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"I reckon I could if there was any need of it," was the drawling reply. "I happened to notice my bearings at the time. I was straight down from that rock out there, and straight out from the big button wood tree on yonder shore—right over the deepest part of the Hole."

"All right!" said Randy quietly. "Now if you will lend me your boat for about ten minutes I think I can restore you your gun."

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CHAPTER XVI

A SHATTERED DELUSION

The burst of derisive laughter that greeted his proposition in no way disconcerted Randy. He waited quietly until it was over, and then repeated his request.

"Ho! ho!" cackled Daddy Perkiss; "is the lad tired of livin', or kin he breathe under water like a fish?"

"He's a stout hearted chap," cried Mose Hocker, "and sense his mind's bent on takin' a good long dive I reckon he kin have the boat. There ain't no undercurrent out there as I know of, so he ain't likely to come to harm, and besides I'm mighty anxious to git my gun back."

Here Mr. Hocker winked slyly at Daddy Perkiss and the fishermen.

The old man failed to appreciate the joke.

"It's temptin' Providence," he cried shrilly, pounding his cane on the beach. "If you ever sees that weapon agin, Mose Hocker, I'll give you ten pounds of the best plug terbacker that Bill Smith has in his store."

"That's a bargain," exclaimed Mose. "You fellows can testify to what he said."

Then turning to Randy he added with a laugh, "Don't fail me now, lad. Ten pounds of terbacker ain't picked up every day."

"Just give me a fair show and I'll astonish you all before long," replied Randy, moving toward the boat. "Ned, will you go with me?" he added.

Ned willingly agreed, much to the amazement of Clay and Nugget, who expected him to oppose Randy's project with all his might. The truth of the matter was that Ned, being a sensible fellow, shared Randy's view, and was rather anxious to see the tables turned on the credulous rustics.

He was satisfied from the smooth and sluggish appearance of the water that a dive would not be attended with danger.

In some unaccountable manner the news seemed to have spread through the neighborhood, and when Ned and Randy embarked, the crowd had been augmented by three men and two bare-footed urchins. A wagon containing two farmers had stopped at the entrance of the bridge, and the occupants were tying the horse preparatory to coming down.

Mose Hocker's boat was a large, heavy craft, built on the order of a bateau, and was admirably adapted to Randy's purpose. The boys paddled up stream a little until they were directly below the rock Hocker had designated. Then, while the boat drifted down with a barely perceptible motion, Randy hastily undressed.

"It's a pity we didn't bring a fishing line along," observed Ned. "I could ascertain the depth for you in a minute."

"We don't need it," replied Randy. "I was never in better wind than I am now. If there's a bottom at all I'll find it."

The boat was now one hundred feet below the rock, and a stroke or two of Ned's paddle put it in line with the big buttonwood tree on the right shore.

"This is just about the exact spot," said Randy, surveying with a critical eye the rock and then the tree. "Hold the boat steady, Ned. I'll be ready in a second or two."

This was not a difficult task, for the water was as smooth as a mill pond and almost as motionless.

Clay and Nugget had by this time paddled out in their canoes to witness operations, and the little group on the shore were waiting in breathless silence.

Randy was prepared now, and suddenly he mounted the broad stern seat, and stood on the outer edge.

An audible murmur came from the shore, and Daddy Perkiss mumbled shrilly: "They're right over the middle of the Hole."

"Paddle down a little," said Randy in a quiet tone to Clay and Nugget. "You obstruct the view. Still in the right location, are we?" he inquired of Ned.

"Yes, as near as possible," was the reply. "Be careful, old fellow!"

Randy smiled and glanced at the expectant crowd on the shore. Then he drew a long breath, pressed his hands together and dived gracefully into the cloudy blue water. It was done so quickly and cleverly that no loud splash followed, nor was the boat violently shaken.

As the seconds passed on not the least sound broke the stillness; every eye was fixed on the spot where the lad had disappeared, and every heart was beating tumultuously.

The seconds grew almost to a minute, and still the smooth surface remained unbroken. Ned's hand trembled as he kept the boat in position, and Clay and Nugget exchanged frightened glances.

