Ned was up with the sun on Monday morning. He pulled the tent flaps wide open, so that the cool air would stream in and awaken his companions. Then he threw a towel over his shoulder and marched down to the mouth of the brook to wash his face and hands.

But this laudable purpose was quite driven from his mind by the discovery which greeted his eyes when he arrived there. On the spit of jutting sand which had formed at the junction of the creek and the brook was the deep imprint of a boat’s keel, and close by were half a dozen large footsteps.

They looked quite fresh, and had evidently been made by two persons. Some were long and pointed; others square toed, and shod with nails or pegs.

As Ned gazed on these evidences of a nocturnal visit, he felt pretty much as did Robinson Crusoe when he discovered the print of naked feet on his island.

It was impossible to tell where these strangers had been, since the gravel beach and the grassy soil beyond it left no traces.

Ned washed his face and hands and returned to the tent with a troubled mind. The boys were awake by this time, and he told them of his discovery.

“Hullo! that explains something,” exclaimed Clay. “I got awake last night, and struck a match to find the pail of water that was standing outside the tent. I thought I heard a noise down by the creek, but I was too sleepy to bother about it, and went back to bed.”

“Then you must have scared these fellows off,” said Ned. “That accounts for nothing being stolen. Everything of value was in the tent, however, and I don’t suppose they cared to meddle with the canoes.”

“Do you think these are the same men that the farmer chased off his land?” asked Randy.

“Very likely,” replied Ned. “I’m sorry now that I didn’t inquire more about them. The best thing we can do is to break camp and put about ten miles between us and this place.”

“That would be cowardly,” exclaimed Randy. “We have no reason to be afraid of these fellows. They’ll get a warm reception if they meddle around camp again. Let’s stay here for one day anyhow. We won’t find many prettier places, and besides, I’m anxious to do some hunting and fishing.”

Clay seemed disposed to side with Randy, while Nugget favored both sides of the question. He wanted to go, and he was just as anxious to catch some more bass down at the point of rocks.

Ned hesitated for a moment. He knew that it would be the more prudent plan to break camp at once, but the same time he was not inclined to insist upon it, and thus incur the ill will of his companions.

“I see that the majority is against me,” he said good naturedly. “But if we get in any kind of a scrape you fellows will shoulder the blame, that’s all.”

The boys appeared to be satisfied with this arrangement. They trooped off to the brook to wash, while Ned turned aside to make the fire.

After breakfast Randy shouldered his gun and started down the creek in search of snipe or woodcock. Clay and Nugget caught a pailful of minnows and departed for the point of rocks, for this was the time of day when the bass would probably bite best.

Ned did not accompany them. He had the true appreciation of outdoor life, and was never happier than when doing odd bits of work around the camp. He occupied himself in this way for an hour or twoarranging the interior of the tent, hanging the blankets out to air, stacking the wood neatly by the fireplace, and scrubbing the frying pans and the outside of the coffee pot with sand and gravel.

He was scooping out a little fish pond at the mouth of the brook when Randy returned.

“What luck?” he asked, looking up from his work.

“Not a thing,” answered Randy in a disappointed tone. “The snipe are all on the other side of the creek. I’m going after them now in my canoe. I tramped along the shore for at least a mile, Ned, and I didn’t see a trace of anybody, either on this side or on the other. Our midnight visitors must have cleared out for good.”

“I hope they have,” said Ned. “What luck are the boys having?”

“Four bass, and one of them is a big fellow. Help me up with my canoe now, will you?”

Ned rendered the desired assistance.

“Don’t stay too long,” he told Randy.

“I’ll be back inside of an hour,” was the reply, as the other paddled swiftly down the creek.

Ned finished the fish pond to his satisfaction, and feeling a little tired, he climbed up the slope and threw himself down in a clump of high grass behind the tent. He was gazing dreamily up the creek with his head resting on his outstretched arms, when a boat containing two persons came suddenly into view around the bend.

