The three boys stuck to their work, with only a whisper or two, until there was a great bowl of nutmeats, and Ruth pronounced the quantity sufficient. Meanwhile, the taffy was boiling in the big kettle, and Ruth and Jennie had buttered three dripping pans. They spread the nutmeats evenly in the pans and then set the pans carefully on a snowdrift outside the back door to get thoroughly cold before the taffy was poured thinly over the nuts.
Everybody was on thequi viveabout the candy then. The girls couldn't drive the boys out of the room. The bubbling molasses filled the great kitchen with a rich odor. Jennie began popping corn with which to make cornballs of the taffy that could not be run into the three pans of nuts.
Isadore Phelps disappeared for possibly three minutes—no longer; and the girls never missed him.
At last the candy could be "spun" and Ruth pronounced it ready to pour into the pans outside. Isadora said he would help—the kettle was too heavy for the girls to carry. He was adjured to be very, very careful and the girls followed him to the door in a body when he carried out the steaming couldron.
"Do pour it carefully, Izzy!" cried Helen.
"If that boy spoils it, I'll never forgive him," sighed Heavy.
Ruth ran out after him. But Isadore took great care in pouring the mixture into the pans as he had been instructed, and even she had no complaint to make. He hurried back to the kitchen, too, poured the residue of the boiled molasses upon the popcorn and they made up the cornballs at once.
"Come on, now," said Izzy, in a great hurry. "Give us fellows our share of the cornballs and we'll beat it. We're going skating. We'll help you eat your old candy when we come back.
"Maybe it will be all gone by that time," said Heavy, slily.
"I wish you joy of it, then, Miss Smartie," returned Isadore, chuckling. "Come on, fellows."
They seized their skates and ran away. Isadore could hardly talk for laughter; and he carried a good sized paper bag besides his share of the popcorn balls.
The girls "cleaned up"—for that had been the agreement with Janey when she let them have her kitchen—and then sat down before the hall fire to make pine pillows, of which they were determined to take a number to Briarwood to give to their friends. Helen had bought a lot of denim covers stamped and lettered with mottoes, including the ever-favorite "I Pine for Thee and Likewise Balsam."
But although they were very merry around the fire, Heavy could not long be content. The popcorn balls disappeared like magic and the stout girl kept worrying the others with questions about the taffy.
"Don't you suppose that candy's cool? I declare! those boys might play a joke on us—they might creep back and steal all three pans."
"Dear me, Jennie!" cried Ruth Fielding. "If you are so anxious, why don't you run and bring a pan in? We'll see if it's brittle enough to break up."
Heavy sighed, but put down her work and arose. "It's always I who has to do the work," she complained.
"Bring the pan in here and break the candy," advised Madge Steele."We'll have to watch you."
Heavy came back with one of the candy pans in short order, bringing a hammer, too, with which to crack the brittle taffy.
"Come! we'll see how it tastes; and if it's good enough," she added, smiling broadly, "we won't let the boys have even a little bit. They were mean enough to go off skating without us."
She cracked up a part of the candy, passed the pan around quickly, and popped a piece into her own mouth. In a moment she spat the candy into the fire, with a shriek, and put her hand to her jaw.
"Oh! oh! oh!" she cried.
"What's the matter with you, Heavy?" demanded Helen, startled.
"Oh, I've broken a tooth I believe. Oh!"
"Why were you so greedy?" began Madge, sedately. And then, suddenly, she stopped chewing the bit of candy she had taken into her mouth, and a sudden flush overspread her face.
"Why, here's a piece of nutshell!" cried Lluella.
"How careless those boys were!" Helen added. "They got some of the shells in with the meat."
"We should have expected it," Belle cried. "They never should have been trusted to crack the nuts."
"Oh, girls!" gasped Ruth, who had quickly examined the candy in the pan.
Her voice was tragic, and the others looked at her (all but Madge) in surprise. "What have those horrid boys done?" demanded Jennie Stone.
"They've spoiled it all!" Ruth cried. "There's nothing but shells in the candy. They've ruined it!"
"Oh! oh! oh!" shrieked Heavy again. "It can't be true!"
"It can be, for it is!" said Madge Steele, decidedly. "Those mean boys! I certainly will fix Bob for that."
"And Tom!" cried Helen, almost in tears. "How could he be so mean?"
"I don't believe Tom did it, Helen," said Ruth, slowly.
"He was just as bad as the others, I venture to say," Madge said, sharply.
"If he is, I won't speak to him for a month!" cried his twin sister. "We won't have anything more to do with them while we are here—there now! Oh, how mean!"
"Maybe it's only one pan that is this way," suggested Heavy, timidly.
They all ran out to see. The other pans were just like the first one. The nut meats had been removed and shells scattered in the pans instead. No wonder Isadore Phelps had wanted to pour the molasses taffy!
"And they've got all the meats," said Belle Tingley. "They are eating them and chuckling over the trick right now, I wager."
"It's a mean, mean trick!" gasped Helen, in a temper. "I never will forgive Tom. And I just hate those other boys."
"You're welcome to hate Bobbie," said Madge. "He deserves it."
"Sucha contemptible joke!" groaned Belle.
"Let's make some more," Ruth suggested. "And we won't give them any."
"No. I don't want to go all through it again," Helen said, shaking her head.
At that moment the telephone rang. Ruth was nearest and she jumped up and answered the call. At the other end of the wire an excited female voice demanded:
"Is this Snow Camp?"
"Yes," replied Ruth, "it is."
"Mr. Cameron's camp?"
"Yes. But he is not in the house just now."
"Aren't any of your men-folks there?" queried the excited voice.
"I guess most of the men are drawing in logs for the fires," saidRuth. "What is the matter?"
"I want to warn you all to look out for the panther. It is supposed to be coming your way—towards Snow Camp. The beast has just killed a pig for us, and was frightened away. It's done other damage to-day among the neighbors' cattle. Do you hear me?"
"Oh, I hear you!" cried Ruth, and then held her hand over the mouthpiece and spoke to the other girls: "That panther—that catamount!" she cried. "It is supposed to be coming this way. Where is your father, Helen? And Long Jerry Todd?"
The excited screaming of the other girls brought Mrs. Murchiston to the hall in a hurry. When she heard what had caused the excitement she called the maids, intending to send one of them for Mr. Cameron.
