"Dave, you look awfully worried," said Jessie, that evening when the boys were getting ready for their next day's tramp. "What is the trouble?" "Oh, it isn't much," he answered, evasively. "I was just thinking over what Link Merwell said." "Dave, don't let him worry you so!" cried the girl, sympathetically. "He is a bad boy, and everybody knows it." "But he said some things that I don't like at all, Jessie. I don't like him to call me a poorhouse nobody." "Dave, don't you mind him! I don't care if you did come from the poorhouse. I think just as much of you anyway," and Jessie's eyes showed her earnestness. "It's splendid of you to say that," he returned, in a low tone, and catching both her hands, he squeezed them tightly. "It's a grand good thing to have somebody who believes in you." Early in the evening there was a slight shower, and some of the boys thought they were in for a steady rain. But soon the clouds passed, and the moon and stars came out as brightly as ever. "A perfect day!" announced Roger, on arising the next morning. "Just cool enough to make mountain climbing a pleasure." The servants had an early breakfast ready for the boys, and by the time the girls and the others appeared they had partaken of the repast and were ready to depart. Dave carried the rifle and Roger the shotgun, while the others were loaded down with several knapsacks of provisions and some extra wraps and a blanket or two. "You want to take plenty of things with you," Dunston Porter had cautioned them. "You may get farther away from home than you anticipate, and may have to stay out all night." "That's true, Uncle Dunston," Dave had answered. "And that being so, if we don't turn up at a reasonable hour, don't worry about us." "But what will you do if you capture that wild man?" asked Mrs. Basswood. "If it's Wilbur Poole, we'll make him a prisoner and bring him with us," announced Dave. "Well, good luck to you!" cried Dunston Porter, as the boys prepared to leave. "Remember the hunting season opens to-day, so if you get a chance at any game don't let it slip you." "Trust us for that, Uncle Dunston!" cried Dave. With shouts of good-bye, the boys turned away from the bungalows, and a few minutes later disappeared along the path running beside the brook. CHAPTER XXIII SHOOTING A WILDCAT Less than half an hour later, the boys found themselves at the top of the cliff where Dave and Phil had seen the encounter between Link Merwell and the so-called wild man. A brief look around convinced them that the locality was deserted. "Now to find the wild man's trail, if he left one," announced Dave, and the boys scattered in several directions, looking at the ground and the brushwood with great care. "If we only had one of those Reservation Indians with us, he might help us pick up the trail," declared Roger. "As it is, I must confess I'm not much of a trail-finder."