E-text prepared by Al Haines

BOY SCOUTS IN NORTHERN WILDS

Or, The Signal from the Hills

By

MAJOR ARCHIBALD LEE FLETCHER

Author of

"Boy Scout Rivals; or, A Leader of the Tenderfoot Patrol,"
"Boy Scouts on Old Superior; or, The Tale of The Pictured
Rocks," "Boy Scouts' Signal Sender; or When Wigwag Knowledge
Paid," "Boy Scout Pathfinders; or, The Strange Hunt for the
Beaver Patrol" etc., etc.

Chicago, 1913

CONTENTS

Chapter

I—A CAMP ON MOOSE RIVER II—THE LITTLE BRASS GOD III—THE CABIN IN THE SWAMP IV—LOST IN THE STORM V—A BOY SCOUT TRICK VI—THE CAVE OF THE TWO BEARS VII—AM EMPTY CAVERN VIII—A TRAPPER'S TREACHERY IX—TWO HUNGRY BEARS X—BOYS IN A TIGHT PLACE XI—THE HALF-BREED XII—A SURPRISE AT THE CABIN XIII—A FACE AT THE WINDOW XIV—A CALL PROM THE DARKNESS XV—A HUNTING EXPEDITION XVI—ANTOINE ON THE RUN XVII—"BOYS UP A TREE!" XVIII—A PILLAR OF FIRE XIX—THE SIGNAL FROM THE HILLS XX—A SIGHT OF THE GOD XXI—TWO RIFLE SHOTS XXII—THE TWIN BRASS GODS

CHAPTER I

A CAMP ON MOOSE RIVER

Four Boy Scouts, of the Beaver Patrol, Chicago, were in camp on Moose river. They were all athletic young fellows, not far from seventeen years of age, and were dressed in the khaki uniform adopted by the Boy Scouts of America.

If you take a map of the British Northwest Territories and look up Moose river, you will discover that it runs through nearly three hundred miles of wilderness, from Lake Missinale to Moose Bay. The reader will well understand, then, how far "Sandy" Green, Will Smith, George Benton and Tommy Gregory had traveled from civilization.

The camp of the Boy Scouts was situated some fifty miles up the river from Moose Factory, a trading point famous in old Indian days for its adventurous spirits and its profits to the factors. Those who have read the preceding books of this series will doubtless remember the four Boy Scouts named above. Together they had visited the Pictured Rocks of Old Superior, the Everglades of Florida, and the great Continental Divide.

During all their journeys the boys had shown courage and resourcefulness beyond their years, and because of these qualities they had been chosen, by Mr. Horton, a noted criminal lawyer of Chicago, to undertake a difficult and dangerous mission to the Hudson Bay country.

They had traveled by way of the Canadian Pacific to Missanabie, from which point they had proceeded to Lake Missinale. Here they had purchased a "Mackinaw," a great flat-bottomed craft, in which to transport their tents and supplies down Moose river to the bay of the same name.

They had made most of the journey in native canoes, which they had learned to handle with considerable skill, but now and then they had taken refuge on the big boat, "just to stretch their limbs," as they expressed it. They left Chicago late in September and it was now almost the last of October.

Those who live in the Hudson Bay country declare that they have three seasons in four months, Spring comes in June, summer in July and August, and autumn in September. At the southern extremity of James Bay, October may scarcely be called a winter month, although during the latter part of the month ice and snow are not infrequent.

The sun was setting on the lads' first day in camp as the boys rested from their labor of dragging in great quantities of both dry and green wood. Their tents were of double canvas, specially prepared for cold weather, and their bedding and suits had constituted an important part of their baggage.

Almost the entire fronts of the tents were composed of fine, strong silk mesh-cloth. The faces of the boys were well anointed with grease, and masks of mesh-cloth hung about the tents ready for use.

Mosquitos and an insect known as the "bull-dog" had driven many a trapper and hunter out of the swampy regions around Hudson Bay. During the summer it is almost impossible to live in the swamps of that country at all. By protecting their tents and faces, and keeping great "smudges" going, the boys hoped to be able to live in comparative comfort during their stay in that section.

"Look here, Will," Tommy said, as he laid down a great armful of dry wood, "some one ought to invent some kind of a contraption to kill these flying pests off by the billion. Here it is almost cold enough to snow, and we're being eaten alive by mosquitos."

"I reckon it wouldn't do much good to invent a way of killing the brutes," Will suggested, "as long as the swamps and pools of the Northwest Territories are turning them out at the rate of a billion a minute."

"I read a story about how to get rid of mosquitos the other day,"
Sandy said. "It might be a good idea to try it."

"You can always read how to do things, in the newspapers," Tommy argued. "The only trouble is that the ideas don't work."

