“Work, Fred! Work!” urged Grant desperately.
“I’m doing my best,” panted Fred, and from the way he drove his paddle into the water it was evident that what he said was true.
They made a little progress towards the shore. They moved still more swiftly downstream, however, for the current was powerful here. For every foot that they progressed towards shore they were drawn a yard closer to the rapids. Unless they reached the bank very soon they were certain to be forced to run the rapids whether they desired to or not.
George and John in the other canoe were in the same predicament. The two frail little craft seemed no stronger than shells and it was almost unbelievable that they could traverse that foaming stretch of water in safety. No one spoke now; every boy was too busily employed in the desperate struggle he was waging against the river.
The current eddied and swirled. From below came the roar of the water as it raced along in its mad course. Beside them was the shore and safety; below was danger, accident, and possible death.
When the two canoes had rounded the bend in the river the one which John and George occupied had been a trifle closer to shore. Consequently it had just that much advantage over the other. The occupants of the two canoes were too engrossed in their own struggles to take much notice of their companions, but out of the corner of his eye Grant saw that the other canoe had nearly reached its goal.
A moment later he heard a call from the shore sounding above the roar of the rapids below. It was George’s voice.
“Keep it up, Grant!” he shouted. “You’ll make it yet.”
“Stick to it, Fred!” cried Grant, encouraged by the knowledge that their companions had reached safety. “We can make it.”
“I’m sticking to it all right,” replied Fred grimly.
Closer and closer to shore they came. Nearer and nearer sounded the noise of the rapids. Could they win out? Certainly they could if nerve and determination were to count for anything.
Ahead of them Grant could see George frantically urging them on. He was so excited that he had run down into the water, where he stood knee-deep, begging and imploring his comrades to come to him. Inch by inch they seemed to move towards shore. Their muscles were aching from the strain now and it was agony for both boys to keep up the fight, but neither one gave even the slightest thought to quitting.
It almost seemed as if they were going to win out now. George was scarcely ten feet distant; arms outstretched he eagerly awaited a chance to seize the bow of the canoe and draw it and its occupants to safety. His chance did not come, however.
Just out of his eager reach a whirlpool caught the canoe. The bow swung suddenly around and Fred’s paddle was almost wrested from his grasp. In vain he and Grant fought. Twice the frail little boat spun around and then seized by a sudden eddy in the current was borne swiftly and relentlessly towards the rapids below.
“We’re goners!” cried Fred.
“Keep your nerve!” shouted Grant fiercely. “You do the steering from the bow. You can see the rocks from there.”
At racehorse speed the canoe shot forward. With every second its momentum increased until it seemed fairly to fly over the water. White-lipped and with jaws set the two boys sat and awaited their fate. From the shore George and John watched with feverish anxiety.
Now they were almost in the rapids. An eddy caught the canoe and it nearly upset. It escaped, however, and again sped on. Around it the water foamed white and hissed and snarled as it raced along. Black rocks stood out along the treacherous pathway. It seemed as if the canoe must surely come to grief on any one of a dozen of them.
Seated on the bottom of the canoe and with his eyes riveted on the rapids below, Fred wielded his paddle like a madman. First one side and then the other he dipped it, changing so swiftly sometimes as almost to bewilder the onlookers.
They were half way through the dangerous passage now. Was it possible that they could come through those angry waters untouched? It was out of the question; they had merely been lucky so far. At least that was the way George and John felt about it. Any moment they expected to see their comrades upset and disappear from sight beneath those terrible foaming waves.
Still the canoe raced on. One moment it had the speed of a locomotive and the next, caught by some eddying whirlpool, its momentum almost ceased, only to shoot forward suddenly again at a bewildering pace an instant later.
“I believe they’ll get through,” exclaimed George excitedly. He and John were standing on a large boulder which afforded them an excellent view of the rapids.
“Wait,” cautioned John quietly.
“‘Wait and see,’” smiled George.
“Please don’t joke,” muttered John. “I don’t feel like it.”
