The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Boy Scouts on the Trail, by Herbert Carter This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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/license Title: The Boy Scouts on the Trail or, Scouting through the Big Game Country Author: Herbert Carter Release Date: February 27, 2014 [EBook #45028] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BOY SCOUTS ON THE TRAIL *** Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net The Boy Scouts on the Trail, by Herbert Carter The Boy Scouts On the Trail OR Scouting through the Big Game Country By HERBERT CARTER Author of “The Boy Scouts’ First Camp Fire,” “The Boy Scouts in the Blue Ridge,” “The Boy Scouts on the Trail,” “The Boy Scouts in the Maine Woods,” “The Boy Scouts In the Rockies” A. L. BURT COMPANY; NEW YORK Copyright, 1913 By A. L. Burt Company CHAPTER I. What Took the Scouts up into Maine. II. The Troubles of Bumpus. III. A Strange Discovery. IV. The Ignorance of Step Hen. V. The Tell-tale Tracks. VI. A Sheriff’s Posse. VII. The Birch Bark Challenge. VIII. Out for Big Game. IX. “GOOD Shot! Great Little Gun!” X. The Old Trapper’s Cabin. XI. On the Wings of the Night Wind. XII. A Face in the Window. XIII. The Marked Shoe Again. XIV. Figuring It Out. XV. The Luck That Came to Bumpus. XVI. A Little Knowledge, Well Earned. XVII. The Coming of the Hairy Honey Thief. XVIII. A Mighty Nimrod. XIX. The “Whine” of a Bullet. XX. A Wonderful Find. XXI. The Dummy Packet. XXII. The Night Alarm. XXIII. A Flank Movement. XXIV. What Woodcraft Does. XXV. Surprising Charlie. XXVI. The Sheriff Gets His Shock, Too. XXVII. Down the River—Conclusion. [3] “Did you get him, Thad?” shouted the boys. “Come over here, all of you!” said Thad. Page 83 —The Boy Scouts on the Trail. CONTENTS PAGE 3 11 20 31 40 51 60 69 77 85 96 106 115 123 131 148 156 164 173 181 190 198 206 215 223 231 240 THE BOY SCOUTS ON THE TRAIL CHAPTER I. WHAT TOOK THE SCOUTS UP INTO MAINE. “There never was such great luck as this, fellows!” “You’re right there, Step Hen; and never will be again, that’s sure!” “Let’s see; first, there was that silly old epidemic breaking out in our town, and forcing the directors to put up the bars in the school till after the Christmas holidays; that was a great and glorious snap for the Silver Fox Patrol of the Cranford Troop of Boy Scouts, wasn’t it?” [4] [5] [6] “But that was only a beginning, Giraffe; there were better things still headed our way.” “Sure there were, Davy. As luck would have it, just at that same time Thad Brewster’s guardian found that it was mighty necessary he get word to a gentleman by the name of James W. Carson. He wired up to Maine, you remember, only to learn that Mr. Carson, who was a great hunter, had started into the big game country after moose, with a couple of guides, and wouldn’t be back until late in the winter.” “Everything just worked for us, seemed like,” remarked the boy called Davy. “Thad suggested that he be sent up to follow this party, and deliver the message, and his guardian fell in with the idea right away, didn’t he, Thad?” “I think he was only too willing, boys; because he knew we wanted to get up in Maine the worst kind; ever since our comrade, Allan Hollister here, began to tell us such splendid stories of the fun to be had in the pine woods of his home state. But go on, Step Hen, finish the story while you’re about it.” “Why, of course, when Thad, he found he could go, that gave him an idea; and sure enough, the whole of the patrol got the fever. Bob Quail had to give it up, because he had too much on hand to leave home just then; and Smithy had the hard luck to get a touch of the plague that had dropped in on Cranford for a visit; but didn’t the rest of us hit it up, though?” “I should say we did, as sure as my name’s Davy Jones!” “Well, the upshot of the whole matter was that one fine day six of us left Cranford, bound for Maine, with all our camp stuff along; and here we are at last, in the country of big game, canoes, guides, tents, and everything along we need for a month of good times, or more if we want it.” “But don’t forget, Step Hen, that the one main object of the trip is to find Mr. James W. Carson,” interrupted the boy named Thad; who seemed to be looked up to as the leader of the scout patrol, which office he really filled. “Sure,” replied Step Hen, who was stretched out comfortably by a blazing fire. “But we’ve got heaps of time for hunting besides, and trying out a lot of things we’ve been learning as scouts. It was fine for our rich chum, Bob Quail, to insist on handing in a big lump of coin to add to