“Luff up a bit, Harry!”

“All right, Jerry. Do you think we will make that point?”

“If the wind holds out. We are behind the rocks now, and that cuts most of the breeze off.”

“Blumpo, coil up some of that rope, will you?”

“To be suah,” returned the youth addressed.

The scene was the deck of a handsome yacht named the Whistler. She was as clean cut as a craft could be, and carried a spread of snowy white sails which would have gladdened the heart of any sea-dog to behold.

Three boys and an old man were sailing this craft. The three boys were Jerry, Harry and Blumpo. The man was Jack Broxton, the boathouse keeper.

The yacht was a new one, recently purchased by Harry Parker’s father for the use of his son and Jerry.

“Do you remember what a row we had up around this island last summer with Si Peters, Wash Crosby and the rest of the Rockpoint crowd?” mused Jerry, as the yacht swung around the north point of Hermit Island, that spot where Blumpo had so strangely found his father.

“Don’t I, though!” cried Harry. “I wonder if they are out of the reformatory yet for setting fire to the barn?”

“I heard da was,” put in Blumpo, who now attended school regularly. “Si Peters got out las’ month, an’ Wash Crosby got out six weeks ago.”

“Well, I hope they turn out better boys now,’” said Harry, seriously. “I don’t see why they want to get into such trouble. A fellow can have lots of sport without doing wrong.”

“By the way, Harry, the great yacht race comes off in Long Lake in a few weeks,” said Jerry. “Why can’t we take our yacht down through the river and be on deck to see it?”

“By golly, dat would be most splendiferous!” yelled Blumpo. “De best t’ing I’ve dun heard of dis Summah!”

“I’ve thought of it,” returned Harry. He turned to the old tar. “Jack, could we take the Whistler down through Poplar River to Long Lake?”

“I reckon we could,” was the slow answer, as Jack Broxton rolled his quid from one cheek to the other. “The water is running putty high now.”

“It would be a fine trip in itself,” went on Jerry. “I’ve never sailed down the Poplar beyond Carlville.”

“Nor I,” returned Harry. “But never mind that just now. Here we are at the landing.”

“An’ heah am my father’s house,” said Blumpo.

The former hermit, now, however, a hermit no longer, came out to greet his son. In the meantime all hands lowered sail and tied up.

It was a beautiful day, and the young oarsman and Harry had come over to the island to see what they could shoot. They left Jack in charge of the yacht and Blumpo with his father, and started off with guns and game bags for the interior.

“There can’t be much game at this season of the year,” said Harry. “But we may have a little sport, and tramping in the woods does a fellow lots of good.”

“Indeed I know that,” was the quick response. “Hullo, here’s a nasty bit of bog to cross.”

“We’ll go around by yonder big tree.”

The two boys went on in a semi-circle. When the big tree mentioned was reached Jerry stepped on what he supposed was one of the twisted roots.

A second later he let out a yell which was heard down to the landing.

He sprang back so suddenly that he bumped into Harry, who was close behind, and both rolled over in the wet grass.

Ere they could rise they heard an angry hiss, and a snake darted from the tree and settled directly upon Jerry’s body!

For a moment Jerry was too paralyzed with fear to move or speak. Then as he recovered he threw off the snake and rolled away, over Harry and close to the boggy spot. Harry also turned away, but came up against a heavy mass of brush.

The snake hissed angrily. The pressure of Jerry’s foot on its head had just been sufficient to arouse its anger. It meant to strike if it could.

“Hit it with your gun!” shouted Harry.

“You hit it!” cried our hero. “Oh!”

The snake was again coming on, its long, green body quivering in the spots of sunlight which shot under the trees. There was no doubt but what it intended to fight the intruders. More than likely it had a nest of young near.

Bang!

The shot was a square one, and when the smoke from the gun cleared away it was found that the reptile’s head was completely severed from the body, which latter continued to twist about until it fell into the water of the bog hole. Jerry kicked the head in after it, out of sight.

“Let us get out of here,” he said, with a shudder. “Who knows but what we have dropped into a regular nest of snakes.”

That he was right in his surmise was soon evident, for low hissings could be heard on several sides. Without delay they sprang across the bog swamp and took to the higher ground, where they could see every foot of the way before them.

“I’ve had snakes enough to last me the rest of the summer,” soliloquized Jerry. “I hate them worse than anything else in the world. Look!”

