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

CHAPTER XVIII
BACK IN CAMP

“Did you hit him?”

“What was it?”

“Say, we’d better get out of this!”

Tom, Jack and Bert thus cried in turn. As for Dick he said nothing, and he did nothing, for he could not see to run in the darkness of the cave, and the rush of air, following the shot from his gun, had put out the match Tom was holding up.

“Show a light there,” called the marksman. “I think I plugged him all right.”

Tom struck another match and held it high above his head. Dick stood his ground, and Bert and Jack, who had started to run, came back to the mouth of the cave.

“No, I didn’t get him. I can see his green eyes yet!” shouted Dick. “Here goes for another shot.”

“Hold on!” cried Tom.

“What’s the matter?” asked Dick. “Don’t you want me to hit the beast?”

“I would if there was one there,” spoke Tom, quietly, “but there’s no use wasting powder and lead on a stone wall.”

“A stone wall?” gasped Dick.

“Yes, that’s what you shot at. Look,” and Tom, advancing into the cave, held up a piece of wood he had lighted as a sort of torch, against the rocky wall of the cave. “That was what you thought were the glittering eyes of some animal,” he went on, and he pointed to two shining particles of mica in the rock. They were about the distance apart of an animal’s eyes, and when the match was reflected from them Dick mistook them for the orbs of a bear or some other beast. He had fired on the instant.

“Well, I’ll be jiggered!” gasped the marksman.

“You’d have plugged him if it had been anything,” said Tom, as he held the little torch still closer to the rocky wall. Then they could all see where the shot from Dick’s gun had flattened out between the glittering bits of mica.

“Some shot, that,” complimented Bert, who, with Jack, had entered the cave.

“I should say yes,” added Jack.

“And in the dark, too,” came from Tom. “Well, fellows, we’re here. We’ve got a shelter, and now if we only had something to eat, we’d be all right.”

“That’s so,” agreed Bert, as he and Jack lighted some dry sticks of wood they had picked up on the floor of the cave. The place was now comparatively light.

Dick lowered his gun, which he had been holding in readiness for another shot if necessary, and as the torches blazed up more brightly, he uttered a startled cry.

“What is it?” demanded Tom. “Do you see a bear?”

“No, but I see where there’s been a fire in here,” answered Dick, “and, unless I’m mistaken, there’s something here to eat.”

“Get out!” cried Bert incredulously.

“Don’t raise our hopes,” pleaded Jack. “I’m half starved.”

For answer Dick went farther back into the cave where his companions could see some boxes. Then came a cry of triumph.

“It’s all right fellows!” shouted Dick. “Someone has been camping here, and they’ve left enough stuff so we won’t starve until morning, anyhow. Here’s some canned meat, some crackers, a bit of stale bread, and a coffee pot. There’s coffee too, if my nose is good for anything!”

“Hurray!” yelled Jack. “Hold me, someone, I’m going to faint.”

“Is it real food?” demanded Tom.

“It looks like it,” answered Dick.

“Then, fellows, get in some wood, strip some bark for torches and we’ll make a fire and eat,” suggested Tom. “Is there anything we can get water in, Dick?”

“Yes, here’s a battered pail. It may leak, but I guess it will hold enough for coffee. And there are some tin cups, too.”

“Good! Bert, you get some water. We passed a spring just before we found this cave. See if you can locate it. Jack, you and Dick sort this stuff out, and I’ll get wood for the fire.”

Thus Tom soon had his little force busily employed. From the depths of despair they had been transported to delight in a short time.

A quick survey showed that the cave had been used by campers, and that within a day or two. There was enough canned meat and crackers left for at least two meals, and with the coffee, a supply of which, already ground, Dick found in a can, and with some condensed milk, the boys knew they would not starve.

“This is great luck!” exclaimed Tom, as Bert came back with the pail of water.

“It sure is,” assented Jack. “I wonder who has been here?”

“I shouldn’t wonder but what Sam and Nick were,” replied Tom.

“What makes you think so?” they asked him.

“Because there are two cups, two knives and two forks, and two tin plates. That shows two fellows were here, and Sam and Nick are the most likely ones I can think of.”

“Could this have been their main camp?” asked Dick.

