They will get him of course."

"With bloodhounds? How terrible!"

"Not at all. They are muzzled. And friendly brutes, at that. They only follow the scent they are put on, and probably would do their quarry no harm, even if they were unmuzzled."

"Well, it seems terrible, just the same," murmured Laura. Then she added: "Suppose he was somebody _we_ had an interest in, Chet?"

"Humph! that _would_ be tough. But he isn't."

"Just the same, promise me something," urged Laura, clinging to his shoulder with both hands.

"What is it, Sis?" asked Chet, in surprise.

"_Don't_ tell the sheriff if you should run across the poor young man.

Don't tell anybody!"

"Why, Sis!"

"I have a reason. I can't tell you what it is," Laura said, half sobbing. "Will you mind me, Chet?"

"Surest thing you know!" declared her brother, heartily.

"And without asking questions?"

"That's putting a bit of a strain on me," laughed Chet. "But I know you must have a good reason, Sis. Only remember, when you want help, you haven't any friend like your own 'buddy.'"

"I know it, dear," said Laura, kissing him. "You are the best brother who ever lived!"

This was all "on the side." When they rejoined the others, neither Chet nor Laura revealed any particular emotion. The girls all promised to be ready for the fishing trip an hour after daybreak on the following morning.

Meanwhile, everything at Acorn Island went on as usual. Liz Bean seemed no more morose than before. Mrs. Morse was much too busy to notice small things. She had half-heartedly offered to accompany the girls and boys to Bang-up Creek for the fishing; but they had all a.s.sured her that it would be unnecessary.

Instead, they were to come home by mid-afternoon and all have supper at the island. The boys brought over a part of their own provisions, when they arrived in the bigger motorboat soon after sun-up.

Purt Sweet was the only boy who did not have a smile on; he looked gloomy indeed.

"What's the matter?" asked Jess.

"Surely he isn't afraid of the Barnacle, is he?" queried Dora.

"Don't bother about _him_," said Dorothy. "He's tied up, anyway, so as not to follow us."

"How do you think that dog can follow us, when we're going ten miles by boat?" demanded Reddy b.u.t.ts.

"I don't know but the Barnacle would sprout wings and fly through the air after Purt," giggled Bobby.

"It isn't the dog this time that troubles Purt--deah boy!" drawled Lance Darby.

"What is it?" asked Laura.

"Purt's day is spoiled," declared Lance. "He has come off without his cigarettes."

"Cigarettes!" exclaimed Jess. "I thought we had shown him the folly of smoking coffin nails long ago."

"Oh, he doesn't smoke any," Lance returned. "But he always carries a case of them around with him. You know, he bought a thousand once with his monogram printed in gold on them, and he never _will_ get rid of them all. He thought it would be a good thing to bring them to camp with him so as to use them for a smudge to chase off the mosquitoes."

"And they work all right," grunted Chet. "The smoke chases the mosquitoes, you can believe. But then, the smoke chases _us_, too.

Purt's brand of cigarettes is made out of long-filler Connecticut cabbage."

"That's all right; don't make fun of the poor fellow," Lance said, with exaggerated sympathy. "Even if anybody had cigarettes to lend him, he couldn't smoke any with anothah fellah's monogram on 'em, don'tcher know, old top?"

But it came out that there was something else on Purt Sweet's mind. He had a very expensive rod, reel, and book of flies. And to tell the truth, he had never strung a line on such a rod, and did not know any more about using the flies than a baby in arms!

He hated to admit his ignorance, for the boys were not at all tender with the Central High dude. However, Chet and Lance were not ill-natured, and Purt plucked up courage finally to beg Lance to take him privately up stream (when they reached the creek) and give him a lesson in fly-casting.

Lance had already taken Laura under his wing--as was to be expected; but Mother Wit made him give Purt the a.s.sistance he needed. The three wandered up stream, far above the series of quiet pools where the other members of the party were casting for trout, or fishing for perch.

The trio pa.s.sed a series of rapids, several rods long, and then struck a very beautiful stretch of calm water, with tree-shaded banks, and shallows where the cat-tails and rushes grew in thick cl.u.s.ters.

"I see a sign up yonder," Laura said to Lance. "Didn't you say a part of this stream was a private fishing preserve?"

"So I've been told. We won't go beyond the sign," said Lance.

He got Laura and Purt properly stationed and then cast, himself. They were having good sport and had landed several beauties, when Billy Long came idly up the stream on the other side.

"h.e.l.lo!" he grunted. "Everywhere I go, there are girls. Isn't there a place where a fellow can get away from them and fish? They chatter so much that they drive all the fish into the mud, with their fins over their ears--that's right!"

"Horrid thing!" said Laura. "We can keep just as silent when we're fishing as any of you boys."

"Try it, then," advised Short and Long, gruffly.

He kept on up stream. "Look out there, Billy," Lance advised. "It's posted above there."

"Posted?"

"Yes. Don't you see that sign?"

"Huh!" said the smaller boy. "I never _did_ believe in signs. And besides, it says there's no fishing here--and I believe it! I haven't had a bite all the way up this brook."

He went on a bit farther and cast his fly again. Quiet fell upon the long pool, where the shadow and sunshine lay in alternate blocks.

Suddenly there was a scrambling through the brush on the side of the stream where Short and Long was standing, and then appeared a big dog and a big man, the latter holding the former in leash. The man was just as ugly looking as the dog--and the Barnacle was a howling beauty beside this dog!

"Hey, you!" exclaimed the man to Short and Long--and he certainly _did_ speak savagely.

CHAPTER XIX