The onrushing canoe was almost through the rapids now. Could it be that two inexperienced boys were to come through that mad mill race alive? If they could last a moment more they were safe, but ahead of them was the most dangerous part of the rapids. Two huge rocks stood out in midstream scarcely six feet apart. Between them the water rushed and roared like a cataract. Below this spot the rapids ended and the current gradually slowed down to its normal swiftness.
Fred and Grant saw all this in the twinkling of an eye and they knew that the test was now to come. Both boys braced themselves; so swiftly did they move now that it almost seemed as if they were standing still and that it was the two great rocks that were charging down upon them. Closer and closer they came. With bated breath George and John watched from the shore, realizing their companions’ peril.
Fred, in the bow of the canoe, gripped his paddle with all his strength. One moment more and their lot would be decided. The rocks looked like mountains as they bore down upon them. Now they were just ahead, ugly and bristling in their might; now they were alongside; now they were past. Fred and Grant had run the rapids in safety. They could scarcely realize it. The danger was over and they were alive.
“Yea, Fred!” shouted Grant. “We’re through!”
“Thank goodness,” sighed Fred, and he sank back limply against one of the thwarts of the canoe.
“You’re a wonder,” cried Grant.
“It’s a wonder we’re alive, you mean.”
“That’s true, too. But the way you steered!”
“It wasn’t due to any skill on my part; we were just lucky.”
“Anyway,” exclaimed Grant happily, “we ran the rapids and I wouldn’t give up that experience for a million dollars now.”
“Neither would I,now,” agreed Fred. “It would take a good deal more than that to make me go through with it again, though.”
They had now reached a point two or three hundred yards below the rapids and decided to go ashore and wait for John and George. It was with a very comfortable feeling that the two boys set their feet on solid ground once more.
“Just look back there and see what we came through,” exclaimed Grant.
“I don’t see how we did it,” said Fred. “I wonder if we really did.”
“You think you were dreaming, I suppose,” laughed Grant. “I can swear we did do it, though, and I guess Pop and String will, too.”
“It doesn’t seem possible.”
“Here we are.”
“I know it. Just look at those rapids, though. They look like Niagara Falls from here.”
“There ought to be good fishing along here,” remarked Grant.
“I should think so. Perhaps Pop can catch his big trout here. The big fellows usually stay in the deep pools below rapids like this.”
“Here they come now,” exclaimed Grant, as John and George appeared, carrying their canoe along the shore.
“We’ll have some fun with them about it, anyway,” said Fred, in a low voice. “Watch me get a rise out of them.”
“Hey, you two,” shouted George, as he spied his friends. “What do you mean by scaring String and me almost out of our wits?”
“Do you suppose we did it on purpose?” laughed Grant.
“Why, that was nothing at all for us,” said Fred, airily.
“Oh, is that so?” demanded George, mimicking Fred’s tone. “Well, if that was nothing, I’d hate to see what something was.”
“That was no effort at all for us,” continued Fred, carelessly.
“Put this canoe down quickly, String,” exclaimed George. “Let me get at that fellow. He ought to be drowned.”
With a sigh of relief John and George deposited their burden on the ground and George immediately advanced threateningly towards Fred.
“Let him alone, Pop,” laughed Grant. “He’s the best steersman this side of the Canadian border.”
“He was pretty good, wasn’t he?” exclaimed John. “How did you two fellows like shooting the rapids?”
“It was wonderful,” said Fred heartily. “I never had such a wonderful sensation in all my life.”
“I’ll bet you were both almost scared to death,” said George, shortly.
“We were,” laughed Fred, “but now that it’s all over we’re glad we did it.”
“Fred thinks there ought to be some good fishing in these pools along here,” said Grant. “What do you say to trying them?”
“That suits me,” said George readily. “I’m hungry, too.”
“We’ll have lunch right here then,” exclaimed Grant, “and afterwards we’ll try our hands at the trout fishing.”
“And Pop will catch the biggest trout that ever swam in the waters of the Adirondacks,” added Fred, nudging John as he spoke.
“Huh,” exclaimed George disgustedly. “I wish you’d stop that talk. I suppose you’ll be worse than ever now that you’ve run these rapids.”