"This one will work," declared Sandy. "The way to kill mosquitos," he continued, "is to throw a great long rope up in the air. You let it stay up in the air; that is, one end of it, and grease it carefully with cold cream and tie a piece of raw beefsteak at the upper end. That will attract the mosquitos. Then when you get several millions up the rope, you cut it in two about twenty feet from the ground and pull the lower end down."

"It'll be the foolish house for yours!" Tommy laughed. "How are you going to throw one end of a rope up in the air and make it stay there?"

"I didn't say how to make it stay up in the air," grinned Sandy. "I just said you had to make it stay up in the air. Then when the mosquitos get tired of staying up in the ambient atmosphere, they'll come crawling down the rope and fall off where you cut it."

"I guess your dome needs repacking all right!" laughed Tommy.

"And then, when they come to the place where the rope has been cut off, they'll take a tumble for themselves, and you stand under the line and beat their heads off with an axe."

"Poor child!" laughed Tommy.

"If you leave it to me," George declared with a grin, "that story about how to kill mosquitos came out of Noah's ark on crutches."

The sun was setting over the great wilderness to the west, and the boys hastened to pile more wood on the fire. The forest was alive with the cries of birds, and the undergrowth showed curious eyes peering out at the intruders.

"This beats little old Chicago," cried George, bringing out a great skillet of ham. "When we live in the city, we've got to eat in the house and smell dishwater. When you live out doors, you've got a dining room about a thousand miles square."

"And when you live in Chicago," Tommy continued, "you can't get fresh fish right out of the brooks. When you want a fish here, all you've got to do is to run out to the river, grab one in your arms, and bring him in!"

"Then run out and get one now!" advised Will.

"Perhaps you think I can't!" shouted Tommy.

Seizing a head-net the boy dashed away to the margin of Moose river. His chums saw him walking about in quest of a minnow for a moment and then heard the swish of a line. In ten minutes he was back at the camp with a whitefish weighing at least five pounds.

There is incessant fishing in the wilderness north of Lake Superior throughout every month of the year. All through the long winter the ice is cut away in order that the fish may be reached, and there is every sort of fishing between that which engages the labors of sailing vessels and men, down through all the methods of fish-taking, by nets, by spearing, still-fishing and fly-fishing.

Though the region has been famous, and therefore much visited, for many years, the field is so extensive, so well stocked, and so difficult of access, that even today almost the very largest known specimens of each class of fish are to be had there.

"These are the kind of fish the Indians live on during the winter," Tommy explained as he scraped the scales from his prize. "Only," he continued, "the Indians don't clean them at all. They simply make a hole in the tail end of each fish and string them up like beads on sticks which they set up in racks."

"I never did like cold-storage fish," Sandy declared, in a tone of disgust. "They taste like dry corn meal!"

While the fish cooked and the boys sat in the protecting smudge of the campfire, the sound of paddles was heard up the river. The swish and splash came on steadily for a moment and then suddenly ceased.

"I thought we were going to have company," suggested Will.

The boys listened for a time but no further sounds were heard.

"Now what would any one be doing in this wilderness?" Sandy asked.
"What would any one be sneaking around us for?"

"Perhaps they don't even know we're here!" argued George.

"With that great campfire going?" scoffed Tommy. "Why, they can see the light of that fire for ten miles or more!"

"That's right," replied George. "I guess that fire wouldn't help to hide our presence here any."

"Suppose I go and see what's doing?" asked Tommy.

"You know your failings, young man!" Will cut in. "If you go out in the wilderness to see who's running that canoe, you're likely to get lost, or come back here after a couple of days with a broken leg or a busted coco! You'd better stay in camp."

"But I want to know who's sneaking around our tents!" insisted Tommy. "You come along with me, Will, if you think I'm not competent to go alone," the boy added with a grin.

Will hesitated for a moment and then providing himself with an automatic revolver and an electric searchlight, the two boys left the camp and soon disappeared in the darkness. They had been gone scarcely five minutes when a shot came from the thicket.

CHAPTER II

THE LITTLE BRASS GOD

After a time George and Sandy heard some one running through the undergrowth, and the next instant Will and Tommy burst into view. It was evident that they had been running, for they were panting and their clothing was disarranged and torn in places.

The two boys hastened out to meet their chums with question marks in their eyes. Will and Tommy offered no explanation until the tents had been reached, then Tommy burst into a low chuckle.

"Can you beat it?" he asked.

"What are you talking about?" demanded George.

"What did you see out there?" asked Sandy.

"We didn't see a thing!" declared Tommy.

"You're wrong there!" Will cut in. "We saw the flash of a gun!"

"Some one shoot at you?" questioned George.

"Perhaps not," Will replied, "but I heard a bullet whizzing past my ear! That's not a very warm welcome to this blooming country, I take it."

"What's it all about?" asked Sandy impatiently.

