“Then I’ll take a snapshot; that won’t hurt,” Bert responded.
The others, not much interested, watched him. Softly he went forward, hoping he might get a picture of a rabbit in its native woodland. The sun was just right for a picture.
But, as Bert looked, a deer suddenly came out of the brush, and stood on the edge of the clearing, seemingly unconscious of the presence of the boys. They had seen the beautiful creature, however, and for the moment none of them raised his rifle. Bert’s, indeed, was slung on his back out of the way while he used his camera.
Without speaking, Bert motioned to his chums not to shoot until he had a chance to make a picture. Tom and the others signified that they would hold their fire.
Bert crept up, the deer still unconscious of the presence of its enemies, and the youth soon had the animal in focus. It looked as though it would be a fine photograph.
Suddenly there was another crashing sound in the bushes, and as the boys, startled, turned, they saw a larger deer, with sharp, branching antlers, step from cover just behind Bert. The latter was so intent on getting the photograph that he did not turn to see how he was menaced from the rear.
The male deer, with a snort and a stamping of hoofs, and with lowered head, leaped toward Bert. The animal, evidently thinking its mate in danger, was going to her defense.
“Look out, Bert!” cried Jack, but the warning would have come too late. Bert did not even turn around, for he was on the point of pressing the shutter release of his camera. He had noticed a slight movement on the part of the female deer that indicated she was about to leap into the bushes.
“There, I’ve got you!” cried Bert, as he pressed the bulb.
The next instant he was startled by a snortbehind him. He heard a rattle of hoofs, and the voices of his chums crying a warning.
Bert turned to run, but he would not have been in time, except for what happened. A lucky shot on the part of Tom probably saved his friend from severe injury, if not death.
With a sudden motionTomthrew his rifle to his shoulder,took quick aim, and fired.
The male deer went down in a heap, actually turning a somersault, so great was its speed. And it came to rest, breathing its last, almost at Bert’s feet.
“Say, thatwasa shot!”
“That’s what! Just in time, too!”
Thus cried Jack and George. Bert was too surprised to utter a word, and Tom was too anxious to make sure he had bagged the first specimen of real game since coming to camp.
But there was no mistake about it. There lay the slain deer, and a fine specimen it was. The one Bert had photographed with his camera had, on the first alarm, darted into the underbrush, and was now far away, doubtless wondering what had happened to her mate.
“Say, why didn’t you fellows tell me what was going on?” asked Bert, as he whirled about and saw what had happened.
“We did,” spoke George.
“There came pretty nearly not being time enough to do anything,” went on Jack. “It was touch and go, Bert, old man. Tom, here, fired just in time.”
“Was it really as close as that?” asked the lad with the camera.
“It certainly was,” Jack assured him. “That deer had it in for you. I guess he thought you were trying to pot his mate with a new-fangled gun, and he made up his mind to stop you.”
“Well, Tom stopped him all right,” spoke George. “Say, it’s a fine specimen!” and he gazed admiringly at the head and horns. “It will make a fine trophy for your room, Tom.”
“I wasn’t thinking so much of that when I fired,” was the modest answer. “I was wondering whether I could bowl him over before he reached Bert with those business-looking horns.”
“And you did, old man. I shan’t forget that!” exclaimed Bert, fervently. “I’ll do as much for you some day, only I’m not as good a shot as you, so don’t take any chances. If a deer or a bear comes after you, run first, and get in a safe place. Then wait for me to shoot at it.”
“It was more luck than anything else that I got him,” Tom said. “If I had stopped to think, I’m sure I’d have had a touch of ‘buck-fever,’ and I wouldn’t have been able to hold my gun steady. But I just up and blazed away.”
“Well, now we’ve got it, what are we going to do with it?” asked Jack. “Shall we trail after the one that got away—the one Bert took a picture of?”
“What’s the use?” asked Bert. “She’s miles away from here now.”
“Besides,” added Tom, “we’ve got more meat here now than we can use in a week. No use killing for fun. I’ve got the head trophy I want, and it will be the turn of you fellows next. I won’t shoot any more deer, though I’ll bag a bear if I can. We don’t want to shoot female deer if we can help it.”
“That’s right,” agreed Jack. “Now let’s decide what to do about this fellow. He’s a big one, and will take some cutting-up.”
The boys were rather dubious about getting the deer’s head off, and taking the best part for food. But they were saved what might have been an unpleasant task by the arrival of Sam Wilson.
“Hello!” cried the guide, as he saw his young friends. “Well, you have had some luck, haven’t you! Is that your first one?”
“Yes,” answered Tom, as he related what had occurred.
“Well, now, that’s the way to do!” Sam cried. “He’s a fine critter, too; good head and horns. I’ve got my pung just outside on the road. I’ll take him along, dress him for you and send the head to an Indian to be mounted. Old Wombo does pretty good work that way.”
“I wish you would have it done,” Tom said. “And take some of the venison yourself. There’s more than we can use.”
“Besides, we’re going to get more deer in a few days,” added George.
“Oh, you are, eh? Well, nothing like being sure,” chuckled the old guide and hunter. “So far, though, you’ve done as well as the men who come up here, so I wouldn’t wonder but what you’d beat ’em. How have you been? Anything happened?”
They told of their experiences in camp, and Tom mentioned Skeel and his cronies.
“Trespassing on these preserves, eh?” exclaimed Sam. “Well, I’ll have to look into that. These lands are posted, and only those who get permission can enter on them, and hunt or fish. I’ll just put a flea in the ears of those fellows, if they don’t look out!”
With the help of the boys, Sam carried the deer out to his waiting pung. He said he had happened to pass near No. 2 Camp, and decided to run in on the chance that the boys might be there.
