"Not like that one," said Bluff dismally.
"No doubt Mr. Mabie will lend you a good one while you're here."
"Yes, he's awfully kind, but it wouldn't be that knife," groaned the bereaved Bluff.
"When do you remember seeing it last?" demanded Frank, as a suspicion darted into his brain that was connected with Jerry.
On one of their former camping trips Jerry had professed to entertain a decided antipathy toward a repeating shotgun of modern make that Bluff had bought. He declared that it was a shame for one who called himself a sportsman to handle so destructive a weapon. When a chance came, he hid the gun in a box that held some of their superfluous things. Later, upon trying to find it, in order to give it back, he learned that it
was missing, and Bluff had to go without his gun until the hunt was nearly over, when it was discovered in the woods, where the thief had dropped it.
Frank wondered if Jerry was concerned in the mysterious vanishing of the wonderful hunting-knife. He had laughed at its tremendous proportions and ornate handle. Still, it did not seem reasonable to believe that Jerry would be guilty of a second trick along those same lines.
"I was trying to remember. You know we were showing our things to the girls?"
"Yes, I believe we were," smiled Frank; for he could still see Bluff flourishing his precious knife, sheath and all, for the entertainment of Nellie.
"Well, I can't remember for the life of me seeing it again after that. You know we packed in a big hurry in the morning. I may have laid it aside, intending that it would go in on top, and then overlooked it. Such a fool play, too, when that was the prize of the whole collection!" groaned Bluff.