“I hardly think so,” replied Tom. “I believe they just found this cave – or maybe Mr. Skeel did – and they may have made this a stopping place just to be nearer the old mill.”

“Or maybe they have been searching for the treasure in here,” suggested Jack.

“It’s possible,” admitted Tom. “Well, anyhow, let’s see what sort of a meal we can get, and then for a rest. I’m dead tired.”

It was a very primitive supper that they managed to cook over a fire built in the cave. There was a natural ventilation to the place, so the smoke did not annoy them much. They warmed some canned roast beef in a battered skillet, opening the can with a jackknife.

Coffee they made in the dented pot, and then they had to take turns eating, as there were only enough table utensils for two at a time. The table was a box in which the stuff had evidently been brought to the cave.

“Oh, but I feel better now!” exclaimed Jack, with a contented sigh, when supper was over.

“So do I, and I’ll feel better still when I find my boat,” came from Tom.

“We’ll have another hunt for her in the morning,” suggested Bert.

“And we may have good luck,” added Dick. “I think the finding of this cave and the food means that our luck will take a turn.”

“It needs to,” said Tom grimly.

For beds they cut spruce and hemlock boughs, spreading them out on the floor of the cave, and, though it was not like their comfortable cots, they slept fairly well, not being disturbed. After a breakfast, on what was left from the previous night, they held a conference.

“What’s best to do?” asked Tom. “I don’t want to always be giving orders.”

“Sure, you’re the camp-captain,” declared Jack. “We’ll listen to you. I should think you’d have to find the boat first, before we can do anything else. We can’t swim back to our camp, that’s certain.”

“Well, if that’s the general opinion, we’ll have another try for the boat, walking along the lake shore,” agreed Tom.

They set out, and retraced their route of the previous day, coming finally to the lake. As the place where the river entered was quite broad it was out of the question to swim it, or, rather, they did not like to risk it, in such unknown waters.

So they followed the lake shore for a considerable distance farther than Tom and Bert had gone the previous evening. They climbed a high hill, that gave a good view of the lake, but, strain their eyes as they could, they had no glimpse of the Tag.

“They’ve either got her well hidden, or else they have sunk her,” was Tom’s despairing comment.

“Oh, maybe we’ll find her,” said Jack, more cheerfully.

“Say, I’ve just thought of something!” exclaimed Bert.

“What is it?” his chums asked him in a chorus.

“It’s this! That old hermit must have some sort of a boat. He never could get on the other side of the lake, where we are camped, and over here again as quickly as he does without crossing in a boat. I believe he must have some sort of a craft hidden in the river near the mill.”

Silence followed Bert’s advancement of his theory, and then Tom exclaimed:

“By Jove! old man, I believe you’re right. Why didn’t we think of that before? Of course he has a boat! He never could get around the way he does if he didn’t have. And it’s up to us to find it. Come on back. We’ll walk along the river bank until we get to the mill. Then we’ll look for the boat.”

Buoyed up by new hope, they started back, and, proceeding cautiously, they soon were below, and opposite, the ancient mill.

“It’ll be on this side,” decided Tom, “and probably hidden under some bushes. Look carefully, and don’t make much noise. We don’t want old Wallace to chase us again.”

The river was far enough below the old mill so that ordinary sounds made at the stream could not be heard at the structure. But still the boys were cautious. They kept a sharp lookout, too, for any sign of the old hermit.

Up and down the bank they went, peering under bushes, and in little coves formed by water eddies. Suddenly Jack cried out:

“Here it is, fellows! An old tub, but it’s got oars, and we can row to camp in it.”

They ran to where he stood beside an old skiff. It looked to be leaky and unsafe, but it was a boat, and they would have almost welcomed a wash-tub in their plight.

“Quick!” exclaimed Tom. “I think I hear someone coming. Get in and shove off.”

They lost no time in embarking, and, when they were afloat on the river, they found that the craft was better than she looked.

“I guess we can get to camp in this,” said Tom with a sigh of relief. “And, on our way, we may see the Tag.”

“If we’re not caught before we get into the lake,” spoke Jack grimly.

Apprehensively they looked in the direction of the old mill. All they heard was the rustle of the wind in the trees. The place seemed silent and deserted.