But just then the woman—a farmer's wife along the road—began talking to Ruth again, and the maids learned from her answers into the 'phone the cause of the excitement. Go out into the open when the catamount might be within a couple of miles of the lodge? No, indeed!
Mary threw her apron over her head and sank down on the floor, threatening hysterics. Janey was scared both dumb and motionless. These women who had lived all their lives in towns, or near towns, were not fit to cope with the startling incidents of the backwoods.
The woman on the wire explained to Ruth that she was telephoning all along the line toward Scarboro, warning each farmer of the big cat's approach.
"But if it keeps on in the same direction it was going when we saw it last, the creature will strike Snow Camp first," declared the excited lady. "You must get your men out with guns and dogs to stop the beast if you can. It's mad with hunger and it will do some dreadful damage if it is not killed."
Ruth repeated this to her friends, and asked Mrs. Murchiston what they should do.
"If the baste comes here," cried Mary, the maid, "he can jump right into these low winders. We'll be clawed to pieces."
"There are heavy shutters for these windows," Mrs. Murchiston said, faintly. "But they are to heavy for us to handle—and I suppose they are stored in one of the outbuildings, anyway."
"Why, I wouldn't go out of doors for a fortune!" cried LluellaFairfax.
"But the creature isn't here yet," Ruth said, doubtfully.
"How do you know how fast he's traveling?" returned Helen, quickly.
"But think of the boys down there skating," said her chum.
"Oh, oh!" gasped Jennie. "If that panther eats them up they'll be more than well paid for spoiling our taffy."
"Hush, Jennie!" commanded Madge. "This is no time for joking. How are we going to warn them—and the men in the woods?"
"And father?" cried Helen Cameron.
"Oh, I wouldn'tdarego out!" gasped Belle Tingley.
But Ruth ran out into the big kitchen and opened the door. The outbuildings were not far away, but not a soul appeared about them. There seemed to be a brooding silence over the whole place. The men were so deep in the woods that she could not hear a sound from them; nor was the ring of skates on the pond apparent to her ear.
"Come back, Ruth! come back!" begged her chum, who had followed her."Suppose that beast should be hiding near?"
"I don't suppose he's within a mile of the camp," said Ruth, her voice unshaken. "There are all the guns in the hall—even the little shotguns. I don't suppose the men have a gun with them, and of course the boys have not. And both parties should be warned. I'm going——"
"Oh, Ruth! you're mad!" cried Helen. "You mustn't go."
"Who'll go, then?" demanded her friend. "I guess we're all equally scared—Mrs. Murchiston and all."
"Nobody will go——"
"I'm going!" declared Ruth, firmly. "If the panther is coming from that woman's house—the woman who telephoned—then the pond is in the very opposite direction. I'll take Tom's rifle and some cartridges."
"But you don't know how to shoot!" cried Helen.
"We ought to know. It's a shame that girls don't learn to handle guns just like boys. I'm going to get Long Jerry Todd to show me how."
While she spoke she had run into the hall and caught up Tom's light rifle. She knew where his ammunition was, too. And she secured half a dozen cartridges and put them into the magazine, having seen Tom load the gun the day before.
"You'll shoot yourself!" murmured Helen.
"I hope not," returned Ruth, shaking her head. "But I hope I won't have a chance to shoot the panther. I don't want to see that awful beast again."
"I don't see how you dare, Ruth Fielding!" cried Helen.
"Huh! It isn't because I'm not afraid," admitted her chum. "But somebody must tell those boys, dear."
Ruth had already seized her coat and cap. She shrugged herself into the former, pulled the other down upon her ears, and catching up the loaded gun ran out of the kitchen just before Mrs. Murchiston, who had suddenly suspected what she was about, came to forbid the venture. Ruth, however, was out of the house and winging her way down the cleared path toward the pond, before the governess could call to her.
"Oh, she will be killed, Mrs. Murchiston!" cried Helen, in tears.
"Not likely," declared that lady. "But she should not have gone out without my permission."
Nor was Ruth altogether as courageous as she appeared. She did not suppose that the huge cat that had so frightened her and the strange boy that Mr. Cameron had brought up from Cheslow, was very near Snow Camp as yet. Yet she glanced aside as she ran with expectation in her eyes, and when of a sudden something jumped in the bushes, she almost shrieked and ran the faster.
There was a crash beside the path, the bushes parted, and a great, fawn-colored body leaped out into the path.
"Oh, Reno!" Ruth cried. "I neverwasso frightened! You bad dog—I thought you were the cat-o'-mountain."
But immediately she felt that her fear was gone. Here was Tom's faithful mastiff, whose tried courage she knew, and which she knew would not fail her if they came face to face with the panther.
She hurried on, nevertheless, to the pond, to warn the boys; but to her surprise, as she approached the ice, she heard nothing of the truants. There was no ring of steel on the ice, nor were their voices audible. When Ruth Fielding reached the ice, the pond was deserted.
"Now what could have happened to them? Where have they gone?" thought the girl.
She hesitated, not alone staring about the open pond, but looking sharply on either side into the snow-mantled woods. Reno remained by her and she had a hand upon his collar. Should she shout? Should she call for Tom Cameron and his mates? If she called, and the terrible cat was within earshot, it might be attracted to her by the sound.
"Baby!" she finally apostrophized herself. "I don't suppose that beast is anywhere near. Here goes!" and she raised her clear voice in a lusty shout.
There came, however, no reply. She shouted again and again, with a like result.
"Where under the sun could those boys have gone?" was her unspoken question. "Could they have returned to the house by some other path?"
But she did not believe this was so. Rather, she was inclined to think Tom and his comrades had gone farther than the pond. There was a good-sized stream through which the waters of this pond emptied into Rolling River. That outlet was frozen over, too, and it would be just like the three boys to explore the frozen stream.
Ruth wished that she had brought her skates instead of the gun with her. She felt now that the boys should indeed be warned of the roaming panther, as they had gone so far from the lodge. Here was Reno, too. If she told the mastiff to find Tom, he would doubtless do so. She could even send some written word to the boys by the dog—had she a pencil and paper. It would not be the first time that Reno had played message-bearer.
But the warn Tom and his companions would not be all Ruth had started out to do. Tom was a good shot and a steady hand, she knew. With this loaded rifle in his hand the party might feel fit to meet the panther, if it so fell out. Without any weapon even the noble mastiff might prove an insufficient protection.