The deer’s legs were tied together, and then a long pole, cut from the woods, was thrust between them, lengthwise. On the shoulders of the boys and the guide the carcass was taken out to the big sled.
“I’ll bring the meat over to-morrow,” promised Sam, “and the head will be mounted later. It takes a little time.”
“Keep plenty of the venison yourself,” Tom urged.
“Well, just as you say,” was the laughing acceptance. “I haven’t had much chance to do any hunting yet. I’m glad you had a good start of luck.”
“And I hope my picture of the other deer comes out all right,” murmured Bert, his interest, just then, centering in his camera.
“Well, if it hadn’t been for Tom, you might not have come out all right,” said Jack, more than half seriously.
That was the extent of their luck for that day, however, except that both Bert and George secured some fine snapshots. When Sam had departed with the slain deer, the boys found a good place to stop, and build a fire to make coffee. They ate their lunch with such appetites as come only from life in the open, and, having finished, once more they set out on the trail.
But, though Jack, Bert and George each hoped for a repetition of Tom’s luck, in some modified form, it was not to be.
The boy hunters adopted all the suggestions of Sam, in looking for more game, but though they saw signs of it, the game itself had disappeared, at least for the time being.
“But we’ve got other days ahead of us,” suggested Tom. “We don’t have to go back formore than two weeks, and that will give us plenty of chances.”
They reached Camp No. 2 very tired, but satisfied with their day’s trip. And they brought with them appetites that made Jack, who was temporarily doing the cooking, wish his chums had left part of their hunger in the woods.
“What! More beans?” he cried to Bert, who passed his plate for the third time. “Can’t you eat anything but beans?”
“Don’t need to, when they’re cooked as good as this, old man,” was the laughing answer. “That molasses you put in just gave ’em the right flavor.”
“I’ll leave it out next time,” grumbled Jack. “I want a chance to get a bite myself.”
The meal went merrily on, and then came a delightful evening spent in the flickering blaze of the log fire, talking over the events of the day. Bert had developed his picture of the deer, and found that it would make a good print. Tom was dreaming of the time when he would get back the mounted head to hang on the wall of his den at home, as a memento of the trip.
Tom was destined to have other memories of the trip than his deer-head trophy, but he did not know that yet.
A rather heavy fall of snow the next day prevented the boys from going far from the cabin,for they did not want to take any chances on being lost in the storm.
There was no need to go out for food, as they had plenty, and in the afternoon Sam came over with a generous supply of deer meat, so their larder was well supplied.
“When are we going to take in Camp No. 3?” asked Jack of Tom, when Sam had gone back home in his pung sled.
“Well, we can go over there whenever you fellows want to. I don’t believe, from what Sam says, that it’s quite as good hunting ground as this, and I thought maybe you’d want to stay here until you each got a deer’s head.”
“Yes, I guess that would be best,” agreed Bert. “This seems to be the most promising location. And there may be bears around. I heard some animal prowling about the cabin last night.”
“So did I,” confessed George. “Maybe it was Skeel and his crowd,” he added.
“Hardly,” scoffed Tom. “More like it was a fox looking to pick up something to eat that we had thrown out. But we’ll stay around here for a few days longer, and then make a hike for No. 3. We might as well take ’em all in while we’re here. No telling when we’ll get another chance.”
Had the boys known what was in store for them, they would have started for No. 3 Campat once. But they did not know, and the delay gave the enemies of Tom Fairfield a chance to plan their trick.
For the next day, at some distance from No. 2 Cabin, there might have been seen three men, going along the snow-covered forest trail, in a manner that could only be described as “slinking.” A glance would have disclosed their identities—Skeel, Whalen and Murker.
“Think they’ll soon be on the move?” asked Professor Skeel. “If they don’t take the trail, all our work will be wasted.”
“Well, we’ve got to takesomechances,” growled Murker. “If this dodge doesn’t fool ’em, I’ll have to try another. But I think it will. Once we get ’em confused, and off the road, we can separate ’em by some means or other, and deal with Fairfield alone. You leave it to me.”
“Very well,” assented Professor Skeel.
A little farther walk through the woods brought the three conspirators to a cross-road. It was not much traveled in Winter, but in Summer formed a popular highway. The main road led back to the village, where the boys had left the railroad train, and the cross highway connected two towns—Ramsen and Fayetville.
Reaching this signboard, Murker looked around to make sure he was unobserved. Then, with a few blows from a hammer, he knocked offthe two signboards. These he reversed, so that the one marked “Seven miles to Ramsen” pointed in just the opposite direction—to Fayetville. The other board he also reversed.
“But it’s the Ramsen one they’ll look at if they come to Camp No. 3,” said Murker, “and they’re almost sure to come. Then we’ll have Fairfield where we want him!”
Bert Wilson was carefully examining his camera, sitting at a table in the cozy quarters of Cabin No. 2, where he and his chums had gathered after the day’s hunt. When he had adjusted the shutter, which had stuck several times of late, thereby spoiling some fine pictures, Bert took up his gun, and began taking that apart to clean it.
“I say! What’s up?” questioned Tom, who was lying lazily on his back on a blanket-covered couch, staring at the flicker of the flames on the ceiling. “Getting ready for an expedition, Bert?”
“Well, I sort of feel it in my bones that I’ll get a bear to-morrow, or a deer anyhow, and I’m taking no chances,” was the answer.
“Going to get the game with your gun or your camera?” asked Jack.
“Both,” was the quick answer. “I’ll snapshot him first and pot him afterward.”
“If he lets you,” laughed George. “But I’d like to see any healthy bear stand for having Bertpoke a camera in his face, and then shoot a slug of lead into him.”
