clothing for mountain wear."

"Then we'll appoint you as a committee of one to see to such traps, Frank," called Jerry as the

other shot away with the wind, his canoe gliding over the little wavelets like a phantom craft.

Frank smiled. It was certainly nice to know that his chums felt such sincere confidence in him at all times. There was nothing he would not do to give them pleasure.

So the three cedar boats were soon heading for the clubhouse, and while they are thus employed it might be well for us to understand just who these chums were, and what they had been doing in the past to make them such firm friends.

Frank was from Maine, but his father, a banker, had come to Centerville a few years back; and among all the boys attending the Academy Frank had soon picked out as his especial friends these three, Will Milton, Jerry Wallingford and Bluff Masters.

After the Rod, Gun and Camera Club had been formed they had taken their first outing, using their motorcycles to reach the woods beyond the head of the lake. What befell them on this occasion has been told in the first volume of this series, called "The Outdoor Chums; or, The First Tour of the Rod, Gun and Camera Club."

Later on, a storm having done considerable damage at the school, they were given an unexpected fall vacation, and the chums decided to spend it on Wildcat Island, situated at the foot

of the lake. There were several strange things connected with this island, such as a mysterious wild man who had been seen there; and besides, it was shunned because of the fierce bobcats that had possession. How our boys camped on this island, and what wonderful adventures they met with there, can be learned by reading the second volume, entitled "The Outdoor Chums on the Lake; or, Lively Adventures on Wildcat Island."

When the Easter holidays came around they had laid out another charming campaign. This was nothing more nor less than an expedition to Oak Ridge, that lay some ten miles back from the lake, amid the Sunset Mountains. Report had it that there was a real ghost to be seen there, and the boys were bent on discovering the truth of this weird story. It can be easily understood that they must have had a glorious time on that trip, viewed from the standpoint of an eager, adventure-loving boy. But the story is set down in full in the third volume, and you can read it for yourselves in "The Outdoor Chums in the Forest; or, Laying the Ghost of Oak Ridge."

No further long jaunts came the way of the quartet during the school term, up to the Christmas holidays, when they received permission to undertake a trip to the Sunny South. Just how this came about, and what wonders they saw and

experienced on a Florida river, as well as upon the great Mexican Gulf, have been told in the fourth book of the series, called "The Outdoor Chums on the Gulf; or, Rescuing the Lost Balloonists."

And now it seemed as though, less than six months later, they were ready to embark on what promised to be the most exciting trip of all, a visit to the wilderness of the great Northwest, in search of big game.

Reaching the clubhouse, they quickly stowed their boats away. From this time on there would probably be scant time for aquatic sports. The tremendous undertaking they had in view would, very likely, occupy all their spare moments.

"Now let's have that letter, Frank. We want to con it so that every word will be photographed on our brains from this time on. Didn't old Jesse say that Martin Mabie was a big stockman now, and had really quit being a guide and hunter? Then it's mighty kind of him to undertake to convoy a raft of tenderfeet into the wilderness. Money didn't enter into it, that's sure," said Bluff.

"He mentions having had a long letter from Jesse," remarked Frank.

"That settles it, then. Our good old friend has been telling him everything we ever did, and got him interested. We must make it a point

to run up and see Jesse before we go, and thank him."

"You're right about that, Jerry," said Frank warmly. "I was thinking the same, myself. But here's the letter. Read it for yourselves."

Various were the comments after this had been done.

"Talk to me about your good fellows! That Martin Mabie stands in a class of his own," observed Jerry. "Think of him offering to take us into the mountains for weeks, and see that we have the time of our lives! And he warns us not to mention the word money to him unless we want to break up the game. I sure am anxious to shake hands with that same friend of old Jesse."

"I move we start up there right now and see Jesse. The day is fine, and when can we spare the time better?" suggested Will, who secretly wanted just another chance to try a snapshot of the queer cabin which the trapper occupied.

"Second the motion!" cried Bluff eagerly.

"I'm some cramped, myself, from sitting so long in that canoe. Perhaps a run on our motorcycles might give me relief. So I say go," came from Jerry.

Frank himself believed it would be a good idea. He knew that once they started making prepara

tions for their Western trip nothing was apt to tear them away.

"All right, boys. It's going to be a full moon to-night. Suppose we stop over and have a parting supper with Jesse? He'd be dreadfully tickled at the notion. Tell your folks at home, and meet me at the Forks in not more than half an hour."

Frank hustled the others out of the boathouse, locked the door, and then the four chums hastened to their various homes.

Ere the half hour was up they came together at the forks of the road, just out of Centerville. Frank was first on hand, as usual, but even laggard Will showed up on time, camera and all.

In single file, and with a little space separating them, they started off, the motors soon popping merrily as the boys entered into the spirit of the occasion.

The air was fresh as they sped along the dusty road. The leader was ever ready to signal a slow-down in case they met a farmer with a load of hay, going to market, or any other vehicle. This was rendered necessary because the cloud of dust might blind the eyes of those who came after, and a collision be the result.

In this fashion they arrived at the lumber camp, which was deserted at this time of year. From there on the pace had to be slowed down, for the

road was only used by logging teams, and hardly suitable for motorcycles.

They were plugging along, each keeping his eyes open for obstacles apt to present themselves, such as roots cropping up above the surface, when the leader gave a sudden toot upon the little horn attached to his machine that warned the others a stop was imperative.

CHAPTER II

THE MOTORCYCLE THIEVES

"What's gone wrong, Frank?" demanded Bluff, dropping off his seat.

"In luck again, for I'd have banged up against that big root if Frank hadn't given the signal just then," chuckled Will, holding up his machine.

"A puncture, Frank?" demanded Jerry, who had been in the rear.

"Not at all. I thought I heard some one shouting. Perhaps I was mistaken, for with a lot of motors popping away it's hard to be sure. Still, we can stop for a minute and listen," remarked Frank seriously.

"Shouting—for help?" repeated Will, looking around nervously.

"That's queer," cried Bluff, "that we seldom go out anywhere but what somebody calls on us for assistance. Think of it! There was the town bully, Andy Lasher, who was caught under that falling tree in the storm, and rescued by Jerry."

"

That's a fact; and then there was Jed, the bound boy, you remember, fellows," went on Will eagerly.

"Not to mention the saving of the aeronaut from the burning hotel by Frank,