It was a fact that Ruth was tempted to run back to the house, just as fast as she could go, and from there send Reno out to find his young master. Whether the dog could have traced Tom on the ice, however, is a question, for Ruth did not yield to this cowardly suggestion. She had come out with the gun to find the boys, and her hesitation at the edge of the pond was only momentary.
She started down the pond toward the stream, seeing the scratches of the boys' skates leading in that direction. There could be no doubt as to where they had gone. Ruth only wished that she had brought her skates when she ran so hastily from Snow Camp.
Not a sound reached her ears, save the sharp twitter of a sparrow now and then, the patter of Reno's feet on the ice, and the rattle of the loaded rifle against the buttons of her sweater-coat. The forest that surrounded the pond seemed uninhabited. The axes of the woodsmen did not echo here, and the boys must indeed be a great way off, for she could distinguish no sound whatever from them.
Yet she had no doubt that she was following their trail—not even when she came down to the outlet of the pond. The strokes of the skates upon the ice were still visible. The three boys had certainly gone down the frozen stream.
"Come on, Reno!" she exclaimed aloud, encouraging herself in her duty. "We'll find them yet. They certainly could not have gone clear to Rolling River—that's ten miles away!"
The stream was not ten yards across—nothing more than a creek. The woods and underbrush shut it in closely. There was not a mark in the snow on either hand of footsteps—not that Ruth could see. And how heavy the afternoon silence was!
Ruth had recovered in a measure from the first fear she had felt of the marauding panther. The beast, had he traveled toward Snow Camp, was likely miles away from the spot. She had determined to go on and find Tom and the others, more that they might be warned of peril on approaching Snow Camp, than for any other reason.
And she did wish, now, that Tom and the other boys would appear. She was more than a mile—quite two miles, indeed—from the lodge.
"I guess Mr. Cameron will call me reckless again. He suggested thatI was that when I followed Fred Hatfield—or whatever his name was—from the cars at Emoryville. He'll surely scold me for this," thoughtRuth.
She kept on down the stream, however, and at last began to shout for her boy friends. Her clear voice rang from wall to wall of the forest; but it could not have been heard far into the snowy depths on either hand. Suddenly Reno growled a little, sniffed, and the hair upon his neck began to rise.
"Now, there's no use your doing that, boy," Ruth declared, clutching the mastiff tight by the collar with her left hand, while she balanced the rifle in her right. "If you hear them, bark! Tom will know it's you, then, and your bark will carry farther than my voice, I do believe."
Reno whined, and looked from side to side, sniffing the keen, still air. It seemed as though he scented danger, but did not know for sure from which direction it was coming.
"You're scaring me, acting so, Reno!" exclaimed Ruth. "I wish you wouldn't. I can't help feeling that the panther is right behind me somewhere. Oh!"
The end of her soliloquy was a shriek. Something flashed through the brush clump on her left hand. Reno broke into a savage barking and sprang toward the bank. But Ruth did not lose her grip on his collar, and her hand restrained him.
"Oh, Tom! Tom!" the girl cried.
There was another movement in the bushes. It was between Ruth and the way to the camp, had she been so foolish as to try to reach the house directly through the woods. But she did face up stream again, and had Reno been willing to accompany her she would have run as hard as ever she could in that direction.
"Come, Reno! Come, good dog!" she gasped, tugging at his collar."Let it alone—we must go back——"
Reno uttered another savage growl and sprang upon the bank. The hard packed snow crunched under him. There sounded a scream from the brush —a sound that Ruth knew well. The catamount was really at hand—there could be no mistaking that awful cry, once having heard it.
The dog burst through the bushes with such a savage clamor that Ruth was indeed terrified. She sprang after him, however, hoping to drag him back from any affray with the panther. What would Tom Cameron say if anything happened to his brave and beautiful Reno?
It was past the girl's power, however, to stay the mastiff. With angry barks he broke through the barrier and entered a small glade not a stone's throw from the bank of the stream. Before Ruth reached this cleared place she saw the tracks of the beast which had so startled her. There could be no mistaking the round impressions of the great, padded paws. Unlike the print of the bear, or the dog, that of the cat shows no marks of claws unless it be springing at its prey.
And now, when Reno burst into the open, the panther uttered another fierce and blood-chilling scream. Ruth noted the flash of the great, lithe body as the beast sprang into the air. Startled for the moment by the on-rush and savage baying of the dog, the panther had leaped into a low-branching cedar. The tree shook to its very tip, and to the ends of its great limbs. There the panther crouched upon a limb, its eyes balefully glaring down upon the leaping, growling mastiff.
As Ruth remembered the creature from the time of her dreadful ride on the timber cart with the so-called Fred Hatfield, it displayed a temper and ferocity that was not to be mistaken. Reno's sudden onslaught was all that had driven it to leap into the tree. But there it crouched, squalling and tearing the hard wood into splinters with its unsheathed claws. In a moment it would leap down upon the dog, and Ruth was horror-stricken.
"Oh, Reno! Good dog!" she moaned. "Come back! come back!"
The mastiff would not obey and in a moment the huge cat sprang out of the tree directly upon Tom Cameron's faithful companion. Reno was too sharp to be easily caught, however; he leaped aside and the sabre-like claws of the panther missed him. Nor was the dog unwise enough to meet the panther face to face.
He sprang in and bit the cat shrewdly, and then got away before the beast wheeled, yelling, to strike him. Round and round in the snow they went, so fast that it was impossible for Ruth to see which was dog and which was cat, their paws throwing up a cloud of snow-dust that almost hid the combatants.
"Ah!" cried Ruth, aloud. "I've missed my chance, I should have tried to shoot the creature while it was in the tree."
And that seemed true enough. For had she been the best of shots with the rifle, it looked now as though she was as likely to shoot Reno as the panther whilst they battled in the snow.
The dog's snapping barks and the squalling of the catamount stilled every other sound to Ruth Fielding's ears. She had fallen back to the edge of the clearing, and knew not what to do.
She feared desperately for Reno's safety; but for the moment did not know what she might do to help the faithful beast.
She tripped upon a branch and fell to her knees, and the butt of the rifle which she had clung to, struck her sharply in the side.
"Oh! if I had only learned to use a gun!" gasped the distracted girl. "CouldI shoot straight enough to do any good, if I tried? Or would I kill the poor dog?"
