“Fellows, he’s fallen in a quicksand!” yelled Bart. “Come on, help him out!”
“Look out we don’t get in it ourselves,” cautioned Frank, but it was from no desire to shirk any danger in rescuing his chum that he was thus thoughtful. Rather he wanted to be on the safe side. “Go ahead, Bart and Ned. I’ll get some tree branches, in case you can’t reach him,” he added.
Ned and Bart started on a run toward their unfortunate chum. Poor Fenn was engulfed almost to his shoulders, and was struggling ineffectually to get out.
“Don’t worry, we’ll save you!” called Bart encouragingly. “Hold on, Stumpy.”
“That’s the trouble—there’s nothing to hold on to,” panted Fenn.
“Is the water hot?” asked Ned.
“No, only warm; but I’m in as much mud as I am water. Give me a hand, and pull me out.”
Bart and Ned advanced to do so, but, to theirdismay they found that they were themselves sinking in. As they had approached on this side of the boiling spring on a previous occasion, much closer to the water than they now were, it was evident that there had been a shifting of the earth underneath the surface.
“We can’t come any closer, Stumpy,” announced Bart. “We’ll sink in ourselves.” He was about to go back.
“Don’t—don’t leave me!” begged the unfortunate lad, making another attempt to lift himself out of the slough. “Don’t go back on me, Bart!”
“We won’t. We were only trying to think of a way to get you out,” answered Bart, as he held Ned back from going too close.
“Here, this will do it,” cried Frank, running up at that moment with a long, tree branch. “Take hold of this, Stumpy, and we’ll haul you out.”
Standing where the ground was firm, Frank thrust forward the branch, Bart and Ned assisting their chum. Fenn grasped desperately at the other end, and his three companions braced themselves.
There was a straining, a long, steady pull and Fenn slowly began to emerge from the hole. Once he was started it was an easy matter to pull him out completely, and in a few seconds he was out of danger,and standing beside his chums on solid earth. But such a sight!
He was covered with mud almost from his head to his feet. It dripped from his clothes, and his hands were thick with it, while some had even splashed on his face. He had not been rescued more than a minute before there came a rumbling sound, and a spray of mud and water shot up into the air. The volcano was in eruption, and Fenn had been saved in the nick of time, for the place where he had been sucked down was right on the edge of the disturbance.
“How did it happen?” asked Frank.
“It was so quick I can’t tell,” answered the muddy lad. “All I know is that I went down and seemed to keep on going.”
“Better come over to where the water flows out of the spring, and wash off,” suggested Ned, and Fenn agreed with him. The water with which he removed the worst of the mud from his clothes was unpleasant smelling, impregnated as it was with salt and sulphur, but there was no help for it. As the three labored to get Fenn into some sort of presentable shape, numerous turtles crawled around them, evidently disturbed by the unaccustomed visits.
“Well, I’ll do, I guess,” remarked Fenn, at length, trying to catch a glimpse of himself in thelittle stream of water. “Wow, but that’s dirty mud, though!”
“Next time don’t go so near,” cautioned Bart.
“You should have told me that first,” answered Fenn, with a grim smile.
With a final look at the place of the mud volcano the boys turned back toward camp. They had not learned much, save that the mysterious visitor had come in the direction of the boiling spring—why, they could not fathom. Fenn spoke of getting some of the less common turtles to add to his collection, but his chums persuaded him to wait until they were ready to go home.
Fenn’s first work, when he reached the tent, was to change his clothes, and then, making a good fire in the wood stove he took a bath, with water melted from snow. He felt better after this, and was about to proceed with the getting ready of supper, for they had taken their lunch with them on their tramp to the spring, and had made coffee on the way.
“Fenn, you sit down and rest, and I’ll get the meal,” suggested Frank, good-naturedly. “I think I’ll give you fellows a treat.”
“What’ll it be?” asked Ned.
“How would pancakes go?” inquired Frank with a triumphant air.
“Can you make ’em?” asked Bart, doubtfully.
“Sure. I did it at home once; for dad and me. We have some prepared flour here, and the directions are on the package. You fellows go outside, and when the cakes are ready I’ll call you in to supper.”
“That suits me,” observed Bart, and the others assented joyfully. Leaving Frank in the cook-tent, they busied themselves about various things, awaiting the call for supper, and with no great amount of patience, for they were hungry.
“Do you fellows smell anything,” asked Bart, after a long wait, and he sniffed the air strongly.
“You don’t mean to say Frank’s burning those cakes, do you?” inquired Ned anxiously.
“No, I don’t smell him cooking them at all,” answered Bart. “They ought to be pretty nearly done by this time, for it doesn’t take long. Maybe he’s in trouble. I’m going to take a look.”
He advanced cautiously to peer into the cook tent, whence came a series of rather queer sounds. Bart took one look through the flap, and then beckoned to his chums.
“Look, but don’t laugh,” he cautioned them.
It was well he did, for the sight that met their eyes made them want to howl. Frank was in the midst of the tent, surrounded by several pots, pans, pails, dishes and other receptacles, filled with pancakebatter. He was industriously stirring more in the bread-pan, and there was a puzzled look on his face.
“Hang it all,” Frank’s chums heard him mutter, “I can’t seem to get this stuff right. Guess it needs more flour.” He put some into the batter he was mixing, and then stirred it. “Now it’s too thick,” he remarked. “It needs more water.” He poured the fluid in with a too lavish hand, it seemed, for he murmured: “Gee whiz! Can’t I get this right? Now I’ve got it too thin. I’ll have to empty part of it out.”
He looked around for something into which to pour part of the batter, but every available dish in the tent seemed to be filled.
