Читать книгу Tom Fairfield in Camp: or, The Secret of the Old Mill - Chapman Allen - Страница 3

“Well, Tom, how about it?” greeted Dick, when our hero met him, soon after having heard the details about the old mill and the wild man from Mr. Fairfield. “Is it all right for camp?”

“I should say yes, and then some more! Say, Dick, it’s going to be great! Think of it; a mystery to solve, and a wild hermit sort of a chap, roaming around through the woods, looking for your scalp.”

“Where’s that?”

“Where we’re going camping – where else? Here’s the yarn,” and Tom told it as he had heard it. “How about that?” he asked when he had finished.

“Couldn’t be better,” declared Dick enthusiastically.

“Have you fixed things with your folks so you can go?” asked Tom.

“I sure have.”

“Then come on down to the river and we’ll take another spin in the Tag. I want to get out on the water, where it’s nice and quiet, and talk about going camping.”

“So do I,” agreed Dick, and a little later the two chums were once more chugging away, and talking of everything, from the best way to kill a bear to what to do when the motorboat would not “mote,” as Tom put it.

“And we may get some game up there,” said Tom. “This Lake Woonset is away up in the northern part of New York state, and it’s wild there. I’m going to take my gun along.”

“So am I,” declared Dick. “When are your other friends coming?”

“I’ll get ’em here as soon as I can.”

“Say, Tom, maybe they won’t want me to come along.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” declared our hero. “I’m in charge of this camping party, and I’ll take whom I please. But they’ll like you all right, Dick, and you’ll like them. That’s sure.”

“When do you think you’ll go camping?”

“Just as soon as we can. In about a week, I guess. I’ll have to get a lot of things together. I’ve got a tent that will do, but we’ll need another small one to cook in, and a connecting piece of canvas for an awning so we can go from the kitchen to the dining room when it rains, without getting wet. The only thing I’m sorry about is leaving the Tag behind.”

“Why don’t you take her along?”

“By Jove!” cried Tom. “I never thought of that. I believe I will. I wonder if I could ship her to Lake Woonset?”

“I don’t see why not,” declared Dick.

“I’ll find out from dad,” declared Tom.

“Then go right back and do it,” suggested Dick. “We might as well get this thing settled.”

Tom turned the boat back, and in a short time was getting information from his father about the shipping facilities to Lake Woonset.

“You can get the boat up there all right,” declared Mr. Fairfield, “but you’ll have to hire some sort of a truck to haul it to the lake, as it isn’t near any railroad station.”

“Oh, we’ll manage it,” declared Tom. “Now I’m going to mail the letters to Jack and Bert.”

The missives were posted, and then Tom and Dick began to make out lists of what they needed, and to get their camping outfits together.

This took them several days, and in the meanwhile word came back from Tom’s two school chums that they would come on at once. They were delighted with the prospect of going camping in such a location as Tom described, though he did not give them all the particulars by letter.

“If we’re going to take the motorboat,” said Dick, one afternoon, about a week later, “we had better make a sort of crate for it, hadn’t we.”

“Yes, and take off the rudder and propeller,” added Tom. “It’s going to be quite a job, but I guess we can manage it.”

They at once began this task, the tent and other camping supplies having been gotten in readiness to ship. At work on the crate for the boat the next afternoon, Tom was surprised to hear a shout behind him.

“Hi there, old man!” a voice called. “What in the world are you up to?”

Tom turned to behold his two school chums, Jack and Bert, coming toward him.

“Well for cats’ sake!” he cried, running forward. “I didn’t expect you until to-morrow? How’d you find me down here?” for Tom was at work in his boathouse.

“We managed to get off sooner than we expected,” said Jack, as he and Bert shook hands with Tom.

“And we hiked for your house as soon as we landed,” added Bert.

“Your folks said you were down here, and we managed to find the place without getting lost more than ten times,” broke in Jack with a laugh. “Now what’s going on? Tell us all about it.”

“I’m going to take the boat along,” explained Tom. “And say, talk about luck! We’re going to camp near a mysterious old mill, and there’s a wild man roaming through the woods up there, who may sneak in and scalp us any night.”

“Great!” cried Jack.

“All to the string beans!” exclaimed Bert. “How did you happen to stumble on such a combination as that?”

Tom told, and the two newcomers expressed their satisfaction in unmeasured terms.

“Let’s start right away!” exclaimed Jack.

“Oh, there’s lots to do yet,” spoke Tom. “If you fellows will get off your store-clothes, you can help crate this boat.”

“Sure we will!” came from Bert. “We left our grips at your house. We’ll go back and change into our old duds.”

“Good idea,” declared Tom. “Mother’s got your rooms all ready for you.”

“We know. She took us up to ’em first shot,” said Jack. “Great little mother you’ve got, boy!”

“Glad you like her,” laughed Tom.

A little later the three chums were back at the boathouse making the crate. There was hammering, pounding, splitting and sawing – that is, when there was a cessation in the talk, which was not very often, as the lads had much to say to each other.

Then, too, each one had a different idea of how the work ought to be done, and they argued freely, though good-naturedly.

“Say, we’ll never get anything done if we keep this up,” said Tom after a while.

“That’s right. Talk less and work more,” advised Bert.

“Here comes Dick Jones. He’ll help,” said Tom, and he explained that his village chum was going to camp with them. Dick was introduced to the two Elmwood Hall boys, and they liked him at once, as he did them.

After that the work went on better, for it was no small task to crate the motorboat and an additional pair of hands were much needed.

“And what did you say the name of the lake is, where we’re going camping?” asked Jack, during a pause in the hammering and sawing.

“Lake Woonset,” explained Tom. “It’s an Indian name. Didn’t I mention it before?”

“You did, but I guess I forgot it. Lake Woonset, near Wilden, in New York state. Say, Bert – !”

“By Jove, that’s so. It just occurred to me too,” interrupted Bert.

“What did?” asked Tom. “What’s up? What’s the matter with Lake Woonset?”

“Nothing, but isn’t it near Crystal Lake?” asked Jack, a curious look on his face.

“Yes,” answered Tom. “But Crystal Lake is a small one. Why, what has that to do with our going camping?”

“Nothing much, only we’ve got some curious news for you. Who do you think is going to camp at Crystal Lake?”

“I can’t imagine, unless it’s Sam Heller and that sneaking crony of his, Nick Johnson.”

“Worse than that,” declared Bert. “It’s our old enemy, Professor Skeel!”