“I didn’t say anything about myself,” smiled Fred. “I was talking about the big trout you were going to catch.”
“I suppose you think you’re the only one here who can shoot rapids or catch fish or do anything at all.”
“I told you I was talking about you, not about myself,” insisted Fred. “I said you’d probably catch the biggest trout in the Adirondacks.”
“You think you’re pretty funny,” snorted George. “You just wait and see.”
When luncheon was over, the four young campers busied themselves with preparations for the afternoon’s fishing. They sat around on the bank joining the different sections of their trout rods and selecting the flies which they considered would be most tempting to the speckled fish they sought to catch.
“We’ll fish from the shore, I suppose,” remarked John.
“Of course,” exclaimed Fred. “The current is too strong here to try it from a canoe.”
“I’m not much good at this game, I’m afraid,” laughed John. “I don’t expect to catch a thing.”
“I don’t know anything about it, either,” said George, “but I certainly expect to catch something just the same.”
“Maybe you’ll have beginner’s luck,” said Grant.
“I don’t care what it is,” laughed George. “I want some fish, though.”
“Well, I’m ready,” said Fred, rising to his feet. “Where are we going?”
“Suppose two of us go upstream and two down,” suggested Grant.
“All right,” exclaimed Fred. “You and I will go up and the others the other way. We’ll meet back here in time for supper.”
“At the latest,” added John.
Fred stepped to the shore and deftly cast his fly out on the waters. Gradually lengthening the amount of line he had out, he kept casting and then drawing the rod back over his head so that the line stretched far behind him. Then, with a short snap of his wrist he would send the fly floating out over the pool again. As it came to rest lightly on the surface of the water he jerked it along for a few feet in imitation of the struggles of a live insect and then he would repeat the performance all over again.
His three friends watched him with absorbing interest.
“That’s a simple performance,” exclaimed George at length. “Why don’t you leave the fly in the water for a second or two and give the fish half a chance to swallow it? It would have to be an awfully quick trout to take your hook.”
“They’re quick enough; don’t worry about that,” smiled Fred.
“But why don’t you let the hook sink a little below the surface?”
“Did you ever see a moth or a bug of some sort light on the water?” Fred inquired.
“Yes. Lots of times.”
“Did you ever see one sink?”
“No, I don’t believe I ever did,” George admitted slowly.
“That’s just it,” exclaimed Fred triumphantly. “If a real insect doesn’t do it, why should an artificial one? The idea is to make the fly appear just as much alive as possible.”
“I haven’t seen you catch anything yet,” remarked George.
Hardly had he spoken, however, when Fred had a strike. His fly had settled like thistledown on the surface of the pool after an almost perfect cast, when there was a rush and the line was drawn swiftly across the pool. The light rod bent almost double and Fred’s three companions jumped to their feet excitedly.
“Yea, Fred!” shouted John. “You’ve hooked a big one. Stick to him.”
“Big one nothing,” said Fred shortly. “It’s a little fellow.”
“Bring him in anyway,” cried George. “The little ones are just as good to eat as any kind.”
The trout may have been small as Fred had predicted, but he put up a valiant fight. After a very pretty struggle, however, he was gradually brought in close to the bank, and with a quick, dexterous scoop of his landing net Fred brought him to shore.
“About ten inches,” he remarked as he held the gamey little fish up for his friends to see. “He was fierce, though; look there,” and he showed the side of the trout’s mouth all torn and bloody, so hard had he attacked the hook.
“Let’s go after some ourselves, String,” exclaimed George eagerly. “I’d rather catch them myself than to watch others.”
“Remember you’re going to get a big one,” reminded Fred.
“Wait and see,” said George gruffly.
Without wasting any more time he and John made their way downstream while Fred and Grant worked slowly in the opposite direction. Fred was the only one of the four who was at all skillful in handling a trout-rod, and, as a consequence, he had the best luck at the start. Grant, however, had captured one prize, and to his delight it proved to be larger than any Fred had caught.
They had progressed slowly towards the rapids, stopping at every pool for a few casts, but both boys seemed to have the idea that their luck would be better farther up. Consequently they did not linger long in any one spot until they reached a point just below the rapids. Here there were several large pools, and each boy selected one and prepared to make a cast.
