Tom Fairfield in Camp: or, The Secret of the Old Mill

CHAPTER VI
A BIG FISH

“Look at him!” yelled Tom. “What in the world is he doing?”

“Who is he?” inquired Jack.

“Put around!” excitedly yelled Bert. “He’s coming after us!”

The man was swimming directly toward the boat as if he contemplated an attack, and for a moment, though they knew he could not seriously harm them, the boys were actually afraid. For the swimmer had a really ferocious look as he came on through the water. He got to a shallow place, and stood up, running toward the boys.

“What do you make of this, Tom?” asked Jack.

“I don’t know what to make,” answered Tom, as he turned the boat away from the man. “But I think I can guess who he is.”

“Who?” cried his three chums.

“That’s the hermit – the wild man – old Wallace – who has been hunting for the fortune in the mill so long that his mind is affected.”

“By Jove! I believe you’re right,” said Jack.

“But what’s he coming after us for?” asked Dick, for the aged man was swimming again now, and could not hear the talk in the boat.

“I don’t – ” began Tom when the old man interrupted with another of his wild cries, following it with:

“Get out of this lake! What are you doing here? This is my lake! All this country around here is mine! Leave at once! Get out of my lake!” and again he yelled like a madman.

“This is fierce,” said Dick.

“It gets on my nerves,” admitted Tom. “Let’s hurry away. He may swim out after us so far that he can’t get back again, and I don’t want to be even indirectly responsible for any harm coming to him.”

“Speed up then,” advised Jack, “and we’ll get so far away that he’ll see it will be hopeless to keep after us.”

“That’s what I will,” agreed Tom, and, speeding up the motor, the Tag was soon well out in the water.

“Go away! Get out of my lake!” yelled the old man, as he again stood up in a shallow part, and shook his fist at the boys. “Never come here again!”

Then he turned and went back toward shore.

“Thank goodness for that,” spoke Tom. “He’s got some sense left, anyhow.”

“Whew! That was an experience,” remarked Jack, as the boat turned a point of land, and the hermit was out of sight. “I hope he doesn’t find our camp.”

“I don’t believe he will,” said Tom. “I guess he was just walking around, and when he saw the motorboat it sort of frightened him. I don’t suppose there’s ever been a craft like this on the lake before, and the old man may have imagined it was some sort of infernal machine. He came at us if he was going to throw us all overboard.”

“He’s a fierce character,” declared Bert. “The less we see of him the better.”

“And you don’t catch me monkeying around any mysterious old mill, if a fellow like that lives in it,” added Dick.

“You said he had a gun, too, didn’t you, Tom?” asked Jack.

“That’s what I heard, but maybe it’s a mistake. He didn’t have one this time, anyhow.”

The boys discussed their odd experience as they motored along, and soon they were back where they had left their camp stuff. It had not been disturbed, and there was no sign that the hermit had taken a short cut through the woods to get to their location, as Tom had half feared he might do.

“Now to get busy!” exclaimed our hero as they landed at the improvised dock. “There’s lots to do. In the first place we’ll have an election.”

“What for?” asked Jack.

“To choose a cook. We’ve got to eat, and some one has to cook. We’ll take turns at it.”

They selected a cook by the simple process of drawing lots, and the choice fell upon Dick, who made a wry face about it.

“What’s the matter?” asked Tom, with a laugh.

“I can’t cook a little bit,” was the answer.

“Oh, sure you can,” declared Jack. “Anyhow we’ve only got canned stuff so far, and you can read the directions and go by them. Start in now and get us up a meal. I’m hungry.”

“So am I!” came in a chorus from the other two.

“Well, if I’ve got to cook, you fellows have to get wood and water,” declared Dick. “That’s one of the rules of this camp.”

“All right,” agreed Jack, “only we won’t need wood with our oil stove. I’ll get you water though,” and he started toward the spring with a pail.

While Dick was getting out the food, and lighting the stove, Tom and Bert opened the tents and got ready to set them up. They also laid out their stores, and planned how they would arrange the camp. When Jack came back with the water he helped at this work and soon one tent was set up.

