“It was, indeed, a most marvelous escape,” said the stranger. “Had this brave lad been drowned, I should have put the blame upon myself. It was to save me from the catamount that you lads ventured out on the lake.”
“I only wish we had killed the brute,” grumbled Jerry.
“Yes, it is unfortunate that he got away,” admitted the stranger. “But I forget that I have not yet introduced myself. I hope you will overlook my carelessness. My name is Silas Raikes, and I hail from Portland, Maine. I am camping a mile or two from here with a friend. His name is Joe Bogle, and he belongs in Augusta. We are out on a little prospecting expedition.”
The boys nodded.
“Some hours ago we were attacked by wolves, but managed to drive them off. When we heard shots a little later, we knew that there must be other campers near by, and that they were in peril. So I left Joe to guard camp, and came to your assistance. But, as it so happened, the tables were turned, and I was the one to need help. My rifle was useless from a fall in the snow, and the catamount very nearly captured me.”
“Then we are square all round,” said Brick, laughingly. “We’re much obliged to you for your good intentions, all the same. If you had come a little sooner, you would have seen some lively times.”
He went on to describe in a graphic manner the thrilling events of the night. Mr. Raikes took a keen interest in the tale, and overwhelmed the boys with praise.
“I should be glad to know such brave lads more intimately,” he said. “Let me see. Have I forgotten your names already?”
“I guess you never knew them,” replied Hamp, with outspoken candor. “My name is Foster, and over there is Jerry Brenton. We are both from Bangor. This fellow is Brick Larkins, and he lives in New York.”
“Jim Larkins,” corrected Brick, with a roguish look at Hamp.