CHAPTER XII
THE PIECE OF PAPER
Anxiously did Tom’s chums watch his movements. They realized, as did he, that the piece of paper, dropped either by Mr. Skeel or the hermit, might give them the very clew they needed to locate the treasure – if there was any. And they also realized the danger if Tom was seen.
“If they catch him, it will be all up with our chances, I guess,” murmured Bert. “We’ll have to leave here mighty soon.”
“That’s right. With that old professor, the hermit, and those two lads against us, we wouldn’t have much chance,” added Dick.
“Oh, you fellows make me tired!” exclaimed Jack. “Why, it’s only four to four, and if we aren’t a match for that bunch I’d like to know it! Get out of here? I guess not much! We’ll stick!” Jack was like Tom – he believed in fighting to the last ditch. “Besides,” he went on, “as Tom said, the woods are as much ours as they are those other fellows’.”
“But the mill, and the land around it, aren’t,” returned Bert. “They could keep us away from here.”
“Maybe, and maybe not,” said Jack. “I guess Tom Fairfield can find some plan for getting around it. What’s he doing now?” for our hero was somewhat screened from the observation of Jack, though the others could see him well.
“He’s crawling forward again,” spoke Bert in a low tone. “I guess the coast is clear. I hope he gets that piece of paper.”
“What good will it be?” asked Dick.
“Some good, you can wager, or Skeel and the hermit wouldn’t have been so excited over it,” declared Jack. “I’d like to get a look at it.”
“Tom’ll get it all right,” insisted Bert. “He generally does get anything he goes after.”
The three lads waited impatiently for the return of their chum. Dick took another look, and reported that Tom was not in sight now.
“He’s probably working his way along the path to the place where the talk went on,” was Jack’s opinion.
They resigned themselves to waiting, talking meanwhile of what might happen. Then, interrupting their talk, came a sound as of someone approaching down the slope.
“Who is it?” asked Jack eagerly, for he had been sitting down on a stone to ease the pain of his injured leg.
“It’s Tom all right!” exclaimed Dick, who was acting as sentinel.
“Has he got the paper?”
“Yes, there’s something white in his hand.”
“Good!” exclaimed Tom’s college roommate.
A few seconds later our hero rejoined his chums. There was a look of satisfaction on his face.
“What is it?” demanded Bert eagerly.
“I don’t know yet,” was the reply. “It’s all folded up, and I didn’t open it. Didn’t want to take the time. There’s no telling when they might miss it, and come back. I made tracks as soon as I saw I could safely advance and grab it up. Come on down to the boat.”
“Go slow,” begged Jack, and they helped him down the slope. Not taking time to examine the bit of paper, Tom loosed the mooring line of his craft, and, pushing her out into the current, he let her drift down before starting the motor, as he did not want their enemies to hear the noise of the exhaust.
“I guess it’s safe enough now,” spoke Jack, after a bit, from his position on a cushioned seat in the stern, his stiff leg stretched out in front of him. “Turn on the gas, Tom, and start her off.”
This was done, and soon the Tag was making good time down the river toward the lake.
“What about the feed?” asked Bert. “Seems to me we’ve earned it now, Tom.”
“Let’s look at that paper first,” suggested Jack. “That’s more important than feeding our faces.”
“Here it is,” spoke Tom, producing it from his pocket, while Dick took the wheel.
Eagerly the others looked over the shoulder of our hero as he unfolded the paper. It proved to be quite large, being of thin but tough fabric, and it was creased into many folds, as though it had been intended to occupy a small space. It was covered with lines, words and figures.
“An architect’s plan! Nothing but a plan!” exclaimed Jack.
“That’s all,” added Bert in disappointed tones.
“Maybe they didn’t drop it at all,” suggested Dick. “It may have been there all the while, and they didn’t bother to pick it up. I don’t see what good it is, though.”
Tom said nothing for a space. He was intently studying the sketch.
“Chuck it overboard,” spoke Dick.
