CHAPTER XXIII
AT THE CAMP
At last the train came that was to take our hero to the railroad station of Camptown Falls. It was merely a flag station, but the conductor said he would stop there for any passenger who might wish to get off. The railroad was a single-track affair, running through the woods and across the country stretches, and the train consisted of one passenger car and several freights.
Dave looked at the passengers and counted them. There were just an even dozen, and of these, ten were men, farmers and those in the lumber business. One, a bright young fellow, sat near our hero, and Dave resolved to ask him if he knew anything about Camptown Falls and the summer camps in that vicinity.
“Yes, I know all about the Falls,” said the young lumberman. “I work not over three miles from there—at Cropley’s—the station this side of Camptown. There ain’t any town, not since the Jewell Lumber Company busted up. Some folks camp out there, down along the river and 221 on Moosetail Island, but there aren’t near as many as there used to be.”
“Somebody said the dam above Camptown Falls was dangerous?” said Dave.
“I think it is myself, and I can’t understand how they allow folks to camp along the river and on that island. If that dam ever broke it would be good-by to anybody on the island, I’m thinking.”
“Have you been up to the island lately?”
“I was there about a week ago.”