The Gun Club Boys of Lakeport

“It is certainly very mysterious,” said Mr. Westmore. “The papers that were mentioned may have been those which your grandfather once possessed – those which showed that he was the owner of the land at the upper end of the lake which Skeetles declares is his property. Then again the papers may be something entirely different.”

“I think we ought to watch Dan Marcy, father.”

“Yes, I’ll certainly watch him after this.”

“You haven’t been able to do much about the land, have you?”

“I can’t do a thing without the papers – the lawyers have told me so.”

“If old Skeetles lost them we couldn’t make him give them up, even on a search warrant.”

“That is true. But they may not have been lost even though he said so. He may have them hidden away where nobody can find them,” concluded Mr. Westmore.

Sunday passed quietly enough, the lads attending church with their families, and also going to Sunday school in the afternoon. In the evening Joel Runnell dropped in on the Westmores to see that everything was ready for an early start the next morning.

“Funny thing happened to me,” said the old hunter. “I was over to the tavern Saturday night, and met Hiram Skeetles there. He asked me how matters were going, and I mentioned that I was to take you fellows up to Pine Island for a hunt. He got terribly excited, and said you had no right to go up there.”

“Had no right?” questioned Joe. “Why not?”

“He claims that Pine Island belongs to his family, being a part of the old Crawley estate. But I told him that old Crawley didn’t leave the island to him, and he had better mind his own business,” went on Joel Runnell. “We had some hot words, and he flew out of the tavern madder nor a hornet.”

“Can he stop us, do you think?”

“He shan’t stop me, and I shall protect you boys. Crawley was only a fourth-handed relation of his, and the property is in the courts, and has been for three years. At the most, Skeetles ain’t got more’n a sixth interest in it. Sheriff Cowles is taking care of it.”

This news made the boys wonder if Hiram Skeetles would really try to prevent their going to the island, but when the time came to start on the trip the real estate dealer was nowhere to be seen.

“Gone back to Brookside,” said a neighbor. “He got word to come at once.”

Down at the lake there were a dozen or more friends to see them off, including Cora Runnell, who came to say good-by to her father. The start was made on skates, and it was an easy matter to drag the two heavily loaded sleds over the smooth ice.

“Good-by, boys; take good care of yourselves,” said Mr. Westmore.

“Don’t let a big buck or a bear kill you,” said Mr. Rush to Fred, and then with a laugh and a final handshake the hunting tour was begun.

As the party moved up the lake they noticed that the Silver Queen was nowhere in sight. Dan Marcy had failed to break the record with his new ice boat and had hauled her over to a carpenter shop for alterations.

“I don’t believe he is doing a stroke of regular work,” observed Joe. “If he keeps on he will become a regular town loafer. He has already gone through all the money, his folks left him.”

There was no sunshine, but otherwise the atmosphere was clear, and as the wind was at their backs they made rapid progress in the direction of Pine Island. The lodge which Joel Runnell had mentioned was situated near the upper shore, so that they would have to skirt the island for over a mile before reaching the spot.

Inside of an hour they had passed out of sight of Lakeport, and now came to a small island called the Triangle, for such was its general shape. Above the Triangle the lake narrowed for the distance of half a mile, and here the snow had drifted in numerous ridges from a foot to a yard high.

“This isn’t so nice,” observed Harry, as they tugged at the ropes of the sleds.

“I’ll go ahead and break the way,” said Joel Runnell, and then he continued, suddenly, “There is your chance!”

“Chance for what?” asked Harry.

“Chance for wild turkeys. They’ve just settled in the woods on the upper end of the Triangle.”

“Hurrah!” shouted Joe. “Where is my gun?”

He had it out in an instant, and Fred and Harry followed suit – the latter forgetting all about his precious camera in the excitement.

“You can go it alone this time,” said the old hunter. “Show me what you can do. I’ll watch the traps.”

In a moment they were off, and five minutes of hard skating brought them to the shore of the Triangle. Here they took off their skates, and then plunged into the snow-laden thickets.

“Make no noise!” whispered Joe, who was in advance. “Wild turkeys are hard to get close to.”

“Oh, I know that,” came from Fred. “I’ve tried it more than half a dozen times.”

As silently as ghosts the three young hunters flitted through the woods, each with his gun before him, ready for instant use.

Presently they saw a little clearing ahead, and Joe called a halt. They listened intently and heard the turkeys moving from one tree to another.

“Now then, watch out – and be careful how you shoot,” cautioned Joe, and moved out into the open.

A second later he caught sight of a turkey, and blazed away. The aim was true, and the game came down with a flutter. Then Harry’s gun rang out, followed by a shot from Fred. Two more turkeys had been hit, but neither was killed.

“They mustn’t get away!” cried Fred, excitedly, and blazed away once more. But his aim was wild, and the turkey was soon lost among the trees in the distance.

Harry was more fortunate, and his second shot landed the game dead at his feet. Joe tried for a second turkey, but without success.

“Never mind, two are not so bad,” said Harry, “It’s a pity you didn’t get yours,” he went on, to Fred.

“Oh, I’ll get something next time, you see if I don’t,” replied the stout youth. “I don’t care for small game, anyway. A deer or a bear is what I am after.”

“Well, I hope you get all you want of deer and bear,” put in Joe; and then they hastened to rejoin Joel Runnell, and resume the journey.

CHAPTER VII

THE FIRST DAY IN CAMP

“Got two, did you?” came from Joel Runnell, when the party came up. “That’s a good deal better than I looked for.”

“I hit a third, but it got away from me,” said Fred.

“You mustn’t mind that. I’ve seen young gunners go out more than once and not bring a thing down,” returned the old hunter.

Once more the journey up the lake was resumed, and an hour later they came in sight of Pine Island; a long narrow strip of land, located half a mile off the western shore. The island lay low at either end, with a hill about a hundred feet high in the middle. On the hill there was a patch of trees that gave to the place its name, and trees of other varieties lined the shores, interspersed here and there with brushwood. There were half a dozen little coves along the eastern shore, and two small creeks near the southern extremity.

As the party drew closer to the island they saw that all the trees were heavily laden with snow, and many of the bushes were covered.

“Pretty well snowed up, isn’t it?” remarked Joe.

“I’m going to take a picture of the island,” said Harry, and proceeded to get out his camera, which was a compact affair, taking film pictures four by five inches in size.