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                             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”

                            Copyright, 1913
                         By A. L. Burt Company

“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


  CHAPTER                                                           PAGE
  I. What Took the Scouts up into Maine.                               3
  II. The Troubles of Bumpus.                                         11
  III. A Strange Discovery.                                           20
  IV. The Ignorance of Step Hen.                                      31
  V. The Tell-tale Tracks.                                            40
  VI. A Sheriff’s Posse.                                              51
  VII. The Birch Bark Challenge.                                      60
  VIII. Out for Big Game.                                             69
  IX. “GOOD Shot! Great Little Gun!”                                  77
  X. The Old Trapper’s Cabin.                                         85
  XI. On the Wings of the Night Wind.                                 96
  XII. A Face in the Window.                                         106
  XIII. The Marked Shoe Again.                                       115
  XIV. Figuring It Out.                                              123
  XV. The Luck That Came to Bumpus.                                  131
  XVI. A Little Knowledge, Well Earned.                              148
  XVII. The Coming of the Hairy Honey Thief.                         156
  XVIII. A Mighty Nimrod.                                            164
  XIX. The “Whine” of a Bullet.                                      173
  XX. A Wonderful Find.                                              181
  XXI. The Dummy Packet.                                             190
  XXII. The Night Alarm.                                             198
  XXIII. A Flank Movement.                                           206
  XXIV. What Woodcraft Does.                                         215
  XXV. Surprising Charlie.                                           223
  XXVI. The Sheriff Gets His Shock, Too.                             231
  XXVII. Down the River—Conclusion.                                  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?”

“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 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 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.
                        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 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.”

“’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.

“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 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.

“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 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 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 weatherbeaten little bag.

“Oh! it’s old, you c’n see,” remarked Giraffe, carelessly. “P’raps the
hunter that carried it up here got sick of his bargain; and slipping a
few rocks inside, to weigh it down, he just gave her a heave out of
sight.”

“Think so?” remarked Step Hen. “Well, anyhow, it don’t look a bit like
that lost package of mine, does it?”

“Suppose you open it up,” suggested Allan; “it might be you’d find your
missing things inside.”

Doubtless he only said this in a spirit of fun, in order to hasten Step
Hen; but the other took it seriously.

“Now, however in the wide world would my packet come in here, Allan?” he
asked. “None of the boys ever set eyes on this bag before, have you,
fellers?”

Giraffe, Davy, and Bumpus thereupon solemnly raised, each one his right
hand, and declared that to the best of their knowledge and belief they
had never glimpsed that same bag until their comrade carried it out of
the bushes.

“Now, open her up, Step Hen, and let’s see the kind of rocks it’s got
inside,” Giraffe demanded.

Whereupon Step Hen proceeded to cautiously test the catch of the bag.
Finding that it would give readily, he pressed it further, and then drew
back the jaws of the leather receptacle.

“Rocks?” he ejaculated, scornfully, just as if he had never taken the
least stock in that far-fetched theory himself; “what d’ye call that,
fellers?”

He had thrust in a hand, and was now holding something aloft. The dancing
light from the campfire shone upon the object, which seemed to glisten
like polished steel.

Immediately Giraffe set up a laugh.

“Well, I declare, fellers,” he remarked, “some poor old carpenter’s gone
and lost his kit of tools. Shows that Step Hen ain’t the only loony
wanderin’ about in these here pine woods, droppin’ his things around
loose, and then forgettin’ where he put ’em. And to think it should be
the same sort of one that found these tools. Ain’t that a queer case,
though?”

“Carpenter’s tools,” Step Hen went on, indignantly, as he held up a
second, and then other articles, which he took from the bag; “did you
ever watch a carpenter at work, Giraffe; and did you ever see him use
tools like them? If you did, then believe me, that feller ought to a been
in the lock-up, that’s what.”

“Lock-up!” repeated Giraffe after him, and he stared at Step Hen as
though he believed the other might be trying to play some sort of a joke.

“That’s right, in the lock-up,” the other scout went on, firmly. “When I
was down to New York with my dad last year, he had to see the Police
Commissioner about a little business; and they were old friends too. I
went along, and sat there in one of the offices nigh an hour. To amuse
myself, I examined the heaps of queer things they had there, which I
reckoned had been taken from all sorts of crooks that’d been arrested for
years. And in the lot I saw some tools mighty like these, boys!”

“Wow, and again I say, wow!” murmured Giraffe.

“Thieves’ tools, hey?” grunted Bumpus, pushing forward to handle some of
the shiny articles himself. “P’raps now, one of these here might be what
they call a jimmy, and another a centerbit. I always used to read about
such things in every story in the papers of a burglary down in the city.”

Davy also wanted to examine the things at close range, and so they were
passed around. Even the two guides seemed to take a deep interest in the
contents of the little old black bag; and for several minutes a buzz
followed, as each voiced his opinion concerning the merits of the tools
to accomplish such a job as breaking into a strong box of a bank.

“But just stop and think,” remarked Step Hen, presently, “how far this is
from any town where these fellers could use their tools. No wonder they
hid ’em in the bushes right here. The only thing they could expect to
break into up here would be the game laws.”

“Or the river,” suggested Giraffe, with a sly glance toward Bumpus, who
flashed him back a scornful look.

“My opinion is, fellows,” observed Allan, who thus far had not taken any
part in the earnest discussion, “that these things might never have been
lost at all.”

“Oh! then you think they hid ’em here?” asked Step Hen.

“Either that, or else just tossed them away, to get rid of carrying such
a heavy package any longer,” the Maine boy went on. “Such men would never
come up here to camp out, or to hunt. Only one thing would be apt to
tempt them to dive into the woods like this; they expected to be hunted,
and are on the way to the Canada border as fast as they can pack.”

Somehow, the idea seemed to please the rest of the scouts; and even Jim
and Eli nodded their heads, as though they quite agreed with Allan, after
he had evolved the suggestion, which likely enough would have never
occurred to them.

“Say, d’ye suppose, now,” Giraffe asked, “that these jail birds could
have cracked a crib before they took to the woods?”

“Well, just as like as not,” answered Allan; “though we can’t tell that
so easy. They must have tried to get away with some loot, though, and
found the officers hot after them. So, to escape being caught they’ve
taken to the woods.”

“But that might be jumpin’ from the frying-pan into the fire,” Davy
declared. “If they happened to be greenhorns, now, it’d be apt to go hard
with ’em up here, with the winter comin’ on, p’raps no blankets along,
and only a little grub. Huh! they might even wish they’d let the officers
ketch ’em. Three meals, such as they are in jail, are better than nothin’
to eat in the wilderness.”

“Oh!” Allan went on to say, “the chances are, they had a fellow along who
knew more or less about what to do in the woods, and what not to do;
because you see, they seemed to get up this far all right.”

“What if there was a big reward out for their capture, and we managed to
crowd the bunch to the wall?” suggested Bumpus, enviously. “Say, we’d be
fixed then for a lot more of outings, wouldn’t we, fellers?”

Allan laughed. It was so strange to hear Bumpus, usually the most
peaceable of the entire patrol, speak in so fierce a tone.

“You don’t stop to mention what these desperate chaps would be doing all
that time, Bumpus,” he remarked, drily. “There must be two of them,
perhaps more; and it stands to reason that they’re hard cases, ready to
fight at the drop of the hat. I guess we’ll have to just attend to our
own affairs, and let the sheriff look after these jail birds.”

“But if we happened to run foul of them, wouldn’t we be doin’ the right
thing to try and grab the lot?” demanded Bumpus, loth to admit defeat
when he had been conjuring up a bright idea.

“Certainly, if it could be done without too much risk,” replied the
assistant scoutmaster, readily enough. “Such men are outlaws to society,
and it’s the duty and privilege, I’ve heard my father say, of all honest
persons to capture them, in case the chance comes along.”

“We’ve got a rifle or a shotgun apiece; and each of the guides is
provided with his gun too, so we ought to turn the trick easy enough,”
Bumpus continued. “Eight determined men against two, or p’raps three, you
see. They may be tough characters, when they’re in cities, but I just bet
you now their old knees knock together if they saw a row of eight
firearms all aimin’ at their heads. That’s talkin’ some.”

“I should say it was, from you, Bumpus,” remarked Allan; “but don’t get
too anxious to come to close quarters with these men. I can give a guess
what they’re like. I’ve seen what they call yeggs before now, roving
burglars who play the part of tramps, so as to get a chance to look
country banks over, and break in some dark night, when the town people
are sound asleep. And I want to tell you, boys, I don’t like the breed.
If I have my choice I’m going to mind my own business, and let the law
officers attend to theirs.”

“And,” broke in Davy Jones, “up here our business is first of all
following the trail of Mr. Carson and his two guides; and after that, to
get just as much hunting of the big game as we can.”

“What you going to do with all these clever little tools, Step Hen?”
asked Giraffe. “I hope now, you don’t expect to tote ’em along with you?
If they turned out too heavy for the fleeing yeggmen to keep, think of
how you’ll suffer. Better give ’em a heave into the bushes again, and say
good-bye. They might get you into a peck of trouble, boy.”

“Oh! I don’t know,” remarked Step Hen, “I’ll keep the bag till mornin’
anyhow, an’ then let Thad say whether we want to pick out a few of these
things, just to remember the affair by.”

He laid the numerous tools in a heap beside him, and then turned the old
hand-bag over, as though meaning to clean it out before replacing the
contents.

“Hello! what’s this?” he exclaimed; “Oh! I thought at first it was
another tool; but seems like it’s only an old stick of dirty gray mud.
Queer how that could a got in this bag, ain’t it? Whatever did them
yeggmen want carryin’ hard mud around with ’em, I wonder?”

He drew his hand back, evidently with the intention of throwing the
article into the blaze, when a hand clutched his wrist, and the voice of
Thad, a bit husky, sounded close to his ear:

“Hold on! don’t you think of tossing that into the fire, Step Hen! Why,
are you crazy? Didn’t you ever see such a thing before in your life. No
wonder Allan, there, was nearly scared to death when he saw what you
meant to do; because Step Hen, this stick of innocent mud, as you called
it, is really dynamite!”

Step Hen weakly allowed his hand to open, and the scoutmaster possessed
himself of the deadly four-inch stick of explosive.




                               CHAPTER V.
                         THE TELL-TALE TRACKS.


“Dynamite!” echoed Giraffe as his face blanched. “And the silly was just
goin’ to give it a heave into the fire. Great governor! what would have
happened to the Silver Fox Patrol if he had?”

“Please don’t mention it, Giraffe,” said poor Step Hen, weakly, “However
was I to know what it was, when I hadn’t ever seen such a thing before in
all my life?”

“Well,” remarked Thad, grimly, “that’s the time you should have
remembered that a scout must always be prepared to think for himself, and
observe too. I heard something of what was said as I stood here,
watching. You had guessed easily enough that these were the tools with
which bank burglars break into safes. And since you read the papers, Step
Hen, you must surely know that they often use dynamite to burst open the
lock of a safe. You never stopped to think, that’s the trouble. All you
had to do would be to say to yourself, ‘now, what would thieves be likely
to have this for, because it must enter into their business?’ and the
chances were ten to one you’d have guessed it, right away. Think twice
after this, Step Hen, before you do a rash thing like that.”

The scoutmaster spoke more sternly than was his wont when dealing with
those who were under his charge; because he had been horrified and
thrilled when he realized the terrible danger that hovered over them all,
should Step Hen manage to give the innocent looking stick a toss into the
fire, before he could leap alongside, and stay his arm.

Perhaps the dynamite might not have exploded before he could with a
frantic effort dislodge it from the burning brands; but the chances of
its going off were legion, and he could never afterwards think of the
incident without a shudder.

“I’ll try and remember, Thad,” said Step Hen, meekly, for he was
shivering now, because of the narrow escape he and his chums had had.

Thad, on his part, carefully placed the dangerous explosive in the crotch
of a tree near by, where it could do no harm.

“We’d better bury it in the morning, to get rid of it,” he observed, as
he sat down to examine the odd looking assortment of little tools, for
himself.

The others gathered around, curious to hear what Thad’s opinion might be;
for they were used to setting considerable store by his decisions on any
subject.

“How d’ye s’pose now, Thad,” remarked Giraffe, to draw the other out,
“these fellers just came to stop over here, in the identical place we
chose for a camp? That what’s getting me.”

“Oh that’s easy,” replied the other, with a little laugh. “We seemed to
strike this place by accident; but I reckon that if you asked Eli or Jim
here about it, they’d be apt to tell you it’s an old camping spot. How
about it, men?”

“Be’n here often with parties,” replied the older guide, promptly. “Seen
hundreds o’ fine trout jerked outen thet pool over there.”

“Me tew,” declared Jim, grinning broadly at finding how smart this boy
seemed to be.

“There you are, Giraffe,” Thad went on to say, turning once more to the
scout. “Perhaps, as somebody said only a little while back, this leader
of the sprinting yeggmen has himself been camping here one or more times
in the past, and he knows the trails of the woods around here. Why,
there’s a pretty good chance that Mr. Carson himself stopped here over
night, something like a week or less ago.”

“But he didn’t find that bag, nor his guides either,” remarked Step Hen,
with a little show of pride; as though he believed he ought to at least
have a small amount of credit for bringing the thing to light.

“For a good reason,” Thad went on; “because it wasn’t in the bushes when
Mr. Carson came along this way.”

“You think, then, that the fellers who owned these things must have been
here after Mr. Carson was, do you, Thad?” Davy Jones asked.

“I’ve a good notion that way,” the scoutmaster replied; “and we’re going
to prove it, presently. There are lots of ways to do that, you’ll find;
and if Allan and I happen to fall down, why, we’ll call on Sebattis here
to show us. Allan tells me that an Indian can read signs just like you
would print, Davy.”

“Like to see him try it, then,” muttered the scout, casting a side glance
toward the silent Penobscot brave, who was sitting there watching them,
and never so much as opening his mouth, or betraying any particular
interest, though he must have heard every word that had been spoken thus
far.

“After we’ve had a hack at it, we may,” Thad admitted. “You know Allan is
up to some of these things, and we ought to give him a show before
calling in outside talent; isn’t that so, boys?”

“Sure it is,” cried Bumpus; “and it’s my private opinion, publicly
expressed, that our comrade can deliver the goods too. Give Allan a
square deal. Let him ‘mosey’ around, and say what he thinks. Then we’ll
ask the guides to prove it. That’s the ticket, fellers. An’ he can’t
begin any too soon to satisfy my bump of curiosity. They do say at my
house I’m a reg’lar old woman for wantin’ to know; and I must acknowledge
the corn all right. Won’t you get busy, Allan, and relieve a sufferin’
public?”

Thus appealed to, the Maine boy could not resist. “Of course I’m not
saying I can tell you all that either of these guides might—not to
mention Sebattis here,” he remarked, “but I’ll do the best I can.”

“Reckon that’s about nigh all anybody can do,” observed Giraffe, also
getting to his feet; for he was more or less interested in any
demonstration of woodcraft that applied to Boy Scout knowledge.

“Of course I know what the footprint of every one of us looks like, even
to our guides,” began Allan; “because I’ve made it my business to keep my
eyes around. And the first thing I’m going to do is to find out if there
is any track here different from ours. If I find that, I’ll be pretty
sure it was made by others who camped here within the last night or two.”

“But why do you say that?” demanded Bumpus, eagerly. “What if Mr. Carson
did stop here five, six or even seven nights ago; you might run on his
track, you know.”

“If I did, I’d know it,” replied Allan; “not that I’ve even set eyes on
the print of his hunting shoe or boot, if he wears such, instead of
moccasins; but stop and remember, Bumpus we had a heavy rain day before
yesterday that must have passed over this section as well as where we
struck it. After that it turned cold.”

“Oh! I forgot all about that,” admitted the other scout, looking foolish.
“Why, of course, that same rain would have washed out the footprints of
anybody who had camped here as long ago as four or five nights. That’s
right Allan.”

“If it didn’t exactly wash the footprints out, it would make them look
faint; and a trailer would soon know they were old. Now let me take a
turn around, and do the rest of you sit quiet here, till I call out that
I’ve found something.”

He took a blazing brand from the fire, and began to move around the
outskirts of the camp, beyond the tents and the glow of the fire.

“Why does he go so far away?” asked Bumpus.

“Because we’ve been walking around here so much that all chance of making
any discovery would be lost,” replied Thad; “and out there he may stand a
show. There, I can see him stoop down lower, and I wouldn’t be surprised
if he’d hit a footprint right away.”

The others all craned their necks in order to see what Allan was doing;
and of course Giraffe had them left far in the lurch when it came to
this, on account of his being gifted by a bountiful Nature with such an
exceedingly long ostrich like appendage below his head.

“Yes, he’s sure struck something,” Giraffe declared, as though anxious to
show what an advantage it was sometimes to be the possessor of a neck
that was longer than any of the others.

“There, he’s beckoning to us to come on over, fellers!” exclaimed Bumpus,
as he tried to leap to his feet; but, owing to his weight, this was never
an easy thing for him, and he did not refuse the helping hand Thad
stretched out.

So they joined Allan, as he stood there, holding his torch near the
ground.

“What you found?” asked Giraffe, as they came up.

“Here’s a print, all right, that seems altogether different from any of
ours. I can show you that the shoe has been patched across the toe, and
none of ours has such a mark. It’s a fresh print too, and that means the
man who made it must have been here since that rain storm. Is that clear
enough for you, boys?”

“It’s a cinch, that’s what, Allan. Why, I’m only a tenderfoot scout, but
I can understand that much. And I’m real glad to know it, too. We want to
take a good look at that shoe print, fellers; p’raps we might want to
know it again sometime.”

Step Hen as he said this threw himself down on the ground, and seemed to
be making a mental photograph of the impression.

“How d’ye reckon they got here, Allan; by boat, or through the woods
direct?” asked Thad, as though he had himself been pondering over that
question, without being able to connect, as yet.

“Let’s take a look along the edge of the river,” remarked the Maine boy.
“If so be they had a canoe, we ought to be able to see where it was
pulled up on the little beach down here. Such a mark would stay a long
time unless the water rose, and I don’t think that happened here, not
over half a foot, anyhow.”

So once more they walked after Allan, who was soon examining the shore
close to the edge of the water.

“There’s a mark you can all see, that looks as if a boat had been pulled
up, but it’s old and faint. The rain has nearly washed it out. Do any of
you glimpse signs of another scratch that’s fresher?”

Allan’s purpose, of course, was to make his chums think they were having
a hand in the search. Then, when telling the story afterwards, they could
say “when _we_ had hunted all along the shore, and didn’t find any fresh
sign, we knew that the yeggs must sure have walked all the way through
the woods.”

There was a little hustle as Giraffe, Davy, Step Hen and Bumpus all
endeavored to earn the right to include themselves in the affair; after
which they united in declaring that no further signs lay along the little
beach.

“Well, we’ve settled that part of it pretty cleverly, I guess,” Thad
declared, as he smiled at Allan.

“It was one of the easiest jobs I ever tackled,” declared the other.

“Wonder which way they went when they left here?” Bumpus remarked.

“Now, just don’t bother your head about that, Bumpus,” said Step Hen.
“You’re letting your envious mind think of that fat reward again; but
you’d better forget it, Thad says.”

“Oh! if they were making toward the Canada border,” observed Allan, “why,
of course they headed north after leaving here.”

“And so are we,” was all Bumpus allowed himself to say in reply; but the
look he gave Step Hen was sufficient to announce that he did not mean to
wholly relinquish all idea that somehow, some time, they might yet run
across the fugitives, and be able to capture them handsomely.

