ruled out of the game. From then on the Darewell eleven seemed to go to pieces, and they lost the game.
There were many sore hearts among the students that night, and accusing glances were cast at Bart. His chums felt his position deeply.
“I know it was a hasty thing to do,” said Bart, contritely, “but I couldn’t help it.”
From then on there seemed to be a spirit manifested against the four chums, and, naturally, they resented it. The others would not desert Bart, and when he refused to apologize to the lad he had struck, and was permanently ruled off the eleven, Ned, Frank and Fenn resigned. They resisted the pleading of the manager to remain, so that the school eleven would not be crippled.
“It’s the school’s place to stick by us, as much as it is ours to stick by the eleven,” declared Frank. “The fellows are beginning to think we took that bracelet. We’ll show them that we didn’t, and, in the meanwhile, it’s better that we don’t take part in any games.”
His chums agreed with him, and for a time it seemed as if they would be sent to Coventry. But a calmer spirit prevailed, and when some of the school societies took up the matter it was agreed that the four had a right to do as they pleased, and that the lad who had made the offensive remark was in the wrong; and so matters quieted down.
But the football season ended anything but brilliantly for Darewell, and the four chums felt this bitterly in their hearts, though they could do no differently than they had done.
“I should think you boys would hire a detective on your own account,” said Alice Keene to her brother, one November evening, when the four chums were at Bart’s house. “You could get one easily, and perhaps he could locate the bracelet for you.”
“We’ll do it ourselves,” remarked Bart firmly.
“If we could only find the turtle we’d have it, I’m sure,” declared Fenn, who had not lost faith in his odd theory.
“We’ve looked in every likely place where turtles are around here,” said Frank.
“Yes; and now we ought to go farther off,” came from Ned. “I say fellows, what’s the matter with going on a little hunting expedition soon? The weather is just right, we all have guns, and I think the trip would do us good.”
“Why not make it a big hunting expedition while we’re at it?” suggested Frank.
“A big one? What do you mean?” asked Bart.
“Why, I mean go camping, as we did not long ago. We don’t mind the cold, or ice and snow. We could make a winter camp, around the Christmas holidays, and have lots of sport.”
“And a Christmas tree in the woods!” cried Alice. “That would be lovely! Jennie Smith and I would come out and see you – if it wasn’t too far.”
“Yes, Jennie’d recite poetry, and you’d insist on making us drink hot ginger tea, so as not to catch cold,” observed Bart.
Alice looked a little hurt, until Ned added:
“Well, I’m sure ginger tea would be all right in a snow storm, such as we had the last time we camped in the winter.”
“Of course,” agreed Alice, gratefully.
“It would be a good thing to get away from school and the town of Darewell for a while, at least,” was Bart’s opinion. “People are beginning to think we really stole that bracelet.”
“Oh, Bart!” remonstrated Alice, reproachfully.
“Well, it’s the truth,” he went on doggedly. “I’d as soon have ’em say it as look it. I’d like to get away for that reason, and, of course, it would be sport to have a winter camp again.”
“Then let’s do it,” proposed Ned. “At the same time we can look for mud turtles.”
“You won’t see many, unless there’s a thaw,” was Fenn’s opinion. “But you can count on me going.”
“And me,” added Frank and Ned.
“Hasn’t anything been learned of the missing bracelet yet?” asked Mrs. Keene, coming into the room, in time to hear some of the conversation.
“No,” answered her son, “and it’s my opinion that it never will be found, until – ” He paused in some confusion.
“Until when?” asked his mother.
“Until we locate it,” finished Bart. “Well, fellows, let’s talk of a winter camp. Maybe we can manage it around the holidays. We don’t get much of a vacation, but I guess we could afford to take an extra week.”
“Is your gun in shape again, since you broke it?” asked Ned.
“Sure. I fixed that spring,” replied Bart. “I’ll show you. Come on up to my den. I’m not allowed to have firearms in the dining-room,” and he led the way, his chums following. From then on, until the three left, the talk was a conglomeration of powder, shot, shells, guns, game and camp-life.
The weeks passed. Little mention was made of the bracelet now, but Mr. Long showed by his manner that he had not forgotten the loss of it. He was not exactly distrustful of the boys, but his bearing was, to say the least, a bit suspicious.
One evening, following an examination in school, Bart remarked to his chums, as they gathered at his house:
“Come on down to the shooting gallery. They’ve got some new guns there, and I want to try them. It’s good practice if we’re going camping. Besides, I’m full of Latin verbs and Greek roots, and I want to clear my mind.”
“You don’t need any practice,” remarked Ned. “You can beat us all to pieces shooting.”
“I have to keep in practice, though,” asserted Bart, who, to give him credit, was quite expert with the rifle.
A little later the four were in the gallery, trying their skill with the new rifles which the proprietor had purchased.
“Here’s one that ought to suit you, Bart,” remarked the man in charge, who was well known to the boys. “It’s well balanced. Try that small target.”
“No, I want something moving, Clayton,” replied Bart. “Start off the birds and beasts.”
These were small images of birds and squirrels that moved around on a sort of endless chain arrangement. Clayton, the man in charge of the gallery, set the machinery in motion, and the painted effigies began to go around. Bart raised the rifle – a repeater – to his shoulder, took quick aim, and fired. A bird was knocked over, then a squirrel went down, and, in rapid succession he repeated this until he had fifteen hits to his credit, out of a possible sixteen.
“Fine!” cried Ned, enviously.
“I should have had ’em all,” announced Bart with a shake of his head. “Here, some of you fellows try.”
They did, but could not do nearly as good as had Bart. Then Bart contented himself with making bullseyes at a stationary target, though Frank and Ned made another effort to equal Bart’s record with the moving objects. Frank came the nearest with ten.
“Now I’ll try for sixteen out