“You watch my smoke—that’s all,” said Bert significantly, as he went on cleaning his gun.
“What’s the program for to-morrow?” asked Jack, who, like Tom, was doing nothing, and taking considerable pains at it.
“Well, I thought we’d go off on an all-day hunt again,” was the young host’s answer, for Tom was really in that position, it being on his invitation, through his father, that the boys had come to the hunting camp.
“That idea suits me,” responded Jack. “But take along more grub than we did last time. I was hungry before we got back.”
“Why don’t we shoot what we want to eat?” suggested George. “I never read of a party of hunters having to depend on canned stuff or the grocery when they were really good shots, as we are!” and he puffed himself up with pretended pride. “What’s the use taking a lot of grub along when you can shoot a partridge or two, and broil ’em over the coals of an open fire? Doesn’t that sound good?”
“Itsoundsa great deal better than it really is,” spoke Tom. “That sort of thing is all right to read about, but I like my game to stand a little after being killed. And it’s hard to dress and get ready anything when you’re on a tramp. SoI think we’ll just take our grub along. We’ll have more time for hunting then.”
“That’s right,” assented Jack.
Bert’s interest in his gun prompted George to look after his weapon. Jack and Tom declared theirs were already in perfect shape for the morrow’s sport, providing they saw any game.
“I do wish we’d spot a bear,” said Jack, with an envious sigh.
“Not much chance of that,” came from Tom. “I asked Sam about that, and he said while bears were plentiful in this part of the Adirondacks, at certain seasons, this wasn’t exactly the time for them. They’re probably in their caves, or hollow logs, waiting for Candlemas Day, to come out and look for their shadows.”
“Do you really believe in that superstition—that if a bear, or a ground hog, does see his shadow on that day, there’ll be six weeks more of Winter, and if he doesn’t, there won’t?” asked George.
“There you go again—shooting questions at us!” laughed Tom. “No, I don’t believe it, but lots of folks do.”
“Did Sam say anything about the chances for getting more deer?” Bert wanted to know.
“Well, yes, he admitted there were plenty this year. But I’ve shot mine, so I’m not interested,” Tom said.
“I’m counting on a bear-skin rug to put in front of my bed,” remarked Jack. “Then when I have to jump up in the cold, I can warm my feet before I start to dress.”
“Nothing like comfort,” spoke Bert. “Going to have your bear’s skin tanned with the head on, Jack?”
“Yes, I think I will.”
“Better get your bear first,” said Tom grimly. “Well, let’s lay out plans for to-morrow’s hunt. What trail shall we take? I rather fancy, from what Sam said, that the old lumber road will be best to start on. Maybe we can make Camp No. 3 in the day’s tramp, and do some hunting along the way.”
“That’s rather too much of a risk, isn’t it?” asked Jack. “We could easily make Camp No. 3 in a day’s tramp, if we started out from here early enough, and didn’t waste any time following game trails. But if we try to do any hunting, we’re likely to be delayed. Then we won’t be able to start for camp until late. We may not reach it, and not be able to get back here and then——”
“Great Scott!” cried Tom. “Have you any more if and but calamities up your sleeve, old man? If you have, trot ’em out. We can make Camp No. 3 all right, and do some hunting, too. Why, it’s a good trail once we get over the mountainand strike the road to Ramsen. That’s what Sam said.”
Tom spoke of going over the mountain, but what he meant was going over the ridge of the highest range which they were then among. For the mountains were all around them, differing in height and rugged appearance only.
“Well, go ahead and let’s try it, then,” said Jack, with a shrug of his shoulders. “And if anything happens, don’t blame me!”
“We won’t, as long as you don’t say ‘I told you so!’” exclaimed Bert. “That always makes me mad.”
“All right—let it go at that,” suggested Tom. “Then we’ll take as much time as we want for hunting to-morrow, and strike for Camp No. 3 when we feel like it. We’ll take along some grub, and make coffee as usual. That sounds good.”
“And I do hope I get a bear—or deer,” murmured Bert. “If I don’t I’m going to——”
“Hark!” suddenly interrupted Tom. He sat up quickly, in a listening attitude on the couch.
“Nothing but the wind,” murmured George, as a shutter rattled.
“Hark!” ordered Tom again.
There was some sound outside. All the boys heard it plainly, and a dog they had borrowed that day from Sam, to help them in tracking anygame on the trail of which they might get, sat up and growled.
“Someone is out there,” said Tom in a whisper.
“Some animal—a skunk, maybe,” suggested Bert. “I’m going to stay in. I don’t like him—not for a scent!” and he laughed at his own joke.
Tom, however, was softly getting up from the couch. He looked fixedly toward one certain window.
“Jack, turn the light out suddenly!” he ordered in a whisper. “Bert, have your gun ready.”
“Do you really think it is—anyone?” asked Bert, as he reached for his gun, which he had finished cleaning, and put together again.
“Someone or—something,” went on Tom, and his voice did not rise above a whisper. He moved slowly over toward the window.
“Here goes the glim!” Jack announced, and at once the cabin was darkened. It took but a minute, however, for the boys’ eyes to become accustomed to the change, and they saw moonlight streaming through the window toward which Tom was moving. The others followed him, walking softly.
“There he goes—itissomeone!” hoarsely whispered Bert, and he pointed to a black figure stealing over the snow. It was plainly in sight,for the ground was deeply covered with snow.
“It’s a bear!” George burst out. “It’s a bear! Where’s my gun? Where do you shoot a bear, anyhow? I don’t want to spoil the skin. Say, where’s my gun?”
“Dry up!” ordered Tom sharply. “It isn’t a bear!”
