IN WHICH SOME THINGS ARE EXPLAINED

"Mornin', sonny! Is this that there Camp Hardforever I ben hearin' so much 'bout here lately?" The speaker was a very old man who had just driven into camp property, and was addressing the first boy he chanced to meet.

"Camp what?" questioned Vincent, an amused smile playing on his face. Then, without giving the old man a chance to reply, he continued, "You mean Camp Eberhart, don't you?"

"Yep, yep, Camp Everhard, that's it. The place where ye jest lately dug up ole Thompson's vallbles."

"Yes, sir, this is the place," answered Vincent in a friendly way. "Would you like to see the things that were in the chest?"

The old man with some difficulty climbed out of his buggy and calmly surveyed the camp grounds, the lodge, and the beautiful lake. His eye finally rested on the row of big green rocking chairs on the broad veranda of the lodge. Turning, he hobbled to the nearest one and sat down.

"Wal, sir, things sure does change; they sure does change. It's ben a mighty lot o' years sence I ben on to this here land, an' it sure has changed.

"I live over north o' here 'bout ten mile er so, lived there all my life, an' sence this blue blazin' rheumatics hes got inter my jints I ain't ben around much."

He leaned back comfortable in the big chair, and after a long careful search through his pockets, drew out an old corn-cob pipe and a plug of tobacco. Then suddenly, as if aware that he had made a mistake, he slipped it quickly into his pocket again, and looking up at Vincent a little sheepishly, said:

"Pardon, sonny, ye don't allow no smokin' here, do ye?"

Vincent assured the old man that he was welcome to smoke if he wished, and with a smile of pleasure he again brought forth the old pipe, filled and lighted it. He sat silently smoking for some seconds, then Vincent, who was abashed at the old man's silence, spoke up.

"Did you say you would like to see the chest?" he inquired, by the way of encouragement. "Yes, yes, sonny," said the old man, slightly startled, for he had evidently been dreaming.

"Yep, I would, if it ain't no trouble," he continued, between puffs. "Yes, sir, I'd like ter. It is so different, this here land. Oncet it wus covered with the grandest timber ye ever see in yer life. Great oaks an' whitewoods, an' hickory. Why, when I wus a young feller, my father an' me come inter these here woods to cut a set o' barn timbers an' they're standin' over on my place yet. In them days there wa'n't ary a clearin' around these lakes, jest timber clean to the water's edge, an' Indians an' game 0' every kind. I've seen them woods over yonder so full o' wild pigeons in the evenin' thet ye could go in an' kill 'em with a club. Oncet I shot the biggest buck thet's ever ben seen in this here country, down yonder on thet point. It wus early evenin'. I'd come to fish, an' the old buck come down t' drink, an' I shot him frum my dugout. I've killed wild ducks an' geese by the hundred frum them cat-tails off that long sandbar. But, sonny, them days is gone, an' now we're civilized." He laughed a dry, cackling little laugh, like autumn leaves blowing through the frosty forest.

Several of the boys had come on to the scene by this time, and realizing that a story was in progress, quietly edged in to where they could sit down and listen. "I camped all year round them days, boys, an' I didn't hev no tent ner city boats like as ye've got neither. Dad an' me made our own boat out o' a great whitewood, burned it out with hot rocks evenin's after the work wus done. They wus jest a small clearin' on this here farm then, an' when Dad didn't need me fer a few days I'd come over an' work fer this ole feller Thompson. He wus a queer ole---"

"Did you work for Hesikia?" asked half a dozen eager boys in one breath.

"Did you actually know old Thompson?" asked Vincent a second time, just to be sure he had heard aright.

"I certainly did know him, sonny, an' worked fer him too," said the old man.

"He owes me fer three days o' grubbin' stumps yet, the ole rascal.

"I seen some time afore his wife left him thet he wus actin' queer like, an' some times he never come home fer days, an' when he did come he'd work day an' night t' make up fer lost time. Seemed like he believed an evil spirit wus after him, er somethin'.

