“I’m not hungry now, but I’ll be hungry in the morning.”
“Then wait until morning before you start talking about it.” Frank got up and went over to the window. “Another wild night. If it weren’t for this storm we could have made the run to the village and back tonight, with more food.”
“I hope the storm dies down by morning,” muttered Chet gloomily.
“If it doesn’t, you’ll probably die of starvation.”
“Just wait until I lay my hands on the fellow who played this dirty trick on us, that’s all. Just wait!”
“It was Hanleigh, I’m sure of that,” Frank said. “I’d give a lot to know why he’s so anxious to get us away from this island!”
“He won’t freeze us out now. We’ll stay here to the last minute,” said Joe firmly. “And after this, believe me, we’ll keep an eye on the supplies.”
“You bet we will!” declared Chet. “From now on, I appoint myself guard of the food supply—providing we get some more food for me to guard.”
The lads finally went to bed, although Chet had to be silenced on a number of occasions when he persisted in inquiring as to the probability of reaching the village and returning next morning before their usual breakfast time. Before slumber claimed them all, however, Frank expressed the common thought when he observed:
“Just wait until we meet Mr. Hanleigh again!”
XI
Postage Stamps
Next morning, the snowstorm having abated, the boys went outside in a futile search for footprints. The snow had obliterated any tracks the thief might have made in the immediate vicinity of the cabin, but down by the boathouse, on the side sheltered from the wind, they found several footprints. Frank took measurements of them.
“Might come in useful some day,” he commented. “I should say they were made by a fairly big man.”
“How about food?” asked Chet, who had gone without breakfast.
“Right away. Joe and I will take our iceboat and go down to the village. You and Biff had better stay here.”
“Can’t I go with you? Perhaps I could get something to eat at the village, and I wouldn’t have to wait so long.”
“You’ll eat with the rest of us,” laughed Frank.
“Why do you want Biff and me to stay?”
“I’m thinking the thief may not have taken those supplies away with him. If Hanleigh did it, his purpose would be served by merely hiding the food. You and Biff can spend your time hunting around the island. You may find where the grub has been hidden.”
Chet’s face lighted up at this probability.
“Come on, Biff!”
The Hardy boys got into their iceboat and started off, leaving their two chums hopefully searching for the lost supplies.
The wind was favorable, and the Hardy boys reached the little village down on the mainland in a short time. It was a summer resort, and at this season of the year most of the houses were closed and boarded up, but a few permanent residents stayed on the year round, among them being the general storekeeper. His name, as it appeared from a weatherbeaten sign hanging above the store, was Amos Grice.
The boys left their boat by a little wharf which was almost covered with snow and made their way toward the store.
An elderly man with chin whiskers peered at them through his glasses as they entered. He was sitting behind the stove, reading a newspaper and munching at an apple, and he was evidently surprised to see any customers so early in the morning, particularly strangers.
“How do, boys! Where you from?” he asked.
“We’re camping on an island farther up the bay,” Frank explained. “We came here in our iceboat.”
“Camping, hey? Well, it ain’t many that camps in the winter time. As fer me, I think I’d rather set behind the stove when the colder weather comes on. It’s more comfortable. What can I do for you?”
“Someone raided our cabin last night and stole all our food. We want to get some more supplies.”
“Stole all your food!” exclaimed Amos Grice, clucking sympathetically. “Well, now, that’s too bad. Fust time I ever heard of any thievin’ in these parts. Was it a tramp, do you think?”
“We don’t know who it was, but we have an idea. I don’t think it was a tramp. Just somebody trying to do us a bad turn.”
“A mean thing to do,” commented Mr. Grice, wagging his head. “Well, I guess I can fix you up all right. What do you want to buy?”
The boys spent some time giving the storekeeper an order, and when the goods had been wrapped up, Amos Grice invited them to sit down beside the cracker barrel and “chat for a while.”
“It ain’t often I see strangers in the winter time,” he explained.
Frank and Joe told him that they could not stay very long, because their chums were back at the island, awaiting their return with the supplies.
“Back at the island, hey? What island?” insisted Amos Grice.
“Cabin Island, it’s called.”
“Cabin Island, hey? Why, ain’t that Elroy Jefferson’s place? Little island with a big log cabin on it?”
“That’s the place.”
“Why, I know Elroy Jefferson very well. When he was living on the island in the summer months he used to come down here for his supplies.” Mr. Grice cackled with delight at having found a common topic of conversation. “Yes, I know Elroy Jefferson real well. He’s a fine fellow, too, but very queer.”
“He’s a bit eccentric,” agreed Frank.
“Yes, he’s a queer old chap, but a better man never wore shoe leather. How was he when you was last talkin’ to him?”
The boys decided to humor the lonely old storekeeper. Frank reflected that possibly they might learn something about Hanleigh.
“He was quite well. He let us have the cabin for our outing.”
“Yes, that’s just like Mr. Jefferson. Got a heart of gold, specially where boys is concerned. But queer—mighty queer in some ways,” said Amos Grice, again wagging his head. “Do you know”—and he leaned forward very confidentially—“I really think he married Mary Bender because of
