Tom Fairfield in Camp: or, The Secret of the Old Mill

But it was vain wishing, and there was nothing to do but to walk. Off they started, along the river bank, wondering what they would do that night if they did not get their boat. It would not be long before darkness fell, and with a prospect of no supper, and a night in the woods, it was enough to make anyone gloomy.

Fortunately they were all sturdy lads, with high spirits, and they did not easily give way to despair. It was a time, however, to severely try them.

“Seems to me someone must have moved the lake,” declared Jack, after an hour’s tramp.

“Why so?” asked Tom, with a laugh.

“Because it’s a good deal farther off than it was when we came up.”

“It only seems so,” said Dick. “We’ll soon be there.”

They reached the place where the river flowed into the lake about half an hour later, and their anxious gaze sought the broad expanse for a glimpse of the missing boat.

“Not in sight,” murmured Tom, shading his eyes with his hand, for the rays of the setting sun struck across the surface. “Not a trace of her!”

“Let’s walk along the shore aways,” proposed Bert. “We may see them then.”

“Oh, dear me!” exclaimed Jack. “I don’t believe I can go a step farther – not without a rest, anyhow.”

“Then rest,” said Tom. “I’ll tell you what we’ll do. You stay here, and we’ll go along the shore for a mile or so. If we don’t see ’em, then we’ll come back.”

“You may miss me,” suggested his chum.

“We can’t. We’ve got to follow the lake shore, and we can’t get beyond the river, anyhow.”

“I’ll stay with him,” volunteered Dick. “You and Bert go, Tom.”

Thus it was arranged, and Tom and his chum started off, following the winding shore of the lake, casting their eyes over its lonely surface for a sight of the boat they so much needed. It was an anxious search, and it was not rewarded with success.

“Well, we may as well go back,” suggested Tom, after a bit. “It will soon be too dark to see, and we want to be together when night comes on.”

“That’s right,” assented his companion. “What are we going to do next?”

“Search me,” replied Tom laconically. “We’ll have to rough it, I guess; make some sort of a bunk with tree branches. Or we may find a sort of cave to sleep in.”

“And what about supper?” asked Bert, suggestively.

“We’ll have to take in our belts a few holes, and make our hunger small, as the Indians do.”

They turned back, and soon rejoined Dick and Jack, who were moodily sitting on the shore. One look at the faces of Tom and Bert told the story of their unsuccessful search as plainly as words could have done.

“Well, what about it?” asked Jack. “What are we going to do, Tom?”

“Look for a place to stay over night,” was the prompt answer. “We’ll need shelter, anyhow. Let’s find a good place, and cut some hemlock branches for a lean-to.”

“A cave would be just the cheese,” spoke Dick. “Maybe we can find one if we look.”

“Then we’ve got to get busy,” declared Bert. “It’ll soon be dark.”

Rather at a loss in which direction to start, the boys walked back along the bank of the river. Then, seeing a sort of trail, they followed that.

“Where does it lead to?” asked Jack, as he limped along.

“I don’t know,” answered Tom. “It’s been traveled, I can see that, and it may lead us to some sort of shelter.”

“I wish it would lead us to a restaurant,” murmured Bert.

“Hey, cut out that line of talk!” warned Tom.

It was now so dark that they could hardly see, but the trail was firm under their feet. It led up the hillside that sloped away from the river, and then, turning, followed the stream.

Tom, who was in the lead, as he usually was, came to a sudden stop when they had traversed several hundred feet on the straight path. So unexpectedly did he come to a halt that Dick, who was right behind, collided with him.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. “See a snake, Tom?”

“No, but I see something better. If that isn’t a cave I’m all kinds of a star-gazer. Look!”

They peered through the gathering dusk to where he pointed and beheld a black opening underneath a ledge of rock.

“It’s a cave all right!” cried Jack.

“Go ahead in it,” urged Bert.

“Maybe it’s where that bear hangs out,” suggested Dick.

“Nonsense!” exclaimed Tom. “A bear wouldn’t have a cave so near a main-traveled trail. He’d pick out a more secluded place for a summer residence.”

“Say, you’re getting mighty polite all of a sudden,” declared Jack. “Go ahead inside then, if you think it’s all right, Tom.”

“I didn’t say it was all right, but I’m going to take a chance on it if you fellows will come.”

“Sure,” assented Dick, who had brought his gun – the only one of the campers who had. “We’ll back you up.”

