The Indian had dumped his seventy-five pound pack on the sleeping Chunky.
Chunky's howls grew more lusty as the pack was jerked from his body.
"Are you hurt?" begged Cale.
"I'm killed! I'm killed!"
"You are pretty noisy for a dead man. Let's see how badly you are hurt."
"That tree fell right-right across me."
"It wasn't a tree. Charlie John dropped his pack on you," the guide informed him.
"He did, eh?" cried Stacy, sitting up.
"Yes, but he didn't see you. You were lying here in the shadow. Perhaps I am the one to blame. I told him to drop his pack over here, not thinking that you were there."
"Why don't you folks finish me in a decent way, if you are so anxious to get rid of me?" demanded the fat boy, dropping over on his back and commencing to moan again.
"Here you, stop that nonsense!" commanded Tad Butler, grabbing Stacy and jerking him to his feet. "Any fellow who can raise a rumpus like that isn't hurt at all. So this is Charlie John, is it?"
"This is the man," nodded the guide.
Tad shook hands with the Indian, who grunted his acknowledgment. The others made themselves known to the half-breed and after a time the camp settled down to quietness, Chunky disturbing the quiet at intervals by a groan, for he really had sustained a severe jolt.
The next morning they were up at daylight. After an early breakfast the party set out for the dark blue ridge in the distance, and after an uneventful day they made camp at the foot of Old Bald Mountain. They had reached the forest. The tall spruce trees were sighing overhead, the odor of pine was strong in their nostrils, and the bracing air put new life into every one of the party.
At supper that night Tad chanced to mention that he had been stung by a bee just before they made camp. Cale was interested at once. He asked where this had occurred. Tad told him.
"We shall have some honey in the morning," said the guide with a smile.
"How will you find it?" asked the Professor.
"I will lure the bees. I will show you after supper. You lead me to the place where you got the sting."
This Tad did, the boys following, full of interest. Vaughn eyed the trees about them with keen glances.
"I guess we shall have to set a trap for them," he decided, drawing a small vial from a receptacle in his belt. Shaking the bottle well he drew the cork and touched it against the trunk of a tree, after which he corked the bottle and replaced it.
"What is that stuff?" asked the Professor.
"Oil of anise."
"What does it do?"
"Calls the bees. If there are any about here you will see them in the morning. It will call bears and several other animals, too," smiled the guide.
"Will this call the bears?" urged Stacy.
"No, I haven't used enough of it. Besides, there are no bears down here. We may find bear after we have got deeper into the woods. It is bees we are after at the present moment."
The boys marveled greatly at this. They had never heard of this use for oil of anise, and they were full of curiosity as to the outcome of the experiment.
At daybreak, on the following morning, Vaughn awakened the boys.
"Time to look for bees," he said. "Charlie, you get breakfast while we are away. Make some biscuit or cakes. You know how, don't you?"
"Me know."
Cale got his rope——not a lasso, but a rope about seven feet long and very limber. Thus equipped, all hands started out, Vaughn in the lead, his glances everywhere.
"Ou—ouch!" howled Chunky. "I'm stung! I'm stung!"
"That's good," cried the guide. "There he is!"
"Good? Good?" moaned the fat boy, dancing about holding his nose, the part that had been touched by the stinger of a bee.
"I meant the bee, not the sting," hastily explained the guide.
"There are more of them," called Tad. "My, they're all here, aren't they?"
"Watch them, boys. We must find out what direction they take after they leave here."
"There goes one to the left," cried Ned.
Cale started on a run. He halted a few paces from the tree.
"Spread out over the place. If any of you sees a bee, call to me. They don't live far from here. I can tell by the way they act. Here come more of them."
The guide appeared to have the eyes of a hawk. He could see a bee where the others were able to discover nothing at all. Cale followed the trail like a hound, except that his nose and eyes were in the air instead of on the ground.
Vaughn, after running some fifteen or twenty rods, dodging trees, leaping rocks and fallen trunks, came to a sudden halt. The rest of the party was floundering some distance in his rear.
"I think we are close to it now. Use your eyes. Look for a hole in a tree or a crotch that looks as if it might hold a bees' nest. This looks to me like a bee tree," he announced.
The guide unslung his rope, and, taking off his boots, passed the rope about the trunk of the tree, holding the free ends in his hands, and leaning well back he began to climb. This was accomplished by frequently hitching the rope up, then taking a step upward.
The boys watched his ascent with fascinated eyes. They had never seen anything like this. Vaughn was as agile as a cat.
"I believe I could do that," declared Chunky.
"Try it," urged the boys.