“No, mail it back to Skeel, and tell him how we found it,” was Bert’s suggestion. “It’ll show him how close we are on his trail.”
“I’ll do neither,” answered Tom quietly. “We’re going to keep this piece of paper for ourselves.”
“Can you make head or tail of it?” asked Jack.
“I fancy I can,” answered our hero. “I think this is a detail drawing of the floor plans of the old mill, and I believe it may be the key to the location of the treasure – or at least the place where the treasure is supposed to be.”
“You do?” cried his chums in a chorus.
“I sure do,” replied Tom, with conviction. “And I’m sure either Skeel, or the hermit, dropped this. It wasn’t there on the path before they held their confab, and neither Sam nor Nick was near the spot where the paper lay. Boys, I believe we’ve got a valuable clue here!”
“Let’s see it,” requested Jack, and Tom passed it over. His chum gazed at it thoughtfully, turned it around, and peered at it upside down. Then he remarked, as he passed it back: “Well, if you can make anything out of that, Tom, you’re a good one. What does it say?”
“That I don’t know yet,” spoke our hero. “It’s going to take some studying to ferret this thing out, but we’ll do it. Meanwhile we’ll just forget all about it for a little while, and have some grub. Get busy, fellows, and have dinner.”
They ate with exceedingly good appetites, while the motorboat speeded on her way toward the lake. Between bites they talked of their experience, and kept a lookout for any possible signs of their former professor, his cronies and the hermit.
“It must be that there are short cuts through these woods that we know nothing about,” said Tom, “or otherwise they never could have been on the ground at the same time we were, from where we last saw them. Still, I don’t think they can get ahead of us this time.”
And this was so, or, at least, our friends saw nothing of the four whom they were trying to circumvent.
“Well, I know one thing,” declared Jack with a grunt. “I’ll be glad when we get back to camp, and I can rub some liniment on this leg of mine.”
“It’s too bad,” consoled Tom. “I hope you’re not laid up with it.”
They emerged from the river into the peaceful lake and in due time were back at camp, without further incident having occurred.
“Oh, wow! but I’m stiff!” cried Jack, as he attempted to leave the boat.
“Wait, we’ll give you a hand up,” said Tom, and they had to assist him much more than they had previously, for a severe stiffness had set in. However, they got Jack to the tent, and on a cot. Then they proceeded to give him such rough and ready treatment as was possible under the circumstances.
“Well, it feels better, anyhow,” said Jack with a sigh of satisfaction as he stretched back. “Now let’s have that screed again, Tom, and I’ll have a go at translating it. I don’t believe it can be much worse than some of the Latin stuff old Skeel used to stick us with.”
“All right, try your hand at it,” agreed Tom. “The rest of us will get things in shape for the night, and see about supper. How about quail on toast for you, Jack?” he asked with a whimsical smile as he handed over the mysterious piece of paper.
“Nothing doing. I want roast turkey and cranberry sauce, with ice cream and apple pie on the side.”
“I think I see you getting it,” remarked Bert. “Corned beef and beans will be about the menu to-night.”
While Jack lay back on his cot, easing his injured leg, and studied the piece of paper Tom had picked up, the others proceeded to get the camp to rights for the night. Bert, whose turn it was to cook, started the oil stove, and began opening canned stuff. Tom looked to see if there was a good supply of wood for the campfire, for, though they did not really need it, they always lighted one for the sake of the cheerfulness.
“I say,” called Bert, as he went about collecting the various items he needed for the meal. “What did you do with that piece of bacon, Tom?”
“What piece?”
“The one partly sliced off. I laid it in this box, but it’s gone now.”
“Is that so?” asked Tom, and there was a curious note in his voice. “That’s queer. I remember seeing it there when we started off. We’ll have a look.”
“Oh, take another piece, and don’t delay the meal,” suggested Dick with a laugh.
“It isn’t that,” said Tom. “If things begin to disappear from camp we want to know about it, and find out who is taking them.”