Grant had experienced considerable difficulty in making his casts, for the branches of the nearby trees and bushes seemed far easier to locate than the spot for which he aimed. Time and again he had found his hook entangled by the overhanging limb of some tree and he had spent many moments in freeing it as a result. It was particularly exasperating to him as he saw Fred with apparent ease drop his fly on any spot he cared to hit.
Grant had just succeeded in disentangling his hook for at least the tenth time when he heard his name called.
“Come over here, Grant!” shouted Fred excitedly. “I need help.”
Grant immediately dropped his rod and started towards the spot where Fred was standing.
“What’s the matter?” he demanded, when he was only a few yards distant from his companion.
“Matter?” exclaimed Fred. “Look at that rod.”
It was bent almost double, and the line whipped back and forth across the pool as if it was possessed.
“Zowie!” cried Grant eagerly. “You’ve hooked a good one this time.”
“I should say I had.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Take that landing net and stand ready to scoop him up in case I can bring him close enough to shore, and don’t lose him beforehand.”
“Don’t lose him,” begged Grant. “Look at him go.”
The light rod was almost in the shape of a horseshoe and it scarcely seemed possible that it could stand the strain. Back and forth and around and across the pool the trout carried the hook. Fred strove to keep a constant pressure on the line in order to tire the fish out; he did not try to check his frequent bold rushes, however, but rather to prevent the line from becoming slack at any time.
One moment he would reel the line in swiftly and there would be almost no resistance at all; the next moment, however, just as he and Grant had come to the conclusion that the struggle was practically ended, off would go the line again while the reel sang loudly.
Fred was white-lipped, he was so excited. But who wouldn’t be, for there is no more thrilling sport in the world than to fight a big trout with a five-ounce rod?
“I believe he’s tiring,” exclaimed Fred at length.
“A little, perhaps,” agreed Fred.
“I wish he’d jump so we could see him.”
“If he does I’ll lose him. That’s one of the things I’m doing my best to prevent.”
“Why so?” demanded Grant in surprise.
“If a fish can jump clear of the water he can very often shake the hook out of his mouth. I’ve seen it happen too often.”
“But I don’t see how you can prevent it.”
“If I keep a steady strain on him all the time, he can’t jump. It’s only when the line is slack that they have a chance to do that.”
“Look at him go!” exclaimed Grant. “Wouldn’t you think he’d be getting tired by this time?”
“He is. His rushes aren’t as long as they were before.”
“Does that mean you’ve got him?”
“Not at all. You’ve never caught a trout until he is safely on the shore.”
Fred had not once taken his eyes from the line while he was talking with Grant. Carefully, coolly and with great skill he played his fish. Never once did he relax his caution, and little by little he seemed to be gaining the mastery. Every rush was shorter than the one before, and after every one he reeled in a bit more of line and brought the trout a trifle nearer to the shore and the net.
“Get ready, Grant,” said Fred in a tense voice.
The handle of the net in his right hand, Grant knelt on the rocks on the edge of the pool. He was just to the left of the spot where his comrade was standing and he now watched the line just as closely as Fred.
“Let me know when to scoop him,” he said.
“You’ll know all right,” replied Fred. “You’ll see him in the water.”
“You tell me, though.”
“All right.”
The plucky trout was tiring rapidly now. His struggles became weaker and weaker. Fred had played him well, but he was too seasoned a fisherman to feel that the fight was ended. Bitter experience had taught him that there is many a slip.
“Get the net ready,” exclaimed Fred after what seemed like a very long time to Grant, who was not comfortable in the position he was in.
Nearer and nearer Fred brought the trout. He still struggled weakly but was practically exhausted now. Relentlessly Fred reeled in the line. Once the trout broke the water with his tail not a dozen feet from shore and Grant held his breath; he thought the fish had escaped.
Not so, however, for a moment later he could see him in the water being drawn remorselessly closer to the net. Grant was in a panic for fear he should not do his part correctly.
“Now, Grant!” cried Fred suddenly.