"That's the answer!" Tommy declared. "That's all we know about it ourselves. We hear a paddle splash in the water; we go out to see what's doing, and we get a chunk of lead plugged at us. That's the answer so far as I know. Now, how about this fish?"

"Right as a book!" cried Sandy. "I've been taking care of this fish while you've been out there facing some boy with an air gun."

"Yes," laughed Tommy, "if you want to find boys with air guns, come out here about three hundred miles north of nowhere!"

The incident did not seem to affect the appetites of the boys, for they attacked the fish industriously. When the meal was finished and the dishes cleared away; Will turned to his chums with a sober look on his face. When he spoke it was with suppressed excitement. "Do you boys know exactly why we are in the Hudson Bay country?" he asked, "How much did Mr. Horton tell you?"

"Nothing at all!" Tommy replied.

"He just told us to come with you!" George cut in.

"When I tried to cross-examine him," laughed Sandy, "he said he was afraid we wouldn't go if he told us what sort of a game we were mixing in."

"Well," Will went on in a moment, "he told me to tell you after we got into camp on Moose river."

"Go on and tell us, then," chuckled Tommy.

"I don't believe it's any great mystery!" Sandy interrupted.

"We came here," Will said, speaking seriously, "to find the Little
Brass God. Odd sort of a quest, that, eh?"

"What's the Little Brass God?" demanded Sandy.

"Did you think it was a load of hay?" asked Tommy. "The Little
Brass God is the Little Brass God. Didn't you know that?"

"What does any one want of a Little Brass God?" asked George.

"The Little Brass God," Will explained, "is believed to be valuable, chiefly for what is contained in his belly."

"So this is a stuffed god?" cried Tommy.

"Has he eaten something he can't digest?" cut in Sandy.

"That just explains it!" Will exclaimed. "He has eaten something he can't assimilate, and we've been sent up here to relieve him of it!"

"How did the Little Brass God ever get into the Hudson Bay country?" asked Tommy. "I should think he'd know better."

"I reckon the Little Brass God had nothing to say regarding his journey," replied Will. "Two months ago the house of Mr. Frederick Tupper, on Drexel Boulevard, Chicago, was burglarized. Besides taking considerable money and silver plate, the thief also carried away the Little Brass God."

"I don't think any thief in his right mind would do that!" declared Sandy. "What could he do with a Little Brass God? He couldn't pawn it, or sell it, or trade it, without its being traced back to him!"

"Well, he took it just the same!" Will replied.

"How much is he worth?" asked George.

"Not more than five dollars."

"Then he isn't one of those East India Little Brass Gods with his legs crossed, and his arms folded, and a grin on his face?"

"His legs are crossed, his arms are folded, and there is a grin on his face!" replied Will with a smile. "But he's certainly not one of the population of a Hindu temple."

"He's just a common Little Brass God, probably made in Newark, New
Jersey," suggested George. "What do they want him for?"

"They want to search him!" replied Will.

"Aw, come on, tell us all about it!" urged Tommy.

"Well," Will explained with a smile, "the tummy of the Little Brass
God IS supposed to contain the last will and testament of Simon
Tupper, father of Frederick Tupper."

"Gee!" exclaimed Tommy. "Can't he get the property until he gets the will? Then we'll have to find it, I guess!"

"No, he can't get the property unless the will is found."

"Who stole the Little Brass God, and also the will?" asked George.

"Did he know he was stealing the will when he stole the Little Brass God?" asked Sandy without giving Will an opportunity to reply to the previous question. "How'd he know the will was there?"

"We don't know whether he knew about the will or not," answered the boy. "In fact, we don't know whether the document is still in the tummy of the Little Brass God. That's what we've got to find out."

"You didn't tell me who stole the Little Brass God and the will," insisted George.

"I said it was a burglar!"

"But was it a burglar—a real, genuine burglar?"

"Yes, loosen up!" shouted Tommy. "Did he go there just to burgle, or did he go there to get that will?"

"That's another thing we've got to find out!" Will answered. "It's just this way," the boy continued. "We've been sent up here to find this Little Brass God. When we find it, we'll know whether the man who stole it was a common thief, or whether he was sent by interested parties to do the job. No living person can open the Little Brass God without first learning the way to do it. In fact, the only way the toy can be opened by one unfamiliar with the secret is to break it open with an axe! And that would hardly be done, as the little fellow is rather a cute plaything."

"And so, if the will is there, a burglar stole it. And if the will is not there, some one interested in the disposition of the property walked away with it! Is that it?"

"That's the way we figure it out!" Will answered. "And in the meantime," he continued, "an older will is being offered for probate. If the Little Brass God fails to disclose the last will, the property will go to a young man who was intensely hated and despised by the man who built up the fortune. Simon Tupper will turn over in his grave if Howard Sigsbee, his nephew, has the handling of that money."

