“Well, if our supplies are stolen again, we can live on fish,” remarked Joe cheerfully.
“Not if we depend on Chet to catch them for us,” said Biff. “I’m sure we wouldn’t make much of a meal out of that whale he caught. A little bit tough for my taste.”
Chet was just thinking up a retort in kind when they heard the welcome clatter of the tin pan. With one accord, they hauled in their lines, seized the fish they had caught, and raced madly back to the shore, scrambled headlong up the slope and breathlessly plunged into the cabin.
“What’s the matter?” asked Frank, as they made their hurried entry. “Somebody chasing you?”
“Hunger is chasing us!” declared Chet.
“Dinner is ready. Wash up and hop to it.”
They needed no second invitation. Frank opened the oven door and a delicious odor of browned chicken permeated the cabin. The Christmas pudding, which Mrs. Hardy had prepared before the boys left Bayport, was already steaming, and the table was loaded high with good things, pickles, potatoes, “and all the trimmings.”
The boys later vowed that of all the Christmas dinners they had ever eaten, with all due respect to the dinners they had sat down to at home, the one that would remain longest in their memories would be the Christmas feast they devoured during their outing on Cabin Island.
The afternoon they spent quietly, trying out their skis on the sloping hillsides on the eastern side of the island. This exhilarating sport made the hours pass quickly, and when the winter twilight fell the boys returned to the cabin, weary and happy.
“The best Christmas ever!” they voted it.
“Well,” said Frank, as they sat about the fireplace that evening, “the man who lost the notebook didn’t show up today.”
“He’ll be back,” said Joe.
“And we’ll be ready for him.”
“Perhaps he hasn’t missed it yet,” suggested Biff.
“Perhaps not. What I’m afraid of,” Frank said, “is that he won’t consider it important enough to come back for.”
“Important! Why, the cipher is in it!” exclaimed Joe.
“Yes, but he knows the cipher by heart, no doubt. And the very fact that the message is in cipher will protect him. He knows that if we do chance to find the notebook, it will be a hundred chances to one that we’ll never be able to find out what it means. He may not worry about losing the notebook after all.”
The boys were thoughtful.
“We may never catch him, then?”
“I hope so,” said Frank. “But we can’t count on it too strongly.”
“We’ll get him,” Joe declared. “That message had something to do with Cabin Island. The man will be back here anyway, notebook or no notebook, I’m dead sure.”
XV
Chicken Thieves
Next morning, although the boys kept a sharp lookout, there was no sign of the marauder.
“We’re not going to let him spoil our holiday,” declared Frank. “If he decides to come back for his notebook we’ll be ready for him, but we don’t have to sit around waiting.”
“What say we go back and call on Amos Grice?” suggested Joe. “He may be able to tell us some more about Elroy Jefferson and the stamp collection.”
“Good idea!” declared Biff. “I’d like to meet the old chap.”
Chet said nothing. He was already struggling into his coat. The prospect of a jaunt in the iceboats appealed to the boys strongly, for it was a bright, sunny morning and the air was keen.
In a short time, the lads were ready, and went scrambling down the slope toward the little cove where the iceboats were sheltered. Chet, who was anxious to learn how to manage the craft, seated himself at the tiller of Biff’s boat.
“Guess I’d better take out some insurance, if you’re going to steer,” said Biff.
“Don’t worry about me, my lad,” Chet advised. “Hang on to your cap, for you’re in for a swift ride, with plenty of fancy twists and curves.”
The Hardy boys got into their own boat, the sails flapped in the wind, then filled out, and the boats sped out of the cove into the open bay.
Chet soon found that steering was not the simple thing it had seemed. He was in difficulties before he was more than a few hundred yards away from the island. Then, essaying a sharp turn, he almost upset the boat.
Frank and Joe could see Biff remonstrating with him, but Chet evidently refused to give up the tiller.
“He means to learn how!” laughed Frank. “I’ll bet Biff is sweating. He’s afraid Chet will wreck the boat.”
“I’m just as glad I’m not riding with them, myself,” returned Joe.
At that moment they saw the other boat veer sharply around. The sails bellied in the stiff breeze and the iceboat came plunging across the bay toward them.
“What’s the matter now?” exclaimed Frank. “Is he trying to run us down?”
The boat boomed on, without changing its course. They had a glimpse of Biff Hooper standing up and waving his arms wildly.
“Guess we had better get out of the way.” Frank, who was at the tiller, swung the boat to leeward, and at the same instant the other craft changed its course and was still heading directly down upon them.
Then, to their astonishment, the oncoming boat swerved again, this time with such violence that Biff Hooper lost his balance, staggered, and tumbled out on to the ice. Chet, the amateur, was left alone at the tiller of an iceboat which was out of his control.
Then ensued a weird game of tag. Chet’s boat was at the mercy of the shifting winds. It dodged to and fro, plunged from side to side. No one could tell where it was going next. Most of the time, it seemed to be plunging directly at the Hardy boys’ boat, and Frank was kept busy steering out of the way.
Once it seemed that a collision was inevitable. The