“It is so!” began George. “Where’s my——”
Before anyone could stop him, or object, Bert had slipped to the door, opened it, and had fired his gun at the retreating black object.
“Look out!” Tom cried. “You might kill him! That’s a man—not a bear, Bert!”
“I know it,” was the calm answer. “I only fired over his head to scare him. Look at him scoot, would you?”
And indeed the black object that George had thought was a bear suddenly straightened up, revealing itself to be a man. He ran with fast strides toward the circle of woods that were all about the hunting cabin. The man reached the shelter of the black trees a little later, and was soon lost to sight.
“A man!” gasped George. “It was a man!”
“That’s what it was,” added Bert.
“Well, what do you know about that?” demanded Jack. “Was he sneaking around this cabin?”
“That’s about it,” answered Tom.
“But who was he?”
“That’s for us to guess,” went on the young hunter. “But I fancy I can come pretty near it.”
“You mean Professor Skeel?” asked Bert.
“Him, or one of his two friends.”
“But what would he, or they, be doing around our cabin?”
“That,” said Tom, and he spoke more soberly than he had for some time, “that is something I’d give a great deal to learn. It’s a mystery that’s been bothering me for some time.”
The chums looked at their friend in silence for a moment, and then Jack remarked:
“I’m going to have a peep around outside.”
The others followed, two of them carrying guns. They made a circuit of the cabin in the moonlight, but no other uninvited callers were observed. There were footprints about the shack, however, which showed that the man, whoever he was, had been listening under several of the windows.
“Well, he didn’t hear any secrets, for we weren’t talking any,” Tom said with a laugh, as he and his chums went indoors again.
“Except to say that we were going to Camp No. 3 to-morrow,” said Bert.
“That’s no secret.”
But it was the very information the man, whohad been eavesdropping under the window, had come to obtain. He ran off with a smile of satisfaction on his evil face.
“They’ve got nerve—firing at me!” he muttered, not thinking of his own “nerve” in doing what he had done.
The boys were rather alarmed for a while, and quite indignant. They decided to take some harsh measures, if need be, to keep Skeel and his cronies off the game preserve. And with this resolve they went to bed, for they wanted to make an early start the next morning.
Ten o’clock the next day found our four friends well on their way to Camp No. 3. They had started their hunt in that general direction. It was an hour later, when, after several false alarms, the dog gave tongue to a peculiar cry.
“What’s that?” asked Jack.
“It’s a bear!” decided Bert. “Sam said the dog would yelp that way when he struck the trail. Come on, fellows!”
They ran forward to rejoin their dog, that had gone on ahead. He was now barking fast and furiously, and had evidently gotten on the track of something.
“Yes, it is a bear!” decided Tom, when he had noted the tracks in the snow. “And they’re fresh, too, otherwise the dog couldn’t smell ’em! They won’t lie long on snow. Go on, old sport!”and thus encouraged the dog bounded forward.
How the bear came to be out at that time of the year, the boys did not stop to think. But they eagerly followed the trail. It led on through the woods, and they hardly noted their direction.
At noon they stopped for a hasty lunch, grudging the time it took, for they were anxious to get sight of the big game. Once more they were on the trail.
“But it seems to be getting dark suddenly,” commented Jack. “I wonder if we’d better keep on?”
“Certainly—why not?” asked Bert. “The trail is getting fresher all the while. Come on, we’ll have him soon. He’s a big one, too!”
Again the boys pressed forward, the dog baying from time to time.
Either the bear was a better traveler than the boys gave the brute credit for being, or the trail was not as fresh as Bert had supposed. For though they went on and on, they did not see the black ungainly form of Bruin looming up before them.
They were traveling through a rather thin part of the forest then, making good time, for the snow was not so deep here. Occasionally they thought they had glimpses of the animal they sought, but it always proved to be nothing but a shadow, or a movement in the bushes, caused by the passage of some big rabbit.
“There he goes!” suddenly cried George, pointing to the left.
“Yes, that’s him!” eagerly agreed Jack.
Tom and Bert also agreed that they saw something more substantial, this time, than a shadow. But a moment later the black object, for such it had been, was lost sight of.
“Come on!” cried Tom, as enthusiastic as any of his chums. “We’ve got him now.”
They raced forward, until they came to the place where they had seen the black object, and then they noticed a curious thing. For there were two sets of marks—human footprints, and the broad-toed tracks of the bear.
“Look at that!” cried Jack. “Was that a man we saw, or the bear?”
No one could say for certain. But this much was sure. The bear’s tracks led in one direction, and the man’s in another.
Was the bear chasing the man, or was the man hunting the bear, was another phase of the question.
“Look here!” said Tom, who had been carefully examining the two sets of impressions in the snow. “Here’s how I size this up. The bear’s tracks go in a straight line, or nearly so, as you can easily see. But the man’s tracks are in the form of a letter V and we are at the angle right here. The angle comes up right close to the trail of the bear, too.
“Now I think the man was walking through the woods, approaching the bear. He didn’t know it until he was almost on the beast and then the man saw it. Of course he turned away at once and ran back. You can tell that the footprints that approach the bear’s trail are made more slowly than the others—going away. In the last case the man was running away from thebear. But the bear wasn’t afraid, and kept straight on, paying no attention to the man.”
“That’s good argument,” observed Bert.
“Can you tell us who the man was?” demanded George.
“I’m not detective enough for that,” Tom confessed. “But I don’t believe the man was a hunter with a gun.”
“Why not?” Jack wanted to know.
“Because if he had a gun, he would have fired at the bear, and we’d have seen some change in the bear’s trail. Bruin would either have run at the shot, or attacked the man, provided the bullet didn’t kill at once. And you can see for yourselves that nothing like that happened. So I argue that the man had no gun.”