"I can't see how that's going to get Simon anything!" grinned Tommy.

"Now," George asked, "why do they think the Little Brass God was brought into the Hudson Bay country?"

"We have traced it to an antique shop on lower State street," Will answered. "From there to the shabby parlor of a fourth rate boarding house on Dearborn avenue, from there into the possession of a French Canadian who hunts and fishes in the Moose river district."

"That's pretty straight!" George agreed.

"How do they know this French Canadian got this Little Brass God out of town?" asked Sandy. "You take a French Canadian of the trapper sort, and get him well tanked, and he'll sell the ears off his head for another drink of brandy. Perhaps he hocked the Little Brass God."

"If he did," Will answered, "the search must begin all over again!"

"Who put this will in the tummy of this Little Brass God?" asked
Tommy.

"The man who made it—Simon Tupper," answered Will.

"Did he tell anyone where it was?"

"On his deathbed, he told Frederick Tupper, his nephew, where to find it. It's a pity the young man didn't remove the document and file it in probate court. It would have saved a lot of bother."

"But he didn't," George suggested, "and that gives us a fine trip to the Hudson Bay country."

"When was the house of this Frederick Tupper burglarized?" asked
Sandy.

"On the night following the death of the old gentleman."

"Had the villain of the drama, this Howard Sigsbee, any knowledge concerning the hiding place of the will?"

"He was not believed to have."

"Do they think he went there and got the will himself?"

"Huh!" objected Tommy. "If he'd gone after the will himself, he'd have taken it out of the Little Brass God and carried it away with him. And he'd have made a pile of ashes of it in about one minute, at that!"

"Perhaps he couldn't open up the merry little chap," Sandy suggested.

"We don't know whether he understood the secret or not," Will answered. "All we know is that the Little Brass God was still intact a week after it had been stolen."

"Then he knew the combination, or he didn't get the will!" argued
George.

"Anyhow!" Tommy laughed, "we've got only about a million or more miles of country to search over for a little brass god about ——-"

"Say, just how big is this Little Brass God?" asked Sandy.

"He's about six inches in height, and three inches across his dirty shoulders, and he certainly is about the ugliest specimen of a heathen beast that ever came down the pike."

"What would that French Canadian buy him for?" asked George.

"That's another thing we've got to find out," replied Will.

Tommy was about to ask another question when Will held up a hand for silence. The leaping flames were sending long streamers of light into the thicket on either side and over the glistening waters of Moose river. The circle of illumination extended for some distance on every side, except at the back of the tents, where the level ground lay in shadows.

As the boys listened, the soft sound of a moccasined foot came to their ears. It seemed only a yard away, and yet it was not in sight. George dashed to the back of the tents, followed by a sharp cry of alarm.

CHAPTER III

THE CABIN IN THE SWAMP

When George reached the rear of the tent he saw a crouching figure there. A hole had been cut in the cloth, and the fellow was gazing into the tent. He was dressed in woodsman's attire, leather jacket and leggins and fur cap. The gold rings in his ears quivered and glistened as the light of the fire struck them.

As George rounded the tent the spy turned and ran for the forest. Without a thought as to the ultimate result, George followed along behind. For some distance the lad kept pace with the mysterious visitor, but, of course, it was impossible for him to do so for any great length of time, as the fugitive was well versed in woodcraft, while George was not.

After a time George lost sight of the fellow entirely, but could still keep track of him by the noise he made in passing through the thicket. It was quite evident that the intruder now believed that pursuit, had entirely ceased, for he made his way more leisurely through the swampy growth, and seemed to pay no attention whatever to the sounds of his passage.

Using great caution, the boy finally gained the hummock and stood looking at the dark bulk of a log cabin which stood in the center. He listened for a long time but all was silent inside. Presently he circled the place and came to a small opening which was more like a loop-hole than a window. There was a glass pane here, and through it he saw that there was a fire on the inside.

By this time the lad was shivering with cold, not having taken the time to provide himself with heavy clothing before leaving the camp in pursuit of the spy. As he glanced through the glazed opening he saw a great fire of logs blazing in a rudely made fireplace at one end of the room. He moved on until he found a door.

"Perhaps the owner of this log mansion will think I'm pretty prompt in returning his call," the lad mused as he knocked softly at the door. "But, all the same, I'm going to give him the pleasure of my company until I can get warm."

There was no response to the knock, and so George opened the door and entered. There was no one in front of the fire; no one in any of the rude chairs. The boy stood looking about the room for a moment and then walked back to three bunks fastened against the wall, one above the other.

When he reached the front of the sleeping places an exclamation of alarm came from a bundle of furs and blankets on the lower bunk and a boy's frightened face gazed up at him. The boy sat observing the other with evident suspicion for a moment, until his eyes caught sight of the Boy Scout medals which adorned the sleeve of the lad's coat.

