With their assistance and advice, Rod finally found himself making some progress at learning to skate. Slow progress it seemed, indeed, yet he was genuinely elated when he finally found himself able to stand on the irons and stroke a little in an awkward way; for this was the promise of better things to come, and, despite black-and-blue spots and wearied, wobbly ankles, he was determined to acquire skill at that winter pastime which all the boys seemed to enjoy. At intervals, having labored back to the shore, he sat down to rest, watching his two companions skimming hither and thither over the surface of the frozen cove. Once they joined him.

“Pegged out?” questioned Spotty kindly.

“Not a bit of it,” replied Rod, with a touch of pride. “I’ve busted bronchos in my day, and learning to skate is a parlor pastime compared with that job. I’m going at it again directly.”

“You’ll learn all right,” assured Lander. “Every feller gets his bumps when he first tries it. Boo! it’s cold to-night. Wish we had a nip of something to warm us up.”

“Hot coffee wouldn’t be bad,” said Rod.

“Coffee!” laughed Bunk derisively. “I’d like something stronger than that, but you can’t get much of anything around this old town. Tell you what, I know where to find some slick old cider, and that would be better than nothing. ’Tain’t so easy to get it, though. My grandfather put it up, and he’s got it bottled and stowed away in his cellar. Guards it like a hawk, too.”

“Can’t you swipe a bottle or two?” asked Spotty eagerly. “I know what it is, for didn’t we have a high old time with some of it over at your camp in the swamp back of Turkey Hill?”

“I’d forgot about that,” laughed Lander. “We did have a racket, didn’t we, Spot?”

“Yes, and I had a headache the next day. Your old granddad’s cider is stout enough to lift a safe.”

“Oh, he knows how to fix it. He doctors it up with charred prunes and brown sugar and raisins, and mixes a little of the real corn juice in with it. A swig or two of that stuff is enough to make a feller feel frisky as a colt. Maybe I’ll be able to get hold of some to-morrow. Say, Spot, I wonder if my old camp is still standing?”

“Guess it is,” answered Davis, “though the log we used to cross over on is gone, and you can’t get to it very easy.”

“We can get to it all right now the swamp is froze up. That was a corking place, and I had some fun there till I got caught. We’ll have to take a look at it, me and you, the first chance we get. Maybe your friend Grant would like to come along.”

“Just now,” said Rod, “I’m particularly interested in acquiring the art of skating. What’s this camp you’re talking about?”

“A little old log cabin I built on sort of an island in the middle of the swamp back of Turkey Hill,” explained Lander. “It made a great place for fellers that was congenial to sneak off away from people and have fun. There was a sort of path through the swamp, and, by cutting down a tree and dropping it across the worst place, we could get over to the island slick. I had that old joint fixed-up fine, too, with bunks and blankets and an old stove; and you should have seen the stock of provisions I put in—everything a feller needed to live comfortable and feed well for a month or more.”

“Where did you get all that outfit?”

“Oh, I got it all right,” answered Bunk evasively, while Spotty smothered a chuckle. “If it hadn’t been for that sneak, Barker, who come prying around, I’d never had any trouble. Why, the great detective, Sleuth Piper, was fooled completely. He was all balled up on the big sensation that had everybody in Oakdale talking, and his deductions about it would have made a horse laugh.”

“Don’t talk to me about him!” snarled Davis suddenly. “He’s one of the bunch I’ve got it in for, all right. A detective! Why, he couldn’t detect anything.”

Rodney Grant could not help feeling a slight bond of sympathy between himself and these lads who bore a strong dislike for the very fellows who had accorded him such unfair and shabby treatment. True, there was something about them which gave him a sensation of distrust, yet they also were outcasts in a way, and he could not help thinking that their misfortune might not be wholly merited. Of a generous nature, he believed every person had redeeming qualities, and nothing irritated him more than the common impulse of the masses to jump on a fellow who was down.

“You’ll have to come over and see my old hang-out sometime, Grant,” said Lander. “If the stove is still there, I imagine the camp might be chinked up a little and made pretty comfortable for some fellers who wanted to sneak off and have a little quiet fun. Of course everybody around here is watching me, and I’ll have to make a bluff at walking a chalk-line; but I’m going to be careful, and any lobster who sticks his nose into my business will stand a chance of getting it pinched.”

“That’s the talk!” cried Davis. “I don’t blame you a bit.”

Although he wondered what all this sort of conversation meant, Rod, following the true Texas code of manners, refrained from asking questions. If they wished to take him into their confidence, well and good; but, if they did not, he would not pry.

After a time they resumed their skating, and Rodney, still further elated, found that he was making decided progress. He even ventured forth from the cove in the direction of Bass Island, but Spotty skated after him and warned him to keep away from the southern end of the island, where there were always “breathing holes” in the ice.

“There are currents come round both ways and meet there,” said Davis, “so it’s never really safe, even in the middle of the winter. Eliot broke through all by his lonesome last winter and come mighty near drownding.”

“Which would have been a terrible loss to the community,” laughed Lander, skating backward near at hand.

“What have you got against him?” questioned Spotty. “He didn’t have anything to do with handing you that swift poke you got.”

“Oh, no; but he always seemed to think himself too good for association with common people. Just because his father happens to have the dough, he has a way about him that I can’t stand. You know what he did to you.”

“That’s all right; I’m not standing up for him. Say, Rod, old feller, you’re coming fine. You were falling all over yourself a while ago, but now you can get around pretty well. It won’t take you long to skate first-class.”

“Thanks for the encouragement,” laughed Grant.

“Come out here with us to-morrow night,” urged Spotty, “and we’ll give you another lesson.”

“Sure thing,” agreed Bunk.

“I’ll do it,” promised Rod.