Ned crept a little deeper into the grass, where he could see without being seen. The boat was now out of sight behind the trees, but when it reappeared a moment later, directly opposite the camp, a single glance satisfied Ned that it was not the same craft which had landed at the mouth of the brook during the previous night.

This was a rude affair known as a “flat.” It was long and narrow, with square ends and sides, and from its cranky motion evidently had no keel.

The occupants were young fellows of twenty or thereabouts. They were roughly dressed, and their general appearance was by no means favorable. They stopped paddling in amazement when they caught sight of the camp, and after a brief conversation, which Ned did not catch, they ran their craft on shore a few yards below the mouth of the brook.

Ned shifted his position, and watched their movements curiously. The strangers evidently intended to pitch a camp of their own, for they made frequent trips up the slope, carrying blankets and tin pails, and various other articles. Then they chopped down a number of fine shoots, and constructed, in a brief space of time, a snug lean-to between two big trees.

Having placed their things in thiscasting suspicious glances all the while at the tentthey went back to the boat, climbed in, and paddled swiftly down the creek.

Ned rose to his feet, and looked after them in amazement. As the boat vanished around the sharp curve that the creek made immediately below the camp, he noticed for the first time a bait box trailing on behind.

“I understand it now,” he muttered. “Those fellows are out for a fishing trip, and they’re going down to the rocks to set their lines. I hope they won’t get into a row with Clay and Nugget.”

The possibility of such a thing made Ned uneasy. He stood in perplexity for a moment or two, and had just made up his mind to go down and look after the boys, when the sound of loud, angry voices reached his hearing.

He hesitated no longer, but leaped down the slope and ran at full speed along the beach. Bursting through a covert of reeds and tall bushes, he emerged within a few yards of the rocks.

On the outermost bowlder, close to the swirling current, were Nugget, Clay, and the two strangers. The flat was drawn out on shore.

As Ned put foot on the nearest rock the taller of the strange lads struck Nugget violently on the arm with a paddle. Clay immediately hit the cowardly fellow in the breast, and in the struggle that followed the latter lost his balance and rolled backward into the swift current. His companion pounced on Clay, and they came down together on the rock, while Nugget stood by, holding his injured arm and shouting for help.

Ned took in the situation at a glance. He saw that the lad in the water was a poor swimmer, and could make no headway against the current. Without stopping to count the cost he threw off his coat, and ran to the edge of the bowlder.

“Bring the boat quick!” he shouted to Clay and his assailant, who had fallen apart and were glaring wrathfully at each other.

Then Ned put his arms together and dived head first into the foaming water. He came to the surface half a dozen yards below, and struck out vigorously for the struggling lad, who was by this time on the point of exhaustion.

Ned was an admirable swimmer, and absolutely fearless in the water.

“Keep cool, and don’t struggle,” he shouted, as he reached the fellow and put on hand on his collar.

The other had sense enough to obey, and both floated down stream together.

It was out of the question for Ned to reach the shore immediately with his heavy burden, and as Clay and the other lad were slow about launching the boat, the affair might have ended seriously. But just at that time Randy came paddling up the creek in his canoe, and spied the drifting figures.

He was soon alongside, and as the stern of the Water Sprite swung toward them, Ned and his companion each threw an arm over it.

Then Randy paddled for the shore, and landed about sixty feet below the rocks.

Clay and the other stranger reached the spot in the boat just as Ned and the lad he had so nobly rescued, waded out on the beach. The latter shook the water from his clothes and hesitatingly approached Ned.

“I dunno’ how to thank you for what you did,” he said sheepishly. “I’m mighty sorry I hit that chap. Me and Joe were downright mad because you’uns were fishing thar in our place. You see we come here from the mountains every now and then, and ketch a lot of bass, and sell ’em back at Newville. I reckon it ain’t our place anyhow, an’ you’uns can fish thar as much as you please. My name is Jim BattersBatters they allus calls meand that’s my brother Joe there.”

