Just as Jerry scraped a match, a crunching noise was heard back from the stream. It grew nearer and louder. The boys stopped their occupations, and glanced in the direction of the sound. A moment later the bushes parted and two men emerged.
The foremost was an old acquaintance, Mr. Silas Raikes. His companion was a sinister-looking fellow, with a heavy black beard and mustache. Both were armed with rifles, and a well-packed hand-sled trailed behind them.
“Hullo!” exclaimed Raikes, in a tone of the utmost surprise. “We meet again, my young friends. This is an unexpected pleasure. Not taking a bath on such a morning as this, I hope.”
“Hamp was compelled to take one,” replied Jerry.
He briefly related the stirring events of the past twenty-four hours, beginning with the start from the far side of Moosehead Lake. Meanwhile the fire blazed up merrily, and Hamp got himself into dry clothes and blankets.
“You’ve had a tough time of it, boys!” commented Silas Raikes. “I’m glad to find that you weathered the storm all right. And so you’re bound in our direction? I had no idea you intended traveling to Chesumcook.”
“That’s what we told you the night you were at our camp,” replied Jerry.
“Then I forgot all about it,” admitted Raikes. “You see, I’ve got a bad memory.”
“Are you still prospecting?” asked Brick.
“Not in this weather,” was the reply. “We’re taking a sort of a roundabout way home.”