The three boys examined the paper with interest. It was about a foot square, and the lines had evidently been made with charcoal. This is the way it looked:
"A cryptogram!" exclaimed Bob.
"I wonder who left it?" added Dick.
"And what it means?" said Randall.
"Perhaps, if we work it out, it may tell us where to find our mysterious visitor," went on Bob Somers. "These things are getting more and more interesting."
"That was my idea!" exclaimed Nat Wingate.
"Maybe it's just a bit of foolishness," put in Tom.
"No, I think it has a meaning. This figure at the bottom may be one of our huts."
"And those funny-looking spots above?"
"They look like trees to me; eh, Chubby?"
The poet laureate lazily inclined his head.
"What's that queer-shaped thing to the left?"
"Don't know—got any ideas, 'Hatchet'?"
"Guess somebody has taken the crowd for a lot of chumps, and thinks they will be dunces enough to go off on a wild goose chase. It's only those duffers across the lake—but they can't fool me."
Bob laughed. "We'll study it out a bit, anyway. If we only knew in what direction to start, it wouldn't take long to find out something."
Dave Brandon leaned over and scanned the mysterious paper carefully.
"Looks easy to me," he drawled. "That's the door, eh?—well, from the back of the hut we must go off at an angle for a half mile. Then, if three trees in a row are found, I guess we'll be all right."
"A large head on large shoulders," grinned Nat.
"But say, fellows," observed Bob Somers, with a sudden thought, "of course you looked for tracks? I suppose the visitor wore snow-shoes, though, and sometimes they don't make much of a mark."
"We started right in to hunt for them," replied Dave Brandon. "Had a little better luck than this morning, but the tracks led to the lake and ended. We walked around a bit, didn't see anything, then gave it up."
"How do you know they weren't made by some of us?"
"Because none of the fellows have been off that way." Dave pointed out the direction.
"Guess you are right!"
"Well, there's no way of telling which way he went after reaching the lake. So we must try to follow the thing up from this mysterious drawing."
"All right, Chubby, we will."
"Makes a fellow feel kind of creepy when he thinks that some one was prowling around the camp early this morning," observed Tom Clifton. "If we only had a dog—"
"But not of the Bowser kind," laughed Bob. "I wish we could find out what it was that made those funny screeches," he added, reflectively.
"The mystery may be solved before our trip is over," said Dave Brandon, with a yawn. "I won't let it bother me."
"But we don't want to get chewed all to bits," broke in Tom Clifton, nervously. "Whew—hope we don't hear those awful yells again to-night."
When the boys finally turned in, more than one lay awake for some time, listening in nervous apprehension for any indications of the strange beast.
After breakfast next morning, Sladder and Musgrove put in an appearance.
The stuffed wildcat had been propped up in front of Bob Somers' hut, and, with its flattened head and glass eyes, wore a most ludicrous expression.
The Stony Creek boys looked at it in dumb amazement, and listened with open mouths as Nat Wingate, with many exaggerations, told about their early morning scare.
"Huh! Ain't that fierce?" exclaimed Musgrove. "Never heard nothing to beat it. Nobody wouldn't play no such game on me twicet. Was you skeered, Plackett?"
"Scared nothing!" returned John, with a flash in his eyes. "Say—my name is Hackett—H-a-c-k-e-t-t! How many more times must I tell you?"
"I ain't no good on rememberin' names. But this beats me—it does—you heard that critter again?" and Musgrove gave a perceptible shiver.
Bob Somers presently produced the rude scrawl and placed it before the visitors.
"Can you make anything out of that?" he asked, after explaining how it had come into their possession.
"Don't look like nothing to me," replied Tim Sladder, shaking his head.
"Search me," added Musgrove, with an equally puzzled expression.
In a few words, Bob gave their views on the subject.
When he had finished, both Sladder and Musgrove seemed to be greatly impressed.
All the members of the Rambler Club strapped on their snow-shoes, and at the last moment Hackett and Nat Wingate decided to accompany them.
Starting in a northwesterly direction, they began ascending the thickly timbered hill back of the huts. Down on the other side and over another ridge they went, until at length a third elevation rose above them.
"Must have gone a half mile already," said Hackett.
"We may see something from the top of this hill," replied Bob, "unless our reading of the thing was all wrong."
When, after another hard climb, the summit was reached, all looked eagerly around.
Below stretched a valley, hills enclosing it on three sides.
"Well, what did I tell you?" exclaimed Hackett, triumphantly, after an interval of silence. "If anybody can spot something, now's the time to speak up and earn a vote of thanks."
The silence continued.
"Joke number nineteen," went on Hackett, presently. "When it gets to be about two hundred and six, I hope you fellows will take a grand tumble. It's awful to see a crowd so easy."
"Suppose we try to estimate the right distance, before we do anything else," said Dave Brandon.
"Say—did anybody bring a tape measure?" remarked Hackett.
The boys took no notice of this speech, but began to compare notes regarding the distance covered. After some little discussion and strolling about from place to place, it was agreed that they were about half a mile from camp.
"The best plan, now, is to walk around in a circle," said Bob. "No use to be easy, as Hackett says, and give the thing up."
"All right—here we go," said Musgrove. "Come back, there, Bowser, an' don't get too frisky."
The group now started off at right angles to their former course.
"Keep your eyes open, fellows," said Hackett, grandly, "or you may miss gittin' fooled."
Musgrove gave the speaker a queer look, and his eyes snapped furtively. "Wackett," he said, "I'd be glad if it was you what got fooled on this. 'My eye' so I would."
A rather discouraging tramp followed. It was at length seen that the course they were taking would soon lead them out upon the lake.
"What are you stopping for?" cried Hackett, as the others came to a halt. "Keep right on—maybe it's in the next state."
The boys laughed, and, a few moments later, were retracing their steps. They reached and passed the place at the summit of the hill, always endeavoring to maintain as closely as possible the half mile distance from their camp.
"Look at that whopping big boulder down there!" exclaimed Dick Travers, at length.
"I'll bet that's the very thing marked on the paper," interposed Sam.
"Hurrah!" broke in Bob. "Don't you see three trees nearly in a row over there?"
"My eye, Scummers is right," declared Musgrove, peering earnestly in the direction indicated.
The boys were still on the edge of the valley, the boulder and three trees being several hundred yards down the slope.
Hackett did not make any funny remarks at this juncture.
"What number joke is this?" asked Musgrove, with a laugh, as the party began to make their way cautiously downward over the snow-covered ground. "'My eye!' Them is the trees."
Before long the boys approached three huge pines, which were standing almost in a row.
"We ought to find out something now," observed Dick Travers.
They struck off along the valley, moving rapidly over the snow in the direction indicated by the cryptogram.
"Hello!" exclaimed Sam, suddenly. "Smoke—rising above that copse of trees—see it?"
"Right you are," returned Bob. "What do you think, now, 'Hatchet'?"
"Tell you later," grinned John, not in the least abashed.
Between the trees, a glimpse of a cabin was caught, and when the boys reached a clearing, they saw before them a substantial log structure, with a single window. From a stovepipe issued a whirling column of smoke.
"Hurrah!" cried Bob. "We didn't get left after all."
As he spoke, the door of the cabin was thrown open, and a tall, wiry-looking man, with a tawny moustache and stubby beard, appeared on the threshold.
"Powerful glad to see you, boys!" he exclaimed, heartily. "Honest Injun, though—never thought you know'd enough or would take the trouble ter git here. I'm John Yardsley, hunter an' trapper, at your service.”
