outO 
 
 CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 

 DATE DUE 
 
 
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 1 
 
 
 
 
 -j 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 CAVLORD 
 
 
 
 
 Cornell University Library 
 PZ 7.B95C2 
 
 The Camp on Letter K; or, Two live boys i 
 
 3 1924 011 578 964 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tiiis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924011578964 
 
"do YOU SUPPOSE PETE OR HIS GANG WXLT^SEE THIS BMOKE ? " 
 
 Paae 285. 
 
 '|^1j.SE 
 
IVaymond Benson Series 
 
 The Camp on Letter K 
 
 OR 
 
 Two Live Boys in Nortlieni Maine 
 
 By 
 C. B. BURLEIGH 
 
 lUustratea by L. J. BRIDGMAN 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 E Ca. SHEPARD CO. 
 
Published, August, 1906 
 
 Copyright, 1906, by Lothrop, Lbb & Shbpard Co. 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 Thb Camp on Lbttbr K 
 
to MV BROTHER 
 
 LEWIS A. BURLEIGH 
 
 *HIS BOOK IS AWECTIONATBI.Y DEDICATED 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. Troubi,e at thb Chestnut High Schooi, 
 
 II. Chestnut Characteristics . 
 
 III. Tom ATKINS Gets a Tumbi.e . 
 
 IV. Letter K and Its Mysteries 
 V. JoEi. Webber's Ci,ose Cai,i, . 
 
 VI. The Taming of Ai,i,en Webster 
 
 VII. The Spirit of Mischief 
 
 VIII. The Grievance of Ezra Johnston 
 
 IX. An Evening at Squire Copeland's Store 
 
 X. Raymond Shoots Pete Atkins's Dog . 
 
 XI. Dud Has a Visitation from Burglars 
 
 XII. Some Experiences with Apple Thieves 
 
 XIII. A Night in the Orchard 
 
 XIV. A Chestnut Socialist .... 
 X V. Noah Griffin's Reformation 
 
 XVI. Burning op Grandfather Benson's Barn 
 
 XVII. An Adventure with Lynxes 
 
 XVIII. The Famous Arson Trial ; . . 
 
 XIX. An Unexpected Verdict ... 
 
 XX. What Followed the Trial ... 
 
 XXI. A Mysterious Visitor .... 
 
 XXII. Some Sharp Practices of Simon Dart 
 
 XXni. Raymond and Ned do Detective Work 
 
 V 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I 
 
 13 
 
 25 
 
 38 
 
 54 
 67 
 80 
 91 
 105 
 117 
 130 
 141 
 153 
 165 
 179 
 190 
 201 
 212 
 222 
 232 
 
 245 
 256 
 269 
 
VI CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGB 
 
 XXIV. FOUOWING UP THE Cl,US 281 
 
 XXV. Raymond is Made a Prisoner • . • .293 
 
 XXVI. The Tables Turned 304 
 
 XXVII, An Unexpected Turn of Events . . • 317 
 
 XXVIII. Ned Has Some Stirring Experiences . . 33° 
 
 XXIX. Ned Becomes Acsuainted with the Scoop . 343 
 
 XXX. Pete atkins in the Toiw 355 
 
 XXXI. JOEi. Webber is Given a Surprise . . .366 
 
 XXXII. C0NCI.USION 379 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Pagb 
 "Do you suppose Pete or his gang will see this 
 
 smoke?" {ProHtisfua) 285 
 
 " You see how it's done, don't you ? " 7 
 
 "Oh, I shall be lame for a month 1" 81 
 
 With a terrible growl of rage and pain the infuriated 
 
 beast bore down upon Joel 64 
 
 "What — ^what are ye up to?" he demanded, in 
 
 startled tones 125 
 
 " There, I knowed 'twas a sperit I " exclaimed Tilly, 
 
 triumphantly 183 
 
 " Help I Murder 1 Help ! " he shouted a moment 
 
 later 313 
 
 " Hands up, sir 1 " shouted Raymond, sternly . . . 366 
 
THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 TROUBLE AT THE CHESTNUT HIGH SCHOOL 
 
 " Send 'em right along, Rame! " 
 
 " Soak 'im ! " 
 
 " Ah, ha ! See the hole in his bat ! " 
 
 " Here's another victim ! " 
 
 These and various similar expressions came from a 
 group of boys engaged in a game of " scrub," in the 
 closely-nibbled sheep pasture behind the weather-beaten 
 schoolhouse at Chestnut Corner. 
 
 A tall, wiry-built boy was in the pitcher's box and, 
 from the comments of his companions, was evidently 
 the school favorite in that position. He pitched with 
 little apparent effort, and sent the ball across the plate 
 with a speed that was decidedly disconcerting to the 
 batsman who faced him, and equally amusing* to the 
 spectators perched upon the top rails of the bunk fence 
 on either side of the foul-board. 
 
 These rails were known as the " grand stand," and 
 the foul-board itself was made of mill slabs placed side 
 by side, perpendicularly, and spiked to a section of the 
 fence. 
 
2 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 Some distance back of the home-plate, a stocky boy 
 was catching, on the first bound, balls that eluded the 
 batsman, and returning them to the pitcher. 
 
 " Why don't you come up under the bat and pick 'em 
 off, Ned ? " shouted a boy somewhat larger than the 
 others, who was evidently the leader of the group. 
 
 " Yes, yes," chorused his companions. " Pick 'em 
 off." 
 
 " Thanks ! " returned the catcher, good-naturedly. 
 " Not to-day, boys. Some other day, when our school 
 mask and chest protector get along." 
 
 " They should be here now," said the boy wKo had 
 first spoken. " I got the bill of them yesterday. A 
 fellow who can catch as well as you can, Ned, when no 
 one is batting, should have no trouble in working close 
 up in a game." 
 
 " I don't know, Dave," was the doubtful rejoinder, 
 " I imagine it's something of a trick to get used to the 
 bat. But, anyway, I'll give it a try when our outfit 
 gets here." 
 
 "And you'll make a go of it, sure as preaching," 
 responded the older boy, confidently. 
 
 " Poppycock ! " sniffed a boy at one en3 o'f tKe row. 
 " Perhaps he will, and tKen again, perfiaps Ke won't. 
 It's all a matter of nerve. If He had the sand. He'd pick 
 'em off now." * 
 
 The last speaker, Allen Webster, was easily Histin- 
 guished from his companions by his more stylish and 
 expensive clothing. He was a New York boy, whose 
 
TROUBLE AT THE CHESTNUT HIGH SCHOOL 3 
 
 parents had sent him to the home of his maternal grand- 
 father at the Corner, on account, it was said, of several 
 disgraceful episodes in which he had been concerned at 
 home. He was a pompous and conceited boy, who pro- 
 nounced the people of the Corner " a gang of Rubes ;" 
 and who, feeling that the town was much too small for 
 a person of his importance, never lost an opportunity 
 to enlarge upon the wonders of his native city. It is 
 needless to say that he had not thereby increased his 
 popularity. 
 
 His sneering remark was a firebrand among the boys 
 to whom it was addressed. 
 
 "Oh!" "Ah!" "Indeed!" "Hear him!" "The 
 Great Mogul has spoken ! " came in sarcastic chorus 
 from the boys about him. 
 
 " What do you know about it, anyway ? " demanded 
 the older boy who acted as spokesman for the group. 
 
 " Well, I rather guess, Dave Weston, I've had as 
 good opportunities to know the game as any of you 
 here," swaggered Allen. " I used to go to the Polo 
 grounds at home every day. I've seen every team in 
 the National League play time and time again." 
 
 " Behold the great uncrowned king of the mighty 
 K3rpootums," proclaimed one of the boys with a wave 
 of his hand. 
 
 " No, you're mistaken," interposed another. " He's 
 the nickel-plated chief of the wild Galaboos." 
 
 " Let up, boys. Just cut that out, please," interposed 
 Dave, sternly. " We don't care what you've seen," 
 
4 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 he added, turning to the red-faced and angry Allen. 
 " We'd rather know what you've done. Did you ever 
 catch?" 
 
 "Catch?" retorted Allen, disdainfully. "Didn't I 
 say that I used to go to the Polo grounds regularly? 
 I've caught some of the greatest pitchers in the country 
 in practice — professionals, too, mind you." 
 
 Dave Weston dropped to the ground, and, walking 
 to where Allen sat, held out his hand with mock enthu- 
 siasm. 
 
 " I'm mighty glad to know you, Mr. Webster," he 
 said blandly. "_It is pleasing to all of us to realize that 
 we have such a crack-a-jack in our midst. To be sure, 
 our star performer, Mr. Raymond Benson, is not a 
 professional; neither has Mr. Ned Grover had much 
 experience as a catcher. They both need proper train- 
 ing, and it is very evident that you are just the man 
 to give it. Hi there, Ned ! " he called to the stocky 
 little catcher. " Come up on the grand stand. Mr. 
 Webster's going to catch." 
 
 " Wh — what do you mean ? " stammered Allen, turn- 
 ing uneasily to the grinning group upon the fence. 
 
 " Why," explained Dave, " we should like to have 
 you coach Mr. Benson a spell. Go in and catch, old 
 man." 
 
 " Three cheers for Coach Webster! " sKoute'd Koscoe 
 Bean, jumping to the ground, and waving his cap in the 
 air. 
 
 The cheers were given with a hilarious enthusiasm 
 
TROUBLE AT THE CHESTNUT HIGH SCHOOL 5 
 
 that was plainly disconcerting to Allen Webster. He 
 had come down from his perch on the fence, and was 
 looking nervously in the direction of the schoolhouse. 
 
 " I — you see fellows — in fact, I'm a little out of prac- 
 tice just now," he said in uncertain tones. 
 
 " Never mind that, old man," said Dave. " A fellow 
 who has caught professionals doesn't need any practice 
 to handle amateurs." 
 
 " That's so. We'll allow for your lack of practice," 
 chimed in Roscoe Bean. 
 
 " You see, fellows — I — really — my hands are a trifle 
 soft now. Some other time when I — " 
 
 " Huh ! " sneered Dave Weston. " Are you going to 
 crawfish?" 
 
 "Are you, who have caught professionals in New 
 York, going to squeal on a Rube pitcher here at Chest- 
 nut Corner," added tall and solemn-looking Jim Farris, 
 in tones of withering scorn. 
 
 " Of course he's going to catch," declared pudgy, 
 good-natured Elmer Cole. "Who said he wasn't? 
 Go in, old boy, and show 'em a thing or two." 
 
 " Yes, come on, Allen," called Raymond Benson from 
 the pitcher's box. "I'll be easy on you," he added, 
 encouragingly. 
 
 " Of course it will take me a little while to get my 
 hand in," explained Allen nervously, as he slowly took 
 his place behind the home-plate. " Throw me one or 
 two," he added, when he had donned Ned Grover's big 
 mit. 
 
O THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 Raymond threw one or two slow balls across the 
 plate, which, to the surprise of the boys, Allen caught 
 with comparative ease. 
 
 " It would be funny, wouldn't it, if that fellow should 
 have the laugh on us after all," said Dave Weston. 
 
 "Wait till he tries it under the bat," responded 
 Roscoe Bean, grimly. 
 
 " Batter up ! Get a hustle there ! " shouted diminu- 
 tive Harry Oakley, who was acting as umpire. 
 
 " Let 'er go," responded broad-shouldered Sam 
 Brown, as he took his stand in the batter's posi- 
 tion, and pounded his bat defiantly upon the home- 
 plate. 
 
 " Don't swing your bat back and forth so, Sam," 
 protested Allen, irritably. " Didn't I tell you I was out 
 of practice ? " 
 
 "All right," responded the big batter, cheerfully. 
 " Anything to please you, old boy." 
 
 " Play ! " shouted the umpire. 
 
 A slow ball came across the plate, and Sam made a 
 pretense of hitting at it. It went through, and, to the 
 surprise of the boys, nestled safely in Allen's mit. 
 
 " Perhaps he'll make good," said Jim Farris, regret- 
 fully. 
 
 " It will be the first time if He does," declared Elmer 
 Cole. " Hi there, Ned ! Get on to his pose. I see 
 your finish." 
 
 "All right," laughed Ned Grover, good-naturedly, 
 " I'm not so much in love with the job that I shouldn't 
 
'Yor SEE HOW it's DONE, DON'T YOU?" — Page?. 
 
TROUBLE AT THE CHESTNUT HIGH SCHOOL 7 
 
 be willing to give it up to a better and more experienced 
 man." 
 
 One or two other balls came into Allen's hands in the 
 same way, and it was evident that his confidence was 
 beginning to rise. 
 
 " Steam 'em along, Rame," he shouted to the pitcher. 
 " That is — not too hard — ," he hastily added, as he saw 
 that Raymond was about to follow his directions. 
 
 A ball somewhat swifter than the others passed 
 beneath Sam's bat, and again Allen succeeded in hold- 
 ing it. 
 
 " Rame and Sam are playing horse with him," 
 declared Dave Weston, confidently. 
 
 Allen was evidently elated with his unexpected suc- 
 cess. " You see how it's done, don't you ? " he said, 
 turning patronizingly to Ned Grover. " Now you go 
 in and try it, and I'll stand by and give you a few 
 points." 
 
 " I'd rather watch you a while longer," said Ned, 
 dryly. " I think I'm beginning to catch on a little." 
 
 " Push 'em along, old man — ^that is, just fairly fast," 
 called Allen, returning the ball to Raymond. 
 
 This time the ball came across the plate with greater 
 speed v^jjaan before, and Sam Brown swung at it in 
 earnest. There was a yell of anguish from Allen. A 
 foul tip had hit him in the side of the face, and he fell, 
 writhing and moaning, to the ground. 
 
 The frightened boys saw that the blood was trickling 
 down his chin, apparently from his mouth ; and, fear- 
 
8 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 ing that their fun had occasioned serious consequences, 
 they hastened to bring cold water from the spring near 
 by, and attend to their suffering playmate, who was 
 sobbing and groaning in what appeared to be mortal 
 agony. 
 
 " I'm done for — oh, I'm killed — I'm dying, I know I 
 am ! " he gasped in terrified accents. " Why don't 
 some one send for the doctor ? " 
 
 Several badly frightened boys were about to act upon 
 this suggestion, when Dave Weston, who was washing 
 the blood from Allen's face with a wet handkerchief, 
 hastened to stop them. 
 
 " Hold on there, you ninnies," he shouted, peremp- 
 torily. " There's nothing serious here — no need for 
 any of you to get rattled. It's only a nosebleed." 
 
 A moment later Allen rose a little unsteadily to his 
 feet, and turned hotly upon Raymond Benson. " It's 
 all your fault," he shouted, angrily. " You did it on 
 purpose." 
 
 " Why, what did I do ? " demanded Raymond, in 
 open-eyed amazement." 
 
 " You threw me down. You pitched me a high ball 
 when I signaled for a low one." 
 
 " I didn't know we were using any signals," protested 
 Raymond. 
 
 " Oh, of course not ! " sneered Allen. " You don't 
 know much anyway. I give you fair warning though, 
 I'm through with you, and I'll be even with you some 
 day. You'll never get me to catch you again," and, 
 
TROUBLE AT THE. CHESTNUT HIGH SCHOOL 9 
 
 turning upon his heel, he stalked away into the school- 
 house just as the bell was ringing for the afternoon 
 session. 
 
 " I was wondering how Allen would manage to 
 square himself," chuckled Dave Weston, as the boys 
 followed after him. " Blamed if he hasn't skinned 
 around the corner in fairly good shape." 
 
 " That fellow can follow a weasel 'most anywhere," 
 responded Roscoe Bean, with conviction, as the door 
 closed behind them. 
 
 It was one of those hot days that occasionally come 
 in early autumn, and through the open windows came 
 the rumble of long-bodied potato wagons on their way 
 to market, mingled with the passing pleasantries of their 
 drivers. 
 
 Raymond Benson was conscious of feeling hot and 
 uncomfortable as he dropped into his seat. He felt that 
 he was foolish to give any weight to the angry remarks 
 of Allen Webster, and still he could not prevent them 
 from rankling. Somehow he found it extremely diffi- 
 cult that afternoon to concentrate his attention upon his 
 studies, and it was evident that others found themselves 
 in the same plight. A spirit of unrest appeared to per- 
 vade the whole school, and Mr. Beecham, the teacher, 
 who was trying his best to counteract it, looked tired 
 and worried. 
 
 He had turned his back upon the school, and was 
 stepping upon the platform to ring the bell for recess, 
 when a deafening explosion shook the room. In a 
 
lO THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 moment all was wild confusion. The pupils sprang to 
 their feet with white, startled faces, and a number of 
 the girls could not forbear a scream, — several of them 
 becoming almost hysterical. 
 
 Mr. Beecham turned sharply about, and stood for a 
 moment in dazed bewilderment. The frightened pupils 
 sank back into their seats, and a hush of expectancy fell 
 upon the school. 
 
 "Who did that?" 
 
 The teacher's tones were stern and cold. Every pupil 
 in the room had an uncomfortable feeling of being 
 singled out for special inspection. 
 
 Mr. Beecham received no reply to his question ; but 
 he caught certain covert glances in the direction of Allen 
 Webster, who was apparently applying himself to his 
 history lesson with unwonted diligence. 
 
 "Mr. Webster!" 
 
 "What, sir?" asked Allen in a voice which, despite 
 his efforts to appear unconcerned, was somewhat husky. 
 
 " Do you have any idea what caused that explosion ? " 
 
 " Why, I thought — that is — it sounded like a big 
 torpedo." 
 
 " I think that's just what it was," responded the 
 teacher with conviction. " Do you Kave any idea who 
 threw it?" 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 A look of contempt flashed from Mr. Beecham's gray 
 eyes; but, to the surprise and the relief of the school, 
 he did not pursue his inquiries further. 
 
TROUBLE AT THE CHESTNUT HIGH SCHOOL II 
 
 " In view of this episode we will omit the afternoon 
 recess," he said quietly. 
 
 Nothing further occurred to mar the serenity of the 
 session; and the pupils, to their credit, endeavored to 
 show their disapproval of the discreditable occurrence 
 by a close attention to their studies, and a general 
 improvement in deportment. 
 
 As Allen Webster stepped out into the school yard at 
 the close of the afternoon session, he found Raymond 
 Benson waiting for him. 
 
 " You don't expect me to catch for you, Benson? " he 
 said with a scowl. " I thought I told you I'd quit." 
 
 " You needn't worry about that," replied Raymond, 
 coolly. " I don't want you to catch. I was just wait- 
 ing to return a little of your property." 
 
 " My property ? " repeated Allen, doubtfully. 
 
 " Yes, this," returned Raymond, as he dropped into 
 Allen's outstretched palm a small handful of polished 
 gravel stones mixed with little pieces of red paper. 
 
 " Why — what's this ? " stammered Allen, uneasily. 
 
 "Looks to me very much like the remains of a 
 torpedo," laughed Raymond. 
 
 " Oh, you're a bird, you are," sneered Allen, wrath- 
 fuUy, "You think you are so mighty smart and — 
 and — foxy. You make me tired." 
 
 " And you weary me just a little," responded Ray- 
 mond. 
 
 "Oh, do I? It's quite refreshing to know that 
 something can break the crust of your conceit. You 
 
12 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 might as well understand, Benson, that I'm not asking 
 any favors of you. I don't wear your collar." 
 
 " I'm very glad to hear it," returned Raymond, with 
 provoking coolness. " I'm sure I never wanted you to 
 wear anything of mine. One thing is very certain — 
 although you do not appear to have grasped the fact — 
 none of the fellows here at the Corner are wearing your 
 collar. As a matter of fact, it is too small for most of 
 them." 
 
 With a spiteful movement, Allen attempted to throw 
 the gravel stones into Raymond's face; but his hand 
 was unsteady, and they flew wide of their mark. 
 
 " My property, is it? " he cried, angrily. " Looks to 
 me as though 'twas yours." 
 
 " No, it's yours," declared Raymond, with emphasis. 
 
 " How do you know, smarty? " 
 
 " In the first place, I saw you when you tossed it over 
 your shoulder against the back blackboard. In the 
 next place I found the remains of it in my hat, which 
 happened to lie on the platform right under the place 
 where it struck." 
 
 " And now I suppose you're waiting to tattle to 
 Beecham ? " sneered Allen. 
 
 Raymond's face flushed Hotly. " I'm not in the habit 
 of being a talebearer," he said, in a constrained voice. 
 
 Allen looked relieved. 
 
 " Very well," he said. " You look after your affairs 
 and I'll try to attend to mine," and turning on his heel, 
 he walked stiffly away. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 CHESTNUT CHARACTERISTICS 
 
 Chestnut Corner was not very much of a metropolis. 
 As its name indicates, it was situated at the crossing of 
 two roads. One of these was the old county road which 
 connected the Corner, and the rest of Aroostook County, 
 with the prosperous city of Bangor, seventy miles to the 
 southwest, and thence with the great outside world 
 beyond. In former years this road had been the main 
 thoroughfare for all the traffic of the county. Over it 
 daily ran a line of large stage-coaches, each drawn by 
 four or six horses. These were almost invariably 
 loaded to their utmost capacity. In addition to the 
 stage-coaches, there was a daily succession of heavy 
 " tote " teams, hauling the products of Aroostook to a 
 market at Bangor, and bringing back with them all the 
 articles of merchandise required for the county trade. 
 Those were prosperous days for Chestnut Corner, and 
 the arrival of the stage was always an event eagerly 
 looked forward to with each recurring day. 
 
 The heavy " tote " teams that had regularly traversed 
 the county road had also been an important feature in 
 the daily afifairs of the Corner. They frequently hauled 
 up at Cobe Hersom's blacksmith shop to have horses 
 
 13 
 
14 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 shod or repairing done, and were always surrounded by 
 a group of eager questioners who found a never-faihng 
 source of interest in the budget of news the loquacious 
 teamsters had collected all along the line. Those were 
 certainly lively times for the Corner, and it was not 
 strange that the older men, who still found a rendez- 
 vous at Squire Copeland's store, which, as in days of 
 yore, continued to bear the post-office sign, and at Cobe 
 Hersom's shop, where the proprietor still did business 
 on a somewhat smaller scale, loved dearly to enlarge 
 upon their glories. 
 
 The advent of the railroad at Bolton, eight miles from 
 the Corner, had given the death-blow to stage-coaches 
 and " tote " teams, and many who had never antici- 
 pated any other mode of travel than staging were heavy 
 losers by the change. Others there were who had fore- 
 seen such a result, and had shrewdly disposed of their 
 stage property. Among the latter was Andrew Benson, 
 who had once been sole proprietor of the line of stage- 
 coaches which passed through the Corner on the road 
 between Bolton and Bangor. In addition to this, he 
 had owned a majority of the heavy " tote " teams which 
 traversed the same road. Foreseeing the decline of 
 staging, he had sold his line and invested the proceeds 
 in a beautiful farm about three miles below Chestnut 
 Corner. His " tote " teams had been utilized in lumber 
 operations. 
 
 At this time the large family which Mr. Benson had 
 brought up were grown men and women, with homes of 
 
CHESTNUT CHARACTERISTICS 1 5 
 
 their own. Among them was Henry Benson, who, by 
 industry and economy, had been able to establish a large 
 commission business in Bangor, and to accumulate a 
 handsome property. Henry had two children: Clara, 
 a quiet, sweet-faced girl of fourteen, and Raymond, two 
 years older, to whom the reader has already been 
 introduced. 
 
 City life had not been a good atmosphere for 
 Raymond Benson. His superabundant energy and 
 love of excitement had led him to select companions 
 who were far from his parents' liking. They had fre- 
 quently discussed their boy's future with much anxiety, 
 and had finally decided that two or three years of coun- 
 try life would prove in every way beneficial to him. 
 This decision was strengthened by a letter from Father 
 Benson in which, under an attempt to appear cheerful, 
 was a pathetic reference to the loneliness that he and 
 " Mother " felt in the old home-nest from which all the 
 young birds had flown. This letter decided Mr. Benson 
 to send Raymond at once to the old homestead. Thus, 
 a week later, the boy found himself domiciled under his 
 grandfather's roof. 
 
 Grandfather Benson was a progressive man. He 
 was always ready and anxious to learn of new and 
 improved methods of cultivation, and it was largely due 
 to this fact that his farm was among the most produc- 
 tive and profitable in the county. He had seen Chestnut 
 grow from a wilderness into one of the most prosperous 
 towns in Aroostook County. More than half a century 
 
l6 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 before, when only fifteen years of age, he had started in 
 with his father to clear the place he then owned. They 
 had built a small log camp upon the banks of the brook 
 beside the spring, from which a hydraulic ram now 
 forced a never-failing supply of pure water into a large 
 tank beside the porch sink. 
 
 Those were days of hard work for Andrew Benson 
 and his father. The ring of their busy axes was 
 almost the only sound that broke the silence of the great 
 primeval forest ; but they brought to their labors rugged 
 health, and the hearty appetites acquired by wholesome 
 work in the open air. As they lay in their bunks at 
 night, they frequently heard the howling of hungry 
 wolves about the little clearing. Game was plentiful, 
 and formed a most important item in their bill of fare. 
 The brook fairly swarmed with trout, and many a 
 delicious meal they pulled from its waters. 
 
 In time a respectable clearing was made in the forest, 
 and, with the assistance of one or two friends from 
 other clearings, a good-sized log house was erected 
 near the camp. Here, the following spring, Mr. 
 Benson brought the remainder of his family, a cheer- 
 ful, industrious wife and two little girls. Then began 
 a long, hard struggle for a livelihood. A number of 
 other children were born, and it was often a puzzle to 
 find the means for feeding all the hungry mouths that 
 gathered at meal-time around the rude board table. 
 Often, indeed, it was found necessary, especially when 
 crops were short, to supplement the products of the farm 
 
CHESTNUT CHARACTERISTICS 17 
 
 with fish and game, of which, happily, there was almost 
 always an abundance. 
 
 But fortune favored this hardy. God-fearing family. 
 Sickness was almost unknown among its members. 
 The children grew into rugged, earnest. Christian men 
 and women. Slowly, but surely, the wilderness was 
 subdued, and the Benson farm became one of the best 
 in the county. The old log house, between the rude 
 timbers of which, where the wind had loosened the 
 moss chinking, the snow had often sifted in on stormy 
 winter nights, to pile itself in little drifts about the 
 beds of the boys in the loft, was replaced by the more 
 modern building which was still the farm home. 
 
 In time the children grew up and moved away — some 
 of them to distant states. Andrew Benson alone, of 
 all the number, continued to reside in Chestnut. He 
 carried on the farm and made a comfortable home for 
 his father and mother up to the 'time of their death. 
 In return for this he was given the homestead. He 
 continued to reside upon it until a large family of 
 children were gathered about him. Then he sold the 
 farm and purchased the old rambling tavern at Chest- 
 nut Corner, together with the stage-line between Bolton 
 and Bangor. The years that followed were prosperous 
 ones. All of Mr. Benson's children were earners, and 
 the expenses of the family were watched over with 
 frugal care. The girls helped their mother in the 
 household duties of the tavern — Corner people would 
 have smiled to hear it called a hotel, — and the boys, 
 
l8 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 relieved of farm duties, drove stage, and took care of 
 the stable. 
 
 When the children had started out in life for them- 
 selves, each had accumulated enough by honest industry 
 to be of considerable assistance to him, and still Father 
 Benson retained a very respectable bank account in 
 addition to his other property. 
 
 The habits of thrift and economy which the children 
 had learned of their parents proved of great value to 
 them in after years, and, in course of time, all were 
 accounted well-to-do and several of them wealthy. 
 Among the latter was Henry Benson, Raymond's 
 father, who was justly considered one of the most 
 prosperous and influential citizens of Bangor. 
 
 When all the children had left the old home, and 
 their places in the work of the tavern were filled with 
 hired help, the old building lost its charm for Father 
 and Mother Benson. In these days they found the 
 love of the old home farm returning with all the power 
 it had exerted upon them in younger years. Andrew 
 Benson was homesick, he told his wife with a wistful 
 smile, for the old place; and finally, when a good 
 opportunity presented itself, he had purchased it, sold 
 the tavern and the stage-line, and moved back once 
 more under the roof of the old home around which 
 clustered so many tender memories of bygone days. 
 Here he kept open house for all the Benson family, 
 and during the warm summer months, it was seldom 
 without a party of his grandchildren and their parents. 
 
CHESTNUT CHARACTERISTICS XQ 
 
 When Grandfather Benson had found himself back 
 upon the old farm, he threw himself into the work of 
 improving it with all the pride and energy which he 
 had bestowed upon it in former years. It would have 
 seemed to most men as if little remained to be done. 
 The farm was in an excellent state of cultivation, and 
 the buildings upon it were in thorough repair. Grand- 
 father Benson, however, found many things to do. 
 The meadow-land about the brook was carefully under- 
 drained, and transformed into a magnificent hay-field. 
 The large orchard was thoroughly renovated. Old 
 trees were grafted with scions of the finest varieties, 
 and a large number of choice young trees were set out. 
 
 " If I do not gather the fruit of these," Mr. Benson 
 had said to his wife, with a smile, when she cautioned 
 him against working so hard, " it will pay me enough 
 for all my trouble to see them grow." The good man, 
 however, had already been enjoying the fruit of these 
 trees for several years when Raymond came to him. 
 
 When the work in the orchard was completed, 
 Grandfather Benson began an innovation that filled 
 his worthy neighbors with amazement, and was soon 
 the talk of the town, forming the subject of many an 
 earnest discussion around the big stove in Squire Cope- 
 land's Corner store. To be sure the matter might not 
 have appeared of great importance to the world at 
 large, but in Chestnut events that were not of special 
 moment in themselves sometimes assumed unexpected 
 interest from their surroundings. So with Andrew 
 
20 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 Benson's improvements upon the old farm. The worthy 
 townspeople had declared it all folly for a man of his 
 years and property to work so incessantly. The great 
 influence that he had always exerted in town matters 
 gave his affairs unusual interest to Chestnut citizens. 
 His " new-fangled notions " were always a fruitful 
 theme of discussion at the sewing-circle and the post- 
 office. 
 
 But everybody agreed that Grandfather Benson's 
 latest eccentricity exceeded anything in that line of 
 which he had before been guilty. It was nothing less 
 than the clearing up of the unsightly rubbish by the 
 roadside in front of his farm, and the planting of a 
 row of apple trees along the whole length of the strip 
 of land thus reclaimed. Chestnut people could appre- 
 ciate the clearing up of the rubbish, and voted it an 
 idea in every way worthy of emulation; but they were 
 unable to conceive of any sufficient reason for the apple 
 trees. 
 
 " I hope you don't expect to get any apples from those 
 trees," Mr. Grover had said, as he came one day upon 
 Grandfather Benson busily engaged in setting out the 
 last of them. 
 
 "Why not?" was the response. 
 
 " Because they'll be stolen." 
 
 " I don't believe they will be. Doubtless a few will 
 be taken, but I sha'n't object to that. If any man who 
 is going by here in the fall when these trees are bearing 
 wants an apple or two, I shall be perfectly willing to 
 
CHESTNUT CHARACTERISTICS 21 
 
 let him have them. After all such people are satisfied, 
 I think there will be quite a number of apples left for 
 me to gather." 
 
 " I'm blest if I believe it, Andrew," said Mr. Grover, 
 with an incredulous shake of his head. " I've had some 
 experience with apple thieves, and I don't feel any too 
 sure. Why, I had to keep a constant watch over my 
 orchard last fall. If I hadn't, I really don't believe I 
 should have gathered any apples at all. As it was, I 
 lost a number of bushels, and it was back from the road, 
 too. These trees that you have planted here will have 
 no protection whatever. Everybody will have an oppor- 
 tunity to help themselves." 
 
 " Well, one thing is certain," responded Mr. Benson, 
 with a smile. " If they get what they want here, they 
 won't go into my orchard for apples ; so that, after all, 
 by your own admission, I shall be better off than you 
 are." 
 
 " Yes, if you are willing to throw away all your hard 
 work, and have these trees count you nothing." 
 
 " But they will count me something, won't they, if 
 they protect my orchard, and save me the trouble of 
 watching it ? " 
 
 "Yes, but nothing compared with the value of the 
 apples you will lose. 'Just as long as no fruit, to 
 amount to anything, is raised in the upper part of the 
 county, there will always be an inducement for thieves 
 to raid our orchards. I shall be glad when the people 
 up north get orchards of their own. Then there will 
 
22 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 be no demand there for fruit to stimulate our own and 
 other rascals to steal it from our orchards." 
 
 " Do you think that some of those fellows live here 
 in Chestnut?" 
 
 " I haven't the slightest doubt of it. In fact, I feel 
 morally sure who some of them are. It would be a 
 very difficult, if not an impossible thing, though, to 
 prove it to a legal certainty. We must wait for the 
 growth of orchards up north before we can really 
 expect to be let alone by such knaves." 
 
 " Yes, but when that thing comes about, we shall 
 have lost our fine market for fruit," responded Mr. 
 Benson. " Now I'll tell you just how I happened to 
 plant these trees here. I think that you'll agree with 
 me that it isn't such a foolish notion as some of my 
 neighbors have imagined. I had intended at first to 
 set out maples, but it occurred to me that I could get 
 varieties of apple trees that would look about as well 
 and have the added advantage of usefulness. If all the 
 apples are taken, I shall be just as well off as I would 
 have been if I had planted maples. If I get any fruit 
 from them, it will be clear gain, for it's no more work 
 to set them out than it would be to set out the maples, 
 and there isn't much difference in the cost of getting 
 them." 
 
 " I don't know but that you are right, Andrew," 
 conceded Mr. Grover. " You have a way of looking 
 clean round a thing," and he continued on his way home, 
 a convert to the innovation. 
 
CHESTNUT CHARACTERISTICS 23 
 
 But Grandfather Benson did not cease his improve- 
 ments upon the old place with the changes on the road- 
 front. He built a fence about the whole farm that was 
 the admiration of all who saw it, and that soon became 
 known far and near as the finest in the county. It 
 was built of whole cedar logs, of which there was an 
 abundance upon the farm. The bottom log rested upon 
 a granite underpinning. The fence was six rails high, 
 the top rail along the road-front being securely bolted 
 on. This was a precautionary measure, and grew out 
 of Grandfather Benson's observation of the fact that 
 rail fences were chiefly endangered by the practice of 
 teamsters in taking off fence-rails for use as levers in 
 the drifts of winter, and in the mire of early spring. 
 Broad as was Grandfather Benson's philanthropy, it 
 was not sufficient for the sacrifice of that new fence to 
 the needs of Chestnut teamsters. 
 
 Few men in Chestnut were as well educated as 
 Grandfather Benson, and doubtless his ability to speak 
 and write good English — an accomplishment upon 
 which he specially prided himself — was largely respon- 
 sible for the influence he exerted in town affairs. 
 
 Raymond entered with enthusiasm into all his grand- 
 father's plans. In fact, he found his life on the 
 old place far pleasanter than he had anticipated. His 
 grandparents were devotedly attached to him, and did 
 everything in their power to make him happy and 
 contented. There was also an interest for him in the 
 farm work, for Grandfather Benson knew exactly how 
 
24 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 to awaken it. He had made Raymond a confidant, 
 advising with him about the crops and the care of the 
 stock, and readily accepting his suggestions when they 
 were good ones. Raymond was given three late calves, 
 which Mr. Benson had intended to kill, a colt, four 
 lambs, and two dozen hens, and he was thus imbued 
 with the personal pride and interest in the creatures 
 about him that came from a sense of proprietorship. 
 Then, too, he had an acre of land all for his own, the 
 products of which he was permitted to dispose of as 
 he pleased. This he planted to potatoes, the great 
 money crop in Aroostook. When fall came. He har- 
 vested a yield of one hundred and fifty bushels, which 
 he sold at the starch factories and at the Bolton market, 
 clearing the snug little sum of sixty dollars. 
 
 It was the second week in September that the Free 
 High School at Chestnut Corner began, under the 
 instruction of David Beecham, a State College student, 
 who had taught the district school the previous winter 
 with flattering success. It had been a question with 
 Raymond how he should get to and from the Comer 
 in attending school. This was soon satisfactorily set- 
 tled. Ned Grover, who lived on the adjoining farm, 
 was also going to attend the school, and boasted among 
 his possessions a spirited four-year-old colt. This, 
 with an old harness and buggy of Grandfather Ben- 
 son's, provided the boys with as fine a team as they 
 could possibly have desired. What beautiful drives 
 they had enjoyed through the crisp morning air! 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 TOM ATKINS GETS A TUMBLE 
 
 " I can show you a trick worth two of that." 
 
 It was Raymond Benson who spoke. He and Ned 
 Grover had been watching some Corner boys who were 
 angling for victims in front of Squire Copeland's store 
 with an old pocketbook, to the under part of which 
 was attached a stout linen thread. Several people had 
 stooped to pick it up, only to see it elude their grasp 
 and vanish quickly round the corner, where Jim Farris 
 and Elmer Cole, who were engineering the sell, were 
 stationed. In every instance the victims had joined 
 heartily in the laugh which greeted their momentary 
 surprise and discomfiture, and had taken a good position 
 to enjoy thoroughly the chagrin of the next victim. 
 But this sport had begun to grow a trifle monotonous. 
 No victim had put in an appearance for some time, and 
 the hardest thing in the world for live boys to do is 
 to do nothing. All had grown tired of waiting, and 
 eagerly gathered around Raymond to hear what he 
 was about to propose. They had implicit faith in his 
 powers to originate plans for amusement. 
 
 " Let's have it," they chorused. 
 
 " You see, fellows," said Raymond, " it's a secret. 
 
 2S 
 
26 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 Only Ned and I know it. Now I'm willing to let you 
 into it one at a time, but no more. Each one of you 
 must promise, honest injun, not to give it away. If 
 all of you don't agree that it's better than that old 
 pocketbook trick, I'll eat my hat. Now let every 
 fellow who wants to know it hold up his hand." 
 
 Every boy but one promptly responded. 
 
 " Don't you want to know it ? " asked Raymond of 
 Tom Atkins, who had refrained from holding up a 
 hand with the others. 
 
 " No, I guess not." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Oh, I reckon you've got crowd enough without me." 
 
 " Yes, I guess so, too," said Raymond, sarcastically. 
 " When a fellow hasn't sand enough to stand in with 
 the other boys, he doesn't really count for anything. 
 I wash my hands of him." 
 
 " That's so, we don't want him, anyway," came in 
 a chorus of agreement from several of the boys, and 
 Tom, finding the atmosphere a decidedly frigid one, 
 and fearing, perhaps, that he might be made the victim 
 of his companions' displeasure, walked sullenly away 
 and entered the store. 
 
 " I'm glad he's gone," said Raymond. 
 
 " So am I," added Harry Oakley. 
 
 " He always was one of the meanest fellows in the 
 town," chimed in Sam Brown. 
 
 " It's all right, boys," said Raymond. " If he doesn't 
 want to join us, he needn't. Nobody here appears to 
 
TOM ATKINS GETS A TUMBLE 27 
 
 want him very badly, anyway. Now we'll come to 
 business. I will stay here on the store steps with you, 
 and Ned will be out behind the building on the plat- 
 form of Bill Gleason's carriage shop. You fellows 
 may go round there, one at a time, and he will initiate 
 you into the trick. When you've all learned we'll get 
 together, if you wish, and see which one of us can do 
 it the best." 
 
 " That's first rate ! " was the general exclamation 
 among the boys, who by this time were very much 
 interested in Raymond's new scheme, and exceedingly 
 curious as to the nature of it. ' 
 
 Harry Oakley was the first boy to go to Ned around 
 the corner of the store. It was evident that he was 
 somewhat suspicious of what might be in store for him. 
 
 " Well, what is it, old man? " he grinned, with a look 
 of apprehension. " You haven't a stuffed club under 
 your coat, have you? " 
 
 " No, I don't carry concealed weapons," returned 
 Ned, carelessly. " It really isn't half as bad as you 
 suspect, old man. Just sit down beside me on this plat- 
 form, and I'll show you." 
 
 " Let 'er go, Gallagher," laughed Harry, as he fol- 
 lowed Ned's directions. 
 
 " You see this rock," continued Ned, exhibiting 
 a cobblestone about the size of a baseball. 
 
 " Sure, I'm all eyes." 
 
 " Well, the scheme is to put your hands under your 
 legs from the outside, right here by your knees, and 
 
28 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 see how far you can throw this rock in front of you 
 from that position." 
 
 " Is that all? " asked Harry, in a tone of disappoint- 
 ment. 
 
 " Isn't that enough, my boy ? It looks easy, but I 
 reckon you'll find it considerably more of a trick than 
 you imagine." 
 
 " Pooh ! That's easy — dead easy," asserted Harry, 
 confidently. 
 
 Ned smiled indulgently. 
 
 " It would seem so at first thought," he admitted. 
 
 Harry took the rock and looked at it a little dubiously. 
 
 " Oh, it's straight goods. It's a rock all right," 
 laughed Ned. 
 
 " You hold it, like this, in both hands? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And throw it from between your legs ? " 
 
 " Exactly." 
 
 " Why, a baby could do that. Well, here goes. 
 Great Scott!" 
 
 This last expression was one of genuine surprise. 
 Before Harry could throw the rock, Ned had seized 
 him firmly by both wrists, and lifting him clear off the 
 platform, dropped him gently to the ground, where he 
 struck with a force and abruptness that, as he after- 
 wards expressed it, " made his ears snap." 
 
 " Well, what do you think of it now? " asked Ned, 
 coolly, when Harry had recovered somewhat from his 
 astonishment. 
 
TOM ATKINS GETS A TUMBLE 29 
 
 " It's great ! I never felt quite so helpless in my life. 
 You had me foul," laughed Harry. 
 
 " I thought you'd say so." 
 
 " Am I to stay here and see the other fellows initi- 
 ated?" 
 
 " Yes, that's a privilege of the wise." 
 
 " Well, call the next candidate." 
 
 " See here, my boy, you must keep a sober face on 
 you," cautioned Ned, "and mind you're all enthu- 
 siasm." 
 
 " Have no fears of that. I was completely carried 
 away by it." 
 
 The next victim was Sam Brown, and the way 
 Harry rolled upon the platform in a perfect paroxysm 
 of laughter at the figure his friend cut was a sufficient 
 proof of the sincerity of his conversion. In this way 
 all the boys were initiated into the mysteries of Ray- 
 mond's new game. As Ned was instructing the last 
 one, Ra3miond, who was about to join the boys and 
 witness the sport, was surprised to see Tom Atkins 
 steal from the opposite side of the building and enter 
 the store. 
 
 "The mean skunk! I'll bet he's been spying," he 
 thought, and turning about he went into the store, 
 where he found Tom seated upon the counter, explain- 
 ing the new game to an interested crowd of grinning 
 loafers. 
 
 " You see, all the other boys were just green enough 
 to bite," he was saying. "They'll do anything Ray- 
 
30 tHE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 mond Benson wants them to, but I was a little too sharp 
 for him. He tried to bluff me into it, but found that 
 it wouldn't work. There are one or two people in the 
 world just as smart as he is." 
 
 " And you stole out on the other side of the store and 
 took in the fun, did you?" asked Bill Gleason, who 
 spent more time holding down the nail kegs in Squire 
 Copeland's store than he did in his carriage shop. 
 
 " Yes, I saw them put three fellows through. Ha ! 
 Ha! It was great fun, I tell you," and Tom laughed 
 heartily at the recollection. 
 
 " Look here, Tom, that won't wash. I guess you're 
 stuffing us," declared big Joel Webber, who had been 
 holding a whispered conversation with Raymond Ben- 
 son behind the post-office boxes. 
 
 " No, I'm not. I saw the thing worked on three 
 different fellows." 
 
 "How did they do it?" 
 
 " Why," said Tom, who was only waiting for this 
 invitation to tell what he knew. " You see Ned had 
 them sit down on the platform of Bill's shop, put their 
 hands under their legs, so, and — " 
 
 But he didn't complete his sentence. The moment 
 his hands passed under his legs, Joel seized him with an 
 iron grip by both wrists, and lifting him clear off the 
 counter, dropped him upon the floor, where he struck 
 with a force that made his hair stand on end, and 
 brought out all the rattle in every piece of crockery and 
 hardware in the store. 
 
TOM ATKINS GETS A TUMBLE 3 1 
 
 There was a perfect roar of laughter from those 
 present, which was heartily joined in by Ned Grover 
 and the other boys, who, having finished their sport, 
 entered the store just in time to witness Tom's grand 
 tumble. 
 
 " Oh, I shall be lame for a month ! I shall be lame 
 for a month ! " howled the unhappy victim, as he limped 
 to a seat on a neighboring nail keg. " That's your 
 work, Benson. I'll get even with you some day," he 
 added, fiercely. 
 
 " I thought Joel did it," laughed Raymond. 
 
 " Well, you put him up to it. Enjoy your fun now. 
 My turn will come some day, and then it won't be such 
 a laughing matter for you." 
 
 " I begin to see, fellows, why Tom didn't join us," 
 said Raymond, turning to the boys. 
 
 "Why was it?" 
 
 " He felt a little high-toned and wanted an initiation 
 indoors all by himself." 
 
 A boisterous shout of laughter greeted this announce- 
 ment. 
 
 " Yes, but there was probably another reason," 
 chimed in Ned Grover. 
 
 " What was that? " asked several of the boys. 
 
 " The drop from the platform of Bill's shop wasn't 
 far enough for him." 
 
 Again the boys indulged their merriment and the 
 loafers at the store joined heartily in the laugh. 
 
 " You fellows may get all the fun out of this you 
 
32 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 can," growled Tom, who was fairly choking with rage 
 and mortification. " My innings will come later on." 
 
 " Yes, but perhaps you can't bat our curves," returned 
 Raymond Benson over his shoulder, as he followed his 
 companions out of the store. 
 
 " Oh, yes. You're a wonder— you're a wizard," 
 sneered Tom, and there was a look on his face that 
 boded no good to the object of his anger. 
 
 " He's a mean fellow, and I'm glad to see him taken 
 down a peg," said Elmer Cole, when the boys had 
 assembled again in front of Cobe Hersom's shop. 
 
 " So am I," was the hearty rejoinder from a number 
 of the group. 
 
 " We mustn't be too hard on him, fellows," said 
 Raymond, soberly. " I guess we've rubbed it in enough. 
 He's the under dog just now, and we can afiford to be 
 generous toward him. Besides, we must remember 
 that he has never had the chance that most of us have." 
 
 " That's so," added Ned. " I've heard father say 
 many a time that it would be the greatest blessing that 
 could happen to this town if old Pete Atkins and his 
 tribe would move away from it." 
 
 "If justice were done I guess two or three of them 
 would leave town and board at government expense," 
 said Sam Brown. 
 
 "How so?" asked Raymond. 
 
 " Why, you don't suppose the whiskey old Pete sells 
 ever pays any duty, do you ? " 
 
 " I have never thought much about it." 
 
"OH, I SHALL BE LAME FOB A MONTH ! " — P«ge 31. 
 
TOM ATKINS GETS A TUMBLE 33 
 
 "Well, you may just make up your mind that it 
 doesn't. There is reason to believe that every gill of 
 it is smuggled across the line." 
 
 " Why don't the Custom House officers at Bolton 
 stop him ? " asked Jim Farris. 
 
 " That's easier said than done, my boy," answered 
 Ned Grover. 
 
 " I don't know why. The government pays those 
 officers to see that duties are collected on everything 
 that comes across the line. It seems to me they can't 
 be attending to their work very well when they permit 
 a man to smuggle liquor almost under their noses." 
 
 " They'd have to have mighty long noses to smell out 
 all the liquor along the whole line," persisted Ned. 
 
 " I don't see why they can't do it," declared Jim. 
 " That's what they are there for." 
 
 " How many officers are there at Bolton ? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " Well, there are only three. These, with three 
 deputies who are stationed in the northern part of the 
 county, make up the whole force of the Custom House. 
 It seems to me that six men would have to spread them- 
 selves out pretty thin to stop smuggling on a frontier 
 one hundred and fifty miles long, and covered nearly 
 the entire distance with a dense forest growth." 
 
 " I hadn't thought of that." 
 
 " I didn't suppose you had. Most of us haven't. It's 
 the fashion around here to blame the Custom House 
 officers if every one who smuggles anything through 
 
34 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 the woods isn't discovered and brought to trial. I 
 think they do everything they can, though. It must 
 take about all their time to look after matters at Bolton, 
 where the bulk of the imports come. I don't see where 
 they'd find much chance for patrolling the country 
 crossroads, let alone a hundred and fifty miles of 
 wilderness." 
 
 "You're right, Ned," said Raymond. "Where 
 people live within eight miles of the Canada line, as 
 we do, it is impossible to prevent more or less smug- 
 gling. Grandfather says he has never known a time 
 when it wasn't carried on to some extent, and never 
 expects to, while the present conditions exist." 
 
 " The officers do catch them sometimes, don't they? " 
 asked Harry Oakley. 
 
 " Oh, yes, frequently. At the last term of the United 
 States circuit court at Portland there were five from this 
 county tried on that very charge." 
 
 " What was done with them ? " 
 
 " One of them was discharged for laclc of evidence, 
 two were heavily fined, and two sent to prison." 
 
 " I should think that would sicken them of the 
 business." 
 
 " It very likely will, those particular ones, but they 
 are a very small fraction of the men wKo are engaged 
 in this business. It isn't altogether whiskey that's 
 smuggled, either." 
 
 " I guess, if the truth were known, old Pete Atkins's 
 operations are not confined to that," said Sam Brown. 
 
TOM ATKINS GETS A TUMBLE 35 
 
 "What makes you think so?" asked Raymond. 
 
 " Oh, evidence I've seen," rephed Sam, laughing. 
 
 " What was that ? " inquired Ned, scenting a story. 
 
 " Well, early this fall, when my cousin Dick Rich- 
 ards was visiting me from Portland, I took him down 
 on Letter K, where Amos Dole operated the winter 
 before, intending to use his old log camp on the banks 
 of Bower Brook, and have two or three days' hunting 
 and trout fishing. We carried everything necessary 
 for the trip in packs on our backs, and reached the camp 
 about dusk. To our surprise we found it occupied. 
 Old Pete Atkins and a stranger — a swarthy-faced, 
 rough-looking fellow, about forty years of age—were 
 there before us. They greeted us cordially enough, 
 and invited us to come right in and have supper with 
 them. We noticed, however, that they didn't have 
 anjrthing to say about our staying all night, and it was 
 plain to me they were not much pleased at our coming. 
 After supper the stranger went outside, and sat down 
 on a log near the camp to smoke his pipe, but old Pete 
 sat on a bench by the table, and, while he did his best 
 to be sociable, we couldn't help feeling that, so far at 
 least as he was concerned, our room would have been 
 a good deal preferable to our company. Two or three 
 times I caught him watching us under those shaggy 
 brows of his, and out of the corners of his eyes, in a 
 way that made me feel mighty uncomfortable. 
 
 "'How long were you calculating to stop?' he 
 asked. 
 
36 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " ' Only two or three days/ I said. ' We were plan- 
 ning to get a few partridges, and try the trout on Bower 
 Brook. You haven't any objections to our stopping 
 here have you ? ' 
 
 " ' Not a bit. You've got just as much right here as 
 I have. Make yourself perfectly at home. I guess 
 you'll find it easier to fix up that small bunk in the cor- 
 ner of the cook-room than to come in here with us.' 
 With that he went out doors and joined the other man 
 in the clearing. After we had stowed our things in a 
 corner of the mess camp we went outside. Neither 
 Pete nor the other fellow was in sight, but we could hear 
 them holding a very earnest conversation in the horse 
 hovel." 
 
 " It was very certain that they didn't want you in the 
 bunk room with them," commented Raymond. 
 
 " That was evident enough," assented Sam ; " but we 
 didn't care to stay any closer to them than was abso- 
 lutely necessary — especially as there was a nice little 
 bunk in one corner of the mess room." 
 
 " Yes, Raymond and I built that a year ago," inter- 
 posed Ned. 
 
 " Well, it's all right, and was a perfect godsend to us 
 that night," said Sam. 
 
 " Go on, old man," urged Raymond, impatiently. 
 " What did old Pete and his Man Friday do then? " 
 
 " Oh, nothing special," resumed Sam, " They were 
 both very friendly and invited us to sit by their fire in 
 the bunk camp until it was time for us to turn in for the 
 
TOM ATKINS GETS A TUMBLE 37 
 
 night in our bunk in the mess camp. They smoked 
 their pipes beside the big Franklin stove, but neither of 
 them had very much to say to us. I noticed that they 
 had several large packs in one corner of the camp, and 
 they were not filled vi^ith bottles or jugs either, for old 
 Pete threw a large iron bar that stood in one corner of 
 the camp upon them in a way that showed he wasn't 
 afraid of smashing anything." 
 
 " Perhaps he just did it for a blind," suggested Ned. 
 
 " No, I think not. He wouldn't have dared to take 
 a chance like that if there was anything there that could 
 break." 
 
 " I guess that's right," admitted Ned, " but I reckon 
 he had some purpose in doing it." 
 
 " We stayed over night with them," continued Sam, 
 "and I think we were tired enough to sleep pretty 
 soundly. At any rate when we woke in the morning 
 they were gone, and so was the iron bar and their packs. 
 I would have given a good deal to know what was in 
 them," 
 
 " Very likely the Custom House officers would, too," 
 added Raymond. 
 
 When the boys, who had been walking as they talked, 
 arrived at the schoolhouse, they found that their morn- 
 ing sport had made them half an hour late, but Mr. 
 Beecham forebore to reprimand them. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 LETTER K AND ITS MYSTERIES 
 
 The Letter K to which Sam Brown had referred, in 
 discussing the smuggUng question, was an unincorpo- 
 rated township some eight miles below Chestnut Corner. 
 It was a wild, desolate place, covered with a heavy 
 growth of timber. Through it ran Bower Brook, a 
 good-sized stream, which terminated on the swamp- 
 lands at the lower end of the township in a long stretch 
 of deep, sluggish current called the Dead Water. Here 
 fishermen who had the courage to work their way from 
 the timber ridges across the stretch of bog that inter- 
 vened, were said to catch the most beautiful trout that 
 were to be found anywhere in that section of the State. 
 
 The township also abounded in game. Every fall 
 large flocks of partridges came forth from it to feed 
 along the borders of the county road. A number of 
 bears were annually trapped upon it. Cobe Hersom 
 kept a score of heavy steel traps set for them all over 
 the township, and scarcely a year passed that he did not 
 succeed in capturing five or six. 
 
 A year before Raymond came to make his Kome with 
 his grandparents, he had passed the two weeks of the 
 fall vacation with them on the old place. He and Ned 
 
 38 
 
LETTER K AND ITS MYSTERIES 39 
 
 Grover had improved the opportunity to enjoy a week's 
 hunting trip to Letter K. Ned, who had often fished 
 and hunted upon the township, was thoroughly famihar 
 with it, and knew precisely the location of every camp 
 and wood road. To Raymond, however, the section 
 was entirely new, and the vast forest solitudes, with 
 the primeval timber growth still towering in majesty 
 against the fitful blue of the sky, impressed him with a 
 sense of grandeur and awe that he had never experi- 
 enced before. 
 
 Half way down the bush-grown tote road that led to 
 the old camp on the banks of Bower Brook — formerly 
 used in a big lumber operation, and still affording a 
 refuge and resting-place for fishing and hunting par- 
 ties — they had paused to rest awhile upon a decaying 
 and moss-covered log that lay just beyond the wheel 
 ruts at the edge of a bog hole. On the back side of this 
 log was a small, running vine, a section of which was 
 laid back by Ned, revealing a number of small, white, 
 oval-shaped berries. 
 
 " What are those, ant's eggs ? " demanded Raymond. 
 
 Ned laughed indulgently. 
 
 " Not at all," he explained. " They are what we call 
 ivy plums." 
 
 " But I thought ivy plums were scarlet," protested 
 Raymond. 
 
 " You're thinking of wintergreen or checkerberry," 
 said Ned. " This is the so-called ivy of our Northern 
 woods, and these are its berries." 
 
40 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " Are they good to eat? " 
 
 " Here, try them," and Ned passed him a handful he 
 had picked. 
 
 Ra)rmond ate them, and found their delicate acid 
 flavor very agreeable to the taste. 
 
 " I should think the birds wouldn't pass such a good 
 thing by," he said. 
 
 " There are very few song-birds in the deep woods," 
 responded Ned. " They are sociable, and do not like 
 the solitudes." 
 
 " Yes," assented Rasmiond, " I've noticed that they 
 seem to have a liking for human society." 
 
 " The partridges are very fond of these little ivy 
 plums," continued Ned, " and you will almost always 
 find a flock near any place where they grow." 
 
 Raymond was about to reply when Ned held up 
 a warning hand. 
 
 " There's one now," he whispered, reaching for his 
 double-barreled shot-gun which leaned against the end 
 of the log. 
 
 A sharp report brought a fine, plump partridge tum- 
 bling from a fir tree near by. 
 
 " Here's a good dinner for us," cried Ned, as he held 
 it up exultingly. " Your turn will come next," he 
 added quickly, noting the eager look on Raymond's face. 
 
 The prophecy proved to be correct, for, by the time 
 they reached the log camp on Bower Brook, they had a 
 string of four birds, two of which were a tribute 
 to Ra)miond's marksmanship. 
 
LETTER K AND ITS MYSTERIES 4I 
 
 The camp was one of the typical structures used in 
 lumber operations. It stood just far enough back from 
 the bank of the stream to allow space for a roadway in 
 front. There were two big log houses standing end to 
 end and connected with an intervening shed called 
 a " dingle." The roofs were made of cedar " splits " — 
 thin rough boards split with axe and wedge out of cedar 
 logs — and the floors were of hewn timber. One of the 
 camps was used wholly for sleeping purposes. Two 
 long berths — one above the other — extended the entire 
 length of the camp on either side. A big Franklin stove 
 stood in the center of the room midway between the 
 berths. A solitary window in the end of the building 
 opposite the dingle was the only source of light. The 
 cracks between the logs were carefully stuffed or 
 " chinked " with moss ; and, although somewhat 
 draughty, with plenty of stove wood, and an abun- 
 dance of blankets, a crew of men were able to winter 
 there in comparative comfort. The bunks in a camp 
 of this kind are first covered with fine fir boughs, over 
 which the blankets are spread. Upon them the men 
 sleep side by side with their feet towards the fire. In 
 front of the bunks, on either side of the room, is a rough 
 bench extending nearly its entire length, and known as 
 the " deacon seat." Here the men sit and smoke after 
 supper in the glowing heat of a roaring fire, exchanging 
 the stories and rough repartee characteristic of the daily: 
 life in a logging camp. 
 
 The log building on the opposite side of the dingle 
 
42 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 was the camp kitchen and " mess " room. On either 
 side of this room extended a long table of rough boards. 
 Rude benches of equal length and similar to those used 
 in the bunk house for deacon seats, served the purpose 
 of chairs. In the center of the room, about equi- 
 distant from the ends, were two large cook-stoves, and 
 one corner was devoted to a rude wooden sink and 
 cooking bench. This camp house was better lighted 
 than the other, boasting no less than four windows, 
 two in the end opposite the door leading from the 
 dingle, and one on either side about midway of the 
 room. 
 
 It was nearly noon when Rajmiond and Ned reached 
 this camp. A chip fire was made in front of the dingle 
 upon which they cooked some tea, and fried, in a gen- 
 erous allowance of pork fat, two of the partridges, 
 which Ned dressed with a dexterity surprising to Ray- 
 mond. The long walk through the deep woods had 
 sharpened their appetites, and Raymond declared the 
 repast in every way fit for a king. 
 
 The work of cleaning up the mess camp and making 
 it habitable kept them busily employed during the whole 
 afternoon. 
 
 They decided to forego the bunk house in which was 
 a mouldy collection of old rubbers, moccasins, shoes, 
 and various articles of clothing, which had been aban- 
 doned by members of the logging crew when they had 
 left the camp the previous spring. 
 
 A bunk was fixed up in one corner of the cook-house. 
 
LETTER K AND ITS MYSTERIES 43 
 
 When it had been lined with fresh boughs, and covered 
 with their blankets, when several cracks between the 
 logs had been chinked with new moss and a roaring fire 
 built in the two cook-stoves, Raymond declared that he 
 would like nothing better than to spend the winter there. 
 
 During the early part of the evening a light snow 
 fell, which, about the middle of the night, changed to a 
 drizzling rain. A sharp fall in the temperature followed 
 the storm, and when Ned stood in the dingle the follow- 
 ing morning and looked out into the woods, he could 
 not restrain an exclamation of regret. 
 
 " We're dished 1 " he declared, mournfully. 
 
 " Why, what's the matter ? " demanded Raymond. 
 " It looks to me like a bright sunshiny day." 
 
 " So it is," admitted Ned, " but just look at that 
 crust." 
 
 "Well, what of that?" 
 
 " What of that? " repeated Ned, in disgust. " Why 
 you don't suppose we can get within a mile of a deer 
 under these conditions, do you? It's no use, the jig's 
 up. They could hear us coming half way across the 
 township." 
 
 " Well, we could get a good position on some ridge 
 and wait for them, couldn't we?" asked Raymond, 
 hopefully. 
 
 " Yes, we could do that," admitted Ned, " but with 
 the noise we should make in getting there, I don't 
 believe that anything in the shape of a deer would show 
 up the same day." 
 
44 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 Ned's opinion proved to be correct. Although they 
 devoted the next few days to the most assiduous hunt- 
 ing, not a glimpse of a deer rewarded their efforts; 
 nevertheless, the woods were full of their tracks, and on 
 several occasions they came near enough to hear them 
 very distinctly as they raced away through the under- 
 brush. 
 
 On several afternoons the boys lay hidden on the crest 
 of hardwood ridges, where the deer tracks were espe- 
 cially plentiful, in the hopes of securing a shot at big 
 game, but their efforts were unavailing. Their pres- 
 ence, however, was always the occasion of a chattering 
 protest from the red squirrels that swarmed the ridges 
 in search of beechnuts, and who held noisy indignation 
 meetings in the tall tree-tops, to voice their displeasure 
 at the unwelcome intrusion. 
 
 " Confound the little rascals ! " said Raymond, resent- 
 fully. " I believe they are telling the deer we are here." 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder if they were," admitted Ned, 
 " and the worst of it is that they keep it up. Seems to 
 me a deer would have to be pretty thick-headed who 
 didn't smell a rat with that warning." 
 
 " I'm a good mind to shoot one or two of them," said 
 Raymond raising his rifle. 
 
 "Look out!" cautioned Ned. "If we've got any 
 chance to get a deer here, you would certainly throw it 
 away with the first shot." 
 
 Raymond forbore to shoot, but the afternoon wore 
 away with no sight of a deer to reward their patience. 
 
LETTER K AND ITS MYSTERIES 45 
 
 The evening shadows were throwing their sombre veil 
 upon the wood roads when they finally made their way 
 back to camp, tired and discouraged. 
 
 The following morning, as Raymond stepped from 
 the camp door into the dingle, with his rifle under his 
 arm, he was utterly dazed to see a fine buck leisurely 
 drinking midway of the brook, and nearly opposite the 
 camp. For a moment he thought his eyes were deceiv- 
 ing him — and then the impulse came to tell Ned, but the 
 fear of losing the game dissuaded him from this pur- 
 pose, and drawing a careful bead upon the deer he let 
 fly at him, only to see him scramble nimbly up the bank 
 on the opposite side of the brook, and disappear in the 
 bushes. 
 
 " What's the trouble ? " demanded Ned, hastily mak- 
 ing his appearance at the camp door, rifle in hand. 
 
 " A great, big buck ! " gasped Raymond. " He was 
 drinking right there in the brook." 
 
 " Are you sure ? " asked Ned, incredulously. 
 
 " Sure ! Of course I am," retorted Raymond, indig- 
 nantly. " I saw him just as plainly as I do you." 
 
 "Where did he go?" 
 
 " Right up the bank on the other side there." 
 
 " Let's go over and see," continued Ned. 
 
 They crossed the brook on a big log a short distance 
 below the camp, and made their way to the place where 
 Raymond had seen the buck disappear. Here Ned's 
 doubts were cleared away. There in the snow were the 
 tracks to prove Raymond's assertions. 
 
46 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " My, wasn't he going though ? " said Ned, admir- 
 ingly, as he examined them. " See what long bounds 
 he took." 
 
 " Do you suppose I hit him ? " asked Raymond. 
 
 " No, old boy," said Ned, frankly. " I don't think 
 you touched a hair. It was a clear case of buck fever." 
 
 "What's buck fever?" demanded Raymond, a little 
 resentfully. 
 
 " It's a condition of nervous daze that prevents 
 sportsmen from shooting straight when they draw a 
 bead upon their first deer," explained Ned. " You 
 needn't feel cut up about it, old boy," he added sympa- 
 thetically, noting Raymond's long face. " You're not 
 the first one to have it by any means. In fact, it's very 
 common. I've had it myself, and know all about it." 
 
