To explain to our readers why the three shots are known as a distress signal is simple. One shot would ordinarily be that of a hunter. Two could be the same thing, provided the man was using a double barrelled shotgun, such as is used in hunting birds. The chances that a hunter would fire three shots in regular succession is very small, hence this is the signal that is the S. O. S. of the woods. It is reported at intervals, and after being heard two or three times, the woods voyager may be sure that someone is in some great difficulty, fallen and broken a leg, or lost in the dense timber.

“It’s to the south of us,” said Garry, as he wet a finger and held it up to test the direction of the wind. “You see the breeze comes from that direction, and the sound comes with it. Let’s take it on the trot, boys.”

So saying, he led the way at an easy lope to the southward. They had proceeded a little distance, when again they heard the three shots, this time much nearer.

Breaking into a swift run, they were soon at the source of the call for help.

Laying on the ground, his foot caught in a wicked looking steel trap, was an elderly man. In a feeble tone, he hailed the boys.

“Thank God you’ve come, boys. I fear in a little while more I should have been too weak to try and summon help. Release me from this trap.”

Garry and Dick sprang to the trap, which had closed on the man’s ankle, while Phil attempted to lift him up.

“Easy, my boy, easy, my arm’s broken. That’s why I was unable to release myself sometime ago. I could only reach one spring with my good arm, and even that effort so twisted my leg that I fainted and had to give up attempting it.”

While he had been speaking, the two boys had released the springs, and bending back the teeth, released the man’s leg. He gave a groan of relief, while trying to raise himself up.

“Better take it easy, sir, while I look you over and see what the extent of your injuries are,” said Garry.

Taking his knife, the boy slit the leg of the corduroy trousers, and then carefully rolled the woolen sock down. This disclosed an ugly looking swollen leg. Very gently he felt of the leg, and then asked the man if he could move his foot. After trying, the old man found he could.

“Guess it’s not broken, just very badly bruised and swollen,” remarked Garry cheerfully.

“That’s something to be thankful for anyway, for I know my arm is broken. It was all I could do to load and fire my rifle with one hand,” said the sufferer.

“We’ll have that in splints in no time, and then see about getting you to your home,” said Garry. “Now Phil, you start a little fire and make some coffee to brace the gentleman up with, while I put his arm in splints.”

Very gently he ran his fingers up and down the arm, finding that it was a clean break of one of the bones of the forearm, and not the wrist. Searching through his knapsack, he drew out what is known to first aid as a wire gauze bandage. This is nothing more than closely meshed wire, and is recommended for use for a temporary splint until the doctor can be gotten.

Wrapping the arm with some bandage, he put on the splint, and tied it on firmly with a strip of bandage. Then whipping his bandanna handkerchief from around his neck, he made a sling.

The hot coffee was soon forthcoming, and stimulated by it, the man felt considerably better.

Asked how he had been caught by the trap, he explained that while he was walking through the woods in search of a partridge or squirrel, mainly more for the pleasure of hiking than in hope of shooting anything, he had stepped into the trap, which was carefully covered.

“It had evidently been there for some time, for the ground over it looked quite natural as though many successive rains had beaten down upon it, or else I would have noticed that the covering was only artificial. By the way, let me introduce myself. My name is John Everett, and I used to be the Customs officer here, until Uncle Sam decided there was no need for one, and moved the station some twenty-five miles up the border, where another man, a politically influential fellow, was appointed to the new office. Since then I have been living in retirement with my granddaughter. I wonder if it is going to impose on you to ask one of you to go to Hobart, it’s only about four miles from here, and get help to take me home, for although my leg does not seem to be broken, I cannot stand on it, much less walk,” he concluded.

“Don’t worry about getting home. We’ll have a snack of food and then make a stretcher and have you there in no time,” said Garry.

“I am afraid that will be too much of a task for you,” remonstrated Everett.

“Oh, it’s nothing at all, sir,” Garry hastened to say.

When the man had mentioned that he had been a Customs officer, Dick had given Phil a significant glance. There was every chance that good fortune in being able to do a great favor for the old man might redound to their aid.

A hasty lunch of bacon and spiderbread was made, the man watching admiringly the efficient and speedy manner in which the boys went about preparing the meal.

“You boys act as though you had been born and brought up in the woods. Were you?” he inquired.

“No, although we have always liked woodcraft and forest lore, and have read about it and practiced it in a small way. We are in the Forest Ranger service, doing some special work, and so we have to know something about it,” answered Garry.

