A BRILLIANT moon had aided Dave in the latter portion of his journey to Lakeville. The following night, a similarly illumined sky was of great assistance to another solitary wayfarer, for the man in leather leggings, misdirected that morning by Mabel and Henrietta, was laboriously making his way back toward Pete's Patch. Before he had quite reached the end of the unspeakable road over which the girls had sent him, he had met a camping fisherman who had given him explicit directions for finding Mr. Black's land.
At ten o'clock that night, having at last reached Barclay's Point, he urged his patient horse along the beach until he came to the embers of a dying camp fire, and noted, on the bank above, a number of white tents gleaming like ghosts in the moonlight. Tying his weary steed to a convenient log, the man, very stiff and sore from his long ride, clambered up the sand bank, only to fall prone at the top over a strange and most alarmingly prickly object that stood directly in his path.
Rising with considerable difficulty and separating himself as speedily as possible from Terrible Tim, who was emitting queer, frightened grunts, the surprised traveler moved cautiously along the path, shouting, in a voice that quavered persistently in spite of his manly efforts to control it:
"Mr. Black! Oh, Mr. Bla—ack!"
Mr. Black, only half awake, sat up to listen. The call came again.
"Oh, Mr. Bla-a-a-ack!"
The owner of the name, wrapped in a blanket, thrust an inquiring head from the doorway of his tent.
"What's all the row about?" he demanded.
"Oo!" groaned Henrietta, who had wakened at the first call, "it's that game warden! He'll never spare us now."
Keen-eared Marjory, too, was sitting up to listen; and, at Mr. Black's reply, Jean and Bettie opened their eyes.
"Wake up," commanded Henrietta, in a terrifying whisper, as she pummeled Mabel mercilessly. "Wake up, wake up—the game warden's here."
The response to this was so surprising that Henrietta, whose teeth were already chattering with fright, almost tumbled over.
"Who—oop!" shouted Mabel, doubling up her sturdy fists and hitting out, first with one, then another. "Who—oop! Who—oop! Who—oop!"
"Mabel! For goodness' sake, what do you think you're doing!" gasped Henrietta. "Oh, my poor chin!"
"Mabel! Stop pounding my ribs!" shrieked Bettie. "You can't sleep next to me again."
"I—I killed him," breathed Mabel, subsiding with a deep, satisfied sigh. "Oh, is it breakfast time?"
"What did you kill?" demanded Henrietta, rubbing her chin.
"The father-bear—Bettie was running away with his cubs. What's the matter with everybody?"
"The game warden," whispered Henrietta. "He's outside with Mr. Black—arresting him, I guess. But listen—they're talking."
"What!" Mr. Black was exclaiming, excitedly. "Two girls? Two of my girls sent you—why, Saunders! You must be dreaming!"
"Saunders!" gasped Henrietta.
"Saunders!" echoed Mabel. "Why! Saunders is the man in Mr. Black's office. I've never seen him, but I've heard a lot about him."
"Girls!" called Mr. Black, "are you awake?"
"Yes," shrieked all five.
"Here's a hungry man. Could one of you roll up in a blanket and find him something to eat?"
"Sure!" shrieked all five.
Then, of course, there followed a lively scramble for shoes and blankets and, in another moment, the five girls, looking like so many disheveled little squaws, were out in the moonlight.
"There's some cold johnny-cake," said Jean, rather doubtfully, "and some mushroom soup that I could warm up."
"And beans," added Marjory, stalking after her towards the camp cupboard. "I'll get the dishes."
"Girls," said Mr. Black, "this is Mr. Saunders—Mr. William Saunders—of Lakeville. Saunders, which of these young women did you see this morning?"
"Well, really," stammered the visitor, glancing from one to another of the blanketed maidens, "I couldn't say."
"Mabel and me," mumbled Henrietta, half-heartedly.
"And you sent him——"
"We thought," explained Mabel, balancing unsteadily on the only foot for which she had been able to find a shoe, "that he was the game warden."
"Game warden!" gasped Mr. Black. "Do you mean to say that you meant to send him seventeen miles from Barclay's?"
The guilty little girls accomplished the difficult feat of nodding and hanging their heads at the same time.
"In all that mud!" groaned Saunders, "and on that awful saddle!"
"We," faltered Henrietta, whose red blanket was most becoming to her sparkling brunette countenance, "we didn't want the game warden to find out about Dave."
