Dave Porter At Bear Camp: or, The Wild Man of Mirror Lake

"Yes, and he did live with an uncle – or at least some man he called his uncle," added Della.

"Are you certain of this?" asked our hero, eagerly.

"I am, Mr. Porter."

"And may I ask what the thing was that you knew about him that caused you to drop him?" continued Dave.

"Wait a minute, Della, before you answer that question," interposed Mrs. Ford, hastily. "I think we ought to know why Mr. Porter is after this information."

"Since we have gone so far, I may as well tell you," returned Dave. And in as few words as possible he related how it had come about that Ward Porton was now claiming to be the real Dave Porter.

"Why, what a queer story!" declared Mrs. Ford. "It sounds like some novel."

"I don't believe it's true, Mr. Porter!" cried Della Ford. "I believe he is a faker! At first I thought he was quite nice, but I soon discovered otherwise. He is addicted to gambling, and when he gets the fever he gambles away the very clothing on his back."

"Then that is why you broke with him?"

"That was one reason. But as I said before, I know more about Mr. Porton than he imagined. One day we had been out walking, and after he left me I picked up a letter which must have dropped from his pocket when he pulled out his cigarette case. As the letter had no envelope, I did not know whose it was, and read it. It was evidently written by a very angry man. The writer, who signed himself Obadiah Jones, said that he was sick and tired of putting up for Ward; that Ward could no longer expect any assistance from him; that he cast the young man off, and never wanted to hear from him again."

"And you say that letter was signed by a man named Obadiah Jones?" asked Dave, eagerly.

"Yes. Rather an old-fashioned name; isn't it?"

"Did the man give his address?"

"No, there was no address of any kind on the letter," answered Della Ford.

"Was this Obadiah Jones the man he said was his uncle?" continued our hero.

"I don't know about that," answered the girl.

CHAPTER XXIX

THE BIG BEAR

Dave was very thoughtful as the four boys rowed back to the bungalows with the things procured from Mr. Appleby. His talk with Della Ford and her aunt had lasted until the others were ready to depart, but he had gained little information beyond that already known to the reader.

"If only I had the address of that Obadiah Jones, I might go and see him and listen to what he has to say about Ward Porton," he told himself. "Of course he may not be Porton's uncle at all – I know lots of children taken from poorhouses and orphan asylums who call the folks aunt and uncle. But even if he isn't, he may be able to give me some information that will put me on the right track regarding this affair."

The morning was spent by those at the bungalows in getting settled once more. The provisions brought from the Appleby camp were divided between the two places, and likewise the kitchen utensils.

"I'd like to set some sort of a trap and catch those burglars," declared Ben.

"I don't see how you're going to do it," returned our hero. "I doubt very much whether they will show themselves in this vicinity again. More than likely they are miles away."

"Dave, do you think Link Merwell had anything to do with this?"

"It's possible, Ben, although I don't see how he would have the nerve to come back here after what happened. I should think he would feel like quitting this territory entirely."

Another day went by, bringing no word from Crumville. Our hero and Roger had tramped all the way to Carpen Falls, hoping for letters, but the only one to come in was a re-directed epistle for Ben, inviting him to become a subscriber to some local charity.

"O shucks! I suppose the charity is all right," said Ben, when he got this letter, "but I'd like to get some real news from dad or somebody else at home."

Dave said little, but he felt more downcast than ever. He had thought that a letter would surely come by now. Roger noticed how he felt, and placed a kindly hand on our hero's shoulder.

"Don't you worry, Dave, old man," he said feelingly, "this will come out all right in the end."

"I hope so, Roger," was the answer. "But this suspense wears on a fellow."

"Perhaps if you went to Maine to that town where the poorhouse is located that Ward Porton says he came from, you might be able to find out something about that Obadiah Jones," went on the senator's son, who had been told of what the Fords had revealed.

"I was thinking something of that, Roger, and if I can't get on the track any other way, I'll go there," was the reply. "But I hate to think of leaving here until I get some kind of word from Crumville."

"Well, some things move slowly, Dave, don't forget that. More than likely your unc – I mean the folks down in Crumville – are doing all they can to get to the bottom of the matter. Most likely they are investigating the proofs that Ward Porton said he was willing to present."

On the following morning there was something of a surprise. About eleven o'clock, while some of the lads were fishing, and Dave had Jessie out in a canoe, there came a shout from up the brook, and looking in that direction our hero saw Phil approaching, with his uncle beside him, leaning on the youth's shoulder.

"Hello, Mr. Lawrence's ankle must have got better quickly!" cried Dave.

"And is that the so-called wild man?" returned Jessie. "He doesn't seem to be very wild now."

"You've heard us tell why he acted in that outlandish way," was the answer, as Dave paddled toward the dock.

Soon the boys were surrounding the new arrivals, and Mr. Lawrence was led to a couch, upon which he was glad to sit down and thus rest his injured ankle. The ladies and the girls were introduced, and the man shook hands with them rather shamefacedly.

"I'll have to apologize to you for acting so rudely," said Lester Lawrence, after the introductions were over. "I suppose the boys have told you why I did it?"

"Yes, Mr. Lawrence," answered Mrs. Wadsworth, kindly. "And under the circumstances we are quite willing to let bygones be bygones."

"Can we do anything for your ankle?" questioned Laura, who was a natural-born nurse.

"I guess about all it needs is rest," answered Lester Lawrence. "It was quite a journey from my shack to this place. But I saw that Phil was getting anxious to rejoin you, so I told him we might as well make the venture to-day rather than wait. He has been hoping that you would have some word for him from my brother."

"No word yet, Phil," answered Dave, "but there may be in the mail to-day."

"Say, we had some scare this morning just before we left the cabin!" declared the shipowner's son. "I was nearly frightened into a fit!"

"What was that?" came from several of the others.

"I was cleaning the dishes after breakfast, and I went outdoors to throw some scraps in a heap behind some bushes. Just as I got there with my panful of stuff, up jumped – what do you think? – a great big bear!"

"A bear!" shrieked the girls.

"Did you shoot him?" broke in Shadow.

"Shoot him? What with – a frying-pan?"

"Then the bear got away?" asked Roger.