Then he extended an arm in the full salute of the Boy Scouts of
America, and sat back with a grin on his face to note the result.

"Beaver Patrol; Chicago," he said directly.

"I know you," George said with an exclamation of surprise. "You're
Thede Carson, and you're about the toughest little wharf rat in
Chicago!"

"That's a nice recommend for a patrol leader to give one of his scouts," grinned the boy. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself!"

"The last time I saw you," George said, smiling at the memory, "you were diving into the South Branch to keep out of sight of a police boat."

"I remember that," grinned Thede. "They said I'd been swiping bananas up in Gambler's alley, and that wasn't true."

"Well, how in the name of all the seven wonders of the world did you get into the Hudson Bay country?" demanded George.

"Old Finklebaum," answered Thede.

"Old Finklebaum?" repeated George. "Do you mean the old Shylock who does business under the three balls down on State street? You can't mean that he had anything to do with your appearance here?"

"You bet he did have something to do with my being here!" Thede insisted. "You see, it's just this way: Old Finklebaum says to me one day, 'I'll take the hair off Ikey's head for selling that Little Brass God!'"

George gave a quick start of surprise at the mention of the very article the Boy Scouts had come to the Hudson Bay country in quest of, but checked himself in a second.

"What did he have a—a—what did you say it was?—if he didn't want to sell it?" asked the boy in assumed surprise.

"He did want to sell it up to that very day," was the reply, "but no one wanted to buy it. Then a man came into the shop and said he'd give a thousand dollars for it on sight. So Finklebaum, having the Little Brass God within a foot of his hawkbill nose, takes the man's address and says he'll let him know if he hears anything about the thing in demand. Finklebaum thinks that if the man'll pay one thousand dollars for it, he'll pay five, and that's why he loses out."

George's interest was now so intense that the boy ceased speaking and sat regarding him steadily for a moment.

"What do you know about the Little Brass God?" he demanded.

"Nothing," replied George. "Never saw it!"

"Seems to me you're pretty much interested in it, though," commented the boy, rising from the bunk and taking a seat before the fire.

"I was thinking about Old Finklebaum cheating himself by getting too gay," answered George. "Go on, and tell me about it!"

"So when this man who offers the thousand dollars leaves the shop," Thede continued, "Finklebaum chases out to a dealer in antiques to make inquiries about the Little Brass God. I guess he thinks it's some East India idol, or something of that kind, and that his fortune is made."

"Supposing it should be an East India idol!" exclaimed George,

"It may be, for all I know," Thede replied. "Anyhow, while old Finklebaum was out trying to find out how much his Little Brass God was worth, little Ikey sold it for a ten dollar note."

"Oh my, oh my, oh my!" laughed George. "I'll bet there was a merry old time when Finklebaum returned and found the ten dollar note in the drawer and the Little Brass God gone."

"Such a racket as never was!" declared Thede, laughing at the recollection of the scene. "I was in the shop," he went on, "getting out some articles Mother Murphy had been borrowing money on, and heard all that took place."

"Go on and tell me about it."

"Old Finklebaum said he was just plumb ruined. He said he'd snatch Ikey bald-headed, and do a lot of other things to him, if he didn't walk right out into State street and bring back that Little Brass God. Holy Moses! You ought to have seen how scared Little Ikey was!"

"Could he describe the man who bought the Little Brass God?" inquired George in a tone intended to be indifferent.

"Oh, yes!" replied Thede. "Ikey said the man wore a leather jacket with a red belt around the waist, a fur cap and rings in his ears. So Ikey was sent out to find the fellow, and I asked Old Finklebaum what he'd give me if I'd bring back the Little Brass God. He says he'll give me a hundred dollars the minute I put it in his hands, and I ducked down State street in search of this gink with the rings in his ears."

"And didn't find him?"

"If I had you wouldn't find me up here in this beastly country," replied Thede. "That is," the boy went on, "if I had found him with the Little Brass God in his possession."

"So you really did find him?" questioned George.

"Yes, I ran across him in a saloon down near Twelfth street, and stuck to him like a bulldog to a cat's back for two days and nights."

"Why didn't you go and tell Finklebaum where he was, and let him do the watching? That's what you should have done!"

"Not for mine!" answered the other. "Old Finklebaum would have taken the case out of my hands, and fooled me out of my hundred simoleons. I follows this gink around until he becomes sociable and sort of adopts me. I gets into his furnished room down on Eldridge court and searches it during his absence. There ain't no Little Brass God there!"

'"Did you ever get your eyes on it?" asked George.

