CHAPTER III
TOM’S CHUMS ARRIVE

“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!”

CHAPTER IV
OFF TO CAMP

“What’s that?” cried Tom. “Are you joking? Professor Skeel going to camp near us?”

“I’m not joking a bit,” declared Bert. “You can ask Jack.”

“It’s true enough,” put in Tom’s roommate at college. “We heard it the other day – just before we came on here – from your old friend, Bruce Bennington. I don’t know why we didn’t think to tell you before, except that I didn’t recall that Crystal Lake, and the one where we’re going camping, were so near together.”

“They’re about five miles apart,” said Tom. “But how is it that Mr. Skeel is going up there? The last I saw of him was when the ship picked us up from the derelict, the time we were wrecked, and he went on to Honolulu. What brought him back from there?”

“It seems the place didn’t agree with him,” explained Jack. “He tried to get into some business there but he failed. I guess he didn’t play fair. Anyhow his health failed, and the doctor said he had to get back to the United States. So he came.”

“Then he heard of a relative of his who was going up to camp in the New York woods, and he decided to go along. In some way Bruce Bennington got word of it. You know Mr. Skeel tried to play a mean trick on Bruce once.”

“Sure he knows it,” put in Bert. “Didn’t Tom show up old Skeel?”

“Oh, yes, I forgot about that,” admitted Jack. “Well, anyhow, our old enemy Skeel is going to camp near us, it seems.”

“It won’t bother me,” spoke Tom. “I don’t believe he’ll come near our place, and, if he does, we’ll just politely ask him to move on.”

“Sure,” said Jack. “But it’s rather odd that he should be so near us.”

“It is,” agreed Tom. They discussed, for some time, the possibility of meeting the former Latin teacher, who had been so unpleasant to them, and then they resumed work on making the cradle, or crate, for the motorboat.

There were busy times ahead of the boys. Their camp equipment had to be gotten together, packed for shipment, and then came the details of arranging for a food supply, though not much of this could be done until they reached Wilden.

“And maybe we’ll come across the fortune that’s hidden in the old mill,” suggested Jack, laughing.

“Or we may make friends with the wild man.”

“Don’t build too much on that,” advised Tom.

“Anyhow, we won’t want to be puttering around the old mill much,” said Dick. “We’ll be out in the boat, or fishing, or going in swimming, or something like that most of the time.”

“Or else hunting,” suggested Tom. “I hope you fellows brought guns.”

“We sure did,” spoke Jack.

The boys packed their kits of clothing, taking only as much as was absolutely necessary, for they were going to rough it. A small quantity of the most needful medicines were put up, and some other supplies were included.

Their grips and guns they would carry with them, but the tent, a portable cooking stove, and a case of canned provisions, as well as some in pasteboard packages, were to be shipped by express. The motorboat, which had been well crated up, was to go by freight.

By letter Tom had arranged for a supply of gasolene which was to be left at a small settlement at one end of the lake. They could also get additional provisions there and some supplies, and they hoped to get fish enough to help out on the meals.

Finally everything had been packed up. The motorboat had been shipped, with the other things, and the boys were to leave the next morning. They would have to travel all day, reaching the town of Wilden at night. They would sleep there, and go on to camp the next day.

The evening mail came in, and there was a letter for Mrs. Fairfield. It was from her former school chum, Mrs. Henderson, and as soon as Tom’s mother read it she exclaimed:

“Oh Tom! That old Jason Wallace is worse than ever.”

“How so?” asked Tom.

“It seems the other day that some campers who were staying near the old mill went in the ruins and began digging about. He saw them and had a quarrel with them. Now he’s got an old army musket and he keeps going about the place like a sentinel, Mrs. Henderson says. He threatens to shoot anyone who comes near. Oh, I don’t want you to go there!” and Mrs. Fairfield was seriously alarmed.

“Don’t worry, mother,” spoke Tom. “I won’t take any chances. I guess us fellows can make friends with old Wallace, and we’ll have him so tame that he’ll eat out of our hands, and show us all the interesting places in the woods and about the old mill.”

“Oh, Tom, you will be careful; won’t you?” asked his mother.

“Sure I will,” he promised, and she had to be content with that.

Later, when Tom told Jack and Bert about the news from the place where they were going camping, Jack said:

“I wonder if it could have been Mr. Skeel who bothered the old man?”

“It can’t be,” declared Bert. “Why he’s hardly up there yet.”

“He might be,” spoke Jack. “If he is, and he hears anything about treasure, I’ll wager that he gets after it. And he’ll make trouble whereever he goes – he’s that way.”

“He sure is,” agreed Tom, thinking of how the former professor had hidden away a secret supply of food and drink when the others were trying to save themselves from starvation in the lifeboat.

“Well, anyhow, we don’t need to worry,” said Dick, who had come over to Tom’s house to have a last talk before the start in the morning.

“That’s right,” agreed Tom. “Now let’s go over everything, and see what we’ve forgotten.”

This took them the best part of the evening, and having found that they had omitted a few things, they packed them into their grips and went to bed, Dick promising to come over early in the morning to go with the three chums to the train which they were all to take to reach Wilden.

Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield went to the station with the boys. The baggage was checked, and Tom had to spend some time saying good-bye to a number of his town chums.

“Hey, wish you’d take me along,” said Dent Wilcox, as he shuffled along the depot platform. He seemed to have forgotten his little feeling against Tom for not taking him in the motorboat, the day our hero got the letter from his chum. “Can’t you take me, Tom?”

“I might if you’d promise to chop all the wood, go for all the water, do the cooking, wash the dishes, make the beds, sweep up, and run for gasolene.”

“Huh!” exclaimed Dent, looking for a place to sit down. “I guess I don’t want to go.”

“And we don’t want you,” spoke Tom in a low voice.

There was a toot of the whistle, a puffing of smoke, and the train that was to take our lads to camp, pulled in. The last good-byes were said, Mrs. Fairfield made Tom promise about a dozen things that he would be careful about, and gave him so many injunctions that he forgot half of them. Mr. Fairfield shook his son’s hand, and those of his chums, and there was a trace of moisture in the eyes of father and son as they said farewell.

“Be careful, Tom,” said his father. “Don’t be tempted too much by the fortune in the old mill.”

“I won’t dad, but – er – that is, I think I’ll have a try for it – wild man or not.”

“Well, I supposed you would, after you heard the story. But don’t worry your mother.”

“I won’t. Good-bye!”

“All aboard!” called the conductor, and the boys hurried into the car. They waved their hands out of the windows and, a moment later, the train pulled out. Tom had a last glimpse of his mother with her handkerchief to her eyes, and he felt a lump coming into his throat.

“Oh, here, this won’t do!” he exclaimed half aloud. “I must send her a postal from the first post office, to cheer her up,” and he carried out that intention.

As the cars clicked along the rails, Jack, who had been looking into the coach just ahead of the one in which he and his chums were riding, uttered an exclamation.

“What’s the matter – forget something?” asked Tom.

“No, but I just saw someone I know.”

“Oh, if that’s the case, go ahead up and talk to her,” laughed Bert. “He’s the greatest chap for girls I ever saw,” he confided to Tom. “He’ll spot a pretty girl anywhere. And he knows so many of ’em.”

“This isn’t a girl,” said Jack in a low voice.

“No? Who is it then?” asked Tom, curiously.

“It’s our old enemy, Sam Heller; and Nick Johnson is with him!”