It was now entirely dark. The car's headlights showed no road ahead—only the closely-cropped grass of a pasture with here and there clumps of brush and weeds. It was a wild enough appearing place, indeed, to have caused older men than these lads to look askance before proceeding further.
"Right ahead here, bub! It's only a shortish piece," the stranger called.
There was nothing for it but to follow or name a reason for not doing so. Tom allowed the machine to creep forward, though Gaines whispered, "We'll be murdered and robbed, that's what we'll be!" It was a real relief to both when Perth's voice came back through the darkness a few seconds later, "Come on up with the car. Here we are, and it's first-class."
Almost immediately the headlights shone upon an open space under some chestnut trees. It was at the foot of a steep rise of ground. Here the small stream crossing the road, just below, formed a deep, narrow pool, clear and cool. Fallen limbs and branches of a giant chestnut long since dead and now dry as tinder, lay here and there, affording the finest sort of firewood. The short, velvety grass beneath the thick foliage of the living trees was like a lawn and in all respects the conditions presented a splendid camp location.
"Ye'll want a fire the first thing," the black-bearded fellow said, and at once collected an armful of the dry wood. "Now ye can peel yer taters an' cook 'em like a ding-dang. Fry yer pork, too! Got a skillet?" said he, as the bright blaze he started flamed up.
And upon being assured that everything needful was at hand, the stranger bade the party good-night and strode away. A minute later his heavy foot-falls upon the light wooden bridge over the ditch were heard. And although by this time the boys were inclined to believe he meant them nothing but kindness, it was a relief to have him out of sight and hearing.
Late as it was, Fred proposed a hearty supper. All were hungry and Gaines and Pickton found the suggestion quite agreeable, the latter making the reservation, however, that he'd "be blamed" if he was going to wash any dishes afterward. The remark was quite like Soapy, all through. Also, much as he sniffed and, in Fred's language, "turned up his nose" at the salt pork, he ate heartily, not to say greedily, of that fare, though the meat and potatoes were scarcely more than half cooked.
Whatever other faults he may have had, Pickton never objected to doing a fair share of work. He fell to at the dish washing while Perth opened up blankets for the night. The campfire was very cheerful, though the gasoline stove of their outfit had been found more convenient for cooking, for all three lads lacked a broad camping experience. So more wood was brought to keep the fire blazing, and in all the odd chores performed, necessary or otherwise, the sum total of Mr. Soapy Games' contribution to the labor was the opening of his own suit case to find a clean shirt he wished to put on in the morning.
Although their supper and a vigorous washing of dusty, dirty hands and faces (which, quite contrary to precedent, followed rather than preceded their repast), had made each member of the Trio more optimistic than they had lately been, they still felt apprehensive concerning the swarthy giant of a fellow on whose land they were. Fred insisted that he meant only kindness, but when asked why the man should want to be more than decently civil to utter strangers, he could only answer, "Good Samaritan!"
All night long Pickton scarcely slept, so doubtful of Mr. Blackbeard's seemingly good intentions was he. Gaines had merely said, "Well, you fellows have got to keep your eyes open. I sleep sound as a bat and would never wake up no matter what happened." Then he had growled a great deal about the quality of his bed until at last he was snoring tremendously.