"The last spring afore he went clean plumb crazy, I recollect the corn wus up about a foot an' doin' fine. I wus helpin' him cultivate it. Wal, sir, I went home fer a couple o' days, an' when I come back to work I seen every last stalk o' that there corn pulled up an' a-layin' in the field. I asked the ole feller 'bout it, an' he ups an' says the spirits told him t' do it, 'cause they had learned him how t' turn stones inter gold an' he wouldn't need t' work no more. Then he fetched me t' the house an' told me a great rigamarole about blue herons, an' swamps,' an' moonlight, an' sech blatherin', an' ended up by givin' me a handful o' stones as my pay, an' tellin' me t' jest do with 'em as he said an' I'd hev gold."

"Why, that's just what he says about stuff out of the chest," interrupted Harold.

"He did, eh?"

"Yes. Don't you want to see the things?" urged Harold, rising to lead the way.

The old man got upon his shaky legs and hobbled into the office, where the contents of the chest was spread out so that it could be seen without being handled.

The old man surveyed the things before him for an instant, and the friendly smile slipped from his face. He stood speechless for several seconds, his face blank. Then he began to mutter strange incoherent sentences, saying over and over again, as he handled each article, "Wal, by gol! Wal, by gol!" At last he turned to the boys, a fierce, cold glint in his eyes.

"So ole Dad wus right, after all, after all." The boys were puzzled.

Well, what do---"

Vincent held up his finger, motioning the boy who had started to speak to be quiet.

The old man took firm hold of the wicked-looking sheath-knife and raised it aloft, seeming to live over again some incident of the long ago.

The boys were talking in undertones among themselves now, but the old man did not seem to hear them. He was dreaming. After a moment he turned and with half-closed eyes addressed the group of boys before him.

"They wus not a man in the Secret Service o' the early days, boys, but would o' gone many a weary mile t' find that there knife. That knife wus the property o' that famous Pottawatomie chieftain, Sau-au-quett, an' is the knife he wus murdered with at Coldwater in 1839. The gossip o' the time had it that Thompson had hired the deed done an' that Duckwing wus the offender. Yonder is the very pair o' pistols that Sau-au-quett allus wore, an' that wus supposed to o' ben in his belt at the time o' his murder. They wus never seen again by any one until now. Then Duckwing disappeared suddent from these here parts, but it was allus thought thet he wus put t' death by the same Indian thet had killed his wife here on the shores o' this lake several years before.

"My father uster often nod his head knowin'ly an' say thet ole Thompson knowed more 'bout the killin' o' Duckwing than we calculated, but we uster jest laf at 'im. Wus they any papers er letters in the chest' long with these here things?"

"Yes, sir," replied Harold, "but the 'chief' has them locked up; I'll go and find him."

A few moments later he returned with the "chief," and the papers were spread out for the old man's inspection. He became very much excited as he looked over the maps and the ciphers.

"Mighty funny," he was saying. "Oncet when I wus yet a little tad I found a big strip o' birchbark in the grass on the island, an' on it wus jest sech writtn' as this here. I took it home t' father, an' o' winter evenin's we uster set an' figger at it, but we wus never able to complete it. But I recollect seein' lots o' them figgers.

"I recollect after Thompson was found froze to death in the woods they wus some talk 'bout his hevin' buried treasure, but folks wus mostly o' the opinion thet it wus on the island in a cave somewhere, an' thet it wus mostly merchandise thet he hed got by tradin' whisky t' the Indians after the big treaty payment; but nothin' wus ever found. Though I hev heard said thet them goods wus all found in a cave on the island by a band o' Indians and wus all took away. When Thompson found it wus gone, he thought the evil spirits had took it, an' wus afraid t' go near the island, claimin' it wus cursed forever.

"Father told me oncet how he shot frum the island inter a big flock o' ducks thet wus passin' overhead, and killed seven. Hesikia seen 'em fall, but didn't hear no shot, an' after thet he declared thet birds dropped dead as they passed thet bit o' land."

"The chief handed him the faded yellow sheet bearing the strange letter from Hesikia's pen. The old man read very slowly, for his eyes were dim, and every sentence wus a subject for a story.

"Yep, the ole chest wus hisn all right, boys. I 've seen it stand behind the ole cabin door, but no one knowed what become of it after his death." There was a silence as he read on.

