That afternoon an eccentric figure came capering through the woods, bearing a strange burden. Perhaps capering is not the exact word to use, for the figure was that of a rotund and fat-legged boy, and it is hard for such a person to caper. Ever and anon this figure sent up a pleased exclamation or a cry of delight.

“Anodder teer’s head!” he shouted, when he came in sight of the camp. “A moose’s teer head this dime, I pet you!”

It was Hans Dunnerwust, and the burden under which he waddled was the head of a moose. He tried to hold it triumphantly aloft as he shouted his announcement, and while making this attempt struck a foot against a protruding root, and went down in a heap, the antlered head falling on top of him.

“Mine gootness!” he gasped, sitting up and rubbing his stomach, while he looked excitedly around. “I t’ought, py shimminy, dot somepoty musd hid me, I go town so qvick!”

His eyes fell on the head, and the pleased look came again into his face.

“I pet you, I vill pe bleased mit Merriwell, ven he seen dhis. Dot odder teer got no hornses, und dis haf hornses like a dree sdick up. Id must pe vort more as lefendeen tollar, anyhow!”

[58]

After climbing to his feet and assuring himself that he had not sustained any serious injuries or broken bones, he picked up the heavy head and again hurried on, giving utterance to many exclamations of pleasure and delight.

Hans had found the head hanging in the branches of a tree, in a way to keep it out of the reach of carnivorous animals. Had he not been looking for a red squirrel, that had gone flickering through these very branches, he never would have discovered the head, so cleverly was it hidden.

“Dot is a petter head as dot odder vun I got,” he had whispered, wondering dully how it chanced to be there, but not for a moment thinking of poachers.

There were marks on the earth and grass showing where the moose had been skinned and cut up.

“Dose vellers don’d vand der head,” was his final conclusion, “und day chust hang id ub here. Vale, I vill dake id mineselluf, den!”

Then he had fastened his knife to a stick and, after many futile attempts, had succeeded in cutting the string by which the head was suspended from the bough.

“Whoop!” he screeched, when he drew near the tent. “Yaw. See vot got me, eh? A moose’s teer head got me de horns py!”

It was a hot afternoon, and the sweat was fairly streaming from his round, red face. He was panting, too, almost as loudly as the moose had panted while it drew the canoe across the water.

Merriwell and Diamond came to the door of one of the tents, and Browning, Bart Hodge and John Caribou looked from the other.

[59]

A more astounded party would have been hard to find.

“Where did you get that?” asked Merriwell, thinking at once of the shot they had heard in the direction taken by the moose.

“Id is a moose’s teer head,” announced Hans, holding it up. “See mine hornses?”

“I can see that it is a moose head; but where did you get it?”

The other members of the party were as surprised as Frank and equally as anxious for an answer to his questions. The guide looked as if he might have given an answer himself, but he only folded his arms and stared at the head with shining eyes and impassive features.

“Pushes vos hanging to him in a dree,” said Hans, and then, in his own peculiar way, he proceeded to make them acquainted with the manner in which he discovered it.

He put it down on the grass in front of the tent, where it was closely scrutinized.

“Same moose we saw this morning,” declared Bruce Browning, very emphatically. “Do you see that peculiar turn of the horn there? I noticed that on the fellow that towed us. Some scoundrel has shot him.”

“There can’t be any doubt of that, I guess,” admitted Merriwell, in a grieved tone. “What a magnificent beast he was, too! It is a shame. I hope the rascal will be caught and punished, but I don’t suppose he ever will be. This is a pretty wild country out here.”

“I tell you what,” said Hodge. “Whoever killed that moose will come back for the head. Those antlers are[60] worth something, and he won’t want to lose them. How would it do to hide out there and see if we can’t capture him?”

“The only trouble about that,” objected Diamond, “is that we’d have to take the scamp before some justice of the peace and waste a lot of time in trying to get him convicted. Nothing is slower than the law, you know.”

“See there!” exclaimed Merriwell, who had been closely examining the head. “He was shot in the head, just back of this ear.”

