Loe raamatut: «The Banner Boy Scouts Snowbound», lehekülg 6

CHAPTER XVI
THE FIRST NIGHT OUT

“Well, it’s started in to snow!”

Jud Elderkin made this surprising statement after he had gone to the door to take a peep at the weather.

“You must be fooling, Jud,” expostulated Tom, “because when I looked out not more’n fifteen minutes ago the moon was shining like everything.”

“All right, that may be, but she’s blanketed behind the clouds right now, and the snow’s coming down like fun,” asserted Jud.

“Seems that we didn’t get here any too soon, then,” chuckled Bluff.

“Oh! a little snow wouldn’t have bothered us any,” laughed Jack. “We’d never think of minding a heavy fall at home, and why should we worry now?”

“That’s a fact,” Bobolink went on to remark, with a look of solid satisfaction on his beaming face. “Plenty of wood under the shed near by, and enough grub to feed an army. We’re all right.”

After several of them had gone to verify Jud’s statement, and had brought back positive evidence in the shape of snowballs, the boys again clustered around the jolly fire and continued to talk on various subjects that chanced to interest them.

“I wonder now,” remarked Bobolink, finally, “if Hank took Mr. Briggs’ money as well as set fire to his store.”

As this was the first mention that had been made concerning this subject Tolly Tip showed considerable interest.

“Is it the ould storekeeper in Stanhope ye mane?” he asked. “Because I did me tradin’ with the same the short time I was in town, and sorry a bargain did I ever sacure from Misther Briggs.”

“Plenty of other people are in the same boat with you there, Tolly Tip,” Sandy told him with a chuckle. “But his run of good luck has met with a snag. Somebody set fire to his store, which was partly burned down the other night.”

“Yes, and the worst part of it,” added Bobolink, “was that Mr. Briggs accidentally, or on purpose, let his insurance policy lapse, so that he can get no damages on account of this fire.”

“And the last thing we heard before coming away,” Phil Towns went on to say, “was that the safe had been broken open and robbed. Poor old Levi Briggs’ cup is full to overflowing I guess. Everything seems to be coming his way in a bunch.”

“I suspect that this Hank ye’re tillin’ me about must be a wild harum-scarum broth av a boy thin?” remarked the old woodsman, puffing at his pipe contentedly.

“He is the toughest boy in town,” said Phil.

“And several others train with him who aim to beat his record if they can,” Spider Sexton hastened to add as his contribution.

“There’s absolutely nothing they wouldn’t try if they thought they could get some fun or gain out of it,” declared Jud emphatically.

“Do till!” exclaimed their host, shaking his head dolefully as though he disliked knowing that any boys could sink to such a low level.

“Why, only the other day,” said Bobolink, “Jack and I saw the gang pick on a couple of tramps who had just come out of Briggs’ store. So far as we knew the hoboes hadn’t offered to say a word to Hank and his crowd, but the fellows ran them out of town with a shower of stones. Didn’t they, Jack?”

“Yes. And we saw one tramp get a hard blow on the head from a rock, in the bargain,” assented Jack.

“Wow! but they were a mad pair, let me tell you,” concluded Bobolink.

“By the same token,” observed Tolly Tip, “till me av one of the tramps had on an ould blue army coat wid rid linin’ to the same?”

Bobolink uttered an exclamation of surprise.

“Just what he did, I give you my word!” he replied hastily.

“And was the other chap a long-legged hobo, wid a face that made ye think av the sharp idge av a hatchet?” the old trapper questioned.

“I reckon you must have seen the pair yourself, Tolly Tip!” observed Bobolink. “Were you in Stanhope, or did they happen to pass this way?”

At that the taker of furs touched his cheek just below his eye with the tip of his finger, and smiled humorously.

“’Tis the black eye they were afther giving me early this day, sure it was,” he explained. “Not two miles away from here it happened, where the road cuts through the woods like a knife blade. I’d been out to look at a few traps set in that section whin I kim on the spalpeens. We had words, and the shorter chap wid the army coat ran, but the other engaged me. Before he cut stick he managed to lave the imprission av his fists on me face, bad luck to the same.”

“I guess after all, Jack,” remarked Bobolink, “they must be a couple of hard cases, and Hank did the town a service when he chased them off.”

“It would be the first time on record then that the Lawson crowd was of any benefit to the community,” Jack commented; “but accidents will happen, you know. They didn’t mean to do a good turn, only have what they call fun.”

“So the shorter rascal didn’t have any fight in him, it seems, Tolly Tip?” Bobolink observed, as though the subject interested him considerably.

