chips into the stream. He lifted his line, caught an
unusually large white chip on the hook and drew it to the land. When he
picked it up and looked at it he whistled. Someone had cut upon its face
with a sharp penknife these clear and distinct words:

Yankees Beware
This is our River
Don't Fish in It
These Fish are Ours.
JOHNNY REBS.

"Well, this is surely insolence," said Dick, and calling his comrades he
showed them the chip. Both were interested, but Warner had admiration
for its sender.

"It shows a due consideration for us," he said. "He merely warns us away
as trespassers before shooting at us. And perhaps he's right. The river
and the fish in it really belong to them. We're invaders. We came down
here to crush rebellion, not to take away property."

"But I'm going to keep my fish, just the same," said Pennington. "You
can't crush a rebellion without eating. Nor am I going to quit fishing
either."

"Here comes another big white chip," said Dick.

Warner caught it on his hook and towed it in. It bore the inscription,
freshly cut:

Let our river alone
Take in your lines
You're in danger,
As you'll soon see.

It was unsigned and they stared at it in wonder.

"Do you think this is really a warning?" said Pennington, "or is it some
of the fellows playing tricks on us?"

"I believe it's a warning," said Warner soberly. "Probably a farmer a
little distance up the stream has been cutting wood, and these chips
have come from his yard, but he didn't send them. Dick, can you tell
handwriting when it's done with a knife?"

Dick looked at the chip long and critically.

"It may be imagination," he said, "but the words cut there bear some
resemblance to the handwriting of Harry Kenton. He makes a peculiar L
and a peculiar A and they're just the same way on this chip. The writing
is different on the other chip, but on this one I believe strongly that
it's Harry's."

"It looks significant to me," said Warner thoughtfully. "A mile or two
farther up, this stream, so I'm told, makes an elbow, and beyond that it
comes with a rush out of the mountains. Its banks are lined with woods
and thickets and some of the enemy may have slipped in and launched these
chips. I've a sort of feeling, Dick, that it's really your cousin and
his friends who have done it."

"I incline to that belief myself," said Dick. "You know they're ready
to dare anythi