he was, he’s almost as good a shot as you are, Bart,” remarked Sandy Merton. “You ought to arrange for a return match with him.”
“Perhaps I would – if I could find him,” agreed Bart.
“That’s so he did go out rather suddenly,” went on Sandy. “Do you know who he was?”
“No, I wish I did,” murmured Bart, and then he changed the subject, fearing Sandy might ask leading questions.
The police had practically given up looking for the diamond bracelet, and Professor Long made no further references to it, though it was easy to see by his manner that he had not forgotten it. An undefinable air of suspicion hung over the four chums, though Fenn, from the fact that he had not entered the school, was, more or less, exempt. But he would not have it so.
“No,” Stumpy said, “if one of us is guilty we all are – only, as a matter of fact, none of us is. We’ll find that bracelet yet, and the missing turtle, too. If not this fall or winter, we will this spring. I know a new swamp where lots of turtles are, and we’ll have a try at that some day,” he told his chums.
Meanwhile matters at school continued to fill most of the time of the chums. The Darewell institution was a large one, and, of late, a number of secret societies had been formed among the junior and senior students. Sandy Merton was president of one of the junior organizations, known as the “Shamma Shig,” in comic reference to some of the college Greek letter fraternities.
“Why don’t you fellows join our society?” Sandy asked Bart and his chums, one day.
“I’m afraid we’d be ballotted against, and it would spoil our good records,” answered Fenn.
“Get out!” exclaimed Sandy, good-naturedly. “Come on, let me propose your names. We want a bigger membership, and I can guarantee that you’ll get through all right.”
“What about the initiation?” asked Frank. “Some we’ve been through have been pretty stiff.”
“Well, we don’t claim to have the easiest rites in the school, but they’re not so fierce,” replied the president proudly. “I can tip the fellows off, and we can make an exception in your cases, if you like, only – ”
“No, you don’t!” exclaimed Bart, quickly. “We’ll take all that’s coming to us – that is if we join. We’ll think about it.”
The chums talked matters over among themselves that night, and came to the conclusion that it would be a good plan to join the “Shamma Shigs.”
“All right, then, we’ll do it,” concluded Bart. “I’ll let Sandy know, and he can get the goat ready for us to ride.”
The initiation took place three days later, in the afternoon, and was held before a “crowded house” in the barn owned by Sandy’s uncle.
“Here are four worthy and gentle knights, who seek admission to our ranks,” announced Sandy, who was disguised with a sheet, all splashed over with red paint, to represent blood. He had a hickory nut in his mouth, to make his voice sound deep and hoarse, and was supported on either side by one lad in a purple sheet, and another one in yellow, the trio forming the “Mystic Three.”
Bart, Fenn and the others were put through some strenuous exercises, including the riding of a “goat” which was a saw-horse, with knots and bumps of wood nailed here and there on it, to represent bones. They were dipped into the rain-water barrel by means of a rope and pulley, and they were cast from “the terrible height into the awful chasm,” which ordeal consisted merely in being pushed down a space of about three feet, upon some hay, but being blindfolded was supposed to make up for the difference.
Then they had to climb a steep “mountain” which was an old horse tread-mill, geared up unusually high, and finally had to “drink the terrible cup,” which was supposed to be some horrible mixture, but which was really only molasses, ginger and water.
“Now for the final test,” proposed Sandy, to the four. “Are ye ready for the last act, or are ye timid and do ye shrink back from the terrible danger that confronts ye? If so, speak, an’ ye shall be allowed to depart in peace. But, if ye would brave the awful dangers and gloom of the bottomless pit, say the word, an’ then shall ye be true knights of the Shamma Shigs.”
“Go ahead, we’re ready,” replied Bart, irreverently.
“Let her flicker,” added Ned.
“’Tis well – blindfold them,” ordered Sandy, giving his red-spotted robe a shake.
“What, again?” asked Frank.
Sandy did not answer, but thick bandages were put over the eyes of the candidates. Then from sounds that took place in the barn they knew that a horse was being hitched up.
“We’re going to have a ride,” observed Fenn.
“Quiet, Stumpy,” cautioned Bart, in a whisper. “Keep still, and let’s see if we can catch on to what they’re doing.”
A little later their hands and feet were bound, and the candidates were put into a large wagon, and the drive began. It lasted for some time, and, try as they did, Bart and his chums could not imagine in which direction they were being taken. But, as they were familiar with the country for several miles in any point of the compass from Darewell, they were not worried.
“Halt!” Sandy finally ordered, and the creaking, jolting wagon came to a stop.
“Ye have one more chance, candidates,” went on the president, as he touched the foreheads of the four with something cold and clammy – a hand, from the feel of it, but it was only a rubber glove, filled with cracked ice. “One more chance ere ye dare the dangers of the bottomless pit,” went on Sandy. “Wilt withdraw?”
“Naw, let her go,” replied Fenn nonchalantly.
“’Tis well. The bottomless pit awaits ye,” threatened Sandy, and then, one at a time, the four were carefully lowered over the side of the wagon, down into some depths, as they supposed, but in reality only a short distance, so strangely are distances rendered when one is blindfolded.
“Ye are now in the pit, whence there is no escape,” went on Sandy, “but, if ye are true knights, and no craven cowards ye will come to no harm. In one hour’s time we shall release ye. Bide here until we return.”
His voice sounded faint and far away, but it was only because he was speaking into a pasteboard box he had brought along for that purpose. Then the sound of the wagon departing was heard, and the four chums were left, sitting they knew not where, with their hands and feet tied, and their eyes bandaged.
CHAPTER VI
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING
“Well,” remarked Fenn, after a somewhat long pause, “I don’t know how you fellows feel about it, but I think they’ve rather put it all over us; eh Bart?”
“Somewhat,” admitted the leader of the Darewell Chums. “But it isn’t so bad as I expected. I wonder where we are, anyhow?”
“Might be ten miles away,” observed Frank.
“I’ll wager we’re not more than half a mile from home,” came from Ned. “They drove roundabout to fool us.”
“That’s
