We left Garry, Phil and Howells with the squatter king on the lake shore waiting for darkness. When it fell, they retrieved the canoe from its hiding place and started across the timberland to Dutton Lake. The trip occupied nearly three hours, although they made excellent speed.

The faint light of the stars pierced the blackness of the forest, so they did not have to stumble along, although the greatest of caution was exercised every moment.

They reached the lake without encountering a person, and then launched the canoe. They did not dare trust the weight of the four to the frail craft, and so it was planned that King and Phil should remain behind, while Art and Garry paddled out into the lake. They did not have to wait a great while until the chugging of the powerful engine in the motor boat was heard.

Paddling with the noiseless stroke of the Indians, they followed after a reasonable time had elapsed. They had taken only a few strokes when Art whispered:

“Here, we’re going at this thing wrong. When that raft is loaded and starts back across the water, it will make too much speed for us to follow. Suppose we start now for the other side of the lake. Then we can lie off shore and wait for its arrival and see who meets the raft to unload it. That will complete your evidence, and we’ll duck out for the camp and somehow get hold of Dick. What say?”

Without a word, Garry, who was paddling stern, gave his paddle a twist and the canoe turned in its course. They reached the other side and then lay off shore as agreed, giving the paddles an occasional twist to keep the canoe from drifting, for a gentle breeze was stirring the lake.

After a long wait they heard the approach of the motor boat, which, as was customary, was running without lights. Far down the shore they saw a light appear as though some one were flashing a lamp. It was probably to guide the boat to its destination in the darkness. When the boat reached its objective point, they paddled noiselessly to within a few feet of it, and beached the canoe. Walking with the stealth of Indians, they came close to where the boat was being unloaded.

“By jove, I know that voice,” whispered Garry, as he heard a man ask:

“So this is how the trick is done? Pretty clever, I call it. Steal the timber and then raft it across to where you have your trucks waiting and hustle it to the railroad spur. Mighty good work on the part of Barrows.

“That’s Carson himself; used to be associated with Father,” whispered Garry. He and Howells were hiding back of a tree, well away from danger of being seen. At that moment Carson struck a match to light his pipe.

“Get a good look at him, we will want to identify him in court if necessary,” said Garry. Howells nudged him to make him understand that he had done so.

“Now wait here,” whispered Garry. Howells watched in amazement as Garry crept to the water’s edge and noiselessly waded in. He made no sound as he swam. When he came back, dripping wet, Howells wanted to ask a score of questions, but forebore for fear of being heard.

He was about to come closer and whisper, when a form crept up to them and a low voice said:

“So we meet again.”

It was Baptiste LeBlanc. The Frenchman then lifted his voice and called for the others. But he did not get very far. Howells struck with all his strength and his hard knuckles took the halfbreed on the point of the jaw. LeBlanc dropped like a stone.

“Come, Garry, this way quick,” called Art. There was no need of whispering now, for the men who had been unloading had heard the alarm and there was the sound of rushing feet.

“Into the canoe, Art. They can’t follow us,” said Garry.

Howells had intended a dash into the woods, where there was less likelihood of being caught, but he obeyed Garry, knowing that he had some plan in view. They pushed the canoe into the water, springing into it as they did. It was lucky that Howells was an experienced canoeist, else the frail boat would have been overturned. As it was, they got a good start, and in a moment were bending to their paddles with all their might and strength.

“What’s to stop them following us in the motor boat? We should have taken to the woods,” remonstrated Art.

“Faster, I’ll tell you later,” answered Garry breathlessly. At that minute they heard loud imprecations from the shore.

By this time they were well away from shore and out of danger of a possible shot.

Garry began to laugh.

“No wonder they are shouting and cursing there. I swam to the boat that time I left you and cut the wires on the engine; and to be sure, I took out the spark plugs, and have them in my pocket. It will be some time before they get that boat into condition to chase us!”

“Good boy,” said Art admiringly.

The return across the lake was without eventful occurrence, however, for with them was the hermit.

Garry greeted him warmly. “What news?” he asked.

“I fear I am the bearer of bad news,” said the hermit.

“Your father has come to the camp and been caught, so I judge from what I heard said by two men a while ago as I lay close to the road that leads here. Also many of the lumberjacks are kept captive in one of the shacks, and a heavy guard has been set over them. I think we had better go for help; we can’t battle them alone, our numbers are too few.”

Garry was for going at once to the rescue of his father, but the others restrained him.

“We can’t do anything there, and we can be of great help on the outside. There is a sheriff in town, and we can get word to him, and have him round up a posse sufficiently large to capture the whole outfit,” advised Art.

