"ten days ago—ten, mind you, since poor howard fenton was carried into the canyon," said sam randall, softly.
he and tom clifton were seated on the porch of rickham house. the night was very dark, and several starlike points of light indicated the village.
tom clifton tilted his chair back against the wall.
"maybe it won't make bob somers and the rest of them feel badly," he remarked, reflectively.
"it couldn't fail to. wonder if anything has been heard from mr. fenton?"
"walter brown says not. very funny how he disappeared right after the accident."
"certainly is—and never told any one where he was going. left a lot of stuff at the hotel, too."
"perhaps he's off in the mountains somewhere," suggested tom. "the searching party never found a trace of either howard or the 'dauntless.'"
"a terrible thing—indeed it was."
for a while the boys lapsed into gloomy silence.
presently sam rose to his feet and peered earnestly in the direction of the islands.
"hello!" he exclaimed. "tom, do you see anything?"
"of course i do. a light—a light on promontory. now what in the dickens can that be?"
a tiny spot of light, seemingly suspended in the air, had suddenly appeared in view, steadily growing brighter until it looked like a blazing beacon.
"maybe the old log cabin is afire. i'll bet that's just what it is," said sam. "christopher, where's the field-glass?"
he darted inside, and presently returned.
"i can't make it out," he said, finally, in a perplexed tone. "here, tom, take a squint."
but the younger member of the rambler club shook his head.
"by jinks, i give it up, sam," he remarked, slowly. "mighty funny—i never saw a light there before. shouldn't wonder if some camper is living in the old shack."
"huh! and i suppose he's making a pot of coffee."
tom laughed.
"must be a good-sized blaze to make all that light," he admitted. "let's take a run over to-morrow, and find out."
"i've got a better scheme than that, tommy. why not go out a bit on the lake now?"
"now?" echoed tom, in astonishment.
"sure! it's a dandy night—not too much breeze. it will be lots of fun, cruising around. come ahead."
"i'm not so anxious, sam. it's blacker than a stack of black cats out there. i'd rather stay on the porch."
"oh, pshaw, tommy! be a sport. with a lantern to keep us company, there's nothing to be afraid of."
"oh, suffering catfish! who said anything about being afraid, sam randall?" exclaimed tom, flaring up. "sure we'll go." he settled his cap firmly on his head, and then, with another glance at the distant beacon, rose to his feet.
in a few minutes the ramblers were at the wharf. the water looked very black, and it seemed so silent and lonely that tom, despite his words, felt many misgivings as he stepped aboard the "speedy."
sam lighted a lantern; then the sail was run up, and within a quarter of an hour they were well on their way toward the far end of the lake.
"it's burning brighter than ever, tommy, so i guess it ain't the old shack," observed sam; "but what in thunder do they want such a whopping big bonfire for?"
"might be 'little bill' and his pals having some fun."
"perhaps. this is bully sport, eh?"
soon the thickly-wooded shore of hemlock island began to separate itself from the lake, and the lofty crags of promontory rose dimly against the star-studded sky.
at the proper time, sam randall skilfully brought the "speedy" about, and they prepared to enter the channel.
just as the sharp turn was being made, the sound of oars reached their ears.
"h'm, some of the night-picnickers, now, perhaps," muttered sam.
he half arose, in order to get a better view, and at that instant a rowboat shot out of the passageway directly across their bow. a collision seemed inevitable.
the ramblers gave a lusty shout; sam swung the helm hard down, and the sail rattled to the deck in a jiffy, but despite these efforts, the sailboat struck the other a glancing blow near the stern.
the occupant of the rowboat, however, had used his oars skilfully, and escaped being thrown into the water by a narrow margin. the two craft grated past each other, and quickly came to a stop. then the oarsman, with a couple of strokes, drew up alongside the "speedy."
as the rays of the lantern shot across his face, the boys were profoundly astonished to recognize mr. fenton.
"i suppose i must plead guilty to having made a blunder," said the latter, after replying to the boys' salutations; "but surely the last thing i expected was to encounter a boat. i must thank you for having handled yours so nicely that i was spared a wetting."
"good thing there isn't much wind," was sam randall's response. then he added, abruptly, "we saw a light on top of the bluff, mr. fenton, and thought it would be a good idea to cruise around a bit to see if we could find out what it was."
"not remarkable, then, that we should run across each other."
"suppose you saw the bonfire? it's been making quite an illumination."
mr. fenton did not answer for a moment, and when he spoke his voice betrayed some embarrassment.
"yes, sam, i noticed it," he said. "but, really, it's about time that i got back to the hotel. it's quite a long pull, and——"
"oh, we couldn't let you row, mr. fenton," interrupted sam, quickly. "we'll tow you back."
"of course," put in tom, wondering at the oarsman's courage in venturing out at night in a small boat and on such dangerous waters.
as if divining his thoughts, mr. fenton said, "it's safe enough if one hugs the shore of hemlock island for some distance. that makes the way a bit longer, but really, boys, i don't feel that i ought to put you to the trouble."
