d.i.c.k'S MIDNIGHT ADVENTURE

A minute after the last of Lew Flapp's crowd left the hermit's den d.i.c.k leaped to his feet, went to the doorway, and listened intently. It was quite dark, so he could see little or nothing.

At a distance he heard the masked cadets stealing swiftly along through the woods. They had put out the lantern, knowing the road fairly well through repeated excursions to the den. Soon the crowd was completely out of hearing.

It must be confessed that d.i.c.k felt lonely, and almost the first thing he did was to take a match from his pocket and strike it. Discovering a bit of candle on the table he lighted this also.

But little was to be seen outside of that which had already met his gaze. The hermit's den had been cleaned up around the table, on which rested half a dozen bottles, an empty cigar box, and several packs of cards.

"This must be the stuff those fellows bought in Oakville," thought the eldest Rover. "They have been using this cave for a regular club room.

What a beastly crowd they are! And they really imagine they are having good times, too!"

As will be remembered, d.i.c.k had been given a trip on a rowboat before being brought into the den and he imagined that he was somewhere near the head of Ba.s.s Lake, how far from the camp he could not tell.

"Perhaps I'm near where Tom and the others met those snakes," he mused.

"Ugh! I don't want to fall in with things like that. And how I am to get back to camp without a boat is more than I can settle."

Blowing out the bit of candle, he placed it in his pocket and left the den. On all sides were the thick bushes already described, and poor d.i.c.k knew not which way to turn. He listened once more, but hardly a sound broke the midnight silence.

"Might as well strike out as to stay here," he said. "I don't think they'll come back in very much of a hurry, and perhaps they won't come until morning."

Pushing his way through the bushes he at last reached a tiny stream that poured over the rocks. He followed the stream and after half an hour's hard walking reached the edge of the lake. He had journeyed directly away from the camp and was now in a spot that was lonely in the extreme.

Fortunately or unfortunately, the water at this point was very shallow and soon d.i.c.k was wading over to what he took to be the island upon which the encampment had been located. But as a matter of fact he was headed for the main sh.o.r.e of the lake, and soon he was tramping further away from the camp than ever. For once in his life, so far as his b.u.mp of locality was concerned, d.i.c.k was hopelessly mixed.

d.i.c.k traveled nearly a mile before he reached the conclusion that he was not on Pine Island or anywhere near it.

"I'm on the mainland, that's certain," he told himself. "I guess the best thing I can do is to wait for daylight before going further. I may only--Hullo, a light!"

d.i.c.k had emerged from a grove of trees and now saw a light streaming from the window of a cottage but a short distance away. The sight of this caused him to breathe a sigh of relief.

"Some farmer's place, I suppose," he murmured. "Well, anything will do.

I can get a place to sleep, and the farmer can testify to it that I haven't been drinking, as Lew Flapp and his cronies will want to prove."

A curtain was drawn over the window of the cottage, so that d.i.c.k could not see into the room. The cottage was small, with but a single doors and on this the youth rapped loudly.

The rapping was followed by a commotion inside of the cottage and d.i.c.k heard two persons leap to their feet.

"Who's there?" demanded a rough voice.

"A stranger," d.i.c.k answered. "I have lost my way in the darkness," and without waiting he tried the door, and finding it unlocked, opened it.

"d.i.c.k Rover!"

The cry came from one of the occupants of the room, a tall, awkward-looking young man, much tanned by exposure, and with a pair of dark and wicked-looking eyes.

"Great Scott!" gasped d.i.c.k, falling back a step. "Am I dreaming or is this really Dan Baxter?"

"Oh. I'm Dan Baxter right enough," answered the former bully of Putnam Hall.

"But--but I thought you were still on that island in the Pacific."

"You wanted to see me end my days there, didn't you?" sneered Dan Baxter.

d.i.c.k did not reply, for he was gazing at the other occupant of the room, a man with a short crop of hair and a short beard.

"And your father, too!" he murmured.

"Come in here," cried Arnold Baxter savagely and caught him by the arm.

"Are you alone?"

"Yes," answered d.i.c.k, before he had stopped to think twice.

"Good enough. Come in," and Arnold Baxter continued to hold him.

"He may be fooling us, dad," put in Dan Baxter. "The officers of the law may be with him."

"Take a look around and see, Dan. I'll keep him here."

"Let me go!" cried d.i.c.k, trying to break away.

"Not much, Rover. You'll stay right where you are for the present,"

answered the older Baxter grimly.

Dan had slipped out and he made a thorough search before returning to the cottage. In the meantime d.i.c.k was forced to sit down on a bench in a corner, while Arnold Baxter stood over him with a stout club.

"This is getting interesting, to say the least," thought d.i.c.k. "I wish I hadn't come anywhere near the cottage."

"n.o.body around," announced Dan Baxter, as he came in and closed and locked the door.

"Good," answered his father. He turned again to d.i.c.k. "Now, how comes it that you are wandering around here, Rover?" he went on.

"I was trying to find my way back to camp and lost my way in the woods."

"But your camp is on an island."

"I know it. I was carried off by some students who were hazing me. They put a bag over my head and took me in a boat, and I got mixed up.

"I hope they hazed you good," came from Dan Baxter with a malicious grin.

"Thank you, Dan, you always were a real friend," returned d.i.c.k, as coolly as he could.

"Oh, don't you come any of that game over me!" roared Dan Baxter. "I haven't forgotten the past, d.i.c.k Rover, and you'll find it out so before I get through with you. I was just hoping you or your precious brothers might drop into my arms."

"What are you and your father doing here?"

"That is my business," broke in Arnold Baxter.