“Then he was Skeel, or one of his two partners,” said George.
“What makes you think that?” asked Bert, curiously.
“Because we never saw either of them with a gun.”
“That doesn’t prove anything,” Tom said. “There are lots of men in these woods who haven’t guns. It might have been Sam Wilson.”
“Can you tell anything by the footprints?” asked Bert.
“No. The star mark isn’t there, but that’s nothing. Well, whoever he was he got away, andwe didn’t get close enough to make out who he was.”
“I tell you where you’re wrong in one thing, though, Tom,” spoke Jack.
“How’s that?”
“You said the man came up to the bear and ran away, turning off at an angle. I don’t believe he saw the bear, because we were watching the man, and we would have seen the bear if he had seen him, too. For it was right here we lost sight of the man.”
“Well, maybe I am wrong about that part of it,” admitted Tom, “but at least the man didn’t cross the bear’s trail. Something turned him back when he saw the marks of the paws in the snow.”
That seemed reasonable enough.
“Well, let’s follow the dog,” suggested Bert. “He’s after the bear, anyhow.”
This was so, for the dog had not even paused at the prints of the man’s feet in the snow. He evidently preferred Bruin for game.
But now it was getting so dark that it was difficult for the boys to see, even with the whiteness caused by the covering of snow on the ground.
“I say,” Tom spoke, when they had gone on a little farther. “I think we’d better turn back. It will be night before we realize it, and we’re a long way from either camp. It’s a question in my mind whether we hadn’t better start back for CampNo. 2, and let three wait for a day or so. It’s going to snow too, soon, if I’m any judge.”
“Why, we’re probably as near to No. 3 as we are to No. 2,” observed Jack. “Why not keep on? We haven’t been to Camp No. 3 yet, and I want to see what it’s like.”
“Well, we’ll leave it to a vote,” decided Tom, who never tried to “run” things where his chums were concerned. “One place is as good as another to me, but we’ve got to do something—and that pretty soon.”
“We’d better give up the bear, at least for to-night,” spoke Bert, and there was regret in his voice. “But we can take up the trail to-morrow.”
“Whistle back the dog,” suggested George. “And then we’ll decide what to do.”
But the dog did not want to come back. They could hear him baying in the depths of the now dark forest, but whether he was in sight of the bear, or was giving tongue because the trail was getting fresher, was impossible to say.
At any rate, the dog did not come back in response to the whistles shrilly emitted in his direction.
“Well, let him go,” said Bert. “He’ll find his way to one camp or another, I guess, if he doesn’t go home to Sam. He said the dog often stayed out in the woods all night, and came back in the morning.”
“All right—let him go,” assented Tom. “And now what shall we do about ourselves? Here comes the snow!” he cried a moment later, for the white flakes began falling in a swirl all about them.
“In for a blizzard!” commented Jack.
“Oh, not as bad as that,” murmured Bert.
“Do they have blizzards up here? How long do they last? Does it get very cold? How much snow——”
“That’ll do, Why!” exclaimed Tom. “We’ve got something else to do besides answering questions. Now, fellows, what is it to be—Camp No. 3 or Camp No. 2? We’ve got to decide.”
“I say No. 3,” called out Bert.
“Same here,” echoed Jack.
“I’m with you,” was the remark of George.
“Well, I don’t agree with you, but I’ll give in,” assented Tom. “The majority rules. But I think it would be better to go back to No. 2 Camp.”
“Why?” asked Jack.
“Because we know just where it is, and we know we can be sure of a warm place, and plenty to eat.”
“Can’t we at No. 3?” asked George.
“Maybe, and then again, maybe not. We certainly will have to hunt for it, and it’s only a chance that it may have wood and food stored there.”
“Sam said it had,” observed Bert.
“Yes, I know. But there have been men roaming about these woods that I wouldn’t trust not to take grub from an unoccupied cabin,” went on Tom. “However, we’ll take a chance, but I think it’s a mistake.”
They turned about, and headed in as straight a line as they could for Camp No. 3. They knew the general direction, and had some landmarks to go by.
The storm grew more and more fierce. The snow was almost as impenetrable as a fog, and there was a cold, biting wind. It stung the faces of the boys and made walking difficult. It was constantly growing darker.
“I say!” called Bert, after a bit. He stopped floundering about in a drift, and went on: “I say, does anyone know where we are?”
“On the road to Ramsen,” suggested Tom.
“I don’t believe we are,” Bert resumed. “I think we’re off the trail—lost!”
“Lost!” echoed George.
“Yes, lost, and in a blinding snowstorm,” went on Bert.
Bert’s words struck rather a chill to the hearts of his chums. Not that they were cowards, for they were not, and they had faced danger before, and were used to doing things for themselves.
But now they were in a strange, mountain wilderness, following an unknown trail, and night was coming on rapidly. The storm had already burst, and it was growing worse momentarily.
“Do you really think we are lost?” questioned Jack, looking about him as well as he could in the maze of white.
“Don’t you?” responded Bert. “I can’t make out the least sign of a trail in these woods, and we have to follow one to get to Camp No. 3, you know.”
“Yes, that’s right,” put in George. “We are going it blind.”
“We’ve been going according to compass, since we gave up the hunt for the bear,” commented Tom.
“Well, it will be more by good luck than goodmanagement if we find either camp now,” said Bert. “But come on—we’ve got to do something.”
“Which way shall we go?” asked George. “We don’t want to get lost any worse than we are.”
“We can’t!” spoke Bert, dryly—that is, as “dryly” as he could with snow forcing itself into his mouth. “We’re as lost as we’ll ever be. The thing now is to start finding ourselves.”