“Then you go ahead,” suggested Tom, “as you have the only weapon. I’ll come behind and light matches, so you can see to shoot if there’s anything there.”

“Pleasant prospect,” murmured the country lad. Still he did not hang back, but advanced cautiously, Tom following him, with ready matchbox.

It was now so dark that the cave looked all the blacker by contrast. Yet no sound came from it, and the boys were practically certain that had it been inhabited, either by human beings or wild beasts, some sign would have been manifested by this time, as they had talked quite loudly.

Into the cave went Dick and Tom, followed by the other two, who had caught up clubs of wood.

“See anything?” called Jack, as Tom struck the first match.

“No, not a thing. Go on in farther, Dick. Ouch!” this last as the match burned down and scorched Tom’s fingers.

“Hurry up with that light!” cried Dick as the darkness became more dense than ever.

“I am,” said Tom, but it was some seconds before he could strike one.

“By Jove! There is something here!” cried Dick. The next moment the report of his gun sounded like a clap of thunder in the cave.

CHAPTER XVIII

BACK IN CAMP

“Did you hit him?”

“What was it?”

“Say, we’d better get out of this!”

Tom, Jack and Bert thus cried in turn. As for Dick he said nothing, and he did nothing, for he could not see to run in the darkness of the cave, and the rush of air, following the shot from his gun, had put out the match Tom was holding up.

“Show a light there,” called the marksman. “I think I plugged him all right.”

Tom struck another match and held it high above his head. Dick stood his ground, and Bert and Jack, who had started to run, came back to the mouth of the cave.

“No, I didn’t get him. I can see his green eyes yet!” shouted Dick. “Here goes for another shot.”

“Hold on!” cried Tom.

“What’s the matter?” asked Dick. “Don’t you want me to hit the beast?”

“I would if there was one there,” spoke Tom, quietly, “but there’s no use wasting powder and lead on a stone wall.”

“A stone wall?” gasped Dick.

“Yes, that’s what you shot at. Look,” and Tom, advancing into the cave, held up a piece of wood he had lighted as a sort of torch, against the rocky wall of the cave. “That was what you thought were the glittering eyes of some animal,” he went on, and he pointed to two shining particles of mica in the rock. They were about the distance apart of an animal’s eyes, and when the match was reflected from them Dick mistook them for the orbs of a bear or some other beast. He had fired on the instant.

“Well, I’ll be jiggered!” gasped the marksman.

“You’d have plugged him if it had been anything,” said Tom, as he held the little torch still closer to the rocky wall. Then they could all see where the shot from Dick’s gun had flattened out between the glittering bits of mica.

“Some shot, that,” complimented Bert, who, with Jack, had entered the cave.

“I should say yes,” added Jack.

“And in the dark, too,” came from Tom. “Well, fellows, we’re here. We’ve got a shelter, and now if we only had something to eat, we’d be all right.”

“That’s so,” agreed Bert, as he and Jack lighted some dry sticks of wood they had picked up on the floor of the cave. The place was now comparatively light.

Dick lowered his gun, which he had been holding in readiness for another shot if necessary, and as the torches blazed up more brightly, he uttered a startled cry.

“What is it?” demanded Tom. “Do you see a bear?”

“No, but I see where there’s been a fire in here,” answered Dick, “and, unless I’m mistaken, there’s something here to eat.”

“Get out!” cried Bert incredulously.

“Don’t raise our hopes,” pleaded Jack. “I’m half starved.”

For answer Dick went farther back into the cave where his companions could see some boxes. Then came a cry of triumph.

“It’s all right fellows!” shouted Dick. “Someone has been camping here, and they’ve left enough stuff so we won’t starve until morning, anyhow. Here’s some canned meat, some crackers, a bit of stale bread, and a coffee pot. There’s coffee too, if my nose is good for anything!”

“Hurray!” yelled Jack. “Hold me, someone, I’m going to faint.”

“Is it real food?” demanded Tom.

“It looks like it,” answered Dick.

“Then, fellows, get in some wood, strip some bark for torches and we’ll make a fire and eat,” suggested Tom. “Is there anything we can get water in, Dick?”

“Yes, here’s a battered pail. It may leak, but I guess it will hold enough for coffee. And there are some tin cups, too.”

“Good! Bert, you get some water. We passed a spring just before we found this cave. See if you can locate it. Jack, you and Dick sort this stuff out, and I’ll get wood for the fire.”

