Dave Porter At Bear Camp: or, The Wild Man of Mirror Lake

"Oh, so that's your game, is it?" cried Dave, his anger rising. And then, as Link kicked out once more, he caught the foot and gave the youth a shove that sent him sprawling on his back. Before Link could arise, Dave rushed in and sat down heavily on him.

"Oh!" grunted the fallen one. "D-don't cru-crush my ribs!" he panted. "L-let u-up!"

"I won't let up until you promise to behave yourself," answered Dave, sternly. "For two pins, Link, I'd give you the thrashing of your life. You deserve it. What right had you to send me that note and call me a 'poorhouse nobody'?"

"That's right, Dave. Pitch into him! Give him what he deserves!" agreed Phil. "Maybe a good licking would knock some common-sense into him."

"D-don't you dare to – to t-touch me," panted the boy under Dave. "If you – you do, I'll ha-have the l-law on you!"

"Don't talk about the law!" cried Dave. "The law will take care of you. When I caught you down on Cave Island, and you said that you were sorry that you had joined Jasniff in that robbery and that you were going to reform, I felt sorry for you. But you are a faker, Merwell, and I don't believe you ever will reform, and that's the reason I'm going to do my best now to place you in the hands of the law."

"You – you – you let me u-up!"

"I won't let you up until you promise to behave yourself and come along with us."

"A-all right, I pro-promise."

"Very well, then, you can get up," answered Dave, arising. "But remember, you have given us your word, and if you break it, I'll guarantee that Phil and I will come down on you like a ton of bricks. Now, if you know when you are well off, you'll do exactly as we tell you to."

"I've got a scheme, Dave," broke in Phil, bringing out an extra piece of fishline from his pocket. "Let's tie his hands behind him with this. Then I don't think he'll care to run away – not very far, anyhow."

"Humph! can't you let me walk along without having my hands tied?" grumbled the prisoner.

"We are not going to take any chances, Link," answered the shipowner's son. "Now that we have caught you we are going to see that you get where you belong – in prison."

"You send me to prison and my father will make it hot for you!"

"You stop threatening us, Link!" ordered Dave, sternly.

"All right. But you'll see!"

Much against his will, Link Merwell was forced to place his hands behind him, and in a few minutes Phil and Dave had secured the fishline around his wrists. Then they picked up his cap, which had fallen off, and placed it on his head.

"Now then, march!" ordered Dave. "And no funny work!" And he led the way back along the brook, with Merwell following and Phil bringing up the rear with the fishing outfits.

"Say, how do you expect a fellow to get over these rocks with his hands tied behind him?" grumbled Link Merwell, after he had slipped several times.

"You'll have to do the best you can," returned Phil, coldly. "A jailbird like you can't expect much consideration."

"Bah, you make me tired, Phil Lawrence!" growled the prisoner. "I don't think you'll be able to send me to prison; not for long, anyhow! My father's got plenty of money; he'll get me out some way."

"If he spends any money on you he'll be foolish," returned the shipowner's son. "Now go ahead, we are not going to waste all our time on you."

It was not long after this when they came in sight of the other boys. Ben and Roger were still fishing, while Luke and Shadow were resting on the rocks, the latter telling one of his favorite stories.

"Hello! What luck?" called Ben, looking up. And then he added: "Great Cæsar's ghost! if it isn't Link Merwell!"

"Where did you run across him?" cried Luke, leaping to his feet, followed by Shadow.

"We found him running away from some kind of a wild man," answered Dave.

"The wild man who scared us into fits the other day?" queried Roger.

"We don't know if it was that fellow or somebody else," answered Phil.

Link Merwell was much crestfallen to confront so many of his former schoolmates of Oak Hall. He realized that he was "in the camp of the enemy" in more ways than one. At one time or another he had played each of them some sort of a scurvy trick, and he realized that not one of them would have a good word to say for him.

"Well, I see they have made you a prisoner," remarked Luke, as he noticed that Link's hands were tied behind him.

"Humph! they had no right to do it," growled the prisoner. "Where are you going to take me, anyhow?"

"We are going to take you to our bungalows," announced Dave. "There you will have the pleasure of talking the matter over with Mr. Wadsworth."

At the mention of the name of the man he had robbed, Link Merwell winced and his face paled. Evidently he did not relish what was in store for him.

