There was an ominous growl somewhere above the man and then a savage barking, as the dog--who had followed the boys to the cove and afterward wandered away--came scrambling furiously down the steep path. The man seemed to watch its approach with anxiety, and when it came toward him growling he stooped and picked up a big stone.

"Hold on!" Harry shouted. "Put down that stone! He doesn't like strangers, and you'd better not rile him."

The man did as he was bidden, but when it looked as if the dog would drive him into the water Frank dropped into the canoe. To his astonishment, the stranger suddenly held the camera in front of him and backed away a few paces, pointing it like a pistol at the growling dog, who seemed too surprised to follow. Then Frank ran the canoe ash.o.r.e and told the man to get in while he drove off the dog.

"He's young," explained Frank. "Somehow we haven't managed to tame him."

He headed for the sloop, and the man got on board.

"You seem stuck on taking photographs," Harry remarked.

"I make a little out of them now and then," the stranger answered with a smile. "You're Harry Oliver?"

"That's my name."

"Then your friend is Frank Whitney?"

"Yes," replied Harry. "But you haven't answered my question yet."

"I wanted to have a talk with your father; but I find that he's out."

"He won't be back until to-night; and, while we'd be glad to give you supper, it really wouldn't be worth while to wait. He doesn't want any fruit trees--the last we bought from outsiders had been dug up too long.

He's full up with implements, and we're not open to buy anything."

The stranger laughed good-humoredly.

"Hadn't you better wait until you're asked? I'm not drumming up orders."

Then he changed the subject. "You've had trouble here lately, haven't you? From what I gather, your father has done a smart and courageous thing in holding off that opium gang."

Harry thawed and fell into the trap. He was not addicted to saying much about his own exploits, but he was proud of his father, and the man discovered this from his hesitating answer. It was the latter's business to draw people out, and sitting down in the shelter of the coaming he cleverly led the boy on to talk. Frank tried to warn his companion once or twice, but failed, and soon the stranger drew him also into the conversation. Some time had slipped away when the man finally rose.

"I'm sorry I missed your father," he said, "but as I want to catch the steamer that calls at the settlement to-night, I must be getting back."

Harry paddled him ash.o.r.e, and when he returned with the dog Frank grinned at him.

"That fellow hasn't told you his business yet, and I've a pretty strong suspicion that he's a newspaper man."

Harry started and frowned.

"Then if he prints all that stuff I've told him it's a sure thing that dad will be jumping mad. Didn't you know enough to call me off?"

"You wouldn't stop," Frank answered, laughing. "I kept on winking for the first five minutes, and then somehow he gathered me in too. He's smart at his business."

"I guess we'd better not say anything about the thing," decided Harry thoughtfully. "Anyway, not until we know whether you are right."

They went ash.o.r.e soon afterward; and a few days later Mr. Webster called at the ranch.

"Have you Barclay's address?" he asked Mr. Oliver. "I want to write him."

Mr. Oliver gave it to him, and Mr. Webster continued:

"They're getting up a supper at the settlement, and the stewards would like to have you and the boys come. They're asking everybody between here and Carthew."

"What do they want to get up a supper for?"

Mr. Webster hesitated.

"Well," he said, "among other things, the new man is opening his big fruit ranch, and we've just heard that there's a steamboat wharf to be built and a new wagon trail made. Things are looking up, and the boys feel that they ought to have a celebration."

"All right," a.s.sented Mr. Oliver, "the boys and I will be on hand."

A few minutes later Mr. Webster started home, and then Frank opened a letter he had brought him. He was astonished when he read it.

"It's from Mr. Marston, who got me the position with the milling company--he's a relative of ours," he informed Mr. Oliver. "It appears that he is in Portland on business--shipping Walla wheat--and he says that he promised my mother he'd look me up if he had time. He may be here shortly."

"We'd be glad to see him," Mr. Oliver answered cordially. "It isn't a very long way to Portland."

Frank, however, had no further word from Mr. Marston; and in due time the evening of the supper arrived. Mr. Oliver and the boys sailed up to the settlement. Landing in the darkness, they found the little hotel blazing with light. The night was mild, and a hum of voices and bursts of laughter drifted out from the open windows of the wooden building. On entering the veranda, they were greeted by the man who had kept the store when Frank first visited the settlement.

"I'm glad to see that you're better," Mr. Oliver remarked.

"Thanks!" replied the other. "I've just got down from Seattle--the doctors have patched me up. It's time I was back at business--things have been getting pretty mixed while I was away." Then he changed the subject. "The boys would make me chairman of this affair, and they're waiting. You're only just on time."

"The wind fell light," said Mr. Oliver. "As there seems to be a good many of them, they needn't have waited for my party if we hadn't come."

"Oh," laughed the storekeeper, "they couldn't begin without--you."

Mr. Oliver looked slightly astonished; but there was another surprise in store for him and the boys when they entered the largest room in the building. It was, for once, brilliantly lighted; and crossed fir branches hung on the rudely match-boarded wall, with the azure and silver and crimson of the flag gleaming here and there among them. Frank could understand the attempt to decorate the place, because, as a matter of fact, it needed it; but he did not see why the double row of men standing about the long table should break out into an applauding murmur as Mr. Oliver walked in. Most of them had lean, brown faces and toil-hardened hands, and were dressed in duck with a cloth jacket over it and with boots that reached to the knees, but there were two or three in white shirts and neat cloth suits.

"Boys," said the storekeeper, "our guest has now arrived. Though he tells me the wind fell light, he's here on time, which is what we've always found him to be in all his doings." He waved Mr. Oliver to the head of the table. "That's your place. It's my duty to welcome you on behalf of the a.s.sembled company."

There was an outbreak of applause, and Mr. Oliver looked around with a smile.

"Thank you, boys," he beamed; "but I don't quite understand. I just came here to talk to you and get my supper."

Amid the laughter that followed there were many voices answering him.

"You'll get it, sure! To-night we'll do the talking--Sproat's been practicing speeches on the innocent trees all day, and Bentley's most as good as a gramophone. We're mighty glad to have you! Sit right down!"

The storekeeper raised his hand for silence.

"You're our guest, Mr. Oliver, and that's all there is to it." He turned to the others and lowered his voice confidentially. "I guess Webster didn't explain the thing to him. Our friend's backward on some occasions--he doesn't like a fuss--and it's quite likely that if he'd known what to expect he wouldn't have come."

There was another burst of laughter; and when Mr. Oliver had taken his place, with the boys seated near him, Frank noticed for the first time that Mr. Barclay occupied a chair close by. Then he also saw that Mr.

Marston, who had written to him, sat almost opposite across the table.

"I got here this afternoon and was trying to hire a horse when I heard that you were expected at this feast," the latter said. "Your people were in first-rate health when I left them."

It was difficult to carry on a conversation across the table, and Frank turned his attention to the meal, which was the best he had sat down to since he reached the bush. By and by the storekeeper stood up.