nat got it out two days ago. I think he is on the river now.”

The boys rowed on, until they came to a bend where there was something of a cove. As they rounded the point they heard the steady put-put! of a gasoline engine not far off.

“There is Nat’s craft now!” cried our hero, and pointed ahead.

“He’s all alone,” was Plum’s comment. “He can’t have many friends these days, or he’d have some of them along.”

“I’d hate to be without friends, Gus, shouldn’t you?”

“Yes, indeed! But it’s Nat’s own fault. If he’d only drop his important airs and be more sociable, he’d get along all right.”

On and on rowed the two students. It was a clear, balmy day, and they hated to return to the school until it was absolutely necessary.

“Let us row around Smith Island,” suggested our hero, mentioning a small place in the middle of the stream, so named after a farmer who owned it. It was a rocky and somewhat barren spot, and seldom visited by anybody but fishermen.

“All right, but we want to beware of the rocks,” cautioned the big youth.

The rowboat was headed up the stream, and soon they came in sight of the island. On one side were a number of bushes, overhanging the river.

“Hello! look there!” cried Dave, a few minutes later, and pointed to the bushes.

“What do you see?”

“A motor-boat. I think it is Nat Poole’s.”

“Is that so? What brought him here?” questioned Gus, with interest.

“I am sure I don’t know. But it’s his boat, I am sure of that,” went on Dave, after another look at the craft.

“See anything of Nat?”

“No, the boat is empty.”

“Let us row in a little closer and see what he is doing,” suggested Gus.

“He’ll say we were spying on him.”

“Humph! Haven’t we as much right as he has to visit the island?”

“Of course.”

“Then what is the use of keeping away? He may be waiting to play some trick, or something like that.”

“Oh, I think not, Gus. Probably he just visited the island out of curiosity. But I’ll go in if you say so.”

Slowly, so as to avoid the many rocks in that vicinity, the two students brought the rowboat close up to the motor-craft. They looked into the bushes and along the rocks beyond, but saw nothing of Nat.

“Shall we call to him?” asked Gus.

“What for? I don’t want to see him.”

“Neither do I. His boat is tied good and fast. He must expect to stay on the island quite a while.”

The two boys rowed on, past the motor-boat. Then, as they turned a point of rocks, Dave gave a start.

“Well, of all things!”

“What is it, Dave?”

“Look yonder – in between those bushes!”

“Why, it’s a rowboat.”

“Exactly, Gus, and do you see how it is painted, drab with blue stripes?”

“Of course – a pretty ugly boat, I think.”

“Gus, that is the very rowboat used by that wild man – the one he was in when he got away from us that day!”

“Do you really mean it?” gasped the big boy, staring hard at the craft.

“I certainly do – I’d know that boat in a hundred. I never saw another just like it.”

“If that’s the case, maybe the wild man is on the island!”

“Just what I was thinking,” answered Dave. “And I was thinking, too, that–” He stopped short.

“What?”

“Don’t you remember how Nat was so anxious to know all about the wild man? And how upset he seemed to be when he heard that the fellow called himself the King of Sumatra?”

“Yes, I remember that. Do you think he came here to find the man?” demanded Gus, quickly.

“It looks so to me.”

“My gracious, Dave, I think you are right! Say, there is something mysterious about all this!” cried Gus.

“Exactly.”

“Let us go ashore by all means and see what Nat is up to,” urged the big youth.

Dave was more than willing, now that he had discovered the rowboat used by the wild man. Perhaps this island was the home of that mysterious individual. If so, what was the money-lender’s son doing there? Had he business with the strange creature?

“Maybe we’d better not make any noise,” suggested Gus, as the boat was turned in to a convenient landing-place. To this Dave did not reply, but they landed as silently as possible. Then the rowboat was hauled up out of sight between the bushes.

From the craft used by the wild man a rude path ran up from the shore to the rocks beyond. A short distance from the shore the boys saw the marks of a wet foot, coming from the direction where lay the motor-boat.

“That was made by Nat – he got his left foot wet,” said Gus.

“I think so myself,” answered our hero.

They followed the marks left by the wet foot over the rocks. They headed for the upper end of the island, where there was a small grove of straggly cedar trees. Here the marks faded away completely.

“Well, we know he came this way, anyhow,” remarked Gus. “He can’t be very far off, for the island isn’t very big.”

“I see a rude log cabin!” exclaimed Dave, and pointed through the cedars. “Maybe that is where the wild man lives.”

“If it is, we want to go slow, Dave. He may attack us.”

“But what of Nat, if he is there?”

“He may know the man and have some influence over him.”