“I’m glad to know you, Batters,” said Ned, holding out his hand. “You are welcome to your fishing ground. We are going away to-morrow anyhow. As for the quarrelwe’ll just let that drop. You had better go up to camp now and dry your clothes.”

Batters was not satisfied, however, until he had apologized all around, and made Joe do the same. Nugget had arrived by this time, and he declared that his arm no longer pained him.

Then the whole party went up the creek, some on water and some on land. The two mountaineers were tall, lanky youths with expressionless faces, surrounded by shocks of yellow hair.

They wore homespun clothes and high boots. They were speedily on intimate terms with Jolly Rovers, and gladly accepted Ned’s invitation to dinner. They asked many curious questions, and lost themselves in admiration over the canoes.

Ned told them about the nocturnal visitors of the previous night, and inquired if they had seen anything of the men. Both stoutly replied in the negative, but a swift, covert glance that passed between them did not escape Ned’s attention.

During the remainder of the day he remembered it more than once. When dinner was over they all went down to the rocks, and Batters and Joe proudly displayed their skill at fishing. In two hours they caught fifteen large bass. For bait they used crabs and lizards, which they had brought from the mountains.

In the evening Randy entertained the country lads with a mouth organ performance, and at ten o’clock the visitors went to their camp on the other side of the brook.

It had been a long day, and the Jolly Rovers were glad to get to bed. They were too drowsy to think about the possibility of another visit from the mysterious boat, and in a very few minutes all were sound asleep.

About midnightas nearly as he could judge afterwardNed sat up with a start, firmly convinced that some danger was at hand. As he listened with a wildly throbbing heart, soft footsteps cracked on the pine needles outside, and then the tent flap was torn open, revealing against the lingering embers of the campfire the semblance of a human form.

“Hi! you chaps in thar!” whispered a gruff and unfamiliar voice. “Get awake, quick!”

The words had a soothing affect on Ned’s fears, and satisfied him that the visitorwhoever he washad come in the guise of friendship. He drew a match from his pocket and rubbed it on his trousers. It ignited, and revealed the pale face of Batters, framed between the tent and flap.

“Great Cæsar! Is it you?” exclaimed Ned. “What’s wrong?”

“Hush! not so loud,” whispered Batters. “Put that light out, quick!”

Ned obeyed in haste.

“Now rouse the other chaps, and do it quietly, so they don’t make no noise.”

This was a pretty stiff order, and Ned had some fears for the result. Happily all went well, and in two or three minutes an audience of four trembling and well nigh panic stricken lads was sitting in the darkness, listening to Batter’s ominous tale.

“Joe waked me up a little while ago,” he began, “an’ said there was a strange boat, an’ two men in it, down by the mouth of the run. I tole Joe ter stay an’ watch our stuff. Then I sneaked along the shore an’ seen the fellows sittin’ on the beach along side the canoes.

“I didn’t dare go close enough to hear what they was sayin’, so I come right up to the tent. I reckon you uns had better make a move afore the canoes get carried off. I’ll do what I kin fur you. If we all take paddles and run out yellin’ an’ screachin’ mebbe the fellars will get scared and make tracks without showin’ fight.”

This proposition rather staggered the boys.

“The thieves probably want more than the canoes,” said Ned. “It’s very likely they are right outside the tent now. I hardly know what we ought to do.”

“Let’s give them our money and watches, and anything else they want,” suggested Nugget. “If we don’t they’ll surely cut our throats.”

“Keep quiet!” whispered Clay savagely. “If you don’t I’ll throw you out of the tent.”

At this awful threat Nugget subsided and buried his head in his blanket.

Meanwhile Randy, whose temper was beginning to rise at the thought of being robbed, had quietly reached for his gun, and was fumbling with it under cover of the darkness.

An unlucky move dashed the stock against his lantern, and the crash of broken glass followed. At the same moment Batters called in a loud whisper, “Here they are. I see them movin’ among the trees.”

