Something over four miles from Oakdale Abel Hubbard reined his horse into an old road which led from the main highway into the depths of the woods. Fred and Roy, with their outfits, were in the wagon, and, the time being short ere darkness must come on, they urged Hubbard to make haste.

“Can’t hit any high places along this old road,” answered the fat little village constable. “If I tried it, I’d bounce ye both out in no time. ’Tain’t fur to the pond now, so what’s the use to be in such an all-fired rush? All I want to do is git back on to the main road before it sets in dark.”

“But we’ve got some things to do ourselves,” said Roy. “We’ve got to find the old raft and have it ready for use in the morning, besides cutting firewood and getting settled down for the night.”

“That hadn’t orter take ye long. I’ll git ye there as soon’s I can. It’s sort of an accommodation, anyhow. I wouldn’t think of making both trips for anybody else unless they paid me twice as much.”

“You’re not very busy these days, are you, Mr. Hubbard?” asked Fred, smiling a little. “It seems to me an easy way for you to pick up a dollar.”

“Oh, I could be busy,” returned the man, “if I wanted to work for Lem Hayden in his quarry or kilns, and I guess I could find a job in the mills; but, as a regular commissioned officer, it’s my duty to be unhampered and ready for anything that may turn up. If I was workin’ and Sheriff Pickle happened to need me, I’d have to knock off.”

Real work had never seemed to have much fascination for Abel Hubbard.

“Then there are plenty of jobs a man might get around Oakdale,” said Roy. “If a stranger should show up with references, he could find something to do, couldn’t he?”

“Reckon he could, such as it was. I don’t cal’late them Dagoes in the quarries bring many references.”

“You haven’t seen any stranger around town recently looking for work, have you?”

“No, don’t think I have.”

“I didn’t know,” said Roy. “Last Saturday, while gunning with Fred, I met a man who said he was in search of a job, and he asked me about the chances in town. I haven’t seen anything of him since.”

“I generally take special notice of everybody that comes inter Oakdale,” asserted Constable Hubbard. “I cal’late it’s good policy to do so. Ain’t nobody new showed up lately, so I guess your man didn’t stop around here.”

“I don’t believe he did,” said Roy.

Presently they reached the old camp, from which, through the trees, they could get a glimpse of the pond. It did not take them long to jump out and unload their belongings, which were carried into the camp, the door being fastened merely by a wooden peg thrust through a staple. Hubbard backed his wagon round, bade them good luck and drove off into the shadows which were gathering in the woods.

“Well, here we are, Roy,” said Fred.

“Yes, and it’s up to us to hustle. Let’s look for that raft while it’s light enough to find it. We can get together firewood later. Come on.”

Leaving their property in the camp, they hurried to the pond, and Hooker led the way along the marshy shore. The water-grass and rushes stood thick and rank at this end of the lake, and soon Hooker pointed out a mass of dead brush in the midst of the reeds some distance from the marshy shore.

“There’s the old blind,” he said. “You can see it is located so it commands the cove beyond, and that’s where the ducks coming in to feed usually ’light.”

“How does a fellow get out to the blind?”

“Wade. The water won’t come up to your knees. There’s a sort of little knoll or island out there, and the brush has been built up and woven into the branches of an old fallen tree that may have grown on that knoll before the water was so high. It’s a fine chance all right. But come on, we must dig that raft out.”

They went forward again, and suddenly, with a splash and a sound of throbbing wings, a small duck rose amid the rushes and went flying away over the bosom of the lake.

“Hang it all!” exclaimed Roy in vexation. “Just look at that! If we’d brought our guns, we might have knocked her down. That’s a young duck, or it would have flown before we got anywhere near. Young ones always hide if they can, until they get thoroughly used to the idea that their wings will serve them better. We’ll get some shooting here in the morning, mark what I say.”

The raft was found where Hooker expected to find it. It was a small affair and would support only one of the boys, but would be sufficient for their use in picking up such ducks as they might shoot. With the raft there was a long pole and a piece of board that had been roughly hewn into the shape of a paddle.

When the raft was floated Roy got on it and poled it around into the little cove near the blind, where he succeeded in concealing it quite effectively amid the grass and reeds. Then he waded ashore in his water-tight boots without sinking nearly as much as he had thought he would.

“That’s done,” he said. “Now we’ll get back to the camp and chop our firewood while we can see to do it. There are no signs to indicate that anyone has shot from the blind this fall, and therefore the ducks ought to come up to it without fear.”

Soon the strokes of an axe were ringing through the gloomy woods as Sage worked at the trunk of a dry fallen tree. Hooker carried the wood into the camp and piled it beside the old stone fireplace. Sunset’s faint afterglow faded from the sky, and with gathering darkness the atmosphere took on a sharp, nipping chill, which, however, was little felt by the active boys. Sage continued chopping, while Hooker found time between armfuls to build a fire. Through the open door of the camp Fred saw the welcoming glow of the flames, and it gave him a feeling of buoyancy, of keen relish, of intense satisfaction in life and the pleasures thereof. It was good to be there with his chum in those dark and silent autumn woods, making ready to spend the night together in that old camp before the duck hunt that was to come in the crispness of gray dawn.

Hooker’s figure was silhouetted in the open doorway.

“I say, old man,” he called, as he came out, “there has been somebody in this camp lately.”

“That so? I thought you said you were sure no one had used the shooting blind.”

“I am; I’ll bet on it. I looked to see, and I could tell that no one had been there. They would have left tracks and marks and probably empty shells. Whoever it was that stopped in the camp, they did not try any shooting from the blind. And say, I’ll bet somebody was in that camp last night. I thought I caught a smell of tobacco smoke when we first opened the door, but it was so dusky inside that I didn’t notice anything else. There’s fresh-cut boughs in the bunk, and the ashes in the fireplace were hardly cold. I found crumbs on the floor, too, and part of a newspaper not quite two weeks old.”

“Then I reckon you’re right,” agreed Sage, “though I don’t quite see why anyone should stop in the old camp this time of year, unless he came here to shoot ducks. We’d have been in a scrape if we’d found someone here ahead of us to-night.”

They bore the last of the wood inside and threw it down on a heaping pile beside the now merrily blazing fire, which illumined the entire interior of the camp. Hooker had thoughtfully brought a can of water from a nearby spring, and, thus prepared, they were ready to settle down to the supper of sandwiches and doughnuts put up for them by their mothers.

Roy closed and fastened the door with the inside hasp.

“You can see,” he said, with a gesture toward the old bunk at one side of the room, “those boughs on top are fresh cut.”

“That’s right,” nodded Sage, after examining them. “Hacked off with a jackknife, I should say, and not two days old. Well, somebody was kind enough to help make us comfortable, for, with our blankets and a fire going, we ought to find that bunk all right to-night. I’m really much obliged to the unknown person or persons. I presume there may have been more than one.”

“Here’s that part of a newspaper,” said Roy, taking it from the small rough table that had been nailed against the wall opposite the bunk. “The date on it is enough to show that someone has been here lately.”

Fred took the paper and glanced at it carelessly. In a moment, however, a queer expression flashed across his face, his eyes opened wide, his lips puckered, and he gave a long, low whistle.

“What is it?” questioned the boy.

“By Jove!” muttered Sage wonderingly. And then, after a moment of silence, he repeated with greater emphasis: “By Jove!”

“What is it?” exclaimed Hooker.

“This paper,” answered Fred, staring at some headlines in bold-faced type. “It’s either a part of the same one or a duplicate of an issue I saw in the possession of Billy Piper last Saturday night.”