“I hardly think anybody could have any influence over that man. He is as crazy as can be, and not to be trusted.”

The two youths approached the old log cabin slowly, keeping as much as possible in the shelter of the trees. Nobody was in sight, nor did any sound reach their ears.

Presently the students found themselves within fifty feet of the cabin, the door of which stood half open. Each looked at the other.

“I’m going ahead,” said Dave, resolutely. He and his companion had provided themselves with sticks, and Gus had also picked up two stones.

“Oh! oh! oh!” came of a sudden, to their startled ears. “Oh dear me!”

“It’s Nat!” ejaculated Dave. “Something has happened to him!”

“Maybe the wild man attacked him,” added Gus.

“We’ll soon see,” cried Dave, and started forward on a run.

Soon our hero was at the door of the cabin, which he pushed wide open. Inside all was dark, for it was growing late, and the rude structure boasted of but one small window, stuffed with cedar boughs to keep out the wind.

“Nat, where are you?” cried Dave, as his eyes sought to pierce the semi-darkness.

“Who – who is that calling me?” came, in surprise, from the center of the cabin.

“It is I – Dave Porter! Where are you, and what happened? Where is the wild man?”

“Oh, I’m caught fast – in a trap!” groaned the money-lender’s son. “Oh, help me out! My ankle is almost broken!”

“But the wild man – ?” queried Gus, who was close behind our hero.

“I – I don’t know where he is,” gasped Nat. “Oh, say, won’t you please help me? My ankle is fast in a trap! Oh, how it hurts!”

“Wasn’t the wild man here?” asked Dave, as he got out his match-box to strike a light.

“No – at least, I haven’t seen him.”

Dave soon had a match lit, and with it set fire to a cedar bough placed in the rude fireplace of the cabin. By the glare of this light he and Gus looked around them and at their fellow-student.

The cabin was unfurnished excepting for a rude bench and a board placed on some piles of stones for a table. In the fireplace were a kettle and a frying-pan, and on the table the remains of a scanty meal of crackers, eggs, and apples. A tin pail, half filled with water, was also handy.

When Dave and Gus turned their attention to Nat Poole they had to stare in wonder. Nat sat on the floor, nursing a bruised ankle that was caught fast between the jaws of an old-fashioned steel animal-trap. The trap was chained to the floor, and the release chain ran to a corner of the fireplace, several feet beyond the sufferer’s reach.

“However did this happen?” asked Gus, although he and our hero could easily guess the answer to the question.

“Help me get loose first,” groaned poor Nat. “This thing is sawing down to the bone.”

Dave saw the release chain, which was held firm by a hook. Stepping over, he unhooked it, and then it was an easy matter to pry the jaws of the steel-trap apart. As soon as this was done, Nat rose slowly to his feet, making a wry face as he did so.

“I’ll be lame for life – I know I will!” he groaned. “Oh dear, how it hurts!”

“You take care that you don’t get blood-poisoning from it,” warned Gus. “When you get home wash it well, and put some peroxide of hydrogen, or something like that on it.”

“Blood-poisoning! Oh dear!” and Nat gave another groan.

“Shall we help you back to your boat?” asked Dave.

“If you will.”

“Where is the wild man?” questioned Gus, looking around.

“I don’t know, and I don’t care – just now,” answered Nat Poole.

CHAPTER XIV

THE BANDANNA HANDKERCHIEF

Nat Poole could hardly walk on the injured leg, so Dave and Gus supported him as the three left the rude cabin and headed for the shore of the island.

“Do you know where the wild man is?” repeated Gus, who had not been satisfied by the reply given to the question before.

“I do not,” snapped the money-lender’s son, with a touch of his former tartness. “I haven’t seen him.”

“But you know that cabin is where he lives,” put in our hero.

“I thought so – but I wasn’t sure of it.”

“Did you see him come ashore, Nat?”

“No – that is, not to-day. I saw him land here yesterday.”

“And that is what brought you here to-day?” remarked Gus.

“Yes, if you must know,” was the somewhat cold answer.

“See here, Nat, do you know this wild man?” asked Dave, abruptly.

“Me? Know him? How should I know him?” demanded the money-lender’s son, but his apparent astonishment did not, somehow, ring nor look true.

“That is what I wanted to find out.”

“I don’t know him – at least, I don’t think I do. I’ve never seen him close enough to make sure. Maybe he’s some fellow who belongs around here. I wanted to find out about him – just as everybody else wants to find out, that’s all.”

“Want to have him caught and placed in an asylum?” asked Gus.

“It’s not my business to place him anywhere,” cried Nat, hastily. “For all we know, he may be harmless.”