Dave Porter at Bear Camp/Chapter 22

"Did you see anything of him?"

"Not a thing. Did you?"

"I saw something move under the trees, but I guess it was a wild animal."

"He's gotten away, and that is all there is to it," said Dave, as he looked at his chums and at the men, who had also joined in the search for Link Merwell.

"This is certainly too bad!" remarked Mr. Wadsworth, with a shake of his head.

"And it was all my fault!" broke out Shadow, bitterly. "Oh, I could kick myself full of holes every time I think of it!"

Over an hour had been spent in the woods surrounding the clearing on Mirror Lake. During that time the men and the boys had stirred up several small wild animals, but that had been all.

"He must have legged it for all he was worth after he jumped through the window," was Roger's comment. "For all we know he may be miles away from here by now."

"If he ran straight into those woods it was a ​hazardous proceeding," said Dunston Porter. "He'll become hopelessly lost in the darkness, and when daylight comes he won't know how to turn to get out."

"Oh, perhaps he'll climb a tree and locate his surroundings that way," suggested Dave. "You must remember that Link isn't like a city fellow. He was brought up in the wild West, and knows how to do for himself in the open."

"We may as well give up the hunt," said Mr. Wadsworth, and turned toward Bear Camp, followed by the others.

"Oh, Dave, did you catch him?" The cry came from Jessie, who stood on the porch with the others, awaiting their return.

"No, he got away."

"That's too bad!"

"You should have kept him bound, Dave," said Laura.

"That's it, Dave," added Belle. "In the West they would tie a rascal like Link fast to a tree with a lariat. If you secured him properly he would stay there until you freed him."

"Well, there is no use in crying over spilt milk," remarked Mrs. Basswood. "I suppose we may as well go to bed again." And on this the others agreed.

Several days, including Sunday, passed, and nothing more was seen or heard of Link Merwell ​or Ward Porton. During that time the young folks went out on the lake several times, and also went fishing. Swimming was mentioned, but as the weather was getting colder rapidly, only Dave and Phil went in for a plunge. One day they planned to visit the moving-picture people, but it rained and they did not go.

"It will soon be time for hunting," announced Roger. "I hope we do get a chance to bring down something before we have to go back."

"Well, I'd like to have a crack at a deer, myself," answered Dave, who had not forgotten the sport he had had on Squirrel Island and at other places in the vicinity of Oak Hall.

"What's the matter with a crack at a bear?" interposed Phil. "A great big shaggy fellow that would weigh eight hundred or a thousand pounds."

"Say, Phil, you don't want much in life!" cried Ben. "Why don't you make it a two-thousand-pound bear while you are at it?"

"Say, speaking about heavy bears puts me in mind of a story I heard!" cried Shadow, his face lighting up for the first time since the escape of Link Merwell. "This yarn was told by an old western hunter and trapper, and he said it was strictly true. He said he was out on the ranges one day when he found himself suddenly pursued by three Modoc Indians. He shot at them several times without hitting anybody, and then, to ​his consternation, he found that his ammunition had given out. He legged it up a mountain-side, and the three Modocs came after him, yelling to beat the band. Just as they were following him up the steep trail, he saw a monstrous bear come plunging out from a thicket near by. He was so upset that he hardly knew what to do, but he grabbed up a big rock and sent it at the bear. It struck the monstrous animal on the head and keeled him over, and the bear rolled down the steep mountain-side, and knocked over the three Modoc Indians, smashing every one of them."

"Wow! That's some bear story!" exclaimed Luke.

"Shadow, how could you bear to tell such a story?" asked Dave, reproachfully.

"That knocks out all the dime novels ever written," said Ben.

"Why, Ben I do you mean to say you have read them all?" cried our hero, in pretended surprise.

"All? I don't read any of them!" snorted Ben. "Just the same, that's the biggest whopper I ever heard."

"Well, I'm not vouching for the story," interposed Shadow, dryly, "I'm just telling it as it was told to me."

"Speaking about being frightened by a bear puts me in mind that it's queer we haven't seen or heard anything more of that wild man," remarked Roger.

​"We don't want to see or hear anything more of him!" burst out Laura. "One scare was enough."

"It's queer that the Pooles don't send some one up here to look for him," remarked Jessie. "If he were my uncle I certainly wouldn't want him to be roaming around in the woods that way."

"If he is just roaming around I wonder how he manages to live," said Dave. "And where does he get all that outlandish outfit?"

"He must have some sort of a habitation here," returned Phil. "Maybe he has taken possession of some bungalow or cabin that was locked up. If he has, won't the owners of the place be mad when they find it out, especially if he is using their things!"

"I wonder if we couldn't go up to that cliff and track him in some way from there?" said Phil. "He may have left some sort of trail behind him. Unless he follows some kind of paths through the woods he would be apt to get lost, just like anybody else."