John Caribou pressed forward and looked at the bullet hole. He carried a rifle himself that threw a big ball like that.

Merriwell did not know whether to reprove Hans or not for bringing the head to camp, and let the question pass, while they talked of the dead moose and the poachers, and discussed the advisability of trying to capture those slippery gentlemen.

John Caribou disappeared within a tent and came out shortly with his long rifle.

“Where are you going?” Merriwell questioned. “Not after the poachers now?”

Caribou shook his head and held up his empty pipe.

“Tobac’ all gone,” he said. “No tobac’, Caribou him no good. Friend down here got tobac’. Come back soon.”

He waved the pipe toward the timber as if to point out the direction of the home of this friend.

There was an unfathomable look on Caribou’s face which Frank did not like. The guide had said nothing[61] about being out of tobacco before that time, and the conviction was forced that this was merely an excuse to enable him to get out of the camp.

Jack Diamond, who had all along doubted John Caribou’s honesty, gave Merry a triumphant and questioning glance.

“I don’t think you had better go just now,” objected Merriwell. “We may need you here in the camp.”

“No tobac’,” said Caribou, doggedly. “Must have tobac’!”

He did not try to parley, but threw his gun on his shoulder and struck out for the woods.

“That fellow is up to some dirt,” averred Jack Diamond. “You mark my words now. He has plenty of tobacco. If I’m not mistaken, I saw him have a whole pouchful this morning.”

Merriwell wanted to defend the reputation of the guide, but he felt that he could not satisfactorily explain Caribou’s queer action.

“Let’s not judge him hastily. He has certainly been all that the most exacting could ask of a guide, and I don’t see why we should now conclude that he will act otherwise.”

That was as much as Merry could say.

Not having decided what to do with the head of the moose, it was permitted to lie on the ground in front of the tent, where Dunnerwust had put it.

Caribou had said he would be back soon, but the slow hours went by without bringing him.

“He’s up to some deviltry,” said Diamond. “I saw it in[62] his eye when he started. Of course, I haven’t an idea what it can be, but we’ll know soon enough, I don’t doubt.”

To this Merriwell could not make a satisfactory reply. Still, he believed that John Caribou was all right, in spite of his strange actions, and so expressed himself, though he could not deny to himself that he was beginning to feel uneasy as the time passed without bringing the guide.

“There he comes,” announced Hodge, shortly before sunset.

Bart was collecting fuel for a fire. This was work devolving upon the guide, but the guide’s continued absence required them to set about preparations for getting supper themselves.

Merriwell, who was standing near him, looked in the direction indicated, where the form of a man was to be seen moving among the trees.

“Caribou’s coming,” he cried, putting his head into the tent where Diamond sat with Bruce Browning.

“It isn’t he, though!” corrected Hodge, almost instantly. “The chap is a stranger. Yes; and there are others with him.”

All the members of the party now came out in front of the tents and looked at the men emerging from the woods.

The men were armed, and came straight toward the camp. As they drew near they glanced with meaning smiles of satisfaction at the antlered head of the elk.

Merriwell did not fancy their appearance nor the way in which they stared at him and his friends.

As he looked at them, like a sudden blow came the intuitive knowledge that these men were game wardens.[63] There could have been no more damaging evidence against a camping party than the head of a freshly slain moose found in the camp at that time of year.

“I could wish that moose head was in the lake,” he muttered under his breath. “It’s going to put us in a bad hole, if these chaps are game wardens.”

Still he maintained the utmost outward composure.

The largest of the men stepped forward, dropped a hand menacingly on his gun, and sternly announced:

“You are under arrest!”

Hans Dunnerwust gave a shriek of fright and dived into the nearest tent.

Diamond’s dark face flushed angrily, while Bart Hodge and Bruce Browning variously showed their surprise and displeasure.

“On what charge?” Merriwell demanded, though he did not need to ask.

“Killing game out of season,” said the spokesman, glancing at the head of the moose. “I am a game warden, and these are my deputies, and the law makes it our duty to arrest you.”