"I knew it," cried Daddy Perkiss in a cracked voice. "That lad will never be seen again. He's gone down to meet Jonas Rudy."

This ill boding prophecy had scarcely left the old man's lips, when Randy shot into view a few feet to the left of where he had disappeared. Half a dozen strokes brought him to the boat, and with Ned's assistance he scrambled over the side.

His hands were empty.

A burst of laughter came from shore, and Daddy Perkiss cried triumphantly: "Where's the gun, lad? Did you find bottom?"

Randy only waved his hand in reply. He was panting a little for breath, but his face wore a very peculiar smile—a smile that quite baffled the three eager boys.

"What luck?" queried Ned excitedly. "How far down were you? Did you find anything?"

"You will know before long," replied Randy with aggravating calmness. "Keep the boat in the same place, Ned. One more stroke. There, that's it Here goes for another."

He quickly mounted the seat again, and drew in his breath.

"Hold on, young fellar," cried Mose Hocker in a loud voice, "Don't risk your life a second time. I kin stand the loss of that terbacker."

Randy laughed, waved his hand, and went under head foremost.

The suspense was now greater than on the previous occasion. Ned began to count, and when the half minute expired his face grew pale.

Thirty-five—forty—three-quarters of a minute! No sign of the reckless diver. Had some undercurrent dragged him far down in those blue depths?

When the forty-ninth second had expired a loud murmur rose from the people on shore, and just a second later it changed to a deafening burst of applause as Randy shot above the surface holding in his right hand—Mose Hacker's gun.

His face was fairly purple for want of breath, and he had scarcely enough strength to gain the side of the boat. He threw the gun over first and then, with Ned's aid, rolled into the bottom, where he lay for a moment, panting for breath.

Cheer after cheer came from shore, and the boys joined in heartily. Randy was all right in a moment, and as Ned paddled across the creek, he hurriedly pulled on his clothes.

When the boat landed by the rocks such a scene ensued as no pen can describe. The men crowded about Randy with eager congratulations, and fairly pumped his arms off.

Mose Hocker snatched the gun and waved it triumphantly before Daddy Perkiss.

"What do you think of that?" he cried. "The lad brought it clean up from the bottom of Rudy's hole. I'll take that ten pounds of terbacker, Daddy, as soon as you please."

"Shoo, now! thar's some trick about the thing," mumbled the old man petulantly. "You can't make me believe that Rudy's Hole ain't two or three hundred feet deep."

"But here's the gun to prove it," said Mose, "an' we all saw the lad bring it up. Let him speak for himself, and say whether he touched bottom or not."

"Of course I touched bottom," returned Randy with a slight shiver at the recollection. "It was the biggest dive I ever made. The water must be fifteen or twenty feet deep. It's not any more than that, though. I thought I'd never come to the top the second time. I was just ready to burst when I found the gun, and the weight of it kept me from coming up rapidly."

Daddy heard the lad through, and then, with a contemptuous sniff, he rose and hobbled up the path.

"Don't forgit the terbacker," Mose Hocker shouted after him.

The old man made no reply, and was soon out of sight.

"It's a hard blow for Daddy," said one of the fishermen, "an' the same in fact fur all of us, I reckon. I've been brung up from a lad in the full belief that Rudy's Hole were well nigh bottomless."

"And I," "and I," cried half a dozen voices.

"It will be most amazin' news to the whole community," said Mose Hocker, "an' mebbe it'll teach folks to investigate things. I'm kinder sorry for Daddy Perkiss. It was his chief delight to tell that story to every stranger what come along, an' now he won't dare to open his lips about Rudy's Hole. When I get the terbacker I'll give you fellows a plug apiece."

Three or four of the men laughed at this, as though they had their doubts on the subject.

"Oh, I'll keep Daddy to his word," resumed Mose. "He kin easily afford it." Then turning to the boys he said abruptly, "I want you boys to come down the creek and spend the night at my place. I'll try to treat you well. The recovery of that gun means a good deal to me, and I want to do what I kin in return."

