The Gun Club Boys of Lakeport. Stratemeyer Edward

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      “And I hope you have lots of sport with ’em,” he added.

      Late Saturday evening Harry was sent from home to the mill to bring over a sack of buck-wheat flour his mother desired. On his way he passed Fred’s home, and the latter readily agreed to accompany his chum on the errand.

      The promise of more snow had not yet been fulfilled, and the night was a clear one, with the sky filled with countless stars.

      “I only hope it stays clear,” said Fred. “That is, until we reach the lodge on the island. After that I don’t care what happens.”

      “It might not be so jolly to be snowed in – if we run short of provisions, Fred.”

      “Oh, old Runnell will be sure to keep the larder full. He told me that the woods are full of wild turkeys and rabbits.”

      Having procured the sack of flour and placed it on a hand sled, the lads started on the return. On the way they had to pass a small clump of trees, back of which was located the district schoolhouse. As they paused to rest in the shadow of the trees they noted two men standing in the entryway of the schoolhouse conversing earnestly.

      “Wonder who those men are?” said Harry.

      “It’s queer they should be there at this hour,” returned Fred. “Perhaps they are up to no good.”

      “They wouldn’t get much if they robbed the place,” laughed Harry. “A lot of worn-out books and a stove that isn’t worth two dollars as old iron.”

      “Let’s go a little closer, and see who they are anyway.”

      This was agreed to, and both boys stole along through the trees, and up to the side of the entryway. From this point they could not see the men, but could hear them talking in earnest tones, now high and then very low.

      “It ain’t fair to be askin’ me fer money all the time,” they heard one man say. “I reckoned as how I’d settled in full with ye long ago.”

      “It ain’t so, Hiram Skeetles,” was the reply in Dan Marcy’s voice. “I did you a big service, and what you’ve paid ain’t half of what I ought to have.”

      “It’s more’n you ought to have. Them papers wasn’t of no account, anyway.”

      “Maybe – but you were mighty anxious to get ’em when – ” And the boys did not catch what followed.

      “And that’s the reason,” came presently from Hiram Skeetles.

      “Do you mean to say you lost ’em?” demanded Dan Marcy.

      “Yes.”

      “Where?”

      “One day when I was sailin’ down the lake in Jack Lasher’s sloop. We got ketched by a squall that drove us high and dry on Pine Island. I jumped to keep from getting hurt on the rocks, and when we got off after the storm my big pocketbook with everything in it was gone.”

      “Humph!” came in a sniff from Dan Marcy. “Do you expect me to believe any such fish story? Not much! I want fifty dollars, and I am bound to have it.”

      A long wrangle followed, in which the bully threatened to expose Hiram Skeetles. This angered the real estate dealer from Brookside exceedingly.

      “If you’re a natural born idiot, expose me,” he cried. “But you’ll have to expose yourself fust.”

      Dan Marcy persisted, and at last obtained ten dollars. Then the men prepared to separate, and in a few minutes more each was gone.

      “Now what do you make of that?” questioned Fred.

      “I hardly know what to make of it,” replied Harry. “But I am going to tell my father about this just as soon as I get home.”

      Harry was as good as his word, and Horace Westmore listened attentively to what his son had to relate.

      “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.

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