“And now for Christmas!” cried Joe. Deep down in his heart he was wondering if he would get another watch and chain.
Ice had already formed on Pine Lake, but just before Christmas it began to snow and blow heavily, so that skating was out of the question. This put something of a damper on the lads and they went around feeling somewhat blue.
Christmas morning dawned bright and fair. The ground was covered with over a foot of snow, and the merry jingle of sleighbells filled the air.
As may be surmised the Westmore boys were up early. There were many presents to be given and received, and it was a time of great surprises and not a little joy.
What pleased Joe most of all was the new watch he received. It was decidedly better than the first watch had been, and so was the chain better than the other.
“Just what I wanted!” he declared. “It tops all the presents—not but what I like them, too,” he added, hastily.
Harry had slipped off without the others noticing. Now he came back, his face aglow with enthusiasm.
“Oh, Joe, what do you think?” he cried. “The wind has swept Pine Lake as clean as a whistle.”
“If that’s the case, Harry, we can go skating this morning instead of waiting until after dinner. But how do you know the ice on the lake is clear?”
“Didn’t I just come from there?” Harry held up a shining pair of nickel-plated skates. “Couldn’t resist trying ’em, you know. Say, it was just all right of Uncle Maurice to give each of us a pair, wasn’t it?”
“It certainly was,” returned Joe. “But I rather think I love that double-barreled shotgun a little better. I am fairly aching to give it a trial on a bird or a rabbit, or something larger.”
“Well, as for that, I don’t go back on the camera Aunt Laura sent up from New York. Fred Rush was telling me it was a very good one, and he ought to know, for he has had four.”
“What did Fred get for Christmas’?”
“A shotgun something like yours, a big bobsled, some books, and a whole lot of other things. One book is on camping out, and he is just crazy to go. He says a fellow could camp out up at Pine Island, and have a bang-up time.”
“To be sure!” ejaculated Joe, enthusiastically. “Just the thing! If he goes I’m going, too!”
“You don’t know yet if father will let you go. He says no boy should go hunting without some old hunter with him.”
“I’m seventeen,” answered Joe, drawing himself up to his full height; he was rather tall for his age. “And Fred is almost as old. I reckon we could take care of ourselves.”
“If I went I’d like to take my camera,” said Harry. “I was reading an article in the paper the other day about how to hunt game with a snap-shot machine. That would just suit me. Think of what a famous collection of pictures I might get—wild turkeys, deer and maybe a bear——”
“If you met a bear I don’t think you’d stand to take his photograph. I’ll wager you’d leg it for all you were worth—or else shoot at him. But come on. If skating is so good there is no use of our wasting time here talking,” concluded Joe, as he moved off.
Lakeport was a thriving town with a large number of inhabitants. Early as it was many people were out, and nearly every passer-by was greeted with a liberal dose of snowballs, for the lads of this down-East town were as fun-loving as are boys anywhere, and to leave a “good mark” slip past unnoticed was considered nothing short of a crime.
When Joe and Harry reached the lake front they found a crowd of fully fifty men and boys, with a fair sprinkling of girls, engaged in skating and in ice-boating. The majority of the people were in the vicinity of the steamboat dock, for this was at the end of the main street, and a great “hanging-out” spot during the summer. But others were skating up the lake shore, and a few were following Dan Marcy’s new ice yacht,Silver Queen, as she tacked along on her way to the west shore, where an arm of the lake encircled the lower end of Pine Island.
“Marcy’s going to try to beat the lake record,” Joe heard one boy call to another. “He says his new boat has got to knock the spots out of anything that ever sailed on the lake, or he’ll chop her up for firewood.”
“Well, she’ll have to hum along if she beats the time made by the oldWhizzerlast winter,” came from the other boy. “She sailed from the big pine to Hallett’s Point in exactly four minutes and ten seconds. My, but didn’t she scoot along!”
It took but a few minutes for Joe and Harry to don their skates. As they left the shore they ran into Fred Rush, who was swinging along as if his very life depended upon it.