the funds contributed by our folks. That put us on easy street; and now, here we are, as happy as clams at high tide, just finished our grub, and pitying the fellows left behind.” “Poor Smithy; poor Bob!” exclaimed the one who had called himself Davy Jones. There were six of them in all, and it was easy to see from the various parts of the khaki uniforms that were in evidence, these lads belonged to a section of the Boy Scout organization. Cranford had made a start in getting a troop together, and the first patrol of eight had been formed for some time. Another patrol was promised by Spring, to be followed by others as the boys became attacked by the disease, and a desire to learn the numerous splendid things that Boy Scouts find out. Besides the acting scoutmaster, Thad Brewster, and his assistant, Allan Hollister, there were Step Hen Bingham; Conrad Stedman, who on account of his long neck went by the characteristic name of “Giraffe” among his fellows; Davy Jones; and last but far from [7] [8] least a short, puffy, rosy-faced boy who had once been christened Cornelius Jasper Hawtree; but few people ever knew it, because he was called Bumpus by young and old alike. It was a little after the nooning hour. The boys had evidently been paddling part of the morning, for there were three long canoes close by, with as many men, doubtless guides, doing something to change the luggage, so that it would allow of a more even keel during the voyage up-stream. These boys would have liked nothing better than to have come out here by themselves, relying upon their knowledge of woodcraft to carry them through; for several of their number were well versed in such things. Their parents, however, would not hear of such a thing; and the expedition must have been wrecked on the rocks before it really started, only that the boys promised to take several guides along. And besides, Allan had informed them that by the new laws up in Maine, hunters were bound to employ regular licensed guides when going into the woods, to render the risk of fires less probable; since some city men are so careless about leaving a camp-fire burning when breaking up; and in consequence whole districts have been burned over by the rising wind scattering the brands among the leaves and pine needles. But those three Maine guides were promised the easiest time of their lives; since there were so many willing recruits to do the cooking; and lend a hand at the paddling. One canoe carried, besides Thad and Step Hen, a dark-faced, quiet fellow, who was really a full blood Penobscot Indian, and of course named Sebattis, as nearly all of them seem to be. The second was given over to Allan and Davy Jones, with a young guide named Jim Hasty; who, by the way was, about as slow and deliberate as any one could be. And the third boat had for a crew a real Maine character, Eli Crookes, about as straight as a pine tree; Giraffe, and Bumpus. Of course the tents and various stores were divided up so that each canoe carried its share. Even so they seemed overloaded at times; but then Bumpus was accustomed to declaring that the danger of their foundering grew less day by day, judging by the amount of eatables that disappeared after each meal. The fall season had set in so far that it was getting pretty cold in the Northern Woods; and the boys had come prepared for such severe weather as might be expected. But they were a hearty lot, and capable of standing almost any amount of fatigue. Already had the outdoor life of scouts wrought a remarkable change in several who had been hitherto inclined to be either lazy, or indifferent to their muscular development. Bumpus Hawtree, fat little fellow that he was, could walk twice as far now as when he first joined the patrol; and besides, his general fund of knowledge had increased several hundred fold. Step Hen, once the most careless and indifferent of boys, was nowadays noticing the wonderful things that can be seen all around in Nature’s working; and thus he discovered that a fellow might have a fine time, even though left alone in the woods for a whole day! Giraffe, too, had picked up amazingly; he never seemed to take on any more flesh; but his arms and limbs were getting like iron; and [9] [10] [11] he too was beginning to take a decided interest in affairs relating to the trail, the camp, and life in the open generally. Then as to Davy Jones, who had once been known as the “Monkey,” because of his indulging in all manner of acrobatic stunts, hanging by his toes from a high limb of a tree; standing on his head; walking on his hands; and turning back somersaults without the slightest warning, just