This thought caused Merry to hesitate. He might bring about an embarrassing state of affairs by visiting her while she was alone at her home on that island in the midst of the border lake. He had seen beyond a doubt that she was possessed by a strong liking for him, and he was determined that nothing he would do should lead her to regard him with greater affection. For all of her outer polish, she was a girl of the woods, and she might openly declare her love. Then, if she were told by Frank that he could never love her in return, her affection might turn to hatred.
But she had promised to aid him in recovering the rifle, and he would go to the island. There was a floating landing, moored to the shore, and alongside this Merry ran the sailboat. He made the boat fast, and then went ashore. A path led up into the woods.
“This leads to her home,” he thought.
He started into the path. The woods were thick on either hand, and the ground was soft beneath his feet. Away in the woods a squirrel chattered. He came upon a partridge that, with a brood of little ones, was crossing the path. The mother bird actually flew at him with great fury when he attempted to capture one of the chickens with his hands. The moment she saw all the little ones had hidden, she fluttered into the woods and disappeared.
Laughing over this adventure, Merriwell went on his way. He chirped to a squirrel that chattered saucily from a limb. The odor of the woods was sweet in his nostrils, and he felt that it was a grand thing to be living in such a beautiful world.
The path gave a sudden turn, and Frank halted with an exclamation.
Before him, standing full in the path, was Enos Dugan, holding a rifle that was leveled straight at the lad’s heart.
“Up with yer hands!” snarled the man, his face showing his terrible rage. “Up with them instanter, or by ther Lord Harry, I’ll shoot ye dead whar ye stand!”
Dugan meant it, and Frank saw he was fairly trapped.
“Up they go,” he laughed, as he lifted them. “I am not anxious to be shot this afternoon.”