contribution to the labor was the opening of his own suit case to find a clean shirt he wished to put on in the morning.

Although their supper and a vigorous washing of dusty, dirty hands and faces (which, quite contrary to precedent, followed rather than preceded their repast), had made each member of the Trio more optimistic than they had lately been, they still felt apprehensive concerning the swarthy giant of a fellow on whose land they were. Fred insisted that he meant only kindness, but when asked why the man should want to be more than decently civil to utter strangers, he could only answer, "Good Samaritan!"

All night long Pickton scarcely slept, so doubtful of Mr. Blackbeard's seemingly good intentions was he. Gaines had merely said, "Well, you fellows have got to keep your eyes open. I sleep sound as a bat and would never wake up no matter what happened." Then he had growled a great deal about the quality of his bed until at last he was snoring tremendously.

Perth's confidence in the "Good Samaritan" gave him a sense of real security and he dozed off quickly. And in the meantime Mr. Blackbeard himself had returned to his homely, unpainted house and sat himself down with Mrs. Blackbeard on the kitchen doorstep.

"Likely young fellers," said he. "Might have asked 'em into the house but they'd probably rather sleep out. Beat's all where some folks get all the money, Lizzie!" His tone was one of wonder, rather than complaint. "Here's them snips of young shavers tearin' over the country havin' a good time while you,--you that's worth a hay-rack load of 'em, ain't got a fairly good go-to-meetin' gingham dress, an' won't have till we sell the wheat that ain't hardly mor'n headed out yet. Beat's all, don't it?"

"Well, well, it's all right, John! Everybody has their good times, accordin' to their different ways an' means," the woman answered simply.

"We have ours an' plenty enough to be thankful for, every day of our lives."

The whole of which goes to show that for every Eli Gouger in the world there is somewhere a true and honest, manly man bringing the general average up. Also, that big, generous hearts are often found in rough exteriors, and some of earth's truest n.o.bility dwelling in obscure places. But--

"Gee Whiz! This is another day!" exclaimed Freddy Perth, several hours later, sitting up suddenly to find the sunlight filtering in through the chestnut branches.

And, quite remarkable as he seemed to think it, it was.

CHAPTER XII

DISCOVERED

It was Sunday morning in Camp Golden. The name had been bestowed by Paul, always fond of the high-sounding or romantic. And although David, with customary pessimism, proposed that the broad, shelving ledge be called "Camp Golden--It's-Barely-Possible" instead, Jones' suggestion was accepted; partly because no one cared, in particular; partly because his name possessed euphony, if not positive significance.

Anyway, Sunday morning it was and breakfast of coffee, corn cakes and bacon, with strawberries after, rather than before the princ.i.p.al part of the meal, was just over. The Auto Boys, in various att.i.tudes of ease, made no immediate haste to clear away the dishes.

Paul Jones sat on a cushion on the ground, with legs crossed like a tailor on his bench. Billy made himself comfortable, on a convenient box, both hands clasped around an up-turned knee--a favorite att.i.tude of his,--while Phil and Dave in equally unconventional positions occupied camp stools. Their places were at opposite sides of an old-time trunk which, turned half over, served as a table. Newspapers--quickly disposed of in the fire when soiled,--no need to _wash them_--did duty as a tablecloth.

It was a cheerful, pleasant scene, there amid the shade and sunshine and green leaves. A low tent was erected with its back to the rocky cliff at the rear of the ledge. Here were accommodated two beds of hemlock twigs spread upon the ground and covered with blankets, also a box which, in addition to holding wearing apparel and the like, served as a kind of center table. Its lid was pretty well littered with an a.s.sortment of young gentlemen's belongings this morning--an odd mixture of neckties, collars, socks, clothes-brush, shoe brush, a revolver, fishing tackle, a hatchet and a bottle of olives. Larger items of wearing apparel hung on a line along the tent's rear wall.

In the shallow cave shelves formed by building up broad, flat stones like a series of steps, accommodated sundry tinware, dishes and canned provisions. A perfect cooling system, made by diverting a part of the water from the spring to a small excavation in the gravelly floor of the cave, afforded proper storage for a crock of b.u.t.ter and a pitcher of milk set down in the little pool. Here, also, a bucket of other provisions of a perishable nature was similarly disposed. Not even the famous spring-houses of early days could have been more serviceable or delightful.

The campfire was placed not quite in front of the tent, as the custom is if prevailing winds do not blow the smoke in, but quite to one side. It was the width of the ledge, rather than the winds, however, which in this instance made desirable the location chosen. It would not do for Chef Billy to have to work at the extreme edge of the declivity that broke sharply down to the valley below--the "jumping off place," Jones called it.

The improvised table was almost directly in front of the tent, but slightly toward the right, the fire being on the left. Still further to the right was a rough shelter for the car made of poles with a tarpaulin and sundry green branches spread over them. Here were stored, likewise, a couple of axes--brought all the way from the Retreat in Gleason's ravine--and numerous other tools, spades and a pickaxe included.

"And now we're so comfortably settled, the pity is it's Sunday, and--"

"And we told the folks we'd keep track of the days of the week, and they sort of took it for granted from that that we'd observe the seventh,"

broke in Phil Way, finishing the sentence Billy Worth began. "Pretty good day to write some letters home, for one thing. And those other matters you may have in mind, such as certain things that have been in the woods, all undisturbed for a good many years, will probably keep till to-morrow."

"If there had just been a text announced we'd have had a regular sermon already," quoth Paul Jones, with that inimitable grin that made his plain, freckled face delightfully attractive.