The fat boy did. After several attempts he succeeded in walking up the trunk of a tree for fully ten feet. Chunky grinned down at them jeeringly. "You fellows are not so smart as you think you are, eh? Why, with a little practice I believe I could walk on a ceiling with my head down. I'd be the human fly, then, wouldn't I? I—Yeow! I'm falling!"
The fat boy had leaned forward, forgetting in his enthusiasm that he must throw his full weight on the rope by leaning backward. Of course the rope slipped, and down came Stacy.
Tad sprang forward to catch him. He only partially succeeded. Stacy struck the ground and rolled off, howling lustily, while Tad Butler went sprawling on his back. To add to the fat boy's discomfiture two bees struck him under the right eye, bringing from the lad fresh howls of pain. By this time, Cale had reached the part of the tree where he believed the bees' store of honey might be found. There was nothing there. Tad had turned his attention to the tree that Chunky tried to climb. About twenty-five feet up he had made out a broad crotch, and as a ray of light from the rising sun shot across the crotch the boy thought he saw some bees dart out. At least he was sure he had seen several dark streaks cross the bar of light.
"I think they are up this tree, Mr. Vaughn. Shall I try it?"
"No, you may get stung and fall down. I will be there in a minute."
The guide descended much faster than he had gone up. Reaching the ground, he eyed the tree critically, then shinned up it with somewhat more speed than he had climbed in the first instance.
"This is the bee tree," he called down before he got to the crotch. Cale then hastily got down, covered his face with a head protector of netting, put on his gloves, then went up again. No sooner had he reached the crotch than a black swarm enveloped his head and body. The infuriated bees were attacking him from all sides.
"Anything there?" called Tad.
"I should say there is! I won't take it all."
"How are you going to get the honey down?" asked Ned.
"I will pass it down to you. I have a long rope with me."
Wrapping several combs of honey in a second piece of netting, which he fastened to the end of his rope, the guide lowered it to the waiting hands of the Pony Rider Boys. It was a sticky mess. Stacy Brown was so full of anticipation that he forgot his stings for the moment, and his were the first hands to reach the bundle. As he grasped it, Stacy uttered a piercing scream and clapped both hands to his eyes. His head was covered with the angry bees, and they were peppering every exposed part of his face.
"Oh, wow!" howled the fat boy, starting away on a run. He fell over a log and went rolling and groveling in the brush and dead leaves.
"Have you anything that will help him, Professor?" asked Tad. "I guess he has been pretty badly stung."
"Yes, there's some ammonia in my kit at the camp. I'll take him back."
"Let me do it, Professor," offered Ned.
"Very good."
Ned hastened to the suffering Chunky and, assisting him up, led the boy back to the camp. Ned found the ammonia, but by this time the fat boy's eyes were swollen almost shut. In applying the ammonia, Rector accidentally held the mouth of the bottle under the patient's nose. Chunky took a deep breath. The fat boy's howls called the others to camp on the run.
"He—he did it on purpose," wailed Stacy as they came running to the scene demanding to know what fresh disaster had befallen Chunky.
"I didn't do it on purpose," protested Ned indignantly. "I was trying to help him. It isn't my fault that he took a smell of the stuff. I was nearly strangled by it myself. That is what I get for trying to be a good fellow. You doctor yourself."
"Let me attend to him," said the Professor, getting down on his knees to examine the swollen face. "You did get stung, didn't you?"
"Strange none of the rest of us was stung," wondered Walter.
"They must have known that Chunky was the easy mark," grinned Ned. "But I am sorry for you, Chunky. I would rather have been stung myself."
"I wish you had been," moaned the fat boy. "It would have served you right."
"That will do," rebuked the Professor.
"Did you get any honey?" stammered the suffering Chunky.
"About twenty-five pounds of it," answered Vaughn triumphantly, coming up at this juncture, bearing his prize into camp.
"Give me some of it!" cried Stacy.
"Yes, give the poor child a taste," begged Ned. "It may lead him to forget his troubles, and incidentally give us a rest from his howls."
A liberal chunk was broken off and handed to Stacy, who sat up instantly and began munching it contentedly, peering out through the narrow slits between lids that were swollen almost shut.
"Be careful," warned Tad. "There may be a bee in the comb."
"I'll eat it if there is," mumbled Stacy. "It's good."
"We can see that," grinned Ned.
After making away with this piece, Stacy demanded more. To keep him quiet they gave the fat boy another chunk. Breakfast was about ready to serve when Stacy again woke the echoes with his howls. This time there was a new note in his tone. Instead of holding his hands to his face, Stacy was holding his stomach, groaning dismally, moaning and rolling over and over.
"For goodness' sake, what is the matter with that boy now?" demanded Walter.
"He is crying for more honey," scoffed Ned.
"Fat boy git pain under belt," volunteered Charlie John.