The trout was in the water almost at Grant’s feet. His struggles were very weak now and thanks to the way Fred handled the rod, was nearly motionless. Carefully Grant lowered the net into the water and moved it along until it was almost underneath the beaten fish; then with a quick motion he raised the net and a moment later the trout lay upon the bank enmeshed in its folds.
“Nice work, Grant!” exclaimed Fred. “You did that like a veteran!”
“Isn’t he a beauty!” cried Grant delightedly.
“He surely is.”
“How much do you suppose he weighs?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’d hate to say; two pounds and a half, I guess.”
“That’s pretty big, isn’t it?” inquired Grant.
“It is for this part of the country and it’s all I’d care to tackle with a five-ounce rod.”
Fred had removed the hook from the fish’s mouth now and he held him up to view.
“He’s all right,” said Grant admiringly.
“What do you suppose Pop will say about him?” grinned Fred. “I don’t believe he can match him, do you?”
“I don’t know,” said Grant doubtfully. “I’d hate to bet on it. You can’t ever be sure what he’ll do.”
“Huh,” laughed Fred derisively. “He couldn’t catch a trout like that to save his life.”
“Wait and see,” cautioned Grant.
“Well, I suppose we might as well go back now,” said Fred. “It’ll be dark before long.”
“All right,” agreed Grant, reluctantly. “I wish I might have caught a trout like that one of yours though.”
“I’ll stay if you want to.”
“No, I guess not,” said Grant. “As you say it will be dark soon and we might as well go back.”
“Get your rod then and we’ll start.”
Grant returned to the spot where he had been standing when Fred called him, and picking up his rod soon joined his companion. Together they made their way back to camp rehearsing the story of the big trout’s capture time and again during the journey.
“The others don’t seem to have returned yet,” remarked Grant when they had arrived at their destination. “Shall we wait for them?”
“I don’t see the use. Let’s clean some of the fish and get ready for supper.”
“You’re not going to eat that big one, are you?”
“I’m not going to touch it yet, that’s sure. I want to show it to Pop first.”
“Aren’t you going to stuff it and take it home?”
“I don’t believe I can,” said Fred. “I don’t know how to do it myself and there isn’t any place around here where I can have it done.”
“That’s too bad; still it will make good eating.”
“After I’ve shown it to Pop,” grinned Fred.
“Here they come now!” exclaimed Grant, and as he spoke John and George appeared through the trees a short distance away.
“What luck did you have?” demanded John as he and his comrade approached the fire which Grant had started.
“Pretty good,” replied Grant. “I caught only one myself but Fred got eight.”
“Good for him,” exclaimed John. “Did you get any big ones?”
“Fred caught one beauty.”
“Let’s see it.”
Nothing loath Fred proudly produced his big trout and held it up for the inspection of his friends.
“Say,” exclaimed George, “that’s a good one all right!”
“He certainly put up a game fight too,” said Grant. “You should have seen it.”
“I wish we had,” said George. “None of the ones we caught gave us any trouble at all.”
“Perhaps you didn’t catch any big enough,” said Fred, preparing to tease George and remind him of his boasts. “How many did you get anyway?”
“Only four all together,” replied George. “String caught three of those.”
He and John seemed unwilling for some reason to talk very much and they had the appearance of holding something back. Perhaps if it had been lighter it would have been possible to see a guilty look on the faces of both boys.
“Let’s see your fish,” urged Fred. “Don’t be afraid of them. I’m surprised that you didn’t catch more than one, Pop. I expected that you’d bring in at least a dozen and that you’d surely get one bigger than mine; here you are with only four little ones between you. Bring them out anyway.”
John opened the creel and dipping his hand inside brought out a trout about ten inches long and laid it on the mossy bank.
“That’ll do for a start,” grinned Fred, who was thoroughly enjoying himself. He knew that he had made good his boast about catching a larger fish than George. He had been somewhat worried up to the present time for as Grant had said it was never possible to say just what George would do. Now, however, all doubts had been swept from his mind and he was perfectly confident that he had beaten his rival.
“There’s another,” said John, bringing out a second fish, if anything a trifle smaller than the first.