 Raymond laughed ruefully. " It's comforting to 
 know that I'm not alone in my weakness," he said, 
 " but that doesn't supply us with venison." 
 
 The following day the boys broke camp, and made 
 their way dejectedly towards the county road to meet 
 the team which Grandfather Benson was to send for 
 them. It was a mild day, and by noon the warm rays 
 of the sun had thoroughly softened up the crust, and 
 vastly improved the conditions for hunting. 
 
 " It's just as I expected," groaned Raymond. " Now 
 that we've got to go, it begins to look as if we might do 
 some business." 
 
 " It isn't too late yet," said Ned consolingly. " We're 
 liable to run onto a deer anywhere along this tote road, 
 
LETTER K AND ITS MYSTERIES 47 
 
 and even along the county road until we get out of the 
 timber. If you could only get one I should be entirely 
 satisfied." 
 
 " I should want you to get one, too," said Raymond. 
 
 "Oh, I've already had my experience," replied Ned, 
 laughingly, " and expect to have it again. It's your 
 turn now." 
 
 For a time they walked along in silence. Presently 
 they emerged from the spruce growth and made their 
 way along a hard-wood ridge. They had gone but a 
 short distance on this part of the road when Raymond, 
 who was in advance, stopped abruptly, and faced 
 sharply to one side. Following the direction of his 
 look, Ned perceived a noble buck standing in plain view 
 half-way up the hill on the opposite side of the ravine. 
 
 " Steady ! " he whispered, as Raymond drew a careful 
 bead on the game with his Winchester. 
 
 A sharp report rang through the woods, and, with a 
 spasmodic leap, the buck fell to the ground. 
 
 Raymond turned exultingly to Ned just in season to 
 catch him in the act of lowering his rifle. 
 
 " Did you shoot, too ? " he asked in surprise. 
 
 " No," returned Ned, with a smile. " I just thought 
 I'd be ready to shoot in case you had another attack of 
 buck fever. You didn't need me, however. I'm very 
 sure you must have shot him through the heart. He 
 dropped pretty nearly in his tracks." 
 
 In a short time the deer was dressed and hung up by 
 the hind legs on a tree beside the road. 
 
48 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " I tell you what, Ned," said Raymond, as he viewed 
 his trophy admiringly, " I'm well convinced that this 
 is the very buck I shot at in front of the camp." 
 
 " Possibly," said Ned, dubiously. " If it isn't it's one 
 just as good. It's lucky, too, that you got him here 
 instead of back at the camp. It's only a mile to the 
 county road, and the tote road is comparatively smooth 
 from here out. We can bring the horse and pung in 
 here, and load your game without much trouble." 
 
 Raymond came in for some very complimentary 
 remarks that afternoon, when he and Ned hauled up 
 in front of Squire Copeland's store, and exhibited his 
 prize. Ned, with his customary loyalty, refrained from 
 giving the village jokers the satisfaction they would 
 have found in a knowledge of Raymond's attack of 
 buck fever. 
 
 That night the big buck hung under a shed at the 
 Benson farm, and Raymond awoke in the morning to 
 find that some one had cut off the head, with its fine 
 set of antlers, and carried it away. He was unable to 
 imagine who could have been guilty of such an act, and 
 it was not until several weeks later, when the head was 
 returned, beautifully mounted, by a well-known Bangor 
 taxidermist, that he recognized Grandfather Benson as 
 the miscreant. Thenceforth this trophy of his hunting 
 prowess held the place of honor in Raymond's room, 
 being firmly established midway of the wall at the foot 
 of his bed. 
 
 There were many Chestnut people who firmly believed 
 
LETTER K AND ITS MYSTERIES 49 
 
 that deer and bears were not the only large game to be 
 found on Letter K. There were reports of fiercer 
 animals having been seen upon it. Ezra Johnston had 
 set the whole Corner wild two years before our story 
 opens with a thrilling account of a mysterious wild 
 animal which had followed him for several miles 
 through the township. He was returning from Matta- 
 wamkeag, where he had been to get a load of iron for 
 Cobe Hersom. Just as he got into the middle of 
 Letter K, where its dense timber growth almost over- 
 lapped the county road, he observed what he at first 
 took to be a large dog following his team. Upon a 
 second look, however, he discovered that it was not a 
 dog, but a wild animal somewhat resembling a large 
 cat. Ezra declared that he could see its great yellow 
 eyes gleaming through the pitchy darkness, and hear 
 its jaws snap together in anticipation of the supper it 
 was about to enjoy. He noted the fact that its fur 
 was quite long and of a light brown color. The chances 
 of escape looked small, but he whipped his horse into 
 a gallop, and took a firm grip on one of the shorter 
 iron bars, determined to make as brave a fight as 
 possible. Looking behind him, he saw the anim.al fol- 
 lowing him at an easy trot, but keeping a respectful 
 distance from the wagon. The reason of this suddenly 
 occurred to him. The beast was afraid of the rattling 
 made by the iron. It did not dare to spring upon the 
 team, but was determined to keep it in view. 
 
 Thenceforth Ezra always declared that the most 
 
50 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 cheering sight he ever saw in his Ufe was the light *f 
 the clearing beyond the woods, when it finally came in 
 view. He looked behind him, and to his intense relief 
 saw the mysterious animal turn about and disappear in 
 the darkness of the forest. It had been a close shave, 
 but he was safe. Then and there he formed the solemn 
 resolution never again to venture into the wilds of 
 Letter K unless he was thoroughly armed. 
 
 There was an excited crowd of loafers at Squire 
 Copeland's store when Ezra drew up in front of it, his 
 horse covered with foam, and, with white face, related 
 the details of his startling adventure. For more than 
 a week it was the talk of the whole town. It was the 
 general opinion that the mysterious animal was none 
 other than an Indian devil (a provincialism for cougar, 
 or, as the early settlers had called it, catamount). Some 
 inclined to the belief that it was a lynx, but this Ezra 
 emphatically denied. He had killed altogether too 
 many of those in his life not to know one when he 
 saw it. 
 
 And so the wonder grew. Many people became 
 timid about venturing out after dark, and there were 
 few in town who cared to pass unarmed through a 
 piece of woods at night, if it could be avoided. Several 
 hunting parties were formed to find the mysterious 
 animal, and Letter K was thoroughly scoured, but all 
 in vain. Not a trace of it could be discovered. 
 
 As time went on public confidence in Ezra's story 
 began to wane. The loafers who had been at Squire 
 
LETTER K AND ITS MYSTERIES 5 1 
 
 Copeland's store that night suddenly remembered that 
 a strong odor of whiskey had flavored the old man's 
 excited description of his adventure. Then there were 
 some few inconsistencies in the story itself. How, it 
 was argued, could Ezra have possibly distinguished the 
 light brown color of the animal in the pitchy darkness 
 of Letter K woods on a night when there was neither 
 moon nor stars? Then again, how could an Indian 
 devil trot behind his team, when its method of loco- 
 motion was generally understood to be by long bounds ? 
 Why, too, should the rattle of iron bars have kept it 
 from the attack, when it could easily have made a short 
 detour through the woods and seized the horse in front ? 
 No, undoubtedly Ezra had been the victim of an over- 
 stimulated imagination. The only wonder about his 
 trip was, as Squire Copeland dryly expressed it, that 
 he had not seen snakes instead of Indian devils. The 
 story ceased to be a wonder, and became the laughing- 
 stock of the town. 
 
 This fact did not prevent George Fields and Bill 
 Stetson, two Corner boys, from getting a bad scare the 
 following fall. They had gone to Letter K for the 
 purpose of putting in a winter at gunning and trapping. 
 They carried a generous supply of provisions with 
 them, and took possession of the lumber camp on 
 the banks of Bower Brook, which has already been 
 referred to. 
 
 This they put in apple-pie order, and with a good 
 supply of wood and a blazing fire in the middle of the 
 
52 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 camp, they rolled themselves in their blankets that night 
 with a feeling that they should enjoy a very pleasant 
 winter. 
 
 Just as they were falling asleep, however, they were 
 startled by an unearthly scream not far from the camp, 
 followed by the sound of some heavy animal moving 
 about in the underbush. With eager haste, they barri- 
 caded the camp door, using everything available for 
 the purpose, and then, with blanched faces, and rifles 
 in hand, sat upon the edge of their bunks awaiting an 
 attack — but none came. 
 
 At intervals through the night they heard the same 
 weird screech, coming first from one side of the little 
 clearing, and then another. It was nearly morning 
 before the Indian devil — for such the boys were firmly 
 convinced it was — ceased his blood-curdling screams 
 and withdrew into the depths of the forest. With the 
 first rays of morning light the boys packed up their 
 outfit and started for home, preferring to face the 
 chaffing of their friends rather than to spend another 
 night in close proximity to such a beast. 
 
 It was many days before the boys heard the last of 
 their trapping expedition to Letter K. There were 
 even some who were uncharitable enough to insinuate 
 that their Indian devil, like that of Ezra Johnston, had 
 its origin in whiskey, which they procured of old Pete 
 Atkins on their way to camp. 
 
 The house of Atkins stood midway between the 
 Corner and Letter K, and was the plague-spot of the 
 
LETTER K AND ITS MYSTERIES S3 
 
 town. A more disreputable family it would have been 
 hard to find. It consisted of old Pete, his wife and 
 four boys, of whom Tom was the youngest, and was 
 conceded to be the worst in town. There was not one 
 of Chestnut's respectable citizens who did not heartily 
 wish they were out of it. They kept a notorious rum- 
 hole, and drunken orgies were an almost nightly occur- 
 rence at their home. 
 
 Several attempts had been made to close the place, 
 but in every instance the party making the complaint 
 had come to grief. Old Deacon Graves had his barn 
 burned; Rev. Mr. Cross, the Methodist minister, had 
 a fine horse so brutally stabbed and mutilated that he 
 had been forced to shoot it; and David Clay, the chair- 
 man of the selectmen, had two valuable cows poisoned 
 in the pasture. 
 
 Thus it came about that none of the people of the 
 town cared to incur the enmity of the Atkins family, 
 whom everybody believed to have been responsible for 
 all these outrages. They were, therefore, able to carry 
 on their nefarious business with little molestation. 
 Many of the citizens began to fear the town would 
 never get rid of them ; but it eventually did, and Ray- 
 mond Benson, as will appear, was destined to play no 
 small part in accomplishing this result. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 JOEL Webber's close call 
 
 " Cobe Hersom's caught a bear ! " 
 
 This was the startling announcement that caused a 
 flutter of excitement among the pupils of the Corner 
 High School as they gathered about the door early 
 Monday morning of the third week: It was Elmer 
 Cole who brought the news. 
 
 " Where ? " asked a dozen eager voices. 
 
 " Down in Letter K. He caught it in a big steel 
 trap he set last week. A party of the Corner folks are 
 going down there this morning in a double team to get 
 him. They say he's a bouncer." 
 
 " Here it comes now ! " shouted Jim Farris, excitedly. 
 
 " What, the bear ? " drawled Roscoe Bean, with a 
 quizzical smile. 
 
 I " No, the team. There it comes round the curve. 
 There's Cobe and Joel Webber and — Great Scott! — if 
 Raymond Benson and Ned Grover aren't with them. 
 I'll bet a dollar Cobe's going to take them down there. 
 See! Ned's got Cobe's double-barreled shot-gun and 
 Raymond has Joel's Colt revolver. Wouldn't I like to 
 go, though." 
 
 54 
 
JOEL WEBBER S CLOSE CALL 55 
 
 " Bah ! I don't see much sport in that," observed 
 Allen Webster, loftily. 
 
 " You don't see much sport in anything outside of 
 New York," responded Elmer, impatiently. 
 
 " Well, what possible fun can there be in shooting a 
 bear in a trap when he can't get away from you, and 
 must stand up and take his medicine? Now if he was 
 free, it would be quite another thing. There'd be some 
 sport in hunting him then." 
 
 " No doubt of it." 
 
 " I shall never forget the last one I killed," added 
 Allen. 
 
 "You killed a bear?" demanded Elmer, incredii- 
 lously. 
 
 " Yes, you needn't look so surprised. It's a fact. 
 I had a pretty close call, I can tell you. It was a 
 monstrous one. I have the skin now in New York. 
 We use it for a rug in our front hall." 
 
 " I thought you were something of a bear man the 
 first time I saw you," said Roscoe Bean, dryly. 
 
 " Yes," replied Allen, delightedly, assuming the 
 remark to be a compliment. " It doesn't take people 
 long to discover a genuine sportsman." 
 
 " What kind of a bear was it you killed ? " asked 
 Elmer, struggling hard to keep back a laugh. 
 
 " It was a big grizzly. I was hunting with a party 
 of friends in the Adirondacks. One day we were look- 
 ing over a steep precipice. About half way down the 
 descent we discovered a small opening that looked as 
 
56 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 if it led into a cave. I made up my mind to investigate, 
 so I got the fellows to lower me down the face of the 
 cliff with a long rope, and crawled into the hole. You 
 can just bet I was surprised when I found myself in a 
 big cavern. Of course I began to explore it, but before 
 I had gone three rods I found myself face to face with 
 the biggest grizzly bear I ever saw." 
 
 " How did it get up the cliff? " asked Roscoe. 
 " It came into the cavern, as I found out afterwards, 
 by a rear entrance on the other side of the mountain." 
 " It must have been a trying time," remarked Elmer, 
 demurely. 
 
 " You can just bet it was. Most fellows in my place 
 would have run." 
 
 " They would, for a fact," assented Roscoe, solemnly. 
 " But I made up my mind to fight," continued Allen, 
 failing to perceive the quiet sarcasm in Roscoe's voice. 
 " I realized that it would do no good to run, for I had 
 untied the rope from my waist to crawl into the cavern, 
 and I was bright enough to know that such a course 
 would only result in my being dashed to pieces on the 
 bottom of the ravine." 
 
 " A very wise decision, I should say, under the cir- 
 cumstances," remarked Elmer, with mock approval. 
 
 " Well, I thought so. The eyes of that bear looked 
 awfully bright in the blackness of the cave, I can tell 
 you. I knew that a failure to bring down my game 
 with my first shot would mean death to me. You may 
 be sure it was an anxious moment. The muzzle of my 
 
JOEL Webber's close call 57 
 
 rifle almost touched the bear when I fired. When the 
 smoke cleared away, however, he was dead as a door- 
 nail, shot right through the brain." 
 
 " A mighty lucky shot," said Roscoe. 
 
 " Yes. Most fellows would have felt like bragging 
 a little over it, but that isn't my style." 
 
 " So we've observed," said Elmer, with a comic 
 seriousness that brought an audible giggle from the 
 members of the group. 
 
 " I was in that cave just fifteen minutes," continued 
 Allen, with a frown, " and when I came out I had that 
 bearskin in my hands. Perhaps the fellows weren't 
 surprised, though. You see they hadn't heard the 
 report of my rifle, and didn't have a suspicion of what 
 was going on." 
 
 " You were certainly a very brave fellow, Allen," 
 said Roscoe Bean, with studied gravity. " Still, your 
 story is especially valuable in a school course because 
 it illustrates the difference between a natural and a 
 cultivated liar." 
 
 " What's that ? " said Jim Farris, with a grin. 
 
 " Why, the natural liar actually believes his own 
 yarns." 
 
 The pent-up laughter of the group found vent most 
 heartily at this remark. 
 
 " There are some country bumpkins whom it doesn't 
 pay to waste breath on ! " growled Allen, as he walked 
 angrily into the schoolhouse. 
 
 " I don't see what that fellow tells such outrageous 
 
58 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 lies for," remarked Elmer Cole, when he had gone. 
 " He must take us all for infernal idiots." 
 
 " He does," answered Roscoe, " and thinks it great 
 sport to make us open our mouths in wonderment. 
 The fellow shows considerable imagination, though. 
 He would shine as a dime novel writer." 
 
 The team which had started for the bear was now 
 opposite the schoolhouse, and Raymond and Ned came 
 in for some good-natured chaffing. 
 
 " Be sure and stab him through the lungs." 
 
 " I'll take six pounds of steak." 
 
 " Bring me a fore quarter." 
 
 " Save me one of his tusks for a watch cliarm," were 
 a few of the pleasantries shouted after them by their 
 laughing schoolmates, as they passed from sight over 
 the brow of the hill. 
 
 " They've given us considerable business," said Ray- 
 mond. 
 
 " You must do your level best t' meet it," answered 
 Cobe. " I've half a mind t' get Dave Webber's meat 
 cart an' let you an' Ned peddle thet bear out." 
 
 " Perhaps Mr. Beecham will feel that he can find 
 better business for us at the schoolhouse," responded 
 Ned. " I don't suppose he will like our being out this 
 forenoon very well." 
 
 " Oh, just tell him you were with me," said Joel 
 good-naturedly. " That'll make it all right." 
 
 " We can call on Amos Dole, the town clerk, when 
 we come back, as long as we're going right past 
 
JOEL Webber's close call 59 
 
 his house, and leave the nose and ears for bounty," 
 remarked Ned. " It will save us two trips." 
 
 " But that won't do," said Joel, with a sly twinkle 
 in his eye. " Cobe will have to take 'em home with 
 him, or he can't make his wife believe he caught a 
 bear at all." 
 
 "Why is that?" 
 
 " Well, you see he and Amos Dole went fishing down 
 on Bower Brook not long since. Somehow they didn't 
 have their usual good luck. They waded out across 
 the bog to the Dead Water, but were unable to find the 
 raft. They fished as best they could from the shore, 
 but only managed to catch six small trout. Their feet 
 were wet, and they were tired out and hungry, and, I 
 suspect, somewhat out o' sorts when they started for 
 home. They hadn't gone more than a mile before they 
 scared up a flock of partridges. Leaving their horse 
 hitched by the roadside, they took their shot-guns and 
 followed them into the woods. While they were there, 
 Dr. Lemons drove along the road. He knew their 
 team, and reaching out of his buggy took the small 
 string of trout from their wagon seat and drove on 
 with them. When he got to Cobe's, he called and gave 
 them to Mrs. Hersom, explaining to her how he came 
 by them. You may just believe Cobe and Amos were 
 mad when they came back to their wagon with half a 
 dozen partridges and found those trout gone. They 
 raved around considerably, and vowed vengeance on 
 the thief if they ever caught him." 
 
6o THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " ' Where's your fish ? ' was the first question Cobe's 
 wife asked him when he got home. 
 
 " ' Some mean skunk stole 'em from the wagon while 
 we were after partridges,' ses he. ' It wouldn't be well 
 for him if I found him out.' 
 
 " ' Are you real sure you caught any fish at all ? ' 
 ses she. 
 
 " ' Sure,' ses Cobe. ' Why, Mirandy, there were 
 forty-nine as nice trout as I ever laid my eyes on. Not 
 a one of 'em that wouldn't come near tipping the scales 
 at a pound.' " 
 
 " Now see here, Joel," interposed Cobe, good- 
 naturedly, " you're drawing thet a little strong. I 
 never said thet." 
 
 " Oh, yes you did, Cobe," insisted Joel. " You 
 mustn't try to crawl out of it. I got my information 
 pretty direct, and that was exactly what you said. He 
 was mighty crestfallen, I can tell you, boys, when he 
 sat down to the table and found those six little trout 
 before him. 
 
 "'What's these?' ses he. 
 
 " ' These are your forty-nine trout,' ses Mrs. Hersom. 
 ' Dr. Lemons thought he'd get here a little sooner 'n you, 
 so he fetched 'em along.' Cobe never said a word. He 
 ate his supper mighty mum, and then slid out of the 
 house 's if he'd been shot. They say he hasn't men- 
 tioned trout since," and Joel threw back his head and 
 gave vent to a laugh so contagiously hearty that all the 
 others found themselves joining in it. 
 
JOEL Webber's close call 6i 
 
 " You must make allowance for what Joel tells you," 
 said Cobe good-naturedly. " After he's spun a yarn 
 two or three times he gets so he believes it himself." 
 
 And so the ride was continued till the old tote 
 road, which led into the woods from the county 
 thoroughfare, was reached. 
 
 "Where's the bear?" asked Ned, as they climbed 
 out of the wagon. 
 
 " He's down thet road 'bout a mile, I should say," 
 answered Cobe. 
 
 " Are you going to take the horses down there ? " 
 questioned Raymond. 
 
 " Not yet. It's 'bout all we can do t' get a team o' 
 horses nigh a dead bear, let alone a live one. When 
 we've done 'im up, we'll hitch onto thet drag in the 
 wagon an' pull 'im out here." 
 
 As they went laughing and talking down the tote 
 road the irrepressible Joel still kept up his banter. 
 
 " You never killed a bear, did you, Raymond ? " he 
 asked, solemnly. 
 
 " No, but I've Ijeard Allen Webster tell how it's done, 
 many a time." 
 
 " Allen Webster ! " exclaimed Joel, in well-feigned 
 surprise. " I thought he never stooped to anything 
 less 'n mountain lions." 
 
 " Very likely he wouldn't now. That was wHen Ke 
 first began." 
 
 " There's one or two points you must never lose 
 sight of in bear hunting," said Joel. " When you meet 
 
62 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 a bear — a real live bear, my boy, you must first of all 
 be sure and — " 
 
 " What ? " asked Raymond and Ned, in eager chorus. 
 
 " Keep cool," responded Joel, with the air of a man 
 who had just imparted a great truth. 
 
 " Of course," said Raymond, impatiently, " but what 
 next?" 
 
 " Well, you want to creep up to the bear softly, 
 taking great pains not to rouse him." 
 
 " You don't suppose he'll sleep much in that trap, 
 do you?" demanded Ned. 
 
 " No, not sound sleep ; probably nothing more than 
 a troubled doze. But, as I was about to say, creep up 
 to him softly, being careful not to disturb him. Then 
 grab him suddenly by the tail, get half a hitch round 
 the nearest tree, and hold him tight, while your mate 
 ties his knife on the end of a pole and stabs him 
 to death." 
 
 " How many did you ever dispose of in that man- 
 ner ? " laughed Raymond. 
 
 " Not very many. I never was very scientific; but 
 you see— Great Scott! What's that? " 
 
 Joel dropped his bantering tone with this remark, and 
 cast a startled glance in the direction of a heavy growth 
 of firs and cedars to the right of them, from which 
 issued a low, savage growl. 
 
 " There he is, boys," said Cobe. " He's awake all 
 right." 
 
 " No chance for Joel to creep up behind Him anH get 
 
JOEL Webber's close call 63 
 
 that half-hitch," said Raymond, with a rather nervous 
 laugh. The growl had startled him considerably more 
 than he would have cared to admit. 
 
 " Perhaps he can do it now, if he's only quick 
 enough," remarked Ned. " Why don't you try it, 
 Joel?" 
 
 " I'm too generous," was the response. "I really 
 couldn't think of shutting you and Raymond out of 
 such a chance to practice. How are we going to get 
 him out o' there, Cobe ? " 
 
 The latter question was answered by the bear itself, 
 which suddenly emerged from the thicket, dragging 
 the heavy log clog to which the trap was attached, and 
 giving vent to a succession of savage growls that woke 
 the forest echoes. The cruel teeth of the heavy steel 
 trap had fastened themselves through one fore paw, 
 crushing the massive bones. The animal, which was 
 one of the largest of its species, was evidently suffering 
 the most intense agony, and was in no mood to be trifled 
 with. 
 
 "Look out there! Don't get too nigh 'im!" cried 
 Cobe, warningly. " He's chuck full o' fight." 
 
 " He hasn't any show for a scrap now," coolly 
 responded Joel, as he slipped a cartridge into his 
 breech-loader. 
 
 " Why not? " demanded Ned. 
 
 " Why not? Because he's hung up," returned Joel. 
 " Just look at that clog." 
 
 Ned glanced in the direction indicated, and saw that 
 
64 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 the heavy timber to which the trap was attached had 
 caught between two second-growth maples, and, to all 
 appearances, rendered it impossible for the bear to 
 make further headway. 
 
 " I wouldn't count too much on thet," said Cobe, 
 warningly. " I've known bears t' git out o' tighter 
 places 'n thet. Jest let me gin 'im a pill from this 
 Winchester. Here you ! Stop — hoi' on there. Where 
 ye going ? " he added hastily to Joel, who had suddenly 
 left the group and was making toward the bear with 
 long strides, holding his gun under his arm. 
 
 " To make the old fellow's acquaintance," was the 
 laughing rejoinder. 
 
 " Don't ye go nigh 'im. I warn ye t' keep a safe 
 distance — Christopher ! " 
 
 The latter expression was one of alarm. In the 
 plunging and pulling of the bear the clog had been 
 thrown upon end and slipped between the trees. With 
 a terrible growl of rage and pain the infuriated beast 
 bore down upon Joel. For once in his life that worthy 
 was thoroughly frightened, and, with white face, made 
 a bee-line towards the tote road where Cobe and the 
 boys were watching the scene, not daring to shoot for 
 fear of hitting him. 
 
 " Climb a tree, Joel ! " shouted Ned, excitedly, and 
 his advice would probably have been followed had Joel 
 been able to do so. But just as he got to the foot of 
 the maple for which he was making, the bear was upon 
 him, and witK one terrific sweep of its paw sent him 
 
WITH A TERRIBLE GROWL OF RAGE AND TAIN THE INFURIATED 
 BEAST BORE DOWN UPON JOEL. — Page 64. 
 
JOEL Webber's close call 65 
 
 spinning into the underbrush. A small, scrubby fir 
 which stood beside the maple had broken the force of 
 the blow, which might otherwise have proved fatal. 
 The bear was about to punish him further when a well- 
 directed shot from Raymond's revolver caused him to 
 face about. It was evident that he was badly wounded, 
 but there was still lots of fight in him. With open 
 mouth and angry growls he made toward the group 
 on the tote road. He had not gone far, however, when 
 a bullet from Cobe's Winchester laid him low. 
 
 It was rather a dilapidated individual who immedi- 
 ately after came crawling forth on his hands and knees 
 from the underbrush. The one blow which the bear 
 had given him had wrought sad havoc with Joel. His 
 hair was disheveled, his clothes badly torn, and the 
 blood streamed over his face from several ugly scratches 
 on the side of his cheek, whether from the claws of 
 the bear or from the underbrush he was unable to tell. 
 Notwithstanding his woebegone appearance, Cobe and 
 the boys could not refrain from a hearty laugh at the 
 sorry figure he cut. 
 
 " Yes, enjoy it, boys," said Joel, disgustedly. " I've 
 made a big fool of myself and amused the audience. 
 I want them to get all the fun out of the show they can. 
 Lend me your handkerchiefs, boys, while I go to the 
 spring and wash off the blood." 
 
 " You meant all right, Joel," said Raymond, quiz- 
 zingly. " You were simply going to show Ned and 
 me how to half-hitch that bear's tail round the maple." 
 
66 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " Yes, it was very clever — if you'd only been a little 
 quicker," added Ned. 
 
 " 'Peared 's if thet 'ere bear held the trump cards in 
 thet deal," grinned Cobe. 
 
 " They seemed to be clubs," declared Raymond. 
 
 " I feel as if they came mighty near being spades," 
 groaned Joel, as he limped away toward the spring, 
 which bubbled up a little further down the tote road. 
 
 Excitement reigned supreme at the Corner when the 
 party arrived home about eleven o'clock with the bear. 
 Everybody came to look at him, and get some of the 
 meat, which formed an important item in the bill of fare 
 at Corner homes that noon. Joel's appearance was the 
 subject of no end of curious conjectures, but not a word 
 concerning him could be elicited from any of the party. 
 It was not long, however, before Ezra Johnston, who 
 had dropped in to view the bear as it hung from a beam 
 over the floor in Cobe's barn, and who chanced to see 
 the bloody knife with which it was dressed, solved the 
 mystery. Before night the report was all over town 
 that Raymond had been seized by the bear and would 
 probably have been killed had not Joel gone to his 
 assistance and stabbed the angry beast, after a most 
 terrific struggle. The big, good-natured fellow sud- 
 denly found himself a hero in the eyes of the Corner 
 folks, but he bore his honors meekly. In fact, his only 
 response to the encomiums heaped upon him was a sly 
 wink at Cobe and the boys which was more eloquent 
 than words. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE TAMING OF ALLEN WEBSTER 
 
 Allen Webster was very much surprised, and secretly 
 gratified, at the close of school that afternoon, when 
 Roscoe Bean and Elmer Cole invited him to make a 
 trip with them into the woods on Ezra Johnston's back 
 lot, to hunt for partridges, and to see how the beech- 
 nuts were coming. 
 
 It was a beautiful afternoon, and the hills were 
 gorgeous with their autumn tintings of scarlet and 
 russet and gold. There was a tonic in the clear, 
 bracing atmosphere that had an exhilarating effect 
 upon the spirits of the boys. 
 
 Allen, who was much pleased at the enthusiasm 
 evoked by a beautiful double-barreled shot-gun which 
 he carried — the first breech-loader of that type ever 
 seen in Chestnut — was feeling particularly well, and 
 could not refrain, as they walked along under the big 
 trees, from entertaining his companions with reminis- 
 cences of a number of his alleged hunting adventures. 
 His surroundings appeared to stimulate his vivid imag- 
 ination to even greater efforts than it had ever before 
 achieved. 
 
 Presently there was a sudden report from Elmer's 
 
 07 
 
68 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 old single-barreled muzzle-loader, and a fine partridge 
 came tumbling out of a big birch tree which stood a 
 short distance back from the wood road. 
 
 Allen was obviously; chagrined as Elmer held up his 
 prize. 
 
 " A very good one for this section," he admitted, 
 grudgingly. " But then, you know birds don't begin 
 to grow as large here as they do in the Adirondacks. 
 That was probably the reason I didn't happen to see 
 him. I'm usually mighty quick to scent game." 
 
 " You'd probably have got this one all right if you 
 hadn't been so busy with that story," said Roscoe, 
 consolingly, " but go on, old man. I'm just dying to 
 learn what became of that striped leopard after you 
 drove him up the palm tree." 
 
 " Oh," rejoined Allen, carelessly. " I knocked him 
 over at the first shot. His skin made a beautiful rug. 
 We have it now in the front hall of our New York 
 house." 
 
 " I suppose you have it alongside the other one made 
 from the skin of that grizzly," suggested Roscoe. 
 
 " The grizzly? " repeated Allen, in uncertain tones. 
 
 " Yes. The one jrou shot in that mountain cave," 
 prompted Elmer. 
 
 " Oh, yes — sure, I'd almost 'forgotten him," said 
 Allen. " You see, fellows, I've knocked about so much, 
 and had so many adventures in my hunting trips, that 
 it's hard to keep track of them all. I recall now. It 
 was a mighty close shave for me, I can tell you." 
 
THE TAMING OF ALLEN WEBSTER 69 
 
 " What a wonderful experience you must have had ! " 
 exclaimed Roscoe, in pretended admiration. 
 
 " Yes," admitted Allen, " I flatter myself that I've 
 seen considerable life for one of my years." 
 
 " Of course you will be only too glad of a chance to 
 keep up your reputation here," said Elmer. 
 
 A look of alarm came into Allen's face, and he cast 
 an apprehensive glance about him. 
 
 " To keep up my reputation here ? What do you 
 mean by that ? " he demanded, weakly. 
 
 " Oh, nothing special," returned Elmer, carelessly. 
 " I was only thinking what a fine thing it would be, 
 now that you are along with us, if we could run onto 
 a bear." 
 
 "A — ^bear?" gasped Allen, with a white face. 
 " You — you don't suppose there were ever any bears 
 in these woods, do you ? " 
 
 " Why, certainly," said Roscoe. " I've heard father 
 tell many a time of their coming out here, and lugging 
 ofif sheep." 
 
 " Yes," added Elmer, " and you know they always 
 thought it was bears that carried off that old gray mare 
 of Widow Smith's." 
 
 The boys neglected to say that these events had 
 happened more than twenty years before. It was 
 evident that the narration of them had exerted a 
 marked influence upon Allen Webster. He laughed 
 nervously at the sallies of his companions, and threw 
 uneasy glances over his shoulder. 
 
70 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " It would certainly be great luck for us to run onto 
 a big man-eating bruin right here," continued Elmer, 
 with enthusiasm. " It would not only give Allen a 
 chance to show his splendid marksmanship, but I'll bet 
 it would make Raymond Benson and Ned Grover stick 
 out their eyes. It would show them that they are not 
 the only boys in Chestnut who know how to kill bears." 
 
 " I — I don't see what we could kill one with," said 
 Allen, faintly. 
 
 "What's the matter with that gun of yours?" 
 demanded Roscoe. 
 
 " I haven't anything but bird-shot in it. That 
 wouldn't amount to anything. Hadn't we — don't you 
 think — that is to say, wouldn't it be better for us to 
 go home and get my rifle ? " 
 
 " And give the bear a chance to escape ? Most cer- 
 tainly not," declared Roscoe, with decision. " Aren't 
 some of those cartridges in your belt loaded with 
 buck-shot?" 
 
 " Ye— s," admitted Allen. 
 
 " Well, what more do you want ? You couldn't 
 possibly have anything better." 
 
 " I think you'd better change over right now," said 
 Elmer. 
 
 The boys stopped in the road, while Allen nervously 
 removed the cartridges from his gun and replaced them 
 with others which were loaded with buck-shot. 
 
 " Ah, here's something to the point. Evidently old 
 Bruin has been getting in a little of his fine work in 
 
THE TAMING OF ALLEN WEBSTER 7 1 
 
 this vicinity," cried Elmer, who was somewhat in 
 advance of the others, as he paused by a small clump 
 of firs. 
 
 The sight that met Allen's gaze when he reached the 
 spot where Elmer stood made him turn pale, and his 
 teeth chatter with fright. There, under a fir, were the 
 mangled and half-eaten remains of a lamb. 
 
 " That was certainly a pretty thorough job," com- 
 mented Roscoe. 
 
 " Ah — don't you think it's getting a little late, fel- 
 lows ? " asked Allen, in a low voice, as he gazed upon 
 the sickening sight. " Really — in fact — that is, I'm 
 sure the folks would worry about me if I shouldn't get 
 home before dark." 
 
 " Don't get uneasy, old man," said Roscoe, heartily. 
 " The afternoon is young yet. We'll guarantee to 
 have you home two hours before sunset." 
 
 " Besides," added Elmer, cheerfully, " we couldn't 
 think of having you miss such a chance to shoot a bear. 
 The old rascal ! Just look at his work ! " 
 
 " But how do you know it was a bear killed that 
 Iamb ? " demanded Allen. " It — it might have been a 
 dog." 
 
 ;Elmer looked at Roscoe with a gleam of mirth in 
 his eyes, and for a moment that worthy was obliged 
 to turn away his head in order to hide a broad smile; 
 but the face he turned towards Allen a moment later 
 was as impassive as a tombstone. 
 
 " Dogs ! " he exclaimed, disdainfully. " Who ever 
 
72 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 heard of dogs traveling about alone in the deep 
 woods ? " 
 
 "That's so," humbly admitted Allen. "I never 
 thought of that." 
 
 Elmer and Roscoe looked at their companion in 
 astonishment. Never before, since they had known 
 him, had they heard him admit that his judgment 
 could, by any possibility, be at fault. Evidently a 
 decided change had come over the spirit of his dreams. 
 
 " I suppose," remarked Elmer, solemnly, " that bears 
 in this section would seem mighty small game to one 
 of your wide experience in hunting." 
 
 " Oh, yes, very small," said Allen, slowly. " Still — 
 you know — of course you understand that I haven't 
 had much practice since I've been in Chestnut. Really, 
 you mustn't depend too much upon me, now that my 
 hand is out, as it were." 
 
 " Of course not," admitted Roscoe. " Still you 
 mustn't expect the big game here that you have been 
 accustomed to find in other places. I can well imagine 
 that a fellow who has killed grizzlies in the Adiron- 
 dacks would find it exceedingly tame sport to club one 
 of our ordinary black bears to death." 
 
 " Certainly, of course, horribly tame, I can tell you. 
 Why, the last time I was in the Black Hills — " 
 
 " The Black Hills? " interrupted Elmer. 
 
 " Certainly. That's what I said. I guess, though, 
 I've never told you about that. I had adventures 
 enough there to fill a pretty good-sized book. Our 
 
THE TAMING OF ALLEN WEBSTER 73 
 
 party was attacked by Indians, but we managed to beat 
 them off. Here's where I got a bad flesh wound," he 
 added, puUing off his coat, and roUing up his shirt 
 sleeve. 
 
 " Why," said Elmer, as he and Roscoe examined the 
 big scar exhibited to them, " it looks something like a 
 vaccination mark." 
 
 " Yes," admitted Allen, complacently, " it has some- 
 thing of that appearance; but the doctor that made it 
 had feathers in his hair, and carried a tomahawk." 
 
 " He must have been a wild one," commented Roscoe. 
 
 "A wild one?" repeated Allen. "Well, I should 
 remark he was. I found out afterwards that he had 
 no less than a hundred scalps hanging about the walls 
 of his wigwam." 
 
 " Having got the collecting craze I suppose he found 
 it hard to reform," said Elmer. " I've got an old 
 aunt — as good a woman as ever lived — who is just wild 
 on the subject of old china — " 
 
 " Old china ! " exclaimed Roscoe, indignantly. 
 " What connection, I want to know, can that have 
 with the villainous redskin who was after Friend 
 Webster's hair?" 
 
 "Why, I simply used it by way of comparison. 
 Don't get hot about it," expostulated Elmer. 
 
 " Oh, that's all right. I understood what you 
 meant," interposed Allen, magnanimously. "There's 
 no doubt that fellow wanted my topknot; but, fortu- 
 nately, he didn't get it." 
 
74 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " It would have looked fine in his collection," said 
 Roscoe, with enthusiasm. 
 
 " That's so," assented Elmer. " After all, you 
 couldn't really blame him much." 
 
 The conversation had for the moment called Allen's 
 attention from the subject of bears, and he was begin- 
 ning to regain something of his old confidence and 
 assertiveness. 
 
 " You don't mind my trying your gun, do you, 
 Allen ? " asked Roscoe. 
 
 " Certainly not," was the cordial response, as Allen 
 handed over the weapon. 
 
 " I'm going to try for that red squirrel in the big 
 hemlock," said Roscoe, as he took careful aim at the 
 indicated mark. 
 
 Two sharp reports in quick succession woke the forest 
 echoes, but the squirrel jumped nimbly to an adjoining 
 tree, and scampered away unhurt. 
 
 " Just my luck," grumbled Roscoe, " but we can't all 
 be as good shots as you, Allen. May I try again ? " 
 
 " Why, of course," assented Allen, passing him two 
 new cartridges. " Try it as often as you like." 
 
 Allen was apparently relieved to have his gun in 
 other hands, and, while Roscoe slyly slipped the car- 
 tridges into his pockets, Elmer improved the oppor- 
 tunity to distract their companion's attention by 
 engaging him in conversation. 
 
 " We seem to have wandered from the question," he 
 suggested. " I believe you were about to tell us some- 
 
THE TAMING OF ALLEN WEBSTER 75 
 
 thing of your experience with bears in the Black 
 Hills." 
 
 " Bears ? Oh, yes. I was going to tell you about 
 the time Big Diamond Pete — there was a hunter for 
 you ! — well, he and I started up the Great Rocky canyon 
 one morning before breakfast after a little fresh meat 
 to take the place of the pork and salt codfish we'd been 
 living on at the camp. We hadn't gone more than a 
 mile from our layout when suddenly — huh! what's 
 that?" 
 
 The occasion of the abrupt question was an angry 
 growl that came from a clump of hazel bushes a little 
 distance in front of them, and through which suddenly 
 emerged the paws and head of a huge bear. 
 
 "Great smoke! It's a bear!" shouted Roscoe, as 
 he beat a hasty retreat. 
 
 " Yes," gasped Elmer, as he quickly followed him, 
 " he's a buster, too. Sail in quick, Allen, and finish 
 him. Give him that gun, Roscoe. We'll just stand 
 back and see how he does it." 
 
 But Allen paid no attention to either of these remarks. 
 With the first appearance of the bear he stood for a 
 moment as if rooted to the ground — a perfect picture 
 of abject terror. His face was ghastly white, his teeth 
 chattered, and his knees knocked together in a threat- 
 ened collapse. But this was only for a moment. With 
 the second growl that came from the bear he seemed 
 to recover himself somewhat, and, turning about, he 
 disappeared through the woods at a rate of speed whicK 
 
76 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 the boys had never supposed him capable of. His hat 
 flew off, as he leaped wildly over a windfall that lay 
 across the wood road ; but he did not stop to pick it up. 
 
 As he passed from sight a loud shout of laughter 
 came from the bushes. A moment later they parted, 
 and Raymond Benson stepped into view. 
 
 " This is the richest thing I ever ran up against," he 
 gasped, as he threw upon the ground the skin of the 
 bear he had shot in Cobe Hersom's trap that forenoon. 
 " That wasn't half a bad idea getting Cobe to leave 
 the head and fore paws on that skin." 
 
 But Elmer and Roscoe were rolling upon the ground 
 in paroxysms of laughter. 
 
 " I should say, by the way he ran, that he would 
 do well hunting rabbits," continued Raymond. " He 
 would be reasonably sure of catching them." 
 
 " My soul ! did you ever see the beat of that ? " gasped 
 Elmer. 
 
 " I never did — nor expect to again," conceded Ray- 
 mond. 
 
 " He seems to have degenerated since he killed that 
 last grizzly," added Roscoe. " But perhaps he merely 
 went after his dirk-knife." 
 
 " I reckon he's just about joined Big Diamond Pete 
 up the Great Rocky canyon by this time," said the 
 laughing Elmer. " My! wasn't he nervous, though? " 
 
 " I confess, fellows, I was a trifle nervous myself," 
 said Raymond, " until I heard that signal from Roscoe. 
 Up to the time I heard those two shots I was worrying 
 
THE TAMING OF ALLEN WEBSTER 'J^ 
 
 for fear you might not be able to get possession of his 
 gun. How did you manage it?" 
 
 " Just as easy as rolling off a log," rejoined Roscoe. 
 " I simply asked him for it, and he turned it right over 
 to me like a little man." 
 
 " We'd been talking bear to him, you see," explained 
 Elmer, " and I think he was actually relieved to get 
 that gun out of his hands. It sort of put the burden 
 of the defense on Roscoe." 
 
 " I was afraid if the rattlehead kept the gun he 
 might pull himself together long enough to shoot," said 
 Raymond. 
 
 " You needn't have feared that," said Elmer. " We 
 wouldn't have allowed him to get near enough to shoot 
 at you with that gun in his hands. I don't believe he 
 could have fired it, though, to save his life, after you 
 gave that first growl." 
 
 " He wouldn't have carried it a yard," asserted 
 Roscoe with conviction. 
 
 " I had hard work to keep a straight face when 
 Roscoe hid the fresh cartridges in his coat pocket," 
 chuckled Elmer. " I was afraid he might see it ; but 
 he was too busy telling me about his Black Hills 
 adventures to notice it. I never saw a fellow before 
 in my life who was so completely carried away by the 
 absorbing power of his own lies." 
 
 " I came near shouting out loud when Elmer showed 
 him that dead lamb under the fir trees," said Roscoe, 
 " especially when Allen suggested that perhaps it might 
 
y8 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 have been killed by dogs. It was about the only truth 
 he stumbled upon during the trip, and it wasn't sur- 
 prising, perhaps, that he didn't recognize it." 
 
 " You bluffed him right out of it," said Elmer. " I 
 felt fully repaid when I saw the way that carcass 
 straightened out his hair for the part I had in lugging 
 it over from the edge of Ezra's pasture. It was about 
 the most odorous bundle I ever handled," he added, 
 with a grimace. 
 
 " It was a trifle mellow, for a fact," admitted Roscoe, 
 " but the results it brought were worth the price." 
 
 A moment later the trio started down the narrow 
 wood road toward the Corner. As they reached the 
 hat which Allen had left in his precipitate flight, they 
 picked it up, and hung it in triumph on the ends of the 
 gun-barrels. 
 
 That evening all the people in the vicinity knew of 
 Allen's adventure, and the group at Squire Copeland's 
 store enjoyed more than one hearty laugh at his 
 expense. It would be impossible to describe Allen's 
 rage and chagrin when he learned the nature of the 
 joke that had been played upon him. For more than 
 a week his double-barreled shot-gun, surmounted by 
 his hat, occupied a conspicuous place in Copeland's 
 store, before he mustered up courage enough to send 
 for it. There was probably not money enough in 
 Chestnut to have tempted him to go for it in person, 
 for, like most boasters, he was keenly sensitive to 
 ridicule. It was destined to be many a long day before 
 
THE TAMING OF ALLEN WEBSTER 79 
 
 he heard the last of the episode. The lesson was a 
 salutary one, however, and during the remainder of 
 his stay at the Corner he was never known to indulge 
 in any of his old-time hunting fictions. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF MISCHIEF 
 
 Although David Beecham had been successful as a 
 district school-teacher, he soon found that a Free High 
 School was quite a different thing. It was much larger ; 
 then, too, its pupils were older, and drawn from all 
 parts of the town. 
 
 For several weeks matters went along smoothly 
 enough. Then the trouble began. A spirit of mischief 
 and unrest appeared to pervade the whole school. Even 
 some of those who had been among Mr. Beecham's 
 most staid and steady-going pupils at the district school 
 seemed completely dominated by its influence. 
 
 A very disturbing element in the school consisted of 
 several young men who, although they were too old to 
 engage personally in the petty mischief so annoying to 
 the teacher, were not above urging the smaller boys 
 on by an apparent approval of their pranks. Among 
 these young men was Dave Weston, the cousin of 
 Raymond, who has already been referred to in the 
 opening chapter. Dave was twenty years of age, and 
 although he was personally respectful and attentive to 
 his studies, and gave Mr. Beecham no cause to com- 
 plain of his conduct, he had contrived to make him 
 
 80 
 
THE SPIRIT OF MISCHIEF 8 1 
 
 a great deal of trouble, by setting on foot no little 
 mischief among the smaller boys, who entertained a 
 profound respect for his opinion. 
 
 Upon Raymond, especially, had Dave exerted an 
 unwholesome influence by privately commending him 
 for acts of mischief which he should have been manly 
 enough to condemn. 
 
 " I tell you there doesn't begin to be the pluck and 
 backbone in this school that there was a few years ago," 
 he remarked to a crowd of the younger boys as they 
 sat upon the steps of the schoolhouse platform one 
 morning about half an hour before the opening of the 
 forenoon session. " In those days no teacher would 
 have dared to domineer round the way Beecham does 
 now, I can tell you. It wouldn't have been healthy for 
 "him if he had. He would have been lugged outdoors 
 mighty lively. The fellows in the school had nerve in 
 those days. I shall never forget the winter we lugged 
 Charles Kendrick out and dumped him in a snow-drift," 
 and Dave laughed loudly at the amusement which the 
 recollection appeared to afford him. 
 
 " How was that ? " queried Raymond, with evident 
 interest. " I've heard that affair referred to a number 
 of times, but have never learned the full particulars 
 of it." 
 
 " Yes. Let's have it," came in eager chorus from the 
 other boys. 
 
 " Well, you see," began Dave, who only wanted this 
 invitation to tell the story, and who was delighted to 
 
82 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 have around him such an interested audience, "when 
 Kendrick came here he was sort of looked upon as a last 
 resort. He had the reputation of being a terror. The 
 school here had the name of being about the toughest 
 proposition in the county. Half a dozen different 
 teachers tried their hands at it, but all of them came to 
 grief. The people round town were awfully disgusted, 
 and everlastingly nagged the agent. They got him 
 terribly keyed up over it. He couldn't think of any- 
 thing else, and vowed he'd find a man who could teach 
 the school, if he had to hire a prize-fighter. After con- 
 siderable correspondence he got track of Kendrick, who 
 was recommended to be a regular steam-engine. He 
 was a powerfully-built fellow, and had the reputation of 
 being the best all-round athlete in his college. He had 
 been hired at big wages to teach a number of hard 
 schools, and had never failed to straighten them out. 
 In fact, he had worked up a big name in that sort of 
 business. Well, he got along here after a while. He 
 reached the Comer on the afternoon stage from Bolton, 
 and while he thawed himself out by the stove in Cope- 
 land's store, he proceeded to tell the people there just 
 what he intended to do. The report that the school here 
 was a hard one didn't frighten him a bit, he said. He 
 should really like to see the school he couldn't teach. 
 Of course he would probably have to dust out a dozen 
 or two of the ringleaders before matters got settled 
 down to a business basis, but that was to be expected. 
 He assured them, with considerable emphasis, he'd 
 
THE SPIRIT OF MISCHIEF 83 
 
 Straighten things out, if he had to flog every mother's 
 son of us into our beds." 
 
 " He was mighty fooHsh to make such talk as that," 
 said Raymond. 
 
 " Yes ; even if he thought that way, it wasn't very 
 good pohcy to let people know it in that public manner," 
 added Ned Grover. 
 
 "What sort of a looking fellow was he?" queried 
 several of the group. 
 
 " He was about five feet, ten inches high, square- 
 shouldered, stockily-built, and quick as a cat. He was 
 a splendid boxer, too. In fact, if he could have kept 
 the whole school at arm's length, I don't doubt but that 
 he could have done all he said he could, and more. He 
 was an athlete every inch of him. To tell the truth, we 
 fellows were a bit afraid of him for a few weeks — that 
 is, until we had time to sort of take his measure ; then 
 we concluded that any dog which barked as much as he 
 did wouldn't bite deep when it came to a fight." 
 
 " How did he start in? " asked Ned. 
 
 " As pompous as Old. King Cole himself. After he 
 had called the school to order, he made us a little speech. 
 He said he had heard the school spoken of as a hard one, 
 and he understood that its pupils had behaved outra- 
 geously toward former teachers, but there was going to 
 be a radical change that term. Then he showed us a 
 heavy ruler, and a big rawhide. * These are hard 
 masters,' says he, 'but it depends entirely with you 
 whether they have any work to do this term or not.' " 
 
84 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " What did you say to that? " asked Raymond. 
 
 " Not a word, but we kept up a considerable of a 
 thinking. You never saw such a tyrant as that Ken- 
 drick was from the time he started in until we finally put 
 him out. He seemed to delight in studying up new 
 punishments for the smaller scholars, but we soon began 
 to notice that, with all his big talk, he didn't appear 
 anxious to have any trouble with us large fellows. 
 Well, matters went along quietly about three weeks, 
 but there was a storm brewing all the time, and finally 
 it burst. All of us large boys were in the history class. 
 We took that study on purpose so that we might all be 
 together when we got ready to run Kendrick out. 
 While we were reciting one day, Teddy Avery, the 
 Widow Avery's little lame son, did something — I never 
 knew what — that made Kendrick mad. Quicker than 
 it takes to tell it he had the frightened little fellow by 
 the coat-collar, and dragged him into the floor in front 
 of the school. There he held him out at arm's length, 
 and shook him till he was dizzy and dazed. When he 
 finally let go of him the poor little chap fell to the floor 
 in a dead faint. That was more than we fellows could 
 stand. We just rose in a body from those front seats 
 and fell upon Kendrick like a barrel of bricks. We 
 took him completely by surprise, and he didn't have 
 time to ward us off before we clinched with him. When 
 we once got glued onto him he couldn't shake us off." 
 
 " Did he fight? " was the eager query from several of 
 the boys. 
 
THE SPIRIT OF MISCHIEF 85 
 
 " Did he fight ! " repeated Dave, as if amazed at the 
 question. "Well, I should rather say he did. We 
 fellows never realized before what a cordy, powerful 
 fellow he was. He made the dust fly, I can tell you. 
 A demon couldn't have struggled more desperately. 
 At times it almost seemed as if he'd get the upper hands 
 of us in spite of all we could do, but we were too many 
 for him, and finally winded him. I tell you, it was 
 awful exciting about that time around these premises. 
 The girls screamed and ran outdoors, while the small 
 boys showed their hatred of Kendrick by cheering us 
 on, and bringing us woolen comforters from the entry 
 to tie him with. We were a pretty hard-looking crowd 
 when we finally choked the fight out of him. All of us 
 were covered with dust from head to foot, and not one 
 of us had a whole suit of clothes on his back. Our hair 
 was all ruffled up, our collars torn off, and a number of 
 us were bleeding from scratches we had received, but 
 we didn't mind that a bit. We had knocked Kendrick 
 out, and were happy. We tied him hand and foot and 
 laid him, breathless and gasping, upon the teacher's 
 platform, about the most surprised man, I think, there 
 ever was in the town of Chestnut." 
 
 " What did he do? " asked Raymond. 
 
 " Well, just as soon as he could get his breath he 
 began to cry baby, like a great calf. I never saw a man 
 come down the way he did. He promised to do entirely 
 different in the future if we'd only let up on him ; but we 
 didn't dare to trust him. We lugged him out onto this 
 
86 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 very platform and bounced him into a big, soft snow- 
 drift over there at the south end of it. That wilted him 
 completely. When we brought him back into the 
 schoolhouse he was bawling like a great overgrown 
 child, and begging us, in the most humble manner, to 
 let him go." 
 
 " Did you do it ? " asked Ned, with deep interest. 
 
 " No, we didn't dare to take any chances with him. 
 We left him there, packed up our books and went home. 
 Some of the small boys, who owned the comforters we 
 had tied him with, let him go after we had left the 
 schoolhouse. I can just tell you, boys, the affair kicked 
 up an awful row, and there was terrible excitement in 
 town — but most of you know all about that. There 
 was no more school that term. Kendrick was horribly 
 mortified, and left town the very next morning. He 
 has never shown up in these parts since." 
 
 " What was done about it ? " demanded Raymond. 
 
 "About what?" 
 
 " Your row with Kendrick." 
 
 " Well, the committee concluded that no live man 
 could teach the Corner school while we fellows were in 
 it, so they expelled every one of us who had a hand in 
 lugging out Kendrick. I am the only one of the crowd 
 who has ever been in this schoolhouse as a pupil since. 
 I tell you those were live times," he continued, enthu- 
 siastically. "We had boys with blood and backbone 
 in school then. They wouldn't have stood Beecham 
 long, you may be certain ; but things are different now." 
 
THE SPIRIT OF MISCHIEF 87 
 
 " I don't see any similarity between that man, Ken- 
 drick, and Beecham," declared Raymond, emphatically. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Kendrick was a coward and a bully, while Beecham 
 is a gentleman." 
 
 " Oh, of course Beecham isn't like Kendrick," assented 
 Dave. " I never said he was. I only said our old 
 crowd wouldn't have stood him ; but that doesn't signify 
 much. They wouldn't have stood anybody in the shape 
 of a teacher." 
 
 " I thought you were trying to draw a comparison 
 between the two men," said Ned. 
 
 " No, I wouldn't undertake to do that. The two 
 men are totally different. It's lucky Beecham isn't a 
 Kendrick, though. It would be rough on this school 
 where there isn't blood enough to do anything but grin 
 and bear whatever comes along." 
 
 Dave's remarks were closed by the ringing of the 
 teacher's bell ; but the manner in which he had made the 
 disgraceful conduct of himself and his companions, in 
 resisting their teachers, appear commendable, and even 
 heroic, had not been without its injurious influence upon 
 his hearers. Many of the younger boys thought that 
 day, as they sat in the droning schoolroom, what a fine 
 thing it would be to end the burdens of the term by 
 tying Mr. Beecham and lugging him outdoors. For- 
 tunately there were none among them foolhardy enough 
 to attempt such a thing, though Dave Weston deserved 
 no credit for the fact. 
 
88 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 Not long after this Mr. Beecham kept Raymond after 
 school, and had a long and serious talk with him. 
 
 " I know, Raymond," he said, earnestly, " that you 
 have abilities which, properly exerted, will some day 
 place you in the front rank of influential men ; but you 
 must make a better use of them than you have here. 
 You might easily lead in your classes if you would only 
 apply yourself to your books, but instead of that, with 
 the exception of history, you rank low in all of them." 
 " There are a number lower than I, Mr. Beecham." 
 " That is true ; but it is no recommendation for a 
 young man to say that he is not the lowest in his classes, 
 when, with just a fair amount of application, he might 
 easily be first in all of them." 
 
 " I have studied considerably, Mr. Beecham." 
 " You have, by fits and starts, done good work. That 
 method does not bring the best results anywhere, Ray- 
 mond. It is only persistent effort that achieves the 
 highest success. Your conduct this term has been an 
 injury, not only to yourself, but to the whole school." 
 "The whole school?" 
 
 " Yes ; you seem a little incredulous, but it is, never- 
 theless, a fact. You have a great influence over your 
 associates, and the course you take has very much to do 
 with the success or failure of this school. I had -hoped 
 to find in you a help and support, but almost from 
 the beginning of this term you have been deliberately 
 engaged in robbing your fellow pupils." 
 
 " Do you mean to charge me with stealing? " 
 
THE SPIRIT OF MISCHIEF 89 
 
 " In the sense you mean, no ; in a more important 
 sense, yes. Many of the pupils here do not enjoy your 
 advantages. This is the only chance a number of them 
 have had to attend school during the whole year. It 
 is very important that they should make the most of 
 their opportunities. Whatever they acquire here will 
 be of great assistance to them in the future. Now, 
 whenever you, or any one else, distracts the attention of 
 fellow pupils from their books, you take from them so 
 much that would otherwise be theirs, and they go away 
 from here, at the close of the term, so much the poorer 
 prepared for the work of life." 
 
 " I had never thought of that," said Raymond, 
 soberly. 
 
 "But it's so, isn't it?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, I hope you will never again rob any of your 
 fellow pupils, Raymond. I have never asked you if 
 you were responsible for any of the pranks that have 
 been played this term. I knew you were too brave and 
 manly a fellow to lie about it, and I did not want to take 
 advantage of your truthfulness to convict you of those 
 things. You know it is a rule of our courts that wit- 
 nesses need not criminate themselves." 
 
 " I am glad you have had this talk with me, Mr. 
 Beecham. I have behaved outrageously, but I mean to 
 do better. I'll turn over a new leaf this very day. 
 Here's my hand on it." 
 
 Mr. Beecham shook the proflfered Hand very cordially, 
 
90 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 and started for his boarding-place with more buoyancy 
 of spirit than he had felt for a fortnight. 
 
 Rajonond was unusually silent as he and Ned Grover 
 drove home after the gray colt that evening. His com- 
 panion told himself that he was thinking up some new 
 mischief for the morrow. In this Ned was mistaken. 
 Raymond was very seriously making some good resolu- 
 tions. Had he kept them, he would have saved himself 
 some unpleasant experiences. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE GRIEVANCE OF EZRA JOHNSTON 
 
 " Hol' on thar ye young rascallions ! Stop right 
 whar ye air ! " 
 
 Uncle Ezra Johnston's voice was shrill and impera- 
 tive, but Harry Oakley and Sam Brown, who were 
 scudding across the sheep pasture in the direction of 
 the Corner schoolhouse, paid scant attention to him. 
 
 "Oh this blamed rheumatiz!" he groaned, with his 
 hand on his back. " It's no use talkin'. I can't run, 
 that's sartin sure. If I was only ten years younger I'd 
 gin them young blatherskites suthin' t' remember me 
 by — I would, by gum ! " 
 
 He hobbled painfully along only to see the objects of 
 his wrath climb nimbly over the bunk fence, and mingle 
 with the shouting, romping crowd of boys who were 
 playing in the school yard. A new rough-and-tumble 
 joke was being practiced, which, judging from the loud 
 and boisterous laughter, appeared to furnish consider- 
 able amusement to all but the victims. The plan of 
 operation was for one boy to engage another in conver- 
 sation, while a third boy crept up and took a position on 
 his hands and knees just behind him. A sharp push 
 from the boy in front seldom failed to send the victim 
 
 91 
 
92 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 flat Upon his back with startling celerity. It was a 
 dangerous and foolish pastime — one that might easily 
 have crippled some boy for life. Fortunately, however, 
 the ground in the school yard was soft and grassy, so 
 that no serious results came of the rough sport. The 
 victims generally took their discomfiture good-naturedly 
 and were on hand to greet the next victim with a hearty 
 gufifaw. Naturally the boys had grown a little wary 
 after two or three successful exhibits of this joke, a 
 number of the smaller ones roosting with grinning 
 expectancy on the " grand stand " to make sure of their 
 own safety. 
 
 " This crowd's getting about as suspicious as Abe 
 Martin's old stub-tailed dog," laughed Dave Weston, 
 as he sidled quickly away to avoid Raymond Benson, 
 who was stealing up behind him. 
 
 " How was that ? " grinned Ned Grover. 
 
 " Why, he was so suspicious that he went through 
 life sideways for fear some one would kick him." 
 
 " That doesn't speak very well for Abe," declared 
 Raymond Benson. 
 
 " That's true enough," admitted Dave. " He was 
 very much like some boys I've known." 
 
 The conversation was interrupted at this point by the 
 arrival of Sam Brown and Harry Oakley, breathless and 
 panting. 
 
 " Hello, what's up? " demanded Dave Weston, as the 
 boys gathered about them in a flutter of excitement. 
 
 " Ezra Johnston ! " gasped Harry Oakley. 
 
THE GRIEVANCE OF EZRA JOHNSTON 93 
 
 " Aha! " returned Dave, sternly. " Been drawing on 
 his orchard, have you ? It would be well to go slowly, 
 boys. You must, remember that the pasture where we 
 play ball belongs to Uncle Ezra. He could shut us out 
 of it 'most any time. It would be just like him to do 
 it, too, if you get to pestering him." 
 
 " But we didn't touch his old apples," returned Harry, 
 resentfully. " We were hunting for a ball Sam knocked 
 over there. We'd just found it when he descended on 
 us. You'd have thought we were a couple of horse- 
 thieves by the way he opened up on us. He was in a 
 frame of mind, I can tell you." 
 
 " Why didn't you explain to him ? " persisted Dave. 
 
 " Explain nothing ! " returned Sam Brown, disgust- 
 edly. " He wouldn't give us a chance to say boo. He 
 was bound to do all the talking. That old cane of his 
 was flying round his head like a flail. We thought it 
 would be healthier for us to light out, and give him a 
 chance to cool off." 
 
 " Here he comes now," announced one of the smaller 
 boys in a stage whisper, and a moment later Ezra 
 climbed slowly over the fence and hobbled across the 
 school yard. 
 
 " Whar's them young skunks as was raidin' my 
 orchard ? " he snarled, as his bleary eyes swept over the 
 group of boys before him. 
 
 " Are you sure that any of the boys were troubling 
 your orchard, Mr. Johnston ? " asked Dave Weston, in 
 conciliatory tones. 
 
94 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " Sure, drat 'em ! " grunted Ezra, wrathfully. " Didn't 
 I ketch 'em in th' very act. Don't go for to cross- 
 examine me, young feller ; don't gin me no more o' your 
 sass, I tell ye. I know jest what I'm talkin' erbout." 
 
 " Two of the boys went over there to find a baseball 
 they'd lost," mildly suggested Dave; "but I haven't 
 known of any of them troubling your apples. Most of 
 us have plenty at home." 
 
 " All the more reason why you should let mine alone," 
 snapped Ezra. " If the boys lost a ball why wasn't they 
 men enough t' come and speak t' me erbout it? " 
 
 " I don't imagine they thought you'd care if they 
 looked for it," suggested Dave. 
 
 " Wal I do. I don't want nary one o' you in my 
 orchard 'thout my consent. I — gee whittaker ! " 
 
 As this last startled ejaculation broke from Ezra's 
 lips his heels flew in the air, and he measured his length 
 upon the ground, impelled by a sharp push from Sam 
 Brown, who stood just behind Dave Weston, over the 
 back of Raymond Benson, who had sneaked up and 
 taken a position on his hands and knees behind the 
 unsuspecting old man during the progress of the conver- 
 sation. Before Ezra could regain his feet the boys had 
 disappeared into the schoolhouse, in answer to the bdl, 
 leaving him to rub his shins and swear vengeance. 
 
 " Now you've gone and done it," snapped Dave 
 Weston to Raymond Benson, as they made their way 
 through the boys' entry to the schoolroom. " There's 
 liable to be a long tail to that kite." 
 
THE GRIEVANCE OF EZRA JOHNSTON 95 
 
 This remark made Raymond feel decidedly hot and 
 uncomfortable and he felt the blood mount to his face, 
 and his heart beat wildly a moment later when Ezra 
 Johnston, the picture of vindictive wrath, made his 
 appearance in the open door of the schoolroom and 
 glared about him a moment in silent rage. 
 
 "What sort of a school air this, anyhow?" he 
 demanded presently, in high-pitched, angry tones. 
 
 This unexpected question was like a dash of cold 
 water to Mr. Beecham who, always attentive to visitors, 
 had come courteously forward to greet him and offer 
 him a chair. 
 
 " Why — Mr. Johnston — wha — what do you mean ? " 
 he stammered in red-faced embarrassment. 
 