“Say, things are happening all right!” exclaimed Dick. “I never imagined camping was so exciting.”

“Oh, things generally happen where Tom Fairfield is,” remarked Jack, with a laugh.

Dick was at the oars, and rowed rapidly down stream, being aided by the current. In a short time they were far enough below the mill to make it practically impossible for the old hermit to catch them.

“Unless he has our motorboat,” put in Bert.

“In that case I’ll let him capture us, and then I’ll take the Tag away from him,” said Tom firmly.

Out on the lake they floated. It was a bit rough, but the skiff was a broad and heavy one, and made a good sea boat. They took turns rowing, meanwhile keeping a watch for Tom’s craft, but they did not see her.

“You don’t appreciate a motorboat untill you have to row!” exclaimed our hero, as Bert relieved him at the oars.

“Oh, well, we’ll soon be in camp,” consoled Dick, and an hour later they were opposite their tents.

“Everything seems all right,” said Tom, with an air of relief. “Now to see if we’ve had any visitors.”

CHAPTER XIX
STRANGE DISAPPEARANCES

The boys found their camp undisturbed, save for the visit of some small animal that had tried to carry off a tough paper bag filled with some small groceries.

“The bacon’s all right this time,” commented Tom. “I guess we got the lynx that was taking it.”

“And now for a square meal!” exclaimed Bert. “I’m nearly starved. Hustle, boys, and get some grub on to cook. Or, even if it’s cold, it doesn’t matter.”

“Hustle yourself!” exclaimed Jack. “Everyone for himself, I’m going to open a can of chicken and make some sandwiches.”

“Sardines for mine,” commented Tom.

They had no bread, for their supply was gone, and the teamster from Wilden, whom they had engaged to bring in supplies, was not due until the next day. However, they made out very well with crackers, and ate, so Tom said, as much as if it had been a regular meal, instead of a lunch.

“But we’ll have a regular supper,” declared Dick.

“Will you cook it?” they asked him.

“I sure will,” he answered, “though it isn’t my turn.”

The edge taken off their appetites, they sat at ease about the camp, and talked of their adventure. Drawn up on shore was the skiff they had confiscated from the hermit.

“I wonder if he’ll make much of a row when he finds it gone?” mused Jack.

“What if he does?” asked Tom. “Either he took our boat, or some of his friends did – meaning Skeel or the two lads with him – so it’s only turn about if we took his craft. We had to get back to camp; didn’t we?”

“Sure we did, and if he says anything we’ll tell him so,” came from Bert. “How are you coming on with that supper, Dick?”

“Oh, I’ll start it pretty soon,” and, after some further talk the country lad began. He rummaged among the stores and soon an appetizing odor came from the kitchen tent.

“That smells great!” exclaimed Jack.

“Some kind of soup, anyhow,” declared Bert.

“And he’s frying something,” added Tom. “You just let Dick alone and he’ll get up a meal. He’s a natural cook.”

And the meal to which Dick called his chums a little later was certainly a good one – for boys out camping. There was a canned soup to start with, and then fried chicken.

“Fried chicken – think of that!” cried Tom. “Talk about being swell!”

“It’s only canned chicken, fried in butter, and seasoned a bit,” explained Dick modestly. “I opened some canned corn to go with it. Have some?”

“Sure!” there came a chorus, and three plates were quickly passed toward the amateur cook.

“One at a time,” he begged. “I’ve got some – ”

He paused for a moment and then cried:

“The potatoes! They’re burning! I forgot ’em!”

He made a rush for the cooking tent, ignoring the out-stretched plates, and the others became aware of a scorching odor.

“Wow! but that’s mean!” exclaimed Dick ruefully, as he came back wiping the perspiration from his face. “They’re burned to nothing. The water all boiled off ’em. And they were sweets, too, the only ones we brought along,” he added.

“Never mind,” consoled Tom. “We’ve got enough to eat without ’em.”

“Sure,” agreed the others. They finished off the meal with crackers and a jar of jam, with coffee on the side.

“Some better than what we had in the cave,” commented Bert, passing his cup for a second helping.

“Oh, but that tasted good all right!” declared Jack gratefully.

“I wonder what Sam and Nick will say when they find their stuff gone from the cave?” asked Dick.

