The little town of Jackman lies almost due north of Skowhegan and is about seventy-five miles distant. Numerous lakes and ponds, for their fish, within a few miles of the town, which is a sporting center. The road closely follows the Kennebec River for nearly fifty miles. At the little village, called The Forks, due to the fact that here the Dead River joins the Kennebec, it leaves the river and bears slightly to the west.  
“Don’t see that the place has changed much,” smiled as shortly before noon the following day the boys stopped their motor cycles in front of the little hotel at The Forks. “Place looks about the same as it did last May when we were here with the drive.”
 
“But the road don’t look much as it did then,” Bob laughed.
 
“You’re right there and I guess we’d have had a to have gotten these wheels through the last time we were here.”
 
“What mak’ dem wheel go, oui?”
 
The boys had enjoyed a good dinner and had come from the hotel to resume their trip to find a big French Canadian closely examining the motor cycles which they had left by the porch.
 
“This electric motor makes it go,” Bob replied pleasantly as he to the machine.
 
“She go fast, oui?”
 
“Makes pretty good time,” Bob smiled.
 
“You sell one to me?” the Frenchman asked, pulling a huge roll of bills from his pocket. “How much?”
 
“Sorry, but they are not for sale,” Bob replied as he took hold of the handle-bars of his wheel and started to lead it away from the porch.
 
“I geeve two hunnerd dollar for heem,” the man insisted, grabbing hold of the saddle.
 
“I said they were not for sale,” Bob declared, a bit by the fellow’s attitude.
 
“I mak’ heem two hunnerd an’ feety dollar.”
 
“You can’t have it at any price,” Bob snapped. The Frenchman still held the wheel by the saddle and now a flash of anger replaced the grin which had his face.
 
“My name Pierre Harbaugh. I beeg man from up north. You no sell heem me, mebby I geet heem for nottin’, oui.”
 
“I don’t care a rap what your name is or how big you are. These wheels belong to us and they are not for sale and that’s all there is to it. So take your hand off that saddle.” Bob’s eyes snapped as he gave the wheel a sudden strong pull.
 
The big Frenchman had been leaning heavily against the wheel at the moment and the sudden movement threw him off his balance and he fell full length on the ground.
 
“Come on quick,” Bob shouted to Jack, who was standing by his wheel a few feet away.
 
At the same instant he sprang into his saddle and threw over the switch and by the time the Frenchman was on his feet the two boys were hitting a lively pace up the road.
 
“Pleasant that fellow’s got,” Jack said, as he drew up beside his brother as soon as they were well away from the hotel.
 
“And I reckon he’s got plenty of muscle to back it up with,” Bob grinned as he slackened his speed slightly. “Don’t think I’d care to meet him on a dark night.”
 
They reached Jackman about three o’clock and rode through the town without stopping. Several of the inhabitants looked with wonder as the boys rode slowly along the main street. They missed the usual putt-putt of the ordinary motor cycle.
 
“This is the trail,” Bob declared after they had gone about two miles from the village.
 
He had stopped at a point where a broad woods road joined the main highway.
 
“It’s about four miles right up the side of the mountain, and I imagine we’ll have to walk a good part of the way,” he said as he turned off.
 
The trail, however, was in better shape than he had dared hope and, although they were obliged to dismount and push the wheels every little while, they were able to ride the greater part of the way.
 
“We sure are getting up in the world,” Jack panted an hour later as he pushed his wheel over a particularly rough place.
 
“Never mind, son. We must be about there,” Bob laughed, wiping the from his face.
 
He was right, for another ten minutes brought them to the camp. It was a beautiful location, on the very summit of a lofty range of hills nearly two thousand feet above sea level. The grounds of the camp bordered on a pond nearly circular in shape and about two miles in diameter. The camp itself consisted of a large central dining house and a dozen small log cabins.
 
The host, a burly Irishman named Pat Hogan, met them as they rode up to the central building.
 
“Faith an’ ye don’t mane ter tell me thot ye rode up the mountain on them things,” and a broad grin spread over the landlord’s face.
 
“Well, I’ll have to own up that we had to push them part of the way,” Bob smiled. “But we got here, and now the question is can we stay.”
 
“Sure ye stay, as long as ye want to. I have jest one cabin vacant an’ the price of it wid meals is forty dollars the week fer the two of ye.”
 
