The boys resumed their hike. It took them about four hours of steady walking with a few short rest periods to reach their goal The clearing was off the beaten track. A hundred feet away was a precipice overhanging the tops of many trees about a hundred feet below. There was a stream of fresh, cool water just behind the clearing.
Tired, footsore, ravenously hungry, they immediately set to and prepared a sumptuous meal of chops and potatoes prepared over an open fire. Later they pitched their tents and settled themselves for a week’s stay. That night, at the camp fire, the boys huddled close around the flaming logs of wood. Jack and Wallace were sitting together, about a yard or so away from the rest of the group. Jack asked his companion, “How did you happen to know of this place?”
Wallace hesitated. Finally he said, “Well, there’s a story behind it, some sort of mystery I never could make head or tail of.”
Jack perked up his ears. “What do you mean?” he inquired in a low tone of voice. “You never told us anything about it.”
The other boys were singing, and the echoes resounded far out across the mountain. The two whispered to each other. Wallace answered, “No, I didn’t, but that’s only because the story doesn’t seem to have any meaning and I didn’t want the fellows to think I was trying to put over a tall one on them.”
Jack became interested. Eagerly he asked, “Do you mind telling me the story?”
Wallace shook his head. “No, I don’t, but I warn you—there’s no sense to it all.”
“Well, let’s hear it anyhow,” said Jack urging his companion on.
Wallace twisted and turned and finally found a comfortable sitting position. He began his story by saying, “This camping ground is about three miles south east of the camping ground we usually go to. If you were particularly attentive, you would have noticed as we came here that this place is off the usual course followed by campers, is a little difficult to find and yet it appears to have been used frequently.”
Jack nodded, glanced at the fire and his companions, permitted his eyes to wander about the general extremities of the camp, then turned to his story teller and said, “Yes, but how did you come upon this camp site? Tell me that.”
Wallace betrayed a bit of uneasiness. He said, “I’m coming to that. Last year, camping up there”—he motioned with his hand—“I decided one morning to take a walk through the woods. There was no path, so I had to fight my way through bushes, shrubbery and all sorts of entanglements, until I came to a spot where the bushes were beaten down, a couple of low branches were broken off—there was every indication that on that spot a struggle had taken place between two or more people. I examined the ground very carefully for torn pieces of clothing and such things, and walking straight ahead I came upon the stream. Following the stream, I came upon this camp site.”
Jack mumbled, “Hm! Nothing mysterious about that.”
Wallace demanded, “What do you mean?”
Jack answered, “What I mean is, that there is no evidence of any mystery or anything. The whole thing seems to fall flat.”
“I told you that before,” said Wallace. “But you haven’t heard all of it. I have told you only the beginning.”
Jack felt foolish for having spoken out of turn instead of listening to the rest of the story. He squirmed in his seat and said, “I’m terribly sorry for interrupting. Go on.”
Wallace had by now become enthusiastic and he leaned closer to his companion. But just then, William called out, “Hey, you two, no secrets. Come on over and join us.”
A few of the other fellows cried, “Yes, come on, join us!”
“If it’s a story you’re telling him, Wallace, tell it to all of us.”
“Don’t be snobs. Join us.”
Jack waved to them and replied, “He’s telling me a ghost story without a ghost and no story to it.”
The boys laughed. The two drew closer together and Wallace continued. “Listen closely,” he said, “can you hear the gurgling sound of the stream?”
Jack listened closely and to his astonishment he couldn’t hear the sound of running water. Yet he was sure that the stream was less than ten feet away from where he sat. He looked in the direction of the stream but he didn’t see it. He turned quickly to his companion and whispered, “I don’t see it. Isn’t it supposed to be right there?”
Wallace grinned. “Correct,” he remarked. “But that’s another thing, one yard away from the stream and you don’t see it any more. Notice how cleverly, yet how naturally it is hidden.”
Jack nodded and looked around in amazement. He crept up on his knees, then stood up and still he couldn’t see the stream. He wanted to walk over there and assure himself that the stream was there but he was afraid of arousing suspicion. He sat down again and Wallace continued. “One more link in the chain,” he said. “About half a mile down this side of the mountain, there is a cave—a natural cave. I came upon it accidentally.”
“Did you go inside?” queried Jack eagerly.
“I only took a peek inside. Then I heard a noise or at least I thought I heard a noise and I jumped away, thinking that I would hide behind some shrubbery or something. But I never saw it again because I couldn’t find it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. I looked for it, I retraced my steps as carefully as I knew how, but no cave.”
Both boys remained silent for a while. Jack seemed to be lost in thought. Finally he asked, “Is that the whole story?”
Wallace nodded. “Yes.”
Jack shook his head. “Doesn’t seem to make sense.”
“That’s what I told you before,” insisted his companion.
CHAPTER VIII
Jack and Wallace joined the other boys in their singing. Later there circulated around the camp fire a series of humorous anecdotes followed by tall stories, each boy trying to improve upon the previous tale. Nuthin’ was doing his best to hold the attention of his listeners (and he was succeeding fairly well) with a ghost story which he had read in a magazine, but was relating as a personal incident. Suddenly Paul, possessing the sharpest ear among the group, wheeled around and listened carefully. The noise that he thought he heard stopped. Dropping on his stomach, he put his ear to the ground. A couple of minutes later, they could all hear various small noises, that sounded like the breaking of twigs or rolling stones set loose. Somebody was coming. Silent, awaiting the arrival of whoever it was, they sat hushed around the fire and stared expectantly at the probable spot where he would emerge. Tense, eager, every moment was an hour and the five or six minutes they waited seemed like an age. Finally a short, husky man, with a brutal face, emerged out of the woods and stepped into the light. He glanced from one boy to another. His facial features were distorted by his smile. At last he spoke. “Hello, fellows,” he said, his voice a bit raucous and loud. “Did I scare you?”
Paul stood up. “Why, no,” he answered calmly, “not at all. Won’t you join us?”
The man laughed with a gurgle in his throat. “Sure,” he answered, “but only for a couple of minutes. I have a shack a couple of miles yonder,” and he pointed in the general westerly direction. He joined the circle of boys around the fire. “What are you fellows doing here?” he asked.
Paul answered for all of them. “We’re seven Boy Scouts,” he said, “and we’re camping here for a week.”
“A week!” he exclaimed. He mused and stroked his chin. “Where are you boys from?” he inquired further.
“Stanhope,” he was told.
“Stanhope! I go down there about once every two weeks for supplies. But why