"The first thing to be done," announced the guide, "is to get either some pitch pine or some birch bark."
"Ha, ha!" laughed Stacy in a hollow voice. "Easily said."
"I am afraid that is beyond me," declared Tad Butler.
The other boys were of the same mind. Cale directed them to stand where they were while he made a search for the desired wood. They could hear him threshing around in the darkness, the sounds growing fainter and fainter until they were finally lost in the steady patter of the heavy raindrops showering down on them through the foliage. Now and then the raindrops became a deluge as a breeze, stirring the tops of the trees, sent a chilling shower over their shivering bodies.
"Whoo-ee!" It was the voice of the guide.
"Whoo-ee!" answered Tad.
Cale was seeking for the camp. Tad's voice guided him quickly to it.
"Did you find it?" questioned Butler as the guide strode in.
"I did. I have some choice pine knots here. Wait until I whittle some fine shavings, then we will have a nice little fire. I've got some bark, too. That will answer until we get a light to see what we are about."
"Shall I get out the dog tent?" asked Tad.
"Yes, you might as well, if you can find it."
"I know where to lay my hands on it."
While Tad was occupied with this the other boys stood shivering against the trunks of trees, trying to shelter themselves from the storm, but without marked success.
A faint light flared up as Vaughn struck a match under his hat, but a sudden gust extinguished it.
"Boys, I am not fit to be called a woodsman," grumbled the guide. "I failed to fill my match safe before leaving camp this morning."
"I have matches," spoke up Rector.
"In a waterproof case?" asked the guide.
"No, in my pocket."
"No good! They are soaked to a pulp. Master Tad, have you a match safe?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good."
"Oh, fudge, I have lost it," groaned Tad. "I am a greenhorn to do a thing like that."
"No, it was not your fault that you lost it. It was my fault that I forgot to fill mine. So you are in the better position of the two," said Vaughn.
"What are we going to do now?" asked Ned.
"I'm going to stand against this tree until I fall over," declared Stacy. "There will be a dead Pony Rider Boy at the foot of this tree in the morning."
"Buck up!" commanded Rector.
"I can't. All the buck is soaked out of me," wailed the fat boy.
"We might as well put up the tent while we are about it," advised Cale. "After that we shall see what can be done."
"Is—is there anything to eat in the packs?" begged Chunky.
"We shall find something," replied Cale cheerfully. "This is nothing, except the provoking part of not having any matches. Got the tent, Master Tad?"
"Yes, sir."
"I will cut a sapling or two for the frame; then we will put the camp to rights."
"There are two saplings right here by the ponies that I think will answer the purpose. Shall I cut them, Mr. Vaughn?" asked Butler.
"No, I will do that."
Tad and the guide worked in the darkness almost to as good purpose as if the hour had been midday. In a short time they had pitched the little tent in which the five were to sleep that night. Next they gathered all the spruce and cedar boughs they could lay their hands on, shaking the water from the browse as best they could, then piling the stuff inside the tent until the little structure was almost full to the peak.
"Isn't there anything I can do?" asked Ned.
"Not now. Too many at this job would hold the work back," answered the guide.
"You have a plan for getting a light?" questioned Butler.
"I am going to try it," answered the guide. "Got anything dry about your person?"
"My throat is the only dry part of me," answered Tad in a hoarse, laughing voice.
"I think I have something dry. That part of my shirt that is under the tail of my coat I think is fairly dry. I am going to try to show you a trick worth while," announced the guide.
Cale took a cartridge from his belt. He extracted the bullet with his teeth, then placed a wad over the powder. Next he ripped a piece of cloth from the lower part of his shirt, guarding it from the rain, and placing the cartridge in his rifle, he poked the piece of dry cloth loosely into the barrel of the gun.
"Don't be scared, boys. I'm going to shoot," warned the guide.
"Wha—what are you going to shoot at?" cried Stacy.
"At you, if you don't keep still," answered the voice of one of the boys, though Chunky did not know which one.
A flash and a report followed. A few seconds later the boys were amazed to see a glowing ball descending apparently from the tops of the tall spruce.