“Let’s try this way,” proposed Tom, indicating the left. “According to my compass Camp No. 3 ought to lie off about there.”
“And how far away?” asked Jack.
“Not more than four miles—maybe five. But we can make that in about an hour and a half, if we don’t get off the trail.”
“That’s the trouble,” commented Bert. “We can’t see any trail. We are going it absolutely blind!”
And going it blind they certainly were. They were all a bit alarmed now, for they had no shelter for the night, and they had eaten most of their food.
Suddenly, as they tramped along over the snow, there came a crash in the underbrush to one side.
“What’s that?” cried George, nervously.
“That bear——” began Bert, slinging around his gun.
“Don’t shoot!” cried Tom. “It’s our dog come back to us!”
And so it was. The intelligent and lonesome brute had abandoned the bear’s trail, and had come back to join his human friends. He was exhausted from long, hard running.
“Now he’ll lead us to one camp or another,” said Tom. “Welcome to our city, Towser!”
“What happened to the bear?” asked Jack, as the dog leaped about caressingly from one to the other.
“Evidently nothing,” Tom said. “I don’t believe the dog found him. His name isn’t Towser though, by the way. I’ve forgotten what Sam did call him, but it wasn’t Towser.”
“What makes you think he didn’t find the bear?” Bert wanted to know.
“He’d show some evidence of it if he had,” was the reply. “He’d have a scratch or two. No, I think he gave up the chase soon after we did, and came after us.”
“Well, now he’s here, let’s make some use of him,” suggested George. “Do you really think he’ll lead us back to camp, Tom?”
“Well, there’s a chance of it,” Tom affirmed. “Let’s give him a trial. Here, old boy!” he called to the dog, a beautiful specimen. “Home, old fellow!”
The dog barked, wagged his tail, and set offon a run through the driving snow. He barked loudly, turning now and then to see if any of the four young hunters were following.
“That’s the idea!” cried Jack. “Come on, boys. He’ll lead us, all right!”
“Butwhere, is another question,” Tom put in. “My early education was neglected. I never learned dog talk, though I can swim that fashion pretty well.”
“Swimming isn’t going to do any good—not in this weather,” murmured Bert, buttoning his mackinaw tighter about him, and beating his arms at his sides, for they all had been standing still, and were rather chilled.
“I could talk hog-Latin,” Jack said with a smile, “but I don’t believe that is any good for a dog. Call him back, Tom. You seem to have more influence over him than anyone else, and he’s getting too far ahead. I wonder where he’s going, anyhow?”
“I don’t much care—Camp one, two, or three will suit me just about now,” Tom remarked, as he turned his face to avoid a stinging blast of snowflakes. “Surely the dog knows his way to all three of them, and, if they are too far, he may lead us to Sam’s farm. That wouldn’t be so bad.”
“Nothing would be bad where there was a warm fire and plenty of grub,” commented Bert.“But call that dog back, Tom, or we’ll lose him again. He’s off there somewhere, barking to beat the band!”
Tom whistled shrilly. A series of barks came in answer, and, a little later the dog himself came bounding through the snow. His muzzle was all whitened where he had been burrowing, perhaps after some luckless rabbit. But his bright eyes were glowing as the boys could see in the half-darkness that had fallen, and Towser, as they continued to call him, for want of a better name, seemed delighted at something or another. Whether it was the storm, the fun he had had trailing the bear, or whether he was just glad to be with the boys, and happy over the prospect of adventures to come, no one could say.
The dog barked, wagged his tail, ran on a little way, came back, barked some more, ran on again, and then repeated the performance over and over, getting more and more excited all the while.
“He wants us to follow him,” decided Tom. “All right, old man, I’m with you,” he said. “Come on, boys. We’ll see what comes of it.”
Together the four hunters set off with the dog in the lead. Truth to tell they did not feel very much like hunters that day, nor had they had any luck. Matters seemed to be going against them. And in the storm and darkness there was a distinct feeling of depression over everyone. Thedog was really the only cheerful creature there, and he had spirits enough for all of them, could they but be transferred.
“Whew! Thisisa storm!” cried Tom, as he bent his head to the blast.
It did seem to be getting worse. The wind had a keener cut and whirled the sharp flakes of snow into one’s face with stinging force.
“It’s a young blizzard,” affirmed Jack.
“Well, if it does this in its youthful days, what will happen when it grows up?” Bert wanted to know, as he paused and turned around to get the wind out of his face while he caught his breath. No one took the trouble to answer him.
The dog seemed impatient at the slow progress of the lads, for he was now well ahead of them. They could only tell where he was by his barks, and by an occasional flurry of snow as he burrowed in some drift and then scrambled out again.
“Better call him back again, Tom,” suggested George. “He’ll get away beyond us, and soon it will be so dark we can’t see our hands before our faces.”
“Yes, I guess I will,” Tom assented. “I’d put a leash on him if I had a bit of cord, and hold him back.”
“Here’s some,” Jack said, offering a piece. “I had it tied around the package of sandwiches.”
“By the way—any of those same sandwiches left?” asked Tom.
“A few—why?”
“Because that may be all we’ll get to eat to-night.”
“What’s that?” cried Bert. “Aren’t we going toward camp?”
“That’s what I can’t say,” was Tom’s answer, as he whistled for the dog. “We may, and then, again, we may not.”
“But where are we heading, then?” George wanted to know, as Tom proceeded to tie the cord on Towser’s collar.
“That’s more than I can say,” Tom made answer. “We’re in the hands of fate, as they say in books.”
“Well, I’d rather hang to Towser’s tail,” spoke Jack, with grim humor.
