it was a quiet summer night, not unpleasantly warm, but with no wind stirring. the boys, however, did not fall asleep with the readiness that their tired feelings led them to expect. the fire crackled and hissed, sending a fitful glare around, but its smoke seemed to have no effect in driving away the ever-increasing army of mosquitoes. a dancing host encircled each swinging lantern, and the old shanty was invaded by a perfect swarm.
"buzz, buzz—smack, smack!" laughed bob, as his companions slapped and hit. "just imagine what it must be down there by the beach."
"millions and millions of 'em," groaned dave. smack! "i hit that great brute. hi! awake there, tom?"
"think a fellow could sleep in such a place as this? of course i'm awake."
"i'm nearly stifled, trying to sleep with my head under the blanket," declared sam, gaping to an alarming degree.
"asleep, 'pirates'?" called dick travers, in a loud voice.
"yes, and having an awful nightmare," answered nat. "make a noise, can't you, and wake me up."
"i feel like calling for help," broke in hackett.
"knew a feller once what was bit so bad he couldn't see straight for a month," said dick, mimicking zeke tipson. "this is nothing."
"well, i can't stand it any longer," groaned bob.
he arose, stretched, then walked out and began piling wood on the fire. one by one, wrapped indian fashion in blankets, his companions gathered around, slapping vigorously at their tiny foes.
"i didn't know there were so many skeeters in the world," said pollock, ruefully.
"oh ho, but i am weary," yawned dave.
"isn't it frightful?" added tommy clifton. "i'm going to lie down close to the fire, and go to sleep anyway."
he threw himself upon the ground, followed by the disgusted dave brandon, and the two were fast asleep in a moment. the rest, however, after several vain attempts, gave it up. now and then one arose, threw on a stick, and then resumed his seat by the fire-side to gaze through half-closed eyelids at the tongues of flame and dancing sparks.
the night was overcast, and outside of the circle of light nature was wrapped in impenetrable blackness.
"we certainly were stung in this place," remarked bob, with a sorry attempt at humor. he frantically slapped his wrists and face, then, unable to endure the onslaught in quietness, rose to his feet and began pacing back and forth.
nodding and blinking, the boys presented a queer picture in the glare of the fire-light.
finally kirk talbot joined bob.
"bears and wildcats!" exclaimed the latter, suddenly clutching his companion's arm. "hear that? steamboat down there, sure as guns."
"great scott! wonder who can be nosing around at this time of night. nat, hello nat, do you hear that?" cried bob, excitedly.
"eh?" muttered the chief "pirate," drowsily. "what?"
"wake up, wake up! a boat's close in shore. you can hear the engine puffing."
"can't help it—we don't own—"
"let's light some pine-knots and see what it is," cried bob. "after our experience with the 'rambler,' we don't want to take any chances. i say, nat—"
"he's asleep. don't waste any time," urged kirk, excitedly. "come on, get up, john 'hatchet.'"
"what's the matter—what's all this? of course i won—and by fifteen feet, too."
several pine-knots were lying around. bob and kirk each eagerly seized a stick and held it over the fire. as flames began to hiss and sizzle from the end of his torch, kirk leaped forward and picked up the megaphone.
a series of blood-curdling whoops instantly brought the campers to their feet in alarm. they tumbled over each other, half frightened out of their senses.
"somebody fooling around the 'nimrod'!" yelled kirk, throwing the tube to the ground. "quick, grab your guns, and come with us."
the two boys dashed pell-mell down the hill. the light of the blazing pine-knots, raised high above their heads, flitted from tree to tree, danced and wavered on the ground, fantastic shadows lengthened and shortened, while the torches sizzled and flared, as the boys rushed on.
"it may be nothing," panted kirk.
"better be on the safe side," cried bob. "that boat must be close to the 'nimrod,' or i miss my guess. the rest of the fellows are coming."
"what's that?"
"pine-knots and puzzles!" gasped kirk. "the 'nimrod,' sure as fate."
the rapid pulsation of a motor boat suddenly started up.
"come on!" yelled bob. "the rascals are stealing that boat."
thoroughly angry and alarmed, the boys dashed on. kirk tripped over a trailing vine and fell headlong in a mass of underbrush. his torch landed amidst the twigs and set them ablaze, but the lad, though badly shaken up, was on his feet in an instant, stamped out the fire and dashed on.
lights moving in a fantastic fashion and many shouts showed that the rest of the boys were following. bob somers reached the site of their first camp. the water lapped at his feet, while the flaring torch sent a circle of light over the bay.
the "nimrod" had disappeared.
"it's gone!" gasped bob somers.
"stolen!" cried kirk talbot, in dismay.
"great cæsar! there must be a gang of motor boat thieves around these diggings."