Thus Tom soon had his little force busily employed. From the depths of despair they had been transported to delight in a short time.

A quick survey showed that the cave had been used by campers, and that within a day or two. There was enough canned meat and crackers left for at least two meals, and with the coffee, a supply of which, already ground, Dick found in a can, and with some condensed milk, the boys knew they would not starve.

“This is great luck!” exclaimed Tom, as Bert came back with the pail of water.

“It sure is,” assented Jack. “I wonder who has been here?”

“I shouldn’t wonder but what Sam and Nick were,” replied Tom.

“What makes you think so?” they asked him.

“Because there are two cups, two knives and two forks, and two tin plates. That shows two fellows were here, and Sam and Nick are the most likely ones I can think of.”

“Could this have been their main camp?” asked Dick.

“I hardly think so,” replied Tom. “I believe they just found this cave – or maybe Mr. Skeel did – and they may have made this a stopping place just to be nearer the old mill.”

“Or maybe they have been searching for the treasure in here,” suggested Jack.

“It’s possible,” admitted Tom. “Well, anyhow, let’s see what sort of a meal we can get, and then for a rest. I’m dead tired.”

It was a very primitive supper that they managed to cook over a fire built in the cave. There was a natural ventilation to the place, so the smoke did not annoy them much. They warmed some canned roast beef in a battered skillet, opening the can with a jackknife.

Coffee they made in the dented pot, and then they had to take turns eating, as there were only enough table utensils for two at a time. The table was a box in which the stuff had evidently been brought to the cave.

“Oh, but I feel better now!” exclaimed Jack, with a contented sigh, when supper was over.

“So do I, and I’ll feel better still when I find my boat,” came from Tom.

“We’ll have another hunt for her in the morning,” suggested Bert.

“And we may have good luck,” added Dick. “I think the finding of this cave and the food means that our luck will take a turn.”

“It needs to,” said Tom grimly.

For beds they cut spruce and hemlock boughs, spreading them out on the floor of the cave, and, though it was not like their comfortable cots, they slept fairly well, not being disturbed. After a breakfast, on what was left from the previous night, they held a conference.

“What’s best to do?” asked Tom. “I don’t want to always be giving orders.”

“Sure, you’re the camp-captain,” declared Jack. “We’ll listen to you. I should think you’d have to find the boat first, before we can do anything else. We can’t swim back to our camp, that’s certain.”

“Well, if that’s the general opinion, we’ll have another try for the boat, walking along the lake shore,” agreed Tom.

They set out, and retraced their route of the previous day, coming finally to the lake. As the place where the river entered was quite broad it was out of the question to swim it, or, rather, they did not like to risk it, in such unknown waters.

So they followed the lake shore for a considerable distance farther than Tom and Bert had gone the previous evening. They climbed a high hill, that gave a good view of the lake, but, strain their eyes as they could, they had no glimpse of the Tag.

“They’ve either got her well hidden, or else they have sunk her,” was Tom’s despairing comment.

“Oh, maybe we’ll find her,” said Jack, more cheerfully.

“Say, I’ve just thought of something!” exclaimed Bert.

“What is it?” his chums asked him in a chorus.

“It’s this! That old hermit must have some sort of a boat. He never could get on the other side of the lake, where we are camped, and over here again as quickly as he does without crossing in a boat. I believe he must have some sort of a craft hidden in the river near the mill.”

Silence followed Bert’s advancement of his theory, and then Tom exclaimed:

“By Jove! old man, I believe you’re right. Why didn’t we think of that before? Of course he has a boat! He never could get around the way he does if he didn’t have. And it’s up to us to find it. Come on back. We’ll walk along the river bank until we get to the mill. Then we’ll look for the boat.”

Buoyed up by new hope, they started back, and, proceeding cautiously, they soon were below, and opposite, the ancient mill.

“It’ll be on this side,” decided Tom, “and probably hidden under some bushes. Look carefully, and don’t make much noise. We don’t want old Wallace to chase us again.”

The river was far enough below the old mill so that ordinary sounds made at the stream could not be heard at the structure. But still the boys were cautious. They kept a sharp lookout, too, for any sign of the old hermit.

Up and down the bank they went, peering under bushes, and in little coves formed by water eddies. Suddenly Jack cried out:

“Here it is, fellows! An old tub, but it’s got oars, and we can row to camp in it.”

They ran to where he stood beside an old skiff. It looked to be leaky and unsafe, but it was a boat, and they would have almost welcomed a wash-tub in their plight.