The boys looked at each other and burst out laughing.
"I was waiting for that," nodded Cale.
"For what?" questioned Tad.
"For the report. Any fellow who can eat a pound of rich honey before breakfast is entitled to have a stomach ache a yard wide. Give him a cup of hot coffee."
"Wait, I will fix him up," said the Professor.
In a moment he was forcing a draught between the unwilling lips of the fat boy. It was a hot dose, too, and it brought fresh moans from Stacy, but it had its effect, and in a few minutes Stacy was able to sit up and take interest in the breakfast that was now being served.
"Give—give me some honey," begged Chunky.
"I think you have had enough for the present," warned Vaughn.
"I want some honey," insisted the fat boy.
"No more honey today," answered the Professor incisively. "Stacy, what are we going to do with you?"
"Give me honey."
"We can't be bothered with you in this way. You will have to exercise better judgment, or I shall be forced to send you home. We are out for an enjoyable trip, not to carry along an indiscreet young man like yourself," warned Professor Zepplin.
"I—I can't help it if I get stung, can I?" muttered Chunky.
"No, but you need not permit your eyes to get bigger than your stomach."
"Bigger than my stomach? Why—I can't see out of my eyes now. Bigger than my stomach? Pshaw!"
"We will drop the subject for the present," decided the Professor sharply, whereat Stacy subsided for the time being. Owing to the lad's condition, however, the party concluded not to start on until later in the day, Mr. Vaughn offering to give the others some instruction in woodcraft to fill up the time from then until the afternoon. Professor Zepplin treated the bee stings, Stacy taking a certain sense of pride in his condition because it made him feel that he was a sort of martyr.
The honey was delicious, and the boys ate too much of it, but none would admit that he suffered any ill effects. Poor Chunky did not get another taste all the rest of the day. Yet the fat boy, while nursing his stings, was planning something that would fill the camp of the Pony Rider Boys with excitement and give them a thrill that would last them for some days.
"Camp making is a science," said Cale Vaughn that night, after they had selected a suitable site for their night's lodging. "In the woods you should first clear the site of brush and all dead leaves, for the danger of fire is very great in these big timber tracts. Just a little carelessness might do a million dollars' worth of damage. If you have to burn off the rubbish, do so in small spots at a time, then backfire toward the center. Be extremely careful about this. While one is unpacking, the others will be engaged in cutting poles for the tents, getting the food ready, each man having his task to perform. I don't need to advise you on that point. You boys can beat me in pitching a camp. You could give points to a circus man, I really believe. In case your ground is too rocky to permit driving in stakes, you may erect two tripods at a convenient distance apart on which to place the ridge pole. If you have no ridge pole use a rope instead."
"That is a good idea. I never thought of it," nodded Butler.
"In this way you can make a self-supporting framework without driving a single stick into the ground. Then comes your bed. How would you go to work to make a browse-bed, Master Tad?"
"Either stick the pine or cedar stems into the ground until they will hold you up, or pile the browse in until you have enough to lie on," answered Tad.
"That will do very well, but the woodsman likes to take a little more pains, especially if he is going to remain in camp for a few days, as we shall do."
"We are ready to learn," nodded Rector.
"Then I will explain. First smooth the ground, leaving no stones, stubs or hummocks. Cut head and foot logs a foot thick, and side logs which may be somewhat smaller. Pin them down with inverted crotches, making a rectangular framework on the ground to keep the browse in place. Do you get me?"
"Yes, yes," answered the boys.
"I never knew how to make my bed so it wouldn't slip out from under me in the night," laughed Tad. "In the morning I usually find myself lying on the bare ground, no matter how carefully I have made my bed."
"So I have observed," smiled the guide. "We will have Charlie do this work hereafter, but it might be a good idea for you boys to help in order to get your hands in. There will be many times when you will have to do it for yourselves."
"We have had to do so many times already," muttered Walter.
"To continue with our subject, next fell a thriving balsam or hemlock—spruce, pine or cedar will do if you can get nothing else—and strip off the fans."
The boys drew closer, for they were learning something that was of no little interest to them.
"Place a course of boughs a foot long against the head-log, butts down and to the front, then shingle another layer in front of these and continue in that way down to the foot of the bed, leaving only the tips of the boughs showing."
"That is something like my way of making the browse-bed," said Tad.
"Yes, except that yours is a heap of greens, not a bed," answered the guide.
Tad agreed to this with a nod.
"New greens should be put in every day to freshen your bed and keep it soft."
"It strikes me that a bed of that sort means a lot of work," observed Rector.
"I could sleep myself to death on that kind of couch," mused Stacy.
"You can do that all right on the hard ground," answered Butler. "Ever hear Stacy snore, Mr. Vaughn?"