The boys started back to the fire. Some of them were even settled down
close to the cheerful blaze, warming themselves, and ready to talk some
more about the strange thing that had happened. Bumpus was kicking his
toe into the earth, as if some object had attracted his attention. All at
once he swooped down, and then gave utterance to an excited ejaculation.

“Looky at what I got, fellers!” he exclaimed hurrying up to the fire.

“Money, real hard money!” cried Step Hen, enviously. “Where’d you dig
that up, Bumpus? Say, p’raps there’s more like it buried there. Mebbe
we’ll strike a gold mine, and go home millionaires, every one.”

For Bumpus was holding a bright new five dollar gold piece in his hand,
at which they all stared with more or less delight.

“I saw it shinin’ and gave a little kick at the place, thinkin’ it might
be a piece of glass, or some old tin cut off a can. Then it broke loose
from the frozen dirt, and I saw this little beauty,” Bumpus was saying,
in rapture.

“Easy money!” grunted Giraffe, enviously; while Step Hen darted over to
see if he might not be as lucky, though only to meet with bitter
disappointment.

“That seems to settle one thing, boys,” remarked Thad. “Those rascals did
rob a bank before they took to the woods. And the stuff they got was so
heavy to carry, they just had to throw away their tools here. That looks
plain enough, don’t it?”

All of them agreed that it did sound very much that way. Indeed, Davy
Jones remarked that he considered them very sensible men, because he
himself would only too gladly get rid of some old steel tools, if he had
a chance to carry a bag of gold coins along.

Ten minutes later, as they were talking and laughing there, never
thinking how late the hour was getting, and that they ought to be seeking
their blankets under the shelter of the two tents, Sebattis was seen to
quietly reach out his hand, and pick up his gun, after which he slipped
away.

The boys exchanged glances, but made no remark. Another ten minutes
passed by, when there came a startling interruption to the peaceful quiet
of the camp. From some point near by a harsh voice suddenly sounded,
thrilling the scouts as they could seldom remember being shaken:

“Throw up your hands, there, every one of you, and see that you keep ’em
raised, if you know what’s good for you!”

And at the same moment three men issued from the recesses of the woods,
and advanced toward them, all of whom held leveled guns in their hands.




                              CHAPTER VI.
                           A SHERIFF’S POSSE.


Of course everybody did as they were told; and when they afterwards
exchanged opinions regarding the ridiculous character of the picture they
must have made, with six boys and two men trying to see who could elevate
his hands the highest, they must always laugh until the tears rolled down
their cheeks.

Somehow all of the scouts just took it for granted that these three
advancing parties must surely be the men of whom they had been talking,
the fleeing desperate rascals who had lately robbed a bank, and were
trying to make the border so that they might cross over into Canada, from
which territory they would be able to make faces at any pursuers.

But Thad, as he began to see the newcomers better, when they drew nearer
the fire, felt relieved. An idea started to flit through his active
brain, to the effect that after all they might not be the thieves, come
back for some purpose, perhaps to recover possession of the little, old,
black tool-bag.

“Now,” called out the tall man who was in the lead, and who seemed to be
in authority, “we know you’re tough cases, and we don’t mean to give any
one of you a chance to play a game on us; so my men will keep you all
covered, while I go the rounds, and put the irons on.”

“Wow!” exclaimed Giraffe, his eyes looking as round as saucers, when he
heard this remark on the part of the supposed terrible yeggman.

“Please go a little slow about that, Mr. Sheriff!” called out Thad. “If
you look again, I’m sure you’ll discover that six of us are only boys,
and that we belong to a troop of scouts. We’re up here on the track of a
Mr. James W. Carson, who is in the woods, with two guides. It is of great
importance that I find him, as I am bearing a communication that means a
heap to both Mr. Carson and my guardian. As for these two men here, they
are our guides, Jim Hasty and Eli Crookes. I guess you ought to know them
both, sir. And there’s another, Sebattis, who is right behind you, gun in
hand, ready to hold you up if you try to do us any harm.”

The tall man whom Thad had rightly guessed to be the sheriff in chase
after the burglars who were fleeing toward the border, gave another look,
and then burst into a loud shout.

“That’s one on us, all right, young fellow,” he remarked. “We wondered
why under the sun our birds had started to hobnob with a crowd of Boy
Scouts; but you never can tell what’s what, when you’re dealing with such
sharp customers, and we didn’t mean to take any chances. It’s all right,
men, you needn’t handle those guns as if you meant to shoot, any longer.
These parties are all right. But what I do want to know is, how came you
by that?”

He pointed as he spoke at the old tool-bag that was lying beside Step
Hen; and evidently he must have recognized it, or else suspected what it
contained.

“That’s mine—er, I mean to say I found the same in the bushes here, when
I was huntin’ something I lost,” and Step Hen held up a little packet
secured in waterproof cloth, which he had evidently since discovered,
just where he formerly laid it down.

“We opened the bag, and guessed that the tools must have been thrown away
by some yeggmen who were making a bolt across country for the Canada
border,” remarked Thad, as the three officers sat down close to the fire
to warm their hands.

“And that’s just what’s what,” responded the sheriff, nodding as he
examined the contents of the bag. “We hope to get ’em in time, because it
means a cool thousand to us, perhaps more, because the reward may have
been doubled after we hit the woods. Sometimes we’ve been hot on the
track, and then again they’d give us the slip, and we’d lose ground. I’ve
often wished we had dogs along; but they’re hard to find; and people,
somehow, don’t like to see dogs up here, since the law put a ban on deer
hounding.”

“I’d like to keep just one of them tools, to remember my find by, if you
didn’t have any objection,” suggested Step Hen anxiously.

“You can keep the whole bunch if you like, son,” answered the sheriff;
“we don’t need any such evidence against these birds, if only we can
ketch ’em. They’re carrying all the evidence we want, in the shape of the
entire capital of the bank they looted so slick.”

“I suppose they broke open the safe in the usual way, with dynamite?”
Thad remarked, quietly.

“Just what they did, though how you guessed it I don’t see,” the sheriff
replied.

“We found something in the bag that told us that,” and Thad, as he spoke,
stepped over to the tree, in the crotch of which he had placed the stick
of dynamite.

Step Hen turned red in the face as he heard the story told of how he had
just been about to throw the unknown substance into the fire when
prevented. The lengthy sheriff looked reproachfully toward him, and
remarked, mildly:

“You want to go slow, my boy, about handling things that you never saw
before. I wouldn’t like to say what would have happened to the lot of
you, once this dropped into that red-hot fire. Many a fool miner has been
blown to atoms because he tried to dry damp dynamite out in an oven, and
let it get too hot. Better ask yourself a few questions before you go to
trying tricks with strange things.”

“Will you spend the night with us, Mr. Sheriff?” asked Thad, thinking
that they ought to appear hospitable, as every one who goes into the
great timber should be.

Besides, he rather fancied this Maine sheriff, and believed that a
session in his company alongside the blazing camp-fire, would be both
pleasant and profitable, as doubtless the officer could relate many
things of interest to the scouts.

But the other shook his head.

“Sorry, but when we’re as close to the heels of our game as this, we must
keep on the move. It requires considerable hustling to run down such a
lively set as those three yeggs. And Charley Barnes, he know his business
up here in the wood, all right. They’ve led us a lively chase up to now;
but the longer we’re held off, the more determined we become to follow
them, night and day, till we bring the lot to bay. They’ve got mighty
little grub along, and we don’t want to let ’em have any time to hunt.
Then perhaps hunger will help us out.”

“But if you’re going on right away,” said Allan, “perhaps you’d let us
make you some hot coffee, Mr. Green?”

The sheriff looked keenly at him, and then held out a hand.

“Seemed like thar was somethin’ kinder familiar about your make-up,” he
said; “now I know you, Allan Hollister. How’s the dad, and the little
lady you call mother? I remember her well; and you too, as a boy who
loved to hunt and fish as well as any lad in all Penobscot county.”

“My father is dead, Mr. Green; but mother is fairly well,” replied the
boy, with a sad tone to his voice. “We are not living in Maine any
longer, but down in New York state, where all these other scouts belong.
But will you drink that coffee, if we make a pot for you?”

The sheriff saw that Allan did not seem inclined to say anything more
about his own family; and so he allowed the subject to drop. But he did
look inquiringly at his two husky deputies, who gave him affirmative as
well as eager nods.

“Just please yourselves, young fellows,” he remarked. “My men look a bit
peaked, because we’ve been hitting it up at quite a warm pace; and I
guess now, they’d enjoy a hot cup right smart. I confess I wouldn’t
object myself, seeing that you’re so pressing.”

The coffee pot was quickly clapped on the red coals, and would soon be
sending out a fragrant odor. Thad meanwhile stated to converse with the
officer, and by asking a few questions learned something concerning the
robbery, of which the three fleeing tramp burglars had been guilty.

According to the sheriff, they were all hard characters, and had served
time in various jails, for other crimes.

“If by chance you did run across the lot,” he observed; “you’d better
look sharp, for they wouldn’t hesitate at anything, if they thought there
was any fear of being held up. Remember that, boys, and govern yourselves
accordingly.”

“Which I take it,” observed the listening Bumpus, “to mean, that we had
ought to get them covered first, if we run up against the crowd.”

“Just what it does, and look out for tricks. That Charley, he’s as full
of sly games as an egg is of meat. H’m! that does smell prime, son. What,
condensed milk along with you, too, and sugar. I must say we struck a
snap when we saw your fire here, after heading for this old camp-ground.
That tastes like nectar, let me tell you: and warms a fellow up inside
better than any strong drink could ever do.”

“Glad you like it,” said Thad; “and we all of us hope you come up with
those three tramp burglars, and gather them in.”

After drinking several cups of the coffee apiece, the sheriff and his
posse of two deputies declared that they ought to be going.

“We’ve got a pretty good hunch as to where they struck for after leaving
here,” remarked the officer, as he shook hands all around, not forgetting
the silent Indian guide; “and if they only stop over a day, so’s to get
some game, why, we expect to surprise them right smart. Good-bye, boys
and good luck. If so be we run across Mr. Carson, whom I happen to know,
why, we’ll tell him you’re on his trail.”

Waving his hand to them, the sheriff walked quickly away, followed by his
two men. And they were heading due north the last the scouts saw of them.

“Wonder if they’ll overtake that active bunch; or will the yeggs get
across the line as they’re planning to do?” Giraffe ventured, as they sat
there, talking over this latest development in the affair, though one or
two of the scouts began to yawn every minute or so, and rub their eyes,
as though growing sleepy.

“Nobody can tell,” Thad remarked; “but that Sheriff Green bears all the
earmarks of an officer who generally get what he goes after.”

“That’s what they say about him,” Allan put in; for he had not been
talking with the rest; something which the sheriff had said, possibly
when asking after his father, had caused the boy to think of things that
had happened in the past, which apparently could not be apt to give him
joy.

By degrees the scouts sought their blankets under the canvas. Thad and
Allan were the last to crawl in. The guides had made themselves
comfortable near the fire, having blankets with them; and the boys
noticed how they all made sure to keep their feet toward the blaze when
selecting places for the night. It was the woodsman’s way, because the
feet are the first part of the body to feel cold, when, during sleep, the
blood fails to circulate as thoroughly as when one is awake, since the
heart slackens its functions, in order to get rested for the next day’s
labor.

Finally all was quiet. The night wind crooned among the trees; an owl
hooted to its mate; but the scouts all slept calmly, with not a fear of
danger.




                              CHAPTER VII.
                       THE BIRCH BARK CHALLENGE.


“Eli says we’re now in the big game country, fellows!”

Giraffe was rubbing at his gun when he made this remark. They sat about a
fire among the pines that bordered the river; and another day had elapsed
since we last saw them in camp, at the time of the visit made by the
Maine sheriff, and his posse.

“That sounds good to me,” Step Hen observed. “Now, as for myself, I never
claimed to be great shakes at doing any hunting; but all the same, I feel
a longing to see a great moose standing up before me while I proceed to
bore him through and through with my trusty rifle.”

Giraffe laughed scornfully as he continued to rub away with a rag he had
greased with vaseline.

“You just take it from me, son, though I’m not a great woodsman myself,
that if you ever do shoot that popgun of yours at a full grown moose, the
quicker you shin up a good tree, the better. For if you delay, he’s going
to help you with his horns.”

“Popgun, nothing,” remonstrated Step Hen; “now, I’d just like to know
what you mean by that? I took advice before I had my dad buy me that gun.
It was Allan here who told me the good points about it. Just because you
carry one of those old-fashioned, big-bore rifles, that carry half a
pound of lead, more or less, you think a light thirty-thirty gun is a
plaything. But, my friend, investigate, and you’ll discover that it all
lies in the ammunition you use, not the bore of the gun. Ain’t that a
fact, Thad?”

“It certainly is,” replied the other; “and I’ll prove it when I borrow
that new repeating rifle of yours, Step Hen, to try and bring down my
moose—when I get a chance to strike one.”

“Huh! don’t see how you make that out,” grumbled Giraffe. “This here gun
is one of the hardest hitters ever made. It is some hefty, I admit; and
in a long jaunt you’d come off much better than me, Step Hen. But what
harm could your little pea-shooter do against a big black bear, or a
savage moose, not to speak of a panther, or a wolf?”

“Looky here, and I’ll show you, old scoffer,” replied Step Hen. “Just
take note of the cartridge that goes in the magazine of my rifle. Do you
see how extra long it is, and how the powder chamber swells much larger
than the end that holds the bullet? Well, the power is all there. But
that ain’t all, not by a long sight.”

“Go on!” said Giraffe, fretfully, as the other paused, dramatically.

“Well, this is what they call a soft-nosed bullet. They’ve tried to
prevent the use of them in war, because they are so terrible in their
results. When it strikes even the flesh of a deer, it mushrooms out till
it makes a larger hole even than your big bore. Yes, and if you asked Eli
there, he’d be likely to tell you that if he _had_ to choose between the
two, he’d much prefer being hit by a bullet from your old elephant gun,
to one from my pea-shooter, as you call it. That’s all.”

Giraffe listened, and frowned. He may have tried to look as though he did
not believe half he heard; but apparently he had lost considerable
interest in his own heavy artillery, for he was seen to quietly lay it
down immediately afterwards.

“And Sebattis has promised to show me how he makes what he calls a
‘moose-call’,” remarked Bumpus, proudly; “being a strip of birch bark,
curled up in a peculiar way like a long cornucopia; and through this the
hunter can coax an old bull to come near enough to give him a shot.
P’raps now, he’ll even let us hear what it sounds like.”

“Bully!” exclaimed Davy Jones; “I’ve always wanted to know what that
could be like, when I’ve read about men calling the moose. Does he come
to have a fight, Eli?”

“I guess that’s jest what he does,” replied the older guide, who was
smoking his pipe contentedly by the fire, all duties for the day having
been closed up.

“Then that must have been why Sebattis stripped that bark from the birch
tree after we landed this afternoon,” remarked Step Hen. “I wondered
whether he meant to write on it, the way you told us the Indians did,
Allan; making pictures where white men would have letters, and drawing
the story out. There he goes now, starting to make the horn, I guess.”

“This is mighty pleasant up here, fellows,” said Thad, as he glanced
around; “all of you look perfectly happy, as though not a single care
rested on your minds.”

Bumpus immediately shivered, as though that reminded him he ought to be
ashamed of himself to be enjoying such things, with heartless disregard
concerning the dreadful happenings that, for aught he knew, were taking
place at his home.

“Ah!” he remarked, with a big sigh; “I wonder where they all are
to-night. And I certainly hope from the bottom of my heart, my poor
father and mother, and all my brothers and sisters ain’t a-sittin’ on the
curb, without a place to sleep in. What if that foolish forgetfulness was
the cause of it all? I’ll never be happy again, boys, never once!”

“Oh! there he goes again on that same old racket!” exclaimed Giraffe; who
did not appear to feel the slightest sympathy for his afflicted comrade,
simply, because he would not believe there could be any reason for the
dire forebodings of Bumpus. “Now, if we only had a wireless outfit along,
and Bumpus, here, could get in direct touch with his folks, I reckon
they’d give him the merry laugh because he’s been so silly about that old
letter. Why, chances are, it wasn’t anything much, after all. Perhaps
your dad wanted to ask his friend the cashier of the bank to drop around
that evening, and have a game of billiards at your house. Do please
forget it; or anyway bury your troubles deep down in your own bosom,
Bumpus; because, if you keep on frettin’ and moanin’ like you’ve been
doing, the chances are you’ll spoil this outing for the rest of us.”

“Well,” remarked Bumpus, indignantly; “guess if you happened to be in the
same fix that bothers me, you’d moan and groan too.”

“Oh! I’ve got troubles of my own, let me tell you,” continued Giraffe;
“all of us have. There’s Step Hen, he’s wondering what we’re going to
have to eat if we clean out all we fetched along, and the game keeps some
shy; Davy’s been uneasy this long time, ever since, in fact, he fell into
the camp-fire from the limb of a tree, where he was hangin’ by his toes
when the rotten thing broke under him; Bumpus, you yourself are over your
head in a sea of troubles; or you were a short time back, when you took
that header over the end of the canoe, into the river. We all have ’em,
old fellow; but we don’t go around whinin’, and tellin’ every one. Do
close up. There, looks like Sebattis is satisfied with the shape of the
horn he’s made. Let’s take a squint at it, please.”

The birch bark trumpet was passed around for examination. No one knew
better how to manufacture the simple but effective moose call than the
Penobscot. Even such an old and experienced guide as the Maine woodsman,
Eli Crookes, was ready to admit that Sebattis stood in a class all by
himself, when it came to enticing the wary but belligerent moose to
approach, by means of insidious calls upon the crude horn, that breathed
defiance one minute, and enticing sounds the next.

“See if you can make it go,” suggested Step Hen.

Accordingly Thad, who had it in his hands at the time, placed it to his
mouth. He puffed his cheeks out, and Bumpus hastened to clap both hands
over his ears, as though he expected to hear a strident blast, such as
the old-time Highland chiefs were accustomed to making when they wanted
their clans to appear, and attack the hated English from south of the
border.

But it was wonderful what a miserably soft noise followed all these
efforts on the part of Thad. He had never touched a moose call before,
and did not have the knack of extracting anything like a bellow from the
innocent-looking device.

There was a general laugh at his inability to make use of the call; even
the two Maine guides joining in, though the result was nothing more nor
less than had been expected on their part. It requires long practice to
know just how to pucker up the lips, and send the wind whistling through
the bark tube that becomes larger at the further end, until it resembles
a megaphone.

So Thad turned it over to Step Hen. That worthy did his level best, and
was only able to extract a miserable squeak that made Bumpus chuckle.

“Just try it yourself, and see,” said Step Hen, thrusting the call into
the chubby hands of the stout scout.

And so Bumpus, feeling confident that he could at least excel the last
attempt, since he was the bugler of the troop, and could play on any sort
of instrument, took the call. He grew so red in the face with trying to
send forth a clarion note, that some of the boys feared he would break a
blood vessel. But not even a grunt followed. The horn refused to show any
of it’s good qualities, even when a master hand at the bugle took hold.

Then Giraffe was induced to try, and with no better success than had
attended Step Hen’s attempt.

“I don’t believe the old thing can make a noise at all!” declared Bumpus,
aggressively.

“Suppose you ask Sebattis to show you,” suggested Allan; who might have
done it himself fairly well, but did not wish to spoil the work of the
Indian.

Accordingly, the dark-faced guide, without showing the slightest interest
in the matter, took the roll of birch bark, and placed it carelessly to
his lips. What the boys listened to then, was a revelation to them. At
first, the sound seemed like several troubled grunts, and Bumpus was
grinning with the expectation that it was going to prove to be a rank
failure, when the call grew louder and more insistent, until it seemed to
roll up against the mountain far away on the other side of the river like
a burst of thunder; or in great waves of sound. Then it grew softer
again, and finally wound up with another tremendous volume that seemed to
make the very air vibrate.