as though he belonged to a circus—even Davy was beginning to tone down somewhat, and his breaks were not quite so numerous. Of late however, strange to say, Bumpus had manifested an odd fascination for imitating some of the tricks to which the acrobatic Davy was addicted. He had begun to even fancy that he was actually becoming supple, and could copy Davy with ease. When these rivalries did not seem to be along a dangerous line Thad wisely kept quiet, knowing that Bumpus would speedily realize his inability to compare with the active one; and besides they often afforded a deal of amusement for the balance of the patrol. While the three guides were making sure that the last spark of their late camp-fire had been extinguished, by pouring water from the river upon the ashes, the boys were taking their places in the boats. Davy was feeling particularly frisky; and resting his hands, one upon either gunwale of the canoe, close to the bow, where he had his position for the afternoon, he threw himself up, with his heels in the air, cracking these together sharply. “How’s that, fellows?” he demanded. “Don’t you call that a pretty good poise? Why, I guess I could do it even if we were shooting the rapids. Hey, Bumpus, that’s one on you, all right,” and the heels cracked together suggestively. “Mebbe you think I ain’t got the nerve to try that cute little dodge,” remarked the fat boy, aggressively. “I’ve done a heap of things you thought I couldn’t. Now, you just wait and see your Dutch uncle show you a stunt worth two of that.” “Careful, Bumpus, the water’s deep right here!” called out Thad, whose back happened to be turned toward the other canoe just then, as he was changing some of the stuff, so as to give his legs more room when he took the paddle. “And likewise cold!” added Giraffe, who was grinning with anticipation of the fun that was coming. But Bumpus was in deadly earnest. He gripped the sides of his canoe, just as he had seen Davy do; and then, giving a flirt into the air, started to extend his dumpy lower limbs upward. But alas! Bumpus did not know how to stop going, once he got started. The consequence was, that instead of remaining at an exact perpendicular, his body kept on turning until he could no longer maintain his desperate grip on the narrow gunwales of the canvas canoe. And as a shout broke out from several of the scouts, poor Bumpus went over the bow into the water; where he made a splash that must have dreadfully alarmed every speckled trout that had not yet taken up its winter quarters. CHAPTER II. [12] [13] THE TROUBLES OF BUMPUS. With the splash the three guides looked up from their task at the fire, and then turned toward each other with grins. These boys were a lively lot, and kept things moving all the time; but already had the guides come to like them more than a little. But if one of the lads chose to go in swimming with his clothes on, of course it was none of their business. So they did not run to the rescue. “Wow! gimme a hand, somebody!” spluttered poor Bumpus, as his head came up, and he sent out a little Niagara of water that he had started to swallow in his excitement. Bumpus could swim, and there was not the least danger of his drowning; so none of the other boys manifested a frantic desire to help him. Indeed, Giraffe even showed himself heartless enough to give vent to a hearty laugh; while Davy Jones immediately called out: “Bumpus, you never said a truer word in your whole life; that was a stunt worth two of mine. When it comes to doing real things, with the splash to ’em, I’m a back number compared with you. Oh! you Bumpus!” Seeing that no one was going to do more than extend a paddle toward him, the indignant fat boy started to paddle ashore; where he crawled out of the water, looking like a half drowned rat, as Step Hen took occasion to tell him. But as the fire was out, and the air rather chilly, although in the middle of a glorious fall day, wise Thad knew that the boys stood a chance of getting cold unless he quickly changed his clothes. “Here, Giraffe, overhaul his clothes bag, and get out his extra duds,” the scoutmaster remarked, in a tone of authority, which the elongated boy understood permitted of no nonsense; so he condescended to act as valet for the unfortunate Bumpus, selecting the garments he was to wear, and offering some of his own in case the other did not have a complete assortment. As Giraffe was as tall and skinny as Bumpus was fat and rotund, it would have been an utter impossibility for the latter to have worn anything belonging to his fellow voyager, even had he needed assistance. Fortunately he had plenty