"Say, having his hands tied behind him puts me in mind of a story," began Shadow. "Once there was a fellow – " and then, as the would-be story teller saw a look of disgust coming over the faces of his chums, he added hastily: "Oh, well, never mind. I'll tell you that story some other time."

"Is Mr. Wadsworth staying up here with you?" asked Link, while Ben and the others prepared to return to the bungalows.

"He is," answered Dave.

"Is his family with him?"

"Yes, we are all up here for a short vacation." Dave looked at his enemy squarely in the eyes. "Link, do you think you are treating me just right? I never put a straw in your way, and yet you have done everything you could to make things unpleasant for me. I tried to help you down on Cave Island, and in return for that you have been sending letters to Nat Poole asking him to help you in hurting me. And then the other day you sent that note calling me a 'poorhouse nobody.'"

"Oh, don't preach to me, Dave Porter!" growled the youth who had been made a prisoner. "I hate that kind of talk. You always tried to set yourself up as being better than any one else. Maybe you could get on the soft side of Gus Plum, but you can't play any such game as that on me. I know what I am doing."

"Link, I'm sorry to hear you talk that way," went on Dave, earnestly. "Do you want to spend all your life in prison?"

"Bah, don't talk to me! Didn't I tell you I don't want any preaching? If I've got to go to jail I'll go, but it won't be for long, mark my words! My father has got lots of money, and I guess the lawyers will know what to do. But let me tell you something, Dave Porter" – and now Link Merwell's face showed both cunning and hatred – "you found fault with that note I sent to you calling you a poorhouse nobody. Well, that is all you are; a poorhouse nobody!"

"See here, Link – " began our hero, his temper rising.

"Oh, now, just wait, Dave Porter! Just wait a little, and you'll find out what I mean. You are a poorhouse nobody and nothing else. Dave Porter? Why, you are not Dave Porter at all! You are a poorhouse nobody; that's all you are!"

CHAPTER XX

BACK IN CAMP

"What's this you are saying, Link?" demanded Phil, who had overheard the conversation just recorded. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself to talk that way. Just because Dave spent part of his life in the poorhouse after he was stolen away from his parents is no reason why you should speak as you do."

"And that isn't the reason why I am talking this way," retorted the prisoner. "I've got another reason, and Dave Porter will find out what it is before very long."

"You just said that I was not Dave Porter," remarked our hero. "What do you mean by that?"

"Never mind what I mean; you'll find out sooner or later," answered Link, with an expression of cunning on his countenance.

"Oh, don't listen to him!" broke in Roger; "he is only trying to worry you, Dave. Let us get back to the bungalows and tell Mr. Wadsworth about this capture."

"I'm not going back with you," retorted Link Merwell. And now, with his hands tied behind him, he made a leap over the rocks in the direction of the woods.

The sudden movement on the part of the prisoner, surrounded as he was by all of the boys, came somewhat as a surprise. But Dave, Roger and Phil were quick to recover, and away they bounded in pursuit of the fleeing one.

Terror lent speed to Link Merwell's feet, and soon he gained the edge of the growth, which at this point was quite heavy.

"Hurry up or he'll hide himself!" called Dave, who was in advance of his chums.

The runaway might have made good his escape had it not been for the fact that his hands were so tightly bound behind him. As he dashed between the first of the trees, his foot caught on an outcropping root. Unable to throw out his hands to save himself, he came down heavily, striking his forehead on another tree root.

"I've got him, come on!" cried Dave, and in a few seconds more was beside the fallen one. To his surprise Link Merwell lay motionless.

"Collar him! don't let him get away again!" yelled Roger, as he came up with Phil beside him.

"I think he hurt himself when he fell," answered our hero. "How about it, Link?" and he bent over his enemy as he asked the question.

There was no reply, and getting down on their knees, the three boys raised Link Merwell up and turned him over. He was unconscious, and the blood was flowing from a cut on his left temple.

"He came down pretty hard, I imagine," said Dave. "Let us carry him down to the brook."

Not without some difficulty, the three lads raised the unconscious form and carried it toward the brook, meeting the other boys on the way.

"Hello! what did you do; sock him one?" queried Luke.

"No, he fell, and as he couldn't use his hands he hit his head on a tree root," answered Dave. "Get a little water, somebody, and we'll see if we can revive him."

