Although the young game-warden did not see them, Silas Morgan and his hopeful son Dan were both sitting on the river bank, in plain view of the cabin, when he came home. They were both surprised to see him, and Dan gave it as his private opinion that one night alone in the woods had effectually taken away all Joe's desire to act as Mr. Warren's game protector during the winter.

"And I'm just glad of it," said Dan, spitefully. "I hope in my soul that that hant came and looked in at his winder, and howled and screeched at him like he did at us."

"Well, I hope he didn't," answered Silas. "If Joe is drove away from there, I don't know what we will do for grub and such when winter comes. I ain't a going up to old man Warren's wood-lot to work, I bet you!"

"Neither be I," said Dan.

"Then where's the money to come from? We can't live without money, you know."

"Well, Joe ain't going to give you none of his'n, 'cause he told me so. He's going to give every cent of it to mam, and you and me can go hungry for all he cares."

"No, I don't reckon we'll go hungry. I know when pay-day comes as well as he does; and when I know that he's got the month's wages in his pocket, can't I easy steal it outen your mam's possession after he hands it over to her? Didn't think of that, did you?"

"Well, you won't never steal any money outen mam's pocket, nuther," replied Dan. "Whenever she wants anything from the store, Joe he'll give her an order on old man Warren, and mam won't tech none of his earnings. He told me so. You're mighty sharp, pap, but that Joe of our'n is one ahead of you this time."

Dan looked to see his father go into a fearful rage when he said this, but Silas did not do anything of the sort. He sat with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands supporting his head, gazing off into the darkness toward the opposite side of the river.

"What do you reckon that stingy Joe of our'n has come back here to tell mam?" continued Dan.

Silas was obliged to confess that he didn't know, and followed it up with the suggestion that it might be a good plan for him to creep up and find out.

"Creep up yourself, if you want to know wusser'n I do," was Dan's reply. "Can't you see that the door is wide open?"

"What of it?" said Silas. "Can't you creep up behind the chimbly! There's a crack there atween the boards that you've often listened at, 'cause I've seen you. Who knows but Joe may be telling her something about the money that's in the cave?"

Dan said it was not likely that Joe knew anything about the cave, beyond what he himself had told him; but still his father's words aroused his curiosity, and awakened within him a desire to learn what Joe had to say to his mother.

He waited a moment or two to bring his courage up to the sticking point, and then threw himself upon his hands and knees and crept away from his father's sight. He was gone about twenty minutes, and when he returned, he acted so much like a crazy boy that Silas was really afraid of him.

"What's the matter of you?" he demanded, in an angry whisper. "Did Joe say anything so't you could hear it?"

"You're right he did," Dan managed to say, at last. "Oh, pap, we'll never in this world have another chance like that. We had the best kind of a show to get rich, and we let it slip through our fingers, fools that we was."

Silas fairly gasped for breath. He stared fixedly at Dan, who sat on the bank, rocking himself from side to side; but he was too amazed to speak.

"The money was there all the time," Dan went on, "and that Joe of our'n he went and got it, dog-gone the luck!"

"And all along of your telling him about it, you idiot," snarled Silas. "If you had kept your mouth shet, that Joe of our'n wouldn't never have known that the money was there. I have the best notion in the world to—"

"Now, can't you wait until I tell you?" exclaimed Dan, whose senses came back to him very speedily when he saw that his father was pushing up his sleeves. "It wasn't all along of my telling him, nuther, that Joe found out about the cave. Tom and Bob told him, for they were the ones that writ the letter you took outen your wood-pile."

The ferryman's astonishment quickly got the better of his rage, and he listened in a dreamy sort of way to the story that Dan had to tell him; but when the latter reached the end of it, and Silas found out that he had really been within a few yards of a valise whose contents could not be purchased for less than one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and that the white thing that frightened him was not a ghost, after all, but a dummy, managed by a man who might have been disabled by a single charge from his double-barrel—when Silas heard this, he was ready to boil over again.

The fact that a third of the handsome reward that had been offered for the recovery of the stolen bonds would come into his family did not serve as a balm for his wounded feelings. He wanted the money himself; and the reflection that after coming so near to securing it, he had allowed himself to be frightened away by—

"Oh, my soul!" groaned Silas, jumping to his feet, and striding up and down the bank, with both hands tightly clenched in his hair. "Here's me and you, as poor as Job's turkey, while that Joe of our'n has got more'n twice as much as he oughter have. He's rich, and after this he won't do nothing but loaf around and spend his money, while me and you— Now, wait till I tell you! Did you ever hear of such amazing mean luck before? Toot away!" he cried, shaking both his fists at the opposite bank. "I wouldn't go over after you if I knew I'd get five dollars for it. What's five dollars alongside the ten thousand we might have had if we hadn't been such fools? Oh, Dannie, why didn't we shoot a little lower?"