"Ha! Ha! So his spirit still roams, does it? Wal, they's them as thinks so.

"One time father's bull, an' he wus a mean ole boy, got loose in the night an' wandered over t' a neighbor's barnyard. It jest happened thet they hed ben getting' in their winter's wood, an' hed it piled up in two long piles, with jest room enough ter walk between. Wal, the farmer hed went t' the city, an' somehow Dad's ole bull got in between them two piles o' cordwood, an' they had been stacked purty high. When the bull got t' scratchin' his-self on the pile, it falls on to him frum both sides. In jest 'bout a minute he wus snowed in with cordwood an' let go some o' the awfullest bellowin' thet wus ever heard in this here section. The hired hand an' the farmer's wife rushed out ter see what wus happenin', an' found their woodpile heavin' up an' down, an' the most awful bellowin' comin' from the inside somewheres. The ole lady wus awful superstitious, an' she said she knowed it wus Hesikia's ghost. After a spell the bull worked hisself free and come home. Yep, they is them as says his spirit is still roaming', but thet's where it started."

"But we did hear his ghost, honest, one night before we dug up the chest," confided Harold, which was the signal for all the other fellows to laugh. Harold became very indignant, but protested that it was the truth.

"Well, then what could it have been, if it wasn't Hesikia's spirit?" he asked of the old man. But he had gone on this reading, and the question was never answered.

"'But because of the great sin he took them all away from me but one, the least of them.' Thet great sin must hev somethin' t' do with ole Duckwing. I wonder if he did---" But he never finished the thought, at least aloud.

"Ole Runnin' Water wus the medicine man o' the Nottawas," he continued. "An' most likely some time Thompson scared him with the spirit talk. Ole Runnin' Water must o' brought him his twelve best arrer-points as a gift fer which Hesikia wus ter keep off the evil spirits frum the Indian an' his family. I've heard my father tell o' how many valuable beaver skins the ole hermit got frum the Indians in jest thet way.

"'The luck stone saved her from the evil one---' His wife, I calculate, 'cause she always wore a little white stone on a cord about her neck. Some priest hed give it to her as an omen o' good luck..

"'The knife that drank his life's blood is cursed forever.' Wal! wal!

"'The man may claim his papers, Duckwing knows how came I by them.'" He pondered the meaning of these words for some seconds, then rising from his chair, he exclaimed:

"My dad wus right, all right, 'bout ole Sau-au-quett's murder."

Again he handled carefully the old guns, the knives, and the powder horn, and after a prodigious yawn he lighted his pipe and passed out on to the porch.

"Do you suppose it's worth our while digging for the other chests?" eagerly questioned Vincent.

"Wall, sonny, I'll tell ye," said the old man, "they ain't no use whatever in diggin' too deep inter a man's past. Ye allus finds things that disappints ye. If the ole feller's got any more chests, ye better leave 'em in the ground, 'cause the ole feller probably done the best he knowed how, an' foolish people's notions has made a lot out o' nothin'. These here Indians most allus deserved all they got, even if they wus mistreated sometimes.

"Don't never any o' ye boys bury no secrets, never, 'cause sure as shootin' some feller 'Ill come erlong in a hundred years an' dig ' em all an' you'll be sorry, 'cause they'll all be misunderstood by some wise fellers, sure. I must be a-goin' now."

So saying, the old man hobbled to his buggy and painfully got into it. After thanking the boys for showing him round, and inviting them to come and see him, he drove away.

Vincent watched him drive slowly down the hill and out of the gate, then turning to his companions, he said:

"Come on you, kids, let's go and help some of those new fellows pass off their points for their Honor System. Everybody helped us when we came, and it's not long now till we'll have to be piking for home."

"Gee I hate to think of it, don't you?" said Dale. "This old camp will be awfully quiet without you fellows."

"O, well, we'll come again next year," replied Vincent, "and there will be plenty new to keep us busy."

Just then Cooper and "Deak" came slowly up the hill with a great string of fresh-caught fish between them.

"Gee, whilikins!" cried "Love" "You fellows must have been a-fishing."