Dragonfly answered, saying, “John Till took the fish’s insides out while he was in the cabin, and maybe instead of burying them, just threw them outside somewhere,” which I thought was pretty sensible for Dragonfly to figure out. But we couldn’t just stay here, and be like King Midas in the fairy story every child ought to know, and count our money. We ought to get back to camp and tell the gang and Barry and let the whole world know what we’d found. “Let’s get all of it dug up and take it away before John Till finds out we discovered his hiding place,” Poetry said. “But there might be a _dozen_ other fish with money in them,” I said, “and it won’t be safe to stay that long. It might take a half hour to find all of ’em. We’ve got to get out of here quick and get some help.” Well, it certainly wasn’t any time to argue, with maybe the whole 25 thousand dollars buried in the sawdust all around us. But we did have to decide whether to take what we’d found and beat it to camp, and come back with help, or to dig up all the fish we could find right now, take the money out, shove it all into Little Jim’s gunny sack and come happily back into camp with every dollar of it. Little Jim piped up with a bright idea which was, “Let’s dig up all the fish real quick, stuff ’em in my gunny sack and beat it home to camp, and take the money out on the way maybe--or else take the fish home for dinner.” I looked at his excited bluish eyes, and forgot that he was a goat, and thought how much I liked him. “Boy!” he said, with a swell grin on his mouse-like face. “Won’t Mr. Ostberg be tickled to have his money back for the mission hospital!” Here I’d been thinking about what a BIG reward I, Bill Collins, was going to get for finding the money, and Little Jim wasn’t thinking of himself at all, but of the folks in another land who needed the gospel for their souls and a doctor’s help for their bodies. What a swell guy, I thought. But say, this story is long enough--and that’s really all of it, anyway, that is, all about how we actually found the ransom money, so I’ll have to wind up the whole thing in another paragraph or two. That wasn’t all the exciting adventures we had on our Northern camping trip, though, ’cause a new and very dangerous adventure began to happen to us even before we got out of that old icehouse that day. While we were digging and finding fish with sewed-up stomachs and stuffing them into Little Jim’s gunny sack, to take home to camp, all of a sudden I thought I heard a noise outside. “Sh!” I said to us. “Somebody’s coming!” We all stopped stock still and listened, and sure enough I _had_ heard a noise. Out on the lake there was the sound of a high-powered outboard motor that sounded like it wasn’t any more than a hundred yards from shore. I could imagine that somebody on the other side of the lake had seen us and was coming roarety-sizzle across to stop whatever we were doing.