 " I mean air this a school for decent boys an' gals, or 
 air it a collection o' young varmints ? " 
 
 By this time Mr. Beecham had partially recovered his 
 composure. 
 
 " They are your neighbors' children, Mr. Johnston," 
 he returned with quiet dignity. " You should know 
 them quite as well as I do, and I confess that I am at a 
 loss to understand your question." 
 
 " I don't mean no disrespect t' you, Mr. Beecham," 
 persisted Ezra, doggedly, " but I've been used scan- 
 dalous — indecent." 
 
 " I'm very sorry to hear you say so. I trust none of 
 my pupils are at fault," returned Mr. Beecham with a 
 note of inquiry in his voice ; " er — won't you have a 
 chair?" 
 
96 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " If it's all the same t' ye, Mr. Beechatn, I'll say thet 
 I've got t' say right here." 
 
 Mr. Beecham nodded assent. 
 
 " A little spell ago," continued the visitor, " I ketched 
 two of your boys 'n my orchard. I'm a little nigh- 
 sighted, but there was no mistake erbout 'em. They 
 was the Grover boy an' Andrew Benson's grandson. 
 I'll swear t' thet." 
 
 Raymond sprang to his feet, his face white with 
 anger, but Mr. Beecham, who was visibly disturbed 
 by what he had heard, sternly motioned him to his 
 seat. 
 
 " Go on, Mr. Johnston," he said, coolly. 
 
 " When I yelled at 'em," continued Ezra, " they lit 
 right out. I followed 'em es well es I could; but since 
 my rheumatiz got so bad I'm not es spry es I used t' be. 
 When I got t' the school yard, there they was es big es 
 Cuffy. That big feller over there " — pointing at Dave 
 Weston — " pretended es how they was huntin' for a 
 baseball, an' while he was a-talkin' t' me some scalla- 
 wag — I couldn't see jest which one on 'em 't was — got 
 down behind me an' th' big feller thar pushed me over 
 'im. Then they traipsed away inter th' schoolhouse 
 a-snickerin' an' a-gigglin' 's if they'd done a mighty 
 smart thing." 
 
 " I am certainly astonished, Mr. Johnston, at what 
 you've told me," began Mr. Beecham, in apologetic 
 tones. " I didn't suppose — er, what do you wish to 
 say? " he asked in response to an interruption by Harry 
 
THE GRIEVANCE OF EZRA JOHNSTON 97 
 
 Oakley, who had raised his hand and was vigorously 
 snapping his fingers. 
 
 " I think I can explain this, Mr. Beecham," responded 
 Harry, rising to his feet. 
 
 " It certainly seems to call for explanation," sternly 
 said the teacher. 
 
 " Sam Brown was knocking flies to me over in the 
 pasture," continued Harry. " One of them went over 
 into Mr. Johnston's orchard and was lost in the grass. 
 Sam and I went over there to hunt for it. Just as we 
 found it Ez — er, Mr. Johnston — came out and ordered 
 us ofif. We came away just as quick as we could." 
 
 " What did ye run so fast fur ef ye wasn't up t' mis- 
 chief?" demanded Ezra, incredulously. 
 
 " Because — why — you see — " 
 
 " Because what ? " interrupted Ezra, with a gleam of 
 triumph in his small, round eyes. 
 
 " Well, you were awful mad — and — and we were 
 afraid you wouldn't give us a chance to explain," con- 
 cluded Harry. 
 
 " He was waving his cane at us all the time," 
 explained Sam Brown. 
 
 " Stuff an' nonsense! " sniffed Ezra. " 'Pears t' me 
 ye acted mighty strange for honest boys." 
 
 " Well, those are the facts," persisted Harry, stoutly. 
 
 " You are quite sure that you didn't trouble Mr. 
 Johnston's apples, are you? " asked Mr. Beecham. 
 
 " Certainly we didn't," protested Harry, warmly. 
 
 " You appear to have labored under a misapprehen- 
 
98 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 sion, Mr. Johnston, so far as your orchard is concerned," 
 said Mr. Beecham, turning to his visitor. " I have no 
 doubt that the boys are telUng the truth." 
 
 " That's right ! Stan' up for 'em ! " exclaimed Ezra, 
 angrily. 
 
 " But they were only after their ball, Mr. Johnston," 
 expostulated Mr. Beecham. 
 
 " Wal, they needn't come after any more. I want 
 ye t' keep out o' my orchard, an' what's more out o' my 
 sheep pastur'. If I ketch ary one o' ye thar agin I'll 
 — I'll have the law on ye." 
 
 " One moment, Mr. Johnston ! " 
 
 Raymond Benson was standing in the aisle with 
 white, set face, and there was a ring of determination 
 in his voice. 
 
 " Why — Mr. Benson — " began the teacher, depre- 
 catingly. 
 
 " Excuse me, Mr. Beecham, but I think I have a right 
 to speak," continued Raymond. " You have come here, 
 Mr. Johnston, and, in the presence of forty witnesses, 
 have accused me of being a thief. You know now that 
 your accusation was false. You order the boys to keep 
 out of your sheep pasture, which they are not hurting 
 in the least, and you talk about having the -law on them. 
 I give you fair warning that if you attempt to drive us 
 out of that pasture I'll sue you for slander. I'll make 
 things interesting for you, and come mighty near 
 owning that piece of land myself before I'm through 
 with you." 
 
THE GRIEVANCE OF EZRA JOHNSTON 99 
 
 A ripple of applause greeted this bold announcement. 
 Ezra was nonplussed. Like all men of his class he had 
 a wholesome fear of the law. 
 
 " I — I — thought as how ye was one on 'em," he 
 stammered in evident confusion. " I guess I put my 
 foot in it thar." He paused a moment, balancing him- 
 self first on one foot and then on the other. " I haint 
 got no objections t' you boys a-playin' ball in my pastur', 
 if ye'U jest leave my apples alone," he added weakly, 
 and turning he hobbled away out of the room. 
 
 When he was gone Mr. Beecham improved the oppor- 
 tunity to have a very serious talk with his pupils. He 
 expressed his gratification at finding Ezra's charge 
 regarding his apples to be unfounded, but declared that 
 whoever had tripped the old man was guilty of a mean 
 and cowardly act, one that might have had most serious 
 consequences. He trusted that none of those present 
 would participate in anything of the kind again. 
 
 " You're a cool one," said Dave Weston to Raymond 
 at recess, " but what if Ezra had known all the 
 facts in the case, wouldn't he have called your bluff 
 though?" 
 
 " He was so rattled over the threatened lawsuit that 
 he clean forgot about his tumble," grinned Sam Brown. 
 
 " What Mr. Beecham said about that being a mean 
 thing was true," responded Raymond, soberly. " I'm 
 thoroughly ashamed of myself for the part I had in it." 
 
 " You're turning pious, are you ? " said a sneering 
 voice at his elbow. " You remind me of a cow that 
 
lOO THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 gives a good mess of milk and then kicks the pail over. 
 Pooh ! I'm heartily sick of such cant." 
 
 Raymond turned angrily to meet the contemptuous 
 face of Allen Webster. 
 
 " Ah, the great catcher has spoken ! " he rejoined, 
 sarcastically. " Listen, fellows, to the voice of Sol- 
 omon." 
 
 As he turned away a sharp blow caught him on the 
 side of the head and sent him staggering back. 
 
 " I'll give you a lesson in manners," declared Allen, 
 following him up. 
 
 " You coward ! You sneaking coward ! " cried Ray- 
 mond, hotly, steadying himself with an effort. " Only 
 a cur would attack any one from behind." 
 
 He struck out with all his force, and, catching Allen 
 under the ear, sent him sprawling to the ground — where 
 he remained, evidently having had quite enough of the 
 encounter. Raymond in his anger would have sprung 
 upon him there ; but Dave Weston and Sam Brown held 
 him back. 
 
 The ringing of the bell at that moment called the boys 
 back to the schoolroom, and Raymond, his hot, flushed 
 face still smarting from Allen's blow, sank reluctantly 
 into his seat. A headache that had bothered him 
 through the morning session, but which had, apparently, 
 passed away during the noon hour, returned with 
 increasing severity, and he was conscious of feeling 
 thoroughly miserable and out-of-sorts. As the after- 
 noon droned away, he found it impossible to concentrate 
 
THE GRIEVANCE OF EZRA JOHNSTON lOI 
 
 his mind upon his studies. Much of the time he salf 
 bending forward upon his desk with his head pillowed 
 upon his arms. On several occasions Mr. David 
 Beecham, the teacher, spoke sharply to him, directing, 
 him to pay attention to his work. It would have been 
 better for Raymond if he had stated his condition 
 frankly, and had been excused from further attendance 
 for the day. Instead, he chose to regard the well-meant 
 admonitions of the teacher as a personal affront, and 
 became more surly and insubordinate as the long after-" 
 noon wore slowly away. 
 
 " Will you hold up your head, Raymond Benson, and 
 pay some attention to your work, or must I try the 
 virtue of this ? " 
 
 Even the sharp, imperative tones of the teacher did 
 not fully arouse Raymond to his surroundings. He 
 was conscious that his name had been spoken, but so 
 absorbed had he been in his. own reflections, and 
 so thoroughly miserable, that he did not at once com- 
 prehend the significance of Mn Beecham's remark. 
 Slowly raising his head, he cast a bewildered look about 
 the room, upon whose discordant sounds a sudden hush 
 of expectancy had fallen, and inquired in an uncertain 
 voice : 
 
 "What, sir?" 
 
 " Will you pay some attention to your work," 
 repeated the teacher, sternly, " or must I try the virtue 
 of this?" 
 
 A wave of indignation mantled Raymond's cheek. 
 
I02 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 The hot blood surged to his temples, and his breath 
 came quick and fast. 
 
 " That — that pointer ? " he gasped in a voice choked 
 with passion. 
 
 " Yes, sir, this pointer," returned the teacher, coolly. 
 " I've reached a point with you where forbearance has 
 ceased to be a virtue. This thing is going to stop right 
 here and now. Either you will have some vague idea 
 of what is going on in this schoolroom, or know the 
 virtue of this. Now, sir, which course do you purpose 
 to pursue ? " 
 
 " Neither — don't you — don't you dare to strike 
 at me." 
 
 There was a ring of defiance in Raymond's voice. 
 It was evident to the excited pupils, who had dropped 
 their books and were watching the scene with open 
 mouths and amazed faces, that he was in a thoroughly 
 belligerent frame of mind, and quite ready for a contest 
 with Mr. Beecham. 
 
 His reply had been so fiery and unexpected that the 
 teacher was quite as astonished as were his pupils. 
 
 " Do you intend to defy my authority? " he gasped. 
 
 " I don't intend to take a blow from you or any one 
 else so long, at least, as I am able to defend myself." 
 
 Mr. Beecham's face was white, and he shook with 
 visible excitement. 
 
 " Such conduct on your part, Benson, is, to say the 
 least, — er— er — contumacious! What do you mean 
 by it?" 
 
THE GRIEVANCE OF EZRA JOHNSTON IO3 
 
 " Just what I say," returned Raymond, doggedly. 
 
 Mr. Beecham grasped the pointer more firmly in his 
 hand and took a step towards Raymond, then paused, 
 irresolutely. He was but little stronger, physically, 
 than the boy who faced him so defiantly. He saw, too, 
 by the heavy ruler which Raymond had taken from the 
 window-sill and was holding in his hand, that he would 
 not be subdued without a hard struggle. Mr. Beecham 
 did not relish the prospect of a fight. He was not a 
 belligerent man. Besides, he had a special incentive to 
 peace in this instance from the fact that Dave Weston, 
 a cousin of Raymond's, and one of the largest boys in 
 school, had risen from his seat and was standing half 
 way down the aisle closely watching the progress of 
 affairs, with an evident purpose to take a hand in them 
 should they come to blows. Under the circumstances 
 Mr. Beecham decided that diplomacy was preferable 
 to war. 
 
 " I — I did not expect this of you, Raymond," he said, 
 with unconcealed emotion. " Such insubordination is 
 of course intolerable. On the whole, however, it may 
 be best for you to leave the school." 
 
 " Very well, sir." 
 
 Mr. Beecham turned abruptly, and, going to his desk, 
 rang the bell as a signal for dismissing the school. 
 
 Raymond lingered behind the others to strap up his 
 books. As he reached the door Mr. Beecham turned 
 and spoke to him. 
 
 "I confess that I am unable to understand this. 
 
I04 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 Benson," he said, sadly. " I knew you were a mis- 
 chievous boy, and at times, so far at least as your 
 studies have been concerned, an indolent one. I have 
 never regarded you, however, as either vicious or 
 insubordinate. I am at a loss to account for it." 
 
 " I have been feeling mean and out-of-sorts to-day, 
 Mr. Beecham," returned Raymond, in a low voice. 
 " My head has ached — and — and I didn't like the way 
 you came at me. I had rather die than be whipped 
 before the whole school," he added, passionately. 
 
 " Well, well, possibly I was a little hasty," admitted 
 Mr. Beecham. " If your head ached, why didn't you 
 tell me of it?" 
 
 " I thought you could see for yourself." 
 
 " Unfortunately I could not." 
 
 " Well, I'm not to blame for that." 
 
 " I think now that we understand each other better, 
 it would be well to let this matter drop," said the 
 teacher, in a conciliatory tone. 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Beecham," returned Rajmiond, 
 quietly. " I feel that — that I haven't done myself 
 justice here, and that it would be best for all concerned 
 that I go. Good-bye," he added, resolutely, and putting 
 his books under his arm he passed out of the room. 
 
 " False pride," murmured Mr. Beecham when he had 
 gone. " Some day he must learn to conquer it." 
 
 He arose dejectedly and left the schoolhouse, locking 
 the door behind him. 
 
 Ra3rmond's school days in Chestnut were over. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 AN EVENING AT SQUIRE CQPELAND's STORE 
 
 It was with mingled feelings that Raymond walked 
 away from the Free High School after the trouble with 
 Mr. Beecham narrated in the preceding chapter. He 
 endeavored to convince himself that it was wholly the 
 teacher's fault, and that he had been a much-abused 
 boy. In this he was not altogether successful. He 
 found it impossible to blot out the remembrance of 
 many mischievous pranks, which had taken the atten- 
 tion of his fellow-pupils from their books, and rendered 
 the work of his teacher far more trying than it would 
 otherwise have been. In spite of his resentment he 
 found himself wondering at the patience which Mr. 
 Beecham had frequently shown under the most exasper- 
 ating circumstances. 
 
 His anger cooled rapidly as he thought of these 
 things. He began to feel that he had made a foolish 
 exhibition of himself. In vain he sought to convince 
 himself that Mr. Beecham had been harsh and dicta- 
 torial. Try as he would, the feeling remained that it 
 was he himself who was in the wrong, and that before 
 night the story of his disgrace would be in every one's 
 mouth. He dreaded to think how Grandfather Benson 
 would take it. He vividly recalled the words the old 
 
 105 
 
I06 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 gentleman had spoken to him at the opening of the 
 term : " No boy who tries to do just right need ever 
 have any trouble with his teachers." He knew that 
 his course had often been far from right, and it sobered 
 him to think how badly Grandfather and Grandmother 
 Benson would feel when they learned the circumstances 
 under which he had left school. For a moment he was 
 almost persuaded to turn back and ask Mr. Beecham's 
 pardon for the trouble he had given him, and seek 
 reinstatement in his classes. His pride, however, fool- 
 ishly stifled this good resolution. What would the 
 other scholars say? Wouldn't they grin and nudge 
 one another, and what a sissy they would think him to 
 be ! No, he wouldn't go back ; that was settled. 
 
 He crossed the fields and took the bush-grown road 
 through the woods on Ezra Johnston's back lot. A 
 partridge flew up almost under his feet, but he paid no 
 attention to it. Under other circumstances it would 
 have aroused all the sportsman within him. He 
 paused a moment before the clump of hazel bushes, 
 from the midst of which he had been able to frighten 
 Allen Webster half out of his wits. Ordinarily th6 
 mere thought of this episode was enough to convulse 
 him with laughter. But to-day it appeared to have lost 
 its power to amuse him. He wandered aimlessly along 
 the narrow wood road, and only thought of retracing 
 his steps when he came to the large spring that marked 
 the dividing line between the hard-wood ridges and an 
 extensive cedar swamp. 
 
AN EVENING AT SQUIRE COPELAND's STORE IO7 
 
 It was almost seven o'clock when he finally returned 
 to the Corner. He found the team hitched in front of 
 Squire Copeland's store, and Ned walking up and down 
 the platform, very impatiently awaiting his arrival. 
 
 " I thought you were never coming," was his greet- 
 ing to Ra)miond. 
 
 " Why didn't you go home without me? " 
 
 " Well, I should have, if you hadn't come about when 
 you did." 
 
 " What did the boys and girls say about my trouble 
 with Beecham?" asked Raymond, anxiously. 
 
 " Well, to tell you the plain truth, old man," replied 
 Ned, slowly, " the prevailing idea appeared to be that 
 you were in the wrong." 
 
 " Did they think it was my place to take a flogging 
 simply for holding my head down when it ached ? " 
 exclaimed Raymond, indignantly. 
 
 " No, but Beecham only asked you to hold it up, they 
 say, and if you had told him it ached the first time he 
 spoke to you, he would have excused you entirely. Of 
 course, old fellow, I'm only speaking for the majority 
 of them," added Ned, apologetically, as if he feared that 
 Raymond might doubt his loyalty. 
 
 " I understand that, Ned," said Raymond, gratefully. 
 " A fellow can appreciate such a friend as you. I 
 guess I'll not go home with you to-night. I'll stop 
 with Uncle Weston. You can call at our place and let 
 them know about it. Dave is going to Bolton with a 
 load of potatoes to-morrow morning, and I can ride 
 
I08 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 home with him. Please don't say an3rthing to the folks 
 about this school affair." 
 
 " All right, I won't say a word." 
 
 When Ned had disappeared over the hill that sloped 
 in the direction of Bolton from the little stretch of table- 
 land upon which the Corner was located Raymond 
 turned into Squire Copeland's store. 
 
 It was still a little early for the "Corner congress" 
 which held its nightly sessions about the big Franklin 
 stove. Squire Copeland himself had been drawn upon 
 the jury, and was in attendance upon court at Bolton. 
 His son, Ben Copeland, was in charge of the store, and 
 greeted Raymond with a cordiality that did much to 
 dispel his gloomy thoughts. 
 
 " How are you, old fellow ? " he said, cheerfully. 
 
 " Oh, I'm able to be about yet." 
 
 " I guess that's more than Beecham could say if 
 you'd dropped on him this afternoon. I tell you that 
 kicked up quite a commotion. It's been the talk of the 
 store ever since school let out." 
 
 " What did people say about it? " 
 
 " Well, they seemed somewhat divided. Part of 
 them thought Beecham was too rough on you, and 
 others thought he ought to have given you a good 
 flogging early in the term. I rather thought the senti- 
 ment was pretty generally in your favor, though. I 
 told them that Dave Beecham would have bid off a 
 bigger contract than he could fill if he'd undertaken to 
 thrash you with that pointer." 
 
AN EVENING AT SQUIRE COPELAND's STORE IO9 
 
 " I'm much obliged to you, Ben. Still, I don't mind 
 telling you that I'm mighty sorry the trouble occurred. 
 Mr. Beecham is a gentleman, and would have excused 
 me if I had told him about my headache. Are you 
 all alone to-night ? " 
 
 " Yes, and rushed to death, too. Jim Farris was 
 coming in to tend post-office for me, but he got word 
 just before supper that his aunt at Bodge Mills was 
 very sick, and he and his mother have driven over 
 there." 
 
 " I'll tend it for you." 
 
 " Well, I'd like to have you first-rate, if it wouldn't 
 be too much trouble." 
 
 " Not a bit. I'd like to do it." 
 
 "Very well, go in behind there. The letters and 
 papers are in those alphabetical pigeonholes. The 
 boxes are all labeled on the inside. It won't take you 
 long to get the hang of them." 
 
 " All right, don't tell any one I'm here. Let them 
 find it out for themselves," answered Raymond, as he 
 passed around the counter. 
 
 From his position behind the boxes he was able to 
 hear what was said in the store without being seen. 
 For half an hour business was quiet. After that it 
 grew brisk, and soon a good-sized group was gathered 
 about the roaring Franklin stove that stood in the center 
 of the store. A very little of its heat was sufficient to 
 thaw out the various members of the assemblage, and 
 politics, the crops, religion and various other topics 
 
no THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 were casually touched upon, eliciting a varied range of 
 opinion. Then followed a very earnest discussion upon 
 the relative merits of certain pugilists, in the course of 
 which Joel Webber changed the subject somewhat 
 abruptly, remarking that the Corner was developing a 
 young man who would " whip the whole of 'em in 
 time." 
 
 " Who is that ? " demanded several of the group in 
 chorus. 
 
 " Young Raymond Benson. They say he and Mr. 
 Beecham had quite a set-to this afternoon. I guess if 
 the teacher had pressed matters much further, there'd 
 have been a good-sized row. Blamed if I don't believe 
 the boy could lay him out in a hand-to-hand tussle. 
 He's a wiry young fellow, and quicker 'n a cat." 
 
 " I tell ye thet boy has had a pesky bad influence 
 round here," interposed Ezra Johnston. " He's a bad 
 un, an' all o' the others air willing t' follow his lead 
 inter any kind o' mischief. I hope he'll go home now 
 an' stay there." 
 
 " I guess you're thinking, Ezra, of the call-down he 
 gave you on that apple business," said Joel Webber, 
 with a sly wink at the rest of the group. 
 
 A loud laugh followed this remark, to Ezra's very 
 evident discomfiture. 
 
 " Well, no decent boy would a made sech talk t' a 
 man o* my years," he growled. 
 
 "You're right, Ezra," said Simon Dart. "The 
 young men of to-day are altogether too forward. 
 
AN EVENING AT SQUIRE COPELAND's STORE III 
 
 They don't know their place. If that boy was mine 
 I'd give him a good sound thrashing that he'd remember 
 for one long day." 
 
 " Perhaps you would, and then again it's possible 
 you wouldn't," muttered Raymond to himself in his 
 retreat behind the post-ofitice boxes. 
 
 If there was any man about the Corner most heartily 
 disliked by the boys of the place it was Simon Dart. 
 He kept the only store in town besides that of Squire 
 Copeland. His stock was a most miscellaneous mix- 
 ture, and he had the reputation of giving astonishingly 
 good bargains — a merit that went a long way with 
 Corner people, otherwise his trade would not have been 
 a very extensive one. Simon was not a very prepos- 
 sessing person. He was tall, lank and bony. His lips 
 were thin, and he spoke with a sharp twang that always 
 carried with it the effect of a whine. He lived alone. 
 It was said that he was married once, but that his wife 
 lost no time separating from him when she had had 
 opportunity to become fully acquainted with him. 
 There were also rumors that he had been engaged in 
 some rather shady transactions, but there was no proof 
 of this. The report had probably grown out of certain 
 business dealings of his which left a bad odor, and a 
 strange intimacy which appeared to exist between him 
 and old Pete Atkins. Whatever the truth may have 
 been regarding these rumors, it was unquestionably a 
 fact that Simon had few friends at the Corner, especially 
 among the rising generation. 
 
112 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 Raymond heard his response to Ezra Johnston with 
 a strong impulse to come out from behind the counter 
 and take him by the throat. He did not blame Ezra. 
 He had taken advantage of circumstances to thoroughly 
 frighten the old fellow, and was not surprised to find 
 that he still felt sore over it. Simon's remarks, how- 
 ever, appeared to him entirely gratuitous and uncalled 
 for. 
 
 " I'm rather inclined to think, my good man, that 
 you would more than have your hands full if you 
 undertook that job," said Joel, with a warmth that told 
 Raymond that he had at least one friend in the group 
 about the stove. It was evident that the big fellow 
 had not forgotten the good turn the boy had done him 
 by helping dispose of Cobe Hersom's bear. Simon 
 made no reply to this remark, but taking the articles 
 which Ben had procured for him, and which had 
 occasioned his visit to Squire Copeland's, left the store. 
 When he was gone, the conversation was resumed by 
 Amos Dole. 
 
 " I tell ye young Benson isn't the worst boy in the 
 town, by any means," he said. " I know he's mis- 
 chievous, an' considerable of a practical joker. But he 
 doesn't drink or smoke or swear, an' nobody ever knew 
 'im t' lie. Mr. Beecham told me himself, not more 'n 
 a week ago, thet he'd never known a more truthful boy. 
 No matter what mischief was goin' on, he was always 
 sure that if he could get an3rthing at all from young 
 Benson it would be the truth. He could never get a 
 
AN EVENING AT SQUIRE COPELAND'S STORE II3 
 
 word out o' 'im, however, that would betray one o' his 
 companions." 
 
 " That's it, exactly," said Joel. " When any pranks 
 were played Raymond would own up to his part in them 
 every time. He carried all his sins on his own shirt- 
 front. The other boys haven't been as scrupulous. 
 The result has been that Raymond has had to stand 
 the blame for pretty much all the mischief that's gone 
 on about the High School this fall. I don't think he's 
 had a fair show — I swow I don't." 
 
 " There's probably some truth 'n what ye say, Joel," 
 remarked Deacon Graves, who had hitherto been a 
 silent listener to the conversation. " The boy undoubt- 
 edly has good habits. It is probable, too, that he's bin 
 suspected o' full es much mischief es he's bin consarned 
 in, but for all thet, he hasn't begun t' get his just 
 deserts. The worst fault I find with Mr. Beecham is 
 thet he's altogether too easy. He should hev kep' a 
 firmer hand. It would hev bin a wholesome lesson for 
 young Benson if he'd gi'n Mm a good trouncin'." 
 
 These words made Raymond wince. Deacon Graves 
 was one of the most respected citizens of the Corner, 
 a man of stem mould, old-fashioned and rigid in his 
 views of life, but of sterling character. Rajmiond felt 
 that he had spoken with some truth, and even the 
 rejoinder of David Clay did not altogether reassure 
 him. 
 
 " You're partly right, Uncle Graves," said the select- 
 man, slowly. " Still we mustn't forget that boys '11 be 
 
114 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 boys. I recollect that my grandfather used to say years 
 ago es how he'd rather have a bad boy than no boy 
 at all." 
 
 " He was wrong 'bout thet," declared the deacon, 
 with conviction. " T' my mind a bad boy 's a pesky 
 sight wus 'n no boy." 
 
 " Good boys are gittin' t' be powerful scurce 'n this 
 'ere town," chimed in a lugubrious voice which Ray- 
 mond recognized as that of Dean Perrin, who owned a 
 farm near his grandfather's. " I tell ye ole Pete Atkins 
 is a curse t' this place. He 's ruined lots o' young 
 men. If he keeps on, there'll come a time when 
 we sha'n't have any good ones left, an' it '11 be mighty 
 hard rubbing for us ole fellers t' keep the wolf from 
 the door, an' git a little money t' pay our taxes." 
 
 " You'd be a happy man. Dean, if it were not for the 
 fear of want and taxes," laughed Joel. " It's amusing 
 in a rich man like you, when every one knows you've 
 got mortgages, and government bonds, and railroad 
 stocks hid away that the assessors have never been able 
 to get hold of. To be sure, it's all clear gain for you, 
 but it comes out of the town and makes it harder for 
 us poor fellows whose property all has to come in for 
 assessment." 
 
 " It's a lie ! " retorted Dean, hotly. " I don't own 
 any bonds, or mortgages, or railroad stocks. I haven't 
 got but plaguy little, anyway, an' all thet's taxed 
 t' death." 
 
 " There, don't get sweaty under the collar," said Joel, 
 
AN EVENING AT SQUIRE COPELAND's STORE II 5 
 
 in a conciliatory tone. " Didn't you know I was only 
 joking? " 
 
 " A man who would joke 'bout taxes would whistle 
 at his grandmother's funeral." 
 
 " You're too sensitive on the subject, that's all ; but 
 we'll drop it. I agree with you about old Pete Atkins. 
 The town ought to get rid of him; still, I don't know 
 many people hereabouts that wouldn't rather have his 
 good will than his ill will. Uncle Graves and Mr. Clay 
 can bear testimony to that." 
 
 " I don't make any charges," said the selectman. 
 
 " Neither do I," added the deacon. 
 
 " Of course you don't," rejoined Joel, " but every 
 one knows you have your suspicions. I have serious 
 doubts, though, whether either of you would feel any 
 worse than the rest of us if old Pete Atkins were to 
 leave town." 
 
 " He'll never go until there's suthin* like a puUin' 
 t'gether among the citizens," said the deacon, bitterly. 
 " One or two men can't rid the place on 'im." 
 
 " Hello ! " said Mr. Clay. " Here it is nine o'clock. 
 Where on earth has this evenin' gone to ? " 
 
 " Charge it up to Squire Copeland's Corner Debating 
 Club," answered Joel. " By the way, where are Cobe 
 Hersom and Bill Gleason ? " 
 
 " They're on a hunting trip t' Letter K," replied the 
 deacon. " I suspect they're arter thet catamount," he 
 added; but the well-worn joke failed to awaken any 
 response. One by one the group called for their mail. 
 
Il6 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 which, at a sign from Raymond, was handed out by 
 Ben, and took their departure. Soon the two boys 
 were left alone in the store. 
 
 " Well, how did you make it ? " was Ben's query, as 
 he pulled down the curtains preparatory to locking up. 
 
 " Oh, first-rate. I found the mail all right when it 
 was called for." 
 
 " Did many people recognize you ? " 
 
 " Yes, quite a number did, but none of those in that 
 crowd about the stove. Deacon Graves and Sime Dart 
 called for their mail when they first came in, but I was 
 satisfied from their conversation later on that both of 
 them took me for Jim Farris." 
 
 " Where are you going ? " demanded Ben, as Ray- 
 mond began to pull on his overcoat. 
 
 " Down to Uncle Weston's." 
 
 " No, you're not. You're going to stop with us. 
 Your cousin Dave will call at the store to-morrow to 
 take some things to Bolton for us. You can go home 
 from here with him. It would be foolish for you to 
 think of walking clear out to the Weston farm 
 to-night." 
 
 It did not need much urging to persuade Raymond 
 to accept Ben's invitation, and a little later he was 
 sleeping peacefully in the folds of one of Mother Cope- 
 land's finest feather beds, oblivious of the day and its 
 excitements. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 RAYMOND SHOOTS PETE ATKINS's DOG 
 
 " I tell you, Raymond, if Beecham had hit you, I 
 should have taken a hand in the scrimmage myself." 
 
 It was Dave Weston who spoke. The two boys 
 were on their way from the Corner with a double-team 
 load of potatoes which Mr. Weston was sending to 
 market at Bolton, 
 
 " I knew you would, Dave," was Raymond's response 
 to this declaration of loyalty, " but I'm glad you didn't. 
 I'm sorry the trouble occurred. I haven't done the 
 right thing this term. Do you suppose grandfather 
 and grandmother know of it? " 
 
 " Yes, father was there last evening and they'd 
 heard the whole story." 
 
 "What did they say?" 
 
 " He said they hardly mentioned the matter, but he 
 thought they felt worse about it than they cared to 
 show." 
 
 And then the conversation changed. Dave told his 
 cousin, with evident elation, how it had been decided 
 that he was to leave in November to attend Krampton 
 Academy. 
 
 " I've gone about as far as I can here," He said, 
 
 117 
 
Il8 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " and I shall have lots of advantages there I couldn't 
 get in any other way." 
 
 " I wish I was going with you," said Raymond. 
 
 " I wish you were. Don't you suppose your Grand- 
 father Benson would let you? " 
 
 " I don't know. I'm afraid he won't want to trust 
 me away from home after what happened yesterday." 
 
 " Oh, well, I don't believe that will make any 
 difference with him, when he knows all the circum- 
 stances." 
 
 When the boys drove into his yard Grandfather 
 Benson was standing in the door of the little red 
 horse-stable that faced the road from the rear of the 
 ell. He was a man who bore the burden of his years 
 lightly. Although nearly seventy years of age, his 
 eye was still bright and his step vigorous. He was 
 of average height, a broad-shouldered, square-chested 
 man, who, in his day, had ranked among the most 
 powerful in the town. His face was always smoothly 
 shaven, and the practise gave an almost boyish look 
 to his round, full countenance. The square mouth 
 and firm chin, however, betokened more than ordinary 
 decision and strength of character. Grandfather Ben- 
 son's eyes were blue, and always carried a bright, 
 cheerful expression that gave the efifect of a smile to 
 his features. Everybody knew what a generous heart 
 he had, and there was not a needy person in town who 
 had not, at some time, been kindly remembered by him. 
 
 " Hello ! " he cried, coming forward as the boys drew 
 
RAYMOND SHOOTS PETE ATKINS S DOG I IQ 
 
 up in front of the kitchen door, " I'm glad to see you. 
 I was just thinking of harnessing up and going to the 
 Corner. Mother was beginning to get a Httle Virorried 
 about you." 
 
 " Didn't Ned tell her I was going to stop over ? " 
 asked Raymond. 
 
 " He may have stopped here, but we were at Bolton 
 yesterday afternoon. I told her you were probably at 
 your Uncle Weston's." 
 
 " I'm glad to see you back, dear," said Grandmother 
 Benson, a white-haired, sweet-faced little woman, as 
 she met him at the door. " I was almost afraid we 
 had lost you." 
 
 Raymond noted a little tremor in her voice, and, as 
 she kissed him, he thought he saw a tear glisten for a 
 moment in her eye, but she brushed it resolutely away. 
 
 " Have you any errands for me in Bolton ? " asked 
 Dave, as he paused a little awkwardly on the threshold. 
 
 " I don't think of any," answered Mrs. Benson. " I 
 wish, though, you'd stop here on your way home. I've 
 some things I should like to send your mother." 
 
 " All right," responded Dave, and a moment later he 
 was out of sight over the brow of the hill. 
 
 " Have you anything for me to do to-day, Grand- 
 father?" asked Raymond. 
 
 " Not to-day. You need a little vacation," was the 
 kindly response. "To-morrow I am going to begirt 
 blasting those rocks in the front field. It's the only 
 place on the whole farm where I can't run a mowing- 
 
I20 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 machine, and, as luck will have it, conies right on the 
 road-front. The farm doesn't show at first sight for 
 anything near what it is worth. I'm going to have two 
 or three of the boys about here help me to-morrow. 
 So you had better take a day off and go hunting or 
 fishing. I scared up a partridge on the birch ridge the 
 other day. It's my opinion there's a flock of them 
 somewhere round there." 
 
 Raymond went to his room and was soon dressing 
 himself in the strong suit and cowhide boots which he 
 kept exclusively for hunting and fishing trips. It was 
 a room after his own heart. Raymond called it his 
 " den." It looked down upon the brook, and through 
 the open windows he could hear the rippling waters on 
 summer nights. In one corner was a long cabinet filled 
 with birds of nearly all the native varieties. They 
 had been shot and mounted by Raymond himself, who 
 was a taxidermist of no mean ability. Over one 
 window hung a fine Winchester rifle, and over the 
 other a beautiful double-barreled shot-gun. Above 
 these were several handsome jointed fishing-rods in 
 neat canvas cases. On the wall at the head of the bed 
 two snow-shoes were crossed, a leather game-bag 
 serving as a centerpiece. From this was suspended 
 an embossed leather sheath, containing a beautiful 
 hunting-knife, which Raymond always took with him 
 on his sporting trips. The two bottom drawers in 
 the large old-fashioned bureau were filled with a fine 
 collection of steel traps of various sizes, and many a 
 
RAYMOND SHOOTS PETE ATKINS's DOG 121 
 
 pelt had their owner secured by means of them. On 
 the wall at the foot of his bed was the lifelike head 
 of the buck he had shot on his hunting trip to Letter 
 K. These were only a few of the treasures that the 
 den contained. No expense had been spared to make 
 Raymond happy and contented during his stay with 
 his grandparents, and scarcely a month passed that he 
 did not receive some new, substantial token of loving 
 remembrance from his family at Bangor. 
 
 " I've been used a good deal better than I deserve," 
 he muttered to himself as, shot-gun in hand, he tramped 
 along the birch ridge on Grandfather Benson's wood- 
 lot about half an hour later. " Now most fellows 
 would have got a pretty thorough dressing down, 
 coming home under such circumstances as I did. If 
 I live I'll show them that I mean to turn over a new 
 leaf. I'll—" 
 
 Raymond's meditations were cut short by the sharp 
 whir of a partridge which flew up almost under his 
 feet. In a moment his gun was at his shoulder, and 
 a well-directed shot brought the bird to the ground. 
 Hardly had he stowed it away in his game-bag before 
 he was startled by the report of a gun near him, and 
 a moment later Ned Grover came in sight from the 
 opposite side of the ridge. 
 
 " Hello, Raymond," he shouted, " glad to see you. I 
 thought that first shot must have come from you. 
 What did you get?" 
 
 Rajmiond exhibited the partridge. 
 
122 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " That's a beauty ! " exclaimed Ned, " and shot 
 through the head, too. Did you take it on the wing ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, that's what I call a rattling good shot. See 
 here, old fellow, did you bring any dinner ? It's nearly 
 one o'clock, and I expected to be home by noon." 
 
 " So did I. This partridge is the only thing I have 
 in the eatable line." 
 
 " Well, I have five more. Let's build a fire and 
 roast a couple for dinner; then we can put in as much 
 of the afternoon here as we want to." 
 
 Raymond readily assented to this, and soon two 
 partridges were sizzling on the spits in front of a 
 blazing camp-fire, while the boys, stretched out on a 
 soft bed of boughs, indulged in reminiscences of former 
 hunting trips. 
 
 In a short time the partridges were done, and 
 although the boys had no salt with which to season 
 them, they nevertheless ate them with a hearty relish, 
 and voted them a dinner fit for a king. After the 
 repast was over they resumed their hunting, and when 
 they parted on the county road at dusk, about a mile 
 from Mr. Benson's, each had a well-filled game-bag. 
 
 The darkness settled down rapidly, but a myriad of 
 stars lit up the night. It would have made little 
 difference to Raymond, however, if there had been 
 none. He was thoroughly familiar with every inch 
 of the road, and could have found his way over it on 
 the blackest night. Absorbed in his own thoughts, he 
 
RAYMOND SHOOTS PETE ATKINS S DOG 1 23 
 
 walked briskly along, entirely oblivious of his surround- 
 ings. As he neared the long hill that hid from view 
 the smaller one beyond, upon which stood Grandfather 
 Benson's house, he was aroused from his reflections 
 by the rumble of a heavy farm wagon ascending the 
 opposite slope. 
 
 " Somebody with a late start from the Corner," 
 he thought, continuing briskly on his way. A few 
 moments later, as he came upon the brow of the hill, 
 he was brought to a sudden standstill by a low growl, 
 and found a large English mastiff blocking his path. 
 Raymond stepped to one side and attempted to pass 
 him, when, with a sudden jump, the dog buried his 
 sharp teeth in his boot-leg. Nothing but the heavy 
 leather and the thick folds of his hunting trousers saved 
 him from a badly mangled leg. With a startled cry 
 he vainly endeavored to shake off the savage brute, 
 which clung to him tenaciously. The impulse of fear 
 was succeeded by one of anger. Quickly swinging his 
 gun from his shoulder, he placed the muzzle in the 
 brute's ear and pulled the trigger. A sharp yelp fol- 
 lowed the report, and the dog rolled over in the road, 
 dead. 
 
 By this time the heavy team had arrived upon the 
 scene. A tall man stood up in it, waving a long whip 
 in his hand. 
 
 " Whoa, there ! What in thunder d' ye think you're 
 shooting at ? " demanded a deep voice angrily, as the 
 horses came to a standstill. 
 
124 THE CAilP ON LETTER K 
 
 " That's my business," responded Raymond, hotly. 
 " Whose dog was that? " 
 
 " I reckon thet's my business," responded the man, 
 surlily. "What on it?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing," retorted Raymond, sarcastically. 
 " Only I don't care to serve as a bone for him. It 
 might have been healthier for him to have bitten some 
 one else." 
 
 " D' ye mean t' tell me thet he bit ye? " demanded the 
 man, incredulously. 
 
 " That's just what he did." 
 
 " You — you lie, you young whelp ! " roared the man, 
 in a voice hoarse with passion. " Thet dog 's clever 's 
 a Iamb; never bit any one in his life. What did ye 
 want t' go a pesterin' on 'im for, ye spindle-shanked 
 idiot?" 
 
 " I didn't trouble him," responded Raymond, with 
 spirit. " The first I saw of him he jumped out and 
 grabbed me by the leg." 
 
 "A likely story!" sneered the man. "Ye can't 
 stuff me, you young upstart. Where did thet dog go ? " 
 he added, with a loud whistle. " Here, Bruno! Bruno! 
 Come here, yer ole rascal ! " 
 
 "I don't think he'll answer you," said Raymond, 
 coolly. 
 
 " He won't? " cried the man, sharply. " What d' ye 
 mean, ye scallawag? If you've troubled thet dog I'll — 
 I'll take the price o' 'im out o' your hide." 
 
 He jumped from the wagon, and, witK a muttered 
 
"WHAT — WHAT ARE YK UP TO?" HE DEMANDED, IX 8TABTLKD 
 
 TONES. — Page 125. 
 
RAYMOND SHOOTS PETE ATKINS's DOG I25 
 
 oath, strode excitedly forward, whip in hand. Ray- 
 mond saw, with dismay, that it was old Pete Atkins. 
 It was evident that the recognition was mutual. 
 
 " Andrew Benson's cub, I'll be bound ! " exclaimed 
 Pete. " I might a knowed as much. It's 'bout time, 
 ye young city dude, thet a little hoss-sense was knocked 
 into ye. Mebbe you'll wear a smaller-sized hat when 
 I git through with ye. Now, once for all, jest what 
 did ye do t' thet dog?" 
 
 " I killed him." 
 
 " You — ^you killed 'im ? " cried Pete, incredulously. 
 
 "Certainly — what did you think I fired for?" 
 
 " I s'picioned ye was a tryin' t' scare 'im. I didn't 
 s'pose there was a boy in this town as would dare t' 
 shoot 'im, an' I guess there isn't another one with sech 
 a crust as you've got. A man could get richer 'n mud 
 by buyin' ye for what you're really worth an' sellin' 
 ye for what ye think you're worth. I'm goin' t' gin 
 ye one lesson you'll remember. I reckon as how you'll 
 wear a good deal smaller hat ter-morrow." 
 
 The long whip-lash swung through the air, and the 
 snapper brought up near Raymond's face with a crack 
 like a pistol-shot. Pete was about to follow up the 
 cut with one more effective when he was brought to a 
 sudden stop by the ominous click of a gun-hammer. 
 
 "What — ^what are ye up to?" he demanded, in 
 startled tones. 
 
 " If you hit me with that whip I am going to shoot 
 you," replied Ra3miond, calmly. His tones were low 
 
126 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 and even; but through them breathed an intensity of 
 passion that had a sobering effect upon old Pete. He 
 feh instinctively that the boy's threat was not an idle 
 one. 
 
 " You — ^you upstart ! " he sputtered, with baffled 
 rage, " would ye murder me ? " 
 
 " No," said Raymond, sharply, " and I don't intend 
 to let you murder me — not if I know myself, and my 
 powder keeps dry." 
 
 " You'll live t' rue this, you young bantam," blustered 
 Pete. 
 
 " Perhaps," returned Raymond, with exasperating 
 coolness. " I've no doubt you'd like to use your brute 
 strength to my injury, if you couldn't find some even 
 more cowardly way of reaching me ; but to-night I want 
 you to bear in mind that the fellow who invented this 
 gun made me just as good a man as you." 
 
 " You — ^you — ^yellow pup ! " stuttered Pete, his face 
 livid with passion. 
 
 " You swaggering old bully — ^you blustering old 
 thief ! " retorted Raymond, with spirit. 
 
 " Don't ye dare call me a thief," stormed Pete. 
 
 " And don't you dare call me a pup," added Ray- 
 mond. 
 
 Pete glared at him a moment in impotent rage ; then, 
 turning away abruptly to his wagon, climbed sullenly 
 upon the seat. 
 
 " You probably expect t' inherit this 'ere town an' 
 its people from your grandfather," he sneered bitterly 
 
RAYMOND SHOOTS PETE ATKINS's DOG 1 27 
 
 as he gathered up his reins, " but I reckon you'll learn 
 before ye die thet it pays t' keep a civil tongue in your 
 head." 
 
 " It's a lesson you don't seem to have learned yet," 
 responded Raymond, with vigor. 
 
 Pete made no reply, but, striking his horses savagely 
 with the whip, continued on down the hill. 
 
 " It was mighty lucky for me that the old fellow 
 didn't know that neither barrel of this gun was loaded," 
 reflected Raymond, as he continued on his way home. 
 " I used my last charge on that dog. I flatter myself 
 that I played a very handsome bluff on Peter. I don't 
 know just what I should have done if he had called me. 
 Guess I could have hit him one or two wipes with my 
 gun-stock. I didn't like the old fellow's tone when he 
 made that last threat. He meant mischief all right. 
 If I should catch him prowling around our place I — 
 well, it wouldn't be healthy for him, that's all," and 
 Ra)miond patted his gun significantly to give emphasis 
 to his thoughts. " I guess I won't say anything about 
 this to the folks," he mused. " It would only give 
 them needless worry." 
 
 " You are rather late, but I've kept your supper warm 
 for you," said Grandmother Benson, as she met him 
 a little later at the kitchen door. " There have been 
 so many accidents in the woods this fall that I was a 
 little worried about you. What luck did you have? 
 Why, that is splendid, I'm sure. We certainly sha'n't 
 want for a good dinner to-morrow," she declared, as 
 
128 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 Raymond displayed the contents of his well-filled 
 game-bag. 
 
 Raymond ate his supper in silence, and then followed 
 his grandmother into the old-fashioned room where 
 Grandfather Benson sat before the roaring open fire, 
 with the well-worn family Bible in his hands, prepara- 
 tory to conducting evening prayers, as had been his 
 custom for many years. He had never permitted any- 
 thing to interfere with this, and all who had lived 
 beneath his roof had recognized it as a regular feature 
 of the household life. To-night, in his quiet, earnest 
 voice, he read the story of the prodigal son. Then, 
 closing the Holy Book, he offered up a simple, but 
 fervent prayer that all who had wandered astray might 
 come back again to the bountiful forgiveness of their 
 Father's home. It always seemed to Raymond that no 
 other man's prayers were like Grandfather Benson's — 
 so simple, so earnest, so heartfelt. To-night he was 
 conscious that his grandfather had him in mind, both 
 in his reading and his petition. For a time after the 
 service he sat in thoughtful silence, then asked abruptly : 
 " Why is it that neither you nor grandmother have 
 said a word to me about my trouble at the High 
 School?" 
 
 " We thought it best not to, my boy. Some lessons 
 are better learned without a teacher. The school of 
 experience has graduated some of the finest scholars in 
 the world." 
 
 " I think I catch your meaning," answered Ra)rmond, 
 
RAYMOND SHOOTS PETE ATKINS's DOG 1 29 
 
 gratefully. "I know I acted disgracefully, but I am 
 determined to turn over a new leaf." 
 
 " That's a good resolution, my boy. I hope you will 
 stick to it," responded Mr. Benson, and from that time 
 the subject was never alluded to again in Raymond's 
 presence by either him or his wife. 
 
 " Did ever a fellow have such a good home as mine ? " 
 thought Raymond, as he lay in his bed that night. 
 " Grandfather and grandmother have faith in me, and 
 I will be man enough hereafter not to abuse their 
 confidence." 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 DUD HAS A VISITATION FROM BURGLARS 
 
 For a few days after he had left the High School 
 Raymond was busily engaged in work about the farm. 
 Grandfather Benson had Byer Ames and Dudley Rich, 
 two neighbors' sons, to assist him in blowing up the 
 large rocks in the front field. Raymond and he had 
 about all they could do to haul away the pieces with 
 the drag and the span of heavy farm horses. 
 
 The work was not without its pleasures. Byer was 
 a dry fellow, and his droll sayings were a constant 
 source of amusement. Many of them were directed at . 
 Dudley, or, as he was familiarly called, " Dud," who 
 bore them with the utmost good-nature. He was a 
 great, strapping fellow, fully six feet in height, and 
 weighing over two hundred pounds. Although Dud 
 had muscles that would have done credit to a Hercules, 
 and fists that could have knocked down an ox, he was, 
 nevertheless, as timid as a child. He rarely ventured 
 far from home alone after dark, and was constantly 
 fearing a visitation from burglars, though he was 
 unable to say what they could expect to find among 
 his possessions to pay them for such trouble. 
 
 Raymond remembered, with a twinge of remorse, 
 
 130 
 
DUD HAS A VISITATION FROM BURGLARS I3I 
 
 how he had frightened the big fellow half out of his 
 wits during the Indian devil scare, by jumping out at 
 him after dark from the alder bushes beside the brook. 
 He had never known how fast Dud could run when he 
 was doing his very best. That night he had been 
 forced to sleep with the victim of his joke, who was 
 in a perfect tremor of terror. When Raymond saw 
 how much he really suffered, his conscience smote him, 
 and he made a vow never again to amuse himself by 
 playing upon another's fears. It was a good resolution, 
 but it must be said, with regret, that it had not always 
 been scrupulously kept. 
 
 One night, when the front field was nearly cleared 
 of its boulders, Raymond returned from Cobe Hersom's 
 shop at the Corner, where he had been to have some 
 drills sharpened, and found the boys missing. 
 
 " Where are Byer and Dud ? " he asked of Grand- 
 mother Benson. 
 
 " Ned Grover came here, and they all went down to 
 your log camp in the cedar swamp more than an hour 
 ago," was the response. 
 
 " Did they have any guns with them ? " 
 " No, I guess they just went down there for a chat." 
 Raymond lost no time in putting his horse into the 
 stable. Then, after a hasty supper, he followed the 
 boys to the swamp. Creeping carefully along, he took 
 a position in the brush-pile just behind the camp. He 
 could hear the boys within engaged in earnest conver- 
 sation. 
 
132 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 "I tell you, Dud, that whole thing was a fake," 
 insisted a voice which Raymond recognized as Ned's. 
 " Old man Johnston was just far enough over the bay 
 that night to see anything, from panthers to porcu- 
 pines." 
 
 "Well, take it right home to yourself, Ned," 
 responded Dud. "If an Injun devil should follow 
 you five or six miles through the woods, don't you 
 believe you would know it, and even if you had been 
 drinking a little, don't you think it would sober you? " 
 
 " Well, I never saw any animal of that kind in this 
 country, and I've ranged the woods about as much as 
 any fellow of my age. I don't believe any sober man 
 ever saw one." 
 
 " Don't you believe there is such an animal ? " asked 
 Dud, incredulously. 
 
 " Certainly there is, but not so far east as this. 
 Indeed, I doubt if many ever get further east than 
 New York state." 
 
 " I guess you're wrong there," said Byer. 
 
 " I don't think I am." 
 
 " Well, I never took any stock in Ezra Johnston's 
 yarns, but still I think there are catamounts right in 
 this very county." 
 
 "Did you ever see one Here?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Well, I've never seen a man that Kas." 
 
 " But I have," insisted Byer. " I Have met men 
 that had not only seen them, but killed tHem. THere 
 
DUD HAS A VISITATION FROM BURGLARS 1 33 
 
 are too many records of that, Ned, to be laughed or 
 sneered away." 
 
 " Of course there are," said Dud. " I don't doubt 
 but that there are, at least, half a dozen Injun devils 
 in this town to-day; perhaps there may be one in this 
 very swamp." 
 
 " I guess all the Indian devils we ever had departed 
 with the noble redmen," laughed Ned. 
 
 At this point Raymond began to sniff the air and 
 give vent to low growls, at the same time scratching 
 about vigorously in the underbrush. 
 
 Exclamations of surprise came from within the 
 camp. 
 
 " What's that ? " demanded Dud, in a quaking voice. 
 
 " I guess it's a lynx," replied Ned. " They and the 
 foxes have been pretty plenty in this swamp since father 
 hauled the body of the old bay horse down below here. 
 I'm going to set some traps around him to-morrow/' 
 
 " Yes, I guess Ned's right," added Byer, but Ray- 
 mond knew from the tone of his voice that he perceived 
 the joke, and was merely playing a part. 
 
 " I never knew a lynx to act like that," said Dud, 
 tremulously. " You don't suppose it's an Injun devil, 
 do you? " 
 
 "Indian fiddlesticks!" replied Ned, impatiently. 
 " You haven't the sand of a mouse, Dud." 
 
 " He may not be so much out of the way as you 
 imagine," interposed Byer, solemnly. " That's cer- 
 tainly a larger animal than a lynx." 
 
134 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " By gracious ! I won't sit 'side of this door any 
 longer ! " exclaimed Dud, in terrified accents, as Ray- 
 mond gave a growl that was louder and fiercer than 
 any of the others. 
 
 Heavy footsteps across the camp told Raymond that 
 the big fellow had retreated to the further end of it. 
 This move called forth a hearty laugh from his com- 
 panions. The growl which had so terrified Dud had 
 revealed to Ned the joke that was being played. 
 
 " You're right, Byer," he said. " That animal is 
 certainly larger than a l)mx. We had better take this 
 axe and crowbar and close in on him. Dud, you can 
 go ahead with the lantern." 
 
 " Not much," interposed the big fellow, vigorously. 
 " I won't stir a step outside this camp." 
 
 " Very well," said Ned, as he walked toward the 
 door. " You stand by the opening, Byer, with the axe, 
 and I will swing the door back. You must be quick 
 and knock it over when it comes in, or it might get by 
 us and tackle Dud." 
 
 " You sha'n't open that door," said Dud, with 
 decision, and the boys saw that it was useless to 
 argue with him. 
 
 " All right," responded Byer, in a tone of resignation. 
 " I don't see but that we'll have to camp here all night." 
 
 " All right, if we must, but you just bet we won't 
 'ake any chances with a wild varmint." 
 
 At this moment Raymond approached the camp and 
 pounded vigorously on the door. 
 
DUD HAS A VISITATION FROM BURGLARS I35 
 
 " Come, open up there, you fellows ! " he shouted, 
 
 Ned hastened to lift the latch. 
 
 "How are you, boys?" was Raymond's salutation 
 as he entered the camp. 
 
 " Well, we had given up all hopes of seeing you here 
 to-night," responded Byer. 
 
 " Did you see anything of a wild animal round the 
 camp when you came along ? " asked Ned. 
 
 " Not a thing." 
 
 " Well, Dud thinks it was an Indian devil. It kicked 
 up considerable racket round here." 
 
 " Perhaps Raymond can tell us something about it," 
 said Dud, looking at him suspiciously. 
 
 " I certainly have seen no wild animal about here, 
 to-night," said Raymond, with such an honest air of 
 surprise that Dud mentally acquitted him of any con- 
 nection with the matter, and concluded that a genuine 
 catamount had paid a visit to the camp. 
 
 Byer and Raymond slept together in the latter's 
 room, while Dud occupied a small room upon the 
 opposite side of the house. So terrified had he been 
 by his visit to the camp, that he begged Ned to stay 
 with him all night, and the latter, at a nod from Ray- 
 mond, consented to do so. 
 
 About one o'clock in the morning, Dud, whose sleep 
 had been disturbed by dreams of Indian devils, was 
 awakened by somebody moving about in his room. 
 Straightening up in bed, and rubbing his eyes to 
 assure himself that he was really awake, he was amazed 
 
136 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 to see, by the light of a dark lantern which they carried, 
 two masked men busily engaged in ransacking his 
 possessions. The window was open, and the top of a 
 ladder protruding through it showed how they had 
 gained an entrance to the room. Both men were 
 roughly dressed and wore black cambric masks. The 
 sight of them was terrifying to Dud, who felt the cold 
 sweat start from every pore. He was about to shout, 
 when the lantern was suddenly flashed in his face. He 
 felt the cold muzzle of a revolver pressed against his 
 forehead, and a hoarse voice whispered in his ear: 
 
 " Not a sound, or I'll blow your brains out. Where 
 are the bonds ? " 
 
 " What bonds ? " gasped Dud, in a terrified whisper. 
 
 " The government bonds you've been hoarding up." 
 
 " Yes, and those railroad stocks," interposed the 
 second burglar, fiercely. 
 
 " But I never owned any bonds or railroad stocks 
 in my life ! " insisted Dud, his amazement getting the 
 better of his fright. 
 
 " Take care, you gilded money-king, don't try to 
 bamboozle us," said the first burglar, sternly. 
 
 " Look here, you bloated bondholder, you might just 
 as well disgorge," added his companion. 
 
 " For heaven's sake, gentlemen, don't shoot ! " 
 pleaded Dud, tremulously. " I'm telling you the 
 honest truth, I haven't but five dollars in the world. 
 It's in my pants pocket. Please take it and go." 
 
 " Do we believe him, Jake? " asked the first burglar. 
 
DUD HAS A VISITATION FROM BURGLARS 1 37 
 
 " I guess we'll have to, Bill," was the response. 
 
 " I don't know about that," persisted Bill. " He 
 may be lying to conceal his great wealth." 
 
 " Do you suppose he'd dare — the — the base caitifif ? " 
 inquired Jake, in a dramatic whisper. 
 
 " He's utterly wild and reckless," solemnly declared 
 Bill. " He'd do us in a minute." 
 
 " I do not find the pouch of gold," continued Jake, 
 as he rummaged the pockets of Dud's trousers. 
 
 " Where have you hidden it ? " sternly demanded 
 Bill. 
 
 " I — I — never had any," declared Dud, in terrified 
 accents, " truly, I never." 
 
 " Shall we search him further ? " asked Bill. 
 
 " No, I guess we'll have to be satisfied with this 
 paltry rake-off," responded Jake. 
 
 " One word more, sir," whispered Bill, fiercely, 
 seizing Dud by the ear, " do you intend to keep 
 quiet while we leave here ? " 
 
 " Ye— yes." 
 
 " Well, see that you do. It would be very annoying 
 to have to come back and slice your windpipe." 
 
 " Or pare off your ears," added Jake. 
 
 " I won't say a word." 
 
 " Well, see that you don't." 
 
 " Won't you please leave me my clothes, gentlemen? " 
 
 " What do you say, Jake? " 
 
 " No, we can't think of it. Bill. We want them to 
 wrap the five dollars in." 
 
138 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " Are these all you have? " asked Bill. 
 
 " Yes, all I've got here." 
 
 " Oh, well, you can lie in bed a day or two while 
 they make you some new ones," said Jake. " A gruel 
 diet would be good for your trouble." 
 
 A subdued groan was Dud's only response. 
 
 When the burglars had crowded his property into 
 an ancient carpetbag which they carried, they climbed 
 out of the window, and disappeared down the ladder. 
 
 As soon as they were out of sight Dud foimd his 
 voice. 
 
 " Help ! Murder ! Robbers ! " he shouted, in sten- 
 torian tones. 
 
 " Here, wake up ! What's the trouble with you ? " 
 asked Ned, rolling over and giving him a punch in 
 the ribs. 
 
 " I've been robbed — ^burglars have been here." 
 
 " Nonsense, man ! You've been dreaming." 
 
 " No, I haven't, either. There were two burglars in 
 here not more than a minute ago, and they've taken 
 everything I had." 
 
 "Why didn't you yell?" 
 
 " How could I when one of them kept a revolver at 
 my head? " 
 
 " How often do you have these nightmares? " 
 
 " I tell you it wasn't a nightmare," insisted Dud, 
 indignantly. " I've been robbed." 
 
 " Let me see," said Ned, as he jumped from the bed. 
 " I don't find any trace of them," he added, as he 
 
DUD HAS A VISITATION FROM BURGLARS I39 
 
 groped his way to the door, which was partially ajar, 
 and from which he presently returned on his hands and 
 knees with a bundle, the contents of which he carefully 
 spread out on the chair where Dud had placed his 
 clothes before retiring for the night. 
 
 " What's all this noise about? " shouted Mr. Benson, 
 from the foot of the stairs. 
 
 " I've been robbed," answered Dud, " burglars have 
 been here." 
 
 " Burglars ? Nonsense ! " said the old gentleman, 
 imp-'tiently, as, light in hand, he entered the room. 
 " You must have been dreaming. Better lie on your 
 right side the rest of the night." 
 
 " I tell you I wasn't dreaming," protested Dud. " I 
 never was wider awake in my life. There were cer- 
 tainly two burglars here, and they lugged ofif my 
 clothes." 
 
 " Where did you leave your clothes when you went 
 to bed?" 
 
 " On that chair." 
 
 " Well, here they are now." 
 
 " My clothes ? " gasped Dud, incredulously. 
 
 " Yes, your clothes, my boy. You have probably 
 had a nightmare. Now turn over on your side, forget 
 all about it, and go to sleep," and Mr. Benson shut the 
 door, leaving Dud greatly mystified, but not convinced. 
 
 Before descending the stairs Grandfather Benson 
 looked in for a moment on Raymond and Byer. Both 
 were snoring soundly, apparently oblivious of the 
 
140 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 commotion which Dud had created. No sooner had 
 Mr. Benson entered his own room, however, than a 
 vast change came over them. Their snores ceased, 
 and they rolled upon the bed in perfect paroxysms of 
 laughter. 
 
 " Did you ever see the beat of that ? " gasped Ray- 
 mond. 
 
 " Never. It's lucky Dud's got his growth, or we'd 
 certainly have scared him out of it." 
 " What did you do with that ladder? " 
 " I threw it down on the ground after we got in 
 here." 
 
 " Well, we must get up before grandfather does, and 
 carry it back to the stable." 
 
 " What shall we say to Dud to-morrow? " 
 " Laugh at him, and call it a nightmare." 
 " I shall never forget how he shook when I had that 
 old revolver at his head," said Byer, breaking into 
 another laugh at the remembrance. " The fellow was 
 frightened half out of his wits." 
 
 " Ned got those clothes back in good shape. I 
 heard grandfather say they were in the chair. I don't 
 suppose Dud will talk of anything else but this for the 
 next month." 
 
 But in this Raymond was mistaken. The big fellow 
 had reluctantly, and with no little chagrin, arrived at 
 the conclusion that his experience must have been, after 
 all, a nightmare, and not until some time afterward was 
 he known to refer to it. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 SOME EXPERIENCES WITH APPLE THIEVES 
 
 For several days the boys were too busily employed 
 in the work of the farm to engage in much mischief, 
 even at Dud's expense. The work was hard, and when 
 night came and the chores were done, they were only 
 too glad to go to bed. The big rocks in the front field 
 had all been disposed of along the edge of the county 
 road where Grandfather Benson had planned to lay a 
 stretch of wall the following spring. The unsightly 
 holes that remained where they had been blasted were 
 carefully filled with rich soil, and the greater portion of 
 the field staked off, to be broken up later on in the fall 
 preparatory for the next season's potato crop. 
 
 " Did you know, Mr. Benson, that you will get very 
 few of your apples if you don't look out ? " said Byer, 
 as they sat at supper the evening before this work was 
 begun. 
 
 "What makes you think that?" was the smiling 
 response. 
 
 " Because the apple thieves are as thick and as busy 
 as bees this fall. They made a raid on David Clay's 
 orchard night before last, and got over twenty bushels. 
 Last night they were at Dean Perrin's, and secured 
 
 141 
 
142 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 about ten bushels. They are working this neighbor- 
 hood pretty strongly just at present." 
 
 " The last raid was a mighty bad thing for the town," 
 said Dud, who occasionally dropped a dry remark when 
 it was least expected. 
 
 "Why so?" asked Byer. 
 
 " Dean won't be able to pay his taxes this year." 
 
 A hearty laugh ran around the table, in which even 
 Grandfather Benson joined. 
 
 " We musn't be too hard on Dean, boys," he said. 
 " For all he is such a chronic growler, I've found him 
 a most excellent man, and an accommodating neighbor. 
 It is not surprising if he feels the loss of his apples. His 
 orchard is not a large one, and apples are bringing high 
 prices this fall." 
 
 " Byer's right, though, grandfather," said Raymond. 
 " The thieves will be coming here next. I wish we had 
 a dog." • 
 
 " I believe I'd a good deal rather have the thieves 
 than the dog," responded Grandfather Benson with a 
 grimace. " They wouldn't fill the house full of fleas — 
 that's one thing in their favor." 
 
 " It would be rather useless to argue the dog question 
 with you," laughed Raymond. " I'll tell you what 
 we'll do, though, Byer and I will pitch the little tent in 
 the nursery and stand guard there to-night." 
 
 " I guess that would be a good idea," assented Grand- 
 father Benson, " but I warn you that it will be a pretty 
 cold business for you." 
 
SOME EXPERIENCES WITH APPLE THIEVES I43 
 
 " Oh, we sha'n't mind that. We'll wrap up warmly." 
 
 "You might take mother's oil-stove. With that 
 large sheet iron oven on, it will throw out considerable 
 heat; enough to warm your hands by, anyway." 
 