“No use saving it,” Frank went on. “I’ll just throw some of it away. I’ve got lots left.” He emptied part of the batter into a refuse pail, and his face wore such a worried expression as he came back to his task, that Bart and his two chums could not hold back their laughter any longer. As they burst into peals of mirth, Frank glanced up, and saw them spying on him from the tent flap.
“Hu! you fellows think you’re mighty smart, I guess!” he muttered.
“How are you coming on?” asked Bart “Are you stocking up for fear of a blizzard, Frank?”
Then the comical side of the situation struck the volunteer cook, and he, too, joined in the fun.
“It’s funny how this thing came out,” said Frank, with a dubious air. “First the batter was too thick, and then, when I put more water in, it was too thin. Then I had too much, and I had to empty some of it out. Then I did the same thing over again, and had to keep on emptying. I never could seem to get it right, and I’ve used up nearly a sack of flour. I put the flavoring in, too.”
“Flavoring? What flavoring?” asked Fenn quickly.
“Cocoanut, I guess it was. I found it in a cocoanut box, anyhow.”
“I never heard of cocoanut flavoring in pancakes,” said Fenn dubiously, “but maybe it’s all right. But I’ll show you how to mix ’em, Frank. We’ll just put two or three dishes of this batter together in the pan, add a little more flour, and some salt, and it’ll be ready to bake,” and, as he talked Fenn soon beat up the batter to the right consistency, for he had a knack of cooking. Then a frying pan was put on the stove, for they had brought along no regular griddle, it was greased, and Frank, who insisted on doing the rest, was allowed to pour out the batter, and do the turning. This part hemanaged fairly well, and soon he had a big plate full of nicely-browned cakes.
“Seems to me they smell sort of funny,” remarked Ned, as he sat down to the table, and helped himself liberally.
“Oh, that’s only your imagination,” declared Frank. “They’re all right. Eat hearty, fellows, there’s lots of ’em.” There was—enough for a squad.
Fenn poured out a liberal amount of maple syrup on his pile of cakes. He put a generous piece of the top brown one in his mouth. The next minute he uttered a yell, and made rush for the outside of the tent.
“Wow! Oh!” he cried on his way.
“Why, what’s the matter?” asked Frank, as Fenn hastily drank several glasses of water on his return.
“What did you say you flavored those cakes with?” demanded the stout youth, while Bart and Ned paused, with their forks half raised to their mouths.
“Cocoanut,” answered Frank.
“Soap powder, you mean!” exclaimed Fenn, as he made a dash for the box that served as a cupboard, and took out a pasteboard package that had contained cocoanut. “I put soap powder in this to have handy when I washed the dishes,” explained thefleshy youth, “and you flavored the cakes with it, Frank. Wow! Wow!”
“Oh punk!” groaned Bart, as he pushed his plate away from him, “and I was counting on griddle cakes!”
Frank cautiously smelled of the pile of cakes on his plate.
“Guess you’re right,” he admitted dubiously. “I’m sorry fellows, but my pancakes are a failure.”
They made the best of it, laughing and joking, and the meal was finished on some victuals that remained from the day before. Frank was inclined to blame himself, and, after that, Fenn, because the latter had put the soap powder into the cocoanut box, but the amateur cook’s chums were good-natured over his failure, and comforted him with the proverb “accidents will happen in the best of regulated camps.”
The weather the following day turned out unexpectedly warm, and, as Bart, Fenn and Ned elected to remain in camp, and straighten it out somewhat, besides cleaning their guns, and mending some torn clothes, Frank said:
“Guess I’ll go off, and try my luck, if you fellows don’t mind. Maybe I can bag something.”
“Going alone?” asked Bart, looking up from his rifle, which he had taken apart. “If you wait until after dinner I’ll go along.”
“I don’t mind going alone,” was Frank’s rejoinder,and this was true, for, however good a chum he might be to the other lads, he was rather an odd chap, and frequently went off on solitary strolls. His friends were used to this, and did not mind.
“Aren’t you going to take a rifle?” asked Ned. “You might see some big game.”
“Guess not. I’m after birds. You fellows have scared off all the deers and bears,” and, with a light shotgun over his shoulder Frank set out.
It was lonesome enough in the woods, after leaving the winter camp, to suit almost any one who was fond of solitude, and Frank really rejoiced in the calm and quietness all about him. The only sound was the occasional flutter of a bird in the branches, or the soft, slushing noise made by snow toppling from the trees to the ground.
Frank walked on, his eyes alert for a sign of any game that would restock the camp larder, but, for a long time he saw nothing. He had covered about three miles, and was beginning to think that he would have his trip in vain, when, as he went down into a little gully, where the snow lay rather deeper than on the level, he heard a noise, and saw a movement in the underbrush.
“There’s something!” he exclaimed half aloud, and he swung his gun around. “Now let’s see what sort of a shot I am.”
He advanced cautiously, thinking he might flush a covey of birds. But the sound was not repeated, and, look as he did, Frank could see nothing. With ready gun, and eyes that gazed eagerly forward, he kept on, making as little noise as possible.
Suddenly he heard a yelping bark, followed by a shrill cry of agony, and there was a great commotion in a clump of bushes about a hundred feet directly in front of him. Some animal or animals were evidently threshing about in the underbrush.
“A dog! It’s a dog, and something has caught it!” exclaimed Frank. “Maybe it’s a bear! I wish I had my rifle!”
He had no thought of turning back, even though he had but a light shotgun. The commotion increased, the yelping and barking finally dying out, to be succeeded by a low moan, and then there was a silence, and Frank could hear the crunching of bones.