At the moment Reno expressed something beside rage in his yelping.He sprang out of the cloud of snow-spray with an agonized cry, andRuth saw that there was blood upon his jaws, and a great gash high upon one shoulder.
"Oh! the poor fellow! Poor Reno!" gasped Ruth Fielding. "He will be killed by that hateful brute."
Spurred by this thought she did not rise from her knee, but threw the barrel of the gun forward. It chanced to rest in the crook of a branch—the very branch over which she had tripped the moment before. She drew the butt of the gun close to her shoulder; she drew back the hammer and tried to sight along the barrel. Suddenly she saw the tawny side of the panther directly before her—seemingly it was at the end of the rifle barrel.
The beast was crouching to leap. Ruth did not know where Reno then was; but she could hear him whimpering. The mastiff had been sorely hurt and the panther was about to finish him.
And with this thought in her mind, Ruth steadied the rifle as best she could and pulled the trigger. The sharp explosion and the shriek of the panther seemed simultaneous. Through the little drift of smoke she saw the creature spring; but it did not spring far. One hind leg hung useless—there was a patch of crimson on the beaten snow—the huge cat, snarling and yowling, was going around and around, snapping at its own leg.
But that flurry was past in a moment. The snow-dust subsided. Ruth had sprung to her feet, dropping the rifle, delighted for the moment that she should have shot the panther.
But she little knew the nature and courage of the beast. On three legs only the huge cat writhed across the clearing, having spied the girl; and now, with a fierce scream of anger, it crouched to spring upon Ruth. She seemed devoted to the panther's revenge, for she was smitten with that terror which shackles voice and limb.
"Oh, Reno! Reno!" she whispered; but the sound did not pass her own lips. The dog was not in sight He lay somewhere in the bushes, licking his wounds. The fierce panther had bested him, and now crouched, ready to spring upon the helpless girl.
With a snarl of pain and rage the beast leaped at her. Its broken leg caused it to fall short by several yards, and the pain of the injured limb, when it landed, caused the catamount to howl again and tear up the snow in its agony.
Ruth could not run; she was rooted to the spot. She had bravely shot at the creature once. Better had it been for her had she not used the rifle at all. She had only turned the wrath of the savage cat from Reno to herself.
And Ruth realized that she was now its helpless quarry. She could neither fight nor run. She sank back into the snow and awaited the next leap of the panther.
At this very moment of despair—when death seemed inevitable—there was a crash in the bushes behind her and a figure broke through and flung itself past her. A high, shrill, excited voice cried:
"Give me that gun! Is it loaded?"
Ruth could not speak, but the questioner saw instantly that there were cartridges in the magazine of Tom Cameron's gun. He leaped upright and faced the crouching cat.
The panther, with a fearful snarl, had to change the direction of its leap. It sprang into the air, all four paws spread and its terrible claws unsheathed. But its breast was displayed, too, to the new victim of its rage.
Bang!
The rifle spat a yard of fire, which almost scorched the creature's breast. The impact of the bullet really drove the cat backward—or else the agony of its death throes turned the heavy body from its victim. It threw a back somersault and landed again in the snow, tearing it up for yards around, the crimson tide from its wounds spattering everything thereabout.
"Oh, it's dead!" cried Ruth, with clasped hands, when suddenly the beast's limbs stiffened. "You've killed it!"
Then she had a chance to look at the person who had saved her.
"Fred Hatfield!" she cried. "Is it you? Or, whoareyou? for they all say Fred Hatfield is dead and buried."
"It doesn't matter who I am, Ruth Fielding," said the strange lad, in no pleasant tone.
"Never mind. Come and see Mr. Cameron. Come to the camp. He will help you——"
"I don't want his help," replied the boy. "I'll help myself—withthis," and he tapped the barrel of the rifle.
"But that belongs to Tom——"
"He'll have to lend it to me, then," declared the boy. "I tell you,I am not going to be bound by anybody. I'm free to do as I please.You can go back to that camp. There's nothing to hurt you now."
At the moment Ruth heard voices shouting from the frozen stream. The boys were skating back toward the pond, and had heard the rifle shots.
"Oh, wait till they come!" Ruth cried.
"No. I'm off—and don't any of you try to stop me," said the boy, threateningly.
He slipped on the snowshoes which he had kicked off when he sprang for the rifle, and at once started away from the clearing.
"Don't go!" begged Ruth. "Oh, dear! wait! Let me thank you."
"I don't want your thanks. I hate the whole lot of you!" returned the boy, looking back over his shoulder.
The next moment he had disappeared, and Ruth was left alone. She made a detour of the spot where the dead panther lay and called to Reno. The mastiff dragged himself from under a bush. He was badly cut up, but licked her hand when she knelt beside him.
"Hello! who's shooting over there?" cried Tom Cameron from the stream.
"Oh, Tom! Tom! Come and help me!" replied Ruth, and in half a minute the three boys, having kicked off their skates, were in the glade.
"Merciful goodness!" gasped Bob Steele. "See what a beast that is!"
Tom, with a cry of pain, dashed forward and fell beside Ruth to examine the mastiff.
"My poor dog!" he cried. "Is he badly hurt? What's happened to him?"
"Did she shoot that panther?" demanded Isadore Phelps. "Look at it,Tom!"
"Reno isn't so badly hurt, Tom," Ruth declared. "I believe he has a broken leg and these cuts. He dashed right in and attacked the panther. What a brave dog he is!"
"But he never killed the beast," said Bob. "Who did that?"
"Who was shooting here? Where's the gun, Ruth?" Tom demanded, now giving some attention to the dead animal.
Ruth related the affair in a few words, while she helped Tom bind up Reno's wounds. The young master tore up his handkerchiefs to do duty as bandages for the wounded dog.
"We'll carry him to camp—we can do it, easily enough, old man," said Bob Steele.
"And what about the panther? Don't we want his pelt?" cried Isadore.
"We'll send Long Jerry after that," Tom said. "I wish that fellow hadn't run away with the rifle. But you couldn't help it, Ruth."
"He certainly is a bad boy," declared the girl. "Yet—somehow—I am sorry for him. He must be all alone in these woods. Something will happen to him."
"Never mind. We can forgive him, and hope that he'll pull through all right, after he saved you, Ruthie," Tom said. "Come on, now, Bobbins. Lend a hand with the poor dog."
