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.

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 t