“Poor dead beast,” he murmured. “Maybe I can get a pop at the other creature; and if I get close enough, and put two charges of shot into it at short range, and in the right spot, I may kill it. I’m going to try, anyhow.” He little knew the danger he was running, for he had had, as yet, no view of the creature upon which he was creeping.
As he walked forward he stepped on a deadbranch, concealed by the snow, and it broke with his weight, a sharp snap sounding in the still forest. Instantly the crunching of bones ceased, there was a slight movement where the fight had taken place, and a savage growl resounded.
“I’m in for it now,” mused Frank. “I’ve got to see it through. I can’t run, but I don’t like that growl.”
He stood still for a moment, hoping the beast would show itself. Then he advanced a few more steps.
As he got to one side of the concealing bushes he saw a curious sight. A big, lithe, tawny creature, with ears laid back, and with flashing eyes, was crouched down over some smaller animal, savagely regarding the boy. It had been rending and tearing the smaller creature, and, at a glance Frank saw that it was a fox. It had been the whines and barking of the fox that he had heard, and the groans had come when death followed the stroke of the sharp claws of the wildcat, for it was that savage and tawny beast that now glared at Frank—a wildcat disturbed at its meal.
Frank saw before him one of the tragedies of the forest. The fox had been preying on a wild turkey, as was evidenced by the half-consumed carcass, and the feathers scattered all about. Then along hadcome the wildcat, intent on a meal, had crept upon the feasting fox, had leaped down from a tree, and, with the quickness of light, had given the death stroke. Now Frank had come, the fourth factor in the woodland tragedy.
For a moment the lad stood regarding the savage creature, whose blazing eyes never left his face. Then, as cautiously as he could, Frank brought his gun to bear. Oh, how he wished he had his rifle now, for well he knew that more than a charge of small shot was needed to kill the big cat.
“But if I can give her both barrels at once, right in the eyes, maybe it will do for her,” he mused quickly.
Once more came the menacing growl, and the cat crouched for a spring. From her jaws dripped foam and blood. Frank raised his gun, and took quick aim. He pulled both triggers together, and the recoil nearly sent him over backwards. But he recovered his balance with an effort, and gazed through the smoke at the crouching creature.
To his horror, instead of seeing her stretched out dead, or writhing in the final struggle, the lad saw the big, tawny body bounding over the snow toward him. On she came, growling and snarling, and Frank saw that he had fired too high, and that with the small shot he had only succeeded in slightlywounding the wildcat on top of the head. The creature’s eyes had escaped, and, now with the yellow orbs blazing with deadly hate and anger, she leaped forward as though to serve the lad as she had served the fox.
“Can I get in another shot?” thought Frank. He “broke” his breach-loader, the empty shells flew out, and his hand sought his belt, to slip in two fresh cartridges.
To his horror he found that they would not fit! He had brought out his smaller gauge shotgun, and the cartridges in it were the only ones available. They had been fired. Those in his belt were too large. And the wildcat was bounding toward him!
There was but one thing to do, and Frank did it. Wheeling quickly he raced for the nearest tree which would sustain him. Fortunately there was one not far away. He managed to reach it well ahead of the wildcat, and began scrambling up. He dropped his gun, since it was useless, and only hindered him in his ascent. And he needed to make all the haste he could, for he was hardly well up out of reach of the cruel claws, before the enraged brute bounded against the foot of the tree with a snarl.
“She’ll come up after me, as sure as fate!” thought Frank desperately. “I’ve got to stop her in some way.”
The cat began climbing, an easy task with her long, sharp claws. Frank reached up, and saw, over his head a dead branch, that was big and sufficiently strong for his purpose. Working with feverish energy he broke it off, and, when the big cat’s head was close enough the young hunter brought the large end of the stick down on the skull with all his might.
With a howl of rage the big beast loosed its hold, and dropped back to the earth. Then it looked upward, glaring at Frank as if wondering what kind of a foe he was. But not daunted by the reception she met, the animal once more began climbing up. Once more Frank raised the club, and dealt her another severe blow.
“I hope I crack your skull!” he murmured.
But alas for his hopes! The blow was well delivered, and sent the cat back snarling and growling, but the force of it broke the branch off close to the lad’s hand, and the best part of his weapon fell to the ground.
“I’m done for, if she comes back at me!” he thought, but the cat had no such intentions, at present at least. The two blows on the head had stunned her.
Down at the foot of the tree crouched the brute,as if to announce that she would wait there until after dark, when she would have the advantage.
“I’m in for it now,” mused the lad. “Treed by a wildcat, and nothing with which to shoot her. Iamin a pickle. The fellows won’t know where to look for me, and I can’t fire any shots to call them. Iamup against it.”
He made himself as comfortable as possible on his small perch. At his first movement the cat started up from her crouching position, as if to be on the alert, but, seeing that her prey did not attempt to descend, she again stretched out, and began moving her paw over the place where the shot had torn her scalp.
For half an hour Frank sat there, turning over the situation in his mind. He hoped the cat might tire of waiting, or go back to the fox she had killed, but the animal showed no such intentions. Noon came, and there was no change. Frank was tired and cramped, and he began to feel the pangs of hunger. He moved about, seeking to be comfortable, and every time he shifted his position the wildcat would growl, as if resenting it.
“Maybe when I don’t come home to dinner the fellows will come looking for me,” thought the treed lad. “They may be able to trace my footsteps.”
But the afternoon began to wane, and no relief came. Frank was desperately weary, and was beginning to be alarmed. Not only was the prospect of a night in the tree most unpleasant, but he feared that after dark he could not watch to ward off the approach of the beast, whose ability to see after nightfall was better than was his. Then, too, he feared that his muscles might get numb, and that he would fall.
