“Are you sure it’s a bit of uniform?” asked Tubby doubtfully.

“Certain of it.  No one else wears khaki in these parts.  Hey, Skipper, hey, good dog!  Sic ’em, sic ’em!” cried Rob, holding up the khaki for the intelligent creature to see.

The animal seemed to be greatly excited and gave short, quick barks as he danced about the boys.

“Well, we might try and see if he will lead us anywhere.” remarked Merritt somewhat dubiously.  “At any rate, there’s no harm done, except wasting a little time; and if we can get on the track of our uniforms, it’s not such a much of a waste, after all.”

“He sure wants ter be off somewhere,” observed the old captain, watching the antics of his dog, whom he regarded in the light of a human being.  “He never acts nor talks that way unless he’s got suthin’ on his mind.  Yer boys follow him, and I’ll bet he’ll lead yer ter suthin’.  It may be nothin’ more than a dead rabbit, and it may be what ye think.  I’ll stay here an’ dig my pertaters, fer my rheumatiz is powerful bad today.”

“Very well, captain.  We shan’t be long,” rejoined Rob, calling to the dog.  “Hey, Skipper, hey, old boy!  After ’em, Skipper—­after ’em!”

The dog bounded on ahead of the three boys, occasionally looking back to see if they were following and then plunging on again.

“As the Captain said, he ‘sure has got suthin’ on his mind’!” laughed Merritt.

After traversing about a mile of beach, the dog suddenly bounded into a thicket overhanging the shore and began barking furiously.

“He’s treed something, all right,” remarked Rob, pushing the branches aside.

The next minute he gave a loud shout of triumph.

“Look there, boys!  Old Skipper sure did ‘have suthin’ on his mind’!”

Peering over Rob’s shoulder, the other two were able to make out two hidden sacks, the mouth of one of which had been torn open, evidently by the investigating Skipper.

From the aperture appeared the torn sleeve of a Boy Scout’s uniform, and a brief searching of the sacks after they had been lugged out on the beach revealed the entire stolen equipment.

“Bones for you, Skipper, for the rest of your life!” promised Tubby, as the dog, evidently well pleased with the petting he received and the admiration showered upon him, pranced about on the beach and indulged in a hundred antics.

The only one of the uniforms damaged was the one that Skipper had torn.  The others were all intact, but badly crumpled, having been hastily thrust into the sacks, and, as it appeared, tamped down to make them fit more compactly.

“Well, what do you know about that?” was Merritt’s astonished exclamation, as one by one Rob drew forth the regimentals and laid them on the beach.

“You mean what does Jack Curtiss and Company know about that,” seriously returned Rob.

“However, we found them—­that’s one thing to be enthusiastic over,” observed Tubby sagely.