He pointed on ahead, to where there was a tree almost loaded with game birds. At a sign from Jerry both raised their guns and fired.

There was a flutter and a whirr, and then came a number of shrill cries from the birds which were wounded. These the boys at once proceeded to put out of their misery.

“Four birds,” said Harry, as he counted the lot. “That wasn’t bad, eh?”

“You’re right, Harry. We won’t get another such shot if we tramp all day.”

“I move we get back to the yacht. We have come a good distance, and it will be more than dinner time before we can make it.”

“I am with you. We can go out hunting again this afternoon, or try our hand at fishing.”

With the birds in their bags, Jerry and Harry set out on the return to the landing.

On the way they talked over the great yacht races soon to come off, and also of the proposed trip through the Poplar River to the large lake beyond.

“It will be a dandy trip,” said Jerry, and then he added, with much spirit: “How I would like to sail on one of the yachts and help win.”

“So would I,” rejoined Harry. “It would be great sport, not to say anything of the honor.”

When the chums arrived at the boat-landing they found Blumpo and the others waiting for them. A camp fire was burning a short distance away from the log house, and over this the birds were done to a turn by the youth, while the others prepared some potatoes and coffee brought from the yacht.

Blumpo’s father considered it a great holiday to have his son with him for the time being. He asked Blumpo how he was getting along with his studies, and was pleased to learn that the youth was making fairly good progress.

After dinner it was decided to sail around to the lower end of the island and try bass fishing, for which the lake was famous.

“And then we’ll come back here and stay all night,” said Jerry to the old man.

The lines were soon cast off and the main-sail and jib set, and as soon as they caught the breeze they swung around and down the lake at a speed of several knots an hour.

“Somebody else out besides ourselves,” observed Jack Broxton, as he pointed to half a dozen sail-boats cruising around. “This year everybody has the yachting craze.”

“It’s great sport,” returned Harry. “By the way,” he went on, pointing to a large yacht coming up the lake on a long tack. “What boat is that?”

“She is called the Arrow, I don’t know who owns her,” was the old boatkeeper’s reply.

“She is coming over this way. Let us stand out a little and see who is on board.”

“Just as you say, sir.”

“Yes; I’m curious about that yacht, too,” put in Jerry.

The course of the Whistler was altered several points, and they left the vicinity of the island shore. As they drew closer to the big yacht Jerry uttered a cry of astonishment.

“By Jinks! It can’t be possible!”

“What’s up?” asked Harry, coming to his side.

“There are Si Peters and Wash Crosby on the deck of that yacht. I can see them as plain as day.”

“Our old enemies!” murmured Harry.

“Da didn’t lose no time in gittin togedder after da got out of de ’formatory, did da,” laughed Blumpo. “Da say de bad ones allers do stick like glue.”

“Oh, maybe they’ll be first-class chaps now,” said Jerry, who was willing to let the past be forgotten.

“Don’t you be too sure on that p’int, lads,” put in Jack Broxton. “It’s mighty hard to make anything out of a bad egg, and Si Peters and Wash Crosby are bad eggs if ever there were any.”

“Dat’s so, fo’ suah,” murmured Blumpo.

“Well, we won’t have any words with them,” said Jerry. “We’ll let bygones be bygones.”

“I would like to know where they got that yacht,” said Harry. “It can’t be possible Mr. Peters bought it for Si. When Si went to the reformatory he told father he intended to send his son to a military school and cut off his allowance.”

“Maybe Si has promised to reform. Hullo! they are coming this way!”

Jerry sprang up in alarm, for the big yacht had suddenly veered around several points and was now coming head on toward them.

“We’ll be run down!” shrieked Blumpo, in terror.

“The young fools!” muttered Jack Broxton. “Don’t they know anything about steering?”

“The big yacht is evidently one too many for them. See, there is no one aboard but Si and Wash. Two hands are not enough for such a craft.”

Nearer and nearer the two yachts came to each other.

Jack Broxton did his best to steer clear of the Arrow, but he was at a disadvantage. Soon the big yacht took away all the wind of the Whistler and she lay helpless.

“Keep off!” yelled Jerry, but the cry was unheeded.

Bang! Crash! The Arrow struck the Whistler on the bow, the long bowsprit ripping a hole in the main-sail.

Then came a smashing of woodwork and the Whistler began to sink.