“Well, I’ll cut another club, and have it in readiness,” Frank thought, and, as there were no more suitable dead limbs that would serve, he whittled off with his knife, a tough green branch, that would answer as a club.
This movement on his part was resented by the cat, who raised up and tried her fore paws on the tree trunk, tearing off bits of bark. But she did not venture to climb. The memory of the blows on the head probably deterred her.
It began to get dusk. The cat seemed to know this, and began prowling about the foot of the tree, as if waiting until the veil of night had completely fallen before making another attack. Now and then she growled and once howled dismally.
“Maybe she’s got a mate,” thought Frank. “If two of them come at me——” He didn’t like to dwell on that.
The big cat curled herself at the foot of the tree, and looked up at the boy, not far above her head. Then, as Frank carefully shifted his position, to get rid of a cramp in his left leg, his fingers came in contact with his belt filled with cartridges.
“Oh, if I had only brought the right size, or else had my other gun,” he mused regretfully. “There’d soon be a different story to tell. As it is——”
He paused, struck by a sudden thought.
“By Jove! I’ll try it!” he cried. “Wonder why I didn’t think of it before.”
Taking out a cartridge, and bracing himself in the crotch of a limb so as to have both hands free, he dug out, with his knife, the wad that held the shot in place. He let the leaden pellets fall to the ground. At this the cat growled, but the lad paid no attention to her.
Next he removed the wad over the powder, and poured the black grains out into his hand. From his pocket he took a piece of paper, and, emptying the powder into this he laid it in his cap, which he managed to balance on a limb in front of him. Working rapidly in the fast-gathering darkness he emptied several cartridges, until he had a sufficient quantity of powder in the paper.
This he wadded up tightly, leaving one endtwisted into a sort of fuse. Next he tied a string to his improvised bomb.
With trembling fingers he lighted the fuse, and then, when it was burning well, he began to lower the paper of powder toward the wildcat. The beast snarled as she saw the tiny flame approaching, but she did not withdraw. Rather she reared on her hind feet, and was about to strike at the little tongue of fire.
This was better than Frank hoped for. An instant later there was a big puff of flame, and a dull report. The powder in the paper had exploded almost in the face of the wildcat.
With a scream of rage and pain the creature dropped to all fours, and began clawing the dirt and snow. The fire had burned her severely, and she was wild with pain.
“Good!” exulted Frank. “I wish I had another!” He peered down at the snarling cat, and began to open more cartridges. But it was too dark to see to work, and he had to stop, for he spilled the powder.
Suddenly, above the yelps and growls of the brute, the lad in the tree heard a hail far off in the woods. He listened a moment, and then shouted:
“Here I am, fellows. Over here! I’m treed by a wildcat! Look out!”
“We’re coming,” shouted Bart’s voice. “Where are you?”
Frank rapidly twisted some paper together, lighted it, and waved the improvised torch above his head. He hardly dared descend yet. A shout told him that his light had been seen. Then, off through the woods, he saw the flicker of a lantern.
“Come up easy,” he cautioned. “The brute is still here, though I burned her some.”
He dropped the blazing paper to the ground. It flared up, and the cat, with a snarl, sprang away.
An instant later a shot rang out, and the beast turned a somersault, falling over backward—dead. Bart had seen the tawny body in the gleam from the burning paper, and had fired in the nick of time.
“You can come down now, Frank,” he cried, as he and the other chums rushed up to where the wildcat was still twitching in death.
Frank’s story was soon told, and he was helped back toward camp by his comrades, for he was stiff from his long position in the tree.
“You want to be more careful of your gun, next time,” cautioned Bart, “and take the right one.”
“Yes, and you want to take some grub with you,” added Fenn. “You never can tell what will happen in the woods. Hungry, aren’t you?”
“Don’t mention it,” begged Frank, earnestly. “I could even eat pancakes flavored with soap powder.”
“Well, we’ll soon be in camp,” remarked Ned. “We’ve got plenty to eat there. We would have started searching for you long before this, but we supposed you had taken some grub, and would stay all day. But when it got dark, and you didn’t show up, we feared something had happened.”
“Something had,” observed Frank earnestly.
“We had tramped about for some time before we saw the puff of the explosion,” went on Bart. “You had a great head on you, Frank, to think of that.”
“I had to think of something,” was the response. “Wow! but that beast was a savage one!”
They reached camp in due time, and Frank was provided with a good meal, and plenty of hot coffee.
The warm weather continued for the next two days, and the air was almost like spring. The boys thoroughly enjoyed it, and went on long tramps through the woods. They were on the lookout for the mate of the wildcat, but saw no further traces of the ugly beasts.
There was a stream, not far from camp, and there the chums went one day, cut a hole through the ice, which was too thick to melt much, and fished for pickerel, with such good luck that they had a fish dinner that day. Then on several succeeding days they went hunting, getting some wild turkeys, and some wild ducks, which gave them a variety of food for their larder.
For a week they lived this way, and Bart was in hopes of bagging a deer, since the snow had disappeared, and it was lawful to shoot them. But, though he tramped far and near he did not see any. Once he descried one on top of a distant hill, but it was too far off for a successful shot, and when he started on the trail the animal dashed into a thick forest, and was soon lost. Bart returned to camp, somewhat dispirited.
He practiced at a target occasionally, as did his chums, but they could not begin to equal Bart in making bullseyes, though Ned ran his friend a close second.
The boys tramped about, did the work necessary in camp, hunted and fished and thoroughly enjoyed life during the mild weather of the unexpected thaw. Not that they did not enjoy it when it was cold and snapping, or even snowing, but they could do much more when the weather was milder.
