The oil stove was lighted, and the tea put on to warm, while Dick set out a plate of sandwiches he had made from canned chicken. Then the boys ate and talked.
“That old hermit is sure on our trail,” declared Tom.
“But he doesn’t seem to be as dangerous as the folks made out,” commented Jack.
“I guess he’s just simple-minded, thinking of the treasure in the old mill,” added Bert. “By the way, Tom, when are we going to visit the ruins, and have a try for the buried gold?” and he laughed.
“Oh, we’ll go over there some time,” agreed Tom. “I’d like to pick a day, though, when old Wallace wouldn’t be on hand. I’m not exactly afraid of him, but, from what I can understand, he does own the mill, though not these woods, and if he ordered us off that property we’d have to go.”
“But we can take a chance,” suggested Dick.
“Oh, sure,” came from Tom. “Say, but that old chap must spend all his time wandering about the woods. I wonder where he sleeps when he’s away from the mill?”
“Oh, he probably has plenty of bunks and caves that we never would dream of,” said Jack. “Well, I’m going to turn in,” he added, with a yawn. “If he comes back again kindly tell him, Tom, to wait until morning before doing any more ordering-off.”
Once more the lads sought their cots, to sleep undisturbed until morning. The day was spent in getting their camp more in ship-shape, and getting in a supply of wood for camp fires, and for cooking in case their oil gave out, or the portable stove failed.
In the afternoon they went fishing, and had good luck. Though they kept watch for the hermit, they did not see him. The woods and lake were as deserted as though they were in some country as yet unvisited by man, and there were no evidences that any camping parties had ever visited the region where the boys were.