"Good gracious, what is it?" cried Rector.
"That is our light," answered the guide.
"But I don't understand."
"I will explain to you later. I'll warrant Master Tad understands."
"Yes, I know how you did that, Mr. Vaughn. It's a trick worth while, too," answered Butler. "But what are you going to fire with it?"
"You'll see. Will you shield me from the wind with a blanket while I am starting this fire, Butler?"
Tad kept the blanket in place by standing on two corners, the other two corners being gripped in his upraised hands, while the guide, having pared some thin shavings from the pitch pine and made a pile of bark and pine ready for the flame, was blowing on the glowing wad that he had shot from the gun.
All at once a little flame leaped up from the pine shavings.
"Hooray!" shouted the Pony Rider Boys.
"We don't need matches to build a fire in this outfit," laughed Tad.
"No, we need neither matches nor gunpowder. I can start a fire anywhere, and so can you, Master Tad," returned Cale.
"I shall believe it after this," nodded Tad.
"Now if you will drive a couple of stakes into the ground on the windward side of the fire, and fasten the blanket up, I think the fire will stay where it is for the rest of the night, unless the wind shifts in the meantime. Come, boys, get the packs under the tent. Make yourselves useful unless you are in no hurry for your supper."
This had the desired effect. The boys hustled. Their good humor returned instantly. Wet as they were—and they could have been no wetter had they jumped into a pond—they forgot all about discomfort in their eagerness to get ready for their late supper. The campfire had been built close to the front of the tent, whose roof, sloping back away from the fire, caught and deflected the heat down over the browse, drying that out very rapidly, filling the little tent with warmth.
"This is what I call fine," declared Chunky, throwing himself down on the browse.
"Come out of that," commanded Tad. "We are not ready to loaf yet. Bring the saddles in and stow them in the corner. Every man must do his part now."
Stacy grumbled at this, but obeyed Tad's command, knowing that if he did not Tad would be after him with a sharp stick. Mr. Vaughn cooked the supper. There was not a great variety—bacon, biscuit and coffee, the water for which had been brought from a nearby spring.
"You see," said Cale, while doing the cooking, "how necessary water is to a camp. Had we not staked down our ponies by the spring here before leaving them this forenoon we would be in a fix now and obliged to go to bed supperless. It would have been a thankless task to look for a spring at this time of the night in the rain. However, I don't need to tell you this. You have been through it before."
"We have," answered Tad. "We have learned the value of water from sad experience."
"So have I," agreed the fat boy. "I use it for washing every day."
"Come and get it," cried the guide.
They arranged themselves as best they could in the tent, while Cale handed around the supper. There was little conversation for the next ten minutes. The boys were too busy.
"After supper we shall have to rustle for firewood," said the guide after a time.
"I will look after that," offered Tad.
"We will all go out," added Rector.
"No, it isn't necessary for all of us to get wet," answered Tad. "I suppose the ponies will have to stay out in the wet, but they are used to that. Do we go back to our other camp in the morning, Mr. Vaughn?"
"Yes. One day and night of this, I guess, will be enough for you boys for one time."
"I wouldn't mind a month of it," answered Tad.
"Nor I," agreed Ned.
"Not for me," spoke up Stacy. "I have had enough to last me a lifetime already. Next time I remain in camp, bears or no bears. Just think of the Professor snoring away in that nice, comfortable tent. Oh, dear!"
No one gave heed to the fat boy's plaints. They were enjoying themselves too thoroughly after their long wet walk. After supper the boys began to put the camp in shape for the night. Tad cut down a tree, getting a shower of water over him and wetting himself to the skin again. This tree he chopped into proper lengths for a campfire while Ned and Walter toted them to camp. The interior of the tent was thoroughly dried out by this time, so that when they were ready for bed their bedroom was warm and sweet and dry. They had dried out their blankets fairly well, and wrapping up in them the boys settled down for a night's rest just at midnight. They did not remember ever to have had a better night's rest. It seemed as if they had just gone to sleep when they were awakened by Cale.