“Hello, so you fellows have come down at last!” sang out Fred, who was short and stout, and as full of fun as a lad can be. “Thought you had made up your mind to go to bed again, or stay home and look for more Christmas presents. Been having dead loads of fun—had a race and come in second best, got knocked down twice, slipped on the ice over yonder, and got a wet foot in a hole some fellow cut, and Jerry Little hit me in the shin with his hockey stick. Say, but you fellows are positively missing the time of your lives.”
“I want to miss it, if I’m going to have all those things happen to me,” returned Joe, dryly. Then he added: “Harry tells me you got a double-barreled shotgun almost like mine. How do you like it?”
“Like it? Say, that gun is the greatest thing that ever happened. I tried it just before I came down to skate—fired both barrels at once, because I didn’t have time to fire ’em separately. It knocked me flat, and a snowbank was all that saved my life. But she’s a dandy. I’m going to bring down a bear with that gun before the winter is over, you see if I don’t.”
“How are you going to do it?” put in Harry. “Offer to let the animal shoot off the gun, and kill him that way?”
“Don’t you make fun of me, Harry. You’ll see the bear sooner or later, mark the remark.”
The three boys skated off, hand in hand, with Fred in the center. The fun-loving youth was the only son of the town hardware dealer, and he and the Westmore lads had grown up together from childhood. At school Fred had proved himself far from being a dunce, but by some manner of means he was almost constantly in “hot water;” why, nobody could explain.
“Let Fred Rush pick up a poker, and he’ll get the hot end in his hand,” said one of the girls one day, and this remark came close to hitting the nail squarely on the head. Yet with all his trials and tribulations Fred rarely lost his temper, and he was always ready to promise better things for the future.
The boys skated a good half mile up the lake shore. At this point they met several girls, and one of them, Cora Runnell, asked Joe if he would fix her skate for her.
“Certainly I will,” replied the youth, and on the instant he was kneeling on the ice and adjusting a clamp that had become wedged fast to the shoe plate of the skate. Cora was the daughter of an old hunter and trapper of that vicinity, and as he worked Joe asked her what her father was doing.
“He isn’t doing anything just now,” was the girl’s answer. “He was out acting as a guide for a party of New York sportsmen, but they went back to the city last week.”
“Did you hear him say anything about game?”
“Yes, he said the season was a very good one. The party got six deer over at Rawson Hill and a moose at Bender’s, and any quantity of small game. I think pa’s going out alone in a day or two—just to see what he can bring down for the market at Brookside.”
“I wish he’d take me along. I’ve got a new double-barreled shotgun that I want to try the worst way.”
“And I’ve got one, too,” broke in Fred. “I’m sure we could bring down lots of game between us.”
Cora Runnell looked at the stout youth, and began to giggle. “Oh, dear, if you went along I guess pa’d have to hide behind a tree when you took your turn at shooting.”
“Whoop, you’re discovered, Fred!” burst out Harry. “Cora must have heard how you shot off both barrels at once, and——”
“Oh, I can shoot straight enough,” came doggedly from Fred. “Just you give me the chance and see.”
“Well, you’ll have to see pa about going out with him,” answered Cora, and then started to skate after her girl friends, who had moved off a minute before, and were getting farther and farther away.
“Hi, there!” came suddenly in a shout from the lake shore. “Beware of the ice boat!”
“The ice boat?” repeated Harry. “Where—— Oh!”
He glanced up the lake, and saw theSilver Queencoming along as swiftly as the stiff breeze could drive the craft over the glassy surface. The ice boat was headed directly for the three boys, but now the course was shifted slightly, and the craft pointed fairly and squarely for the spot where Cora Runnell was skating along, all unconscious of her danger.
“By gracious, Dan Marcy will run Cora down!” ejaculated Fred. He raised his voice to a yell. “Stop! stop! you crazy fool! Do you want to kill somebody?”
“Save my girl!” came from the shore. “Cora! Cora! Look out for the ice boat!” But the girl did not heed the warning, and now the ice boat, coming as swiftly as ever, was almost on top of her. Then the girl happened to glance back. She gave a scream, tried to turn, but slipped, and then sank in a heap directly in the track of the oncoming danger.
