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

While rowing to the Appleby camp, Dave had been giving serious thought to his own affairs. He remembered what he had heard concerning Ward Porton and Della Ford, and resolved to question the young lady and the other members of the moving-picture company about the young man who claimed to be the real Dave Porter. Our hero's chance came when the other boys were busy placing some provisions and cooking utensils in the rowboat. He motioned Della Ford and her aunt to one side, and the three walked out of hearing of the others present.

"If you don't mind, I would like to ask you something about Mr. Ward Porton," said our hero, to the girl.

"O dear, I thought I was done with that young man!" cried Della, with a toss of her head.

"He bothered my niece so much while he was a member of the company she got quite sick of him," declared Mrs. Ford. "He was a very forward young man."

"I'd like very much to find out about his past history: where he came from, and all that," went on Dave. "It's something very important."

"I know more about Mr. Porton than he thinks I do," announced Della. "That's one reason why I dropped him."

"But Della, you don't want to get into any trouble," interposed the girl's aunt, quickly.

"If you'll tell me what you know about Ward Porton, I'll promise that it won't get you into any trouble," answered Dave, quickly. "I want, if possible, to find out where he came from, and who brought him up."

"Who brought him up?" queried Mrs. Ford. "Didn't he live with his parents?"

"He says not. He claims to have come from a poorhouse in a town down in Maine."

"Why, you don't tell me, Mr. Porter!" exclaimed the lady, in astonishment. "He told me once that he had lived with his folks up to the time he was about ten years old, and that then his parents had died and he had gone to live with an uncle."

"Yes, and he did live with an uncle – or at least some man he called his uncle," added Della.

"Are you certain of this?" asked our hero, eagerly.

"I am, Mr. Porter."

"And may I ask what the thing was that you knew about him that caused you to drop him?" continued Dave.

"Wait a minute, Della, before you answer that question," interposed Mrs. Ford, hastily. "I think we ought to know why Mr. Porter is after this information."

"Since we have gone so far, I may as well tell you," returned Dave. And in as few words as possible he related how it had come about that Ward Porton was now claiming to be the real Dave Porter.

"Why, what a queer story!" declared Mrs. Ford. "It sounds like some novel."

"I don't believe it's true, Mr. Porter!" cried Della Ford. "I believe he is a faker! At first I thought he was quite nice, but I soon discovered otherwise. He is addicted to gambling, and when he gets the fever he gambles away the very clothing on his back."

"Then that is why you broke with him?"

"That was one reason. But as I said before, I know more about Mr. Porton than he imagined. One day we had been out walking, and after he left me I picked up a letter which must have dropped from his pocket when he pulled out his cigarette case. As the letter had no envelope, I did not know whose it was, and read it. It was evidently written by a very angry man. The writer, who signed himself Obadiah Jones, said that he was sick and tired of putting up for Ward; that Ward could no longer expect any assistance from him; that he cast the young man off, and never wanted to hear from him again."

"And you say that letter was signed by a man named Obadiah Jones?" asked Dave, eagerly.

"Yes. Rather an old-fashioned name; isn't it?"

"Did the man give his address?"

"No, there was no address of any kind on the letter," answered Della Ford.

"Was this Obadiah Jones the man he said was his uncle?" continued our hero.

"I don't know about that," answered the girl.

CHAPTER XXIX

THE BIG BEAR

Dave was very thoughtful as the four boys rowed back to the bungalows with the things procured from Mr. Appleby. His talk with Della Ford and her aunt had lasted until the others were ready to depart, but he had gained little information beyond that already known to the reader.

"If only I had the address of that Obadiah Jones, I might go and see him and listen to what he has to say about Ward Porton," he told himself. "Of course he may not be Porton's uncle at all – I know lots of children taken from poorhouses and orphan asylums who call the folks aunt and uncle. But even if he isn't, he may be able to give me some information that will put me on the right track regarding this affair."

The morning was spent by those at the bungalows in getting settled once more. The provisions brought from the Appleby camp were divided between the two places, and likewise the kitchen utensils.

"I'd like to set some sort of a trap and catch those burglars," declared Ben.

"I don't see how you're going to do it," returned our hero. "I doubt very much whether they will show themselves in this vicinity again. More than likely they are miles away."