At this startling news a wailing cry broke from Nugget, and an instant later a gruff voice called distinctly:

“Come out of that one at a time, young fellars. Move lively, an’ you won’t be harmed.”

There was dead silence for a few seconds, and then the command was repeated in a more peremptory tone.

“They ain’t got no shootin’ weapons,” whispered Batters; “only short sticks. I can see ’em by the firelight.”

On hearing this, Randy was seized with a sudden access of courage. Gun in hand, he dashed by his companions to the front of the tent.

Batters saw the glint of the weapon and made a futile grab at it.

“Don’t do no shootin’,” he whispered hoarsely.

The warning came too late. Randy stepped out from the flaps and raised it to his shoulder.

“Make tracks, you villains,” he shouted, “or I’ll put daylight through you.” (This was a favorite expression of Randy’s purloined from the life of Kit Carson.) Then, as retreating footsteps were heard, he lowered the weapon a little and pulled the trigger.

The thunderous report was followed by a yell of pain, and two voices hissed out dire threats of vengeance as the baffled men went hastily down the slope.

As Randy turned toward his companions Batters sprang at him and wrenched the weapon from his hands.

“Didn’t I tell you not to shoot?” he cried. “Now you’ve gone an’ hit Bug. I kinder feared it might be him, but I wasn’t certain. That’s him swearin’ this very minute. Oh! I’ll fix you for this.”

Pushing Randy to one side and dashing the gun on the ground, Batters vanished in the darkness, yelling at the top of his voice, “Bug! Bug! it’s me!”

The boys were overcome with terror and amazement. Who in the world was Bug, and why should Batters be so anxious about him?

“Why did you do that?” demanded Ned sternly. “If you have shot any one don’t expect us to shield you.”

Randy did not reply. He staggered into the tent and rolled over in helpless mirth.

“Itit wasa salt cartridge,” he finally was able to gasp. “I hadthree or four of them. I read how to make themin a book. Didn’t I pepper their legs nicely though.

“I don’t care what it was,” exclaimed Ned angrily. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself. You’ll break up this trip yet with your foolishness.”

Randy sobered down in a moment or two, and when he joined the others outside the tent he was disposed to take a less humorous view of his smart performance. A light was visible at the mouth of the brook, and four figures could be seen around it.

Joe had evidently joined his brother. The conversation that was carried on was for the most part inaudible, but now and then a threatening sentence could be heard, or a few words of entreaty.

“Serious trouble will come out of this,” said Ned. “For half a cent I’d deliver you over to those fellows, Randy. The worst of it is that they were going away when you fired.”

“Dodging behind trees, that’s all,” replied Randy.

“Not a bit of it,” exclaimed Ned angrily. “They were running toward the creek.”

As Clay stoutly backed up this assertion, Randy lapsed into sullen silence. He was more frightened than he chose to let appear.

After what seemed a painfully long interval to the waiting boys, Batters came softly out of the gloom and stood before them.

“I reckon there ain’t no more danger,” he said. “It wasn’t Bug what was hit; the other fellow. He’s sittin’ down thar on the stones now, a pickin’ lumps of salt out of his legs with a knife blade. He’s mad as blazes too, an’ me an Bug had all we could do ter keep him from comin’ back here.

“I tole Bug how you saved my life, an’ when he heard that he put his foot down an’ swore you chaps shouldn’t be harmed. Bug ain’t bad at heart, he ain’t. As soon as the other fellow gits all the salt out they’re both going away. They hev a camp somewhere’s down the creek.”

“But who are these men, Batters, and what do you know about them?” asked Ned.

The lad hesitated for a moment.

“I reckon I might as well make a clean breast of it,” he said in a pitiful tone. “Don’t you-uns think bad of me an’ Joe though, cause we’ve been brung up different, ’deed we have.”

“Look here, Batters, you needn’t tell us if you don’t want to,” interrupted Ned sympathetically.

He had an inkling of the true state of affairs, and wished to spare the lad what was evidently a painful recital.