It was a moment of extreme peril, and the heart of more than one onlooker seemed to stop beating. The ice boat was a heavy affair, with runners of steel, and a blow from that bow, coming at such a speed, would be like a blow from a rushing locomotive. It looked as if Cora Runnell was doomed.
But as all of the others stood helpless with surprise and consternation, Joe Westmore dashed forward with a speed that astonished even himself. He fairly flew over the ice, directly for Cora, and, reaching the fallen girl, caught her by the left hand.
“Quick! we must get out of the way!” he cried, and without waiting to raise her to her feet he dragged her over the smooth ice a distance of four or five yards. Then theSilver Queenwhizzed past, sending a little drift of snow whirling over them.
“Git out of the way!” came rather indistinctly from Dan Marcy. “Can’t you see I’m trying to beat the record?” And then he passed out of hearing.
“Are you hurt?” questioned Joe, as he assisted the bewildered girl to her feet.
“I—I guess not, Joe,” she stammered. “But, oh! what a narrow escape!” And Cora shuddered.
“Dan Marcy ought to be locked up for such reckless sailing.”
“I think so myself.” Cora paused for a moment. “It was awfully good of you to help me as you did,” she went on, gratefully.
By this time the others were coming up, and the story of the peril and escape had to be told many times. Among the first to arrive was Joel Runnell, Cora’s father, who had shouted the warning from the shore. He had been out hunting, and carried an old-fashioned shotgun and a game bag full of birds.
“Not hurt, eh?” he said, anxiously. “Thank fortune for that! Who was sailing that boat?” And when told, he said he would settle with Marcy before the day was done. “Can’t none of ’em hurt my girl without hearing from me,” he added.
The excitement soon died down, and the skaters scattered in various directions. In the meantime, to avoid being questioned about the affair, Dan Marcy, who was a burly fellow of twenty, and a good deal of a bully, turned his ice boat about, and went sailing up the lake once more.
Some of the lads on the lake were out for a game of snap the whip, and Joe, Harry and Fred readily joined in this sport. At the third snap, Fred was placed on the end of the line.
“Oh, but we won’t do a thing to Fred,” whispered one of the boys, and word was sent along to make this snap an extra sharp one.
“You can’t rattle me!” sang out Fred, as the skating became faster and faster. “I’m here every time, I am. Let her go, everybody, whoop!” And then he had to stop talking, for he could no longer keep up. The line broke, and like a flash Fred spun around, lost his footing, and turned over and over, to bring up in a big snowbank on the shore.
“Hello, Fred, where are you bound?” sang out Harry.
“Where—where am I bound?” spluttered the stout youth, as he emerged and cleaned the snow from out of his collar and sleeves. “I don’t know.” He paused to catch his breath. “Reckon I’m in training for a trip to the North Pole.”
Half an hour later found the Westmore boys at home for dinner. There was something of a family gathering this Christmas day, mostly elderly people, so neither Joe nor Harry had a chance to speak to their father about the hunting trip they had in mind. Everybody was in the best of humor, and the table fairly bent beneath the load of good things placed upon it—turkey with cranberry sauce, potatoes, onions, squash, celery, and then followed pumpkin and mince pies, and nuts and raisins, until neither of the boys could eat a mouthful more. Both voted that Christmas dinner “just boss,” and the other folks agreed with them.
The middle of the afternoon found the lads at the lake again. It had clouded over once more, and they were afraid that another fall of snow might stop skating for several weeks, if not for the balance of the season.
“We want to take the good of it while it lasts,” said Harry.
Dan Marcy was again out on his ice boat, and Joe and Harry, accompanied by Fred, followed the craft to a cove on the west shore. There seemed to be something the matter with the sail of theSilver Queen, and Marcy ran the craft into a snowbank for repairs.
“Say, what do you want around here?” demanded Dan Marcy, as soon as he caught sight of the Westmore boys. His face wore an ugly look, and his tone of voice was far from pleasant.
