They were a pretty smutty-looking crowd; but Jerry declared that those marks were medals of honor.

“Now, if we had all been like Will here, and each rushed for his possessions, the camp would have been a-goner,” he remarked, with a reproachful look.

“That’s all right, fellows, and under any other conditions I would have been one of the first to assist; but I’m the official photographer of the expedition, and the guardian of those splendid films that must perpetuate our camping trip, for posterity,” he explained.

“Hear! hear!” cried Frank.

“Why didn’t you lay the outfit down at a safe distance then, and help fight the fire with us?” demanded Bluff.

“I guess I know enough to take warning from your sad experience.  They hooked your old gun; the next thing they’ll be after will be my camera.  No, sir, I hang on to that business through thick and thin.  They’ll have to chloroform me to get my films away, and that’s so.”

“Was it an accident?” asked Bluff, looking to Frank for an opinion.

“What do you think, Jerry?” demanded the leader.

“It couldn’t have been an accident, and I’m dead sure of it,” was the reply.

“Suppose you state your reasons then.”

“First, we banked the fire down as usual before crawling into bed.  Then there wasn’t a particle of wind to scatter the sparks.  And last, but not least, those heaps of dead leaves were carried here!  I happen to know that place was just about bare last evening!” replied the other, seriously.

Will uttered an exclamation of wonder and alarm.

“Do you really mean to say that some fellows would be mean enough to try and burn our camp?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t put it past that Andy Lasher.  Talk to me about your heathen! he’s just about equal to any of ’em.  But don’t you agree with me, Frank?”

“Certainly I do, because I happen to have a strong bit of evidence which I picked up out there close to the burning leaves.”

He held something up.

“A match-box!” exclaimed Will.

“Do any of you own that?”

“Pass it around.  I never saw it before,” declared Jerry, as he handled the little silver article in which several matches still remained.

“Well, I have, then,” remarked Bluff, suddenly, as he stared at the trophy; “and just as I thought, here are two initials on it.”

“What are they?” asked Jerry, showing excitement.

“H.B.”

“That doesn’t cover any of Andy’s crowd, though,” said Jerry, seemingly disappointed.

“The real owner of this match-box is Herman Bancroft,” announced Bluff; “I’ve had it in my hands more than once.  You know I went with him for a time.”

“He wanted to join our Rod, Gun and Camera Club, but the black ball dished his chances.  Perhaps Herman was mad about that; perhaps he even followed us up here, and has tried to get even,” suggested Will.