The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Boy Scout Pathfinders, by Robert Maitland This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. Title: The Boy Scout Pathfinders Or, Jack Danby's Best Adventure Author: Robert Maitland Release Date: April 14, 2021 [eBook #65084] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BOY SCOUT PATHFINDERS*** E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Susan Carr, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net) Boy Scout Series Volume 6 T h e B o y S c o u t P a t h f i n d e r s OR Jack Danby’s Best Adventure BY Major Robert Maitland C THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY CHICAGO AKRON, OHIO NEW YORK Copyright 1912 BY THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING CO. C O N T E N T S PAGE I HO! FOR THE ADIRONDACKS 3 II THE LOGGING CAMP 12 III THE OLD SNAKE HUNTER 26 IV THE FIGHT 35 V THE BEAR’S SURPRISE PARTY 42 VI THE PLOT 50 VII TRAPPED IN THE CAVE 58 VIII THE BOY SCOUTS TO THE FORE 66 IX DICK CRAWFORD GIVES WARNING 77 X “BUSY AS BEAVERS” 87 XI THE BOG 100 XII OLD SAM TO THE RESCUE 108 XIII THE BROKEN TRESTLE 117 XIV THE SAVING OF THE TRAIN 124 XV A STRANGE DUEL 132 XVI TOO LATE! 139 XVII JACK’S RUN FOR LIFE 148 XVIII BALKED OF THEIR PREY 154 The Boy Scout Pathfinders C H A P T E R I HO! F OR T HE ADI RONDACKS “Ding-dong! Ding-dong! Ding-dong! Ding-dong!” clashed the great bell on the locomotive, and with much creaking and clanking and letting off of steam, with iron scraping on iron and one last, long drawn whistle of the air-brakes, the train came slowly to a stop. As if vying with the locomotive to see which could make the greater noise, a score or more of khaki-clad boys came tumbling to the platform of the little mountain station, amid whoops and cat-calls and shouts of, “Here we are!” “Hurrah for the Adirondacks!” “Say, fellows, this is the backwoods and no mistake!” And then in rapid succession came the further inquiries: “Which way do we go? Up this road?” “See that big rock away down there? I’ll race you to it!” The big collie Don, not to be behindhand when there was any noise or capering to be done, and more glad than anyone else to be released from the many hours of close confinement in that awful baggage car, ran wildly about, darting in and out between the boys’ feet, at the imminent danger of upsetting the whole procession, and added his joyful bark to the general noise and confusion. A couple of boys did go down, but were at once on their feet and after Don, who—knowing and wise dog that he was!—understood well that his pursuers were his loyal friends, as he was theirs, and felt no fear, but ran and doubled, and ran on again, treating it all as the very best kind of a joke. A half hour of racing and tearing to given points and back again, and impromptu games of leapfrog and follow my leader gave vent to the bubbling spirits held in check during the long journey and the Scouts, once more looking like self-controlled boys instead of cavorting wild Indians, settled down to a walk. This was the opportunity for which Mr. Durland had been waiting to discuss plans for the season’s camp. The call to camp had been sent out so late that most of the Scouts knew little beside the location and duration of the camp; and now Scout-Master Durland proceeded to enlighten them. Late in the autumn of the previous year Mr. Scott, a very wealthy gentleman, had purchased a large section of land in the Adirondacks—many, many acres of ground, nearly a whole county, in fact. As it was late in the season, he had been forced to postpone the inspection and surveying of the tract until the next year, but in order to be ready early in the summer, he had had a stout log house erected, to serve as a shelter for whomever should be sent out for the survey, and after that as a temporary hunting lodge until a larger and more elaborate one should be built. Mr. Scott and the Scout-Master were warm friends, and knowing the proposed plans for the new lands, Mr. Durland had suggested making the work the object of the Boy Scouts’ summer camp. Mr. Scott, a firm believer and warm advocate of the Boy Scout movement, had readily consented. Because there was more or less danger in this region of encountering a bear, or even a wildcat, and as a rattlesnake was not altogether an impossibility, it was thought advisable to use the lodge as sleeping quarters instead of the usual tents or lean-tos. A large shack would have to be built for a mess tent, and a place to store provisions. This tract of newly purchased land was in a section uninhabited for a distance of many miles around, as far as had been ascertained. The county town was twelve miles away—not too far for an occasional trip for provisions, but as the mountain roads were steep and rough, making the going very difficult, an unusual amount and variety of provisions had been sent with the Troop. One or possibly two trips during the season would be all that would be necessary to keep the camp well stocked. So much for the camp-building and welfare. Now for an explanation of the work laid out for the Scouts by Mr. Scott. They were to be pathfinders in this hitherto almost totally unexplored region. They were to locate springs, brooks, streams, lakes, perhaps rivers; note the kinds of fish to be found in these waters and in what numbers; make lists of the different trees, birds and animals to be found upon it, and to group and classify them. They were to ascertain the nature of the soil in different sections, explore by-paths, and outline the best and safest and shortest routes to the section where any desired water or soil or bird or animal was to be