“Well, you chaps were pining for more excitement, and dreading to go back to the humdrum patrolling of the forest, and it looks as though your desire for action was to be gratified,” answered Garry. “One of these letters is from Mother. The other two are from Augusta; that is, one is from the Chief Ranger and the other is enclosed in his message. That one is from a young lady.”
“What young lady would write to you, anyway, and why should she send it through the Ranger?” scoffed Phil.
“It’s from a young lady who lives on the Canadian border. Does that tell you anything?” replied Garry.
“Aha,” shouted Dick, as light broke on him. “Phil, it’s a love letter!”
“Nothing of the sort,” retorted Garry, though he flushed up a bit. “It’s a plea for help.”
This made the others stop their good-natured chaffing of their leader, for it was Garry who was the elected chief of the trio, and they importuned him to hurry up and read the messages.
“First, then, is the one from Ruth, who says that she and her grandfather have received several threatening letters, claiming that all kinds of misfortune will follow them unless they leave their home and get out of that section of the country. Along with her letter is the one from the Chief Ranger, who says that in addition to the threatening letters that have been sent, there are some peculiar doings in the postal way at Hobart, and as we had such success in helping the Customs man, he has recommended that we be sent to Hobart to aid the postal inspector, who is on his way there now. So that’s the story in a nutshell.”
Dick jumped to his feet, all his “resting” forgotten. He seized Phil by the shoulders and did a regular war dance, dragging the protesting Phil, who was of a quieter disposition, around the floor of the office.
“Whe-e-e—, that means a trip back to the border, and all kinds of things may happen there again. Let’s get going; we can pack in a few minutes and get to town in time to catch a late train for Bangor.”
“All right; see how quick we can get packed up. Also, I wish one of you boys would pack up for me; some of my stuff is scattered around the shack; and be sure and pack the radio carefully. I had it out overhauling it this morning. I want to arrange about leaving, and see Art Howells, the new manager, and tell him to try and get some trace of Sandy before we go.”