“Dinner!” called Dick, after fussing about the stove for some time.

“What are you going to give us?” asked Tom.

“And what are we going to eat from?” asked Jack. “Where’s your table cloth? Set out the knives and forks.”

“Table! Table cloth!” exclaimed Dick with a grunt. “Say, if you think this is a summer hotel you’ve got another guess coming. I’ve broken out the dishes, and knives, forks and spoons. You can use your lap or a log for a table, though we charge ten cents extra for logs. The money goes to found a home for aged cooks.”

“Never mind about that!” exclaimed Tom. “Just give us some grub and we’ll do the rest.”

“Where’s the bill of fare?” asked Jack. “I’m particular about what I eat.”

“Soup, corned roast beef, potato chips, bread, butter, jam, condensed milk and coffee,” rattled off Dick.

“I’ll take it all!” came from Bert.

“Same here!” chorused the other two, and soon the lads were passing around the food.

“Say, this is all right,” declared Tom, as he tasted the mock-turtle soup. They had brought along several cases of canned goods, soup among them.

“It’s easy to make,” explained Dick. “All you do is to open the can, chuck in some hot water, heat the mixture for a few minutes, and your soup is made.”

“How about the roast beef?” asked Bert.

“I – er – I boiled that,” explained Dick calmly.

“Boiled it!” cried Tom. “Boiled roast beef! Oh wow!”

“What difference does it make, as long as it’s hot?” demanded the young cook. “Here, you taste it, and see if it isn’t good. I put some ketchup on it, and a lot of spices, and it tastes – ”

“It must taste like a mixture of Hungarian goulash and Chinese chop-suey!” laughed Tom. “Boiled roast beef! Oh my stars!”

“Well, you don’t have to eat it,” fired back Dick, as he dished out a curious mixture. The boys tasted it, and to their surprise it was very good, or perhaps their appetites made it seem so. Then with bread, jam and coffee the meal progressed, and they all declared it a good one.

“Now for finishing up the tents, and getting ready for the night,” suggested Tom.

The cooking tent was put up, with an awning connecting it with the sleeping quarters, and with a table that was made of pieces of packing boxes. They had folding cots, and these were set up, and the bed clothes gotten out. Then each one picked his cot, arranged his personal belongings near or under it, and the camp was in fairly good shape.

“And now to begin to enjoy ourselves,” said Tom.

“If only the old hermit doesn’t come puttering around to bother us,” suggested Jack. “Bur – r – r – r! When I think of the fierce way he started after us it gives me a cold shiver.”

“He was sort of uncanny,” agreed Bert. “But I guess he won’t bother us. I don’t know what the rest of you are going to do, but I’m going fishing. I think some nice fresh fish would be pretty nearly as good as boiled roast beef. Oh, wait until I tell the fellows about that!” he laughed. “We’ll have to have it at one of our midnight suppers in Elmwood Hall.”

“That’s right,” agreed Tom. “But don’t you let ’em worry you, Dick. You’re doing fine.”

“They can’t worry me,” declared Tom’s country chum. “I can do queerer stunts in cooking than that. You just wait.”

“Well, if we’re going fishing let’s go,” suggested Jack.

The boys had brought their rods and tackle with them, and soon they had dug some worms, caught a few grasshoppers, and were casting in from some rocks and logs on the shore of the lake.

They had been fishing for perhaps half an hour, and no one had had more than some nibbles, when Jack, who was perched on a high rock, close to deep water, suddenly felt a jerk on his line.

“A bite! A bite!” he cried. “And a big one, too! Oh, fellows, I’ve got a dandy. Watch me pull him in!”

His reel was whirring at a fast clip, singing the song of the fish, and he was holding the butt, and winding in as fast as he could.

There was a splash in the water, and a flash of silver drops as a big fish broke.

“Give him line! Give him line!” cried Tom.

“Reel in! Give him the butt more,” suggested Dick.

“Pull him in!” yelled Bert.

