CHAPTER IX

OFF TO CAMP

"This must be a joke," remarked Fenn, at length, after he had once more read the note. "Sandy Merton, or some of the other fellows, who want to have some fun with us, wrote that."

"I think not," said Frank, thoughtfully.

"Why?" inquired Ned.

"Some man wrote that," went on Frank. "That's no boy's handwriting. There's too much character to it. What are you going to do about it, Fenn?"

"Nothing, I guess. Of course, I'd sell my turtles and things, if I got a chance, for I think I'm going to collect different kinds of wood now, and----"

"What did I tell you?" interrupted Ned triumphantly. "I knew Fenn's fad wouldn't last much longer."

"It would, if we weren't going camping," declared the stout youth, with vigor. "Only when I'm away there'll be nobody to look after the things. Mother is afraid to feed 'em, and dad won't, so if I had a good chance to get rid of 'em I'd do it. Only I wouldn't do business with a fellow like this, who doesn't sign his name, and who wants me to act as if I was leaving money in response to a black-hand note. I'll not pay any attention to it."

"I would, if I were you," said Frank, quietly, but with some determination.

"You would?" asked Bart, in some surprise.

"Sure. I think there's something back of this," went on Frank. "If I were Fenn I'd enter into a correspondence with him, and try to find out what was at the bottom of it."

"What do you think it is?" asked Ned. "Let's make another examination of the letter, detective style, and see what we can deduce from it."

"I think the man who wrote that letter is the same man we have met several times--the mysterious stranger who entered the school--the man who stole the diamond bracelet," spoke Frank, quickly.

"Then if you've got it all figured out, we don't need to puzzle over this letter," decided Ned.

"Oh, I don't say I'm altogether right," came from Frank quickly. "That's only one theory."

"And I think it a good one," added Bart. "Fenn, suppose you answer this letter, and leave your reply in the dead sycamore tree."

"What shall I say?" asked the heavy-weight chum.

"Oh, you don't need to be specific. Say you don't like to do business this way, that you prefer to meet the writer. Then we'll leave the letter in the tree, hide, and nab him when he comes for it."

"Good!" cried Ned. "That's the stuff. Regular detective business, fellows. Come on, Fenn, write the letter."

"I think that would be a good plan," commented Frank, who, being more sober-minded than his chums usually were, often said the final word when some scheme was afoot. "If the writer wants to resort to such tactics as leaving an anonymous letter on the doorstep, we can retaliate by playing the spy on him. Get busy, Fenn."

"When shall we leave it in the tree?" asked the stout lad.

"To-morrow," answered Bart promptly. "We haven't any too much time before going to camp. We'll try to catch him to-morrow, and maybe we can solve the mystery of the diamond bracelet."

It took some time to compose a letter to the satisfaction of all four lads, as each one had some suggestion to make, but it was finally done, and enclosed in a strong, manilla envelope, ready to be left in the dead sycamore tree. Then the chums planned to go to Oak Swamp the next afternoon, early.

The appointed time found them at the place, and, as they came in sight of the tree, they adopted precautionary tactics previously agreed upon.

"For," Bart explained, "we want to catch that man, and we've got to go about it right. He's given us the slip a number of times. Now, naturally, he'll expect us to-day, and he'll be in hiding somewhere near the tree. Look around carefully, and see if we can't spot him before we deposit the letter."

Accordingly, the lads made a cautious approach, but there was no sign of a man, or any one else near the big tree. The approach to the swamp appeared deserted, and on that afternoon, with a dull, leaden sky overhead, and a mournful wind sighing through the trees, Oak Swamp was anything but a cheerful place.

"It's going to snow," observed Ned, as they walked slowly on toward the tree.

"Keep quiet," advised Bart, in a sharp whisper. "The man may be in hiding."

There were patches of snow on the ground about the sycamore, but an examination of them did not disclose any human footprints, though there were squirrel and rabbit tracks which gave the boys hope that they would get plenty of game when they went to their winter camp.

"He hasn't been here," was Fenn's opinion, as he took his letter and stuck it in a conspicuous place in a crack in the bark.

"Then we'll hide and wait for him," decided Bart.

The four lads hid themselves in the thick underbrush not far from the tree, where each one could command a good view of it, and the path leading to it. They agreed, on a signal from Bart, to rush out, and, if possible, grab the mysterious man in case he should appear.

Then began a period of waiting, and it was made all the more tiresome from the fact that the boys could not be together and talk. They had to crouch down, in uncomfortable positions, not moving, for fear of betraying themselves, and, of course, it was out of the question to talk. The hours dragged. It seemed to grow dark suddenly, but it was due to the thickening of the storm clouds overhead. Then came some flurries of snow, which ceased from time to time, and then, with a suddenness that was startling, the storm broke.

"No use waiting any longer," called Fenn, rising up from behind his bush, and peering through the swirling flakes. "He won't come now."

"Keep quiet, he may," ordered Bart, and though the storm raged, they kept up their vigil half an hour longer. By this time it was so dark that the sycamore tree could scarcely be distinguished, and even Bart declared it was useless to remain longer. They started for home, the storm increasing every minute, and they left the letter in the tree, in case the man might arrive.

"This will be fine weather for camping," cried Ned exultantly, as he plowed through a small drift.

They began their preparations for camping the next day. It did not take them long to get their things in readiness, for they had spent several days overhauling their outfits. The tents, one for sleeping and the other for cooking and eating in, were rolled up, cots were folded, the stove, cooking pots and pans, were placed in boxes, provisions were purchased, and the bedding examined. Of course, the lads did not forget their guns, and they had a good supply of ammunition.

As to the location of their camp, they had settled on it only after a strenuous debate. Fenn and Frank were for going to the one where they had previously had such good luck hunting wild turkeys, but Bart and Ned wanted to go to a less frequented part of the State, where larger game, such as an occasional bear or deer, could be had, and, in the end they carried their point, though it meant a longer trip, and necessitated going by railroad.

Finally all was in readiness, the last of the packing had been done, good-byes had been said, Alice had made up a little medicine chest for her brother, and Jennie Smith had even composed an "original poem" in honor of the occasion.

Jed Sneed had taken the camp stuff to the express office in his big sled, and was to come back for the four chums, who carried their guns with them. The storm had hardly ceased, and there was plenty of snow on the ground.

"What'll you boys do if you get snowed in?" asked Mr. Keene as he watched his son and the others getting in Jed's sled, for the start was made from Bart's house.

"Oh, we'll wait until it thaws," replied Ned.

"Take care of yourselves," admonished Mrs. Keene.

"And drink hot ginger tea in case you get wet," ordered Alice, with her most professional air.

"All right," chorused the boys.

"All ready?" asked Jed, as he looked around.

"All ready!" replied Bart.

"Gid-dap!" called Jed, cracking the whip, and the horses plunged forward into a drift, the bells jingling a merry tune. The start for camp had been made.