CHAPTER XXIV

A QUEER MESSAGE

“Aaron Slade is my father,” replied Ned, wondering what object the tramp could have in asking.

“The one who was recently robbed?”

“The same.”

“Well if this isn’t--” began the tramp more excited than before. “I must--no I must not. Pray excuse me,” he went on, with an assumption of his former grand air, “I must not refer to that. It escaped me before I was aware of it. Pay no attention to what I said. I was going to tell you something, but the time is not yet ripe. Now let’s fall to, for I’m still imitating the bear in the predilection of my appetite,” and he attacked the food with every evidence that he was speaking the truth.

The boys looked at each other in surprise. Ned, in particular, wondered what the tramp meant by starting as if he intended to tell some secret and then stopping. Seeing that their guest was not observing him, Jerry made a gesture that indicated the tramp might not be altogether right in his head. In this view Bob and Ned coincided.

They were not alarmed, however, as the man did not seem to be dangerous. He was too busy eating to talk, and the boys soon forgot their curiosity in making away with the food, for the trip across the lake had given them all appetites.

It was arranged that the tramp should sleep in the shelter tent, while the boys made use of the bunks on board the boat. It was nearly midnight before they turned in, and the motor boys, at least, slept soundly until morning.

As for the tramp he may have rested well, but at any rate he was not a late sleeper, for, when the boys crawled out of their comfortable beds for a plunge into the lake they found he had built a fire on shore and was boiling their tea kettle over it.

“That’s very good of you, but you needn’t have gone to that trouble,” said Jerry. “We have a gasolene stove.”

“Tut, tut!” exclaimed the ragged man. “Water for coffee should always be boiled over an open fire. It has more flavor.”

Thinking this was only one of the tramp’s odd conceits the boys did not argue further with him. They took their bath, their odd guest meanwhile making coffee.

“If you’ll tell me where the bacon and other things are I’ll finish getting this meal,” he called to them where they were splashing in the lake.

“Shall we let him?” asked Jerry of his chums in a low voice.

“Guess he won’t poison the stuff,” said Bob. “Besides it will be ready while we are dressing and we’ll not have to wait.”

Accordingly Jerry called out directions how to find the victuals, and soon the savory smell of sizzling bacon and frying eggs was wafted over the water. They had a breakfast fit for a king, and complimented the tramp on his skill.

A little later the tramp proposed that the boys take his rowboat and go fishing on the other side of the island. They were doubtful about leaving him in charge of the camp.

“I see you’re a little suspicious of me,” the tramp said. “Well I don’t blame you. However to show you that I’m all right read that.”

He held out a slip of paper, on which was written:

“This man can be trusted. Henry Dalton, Chief of Police, Cresville, Mass.”

“If the chief says you’re all right, I guess that’s enough for us,” spoke Jerry, as he handed the paper back. “We’ll take a day off and go fishing. Don’t let any one come bothering around our camp. We have reason to believe an enemy of ours is on this lake. He would do us some harm if he could.”

“There are enemies of mine, also,” said the tramp. “But have no fear. I’ll look after things.”

Getting some bait and fishing tackle the boys started off in the tramp’s rowboat. They did not take any lunch, as they planned coming back at noon.

“Do you think it’s all right to trust him?” asked Ned.

“I’m sure it is,” replied Jerry. “That note from the chief was genuine. I know his writing, and the paper was the same as the chief uses in his private office. I got a permit once from him to carry a revolver. You remember, when we made our first auto trip.”

Satisfied that their belongings had been left in good hands, and were safe from any chance intrusion from Noddy Nixon or his cronies, the boys put in an enjoyable morning fishing. They made several good catches, and when the sun indicated that it was nearly noon, they rowed around the island to camp.

“I hope he has a good fire going so we can cook some of these fish,” observed Bob.

“I guess he will be ready for us,” said Ned. “He seems to be a willing worker.”

Sure enough, when the boys rowed to shore they found their odd guest had built a fine fire in an improvised oven, and was all ready to proceed with cooking the fish. It was the best meal the boys had eaten since coming to camp, and they had the tramp to thank for the major part of it. The ragged man proved he had a better appetite even than Chunky, which is saying a great deal. The fish were done to a turn, and the bacon gravy gave them a most excellent flavor.

So heartily did all eat that they were too lazy to do anything but lounge around after dinner. They stretched out under the trees and before they knew it the boys had dozed off.

Jerry was the first to awaken. It was about three o’clock when he sat up, rubbing his eyes, and, for a moment wondering where he was. Then he saw the lake through the trees and remembered. He looked around and saw Bob and Ned still stretched out on the sward. The tramp was nowhere in sight.

“I wonder if he’s gone fishing,” thought Jerry. “He’s a queer duck. I must take a look at our motor boat.”

Slowly he walked to where the _Dartaway_ was moored. He saw she was riding safely. Then he looked for the rowboat. It was nowhere to be seen, though it had been tied close to the motor craft.

“I guess he’s slipped away,” thought Jerry.

At that instant the sound of oars being worked caught his ears. He looked up and saw, coming around the point of the island, the tramp’s craft. But the tramp did not seem to be in it. Instead it held a fisherman, with a broad brimmed hat, a corduroy coat, green goggles on, and a big basket hung over one shoulder. In the boat two poles could be seen, also a gaff sticking up.

“Some one has stolen his boat,” thought Jerry. “Hi there!” he called. “Where you going?”

“Fare thee well!” called back the fisherman. “I must away on my mission.”

“Come back with that boat!” yelled Jerry.

“Why so? ’Tis mine,” came back the answer over the waters as the fisherman rowed farther out from shore. “Sorry to leave you in this fashion, but my mission calls.”

“Why it’s the tramp!” exclaimed Jerry, as he recognized the voice of the ragged man in spite of his queer disguise. “But where in the world did he get that rig?”

“What’s the matter?” asked Ned, having awakened and coming down to join Jerry.

“There goes our tramp,” said Jerry.

The tramp was now quite a distance out. He stood up in his boat.

“Look--in--your--coffee--pot!” he called. “I--left--a--message!”

Then he sat down and began rowing hard.

“Hurry up, get the coffee pot!” cried Jerry. “We must get at the bottom of this!”

He and Ned ran back to the tent. They found the pot set in the middle of the table. Jerry threw back the cover. Inside was a piece of birch bark, on which was written in pencil:

“Where the _bluebird_ spreads her wings, there you’ll find the stolen things. Search her deep, and search her through, you will find I’m speaking true.”