Tom had removed his coat and in that, for a blanket, they carried Reno through the woods to the camp. It was a hard journey, for in places the snow had drifted and was quite soft. But in less than an hour they arrived at the lodge.
The men had come in with the wood by that time, and Mr. Cameron with them. Mrs. Murchiston and the girls were greatly worried over Ruth's absence and the absence, too, of the three boys. But the death of the catamount, and the safety of all, quickly put a better face upon the situation.
Ruth was praised a good bit for her bravery. And Mr. Cameron said:
"There's something in that poor boy whom we tried to return to his friends—if the Hatfieldsarehis friends. He does not lack courage, that is sure—courage of a certain kind, anyway. I must see to his business soon. I believe the Hatfields live within twenty miles of this place, and in a day or two I will ride over and see them."
"Oh! let us all go, father," urged Helen. "Can't we go in the sleighs we came over in from Scarboro?"
"Don't take them, sir," said Mrs. Murchiston. "I shan't feel safe for them again until we get out of these woods."
"Why, Mis' Murchiston," drawled Long Jerry, who had come into the hall with a great armful of wood, "there ain't a mite of danger now. That panther's killed—deader'n last Thanksgivin's turkey. There may not be another around here for half a score of years."
"But they say there are bears in the woods," cried the governess.
"Aw, shucks!" returned the woodsman. "What's a b'ar? B'ar's is us'ally as skeery as rabbits, unless they are mighty hungry. And ye don't often meet a hungry bear this time o' year. They are mostly housed up for the winter in some warm hole."
"But what would these girls do if they met a bear, Mr. Todd?" askedMr. Cameron, laughing.
"Why, this here leetle Ruth Fielding gal,she'dhave pluck enough to shoot him, I reckon," chuckled Long Jerry. "And she wouldn't be the first girl that's shot a full growed b'ar right in this neighborhood."
"I thought you said there wasn't any around here, Jerry?" cried Helen.
"This happened some time ago, Miss," returned the woodsman. "And it happened right over yon at Bill Bennett's farm—not four mile from here. Sally Bennett was a plucky one, now I tell ye. And pretty—wal, I was a jedge of female loveliness in them days," went on Long Jerry, with a sly grin. "Ye see, I was lookin' 'em all over, tryin' to make up my mind which one of the gals I should pick for my partner through life. And Sally was about the best of the bunch."
"Why didn't you pick her then?" asked Tom.
"She got in her hand pickin' first," chuckled Jerry. "And she picked a feller from town. Fac' is, I was so long a-pickin' that I never got nary wife at all, so have lived all my life an old bachelder."
"But let's hear about Sally and the bear," proposed Ruth, eagerly, knowing what a resourceful story-teller Long Jerry was.
"Come Jerry, sit down and let's have it," agreed Mr. Cameron, and the party of young folk drew up chairs, before the fire. Long Jerry squatted down in his usual manner on the hearth, and the story was begun.
"Ol' man Bennett," began Jerry Todd, "warn't a native of this neck o' woods. He come up from Jarsey, or some such place, and bringed his fam'bly with him, and Sally Bennett. She was his sister, and as he was a pretty upstandin' man, so was she a tall, well-built gal. She sartain made a hit up here around Scarboro and along Rollin' River.
"But she wasn't backwoods bred, and the other girls said she was timid and afraid of her shadder," chuckled Long Jerry. "She warn't afraid of the boys, and mebbe that's why the other gals said sharp things about her," pursued the philosophical backwoodsman. "You misses know more about that than I do—sure!
"Howsomever, come the second spring the Bennetts had been up here, Mis' Bennett, old Bill's wife, was called down to see her ma, that was sick, they said, and that left Miss Sally to keep house. Come the first Saturday thereafter and Bennett,hehad to go to Scarboro to mill.
"You know jest how lonesome it is up here now; 'twas a whole sight wuss in them days. There warn't no telephone, and it was more than 'two hoots and a holler,' as the feller said, betwixt neighbors.
"But Old Bill's going to mill left only Miss Sally and the three little boys at home. Bennett had cleared a piece around the house, scratched him a few hills of corn betwixt the stumps the year before, and this spring was tryin' to tear out the roots and small stumps with a pair o' steers and a tam-harrer.
"So, from the door of the cabin he'd built, Sally could see the virgin forest all about her, while she was a-movin' about the room getting dinner for the young 'uns. While she was at work the littlest feller, Johnny, who was building a cobhouse on the floor, yelps up like a terrier:
"'Aunt Sally! Aunt Sally! Looker that big dog!"
"Miss Sally, she turns around, an' what does she see but a big brown bear—oh, a whackin' big feller!—with his very nose at the open door."
"Oh!" squealed Helen.
"How awful!" cried Belle Tingley.
"A mighty onexpected visitor," chuckled Jerry. "But, if she was scar't, she warn't plumb stunned in her tracks—no, sir! She gave a leap for the door and she swung it shut right against Mr. B'ar's nose. And then she barred it."
"Brave girl," said Mrs. Murchiston.
"I reckon so, ma'am," agreed the guide. "And then she remembered that Tom and Charlie, the other two boys, were gone down the hill to a spring for a bucket of fresh water.
"There were two doors to the cabin, directly opposite each other, and they'd both been open. The spring was reached from the other door and Miss Sally flew to it and saw the boys just comin' up the hill.
"'Run, boys, run!' she screams. 'Never mind the water! Drop it and run! There's a b'ar in the yard! Run! Run!'
"And them boysdidrun, but they held fast to their bucket and brought most of the water inter the house with 'em. Then Miss Sally barred that door, too, and they all went to the winder and peeped out. There was Mister B'ar snoopin' about the yard, and lookin' almost as big as one of the steers.
"He went a-sniffin' about the yard, smellin' of everything like b'ars do when they're forragin', s'archin' for somethin' ter tempt his appetite. Suddenly he stood stock still, raised his big head, and sniffed the air keen-like. Then he growled and went straight for the pig-pen.
"'Oh, the pigs! the pigs!' squealed one of the boys. 'The nice pigs!He'll eat 'em all up!'
"And there was a good reason for their takin' on," said Jerry, "for their next winter's meat was in that pen—a sow and five plump little porkers.
"'Oh, Aunty Sally,' cries one of the bigger boys, 'What shall we do?What'll father say when he comes back and finds the pigs killed?'