Reluctantly Garry agreed that this was the wisest thing to do.

“King, guide us around so that we can avoid the camp, but get to the road that leads to town. We’ll get a posse and give them a battle,” directed Garry.

Without a word, King led the way, and the others followed.

In the meantime, Mr. Boone and Dick had been led from the storehouse and taken to the bunkhouse, where the rest of the prisoners were.

There were shouts of welcome when some of the old woodsmen saw Mr. Boone. Although he was the owner of the timber tract, and their employer, they hailed him as “Moose” and shook his hand energetically.

“By gosh. I’m ashamed to look you in the face, Moose,” cried one of the lumberjacks. “To think we let a bunch like that crowd outside there put it over on us; men that have fought with rifle and peavy stick when some crowd tried to steal the river from us. Gosh, if we had a few axes and peavy sticks now we could get out there and make that bunch look sick, but all have rifles and revolvers. Barrows must’ve had a regular armory with him.”

They were still talking and trying without success to puzzle a way out of their predicament, when Dick gave a shout of joy.

“There’s my knapsack. That lets me see light right now!”

The men looked at him in astonishment. How a mere knapsack could help them was not to be understood.

“That was chucked in here by one of the men yesterday, before we were captured. He saw it in the shack, and remembering it belonged to one of you, took it for safe keeping. It was Tom there, who brought it.”

Tom was the man who had taken them on the coon hunt, and one they had been suspicious of, but here he was with the loyal men.

Dick hurriedly opened the knapsack. Yes, there it was, safe and sound, the wireless outfit!

“Now one of you fellows get up there and dig a hole in the roof; it only need be a small one, that I can slide this aerial up through. It ought not to take more than an hour.”

“We haven’t any knife,” said one of the men. “They took away all our knives and matches from us.”

Dick secured his knife from its secret pocket in the lapel, and handed it to one of the men.

“One of you set to work, and the others keep talking so that the guards outside will not become suspicious and look in here.”

“Are you going to try something with the radio-phone,” asked Mr. Boone, who was the only one who grasped what Dick’s intentions were.

“Yes; it’s our only chance. I happened to notice that there were two aerials over houses in the last town we passed through before coming to the camp, and I saw some radio apparatus in a store window, so evidently some one there has an outfit. Fortunately I have the receiving apparatus here as well as a sender, and we can find out if my message is received by anyone.”

As he talked, he adjusted the apparatus, ready to send his plea for help through space and hope that someone would be listening in.

“Hurry!” he called to the man who was boring through the board roof with the knife. “It’s almost time for the usual radio broadcasting stations to stop sending, and I want to get someone while they are still listening in, just as the broadcasting station closes.”

“There, guess that’s all right, unless you want it a little bigger,” said the man who had been working.

Dick looked up at the hole and saw that it would do all right.

Most of the men were frankly incredulous. The thought of talking through a ’phone that had no wires was a riddle to them, as few or none of them knew anything about radio.

One of them suggested that instead of wasting time with such a “fool contrivance,” they try to tear away the boards from the roof and take a chance on overpowering the guards. This was discouraged by the others who, though they were by no means cowardly, knew it would be foolhardy to face guns with only their bare hands.

“Let’s give the boy a chance with his infernal machine first,” advised a grizzled old lumberjack. “Then if it don’t work, we can try something else.”

Dick adjusted the aerial, and then tuning up, got ready to talk into the transmitter.

“Some of you men keep talking over there by the door, and the rest of you get near the windows and block anyone from seeing in. Don’t talk too loud, just enough to cover my voice.”

For nearly ten minutes Dick repeated over and over again:

“S. O. S. Send a sheriff with large posse to Boone’s camp. Owner and some of men held prisoners. Answer if you get message.”

Then there was a crackling sound in the receivers that were clasped to his head, and with a thrill he knew that someone was trying to get him.

He adjusted the tuning apparatus with trembling fingers. The voice still sputtered and crackled. Finally he got the right wave length, and heard a welcome voice.

“Hello, are you sending help call?”

“Yes,” almost shouted Dick. “Who are you?”

“Brown talking. My father is sheriff. Are you in earnest?”

“Yes, surely. Hurry posse on way. You’ll need thirty or forty men. We are held prisoners in bunkhouse here. Captors are all armed. Be careful. This is last call; act quick, as I’m going to pack up radio for fear I will be discovered and apparatus broken. Goodnight.”

“Going for Dad now, goodnight,” came the voice. There was a sputter, then silence.

