"Certainly--if they are evildoers.  Anybody who has done wrong
ought to be locked up for it," went on Ned boldly.

With caution the two boys made their way to the narrow window,
and Ned looked in as Joe had done.  The backs of the two men were
still towards the opening, so the lads were not discovered.

"What is this new game?" they heard the man called Malone ask,
after a peal of thunder had rolled away among the mountains.

"It's the old game of a sick miner with some valuable stocks to
sell," answered Gaff Caven.

"Have you got the stocks?"

"To be sure--one thousand shares of the Blue Bell Mine, of
Montana, said to be worth exactly fifty thousand dollars."

"Phew! You're flying high, Gaff!" laughed Pat Malone.

"And why not, so long as I sell the stocks?"

"What did they cost you?"

"Well, they didn't cost me fifty thousand dollars," and Gaff
Caven closed one eye suggestively.

"You bet they didn't! More than likely they didn't cost you fifty
dollars."

"What, such elegantly engraved stocks as those?"

"Pooh! I can buy a bushel-basket full of worthless stocks for a
dollar," came from Pat Malone.  "But that isn't here nor there. 
I go into the deal if you give me my fair share of the earnings."

"I'll give you one-third, Pat, and that's a fair share, I think."

"Why not make it half?"

"Because I'll do the most of the work.  It's no easy matter to
find a victim." And Gaff Caven laughed broadly.  He had a good-
appearing face, but his eyes were small and not to be trusted.

"All right, I'll go in for a third then.  But how soon is the
excitement to begin?"

"Oh, in a week or so.  I've got the advertisements in the papers
already."

"Not in New York?"

"No, it's Philadelphia this time.  Perhaps I'll land one of our
Quaker friends."

"Don't be so sure.  The Quakers may be slow but they generally
know what they are doing."

More thunder interrupted the conversation at this point, and when
it was resumed the two men talked in such low tones that only an
occasional word could be caught by the two boys.

"They surely must be rascals," remarked Ned, in a whisper.  "I'm
half of a mind to have them locked up."

"That's easier said than done," answered Joe.  "Besides, we
haven't any positive proofs against them."

The wind was now rising, and it soon blew so furiously that the
two boys were forced to seek the shelter of the woodshed, since
they did not deem it wise to enter the lodge so long as the two
men were inside.  They waited in the shed for fully half an hour,
when, as suddenly as it had begun, the storm let up and the sun
began to peep forth from between the scattering clouds.

"Now we can go home if we wish," said Joe.  "But for my part, I'd
like to stay and see what those men do, and where they go to."

"Yes, let us stay by all means," answered the rich youth.

They waited a few minutes longer and then Ned suggested that they
look into the window of the lodge once more.  The hermit's boy
was willing, and they approached the larger building with
caution.

Much to their astonishment the two strangers had disappeared.

"Hullo! what do you make of that?" cried Ned, in amazement.

"Perhaps they are in one of the other rooms," suggested Joe.

At the risk of being caught, they entered the lodge and looked
into one room after another.  Every apartment was vacant, and
they now saw that the fire in the fireplace had been stamped out.

"They must have left while we were in the woodshed," said Ned.

"Maybe they are out on the lake," answered the hermit's boy, and
he ran down to the water's edge, followed by his companion.  But
though they looked in every direction, not a craft of any kind
was to be seen.

"Joe, they didn't take to the water, consequently they must have
left by one of the mountain paths."

"That is true, and if they did they'll have no nice time in
getting through.  All the bushes are sopping wet, and the mud is
very slippery in places."

They walked to the rear of the lodge and soon found the
footprints of the two strangers. They led through the bushes and
were lost at a small brook that ran into the lake.

"There is no use of our trying to follow this any further," said
Joe.  "You'll get your clothing covered with water and mud."

"I don't intend to follow," answered Ned. "Just the same, I
should like to know more about those fellows."

"I wish I had seen their faces."

"Yes, it's a pity we didn't get a better look at them.  But I'd
know their voices."

By the time they gave up the hunt the sun was shining brightly. 
Both walked to where the boat had been left, and Joe turned the
craft over so that the water might run out. Then he mopped off
the seats as best he could.

Ned wanted to go directly home, and he and Joe rowed the craft in
the direction of Riverside. As they passed along the lake shore
the hermit's boy noted that several trees had been struck by
lightning.

"I'm glad the lightning didn't strike the lodge while we were
there," said he.

"It was certainly a severe storm while it lasted, Joe.  By the
way, shall I say anything about those two men?"

"Perhaps it won't do any harm to tell your father, Ned."

"Very well, I'll do it."

Soon Riverside was reached, and having paid for the fish and the
outing, Ned Talmadge walked in the direction of his residence. 
Joe shoved off from the tiny dock and struck out for his home. 
He did not dream of the calamity that awaited him there.

CHAPTER III.

A HOME IN RUINS.

As Joe rowed toward his home on the mountain side, a good mile
from Riverside, he could not help but think of the two mysterious
men and of what they had said.

"They were certainly rascals," he mused. "And from their talk
they must have come from New York and are now going to try some
game in Philadelphia."

The hermit's boy was tired out by the day's outing, yet he pulled
a fairly quick stroke and it was not long before he reached the
dock at which he and Hiram Bodley were in the habit of leaving
their boat.  He cleaned the craft out, hid the oars in the usual
place, and then, with his fishing lines in one hand and a good
sized fish in the other, started up the trail leading to the
place that he called home.

"What a place to come to, alongside of the one Ned lives in," he
said to himself.  "I suppose the Talmadges think this is a
regular hovel. I wish we could afford something better,--or at
least live in town.  It's lonesome here with nobody but old Uncle
Hiram around."

As Joe neared the cabin something seemed to come over him and,
for some reason he could not understand, he felt very much
depressed in spirits.  He quickened his pace, until a turn of the
trail brought the homestead into view.

A cry of alarm broke from his lips and with good reason.  The
little shelter had stood close to a large hemlock tree.  The
lightning had struck the tree, causing it to topple ever.  In
falling, it had landed fairly and squarely upon the cabin,
smashing it completely.  One corner of the cabin was in ashes,
but the heavy rain had probably extinguished the conflagration.

"Uncle Hiram!" cried the boy, as soon as he recovered from his
amazement.  "Uncle Hiram, where are you?"

There was no answer to this call and for the moment Joe's heart
seemed to stop beating.  Was the old hermit under that pile of
ruins? If so it was more than likely he was dead.

Dropping his fish and his lines, the youth sprang to the front of
the cabin.  The door had fallen to the ground and before him was
a mass of wreckage with a small hollow near the bottom.  He
dropped on his knees and peered inside.

"Uncle Hiram!" he called again.