“No, I’d better tell,” responded Batters. “It’s just this way. Bug is big brother to me and Joe, only he’s about six years older than us. You see when he was a little chap dad an’ mammy lived down near Middlesex, an’ Bug he got in bad company. When dad moved up to the Gap, Bug was toler’ble bad, an’ since then he’s been gittin’ worse.

“He was in Carlisle jail twict fer stealin’, an’ in summer he jest lives shiftless like along the creek, helpin’ hisself to the farmers’ stuff. Now he dassent come home no more, for dad says he won’t own him fur a son. Mammy cries heaps an’ says her heart’s broke.

“You see dad an’ mammy are honest, if they are poor, an’ they made me an’ Joe promise we’d never take nothin’ what don’t belong to us. Mammy says she wants us ter grow up the right way, an’ not be bad an’ wuthless likelike Bug.”

Here Batters broke down and began to cry softly. His sad little talealas! only too common in all walks of life!had deeply moved his hearers, and more than one of the boys had tears in their eyes.

Ned walked over and threw his arm around the weeping lad.

“Don’t cry, Batters,” he said softly. “Some day Bug will find out his mistake and begin to do better. We don’t think any the less of you and Joe on his account. Stick to your mother, and do what she says, and you’ll be sure to grow up the right kind of men.”

Batters was consoled by this boyish sympathy. He wiped his eyes and looked gratefully at Ned.

“Here, take this,” said Nugget, holding out a handsome pocket knife. “It’s got four blades, and a corkscrew, and a file.”

Batters looked doubtfully at the treasure. Randy had just lighted a lantern, and the rays flashed on the mother of pearl handle.

“I want you to have it,” said Nugget, “my father will send me plenty more from New York.”

The temptation was too much. Batters took the knife with a smile, and incoherently tried to thank the donor.

All at once the creaking of oars was heard, and a moment later Joe joined the party.

“They’ve gone,” he announced. “T’ other fellow got tired pickin’ the salt out. Bug tole him he ought to be glad cause now he was well seasoned. Then the fellow jabbed at Bug with a knife. Missed him though.”

“Well, I’m ’glad the affair is over,” said Ned. “We’ll be able to get some sleep now. Batters, suppose you and Joe come in our tent? There is room enough.”

Batters hesitated and gave an awkward hitch to his trousers.

“I reckon you’d better not do any more sleepin’ here,” he said uneasily. “Bug pulled me aside, and said I should tell you-uns to light out afore daybreak, ‘cause the other fellar will surely come back an’ lay fur the chap what shot him. I dunno where Bug picked him up, or who he is. He looks like a tramp, with his dirty beard and wicked eyes. H’s a mighty bad man when he gits riled, Bug says. It’s a pity that chap shot him, ’cause they were both running away.”

“I know that,” replied Ned, “and I’m awfully sorry it happened. It was a mean, contemptible trick under the circumstances. But what had we better do now?”

“Well, I reckon it would be better to pack up and start,” advised Batters. “You see Bug and the other fellar have a camp about two mile down the creek. You can slide right past it in the darkness, and if you keep on fur a good ways the fellar what was shot won’t find you again. Bug tole me they didn’t intend to go much further down the creek. You needn’t be afraid to travel by night, ’cause there ain’t any bad water near here, an’ the first dam is twelve mile away.”

Ned was inclined to act promptly on Batters’ suggestions, and It goes without saying that the others were of the same mindespecially Randy, who had conceived a mortal fear of Bug’s companion.

It was between one and two o’clock when the boys began the work of breaking camp, and as Batters and Joe rendered useful assistance, the heavily laden canoes were in the water half an hour later. The start was made in darkness and silence. Ned thanked Batters for the important service he had rendered that night, and added a few words of comfort and sympathy.

Hands were shaken all around, and hopes expressed of meeting again. Then the Jolly Rovers paddled noiselessly away in the gloom, and Batters and Joe went up the beach to their shelter of pine boughs.