Yes, there stood a commodious cabin right in the midst of the thick woods. It was a charming site for the home of one who loved nature as much as the old naturalist did.

When a vociferous shout rang forth a form was seen to come quickly to the open doorway. It was the same genial Larry Henderson whom some of the scouts had once rescued from the unkind a.s.sault of the bully of Lenox and his crowd, as they pelted the lame man with hard ice b.a.l.l.s.

He welcomed them to his little home with a heartiness that could not be doubted, and soon a royal dinner was being prepared for the whole party. While this was being dispatched later on, the owner of the woods cabin listened to the story of the great hike over Big Bear Mountain, as told by the boys.

Everything seemed to interest him very much indeed, and when last of all they told him how some unscrupulous boys had stolen most of their supplies, meaning to break up the hike, Mr. Henderson looked pleased.

"Don't let a little thing like that deter you, boys, from carrying out your original proposition," he remarked. "I can spare you all you want in the way of supplies. Yes and even to a coffee-pot and an extra frying-pan. An enterprise as splendidly started as this has been must not be allowed to languish, or be utterly wrecked through the mean tricks of such scamps as those boys."

He was pleased when they gave him a round of hearty cheers, such as could only spring from a group of lively, wide-awake American boys.

Afterwards he showed Tom and some of the others many things that interested them more than words could tell. Indeed, so fascinating were the various things he took the trouble to explain to them, that the scouts only wished they could stay at the cabin in the woods for a number of days, enjoying his society.

It was decided that they must remain there at least until another morning, which would give them a night with the naturalist and hunter, a prospect that afforded satisfaction all around.

Tom soon saw that Mr. Henderson had something on his mind which he wished to confide to him; consequently he was not much surprised when he saw him beckon to the leader of the Black Bear Patrol to join him.

"Tell Mr. Witherspoon to come, too, and also that bright chap you call Rob," remarked the recluse. "It is a little matter that may interest you and I think it best to lay the story before you, and then let you decide for yourselves what you want to do. Still, from what I've seen up to this time of your character, I can give a pretty shrewd guess what your answer will be."

Of course this sort of talk aroused a good deal of curiosity in both Tom Chesner and Rob Shaefer, and they impatiently awaited the coming of the scout master.

"And now I'll explain," Mr. Henderson told them, when he found three eager pairs of eyes fastened on him. "I chanced to be about half a mile away from home an hour before noon to-day when I heard angry voices, and discovered that several persons were about to pa.s.s by, following a trail that leads straight into the worst bog around the foot of Big Bear Mountain."

"I warrant you that it must have been the four young rascals who robbed our camp, that you saw," ventured Mr. Witherspoon.

"I know now that it was as you say," continued the other. "At the time I might have called out and warned them of the peril that lay in wait for them if they should continue along that misleading trail, but when I looked at their faces, and heard a little of the vile language they used, I determined that it would be a very unwise thing for me to let them know I lived so near."

"And you allowed them to go on past, you mean, sir?" questioned Mr.

Witherspoon.

"Yes, I regret to confess it now," came the reply, "but at the time it seemed to be simply ordinary caution on my part. Besides, how was I to know they would pay the slightest heed to anything I might say? I did not like their looks. But since then I've had grave doubts about the wisdom of my course, and was more than half inclined to start out, lame though I am, to see whether they did get off the only safe trail, and lose themselves in the bog."

"Is it then so dangerous?" asked Mr. Witherspoon; while Tom was saying to himself that perhaps the chance so ardently desired by poor Carl might be coming at last.

"There are places where it might be death itself to any one who got off the trail, and became bewildered. The mud is deceptive, and once one gets fast in it an hour or two is apt to see him swallowed up; nor will his fate ever be known, for the bottomless mire of the bog never discloses its secrets."

Tom drew a long breath.

"If you will show us the way there, sir," he told the naturalist, "we will certainly accompany you."