found. Beside all this, they were to become so familiar with the country for five miles around the camp as to be able to guide any person at any time, day or night. [Pg 3] [4] [5] [6] A great work, surely, and one which, if well and satisfactorily handled, might well cause any boy’s heart to leap with pride. The Scouts, sober enough now, had listened with absorbed interest to all that Mr. Durland had said. At the mention of bears and bobcats, every boy had felt his heart thrill. Was there a possibility of a real encounter with one of these animals which, when seen even in the zoo, had been terrifyingly fierce? Mr. Durland had said that the possibility was so small that it was hardly worth considering, but that there was even the faintest chance was enough to make your heart beat faster. However, when he spoke so earnestly of the great work outlined for them, and showed the eager Scouts what splendid opportunities for mental growth it would open to them, and what a part this knowledge they were sure to gain would play in their future success in life, each Scout determined to do his very best and to make the most of every opportunity. So, at last, just at high noon, they came to the place where they were to pitch their new camp, and again the excitement broke out. Catching sight of the log house or lodge, with one accord they made for it, and in a great deal less time than it takes to tell it, every nook and corner of that house was explored. They saw with satisfaction that the building was very strong, and that the many windows, beside being set with very thick glass, were provided with perforated shutters of inch-thick solid oak wood, closing from the inside. Ben Hoover expressed the general sentiment when he said, “Those shutters certainly look good to me!” Mr. Durland’s voice reminded them that if everything was to be made shipshape in the new camp before nightfall, there was no time now to play, and from that moment the camp was a busy scene. The two Scouts who were detailed as cooks were soon busy making a small fireplace on which to cook their dinner. Placing three stones together, they laid between them some whittled shavings for kindlings, applied a match and, as the fire commenced to burn, they placed over it some twigs and dry wood, quantities of which lay scattered about, and soon had a fine fire over which to place their frying-pan. In the meantime the hamper was opened and when, in shorter time than you could have thought possible, the call to dinner was sounded, everyone came running. No one needed a second call, and the way that bacon and crisp fried potatoes and cornbread disappeared was a marvel. Dinner over, one small squad was detailed to unpack, while all the rest were pressed into service to build the mess shack. This was finished by five o’clock, and then each Scout gathered branches of the fragrant balsam and hemlock for his bed. Over these he spread his rubber blanket, and over that his sleeping blanket, and he had a bed soft and springy and comfortable enough for a king. Everything being in first-class order at last, and ready for the night, a tired, hungry lot of boys gathered around the supper table. As they ate they talked of their impressions of the new camp site, eagerly discussed the probable adventures they would have, and then someone asked Scout-Master Durland what kind of animals they would be likely to find here. Mr. Durland smiled and said he would rather they would find that out for themselves. “Well,” said Jack Danby, “from what I have read, I am dead sure there is one little animal who lives up here whose acquaintance I shall be very glad to make.” “What is that?” eagerly asked Bob Hart. “The otter,” replied Jack. “Oh,” said Bob, disappointedly, “there’s nothing so very interesting about an otter!” “Perhaps,” said Jack, smiling, “after you have had a chance to see him in his home and at work, you will change your mind. I know you will, for he is one of the most interesting of animals. In certain parts of England, especially near rivers, there used to be a great many otters, and some of the fishermen trained them to catch fish for them.” “Say, Jack, you really don’t believe that, do you?” said incredulous Bob. “I have to believe it if it is true,” said Jack. “How can they be trained to do that?” asked Tom Binns. “Well,” explained Jack, “it is something like this. A string was tied about the otter’s neck in a sort of slip-knot that could be lightened when the trainer wished. Then the trainer would say, ‘Come here!’ and pull on the string, so that the otter would be drawn toward him. “This was done several times, until the otter connected the action with the words, and then the string was dropped and he came obediently without it at the words of command. “Next a small, artificial fish was made and placed on the ground before the otter, the string pulled until he opened his mouth, when the fish was placed in it, while at the same moment the words, ‘Take it!’ were uttered. It would be a long time before he would learn to do this, but when he did, the string was again used while he had the fish in his mouth and the command, ‘Drop it!’ was given. [7] [8] [9] [10] “At last he learned to obey these two commands without the use of the string. Then he was taken to the edge of the water and a small, dead fish thrown in and the command given him to take it. He at once seized it, and at the word, ‘Drop it!’ yielded it to his master. “Next live fishes were thrown in, and when he had brought them, the heads were given to him as his reward, and the little fisherman was always ready for his work. In fact, one entire family was supplied with food for a long