While Silas was talking, the blast of a horn sounded from the other side of the river. It was a notice to the ferryman that there was some one over there who wanted to cross the stream, but Silas was in no humor to respond to it. Again and again the signal was given, and finally a hail came through the darkness.

"Hallo, there!" shouted a familiar voice. "Is Joe Morgan at home?"

"No, he ain't!" growled Dan in reply.

"Yes, he is!" shouted the owner of that name, who had come out to assist in taking the flat across the river. "Is that you, Tom Hallet?"

"Yes. Have you seen anything of Bob?"

"Not since dinner," was Joe's answer. "What's the matter with him?"

"We hope there isn't anything the matter with him," shouted Tom; "but we begin to think— Say, Joe, come over, and bring a lantern. I have something to show you."

"I don't know how he's going to get over, unless he is able to manage the flat all by himself," said Dan, in an undertone. "I won't help him, I bet you."

Silas was about to say the same, but his curiosity, of which he had considerably more than two men's share, got the better of him.

"What do you reckon he wants to show you?" said he, addressing himself to Joe; "and what's become of Bob?"

"I am sure I can't tell," answered Joe. "But if you will help me to take the flat over, we will find out all about it. I am sure you will hear something worth listening to if you will lend a hand."

"All right; I'm there," said Silas, jumping up with alacrity.

"But I ain't," said Dan, doggedly.

"Who said anything to you?" demanded his father, almost fiercely. "Set where you are if you feel like it. Me and Joe can get along without none of your help; and furder'n that," he added, in a lower tone, as Joe ran to the house to bring a candle and some matches—there being no such thing as a lantern in the ferryman's humble abode—"me and Joe will go snucks on his share of the reward, and you shan't see a cent of it. So there, now!"

These words were sufficient to infuse a good deal of life and energy into Dan. He believed that his father would yet contrive some way to swindle Joe out of every dollar that came into his possession, and if he (Dan) hoped to get any of it for his own, he must be very careful how he went contrary to his father's wishes.

When Joe came back with the candle, Silas and Dan were standing in the flat, all ready to shove off.

The young game-warden could not remember when he had carried so heavy a heart across the river as he did on this particular evening.

He did not say anything, for he knew that his father and Dan could not understand his feelings, but his brain was exceedingly busy.

Bob Emerson had disappeared in some unaccountable way. He knew that much, and somehow Joe could not help connecting this circumstance with some words the missing boy had let fall the last time he was in his company.

"We may be in more danger while we are up here than we think for," and, "This thing is going to end in something besides fun."

These words, which Bob had uttered without giving much heed to what he was saying, now seemed to Joe to be prophetic of disaster.

Of course, this reflection made him uneasy, and he exerted himself to get the heavy flat over to the other side with as little delay as possible. So did Dan, for a wonder, and the result was, that they made a much quicker passage than they usually did.

When the flat came within sight of the bank, Silas, who was at the steering-oar, leaned forward and informed Joe, in a whisper, that Tom was not alone—that his uncle Hallet, old man Warren, and both their hired men were with him, as well as two strangers whom he didn't remember to have seen before. But a moment later, he added, in tones of excitement:

"Yes, I have seen 'em, too. They're the sheriff and one of his deputies. Well, they can't do nothing to me. Ain't it a lucky thing for me, Joey, that I give up them setter dogs to-day?"

"I am glad you did," replied Joe, "but I shall always be sorry that you ever had anything to do with them in the first place."

With a few long sweeps of his steering-oar, Silas brought the flat broadside to the bank, and Joe Morgan sprang out. Tom Hallet was the first one to speak to him.

"Did I understand you to say that you have not seen Bob since we ate dinner together?" said he in a trembling voice.

"That is just what I said," answered Joe, whose worst fears were now fully confirmed. "You and he went off together, and I haven't seen him since. Where is he?"

"I wish I knew," replied Tom. "We felt sorry for you, when we saw you going away alone; but you got back safe and sound, while we didn't. You see— Where's your lantern?"

Joe replied that he had brought a candle, and proceeded to light it. Then Bob handed him a slip of paper on which were written the following fateful words:

"If you will bring back the property you stole from us, and put it where you found it, we will give up our prisoner. If you don't, or if you attempt to play tricks upon us, you will never see him again."

This portion of the note was written in a strange hand, but under it was a postscript which Tom declared had been penned by nobody but Bob Emerson. It ran thus:

"They've got me, Tom, and that's all there is about it. For goodness sake, bring back that valise! And be quick about it, for they threaten to do all sorts of dreadful things to me, if their demands are not complied with in less than twenty-four hours."

Joe handed back the piece of paper, and looked at Tom without speaking.