"Dave, do you think Link Merwell had anything to do with this?"

"It's possible, Ben, although I don't see how he would have the nerve to come back here after what happened. I should think he would feel like quitting this territory entirely."

Another day went by, bringing no word from Crumville. Our hero and Roger had tramped all the way to Carpen Falls, hoping for letters, but the only one to come in was a re-directed epistle for Ben, inviting him to become a subscriber to some local charity.

"O shucks! I suppose the charity is all right," said Ben, when he got this letter, "but I'd like to get some real news from dad or somebody else at home."

Dave said little, but he felt more downcast than ever. He had thought that a letter would surely come by now. Roger noticed how he felt, and placed a kindly hand on our hero's shoulder.

"Don't you worry, Dave, old man," he said feelingly, "this will come out all right in the end."

"I hope so, Roger," was the answer. "But this suspense wears on a fellow."

"Perhaps if you went to Maine to that town where the poorhouse is located that Ward Porton says he came from, you might be able to find out something about that Obadiah Jones," went on the senator's son, who had been told of what the Fords had revealed.

"I was thinking something of that, Roger, and if I can't get on the track any other way, I'll go there," was the reply. "But I hate to think of leaving here until I get some kind of word from Crumville."

"Well, some things move slowly, Dave, don't forget that. More than likely your unc – I mean the folks down in Crumville – are doing all they can to get to the bottom of the matter. Most likely they are investigating the proofs that Ward Porton said he was willing to present."

On the following morning there was something of a surprise. About eleven o'clock, while some of the lads were fishing, and Dave had Jessie out in a canoe, there came a shout from up the brook, and looking in that direction our hero saw Phil approaching, with his uncle beside him, leaning on the youth's shoulder.

"Hello, Mr. Lawrence's ankle must have got better quickly!" cried Dave.

"And is that the so-called wild man?" returned Jessie. "He doesn't seem to be very wild now."

"You've heard us tell why he acted in that outlandish way," was the answer, as Dave paddled toward the dock.

Soon the boys were surrounding the new arrivals, and Mr. Lawrence was led to a couch, upon which he was glad to sit down and thus rest his injured ankle. The ladies and the girls were introduced, and the man shook hands with them rather shamefacedly.

"I'll have to apologize to you for acting so rudely," said Lester Lawrence, after the introductions were over. "I suppose the boys have told you why I did it?"

"Yes, Mr. Lawrence," answered Mrs. Wadsworth, kindly. "And under the circumstances we are quite willing to let bygones be bygones."

"Can we do anything for your ankle?" questioned Laura, who was a natural-born nurse.

"I guess about all it needs is rest," answered Lester Lawrence. "It was quite a journey from my shack to this place. But I saw that Phil was getting anxious to rejoin you, so I told him we might as well make the venture to-day rather than wait. He has been hoping that you would have some word for him from my brother."

"No word yet, Phil," answered Dave, "but there may be in the mail to-day."

"Say, we had some scare this morning just before we left the cabin!" declared the shipowner's son. "I was nearly frightened into a fit!"

"What was that?" came from several of the others.

"I was cleaning the dishes after breakfast, and I went outdoors to throw some scraps in a heap behind some bushes. Just as I got there with my panful of stuff, up jumped – what do you think? – a great big bear!"

"A bear!" shrieked the girls.

"Did you shoot him?" broke in Shadow.

"Shoot him? What with – a frying-pan?"

"Then the bear got away?" asked Roger.

"I don't know whether the bear got away or I got away. I dropped that frying-pan, and I legged it for the cabin for all I was worth. In the meantime the bear disappeared among the trees just back of the cabin. I got my uncle's rifle and went out to look for him, but it was no use."

"O dear, a bear!" murmured Jessie. "Suppose he comes down here?" and she gave a slight shiver.

"Why, that would be fun!" declared Belle. "I'd like to see that bear, and get a shot at him, too," went on the girl from Star Ranch.

"If that bear is anywhere in this vicinity we might organize a hunt for him," suggested Luke, who, on the day previous, had gone out with Ben and Shadow and brought down a partridge.

"That's the talk!" cried Roger. "Come on, let us go on a hunt! It will give us something to do."

The matter was discussed for a quarter of an hour, and during that time Roger and Ben managed to take Phil to one side and tell him about the news from Crumville. The shipowner's son was, of course, much astonished.