for a complete change, and a sweater which Thad insisted he should draw on over the shirt, gave promise of preventing any serious result from the ducking. “Wasted just twenty minutes, all on account of Bumpus’s vaulting ambition,” remarked Step Hen, when they were finally ready to make a fresh start. “Vaulting ambition is good,” observed Davy Jones, with a wink at Allan, who sat near him in the second canoe. “Now, d’ye know, I’ve tried that stunt many a time, but I never yet was able to get one-half the fun out of it that Bumpus did the first shot. No use talking, he can see me, and go one better. I’ll have to take in my sign, and retire from business, boys.” “Anyway,” grunted the object of all this side talk, and there was a twinkle in his eye as he looked at Davy; “I made the biggest splash you ever heard; all of you have just got to admit that.” “You certainly did, Bumpus,” said Thad; “but I’d advise you to be a little more careful after this how you try to copy Davy Jones. To [14] [15] [16] tell the honest truth, though I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Bumpus, but, you see, you’re hardly built for doing most of the things he shows off in. If it was Giraffee here, instead, he might have a look-in.” “But Giraffe, he’s just a little too smart to get caught trying; he cut his eye teeth some time ago;” remarked that individual. “But I give you all warning that from now on I am going to try some of those different ways of making fires without using a single match. I’ve got a burning glass along; then there’s my fine flint and steel, like our forefathers owned in the good old pioneer days; and last but not least, I’d just bent on using a bow and a stick in the manner they say the South Sea islanders do. You wait and see me show you something.” Thad moved a little uneasily at hearing this. Truth to tell, he had had considerable trouble with the tall scout in times past, on account of this very failing, which was once more coming to the surface. Giraffe seemed to be a regular fire worshipper. It was a subject that went away ahead of all others in his mind. Indeed, there were some of his mates who declared that the long-legged scout had really joined the patrol in order to find chances to indulge in his favorite pursuit, which was to see the flames creep upward, snapping and glowing. Giraffe, having started a blaze, would sit there and gaze into the heart of the fire, just as though he could discover the most wonderful things there. As a rule, he occupied much of his spare time when in camp whittling; and if asked what he was doing, would reply that possibly they might want to start a fresh fire later on, and he was getting the tinder ready. His folks had had more or less trouble with him at home on this same account; as on three separate occasions the fire department had been called on a run to save the Stedham home, when the boy, in pursuing his investigations, had endangered it. And now, it seemed that his latest fad was to try every kind of known method for bringing about a flame without the use of a match. No wonder Thad felt uneasy. He knew about the stringent laws of Maine with regard to setting the woods afire; and with such a reckless lad loose among the pines it would be necessary for some one to keep control over Giraffe pretty much all the time. The afternoon began to wane as they pushed on up the current of the river. The guides had informed the boys that there was still a short time when trout could be legally taken, as the fishing season overlapped the hunting term a week or two. And hence a couple of jointed rods had been brought along, with the idea of making use of them. A platter of deliciously browned trout was a dish that appealed to the appetites of these boys tremendously, and right now Thad was keeping Allan on the lookout for a tempting spot, where it seemed likely they might gather in a mess of the speckled beauties. All at once Bumpus was seen to half rise from his seat in the bottom of the canoe in which he had a place. Thad noticed that the fat boy seemed strangely moved, as though distressed over something. “What ails you, Bumpus?” he asked. “I hope you don’t feel the effect of your bath. This sun has been fairly warm, and by now you ought to be feeling all right, especially after doing your share of paddling for an hour or so.” [17] [18] “’Tain’t that,” said Bumpus, weakly; “but I guess I ought to turn around, and go back, fellers.” “Sure,” cried Step Hen, “go right over the end of the canoe; the walking on the water is fine, Bumpus.” But Thad saw that the other was really distressed about something that had suddenly come into