I wondered which one that was, and found out when Arthur Hastings began taking his rod from its case. It was a beautiful rod, and looked strong enough to handle any fish that was likely to be encountered in that country; but the second joint was broken close to the ferrule. I looked pityingly at him, little dreaming that I was destined to go home in the same crippled condition.
“I don’t believe that any bass that ever wiggled a fin could break that rod,” said Arthur, dolefully. “Matt or some of his vagabond band must have caught the hook into a log or the stem of a lily-pad. Well, it isn’t as bad as it might be, but I hate to think that that squatter has made some money out of me.”
While the boys were waiting for the guide who had promised to come down and look at the skiff, they talked of their interview with the landlord of the Sportsman’s Home, and in that way I came to know just what happened when they went up to see the rods he had purchased of Jake Coyle. Of course they recognized them at once, and promptly handed over the money that Mr. Hanson had paid for their property, but said nothing about paying for the rods that belonged to Tom Bigden and his cousins.
“Hadn’t you better take them all?” asked the landlord. “You say that the boys from whom these rods were stolen live in Mount Airy, and perhaps they would be grateful to you for returning them.”
“I think we’d better not have any thing to do with them,” said Arthur. “But we’ll forward them a dispatch and let them send or come after the rods. They’ve nothing else to do.”
There was telegraphic communication between Indian Lake and Mount Airy, by the way of New London, and Arthur wrote and sent off the dispatch before he left the hotel. If he and his chums had been able to look far enough into the future to see every thing that was to result from this simple act, they would have been greatly astonished. I know I was when I heard the full particulars.
In a few minutes the expected guide came down to the beach and gave the skiff a careful examination. After he had stripped off the canvas and bark, so that he could see the full extent of her injuries, he remarked that Matt’s scow must have hit her a middling heavy crack.
“I should say she did,” replied Joe, with a laugh. “When three strong fellows do their level best with paddles, they can make a small boat get through the water with considerable speed. They hit us hard enough to knock Arthur overboard. Who are those men, and where are they going in such haste?” he continued, directing the guide’s attention to a company of guests and boatmen who were walking rapidly toward the beach.
“Two of them are the gentlemen whose camps were robbed the other day,” replied the guide, after he had taken a glance at the party. “They’ve got some friends to help them, and are going out to see if they can track down them varmints who have been kicking up so much fuss about here of late. There comes Swan. He’s going with them, but they might as well stay at home, the whole of them. That Matt Coyle can cover up his trail like an Injun. It took every guide in the country to hunt him down the last time we drove him away from here.”
“You missed it by not putting him in jail,” said Roy.