“But we’ll pay for this,” declared Bart one day, when they had started on their second week of camp life. “We’ll have a storm soon, I’m thinking.”
“Let it come,” declared Fenn. “We’re ready for it, and the folks know we’re all right,” for they had walked to a cross-roads rural free delivery box that day, and deposited some letters to go to Darewell, as they knew the mail carrier would collect the missives.
“You won’t get your deer if the snow comes,” spoke Frank, “and, by the looks of the sky, we’ll have a flurry before night.”
“I know it, and that’s the reason I’m going out this afternoon, and have another try for it. Are you fellows coming?”
“I’m not,” announced Fenn. “Too tired. I’m going to stay here and chop wood. You fellowswon’t do it, and we’ve got to have some for the fires.”
“I’ll help,” agreed Frank.
“Will you come, Ned?” went on Bart.
“Nope, I’m going to clean my gun. There’ll be some good shooting after the storm, and I want to be ready for it.”
“All right, then I’ll go alone,” decided Bart. “I want a deer,” and putting a supply of cartridges in his belt, and seeing that his gun magazine was filled, he started off.
For some time Bart tramped on without a sight of anything. Then, when he was going through a lonely part of the forest, if one part of that uninhabited place was more lonely than another, he was startled by a crashing sound in the underbrush. He started, and threw up his gun in anticipation, but he could not help laughing when a big rabbit, as startled as the lad was himself, stood up and looked at him.
“Skip away, bunny,” remarked Bart with a laugh, “I’m looking for bigger game than you,” and he kept on, while the hare scurried for cover.
Bart covered several miles, and, almost unconsciously, he found that he was traveling in the direction of the mud volcano, or boiling spring, having swung around in a half-circle since leaving camp.
“By Jinks!” exclaimed the youth, as he came toa halt in the midst of a little clearing, “I believe I’ve got an idea. That mud volcano water is partly salty. Now, why shouldn’t deer go there to get the salt? They love it and I may catch one there. I never thought of that before. I’ve read of ‘salt licks,’ where deer congregate, but I never figured out that our boiling spring might be one. I’ll keep on to there, and maybe I’ll get a shot.”
This gave a new direction to his chase, and he turned to make his way to the spring. He had not taken ten steps before he was again startled by a crashing in the underbrush. He thought it was another rabbit, and he was about to pass on when he looked up, and saw, through the leafless trees, a big buck gazing full at him. It was only for an instant, and before Bart could bring his rifle to bear the deer had bounded off.
“He’s headed for the boiling spring!” cried Bart in his excitement. “Now I’ll get him! I hope I get a shot before it begins to snow, and it’s likely to do it any minute now.”
Bart started off rapidly in the direction taken by the buck, with his gun in readiness for a quick shot, though he hardly hoped to get one until he had continued the chase for some time longer. The crashing in the bushes encouraged him, and told him that his quarry was ahead of him, and on he rushed.
Almost before he knew it he was within sight of the boiling spring, and he checked his pace, hoping to come upon the buck licking the salty deposit from the rocks in the little stream that flowed from the place where the mud volcano was. He thought the animal might even stop for a drink in a fresh spring, that was not far from the salty one.
As Bart peered through the bushes, with his rifle ready to throw up to his shoulder, he was conscious of some movement in the underbrush on the other side of the spring.
“He’s made a circle, and he’s here ahead of me—on the other side,” thought the lad. “I think I’ve got him!”
With eager eyes he watched. The bushes continued to move and vibrate. Something seemed to be coming down to the edge of the spring. Bart’s nerves were on edge. His hands were almost trembling, but he controlled himself by an effort, and he raised his gun slowly to take aim.
He saw something brown moving amid the brambles. It looked like the head of a deer. Bart slowly and cautiously raised his gun to his shoulder. He drew a bead on the brown object.
A moment later, and just as the lad was about to press the trigger, there stepped into view a man! It was a man and not a deer that Bart had beenabout to fire at, and a cold chill came over him. He had paused just in time.
But as he looked at the individual whom he had mistaken for a deer he felt a second tremor of excitement, for, as he had a glimpse of his face Bart was made aware that the man was none other than the one about whom there was such a mystery—the man who had sneaked into the schoolhouse the night the diamond bracelet was stolen—the midnight visitor at the camp, perhaps.
At the same instant that Bart was aware of this the man saw him. He hesitated—made a gesture as if of despair, and turned to dive into the bushes. A moment later there came a sudden snow squall, shutting off from Bart’s view the man he had so nearly shot.
Pausing for an instant to get his bearings, Bart dashed forward, circled around the edge of the mud volcano, and ran on in the direction he had seen the man take.
“I’m going to catch him,” thought the lad, fiercely. “I’m going to get at the bottom of this. Why does he seem to be following us—hanging around our camp? What’s he doing here? Did he take the diamond bracelet? I’m going to find out some of those things—when I catch him.” He added the last with a grim smile, for, as he went on, and the snow storm increased in fury, Bart was aware that he had no easy task before him.
The swirling white flakes were now so thick that he could hardly see five feet in advance, and he was soon made unpleasantly aware of this, for he collided, with no little force, into a tree. The shock threw him backward, and he nearly dropped his gun, but it had one good effect, for it made him pause to consider what he was doing.
“I wonder if there’s any use in me going on like this?” Bart reflected. “He’s got a good start of me, and he evidently knows these roads as well as I do. Guess I’d better go back to camp, get the fellows, and then see if I can trail him. Though if it keeps on snowing it’s not going to be easy to see his footprints. I wonder if I can hear anything of him?”