The water was soon brought, and with this they washed off the wound, after which they bound up Link Merwell's head with several handkerchiefs. The sufferer groaned and gasped several times, and finally opened and closed his eyes.

"Say, he may be hurt worse than we think," remarked Roger, gravely.

"I guess he ought to have a doctor," added Dave. "But where to get one around here I don't know. I don't believe there is one at Carpen Falls."

"I know there isn't, because I heard my mother asking about it," added Ben. "But I think we ought to get him down to the bungalows."

All of the boys were agreed that this was the best thing to do, and so, after putting up their fishing outfit, they began the return to the lake shore, taking turns at carrying the unconscious youth.

"O dear! who is hurt?" cried Laura, as she saw the party approaching.

"It's Link Merwell," answered her brother. "Call Mr. Wadsworth; will you?"

"Oh, Dave! so you've caught him; have you?" cried Jessie, while Laura ran off on her errand. "Did you have a fight?"

"Not much of a one, Jessie. He got hurt through a fall."

"What a very foolish boy he has been!" was Belle's comment. "But I think his father is partly to blame. He always allowed Link to do as he pleased on the ranch, and when Link went to the city he always gave him more spending money than was good for him, at least, so my father said."

"It was up to Link to do the square thing on his own account," broke in Roger. "He had all the chance in the world to make a man of himself. But he preferred the company of fellows like Jasniff. And this is the result."

Mr. Wadsworth was in his bungalow writing a letter. He was surprised and gratified at the news brought by Laura, and quickly followed her outside. A little later Mrs. Wadsworth and Mrs. Basswood joined the group. The boys had unbound Link, and now they placed him on a large hammock with a comfortable pillow under his head. As the jewelry manufacturer approached, the sufferer opened his eyes and then struggled to sit up.

"Hello! I guess he isn't hurt as much as we thought," remarked Shadow, in a low tone.

"Maybe he's only playing 'possum," was Luke's comment.

"No, he was hurt, that's sure; the cut on his forehead shows it," answered Dave.

"Well, Merwell, so they have caught you; have they?" began Mr. Wadsworth, as he stepped up in front of the youth. "I thought we would get you sooner or later."

"I – I can't talk to you no-now," faltered the prisoner.

"I don't think it will be necessary to do much talking, Merwell," went on the jewelry manufacturer. "We can do our talking later – possibly in the police court."

"All right, have your own way about it," growled the prisoner. "You've got me and I'm down and out, so you can do your worst." And with this he rolled over on the hammock once more and again closed his eyes.

"Talk about nerve!" whispered Ben. "Doesn't that take the cake!"

"I'd like to know whether he is really hurt so much, or only shamming," added Phil. "He always was a sly one."

"Tell me how you came to capture him," said Mr. Wadsworth.

Thereupon Dave and Phil related how they had gone up the brook to the vicinity of the cliff, and there heard the words between Link and the so-called wild man.

"O dear! is that awful creature around here again?" cried Jessie.

"Yes," answered Dave. "And I wish he would keep away."

Then Dave and Phil related how Link Merwell had plunged over the cliff and had been made a prisoner, and then how, later on, he had tried to escape, struck his head on the tree root, and how all of the boys had brought him to the bungalows.

"I am glad he didn't get away from you," said Oliver Wadsworth. "I think he ought to be in prison to keep Jasniff company."

"How will you get him to jail?" questioned Phil.

"I don't know what we can do except to march him down to Carpen Falls. But we can't do that to-day, for he seems too weak. Perhaps we can take him down there to-morrow, or else some of us can go down and get an officer to come up here and take charge of him."

The matter was talked over at some length, and it was finally decided that nothing more should be done that day. Link Merwell did not join in the discussion, nor even open his eyes to look at them. But by close observation, Dave became satisfied that the prisoner was listening intently to every word that was said.

"What will you do with him to-night?" asked Roger.

"We might lock him up in one of the rooms in the bungalow," suggested Dave.

"I don't think we'll give up one of our rooms to that fellow!" put in Mr. Wadsworth. "I think a bunk in the woodshed will be plenty good enough for him."

"Oh, Pa, wouldn't that be rather hard on him?" questioned Jessie, who did not want to see even a rascal like Merwell suffer physical discomfort.