Together with Bert he examined the place where the bacon had been put. This was in a box, fastened about four feet above the ground, in a tree. It was a sort of cupboard, thus raised, in which to keep stuff that was not protected by tins, so that prowling rats, squirrels or chipmunks could not get in. There was a door to it, fastened with a wire.
“Was the door opened when you went to get the bacon?” asked Tom.
“Yes,” answered Bert, “and I’m sure it was closed when we went away.”
Tom stooped down, and began examining the soft ground at the foot of the tree. As he did so he uttered an exclamation.
“What is it?” asked Bert, eagerly.
“There’s been some animal here,” declared Tom. “A fox maybe. I can see the footprints, but I’m not enough of a naturalist to tell what made ’em.”
“A bear,” suggested Dick.
“I don’t believe there are any in these woods, though there may be. It’s wild enough.”
“Those aren’t bear tracks,” declared Bert. “I know, for a fellow with a dancing bear once went past our house, and it was just after a rain. I noticed the tracks, and they were as big as a ham. This isn’t a bear.”
Tom had arisen and was looking at the door of the cupboard.
“The wire fastening has been pulled out of place,” he said. “And look! Here are the marks of sharp claws. The wood is all splintered. Some wild beast took our bacon all right!”
CHAPTER XIII
A SHOT IN TIME
Tom looked around at his chums. From the tent Jack poked his head, having limped from his cot at the sound of Tom’s exclamation.
“Do you really think it was some sort of a ‘varmint critter?’” asked Jack.
“Sure,” was the answer. “You can see plainly how he tramped around this tree, and, smelling the bacon, just reared up on his hind legs, clawed the door open, and made off with part of our provisions.”
“Well, it’s too bad the bacon is gone,” said Bert, “but this may make good hunting for us. I’ve been wanting to get something bigger than a fox.”
“It’s lucky the main part of our bacon is still in the original box, with the cover nailed on, or the beast might have gone off with that,” commented Dick.
“Yes,” agreed Tom. “We’ll have to be more careful after this, and I guess it will be a good plan to keep the fire going more regularly. Fire is a good thing to scare ’em off.”
“But we don’t want to scare ’em off,” said Jack. “I want to get a shot, as soon as my leg gets better. I’ll get a bear, or something, before I go back.”
“If they don’t get you,” commented Tom grimly. “Well, let’s get supper over with, and then we’ll have a conference on that mysterious paper.”
The meal was enjoyed, albeit they ate rather hurriedly, for they were anxious to try to solve the puzzle. The dishes were washed by the simple process of being put to soak in the lake.
“I’ll rinse them off with warm water in the morning,” promised Bert.
“What’s the use of being so fussy?” asked Tom. “The lake water is clean enough.”
“But it’s cold,” spoke Bert, “and you need hot water, and soap, to get the grease off.”
“Oh, we’re not as particular as all that,” declared Dick.
Lanterns were lighted as the dusk settled down, and then the lads gathered in the main, or sleeping tent, around some boxes that had been arranged in the form of a table. On it the paper Tom had found was spread out.
“Well, what do you make of it now?” asked Bert, when he and the others had stared at the document for some time.
“It’s a plan – a plan of the old mill,” declared Tom. “That much is certain. See, here is the ground floor, with the main wagon entrance. Then comes the second floor where we were, with the machinery, mill-stones and the like. Then the third floor is shown, where there were living rooms, evidently. That must be where the old hermit hangs out when he’s home.”
“That part is all true enough,” said Bert, “but I don’t see where the location of treasure is marked on here.”
“Of course not!” exclaimed Tom. “If it was you can wager Skeel or the hermit would have had it long ago.”
“Then what good is the paper?” asked Dick.
“Well, don’t know yet,” Tom admitted frankly. “But I think it’s going to come in useful.” And he little knew what a service that same piece of paper was shortly to render him and his companions.
“I think it’s a sell,” declared Jack decidedly.