"If he really is Wilbur Poole, I'd like to capture him and send him back to the sanitarium; where he belongs," remarked Roger. "I think Nat would like us to do it."

"What do you say about starting on a regular hunt to-morrow?" asked Dave. "We might go out directly after breakfast and carry our lunch ​with us. Who knows but what in looking for the wild man we might run across some trace of Link Merwell."

"Oh, Dave, you mustn't get into any trouble!" cried Jessie, hastily.

"If we go out we'll go armed and be on our guard," he replied.

The matter was talked over for some time, and at last it was decided that the boys should start out in a body directly after breakfast the following morning, provided it remained clear. They were to carry a shotgun and a rifle, and also a substantial lunch, and were not to return to Bear Camp until evening.

"I'd like to go on such a tramp myself," announced Belle. "It would be lots of fun climbing over the rocks and up the mountains."

"I think you girls had better remain around the bungalows," said Mrs. Wadsworth. "You can go out some other time, when the boys are not looking for that wild man and Link Merwell."

During the past few days those at Bear Camp had seen but little of the moving-picture company. That afternoon the old hunter. Tad Rason, stopped at the dock in his rowboat, and made the announcement that the company had gone to the other end of the lake, to take pictures for several more dramas.

"Mr. Appleby wanted me to tell you that that ​young feller, Ward Porton, ain't goin' to be with 'em no more," announced Tad Rason to Dave. "He says the young feller writ a letter sayin' that he was on the track of his parentage, and he guessed as how he'd have plenty of money of his own when he could prove who he was."

This announcement was of great interest to Dave, and he immediately questioned Tad Rason, to learn if the old hunter knew anything further. But that was all Rason could tell. He even did not know how long Ward Porton had remained with the moving-picture company after his arrival in the Adirondacks.

"The huntin' season will be openin' to-morrow," announced Tad Rason, in reply to a question from Phil. "I'm bound down the lake now to meet a party of hunters comin' from Albany. I take 'em out every season, actin' as guide."

"Perhaps we'll get you to go out with us some day," said Roger.

"All right, boys. I'll be glad to go, if I ain't got any job with them other fellows," announced the old hunter.

Although he was not willing to admit it to the others, Dave was greatly worried over the news brought by Tad Rason. Coupling it with what he had heard from Link Merwell and Nat Poole, he could reach but one conclusion, which was that in some way Ward Porton was going to try to prove ​that the boy from the Crumville poorhouse was not the real Dave Porter.

"Maybe he'll come along with a story that he is the real Dave," thought our hero, bitterly. "He said he was raised in a poorhouse, just like myself, but he also said it was away down East and not anywhere near the vicinity of Crumville. How he is going to get around that is beyond me. I don't think he'll be able to make anybody believe his story. Just the same, I wish this thing hadn't come up. I'd like to forget those poorhouse days entirely." And at the remembrance of those bitter times, Dave sighed deeply.

"Dave, you look awfully worried," said Jessie, that evening when the boys were getting ready for their next day's tramp. "What is the trouble?"

"Oh, it isn't much," he answered, evasively. "I was just thinking over what Link Merwell said."

"Dave, don't let him worry you so!" cried the girl, sympathetically. "He is a bad boy, and everybody knows it."

"But he said some things that I don't like at all, Jessie. I don't like him to call me a poorhouse nobody."

"Dave, don't you mind him! I don't care if you did come from the poorhouse. I think just as much of you anyway," and Jessie's eyes showed her earnestness.

​"It's splendid of you to say that," he returned, in a low tone, and catching both her hands, he squeezed them tightly. "It's a grand good thing to have somebody who believes in you."

Early in the evening there was a slight shower, and some of the boys thought they were in for a steady rain. But soon the clouds passed, and the moon and stars came out as brightly as ever.

"A perfect day!" announced Roger, on arising the next morning. "Just cool enough to make mountain climbing a pleasure."

The servants had an early breakfast ready for the boys, and by the time the girls and the others appeared they had partaken of the repast and were ready to depart. Dave carried the rifle and Roger the shotgun, while the others were loaded down with several knapsacks of provisions and some extra wraps and a blanket or two.

"You want to take plenty of things with you," Dunston Porter had cautioned them. "You may get farther away from home than you anticipate, and may have to stay out all night."

"That's true, Uncle Dunston," Dave had answered. "And that being so, if we don't turn up at a reasonable hour, don't worry about us."

"But what will you do if you capture that wild man?" asked Mrs. Basswood.

"If it's Wilbur Poole, we'll make him a prisoner and bring him with us," announced Dave.

​"Well, good luck to you!" cried Dunston Porter, as the boys prepared to leave. "Remember the hunting season opens to-day, so if you get a chance at any game don't let it slip you."

"Trust us for that, Uncle Dunston!" cried Dave.

With shouts of good-bye, the boys turned away from the bungalows, and a few minutes later disappeared along the path running beside the brook.