“An’ jest for the reason that we ain’t got no boat,” snarled Matt. “That’s what comes of my givin’ that canoe to you ’stead of keepin’ it for my own. You hid it where they could find it, but I would have took better care of it. Now, le’s go to camp an’ eat some of the grub that the ole woman helped herself to in Rube’s cabin. Jake, I’ll let you off till to-morrer, an’ I won’t tech you at all if we find the money an’ guns in Bigden’s camp; but if we don’t find ’em I’ll have to do a pap’s dooty by you.”
Jake, glad to have even a short respite, made no reply, but he did some rapid thinking.
Now it so happened that Tom and his cousins were not at home when Matt Coyle and his young allies visited their camp on the following day. They had gone to Indian Lake after their mail. Contrary to their usual custom they all went, each one of the party declaring, with some emphasis, that he was sick and tired of acting as camp-keeper, while his companions were off somewhere enjoying themselves, and wouldn’t do it any more because it was not necessary. They could take their most valuable things with them in their canoes and the rest could be concealed. The result of this arrangement was that when the squatter and his boys found the camp they found nothing else.
This was the day that Joe Wayring and his chums arrived at Indian Lake, and Tom and his friends found them standing on the beach, talking with Mr. Swan, as I have recorded. After exchanging a few common-place remarks with the new-comers, Tom kept on toward the hotel.
“I see Joe has brought his canvas canoe back with him,” observed Tom. “If Matt Coyle knew it how long do you think it would be before he would manage to steal it again?”
“I hope you won’t put him up to it,” said Loren. “You once got yourself into a bad scrape by doing that, and it was more by good luck than good management that you wriggled out of it.”
“I haven’t forgotten it,” replied Tom, with a light laugh. “I assure you that I shall have no more suggestions to make to Matt Coyle; but I do wish he could make things so hot for Wayring and his party that they couldn’t stay here. They haven’t forgotten how to be mean, have they? They wouldn’t tell us where they were going to find trout-fishing, so we will watch and find out for ourselves.”
When Tom’s letters, which came addressed to the care of the Sportsman’s Home, were handed out he found that one of them contained a request for his immediate return to Mount Airy. Some of his New London friends were at his father’s house, and if Tom and his cousins wished to see them they had better come home without delay.
“Well, I’d as soon go to-morrow as next day, for I am tired of life in the woods,” said Tom. “If we had only brought our blankets and provisions along, we could have made a start from here; but as we didn’t do it some one will have to go to camp for them. It won’t be necessary for all to go, so I propose that we draw lots to see who goes and who stays.”
Without waiting to hear from the others on the subject, Tom arranged three sticks of different lengths in his closed hands, saying, as he held them out to Loren,