Jack was working frantically. The big fish leaped and plunged. Suddenly Jack leaned over a bit too far, lost his balance, and a moment later he was floundering in the lake.

CHAPTER VII
A MIDNIGHT VISITOR

“Help! Get a boat! Help me out! Blub! Splub! Come on!” stammered and yelled Jack, as he went down under the water, and came up again, somewhat entangled in his fishing tackle.

“Don’t let the fish get away!” cried Tom.

“Grab him by the tail!” advised Dick.

“Hold him, no matter if you do get wet,” was Bert’s contribution. “You’ve had all the luck!”

“Luck! Luck!” retorted Jack. “If you call it luck to fall in the lake I – ”

He was interrupted by a flurry of the big fish, that had not yet gotten off the hook, and, as Jack had instinctively kept hold of the rod, the finny prize was still a captive.

“It’s luck to get a fish like that,” declared Tom. “If I had him I wouldn’t let go,” and he started across the rocks to the aid of his chum. Dick and Bert had also laid aside their rods and were hurrying to the immersed one.

By this time Jack had managed to swim ashore, as he was only a few feet from it, and he was clambering up the rocky bank, keeping hold of his rod and line as best he could.

“Is he off?” asked Tom anxiously, as he joined his comrade. “Have you got the big fish yet?”

“Say, you care more about the fish than you do about me!” objected Jack.

“Why shouldn’t I?” asked our hero, with a laugh. “This is the first fish any of us caught. Reel in now. Never mind about yourself, you’ll dry, but we want that fish!”

Jack did have enough sporting blood to forget his own condition, and soon he was reeling in the fish, which was still on the hook. But most of the fight was gone from him, and it did not take much of an effort to land him. The prize proved to be a large bass.

“That will be great when Dick cooks it!” exclaimed Bert, as he held up Jack’s catch.

“Me cook it!” cried the village lad. “Say, I thought everyone had to cook his own catch.”

“Not much!” exclaimed Tom. “You’re cook for this week, and you have to serve up all the fish and game we bring in. I’m thinking of bringing in a bear soon.”

“And I’ve got an idea where I can get a lot of frogs’ legs,” added Bert.

“I’ll manage to furnish a mock turtle, and we can make more soup,” added Jack. “Or, if you like, I’ll keep on with the fish.”

“Say!” cried Dick. “You fellows can cook your own game. I’ll manage the canned stuff and – ”

“Yes, and I suppose you’ll fricassee the baked beans if we don’t watch you,” put in Tom with a laugh.

“Oh, get out!” ejaculated the exasperated cook.

“Well, I got the fish, anyhow,” said Jack as, dripping water from every point, he held up his prize. “It’s a beaut, too.”

“It nearly got you,” commented Tom. “But say, there must be great fishing in this lake when they come right up to shore and take the bait that way.”

“Oh, we’ve struck a good place all right,” declared Jack. “As soon as we get straightened out we’ll go out in the middle, and pull in some of the big ones.”

“I think I can get another like yours right here at shore,” said Tom, and he threw in. Shortly he had a bite, and almost duplicated Jack’s catch.

Meanwhile Jack was cleaning and scaling his prize, and drying himself out. The other boys had fair luck with rod and line, and then it was up to Dick to cook the fish, which he did, frying them in bacon and corn meal.

“Oh, say, maybe they don’t smell good!” cried Tom, as the savory odor was spread about the camp.

“They’ll taste better,” was Jack’s comment.

The evening meal was a great success and they all voted that Dick was a much better cook than he had given himself credit for.

“How are you on pies?” asked Tom, as they sat around the campfire that evening, after everything was ready for bed. “Think you can tackle them, Dick? We’ve got prepared flour, and you can use some jam, or canned apples, for filling.”

“I’ll try it,” agreed the amateur cook. “We’ll have pie to-morrow.”

They did not sleep very well that night, as the beds were rather hard, not having been properly made, and they were all rather excited over the events of the day.