“Oh! as for that,” replied the trapper, “mebbe he do be afther thinkin’ discretion was the better part av valor. Ye say, he had one av his hands wrapped up in a rag, and I suspect he must have been hurt.”

“That’s interesting, at any rate!” declared Bobolink. “When we saw him he had the use of both hands. Something must have happened after that. I wonder what.”

“You’re the greatest fellow to wonder I ever knew,” laughed Sandy Griggs.

“Bobolink likes to grapple with mysteries,” said Jud, “and from now on he’ll keep bothering his head about that tramp’s injured hand, wanting to know whether he cut himself with a broken bottle, or burned his fingers when cooking his coffee in an old tomato can over the campfire.”

“Let Bobolink alone, boys,” said Paul. “If he chooses to amuse himself in that way what’s the odds? Who knows but what he may surprise us with a wonderful discovery some day.”

“Thank you, Paul,” the other remarked drily.

After that the subject was dropped. It did not offer much of interest to the other scouts, but Paul, glancing towards Bobolink several times, could easily see that he was pondering over something.

After all, the snow did not last long. Before they finally went to bed they found that the moon had once more appeared through a rift in the clouds, and not more than two inches of fresh snow had covered the ground.

There was considerable skirmishing around done when the boys commenced to make their final preparations for spending the first night in their winter camp. No one would think of taking Tolly Tip’s bunk when he generously offered it, and so straws were drawn for the remaining three, as well as the cot upon which Mr. Garrity slept when up at his Deer Head Lodge.

The fortunate ones turned out to be Paul, Bluff, Frank and Bobolink, though the last mentioned declared positively that he preferred sleeping on the floor as a novelty, and insisted that Phil Towns occupy his bunk.

They managed to make themselves comfortable after a fashion, though the appearance of the “dormitory” excited considerable laughter, with the boys sprawled out in every direction.

All of the boys were up early, and they were eager to take up the many plans they had laid out for the day. Breakfast was the first thing on the calendar; and while it was being prepared and dispatched the tongues of that half score of boys ran on like the water over the wheel of the old mill, with a constant clatter.

There was no necessity for all of them to remain at home to work on the new bunks, so Paul picked out several to assist him in that work. The others were at liberty to carry out such scout activities as most appealed to their fancy. Some planned to go off with the woodsman to see how he managed with his steel traps, by means of which, during the winter, he expected to lay by quite a good-sized bundle of valuable fur. Then there was wood to chop, pictures to be taken, favorable places to be found for setting the camera during a coming night so as to get a flashlight view of a fox or a mink in the act of stealing the bait, as well as numerous other pleasant duties and diversions, all of which had been eagerly planned for the preceding night as the boys sat before the crackling fire.

CHAPTER XVII
“TIP-UPS” FOR PICKEREL

Tom Betts came up from the frozen creek.

“I don’t believe that little snow ought to keep us from trying the scheme we laid out between us, Jack,” he said, looking entreatingly at the other.

“Why, no, there wasn’t enough to hurt the skating,” replied the other, readily, much to Tom’s evident satisfaction.

“Bully for you, Jack!” he exclaimed. “There was more or less wind blowing at the time, and the snow was pretty dry, so it blew off the ice. We can easily make the lake in an hour I reckon, with daylight to help us. Besides, we know the way by this time, you see.”

“All right!” called out Frank, who had been detailed to assist Paul in the making of the extra bunks out of some spare boards that lay near by, having been brought into the woods for some purpose, though never used.

“Remember, you two fishermen,” warned Paul, “we’ll all have our mouths set for pickerel to-night, so don’t dare disappoint us, or there will be a riot in the camp.”

“We’ve just got to get those fish, Jack,” said Tom, with mock solemnity, “even if we have to go in ourselves after them. Our lives wouldn’t be worth a pinch of salt in this crowd if they had to go pickerelless to-night.”

“Oh! that’ll do! Be off with you!” roared Jud Elderkin, making out to throw a frying-pan at Tom’s head.

When at the lake talking to the man who had agreed to look after their iceboats during their absence, the boys had learned that there was fine fishing through the ice to be had at this season of the year.

Abe Turner had also informed them that should they care to indulge in the sport at any time, and should skate down to his cabin, he would show them just how it was done. What was more to the point, he had a store of live minnows in a spring-hole that never froze up, even in the hardest winter, he had been told.

This then was the object that drew the two scouts, both of them exceedingly fond of fishing in every way. None of the boys had ever fished through the ice, it happened, though they knew how it was done.

