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. 132
“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.”
“Not when he stops young ladies on the road and catches folks in steel-traps,” answered our hero, with a faint smile.
“Well, that’s right, too,” grumbled the money-lender’s son. “Maybe he ought to be in an asylum.”
“I think he is on this island now,” went on Dave. “His rowboat is here, anyway.”
“Say, I’ll tell you what we can do!” cried Gus. “Take his boat with us! Then he can’t get away, and we can send the authorities over here to get him.”
“That’s an idea, Gus!” cried Dave. “We’ll do it.” 133
“Would that be fair to the man?” asked Nat. “He—er—he might starve to death—or try to swim to shore and get drowned.”
“He can’t starve to death in one night, and I don’t think he’ll drown himself. The authorities can come over here early in the morning and round him up, if he is here.”
“I—er—I don’t think much of your plan,” murmured Nat, and seemed much disturbed.
In about a quarter of an hour the boys reached the island shore, at the spot where Nat’s motor-boat was tied up. They helped him get in and start up the engine. He had been told how they had come to the island.
“If you want to, you can tie your boat fast to the stern and ride back with me,” he said.
“All right, Nat, we’ll do it,” answered Dave. “It is getting rather late and it’s a pretty stiff row to the school.”
The motor-craft was started up and sent along in the direction where the boys had left the Oak Hall rowboat. Their course took them past the spot where the wild man’s boat had been tied up.
“Why, look, it’s gone!” cried Gus, standing up and pointing to the place.
“True enough,” answered our hero. “He 134 must have gone off in it while we were up to the cabin.”
“He can’t be very far away, Dave.”
The boys looked up and down the river, but could catch no trace of the missing rowboat or the wild man. In the meantime, the motor-craft was moving forward, where the other boat had been beached among the bushes.
“That is gone, too!” ejaculated Dave. “He has taken our boat!”
“Oh, do you really think so?” asked Gus. He felt that he was responsible for the craft, as he had taken it from the school boathouse.
“I certainly do think so,” said Dave. “It was a neat trick to play.”
“It’s a wonder he didn’t take the motor-boat, too.”
“Maybe he didn’t know how to run the boat and it was too heavy to start without the engine.”
“I guess you are right!” came suddenly from Nat. “Look here!”
He had stooped down to pick something up from the grating on the motor-boat’s bottom. If was a torn and dirty bandanna handkerchief.
“The wild man’s!” cried Dave. “I remember it.”
“I am glad he didn’t get away with my boat,” returned the money-lender’s son, drawing a deep 135 breath. “I’ll keep this handkerchief to remember him by.”
“Is it marked in any way?” questioned our hero. “Perhaps it has his name or initials on it.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” returned Nat. “Let us hurry up and get back to the school. If we are late, old Haskers will be after us.”
“Go on and run the boat as fast as you please, Nat,” answered Dave. “But I want to look at that handkerchief.”
Rather unwillingly, the money-lender’s son passed the bandanna over. It was now growing so dark that Dave could see but little.
“Wait, I’ll light a match,” suggested Gus, and did so, and by the protected but flickering flare our hero looked the handkerchief over. In one corner there was a faint stamping.
“Looks like ‘Rossmore Sanitarium’ to me,” said Dave, slowly. “Or it may be ‘Bossmore’ or ‘Crossmore.’ The beginning is too faded to be sure.”
“Bossmore Sanitarium?” queried Nat, and then he became silent and thoughtful. A little later he asked for the bandanna and placed it in his pocket.
The run in the motor-boat to the school dock did not take long. As soon as Nat’s craft was properly housed, Dave and Gus assisted the 136 money-lender’s son up the walk and across the campus.
“I suppose I’ve got to report the loss of the rowboat,” said Gus, ruefully.
“It wasn’t your fault, Gus,” answered Dave. “I’ll go with you to Doctor Clay.”
“I can’t go with my lame foot,” put in Nat, and he hobbled up to his dormitory, eyed by several curious students, who wanted to know how he had gotten hurt.
The boys found the master of Oak Hall getting ready for supper. He looked at them inquiringly as they entered his study, in answer to his invitation.
“Well! well!” he exclaimed, after listening to their story. “This is certainly odd! I trust Poole was not seriously hurt.”
“I think he was more scared than hurt,” answered Dave. “The trap scratched his ankle, that’s all. I am sure it is not sprained or broken.”