"Time to get up," he called cheerily. "We will have a quick breakfast, then you will lead us back to camp, Master Tad."
Packs were quickly lashed after breakfast, and before the sun had topped the fronds of the great pines the party was wending its way through the trackless forest, Tad leading the way with unerring instinct, backed by keenest observation.
"That was as fine a piece of trailing as ever a mountaineer did, Master Tad," announced Cale approvingly as they came in sight of the little lake where the permanent camp was pitched.
"Oh, it is easy to follow a trail so plainly marked as was that," answered Butler.
"Not so easy as you would make it out to be. None but an experienced Woodsman could follow even that trail, let me tell you, young man. And even on a clear trail there isn't that man living who doesn't get lost once in a while. When you do get lost, sit down and think it over. Don't get the willyjigs and go all to pieces."
"I never do," replied Tad. "Still, that isn't saying that I wouldn't get them up here."
"What are the willyjigs?" asked Stacy.
"Going into a panic; in other words, getting rattled when you realize that you are lost."
"Is it anything like buck fever when you are trying to shoot at an animal?" asked Rector.
"About the same thing."
"That's what Ned had when he shot the rope off the bear the other day," piped Stacy.
"I didn't," expostulated Ned.
"Master Stacy is right at that, I guess," laughed Vaughn. The guide raised his voice in a signal to the camp. "There is Charlie John," he said.
The Indian came down to the shore of the lake upon hearing the call. He made out the party in a moment, though they had halted in the shadows of the trees to see if he would discover them. Charlie did.
"Indians have sharp eyes," said Tad.
"Yes, even the half-breeds," agreed Cale.
"Hold my gun. I'm going to swim it," announced Tad.
"The water is too cold," objected Cale.
"I don't care."
Tad quickly stripped off his clothes, and Ned decided that he, too, needed a swim, so he undressed. The two lads plunged into the little lake, and Ned uttered a yell when his body came in contact with the almost ice-cold water.
"Swim hard and you will not notice it," chattered Tad.
"I s-s-s-see you don't," answered Ned.
"Race me for the other side. Now, go!" cried Tad.
The boys struck out in swift, powerful strokes. Cale Vaughn's eyes sparkled as he observed the swimmers.
"I would give a great deal if I could swim like that," he mused.
"Oh, that's nothing. I can beat that swimming with my feet tied," answered Stacy. "I'm a natural-born swimmer."
"I should say you were a natural everything, according to your idea of yourself," grinned the guide.
"Don't make fun of me. I am sensitive about that," replied Chunky with an injured look on his face.
"Come, we had better be on the move. Those two boys will be wanting their clothes," answered Cale. They started around the shore of the lake, finding very good traveling. But the swimmers were ahead of them. Tad and Ned were running up and down the beach to stir their circulation, their teeth chattering, their bodies blue with the cold.
"Hurry, hurry!" yelled Tad.
"I'm a human icicle. I'll freeze fast to the shore if you don't hurry!" chattered Ned.
"Never mind. We can break you loose with an axe," retorted Stacy in a jeering tone.
By this time the Professor had brought towels, whereat the two boys began rubbing down, and in a few moments the blue of their flesh turned to pink. Chunky cast their clothes on the ground.
"You fellows do love to work, don't you?" he grunted.
"All healthy human beings should like to work," answered Tad.
"I smell dinner."
"Dinner!" cried Chunky, starting on a run for the campfire where the Indian was preparing the noonday meal.
After dinner Stacy went to sleep while his companions were relating the story of their experiences to the Professor, and the guide was telling him what a clever woodsman Master Tad was.
Stacy was awakened by the voices of his companions. With a growl of disgust at being disturbed, he scrambled to his feet and started sleepily out into the forest, hoping to find a snug place in which to lie down and finish his nap. The boy was almost asleep as he blindly made his way from camp, but without attracting the attention of the others. Getting a little way from camp he leaned heavily against a tree. One solitary snore escaped his lips. Stacy pulled himself together, opening his eyes slightly, then closing them again. Somehow he had a faint idea that he had seen something that was not a part of the forest, something that had made him start with disagreeable expectation.
