Chapter XII: The Piece of Paper

Anxiously did Tom’s chums watch his movements. They realized, as did he, that the piece of paper, dropped either by Mr. Skeel or the hermit, might give them the very clew they needed to locate the treasure--if there was any. And they also realized the danger if Tom was seen.

“If they catch him, it will be all up with our chances, I guess,” murmured Bert. “We’ll have to leave here mighty soon.”

“That’s right. With that old professor, the hermit, and those two lads against us, we wouldn’t have much chance,” added Dick.

“Oh, you fellows make me tired!” exclaimed Jack. “Why, it’s only four to four, and if we aren’t a match for that bunch I’d like to know it! Get out of here? I guess not much! We’ll stick!” Jack was like Tom--he believed in fighting to the last ditch. “Besides,” he went on, “as Tom said, the woods are as much ours as they are those other fellows’.”

“But the mill, and the land around it, aren’t,” returned Bert. “They could keep us away from here.”

“Maybe, and maybe not,” said Jack. “I guess Tom Fairfield can find some plan for getting around it. What’s he doing now?” for our hero was somewhat screened from the observation of Jack, though the others could see him well.

“He’s crawling forward again,” spoke Bert in a low tone. “I guess the coast is clear. I hope he gets that piece of paper.”

“What good will it be?” asked Dick.

“Some good, you can wager, or Skeel and the hermit wouldn’t have been so excited over it,” declared Jack. “I’d like to get a look at it.”

“Tom’ll get it all right,” insisted Bert. “He generally does get anything he goes after.”

The three lads waited impatiently for the return of their chum. Dick took another look, and reported that Tom was not in sight now.

“He’s probably working his way along the path to the place where the talk went on,” was Jack’s opinion.

They resigned themselves to waiting, talking meanwhile of what might happen. Then, interrupting their talk, came a sound as of someone approaching down the slope.

“Who is it?” asked Jack eagerly, for he had been sitting down on a stone to ease the pain of his injured leg.

“It’s Tom all right!” exclaimed Dick, who was acting as sentinel.

“Has he got the paper?”

“Yes, there’s something white in his hand.”

“Good!” exclaimed Tom’s college roommate.

A few seconds later our hero rejoined his chums. There was a look of satisfaction on his face.

“What is it?” demanded Bert eagerly.

“I don’t know yet,” was the reply. “It’s all folded up, and I didn’t open it. Didn’t want to take the time. There’s no telling when they might miss it, and come back. I made tracks as soon as I saw I could safely advance and grab it up. Come on down to the boat.”

“Go slow,” begged Jack, and they helped him down the slope. Not taking time to examine the bit of paper, Tom loosed the mooring line of his craft, and, pushing her out into the current, he let her drift down before starting the motor, as he did not want their enemies to hear the noise of the exhaust.

“I guess it’s safe enough now,” spoke Jack, after a bit, from his position on a cushioned seat in the stern, his stiff leg stretched out in front of him. “Turn on the gas, Tom, and start her off.”

This was done, and soon the _Tag_ was making good time down the river toward the lake.

“What about the feed?” asked Bert. “Seems to me we’ve earned it now, Tom.”

“Let’s look at that paper first,” suggested Jack. “That’s more important than feeding our faces.”

“Here it is,” spoke Tom, producing it from his pocket, while Dick took the wheel.

Eagerly the others looked over the shoulder of our hero as he unfolded the paper. It proved to be quite large, being of thin but tough fabric, and it was creased into many folds, as though it had been intended to occupy a small space. It was covered with lines, words and figures.

“An architect’s plan! Nothing but a plan!” exclaimed Jack.

“That’s all,” added Bert in disappointed tones.

“Maybe they didn’t drop it at all,” suggested Dick. “It may have been there all the while, and they didn’t bother to pick it up. I don’t see what good it is, though.”

Tom said nothing for a space. He was intently studying the sketch.

“Chuck it overboard,” spoke Dick.

“No, mail it back to Skeel, and tell him how we found it,” was Bert’s suggestion. “It’ll show him how close we are on his trail.”

“I’ll do neither,” answered Tom quietly. “We’re going to keep this piece of paper for ourselves.”

“Can you make head or tail of it?” asked Jack.

“I fancy I can,” answered our hero. “I think this is a detail drawing of the floor plans of the old mill, and I believe it may be the key to the location of the treasure--or at least the place where the treasure is supposed to be.”

“You do?” cried his chums in a chorus.