“I don’t know as that is any of your business, Dan Marcy,” returned Joe.
“Ain’t it? We’ll see. I understand you’ve been telling folks that I tried to run into you and that Runnell girl on purpose.”
“You didn’t take much care to keep your ice boat out of the way.”
“It was your business to keep out of the way. You knew I was trying to beat the record?”
“Do you own the lake?” came from Harry.
“Maybe you’ve got a mortgage on the ice?” put in Fred.
Now the year before, Dan Marcy had been in the ice business, and had made a failure of it, and this remark caused him to look more ugly than ever.
“See here, for two pins I’d pitch into the lot of you, and give you a sound thrashing!” he roared.
“Would you?” came sharply from Joe. “Sorry I haven’t the pins.”
“I’ll give you an order on our servant girl for two clothespins, if they’ll do,” put in Fred.
“Then you want that thrashing, do you?” growled Dan Marcy; but as he looked at the three sturdy lads he made no movement to begin the encounter.
“If anybody needs a thrashing it is you, for trying to run down Cora Runnell,” said Joe. “It was a mean piece of business, and you know it as well as we do.”
“You shut up, Joe Westmore!” Marcy picked up a hammer with which he had been driving one of the blocks of the sail. “Say another word, and I’ll crack you with this!” He advanced so threateningly that Joe fell back a few steps. As he did this, a form appeared on the lake shore, and an instant later Dan Marcy felt himself caught by the collar and hurled flat on his back.
“I reckon as how this is my quarrel,” came in the high-pitched voice of Joel Runnell. “I’ve been looking for you for the past hour, Dan Marcy. I’ll teach you to run down my girl. If it hadn’t a-been for Joe Westmore she might have been killed.”
“Let go!” roared Marcy, and scrambled to his feet, red with rage. He rushed at the old hunter with the hammer raised as if to strike, but before he could land a blow, Joe caught hold of the tool and wrenched it from his grasp.
“Give me that hammer! Do you hear? I want that hammer!” went on the bully. Then he found himself on his back a second time, with his nose bleeding profusely from a blow Joel Runnell had delivered.
“Have you had enough?” demanded the old hunter, wrathfully. “Have you? If not, I’ll give you some more in double-quick order.”
“Don’t—don’t hit me again,” gasped Dan Marcy. All his courage seemed to desert him. “It ain’t fair to fight four to one, nohow!”
“I can take care of you alone,” retorted Joel Runnell, quickly. “I asked you if you had had enough. Come, what do you say?” And the old hunter held up his clinched fists.
“I—I don’t want to fight.”
“That means that you back down. All right. After this you let my girl alone—and let these lads alone, too. If you don’t, you’ll hear from me in a way you won’t like.”
There was an awkward pause, and Dan Marcy wiped the blood from his face, and shoved off on his ice boat.
“We’ll see about this some other time,” he called out when at a safe distance. “I shan’t forget it, mind that!”
“He’s a bully if there ever was one,” observed Harry.
“And a coward into the bargain,” put in Joel Runnell. “Watch out for him, or he may play you foul.”
“I certainly shall watch him after this,” said Joe.
“We’re glad you came along,” came from Fred. “We want to ask you something about hunting. I’ve got a new double-barreled shotgun and so has Joe, and we want to go out somewhere and try for big game.”
“And I’ve got a new camera, and I want to get some pictures of live game,” added Harry.
“You can’t get any big game around Lakeport. If you want anything worth while you’ll have to go out for several days or a week.”
“We’re willing to go out as long as our folks will let us,” explained Harry. “We haven’t said much about it yet, for we wanted to see you.”
“We thought you might like to take us out, or rather go with us,” came from Joe. “If you’d go with us we’d pay the expenses of the trip, and give you your full share of whatever game we managed to bring down.”
At this Joel Runnell’s gray eyes twinkled. He loved boys, and knew the lads before him very well. All the powder and shot he used came from Mr. Rush’s hardware establishment, and his flour from the Westmore mill, and he was always given his own time in which to pay for the articles. Moreover, he was not the one to forget the service Joe had rendered his daughter.