Accordingly, Tom and Jack set off down the creek, their skate runners sending back that clear ringing sound that is music in the ears of every lad who loves the outdoor sports of winter.

Jack carried his gun along. Not that he had any particular intention of hunting, for others had taken that upon themselves as a part of the day’s routine, but then a deer might happen to cross their path, and such a chance if it came would be too good to lose.

“You see,” commented Tom, after a mile or so had been placed to their credit, “the snow isn’t going to bother us the least bit. And I never enjoyed skating any better than right now.”

“Same here,” Jack told him. “And we certainly couldn’t find ourselves surrounded by a prettier scene, with every twig covered with snow.”

“Listen!”

Both of them stopped when Tom called in this fashion, and strained their ears to catch a repetition of the sound Tom had heard.

“Oh! that’s only a fox barking,” said Jack. “I’ve heard them do it many a time. You know they belong to the dog family, just as the wolf and jackal and hyena do. Tolly Tip has a couple of fox pelts already, and he says they are very numerous this year. Come on, let’s be moving again.”

So they pursued their winding way down the straggling creek, first turning to the right and then to the left.

“It’s been just an hour since we left camp,” remarked Jack at length, “and there you can catch a glimpse of the lake through the trees yonder.”

Abe Turner was surprised as well as pleased to find two of the boys at his door that morning.

“Didn’t expect us back so soon, did you, Abe?” laughed Tom. “But in laying out the plans for to-day we found that some of the boys were fish hungry, so we decided to run down and take you up on your proposition.”

“Nothing would please me better,” Abe told them. “And it is about as good a day for ice fishing as anybody’d want to set eyes on. I’ll go right away and get my lines. Then we’ll pick up a pail, and put some of my minnows in it.”

Before long they were out upon the ice of Lake Tokala, Tom carrying an axe, Jack the various lines and “tip-ups” that were to signal when a fish had been hooked, and Abe with the live bait in a tin bucket.

The day was not a bitterly cold one, and this promised to make fishing agreeable work.

“On the big lakes where they do a heap of this kind of work,” explained their guide as they went toward Cedar Island, “the men build little shanties out on the ice, where they can keep fairly warm. You see sometimes the weather is terribly cold. But a day like this makes it a pleasure to be out.”

Coming to a place where Abe knew from previous experience that a good haul could be made, the first hole was cut in the ice. As winter was still young this did not prove to be a hard task.

Abe had marked a dozen places where these holes were to be chopped, but the boys chose to watch him set his first line. After the novelty had worn off they would be ready to take a hand themselves.

There are many sorts of “tip-ups” used in this species of sport, but Abe’s kind answered all purposes and was very simple, being possibly the original “tip-up.”

He would take a branch that had a certain kind of fork as thick around as his little finger. In cutting this he left two short “feet” and one long one. To Tom’s mind it looked something like an old-fashioned cannon, with the line securely tied to the short projecting muzzle.

When the fish took hold this point was pulled down, with the result that the longer “tail” shot up into the air, the outstretched legs preventing the fork from being drawn into the hole.

At the end of the long “tail” Abe had fastened a small piece of red flannel. When a dozen lines were out it often kept a man busy running this way and that to attend to the numerous calls as signaled by the upraised red flags.

“Now that we know just how it’s done,” said Tom, after they had seen the bait fastened to the hook and dropped into the lake, “we’ll get busy cutting all those other holes. My turn next, Jack, you remember. Watch my smoke.”

They had hardly finished the second hole before they heard Abe laughing, and glancing toward him discovered that he was holding up a two-pound, struggling pickerel.

“First blood for Abe!” cried Tom. “But if they keep on biting it’ll be our chance soon, Jack. My stars! but that is a beaut, though. A dozen like that would make the boys stare, I tell you.”

When Abe had arranged four lines he would not hear of the boys cutting any more holes.

“I’ll dig out a couple to make an even half dozen,” he told them. “And the way the pike are biting to-day I reckon we’ll get a good mess.”

“All right, then,” agreed Tom, much relieved, for he wanted to be pulling in the fish rather than doing the drudgery. “I’ll look after these two holes, Jack, and you skirmish around the others. And by jinks! if I haven’t got one right now!”

“The same here,” shouted the equally excited Jack. “Whew! how he does pull though! Must be a whopper this time. I hope I don’t lose him!”

Fortune favored the ice fishermen, for both captives were saved, and they proved to be even larger than the first one taken.