"Never!" was the reply. "But he acts funny all the time, and I think he's got it hidden. When he gets ready to come back to the Hudson Bay country he asks me how I'd like to come up north with him and learn to be a trapper, so I says that if there's anything on earth I want to be it's a trapper, and I come up here, making him think I'm after fur, when all the time I'm after the Little Brass God."

"Are you sure the man you followed is the man who brought the toy?" asked George, "You might have picked up the wrong man, you know."

"No I didn't!" replied Thede. "I've heard this man, Pierre, muttering and talking in his sleep, and I know he has the Little Brass God hidden. I'll go back to Chicago some day with it in my possession and Old Finklebaum will pay me a couple of thousand or he'll never get hold of it again! Won't it be a great story to tell the boys on State street about the times I'm having up here."

The door opened and Pierre entered, anger flashing from his eyes.

CHAPTER IV

LOST IN THE STORM

"What you do here?" demanded Pierre, standing with his back against the door and facing George with a snarl of hate and suspicion.

"I got lost!" was the quick reply.

"You go 'way!" shouted the trapper.

"Aw, what's the matter with letting him stay here all night?" asked Thede. "These boys are hunting and fishing, and the kid got lost in the swamp. He's all right!"

"He follow me!" insisted Pierre.

"Sure, I did!" George replied, trying to give the impression that the matter was rather a good joke on himself. "I heard you smashing through the bushes and I thought you were some kind of a wild animal, and so I followed you up. I got so far away from camp that I couldn't find my way back. Then I saw your light and came here."

"Where your gun?" demanded Pierre, pointing suspiciously to the boy's empty hands. "You no shoot without gun!"

George drew an automatic from his pocket and held it up in the firelight. Pierre eyed it enviously.

"We hunt with these things!" the boy said.

Pierre continued to regard the boy with suspicion, for a long time but he finally seated himself before the fire and began to grumble because Thede had not been more active in the preparations for supper.

"It's a wonder you wouldn't come home and get supper yourself once in a while!" exclaimed the boy, "You needn't think I came up here in the cold to wait on you, Old Hoss!" the lad added with a wink at George. "I didn't leave my happy home for any such menial service."

Pierre grumbled out a few sentences in mongrel French and proceeded to prepare a solitary meal. Thede winked at George and began cooking enough supper for both of them.

George was thinking fast while the boy was sweating before the scorching heat of the fire. He was wondering whether Thede had told him the exact truth concerning his connection with Pierre. He was wondering, too, whether the boy had told all he knew of the Little Brass God.

Here were two parties in the Northern wilderness in quest of the same thing! It occurred to the wondering boy that Pierre might have been sent into the Hudson Bay country in quest of the individual who had purchased the Little Brass God at the pawnbroker's shop.

This, he argued, would be just about what Finklebaum would be likely to do. On the discovery of his loss, he would naturally seek some one familiar with the northern country and dispatch them in quest of the lost prize. In case this should prove to be the fact, the boy Thede might not have been taken into the confidence of the two men.

He might be telling what he believed to be the truth concerning the matter. The advantages to the pawnbroker of this secret arrangement would be many. In the first place, anyone following Pierre would naturally suppose him to be the person having possession of the Little Brass God. This would naturally cause investigators to entirely lose sight of the real possessor in shadowing the man sent out to recover the article.

Another point which the boy considered was the possibility of the Little Brass God having been robbed of his treasure before being placed in the pawnshop. This idea, however, he soon rejected for the reason that no one would know better than the man who inspired the larceny whether the will was still retained in the cavity of the toy. Had he secured the document, he would be the last one to offer a high reward for the return of the odd casket in which it had been contained.

While the boy puzzled over the case, Pierre and Thede sat down to their evening meal. George was invited to join them in the repast, but declined on the ground that he had eaten supper not long before. After the meal was over, Pierre took up his rifle and left the cabin, scowling at George over his shoulder as he took his departure.

"He's pretty sore about your being here," grinned Thede.

"I don't know why he should be."

"Perhaps he thinks you've come up here to steal this little Brass
God."

The boy was very anxious to get back to his chums in order that the situation might be thoroughly discussed. They were in the Hudson Bay country in quest of the Little Brass God, and here was Thede on the same mission. It seemed to him that if Pierre had really had the toy in his possession, Thede would have caught sight of it, at least,

The more he thought of this phase of the case, the more he was inclined to believe that Pierre was also in search of the Little Brass God.

"Pierre will be apt to raise a howl if I leave the cabin alone," the boy finally said. "He's fierce when he gets mad!"

"You don't seem to be afraid of him," replied, George.

"I'm afraid of him all right," the other replied, "but I don't intend to let him know it. I've got one of these billies inside my coat, all the time, and if he tries any funny business with me I'll knock his block off!"

"He could cut you into shoestrings while you are asleep!"

"Yes, I suppose so, but be won't do anything of the kind!"