time in this way.” The result of this story was to make all the Scouts wish that they might have a chance to make Mr. Otter’s acquaintance. As everybody was very tired, it was decided to make no camp-fire that night, so after the roll-call all were glad to throw themselves upon their beds of fragrant balsam. They found them deliciously comfortable, and many a tired New York millionaire, tossing sleeplessly on his luxurious couch, might have envied these sturdy Scouts as they sank at once into the sleep that is the reward of a healthy body, a clear conscience, and muscles tired with honest effort. Once in the night Mr. Durland was aroused by a sleep-bound voice asking, “Are those shutters closed? There might be a bear!” But no bear more formidable than Ursa Major peeped through the holes of the shutters, and sweet, restful sleep held the tired Scouts in her embrace. [11] C H A P T E R I I T HE LOGGI NG CAM P The Scouts arose early the next day, in order to be able to march during the cool morning hours, and so escape the torrid middle part of the day, which is especially hot during the short northern summer. But although hot after the sun is up, the nights seem all the colder by contrast. Fortunately, the Scout-Master had foreseen this and had provided for it by insisting that each Scout carry a warm woolen blanket. To many of the boys this had seemed a waste of energy at the time. Who on earth could want a blanket at that time of the year, they argued. The first night in camp, however, proved the wisdom of Mr. Durland’s course, and they were glad enough to wrap their blankets around and around them and lie close to each other for the sake of warmth. Ben Hoover expressed the general feeling when he said, “We must all be crazy with the heat, I think. By this time we ought to realize that Mr. Durland knows what he is talking about.” It had been arranged that today they would make a visit to a logging camp which lay about five miles in a westerly direction from their camp. All the Scouts were eager to see the lumber camp, and so stepped off smartly at the word of command from Scout- Master Durland. If left to themselves, most boys would probably have run the first part of the way, but these Scouts knew that five miles through the woods on such a day as this promised to be was not any laughing matter, so they went along slowly. This did not suit Don, but he submitted with good grace, like the Scout and gentleman he was. He usually traveled about three miles to every one that the boys made, anyway, darting off on his own doggish errands and returning with a wise look on his face. Whatever anyone else thought, he evidently considered his expeditions of the utmost importance. Today, however, he restrained his exuberant feelings, and walked along sedately with the rest of his Troop, his magnificent brush waving slowly from side to side. Even when a squirrel darted across the path, he curbed his ardent desire to chase it, and Jack petted him lovingly on the head. “You’re just as good a Scout as any of us, aren’t you, old boy?” he asked. “Even if you haven’t taken the Scout oath, I know well enough that you would if you could. When it comes right down to having good principles, I guess you are as good as any of us!” “Perhaps you’re right,” said Mr. Durland, who had overheard the last part of his remark. “If every man had as good and upright instincts as that dog, the world would be a better place than it is now.” Jack saluted, and said respectfully, “Yes, sir, I guess it would.” It seemed no time after that until they were surprised to come suddenly upon an opening in the woods, and Mr. Durland said, smiling, “Well, Scouts, we have arrived! While you are here, I want you to keep your eyes and ears open, and learn all you can about logging. Everything you see will be interesting, so I have no doubt you will have a good time. Remember, we are to make a report on what we see, so we want to be on the job. Now, forward, march!” The Scouts defiled out into the open, and started down the rough path toward the camp. This was situated at the bottom of a hollow, where it was sheltered somewhat from the wintry blasts. As the Scouts approached, they saw that it was composed of two rough log buildings, one considerably larger than the other. The larger structure was the bunk house, where the lumberjacks ate and slept, and the smaller one was the cook house, or kitchen. As the boys came nearer, they could see the cook’s helper, or cookee, as he was called, standing outside the door, washing an immense pile of dishes. He was engaged in a hot argument with the cook, who was a peppery little French Canadian. “What you tink, by gar?” the latter was shouting as they got within hearing distance. “You tink I am goin’ to cook for dees here bunch of hungry pigs, an’ den help you wash dishes, also? Mon Dieu! What you take me for—what you call zee easy mark?” “There, there, Frenchy, keep your hair on!” replied the cookee, a red-headed lad about the same age as the Scouts, and then added, with an exasperating grin, “If I couldn’t cook anything better than the sour dough biscuits and the sinkers you turn out, I’d be ashamed to take the boss’s good money! Why don’t you get a job in New York driving an ash cart? You’d look nifty in one of them white uniforms, and then you wouldn’t have a chance to kill off any more poor lumbermen with your bum grub! That’s what I’d do if I was you!” This seemed to drive the excitable Frenchman nearly frantic. “Pig! Dog! Vile one!” he screamed. “Is it zat you would mock me, child of ze gutter?” The grinning boy appeared to take pleasure in teasing the peppery cook, and finally the latter