Dick turned to the men, his face gleaming with pleasure.

“There will be a posse on the way in a short time. The radio worked,” he announced.

The little group of men burst into a cheer and were silenced only by the threat of the guards outside to come in and make them stop.

Feeling that they had done all that could be done, they prepared to turn in and wait the coming of the morn with its posse headed by Sheriff Brown.

The men rolled in, but Dick was too excited to sleep, and he told Mr. Boone, in a low tone, of all that had transpired since they had reached the camp. Of course he was unable to tell of the way in which the timber was stolen, as he had not seen his chums when they returned from their expedition that night he was captured.

Mr. Boone was silent for some few minutes after Dick had concluded his talk. He was worried about Garry and Phil, and Dick, noting his silence, asked him what the trouble was.

When he found the reason for Mr. Boone’s worry, he endeavored to cheer him up.

“The chances are that they have not fallen into the hands of anyone at the camp here, else they would have been brought here with us. I am certain that they have discovered some clue and are following it up. Very likely they are searching for me, as they of course do not know I am here.”

Being ignorant of all that had transpired, Dick did not know how near at that moment his chums were.

As they talked, they were being guided towards the road by King. It was necessary to make a wide detour in order to avoid running into a stray member of the camp traitors’ party.

Garry was well satisfied with part of the night’s work. In the first place, he had proof that Carson, his father’s business enemy, was at the bottom of the whole mess, and in the second place, he felt that he had so effectively disabled the motor launch that no more timber would be stolen that night. By the next day, he expected to have the whole gang rounded up.

They finally reached the road, and were half way to the town, when they heard the sound of what they thought was a large auto truck coming towards them.

When they drew near the truck, they saw a dozen rifles leveled at them, and a stern voice told them to halt. They feared for a moment that they had walked into a new trap.

One of the men leaped from the truck and asked them who they were and what their business was.

“My name is Boone,” answered Garry, acting as the spokesman for his little party. “I am on my way to try and locate the sheriff of the county, as my father and friends are held prisoner at the Boone lumber cutting camp.”

“Well, I’m the sheriff, and I’m on my way there now. We’ll look you over in a moment and see if you’re all right.”

The words of the sheriff surprised Garry.

“How did you know that you were wanted at the camp?”

“My boy picked a message out of the air with his radio, and that’s how we found out,” answered the sheriff.

Garry gave a shout of joy. “Good for Dick, he managed somehow to get a chance to use his wireless.”

“Now,” said the sheriff, “lower the muzzles of those rifles and come forward slowly. My men have you covered and you have no chance for any monkey business.”

Knowing that they could soon convince the sheriff of their statements, they did as they were bade. When they came into the light cast by the headlights of the truck, the sheriff at once recognized Art Howells.

“Hello, Art, guess that is all I want to know. These fellows all right? I know you well enough to take your word for it.”

“They are absolutely O.K., Sheriff,” answered Art. “We were on our way to summon you when you met us.”

Howells’ words satisfied the sheriff, and they proceeded to get acquainted all around. Garry asked if that was the pretext of the posse, for he counted only fifteen men, and was relieved when he was told that another truck with the same number of men was following them, but had been obliged to stop for a short time on account of engine trouble.

As they spoke they heard the rumble of an engine and a short time later the second truck hove into view.

“It lacks about an hour and a half of daylight, so I think we ought to be getting on. If possible we can surprise them in the dark, that would win half the battle for us. Not that I expect there will be much of a fight, when they see that the law is after them,” said the sheriff.

“I don’t think I would trust the authority of the law half as much as our rifles,” said Garry. “Those men are desperate, some of them, and if they see prison staring them in the face, they will fight all the harder, figuring that they might as well be taken for sheep as for lambs,” said Garry. “Besides, they have two bad men with them, meaning the two halfbreeds, Jean and Baptiste LeBlanc. Jean is already wanted for a half a dozen serious crimes, including kidnapping and setting fire to forests; also he is an escaped jail bird. With that kind, it means fight to the end before being taken.”

“Come to think of it, I’ve seen a notice in my office offering a reward for his capture. I’d like to get that chap, and I could use the reward,” said the sheriff.

They had ridden as they talked, and soon were on the outskirts of the camp.

But something had gone wrong. A volley of shots whistled at them from cover, and they were forced to beat a short retreat instead of springing a surprise on their quarry as they had intended to do.

“Now, that’s funny; how did they get on to that?” muttered the sheriff.