"Well, come on over to camp," urged George. "It isn't so very much of a walk. I guess we can make it in half an hour."

Thede hesitated, but finally dressed himself for a cold journey, and fixed the fire so that no damage might be done by it during his absence.

"How long has Pierre lived in this cabin?" asked George, as the boys started out. "It looks like an old building."

"I guess he found it standing here deserted and just moved in," was the reply. "I don't think he knows much about this country."

"Do you think he has any idea that the Little Brass God is in such great demand?" asked George. "No, I don't think he has."

"Then, why should he keep it hidden away, even from you, three hundred miles away from civilization? I should think he'd want to have the thing out once in a while, just to take a look at it, anyway."

"I should think so," agreed Thede.

The boys made their way over the morass and entered the thick undergrowth. Now and then George flashed his electric, but he did not keep it burning steadily for the reason that he did not care to have Pierre trailing them back to the camp.

"Are you sure you passed this way when you came to the cabin?" asked Thede as they walked along. "I don't seem to find any trail here."

"It seems to me I came along here," was the reply. "If it wasn't so blasted dark, we could tell whether we were going in the right direction or not, all right!"

As the boy spoke, he lifted a hand to his face and raised the net which protected his features from the mosquitos, still flying about, although the night, apparently, was cold enough to freeze their wings stiff.

"They won't bother you much more," Thede commented.

"How do you know that?"

"Because there's a snow storm coming up!"

"Then we'd better be getting a move on!" advised George. "If we get caught up here in a snow storm, it'll be 'Good-night' for us!"

"We're going as fast as we can," replied Thede, "but I don't know whether we're going in the right direction or not. It seems like we've walked far enough to be at the camp."

In five minutes the searchlight revealed a drift of snow in the air, and ten minutes later the ground was white. A cold wind blew out of the north, shifting at times to the west, and the boys shivered under the chill of it. Still no welcome light from the camp.

"Can you find your way back to the cabin?" asked George after they had walked at least an hour.

"We've got to find our way somewhere pretty soon!" the other replied. "If we don't, we'll freeze to death!"

The boys walked for what seemed to them two hours more, and then Thede, who was in advance, stumbled over a tree bole lying at the foot of a gentle slope. He rose rubbing his elbow and turned the flashlight toward the front.

"I know where we are now," he said. "We're about eight miles from the cabin. This place here is called Bear Ridge, and it's about the only collection of rocks and caverns that I know of in this district."

"Can't we find a cavern to crawl into?" asked George, his teeth chattering with the cold.

"If we find a cavern," advised Thede, "we're likely to find a couple of bears packed away in it!"

"I don't care if there are a hundred bears!" grumbled George.
"I'll freeze to death if I stay out in this snow another minute!"

After a long and difficult climb the boys came to a ledge of rock and crawled into a small opening revealed by the searchlight.

"The beds are all full tonight, I guess," George said shivering.
"I hear Bruin kicking about being disturbed."

CHAPTER V

A BOY SCOUT TRICK

"Where's that fool boy going now?" asked Tommy as George, in pursuit of the spy, dashed into the thicket.

"What did he see back here that caused him to let out a yell like that?" asked Sandy.

"I don't believe he saw anything!" Will declared. "He just thought he'd give us a good scare by pretending he'd bumped into a band of Indians, or something like that."

The boys looked over the ground in the rear of the tent, and finally Tommy came to the place where the spy had punctured the canvas.

"Who made this hole in the tent?" he asked.

The boys gathered around the opening through which the spy had inspected the interior of the tent, and looked at each other with wonder expressed on their faces. Tommy was first to speak.

"George must have caught a man here looking in," he said.

"That's why he disappeared so suddenly," Will argued.

"Yes, he was chasing the Peeping Tom," Sandy agreed.

"I wish we knew the direction they took," Will mused. "The boy may get into serious trouble, chasing off into the forest along in the night. He should have told us of his discovery so one of us could have gone with him! We may be able to find him yet."

"Aw, he'll come back before long!" Tommy argued. "He can't make any headway out there in the underbrush, and the fellow who was here will probably run away from him before he gets three rods from the tent."

"I hope so!" answered Will.

"But what was that gink prowling around the tent for?" asked Sandy. "That must have been the same fellow we heard using the paddle a short time ago. If it is, he's mighty liberal with his bullets!"

"I'm anxious about that boy," Will broke in. "I wish he'd come back!"

"Yes, this isn't a very desirable country to be lost in in the night!" Tommy admitted. "He ought not to have gone away."

"What do you make of this gink prowling around our tent?" asked Sandy. "Do you think he's doing it out of curiosity, or because he has an inkling of what we're up here after?"

"Huh! How would any one away off up here know anything about the
Little Brass God?" demanded Tommy.

