THE CAMP INVADED AND CAPTURED

Clad in their long fishing boots, none of the boys made anything
like his usual speed in running.

Grumbling inwardly at their clumsy gait, all three hurried as
fast as they could into the near-by stretch of forest.

There, in a path, they came upon a middle-aged woman accompanied
by four girls, all of whom showed signs of unusual alarm.

"Oh, Dave," called Belle Meade, "I'm so glad to see you!"

"You usually are," laughed Darrin, "but I never knew you to make
so much noise about it before."

"What's the trouble?" Dick inquired, after a hasty greeting to
Mrs. Bentley, Laura Bentley, Belle Meade, Fannie Upham and Margery
White, the latter four all Gridley High School girls.

"A man---he must have been crazy!" replied Laura.  Her voice shook
slightly, and she was still trembling, though the color was beginning
to return to her face.

"Did he offer to molest you?" flared Dick.

"No, indeed!" replied Mrs. Bentley promptly and laughing nervously.
"In fact, I think we must have frightened the man, for his desire
seemed to be to get away from us as fast as he could."

"But that face!" cried Miss Fanny.  "I never want to see it again."

"It must have been our Man of the Haunting Face," murmured Dick,
turning to his chums.

"That was he---just who it was!" declared Belle, with emphasis.
"I don't know whom you're talking about, but 'haunting face'
just describes the man who frightened us."

"It was so silly of us!" murmured Laura Bentley.  "It was clear
nonsense for us to be so frightened, but when, we saw that face
peering at us from behind a tree we simply couldn't help screaming."

"Are you alone?" demanded Prescott in some astonishment, for these
were carefully brought-up girls, and it was not like their parents
to let them go into the woods without other guard than that of
a chaperon.

At that instant Dick's question was answered by the appearance
of Dr. Bentley, who, on account of his weight, panted somewhat
as he ran.

"Did---these---young men frighten---you so badly---that you---made
such a commotion---and caused me nearly to breathe---my last in
running to---your aid?" demanded the good doctor gaspingly, his
eyes twinkling.

"No, sir; we came, like yourself, when we heard the girls scream,"
Dick Prescott explained.

Then, amid much talking, and with as many as three people speaking
at once, the story was quickly recounted for Dr. Bentley.

"We've seen the fellow before," Dick explained, "but he always
fakes alarm and vanishes.  We call him our man of mystery---the
Man with the Haunting Face."

"Some poor, simple-minded fellow," suggested Dr. Bentley.  "Probably
one whose mild mania leads him to prefer to live in the woods,
a regular hermit.  My dears, I'm surprised that any of you should
be so easily startled and make such noisy testimony to your alarm."

"I'm indignant with myself now---when there are men standing by,"
laughed Belle.  "But I wish you had seen that man's strange face,
Doctor."

"I would like to see it, and punch it, too!" muttered Dave.

"Not a bit of it!" objected Dr. Bentley heartily.  "No doubt the
poor fellow is sadly afflicted mentally.  He's what the Arabs
call a 'simple,' and the Arabs have a beautiful faith that all
'simples' are under the direct protection of Allah.  So, woe to
him who offends one of Allah's 'simples.'"

"How do you boys come to be here?" asked Laura.

"I might ask the same question of your party," smiled Dick.  "As
for us, we are away on a vacation fishing and camping trip."

"I knew you were going away," said Dr. Bentley, "but I didn't
know just where.  We are touring again, in my seven-passenger
car.  We are headed for the St. Clair Lake House, eight miles
below here.  But the roads are so bad that the chauffeur said
it would take us more than an hour to get through.  So I proposed
to Mrs. Bentley and the girls that we leave the car at the road
and cross over here to have our luncheon on the shore of this
second lake.  I have been here before, and remember it as a beautiful
spot.  Mrs. Bentley and the girls started on ahead, and I brought
up the rear with the baskets of food.  But they got further ahead
of me than I thought.  Now I must go back after the baskets, which
I set down before I started to run here.  Greg, will you go back
with me and help me bring the baskets?"

Greg at once accompanied the physician.  When they came to the
spot, however, they found but one basket, and that nearly empty.
The second basket had disappeared altogether.

"Fine!" grunted Dr. Bentley.  "Greg, our committee of two must
go back and report the disquieting news."

"Not so very disquieting, sir," smiled young Holmes.  "We have
a camp full of food to offer you."

That invitation Dick and Dave very quickly seconded when the doctor
rejoined the party.

"Especially if you can eat trout, sir," Dick went on.

"Don't!  Don't be cruel!" remonstrated Dr. Bentley.  "I used to
eat trout when I was a boy, but they are now an extinct fish."

"Are they, sir?" inquired Dick, unwrapping a paper from around
part of the morning's heavy catch, while Dave exhibited the contents
of a similar bundle.

Dr. Bentley rubbed his eyes.

"Bless me, these are a fine imitation of brook trout as I recall
them," he murmured.

"What did you mean by saying that trout were an extinct fish?"
asked Laura.

"They're extinct for all but the wealthy," replied the physician.
"Brook trout, in these days, generally cost all of a dollar and
a half a pound, and I've heard of as high as two dollars a pound
being paid for them."

"There are plenty hereabouts, just now," Dick replied.  "But we
may take them all out of the water before we move from here."

"Of course," nodded Laura's father.  "That's what trout are for.
They won't do anyone any good as long as they remain in the water."

"Let's hurry back, please," urged Dick.  "I am anxious to see
your luncheon under way."