“I’ll go out with you willingly,” he said. “I’ll show you all the big game I can, and what you bring down shall be yours.”
“Hurrah! It’s settled!” cried Fred, throwing up his cap. “We’ll have just the best time that ever was!”
“Where do you want to go to?”
“I was thinking of camping out up on Pine Island,” answered Harry. “But of course we have got to see my father about it first.”
“Pine Island is a nice place. There is an old lodge up there—put up five years ago by some hunting men from Boston. It’s a little out of repair, but we could fix it up, and then use that as a base of supplies.”
“Just the thing!” said Joe, enthusiastically. “If we liked it would you stay out with us for two or three weeks?”
“To be sure. There is a little game on the island, and we could easily skate to shore when we wished. When do you want to go?”
“As soon as we get permission,” said Harry. “We’ll find out about it to-morrow.”
After that the boys could talk of nothing but the proposed outing and what they hoped to bring down in the way of game. Harry wanted pictures worse than he wanted to bring down game; nevertheless, he said he would take along a gun and a pistol. “Then I can snapshot my bear first, and shoot him afterward,” he said.
It was not until the day after Christmas that the Westmore lads got a chance to speak to their parents about what was uppermost in their minds. At first Mrs. Westmore was inclined to demur, but her husband said the outing might do their sons some good.
“And they couldn’t go out with a better fellow than Joel Runnell,” added Mr. Westmore. “They’ll be as safe with him as they would be with me.”
As soon as it was settled that they were really to go, Harry rushed over to Fred’s house. Fred had already received permission to go, and now all they had to settle on was the time for their departure and what was to be taken along. Christmas had fallen on Thursday, and it was decided to leave home on the following Monday morning, weather permitting. As to the stores to be taken along, that was to be left largely to the judgment of Joel Runnell and to Mr. Westmore, who also knew a good bit about hunting and life in camp.
“Boys, we’ve got to organize a club,” said Joe, as they were talking the matter over, and getting one thing and another ready for the trip.
“Just the thing!” shouted Fred. “Let us organize by all means.”
“What shall we call ourselves?” queried Harry. “The Outdoor Trio.”
“Or the Forest Wanderers,” came from Joe.
“Bosh!” interrupted Fred. “We’re going out with guns. You’ve got to put a gun in the name.”
“How will Young Gunners do?”
“Gun Boys of Lakeport.”
“Young Hunters of the Lake.”
“Bull’s-eye Boys.”
“Yes, but if we can’t make any bull’s-eyes, what then?”
There was a general hubbub and then a momentary silence.
“I’ve got it,” said Joe. “Let us call ourselves The Gun Club. That’s a neat name.”
“Hurrah for the Lakeport Gun Club!” shouted Fred. “Three cheers and a tiger! Sis-boom-ah! Who stole the cheese?”
There was a general laugh, in the midst of which Laura Westmore came up.
“Gracious sake! what a noise you’re making! What is it all about?”
“We’ve just organized the Gun Club of Lakeport,” answered Harry.
“Indeed. And who is president, who is vice president, who is secretary, and who is treasurer?”
At this the three lads looked glum for a moment. Then Joe made a profound bow to his sister.
“Madam, we scarcely need so many officers,” he said, sweetly. “We’ll elect a leader and a treasurer, and that will be sufficient. You can be the secretary—to write up our minutes after we get home and tell you what happened.”
“I move we make Joe leader,” said Fred.
“Second the commotion,” responded Harry, gravely. “’Tis put and carried instanter. Mr. Joseph Westmore is elected to the high and dignified office of president, etc., of the Gun Club of Lakeport. The president will kindly deliver his speech of acceptance at the schoolhouse during next summer’s vacation. He can treat with doughnuts——”
“Just as soon as his sister consents to bake them for him,” finished Fred.
At this Laura burst out laughing. “I’ll treat to doughnuts on one condition,” she said.
“Condition granted,” cried Fred. “What is it?”
“That you make me an honorary member of the club.”