“I don’t,” fired back Tom quickly. “I tell you what I do think, though. I think that this is only the beginning of a search Skeel and the hermit have started for the hidden hoard. This is an old plan of the mill, evidently a copy of the original, for you can see that some of the words are spelled in the old-fashioned way, with ‘f’ for ‘s.’ And the distances, too, instead of being in feet and inches are in chains and links which, though they are still used by surveyors, are not in such general use as they were in the old days.”
“Then you think that the old hermit somewhere found an original of the old plans, and had a copy made?” asked Dick.
“I do, yes. And I think somehow our friend Skeel got in touch with him, and secured one of the copies to work on.”
“But I can’t see the good of just a plan,” spoke Dick.
“I can only surmise, of course,” went on Tom, “but it seems to me that what Skeel intends to do is this: He will look at the plan, and from his knowledge of mathematics he’ll try to figure out the most likely place for a secret chamber, where treasure would be apt to be put. That would be more logical than digging here and there at random in the walls, with the risk of bringing them down.”
“That’s so!” exclaimed Jack. “But what if the stuff was buried somewhere outside the mill, Tom?”
“That’s different, of course. I don’t see any directions on this plan for digging in the grounds about the mill. It may be that there is another paper – a sort of map – that the hermit has, and if he doesn’t find the fortune in the mill he’ll have a try in the grounds – the same as others have had. But as all we have is this plan, we’ll work on that.”
Once more they fell to studying the paper, but they could not seem to get anywhere. The plan gave them no more clew than any blueprint of a modern building would have done. The walls were shown, the partitions, the location of the doors, windows, and various pieces of mechanism, but that was all.
“Maybe those words and figures, that seem to refer to the building, are a sort of cypher,” suggested Bert.
“Maybe,” admitted Tom. “I didn’t think of that. How do you work out one of these cyphers, anyhow?”
“I know a couple of ways,” said Jack, and they tried his method, but they only got a lot of meaningless words and figures, though they sat up until nearly midnight.
“It’s no good!” exclaimed Tom regretfully. “Let’s go to bed, and have another try to-morrow. I’m dead tired.”
They all were. So they turned in, after making a campfire blaze that they hoped would at least glow until dawn. Nothing disturbed their slumbers, and in the morning, after breakfast, they again began studying the map.
They were forced to give it up, however, and Tom in desperation exclaimed:
“We’ll just put this away for a few days, until we get another chance to visit the mill. Then we’ll take it with us, and when we’re right on the spot some idea may come to us that will put us on the right track.”
The others agreed that this was a good plan, and as a sort of recreation they went for a ride in the motorboat. They fished, having fair luck, and, having reached a large cove, not before visited, they went ashore and cooked the dinner they had brought with them, broiling their fish over the live coals of a campfire.
“Say, this is something like living!” exclaimed Bert, as he stretched out on some moss, and picked his teeth.
“I should say so,” agreed Dick. “I’m glad you fellows let me come along.”
“We’re glad to have you,” declared Tom. “Supposing we take our guns and go off in the woods? Maybe we can have a shot at the critter who took our bacon.”
“Sure! Come on!” exclaimed Bert.
“I’m afraid I’m not up to it,” said Jack. “My leg is just beginning to get better, and I don’t want to strain it with walking through the woods. I might stumble.”
“That’s so,” agreed Tom. “We’ll stay here then.”
“No, go on!” urged the injured lad. “Don’t let me hold you back. I’ll be all right until you return.”
“I’ll stay with you,” volunteered Dick.
“No, you go along!” insisted Jack. “I’ll be all right alone. Besides, I didn’t bring my gun, and I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have a game leg. Go ahead.”
Thus urged, Tom and his two chums set off in the dense woods, taking their route by a compass, so that they could more easily find their way back.
Left to himself Jack took a comfortable position, leaned against a stone that he had padded with leafy branches and ferns, and before he knew it he had fallen asleep.
Meanwhile Tom and the others tramped on, looking eagerly about for some sign of legitimate game that they could take a shot at. They roused several foxes, for the forest was almost primitive in its wildness, but they did not shoot the prowling creatures, as they were valueless for food or fur.