his mind. “Why should you go back, Bumpus, when you know well enough it’s out of the question?” he demanded. “Have you forgotten something? Thought we left all that to Step Hen here, who’s forever losing his possessions?” “That’s right, I did forget, Thad,” replied the other, with a forlorn look on his face, that would have made the scoutmaster laugh, only that he realized Bumpus was suffering mentally. “Forget what, Bumpus?” asked Giraffe. “I’ll tell you, fellers,” continued the fat boy, with a sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his heart. “Just before I started off on this glorious trip with you my father handed me a letter which he said he wanted me to take right away to Mr. Harriman, the cashier of the Cranford Bank, as it was very important that he should have it before noon that day. I was just trying to remember whether I did go there and give it to him or not; and d’ye know, for the life of me I just can’t make sure of it.” “That’s funny!” exclaimed Giraffe. “Ain’t you able to recollect seeing the gentleman, or anything he said to you?” The other shook his head sadly. “That’s the queer part of it,” he declared. “Sometimes it comes to me that I must have done it, and I think I see it all plain before me. Then it gets mixed, and I’m not so sure. You see, here’s what bothers me. That same morning I met a friend who was going about ten miles off in his dad’s machine, and he asked me to have a spin with him. Just couldn’t resist, boys, and we did go licketty- split. I’m telling you right now.” “I saw you go past our house, riding for fair,” remarked Step Hen. “Tell us the rest, Bumpus; what had that ride in a car to do with the important letter your father gave you to be delivered at the bank?” asked Davy Jones. “A heap, I’m afraid,” answered the other, making a wry face. “I can just remember that my coat managed to break loose, and was flapping in the wind before I was able to grab it shut, and button it again. And fellers, I had a glimpse of something white, like a letter, that had slipped out of my pocket, and was carried over the fence into Brainard’s woods!” “Wow! and again, wow!” exclaimed Giraffe, that being his favorite way of expressing surprise and interest in anything. “I thought at the time that it must be only a scrap of waste paper I happened to be carrying in my pocket; but fellers, it just broke in on me a little while back that it might have been that very important letter I was to give to Mr. Harriman at the bank!” “Oh! the chances are ten to one it wasn’t, Bumpus,” said Thad, who saw that the scout was really dreadfully worried, and in a fair way to have his whole vacation trip to the woods spoiled by over anxiety. [19] [20] [21] “Perhaps you’re right, Thad, and it’s kind of you to bolster up my hopes like you do; but then, there is one chance, you see, that I lost that document; and I’m wondering right now what it could be. Oh! what if it was so important that my folks would suffer because I lost it? Think how I’d feel if I came home after having the time of my life up here, and found all the household stuff out on the street, and the red flag of an auctioneer telling people that the Stedman place was for sale? Whew! it makes me feel chilly all over just to think of what I may have done. Then I just say to myself that of course you delivered that letter Bumpus Stedman; you couldn’t be so wrapped up in getting ready for the start on this jaunt as to just forget all about it. And now, it’s too late to go back, and I’ve just got to worry and worry until I lose pounds every day. And perhaps, when we go back, I’ll be a living skeleton, like Giraffe here. Oh! that’s the worst of it. Better learn to quit callin’ me Bumpus, fellers, because right soon it won’t fit at all.” “Cheer up!” said Thad, “and sooner or later you’re sure to remember something that Mr. Harriman said or did, when you handed him the letter;” but poor Bumpus only shook his head sadly, and sighed again. CHAPTER III. A STRANGE DISCOVERY. “How about this for a camp site, Thad?” asked Allan, half an hour later. “Looks fishy around here, for a fact,” remarked Step Hen, just as if he knew all about such things; when, truth to tell, he had a lot to learn before he could call himself much of a woodsman. “Wonder if there’s any chance of finding that bee tree you said you was goin’ to show me some time, when we got up in Maine?” spoke up Bumpus; who had managed for the time being to put his troubles out of his mind; for Thad assured him that after sleeping over it, most likely he would remember some little incident connected with his entering the bank on that last morning in