seemed to go quite mad with rage. He grasped a huge wooden spoon from a table beside the door, and made a clumsy rush at his assistant. The nimble boy easily eluded him, however, but once or twice let the cook get so near him that the little man felt encouraged to keep up the chase in the hope of finally catching him. At last his breath gave out, and he came to a [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] standstill and shook his fist wildly in futile rage. “That’s right, Frenchy, fan the air all you please,” shouted the evidently delighted youngster. “It does you good, and doesn’t hurt me, so we’re both happy.” “Wait, wait, zat is all!” gurgled the cook, his face purple. “Soon ze boss, he will come back, and zen you will see, little devil! He will—what you call it? Make ze punching bag of you! Who will be happy zen? I will laugh at you, so, ha- ha!” “Go ahead, laugh, old boy, it will ease your mind!” said the boy, whom the cook had so aptly described. “It may save you from having apoplexy and croaking. Fat old guys like you often go off just like that!” and he grinned and snapped his fingers. The outraged cook could think of nothing to say to this crowning insult, and retired into his shack, muttering a string of variegated profanity. After a short interval the boy returned to his dish-washing, but kept a wary eye on the door, prepared to cut and run at the first sign of danger. The Boy Scouts had been interested spectators of this scene, and now Mr. Durland stepped up to the boy who had been the cause of all the trouble, and said, “Can you tell me, my lad, where I can find the foreman, if he is in camp?” “The boss is away just now,” replied the boy, civilly enough. “Wot’s yer business with him? Shall I tell him you were here?” “That depends on when he will be back,” replied Mr. Durland. “Do you think he will be here soon? If so, we will wait for him.” “I guess he will, if you want to see him bad enough to wait,” answered the boy. He seemed willing enough to oblige, and Mr. Durland felt sure that he was not a really bad boy, although it is safe to say that the cook would not have agreed with him. “Who’s them guys with you?” asked the boy, but with a note of respect in his voice that was seldom heard there. “That is a Troop of three Patrols of Boy Scouts,” explained Mr. Durland. “Boy Scouts?” echoed the boy. “I knew a feller once who was a Boy Scout, and he said it was nifty to be one. He said I could be one, too, if I wanted to, and I did, but I thought he was just kidding me. How is a guy like me, what can’t even talk straight, goin’ to be a Boy Scout?” “There’s no reason on earth why you shouldn’t be one, if you really desire it,” said Mr. Durland, kindly. “You can soon learn to ‘talk straight,’ as you call it, and once you have taken the Scout oath, everything else will come of itself.” The Scout-Master then went on to explain just what being a Boy Scout meant, and the boy listened attentively. When he spoke about the Scout oath, the boy inquired: “Just what is the oath, mister?” “It is the oath that every boy desiring to become a Scout must take, and once having done so, he must stick to it through thick and thin,” explained Mr. Durland. “Well, I know now that I will want to join, but could I have a little time to think it over?” inquired Harry, for so his name proved to be. “Why, surely!” replied Mr. Durland, cordially. “We wouldn’t hurry you in your decision for a moment. We will be in the camp off and on quite a while, and you can let me know of your decision at any time that suits you best. Just take your time, my boy, and think it over.” “I will, sir,” replied Harry, gratefully, and turned again to his seemingly endless task. The Scout-Master rejoined the boys, and they all started on an inspection of the camp. As they walked, Mr. Durland told Jack and Dick Crawford about what the red-haired boy had said, and they were as pleased as he over the prospect of gaining a new Scout, when in this part of the country nothing had been further from their thoughts. The clearing in which the logging camp was situated covered several acres, and was hemmed in closely by giant trees. Some of these had already been nicked by the woodcutter’s axe, which marked them as the next victims to the demands of advancing civilization. Not far from the camp ran a river, or at least what was a river at certain seasons of the year, though now it was little more than a large brook. The boys could hear it murmuring through the trees, and suddenly Tom Binns said: “Say, fellows, I wonder if there’s any place around here that we could take a swim? It’s getting pretty hot, and I for one feel as if a good swim would do me all sorts of good.” There was a general shout of approval, and the Scout-Master said, “Why don’t you see if you can discover a pool of some kind?” This was no sooner said than done, and the boys, accompanied by Don, were plunging pell-mell through the underbrush in the direction of the river. Soon they emerged on the bank of the stream, and after their hot run the thought of a plunge in the cool, shady river was pleasant indeed. Running along the bank, they discovered a place where a fallen forest giant had formed a natural dam, and the water [17] [18] [19] was several feet deep. It was not two minutes before every Scout was in the pool, and oh, how grateful the cool, clear water felt! They splashed around, and in one place the better swimmers found it deep enough for diving. “Say, isn’t this a bully place?” shouted Jack. “Bet your sweet life it is!” shouted one. “I just guess yes!” agreed another. Mr. Durland remained on the bank with Don beside him. He could see that