"I have not had that pleasure."
"Oh, it won't be any pleasure. Take my word for that," asserted Ned.
"No, you will think a troop of trained sea lions have broken loose and strayed out in the woods. Never heard anything like it in my life," said Tad.
"Outside of a zoological garden, Tad," added Ned.
"Having finished this," resumed the guide, "we come to the question of caring for the food. I presume you have lost grub now and then?"
"Principally through the medium of Stacy Brown's mouth," answered Ned.
"Hang your salt pork or bacon to a tree beside the fireplace where it will be handy. If you are in a country where there are thieving varmints, suspend the stuff from a wire or cord secured to two trees sheltering the stuff from sun and rain. If you have packs, pile them neatly together, covering them with canvas; or, in the event of not having any of the latter, make a thatch roof of boughs. Protect your saddles and trappings in the same way, making sure that the lash ropes cannot get wet and shrink. Have everything where you know where to find it in the darkest night and where it will not be overlooked when you break camp."
"I see we have a lot to learn," said Tad.
"Yes, we've been thinking we knew it all," agreed Chunky.
"For a more permanent camp, of course you would go more into detail."
"Please explain," urged Tad.
"Yes, tell us everything. We shall probably decide to live in the woods one of these days," added Rector.
Stacy shook his head slowly.
"I don't think I want to go into permanent camp, if there's any more work about it than we have to do already."
"There is considerably more," smiled Cale. "You know how to make a dining table. I have shown you that already. You will want to make a kitchen table in the same way, using sticks, as you will have no boards. Dig a sink hole into which to throw your refuse, sprinkling ashes or dirt over the stuff every day, otherwise you will be pestered with flies. If you have a spring handy it will be a good place in which to keep fresh meat, such as venison. The outside of the meat will come out white and stringy, but the inside of it will keep fresh and sweet for weeks, provided no bears come nosing around after the stuff."
"I am afraid such a plant would not last long in these woods," said Tad.
"Not long," agreed the guide. "However, there is a simple way to scare off the animals. All you have to do is to tie a white rag to a stick directly over this cache. It will cause them to keep a safe distance away ordinarily. Speaking of caching or storing food for future use, there are several ways of doing this. My usual way is to suspend the stuff from a wire strung between trees, high enough to be out of the reach of any prowling animals. Be sure to peel the bark from the trees to which your line is fastened. That will prevent the animals from climbing the tree."
"What do you think of it, boys?" asked Tad, glancing at his companions.
"I never thought there was so much to it," answered Rector.
"Oh, I haven't begun yet," laughed Vaughn.
"Please, please don't begin, then, if you are going to put all this into practice. I want to get some fun out of this trip, not make a slave of myself," begged Stacy amid a general laugh.
"I think you boys have had enough instruction for one day. Perhaps I am telling you some things that you know already?"
"No, no; go on," begged the boys.
"Yes, go on, I can stand it to hear about it, if I don't have to do any of the work," nodded Chunky solemnly.
"Let's see. Well, suppose I talk to you about campfires. Come over by the fire and sit down. Our friend, Master Stacy, is weary after his bee experience, and I don't know that I blame him," said Vaughn with a merry twinkle in his eyes.
"I'll warrant he isn't half as tired as the bees that stung him. They surely will have contracted the hook-worm disease," declared Ned.
"Now we are ready to hear about the campfire," reminded Tad, after they had seated themselves. The Professor, who had been reading, laid down his book to listen.
"As you know from sad experience, some green woods will not burn," began the guide. "Leaving aside the woods that will not burn, I'll mention some of those that will do good service when green. Hickory is the best of all. It makes a hot fire, lasts a long time, and burns down to a bed of coals that will keep up an even heat for hours. Next in value are the chestnut, oak and dogwood. Black birch is excellent, too, doing its own blowing."
"Blowing?" questioned the Professor.
"Yes, sir. That means that the oil in the birch assists its combustion, so that the wood needs no coaxing to make it burn. Sugar maple is good, too, but it is too valuable a tree to waste. Locust and mulberry are good fuel. Now white ash makes one of the first-class campfire fuels. It is easy to cut and tote and catches fire readily."
"What about kindling?" interjected Tad.
"Yes, kindling," urged Stacy. "I've burned up half of my old shirts trying to start fires."
"The birch bark is one of the best," answered the guide. "Besides, it makes good torches. It is full of resinous oil, blazes up at once, will burn in any wind, and even wet sticks may be kindled with it."
"That's new," nodded Butler.
"Stacy, there's your job. You won't have to sacrifice any more shirts in trying to start a campfire," said Ned. "Your job, from now on, is peeling birch bark for kindling."
