Chapter XXVIII: This Is Brent’s Suggestion

Tom laid the board reverently over it. My head was aching and Brent make a queer gurgling noise in his throat.

We picked up our things and started back to Camp.

“That board,” Tom said, listlessly, “is the one that Heinie tried his paints out on. He told me he laid it up against the eats shack, night before last. It was gone in the morning, so I had to hunt him up another board.”

“It’s all too ghastly to talk of,” I said. “I feel I can’t stand many more horrifying disclosures.”

“We all feel that way,” Brent said, “and that’s all the more reason why we ought to get at the bottom of this before anything else happens.”

“How?” I asked.

“And why not?” Tom put in. “Sometimes it’s these deep mysteries that are the simplest ones to solve. We can only try.”

“Carry on, my boy,” I said, encouragingly. “I’m afraid I can’t.”

“If you ask me,” said Brent, “I think it’s the work of that hermit. Also, I think he’s a trifle cuckoo.”

“I agree with you, Brent,” Tom said, “but then, how do you account for the body in the gully?” He was still persistent in his belief that it couldn’t possibly be anyone else.

“Tomasso,” Brent said, “I account for nothing! Hereafter, I shall believe only that which I see. And I mean to see that soon.”

“Explain all that, Brent!” I said.

“The sooner we get into action, the better it will be. We’ve got to see whether this hermit is dead or alive. He must have had some kind of a bunk up there and we’re going to find it, if it’s possible.”

“What about his pet lynx?” Tom asked.

“Don’t worry about that, old man,” Brent answered, reassuringly. “We’ll take Rivers along and tell him we’re going for the express purpose of getting the animal. That job will be for him and I rather think he’ll enjoy it immensely. But as for the long-haired one--I’ve an idea if he is still alive we won’t have to hunt him out.”

“Why so?” I queried.

“Because, if we get Rivers to watch for the lynx and we see him, I’m sure the hermit will pop along too.”

“What of the other fellows?” I asked. “Shall we ask them along?”

“No,” answered Brent, “I don’t think they’d care about it anyhow. Rivers is the only gunman we have.”

“A pretty quiet sort of gunman, though,” I mentioned.

“When do we go?” Tom asked. “I’ve got to go to Harkness and then up the line to-morrow morning. Heinie told me of a good repair man that keeps a garage up that way. His place is about fifteen miles up the state road.”

“Lizzie troubled with her appendix again?” Brent asked.

“No,” said Tom, refusing to let Brent ruffle him. “It’s the engine. Knocks.”

“As usual?” Brent queried.

“As usual,” Tom answered.

“Well then, we better set it for day after to-morrow. Start out around five or so, huh? We can’t hunt that lynx in the daylight you know. He’s trained too well.”

“I know. Six o’clock’s time enough, Brent.”

“Perhaps. Still, I’d like to see the sunset in the mountains and if I remember rightly, I think I’ve picked a beautiful spring moonlight night for our adventure.”

“How do you know it will be moonlight?” Tom queried.

“My almanac tells me so. It’s worth its weight in gold to me. Never fails. Got it when I bought some grippe tablets the beginning of the winter, with a sample box of cough drops thrown in.

It was good to hear Brent talking in this humorous vein once again. We were cheered. Perhaps it was the expectation of bringing the Mystery of our Camp out into the light of day and thus settling it for all time. In fact, I felt quite elated over our proposed moonlight sleuthing.

“After all’s said and done,” Brent remarked, “there’s nothing so exhilarating as Mystery!”