“Do you think it was theirs, Tom?” asked Bert.

“I certainly do. I’d say it was Skeel’s, only there was stuff for two campers. Besides, I don’t believe he’d rough it in that fashion. But I sure would like to see Sam and Nick now – not that I have any love for ’em – but I want my boat.”

After spending the evening talking about the events of the past two days, and taking another look at the plan of the old mill, the lads turned in. They slept soundly, for they were very tired.

“Well, what’s the programme for the day?” asked Jack of Tom, following a bountiful breakfast, for which Bert made pancakes from prepared flour, and served them with bottled maple syrup.

“We’ll have another hunt for the boat,” decided Tom. “I’ll take a few more cakes, cook,” he added, passing his plate to Bert.

“You will – not!” ejaculated the maker of them. “I want some myself. You’ve had ten at least, and if you think it’s any fun making griddle cakes in a frying pan, you just try it yourself.”

“Just give me one,” pleaded Tom, and he got it.

“Say, if we go out in the boat we may miss that teamster who is to bring our stuff,” suggested Jack. “And I’d like to send a letter or two back by him, to be mailed.”

“That’s right – so would I,” agreed Tom. “We’ll wait until he shows up before going out on the hunt.”

So they spent the morning writing letters. The teamster arrived about noon, with some food and supplies for them. He stayed to dinner, and declared it was one of the best he had eaten.

“Folks back in Wilden would have it that the hermit had made away with you,” he said.

“Not yet, though he got our boat, or somebody has,” said Tom.

“Pshaw! That’s too bad. I hope you get it back. Well, I guess I’ll be going. Will you be breaking up camp soon?”

“Not until we solve the mystery of the mill,” declared Tom firmly.

“Oh shucks! Then you’ll be here all winter,” declared the man, with a laugh. “There’s no mystery of that mill except what old Wallace makes himself. He’s a little cracked in his upper story, I think.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” admitted Tom. “But, all the same, I think there’s something in it, after all, and we’re going to have another try at it, some day.”

They went rowing out on the lake after the teamster had left, taking their letters with him. It was small pleasure in the heavy skiff they had confiscated, but they were not out for pleasure just then – they were looking for the motorboat.

They covered several miles of lake shore, but saw no sign of the Tag, and only gave up when it was evident that they would not get back to camp before dark unless they hurried.

The next day the search was just as unsuccessful, and for several more they kept up the hunt. They saw no sign of either Mr. Skeel, the two cronies, or the hermit.

“Well, I give up,” remarked Tom, despondently, one afternoon. “I don’t believe we’ll ever get that boat back.”

“It does begin to look a little dubious,” remarked Jack. “Still, luck may turn at the last minute. Where you going?” he asked, as he saw his chum start toward the forest back of the camp.

“Oh, just to take a walk. Anybody want to come?”

“Not for mine,” answered Jack. “I’m just going to be lazy until supper time.”

“Same here,” added Dick.

“You won’t get any supper for two hours at least,” declared Bert, who was filling the position of cook.

“Well, I’m going to take a walk and do some thinking,” said Tom. “See you later.”

He strolled away, and the beauty of the woods on that perfect summer day must have lured him farther than he thought. He was thinking of many things, of the mystery of the old mill, of the disappearance of his boat, and their life in camp.

“Guess it’s time I started back!” he exclaimed about two hours later as he noticed the shadows lengthening. “I wish I could think of some solution of that old plan-drawing,” he murmured.

Even though he hurried he did not reach the camp until darkness had almost set in. As he approached the place a strange silence about the tents seemed to smite him like a blow. In spite of himself he felt a fear.

“Hello, boys!” he called. “I’m back. Where are you?”

There was no answer. He looked all around. There was not a sign of his chums. The old boat was drawn up on shore, showing that they were not out in that. They could hardly be off in the woods at this hour.

He hurried to the cook tent. Preparations for supper had been under way, but that was all. Some of the pots and pans had been knocked to the ground. The place was in some confusion, but that was natural. Of Tom’s chums there was not a trace. They had mysteriously disappeared!

