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Updated: May 23, 2025
"For a matter as important as this I'll leave my beat and notify the station house." "Can we give you any further help?" Dick asked. "Not a bit, my lad, thank you, unless you see Fitsey again." As soon as the policeman had gone, Darrin asked rather seriously: "Dick, are you sure that it really was Fits, and no mistake?" "Of course I am. Why?"
"Hen, you keep quiet in there. Don't set up a yell at the very time when a little stealth is needed." "But it's dangerous to fool with people like Fitsey!" choked Hen. "Keep quiet! If you can't help, don't hinder. Don't be an utter pinhead, Hen." Now that they were in sight of the cabin, Dave and his companions, and the two men with them, put on extra speed.
"Let's see what we can find up there," suggested Dick. Taking hold of the rope, after shedding his overcoat, Prescott ascended, hand over hand. "This is where Fitsey stayed daytimes," Dick called down. "And it's not a bad place, either. Here are two fur robes." Dick tumbled them down below, followed by four pairs of warm blankets. "It's all stolen stuff, I'll wager," Tom called.
Why didn't you say so before?" came in a half smothered voice as Dutcher thrust his head partly from under the blankets. Then he added, suddenly, in a quaking voice: "Say, you fellows better hide quick! If old Fitsey is in the cook shack there's bound to be some shooting." With that Dutcher hid his head once more. But Dick, Greg and Harry paid no heed to him.
"You know pretty well, Dick, that you won't have to stay in camp alone," offered Dave. "Of course not," agreed Tom Reade. "We'll all stick. We'll hope that Fitsey won't come back. If he does, then we'll try to make him sorry that he returned." From the doorway of the log cabin Hen Dutcher was seen to be peering forth cautiously.
"And to think that Fitsey took some of our poor food, when he had a grocery store like that up aloft!" complained Harry Hazelton. "Well, he didn't want us to suspect what he had hidden away around the premises," Dick answered. "Anything more up there?" called Dave. "Nothing but one Grammar School boy," Dick announced, showing himself at the edge of the simple loft. "I'm coming down.
"Why, this is it's suicide, that's what it is!" "Yes?" Dick queried calmly, shaking off Hen's hold and going on with his task. "It certainly is," Dutcher maintained fearfully. "Why, with a shutter open, Fitsey can jump right through the window glass and be in here on top of us in a jiffy. Please close the shutter." "Not much!"
"Say, you fellows," hailed Hen complainingly, "I thought you were never coming back. I thought you had all got scared and ran away." "Then why didn't you run away with us?" Dave called out. "That isn't my style," proclaimed Dutcher, throwing out his chest. "I'm no baby." "No; you're the one hero of the whole outfit," grinned Tom. "Did they catch old Fitsey?" queried Hen.
"Hunting!" proposed Harry. "We've got the air rifle." "Fishing," added Tom. "We brought tackle on purpose. We must be able to find some pond hereabouts." "But say!" Dick suddenly interjected. "Do you fellows realize that we haven't been in the old shack since Mr. Fits left it? Queer as it may seem to some of you, I believe that Fitsey had a hiding place even in that little room.
"But now are you fellows hungry?" Greg and Harry scurried away to wash hands and faces. "I think you had a cheek to let three fellows go after help," grumbled Hen. "Well, why?" asked Dick patiently. "S'pose old Fitsey takes it into his head to come over here, on top of the crust, while there's just us four here?" shuddered Hen. "There are only three of us here, Dutcher.
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