“Just a question,” interrupted Diamond. “Did anyone send you here to make this arrest?”

The officer hesitated, then, without answering, took out a pencil and a piece of paper.

“There is a reward, is there not, for information leading to such an arrest?” continued Diamond. “I am sure there is, so you needn’t answer that question if you do not choose.”

Merriwell did not need to inquire what Diamond meant[64] by those interrogations. The belief had come to Diamond that John Caribou had hurried to these officers, and, for the expected reward, had told them that the people in camp on the shore of Lily Bay were poachers.

“Going into the business pretty bold,” observed another of the officers, discovering the head of the doe, which had been tossed out some distance from the tents. “A moose and a deer. Dead to rights on two heavy charges, anyway.”

“See here,” said Merriwell, striving to remain cool. “I will agree that appearances are against us; but I declare to you, just the same, that we are law-abiding people and not poachers. If you will listen to us we can tell you just how we came by both of those heads.”

“I’ll take your names first,” said the officer with the pencil and paper, in a skeptical tone.

The names were given.

“Frank Merriwell, Bruce Browning, Jack Diamond, Bart Hodge and Hans Dunnerwust,” read the officer, when he had penciled the names on the paper, “I arrest you for the violation of the game laws of the State of Maine, and shall hold you to answer accordingly.”

A gurgling speech of fear came from within the tent, where Hans was trying to hide himself under some blankets.

“Now I’ll hear your story,” said the officer, glancing at the sun, “but I warn you that we must be in a hurry, if we are to get very far on our way to-night.”

Merry reddened a little under this, in spite of his effort to keep from doing anything of the kind. The[65] words were so palpable an indication that the officer did not intend to give the story credit!

As Merriwell had always been the soul of honor, it cut him to the quick to have his statement doubted thus in advance.

“I see that you have made up your mind against us already, Mr.——”

“Parker is my name,” said the warden, when Merriwell hesitated.

“I see that you have made up your mind to believe us guilty, Mr. Parker, in spite of anything we can show to the contrary, which you must admit is hardly fair.”

“It is not my place to decide whether you’re guilty or innocent,” said Parker. “The justice of the peace will do that.”

“I should like to see your authority for making this arrest,” demanded Diamond, firing up. “You say you are a game warden, but how do we know it? You won’t believe us, why should we believe you?”

Merriwell was intending to make this point, though in a milder way.

Parker merely smiled and drew another paper out of his pocket, which he handed to Diamond to inspect. It was a legal certificate of his official position.

“What is the penalty for violation of this Maine game law?” Hodge asked, as Diamond passed back the paper.

“One hundred dollars for each animal shot,” answered Parker.

“And an informer gets half of that for his information leading to the arrest?” said Diamond, with a keen look[66] out of his dark eyes. “But you haven’t proved us guilty yet.”

“Pretty good proof,” declared one of the deputies, kicking the moose head. “Here’s the bullet hole, too!”

“I want you to take notice,” requested Merry, speaking to Parker, “that that hole was evidently made by a bullet much larger than anything our guns carry.”

“Not larger, than the gun shot by your guide,” was Parker’s reply.

“What do you know about him?” Diamond quickly asked.

“Your guide is John Caribou,” Parker answered. “I thought him all right, but he was seen to shoot a deer only day before yesterday. He is wanted, too.”

“Your informer was mistaken in that,” Merry very positively declared.

Diamond was bewildered. Parker’s statement was a puzzler and did not coincide with his idea that the guide had played into that officer’s hands. He knew Caribou did not shoot either the deer or the moose.

“You must be lying, that’s all,” he thought, looking the warden inquiringly in the eyes.

“Where are we to be taken?” asked Browning.

“County seat,” said Parker. “I’ll leave a man with your things here.”

“You haven’t given me a chance to explain how those heads happen to be here,” said Merriwell. “After that you may not want to hold us.”

Then he proceeded to tell why they had been brought into camp.