 " That's a good idea," assented Raymond. 
 
 " Did you ever watch for apple thieves, Mr. Benson ? " 
 asked Byer. 
 
 " Yes, a number of times," was the smiling response. 
 
 " Did you ever catch one? " questioned Raymond. 
 
 Grandfather Benson paused a moment, and pushed his 
 glasses up on his forehead. This the boys knew, from 
 experience, was the signal for a story. 
 
 " I have discovered two, and assisted in the capture 
 of one," he said, slowly. " The first was, in a way, an 
 accident. A fellow named Simon Doane lived not far 
 from us when I was a boy, who used to help us out more 
 or less on the farm. One day he and I were hoeing 
 potatoes, and the conversation turned on the general 
 question of apple thieves. I don't know what possessed 
 me to do it, but, in a spirit of banter, I turned to 
 him and said : ' Simon, you've stolen apples out of our 
 orchard.' 
 
 " ' I never did anything of the kind,' he protested. 
 
 " ' Yes you did,' I insisted, looking him squarely in 
 the eye. 
 
 " With that he wilted, and, very much to my surprise, 
 admitted the truth of the accusation. 
 
 " ' Lem Jones and I were there a year ago this fall,' 
 he confessed. * I was up in the tree shaking down the 
 
144 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 apples, and Lem was on the ground picking them up and 
 putting them into bags. The apples kept hitthig him 
 on the head, and every now and then he'd stop and 
 swear about it. I kept warning him that the folks 
 would hear him ; but he wouldn't pay any attention to 
 me. By and by some one came out of the house, and 
 we lit out. I always suspected it might be you.' " 
 
 The boys laughed heartily at this recital. 
 
 " ' A guilty conscience needs no accuser,' " quoted 
 Raymond. 
 
 " But there appears to have been one in this instance," 
 observed Byer. 
 
 " What about the fellow you captured ? " asked Dud. 
 
 " That was the fall I was eighteen years old," 
 responded Grandfather Benson, " and it doesn't seem 
 such a long time ago either. Father had bought the 
 Neal place, which adjoined ours, the year before, and 
 on it was a fairly good orchard. We had a fellow 
 named Ben Keaton working for us, and he and I went 
 out to guard the orchard one night. We hadn't been 
 there long before we heard some one at work in the 
 upper part of it, near the wood-lot. We stole up as 
 quietly as we could, and suddenly swooped down upon 
 a couple of big fellows who were at work under one of 
 the trees. The minute they heard us they started to 
 run. We chased them up to the back fence, where one 
 of them succeeded in getting over into the woods. We 
 caught the other one as he was astride the top rail, and 
 pulled him back. He was a strapping big fellow, and 
 
SOME EXPERIENCES WITH APPLE THIEVES I45 
 
 gave us a royal battle. At one time it looked as if he 
 would get away in spite of us. Finally, however, I 
 succeeded in tripping him, and we both got astride of 
 him, and held him down. Keaton took off his home- 
 made suspenders and ordered him to hold out his hands 
 to be tied. He said he'd die first. Keaton, who was 
 naturally a rough sort of a fellow, and pretty well 
 warmed up with the tussle we'd had, kicked him once 
 or twice in the head, in spite of my protests. It was 
 harsh medicine, but it brought him to time. After we 
 had bound him securely, we half carried and half hauled 
 him to the house. Father and mother were sitting 
 before a blazing open fire in the sitting-room, and were 
 decidedly astonished when we dragged our prisoner 
 into the circle of light that came from it, and which 
 furnished the only illumination for the room. 
 
 " ' What's all this mean ? ' demanded father, sternly. 
 
 " ' This is an apple thief we caught up in the orchard,' 
 I answered. 
 
 " * What's your name ? ' demanded father. 
 
 " ' Why, you know me,' replied the prisoner, and in a 
 minute it was all out. He was the son of a farmer who 
 lived in the back part of the town — a most worthy man, 
 and a personal friend of father's. Of course we lost 
 no time in untying him, and, after a little good advice, 
 father let him go." 
 
 " Who was he? " asked Dud. 
 
 " I don't think I'll tell you that," said Mr. Benson, 
 with a smile. " He's one of the best citizens in Chest- 
 
146 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 nut to-day, and one of my warmest friends. He 
 brought the matter up of his own accord the last time 
 I saw him, and said that, although the experience was 
 the most humiliating one of his life, nothing had ever 
 done him so much good. You see they had no orchard 
 on his home farm at that time, and he and his brothers 
 had been accustomed to hide away a few bushels of 
 apples in the haymow every fall to last them through 
 the winter. Their parents knew nothing of this, nor 
 did we ever enlighten them on the subject. I think I 
 am safe in saying, that from that day to this not one of 
 those boys has ever laid his hands on anything that did 
 not belong to him." 
 
 " I guess that's why you've always been so charitably 
 disposed towards apple raiders," commented Raymond. 
 
 " Keaton wanted to take a gun with us that night," 
 continued Mr. Benson, " but father wouldn't hear to it. 
 I've shuddered to think what might have happened if 
 he had granted our request." 
 
 Grandfather Benson was silent for a time, and the 
 boys, seeing that he was busy with his own thoughts, 
 forbore to interrupt him. 
 
 " I shall never forget the experience old Elder Tarbox 
 had one dark night," he said, presently, with a chuckle. 
 " He passed on to his reward before you boys were born, 
 but most likely you've heard tell of him. He was a tall, 
 raw-boned man, as strong as an ox, with a tremendously 
 powerful voice. You could hear him about a mile from 
 the camp-meeting grounds when he got warmed up in 
 
SOME EXPERIENCES WITH APPLE THIEVES I47 
 
 exhortation. There were a good many demands upon 
 a preacher in those days, and upon Elder Tarbox in 
 particular. You see he'd been an old-fashioned herb 
 doctor before the Lord called him to the ministry, and 
 many of the people — especially the older ones — had 
 great faith in his physical as well as his spiritual healing 
 powers. 
 
 " Just beyond the Perrin farm, on the old Sanford 
 place, lived Aunt Hannah Coombs, who was troubled 
 with ' sinking spells,' from time to time. She was a 
 big, stout woman, and apt to overeat, especially when 
 there were mince pies in the house. One night word 
 came to Elder Tarbox that Aunt Hannah was dying, 
 and wanted him as quick as he could come. The good 
 man didn't delay a minute, but grabbed up his carpet- 
 bag and made for the Sanford place on the dead run. 
 In order to save time he took a short cut through the 
 upper part of Uncle Jabez Perrin's orchard — Uncle 
 Jabez, who you know was Dean's father, had been 
 watching for apple thieves, and when he caught sight 
 of the elder streaking it through the dusk, he very 
 promptly gave chase to him. If the elder had been 
 fresh I guess he'd have won out ; but you see he'd come 
 quite a piece, and was a little winded, so about the time 
 he was climbing over the other side of the fence, Uncle 
 Jabez caught him by the coat-tails. The garment was 
 a little tender, and when the elder pitched forward it 
 split up to the collar on the back seam, and Uncle Jabez 
 lost his hold. The elder supposed that he had been 
 
148 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 waylaid by a robber; but he was not the man to show 
 the white feather. Turning upon Uncle Jabez, who 
 still stood on the other side of the fence, he roared in 
 tones of thunder: 
 
 " ' Base sinner ! what do you seek ? ' 
 
 " ' Elder Tarbox ! ' gasped Uncle Jabez, recognizing 
 his voice. 
 
 " The truth of the situation dawned on the elder, and 
 he broke into a laugh that could have been heard about 
 a mile. Uncle Jabez was awfully cut up over the mat- 
 ter, and offered to buy the elder a new coat, but the 
 good man wouldn't hear to it ; said his wife could make 
 it just as good as it was before. Of course the whole 
 thing came out, and it was quite a spell before Uncle 
 Jabez heard the last of it. For a long time, whenever 
 he put in an appearance at the store or the blacksmith's 
 shop some wag was sure to greet him with ' Base sinner, 
 what do you seek ? ' I don't think he ever quite heard 
 the last of it to the day of his death." 
 
 The boys laughed loud and long at this story, and 
 urged Grandfather Benson to further reminiscences; 
 but he laughingly declared that he was "pumped dry." 
 
 " Perhaps Dud would like to go out and stand guard 
 with us," suggested Byer, slyly, as they rose from the 
 table. 
 
 " Not a bit of it," said the big fellow, promptly. " I 
 didn't hire for that kind of work. Apple thieves are 
 pesky desperate fellows when they are driven to close 
 quarters. There's been more than one good man laid 
 
SOME EXPERIENCES WITH APPLE THIEVES I49 
 
 out by them in the history of this town, and I, for one, 
 don't intend to take any chances with them." 
 
 " That's a good idea, Dud. A small fellow like you 
 wouldn't stand much show," said Raymond. 
 
 " There's one thing you might do to help us, Dud," 
 suggested Byer. 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 " You might stay in the tent and holler ' shoo'." 
 
 " I thought you were going to say that I could help 
 you over the fence on your way back to the house." 
 
 " I don't think we'll need you," laughed Raymond, 
 " but say, you might lend us your gallowses." 
 
 " I'll agree to tie up any one you catch," declared 
 Dud. 
 
 " You better be careful about your promises," cau- 
 tioned Byer. " We'll surely hold you to them, and it's 
 awful dark up in the orchard." 
 
 Dud made no reply to this pointed allusion to his 
 timidity, but picked up a milk-pail and started for the 
 barn. " Those fellows make me the butt of all their 
 sport," he muttered. " Perhaps I deserve to be laughed 
 at, though. I know I'm a 'fraid cat, but not so big a 
 one, perhaps, as they think I am. I'm pretty well 
 satisfied in my mind that those burglars were really 
 Raymond Benson and Byer Ames. If I don't get even 
 with them for that little prank, my name isn't Dudley 
 Rich," and the big fellow slammed the barn door behind 
 him with a force that showed a settled resolution on his 
 part to turn the tables, if possible, upon his tormentors. 
 
ISO THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " I wouldn't be so hard on Dudley, boys," said Grand- 
 father Benson, when the object of his remark had left 
 the house. " There's such a thing as carrying your fun 
 too far. He's pretty good-natured, and will stand 
 considerable chaffing, but I think he felt hurt at what 
 you just said to him." 
 
 " We didn't mean anything, grandfather," said 
 Raymond. 
 
 " We were only in sport," added Byer. 
 
 " I know that, boys, but some of the crudest and most 
 cutting things have been said in fun. It is a good plan 
 to avoid sport at the expense of other folk's feelings." 
 
 " I never thought Dud was sensitive," said Raymond. 
 
 " Well, he's not exceedingly so, but now and then 
 I've thought the sharp points of your banter have made 
 him a little sore. You must look out for that, boys. 
 Don't carry your chaffing to excess." 
 
 " We'll be more careful in the future, grandfather," 
 said Raymond. " Go up and get my gun, Byer." 
 
 "What do you want of that?" interposed Mr. 
 Benson, as he paused in the doorway, milk-pail in hand. 
 
 " To take to the orchard." 
 
 " No, boys, that won't do at all. If you watch in the 
 orchard, you must do so without firearms. I have 
 never permitted armed men to stand guard there, and 
 I never will. The experience I related to you at supper 
 made me resolve years ago against taking such measures 
 to guard my orchard." 
 
 " But what if thieves should come there? " 
 
SOME EXPERIENCES WITH APPLE THIEVES I5I 
 
 " Shout at them and drive them off. They won't 
 lose any time in getting away when they find they are 
 watched. It's apples they're after, not trouble." 
 
 " But what if they should show fight? " 
 
 " There won't be the slightest possibility of that if 
 you'll only give them a chance to get away." 
 
 " Well, that's what I call mighty tame business," said 
 Raymond, in deep disgust. " Here we are to watch in 
 the orchard, and in case a thief comes along all we are 
 permitted to do is to ask him, humbly and politely, if 
 he won't please go away, instead of knocking him over 
 and capturing him." 
 
 " That's enough, boys," said Grandfather Benson, 
 quietly. " All we want to do is to save our apples. 
 To-morrow I am going to let you two begin gathering 
 them. I never have wanted to hazard life in my 
 orchard. If men have guns in their hands, there is too 
 much chance for accident. A neighbor might be taking 
 a cross-cut from the back settlement, as they frequently 
 do, and would be sure to be taken for a thief. No, boys, 
 we'll run no chances. If you stay in the orchard 
 to-night, you must leave your firearms at home." 
 
 After some grumbling Raymond and Byer assented 
 to these terms, and a little later had the small A tent 
 pitched in the midst of what was called the nursery. 
 This was a thick clump of small apple trees on a knoll 
 in the upper part of the orchard, which had been raised 
 from the seed, and were the only ones on the farm that 
 Grandfather Benson had not grafted. A large space 
 
152 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 had been cleared in the center of the clump, and here 
 those who watched over the apples had been able to pitch 
 a small tent, and have it entirely concealed from view, 
 while from their elevated post of observation they were 
 able to see, on clear nights, all over the orchard, and 
 to hear sounds in any part of it. 
 
 When the tent was arranged, and the oil-stove, 
 together with a good supply of blankets, had been placed 
 in it, the boys returned to the house, and went to bed. 
 It was not necessary for them to begin their vigils 
 before midnight. Apple thieves were never known to 
 start in before that hour where the orchard was so near 
 the house as was that of Mr. Benson. The boys were 
 thus enabled to secure several hours of good sleep before 
 they began their watch. Grandfather Benson consented 
 to sit up till twelve o'clock, and wake them then. Before 
 that he agreed to take a turn or two through the orchard 
 himself, to make sure that no one got the start of them. 
 With these details arranged the boys were soon fast 
 asleep in Raymond's den. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 A NIGHT IN THE ORCHARD 
 
 " Well, this is what I call frosty business," grumbled 
 Byer, as he and Raymond stamped up and down the 
 nursery knoll a few hours later. " I almost believe that 
 men who stay out nights like these to steal apples earn 
 them." 
 
 " Probably a less amount of work in some honest 
 business would enable them to buy more apples," 
 returned Rajmiond. " Let's go into the tent and see 
 what that oil-stove will do to thaw us out." 
 
 Byer eagerly acceded to this suggestion, and the two 
 boys entered the tent. 
 
 Scarcely were they out of sight before the dark form 
 of a man stole softly along the fence, on the lower edge 
 of the orchard. He was a big, strapping fellow, and 
 evidently came to the orchard prepared for business. 
 Under his arm he carried a large meal sack and over his 
 shoulder a long pole. He was soon lost to sight among 
 the trees in the upper part of the orchard. 
 
 " I declare, that stove isn't much better than nothing 
 at all," said Raymond, as he and Byer emerged, shortly 
 after, from the tent and stood again upon the knoll. 
 
 " Hark ! " exclaimed Byer, abruptly. " Did you hear 
 
 153 
 
154 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 that noise up there in the orchard? There's some one 
 there, just as sure as you live," he added, excitedly. 
 
 Both boys listened with breathless intentness. Very 
 distinctly upon the night air came the sound of some one 
 busily at work in the upper part of the orchard. The 
 boys could hear the vigorous whacks of his pole among 
 the branches of the trees, and the thump of the apples 
 as they fell upon the ground. 
 
 " It's a thief, sure's the world," said Byer, in a 
 whisper tremulous with excitement. 
 
 " Yes, and he's getting in some heavy work," returned 
 Raymond. " Oh, if we only had a gun. Had we 
 better sing out at him ? " 
 
 " I should say not." 
 
 " So should I. We want to catch him. We'll steal 
 upon him unawares and take him prisoner. Wouldn't 
 Grandfather Benson's eyes stick out, though, when we 
 brought him in. Just think of it." 
 
 " See here, Raymond," said Byer, nervously, " let's 
 not be rash. I don't want to come to close quarters 
 with those fellows. There may be half a dozen of them, 
 and they are probably armed." 
 
 " I don't think from the noise that there's more than 
 one," answered Raymond. " If that's the case, two 
 strong fellows like you and me ought to take care of 
 him. We can creep up and see just what the situation 
 is. If there's more than one, we'll yell at them and 
 scare them off; but if that fellow's alone, as I think he 
 is, we'll take him into limbo." 
 
A NIGHT IN THE ORCHARD 155 
 
 " Don't do anything rash, Raymond." 
 
 " Are you scared, Byer ? " 
 
 "Not a bit of it. If we are going to have a fight 
 I'm in for my share of it; but I don't want to get into 
 a scrimmage where we are sure to get licked." 
 
 " I'm no more anxious to do that than you are, Byer. 
 We'll look out for that." 
 
 With this cautious determination, the boys stole softly 
 towards the upper part of the orchard; As they 
 advanced, the operations of the thief became more 
 audible. He was threshing about with his pole in a 
 most energetic manner, and was evidently determined 
 to make the most of his opportunity. 
 
 Dropping upon their hands and knees the boys crept 
 cautiously along until they came within sight of the 
 intruder. He was a large, powerfully-built fellow, and 
 they could not help viewing his ample proportions and 
 vigorous movements with serious misgivings. 
 
 " He's a tough one," whispered Byer. " I tell you we 
 are going to have our hands full if we tackle him." 
 
 " The two of us can handle him," returned Raymond, 
 confidently. " When we jump on him we want to come 
 to close quarters at once and clinch with him, one of us 
 on each side, and behind him if possible." 
 
 Just then the moon broke from behind a cloud and 
 shone upon the man's face. It was black as ebony. 
 
 " Great Scott ! It's a negro," whispered Byer, in 
 amazement. " I don't know where he could have come 
 from. There isn't a colored family in town." 
 
156 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " Very likely he's from Bolton. There are a number 
 of negro families there. I'm inclined to think he won't 
 give us as much trouble as a white man." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " He won't have as much backbone." 
 
 " I don't know. You take a darky criminal and he's 
 mighty apt to be a tough customer and unpleasantly 
 handy with a knife." 
 
 While this conversation had been going on in subdued 
 whispers the apple thief had been making good use of 
 his time. With vigorous thrusts of the pole he knocked 
 the big apples upon the ground and, picking them up, 
 stowed them away in the bag. 
 
 " Let's go slowly," cautioned Byer. " When he 
 shoulders that bag of apples and attempts to walk off 
 with them, he will have about all he can take care of. 
 That will be the time for us to close in on him." 
 
 " That's so," assented Raymond. 
 
 In a few minutes the thief had completed his work. 
 Carefully tying up the mouth of the sack, he threw it 
 lightly over his shoulder and started with it in the direc- 
 tion of the road. This was the opportunity Raymond 
 and Byer had been waiting for. Dashing from their 
 concealment they bore down upon him with all possible 
 speed. 
 
 " Stop ! " shouted Raymond. 
 " We've got you ! " added Byer. 
 They closed in rapidly upon the thief, but before they 
 could grapple with him a most unexpected thing hap- 
 
A NIGHT IN THE ORCHARD 1 57 
 
 pened. Suddenly dropping his bag of apples to the 
 ground the burly negro turned upon them with startling 
 rapidity. In a twinkling he had thrown Raymond upon 
 the ground, and piled Byer on top of him. Then he 
 calmly sat down upon them and held them there, despite 
 their most frantic and furious struggles. The boys 
 were perfectly powerless in his strong grasp. 
 
 During this vigorous action the thief had not spoken 
 a word. So utterly unexpected had his movements been 
 to the boys, who had been entirely confident of taking 
 him by surprise, that they could scarcely credit their 
 senses when they found themselves completely in his 
 power. They were not the ones, however, to give up 
 such a contest without a desperate struggle. They 
 kicked and twisted and squirmed in a most vigorous 
 and determined manner, but all to no purpose. They 
 were as pigmies in the iron grasp of the black giant who 
 sat astride them. At last, panting from exhaustion, 
 they gave up the struggle, but as soon as they could find 
 their voices they used them most vociferously. 
 
 " Help ! Murder ! Help ! " they shouted in frantic 
 tones. 
 
 This procedure on their part did not appear to dis- 
 concert the negro in the least, nor did he make the 
 slightest attempt to stop their cries. Indeed, a dry 
 chuckle which he gave indicated that he derived no little 
 satisfaction from their sorry plight. No reply came to 
 their cries, and, as a last resort, they were forced to 
 parley with their captor. 
 
IS8 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " Say, what are you going to do with us ? " demanded 
 Raymond; but his question received no answer. 
 
 " See here, my good fellow," said Byer, addressing 
 the negro in a more coaxing tone, "you've got the 
 best of us. The fight was fair and square. We 
 acknowledge ourselves licked. The prize was that bag 
 of apples. You've won it. Now take it and go. We'll 
 promise, honor bright, not to molest you or call for 
 help." 
 
 For the first time the negro spoke. 
 
 " Well, that's perfectly satisfactory, boys, and mighty 
 generous besides. Still, I think it's only fair for you to 
 return my bonds and railroad stocks," he said, in a very 
 familiar voice, as he arose from his prisoners and 
 picked up his bag of apples again. 
 
 Raymond and Byer regained their feet and stood 
 staring at him in speechless amazement. They could 
 scarcely credit the evidence of their senses. 
 
 " Dud Rich ! " they gasped in chorus. 
 
 "At your service, boys," responded the big fellow 
 with a burst of laughter so loud and hearty that it 
 seemed to fill the whole orchard, and woke a thousand 
 echoes in the cedar swamp beyond the ridge. 
 
 " Well, I'm dished ! " ejaculated Raymond, when he 
 had assured himself beyond a doubt of Dud's identity. 
 
 " You may knock me doAvn with a feather," added 
 Byer, 
 
 " Didn't have a suspicion who it was, did you? " 
 asked Dud, with obvious enjoyment of the situation. 
 
A NIGHT IN THE ORCHARD 1 59 
 
 "Not the slightest," confessed Raymond, frankly. 
 " If you'd been the Old Nick himself you couldn't have 
 astonished me more." 
 
 " You've duped us completely. I'll acknowledge the 
 corn," admitted Byer, with a crestfallen air. 
 
 " What surprises me most of all. Dud, is to find you 
 so far away from home at this hour of night," said 
 Raymond. 
 
 " I really believe I could have gone through fire and 
 flood to-night, if it had been necessary to get the under 
 hold of you boys," laughed Dud, good-naturedly. " My 
 gracious ! but didn't it make me laugh when I saw you 
 fellows creeping up and playing the scout on me. I 
 knew pretty well, though, that you wouldn't close in on 
 me until I shouldered the apples and started off with 
 them, so I was all prepared to drop them at the proper 
 time. I expected quite a tussle with you, but I did you 
 up so easily that it astonished me almost as much as it 
 did you. I thought I should die laughing when I was 
 holding you down there, and you a-begging for mercy ; 
 but I had to keep in. I knew very well that you would 
 recognize my voice just as soon as you heard it. Oh, 
 but you two are great fighters, you are ! " and the big 
 fellow laughed heartily at the thought of his easy 
 victory. 
 
 " I don't know, Dud," said Raymond, in no little 
 chagrin. " I think we made a good fight under the 
 circumstances. We were taken by surprise, and besides, 
 every one says you are the strongest man in town." 
 
l6o THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 "Well, I guess we had better call it quits, hadn't 
 we?" 
 
 " Quits on what? " demanded Byer. 
 
 " That little burglar joke you played on me. I'll 
 admit I was terribly frightened by it." 
 
 " What did we have to do with that affair? " asked 
 Raymond, endeavoring to appear innocent. 
 
 " You and Byer had everything to do with it, and I'll 
 admit you did it well," responded Dud, with conviction. 
 
 " You won't say anything about to-night's business, 
 that's a good fellow, will you ? " said Raymond, in 
 a wheedling attempt to change the subject. 
 
 " I'll not, on just one condition — ^that you and Byer 
 will never say anything more about the burglar affair." 
 
 " It's agreed," was the prompt response, and the three 
 boys shook hands heartily over the compact. 
 
 As they neared the house they met Grandfather 
 Benson coming toward them with a lantern in his hand. 
 
 " Why, what does this mean ? " he inquired in 
 apparent surprise, as he surveyed the group. " Who 
 is this with you, boys ? " 
 
 " Oh, a colored man we found stealing apples in the 
 orchard," returned Raymond. 
 
 " Well, well, I declare. He comes along quietly, 
 doesn't he? My sakes! Is that you, Dudley? Been 
 masquerading on the boys, hey ? " 
 
 " Yes, just a bit," grinned Dud. 
 
 " Well, there's no need watching any longer. We 
 had all better go to bed," and Mr. Benson led the way 
 
A NIGHT IN THE ORCHARD l6l 
 
 to the house, his round sides shaking now and then with 
 suppressed laughter. 
 
 " Dud Rich isn't at the bottom of this night's fun, 
 depend upon it," said Raymond, as he and Byer lay in 
 bed in the den. 
 
 "Who is?" 
 
 " Grandfather Benson " 
 
 " I guess you must be mistaken. I don't believe Mr. 
 Benson would have a hand in such a prank." 
 
 " Yes, he would, too. He's just as much a boy at 
 heart as any of us. I can tell you he has enjoyed this 
 night's fun a good deal more than Dud is able to." 
 
 " What makes you think Mr, Benson is at the bottom 
 of this business ? " demanded Byer, incredulously. 
 
 " A number of things. In the first place Dud isn't 
 smart enough to think of such a joke, and, in the second 
 place, he hasn't courage enough to carry it out alone, 
 and no amount of chaflSng on our part could nerve him 
 up to it. I am convinced by the bold way Dud went 
 about his work that grandfather planned the whole thing 
 for him, and that he was waiting for him all the time in 
 the lower part of the orchard. How he must have 
 snickered when he heard us yelling for help." 
 
 " But I can't believe your grandfather would take 
 part in a joke like that," persisted Byer. 
 
 " Yes, he would, too. Grandfather is as good a man 
 as ever lived, but he's a mighty poor actor. His con- 
 duct when he met us to-night betrayed him completely. 
 Don't you suppose he'd been considerably more flus- 
 
1 62 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 tered if we'd brought in a real thief? Of course he 
 would. He took matters altogether too calmly to-night. 
 His attempt to appear surprised was terribly far-fetched ; 
 ' besides that, did you notice how quickly he recognized 
 Dud? Do you suppose he'd been so discerning if he 
 hadn't been in the joke? Not a bit of it." 
 
 " Well, even if he was the one who planned the thing, 
 it only squares Dud up with us. I think we'd better 
 keep pretty still about the whole matter, don't you ? " 
 
 " Of course, that's the only wise thing for us to do," 
 assented Raymond. 
 
 It-may be as well to say right here that Raymond was 
 correct in surmising that Dud's bold and successful 
 practical joke had been inspired by Grandfather Benson. 
 
 " It's too bad," he had thought, as he followed the big 
 fellow to the barn, " that those boys impose upon Dudley 
 so. He's altogether too good-natured. If he'd only 
 show a little temper now and then they wouldn't pester 
 him nearly so much, or, what's better, if he could only 
 get a good, sharp joke on them, they'd have four times 
 the respect for him. H'm," he mused, as an idea came 
 to him, " why can't he black up and play robber, 
 to-night? He is able to handle both of the boys with 
 perfect ease, and may be depended upon not to get mad, 
 nor hurt either of them." 
 
 The good man kept his own counsel, but no sooner 
 were the boys on their way to the orchard than he went 
 to Dud's room, and waking him informed him of the 
 joke which he had planned. The big fellow could 
 
A NIGHT IN THE ORCHARD 163 
 
 scarcely credit his senses. The spectacle of Grand- 
 father Benson planning a practical joke upon Raj'mond 
 and Byer was one that the widest stretches of his 
 imagination would never have reached to. 
 
 " Are you really in earnest? " he ejaculated, when he 
 had recovered somewhat from his amazement. 
 
 " I was never more so in my life. If you want to 
 put an effective stop to the banter of those boys you will 
 have to play such a joke on them as will offset the one 
 they played on you the other night. I've been turning 
 that affair over in my mind, and haven't much doubt 
 that they were the burglars who disturbed your slum- 
 bers, and that the Grover boy was a party to the prank. 
 I confess, though, they played it pretty well on the whole 
 of us. I really thought at the time that you had had 
 a nightmare. You have a splendid chance now to pay 
 them back in their own coin, and you mustn't miss it." 
 
 " But I don't believe I want to go up there alone 
 to-night." 
 
 " Nonsense, Dudley, there's nobody there but the 
 boys. You are not afraid of them, are you ? " 
 
 " No, but—" 
 
 "But what?" 
 
 " It's terribly dark up there." 
 
 "Darkness never hurt any man; but if you feel 
 nervous, I'll go to the lower edge of the orchard and 
 wait within call for you." 
 
 " All right, I'll go," said Dud, eagerly, satisfied with 
 this practical relief to his fears. When his preparations 
 
1 64 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 were completed, Grandfather Benson assured him that 
 neither of the boys would recognize him. When they 
 parted at the foot of the orchard Mr. Benson urged 
 him to make the joke a complete success by playing his 
 part boldly. How well he carried out his instructions 
 our readers know. 
 
 Raymond and Byer looked a little sheepish the follow- 
 ing day at dinner, which was the first meal they were 
 up in time for; but neither Grandfather Benson nor 
 Dud made any reference to the affair of the preceding 
 night. The boys accepted the truce thus delicately 
 offered, and from that time forth the apple thief and 
 Dud's burglars were persons never referred to. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 A CHESTNUT SOCIALIST 
 
 About a week later the stage from the Corner stopped 
 at the house to leave some packages, and Raymond, who 
 went out to take them, was surprised to find among the 
 passengers Mr. David Beecham, who held out his hand 
 to him very cordially with a hearty " Good-morning." 
 
 " Good-morning, Mr. Beecham," returned Raymond. 
 " Aren't you a good way from school ? " 
 
 " Yes, quite a distance, but this is my vacation time. 
 The term is closed." 
 
 " Why, I thought it kept five weeks longer." said 
 Rajmiond, in surprise. 
 
 " Well, that was the original intention, but the money 
 didn't hold out. Some of those who subscribed failed 
 to pay, and it was found necessary to cut the term 
 short." 
 
 " Will you teach at the Corner again ? " 
 
 " I think not. I graduate from college next June, 
 and shall begin the study of law. I have probably 
 closed my career as a teacher." 
 
 " Mr. Beecham," said Raymond, earnestly, " I want 
 to ask your pardon for my outrageous conduct this term. 
 There was no excuse for it. I have none to oflfer. I 
 only wonder at your forbearance." 
 
 i6s 
 
l66 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " Don't mention it, Raymond," responded Mi". 
 Beecham, much affected. " I never laid up your mis- 
 chief against you, for I always felt that your heart was 
 in the right place. If I can be of service to you in the 
 future, I trust you will beheve me your friend, and will 
 not hesitate to call upon me." 
 
 " I certainly shall. I could have no stronger proof 
 of it than you have just given." 
 
 The two shook hands warmly, and Raymond watched 
 the stage disappear over the hill with a feeling of relief 
 from the burdens of conscience that he had not experi- 
 enced since he left the High School. 
 
 The work of gathering apples proved much more 
 congenial to Raymond and Byer than hauling rocks, and 
 they were only too glad to devote their energies to it 
 while Grandfather Benson and Dud were engaged in 
 breaking up the front field. 
 
 Not far from the Benson farm lived a man named 
 Noah Griffin, who bore the reputation among Chestnut 
 people of being one of the most shiftless men in the 
 county. His farm, notwithstanding the many granite 
 boulders that dotted its surface, was one of the most 
 productive in town, and had it been properly cultivated 
 might have brought its owner excellent returns. Noah 
 Griffin, however, had a strange faculty of always doing 
 things at the wrong time, and never doing anything 
 thoroughly. His breaking up was usually done so late 
 in the fall that it was shut off by the early frosts before 
 it was completed, thus going over to retard the labors 
 
A CHESTNUT SOCIALIST 1 67 
 
 of the following spring. He was generally the last man 
 in Chestnut to get his crops into the ground, and the last 
 to harvest them. 
 
 He spent time and money enough repairing worn-out 
 farm vehicles and implements to have purchased several 
 full sets of new ones. More labor had been expended 
 by him in patching up the leaky roofs of his farm build- 
 ings than would have been required to shingle them 
 newly twice over. He never thought of doing any 
 work upon his fences until his cattle were running loose 
 in the road, and then his favorite method of closing the 
 breach was to fill it with brush. 
 
 As a result of this shiftless way of doing things, the 
 Griffin place had long presented a neglected and dilap- 
 idated appearance. Noah's farming implements were 
 strewn in promiscuous confusion about the premises. 
 The dooryard was his favorite place of storage. It was 
 never without a variegated collection of ox yokes, carts, 
 drags, rakes, axes, ploughs, harrows — in fact, there was 
 scarcely anything about the place that did not figure 
 there at some time during the year. 
 
 Noah's house was of a pattern very familiar in the 
 early days of the county, and even now to be found 
 there in certain localities. It had originally been built 
 by one of the settlers upon, — as Raymond Benson 
 expressed it — " the plan of a shoe box," with a roof 
 of low slant. When the needs of a growing family 
 demanded more room an addition was built upon one 
 side of it, with a shed roof in continuation of the house 
 
1 68 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 roof reaching down to within ten feet of the ground. 
 The two chimneys which the structure boasted were in 
 the old part of the house, above whose moss-grown 
 shingles they lifted but a few feet of blackened bricks 
 and mortar. 
 
 As may be imagined, few changes had been made 
 in the place after it came into the possession of Noah 
 Griffin. To him its most attractive spot was the large 
 open fireplace in the front sitting-room. He loved 
 dearly to sit in his stocking feet before its cheerful 
 blaze, toasting his pedal extremities and drawing 
 immeasurable inspiration from a short, black pipe, 
 which was the inseparable companion of the clock 
 upon the mantelpiece. 
 
 It was doubtless the fact that the cares of life 
 rested lightly upon Noah's shoulders that gave him an 
 abundance of time to proclaim the evils of the age. 
 Be that as it may, his favorite pastime was to sit upon 
 one of the nail kegs in Squire Copeland's store, chew 
 immense quantities of tobacco, and bemoan the hard 
 life that farmers were forced to live. To prosperity 
 in any form he was irrevocably opposed. He appeared 
 to regard those who had exchanged honest industry for 
 a well-to-do condition in life as the enemies of mankind. 
 They were always, to his mind, " bloated 'ristocrats," 
 and he was very fond of assuring those who would 
 listen to him that the time would come when down- 
 trodden laboring men like himself would rebel against 
 the tyranny of capital, the unjust distribution of wealth' 
 
A CHESTNUT SOCIALIST 1 69 
 
 that was forever grinding them upon the ragged edge 
 of life. Then, he predicted, would come such a revul- 
 sion of feeling, such a mighty shaking up of affairs, 
 such an outpouring of the righteous indignation of the 
 oppressed masses — whom he conceived to be a great 
 army of Noah Griffins — as would break down the 
 artificial barriers of wealth, and give to every man, 
 woman and child an equal share in the good things of 
 life. This was the golden era to which Noah looked 
 forward with hopeful anticipation. In the meantime, he 
 managed to bear up under the grievous burdens of a 
 social system founded upon industry, through the solace 
 he sucked from his venerable pipe, and the inspiration 
 he derived from occasional visits to the home of Pete 
 Atkins. 
 
 On one occasion Noah had ventured to give expres- 
 sion to a few of his theories in open town-meeting, 
 when the question of offering exemption from taxation 
 to a proposed woolen mill was under discussion. He 
 had warmed to his subject as he dilated upon the 
 inequalities with which " we laborin' men " were forced 
 to contend. Why, he demanded, should those of them 
 who toiled early and late to scrape together a mean, 
 ignoble livelihood, a subsistence unworthy of American 
 citizenship, be forced to contribute from their scanty 
 earnings to the prosperity of a grasping and bloated 
 corporation? Why, indeed! As Noah proceeded with 
 his remarks, his voice assumed a stentorian pitch. 
 With fiery invective he denounced the tyrannical oper- 
 
170 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 ations of the " money-barons " who, not satisfied with 
 securing pretty much all the property in the world, were 
 savagely determined to rake into their already bursting 
 coffers the very victuals from the poor man's table. 
 
 At this interesting point in his remarks, the frowzy 
 head of a small boy appeared at a window in the rear of 
 the hall, and a shrill voice shouted, " Mr. Griffin, your 
 cattle 's in the pound." 
 
 A burst of uproarious laughter followed this 
 announcement, during which Noah lost the thread of 
 his discourse and sat down, very much flustered and 
 exceedingly red in the face. 
 
 Notwithstanding this humiliating collapse of his 
 oratorical effort, there was balm-of-gilead for Noah in 
 the fact that the proposition to exempt was defeated 
 by a small vote, although it was strongly supported by 
 Andrew Benson, whose opinions usually prevailed in 
 town affairs. 
 
 The new woolen mill was therefore established in 
 the adjoining town of Bodge, which voted the exemp- 
 tion. A thriving community grew up about it, and 
 many Chestnut citizens moved there to obtain employ- 
 ment, carrying with them a large amount of property. 
 The following year the tax-rate was reduced in Bodge 
 and advanced in Chestnut. Despite these facts, Noah 
 always maintained that he had saved his town from a 
 heavy loss of taxes, and, by his timely grasp of the 
 situation, had forever snatched it from the clutches of 
 corporate power. 
 
A CHESTNUT SOCIALIST I7I 
 
 Noah's better-half, Matilda Griffin, was a tall, raw- 
 boned woman, who had been accustomed for many 
 years to perform a large amount of the work that, in 
 the usual division of labor, would have fallen upon her 
 liege lord. She was an energetic soul, and it was 
 chiefly due to her untiring industry that she and Noah 
 were always comfortably dressed and had enough to eat. 
 Matilda — or Aunt Tilly, as she was familiarly called 
 by her acquaintances — was not a woman of prepossess- 
 ing appearance. She was loose- jointed and angular. 
 Her features were thin and sharp, and^ she had an 
 exceedingly shrill and penetrating voice. She wore her 
 hair in a tight pug on the back of her neck, and was 
 generally clad in a loose, print wrapper, from under 
 which protruded a substantial pair of leather slippers. 
 These, as they had originally been purchased for Noah, 
 were several sizes too large for her. As she went 
 about her household tasks, the heels of this com- 
 modious foot-gear beat a tattoo upon the floor in accom- 
 paniment to her thoughts, and in keeping with the vigor 
 of her movements. 
 
 Older citizens of Chestnut remembered her years 
 before as a bright, ambitious girl, of a lively and sunny 
 disposition. Thirty years of married life with Noah 
 Griffin had transformed her into a soured and disap- 
 pointed woman, prematurely old. Life had, indeed, 
 few pleasures for her. 
 
 As she grew older she became a firm believer in 
 spiritualism, and appeared to extract some comfort 
 
172 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 from this faith. Although Noah was naturally a 
 superstitious man, with a profound trust in many signs 
 and omens, he had heaped no end of ridicule upon his 
 wife for what he termed her " nonsensical notions " ; 
 but he was unable to shake her faith. She declared, 
 with no little vehemence, that what she knew she knew, 
 and nothing any one could say would make the slightest 
 difference with her. As she was not a particularly 
 agreeable companion when in a contentious mood, 
 Noah had gradually come to make less comment upon 
 her faith in spiritualism. He was also impelled to this 
 course by a haunting fear that, after all, she might be 
 right. In view of such a possibility, he concluded that 
 silence might prove in the long run to be golden, and 
 cautiously held his peace. 
 
 It was a source of no little irritation to Raymond 
 and Byer, upon returning to the orchard from dinner 
 one day, to find Noah's cattle within the enclosure, 
 engaged in a very active work of destruction. A 
 basket of choice nodheads, from a small tree in which 
 Grandfather Benson felt a special pride, was over- 
 turned, and such of the fruit as had not been eaten was 
 so badly bitten and trampled upon as to render it 
 worthless. 
 
 " I declare ! " exclaimed Ra3Tnond, angrily. " There 
 can never be any bars down, or gates left open, in this 
 town but Noah Griffin's cattle are sure to sneak through 
 and get into mischief. Here they've spoiled the very 
 best nodheads in the orchard. Grandfather was going 
 
A CHESTNUT SOCIALIST 1 73 
 
 to select the ones for the county fair from that very 
 basket. Any man who can't keep his cattle out of the 
 highways ought not to be allowed to have any." 
 
 " I'll fix them," responded Byer, as he picked up a 
 shot-gun. 
 
 " What are you going to do ? " asked Raymond, 
 hastily. 
 
 " I'm going to give these cattle a dose of something 
 warming." 
 
 " No, you're not." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Because it would be a mean, cowardly act. You'll 
 say so, too, Byer, if you'll think a minute. These cattle 
 are not to blame for running the roads; it's the fault 
 of their owner, who is too lazy to keep his fences in 
 decent repair. Any cattle would run the road as much 
 as these do if they had as good a chance." 
 
 " I guess you're right, Raymond," responded Byer, 
 whose anger was rapidly cooling. " Noah's the one 
 who ought to be shot. It would be mean to hurt his 
 cattle. I declare, though, I haven't any patience with 
 that man. He's the most shiftless, good-for-nothing 
 fellow I know of. Why, he's actually spent time 
 enough making pokes and blinds for cattle not in the 
 least breachy to have built a fence as good as your 
 grandfather's around his whole farm. I vow, he 
 deserves to be ridden out of town on a rail." 
 
 " He's a worthless fellow, Byer, that's a fact, and 
 perhaps we can find a way to convince him of it." 
 
174 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " No, you couldn't do that. He has altogether too 
 good an opinion of himself. He knows too much to 
 work," said Byer, disgustedly. 
 
 " There's truth in what you say," replied Raymond, 
 as he drove the last offending cow into the road and 
 closed the gate behind her. " I have an idea in mind, 
 though, that may be of service in letting Noah hear 
 the voice of public opinion." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 " Let's finish gathering these apples and I'll show 
 you. I think we can get through by three o'clock, and 
 that will give us till supper-time to develop my plan." 
 
 The boys set to work with a will, and by the middle 
 of the afternoon had the last basketful of apples safely 
 stowed away in the cellar. When this had been done, 
 Raymond led the way to the workshop in the shed 
 connecting the ell of the house with the stable. 
 
 "Now what?" queried Byer, whose curiosity was 
 considerably excited to learn the method by which 
 Raymond proposed to give Noah Griffin a knowledge 
 of what his neighbors thought of him. 
 
 " Well, the first thing, Byer, will be for you to take 
 this axe and go to the swamp. Cut down a sapling 
 maple, with the trunk as nearly round as you can find, 
 and from three to three and one-half inches in diameter. 
 Bring me a piece of it from next the stump, about two 
 feet long." 
 
 " I don't see what you can want of that," said Byer, 
 as he swung the axe over his shoulder. 
 
A CHESTNUT SOCIALIST I^$ 
 
 " I'll show you when you get back." 
 
 " Well, I can't imagine what it can be," was Byer's 
 mystified response as he started toward the swamp. 
 
 When he had gone, Raymond pulled from under the 
 work-bench a large box which had long been used as 
 a receptacle for a miscellaneous collection of odds and 
 ends. After rummaging about among its contents for 
 a while, he pulled from it a long piece of rubber hose, 
 which had formerly done duty on a force-pump. This 
 he viewed with no little satisfaction. 
 
 " I thought I couldn't be mistaken about seeing this 
 here," he soliloquized. " It will be exactly what we 
 want. There must be nearly twenty feet of it, and this 
 hole near the end seems to be the only one in it. 
 I guess I'll cut this lower part off; it must be air-tight 
 for my purpose — there, I think that will fill the bill." 
 
 In a short time Byer returned from the swamp with 
 a handsome, straight maple stick about three inches and 
 a half in diameter. 
 
 " Will that do ? " he asked, as he laid it on the bench. 
 
 " Yes, that's exactly what I wanted. Now, Byer, I 
 wish you'd put that in the vise and saw the end off 
 squarely ; then bore a hole in it about three inches deep 
 with the two-inch auger. You must be sure and get 
 the hole in the center. Place the point of your auger 
 in the pith of the stick." 
 
 " I begin to see why you wanted a green stick," said 
 Byer, as he followed RajTnond's directions. " You 
 were afraid of splitting a dry one." 
 
176 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " That's it exactly. I've tried it a number of times, 
 and you are almost sure of splitting a dry stick of this 
 size when you bore so large a hole in the end of it. 
 There is seldom any trouble with a green stick." 
 
 "What next?" asked Byer, with a puzzled air, as 
 he pulled the auger from the hole he had bored. 
 
 "Well, now you may take the three-quarters-inch 
 auger, center it upon the bottom of the hole you have 
 just finished, and bore another five inches deep." 
 " Why, that will be a wooden tunnel." 
 " Precisely. That's just what we are going to 
 make — two wooden tunnels." 
 
 " I don't see what use you can have for them." 
 " I'll show you pretty soon. The first one you may 
 leave on the inside just as it was bored ; the second one 
 you may rim out about the mouth, on the plan of a tin 
 tunnel." 
 
 "Then what?" 
 
 " Then we'll place the two tunnels in the ends of this 
 hose and have a splendid speaking-tube. We can talk 
 into the first tunnel, and the second one will throw the 
 voice out in good shape." 
 
 " But what will you do with it, after it's all done ? " 
 " You and I will go down to Noah Griffin's with it 
 to-night. We'll take a short mow ladder with us from 
 the barn, and have on an extra pair of stockings. 
 About the time Noah and Tilly are beginning to doze 
 before the open fire, we'll steal up on the roof of the 
 house in our stocking feet, drop this speaking-tube into 
 
A CHESTNUT SOCIALIST 177 
 
 the chimney and give them a spiritualistic seance, 
 more weird than anything in that hne they have ever 
 dreamed of." 
 
 " That's a good idea," laughed Byer, approvingly; 
 " but don't you suppose they'll see through it? " 
 
 " Not at all. They are altogether too superstitious 
 for that." 
 
 " Well, perhaps that's so, but if they are fooled by 
 this contrivance they are greener than I think they 
 are. 
 
 " If everything works right, we'll have a little sport 
 at Noah's expense, and teach him a useful lesson," said 
 Raymond, confidently. 
 
 By supper-time the boys had their speaking-tube 
 completed, and, with a little practice, Raymond devel- 
 oped a voice on it so hollow, lugubrious, and long 
 drawn out that Byer was convulsed with laughter, and 
 declared that it might well belong to another world, for 
 it was certainly dolefully different from anything in 
 this. 
 
 It was about eight o'clock when the boys finally 
 brought up at Noah's house. They had not dared to 
 defer their visit to a later hour, for Chestnut people 
 retired early, and the Griffins did not differ from their 
 neighbors in this respect. They generally sat before 
 the open fire for a couple of hours after the evening 
 chores were done, and then went to bed. 
 
 These short evenings were usually passed in reading, 
 or in discussing the affairs of their neighbors, in which 
 
178 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 both Noah and Tilly had a lively interest. Each took 
 a newspaper, one a socialist publication after Noah's 
 own heart, the other a spiritualist sheet which Tilly 
 found quite indispensable. Thus both the religious 
 and secular worlds were provided for. Outside these 
 papers, however, the Griffins were not very extensively 
 supplied with literature. A Testament, a well-worn 
 Webster's Dictionary, Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, 
 Towne's Fourth Reader, and the Maine Farmer's 
 Almanac constituted their library. Although the vol- 
 umes were few, it must be admitted that they were 
 carefully selected, and their begrimed and thumb- 
 marked pages showed that they had been many times 
 " chewed and digested," in accordance with the famous 
 advice of Lord Bacon — although it is extremely doubt- 
 ful if either Noah or Tilly had ever heard of such a 
 personage. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 NOAH griffin's REFORMATION 
 
 On the evening when Raymond and Byer made their 
 visit to the Griffin homestead, Noah and Tilly had 
 finished their chores somewhat earlier than usual. As 
 was customary, the lion's share of the work had fallen 
 upon the good woman. Noah felt that he had done all 
 that could reasonably be expected of him by getting 
 in the wood and preparing the morrow's kindlings, 
 while his wife did the milking. 
 
 He was in a rather more meditative mood than 
 usual, as he toasted his feet before the open fire, and 
 blew large puffs of smoke up the chimney from his 
 short, black pipe. 
 
 " I've be'n a-thinkin', Tilly," he announced, with 
 impressive deliberation, " as how you an' me might git 
 a livin' a pesky sight easier 'n what we do." 
 
 Mrs. Griffin dropped the stocking she was knitting 
 into her lap, and looked at him with mingled contempt 
 and forbearance. 
 
 " Huh ! " she snifJed, " what new notion 's got afoul 
 of ye now ? " 
 
 " Bone labor was never my stronghold," continued 
 Noah. 
 
 179 
 
l8o THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " True 's gospel," assented Tilly, " but you was never 
 man enough to own it afore." 
 
 " The Lord gin me my brains t' make my livin' with," 
 continued Noah, not noticing the interruption. 
 
 " Do tell ! " was Tilly's sarcastic comment. " I alius 
 s'picioned es how ye thought He gin ye a wife fer thet 
 purpose." 
 
 " G' 'long with yer badgerin' an' naggin'," said 
 Noah, irritably. 
 
 " An' what was ye cal'latin' t' do ? " she sighed, 
 with an air of resignation. 
 
 " Why, I thought as how we might put a mortgage 
 on this place an' git a little stock in the Louisiana 
 Development an' Investment Company. Stock 's sellin' 
 for twenty now an' Sime Dart ses 't will be wuth a 
 dollar twenty inside o' ten years. Think o' thet, Tilly ! 
 We could leave this old house, buy a cosy little place 
 't the Corner, an' settle down an' be somebody." 
 
 " So thet's what yer drivin' at, is it ? " demanded 
 Tilly, scornfully. " I don't s'pose them harts the 
 Scriptur' tells about ever began t' pant fer the water- 
 brooks like what you hanker for a nail keg in Cope- 
 land's store." 
 
 " Now, Tilly — " began Noah, deprecatingly ; but she 
 promptly shut him off. 
 
 " Who's a-sellin' o' this stock ? " she demanded. 
 
 " Sime Dart." 
 
 " Sime Dart ! " she repeated, contemptuously. " Don't 
 ye flatter yourself for one minute thet I'll trust thet 
 
NOAH griffin's REFORMATION l8l 
 
 oily, smirkin' hypocrit'. Thank goodness, I'm not 
 wholly bereft o' my senses, howsumever it may be with 
 you." 
 
 " Pete Atkins ses it's good's gold," persisted Noah. 
 
 " Pete Atkins ! " said Tilly, with rising inflection. 
 " He's bad as Sime. They're two of a kind. I 
 wouldn't put no confidence in ary one on 'em." 
 
 " I swan you allers try t' rile me," said Noah, 
 peevishly. " Can't ye put jest a little dependence in 
 my jedgment ? " 
 
 " Your jedgment ! " repeated Tilly, disdainfully. 
 " Shucks ! You've had a new scheme 'most ev'ry day. 
 If you'd worked quarter es hard with yer hands es yer 
 hev with yer month we'd hed suthin' now." 
 
 " You know, Tilly," said Noah, reproachfully, " es 
 how I hain't ever been rale well. My rheumatiz 
 troubles me a sight." 
 
 " Lord-a-massy, you pore, sickly creetur ! " exclaimed 
 Tilly, with mock sympathy. " I don't remember a day 
 fer years when you wasn't ekel t' three square meals o' 
 victuals. Them es eat can work, 's my motto." 
 
 " It's no use a-harpin' on thet ole strain, Tilly," said 
 Noah, resentfully. " I gin up expectin' of yer t' undgr- 
 stan' me some time ago. What d' ye think o' my 
 scheme?" 
 
 "Stuff an' nonsense! Where do yer s'pose the 
 money's comin' from t' make thet stock so valy'ble?" 
 
 " Out o' the profits." 
 
 " Out o' the fiddlesticks! " retorted Tilly, derisively. 
 
1 82 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " You hain't got so much sense es I gin ye credit fer. 
 The only fellers that gits any profits air the ones es 
 works the swindle." 
 
 "Land o' Goshen, Tilly! Ye didn't understan'," 
 exclaimed Noah, petulantly. " I've got " — here Noah 
 cast a cautious glance about the room, and lowered his 
 voice to a confidential whisper — " a chance t' git in on 
 the inside." 
 
 " Goodness sakes alive ! ye don't say ? I guess ye 
 better lay low fer a spell. If Sime Dart ever gits ye 
 on the inside he'll be mighty sure t' shove the bolts on 
 the outside. Thank the Lord, this 'ere place can't go 
 out o' our hands 'thout my consent. If it could the 
 both on us ud ha' ben in the poorhouse years ago." 
 
 Noah was about to make a resentful response to this 
 emphatic declaration, when both he and Tilly were 
 startled by a most unexpected and terrifying occurrence. 
 
 " N-o-a-a-a-h," came a weird, unearthly voice from 
 the chimney. 
 
 " Di — did ye hear that, Tilly ? " he gasped. 
 
 " Don't yer s'pose I got ears? " responded the good 
 woman, grimly. She had dropped her knitting-work 
 into her lap, and was holding up her hands in open- 
 mouthed consternation. " Thet was a sperit, Noah. 
 I've hearn 'em rap an' whisper a good many times, but 
 I'll allow I never hearn 'em holler right out like thet 
 afore." 
 
 "Hadn't we better go, Tilly?" asked Noah, nerv- 
 ously. 
 
" THERE, I KNOWED 'TWAS A SPERIT ! " EXCLAIMED TILLY, 
 
 TBiuMPHANTi>Y. — Page 183. 
 
NOAH GRIFFIN'S REFORMATION 1 83 
 
 " Go where? " she demanded. 
 
 " Down t' Grover's or Benson's. You know we 
 haven't run in on ary one on 'em for a long spell." 
 
 " I guess we'd better stay right where we air," 
 responded Tilly, with decision. " Don't be fool enough, 
 Noah Griffin, t' think you can run away from a sperit. 
 He'd ketch ye 'fore you'd gone a rod. If thet sperit's 
 got anything t' say t' ye depend upon it he's goin' t' 
 say it." 
 
 " Perhaps 'twas only the wind," suggested Noah, 
 with evident agitation, but the idea was speedily dis- 
 pelled. 
 
 " No-a-a-h Gri-i-iffin," moaned the same weird, 
 unearthly voice in the chimney. 
 
 " Answer 'im, you — you numskull," commanded 
 Tilly, sharply, as her husband rose to his feet, and, 
 with blanched face, moved his chair away from the 
 fireplace. 
 
 "Wh-who is it?" demanded Noah. 
 
 " I am the spirit of condemnation." 
 
 " There, I knowed 'twas a sperit ! " exclaimed Tilly, 
 triumphantly. " Now I guess ye'll take a little stock in 
 what I be'n a-tellin' of ye. Ask him what he wants. 
 Be sociable, ye simpleton." 
 
 "Wha-wha' d'ye want?" stuttered Noah in accents 
 of terror. His face was ghastly white, and his teeth 
 chattered. 
 
 " To pronounce the verdict of public opinion on your 
 worthless life," came the solemn reply, in accents of 
 
184 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 reproach that brought the cold sweat to Noah's fore- 
 head, and made the chills run down his back-bone. 
 " You've been a miserable, lazy, shiftless, worthless, 
 complaining creature, Noah Griffin," continued the 
 voice in tones of deep and doleful censure. 
 
 " I — I — know it," humbly admitted Noah. 
 
 " You've allowed your good wife to do work no 
 woman should do; you've been envious of your more 
 industrious neighbors ; you have never kept your fences 
 in repair, and your cattle have run in the roads to be the 
 pests of the town. What sayest thou to these charges, 
 oh, miser-r-r-able man? " 
 
 " Noth-nothin'," weakly responded Noah. 
 
 " Your neighbors are all disgusted with you." 
 
 " I dare say." 
 
 " You deserve to be dragged down from this world 
 forever-r." 
 
 " Oh, Lord ! " groaned the terror-stricken man. 
 " Say suthin' to 'im, Tilly." 
 
 " This is none o' my affair," responded the good 
 woman, grimly. " Thet 'ere sperit's arter you. Them 
 same things hes be'n whispered t* me a good many 
 times." 
 
 " No-a-a-h, I have come for you," moaned the sepul- 
 chral voice in the chimney. 
 
 " Spare me ! Have mercy ! " shrieked the horrified 
 victim. " I'll do diff'runt. I promise ye I'll turn over 
 a new leaf." 
 
 " Will you do the milking for your wife? " 
 
NOAH griffin's REFORMATION 1 85 
 
 " Ye-e-e-s." 
 
 " Will you build a good bunk fence of whole cedar 
 logs clear round your farm ? " 
 
 " I will — I promise ye." 
 
 " Will you stop your grumbling and complaining and 
 bone down to work ? " 
 
 " I'll— I'll try." 
 
 " Very well. You may remain here a while longer, 
 but on probation — mind you, only on probation. Woe, 
 woe, woe to you, unfortunate man, if I come again. I 
 shall expect you to begin work on that fence this very 
 week." 
 
 " I will, I will." 
 
 "I go ; but be no longer a cumberer of the earth. 
 If thou failest to heed this warning thou wilt have sinned 
 away the day of thy redemption. Farewell, farewell." 
 
 The ghostly voice in the chimney became silent; but 
 Noah still sat pale and motionless in his chair. It was 
 evideijt that the ordeal through which he had passed 
 had left him thoroughly frightened and exhausted. 
 
 " Took the starch out o' ye, I reckon," was his wife's 
 grim comment. 
 
 " It's the finger o' fate, Tilly," he groaned, dismally. 
 " It hes p'inted the way t' me, an' I must abide by it." 
 
 As may well be imagined, the astonishing effect of 
 their speaking-tube joke upon Noah and Tilly Griffin 
 was a source of no little jubilation to Raymond and 
 Byer. If the alarmed and astounded couple could have 
 seen them shake and titter ancj punch each other in the 
 
l86 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 ribs, in the eflfort to hold back a torrent of laughter, as 
 they stood over the old chimney on the roof-top, it is 
 to be seriously doubted if their seance would have been 
 attended with such practical results. 
 
 " Did you ever see the beat of that ? " giggled Byer, 
 in a convulsed whisper. " I had no idea they would bite 
 so easily. You are certainly a star performer, old man." 
 
 " They are just the fish to bite that kind of bait," 
 returned Raymond. " If they hadn't been you may be 
 sure I shouldn't have tried it. You must bear in mind 
 that it's all real to them." 
 
 " Tilly's by far the braver of the two," whispered 
 Byer, a moment later. 
 
 " Of course she is," returned Raymond. " What did 
 you expect? She's always been the real man of the 
 house, and besides that she's lived among spirits so long 
 that she feels a good deal more at home with us than 
 Noah does." 
 
 Byer chuckled merrily at this conceit. " You beat 
 creation at this sort of business," he said, with an 
 approving slap on Raymond's shoulder. " What's that 
 Noah just said ? " 
 
 " He's promised to do the milking for Tilly if we'd 
 let him remain on this mundane sphere a while longer." 
 
 " The milking ! I reckon you've driven the man 
 crazy. He'd never make such a promise as that in his 
 sober senses." 
 
 " Possibly," returned Rajrmond. " I rather guess 
 that there'll be a little more method than heretofore in 
 
NOAH griffin's REFORMATION 1 87 
 
 his madness. What do you suppose he's just promised 
 to do?" 
 
 " I can't imagine." 
 
 " To build a fence of whole cedar rails clear round his 
 farm." 
 
 " That settles it. The man has certainly gone daft. 
 You've frightened him out of his wits." 
 
 " No, I rather think I've scared him into them," said 
 Raymond. " He's just promised to try to be content 
 with his lot in life." 
 
 " Proof enough," said Byer, decisively. " The poor 
 fellow has certainly gone stark, staring mad. It may 
 be, though, that you've hypnotized him by the soothing 
 eflfect of that voice of yours." 
 
 " Perhaps that's it. Be careful there, Byer ! Don't 
 make so much noise on those shingles. We don't want 
 to lose the results of this seance. I think Noah has been 
 born again to-night. I've found him a very docile 
 pupil; nothing cantankerous or contentious about him 
 this trip, I can tell you." 
 
 At this moment the moon broke from a bank of 
 clouds, and lit up the night with its mellow beams. 
 
 " It won't do for us to stay here any longer," whis- 
 pered Byer. " You must ring down the curtain, old 
 man, on Noah and Tilly. Any one driving on the main 
 road could see us just as plain as day." 
 
 " I'm all through," said Raymond, and a moment 
 later both boys were back upon the ground again in the 
 rear of the house. 
 
1 88 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " How did you leave him ? " asked Byer, as they 
 walked away. — 
 
 " On probation." 
 
 " Do you have any idea he'll keep his promises ? " 
 
 " I haven't the slightest doubt of it." 
 
 " I think you were a little too rough in one thing," 
 continued Byer. 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 " You made him promise to be contented with his lot. 
 Why Noah Griffin wouldn't be himself if he couldn't do 
 a certain amount of growling. He finds his greatest 
 joy in life in complaining about somebody or some- 
 thing. It's my opinion that you have killed him, cruel, 
 cruel spirit," he added, with mock solemnity. 
 
 " I reckon he'll be too busy hereafter to indulge in 
 that sort of pastime," laughed Raymond. "Still I 
 wasn't as hard on him as you imagine. I only made 
 him promise to try to be contented. I was liberal with 
 him, you see, for I knew that however willing Noah 
 might be in the spirit — and you must remember that this 
 night's proceedings have been conducted wholly in the 
 spirit — ^he might fall from the lofty purposes there 
 formed when he found himself forced to contend with 
 the flesh." 
 
 " I rather guess that will be the outcome of his 
 efforts," laughed Byer. 
 
 This prophecy, however, proved to be incorrect. 
 From that day a marked change came over Noah 
 Griffin's life. The people of Chestnut were astonished 
 
NOAH griffin's REFORMATION 1 89 
 
 to see a new fence grow up about his place that fairly 
 vied for first honors with the famous one of Andrew 
 Benson. Noah's buildings were newly shingled and put 
 in repair ; his dooryard was cleaned up ; his fall plough- 
 ing was done long before the frosts came ; and he and 
 Tilly began to make their appearance Sundays at the 
 Corner meeting-house. The startling rumor grew cur- 
 rent in the town that Tilly no longer did the milking. 
 People were afforded the novel spectacle of Noah Griffin 
 working early and late. They began to speak of him 
 as a likely man, and to wonder what had wrought such 
 a marvelous transformation in him. But those who 
 were able to clear up the mystery held their peace, 
 and Chestnut people were forced to record it among the 
 modern miracles. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 BURNING OF GRANDFATHER BENSON'S BARN 
 
 As Raymond and Byer were descending the long hill 
 that sloped down the bank of the brook opposite the 
 Benson homestead, they met a team coming slowly up 
 the ascent. It was a long, loose-running, open buggy, 
 of somewhat ancient design, drawn by a heavy farm 
 horse. The driver was closely muffled up in a heavy 
 buffalo coat. His broad-brimmed felt hat was drawn 
 well over his eyes, and he leaned forward upon his seat 
 as if deeply engrossed in his reflections. As the boys 
 came opposite him he suddenly straightened up and gave 
 them a sharp, piercing look. Raymond was surprised 
 to recognize, in the bright moonlight, the face of old 
 Pete Atkins. The look of malignant hatred which it 
 wore showed that its owner still cherished very bitter 
 memories of the affair on Bent Hill, in which his 
 favorite dog had come to an untimely end. 
 
 Ra3miond was not by any means a timid boy, as the 
 reader, doubtless, has already discovered. He was 
 resolute and energetic, and unusually cool for his years. 
 Nevertheless, there was something in the look which the 
 Chestnut rumseller gave him from under his shaggy 
 eyebrows that made him feel decidedly uncomfortable. 
 
 igo 
 
BURNING OF GRANDFATHER BENSON's BARN IQI 
 
 " That fellow will never be satisfied until he feels that 
 he has squared himself with me by doing me some 
 injury," he mused. 
 
 The savage hatred of old Pete's glance had not 
 escaped the attention of Byer, either, although, as Ray- 
 mond had kept his own counsel regarding the affair on 
 Bent Hill, he did not assign any personal motive for it, 
 or attach any significance to it so far as himself and his 
 companion were concerned. 
 
 " That old rascal's up to some mischief, I'll be bound," 
 he said, " or else he's thinking over some of the deviltry 
 he's done in the past. I suppose it would take a good 
 many large volumes to tell of all his doings. Whew! 
 but did you notice the scowl he had on ? His eyes, too, 
 glittered just like a snake's. Something's riled him up, 
 sure's the world." 
 
 " He was evidently thinking pretty hard about some- 
 thing," answered Raymond, who was turning over some 
 anxious thoughts in his own mind. 
 
 " I shouldn't say the old fellow found much pleasure 
 in his reflections," continued Byer, with a shake of his 
 head. " He looked like a man with the colic. Did you 
 ever see such a fiendish expression on a human face? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " Right here on this hill," said Ra3ntnond, with a short 
 and somewhat rueful laugh, rousing himself from the 
 despondency which his meeting with Pete had produced, 
 and making a forced effort to appear natural. 
 