“Huh,” laughed Fred, “I’ll bet that’s the one Pop caught.”
“No, it isn’t,” said John. “I caught those two and this one too,” and he placed a third trout by the side of the other two. All three of them were almost exactly the same size.
“They’re not very large, are they?” said John dubiously.
“Oh, they’ll make fine eating,” exclaimed Fred. “Where’s your other fish though? I want to see the one that Pop caught.”
John once more put his hand in the creel and felt all around.
“I don’t feel it here,” he said anxiously.
“Maybe it slipped through a crack in the basket,” said Fred gleefully. “Are you sure you caught a fish, Pop?”
“Why, I thought so,” said George. “Here, String, let me try to find it.”
“Too bad we haven’t got a magnifying glass,” chuckled Fred as John passed the creel over to George. “You know it’s against the law to catch the little bits of ones anyway.”
“Find it, Pop?” inquired John.
“Here it is,” exclaimed George after a moment’s search and he drew forth to the astonished gaze of Grant and Fred a trout that one glance showed was easily larger than the one Fred had caught.
“Where’d you get that fish?” demanded Fred in amazement.
“I caught it.”
“You did? How’d you do it?”
“With a hook and line of course. I told you to ‘wait and see.’”
“Well,” gasped Fred, and he stopped for lack of anything further to say. His three companions, however, burst into gales of laughter all at his expense and all seemed to enjoy the situation very much.
“Let me see him,” demanded Fred, and George very willingly handed over his prize to be inspected.
“Why, look here,” exclaimed Fred. “There’s not a cut or a mark of any kind around his mouth but his stomach has a big gash in it.”
“Certainly,” said George. “That’s where I hooked him.”
“In the stomach?” cried Fred. “What are you talking about?”
“Tell him how you did it, Pop,” urged John gleefully.
“Well,” said George, “it was like this. I tried to fish the way I saw Fred doing it but I couldn’t to save my life. The old hook kept catching on everything in sight.”
“Just like mine,” interposed Grant.
“I finally got disgusted,” continued George. “It didn’t seem to be any use in my trying any longer and I thought that a trout would be an awful fool to bite that silly looking fly anyway. I’ve always fished with worms and I didn’t see why I couldn’t catch trout with worms for bait. I decided to try it anyway, so I rolled over an old log and dug under it with my knife. It wasn’t long before I had a couple of big fat fellows and I soon put one on the hook and took the fly off.
“Well, I fished with the worms for a while but nothing happened and I began to get pretty well discouraged. I quit fishing and lay down on my stomach to get a drink out of one of the pools. The water was just as clear as crystal and just as I lay down I saw a big old trout shoot under a big rock at the bottom of the pool. That proved there were trout in there anyway.
“The rock where he disappeared was right beneath me and I picked up my line with the big worm still on the hook and let it down just as quietly as I could until it was right in front of the rock. Nothing happened for a long time and I thought the trout was gone, but all of a sudden I saw him again.”
“Were you holding the line in your hand?” inquired Grant.
“Yes; it was just like a drop line. The rod was lying in back of me on the ground and all I had done was to let out a lot of line. Well, the old trout sort of poked his nose out and took a look around. He went up to the worm and took a smell of it; at least that’s the way it looked. He didn’t bite it though and a second later he went whizzing back underneath the rock again. I thought he was gone for good but in a few seconds back he came; the worm seemed to attract him even if he didn’t try to eat it. He kept hanging around it all the time, sort of sniffing at it first one side and then the other.
“All of a sudden I had an idea.”
“Whew,” whistled Fred softly.
“I decided,” continued George paying no attention to the interruption, “that I’d try to pull the line up all of a sudden and hook him in the stomach. I didn’t see why such a thing wasn’t possible and I meant to try it the first chance I had. Old Mr. Trout still hung around the worm but it seemed as if he was never going to get right over the hook. Finally he started to swim away slowly and I thought it was all over. He only went a few feet though and then turned back. The worm seemed to fascinate him.
