I believe I forgot to tell you that Jim, Arthur Hastings’s little spaniel, was not with the boys this trip. A few days prior to his master’s departure for Indian Lake he managed to get run over by a loaded wagon, and Arthur had left him at home under the doctor’s care. Jim hated the squatter and his kind most cordially, and would certainly have given the alarm the moment they came within scenting distance of the camp.
That night the boys did not sleep a great while at a time. Not an hour passed that I did not see one of them punching up the fire or walking around the shanty with his gun in his hands. But they were not disturbed. Matt Coyle had seen enough of Arthur Hastings and his double-barrel for one while, and if he was anywhere in the neighborhood he did not show himself. When day broke Joe Wayring and his friends did not linger to take a dip in the pond or run races along the beach, but ate a hastily prepared breakfast, packed their camp-baskets, and set out for the lake. They held a straight course for it, but the traveling was so difficult that it was high noon before they got there. The first man they saw was Mr. Swan, who was just pushing away from the landing in front of the Sportsman’s Home. His canoe was loaded, and that proved that he was going somewhere.
“Hallo!” was his cheery greeting. “Did you get lost or run out of grub or what? I did not expect to see you again for two or three weeks.”
“We didn’t get lost, and we’ve lots of grub left,” replied Arthur. “Where have you started for, if it is a fair question?”
“I am going where the rest of the boys are going, or gone; into the woods to find Matt Coyle’s trail and Jake’s,” answered the guide. “If I can’t find but one I’d a little rather have Jake, because there’s a bigger reward offered for him. There are a dozen or fifteen men in the woods now, and there’ll be as many more by this time to-morrow. Them vagabonds can’t run loose any longer, for the boys are in dead earnest now, and have broken up into little parties instead of going in a body. In that way they can cover more ground, and stand a better chance of getting a big slice of the reward. Of course you haven’t seen Coyle lately?”
“Haven’t we, though?” exclaimed Roy. “There’s where you are mistaken. Are you in a very great hurry? Then come ashore and I will tell you a little story.”
The guide smiled as he turned his canoe toward the beach, but before Roy Sheldon had talked to him five minutes the smile gave place to a frown. He listened in the greatest amazement to the boy’s brief and rapid narration of the exciting incidents that had happened at the spring-hole, said “I swan to man!” a good many times, and when Roy ceased speaking sat down on the ground right where he stood, there being no log handy, to think the matter over.
“Well, well! So Matt broke up your fishing picnic and frightened you away from the pond, did he?” said the guide, after a long pause. “I don’t know as I blame you for wanting to get back among folks. I’d be scared too, if some fellers should tie me to a tree and threaten to wallop me.”
“Matt broke up our fishing for the present, but we want you to understand that he didn’t scare us away from the pond,” said Arthur, earnestly. “We are going to Irvington to lodge a complaint against him, and as soon as that has been done we intend to take a hand in hunting him up.”
“You? You boys alone?” exclaimed the guide.