"Oh, it doesn't amount to anything," returned Dave, hastily, and taking the communication he thrust it into his pocket. "Don't say anything about it," he added to Roger, in a low tone.

"All right, I won't if you want it that way," answered his chum. "Just the same, Dave, this looks to me as if Link was plotting once more to do you an injury."

"If so, Roger, would he be fool enough to notify me beforehand?" queried our hero, as the pair walked a little distance away from the others.

"There is no telling what a fellow of Link's stamp might do. He is just fool enough to brag about what he hoped to do rather than go and do it.

It's an outrage that he should call you a 'poorhouse n.o.body.'"

"I'd thrash him for it if I could get my hands on him," returned Dave, quickly, and his face showed deep resentment. He had not forgotten how, in years gone by, his enemies had taunted him with being a "poorhouse n.o.body," and how he had had to fight his way through until his ident.i.ty had been established.

"Anyway, Dave, this gives you a chance to be on your guard," went on Roger. "If I were you I'd keep my eyes wide open for Link Merwell."

"I certainly shall, Roger. And if I can lay my hands on him I won't be as considerate as I was on Cave Island," was the answer. "I'll hold him until I can turn him over to the authorities. He ought to be keeping company with Jasniff in jail."

The girls were chattering among themselves over the letters they had received, and Shadow and Luke soon joined in. As was to be expected, the former story-teller of Oak Hall had his usual anecdote to relate, to which the others listened with interest. Phil had drawn apart from the crowd, and was now reading the letter he had received a second time. His face indicated unusual concern.

"Well, I hope you got good news, Phil," remarked Dave, as the shipowner's son came towards him and Roger.

"No, it's just the opposite," was the somewhat doleful reply.

"What? Do you mean it's bad news?" broke in Roger, quickly.

"It certainly is! Instead of losing twenty to thirty thousand dollars, my dad stands to lose about fifty thousand dollars on that land deal I mentioned to you some time ago."

"Why, how is that?" queried our hero, curiously. "Has the land gone up in value since then?"

"I don't know about the value of the land itself, but it's this way: Since that railroad made a bid for the acreage, another railroad has come into the field. They are going to run a rival line through that territory, and so they bid against the L. A. & H. Then the L. A. & H.

railroad increased their bid, and the other folks did the same, so that now, if my father could give a clear deed to the land, he could sell it for about fifty thousand dollars."

"And hasn't he been able to get any trace of your Uncle Lester?"

"He has something of a clue, but so far he has been unable to locate my uncle. It certainly is a strange state of affairs."

"Won't the railroad company take the land without your uncle being represented in the deed?" questioned Roger.

"I don't think so. If they were willing to do that my father would put the deal through without delay. It certainly is too bad!" added Phil, with a sigh.

"It seems to me if I were you I'd get on the trail of your Uncle Lester somehow," was Roger's comment. "I wouldn't let that fifty thousand dollars get away from me. I'd hire detectives to scour the whole United States for the missing man."

"My father's doing all he can, Roger." Phil turned to our hero. "You got a letter, didn't you?"

"Not much of a one, Phil." Dave hesitated for a moment: "Here, you might as well see it. I showed it to Roger. But don't say anything to the others about it, especially the girls. There is no use in worrying them.

As it is, they have had scare enough from that wild man."

The shipowner's son read the letter Dave had received with interest.

"Sure, that's from Link Merwell! I know his handwriting almost as well as I know my own," he declared. "He always makes those funny little crooks on his capital letters. I guess that shows what kind of a crook he is," and Phil grinned at his little joke. "What are you going to do about this, Dave?"

"I don't see that there's anything to do about it. As I told Roger, if Link shows himself around here I'll do all I can to place him in the hands of the authorities and see to it that he goes to jail."

"It's a beastly shame that any one should write such a note as that,"

went on the shipowner's son. "You are not a 'poorhouse n.o.body,' and everybody knows it."

"I've been wondering what Link Merwell can have up his sleeve," came from Roger. "He certainly must be up to something, or he wouldn't send such a letter as that."

The matter was talked over for a little while longer by the three boys, and then they rejoined the others.

Jessie declared that her headache was now gone completely, and the young folks spent the rest of the evening in the Ba.s.swood bungalow, where Belle played the piano and Luke favored them with several selections on his banjo and his guitar. They also sang a number of songs, and altogether the evening ended quite pleasantly. The cloud that had come up between Dave and Jessie seemed to have vanished, much to their own satisfaction, and to that of their friends.

On the following morning Mr. Ba.s.swood announced that he had to return to Crumville for a few days on business. He said that as soon as he arrived home he would get into telephone communication with Mr. Aaron Poole and acquaint him with the fact that some sort of a wild man had visited the vicinity of Bear Camp.

"Of course we may be mistaken as to the ident.i.ty of that individual,"

said Ben's father. "He may not be Wilbur Poole at all."

"You want to be sure, Dad, and let Nat's father know that," said Ben, "because if Mr. Poole spent money up here looking for his brother, and then found out that the wild man was somebody else, he would never forgive either himself or you for the outlay." And at this frank statement those who knew how miserly the money-lender of Crumville was laughed outright.

Mr. Ba.s.swood departed for Carpen Falls in the middle of the forenoon. As it promised to be a warm, clear day, one of the young folks suggested that they go in bathing at a little sandy beach a short distance below the bungalows. This suggestion was eagerly seconded, and as a consequence, a little later on, the young folks donned their bathing outfits and soon were having great sport in the water, with the older folks sitting on a fallen tree not far away watching them.

"Oh, but it's cold!" declared Jessie, after her first plunge.

"You'll get used to it after a bit," returned Dave. "Just strike out lively, and that will help to keep your blood in circulation."

"Come on for a race!" shouted Luke, who was splashing around in great shape.

"A race it is!" called back Phil.

"Where shall we race to?" questioned Roger.

"If you are going to race, I'll be the referee and timekeeper,"

announced Dunston Porter.

It was decided that the boys should swim from the beach to a rock standing out of the water on the far edge of the cove.

"First fellow to stand up on the rock wins the prize," announced Phil, and then he added quickly: "Girls, what's the prize?"

"A fresh flapjack to the boy who bakes it," announced Belle, gaily.

"Say, speaking of flapjacks puts me in mind of a story," came from Shadow, who was wading around in water up to his ankles. "Once there were two old miners who were in a camp in the mountains. They got to disputing as to who could make the best flapjacks. Says one of them----"

Shadow did not finish the story he had started to tell. Unbeknown to him, Roger had come up behind, and was now on his hands and knees in the water. Luke gave the would-be story-teller a quick shove; and over went Shadow backwards, to land in the shallow water with a resounding splash.

"Flapjack number one!" cried Luke, gaily. "Say, Shadow, what are you making so much noise about?"

"I'll noise you!" roared the former story-teller of Oak Hall, as he scrambled to his feet.

Then he started to rush after Luke, but Roger caught him by his ankle, and down he went into the water with another splash, this time sending the spray flying clear to those sitting on the fallen tree.

"Here! Here! You boys stop that!" cried Mrs. Wadsworth. "We haven't any umbrellas."