“Well, who cares whether he did or not?” exclaimed Bob, impatiently.  “That’s a matter that doesn’t interest me.  Is Dave Evans going to make that hundred and fifty dollars and cheat me out of a new shot-gun?  That’s what I want to know!”

“Of course he isn’t,” replied Lester.  “We can’t stop him by the aid of the Sportsman’s Club, and so we will stop him ourselves without the aid of anybody.  Let him go to work and set his traps, and we’ll see how many birds he will take out of them.  We’ll rob every one we can find and keep the quail ourselves.  In that way we may be able to make up the fifty dozen without setting any of our own traps.  We’ll write to that man, as you suggested, and when Dave finds he can’t catch any birds, he’ll get discouraged and leave us a clear field.  But first I want to touch up Don and Bert Gordon a little to pay them for the way they treated me this evening.  That shooting-box shall be laid in ashes this very night.  I expected an invitation to shoot there last spring, but I didn’t get it, and now I am determined that they shall never ask anybody there.  What do you say?”

“I say, I’m your man,” replied Bob.

And so the thing was settled.  Lester put his horse in the barn, went in to supper, which was announced in a few minutes (Bob found opportunity before he sat down to the table to purloin a box of matches, which he put carefully away in his pocket), and when the meal was over, the two boys went back to the wagon-shed, where they sat and talked until it began to grow dark.  Then Bob brought a couple of paddles out of the corner of the wagon-shed, handed one to his companion, and the two walked slowly down the road.  When they were out of sight of the house they climbed the fence, and directed their course across the fields toward the head of the lake.  Then they quickened their pace.  They had much to do, and they wanted to finish their work and return to the house before their absence was discovered.

Half an hour’s rapid walking brought them to the road just below General Gordon’s barn.  The next thing was to make their way along the foot of the garden until they reached the jetty, and that was an undertaking that was not wholly free from danger.  Don Gordon’s hounds were noted watch-dogs, and any prowlers they discovered were pretty certain to be severely treated.  But there was no flinching on the part of the two boys.  Bob led the way almost on his hands and knees, stopping now and then to listen, and finally brought his companion to the place where the boats were moored.  There was only one of them available, however, for the canoe, which they had intended to take, was secured to a tree by a heavy padlock.

“Did you ever hear of such luck?” whispered Bob.

“Couldn’t we paddle the other up there?” asked Lester, feeling of the chain with which the sail-boat was fastened to the wharf, to make sure that it was not locked.

“O, yes; but why is this canoe locked up?  That’s what bothers me.  Perhaps Don suspects something and is on the watch.”