So the fun went on. At times it slackened more or less, only to begin again with new momentum. The pile of fish on the ice, rapidly freezing, once they were exposed to the air, increased until at noon they had all they could think of carrying home.

“The rest of the day we’ll take things easy, and lay in a stock for Abe here,” suggested Tom; for the guide had told them he meant to cure as many of the fish as he could secure, since later on in the winter they would be much more difficult to catch, and it would be a long time until April came with its break-up of the ice.

The boys certainly enjoyed every minute of their stay at the lake. Jack was wise enough to know that they had better start for camp about three o’clock. It might not be quite so easy going back, as they would be tired, and the wind was against them.

They had skated for over half an hour, with their heavy packs on their backs, when again Tom called to his comrade to listen.

“And believe me it wasn’t a fox that time, Jack!” he declared, “but, as sure as you live, it sounded like somebody calling weakly for help!”

CHAPTER XVIII
THE HELPING HAND OF A SCOUT

When Jack, listening, caught the same sound, he turned upon his companion with a serious expression on his face.

“Let’s kick off our skates and hang our packs up in the crotch of this tree, Tom,” he said.

“Then you expect to investigate, and find out what it means, do you?”

“We’d feel pretty mean if we went on our way like the Levite in the old story of the Good Samaritan,” remarked Jack, busily disengaging his bundle of fish which Abe had done up in a piece of old bagging.

“I’m the last one to do such a thing,” asserted Tom, “only I chanced to remember that there are some tough boys up here somewhere—Hank and his crowd—and I was wondering if this could be a trick to get us to put our fingers in a trap.”

Jack chuckled, and held up his gun.

“We ought to be able to take care of ourselves with this,” he told his chum.

“Right you are, Jack! So let’s be on the jump. There! that sounded like a big groan, didn’t it? Somebody’s in a peck of trouble. Maybe a wood-chopper has had a tree fall on him or cut his foot with his axe, and is bleeding badly.”

“Just what I had in mind,” remarked the other, as they started into the shrubbery.

The groans continued; therefore, the two scouts had no difficulty in going directly to the spot. In a few minutes Tom clutched his chum’s sleeve and pointed directly ahead.

“Ginger! it looks like Sim Jeffreys,” he whispered.

“No other,” added Jack.

“But what’s the matter with the fellow?” continued Tom. “See how he keeps tugging away at his right leg. I bet you he’s gone and got it caught in a root, and can’t work it free. I’ve been through just such an experience.”

“We’ll soon find out,” remarked Jack, pushing forward.

“Be mighty careful, Jack,” urged the other, not yet wholly convinced that the groans were really genuine, for he knew how tricky Sim Jeffreys had always been.

By this time the other had become aware of their presence. He turned an agonized face toward them, upon which broke a gleam of wild hope. If Sim Jeffreys were playing a part then, Jack thought, he must be a clever actor.

“Oh, say! ain’t I glad to see you boys,” he called, holding both his hands out toward them. “Come, help me get free from this pesky old trap here!”

“Trap!” echoed Tom. “Just what do you mean by that, Sim?”

“I ain’t tryin’ to fool you, boys. Sure I ain’t!” exclaimed the other, anxiously. “Seems to me like an old bear trap, though I never saw one before. I was out with my gun, lookin’ for partridges, when all of a sudden it jumped up and grabbed me right by the leg.”

Neither of the boys could believe this strange story until they had taken a look. Then they saw that it was just as Sim had declared. The trap was old and very rusty. Jack saw that it had lost much of its former fierce grip, which was lucky for poor Sim, for otherwise he might have had his leg badly injured.

Still the jaws retained enough force to hold the boy securely; though had Sim retained his presence of mind, instead of tugging wildly to break away, he might have found it possible to bear down on the weakened springs and set himself free.

Tom and Jack quickly did this service for the other, who was profuse in his expressions of gratitude, though neither of the scouts believed in his sincerity, for Sim had a reputation for being slippery and double-faced.

“Why, I might have frozen to death here to-night,” he told them. “Even if I had lived till to-morrow I’d have starved sure. The bears would have got me too, or the wildcats.”

“Didn’t you call when you first got caught?” asked Tom.

“I should say I did, till I could hardly whisper, but nobody seemed to hear me shout,” came the reply, as Sim rubbed his swollen and painful leg. “Guess I’ll have to limp all the way back to the hole in the rocks where the rest of the boys are campin’.”

“How far away from here is it?” asked Jack, wondering whether they ought to do anything more for Sim or let him shift for himself.