“Quick!” exclaimed Tom. “I think I hear someone coming. Get in and shove off.”

They lost no time in embarking, and, when they were afloat on the river, they found that the craft was better than she looked.

“I guess we can get to camp in this,” said Tom with a sigh of relief. “And, on our way, we may see the Tag.”

“If we’re not caught before we get into the lake,” spoke Jack grimly.

Apprehensively they looked in the direction of the old mill. All they heard was the rustle of the wind in the trees. The place seemed silent and deserted.

“Say, things are happening all right!” exclaimed Dick. “I never imagined camping was so exciting.”

“Oh, things generally happen where Tom Fairfield is,” remarked Jack, with a laugh.

Dick was at the oars, and rowed rapidly down stream, being aided by the current. In a short time they were far enough below the mill to make it practically impossible for the old hermit to catch them.

“Unless he has our motorboat,” put in Bert.

“In that case I’ll let him capture us, and then I’ll take the Tag away from him,” said Tom firmly.

Out on the lake they floated. It was a bit rough, but the skiff was a broad and heavy one, and made a good sea boat. They took turns rowing, meanwhile keeping a watch for Tom’s craft, but they did not see her.

“You don’t appreciate a motorboat untill you have to row!” exclaimed our hero, as Bert relieved him at the oars.

“Oh, well, we’ll soon be in camp,” consoled Dick, and an hour later they were opposite their tents.

“Everything seems all right,” said Tom, with an air of relief. “Now to see if we’ve had any visitors.”

CHAPTER XIX

STRANGE DISAPPEARANCES

The boys found their camp undisturbed, save for the visit of some small animal that had tried to carry off a tough paper bag filled with some small groceries.

“The bacon’s all right this time,” commented Tom. “I guess we got the lynx that was taking it.”

“And now for a square meal!” exclaimed Bert. “I’m nearly starved. Hustle, boys, and get some grub on to cook. Or, even if it’s cold, it doesn’t matter.”

“Hustle yourself!” exclaimed Jack. “Everyone for himself, I’m going to open a can of chicken and make some sandwiches.”

“Sardines for mine,” commented Tom.

They had no bread, for their supply was gone, and the teamster from Wilden, whom they had engaged to bring in supplies, was not due until the next day. However, they made out very well with crackers, and ate, so Tom said, as much as if it had been a regular meal, instead of a lunch.

“But we’ll have a regular supper,” declared Dick.

“Will you cook it?” they asked him.

“I sure will,” he answered, “though it isn’t my turn.”

The edge taken off their appetites, they sat at ease about the camp, and talked of their adventure. Drawn up on shore was the skiff they had confiscated from the hermit.

“I wonder if he’ll make much of a row when he finds it gone?” mused Jack.

“What if he does?” asked Tom. “Either he took our boat, or some of his friends did – meaning Skeel or the two lads with him – so it’s only turn about if we took his craft. We had to get back to camp; didn’t we?”

“Sure we did, and if he says anything we’ll tell him so,” came from Bert. “How are you coming on with that supper, Dick?”

“Oh, I’ll start it pretty soon,” and, after some further talk the country lad began. He rummaged among the stores and soon an appetizing odor came from the kitchen tent.

“That smells great!” exclaimed Jack.

“Some kind of soup, anyhow,” declared Bert.

“And he’s frying something,” added Tom. “You just let Dick alone and he’ll get up a meal. He’s a natural cook.”

And the meal to which Dick called his chums a little later was certainly a good one – for boys out camping. There was a canned soup to start with, and then fried chicken.

“Fried chicken – think of that!” cried Tom. “Talk about being swell!”

“It’s only canned chicken, fried in butter, and seasoned a bit,” explained Dick modestly. “I opened some canned corn to go with it. Have some?”

“Sure!” there came a chorus, and three plates were quickly passed toward the amateur cook.

“One at a time,” he begged. “I’ve got some – ”

He paused for a moment and then cried:

“The potatoes! They’re burning! I forgot ’em!”

He made a rush for the cooking tent, ignoring the out-stretched plates, and the others became aware of a scorching odor.

“Wow! but that’s mean!” exclaimed Dick ruefully, as he came back wiping the perspiration from his face. “They’re burned to nothing. The water all boiled off ’em. And they were sweets, too, the only ones we brought along,” he added.

“Never mind,” consoled Tom. “We’ve got enough to eat without ’em.”