Breakfast, however, with coffee, and bacon and eggs which they had brought from Wilden, put them all in good humor, and they made a merry meal.

“Now for some fishing!” exclaimed Tom, as he went down to look about his motorboat.

“And I’m going to take a gun and see if I can get anything in the line of game,” put in Jack. “It’s out of season for most things, but I may get something in the bird line.”

“And Dick is going to make pie,” said Bert. “Make four, old man, so there’ll be one apiece.”

“All right,” agreed the young cook good naturedly. “I won’t guarantee results, but I’ll do my best.”

Tom started out in the boat with Bert to do some fishing, while Jack wandered off in the woods with his shotgun. Dick did up the dishes and then began rummaging around in the supplies. Soon he was whistling away and, as Tom and Bert could see, from where they were in the boat, he was kept quite busy over something.

“Well, did you get ’em made?” asked Tom, when they had all assembled for dinner. “How about the pies, Dick?”

“There they are,” was the retort, and Dick pointed to the pastry.

“Hum! They smell good!” exclaimed Jack, as he whiffed an odor from the pies.

“They look good,” commented Tom.

“Let’s see if they taste good,” suggested Bert.

The pies were served as dessert, and at the first mouthful Tom let out a howl.

“For the love of tripe!” he cried. “What did you put in these pies, Dick?”

“Apples, of course,” replied the injured cook. “What did you suppose it was?”

“Well, if those are apples then they’re flavored with something funny,” declared Tom. “Where’s the can you used?”

Dick brought two empty tin cans up to the table, which was made from packing boxes.

“The paper labels soaked off,” he explained, “but there were cans of apples on top and below these so I thought it was all right. Isn’t it?”

Tom took a smell, and cried out:

“Say, fellows, he dumped a can of quinces in the apple pie stuff and baked that all together and then used baking soda for powdered sugar! Oh wow! What a taste!”

There was a general laugh, and Dick replied with:

“Well, if you fellows think you can do any better you can have my job. I’m sick of being cook.”

“Tut, tut! It’s all right,” said Tom hastily. “We were only fooling. You’re doing fine, Dick, only, after this, smell of a can if it hasn’t got a label pasted on it, and taste the powdered sugar.”

But if the pies were a failure, the rest of the dinner was good, and later on Dick proved that he could make good pastry when he used the right ingredients.

They had more fish that day, as luck was good, but the game was scarce, as might have been expected at that season of the year.

After dinner, the rest of the day was spent in getting the camp into better shape, and making the beds more comfortable. The boys were in the habit of making up a camp fire early in the evening, and sitting in the glow of it to talk. They did this on their second night, and when it had about died down Tom tossed on some heavy sticks of wood and remarked:

“Well, I’m going to turn in. I’m tired and I want some sleep. To-morrow we’ll take a long boat ride.”

“When are we going to the old mill?” asked Jack.

“Oh, maybe we can try that soon if we like,” said Tom.

It was nearly midnight, as Tom ascertained by looking at his watch, when he was suddenly awakened by hearing something moving about near the sleeping tent. At first he thought it was one of his chums, and he called out:

“Who’s that? You, Jack?”

There was no answer, and, looking across to the other cots, our hero saw the forms of his companions under the covers. They were all quiet.

“There’s some one out there,” he murmured.

Rising cautiously he stepped to the flap of the canvas shelter and peered out. In the dying glow of the camp fire he saw an old man silently walking toward the tents.

“For gracious sake!” breathed Tom to himself. “If that isn’t the old hermit of the mill I’m a lobster! I wonder what he’s doing here?”

With anxious eyes he watched, and as the moon came out from behind a cloud, to add to the glow of the campfire, Tom saw the light glint on a gun.

“He’s looking for us!” whispered Tom. “I wonder what I’d better do?”

CHAPTER VIII
OLD ACQUAINTANCES

For a moment the lad stood there at the flap of the tent, pondering over the situation. He realized that he might have a desperate character to deal with – a man who would not listen to reason, and who was impulsive, as evidenced by his leap into the water after the motorboat.