“He went right up to the hook and sort of looked it over again; then he turned his back on it so to speak, and kept perfectly still, just wiggling his fins. I lowered the hook a little and he never moved. I lowered it a little more and held it there. All at once he turned leisurely around and came right square over the hook. I yanked the line with all my might and there he is.”
George pointed proudly to the big trout lying at his feet.
“That’s a great way to fish for trout,” exclaimed Fred in disgust.
“That’s all right, Pop,” laughed Grant. “You caught him anyway, didn’t you?”
“I surely did. I told Fred I’d beat him out and I did it. Why, Fred, you little shrimp, I’d have put salt on his tail and caught him that way if it was necessary in order to take some of the conceit out of you.”
“Bah!” exclaimed Fred in disgust.
Two more days the boys spent among the streams and the trout pools. At the end of that time their supply of food was running low and they decided to return to their island camp.
The return trip was made without any mishap and when they entered the little lake where their island was situated, their tent, standing out prominently on the little bluff where it was pitched, was a welcome sight to all.
“It looks pretty good, doesn’t it?” exclaimed John proudly.
“It certainly does,” agreed Fred. “I’m sort of glad to be back again.”
“We had a great time though,” said George enthusiastically. “There’s one more trip I want to take this summer too.”
“What’s that?” inquired Fred.
“I’d like to climb that mountain over there.”
The four young campers turned their heads and gazed at the peak George indicated, towering high over the lake.
“That’s a go,” exclaimed Grant readily. “I think that it would be good fun.”
“So do I,” agreed John. “Let’s do it soon too.”
“Do you suppose it will be very hard work?” asked Fred.
“Of course it will,” said George. “You wouldn’t let that hold you back though, would you?”
“Not at all, but I don’t want you fellows to get the idea that it will be any easy job. The mountain looks nice and green and smooth from here because it’s all covered with trees, but when we get there we’ll find it’s pretty rough going. Ravines and gullies and steep cliffs and everything else like that will be there to hold us back.”
“All the better,” exclaimed George. “Then when we reach the top we’ll feel as if we had accomplished something.”
“We’ll do it anyway,” said Grant and every one else agreed with him.
Soon they reached their destination. TheBalsamstill rode at anchor in the little harbor and everything seemed to be as the boys had left it. In a few moments the canoes had been drawn up on shore and their contents unloaded. Grant in the lead, they made their way towards the tent.
He disappeared inside the tent and before his companions had come up with him, reappeared holding a paper in his hand.
“What have you got there?” inquired George curiously.
“I don’t know. I found it inside the tent.”
“See what it is,” exclaimed George.
“It’s a challenge of some kind, I think,” said Grant after a hasty glance at the sheet which he held.
“A challenge?” exclaimed John. “Not for a fight, I hope.”
“Not as bad as that,” laughed Grant. “It’s an athletic challenge.”
“Who from?” demanded Fred.
“I don’t know yet,” said Grant. “Give me a chance.”
“Read it out loud,” urged John. “That’s the best way.”
“We, the undersigned,” read Grant, “hereby challenge the four boys who are camping on the island in the middle of the lake to a set of water sports. The events are to be decided upon by mutual agreement and are to be as many in number as may be agreed upon. We suggest that they include a sailing race, a canoe race, and a swimming race. The day for the sports is to be decided later and on Monday morning we will come over to see you and arrange the details.
Signed,
Thomas Adams.Franklin Dunbar.Hugh McNeale.Herbert Halsey.”
“Who are they, do you suppose?” exclaimed John.
“I don’t know,” said Fred. “I never heard of any of them before.”
“They probably live in that camp down at the other end of the lake,” said Grant. “The one we visited the other day, you know.”
“And found nobody there,” added George.
“That’s it. They must be the ones.”
“I guess they are,” agreed John. “How do they know so much about us though? I don’t see how they knew there were four of us.”
“Probably they’ve seen us around,” suggested Grant. “That part of it is easy enough.”
“Well, what do you think of the challenge?” demanded Fred.
“I say we accept it,” exclaimed George eagerly.
“Of course we will,” said Grant. “I think it will be great sport.”
“They may be a good deal older and bigger than we are,” suggested Fred. “If they are we’ll sort of be outclassed.”