Cranford, and which would prove to his satisfaction that he must have delivered the letter there. “Well,” said Allan, the Maine boy, “it’s pretty late in the season to talk about bee trees, for I doubt if we’ll find any of the little buzzers flying; and it’s really necessary to have that happen in order to locate the hive; but I’m going to keep my eye open all the time, Bumpus, and try and accommodate you.” “But just think of gettin’ whole heaps of rich ripe honey!” ejaculated Giraffe, who dearly loved eating; “say, wouldn’t we have flapjacks every morning then, boys, with honey to smear over them an inch thick? Um! um! take me to that bee tree as soon as you locate it, Allan, and give me an axe. I promise to cut her down, remember that.” “And I hope to hold you to that promise, Giraffe,” returned the assistant patrol leader. “But what d’ye say, Thad, shall we stop here?” “What do the guides say; how about it, Sebattis, Eli, Jim; will we be apt to pick up a mess of trout here, do you think?” and Thad turned to the bronzed Maine men, who nodded their heads, and one after the other promised that if the boys knew how to handle [22] [23] [24] their rods, there should be little difficulty in securing all they wanted, for a better pool could not be found along the river. A little side stream came into the main river with a noisy rush, falling from a ledge; and under the cascade there was a very deep place, where the trout were likely to stay until the coming of thick ice caused them to bury themselves in the mud, after the fashion of most fish, until the ice went out in the spring. Accordingly a landing was made, and soon all was bustle, the boys working with the three guides, as became true scouts, eager to learn all the little wrinkles of life in the open. The tents were soon erected. There were just two of these; and as this was apt to make it rather crowded, the guides had offered to sleep outside except on any real stormy nights. They were hardened to the weather, and thought little of such a small matter. Of course Giraffe looked after making the fireplace, for he would not hear of anybody else having anything to do with that part of the programme. And Thad generally let the tall scout have his own way about this one matter; he fancied that it might keep Giraffe out of mischief; as well as employ his time, and save the guides considerable work. And Giraffe certainly did extract more pleasure in making a fine cooking fire than any one Thad had ever seen. After supper was done he usually insisted on having a rousing camp-fire, around which they could sit with hands clasped about their knees; or else lie in comfortable attitudes on their several blankets, while they coaxed the guides to tell them stories of the woods, and the big animals they had come in contact with during the years spent in serving hunting parties on the trail of deer and moose. Jim and Eli did about all the talking, for it was difficult to get Sebattis to say anything about his experiences; though every one just knew the old Indian must be “as full of thrilling yarns as an egg is of meat,” as Step Hen put it. Thad and Allan meanwhile had taken their rods, and set to work trying to coax the shy trout to bite the bait they offered them. Both boys were good fishermen, and had had considerable experience in the ways of the speckled beauties; so that in the end they succeeded in getting a pretty mess of the trout, enough to give them a fine feast that evening. One of the guides was set to work cleaning the fish even before the boys stopped taking them in; and about the time the sun sank out of sight in the west, a most delicious odor began to arise, that Giraffe sniffed, with his eyes glistening; for this was the first mess of trout they had caught on this expedition. Later on the whole of them sat around the fire, and enjoyed one of the most tasty dishes ever placed before a hungry boy—fresh brook trout, rolled in cracker crumbs, and done to a turn in hot grease extracted from several pieces of salt pork. “Only hope we get a few more chances to feast on this thing before the season’s up, or the cold drives the trout into winter quarters,” remarked Giraffe, as he heaved a sigh of regret because the pan was now empty—for eight hungry people it was of course necessary to use both large skillets, and even then the supply never exceeded the demand. “But why should we bother our heads about the season, when we’re away up here, and with no one to know what we’re doing?” demanded Step Hen. [25] [26] “That’s just it, Step Hen,” replied Thad, who seemed to think the question was intended for him; “we’re Boy Scouts, and when