Before Him Stood a Huge AnimalBefore Him Stood a Huge Animal
Before Him Stood a Huge AnimalBefore Him Stood a Huge Animal
Being brave, however, Chunky forced himself to open his eyes.
"Wow!" he gasped.
Before him, some five rods away, stood a huge animal, of aspect so terrifying that young Brown couldn't, for the moment, even guess to which class of lower animals it belonged. It was huge, this solid apparition, with a long, beak-shaped nose. From its head branched upward a pair of enormous antlers with many branches. The ends of these antlers looked as though they might be as sharp as needles. When the animal pawed the ground and snorted Stacy shivered again, yet seemed unable to run.
It was a giant bull moose, a savage enough fellow even when confronted by an armed, cool and experienced hunter.
Again it snorted, its beak-like jaw lowering toward the ground.
"It's going to nibble at the grass—I must be slipping away," thought the terrified fat boy. Next he discovered that the animal's gaze was fastened upon him.
Then, suddenly, the great bulk, its head still lowered, and the cruel-looking antlers pointed straight at the boy, charged!
"The fellows will never know how scared I died!" gasped the shaking boy, who was now incapable of motion.
Stacy tried to shut his eyes, but was so fascinated that he couldn't. He couldn't remove his gaze from those awful antlers!
Then kindly Nature stepped in. Stacy's swift despair reached such a height of frenzy that he swooned. Sideways he toppled, away from the tree.
Bump!went the bull moose's lowered head against the tree, with fearful force and an awesome noise. The impact was so terrific that the moose, stunned, recoiled, then toppled over just as Stacy had done.
The moose struggled for a few seconds, then stiffened out.
"What was that?" demanded the sharp-eared Tad.
"It sounded like a tree falling," answered Rector.
"No, it was something else," answered the guide, intently listening.
"Where is Stacy?" demanded the Professor.
"That's so, he isn't here," wondered Walter. "Where can he have gone?"
Stacy Brown about this time was struggling to his feet. His terrified eyes were looking at the stunned hulk lying there on the ground. Then Stacy Brown found his voice. He uttered a wild yell of terror.
Cale Vaughn was on his feet in a twinkling. But quick as he was, Tad was ahead of him, tearing through the brush to the rescue of the fat boy, who, all believed, had got into some new difficulty. Bears was the first thought of the quicker-witted ones.
Stacy heard his friends coming, then a sudden thought occurred to him. Whipping out his keen-edged hunting knife the fat boy sprang forward, giving the knife a swift sweep over the neck of the fallen, stunned bull.
Chunky leaped back, uttering another yell, this time of triumph rather than fear.
"I got him! I got him!" he yelled.
At this juncture Tad came tearing through the brush.
"What is it? What is it? Here he is. Here—"
Tad Butler came to a sudden halt, at the same time slipping his revolver from its holster, but as quickly replacing it when he observed the real condition of affairs.
There stood Stacy with the crimsoned knife still in hand, the other hand thrust in his trousers pocket, his chest thrown out, his head tilted back at an angle that threatened to topple him over backwards.
"What—what?" gasped Tad.
By that time Cale Vaughn had reached Tad's side.
"What has happened here?" demanded the guide sharply.
"That," answered Tad, pointing to the dying moose that had fallen a victim to the fat boy's hunting knife.
"Good gracious!" exclaimed Cale. He, too, was well-nigh speechless. "Who did that?"
"I did it with my little knife," answered the fat boy pompously.
"It's a bull moose, sir, and the boy has killed it," said the guide in a puzzled voice, as the Professor, with Ned Rector and Walter Perkins, came running up to them. "This is the most remarkable thing I ever heard of."
"Oh, that's nothing," replied Chunky airily. "It is only pleasant pastime to go out and kill a moose by hand."
The party was now standing about the fallen animal, but they took care not to approach too closely, for the bull was still kicking. Tad shook his head.
"How did this happen?" demanded the guide, turning on Chunky sharply.
