The Boy Scouts in A Trapper's Camp
by Thornton W. Burgess · English · Gutenberg #32045 · 391,083 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Boy Scouts in A Trapper's Camp
Author: Thornton W. Burgess
Release date: April 18, 2010 [eBook #32045]
Most recently updated: January 6, 2021
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BOY SCOUTS IN A TRAPPER'S CAMP ***
Produced by David Edwards, Mary Meehan and the Online
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file was produced from images generously made available
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The Boy Scouts in a Trapper's Camp
By Thornton W. Burgess
Author of "The Boy Scouts of Woodcraft Camp", "The Boy Scouts on Swift
River", "The Boy Scouts on Lost Trail"
Illustrated by F. A. Anderson
The Penn Publishing
Company Philadelphia
COPYRIGHT
1915
BY THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
To
W. H. T.,
A lover of the open, and his three boys,
this book is affectionately dedicated
[Illustration: HE SAW SOMETHING MOVE]
Introduction
To those who have read the preceding volumes in this series, "The Boy
Scouts of Woodcraft Camp," "The Boy Scouts on Swift River," and "The Boy
Scouts on Lost Trail," some of the characters in the present volume will
be familiar. To me they are old friends in whose struggles and
adventures I have taken the keenest personal interest.
In this, the fourth and concluding volume, I have endeavored to portray
in some small measure the life of the trapper who in solitude and
loneliness pits his skill against the cunning of the fur-bearers, and
his courage and fortitude against the forces of Nature in her harshest
and most relentless mood; to bring to my young readers a sense of the
mystery of the great life eternal that broods over the wilderness to an
even greater degree when its waters are fettered in ice, and its waste
places wrapped in snow than when it rejoices in its summer verdure; to
show that the standards a man or a boy sets for himself are as binding
upon him in remote places where none may see as in the midst of his
fellow men; and lastly to demonstrate what a powerful factor in the
development of character and true manhood are the oath and law of the
Boy Scouts of America when subscribed to in sincerity and
conscientiously observed.
Man or boy is never so true to himself as when in intimate contact with
nature. Adventures such as herein described may not fall to your lot,
oh, boy reader, but be assured that whenever you heed the call of the
Red Gods and hit the long trail you will find adventure of a degree
awaiting you, and you will return stronger physically and mentally for
having come in closer contact with the elemental forces which we term
nature.
THE AUTHOR.
Contents
I. AN INTERRUPTED DREAM
II. PAT SEES WHITE MAGIC
III. THE BLUE TORTOISE PATROL
IV. "HELP!"
V. OFF FOR WOODCRAFT
VI. SNOW-SHOES AND FISH
VII. ON THE TRAIL
VIII. ALEC HINTS AT DARK THINGS
IX. SNOWBOUND
X. LIFE ON THE FUR TRAILS
XI. CHRISTMAS IN SMUGGLERS' HOLLOW
XII. A DEER YARD
XIII. POACHERS
XIV. THE SILVER FOX
XV. SPARRER'S TEMPTATION
XVI. THE CONFERENCE
XVII. THE CAMP OF THE POACHERS
XVIII. SMOKING OUT THE INDIAN
XIX. SPARRER SAVES THE SKIN
XX. THE BLACK FOX IS SOLD
ILLUSTRATIONS
HE SAW SOMETHING MOVE
HE JOTTED DOWN THE NUMBER
ONCE MORE THEY BUCKLED DOWN TO THE TASK
NOT TEN FEET AWAY WAS A BIG BUCK
FOR A FEW SECONDS HE STOOD MOTIONLESS
The Boy Scouts in a Trapper's Camp
CHAPTER I
AN INTERRUPTED DREAM
Walter Upton pushed aside books and papers, yawned, stretched, yawned
again, then settled back in his chair comfortably, his hands clasped
behind his head.
"I'm glad that vacation is only one week off," he murmured. "School is
all right, and I know I'm going to be mighty sorry when school-days end
for good. Just the same, this infernal grind to get a scholarship does
get a fellow's goat sometimes. If I don't win it I don't see how I can
go to college next year unless I can find some way to earn the money.
Poor old Dad! That slump in stocks pretty nearly bowled him over. Lucky
I thought of this scholarship when he tried to tell me that unless
business picked up he couldn't send me to college next year. It sure
did me good to see the shine in his eyes when I told him about this and
that I was going to win it. He's a great old scout, and I'm going to get
it now if for nothing more than to see that shine in his eyes again. My,
but it's a tough old grind! Wonder how it would seem to go to a prep
school like Hal Harrison and not have to think about money and where it
is going to come from. I guess scholarships don't bother Hal any. Wonder
if he is coming home for the Christmas winter vacation."
Idly Walter allowed his eyes to wander over the walls of his den. It was
a snug little room, simply furnished with a spring cot, which was a bed
by night and a couch by day, a desk, a deep-cushioned Morris chair, a
revolving desk chair, a foot-rest and two well filled bookcases. The
walls were covered with photographs. Nearly all of them were of outdoor
scenes, most of them of his own taking, for he was an expert with the
camera. A number were enlargements neatly framed. Among these was the
famous flashlight made during his first summer at Woodcraft Camp which
had furnished the evidence to put Red Pete, the outlaw and poacher,
behind the bars. There, too, were the splendid portraits (they were
nothing less) of the bull moose of Swift River, a lasting tribute to the
nerve of Plympton, the tenderfoot comrade of that memorable cruise.
There were studies of deer and other wild animals, views of Woodcraft
Camp, of scenes along Swift River, and of the various camps and points
of interest on Lost Trail, the relocating of which by Walter and his
four fellow Scouts of the Lone Wolf Patrol had won for them the
distinction of a special letter of commendation from national
headquarters of the Boy Scouts of America.
Above the door hung a hard-used set of boxing gloves. Crossed above one
window were a pair of snow-shoes, while above the other window were a
pair of fencing foils. In one corner, each in its case, were two
fishing-rods, a rifle and a tennis racquet. In the opposite corner
leaned a Scout staff and a couple of canoe paddles. A great horned owl
stared unblinkingly down from the top of one of the plain oak bookcases.
On the wall just back and above it was fastened a small banner having
the head of a wolf worked in black against a white background, and
bearing the one word "Persistence." It was the Lone Wolf banner which
had been carried on that never-to-be-forgotten search for Lost Trail. By
unanimous vote of the patrol, it had been presented to Upton at the
conclusion of the trip in recognition of successful leadership.
Several small silver cups on the bookcases and half a dozen medals
pinned to a little square of black velvet on one wall attested to
well-won victories in various lines of sport. The books on the shelves
were what one might expect in such surroundings, well selected stories
of adventure and exploration, treatises on hunting, fishing and outdoor
sports, a very complete nature library, handbooks on woodcraft, camping,
first aid, forestry and surveying, a well-thumbed Scout manual and other
books which attested to the owner's love of the great outdoor world. But
these were not all. A whole shelf was devoted to history, and another to
selections from standard American and English authors, including several
of our best loved poets.
Altogether, it was a room such as a keen, red-blooded, broad-minded boy
might well delight in. Upton did delight in it. Everything in it held
some special significance or sentiment for him, and now as his eyes idly
roved from one object to another one memory after another was stirred
within him. At last his eyes rested on the snow-shoes and remained
there.
"Wonder if I'll get a chance to use those things this winter," he
muttered. "Little old New York doesn't know much about that kind of
foot-gear. I suppose Pat has worn out two or three pairs since he gave
me those, and here I haven't had 'em on but once in three years, and
then there was hardly snow enough for an excuse. I guess I'd be some
tenderfoot all right, all right, on those things up in the woods. Good
old Pat! Wonder what he's doing. It's a long time since I've heard from
him. Well, I ought not to kick over a little extra grind! He's trying to
get an education and support himself and help his folks at the same
time. Wish he could come down here for the vacation. What fun it would
be to show him around and listen to his remarks on the big city. It
would be almost as much fun as going into the big woods in the winter.
Fact is, I envy him right now, and I'll bet he doesn't envy me a penny's
worth."
Swiftly his thoughts reverted to his first meeting with Pat Malone,
chore boy and bully of a sawmill village in the North Woods, and of the
thrashing he had given the young woodsman in spite of the latter's
advantage in weight and strength.
"It was all in the know how. Imagine me trying to do it now," he
chuckled. "Why, Pat could take me across his knee just as he did the
youngster who mistook him for a deer and put a bullet through his hat
last fall. I've never seen anybody take to an idea as Pat did to
scouting. He just soaked it up. It was the principle of the thing that
got him right from the start, and not just the fun that goes with it.
And just see what it's done for him! I don't know of any one it's done
so much for, unless----"
Almost unconsciously Walter turned to stare through the gathering dusk
at a photograph on the nearer of the two bookcases. A pair of frank
eyes, kindly but keen, looked down at him from a face good to see, the
face of a boy of about his own age. It was a handsome face and the
beauty lay, not in regularity of features, but in the strength of
character and purpose written in every line. It was the face of Hal
Harrison, son of a multi-millionaire, and comrade and fellow Scout in
the fun and adventures of the last three summers. It was the sudden
remembrance of Hal that had caused the abrupt break in the trend of his
thought. Not even for the poor, rough, tough young bully of the woods
had scouting done more than it had for this other lad, brought up in the
lap of luxury, his every whim gratified, toadied to, petted, spoiled.
From opposite extremes of the social strata it had brought these two
together on the common ground of true brotherhood--the brotherhood of
democracy. It had discovered to the young savage, for Pat was little
more than that, his own manhood. It had stripped from Hal, the cad, the
veneer of false social rank based on wealth and found there also a man.
And now these two--the one whom he had fought and the one whom he had
despised--Upton regarded not only as comrades and brother Scouts, but
almost as chums.
Some such thoughts as these were floating through his mind as he sat
there in the soft dusk of winter twilight. It was just the hour for
dreaming the dreams which every boy loves to dream, half thought, half
idle fancy. He tried to picture what the future might hold for himself
and for these two comrades. Hal would be a captain of industry. It could
hardly be otherwise. He would inherit vast wealth. He would in time take
charge of the great enterprises which his father had built up. Would he
apply to their management the principles of which as a Scout he was now
so earnest a champion? Pat dared to dream of some day becoming a
naturalist. Would he succeed? Remembering what Pat had been and what he
now was Walter somehow felt that he would. As for himself he could not
see his own career with a like clearness. He would like--
Ting-aling-ling! It was the telephone in the hall. With a start Walter
came back to earth and the present. He went to answer the call. Picking
up the receiver he called, "Hello." For a moment there was no response,
but he caught a sound as of voices and something that sounded like a
laugh. Then over the wire came a rich brogue that caused Walter to
nearly drop the 'phone.
"Hello, Misther Leader. I have to reporrt the discovery av the city av
Noo Yor-r-k and the losing av mesilf entoirely."
"Pat! You big red headed son of Erin! Are you really in New York? When
did you get in? Where are you? Are you----"
"Aisy, aisy now. Have ye not learned thot ye can make but wan bull's-eye
at a shot? Shure I be in Noo Yor-r-k, an' 'tis proud the city ought to
be av the honor I be doin' ut."
"Quit your kidding, Pat, and tell me where you are and when you came and
all about it," interrupted Walter.
"Shure, wasn't I afther telling ye thot I be in Noo Yor-r-k?" protested
Pat in a grieved tone. "'Tis at the illigant home av an illigant
gintleman thot I be, but begorra I forgot entoirely to blaze the trail
and I don't know how I got here at all, at all."
There was a sound of a scuffle and a smothered laugh, then another voice
broke in:
"Hello, old Scout!"
There was no mistaking that voice, and Upton grinned more broadly than
before as he replied:
"Hello, Hal. It sure does me good to hear your voice. I might have known
whose illigant home Pat is honoring. Where did you find him, and why
didn't you tell me? Didn't expect you home until the end of next week.
Funny thing, but I was thinking of you two fellows when the 'phone rang.
Same old Pat, isn't he? Gee, but it's good to hear the voices of you two
fellows! Now when do I see you and where?"
"Right after dinner. We'll drive around and pick you up and then give
Pat a glimpse of the Great White Way," replied Hal, answering the last
questions first. "I've had this all planned for a month by way of a
surprise. I have a week more vacation than you do, and I got in just in
time to meet Pat's train. Had hard work to persuade him to come, but I
got him at last. Say, got any plans made for your vacation?"
"Nary a plan. Been waiting to hear from you," replied Walter.
"Good! I've got the greatest little stunt you ever heard of to tell you
about to-night. Pat suggested it, and I had to promise to try to put it
through before he would agree to come down here. We've got to go clean
up for dinner now, but we'll be around about eight o'clock. So long
until then."
"So long," replied Walter, and hanging up the receiver he whooped
joyously and proceeded to execute a war dance that ended with a crash as
a rug slipped under his feet and he came down in a heap. It happened
that at that very instant his father, just home from the office, opened
the hall door briskly and a second later landed on Walter with a force
that brought a grunt from each. He had tripped over one of the boy's
sprawling legs. As quickly as he could disentangle himself Walter
scrambled to his feet. Concern was written in every line of his face as
he extended a helping hand to Mr. Upton.
"Oh, Dad, are you hurt?" he cried anxiously.
Mr. Upton's eyes twinkled good-humoredly as he replied: "Only in my
dignity. But tell me, son, why all this hilarity that led to the utter
downfall of the house of Upton? I heard you break loose, and was
hurrying to share in it."
"It's a shame," declared Walter contritely as he brushed off his
father's coat. "I ought to know better than to be acting like a wild
Indian in the house. Fact is, I had just got some mighty good news over
the 'phone. Guess what."
"Hal is coming home for the vacation," hazarded Mr. Upton promptly, for
these two, father and son, were chums, and he knew just how eagerly
Walter had hoped for Hal's homecoming.
"Right and wrong, both!" whooped Walter. "You're a good little guesser,
Dad, but you didn't guess enough this time. He's home already, and Pat's
with him!"
"Pat! Pat who?" A puzzled frown wrinkled Mr. Upton's forehead.
"Pat Malone, of course! As if there was more than one Pat! They got in
half an hour ago, and they're coming around here after dinner to get
me."
Mr. Upton's face lighted with a smile of pleasure. "That's splendid," he
declared. "It's news worth getting upset for. How ever did Hal lure
that young giant out of his beloved woods?"
"I don't know," replied Walter. "All I know is that he is here, and the
rest we'll find out when they get here. Hope he's going to stay through
vacation. It'll be no end of fun showing Pat around. Wish you could be
with us."
"I wish I could," replied Mr. Upton, smiling. "Suppose we eat dinner now
so that you will be ready for them when they arrive."
Promptly at eight o'clock a big touring car drew up in front of the
house, and Walter was down the steps before the two figures in the
tonneau could disentangle themselves from the robes. Three voices
mingled in a joyous shout, there was a swift clasping of hands in the
Scout grip, and then the three boys started up the steps to the open
door, where Mr. Upton stood waiting with outstretched hand.
"Welcome to our city, Pat!" he cried heartily.
"Thank you, sir. If everybody receives such a welcome as I have had it
is no wonder that we cannot keep people in the woods."
Walter actually gaped open mouthed at Pat. There was not a trace of
accent. Pat caught the look and his blue eyes twinkled. Suddenly he
whirled and hit Upton a resounding whack between the shoulders with his
open palm. "Did I not tell ye thot whin I got the leaves out av me hair
and the Irish out av me shpach I would come? And here I be. Tell me now,
do ye want to foight? 'Twas the reception I was afther giving ye whin ye
first came to the woods, and 'tis no more than roight thot ye should
trate me the same whin I land in Noo Yor-r-k."
Walter ran a calculating eye over the brawny young woodsman, six feet in
his stockings and broad in proportion, and backed away. "I waive the
privilege--out of politeness," said he with a low bow.
"'Tis loike Noo Yor-r-k to be gentle with the helpless. Shure 'tis a
foine settlemint and foine people in ut," retorted Pat.
"I am interested to learn how Hal induced you to come here, Pat," said
Mr. Upton as he ushered them into the library.
Hal chuckled. "I trapped him," said he. "I set a trap and baited it and
he walked right into it. Don't you think I'm some little trapper?"
"You certainly are," declared Mr. Upton, while Pat grinned. "Let's hear
all about it."
"Well, first I made sure that I could get passes from Dad. You know he
controls the railroad to Upper Chain. Dad was tickled to death with the
idea. Even offered to send up his private car. You know he's a great
admirer of Pat. Then for a bait I arranged through a friend to get an
introduction for Pat to some of the head people out at Bronx Park and at
the American Museum of Natural History. I knew that he just couldn't
pass that chance up, but to make sure I wrote to Doctor Merriam at
Woodcraft Camp, and of course he joined the conspiracy right away. For a
clincher I promised Pat that Walt and I would spend Walt's vacation with
him up in the woods."
Walter came out of his chair with a bound. "What's that?" he cried. "Say
it again!"
"I said that to get Pat down here I promised him that we--you and
I--would spend a week in the woods with him this winter. Is that
perfectly clear?" Hal spoke slowly and with emphasis.
"It sounds clear, but it isn't," replied Walter, glancing at his father
with a rueful smile. He was thinking of the expense and that as things
then were he could not afford the trip.
Hal intercepted the glance and understood. "Oh, yes, it is," said he.
"It is perfectly clear. We leave here next week Friday night and you and
Pat are my guests until we reach Upper Chain the next morning. Then the
three of us become the guests of Doctor Merriam at Woodcraft Camp for a
day or two, and after that you and I will be the guests of--guess who?"
Walter shook his head. He was a trifle dazed by the way in which Hal
took everything for granted.
"Pat and his partner!" cried Hal, while Pat grinned broadly. "Pat's
trapping this winter instead of lumbering, and we're going to spend a
week in a real trapper's camp, and snow-shoe and have no end of fun.
Won't it be great? Walt may go, mayn't he, Mr. Upton?"
Mr. Upton laughed aloud. "I wouldn't dare say no in the face of such
completely organized plans," he confessed. "Of course he may go. It's a
splendid idea, and I suspect that when he comes back for the next term
of the school year he will be feeling so fine that nothing can stop him
from winning that scholarship he has set his heart on, and has been
working so hard for."
"Then it's all settled!" cried Hal. "Pat is going to stay and go back
with us, and while he is here it is up to us to show him what New York
is like. We'll begin by showing him the Great White Way to-night. Get
your coat and hat, Walt. The car is waiting. Won't you go with us, Mr.
Upton?"
"Not this time, thank you, Hal," replied Mr. Upton. "I have an
engagement for this evening, though I would much rather join you
youngsters than keep it. I feel that I am to lose something really worth
while--a rare pleasure."
"And the loss is equally ours, sir," said Pat as they rose to don their
coats.
Once more Walter eyed Pat quizzically. It was clear that the young
Irishman had been pursuing his studies under Doctor Merriam to good
advantage. Without the rich brogue it was a new and wholly different
Pat. But he forbore to make any comment, and in a few minutes they were
off to show Pat one of the most wonderful scenes in the world, New
York's famous Broadway by night.
CHAPTER II
PAT SEES WHITE MAGIC
Mindful of the lasting effect of first impressions Hal had contrived to
give Pat no opportunity to get more than a fleeting glimpse of crowded
streets and glaring lights. He had met Pat at the train, which had not
arrived until the early winter evening had set in, hurried him to a big
touring car with curtains drawn and then whirled him away to the
palatial Harrison home on Riverside Drive without giving him a chance to
sense more than a glare of lights and that confusion of sounds which
constitutes the voice of a great city. The same car had brought them to
Walter's modest home. While they had been making their brief call there
the chauffeur, under Hal's orders, had put back the top of the machine,
so that as they descended the steps Pat did not recognize the car at
all. In fact, until that day Pat had never so much as seen a motor car,
a buck-board being the most stylish equipage of which Upper Chain could
boast.
"Arrah, 'tis black magic!" exclaimed Pat as he settled himself
comfortably between Hal and Walter in the tonneau, convinced at last
that he was really in the same car which had brought him there.
"And we're going to show you some white magic," cried Hal, as he leaned
forward to give orders to the chauffeur.
A quick run through side streets, comparatively deserted at this hour,
brought them to Broadway at the junction with Sixth Avenue. Turning
north the dazzling splendor of the "Great White Way" burst upon the
startled eyes of the young woodsman. His companions heard him catch his
breath with a little gasp. Then he closed his eyes for the space of a
few seconds, opening them slowly as if he suspected them of playing him
tricks. An instant later he seized a leg of each of his companions just
above the knee with a grip that brought both half-way to their feet with
a little yell of surprised protest.
"'Tis true, then, and no drame," said he as he settled back with a
little sigh of relief. "Sure and had I pinched mesilf I would not have
believed me own sinse av feeling. White magic, did yez call ut? Sure
'tis the city av enchantment."
It was a rare bit of thoughtfulness on Hal's part to give Pat such an
introduction to America's greatest city. Whatever the disillusionment in
the garish light of day he would always think of New York as he saw it
for the first time--a fairy city of twinkling lights, the street crowded
with pleasure seekers, the great buildings towering into the sky with
all harsh and rigid lines softened by the protecting shadows, and above
all the moving pictures in many colored lights of the advertising signs.