"Ye see," continued Long Jerry, shaking his head, "it was a tragedy to them. You folks livin' in town don't understand what it means for a farmer to lose his pigs. Old Bennett warn't no hunter, and wild meat ain't like hog-meat, anyway. If the b'ar got those porkers them young 'uns would go mighty hungry the next winter.
"Miss Sally, she knew that, all right, and when the boy says: 'What shall we do?' she made up her mind pretty quick that she'd got totryter do sumpin'—yes, sir-ree! She run for her brother's rifle that hung over the other door.
"'I'm goin' to try and shoot that b'ar, boys,' says she, jest as firm as she could speak.
"'Oh, Aunt Sally! you can't,' says Tom, the oldest.
"'I don't know whether I can or not till I try,' says she. She felt like Miss Ruthie did—eh?" and the long guide chuckled. "No tellin' whether you kin do a thing, or not, till you have a whack at it.
"'Don't you try it, Aunt Sally,' says Charlie. 'He might kill you.'
"'I won't give him a chance at me,' says she. 'Now boys, let me out and mind jest what I say. If anythingdoeshappen to me, don't you dars't come out, but go in and bar the door again, and stay till your father comes back. Now, promise me!'
"She made 'em promise before she ventured out of the door, and then she left 'em at the open door, jest about breathless with suspense and terror, while Miss Sally sped across the yard toward the pig-pen. Mister Ba'r, he'd torn down some of the pine slabs at one corner and got into the pen. The old sow was singin' out like all Kildee, and the little fellers was a-squealin' to the top o' their bent. The b'ar smacked one o' the juicy little fellers and begun to lunch off'n him jest as Miss Sally come to the other end o' the pen.
"His back was towards her and he didn't notice nothin' but his pork vittles," pursued Long Jerry. "She crept up beside him, poked the barrel of the Winchester through the bars of the pen, rested it on one bar, and pulled the trigger. The ball went clear through the old feller's head!
"But it takes more'n one lucky shot to kill a full grown brown b'ar," Jerry said, shaking his head. "He turned like a flash, and with a horrid roar, made at her, dropping the pig. His huge carcass smashing against the pen fence, snapped a white-oak post right off at the ground, and felled two lengths of the fence.
"But Miss Sally didn't give up. She backed away, but she kept shootin' until she had put three more balls into his big carcass. He sprung through the broke-down fence to get at her; but jest as he got outside, the blood spouted out of his mouth, and he fell down, coughing and dying. 'Twas all over in ten seconds, then."
"My goodness!" gasped Jennie Stone. "How dreadful."
"But wasn't she a brave girl?" cried Helen.
"Not a bit braver than Ruthie," said her twin, stoutly.
"I could almost forgive you for spoiling our taffy after that, Master Tom," declared Helen. "Is that all the story, Mr. Todd?" she added, as the long guide rose up to go.
"Pretty near all, I reckon, Missy," he returned. "Nobody didn't never say Sally Bennett was afraid, after she'd saved Bill's meat for him. And that ol' b'ar pelt was a coverin' on her bed till she was married, I reckon. But things like that don't happen around here now-a-days. B'ars ain't so common—and mebbe gals ain't so brave," and he went away, chuckling.
There had been no open battle between the girls and the boys over the spoiled taffy; but that night, when the six friends from Briarwood Hall retired to their big sleeping room, they seriously discussed what course they should take with the three scamps who had played them so mean a trick; for even Helen admitted that one boy was probably as guilty as another.
"And that Isadore Phelps had the cheek to ask me how I liked the taffy!" exclaimed Heavy. "I could have shaken him!"
"The panther scare spoiled their 'gloat' over us, that's a fact," said Madge Steele. "But I intimated to that brother of mine that I proposed to see the matter squared up before we left Snow Camp."
"I'd like to know how we'll get the best of them?" complained Lluella.
"That's so! Mrs. Murchiston won't let us have any freedom," saidBelle. "She's on the watch."
"I expect she would object if we tried anything very 'brash,'" saidHeavy. "We have got to be sly about it."
"I do not know how much at fault Tom and Mr. Steele are," said Ruth, quietly. "But so much has happened since they spoiled the candy, that I had all but forgotten the trick."
"There now! Ruth will forgive, of course," said Helen, sharply. "ButI won't. They ought to be paid back."
"Wouldn't it be best to just cut them right out of our good times?" suggested Belle.
"But won't that cut us out of their good times?" urged Heavy. "And boys always do think up better fun than girls."
"I never would admit it!" cried Madge.
"You always have been a regular Tom-boy, Jennie," said Lluella.
"You ought to be ashamed to say such a thing, Miss Stone," addedBelle.
"Well, don't they?" demanded the unabashed stout girl.
"Then it's because we girls don't put ourselves out to think up new and nice things to do," proclaimed Madge Steele.
"Perhaps girls are not as naturally inventive as boys," suggestedRuth, timidly.
"I won't admit it!" cried Madge.
"At least," said the girl from the Red Mill,
"We don't want to do anything mean to them just because they were mean to us."
"Why not?" demanded Belle, in wonder.
"That wouldn't be nice—nor any fun," declared Ruth, firmly. "A joke—yes."
"Do you call it a joke on us—spoiling our taffy and stealing the nutmeats?" wailed Heavy.
"What else was it? It was a joke to them. There was a sting to it for us. We must pay them back in like manner, but without being mean bout it."
"Well now!" cried Helen. "I'd like to see you do it, Ruth."
"Perhaps we can think of a plan," said Ruth, gaily. "I for one shall not lose any sleep over it. But if you want to pay them off by showing how much we disapprove of their actions, and have nothing to do with their schemes to-morrow, I will agree."
"We'll begin that way," said Madge Steele, promptly. "Treat them in a dignified manner and refuse to join in any games with them. That is what wecando."
"Oh, well," sighed the irrepressible Heavy. "We're bound to have a dreadfully slow day, then. Good-night!"
It began by being a gray day, too. The sun hidden and the wind sighed mournfully in the pines. Long Jerry cocked his head knowingly and said:
"It's borne in on me, youngsters, that you'll see a bit of hard weather before the New Year—that it do."
"A snowstorm, Jerry?" queried Helen Cameron, clapping her hands."Oh, goody!"
"Dunno about it's being so everlastin' good," returned the guide."You never see a big snow up in these woods; did ye?"