"Pitch pine, of course, affords the best knots," continued Cale. "Splits from a stump whose outside has been burned are rich in resin. Don't pick up sticks from the ground, but rather those from the down wood. Ordinarily you will find fine dry wood in a tree that has been shivered by lightning."
"Br-r-r!" shivered the fat boy.
"To get to our subject—fire—you must remember that more necessary than kindling or firewood is air. What I mean is, don't jumble your fuel together any old way, but build up a systematic structure so the air can draw under it and upward through the pile."
"That's why my shirts wouldn't burn," interrupted the fat boy. "I jammed them down in the pile of wood just as I'd ram a wad into a muzzle-loading gun."
"Just like you," affirmed Rector.
"Lay two good-sized sticks on the ground for a foundation to begin with. Across them at right angles place a few dry twigs or splinters so they do not quite touch. On these, one at each side, lay your paper or bark, then on top of this put two other cross sticks, smaller than the bed sticks; over this a cross layer of larger twigs just as you would build a cob house, but gradually increasing the size of the sticks as you work up toward the top of your house. You try that and see if you don't have a roaring fire in a minute after you apply the match. We will build one, or rather you boys may, when we get into our camp tomorrow."
"Great!" agreed the boys.
"There are numerous methods, such as 'trapper's fire,' 'hunter's fire,' 'Indian's fire,' and the like. I will tell you about them at some other time. You will get them all jumbled into one if I tell you now. I will add that, for warmth, you should build a low fire. If you build up a big, roaring fire you can't get near it. The low fire enables you to hover over it. That's an Indian trick. I could go on talking about fires from now until tomorrow morning, but the best way is to take these up one by one and learn them by actual experience. That we will do as we go along. You boys are fine woodsmen already, but like all the rest of us, you still have some things to learn. I am going to teach you all I know, and if you will watch Charlie John you may be able to get some points from him."
"Most interesting indeed," agreed the Professor.
"The first rainy day we have I will show you how to build a fire in quick time when everything is soaked. Tomorrow we will put some of our theories regarding camp-making and fire-building into practice. Just now it's time for our chuck and then some stories over the evening fire," concluded the guide.
The Pony Rider Boys had never had so interesting a guide as Cale Vaughn proved himself to be. He always had something new to explain to them, and his explanations were put in a most attractive form.
It was late that night when the boys turned in, and early on the following morning they were on their way to the next camping place where they might remain for a few days, taking short exploration trips from that central base.
This day's riding was the hardest of all they ever had experienced. It is true they followed a small watercourse, but the going was terrific. Not only did the trees stand so close together as to make riding a terror, but saplings and thick underbrush, together with occasional rocks, hidden fallen trunks, and other obstacles, made traveling a perilous proceeding. There was danger to the boys, and there was danger of the ponies breaking their legs. To add to their troubles, the mosquitoes got busy quite early in the forenoon, and smacks of open palms against irritated cheeks were heard on all sides.
Stacy Brown's red face was the most conspicuous thing in the outfit. Cale Vaughn walked and led his horse, as did some of the others, but Stacy refused to walk so long as he had a horse that would hold him up. As a result, the fat boy suffered more than all the others. The Indian, having been told where they would make camp, had shouldered his pack and strode off through the forest, soon disappearing under the giant trees of the Maine Wilderness.
Ponies were irritable and rebellious by the time the party halted for the noonday rest and luncheon. The boys by this time did not know where they were. Tad knew that the guide was laying his course by the little stream which came into view now and then, but the lad saw no signs of a trail. He was glad his was not the responsibility of finding the way for the party, for this was surely a primeval forest.
"Some woods, eh?" was Stacy Brown's way of describing it. "A fine place to hide, in case someone were after us," he added.
"In that event we shouldn't be looking for a hiding place, young man!"
"Maybe you wouldn't," retorted Stacy.
"Nor would you. You are simply talking to make conversation," answered Tad.
The argument was ended by the voice of the guide ordering the party to be on the move again. Cale knew that they would have to make time in order to reach before dark the place he had decided upon for the night's camp. The Indian, no doubt, was already there. So the boys tore their way through the thickets, here and there making wide detours to avoid an unusually rough piece of going. Twilight was upon them ere they halted to make camp in a dense thicket of spruce, the tops of which they could not see in the faint light, but later on the moon came up, silvering the tops of the pines. With it came the voices of the night, the voices of the deep forest. Birds twittered here and there, a crow croaked hoarsely in a tree near at hand, and something went scudding away from the outskirts of the camp as Cale shied a stone in that direction. He was the only one who had heard anything at that point.
Suddenly there came the sound of what appeared to be human beings talking in low tones. The boys started up, looking first at each other, then at the guide. Vaughn lay before the fire, his head supported by his arms. He was undisturbed. It was all too familiar to him, who had spent so many hundred nights in this same impenetrable forest.