"He sailed into me, sir. Yes, sir, he lighted right into me with all four feet and his horns. We had it tooth and nail all over the place. It was a dandy battle. You ought to have seen it. Talk about your boxing matches."
"But how did you do it?" insisted the guide, not believing Stacy's story.
"With my little knife, of course. How did you suppose I cut his throat? Did you think I bit it in two?"
"I'd hardly give you credit for being quite so hungry as that," answered Cale with the suspicion of a twinkle. "Let us have the story."
"I am telling you—"
"My, but he is a big one!" exclaimed Ned.
"The largest one I ever saw. He is a terror. He must weigh more than fifteen hundred pounds," interrupted Mr. Vaughn.
"Most remarkable, most remarkable!" muttered the Professor, while Walter Perkins gazed in awe upon the fat boy, who was literally swelling with importance.
"I was dancing around like a boxer," continued Chunky. "I fought him with my hare hands until I happened to think of my knife. I drew my knife and I made a pass at him, but he jumped away. Oh, it was a fine bout, don't you folks forget it for a minute! Well, after a time I found an opening, then I let him have it right across the jug—jug—jugular."
"But what was that crash we heard?" asked Vaughn.
"That? Oh, that was when he fell down," answered Stacy a little lamely.
"Hm-m-m!" mused the guide. Vaughn was not convinced. He knew that there was more to it than appeared on the surface. Chancing to catch the eyes of Tad Butler, he saw that Tad was of the same opinion.
"He is dead now. We can look him over," announced the guide.
"Isn't that a dandy pair of antlers?" cried Butler.
"Very fine indeed," agreed Cale.
"The finest specimens I have ever seen," nodded the Professor.
"We can take the antlers home with us, can we not?" asked Ned.
"You mean I can," interposed Stacy.
"I am afraid it wouldn't do," replied Vaughn thoughtfully. "I know it is a pity to leave such a pair here in the woods, but it would not be safe to take them out."
"I guess I will take them out," bristled Chunky.
"Why will it not be safe, Mr. Vaughn?" inquired Tad.
"Because it is against the law to shoot moose at this time of the year."
"I didn't shoot him. I knifed him," answered the fat boy.
"That makes no difference; you killed him. The open season is from October fifteenth to December first. You see we are a long way from an open season in the middle of June."
The boys looked solemn.
"Oh, that's too bad," said Tad.
"I'll tell you what we will do," decided the guide, after a few moments' reflection. "I will cut off the head and we will bury the antlers. When the open season comes along I will drop out here and get the antlers. We can't hope to preserve the head that long, but the antlers themselves will be no small trophy when you consider that this is one of the largest bulls ever taken in the Maine woods. And, further, we shall have some fine moose steak. It will probably be a little tough from this big fellow, but it isn't every day that you can have moose steak for dinner. Where is Charlie?"
"In camp," answered Walter.
Cale shouted to him. He ordered the Indian to cut poles and prepare for butchering the dead bull. Tad asked if he might do it, to which request the guide gave a willing assent. This was somewhat different from butchering a bear weighing only a few hundred pounds. A three-quarter-ton moose was not an easy proposition to butcher. Tad tugged and perspired, and in the end was forced to ask for assistance in getting the animal off the ground. Cale smiled.
"I thought you would be calling for help pretty soon," he said. "No one man could handle that carcass alone. Here, Charlie, get hold of the hind legs and help drag the fellow over between those two trees, then dig a hole so we can bury everything that would show what we have done. We don't want anybody to know about this, now that it is done."
It took Tad nearly an hour and a half to complete his job, and when he had finished he was ready for another bath in the lake, which he took, at the same time washing his clothes and dancing up and down the beach while they were drying out in the sun. Tad said one moose was enough for him. If he ever had to dress another he wouldn't dress it.
During all this time Chunky Brown was strolling up and down with chest thrown out, his hands in his trousers pockets. His achievement was the talk of the camp. The boys were greatly excited, more or less envious of what Stacy had accomplished.