"No, Jerry; but I want to. Don't you Ruth?"
"I love the snow," admitted Ruth Fielding. "But perhaps a snowstorm in the wilderness is different from a storm in more civilized communities."
"And you're a good guesser," grunted Long Jerry. "Anyhow, unless I'm much mistook, you'll have means of knowin' afore long."
"Then," said Helen, to Ruth, "we must get the balsam to-day for our pillows. It won't snow yet awhile, will it, Jerry?"
"May not snow at all to-day," replied the guide. "This weather we've had for some days has been storm-breeding, and it's been long comin'. It won't be soon past, I reckon."
This conversation occurred right after breakfast. The boys had seen by the way the girls acted that there was "something in the wind."
The girls ignored Tom, Bob and Isadore as they chatted at the breakfast table, and at once they went about their own small affairs, leaving the boys by themselves.
Tom and his mates discussed some plan for a few minutes and then Tom sang out: "Who'll go sliding? There's a big bob-sled in the barn and we fixed it up yesterday morning. It will hold the whole crowd. How long will it take you girls to get ready?"
Helen turned her back on him. Ruth looked doubtful, and flushed; but Madge Steele exclaimed: "You can go sliding alone, little boy. We certainly sha'n't accompany you."
"Aw, speak for yourself, Miss," growled her brother. Then Bob turned deliberately to Helen and asked: "Will you go sliding, Helen?"
"No, sir!" snapped Helen.
"Aw, let 'em alone, Bob," said Isadore. "Who wants 'em, anyway?"
Jennie Stone would have replied, only Belle and Lluella shook her. It took two girls to shake Heavy satisfactorily. And the entire six ignored the three boys, who went off growling among themselves.
"Just for a little old mess of candy," snorted Isadore, who was the last to leave the house.
"That's the way to treat them!" declared Madge, tossing her head, when the boys had gone.
"I don't know," said Ruth slowly. "We might be glad to have them help us get the pine-needles."
"I believe you are too soft-hearted, Ruth Fielding," declared BelleTingley.
"It's because she likes Tom so well," said Lluella, slily.
"Well, Tom never did so mean a thing before yesterday," said Tom's sister, sharply.
"Boys are all alike when they get together," said Heavy. "It spoils 'em awfully to flock in crowds."
"What does it do to girls?" demanded Ruth, smiling.
"Gives them pluck," declared Madge Steele. "We've got to keep the boys down—that's the only way to manage them."
"My, my!" chuckled Jennie Stone, the stout girl. "Madge is going to be a regular suffragette; isn't she?"
"Well, I guess girls can flock by themselves and have just as good times without their brothers, as with them."
But Ruth and Helen looked more than doubtful at this point. They knew that Tom Cameron, at least, had been a loyal friend and mate on many a day of pleasure. They couldn't bear to hear him abused.
But the girls felt that they really had reason for showing the boys they were offended. Soon after the departure of Tom and his friends the girls started out with bags to gather the balsam for the pillows. On the back porch they sat down to put on the snowshoes which, by this time, they were all able to use with some proficiency. The three boys, snowballing behind the barn, espied them.
"Hullo!" bawled Busy Izzy. "Here come the Amazons. They're going on their own hook now—haven't any use for boys at all."
He threw a snowball; but Tom tripped him into a bank of snow and spoiled his aim. "None o' that, Izzy!" he commanded.
"Let 'em alone," growled Bob Steele. "If they want to flock by themselves, who cares?"
"Not I!" declared Izzy. "Look at the Amazon March. My, my! if they should see a squirrel, or a rabbit, they'd come running back in a hurry. They'd think it was another panther. Oh, my!"
But the girls paid no attention to his gibes and shuffled on into the woods. Helen suddenly saw a snow flake upon her jacket sleeve. She called Ruth's attention to it.
"Maybe the snow will come quicker than Long Jerry thought," declared the girl from the Red Mill. "See! there's another."
"Oh, pshaw! what's a little snow?" scoffed Belle Tingley.
But the flakes came faster and faster. Great feathery flakes they were at first. The girls went on, laughing and chatting, with never a thought that harm could befall them through the gathering of these fleecy droppings from the lowering clouds.
Tom Cameron and his two friends were so busy setting up a target and throwing iced snow-balls at it, that they barely noticed the first big flakes of the storm. But by and by these flakes passed and then a wind of deadly chill swept down upon the camp and with it fine pellets of snow—not larger than pin-points—but which blinded one and hid all objects within ten feet.
"Come on!" roared Bob. "This is no fun. Let's beat it to the house."
"Oh, it can't last long this way," said Isadore Phelps. "My goodness! did you ever see it snow harder in your life?"
"That I never did," admitted Tom. "I wonder if the girls have come back?"
"If they haven't," said Bob, "they'd better wait where they are until this flurry is over."
"I hope they have returned," muttered Tom, as they made their way toward the rear of Snow Camp.
The snow came faster and faster, and thicker and thicker. Bob bumped square into the side of one of the out-sheds, and roared because he found blood flowing from his nose.
"What do you say about this?" he bellowed. "How do we know we're going right?"
"Here!" cried Isadore. "Where are you fellows? I don't want to get lost in the back yard."
Tom found him (he had already seized the half-blinded Bob by the arm) and the three, arm in arm, made their way cautiously to the kitchen porch. They burst in on Janey and Mary with a whoop.
"Have the girls got back?" cried Tom, eagerly.
"I couldn't tell ye, Master Tom," said Mary. "But if they haven't come in, by the looks of you boys, they'd better."
Tom did not stop to remove the snow, but rushed into the great central hall which was used as a general sitting room.
"Where's Helen—and Ruth—and the rest of them?" he demanded.
"Why, Thomas! you're all over snow," said Mr. Cameron, comfortably reading his paper before the fire, in smoking jacket and slippers.
"Is it snowing?" queried Mrs. Murchiston, from the warmest nook beside the hearth. "Aren't the girls out with you, Tom?"
"What's the matter, my son?" demanded his father, getting up quickly. "What has happened?"
"I don't know that anything has happened," said Tom, swallowing a big lump in his throat, and trying to speak calmly. "The girls have not been with us. They went into the woods somewhere to get stuff for their pillows. And it is snowing harder than I ever knew it to snow before."
"Oh, Tom!" gasped the governess.