"Yes," teased Belle, "the sooner you have satisfied our appetites
the sooner you may expect to see us gone and be able to enjoy
yourselves and your comfortable solitude once more."

"Now, just for saying that, Belle," uttered Dick reproachfully,
"I'm going to consider the revenge of burning two of your trout
in the pan."

"Mercy!" cried Belle Meade.  "Are you going to cook the trout?"

"After you've eaten a trout cooked and served up by Dick Prescott,"
Dave declared, "you won't want them cooked by anyone else.  Dick
is the one trout chef in this part of the country."

"Where did he learn?" teased Belle with a pretense of suspicion.

"Mr. Morton---Coach Morton, of our high school eleven---taught
Dick how to do it," Dave explained.

"Right here, young ladies---attention!" called Dr. Bentley, holding
up a warning finger.  "If brook trout are as fine eating as they
used to be when I was a boy, then you simply won't be able to
keep it a secret that you've eaten some recently.  Yet on one
point I must insist.  None of you must be dishonorable enough
to name any spot within fifty miles of here as the scene of your
trout luncheon.  If you let the secret out all the trout fishermen
in four counties will be swarming here to destroy all the fun
your young men friends are having.  So, please remember!  Utter,
dark, uncompromising secrecy!"

"Is it as bad as that?" asked Belle.

"Every real trout fisherman knows enough to keep his own secrets
as to the streams that contain trout," Dave nodded.

By this time they came within sight of the camp.  Nor was it long
before Tom, Dan and Harry caught sight of the visitors and ran
forward to meet them.

"Our friends have come just in time to have a trout feast," Dick
announced.

"I shall be jealous if they eat the trout," Tom retorted.

"Or envious?" laughed Belle.

"No; jealous," Tom assured her.  "Dan and I have been fishing,
too.  Come and see what we caught."

Tom led the way to where he had cleaned more than a dozen black
bass, while in buckets of water lay nearly thirty more fine,
sleek-looking fish.

"Didn't you catch anything but bass?" Dave asked.

"A few other fish," Tom admitted, "but we threw the inferior fish
back into the water.  Now, girls, which are you going to have---trout
or bass?"

"Both---if we may," ventured Laura, with a smile.

And both were served at the meal.  Motherly Mrs. Bentley laid
aside her motoring dust coat and marshaled the girls for the various
tasks to which she assigned them.

What a hubbub there was in preparing the feast!

Dick built two small fires for his own exclusive use.  Tom built
two more, while Dan and Greg skirmished for more wood.  Dr. Bentley,
his coat off and shirt sleeves rolled up, constructed a "warm
oven" with stones topped by a large baking tin.  Then he built
another.

Dick fried the trout, while Dr. Bentley started low fires under
the two crude warming ovens.  As fast as trout were fried they
were dropped into one oven, Tom's bass being dropped into the
other.  Potatoes were boiling in one pot, tinned peas in another,
and tinned string beans in still another.  Tinned pudding was
set in another pot of water to heat, while Mrs. Bentley made a
sauce, and the girls set the table and made the other necessary
preparations for the luncheon.

Presently the meal was ready, though the boys did not seat themselves
until they had seen their welcome guests served.

"Daddy," murmured Laura, "I don't blame you for regretting your
boyhood, if you had many trout feasts."

"How's the bass?" asked Tom, almost jealously.

"Just splendid," replied Laura, sampling her first fork full.

"You boys are camping in a fisherman's paradise," declared Dr.
Bentley.  "I don't blame you for liking this life.  When I was
a boy fresh water fish were almost as plentiful as salt water
fish.  Now, we rarely find any fresh water fish in the markets.
I can't understand how this choice retreat for fishermen has
escaped notice, unless it is because of the almost total lack
of inhabitants in this section, and the miserable apologies for
roads.  Once again I must caution all of you young women not to
be indiscreet and spoil this fisherman's paradise for your young
friends by talking about it to anyone."

All four of the girls promised absolute secrecy.

After they had all satisfied their hunger, Dick asked Dr. Bentley
all about the St. Clair Lake House.  He learned that it was a
fine, modern hotel, accommodating about one hundred and fifty
guests.  It was just on the edge of the good roads, Dr. Bentley
explained; this side of the hotel no roads worthy of the name
existed.  Dick was very thoughtful after receiving the information,
for he had something on his mind.

"How about that chauffeur of yours, doctor?" asked Dave suddenly.

"Oh, we left him with a comfortable luncheon," replied Dr. Bentley.
"He can't leave the car, you know."

"Will you take him two or three trout, sir?" urged Dick.

"And a bass, sir?" added Reade.

"We'll wait for him to eat them in the car," replied the physician,
"provided the poor fellow hasn't gorged himself on plainer food
and has no room left for real fare like this."

When the time came that the guests must really leave, five of
the boys accompanied the party to the road.  Hazelton remained
to watch the camp.

"Now, let's hustle!" urged Dick, as the car rolled out of sight.
"When we get back to camp we have many long hours of work to do."

"Work of what kind?" inquired Tom.

"First of all," replied Prescott, with his most mysterious air,
"we are going to build, close to camp, a make-believe ice-box.
Then we're going to fill the box with ice."

"And what will all that be for?" Dave wanted to know.

"If you can't guess now," smiled young Prescott, his eyes gleaming,
"you'll soon begin to see daylight through my plan!  I don't know---but
I believe that the plan I have in mind is going to work out in
great shape!"