These were indeed a revelation to the young woodsman, and he was soon
oblivious to all else. The usual ready tongue was silent. Only once did
he speak after the first outbreak and this was when the car was stalled
for a few minutes where he had a full view of the famous chariot race
from Ben Hur. As he saw that wonderful picture leap out of the darkness
between two flaming torches, the driver leaning from his chariot and
shaking the lines above the four galloping horses, Pat leaned forward
with tense, eager face. Then the picture disappeared and he dropped back
with a little sigh.
"I knew ut was not true," he murmured half to himself, staring at the
blank space between the lighted pillars. A second later the picture
again flashed out of the darkness and the young Irishman relapsed into a
silence that was not broken until, having gone up one side and down the
other of the Great White Way, Hal proposed they spend the remainder of
the evening at a theater. But this Pat vetoed and he did it so tactfully
as to remove all possible sense of disappointment which Hal might have
felt.
"Ye may fill a cup no more than full," said he, "and one drap more would
be making the cup av me joy run over. 'Tis poor shcoutcraft to be
wasteful even av pleasure, and by the same token the Scout thot tries to
see everything at wance remimbers nothing. I have seen the white magic,
and thot be enough for wan noight. Tis just the two faces av yez I would
be seein' now, and hearing the voices av yez to remoind me thot I be
still Pat Malone av the North Woods."
"We'll go back to my house and spend the rest of the time in my den with
the pictures and other things to help make us think we are back in the
woods," declared Walter. "I'm crazy to know about this scheme you
fellows have cooked up for the vacation, and all the news from the
woods. What do you say?"
"Suits me to a dot," replied Hal promptly. "I'd rather have a good old
gabfest than see the best show in the city, and if Pat feels that way
too it's all settled."
Fifteen minutes later the three boys were lounging comfortably in
Upton's den and Pat was undergoing a regular bombardment of questions.
"How's Doctor Merriam?" demanded Walter.
"The Big Chief is just as fine and a little finer than ever," replied
Pat, dropping his brogue. "He's one grand man. There's none grander
blesses the earth with the touch of his feet. I've been living with him
at Woodcraft ever since you fellows left, except for a week or two at a
time on the trap line, and if ever I amount to anything it will be
because of Doctor Merriam. 'Tis he that has taken the Irish from my
tongue, though not from the heart of me. Shure I be as good an Irishman
as iver, and the Saints defind me if I iver be anything else," he added,
with a twinkle at this lapse into his mother tongue.
"You're a wonder, Pat!" broke in Walter. "I wouldn't have believed that
even Doctor Merriam could have taken that burr off your tongue. What did
he do it with--a file? Gives me a funny feeling, as if you were not you
at all, every time I hear you speak without it. Feel sort of--well, you
know--like an old friend had disappeared. And--and--I don't think I
quite like it."
Pat's face suddenly sobered and rising to his feet he strode over to
where Upton sat tilted back in his chair, his feet on the desk, and
swung a big fist, hard as nails, perilously close to Upton's nose. "Take
ut back, ye little spalpeen," he commanded. "Take ut back and tell me ye
loike me betther for what I am than for what I was!"
Walter ducked in mock fear. The sudden move threw him off balance, and
with a crash he and the chair went over backward. One of Pat's big
hands clutched him by the collar and lifted him to his feet. An
exaggerated sigh from the young giant followed. "I don't know but that
ye be roight afther all," he said mournfully. "The first toime we met ye
gave me the best thrashing av me loife and I loved ye for ut. Now I have
but to shake me fist to put ye down for the count. Shure 'tis not I that
was, and yet if I be not I that was, who be I that I be?" The humorous
blue eyes grew tense and earnest. There was a new note in the deep
vibrant voice as he continued.
"I am still Pat Malone, and proud of it. If I am not the old Pat I am
proud of that too. And what I am to-day is due to Walt Upton, Doctor
Merriam and the Boy Scouts of America. It was Walt who first blazed the
trail for me. It is Doctor Merriam who is teaching me how to follow it,
and it is the principles of the Boy Scouts which have brought out
whatever of good there is in me. I tell you, fellows, if there is any
one thing that I am proud of it is that I am a Scout."
"Same here," interrupted Hal. "Scouting hasn't done any more for you
than it has for me."
"You fellows are surprised because I can speak the King's English
without wholly murdering it, as I used to, and as I have a sneaking idea
you liked to hear me," continued Pat. "Let me tell you it has cost me
something. I've talked to the trees all day long when I've been alone on
the trap line--just practicing, and even now it's easier to slip into
the old way than to stick to the new. Don't for a minute think that I am
ashamed of the old. I love it, and I always will. But I've begun to
understand what education means, and this is the first step. It isn't
easy. Don't think it. I have to keep guard on this slippery tongue every
minute. I believe it's harder than it would be to learn a foreign
language. It's up to you fellows to help me while I am here. I've used
the old brogue to-night because I knew you liked to hear it, but I'm not
going to any more unless it slips out when I am excited or my feelings
get the best of me. Now this is enough about myself. What are the plans
for the rest of my stay here?"
"Hold on," protested Upton. "You haven't told us a thing about the
woods or what luck you've had trapping, or what has become of Alec
Smith, or what we are going to do if we go up there, or who your partner
is. Now fire away and we'll make plans afterward. What are the woods
like now?"
"Two feet of snow and ten below zero when I left, and the beauty of them
is not for the tongue to tell, but for eyes to see. It's even whiter
magic than you have shown me this night, and I am not going to spoil it
by trying to tell what it is like," replied Pat.
"And the trapping?"
"Fair to good."
"Who's your partner? You haven't said a word about him."
"An old woodsman and trapper I scraped acquaintance with. He's a little
rough, but when you get to know him I think you'll like him." There was
a twinkle in Pat's eyes which neither Hal nor Walter caught.
"Now tell us about Alec Smith, and we'll let you off. How is that broken
leg, and what is he doing? Say, he must have felt good when Black
Charley confessed to having knifed The Mick! Looked pretty bad for Alec
for a while, didn't it? Is he living up to all those good resolutions he
made?"
"You bet he is!" Pat answered the last question first. "After Big Jim
and I got him out to Woodcraft Camp he stayed there doing odd jobs
around the camp until that leg was strong enough for him to go into a
lumber camp as cook. He was there a month and then quit for the trap
line. The last I heard of him he was somewhere up in the Smugglers'
Hollow country, and I guess probably he's there yet. You remember he had
some traps cached up there. Leg's as good as it ever was, and he swears,
and believes it too, that Walt here is the greatest little doctor that
ever came into the woods. He'll talk any one who will listen deaf, dumb
and blind on the Boy Scouts, and I believe he'd cut his right hand off
any time for Doctor Merriam. Alec's all right."
"And Big Jim! What's Jim doing and how is he?"
"He's the same old Jim. He's the boss of the Atwater lumber camp this
winter, with two crews under him and out to make a record cut. If the
weather holds good he'll come pretty near to doing it. Jim's the best
logging boss, as well as the best guide, in the North Woods. Now what
are you fellows going to do with me in Noo Yor-r-k?"
"That's mostly up to Hal, I'm afraid," replied Upton ruefully. "You see
I have to go to school next week. To-morrow is Saturday, and a holiday
of course, so I've got that free. No, I haven't either, come to think! I
promised to take my patrol out for a hike to-morrow afternoon, and I
don't quite see how I can avoid it now because there is no way of
getting word to the fellows unless----" He paused and scowled
thoughtfully. "I have it!" he exclaimed. "Scout McNulty has a 'phone in
his house, and I'll send him around to notify the others to-morrow
morning that the hike is off."
He jumped to his feet to go to the 'phone, but Pat stopped him. "What's
the matter with us going on that hike?" he demanded.
Instantly Walter's face lighted with pleasure. "Will you? Are you sure
you want to?" he cried. "The boys have heard so much about you that they
will be tickled silly to have a real, live, sure enough guide from the
woods with them. We were planning to go out to Bronx Park and try a
little winter woodcraft and----"
"That settles it. If it's Bronx Park I'm right with you, my son, unless
Hal has something else planned," interrupted Pat. "In that case, why, I
be in the hands av me frind, of course."
"Suits me," declared Hal promptly. "We'll take Pat down-town in the
morning and show him the sights and take him into Scout headquarters.
Then we'll go out to the park and show him that your Blue Tortoises are
not so slow as he may think from the name. We'll frame up something else
for the evening. That's a bully scheme. I'll bet that Pat will be
jealous of that patrol of yours, Walt, before we get through. Just you
put 'em on their mettle and give him something to tell that patrol of
his at Upper Chain about. I suppose you're still leader of the Bull
Moose, Pat?"
Pat shook his head. "Yes and no," said he. "You see I've been away so
much that I had to resign. A patrol to be what it should be needs a
leader on the job every minute, and so one of the boys at the sawmill is
leader now, and he's a good one, too. He's a Scout of the first class
and is working for merit badges now. He's got five already--personal
health, physical development, taxidermy, signaling and stalking--and has
won a medal for saving life. When I happen to be at home I just give
them my valuable advice." Pat grinned.
"Oh, we've got some little patrol up there in the woods, and I'm just
waiting to be shown what your city Scouts have got on us," he concluded.
"That takes care of to-morrow, then," said Hal. "We'll plan doings next
week so that Walt can be with us out of school hours. Then Friday night
we'll head for the good old woods. My, but that does sound good to me!
Ten days up among the big trees, where there's snow enough to make a
footprint without having to photograph it in order to prove it isn't a
fake; where the foxes and the other critters with nice fur coats are
sitting 'round waiting to put their little footsies in our traps; where
"The Red Gods dwell
Neath a mystic spell;
The red flame glows,
And the red blood flows,
And a man's a man
For a little span."
A sofa pillow full in the face cut short this poetic outbreak, followed
by an inquiry from Pat as to Hal's experience on snow-shoes.
"Never had 'em on in my life, but I'm crazy to," replied that exuberant
youth. "Bought a pair yesterday purpose for the trip. Don't look to me
as if it can be much of a trick to walk on 'em."
"Did you buy any liniment to go with them?" asked Pat.
Hal looked puzzled. "Liniment? What for?" he demanded.
"Oh, just to be prepared. You know a good Scout always is prepared,"
replied Pat evasively, at the same time tipping Walter a wink.
"Meaning what?" persisted Hal.
"It's a long, long way to Tipperary, especially on snow-shoes," was
Pat's enigmatic reply. "I'd lay in a good supply of that liniment if I
were you."
Hal made a wry face at Pat. "Quit your kidding," said he. "We'll take a
gallon of liniment if you say so. Now tell us what else we'll need. Do
we take guns?"
Pat shook his head. Then seeing a look of disappointment in both faces
he hastened to say that the closed season was now on for all game
excepting rabbits and hares, and if they wanted to hunt these they might
take their 22 caliber rifles. In fact he wasn't sure but this would be a
good idea, as bunnies were plentiful and hunting them on snow-shoes
might afford some excellent sport.
"What about fish? Will there be a chance to do some fishing through the
ice?" asked Hal.
Pat smiled at Hal's eagerness. "There are just as big pickerel under the
ice as ever swam," he averred, "and if you are willing to do some real
work and chop out holes I think I can promise you some whales without
the trouble of swimming for them."
There was a general laugh at this thrust at Hal, whose adventure with a
big pickerel, during which he and Plympton had been capsized from a
raft, was one of the never-to-be-forgotten incidents of the search for
Lost Trail.
"But you haven't told us yet just where we are going, where your camp
is, you know," Walter broke in.
Just then the honk, honk of an automobile sounded from the front of the
house.
"There's the car!" cried Hal. "We'll have to be getting a move on, or
Pat will lose his beauty sleep and be in no shape for to-morrow. We'll
be round at 9:30 sharp in the morning, Walter. I don't want to get Pat
up too early."
"Early!" Pat fairly snorted. "Arrah now! Do yez play all night and slape
all day in Noo Yor-r-k?" he demanded.
CHAPTER III
THE BLUE TORTOISE PATROL
Sparrer, otherwise Edward Muldoon, smallest Scout in the Blue Tortoise
Patrol, darted back from the corner to the group waiting about the
up-town entrance to the subway.
"He's coming!" he shrilled. "An' two guys wid him, de one wid de dough
an' de biggest rube yer ever put yer peepers on!"
The announcement was electrifying and there was an immediate rush to
look down the street.
"It's Walt and Harrison all right, but who in the dickens is that with
them, and where did they find him?" exclaimed Ned Patterson.
"Gee, look at the size of him! He's a rube, all right, by the looks of
him, but I'd hate to tell him so," muttered Chick Parsons.
"Red headed and Irish at that! Say, fellers, we'll have some fun with
him," chortled Jack Norwood.
"Quit your kidding and fall in for a salute!" snapped Assistant Leader
McNulty.
Instantly the patrol lined up and as Walter approached, Hal on one side
and Pat on the other, seven hands were raised as one in the Scout
salute. It was returned by the three older lads.
"Somebody's wised him to de game, all right," whispered the
irrepressible Sparrer to his neighbor as his sharp eyes took note of the
fact that Pat had saluted quite as if accustomed to it. "Mebbe he
belongs to some rube patrol."
There was a nudging of elbows and here and there a half smothered giggle
as the youngsters sized Pat up and noticed the awkward fit and rough
material of his "store suit," the celluloid collar and the flaming red
four-in-hand clumsily tied. In the eyes of his young critics he was
branded by these things quite as much as if he had worn a placard "Just
from the Country."
"Green goods right from the farm," whispered Chick to Sparrer. "I dare
you to ask him how the caows are."
Whether or not Sparrer would have taken the dare will never be known,
for at that instant Upton introduced the big stranger, and the effect
was magical to say the least. "I want you fellows to shake hands with
some one you already know all about, Corporal Malone of the Lone Wolf
Patrol, which had the honor of finding Lost Trail last fall, and one of
the best guides in the North Woods," said he. "He and Harrison, whom you
all know, are going with us on the hike this afternoon, and if you chaps
feel as I do about it you know that we are the luckiest patrol in New
York City. Pat, shake hands with Assistant Leader McNulty."
Then in turn the others were presented, ending with Sparrer. Pat's blue
eyes twinkled as his big hand closed over the little one put out to him.
"'Tis Irish ye be," said he, "and 'tis the same blood flows in me own
veins. Pwhat iver would the wor-rld do widout the Irish? The Blue
Tortoise Patrol should be proud thot it has a son av St. Patrick."
"It is," laughed Upton. "Now, fellows, the Blue Tortoise yell for the
best Scout I know--Pat Malone!"
The yell was given with a will and caused many a head to turn in the
hurrying throng, and many a smile, for the trim uniformed youngsters,
faces alight with eagerness for their afternoon outing, were good to
see. Laughing and joking the patrol squeezed into the crowded subway
express and they were off for Bronx Park, the wonderful great playground
where for a five cent fare one is lifted as by magic from the heart of
the city to the heart of the country.
As the train roared through the great tunnel Pat scanned the individual
members of the patrol with manifest approval. They were a clean-cut,
sturdy looking lot of boys ranging in age from thirteen to sixteen,
McNulty, the assistant leader, being the only one of that age. And they
were a representative lot. Two were the sons of well-to-do merchants,
one was the son of a broker, another was from the modest home of a
patrolman on the police force, a fifth was the son of a subway guard,
and the remaining two were Bernstein, whose features unmistakably
stamped him as a Hebrew of the upper class, and Sparrer Muldoon, newsboy
and street gamin.
Pat's interest promptly centered in the latter, and he took the first
opportunity to ask about him and how he happened to be associated with
others seemingly so far above him in the social scale. Upton smiled.
"There isn't any social scale among Scouts, you know," said he.
Pat nodded. "I ought to know," he agreed. "If there were Pat Malone
wouldn't be this very minute the guest of the son of a millionaire. But
I wasn't one of a regular patrol of fellows better off. Tell me
something about this imp you call Sparrer, and how you dared take him
into this bunch. He seems to fit all right, so far as I can see."
"Sure he fits," replied Walter. "I put it up to the fellows themselves
and they invited him to join. First time I ran into Sparrer made me
think of the first time I met you. He had just trimmed the life out of a
bully half a head taller than himself for stealing the papers of a
little Jew."
Pat's eyes began to dance appreciatively. "Go on," he commanded.
"He had a black eye and a bloody nose and he was as dirty a little
heathen as ever you laid eyes on. But he sure packed a healthy punch in
each fist and knew where to put 'em, to judge by the looks of the bully,
who was sneaking away with a whole crowd of newsies jeering at him.
Sparrer didn't pay any attention to the rest of 'em, but went over to
the little Jew and gave him half of his own stock of papers to make up
for the ones the bully had taken, and which had been destroyed in the
scrap. When the youngster tried to thank him Sparrer swore at him, and
he could swear in those days, believe me! That was the Irish in him,
trying to cover up a good deed."
"A bye afther me own heart," murmured Pat.
"The whole affair, or rather the motive underneath it, struck me as so
Scout-like that I thought I'd try to get acquainted," continued Upton.
"'Good boy,' says I.
"'Wot's it to you?' says he. 'Oi'll smash yer the same way fer a nickel,
yer big dude!' That tickled the bunch, and they began to egg him on and
guy me until I saw that if I didn't want to be mixed up in a common
street scrap I'd better retreat, which I did ingloriously. Later I
managed to scrape acquaintance with him, and by making some inquiries I
found out that his mother is a widow and he was helping support the
family, that he had a reputation as a scrapper and that though he swore
like a pirate, smoked and chewed tobacco, as most of these street gamins
do, he was strictly honest and was a terror to the bullies of his
neighborhood. Also that he'd rather fight than eat. Just by chance I
discovered that his ambition was to become a soldier, but he was worried
for fear he never would be big enough. He's small for his age, stunted
for lack of good food when he was a kid, I guess. Next to going into the
army he wanted to be a prize-fighter. I talked scouting to him a little,
but he didn't seem interested until one day I happened along in full
uniform. That got him. I suppose it looked next best to being a soldier.
Then I told him all about my patrol and what we were doing and what
scouting stands for, and he gulped it all down like a hard run buck
trying to drink a lake dry.
"'Gee, Oi'd like dat, but it ain't for poor blokes the loikes of me,'
said he. That gave me an idea. There was a vacancy in the patrol, and at
the next meeting I put it right straight to the fellows. I told them all
about Sparrer and got 'em interested, and then I just kind of hinted at
the brotherhood and democracy idea of scouting and what a mighty good
turn it would be if Sparrer could be given a chance to get into the
game, and then dropped the subject. The hint worked all right. They're a
pretty good bunch, these fellows. They talked it all over and then they
came around and asked me if I supposed Sparrer would like to join the
Blue Tortoise Patrol. I told them that I was sure he wouldn't if he
suspected that the invitation was charity on their part. They chewed
this over for a while and then came around and said that they really
would like to take him in, and there wasn't any charity about it. I took
the invitation to Sparrer and he went up in the air like a rocket, just
as I knew he would.
"'Say, yer can't put no stuff loike dat over on me,' said he. 'Wot do
yer tink Oi am to fall fer a steer loike dat? Dat bunch of high-brows
ain't wantin' me trainin' in dere camp. Youse has been on de level wid
me, now hand it ter me straight--wot's de game?'
"I did my best to make him see that the invitation was sincere and
explained all over again how there is no social distinction between
Scouts, and how money and that sort of thing doesn't count, but I
couldn't break through his pride. I'd about given up when I had a happy
thought. 'Sparrer,' said I, 'I thought you were a dead game sport, but I
guess you've got a streak of yellow in you after all. Some of these
fellows are from fine homes and some are not, but they're white right
through, and they've got more sand than you have. They dare to take you
in on the same footing that they are on, and you haven't got the nerve
to show 'em that you are just as good as they are.'
"That got him. The long and short of it was he agreed to come around to
my house the next night and meet the bunch, and he did. The fellows were
good Scouts, all right, and treated him on the level just as if he were
one of 'em. When he saw those photos of mine and the snow-shoes and
paddles and the rest of the junk, and heard about the good times the
bunch was having, he was eager to be a Scout, but he wouldn't say that
he would join the patrol. It wasn't until about three weeks later when
he came around in full uniform and said that he would like to be a Blue
Tortoise that I tumbled to what the trouble had been. He wouldn't join
until he could at least look as well as the rest, and he'd been working
over time and saving every penny to get that uniform. I guess he was
right, at that. The fellows wouldn't have cared, but he cared, and being
dressed like the rest made him feel more as if he belonged with the
crowd."
Again Pat nodded his full understanding of the youngster's feelings.
"Sparrer took to scouting like a duck to water," Upton continued. "He
cut out tobacco and swearing, and being naturally quick from his life in
the streets he learned quickly and passed the tenderfoot and second
class tests quicker than anybody else in the patrol. He's a first class
Scout now, and a mighty good one. He is so full of life and fun that it
wasn't any time at all before he was one of the most popular fellows in
the patrol, and when he's on hand he keeps things moving. The hardest
thing he has to overcome is slang. You know he was brought up in the
streets. It's his mother tongue. I'm afraid the boys don't help him
much. They like to hear him. But he's doing his best, and now he's going
to night school. Of course I've told him all about you and the fight
you've made and I rather fancy he's made something of a model and hero
of you."
