"Well, I have, then," remarked Bluff, suddenly, as he stared at the trophy; "and just as I thought, here are two initials on it."

"What are they?" asked Jerry, showing excitement.

"H.B."

"That doesn't cover any of Andy's crowd, though," said Jerry, seemingly disappointed.

"The real owner of this match-box is Herman Bancroft," announced Bluff; "I've had it in my hands more than once. You know I went with him for a time."

"He wanted to join our Rod, Gun and Camera Club, but the black ball dished his chances. Perhaps Herman was mad about that; perhaps he even followed us up here, and has tried to get even," suggested Will.

"That's hard to believe, for he isn't the bad fellow some people say. A little wild, but with a good heart. I'd rather believe he lost it, and one of that crowd picked it up," said Bluff, st.u.r.dily.

"That's just like you, Bluff, standing up for a friend. Well, I'm rather inclined to believe the same way. Anyhow, it was a mighty mean dodge. If that Andy Lasher keeps on he'll get in a peck of trouble sooner or later.

Why, for such a thing as this he deserves a peppering of shot at a distance," said Frank, indignantly.

"It was criminal, that's what. We might have been smothered in our beds,"

remarked Bluff.

"Or my camera might have been utterly destroyed," wailed Will.

Old Toby said nothing, but he cast many an anxious look around at the adjacent trees, as if he had an idea lingering under his woolly pate that in some way or other this new disaster might have a connection with the shooting of the wildcat.

Things a.s.sumed a normal aspect after a while, and only for the scent of burnt leaves no one would dream that the camp had come near destruction.

But all the inmates of Kamp Kill Kare slept, so to speak, "with one eye open" during the balance of that night.

There was no further alarm.

By the time breakfast had been disposed of they could look the matter calmly in the face, and it no longer appeared in such a terrible aspect as when they were scampering around in their pajamas fighting the flames and smoke.

The sun seemed unusually warm this morning, so Will declared that he meant to tramp over to the lake and try a little fishing, since they would have small opportunity to do any of this when the cold winds came again.

"I'm on too," remarked Bluff, moodily; "a fellow without a gun is like a fifth wheel to a wagon, useless in camp. Let's make up some lunch, for it's a long tramp, and we won't come home until late."

Jerry announced that he wanted to go over and have a further talk with Jesse Wilc.o.x; after which he might take a tramp in a new region advised by the old trapper as opening a possible chance for big game--perhaps a deer.

Frank declared he would stick to the camp; with such vicious characters around, he secretly thought it hardly safe for all of them to go away, leaving old Toby as the sole guardian. They had too much at stake, since their pleasure would be destroyed if the camp were raided successfully.

Reaching the lake Will spent much of his time taking views, while Bluff set to work trying to entice the finny denizens of the water to bite his lures.

As time went on he was fairly successful, and when they ate their lunch he had quite a fair string of fish as the reward of his diligence.

Will proved to be a poor fisherman after all, especially when he had his adored camera along, for he presently wandered off again.

"Don't go too far," warned Bluff, as he sat on the end of a log that jutted out over the water a yard or more.

Engrossed with his sport, Bluff hardly noticed how time pa.s.sed. Hearing a step back of him, he called out:

"I got three more; what luck did you have, Will?"

He heard what sounded like a chuckling laugh back of him; and before he could turn some one gave him a strong push. Bluff went over with a splash into the lake.

CHAPTER XIII

THE COMING OF THE STORM

Bluff came up spluttering.

"Help! help!" he shouted, involuntarily, as well as a mouth half full of water would permit.

But there was no one in sight. Whoever had shoved him into the lake had mysteriously vanished, though a movement in the bushes told the direction of his flight.

Recovering from the shock, Bluff found that he could clamber out without much difficulty, and he hastened to do so.

His cries had been heard, however, for presently the sound of some one running wildly came to his ears, and Will burst into view.

At sight of the dripping fisherman he broke into a shout.

"Caught a Tartar, did you, and he pulled you in? Oh! what wouldn't I have just given to have been here? A snapshot of you going over would have been the finest ever."

"Shut up! It wasn't a fish at all that yanked me overboard. Somebody gave me a shove!" snapped Bluff, beginning to shiver, in spite of the fact that the air seemed unusually warm, though the sun had disappeared behind dark clouds.

"What! you were pushed in?" stammered Will; and he gathered up his camera in his arms, casting a look of alarm around, as if afraid lest some hideous form dart into view, bent on s.n.a.t.c.hing it away.

"That's the truth. I was just sitting here when I heard a step. Thought it was you, and asked how you had got on. Then the beggar laughed, gave me a shove, and over I went, 'ker chunk.' I let out a yell when I came up, for you see I didn't exactly know what he might mean to do,"

explained the dripping one.

"And I don't blame you a bit. But didn't you see him at all?"

"Never had a peep. He dodged back so that when I got the water out of my eyes he was gone. I saw those bushes over there moving, and knew he ran off that way."

Will walked over to the bushes, looking cautiously about, but seeing no one.

"Sure you didn't--er--go to sleep out on that log, and dream somebody gave you a push?" he queried, cautiously.

"Rats! I guess I ought to know. But see here, perhaps you can prove it,"

declared Bluff, indignantly.

"How?" demanded the other.

"Look down at your feet and see if he left any trail, that's how."

Will immediately did as he was told.