Frank had felt several shot strike his clothes, but evidently they were too far spent to penetrate far. “Of all infernal carelessness!” grated Hodge, his face dark with anger. “I never heard of anything like it.” “It could not have been carelessness!” cried Frank. “Here we are in plain view out in the open water. The person who fired that shot must have seen us. If it was carelessness, it was criminal.” “Are you hit, Merry?” “Some of the shot struck my clothes, but none of them reached my body, I think. How much are you hurt, Bart?” “Not much, but I’m mad enough to thump the chump who fired that shot! I’d like the job!” Merriwell had reeled in his line, and now he swiftly drew in Bart’s. Then he caught up his paddle and sent the head of the canoe round toward the point where the puff of smoke had been seen rising above the water reeds. “We’ll soon find out who did the shooting,” came grimly from his lips, as he sent the light craft forward. Bart caught up his paddle, and soon the canoe was literally skimming along the silvery surface of the lake. As they approached the rushes there were signs of commotion behind them. A head bobbed up and disappeared from view, and then a boat was thrust slowly out. It contained two persons, who seemed inclined to row away, but changed their minds when they beheld how close upon them the canoe was. They turned about and desperately faced the boys. One was a man of middle age, roughly dressed, with a wide-brimmed hat set upon one side of his head and long-legged rubber boots on his feet. He wore a full beard, and his hair was long enough to fall on the collar of his coat. The face was that of a hard-drinking man, and his manner indicated that he was a reckless ruffian. The other was a youth of eighteen or nineteen, with square shoulders and a sullen face. He, also, looked like a desperado, and yet, there was something about him that might prove attractive and fascinating for a thoughtless, romantic girl. He was dressed in a careless manner, in plain clothes, but somehow those clothes seemed to set upon him in a way that showed him to advantage. In fact, they actually made him look more attractive than better and more fashionable garments could. As soon as Merriwell saw these two persons, he softly exclaimed: “Hello! So those are the chaps?” “Do you know them?” asked Hodge, quickly. “I should guess yes!” “Who are they?” “Welch and his backer.” “What—the fellow who wanted to thrash you over at Camp Benson?” “Yes. And the man is the one who was looking for a chance to dip into the row. Now, I am beginning to think this shooting was not accidental.” The man and the boy glared at Frank and Bart, but said not a word. “Who fired that shot?” demanded Merriwell, holding his paddle in the water so that it would slacken the forward motion of the canoe. “Who are you talkin’ to?” demanded Welch, surlily. “I am talking to you, sir! Who fired that shot?” “What shot?” “The one a few moments ago.”