"The saints forbid!" exclaimed Pat. Nevertheless he looked pleased.
"Bronx Park! All out!" sang out the guards.
Once out of the car the patrol fell into line and with Upton in the lead
headed for the park. Once inside the turnstiles he called a conference,
"You fellows know what we planned to do to-day," he began, "but that was
before we knew that we were to have the honor of Corporal Malone as our
guest. You know he is something of a naturalist, and there are a lot of
animals and birds and snakes and things here that I expect he is
anxious to see. I propose that we show him around instead of doing the
field work we had planned."
"Mr. Leader!" Pat saluted as he spoke. "The beasties and the bur-rds
will not know what they are missing if they have no chance to inspect
green goods to-day."
Chick started violently, remembering his remark to Sparrer, and the
latter maliciously punched him in the ribs and ducked to hide a grin.
"But I know what I shall miss if you do not carry out your plans, and I
have no mind to be handed that kind of a lemon. I have all next week to
look at the beasties and only this afternoon to see how little a city
patrol knows of scouting. Arrah now, 'tis mesilf belaves ye be afraid to
be showing me how much betther the Scouts av Upper Chain be than the
Scouts av the great city av Noo Yor-r-k!"
"That settles it!" cried Upton when the general laugh had subsided.
"We'll show him that the Blue Tortoise Patrol isn't afraid to take a
dare from any one, and we'll show him a few stunts to make his Bull
Moose up there in the woods turn green with envy. You're on your mettle
now, fellows. We'll go over to the wildest and most lonesome part of the
park and divide into two companies. Pat can take one and be the enemy
which has made a successful raid and made its get-away. Hal can go with
him because he knows the country as well as any of us. We'll give them
ten minutes' start and then go in pursuit. There's enough snow in
patches to make snowballs. Any one hit on the arms or legs is wounded. A
hit on the throwing arm puts that man out of the fighting, but he is
still at liberty. A hit on either leg puts a man out of action, but he
may hide if he can within a radius of a hundred feet of the place where
he was hit. A hit on the head or any part of the body puts a man wholly
out of action and he becomes a first aid man to take care of the
wounded. You fellows have played the game before, and I presume each of
you has a Red Cross arm band to pin on when you are hit so that you will
be recognized as a non-combatant."
There was a general assent and Upton continued: "Our camp will be at the
point we start from. If the enemy can elude us and get back and capture
the camp they win. If we run them down and defeat them or defeat them
in a battle at the camp we win. Any man taken prisoner becomes a member
of the other side. Scouts sent out by either side will make full reports
not only of signs of the enemy but of the country and its conspicuous
characteristics and animals and birds which are seen. Pat, you can pick
your side. You get three besides Hal."
Pat's first choice was Sparrer, to the youngster's secret delight. He
then chose McNulty and Bernstein, and the two companies, Pat at the head
of one and Upton at the head of the other, started at the Scout pace for
the scene of action. Arrived there a camp was marked off and Pat and his
company at once started off to make the most of the ten minutes allotted
them. Meanwhile Upton laid out his plan of campaign. The camp had been
chosen with a view to defense. On two sides were dense thickets of
bushes from which it would be practically impossible to throw a
snowball. Moreover, to reach these thickets it would be necessary for
the enemy to cross a bare hilltop, which meant that surprise from that
quarter was virtually out of the question. On the third side was an
outcropping ledge of rock behind which the defenders could take shelter.
The fourth side was open, but could not be approached without the enemy
being in sight for some time. Moreover, in the flat open country beyond
there was no snow, hence the enemy attacking from that direction would
not be able to replenish their ammunition. Upton decided that two men
were ample for defense, and at once set all hands to work making a
supply of snowballs from the patches of snow still lingering in the
thickets. Promptly at the end of ten minutes Chick Parsons was sent out
as scout to try to pick up the enemy's trail at the point where they had
disappeared from view with instructions to signal what he should
discover. Norwood was sent in the opposite direction to look for signs
on the chance that the enemy had circled as soon as they were out of
sight. Patterson and Chambers were left to guard camp and Upton climbed
to the top of the little hill which flanked the camp and from which
point he could get signals from both Scouts. The game was on.
CHAPTER IV
"HELP!"
Every member of the Blue Tortoise Patrol was on edge, eager to show Pat
that though they were city born and bred they still knew something of
practical woodcraft and the art of tracking; also of the even more
difficult art of covering up tracks. But it was ordained that things
should be otherwise that day and that the big woodsman should witness a
real and not an artificial test of Scout resources and pluck.
Chick, studying what struck him as a suspiciously broad trail leading
west from the point where the enemy had last been seen, and suspecting a
ruse, was startled by the faint sound of a whistle to the north. It was
the patrol signal for help and was used only in case of an emergency or
when, as in the present game, a Scout was in danger of capture by the
opposite side and wanted to summon aid. His first thought was that one
of his own side had run onto the enemy and was summoning help. Then he
remembered that he was the only one who had gone out on that side of
camp and so it was manifestly impossible that this could be.
"Wonder if that's a trick to lead us into an ambuscade," he muttered,
listening with growing suspicion. Again he heard the signal, and there
was something in the sound of it that banished all idea of trickery.
"Something's happened to one of the fellows!" he exclaimed, and
scrambled up a knoll to his left where he could get a fairly clear view.
Far in the distance toward the outer boundary of the park he saw a
figure which the instant he came in sight began to signal with a whistle
in the Morse code.
"M-o-t-o-r s-m-a-s-h o-n r-o-a-d h-e-l-p c-o-p-s," he spelled out.
Raising his own whistle he signaled O. K. and saw the distant figure
turn and race away at top speed.
"Phew!" he gasped. "Must be bad if they need the cops. That must mean
they need an ambulance." He whirled toward camp, and caught sight, of a
figure on the hill just back of it. It was Upton watching for signals,
and Chick knew that he must have heard him whistle the O. K. Once more
raising the whistle he repeated the message, adding the location of the
accident as nearly as he could judge. He heard Upton whistle for Norwood
and then saw him bound down into the hollow where the camp lay. A minute
later Patterson, the best runner in the patrol, sprang into view headed
for the park administration buildings at top speed. Satisfied that help
would come in the shortest possible time Chick picked up his staff and
started swiftly for the point where he had seen Sparrer disappear, for
it was he who had first signaled.
Meanwhile Pat, Hal and the three members of the Blue Tortoise Patrol who
had started out with them were working with might and main at the scene
of the accident and in their hearts praying that help would reach them
speedily. It was one of those disasters which in these days have become
so common that often they receive no more than a paragraph or two in the
daily papers. Two automobiles had come together on a turn in a road at
this time of year little frequented, and the smaller of the two had
turned turtle. The other, a powerful roadster, had escaped with but
trifling damage and the driver of it had not even paused to ascertain
the results of the collision, but had thrown on full power and left the
scene at racing speed.
The accident had occurred at a point about one hundred yards from where
Pat and Sparrer were about to emerge from a thicket of bushes lining the
drive and at the sound of the crash they sprang out. An instant later a
big roadster tore past and they caught a fleeting glimpse of a strained
white face behind the big steering wheel and beyond, partly raised and
half turned to look back, a fur-coated figure, evidently that of a young
man. For just a second his face turned toward them, then hastily turned
away. But that brief glimpse was enough to show them that it bore the
stamp of guilty fear.
Pat confessed later that the whole thing was so sudden and so wholly
foreign to anything within his experience that he was too confused to
think or act quickly. Not so Sparrer. His life in the streets of New
York had made him no stranger to accidents of a more or less tragic
nature, and he had seen too many violators of the law seeking to escape
the consequences of their own acts not to grasp the situation instantly.
"They are trying to make a get-away!" he snapped. "Get de number!"
This was Greek to Pat, whose acquaintance with automobiles was too
recent for him to appreciate the importance of a license number at a
time like this. But Sparrer had not practiced taking automobile numbers
in the rush hours at Madison Square for nothing. It had been only fun
there, by way of training his eyes to quick and sure observation. Now as
a result eye and brain worked in unison and almost automatically and
despite the speed of the car he got the number as surely as if it had
been at a standstill.
[Illustration: HE JOTTED DOWN THE NUMBER]
"Jersey car! Dey'll beat it fer across de river," said he as he jotted
down the number in his note-book. "Did yer pipe dere monikers? Oi'd know
dem in a tousand! Now let's see wot happened to de others."
They started on a run for the overturned car and as they drew near the
sound of moaning from the wreck gave wings to their feet. A small
touring car was bottom up at the side of the road, a rear wheel off at
one side. Half among the bushes and half in the road lay the body of a
young woman, whether dead or simply unconscious they did not take time
to find out. If dead there was nothing for them to do. If unconscious
she could receive attention later. The moans from beneath the wrecked
car told them that there was where aid was needed first.
The driver, a middle-aged man, was pinned under the steering post, which
was bent and rested across his chest in such a way that while the full
weight of the car did not fall on it, still it was crushing in the ribs
on one side. One leg was doubled under him in a way that denoted a bad
break. His face was badly cut by the glass of the wind-shield and what
was worse, the crimson stream gushing in little spurts from a jagged
gash on one arm, fortunately thrust beyond the edge of the car,
proclaimed a severed artery.
That must be stopped immediately at all costs, before any attempt was
made to get the man out, or he would bleed to death. Both boys saw this
on the instant, and without a word Pat stooped and gripped the arm
above the cut, bringing to bear all the strength of his powerful
fingers. The effect was immediately apparent. The wound still bled, but
no longer in those fateful jets. Sparrer meanwhile had snatched off his
neckerchief and was preparing a tourniquet. From a shrub by the roadside
he cut a stout stick a foot long, then hastily made search for a smooth
pebble. Finding none he started to feel in his pockets for some small
object that would serve his purpose when his alert glance fell on Pat's
mackinaw. Whipping out his knife once more he cut one of the big smooth
buttons from the mackinaw. Tying the handkerchief loosely around the
injured arm just above where Pat was gripping it he slipped the button
in so that it rested directly on the artery. Then putting the stick
under the handkerchief on the outer side he rapidly twisted it until the
pressure of the button on the artery was sufficient to stop the flow of
blood and Pat could release his grip. The stick was then tied so that it
could not untwist, and they were ready for the next move.
By this time Harrison, McNulty and Bernstein had come up. They had not
been so far away but that they had heard the crash. Then, too, Sparrer
had whistled for help as soon as he had seen the extent of the disaster.
The quick wits of the newsboy, trained to acute sharpness in the school
of the streets, peculiarly fitted him to take command of the situation.
Also familiarity with suffering and with scenes of violence made him
less susceptible to the shock of the grim spectacle before them than was
the case with his comrades, and he now assumed leadership by right of
fitness. Indeed, he did it quite unconsciously and his comrades quite as
unconsciously accepted the situation and turned to him for directions.
"We got to git de cops and an amb'lance. Youse guys git de man out from
under de car and Oi'll chase fer de cops!" Without waiting another
second he plunged through the bushes and started in the direction of the
camp, which lay in almost a direct line with the park administration
buildings, the nearest point at which he could be sure of getting help.
He knew the lay of the land perfectly, and he reasoned that by this time
one or more of the other party would be out on the trail and that if he
could signal them and they in turn signal those behind valuable time
would be saved. So on the first high ground he stopped to blow the help
signal with the result already noted. To gain time he made his message
as brief as possible. "Motor smash" told the nature of the accident.
"Help--cops" told the urgency of the case and the need of police aid. He
counted on Upton's knowledge of the way things are handled in a big city
to make the message as clear as if he took precious time to spell out
the full story, and when he heard Chick's O. K. he turned back confident
that help would reach them in the shortest time possible.
Nor was his confidence misplaced. As soon as Upton got the message from
Chick he understood the situation exactly. Getting down into the hollow
where the camp was he issued orders. The others had heard Chick's
message and knew where the accident had occurred. "Get over to the
administration building as fast as you can run," he ordered Patterson.
"Tell 'em to notify the police and put in an ambulance call. If you
meet a mounted cop on the way tell him. It may be life or death, so run
for a record."
Patterson was off before the last words were out of Upton's mouth.
Upton, with the other two boys at his heels, at once started for the
scene of the accident, running at top speed. Half-way to his goal
Patterson caught sight of a mounted policeman, hailed him with a shrill
yell, and brought him at a gallop. Briefly he told his story, and the
officer was away to put in a call for an ambulance and get help.
Meanwhile the boys at the wreck had been working with might and main.
Pat's great strength had stood them in good stead, and they had managed
to raise the car sufficiently to free the victim and draw him out. The
cushions and robes were pulled out of the wreck and on these the still
unconscious woman and the man were laid. By the time Upton and his
comrades, panting for breath, reached the scene both victims had been
made as comfortable as possible. The first aid kits had been opened and
temporary bandages were being applied where most needed. In this work
the newcomers at once took a hand.
Seeing that his assistance was not needed Sparrer had busied himself
elsewhere. He went along the road for some little distance in each
direction, studying the ground carefully. The top surface of the ground
had softened a little in the sun and in places the wheel marks were
visible. This was especially true of the wrecked car, as this had been
fitted with chains. It was comparatively easy to trace the course of
this car, and Sparrer was soon satisfied in regard to it. On the wheel
marks of the other car he spent more time, and he had just completed his
examination as two mounted police dashed up. Swinging down from their
horses they made hasty examination of the victims.
"Good work, boys," said one of them. "You've done all that can be done,
so far as I can see, until the ambulance gets here. Now then, which of
you is the leader?"
Upton stepped forward. "Tell us what you know about the accident,"
commanded the officer.
"I know nothing about it," replied Upton curtly. "Everything was
practically as you see it now when I reached here. Pat, did any of your
party see the thing happen?"
Pat shook his head. "None of us saw it, but two of us were right handy
when it happened, and were on the spot in less than two minutes," said
he, addressing the policemen. "We heard the crash and saw a car which
seemed to be trying to get away, and then we saw this car overturned.
When we got here the young woman was lying by the side of the road half
in the bushes, and out of her senses, just as she is now. The man was
pinned under the car and bleeding like a buck that has just felt the
knife. We stopped that as soon as we could, and then got him out.
Muldoon there can tell you more than I can, because he saw more than I
did. He proved himself a better Scout."
Sparrer flushed with pleasure. Praise from this source meant more to him
than it would have from any one else, and at a sign from one of the
officers he stepped forward to tell what he knew.
"We was in de bushes," said he, "about a hundred yards up de road, when
we heard de smash an' jumped out just in time to lamp a big gray
roadster wid two guys in it making dere get-away, and dey was beatin' it
fer fair."
"Don't suppose you thought to get the number," interrupted one of the
officers.
Sparrer grinned as he fished out his note-book. "Sure Oi got it," said
he. "Jersey car, and dey was beatin' it fer de ferry loike New York was
bad fer de health. No cops around, same as usual." Sparrer winked at the
other boys. "Prob'ly dey think dey made dere get-away and dey would
have, if some real Scouts hadn't happened to be around."
One of the officers had reached for the note-book and hastily glanced at
the number. "I'll 'phone this number in and see if we can't head off
that car while you take care of things here," said he, as he vaulted
into the saddle, and a second later was off at full gallop.
"Go on with your story," commanded the other.
"Dey ain't no more 'cept while de others was getting the man out from
under de car Oi signaled to de fellows over across de park to get word
to youse, and dey done it," replied Sparrer, quite as if his
quick-witted handling of the matter was as commonplace as his grammar
was bad.
"The man didn't come to, and make any statement?"
The boys shook their heads. "He's been just as you see him now," said
Pat, with a pitying glance at the injured man.
The officer shook his head. "Too bad," said he, "that there wasn't a
witness. If we nab those fellows they'll swear that it was this fellow's
fault. Their running away will make it look bad for them, but they'll
frame up some sort of cock and bull story about being so frightened that
they didn't realize what they were doing and without evidence their word
will be as good as the other man's. If the latter doesn't recover
sufficiently to make a statement, and the young lady doesn't either, the
case will fall through. Was that car right where it is now when you
first saw it?"
"Say," drawled Sparrer scornfully, "do 'youse tink we had nothing to do
but to pick up a ton or two of scrap and lug it 'round?"
The policeman grinned. "You chaps seem to be equal to about anything,"
said he. "I didn't know but that you had moved the car in getting that
fellow out. Unless he was knocked over here by the collision it appears
that he was on the right side of the road."
"Sure thing," retorted Sparrer. "He was on de right side of de road and
driving easy. De other blokes was burning up de road and tried to make
de turn wide. Dey skidded and side-swiped de little car, and it turned
turtle. Dat's all dey is to it."
He spoke with such an air of finality that the officer looked at him
suspiciously. "I thought you said none of you saw this happen," said he.
"None of us did, but even a cop orter be able ter see what _has_
happened," retorted Sparrer. He walked back up the road a short
distance. "Here's de marks of de chains," he called, "an' dey's all on
de right side of de road. Here's a place where de ground is pretty soft,
but de tracks are clean-cut. If de car had been beatin' it de mud would
have been trown more. Now lamp de tracks comin' de other way."
He led the way around the curve in the opposite direction, pointing out
soft spots where the tracks of a heavy car without chains were clearly
visible. Little globules of mud had been thrown some distance on both
sides, conclusive evidence that the car was being driven at high speed.
The curve was rather sharp, and the tracks showed that the car had
started to take it wide, but at the scene of the accident had been
pulled sharply to the right and had skidded, striking the smaller
machine and causing it to turn turtle. For those with eyes to see the
whole story was written out on the road surface, and yet the tracks were
comparatively faint, because the surface had softened only where the sun
had lain longest, and might easily have been overlooked by those not
trained to close observation.
The officer looked at Sparrer curiously. "Hurry up and grow, sonny,"
said he; "we need you on the force."
Sparrer's retort was interrupted by the clang of a gong as an ambulance
dashed up. The young surgeon made a hasty examination of the two victims
and then as they were lifted into the ambulance he turned to the group
of boys and spoke crisply.
"You fellows have done just the things to be done and all that could be
done here. If this man lives he'll owe his life to you. If you hadn't
known enough to get a tourniquet on that arm at once he would have bled
to death by this time. Officer, I hope you will report the good work of
these Scouts. If there was nothing more to scouting than the teaching of
first aid to the injured it would be a great thing."
He swung up on the rear of the ambulance, and as it dashed away raised
his hand in the Scout salute, which was promptly returned by the patrol.
Meanwhile the officer was taking down the names and addresses of the
boys, as they would in all probability be needed later as witnesses in
court. When he had finished Upton ordered the patrol to fall in.
"I guess, fellows," said he, "that none of us feels much like continuing
our game after what's happened. What do you say if we spend the rest of
the afternoon showing Pat around the park? Those in favor say aye."
The vote was unanimous. As soon as it had been taken Pat stepped
forward. "Mr. Leader," said he, "I want to say just a few words."
"Speech! Speech!" shouted half a dozen together.
Pat's face lighted with a grin, and his eyes began to dance. "Arrah now,
yez be looking for a bear in the wrong tree," said he, "for there be no
silver on me tongue and me thoughts be too bashful to be dressed in
wor-rds. So 'tis no spache yez will be getting from me this day." Then
abruptly he dropped the brogue. "Mr. Leader, you started out this day to
show me what city Scouts can do, and you have shown me in a way that
none of us dreamed of. I take off my hat to the Blue Tortoise Patrol.
That was as good scouting as ever I have seen, and we've got some Scouts
up where I come from. They can do stunts in the woods that probably
would make you fellows green with envy if you could see them. If you
were to come up there in the woods I expect that they would laugh at you
behind your backs, just as you would laugh at them if they should come
down here. As nearly as I can make out that seems to be the way with the
world--to laugh at others who happen to be different in speech or ways
or dress. You city boys call a country boy a rube and green just because
his ways are different from your ways and he isn't wise to the things
that you are. He thinks just the same way of you when you visit him in
the country. What I have seen to-day has taught me a lesson. Out in the
woods I know just what to do, how to do it and when to do it, no matter
what happens. When I started out with you to-day I smiled down inside at
the idea of you being able to show me anything in the way of scouting. I
wished I had the Bull Moose Patrol here to show you what real scouting
is like.
"Then that accident happened, and found me as helpless as a new-born
babe. But Sparrer here was right on the job from the jump. He had the
number of that car before I had it through my head what had happened,
and he knew just what to do next. I expect that it would have been the
same with any of the rest of you in his place. Anyway, I've been shown
the very finest kind of scoutcraft, and that little smile I started with
has turned to pride. I'm proud to be out with the Blue Tortoise Patrol,
as fine a bunch of real Scouts as I know of. And I am particularly proud
of my friend Sparrer Muldoon. I might be able to give him some points on
tracking a deer or a moose or even a man in the woods, but when it
comes to tracking a crazy motorcar Sparrer has got my number. I would
like to propose, Mr. Leader, three cheers for Scout Muldoon."