He paused in a listening attitude, but the only sounds that came to him were those of the wind howling through the leafless branches of the trees, and the swish of the snowflakes as they swirled downward. Once Bart heard a crashing amid the underbrush to one side. He darted in that direction, thinking it was the fugitive.
There came, at that instant, a lull in the storm, and, peering at the lad from under the shelter of a pine tree was the big buck, the chase of which had led to such unexpected results. Bart fired, point blank, but he saw the deer bound away, and he knew he had only wounded it slightly, if at all. He started after it, but a moment later the snow began again, more thickly than before, and everything was blotted out.
“That settles it,” murmured Bart, grimly, “back to camp for mine. No use keeping up the chase to-day.”
It was not without considerable regret that thelad retraced his steps. He wanted, very much, to get the buck, and he wanted still more to capture the mysterious man who seemed to be playing such an important part in the lives of himself and his chums.
“I’ll get the other fellows, and then we’ll see if we can’t trail him,” mused Bart, as he neared the camp.
To his delight, just before he reached it, the snow ceased falling, and he felt that now there was a chance to trace the man by means of his footsteps, for they would not be covered by the white crystals. But there was the promise of more snow, and Bart knew they had little time to spare.
“Come on, boys!” cried Bart, when he came in sight of the tents, and saw Ned and the others sweeping away the snow from the front entrances. “Come on. I’m after him!”
“Who?” demanded Frank.
“The mysterious man! Come—no time to lose!” and Bart rapidly told what he had seen.
“Wait until I get my gun, and I’ll be with you!” cried Fenn.
“Aren’t we going to have dinner first?” asked Ned.
“We’ll eat a light lunch, and take a snack withus,” proposed Frank. “We don’t want to waste too much time.”
In a little while they were ready to start, each one with a few sandwiches, while Bart, in addition, carried a small coffee pot, and a supply of the ground material for making the beverage in the woods; water could be had by melting snow over a fire they would build.
Bart led the way toward the mud volcano, the location of which was now well fixed in the minds of the boys.
“Here’s where I first sighted the deer,” Bart explained when he reached the place. “By Jinks! I wish I could have potted him, though! He was a beaut!”
“And where did you see our mysterious friend?” asked Frank.
“Not until I got to the spring. We’ll soon be up to it.”
But when they reached the spot, which, because of the warmth of the water, contained no trace of snow, though elsewhere the ground was white, there was, of course, no evidences of the man, save for blurred footprints.
“That’s right where he stood,” declared Bart, “and he went off in this direction.”
“Then it’s up to us to follow,” asserted Ned. “Wecan see his tracks. They’re pretty plain now, but they won’t be in a little while, for it’s going to snow more.”
They hurried on, trailing the man like officers of the law after a criminal. The footprints were plainly visible in the snow, being blurred occasionally by little drifts that had blown over them. They showed that the man had run a good part of the way, for the marks were far apart and irregular.
They had gone on for perhaps a mile, seeing no sign of their quarry, but loath to give up, when there was a sudden darkening of the atmosphere, the wind increased in violence, and then the air was again filled with flying flakes, so thick that the lads could not see ten feet ahead.
“Might as well give up now,” called Bart. “His tracks will be covered in five minutes.”
“Let’s wait a bit, and see if it stops snowing,” proposed Frank, and they did, standing in the shelter of some trees. But the white flakes showed no inclination to stop, and with something like despair in their hearts the four chums prepared to return to camp.
“And it’s about time, too,” remarked Ned, looking at his watch. “It’s after five, and it will soon be dark. Let’s eat. I’m hungry.”
“Oh, wait a while,” advised Bart. “We’ll soonbe back at camp. I think I know a short cut, and then we can have a hot supper.”
“Well, go ahead,” agreed Frank. “A short cut will be just the thing. I’m tired.”
Bart started off with an air of confidence, hesitated a moment, and then plunged his hand in his pocket.
“Well, I’ll be hanged!” he burst out.
“What’s the matter?” inquired Fenn.
“My compass—I haven’t got it. Let me take one of you fellow’s.”
“I haven’t any,” said Fenn. “Left it in camp.”
“So did I,” added Frank and Ned.
“You did?” asked Bart, blankly.
There was a pause—the boys knew what it meant to be out in the woods in a snowstorm, without the little swinging needle to guide them.
“What did you do with the one you had, Bart?” asked Frank. “You had one, didn’t you, when you were out after the deer, and saw the man?”
“Sure I did, but I took it out of my pocket when I stuffed this lunch in, and must have forgotten to put it back. I remember now, I left it on the box in the tent. But I thought you fellows would sure have one.”
“Well, we haven’t,” said Frank, with an uneasy laugh. “What’s to be done?”
“Oh, I dare say we can get back—somehow,” went on Bart. “Come on, fellows. I think I know the way.”
They started off, with no light hearts, and tramped through the blinding snow, but it was with little confidence. Several times Bart stopped to get his bearings. Once he and Fenn disputed about a certain turn, and Bart so insisted that he was right, that the other two lads agreed with him. It grew darker, and they wandered into drifts, stumbled into unexpected hollows, and brought up against trees, sometimes falling over stumps. At last Bart said:
“Fellows, there’s no use going on this way any farther. I’m off the track. I shouldn’t have started out. The fact of the matter is that we’re lost in the woods, and we’ve got to make the best of it!”
Bart’s announcement brought looks of blank astonishment and dismay to the faces of his chums. They had so depended on him, that, to have him go back on them in this fashion, was a shock.
“Are you sure we’re lost?” asked Ned, slowly.
“No doubt of it, in my mind,” answered Bart, and he laughed a little. The strain of keeping up the pace on a route he was not at all sure of, was harder than admitting the fact of being lost in the wilderness.
