tes of the cabin was pretty much the same as if a
bombshell had suddenly fallen in the midst of them.

Outside were heard crunching footsteps, and the rustle of dry bushes.
Then a husky shout rang on the still, evening air.

The three men sprang to their feet. For an instant they were speechless
with wonder and alarm. The intrusion had a different effect on the
boys. They believed that it meant rescue and freedom.

Bogle snatched his rifle.

"Stay here," he whispered to his companions. "Be ready if I need you."

He went swiftly to the door and opened it. He closed it partly behind
him as he stepped outside. Half-a-dozen feet from the cabin stood a
vigorous-looking man of sixty, clad in the garb of a typical Maine
hunter and trapper. His kindly face was grizzled and bearded. He
carried a rifle over his shoulder. Bogle went swiftly up to him and held
out his hand.

"I'll swear if it ain't Jack Mowry," he exclaimed.

The stranger glanced keenly into the other's face. Then he uttered a
long, hearty laugh that came from deep down in his chest.

"By Jingo, it's Joe Bogle! Wa-al, wa-al, this beats anything ever I
heard on. Why, man, I ain't seen you fur near three years--not since
that winter on Moosehead."

"Oh! this is a sort of a shooting den that Raikes and I put up," Bogle
hastily explained. "Raikes is with me, and we are just ready to start
away. Where are you bound, Mowry?"

"That's jest what I'd like ter know," returned the trapper, as he shot a
puzzled glance toward the cabin. "I hev a camp 'bout a mile north of the
swamp, an' this mornin' I tracked a deer into this dog-goned tangle o'
bushes. I lost my bearin's an' hev been wanderin' 'round ever since."

"That's hard luck," replied Bogle. "I'll tell you what I'll do now,
Mowry. I can't ask you in to spend the night, because we are just
leaving, and our provisions have run out. But I'll get a light and guide
you back to your camp. I know every foot of the swamp. By the way,
Raikes will be glad to meet you. You remember Silas, don't you? He was
with you on Moosehead."

Without waiting for a reply, Bogle called aloud:

"Raikes, Raikes, come here."

As soon as Bogle went to the door, Raikes and Sparwick caught a glimpse
of the stranger. Both recognized him at once, for he had long been a
familiar figure in the Maine woods.

"I hope Bogle will know how to deal with him," muttered Sparwick.

"Trust Joe for that," replied Raikes. "I reckon I'll be needed