"Good gracious!" exclaimed Mr. Black. "That reminds me. Dave is in Lakeville, Saunders is here—he brought up an important paper for me to sign. With Saunders gone, Dave won't know what to do about the doctor. He may start back."
"Not if there's anything drinkable left in Lakeville," assured Saunders. "I know mighty well where I'll find him. But I can't go back to-night—I'm not accustomed to riding, and I've been on that poor old nag all day."
"I'll fix a bed for you in my tent," said Mr. Black. "There's plenty of room."
"I'm awfully sorry for what we did," mumbled Henrietta, contritely, "but we did mistake you for that dreadful game warden."
"That looks," said Saunders, with mock severity, "as if you'd been breaking the game laws."
"It's that rascal Dave," explained Mr. Black. "He has damaged them all; but please don't mention it in town."
Mr. Saunders was fed and escorted to bed; but before he had had time to unlace his shoes, there were wild shrieks from the girls' tent. Mabel, the first to plunge in, had collided with a horribly prickly object that grunted like a frightened pig and scratched like a thousand needles. Then, as girl after girl rubbed against Terrible Tim, who had somehow escaped and was calmly eating their tallow candle, a chorus of shrieks rang forth. This outcry, of course, sent Mr. Black flying to the rescue. And Mrs. Crane, roused at last and puzzled by the presence of Mr. Saunders, joined the relief party.
"It's Terrible Tim!" shrieked Marjory. "He's in all our beds!"
"We'll let him go," declared Mr. Black. "He's too troublesome a pet."
"No, no, no!" shrieked the alarmed girls. "He'll get in here again."
"And I'm sure," said Mrs. Crane, "that he isn't wanted in my tent."
"Well," agreed Mr. Black, "I guess it is wiser to tie him up than to attempt to chase him away—perhaps he's forgotten the way home."
So Terrible Tim, cowering in a corner and quite as frightened as his victims, was fastened to his clothesline and driven to his tree. It was days, however, before the girls' blankets were free from the irritating porcupine quills that Timothy had shed so generously.
In the morning Mr. Saunders, still stiff and sore from his long ride, was safely started on his way to Lakeville; but, during his brief stay, he had made friends with all the girls and even conversed for a few moments with Billy Blue-eyes, who was greatly taken with the pleasant young man.
"You see," explained Saunders, with a twinkle in his shrewd gray eye as he glanced toward Mabel and Henrietta, "I want to make such a good impression that I'll be recognized a mile away next time."
"Well," complained Mabel, "you might have said you weren't that game warden."
At that, lame as he was, Saunders threw back his head and roared.
When Saunders, bountifully supplied with lists and instructions, had departed, Mrs. Crane told the girls that Billy was clamoring for visitors.
"I guess," said she, "we'll let Jean and Bettie in first—they're the quietest."
The boy was now visibly gaining in strength; also he seemed sufficiently cheerful and contented until Bettie, forgetting that she was not to trouble him with questions, asked if he lived in Lakeville.
"Where's that?" queried the boy.
"About fifteen miles from here," returned Bettie. "You could see it on a clear day if it wasn't for Sugar Loaf and a lot of other scenery in the way."
"What's Sugar Loaf—sounds like a candy shop?"
"A very high hill right on the edge of the lake. Lakeville is a town around several corners in a little bay. Where did you come from?"
The boy's eyes clouded. "I don't know," said he. "When I wake up in the night I almost remember things—my bed, for instance, belongs over there—but there's always a piece of everything gone. I—it bothers me. I guess you think I'm pretty queer."
"Don't worry," soothed Jean. "You're not strong yet. You'll be all right when you're well."
"Think so?" demanded Billy, brightening. "Then I'll eat all the broth Mrs.—some kind of a bird—brings me."
"She's making some now," said Bettie, "from a piece of Dave's venison. We'll have all sorts of good things to eat as soon as Mr. Saunders gets to town. He said he'd travel as fast as he could—I guess he's pretty lame."
"But," groaned Jean, "he can't possibly get anything here before to-morrow and I'm just starved for pie."
"Pie!" laughed the boy. "I'd like a piece myself. Why, when I lived in—in—— Now wouldn't that make you tired! I can see a table with pie on it and a whole pitcher full of cream; but, if you offered me a thousand dollars I couldn't tell you where to find that table! Pshaw! It makes me so mad when things float off like that that I want to—cry."
Whereupon Jean, noting that big tears blurred the blue eyes, began hastily to tell how Terrible Tim had devoured one of Mabel's shoes, left carelessly within his reach; and presently the lad was again smiling.