After Sebattis took the call down from his lips the echoes swung back and
forth from one side of the river to the other, gradually dying away in
the far distance.

“My! but that was simply great!” ejaculated the entranced Step Hen.

“Never heard anything to equal it in all my life; and such a queer whoop
too!” declared Giraffe.

“Look at Sebattis; what’s he sitting up that way for?” cried Davy Jones.

“Seems to be listening, fellers! Oh! I wonder what he’s heard? Is that an
echo that comes stealing back from up-river way?” and Bumpus half started
to clamber to his feet.

Then the six scouts remained motionless, as, with their ears on the alert
for the faintest sounds, they heard an increasing answering call come
stealing through the night air.

Thad reached out his hand toward where Step Hen had rested his new
magazine rifle against a neighboring tree. He guessed instantly what it
meant. There was no echo about that thrilling sound! Sebattis had sent
out a challenge, and it must have reached the ears of a real bull moose
that chanced to be within hearing; and this swelling roar that they were
listening to now was his sturdy response.

Yes, it was surely a genuine moose that had answered the call; and no
doubt he was even at that very minute lumbering along over the
pine-covered slope, eager to accept the challenge that breathed in that
strange medley of sounds!




                             CHAPTER VIII.
                           OUT FOR BIG GAME.


“Whew! so that’s a moose, is it?” gasped Giraffe, being the first to
break the tense silence that had fallen upon the campers.

“What a queer old sound,” almost whispered Bumpus. “My stars! but I guess
he’s most as big as our old red barn at home. Is he heading this way,
Sebattis, Eli, Jim?”

Bumpus cast a despairing look around him while saying this. Thad had an
idea he must be trying to pick out a desirable tree which he could
“shinny up” in case the moose raided the camp; for owing to his build
Bumpus was not so good at climbing as some others, Giraffe or Davy Jones
for instance.

“Just now that’s what the ole duffer, he’s a-doin’,” replied Eli; while
the Indian guide only nodded his head, being a man of few words usually.

“Who’s goin’ to tackle him?” demanded Step Hen. “Now, don’t you fellers
all look at _me_, just because I said that little rifle of mine was good
for any animal that walked these here Maine woods. I gave up first chance
to Thad long ago, didn’t I, Thad? You see, a feller that hasn’t had great
experience at such things don’t want to rush in too fast. I promised my
maw to be careful, and I mean to. As for me, you see, I said that Thad
had to try out my new gun. The man in the store told me not to think of
standing up before any big game till I’d practiced how to use the pump
part. You see, if a feller got rattled, and needed to send in a second
shot, he might try to work the thing wrong, get it stuck, and then have a
fine old time. So Thad for mine.”

“So say we all of us,” remarked Giraffe. “We’d like to see what Thad
could do. He hasn’t never had a chance at a moose. You go with Sebattis,
Thad. The rest of us’ll sit by the fire here, and wait for things to
happen.”

“No fire,” remarked Sebattis. “Eli put um out. You come ’long with me,
Tad!”

Somehow the Indian could never get the hang of Thad’s name, and called
him Tad; but it was rather a curiosity to hear him talk at all, so nobody
ever objected, least of all the patrol leader.

“This is mighty fine of you boys,” whispered Thad, as he watched Eli and
Jim proceeding to scatter the fire, and trample on the embers; in which
task the other members of the party only too willingly assisted.

In a minute, almost, they were in darkness under the pines. Meanwhile
Sebattis had baited the moose with another of his wonderful calls,
thrilling the lads just as much as on the first occasion.

“Ugh! make me shiver,” muttered Bumpus. “Seems like there just must be a
great big critter, with horns ten feet high, ready to rush the camp. Hey!
don’t get away from me, Jim; I want to squat alongside in the dark. After
all that light it seems rough to be left in the gloom.”

“Mustn’t talk no more, or sneeze, or cough! Skeer moose right bad,”
whispered the younger guide, as he threw an arm across the fat shoulders
of Bumpus, for whom he seemed to have taken an especial fancy.

And so the balance of the campers crouched there, with every nerve on
edge, listening eagerly for the slightest sound, which of course was
magnified a dozen fold, owing to the tension under which they were
laboring.

Meanwhile Thad had followed after the Indian guide.

His very first act, before the light of the fire was extinguished, had
been to hastily examine the small-bore repeating rifle which belonged to
Step Hen, and which the owner was so anxious to have Thad christen with
the first shot, at game worth while.

It seemed to be in splendid working order, and Thad believed he could
depend on it to do the work, providing he aimed straight. There is a vast
amount of result depending on the man behind the gun, whether in war, or
in hunting.

At first it seemed pitch dark to the boy, as he kept close at the heels
of the Penobscot Indian. That was partly because his eyes had been
blinded from sitting there, looking into the heart of the blazing
camp-fire so long. Now that this did not happen to be the case any
longer, he found that he could gradually see better; until presently the
dim form of Sebattis began to make itself noticeable just in front.

How silently the Indian moved along. Thad wondered whether this came from
the fact of his wearing elkskin moccasins, or because he had been raised
never to make a noise when passing through the woods; perhaps it was
both; but Thad wished he could only emulate his example; and then and
there he determined to possess himself of the soft-soled hunting boots of
the same type as those of Sebattis, at the first opportunity.

He knew from the confidence with which the guide was advancing through
the darkness that he must have immediately settled in his mind just where
they should lie in wait for the bull moose.

And it struck Thad right then and there that the dark-faced guide was
about as good a pattern for a Boy Scout to follow, as any one whom he
could imagine. Surely Sebattis kept his eyes constantly on the alert; and
never could be caught napping.

For instance, look at the way he lifted his head to listen some ten
minutes before the sheriff arrived upon the scene, and gave the boys that
rude jolt when he called out to them to surrender. Sebattis must have
heard some slight sound that warned him of the stealthy approach of
either human beings or game, and he had crept out of camp so as to be in
a position to hold the upper hand, in case of any necessity.

Perhaps it was a little strange how all these thoughts crowded through
the mind of Thad, as he was following silently as possible at the very
heels of the guide.

Other things trooped through that active brain of his, too; for Thad had
schooled himself to see and notice everything he could. For instance, he
became aware of the fact that they were heading almost directly up into
the wind. That in itself was nothing surprising, for a true still hunter
always looks to have the air blowing from the game toward himself, as in
that way he prevents the keen-scented animal from getting notice of his
approach, and fleeing before he can find a chance to send in a shot.

Yes, the night breeze was coming out of the north, and the moose was
approaching from the same quarter. The last time they heard his echoing
challenge it seemed much closer than ever, showing that the bull was
advancing with little rushes. He would push on for a couple of minutes,
and then halt to send out a call, and listen. Then Sebattis would proceed
to lure him on with the most seductive calls he could extract from his
wonderful birch bark horn.

So it went on, the two parties approaching one another at a speed which
promised a meeting very shortly.

Thad felt his heart beating almost twice as fast as ordinarily. He did
not like this, and sternly resolved to control his nerves. The party who
expects to shoot big game must be able to aim straight, and keep his wits
about him, so as to send in a second and a third shot, should they be
needed; else he may find that the boot is on the other foot, and that it
is he himself who is being hunted.

Fighting down this nervousness as best he could, the boy set his teeth
firmly together, and was resolved to do all in his power to justify the
confidence his comrades seemed to have in his ability to “do the troop
proud,” as Giraffe would have said.

Another thing he noticed by this time. They did not seem to be trying to
get to higher ground at all, as he had expected would be the case. On the
contrary, Sebattis was following the upward trend of the river. Perhaps
he only wanted to move as far away from the camp as possible, so that the
suspicious animal might not get a whiff of air that, to him, might bear
some sign of the extinguished fire; or detect uneasy movements among the
scouts left behind, and who could not keep just as still as they should.

But somehow Thad had an idea there might be yet another reason for their
keeping on in this direction, as if meaning to intercept the coming bull
moose; and presently he found it out for a fact.

Once, twice, three times had the guide stopped to send out that strange
sound that went reverberating down the river, until it died away in
mournful cadence in the distance.

Then he came to a sudden stop.

“Here do, Tad; you drop down this way. Keep eye on top ridge up there.
See um moose stand out ’gainst sky. Try hit back shoulder. No get, p’raps
me shoot too. How that suit?”

That was more than Thad had ever heard Sebattis say in one breath since
meeting the Old-town guide. But he instantly saw what the other meant,
for Thad had the instincts of a born hunter in him.

From the spot where they knelt, by looking up just a little, they could
see the bald top of a low-lying ridge close at hand, where it was
outlined sharply against the star jeweled sky. Any bulky object as big as
a cow, or even a wolf, would, if standing there on the ridge, be plainly
shown against the heavens.

“I understand, Sebattis,” the boy whispered back; “and I’ll try to do you
credit. Tell me when to shoot, that’s all.”

Then the two relapsed into silence. The last defiant call of the coming
moose was just dying out. It had been fearfully close, and Thad knew that
the animal must be less than a quarter of a mile away from them at the
time he stood still to give that call.

Sebattis answered it, and Thad began to notice that he no longer sent out
that vociferous challenge as before. He believed that the guide must now
be imitating the voice of the moose cow, to tempt the other bull on so as
to fight for the possession of a mate, which he doubtless lacked.

A few more minutes passed away. Thad imagined he could actually hear his
heart pounding away within its prison, so loudly did it throb. He began
to fear that after that last challenge the bull had become suspicious,
and declined to advance any closer. But apparently the guide did not
share in his apprehensions; for he continued to make those lower sounds,
as though wheedling the other into coming on, and entering the lists with
the bull who already had a mate.

Still there was no answering blast. What could it mean?

Thad was beginning to have a feeling of bitter disappointment and
chagrin, when all at once he heard something that gave him an electric
shock.

It was like the crackling of branches, or the breaking of dead bushes
under the impact of a ponderous body. Thad knew now that the guide had
not been mistaken with regard to his ability to coax the suspicious old
bull to close quarters; for the moose was even then climbing the other
side of the low ridge, and must appear in sight on the summit at any
moment!




                              CHAPTER IX.
                     “GOOD SHOT! GREAT LITTLE GUN!”


Strangely enough, Thad discovered at the same time that his nerves had
suddenly become as rigid as though he were simply about to fire at a
mark, to try the new rifle belonging to Step Hen.

This is one of the tests of a born hunter. He may feel nervous up to the
critical moment, when he stiffens, and seems to be made of steel.

Thad believed that he was in condition to do himself justice when the
proper time came to shoot. The distance was short, and although he would
have preferred having a different kind of light than merely seeing a
black object lined up against the sky, still he was familiar with guns,
and could, if necessary, aim merely through instinct.

The floundering grew in volume. Evidently the bull was having some
difficulty in pushing upward through the bushes that covered the other
side of the little ridge, the existence of which Sebattis must have known
before, or he would never have headed this way so confidently.

But the animal was certainly coming on, for the sounds grew louder all
the while. And whenever he seemed to stop, from any cause, there was
always that same tempting, wheedling sound to draw him on again.

It was a minute that the scout would never forget, since this was really
his first attempt to bring down game of any great size.

Again there came a silence. Was the bull hesitating again? Somehow
Sebattis had toned down his notes to a low murmur; but it was intended to
be very enticing to the stranger.

And all at once Thad felt the hand of the guide touch his arm. He guessed
that this must be meant as a signal to draw his attention to the fact
that there was at last something doing above; and at the same instant the
boy detected a moving object come into view over the top of the bald
ridge.

Higher it rose until he no longer had any doubt that he was looking at
the towering horns of a giant moose bull.

And in another moment the whole bulk of the beast was outlined against
the starry heavens.

The critical time was at hand.

Sebattis no longer played upon his birch bark horn. He had dropped it to
the ground, and doubtless gripped his old rifle so as to be ready to pour
in a second shot, should his boy-companion fail to send his lead where it
would strike a death blow. For Sebattis remembered that after all Thad
was a lad who had never before looked upon one of these greatest of all
American game animals on his native heath and that perhaps the sight
might rattle him.

“Shoot!”

It was only the faintest of whispers, but Thad caught it, for the mouth
of the Indian guide was just a short distance away from his ear.

He had already lowered his cheek to the stock of the little rifle, and
his finger was touching the trigger. Almost through instinct, such as
comes to one who has the blood of a hunter flowing through his veins, the
boy judged where he must aim, for such a thing as actually seeing the
shoulder of the gloomy figure was just then impossible.

The sight of that grand animal standing there with upraised head,
listening eagerly for the faintest indication of the presence of those
whose calls had tempted him to make this pilgrimage, was one Thad would
never be able to wholly get out of his mind.

Then he pressed the trigger of his rifle, and its quick response to the
invitation came as a pleasure to his ears. Hardly had he fired than Thad
was working the mechanism that was intended to throw out the empty shell,
and send another fresh cartridge into the firing chamber; and it spoke
well for his ability to do the right thing when he accomplished all this
without the slightest hitch; so that in two seconds he was ready to send
in a second shot if needed.

Sebattis had not fired.

This was really the first thing that flashed into Thad’s mind, and gave
him sudden hope. The second was that even though he himself had wanted to
shoot again, there was no chance, for the moose had disappeared.

He expected to hear that crashing of the bushes again, telling how the
wounded animal, for he knew he must have hit the moose, was rushing away
as fast as he had come. But he failed to catch it.

On the contrary, different sounds came to his ear, which he could not
understand for the moment. It even seemed to him that the brave moose
might have really met with an enemy, and was fighting gallantly against
heavy odds.

Well, that was just what must be happening; and the foe was one that
every moose must sooner or later find himself grappling with; for it was
the grim reaper, death.

Sebattis, with that wonderful instinct of his, had known instantly from
certain actions of the moose upon being struck, that the animal had
received his death wound. He understood that there was really no need of
his sending in a second shot; and besides, he preferred that the young
Nimrod should have the full credit of slaying the big bull.

Sebattis, for all he was an Indian, had all the generosity that marks the
true sportsman; and later on, in thinking it over, Thad realized how much
he was indebted to the guide for refraining from firing after he had done
so.

“You get um, Tad!” exclaimed the Indian, with a touch of pride in his
tone.

“Oh! do you really think I did, Sebattis?” cried the delighted young
hunter, now trembling like an aspen leaf, for the crisis was all past.

“Come with me; see!” was the reply.

Eagerly did Thad climb that little slope. It was now all as silent as
death up yonder. He hoped after all, Sebattis might not be mistaken, and
that the wily old moose, although severely hurt, had managed to slip
away. They would surely never be able to track him by the drops of blood
he shed.

But now they were on top of the rise. Thad had brought along with him the
little electric torch which he had purchased before starting on this trip
to Maine. All he had to do was to grip it in his left hand, press a
button, and instantly a brilliant ray of light shot out of the end. With
this he could see objects as much as sixty or eighty feet away, and
plainly at half that distance.

So now he flashed this light ahead. At first he failed to discover
anything on the ground, and his heart seemed to rise in his throat with
cruel disappointment at the thought that after all he had missed.

“Tad, see!”

It was the Indian who was plucking at his sleeve, and directing his
attention over to the left. And as the boy quickly turned the light in
that direction he was thrilled to discover the moose lying there on his
side, and not moving in the slightest degree.

“Oh! I did get him, didn’t I, Sebattis?” he cried, delighted beyond
measure at his good fortune; for it is not every hunter who can say he
brought down the first big game at which he has fired.

The guide was bending over the fallen monarch of the Maine woods. His
first inclination was to see where the fatal bullet had struck.

“Mighty good shot. Great little gun.”

He looked at Step Hen’s up-to-date thirty-thirty calibre rifle as though
after this he must be a fool to go packing his own heavy tool through
woods, and over carries, when one-half the weight would do better work.

And he even thrust his finger into the ragged hole just back of the fore
leg of the dead animal, as though wondering how so small a bullet could
ever make such a big opening. Sebattis had something to learn concerning
the results springing from the use of a soft-nosed bullet, that flattens
out when striking any object, even the side of an animal.

“We ought to let the boys know right away,” said Thad, thinking of how
his chums must be almost consumed with anxiety to be told the result of
that lone shot; which Step Hen must guess came from his new rifle, and
not the larger one carried by the Indian guide.

“Tad call um here. Me make little fire, so see how climb hill,” said
Sebattis.

Only too gladly did Thad send out a whoop that easily reached the
listening ears of those comrades in camp. An answering hail came back.

“Did you get him, Thad?”

“Come on over here, all of you,” was all Thad would say in return.

Immediately they heard a great threshing, as the entire crowd started on
a run in the direction of the call. Doubtless poor Bumpus would have
fared badly, and been left far in the lurch, only for the kindness of
Jim, who gave him a helping hand over all obstacles.

Meanwhile the Indian had hastened to scrape together a few handfuls of
dead stuff, which he seemed to know just where to look for; to this he
applied a match and as it sprang into a tiny flame, he proceeded to add
such fuel as he could most readily pick up.

In less than a minute he had a real fire going, that began to dispel the
shadows of night around the vicinity of the spot where the giant moose
lay. As it burned on the top of the bald ridge, the fire would serve as a
beacon to show the others just how to reach the place.

Now they were climbing the low elevation. Thad could hear some of them
puffing at a great rate. Of course Giraffe was the first to arrive, with
Eli close on his heels; then Allan, and the others trailing after in any
old style.

Each one of them pushed immediately to where the prize lay; and loud were
the exclamations of astonishment when they realized just what a monster
it was that Thad had brought down with that one fortunate shot.

Step Hen in particular was almost crazy with joy.

“Now make fun of my pea-shooter, will you, Giraffe?” he cried, dancing
around, and hugging his fine little rifle with all the delight a boy
might show in the possession of his first long trousers. “Just look at
what it did, would you? Why, anybody’s just silly to lug an old heavy
blunderbuss like yours around, when he c’n own such a bully little thing
at this. Oh! didn’t she just do everything to that old bull, though? If
he’d known about my gun he’d have lit out in the other direction,
licketty-split. After this, why should I be afraid to stand up in front
of any sort of big game that walks on four feet or hoofs? You hear me,
Giraffe?”

Thad did not disturb the wild dream of the tenderfoot chum; though he
wondered whether Step Hen could have hit Bumpus’ old red barn, if, lying
there in wait, he had suddenly seen the monster rise into view above the
crown of the low ridge, and felt Sebattis nudge him in the ribs, as a
warning that the time had come to shoot.

But it was a great moment for all the scouts, as they stood over the
prize that had fallen to the gun of their patrol leader, Thad Brewster.




                               CHAPTER X.
                        THE OLD TRAPPER’S CABIN.


“How’re we goin’ to get this game all the way to camp?” demanded Giraffe.

“Camp?” echoed Davy Jones, beginning to look alarmed, as he contemplated
the enormous bulk of the bull moose, and then imagined the lot of them
tugging and straining every nerve to drag it over the intervening ground.

“Now, just you hold on, there, Davy; don’t begin to feel one of them
cramp fits of your comin’ on, just because we have to work like pack
horses,” Step Hen remarked.

“Ain’t never thinking of such a thing,” said Davy, stiffening up again.
“You just think it’s funny, but if ever you got doubled up once, you’d
feel for me.”

In times past the Jones boy had been subject to queer fits that took him
all of a sudden, and doubled him up with a severe cramp. When he had one
of these, he was utterly helpless. They had saved Davy more than a few
whippings, in school and at home: and in this respect proved very
accommodating cramps. But latterly the boys suspected Davy had really
outgrown them; and that he was only threatened with a return of the
disease whenever there seemed to be some hard work to be done. Possibly
his active outdoor life, and that gymnastic desire on his part to do all
manner of athletic stunts had helped get rid of the trouble.