The cheers were given with a will and with a rousing tiger at the end,
to the confusion of Sparrer. Then Upton called for the patrol yell for
Pat Malone, and in that Sparrer found vent for his own feelings. These
preliminaries out of the way the patrol fell in to escort Pat about the
park and show him the hardier animals which winter out-of-doors. Nor was
their courtesy without gain to themselves, for the young naturalist's
comments as they visited one enclosure after another revealed an
intimate knowledge of the characteristics and habits, not only of those
species with which he was familiar in their native wilds, but of many
which he was now seeing for the first time, which was a revelation to
his young admirers. Chick wasn't far wrong when he whispered to Norwood:
"We ain't showing him anything; he's showing us."
It was an afternoon never to be forgotten by the Blue Tortoise Patrol,
and it was an equally memorable one for Pat. And when they parted that
night there was a mutual respect and liking which found expression in
the hearty grip of Scout brotherhood.
CHAPTER V
OFF FOR WOODCRAFT
Edward Muldoon, otherwise Sparrer, surreptitiously pinched himself to
make sure that he was not dreaming. He, newsboy from the lower East Side
of New York, who had never been farther from it than Coney Island,
riding in a brilliantly lighted Pullman coach on his way into the great
woods of which he had dreamed so much since he became a Scout, and of
which he had only the vaguest idea! It couldn't be.
And yet it was. The roar of the wheels told him that it was. The very
feel of the luxurious seat in which he was sitting told him that it was.
And to clinch the fact and at the same time make it harder to believe
there were his three companions, Upton, his patrol leader, Harrison and
Pat Malone, whom he had secretly made his hero. Yes, it was all true,
and yet he couldn't get rid of the idea that sooner or later he would
wake up and find it all a beautiful dream.
The fact is, this trip was in the nature of a Christmas present. From
their first meeting Pat had taken a great fancy to the street gamin. He
recognized a kindred spirit. Instinctively he realized that the
difference between Sparrer and himself at the same age was mainly one of
environment. The youngster's sturdy independence and self-reliance, his
quick wit, even his impudence, struck responsive chords in the young
woodsman. Sparrer was what he himself would have been had his nursery
been a New York East Side tenement instead of the log cabin of a mill
settlement in the lumber district of the North Woods.
The night after the motor accident the three older boys had been
discussing Sparrer and his prompt resourcefulness. Pat dropped a remark
that he wished with all his heart that he could have the youngster in
the woods with him for a couple of weeks.
"Let's take him with us! It would be no end of fun," cried Hal on the
spur of an inspiration.
Upton shook his head. "It would be bully if we could, but I'm afraid we
can't," said he.
"Why not?" demanded Hal. "I can get a pass for him, and between us I
guess we can take care of him. It won't cost him a cent."
"That's just it," declared Upton. "There is nothing on two legs in New
York more independent than Eddie Muldoon. He'll scrap for his rights as
long as he can swing a fist, but the minute you try to hand him anything
for nothing he'll turn you down hard and cold. Sparrer pays his way, or
he don't go, and wild horses couldn't drag him. He would stand for the
pass, all right, because he would be on the same footing as the rest of
us, but if we tried to give him anything in the way of an outfit, and it
goes without saying that he hasn't anything suitable for the weather we
are likely to have up there, he would kick like Barnum's trick mule.
That's one thing I like about the little beggar. And when you come right
down to it, independence is one of the fundamental principles of
scouting."
Once more Hal was inspired. "I have it, fellows!" he cried. "We'll make
him a Christmas present of the trip. He can't refuse a Christmas gift,
if it is put to him right. I'll get the passes and chip in toward
whatever he needs in the way of outfit. You two can make up the rest.
He'll be Pat's guest when he gets there, the same as Walt and myself, so
he can't kick on that. You're all my guests on the train anyway, so I
don't see how Sparrer's independence is going to be hurt a little bit."
"That will be great, if we can put it across," declared Upton, "and I
for my part would like nothing better than to have the youngster along.
It would be the event of a lifetime for him."
So it was decided that Upton should use all his diplomatic powers to
persuade Sparrer that he was needed for the largest success of the
party. His success was the result of a great deal of argument, helped
out by the boy's own longing to know what the woods life of which he so
often dreamed really was like. So now here they were actually on their
way, four as happy boys as ever set forth in quest of pleasure.
The week had been a busy one. Pat had spent a good part of it at Bronx
Park and the American Museum of Natural History, where his letters of
introduction and his own ready wit and evident thirst for knowledge had
made him a welcome visitor. During the rest of the time there had been
something doing every minute. Hal had seen to that. Upton had dug at his
books as if that scholarship hung on that one week's work. As for
Sparrer, he had worked early and late that he might leave a few extra
coins to make Christmas for the brother and two sisters at home.
"Did you telephone the hospital before we left?" asked Hal, turning to
Upton as they waited for their berths to be made up.
Walter nodded. "Did it the last thing before I left the house," he
replied. "The young lady is practically all right now, and has gone
home. Her father is getting along nicely and it is only a matter of time
when he will be right as ever. By the way, their story is exactly as
Sparrer had it. Looks like a sure case against the owner of that other
car. I understand that they are going to bring suit for damages. I
suppose that means that we'll have to go on the witness stand when the
thing comes off."
"Lucky they caught those fellows at the ferry."
"Do you suppose there's any truth in that claim by the owner of the car
that it was a joy ride by unknown parties who had taken the car without
his consent or knowledge?" Hal asked.
"Looks pretty fishy to me," replied Upton. "Still, he may get away with
it. Understand that neither of the victims can identify the men in the
other car. You remember that curve is pretty sharp, and they were hit
almost before they saw the other car, let alone who was in it. Sparrer
and Pat seem to be the only ones who even had a glimpse of the
scoundrels, and that a mighty brief one. If there is any identifying
done I guess it is up to you two fellows. Think you can do it?"
"Not I!" declared Pat with emphasis. "I could shwear to the number of
points on a jumping buck in the brush, but nary a thing could I shwear
to about that ingine av destruction."
"How about you, Sparrer?" demanded Hal.
"If Oi was one of them artist guys Oi could draw you a picture of both
of them. Let me put my peepers on them and Oi'll shwear to them in a
tousand," replied the newsboy with such an air of finality that there
was no doubt in the minds of his companions that he could do just what
he said he could.
"Well, you're likely to have a chance if that case goes to court," Upton
remarked. "For my part, I hope you can do it. I'd like to see those
fellows get what's coming to 'em. I move we turn in now, for we've got
to get up at an unearthly hour. It's bad enough to turn out before
daylight in the summer, but it makes me shiver to think what it will be
at this time of year. Br-r-r-r."
Pat laughed. "If you're going out on the trap line you may as well get
broken in to early rising at once. We often have some miles behind us by
the time the sun is up," said he. "However, I guess you're right about
turning in. I'm ready, for one."
It seemed to Sparrer that he had hardly closed his eyes when some one
shook him, and he tumbled out of his berth to find the others in the
dressing room hurriedly getting into their clothes. They had no more
than time to dress and gather up their baggage and various parcels
before the train stopped. They had reached Upper Chain.
As they stepped down into the night, for day had not yet begun to break,
Upton recalled his first arrival there, a rather lonely youngster,
uncertain that this was the right place. It had been summer then, but
everything had been shrouded in a heavy night mist and the chill of the
high altitude had struck clear to the marrow in his bones. He had been a
tenderfoot then, his only knowledge of woodcraft what little he had
gleaned from books. He remembered how the mystery of the great woods had
swept over him and engulfed him even as did the night mist, and how
insignificant he had felt. Even now, after three years of experience in
camp and on the trail he felt something of that same spirit of awe, and
he knew that it would always be thus. It was the tribute exacted by
nature from the true devotee entering her temples.
He glanced curiously at Sparrer, wondering what responsive chords might
be struck in the soul of this waif of the great city, but it was too
dark to see his features clearly, and he could only dimly surmise
something of the younger lad's feeling from Sparrer's quick intake of
breath as the dark, heavy coaches of the train rumbled off into the
night, leaving them standing between two walls of white. Overhead a
myriad of stars burned like jewels. Never had they seemed so near, so
brilliant, so alive. The snow thrown high on either side of the tracks,
for there was a siding at this point, was above their heads. The
stillness was almost oppressive now that the train was beyond hearing.
Pat stretched his arms and drew a long breath of the cold, rarified air,
then expelled it in an audible sigh of supreme content.
"Arrah now, 'tis me foist breath av real air in a week, and the two
lungs av me aching for ut," said he. "Shure 'twill make the likes av ye
grow to a man's size in a week, me bantam, and thot's more than Noo
Yor-r-k will be doing for ye in a loifetoime," giving Sparrer a hearty
slap on the back. "Hal, I thought those passes read to Upper Chain, and
here we be dropped in a snow-bank. I'll be after making complaint to
the management for inconveniencing four gentlemen and reducing them to
the ranks of common laborers."
The others laughed as they followed Pat's example and shouldered their
duffle to tramp the hundred yards up to the station, for they had been
in the rear car. In a few minutes they were in the bare little waiting
room, in the middle of which a big stove was radiating welcome heat, and
exchanging greetings with the night operator, who having wired the
arrival and departure of the train was preparing to go home, for there
would be no more traffic for many hours. He shook hands warmly with
Walter and Hal, whom he recognized at once as Woodcraft Camp boys, was
introduced to Sparrer, and jollied Pat on what he was pleased to term
his "New York airs."
"I reckon your mother is waiting for you, Pat," said he. "I saw a light
over at the house when I came along. You're welcome to stay here until
daylight, but I expect she's looking for you over there."
"I wrote her we'd be there to breakfast, but not to get up any earlier
on that account," replied Pat. His eyes danced. "Shure the ould lady
thinks her son has been in the hands av the inimy and cannot rest aisy
'til she sees for herself that not a hair av his red head has been left
in Noo'Yor-r-k. God bless her. We'll go over there and relieve her
mind."
In speaking of his mother as the "ould lady" there was nothing
disrespectful on the part of Pat. In reality it was a term of
endearment. The stars were beginning to pale as the boys made their way
in single file along a narrow path through the snow toward the yellow
gleam of a light set in the window of one of the rough frame houses that
made up the village. Pat led straight for this.
"Hello!" exclaimed Upton in surprise. "Have you deserted the old cabin?"
"Sure," replied Pat, and there was just a suggestion of pride in his
voice. "The mother was a long time between log walls, but now, the
saints be praised, she do be living in one of the illigant mansions of
Upper Chain, and by that token is a member of the aristocracy. Moved in
last fall."
By this time they had reached the house and at the sound of voices the
door was thrown open and Mrs. Malone stood in the doorway looking out
eagerly. It was a warm Irish greeting that the boys received and Hal,
who never had met her before, understood where Pat got his humor and
ready tongue. He at once dropped into his old brogue entirely and while
Mrs. Malone bustled about putting a hot breakfast on the table Pat told
her of his adventures in the great city as only he could. From time to
time she interrupted with comments so like Pat's own ready repartee that
between the two the boys were kept in a gale of laughter.
"Eating breakfast by lamplight is a new experience to me," declared Hal
as they sat down to bacon, corn bread just from the oven, flapjacks with
thick maple syrup, and coffee.
"'Tis pwhat yez will be doing every day for the next week, and lucky if
yez get the breakfast, as good a wan as this, anyway," declared Pat.
They had just finished the meal when Pat's younger brother and two
little sisters shyly joined them. They were neatly dressed, and Walter
was immensely tickled with Pat's manifest pride in them. It had been
decided to spend the day there to prepare for the trip into the woods,
and also to give Pat a day at home. They would take the train the next
morning over to Lower Chain, a twenty minute run, and from there they
would have to depend on their own good legs to take them the twelve
miles on the lake to Woodcraft Camp. One of Pat's first inquiries had
been as to whether there had been any snow during his absence, and great
was his satisfaction to learn that there had not. He explained that that
meant clear ice on the lake, for the heavy snows had come early this
year, before the lake froze, and they would be able to make practically
the whole distance on skates.
While Pat was attending to affairs at home the three visitors went out
to do the village. The sun was well up and as they stepped out into the
clear still air both Hal and Walter paused with a little gasp of
surprise and pleasure. This was not the ugly sawmill village of their
acquaintance. But for the tall stack of the mill and the whine and
scream of the saws there was nothing familiar. It was as if a good fairy
had touched the scene with a magic wand and all the sordid ugliness had
been transformed to beauty. Over everything lay the white mantle of
snow. It half buried the smaller cabins. It hid completely the stumps of
the clearings. It had buried the litter of the mill yard. It glittered
and sparkled in the rays of the sun. Beyond the clearing the evergreens
rose in great pyramids of white. No, Upper Chain was no longer a blot on
the landscape. It was beautiful.
As for Sparrer, he was dumb. While he could not appreciate the wonder of
the transformation he could and did appreciate the wonder of the scene,
and for the time being his tongue was tied. From the mill office they
called up Woodcraft Camp to tell Doctor Merriam of their arrival and
that they would be with him on the following day.
"Gee, didn't it seem good to hear the Big Chief's voice again?" said Hal
as they went out into the mill to show Sparrer how logs are transformed
into boards, timbers and shingles. "Sparrer, to-morrow you are going to
meet one of the finest men in the whole world, bar none. He's a great
old Scout."
Mrs. Malone was naturally disappointed that Pat was not to be home for
Christmas, but she said little and busied herself in helping the boys
prepare for their holiday. Her motherly Irish soul warmed at once to
Sparrer, and she fussed over his outfit and comfort in a way that was
new to the youngster, for his own mother, working from daylight to dark
and often late into the night, had had little time for mothering. The
boys had brought some gifts for the children, and these their mother hid
against the arrival of good St. Nick. A part of Sparrer's outfit as a
Christmas gift from his comrades had been a warm mackinaw, and to this
Mrs. Malone insisted on adding a pair of thick woolen stockings of her
own knitting. Pat's contribution was a pair of snow-shoes, which he
brought out at the last moment as they were starting for the train, and
as he took them a lump rose in the younger lad's throat and cut off
speech. But the shine in his eyes expressed more than his tongue could
have. Such kindness was a new experience in his life, and he hardly knew
how to meet it.
The short run by train to Lower Chain was quickly made, and the boys
piled out, eager to be on their way. Pat had provided a stout toboggan
which showed the effects of long use, and on this he deftly loaded their
duffle and supplies, lashing them securely into place. Sparrer watched
him with troubled face. Ever since the mention of skates the day before
he had worried over that twelve mile trip down the lake. He knew that
Upton and Harrison had brought skates, but he had none, and if he had
had he couldn't have used them. He had never been on a pair in his life.
Skating is not an accomplishment of the lower East Side of New York.
So Sparrer had worried. If it had been merely a matter of a twelve mile
hike he would have been on edge to show the others that he could keep
up, but he knew that with the others on skates for him to try to keep up
was as absurd as for a truck to try to keep pace with a racing car, and
it hurt his pride to feel that he would be a drag on the others. Hal and
Walter already had their skates on and were cutting circles, figure
eights and grape-vine twists on the smooth ice. With the fastening of
the last lash Pat put on his own skates.
"Now, me bantam, get up on that load," he ordered.
Sparrer demurred, but the young giant picked him up bodily and plumped
him down on a roll of blankets, wrapped him up in a blanket left out for
the purpose, ordered him to sit still, with dire threats of what would
happen to him if he did not, called to the others to get on to their
jobs, and they were off, Hal and Walter with the rope of the toboggan
between them pulling, and Pat pushing behind with his hands on Sparrer's
shoulders.
Before them stretched the gray-white expanse of the lake, and on either
side the glistening white shores, now receding as they passed a deep
bay, again creeping out in a long point. There was no sound save the
sharp ring of the skates and the soft grate of the smoothly slipping
toboggan. Past two big summer hotels with blank staring windows, past
shuttered and deserted summer camps they sped until all sign of man's
handiwork disappeared. The keen air was like wine in their veins and it
was hard to believe that the thermometer had registered eighteen below
zero that morning, for the air was dry and did not penetrate as would
the moisture laden air at home at a temperature many degrees above the
zero mark.
"I just can't believe that thermometer was on its job," protested Hal,
as they stopped for a breathing spell half-way down the lake. "Why, I'm
so warm I wish I was rid of this mackinaw."
"Me too," added Walter.
Pat suddenly whirled Hal around and looked keenly at his left ear. The
rim was a dead white. "If you can't believe the thermometer perhaps you
can believe this," said he drily as he touched the ear. "What did I tell
you about keeping your cap down over your ears? Shure, 'tis a tenderfoot
and not a first class Scout at all, at all, thot ye be."
"What do you mean?" demanded Hal as he slipped a glove off to feel of
the ear. At the look of blank astonishment that swept across his face as
he discovered that the edge of his ear was stiff and wholly without
feeling the others roared with laughter.
"I mean that you're frost-bitten already," replied Pat, "and I hope that
this will be a lesson to the whole bunch of you. You may not feel him,
but old Jack Frost is right on the job just the same, and it don't do up
here to needlessly expose yourself. It is because the air is so dry that
you don't feel the frost, but you freeze just the same. We'll run over
to that point and thaw you out, and then I guess you'll keep your cap
down where it belongs."
At the point Pat rubbed the frosted ear vigorously with a handful of
snow until the frost was out and for a few minutes Hal danced with the
ache of it, while the others grinned. "That's one on me, all right, and
you're welcome to laugh, but little Hal Harrison has learned his lesson.
No more frost-bites for me, thank you," he growled. "I don't wish you
fellows any hard luck, but I hope you'll get a taste of it yourselves
just to know what it feels like."
Walter and Sparrer took warning from Hal's experience and saw to it that
their ears were well covered before they started on. As they drew near
the end of the lake Old Baldy and Mount Seward loomed up with a grandeur
and forbidding austerity that was almost menacing, and which was yet
grandly heroic. The long pier of Woodcraft Camp jutting out into the
lake was now clearly visible and on the end of it were two figures
waving greetings.
"It's the Big Chief and Mother Merriam! Let's give them the old yell!"
cried Upton.
They stopped and with Upton to lead sent the old Woodcraft yell ringing
down the lake--"Whoop-yi-yi-yi! Whoop-yi-yi-yi! Whoop-yi-yi-yi!
Woodcraft!" And even as the echoes flung it back from Old Baldy it was
returned to them in the mingled voices of a man and a woman. The doctor
and Mrs. Merriam were sending them welcome.
A few minutes later they reached the pier and were exchanging warm
greetings. Sparrer had felt a natural diffidence at the thought of
meeting the man of whom he had heard so much, but it vanished in the
first hand-clasp and by the time he had reached the snug cabin he felt
as if he had always known this great-hearted, kindly man and the
sweet-faced woman whom the others called "Mother." In a dim way he
understood the loyalty and affection of his comrades for these two who
were devoting their lives to the making of strong men from weak boys.
CHAPTER VI
SNOW-SHOES AND FISH
Around the great log fire that night Pat told Doctor Merriam about his
trip and his impressions of city life, winding up with the emphatically
expressed conviction that while it might be a good place to do business
it was no place in which to live, and that he would rather have a cabin
in the shadow of Old Baldy than a palace on Riverside Drive.
"So you don't envy Hal?" laughed the doctor.
"I do not!" roared Pat. "I wouldn't give the poorest muskrat pelt I ever
took to change places with him."
"Oh, you young savage!" cried the doctor. "Still, I share in a measure
your feeling. I have lived in many cities, but you see here I am buried
in the woods, and some of my friends wonder why. I'll tell you. It is
because here I can live simply, unaffectedly, true to myself and to God.
Here," he swept a hand toward the book-lined walls, "are my friends
ready to give me of inspiration, comfort, advice, knowledge, whatever I
demand or may need. They are not dead things, these books. They are
living personalities, which have enriched and are enriching the world.
When you boys listen to me you are not listening just to an audible
voice. You are listening to an expression of that invisible something
that we call the spirit--the true personality. And so it is that the
writer of a great or good book never dies. His spiritual expression is
there on the printed page just as much as if he were giving expression
to it in audible speech. So with all these great and wonderful men and
women constantly about me how can I ever be lonely? And then when I step
out-of-doors it is directly into the temple of God. His nearness and
presence are manifest in every phase of nature. The trees are alive,
some of them sleeping, but alive nevertheless, and others not even
sleeping. Sometimes I wonder if the very rocks are not alive. The
elements seemingly war with one another, but there is nothing mean or
petty or base in the mighty struggle, as there invariably is in the
conflict of human passions. The Indian sees the Great Spirit in the
lightning, and hears him in the rushing wind and the thunder, and is not
afraid, but bows in reverence. He has a sense of nearness to the creator
and loses it when he is confined in the man-made world of brick and
stone and steel and is eager to get back. It is elemental in him. In
nature he sees God made manifest. We call him a savage, but I sometimes
wonder if he is not more nearly a true child of the Father of all than
many so-called civilized men who win the plaudits of the world and seem
to forget whence they came and whither they will go.