"Wha—what was that?" stammered Chunky.
"Didn't you hear someone talking, Mr. Vaughn?" asked Tad.
The guide twisted his head from side to side two times.
"Didn't you hear it?" insisted Ned.
"I heard several things," answered Cale.
"Yes, so did I," spoke up the Professor. "I am quite sure it was persons speaking."
"There it goes again," cried Tad.
"Didn't you boys ever hear that before?" smiled Cale.
The lads confessed that they never had.
"Why, that is the 'coons talking to each other."
"The 'coons?" exclaimed Chunky, opening his eyes wide. "This is a funny place for 'coons up in this wilderness. What do they live on?"
"They browse for a living. I mean the four-legged kind. Animals!"
"Oh! I thought you meant—"
"Is it possible that that noise is made by 'coons?" interrupted Professor Zepplin.
Cale nodded.
"Yes; they are conversational little gentlemen. Probably are trying to decide upon the best way of getting a meal out of our camp. Boys, tomorrow morning we shall have to busy ourselves at daylight. We are going to have a lesson in permanent camp building, you know."
"Yes, sir," chorused the lads.
"Afterward, if you are agreeable, we will take a tramp over the mountain to a place where a ranger friend of mine lives."
"Rangers?" questioned Stacy. "I didn't know they had Texas Rangers in Maine."
"Stacy, you are silly," rebuked Tad.
"Nor do they," answered the guide. "The kind I speak of is a forest ranger."
"What do they range?" asked Walter.
"The forest," answered Rector. "That's all there is to range up here."
"The forest rangers watch the forests," explained Vaughn. "It is their business to see that no timber is cut unlawfully and to watch out for fires and warn campers and hunters to be careful. It is a fine life."
"I should think it would be," agreed the fat boy. "But better for them than for me, with the talking 'coons and other things that you can hear but don't see. I'll get another ghost scare if this keeps on. I wish it were morning."
"Morning will come soon enough," answered the guide.
Morning did. With it came work, and plenty of it. Vaughn let the boys do the work of making permanent camp, he instructing them in the work as they went along, applying some of the theories he had expounded to them on the previous day.
"Woodcraft, boys," explained the guide, "is, as perhaps you may know, the art of getting along in the wilderness with just what Nature has placed within your reach. When you are able to find your way through an uncharted wilderness like this one, when you know the trees and the plants, the animal life, when you know how to live comfortably, then you may call yourselves good woodsmen. I might say that there are few of them in this day and age. And as a matter of fact, there are not very many places in America where woodcraft is called for. This is one of the places where it is needed unless you expect to get lost and starve to death. From what I have seen of you boys I should say you might easily get lost, but you all possess natural resourcefulness. You would manage to live and keep going, though you might have a hard time of it."
By eight o'clock the immediate work was finished. Cale announced that they would start off for a hike, as he had suggested the day before. When Stacy learned that they were going to walk, and that they would tramp ten or fifteen miles before they returned, he balked.
"Not for me!" announced the fat boy firmly, sitting down on a lichen-covered rock. "This cold rock shall jump out of his pit sooner than I, and don't you forget that for a moment!"
"Oh, come along," begged Tad.
"No, sir. I'll ride, if the rest do."
"You can't ride where we are going," replied Cale.
"Then I don't go."
No amount of urging would induce the lad to change his mind, so they decided to go on without him. Charlie John would be in the camp all day, so Cale said it would be all right for Chunky to remain. He warned the half-breed to see to it that Master Stacy did not stray from camp, knowing full well that the fat boy would lose himself were he to get ten rods from the camp.
Stacy did. Not once, but six times before noon did he lose himself. Fortunately he had not strayed far. His yells reached the ears of the Indian, who, with many grunts of disapproval, stalked out and brought the lost boy back to camp, sternly ordering him to remain there. But Chunky was stubborn. He was determined to go out and back freely and try to find his way. That was why he became lost so many times. The noonday meal was the only thing that caused him to change his mind.
After dinner, while Charlie John was washing the dishes and stowing the food, Stacy began rummaging about the camp.
All too soon this occupation proved uninteresting to one who possessed Chunky's energy in finding useless things to do with all his might.
"Even sleeping will be more fun," decided the fat boy. So he vanished behind the flap of his tent and lay down. His snoring, however, soon proved altogether too much for even the placid nerves of an Indian to endure. Charlie John stole in soft-footed, shaking the youngster, then drawing him to his feet.
"What are you trying to do to me?" indignantly demanded Chunky.
"Too much saw-mill noise—no good," declared the Indian. "Make that noise again, then me show you something Indians do to stop noise."