“But after all,” declared Thad, “I don’t think anybody is dreaming of
trying to carry, or drag the moose all the way to our camp. How about
that, Eli?”

The older guide, upon being appealed to in this fashion, remarked that
they would be foolish to think of such a thing.

“We kin cut it up right here in the mornin’,” he observed. “I guess yu
boys’d like to try a steak from the ole bull; an’ we’ll tote sum o’ the
meat along. An’ as fur the horns, I kin fix them all right. We’ll kerry
’em in one of the canoes, so’s ye kin show yer friends the kind o’ game
we has up here in Maine.”

That suited Thad just right. He wanted those towering horns very much,
and was only afraid there might be some objection to taking them along,
for they must weigh quite heavily.

So after a while the whole party started back to the camp, where a fire
was once more kindled, the night being cool, the guides felt the need of
warmth, since they would have no cover over them as they slept.

It was some time before the scouts could think of settling down. The
glorious success that had attended this first try at game worth while,
seemed to inspire the entire lot with an eager desire to emulate Thad’s
example. Why, even Bumpus seemed to partake of the fever to some extent,
though he had brought no gun along, and did not claim to be any sort of
sportsman.

When morning came at last the oldest guide went over, and started
operations on the dead moose. He took off the skin, and secured the horns
for the successful hunter, to be preserved as a trophy of the event.

Besides this, Eli brought back quite a lot of the best meat. The boys
were wild to see what moose steak tasted like; but although it aroused
their hunger while it was in process of cooking, still the best any of
them could do was to gnaw at their portion, for it was as tough as
anything they had ever struck.

“That’s where we missed it,” grumbled Giraffe, after giving up in disgust
all efforts to masticate some of his portion.

“In what way do you mean?” asked Thad, expecting the other would say he
ought to have selected a younger and more tender animal, when supplying
food for the camp.

“Why,” the tall scout continued, with a broad grin; “d’ye know, I said we
had ought to fetch that little meat chopper our folks at home use; and
the rest of you laughed at the idea. Just think, if we had it now, what a
fine hash we’d be enjoyin’ every day. That’s the only thing I know of
that could grind up this tough meat.”

It was rather later than usual that morning before they got started in
the canoes; there seemed so much to do. But in good time these various
duties were fulfilled. The guides did not appear at all anxious. They
seemed to feel satisfied that before a great while had passed, they would
get in touch with the party they were following; and meant that the boys
in their charge should enjoy some of the Maine hunting on the way.

Eli declared that he knew of another fine camping spot ahead, which they
would doubtless reach about dark. This was really an old and long
deserted cabin, once occupied by a trapper, who had taken his toll of
furs in the neighboring streams where once upon a time all manner of
valuable animals were plentiful, from mink, otter, marten, and even
beaver; while around the vicinity foxes used to be thick, not to mention
wildcats, an occasional panther, and even wolves; though these latter can
seldom be found within the limits of Maine at the present day.

The boys had had more or less experience in using log cabins for nights
lodgings; and they amused themselves as they pushed on, with
reminiscences of events that would always be interesting to them.

Of course there were times when the three canoes were some little
distance apart, but again they would come close enough together for the
inmates to have shaken hands, had the inclination to do so arisen.

At noon they stopped to eat lunch, and give the guides a chance to rest,
for the work of pushing up against that current was no child’s play.
Although the boys were ready to lend a helping hand, and “spell” the
guides from time to time, naturally the brunt of the work fell on Eli,
Jim and Sebattis.

“Did any of you hear a gunshot a little while ago?” asked Giraffe, when
the boats came together about the middle of the afternoon.

“He keeps on sayin’ he’s sure he did,” broke in Bumpus, who was in the
canoe with the tall boy, making “the long and short of it, or both
extremes meet,” as Bumpus himself often humorously remarked; “but neither
Eli nor I caught it. How about the rest of you?”

“Nothing doing here,” said Step Hen; and all the rest, even the stolid
Sebattis, denied having heard anything that sounded like the report of a
firearm.

“Which way did it seem to come from, Giraffe?” asked Thad, wondering if
after all the other could have caught a faint sound that escaped the
vigilance of the three guides; and thinking of Mr. Carson, of course, who
was ahead somewhere.

“Oh! about the way we’re goin’ I reckon,” replied Giraffe. “Just seemed
to ketch the faintest little boom; but Eli said as how he hadn’t heard
nothin’. The wind had died out at the time, but the air was still from
the north. I’m right sure it was a gun, even if Bumpus here does say I
had an idea, and it was such a new thing it hit me with a bump.”

The afternoon wore away, and the sun set without their having reached
their destination.

“Where’s your old and comfy cabin?” demanded Bumpus. “I’m tired of
sittin’ here so long, and I guess I’ll never be able to get straightened
out again.”

“Huh!” grunted Giraffe, “think of me, will you? Ain’t I near twice as
long? Ain’t I twisted up in a knot every which way? My legs took to
bendin’ so they’ll knock my knees together; or else look like hoops. How
much you got to complain about, you little dumplin’, Bumpus.”

“But Eli says we’re going on, and that we’ll make it not a great while
after dark sets in,” Bumpus remarked, scorning to enter into an argument
with the other on the subject of whether it paid to be long drawn out, or
else shut up in a small compass.

“Good for Eli, then; we can’t get there any too soon to suit me,”
declared Davy Jones, who was working a paddle in conjunction with Jim;
Allan having done more than his share of the work during various periods
in the afternoon just passed.

“Give us half a hour more, and we’ll sure git thar,” said Eli, later on,
when the shadows of coming night began to cover the river; and had
already swooped down in full force upon the adjacent woods.

They paddled along in silence, except when one of the boys managed to
splash in dipping or removing his paddle blade. Those who were new to the
work found that they had considerable to learn before they could expect
to work as silently as Sebattis, for example. The way the Indian would
sent the canoe forward with vigorous thrusts, and yet never removing his
paddle from the water, and making no sound whatever, was a never ending
source of delight to both Thad and Step Hen. And the latter tried
valiantly to imitate his example whenever he took the extra spruce blade
in hand.

Finally, when the half hour had about arrived at its conclusion, Eli gave
the tired voyagers a pleasant shock by suddenly calling out:

“Land here!”

The three canoes were enabled to find good places to run ashore, by means
of Thad’s precious little electric torch, which came in handy in scores
of different ways during the Maine expedition, and paid for itself time
and again.

Then, first of all, they found where the cabin lay. Eli seemed to know
all about it, and claimed to have spent many a night under the shelter of
its still fairly well preserved roof; though it had been two years now
since last he was here; for on the previous season he took a party along
another trail.

Giraffe insisted on starting a little blaze outside. He was always
thinking of some excuse for making fires; and in this instance nobody
quarreled with him, for they really needed some light in order to unload
the canoes, and carry the stuff up to the old cabin.

The door would not go more than half-way shut, but outside of this
defect, which was not so very serious, since the wintry blasts had not
yet set in, the log cabin seemed to offer a cozy shelter for the night.

Once they got inside, and Giraffe was set to work again, building another
fire, this time in the big fireplace, above which yawned the
wide-throated chimney.

The cabin had once been quite a pretentious place, in those old days when
the builder, perhaps with a trapper pard, spent his time here gathering a
heavy tribute of rich pelts from the native furry inhabitants of swamp
and river and forest.

Its roof was quite high, and the reason for this became manifest as soon
as any one entered; for it was found that there was a loft extending
halfway across, and which could be reached by a rude but still sturdy
ladder.

“Now, what in the dickens do you think he ever built that up there for?”
Step Hen said, as he started to ascend the ladder; and then, thinking
better of it, gave up the idea.

“A place to store his bales of dried furs, so Eli says,” replied Allan.
“You see, being up here for six months, constantly gathering in new pelts
every day, they increased rapidly, and took considerable space; so,
having plenty of room, he just ran that platform half-way across, and six
feet and a half from the floor down here.”

“Great stunt,” remarked Step Hen, but he made no further attempt to
ascend to the platform, his curiosity being satisfied.

And later on, Step Hen shook hands with himself because of that second
thought, considering himself a lucky boy, which indeed proved to be the
case.

There was more or less talking and laughing as they started preparations
for supper. The chimney seemed to draw poorly at first, possibly on
account of not having been used for so long. When it got warmed up,
perhaps it would “behave”, Eli remarked. Meanwhile there was considerable
smoke in the cabin, and more or less sneezing, as well as rubbing of
smarting eyes.

“Say, what d’ye mean, trying to choke us all, Giraffe?” demanded Bumpus,
who looked as though in great distress, as the tears were rolling down
his fat cheeks like “little Niagaras”, Step Hen declared.

“And I reckon, now, you just picked out the greenest wood ever, so’s to
give us a good dose of this?” suggested Davy Jones, also rubbing his
eyes.

Altogether the boys were making so much noise themselves that no one
could expect to hear anything else. That was the only reason Thad could
give, later on, why the keen ears of Eli or Sebattis had not detected
certain things that must have come to their knowledge had it not been for
this clamor, and rattle of merry tongues.

“Anybody think of having some more of that india-rubber steak for
supper?” sang out Giraffe, still working with the fire, which seemed to
be behaving a little better already, and gave promise of being all right
presently.

“Say, don’t everybody shout out at once. Put me down for baked beans
first, last and all the time,” declared Bumpus, seeking the vicinity of
the door in order to cool his heated eyes, smarting from the pungent
smoke.

“Hello! who’s rocking the old cabin like that? Let up, can’t you before
it goes over?” shouted Step Hen, standing in the doorway for air.

Possibly he may have thought it did go over, for just then some great
hairy object came tumbling down from the loft, making some use of the
ladder, but at the same time landing with a crash on the floor. Then,
before any one could so much as make the first move toward one of the
guns, standing in a corner of the cabin, this lumbering object hustled
over to the half-open door, and bowled through, upsetting both Step Hen
and Bumpus in its passage.

For a second or two silence followed, and then a tremendous shout broke
out:

“Great smoke! did you see it?” whooped Giraffe, jumping to his feet.

“Who hit me?” gurgled Bumpus, who had crashed into the wall of the cabin,
and was sitting there on the floor, looking dazed.

A head was thrust in through the half-open door, and Step Hen shouted:

“It was a great big black bear, and he just went and kicked me out of the
place, fellers!”




                              CHAPTER XI.
                    ON THE WINGS OF THE NIGHT WIND.


“A bear!” shrieked Bumpus, struggling to his knees; “and he shoved me
around like I was a bundle of hay! Did you ever hear of such nerve?”

“Think what he did to me?” cried Step Hen entering through the partly
open door; “I was just pokin’ my nose out, to get a whiff of fresh air,
for I couldn’t hardly breathe in here; when he sent me a flyin’, just
like you’d kick for goal on the gridiron. Guess I covered all of ten
feet, and landed in them bushes out there. Look here! See what I got
off’n the old beast.”

He opened his clenched hand, and exhibited a bunch of long black hairs.
Undoubtedly Step Hen must have involuntarily clutched at the bear as they
came in contact, and had managed to hold on to these tokens of the
collision.

Thad was laughing and shaking all over, so were Eli and Jim; and Allan
joined in. Presently the whole of them began to see the ludicrous side of
the adventure, and even Sebattis was noticed to be grinning. Nobody had
ever known him to emit a genuine laugh.

“And just to think how near we came to having bear steak for breakfast,
instead of that old tough moose meat,” remarked Giraffe.

“Well, that’s all right,” Step Hen took occasion to say; “but if a feller
c’n judge from the way he kicked _me_, that bear was some tough too. My!
I’d sure hate to put on the gloves with him in a bout. I just had time to
turn and look around, when I heard that big bump; then he jumped me, and
out we both went. Mebbe I ain’t glad now I didn’t keep right on going up
that ladder when I started. Just think what a time I’d had up there with
him!”

“Wow, and again I say, wow!” snapped Giraffe. “Things seem to be
happening right thick and fast now, fellers. This sure is the big game
country, all right, and to the good.”

They were all of one opinion with respect to that. To get one night a
lordly moose bull, and by the romantic way of calling, too; and then the
very next to run across a big burly bear, was as fine a piece of good
luck as any of them could wish for.

“Wonder what’s coming along next in line?” remarked Bumpus, nervously, as
he made sure to get close to the fire, and away from the open door.

“Say, you don’t think that old bear’d have the nerve to come back here on
second thoughts, and try to clean out the whole bunch?” Step Hen queried;
“because I’ve seen all I want of him. They say three times and out; but I
reckon it was only once with me; and I went, too.”

“No, I wasn’t thinking of him,” Bumpus declared; “but then there might be
a few elephants or rhinoceroses, or camels, or something else hanging
around these diggings, waiting to get acquainted. I don’t like meetin’ up
with ’em so sudden like. Whiff! bang! and then good-bye! Why, it ain’t
decent to treat a feller that way without bein’ introduced first.”

“And to think that the sly old critter was up there all the time we kept
talkin’ and carryin’ on down here?” said Davy Jones, who had come out of
the affair with only a skinned knee, owing to striking up against some
wood on the floor, when he threw himself wildly to one side at sight of
the descending bear.

“What d’ye think ever started him movin’?” asked Bumpus.

“Smoke do it,” replied Eli. “The ole bear, he lies quiet, not knowin’
what to make o’ us comin’ in here, whar he’s expectin’ to take up his
winter quarters. But purty soon thet smoke it begins to smart his eyes.
Bears don’t like smoke, any more’n any animile does. So gettin’
frightened arter a while, he starts down the ladder, misses his grip, an’
lands in a heap on the floor. If I’d be’n able tuh git hold o’ a gun I’d
a guv him his pill; but I guess it’d be’n dangerous work shootin’ in
here, with so many ’raound.”

“Will we ever run across him again?” remarked Step Hen, as he felt all
over his body, to ascertain how many scratches or bruises had resulted
from the rather hurried way in which he took his recent departure. “I
don’t mind being fired from a cannon,” he continued, as several twinges
of pain told him he had not come through the ordeal entirely unscathed;
“but I draw the line at being made a football by a scared bear. Wonder he
didn’t break every rib I have. As ’tis, I wouldn’t be much s’prised if a
dozen or so were fractured.”

“Well, we’ll make you a strait jacket to-morrow, and keep you in a
plaster cast the rest of the trip,” declared Giraffe; chuckling in rare
good humor, because, for once at least, he had not been caught up in the
little whirl.

“Like fun you will,” grumbled Step Hen, getting Bumpus to rub his back
for him, on promise of returning the favor in kind.

“But I think somebody ought to go up and look that loft over,” suggested
Davy Jones. “How do we know but what it’s just full of bears right now.
’Tain’t the nicest thing to think such a load’s goin’ to drop down on
your head any old time. He might upset my coffee when I get to drinkin’,
too.”

So, to quiet the boys, Jim climbed up, taking the little electric torch
along with him. Upon his reporting that all was clear some of the others
also ascended, to see where the bear had been sleeping at the time of
their arrival.

“Now, if there was only a couple of nice jolly little cubs around, we’d
have heaps of fun playing with ’em,” Bumpus suggested, as he too examined
the loft, and saw where the bear had been making a soft sleeping place
out of dead leaves that must have drifted in through a hole at the end of
the roof, but much too small to let the big beast go out that way.

“Cubs! listen to him, would you?” cried Step Hen. “Why, it ain’t the time
of year for cubs; and if it was, I’d like to see _you_ playin’ with any,
while the old missus was alive, and hangin’ around. She’d cub you with a
club, worse’n she did me; and don’t you forget it, Bumpus. Cubs! Well,
what queer things you do see when you haven’t a gun,” and the way he
looked at the fat boy when saying this made Bumpus bristle up
immediately.

“Don’t you call me a _thing_, Step Hen!” he admonished, severely; at
which there was a shout from the other.

“He admits it all, fellers;” Davy Jones exclaimed; “he puts on the shoe
first thing. But then, Bumpus, we know you ain’t up on natural history.
It’s a wonder you didn’t say that was a hippopotamus, or a crocodile,
instead of a bear. You’re bound to know more about these things before
you get back to Cranford again. We’ll let it go at that. How’s that
supper gettin’ on, Giraffe? Anything more I c’n do to help?”

“Anything more?” echoed the cook, disdainfully; “I’d like to know the
first thing you’ve done to help get it. Didn’t he say he felt one of them
fits acomin’ on when we landed here, fellers; and then on top of that,
you got so scared by that old bear dropping down on us, you couldn’t
hardly move. I just see you helpin’, when you c’n crawl out of it. The
only help you’ll give will be when supper’s ready for servin’, and then
it’ll be to make way with the stuff good and hearty. I notice you never
get one of them cramps right then, Davy; oh, no! They’re right handy
things to have in the house, ain’t they. I’m goin’ to borrow a few
sometime, see if I don’t now.”

In good time the supper was pronounced ready, Eli having assisted in its
preparation; for, with nine hungry voyagers to feed, the amount that had
to be prepared made the task no light one.

As usual, they made merry while disposing of the food that had been
gotten ready. Some of the moose was cut up as small as possible, and made
into a palatable stew. Then they had Boston baked beans; and some pretty
fair biscuits, which Eli baked in the little portable oven that was
carried in one of the boats. Of course coffee made a part of the supper.
At home possibly few of these lads ever drank coffee more than once a
day, and at breakfast at that; but here in the woods the meal would seem
rather tame without the warm cup that every one looked for.

“What do you say to stopping here a day or so, boys?” asked Thad. “I’ve
been talking it over with Eli, and he says we couldn’t find a better
place for game. Perhaps, now, one of the rest of you may run across a
moose bigger even than mine; or Bumpus here stands a chance of meeting up
with his friend, the bear, who gave him that handshake in passing.”

“Excuse me,” Bumpus hastened to say; “that doesn’t mean I object to
hanging out at the Hotel Log Cabin as long as the rest of you see fit;
but I don’t hanker after meetin’ up with that rude black pirate again. He
may be a pretty fine kind of a bear, as bears go; but I object to the
breed.”

“Count us all as saying we’ll be glad of a break in the journey, Thad,”
Allan remarked, just then. “Besides, we must be somewhere near where that
Mr. Carson is hunting, right now; and at any time we might run up against
him.”

Step Hen, Giraffe and Davy nodded their heads, as though to intimate that
Allan voiced the sentiments of all when he said that.

“There’s one thing I’ve got in my mind, and it’s this,” Bumpus went on to
remark. “Now’s goin’ to be the time for Allan here to keep his promise to
show me a bee tree. He told me that summer was the time to do it, when
the bees were on the wing, and he could work his little game; but that
he’d try his best to ’commodate me any time, once we got up here in
Maine.”

“And so I will,” replied the other, smiling at the earnestness with which
Bumpus kept talking on that one subject. “Perhaps Jim, or Eli here, will
help me find a tree. If the bees are hived up for winter, then the only
way we can do it is to listen when the noonday sun is shining. Sometimes,
before the weather gets too cold, the young bees come out of their hole,
and buzz around, trying their wings. I’ve found a hive in the dead top of
a tree that way.”

“And got a lovely stock of juicy honeycomb too, I guess?” said Giraffe,
making a face to indicate that the subject certainly appealed to him from
the standpoint of a sweet luxury, if from nothing else.

“Sure we did; and a lovely lot of stings thrown in,” chuckled Allan.

“Well, they say bee stings are good for rheumatism, and I’ve sometimes
thought I was getting a touch of that in my legs,” Davy Jones observed,
thoughtfully.