“What are we going to do?” asked Fenn, rather helplessly.
“The first thing to do will be to gather wood for a fire before it’s too dark to see,” announced Bart, with assumed if not real cheerfulness. “Then we’ll make a blaze, and eat.”
The mention of food was cheering in itself, to say nothing of the prospect of a fire, and then, too, the act of being busy took from the minds of the lads the thoughts that they were lost.
In a short time they had gathered quite a pile of wood. Some of it was dry, for it was under the low-lying branches of spruce and hemlock trees, and the snow had been kept from it. From the interior of hollow logs some “punk” was obtained, and this, together with some dead branches, that had lodged in a hollow under a big rock, made enough fuel to get a blaze started.
“But where are we going to stay to-night?” asked Frank, when the flickering flames had dispelled some of the darkness.
“Don’t worry about that,” advised Bart. “Some of these fir trees are as good as a tent, and nearly as dry. We can stay under them until morning.”
“Will we be any better off by morning?” asked Ned, dubiously.
“Lots better,” replied Bart, cheerfully. “But let’s get ready for some hot coffee. Lucky we brought the pot along. Ned, you gather some snow in it, and we’ll put it on to melt. Fenn, you get some flat stones, to make a sort of fireplace. Frank, you cut some branches from that hemlock, and make cots under that big tree over there. I’ll help. That will be our tent to-night. Everybody get busy, now.”
Ordering his chums about in this way was the best thing Bart could have done, and, in a short time, everyone was so occupied that he had no time tothink of the unpleasant situation. Soon the coffee was boiling away, and Bart had arranged an old log, under the shelter of a tree, for a table. Thereon their frugal meal was spread out.
Luckily each lad carried a drinking cup with him, and this served in which to dispense the coffee. They had no milk, of course, but Bart had been thoughtful enough to bring along some sugar, so the beverage was not at all unpalatable. Then, by the light of the campfire, they sat about, munched their sandwiches, drank the strong coffee, and talked of their afternoon’s adventure.
“Why, that isn’t a half bad place to sleep,” remarked Fenn, as he looked at the “bunk” Bart and Frank had made.
“Sure, it’s great,” added Ned, but it was probably the cheerfulness engendered by a hot drink and food that made them see things with more hopeful eyes.
They had no blankets, but they wore thick clothing, and had on heavy coats, so their situation was not so bad. Besides, the weather was not cold, though it was growing more so, and the snow still fell thickly. The heavy branches of the tree under which the boys crawled, served to protect them.
They stretched out, and hoped to be able to sleep, in order that morning might come the more quickly, but either the strong coffee, or the unusual situation,kept them wide awake. They lay close together, for the sake of warmth, but first Bart would turn over, restlessly, and then, in sequence, Fenn, Ned and Frank would do the same thing.
“What’s the matter; can’t you fellows sleep?” asked Ned, at length.
“No; can you?” inquired Bart.
“Nope. Let’s talk.”
“All right. Say, what do you suppose that man was doing around the mud volcano?” ventured Frank.
They had discussed this, in all its bearings, several times that afternoon, but it was a subject full of new possibilities, and they eagerly welcomed another chance to talk about it.
“I think he was after mud turtles,” said Bart.
“Say,” asked Fenn, suddenly, “did it ever strike you fellows that this fellow might be a detective?”
“A detective?” gasped the other three.
“Yes; after us,” went on Stumpy. “You know we’re suspected of taking that bracelet. It hasn’t been found, and what would be more natural than for Professor Long to hire a private detective, and have him shadow us. I didn’t think of that until just now, but I’ll wager I’m right. You’ll find that man is a detective, and he’s watching us; trying to get a trace of the bracelet. Maybe he thinks wehave it, and are going to hide it off in the woods here.”
“Say!” cried Bart, “that’s not a bad ‘think’ of yours, Stumpy. I wouldn’t be surprised but what you are right,” and then they fell to discussing that aspect of the case. It was quite a reversal of the former situation. Instead of them being after the mysterious man, he might be after the chums.
“But how do you account for him entering the school that night, before the bracelet was stolen?” asked Frank.
“Maybe he was shadowing us—or, rather, you fellows—” said Fenn, who, as will be remembered, was not present on that occasion. “Or, maybe we’re mistaken, and the man Bart saw to-day may not have been the one who entered the school.”
“Oh, he’s the same one,” declared Bart, with conviction.
There was more discussion, and, if it did nothing more, it served a good turn, for it shunted the thoughts of the lads into new channels, and they began to feel sleepy.
But, just as they were about to doze off, there came an exclamation of dismay from Bart.
“What’s the matter?” asked Bart.
“Stream of water trickling down my neck,” was the answer. “I believe it’s raining!”
There was no doubt of it. Instead of turning colder it had grown warmer, and the snow had changed to rain. The tree, thick as were the branches, was little protection against the rain, and, as it increased to a regular downpour, the plight of our heroes was miserable in the extreme. There was nothing to be done but make the best of it. They huddled together, turned up the collars of their coats, and tried to crawl to spots more or less protected. But they were soon pretty wet, and, to add to their misery, they saw their fire die down, and go out.
“Wow! This is fierce!” exclaimed Ned, as a stream of water trickled down his neck. “I wish it was morning. It wouldn’t be so bad if we could travel.” But there was no help for it, and they had to sit there in the storm and darkness, waiting for daylight.
Never had hours seemed to drag so slowly. There was nothing to be heard save the drip, drip of the rain in the forest, and the mournful sound of the wind in the trees. Once Bart went out, and tried to coax into a blaze the few, faint, remaining embers of the fire, but it was out of the question. He did have it started, but a swaying of the trees overhead sent down a shower of drops, and the blaze was completely extinguished.