the dog wanted to jump in with the boys, but felt that he ought not to leave the Scout-Master alone. So Mr. Durland picked up a dry stick and, showing it to Don, said, “Here, boy, fetch it back!” and threw it into the stream. In three bounds Don had reached the brink of the pool and dashed in, covering the boys with spray. In less time than it takes to tell, he had grasped the stick in his strong, white teeth, and clambered up the bank. Pausing only long enough to give himself a shake, which sent a miniature shower into the air, he ran proudly up to the Scout-Master and dropped the stick at his feet. Mr. Durland patted his wet head approvingly, and this performance was repeated several times, much to the delight of both boys and dog. When it came to swimming, Don could beat any of them, and the water seemed almost to be his natural element. But time was passing, and at last the boys had to climb out reluctantly and dress. “Gee,” said Bob Hart, “we’ll have to try to get down here as often as we can,” and this sentiment was heartily echoed by the others. They now proceeded to the camp, and when they reached there found that the foreman, Mr. Flannigan, had arrived a few minutes before. Mr. Durland introduced himself, and handed the foreman a letter from Mr. Scott. With many grimaces and mutterings Mr. Flannigan finally deciphered the letter and, looking up, remarked: “Shure, an’ Mr. Scott says as how yer all right, an’ by the same token, whativer Mr. Scott says goes around here, him bein’ the boss. What kin I be doin’ fur ye, sir?” “Why, nothing very much,” answered Mr. Durland with a smile. “We are commissioned by Mr. Scott, as he no doubt tells you in his letter, to get the lay of the land around here and make a report to him. While we were about it, I thought it would be a good chance to give my Troop some idea of what a logging camp is like.” “Shure, an’ it’s glad I’ll be to do what I kin fur yez,” said Flannigan, scratching his head. “But, bedad, it’s a poor time o’ the year to see a loggin’ camp. Most of the brave b’ys is in town or scattered around further north. At this time o’ the year ’tis little we do besides nickin’ the trees for the fall cut. Howiver, if I’m not mistaken, here come the b’ys now fur supper, an’ if ye don’t mind rough table manners, we’ll soon have a bite to eat. Here, cook!” as that individual bustled past, “set up an extra table in the bunk house for the b’ys here. More’s the pity, it’s not much we’ve got to offer ye, but such as it is, there’s never any lack, and I guess ye kin make out.” By this time the lumbermen had arrived at the house, and the boys thought they had never seen a stronger or more healthy set of men. The sun had tanned their bearded faces to a deep brown hue, and as they dropped their heavy axes into a corner, it was easy to see that each one was as strong as two ordinary men. They all muttered a “How d’ye do” to Mr. Durland, and took their seats around the rough table in silence. Obedient to instructions, the cook had stretched a wide plank between two barrels, and this served Mr. Durland and his Troop as a table. The boys were not in a mood to be critical, and so long as they got something to eat, did not care much what kind of a table it was served on. Harry, the red-headed cookee, now entered, bearing a huge platter of steaming beans. This was followed by other dishes of biscuits, doughnuts and great cups of black coffee. The lumbermen fell to with a rush, and it was wonderful to see the way in which the eatables vanished. They ate like famished wolves, and the Scouts, hungry as they were, almost forgot to eat, and could only stare at the spectacle and wonder how the men ever did it. However, you may be sure that their own hunger soon asserted itself, and, as Ben Hoover expressed it, they began to “feed their faces.” The food was very good in its way, and the boys made a hearty meal. The lumberjacks, however, were through almost before the Scouts had begun, and had gone outside, there to smoke their pipes and swap yarns of perils by wood and water. Soon the boys followed them, and ranged themselves on the grass, listening to the whoppers that the inventive men told. It must be admitted that most of the yarns had some foundation of truth, but on this had been reared an elaborate structure of events that had happened only in the imagination of the man telling the story. After a while they started singing a rough lumberman’s song, and some of the boys joined in the chorus. Tom’s clear, piercing voice rang out above the thunderous bass of the men like foam on the crest of the wave, and when they had finished, the men gazed at him admiringly. “That there kid,” said one great, bearded fellow, who at one time had been a cowboy on the western plains, “is sure [20] [21] [22] [23] goin’ to be some shakes as a singer when he grows up. I bet he’ll be in opry some o’ these days. I knew a feller on the Panhandle as could sing like that oncet, but he would borrow hosses as didn’t belong to him, and so we all strung him up one fine mornin’. It sure seemed a shame to strangle that voice of his’n, but it had to be did.” He gazed meditatively out over the tops of the trees, and a big fellow called Pete said: “Say, boy, why don’t you bane give us a song?” Tom was about to refuse, when Mr. Durland said, “Go ahead, Tom. Sing My Old Kentucky Home, won’t you?” Thus encouraged, Tom drew a deep breath and started the Southern song. In the hush of the great north woods, his wonderful voice floated out in liquid melody, and the men sat entranced. Visions of childhood days, when they had sat at some distant fireside, came up before them, and more than one