“But I’ve got to do something,” thought Tom. “If I don’t he may take a shot at us, not meaning to do any harm, but just because he’s erratic. And that sort of a bullet does just as much harm as any other. If he should fire into the tent – ”

Tom did not finish out his thought, for at that moment there was a movement on the part of the old man. He had been standing still, silently regarding the camp, and now he again advanced.

“He’s going to see what sort of a place we have here,” mused Tom. “I wonder if I’d better awaken the boys?”

He thought it over for a moment and then decided that perhaps he could best deal with the old man alone.

“But how?” he asked himself.

Tom watched the hermit. He came on with a tread like that of a cat – silently – stealthily – peering from side to side. At times he muttered to himself.

“I’ll see if I can take him by surprise,” decided Tom. Stepping back, where he could not be seen, inside the tent, our hero suddenly yelled:

“Get out of here! What are you doing in our camp? Be off before I set the dogs on you!”

The old man was evidently startled. He stiffened as he stood, but Tom was glad to see that he did not bring the gun to bear. From under the shaggy eyebrows the hermit gazed about him as if to determine whence came the voice.

But if Tom had any idea that he could frighten the man into going away he was mistaken. For the hermit of the mill came forward until he stood directly in front of the big tent, and then, straightening up, he fairly shouted:

“Ha! I have found you; have I? Those who brought their infernal puffing engine on my lake. Now you are in my woods. I have been looking for you. I warn you away! You must leave at once! I will not be cheated out of my fortune this way. Leave my woods or it will be the worse for you!” and he shook his fist at Tom, who had now stepped into view at the flap of the tent.

“Hello! What’s the row?” called Jack, suddenly awakening.

“Is the camp on fire?” asked Dick.

“What’s wrong, Tom?” cried Bert, and all three of our hero’s chums sprang from their cots and crowded around him.

“It’s our old friend the hermit of the mill,” explained Tom in a low voice. “He’s come to drive us out of the woods.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Jack.

“I don’t know. Let’s see what he does.”

“He may be dangerous,” commented Dick.

“And these may be his woods,” added Bert.

“Nonsense,” declared Tom. “I asked dad about it before I came up, and he said this part of the forest belonged to a big lumber company that was holding it for the trees to get bigger before cutting. This old man doesn’t own it any more than we do.”

“Then you’re going to stick?”

“I sure am!”

During this talk the old hermit remained motionless, regarding the boys with angry eyes. Then he spoke again.

“Well, are you going to take yourselves out of my woods? Are you going to leave at once? I demand that you go!”

“No, sir, we are not going,” declared Tom, firmly but respectfully, for after all, he thought the age of the man was entitled to some deference.

“You must leave my woods!” the hermit insisted. “I have been bothered enough in the search for the fortune hidden from me. I want to be alone in my woods. Go!” and he pointed his finger toward Wilden.

“I do not think you have the right to make us go,” said Tom. “I understand these are not your woods, and we have as good a right to camp here as you have to wander about. We are not going!”

For a few seconds the old man seemed dazed at the bold answer. Probably he had expected a meek compliance, but, as it developed, Tom’s answer was the best that could have been given.

Pausing a moment the hermit gazed almost reproachfully at the lads and then, with another shake of his fist at them, he called:

“Well, you have been warned, and now you must take the consequences. The price of your folly is on your own heads!”

He turned and vanished into the shadows of the woods.

“Whew! Quite dramatic!” exclaimed Tom, as he turned to his chums.

“I should say so,” agreed Jack. “Nice thing to be awakened from pleasant dreams and told to move on in a trackless forest at midnight. He’s as bad as Professor Skeel used to be.”

“Speaking of Skeel reminds me,” observed Tom. “Do you think he has come up here to camp?”

“Hard to say,” murmured Bert. “But I know one thing, as long as I’m awake I’m going to have something to eat. Are there any of those chicken sandwiches left, Dick?”

“I guess so. And there’s some cold tea.”

“Warm it up then, and we’ll have a lunch.”