“Hang the luck!” exclaimed Bart, as he hurried back into the partial shelter of the tree under which were his chums. “It’s all my fault, for not keeping my compass.”
“No, we should have kept ours,” declared Fenn. “It’s up to us, too.”
“Well, then, I shouldn’t have seen that mysterious man,” went on Bart, determined to blame himself in some fashion, “and we wouldn’t have come on this wild-goose chase.”
“No, it’s a good thing you did see him,” said Frank. “We want to know what he’s up to.”
“I only hope he’s as badly off as we are,” put in Ned, with a shiver. “But say, fellows,” he went on, in a few minutes, “don’t you think it’s slacking up some?”
They all listened. There was no doubt about it, the rain was less in violence, but the wind was rising.
“Maybe it’s going to clear,” suggested Fenn.
“If it does, it’ll be colder,” was Bart’s opinion. It did clear, shortly after that, and there was a decided drop in temperature. Through the boughs of their shelter the boys could see the stars coming out. Miserable, and feeling chilled to the bone, the chums crowded close together.
It soon grew so cold that they had to come out of their shelter to move about and get their blood in circulation. But this served a good purpose, for it gave them something to do. At last a faint streak of light appeared in the east—the herald of the rising sun—and, a little later, the red rim of Old Sol appeared. Never was the big luminary more welcome.
“Now for a fire!” cried Ned, “that is, if we can find any dry wood.” They did manage to pick up a few sticks from inside a hollow log where they hadplaced them the night before, in anticipation of some emergency, and soon they were warming themselves in front of the flames. But there was nothing to eat, and no coffee left, though Bart did manage to make a potful of what passed for it out of the grounds of what they had used the night before.
“Well, let’s start for camp,” proposed Frank, when they had drunk the hot, if not palatable beverage. “Think you can find the way, Bart?”
“I guess so—I’ll try, anyhow.”
They started off, getting the direction as best they could by the sun, and for an hour tramped forward, feeling, on the whole, rather miserable, but hoping to soon be in camp.
Several hours passed, and they seemed to be no nearer the place where their tents were. Bart’s face wore a puzzled look. He stared around at the trees, as if they would help him solve the problem. Then he said:
“Fellows, I’m sorry, but I don’t know where we are.”
“Lost again, do you mean?” asked Ned.
“I don’t believe we’ve been un-lost, if that’s the proper term,” went on Bart. “I guess we haven’t been on the right path since last night.”
“What are we going to do?” asked Frank, helplessly. “I’m as hungry as a bear.”
“And I’m almost frozen,” added Bart, with a shiver, “so you’re no worse off than the rest of us,” and there was a note of impatience in his voice.
The chums looked at each other. Their plight was disagreeable, not to say desperate. They knew that the forest in which they had encamped was large in extent, and was seldom visited. If they had to spend another night and day in it the consequences might be serious.
“Well,” began Bart, “I suppose the only thing to do is to keep on. We may strike the right path. There are several trails around here.”
He was about to start off again, when they were all startled by hearing a crackling in the underbrush. It seemed to come from their left.
“Get your gun ready, Bart,” whispered Fenn. “Maybe it’s a deer.”
“Maybe it’s that mysterious man,” came from Ned.
Bart had raised his rifle, and, a moment later some one emerged from the thick trees, and stood on the edge of a little clearing, confronting the boys. The newcomer was a youth of about their own age, and on his back was evidently a camping pack. He carried a gun, and at the sight of Bart, with half-raised rifle, the other slowly brought his weapon around for quick use.
But Fenn, who had been staring at the latest arrival with eager eyes, suddenly cried out:
“It’s William Perry! Don’t you know him, fellows? The lad whose mother took us in at the time of the blizzard—William Perry—whom we found in a snowbank in New York!”
“William Perry?” faltered Bart, lowering his rifle.
“William Perry?” came from Ned and Frank, in a sort of a chorus.
“The Darewell Chums!” exclaimed the other lad, while wonder spread over his face. “The Darewell Chums here?”
Fenn started toward William on the run. He was soon shaking hands with him, and leading him over to where Ned, Frank and Bart stood.
“However in the world did you get here?” asked Bart. “Are you lost, too?”
“No,” replied William Perry, “I’m working for a lumber company, and I’m on my way from one camp to another. I had to spend last night in the woods. But what are you doing here?”
“We’ve been out in the woods all night, too,” said Frank. “We’re camping, but we lost our way,” and he quickly explained the circumstances.
“Where’s your camp?” asked William, who, as my readers will remember, was the son of the widowin whose house the chums found shelter during a blizzard that overtook them when they were on a hunting trip, as told in the second volume of this series entitled “The Darewell Chums in the City.” Later they found William in New York. He had gone to become a sailor, but had deserted because of a brutal captain, and went into hiding. He was found half frozen in a snowbank, from which the chums rescued him, and sent him back home.
“Our camp?” repeated Bart, in answer to William’s questions, “I only wish we knew where it was.”
“I mean what’s it near?” went on William.
“Oh, the mud volcano,” replied Frank, “if you know where that is.”
William did, and quickly said so.
“I’ve been working for this lumber concern for about six months,” he went on, “and I know these woods pretty well. But I always go prepared to spend a night in them, as I had to last night.”
“And can you show us the way to our camp?” asked Ned.
“Sure. You’re not more than five miles from it. I guess you’ve been going around in a circle. Come on, I’ll show you,” and with the confidence of experience William Perry led the way through the woods. He had appeared in the nick of time.