“I don’t believe they are,” said Grant. “At any rate I don’t think we’ll be outclassed.”
“We’ll give them a good rub anyway,” exclaimed George. “What sort of sailing and swimming and canoe races do you suppose they mean?”
“They had a catboat like theBalsam,” said John. “Don’t you remember seeing it down by their tent? We’ll use the catboats for the sailing race.”
“A relay swimming race would be a good stunt,” suggested Fred. “In that way we could all be in it.”
“When they come over here we can decide all the details,” said George. “When was it that they said they were coming?”
“Monday, I think,” said John. “Wasn’t it, Grant?”
“Yes. That’s day after to-morrow.”
“We ought to have some judges,” said Fred.
“That’s true,” agreed Grant. “I don’t know where we’ll get any though.”
“Maybe they’ll know somebody,” suggested George.
“We’ll find out all about it on Monday anyway,” said Fred. “Let’s have a little food now. I’ll faint unless I eat pretty soon.”
“Poor little Freddy,” laughed George. “You need a nurse.”
“Huh,” snorted Fred. “Ever since you hooked that trout by the tail you have been too fresh to live. Your turn will come though.”
“What do you mean by that?” demanded George.
“Why, that the freshness will be taken out of you one of these days.”
“Who’ll do it?”
“I don’t know, but I have a sure feeling that something will happen to you unless you mend your ways.”
“Stop your arguing, you two,” exclaimed Grant. “You fight all day long.”
“We’re not fighting,” laughed Fred. “That’s just the way we show how fond we are of each other.”
“Well, I must say you have a queer way of doing it,” said Grant. “I’d hate to see what you’d do if you didn’t like each other.”
“Such a thing could never happen, could it, Fred?” demanded George.
“No, I guess not. I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have some one like you around to make fun of,” responded Fred.
“Who caught the big trout?” taunted George.
“Will you keep quiet about that fish?” exclaimed Fred. “All you do is talk about it from morning till night. I never want to hear of it again.”
“You will though,” grinned George.
“Oh, I know that, but I wish something would happen to keep you quiet.”
Such a thing was destined to come about before Fred dreamed it would and it was also something he never would have thought of, possibly.
“I need some wood for this fire,” remarked Grant, who was busied with preparations for dinner. The sun was fast sinking in the west and the light was commencing to fade. A lone kingfisher winged his way across the lake returning to his home, a hole dug in some bank overlooking the water. All was quiet and peaceful.
“I need some wood for this fire,” Grant repeated, for no one had paid any attention to his former statement of this fact.
“You hear that, Pop?” inquired Fred. “Grant needs some wood.”
“Yes, I heard him,” replied George. “What’s the matter with you; your legs haven’t turned to stone, have they? Can’t you get it?”
“I can, but I have to wash the dishes to-night. It seems to me that that’s just about enough for me to do.”
“All right,” sighed George, “I’ll get it. It strikes me, though, that I do about all the work around here that there is to be done.”
“Yes, it’s too bad about you,” jeered Fred. “Take the ax and get out of here.”
“It’s pretty dark,” said George as ax in hand he started for the clump of trees in the rear of the tent. It was growing dark as George had said and it was becoming more and more difficult to pick out the narrow trail. He had advanced but a short distance when a little animal ran out into the path and trotted along ahead of him.
“Why, look at the cat,” exclaimed George half out loud. “I wonder how it got on the island here.”
As he spoke the little black and white animal left the path and entered a clump of bushes on one side. George had always been extremely fond of pets of all sort and he followed eagerly.
“Here puss, puss, puss,” he called. “Here kitty, kitty, kitty.”
There was no response and he called again. He used his most enticing manner and did his best to coax the little animal out again.
“Wouldn’t they be surprised back at camp,” he thought, “if I should bring in a cat? It would make a fine mascot for us too.”
He bent over the bushes where the cat had disappeared and called again; no response came, however. He bent the twigs aside and stepped in, looking carefully all about him as he went forward. Suddenly he uttered a cry of surprise and started back. He thought he was choking, and springing back into the narrow pathway he turned and ran for the tent as fast as his legs would carry him.