"But I didn't mean to preach a sermon, but just to give you an idea of
why Pat and I prefer to be savages, if you please, and spend our lives
with nature. Now, Pat, what are your plans? When do you start in for
camp? Haven't heard a word since you left from"--he paused at a warning
wink from Pat, and then finished--"your partner. Big Jim was down from
the lumber camp this week and reported seeing a silver gray. If you
could catch a couple of those fellows that problem of going away to
school would pretty nearly settle itself."
"What's a silver gray?" asked Hal, whose knowledge of fur bearers was
rather limited.
"A color phase of the common red fox," replied the doctor, "and if not
worth its weight in gold it is worth so much that a single skin is often
worth twice over the whole of a season's catch of other furs. Why it
should be called silver I don't know, for the only silver about it is
the tip of the tail. The color is black, and single skins have sold as
high as $2,500 and more and $800 to $1,500 is not at all unusual. So
valuable are the skins that black fox farming has become an established
industry and a pair of black foxes for breeding purposes are worth from
$1,000 up. So you see, Jim saw considerable money running loose when he
saw that fox."
"Phew!" exclaimed Hal with a low whistle of astonishment. "I didn't
suppose there was anything on four legs except blooded live stock worth
so much money. Wouldn't it be great if Pat could catch three or four
this winter!"
Pat threw back his head and laughed heartily. "Make it a dozen while
you're about it, son," said he. "Don't be so modest. I've lived in these
woods some years, but I never yet have seen a live black fox, and I've
known of only two being caught. If Jim says he saw one he did. There's
nothing the matter with Jim's eyesight. I guess I'll have to have a look
around the neighborhood where he saw it. As for our plans, Doctor, we
are going to spend to-morrow with you and give these tenderfeet a few
lessons on snow-shoes. We'll hit the trail for camp bright and early the
next morning."
The next day dawned clear and cold and after a hearty breakfast the
snow-shoes were brought forth. First Pat explained the tie in common use
and showed just how to adjust the rawhide thongs to give free play to
the ankles and yet prevent the toes from creeping forward to the
crossbars. With the thongs properly adjusted the shoes could be easily
kicked off or put on again without untying the knots.
"The chief thing to remember," said he, "is to take a long stride with
the toes pointed straight ahead. If you take a short step you will be
almost certain to step on the tail of one shoe with the toe of the
other and over you go. Now I'll show you how, and you fellows can
practice a while out here in front where the snow has been cleared away
until you get the hang of the thing. Then we'll make a little trip out
into the woods and visit some of the old places, so you can see how
different they are from what they were last summer."
"I have a suggestion to make," said the doctor. "While Mother puts up a
lunch, you get these youngsters so that they can keep right side up.
Then we'll all take a short hike and show Muldoon how real woodmen can
have a hot meal when there is three feet of snow in the woods."
"Hurrah!" shouted Hal. "That will be bully! Come on, Walt, and let's see
your paces."
For the next fifteen minutes the three boys tramped back and forth in
front of the cabin, the shoes clacking merrily amid a running fire of
chaff and comment from Pat. Once Sparrer stepped on one of Upton's shoes
and sent him headlong, to the huge delight of the others. Again Hal did
just what Pat had warned them against, took a short step and tripped
himself up. But at the end of a quarter of an hour they had pretty well
"got the hang of the thing," as Pat expressed it, and were eager to try
it on deep snow.
"There's nothing to it," declared Hal. "I thought there were something
to learn, like skating, but this is a cinch. I could keep it up all
day," and by way of emphasizing his remarks once more tripped himself
up, and sat down abruptly.
"Sure, it's no trick at all," chaffed Walter. "When you can't keep up
sit down, and when you're down stay down. There's nothing to it." For
Hal, forgetting the width of his present underpinning, had no sooner
scrambled to his feet than he had gone down again, because of the
overlapping webs.
The doctor and Mrs. Merriam now joined them, for the latter was an
expert on shoes and had no mind to miss the outing. Pat and the doctor
swung to their backs the packs wherein were the supplies and dishes, and
they were off, the doctor in the lead, Mrs. Merriam next, then Sparrer,
Hal, Upton and Pat in the rear to keep the tenderfeet from straggling
and to pull them out of the snow, he explained.
For a short distance a broken trail was followed. Then the doctor
abruptly swung off among the trees where the snow lay deep and unbroken.
The three novices soon found that progress here was a very different
matter from walking on the comparatively hard surface of the packed
trail. The shoes sank in perhaps a couple of inches and it was necessary
to lift the feet more, to step high, which put more of a strain on the
muscles. Also there was a tendency to step higher than was at all in
good form, and to shorten the stride by so doing, losing the smooth easy
forward roll from the hips.
Still, all things considered, the three novices were doing themselves
proud until in an unguarded moment Hal stepped on the stub of a broken
branch of a fallen tree buried in the snow. It caught in the tail of the
shoe just enough to break his stride. He took a short step to catch his
balance, stumbled and took a beautiful header. At Pat's roar of laughter
the others turned to see two big webs wildly waving above the snow and
nothing more of the unfortunate Hal. Now being plunged head first into
deep snow with a pair of snow-shoes on your feet is a good deal like
being thrown into the water with a life preserver fast to your feet--you
can't get them down. For a few moments the others howled with glee as
they watched the frantically kicking legs and listened to the smothered
appeals for help from the luckless victim. Then Pat reached out and
loosened the shoes, gripped Hal by the ankles and drew him forth, red in
the face from his exertions and spitting out snow. He looked so wholly
bewildered and withal so chagrined and foolish that he was greeted with
a fresh peal of laughter, to which he responded with a sheepish grin as
he tried to get the snow out of his neck and from up his sleeves.
"There's nothing to it, nothing at all!" jeered Walter.
"I didn't know but you thought you heard that black fox down there and
were trying to get him," said Pat.
At that instant Upton involuntarily stepped back, a thing for which
snow-shoes were never designed, and a second later had measured his
length in the snow. Falling at full length he did not disappear as Hal
had done, but he was hardly less helpless. Every effort to help himself
by putting his hands down was futile. He simply buried his arms to the
shoulders in the yielding snow without finding anything on which to get
a purchase. Hal was jubilant.
"When you're down stay down!" he yelped. "Laugh at me, will you?"
Walter had by this time managed to kick his shoes off and once free of
these was soon on his feet and was enjoying the joke as much as any one.
Both he and Hal were up to their hips in the snow, for here among the
evergreens it had not packed and flounder as they would they could not
get out.
The doctor's eyes twinkled as he picked up Hal's shoes and handed them
to him. "Well, boys," said he, "it's high time we were hitting the trail
again. Suppose you put your shoes on, and we'll make up for lost time."
Hal took the shoes and then looked helplessly across at Walter, who had
just secured his, and it suddenly occurred to him that perhaps the
doctor's remark was not so guileless as it seemed.
"How in thunder are we going to?" he demanded, vainly trying to force a
shoe down to meet an upraised foot half-way, in the doing of which he
once more lost his balance.
"I thought I showed you fellows just how to put your shoes on this
morning. A good Scout ought not to have to be shown twice how to do a
simple thing like that," said Pat, without cracking a smile. "What kind
of Scouts are you, anyway, crying for help the first time you tumble in
a little bit of snow?"
"Who's crying for help?" demanded Upton, vainly striving to get a shoe
down where he could get his foot into the fastening. "I wouldn't take
any help now if I thought I'd got to stay here all day. Take that and
that!"
He began to dig furiously with the shoe, throwing the snow with malice
aforethought full in Pat's face. Hal instantly took the cue and there
was a hasty retreat on the part of their tormentors, in the midst of
which Sparrer came to grief and had his turn at the snow-shoer's
baptism. In a few minutes Walter had dug away enough snow to get his
shoes under him and walked forth in triumph, followed by Hal. Sparrer,
anxious to prove himself a good sport, refused all aid. Being small and
light he had not sunk in as the others had and managed to get one shoe
under him. With this for a support he soon had the other fastened. It
was the work of a moment to adjust the first one and he was ready to
take his place in line.
There were no more mishaps and as they tramped on through the great
still woodland the wonder and the beauty of it silenced them, for it
seemed like a vast cathedral in which the human voice would be a
profanation of the solemn hush. Upton knew every foot within a radius of
two miles of Woodcraft Camp, and for five miles in the direction in
which they were heading, and yet not even to Sparrer did the
surroundings seem more strange, such is the alchemy of the snow king to
make the familiar unfamiliar, the commonplace beautiful. So it was that
when at the end of three miles they emerged on the shore of a frozen
sheet of water Walter at first failed utterly to recognize it, and it
was not until Pat made some reference to the huge pickerel Walter had
caught during his first summer at Woodcraft that it dawned on him that
this was the very setback where he had discovered Pat's secret fishing
grounds and on the shore of which he had given Pat his first lesson in
boxing and in the meaning of the word honor.
"I've come over here because Mother insists that a dinner in the woods
is no more complete without a fish course than it would be in a New York
hotel, and because to tell the truth I have a hankering for a taste of
fresh fish myself. Pat, I hope that spring is still open where you put
the minnows last fall. Suppose you take this net and pail and see what
you can find." He opened a small folding net as he was speaking. "I take
it for granted that you youngsters have your belt axes with you, as good
Scouts in the woods should. One of you can run over to that alder
thicket and cut a dozen straight sticks about three feet long and as
thick as my forefinger. The other two can chop holes in the ice. They
don't need to be very big, you know, not over a foot across. I suggest
that you scatter them pretty well. It adds to the fun to have them some
distance apart, and it multiplies the chances of a good catch. While you
are doing that I will start a fire and get things started for lunch."
Sparrer, having no axe, but a stout Scout knife, volunteered to cut the
alder saplings while Hal and Walter attended to the holes in the ice.
Hal was radiant. This was one of the things he had counted on, and he
had brought from New York a dozen type, as the modern tip-ups for
fishing through the ice are called. But when they had started out that
morning he had not dreamed that he would have a chance to use them on a
snow-shoe trip, and so they were neatly rolled in his duffle bag at the
camp.
"Wonder what kind of a rig the Big Chief has got, and how he's going to
use those sticks," said he to Upton as he came up to where Walter was
making the ice fly in glittering chips.
"Don't know, but whatever it is you can bet your last dollar it is all
right," replied Walter. "How many holes have you cut?"
"Five; I'm going to chop one more over there toward the north shore. How
many have you?" replied Hal.
"Six. That ought to be a good place over there, and that will make the
dozen. Here come Sparrer and the Big Chief, and I guess we'll soon see
what the idea is. Pat must have found the spring open, for Sparrer has
the pail."
The guess was a good one, for when he peeped in the pail Walter found
that it contained a couple of dozen minnows. Together the three walked
over to where Hal was just finishing the last hole. The doctor took from
under his arm a bundle of short pieces of lath, each about eighteen
inches long, tapering toward one end, to which was fastened a bit of red
flannel. Two inches from the other end was a hole big enough for one of
the alder sticks to pass through freely. Fastened close to the end, and
neatly wound around it, was a short length of stout line on the end of
which was a hook with wire snell. Unwinding one of these lines the
doctor passed one of the alder sticks through the hole in the lath,
baited the hook with a lively minnow and dropped it through the hole in
the ice. The alder stick was placed across this so that the lath came in
the middle and lay on the ice at right angles. A pull on the line would
drag the end of the lath down, making it stand upright with its little
red signal on the end, and that was all there was to it.
It was simple in the extreme, but quite as effective as Hal's more
elaborate type could have been, as was presently demonstrated. They were
just preparing to set the last tip-up when Hal, glancing over to the
first one set, saw the red signal and with a wild yell of "We've got
one! We've got one!" started for it at top speed. The others paused to
see what the result would be, and saw him yank out a flapping prize.
"It's a beaut!" he panted as he rejoined them, holding out a handsome
pickerel. "Bet it weighs five pounds if it weighs an ounce. Say, this is
great!"
The fish was already stiff, but much to their surprise the doctor told
them it was not dead, frozen fish often retaining life for some time
after being taken from the water. He now left the tip-ups to the care of
the three boys, warning them to make frequent rounds of the holes to
break the ice as it formed and keep the lines free. The fish he took
with him to where Mother Merriam was busy beside the fire, for which Pat
was chopping wood.
Pickerel were numerous and hungry, to judge by the way they bit. It was
novel and exciting sport to the three city boys. There would be a yell
of "There's one!" and then a wild race to see who could reach it first.
At first they almost invariably forgot in their excitement to take along
the bait pail, which meant a second trip for one of them to rebait the
hook. Sometimes the signal would drop before they reached it and they
knew that the fish was off. Several times there were two signals waving
at once and one time there were five. By the time the doctor's welcome
hail of "Din-ner!" came ringing across the ice the bait pail was empty
and they had fourteen fish, none under three pounds, and from that up to
six. With the first one caught they had a total of fifteen. The doctor
smiled as he scanned the eager faces of the young fishermen and then
looked at the long row of fish laid out on the snow.
"Enough is plenty," said he, "and I guess this will do for to-day. We
want to leave some for the boys next summer. We'll take the lines up
after dinner."
How good that dinner did smell to the hungry boys with appetites
whetted by exercise in the keen air! The snow had been shoveled away
nearly to the ground for the bed logs for the fire and ample space
cleared in front and spread with balsam boughs on which to sit. There
was a steaming kettle of pea soup and a pot of hot chocolate. The
pickerel had been split and, broiled in halves pinned to pieces of
hemlock bark, stood before the fire and basted with bacon drippings.
There was a venison steak done to a turn, for the doctor had hung a deer
in his ice house at the end of the open season. There were potatoes
boiled in their jackets. There was a brown johnny-cake baked in a
reflector oven, and to cap all a plate of the doughnuts for which Mother
Merriam was famous.
"And you call this a lunch!" cried Walter when he had eaten until he had
to let out his belt. "No wonder it required two packs to bring it here.
Well, is there anything to beat this in New York?"
"Not in a tousand years. Oi'm going to run away and live here," declared
Sparrer, and while the others laughed he stared with dreamy eyes into
the leaping flames of the huge fire Pat had built, and who shall say
but that in them he saw the symbols of new hopes and ambitions springing
from the colorless, sordid drudgery which until this time had been his
life.
After the meal was finished and the dishes washed there was an hour of
story-telling by the doctor, ending with the singing of America under
the towering snow-laden spruces and then the homeward trip. Thanks to
their experiences on the outward trip and the watchfulness resulting
therefrom there were no further mishaps, and when they reached camp and
kicked off the big webs once more the boys were ready to vote their
first day in winter woods all that they had dreamed it would be and
more. Also they were quite willing to second and carry by unanimous vote
the motion that they seek their beds early in preparation for an early
start the next day.
CHAPTER VII
ON THE TRAIL
Day was just breaking when the boys bade farewell to Doctor and Mother
Merriam, and with a hot breakfast under their belts started for the
trapping camp. As yet Pat had given no hint as to where it was located,
and Walter and Hal, respecting his reticence, forbore to ask questions.
Walter did venture to ask if they would reach there before dark.
"No," replied Pat. "We'll have to make a camp to-night," and advanced no
further information.
All their duffle and the supplies which Pat was taking in were loaded on
the toboggan, and to this Pat had rigged a sort of harness so that two
walking single file could drag it. This relieved them of packs. Walter
and Hal each carried his rifle on the chance of picking up a rabbit on
the way. The snow-shoes were slung over their backs, Pat explaining
that for a time they would follow a broken out lumber trail and it would
be easier walking without the shoes than on them.
It was when they turned into this trail that the first suspicion of
where they were bound for flashed through Upton's mind, but he held his
peace and settled to the task of doing his share of the pulling. And
this proved to be no easy matter. The trail was but roughly broken out
by the passage of lumber sleds, and it soon became necessary for one to
steady the load to keep it from capsizing. It was slow, toilsome work,
and when at the end of ten miles Pat called a halt for a rest while he
made four cups of hot pea soup by the simple process of melting snow and
crumbling into it a roll of erbswurst the others were ready to declare
that they had come twenty miles.
As he drank his soup and munched a cracker Walter scanned his
surroundings closely. Presently he discovered what he sought, a
partially obliterated blaze on a big tree just beyond and to the right
of where they were squatting.
"I've got you now, old Mr. Foxy!" he cried. "This mysterious camp of
yours is the cabin in Smugglers' Hollow, and we're going to camp
to-night at Little Goose Pond. More than that, your partner is Alec
Smith. Why didn't I guess it before? Own up now, old Crafty!"
Quite unabashed, Pat bestowed a grin on Upton. "Three bull's-eyes," he
commented. "I've been wondering how long it would take you fellows to
catch the scent. Began to think I'd have to rub your noses in it."
"Hurrah!" interrupted Hal, who had been an eager listener. "I never
thought of the Hollow, and yet there is no place I should like to go to
so much as that. Say, Walt, these heads of ours sure are thick. Don't
you remember that Pat told us that first night in New York that Alec was
trapping, and the last he heard of him he was over in the Hollow? Well,
we'd make good detectives, we would. I've done a lot of wondering about
Pat's partner and what sort of a fellow he would prove to be and whether
or not we'd like him. And to think it's Alec! If you weren't such a
young and tender innocent I'd throw you in the snow and give you a
shampoo. What do you say, Walt, to doing it anyway?"
"Come on!" cried Pat, "the two of you, or all three!"
Upton shook his head mournfully. "I'd like to, but it wouldn't be right.
He isn't as big as the two of us, and so it wouldn't do at all. It would
be the same as a big fellow picking on a little one. You know I thrashed
him once for doing that very thing, and now if we should turn around and
do it I'm afraid the force of my beautiful example would be wholly
destroyed. I tell you what, you do it alone, Hal."
"He's too small," declared Hal. "That's why I wanted you to help. Then
my conscience would be only half guilty. I'm going to let him off this
time with just a snowball."
Suiting his action to the word he landed a big soft snowball full on the
side of Pat's head. Pat made a rush for him, but Walter thrust out a
foot and sent him headlong into the snow, and before he could regain his
feet Hal was on him endeavoring to wash his face with snow. In a second
there was the liveliest kind of a snow fight, Upton and Sparrer yelling
encouragement with absolute impartiality. It ended with Hal's smothered
cry of "enough" and Pat's allowing him up just in time to see Walter and
then Sparrer unceremoniously pitched into the snow, by way of showing
that all Scouts are equal, Pat explained, as he rubbed their faces.
Panting and glowing from the frolic they put out the fire built to heat
their soup and were ready to hit the trail again. From this point on the
snow-shoes were an absolute necessity, for they left the lumber trail
for another ten miles through the woods. This time they were not
dependent on the blazed trees as they had been when they went that way
in the fall, for some one had been over the trail since the last
snowfall, evidently coming out from Little Goose. Pat studied the tracks
for a few minutes. Then his face cleared. "It was Big Jim," said he. "I
wonder now if he took a look in the Hollow to see how Alec was getting
on. He may have been over to the Gillicuddy camp, the trail from which
comes in at the pond, you remember, but I have an idea he swung around
to see Alec. I wonder now where he saw that fox. I just took it for
granted that it was around where he is cutting and didn't ask any
questions for fear of letting the coon out of the hole about where we
were going. Then when I was alone with the doctor we both forgot all
about Jim, there were so many other things to talk about. It may be that
he saw that silver gray somewhere along this trail. We'll keep our eyes
peeled for signs."
"How do you know that Big Jim made these tracks?" asked Walter, who had
been studying them closely, hoping to find out for himself the clue
which made Pat so sure of his man, but unable to see anything
distinctive save that they were of odd shape, being nearly round.
"By a combination of two things--the shape of the tracks and the length
of the stride," replied Pat. "Jim always uses bear's-paw shoes, and I
don't believe there are more than half a dozen other pairs in this neck
of woods. Then look at the length of the stride. It's a good three
inches longer than mine, and there's nothing dainty about mine. There
isn't a man in the woods who could take that stride and hold it but Jim
Everly. So I'm as sure it was Big Jim as I am that if we don't get a
hustle on we'll have to camp in the snow, and it'll be a lot more
comfortable at the pond. We've got another long hike to-morrow, and we
want to be in shape to do it."
For some miles the going was fairly level, and once they had got into
the swing of the thing the boys found it comparatively easy. There were
two or three mishaps, but these were counted part of the sport. About
two miles from their destination they came to a spur of a mountain over
which the trail led. In fact, it was the very spur on the other side of
which Spud Ely had overrun the trail and got lost the fall previous. Pat
called a halt.
"It's going to be no small job to get this load up there," said he. "We
can go around the spur, but to do that will add a good three miles, and
in the valley it will be dark before we can reach camp. What do you
think? Are you game to try the hill?"
"The hill! The hill! Follow me, comrades, up yonder heights, and drive
the enemy from their guns!" shouted Hal, striking a heroic attitude and
pretending to flourish an imaginary sword.
"Where lives the Scout, by difficulties pressed,
Who will admit a chicken heart possessed?
Who will not rather bravely face the wust
And do and dare and conquer or go bust!"
"Bravo!" cried Walter.
"When dares our comrade coin and use a word like wust
We'll take his dare and see who'll scale yon hillside fust!
Lead on, Mr. Malone. We'll make it or die in the attempt."