“There wasn’t much rheumatism about you when that bear dropped down on
us,” said Giraffe, scornfully. “The way you scooted out of the way would
have made the best short distance sprinter turn green with envy.
Rheumatism! Wow! that goes in line with cramps, I guess, now.”

“What’ll we put all the honey in?” asked Bumpus, just as though he
counted the finding of the bee tree an accomplished thing, because Allan
had agreed to do what he could to find one.

“I’ll hold all I can,” retorted Giraffe, complacently; “but then you
mustn’t expect me to keep on loading up, till I bust. I c’n stretch
sometimes; but even that’s no sign I’m made of injy rubber, is it?”

“Well, we won’t cook our rabbit till we’ve got him,” said Allan.
“Sometimes most of the honey in a bee tree is old, and candied. The new
stuff is what counts. The other is dark colored and sickening sweet. But
wait and see, if so be we’re lucky enough to strike one.”

After supper was over they enjoyed sitting there before the fire, and
listening to Eli tell stories about the old cabin; which, according to
his accounts, must have seen many queer happenings at least equal to the
one surprise to which they had been treated, on their first acquaintance
with it on this night.

Thad, being given a fair amount of imagination, found it easy to shut his
eyes, and believe he could see the old trapper who once lived here, as
Eli described him. Years upon years he had come and gone, as the winters
passed, always taking toll of the woods’ folks; yet never trying to make
such a deep inroad on their numbers but that there were plenty left for
breeding purposes. The wise old trapper looked forward to another year.
Finally he had lost his life among the wild loggers of a Maine river;
being unfortunate enough to get caught in a jam that he was trying to
break.

When some of the boys, tired from the work of the day, and lack of rest
on the preceding night, stretched out their blankets, and disputed about
where each should settle down later on. Thad and Eli stepped out to see
what the night promised for the coming day. If it looked like snow they
would find good tracking weather; though for one Thad hoped this would
still keep off some little while, and allow them to do some hunting
before winter closed on them.

The stars were shining brightly in the dark heavens. The young moon had
sunk to rest; but every night now they might expect it to grow in size,
until in a week considerable light would come from this source. And there
is nothing more enjoyable when in the depths of the wilderness, than a
round, clear moon.

As the two stood there, speaking of these things, there came stealing on
the night air a strange sound that, although rising from a considerable
distance away from the cabin, still struck Thad as very weird, and also
blood-curdling. He had heard watch dogs bay to the moon; but this was
something far more thrilling.

“That’s no wildcat; and I don’t think it can be a panther, a bear or any
animal I’ve ever struck in the woods. What do you make out of it, Eli?”
he asked, turning to the old guide, whom he had heard emit a whistle, as
of astonishment, at the time that queer howl was heard.

“It’s be’n many a year now, Thad, since ever I heerd the like o’ thet
howl,” the Maine guide observed. “Time was when they uster be here in
plenty; but the bounty paid by the state, it just ’bout cleaned the hull
lot out; er else they thort as how ’twar safer up yonder, acrost the line
in Canada.”

“What’s that?” exclaimed Thad; “do you mean to tell me that was a wolf?”

“A real wolf, an’ nothin’ else,” answered Eli; “an’ let me tell ye, it do
bring back the old days, fur me to listen to thet howl. This is like
livin’ again.”




                              CHAPTER XII.
                         A FACE IN THE WINDOW.


“Ugh! that right, Eli; wolf only cry like that!” said a voice close
beside the two who stood there; and turning, they could make out a figure
which they knew must be that of Sebattis; but so softly had the Indian
slipped out, after hearing that well-known though faint howl, that even
Eli, sharp ears though he possessed, had not detected his coming until he
spoke.

“Where thar’s one wolf thar’s agoin’ ter be more,” remarked the old Maine
guide, with the air of one who knew what he was talking about.

“Huh! wolf he always hunt in pack, never by self,” observed Sebattis,
drily.

“That adds a little spicy flavor to our being up here, then,” Thad went
on to say, being not displeased; for if only he could have that magical
little rifle of Step Hen’s in his hands, he cared not how many of the
fierce brutes he might run across; for with its quick-shooting qualities,
and the deadly nature of the bullets it used, he believed he could take
care of all comers. Besides, if hard-pressed, it was always possible to
take to a tree, where one would be safe from the cruel fangs of the
animals.

When they went inside, and told what they had heard, the boys received
the news with various shades of enthusiasm. Giraffe was really pleased,
for he meant to do something bold on this trip that would forever
establish his reputation as a mighty Nimrod; Step Hen fondled his rifle,
and then stood it in the corner close to the spot where he had spread his
blanket, as though he had a faint idea he might find need for it in the
night; Davy Jones shrugged his shoulders, and hoped he would not happen
to run across the pack when alone; and as for Bumpus, he deliberately
changed his blanket, placing it on the further side of several others,
away from that open door.

But Eli had been examining that same door, and was of the opinion that,
with a little effort, it might be coaxed to shut. This he proceeded to
accomplish, and with a success that won him a cheer from the timid
Bumpus.

“Never did like to sleep in a draught,” muttered the fat scout; “and I’m
glad the glass stayed in that window all these years.”

“That is queer, for a fact,” observed Thad. “But I reckon now it would
never have held out if some of the fellows we have in Cranford had come
along.”

“You hit it right about that, Thad,” agreed Step Hen. “Take that Ambrose
Griffin and his cronies, Eli Bangs and Walt Hopkins, and they never could
pass an empty house without shyin’ stones at the windows. I’ve heard a
smash many a time, and seen one of them scootin’ away like hot cakes.
Guess they like to hear the jingle of the broken glass; it must sound
like music to some fellers.”

“What’s thet ye say ’bout Eli?” asked the old guide, pricking up his
ears.

“Oh! we weren’t talking about you that time,” laughed Thad. “It happens
that you’ve got a namesake down in the town where we live, who’s up to
every trick there is, that he thinks will afford him some fun;” and as
the guide expressed an interest in the matter, Thad detailed a few of the
practical jokes which were believed to lie at the doors of the three bad
boys of Cranford.

When he heard about the lights going out at the church, just when a
convert was about to be immersed, and the cries of the alarmed audience,
together with shrieks from the frightened woman, who really thought she
had been transplanted from this world into another, since everything
became suddenly black around her, the guide grinned. He had never heard
of such carrying on, and thought it was comical. But Thad knew that more
than one person had need of a doctor after that episode; and that if
actual proof could be procured concerning the culprits who cut the
electric wires, they would have been severely punished by the town
fathers.

Somehow none of the boys seemed in such a hurry to lie down now. Thad’s
stories of events which they knew from first hands started them talking
again; and by degrees some of the rest related other doings that were
commonly laid at the door of the three Cranford scapegraces.

Bumpus changed his blanket three separate times in the course of half an
hour. There was no draught now to complain of, since Eli had managed to
get the door closed; but Thad noticed the fat and timid scout eying that
wide throat of the chimney; and really believed Bumpus had come to
suspect that it was large enough to admit of the passage of one of those
hungry wolves, should they find all other avenues of ingress closed to
them. And he did not fancy being directly in the road of the first one
that came in.

Bumpus knew that he must prove a juicy morsel for any half-starved beast
of prey; and that, given the chance, they were just sure to pick him out.
Giraffe was playing safe under any considerations, for the animal that
would prefer that bag of bones must be out of its mind.

And Thad also made up his mind that after Bumpus got fairly to sleep he
would manage to get possession of the gun he had hitched closer to him,
and which was the double-barreled weapon carried into the woods by Davy,
who had made no protest when the stout boy coolly appropriated the same.

There could be no telling but that Bumpus, with his mind worked up over
that bear, and the wolf that had howled away off up the river, might
dream he was being hotly attacked. And a gun in the possession of a
greenhorn can be even more dangerous under such conditions than if an
adept handled it.

“I’ve just thought of a good thing,” suddenly exclaimed Bumpus.

“Then get it out of your system in a hurry, or it’ll hurt you,” said
Giraffe.

“No danger of anything good ever hurting _you_, Giraffe,” declared the
other, with a fine show of sarcasm that caused the tall scout to grin;
for somehow, when he and Bumpus got to exchanging compliments, Giraffe
always seemed rather tickled if the other managed to give him a sly dig.

“Well, let’s hear what struck you, all of a sudden,” he remarked.

“It’s about our honey,” began Bumpus, seriously.

“What honey?” demanded Giraffe, pretending to look all around. “I haven’t
seen any, that I know of.”

“Oh! you know what I mean;” Bumpus went on; “the honey we expect to get,
when Allan finds the bee tree. I’m just as dead sure he’s goin’ to do it,
as I am of having my breakfast to-morrow morning.”

“Well, I reckon Allan only wishes he was as sure as you are,” Giraffe
remarked.

“Let him tell what’s on his mind, can’t you, Giraffe?” broke in Davy
Jones. “I think it’s a shame how you badger that poor fellow. Don’t you
know there’s a law against cruelty to animals?”

“Monkeys are included under that law, please remember,” retorted the fat
boy, as he turned on his new tormentor. “But I suppose you fellows are
just dying to know the brilliant thought that just flashed into my mind a
little while ago?”

“Go on, and get it out,” begged Step Hen.

“Yes, we want to know, if we’re not from Missouri,” added Allan.

“Well, there isn’t any reason why we should waste a whole lot of it after
all, if we only know enough to use our brains, and take advantage of our
opportunities,” Bumpus went on, with exasperating slowness, as though
this might be his method of getting even for the attack upon him.

“What sort of opportunities?” demanded Davy.

“Storage capacity,” answered the other, simply.

“Now, its all very well to want to save the honey,” observed Giraffe,
eying the other suspiciously; “but if you expect us to fill up our
kettles, and every dish we’ve got along with us, you’re off your base,
Bumpus. We have to eat three times a day; and just fancy having even the
coffee pot jammed full of sticky sweetness.”

“Guess again,” remarked Bumpus, composedly. “Well, I suppose that I’ll
just _have_ to tell you, because you’d never get on to such a brilliant
idea in a thousand years. First thing, you didn’t know I brought it
along, perhaps. Don’t hardly understand myself just why I borrowed it
from Smithy; but I must have thought it’d come in handy, sometime or
other. And it’s going to, fellows; it’s going to.”

“What is?” shouted Giraffe, now at the end of his patience.

“Why, that cute little collapsible rubber foot bath belonging to our
comrade, Smithy. You know he was such a clean feller, that he just
couldn’t think of going anywhere at first, without carrying that tub
along. It holds quite a lot; and if we filled it with nice sweet honey——”

But poor Bumpus did not get any further in his explanation. Roars of
laughter broke in upon his story; for the idea of filling a rubber foot
bath with the sticky product of a bee tree was too much for the rest of
the boys. And Bumpus, after staring around in a hurt way, shrugged his
fat shoulders, and relapsed into silence, simply remarking.

“Oh! all right; that’s all a feller gets for crackin’ his brain trying to
think up things for the benefit of the whole bunch. I just guess that old
bear’ll get the main part of our honey, after all.”

“What’s that? Do bears like honey, Allan?” demanded Giraffe.

“I should say they did,” replied the Maine lad, readily enough. “They’re
just wild over it. A bear will overturn a hive, if ever he gets in a
garden, and devour comb and all, like a regular pig.”

“But the bees,” continued the tall scout; “don’t they sting him at all?
Think of the thousands of little critters, each with his poison lance,
stinging that poor bear.”

“It doesn’t seem to bother the bear one bit,” Allan added. “I’ve known
them to just clean out a hive; and when we shot the varmint just
afterward, he didn’t seem to have a swollen head from any stings. But if
we should be lucky enough to find a bee tree, perhaps we’ll coax our
friend, the bear that was in this cabin, to come around; and then some of
you can get a crack at him. His hide would make a rug to be proud of,
especially if you had killed the beast yourself.”

“Count me in on that game,” said Giraffe, earnestly. “I boasted to the
boys at home that I was goin’ to bag a big bear; and if I don’t make good
they’ll give me the laugh, you see. And then we’ll find out whether this
heavy old rifle that belonged to my uncle, ain’t equal to a new-fangled
little popgun that shoots spreader bullets.”

The boys had begun to show new signs of quieting down. Some were yawning
again, and the chances were the signal to crawl under the blankets would
presently have been given by Thad.

It was Bumpus who suddenly aroused the whole party. He sat upright on the
floor, and pointed directly at the window that was opposite to where he
had last thrown his blanket down. Thad saw that the face of the fat boy
really expressed surprise, not to mention consternation, as he cried out:

“Oh! I wonder who that was I saw peek in at the window just then, and
draw back when he caught me lookin’ at him. A white man, too, fellers, it
was, believe me; I ain’t foolin’!”

Everybody jumped up, the three guides as well as the boys, when Bumpus
made this astonishing declaration. But although their eyes instantly
sought the window indicated, the cob-webbed glass betrayed no sign of the
presence of any one.




                             CHAPTER XIII.
                         THE MARKED SHOE AGAIN.


“He’s got ’em again, boys!” exclaimed Giraffe, in utter disgust. “You
know, time was when our friend Bumpus was always seein’ things? He used
to get us up in the middle of the night huntin’ around for all sorts of
crazy wild beasts; and then, after we’d been nearly frozen, he’d yawn,
say he guessed he must a been dreamin’ again, and turn over to go to
sleep. Now he’s beginnin’ to see things with his eyes open.”

Everybody looked severely at Bumpus. Thad knew the ways of the fat boy as
well as any one could. And he understood that the other could not keep a
straight face when attempting anything like a practical joke. A whimsical
little grin would always betray Bumpus to shrewd and searching eyes.

But just then he had a solemn look. Bumpus even seemed to be aggrieved
that his word should be so lightly taken.

“But I ain’t foolin’, I tell you,” he persisted. “I really and truly did
see somethin’ that _looked_ like a man’s face, peek in at that window!”

“Oh! hear him beginning to hedge, would you?” cried Davy, fiercely.
“First it was a man, and a white man too. Now he says it just looked like
a man. Pretty soon he’ll up and admit that he _thought_ he saw something
moving out there; and when we rush out to hunt around, I guess we’ll find
only the limb of a tree that waves in the night wind. Oh! you Bumpus, we
know you, all right!”

“Oh! very well, if you don’t believe me when I say so, and hold up my
hand this way, why, I haven’t got another thing to say,” grumbled the fat
boy. “But if I didn’t see a face there, why, I’ll, yes, I’ll eat my hat.”

“After all,” remarked Thad, whom the guides had been watching, to take
their cue from his actions, “it ought to be easy to prove Bumpus’
statement one way or the other.”

“How’s that, Thad?” asked Step Hen.

“Why, all we have to do is to ask Sebattis here, or Eli, or Jim, to step
outside and look for tracks!” remarked the patrol leader.

“Well what do you think of that for a bright lot of scouts?” laughed
Giraffe. “That’s what we ought to have thought of the first thing. And
the sooner they get busy, the quicker we’ll know whether Bumpus saw
anything, or just thought he did.”

Thad turned on the guides, and smiling, nodded his head. With that
signal, which they easily understood, both Eli and the Indian darted over
to the fire; while the boys watched them curiously.

“Oh! it’s torches they’re after!” exclaimed Bumpus, seeing the guides
picking out blazing brands that, to their practiced eyes, offered all the
advantages which a lantern might supply.

Doubtless one of the three men would have hastened to the door and pushed
out to investigate, as soon as Bumpus raised his racket; only, hearing
Giraffe making fun of the fat boy, they suspected it was only a prank he
might be playing; and none of them wished to be caught as the victim of a
practical joke.

The door was somewhat difficult to open, but stout Jim threw his weight
upon it, and had a passage for his fellow guides when they were ready to
step out.

Of course every one of the scouts hustled after, even Bumpus, which fact
seemed to speak well for his sincerity. Thad himself secretly believed
that there might be something in what Bumpus had said; and he prepared
himself to hear such an announcement from one of the two who were
intending to look for signs.

The very first thing both Sebattis and Eli did, after emerging from the
hut, was to swing their torches violently around their heads. These made
a hissing sound and the strange action quite aroused the curiosity of
some of the scouts.

“Whatever are they doing that for?” asked Step Hen.

“Looks like they might be signallin’ to somebody, and sayin’ ‘it’s all
off,’” Davy remarked.

But somehow Giraffe, knowing all about fires, and what uses they could be
put to, laughed at their dense ignorance.

“Why, don’t you see,” he declared with an air of superior wisdom, “when
they whirl ’em around swiftly that way, it starts the flame to burning
more fiercely, and so they get better light. See, what did I tell you?
Ain’t they burnin’ to beat the band now? Talk about your electric torch,
bah! it ain’t in the same class with a good live firebrand.”

Both the Penobscot Indian and the old Maine guide had pushed close up
under the window by this time. It was seen that they carefully watched
where they were stepping, as though not wanting to interfere with any
tracks that might happen to lie there.

Bumpus in particular watched their every move as though fascinated. His
veracity had been attacked by his fellow scouts, and he was waiting to
see them “eat humble pie” pretty soon; for a face could not appear at the
little dusty window without having connection with a human body; and that
in turn could not get there save through the aid of a pair of legs; which
would be connected with feet that must leave some sort of trail.

No doubt that was the way Bumpus was figuring it out, as he stood back
with the others, and watched.

Eli evidently realized that though he might be an experienced hand at all
such things as finding tracks and following them, under difficulties that
might daunt many men, he could hardly expect to place himself in the same
class with a genuine son of the forest.

Therefore, Thad noticed that the old Maine guide seemed to purposely
allow Sebattis to have the leading chance. He might know more than the
Indian on many subjects, but was ready to “play second fiddle” as Giraffe
expressed it, when there was a trail to discover, or read.

Hardly had the red guide reached the side of the cabin near the window,
than he made a slight motion with his hand. Eli had evidently been
waiting for some such signal as this. He quickly moved over to where the
other bent down; and the two of them seemed to be looking closely at
something.

A minute later they moved forward, a step at a time, and evidently
following some tracks that were plainly marked upon the ground.

“Huh!” chuckled Bumpus; only that and nothing more; but the one word
contained a world of meaning, and must have given him great satisfaction.

Perhaps, had he happened to be next to Giraffe, instead of Thad, he might
have given the long-legged scout a sly dig in the ribs, and in this way
let him understand that he believed his vindication in a fair way of
being made complete.

“They’ve got something, that’s sure,” declared Davy Jones.

“And now they’re right under the window, too.” added Step Hen. “Guess
Bumpus wasn’t dreamin’ after all. He saw a face, all right. Look at ’em
movin’ off now. Say, Thad, you don’t think they’re goin’ to try and
follow the owner of that face up till they get him, do you?”

“Well, hardly,” returned the patrol leader. “I suppose they just want to
make sure he did skip out, after he saw Bumpus had discovered him. And
that looks like the fellow hardly cared to join our family circle.”

“But who under the sun could he be, Thad?” asked Step Hen. “If there’s
more or less game around these diggings p’raps some trapper’s made up his
mind to stay up here all winter, and take pelts. When he saw our crowd,
he was that disgusted he just pulled up stakes, and lit out for all he
was worth.”

“I think you’re away off there, Step Hen,” declared Giraffe. “Now, if I
was asked my opinion, which nobody seems to care shucks for, I’d say that
feller might be one of the two guides Mr. James W. Carson took into the
woods with him. You see, I reckon there’s a heap of jealousy between all
these same guides; and it galled him to know that after they’d gone and
fetched the gentleman away up here, promisin’ that he’d have all the big
game huntin’ he wanted, without being bothered by any other party, they
had to run smack up against a pack of Boy Scouts, out on a trip. That’s
why he scooted the way he did, I say.”

