DUNBAR’S STRANGE BEHAVIOR

Dunbar was very silent during breakfast. He answered courteously when spoken to, as he always did, and there was no suggestion of surliness in his silence. In response to inquiries he declared that he had slept well and hoped the boys had done the same. But he added no unnecessary word to anything he said, and made no inquiries as to plans for the day. His manner was that of a person suffering under grief or apprehension or both.

As soon as breakfast was over he started off into the woods in a direction opposite to that in which his camp lay. He took neither his rifle nor his butterfly net with him. He simply walked into the woodlands and disappeared.

At dinner time he was nowhere to be found. As evening drew near the boys agreed to postpone their supper to a later hour than usual in anticipation of his return. But late as it was when at last they sat down to their evening meal, he was still missing.

The boys were beginning to be alarmed about him, for they had already learned to like the man and regard him as a friend.

“We must do something at once,” suggested Dick.

“But what can we do?” asked Larry. “I confess I can think of few possibilities in the way of searching for him at this time of a very dark night—for the clouds completely shut out the moonlight. Has anybody a suggestion to offer? What say you, Cal?”

“First of all,” was the reply, “we must carefully consider all the possibilities of the situation. Then we shall be better able to lay plans of rescue that may result in something. Let’s see. To begin with, he hasn’t left Quasi. He hasn’t any boat and there is absolutely no land communication with the main. So he is somewhere on Quasi plantation.

“Secondly, what can have happened to him? Not many things that I can think of. Old woods wanderer that he is, it isn’t likely that he has succumbed to any woodland danger, if there are any such dangers here, as there aren’t. There isn’t any wild beast here more threatening than a deer or a ’possum. He had no gun with him, so he cannot have shot himself by accident. He may have got lost, but that is exceedingly unlikely. He is used to finding his way in the woods, and it is certain that he thoroughly explored Quasi during the time he was marooned here and flying his distress signal. If by any possible chance he is lost, he’ll soon find himself again. The only other thing I think of is that he may have tripped and fallen, breaking something.”

“I should doubt his doing that,” said Larry, “for he’s as nimble as any cat I ever saw. Still, there’s the chance. What shall we do to meet it?”

“We can’t scatter out and search the woods and thickets in the dark,” suggested Dick.

“No,” said Tom; “if we did he would have to go in search of four other lost fellows if he should happen to turn up. But we can keep up a big fire and we can go out a little way into the woods, fire our shotguns, give all the college yells we know, and then listen.”

“Good suggestion, that about shooting and yelling,” said Cal. “Besides, I like to yell on general principles. But we shan’t need to keep up a bonfire, and the night is very hot.”

“But he might see the bonfire,” answered Tom in defense of his plan, “and he’d come straight to it, of course, if he’s lost.”

“We’ll put up something else that he can see farther and better.”

“What?”

“A fat pine torch.”

“Where?”

“Did you observe a catalpa tree that stands all alone over there on the highest part of the bluff, which is also the highest point in the whole land of Quasi?”

“Of course, if you mean over there, near the Hunkydory’s anchorage.”

“Yes, I mean that. There isn’t another tree anywhere near it. I can’t imagine how it came to grow out there on that bald bluff, unless somebody planted it. However, that’s no matter. The tree is there and a torch fixed in the top of it could be seen from almost every nook and corner of Quasi, while here we are in a pocket of trees and thick growths of every kind. A bonfire here could be seen a very little way off.”

Cal’s modification of Tom’s plan was promptly approved as the best possible for that night. The company went into the woods, pausing at several points to fire their guns and to yell like demons.

No results following, they returned and set to work making huge torches of fat pine, one of which was kept burning in the tree-top throughout the night, a fresh one being lighted whenever an old one burned out.

It was all to no purpose. Morning came and still there was no sign of Dunbar.

Breakfast was cooked and eaten, together with a reserve supply of food for the boys to carry with them on the search of the plantation, which they had decided to make that day. Still no sign of the missing man!

“Now, Cal,” said Larry, “this thing is becoming serious. We must find poor Mr. Dunbar to-day whatever else happens. We must scour the place till we accomplish that. We must scatter, but we must see to it that we get together again. Suppose you suggest a plan of procedure. You’re better than any of us at that.”

“I will,” said Cal, who had lost all disposition to be facetious. “He may be along the shore somewhere, so two of us had better follow the sealine, one going one way and the other in the opposite direction. They can cover double ground by going through the woods and open glades, only keeping near enough the shore to see it well. The other two will need no directions. Their duty will be to search the woods and thickets. Where the woods are open they can cover the ground rapidly, and also in the old fields wherever they haven’t grown up too thickly. But the denser woods and canebrakes must be searched. Look particularly for trails. No one can possibly pass into or through such growths without leaving a trail behind. Look for trails and follow them; don’t bother about the unbroken growths. Now as to getting back here. We must all come back well before nightfall. No matter where we may be on Quasi, it will be easy to find some point near from which the lone catalpa tree can be seen. Make for that all of you and nobody will get lost. Finally, if any of you find Mr. Dunbar and need help, fire three shots about half a minute apart and we’ll all go to the point of firing. Now let’s be off.”