Tad, after he had donned his clothes, returned to the scene of the conflict. He examined the ground, then turned his attention to the tree. The boy devoted some moments to a certain spot on the tree where the bark had been broken by the blow from the moose's head. Tad grinned, but he said nothing to his companions upon his return to camp. It was too good to tell. He did not know how much Cale knew or suspected, but he realized that the guide did not quite believe all that Stacy had told them about the battle.
"Now tell us about that fight with the moose again?" urged Tad.
Chunky was willing.
"Well, it was this way," he began, leaning against a tree, the others being seated about the fire.
"You mean it wasthatway," suggested Rector.
"I mean what I said. If you know more about it than I do, suppose you tell the story. I went out there because I heard something—no, I guess I didn't hear anything at the start. However, I went out there."
"Yes, we know you went out there," said Tad. "If you hadn't gone out there, how could you have gotten there?"
"I—I went out there."
"To sleep?" asked Ned.
"Well, yes. I guess I did. After a time I woke up. I saw this big bull sniffing around. I didn't know what he was at first. I thought he was an elephant until I saw his horns."
"Didn't think it was a cow, did you?" inquired Tad solemnly.
"I did not," answered the fat boy with dignity. "About the time I discovered him he saw me. Then—then—then he went for me. You should have seen him come!"
"Show us how he did it," nodded the guide.
The fat boy, forgetful of his new dignity, lowered his head as close to the ground as possible without falling over on his face and began prancing about the camp, bellowing hoarsely.
"Just like that?" asked Ned.
"Yes, just like that, only awfully fierce!"
The Professor was regarding the boy narrowly. A dawning suspicion was in his mind that Stacy was drawing the longbow. But Professor Zepplin made no comment.
"And then?" inquired Cale quietly.
"And then we met. I—I must have grabbed the bull by the horns after he had swung around twice and tried to kick me—"
"That sounds more like a kangaroo than a bull moose," observed the Professor.
"It was this same moose, Professor. This is what is known as the kicking species of moose," answered Tad, trying to keep a straight face.
"Yes, he is like some folks we know not more than a mile and a half from here. He was a kicker. Well, I caught him by the horns just like this. Then you should have seen the fun. Why we thrashed around"—Stacy was acting it all out, bellowing loudly—"he flopped me this way and that. Funny thing, but I never thought of my knife."
"No?" said the guide, elevating his eyebrows slightly.
"No, sir. Of course if I had had a gun, I would have shot him. But I didn't have a gun, and having so few chances to use my knife, I never thought a thing about it. Well, we had it hot and heavy until I did think of the knife."
"Why didn't you let go?" asked Walter.
"Fine thing to do, that," answered Stacy scornfully. "Why, he would have bored me through with his antlers; then he would have come into camp and killed you all. You see, I was determined to save your lives as well as my own."
"Noble boy!" murmured Rector.
"Very considerate, indeed," observed the Professor dryly.
"Why didn't you call for help?" asked Cale.
"I had use for my breath," replied Stacy quickly. "I couldn't yell without taking my mind off the brute. Then he would have finished me. After a while I did think of the knife. At the first opportunity I whipped it out and gave him one out across the neck. But, sir, I didn't let go until he fell over. I almost went down with him. Then he fell over and I let out a yell."
"That is the most dramatic account I have ever listened to," observed Cale soberly.
"Most remarkable," added the Professor, stroking his beard.
"What a star Chunky would be in the Fibbers' Club," grumbled Ned Rector.
"And that's how I did it," finished the fat boy, beginning to whistle through his teeth as he strolled back and forth with hands in his pockets. Stacy Brown was now thoroughly convinced that he was in a class all by himself. He had suspected as much before. Now he knew it. But a day of unhappiness was at hand when the fat boy would wish he never had come into the big woods.
"Cale fell down!" shouted Stacy Brown.
Tad Butler sprang up and ran out where they had dressed the moose.
"What is the matter?" cried the lad. "Ah, you're hurt, Mr. Vaughn?"
The guide was sitting on the ground with both hands clasped about his left ankle. His face was drawn and pained.
"Did you turn the ankle?" asked Tad solicitously.
