“It’s not impossible,” said Brent in his leisurely way. “Why don’t you two go up the mountain, exploring?”
“Of course,” snapped Tom.
“I’ll do something before we do that,” I said. And spurred to action by our talk, I stepped over to the table, lighted the lamp, and pulling a sheet of paper out of my portfolio wrote:
Leatherstocking Training Camp,
P. O. address Harkness, Clinton Co.,
New York.
My dear Mrs. Northrop:
A letter sent by you to your son, and misdirected, has lately been received at this address. The envelope was much damaged and its contents falling out, so the letter was read by those in charge here. It is hoped that by this time your boy has returned to you, or that you know of his whereabouts.
Mr. McClintick and his son, the former owners here, are both dead and camp has changed hands. If you have not yet heard from your boy it might be worth while to write and tell us something of the circumstances of his coming here as it is barely possible that some trace of him may be obtained in that way.
A stranger, unseen by those in charge here, has lately visited the camp secretly. It has occurred to us that this might possibly be your son. We are curious to know if he had a scar on his foot, and if you could inform us as to this, it might possibly identify this as yet unknown visitor.
The management here hopes that you will not count on any further information from this source, but if it is possible for us to assist you in your search we shall be only too glad to do so.
In answering, please address your envelope the same as the heading of this letter.
I read this intentionally simple missive aloud to Tom and Brent for their approval and Tom signed it as Camp Manager. Brent suggested that we send two copies, one to the mother, the other to the Mrs. Boardman mentioned in her letter. We assumed that Coover’s Falls was a small place. But if it chanced to be a town of considerable population perhaps one letter would be received if the other was not. We had no initials to prefix to the name on either letter. Brent suggested that if Peter Northrop’s mother had married a second time, her name would not be Northrop.
There is something positively uncanny in the way that Brent thinks of things. He never forgets or neglects anything.
CHAPTER XVII—BAFFLED
We had chopped down a number of trees to open a better wagon trail to camp and the stumps of these stood at intervals along this improved approach. Tom had hit on the idea of using some off-length strips of board for rustic seats along this connecting trail between the camp and the public road. Wherever two wayside stumps were near enough together a board was nailed across them with another board as a rough back. Charlie Rivers was doing this work.
Never at a loss for ideas where camping is concerned, Tom had conceived the notion of naming these seats after scout notables and heroes, and Heinie Sheffler, our artist, was decorating the backs of the seats with such designations as TEMPLE REST, DAN BEARD REST, GOOD TURN REST, and so on.
On the morning after our talk in the lodge, Tom drove into Harkness to mail the letters and I strolled along the wagon trail where Heinie and Charlie were working. I thought the opportunity was good to speak with Rivers. I came upon Heinie first squatted on a box before one of the benches, brush in hand, and presenting a ludicrous spectacle of an artist.