“I’m sorry I got you fellows into this mess,” went on Tom, as they advanced again through the storm and darkness, this time keeping the dog closer to them by means of the cord.
“What mess?” asked Bert.
“Getting lost, and all that.”
“Forget it!” advised Jack. “It wasn’t your fault at all. You wanted to go back to No. 2 Camp, and the rest of us favored this move. I wish, now, we had taken your advice.”
“Oh, well, mine was only a guess,” Tom said.“We might have been as badly off had we gone the other way. We’ll just have to trust to luck. Come on. But what I meant was that coming out to-day to hunt was my proposition. I was afraid there was a storm coming.”
“We wouldn’t have stayed home on that account,” George asserted. “We’re all in the same boat together, and we’ll have to sink or swim—or skate,” he added, as the icy wind smote him.
It was now about six o’clock, but as dark as it would have been at midnight. The moon was hidden behind dark clouds, but of course the white snow made it lighter than otherwise would have been the case. But in the dense woods even this did not add much to the comfort of our friends, and its increasing depth made it harder to walk.
Almost before the boys knew it, they had emerged from the forest to a road. They could tell that at once.
“Hurray!” cried Tom. “Now we’ll be all right. A good road to follow.”
“And a signpost, too, to tell us which way to go!” added Jack.
He pointed through the storm to where was evidently a crossroad, at the intersection of which was a post with the familiar boards on it.
“What does it say?” asked Bert, as Tom stood at the foot of it.
“Have to get out the electric light,” Tom said,producing a pocket flashlight. By its powerful tungsten gleam, he read:
Seven Miles to Ramsen
“That’s the ticket!” he cried. “Ramsen is the way we want to go. Camp No. 3 lies in that direction. Now we’re all right, boys!”
“Good old signpost!” murmured Jack.
But, had he only known it, the signpost was a “bad” one, though, as we know, that was not the fault of the post itself.
Trudging along the road was easier now, and the boys made better time. But it was tiresome work at that. And when, a little later, they saw a building looming up at one side of the road, Bert cried:
“There’s our camp now!”
For a moment they thought it was, but a closer look showed that it was not. It was an old deserted hut, almost in ruins, and as Tom flashed his light within, a sorry sight was presented to the eyes of the boys.
“Let’s go inside,” was Tom’s proposal, and his chums looked at him in some amazement.
“What do we want to go in there for?” asked Jack, at length.
“Because,” was the rather short answer of Tom. Then, feeling perhaps that he might explain a little more at length, he turned from where he stood in the tumbled-down doorway, and added:
“Let’s get in out of the storm. This is a good place to rest, away from that cutting wind. Quiet, Towser,” he added, for the dog showed signs of not wanting to go in. He growled and hung back. Then he looked in the direction in which they had come, and his hair rose on the back of his neck as though he saw something the boys did not see, and resented the sight—whatever it was.
“I don’t like that,” commented Bert. “Dogs know more than we do—sometimes.”
“Oh, come on in!” repeated Tom, and he spoke to the dog again. This time Towser followed his temporary master inside the hut.
“But what gets me iswhyare we going in?”objected George. “It will only delay us, and if we’ve got to make seven miles to Ramsen to-night, we’d better be getting at it.”
“That’s just it,” spoke Tom quickly. “I think we can’t get at it.”
“What do you mean?” came from Jack.
“I mean that we can’t go on in this storm. It’s getting worse every minute, and we may stray off the road. We have found this shelter providentially, and we ought to take advantage of it. It will give us a half-decent place to stay, and we won’t be buried in the snow which may happen if we keep on.
“Come inside and stay here, that’s what I mean,” Tom went on. “It might be a heap-sight worse,” and he flashed his torch about the bare and crumbling ruin of the cabin.
“What!” cried Bert. “Do you mean to stay here all night?”
“Why not?” asked Tom. “It’s better than being out in the storm, isn’t it? Hark to that wind!”
As he spoke a blast howled around the corner of the shack, and blew a cloud of flakes in through a glassless window.
“It’s a little better than outside—but not much,” murmured George. “Look at those windows.”
“We can find something to stuff in them,” saidTom cheerfully. “There may be some old bags about. And we haven’t been upstairs yet. This place may be furnished better than we think. Come on, boys, make up your minds to stay here.”
“Well, we might do worse, that’s a fact,” slowly admitted Jack. “Say, look at that dog, would you!”
His manner, as he said this, was excited, but no less so than that of the dog. The animal brushed past the group of boys, fairly pulling loose the improvised leash from Tom’s hand and stood in the doorway with bristling hair, lips drawn back from his teeth and showing every appearance of anger.
“Something ails him,” spoke George, in a low voice.
“I should say so,” agreed Tom, rubbing his hand where the stout cord had cut into him, even in spite of his heavy mitten.
“It’s that bear!” cried Jack.
“What?” questioned Tom.
“That bear we were following,” explained Jack. “It’s outside now, and the dog has winded him. Where’s my gun? I’m going to have a potshot at him!”
He started toward the corner where he had stood up his gun. The interior of the cabin was fairly light, for Tom had snapped on the permanent switch of his little pocket electric light.
“Hold on a minute!” Tom said, placing a hand on his chum’s shoulder. “What are you going to do?”
“Don’t go out,” advised Tom. “I don’t believe it’s the bear, to begin with, and, in the second place, if itis, you wouldn’t stand any chance of hitting him in this storm. And you might get lost. It’s a regular blizzard outside.”
“What makes you think it isn’t the bear?” asked Jack, ignoring Tom’s other reasons.
“Well, from the way the dog acts, for one thing,” was the answer. “He didn’t act that way before, when we had a plain sight of the trail, and Towser may even have come close to Bruin himself.”