"I believe it's a fake!" he declared, flatly. "Dave is Dave Porter, and no mistake! We cleared that matter up directly after our return from the South Seas."

"Just what I said, Phil," responded Roger. "At the same time, I suppose the Porters have got to listen to Ward Porton's claim."

"Bah! it's a conspiracy I tell you – a conspiracy gotten up by this fellow, Porton, and by Link Merwell! You can't tell me any different!" and Phil's face showed his earnestness.

It was decided that all of the boys should go out directly after lunch, in a hunt for the bear. The number of shotguns and rifles on hand was enough to go around, so that each of them would be armed. They also provided themselves with some provisions, not knowing how late it would be before they got back.

"Oh, Dave, do be careful!" pleaded Jessie, when the boys were ready to depart. "Don't let that bear eat you up!"

"Don't worry," he answered. "I'll take care of myself." And then he added with something of a sigh: "I hope you have good news for me when I get back."

"I hope so too, Dave. But just remember what I said," she went on, looking him straight in the eyes. "I'll think just as much of you even if they prove that you are not Dave Porter."

Phil was with the crowd, and all headed up the brook, and then along the trail leading to the cabin which had been occupied by Lester Lawrence. Arriving there, a hunt was made through the forest back of the cabin.

"It's a good deal like hunting for the proverbial needle in a haystack," remarked Roger.

"Where did you see the bear last, Phil?" questioned Luke.

"Just about here," was the reply, and the shipowner's son pointed with his hand. "I think he went in that direction," he added.

The boys spread out in a long, straight line, and in this fashion proceeded through the forest for the best part of a mile. During that time they thought they saw a deer in the distance, and Roger might have taken a shot, but Dave imperatively stopped him.

"We can't shoot at anything if we want to get close to that bear," announced our hero. "Bears are very scary creatures, and if you make too much noise that beast will run for miles and miles before he stops."

Late afternoon found the boys still on the search. They had seen nothing to shoot at, and some of them were growing disheartened. Luke was limping slightly, having caught his foot between a crevice in the rocks.

"I move we rest and have something to eat," announced Ben, and this suggestion was quickly seconded by the others. Then, when the sun was well down in the west, they decided to turn back toward the bungalows.

It was a tramp of over a mile and a half, and as the footing in many places was uncertain, they had to proceed with great care.

"Such a hunt!" grumbled Ben. "It's been all hunting and no shooting."

"Which puts me in mind of a story!" cried Shadow. "Oh, this is a short one, so you needn't frown at it," he went on quickly, glancing around. "It's about a fellow who came along and saw an old man fishing in a lake. 'How's fishing?' he asked of the old man. 'Couldn't be better,' was the answer. 'Catch anything?' 'No.' 'Then what do you mean by saying the fishing is good?' 'So it is. I didn't say anything about the catching.'" And at this a grin went around.

"We ought to be getting in sight of the bungalows soon," remarked Roger, after they had climbed over some rough rocks and were walking through a dense patch of the forest.

"Say, this is a fine place to get lost in," remarked Phil.

"It will be all right as long as the sunlight lasts," answered Dave. "I am using that for a compass."

Soon they came to the edge of a clearing, on the other side of which were a series of rocks with vines and brushwood. The boys were about to advance across the clearing when suddenly Shadow's arms went up into the air.

"St – st – stop!" he spluttered, in a low tone. "Dr – dr – drop down, all of you!"

The others saw that he was much in earnest, and immediately sank down behind the trees and rocks. Then all gazed inquiringly at the former story-teller of Oak Hall.

"It's the be – be – bear!" spluttered Shadow. "Sa – say, don't you think we had be – be – better run for it?"

"The bear! Where is it?" demanded Dave.

"I saw him just lift his head up among the rocks yonder," returned Shadow. "Say, he looked like an awful big fellow!"

"Well, if he is there, you bet we are not going to run away from him!" declared Phil. "Come on, let's see if we can't shoot him."

"Wait a minute, Phil," advised Dave. "If the bear is among yonder rocks, as Shadow says, we had better spread out a little, and thus get a better chance at him."

