Tom Fairfield in Camp: or, The Secret of the Old Mill. Chapman Allen
the drive through the woods Tom and the others kept a lookout on every side for a possible glimpse of the old man who had searched so long for the mill-treasure, but they did not see him. The scenery became more and more wild, and the road was almost impassable in places.
“Say, this looks like the jumping-off place,” remarked Dick, as they passed through a particularly lonely spot.
“It’s just what we want,” declared Tom. “We’ll do some real camping out here.”
“Yes, I guess no one will bother you,” said the driver. “No one hardly ever goes to Lake Woonset, except maybe a fellow who wants some good fishing now and then. I like it myself, but I haven’t been but twice in the last three years. It sure is lonesome.”
“How much farther to the lake?” asked Dick, after a pause.
“About a mile. You can see it when we get to the top of the next hill, but the road winds around.”
A little later they had a glimpse of a beautiful sheet of water, set in the midst of wooded hills.
“That’s great!” cried Tom, and the others agreed with him.
They drove along the edge of the lake until they came to a place where a spring bubbled out, and Tom exclaimed:
“Here’s where we’ll camp! Let’s unload and get the boat into the water. I want to see if she’ll run.”
“Got gasolene?” asked Jack.
“Yes, there’s plenty on the wagon, and I’ve arranged for a supply to be brought up to the lower end of the lake, and left there. A couple of barrels ought to last us all summer.”
It was hard work to unload the boat, and harder still to launch it, but it was finally accomplished, and when the tents and camping paraphernalia had been stacked up, the driver and his helper turned back toward civilization.
“Say, it sure is lonesome!” exclaimed Dick, when the rattle of the wagon had died away.
“It won’t be in a minute,” said Tom. “We’ve got lots to do to get our camp in shape. Come on, now, everybody get busy, and we’ll try out the boat.”
There was some little work to be done to it, and then, having filled the gasolene tank, and improvised a dock out of some dead tree trunks, the boys were ready for a spin.
“Now to see if she’ll run,” remarked Tom, as he prepared to turn over the flywheel.
There was a wheeze, a cough, a sigh and a groan, and the Tag started off as if she had never an idea of balking.
“Hurray!” cried Tom. “This is great!”
As they skimmed over the smooth lake, the beauty of it impressed them more and more, and they were delighted with their camping place. Tom steered the boat into a little cove, and as he neared the shore something moved in the bushes.
“Look!” whispered Jack. “It’s a deer, maybe.”
A moment later a man, with a long white beard, and clad in ragged garments, fairly leaped into view. For a moment he stood staring at the slowly moving motorboat, as if he could not believe the evidence of his eyes. Then with a howl of rage he leaped into the water, and began swimming toward the craft.
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,