“I sure do,” replied Tom, with conviction. “And I’m sure either Skeel, or the hermit, dropped this. It wasn’t there on the path before they held their confab, and neither Sam nor Nick was near the spot where the paper lay. Boys, I believe we’ve got a valuable clue here!”

“Let’s see it,” requested Jack, and Tom passed it over. His chum gazed at it thoughtfully, turned it around, and peered at it upside down. Then he remarked, as he passed it back: “Well, if you can make anything out of that, Tom, you’re a good one. What does it say?”

“That I don’t know yet,” spoke our hero. “It’s going to take some studying to ferret this thing out, but we’ll do it. Meanwhile we’ll just forget all about it for a little while, and have some grub. Get busy, fellows, and have dinner.”

They ate with exceedingly good appetites, while the motorboat speeded on her way toward the lake. Between bites they talked of their experience, and kept a lookout for any possible signs of their former professor, his cronies and the hermit.

“It must be that there are short cuts through these woods that we know nothing about,” said Tom, “or otherwise they never could have been on the ground at the same time we were, from where we last saw them. Still, I don’t think they can get ahead of us this time.”

And this was so, or, at least, our friends saw nothing of the four whom they were trying to circumvent.

“Well, I know one thing,” declared Jack with a grunt. “I’ll be glad when we get back to camp, and I can rub some liniment on this leg of mine.”

“It’s too bad,” consoled Tom. “I hope you’re not laid up with it.”

They emerged from the river into the peaceful lake and in due time were back at camp, without further incident having occurred.

“Oh, wow! but I’m stiff!” cried Jack, as he attempted to leave the boat.

“Wait, we’ll give you a hand up,” said Tom, and they had to assist him much more than they had previously, for a severe stiffness had set in. However, they got Jack to the tent, and on a cot. Then they proceeded to give him such rough and ready treatment as was possible under the circumstances.

“Well, it feels better, anyhow,” said Jack with a sigh of satisfaction as he stretched back. “Now let’s have that screed again, Tom, and I’ll have a go at translating it. I don’t believe it can be much worse than some of the Latin stuff old Skeel used to stick us with.”

“All right, try your hand at it,” agreed Tom. “The rest of us will get things in shape for the night, and see about supper. How about quail on toast for you, Jack?” he asked with a whimsical smile as he handed over the mysterious piece of paper.

“Nothing doing. I want roast turkey and cranberry sauce, with ice cream and apple pie on the side.”

“I think I see you getting it,” remarked Bert. “Corned beef and beans will be about the menu to-night.”

While Jack lay back on his cot, easing his injured leg, and studied the piece of paper Tom had picked up, the others proceeded to get the camp to rights for the night. Bert, whose turn it was to cook, started the oil stove, and began opening canned stuff. Tom looked to see if there was a good supply of wood for the campfire, for, though they did not really need it, they always lighted one for the sake of the cheerfulness.

“I say,” called Bert, as he went about collecting the various items he needed for the meal. “What did you do with that piece of bacon, Tom?”

“What piece?”

“The one partly sliced off. I laid it in this box, but it’s gone now.”

“Is that so?” asked Tom, and there was a curious note in his voice. “That’s queer. I remember seeing it there when we started off. We’ll have a look.”

“Oh, take another piece, and don’t delay the meal,” suggested Dick with a laugh.

“It isn’t that,” said Tom. “If things begin to disappear from camp we want to know about it, and find out who is taking them.”

Together with Bert he examined the place where the bacon had been put. This was in a box, fastened about four feet above the ground, in a tree. It was a sort of cupboard, thus raised, in which to keep stuff that was not protected by tins, so that prowling rats, squirrels or chipmunks could not get in. There was a door to it, fastened with a wire.

“Was the door opened when you went to get the bacon?” asked Tom.

“Yes,” answered Bert, “and I’m sure it was closed when we went away.”

Tom stooped down, and began examining the soft ground at the foot of the tree. As he did so he uttered an exclamation.

“What is it?” asked Bert, eagerly.

“There’s been some animal here,” declared Tom. “A fox maybe. I can see the footprints, but I’m not enough of a naturalist to tell what made ’em.”

“A bear,” suggested Dick.

“I don’t believe there are any in these woods, though there may be. It’s wild enough.”

“Those aren’t bear tracks,” declared Bert. “I know, for a fellow with a dancing bear once went past our house, and it was just after a rain. I noticed the tracks, and they were as big as a ham. This isn’t a bear.”

Tom had arisen and was looking at the door of the cupboard.

“The wire fastening has been pulled out of place,” he said. “And look! Here are the marks of sharp claws. The wood is all splintered. Some wild beast took our bacon all right!”