“Why you haven’t heard half the story of Lost Lake,” went on Johnson. “There’s supposed to be a sort of wild man who lives on the shores of the lake, and he murders travelers. At least that’s the yarn they tell.”
“Was the hermit always there?” asked Ned.
“No, only the last few years,” replied Johnson. “He is said to be an old man with white hair. But I don’t believe that part. Let me find the lake and the gold, and I won’t worry about hermits.”
The prospector camped with the travelers that night. They were all up early the next morning, and, at the professor’s suggestion the boys gave Johnson plenty of provisions to last him until he could get back to civilization.
“Maybe you would like to go along with us and look for the lake?” suggested Bob.
“No, thank you,” replied Johnson. “I’m afraid your chances of finding it are slimmer than mine are. I’ll have another try all by myself. I’m much obliged for the help you’ve given me.”
Then, shouldering his pack, he started off down the trail, while the travelers, packing their things in the auto, set forward again.
The boys talked about little save the story of Lost Lake, but the professor was too busy arranging his latest specimens to join in the conversation.
“I’d like to find it and see the wild hermit,” said Bob.
“I don’t s’pose you’d care anything about the gold,” put in Ned.