"All right, me brave Scouts," replied Pat. "Up we go! 'Tis a chance to
see the kind of stuff that's in the likes of you, for 'twill be no
child's play getting this load up there. And when we get up there where
you see the bare rock watch your footing. That rock is slippery, and a
fall there would be serious."
The next half hour was one of panting, sweating toil. In the first
place, as soon as the grade began to rise sharply the boys found that
the only way they could progress was by digging their toes into the snow
through the toe holes in the shoes, which brought an added strain on the
already weary muscles of the calves. It would have been bad enough in
view of their inexperience if they had had nothing else to consider, but
there was that heavy load, and it grew heavier every minute. As they got
higher where the wind had had full sweep there was comparatively little
snow, and in some places the bare rock was exposed. Here they found it
easier going without the snow-shoes than with them.
Hauling and pushing they worked the toboggan up until at last the spur
was crossed.
"Gee whiz!" exclaimed Hal. "I'm sweating like a butcher. That's what I
call work."
"And we're doing it for fun," added Upton. "Funny what a difference the
view-point makes. I suppose it's all in the way you look at it whether
work is fun or fun is work. I can tell you one thing, and that is that I
for one am mighty glad that there isn't another one of those things to
cross to-day. I'm afraid I'd lie down and holler quits. What are you
rubbing your legs for, Sparrer?"
"Just feeling of 'em to get wise if dey's all dere," replied Sparrer.
The remainder of the trail to Little Goose was comparatively easy and
they reached the familiar lean-to just as dusk was settling down, and
there was more than one sigh of thankfulness as the shoes were kicked
off for the last time.
"I'm tired enough to drop right down and go to sleep in the snow, but my
little tummy won't let me," confessed Hal. "Ring for the waiter, please,
and have him bring me a planked steak with half a chicken on the side,
grapefruit salad, and a pot of coffee with real cream. Wake me up when
it comes."
"Nothing doing," declared Pat. "This isn't the Waldorf Astoria, but
Hotel de Shivers; heat and food supplied only to those who pay in labor,
all bills payable in advance."
"That's me!" Hal seated himself on the pile of stuff and gave vent to an
exaggerated sigh of contentment. "Haven't I labored all day? Tell the
bellhop to take my stuff to my room. I think I'll have my dinner served
there."
He ended with a grunt, the result of a sharp poke in the pit of his
stomach from an axe handle. "To turn on the heat with," explained Pat
sweetly, thrusting the axe into Hal's hands, and pointing to a pile of
birch logs.
Hal got to his feet with a groan and a grimace and followed Upton who,
with another axe, had already started for the wood-pile. "You're a slave
driver! That's what you are, a flint-hearted slave driver," he grumbled,
albeit with a twinkle that belied his words.
"My tummy, oh, my tummy!
It gives me such a pain!
I wonder will it ever
Feel really full again!"
"That depends on how soon you get that wood split," grinned Pat. "If you
don't get a move on it will be so dark you can't see what you are doing,
and I give you fair warning--no wood, no dinner."
"Let it never be said I am ever a shirk
When a dinner depends on the way that I work,"
retorted Hal, and forthwith fell to his task with a vim that put Upton
on his mettle to break even with him, for Hal was no mean axeman, as Pat
well knew. The handling of an axe was one of the things which Hal had
learned, and learned well during his three summers in the woods. To the
thorough woodsman an axe is a complete tool-chest. With it he can do
almost anything that needs to be done from the cutting of fire-wood to
the building of a log cabin.
Sparrer was put to work pulling down the hemlock boughs which had been
piled in front of the lean-to to keep out the snow, while Pat unpacked
things, started the fire and made preparations for the evening meal.
This was Sparrer's first experience in a lean-to, and when the boughs
were out of the way he examined it with interest. The back and two ends
were of logs, the front being open its whole width. The roof was of big
sheets of hemlock bark laid overlapping and with a sharp pitch to the
back.
On the ground about seven feet from the rear wall two six-foot logs
about eight inches through had been staked end to end so that they
reached from one side wall to the other. Midway a similar log had been
laid across to the rear wall, making two pens, as it were. These had
been filled with small balsam boughs thrust at an angle, butts down, so
that they "shingled," and packed closely. The result was two beds
fifteen inches thick and so springy and comfortable that it made one
sleepy just to look at them. It was perhaps three feet from the beds to
the open front. In this space at one end was a table two feet square
made by driving four stakes into the ground and nailing on a top made of
a flattened sheet of cedar bark.
A little snow had sifted in through the protecting boughs and this
Sparrer swept out with a fir bough for a broom. Pat, meanwhile, had a
kettle of snow melting for water for soup and was mixing up a
johnny-cake. The reflector oven was set before the fire to get heated
and while Sparrer helped bring in the wood which the two choppers had
split Pat sliced bacon and put it on to parboil in the frying-pan,
having melted snow to make water enough to cover it.
"Wot youse doing that for?" asked Sparrer. "Oi thought youse always
fried bacon."
"To get some of the salt out of it, son," replied Pat. "I'll fry it all
right when the time comes. Just you lay out the plates and cups where
they will keep warm."
Sparrer ranged the four agate-ware plates, which were really shallow
pans so that soup could be served in them as well as dry food, against
a stick where they would get warm but not too hot to handle. The
erbswurst was crumbled into the now boiling water, a handful of
julienne, or evaporated vegetables cut in thin strips, was added, the
pan of johnny-cake was put in the oven and the four boys gathered around
to watch and wait with many a hungry sniff. The soup was soon ready, and
Pat announced the first course. How good it did taste as they sat on
their blanket rolls near enough to the fire to enjoy its warmth, each
with a pan of the hot soup on his knees.
Before this was finished Pat poured off the water from the bacon and
that was soon sizzling and throwing off that most delicious of all odors
to a hungry woodsman.
"Course number two!" called Pat as he apportioned the brown slices among
the four plates and then drew forth the johnny-cake, baked to a turn, a
rich even brown all over with a heart of gold, the very sight of which
brought forth gasps of delighted anticipation.
"What's course number three, Mr. Chef?" asked Walter as he prepared to
sink his teeth into his quarter of the corn bread.
"Something worth saving your appetite for," replied Pat, re-greasing the
pan and pouring in the remainder of his batter for another cake. He
poured off all but a little of the bacon fat from the big frying-pan,
and then dropped into it a slice of meat which he had kept hidden under
a towel.
"Venison, by all that's great!" shouted Hal as the meat began to sizzle
on the hot iron. "Why didn't you tell us you had venison, so that the
thought of it would have helped us up that pesky hill?"
"Tis the docthor's contribution to the joy av living," responded Pat,
deftly flipping the steak over to sear the other side. "But I mistrust
yez have eaten so much already thot 'tis not the loikes av yez will be
wanting more than maybe a wee bite. But never ye moind. 'Tis meself will
do justice to the docthor and his gift."
"Don't you believe it!" roared the three in unison.
The steak and the second johnny-cake were done together and were
finished together to the last scrap and crumb, and along with them went
hot chocolate. There was a general loosening of belts, and then Hal
broke the silence of contentment which had fallen on the little group.
"My tummy, oh, my tummy!
It has now another pain!
I wish that it were empty
That it might be filled again,"
said he, gazing mournfully into his empty plate.
"Them's my sentiments too," said Walter, when the laugh that followed
had subsided. "But any fellow who springs a thing like that has to pay
for it. I move that Hal wash the dishes. All in favor say aye."
Three ayes made the woods ring. "All opposed say no!"
Hal's "No!" was shouted at the top of his lungs.
"'Tis a vote," declared Walter. "Mr. Harrison will now attend to his
duties and carry out the action of this assembly."
After the dishes were out of the way Pat built a huge fire with three
great backlogs one above another and slanting back to keep them from
rolling down. They were held in place by braces at the back. In front
of these smaller logs were piled, the backlogs reflecting the heat
forward into the lean-to. Then the blankets were spread on the rough
beds, and with all their clothing on, including moccasins, four weary
young woodsmen turned in for the night.
Pat was asleep almost as soon as he touched the bed, and Hal and Upton
were not far behind him. But to Sparrer, tired as he was, the novelty of
his surroundings was too great for immediate sleep, and for a long time
he lay staring out at the flickering flames and above them at the
brilliant stars, his active imagination keyed to a high pitch. It was
like fairy-land to him. Nothing seemed real. He had read and heard of
these things, but that he, Eddie Muldoon, could actually be experiencing
them, sleeping in a real hunter's camp in the dead of winter, tramping
on snow-shoes through great lonely forests, eating such meals as he had
never known before in all his short life--meals cooked over open fires
in the great wonderful out-of-doors, couldn't be. And yet here he was.
The fire died down until only a deep glow, a warm ruddy glow which grew
less and less, lighted the rough interior, and before it had quite
vanished Eddie had slipped from the real which seemed unreal to the
unreal which so often seems real in the realm of dreams.
Three times during the night Pat crawled out of his blankets to put wood
on the fire, but the other sleepers knew nothing of it. They slept the
deep heavy sleep of healthy, tired boys and it mattered not to them that
the temperature dropped until the very trees cracked and split with the
cold. They were as warm and comfortable as if in their own beds at home.
Overhead the stars shone down on a great white world wherein the fire
made but a flickering point of yellow light, and wherein was no sound
save the heavy breathing of the sleepers, the sputter of hot coals
snapping off into the snow, the occasional crack of a frost-riven tree,
and the soft stamp of a snow-shoe rabbit gazing wonder-eyed at the dying
embers.
CHAPTER VIII
ALEC HINTS AT DARK THINGS
Hal was willing to swear that he had not been asleep more than ten
minutes when he was awakened by the beating of a pan with a stick and
Pat's roar of "Breakfast! All hands out for breakfast!" He rolled over
sleepily so as to look out. Pat was laughing at him. Beyond the
firelight and from the tiny strip of sky above the dark tree tops he
could see a few pale stars blinking at him weakly.
"Aw, Pat, that's no joke. You may think it's funny, but it isn't," he
growled, and there was a note of real anger this time.
"What?" demanded Pat with a deep throaty chuckle.
"You know what--waking a feller up when he's just got to sleep and is
dead tired and got a hard day coming!" flared Hal.
"Aisy, aisy, son! Do ye think I would be frying bacon in the middle of
the night for a joke? 'Tis meself has been up this good hour and 'tis
six o'clock this very minute. 'Twill be daylight by the toime we be
ready to start," returned Pat good-humoredly.
Hal had it on the tip of his tongue to say that he didn't believe it,
but by this time he was sufficiently awake to smell the bacon and hear
it sizzle and sputter in the pan. Moreover, his companions were already
kicking off their blankets, and he had the good sense to realize that
Pat meant just what he said. Still, it was hard to believe, and it was
not until he had reached for his watch that he was convinced that it
really was time to prepare for another day's tramp. Then he hastily
crawled from his blankets, his good humor fully restored, for Hal was a
good sport, and there was nothing of the shirk about him.
"I beg pardon, Pat," said he, as he joined the two shivering figures
crowding as close to the fire as they could comfortably get while they
watched Pat stir up the pancake batter. "I honestly thought you were up
to one of your old tricks and putting something across on us. Doesn't
seem as if I'd more than closed my eyes. Phew! but it's cold!"
It was. It was the hour just before the break of day when, perhaps
because the blood has not yet begun to circulate freely, the cold seems
to have reached its maximum of strength. Beyond the narrow radius of the
glow from the fire it seemed to fairly bite to the bone.
"Get busy with the axe and you'll forget it," advised Pat, adding, "It
is the courtesy of the woods to leave a little wood ready for the next
fellow who may hit camp late, as we did yesterday. You'll have just
about time enough to get warmed up before these flapjacks are ready."
"Good idea!" cried Walter, seizing an axe. "Come on, you fellows!
Sparrer can lug it in as we split it."
At the end of ten minutes Pat called them to eat, and by that time they
had forgotten the cold, for they were in a warm glow from exercise.
"I'll bet it was cold in the night," said Upton as they sat down to
bacon, flapjacks and hot chocolate.
"Right you are, my boy," replied Pat. "When I got up the second time it
was cold enough to freeze the tail off a brass monkey."
"When you got up the second time! What in the dickens were you up for?"
exclaimed Hal.
"To kape yez from freezing to death," grinned Pat. "Did yez think the
fire would feed itself?"
"I didn't think anything about it," confessed Hal. "Gee, it must have
been cold when you crawled out to start things this morning! Makes me
shiver to think of it. I guess the rest of us are the lucky little boys
to have everything started for us and a ripping good fire going before
we turned out. Do you always get up before daylight in the woods, Pat?"
"Sure," replied Pat. "It's nothing when you're used to it. Most trappers
are on the trail by break of day. The days are all too short in winter,
anyway, especially when you've got a long trap line to work over. I
expect Alec is on the line now. He'll be trying to get through early
to-day so as to have things ready for us when we reach the cabin. It's
going to be a stiff pull to-day for you fellows, and the sooner we get
started the better."
As soon as breakfast was finished the toboggan was packed, the brush
piled once more in front of the lean-to and the fire put out by the
simple process of throwing snow on it. The cold light of the stars had
given way to the colder gray of the dawn as they once more slipped on
the shoes and hit the trail around Little Goose Pond. It was then that
the three novices realized that they were indeed tenderfeet. They had
not gone half a mile before it seemed as if every muscle from their
thighs down was making individual and vigorous protest. But they were
game, and if Pat guessed their feelings it was not from any word which
they let drop.
Gradually the stiffness wore off, and at the end of a couple of hours
they were traveling with some degree of comfort. Pat purposely set an
easy pace for the first few miles and he kept a watchful eye on Sparrer,
for whom he felt personally responsible. As a matter of fact the
youngster was standing it even better than the other two. For one thing,
he was considerably lighter, and his shoes bore him up better than was
the case with his companions. In places where the snow was packed he did
not sink in at all, whereas the others broke through slightly, and on
soft snow he did not begin to sink as far as they did. Of course this
meant far less strain on his muscles, and greater ease in walking.
As they rounded the end of the pond Pat pointed out the place where he
had been mistaken for a deer by two city boys and got a bullet through
his hat. A little beyond this point they saw the first sign of life
since they had entered the woods, the tracks of a hare or snow-shoe
rabbit, and with them other tracks which at first glance all but Pat
mistook for those of another rabbit.
"You fellows wait here a minute," said he and followed the trail into a
thicket of young hemlocks. A few minutes later he called to them to join
him. They found him at the farther side of the thicket. At his feet the
snow had been considerably disturbed, and there were some blood-stains
and torn scraps of white fur. Beyond a single trail led to the foot of a
tree and there ended.
"Marten," explained Pat briefly in response to the looks of inquiry.
"He ran Mr. Longlegs down here, ate his dinner and took to the trees.
I've had a hunch that there were marten in this neck of woods, but
haven't had a chance to trap them yet."
Later they put up a flock of spruce grouse, but it was out of season and
the boys had too much respect for the spirit as well as the letter of
the law to be even tempted to shoot. After the noon lunch Pat quickened
the pace somewhat. The temperature had moderated rapidly and the sky was
overcast. "It's a weather breeder, and we're in for more snow," said Pat
as he scanned the sky with some appearance of anxiety. "I don't like the
looks of it. We want to reach the cabin before the storm breaks, and
we've got to hit it up faster in order to do it. How are your legs?"
"Still doing business," replied Hal. "The stiffness is out, but I guess
I won't object to reaching that little old cabin. How about you, Walt?"
"Same here," replied Upton. "I'm game for the rest of the distance, but
the cabin will look good to me, all right, all right. Hope Alec will
have dinner ready. I've no sooner eaten than I'm hungry again."
"My tummy, oh, my tummy!"
began Hal, but Pat cut him short with the order to fall in, and started
off at a pace which left Hal no breath to waste on doggerel. They now
buckled down to the trail in earnest. Pat's fears proved well grounded,
for they were still some three miles from the cabin when the first
needle-like particles began to hiss through trees and sting their faces.
By the time they entered the pass to Smugglers' Hollow the tracks of Big
Jim had been entirely obliterated and Pat was holding the trail by the
blazed trees, a feat by no means easy because of the difficulty of
looking ahead in the face of the storm.
In the narrow pass they stopped for a few minutes for a breathing spell.
There the force of the storm was broken, but when they emerged into the
Hollow they found that they must force their way into the very teeth of
it. The wind had risen, and it drove the fine icy particles with a force
that almost cut the exposed skin. The blinding cloud swirled about them
and completely hid their surroundings. Pat, in the lead, partly broke
the force of the storm for those behind. It seemed to them as if he must
be going by blind instinct, but if he was he had a dogged confidence
that was at least reassuring. At last when it seemed to the three city
lads that they simply could not push on another foot Pat stopped and
raised a warning hand. "Listen!" said he.
With straining ears they listened, but for a couple of minutes heard
nothing. Then seemingly out of the heart of the storm there came a faint
"Hello-o!"
"Alec," said Pat briefly. "He's getting worried."
Together they gave an answering shout, but the wind seemed to snatch the
sound from their lips and whirl it behind them. "No use," said Pat.
"Wind's the wrong way, and we better save our breath. We'll need it. It
isn't far now, and he'll keep yelling to guide us."
Once more they buckled down to the task in hand. The few minutes'
respite had eased the weary muscles, and the sound of Alec's voice was
wonderfully stimulating. Fifteen minutes later, panting and gasping,
powdered with snow from head to feet, they stumbled up to the cabin just
as Alec Smith threw open the door to renew his signals. For a second he
stared, then a look of intense relief swept across his rugged features.
[Illustration: ONCE MORE THEY BUCKLED DOWN TO THE TASK]
"Glory be!" he cried, springing forward and unceremoniously shoving the
exhausted boys into the cabin. "I was feared that ye would be having to
spend the night in a snowdrift. Did ye no hear me shouting?"
Pat nodded as he sank on to a stool, panting for breath. "We heard you
all right, Alec, but we couldn't make you hear us because the wind was
the wrong way. Besides, we didn't have any breath to spare."
But Alec wasn't listening. He was delightedly shaking hands with Walter
and Hal and helping them to strip off their mackinaws, not forgetting
Sparrer, whose presence was a surprise, Pat having sent no warning of
this addition to the party.
"My, but ye be a sight for sore eyes!" he declared as he bustled about
preparing hot chocolate and in other ways striving to make his guests
comfortable. "Saving Big Jim, who spent one night here, I haven't laid
eyes on a living soul since Pat left, and that was three weeks gone,
though I mistrust that there be others no so very far away."
Pat looked up quickly. "What's that?" he demanded sharply.
Alec's face clouded. "I've seen signs which I dinna like. I'll be
telling ye more aboot it after dinner," said he briefly.
"And the catch since I've been away?" asked Pat.
"Is no what it should be. There's na doot aboot that; it's no what it
should be." The face of the young Scotchman darkened still more. Pat
flashed him a look of understanding. "We'll talk that over by and by,"
said he. "Just now we're half famished. My, but that stew smells good.
I'll unpack while you are getting the stuff ready. With that toboggan in
here there isn't room to turn around."
The toboggan had been dragged in when they first arrived and it occupied
most of the available room. Walter helped him unload, piling the stuff
on one of the bunks for the time being. Presently Alec called for their
eating outfit, confessing that his establishment didn't possess dishes
enough for so many. At length he announced dinner ready and bade the
four draw up to the little rough deal table spread with a piece of white
oilcloth. For seats there were two five-foot benches made by splitting a
log, smoothing the flat sides and inserting four stout birch legs in the
convex side of each. These were drawn up on either side of the table,
and at one end Alec drew up an empty box for his seat.
Alec had, as Walter expressed it, laid himself out on that dinner. There
was venison stew with dumplings, and a rich thick gravy. There were
baking-powder biscuits as light as feathers. There were baked potatoes
and canned string beans. And last but not least there was a great brown
loaf of hot gingerbread.
"How's your tummy now?" asked Walter as Hal at last was forced to refuse
a third helping of stew.
"It's too small," Hal complained. "I want more. I want a lot more, and I
can't eat another mouthful."
Pat insisted on helping Alec do up the dishes and flatly refused to
allow any one else take a hand, so the others spent the time in stowing
away their duffle and inspecting the interior of the cabin. To Sparrer
it was, of course, all new and strange. As for that, it was hardly less
so to Harrison and Upton. When they had last seen it it had been
windowless, doorless and the roof at the rear had been but temporarily
patched. Now there was a stout door. Four small windows had been fitted
into the openings left for this purpose. The temporary repairs which Pat
had made on the roof at the rear end had been replaced with a permanent
roof. In fact, the whole roof had been put in first class shape. The
side walls had been repacked with moss between the logs, the four side
bunks repaired and a new one built at the back, and all filled with
freshly cut balsam. The floor had been repaired. So also had the
fireplace and chimney. A small cupboard and shelves had been added. On
the floor were two big deerskins.
But the thing which caught and held the attention of the boys most was a
big bearskin which had been thrown on one of the upper bunks.
"When and where did you get him?" asked Upton eagerly.
"Shot him within less than half a mile of the cabin just before real
cold weather set in," replied Alec. "He was just gettin' ready to den up
for the winter. I misdoot he was the same one that give that young
feller you called Sister the scare the day he was alone here last fall.
