CHAPTER XXVIII
THE NOTE ON THE DOOR
"What is it?" questioned Bob Somers, with interest.
"The most powerful strange thing I ever hearn tell of, cap'n."
"Hurry up, and tell us," put in Nat, impatiently.
"Cap'n, read it ter the lads." Yardsley extended the paper.
Bob whistled. "This is the funniest thing yet," he exclaimed. "Listen:
"'If you want to know where your furs are hidden, go to the place where you found the sled. There is a gully about fifty feet to the north. It is half full of snow, and a stick marks the spot. Dig—dig—and dig some more. Yours, The Unterrified Band of Near-Bandits.'"
"I don't understand this," said the trapper, blankly, scratching his head. "It can't be that them furs weren't stole, arter all? Bless me, what does it mean?" He stared in a bewildered manner at the others.
"That this is a very funny region," mused the poet laureate. "It's another one of those things that makes a fellow's head ache to think about."
But the trapper's hopeful expression soon vanished. He shook his head, soberly. "No sich luck, mate," he said. "This here is jest the work—"
"Of the Bounding Brotherhood of Brilliant Jokers," broke in Nat, with a laugh. "Do you suppose that this is Musgrove's doings?"
Hackett sniffed. He picked up the paper, which had fallen in the snow, and held it under his chum's nose. "Look at that writing, and tell me if you think either Sladder or Musgrove could have done it," he said. And as a doubting look came over Nat Wingate's face, he added, significantly, "How about the Piper gang? Perhaps they are trying to get square with Yardsley for suspecting them, eh, Chubby?"
"I feel myself drifting into deep thought, in spite of everything," replied the stout boy, solemnly. "You may be right, Hackett. It does look that way—just a hoax."
"An' what's your opinion, cap'n?"
"That you'd better do as this paper says."
"Then I'll take yer advice. It can't do no harm."
As no amount of discussion could solve the mystery, the subject was finally changed.
"Then we'll see you in the morning, eh?" asked Bob Somers, as they trooped out.
"Yer sartingly will—good-night!"
The young hunters lost no time in reaching camp, and, tired from their long tramp, immediately turned in.
Early next morning, John Yardsley skated across Lake Wolverine, and half an hour later the boys saw him returning, in company with Piper and his friends.
"Humph!" muttered Hackett, "here comes that nice crowd again."
"Don't care, I'm sure," said Nat, with a rather peculiar glance toward Piper.
To their surprise, however, the hunters from across the lake greeted them pleasantly.
"Boys," said Robinson, with an embarrassed air, "too bad about that little misunderstanding we had the other night. We were certain it was you who rolled the snowball."
"Why didn't you take a little time to find out?" interposed Nat Wingate, curtly, with a flash of his brown eyes.
"Oh, come now," put in Heydon, "no hard feelings. We're not any of us perfect, you know."
"Well," said Hackett, "what made you fellows change your minds, after being so sure?"
"The fact is," said Robson, with a sorry attempt to appear at his ease, "we found a note under the door of the shack. It was written by that precious young scamp, Musgrove, and he said that you fellows had nothing to do with it."
"How was the handwriting?" asked Bob Somers, quickly.
"Villainous, the spelling remarkable, and the grammar on a par with Musgrove's intellectual expression."
"Then," said the poet laureate in a low tone to Bob Somers, "the mystery deepens."
"We came over yesterday to tell you about it," added Piper, "but no one was here."
"Wal, lads, as these young gentlemen think it might be a good plan ter go an' dig fur them skins, I think we'd best be goin'," said Yardsley.
Armed with two shovels, the party soon started off on their strange expedition.
"If it wasn't fine weather you wouldn't catch me on such a wild goose chase as this," growled Hackett. "Look at Yardsley—by the way he's getting along, you might think he had discovered a gold mine."
Without hesitation, the trapper kept on, and finally, to the great relief of his tired followers, slowed down considerably.
"We're gittin' near there, mates," he announced. "Now you fellers divide up, an' look fur the gully what the note speaks about."
This suggestion was quickly acted upon, and in the course of a few minutes a hail was heard from Sam Randall.
"Look!" cried Sam, eagerly. He held up a paper. "I fished it off the stick with a branch," he explained.
"Another message?" asked Bob Somers.
Sam laughed and proceeded to read the following:
"'This is the place. Dig—dig—and dig some more.
"'The Unterrified Band of Near-Bandits.'"
"Great wits, eh?" laughed Piper. "Give me a shovel; we'll soon find out something."
Heydon followed his example, and, with much vigor, the young men attacked the work. Snow fairly flew off to the sides, while an eager group crowded expectantly around.
"Only a hoax!" groaned Yardsley, as the minutes flew by and nothing was revealed.
Heydon finally paused, a look of disgust came over his face, and he was about to make some remark, when Robson's shovel struck a hard object.
"Hello! What's this—a box?" he exclaimed.
"Doesn't feel as if anything was in it," remarked Heydon, giving the box a rude shove with his foot.
"The mean rascal," groaned Yardsley. "All this tramp fur nothin'—jest ter find an empty box—never was so riled in my life."
A portion of the cover being loose, Robson ripped it off, and putting his hand inside, drew out another paper.
"Ah ha! Maybe this is a solution of the mystery!" he cried. But, as his glance fell upon it, an impatient exclamation escaped him. "Of all the foolish stuff, this is the worst. Listen!
"'Go back where you came from,'" he read, "'and consider yourselves being laughed at. Ha, ha! U. R. Easy.
"'Yours—The Unterrified Band of Near-Bandits!'"
"What does this mean?" cried Piper, sternly, looking from one to another. A queer light gleamed in his eye.
"And we working like slaves," cried Robson, angrily.
"See here, Yardsley, and you chaps," broke in Piper, now quite convinced that they had been duped, "I have my opinion of a man of your age who does such tricks!"
Piper spoke in a loud and threatening manner, while Robson and Heydon seemed no less angry than himself.
"Softly," interrupted Yardsley. "Human natur' is queer—a bad case of misunderstandin' t'other night, an' a powerful wuss one now. I have a failin', I'll admit, but on my honor, Piper, this time the joke is on me."
His sincerity could not be doubted, and the three young men began to feel that they had acted too hastily.
"Well," said Piper, stiffly, "it looked mighty suspicious."
"Like the other night," snapped Hackett.
"Oh, come now," put in Bob Somers, "a wretched joke like this is enough to put any one in a bad humor, but there's no use in quarreling."
"That's right, Somers," observed Robson, thoughtfully, "and we can't find out anything by talking here all day."
"Jest so," sighed Yardsley. "We might as well git back."
"We come out with great hopes," sighed Yardsley, as he pushed open the cabin door. "Bless me, it was mean—give me the shovels, mates. I'll put 'em in the storehouse."
He opened the door which led to it, then the others heard a sharp exclamation.
"What's up now?" called Bob.
Yardsley did not answer, but hurriedly crossing the room, opened the outer door, admitting a flood of daylight. Then, almost speechless with astonishment, he stood, staring about him with wide-open eyes, while the others crowded in.
"What is it?" cried Bob—he stopped short, with a gasp.
There, neatly piled on shelves or stretched out on boards were the trapper's furs, exactly as he had arranged them before.