"gee willikins, what's this, somers—all our grub chucked ashore—what does it mean?"
"the boat has gone," puffed john hackett, coming up at this instant.
it was an excited group that crowded to the very edge of the water. torches and lanterns were held aloft, but they revealed nothing.
"well, this is a pretty mess!" cried hackett, furiously. "listen to that sound, growing faint in the distance. somebody has sized us up for a fine lot of ninnies."
"what will my uncle say?" wailed nat.
he paced up and down and shook his fist in the air.
"the finest motor boat in wisconsin, too," he groaned.
"both crowds have been followed," declared sam randall.
"there is a mystery about this whole thing," cried bob. "why did the thieves pile our stuff on shore, instead of taking it with them?"
"can't imagine," muttered the poet laureate, scratching his head in a vain endeavor to get an idea; "it's a puzzle."
"cricky, maybe a note." ted's eye had caught a glimpse of a piece of white paper projecting from under a case of canned goods.
"anything on it?" questioned nat, eagerly.
"yes!"
ted held it up in the full glare of a torch, while nine heads, as close together as nine heads could be, scanned a rude scrawl. ted began to read.
"'your boat has been stole by an honest man what works for a living and needs it worse than a lot of kids.'"
"i was right!" cried john hackett, loudly; "i was right! we've been done, like the biggest lot of chumps you ever heard of."
"steals the 'nimrod,' and calls us a lot of kids," exclaimed nat wingate. "that's just a little more than the limit."
"maybe the fellows at kingswood won't laugh at us," said ted pollock.
"why didn't some one sleep on board?" wailed little tommy clifton.
"because we were a pack of idiots, that's why," snapped hackett. "i don't think that 'honest man' made a mistake—not a bit of it."
"it means the finish of our grand trip, all right," declared nat; "make up your minds to that, boys."
"talk about being disgusted," fumed hackett; "i never was so wild in all my life. we are a fine lot—the whole crowd of us. your uncle is going to raise a beautiful row, nat."
"you may be sure he will," sighed their leader. "no use standing here. suppose we get back to camp."
two almost spent pine-knots hissed and sputtered as the water closed about them. john hackett had kicked one violently and thrown the other.
"and just think of all the fun we were going to have," he groaned.
the light of the camp-fire shone faintly between the trees, as the boys began to toil dejectedly up the hill. when the summit had been reached, tom clifton, who was in the lead, approached the fire and stooped over.
"look, nat!" he exclaimed, holding up a sadly charred object.
"the megaphone!" cried young wingate. "how did that happen?"
"kirk must have thrown it too near the fire, after he gave that awful howl," answered ted pollock; "anyway, it's done for."
the fire brightened up for a moment, as the last of the megaphone crumbled to pieces in the hot embers.
there was no sleep for the boys that night. the mosquitoes still hovered around, and a dreary time was spent while awaiting the approach of day.
when the light was sufficient, bob somers brought out his map.
"boys, here's something i never thought of before," he said slowly.
"any new trouble?" inquired dick.
"i believe we are on an island."
"mud-turtles and lobsters! what makes you think that?"
"clair bay is full of them. look at this."
bob ran his fingers over the sheet.
"i'll bet we are just here," he said, indicating a position on the map.
"what! nearly in the middle of the bay?" asked tom, incredulously.
"yes! and we may not see a boat for a week."
"crusoe life with a vengeance, eh?" laughed the poet laureate. "what next on the programme?"
"the whole kit of us had better get back to kingswood," came from nat; "your dad, somers, and my uncle will see that we do."
a breakfast was hastily eaten just about the time that the rosy tint of early morning began to disappear. then the boys, in three parties, started on a tour of inspection.
bob, dave and sam, in the course of an hour, reached a point on a high hill from whence the water of clair bay could be seen sweeping around in a wide curve to the west. they compared the coast line with the map, and found that it agreed exactly.
"i told you—an island!" cried bob. "there's something funny about this business."
"how do you mean?"
"i saw nat change the course of the 'nimrod' yesterday. he was steering by map and compass and must have known that we were not going all the way across the bay."
"well?" asked dave, in puzzled tones; "what of that?"
"i have an idea he dumped us on this island for some purpose."
"but what could it be?" sam asked.
"i am sure i don't know. another funny thing was the way our stuff was thrown on shore."
"it's mighty queer," admitted dave; "i can't make head or tail out of it."
"ever notice how nat is always talking about going back to kingswood?" asked bob.
"yes, and kicked, too, about keeping on clair bay," added sam randall, reflectively.
"but nat is in it now as badly as we are," said dave. "the 'nimrod' is gone. his uncle will be wild."
"hmph!" observed bob, dryly; "i may be mistaken, but i think there's a pretty deep mystery about this. and—"
"and what?"
"well, it is going to be solved—that's all."