192 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " Oh, I know that," responded Byer, impatiently. " I 
 meant anywhere else; besides, I hope you don't think 
 I'd call that a human face. Pete Atkins has the general 
 aspect of a gorilla. He always made me believe there 
 was some truth in that idea of man descending from 
 monkeys." 
 
 " And a great descent it was, too — for some of them," 
 said Raymond. 
 
 " Let me see ; what is it you call that — ^the some kind 
 of a notion?" 
 
 " The Darwinian theory? " 
 
 " Yes, that's what I was driving at. I think he's one 
 of those links they've had so much trouble to find." 
 
 " You're prejudiced, Byer," said Raymond, lightly. 
 
 " Perhaps I am. I'll allow I have my likes and dis- 
 likes, so far as people are concerned. I always form a 
 sort of opinion of every stranger I meet. Some I kind 
 of warm towards, while others make me feel as chilly as 
 an ice-cake. I can't explain why it is, and I know it's 
 foolish; but it's so, all the same. I suppose we ought 
 not to sit in judgment upon any one's character until we 
 have some reasonable grounds to do it on." 
 
 " I agree with you there, Byer," said Raymond, 
 " first impressions are very apt to be incorrect. We 
 shouldn't let the prejudices they stimulate get the upper 
 hands of our cooler judgment. There are a good many 
 excellent people in the world whose manner is against 
 them, and who, if judged entirely by the impression they 
 create with strangers, would never be appreciated for 
 
BURNING OF GRANDFATHER BENSON'S BARN I93 
 
 their true worth. You take a bashful, retiring, timid 
 person, lacking in self-confidence, and he is very apt to 
 make a poor showing with those who are unacquainted 
 with him. He will stammer, and blush, and get con- 
 fused. His words will seem to come back-foremost, 
 though perhaps among his friends he may be brilliant 
 and fluent. I tell you, Byer, you can't tell from outside 
 appearance how much there is in a man, any more than 
 you can tell how far a cat can jump from the length of 
 her tail." 
 
 " That's so," assented Byer. " The safest way is to 
 suspend judgment on the people around us until we have 
 time and opportunity to become fully acquainted with 
 them." 
 
 By this time the boys had reached the farmhouse. It 
 stood dark and silent, its inmates wrapped in slumber. 
 They were a little puzzled at first as to how they should 
 reach their room without arousing Grandfather and 
 Grandmother Benson, both of whom were light sleepers. 
 
 They stood for a moment by the door in the ell, 
 discussing the situation, when a bright thought sud- 
 denly occurred to Raymond. He remembered that the 
 window in his room was open, for Grandmother Benson 
 firmly believed in giving sleeping apartments an abun- 
 dance of pure air. The ladder which he and Byer had 
 used in their visit to the Griffin homestead, and which 
 they had taken turns in lugging home, now served 
 another purpose. By its aid the two " sperits " who 
 had exerted such a magic influence upon Noah Griffin, 
 
194 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 were soon snoring soundly between the warm blankets 
 of the bed in Raymond's den. 
 
 A few days later Raymond was awakened in the small 
 hours of the morning by a noise in the stable. He and 
 Byer hastened out to see what the trouble was, and 
 discovered one of the horses cast in his stall. After a 
 good deal of work they succeeded in getting him on his 
 feet again. As they were passing from the stable to the 
 ell of the house, in returning to their room, Raymond 
 caught a glimpse of some one dodging behind the barn. 
 Hastily telling Byer what he had seen, and leaving him 
 to watch, he rushed to the shed and seized a single- 
 barreled shot-gun which hung there, and which had been 
 heavily loaded with double-B shot for the benefit of a 
 hawk that had made occasional raids upon the poultry. 
 Thus armed he hastened towards the barn, Byer accom- 
 panying him with the lantern. As they reached the 
 yard a sheet of flame shot up from the comer of the 
 great building, and by its light two men were seen run- 
 ning in the direction of the cedar swamp. 
 
 " What ye doing? " yelled Byer. 
 
 " Halt! Hold on there! " shouted Raymond. " Stop, 
 or I'll shoot," he added, warningly. 
 
 Neither of the men paid any attention to this chal- 
 lenge. In a moment Raymond's gun was at his 
 shoulder, and a sharp report rang out upon the night. 
 
 " I've hit one, sure's the world, Byer," he cried, 
 exultingly, as the smoke cleared away, "but we can't 
 follow him now. Go into the tie-up and let out the 
 
BURNING OF GRANDFATHER BENSON's BARN I95 
 
 cattle. The haymows are on fire, and we can't save 
 the building." 
 
 Byer hastened to do as directed, and soon the cattle 
 came rushing into the yard, bellowing with fright. In 
 a few moments the great building was one vast, roaring 
 mass of flame, and when Dud and Mr. and Mrs. Benson 
 arrived on the scene it lit up the whole country for miles 
 around with its lurid glare. 
 
 Fortunately the barn stood a good distance from the 
 other buildings, and there was no wind, otherwise all 
 would doubtless have gone. The great sparks and 
 cinders flew about in the draught created by the intense 
 heat, and many of them fell upon the other buildings. 
 It required the most unceasing vigilance to keep them 
 from accomplishing still further destruction. 
 
 Very soon the neighbors began to flock in from every 
 direction. In a short time a large number of people 
 were on the ground. A bucket brigade was formed 
 from the brook to the house, which, together with the 
 neighboring outbuildings, was thoroughly wet down. 
 But no attempt was made to save the barn. Any such 
 effort would have been useless, for it was a veritable 
 tinder-box, built as it was of old-growth pine and filled 
 with hay and straw. 
 
 While Grandfather Benson and the neighbors were 
 looking after the house and surrounding buildings, Ray- 
 mond and Byer hastened in the direction of the swamp 
 to look for the firebug who had been shot. After a 
 careful search they discovered him in a clump of alder 
 
196 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 bushes, on the edge of the timber, where he had 
 evidently crawled for concealment, though the blood- 
 stained track he had left behind him would have speedily 
 revealed his hiding-place. He was a dark-skinned man 
 about forty years of age. His clothing had been 
 patched so many times that it was difficult to tell what 
 had been the original texture. There was an ugly- 
 looking wound in his hip, from which the blood flowed 
 profusely. He was evidently sufifering intense pain, 
 but he gritted his teeth in a savage attempt to stifle the 
 groans that were on his lips. It was plain that he did 
 not purpose to show any weakness in the presence of his 
 pursuers. 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! You ban keeled me," he groaned 
 fiercely, as the boys bent over him. 
 
 " Nonsense," responded Raymond. " You are very 
 far from being a corpse yet. A dead man wouldn't 
 have so much voice and venom." 
 
 " It would be your own fault if you should die," 
 added Byer. " We didn't cause you to burn that barn. 
 That's a pretty hard crime, and will give you lots to 
 think about before you're through with it. The punish- 
 ment for arson is the same as for murder in this State — 
 imprisonment at hard labor for life." 
 
 The wounded man remained sullenly silent, evidently 
 feeling that this was the wisest course to pursue. 
 
 " He's suffering too much to care about that now, 
 Byer," said Raymond. " Where did old Pete go? " he 
 added abruptly to the incendiary. 
 
BURNING OF GRANDFATHER BENSON's BARN I97 
 
 " Down in — Ba cripe ! Wat I ban say ? Dere ban 
 no Pete wit' me. Mon Dieu ! I tola you true." 
 
 "What's the use of lying?" said Raymond, impa- 
 tiently. " You started out to tell the truth, and you had 
 better do it. There is nothing to be gained by conceal- 
 ment. Old Pete Atkins was with you. He was the 
 one who hired you to help him in this job." 
 
 The wounded man made no reply, but gritted his 
 teeth and closed his lips firmly together. He was evi- 
 dently afraid to open his mouth lest something should 
 escape that ought not to. Byer remained with him 
 while Raymond went for some of the neighbors and 
 an old mattress, upon which the man was borne to Mr. 
 Benson's house. His arrival created no little excite- 
 ment among the people there. They crowded about him 
 as he lay in the center of the big kitchen floor, but none 
 of thern recognized him. He was a stranger to all. 
 The looks that were given him were far from friendly. 
 Some of the hot-bloods made open talk of lynching him, 
 while many of the cooler heads thought that he should 
 be immediately taken to Bolton and lodged in jail. 
 Among those who inclined to the latter opinion were 
 Mr. Grover and Dean Perrin. 
 
 " It's no use t' take any chances with such fellows, 
 Andrew," insisted the latter. " I tell ye they're wuss'n 
 pisen. They're alius turnin' up when we git by the rust 
 an' rot, t' destroy our property an' make it harder'n 
 ever t' pay our taxes." 
 
 " I shouldn't keep him here an hour if I were in your 
 
igS THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 place, Andrew," said Mr. Grover, emphatically, and it 
 was evident that his view of the matter was the one 
 generally entertained by the crowd. 
 
 " I can't send him away now, neighbors," said Grand- 
 father Benson, slowly. " The man is dangerously shot 
 and at my door. It makes no difference what he has 
 done to me and mine, it is my duty to take Christian 
 care of him, and not act th^ part of a heathen. When 
 he is fully able to stand the journey we will take him 
 to Bolton — not before. Dud, I wish you would take 
 the bay mare and go after Dr. Lemons. Fix up the bed 
 in the spare-room, mother, and we'll see that this man is 
 well cared for. Perhaps you had better get some 
 bandages ready for the doctor when he comes." 
 
 The neighbors offered no further objections, though 
 the opinion was freely expressed among them on the 
 way home that not one man in a thousand would have 
 acted that way towards a man who had burned his barn, 
 and that if there was ever a truly Christian man in town 
 it was Uncle Andrew Benson. 
 
 Dr. Lemons pronounced the injury of the incendiary 
 to be by no means a fatal one. He found his patient 
 weak from loss of blood, but, after he had carefully 
 dressed the wound, he expressed the opinion that the 
 man could be safely moved to Bolton inside of a week. 
 
 " The hay is the worst loss," said Grandfather Benson 
 to Raymond that evening as they stood by the charred 
 ruins which the fire had left. " The barn itself was 
 fairly well insured, and you and Byer were able to save 
 
BURNING OF GRANDFATHER BENSON's BARN I99 
 
 the Stock. All my grain was threshed and in the bins 
 of the stable. After all, we have reason to be thankful 
 that we escaped so easily." 
 
 " I wish it had been old Pete I shot instead of his 
 confederate." 
 
 "Peter who?" — Grandfather Benson never used 
 nicknames. 
 
 " Atkins." 
 
 "What of him?" 
 
 " Why, he is the one who set that barn afire." 
 
 " That is a very serious charge to bring against a 
 fellow townsman." 
 
 " But I know it was he," and thereupon Raymond 
 related the circumstances under which he had shot 
 Pete's dog, the angry threats the rumseller had indulged 
 in, and the half admission that the wounded man had 
 made in the swamp to him and Byer. 
 
 Grandfather Benson listened to his story with evident 
 surprise and interest. " I wish I had known of these 
 things before," he said, thoughtfully. 
 
 " I know I ought to have told you," said Raymond, 
 regretfully, " but I was afraid you and grandmother 
 would worry about it." 
 
 " Perhaps we might, my boy, but it would have lifted 
 a load from your shoulders. You musn't try to bear 
 such burdens aH alone." 
 
 " I'm to blame for all this, grandfather," said Ray- 
 mond, impulsively. 
 
 " Don't feel that way, my boy," was the kindly 
 
200 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 response. " I'm sorry you were so hasty in shooting, 
 although under the circumstances the law would prob- 
 ably uphold you. I don't blame you at all for standing 
 your ground against Atkins ; you couldn't very well 
 have done otherwise. If the fellow in the house gets 
 well and is punished, together with his confederates, I 
 shall think that what has been our small loss has been 
 the town's great gain. I should not like to think you 
 had taken the life of a fellow man, even though you 
 detected him in the commission of a capital crime." 
 
 " You use me a good deal better than I deserve, 
 grandfather," said Raymond, earnestly, " and — and — " 
 he paused and choked a little. 
 
 " You're all done out, boy. This excitement has 
 been too much for you," kindly interposed Mr. Benson. 
 
 " No — I think not. I guess I'm a little nervous — 
 that's all," returned Raymond. " In my opinion old 
 Pete Atkins is near the end of his rope. I shall do all 
 I can to hurry him along," he added, earnestly, as he 
 went to his room to catch a little sleep after the excite- 
 ments of the day. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 AN ADVENTURE WITH LYNXES 
 
 " Hello, Raymond, what in the world are you doing 
 here?" 
 
 It was Ned Grover who asked this question, and as 
 he spoke he threw down a number of steel traps from his 
 shoulder, and seated himself upon the stump of a large 
 fir which his friend had just cut down near his camp 
 in the swamp. 
 
 " I'm making sap troughs." 
 
 " Sap troughs ? Where do you expect to use them ? " 
 
 " Right here on this farm." 
 
 " I don't see where you'll find maples enough." 
 
 " I'll not, in one place, but by taking them all about 
 the farm I think I can find fully four hundred that will 
 do to tap. I expect to do quite a business from them 
 next spring." 
 
 " It will be lots of work collecting the sap, won't it? " 
 
 " Yes, but I sha'n't mind that. You see, it will come 
 at that season of the year when we've little else to do. 
 I shall have plenty of time, and can attend to it without 
 any trouble." 
 
 " Where will you boil the sap down? " 
 
 " In the shed. I'm going to have tKose two large 
 
 } 201 
 
202 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 farmers' boilers for evaporators. Besides those, I shall 
 have a small kettle on the kitchen stove to syrup off in. 
 I'm inclined to think I shall not make much of any 
 iSUgar. It will take too much time." 
 
 " That's a good idea. What will you do with your 
 syrup?" 
 
 " Sell it." 
 
 " Well, I guess you won't have any trouble in doing 
 that. It's strange that more farmers don't go into the 
 business in this county." 
 
 " It has been a surprise to me, too. In Vermont or 
 New Hampshire a good farm would hardly be consid- 
 ered complete without its sap orchard, with its sap-house 
 right in the midst of the trees. They use large, shallow 
 pans there for evaporators, and have many ingenious 
 devices for collecting the sap." 
 
 " It seems to me that you are starting on your opera- 
 tions pretty early. It's a long time yet before spring." 
 
 " I know it, but it's going to be considerable of 
 a task to cut all my troughs and get my spiles ready. 
 Besides, I may not be able to work at it for weeks at a 
 time. Where are you going with those traps ? " 
 
 " Down where the old horse was carried. The lynxes 
 and foxes have been holding high carnival there. I've 
 had five or six traps set there for the past three days. 
 I'm going to take a look at them and set some more." 
 
 " I'm a good mind to go with you," said Ra)miond, 
 casting a longing look at his shot-gun which leaned 
 against a near-by tree. 
 
AN ADVENTURE WITH LYNXES 2O3 
 
 " Come on ! " cried Ned, eagerly. " You'll have time 
 enough to cut all the sap troughs you'll need before 
 spring." 
 
 The invitation was too tempting to be refused, and, 
 with a sigh of relief, Raymond laid down the axe and 
 picked up his gun. 
 
 " What's it loaded with ? " asked Ned, as Raymond 
 turned to follow him. 
 
 " Bird-shot. I didn't know but that I might see a 
 partridge." 
 
 " Have you any buck-shot ? " 
 
 " Yes. I brought some along in my coat-pocket." 
 
 " Well, I guess you'd better drop a few in one of the 
 barrels. We might start a fox or a lynx." 
 
 " Or a bear," added Raymond, as he acted upon his 
 friend's suggestion. " Do you remember the first one 
 we ever saw ? " he continued, with a laugh. 
 
 " Well, I rather guess I do," was Ned's smiling 
 response. 
 
 " Didn't I feel cheap, though ! I remember how you 
 and I discussed the chances of meeting a bear when we 
 started out partridge hunting on your grandfather's 
 back lot that morning. You were going to try your 
 hand at mounting it after we'd killed it, and then we 
 were going to sell it to some museum or dime show. 
 We both agreed that there would be money in it." 
 
 " Yes," said Raymond, " and you remember that we 
 even went so far as to plan just what we'd do with the 
 money." 
 
204 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " Going to buy a canoe with it, I believe," interposed 
 Ned. "Whatever our scheme was, I remember that we 
 were right in the midst of the details when what should 
 we see just over the brow of the ridge but a real, live 
 bear. My, but didn't he look big? " 
 
 " Three sizes larger than an elephant," assented 
 Raymond. 
 
 " Weren't we frightened boys, though ? " continued 
 Ned. " I fancied I could feel every hair on my head 
 stand on end. The cold chills ran down my back-bone, 
 and it seemed to me that I could feel my heart pound 
 against my ribs. I wheeled around and started for 
 home without taking the gun — ^the only one we had — 
 off my shoulder. I reckon I never ran quite so hard in 
 my life, and you were not very far behind." 
 
 " No," confessed Raymond. " I guess I wasn't. 
 When I got down near the main road I mustered up 
 courage enough to throw a look over my shoulder, and 
 found, to my relief, that the bear wasn't following. I 
 imagine he may have been going in the opposite direc- 
 tion at a rate of speed equal to ours. When I found he 
 wasn't in sight I began to grow bold, and coming up, 
 breathless and panting, to where you were waiting on 
 the bars for me I demanded to know, in tones of lofty 
 indignation, why you had run away with the gun just 
 as I was getting ready to shoot that bear? " 
 
 " You bet that made me hot," said Ned, with a grin. 
 
 " But you didn't take the bluff, though," continued 
 Raymond. " You gave me a disgusted look and coolly 
 
AN ADVENTURE WITH LYNXES 20$ 
 
 remarked, ' Shucks ! What's the use o' talking. You 
 know you were just as scared as I was.' You had me 
 right by the hair there, and I didn't undertake to 
 deny it." 
 
 "Wouldn't Allen Webster like to know about that 
 affair? " said Ned. " He'd use it for an offset to the 
 scare you gave him up on Ezra Johnston's back lot." 
 
 " It would be just nuts for him," admitted Raymond, 
 " but fortunately you and I were the only witnesses to 
 that affair." 
 
 " Except the bear," corrected Ned. 
 
 " Oh yes, the bear," laughed Raymond, " but he won't 
 tell." 
 
 " Oh, I saw Sam Brown this afternoon," exclaimed 
 Ned, suddenly, as if the fact had just occurred to him. 
 " He was on his way home from Bolton ; saw your fire- 
 bug there, and says he's the very same man that was 
 with Pete Atkins when he and his cousin saw them at 
 Amos Dole's old camp on Bower Brook." 
 
 " I had suspected that," was Rajnmond's comment. 
 " I have no doubt he is the fellow who has helped Pete 
 in his smuggling operations. They were probably on 
 their way back from one of their trips over the line 
 when Sam saw them." 
 
 " I g^ess there's no doubt of that." 
 
 " I'm glad to learn of Sam's visit to the jail," con- 
 tinued Raymond. " It furnishes me with an important 
 piece of testimony." 
 
 " Well, I hope you may get enough to drive old Pete 
 
206 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 out of town. It would be the very best thing that could 
 happen for Chestnut," said Ned. 
 
 A httle later the boys, who had been talking as they 
 walked, reached a small, open place in the swamp where 
 fire-wood had been cut the previous winter, in the center 
 of which was the carcass of a horse. 
 
 " Whew ! " exclaimed Raymond, pinching his nose 
 with his fingers. " Beginning to get a little loud, 
 isn't he?" 
 
 " Talking right out in meeting," admitted Ned. 
 " He was all right, though, until the last thaw came 
 along." 
 
 " His odor doesn't appear to trouble the lynxes 
 and foxes," continued Raymond. " See where they've 
 gnawed on him." 
 
 " Yes, confound them ! " laughed Ned, a little rue- 
 fully, " and see how gingerly they've stepped around 
 my traps. Do you imagine they scented them ? " 
 
 " No. I guess it was merely their good luck. 
 You'll get some of them yet," said Raymond, encour- 
 agingly. " Bur-r-r ! " he added, with a shiver, as the 
 cold wind swayed the tree-tops, and whistled dismally 
 away with a burden of dead leaves and moss. " This 
 is beginning to feel a good deal like winter." 
 
 " Say ! " exclaimed Ned, with a burst of inspiration, 
 " that wind comes just right. Let's hide behind that 
 old cedar windfall, and keep an eye on the old horse. 
 We shall be to the windward of any fox or l3mx coming 
 up on the other side." i 
 
AN ADVENTURE WITH LYNXES 207 
 
 Raymond readily acceded to this suggestion, and 
 presently the boys were comfortably ensconced behind 
 the big windfall, with the shot-gun resting over its 
 moss-grown top in readiness for instant use. 
 
 Their patience was not destined to be put to a severe 
 test. They had lain in their place of concealment but a 
 short time before a shaggy, catlike head, with tasseled 
 ears, emerged from a brush-heap at the edge of the 
 chopping, and two gleaming yellow eyes looked cau- 
 tiously about the clearing. Evidently satisfied that all 
 was well, the lynx, one of the largest of its species, 
 stealthily approached the carcass of the horse. He 
 had crept but a short distance into the open, however, 
 before he paused, turned his head in the direction from 
 which he had come, and gave vent to a low, ominous 
 growl. This was almost immediately answered by a 
 vicious snarl, and another lynx, fully as large as the 
 first, bounded into the clearing. 
 
 For a moment the two big cats glared at each other 
 with savage hostility, lashing their tails and giving vent 
 to their rage in a series of fierce growls, as they circled 
 cautiously about each other. Their lithe bodies and 
 quick, sinuous movements fascinated Raymond and 
 Ned, who had never before witnessed such a spectacle. 
 
 It was evident that each of the big cats was endeavor- 
 ing to get his antagonist at a disadvantage. Finally 
 one of them made a mad leap at the other's throat, and 
 in a moment they were rolling about on the ground, 
 two kicking, biting, clawing, hissing demons that threw 
 
208 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 off bits of fur, like sparks from a dynamo, and filled 
 the woods with their frightful growls, and shrill, 
 piercing yawls. 
 
 Over and over they rolled, first one seeming to have 
 the advantage and then the other, until they brought 
 up, in their death-grip, against the body of the old horse. 
 Suddenly there came a quick, ringing click, and one of 
 the cats gave voice to a blood-curdling scream of rage 
 and pain, louder and fiercer than any that had preceded 
 it. The noise of the closing trap startled the lynx that 
 was free, and releasing his hold upon his enemy he 
 sprang away, spitting and growling in a passion of 
 rage. 
 
 At this moment there came the sharp report of a gun, 
 and the big cat sprang convulsively into the air, and fell 
 limply to the ground. 
 
 " Hurrah, Ned ! " shouted Rajmiond, as they rushed 
 from their place of concealment. " We've got 'em 
 both." 
 
 "Look out! Look out, I tell you!" cried Ned, 
 sharply. " He's alive yet, and chuck full of fight." 
 
 The warning was a timely one. The big lynx h9,d 
 leaped to its feet, the blood streaming through its coarse 
 hair from a wicked wound along the top of its head, 
 and its big, bloodshot eyes blazing with fury. 
 
 Ned's warning cry seemed to arouse the big cat to 
 action. With a shrill scream, he made in the direction 
 of the sound. Raymond endeavored to stop him with 
 the other barrel of his gun, but the fine bird-shot seemed 
 
AN ADVENTURE WITH LYNXES 209 
 
 only further to infuriate him. Ned was just bounding 
 over the big windfall when the lynx overtook him, 
 sinking his forward claws in the thick folds of his heavy 
 hunting-coat. There was a sound of ripping canvas, 
 and Ned pitched forward upon all fours, while the lynx 
 fell back, spitting and snarling, upon the other side of 
 the log. Dazed and maddened with pain, the big cat 
 was about to renew the attack, when Raymond reached 
 him and laid him flat with a vigorous blow from his 
 clubbed gun. 
 
 " Didn't have time to load," he panted, as Ned rose 
 slowly to his feet, and with face ghastly white stood 
 looking at him in open-mouthed bewilderment. 
 
 " Good job ! Of course you didn't," gasped Ned. 
 "Is— is he dead?" 
 
 " As a door-nail," declared Raymond, confidently. 
 " Whew ! but that was a mighty close shave," puffed 
 Ned. " He meant me all right." 
 
 "Did he scratch you?" asked Raymond, anxiously. 
 
 "No, but if it hadn't been for my chamois-skin 
 
 undervest he'd certainly have left his trade-mark on me. 
 
 I could feel his hot breath when I was jumping over 
 
 that windfall." 
 
 A deep, hissing growl called their attention to the 
 lynx in the trap. The massive jaws had caught him 
 by a hind leg, and were holding him fast. He was 
 squirming about on the ground, snarling and snapping 
 his teeth, in a frantic attempt to escape from his 
 predicament. 
 
2IO THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 "Better load up and put him out of his misery," 
 suggested Ned. 
 
 " I can't," said Raymond, holding up his gun. " The 
 stock is splintered." 
 
 " Too bad," said Ned, regretfully, " but you can get 
 Cobe Hersom to make you another." 
 
 " I was glad to contribute that much to the cause," 
 laughed Raymond. 
 
 " I was the one who needed it in my business," said 
 Ned. " In fact, I don't see just how I could have got 
 along without it. I shall expect to pay for a new one." 
 
 " I'd like to see you do it," protested Raymond, 
 indignantly. 
 
 " Well, we won't argue that now," said Ned. " The 
 question at present before the meeting-house is what 
 we are going to kill that lynx with ? " 
 
 " Here's something that will answer the purpose, I 
 guess," replied Raymond, as he pulled a maple sled- 
 stake from a pile of dead leaves. 
 
 " Let me do this one," cried Ned, eagerly. " That 
 will make us even." 
 
 " All right," assented Raymond, good-naturedly, 
 handing him the stake. 
 
 Ned approached the lynx in the trap with great 
 caution, and, after several ineffectual attempts, suc- 
 ceeded in killing it with a sharp blow across the head. 
 
 " Hurrah ! " shouted Raymond, exultantly. " The 
 world—" 
 
 •' And a couple of lynxes," interposed Ned. 
 
AN ADVENTURE WITH LYNXES 211 
 
 " Are ours," concluded Raymond. " Battle-scarred 
 and veteran trapper of Aroostook, let me congratulate 
 you on being alive." 
 
 " Thanks ! " grinned Ned. " I won't deny that it 
 feels good." 
 
 The boys stretched the two lynxes out on a bed of 
 moss and looked at them admiringly. 
 
 " I'm going to mount them both, Ned," said Ray- 
 mond. " Take your choice, old boy. You're entitled 
 to it." 
 
 " There isn't any," declared Ned. " I don't see but 
 that one's about as good as the other." 
 
 " I guess I'll let you have the one that was in the 
 trap, Ned. I think he'll mount a little better." 
 
 " I wouldn't have him, old boy, if I thought there 
 was any great difference," asserted Ned, and a few 
 moments later they were on their way home, each with 
 a lynx slung over his shoulder, thoroughly satisfied 
 with themselves and their afternoon's work. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE FAMOUS ARSON TRIAL 
 
 Grandfather Benson said very little at supper-time 
 when Raymond told him what Ned had said in 
 reference to Sam Brown's discovery regarding the 
 firebug in Bolton jail, but the next day a warrant was 
 sworn out against Pete Atkins on charge of arson, and 
 before night he was occupying quarters near his partner 
 in the Bolton jail. 
 
 It was a week later when the trial of the two men 
 came off. Two of the ablest lawyers in Bolton had 
 been engaged to defend the prisoners, and the case 
 attracted wide attention. 
 
 Considerable time was employed in empaneling a 
 jury. The counsel for the defense peremptorily chal- 
 lenged two men who lived in the town of Bodge, which 
 adjoined Chestnut, and the county attorney exercised 
 the same privilege in the case of two men who were 
 supposed to be connected, directly or indirectly, with 
 the liquor traffic. 
 
 " Joel Webber," called the clerk, as he drew a name 
 from the box to fill the last place upon the panel. The 
 attorney for the defense jumped quickly to his feet. 
 
 " I challenge this man for cause. Your Honor," he 
 
 212 
 
THE FAMOUS ARSON TRIAL 213 
 
 said. " I am informed that he has already expressed 
 an opinion on the cause in hearing." 
 
 " Have you ever expressed an opinion upon the pend- 
 ing cause, Mr. Webber? " asked the judge. 
 
 " Well, I don't exactly know whether I have or not," 
 returned Joel, slowly. " I've expressed my opinion of 
 Mr. Atkins quite a number of times — if that's what you 
 mean." 
 
 A titter ran about the court-house at this announce- 
 ment, which was sternly repressed by the sheriff. 
 
 " You are excused, Mr. Webber," said the judge. 
 
 The next man to be drawn was permitted to serve 
 without objection, and the trial proceeded without 
 further delay. 
 
 Against the first man, who gave his name as Jean 
 Gambier, and his native place as Montreal, the evidence 
 was conclusive. His counsel made little attempt at 
 defense, but confined themselves to an effort to secure 
 a light sentence, upon the ground that their client was 
 not the principal in the crime, but that he was in fact 
 merely the tool of some stronger man who had planned 
 the affair and himself applied the torch. It is possible 
 that they might have met with some degree of success 
 if their client had revealed the name of his accomplice. 
 But this he stubbornly refused to do. As a result he 
 was not successful in securing any sympathy. The 
 direct testimony of Raymond and Byer Ames told 
 heavily against him, and he was given the full penalty 
 of the law. 
 
214 THE CAMP ON LETTER K - 
 
 The people of Chestnut were very much interested in 
 the trial of Pete Atkins, and a number of them were 
 in attendance at the court-house when his case came up. 
 
 Byer testified to seeing two men run from the fire. 
 One of them he identified as Gambier. The other he 
 believed to be Atkins, but did not get a fair look at his 
 face, and would not be willing to swear positively as 
 to his identity. He related at length the facts con- 
 nected with the discovery of Gambier on the night 
 of the fire. After a brief cross-examination he was 
 excused, and Raymond took the stand. His direct 
 testimony was simply a corroboration of Byer's with 
 the exception that he positively identified Atkins as the 
 second incendiary. At its close the leading attorney 
 for Atkins, a sharp, incisive man, began a cross- 
 examination. 
 
 " How long have you known Mr. Atkins ? " 
 
 " About six years." 
 
 " When did you last have any conversation with him 
 prior to the fire ? " 
 
 " About two weeks before." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " In the road on Bent Hill." 
 
 " How far is that from your home? " 
 
 " About a mile." 
 
 " Were you alone at the time ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " On that occasion did you shoot a dog belonging to 
 Mr. Atkins?" 
 
THE FAMOUS ARSON TRIAL 21 5 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " And this led to some angry words between you, did 
 it not?" 
 
 "Yes."' 
 
 " Mr. Atkins was naturally incensed at the killing of 
 the valuable dog and threatened to whip you, did he 
 not?" 
 
 " He did." 
 
 " Did he approach you with that evident purpose?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "What did you do?" 
 
 " I told him not to try it." 
 
 " Did you point your gun at him ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " You are quite sure of that? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Did you tell him that you would shoot him if he 
 struck you ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You were thoroughly mad, were you not ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " What did Mr. Atkins do when you told him you'd 
 shoot if he struck you ? " 
 
 " He got into his wagon and drove off." 
 
 " You have had a grudge against him ever since then, 
 have you not ? " 
 
 " No, sir. I had no reason to. He didn't touch me." ■ 
 
 " You entertain bitter feelings concerning the affair, 
 do you not?" 
 
2l6 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " The memory of it is not a pleasant one." 
 " Precisely. In other words, you are an enemy to 
 Atkins." 
 
 " Not exactly. I am not one of his friends, rather." 
 " That will do, sir," said the lawyer, with the air of 
 a man who had won most important concessions from 
 the witness. 
 
 " One moment," said the county attorney, as Ray- 
 mond was about to step from the stand. " Had you 
 ever had any trouble with Atkins prior to the night 
 you shot his dog ? " 
 
 " No, sir. None whatever." 
 
 " Did you do anything to provoke his dog? " 
 
 " No, sir. The dog ran up and seized me by the leg. 
 That was the first I saw of it, and I had said nothing 
 whatever to it." 
 
 " You naturally object to being bitten by any man's 
 dog, do you not ? " 
 
 " I do, certainly." 
 
 " Did you know when the dog seized you that it 
 belonged to Atkins ? " 
 
 " I did not." 
 
 " So your treatment of it had no connection with the 
 ownership ? " 
 
 " None whatever." 
 
 " You would have done the same whoever owned 
 it?" 
 
 " I should, certainly." 
 
 " Did Atkins make any threats ? " 
 
THE FAMOUS ARSON TRIAL 217 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 "What were they?" 
 
 " He said I would wish I had steered clear of him. 
 When I told him I didn't fear him, he said the time 
 might come when I would sing a different tune." 
 
 " What was his attitude at the time ? " 
 
 " He looked very angry and shook his whip at me." 
 
 " That will do, sir," said the county attorney to 
 Raymond, with a triumphant nod that was very evi- 
 dently intended to impress the testimony on the minds 
 of the jury. 
 
 At the request of the counsel for the defense, Byer 
 Ames was recalled. 
 
 " You stated, did you not," asked the sharp-faced 
 attorney, " that you were unable to see the face of 
 Gambler's companion on the night of the fire ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " You thought it was Atkins, but would not be 
 willing to swear to it ? " 
 
 " No. I would not be positive about it." 
 
 " What led you to think the man was Atkins ? " 
 
 " His general appearance." 
 
 " But you stated to the court that you could not swear 
 to his identity." 
 
 " That is true. I cannot." 
 
 " Now just reflect a moment. Was not the idea that 
 the man was Atkins first suggested to you by young 
 Benson ? " 
 
 " I do not remember." 
 
2l8 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " Did he not cry out ' That's Pete Atkins,' or words 
 to that efifect?" 
 
 " I do not recollect. I don't think he did, but I was 
 too much excited at the time to recall now just what 
 was said." 
 
 " He said something to you, did he not ? " 
 
 " Possibly. I'm not sure." 
 
 " You do not remember what it was? " 
 
 " I do not." 
 
 " Wasn't the occurrence of such a startling nature 
 as would naturally fix the events in your mind ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, the events, but not the conversation con- 
 nected with them." 
 
 " You would not be willing to say that young Benson 
 didn't suggest to you that it was Atkins, would you ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 The lawyer turned towards the jury with an insin- 
 uating smile that was intended to convey the opinion 
 that the witness was unwilling to tell all he knew. 
 
 " One moment, if you please," said the county attor- 
 ney, as Byer was about to leave the stand. 
 
 " When did you first know of Ra3ntnond Benson's 
 trouble with Atkins ? " 
 
 " When he told it here in court." 
 
 " He has never said anything to you personally 
 regarding it, has he ? " 
 
 " Not a word." 
 
 " That is all," said the attorney, and Byer stepped 
 from the stand with a sigh of relief. 
 
THE FAMOUS ARSON TRIAL 219 
 
 Pete Atkins then took the stand in his own behalf, 
 and told a very straightforward story. 
 
 He had not been absent from home on the night of 
 the fire. He was not acquainted with Gambler at that 
 time. In fact he never set eyes on him before he 
 became acquainted with him in the Bolton jail during 
 the brief period he was incarcerated there before obtain- 
 ing bail. 
 
 The wife and sons of Atkins corroborated his testi- 
 mony as to his being at home on the night of the fire. 
 Their testimony was further strengthened by that of 
 the hired man, who swore that he had attended a dance 
 at Chestnut Corner on the night of the fire ; that he had 
 returned home at two o'clock in the morning, and that 
 Mr. Atkins had got out of bed to open the door for him. 
 
 An attempt was made by the county attorney at recess 
 to persuade Gambler to turn State's evidence, but he 
 stoutly maintained that he had never seen Atkins until 
 he met him in Bolton jail, prior to the trial, and that 
 he knew nothing whatever concerning him. 
 
 When the court came in again Sam Brown was called 
 in rebuttal. He positively identified Gambler as the 
 man whom he had seen with Pete Atkins a year before 
 at Amos Dole's camp on Bower Brook. His story of 
 the circumstances under which the meeting occurred 
 created a decided sensation in the court-room, and for 
 the first time during the trial Pete Atkins looked 
 troubled, and hitched about uneasily in his chair. 
 
 One of the deputy collectors at the Custom-House 
 
220 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 had stepped into the room for a moment, and it was 
 evident that he was much interested in this testimony. 
 Atkins had long been suspected of robbing Uncle Sam 
 of a large amount of custom duties, but the government 
 officials, though they had tried a number of times, had 
 never been able to fasten the crime upon him. 
 
 A vigorous cross-examination failed to shake in the 
 least Sam's direct testimony, and when he left the stand 
 the case looked considerably darker for the defense. 
 
 The prosecuting officer then introduced a large 
 amount of evidence from Chestnut people to show the 
 poor reputation of Atkins in that community for truth 
 and veracity. 
 
 It was very evident that Pete found this evidence 
 exceedingly galling. Two or three times he half rose 
 from his chair, and, but for a warning gesture from 
 his lawyer, would probably have indulged in vigorous 
 condemnation of the witnesses. 
 
 Several times he excitedly leaned forward and held 
 a whispered consultation with his attorney. 
 
 " By gum, I reckon some on us '11 have t' take up," 
 whispered Dean Perrin to Raymond, who sat just in. 
 front of him. 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked Raymond, who had 
 been following this part of the case with a great deal 
 of secret satisfaction. 
 
 " Thet old rascal '11 lay for the whole on us. He'll 
 make it cost us dear," returned Dean, dolefully. 
 
 " I guess not," was Raymond's encouraging answer. 
 
THE FAMOUS ARSON TRIAL 221 
 
 " He's got about all the troubles he cares for just now. 
 I fancy he'll lie low for a time." 
 
 "Mebbe so/' said Dean, doubtfully. "He's an 
 awful active critter though, an' I reckon es how he'll 
 be up to his old tricks agin arter a spell." 
 
 " If he does we'll make it mighty interesting for 
 him," declared Raymond, confidently. 
 
 The impeachment testimony was the last to be sub- 
 mitted. 
 
 The senior counsel for the defense then addressed 
 the jury. He was a man of sonorous voice, a con- 
 summate actor, and a most plausible speaker. He 
 reviewed the case at length, with every appearance of 
 candor and fairness. 
 
 He had not advanced far with his argument, how- 
 ever, before Raymond perceived that his effectiveness 
 was full more in what he insinuated than in what 
 he said. Raymond's face grew hot with indignation 
 again and again, as the crafty fellow managed to 
 convey the impression, without making any charges, 
 that he was a boy in whose word very little dependence 
 could be put, and that, back of him, was a record that 
 would scarcely bear investigation. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED VERDICT 
 
 At the Opening of his argument the counsel for the 
 defense assumed a tone of great solemnity. He was 
 evidently impressed by the gravity of the issue, and 
 spoke with every appearance of deep feeling. 
 
 He reminded the jury that the case before them was 
 one of grave importance. The prisoner at the bar was 
 on trial for a crime that was accorded the severest 
 penalty known to the law of the state. There was no 
 fault to be found with this provision. The crime 
 of arson was a most heinous one, and deserved the most 
 stringent punishment. It was necessary for the safety 
 of life and property that the laws should so provide. 
 But because of the very grave nature of this crime, and 
 the severity of the penalty attaching to it, there was all 
 the more reason why an intelligent and impartial jury 
 should exercise the greatest consideration before fixing 
 so great a stigma upon a fellow man, and condemning 
 him to a living death for the rest of his natural life. 
 None but the most direct and positive evidence should 
 be allowed the slightest weight in such a case. 
 
 Certainly such a grave responsibility as this was not 
 to be lightly exercised. Upon what, then, did the case 
 
 222 
 
AN UNEXPECTED VERDICT 223 
 
 against his client rest ? What direct and positive testi- 
 mony had been adduced to show that he had burned 
 Andrew Benson's barn? Not a particle. The prin- 
 cipal witness in the prosecution of Mr. Atkins was a 
 boy who had been shown to have a personal grudge 
 against him, growing out of a quarrel between the two 
 over the killing of the prisoner's dog. It might have 
 been that Mr. Atkins had made use of strong language 
 upon that occasion. There was nothing surprising in 
 that. Few men would tamely submit to the wanton 
 killing of a favorite and valuable dog by an irresponsible 
 boy. There was nothing but the boy's word to show 
 that the dog had bitten him, and what reliance was to 
 be placed on that? The jury had seen the boy upon 
 the stand. He was confident that they had not failed 
 to form a correct estimate of his character. 
 
 Entertaining a bitter, personal grudge against Atkins, 
 young Benson was quick to detect, in the burning of 
 his grandfather's barn, an opportunity for revenge. 
 With this in mind he had artfully suggested to Ames 
 the name of the prisoner at the bar as the second 
 incendiary, a suggestion that in the darkness and 
 excitement found a ready credence. 
 
 Of what real importance had been the testimony of 
 young Brown? It had simply tended to show that 
 Gambler and Atkins had once been seen together more 
 than a year before. There was nothing very damaging 
 in this, even if it were true. But there was the strongest 
 reason to believe that this had been a case of mistaken 
 
224 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 identity. Both Gambler and Atkins positively denied 
 that they had ever seen each other before they met at 
 the Bohon jail. A year was a long time, and it was 
 an easy thing for a boy like Brown to be mistaken in 
 a case of identity where the meeting occurred so far 
 back. 
 
 Citizens of Chestnut had been brought in by the 
 prosecution to impeach Atkins's reputation for veracity, 
 but in nearly every instance cross-examination had 
 revealed the fact that they cherished personal animosity 
 against the prisoner. Clearly such evidence was not of 
 a reliable character, and should not be permitted to 
 convict any man of so terrible a crime. The wife and 
 sons of Atkins had fully established an alibi for him 
 by showing that he was not absent from home at all on 
 the night of the fire. This evidence was substantiated 
 by the direct testimony of Donald Green, the hired man, 
 who returned at half past two from a dance at Chestnut 
 Corner and had been admitted to the house by Atkins 
 himself, who got up out of bed for that purpose. 
 
 The defense then closed with a strong appeal to the 
 jury to exclude every particle of testimony that was 
 tainted with personal malice, and to deal with the 
 prisoner in an impartial spirit of fairness and justice. 
 
 It was evident that the plea of the defense had made 
 a deep impression upon the minds of the jury, and all 
 eyes were turned expectantly upon the county attorney 
 when he rose to make the closing argument. He spoke, 
 in opening, of the terrible crime of arson; one that 
 
AN UNEXPECTED VERDICT 225 
 
 frequently destroyed not only valuable property, but 
 human life. With the firebug abroad in the land, who 
 could feel safe when he retired for the night? Crim- 
 inals of this class gave no thought to their victims. 
 Strong men might be able to escape the terrors of the 
 flames, but what a fate awaited the helpless women and 
 children, suffocated with smoke, and unable to get out 
 of the burning homes which incendiarism had converted 
 into funeral pyres. It was very well for society's sake 
 that the law dealt severely with such criminals ; other- 
 wise wHo would be safe? It was the solemn duty of 
 those charged with the administration of justice to see 
 that such men did not escape when once they came 
 within the strong clutches of the law, but that the full 
 measure of punishment was meted out to them. It 
 would be impossible to conceive of a much stronger 
 case than that against Atkins. Notwithstanding the 
 assertion of the prisoner that he had never seen Gambler 
 until he met him in the Bolton jail, the positive testi- 
 mony of young Brown had established the fact that 
 these two men had been seen together more than a year 
 before the burning of Mr. Benson's barn. 
 
 " They were evidently confederates, and," he con- 
 tinued, " the mysterious sacks which they carried at the 
 time young Brown saw them might very likely have 
 furnished interesting facts for the custom — " 
 
 " One moment ! " interposed the senior counsel for 
 the defense, sharply. " The county attorney is delib- 
 erately and knowingly violating the rules of argument. 
 
226 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 and attempting, by insinuation, to convey impressions 
 not based upon evidence, and as to which no evidence 
 would be admissible. I ask Your Honor to instruct the 
 jury to utterly disregard this language." 
 
 " I think the objection is well taken," said the judge. 
 " The jury may disregard the language in question. 
 Mr. County Attorney, you must be careful not to travel 
 in argument beyond the evidence in the case." 
 
 " I beg the pardon of the Court," said the county 
 attorney, blandly, " if I have transgressed the rules of 
 argument. I thank my learned brother for calling my 
 attention to the inadvertence. I will endeavor, here- 
 after, in commenting upon the prisoners at the bar, to 
 confine myself strictly to the crime with which they are 
 charged." 
 
 The county attorney turned again to the jury, but, 
 as he did so, Raymond fancied that he saw a look of 
 quiet satisfaction on his face that was not wholly in 
 keeping with the contrite form of his apology. The 
 point which he had desired to impress had gone home 
 to the jury, and the interruption of the counsel for the 
 defense had only served to emphasize it. 
 
 There was no blame attached to Raymond Benson 
 for shooting Atkins's dog, declared the county attorney, 
 resuming his argument. The act was purely one of 
 self-defense, and was done without any knowledge what- 
 ever of the ownership of the dog. It appeared from 
 the evidence that Atkins had worked himself into a 
 terrible rage over this aflfair, and had fiercely threatened 
 
AN UNEXPECTED VERDICT 22/ 
 
 young Benson with vengeance. That vengeance had 
 come soon after in the burning of Andrew Benson's 
 bam. It was a strange, unreasoning retaliation; but 
 the testimony of a number of the best-known and most- 
 respected citizens of Chestnut had shown that Atkins 
 was of just the calibre to resort to such a method of 
 satiating his malice. Atkins had been positively identi- 
 fied by Raymond Benson, who had seen him in the light 
 of the burning barn running towards the swamp. This 
 testimony was corroborated by Ames, who saw the man 
 and believed him to be Atkins. 
 
 The attempt of the defense to establish an alibi had 
 been painfully weak. The testimony had been furnished 
 by the immediate members of the prisoner's family, all 
 but one of whom were impelled by the strongest motives 
 of self-interest to save him, if possible, from the just 
 consequences of his crime. The testimony of such 
 interested parties should not be permitted to have 
 weight. It deserved none. Much less should it be 
 allowed to weigh against the direct and unimpeachable 
 evidence that positively connected the prisoner with 
 this terrible crime. The county attorney closed with a 
 strong plea to the jury to do their full duty, and thus 
 add to the protection of society by visiting upon Atkins 
 the severe penalty of his crime, thereby deterring others 
 from following in his footsteps. 
 
 There was a profound silence in the court-room at 
 the close of this plea. In a few words the judge 
 charged the jury, reviewing briefly the points of law 
 
228 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 involved in the case, and urging them to return an 
 impartial verdict. It was more than an hour after they 
 left the court-room before they returned, and there was 
 a painful stillness when the clerk inquired: 
 
 " Gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a ver- 
 dict?" 
 
 " We have," responded the foreman. 
 
 "Are the prisoners guilty or not guilty?" 
 
 " Guilty as to Gambier ; not guilty as to Atkins." 
 
 An angry murmur of surprise and disappointment 
 ran around the room. It was apparent that the verdict 
 was wholly unexpected. The evidence had been so 
 strong against Atkins that his conviction was con- 
 fidently and generally looked for. 
 
 The county attorney subsequently moved for sentence 
 in case of Gambier, and he was sent to the State Prison 
 at Thomaston for life. 
 
 " It's no use trying to get justice in that court," said 
 Raymond, bitterly, to his Grandfather Benson, as they 
 drove home after the trial. 
 
 " Of course we are disappointed, my boy," was the 
 response, " but very likely we are not able to take the 
 impartial view of the case that disinterested people are. 
 Matters certainly looked dififerently to the jury than 
 they do to us." 
 
 " Yes, that's apparent. There was evidence enough 
 there to have convinced an average jury of Hottentots 
 that Pete Atkins burned our barn. I never saw twelve 
 such lunkheads as were on that jury collected together 
 
AN UNEXPECTED VERDICT 229 
 
 in one group before. I tell you, it is a sad thing for 
 justice when the administration of it is left in such 
 hands. There is something wrong about the jury 
 system, anyway. Scarcely a day passes that we do not 
 hear of some knave escaping his just deserts through 
 the failure of jurymen to do their duty." 
 
 " There is no doubt that justice frequently mis- 
 carries," said Mr. Benson, slowly. " Men are by no 
 means infallible in framing or administering laws. 
 Still we owe a great deal to that wise provision which 
 secures to every man charged with crime a fair, free 
 trial before a jury of his peers. If you feel inclined 
 to question this, compare our methods of conducting a 
 trial with those in vogue in China, where the judge is 
 supreme, and his one mind determines the life or death 
 of the culprits that are tried before him. It is impos- 
 sible that such a system can be in any true sense a 
 judicial one. It is not surprising to read, in such cases, 
 that courts of justice are also halls of torture." 
 
 " Perhaps you are right," said Raymond, " but I 
 should feel humiliated to think that the men on that 
 jury are my peers. Now that old Pete Atkins is out 
 of limbo we shall Iiave to be on the lookout for more 
 mischief from him." 
 
 " I do not think he will trouble us further," said Mr, 
 Benson. 
 
 " You don't suppose a man of his revengeful nature 
 will forget or forgive the raking over we gave him in 
 court, do you?" 
 
230 THE CAMP ON LETTER K "^ 
 
 " Probably not, but although Peter is a knave, he is 
 by no means a fool. Public attention has been pretty^ 
 generally centered upon him, by this trial, and he knows 
 very well that if he should come before the court again 
 he would be almost certain to go to Thomaston for a 
 long term of years in the State Prison there. No, I will 
 venture to say that, aside from his smuggling opera- 
 tions, he will have sense enough to keep very quiet for 
 a while." 
 
 " I guess you're right," answered Raymond. " I 
 hadn't thought of that." 
 
 " How did it go? " asked Dean Perrin, coming down 
 the road to meet them as they passed his house. 
 
 " Gambier was convicted," responded Mr. Benson. 
 
 "And old Pete?" 
 
 " He was acquitted." 
 
 " Acquitted ! Wal, I swan, I thought there would 
 be evidence enough agin 'im t' jug 'im for life. I tell 
 ye it's a mighty hard world for a man who is poor an' 
 honest," growled the misanthrope, dolefully. " The 
 villain thet burns bams an' smuggles liquor across the 
 line goes free from the courts o' justice t' prosper an' 
 git rich through his knavery, while those on us who 
 endeavor t' live soberly an' honestly have t' scratch 
 early an' late t' keep body an' soul together, an' git 
 money enough t' pay our taxes." 
 
 " Ah well. Dean," said Mr. Benson, soothingly, 
 " you know the Holy Word tells us that a good name 
 is rather to be chosen than great riches. About all that 
 
AN UNEXPECTED VERDICT 23 1 
 
 any of us can hope to get out of this hfe is what we eat 
 and drink and wear. A contented man is never poor." 
 
 " I've hearn thet sort o' talk afore, Andrew," said 
 Dean, with a mournful shake of his head. " It's true, 
 I'll allow, thet about all any on us can git out o' this 
 world is a livin', but I tell ye there's a pesky sight o' 
 difference in what men consider a livin'." 
 
 " That may be. Dean," admitted Mr. Benson, " but 
 if a man is satisfied with his own lot, he will have no 
 reason to feel envious of his neighbors." 
 
 " Mebbe not," responded Mr. Perrin, doubtfully. 
 " We can't square our lives by maxims, though. I 
 declare I felt so sure thet the town was goin' t' git rid 
 o' old Pete Atkins thet I'm clean down at the heel. 
 Howsumever," he added, as Mr. Benson and Raymond 
 drove away, " there's a jumpin' off place t' most every- 
 thing, an' the day's sartin sure t' come when thet ole 
 scamp '11 find himself at the end o' his rope. The 
 people o' this town are just beginnin' t' wake up. 
 When we all pull together it'll be the end o' the rum 
 business here in Chestnut." 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 WHAT FOLLOWED THE TRIAL 
 
 " Dean Perrin is the most peculiar man I ever saw," 
 said Raymond, when they were out of hearing. " Here 
 he is, one of the most well-to-do men in town, and 
 yet he is always grumbling about his taxes, and fearing 
 he will come to want." 
 
 " He comes naturally enough by his despondent turn 
 of mind," said Mr. Benson. " It has run in the family 
 for several generations. It is hereditary melancholia. 
 There haven't been any of the Perrins that I have ever 
 known who were wholly free from it. I think Dean is 
 the most cheerful one in the lot." 
 
 " I pity the others, then," said Raymond. 
 " His great-grandfather, Jason Perrin, cleared that 
 place," mused Grandfather Benson. " He was a ter- 
 ribly down-spirited man. Everything in life looked 
 gloomy to him. He grew worse as he grew older, and 
 one day they found him dead in the shed-chamber, 
 where he had cut his throat with an old razor. It 
 caused great excitement in Chestnut, I can tell you. 
 His widow lived to be nearly a hundred years old, and 
 was one of the most lively and talkative old ladies in 
 the town. She used to knit a great deal, and one of 
 
 232 
 
WHAT FOLLOWED THE TRIAL 233 
 
 my earliest recollections is of going there with yarn 
 that my mother spun to get her to knit me some winter 
 socks and mittens. She was very fond of using big 
 words, frequently with an amusing disregard for their 
 meaning. She and her husband came to Chestnut from 
 the province of New Brunswick. The town was young, 
 and, like many others of the early settlers, they under- 
 went a great many hardships. These Ma'am Perrin 
 loved dearly to relate. ' Ah ! ' she would say, peering 
 at me over the gold bows of her glasses, ' when we first 
 came to this county we went through all the animosities 
 and pomposities that a poor man and woman could go 
 through. We lost all our cattle, except one old horse — 
 and he died.' It's a peculiar fact," continued Mr. 
 Benson, reflectively, " that every one of those Perrin 
 men whom I have known has had a bustling, cheerful 
 little woman for a wife. If it hadn't been for that I 
 think more of them might have followed Jason's 
 example." 
 
 " It's the attraction of extremes," said Raymond. 
 
 " I suppose so. It shows, however, how wisely 
 everything is ordered in nature, that such an attraction 
 should exist between people of entirely different tem- 
 peraments." 
 
 " Yes, that is true," assented Raymond. 
 
 " They used to tell some amusing stories concerning 
 Jason's widow," continued Grandfather Benson, with 
 a merry chuckle at the recollection. " At the time her 
 husband died the Grover farm was owned by Major 
 
234 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 Rose, a jolly, whole-souled man, long since passed to 
 the other side, who loved a joke better than he did his 
 dinner. He could never resist practising his drolleries 
 upon Mother Perrin, but for all that the old lady 
 thought a good deal of him, and was a frequent visitor 
 at his home. One time when there had been a long 
 drought she came to him exclaiming : 
 
 " * Did you ever see the like o' this ? ' 
 
 " ' My soul,' said the major, blandly. * This is 
 nothing, nothing at all, Mrs. Perrin. When I was a 
 boy we had such a terrible drought that we had to drive 
 our cattle nine miles, and ferry them across three rivers, 
 to get them to water.' 
 
 " ' Sakes alive ! Do tell ! ' said the old lady, in 
 genuine surprise, and she hurried off home to tell 
 Jason, whom she found bemoaning the want of rain, 
 and, as usual, predicting dire calamity. 
 
 " ' Why, this isn't anything, father,' she said. ' When 
 Major Rose was a boy, they had such a terrible drought 
 that they had to drive the cattle nine miles, and ferry 
 them across three rivers, to get them to water.' 
 
 " ' Land o' Goshen ! ' exclaimed the old gentleman. 
 ' Why didn't they water 'em at the first one ? * 
 
 " * Lord-a-massy ! I never thought o' that,' said the 
 old lady in great chagrin, and it was a long time before 
 she again put any stock in what Major Rose said. She 
 regained confidence in him in time, however. One day 
 he called at her house for a moment, and got to 
 discussing the matter of miracles with her. From that 
 
WHAT FOLLOWED THE TRIAL 235 
 
 the conversation drifted on to faith, which the major 
 sagely asserted was the foundation of all miracles. 
 ' Why,' he said, ' if you should fill your oven with stones 
 and have sufficient faith to believe they would come out 
 biscuits, they would do so.' 
 
 " ' Well,' said the good woman, dubiously, ' I've a 
 good oven now, and I don't know as we shall ever have 
 a better chance to try it.' So she hurried out to the rock- 
 pile back of the house, and got her apron full of stones 
 about the size of biscuits, and put them in the oven. 
 She waited, in considerable suspense, for about twenty 
 minutes and then opened the door, but the metamor- 
 phosis hadn't occurred. 
 
 " ' There ! ' she exclaimed, a little tartly, ' they're 
 stones and I knew they'd be.' 
 
 " ' You knew they'd be stones, did you ? ' queried the 
 major, choking back a laugh. ' Well, that accounts 
 for it. You didn't have the necessary faith,' and he 
 went chuckling up the road." 
 
 With these and other anecdotes of early Chestnut 
 people Grandfather Benson managed to draw Ray- 
 mond's attention from the trial, and when they reached 
 home he was in a much more cheerful frame of mind. 
 
 The following afternoon, as Raymond was getting the 
 mail at the Corner post-office, he was attracted by a 
 printed notice on the little bulletin-board in front of the 
 boxes, around which a curious and excited group were 
 gathered. Elbowing his way to the front he read the 
 following announcement: 
 
236 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS REWARD! 
 
 FOR THE ARREST AND CONVICTION, OR 
 INFORMATION THAT WILL LEAD TO THE 
 ARREST AND CONVICTION, OF ANY PARTIES 
 BRINGING SMUGGLED GOODS INTO THE TOWN 
 OF CHESTNUT. 
 
 JAMES REEVES, 
 
 Collector of Customs. 
 
 " Well, I declare! "said Raymond. " I never knew 
 before that the government had a fund set aside for that 
 purpose." 
 
 " That offer doesn't really come from the govern- 
 ment," said Joel Webber, quietly, as he drew him aside. 
 
 " Whom does it come from ? " 
 
 " Citizens of the town. I surmise your Grandfather 
 Benson may have put in something towards it." 
 
 " I guess you're mistaken, Joel," declared Raymond. 
 " I haven't heard grandfather say a word about it." 
 
 " Very likely you haven't," chuckled Joel. " You'll 
 have to live quite a spell yet before you know all that's 
 inside o' his head." 
 
 " But I don't believe he would do anything like this 
 without telling me about it," declared Rajmiond, in a 
 tone of conviction. 
 
 Joel gave him a quizzical smile, and was about to 
 reply, when they were interrupted by Ezra Johnston, 
 
WHAT FOLLOWED THE TRIAL 237 
 
 who had pushed his way up to them in an obviously 
 excited frame of mind. 
 
 " Thet's what I call a pretty how d' ye do," he 
 exclaimed, wrathfully. 
 
 " Potatoes rotting in the cellar, are they? " said Joel, 
 sympathizingly. "Too bad! Too bad!" 
 
 " P'taters ! who said anything 'bout p'taters? " sniffed 
 Ezra, scornfully. " I was a-meanin' o' thet notice there." 
 
 " If I were in your place, Ezra, I'd hitch up the old 
 gray mare, and light out for Canada," said Joel, with a 
 twinkle in his eye. " Only a few people suspect you as 
 yet, and if you get an early start you may possibly get 
 clear of it." 
 
 "What in thunder be you a-drivin' at?" wheezed 
 Ezra, wrathfully. 
 
 " Sh-h. Not so loud," whispered Joel, warningly. 
 " Don't you see folks are beginning to watch you? I 
 wouldn't lose any more time if I were in your place." 
 
 " Git out with ye I What d' ye mean ? Are ye a 
 chargin' me with smugglin' ? " demanded Ezra, incred- 
 ulously. 
 
 " I was only thinking of your welfare, Ezra," declared 
 Joel, solemnly. 
 
 " G'long with ye, I say," shouted Ezra, very red in 
 the face. " It's bad enough for thet blame fool t' gin 
 the town o' Chestnut a black eye, 'thout your accusin' 
 o' me. It's all bosh. There ain't no smugglin' bin 
 done in Chestnut, an' you know it jest es well es I do." 
 
 " Perhaps if you go right home and hide those jugs, 
 
238 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 Ezra, they won't be able to fasten it on you," said Joel, 
 with deep concern. 
 
 " Shet up ! " commanded Ezra, angrily. " You're 
 too blame smart. Don't ye dare gin me any more ye 
 sass or I'll — I'll have the law on ye." 
 
 With this parting shot Ezra made his way out of the 
 store and hobbled wrathfully up the road. 
 
 " That's too bad, Joel," laughed Raymond, when he 
 had gone. " You shouldn't nag the old man that way. 
 It isn't right." 
 
 " I stand corrected," said Joel, penitently, " but I 
 simply can't help it. The old fellow takes ever)i:hing 
 so solemnly that I can't resist the temptation to joke him 
 now and then." 
 
 " Whenever you get a chance," added Raymond. 
 " But to return to the main question. What do you 
 really know about that reward ? " 
 
 " Well, you see Chestnut people were thoroughly 
 interested in the trial of old Pete Atkins, and were 
 mighty anxious to see him convicted. None of them 
 looked for anything else, consequently they were terribly 
 disappointed when the old fellow was acquitted yester- 
 day. They had hoped he would be sent to Thomaston, 
 and that the town would thus become well rid of him. 
 After he was cleared of the arson charge, a number of 
 our leading citizens met in a room at the Crawford 
 House and talked the matter over. They decided that 
 the only way left for transporting him would be to 
 convict him of smuggling. All felt confident that he 
 
WHAT FOLLOWED THE TRIAL 239 
 
 had been in the business for years, and that the man, 
 Gambier, was one of his confederates in it. If they 
 could only fix that crime upon him Uncle Sam would 
 take precious good care of him for some time to come. 
 With this purpose in view a purse of one hundred dollars 
 was made up. A committee of the meeting waited 
 upon Mr. Reeves, the Collector of Customs, and easily 
 persuaded him to take charge of the reward. He has 
 been trying to trap Pete for the last three or four years, 
 but the old fellow has always eluded him." 
 
 " I think this will bring him, if he keeps on at the 
 business," said Raymond, confidently. 
 
 " I think so, too," responded Joel. " I tell you, this 
 reward has created a good deal of excitement in town. 
 It was posted here late yesterday afternoon by one of 
 the deputy collectors, who rode out from Bolton with 
 the printed bills. At five o'clock this morning a strong 
 party was on its way from here to Letter K, to examine 
 Amos Dole's camp at Bower Brook, and the vicinity 
 around it. It is believed that old Pete has carried on 
 his smuggling operations somewhere near there. A 
 few of the party got back a little while ago. The others 
 are going to camp right there and continue the search. 
 They mean to push matters pretty vigorously from this 
 time forth. Cobe Hersom's with them, and no man is 
 ^ any more familiar with Letter K than he is. If there's 
 anything to find he'll find it." 
 
 " What did they find at the camp? " 
 
 " Nothing out of the way. OM Ike Wallace and a 
 
240 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 Frenchman named Ganot were there shaving cedar 
 shingles for Simon Dart. He has a market for them 
 somewhere. It's a business he's carried on for some 
 years past." 
 
 " How did Ike and the Frenchman receive the boys ? " 
 
 " Very handsomely. They invited the whole crowd 
 to take dinner with them in the camp, and really got up 
 quite a spread. Old Ike is a pretty good cook when he 
 lays himself out." 
 
 " Did the boys notice anything suspicious about the 
 camp ? " 
 
 " Not a thing. Amos Dole was with them, and he 
 said it looked just as it did when he lumbered there, 
 except that there wasn't anything in it. He built the 
 camp and says there certainly wasn't anything wrong 
 about it to-day. Ike Wallace was terribly bitter against 
 old Pete, and was sorely disappointed to hear he was 
 acquitted. He said he had not seen anything of the old 
 villain while he had been working at the camp, but that 
 he would keep his eyes open and let the boys know if he 
 noticed anything suspicious." 
 
 " Do you suppose he will ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, I think so. He hates old Pete Atkins just 
 as badly as any of us, and will do all he can to help run 
 him to earth." 
 
 " Well, I hope he may succeed in doing it," said Ray- 
 mond, as he left the store. " It looks more like it than 
 it ever has before," he added. 
 
 Instead of going home at once, Raymond drove to his 
 
WHAT FOLLOWED THE TRIAL 24I 
 
 Uncle Weston's, about a mile distant, to do several 
 errands for Grandfather Benson, It was nearly dusk 
 when he returned to the Corner. He drove rapidly 
 down the cross-road back of Cobe Hersom's shop, which 
 stood on one of the four corners, and presently hitched 
 his horse at one of the posts in front of Simon Dart's 
 store. It was a plain, unpretentious, story-and-a-half 
 building. Originally it had been painted a light yellow 
 with white trimmings. The ravages of time, however, 
 had robbed it of most of its primitive color, which clung 
 to it now only in isolated patches, giving it a peculiarly 
 unkempt and dingy appearance. 
 