CHAPTER XX
LONELY DAYS

“What in the world can have happened?” asked Tom, speaking aloud to himself. He had to do that to drive away some of the loneliness that thrust itself upon him as he walked around the deserted camp. “There’s something queer been going on, and I’m going to find out about it,” he added determinedly. “Maybe they’re hiding away from me for a joke.”

He made a round of the little spot there where they had camped in the wilderness, but there were few places for his chums to have hidden save in the woods themselves – the woods that were on three sides of the tents, the lake forming the fourth boundary.

“Well, if they’re in there they’ll wait a good while before I go hunting for them,” he said. “If it’s a joke they can come back when they get ready.”

And yet, somehow, he felt that it was not a joke. He and his chums were as fond of fun as any lads, and, in times past, the boys had played many a trick on each other. But there was a time for such antics, and Tom realized that this occasion was not now. He knew his comrades would realize the strain he was under, in losing his boat, and in trying to solve the mystery of the mill against the activities of Mr. Skeel and the two cronies.

“I don’t believe they’d do it,” mused Tom. “There is something wrong here. Hello, fellows!” he shouted at the top of his voice. “Dick! Bert! Jack – Jack Fitch! Where are you?”

The echoes from the darkness were his only answers.

“They’re gone,” he said, “and yet, by Jove, I don’t believe they’d go willingly – unless – ”

He paused, for many thoughts were crowding to his brain. He had a new idea now.

“Unless they saw something of Skeel, or Sam and Nick, and followed them off through the woods. Maybe the hermit himself passed here, and they thought he was on the trail of the treasure. They would naturally follow him, and if I wasn’t here they would not wait for me, knowing they could explain afterward. I’ll wager that’s it. They’ve gone for the treasure. It’s all right after all.”

He felt a little better, having arrived at this decision, and proceeded to get himself a meal. He lighted the stove, made coffee, and fixed up some sandwiches from a tin of beef. It was while sipping the hot beverage that another thought came to him.

“I wonder if they went away prepared to stay all night?” he asked himself. “I’ll take a look.”

In the main, or sleeping tent, the cots had been made up that morning, as was the rule, so that, no matter how late the chums returned to camp, they could tumble into bed. The cots showed no signs of having been disturbed when Tom inspected them with a lantern. And then the lad saw something else.

The caps and sweaters of his chums still hung from the ridge-pole of the tent.

“By Jove!” cried Tom aloud. “They would hardly go off that way – in the dampness of the night – without having taken more than they wore when I started on my walk. And they had on mighty little then. Even if they had to take the trail on the jump there would have been time enough to slip on a sweater, and grab up a cap. Those fellows went off in a big hurry.”

He paused, to gaze in silence around the tent. He was more lonely than ever, as he recalled the jolly faces that he had thought would greet him on his return from the stroll in the woods.

“And here’s another thing,” he reasoned. “If they did take the trail after some of our enemies, one of them would most likely have remained to wait for me, and tell me to come along. I’m sure they’d have done that. And yet – they’re all gone, all three of them!”

Tom Fairfield shook his head. The problem was becoming too much for him. He sought for a ray of light.

“Of course,” he reasoned, “there may have been two parties of them. Skeel and the two cronies in one, and the old hermit by himself. In that case the boys may have divided themselves. Maybe that’s it. Oh, hang it all!” he exclaimed as if he found the puzzle too much for him. “I’m going to wait until morning.”

But the morning brought no solution of the problem. Tom awoke early, after a restless night, during which he several times imagined he heard his chums calling to him. He would jump up, rush to the flap of the tent, toss some light wood on the camp fire, and peer out eagerly, only to find that he had dreamed about or imagined it.

Once or twice he called aloud, listening and hoping for an answer, but none came. And so the night passed and morning came.

Tom felt little appetite for breakfast, but he knew he must eat to keep up his strength for the task that lay before him.

“I’ve got to find them!” he decided. “I’ve got to take the trail. Something may have happened to them. That bear we saw may have – ” And then he laughed at the notion, for he knew that a bear, however large, could not make away with three strong, healthy lads. “Unless there were three bears,” he mused, with a smile, “and that’s out of the question.”

He was thinking deeply, so deeply in fact that he forgot to look to the oil stove, and the first he knew the coffee had boiled over, and the bacon was scorched in the pan.