hardened “scrapper” felt a lump rise in his throat and his eyes grow moist. As the song was finished there was a short silence, and then someone said in a husky voice: “Say, kid, that was great! I’ll bet your father is proud of you. I would be, if I was your dad! Sing some more, will yuh?” Tom sang song after song, until it was almost dark, and the Scouts were forced to leave. All the men followed the boys to the edge of the clearing, and here they parted. “Youse b’ys has given us an iligant evenin’, bedad, and it’s us that thanks ye, although we can’t do it in none of them flowin’ speeches like the poetry fellers does. All we kin say is as how we hope ye’ll come early and often, and stay late.” There was a hearty chorus of, “We sure will!” and “Much obliged, Mr. Flannigan!” from the boys, and as Mr. Durland shook hands with the boss of the camp, he said: “We certainly have been royally entertained, Mr. Flannigan, and want to thank you for it.” “Shure, an’ it’s yourselves that has done the entertainin’,” responded the foreman, with a comical grin. “Well, good-night, everybody!” shouted the Scouts in chorus, and were answered by a good-natured mumble from the deep-chested woodmen. “Forward, march!” called Scout-Master Durland, and the Boy Scouts started on their return journey. [24] [25] C H A P T E R I I I T HE OLD SNAKE HUNT ER The boys—Jack, Tom and Bob—set off one morning at the Scout-Master’s direction for the bluestone quarries situated about a mile from the lodge. Don rushed joyfully ahead, barking at squirrels, who looked at him tantalizingly from safe retreats in the trees, chasing rabbits into their burrows, and making himself altogether disagreeable to the astonished inhabitants of the forest. The way to the quarries was not an easy one. The boys had to climb over great rocks, descend the steep sides of mountains, slipping and sliding most of the way; they had to make a path through stout vines that reached from tree to tree and seemed determined not to let them pass. Still they went steadily forward, for what Scout would ever think of complaining or, worse yet, of turning back with a task half done? Finally they saw before them through the trees a small hut before which an old man of strange appearance was standing. He wore an old brown hunting suit, so old and threadbare, in fact, that the boys wondered how it ever managed to hold together; his leather leggings were strapped securely just below the knee. In his hand he held an implement that looked like a pitchfork, but which had only two prongs, and in his mouth was a huge pipe that sent up a cloud of smoke at every puff. And although his face was all criss-crossed with wrinkles, the few people who knew him forgot all about that when they caught the kindly gleam of his dark eyes, which were just as keen and bright at sixty as they had been at twenty. Don trotted up and down and regarded the old man, with one paw raised and his head cocked inquiringly on one side, confident of welcome. “Waal, I’ll be durned!” said the old fellow scratching his head in perplexity. “If that dog ain’t the image of my Rover what got drowned down in the river yonder a year ago come Monday! Seems like he might almost be Rover’s sperret; that is, ef I was to believe in sech things. Come here, doggie, an’ ’splain yerself! One minnit ye ain’t there an’ next minnit ye air! Whar be ye from?” and he laid his hand gently on the big dog’s head. Just then the boys came into the cleared space in front of the cabin and saluted the old man courteously. “Waal, you be pow’ful fine youngsters,” he said, fairly beaming with delight at the unexpected visit. “Be this your doggie?” “You bet your life he is!” Bob asserted, proudly. “Jack here is his real owner, but we all have a part interest in him. We come from the Boy Scouts’ camp about a mile back,” he went on to explain, “and we’re bound for the bluestone quarries.” “Waal, I’ll be durned!” again said the old man, knocking the ashes out of his pipe. “Seems to me I heerd somethin’ ’bout a boys’ camp t’other day when I was down in town. Layin’ out that new ’state or whatever you call it, beant you?” “Yes, we’re locating lakes and brooks and different kinds of trees, and we’re getting great fun out of it, too,” Jack replied; then added, “I’m afraid we’ll have to get along, fellows. We’ve got quite a way to go yet.” “What’s your hurry, boys? ’Tain’t so often Old Sam has company drop in to see him that he’s glad to see ’em go. Why can’t ye stay and hev a bite o’ somethin’ to eat with me? I am bound for the quarries myself to get the ile from any o’ them pesky snakes what are fools enough to let me ketch ’em. I kin show you a durn sight better road there than any you know of.” The boys, who had brought some lunch with them, were only too glad to accept Old Sam’s kind invitation. Don, who had felt a lively regard for the old man from the first minute he looked at him, trotted contentedly into the cabin with the rest. The old man was so happy to have someone to talk to that he kept up a continual chatter as he put the frying-pan on the stove and sliced some bacon. “You see,” he was saying, “it was like this, boys. We had had a turrible late spring same’s we’ve had this year an’ the river was pow’ful swollen an’ angry like, along o’ the snow meltin’ an’ comin’ down from the mountains. Waal, my Rover an’ me, we wuz walkin’ along when all o’ a sudden we heerd a child screamin’. Sez I to Rover, sez I, ‘It’s ’bout time, my boy, that we wuz findin’ out the meanin’ o’ that there scream.’ “Rover seemed like he wuz o’ the same opinion, cuz before I had time to git the words out o’ my mouth, away he went like a streak. When I got to the river, I see my Rover gather hisself together and spring into the river, makin’ straight fer a little patch o’ white that I took fer a child’s dress. It didn’t take long fer me to git my coat off and foller him, let me tell ye!” The boys, deeply interested, waited impatiently while Old Sam turned a slice of bacon, and then continued, reminiscently: “Waal, by the time I had fit my way as fur as from this stove to the door, I see Rover comin’ back with a little piece o’ white in his mouth. He swum much slower and feebler than he done at fust, and I could see that the strain was tellin’ on him turr’ble. I swum as fast as I could to meet him. Purty soon up he come, stickin’ on to that piece o’ white like he [26] [27] [28] [29] [30] would sooner give up his own life than let go, but when he looked up at me so pitiful like I—I——” Here the old man choked and drew his hand hastily over his eyes, stealing a glance at the boys to see if they had noticed his weakness, but finding them all looking in the other direction, then, putting the bacon on the table, he went on: “Waal, I put out my hand to take hold o’ the little child, an’ Rover, he let go jest too soon and the little one went under. I dove down, and soon felt the dress in my hand. When I got to the top, I jest nat’ally looked to see whar my Rover wuz, but I couldn’t see him nowhere. It hurt me turr’ble to go in without findin’ him, but I knowed my strength wouldn’t hold out much longer, so I had to use it while there wuz any left. Waal, I never could remember how I swum the rest o’ the way to shore, but I got thar some way, an’ found a crowd o’ people thar, glad enough to take the child after I had saved it. They told me how brave I wuz, too, but I turned on ’em, kind of fierce like, an’ said: “‘It wuzn’t me as done it! It was my Rover, and he’s dead now. Dead, d’ye hear that?’ an’ then I jest walked away with my heart gone clean out o’ me. Ye see, my Rover wasn’t a water dog. He jest nat’ally hated the water, but the big, brave heart o’ him——” Here the old man’s voice grew husky, while Don, wistfully watchful, nestled close to him, looking up into his face with a great longing to comfort expressed in his beautiful eyes. “Aye, lad,” and the voice was still unsteady, “aye, lad, ye have the look o’ my Rover!” More than one of the boys dashed his hand across his eyes as he looked at the lonely old man with his arms around their Don’s neck. In a moment Old Sam had pulled himself together, and called to the boys to “fall to,” upon which the boys brought forth their baskets and promptly carried out Old Sam’s suggestion. They avoided further mention of Rover, but their thoughts were often drawn back to the tragedy and in their hearts was a very tender spot for Rover’s master. After dinner they all set out for the quarries. Sam, as he insisted upon the boys calling him, was as good as his word, showing them a much shorter road than the one they had intended to follow. In a short time they reached the quarry, and found they were in time to see some of the blasting done. “Ye see,” Old Sam said, “owin’ to the late spring, all the snakes hasn’t left their snug bedding places in the rocks, but when the men comes around with their blastin’ the durned reptiles thinks it’s ’bout time fer them to be movin’. Ye wouldn’t believe it,” he went on, “but some o’ them critters curls up in a great big bunch durin’ the winter so’s they kin keep warm, and when they gits their walkin’ papers, it’s as easy as rollin’ off a log to ketch ’em, they take so long to get untangled.” “But how do you catch them?” Jack had asked eagerly. “Isn’t there great danger of your being bitten?” “Not much; ye have to be pow’ful keerful, that’s all. Ye see, I gets behind one o’ them snakes and sticks the two ends o’ this here pole in the ground, one on one side o’ his neck jest below the head, an’ the other on t’other side. Then I stoops over and picks him up by the neck, and drops him head first into this here leather bag. Then when I gets him home, I kills him and gets the ile.” This interested the boys intensely, and they could not wait to see it done. They stood awhile watching the blasting when they had reached the quarry, and then Old Sam suddenly cried out: “See that? Look over there by them rocks! No, this way! That’s right! Now d’ye see that reptile? Come along, and I’ll show you how I kin ketch ’em.” Excitedly the boys followed Sam across the rocks until he said, “Stay there! Don’t come a step further. Now jest watch yer Uncle Sam!” So saying, Old Sam was off down the rocks, climbing as nimbly as a boy. With breathless interest the boys watched as he drew near a snake that lay basking in the sun. Without an instant’s hesitation, he slipped up behind it, plunged his pronged stick hard on the ground on either side of its neck and, stooping over, picked it up quickly just behind the head and threw it bodily into his bag. Then, closing the bag tight, he clambered up once more beside the admiring group of Scouts. “You sure are a wonder!” said Tom, and the praise came from the bottom of his heart. “I don’t think I’d have the nerve to try that,” said Tom Binns, who always had had a fear of snakes. “Waal, ’twan’t much to do,” Old Sam protested, pleased beyond measure, nevertheless, by the boys’ hearty and open admiration. After they had examined the quarries thoroughly, the party started out once more. When they reached Sam’s cabin, he urged them to come and see him often, to which the boys agreed eagerly, and exacted a promise from him in return that he would come and spend a day with them in camp soon. So, with a last gentle pat on Don’s head, Old Sam watched