Tom, however, saw a big, snowy owl, and, as he wanted it for a specimen in his school den, he bowled it over.
“That’ll look great, stuffed and perched on our bookcase,” he said. “It’ll give the place an air of wisdom.”
“It needs it badly enough,” said Bert, “with the small amount of studying you and Jack do.”
“Get out, you traducer!” shouted Tom.
They went on for a mile or two farther, but saw nothing worth their powder or shot, and, at Tom’s suggestion, they turned back.
“We don’t want to leave Jack alone too long,” he explained.
They thought perhaps they might meet the hermit, or Mr. Skeel and the two cronies, but they neither saw nor heard anything.
Tom was in advance as they neared the place where they had left Jack, and, as he came to a place where he could have a view of the motorboat on shore, and his chum sleeping under a tree, our hero uttered an exclamation of horror.
“What is it?” cried Bert.
“Look! That beast on the branch over Jack’s head!” whispered Tom, hoarsely. “It’s just going to spring!”
They saw a tawny, yellow body, crouched on a limb directly over Jack, and their chum was peacefully sleeping. The back of the beast was toward them, but Tom had a clear view of the raised head. The tail was twitching, and the body quivering in readiness for the leap upon the sleeping lad.
“Shoot!” whispered Dick.
“I’m going to,” answered Tom, and, raising his rifle, he took quick aim and pulled the trigger.
They could hear the thud of the bullet as it struck, and the next instant, with a scream of rage and pain, the beast launched itself into the air.
CHAPTER XIV
TOM’S SCHEME
“Roll out of the way, Jack! Roll out of the way!” yelled Tom, as soon as the smoke had cleared from his line of vision, and he could see the result of his shot. The tawny beast was writhing on the ground in its final struggle, close to the prostrate youth.
“Jack! Jack! Wake up!” cried Bert.
There was no need for the last injunction, for Jack had sat up with a start at the report of the rifle.
“Look out that he doesn’t claw you!” shouted Dick, and then Jack became aware of the cause of the commotion.
“Roll to one side!” Tom again called, and his chum understood.
It was probably the only thing that could have saved him, even after Tom’s lucky shot, for the beast still had plenty of fight left in him, and doubtless associated the pain he suffered with the youth on whom he had been about to leap. The creature was trying to reach Jack.
But if the latter could not spring up and run, because of his injured leg, he could roll to good advantage, and this he proceeded to do as soon as he saw the need of it.
Over and over he went, like some living log, down toward the lake shore, and away from the struggling beast.
“Give him another bullet, Tom!” cried Bert. “Finish him off now.”
“Here goes!” exclaimed our hero, and from the muzzle of his repeater he pumped another leaden missile into the brute. He had a clear view now, with Jack out of the way.
The animal sprang into the air, fell back, quivered convulsively, and then lay still. The second bullet had ended its misery.
Tom, Bert and Dick ran up.
“He’s done for,” remarked Bert.
“Stop rolling, Jack!” suddenly called Tom, “or you’ll be in the lake,” for his chum, being unable to see the result of the shot, still imagined himself in danger, and was approaching the water.
At Tom’s call, however, he slacked up in his queer method of progress, and arose to his feet.
“That was a close call,” said Jack, as he limped up to the others. “Who did the business for our savage friend there?” and he kicked the carcass.
“Tom did. You might have known it,” answered Bert.
“I just happened to,” said our hero modestly. “I was in the lead, and saw it first. Then I fired.”
“And a good job for you that he did,” remarked Dick.
“Thanks,” said Jack, fervently, and his hand and that of Tom met in a firm clasp.
“What sort of a beast is it, anyhow?” asked Bert, as he surveyed the tawny body.
“A lynx, and a big one, too,” declared Dick, who knew something about animals. “They’re as savage as a wildcat when they’re hungry, and this one probably thought Jack would make a good meal.”