Stolidly Charlie John departed from the tent, but there was nothing stolid about the fat boy's quivering rage.
"If Mr. Copper Face can't let me alone, I'll make him wish he had," growled Stacy, shaking angry fists at the retreating Indian. In his rummaging about the camp young Brown had discovered a ten-ounce bottle of anise-seed oil, and as Chunky now gazed at this bottle the light of new mischief began to dawn in his eyes. Charlie John would have done well to watch him.
"Heap big fun!" muttered the fat boy, choking down too visible evidences of glee. "I'll scatter this around the camp and bring a million-billion bees here. Then I'll hide in my tent, and, as the bees won't know where to find me, they'll devote all their time to Charlie. When he gets it too bad I'll holler to him to come into the tent and hear me snore. Wow!"
In a short time, while the Indian was at a little distance, Stacy had sprinkled considerable of the oil on the ground. Charlie John, returning, sniffed suspiciously, but Chunky had the bottle out of sight. Charlie, however, had a keen nose, so he watched in silence.
Stacy's innocent face betrayed nothing, and the boy kept on sprinkling a ring of oil clear around the camp. He was chuckling to himself all the time, congratulating himself on the happy idea that had come to him with the finding of the anise oil. Stacy was confident that he was going to have the time of his life.
In this the fat boy was right, though he did not realize fully to just what that fun would lead. Had he realized, no doubt he would have replaced the stopper in the oil bottle without the loss of a second.
The buzzing of a bee recalled him to the peril of his position. The buzz was very businesslike, too. Stacy made a vicious strike at the sound, then dived for the protection of his tent. Reaching that, he jerked the flap shut and peered out, red-faced, big-eyed. Charlie John, who had been bending over a garbage hole that he had just dug, suddenly leaped straight up into the air, clapping a hand to the back of his neck. A busy bee had momentarily alighted there, and, before leaving, the bee had pricked the tough hide of the half-breed.
Ere Charlie had recovered from his surprise he got another sting. Stacy was about to yell again, but catching a glimpse of the Indian's face, convulsed with anger, Stacy quickly withdrew into the tent, prudently closing the flap and tying it on the inside. The boy then sat down and, with arms clasped about his knees, rocked back and forth, fairly choking with laughter. He could hear the Indian thrashing about on the outside. The sound was sweet music to the ears of the fat boy. Then a new sound was heard. It was a yell, and the yell was pitched in a new key. Stacy stepped out to see what was going on, then he, too, uttered a yell, louder and more piercing than that of the Indian.
The sight that had so affected Stacy Brown was that of a black bear nosing about the camp. The animal was apparently following the anise oil trail that Stacy had laid with such care.
The fat boy watched with fascinated eyes for a moment. But, as the bear turned its attention to the camp, Stacy beat a hasty retreat into the tent. Once inside and the flap pulled shut he made bold to peer out. He saw Charlie John calmly sitting astride the crotch of a tree some ten feet from the ground. The Indian did not seem to be worrying. No bears would be likely to reach him up there unless, perhaps, Mr. Bruin decided to climb the tree, which he would not do so long as there remained anything of interest in the camp below.
Stacy ducked back as he saw the animal heading in his direction. The lad waited, fully expecting to see the pointed, inquisitive nose poked through the tent opening. But, no bear coming, Stacy again crept to the front on hands and knees, and, pulling the flap back slightly, peered out. Something cold and chilling poked him in the face.
It was Mr. Bruin's nose. With an unearthly yell, the fat boy leaped back and sprang to the rear of the tent. He turned just in time to see the bear ambling in.
Stacy whipped out his hunting knife, slitting the canvas at the rear, and made a run for the nearest tree, which proved to be a sapling. He started to climb it, then changing his mind grabbed up a rope and shinned up the tree occupied by Charlie. Charlie helped him up, panting.
"Fat boy much big fool," granted the Indian.
"See here, don't you say that again," threatened Chunky angrily. "Why didn't you stay down there and fight him?"
"No gun, no fight."
"No, I see not," answered the boy dryly. "That's what's the matter with me. I didn't have a gun. Did you see him come into my tent? There he goes. Now what's he up to?"
"Him eat plenty butter."
Him did. The bear ate two pounds of butter that he had pawed from the table. The animal licked his chops and looked for more. Fortunately the rest of the butter was suspend from a wire strung between two trees out of reach. The animal tried to get at this, failing in which it squatted down at the base of the tree where the half-breed and the boy were seeking security.
"He's going to keep us here all the rest of the day," groaned Chunky.
