“Probably somebody has got a camp over on the lake-shore,” guessed Beals.
For half an hour the boys followed the grass-grown track, noting frequent evidence of its use by some vehicle, but as the country grew more open, these marks became fewer and finally ceased altogether when they reached the hard stony ground bordering the lake. The old road ended in what had once been a pasture, barely a hundred yards from the Coleson house, and the boys halted at the edge of the clearing to reconnoitre.
“We can’t be sure whether the car that came through this old road kept straight ahead to the house or swung into the traveled road outside the gate,” commented Dick, who was searching the hard-baked ground for a possible wheel mark.
“Unless the ground happened to be wet, a car or even a loaded truck wouldn’t leave a mark on this hardpan,” agreed Ned. “Let’s see if we can find any tracks on that stretch of sand between the house and the lake.”
Approaching the rear of the building, the boys scanned every foot of the sandy area which ended at the water’s edge. Not a single clue of any kind rewarded their search.
“There’s the range pole that helped to locate the sunken end of the mine when they were dredging it,” remarked Dick, and picking up a stone he threw it accurately at a long stake which stood at the water’s edge. “You remember, Ned, how the big dredge used to get itself into line with that stake and a white mark on the chimney of the house and then dig up the copper ore in bucketfuls,” and Dick hit the stake squarely with another stone.
“It’s funny how solid that stake is in the ground,” observed Ned as he noted the slight effect of Dick’s bombardment. “You’d think after last winter’s storms it would have loosened up or been knocked out entirely,” and Ned walked down for a closer look at the old range mark.
Dick and Tommy followed at a leisurely pace, which quickened at Ned’s exclamation of surprise. As they reached his side they saw the cause of his astonishment. The tall stake had been reset in the earth and its face, as seen from the lake side, bore a recently applied coat of white paint. For a moment they stared in wonder; then, as if in obedience to a common impulse, their eyes turned toward the house. Upon its broad chimney was a newly painted mark of gleaming white.
“Well, I’ll be jiggered!” cried Dick. “Now what does this mean? Are they going to start dredging again?”
“Suppose they do? It won’t bother us, will it?” demanded Beals.