Excerpt: '"Bangor, Bangor, all change for Portland, Boston and way stations," shouted the trainman. "Here we are, boys," shouted Garry Boone. "Wake up, Dick, let's get our packs and rifles. We will be in the station in a few seconds now. My, but I'll be glad to see Dad again. And he promises us some real action, too. I wonder what trouble he is in. You remember he hinted at something of the sort in the letter that he wrote us at Hobart." "Well, we'll know in a few minutes now, for your father will be waiting for us at the Bangor House. Don't fret over what he wants, Garry, just be glad that we have a chance to get into action of some kind. These past few weeks have gotten me so that I am not happy if we don't have a few scrapes to get in and out of," remarked the second of the trio of boys. Dick Wallace, a plump, heavyset chap, yawned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and then got up and stretched his cramped limbs. He had been napping for more than an hour. At that moment the train drew into the station with a screeching of brakes, and the boys, having dug out their knapsacks and rifles from between the seats where they had stowed them, soon were off the train and walking briskly toward the Bangor House.'
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