Several other invitations of a similiar nature were extended to the Jolly Rovers, but they accepted Mose Mocker's without hesitation. A few moments later they paddled down the creek, cheered loudly by the admiring spectators.

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CHAPTER XVII

THE STORM BREAKS

The Jolly Rovers were agreeably surprised when they reached Mose Hocker's "place." Instead of the farmhouse, which they had confidently expected, it proved to be a snug little cabin standing in a dense bit of woods along the creek, and distant from Rudy's Hole about one mile.

Mose was a tall, wiry, middle aged man, with a smooth shaven face.

"I've always been fond of hunting and fishing," he explained to the boys, "an' about two year ago I built this place, an' moved in. It stands on my own land. I have a farm back yonder, but after my wife died I put a tenant on my property. The life didn't agree with me, somehow or other."

"I reckon I've got a streak of my daddy's wild blood. He was a great hunter in his day, and that's why I prize this gun so much. It was made in London by John Armstrong in 1874—so that silver plate on the breech says—and if it is old fashioned it kin shoot. You chaps ought to be here in the fall when the ducks and geese are moving—I'd show you some sport."

Mr. Hocker proved himself a delightful host. His cabin was crammed full of curious contrivances for catching fish and trapping game, the various uses of which he took delight in explaining to the boys. He was an adept at cooking—as the bountiful evening meal proved—and he possessed a fund of adventurous stories that made the hours pass quickly until bedtime.

He spread blankets and pillows on the floor for his guests, and after the wearisome events of the day they slept soundly until dawn.

A plunge in the creek was first in order, and then came a warm breakfast. An hour later, with many sincere expressions of regret at parting, the Jolly Rovers resumed their cruise. Mr. Hocker pressed them to stay a couple of days, but they deemed it best to push on, since they were yet many miles from home.

Little did they think as they paddled away from the cabin, that they and their friendly host would meet again under far different circumstances in the near future.

All that day—which was Wednesday—the boys paddled steadily. They camped in the evening at the water works dam, one mile out from Carlisle, and while Clay and Randy prepared supper, Ned and Nugget went to town for mail. Fortunately they visited the express office as well, and found a cake there addressed to Randy. They brought it triumphantly back to camp—a straight road precluded the possibility of losing the way on this occasion—and had a glorious feast before going to bed.

Thursday was a repetition of the previous day. Nothing occurred worthy of special mention. The boys covered ten or fifteen miles in spite of the dams that frequently blocked the way.

About four o'clock in the afternoon, while passing through a lonely and beautiful strip of country, they came upon five tiny islands grouped together in mid channel. The largest was not more than a dozen yards long. All were grassy and shaded by trees, and they made a pretty picture with the water rippling softly through the narrow winding channels that separated them.

As the bushes and timber on both banks of the creek were very dense, the boys chose one of the islands for a camping place—the left hand one of two that lay a little farther down stream than the others. It was two or three feet above the surface of the creek, level and grassy on top, and contained seven or eight good sized trees.

The largest of these—a massive buttonwood—stood at the extreme lower end, and its whitened, far stretching roots had been laid bare by the current that came sweeping down each side, formed a shallow swirling eddy.

Here the boys landed, and seeing that the steepness of the bank would make it a difficult task to carry the canoes up—if indeed there was room to spare above—they tied them in a bunch to the roots of the tree. Then stripping off their shoes and stockings, they waded about in the shallow water unloading what articles they wanted, and carrying them up on the bank.

The tent was staked in the center of the island, and the boys did not discover, until too late, that the entrance faced up stream.

"Let it go," said Ned. "It's a little unhandy for the canoes, that's all. We must be careful not to trip over the ropes, though."

There was another reason why the tent should have faced the opposite way. It was exposed, in its present position, to any storm that might come up from the west.

But this did not occur to the boys, and very naturally, since the sky was cloudless and the air but moderately warm. It had not been such a day as usually brews July thunderstorms.

After considerable searching, two stones suitable for the fireplace were found in the eddy. There was an utter lack of fuel on the island, so Ned and Randy paddled to shore and loaded their canoes with driftwood.