Tracked him in a light snow and was lucky enough to see him first.
Regular old he feller, and he sure took some killing. First shot got him
right back of the shoulder and made him squall a plenty, but it didna
stop him. Knew by that that I had hit him and hit him hard, but the way
he beat it you never'd have guessed he was hurt at all. When I see the
blood on the trail I kenned he was hard hit and would no travel far if
left alone, so I sat down and smoked a pipe. Then I took up the trail
and sure enough he had laid down behind a windfall about a quarter of a
mile from where I first see him. The old fox heard me coming and sneaked
away again, but he was getting weak and didna go far before he laid down
again. This time I got another shot and broke his backbone, but at that
it took two more shots to finish him. You ain't never killed a bar till
he's dead. What do you think that feller Ely will say when he gits that
skin?"
"Spud? Is that for Spud? Do you mean to say that you are going to send
that skin to Spud Ely?" cried Walter.
Alec nodded. "I promised him a barskin when he left, and I reckon that
that's hisn. Hope he'll like it."
"Like it! Alec, he'll be tickled silly. He wrote me that you had
promised him one," cried Walter. "It's perfectly bully! Good old Spud! I
wish he could be here with us now to make a little sunshine. Not that we
need it," he hastened to add, "but he sure would enjoy this. I bet he's
green with envy if he knows that we fellows are up here now."
"He knows, all right," Hal broke in. "Wrote him when I first thought of
this trip, but he couldn't get away."
"I wanted to get that skin to him for Christmas, but didn't have a
chance to pack it out," explained Alec. "Guess I'll send it out when you
fellers go. A little old barskin don't begin to pay what I owe that
boy. If it hadn't been for him I'd probably died up there in that
hide-out where he found me. And if it hadn't been for the little doctor
here I'd likely have died anyway. Anyhow I'd have lost my leg. There's a
barskin coming to you too, some day."
Walter flushed. It made him uncomfortable to be called the little
doctor, as Alec persisted in calling him, yet at the same time he was
conscious of a warm glow of pride which he tried hard to stifle. "Pooh,
Alec, that was no more than any of the other fellows would have done if
I hadn't been here. You know all Scouts know what to do for first aid to
the injured," said he.
"Just the same I don't believe there was one of us would have had the
nerve to tackle that broken leg of Alec's. I wouldn't for one," declared
Hal.
To relieve Walter's embarrassment Pat abruptly changed the subject.
"What was that you hinted at when we first got here about signs of some
one else in these diggings?" he asked, turning to Alec.
The Scotchman's face darkened. He threw a couple of big logs on the fire
and then as the others made themselves comfortable he told his story
briefly. For the last two weeks there had been little fur in the traps,
especially on the forty mile line to the north. He had made the round of
this line twice in this time with only one marten, a fox and a few rats
to show for it, but he had found signs which led him to believe that
some of the traps had been robbed. He was morally certain that some one
had been systematically making the rounds of the traps, timing the
visits so that there would be no danger of running into him and so
cunningly following his trail that it was only by the closest study of
the tracks that he had made sure that a stranger had been on the line.
At one unsprung marten trap he had found a couple of drops of blood
which indicated that there had been something in the trap. At another
there had been the faint imprint of the body of an animal laid in the
snow off at one side. In one trap he had found the foot of a muskrat,
nothing unusual in itself, but it had been cut off with a knife and not
twisted or gnawed off.
These things he had discovered on his trip two weeks ago, and on his
return trip he had thrust tiny twigs into the snow of the trail in such
a way that they would not be noticed. On his second round from which he
had returned only the day before, he had found some of these crushed
into the snow, sure evidence that they had been stepped on. He had kept
a sharp watch for a strange trail joining his own, but had discovered
none, doubtless due to the fact that the thief or thieves had come
across the bare ice of one of the lakes near the farther end of the line
and then it had been an easy matter to step into his trail where it
skirted the edge of the lake. On this last trip he had found an empty
rifle shell which apparently had been dropped unnoticed.
Pat's face had hardened as he listened to the recital. "Any signs of the
bloody minded thaves in the Holler or on the short lines?" he asked.
Alec shook his head. "They've kept away from here. The catch on the
short lines has been fair, and on the long line it ought to have been
better."
Pat stood up and shook himself. "Arrah now, 'tis time I was back on me
job," he growled. "Wance I lay the two hands av me on the thafe 'tis the
last time he will be wantin' to look wid the eyes av envy on fur thot
don't belong to him. A thafe who would shtale another man's fur would
rob his own grandmother. This storm will cover up all tracks, but 'tis
like there will be a chance for some real scouting after it is over.
'Tis thaves we'll be trappin' and not fur for a while. Did Big Jim say
anything about a silver fox when he was here?"
"No," replied Alec, his face lighting. "Why?"
"He told Doctor Merriam that he saw one on his way out, and we've been
wondering if it was over this way," Hal broke in eagerly.
"Likely he saw it on his way out of the Hollow," replied Alec. "There's
one here. I've seen him twice, but didn't get a shot. I've got traps set
for him, but he's been too smart for me so far. He's a big feller, and
his skin will grade No. 1 prime. If we can get him the thieves are
welcome to all the rest of our furs."
"No, they're not!" retorted Pat. "They're going to fork over every pelt
they've taken, to the smallest rat, or Pat Malone will know the reason
why." He shook a big fist by way of emphasis. "Now, let's turn in and
forget our troubles," he ended with a mildness that brought a general
laugh.
CHAPTER IX
SNOWBOUND
All that night the storm raged and in the morning the snow was still
falling. Pat and Alec from force of habit were up early, but seeing that
there would be nothing doing outside they forbore to waken the three
visitors and were not averse to returning to their blankets for a couple
of hours of extra sleep. How long the three boys would have slept is a
question had not Alec dropped a pan which clattered noisily. Upton poked
a sleepy face out from his bunk.
"What you fellers doing?" he demanded.
Pat grinned. "Getting dinner. Will you have some or will you wait for
supper?"
Walter felt for his watch and looked at it. Then he tumbled out in a
hurry. "Hey, you fellows!" he yelled. "Are you going to sleep all day?
It's eleven o'clock and Alec is cooking dinner. We've missed breakfast
and----"
"My tummy, oh, my tummy!"
murmured a sleepy voice from the opposite bunk. "What you giving us? It
isn't morning yet." Hal thrust out a tousled head and blinked stupidly.
"It isn't to-morrow morning, but it will be this afternoon in about an
hour," laughed Pat. "'Tis the way they do in Noo Yor-r-k, turn day into
night," he explained to Alec.
"No such thing!" protested Hal indignantly. "It isn't more'n daylight
now."
There was some foundation in fact for Hal's statement, for the little
cabin, but dimly lighted at best, was even at this late hour in a semi
twilight, due to the snow that partly covered the windows; the effect
was very much that of daybreak. The odor of frying bacon, however, was a
potent inducement to get up, and by the time dinner was ready the boys
were ready for it. There was considerable good-natured joshing over
their ability to sleep and Pat warned them that if they repeated the
performance they would be taken out and dropped in a snow-bank. It had
been a good thing for them, however, just what they needed after their
strenuous experience of the previous day, and beyond some stiffness
they confessed that they never had felt better in their lives.
"What are we going to do this afternoon--start scouting for those
thieves?" Hal asked as he wiped the dishes.
Pat laughed. "Not so that you'd notice it, me bye. We're going to stay
right here. The storm's not over yet, and if it keeps on I'm thinking
we'll be buried completely. However, it looks to me as if it will break
away shortly, and then you'll have a chance to show what good little
diggers they raise in Noo Yor-r-k."
"And in the meantime?"
"We'll enjoy all the comforts av home." Pat yawned and stretched.
"Which means, I suppose, that we'll sit around and play Simon says
thumbs up, or something like that, all the afternoon," laughed Hal.
"Perhaps ye'd like to sleep some more," suggested Alec slyly.
"And perhaps you've got another guess coming," retorted Hal. "What's
that thing you're whittling on?"
"A stretching board for marten," replied Alec.
"What's a stretching board, and how do you use it?" Hal was all
interest.
"To stretch skins on. Dinna ye know that all skins have to be
stretched?" Alec tossed the board one side and reached for another.
"Don't know a thing about trapping or furs except that Dad has promised
me a new fur coat when I get back," retorted Hal. "I'm painfully and
sublimely ignorant, but willing to learn, and I have a hunch that there
are others. Suppose you elucidate the facts by way of killing time."
"Here, here! That will do for you, Hal!" cried Upton. "Your alleged
poetry is bad enough without springing anything like that. What have you
been doing at that prep school--confabulating with the profs or flirting
with the dictionary? Elucidate! I move, fellows, that if he springs
anything more like that we throw him in the snow. I would suggest doing
it anyway if his idea wasn't so good. Go to it, Alec, and tell us about
fur."
"I dinna ken where to begin," protested Alec as he carefully rounded the
smaller of his board to a point so that it looked much like one of the
shingle boats every boy knows.
"Begin with that thing you're making--stretching board, I believe you
called it," said Hal.
"That would be holding the gun by the wrong end," protested Pat. "The
story all happens before one of these things is needed." Pat was himself
at work on a stretching board.
"Begin with the kinds of fur, and the ways in which it is trapped, and
the life of a trapper and all that sort of stuff," suggested Upton.
"Just tell us what youse do every day and how youse live all alone and
de scraps youse gets inter wid de bears 'n' things, and how youse has t'
foight for life, an' pass it out hot--right off de fire."
"That's the stuff, Sparrer! That's what we want," cried Hal, as
everybody laughed. "Give us the story of trapping right off the
griddle."
"Ye dinna find anything very hot aboot a trapper's life." Alec paused in
his work to gaze reflectively into the fire. "It's mostly cold and
lonesomeness and hard work. There's no fighting with the beasties worth
mentioning; it's mostly fighting with storms and sometimes hunger, and a
struggle with nature. I've sometimes wondered if some of the grand
ladies and men, too, would be so proud and take so much pleasure in
their fine furs if they knew what it has cost in suffering to man and
beastie to get them. And yet I am no complaining, laddies. Ye ken that.
It's a hard life, and yet there is something aboot it that gets down
into a man and calls him, and he has to hit the trails and is no happy
until he does.
"The fur that we get in this country is muskrat, mink, otter, marten,
fox, lynx and once in a while fisher. Sometimes we get a few skunks, but
not many so far in as this. We used to get beaver, but it is against the
law to take the beasties at any time now."
"Which is the most valuable?" Hal interrupted.
"Black or silver fox. They're worth so much they don't count. I've
trapped ever since I was knee high to a speckled fawn and haven't taken
one yet. I dinna ken what they're worth, but I've heard that more'n
$2,500 has been paid for an extra prime skin."
"What makes 'em worth so much? Is it because the fur is so extra fine?"
asked Upton.
"Fine nothing!" Pat broke in. "If there is any poorer wearing fur than
fox I wish you'd show me. A large prime red fox will bring only four
dollars to perhaps six or seven in a year when fur is scarce and high,
and the fur of a black fox isn't any different or better. All that
difference in price is because once in a blue moon Nature gets tired of
red and tries black for a change, and people with more money than brains
pay the price because it is rare and they can wear something that mighty
few others can have. It's fox, just the same, and it will wear out just
as quickly as if it were common every-day red. It's a fad. But the
saints defind us from any more brains till afther we have the hide av
the black gintleman thot Jim and Alec have seen here in the Hollow!"
"Money does talk, doesn't it, Pat?" chuckled Hal. "Here's hoping you get
both the fox and the long price. By the way, what's a cross fox?"
"The prettiest baste in the woods," returned Pat promptly. "He has
black legs and underparts, black tail with white tip, and gray head and
body with a dark cross on the shoulders. But he's just a sport of the
red fox, a variation in between the red and black. A perfect specimen is
worth a lot of money, but nowhere near what a black will bring. Between
the red and all black there are a lot of variations of the cross, and
the price varies accordingly. But let's get back to regular fur instead
of freaks. Have you looked over that price list I brought in, Alec?"
Alec nodded. "I see otter and fisher are quoted just the same, $15 for
No. 1 prime. I think the two otter and the fisher we've got will grade
that all right. Up here," he continued, turning to the boys, "marten pay
us best because they bring us from $6 for No. 2 to $12 for large No. 1
prime and some years more than that. Lynx pay pretty nearly as well,
when we can get 'em. The trouble is we don't get enough of 'em. We get
some foxes and some mink. The latter are rather down now, but some years
they are high and pay right well. Last and least, but like the pennies
that make the dollars, are the muskrats. They're bringing only thirty
cents now, but I have seen 'em as high as a dollar.
"In other parts of the country are other furs. Coon disna get up as far
as this, and Arctic and blue fox dinna get as far south. We get some
weasel which when pure white is quite worth the trouble of skinning,
little as the critters are. Ye ken it is the ermine of royalty."
"How about bearskins? I suppose they are worth considerable," said
Walter, glancing over at Spud's prize.
"Less than ye will be thinking," replied Alec. "Yon skin is prime--and
will grade as large. What now would ye be thinking it would be bringing
me from a fur buyer this minute?"
"Fifty dollars," ventured Hal.
Alec and Pat smiled. "What do you say, little doctor?" Alec turned to
Upton.
Walter did some quick thinking. He had set in his own mind the same
figure Hal had given, but he had caught that smile of the two trappers
and he suspected that Hal was rather wide of the mark. It didn't seem
possible to him that such a beautiful great skin could be worth less,
but at a venture he cut it in halves. "Twenty-five," said he.
"Knock ten off of that, and ye will be aboot right," said Alec.
"What? Only fifteen dollars for that big skin?" Hal fairly shouted.
Pat laughed outright. "That's all this year. And they never are worth a
great deal. You see, for his size even a rat is worth considerable more,
and is therefore not to be despised. And when you consider the labor of
skinning a big brute like that and then packing out his hide the rats
are more to my liking if there be enough of them."
"Don't you trap for bears at all?" asked Hal. "I had figured on seeing a
bear trap and perhaps finding old bruin in one."
Pat smiled as he noted the look of disappointment on Hal's face. "We
don't trap them this time of year, son, because there are none to trap;
they're denned up for the winter," he explained. "But you shall have a
chance to see a deadfall before you go back. Alec built a couple, but it
was rather too late in the season. They'll be ready for early spring
when bears begin to move again. Then I suspect Alec will build one or
two more, eh, Alec?"
"A couple, I guess. I've marked some likely places," was the reply.
"What about steel traps?" asked Upton. "I had an idea that most trappers
used those almost altogether these days."
By way of reply Alec dragged out from under one of the bunks a clanging
mass of steel. "Heft it," said he briefly, passing it to Walter.
"My, but that's heavy!" he exclaimed. "What does it weigh?"
"Nineteen pounds," replied Alec. "Tell me, how would ye like to pack
three or four of those in addition to a lot of smaller traps for ten or
fifteen miles?"
"Not for me!" declared Upton. "I begin to see the why of the deadfalls.
It's easier to build a few of those than to lug these heavy things
around. I didn't suppose they were as heavy as this. Are all of 'em like
this?"
"No, there are some that weigh only a little over eleven pounds, but
those are for small bars. I don't no ways favor 'em myself because, ye
ken, I never yet have found a way of being certain what size bar would
be stepping in one, leastways not until he was caught. A big feller will
sometimes get out of the smaller trap, but a little feller never gets
out of the big trap. So I sets only the big ones. This is a No. 5, and
big enough for any bars around these parts. There's a bigger one made
for grizzly bar and lions and tigers and such like critters, but that
weighs forty-two pounds. We've got two of these No. 5's to set in the
spring. If I was in good bar country, where the critters are plenty, I'd
use more of these, but as long as they ain't plenty and I'm after other
fur I'd rather use the deadfall. In the first place it kills the
critter, and if he's caught you know right where to find him. He's right
there. But if he gets caught in one of these things he may be a couple
of hundred yards away and he may be in the next county, which is mighty
inconvenient, 'specially if ye've got a lot of traps to tend to."
"How's that? I thought you fastened the traps." Hal was plainly puzzled.
"Sure we fasten 'em," returned Alec, "but do ye no see that if it was to
anything solid like a tree the critter would be breaking the trap or
the chain, maybe, or tearing himsel' loose? So we cut a log small enough
at one end for the ring on the end of the chain to just barely slip over
it and down to the middle where it is fastened with a spike. The clog is
six or seven feet long and of hard wood. Then when Mr. Bar gets caught
he has nothing solid to pull against to tear himself free. He marches
off with nineteen pounds of trap and the clog dragging from his foot.
The clog catches in the brush and between trees and usually he disna get
very far, because the heavy drag tires him. Besides that, every time
he's pulled up short it must hurt like the mischief and take the heart
out of him. Sometimes we find where he has stopped to fight the clog.
Once in a while a swivel breaks or something else gives way and he gets
rid of the clog, but still has the trap fast to his foot. Then he's
likely to dig out for parts unknown. I've known a trapper to camp two or
three nights on the trail of a bar that had gone off with a trap before
he could catch up with the critter. Mostly they will go a ways and then
make a bed, lie down a while, get uneasy and move on to do the same
thing all over again. Sometimes they won't lie in the bed after they've
made it, but move on and try again."
Sparrer's eyes were bulging. "Do youse mean dey really make a bed same
as us?" he asked.
"Surest thing you know," replied Pat. "When a bear dens up for the
winter he makes himself comfortable. Does it when he's traveling, too.
Don't know how he got wise to the danger of rheumatiz from sleeping on
the bare ground, but he seems to be on all right. Breaks a lot of brush
and makes a regular bough bed. Sometimes he uses rotted wood when it is
handy and brush isn't. Oh, he's a wise proposition, is Mr. Bear. If he
once gets nipped in a trap and gets away it is a smart trapper who can
get him in another."
Meanwhile Hal had been examining the trap and trying to force down the
springs. "I'm blessed if I see how you set one of the things," said he
at last.
"I'll show ye, only when it's set ye want to keep away from it. It's
more dangerous than a bar himsel'."
He brought forth two screw clamps and adjusted them to the double
springs of the traps. By turning thumb-screws the springs were
compressed and held so that the jaws of the trap could be opened and the
pan set to hold them. The boys noticed that in doing this he worked from
underneath, sure sign of the careful and experienced trapper. In the
event of the clamps slipping there would be no chance of his hand or arm
being caught in the jaws.
"How does the bear get caught?" asked Sparrer, to whom traps were an
unknown quantity.
"By stepping on that pan," explained Pat. "I'll show you."
He removed the clamps and then with a long stick touched the pan.
Instantly the jaws flew up and closed with a vicious snap, biting into
the soft wood so that pull as they would the boys were unable to get the
stick out.
"Huh!" exclaimed Hal, "I'd hate to have that thing get me by the leg! I
should think it would break the bone."
"It very likely would unless your leg was pretty well protected. A
bear's bones are not so brittle and do not break easily, but once that
thing has got a grip it's there to stay," said Pat.
"I suppose you cover the trap up so that the bear won't see it,"
ventured Upton.
"Right, son. That is just what we do," replied Pat. "We cover it with
leaves or moss, according to where the set is made."
"Where does the bait go?" inquired Hal. "Do you put it right on the trap
or hang it over it?"
"Neither," laughed Pat. "We build a bait pen of brush or old logs,
roofing it over, and set the trap just at the entrance in such a way
that Mr. Bear must step in it in order to get into the pen or cubby
where the bait is staked at the rear. Sometimes we lay a stick across
the entrance close to the trap and six or eight inches from the ground
so that the bear will try to step over it and in doing so he will be
sure to put one foot in the trap. An old bear who has lost a toe or two
in a trap and so has learned his lesson will sometimes tear the bait pen
down from the rear and so get the bait. A deadfall is about the only way
of catching one of that kind."
"I should think other animals would spring the trap," ventured Hal.
"They do sometimes, especially your friend Prickly Porky the porcupine,"
replied Pat. "But when we are after bear we try to set the trap so that
nothing less than a bear will spring it. Show 'em the trick, Alec."
Good-naturedly Alec once more set the trap. Then he took a small springy
stick and fastened it upright in a crack in the floor. Then he bent it
over until the other end was hooked under the pan of the trap. The
spring of it held the pan in place even when considerable weight was
placed directly on the pan. "That would allow small animals to pass over
it freely, ye see," he explained, "but the weight of a bar would spring
it. We do the same thing with other traps, using smaller sticks
according to what we are after."
At this point Pat went to investigate conditions outside. "Hi, you
fellows!" he called. "Storm's over, and it's time to get busy and dig
out. It's been raining, but it's clearing off cold, and by morning
there'll be a crust that'll hold a horse. Walt, you and Hal know where
the spring is, so you fellows make a path down to it. The rest of us
will shovel out the wood-pile and the storehouse."
"What's the storehouse? There wasn't anything of that kind last fall."
Hal was all eagerness.
"Just a bit of a log shack we put up to keep the meat and supplies in.
You'll see it when you get outside. Now, everybody to wor-r-rk!" Pat
flung the door open. A wall of snow faced them.
