Provisions were bought, the camping stuff, together with the boat, was loaded upon a heavy wagon, and with good-byes to the Hendersons, the boys started for the depths of the woods. The boat had been hard to get on the wagon, and they knew they would have difficult work launching it, but the wagon-driver and his helper promised to assist.
During the drive through the woods Tom and the others kept a lookout on every side for a possible glimpse of the old man who had searched so long for the mill-treasure, but they did not see him. The scenery became more and more wild, and the road was almost impassable in places.
“Say, this looks like the jumping-off place,” remarked Dick, as they passed through a particularly lonely spot.
“It’s just what we want,” declared Tom. “We’ll do some real camping out here.”
“Yes, I guess no one will bother you,” said the driver. “No one hardly ever goes to Lake Woonset, except maybe a fellow who wants some good fishing now and then. I like it myself, but I haven’t been but twice in the last three years. It sure is lonesome.”
“How much farther to the lake?” asked Dick, after a pause.
“About a mile. You can see it when we get to the top of the next hill, but the road winds around.”
A little later they had a glimpse of a beautiful sheet of water, set in the midst of wooded hills.
“That’s great!” cried Tom, and the others agreed with him.
They drove along the edge of the lake until they came to a place where a spring bubbled out, and Tom exclaimed: