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As Tom could not go to the land of the kangaroo with his folks they decided to send him to a boarding school, called Elmwood Hall.
Tom at once entered into the activities of the school. He made a friend and an enemy the same day, the friend being Jack Fitch, with whom Tom roomed, and whom I have already mentioned, in this story. Of course Tom had other friends at the school, one being Bert Wilson.
Sam Heller, and his crony Nick Johnson, made it unpleasant for Tom, but our hero managed to hold up his end. It was harder work, however, in regard to Professor Skeel, who was a most unpleasant instructor. He was unfair to the boys, and Tom proposed a novel plan to get even.
He suggested that they all go on a “strike” against Mr. Skeel, refusing to recite to him unless he changed his manners. The unpopular professor did not change, and Tom headed the revolt against him. This took Doctor Pliny Meredith, the head master of the school, and all the faculty by surprise. They did not know what to do until Mr. Skeel proposed that the whole Freshman class, of which Tom was a member, be kept prisoners in their dormitory, and fed on bread and water until they capitulated.
Among the pupils at Elmwood Hall was Bruce Bennington, a Senior, and Tom was of great service to him in securing a forged note that Mr. Skeel held over the head of Bennington, threatening to expose the student and ruin his career. Tom put an end to the illegal acts of the professor, who unexpectedly withdrew from the school.
Tom and his mates, after that, greatly enjoyed their life at Elmwood Hall, and matters were more to their liking, but Tom was not at an end of having adventures.
As I have said, Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield had gone to Australia to look after some property. When Spring came they started for home, coming in a sailing vessel for the sake of the long sea voyage.
Unexpectedly, one night, one of Tom’s chums saw a note in a paper telling of a vessel picking up wreckage from the Kangaroo, the ship on which Tom’s parents had sailed. This at once plunged Tom into the depths of despair, but he did not give up hope. He at once decided to go to Australia himself, and if necessary charter a small steamer and cruise about in the location where the wreckage was picked up, hoping his parents might still be afloat on some sort of life raft, or in an open boat.
In the second volume of this series, entitled “Tom Fairfield at Sea,” I related the details of his most exciting trip. For Tom’s vessel, the Silver Star, on which he was proceeding to Sydney, was wrecked in a storm, and Tom was tossed overboard. He managed to grab a life belt, and floated until, in the early dawn, he saw two sailors from the ship clinging to a derelict which the Silver Star had hit, and which had wrecked her.
Tom got aboard, and a little later a partly smashed lifeboat was sighted. It was brought to the derelict by one of the sailors, and found to contain Professor Skeel, who, it seems, had, by accident, taken passage for Honolulu on the same ship as that on which our hero started out. Naturally there was a mutual surprise.
Tom, the two sailors and Mr. Skeel were on the derelict for some time, and then having patched up the lifeboat they set out in that. But it was some time before they were picked up, and they had nearly starved. There was also a little boy saved from the wreck – Jackie Case – and Tom took charge of him.
Eventually Tom got to Australia, and then set out in a small steamer he hired to search for his parents. It was a long trip, but he heard that some survivors of a wreck were on an island in the Friendly group, though which island it was could not be learned. Tom searched on several and at last, and just in time, he discovered his father and mother, and some others who had gotten away in a small boat from the sinking Kangaroo.
That Tom was overjoyed need not be said, and he and his parents lost no time in starting back for their home in this country. All the details of the wreck, and how Tom brought his quest to a successful close, will be found in the second volume. I might add here that later nearly all those on board the Silver Star were saved, including the father of Jackie Case.
Tom went back to Elmwood Hall, and finished the spring term, graduating and becoming a Sophomore. He had come home, ready for the long summer vacation, when he received the letter from Jack Fitch, mentioned in the first chapter of this book.
I might state that Tom’s father was quite well off, and that our hero had sufficient spending money for his needs. He had, as I have mentioned, a good motorboat.
“Well, dad,” remarked Tom, when he thought his parent had sufficiently collected his thoughts. “Let’s have the story of the secret of the old mill.”
“As nearly as I can recollect it,” began Mr. Fairfield, “this mill is located about eight miles from the town of Wilden, where, as I told you, I spent some years when a lad. No one seems to know when the mill was built, but it is quite old, and must have been put up by the early settlers. It is of stone, and used to grind grain by water power.
“The mill is on the bank of a small river that flows into Lake Woonset, and it was this lake I was thinking of when I suggested that you go camping near it. It’s of good size, and there is fine fishing in it.”
“But about the mill, dad. What’s the secret of it, and what about the wild man?”
“I’m coming to that. As I said, the mill was probably built by the early settlers, and, ever since I can remember, there has been a rumor that there is treasure concealed in or about the old place.”
“Treasure, dad? What kind?”
“Well, there were all sorts of rumors. Some said pirates had come that far inland, and had buried their ill-gotten gains there, and another story was that during the Indian wars the settlers, of the then small village of Wilden, fled one day, after warning had been given them of a raid by the redmen. Before fleeing, however, it was said that they had hidden all their money, gold and silver ornaments, and so on, in the old mill. I think that story is more likely to be true than the other. At any rate it is history that the Indians once descended on Wilden, and killed nearly all the inhabitants.”
“Well, I’m glad there aren’t any Indians up there now, if we’re going camping,” remarked Tom, “though one or two might be nice for variety. But go on dad.”
“So it may be true that there is some treasure in or about the old mill,” went on Mr. Fairfield. “I know we boys used to hunt for it, but I never found any, though one of my chums, Tommy Gardner, did find a dime once, and right away there was a wild story that he had come upon the buried treasure. But it happened that the dime was one of recent date, so that story soon fell through.
“Still, ever since I can recollect, there has been more or less of a search made from time to time for gold and silver in the mill. In fact while it was pretty much of a ruin as long as I can remember, it must be much worse now, as the treasure hunters literally pulled it apart.”
“What about the wild man, dad?”
“Well, that has to do with the old mill also. This old Jason Wallace, of whom your mother spoke, is a descendant of some of the early settlers of Wilden. Naturally he heard the story of the treasure supposed to be in the mill, and he was one of the most persistent searchers after it. I never knew him very well, but it seems that constant searching, and never finding anything, has turned his mind.
“He is practically crazy now, and fairly lives in the old mill. He has fitted up some sort of a room there and goes about through the woods at times, looking in all sorts of places for the treasure, thinking I suppose that, after all, it may not be in the mill, but somewhere around it.”
“Is he a dangerous character, dad?”
“Well, I suppose he might be in a way, if you crossed him, or if he thought you were trying to do him out of the treasure.”
“Then we won’t cross him,” said Tom, with a laugh. “But all this sounds interesting, and I don’t believe we could camp in a better place.”
“You’ll be careful; won’t you, Tom?” asked his mother.
“Oh, sure,” he answered with a smile. “But after what I went through in the shipwreck I’m not afraid of a wild man. Why, I might even help him find the treasure.”
“I don’t really believe there is any,” said Mr. Fairfield. “I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it if I were you, Tom.”
“I won’t. We fellows will probably be so busy having a good time in camp that we won’t go near the old mill, except maybe to take some photos of it. Is that all there is to the story, dad?”
“That’s all I know,” replied Mr. Fairfield. “You might see your mother’s friend, Mrs. Henderson, when you get to Wilden, and she may be able to give you some additional particulars.”
“She wrote me,” said Mrs. Fairfield, “that the way old Jason Wallace takes on is terrible at times. He rushes around through the woods, yelling at the top of his voice, and whenever he meets people he imagines they are after the treasure in the mill. I do wish, Tom, that you weren’t going to such a place. Can’t you pick out just as good a spot somewhere else, to go camping?”
“Oh, no, momsey! This is great! I wouldn’t miss this for anything, and the fellows will think it’s the best ever, I know. I’m going to tell Dick Jones first, and then write to Jack and Bert.”
“Well, do be careful,” urged Mrs. Fairfield, who seemed filled with anxiety.
“Don’t worry,” advised her husband. “Tom can take care of himself I guess. Why, he even found us when we were shipwrecked, you know.”
“Yes, I know. But this is different, up there in the woods, with that crazy creature roaming about. And it’s so lonesome and so far from a town!”
“All the better,” laughed Tom. “It’s no fun camping next door to a village. We want to rough it. I’m going to find Dick.” And he hurried off to tell his village chum the good news.
CHAPTER III
TOM’S CHUMS ARRIVE
“Well, Tom, how about it?” greeted Dick, when our hero met him, soon after having heard the details about the old mill and the wild man from Mr. Fairfield. “Is it all right for camp?”
“I should say yes, and then some more! Say, Dick, it’s going to be great! Think of it; a mystery to solve, and a wild hermit sort of a chap, roaming around through the woods, looking for your scalp.”
“Where’s that?”
“Where we’re going camping – where else? Here’s the yarn,” and Tom told it as he had heard it. “How about that?” he asked when he had finished.
“Couldn’t be better,” declared Dick enthusiastically.
“Have you fixed things with your folks so you can go?” asked Tom.
“I sure have.”
“Then come on down to the river and we’ll take another spin in the Tag. I want to get out on the water, where it’s nice and quiet, and talk about going camping.”
“So do I,” agreed Dick, and a little later the two chums were once more chugging away, and talking of everything, from the best way to kill a bear to what to do when the motorboat would not “mote,” as Tom put it.
“And we may get some game up there,” said Tom. “This Lake Woonset is away up in the northern part of New York state, and it’s wild there. I’m going to take my gun along.”