 The basement of the building, which was used for 
 storage purposes, extended into the side of a steep 
 embankment. It was from this, the older inhabitants 
 said, that a great deal of earth had been taken when the 
 cross-road was continued beyond the Corner, and 
 Simon's father, with an eye to economy, had purchased 
 it, thereby avoiding the expense of digging a cellar. 
 The plan worked very well, except as regarded the store 
 front, where the sills stood over six feet above the level 
 of the road. Here a deep platform was built, reached 
 from the road by a flight of broad steps. Raymond 
 noticed that the space under this platform was used by 
 Simon for storing empty boxes. It was very nearly 
 filled with a miscellaneous collection of them. One end 
 of the platform was boarded up, while the other had 
 been left open to serve as a door. Near this Raymond 
 observed a large, empty dry-goods box, resting upon its 
 
242 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 side with its open part next the store. " That's almost 
 big enough for a camp," he soHloquized. Going upon 
 the platform he saw that its flooring was laid in joist, 
 with open spaces between nearly an inch in width. 
 Having noted these points he entered the store. 
 
 " Grood-afternoon, Mr. Benson. Beautiful day we've 
 had," said Simon, with an affable smirk, as he stood 
 nervously rubbing his hands behind the counter. " Is 
 there anything I can do for you ? " 
 
 " I'll have a pound of that best black tea." 
 
 "Will that be all?" 
 
 " Yes, all to-night." 
 
 In a short time the tea was done up and Rajmiond 
 had turned to leave the store when the door opened to 
 admit the bulky form of Cobe Hersom. 
 
 " Why, I thought you were down on Letter K," said 
 Raymond, as they shook hands. 
 
 " So I was," said Cobe, in a tone of disgust, " but 
 't was a wild-goose chase ; stood a blamed sight better 
 show o' gittin' Ezra Johnston's catamount. The boys 
 are all back. They've blown off all their steam an' I 
 reckon most on 'em are feelin' a trifle silly. I'm the 
 only one who had nerve enough t' attend the naggin' bee 
 at Copeland's store. I'm case-hardened you know," he 
 added, with a laugh. 
 
 " So you don't think there are any smugglers down 
 there ? " questioned Raymond, carelessly. 
 
 " Smugglers? Not a one on 'em. It's all moon- 
 shine." 
 
WHAT FOLLOWED THE TRIAL 243 
 
 " Just my idea exactly, Mr. Benson," eagerly inter- 
 posed Simon, in his thin, nasal tones. " I don't believe 
 there was ever any smuggling done on Letter K. 
 There's too much hunting and fishing done there, to say 
 nothing of the lumbering operations." 
 
 " I reckon you're right, Mr. Dart," assented Cobe. 
 " People are apt t' git notions into their heads an' it's 
 mighty hard t' git 'em out. There's a lot o' folks who 
 think Atkins fetches his rum across the Letter K line." 
 
 " That's a likely idea ! " sniffed Simon, contemptu- 
 ously. " Just as if it wouldn't be a good deal easier to 
 drive across the line on one of the regular roads 'most 
 any dark night. A good many people do that on their 
 own account, as we all know, and how many of them 
 were ever caught ? " 
 
 " Don't recollect o' any right round here," admitted 
 Cobe. " Thet sort o' thing would do once in a while 
 mebbe, if a man went light; but it would git mighty 
 risky in a short spell if a man made a business on it. 
 Folks would begin t' git cur'us." 
 
 " A man could carry rum enough in a beach-wagon 
 to go a long ways," suggested Simon, 
 
 " Thet's right," assented Cobe. 
 
 " I've lived all my life in this town," declared Simon. 
 " I guess I know as much about it as 'most any one, and 
 it's my honest opinion that there's no town in the county 
 where less smuggling is done than right here in 
 Chestnut.' 
 
 Cobe nodded his head in acquiescence, while Ray- 
 
244 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 mond left the store, unhitched his horse, and climbing 
 into the farm wagon drove leisurely home in some 
 depression of spirits. 
 
 " The oily-tongued rascal ! " he muttered, as he 
 recalled Simon's conversation with Cobe. " He's 
 trying to throw folks off the scent, and succeeding 
 remarkably well — though perhaps not as well as he 
 thinks he is. I believe I've found the key to old Pete 
 Atkins's operations, and it will not be my fault if I don't 
 unlock their mysteries." 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR 
 
 The day following Raymond's trip to the Corner 
 Grandfather Benson drove to Bolton to look after some 
 business matters, leaving affairs at the farm in charge 
 of Raymond and Dud. 
 
 It was after dark when supper was over, and with 
 milk-pail in hand Raymond started to follow Dud to 
 the barn. As he came into the yard he noticed the out- 
 line of a team standing before^ the closed door of the 
 stable. 
 
 " Hello," he thought, " grandfather's got back." 
 
 He was about to offer his assistance in putting up the 
 horse when another team drove into the yard, and 
 Grandfather Benson's voice called out : 
 
 " Whose team is this? " 
 
 " I don't know, I'm sure. I thought it was yours," 
 responded Raymond, in surprise. 
 
 "Where's Dudley?" 
 
 " He's milking." 
 
 " Well, I wish you'd go into the house and get the 
 other lantern. We'll investigate this matter a little." 
 
 A few moments later Raymond returned from the 
 kitchen with a lantern on his arm, and he and Grand- 
 
 245 
 
246 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 father Benson walked along to the strange team. It 
 was a side-bar buggy, drawn by a small, black horse. 
 
 " I know that team," said Mr. Benson, quietly. " It 
 belongs to Charles Adams, the Bolton liveryman. He 
 bought that little horse of Dean Perrin." 
 
 The top of the buggy to which the intelligent little 
 animal was hitched was turned back, notwithstanding 
 the sharp fall weather. Stretched out upon the seat, 
 with his head resting upon one corner of it, was a large, 
 fine-looking man. He wore a valuable fur overcoat; 
 his head was bare, but a tall silk hat which lay in the 
 bottom of the buggy showed what had covered it. 
 
 "Is he asleep?" asked Raymond, as he flashed the 
 lantern into his face. 
 
 " I should rather say he was in a drunken stupor," 
 responded Mr. Benson, in tones of deep disgust. " It's 
 a sad sight to see a fine-looking man like him in such a 
 beastly condition," he added, soberly. 
 
 " What shall we do with him? " 
 
 " We shall have to take him into the house. It would 
 certainly never do to leave him here in this kind of 
 weather." 
 
 Together they carried the limp and helpless man into 
 the spare bedroom, where, after pulling off his boots, 
 they laid him on the bed, spread a few quilts and 
 blankets over him, and left him to sleep off the over- 
 powering effects of his potations. 
 
 " He won't wake up before morning," said Grand- 
 father Benson, as they returned to the stable to take care 
 
A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR 247 
 
 of the horses. " He furnishes the most forcible kind of 
 a temperance lecture," he added. 
 
 " I hope you don't believe me in need of the lesson it 
 teaches ? " said kaymond, a little anxiously. 
 
 " No indeed, my boy," was the hearty rejoinder. " I 
 know that you have your faults, but I have never had 
 the slightest fear that you would be other than a 
 temperate man. The desire for liquor does not run in 
 the Benson family. For that reason, perhaps, we are 
 not deserving of so much credit for our total abstinence 
 principles as the poor fellows who keep their lives 
 temperate only by constantly fighting into subjection an 
 inherent appetite for strong drink." 
 
 " The fellow in the house probably came here from 
 the den of Pete Atkins," said Raymond. " It's a fair 
 sample of the work he is doing." 
 
 " I think very likely," returned Mr. Benson, " that is, 
 if he got his liquor here in Chestnut." 
 
 By this time the horses were put up, and Raymond 
 hurried to the barn to help Dud with the milking, but 
 the big fellow had nearly finished the work. A little 
 later he and Raymond returned to the house with brim- 
 ming milk-pails, and shortly after, when the evening 
 prayers were over, retired for the night. 
 
 The following morning, while Grandfather Benson 
 and the boys sat around the kitchen table, busily engaged 
 in disposing of the hot buckwheat flapjacks which Mrs. 
 Benson was frying on the large griddle over the stove, 
 the stranger made his appearance. He had slept off his 
 
248 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 drunken stupor, and a careful toilet had made a vast 
 change in his appearance. He looked decidedly shame- 
 faced as he surveyed the group about the table, and 
 realized that he had been the recipient of private hospi- 
 tality — not to say charity. He paused in the doorway 
 of the sitting-room as if undetermined how to act, 
 but Grandfather Benson quickly relieved him of his 
 embarrassment. 
 
 " Good-morning," he said, pleasantly, as he motioned 
 the traveler to a chair beside him. " How did you 
 rest?" 
 
 " Very nicely, thank you," was the response. 
 
 The ice thus cordially broken the stranger appeared 
 to recover somewhat from his reserve, and chatted 
 freely with the group about the table. 
 
 " What direction is Bolton from here ? " he finally 
 inquired. 
 
 " Where should you say ? " was Grandfather Benson's 
 Yankee answer. 
 
 " In that direction," pointing towards the Corner. 
 
 " You are exactly turned around." 
 
 " And Bolton is in the opposite direction ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, I never should have thought it. The fact is, 
 I wasn't just myself last night — a little mixed, I guess — 
 my own fault — must have made a fool of myself, I 
 know — talked like an idiot, didn't I ? " 
 
 " No, you were not in a condition to say anything." 
 
 A look of intense relief came over the stranger's face. 
 
A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR 249 
 
 " I can appreciate your kindness to me, sir, and I think 
 I can assure you that the lesson this disgraceful experi- 
 ence has taught me will not be without good results." 
 
 " I certainly hope so," returned Grandfather Benson, 
 and no further reference was made to the stranger's 
 state on the previous night. 
 
 " Is that gentleman your father ? " asked the myste- 
 rious visitor of Raymond, as Grandfather Benson 
 turned away to assist Dud in harnessing his horse. 
 
 " No, my grandfather." 
 
 " And his name is Benson, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Yes. How did you know ? " 
 
 " I inferred as much from that," said the stranger, 
 pointing to the charred ruins of the barn. " I read all 
 about the trial in the newspapers, and, if I am not 
 mistaken, you are the young man who figured so 
 prominently in it." 
 
 " Yes," said Raymond, with a flushed face, " I am the 
 one. I suppose you gathered from what you read that 
 I was the real villain in the case. The lawyer for the 
 defense tried hard enough to make it appear that way." 
 
 " On the contrary," said the stranger, with an amused 
 expression on his face, " I concluded that you were a 
 pretty decent kind of a fellow. That was your first 
 experience in a court trial I take it." 
 
 " Yes, and I hope it will be the last." 
 
 " Well, I hope so, too ; but a small part of the experi- 
 ence I have had in such trials would teach you not to 
 mind what opposing counsel said of you. If he should 
 
250 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 berate you with special vigor you would esteem it a high 
 compliment." 
 
 " Are you a lawyer ? " 
 
 " Not exactly," was the evasive response. " I'm a 
 sort of lawyer's devil. I drum up business for the 
 profession. You never had any doubts but that Atkins 
 burned that barn, did you ? " 
 
 " Not the slightest." 
 
 " Well, neither did I. The verdict was a surprise to 
 me, and I guess it was to everybody who followed the 
 case. There is no doubt but that Atkins is engaged in 
 smuggling liquor across the line, is there ? " 
 
 " Well, that seems to be the general opinion." 
 
 " They've offered a reward of a hundred dollars that 
 is really aimed at him, haven't they ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Why don't you win it? " 
 
 "Me?" 
 
 " Yes, you. I believe you can do it. I am indebted 
 to you and your people for the hospitable manner in 
 which you have used me. I assure you I am not 
 insensible of your kindness. As a proof of this I am 
 going to give you a tip that will be worth something to 
 you. It is this : Watch Dart's store. If you do this 
 at the proper time you may learn something that will 
 be worth at least a hundred dollars to you. I feel 
 confident that you are shrewd enough to grasp my 
 meaning." 
 
 " I think I am," said Raymond, doubtfully, " but if 
 
A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR 2$ I 
 
 that tip is worth so much why don't you get the money 
 yourself ? " 
 
 " Circumstances which I cannot explain to you render 
 it impossible, but believe me, my boy, I have spoken to 
 you in good faith. I should certainly be lacking in all 
 sense of gratitude were I to do otherwise. You 
 may act as you see fit, but time will surely show you the 
 importance of what I have said to you." 
 
 By this time the stranger's horse was harnessed, and 
 as he was about to resume his drive towards Bolton, he 
 urged Mr. Benson to accept pay for his lodging and 
 breakfast. 
 
 " I couldn't think of it," was the firm response. " I 
 have never, as a private citizen, put a price upon the 
 hospitalities of my house, and it's too late for me to 
 begin now. You know it's hard for an old dog to learn 
 new tricks," he added with a smile. 
 
 " But I was an utter stranger to you, with absolutely 
 no claim upon you for entertainment," protested the 
 visitor, warmly. " I don't think it possible to repay 
 your kindness to me with money, but I assure you that 
 I should really feel better, though none the less indebted 
 to you, if you would permit me to reimburse you 
 for at least the actual trouble and expense I have 
 been to you." 
 
 " I can't break my rule," said Mr. Benson with deci- 
 sion, " but if this experience is a benefit to your future 
 I shall feel fully repaid." 
 
 " It certainly shall be," said the stranger as he 
 
252 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 climbed into the buggy and, with a pleasant " good-bye," 
 drove away in the direction of Bolton. 
 
 " Who do you suppose he was ? " asked Raymond, 
 when their involuntary guest was out of hearing. 
 
 " I haven't the slightest idea. I do not remember of 
 ever having seen him before. He was evidently, 
 though, an educated, intelligent man, and a close 
 observer both of men and affairs. I certainly hope he 
 may never again be in such condition as we found him 
 in last night." 
 
 The remarks of the mysterious visitor had made a 
 deep impression upon Raymond, and through all the 
 work of the day he was busily engaged in turning them 
 over in his mind. He was convinced that the stranger 
 knew more about Pete Atkins and his gang than he was 
 willing to tell. On the other hand, if he had spoken 
 sincerely, he had said enough to show that he enter- 
 tained no friendly feelings toward them. The value of 
 his " tip " was yet to be determined, but Ra3miond fully 
 made up his mind that it would not be his fault if it was 
 not ascertained in the near future. 
 
 " What do you know about Simon Dart, grand- 
 father?" he asked, as Mr. Benson sat reading his 
 favorite weekly paper before the open fire in the sitting- 
 room. 
 
 " Simon Dart? Why do you ask that question, my 
 boy? Have — ^has any one been talking about him ? " 
 
 " Well, I've heard some rumors about him/' admitted 
 Ra3rmond. 
 
A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR 253 
 
 " I trust you'll not repeat any stories you hear," con- 
 tinued Mr. Benson. " Hearsay is not always to be 
 trusted, and there are many people in town who do not 
 like Simon very well." 
 
 " I know that," responded Raymond, " but I was a 
 little curious to know about him. Was he born here? " 
 
 " Yes. His mother was a sister to Dean Perrin," 
 
 "Dean Perrin?" ejaculated Raymond, in surprise. 
 " I never knew before that he was any relation of 
 Dart's." 
 
 " Yes, he's an own uncle. They have scarcely been 
 on speaking terms, though, for a number of years. 
 There was trouble, I believe, a number of years back. 
 Simon's mother was an excellent woman. Her people 
 were bitterly opposed to Dart, who was, I believey a 
 Russian Jew. At any rate he first put in an appearance 
 in Chestnut as a peddler." 
 
 Mr. Benson paused and pushed his spectacles over his 
 forehead. 
 
 " I guess he led her a dreary life of it," he continued 
 reflectively. " At any rate she didn't seem to take it 
 very much to heart when he was finally arrested for 
 smuggling and sent to prison for a long term of years. 
 He died there. His widow kept the store going, and 
 brought up Simon, who was their only child. He was 
 an odd boy who never seemed to have the faculty of; 
 making friends among his playmates. He appeared tcj; 
 unite the Perrin melancholy with the penurious graspf 
 ing of his father — a rather unhappy combination, p. 
 
 I 
 
254 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 remember that they used to charge him with starving 
 and abusing his mother after he came into possession of 
 the store, but very Hkely that was overdrawn. I 
 imagine that she must have been something of a trial 
 to him. She finally went crazy, you know, and was 
 taken to the Insane Hospital at Augusta, where she 
 afterwards died." 
 
 " I never heard of this before," said Raymond, with 
 deep interest. 
 
 " No. I presume not. That was before your day 
 and generation. Simon has been in trade at the Corner 
 for over thirty years. He took the store from his 
 mother, who carried it on, as I have said, for a number 
 of years, after his father was sent to prison. It is 
 nearly twenty years since she died, and she was at the 
 hospital four or five years." 
 
 "I'm glad to know what you've told me, grand- 
 father," said Raymond, gratefully. " I know, of course, 
 what folks think of Sime Dart. That's town talk. 
 This is the first time, however, that I ever heard of his 
 being related to the Perrin family." 
 
 " It's a connection that his mother's people have never 
 been very proud of, I imagine," said Mr. Benson. " At 
 least, so far as I know, they never have had very much 
 to say about it." 
 
 " What sort of a business reputation has Simon 
 Dart? " asked Raymond. 
 
 " Well, he's always seemed to sell a shade cheaper 
 than the other traders," replied Mr. Benson ; " but 
 
A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR 255 
 
 then, that's not surprising. His expenses are almost 
 nothing." 
 
 " Has he ever been suspected of shady transactions? " 
 asked Raymond. 
 
 Mr. Benson gave him a questioning look. 
 
 " Some one's been talking to you, I guess," he 
 remarked. " I dare say some such talk has been made, 
 
 but as I've said before it doesn't pay to believe al_^ ._ 
 
 hear." 
 
 " But where there's a good deal of smoke there's 
 pretty sure to be a little fire," suggested Raymond. 
 
 " Possibly," was Mr. Benson's non-committal reply. 
 " Still, sometimes a very little fire makes a great deal of 
 smoke." 
 
 Raymond forbore to pursue the subject further, but 
 he went to bed that night fully convinced that he was 
 on the track of revelations that would, sooner or later, 
 startle the good people of Chestnut. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 SOME SHARP PRACTICES OF SIMON DART 
 
 " You and I will have that reward, Ned ! " 
 
 It was Raymond Benson who spoke, and his words 
 had a very electrifying effect upon Ned Grover, whom 
 he had taken to his den for a confidential chat. 
 
 " You are not in earnest, are you ? " he asked eagerly. 
 
 " I was never more so in my life, Ned. I feel morally 
 certain that if you and I go about this thing in the right 
 way we shall get that hundred dollars." 
 
 " You don't really mean that we shall be able to secure 
 the arrest and conviction of old Pete Atkins, do you? " 
 
 " That is just exactly what I mean." 
 
 " I don't see how." 
 
 " Well, I'll tell you how. I have been putting this 
 and that together, and I think I am beginning to get at 
 the inside of this thing. It is very evident that if old 
 Pete is carrying on much of a smuggling business, or 
 bringing anything across the line except the liquor he 
 sells at his house, he must have a market for his wares. 
 In other words, there must be some confederate on the 
 Yankee side to take his goods and dispose of them. 
 I am convinced that old Pete has such an ally, and I 
 believe that I have discovered him." 
 
 256 
 
SOME SHARP PRACTICES OF SIMON DART 257 
 
 "Who is he?" 
 
 " Sime Dart." 
 
 " Sime Dart ! " exclaimed Ned, in astonishment. 
 " You must surely be mistaken, old fellow. He carries 
 on his business altogether too openly to be engaged in 
 that kind of work. I don't have a very high opinion of 
 the fellow. In fact, I know he's a knave; but I think 
 we must concede that he is no fool." 
 
 " He certainly is no fool, but depend upon it, Ned, 
 he's a sneak — a thoroughbred scoundrel. He always 
 gives me a crawly feeling. There is something clammy 
 about him." 
 
 " He's an. uncanny bird," said Ned; " But I do not 
 see what good reason you have for suspecting him of 
 being the receiver of old Pete's smuggled goods." 
 
 " There are a number of reasons, old fellow. In the 
 first place a good many more things go out of his store 
 than ever come from Bolton. It seems strange to me 
 now that the people of this town haven't noticed it." 
 
 " If he keeps smuggled goods in stock, wouldn't it be 
 an easy thing for the Custom House officers to search" 
 his store and establish the fact ? " 
 
 " Perhaps so, but you see they have never suspected 
 him. The fellow is shrewd and has played his part well. 
 He must have, to throw the dust so completely in the 
 eyes of the people of this town." 
 
 " Why don't you tell the officers of your suspicions? " 
 
 "And lose that reward? Not much, my boy. 
 Besides, I'd a good deal father see old Pete Atkins in 
 
258 THE CAMP ON LETTER K- 
 
 limbo than to have that hundred dollars. If the offi- 
 cers should descend on Dart, Pete would take to the 
 woods and hide there till the storm blew over. In the 
 meantime he would contrive to keep his wife and boys 
 supplied with liquor, and they would continue the busi- 
 ness just the same. The first fish we want is old Pete. 
 When we once get him in the meshes, it will not be so 
 much trouble to secure Dart." 
 
 " You're right there," assented Ned, " but you've only 
 given me one reason for believing that Dart is a confed- 
 erate of old Pete, and that is by no means a conclusive 
 one. I think your experience in court has shown you 
 that it wouldn't have much weight there." 
 
 " Well, Dart has always said a good word for old Pete 
 at every opportunity, and is always endeavoring to 
 excuse his knavery by saying that he is a generous and 
 obliging neighbor. During the recent trial he was the 
 old fellow's right-hand man. He secured his lawyers 
 and found all the witnesses for him. In my opinion he 
 trumped up that alibi that finally cleared the old fellow. 
 He had a long talk with Gambler before the trial, which 
 I think had a great deal to do with the man's obstinate 
 refusal to tell who was with him the night of the fire." 
 
 " I didn't know that." 
 
 " Few people did, but it's a fact all the same. I'll tell 
 you another thing. I believe that Amos Dole's old 
 camp is the headquarters for Pete and his gang, and 
 Ike Wallace and the Frenchman with him are members 
 of it. Their shaving shingles is only a blind, as is also 
 
SOME SHARP PRACTICES OF SIMON DART 259 
 
 their cordial treatment of visitors to the camp. It is 
 doubtless true that they are working for Dart, but not 
 at shingle-making. Ike and old Pete Atkins are part-. 
 ners in quite a different business; and you and I will 
 prove it before many days." 
 
 " But the party from the Corner took dinner at 
 the camp and didn't see anything about it the least 
 suspicious." 
 
 " There may have been no smuggled goods on hand 
 at that time. If there were, you may depend upon it 
 they were not far from that camp." 
 
 " What is your plan, Raymond ? I'm with you 
 through thick and thin in anything you may do to trap 
 old Pete. No one can be more anxious than I am to 
 rid the town of him." 
 
 " My idea is this, Ned. Those fellows must land 
 their stuff at Dart's store in the early morning hours. 
 It would be hard to imagine a place better adapted for 
 such work. It is back of the Corner, and shut off from 
 it by the little hill. There is not another building 
 anywhere around it, except the church. Now my idea 
 is for you and me to be at Dart's store and see a load 
 of those goods delivered. That would give us testi- 
 mony enough at the start to convict both Simon and 
 Pete." 
 
 " That's an ingenious scheme, certainly," said Ned, 
 "but I don't believe Simon will be accommodating 
 enough to furnish us quarters for that purpose." 
 
 " You don't understand me. I said at the store, but 
 
26o THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 not in it. My idea is for you and me to camp in a big 
 dry-goods box there is under the store platform and 
 await developments." 
 
 " But we'd freeze to death," objected Ned, shivering 
 at the thought. "These October nights are mighty 
 chilly." 
 
 " We should want to go protected from the cold. 
 Each of us will want an extra pair of warm woolen 
 stockings, and a buffalo overcoat outside of our regular 
 one. In addition to that we ought to have a couple of 
 thick robes. With such an outfit we need have no fear 
 of the cold." 
 
 " Yes, we should be all right on that score," admitted 
 Ned ; " but how can we be sure what night they will 
 bring goods there? We might watch there a whole 
 week and not discover anything." 
 
 " I have thought of that," said Raymond, " but I 
 don't see any way to avoid it. We must take our 
 chances, and watch until they do come. I have an idea, 
 however, that they select the darkest nights for those 
 trips. It would be well, anyway, for us to make a 
 beginning on such a one." 
 
 A few days later the boys drove to the Comer about 
 midnight and put their team in one of the sheds 
 back of the church, carefully blanketing the horse for 
 protection against the cold. The night was pitchy 
 black, but a dark lantern assisted them in finding their 
 way. They had concluded, after some discussion, to 
 take one along vi^ith them, deciding that, as Simon 
 
SOME SHARP PRACTICES OF SIMON DART 261 
 
 would probably be in bed, they would run less risk of 
 discovery from its light than they otherwise would 
 from the noise they might make stumbling over the 
 boxes. The event showed this conclusion to be correct. 
 With the assistance of the lantern the boys were enabled 
 to reach the box without disturbing in the least the 
 silence of the night. They found it somewhat more 
 cramped than they had anticipated, but it was nicely 
 sheltered from the wind, and warmer than they had 
 dared to hope. They soon had their robes spread and 
 were comfortably settled for the night. 
 
 At first they thought of taking turns watching, but 
 finally decided that both should remain awake. " It 
 will be so much more cheerful," said Raymond, " if we 
 keep each other company. Besides, we can sleep all 
 day in my den if we want to. I will tell grandmother 
 not to wake us. I tell you, old fellow," he added, 
 enthusiastically, " we are on the right track, and if we 
 only hang to it long enough we will certainly win. I 
 think we had better plan to be together as much as 
 possible while we are working on this matter." 
 
 " Yes, that's a good idea," assented Ned, " but, my 
 soul ! isn't this just a trifle lonesome, though ? Doesn't 
 that wind sound dismal up there in the graveyard? I 
 remember that old Aunt Ruth, who used to live on the 
 other side of the graveyard, always said that the spirits 
 of the dead were talking when the wind blew like that." 
 
 "Aunt Ruth who?" asked Raymond. "I never 
 knew that there was a house below the cemetery." 
 
262 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 "Yes, that old story-and-a-half stable of Simon's 
 behind the store here was one." 
 
 " I always thought that it never could have been 
 intended for a stable." 
 
 " Well, it wasn't. Uncle Jerry Hope, who cleared 
 up the fields below the graveyard, built it when he was 
 a young man. That was nearly eighty years ago. His 
 wife, Aunt Ruth Hope, survived "him ten years, and it's 
 nearly that since she died. Poor old lady! I used to 
 pity her. When Uncle Jerry died she supposed that 
 all he owed was a few hundred dollars to Simon Dart. 
 That would have left his widow enough to have kept 
 her in comfort the rest of her days. When Simon 
 produced his notes, however, they amounted to three 
 thousand — one for twelve hundred and the other for 
 eighteen hundred dollars. Of course it was a terrible 
 blow to Aunt Ruth. Uncle Jerry was a man who had 
 never let her know much about his business affairs, but 
 she never had an idea but that he had property enough 
 to pay every dollar that he owed and have a snug little 
 balance." 
 
 " Do you suppose those notes were forgeries ? " 
 asked Raymond, who had been intensely interested in 
 this narrative. 
 
 " No. Aunt Ruth knew that Uncle Jerry had bor- 
 rowed something from Simon, though she had never 
 dreamed it was so much, and was unable for the life 
 of her to think where the money had gone to. Besides, 
 no man could possibly have imitated Uncle Jerry's 
 
SOME SHARP PRACTICES OF SIMON DART 263 
 
 signature. I don't believe there was another one in 
 the world anything like it. 
 
 " How long had these notes been running ? " 
 
 " Oh, ten or fifteen years." 
 
 " Didn't Mr. Hope pay anything at all on them 
 during that time ? " 
 
 " Nothing except the interest, which was duly 
 endorsed on the notes. Aunt Ruth said her husband 
 wanted to take them up once or twice, for she remem- 
 bered to have heard him speak of it, but Simon said 
 he was in no hurry whatever for the money, and urged 
 him to put what he had into improvements on the farm. 
 Uncle Jerry followed his advice and bought the large 
 mowing field opposite the church, and also a good slice 
 of the Bell woods. He had great faith in Simon, who 
 was a deacon in the church and one of its pillars." 
 
 " Yes, that's Simon," said Raymond. " I believe 
 that he has served the devil in the livery of heaven for 
 a good many years. Do you know, from just what 
 little you have told me, I am convinced that the figures 
 on those notes were raised, Simon probably wrote 
 them himself and imposed upon the confiding old man 
 by putting the amounts in figures instead of writing 
 them out in words. Who witnessed them ? " 
 
 " Simon's mother." 
 
 " That's it exactly. As a witness she became dead, 
 to all practical intents and purposes, when she was taken 
 to the insane asylum, and Simon had Uncle Jerry in his 
 power." 
 
264 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 "What do you think he did?" asked Ned, with 
 evident interest. 
 
 " I think he added a cipher to the figures of both 
 those notes, thus increasing the amount of each a 
 thousand dollars. I have no doubt but that, when 
 Uncle Jerry signed them, one was for a hundred and 
 twenty and the other for a hundred and eighty dollars." 
 
 " My gracious ! I believe you're right ! " exclaimed 
 Ned, excitedly. 
 
 " I haven't a doubt of it," said Raymond. " What 
 surprises me is to think that none of the townspeople 
 ever thought of it." 
 
 " They probably would if they entertained the same 
 opinion of Simon Dart that you do, but they didn't. 
 They looked upon him at that time as a paragon of 
 virtue and piety. They are better acquainted with him 
 now." 
 
 " Isn't it strange that people will be so blind ? " 
 
 " After Simon took the farm everybody was praising 
 him for his generous treatment of Aunt Ruth. He 
 allowed her the rent of the house free as long as she 
 lived, and gave her a great many things from the store." 
 
 " He probably had a sneaking notion that he ought 
 to allow her at least the interest on what belonged to 
 her," said Raymond, indignantly. 
 
 " Very likely. The neighbors always kept her sup- 
 plied with wood and were continually carrying things 
 to her, so that, with the knitting she did, she managed 
 to get along very comfortably. But she was a queer 
 
SOME SHARP PRACTICES OF SIMON DART 265 
 
 old soul. As she grew older she partially lost her mind, 
 and had all sor*-s of strange notions. When the wind 
 blew she used to say it was the spirits of the dead in 
 the graveyard, warning sinners to repentance, and was 
 positive she could distinguish the voice of Uncle Jerry 
 above all the others. There was something weird to 
 me about her, and I always had an uneasy feeling that 
 she only half belonged to this world anyway." 
 
 " Poor soul ! Very likely she didn't," said Raymond, 
 sympathizingly. 
 
 " Simon's treatment of Uncle Jerry didn't look just 
 right, but nobody was able to put a finger upon anything 
 that was wrong. You see he is a shrewd fellow and 
 has always covered his tracks. A few years ago Charles 
 Prowl, an old soldier, gave him some pension money 
 to keep for him. When he came after it Simon insisted 
 that he had paid it back to him two months before. 
 Prowl knew better than that, and brought suit 
 against Simon to recover the amount which Dart very 
 frankly admitted had been given into his keeping. 
 Considerable sympathy was awakened in town for 
 Prowl, and the opinion was very generally expressed 
 that Dart had swindled him. When the case came to 
 trial, though, Simon exhibited to the court a receipt for 
 the full amount signed by Prowl himself. Everybody 
 was dumfounded. Prowl stoutly maintained that he 
 had never signed any such receipt, but his signature was 
 shown to be genuine. The body of the receipt Simon 
 admitted was in his own handwriting. He had made 
 
266 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 it out and got Prowl to sign it, he said, simply as a 
 matter of business and to protect himself from any 
 future demand that might be made upon him." 
 
 " Well, that was proper, if he paid the money," 
 asserted Raymond. 
 
 " That's the point," said Ned. " Lots of people in 
 this town don't believe he ever did pay it." 
 
 " How did he come by that receipt, then ? " 
 
 " Easily enough, by looking ahead a little. When 
 he took Prowl's money he meant to cheat him out of it. 
 Charles was an ignorant fellow, and when Simon told 
 him that it would be necessary for him to sign a paper 
 certifying that he had made Dart the keeper of his 
 money the poor fellow believed it was all right. Simon 
 wrote out such a statement on a long sheet of paper 
 and Prowl signed it near the bottom of the page. 
 When he had gone Simon cut the agreement oflf the top, 
 wrote a receipt for the money over the signature, and 
 put it away in his safe to protect him in his knavery 
 when Prowl should demand the money." 
 
 " But of course Prowl stated these facts to the 
 court ! " exclaimed Raymond. 
 
 " Yes, but he had no proof of them," returned Ned. 
 
 " I see ; nothing but his word," admitted Raymond. 
 
 " It was shown that he had been seen with Dart on 
 the day his money was alleged to have been paid back' 
 to him," continued Ned, " and that he had been drinking 
 quite heavily. The presumption was that he had gone 
 on a spree with his money and lost it or blown it in." 
 
SOME SHARP PRACTICES OF SIMON DART 267 
 
 " Yes, I see. The fact that he was a drinking man 
 went against him." 
 
 " It certainly did, though I don't see what case he 
 would have had against Dart under any circumstances." 
 
 " I should have thought the church would have been 
 anxious to get rid of Simon." 
 
 " Well, it was, but he was shrewd enough to save 
 them any trouble in the matter by withdrawing." 
 
 " Do you know, Ned, what you have told me only 
 makes me the more anxious to get that scoundrel 
 up-stairs in limbo ? " said Raymond, earnestly. 
 
 " I'm with you there," responded Ned ; and then the 
 boys lay for a long time in silence, each busy with his 
 own thoughts. The night wore away slowly. It 
 seemed to them that they had never before realized 
 what an immense amount of time there is in sixty 
 minutes. They felt cramped and stiff when they finally 
 left their box at about four o'clock in the morning, 
 having reluctantly arrived at the conclusion that no 
 smuggled goods would be delivered at Simon's store 
 after that hour. 
 
 " I am just as anxious as any one to rid the town of 
 old Pete Atkins," said Ned, disgustedly, as they drove 
 home, " but I don't hanker after very much sport of 
 this sort." 
 
 " Oh, well," responded Raymond, encouragingly, 
 " we can't expect to accomplish everything in a minute. 
 If we succeed in breaking up old Pete's gang we've 
 got to show some perseverance and overcome some 
 
268 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 obstacles. Just think," he added, enthusiastically, 
 " what a feather it would be in our caps to rid the 
 town of that old scoundrel, and get the hundred dollars 
 reward. All we've got to do is to show a little pluck 
 and persistency, and we are sure to win the prize." 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 RAYMOND AND NED DO DETECTIVE WORK 
 
 A forenoon's sleep in Raymond's den restored Ned's 
 drooping spirits, and the next evening he was ready 
 and anxious to resume the watch upon Dart's store. 
 But they were once more doomed to disappointment. 
 The night wore slowly away without a sign of old Pete 
 or any one else. 
 
 When the boys drove home in the morning their 
 courage was at a low ebb, and Ned was earnestly in 
 favor of abandoning this part of the program. Ray- 
 mond was unwilling to do this, however, and, after 
 considerable argument, persuaded his companion to 
 watch with him one more night, agreeing not to ask 
 him to go again in case their vigils should continue to 
 prove fruitless. He mentally determined, however, to 
 keep the watch alone. But this time their patience was 
 rewarded. About two o'clock in the morning a heavy 
 wagon drove up before Dart's store, and the driver, 
 alighting, pounded upon the window of Simon's room 
 over the store with a long bamboo fish-pole, which he 
 drew from under the benches on the platform. A 
 moment later the window was slowly and carefully 
 raised, and a voice, which the boys readily recognized 
 
 269 
 
270 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 as Simon's, inquired in a cautious whisper, " Is that 
 you, Pete?" 
 
 " Sure," responded the familiar tones of the Chestnut 
 rumseller. " Come down and help me unload." 
 
 The window closed, and in a few moments the boys, 
 who were breathless with suppressed excitement, heard 
 the front door open and Simon step out upon the plat- 
 form. 
 
 " You are early," he said. " I didn't expect you 
 before three. Didn't see any one, did you? " he added, 
 anxiously. 
 
 " Not a soul. I got an early start from the camp 
 an' thought as how I'd better poke right through." 
 
 " Is this all there is? " inquired Simon. 
 
 " No, only 'bout half. There's another load in the 
 scoop." 
 
 "Hear that? The scoop," whispered Raymond, 
 giving Ned a dig in the ribs. " I felt sure they had a 
 hiding-place somewhere. It's a dugout, and not very 
 far from the camp." 
 
 " Sh-h," said Ned, wamingly. 
 
 " How much you got on ? " asked Simon. 
 
 " Not a heavy load," answered Pete, " an' it's all in 
 this big box. It's going t' be quite a lift for us to git 
 it down cellar, but I guess we can do it. Lend a hand." 
 
 " I should think they had a piano by the way they 
 grunt," whispered Ned, as the two men bore their 
 burden into the store. 
 
 Raymond made no reply to this. As soon as the door 
 
RAYMOND AND NED DO DETECTIVE WORK 27 1 
 
 closed behind Pete and his companion, he threw open 
 the slide of his dark lantern and stole silently from the 
 box, whispering to Ned to remain where he was. In 
 a moment more he returned to the box, bringing a whip 
 in his hand. 
 
 " This will prove an important witness for me later 
 on, old boy," he said, as he handed it to Ned. 
 
 " I should say as much," was the admiring response. 
 " Raymond, you are the longest-headed fellow I ever 
 knew." 
 
 The whip was a whalebone. Just above the handle 
 was a band of German silver upon which was engraved 
 the name " P. Atkins." 
 
 " That's good as far as it goes," whispered Ned, as 
 he examined this name with the aid of the dark lantern. 
 '' Still—" 
 
 " Still what ? " interrupted Raymond, impatiently. 
 
 " Pete would swear that we found it somewhere else." 
 
 " Of course he would," assented Raymond, " but you 
 and I know just where we found it, don't we? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, it would be mighty funny if your word and 
 mine didn't weigh as much with a jury as that of Pete 
 Atkins." 
 
 " Sh-h," continued Ned, in a warning whisper. 
 
 Simon and Pete had come out upon the platform 
 again in very earnest conversation. 
 
 " It's no use, Sime, I'm afraid you an' I will have 
 t' dissolve partnership. This vicinity is gittin' too hot 
 
272 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 for me. Everybody is after me now, since the Custom 
 House officers put up thet reward. I think I've shown 
 ye, on more'n one occasion, thet I'm no coward, but I 
 tell ye I don't keer t' spend ten or fifteen years down 
 t' Thomaston, not if I know myself. I'd a good deal 
 ruther play the respectable citizen, jine the church, an' 
 settle down t' farmin', though the profits would seem 
 mighty small in comparison. But I've laid up suthin' 
 in these years o' prosperity, an' the income on it would 
 help out consider'ble. I shouldn't have t' do my farmin' 
 alone by any means." 
 
 " Bah ! " said Simon, impatiently. " I never thought 
 to see you so weak-kneed. That trial seems to have 
 taken all the starch out of you. Brace up, man ! Show 
 a little nerve." 
 
 " I tell ye, Sime," protested Pete, " thet was a closer 
 shave than I like. If it hadn't been for the alibi you 
 trumped up, I should hev been doin' time in Thomaston 
 now, with no immediate prospect o' leavin' there. I 
 thought sure I was a gone coon when thet boy was 
 testifyin'. Confound him! I've got an account t' 
 settle with 'im ! He's been the cause o' all this trouble. 
 Everything would ha' be'n all right if he hadn't crossed 
 my path." 
 
 " You brought the whole thing on yourself by your 
 own idiotic folly," said Dart, bitterly. " How many 
 times have I advised you never to sacrifice business 
 interests to personal feelings. What did the life of that 
 dog amount to? What would the lives of a hundred 
 
RAYMOND AND NED DO DETECTIVE WORK 273 
 
 dogs amount to compared to the success of our 
 ventures? I would give five hundred of the best dogs 
 this town ever saw if we could be back on as good 
 footing as we were when you burned Benson's barn." 
 
 " Well, I don't intend t' be run over by any one," 
 declared Pete, sullenly. 
 
 " Run over ! Bah ! You haven't the balance or self- 
 control of a sensible louse. This isn't the first time 
 that you've come near upsetting everything by your 
 rattle-brained malice. There was that Boston detective 
 you bought up last week. You were lucky enough to 
 get a twist on him and choke him off, but you showed 
 very poor judgment in filling him up with whiskey. 
 The fellow got beastly drunk and brought up in an 
 insensible condition in Andrew Benson's dooryard. 
 They kept him over night there. I heard Dud Rich 
 telling somebody about it here in the store yesterday. 
 I never had anything startle me so. I thought you had 
 better judgment than to act like that. It's a wonder 
 the fellow didn't get to talking and give the whole thing 
 away. He would, I guess, if his tongue hadn't been 
 too thick to wag. I tell you, Pete, such carelessness as 
 that will certainly ruin us. You must be more cautious, 
 and above all control your temper. I can hate as 
 strongly as any man, but I don't sacrifice my business 
 interests to my likes or dislikes. I'm not quite so big 
 a fool as that, thank heaven." 
 
 " No, you're a deep one, you are," was Pete's sar- 
 castic rejoinder. "You haven't the feelin' of a man 
 
274 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 in your whole carcass. You've bottled yourself up youf 
 whole life, until now it wouldn't seem nat'ral for ye 
 t' let yourself clean out on anything. All ye can do is 
 scheme, an' I honestly believe you'd let anybody rub 
 your nose in the dirt if it would help ye carry a p'int. 
 I'm not your style. When a man treads on my toes 
 he's going t' git kicked for it. I don't claim my doin's 
 hev alius be'n open an' aboveboard, but one thing is 
 sartin sure, I never was mean enough t' cheat a poor old 
 woman out o' her home." 
 
 " No, but you came mighty near burning old man 
 Graves out of his." 
 
 " Well, I had cause for it. If he'd left me alone I 
 should never hev troubled 'im. I reckon I showed 'im 
 in a forcible sort o' way thet 't was a pretty good plan 
 t' mind his own bis'ness." 
 
 " Oh, yes, no doubt," said Dart, coldly. " Now I 
 should like to know what you meant by my cheating 
 an old woman out of her home." 
 
 " Oh, ye do, hey ? I don't s'pose ye can possibly 
 imagine," was Pete's contemptuous rejoinder. " See 
 here, Sime, it's all right t' play the virtuous citizen with 
 other folks, but it won't go down with me. I'm no 
 spring chicken, an' don't ye forgit it. Ye must think 
 me pesky green not t' know how you got hold o* the 
 Hope place." 
 
 " I came into possession of it legally, and have papers 
 to prove it." 
 
 " Papers ! " sneered Pete. " O' course ye got papers. 
 
RAYMOND AND NED DO DETECTIVE WORK 275 
 
 You've got papers t' prove 'most anything ye take a 
 notion to ; but thet sort o' bluff don't go down with me, 
 understand thet." 
 
 " How many people have you made this talk to?" 
 asked Simon, suspiciously. 
 
 " What d' ye take me for? " demanded Pete, indig- 
 nantly. 
 
 " I used to think you were a man I could rely on, but 
 the way you've been acting of late has led me to think 
 that I may have been mistaken," returned Simon, 
 sharply. " Just bear one thing in mind, Pete Atkins, 
 you are in my power. A few words from me would 
 put you where the dogs couldn't bark at you for a long 
 term of years. Don't forget that fact." 
 
 " But ye wouldn't dare t' speak thet word, for ye 
 know mighty well thet ye would go along t' bear me 
 company if ye did. I don't believe ye are any more 
 anxious t' live in a cage than I am." 
 
 " My dear man," said Simon, blandly, " you are 
 laboring under a sad delusion. There is not a particle 
 of evidence by which you could show to a court that I 
 have ever had any connection whatever with your 
 affairs. I have looked out for that, I assure you." 
 
 " Look a-here, Sime," retorted Pete, fiercely, " you've 
 had a chance t' become pretty well acquainted with me 
 in the past few years, an' I swear to ye thet if ye ever 
 go back on me I'll hev your life for it." 
 
 " Come, come, don't get so excited," said Simon, in 
 a conciliatory tone, evidently not liking the intense and 
 
276 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 vigorous earnestness of Pete's threat. " You know 
 very well that I would never betray you. Haven't I 
 always stood by you through thick and thin? What 
 reason have you to ever look for treachery on my part ? " 
 
 " I didn't like your talk 'bout my bein' in your 
 power," said Pete, in a mollified tone. " It didn't 
 sound right." 
 
 " You know very well that I didn't mean anything by 
 it. You and I are just made to work together. I can 
 make the plans and you can carry 'em out. Neither of 
 us can get along without the other. We must hang 
 together. It's bad business, though, when you make 
 foolish breaks that jeopardize all my plans. You have 
 energy and pluck enough to make this thing a success 
 as long as we wish to continue it, if you'll only exercise 
 a little ordinary horse-sense. That business of Ben- 
 son's, though, was the most foolish thing you ever did. 
 It thoroughly disgusted me. You acted like a fool." 
 
 " See here, Sime," sneered Pete, " ye might jest es 
 well quit your preachin'. It don't work with me. It 
 was a habit ye picked up while ye was a-runnin' o' the 
 church, but ye oughter hev left it ofif when ye got into 
 better bis'ness." 
 
 " I think a fellow whose brainless folly has sacrificed 
 a valuable man like Jean Gambier deserves to be 
 preached to," returned Dart, bitterly. " I tell you I 
 had a hard time to persuade that man not to turn State's 
 evidence. If he had, the jig would have been up for 
 both of us." 
 
RAYMOND AND NED DO DETECTIVE WORK 277 
 
 " That was a piece o' sharp work, Sime," said Pete, 
 in a more affable tone. " I've often wondered how ye 
 came it over 'im so slick." 
 
 " I told him," said Sime, with a thin chuckle, " that 
 I had a private understanding with the Governor and 
 would get him pardoned out in six months. I said that 
 after that you and I would work together in the woods 
 and let him run the store; that both of us were con- 
 vinced that he was true blue and would rather die than 
 go back on us. He was wavering and uncertain when 
 I went to see him, but after that nothing could induce 
 him to speak. There is little doubt but that, if he had 
 done so, the court would have dealt more leniently with 
 him. In some respects I think he is the most gullible 
 man I've ever known." 
 
 " That was neatly done. I always said you had a 
 great head, Sime," was Pete's admiring comment. 
 " Well, here's a pretty go," he added, as he climbed 
 into the wagon. 
 
 "What's the matter?" 
 
 " I'm in a scrape." 
 
 "A scrape?" repeated Simon, nervously. 
 
 " Yes, I've lost my whip." 
 
 "Your whip?" 
 
 "Yes, it isn't here." 
 
 " Are you sure you had it ? " 
 
 " Sartin I did. I used it back in the woods a piece." 
 
 " Well, that's probably where you lost it. Here, take 
 my lantern and hunt for it when you go back." 
 
278 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " I tell ye 't would be a bad thing if thet is found," 
 said Pete, anxiously. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " My name's on it." 
 
 " Your name on it ! " exclaimed Simon, in a tone of 
 alarm. " What in the name o' common sense do you 
 carry a whip like that on these trips for? All is, we 
 must find it." 
 
 The two drove slowly off, turning the lantern first to 
 one side of the road and then to the other. When they 
 had passed out of sight and hearing, the boys hurried 
 forth from their place of concealment. It was evident 
 that they were very much elated over what they had 
 heard. 
 
 " Thank goodness, we've got through camping 
 here," said Ned, gleefully, as he gathered up the reins. 
 
 " Yes," added Raymond, " and we have the inside 
 track for that reward." 
 
 " What shall we do now? " 
 
 " Well, I think we had better do a little detective work 
 at the other end of this business. I should like very 
 much to see that ' scoop ' Pete spoke of." 
 
 " So should I." 
 
 " We sha'n't want to do anything, though, until we 
 have thought the whole matter over and carefully laid 
 our plans." 
 
 "Of course not," assented Ned; "that would be 
 foolish." 
 
 " The men who are helping Pete in his smuggling 
 
RAYMOND AND NED DO DETECTIVE WORK 279 
 
 work are probably rough, desperate fellows," continued 
 Raymond, " and it would be apt to go hard with us if 
 they should catch us spying on them." 
 
 " You don't suppose they'd kill us, do you? " asked 
 Ned, a little apprehensively. 
 
 " I don't know. It looks to me as if a man who 
 would burn a barn to revenge himself for the killing of 
 a worthless dog wouldn't hesitate to take human life 
 if he were driven into close quarters." 
 
 " I think so, too. It seemed strange to me that Pete 
 should burn your grandfather's barn for what you did. 
 That was taking revenge on your grandfather, not on 
 you." 
 
 " Yes, that's so; but men of his stamp never stop to 
 reason. What we have seen to-night has shown us 
 pretty conclusively that Pete Atkins is capable of 
 nothing in that line. Simon Dart has furnished the 
 brains and done the thinking for him. If he hadn't 
 old Pete would have been in prison years ago." 
 
 " I guess that's true enough." 
 
 " When that old rascal burned our barn," continued 
 Raymond, " he thought he would hit both grandfather 
 and myself. He probably knew that I owned part of 
 the live stock." 
 
 " But why should he want to injure your grand- 
 father?" 
 
 " He has always Had a grudge against him. Grand- 
 father, you know, is pretty radical in his temperance 
 views, and has never Hesitated to speak his mind pretty 
 
28o THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 freely about the evil old Pete is doing in this town. 
 Probably Pete was only too glad of a chance to do 
 him an injury, while he was squaring up his grudge 
 against me." 
 
 " It won't do for us to take any chances with fellows 
 like him if we go to Letter K." 
 
 " Not at all. We must act cautiously, and go pre- 
 pared to defend ourselves in case of necessity." 
 
 There were two happy boys who fell asleep in Ray- 
 mond's den at broad daylight that morning, to dream 
 of well-considered plans which were to close the criminal 
 career of old Pete Atkins. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 FOLLOWING UP THE CLUE 
 
 " Well, boys, I suppose you'll bring back Ezra 
 Johnston's catamount when you return," said Grand- 
 father Benson, smilingly, as he watched Raymond and 
 Ned drive out of the yard for a " hunting trip " to Letter 
 K, Byer Ames accompanying them to bring back the 
 team. 
 
 " Perhaps we'll find larger game," responded 
 Raymond. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I forgot your famous skill as a bear killer," 
 said Mr. Benson, with a merry twinkle in his eye. 
 " Be very sure you trap your game before you shoot it, 
 though." 
 
 "We'll attend to that," was Raymond's laughing 
 response; but Ned knew that his words had a deeper 
 significance than Grandfather Benson- suspected. 
 
 " Perhaps he'll see more meaning in what you said 
 later on," he whispered. 
 
 " I hope so." 
 
 " It won't be our fault if he doesn't." 
 
 " What mischief are you two plotting ? " asked Byer, 
 uneasily. 
 
 " We are after the Letter K devil." 
 
 - 281 
 
282 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " Well, you'll have to go down to the Atkins place for 
 that. Old Ezra Johnston found it there." 
 
 " You really think the old fellow was drunk when he 
 made that discovery, do you ? " asked Raymond, avail- 
 ing himself of the opportunity to change the drift of the 
 conversation. 
 
 " Of course he was." 
 
 " Well, that's the way it seemed to me." 
 
 " You needn't be afraid that we shall follow his 
 example," added Ned, jokingly. 
 
 " See here, boys, you are trying to keep something 
 back from me," said Byer, with a searching glance at the 
 faces of his companions. " You've some scheme afoot 
 that you don't want any one to know about. I think I 
 can surmise what it is without much trouble." 
 
 " I think very likely you can, old fellow," was 
 Raymond's smiling response; "but if you have any 
 suspicions please keep them to yourself." 
 
 " Of course I will. You must have found out by this 
 time that you can count on me." 
 
 It was evident that Byer felt a little hurt at the 
 apparent lack of confidence on the part of his 
 companions. 
 
 " I certainly have, Byer," protested Raymond, 
 warmly, " and I know that if you suspect the purpose 
 of this trip you can be depended upon not to reveal it. 
 I don't want grandfather and grandmother to be 
 worried about us." 
 
 " They won't be on my account," declared Byer, 
 
FOLLOWING UP THE CLUE 283 
 
 " but you must be careful, boys," he added, uneasily. 
 " Don't do anything rash." 
 
 " We'll look out for that," said Raymond, confidently. 
 
 " Yes, we sha'n't take any foolish chances," added 
 Ned. 
 
 Their ride was soon over, and having charged Byer 
 to return for them in three days, they started in the best 
 of spirits down the tote road that led to Amos Dole's 
 old lumber camp. They paused a moment at the spot 
 where Cobe Hersom's bear had so nearly made an end 
 of good-natured Joel Webber, and where Raymond's 
 lucky shot had come just in the nick of time to save the 
 big fellow from serious consequences. 
 
 " I tell you, it was pretty exciting about the time he 
 knocked Joel into those bushes," said Ned. " I never 
 expected to see him come out alive again. I thought 
 sure he was done for." 
 
 Ra)miond broke into a hearty laugh. " I never can 
 hold in when I think of the sorry figure Joel cut," he 
 said. " I believe I should have laughed just the same 
 if it had killed him. He looked so comical." 
 
 " He took it good-naturedly enough," said Ned, " but 
 I'll bet he'd have given fifty dollars about the time he 
 crawled out of those firs if he hadn't been so free in 
 bantering us." 
 
 " I guess he'd have given more than that." 
 
 " Perhaps he would." 
 
 " The more I see of that thing," said Raymond, " the 
 more I'm convinced that it doesn't pay to have sport at 
 
284 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 the expense of others. Sooner or later they are sure to 
 get the laugh back on you with interest." 
 " I guess that's about so," assented Ned. 
 The boys found the road, which was an excellent one 
 in winter when it was covered with deep snows and 
 constantly traversed by heavy teams going to and from 
 the camp, an exceedingly difficult one for fall travel. 
 Boulders, stumps and muck holes were numerous, and 
 there were stretches of corduroy, the roughly laid logs 
 of which, broken and upheaved by the frosts, made 
 progress extremely tedious. 
 
 " Well, I'm about willing to turn back," said Ned, in 
 disgust. " I begin to think that we have taken the 
 wrong view of old Pete, after all." 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 " If he lugs things out of here, 'pon my soul I believe 
 that he fully earns them by the sweat of his brow." 
 
 " Most likely he does," answered Raymond. " Men 
 like him will work a great deal harder to be knaves than 
 they would have to if they were honest citizens." 
 
 " That's so," assented Ned. " It's cost Simon Dart 
 more a good many times to cheat folks out of things 
 than it would to have paid cash for them." 
 
 " No doubt of it ; but he wouldn't feel at home with 
 anything that came into his possession honestly." 
 
 " Of course he wouldn't. He's never so happy as 
 when planning some knavery." 
 
 " Yes, he's always trying to get what he hasn't earned ; 
 but we'll bring him to the end of his rope before long." 
 
FOLLOWING UP THE CLUE 285 
 
 " We'll try hard enough." 
 
 By the time the boys had made eight miles they 
 were pretty well wearied, and the haversacks in which 
 they carried their provisions seemed loaded with lead. 
 Even their double-barreled shot-guns appeared to have 
 assumed the weight of Springfield rifles. They saw 
 by the sun that it was nearly noon, and, withdrawing to 
 a hard-wood ridge a little way from the road, soon had 
 a cheerful fire going. 
 
 " Do you suppose Pete or his gang will see this 
 smoke ? " asked Ned, as they sat before it disposing of a 
 portion of the generous supply of provisions which 
 Grandmother Benson had put up for them. 
 
 " No," replied Raymond, " and if they did it wouldn't 
 make any difference. They meet visitors with a bold 
 face. Simon Dart has a permit to cut cedar on this 
 township, and his men are at work at the camp. I've 
 no doubt they will receive us very cordially if we go 
 there." 
 
 "Had we better doit?" 
 
 " No, I think not, openly. We shall be able to dis- 
 cover more if they don't suspect we are around. I'll 
 tell you what, Ned," he added, " I believe it would be 
 well for us to separate and work up to the camp from 
 different sides. If that ' scoop ' Pete spoke of is in the 
 neighborhood of the clearing, we'd stand a good deal 
 better chance to stumble onto it." 
 
 " All right," responded Ned. " I'll meet you behind 
 the horse hovel at two o'clock. There's a clump of 
 
286 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 scrub firs just across the brook. You can hide iti those, 
 or I will, if I get there first. We can time ourselves so 
 as to arrive there nearly together. Two low whistles 
 will make a good signal for us, if we should have occa- 
 sion to use one. We shall have to be pretty careful how 
 we use them, though." 
 
 " All right," said Raymond. " I'll have it in mind." 
 
 Ned moved off through the cedars and firs upon one 
 side of the road, and Raymond through those that 
 skirted the other side. " I believe I'll get to the camp 
 a little ahead of Ned," he thought. " It will give me a 
 better chance to reconnoiter there." His reflections 
 were startled by a rabbit, which dashed from the bushes 
 almost under his feet and speedily disappeared in the 
 forest depths. In an instant Raymond's gun was at his 
 shoulder, and his finger almost pressed the trigger for 
 a quick shot. He changed his mind, however, and put 
 the weapon back under his arm again. " It would be 
 foolish," he muttered, " to let them know some one is 
 near and put them on their guard." 
 
 With the utmost caution he worked his way through 
 the tangled thickets, and about one o'clock in the after- 
 noon found himself in the dense clump of firs that stood 
 on the opposite side of the brook behind the horse hovel 
 at the Dole camp. 
 
 So far as Ra)rmond could see, no changes had been 
 made in this structure since he and Ned occupied it on 
 the occasion of their deer hunt. It was certainly not 
 an imposing edifice, but those who had lived in it found 
 
FOLLOWING UP THE CLUE 287 
 
 a fascination attaching to its wild life that only those 
 who have tasted such world-free existence can know or 
 understand. 
 
 The horse hovel, a long, low building, divided into a 
 stable and hay-loft by cedar splits laid on rough poles, 
 stood next to the camp and almost adjoining it. 
 
 Raymond, from his place of concealment across the 
 brook, could catch the murmur of voices in front of the 
 camp, but could neither see who were speaking nor hear 
 what was said. Unable to endure longer the suspense 
 of waiting, he stole silently and cautiously from his 
 hiding-place and crept down into the brook, where, 
 by utilizing some large stones in the bed of the channel, 
 he managed to make the opposite bank without wetting 
 his feet. 
 
 Here he paused for a moment to consider what course 
 he had better pursue. He did not dare to go around to 
 the door of the hovel, since it would expose him to the 
 view of the men in front of the camp. He knew very 
 well that if they should discover him, under such circum- 
 stances, his reception would be far from pleasant. ' Pete 
 and his gang, in the face of the reward that had been 
 offered for their apprehension, would be in no mood to 
 trifle. They were desperate fellows, and might very 
 likely resort to desperate expedients if the situation 
 appeared to demand them. Raymond fully appreciated 
 the importance of acting with the greatest caution. 
 After a moment's reflection, he carefully put his gun and 
 haversack through one of the small windows behind the 
 
288 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 horse stalls, and slowly and quietly worked his way in 
 after them. 
 
 Once in the hovel he experienced a thrill of exultation, 
 and felt that he was well on the way to success in his 
 hazardous undertaking. The loft was reached by a 
 short ladder. This Raymond pulled up behind him 
 after gaining that place of concealment. " With my 
 shot-gun and revolver I could hold this loft against a 
 small army," he thought, as he gazed around on its 
 dingy walls. 
 
 It was a cheerless place. Through great cracks in the 
 roof splits above he could catch a glimpse of the cold 
 November sky. The wind found its way into the apart- 
 ment from a number of holes between the logs where the 
 chinking, never very carefully done, had worked entirely 
 out. In one back corner was a small pile of loose hay, 
 which had evidently been left over from the last lumber 
 operation. This Raymond piled carefully up in the 
 front corner towards the camp. Burying himself in it 
 he applied his eye to a large hole between the logs, and 
 saw a sight that filled him with intense satisfaction. 
 Hard at work, astride the rude bench used for the pur- 
 pose, was Ike Wallace, busily employed with a draw- 
 shave in converting cedar splits into shingles. On a 
 short cedar log near him sat old Pete Atkins, holding a 
 Winchester rifle in his hands, and evidently in a very 
 dejected frame of mind. 
 
 " It's no use, Ike," he said, dolefully. " I'm afraid 
 I'll have t' pull out. Matters are gettin' hot for me 
 
FOLLOWING UP THE CLUE 289 
 
 round here. There's a terrible scramblin' arter thet 
 reward. More'n half a dozen fellers shadowed me out 
 o' the Corner this mornin,' but I threw 'em off the track 
 by strikin' into the Bell woods. They found pretty 
 quick thet they couldn't keep me in sight. There are 
 few men who can follow me in the timber if I do say it," 
 he added, with an accent of pride. 
 
 " I don't see what ye need be scared at," said Wallace, 
 looking up from his work with an air of disgust. 
 " Nobody can ever find the scoop, an' as long as ye lay 
 low an' make no trips across the line, I don't see how 
 they can trap ye. You're sartinly not obliged to lay 
 yourself liable till matters get quieted down a little. It 
 isn't any crime for ye t' stay here an' hunt, is it? If 
 the officers or bounty hunters come t' visit us, all is we'll 
 take 'em right into the camp and use 'em jest as hand- 
 somely as we know how. I tell ye, Pete, there's nothing 
 in the world like a good dinner t' kill a man's suspicions 
 agin ye. I took the stings all out o' them Comer 
 fellers. It's lucky for us, though, thet their noses 
 weren't any longer." 
 
 " You're a good un on them matters, Ike," said Pete, 
 approvingly. " I'll trust ye t' look after 'em any time. 
 I can't say, though, as I like thet young Frenchman 
 o' yourn." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " He's pesky rattle-headed an' hasn't any more jedg- 
 ment 'n a goose. I feel narvous to hev 'im a hangin' 
 round me. I never know what t' expect from 'im. I 
 
290 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 hev never found a man for this business t' equal Jean 
 Gambier. He knew how t' do his work well an' keep 
 , his mouth shet." 
 
 " Thet's so ; he was a good one," assented Ike. 
 
 " He didn't need no compass t' come an' go with," 
 continued Pete. " He seemed t' know jest where he 
 was the darkest night, an' could follow a trail so blind 
 that the rest on us couldn't make nothin' on it. Ye 
 hearn tell, I s'pose, how he found the cookee,* the 
 spring he was on the drive for Amos Dole, didn't ye ? " 
 
 " Dunno's I ever did," admitted Ike. 
 
 " They sent him out from the camp at noon with a big 
 bucket o' lunch for the men who was t' work 'bout two 
 miles down the stream. When he didn't show up they 
 knowed o' course thet suthin' was wrong, so they took 
 Jean off his work an' set 'im t' huntin' for 'im. He 
 found 'im the next afternoon, 'bout six miles away, 
 a-tearin' through the woods like a crazy man. I don't 
 believe thet feller rally knew which end he was 
 a-standin' on." 
 
 " There's nuthin' '11 rattle a greenhorn like gittin' lost 
 'n the deep woods," declared Ike. 
 
 " Sure's gospel," assented Pete, "an' it beats all what 
 plumb foolish things they'll do — don't seem t' have no 
 sense at all. Why, when Jean found thet 'ere cookee 
 he was holdin' on t' thet bucket like grim death. There 
 was grub enough in it for a good-sized crew, but he 
 
 * The assistant cook in a lumber camp. 
 
FOLLOWING UP THE CLUE 29I 
 
 hadn't even lifted the cover. Ye can jest bet the stuff 
 inside was a sight — all mushed t' pieces, an' yet thet 
 feller was nigh starved t' death. 'Bout the first thing 
 he asked Jean for was suthin' t' eat." 
 
 Pete broke into a guffaw at the recollection. 
 
 " Jest like 'em," grinned Ike. " They jest clean lose 
 their wits quick's they think they're lost — thet is, the 
 most on 'em." 
 
 " Jean asked 'im why he hadn't eaten some o' the 
 stuff in the bucket," continued Pete, " an' he allowed 
 he hadn't thought on it." 
 
 " No more he did," chuckled Ike. " He was so 
 mighty rattled he couldn't think o' nothin'." 
 
 Pete's heavy features grew dark. 
 
 "Jean was the only man in thet outfit as could a 
 found 'im so quick," he declared, " an' now we've 
 lost 'im." 
 
 " It's too bad," said Ike, regretfully. 
 
 " O' course it's too bad ! " exclaimed Pete, wrath- 
 fully. " It jest makes me sick when I think o' thet 
 meddlesome boy ! If it hadn't bin for 'im, Jean ud be 
 with me now." 
 