we joined the organization every one of us subscribed to certain rules, twelve in number, you remember. Could you repeat those twelve cardinal principles of the scouts for me right now, Step Hen?” The boy addressed turned a little red in the face; while the two Maine guides listened intently, evidently very much interested. Sebattis did not seem to pay the least attention to what was going on; though that may just have been his way. These Indian guides have a habit of hearing, when nobody expects it. “Oh! sure, I can,” Step Hen made answer, cheerfully enough. “Then please let us hear them,” continued Thad. “Well,” the scout went on to say, as if he easily knew the list by heart; “he promises to the best of his ability to be trustworthy, loyal, helpful to others, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient to his superiors, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean and reverent.” “All right, Step Hen,” the scoutmaster remarked, “the great State of Maine trusts us. We’ve taken out licenses to shoot, up here. We’re entitled to a certain number of deer, and one moose apiece. And in accepting these favors we virtually agreed to refrain from breaking the laws. Can a scout be trustworthy who deliberately breaks a law, like the killing of game, or the taking of fish out of season, when there’s no real excuse for it?” “Well, p’raps you’re right, Thad,” grumbled the other, rather loth to see the point; “but s’pose now, I was lost in these here big pine woods, and hungry near to starving. I knew the season for trout was up, but it was a case of ‘root hog, or die,’ with poor Step Hen. Would you blame me then, if I just dropped a line to Mr. Trout and invited him to waltz into my little frying-pan?” Thad smiled. “There may be cases where breaking the game law is justifiable,” he remarked, “and I’m not saying otherwise. I think that would be one of them. A fellow shouldn’t be compelled to starve, with game around him, because certain men have decided that as a rule the laws ought to be made just so and so. But Step Hen, if he were really just to his better self, I believe that scout would, when he had reached a point of safety, go to a game warden, state the case, and offer to pay the fine, if it had to be imposed. I rather guess the great state of Maine would do the generous thing, and remit such a fine.” “Well, that lets Giraffe out, I see,” remarked the still unconvinced Step Hen. “Because he’s always at the starving point.” “All the same, boys, as true scouts, I hope none of you will bring discredit on the name of the Silver Fox Patrol by doing anything that is going to get us into trouble, in case we happen to meet a game warden. For one I’d like to look him in the eye, and feel my conscience clear,” and after that Thad changed the subject, with the hope that the weak member might, when he had digested all that had been said, see the thing in its best light. “There’s one thing we don’t want to forget,” Thad remarked later on, as some of the boys began to manifest a desire for a little “rough house” time. “What’s that, Thad?” asked Allan, though doubtless he could already give a fair guess as to what the reply was going to be, since he had seen signs of a frown on the forehead of the [27] [28] [29] scoutmaster when the noise broke out. “We mustn’t forget,” said Thad, “that right now we’re on the border of the big game country, and any time we’re apt to run across signs of deer and moose. Now, when hunters who know their business go into the wilderness, they don’t kick up a row, and make all sorts of a racket that would tell the timid woods’ folks a delegation of town people had invaded their haunts. If they did, they’d not be apt to find Mr. Moose within twenty miles. How about that, Allan?” “You’re right, Thad,” replied the Maine boy, smiling. “Most of the deer hunters are what we call still hunters. They look for their game, and creep up on it from the leeward side, with the wind coming from the deer. There is no dog chasing deer allowed in the state, or in New York, any longer; so the noise and excitement is all gone. And in a noisy camp you’ll find mighty few deer taken. It’s the quiet, earnest fellows who succeed in getting the game up here.” “You hear that, scouts,” said Thad, pleasantly. “We want game the worst kind, as well as to overtake that gentleman who is ahead of us, and whose trail we’re now following. So if you please, we’ll dispense with the usual bugle blasts, and the horse play, while in camp here. Let’s have a jolly good time, which I believe is possible among boys, without wrestling, and singing, and rough play. Am I right, Step