"I dare say he has been putting up with worse than that in the woods here and while he was on Cave Island and in the far West," returned her father. "We'll place an old couch and some blankets in a corner of the shed, and that will be plenty good enough for him."

"But somebody will have to watch him," answered Dave. "I'll do it if you want me to."

"That wouldn't be quite fair, Dave," broke in Phil. "If he has got to be watched, let us take turns at doing it."

"We might bind him fast to the cot," suggested Mr. Wadsworth.

"He's so slick I'd be afraid to risk that," answered Dave. "I'll not mind staying up watching him."

"Let us all take a hand at it," broke in Ben. "Every fellow can go on guard-duty for two hours, and call the next fellow." And so, after a little discussion, the matter was arranged.

"I suppose I'm not to have anything to eat?" grumbled Link Merwell, a little later, when they were arranging to place him in the woodshed, which was a small lean-to of the Wadsworth bungalow. This place was used for the storage of firewood, but just now was almost empty.

"Oh, yes, we'll see to it that you get something to eat," answered Mrs. Wadsworth, quickly.

"I haven't had a square meal for twenty-four hours," went on the prisoner.

"Give him all he wants, but nothing fancy," said Mr. Wadsworth. "He deserves nothing but the plainest kind of victuals."

"Where have you kept yourself since you ran away from Mr. Appleby's camp?" questioned Phil, curiously.

"Oh, I just roamed around in the woods," was the somewhat sullen answer.

"Did you meet that wild man more than once?" questioned Roger.

"No. If it hadn't been for that fellow, whoever he is, you wouldn't have caught me," added Link, bitterly.

"I wonder what the Pooles will do when Mr. Basswood tells them what we think, that it is Mr. Wilbur Poole," came from Dave. "Perhaps they will send some of the sanitarium authorities up to try to catch him."

"I hope they do catch him!" came from Jessie. "I'll never feel safe as long as that man is at large."

CHAPTER XXI

THE ESCAPE

Mr. Dunston Porter had been down to Carpen Falls for a walk and to get the mail. He returned late that evening, bringing several letters with him. He was of course much surprised to learn of the capture of Link Merwell, and listened with interest to the details concerning the affair.

Among the letters which his uncle had brought along was one for Dave, which he read with deep interest. It was from Nat Poole, who evidently had not yet heard anything regarding his missing uncle.

"I want to tell you of what has happened here lately," (wrote Nat). "I have received two visits from a young fellow named Ward Porton, who is, I believe, a moving-picture actor, and the same fellow that you helped to rescue from a burning steam yacht. This fellow was in town once with Link Merwell, and then came here alone. He has been visiting a number of people who are well acquainted with you, and also visited the poorhouse here and talked to several of those in authority, and those who used to have the running of the poorhouse years ago, when you were an inmate there. This Ward Porton acted as if he had something of great importance on his mind, but what it was he would not tell, but he did let slip that it was something concerning you – that there was a big surprise in store for you. He also let slip that he, too, had been in a poorhouse when he was a little boy, and that he had never been able to learn where he had really come from.

"I am writing this to put you on your guard in case he should show himself either at your camp or at the Wadsworth mansion after your return. I must confess that I don't like the fellow's manner, and I rather surmise he is laying pipes to play you some trick."

Dave read this letter over several times, and was much perplexed. He had not forgotten what Link Merwell had said to him shortly after being captured, nor had he forgotten the fact that he had seen Link and Ward Porton in Crumville at the old Potts farm.

"Those fellows are certainly up to something," our hero told himself. "Link said that I was not Dave Porter. Now, what did he mean by that? Those fellows must be hatching up some plot against me."

"Dave, you look rather worried," remarked Phil, as he caught the youth reading the communication for the third time. "No bad news I hope?"

"I can't tell whether it is or not, Phil," was the reply. And Dave handed the letter to his chum.

"Phew! This looks like a mystery," was the comment of the shipowner's son. "Dave, do you think this had anything to do with what Link Merwell said when we caught him – that you were not Dave Porter?"

"That's the way it looks to me, Phil."

"But that's rank nonsense. We all know you are Dave Porter."

"Well, I've always thought I was Dave Porter, ever since I met my Uncle Dunston out in those South Sea Islands."

"Why of course you are! Don't you look just like your Uncle Dunston? This is some game, Dave."

"I think so myself."