“I never heard a thing until the shot,” explained Tom’s chum. “I was sleeping soundly and I thought it was a clap of thunder. Jove! If you hadn’t come along!” and he shuddered.
“Well, shall we take it back to camp with us?” asked Bert.
“I’d like to,” spoke Tom, “but it’s a hard job to skin it in hot weather, and I’m afraid I couldn’t keep the hide. Besides the fur isn’t in very good condition. I guess we’ll just leave it where it is.”
Then, after a rest on shore, and talking over the incident, they got in the boat, Tom taking the big owl he had shot, and started back for their camp.
The next day they went off on another trip, exploring the woods and hills around the lake. They did more fishing, and looked for something to shoot, but saw nothing.
“But there hasn’t any more bacon disappeared,” said Dick one morning, as he was frying some for breakfast.
“No, I guess we got the lynx that took it,” said Tom. “I thought I detected the odor of fried bacon and eggs on him,” he added with a smile.
But if they imagined they were to be free from the prowlers of the woods they were mistaken, for, a few nights later, they were awakened by a noise near the place where they threw the odds and ends from their kitchen – empty tins, bits of food and the like.
“Something’s out there,” called Tom, as he and the others awoke.
“The hermit, maybe,” suggested Jack.
“He wouldn’t make as much noise as that,” said Tom. “I’m going to take a look.”
He got down a low-burning lantern from where it hung in the space between the two tents, turned it up, and flashed it from the entrance in the direction of the refuse pile.
As he did so he and the others saw a black body rear up, and then they heard a menacing growl, while something big and clumsy lumbered off in the darkness.
“A bear!” cried Jack. “A bear as sure as you’re alive! Take a shot, somebody!”
Dick was the first to grab his gun, and, taking the best aim he could, he pulled the trigger. Following the flash and the report the boys heard a yelp as of pain.
“You winged him!” cried Bert. “Come on, we can get him!”
He would have rushed from the tent, lightly clad as he was, had not Tom grabbed him.
“Hold on,” urged our hero. “Don’t do anything rash.”
“Why not?”
“Because that bear – if that’s what it was – is far enough off by now. And besides, he’s probably only wounded. Dick’s gun doesn’t carry a heavy enough bullet to fetch a bear down in one shot, unless it went right into the brain. And again, you’re not exactly dressed for a tramp through the woods at midnight,” and Tom glanced at his friend’s bare feet. “Wait until morning,” he advised, “and maybe we can trail him.”
Morning showed them some drops of blood, and marks in the soft earth that were undoubtedly the tracks of a big bear.
“Oh, if we can only get him!” exclaimed Dick, with enthusiasm. “Maybe he’s worse wounded than we think.”
But though they tramped about nearly all that day they did not come upon any traces of bruin, and they had to give up the chase, though they did so reluctantly.
“Well, Tom,” remarked Jack that night, as they sat about the campfire after supper, “this isn’t treasure-hunting very fast.”
“No, that’s so. I’ve been sort of holding off, hoping I’d happen to think of some solution to that plan, but I haven’t. How about you fellows?”
“Nothing doing as far as I’m concerned,” said Jack, as he limped over to the water pail. He was much better and the soreness was almost gone.
“Two more to hear from,” suggested Tom.
“I can’t think of anything,” admitted Bert, and Dick confessed to the same thing.
“Then I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” proposed Tom. “We’ll take another trip to the old mill.”
“And do what?” asked Jack.
“We’ll take the plan with us, and try to see if, by looking at the structure itself, and, then the plan, we can come to any solution. It may be we might hit on some secret room, or something like that.”
“What about the old hermit?” asked Dick. “He’ll be furious if he catches us there.”
“Well, we’ll watch our chance, and go in the mill when we’re sure he’s out,” went on Tom. “Then we won’t all go in. We’ll leave someone outside to give the alarm in case he comes. How do you like my plan?”
“Good!” cried Jack; and the others agreed with him.
“Then we’ll start in the morning,” decided Tom.