“Put and carried, madam, put and carried before you mentioned it. That makes you the secretary sure.”
And Laura accepted the position, and the boys got their doughnuts ere the meeting broke up.
The news soon spread that the Gun Club of Lakeport had been organized. Many boys who possessed guns asked if they could join, and half a dozen were taken in. But of these none could go on the outing as planned, although they said they would try to join the others just as soon as they could get away.
“I’ll tell you one thing I am going to take along,” said Harry. “That is a pair of snowshoes.”
“Right you are,” returned Fred. “Never had so much fun in my life as when I first put on those things. I thought I knew it all, and went sailing down a slide about a mile a minute, until one shoe got caught in a bush, and then I flew through the air for about ’steen yards and landed on my head kerbang! Oh, they are heaps of fun—when somebody else wears ’em.”
It was decided that all should take snowshoes. In addition they were to take their firearms, plenty of powder and shot, a complete set of camp cooking utensils and dishes, some coffee, sugar, condensed milk, flour, bacon, salt pork, beans and potatoes, salt and pepper, and half a dozen other things for the table. Mr. Rush likewise provided a small case of medicines and a good lantern, and from the Westmore household came the necessary blankets. Each lad was warmly dressed, and carried a change of underwear.
“It is going to be no easy work transporting that load to Pine Island,” observed Harry, gazing at the stores as they lay in a heap on the barn floor at his parents’ place.
“We are to take two low sleds,” answered Fred. “We have one and Joel Runnell will furnish the other.”
The sleds were brought around Saturday morning, and by afternoon everything was properly loaded. Joel Runnell examined the new shotguns with care and pronounced each weapon a very good one.
“And I hope you have lots of sport with ’em,” he added.
Late Saturday evening Harry was sent from home to the mill to bring over a sack of buck-wheat flour his mother desired. On his way he passed Fred’s home, and the latter readily agreed to accompany his chum on the errand.
The promise of more snow had not yet been fulfilled, and the night was a clear one, with the sky filled with countless stars.
“I only hope it stays clear,” said Fred. “That is, until we reach the lodge on the island. After that I don’t care what happens.”
“It might not be so jolly to be snowed in—if we run short of provisions, Fred.”
“Oh, old Runnell will be sure to keep the larder full. He told me that the woods are full of wild turkeys and rabbits.”
Having procured the sack of flour and placed it on a hand sled, the lads started on the return. On the way they had to pass a small clump of trees, back of which was located the district schoolhouse. As they paused to rest in the shadow of the trees they noted two men standing in the entryway of the schoolhouse conversing earnestly.
“Wonder who those men are?” said Harry.
“It’s queer they should be there at this hour,” returned Fred. “Perhaps they are up to no good.”
“They wouldn’t get much if they robbed the place,” laughed Harry. “A lot of worn-out books and a stove that isn’t worth two dollars as old iron.”
“Let’s go a little closer, and see who they are anyway.”
This was agreed to, and both boys stole along through the trees, and up to the side of the entryway. From this point they could not see the men, but could hear them talking in earnest tones, now high and then very low.
“It ain’t fair to be askin’ me fer money all the time,” they heard one man say. “I reckoned as how I’d settled in full with ye long ago.”
“It ain’t so, Hiram Skeetles,” was the reply in Dan Marcy’s voice. “I did you a big service, and what you’ve paid ain’t half of what I ought to have.”
“It’s more’n you ought to have. Them papers wasn’t of no account, anyway.”
“Maybe—but you were mighty anxious to get ’em when——” And the boys did not catch what followed.
“And that’s the reason,” came presently from Hiram Skeetles.
“Do you mean to say you lost ’em?” demanded Dan Marcy.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“One day when I was sailin’ down the lake in Jack Lasher’s sloop. We got ketched by a squall that drove us high and dry on Pine Island. I jumped to keep from getting hurt on the rocks, and when we got off after the storm my big pocketbook with everything in it was gone.”
“Humph!” came in a sniff from Dan Marcy. “Do you expect me to believe any such fish story? Not much! I want fifty dollars, and I am bound to have it.”