It later developed that Barrows had posted sentinels in the woods along the road, and as soon as their approach was noted, they had, by a pre-arranged signal, passed the word of the coming to the posse.

This word having been received at the camp, hasty preparations had been made to receive them. The prisoners, about twenty in all, had been marched at the points of guns to the storehouse, and there were forced to enter the storehouse. There was hardly room enough for them, and little air, but they were crowded in like so many sardines in a can, while the enemy fortified themselves in the log bunkhouse.

The opening volley of shots had come from the sentinels who had closed in and fired as they ran for shelter to the bunkhouse.

“Well, we’re stumped for a minute now,” said the sheriff. “They could hold us off for a long time in that bunkhouse. It is built of solid logs, and bullets, unless they were aimed at the windows, would have no effect on that wood. We’ve got to think up some way of rushing ’em or smoking ’em out. Anyone got a plan in mind?”

“Yes, sir, I think I have,” spoke up Phil. “As soon as it gets just a little bit lighter we can rush one of the trucks back through the woods to the sawmill, and there we can sheath the truck with some of that timber. A very thick bulwark can be made, and that will halt the bullets. Half of the men can stay near the bunkhouse drawing fire with their rifles while the truck is being fixed.”

“But what good is that going to do us?” broke in the sheriff.

“Just let me finish. I know that there are three or four sticks of dynamite at the sawmill, that were part of the lot bought to blast away the stumps where the mill and camp shacks were built. With what wire I have in my pack, and some of the batteries from my wireless, I can rig up a small mine at the side of the log hut, where there is no window. The shield on the truck would be to allow us to get there in safety.”

“But wouldn’t that be an awful thing to do, Phil?” asked Garry. “We couldn’t blow those men up without warning.”

“No, that isn’t my idea. I would have one of the party carry a flag of truce into the camp and explain to the men what had been done, and give them two minutes to surrender. If they did not, then go ahead and blow her up. Few would be hurt, and those only slightly. The blast would make a breach in the wall through which we could wage a more even battle, if it comes to an actual fight. But I think the fear of the dynamite would be enough to do the trick. Besides, we could promise that the lumberjacks would be allowed to go in peace; only the principals would be held. If those jacks were the kind that would play traitor to the camp they were working for, they would double cross Barrows to save their own skins.”

“By gosh, boy, I believe you have struck the very idea. At any rate, it’s worth a trial. I’ll go with you in the truck with some of the men, and leave the deputy here with the others.”

The plan was put into execution, and the truck made a dash over the uneven ground past the bunkhouse. A volley of shots greeted them as they tore past, and two of the men uttered exclamations of pain. Fortunately they had only the merest flesh wounds, which Phil bound for them with a small first aid bandage that he had in his pocket.

The barrier was built in record time at the sawmill, and Phil rescued the dynamite from its hiding place. He had feared for a moment that it might have been removed, but evidently in the haste of fortifying themselves in the bunkhouse, no one of the enemy had thought of it.

The return to the bunkhouse then started. When within a striking distance of it, the truck was turned around and, throwing his clutch into reverse, the driver skillfully backed it towards the log house.

Several shots were fired, then there was a silence. Evidently those inside the building were at loss to understand what this peculiar form of attack meant.

Phil knew that his job would be a perilous one, but he knew his duty was to do what he had planned. The barrier was raised up and he slipped to the ground. He felt a measure of safety in the thought that the enemy could see what was going on, and would be unlikely to send spies out, since the men of the posse in the other truck could pick them off if they came out.

Phil raided his radio set for the necessary wire, and fixed the dynamite against the log house. There was only one detonator left, and Phil was not sure it was a good one, but he felt so certain that there would be no need of setting it off that he did not particularly care.

His plan was for the man who bore the flag of truce to promise safe conduct for one man to go and look at the arrangement and then go back and tell the others that it was so. The inspector would be under cover of the rifles of the posse all the time, so would have no chance of wrecking the dynamite mine.

When it was finally in place, he gave the order for the truck to back away slowly, paying out the wire that was to be used to set off the detonator from the battery at the other end if the need really arose.

Garry then volunteered to act as the truce bearer, but here King stepped in.

“I’ve been athinkin’ that you shouldn’t go. Suppose they once got you in the shack; they could send a man out and tell us that they would harm you if you didn’t give orders to git out o’ the way. They know that your pa would rather lose the whole camp than have you harmed. Now with me it would be different; they’d know that I didn’t count for much with you folks, I’d be like one o’ the sheriff’s men only, and could bargain better. Better let me go, only promise if anythin’ happens to me you’ll take care of my baby.”