Lunch over, the effect of the food on the old man being to cheer him up and strengthen him, the fire was stamped out, and then Phil and Dick proceeded to make a litter while Garry cut two strong, tough saplings to make the handles.

They made the litter by taking off their coats and buttoning them securely. Then the coats were turned inside out, so that the arms were inside the jackets. Through the arms were thrust the two saplings, which had been cut sufficiently long to allow them to project a foot and a half or so beyond the two coats. A blanket was then laid atop the coats, and the litter was ready.

Dick and Garry took the first turn at carrying, while Phil went ahead carrying the rifles. Every few moments, the third boy would relieve one of the others. Frequent rests were necessary, and they were not able to make much more than a mile an hour, so that it was late afternoon when they finally reached the outskirts of the town.

“There’s my home there, the white house set back in from the street,” said Everett. “I am afraid you boys are rather tuckered out.”

As a matter of fact they were, for the four-mile hike with the burden on the litter was no mean task.

They had hardly turned in the gate, when a pretty girl of about seventeen or eighteen rushed out to meet them. When she saw her grandfather on the stretcher, she turned pale, and in anxious voice asked what the matter was.

“Don’t be alarmed, Ruth, I just had a little accident in the woods and broke my arm. Otherwise I’m fit as a fiddle. Now don’t worry, and hold the door open for these young men to carry me in and then run over and get Dr. Mills.”

Once in the house, Mr. Everett was laid on a couch and made as comfortable as possible for the time being.

“This is my granddaughter, Ruth,” he told the boys. “In the excitement of the day, I quite forgot to ask your names, so you will have to introduce yourselves to her.”

This Garry, acting as master of ceremonies, did, and then the girl hastened after the doctor. She returned with him in a few minutes, and the physician promptly began his examination.

He confirmed Garry’s finding that the leg was not broken, and complimented him on his neat job of putting on the temporary splint. Since the break was simple, and the old man protested that a little twinge of pain was nothing, the arm was immediately set and the permanent splints set in place.

The chums assisted the doctor to get Mr. Everett to bed, and then bade him goodbye, promising to look in very soon to see how he was getting along.

“Don’t fail to call on me, boys, if I can be of any service to you,” were his parting words.

“Well, sir, we may do that very soon,” said Garry.

“You’ll find that I won’t fail you,” promised Everett.

As they were on their way out, the girl stopped the chums and expressed her gratitude for their rescue of her grandfather.

“I don’t know how to thank you boys. Just think, if you hadn’t come along, he might have died out there in the woods before someone found him, and he is the only relative I have. I am sure there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you that was within my power,” she declared.

“Do you really mean that, Miss?” said Garry.

“Indeed I do. Just let me know what I can do,” she answered eagerly.

“I don’t want you to think I am asking this as a matter of reward,” said Garry, “but it’s something that is very vital to the success of our mission here. I feel that we can be frank with you, since your grandfather was once in the Customs service. I can’t explain just now how we are connected with the matter, but you could do us and the State a great service if you could tell us if you know anything about smuggling operations here. You are practically the only one that we have given so much confidence, and I am sure that you will respect it.”

“Oh, of course I will. I don’t know who or what you are, but I am sure you are all right. As for what you ask, I don’t know much about it, although Granddaddy has confided his suspicions to me many times. Unfortunately, though, they are only suspicions, and he has never been able to get any tangible evidence, for they cover their tracks very cleverly, and especially with him, since they know that he was once in the service. I can tell you this, though, keep sharp watch of a man called Lafe Green. He is a great big red-haired man, and he hangs around that restaurant that is run by a man called Joe Canuck. It’s practically the only one in town, perhaps you know of it.”

“We do know of it, and we sure thank you for what you have told us, and you will never regret it. Sometime we can tell you more about all this. I hope we shall see you again, for we will come at the first opportunity to see how your grandfather is getting along,” said Garry, as the three took their leave, bidding goodbye to the pretty girl.

Out on the street again, Dick could scarcely restrain himself from doing a war dance on the sidewalk.

“Gosh,” he ejaculated exuberantly. “Talk about casting your bread upon the waters and having it come back a whole shipload of angel cake. This is luck. Boys, at last we’re on the track of the smugglers, and if the firm of Boone, Durant and Wallace doesn’t run them down, I’ll go back home and spend the rest of the summer working in a grocery store or on a farm pulling weeds!”