"Why, if a text is all you want, I'll give you one," spoke Way instantly. "It isn't from the Bible but is a good text, anyway. 'To thine own self be true.' It means just this: That we should not, away off here in the wilderness, and no fellow should when away by himself anywhere, be any less decent and respectable than he would be where everybody knows all that is going on. It means enough more than this, but the point for us is that it is just as much Sunday here as it is at home. We'll be civilized."

"Well, that is a sure-enough sermon and a pretty good one, too," said MacLester, quite soberly. "We'll sing something, and it will be the same as going to church, almost."

Dave liked singing at any time, it may be remarked parenthetically, and his ba.s.s and Paul's tenor did make the vocal efforts of the quartette very pleasing. So now they sang "America," "Lead, Kindly Light," "The Old Oaken Bucket," "Onward, Christian Soldiers," and "Tenting on the Old Camp Ground." And although it must be admitted that their selections were of wide variety, they were all full of the spirit of love, thanksgiving and kindness and certainly not the slightest irreverence was intended if any there was.

"No, sir! We'll sing no more till the dishes are washed and the camp, to say nothing of ourselves, put in some kind of order," announced Billy Worth in answer to Dave's, "What else do we all know?" He began a rapid collection of the tin plates, cups and the like, but suddenly paused.

"Automobile!" cried Paul at the same instant.

All four boys rushed to an extreme point of the ledge, which commanded a partial view of the public road. Again the horn of a car sounded and they were just in time to see a heavy roadster, laden with traps and baggage and three lads of their own age as pa.s.sengers, sweep over the bridge and, more slowly, up the stiff rise beyond.

"Pickton and Gaines and Perth!" cried Worth in astonishment. "And--"

"What do you know about that?" demanded Mr. Paul Jones in similar tones; and again he said, "What _do_ you know about that?"--not, apparently, because he had reason to suppose that any of his friends had information pertaining especially to the Chosen Trio, or even because he expected to gain intelligence of any description. Perhaps he really looked for no answer to his inquiry. (In which case it would be difficult to say just why he made it.) At any rate he received none.

"Well, sir, I never thought they'd have the gumption to carry out their scheme of following after us," was Phil's comment. "If they only knew how close they were just a minute ago!"

"Wouldn't make much difference," observed MacLester, dryly. "They'll locate us now, but if we keep our wits about us they won't locate anything else."

"Nothing of the kind!" Worth e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "Their hustling by so fast is good enough evidence that they think we are still on ahead somewhere.

They'll never think of this woods, but likely only of the races."

"Sure thing!" put in Paul Jones, in his very positive, opinionated way.

"Nothing to it but keep out of their sight. They'll go clear through to Queensville, likely. In three days more the whole county around the race course will be alive with strange automobiles. They'll never get a line on us if we keep out of sight. Simply means we've got to watch them some, though, so's to be sure _they_ aren't watching _us_."

"Maybe we _had_ better look into what they're doing," Phil acquiesced and all heartily agreed. The fun of the situation, a hide-and-seek game in automobiles with the whole vicinity of the Gold Cup race course--a stretch of territory twenty-five miles in length and as many broad--as the grounds of action, appealed instantly to each one.

The best part of it, too, was that the Chosen Trio were "It"--the ones who must do the searching. The desirable side of the game, as the ones who were hunted, had fallen to the Auto Boys. Believing as they did, that their hiding place was reasonably secure against discovery, too, and there being never a rule of play to require them to call out or give any sort of clue to their whereabouts, the prospect became all the more interesting to the lads as they talked it over.

One thing of which all four boys a.s.sured one another was that they had too much at stake to incur any sort of risk of their camp being found.

Also, they were agreed, there must be no underestimating of the resourcefulness and cunning of the Trio. It was really surprising that the latter had succeeded so well thus far in finding the route the Thirty traversed. Their evident perseverance in doing so was, as well, ample indication of their serious intention to do all they threatened--find out the meaning of the mysterious expedition and play mischief with that undertaking generally.

All day Sat.u.r.day the Auto Boys had spent in erecting their permanent camp and in establishing connections for such part of their food supply as they could best obtain from some farm. The latter had not been easily accomplished. There was little cultivated land in the immediate neighborhood of the great woods. The nearest farmhouse was a half-mile away and the next one an equal distance beyond.

Unluckily, too, it had been found necessary to go to the second of the farms in order to obtain milk. It would mean a two-mile tramp each morning, there and back. Either this or a trip in the car, and on account of the rough ground between the camp and the public road, the latter method was hardly desirable, as a daily practice.

Aside from this inconvenience the young campers were highly pleased with their location. They had yet to make arrangements for sending and receiving mail, but this they had planned to do on Sunday afternoon.

Their letters home having been written, the most convenient grocery or other source of general supplies discovered, and all the odd tasks incident to getting settled cleared away, they would be ready on Monday morning, they planned, to begin the long contemplated attack upon the secrets of the great, silent woods.

But now had come the unexpected arrival of Messrs. Gaines, Pickton and Perth much nearer these scenes than any of the four friends had supposed they ever would be. It might make an entire revision of the program necessary.

"As to that same, we shall see," said Billy Worth, looking up from the letter writing on which, barring numerous interruptions, all were engaged.

"How d'ye spell 'barnacles'?" demanded Paul Jones, insistently, the same moment.

"Huh! Barnacles! I'll bet that's the Trio," laughed Billy.

"Lot Jones knows about barnacles," sniffed MacLester.

"That so? Listen to my letter: 'The insectivorous barnacles on the face of nature'--meaning Gaines and his bunch, of course--'them would-be cutaneous young billy goats'--meaning Gaines and the rest again--'have hurled their preposterous physiognomy unfrequented and unbid into this locality.'"