“So am I,” declared Dick. “When are your other friends coming?”
“I’ll get ’em here as soon as I can.”
“Say, Tom, maybe they won’t want me to come along.”
“Don’t you worry about that,” declared our hero. “I’m in charge of this camping party, and I’ll take whom I please. But they’ll like you all right, Dick, and you’ll like them. That’s sure.”
“When do you think you’ll go camping?”
“Just as soon as we can. In about a week, I guess. I’ll have to get a lot of things together. I’ve got a tent that will do, but we’ll need another small one to cook in, and a connecting piece of canvas for an awning so we can go from the kitchen to the dining room when it rains, without getting wet. The only thing I’m sorry about is leaving the Tag behind.”
“Why don’t you take her along?”
“By Jove!” cried Tom. “I never thought of that. I believe I will. I wonder if I could ship her to Lake Woonset?”
“I don’t see why not,” declared Dick.
“I’ll find out from dad,” declared Tom.
“Then go right back and do it,” suggested Dick. “We might as well get this thing settled.”
Tom turned the boat back, and in a short time was getting information from his father about the shipping facilities to Lake Woonset.
“You can get the boat up there all right,” declared Mr. Fairfield, “but you’ll have to hire some sort of a truck to haul it to the lake, as it isn’t near any railroad station.”
“Oh, we’ll manage it,” declared Tom. “Now I’m going to mail the letters to Jack and Bert.”
The missives were posted, and then Tom and Dick began to make out lists of what they needed, and to get their camping outfits together.
This took them several days, and in the meanwhile word came back from Tom’s two school chums that they would come on at once. They were delighted with the prospect of going camping in such a location as Tom described, though he did not give them all the particulars by letter.
“If we’re going to take the motorboat,” said Dick, one afternoon, about a week later, “we had better make a sort of crate for it, hadn’t we.”
“Yes, and take off the rudder and propeller,” added Tom. “It’s going to be quite a job, but I guess we can manage it.”
They at once began this task, the tent and other camping supplies having been gotten in readiness to ship. At work on the crate for the boat the next afternoon, Tom was surprised to hear a shout behind him.
“Hi there, old man!” a voice called. “What in the world are you up to?”
Tom turned to behold his two school chums, Jack and Bert, coming toward him.
“Well for cats’ sake!” he cried, running forward. “I didn’t expect you until to-morrow? How’d you find me down here?” for Tom was at work in his boathouse.
“We managed to get off sooner than we expected,” said Jack, as he and Bert shook hands with Tom.
“And we hiked for your house as soon as we landed,” added Bert.
“Your folks said you were down here, and we managed to find the place without getting lost more than ten times,” broke in Jack with a laugh. “Now what’s going on? Tell us all about it.”
“I’m going to take the boat along,” explained Tom. “And say, talk about luck! We’re going to camp near a mysterious old mill, and there’s a wild man roaming through the woods up there, who may sneak in and scalp us any night.”
“Great!” cried Jack.
“All to the string beans!” exclaimed Bert. “How did you happen to stumble on such a combination as that?”
Tom told, and the two newcomers expressed their satisfaction in unmeasured terms.
“Let’s start right away!” exclaimed Jack.
“Oh, there’s lots to do yet,” spoke Tom. “If you fellows will get off your store-clothes, you can help crate this boat.”
“Sure we will!” came from Bert. “We left our grips at your house. We’ll go back and change into our old duds.”
“Good idea,” declared Tom. “Mother’s got your rooms all ready for you.”
“We know. She took us up to ’em first shot,” said Jack. “Great little mother you’ve got, boy!”
“Glad you like her,” laughed Tom.
A little later the three chums were back at the boathouse making the crate. There was hammering, pounding, splitting and sawing – that is, when there was a cessation in the talk, which was not very often, as the lads had much to say to each other.
Then, too, each one had a different idea of how the work ought to be done, and they argued freely, though good-naturedly.
“Say, we’ll never get anything done if we keep this up,” said Tom after a while.
“That’s right. Talk less and work more,” advised Bert.
“Here comes Dick Jones. He’ll help,” said Tom, and he explained that his village chum was going to camp with them. Dick was introduced to the two Elmwood Hall boys, and they liked him at once, as he did them.
After that the work went on better, for it was no small task to crate the motorboat and an additional pair of hands were much needed.
“And what did you say the name of the lake is, where we’re going camping?” asked Jack, during a pause in the hammering and sawing.
“Lake Woonset,” explained Tom. “It’s an Indian name. Didn’t I mention it before?”
“You did, but I guess I forgot it. Lake Woonset, near Wilden, in New York state. Say, Bert – !”
“By Jove, that’s so. It just occurred to me too,” interrupted Bert.
“What did?” asked Tom. “What’s up? What’s the matter with Lake Woonset?”