It was nearly sunset when Tom reached the catalpa tree on his return. He had not found Dunbar, but for reasons of his own he waited rather impatiently for the coming of his comrades. They were not long delayed, but the blank, anxious face of each as he appeared was a sufficient report to the others.

“The search is a failure!” said Larry, dejectedly.

“Absolutely,” answered Cal.

“No, not absolutely,” said Tom, feeling in his pocket. “I found something, and I’ve waited till you should all be here before speaking of it.”

“What is it? Tell us quick.”

“This,” answered Tom, drawing forth a letter, “and this,” producing a pruning knife with a curved blade, which they had all seen Dunbar use. “The letter was pinned to a tree with the point of the knife blade.”

“Never mind that,” said Larry, impatiently; “read the letter.”

Tom read as follows:

“I expect to be with you young gentlemen very soon. But in case I never see you again, please don’t think me ungrateful for all your kindnesses. There are times when I cannot endure a human presence—even the—”

Tom stopped reading, and explained:

“It breaks off right there, and there is no signature, or address, or anything else.”

The boys stared at each other in amazement, and for a time uttered no word. When they begun talking again it was only to wonder and offer conjectures, and the conjectures seemed so futile that at last the little company ceased to try to read the riddle. Then Larry said:

“Come on. There’s nothing more to be done to-night and we’re all half famished. We must have a good hearty supper, and then perhaps we’ll think of something more that we can do.”

“I doubt that,” said Cal; “but I say, Tom, you have a positive genius for finding things—turtles’ eggs, smugglers’ camps, sweet potato patches, letters hidden in the woods, and everything else. Perhaps you’ll find poor Mr. Dunbar yet.”

“I was just thinking of some other things that we ought to find, and that right away.”

“What things?”

“Why, Mr. Dunbar’s. You know he has never brought any of them to our camp, and we know he writes and draws and all that. He must have some place up near his old bivouac where he can keep his papers and drawings and specimens dry. It seems to me we ought—”

“Of course we ought,” broke in Cal. “There may be something there to give us a clue. What do you say, Larry?”

“It is a good suggestion of Tom’s, and we’ll act upon it at once.”

Turning in a direction opposite to that which led to their own camp the boys visited the spot where Dunbar had lived before they came to Quasi. They searched in every direction, but found no trace of any of the man’s belongings. It was rapidly growing dark when at last they gave up the work of exploring, and decided to resume it again in the morning.

As they approached their camp through the woods and thickets, they were surprised to see their camp-fire blazing up briskly, though none of them had been near it since the early morning. As they came out of the bushes, they were still more astonished to see Dunbar busying himself with supper preparations. Larry had just time enough before Dunbar saw them to say to the others in an undertone:

“Not a word about this, boys, until he asks.”

“Good evening, young gentlemen,” was Dunbar’s greeting, delivered in a cheery voice; “I have taken the liberty of getting supper under way in anticipation of your coming. I am sure you must be tired and hungry after a hard day’s shooting. By the way, a cup of tea is always refreshing when one is tired, and fortunately I have a little packet of the fragrant herb among my things. I’ll run up there and fetch it.”

As he spoke he started off briskly and nimbly.

“Evidently he isn’t tired, anyhow,” suggested Dick.

“And evidently he has some dry place in which to keep his things,” added Cal, “and I mean to ask him about it.”

“Don’t,” said Larry, earnestly. “That would be grossly impertinent.”

“Not at all, if it’s done in the proper way,” Cal replied, “and I’ll do it in that way.”

And he did. When Dunbar returned, he carried the tea, closely sealed up in tin foil.

“Is that thin tin foil sufficient to keep tea dry?” Cal asked.

“If you keep the packet in a dry place it is,” Dunbar answered. “The tin-foil prevents the delicate aroma of the tea from escaping, and at the same time forbids the leaves to absorb moisture from the air. When I’m moving about in a boat I carefully wrap any tea I may have in my waterproof sheets, but that is apt to give it an undesirable flavor, so my first care upon landing is to provide a dry storage place for my tea, my ammunition, my papers and whatever else I may have that needs protection. By the way, I’ve never shown you my locker up there. I’ll do so to-morrow morning. I’ll not forget, as I must go there for writing and drawing materials. I have some things in my mind that I simply must put down on paper at once.”

At that moment he thrust his hand into his pocket and felt there for some seconds. Then he said:

“That’s very unfortunate. I’ve managed to lose my knife.”

“I think I must have found it, then,” said Tom, holding it out; “isn’t that it?”

“Yes, thank you. I’m particularly glad to get it again, as it is the only one I have at Quasi. I usually buy half a dozen at a time, and so the loss of one doesn’t annoy me. But just now I have only this one.”

He did not ask where or when Tom had found the knife, nor did he seem in the least surprised that it was found. The circumstance did not seem to remind him of his letter or of anything else.

The boys were full of wonder and curiosity, but they asked no questions.