Hen, Giraffe, Davy, Bumpus?” “You are, every time, Thad,” said Bumpus, and the other three were quick to take their cue; so that from this hour it seemed likely that the scouts who were for the time being playing the part of big game hunters, meant to carry out the rôle to the letter. Jim looked at Eli, nodded his head, and winked. It was as though one guide had said to the other that Thad Brewster knew his business, all right. About half an hour later Step Hen was seen to be moving about in the bushes near the edge of the camp, with his head bent low. Now, every one knew what such an attitude meant when it was Step Hen who assumed it. He had lost something, as usual. “What’s gone this time, Step Hen?” asked Thad. “That little jinx been around again, hooking your things?” demanded Giraffe, who always made all manner of fun of the careless scout whenever he complained that he was unable to find a certain thing, which he felt just sure he had laid aside only a minute before. As usual Step Hen was simply positive that he could not have himself mislaid his property. Proven guilty on numerous previous occasions did not seem to convince the boy that he could ever do such a silly thing again. This was always a case of where some mischievous chum had been playing a trick on him. “Why, it’s that little bundle I fetched along, with a black piece of waterproof cloth around it, torn from an old rain coat,” he explained, as he continued to poke among the bushes. “It’s got some things in it that I thought I’d likely need up here, in case I happened to get lost; among others, a cute little compass, an extra box of parlor matches that you just can’t blow out in any wind, and some other little wrinkles.” “Sounds all to the good, Step Hen,” Thad went on to remark; “and I’ve no doubt that if you ever did have the misfortune to get lost, while up here in Maine, that same little packet would come in [30] [31] [32] mighty handy, providing you chanced to have it with you at the time. If it was in camp, why, it couldn’t do you any good. But what makes you think it’s gone now?” “I had it in my hand not ten minutes ago, and laid it carefully aside,” Step Hen went on, in a whining tone as though he felt hurt; but which was doubtless only assumed for the purpose of arousing sympathy; “oh! you can grin as much as you want, Giraffe and Davy, but it’s so, this time. I was careful as could be. And now, she’s gone. I just know one of you fellers scooped that packet, and hid the same in the bushes, just to give me a rough jolt. And that’s why I’m hunting for it right now.” Thad was on his feet at the time; and with a smile at the old complaint, which he had heard Step Hen make, time without end, only to find himself compelled to “eat his words,” as Giraffe put it, he sauntered away, meaning to take a little look around, before turning in. Two minutes later Step Hen gave a little gurgling cry. “Found it?” asked Giraffe, with an interested air. “Just like I said was the case,” came from Step Hen, in the bushes close by. “The feller that took it just gave it a flirt, and over she came, right here. What! Well, I declare that’s mighty funny now,” and he pushed his way into view carrying some object in his hand, at which he was staring incredulously. “Say, that ain’t your package, is it, Step Hen?” demanded Giraffe. “I should say it wasn’t;” replied the other scout; “but tell me, fellers, how in the wide world now, d’ye suppose this came in them bushes?” and he held up what seemed to be a small hand- bag of black leather, apparently weighty, and very much used. CHAPTER IV. THE IGNORANCE OF STEP HEN. All of them, guides as well as scouts, stared at the strange object which Step Hen was holding up. “Looks like a little hand-bag of leather; but it’s been used a heap, I reckon,” suggested Davy Jones. “Just what she is,” replied Step Hen, as he lowered the article; and something in his manner of doing this impelled Giraffe to remark: “Reckon she must be kinder heavy, Step Hen?” “Heft it for yourself, and see,” replied the other, as Giraffe came to his side. “Whew! I should say, yes!” declared the tall member of the patrol, as he lifted the old black hand-bag, and held it out in a horizontal position for a few seconds. “All of five pounds there, if there’s a single one. Now, what d’ye suppose is in that thing?” “And how did it ever come in them bushes; that’s what gets me?” queried Step Hen, staring at the bag, which he had taken again, as though half inclined to suspect that the mischievous little jinx, whom Giraffe always said played these mean tricks on him, might possess the power to change his black package into this