 " Thet's so, but I don't see how the boy is t' blame," 
 returned Ike. " Seem *s if I'd drop anybody thet I 
 ketched burnin' my barn, if I had a shootin'-iron in my 
 hands. Ye made a bad break there, Pete. Ye oughter 
 listened t' my advice." 
 
 " Perhaps so, but if you'd had an upstart boy shoot 
 the best dog in Chestnut, an' then threaten t' draw a 
 
292 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 bead on you with a gun, I don't think you'd have felt 
 very pleasant 'bout it, Ike. 'Pon my soul, if I'd struck 
 the young cub I haven't a doubt but what he'd pep- 
 pered me." 
 
 " Not much doubt o' thet, I guess," responded Ike, 
 with conviction. 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 RAYMOND IS MADE A PRISONER 
 
 It was evident that the Chestnut rumseller was very- 
 ill at ease. He paced restlessly up and down in front 
 of the camp for several moments, muttering to himself, 
 and occasionally giving vent to a half-smothered oath. 
 
 " D' ye know," he said, presently, pausing abruptly in 
 front of Ike Wallace, " es how thet pesky little bantam 
 is a makin' things mighty nasty for me ? " 
 
 " He's sartinly an active little cuss," conceded Ike. 
 
 " He's too active for his own good," growled Pete. 
 " I tell ye what, Ike, I'll pare his spurs afore I'm done 
 with 'im, or my name ain't Pete Atkins." 
 
 " Don't git rash, Pete," cautioned Ike. 
 
 " Git rash ! " repeated Pete, contemptuously. " Ye 
 gin me a pain, Ike. I'd a blamed sight ruther git rash 
 'n git jugged." 
 
 " 'T won't be very hard t' git both," said Ike, dryly. 
 " I've noticed es how one gin'rally followed t'other." 
 
 " What bothers me most o' all is the loss o' Gambler," 
 continued Pete, ignoring the remark. "I'd sort o' 
 come t' depend on 'im. He knew suthin' — he did. 
 Alius had a plan afoot t' git round everything es come 
 along. Why, it was his idee thet run out George 
 
 293 
 
294 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 Fields an' Bill Stetson when they come here a year or 
 two ago on a trappin' expedition," and Pete's rugged 
 features expanded into a broad grin at the recollection. 
 
 " I knew they got scared out o' here," said Ike, " but 
 I alius s'picioned es how they really did hear some 
 varmint — a lynx, or some other critter." 
 
 " I guess most people thought so, didn't they? " 
 
 " Thet was the gen'ral idee." 
 
 " Well, they didn't hear nothin' o' the sort," grinned 
 Pete. " Jean an' me worked thet little racket. Ye see, 
 Amos Dole started in a-cuttin' timber on the East 
 Branch thet fall, an' Jean an' me, knowin' es how he 
 probably wouldn't use this camp agin for some years, 
 took hold an' fitted it up for business. We'd jest got 
 the scoop done an' well filled with collateral when those 
 fellers got along. I tell ye, I felt sick; but Jean, he 
 sized 'em up an' suggested an Injun devil scare. I 
 didn't cotton t' the idee at fust, but he allowed es how 
 it wouldn't do no harm t' try it, so o' course I gin in. 
 About twelve o'clock we opened on the boys. I never 
 had such a circus in all my born days. Jean got behind 
 thet large birch beyond the brook, an' I took t' the shade 
 of thet big spruce on t'other side o' the clearin'. Ye 
 see, we didn't want t' take any chances in case they 
 should shoot. But we needn't have gin ourselves any 
 uneasiness on thet score. They didn't have sperit 
 enough, arter we started in on 'em, t' pull a trigger. 
 I never saw the nerve so completely knocked out o' two 
 fellers in my life. Jean would fetch a screech from his 
 
RAYMOND IS MADE A PRISONER 295 
 
 side o' the clearin', an* a minute later I would answer 
 it from my side. We had made up our minds t' gin 
 'em a night on it, so we whooped 'er up till nigh five 
 o'clock in the mornin'. Es soon es it was daylight 
 those fellers lost no time in vamoosin' the ranch, an' 
 nobody bothered us agin all winter." 
 
 " Well, thet was pretty neat, I declare," laughed Ike. 
 " D' ye know, Pete, I reckon es how boldness is the 
 very best concealment for this sort o' bis'ness." 
 
 " I guess you're right there. It was all thet saved me 
 an' Jean once. We had jest come over the line with 
 three packs for the scoop, an' had thrown 'em down 
 on one of the bunks, thinkin' we wouldn't stow 'em 
 away till after supper. While we was buildin' a fire 
 who should come t' the camp but Rufe Brown's boy an' 
 a cousin o' his — a Portland feller, I believe." 
 
 " Well, I swan ! " was Ike's interested reply. " What 
 did ye do?" 
 
 " Why, we treated 'em jest es perlite *s if they'd been 
 nabobs. We invited 'em right into camp an' insisted 
 they should hev some supper with us. Arter thet was 
 eaten Jean an' me went out in the horse hovel t' hev 
 a smoke an' talk over matters a little. We agreed 't 
 would be easy enough t' git rid on 'em. They evidently 
 felt thet we had the fust claim t' the camp an' wouldn't 
 think o' stayin' in it 'thout an invite from us. We 
 concluded, though, thet if they was goin' t' remain in 
 the neighborhood for two or three days, es their packs 
 indicated, we'd better insist upon their stayin' right 
 
296 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 there. We'd know where they were then, an' could 
 watch 'em, but if they should go an' build a camp o' 
 their own, they'd be twice es apt t' stumble on us when 
 we shouldn't want t' see 'em." 
 
 " Thet was a sensible way o' lookin' at it," said Ike, 
 approvingly. 
 
 " Jean wanted t' try the Injun devil scare on 'em, but 
 I knew 't wouldn't work. No boy could be the son o' 
 Riife Brown an' not hev pluck, an' the cousin looked 
 's if he'd considerable backbone, too. I saw 't once they 
 was two very different fellers from George Fields an' 
 Bill Stetson. The idee of 'n Injun devil would make 
 'em stay longer. We invited 'em t' make the camp 
 their headquarters while they stayed in the neighbor- 
 hood an' not mind us at all ; we said we should be gone 
 a good deal, huntin' an' visitin' some traps which we 
 gin 'em t' understand we'd sot." 
 
 " So they stayed a spell with ye, did they ? " 
 
 " Yes, thet night. 'Bout three o'clock in the mornin' 
 when they was fast asleep in the mess camp, Jean an' I 
 lugged the packs into the hovel an' covered 'em up with 
 hay. Then we cleared out across the line. When we 
 come back the next night the boys was gone. I don't 
 believe, though, they suspected anything. I wish I 
 could say es much for thet deputy collector who was in 
 the court-house when young Brown gin his testimony 
 at the arson trial." 
 
 " He saw through the hole in the grindstone, 
 did he?" 
 
RAYMOND IS MADE A PRISONER 297 
 
 " Well, I should surmise he did, from the look thet 
 come over his face. I sot right where I could git the 
 full benefit on it, too." 
 
 " Perhaps he will be down here to look things over," 
 suggested Ike, uneasily. 
 
 " Most likely he will be," admitted Pete. 
 
 At this interesting stage of the conversation between 
 Pete and Ike a startling mishap befell Raymond, who, 
 as we may well believe, had been a very interested 
 listener. In his working about to get a better view of 
 the speakers, the cross pole which supported that portion 
 of the loft floor slipped from its bearings, precipitating 
 Raymond with considerable force, and no little racket, 
 into the horse stall below, and nearly burying him 
 beneath a pile of hay and chafif. Before he could 
 scramble to his feet, old Pete, with an exclamation of 
 astonishment and rage,, had bounded into the hovel and 
 seized him by the collar with a grip that indicated a 
 determination not to lose him. 
 
 " Ben a-spyin' on us, hev ye? " he hissed through his 
 clenched teeth. " A-playin' o' the sneak an' stickin' 
 your nose into other folk's bis'ness." 
 
 Pete's face was fairly livid with passion. He held 
 Raymond out at arm's length and shook him with a 
 vigor that made the boy's head dizzy, and the surround- 
 ing objects dance before his eyes with blurry indis- 
 tinctness. 
 
 " By the great horn spoon ! I'll gin ye a lesson in 
 manners," he roared. " Come round here a-doin' the 
 
298 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 Old Sleuth act, be ye? Want some fun, hey? Wal, 
 by ginger, ye can hev it. 'T won't be my fault if ye 
 don't git a blamed sight more on it 'n ye planned for." 
 
 With these words the brawny smuggler jerked Ray- 
 mond through the door of the hovel and dragged him 
 in front of the camp, to Ike's unbounded amazement. 
 
 " Wh — what's this mean ? " he demanded, in uncer- 
 tain tones. " Who ye got there? " 
 
 " This is Slink-eyed Jim, the boy detective," 
 responded Pete, grimly. 
 
 " Looks t' me like Andrew Benson's grandson," 
 asserted Ike. " What ye doin' with 'im ? " 
 
 " This 'ere young cub 's bin a-hidin' in the hovel a*i' 
 spyin' on us," asserted Pete. " He wants excitement 
 an' adventure. He's a sort o' pirut, he is," he added, 
 with withering sarcasm. 
 
 " How d' ye come in the hovel ? " demanded Ike of 
 Raymond. His manner was agitated, and it was plain 
 to be seen that he was decidedly nervous over the 
 unexpected turn of events. 
 
 " I was looking the camp over a little," explained 
 Raymond. "I thought—" 
 
 " Tell the truth," interposed Pete, savagely. " You 
 was playin' the sneak — thet's what ye was a-doin', ye 
 young cur. It's no use a-trying t' palaver round us. 
 We're on t' your little game. How many others are 
 with ye?" 
 
 " I'll leave that for you to find out," responded Ray- 
 mond, defiantly. " I warn you that you are taking 
 
RAYMOND IS MADE A PRISONER 299 
 
 mighty long chances. My friends won't be fooled in 
 this matter, and you'll hear from them considerably 
 sooner than you expect to." 
 
 " Ye better go a trifle slow, Pete," advised Ike 
 Wallace, nervously. 
 
 " Shet up ! " was the gruff response. " Ye make me 
 tired, Ike — a grown man a-settin' there an' lettin' this 
 kid bluff ye." 
 
 " You'll find it isn't so much bluff as you think," 
 asserted Raymond. 
 
 " Oh, it isn't, hey? " sneered Pete. " Now jest put 
 a stopper on thet jaw o' yourn. We've had 'bout all 
 the chin music we keer t' hear." 
 
 " You're going to hear a number of things you won't 
 like," declared Raymond, defiantly. 
 
 " Dry up, I tell ye," commanded Pete, angrily. 
 " There's a sight more starch in ye now 'n will be a 
 little later. Your bringin' up 's been mightily neglected ; 
 but we'll undertake t' larn ye a thing or two afore we 
 git through with ye. S'pose ye come down here on 
 purpose t' git acquainted with me, didn't ye ? " 
 
 " That's about the size of it," assented Raymond. 
 
 "Oh, ho! ye did, hey? Wal, I'll gin ye a good 
 chance; nothin* small or mean 'bout me — except the 
 size o' my feet. Oh, won't ye hev fun, though! 
 Shouldn't wonder a mite if ye found it a durned sight 
 more excitin' nor a circus," and Pete indulged a grim 
 laugh that showed Raymond very plainly that he need 
 look for little mercy at the hands of his captor. 
 
300 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " Fetch me some o' thet rope, Ike," continued the 
 smuggler chief, tightening his grip upon the collar of 
 Raymond's coat. 
 
 In response to this order Ike hurried into the camp, 
 and returned with a roll of the tarred rope used in 
 bunching shingles. 
 
 " Tie him," commanded Pete, briefly. 
 
 Ike was about to obey this order when a most 
 unexpected thing happened. With a quick motion 
 Raymond slid out of his coat, and leaving it still firmly 
 grasped in Pete's iron grip he started across the clear- 
 ing at a breakneck pace. 
 
 " Hi there ! Hold on, I say ! " shouted the astonished 
 rumseller, when he awoke to a full realization of what 
 had happened. " Stop 'im ! Ketch 'im, Ike." 
 
 " Ketch 'im yourself," growled Ike, disgustedly. 
 
 By this time Raymond had reached the brook and 
 was making his way over the long fir log which served 
 as a foot-bridge below the ford. 
 
 " Stop ! Stop, I tell ye ! " commanded Pete, as he 
 raced madly after him. 
 
 Raymond did not pause to look around, but he could 
 tell by the long bounds he heard behind him that the 
 big smuggler was making tremendous headway, and he 
 could well imagine that he was in no enviable frame 
 of mind. 
 
 " Stop, or I'll — I'll shoot ye ! " roared the big rum- 
 seller; but Raymond paid no attention to the threat. 
 
 He was nearly across the log, and was about to jump 
 
RAYMOND IS MADE A PRISONER 3OI 
 
 upon the opposite bank of the brook, when Pete gave 
 the tree a mighty shove with his foot from the opposite 
 end. As a result it swung lengthwise into the stream, 
 and Raymond, losing his balance, fell sprawling over 
 a slippery boulder into the cold current. Before he 
 could regain his feet the big rumseller had dashed into 
 the brook and gripped him savagely by the arm. 
 
 " I'll — I'll make ye smart for this," he panted, 
 fiercely. 
 
 Raymond, who was breathing hard from his exer- 
 tions, made no reply to this threat, and Pete dragged 
 him roughly back to camp. 
 
 " I reckon ye won't git loose agin," he declared, as 
 he seized Raymond by both ears with a grip that made 
 the boy wince. 
 
 " Put thet coat back, Ike," said the big smuggler, 
 gruffly, and the order was promptly obeyed. " Now 
 tie 'im up," he continued, " an' tie 'im up t' stay." 
 
 Ike hastened to do as directed, although it was evident 
 that he had little stomach for the task. Raymond was 
 speedily bound hand and foot. While this was being 
 done Pete never for a moment released his grip upon 
 Ra5miond's ears, and the boy felt like a pigmy in his 
 powerful grasp. 
 
 " Now jest run through his pockets an' see what ye 
 find," commanded Pete, when Ike had tied the last knot. 
 Raymond's pockets were quickly rifled, and a seven- 
 shooter revolver and a clasp-knife brought to light. 
 
 " Ye carry quite an arsenal, I see," sneered Pete. 
 
302 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " Oh, you're a reg'lar ring-tailed snorter — ^thet's very 
 evident. Now what was you a-plannin' t' do with them 
 things?" 
 
 " Defend myself, if I had a chance to use them," said 
 Raymond, coolly, determined to put on as bold a front 
 as possible. 
 
 " Oh, you were, hey ? Wal, we'll take care on 'em 
 for ye," said Pete. " Mebbe they'll be used jest the 
 same, though," he added, significantly. 
 
 Raymond made no reply, wisely concluding that it 
 would not be best, under the circumstances, to irritate 
 his captor further. 
 
 " See here, Ike," continued Pete, " jest take thet 
 clasp-knife an' cut me a stout birch withe." 
 
 " Hoi' on, Pete," cried Ike, in alarm. " What ye 
 intend t' do?" 
 
 " I'm going t' take a little o' the dust out o' this young 
 cub's jacket." 
 
 " No, ye won't," was the decided rejoinder. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Because I tell ye I won't be a party t' anything o' 
 the sort." 
 
 " He isn't as anxious as you are to pass the rest of 
 his days at Thomaston," said Raymond. 
 
 He saw in Ike's refusal to resort to unnecessary 
 violence the key to his own safety, and determined to 
 strengthen the old man in that position by working 
 upon his fear of the law. 
 
 " Don't open thet jaw o' yourn agin," said Pete, with 
 
RAYMOND IS MADE A PRISONER 3O3 
 
 a rough shake, divining his purpose. " If ye do, I'll 
 shet your wind off in a way ye won't like." 
 
 He spoke too late, however. Old Ike Wallace had 
 a profound respect for the strong arm of the law. He 
 had, moreover, no feeling against Raymond, and did 
 not intend to be concerned, unnecessarily, in his violent 
 usage. He flatly refused to carry out Pete's order, and 
 with a savage oath and evident reluctance the latter 
 was compelled to relinquish his purpose. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 THE TABLES TURNED 
 
 " I wish Jean Gambier was here," exclaimed Pete, 
 in very evident sincerity. " He is wuth a dozen sech 
 knock-kneed, chicken-hearted fellers es you." 
 
 It was evident that the Chestnut rumseller felt very 
 much disgusted with the refusal of Ike Wallace to 
 assist him in giving Raymond a flogging. 
 
 " Shouldn't wonder a mite if he was at this kind 
 o' bis'ness," was Ike's dogged response, " an' he's got 
 t' the place where sech fellers 'most alius fetch up. If 
 ye take me fer a man o' his make you're mightily mis- 
 taken, thet's all. What ye goin' t' do with thet 'ere 
 boy?" 
 
 " I haint decided yet. One thing is sartin, though. 
 I sha'n't let 'im go." 
 
 " Wal, mebbe you'd better keep 'im out here in front 
 o' the camp," said Ike, sharply. " Somebody's liable to 
 drop in on us 'most any time, an' it would be an awful 
 interestin' sight for 'em." 
 
 "You're right, Ike," assented Pete. "We can't 
 keep 'im here. Go in an' open up the scoop." 
 
 " Well, I guess I'm going to learn more about Pete's 
 dugout than I ever mapped out to," was Raymond's 
 
 304 
 
THE TABLES TURNED 3OS 
 
 reflection, as his captor dragged him into the camp. 
 Here he was held a moment while Ike Wallace revealed 
 the mystery of Pete's hiding-place. The boughs on one 
 of the bunks were scraped away, and the plank flooring 
 beneath exposed to view. This was, to all appearances, 
 securely nailed to the heavy sleepers beneath with 
 large spikes. In this case, however, appearances were 
 deceitful. Inserting an iron bar under the edge of the 
 flooring, Ike quickly threw it upon its side, showing 
 that it was held together on the under side by heavy 
 cross cleats securely screwed on. Beneath this flooring 
 was revealed a cellar, or rather hole, about ten feet 
 square, and nowhere within four feet of the outer edge 
 of the camp, around which ran a heavy embankment of 
 earth. It would have been difficult to conceive of a 
 better hiding-place. It was about six feet deep, and 
 was reached by a short ladder. Down this Ike led the 
 way with a lighted lantern, and Pete followed with 
 Raymond. 
 
 The interior of the scoop was not at all inviting. It 
 was dark and clammy, and Raymond shuddered in spite 
 of himself at the thought of being confined in its dismal 
 gloom. Its sides were studded with heavy cedar logs 
 placed on end, and set closely together to prevent the 
 earth from caving in. The floor was of a similar 
 construction. 
 
 " Wal, take a good look at it," said Pete, roughly. 
 " It's likely t' be your home for some time t' come." 
 
 " Perhaps it may, and then again it may not," 
 
306 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 responded Raymond, defiantly, but at the same time his 
 heart sank within him, and he would have given all he 
 possessed at that moment to have been safely back 
 under Grandfather Benson's roof. 
 
 There was nothing in the scoop save a few empty 
 boxes and casks. It was evident that Pete had decided 
 to call a halt in his nefarious business until the storm 
 which had gathered at the arson trial should blow over. 
 
 " It won't do for this 'ere boy to lie in them 
 wet trousers," declared Ike. " He'd ketch his death 
 o' cold." 
 
 " You needn't be too tender on 'im, Ike," protested 
 Pete, roughly. " He'll be all right if they dry on 'im." 
 
 " They're not likely t' dry here very soon," insisted 
 Ike. " I've got some dry duds up-stairs — not quite so 
 tony as his, I'll allow, but 't any rate they're clean. 
 I guess I'll go an' fetch 'em." 
 
 " Wal, git 'em if ye want t' coddle 'im," snapped 
 Pete, " but I'm a-tellin' on ye thet it's all blamed 
 nonsense." 
 
 Ike hurried up the ladder and returned a moment 
 later with a heavy pair of drawers, some home-knit 
 woolen stockings and a pair of trousers, somewhat 
 faded and patched, but warm and comfortable. 
 
 Pete reluctantly allowed Raymond to be untied 
 sufficiently to put them on, after which he was promptly 
 bound again with the shingle rope. 
 
 " There," said Ike, when the change had been efifected, 
 " I snum, I'll feel a little better 'bout this," 
 
THE TABLES TURNED 307 
 
 " You're 'n old woman, Ike," declared Pete, con- 
 temptuously, but his companion, having had his own 
 way, wisely forbore to take offense at the slurring 
 remark. 
 
 " Here, lay 'im on this," he said, spreading upon the 
 floor one of the heavy woolen blankets which he had 
 brought to the scoop when he first came down the 
 ladder. 
 
 " One o' them's enough," growled Pete. 
 
 " I reckon not," was the decided rejoinder, as Ike 
 spread the second blanket over Raymond, where Pete 
 had lain him as if he had been a log. Never before in 
 his life had Raymond experienced such a desolate feel- 
 ing of utter helplessness. Pete and Ike ascended the 
 ladder. He heard the heavy flooring replaced. The 
 faint light that streamed into the scoop from the camp 
 was cut off. He was startled by the overwhelming 
 realization that he was alone and a helpless prisoner in 
 an underground apartment where even his shouts would 
 fail to reach the outside world, or, should they do so, 
 would fail to meet with any response. 
 
 " I got out of it better than I expected to when I first 
 felt Pete's grip on me," he reflected. " I was afraid 
 that he would shoot me on the spot. I believe he would 
 have done it, too, if old Ike hadn't been with him. 
 Well, I shall have to make the best of it, but if there's 
 any way of getting out of this place I'm going to 
 discover it." 
 
 He strained with all his strength upon his bonds, but 
 
308 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 it was of no use. Old Ike had done his work well, and 
 the hard knots refused to give. Raymond lay very 
 quietly for a few minutes trying to conjure up some 
 way out of his difficulty. There was something terribly 
 oppressive about the scoop. Its atmosphere was heavy 
 with mouldy odors. The light and sounds of the 
 outside world were completely shut off. " It's a 
 regular tomb," he muttered, as his eyes sought in 
 vain to penetrate its darkness. " And what," he 
 thought with a shudder, " if old Pete should make it 
 mine ! " 
 
 At this moment a sharp gnawing upon one of the 
 empty boxes broke the stillness of the place, and 
 brought a new terror to Raymond. 
 
 " Can it be possible that this place is infested with 
 rats ? " he thought, with a feeling of horror, recalling 
 some of the frightful tales he had read concerning the 
 ferocity of these rodents in attacking even human life, 
 when in large numbers and under the pressure of 
 hunger. He raised his voice and shouted aloud. 
 Immediately the gnawing ceased and the scamper of 
 small feet told how groundless were his fears. The 
 intruder had been a mouse. " I guess there are no rats 
 here," muttered Raymond, with a sigh of intense relief, 
 feeling his courage return again. " I wonder if these 
 ropes will give any," he soliloquized, as he gave his 
 arms another pull to determine more fully the tightness 
 of the knots. 
 
 Raymond's hands were crossed and bound behind his 
 
THE TABLES TURNED 309 
 
 back. After experimenting a little he presently found 
 that by rolling one wrist a little he could reach with his 
 fingers the rope that held them together. A thrill of 
 exultation ran through him at the discovery. He care- 
 fully worked one of the strands of the rope loose, and 
 to his great joy succeeded in breaking it. His spirits, 
 which had been at a low ebb, rose again at this outlook 
 for escape. With feverish haste he began to break the 
 small strands. But he soon found that the task was 
 one that called for great patience. He had never 
 realized before how many threads there were even in 
 a small shingle rope. It seemed to him that he was 
 making no headway at all. Each little strand resisted 
 him tenaciously, as if determined to do its part in 
 keeping him in captivity. His fingers grew stiff, and 
 he was at times forced to give up his work and rest 
 them. 
 
 At length, however, he learned patience, and found 
 that, by going slowly, he was able to keep steadily at his 
 task. Before long he felt, with a thrill of hope, that 
 he was making headway. The rope grew gradually 
 smaller, until at length by. a violent effort he burst its 
 remaining strands. It took him but a moment to untie 
 the cords that bound his legs. So far as his limbs were 
 concerned he was free, but notwithstanding this, he was 
 still a prisoner. To be sure, he could probably go up 
 the ladder and lift the flooring with his shoulders, but 
 he felt that this would not be a wise move. He would 
 be almost certain to run across Pete or Ike, and knew 
 
3IO THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 very well that if they had occasion to bind him a second 
 time he would not be able to free himself. 
 
 While he was reflecting what course to pursue, he 
 heard the iron bar inserted under the flooring above. 
 It opened and closed again, and a moment later Ray- 
 mond saw Tom Atkins descending the ladder. A lan- 
 tern swung from his arm, and in one hand he carried a 
 tin plate with a few pieces of hardtack, and in the other 
 a tin can filled with water. Raymond lost no time in 
 pulling the blanket over him, and reassuming the 
 position in which Pete had left him. 
 
 " Well, you're a pretty duck ! " exclaimed Tom, as 
 he held his lantern above his head and gazed down upon 
 Raymond with a malignant leer. 
 
 " Very likely I am, at present— by comparison," was 
 Raymond's cool rejoinder. 
 
 " I reckon it'll pay you to keep a civil tongue in your 
 head," said Tom, angrily. 
 
 " And it might return you good interest, in the long 
 run, to do the same," rejoined Raymond, with exasper- 
 ating composure. 
 
 " Shet up ! " commanded Tom, sharply. " Don't you 
 dare give me any o' your sass. I tell you I won't 
 Stan' it." 
 
 " You're a mighty brave fellow," said Raymond, 
 sarcastically. " I'm not sure but that you might 
 muster up pluck enough to kick a lame dog — if he was 
 tied." 
 
 " Not another word ! " cried Tom, menacingly. " I 
 
THE TABLES TURNED 3II 
 
 tell you you're up against the real thing this time. 
 Dad is the wrong man to buck against; if you don't 
 wish you'd never seen him before you get out of this 
 scrape I miss my guess." 
 
 " You and your father are two of a kind," declared 
 Raymond, with spirit. " You've had the advantages 
 of a better education, if you'd known how to use them ; 
 but, otherwise, you're even less of a man than he is." 
 
 " Go on ! Dance away if you think best," growled 
 Tom. " You'll have to pay the fiddler with compound 
 interest before you're very much older." 
 
 " You may have a little account of your own to 
 settle," declared Raymond, defiantly. 
 
 " It's all very well for you to talk big," said Tom, 
 with a sneering laugh. " It will keep your courage up. 
 If it doesn't, you might whistle a little for a change. 
 Old Ike Wallace thought I was mighty willing to bring 
 the grub for you. I had a reason, though, that he didn't 
 know about. I haven't forgotten the mean trick you 
 played on me when you got Joel Webber to drop me 
 from the counter in Copeland's store. You thought 
 you were doing something awful smart." 
 
 " That was your own fault," declared Raymond, 
 warmly. " If you hadn't played the sneak it wouldn't 
 have happened." 
 
 " Was I obliged to make a fool of myself just to give 
 you and your cronies a chance to laugh at me, I'd like 
 to know ? " demanded Tom, angrily. 
 
 " No, but you wasn't obliged, either, to make a Paul 
 
312 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 Pry of yourself, and give away the boys' fun to the 
 men in the store." 
 
 " Well, I must say that I admire your nerve," 
 declared Tom, with a scornful laugh. " The idea of 
 a fellow caught eavesdropping, as you were, talking 
 about Paul Pry! You make me weary." 
 
 " No," declared Raymond, " you were born so." 
 
 " It would be better for you if you weren't quite so 
 flip," retorted Tom. " Now you think perhaps that 
 you are going to get these hardtack and this water? " 
 
 " I didn't ask for them," interposed Raymond, 
 proudly. 
 
 " Oh, no ! Of course you didn't. You're a mighty 
 independent fellow, you are. It'll be a mighty long 
 while between meals for you if I have my way. 
 I'll place this grub on the box here. No doubt 
 you'll find the smell of it very refreshing," and Tom 
 laughed heartily at his own sense of humor. " There's 
 just one thing to be done before I leave you," he added, 
 as he placed the lantern upon a keg and produced 
 a stout switch from under his coat. 
 
 "What do you intend to do with that?" demanded 
 Raymond, sharply. 
 
 " I intend to do the job father was going to do." 
 
 " You wouldn't be coward enough to strike a fellow 
 when he's as defenseless as I am, would you? " 
 
 " There isn't any question of bravery with me in this 
 affair," said Tom. " All is, I owe you a good thrash- 
 ing, and I'm going to give it to you." 
 
"help! murder! help!" he shouted a moment later. 
 Page 313. 
 
THE TABLES TURNED 313 
 
 " Don't you dare to strike me with that switch," cried 
 Raymond, warningly. 
 
 " But I will dare," was the defiant answer, as Tom 
 stooped to pull the blanket from him. 
 
 " Help ! Murder ! Help ! " he shouted a moment later, 
 in genuine surprise and terror. A most unexpected 
 thing had happened. As he pulled the blanket away, 
 Raymond seemed to rise with it, and grasping Tom 
 firmly by the hair of the head, threw him forward upon 
 his face with a force that almost knocked the breath 
 out of him. Then, jumping astride of him, he fastened 
 a grip upon his throat that effectually shut off his cries 
 for help. 
 
 " You don't intend to choke me to death, do you? " 
 gasped Tom, in genuine terror. Like most boys of his 
 peculiar class he was an abject coward, and now that 
 he found himself in a tight place he was thoroughly 
 frightened. 
 
 " I don't know," said Raymond, in answer to his 
 question. " That depends. If you do as I say, I'll let 
 you off easy, but if you don't — " and he tightened his 
 grip upon Tom's throat in a very significant manner. 
 
 "I'll do just what you say," whimpered the rum- 
 seller's son. 
 
 " Very well, then climb out of that overcoat." 
 
 The order was tremblingly obeyed. 
 
 " Now throw off that hat." 
 
 The broad-brimmed, soft felt hat which Tom wore 
 was thrown upon the coat, the thoroughly terrified 
 
314 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 fellow appearing only too glad to escape punishment at 
 such a price. 
 
 " Now lie face down on that blanket," commanded 
 Raymond. 
 
 " You don't intend to tie me, do you ? " faltered Tom, 
 in amazement, as the bold plan of escape which 
 Raymond had in mind flashed upon him. 
 
 " That's about the size of it," coolly answered Ray- 
 mond. 
 
 Tom made no response to this, and Raymond quickly 
 bound him hand and foot. 
 
 " Now I'll have to trouble you for those shoes," he 
 announced. 
 
 "My shoes?" ejaculated Tom, incredulously. 
 
 " That's what," declared Raymond, briefly, as he 
 proceeded to remove Tom's shoes. " A trifle large — 
 but they'll answer," he commented, as he laced them up 
 on his own feet. 
 
 " You see, my valet, Mr. Wallace, is drying some of 
 my things," he explained to his bewildered captive. 
 " It leaves me a trifle shy on foot-gear." 
 
 " Now I have just one thing to say to you," he added, 
 as he pulled Tom's soft felt hat close over his ears, and 
 drew on his long gray ulster, " and it would be well 
 for you to bear it in mind. A great change has 
 occurred recently. You have become Raymond Ben- 
 son, and I am Tom Atkins. It's a very remarkable 
 transformation, and, of course, makes me feel meaner 
 than mud. It may be hard for you to grasp this fact, 
 
THE TABLES TURNED 315 
 
 but it's SO, just the same. Now you had better keep 
 quiet. Father Atkins is considerably soured on you. 
 He's a mean, sneaking, cowardly, vindictive sort of a 
 low-bred scoundrel, and it would be just like him, if he 
 heard you bellowing round down here, to lift up that 
 flooring and give you a shot from his Winchester, 
 Besides, I haven't forgotten the bounce I got from 
 Squire Copeland's counter, and might take it into my 
 head to come down here and give you a good thrashing 
 myself. I probably sha'n't visit you for a few days, 
 but if you should grow hungry in the meantime, you 
 will, no doubt, find the smell of that hardtack over there 
 very refreshing." 
 
 With these words, to which Tom listened with a 
 sickly grin, Raymond took the lantern and ascended 
 the ladder. He applied his shoulder to the flooring and 
 found that he could raise it much more easily than he 
 had anticipated. A moment later he found himself 
 alone in the camp. The sunlight dazzled him. It 
 seemed to him that he had spent a very long time in the 
 scoop, and he was surprised, on looking at his watch, 
 to find that it was only three o'clock. 
 
 On one of the bunks he found his cartridge-belt, just 
 where old Pete had thrown it, but was unable to 
 discover any trace of his revolver or knife. He glanced 
 at the camp window as he buckled on the belt, with a 
 half determination to make his escape through it. But 
 this idea was speedily abandoned. The window was a 
 single sash, securely nailed to its frame. The noise 
 
3l6 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 occasioned by any attempt to remove it would be almost 
 certain to result in discovery. Raymond decided that 
 his best course would be to depend on the disguise he 
 had secured from Tom to conceal his identity. He 
 accordingly put on a bold front and walked from the 
 camp, imitating, as closely as possible, Tom's peculiar, 
 loping gait. 
 
 To his intense relief he found Ike Wallace the only 
 person in the vicinity of the camp. The old man was 
 busily engaged in shaving shingles, and merely gave 
 him a glance over his shoulder, never once doubting 
 that it was Tom. With eager steps Raymond hastened 
 to the horse hovel and, climbing to the loft, was over- 
 joyed to find his double-barreled shot-gun just where 
 he had left it. His haversack, however, which had 
 gone through the floor with him in his fall from the loft, 
 had disappeared. Peering through an open space 
 between the logs he saw it lying by the camp door where 
 it had evidently been thrown by the smuggler chief. 
 He felt fortunate in the fact that Pete in his hasty 
 search of the hovel had failed to discover the gun, which 
 still remained in the loft. With this in his hand he felt 
 all his courage and confidence return. " If old Pete 
 and I come together again," he thought, " there'll not 
 be so much difference between us as there was before." 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED TURN OF EVENTS 
 
 As Raymond was about, to steal out of the door and 
 around the end of the hovel to the path that led across 
 the brook, he was arrested by the sound of voices. 
 Carefully digging out some of the chinking in front of 
 the horse stall, he saw Ike Wallace engaged in con- 
 versation with a young man about twenty-five years of 
 age, a dark-skinned fellow whom Raymond remembered 
 to have seen about the Corner on several occasions. 
 " That's the young Frenchman whom the Corner boys 
 saw helping old Ike with his shingles," he thought. 
 " I wonder what he's up to." 
 
 It was evident that Ike was glad to see the young 
 man, for he greeted him most heartily. " How d' ye 
 do, Paul," he said, cordially. " I was jest beginnin' 
 t' git a little narvous 'bout ye. I was almost afeard the 
 Custom House officers had ketched ye." 
 
 " Oh, no. Not moche. Dey no can ronne so fas' 
 lak me," was the laughing rejoinder. " Ba gosh, I t'ink 
 dey come here, I lef dis contree an' gone back plaintee 
 fas' to Canadaw." 
 
 " Well, speed is a great thing in the business now- 
 adays," assented Ike. " If ye go back to Canada, 
 
 317 
 
3l8 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 I reckon es how I'll go 'long with ye. The good old 
 times when the smugglers an' the Custom House 
 deputies hobnobbed an' drank punch together hev gone. 
 I remember Lafe Hamm, who used t' drive team for 
 Steve Larkin when the old fellow ran the Bell Tavern 
 at Bolton. There was a sight o' rum sold there in them 
 days. It was a good time when -everybody smiled 
 occasionally — an' some on 'em a good deal oftener. 
 There was barrels o' liquids sold over old man 
 Larkin's bar. Nearly all on it come from across the 
 line, an' mighty little on it ever paid tribute t' Uncle 
 Sam, 
 
 " One starry winter night — so light ye could almost 
 see t' read — Lafe was a-comin* home from across the 
 line with a double horse sled loaded with barrels o' 
 rum. Jest afore he got t' the tavern he happened 
 t' look over his shoulder, an' who should he spy a-sittin' 
 on the back part o' the load but the Collector o' Customs 
 himself. The old fellow had been waitin' in the door- 
 way of his office when Lafe passed, an' got on behind 
 'thout bein' noticed. Lafe never let on es how he'd 
 seen him, but driv straight on t' the Bell Tavern. He 
 pulled up under the old man's window and yelled at the 
 top o' his voice, ' Here ye are, Steve. Here's your rum, 
 Custom House officer an' all.' " 
 
 " Ba cripe ! I gass it mak' heem jomp ? " 
 " Wal, I should reckon es how it did. He never let 
 on, though. He dressed as coolly as he ever did, but 
 you may bet he kept up a consider'ble thinkin'. When 
 
AN UNEXPECTED TURN OF EVENTS 319 
 
 he got down into the yard, he met the Custom House 
 officer jest es bland es a herrin'. ' Why, good-evenin', 
 Mr. Bennett, how d' ye do/ ses he. ' Glad t' see ye. 
 Drive thet rum into the barn, Lafe. We was a little 
 late with this load, but I was goin' t' bring in the 
 schedule on it fust thing in the mornin'. Come into 
 the house an' git warm.' " 
 
 "Mabbehego, hey?" 
 
 " Yes, an' got pretty well filled up afore he left, I 
 guess. The next day Steve paid the duty on the rum 
 an' nothin' was said 'bout it." 
 
 " He ban a sleek one," was the Frenchman's admiring 
 comment. 
 
 " Oh ! there used t' be some mighty lively chaps 
 t' work a-totin' things across the line, unbeknown t' the 
 officers, in them times," continued Ike. " I tell ye they 
 had men o' brains t' steer such matters then — a mighty 
 sight different from some on 'em thet lead off now- 
 adays," he added, in a lower tone, casting a cautious 
 glance about the clearing. " There wasn't nigh so 
 much risk in them days. Roads were not so plenty 
 nor so good 's they be now ; people were fewer, an' the 
 officers couldn't watch things so sharply. I wish you 
 could ha' seen the crowd thet used t' make their head- 
 quarters t' the Bell Tavern 'n the old days. Smugglin' 
 flourished then. Ye see thet was afore our pesky liquor 
 laws was made, an' it was pretty hard t' tell jest whether 
 any particular lot o' rum was sneaked across the line 
 or not. Everybody thet did any tradin' sold it then. 
 
320 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 Bless ye, how times hev changed ! Why, in them days, 
 a man could be jest es respectable sellin' rum es sellin' 
 groceries. Nothin' was thought on it — an' as a matter 
 o' fact the both on 'em were usually sold together. A 
 man would hev been in pesky hard sleddin' then if he'd 
 tried t' run a grocery store 'thout a good supply o' New 
 England rum. There was lots o' money in thet part 
 o' the business." 
 
 Ike paused, and puffed reflectively at his T. D. pipe. 
 
 " Why, Lord bless ye," he resumed, presently, 
 " there's lots o' folks I know on to-day stickin' their 
 noses 'n the air an' playin' the nabob, whose daddies, 
 to my sartin knowledge, made their money sellin' rum 
 'n old times. I tell ye, Paul, it doesn't talce'a very 
 heavy foundation for a codfish aristocracy. Jt mostly 
 consists 'n elevation o' nose. Why, dear boy', if I'd a 
 hung on t' my money in the old days, an' laid it up 
 t' int'rest, I might to-day be cuttin' quite a wide swath 
 with some o' the loftiest on 'em. Generosity was my 
 great failin', but 't was enough t' shet me clean out 
 o' thet crowd — an' here I am. But, arter all, the old 
 days was the live ones, an' I like t' call 'em up 
 now an' then." 
 
 " Ba tonnerre ! I gass dat ban preetee high tam," 
 commented Paul, with animation. 
 
 " Wal, ye may jest believe they were. Talk 'bout 
 intemperance, bless ye, we don't know the rale meanin' 
 o' thet word in these 'ere days o' prohibition. I wish 
 ye could ha' seen the blowouts there used t' be in the 
 
AN UNEXPECTED TURN OF EVENTS 32 1 
 
 Bell Tavern. 'Most everybody thet was there took a 
 hand in 'em, an' the amount o' rum thet would 
 slide over the bar on them occasions was jest suthin' 
 tremenjus." 
 
 " Dat officers, where she ban? " 
 
 " Usually they was the fust ones t' git filled up an' 
 laid away. They had a different way o' puttin' down 
 rum in them days nor what they do now. Talk 'bout 
 there bein' so much rum drank now as there ever was. 
 It's all bosh. There don't begin t' be. People is a 
 growin' more and more temp'rate. There's nowhere 
 nigh so much rum smuggled across the line 's there used 
 t' be when I fust started in the bis'ness with old Steve 
 Larkin thutty years ago this fall." 
 
 " Mus' ban mos' all de tarn wan grande soiree, I t'ink 
 me," declaredTaul. 
 
 " Thet's jest what it was," assented Ike. " A jollier 
 crowd never got together. They was all the time a 
 cuttin' up all sorts o' shines an' capers. Ye see there 
 wasn't much danger in the work in them days. We 
 wasn't all the time in mortal fear o' gettin' jugged. 
 Bill Akers was the biggest joker in the crew. He's out 
 West somewhere now, I believe. I kin see 'im now in 
 my mind jest like he looked when he fust jined us. He 
 was a tall, larrupin', loose- j'inted, good-natered feller, 
 's plumb full .0' mischief as an' egg is o' meat, alius 
 a-grinnin', an' alius hatchin' up some deviltry or other. 
 Still, I'll say t' Bill's credit he alius took things in good 
 part when he got rubbed now an' then hisself ; but ye 
 
322 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 can jest bet the feller thet fooled with 'im had t' look 
 out. He most alius paid back his debts with int'rest, 
 es some o' the boys found out t' their sorrow." 
 
 " He don't feel sateesfy I expec' till he play dem wan 
 smart treek," laughed Paul. 
 
 " You bet he didn't," assented Ike. " The fust night 
 he struck camp the boys sort o' sized 'im up for a 
 muttonhead. He'd no sooner got soundly t' sleep 'n 
 Dan Ellis — one o' the wust jokers in camp — took a 
 sharp knife an' cut out every blessed buttonhole on his 
 clothes. Jeruselum ! how the boys nagged 'im the next 
 mornin'; I shall never forgit the quiet grin 't was on 
 his mug as he sot straddle o' the deacon seat sewin' up 
 the edges o' them buttonholes. Never said a word 
 'bout it, but you bet he kept up a powerful sight 
 o' thinkin'. 
 
 " 'Bout a week arter thet Dan was a-smokin' his pipe 
 afore the fire one night, when all t' wunst she sailed 
 away through the log chimney in the roof, an' was never 
 seen arterwards." 
 
 " Ha ! Ha ! Dat tam it hees picnique," laughed Paul. 
 
 " Thet's what it was," chuckled Ike, " an' 't was 
 only the beginnin' o' some o' the comicalist and most 
 pestiverous tricks I ever hearn tell on. All on us got 
 a taste on 'em — an' some on us got a square meal." 
 
 " Wedder you moche hongree or not, I t'ink me," 
 suggested Paul. 
 
 " Didn't make a mite o' diff'rence," asserted Ike. 
 " At fust we didn't know jest what t' make on it ; but 
 
AN UNEXPECTED TURN OF EVENTS 323 
 
 it didn't take long t' s'picion thet Bill Akers was the 
 father o' most all the deviltry afoot. His ingenuity an' 
 industry was suthin' tremenjous; never seen the like 
 on 't afore or since. We stood it jest es long 's we 
 could an' then a crowd on us took 'im out front the 
 camp one day, held 'im across a log there, an' gin 'im 
 a good, sound spankin' with a big salt codfish." 
 
 " Sapre tonnerre ! " interposed Paul. " I t'ink me 
 he nearly tak' de fit." 
 
 " You bet we gin 'im fits," continued Ike. " He 
 bellowed like a good un, an' promised better fashions — 
 but, bless ye, he couldn't keep 'em. He jest couldn't 
 keep from cuttin' up didoes nohow. I will say, how- 
 somever, thet he was jest a little more keerful arter thet 
 'bout meddlin' with those on us who gin 'im the 
 trouncin'. When he did do suthin' he laid out not 
 t' git ketched." 
 
 " I gass dat codfeesh help heem for fin' out 
 som't'eeng," suggested Paul. 
 
 " It was jest the medicine he needed," declared Ike. 
 " Jest strengthened up his memory amazin'ly." 
 
 " Ba Joe ! I bat he ban careful den how he laugh 
 heemse'f on hees face," declared Paul. 
 
 " He hed no call t' laugh for quite a spell arter thet," 
 declared Ike. " Still, for all his pranks Bill was a good 
 feller an' I'd like mighty well t' see 'im agin. Times 
 has changed in this 'ere bis'ness, Paul. There's mighty 
 few on 'em makes a success on it now 'n the long run. 
 I've had one or two tight squeaks myself, an' I don't 
 
324 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 mind tellin' on ye thet I'm gittin' sick on 't. I reckon 
 as how I'll cut loose, an' work into suthin' sort o' decent. 
 We poor dogs is pretty sartin t' be the ones t' git pinched 
 in the nippers o' the law. I tell ye, Paul, a man with 
 money an' political influence kin do purty nigh es he 
 wants t' in this world." 
 
 " I dunno, Ike," returned Paul, doubtfully. " Mabbe 
 so. Jus' de sam' it not kip M'sieu Arno Damon from 
 go to preeson for de smuggle. He got moche monee, 
 an' ban beeg man on de politique up Mad'wascow. I 
 don' t'ink me dat dem gouvernement fellaire care ver' 
 moche 'bout dat." 
 
 " Wal, it's mighty often the case," persisted Ike, 
 doggedly, a little staggered at Paul's practical way of 
 meeting his gloomy view of official honesty. " Least- 
 wise I've known a good many cases on it in my time." 
 
 Paul rose from the cedar butt that had served for a 
 seat and stretched himself with a yawn. 
 
 " Where ye goin' ? " asked Ike, with manifest uneas- 
 iness. 
 
 " I t'ink I ban go me to de Cornerre. Pete he not 
 do heemse'f not'eeng for nex' mont'. Bimeby p'haps 
 he start heem wance agen. I gass somet'eeng mak' 
 heem scare." 
 
 " You're right, Paul," assented Ike. " Pete is scared, 
 an' the wust on it all is he's got good reason t' be. I 
 reckon he's about t' the end o' his rope. If he don't 
 clar out mighty soon he'll fetch up at a place where 
 the gov'ment '11 pay his board for quite a spell." 
 
AN UNEXPECTED TURN OF EVENTS 325 
 
 " De gouvernement ! " exclaimed Paul, in a tone of 
 dismay. " Wat mak' you t'eenk dat ? " 
 
 " We're discovered," responded Ike, despondently, 
 " The jig's up, Paul." 
 
 " Deescovered ! " echoed Paul, in a panicky tone. 
 "Whokeeckin' de row?" 
 
 " Andrew Benson's grandson, the young feller you 
 hearn testify agin Jean at the trial — the same feller 
 as shot Pete's dog." 
 
 " Yass," said Paul, " I know heem." 
 
 " Wal," continued Ike, " Pete an' I was a-talkin' over 
 matters out here in front o' the camp a short spell ago, 
 never dreamin' there was a soul nigh us, when all 
 t' once that 'ere Benson boy come tumblin' out of the 
 loft in the hoss hovel down into the big double stall. 
 I tell ye it gin us 'n awful start. The bugger 'd bin 
 a-list'nin' up there an' hearn every blessed word we 
 said." 
 
 Paul's face betrayed very plainly the alarm he felt at 
 this announcement, and which he hastened to express 
 in words. 
 
 " Ba cripe ! He leessen ? I gass den he hear heem 
 som't'eengs. Wat Pete he do ? " 
 
 " He ran in t' the hovel an' fetched him out here," 
 said Ike. " I started t' tie him up with shingle rope, 
 but afore I got it done he slid outer his coat 's if he'd 
 bin greased, an' the way he streaked it across the clearin' 
 was a caution t' owls. I tell ye it gin Pete 'n awful 
 jolt. If the boy 'd a got safe across the brook I don't 
 
326 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 believe Pete ud ever ketched 'im, for all he prides hisself 
 on bein' sech a wonderful critter in the woods." 
 
 " Sapristi ! Dat mus' mak' Pete mos' crazee. He 
 get heem, hey ? " 
 
 " Yes, he managed t' shake 'im off the log thet run 
 across the brook, an' ketched 'im in the bed o' the 
 stream." 
 
 " I was say me he ban mad," suggested Paul. 
 
 " As a wet hen," coincided Ike. " He was goin' 
 t' gin 'im a lickin', but I 'lowed that wouldn't do 
 nohow." 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! I t'ink me not," said Paul, with 
 emphasis. " Wat he do wit' heem ? " 
 
 "The boy?" 
 
 " Yass." 
 
 " Oh, he's down in the scoop." 
 
 This announcement seemed to have an electrical 
 effect upon Paul. He straightened himself with sudden 
 decision, and cast an apprehensive glance about the 
 clearing. 
 
 " Dat bad biz'neese," he said. " We go on spout. 
 I t'ink she bus' rat off." 
 
 " Oh, I reckon not," said Ike, reassuringly. " They 
 probably won't think o' lookin' for the boy for a week 
 or so." 
 
 " I dunno," returned Paul, doubtfully. " I don't feel 
 sateesfy dat ban so. Pete he ack jes' sam' he don' care 
 for not'eeng in dis affaire. Mabbee he taken too moche 
 on de w'isky." 
 
AN UNEXPECTED TURN OF EVENTS 327 
 
 " No," said Ike. " He was sober 's a judge. I hope 
 ye won't ever let on thet I told ye 'bout this, Paul," he 
 added, solicitously. 
 
 " I t'ink I will close ma tongue. I say not'eeng at 
 all," assured Paul. " Wal, I gass I ban leffin' now. 
 Bonjour, Ike, mon vieux, I t'ink I not go Cornerre, I 
 gass I ronne me fas' I can for Canadaw." 
 
 " I'm good mind t' go along with ye, Paul," said Ike, 
 wistfully. " Mebbe I will a little later. Mind your 
 failin's, Paul." — - 
 
 " For w'at you spik lak dat, Ike ? " asked the French- 
 man, reproachfully. " I tole you I go me no more for 
 jamboree. Las' tam I feel I was go crazee. Ma head 
 roun', roun' she go. Ma wife he cry lak de bebe. It 
 mak' me feel so bad I swear off ver' fas'." 
 
 " So ye have a wife, have ye, Paul ? " asked Ike, with 
 interest. 
 
 " I have de mos' nice leetle familee on whole paroisse 
 on my cabane, four boy an' four girl — she mak' eight. 
 Ma shaintee on St. Marie ban no belle maison ; but she 
 ver' warm, an' ma famme he kip heem so nice an' clean." 
 
 " Do you have a farm ? " inquired Ike. 
 
 " No. I ban me wan poor farmerre. I work me 
 dere in de sawmeel. I saw de slab. I got monee on 
 ma clothes now, I go home for de good. I stay wit' 
 my familee. I got me more monee in Les Etats Unis ; 
 but monee not ban all. Mabbe a man get heem all de 
 monee in de worl'. W'at den? Some day, ba gosh, 
 he die." 
 
328 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 "True enough, Paul," assented Ike. "There's no 
 pocket in a shroud. Say, do you s'pose ye could git 
 me a job in thet 'ere sawmill? " 
 
 " I t'ink so." 
 
 " All right, keep 'n eye out for me, Paul. I may 
 jine ye sooner 'n ye expect." 
 
 "I t'ink I feex dat," said Paul. " Wal, encore 
 bonjour," and with a glance about the clearing Paul 
 made his way with quick, catlike steps along the wood 
 road back of the camp which stretched away towards' 
 the Canada line. 
 
 After he had gone, Ike buried his chin in his hands 
 and remained for sometime in a deep study. It was 
 evident that his reflections were of a perturbed char- 
 acter. Occasionally he would raise his head and glance 
 suspiciously around the clearing, as if fearful of being 
 watched. Once he arose and started to enter the camp, 
 with some evident purpose in mind, then pausing a 
 moment, irresolutely, he resumed his seat and former 
 attitude. 
 
 Raymond, who had been an interested listener to the 
 conversation between Ike and Paul, was in doubt as to 
 what course of action he had best pursue. For a 
 moment he entertained the thought of coming boldly 
 forth and taking Ike prisoner under cover of his shot- 
 gun. But upon reflection he abandoned the thought. 
 He would run great risks in securing the wiry old 
 fellow, and besides, Pete was liable to return at any 
 moment. 
 
AN UNEXPECTED TURN OF EVENTS 329 
 
 Having reached this conclusionj Raymond started to 
 climb out of a little window behind the stalls at the rear 
 of the hovel, but immediately drew back in consterna- 
 tion at the sight that met his gaze. Striding savagely 
 up the narrow path that led from the brook was old Pete 
 Atkins, roughly dragging behind him Ned Grover, 
 securely bound with shingle rope. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 NED HAS SOME STIRRING EXPERIENCES 
 
 After separating from Raymond, Ned Grover had 
 struck boldly out into the timber, determined to make as 
 wide a detour as possible before the time appointed for 
 his meeting with Raymond in the clump of firs back of 
 Dole's camp. 
 
 He was an adept in woodcraft, and succeeded in mak- 
 ing rapid progress through the trees and underbrush. 
 " I'll go out till I strike the brook and follow it down to 
 the clearing," he thought. " If old Pete and his crowd 
 have any special hiding-place, it won't be far from a 
 water supply." With this reflection he continued 
 rapidly on his way, and soon had the satisfaction of 
 hearing the lively babble of the brook, as it ran briskly 
 over its rocky bed on its long journey to the sea. 
 
 " Who'd ever have supposed," mused Ned, as he 
 pushed his way through the bushes and stood for a 
 moment upon a large boulder that jutted out from its 
 bank, " that heavy logs could ever have been driven on 
 such a small stream ; yet I suppose there are thousands 
 and thousands of feet go down here every spring. The 
 system of sluicing has been a big thing for the lumber 
 interests." 
 
 330 
 
NED HAS SOME STIRRING EXPERIENCES 33 1 
 
 The method of timber driving which Ned had in mind 
 is one adopted by lumbermen for getting logs down the 
 brooks to streams and rivers, where the natural depth of 
 the water is sufficient to float them. 
 
 The timber along such waterways was very early cut 
 off and floated to the mills. Then the lumbermen were 
 forced to go further back into the woods, occasioning 
 longer hauls and a consequent increase of expense in 
 getting the logs to the " landings," as the places where 
 they are piled through the winter, preparatory to driv- 
 ing in the spring, are called. 
 
 When these hauls became so long as to be unprofitable, 
 the lumbermen were forced to resort to new methods for 
 getting the logs to the large waterways. Then it was 
 that brooks which had always been thought too small 
 for such purposes were utilized as waterways. The 
 rocks and rubbish that impeded their beds were carefully 
 removed. Large log dams were built at convenient 
 intervals along their banks, and through sluiceways in 
 these the logs were carried in the deep water thus created 
 to the large streams or rivers with sufficient natural 
 depth of water for driving. 
 
 Vast tracks of timber lands, once considered inacces- 
 sible to operators, were thus opened up for cutting, and 
 the wealth and prosperity of the state materially 
 increased. 
 
 Below the place where Ned had struck the brook was 
 one of these log dams. It was admirably situated, 
 between two steep banks of granite, on the brow of a 
 
332 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 small waterfall that marked an abrupt descent of a 
 dozen or more feet in the brook bed. The water ran 
 swiftly through the sluiceway, the gate of which, as is 
 customary with such dams, was always open except 
 during the spring drives. 
 
 As a result, its artificial lake bed was empty the 
 greater part of the year, but its waters, bounding over 
 the edge of the falls, plunged into a deep natural basin 
 which went by the name of the Pool, and was known to 
 all sportsmen of that section as one of the finest places 
 for trout fishing on the brook. 
 
 Ned pushed eagerly on to this place, intending to cut 
 a pole, and try the effect of a fly-hook upon its speckled 
 beauties. As he approached the edge of the dam, how- 
 ever, he heard the sound of angry voices from below. 
 Crawling carefully to its top, he looked down and saw 
 a sight that filled him with amazement. Standing 
 beneath the slanting logs of the dam, a short distance 
 from the Pool, was Simon Dart, endeavoring in his 
 peculiarly soft-spoken and whining way, to pacify the 
 anger of a brawny-looking man who walked excitedly 
 up and down, talking and gesticulating in a very loud 
 and emphatic manner. 
 
 The face of the man was what riveted Ned's attention. 
 He could have sworn that it was Jean Gambler, though 
 the last he had heard of that worthy was the informa- 
 tion, conveyed in a brief paragraph in one of the Bolton 
 papers, that he had arrived safely, in charge of the 
 officers, at the State Prison at Thomaston, and had been 
 
NED HAS SOME STIRRING EXPERIENCES 333 
 
 assigned work in the carriage department. The man 
 who stood before Dart, however, was his exact counter- 
 part. He had the same swarthy complexion, the same 
 deep, shaggy eyebrows, and snapping, small, black eyes, 
 and his head was covered with the same profusion of 
 half curly, black hair. 
 
 "Well, I declare," thought Ned. "If that isn't 
 Jean Gambler, it's his ghost, t had a chance to see 
 him during the arson trial, and I can't possibly be 
 deceived in that face." The man's words, however, 
 speedily dispelled this idea. " I tole you," he said, 
 fiercely, " dere ban a bonder dollarre an' hees familee 
 dey mus' have heem. Dere ban hees famme and de five 
 leetle boy an' girl, an' I tole you dey mus' have de 
 monee." 
 
 " Now, my good man, don't get excited," said Dart, 
 blandly. " I want you to understand distinctly that I 
 don't owe your brother a red cent. I never employed 
 him. He worked for Atkins. If there was anything 
 due him Pete is the man to pay it, not I." 
 
 " Jus' you look me here, M'sieu Dart, w'at for you 
 spiklakdat? Ha! Ha! Monjee! I gass you t'ihk me 
 wan leetle spreeng cheeken, hey ? " 
 
 " Why, of course I don't think anything of the kind," 
 declared Simon, impatiently. 
 
 " Excuse to me, M'sieu Dart. Don' geeve me some 
 warm air, 'cos I don' lak me dat. I t'ink I rader have 
 me pork an' bean mos' any tam. W'y don' you t'ink 
 I know me who mos' begges man in dis whole biz-neese ? 
 
334 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 You mak' de plan, an' get mos' de monee. I gass you 
 pay me w'at belongs ma broder or ba gosh I mak' you 
 t'ink I wan grande loup garou. I get me dem dollarre 
 out you pocquette, or mabbee out you skeen." 
 
 " See here, my good friend," protested Simon, in 
 alarm, " what's the use of getting so warm ? Go slow, 
 man. Go slow. I wouldn't cheat your brother's family 
 out of a penny that properly belongs to them ; but I don't 
 feel called upon to pay other people's bills. I want to 
 do the right thing by you ; and was on my way to the 
 camp when you met me. Suppose you come along with 
 me and see Pete. We three can talk the thing over and 
 fix it up right. I haven't any doubt but that if Pete 
 is owing your brother what you say he is, he will pay it 
 at once." 
 
 The Frenchman laughed, incredulously. 
 
 " I gass you mus' t'ink I ban crazee," he said. " Wat 
 plaiseer it geeve for you ! Mon Dieu ! You so grande, 
 so noble, so beeg on heart, ev'rywan mus' trus' you. 
 How could soche a bonhomme cheat heem a poor 
 Canayen ? I t'ink I see Pete an' de res' hees gang keel 
 dem dat fatted calf for me. Or mabbe dey tie me up in 
 boss shaintee. Excuzay me, M'sieu Dart. I don' ban 
 so green I look me." 
 
 "Your suspicions are groundless and foolish," said 
 Simon, stiffly. " I have no wish to deceive you. Now, 
 even admitting that I do owe Jean Gambler a hundred 
 dollars, what authority have I to pay it to you ? How 
 do I know you are his brother ? " 
 
NED HAS SOME STIRRING EXPERIENCES 33S 
 
 " W'y I tole dat ban so, I — " began the Frenchman, 
 in a tone of surprise. 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know what you say," interrupted Simon, 
 impatiently ; " but your saying so doesn't make it so. 
 How do I know but what you're an imposter — a — a 
 swindler ? " 
 
 " A sweendler ! Ba gorry. Wat's de matter wit 
 youse'f?" 
 
 " Have you a written order for Jean Gambier's pay? " 
 demanded Simon, coldly, ignoring the other's sarcasm. 
 
 " I tole you I ban me hees broder," persisted the 
 Frenchman, doggedly. " I mus' have de monee for hees 
 familee." 
 
 Simon held up both hands in despair. 
 
 " Oh, you don't understand ! " he exclaimed. " How 
 do I know Jean Gambier's family would get any money 
 I paid you ? No one has any right to pay over money 
 on his account to a third person, without a written order 
 from him." 
 
 " How ver', ver' moche you love you de law jus' dees 
 tam ! " sneered the Frenchman. " You mak' me for be 
 seek. You wan beeg hypocreet. Ba cripe ! " he added, 
 in a sudden fierce gust of anger. " You jus' geeve for 
 me dat monee, or I leek you 'bout one leetle inch you 
 life, me." 
 
 The speaker was gesticulating violently, and his face 
 was livid with passion. 
 
 Simon was thoroughly frightened. With a quick 
 movement his hand sought his breast, but before he 
 
33^ THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 could carry out his evident intention of drawing a 
 revolver, he found himself looking into the muzzle of a 
 heavy Colt which his companion had carried in his belt. 
 
 " For heaven's sake, don't shoot ! " he cried. " I was 
 just after my pocketbook." 
 
 " Yass, I expec' dat ban so," was the sarcastic 
 rejoinder. " Now, M'sieu Dart, you jus' leef you 
 hands over you face." 
 
 " You — you don't intend to rob me, do you ? " faltered 
 Simon, in genuine alarm. 
 
 " Oh no," returned the Frenchman, grimly. " I jus' 
 mak me sure you don't rob my broder hees familee. I 
 gass I tak' me you monee an' you peestol." 
 
 " I'm in your power," acquiesced Simon, sullenly. 
 
 The Frenchman was about to carry out his purpose, 
 when both he and Dart were startled by the sounds of 
 a furious struggle, and loud, angry words, which came 
 to them from above the dam. 
 
 So absorbed had Ned been in the interview between 
 Dart and his companion that for a time he had for- 
 gotten everything else. He was rudely awakened from 
 his interest in the scene below him by the grip of a heavy 
 hand on his coat-collar, and a rough voice exclaiming: 
 
 " Ba golly ! Wat you ban do here, you leetle 
 rascal ? " 
 
 Quickly turning his head Ned found himself in the 
 tight grasp of a man so closely resembling the one he 
 had seen talking with Dart that it almost seemed as if 
 he were his shadow. 
 
NED HAS SOME STIRRING EXPERIENCES 337 
 
 " It's a brother, perhaps a twin," was the thought that 
 flashed across his mind. " Le' go o' me. What you 
 think you're doing? " he added, aloud, to his captor, in 
 tones of indignation. 
 
 " I t'ink me I keep yo ma leetle garcon mabbe not 
 ver' long tam," returned his captor with provoking 
 composure. 
 
 " Perhaps you will, and perhaps you'll not," returned 
 Ned, angrily. 
 
 It was evident that he was far from being conquered. 
 He was compactly built, and wonderfully strong and 
 cordy for a boy of his years. With a sharp jerk he 
 attempted to free himself from the strong grasp upon 
 his collar. Failing in this, he suddenly seized his captor 
 by the hair with both hands, and gave him a pull that 
 threw him off his feet. The man still kept his hold on 
 Ned's collar, and together they rolled over and over 
 down the sharp incline of the dam to the basin beneath. 
 
 Fortunately they brought up near the end of the dam, 
 otherwise they might have sustained serious injuries. 
 As it was, they escaped with a few bruises, but both 
 were thoroughly roused. The struggle was promptly 
 renewed at the foot of the incline, but Ned was speedily 
 overcome, and soon lay, panting and exhausted, upon the 
 gravelly bed of the basin. 
 
 " Sapre ! " ejaculated his captor, as he sat astride of 
 him and securely bound him with a strong cord which 
 he produced from his pocket. " You ban so queeck lak 
 wan leetle weasel." 
 
338 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 It was evident from the man's tone that his respect 
 for Ned had been considerably increased by the stiff 
 fight the boy had put up. 
 
 " What do you want of me ? What have I done ? " 
 demanded Ned, breathing hard from the violence of his 
 exertions. 
 
 *' I see 'bout dat bamby," returned his captor, briefly, 
 as he rose to his feet and lifted Ned after him. " Dat 
 man down dere ma broder." 
 
 " Which — the smooth-faced one ? " asked Ned, inno- 
 cently. 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! No," responded the Frenchman, dis- 
 gustedly, " de oder wan." 
 
 " What were you intending to do — bury Dart after 
 your brother had killed him ? " asked Ned, sarcastically. 
 