“Say, what do you think this is; a quick-eat restaurant?” asked the amateur cook.

“Oh, go ahead,” suggested Tom. “We’ll all help, and maybe we’ll get to sleep again, after this interruption, if we eat.”

The oil stove was lighted, and the tea put on to warm, while Dick set out a plate of sandwiches he had made from canned chicken. Then the boys ate and talked.

“That old hermit is sure on our trail,” declared Tom.

“But he doesn’t seem to be as dangerous as the folks made out,” commented Jack.

“I guess he’s just simple-minded, thinking of the treasure in the old mill,” added Bert. “By the way, Tom, when are we going to visit the ruins, and have a try for the buried gold?” and he laughed.

“Oh, we’ll go over there some time,” agreed Tom. “I’d like to pick a day, though, when old Wallace wouldn’t be on hand. I’m not exactly afraid of him, but, from what I can understand, he does own the mill, though not these woods, and if he ordered us off that property we’d have to go.”

“But we can take a chance,” suggested Dick.

“Oh, sure,” came from Tom. “Say, but that old chap must spend all his time wandering about the woods. I wonder where he sleeps when he’s away from the mill?”

“Oh, he probably has plenty of bunks and caves that we never would dream of,” said Jack. “Well, I’m going to turn in,” he added, with a yawn. “If he comes back again kindly tell him, Tom, to wait until morning before doing any more ordering-off.”

Once more the lads sought their cots, to sleep undisturbed until morning. The day was spent in getting their camp more in ship-shape, and getting in a supply of wood for camp fires, and for cooking in case their oil gave out, or the portable stove failed.

In the afternoon they went fishing, and had good luck. Though they kept watch for the hermit, they did not see him. The woods and lake were as deserted as though they were in some country as yet unvisited by man, and there were no evidences that any camping parties had ever visited the region where the boys were.

“It sure is wild,” said Jack, as he gazed about.

“It’s just the cheese though,” declared Tom. “We couldn’t have picked out a better place.”

“And as soon as we get busy on the secret of the old mill there may be lots of happenings,” added Bert.

A week passed, during which our friends enjoyed life to the utmost. They fished, and as the lake had seldom been visited by devotees of the rod and line it proved a garden spot for such sport. One had but to throw in a line to have a bite. They hunted, too, but as the season was not open they managed to kill only a few foxes and skunks, and, as their fur was not of much value in the summer, even this they gave up as rather unprofitable work.

“It’s the mill we want to head for,” insisted Jack. “Come on, Tom, let’s get up an expedition and go there. We can go in the boat, for, as you say, the mill is on the river that runs into the lake. Come on.”

“All right, we’ll go to-morrow,” agreed Tom.

Accordingly, having set their camp to rights, and having put up a lunch, for they would not be back to dinner, they set off in the Tag, heading up the lake to where the river entered it.

“She’s running better than she did at home,” remarked Dick to Tom, as he looked at the puffing motor.

“Yes, but don’t say anything,” cautioned our hero. “She may be holding back for a kick-up. I never praise this motor, for I actually believe it knows what you say. Let well enough alone,” and the others laughed at his quaint conceit.

It was a beautiful day, and the trip along the lake was much enjoyed. It was rather lonesome, but the boys did not mind that.

As they moved along the shore of a little cove Jack suddenly called:

“Hold on! I think I heard something moving near the bank there,” and he pointed just ahead.

“Slow down the engine,” called Tom to Dick, and the latter throttled down, making the machinery almost noiseless. Then they all heard a crashing in the underbrush.

“Maybe it’s the hermit,” suggested Bert.

“Very likely,” agreed Jack. “I hope he doesn’t begin on one of his tantrums again.”

The sounds in the bushes grew, and a moment later three figures suddenly stepped into view on the sandy beach of the lake.

“Look!” exclaimed Tom in a low voice. “If this isn’t the limit!”

All four boys gazed toward the figures, to behold their old acquaintances, Professor Skeel, Sam Heller and Nick Johnson!