“Oh, a mile and more, due west,” the boy told them. “Where that hill starts up, see? We haven’t got much grub along with us, b’cause, you see, we depended on shooting heaps of game. But so far I’ve knocked down only one bird.”

“Do you think you can make it, Sim?” persisted Jack.

The fellow limped around a little before replying.

“I reckon I kin. Though I’ll be pretty sore to-morrow like as not, after this silly thing grabbin’ me the way it did. I know my way home, boys, never fear, and I’ll turn up there sooner or later. Much obliged for your help.”

With that Sim started off as though eager to get his hard work over with. And as there was nothing more to be done, the two chums returned to the creek, shouldered their heavy packs after resuming their skates, and went on their way.

It was just about dusk when they made the cabin on the bank of Snake Creek; and as the others discovered their burdens a shout of joy went up.

“The country’s safe,” said Jud, “since you’ve brought home a stack of fine pickerel. Let’s see what they look like, fellows.”

At sight of the big fish the boys were loud in their congratulations.

“Wouldn’t mind having a try at that fun myself one of these days,” asserted Jud, enviously. “Paul, jot it down that I’m to be your side partner when you take a notion to go down to the lake.”

“Some of you get busy here fixing the fish, if we mean to have them to-night,” remarked Jack, who was too tired to think of doing it himself.

“Too late for that this evening. We’ve got supper all ready for you. The fish will have to keep till to-morrow,” announced Bobolink.

“What’s this I smell in the air?” demanded Tom. “Don’t tell me you’ve bagged a deer already?”

“Just what we have!” said Bobolink, his eyes glistening so, that it required little effort to decide who the lucky hunter was.

“Why, he wasn’t away from camp an hour,” asserted Phil Towns, “when we heard him whooping, and in he came with a young buck on his back. I never thought Bobolink was strong enough to tote that load a mile and more.”

“Huh! I’d have carried in an elephant if it had dropped to my gun, I felt that good!” declared the happy hunter.

“But all the adventures haven’t fallen to you fellows who stayed here in camp or wandered about in the adjacent woods,” announced Tom, mysteriously.

“What else have you been doing besides catching that dandy mess of fish?” asked the scout-master, voicing the curiosity of the entire crowd.

“Say! did you shoot some game, too—a deer, a wildcat, or maybe a big black bear?” demanded Bobolink, eagerly.

“No, the gun was never fired,” continued Tom. “But we’ve got a right to turn our badges over for this day, because we performed a Good Samaritan act.”

“Go on and tell us about it!” urged Sandy Griggs.

“We heard groans, and weak calls for help,” said Tom, unable to keep back his news any longer, though he would have liked very much to continue tantalizing the others, “and after we had kicked off our skates and hung our packs in a tree, we went over into the woods and found–”

“What?” roared several of the curious scouts in unison.

“Who but our fellow townsman, Sim Jeffreys, whining and groaning to beat the band,” continued the narrator. “It seems that he had got caught in a trap, and expected to be frozen to death to-night, or starve there to-morrow.”

“A trap, did ye say?” asked Tolly Tip. And Paul noticed a sudden look of enlightenment come into his face.

“Tell us what sort of a trap, Tom?” urged Bobolink.

“A regular bear trap!” replied the one addressed.

“Oh, come now! you’re trying to play some sort of trick on us, fellows,” cried Spider Sexton. “How ever would a real bear trap come there?”

“Ask Tolly Tip,” suggested Paul.

“That’s right, lads, I know all about that trap,” admitted the old woodsman, as he grinned at them. “I had an ole bear trap that had lost its grip and wasn’t wuth much. I sot the same in the woods, but nothin’ iver kim nigh it, and so I jest forgets all about the same. But bless me sowl I niver dramed it’d be afther grippin’ a lad by the leg. All he had to do was to push down on the springs, and he’d been loose.”

“I could see that plainly enough,” admitted Jack. “The trouble was Sim fell into a panic as soon as he found himself caught, and all he could do was to squirm and pull and shout and groan. It shows the foolishness of letting a thing scare you out of your seven senses.”

“But do you mean to say there are real, live bears around here, Tolly Tip?” demanded Bobolink, his eyes nearly round with excitement.

“There’s one rogue av a bear that I’ve tried to git for this two year, but by the same token he’s been too smart for the likes av me.”

“That interests me a whole lot,” remarked Paul; “and I mean to devote much of my spare time to trying to shoot that same bear with my camera in order to get a flashlight picture of him in his native haunts!”