The crude logic of the old timer appealed to them all except Garry, who felt that he should take the danger, since Phil had done his share in braving bullets to fix the charge.

However, the sheriff decided the matter, and since he was the real head of the posse and the law representative of the county, his decision went.

One of the men produced a white handkerchief and tied it to a stick. Then holding the flag of truce aloft, King, the squatter, headed for the log house. The posse held their breaths for a moment, thinking that those in the shack would fear a trick and shoot him; but he advanced in safety and they saw the door of the shack open long enough to admit him.

When King arrived at the shack, he was met by Barrows, who demanded to know what message was sent. In a few words King told them, then he added some words of his own. These were directed to the lumberjacks. King spun a yarn out of whole cloth and told the jacks, who by this time were almost ready to desert the ship, that another posse was on the way.

Barrows was for disregarding the message as a trick, but King clinched the argument by offering immunity to all the lumberjacks except the bosses and camp officers. They demanded that one of their number go and see if the dynamite was really there.

Barrows and his lieutenants were not strong enough to cope with the lumberjacks, and it was finally agreed that one lumberjack and the red headed cookee go and inspect the blasting apparatus. Each faction—for there were two now in the log house—insisted on having a representative sent, for neither was willing to trust the word of the other. King agreed to remain behind as a hostage for the safety of the messengers.

The two set out on their quest, and in a few minutes were back, post haste.

“It’s there, boss; enough to blow us all into the next world,” gasped the cookee, who was now frightened half to death.

His words being corroborated, the lumberjacks insisted on an immediate surrender. Barrows saw that the jig was up, and he ordered an evacuation. Jean LeBlanc’s face was livid, and he spat out a torrent of abuse at Barrows. But for all his braggadocio, Barrows was a coward under the skin, and he saw there was nothing to be gained by a fight except a longer prison term. Even now he was figuring on bargaining with Mr. Boone for his freedom, by giving away the interests who had hired him to do their dirty work.

Once outside the door, they found the guns of the men in the trucks trained on them, and they were marching quietly to be disarmed and probably bound, when suddenly, with a loud scream of defiance, Jean LeBlanc turned and bounded away with the speed of a stricken deer. A dozen shots flew after him, and one must have struck him, for they heard him give a screech of pain, then he reached the sanctuary of the woods, and dodging for safety from tree to tree dashed for the lake. Three of the men took after him, but he had taken them by such great surprise when he fled, that he got a flying start.

LeBlanc reached the lake and dived in. He had seen at the same moment as the men who were following, the one chance to save his hide. The motor boat had been repaired, and in it were three or four of the men concerned in the timber thefts. Among them was Jean’s brother Baptiste.

Swimming under water, the halfbreed made for the craft. The men in the launch opened fire on the pursuers. A rope was thrown to Jean by his brother, which he grasped, and then without taking the time to haul him aboard, the boat put about and made for the other side of the lake.

Shot after shot was exchanged, but LeBlanc, as well as those in the motor boat, seemed to bear charmed lives.

Once again, Jean LeBlanc had foiled justice and made his escape.

The chagrined pursuers returned to the late scene of hostilities, and found that order had been restored. The lumberjacks who had been promised immunity had been disarmed and herded together, waiting the word to leave the camp.

The ringleaders had been tied up to prevent any more escapes, and Mr. Boone and Dick, together with the other prisoners, had been removed from the stifling air of the storehouse.

Warm was the greeting between father and son and between the chums who were together once again, unharmed and happy. After the greetings were over, the traitorous lumberjacks were ordered to get their packs and leave within fifteen minutes under the guidance of the posse, while the prisoners were put on the trucks to be taken to the county jail.

“So ends the battle of Boone’s camp, and all the excitement. My boys, I can’t tell you how proud I am of you; but had I known the perils that were in store for you, I would never have started you on this mission. But you have covered yourselves with glory, and I’m proud of you. Now I must get a manager that will serve my interests, get this camp going and do what I can to try and retrieve what I have lost through the rascally Barrows. I am afraid that I am financially hurt unless we can bring Carson to book and make him stand this loss.”

“With our evidence I think you can,” said Garry. “And now what would you give for a real manager that would serve you and no one else?”

“I don’t know, but I would give almost anything in reason for such a man.”

“Then,” said Garry, “there’s your man,” and he pointed to Art Howells.

Garry’s father heartily agreed.

“Now,” said Mr. Boone, “I’d like to get a look at this hermit of yours.”

The boys looked around for the old man, but, mysterious as ever, he had disappeared!