"Look here," Will argued. "The Little Brass God is stolen from this house on Drexel Boulevard. Enclosed in a cavity in the toy is a will disposing of several million dollars worth of property. The Little Brass God is finally sold to a pawn-broker, who in turn disposes of it to a trapper known to belong in the Hudson Bay district."

"That's a fair statement," answered Tommy.

"Now, Mr. Horton, attorney for the man who is in quest of the lost will, and Sigsbee, the man interested in probating the previous will, both know of the final disposition of the Little Brass God. At least, Frederick Tupper knows that it was taken from the pawn shop by a Hudson Bay trapper, and it is believed that Sigsbee possesses the same information."

"Of course, they both know about it," agreed Sandy.

"Now, why shouldn't they both send people up here in quest of the
Little Brass God?" Will continued.

"But suppose this man Sigsbee doesn't know anything about the will being in the belly of the Little Brass God?" suggested Tommy.

"We believe he does know all about it!" said Will.

"And do you believe, too, that he hired a burglar to go and steal the Little Brass God?" asked Sandy.

"As I said before," Will answered, "we don't know anything about that. The Little Brass God may have been taken by a burglar who was simply in quest of plunder. The whole thing resolves itself into this: If the really, truly burglar stole the toy and sold it to the pawn-broker, the will is in the ugly little chap's belly. If Sigsbee hired the burglar he took the will out before the trinket was sold at the pawn-shop. In that case, he would be the last one to send an expedition up here to retrieve the toy. And so you see," Will continued, "that we don't know anything about it."

"Well it's funny that gink should come prowling around our tents on the first night of our arrival!" Tommy exclaimed. "According to all accounts, he should have come sneaking into camp looking for a drink of brandy. The fact that he ran away when discovered shows that he wasn't here for any honest purpose."

"Well, what are we going to do?" demanded Sandy. "Let's give the
Little Brass God a rest long enough to make up our minds about
George."

"We can't do anything until morning," Will interposed.

"How do you know we can't?" demanded Tommy.

"Because it's dark, and because we know nothing about the country," replied Will.

The boys sat before the fire until midnight listening for the return of their chum. When it began to snow they reluctantly decided that George had crawled into some temporary shelter for the night and would not think of trying to make his way home through the storm.

"You boys go to bed now," Will advised, "and I'll sit up and keep watch. If you hear me firing how and then, don't think the camp's been attacked. George may be lost in the woods, and I'll be doing that to give him the right direction."

"We should have done that before," Tommy suggested.

"Well, get to bed," Will urged, "and I'll run the camp till morning."

Tommy and Sandy crawled into the tent which stood nearest to the great campfire and cuddled up in the warm blankets.

"Do you believe Will will stay in camp until morning?" asked Tommy.

"Of course I don't," was the reply. "He'll wait until we're asleep, and then he'll go prowling around the camp in search of George."

"That's just about what he'll do."

"What's your idea, then?" asked Sandy.

"Well," Tommy whispered, "George may be out in the snow somewhere, and it won't take us very long to circle about the camp just to make sure."

"I got you!" replied Sandy. "We'll get out under the back wall, and take a little trip with our searchlights."

Half an hour later, when Will, heavily wrapped, glanced in at the tent preparatory to going out on his quiet search for the missing chum, ho saw that the blankets were empty.

"The little scamps?" he chuckled. "They've beaten me to it!"

In the meantime, Tommy and Sandy were making their way through the wilderness traveling in the narrow light provided by the electrics. By this time the snow was quite deep, and the wind appeared to be rising every minute.

"We never can get home in this storm if we once lose sight of the campfire," Tommy said as the two huddled together in the lee of a big tree.

"That's a fact!" Sandy admitted. "So I guess we'd better be poking along. Which way is the fire?"

"Why, it ought to be right over there!" replied Tommy doubtfully.

"Over where?" demanded Sandy, with a note of alarm in his voice.

"Blessed if I know!" declared Tommy, sitting flat down in the snow.

The boys walked round and round the tree and made little excursions in every direction without getting a single trace of the campfire.

"I guess we've gone and done it now!" Tommy grunted.

"Aw, we can find our way back all right enough!" Sandy declared.
"We came north when we left the camp, didn't we?"

"Guess we did," replied Tommy, his teeth rattling with the cold.

"Then all we've got to do is to follow the wind and we'll strike the tents. That's some Boy Scout forestry sense, isn't it?"

"We'll wait until we see whether it brings us back to camp or not," replied Tommy. "If it does, it's all right; if it doesn't, it's all wrong."

Had the boys proceeded straight north on leaving the camp, they would have doubtless returned to the lighted zone by keeping with the wind, if the wind had not shifted to the west soon after their departure from the camp.

They walked for what seemed to them to be hours. In fact, more than once they glanced about hoping to get their direction from a showing of daylight in the sky.