A long wrangle followed, in which the bully threatened to expose Hiram Skeetles. This angered the real estate dealer from Brookside exceedingly.
“If you’re a natural born idiot, expose me,” he cried. “But you’ll have to expose yourself fust.”
Dan Marcy persisted, and at last obtained ten dollars. Then the men prepared to separate, and in a few minutes more each was gone.
“Now what do you make of that?” questioned Fred.
“I hardly know what to make of it,” replied Harry. “But I am going to tell my father about this just as soon as I get home.”
Harry was as good as his word, and Horace Westmore listened attentively to what his son had to relate.
“It is certainly very mysterious,” said Mr. Westmore. “The papers that were mentioned may have been those which your grandfather once possessed—those which showed that he was the owner of the land at the upper end of the lake which Skeetles declares is his property. Then again the papers may be something entirely different.”
“I think we ought to watch Dan Marcy, father.”
“Yes, I’ll certainly watch him after this.”
“You haven’t been able to do much about the land, have you?”
“I can’t do a thing without the papers—the lawyers have told me so.”
“If old Skeetles lost them we couldn’t make him give them up, even on a search warrant.”
“That is true. But they may not have been lost even though he said so. He may have them hidden away where nobody can find them,” concluded Mr. Westmore.
Sunday passed quietly enough, the lads attending church with their families, and also going to Sunday school in the afternoon. In the evening Joel Runnell dropped in on the Westmores to see that everything was ready for an early start the next morning.
“Funny thing happened to me,” said the old hunter. “I was over to the tavern Saturday night, and met Hiram Skeetles there. He asked me how matters were going, and I mentioned that I was to take you fellows up to Pine Island for a hunt. He got terribly excited, and said you had no right to go up there.”
“Had no right?” questioned Joe. “Why not?”
“He claims that Pine Island belongs to his family, being a part of the old Crawley estate. But I told him that old Crawley didn’t leave the island to him, and he had better mind his own business,” went on Joel Runnell. “We had some hot words, and he flew out of the tavern madder nor a hornet.”
“Can he stop us, do you think?”
“He shan’t stop me, and I shall protect you boys. Crawley was only a fourth-handed relation of his, and the property is in the courts, and has been for three years. At the most, Skeetles ain’t got more’n a sixth interest in it. Sheriff Cowles is taking care of it.”
This news made the boys wonder if Hiram Skeetles would really try to prevent their going to the island, but when the time came to start on the trip the real estate dealer was nowhere to be seen.
“Gone back to Brookside,” said a neighbor. “He got word to come at once.”
Down at the lake there were a dozen or more friends to see them off, including Cora Runnell, who came to say good-by to her father. The start was made on skates, and it was an easy matter to drag the two heavily loaded sleds over the smooth ice.
“Good-by, boys; take good care of yourselves,” said Mr. Westmore.
“Don’t let a big buck or a bear kill you,” said Mr. Rush to Fred, and then with a laugh and a final handshake the hunting tour was begun.
As the party moved up the lake they noticed that theSilver Queenwas nowhere in sight. Dan Marcy had failed to break the record with his new ice boat and had hauled her over to a carpenter shop for alterations.
“I don’t believe he is doing a stroke of regular work,” observed Joe. “If he keeps on he will become a regular town loafer. He has already gone through all the money, his folks left him.”
There was no sunshine, but otherwise the atmosphere was clear, and as the wind was at their backs they made rapid progress in the direction of Pine Island. The lodge which Joel Runnell had mentioned was situated near the upper shore, so that they would have to skirt the island for over a mile before reaching the spot.
Inside of an hour they had passed out of sight of Lakeport, and now came to a small island called the Triangle, for such was its general shape. Above the Triangle the lake narrowed for the distance of half a mile, and here the snow had drifted in numerous ridges from a foot to a yard high.
“This isn’t so nice,” observed Harry, as they tugged at the ropes of the sleds.
“I’ll go ahead and break the way,” said Joel Runnell, and then he continued, suddenly, “There is your chance!”