Giraffe looked toward Thad, as though wishing he would speak up, and
either substantiate his opinion, or else advance a new one. But the
patrol leader was closely watching the guides, and made no remark.

Sebattis and Eli had not gone far away. They seemed to be satisfied with
following the trail just a little distance; and then turning, came back.
Arriving under the window again they beckoned the others to approach.

“Don’t walk over this patch right hyar, boys,” warned the old guide,
pointing down close to his feet; and from this they understood that the
marks lay there.

“It’s thar, all right, Thad,” remarked Eli, with a grin. “Seems like the
boy, he was right arter all, an’ sum critter was a peekin’ in at us.”

Both Thad and Allan of course looked down at the ground. The guides held
their blazing pine-knots closer, so that they could see better.

The impression of human foot could not be easily mistaken for the track
of any sort of wild beast. Even the most ignorant tenderfoot scout that
ever joined a troop must have known that fact at a glance.

But the patrol leader and the Maine boy seemed to discover something
about the imprint of a shoe that caused them to stare. The balance of the
scouts realized that something was about to happen beyond the ordinary:
for they pushed in closer, and waited for either of the two experts to
advance an opinion.

Allan looked at Thad, and the other returned his glance with a nod.

“Seen that track before, eh, Allan?” Thad remarked.

“I sure have, for a fact,” replied the Maine lad, positively.

“Remember how you found a footprint at that other camp of ours, before
the sheriff came along; it had a patch across the sole, and so has this
one. So it stands to reason that the same fellow made both prints. And
didn’t Sheriff Green tell us the leader of those hobo burglars wore a
shoe that had just this same criss-cross patch on the sole? That looks
like we might be somewhere close to that bunch of rascals right now; and
that the sheriff must have gone off on the wrong scent.”

The other scouts listened to all this with wide-open eyes, and
expressions of both amazement and eagerness; but it was Giraffe who
voiced their feelings when he exclaimed, drawing in a long breath:

“Wow! and again I say, wow!”




                              CHAPTER XIV.
                            FIGURING IT OUT.


“Told you so!” Bumpus could not refrain from saying, in triumph.

Thad turned on him.

“Suppose you let us know what the fellow looked like, Bumpus?” he
remarked. “If we happen on him in any of our wanderings, it might be just
as well that we knew the kind of customer we have to deal with. Can you
describe him?”

“I’m afraid not, Thad,” replied the fat boy, a little dejectedly. “You
see, just as quick as he caught sight of me turning my eyes up there, he
ducked. And all I saw was that he had a face, and a kinder hairy one at
that.”

“Oh! you mean he wore a beard?” asked the other.

“Sure he did,” was the reply. “That’s what made me wonder whether it
might have been a monkey of some sort, even if I didn’t say as much to
Giraffe when he was kidding me. But I happened to remember that
_ordinary_ monkeys don’t grow up here in Maine,” and the suggestive look
he shot in the direction of Davy made that comrade sneer; as though he
had grown hardened to being classed with the tree-climbing tribe, just
because he could hang by his toes from a limb, or go up to the tiptop of
any tree that he had ever seen.

“Well, he came, and he saw; but he didn’t conquer, not by a long sight,”
observed Step Hen. “He didn’t like our looks one little bit, fellows, and
made tracks out of here. What d’ye s’pose brought him around, in the
first place?”

“Mout a be’n jest passin’, an’ seein’ our light in hyar, thort he’d cum
ter look us up. If he’s thet kind o’ a varmint, he mebbe thort as how
thar was good pickin’s ter be bed. But he knows better now.”

It was Eli who advanced this opinion. Thad had another one that was based
on certain facts obtained from the Maine sheriff who had dropped in on
their camp so unexpectedly.

“If that was the man called Charley Barnes,” he said, “you must remember
that we heard he used to be a guide up in this country long ago, before
he took to his present calling. And in that case, why, perhaps he may
have known of this old cabin here, and was coming to see if it would make
a half-way decent place to stay for a while. Perhaps one of his friends
is sick; or it might be they feel that they just have to hold over
somewhere, so as to lay in a stock of food. That’s an idea the sheriff
had, I recollect; and he wanted to keep so hot on their track that they’d
find no time for hunting, and must get hungry.”

“Well, it _was_ a man, anyway, wasn’t it?” asked Bumpus, demurely; for he
felt that Giraffe owed him an apology of some sort.

“Yes, it was a man,” admitted that worthy, frankly; “and for once you’ve
got a bulge on me, Bumpus. Rub it in all you want to; my hide’s about as
thick as the skin of a rhinoceros, and I c’n stand it easy.”

“Oh! that’s all right, Giraffe,” replied the other, ready to forgive, now
that things were coming his way; “I was only thinkin’ how queer it seems
to have them hobo burglars huntin’ us up. Remember what I said about that
fat reward we’d get, if we happened to pull ’em in? A big thousand
dollars, Mr. Green said it was; and p’raps double that by now. Well,
funnier things have happened, understand, than a pack of Brave Scouts,
tried and true, rounding up a bunch of cowardly hoboes. We can do it,
fellers, and not half try, if we get the chance.”

Again Thad thought it one of the queerest things he had ever seen, to
watch how the fire of enthusiasm seemed to burn within the breast of the
usually rather timid and backward Bumpus Hawtree. Evidently he had his
mind set on that reward; and could see how splendidly it would come in
for the patrol, in paying the expenses of another long vacation trip they
had in mind.

“Wonder if he’ll come back any more?” remarked Step Hen, as they began to
move into the cabin again, there being no further reason for remaining
out in the cold.

“I reckon now, he saw all he wanted, and didn’t care about waiting to be
introduced to such a gang,” Giraffe chuckled.

“Speak for yourself, Giraffe,” remarked Davy, disdainfully.

“I just can’t get over Bumpus, here, showing such a strong desire to grab
these burglar fellers,” Giraffe went on. “What’s comin’ over him, do you
think? We never used to think him daring or bold. He always said his heft
kept him from joining in with the rest of the boys, when they skated over
a ‘ticklish bender’ in the ice; and that it’d sure break with him. Same
way about doin’ a lot of stunts. Now here he is, tryin’ to copy after
Davy Jones in some of his monkey-shines; and makin’ the rest of us look
like thirty cents when it comes to wantin’ to surround these here
ferocious hoboes, and take ’em prisoners.”

Bumpus shrugged his fat shoulders, and tried to look indifferent.

“Huh! that’s because you never really knew what I had in me,” he said,
calmly, though Thad could see the merry twinkle in his eyes; “It ain’t
always the savage lookin’ feller that turns out a _real_ hero, when the
time comes around. Often the quiet, modest, retirin’ sort of chap jumps
in, and saves the drownin’ child.”

“Oh; and that’s you, is it?” demanded Giraffe, as he settled himself down
in his blanket, ready to try for a little sleep.

“Everything seems to be comin’ my way,” replied Bumpus, proudly. “All you
have to do is to wait for the turn of the tide. I’m feelin’ just joyful.
let me tell you;—all but one thing;” he added, hastily. “If I only knew
about that letter business. Did I deliver it at the bank; or was I silly
enough to forget, and lose it? Sometimes I c’n just see myself walkin’ in
through the door of that bank, and deliverin’ the old thing; then it all
gets mixed up, and for the life of me I just can’t say one way or
t’other. If one of you only remembered seeing me go in, or come out; or
if I said anything about handin’ it over, it’d ease my mind a heap, now,
I tell you.”

Every time Bumpus got to thinking about that one trouble he lapsed into
silence, because he did not seem to get any sympathy from most of his
chums; Giraffe and Davy in particular being very apt to taunt him on his
poor memory. Step Hen was not inclined to say very much, lest he draw the
vials of the fat boy’s wrath down on his own head; for as we know, Step
Hen had a failing himself in the line of forgetting what he had done with
things he owned.

Once more the boys crawled under their blankets. Each of them had managed
to manufacture some sort of a pillow. One had taken his clothes bag, and
this example several of the rest copied, as suiting their wants exactly.
Bumpus, lacking enough material, had gone out to the canoe and brought in
his old haversack, from which he extracted the very rubber foot bath
which he had mentioned to his chums as belonging to Smithy. This he
crammed half full of other things, and declared it made as soft a pillow
as anybody wanted.

“Better cover that rubber with a towel, or something like it,” remarked
Thad.

“But this feels so nice and cool,” complained Bumpus.

“It may now, all right, but after a while, when you sleep, it’ll begin to
draw like everything; and the chances are, you’ll look like a boiled
lobster on one side of your face by morning. I’ve been there myself, and
know how it smarts and burns.”

“Thank you, Thad, for the advice, and I’ll take advantage of it right
away,” declared the stout scout, sweetly. “Ain’t it the best thing ever
to have a chum or two along, like Thad and Allan, who know so many
things? Why, if it wasn’t for them, the rest of us would look like the
babes in the woods.”

“Let up on that chatter, please, Bumpus,” grumbled Step Hen. “It’s
gettin’ awful late, and we ought to been asleep long ago.”

“Yes, button up, Bumpus, I’d rather hear you snore than talk just now,”
came from under the blanket that Giraffe had wrapped himself in, much
after the style of a mummy.

“All right. I’ll just lie on my back, then, and try to accommodate you,”
the other shot back.

“I’ve got one of my shoes handy, remember, and if you so much as give one
little snort I mean to shy it over in that corner,” Giraffe threatened.

The guides had been talking quietly among themselves, and when Thad saw
Sebattis open the door and slip out, he could give a pretty good guess
what the Indian meant to do. Perhaps he suspected that the hoboes,
lacking a boat with which to make their flight easier as long as the
river continued navigable, might return in numbers later in the night, in
order to help themselves from the stock of Oldtown canvas canoes owned by
the scouts’ party.

Yes, the shrewd Penobscot Indian did not mean that such a disaster should
come to pass; and doubtless he and his fellow-guides had arranged for
sentry duty by turns during the entire night.

Thad felt perfectly secure with such wide-awake videttes to look out for
the approach of the enemy. He would have gladly taken his turn on post if
asked; but it seemed as though the three guides considered that a part of
their duty. They had an easy enough task as it was, with these boys so
willing to paddle in turn, make fires, help cook the meals, and do all
sorts of things that generally the guide has fall on his shoulders alone.

Presently silence fell upon the cabin. The fire smouldered on the great
hearth, and occasionally flamed up, only to die down again. If it got
very low, some one who happened to be awake at the time, was supposed to
quietly get up, and put more fuel on; this had been anticipated, and
there was plenty under the shelter of the cabin roof.

Perhaps Bumpus believed that Giraffe really meant that dire threat he
made in connection with his heavy shoe; at any rate he did not venture to
lie on his back at all, and therefore failed to emit anything that could
be called a snore.

Hours crept on, and the night wore away. Some of the scouts never woke up
once from the time they dropped off to sleep until the delightful odor of
boiling coffee gave them to understand that dawn was at hand, and Jim
getting breakfast ready for the whole outfit.

That caused the last of them to climb out, and there was more or less
chattering as they went outside to try and find water that was not icy
cold, in order to wash their faces, and chase the last remnants of sleep
from their eyes.

“I wonder,” said Bumpus, looking up at the brightening sky, and trying to
keep from shivering as he dashed water over his rosy face; “if this is
goin’ to be a good day for bee tree huntin’; because I’ll never be happy
till I’ve seen what a real honey hole looks like.”

“But remember,” warned Giraffe, solemnly, “we ain’t fillin’ our kettles
an’ bath tubs with the honey. I know where a heap of it c’n be stowed
away right now; and that’s all I’m thinkin’ about. Hey! there’s Jim
rattling the frying-pan with that big spoon. I reckon breakfast’s ready,
before we are. Get a move on, Bumpus!”




                              CHAPTER XV.
                     THE LUCK THAT CAME TO BUMPUS.


“Where’s Sebattis?” asked Step Hen, as they sat down to breakfast, there
being a rude table in the cabin, around which the boys could gather;
though the guides had to hold off, and either wait, or else munch their
food elsewhere.

“That’s a fact; I thought there was somebody missing!” exclaimed Bumpus.

Somehow or other they all looked toward Thad, as though he might be able
to give an explanation. And sure enough, he did.

“Why, he beckoned to me about the time I came out,” the scoutmaster
remarked, “and told me he was going to take a little turn along the trail
of that man. He hasn’t come back yet; so I guess he’s been able to follow
it some distance.”

“That sounds real woodsy now,” declared Giraffe. “Following the trail for
me. I’m struck on everything that seems like Cooper’s _Leatherstocking_.
Wonder whether he c’n keep it right up till he drops in on the crowd?
P’raps they ain’t so very far away from here, after all.”

“But I just saw Sebattis pass the window; there he is comin’ in right
now,” observed Step Hen.

The dusky-skinned guide was indeed entering the door. And no one could
tell by looking at his inscrutable face whether Sebattis had met with
success or disappointment in his recent labors.

From the fact of his coming back so soon Thad rather imagined that the
latter must be the case. He knew the Indian would volunteer no
explanation unless asked questions; and so Thad managed to corner him
while he was fixing his elkskin moccasins over by the fire. When
presently the patrol leader came back to the rest of the scouts, he was
greeted by numerous demands that he communicate what he had learned.

“Sebattis followed the tracks for some distance,” Thad went on to say, as
he poured himself another cup of coffee; “but after the fellow got a
certain distance from the cabin, he began to be more cautious. It was
just as if he thought some one might want to follow him, and he did not
mean they should succeed. At any rate, he covered his tracks so that even
Sebattis was unable to find the trail again.”

“Then it’s sure a fact that the hobo must be some woodsman himself,”
Giraffe declared. “I thought an Indian could follow the trail of a fox,
if he wanted.”

“Well, Sebattis said he was willing to go back again, and try further,
and that he believed he _could_ find the trail again; but he wanted to
make sure first that we cared enough about it. From certain remarks he
had heard some of us make, he thought we didn’t care to make the
acquaintance of the rascals. We even said, you may remember, fellows,
that we hadn’t lost any hoboes that we knew of, and didn’t mean to go out
of our way to find any. And so Sebattis came back to report.”

“What did you tell him, Thad?” asked Step Hen.

“Why,” replied the other, “that so long as they didn’t interfere with us,
we had no reason to bother our heads about these men. We had plenty of
things on hand, as it was, without trying burglar catching. If they only
let us alone, and didn’t run across our path, we’d forget there were any
such chaps in the Maine woods.”

“Just think of the lost chance to lay in a big wad of the long green,
enough to carry us all the way across the continent, and see something of
the Far West, like we’ve often talked about,” whined Bumpus.

Thad was indeed surprised to hear the fat boy talk like this, for Bumpus
was, as a rule, a very peaceful boy, never willingly seeking trouble.
Really, this anxiety in connection with that valuable letter, which he
could not place, try as he would, seemed to have upset him entirely, so
that he was no longer the same jolly Bumpus of old.

“Which would you rather do to-day, Bumpus,” the scoutmaster asked; “try
and find these desperate men, and like as not get the whole of us into
trouble; or hunt for a bee tree with Allan; while Davy and myself go with
Eli for a hunt?”

There was no hesitation now, for with a wide grin Bumpus shouted:

“Bee tree, first, last and all time for mine!”

“Ditto here!” Giraffe followed by saying, as he laid a hand on the pit of
his stomach, and bowed.

“Can you make the try, Allan?” queried the stout scout, turning
appealingly in the direction of the second in command of the patrol.

“Do for goodness’ sake oblige the little fellow,” urged Giraffe. “Because
we’ll sure hear of nothing else every hour of the day. When that feller
gets a thing on his mind he makes me think of the woman in the sleeping
car, who kept saying out loud in the night, again and again; ‘Oh! I am
_so_ thirsty; I am _so_ thirsty!’ till a traveler, who couldn’t sleep,
got up, and went and gave her a cup of water. He was just tryin’ to drop
off again when she started in, and this time she kept sayin’, ‘Oh! I
_was_ so thirsty! I _was_ so thirsty!’ Then he gave up tryin’ to get a
snooze till she tired out. And that’s the way with Bumpus, boys.”

“But can we make the try this morning, Allan?” persisted the stout boy,
when the laugh at his expense had died away.

“Better say yes, and save yourself a heap of trouble,” suggested Step
Hen, who was himself a little anxious to see how the search might be
conducted.

“Well,” remarked Allan, “nothing can be done until about noon. If the sun
seems fairly warm then, we might have a chance to see bees flying, or
catch the drone of the swarm of young ones trying their wings just
outside the opening of the tree hive. I’ll set you all to work watching
and listening; and we’ll see who the lucky one will be.”

“Seems to me a lot of fellows make a living, picking up things in these
Maine woods, from honey and bees wax, to lumbermen and pulp stuff
choppers?” Thad remarked, with an inquiring glance toward Allan.

“They do,” replied the other, promptly. “I could tell you a heap about
these people, some of whom I’ve even met in my trips around.”

“Then go on and tell us,” urged Davy.

“Yes, we always like to know what’s doing,” added Giraffe, as he helped
himself to another flapjack, which Jim, the younger guide, seemed to know
how to make in a way calculated to appeal to a hungry camper’s appetite.

“Well, first of all there’s the spruce gum hunter,” Allan started to say.
“You can follow the snowshoe trail of these busy chaps through pathless
stretches, and find their camp-fires glowing in many a lonely glen. They
get about between a dollar and a dollar and a half a pound, for the
stuff, and it’s worth all of that. They usually travel in pairs, and
collect many pounds in a season.”

“But how do they manage to climb some of these tall spruce trees we’ve
seen on our trip?” asked Thad.

“Oh! that’s easy enough,” laughed the other. “Every spruce gum hunter has
a pair of climbers with him. You’ve seen the telephone and telegraph wire
men use these, fastened to their legs with straps. He has to have warm
clothing; a curved chisel, in the handle of which a pole is set; a fine
jack knife; and a gun. In the night he sits by the fire, smoking, while
he cleans his day’s pick.”

“But he has to eat; tell us then how he totes his grub along; and where
does he put up at in the woods? We haven’t run across any hotels up here,
it strikes me?” asked Giraffe.

“As for his food,” Allan continued, “he drags on a moose sled, and it’s
either a deserted camp, or the lee side of a tree every night, as he
happens to find things. And he is satisfied with mighty little in the way
of food, trusting to his gun to eke things out. With plenty of work, a
few bushels of beans, some flour and molasses, and perhaps some coffee, a
gum picker thinks himself well off for a winter’s campaign.”

“He must have a good eye for gum trees?” suggested Thad.

“Just what he has,” replied the accommodating Allan. “A near-sighted gum
hunter, or even a careless one, would miss many a chance to fill up his
pack. The keen picker runs his eye along every trunk. Here and there he
sees a tall spruce marked by a seam, through which the sap has oozed,
perhaps for years. The bubbles have crept out, and been clarified day by
day by contact with sun and rain. There they are, nuggets of amber and
garnet, ready for the picker’s chisel. Sometimes he climbs up, and taps
away like a giant woodpecker. Then again, when it pays to do it, the tree
is felled; for of course he has his axe along; no man would ever go into
the Maine woods without that, you know.”

“If I was in that business,” spoke up Bumpus, “tell you what I’d do.”

“Go on, then,” said Giraffe, taking advantage of the fat boy’s
abstraction to pick the pancake off his plate, there being no more in the
main dish.

“Why, I’d just have a few acres of extra fine trees, and I’d scar ’em
good and hard, so they’d bleed. Then, in a year or two, I’d just gather
the gum, like they do in the turpentine regions down South.”