CHAPTER XXIII

INTO THE BIG BOG

"Is it worth our while to bother with that crowd, Tom?" asked Josh, with a look approaching disgust on his face.

One lad waited to hear what reply the patrol leader would make with more or less eagerness, as his face indicated. Needless to say this was Carl Oskamp, who had so much at stake in the matter.

"There's just this about it, Josh," said Tom, gravely, "suppose after we arrived safely home from this splendid hike, the first thing we heard was that one or two of that crowd had been lost in the Great Bog up here, and it was feared they must have found a grave in the mud flats. How would we feel about it, knowing that we had had the chance given to us to stretch out a helping hand them, and had failed?"

Josh turned red in the face. Then he made a sudden gesture which meant he was ready to throw up his hands.

"Huh! guess you know best," he replied, in a husky voice; "I didn't think of it that way. I'd sure hate to have such a thing on my mind nights. Let's start right away then."

That was the way with Josh; when he had anything unpleasant to do he was always eager to get it accomplished. For that matter, however, there were others among the scouts who wished to be astir, for the words of the patrol leader had thrilled them.

"What if they have gotten lost in that awful mud bog, and right now are stuck fast there, whooping for help?" suggested Felix.

Billy b.u.t.ton and Horace looked white with the very thought. As usual George pretended to make light of the whole matter, though some of them fancied much of his disbelief was a.s.sumed, for George had a reputation to maintain.

"Oh! no danger of those Smart Alecks being caught so easy," he told them; "they could slip through any sort of bog without getting stuck.

Like as not we'll only have our trouble for our pains."

"You can stay here at the cabin if you like, George," Tom told him.

That, however, was far from George's mind; if the others meant "to make fools of themselves he guessed he could stand it too"; and when they started forth George had his place in the very van. Josh often said George's "bark was worse than his bite."

"Fortunately," said the old naturalist, "the Great Bog isn't more than a mile away from here, and as I've spent many a happy hour there observing the home life of the little creatures that live in its depths the ground is familiar to me."

"But you still limp, I notice, sir," remarked Tom; "are you sure you can make it to-day? Hadn't we better try it alone?"

"I wouldn't think of letting you," replied the other, hastily. "I shall get along fairly well, never fear. This limp has become more a habit with me than anything else, I must admit. But if you are ready let us start off."

Accordingly the entire party began to head in the direction taken by those four boys from Lenox. Rob and Josh were keeping a close watch, and from time to time announced that those they were following had actually come along that same trail, for they could see their footprints.

"You know we took note of the different prints made by their shoes,"

Rob told some of the other boys when they expressed surprise that this should be possible, "and it's easy enough to tell them every once in a while."

"They are really following my usual trail, which I always take when going to or returning from a trip," explained the hermit-naturalist, looking pleased at this manifestation of scout sagacity on the part of the trackers.

Tom was keeping alongside his chum Carl, instead of being with those who led the procession. He had a reason for this, too; since he had seen that the other was again showing signs of nervousness.

"Tom," said Carl in a low voice as they walked steadily onward, "do you think I may have a chance to see Dock face to face, so I can ask him again to tell me what he ever did with that paper he took?"

"While of course I can't say positively," was Tom's steady answer, "I seem to feel that something's going to happen that will make you happier than you've been this many a long day, Carl."

"Oh! I hope you're on the right track!" exclaimed Carl, drawing a long breath, as he clutched the arm of his faithful chum. "It would mean everything to me if only I could go home knowing I was to get that paper. Just think what a fine present it would be to my mother, worried half to death as she is right now over the future."

"Well, keep hoping for the best, and it's all going to come out well.

But what's that the boys are saying?"

"I think they must have sighted the beginning of the Great Bog,"

replied Carl. "Do you suppose Mr. Henderson has brought that stout rope along with the idea that it may be needed to pull any one out of the mud?"

"Nothing else," said Tom. "He knows all about this place, and from what he's already told us I reckon it must be a terrible hole."