"Oh, humbug! There are other knives," remarked Frank cheerily.

"Not like that one," said Bluff dismally.

"No doubt Mr. Mabie will lend you a good one while you're here."

"Yes, he's awfully kind, but it wouldn't be that knife," groaned the
bereaved Bluff.

"When do you remember seeing it last?" demanded Frank, as a suspicion
darted into his brain that was connected with Jerry.

On one of their former camping trips Jerry had professed to entertain a
decided antipathy toward a repeating shotgun of modern make that Bluff
had bought. He declared that it was a shame for one who called himself a
sportsman to handle so destructive a weapon. When a chance came, he hid
the gun in a box that held some of their superfluous things. Later, upon
trying to find it, in order to give it back, he learned that it was
missing, and Bluff had to go without his gun until the hunt was nearly
over, when it was discovered in the woods, where the thief had dropped
it.

Frank wondered if Jerry was concerned in the mysterious vanishing of the
wonderful hunting-knife. He had laughed at its tremendous proportions
and ornate handle. Still, it did not seem reasonable to believe that
Jerry would be guilty of a second trick along those same lines.

"I was trying to remember. You know we were showing our things to the
girls?"