A chorus of exclamations¹ arose.
 
"Well," said Sam, with a long breath, "I call that a pretty mean trick."
 
"The duffer who did it ought to be ducked in the river," said little Tommy Clifton.
 
"I'll bet there is some more mystery back of this," declared Bob, angrily. "Wish I could get my hands on that fellow."
 
"Can't be that—that—" began Dave Brandon, hesitatingly.
 
"That Nat Wingate had anything to do with it?" interrupted Bob, understanding his meaning. "No! He may be pretty fresh—still, I don't believe he's the one."
 
"Perhaps he won't be so much surprised, though, when he hears about it," broke in Sam Randall, who seemed to have a different opinion.
 
"Well, there's no use in yelling our heads off," declared Dave Brandon; "it certainly was a mean trick, but the damage can be repaired in short order."
 
"That isn't the point, Chubby³—why should any one want to play such a trick on us?"
 
Dave laughed.
 
"You've got me there, Bob," he said. "If the Trailers didn't do it, it means that some one was prowling around the camp last night."
 
Tom Clifton, at the thought, felt an uncanny feeling run through him.
 
"We didn't think that anybody except the Trailers was within miles of us," he faltered⁴.
 
"Let us get at the facts in order," proposed Dave Brandon. "First: nobody could have touched the engine before we turned in, that's certain."
 
"Then it must have been done before that wildcat struck the camp."
 
A hot flush began to color Dick Travers' cheek.
 
"Or perhaps just after," he spoke⁵ up, manfully. "Sorry to say, boys, I was so tired I went to sleep."
 
"I can't blame you, Dick," said Bob; "it wasn't on account of the boat that you stayed up."
 
"Had all the Trailers turned in when you last took a look at them?" inquired Sam Randall.
 
"Yes—the whole crowd, and sleeping like logs, too."
 
"Let's look for footprints, fellows," suggested Dave.
 
A close examination of the mass of impressions at the water's edge proved fruitless. The Ramblers had tramped about so much that nothing could be made out.
 
"Well, there's no use in wasting any more time, fellows," protested Dick Travers; "let's get to work. Hello—the Trailers are coming."
 
"Say! What are you little Ancient Mariners⁶ looking for?" began Nat, as he came up. "Has anybody dropped a penny?"
 
"We're in the detective business now," replied Bob.
 
"Why—has anything happened?"
 
"Well!—Some fellow played a mean trick on us."
 
"A mean trick on you?" echoed John Hackett, in surprise.
 
Bob stepped on board the "Rambler," and held up the severed⁷ wires.
 
John Hackett whistled.
 
"That's funny!" he exclaimed. "I wonder who could have done that."
 
"Did you see any one skulking⁸ around here last night, Nat Wingate?" asked Sam Randall, bluntly.
 
"Of course I didn't!" returned Nat, in an offended tone.
 
"Nor at any time during the afternoon?"
 
"See here, Randall, what do you mean by asking me such fool questions?" fumed⁹ Nat, who seemed to be unduly¹⁰ sensitive.
 
"Well, why shouldn't I ask 'em?"
 
"Don't you think that if I had seen any one I would have said something about it?"
 
"How do I know? You might—"
 
"Might what? If you think I know who did it, say so right out," snapped Nat, his brown eyes flashing.
 
"Sam didn't say anything like that," interposed Bob.
 
"He'd better not," blustered¹¹ Nat, in war-like tones; "nobody can insult me!"
 
"Bears, wildcats—"
 
"And," continued Nat, resuming all his old-time aggressive and sarcastic¹² manner, "I want to know if you fellows think for an instant that I—"
 
"We think that you are getting worked up over nothing," interrupted Travers.
 
"And I'll get more worked up. If your old wash-tub was put out of commission, you can't blame it on us. You're a nice lot, I must say."
 
Doubling his fists, and otherwise exhibiting symptoms of increasing rage, Nat Wingate proceeded: "What do you think of this, anyway, Hacky?"
 
John, hoping that a first-class row would result, decided¹³ to aid in its development as much as possible.
 
"It looks as if they wanted to insult us," he growled¹⁴, in his most aggressive manner.
 
"Maybe the wildcat cut the wires," exclaimed Kirk Talbot. But this piece of pleasantry passed unheeded.
 
"Did you ever hear of such a thing?" howled Nat, encouraged by his chief lieutenant's attitude. "If you want to stir up the biggest scrap¹⁵ you ever heard of, Sam Randall, just say right out that we did it. Going to say it? I dare you to!"
 
"That's the way to talk, that's it!" chimed in Hackett, greatly delighted. "Nothing like coming out like a man. I don't want any racket, but we ain't going to stand mean insinuations—and don't you forget it!"
 
"Remember what they did for us yesterday," spoke up Ted² Pollock.
 
"We do!" said Nat, a little taken aback. "We do! But that doesn't give 'em the right to insult us, does it?"
 
"Nobody has tried to," said Bob; "quit your row."
 
"And it's a good thing they haven't," blustered Nat. "All the same, I was never so mad in my life. Do you think I can't see what 'Skinny' was driving at?"
 
"Yes, it was simply written all over his face," added Hackett, who, however, winked¹⁶ a half dozen times at the Ramblers, and appeared to have some difficulty in repressing a laugh.
 
"Come on, Nimrods," said Nat, a moment later. "This nice gang doesn't want our company."
 
With these words, the angry "chief pirate" turned away, Hackett and the others reluctantly following.
 
"Certainly fine chaps, all of 'em," observed Sam Randall, in disgusted tones. "Think that Nat would have flared¹⁷ up so quickly unless he knew something about it? I don't."
 
"Looks very queer! Everything happens to us, and nothing to them," asserted the captain. Then he added: "Don't let us fool any more time away. That eng............