“But the rowboat––” put in Gus. “I didn’t mean––”
“Do not worry about that, Plum. It was not your fault. I am glad the wild man did not harm you. I think you got off well. After this you must be careful about how you go out after this remarkable creature.”
The master of the school then asked for more particulars of the occurrence, and said he would 137 notify the town authorities about the loss of the rowboat, and ask that a general hunt take place for the wild man.
“They ought to be able to round him up sooner or later,” he added.
There was considerable excitement in the school when it was learned that the wild man had been heard of again. The boys looked for the strange individual and so did the town authorities and many farmers, but nothing came of the search. Nat was called on to exhibit the bandanna handkerchief and did so. Nobody could make out the first part of the name on it, for the handkerchief showed a small hole where the letters should be.
“That is queer,” said Dave, to Roger and Phil, when he heard of this. “That handkerchief did not have a hole there when I looked at it.”
“Maybe Nat put the hole there,” returned the senator’s son.
“Why would he do that?” questioned Phil.
“So that nobody would know what the name of the sanitarium really was. I believe with Dave that Nat knows the man, or knows about him, and is trying to keep something a secret.”
“Hum! Maybe you are right,” mused the shipowner’s son.
Phil had perfected all his arrangements for his spread at the hotel, and his guests for that 138 occasion had been duly invited and all had accepted the invitation. It had been arranged with Mr. Dale that the boys should drive to the hotel in the school carryall, and Horsehair was to have his supper in town and, later on, bring them home. No secret was made of the affair, for this was not necessary.
“I am only sorry for one thing,” said Phil to Dave. “That is that I can’t have the whole school there. But that would go beyond my purse.”
“Well, you’ll have enough, Phil, to insure a good time,” answered our hero.
The night was clear, with numberless stars glittering in the heavens, when the carryall drove around to the Hall door and the boys piled in. All were in the best of humor, and they left the campus in a burst of song.
“I’ve been saving up for this!” cried Ben. “Haven’t eaten a mouthful for two days!”
“Say, that puts me in mind of a story,” cried Shadow. “Once a poor street-boy was invited to a Sunday-school picnic. The ladies fed him all he could hold and then some. At last, when he couldn’t eat another mouthful, and saw some cake and pie and ice-cream going to waste, what do you suppose he said?”
“Give it up, Shadow.”
“He said, ‘Say, missus, please save it fer me, 139 won’t yer? I won’t eat fer a week, honest, an’ then I’ll come an’ finish it all up fer yer!’”
“Good for the street-boy!”
“Say, Phil, you won’t have to save anything for me! I’ll eat my share right now!”
“I’ve been in training for this feed!”
“Shove the horses along, Horsehair; we don’t want the soup to get cold.”
“I’m a-shovin’ ’em along,” answered the carryall driver. “We’ll git there in plenty o’ time.”
“Say, Phil, as far as I am concerned, you can have this affair pulled off once a month,” remarked Buster.
“Make it once a week,” piped in Chip Macklin. And then Luke Watson commenced to sing a popular negro ditty and all joined lustily in the chorus.
On and on rattled the carryall until the lights of Oakdale shone in the distance. The boys continued to sing, while one or two blew freely on the tin horns they carried. Here and there somebody would come rushing to a window, or door, to learn what was doing.
“It’s them Oak Hall boys!” cried one old farmer. “My, but they do have high times!”
“So they do,” returned his wife. “But they are good boys,” she added, for some of them had once aided her in capturing a runaway bull.
With a grand flourish the carryall swept around 140 the last corner and came to a halt in front of the hotel. Phil had hoped to see some extra lights lit and was somewhat disappointed to see only the regular lantern burning.
“I told him to light up freely and he said he would,” he whispered to Dave.
“Maybe he thought you meant the dining-room, Phil.”
The students piled out of the carryall and waited for Phil, as host, to lead the way into the hotel. All marched up the steps and into the broad hallway. There they were confronted by the hotel proprietor, who came to meet them in his shirtsleeves. He looked completely bewildered.
“Well, we are here for that supper, Mr. Sparr!” cried Phil. “I hope you are all ready for us!”
The hotel man looked at the boys in amazement. His jaw dropped. Then he gasped out the words:
“Well, I’ll be jiggered!”