"What are you fellows confabbing about?" asked Roger, walking up.

"We're talking about a letter I just received," answered Dave. And then the senator's son also read the communication.

"Say, this is a mystery and no mistake!" was Roger's comment. "And so Nat thinks that Ward Porton is mixed up in it, eh? That is strange."

"What do you suppose he has to do with it, Roger?" questioned Phil.

"I am sure I don't know. But come to think of it, he did look like – " And then Roger broke off in confusion.

"Look like what, Roger?" asked Dave, quickly.

"Oh, never mind, Dave, let's drop the subject and talk about what we are going to do with Link Merwell."

"I think I know what you were going to say," went on our hero, and he tried to speak calmly although his heart gave a sudden jump. "You were going to say that Ward Porton looked like my Uncle Dunston and like me."

"Well, if you must know it, Dave, that is what did come into my mind. I don't think he resembles you quite as much as he resembles your uncle, to be really honest."

"Oh, say, Roger, drop that!" interposed Phil, hastily. "I think Dave looks a good deal more like his uncle than Porton looks like Mr. Porter."

"It's a queer mystery, that's certain," returned Dave, slowly. "I don't like it, I must say," and his face showed more concern than it had for a long while.

"Don't you take this too seriously, Dave!" cried Roger. "I believe at the most it's only some game gotten up by Link Merwell. Now that we have him a prisoner and can send him to jail for that robbery, more than likely you won't hear anything further about it."

"I sincerely hope you speak the truth," was our hero's sober reply.

After a plain but substantial meal, Link Merwell was taken to the woodshed and told he would have to remain there until morning. Then the boys cast lots to find out who should go on guard first.

"I'm number one," announced Phil, after drawing one of a number of slips of paper placed in a cap.

"And I follow you," announced Luke.

"I'm guard number three," came from Ben, and the other boys announced what slips they had drawn.

Usually the woodshed was dark, but now a lantern had been hung on a nail to illuminate the place. There were two doors, one connecting with the bungalow proper, and the other leading into the backyard of the place. There was also a small window, over which in times past several stout wooden bars had been nailed to keep out prowling wild animals.

"Think I'll run away, eh?" remarked Link Merwell, as he sat down on the couch which had been placed in the woodshed.

"You'll not get the chance," returned Phil, who had armed himself with one of the double-barreled shotguns. "If you try to get away, Link, you'll get a dose of shot in you, just as sure as fate."

"Humph! I don't think I'll want to run away," grumbled the prisoner. "There is no place to run to in this forsaken section of the country. What you folks can find here to make it pleasant is a mystery to me."

The door leading to the outside had been closed and bolted. The other door leading to the bungalow proper was left open for ventilation, and Phil sat on a low stool beside it, with the shotgun across his knees.

"Are you quite sure you can manage him, Phil?" questioned Mr. Wadsworth, as he came to the doorway after the others in both bungalows had retired.

"Yes, I can manage him easily enough," returned the shipowner's son. "I've got this, you see," and he tapped the shotgun suggestively.

"Well, don't have any shooting unless it becomes absolutely necessary," answered the jewelry manufacturer; and then he, too, retired.

For a short while Link Merwell lay down on the couch and turned over as if to go to sleep. But he was restless, and presently, when all was quiet, he turned over again and sat up.

"What are you going to do with me when you get me to Carpen Falls?" he questioned.

"We are going to hand you over to the authorities."

"Is Dave Porter going along to the Falls?"

"I don't know about that. That's for Mr. Wadsworth to say," answered Phil. "By the way," he continued, "what did you mean by telling Dave that he was not Dave Porter?"

"Never you mind, you'll find out soon enough," grumbled the prisoner.

"Very well, Link, if you don't want to tell me you don't have to. Just the same, if you are trying to hatch out some plot against Dave, I warn you to be careful. He has stood about as much as he intends to stand."

"This is no plot; this is something real," grumbled Link Merwell. "Just you wait, that's all," and then he lay down on the couch once more and pretended to go to sleep.

At the proper time Luke came to relieve Phil, and was followed by Ben, and then by Shadow.

"Say, it's cold to-night," remarked the former story-teller of Oak Hall, as he took the shotgun and sat down on the stool. "If this weather keeps on, before long we'll have frost up here, and we'll all be thinking of going home."