“Oh, hang it!” Tom exclaimed. “I can’t even cook!”

He fried more bacon, and an egg, and on that, and coffee, he made a lonely breakfast.

“Now to reason things out,” he spoke aloud. “I’m glad the rowboat is here anyhow, I can navigate the lake to a certain extent.”

He walked down to the shore, and what he saw there caused him to utter a cry of astonishment.

“There’s been a struggle here – a fight!” Tom cried. “The boys have been taken away against their will!”

He bent over and looked closely at the sandy shore. It was all too evident that some sort of a struggle had taken place there, and that recently. The marks visible by day but not at night proved this.

“Those marks weren’t there when we landed yesterday afternoon,” decided our hero. “Besides, they’re quite a distance from where we brought the skiff in. There’s been some sort of a boat here,” he went on, as he bent over the impression made by the sharp prow of some craft in the sand. “Someone came in a boat, got hold of the boys somehow, and carried them off. But there was a fight all right, and a good one, too, I’ll wager.”

It did not take a mind-reader to decide this. The sand in several places was scuffed about, raised up in ridges, or scratched into depressions, while the heel marks, deeply indented in the soft material, showed how desperate had been the struggle. But the chums had been overpowered, that was certain, for they had been taken away.

“And in my boat, too, I’ll wager!” cried Tom. “The impudent scallawags! To take my boat, and then use it to carry off my friends. They must have taken some of my gasolene, too. Oh, wait until I get a chance at them!”

The new discovery was overpowering for a time, and Tom sat down to think it out. Then he came to a decision.

“I’ve got to help my chums,” he said. “I’ve got to go to their rescue. There’s but one place where they would be taken. The old hermit, or Skeel and the cronies, have them in the old mill – or, hold on – maybe they’re captive in the cave where we stayed that night. Those are two places where they might be. What shall I do?”

It was no easy problem for the lone camper to solve, and Tom was frankly puzzled.

“I think I’ll tackle the old mill first,” he decided. “That’s the most likely place. Though I wonder why in the world the hermit or Skeel would want to capture Dick, Bert and Jack? Unless the treasure has been located, and they don’t want us to find out about it. But they haven’t got me!”

With Tom, to decide was to act, and so, putting himself up a lunch, he set off in the skiff for the old mill. It was hard rowing alone, for usually two worked at the oars, but our hero stuck to it, and in due time he reached the river. Then he decided to pay a visit to the cave.

He concealed his boat under some bushes, and, taking the oars with him, he hid them well up on the hill.

“If they get away with the boat, they can’t row, anyhow,” he reasoned, “and I don’t believe they’ll find her.”

He approached the cave cautiously, for he did not want to fall a victim to those who had captured his chums. But the cavern in the hillside was empty, and Tom felt a sense of disappointment.

“Now for the mill,” he mused, as he set off in the skiff again. He had almost reached it, and was debating within himself how best to approach it, when a new thought came to him.

“Suppose they catch me?” he asked himself. “They are four to one, and, though I don’t mind Sam or Nick, the hermit and Skeel would be more than a match for me. If they get me I can’t be of any help to the boys.”

Tom was no coward, and he would have dared anything to rescue his chums. Yet he realized that this was one of the occasions when discretion was the better part of valor.

“I think I can serve ’em best by staying on the outside a while,” he argued, as he got to a point where he could catch a glimpse of the old mill. “I’ll look about a bit,” he went on, “and see what sort of a plan I can think out.”

Keeping well in the shadow of the bushes that lined the river bank, he watched the mill. For half an hour or more there was no sign of life in it, and then, so suddenly that it startled Tom, there appeared at one of the third story windows the form of the old hermit, and he had a gun in his hands.

“There he is!” whispered Tom. “He’s on the lookout for me. Lucky I didn’t rush in. And he’s on that third floor, though there doesn’t seem to be any way of getting up to it. I’ve got to go for help,” and Tom, waiting until old Wallace had disappeared from the casement, slowly rowed away.

He reached the lonely camp late in the afternoon, for he spent some time going along the shore of the lake, searching for his motorboat. But he did not find it.

“Now what shall I do?” he asked himself as he sat down to a solitary supper. “Go for help, or try to make the rescue myself?”