"Yes. If it isn't worse than that I shall be in great luck."
"How did it happen?"
"I slipped from a round stone that somebody had put in front of the stretcher there."
"Chunky, was that your work?"
The fat boy shamefacedly admitted it was.
"If you can't cause trouble in one way you are sure to in another," rebuked Tad.
"He wasn't to blame. Don't blame him for everything," reproved Cale.
"Let me assist you to camp. We will see what is the trouble," said Tad, placing both hands under the arms of the suffering guide and raising him to his feet. "The left foot? All right, you put an arm about my neck on that side and we will have you in camp in no time."
Butler helped Vaughn along slowly and gently, though Cale now and then grunted from the shooting pains in his ankle.
"You are very strong," said Cale. "No one would imagine you were so muscular to look at your slender figure."
"Oh, Professor," called Tad, "Mr. Vaughn has hurt his ankle. I think it is sprained."
Professor Zepplin was not a little disturbed at the announcement. He hurried forward, offering his arm, but Tad waved him aside, saying he could support the injured man alone perhaps better than two persons could do it. The boy guided his patient to the latter's tent where he placed the guide on a cot, then tenderly removed the boot from the injured foot.
"Thank you, little pard," smiled Cale. "You're as gentle as a woman—and I'm as soft. I oughtn't to let a little thing like this bother me."
"Professor, perhaps you had better examine it," suggested Tad.
Professor Zepplin did so gravely. He hurt the guide by pinching the ankle here and there, while the boys stood about looking on. Charlie John alone of the party went on with his work about the camp, unmoved, undisturbed.
"I am of the opinion that some of the bones are broken," announced the Professor.
"Oh, that's too bad!" groaned the boys.
"I suspected as much," nodded Tad.
"How did it happen?" asked the Professor.
"He slipped on a stone," answered Butler, while Stacy gazed up into the tree tops.
"A round stone," observed the fat boy solemnly.
"Yes, a round stone," nodded Tad, giving Stacy a quick look half of amusement, half of reproof.
Professor Zepplin did the best he could with the injured member, bathing it in liniment, then bandaging it skilfully, while Tad looked on with keen attention. He never lost an opportunity to learn, but in this instance, like the others of the party, Tad was grave, for this accident might seriously interfere with their journey. Mr. Vaughn was made as comfortable as possible, but he suffered a great deal of pain during the rest of the day. He was not a good patient, insisting that he ought to be up and doing. Tad resolutely commanded the guide to keep on his back and remain quiet. He devoted his attention to Cale all the rest of the day and through the night, bathing the injured member frequently. Stacy Brown, on the other hand, spent much of his waking hours out by the moose.
On the following morning just as they were about to sit down to breakfast a loud halloo caused them to start up and rush down to the water's edge. The smoke from their campfire had attracted the attention of some woodsman. They saw him making his way along the shore of the lake.
"Got a snack for a hungry man?" called a cheerful voice.
"All of them you want," answered Tad.
"You are just in time. We were sitting down to breakfast when you called."
"Hello, Patsey," called Cale as the man strode into camp and, with a quick, keen glance at the party, unslung his rifle and stood it against a tree.
"Hello, Cale. What's wrong?"
"Turned my ankle, that's all," growled the guide. He then introduced the newcomer as Patsey O'Rell, a timber cruiser for a big lumber company. Patsey said he was on his way in. He had been out taking a survey of some timber plots and had been out two weeks. He had been living, to a large extent, on what the woods could supply, carrying his cooking utensils dangling from his belt. Patsey was especially solicitous over the condition of the guide. He demanded to see the ankle, and getting down on his knees examined it carefully.
"Yes, there's something broken in there," he announced. "I reckon you'd better be a leetle bit careful of that ankle."
Tad suggested that they sit down to breakfast, which suggestion Patsey accepted gratefully. There was moose steak for breakfast. When a heaping dish of it was passed to the timber cruiser he sniffed it, then tasted it, after which he gazed up with a twinkle in his eyes.