“Sure,” agreed the others. They finished off the meal with crackers and a jar of jam, with coffee on the side.

“Some better than what we had in the cave,” commented Bert, passing his cup for a second helping.

“Oh, but that tasted good all right!” declared Jack gratefully.

“I wonder what Sam and Nick will say when they find their stuff gone from the cave?” asked Dick.

“Do you think it was theirs, Tom?” asked Bert.

“I certainly do. I’d say it was Skeel’s, only there was stuff for two campers. Besides, I don’t believe he’d rough it in that fashion. But I sure would like to see Sam and Nick now – not that I have any love for ’em – but I want my boat.”

After spending the evening talking about the events of the past two days, and taking another look at the plan of the old mill, the lads turned in. They slept soundly, for they were very tired.

“Well, what’s the programme for the day?” asked Jack of Tom, following a bountiful breakfast, for which Bert made pancakes from prepared flour, and served them with bottled maple syrup.

“We’ll have another hunt for the boat,” decided Tom. “I’ll take a few more cakes, cook,” he added, passing his plate to Bert.

“You will – not!” ejaculated the maker of them. “I want some myself. You’ve had ten at least, and if you think it’s any fun making griddle cakes in a frying pan, you just try it yourself.”

“Just give me one,” pleaded Tom, and he got it.

“Say, if we go out in the boat we may miss that teamster who is to bring our stuff,” suggested Jack. “And I’d like to send a letter or two back by him, to be mailed.”

“That’s right – so would I,” agreed Tom. “We’ll wait until he shows up before going out on the hunt.”

So they spent the morning writing letters. The teamster arrived about noon, with some food and supplies for them. He stayed to dinner, and declared it was one of the best he had eaten.

“Folks back in Wilden would have it that the hermit had made away with you,” he said.

“Not yet, though he got our boat, or somebody has,” said Tom.

“Pshaw! That’s too bad. I hope you get it back. Well, I guess I’ll be going. Will you be breaking up camp soon?”

“Not until we solve the mystery of the mill,” declared Tom firmly.

“Oh shucks! Then you’ll be here all winter,” declared the man, with a laugh. “There’s no mystery of that mill except what old Wallace makes himself. He’s a little cracked in his upper story, I think.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” admitted Tom. “But, all the same, I think there’s something in it, after all, and we’re going to have another try at it, some day.”

They went rowing out on the lake after the teamster had left, taking their letters with him. It was small pleasure in the heavy skiff they had confiscated, but they were not out for pleasure just then – they were looking for the motorboat.

They covered several miles of lake shore, but saw no sign of the Tag, and only gave up when it was evident that they would not get back to camp before dark unless they hurried.

The next day the search was just as unsuccessful, and for several more they kept up the hunt. They saw no sign of either Mr. Skeel, the two cronies, or the hermit.

“Well, I give up,” remarked Tom, despondently, one afternoon. “I don’t believe we’ll ever get that boat back.”

“It does begin to look a little dubious,” remarked Jack. “Still, luck may turn at the last minute. Where you going?” he asked, as he saw his chum start toward the forest back of the camp.

“Oh, just to take a walk. Anybody want to come?”

“Not for mine,” answered Jack. “I’m just going to be lazy until supper time.”

“Same here,” added Dick.

“You won’t get any supper for two hours at least,” declared Bert, who was filling the position of cook.

“Well, I’m going to take a walk and do some thinking,” said Tom. “See you later.”

He strolled away, and the beauty of the woods on that perfect summer day must have lured him farther than he thought. He was thinking of many things, of the mystery of the old mill, of the disappearance of his boat, and their life in camp.

“Guess it’s time I started back!” he exclaimed about two hours later as he noticed the shadows lengthening. “I wish I could think of some solution of that old plan-drawing,” he murmured.

Even though he hurried he did not reach the camp until darkness had almost set in. As he approached the place a strange silence about the tents seemed to smite him like a blow. In spite of himself he felt a fear.

“Hello, boys!” he called. “I’m back. Where are you?”

There was no answer. He looked all around. There was not a sign of his chums. The old boat was drawn up on shore, showing that they were not out in that. They could hardly be off in the woods at this hour.

He hurried to the cook tent. Preparations for supper had been under way, but that was all. Some of the pots and pans had been knocked to the ground. The place was in some confusion, but that was natural. Of Tom’s chums there was not a trace. They had mysteriously disappeared!