“Good idea, Bumpus,” declared Allan. “But another great man has thought
of that same idea, which isn’t copyrighted either. Every year this man,
who is called the spruce gum king, takes a certain circuit, and wounds
the trees. Then, a couple of years afterwards he wanders that way, and
reaps his harvest. There’s another industry that gives employment to lots
of men up here. That’s gathering hoop poles.”

“Oh! tell us something about that,” demanded Step Hen.

“Well,” Allan went on, “he follows in the wake of the logger, you might
say, for he just wants the second growth that springs up around the
stumps left after the tree is cut down. He takes what no one else seems
to want, the young birch and ash sprouts that are too plentiful anyway.

“He takes a horse with him on his tours, for he has lots to tote. He
hauls his day’s cutting to camp, and spends the evening fixing the poles.
It’s pretty hard work, I’m told, all around; but then the evenings are
pleasant, what with the crackle of the fire; the swish of the shaves at
work taking the bark off the poles; the pipe-smoking; and the
story-telling.”

“What do they get for the poles after they’ve been skinned?” asked Step
Hen.

“About two or three cents apiece, but that pays well for their work, and
they bring in a heap of stuff through a winter. Of course, you know that
these poles are split later, and used for barrels, the smaller ones for
nail kegs, and to put around boxes. Down South all the orange boxes have
such bindings.”

“Is that all the ways of earning a living up here in this wonderful
country?” Thad asked, deeply interested.

“I should say decidedly not,” replied the other. “Why, I couldn’t begin
to tell you the different things men do up here, besides acting as
guides; fire wardens, to protect the woods; and logging. There’s the
professional honey hunter who spends most of his time summers in locating
bee trees. Then there’s the axe-handle man. He needs ash of a larger
growth than the hoop-pole fellow. The trees are chopped in the fall, and
then by means of a ‘froe’ and an axe, each handle is shaped out in a
rough state. Then they are buried, that they may season without
cracking.”

“How funny that is,” said Bumpus, who was listening to all this with
eager ears.

“For fear that the wood may split,” continued Allan, “each end is daubed
with a paint which is part grease; because ash goes to pieces mighty
easy, if the sun gets at it. The rough handles are sent away to a factory
to be nicely finished. Then there’s the fellow who hunts for ship knees;
and I tell you he has no picnic. I tried it once, and I give you my word
I don’t want to go out again.”

“Ship knees!” echoed Giraffe.

“Yes, and there are heaps of these picked up, but only after tough work.
The prospector goes out with his axe, hunting for hack or back juniper,
or tamarack. He must examine every one he finds to make sure it has just
the right kind of a bend or crook; and then comes the job of digging it
out, which is a muscle racking business, believe me.”

“Any more?” demanded Bumpus, when Allen paused to finish his coffee.

“Oh! yes, lots. I remember the fellow who goes after hemlock bark for the
tanneries. Then there are the Indians who make baskets: or who prefer to
have the old style birch bark canoe, to one of these elegant up-to-date
canvas ones, that are built on exactly the same model as those used
hundreds of years ago. Big birches are few and far between up in Maine
now, and sometimes, as Sebattis here has told me, one of the Penobscots
will travel nearly fifty miles before he can strike a tree large enough
to make a canoe, yielding a piece of bark without a crack, or a
knot-hole, where a branch has been lopped off.”

“That winds up the list, then, does it?” asked Step Hen, getting up.

“Far from it,” laughed Allen. “I could sit here for half an hour more,
and tell you about other queer occupations that these wonderful Maine
woods open up to the men who have a leaning that way. Why, I understand
that some smart fellows have even been dredging some of the streams after
the mussels or fresh water clams; and not only selling the shells to the
factories where pearl buttons are manufactured, but finding pearls every
little while.”

“Pearls, and up here of all places!” exclaimed Bumpus, as though amazed.

“Certainly,” replied Allen. “They’ve been taking a great many out in the
streams of Indiana, Missouri and other states in the middle West these
years back, and one man in the Moosehead region in Maine found a pearl
not long ago that brought two hundred dollars, and was worth many times
that when polished, I guess. And then, last but not least, are the
trappers who are scattered all over the state. Each winter they take a
tremendous amount of valuable fur; and as Maine is so far north, the
pelts being several times as much as those in warmer countries. A muskrat
hide from a swamp up here, is worth three times as much as one taken in
Florida or Louisiana. But some other time I may tell you more about the
resources of these great woods. It’s time we got busy doing things; and
here are Thad and Davy just waiting to be moving on their little hunt.”

“Well, I declare,” remarked Bumpus, “I never had any idea the woods up
here had such a lot of living in ’em for an army of men,” and he looked
around at the encircling trees with renewed respect.

The little hunting party was soon ready to launch forth.

“Be back before night, I suppose?” bawled out Giraffe after them.

“We expect to,” replied Thad; “but if we hold off, make your minds up
we’re all right, and don’t let Bumpus worry.”

“Huh! just as if Bumpus didn’t have enough to worry about as it is,”
grumbled the fat boy. “I dreamed last night that when I got back to
Cranford I found all my folks lined up at the station, and every blessed
one apointin’ an accusin’ finger right at me, an’ lookin’ real sad. Say,
I woke up all of a tremble, and was mighty glad to find that it was only
a silly dream. Course I must a delivered that note to the bank; chances
they’re ten to one I did; _but I wish I knew; I just wish I could be dead
sure_!”

He was a bit gloomy all through the morning, and sat there staring into
the red heart of the fire until Giraffe demanded to know whether he was
sick; and if he meant to go out with them after lunch to hunt for that
bee tree, or keep camp.

That seemed to excite Bumpus, and he again forgot all his troubles. But
evidently his pondering had not brought any happy result; and he was just
as far as ever from knowing whether he had carried out his father’s
instructions with regard to that precious letter, or not.

The sun had indeed warmed things up toward noon. It often does during the
fall season in Maine, and before the first heavy snow, making ideal
weather; the early morning being crisp and delightful, with the middle of
the day quite warm.

Allan had admitted that if ever they had a chance to find a bee tree that
day ought to tell the tale. He believed that the young bees would surely
be tempted to take some exercise before they were hived up for the long
winter. And when there is a swarm buzzing around busily in a clump, they
make quite some noise, that a keen ear can easily detect, if on guard.

So, after they had partaken of a light lunch, they started out, leaving
Sebattis to look after the camp while they were gone.

Besides an axe, the boys carried a few things in which a supply of honey
could be brought back, in case success followed their efforts, and a
genuine bee tree was located.

Allan told them the comforting truth, that since this region had
apparently not been hunted over for some years, there ought to be a very
good chance of running across a hive. Of course they carried their guns,
because no one could tell when these useful articles would be needed. And
as Jim said, “when a man wants his gun, he gen’rally needs it in a big
hurry.”

As they went along Allan took occasion to point out numerous things that
bore some relation to the facts which he had so recently been telling
them.

“That’s a birch almost big enough to make a canoe,” he remarked, pointing
to a splendid specimen of the shapely tree that stood close by. “And over
yonder is a tamarack on the border of that swale. You generally find them
in swampy sections. And around this tree blown down by a storm, you can
see growing a lot of young shoots, which, as like as not, the hoop pole
man would cut for his use.”

Presently, however, he began to explain how they must stretch out,
forming a line through the woods, and covering the ground. At one end
Allen himself took up his station, with Jim the guide forming the other
guard. This was a precaution, lest one of the others showed an
inclination to stray. They were to keep in touch with one another by
occasional shouts, which were to serve as signals. Each one had his
particular and distinguishing call, and when Allen shouted, first Bumpus,
next in line, then Step Hen, and after him Giraffe and Jim were to answer
in order; that the one in charge could be sure that they were keeping in
something of a straight line.

And in case a hum was heard that sounded like a hive, a certain cry,
twice repeated, was to summon all the others to the spot.

The boys tramped for half an hour, with eyes and ears on the alert. Many
times no doubt they imagined they caught the welcome buzzing sound, but
upon coming to a halt in order to listen and make certain, before
bringing their companions hurrying to the spot, it always devolved into
something else, much to the chagrin and disappointment of the hunter.

Bumpus was fully awake to the great possibilities of the occasion.
Somehow this honey hunting had become a sort of mania with him. It was
not that he loved the sweet nectar of the hive any better than Giraffe
for instance; but his nature was such that he liked to find things that
were lost. And somehow the idea of locating a genuine bee tree appealed
immensely to the fat boy.

So he tramped sturdily along, looking upward with a great effort, on
account of his stout build, and frequently wishing Nature had endowed him
with that “rubber neck” which Giraffe boasted, and which must be an ideal
one for a wild honey hunter, Bumpus imagined. It was perhaps the first
and only time he had ever envied his comrade in the possession of such a
long neck.

But Bumpus really believed that fortune was going to be extra kind to
him. He kept telling himself that if any one discovered the wonderful bee
tree, it must be himself, because he had dreamed of it so very often.

Now and then he answered the calls which Allen sent out. He did this
because he had a horror of getting lost. These woods seemed everlastingly
big to him; and he could just imagine the terrible condition that must
face any tenderfoot scout who managed to stray away from contact with his
camp mates.

About three quarters of an hour had gone now, and as yet no cry
announcing the successful find had come pealing along the line. Bumpus
was beginning to feel tired, without any question. He admitted it to
himself, but grudgingly, for he did not want to halt the proceedings, now
that they were actually engaged in the bee hunt.

He refreshed himself at every water hole he came to, whether it were a
running brook, or just a tiny pond with a thin skim of ice along the
shore.

They were passing through a rather thick patch of woods when Bumpus felt
another thrill. He felt certain that he had caught something that sounded
like the buzzing of a swarm of insects; and as he had more than once
meddled with the hive his people had at home, Bumpus was well qualified
to know what the droning might be like.

Eagerly did he look upward, all around him. Then he began to locate the
quarter from which it seemed to come, and in so doing brought to bear
what little woods’ lore he had managed to pick up; for he actually noted
the direction of the slight breeze, and how the noise came to him more
clearly as he moved to a certain point.

Finally he believed it must come from one tree in particular. He made
several tests, and each time his conviction grew more and more positive.
And still the droning kept up. But the tree was a very tall one, and
Bumpus had never trained his eyes to detecting small objects at a
distance. In fact, some of his friends had even declared that he must be
near-sighted, though he stoutly denied this.

Then suddenly, he saw a confused blur between himself and the blue sky
above the tops of the trees. It actually moved back and forth in a
singular swaying way.

Bumpus thrilled now with new pride. He fully believed that in this tall
tree of the Maine woods he had actually located a bee hive that would
assure them all the clarified sweetness they could carry away.

And when he had made as sure of this as he could, Bumpus put his
trembling hands to his mouth, and sent out in his loudest tones the call
agreed upon to tell the others that he, Bumpus, had after all been the
one to succeed.




                              CHAPTER XVI.
                    A LITTLE KNOWLEDGE, WELL EARNED.


“A false alarm, boys!” sang out the envious Giraffe, as they all came
hurrying up to the spot where Bumpus was dancing about excitedly, with a
wide grin on his rosy fat face.

“It is, hey?” declared the discoverer, indignantly; “well, you just wait
and see what Allan here says. There’s the tree it’s in; and if you put on
your specs, Giraffe, p’raps even you c’n see the swarm buzzin’ around up
yonder.”

“He’s right, boys,” declared Allan, quickly; “even before I look I can
hear the noise that tells the truth. We’ve found our bee tree; and the
honor goes after all to our chum, Bumpus.”

“Hurrah for Bumpus!” exclaimed Step Hen, pounding the fat scout on the
back, after the custom of boys in general.

They were all soon able to locate the buzzing sound, and gaped up with
growing eagerness at the place where the swarm was in motion.

“Looks like a big hive, too,” ventured Giraffe.

“You never can tell,” Allan declared; “but from the signs I wouldn’t be
surprised if it was an old one, and just stocked to the doors with
honey.”

“Wow! that suits me,” Giraffe went on; “I can stand it every meal, right
along. Never yet did get enough of the stuff.”

“But it’s awful high up,” ventured Step Hen. “How under the sun will we
ever climb up there, and dig it out?”

“Don’t have to,” remarked Bumpus, placidly; “that tree’s just got to be
chopped down, so’s to let us scoop up all the stuff we can carry back
home.”

“But it’s a whopper of a tree,” Step Hen went on; “and who’s goin’ to
chop it down, I’d like to know?”

“Oh!” remarked Bumpus, pleasantly, “that was all fixed long ago. You may
remember that once Giraffe here promised to chop down the tree, if ever I
located a hive. Well, there’s the tree; so get busy, Giraffe. It’s a
pretty hefty axe, too, I should think; but you know how to swing one.
I’ll sit down on this log, and see how you get on; because I’ve done my
part.”

Giraffe started to answer back; then thought better of it; and seizing
hold of the axe that Jim the guide carried, he started to hack the tree.

But Giraffe was no woodsman, and made such a sorry mess of it that Jim
finally took pity on him. He knew the scout would never get that tree
down in a day, judging from the clumsy way he started in. Besides, there
would be danger of the amateur chopper bringing it down on himself. It
takes an experienced woodsman to judge how a tree is inclined to fall.
One of these fellows can drop a tree almost in any exact place he wants,
unless the slant of the trunk is entirely too great to be overcome by
judicious work with the axe.

From time to time Allan “spelled” the guide, for he knew how to handle an
axe to some advantage. And the others stood around, watching with
interest the clever way in which the sharp axe cut into the wood, exactly
on a line with preceding strokes.

“I could never learn to do that in a coon’s age,” admitted Bumpus.

“But I mean to, and before I quit these here Maine woods,” declared
Giraffe. “A feller that’s as fond of fires as me, ought to know how to
chop down a tree, so’s to always have plenty of wood for burnin’.”

“And I can see the finish of these grand woods, after _you_ do learn
how,” remarked Step Hen, a little sarcastically. “You’ll never rest as
long as there’s one tree left to burn.”

“Hey, she’s shivering, now; better look out, fellers, because that tree’s
goin’ to come down right soon!” called out Bumpus, edging away.

After a little more work Jim made the rest all get back beyond the danger
line, in case the tree did chance to swing around; which he knew would
not be the case; because Jim had once been a logger, and doubtless felled
hundreds of larger trees than this one.

With a crash it came plunging down, just where the man with the axe had
said he meant to drop it.

“Whoop! Hurrah!” shrilled the excited Bumpus, who held a kettle in his
hands; and carried away by the thrill of the moment, he forgot all the
warning he had received from Allan, plunging straight toward the upper
part of the tree.

“Split wide open, fellers, and oh! my, just look at the honey spilled all
over the ground! What a wicked waste. Oh! Oh!”

“Come back from there!” shouted Jim.

It was too late. Bumpus was in the midst of the excited swarm of bees
that had started to whirl around, dazed at first by the sudden
catastrophe that had overtaken their house, but rapidly becoming
furiously angry.

“Look at the silly, would you?” cried Step Hen, staring aghast at Bumpus,
who had already started to fill his receptacle with the honey comb that
lay around, partly broken by the fall of the tree.

“They’re after him!” shrieked Giraffe, who thought it a comical sight to
see the fat boy trying to gather up the sweet stuff with one hand, while
the other was busily engaged slapping at the insects that began to get
their work in on various parts of his anatomy.

Finally even the fortitude of Bumpus gave way before the onslaught of
that army of angry bees, each member of which was armed with a sting that
could make things exceedingly interesting for the intruder.

So Bumpus began a masterly retreat. At first he clung to his spoils; and
then, finding that he needed a dozen arms to ward off the savage little
insects he dropped his plunder, and set out on a wild run, kicking and
slapping at a tremendous rate.

Giraffe laughed heartily at the sight. He had advanced much further than
the others, before realizing that the example of Bumpus was reckless, and
Step Hen’s calling warned him to pull up.

In the midst of his merriment Giraffe was seen to give a vicious lunge at
the side of his head; this was followed by another, and another, as more
bees found him out; until with a yell he too had to seek safety in
flight, his long arms waving every which way, like flails on a barn
floor; or the wings of a Dutch windmill in action.

It was a pair of very contrite boys that presently asked Allan’s advice
as to what was best for bee stings. Step Hen himself could not keep from
grinning at the enlarged appearance of their heads, and even gave them
some fatherly advice about the folly of being so conceited, and having
such swelled heads over a little thing like that.

But Allan found some mud on the border of a nearby pond, with which he
plastered their hurts in the good old-fashioned way known to the early
pioneers. After which there were two of the most comical looking fellows
ever seen wearing the uniform of Boy Scouts. All the same, the cool mud
did seem to ease the terrible burning caused by the stings, and Allan
said it would in a measure take out the poison.

“No more rheumatism cures for me, I tell you,” remarked Giraffe. “Whew! I
guess the remedy is some worse than the disease. And can’t those little
beggars just poke it into you, though? Every time one stung me, I felt
like he was pushing a six-inch knife into me, and heated red hot at that.
Honey, oh! yes, I like you; but I’d rather buy it in the market after
this.”

“But don’t think of giving up so soon,” remarked Step Hen. “I’m dead sure
Allan here knows of a way to get all the honey we want, and never be
stung once, don’t you, Allan?”

“I’ll show you how it’s done,” replied the other, “though in the summer
time the bee hunters often carry a piece of mosquito netting along, which
they fasten over their hats, so the insects can’t get at them. But
there’s another way. Bees are in deadly fear of smoke. All bee men give
them a few puffs of smoke before they open the hive.”

“What does that do, stupefy the poor little critters?” asked Step Hen,
who did not know as much about bees as even Bumpus.

“Why, you see,” volunteered the latter, wishing to air his knowledge,
“bees, as soon as they scent smoke, believe their hive is on fire. Every
feller gets busy right away, loading up with honey. And when they’re
doing that, they won’t take any notice of other things, so they c’n be
handled easy enough. I know somethin’ ’bout bees, because we got a new
fangled hive at home.”

“Huh! I just guess you know more about ’em right now than ever you did
before, Bumpus,” chuckled Step Hen, who had not been stung once; “and
it’s been impressed on you pretty strong, too, so’s to keep you from
forgettin’ the same. After this you ain’t agoin’ to romp into a hive of
bees that’s been upset, not in a hurry.”

“Allan, s’pose you get busy with that smoke,” remarked Bumpus, disdaining
to appear to notice this slur on his capacity for bee lore.

“We’d better wait a little longer,” the other advised; “so we can get
closer. They’ll quiet down in a little while, and then we can make the
fire on the windward side, so that the smoke must drift right across the
hive.”

Presently he set them to work collecting just the kind of fuel he wanted,
and which was calculated to make a dense smoke. When this smudge was
started going it seemed to set the bees working with feverish eagerness
to load themselves down with honey. No one ever has learned just why they
do this, unless it is the desire to save enough food for self support;
because they never attempt to rescue any of the young brood in the cells.

“Ain’t it near time now?” asked the impatient Bumpus, whom even the
swollen condition of his neck and cheeks did not seem to entirely cure of
that eager desire to snatch the fruits of his victory from the savage
little army of protectors.

“A little longer, and then we can set to work. Better let Jim and me do
the main part of it, boys. You might be too excited; and it’s always that
kind of a fellow the bees tackle. I’ve known bee keepers who handle their
hives day in and day out all season, and seldom get a sting. They’re
cool, and never make a false move, such as knocking the box, or coughing,
or any sort of sound that will anger the insects.”

He went on to tell them some interesting facts connected with the finding
of bee trees, which he had either heard from the lips of others, or
witnessed himself.

Ten minutes passed, and Bumpus was growing impatient again, when Allan
remarked:

“Now, the time is up, I guess; and if you keep back of us, and hand us
the buckets, Jim and myself can begin to get some of that clear stuff,
which looks like this season’s make. It won’t take only a little time
till we fill everything we brought, and there must be a ton of the stuff,
all told, in this big old hive.”