 " Dat not ban so, ma leetle man, " protested the 
 Frenchman. " I ban go for I t'inks me ma broder ban 
 dere, an' I gass he need heem me mabbe. I ronne down 
 de brook an' fin' heem an' M'sieu Dart sam' tam I fin' 
 you. M'sieu Dart owe ma broder moche monee. We 
 mus' have heem for hees familee." 
 
 " Well, you might as well smash Dart's head as to 
 break his heart," declared Ned. " That's what will 
 certainly happen if you get any money out of him." 
 
 " Wal, you ban a fonny wan," said Ned's captor^ 
 looking at him with evident interest. " W'at you ban 
 lookin' for?" 
 
 " Well, I had thought of doing a little fishing." 
 
 " Dat so? Where you line heem be? " 
 
NED HAS SOME STIRRING EXPERIENCES 339 
 
 " In my haversack." 
 
 " Wat for you keep heem dere if you wan' feesh? " 
 
 " I didn't want to use it till I got ready to." 
 
 " You ban fonny wan. You walk way down de 
 brook, hey, to fin' some place to feesh, an' no fin' heem 
 at all." 
 
 " I wasn't very anxious to fish," said Ned. " I didn't 
 have much time for it, so I thought I would only try a 
 few of the best holes, beginning with the big pool below 
 the dam. I heard voices and thought some one had got 
 in ahead of me, so I climbed up on the dam to see who 
 they were. Just as I was looking down on them you 
 came along and collared me. I should like to know 
 what you mean by it. You've laid yourself liable to law 
 by laying hands on me in this way. It's an outrage, 
 and is pretty apt to make you a good deal of trouble." 
 
 " I t'ink I tak' me de chances," said Ned's captor, with 
 a quiet grin. 
 
 " Who dat you got heem here? " shouted the other 
 Gambier, who at this moment made his appearance 
 through the underbrush, closely followed by Dart. 
 
 " Wan little garcon w'at I ketch me top de dam. He 
 leessen w'at you two ban say." 
 
 " I know him," said Dart. " He's the son of one of 
 my neighbors." 
 
 It was evident that Simon was thoroughly discom- 
 fited. His voice was strangely agitated, his mouth 
 twitched nervously, and his sallow complexion had taken 
 on an unusual pallor. Ned mentally concluded that 
 
340 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 Simon had decided that a crisis was at hand, and was 
 even then considering plans of escape — a conclusion that 
 was shown, by subsequent events, to have been correct. 
 
 " How much did you say was due your brother ? " he 
 asked, sullenly, turning to the first brother. 
 
 " Wan bonder dollarre." 
 
 Drawing a wallet from his hip pocket, Dart dolefully 
 counted out the amount and handed it to his inquisitor. 
 
 " This is not my debt, but I will pay it," he said. 
 " We are now square, I believe." 
 
 " Yass, dat ban all," responded the Frenchman, with 
 evident relief. 
 
 "You are quite sure that you don't want me to 
 pension your whole family, are you ? " 
 
 " We only wan' w'at ban our broder's." 
 
 " Well, you've got more than that this morning. I 
 don't object to giving something for charity now and 
 then. Your brother's family are evidently in straitened 
 circumstances, and I don't object to helping them a little ; 
 but you mustn't try to ride a free horse to death." 
 
 These remarks were evidently made for Ned's ears, 
 and, sorry as was the boy's plight, he could hardly 
 refrain from laughing outright at them. 
 
 Even the brothers appeared to see the humor of Simon 
 Dart in the role of a philanthropist. Having secured 
 his money they were impervious to his sarcasm, and 
 grinned broadly at his peppery remarks. 
 
 " Dere ban noding furder wit' you," said the elder 
 brother, turning away from him impatiently. 
 
NED HAS SOME STIRRING EXPERIENCES 34I 
 
 " Well, then, I'll go on to the camp," continued Dart, 
 as he struck out into the woods in the direction of the 
 clearing; but Ned knew very well that it would be some 
 time, if ever, before he would be seen again in that 
 vicinity. 
 
 " Well, what do you want of me now, boys ? " he 
 said, turning to the Gambiers, when Simon had disap- 
 peared in the underbrush. " That money was paid you 
 voluntarily, and I have been a witness of nothing that 
 will count against you. The only way that I see in 
 which you have laid yourselves liable is in your treat- 
 ment of me, and I sha'n't say a word about it if you let 
 me go." 
 
 " You tole us true? " asked the elder brother, 
 anxiously. 
 
 " Upon my word." 
 
 " Wal, den, bonjour," he answered, as he released 
 Ned from his bonds. 
 
 " Now let me give you a word of advice, boys," said 
 Ned, when he found himself free. " Go to your home 
 in Canada with that money and stay there. Don't come 
 this way again. Something is going to drop round here 
 pretty soon." 
 
 " Dat's jus' w'at we ban do," was the response, and 
 in a moment more the brothers had disappeared through 
 the woods. 
 
 When they were gone, Ned secured his gun and 
 haversack from the place where he had left them when 
 he climbed upon the dam. Then he glanced for the first 
 
342 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 time at his watch. " My gracious ! " he exclaimed to 
 himself. " I didn't think it was so late. I was to meet 
 Raymond behind the camp at two o'clock, and here it's 
 already half past. It will be after three before I get 
 there, in spite of all I can do." 
 
 Ned was right in this conclusion. Although he 
 pushed forward with all possible haste, it was over an 
 hour later than the appointed time of meeting when he 
 reached the clump of firs behind the camp. He felt no 
 surprise at not finding Raymond. He had expected that 
 he would get tired of waiting. " I'll bet a dollar he's 
 scouting round that camp somewhere," he thought. 
 " I'll try that whistle on him," and, putting his fingers 
 to his mouth, he gave the signal that had been agreed 
 upon when he and Raymond separated. It was imme- 
 diately answered by a brisk step in the underbrush. 
 " I thought that would bring him," muttered Ned. " I 
 wonder what mare's nest he's discovered now ? " 
 
 The step drew nearer. The thick firs parted, and 
 Ned turned to find himself in the rough grasp of old 
 Pete Atkins. 
 
CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 NED BECOMES ACQUAINTED WITH THE SCOOP 
 
 " This is sartinly great luck," chuckled the Chestnut 
 rumseller exultingly, as his fingers closed on Ned's 
 collar. " I felt dead sure thet first young cub wasn't 
 alone." 
 
 " Hands off ! What do you want of me ? " cried Ned, 
 indignantly. 
 
 " I want to see thet you're looked after an' taken good 
 care on," was the sneering reply, as Pete proceeded to 
 bind Ned in a very secure manner, despite his most 
 frantic struggles, with some shingle rope which he took 
 from one of his pockets. 
 
 " What you two boys think ye 'd do round here? " he 
 asked, abruptly, when he had finished this task. 
 
 " Oh, hunt and fish." 
 
 " Wanted a little sport, did ye? " 
 
 " It makes no difference what I want. This piece of 
 work will make you a mighty lot of trouble. What 
 right have you to tie me up in this way ? " 
 
 " All the right in the world, youngster. I'm first 
 selectman o' this township. The state has neglected it ; 
 but I haven't. I've incorporated it and organized a town 
 government. Now it seems t' us people here as how ye 
 
 343 
 
344 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 need looking arter. You're a vagrant without visible 
 means o' support, an' there are many things t' indicate 
 that ye are loony," and Pete tapped his forehead with a 
 significant grin. 
 
 The capture of Ned had apparently put the smuggler 
 chief into a jocose frame of mind. He seemed to 
 extract considerable amusement from his own efforts 
 at wit. 
 
 " Do ye know where I'm a-taking of ye ? " he asked, 
 abruptly. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " T' the Letter K poorhouse. We'll keep ye there a 
 spell till we decide what t' do with ye. It's evident that 
 you're too dangerous a feller t' run at large. How 
 many scalps did ye ever lift ? " 
 
 " It makes no difference what I've done. You'll see 
 the day you'll rue this business." 
 
 " Haven't ye any sense o' gratitude, ye young scamp ? 
 Come all the way down here for sport, an' now ye don't 
 appreciate my efforts to gin it t' ye." 
 
 " Do you mean to rob me ? " demanded Ned. 
 
 " Not at all, sonny. T' show ye thet I don't we'll leave 
 your gun an' bundle o' dynamite right here in these 
 firs. You can come back an' get 'em, if the Council o' 
 State decides that you're all right." 
 
 " You'll find there isn't so much fun in this thing as 
 you think." 
 
 " I guess not, sonny. Where's t' other feller? " 
 
 "Byer?" 
 
NED BECOMES ACQUAINTED WITH THE SCOOP 345 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Oh, he didn't come with us in here. He just drove 
 us down and took the team home." 
 
 A satisfied grin stole over Pete's face, and Ned was 
 almost ready to cry with vexation. He saw that the 
 wily old rascal had wormed out of him the very piece of 
 information he was most anxious to secure. " Ray- 
 mond," he reflected, " is probably a prisoner, and now 
 that he's got me, and knows there are but two of us, 
 he'll take precious good care that neither of us escapes." 
 
 " When youngsters like you try t' put me on my back, 
 ye're liable t' find ye've bitten off considerably more than 
 ye can chew," said old Pete, dropping his affected pleas- 
 antry as he took a firmer grip upon Ned's collar, and 
 half lifted, half dragged him towards the camp. " I 
 shouldn't wonder if ye wished ye'd stayed to home, 
 where ye belong, afore ye get out o' this scrape." 
 
 " If this doesn't mean a good deal more trouble for 
 you than it does for me, then I miss my guess, that's all," 
 said Ned, defiantly. 
 
 "Crow away, my little bantam. We'll clip them 
 wings o' yourn so ye can't fly very far," responded Pete, 
 wrathfuUy. 
 
 " Wal, who've ye got now ? " demanded Ike Wallace, 
 as Pete dragged Ned in front of the camp. 
 
 " The boy that came down here with young Benson," 
 said Pete, with grim satisfaction. " Now we're all 
 right, Ike. There was only two on 'em." 
 
 " Seems t' me we're all wrong," returned Ike, dole- 
 
346 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 fully. " Ye don't s'pose the boys' folks will let 'em 
 stay here very long 'thout hunting 'em up, do ye ? " 
 
 " No, but it will be one thing t' hunt for 'em an' 
 another t' find 'em," returned Pete, confidently. " Why, 
 Ike, I'll bet there's ben hundreds o' people in thet camp 
 since we built the scoop, an' nary a one outside o' the 
 gang suspected its existence." 
 
 " Look here, Pete," said Ike, sharply, " if ye think 
 you're goin' to keep them boys here an' not be found out 
 when dozens o' men get t' ransacking this vicinity, an' 
 even this camp, in sarch on 'em, ye show poorer jedg- 
 ment than I want t' hitch to. Thet's all I've got t' say." 
 
 " Wal, in the fust place, they won't begin t' hunt for 
 'em for a week," declared Pete, doggedly. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Look at this knapsack. Boys don't lug so much 
 grub for one day's fun. The young cubs are altogether 
 too lazy for thet. No, them boys are out for a week, an' 
 it will most likely be ten days afore their families begin 
 t' be worried about 'em. Before thet the fellers '11 be 
 here with the last load o' collateral. Then we can close 
 up business an' get out for a spell." 
 
 " Ye think, then, that the jig is up, do ye? " 
 
 " O' course it is now ; but only for a short time. In 
 a few weeks matters '11 git quieted down agin. Folks '11 
 forgit about it, an' we can fix up some new place an' 
 go on as before. All we've got t' do is t' hold tough . 
 for a day or two more. We must see thet the boys 
 reach here all right with their stuff. It may be thet 
 
NED BECOMES ACQUAINTED WITH THE SCOOP 347 
 
 we shall have to meet 'em an' have 'em dump it some- 
 where else. It seems t' me, though, thet if we can have 
 a clear coast it '11 be a good deal better t' run it right 
 through t' the scoop. Then we can watch our chances 
 for getting it out t' the Corner." 
 
 " Ye couldn't leave it there a great spell with those 
 boys on your hands," declared Ike. 
 
 " One thing is sartin, Ike, we must stand by our 
 fellers an' see 'em safe through with the matter." 
 
 " O' course we must." 
 
 " If everything goes right we can close up operations 
 an' clar out for a spell." 
 
 " What ye goin' t' do with these youngsters? " 
 
 " I don't know exactly yet. I haven't decided," 
 responded Pete, evasively. " One thing is sartin, 
 though, I sha'n't do anything thet will put us in a box. 
 Depend on it, Ike, I will pull out o' this business all 
 right. I've done a lot on it an' haven't ben trapped yet." 
 
 Ike brightened visibly at these words, and apparently 
 began to feel that the outlook was not altogether so 
 hopeless as he had imagined. 
 
 " Open up the scoop," commanded Pete ; and the 
 order was obeyed with considerable more alacrity than 
 had been shown in Raymond's case. 
 
 " Now, my gay young lark, I've a fine little cage for 
 ye here," said Pete, as he lifted Ned down the ladder. 
 " It is snug an' tight, an' yer singing won't disturb the 
 family 'n the least," and he chuckled loudly at his 
 own wit. 
 
348 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " Is that you, father? " shouted Tom, as he caught 
 the sound of his father's voice. 
 
 " Timenation ! thet's Tom ! " exclaimed Pete, in 
 bewildered amazement. 
 
 " Wha — what in thunder does this mean ? " he 
 demanded, fiercely, as the light from Ike's lantern 
 showed him his own son securely bound and laid out 
 on the blankets where he had left Raymond. " How 
 come ye here ? " 
 
 " Raymond Benson did it. I couldn't help it," whim- 
 pered Tom, who had a terror of his father's anger. 
 " How did ye happen t' be here anyhow? " 
 " Ike sent me down with some hardtack and water 
 for Benson. When I got here he jumped on me and 
 tied me. Then he went off with my hat and overcoat." 
 " I thought ye had a hand in this," said Pete, turning 
 angrily to Ike. " A pretty mess you've made o' things 
 by your idiotic meddlin'. You was cut out, I reckon, 
 for an old woman." 
 
 " Wal, I was goin' t' the Corner an' I didn't want 
 the boy t' go 'thout any supper." 
 
 " Bah ! Mighty considerate ye was for thet boy. 
 Wal, if we don't ketch thet boy agin we're dished." 
 
 " Seems t' me your boy was the considerate one," 
 growled Ike, who didn't relish Pete's sarcasm. " If he 
 hadn't ben, he wouldn't a let a small boy like young 
 Benson git the upper hands on 'im." 
 
 "How did thet happen?" demanded Pete, turning 
 fiercely upon Tom. 
 
NED BECOMES ACQUAINTED WITH THE SCOOP 349 
 
 " Well, you see," was the whining response, " I never 
 had an idea but what he was tied, so I wasn't prepared 
 for any tussle with him. I bent over him to give him 
 a drink of water, when all of a sudden he grabbed me 
 by the hair and laid me out flat. I wasn't expecting it, 
 and before I could gather myself he had a grip on my 
 throat that I couldn't shake off." 
 
 " How long's he ben gone ? " 
 
 " About two hours, I should think." 
 
 " Nonsense," said Ike, impatiently. " It wasn't 
 more 'n half an hour ago ye came down here." 
 
 " Well, it seemed two hours," persisted Tom. 
 
 " Ye don't appear t' know nothin' since young 
 Benson put ye t' sleep," said Ike, tartly. " Where d' ye 
 suppose thet young feller went to ? " he asked, turning 
 to Pete. 
 
 " I s'pose he's streaking it for home jest as fast as 
 he can go," was the reply. " Here, cut thet boy loose." 
 Ike reluctantly pulled out his knife and cut Tom's bonds. 
 It was very evident that the young man was not a 
 favorite of his. 
 
 " What ye goin' t' do? " he asked the father. 
 
 " I'm goin' t' have thet boy, an' I reckon ye'Il help 
 me ketch 'im." 
 
 " We can't do thet. He's quarter way t' the county 
 road by this time." 
 
 " Thet makes no difference," responded Pete, ener- 
 getically. "We'll have 'im if he is half way there. 
 Even if he gits t' the county road ahead on us, 't won't 
 
350 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 make no difference. He will still have full five miles 
 t' go through the woods. My team is in the hovel jest 
 above the branching off o' the tote road, an' we can 
 easily overtake the boy with it, unless he should be gin a 
 lift by some team, which isn't very likely at this time o' 
 day. He'll be pretty well fagged by the time he gits out 
 o' the woods. 'T won't take us long to ketch up with 
 'im. Mebbe we can overtake 'im afore he gits t' the 
 county road. 'T any rate we'll make a pretty hard try 
 for it." 
 
 " It would be an easy thing for 'im t' take t' the woods 
 if he should see us overhaulin' 'im on the county road," 
 suggested Ike, dubiously. 
 
 " Wal, I'd jest like t' see 'im git away from me if I 
 git my eye on 'im agin. I reckon es how I can make 
 'bout es fast headway through the woods es he can." 
 
 " What if some team should meet us carryin* on 'im 
 back?" 
 
 " Thet thing won't happen. The minute I git my 
 grippers on thet boy, I'll take t' the woods with 'im." 
 
 "Thet'U be the right thing t' do," said Ike, 
 approvingly. 
 
 " O' course 't will. I don't intend t' tsike any chances 
 with thet boy if I git hold on him." 
 
 " Do you s'pose he's armed ? " 
 
 " No, I secured his armory afore we put him into the 
 scoop," declared Pete, in a tone of satisfaction. 
 
 " I see he's taken his cartridge-belt, but thet won't 
 do 'im any good. T'other boy had the gun. It's in 
 
NED BECOMES ACQUAINTED WITH THE SCOOP 351 
 
 the clump of firs now jest beyond the brook. I left it 
 there with his pack when I collared 'im." 
 
 " I'm glad o' thet. If young Benson had a shootin'- 
 iron in his hand, I for one shouldn't want t' be too free 
 with 'im. You know by experience thet he wouldn't 
 hesitate t' use it." 
 
 " The little devil. O' course I know it. He's ben 
 the cause o' all this setback. I guess now ye begin 
 t' wish ye hadn't ben so tender-hearted on his account. 
 One thing sartin, if I git hold on 'im agin I'll gin 'im 
 the soundest lickin' he ever got in his life." 
 
 " Don't do nothin' foolish," said Ike, nervously, and 
 it was evident that he was not a little worried at the 
 situation. 
 
 During this conversation the party had come up from 
 the scoop, leaving Ned on the blankets below, and, 
 while Ike was dropping the flooring into place, Pete 
 seized the opportunity to address a few words of 
 admonition to Tom. 
 
 " Look a here, numskull," he said, " I want ye t' keep 
 out o' thet scoop. If ye should go down there thet 
 youngster would be sartin t' change places with ye. 
 Here, take this," he added, handing him the revolver he 
 had secured from Raymond, " an' keep close watch 
 o' things round here. If ye ever allow yourself t' get 
 taken in again, by a boy smaller 'n you be, I'll try an' 
 pound some pluck into ye. Understand thet, do ye ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Wal, see thet ye keep it in mind. Come on, Ike." 
 
352 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 Pete led the way up the tote road at a dog-trot, and 
 the two men were soon out of sight. 
 
 " I'm a good mind to go down and let Ned go, 
 anyway," muttered Tom, angrily, when he found him- 
 self alone. " I've no notion of being run over in this 
 way. When they treat me like a dog, they'll not gain 
 anything. It won't take them very long to discover 
 that fact." 
 
 But the young fellow did not dare to put his 
 revengeful thought into execution. He had a painful 
 remembrance of the unmerciful whippings his father 
 had given him, and was afraid to do anything that 
 would so much provoke his anger. When he had sat- 
 isfied himself that the two elder men had gone, he 
 settled himself lazily back upon one of the bunks of the 
 camp and was soon deeply absorbed in the exciting 
 pages of a dime novel which he pulled from his pocket. 
 This was a class of literature to which Tom was very 
 partial, and it had exercised the same demoralizing 
 influence upon him that it does upon every boy who is 
 foolish enough to read it. 
 
 Meanwhile, Ne3 was alone with some harrowing 
 reflections in the scoop. He had heard the flooring 
 replaced above him with very much the same feelings 
 that the sound had inspired in Ra3miond. " Well, this 
 is a pretty fix," he muttered. " My gracious, I hope 
 they won't catch Raymond. I think they'll be mistaken 
 if they suppose he'll follow the tote road clear out 
 to the county road. He's no fool. He has a little 
 
NED BECOMES ACQUAINTED WITH THE SCOOP 353 
 
 pocket compass, and will have no trouble in quartering 
 through the woods and striking the county road on the 
 edge of the clearing. I don't believe they'd dare to 
 trouble him there, for he would be too near houses. 
 I suppose they took his gun and revolver away from 
 him. If they didn't, I don't believe they could capture 
 him, anyway. He isn't one of the kind to be taken as 
 long as there is any fight left in him. If he only suc- 
 ceeds in reaching the Corner, the people there will come 
 down here in force and clean this place out." 
 
 The air of the scoop was heavy and oppressive. Ned 
 made an attempt to reach the rope that bound his arms, 
 but old Ike had learned wisdom from experience, and 
 had capped Pete's work by carefully tieing his bandanna 
 handkerchief about the cords before leaving the scoop. 
 " It's no use," thought Ned, discouraged at this dis- 
 covery. " They have done their work well. I'd give 
 five dollars to know how Raymond got away." 
 
 The time dragged painfully. The cords seemed to 
 tighten their hold upon him. His arms became stiff 
 and cramped from remaining in one fixed and unnatural 
 position. Ned felt that home was a good way off; 
 that perhaps he and Raymond might never be heard 
 from again. The thought made him shiver. 
 
 His reflections were interrupted by the sound of a 
 bar inserted under the edge of the movable floor above. 
 
 " It's all day with us," he thought. " They've caught 
 Raymond." 
 
 A moment later the flooring was thrown aside, and 
 
354 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 Tom Atkins came slowly down the ladder, closely 
 followed by Raymond Benson, bearing a lantern on his 
 arm and holding a revolver in his hand, ready to shoot 
 at the first sign of treachery on the part of his prisoner. 
 
CHAPTER XXX 
 
 PETE ATKINS IN THE TOILS 
 
 When Raymond Benson, from his place of conceal- 
 ment in the horse hovel, saw his friend Ned Grover 
 securely bound and in the clutches of old Pete Atkins, 
 he was overcome with surprise. He was unable to 
 imagine how he had been captured. 
 
 His first impulse was to seize his gun and go to his 
 friend's assistance, but, fortunately, his more sober 
 second thought restrained him. He saw that his 
 chances of capturing both Ike and Pete would be small, 
 and that unless he were able to do this any aggressive 
 move on his part would be worse than folly. It would 
 only result in making him Ned's companion in the 
 scoop, and would cut off all hope of escape for both. 
 He wisely decided, therefore, that, under the circum- 
 stances, discretion would prove the better part of valor. 
 He could accomplish vastly more by strategy than he 
 possibly could by force. 
 
 It occurred to him that when Ike and Pete discovered 
 that he had escaped from the scoop they would be 
 considerably disturbed, and would lose no time in 
 searching for him. They would do this the more 
 readily because they supposed him unarmed. He knew 
 
 -3SS 
 
356 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 very well that Pete wouldn't look for him on the foot- 
 path across the brook. He had just come from that 
 direction and would think, no doubt, that if Raymond 
 had been in that vicinity he would have been with Ned, 
 or at least have answered to his signal. 
 
 " They'll think I went home," he reflected, " and will 
 look for me along the tote road. Perhaps it would 
 be better for me to find a hiding-place in the thick woods 
 to the left of the clearing. They'd scarcely think of 
 looking for me there, and if they did, I could defend 
 myself. I shall also be in a good position to watch the 
 camp, and if those old fellows leave the clearing some- 
 thing will happen that will astonish them considerably 
 when they get back. I'm in condition now to fight 
 them on equal footing, if worst comes to worst." 
 
 With this determination Raymond waited until he 
 felt sure that Pete and Ike had descended into the scoop 
 with their prisoner. Then making a quick dash across 
 the clearing to the place of concealment he had selected, 
 he forced his way through a growth of scrub cedars 
 that fringed it, and threw himself behind a large hem- 
 lock which had been blown down by the wind. " This 
 will answer for a fort and hiding-place, too," he 
 thought. " I believe I could hold my own here with 
 half a dozen men like Pete Atkins." 
 
 At the foot of the hemlock, behind which Raymond 
 had found such an excellent place of concealment, the 
 large, gnarled roots had been half pulled from their 
 bed of soggy earth. The moss and soil that still 
 
PETE ATKINS IN THE TOILS 357 
 
 adhered to them formed a massive web of natural 
 lattice. Through it were several small openings which 
 Raymond found, to his delight, commanded a good view 
 of the whole clearing. 
 
 Scarcely had he taken his position at this post of 
 observation, when Ike Wallace and old Pete Atkins 
 emerged from the camp. It was evident from their 
 actions that they were laboring under great excitement. 
 Pete, after pausing a moment at the camp door to speak 
 a few sharp words to some one within, started up the 
 tote road at a dog-trot, with Ike rapidly following him. 
 Both men were soon out of sight and hearing. 
 
 "They've left Tom to guard Ned," thought Ray- 
 mond, exultingly. " I'll bet his father stopped and 
 warned him not to get caught again. My ! but mustn't 
 he have felt cheap, though, when his father found him 
 down in the scoop." 
 
 Raymond chuckled merrily at the thought of Tom's 
 chagrin and discomfiture. When he felt sure that Pete 
 and Ike were out of hearing, he left his hiding-place 
 and stole softly across the clearing. Making his way 
 to the rear of the camp, he crawled quietly upon the 
 earth embankment and looked in through the window. 
 The sight within showed him that his extra precaution 
 had been needless. Curled comfortably up on the 
 blankets of one of the bunks was Tom Atkins, com- 
 pletely absorbed in the exciting pages of the flashy novel 
 he was reading. The fire in the center of the camp had 
 burned low, but he was entirely oblivious of the fact. 
 
358 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " Nothing but a cannon-shot would rouse him," 
 thought Raymond. " Well, one can't expect much else 
 than weeds to grow in a mind seeded with that kind of 
 literature. I suppose that shallow-pated fellow, who 
 hasn't courage enough to face an intelligent sheep, 
 thinks he's just cut out for an Indian killer and scalp 
 lifter. Perhaps he imagines himself a bold pirate or 
 a highway robber. Such fellows are usually the heroes 
 of those cheap stories. I really believe, though, that 
 one square look at a real wild Indian, or a single sniff 
 of genuine gunpowder, would scare him into fits. It's 
 a mighty easy thing to kill Indians and play the des- 
 perado on paper. It seems to me the publication of 
 such rot ought to be prohibited by law." 
 
 With these reflections Raymond made his way to the 
 door of the camp. Carefully lifting the latch, he swung 
 t!ie door open a little way and entered the camp, softly 
 closing it again behind him. Then stepping quickly in 
 front of Tom's bunk he pointed his gun at the young 
 fellow's head and shouted, sternly: 
 
 " You are my prisoner! Surrender! " 
 
 With a wild start Tom dropped his book and gazed 
 at Raymond like one awakened from a dream. Terror 
 and amazement were depicted in every line of his face. 
 Raymond's revolver lay on the bunk beside him, but he 
 made no effort to reach for it. 
 
 " How — ^how — did — you come here? " he faltered. 
 
 " On my legs," coolly answered Raymond. " Climb 
 out of that bunk," he added, peremptorily. 
 
PETE ATKINS IN THE TOILS 359 
 
 Tom lost no time in obeying this order. 
 
 " Now light that lantern," commanded Raymond, as 
 he stepped to the bunk and took possession of the 
 revolver. 
 
 " What for? " grumbled Tom. 
 
 " It makes no difiference," was the stern response. 
 " I advise you to do as I tell you and be quick about it." 
 
 Tom sullenly did as he was directed, at the same time 
 starting toward the scoop. 
 
 " Hold on," said Raymond. " I guess I'll take charge 
 of the glim," and taking the lantern from Tom's hand 
 he hung it upon his own arm. He saw that the rum- 
 seller's son was in a desperate mood, and concluded 
 that it would be unwise to leave him any loophole for 
 escape. At Raymond's command Tom threw off the 
 flooring that covered the scoop and descended the 
 ladder, Raymond following him closely with the lantern 
 and revolver. 
 
 " Well, where in the world did you drop from? " 
 exclaimed Ned, joyfully, as he recognized his friend. 
 " I began to think that both of us would end our days 
 in this hole. I tell you, old fellow, your face right here 
 at this time is about the most cheerful sight I've ever 
 seen. I was beginning to get terribly down at the 
 mouth." 
 
 " I know all about it. I've been here myself." 
 
 " How did you get out? " 
 
 " Easy enough, with the assistance of my devoted and 
 courageous friend here," said Raymond, lightly. 
 
360 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " Tom Atkins ! " exclaimed Ned, grinning. " How 
 long has he been your Man Friday? " 
 
 " He started in earlier in the day. He has served 
 me most faithfully. In fact, his devotion has been 
 something really touching." 
 
 " Even loaned you his clothes ? " returned Ned, 
 noticing Raymond's change of apparel, and entering 
 into the spirit of the. joke. 
 
 " He has that," said Raymond, " and built up my 
 understanding with his shoes." 
 
 These pleasantries at his expense were evidently very 
 galling to Tom, who furtively shot malevolent glances 
 at his inquisitors, and gritted his teeth in impotent rage. 
 " It's all right now, Ned," continued Raymond, 
 enthusiastically. " You and I are on top of the heap. 
 We have the inside track. Here, take your knife and 
 cut his ropes," he added to Tom. 
 The order was tremblingly obeyed. 
 " Now, Ned, just tie him up. Get down on the 
 blanket," he added, addressing the rumseller's son. 
 
 " See here," whimpered Tom, " you're not goirig to 
 leave me here again, are you ? " It was evident that 
 his former experience in the place had given him a 
 wholesome horror of it. 
 
 " That's about the size of it," responded Raymond. 
 "Please don't do that," pleaded Tom. "I'll do 
 anything you say if you won't put me down here. You 
 don't want him to do it, do you?" he added, appeal- 
 ingly, to Ned. 
 
PETE ATKINS IN THE TOILS 36 1 
 
 " I've nothing to say about it," was the response. 
 " But I don't see as it's any worse for you down here 
 than it has been for me." 
 
 " Down with you," said Raymond, sharply. " We've 
 no time to fool with you. I certainly don't owe you 
 any favors after what has occurred. If matters go as 
 I hope, however, I'll promise that you sha'n't have long 
 to stay here." 
 
 With a very poor grace Tom submitted to the 
 inevitable, and was soon securely bound and laid away 
 under the blanket. 
 
 " Now what ? " asked Ned, when he and Raymond 
 stood in the camp, after carefully replacing the flooring 
 over the scoop. 
 
 " The next thing is to get Pete." 
 
 " Don't we want Ike, too? " 
 
 " Yes, but I don't believe we shall have a chance to 
 get him." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " In my opinion the old fellow won't show up in this 
 section again right away. This afternoon's proceed- 
 ings have rattled him badly." 
 
 " Perhaps Pete won't come back." 
 
 " Don't have any fear of that. He will return foi* 
 Tom, if for nothing more. I think myself, though, 
 'that the old fellow sees that he is nearly at the end of 
 his rope." 
 
 " We don't want to run any risks with him," declared 
 Ned. 
 
362 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " Of course not," assented Raymond. 
 
 " How shall we drop on him ? " continued Ned. 
 " He is as wiry as a cat, and won't give up, if he can 
 help it, without a desperate fight." 
 
 " My idea is this. He will be sure to go to the scoop 
 the very first thing when he comes back. You and I 
 can watch for him through the window on the back of 
 the camp, and drop on him about the time he is lifting 
 that flooring." 
 
 " Don't you suppose he'll show fight ? " 
 
 " He won't dare to if we cover him with the revolver 
 and shot-gun." 
 
 " Perhaps he'll think that we wouldn't dare to shoot." 
 
 " No, he won't. After the experience he has had 
 with me he will know better than that." 
 
 " That's so," admitted Ned. " He won't be likely, 
 either, to forget the dose Gambler got right away." 
 
 " It isn't very likely that he will," said Raymond. 
 
 " But what if he should leave the tote road and follow 
 the brook down to the camp ? " asked Ned, nervously. 
 
 " That needn't trouble us," said Raymond, con- 
 fidently. " Even if he did come that way, we should 
 be able to hear him before he could see us, and get round 
 on the side of the camp. We should be out of sight 
 there." 
 
 " You're right, old fellow," admitted Ned. " Your 
 head is longer than mine. Did you notice how Pete 
 was armed ? " 
 
 " Yes, he has his Winchester rifle and Ike had a shot- 
 
PETE ATKINS IN THE TOILS 363 
 
 gun. I think, too, that Pete must have had my clasp- 
 knife." 
 
 "How shall we divide our armory?" 
 
 " You may take the shot-gun and I'll keep the 
 revolver. If we get the drop on old Pete I will cover 
 him and you may tie him." 
 
 " We couldn't possibly find a better place to watch 
 them than this," said Ned, with enthusiasm, when he 
 and Raymond had taken their positions behind the 
 camp. " How did you find it? " 
 
 " I was here and got the lay of the land before I 
 captured Tom." 
 
 The place was indeed most admirably adapted to the 
 plans of the boys. That end of the camp, on account 
 of its exposed position, had been given a broad embank- 
 ment of earth that came almost up to the window. 
 On this the boys were able to lie without fear of 
 discovery by people entering the clearing along the tote 
 road. They were thus able to secure at the same time, 
 without fear of discovery, a fine view of the clearing 
 and the interior of the camp. 
 
 " I'm afraid we shall be dished, Raymond," said Ned, 
 when they had taken their positions. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " If old Pete goes clear out to the county road, it will 
 be long after dark when he gets back." 
 
 " But he won't go to the county road." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " If he doesn't find any trace of me on the tote road 
 
364 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 in the first mile or two, he will hurry back here to try 
 to discover my trail before dark. Ike will probably 
 push on to the county road, and you may be sure he will 
 never show up here again, though he won't be fool 
 enoughHo let Pete suspect it." 
 
 " I believe you're right, old fellow." 
 
 " I feel very sure that I am," was Raymond's con- 
 fident rejoinder. 
 
 " It would be a bad thing for Ike if old Pete should 
 run across him again after having been left in the 
 lurch," continued Ned. 
 
 " You may rest assured that if Ike clears out, he will 
 take precious good care that Pete never sees him again. 
 He's shrewd enough for that." 
 
 " I guess that's so. The old fellow is brighter than 
 he looks to be. Hark! What's that?" 
 
 The boys listened with bated breath. Down the 
 tote road came the quick tread of a man. Peering 
 cautiously around the corner of the camp, Raymond 
 saw Pete Atkins come into the clearing at an even faster 
 pace than he had left it. The old fellow was very 
 evidently in a savage frame of mind, and there was an 
 energy about his movements that told the boys he would 
 be an ugly customer to handle. With long strides he 
 made his way into the camp, where he stopped short in 
 amazement and surprise. It was evident that he was 
 terribly disconcerted at Tom's absence. He went to 
 the door of the camp, took a careful look about the 
 clearing, following it up with a visit to the fiorse Hovel. 
 
PETE ATKINS IN THE TOILS 365 
 
 He returned, evidently satisfied that there was no one 
 about the place. 
 
 " My soul ! I shouldn't want to be in Tom's place 
 if Pete should get his hands on him," whispered Ned. 
 
 " Sh-h," was Raymond's warning response. " He 
 won't do it. Come on." 
 
 The boys saw that the time for action had arrived. 
 Old Pete had leaned his gun in one corner of the camp, 
 lighted the lantern and started for the iron bar which 
 leaned against the door where Raymond had purposely 
 left it. Taking this he inserted the point under the 
 edge of the flooring above the scoop. Before he could 
 lift it, however, he was startled by a sound behind 
 him, and turning quickly, found himself covered by a 
 revolver and shot-gun in the hands of Raymond Benson 
 and Ned Grover. 
 
CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 JOEL WEBBER IS GIVEN A SURPRISE 
 
 " Hands up, sir ! " shouted Raymond, sternly, as the 
 discomfited smuggler turned upon them. " You are 
 our prisoner. If you attempt any funny business we'll 
 drop you in your tracks." 
 
 There was something in the tone of this command 
 that convinced Pete that it would be wise to obey it. 
 He saw plainly that his captors were not to be trifled 
 with. 
 
 " What d' ye want o' me ? " he demanded, with an 
 oath. 
 
 " You'll find out soon enough," said Ned, coolly. 
 
 " You have your innin's now. Mine '11 come later 
 on," growled the smuggler chief, as he reluctantly 
 complied with Rajmiond's order. 
 
 " Perhaps they may, but I've serious doubts of it. 
 I think this game is played for you. Just run through 
 his pockets, Ned, and see what you can find there." 
 
 Ned did as he was directed, but the only weapon he 
 discovered was the clasp-knife which Pete had taken 
 from Raymond. 
 
 " Now cross your hands behind you," commanded 
 Raymond, when Ned had completed his search. 
 
 366 
 
' HANDS TIP, SIR ! " SHOUTED RAYMOND, STEBNLY. — Page 366. 
 
JOEL WEBBER IS GIVEN A SURPRISE 367 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 " You'll find out in a minute." 
 
 " Wal, I won't do nothin' o' the kind." 
 
 " Either you'll put your hands behind you, and be 
 quick about it, or I'll drop you in your tracks. After 
 the experience I've had with you I'm in no mood for 
 fooling," said Raymond, sharply. 
 
 " I was a fool not to hobble you when I had a 
 chance," hissed the smuggler chief, his face white with 
 passion. 
 
 " It wasn't your fault that you didn't," replied Ray- 
 mond, grimly. " Come, you're wasting time. Get a 
 move on you." 
 
 With a savage oath, Pete did as he was directed. 
 His eyes were bloodshot, and his fiercely scowling, vin- 
 dictive features showed very plainly his rage and 
 chagrin. Nothing, but the firm conviction that such a 
 course would mean instant death to him, prevented him 
 from springing at the throats of his captors. 
 
 When Ned had carefully bound his arms with many 
 coils of shingle rope, and crowned the work with Ike 
 Wallace's bandanna handkerchief, the flooring was 
 lifted and Raymond gave the order to march. Slowly 
 and carefully Pete made his way down the short ladder, 
 to the unspeakable astonishment and disappointment of 
 Tom, who had never dreamed of seeing his father in 
 such a plight. He had heard the flooring removed, 
 in the full expectation that Pete had returned and was 
 about to release him. He had never doubted for a 
 
368 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 moment that Raymond and Ned had made for home 
 with all possible speed upon leaving the scoop. 
 
 The situation was not without its recompense for 
 Tom, however. He was even a greater coward 
 physically than morally, and had felt, with fear and 
 trembling, that his father would give him a terrible 
 thrashing when he again found him in the same predic- 
 ament as when Ned was brought into the scoop. With 
 the boys he felt safe from corporal punishment, and in 
 this thought he found a solace for his confinement. 
 His father might not be very sociable, but he would 
 be company, and that was considerable in the darkness 
 of the scoop. 
 
 " Well, Tom," said Raymond, as he flashed the 
 lantern into his face, " we've brought you a bedfellow." 
 
 *' Yes," said Pete, savagely, " if it hadn't a ben for 
 your snivelin' foolishness things might have gone 
 t'other way." 
 
 " Hold on, Mr. Atkins," said Ned, " it won't help 
 the situation in the least to abuse your son." 
 
 " I couldn't help it," whined Tom. " He took me 
 by surprise." 
 
 " Yes, no doubt of it," said Pete, sarcastically. 
 " Sleepy fellers like you are alius gittin' surprised." 
 
 " It seems to me that he isn't the only one in 
 the family that has that failing," said Raymond, 
 impatiently. " Climb down on that blanket, Mr. 
 Atkins." 
 
 Pete sullenly took his place by the side of Tom, and 
 
JOEL WEBBER IS GIVEN A SURPRISE 369 
 
 Ned soon saw that his legs were as securely bound as 
 his arms. 
 
 " Now," said Raymond, as he surveyed his prisoners 
 with evident satisfaction, " we shall be obliged to leave 
 you here for a while. It's an uncomfortable position 
 for you, I know, but I don't see how we can very well 
 avoid it. We shall get you into other quarters at 
 Bolton, though, before long." 
 
 With these words, Raymond and Ned returned up 
 the ladder into the camp. When they had replaced 
 the flooring above the scoop and replenished the 
 fire which had nearly died out, they sat down upon 
 the deacon seat before its cheerful blaze to plan 
 how they should get their prisoners to the Corner. 
 Now that they had them safely secured, they began 
 to feel that Pete and his son were white elephants 
 on their hands. 
 
 " I don't see but that we've got to stay here all night," 
 said Ned. " It will be two days before Byer comes 
 after us with the team, and it's altogether too much to 
 think of making the Corner to-night without one. I'm 
 certainly too tired to walk that far, even if we could 
 have daylight for it." 
 
 " You're right, Ned," assented Raymond. " It's five 
 o'clock now, and would be pitch-dark before we could 
 cover half the ten miles to the county road. Then 
 there would be eight miles more to the Corner. I agree 
 with you. We had better stay right here and start at 
 daybreak in the morning." 
 
370 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " But what if Ike Wallace or some of the gang should 
 walk in on us ? " 
 
 " I don't have much fear of that. There isn't any 
 doubt in my mind but that Ike has cleared out. I don't 
 believe he will be seen in these parts again for a long 
 time, perhaps never." 
 
 " I don't think any of the gang will trouble us, 
 either," said Ned, brightly, as a sudden thought came 
 to him. " I heard Pete tell Ike Wallace when they were 
 starting out to look for you, that we undoubtedly came 
 prepared to stay a week, and that it would probably be 
 ten days before our folks got worried enough about us 
 to hunt for us. He said that before that time the boys 
 would be back with the last load of collateral, and the 
 business would be dropped for a while, until the storm 
 blew over." 
 
 " Well, if that's the case, there probably won't be any 
 of the gang about here for five or six days," said 
 Raymond. 
 
 " There's another thing," said Ned. " Pete also 
 spoke of having a team in the old log hovel on the 
 county road near the place where the tote road branches 
 off. I had nearly forgotten that." 
 
 " Well, you may make up your mind that it didn't 
 slip Ike Wallace's memory," answered Raymond. " If 
 Pete had a team there, you may feel very certain that 
 Ike is well on his way to Canada with it by this time. 
 You don't lose that old coon very easily." 
 
 " That's so. He knows how to take care of himself. 
 
JOEL WEBBER IS GIVEN A SURPRISE 37 1 
 
 Let's go down in the firs and get my gun and haver- 
 sack." 
 
 " Don't you suppose Pete has taken them? " 
 
 " No. He hasn't had time. He had all he wanted 
 to do to take care of me, so he left my things where 
 he found me. No doubt he intended to go after them 
 later, but when he got into the scoop and found you 
 were gone, he lost no time in getting after you. I 
 don't doubt but that we shall find my things in the firs 
 just as he left them." 
 
 " Well, we will go after them together. We must 
 hurry about it, though. It won't do to leave the camp 
 unguarded long." 
 
 The boys hurried across the brook and along the 
 narrow path to the firs, where, sure enough, as Ned 
 had predicted, the gun and haversack were found just 
 where Pete had left them. Raymond and Ned bore 
 them back to the camp in triumph. 
 
 " It looks to me as if our victory were about as 
 complete as it possibly could be," said Ned^ when they 
 sat together again upon the deacon seat. 
 
 " I don't know what is lacking," responded Raymond. 
 
 The conversation of the boys was interrupted by the 
 sound of a quick step in the clearing. 
 
 " I believe that's Ike Wallace," said Ned, reaching 
 for his shot-gun. 
 
 "No, it isn't," said Raymond. "Old Ike hasn't 
 stepped in that brisk, vigorous way for years." 
 
 " Perhaps it's one of the gang." 
 
372 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " Perhaps so, but we shall hardly be fools enough to 
 sit here with a revolver and two guns ready to use and 
 let one man take us prisoners. He won't be expecting 
 to see us, and it will be an easy matter to get the drop 
 on him." 
 
 " We don't want to be too hasty." 
 
 " No, we will have the advantage. The surprise will 
 be on the other side." 
 
 The step drew nearer, the door was thrown open, and 
 a big, broad-shouldered young man stepped into the 
 camp. Raymond and Ned at once covered him with 
 their weapons, but immediately lowered them in aston- 
 ishment and chagrin, when, to their great joy, they 
 recognized the round, good-natured face of Joel 
 Webber. 
 
 " Put down your shooters, boys," said the big fellow, 
 holding up both hands in mock alarm. " I surrender, 
 and you may have every blessed thing in that pack I 
 just brought across the line." 
 
 Raymond and Ned gave one long look to make sure 
 that their eyes had not deceived them, and then, rushing 
 forward, seized both of Joel's hands and gave them 
 such a shaking as left no doubt of the cordiality of their 
 welcome. 
 
 " How in the world did you come here? " they asked 
 in chorus. 
 
 " Easy, easy, boys. Give me a little chance to catcH 
 my breath," laughed the big fellow, as he seated himself 
 on the deacon seat and stretched out his hands to the 
 
JOEL WEBBER IS GIVEN A SURPRISE 373 
 
 cheerful blaze of the fire. " I give myself up. Come 
 and search me." 
 
 " Well, we'll take good care of you," said Ned, 
 warmly. 
 
 " I should almost surmise from my reception that you 
 were not expecting me. Didn't get my telegram, did 
 you?" 
 
 " I believe you'd joke at a funeral, Joel," said Ray- 
 mond. 
 
 " Well, that would depend a good deal on whose 
 funeral it was. You boys, if I remember correctly, 
 laughed pretty heartily at what came very near being 
 mine," he added, with a good-natured grimace. 
 
 " You couldn't blame us for that, old fellow," said 
 Ned. " You would have laughed yourself if you could 
 have seen how you looked when that bear knocked you 
 into the underbrush." 
 
 " Oh, I never blamed you, boys. I was only too glad 
 to do something to amuse you. I'm a generous sort of 
 a soul, anyway; always ready to make a martyr of 
 myself upon the altar of hilarity. I went out into that 
 second growth on my way down here and had a good 
 laugh all to myself, just from thinking how comical that 
 bear must have looked." 
 
 "That's an unselfish way of putting it," laughed 
 Raymond. " But, old fellow, I'm glad to see you. In 
 fact your coming just now seems almost providential." 
 
 " If you'd been old cloven foot himself, it wouldn't 
 have astonished us a bit more," added Ned. 
 
374 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " Well, I guess we're not very far from the favorite 
 roosting place o' one of his imps," responded Joel. 
 
 " I guess not, too," said Raymond. " But you 
 haven't told us what brought you here." 
 
 " Well, I had an idea that you were turning some 
 scheme in your mind when I saw you reading the 
 reward notice in the post-office the other day. I went 
 up to Bettycook lake fishing day before yesterday, and 
 didn't get back till this morning. On my way back I 
 met Byer Ames, who told me that he had driven you 
 two young hoodlums down to Letter K. It didn't take 
 me long to smell a good-sized rat. I hurried home and 
 did some chores. Then I harnessed the old gray mare 
 into the beach-wagon, and here I am. I kinder thought 
 the way you fellows started out on me that you'd turned 
 buccaneers. "Looked for a minute as if I'd be mighty 
 lucky to turn over my wallet and get away with my life. 
 I've partially changed my mind about it, however. In 
 fact, I almost believe that you are glad to see me." 
 
 " You know we are, you old rat," said Ned. 
 
 " Well, I see you haven't captured old Pete yet," 
 continued Joel, glancing about the camp. 
 
 " That's where you're mistaken," said Raymond. 
 
 " Of course you have," said Joel, laughingly, " an' 
 got him stowed away in that pack probably," he added, 
 pointing at Ned's haversack. 
 
 " You think we're joking, do you ? " demanded Ray- 
 mond. 
 
 " No, indeed," said Joel, with mock solemnity. 
 
JOEL WEBBER IS GIVEN A SURPRISE 375 
 
 " You two boys never joke any. Dud Rich'U swear 
 to that." 
 
 " We are not joking this time. We have told you 
 the truth," said Raymond, with an earnestness that left 
 Joel no doubt of his sincerity. 
 
 The big fellow could scarcely credit his senses. His 
 bantering tone left him abruptly. 
 
 " You don't say ! " he ejaculated, in genuine amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 " That's a fact, Joel," said Ned, eagerly. " We've 
 captured Pete Atkins and have him thoroughly bound 
 and safely stowed away. What's more, we've evidence 
 enough against him to convict him twice over." 
 
 " You're not joking, are you, boys? " persisted Joel, 
 incredulously. 
 
 " Not a bit of it. We never were more serious in 
 our lives," said Raymond. 
 
 " Well, I swan ! " exclaimed the big fellow, in open- 
 mouthed astonishment. " That just beats all creation. 
 Where is he?" 
 
 Without a word Raymond arose, and taking the iron 
 bar from the bunk lifted the flooring from its place. 
 
 " Well, I snum to gracious ! " exclaimed Joel, as he 
 peered down into the depths of the scoop. " What 
 infernal lunkheads some of us must have been ! Why, 
 boys, it wasn't more than six weeks ago that Cobe 
 Hersom and I were down here fishing and slept all 
 night exactly over that hole. I vow, we ought to be 
 kicked to death by grasshoppers." 
 
2,7^ THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 " Not SO bad as that, old fellow," responded Ray- 
 mond. " It isn't at all surprising that so skilful an 
 arrangement as that should have escaped detection. 
 No one would think of looking here for anything." 
 
 " Well, perhaps not," admitted Joel, " but I can't help 
 feeling a little cheap, all the same, to think that my nose 
 was so near this thing and didn't succeed in smelling it 
 out. Let's take a look at the inside of the pit." 
 
 The three accordingly descended the ladder. Joel's 
 amazement was only deepened when he saw the nature 
 of the hiding-place by which the brawny smuggler had 
 been able so long to escape detection in his operations. 
 
 " The very boldness of the thing has been all that's 
 saved it," he declared ; then, lantern in hand, he walked 
 along and took a good look at Pete and Tom. " Well, 
 you're a pair of ehromos," was his comment. 
 
 " Yes, ye can well afford t' insult a man when he 
 can't defend himself," sneered Pete. " There are times 
 when some people are mighty brave." 
 
 "Well, I never discovered anything very alarming 
 about you," retorted Joel. " You've never been the one 
 to fight man fashion. You'd a good deal rather sneak 
 round in the night and burn a man's barn or stab 
 his horse. Oh, you're a very brave fellow, you are. 
 There's a government job waiting for you." 
 
 " Don't be too sure of that. You haven't got 
 through with me yet." 
 
 " That's so, but I reckon we sha'n't keep you on our 
 hands any longer 'n we have to. You're like a rotten 
 
JOEL WEBBER IS GIVEN A SURPRISE 377 
 
 ^g& — the sooner rid of the better. Cut the ropes from 
 their legs, boys." 
 
 "What for?" asked Raymond, in surprise. 
 
 " Because we're going to start for home." 
 
 " But it will be dark in an hour," objected Ned. 
 
 " Well, what of that? We have a lantern and it will 
 be smooth sailing after we get to the county road. I 
 reckon we ought to reach the Corner by nine o'clock. 
 I'm willing to do just as you say, boys, but I believe 
 that the sooner we get these fellows to the jail at Bolton, 
 the better it'll be." 
 
 After a moment's reflection, the boys decided that 
 Joel was right. The ropes that bound the legs of Pete 
 and Tom were cut, and they were taken up into the 
 camp. Here they were both tied to a long rope, the 
 end of which Joel wound about his waist, laughingly 
 declaring that the prisoners would find him a fairly good 
 anchor in case they should attempt to get away. Ray- 
 mond and Ned with their guns on their shoulders 
 headed the procession, the former carrying the lantern. 
 
 In spite of all their efforts to make good time the 
 trip was a slow and tedious one, and it was eight o'clock 
 when they finally reached the county road. After this, 
 as Joel had predicted, their progress was easy. Pete 
 and Tom Atkins were given a place on the wide, front 
 seat, and Joel sat between them and drove. Raymond 
 and Ned sat on the back seat with their guns in readi- 
 ness to shoot should the prisoners make any attempt to 
 escape. It was half past nine when the party pulled up 
 
37^ THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 in front of Squire Copeland's store. The loafers had 
 nearly all gone home, but the few who remained were 
 treated to a sensation that furnished the theme of their 
 conversation for many a day after, 
 
 Pete Atkins suddenly became invested with an 
 extraordinary interest, and although his face had for 
 years been a familiar one in Chestnut, he was gazed 
 upon by the eager group of his fellow townsmen that 
 crowded round the wagon very much as they would 
 have viewed the royal Bengal tiger at a circus. 
 
 If he had any friends in the group they did not 
 announce themselves. Every one seemed anxious that 
 Pete should not by any possibility make his escape. 
 
 A number of men volunteered to stand guard over 
 him and Tom that night at the Town Hall, and Joel, 
 who had vowed never to sleep until he saw the doors 
 of the Bolton jail close upon them, accepted the services 
 of half a dozen of them, as he afterwards declared, more 
 for company than anything else. 
 
 Squire Copeland insisted that Raymond and Ned 
 should remain all night at his house, and the invitation 
 was thankfully accepted. For a long time they lay 
 awake and talked over their exciting adventures in 
 Letter K, which had ended so triumphantly in the 
 capture of the smuggler chief. It was past twelve 
 o'clock when they finally fell asleep, the two happiest 
 boys in Chestnut. 
 
CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 CONCLUSION 
 
 Very little remains to be told. The news of Pete 
 Atk'ns's capture spread like wild-fire through the town. 
 Raymond and Ned were the heroes of the hour. Their 
 praises were in everybody's mouth. Those who had 
 been the most eager to condemn the former as a bad 
 boy when he left the Free High School were now 
 among the foremost in extolling him, and many who 
 had thought Ned a " spoiled boy " discovered that they 
 had always known that he had the " right stuff in him." 
 
 Among all the congratulations tendered RajTnond 
 there was none that affected him more deeply than 
 Grandfather Benson's hearty " God bless you, my boy. 
 You have done well." 
 
 The day following their capture Pete Atkins and his 
 son were taken to Bolton and lodged in jail. Simon 
 Dart's store was thoroughly searched, and the result 
 showed that there was scarcely any kind of merchandise 
 on which a profit could be made by evading the custom 
 laws in which the crafty fellow had not dealt. The 
 capacious cellar of his store had been extended far back 
 into the hill, and was packed full of a general variety of 
 smuggled goods. Prominent among its contents were 
 
 379 
 
380 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 a number of barrels of various kinds of liquor. Here, 
 it was evident, had been the place where Pete Atkins 
 had long stored up the intoxicants that had been such 
 a curse to the good town of Chestnut. 
 
 At the preliminary hearing of the rumseller and his 
 son, Tom was sentenced to the Reform School during 
 his minority, there being no proof that he was personally 
 connected with the smuggling operations of his father. 
 Pete, however, was handed over to the Federal author- 
 ities. He was taken to Portland and tried before the 
 United States Court at that place. Raymond and Ned 
 were summoned to the city as witnesses. They were 
 not called upon to testify, however. Pete pleaded guilty 
 to the charge of smuggling, and, although every effort 
 was made by his counsel to secure a light sentence, he 
 was given a long term of imprisonment. His family 
 shortly after removed to another state, and the town 
 of Chestnut was happily rid of them. 
 
 Simon Dart endeavored to make his way to Cali- 
 fornia, but forgot that electricity travels faster than 
 steam. He was arrested in Chicago, being recognized 
 from a description sent out by the Associated Press. 
 When he finally came up for trial before the Circuit 
 Court at Portland, he was given the same sentence that 
 had been meted out to Pete, and was sent to bear him 
 company. Ike Wallace escaped safely into Canada, and 
 was never heard from after. For more than a week a 
 close watch was kept upon the Dole camp, but none of 
 the Atkins gang appeared there. They had evidently 
 
CONCLUSION 381 
 
 taken the alarm and left the county. The smuggling 
 business was forever at an end in the good town of 
 Chestnut. 
 
 Raymond and Ned had a very pleasant time in Port- 
 land, going where they pleased and amusing themselves 
 as they thought best. Upon their return home, the 
 reward of a hundred dollars which had been offered for 
 the arrest and conviction of the smugglers was paid to 
 them. They insisted on sharing it with Joel Webber, 
 but he emphatically and resolutely refused to take a 
 penny of it. He declared that all the credit for the 
 capture of Pete, and the breaking up of his gang, 
 belonged to the boys, and they alone should have the 
 benefits that came from it. 
 
 The people of Chestnut, however, were not willing 
 that Joel should go unrewarded for his share in the good 
 work. A subscription paper was passed around, and 
 the following Christmas he was presented with a fine 
 fur overcoat, a recognition that deeply affected the big, 
 good-hearted fellow. 
 
 It was about a week after the stirring events narrated 
 in the foregoing chapters that Ned Grover came 
 enthusiastically upon Raymond as he was cutting up 
 sap troughs in front of his camp. 
 
 " You might as well give up that work, old fellow," 
 he exclaimed. " You'll have no use for those." 
 
 ' What do you mean by that ? " asked Raymond, in 
 surprise. 
 
 " I've some great news to tell you. Yo'ur grandfather 
 
3^2 THE CAMP ON LETTER K 
 
 and my father have put their heads together, and have 
 decided to let you and me go to Krampton Academy. 
 That was the place, you know, where your cousin, Dave 
 Weston, thought of going before he made up his mind 
 to enter the Maine Medical School at Brunswick. 
 Father has written the principal and has made arrange- 
 ments to have us room in the large dormitory and take 
 our meals at the Academy club. I have the catalogue 
 of the institution at home, and there were two hundred 
 and forty students there last term. Just think of that, 
 old fellow." 
 
 Raymond had listened excitedly to this unexpected 
 information, and at the close of Ned's remarks gave 
 expression to his feelings in an enthusiastic cheer. It 
 had long been his ambition to go away from home to 
 school, and he was overjoyed at this promise for the 
 fulfilment of his desires. He mentally resolved to give 
 such a good account of himself that Grandfather 
 Benson would never regret having sent him to 
 Krampton. 
 
 That afternoon Raymond and Ned visited the birch 
 ridge on Grandfather Benson's back lot with their shot- 
 guns, but their minds were more intent on plans for the 
 future than upon hunting, and they returned home with 
 only a few partridges. 
 
 That night there was a tremor in Grandfather Ben- 
 son's voice as he conducted the family prayers, and 
 Raymond thought he saw a tear glisten under his grand- 
 mother's spectacles when she kissed him good-night. 
 
CONCLUSION 383 
 
 For the first time he realized what a sacrifice they had 
 made for him, to take up their lonely life again that he 
 might be given advantages to fit him better for the work 
 of after years. He knew how much they would miss 
 him, and how earnestly their prayers would go out after 
 him. He almost reproached himself for consenting to 
 leave them, and, when he finally fell asleep, it was with 
 a better understanding than ever before of how near 
 and dear to him were the good couple down-stairs. 
 
 In due season Raymond and Ned went away to 
 school, but there is not space in these pages to tell you 
 of their experiences at Krampton Academy. What 
 befell them there will very properly form the subject- 
 matter of a future volume, entitled " Raymond Benson 
 AT Krampton, or Two Live Boys at Preparatory 
 School." 
 
/! 
 
PHILLIPS EXETER SERIES 
 
 By A. T. DUDLEY 
 
 Qoth, l2ino Illustiated by Charles Copeland Price per volume, $ 1 .2S 
 
 FOLLOWING THE BALL ^ 
 
 HERE is an up-to-date story presenting American boarding-school 
 life and modern athletics. Football is an important feature, but it 
 is a story of character formation in which athletics play an important part. 
 *' Mingled with the story of football is another and hie;her endeavor, giving the 
 book the best of moral tone." — Chicago Record-Herald, " 
 
 MAKING THE NINE 
 
 THE life presented is that of a real school, interesting, diversified, 
 and full of striking incidents, while the characters are true and 
 consistent types of American boyhood aud youth. The athletics are 
 technically correct, abounding in helpful suggestions, and the moral 
 tone is high and set by action rather than preaching. 
 
 "The story is healthful, for, while it exalts athletics, it does not overlook the 
 fact that studious habits and noble character are imperative needs for those who 
 would win success in life." — Herald and Presbyter ^ Cincinnati, 
 
 IN THE LINE 
 
 TELLS how a stalwart young student won his position as guard, and 
 at the same time made equally marked progress in the formation of 
 character. Plenty of jolly companions contribute a strong, humorous 
 element, and the book has every essential of a favorite. 
 
 ** The book gives boys an interesting story, much football information, and many 
 lessons in true manliness." — Watchman^ Boston, 
 
 With Mask and Mitt 
 
 WHILE baseball plays an important part 
 in this story, it is not the only element 
 of attraction. While appealing to the natural 
 normal tastes of boys for fun and interest in 
 the national game, the book, without preach- 
 ing, lays emphasis on the building up of 
 character. 
 
 "No normal boy who is interested in our great 
 national game can fail to find interest and profit, too, 
 in this lively boarding-school story." — Interior ^ 
 Chicago t 
 
 For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price 
 by the publishers, 
 
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Making of Our Nation Series 
 
 By WILLIAM C. SPRAGVB 
 Large i2mo, Cloth Illustrated by A. B. Shute 
 
 Price per volume, $1.50 
 
 * — 
 
 The Boy Courier of Napoleon 
 
 A Story of the Louisiana Purchase 
 
 ILLIAM C. SPRAGUE, the notably suc- 
 cessful editor of " The American Boy," 
 has given for the first time the history 
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 present at the lovifering of the Spanish flag, and 
 later at that of the French and the raising oi 
 the Stars and Stripes. 
 
 "All boys and girls of our country who read this book will be delighted with it, 
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 Par sale by all booksellers or seat postpaid on receipt of 
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THE GREGORY GUARDS 
 
 By Emma Led Benedict Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill i2mo $1.25 
 
 A YOUNG man of wealth is trustee for a 
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 By W. Reiff Hesser Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill $1.25 
 
 THIS book tells of the abandoning of a fine ship with its cargo in the 
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 E THE, YOUNG 
 PI VIGILANTES 
 
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JACK TENFIELD'S STAR 
 
 By Martha James 
 
 Illustrated by Charles Copeland Large i2mo $i.oo 
 
 JACK TENFIELD is a bright Boston boy, who, 
 while preparing for college, is brought to face 
 the fact that his father, a benevolent physi- 
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 trated by Frank T. Merrill $1.00 
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 basis for some of the cleanest, brightest, and 
 most helpful descriptions of boy life that we 
 have ever read. 
 
 I mi Ml) I 
 
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THE BOY CRAFTSMAN 
 
 Practical and Profitable Ideas for a Boy'a 
 Leisure Hovirs 
 
 By A. NEELY HALL 
 
 Illustrated with over 
 working drawings 
 
 400 
 8vo 
 
 diagrams and 
 Price, $2.00 
 
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 We cannot imagine a more delightful present for a boy than this book.— 
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BOOKS BY "EVERETT T. TOMLINSON. 
 
 THE WAR OF 1812 SERIES 
 
 
 T-TOMUWSO» 
 
 Six volmnes Cloth Illustrated by&.B. 
 Shute Price per volume reduced to $1.25 
 
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 The Search for Andrew Field 
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 The Boy Officers of 1812 
 Tecumseh's Young Braver> 
 Guarding the Border 
 The Boys with Old Hickory 
 
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 CRUISING IN THE ST. LAWRENCE 
 
 Being the third volume of the "St. Lawrence Series" Cloth 
 
 Illustrated Price $1.50 
 
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 CAMPINa ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 
 
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 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUIION 
 
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OUR OWN LAND S E R 1 1: S 
 
 By EVERETT T. TOMLINSON 
 
 Illustrated Cloth, l2mo $1.50 each 
 
 FOUR BOYS IN THE YELLOWSTONE 
 
 How they Went and What They Did 
 
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VouMG Defej^der Series 
 
 By ELBRIDGE S. BROOKS 
 
 IN DEFENCE OF THE FLAG 
 
 A Boy's Adventures in Spain tmd Cuba in the 
 Viai of 1898 
 
 Illustrated by W. F. Stecher i2mo Cloth $1.25 
 
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 heart.' 
 
 - Boston Herald, 
 
 WITH LAWTON AND ROBERTS 
 A Boy's Adventures in the Philippines and the Transvaal 
 
 Illustrated by C. Chase Emerson i2mo Cloth $1.25 
 
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 A Boy's Adventures in China During the Boxer 
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 " With Lawton and Roberts " and " In Defence of the 
 Flag " reappear in this story. 
 
 " Men and women, boys and girls, of all the mingled nationalities that made 
 this war in China so picturesque, appear in the story and give it vigor, variety, and 
 imflagging interest.'"^— Cleveland World. 
 
 For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price 
 by the publishers, 
 
 LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON