The idea of forming a club had long been uppermost in Bob Somers' mind. During the preceding year, he and his four chums had spent much of their time together, and the experience proved so agreeable that Bob determined¹ to speak to his father and tell him what he proposed to do.  
Mr. George Somers was, fortunately, one of those men who, in spite of a few gray hairs and increasing girth, still remember what it is to be young. He therefore was in full sympathy with his son's plans, and encouraged them whenever he could. In the present instance, the idea of the club and its object pleased him, particularly as he knew that Bob's associates were of the right character. More than once, he had suggested that it would be just as well for him to have little to do with Nat Wingate, though Bob was left entirely² to his own discretion³ in the matter.
 
The residence of Mr. Parsons Wingate was situated⁴ in the northern end of Kingswood. Nat, his nephew, being an orphan⁵, had dwelt with him for many years, and perhaps, just for that reason, the boy's character and actions should be viewed in a charitable light. Mr. Parsons Wingate was a man of perhaps fifty, tall and slender, with a smooth, suave⁶ manner and agreeable voice. Many of those who had dealings with him were given cause to regret it, for Mr. Wingate was sharp and not unduly⁷ particular as to his business methods. Some years before, he had interested Mr. Somers in a certain venture, and since that time the gentlemen, whenever they met, acknowledged each other's salutations in a cold and formal manner.
 
Nat Wingate and Bob Somers were classmates in the Kingswood High School, and generally divided the honors between them. For some unknown reason, the former seemed to harbor a most unreasonable⁹ animosity toward his rival, and frequently took pains to give vent⁸ to it by both words and actions. As is usually the case, he had his adherents¹⁰, who were glad to stir up trouble, and it was only due to Bob's good nature and coolness that many clashes were averted¹¹. Altogether, Nat and his followers¹² managed to make more trouble in the school and town than all the rest of the boys put together.
 
During the latter part of the school term just closed, Nat, for some reason, had been quite friendly, and Bob Somers was more than willing to forget their differences. But in view of Nat's past conduct and hasty temper, he thought it best that the latter should not be included among the members of the Rambler Club. Several nights after their first meeting, Bob Somers' father received a letter which interested him greatly. Some three hundred miles away, in a desolate¹³ region, far from any centre of population, lay a tract¹⁴ of land in the northern part of Michigan, which had come to him as an inheritance from a distant relative. Never having regarded the property as of special value, he had left all matters regarding it in the hands of an agent who resided in the city of Tocono, some fifty miles distant from the tract.
 
It was this man who had written him, and the contents of his letter had surprised Mr. Somers not a little.
 
"He writes," said the gentleman, "that he has received an offer which he considers very liberal."
 
"What is the land like, dad?" asked Bob.
 
"A rather desolate tract, partly wooded," answered his father. "When I went there, about a year ago, I found that the nearest town, a mere¹⁵ village, is miles away."
 
"Then why should any one wish to buy it?"
 
"That is just the question which is interesting me at present," said Mr. Somers, dryly. "Of course the timber may be of value."
 
"Did Mr. Jenkins state the name of the intending purchaser?" asked Mrs. Somers.
 
"No! He merely says that owing to the inaccessibility¹⁶ of the land, he might never again receive so good an offer."
 
"Well, George, I agree with him. Take my advice, and sell it."
 
But Mr. Somers shook his head.
 
"No!" he said, slowly. "If it is worth that much to some one else, it is worth the same amount and perhaps more, to me. I shall await further information. It is never well to act hastily in such matters."
 
But the incident had given Bob Somers an idea, and the more he considered it, the more alluring¹⁷ it seemed. He ventured to confide¹⁸ in Sam Randall, and the latter was so delighted that he turned a few somersaults in the roadway, much to the disapproval¹⁹ of Miss Maria Pringle, in front of whose house they had happened to pause.
 
That night Bob approached his father on the subject.
 
"What!" exclaimed Mr. Somers, in astonishment²⁰. "You boys take a trip of three hundred miles? Why, the land is situated far from any railroad, you know."
 
"So much the better," pleaded Bob. "We can have a bully²¹ time, and there isn't a particle of doubt about our being able to take care of ourselves. Then, besides, the trip will have an object."
 
Mr. Somers thought for a moment, and the look on his face inspired Bob with hope.
 
"It might not be a bad idea," he said, reflectively. "With five of you together, it ought to be safe."
 
"Of course!" exclaimed Bob, enthusiastically.
 
"But you know that you may encounter wild animals, and perhaps other dangers."
 
"We are all good shots," persisted Bob. "That is, all except Chubby²², perhaps."
 
"Who is Chubby?" asked his father, with a smile.
 
"Oh, he's the 'Poet Laureate,'" laughed Bob.
 
"Is he to immortalize your trip in poetry?" asked Mr. Somers.
 
"He scribbles²³ plenty of it. Has a volume of Bryant that scarcely ever gets out of his sight."
 
"Good for Chubby," said Bob's father. "How would you propose to make this trip—by rail?"
 
"I'll talk to the fellows about it, and see what they say," replied Bob.
 
"Let me know at once, then."
 
"Thanks, dad. I will. We'll certainly have a dandy time."
 
Mr. Somers smiled at his son's enthusiasm, then continued: "If your mother consents, I will give the Rambler Club its first commission. When I was there they were talking of a new road near the property. I'd like to know whether it has been built, what other improvements there are in the neighborhood, and what lumber²⁴ is being cut near by. In fact, you'll make careful notes, and tell me all you see."
 
"First-rate, dad," exclaimed Bob; "I'll hunt up the boys first thing to-morrow, and tell them."
 
Bob rushed off to talk to his mother.
 
He found that it would be a difficult task to gain her consent. Naturally, she feared that they might encounter unforeseen dangers, besides being too venturesome.
 
Bob, however, with the confidence of youth, was so sure nothing could happen to them, that he at length managed to gain her consent.
 
Bubbling over with enthusiasm, he then called a meeting of the club, and laid the plan before them.
 
"Just the thing!" exclaimed Sam Randall, who had dreamed about the matter all night. "A great idea, eh, Chubby?"
 
"If there isn't any hard work to do," said Dave, smiling. "Can't help it, boys. I want to loaf this summer."
 
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Dave," said Bob, with mock severity.
 
"I would be, if my system didn't need rest," laughed Brandon. "What's the matter with you, Dick Travers, and Tom Clifton? What are you so solemn about?"
 
"Thinking," replied Dick.
 
"What about?"
 
"Well, you see, fellows," proceeded Dick, frankly²⁵, "a trip like that might take too long. I have to work a part of the vacation. My father isn't astonishingly rich, you know."
 
"That's my case, exactly," admitted little Tom Clifton.
 
"Never mind! We'll fix that up some way," said Bob, confidently. "Don't you worry."
 
Bob went to his father, explained the situation and asked his advice.
 
Mr. Somers thereupon consulted the two boys, told them that with all five members of the Rambler Club together, he would feel assured of their safety, and hinted, mysteriously, that the financial outlay²⁶ might not be as heavy as they expected.
 
At any rate, Tom Clifton and Dick Travers managed to get their parents' consent, and it was, indeed, a happy day when the matter was finally arranged.
 
"I wish we could go on a flying machine," said Dave Brandon. "Just think of taking a nap on the deck of an aeroplane express; wouldn't that be grand?"
 
"If you didn't happen to fall off, Chubby," replied one of the others.
 
"Now the question is, how are we going to make this trip?" observed Sam Randall.
 
"By boat and train," said Bob.
 
"And we shall start out in my little sloop²⁷?" queried²⁸ Dave Brandon. "It can carry five, easily."
 
The plan was unanimously endorsed²⁹.
 
"We can put ashore³⁰ at night, pitch a tent, and live like regular nimrods," said Bob, gleefully. "Imagine sitting around a blazing camp-fire, and talking over our experiences."
 
"Or taking a noonday siesta³¹ in the shade of some fine old tree," suggested Dave, humorously.
 
"Yes—at long intervals," returned Sam Randall. "There's no doubt about our having a grand time. And won't Nat Wingate be sorry to miss all the fun?"
 
That evening, on his way home, Sam encountered Nat sitting on the steps of the post-office, and was immediately met with a volley of questions. Sam was too full of enthusiasm to conceal³² the plans of the Ramblers from the rejected applicant³³, but he did not fail to note that a very curious look came over Nat's face when he learned of their destination.
 
"What!" he almost stammered³⁴. "Are you going on a wild chase to such a place as that? Old Somers' land is no good, and I don't suppose you could find any hunting at all."
 
"Oh, yes, we shall," returned the other. "I guess you don't know where the land is."
 
"Maybe not," said Nat, slowly. "I heard it was pretty close to being off the map—that's all. Say, Sam, why don't you fellows let me in?"
 
Nat arose, flicked³⁵ a few spots of dust from his coat, and continued, persuasively³⁶: "If you will only stand up for me, Bob Somers may change front at once. It isn't a nice way to treat a friend, I'm sure."
 
It seemed rather strange to Sam Randall that a high-spirited boy like Nat, who until recently had professed³⁷ such a dislike for Bob, should now be so willing to ask a favor of him.
 
"When are you fellows going to meet?" persisted Nat.
 
"The day after to-morrow."
 
"Well, Sam, fix it up for me, that's a good fellow," urged Nat, in his most pleasant manner. "I'll see that you don't lose anything by it."
 
"He's a queer fellow," thought Sam, as he resumed his way. "He can be very pleasant, too, when he wants anything."
 
As the days slipped by, the members of the Rambler Club made all preparations for their voyage, always being polite to Nat Wingate, who on several occasions suggested his wish to be a member, but never received any encouragement. Guns were cleaned and polished, and rods and tackle brought out from the place where they had been stored the autumn before. Then a list of the articles required for the trip was made. It included blankets, corned beef, potted tongue, bacon, sardines³⁸, tea, coffee, flour, sugar, salt, pepper, canned goods and a varied³⁹ assortment⁴⁰ of tin plates, together with kitchen utensils⁴¹, court plaster and a few simple remedies which Mr. Somers thought it might be well to take.
 
The Ramblers were eager to start, and they agreed that on the following Tuesday the sail of the "Lively," as Dave had humorously christened his boat, should be hauled aloft, and their journey to the wilderness⁴² begun.
 
But Mr. Somers, at this time, requested a delay. "You have all summer before you," he said, smilingly; "and there is a little matter which I think should be arranged before Bob leaves."
 
The gentleman vouchsafed⁴³ no information, and the boys were obliged to submit with the best grace possible. But they chafed⁴⁴ under the restraint.
 
"Such magnificent weather, too," grumbled⁴⁵ Dave. "Just think of the woods, and the birds flitting from branch to branch, while we are still cooped up in town."
 
The speaker, accompanied by Sam Randall, was on his way to the post-office to get the morning mail.
 
"There's Bob Somers now," exclaimed the latter; "perhaps by this time he knows when we can start."
 
But Bob could give his fellow member no information, Mr. Somers having scarcely referred to the matter since.
 
At this, the two boys looked very disconsolate⁴⁶ indeed.
 
"Well, I suppose it can't be helped," sighed Sam, as he led the way into the post-office, a frame building situated at the junction⁴⁷ of two roads.
 
As was usually the case at mail time, the three boys found the small interior crowded, and it was some time before they were able to reach the delivery window.
 
Several letters were handed to Bob Somers. He was about to mechanically put them in his pocket when the inscription⁴⁸ on one attracted his attention. "Hello, what's this?" he said, aloud.
 
"Love letter?" inquired Dave, pleasantly.
 
"Not yet," smiled Bob. Then he added, with some animation⁴⁹: "Look at that!"
 
His chums did as requested, and saw written in a clear, bold hand, "Robert Somers, Kingswood;—Personal."
 
"Something's up there," laughed Dave; "better see what it is."
 
Without hesitation⁵⁰, Bob tore open the envelope, glanced at the letter and gave a whistle of astonishment.
 
"Goodness!" he exclaimed. "What can this mean?"
 
"Robert Somers, President Rambler Club:
 
"Dear Sir:—If you will take the trouble to walk through the woods to the river, you will find, at Lloyd's Clearing, something that may interest you. Do not delay."
 
The communication was unsigned.
 
The three boys looked at each other in astonishment.
 
"I'm afraid it is some trick," declared Sam, at length; "perhaps Nat Wingate is trying to lead us on a wild goose chase."
 
"Can't you make out whose handwriting it is?" queried Dave.
 
The trio scrutinized⁵¹ the missive carefully, but none of them could recall having seen such a style of penmanship before.
 
"Well, I certainly call this mysterious," exclaimed Bob. "We must find Tom and Dick and start right away."
 
"And make ourselves a laughing-stock?" objected Sam.
 
"Even if it is a trick, a walk through the woods on a fine day like this won't do us any harm," commented Dave Brandon. "Besides we can see if the 'Lively' is all snug⁵² and safe."
 
"I have it," broke in Sam, suddenly.
 
"If you're not careful, we might get it, too," laughed Dave.
 
"Oh, pshaw, do be serious; I'll wager⁵³ that some one has hidden the boat."
 
"You may be right," assented⁵⁴ Bob; "and the only way to find out is by going to the clearing."
 
Thoroughly⁵⁵ mystified, the trio started off, stopping at the homes of their fellow members, to tell them the latest news.
 
Both lads were as curious as their friends, and all indulged in a great deal of wild speculation⁵⁶, as they made their way in the direction of Lloyd's Clearing.
 
"I call this grand!" exclaimed Dave, drawing in a long breath of the pure air. "Just imagine what fun it will be, camping out."
 
"If we could only start right away," said Tom. "I'm longing⁵⁷ for the time to come."
 
There was a well defined path leading off from the main road across several fields, through a little copse of giant pines, and then down a gradual decline between two hills until it came out on the bank of a creek⁵⁸.
 
Upon reaching it, the boys turned to the left, and were presently traversing an extensive tract of woods, through which the little watercourse wended its way.
 
Occasionally, rabbits darted⁵⁹ across their track, and squirrels, disturbed by the strange visitation, climbed swiftly to their sheltered retreats. Everywhere the woodland occupants gave evidence of their presence, and the cheery song of birds enlivened the air.
 
At a little glen, Dave Brandon, who had quite a reputation as a naturalist⁶⁰ among his classmates, pointed⁶¹ out a great bald eagle soaring in the sky.
 
But the other members of the Rambler Club, at this moment, had but one thought, and that was to reach Lloyd's Clearing as quickly as possible.
 
Soon a glimpse of the river was visible between the trees. Then the boys broke into a trot⁶². Across the open space they raced pell-mell, and, panting and excited, reached the river's brink⁶³. There a sight met their eyes which caused them to utter many and varied exclamations⁶⁴ of surprise.
 
Moored⁶⁵ to a rude little wharf⁶⁶, resplendent in the sunlight, lay the finest motor boat they had ever seen.
 
Then their astonished gaze rested on the stern, upon which was painted in large Roman script this magic word, "Rambler."