“Until when?” asked his mother.
“Until we locate it,” finished Bart. “Well, fellows, let’s talk of a winter camp. Maybe we can manage it around the holidays. We don’t get much of a vacation, but I guess we could afford to take an extra week.”
“Is your gun in shape again, since you broke it?” asked Ned.
“Sure. I fixed that spring,” replied Bart. “I’ll show you. Come on up to my den. I’m not allowed to have firearms in the dining-room,” and he led the way, his chums following. From then on, until the three left, the talk was a conglomeration of powder, shot, shells, guns, game and camp-life.
The weeks passed. Little mention was made of the bracelet now, but Mr. Long showed by his manner that he had not forgotten the loss of it. He was not exactly distrustful of the boys, but his bearing was, to say the least, a bit suspicious.
One evening, following an examination in school, Bart remarked to his chums, as they gathered at his house:
“Come on down to the shooting gallery. They’ve got some new guns there, and I want to try them. It’s good practice if we’re going camping. Besides, I’m full of Latin verbs and Greek roots, and I want to clear my mind.”
“You don’t need any practice,” remarked Ned. “You can beat us all to pieces shooting.”
“I have to keep in practice, though,” asserted Bart, who, to give him credit, was quite expert with the rifle.
A little later the four were in the gallery, trying their skill with the new rifles which the proprietor had purchased.