Just then there was a warning toot from the engine attached to the single coach which was to take them over to Upper Chain to connect with the New York express. Woodhull came up to say good-bye. He, with some of the older boys, would remain in camp for the opening of the hunting season. “I shall look for you back next year, Upton,” he said extending his left hand for the Scout grip. “The Delawares need him,” he added, as he shook hands with Mr. Upton.
Then turning to Hal with his winning smile he said, “Hal, if we didn’t have so much regard for Avery the Delawares would certainly annex you too.”
At Upper Chain there was a half hour wait, and the boys started out for a final look at the sawmill village. Suddenly Walter caught sight of a familiar figure. “Jim! Oh, you Jim!” he whooped in delight.
At the sound the big guide turned and his face lighted with pleasure as he strode over to the boys. “I was afraid I was goin’ t’ miss yer, son,” he drawled. “Jest got back from th’ county seat, whar I’ve been t’ see th’ last o’ a friend o’ yourn, leastwise fer some time, I reckon.”
“Red Pete?” exclaimed both boys together.
The guide grinned. “You’ve sure hit th’ right trail,” he said. “Pete’s on his way to whar he won’t hev t’ lock th’ doors t’ keep folks from takin’ a look at his shakedown. He’ll be in a sort o’ permanent camp ’fore sundown—ten years at hard labor. When thet picter o’ yourn, son, was sprung on him he broke down an’ owned up t’ a lot more mischief than jest th’ killin’ o’ th’ King o’ Lonesome. Th’ warden got him thet day o’ the fire on Old Scraggy. When th’ warden an’ deputy got t’ the hanted cabin they found Pete wasn’t ter hum. So they made themselves comfortable an’ waited. Long ’bout four o’clock in th’ afternoon Pete walked right into their arms, an’ didn’t seem none pleased t’ see ’em.
“I hed a suspicion thet Pete knew somethin’ ’bout thet fire on Scraggy, an’ when they charged him with it he owned up thet he hed set it t’ git even with Dr. Merriam fer puttin’ the warden on his trail. I reckon, son, thet if Pete had knowed what thet leetle picter box o’ yourn was goin’ t’ do t’ him he’d ’a’ smashed it plumb t’ pieces th’ mornin’ yer met up with him an’ me over thar in th’ deepo. Well,” he sniffed the sawdust-scented air, “seems t’ me th’ air in these old woods will smell some sweeter now thet he ain’t a-taintin’ it no more.”
When they returned to the railway station they found another familiar face awaiting them. It was Pat Malone. A broad grin overspread his freckled face as they approached. Walter was delighted. He had seen nothing of Pat for the last week, and it was with real regret that he had left Woodcraft without an opportunity to say good-bye.
Pat came forward and rather sheepishly shook hands with Hal. The latter blushed, and then manfully he apologized to the Irish lad for his fault in the fish buying episode of the summer. The other’s eyes twinkled.
“Sure, ’tis more than mesilf has larned how ter shpell honor, Oi be thinkin’,” he said. “Yez can buy no more fish av Pat Malone, but if ye coom in nixt summer ’tis mesilf will show ye where ter catch thim.”