“If it isn’t the bear—who is it—or—what is it?” demanded George.
“I don’t know,” was Tom’s frank reply.
“Let’s give a yell,” suggested Bert. “Maybe it’s Sam Wilson, or someone who could put us on the right road. I don’t fancy staying here all night if it can be helped. Let’s give a yell.”
“All right,” Tom agreed. “Here, Towser,” he went on to the dog, “come in here and behave yourself.”
But the animal did not seem so disposed. He remained in the doorway, looking out into the storm, now and then growling hoarsely in his throat, but showing no disposition to dash out.Certainly he was acting very strangely, but whether it was fear or anger the boys could not decide.
“Well, whoever it is, or whatever, we’ve got plenty of guns and ammunition,” remarked George. “We haven’t had a decent shot to-day.”
Which was very true. They had had great hopes, but that was all.
“Come on if we’re going to yell,” suggested Jack. “And if we don’t raise someone, we’ll prepare to stay here. It’s the best we can do, fellows.”
They united their voices in a shout, and the dog added to the din by barking. He seemed to feel better when the lads were making as much noise as they could.
But the echoes of the boys’ voices, blown back to them by the snow-laden wind, was all the answer they received. They waited, and called again, but no one replied to them. Nor, as at least George half-expected, did they hear the growls of a bear. The wind howled, the snow rattled on the sides and roof of the cabin, for the flakes were almost as hard as sleet. But that was all.
“Guess we’ll have to put up at this ‘hotel,’” said Bert, after a pause. The dog had quieted down now, as though whatever had aroused him had passed on.
“Let’s take a look around and see what we’ve drawn,” suggested Jack. “If there’s any wood, we can make a fire, and there must be some of that grub left.”
“There is,” announced Bert, who had constituted himself a sort of commissary department. “We’ve got some sandwiches, and I can make coffee.”
“That isn’t so bad,” remarked Tom. “Once we have a little feed, we’ll all feel better. And in the morning the storm may have stopped, so we can easily find our road. We’re on the right one, I’m sure, for that signboard said seven miles to Ramsen, and that’s in the direction of Camp No. 3.”
If Tom had only known about that changed signboard!
Each of the lads carried a powerful electric light, with a tungsten bulb. It was operated by a small, dry battery. It was intended only for a flashing light, of a second or so each time, but there was a switch arrangement so that the light could be held steady and permanent, though of course this used up the battery quickly.
“I’ll let my light burn,” proposed Tom. “It’s nearly burned out anyhow, and you fellows can save yours until later.”
“If we could have a fire, we wouldn’t need a light,” Bert said.
“That’s right,” agreed Tom. “Let’s look about a bit.”
There was a hearth in the main room of the deserted cabin, and on it were the ashes of a fire, long since dead and cold. But it seemed to show that the chimney would draw. Scattered about the room were pieces of old boxes and barrel staves, and a pile of these was soon set ablaze on the hearth.
“That looks better!” remarked Bert, with satisfaction, as he rubbed his hands in front of the blaze. “Now if we had a way of stopping up some of these broken windows, we wouldn’t be so cold.”
“Take some of those bags,” suggested Tom, indicating a pile in a corner. It looked like the bed of some chance tramp who had accepted the shelter the deserted shack offered.
The boys soon had the broken lights filled in, and when the tumble-down door had been propped up in the entrance, the cabin was not such a bad shelter, with a blazing fire going.
“Now for a look upstairs,” suggested Tom, for the cabin was of two stories, though the top one was very low.
“I’d rather eat,” suggested George.
“It won’t take long to investigate,” Tom said.
They went up the rickety stairs, but the trip hardly paid for their pains, for there was lessupstairs than there was down. Some few rags, bits of broken bottles, boxes and barrels were seen, and that was all.
“And now for grub!” cried George, when they were once more in the main room downstairs. “Let’s get that coffee going, and eat what there is.”
The boys carried a coffee-pot with them, and a supply of the ground berries. Some snow was scooped up in the pot, which was set on the coals to provide the necessary water by melting the white crystals. Then the packages of sandwiches, rather depleted, it is true, were set out. A little later the aroma of the boiling beverage filled the room.
“That smells fine!” murmured Jack.
“It surely does,” agreed Bert. “Now for a feed.”
They all felt better after they had eaten what food was left from lunch. And surely they needed the grateful and stimulating warmth of the coffee, even though it was rather muddy, and was drunk out of tin cups they carried with them. They even had condensed milk and sugar, for these were carried in a case, in which fitted the pot and the ground coffee. This was one of Tom’s up-to-date discoveries.
To Towser were tossed the odds and ends of the sandwiches, and he ate them greedily, drinkingsome snow water which George melted for him in a tin he found in one corner of the cabin.
Then the boys prepared to spend the night in the deserted cabin. They sat about the fire, on improvised seats made from broken boxes, and watched the fire, which certainly was cheerful. They expected to only doze through the night, and hoped to get on the proper road by morning.
Suddenly the dog, which had been peacefully lying in front of the hearth, sprang up with a growl and bark. He startled the boys.
“Quiet!” commanded Tom, but the animal continued to growl.
“That’s funny,” remarked Jack.
“What is?” asked Tom. “Just because he barks on account of hearing something, or scenting something, that’s beyond us?”
“No, not that so much, but it’s a funny feeling I have,” said Jack. “I feel just as if we were being spied upon.”
“Spied upon!” repeated Tom. “Say, you’re as nervous as a girl, old man!”
Before Jack could reply, the dog had leaped up and rushed out into the storm through a small opening where the old door was only propped against the frame.