Alec produced a home-made wooden shovel and an old iron one. With these
he and Pat soon cleared a space in front of the cabin. Then the others,
armed with snow-shoes and an old slab, went to work with a will and soon
Smugglers' Hollow rang with the laughter and shouts of the merry crew.
It was not far to the spring, and the task of digging out and trampling
down a path was not difficult. When they finished Walter and Hal turned
for their first good look at the surroundings. It was a wilderness of
white broken only by the thin column of smoke from the cabin chimney,
and the figures of their comrades busy at the wood-pile and storehouse.
The cabin itself was nearly buried in snow, which was more than
half-way to the low eaves. It had drifted quite over the little shack
where Pat and Alec were at work. All tracks had been obliterated and for
a few minutes it was difficult for them to get their bearings, so
changed was the landscape. Then one by one they picked out the landmarks
they had learned to know so well in the fall, but which now were so
changed as to be hardly recognized.
They stood in silence, something very like awe stealing over them as the
grim beauty, combined with pitiless strength, of the majestic scene
impressed itself upon them.
"Just think of a man living here all alone for weeks at a time. That's
what I call nerve. I believe I'd go dippy in a week," murmured Hal
hardly above a whisper as if he were afraid to trust his voice in the
great solitude.
"And yet there is something fascinating about it. I can feel the call of
it myself," replied Upton. "I suppose when one gets used to it it isn't
so bad. It's--it's--well, I suppose it's what you would call elemental,
and there is something heroic about this battling with the very hills
and elements to wrest a living from them. Hello! Pat's calling us."
They hurried back to the cabin, where Pat promptly shoved a pail into
the hands of each and ordered them back to the spring for water. When
they returned Alec had begun preparations for supper.
"This evening," announced Pat, "Alec will finish his yarn about trapping
and then we'll plan for to-morrow. Will you fellows have baking-powder
biscuit or corn bread for supper?"
"Corn bread!" was the unanimous shout.
"Corn bread it is then," declared Pat. "And how will yez have the
murphies?"
"French fried!" cried Hal.
"Yez be hearing the orders av the gintle-min--corn bread and French
fried praties, Misther Cook," said Pat, turning to Alec. "I'll be mixing
the corn bread whoile ye cut the spuds. The rest av yez can bring in
wood and set the table, an' the wan who loafs most gets the least to
eat."
At once there was a grand scramble to see who could do the most, in view
of such a dire threat.
CHAPTER X
LIFE ON THE FUR TRAILS
Supper out of the way the boys made themselves comfortable and gave Alec
the word to take up his yarn.
"To begin with," said Alec, throwing a log on the fire, "when a trapper
is thinking of going into new country he generally prospects it first,
same as a prospector for gold, only he looks it over for signs of fur
instead of for minerals. Sometimes he does this in summer or early fall,
and sometimes he does it in winter, planning for the next winter. Friend
o' mine went up into Brunswick last winter, and looked over some country
which never has been trapped to amount to anything and this year he's up
there with a line over one hundred miles long."
"Jerusalem! where did he stay nights when he was looking it over?" asked
Hal.
"Wherever he happened to be," replied Alec.
"Didn't he have no tent nor nothin'?" Sparrer was round eyed with
wonder.
Alec shook his head. "Nothin' but a week's supply of grub, his axe,
rifle and blanket. That's all any good woodsman needs."
"But was it as cold as it is now?" asked Hal.
"Colder, because that part of Brunswick is consid'rable farther north.
When night came he would just dig away the snow, build a fire and when
the ground was het up move his fire back, lay some boughs down where the
fire had been, make a little bough shelter over it, build a good big
fire to reflect the heat, and turn in. Sometimes when there's a big rock
handy or an upturned tree we warm up a place a little way in front of
that and then move the fire over against it and turn in without any
shelter at all. More'n once I've slept in just a hole in the snow.
Tisn't so bad when you're used to it. Have to get up a few times in the
night to put wood on the fire, but that ain't nothin', is it, Pat?"
"Tis no more than a reminder av how good it is to shlape," returned
Pat.
"When a man's prospectin' for fur he not only looks for signs of the
beasties but he looks the lay of the land over and gets the landmarks
fixed in his mind," continued Alec. "He picks out a place for his main
camp, locating it where he can get his supplies and stuff in and his
furs out at the end o' the season without too much difficulty. If it is
in lumbered country he picks out a place that can be reached by some old
trail with a little clearing out so that a team can get in. More often,
though, he locates on a river where he can get his stuff in by canoe,
and can get out again the same way in the spring.
"At the same time he tries to choose a location that will be to his best
advantage in working his trap lines. If he's got a long line laid out he
also picks out likely places for temporary camps, places handy to
springs and fire-wood. Early in the fall he gets his stuff together and
goes in to build his camps. Trappers mostly work in pairs, but sometimes
one goes it alone like my friend up in Brunswick. He took his traps an'
stuff in in September, so's to get his camps built and be ready for
bus'ness as soon as fur got prime."
"Can one man build a log cabin without any help?" asked Walter.
"Sure," replied Pat, "if he's reasonably husky, and most woodsmen are. A
smart axeman can roll one up in four days, but of course it's easier and
quicker if there are two."
"The main camp is made stout and comfortable as possible, same as 'tis
here, only usually 'tis no so big." Alec resumed the thread of his
story. "The other camps are just big enough for a bunk an' to cache some
supplies, and are one to two days' journey apart, accordin' to the
country. In good weather a feller disna mind sleeping oot one night
between camps if he must, though he disna aim to if he can help it. A
few supplies are left in each camp, and fire-wood cut and left handy.
When this work is done it's usually 'bout time to be gettin' after the
critters.
"A long line is usually planned on a sort of loop when the country will
permit, so that the trapper may go out one way and return another. When
two are trapping together, pardners like Pat and me, one works the line
one way and one the other. Of course two can work a longer line than one
can, and cover it the way it ought to be covered. I've put in more'n one
winter alone, but ye ken it's michty satisfying to hae speech wi' some
one once in a while. When I'm alone it gets so that I talk to the
varmints just to hear a human voice, even though it be my own."
"I shouldn't think it would be safe for a man to be all alone for so
long," Upton interrupted.
"Tisn't altogether safe," replied Alec. "There was old Bill Bently.
Never was a better woodsman than old Bill. He used to trap way up north
of here. Used to go it alone mostly, but one winter he took a pardner.
Lucky thing for Bill he did. They had a long line that year and Bill
covered it one way and his pardner, Big Frank, covered it the other.
They would meet at the upper end and then again at the main camp. Well,
one time Big Frank was a day late getting to the upper camp. A big bar
had busted a swivel on a trap and gone off with the trap. Took Frank a
whole day to catch up with him. When he got to the camp he expected to
find Bill waiting for him, but nary a sign of Bill could he find.
"This wasn't su'prisin' considerin' his own luck, but somehow it made
Big Frank uneasy. He hit the trail 'fore daylight the next morning and
didna stop to look at traps, but just made tracks watching out for some
sign of Bill. Long about noon he found him by a deadfall alongside of a
bar. Of course the critter was dead, and Bill would have been if he had
to lay there much longer. Seems in resetting the deadfall the lever with
which he was raising the 'fall' log broke, and somehow Bill got one leg
under it and there he was caught in his own trap and with a broken leg
to boot. Lucky for Bill it was early in the season, or he would have
frozen to death long 'fore Frank got there. As it was he was in pretty
bad shape. If he'd been trapping alone it would have been the end of
him.
"But I'm getting off my story of how we catch fur. Of course we have to
have a number of sizes of traps. For muskrats we use No. 1; for mink No.
1 or No. 1-1/2. This is also big enough to hold fox, coon and fisher,
but No. 2 is better. For marten we use mostly No. 1, but if there are
signs of fisher or lynx we use No. 1-1/2 so if one happens to get into a
trap it will hold him. These critters are so strong that they would pull
out of the smaller trap."
"It's marten that you are after mostly, isn't it? I understood you to
say that," Upton interposed.
"We're after anything we can get, but most of our sets are for marten,"
returned Alec. "In the fall we took a good many rats and will again in
the spring, but at this time o' the year when everything is frozen 'tis
only around spring holes that we can get a rat now and then since the
law will no let us trap them at their houses. I dinna ken what these
lawmakers want to meddle with a poor man's business for. So long as the
rat is killed I dinna see what difference it makes where he's killed or
how. We used to get good fur when it was no against the law to trap at
the houses."
"Walt, here's a subject for a little missionary work. Alec is still an
uncivilized savage in some things, especially when what he calls his
rights to hunt and trap are concerned," Pat broke in.
Upton looked a bit puzzled. "I don't quite get the point about the house
trapping," said he.
"You've seen muskrat houses a-plenty, haven't you?" asked Pat.
Walter nodded. "Well," continued Pat, "before this law was made trappers
used to chop a hole in the side of a house and set a trap on the bed
inside. Of course this drove the rats out, but they would soon be back,
because there was nowhere else to go. By visiting the traps night and
morning it was no trick at all to get all the rats. Now the law forbids
this kind of trapping. Alec here doesn't approve of the law. He thinks
that there are rats enough and to spare and he can't see that that kind
of work is cutting his own nose off and killing the goose that lays the
golden egg. Says you can clean all the rats out of a place and in time
more will come to take their places, and I can't make him see it any
different."
"How about beaver?" asked Walter, turning to the Scotchman. "Nowhere
near as plentiful as they used to be, are they?"
The trapper shook his head. "Been trapped pretty near out of this
country. I'm for protecting the beaver, all right, but rats is
different. Ye couldn't trap out all the rats in a million years. There's
rats enough and there always will be."
"Ever hear of the passenger pigeon?" asked Upton.
Alec signified that he never had. "Guess they dinna live in this
country," he added.
"I guess they don't," replied Upton drily. "Fact is they don't live in
any country any more. What is supposed to be the very last specimen died
in captivity in Cincinnati last year. A reward of several thousand
dollars for proof of a single pair nesting anywhere in America has stood
for several years. But the bird is believed to be absolutely extinct.
And yet seventy-five years ago they were numbered by millions and
extended over America from the Atlantic to the Rocky Mountains. Probably
billions would be nearer the truth. The ornithologist Wilson once
watched a flock which he estimated to be a mile wide, moving at the rate
of a mile a minute, and it took four hours to pass. Allowing three birds
to each square yard there must have been more than two billion birds in
that one flock. In 1869 one town in Michigan shipped to market in forty
days almost twelve million birds. They were so plentiful that they sold
as low as twelve cents a dozen and netters made money at that. When the
first efforts to protect them were made they were fruitless because
people said that the numbers were so great that it would be impossible
ever to reduce them to a serious extent. And to-day there is not one
living. It doesn't seem possible, but it is a cold, hard fact. And man
alone is to blame.
"The same thing is happening right now with a lot of animals and birds.
Just as sure as that fire is burning fifty years will see a lot off them
extinct unless they are better protected. The hunters of the pigeon
didn't believe it any more than you believe it about the rats. On the
level, Alec, do you think it a square deal to take a rat in the only
place he's got to stay in the winter?"
"Oh, I'm not taking them that way," Alec protested with some haste. "I
believe in respecting the law, even if it is a fool law."
"But is it a fool law? I don't think so," said Walter quietly. "In a
boxing match it is a foul to hit a man when he's down."
"'Tisn't in a lumberman's fight," Alec broke in. "If a man's down so
much the better. Then you've got him. That's the thing to do--get him
down and then do him good."
"Aw say, youse don't mean that!" Sparrer's eyes were round with
indignation, for even a street gamin has better ethics than this.
"It's the way they fight up here, Sparrer, I'm sorry to say," said Pat.
"In a rough and tumble fight here they kick, bite and gouge, and you may
well pity the under man. But they're learning better."
"Would you hit a man who was bound and helpless?" asked Walter quickly.
"Certainly not!" cried Alec indignantly. "That's different."
"Not so very different from your rats in their houses," protested Upton.
"They come pretty near to being helpless. Besides, they have no reason
to suspect harm there, and they don't. Put it up to any Scout and he'd
say right off the reel that it is unfair, and that is something that no
Scout will stand for. But this is nothing to do with marten. You were
saying, Alec, that you trap for marten, mostly."
"Aye," replied Alec, rather glad to have the subject changed, if the
truth were known. "And it's the prettiest and most comfortable kind of
trapping in the winter. Ye see the beasties are found in heavy timber
and broken country, and that gives the trapper more protection from cold
and storms. Then the beasties are no so hard to trap as some others.
When ye find marten sign ye may be pretty sure that the critter will be
along there again. They live on mice, rabbits, birds and squirrels. Fish
makes good bait. When the snows are not too heavy I build a little
cubby, a pen, ye ken, of sticks, at the foot of a big tree, the tree
forming the back, and roof it over with evergreen branches to keep out
the snow. On a little bed of boughs I set the trap just inside the
opening of the cubby and cover it lightly with tips of evergreen. The
bait is placed on a stick at the back of the cubby. I hang a couple of
boughs partly over the opening so that if Whiskey Jack happens along he
won't see the bait and steal it."
Here Pat interrupted to explain for Sparrer's benefit that a Whiskey
Jack is the common name in the north for the Canada Jay.
"I shouldn't think the marten could get his peepers on the bait, then,"
said Sparrer.
"He disna need to, laddie," replied Alec. "His nose finds it for him.
Another set which I like and use a good deal is this. I cut a small
spruce of about four inches through so as to leave a stump about two
feet above the snow. In the top of this I cut a V or crotch, and after
trimming off the lower limbs of the tree I rest it in this crotch so
that the butt end projects some distance and is three or four feet above
the snow. About a foot from the butt end I flatten off a place for the
trap and tie it in place with a bit of string and loop the chain around
the trunk of the tree. Then I make a split in the end of the butt and in
this fasten the bait. Mr. Marten runs up the tree to get the bait, steps
in the trap and falls off and hangs there. He can't twist a foot off or
pull free in any way. Once he steps in the trap he's a goner.
"Deadfalls work pretty well with marten. Ye'll have a chance to see
some, as I've got some right handy here, in some draws off the Hollow.
Ye'll understand them better by seeing than by me trying to tell you
about them."
"How about otter?" asked Hal.
"Steel traps for them, and we have to be some pertic'lar how we set 'em.
There's nary a critter that I know of more suspicious of man," replied
Alec. "In the fall and spring we get 'em with water sets. I got one this
fall up at one of the beaver dams. I cut a hole in the middle of the dam
so that the run-off from the pond was all through this but not enough to
lower the pond and bring the beavers to stop up the hole. I made the
passage only eight or nine inches wide and set the trap in the water at
the upper end. The first otter to come along tried to go through that
opening and I had him. Sometimes when we find a point of land running
out into a lake or big stream we'll find an otter trail across it where
the critter has taken a short cut. Then we set a trap in the water at
one end. Water sets are best, because there is no human scent. In the
winter we set under the ice, and I'll show you a couple of sets of that
kind before you go back."
"And foxes?" prompted Upton.
Alec grinned. "They're worse than otter," he confessed. "Ye think ye ken
all about the critters, and then ye meet up with one that just gives ye
the laugh, like the silver that's hanging around here. I've tried every
set I know of for that feller, but he's still grinning at me. And this
crust ain't going to help matters any. It's bad enough in dry snow, but
with a crust there won't be anything doing. In the fall I use water sets
where I can. One of the best is at a shallow spring, four or five feet
across. About a foot and a half from the shore put a moss-covered stone,
or a sod, so that it will come just above the level of the water.
Half-way between this and the shore set the trap, covering the jaws,
springs and chain with mud or wet leaves from the bottom. The pan should
be just under water and on this place a little piece of moss or sod so
that it will come an inch above the water. On the outer stone or sod put
a small piece of bait and a little scent. Mr. Fox comes along, smells
the bait and promptly investigates. He disna like to wet his feet, and
the bit of covering on the pan of the trap looks like a good
stepping-place. Then you have him.
"Ye must take care to leave everything in a perfectly natural state. I
wade up the outlet and take care not to touch the banks. Some trappers
boil the traps in hemlock boughs to kill the scent. Others just leave
them over night in running water. I wear clean gloves to handle the
traps. There are a lot of dry sets, some with bait and some without, the
latter being used in frequented runways. A very good set is to find an
old moss-covered log or stump and set the trap on the highest point,
covering it so that the whole thing looks just as it did before. Then
toss a big bait like a muskrat or rabbit eight or ten feet from it. Mr.
Fox is always suspicious, and before he goes too near anything like that
he will go to the highest point to look the ground over. That's when ye
get him. Of course, there mustn't be any other high point for him to get
on."
"You spoke of scents, Alec. I've read about them. What are they,
anyhow?" asked Upton.
For answer, Alec got up and went to a corner of the cabin and brought
forth an old fruit jar. Pat grinned. "Here's some," said Alec simply as
he unscrewed the cover while the boys crowded around. They took one
whiff and then fairly tumbled over each other to get away.
"Cover it up! Take it away!" howled Hal, holding his nose. "I won't be
able to eat a square meal for a week."
"Me too!" yelped Sparrer. "Dey has some awful smells in New York, but
dis is de limit."
"Jumping crickets! I should think that stuff would drive things away and
not attract 'em!" exclaimed Upton. "What is it, anyhow?"
"Skunk fat and mice cut up and put in the jar and hung in the sun until
thoroughly rotted, and then some skunk and muskrat scent added. Sorry
you don't like it," replied Pat. "A drop or two judiciously used seems
to be a great attraction for foxes and some other critters. Alec has got
another brand if you would like to sample it--fish oil made by cutting
up fish and letting them rot in the same way. It's a mighty good scent."
"No, thanks!" cried Hal hastily. "We'll take your word for it. What
about those stretching boards?"
"I'm coming to that," replied Alec. "Raw furs are handled in two ways,
'cased' and 'open.' Mink, marten, fox, fisher, weasel, muskrat, skunk
and bob cat are 'cased.' That is what these boards are for. We skin 'em
by cutting loose around the feet and then cutting down the back of the
hindlegs to and around the vent and then skin the hindlegs carefully,
and also the tail. Then the skin is turned back and stripped off the
body wrong side out to the ears, taking as little fat as possible. The
ears are cut off close to the head, and the skin is cut loose around the
eyes and nose. The easiest way is to hang the critter up by the hindlegs
after skinning out these and the tail.
"These small boards Pat and I are making are for muskrats in the spring.
For marten, mink, otter, fisher and such like we use longer, narrower
boards; that is, they are narrower in proportion to their length. I'll
show you some presently. The best boards are those with a narrow strip
ripped out of the middle for the whole length. This makes a wedge or
tongue. Of course it should be tapered. This makes it possible to use
the board for various size animals and to stretch the skin to its
fullest extent. It also makes it easy to remove a skin from the board,
as taking out the wedge at once loosens the whole board.
"The skins are put on the stretchers fur side in. Then with a blunt
knife they are fleshed. That is, they are scraped clean of every
particle of fat and flesh. Then they are stretched to their fullest
extent and put to dry or cure in a cool, airy place. As soon as dry
enough to prevent shrinking or wrinkling they are taken from the boards.
Lynx and fox are then turned fur side out, but the others are left as
they are.
"Beaver, coon, bear, wolf and badger are skinned 'open.' That means that
a cut is made from the point of the jaw straight down the belly to the
vent. A cut is made down the inside of the forelegs across the breast to
the point of the brisket and another down the back of the hindlegs. Big
animals like bars, wolves and wolverines should be skinned out to the
ends of their toes and have the feet left on. These skins are stretched
flat, a coon nearly square, a beaver round, and others to their natural
shape. The best way is by lacing them with twine in a frame. Many
trappers lose money by careless handling of the furs. All dirt, blood
and lumps should be carefully removed. Lots of skins, prime when caught,
grade way down because of careless handling. Now I guess you chaps have
got your fill of furs. What about to-morrow? It's Christmas, ye ken."
"That's so, and it will be the queerest Christmas I ever have spent,"
said Hal thoughtfully. "We ought to celebrate, somehow. What's the
program, Pat?"
"How about a rabbit hunt in the morning, a big dinner and a
shooting-match in the afternoon?" replied Pat.
"Bully!" cried all three together.
"What's the matter with a Christmas tree in the evening?" added Upton.
"We ought to do something Christmasy."
"I was going to suggest that very thing," retorted Hal. "We'll make it
the greatest Christmas this old Hollow ever saw. Now, let's turn in. I
want to be out for those rabbits right early. By the way, Alec, I hope
there's some of that venison left for the big feast."
"Dinna ye worry, laddie. I hae saved a roast special," replied Alec as
he prepared things for the night.
CHAPTER XI
CHRISTMAS IN SMUGGLERS' HOLLOW
"Merry Christmas!"
At the sound of Pat's roar the three guests hastily tumbled out of their
bunks with answering greetings. A cheerful fire blazed up the chimney
and added its flickering light to that of a couple of candles, for the
sun was not yet up. Alec was cutting bacon and Pat was mixing flapjack
batter.
"Breakfast will be ready in fifteen minutes, and the one who isn't ready
goes hungry," he announced.
"It won't be yours truly," declared Hal, reaching for his clothes.
"My tummy, oh, my tummy!
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