the boys out of sight among the trees, and then turned with a happy sigh to enter his cabin. “Them boys sure are fine lads, an’ the dog—waal, he did have the looks o’ my Rover!” The boys went happily along, talking about the interesting events of the day, full of wonder at Old Sam’s courage and skill. That evening around the camp-fire, they told an interested group of boys about the old snake hunter. Tom Binns, who had been especially interested in the story of Rover’s death, turned to Don where he lay in his usual place beside Jack, and whispered softly: “Don’t you go and get drowned like poor old Rover, boy, ’cause if you do, we sure would [31] [32] [33] [34] have to break camp! We can’t get along without our mascot, old fellow!” C H A P T E R I V T HE F I GHT As is usually the case with men who live close to nature, the lumberjacks in Mr. Scott’s logging camp possessed many rough virtues, and, it must be confessed, some equally strong vices. Among these might be numbered an inordinate love of fighting. And fighting among these elemental natures was not the honorable stand-up-and-fight-and-don’t-hit-a-man-when-he’s-down style of combat that our Scouts were used to considering it. On the contrary, the one thing that the lumberman desired was to put his opponent out of the running, either by fair means or foul. And, indeed, the tactics employed were considered all right by their comrades, so in a way it could not be said that they fought by underhand methods. They knew what they had to expect, and so it was “up to them” not to be taken unawares. “Everything went,” no matter what it was. A man might kick, bite, or gouge his adversary, and if he tripped, might even jump on the fallen man, without being criticized by his companions. Just to win, in any way, was their one great aim and object. But if they had been allowed to follow their tendencies unchecked there would have been little work done around the camp, as a large part of the working force would have been disabled a good part of the time. To prevent this, the foreman, Flannigan, had issued strict orders against fighting of any kind. “The first one of yez that Oi catch at it, Oi’ll lick meself, begorra, and fire him afterward,” had been his ultimatum and the men, knowing him for a famous “scrapper” and a man of his word, had kept the peace up to today. But there had always been a smouldering animosity between two of the men and this morning it threatened to burst forth into a “real knock-down rumpus,” as the lumbermen described it. The two lumberjacks in question were named respectively Larry O’Brien and Jacques Lavine. As may be inferred from the names, the former was a strapping red-headed Irishman, with a big bull neck and small, twinkling, blue eyes. The Canadian, on the other hand, at first glance seemed to be much the physical inferior of the two. He was a lighter man and more slenderly built, but from constant outdoor work his muscles had become like steel wires. So that if the men should at any time come to blows, as now seemed very probable, they would be a pretty evenly matched pair. It was unusually hot weather, and that may have had something to do with the ill-temper in which the men found themselves. For another thing, work had been slack recently, and that is always bad for men who are not used to it. Indeed, the same thing may be said in regard to all of us. The man who does not have to work reasonably hard is to be pitied. To cap the climax, the foreman was away on a trip to the distant town for supplies, and this fact further relaxed the reins of discipline. If either of the two men had been called on to give a reason for their hatred toward each other, the chances are that they would have been hard put to it to give an adequate reply. Their feud had started in some little slighting allusion to the other’s nationality, and small things had led to larger, until now they both felt that they must settle the question of supremacy once for all. As is commonly the case with those who are of such an irritable and trouble-seeking nature, they were really the two most worthless men in the camp. They both drank heavily whenever they got the chance, and were continually shirking their work and picking quarrels. It is safe to say that if they had put half as much energy and time into their work as they did into grumbling and quarreling, they would have been valuable men. Both were strong and skillful in the handling of axes, and could bring a forest giant to the ground as soon or sooner than anyone else in the camp. It is too bad that in this world of ours there is so much misdirected energy, which if deflected into the proper channels would do so much valuable work. As has been said, on this particular morning the men all felt out of sorts, and, to make things worse, the cook had burned the biscuits. “It’s always the way,” grumbled O’Brien, who was usually called “Red,” both because of the color of his hair, and also on account of his red-hot temper, “them French cooks never is no good, nohow! I for one never heard of a—— frog-eater who ever was any good, anyhow,” he continued, casting a meaning glance in Lavine’s direction. Lavine rose slowly from his seat, an ominous scowl on his dark face. “You mean to say, den, Irishman, zat you tink no Frenchman be any good? Is zat what you say?” “Ye guessed right foist time, Frenchy,” replied O’Brien, recklessly. “Now, what ye gonna do about it, hey?” “Dog!” hissed the Frenchman, his eyes flashing and his dark face livid with rage. “I will show you who ees your master!” and he leaped across the rough table and struck O’Brien a tremendous blow on the jaw. [35] [36] [37] [38]