"Come! we'll go out and see about this at once," cried his father, and began to get into his out-of-door clothing, including a pair of great boots.
"Is it snowing very hard, Tom?" queried the lady, anxiously. "What makes you look so?"
For Tom was scared—and he showed it. He turned short around without answering Mrs. Murchiston again, and led the way to the kitchen. The other boys had shaken off the snow and were hovering over the range for warmth.
"Found 'em all right; didn't you?" demanded Bob Steele.
"No. They haven't come in," said Tom, shortly, and immediately Bob began pulling on his coat again.
"Oh, pshaw!" said Isadore. "They'll be all right."
"Where are Jerry and the others?" Mr. Cameron asked the maids.
"Sure, sir," said Mary, who was peering wonderingly out of the window at the thick cloud of snow sweeping across the pane, "sure, sir, Jerry and the min went down in the swamp to draw up some back-logs. And it's my opinion they'd better be in out of this storm."
"I agree with you, Mary," returned Mr. Cameron, grimly, as he opened the door and saw for the first time just what they had to face. "But perhaps they'll pick up the girls on their way home. Trust those woodsmen for finding their way."
Tom and Bob followed him out of the house. They faced a wall of falling snow so thick that every object beyond arm's length from them was blotted out.
"Merciful heavens!" groaned Mr. Cameron. "Your sister and the girls will never find their way through this smother."
"Nor the men, either," said Tom, shortly.
"Oh, I say!" exclaimed Bob, "It can't snow like this for long; can it?"
"We have never seen a right good snowstorm in the woods," quoth Mr. Cameron. "From what the men tell me, this is likely to continue for hours. I am dreadfully worried about the girls—"
"What's that?" cried Tom, interrupting him.
A muffled shout sounded through the driving snow. In chorus Mr.Cameron and the two boys raised their own voices in an answering shout.
"They're coming!" cried Bob.
"It is Long Jerry Todd and the men—hear the harness rattling?" returned Tom, and he started down the steps in the direction of the stables.
"Wait! we'll keep together," commanded Mr. Cameron. "I hope they have brought the girls with them."
"Oh, but the girls didn't go toward the swamp," returned his son."They started due north."
"Shout again!" commanded Mr. Cameron, and the two parties kept shouting back and forth until they met not far beyond the outbuildings belonging to the lodge. The great pair of draught horses were ploughing through the drifts and the three men were whooping loudly beside them.
"Dangerous work this, for you, sir," cried Long Jerry. "You'd all better remained indoors. It's come a whole lot quicker than I expected. We're in for a teaser, Mr. Cameron. Couldn't scarce make out the path through the woods."
"Have you seen the girls, Jerry?" cried Tom Cameron.
"Bless us!" gasped the tall guide. "You don't mean that any of them gals is out of bounds?"
"All six of them went into the woods—toward the north—about two hours ago. They went on snowshoes," said Tom.
The three woodsmen said never a word, but standing there in the driving snow, at the heads of the horses, they looked at each other for some moments.
"Well," said Jerry, at last, and without commenting further on Tom's statement; "we'd best put up the horses and then see what's to be done."
"To the north, Tom?" said his father, brokenly. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, sir. I am sure of it."
"Is there any house in that direction—within reasonable distance,Jerry?" asked the gentleman.
"God bless us, sir!" gasped the guide. "I don't know of one betwixt here and the Canadian line. The wind is coming now from the northwest. If they are trying to get back to the camp they'll be drifted towards the southeast and miss us altogether."
"Don't say that, Jerry!" gasped Tom. "Wemustfind them. Why, if this keeps up for an hour they'll be buried in the drifts."
"Pray heaven it hold's off soon," groaned his father.
The men could offer them no comfort. Being old woodsmen themselves, they knew pretty well what the storm foreboded. A veritable blizzard had swept down from the Lakes and the whole country might be shrouded for three or four days. Meanwhile, as long as the snow kept falling, it would be utterly reckless to make search for those lost in the snow.
Jerry and his mates said nothing more at the time, however. They all made their way to the stables, kicked the drift away from the door, and got the horses into their stalls. They all went inside out of the storm and closed the doors against the driving snow. In five minutes, when the animals were made secure and fed, and they tried to open the doors again, the wind had heaped the snow to such a height against them that they could not get out.
Fortunately there was a small door at the other end of the barn, and by this they all got out and made their way speedily across the clearing to the house—Long Jerry leading the way. Tom and Bob realized that they might easily have become lost in that short distance had they been left to their own resources.
Mr. Cameron was very pale and his lips trembled when he stood before the three woodsmen in the lodge kitchen.
"You mean that to try to seek for the girls now is impossible,Jerry?" he asked.
"What do you think about it yourself, sir?" returned the guide. "You have been out in it."
"I—I don't expect you to attempt what I cannot do myself—"
"If mortal man could live in it, we'd make the attempt without ye, sir," declared Long Jerry, warmly. "But neither dogs nor men could find their way in this smother It looks like it had set in for a big blizzard. You don't know jest what that means up here in the backwoods. Logging camps will be snowed under and mules, horses and oxen will have to be shot to save them from starvation. The hunting will be mighty poor next fall, for the deer and other varmints will starve to death, too.
"If poor people in the woods don't starve after this storm, it will be lucky. Why, the last big one we had the Octohac Company had a gang of fifty men shoveling out a road for twenty miles so as to get tote teams through with provisions for their camp. And then men had to drag the tote teams instead of horses, the critters were so near starved. Ain't that so, Ben?"
"Surest thing you know," agreed one of the other hands. "I remember that time well. I was working for the Goodwin & Manse Company. There was nigh a hundred of us on snow-shoes that dragged fodder from the farmers along Rolling River to feed our stock on, and we didn't get out enough logs that winter to pay the company for keeping the camp open."
"That's the way on it, Mr. Cameron," said Long Jerry. "We got to sit down and wait for a hold-up. Nothing else to do. You kin try telephoning up and down the line to see if the girls changed their route and got to any house."
But when Mr. Cameron tried to use the 'phone he found that already there was a break somewhere on the line. He could get no reply.
They were besieged by the Storm King, and he proved to be a most pitiless enemy. The drifting snow rose higher and higher about the lodge every hour. The day dragged on its weary length into night, and still the wind blew and the snow sifted down, until even the top panes of the first floor windows were buried beneath the white mantle.