The Indian broke off a piece of limb and taking careful aim threw it at the bear. It smote Mr. Bruin on the point of his tender nose. The bear uttered a snarl and a growl, then began to rub his paws over the smarting nose. He danced about very much as had Stacy Brown when stung by the bees, and the fat boy shouted with glee. He shouted louder when the animal suddenly wheeled about on its haunches and began ambling from the camp.
"Me fix um," grinned the Indian, sliding to the ground.
"You certainly did give him the run," agreed Chunky. "Will he come back?" Stacy was still prudently sitting astride the limb.
"Him no come back."
"Good. I wish he had taken a slice out of you while he was here," added the lad under his breath.
"Come down. Him no come back."
"Thank you, I will, seeing that you put it that way," answered Chunky, descending from the tree. "We know how to give hears the run, don't we, John Charles?"
"Huh! Much fool!" grunted the Indian.
"Much butter gone," he added, ruefully surveying the butter plate. "Guide him git mad."
"That won't hurt us any, John. He will be glad to know that we drove the bear off. I'll tell him what a brave thing we did. Hark!"
"White men come back," nodded John.
"How do you know?"
"Hear um."
"Yes, I hear something, too, but I don't know who or what I hear."
"Hear um. Mr. Vaughn no come 'long."
"You have sharp ears, Mr. John Charles. We'll see how good your hearing really is."
Stacy opened his eyes when, a few minutes later, all of the party came hiking into camp, with the exception of Cale Vaughn. The Indian's sharp ears had heard aright.
"Where's the guide?" demanded Chunky.
"He left us on the other side of the creek to follow out a bear track that he just picked up," answered Tad. "He will be here pretty soon."
"What, haven't you anything to eat?" called Ned.
"Not time yet. Besides, Johnnie Charles and Brown Stacy have been busy most of the afternoon."
John grinned.
"You fellows chasing bear tracks, eh?"
"No. Following them," corrected Tad.
"If you want to catch bears you had better stay right here in the camp. This is the headquarters for bears as well as for Pony Rider Boys."
"What has been going on here?" asked Tad, eyeing the fat boy keenly, observing that Stacy's face was flushed and excited.
"What's been going on? I'll tell you. We had a call from a bear, a bear almost as big as my pony."
"What, bears here in camp?" exclaimed Walter apprehensively.
"Yes, bears here in camp. But I drove him off after a fierce hand-to-hand conflict in which I nearly lost my life. Yes, sir, I fought that bear right there in my tent and—and you can see the result of the fray if you will go in my tent."
"Where did you say you were when the bear was here?" interrupted Butler.
"Fat boy up tree," the half-breed informed them.
"I thought so," nodded Tad, grinning.
"Well, tell us about the bear."
"Him eat butter from table, then him go way again," answered Charlie.
"I really believe there has been a bear here," pondered Ned.
"You are right there has. You go look in my tent, if you don't believe me," answered Stacy. "Yes, sir, and I slapped him right in the face when he tried to kiss me. What do you think of that?"
"Tried to kiss you?" questioned Walter.
"Yes. Stuck his cold nose right against my nose. Ugh! Didn't he, John?"
The Indian nodded, but without realizing what Stacy was saying.
"Why didn't you shoot him?" asked Butler.
"Gun in other tent," replied Charlie.
"Yes. And we don't need guns. I was going to use my trusty knife, but I didn't want to hurt the poor thing." added Chunky.
"Brave man," remarked Ned.
"I am glad I wasn't here," said Walter. "I know I should have been scared half to death. Weren't you scared, Chunky?"
"What! Me scared?" demanded the fat boy, throwing out his chest. "Did you ever hear of Stacy Brown being scared? Oh, wow! Yeow!"
"What, what, what—-" shouted the Professor.
"There he is again!" yelled Stacy. "Run! Run, fellows; he's after us! Run, I tell you!"
Stacy, acting upon his own advice was already shinning up a tree. The others were not far behind him. So sudden had been the appearance of Bruin that they had no time to think. Even Tad Butler followed the rest when the bear ambled toward him. Charlie John, at the first alarm, had made tracks for the protection of the crotch where he had sought security on the first visit of the bear.
"More bear," grunted the Indian.
"What do you mean?" called Ned.
"He means this isn't the same one," Stacy informed them.
"I thought you weren't afraid?" jeered Ned Rector.
"I'm not," protested Stacy.
"No, I see you are not. Why don't you get down and fight him, then?"
"I—I haven't got my knife," stammered the fat boy.
Tad began scrambling from the tree.
"Tad, Tad!" called the Professor.
"Yes, sir?"
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to get that bear if I can."
"Get back there!"
Tad slipped off the rope that he had bound about his waist before starting out on the hike that morning. Each one of the party had put away his rifle upon reaching camp. Some had their hunting knives on their persons, but those were their only weapons.