[67]

While making these explanations, Merry was so struck by the improbability of the account that he began to doubt if he would believe it himself, if he were in the game warden’s position. The discovery of the moose head by Hans would not have been an unlikely thing, but when to that was added the statement of why the deer head had been brought in, the entire narrative seemed to take on a fishy odor.

Parker’s face clearly showed that he thought the story concocted for the occasion.

“There’s one thing you didn’t tell,” he said, with some sarcasm, when Merriwell had concluded.

“What was that?” Frank asked.

“How you noosed the moose on the lake. One of my men saw you do that.”

“I didn’t think to mention that,” said Merriwell. “It didn’t occur to me that it had any particular bearing on the present case.”

“Why doesn’t this Dunnerwust speak for himself?” Parker asked. “I should like to have him show us where he found the moose head.”

“Hans, come out here!” Merriwell called. “The warden wants you.”

This was followed by a silence like that of the grave.

“Hans!” Merriwell sharply called again. “Come out here!”

“Maybe he’s sneaked out by the back of the tent and made a run for it,” one of the deputies suggested.

Parker stepped to the door through which he had seen the frightened Dutch boy disappear.

[68]

“By ginger, I believe you are right, Sam!” he declared. “He doesn’t seem to be in here.”

Sam darted to the rear of the tent, and Parker pushed in, followed by Merriwell, who knew that Hans was hiding.

“Where are you, Hans?” he asked, in peremptory tones.

Thereupon followed a movement of some blankets, and Hans thrust out his head like that of a turtle emerging from its shell.

He gave a squawk and drew the blanket over his head again when he saw the gun Parker carried.

“Oxcoose me! I ton’d peen to home this efening,” he chattered.

Merriwell drew away the concealing blanket, under which Hans tried to hide and to which he clung to the last moment.

There was a broad grin on Parker’s face. Hans’ terror greatly amused him, but at the same time it aided in convincing him that the party was guilty of the unlawful death of the moose.

“I peen sick py my sdomach,” Hans groaned, trying to stand on his shrinking legs. “Misder Game Varden, you don’d vos going to put yourselluf in chail, vos you? Dot mooses didn’t kill me; id fint my head ganging in dot dree. I hobe I may cross my heardt und die uf dot ain’d so!”

One of the deputies who had come to the tent door and now saw and heard Hans, broke into a roar of laughter.

“Vot vos dot vool laughing py me?” Hans snapped, his anger for the moment overcoming his fright.

[69]

“This officer wants you to take us to the place where you found the moose head,” said Merriwell.

He was thinking of Caribou, even as he said this, and vainly trying to find a reason for the guide’s strange departure and stranger absence.

Jack Diamond was also thinking of Caribou, while his heart warmed loyally toward Merriwell. He had not set his opinion against Merry’s because of any pig-headed obstinacy. It hurt him to think ill of the guide; still, he believed he was correct in his first opinion that Caribou was not a man to be trusted, and he was equally sure now that Caribou had sold the party into the hands of the game warden for the purpose of obtaining a reward. If the guide got fifty dollars for each man convicted and for each case against that man, he would receive five hundred dollars, an immense sum to such a man as John Caribou.

“I peen sick,” Hans alleged. “I don’d tink I coult fint dot dree again, so hellup me!”

“Hans will take us there all right, I’m sure, unless he should miss the way,” said Merriwell, turning to Parker, “but it’s too late to talk of leaving here to-night. We can stay in the camp till morning and make a good start then. I know that you are mistaken, that you are barking up the wrong tree, as the saying goes, but I’m not foolish enough to resist an officer. So, if nothing turns up to show you that you really are mistaken, we will go with you, but I beg that you won’t ask us to start till morning. Hans, show us now where the head was found.”

[70]

Merriwell was diplomatically fighting for time, which he hoped would bring the return of the guide. In spite of the fact that Parker said Caribou was also to be put under arrest, he had a hope that Caribou’s coming might bring a favorable change in the situation. He was forced to confess, though, that this hope rested on no very good foundation.