"no trouble at all," asserted sam. he stooped down and passed over the painter. mr. fenton thanked him quietly, and made it fast to his boat.
as there was very little wind in the passageway, it was necessary to use a pair of oars in bringing the "speedy" about. mr. fenton clambered over the side, and the return trip began.
when they were well out in the lake again, the ramblers looked curiously toward the top of the cliff, but the mysterious light had entirely vanished.
with natural delicacy, neither sam nor tom touched upon the recent happening, nor did mr. fenton himself mention it. they landed him at the hotel wharf, then set sail for rickham house.
"tom," remarked sam, slowly, when they were out of hearing, "what do you make of this adventure? doesn't it seem kind o' queer that mr. fenton should be near promontory island at this time of night?"
"well, rather. and he didn't seem to care to talk about that bonfire."
"no—i can't make head or tail out of it, tommy."
"perhaps the place where his son used to go has a sort of attraction for him," said tom, hesitatingly. "i've heard of people like that, and——"
"but it doesn't explain the light."
"no!"
"how long do you suppose he's been back at the hotel?"
"can't guess. why didn't you think to ask him?"
"why didn't you?"
"well, his manner kind of rattled me," said tom. "never knew him to be so cold and stiff."
"you wouldn't expect him to be like he was, would you?"
"no! i guess not. the shock must have been terrible."
"what do you think about that bonfire, anyway?"
"give it up."
early next morning, the "speedy" was again headed for promontory, and, aided by a strong breeze, reached it in a short time.
almost immediately the boys were scrambling up the cliff. they arrived at the top much out of breath, very dusty, and also very eager.
sitting in front of the cabin was a short, stout man with a full beard whom neither had ever seen before. he was calmly smoking a pipe.
both boys immediately noticed a great pile of charred sticks—remains of the huge bonfire of the night before.
at the sight of visitors, the man jumped to his feet.
"well, well," he said, gruffly; "in a powerful big hurry, boys, ain't ye? wait till you get yer breath." he waved his hand and reseated himself. "ever been up here before?"
"sure," answered sam; "and it's the first time we ever met anybody. hello! the cabin's fixed up in great shape, eh, tommy? new door and window, besides a whole lot of patching."
he looked inquiringly at the stout man. "should think you'd find it lonesome and dull up here."
the other knocked the ashes out of his pipe.
"sometimes, boy," he responded, slowly, "but i don't git bothered much by people that have questions to ask. now i suppose you're as curious as most people, and are a-wonderin' who the old codger is."
he paused, and refilled his pipe.
"well, i'm neil prescott, at nobody's service."
the boys grinned, and introduced themselves. then sam began to tell mr. prescott how they had seen the light of his fire the night before.
"well, what of it?" asked the stout man, gruffly.
"nothing," said sam, somewhat surprised. "only i thought——"
"a power of things, no doubt, an' all of 'em wrong."
"you didn't need a blaze like that to cook by, did you?"
"well, well! that's a good one. i was just a-tryin' ter find out what the village looked like."
"and i guess you came pretty near doing it," said sam, with a grin. "if you had piled on a bit more wood, we wouldn't have run into mr. fenton's boat."
"eh—what? run into mr. fenton's boat?" gasped mr. prescott, half rising from his seat. "say that ag'in."
"then you know him?" broke in tom clifton, abruptly.
"did i say anything about knowin' 'im? did yer hear me utter any words to the effect that i knew him, eh?"
mr. prescott brought out an enormous bandana handkerchief, and mopped his perspiring forehead.
"if you boys ain't quizzers from quizzerville—well, this mr. what-you-may-call-him wasn't hurt, was he?"
"not so you could notice it," said sam, flippantly. "going to stay here long, mr. prescott?"
"mebbe—mebbe not. if you hev time ter wait, i'll write out the story of me life an' give it ter you. where did you come from, an' what are you doin' out here?"
a grim smile played over mr. prescott's features. he began to speak rapidly, and more gruffly than ever.
"answerin' questions ain't sich fun as askin' 'em, eh? 'tain't well ter mind other people's business, lads. did yer ever think of that?"
and, well satisfied with this home thrust, mr. neil prescott laughed gruffly.
he soon became quite pleasant, however, and entertained his visitors with several stories. but not a word of information did he volunteer about himself. when they took their leave, sam and tom's curiosity, instead of being satisfied, was aroused to a greater degree than ever.
"he doesn't belong to the village," said sam, positively, "and isn't any hunter—you can bet on that. wonder where in the dickens he came from? say—did you notice the big box of provisions he had inside?"
"yes—and the whole place was cleaned up as nice as you please. any one could tell that he knows mr. fenton, too. wonder why he tried to bluff us off."
"it's kind of mysterious, tommy—and i hate mysteries. you and i, old chap, will have to clear this thing up. neil prescott isn't staying in that cabin for the fun of the thing. no, sir," and sam shook his head with conviction.
that night there was no sign of life from the solitary occupant of promontory island, but late on the evening following the strange beacon burned even more brightly than before.