Seeing that his companions were not frightened, Shadow regained some of his composure and followed them, although keeping a little to the rear. With great caution, and holding their firearms ready for use, the whole crowd of boys crossed the clearing and gained the first of the rocks beyond. Fortunately, the breeze was coming from ahead of them, thus carrying their scent away from where the bear was supposed to be.

It had been agreed that when necessary Dave should give the signal to fire. He was slightly in advance, and now with great caution he looked over some rocks just ahead of him. The sight that met his gaze was an interesting one. There was a slight depression there, partly filled with brushwood, and in the midst of this stood a big bear. He had his head down in a hole, and was digging out various things with his forepaws, flinging them to one side and behind him. Out came a kettle, a frying-pan, some knives and forks, cups, saucers, a pie-plate, a dishpan, and numerous other articles, which clattered over the rocks.

"Great hambones, Dave! what kind of a noise is that?" asked Phil, who was beside our hero.

"It's our stolen stuff, that's what it is, Phil!" cried Dave. "Those burglars must have thrown the stuff in that hole!"

"But what would the bear be doing among that stuff?" questioned Luke.

"He's after grub," answered our hero. "They must have thrown some of the food in there with the other stuff. Come on, boys, get ready to fire!"

Fortunately for the lads, the bear was so interested in what he was trying to accomplish that he did not notice their approach. The noise of the flying kettles and pans drowned out the voices.

"What's the matter with all taking a shot at him at the same time?" questioned Phil.

"All right, I'm willing," responded Dave, quickly. "We might as well all have the glory of killing him – if we have that luck."

Every rifle and every shotgun was quickly raised and aimed at the bear. Just as Dave was on the point of giving the order to fire, the beast came out of the hole and looked around. Then in alarm he raised up on his hind legs, a truly terrifying animal to behold.

Bang! Crack! Bang! went the rifles and shotguns in an irregular volley. And then, as the report died away, the huge beast gave a leap into the air, and coming down, sprang directly toward the boys.

CHAPTER XXX

GOOD NEWS – CONCLUSION

"Here he comes!"

"Give him another shot, boys!"

Crack! Bang! Crack! Again the shotguns and rifles rang out.

Whether the shots were absolutely necessary or not it would be hard to say, for just as the boys discharged their various weapons the huge bear was seen to stumble and fall. He gave several convulsive shudders, and then lay still.

"Is he – is he de – dead?" gasped Shadow, who was still a few feet in the rear of the others.

"I think he is," responded Dave. "Load up again as quickly as you can and we'll watch him," and then he proceeded to take care of his own firearm.

But watching was unnecessary, for the huge beast had breathed his last. It was a proud crowd of boys that surrounded the game.

"Say, that's some shooting!" declared Phil, his eyes glistening. "Won't the others be surprised when they hear of it?"

"He certainly is a big one!" said Ben. "I don't believe they grow them much bigger than that anywhere around here." And this assertion proved true, as the boys learned when, later on, Tad Rason saw the game at the bungalows.

"Well, we've got our kitchen utensils and most of the tableware back, anyway," declared Roger, after an inspection of the hollow where they had first discovered the bear at work. "Hello, here's the stuff Mr. Bruin was after!" he added, holding up a chunk of meat which still lay in a pan in the hollow. This meat had been taken from the Wadsworth ice-box; but why it had been placed in the hollow was a mystery.

"But it's a good thing the burglars put it there," declared Luke. "That is what attracted the bear and made him dig."

A careful search of the hollow revealed nearly everything that had been taken from the two bungalows except Laura's rings and Mrs. Basswood's silverware.

"I guess they thought those things too valuable to leave here," was Dave's comment. "I am convinced of one thing," he added.

"What is that?" questioned Ben.

"I believe Link Merwell is at the bottom of this. No ordinary burglar would bother his head about that kitchen stuff. Merwell did it, just to cause us trouble. Maybe he thought we'd have to give up camping here for the time being."

"By Jove, Dave, I think you have solved it!" declared Roger.

"All of which doesn't give my mother her silverware nor Laura her rings," returned Ben.

A sapling with some stout branches attached was cut down, and on to this the boys rolled the bear and tied him fast. Thus they managed, after a good deal of hard labor, to haul the carcass down to the bungalows.

"Oh, here they come, and they've got a bear!" shrieked Belle, who saw them first, and all the inmates of the bungalows hurried to the scene, even Mr. Lawrence hobbling up with the aid of a cane.