"Something familiar about this meat, eh?" he grinned. "Pretty good piece of cow meat—"
"It isn't cow meat," exclaimed Stacy, unable to contain himself longer.
"No?"
"No, sir. That's moose."
"Moose?"
"Yes, sir, and I killed him myself."
The cat was out of the bag. All the warning looks from the rest of the party went unheeded by the fat boy. Once started there was no stopping him.
"You killed him?"
"With my own hands, I did, and he was a big fellow. Why, you ought to have seen him."
"That's curious. You shot him?"
"No, I didn't, I stuck him with my knife."
"And what was the moose doing all this time?" laughed the visitor.
"He was fighting. He fought me all over the place. Would you believe it, sir, he charged me. I sidestepped just like this," explained Stacy, jumping up from the table and hopping about. "As he passed me I struck him on the jaw just like this." Stacy made a swing that turned him half way around.
"Hm-m-m! Did he feel it?"
"Did he feel it?" scoffed the fat boy pompously. "Why, sir, I knocked him down. He dropped right down on his front legs."
"I'd hate to have you hit me a punch with that fist of yours, young man," declared Patsey with a slow shake of the head.
"As I was saying, we had it hammer and tongs all over the place. I hit him on his big nose until it was sore. Did you ever see a moose with a nose-bleed?"
Patsey shook his head.
"Then you ought to have seen this fellow. I had him groggy after a while. I just played with him; then, when I got him where I wanted him, I let him have it."
"With your fist?"
"No, with my knife. I just cut him. I nearly cut his head off the first swish of the knife. He's out there now if you want to look at him."
A moment of silence followed Stacy's pompous announcement, the faces of the party wearing solemn expressions.
"I reckon you'd better come along to town with me, Cale," said Patsey, by way of changing the subject.
"That is my idea, too," agreed Butler. "He will be much better off."
Cale shook his head with emphasis.
"That will spoil your trip."
"What's the matter with the Indian?" demanded O'Rell.
"Does he know the woods sufficiently well to be able to guide us?" asked Professor Zepplin.
"Yes. Trust an Indian for knowing the woods. You couldn't lose Charlie for long at a time, if at all."
"I agree with you then, Mr. O'Rell. Mr. Vaughn can join us again when he gets well. We can agree on some point of meeting, leaving Vaughn to settle that. An excellent idea. By all means take him in with you."
Cale protested, but the others added their voices to the proposal of the timber cruiser until Cale ceased his protests.
"I don't like to be a baby," he objected.
"I should think it would be much better to be a baby, as you call it, than to take the chance of having a stiff ankle for the rest of your life. That would be serious in your calling."
"I reckon you are right," reflected the guide.
"Then it is settled. You go in with me. Can you let him have a horse? I see you have your nags with you," said O'Rell.
"Mr. Vaughn has his own pony here, too," answered Tad.
"That's good. With luck I'll have him home and in the hands of old Saw Bones before midnight."
After breakfast Tad packed the guide's kit, while Cale was giving Charlie John explicit instructions regarding the care of the party, where they were to be taken and where they were to go into camp and wait for him some ten days to two weeks later.
The guide told the Professor that, in case they got short of provisions, they could send the Indian in to any of the towns for fresh stores. A night and a half day should suffice to them to a town almost anywhere in that time, and Charlie could be trusted to carry out his orders faithfully so long as those orders were in black and white.
All preparations were made for the journey by Tad. He placed his own saddle on Mr. Vaughn's pony, because it was a more comfortable saddle than that owned by the guide. Finally all was ready. The boys picked up the injured man and lifted him bodily into his saddle, Patsey O'Rell regarding the proceeding with something of wonder in his eyes, for the boys did not look as if they possessed so much strength. With final instructions to Charlie, Cale rode away, O'Rell striding along by his side, leaving the Pony Rider Boys a little blue and unusually silent.
"We will cut up some of that meat, then bury the rest of the carcass before some other visitors come to camp," ordered Tad. "You shouldn't have said anything about the moose, Chunky."
"I guess I've got a right to talk about myself if I want to," retorted the fat boy.