“That’s all right and we’ll take it for a week anyhow, and if the fishing is good we probably will stay longer,” Bob said as he pulled out his pocketbook and handed the man four ten-dollar bills.
 
It took the boys but a short time to get settled in their new quarters, which they found very comfortable.
 
“What did you think of mine host Hogan?” Jack asked as he fastened a fly to his leader.
 
“Seemed all right. Why?” Bob replied.
 
“Oh, nothing; only it struck me that he seemed a bit suspicious of us. Probably my imagination. Guess all detectives feel that way more or less.”
 
“Careful with that tongue,” Bob cautioned. “We must remember that above all things we must be careful not to give anyone a hint as to what we are up here for. If we do we might as well pack up and go back home. There are quite a lot of people around this camp and there’s no knowing who may be mixed up in some way in this liquor business.”
 
“Mum’s the word,” Jack said as he laid his fishing pole on the bed. “Got your tackle all ready?”
 
“All ready but this leader. I think it needs some new flies. But you aren’t going out till after supper, are you?”
 
“No, but there goes the supper bell now,” Jack replied as he started for the door.
 
During the summer early in the morning or just before sundown are the best times for fishing, and for that reason at most of the camps supper is served early.
 
At the time there were about twenty guests at the camp and they were all strangers to the boys as most of them were from distant cities. After an excellent supper they sought the landlord to see about engaging a canoe for the week.
 
“How far are we from the border?” Bob asked when the arrangements had been completed.
 
Pat Hogan laughed.
 
“Faith an’ ye’ll niver be iny nearer to it than ye were at supper time. Ye see the line runs right through the dining-room, so it does. One end of it in Canada an’ the tother in the United States.”
 
“I guess we ate supper in Canada then,” Jack laughed. “We were on the north side of the room.”
 
“Ye sure did thin,” Mr. Hogan assured him.
 
There were several canoes out on the lake during the evening and the were biting hungrily. The boys pulled into the just before dark with a string of twelve trout, the largest tipping the scales at eight pounds and none under four.
 
“I’ll say that’s real fishing,” Jack declared as he held the big one up.
 
“We’ll take them up to the kitchen and then I’m going to hit the hay, even if it is only eight o’clock,” Bob said as he pulled the canoe from the water. “I’m tired and I don’t care who knows it.”
 
“Ditto,” Jack agreed as he led the way toward the cook house.
 
“You mak one beeg catch, oui,” the half-breed cook assured them as they held the fish up for his . “Dat one ees the beegest dis year so far.”
 
To reach their cabin the boys had to pass close in front of the office, a small room opening out of the dining-room. As they came in front of the building Bob, who was slightly in the lead, suddenly stopped and grasped Jack by the arm.
 
“Look who’s in the room,” he whispered.
 
“It’s that fellow who tried to buy one of the bikes,” Jack whispered after a quick glance.
 
“That’s what I thought,” Bob said. “Come on; let’s get to the cabin before he sees us.”
 
“Now the big question is, did that man follow us up here or is his being here only a coincidence,” Bob said as soon as they were in their cabin and had locked the door.
 
“Doesn’t look much like a coincidence to me,” Jack declared. “You remember we told Sim while we were eating dinner at The Forks where we were going, and so he could have found out easily enough.”
 
“I believe you’re right about it, and he’d steal one or both of them if he got the chance,” Bob agreed. “It’s a good thing we put them in here instead of in the shed.”
 
“He’ll stand watching all right,” Jack agreed. “But now that we are here what are we going to do toward finding the liquor runners? Seems to me that it’s time we made some definite plans.”
 
“I suppose so but not to-night. I’m too tired and I’m afraid my brain wouldn’t function properly if I tried to work it now. Let’s sleep on it and then we’ll go into a committee of the whole tomorrow,” and Bob began to pull off his clothes.
 
How long he had been asleep Bob did not know but, suddenly, he found himself wide awake. Something had wakened him he knew but what it was he had no idea. It was pitch dark in the little cabin. On the other side of the tiny bed-room he could hear Jack’s regular breathing and knew that he was sound asleep.
 
“Now I wonder what—” he thought just as the cry of the rang through the stillness of the night.
 
“I guess that was it,” he thought, and then, from far off in the forest came the “whoo, whoo, whoo” of the .
 
He was about to let his head fall back on the pillow again when the cry of the loon was repeated. Instantly he was straining his ears to listen. There was a false note in that last cry. It did not ring true.
 
“If a loon made that noise, I’m a Dutchman,” he muttered.
 
And then the of the owl was repeated, this time nearer than at first.
 
Those are signals sure as guns, he thought. That last might pass for an owl but that loon has got a lot to learn.
 
While these thoughts were running through his brain he had slipped from the bed and was silently pulling his clothes on over his . A glance at the face of his wrist watch told him that it was nearly two o’clock.
 
“No use to wake Jack up,” he thought as he stole silently toward the door. “I’ll just take a look around.”
 
Carefully he unlocked the door and, removing the key from the lock, he stepped outside. After he had closed the door he locked it from the outside and dropped the key in his pocket.
 
“Now he’ll be all right I guess,” he thought as he stood and listened.
 
Save for a faint as a light breeze stirred the tree tops no sound broke the stillness of the night until the loon cry was once more borne to his ears.
 
“I’ve heard too many loons cry to be fooled by that fellow,” Bob thought as he stepped from the little porch and felt his way cautiously around to the back of the cabin.
 
It was so dark that he could hardly see his hand before his face. The thick forest grew close to the back of the cabin which was toward the lake.
 
“You’re not very far off, Mr. Fake Loon, and I’m going to see if I can find out what’s up,” he thought as he carefully felt his way from tree to tree.
 
Just then the owl gave three more now only a short distance away and slightly to his left.
 
“He’s coming this way pretty fast for a dark night,” he thought as he stopped to listen.
 
But all was still and he started forward again feeling his way cautiously foot by foot to avoid making a noise which might reveal his presence. He well knew the desperate character of the men who were engaged in the business of whiskey running and was aware that his life might pay the should he fall into their hands. Of course he was by no means sure that the cries had come from any of these men but he reasoned that no honest man would be making signals at that time of night.
 
Suddenly he stopped as his quick ear caught a sound a bit to his left. Eagerly he listened. Someone or some animal was making his way through the thick woods toward him. Without a sound he threw himself at full length on the ground and listened. Although the man, if it was a man, was making but little noise, Bob could hear him distinctly in the stillness of the forest. Nearer and nearer he came until he could hear his breathing and, although he could see nothing, he knew that it was standing close by his side. And then all doubts regarding what it might be were ended as the man three times imitated the of the owl. Almost at once the false cry of the loon came, now but a little way off to the right.
 
At once the man started forward again and so closely did he come to the boy that the latter felt his foot brush against his side as he passed. Bob hardly daring to breathe, lay still until the man was some distance away.
 
“Another inch or two and he’d have stepped on me,” he thought as he rose and stole silently in the direction in which the man had gone. “They are going to meet in a minute or two and if I can only get near enough to hear what they have to say it may be enough to do the trick,” he thought.
 
The signals were not repeated again but, by straining his ears he could hear the man ahead as he pushed his way through the underbrush but these sounds were getting fainter and fainter proving that the man was going faster than Bob dared to attempt.
 
In a short time he lost the sound altogether, but he still kept on trying as best he could to keep in the right direction. He stopped more often now to listen as he was uncertain whether the man had gotten so far away that he had lost the sound of his steps or had simply stopped. The latter he thought not unlikely and he knew that it him to use every possible caution.
 
The way was getting more and more difficult as the underbrush, of which there had been but little near the camp, was now very thick and he was obliged to use all his skill to make his way through it without making a noise which might betray him in case he should come near his .
 
Now as he stopped to listen the soft lap of water hitting the rocks told him that he was nearing the lake. The breeze had slightly and the sighing of the branches as they swayed to and fro filled his mind with a fear that he might stumble upon the men before he should be able to hear their voices. But, almost as this thought crossed his mind, the sound of talking came to his ears. That he was within a few feet of them he was sure. He listened but, although he could hear their voices he was unable to distinguish any words. Very slowly, and without making the slightest sound, he crept forward. Now, as he stopped once more, he could hear them distinctly.
 
To his great disappointment, they were speaking in French and, although he knew the language fairly well, he was unable to catch the drift of the conversation, they were talking so rapidly. Several times he caught the word “hooch” and was certain that they were discussing ways and means of bringing liquor across the border.
 
Although he was not certain he thought that one of the men was the Frenchman who had tried to purchase his wheel. At any rate, he told himself, the voice sounded very much the same.
 
For some moments he lay there hardly daring to breathe. Then suddenly he sneezed.