“Chance for what?” asked Harry.
“Chance for wild turkeys. They’ve just settled in the woods on the upper end of the Triangle.”
“Hurrah!” shouted Joe. “Where is my gun?”
He had it out in an instant, and Fred and Harry followed suit—the latter forgetting all about his precious camera in the excitement.
“You can go it alone this time,” said the old hunter. “Show me what you can do. I’ll watch the traps.”
In a moment they were off, and five minutes of hard skating brought them to the shore of the Triangle. Here they took off their skates, and then plunged into the snow-laden thickets.
“Make no noise!” whispered Joe, who was in advance. “Wild turkeys are hard to get close to.”
“Oh, I know that,” came from Fred. “I’ve tried it more than half a dozen times.”
As silently as ghosts the three young hunters flitted through the woods, each with his gun before him, ready for instant use.
Presently they saw a little clearing ahead, and Joe called a halt. They listened intently and heard the turkeys moving from one tree to another.
“Now then, watch out—and be careful how you shoot,” cautioned Joe, and moved out into the open.
A second later he caught sight of a turkey, and blazed away. The aim was true, and the game came down with a flutter. Then Harry’s gun rang out, followed by a shot from Fred. Two more turkeys had been hit, but neither was killed.
“They mustn’t get away!” cried Fred, excitedly, and blazed away once more. But his aim was wild, and the turkey was soon lost among the trees in the distance.
Harry was more fortunate, and his second shot landed the game dead at his feet. Joe tried for a second turkey, but without success.
“Never mind, two are not so bad,” said Harry, “It’s a pity you didn’t get yours,” he went on, to Fred.
“Oh, I’ll get something next time, you see if I don’t,” replied the stout youth. “I don’t care for small game, anyway. A deer or a bear is what I am after.”
“Well, I hope you get all you want of deer and bear,” put in Joe; and then they hastened to rejoin Joel Runnell, and resume the journey.
“Got two, did you?” came from Joel Runnell, when the party came up. “That’s a good deal better than I looked for.”
“I hit a third, but it got away from me,” said Fred.
“You mustn’t mind that. I’ve seen young gunners go out more than once and not bring a thing down,” returned the old hunter.
Once more the journey up the lake was resumed, and an hour later they came in sight of Pine Island; a long narrow strip of land, located half a mile off the western shore. The island lay low at either end, with a hill about a hundred feet high in the middle. On the hill there was a patch of trees that gave to the place its name, and trees of other varieties lined the shores, interspersed here and there with brushwood. There were half a dozen little coves along the eastern shore, and two small creeks near the southern extremity.
As the party drew closer to the island they saw that all the trees were heavily laden with snow, and many of the bushes were covered.
“Pretty well snowed up, isn’t it?” remarked Joe.
“I’m going to take a picture of the island,” said Harry, and proceeded to get out his camera, which was a compact affair, taking film pictures four by five inches in size.
“Is the light strong enough?” questioned Joe. “I thought you had to have sunlight for a snapshot.”
“I’ll give it a time exposure, Joe.”
“Fred, how long do you think it ought to have?”
“About ten seconds with a medium stop,” was the reply.
The camera was set on the top of one of the sleds and properly pointed, and Joe timed the exposure. Then Harry turned the film roll around for picture number two.
“That’s a good bit easier than a plate camera,” came from Joel Runnell. “I once went out with a man who had that sort. His plates weighed an awful lot, and he was always in trouble trying to find some dark place where he could fill his holders.”
“This camera loads in daylight; so I’ll not have any trouble that way,” said Harry. “And I can take six pictures before I have to put in a new roll of films.”
It was high noon when the upper end of Pine Island was gained. All of the party were hungry, but it was decided to move on to the lodge before getting dinner.
The lodge set back about a hundred feet from the edge of a cove, and ten minutes more of walking over the ice and through the deep snow brought them in sight of the building. It was a rough affair of logs, twenty by thirty feet in size, with a rude chimney at one end. There was a door and two windows, and the ruins of a tiny porch. Over all the snow lay to a depth of a foot or more.