"Yes, we got a bear, and we got more than that!" cried Ben, excitedly. "We've found all the kitchen stuff!" and he and the other youths gave the particulars.

A little later some of the boys returned to the hollow and transferred the stolen stuff back to the bungalows. A good deal of the canned provisions was still in perfect condition. The other things, including the meat the bear had scented, were thrown away.

"Oh, Dave!" cried Jessie, as soon as she could motion our hero to one side, "I've got something I want to tell you! I think maybe it will be of assistance in proving your identity," and the girl's eyes glowed with anticipation.

"What is it, Jessie?" he asked, quickly. "Have you heard something from home?"

"No, but I've heard something from Mr. Lawrence, Phil's uncle. Isn't it the strangest thing ever! I was talking to him after you left, and told him what trouble you were having, and mentioned Ward Porton and that man the Fords told you about, Obadiah Jones. And, would you believe it! years ago Mr. Lawrence had some business dealings with a man named Obadiah Jones, and he is quite sure that man had a nephew who was named Ward!"

"Jessie! can this be true?" exclaimed Dave, with pardonable excitement.

"That's what Mr. Lawrence told me. I think you had better speak to him, and without delay."

"I certainly will!" declared our hero, and going up to the crowd that was still around the bear, he touched Phil's uncle on the arm.

"What is it, Porter? Oh! I suppose you want to see me about that man, Obadiah Jones. Well, I'll tell you all I know. Come on back to where I can sit down. This lame ankle of mine is still rather weak." And thus speaking Mr. Lawrence led the way around to the front porch of the bungalow.

"What I want to know is if this Ward Porton was really a nephew of Obadiah Jones," said Dave.

"Yes, that's what Miss Jessie wanted to know, too. Of course I don't know for sure, but I do know the boy's name was Ward and that he called Jones, Uncle Obadiah. You might write to Obadiah Jones and find out. He lives in Burlington, Vermont, and that's not so very far from here – just on the other side of Lake Champlain. His full name is Obadiah L. L. Jones. We used to always call him Old L. L. About everybody in Burlington knows him."

"Perhaps I'd better go and call on Mr. Jones," suggested Dave. "I'd hate to wait for an answer to a letter."

It was not long before the others in the camp knew what Dave had learned concerning Ward Porton and his supposed uncle, Obadiah L. L. Jones. The boys agreed with Dave that it might pay to make a trip to Burlington to see him, and Phil and Roger volunteered to go along.

"You might want a witness or two," declared the senator's son.

The upshot of the matter was that the following day found the three boys bound for Burlington. The other lads helped to row them to the upper end of the lake, and there, at a camp belonging to a rich New Yorker, they managed to obtain a horse and buckboard on which they rode to the nearest railroad station. They were in time to catch the midday train for Plattsburg, where they had to remain over night. Then they caught the first boat across Lake Champlain to the city for which they were bound.

Dave had been told by Mr. Lawrence where they might find Obadiah Jones, who was interested in a coal, lumber, and real estate business. Our hero, accompanied by his two chums, found the man in his office, a small, dingy coop of a place surrounded by huge piles of lumber. He was a short, stout, bald-headed individual, wearing large spectacles, and he looked up rather uninvitingly as they entered.

"Is this Mr. Obadiah Jones?" questioned Dave, politely.

"That's my name, young man. What can I do for you?" demanded the lumber dealer, brusquely.

"I came to get a little information from you, Mr. Jones, if you'll give it to me," went on our hero. "My name is Dave Porter. I came to see if you have a nephew named Ward Porton."

"Well, I did have a nephew by that name, but he's a nephew of mine no longer!" cried Obadiah Jones, his face showing sudden anger. "If you came here in his behalf, the sooner you get out the better! I wrote to him and told him I never wanted to see him nor hear from him again!"

"I didn't come in his behalf, Mr. Jones. I came on my own account," answered Dave. "All I want to know is: Is he a real nephew of yours or not?"

"Yes, he's my real nephew – the son of my youngest sister, who married a good-for-nothing army man. But that doesn't make any difference to me, young man. I won't do a thing more for him, nephew though he is. He's a young scamp, and as I said before, I never want to see him nor hear from him again."