Even Giraffe forgot his late unpleasantness as he again advanced nearer
the spot where the stores of scattered sweetness lay.




                             CHAPTER XVII.
                  THE COMING OF THE HAIRY HONEY THIEF.


It did not take long for the honey gatherers to fill every receptacle
they had brought along with them. Bumpus was once more feeling a little
like himself, though Step Hen did take occasion to warn him against
showing his pride over being the one to find the bee tree.

“Honors are about even, I guess, Bumpus,” he would remark, with stinging
emphasis; “you found the bees, and they found you, all right, looks like.
And you’re swelled up enough now without letting yourself puff out any
more. We all admit that you’re a wonder, and that you’ve sure got an eye
for bee trees; just as Giraffe here is crazy about the stuff. Look at him
now, would you, munching at that comb just like it was a slice of bread
and jam.”

“Yum! yum!” remarked the person in question, whose face was smeared
almost up to his ears with the sticky stuff; “ain’t had such a delicious
feed since I sneaked into the preserve closet at home when a kid, and the
spring lock caught. I knew I’d be in for a tannin’ and was bound to get
the worth of it first, so I just ate and ate, tryin’ to sample every kind
there was. It made me sick though, which was worse than the strappin’ my
dad gave me. But this is the finest ever, barring none. Yum! yum! and
more to follow, too.”

“Well, if I was like that, I’d just camp out alongside this old nest,
till I’d scraped it clean, if it took all winter,” declared Step Hen; who
did not happen to care particularly for sweet things, and therefore felt
no sympathy for the other pair of scouts.

Bumpus had also tasted his find, and pronounced it prime. They could
hardly coax Giraffe away from the fallen bee tree; and in securing a last
comb of the lovely clear honey, he managed to get a few more stings that
rather added to his ridiculous appearance. Step Hen nearly took a fit
every time he looked at that pair, nor could Allan blame him; for they
certainly were a sight calculated to make any one forget all his own
troubles.

The afternoon wore away, and those who remained in camp talked over the
next thing which was on the programme. This was nothing more nor less
than making an effort to bag a bear; and of course Giraffe was
particularly interested, because of the boast he had made in Cranford
that he did not mean to return home until he had, alone and unaided, shot
a black bear.

“There was sure enough smell of honey in the air around that old bee tree
to set a bear crazy for a taste, if he ever got wind of the treat,”
declared Allan, when Giraffe asked him for the fifth time about the
chances they had of meeting with Bruin.

“Mebbe he’s over there now, fillin’ up?” suggested Bumpus, who was not
very much interested, because he could not be coaxed to go all the way
back to where they had secured their store of sweets, even though sure of
seeing a bear diving into the honey tree, and stowing away great
quantities of the sticky stuff.

“No, it isn’t likely he’s abroad in the daytime,” Allan replied. “He got
something of a scare when we chased him out of here, and I guess he’s
lying snug in some old hollow, where he can take up his quarters for the
winter. But when night comes, I think he’ll venture out; and once he
does, he’ll sniff that scent a mile away; for a bear, like all wild
animals, has a great nose for odors.”

“Then we don’t need to go out till after supper?” suggested Giraffe.
“Glad about that, too, because I’m some tired.”

“I should think you would be,” Step Hen put in, maliciously; “after that
great sprint you did when the little busy bees tried to hand you their
cards. If you could only make that fast time in a schoolboy race, you’d
be a wonder, Giraffe.”

“Huh! glad you think so, Step Hen,” grunted the other.

Time passed on. The afternoon waned, and supper was cooking; but as yet
the absent scouts, with old Eli along, had not returned.

“No use waiting for ’em any longer, fellers,” remarked Giraffe, who, as
the shadows gathered, was anxious to be off, for fear lest the bear get
to the honey tree, and secure a full supply before they arrived.

“Anyhow, we need not be bothered about Thad who knows how to get around,
even if he has to stay out all night,” declared Step Hen.

“Besides, they’ve got old Eli along; and what he don’t know about the
Maine woods you could put in a thimble,” remarked Bumpus, not at all
averse to attacking the supper Jim had cooked, and which seemed to have a
splendid odor.

Accordingly, they sat down, and hurried through the meal. Giraffe kept
urging Allan and Jim to hurry up, and in consequence they were all done
before it was actually dark.

Giraffe took special pains to look his big rifle over before starting,
for he wanted to be able to depend on it when the time came for business.
Doubtless the boy could not quite forget the slurs that had been cast on
his father’s weapon, when the new up-to-date repeater, with its mushroom
bullets, had given such a good account of itself, at the time of the
killing of the moose; and he was fully determined that he would equal the
score Thad had set, if given a chance.

Jim declared he could lead them straight to the fallen bee tree, and
Allan seemed to put full confidence in the guide. So they set forth.

Sebattis, Step Hen and Bumpus was left behind, to guard the camp and the
canoes.

Perhaps it would seem a long way to Giraffe, for he had gone through
considerable since daybreak. And those bee stings must have robbed him of
more or less energy. But the prospect of big game buoyed up his spirits,
and he trudged along with the other two, changing his heavy gun
occasionally from one shoulder to the other, in order to rest himself.

“Smells pretty strong of honey, I must say,” he muttered, after they had
been moving quite some time.

This was doubtless intended to be put out as a “feeler;” and it worked
well too, for Allan immediately remarked:

“Nearly there, Giraffe; a few minutes more, and you’ll see the tree we
cut down.”

“D’ye think he c’n be there?” whispered the long scout, nervously
fingering the lock of his rifle, as he peered ahead into the gloom of the
night, possibly seeing a bear rearing up on his hind legs, every time he
caught sight of a dim tree before him.

“Jim says no, he hasn’t come yet,” replied Allan, also allowing his voice
to sink; for although they were coming up to windward of the bee tree, it
was better to be doubly cautious.

Presently they arrived on the spot, and found all quiet. Bruin had
evidently not reached the scene, though both Jim and Allan were just as
positive as ever that the old fellow would be along before a great while.

So Jim selected the place where they would lie in wait. It was close
enough to the broken bee hive to afford Giraffe a splendid chance for a
shot. Allan had made sure to fetch along the little electric hand torch
belonging to Thad. This he meant to manipulate himself, and believed it
would be all that was necessary to catch the attention of the
honey-eating bear, and hold him in surprise until Giraffe could take aim,
and pull trigger.

After that they had to remain very quiet indeed, lest some incautious
movement warn the bear of their presence. Jim had seen to it that both
the boys had dressed warmly, even donning sweaters for the occasion;
since it is a shivery job to sit for one or more hours of a cold night,
hardly daring to move. The blood seems to become congealed in the veins
with the inaction; and once a shiver passes over the frame, the teeth
start to chattering even against all will power.

When an hour had gone, Giraffe began to grow tired. He was more or less
apt to show impatience, at any rate, and had not learned the lesson of
controlling his boyish desire to have things happen quickly.

Allan was just on his left, holding the torch ready for action; and by
leaning that way Giraffe could speak in the lowest of whispers.

“This is gettin’ tough,” he admitted.

“Keep standing it a while longer,” came in reply.

“But do you really think he’ll come along yet?” asked Giraffe,
disconsolately, as he pictured Bumpus and Step Hen sitting so snugly
beside the glowing fire he loved so much.

“Both Jim and I think the chances are the old fellow’s on the way right
now,” answered the comforter.

“All right, then, I’ll just try to stand it a while longer; but I hope my
hands don’t tremble this way when I come to shoot,” Giraffe went on to
say.

“Keep your gun resting on the log, just like I showed you,” said Allan.
“That way it won’t much matter if you are shivering. And be sure and
shoot just as soon as you’re certain you’ve got his shoulder covered. I
won’t butt in unless I think he’s going to get away. Now, close up again,
Giraffe.”

Silence once more rested on the scene. More minutes passed by—five, ten,
fifteen dragging along.

Giraffe was just about to touch Allan on the arm again, and tell him he
really could not stand it, he was so cold, when he heard a strange little
sound that made him forget all about it. In a second, it seemed, his
heart got to pounding away at such a lively rate that he actually felt
hot all over.

Was that a real “sniff, sniff” that came to his ears? He strained his
hearing, and caught it more plainly now; and besides, he could detect a
shuffling sound, such as would indicate the presence of a large body
moving along.

It approached the scene of the wrecked tree hive; and a minute later,
while Giraffe almost held his breath with anxiety, he caught other sounds
that told him the hairy honey thief had set to work gulping down the
scattered combs so full of sweetness, with a greed that even excelled his
own love for the product of the hive.

Apparently it was about time something were doing, unless they meant to
allow the bear to fill himself with the honey, in the hope that while in
this condition he might fall an easier prey.

Then came a nudge in the side from Allan. Giraffe knew what this meant.
He had been warned that when the time for action had arrived Allan would
give him such a dig; and that he was to prepare to take aim and fire, for
the little electric torch would flash immediately afterward.

All of a sudden the bear gave a snort. The intense darkness had been
dispelled by a brilliant ray of light. Well had Allan judged the location
of the honey thief, for Giraffe could instantly see the bear standing
there, with upraised head, staring straight toward the point from whence
that mysterious light sprang.

His side was fortunately toward them. Giraffe thought it looked almost as
big as the famous red barn; and as he glanced along the extended barrel
of his father’s rifle he tried to control his nerves.

“Shoot!” came in a shrill whisper from Allan, who feared lest the other
might be so panic stricken that he could not pull trigger.

And obeying the injunction, Giraffe did shoot, the crash of the rifle
being almost immediately drowned in a terrible roar that burst forth.




                             CHAPTER XVIII.
                            A MIGHTY NIMROD.


“Again! give him another shot!”

Giraffe heard this shouted close to his ear, and mechanically working the
pump action of the heavy repeating rifle which his father had carried for
quite some years on his hunting trips up in the Adirondacks, he again
fired.

“Once more, quick! you’ve got him going; but he’s getting up again!”
cried Allan, and so Giraffe did as he was told.

Then he did not see the black hairy mass move any more, though he could
hardly believe that he had done what he had expressed such a great
ambition to accomplish—shoot a real black bear in his native wilds.

“Good! you’ve finished him, Giraffe!” exclaimed Allan, reaching for the
quivering hand of his chum, which he squeezed most heartily. “I’m ever so
glad I didn’t have to butt in, and spoil it all. That’s your game for
keeps, Giraffe. You’ve got to cut a notch in the stock of your gun after
this, because you’re no longer a greenhorn. Come along, and let’s see
what he looks like.”

The bear was undoubtedly dead. That last bullet had evidently finished
him, although very likely he would never have left that spot after
receiving the first and second shots.

“Whew! but ain’t he a buster, though?” ejaculated the delighted hunter,
as he cautiously felt of one of the forepaws of the animal.

“We ought to get him out of this before morning,” said Allan; “because
the bees will be apt to make it good and warm for us, if we poke in here
by daylight. Let’s all get hold, and see if we can’t budge the old
critter.”

They found it all they were able to do, to move the bear a few inches at
a time; but once clear of the branches of the trees, the task proved
easier. By throwing all their weight into each pull, as Jim sang out: “yo
heave-o!” they finally managed to get the prize where they wanted him.

“How about leaving him here through the night, Jim?” asked Allan.

“I’d say as how it war safe, if it hadn’t be’n fur thet howl we heard
last night,” replied the guide. “If so be wolves is aroun’, they’d clean
up this carcase right smart between now an’ daylight.”

“Oh! but I want that hide the worst kind,” declared Giraffe. “Why,
whoever’d believe me, if I couldn’t show the skin of the bear I shot?”

Jim took out his knife, and felt the edge.

“Somebody make a fire, so I kin see, and we’ll fix things afore a hour
goes past,” he said, simply.

“Let me do it, Allan; you know nobody knows how to build fires as well as
I do!” Giraffe exclaimed, laying his gun aside.

He was as good as his word, and had a splendid fire working inside of a
very few minutes. The Maine guide was already busily engaged, and Giraffe
watched him taking the bear’s hide off with more than common interest;
for was it not _his_ bear, and did he not have the right to feel proud?
Why, if he had shot poorly, the big beast, rendered savage through pain,
might have charged the party; and then there would have been plenty of
excitement. Even Allan might have missed, since he could hardly manage to
see while trying to hold the torch, and his rifle at the same time; and
there would be no telling what must have happened.

After Jim had very deftly taken the hide off, he started in to carve up
some of the carcase, taking the choicest portions; for they could only
carry a certain amount with them, and the wolves or foxes were quite
welcome to the balance.

Indeed, from the grin on Jim’s face, as he used his knife, Allan fancied
that the bear was bound to prove about as tough as the moose. But then,
hungry boys can masticate what would prove a difficult task to one whose
teeth were less sharp; and besides, as that was Giraffe’s bear; of course
it would taste especially fine to him.

“Where’d I hit him, Jim?” Giraffe asked, after a time.

“One shot took him on the shoulder,” said Allan, before the guide could
reply. “I think that must have been your first. It kind of knocked him
over. Then, as he was getting up again, you gave him a second clean
through the heart. He kicked after that, but could never have done you
any hurt. That was a dandy shot, fired at the time he was moving, too.
The last one came in his side, and didn’t amount to so much. But taken in
all, you did finely, Giraffe. It speaks well for your nerve.”

“Huh!” grunted the other, who was plainly pleased by Allan’s words
nevertheless; “they always did own I had plenty of nerve, you know. Eli
Bangs said I had, when I stepped up and took his best girl away from him
at that school dance we held out in Epply’s big barn last winter.”

“Got enough, Jim?” asked Allan, as the guide wiped his knife, and put it
back in the leather sheath at his belt.

“All we kin kerry,” replied the other, “an’ p’raps twice as much as we’ll
eat, I reckons. If so be them wolves is still around, let ’em come ter
the feast. I’d like ter git a crack at one of the critters, myself. A
wolf I never yet shot, ’cause you see, they be’n so skeerce ever sence I
got to totin’ a gun.”

“Well, we might as well head back to the cabin,” Allan remarked. “I see
you’ve made that up in two packs, Jim—the hide in one, and the meat in
the other?”

“Yep, I thort as how _he’d_ like to kerry the skin, ’cause it’s his’n;
I’ll tackle the bundle o’ bear meat,” and the guide slung the heavy load
up across his back with the air of one accustomed to making trips across
many a _carry_, toting boats, duffle and bedding, as well as tents.

“All right, that leaves the three guns to me; and if either of you get
tired, why, just call on me to take a turn. You’ll find me willing,” said
Allan.

But that did not happen. Jim was tough, and accustomed to doing all sorts
of burden bearing in his work as a guide, summer and winter, year in and
year out. And as for Giraffe, catch him asking anybody else to lug _his_
bearskin along, so long as he was able to put one foot before the other.

He may have grunted from time to time; but when Allan asked if he wanted
any assistance Giraffe indignantly denied being weary. And so he carried
that heavy green hide all the way to camp.

When they arrived at the cabin they could see by the light through the
window that those within still kept the fire going, evidently
anticipating the arrival of the bear hunting expedition. They jumped up
as the three new arrivals entered, and seeing their packs, with the long
black hair of the pelt showing plainly, Step Hen and Bumpus were
especially vociferous in their congratulations.

Allan noticed one thing as soon as he had taken his first peep into the
cabin. This was that Thad, Davy and Eli had not come back as yet. But he
saw no reason to be worried. Thad had taken the pains to notify them that
possibly he and his companions might be away longer than a single day;
and if they failed to show up after night set in, perhaps they would stay
out a second day.

“That settles one thing, anyway,” remarked Bumpus. “We ain’t going to
starve, as long as we have such mighty hunters as Thad and Giraffe along
with us; even if the meat is tough.”

“It settles a number of things,” remarked Giraffe, fastening his “eagle
eye,” as Bumpus liked to term those orbs of the tall scout, severely on
Step Hen.

“Oh! I know what you’re talkin’ of now,” declared the other, quickly.
“It’s all about that rifle of your dad’s, an’ how it c’n shoot. Now, I
never said that it couldn’t do the trick, all right. Goodness knows it’s
heavy enough for anything. It was you always pokin’ fun at my little
thirty-thirty, and callin’ it a popgun, a squirtgun, and all such things.
But I take notice, with all that’s said, it took just three bullets for
you to kill that poor bear, that was nearly ready to turn up his toes,
an’ die from old age; when Thad, he just fired once, and gave a bull
moose in a fighting frame, his walking papers. And think how much easier
to tote a light gun like mine twenty miles a day. Ask Jim here, and he’ll
tell you he means to get one like mine the next time he finds thirty
dollars in the road.”

“I suppose that bear is tough, but don’t you say a thing about him being
so old he would have soon kicked the bucket You know better than that,
Step Hen. Don’t all of us believe that this is the same bear we chased
out’n the cabin here, only last night; and say, what did he do to you and
Bumpus? Seems to me you wanted us all to know that you’d been thrown ten
or twenty feet outside the door, when that poor weakly old sinner as you
call him, just breezed past you. Now, that will be quite enough from you,
Step Hen. The tougher he was, the more glory for the feller that shot
him.”

After this broadside from Giraffe the other scout relapsed into silence;
indeed, he could find nothing to say.

“It’s gettin’ pretty late, seems to me,” Bumpus remarked, with a yawn.

“Yes, it is, for kids,” added Giraffe, a little contemptuously; for
somehow Step Hen had aroused his fighting blood and he seemed to have a
chip on his shoulder, daring any one to knock it off.

“But what’s the use waitin’ up to see if Thad gets back?” argued the
short scout.

“There’s no use at all,” remarked Allan, just then; “because I think I
hear them coming along right now. How about it, Sebattis?”

“Three come, Thad, Davy, Eli,” replied the Indian, gravely; for Allan had
first had his attention called to the slight sounds without by noticing
that Sebattis was sitting with his head cocked in a listening attitude.

“I’d like to understand how he knows that,” muttered Giraffe, who had
edged over toward the corner where his gun stood, as though a little
suspicious of the identity of those who were even now at the door; for he
remembered that there were exactly three of those lawless hoboes loose in
the woods, and not far away.

But immediately the door opened, to admit Thad; and after him came Davy;
while the weather-beaten face of the old Maine guide, Eli Crooks, showed
up in the rear.

Each of the three hunters carried some sort of burden, though not of any
great size, Allan noticed. These they tossed down in a corner, with the
air of being more or less tired from a long tramp.

And Allan, accustomed to reading faces more than might the average boy,
believed that he saw something like a frown upon all three countenances,
that certainly must have been caused by something besides fatigue.

“Venison?” questioned Giraffe, just itching to have the newcomers ask
what luck had fallen to the share of the bee hunters, when he could hold
up that prized bearskin, and tell how he alone had shot the monster
Bruin.

“Yes, what little of it was left to us,” replied Davy, crossly.

“Why, whatever happened?” demanded Bumpus. “I wonder now, did you run
across any of those savage wolves we heard howling last night?”

“Oh! not much,” replied Thad, smiling; “that would have been a picnic—for
us. But we had an experience that beat that all hollow. Fact is, we were
fired at by some of those hoboes who are up here in the woods for their
health, and safety!”




                              CHAPTER XIX.
                        THE “WHINE” OF A BULLET.


“Wow! and again I say, wow!” broke out Giraffe, although rather feebly;
for the astounding admission made by Thad seemed to have almost taken his
breath away.

“Fired—on—by—the—hobo burglars?” gasped Bumpus.

“Sounds kind of interestin’, Thad; s’pose you tell us more about it?”
suggested Step Hen; who, strange to say, appeared to treat the matter in
a less serious vein than any of his companions.

Sebattis had raised his head at hearing what the newcomer said, and was
evidently taking note; Jim shut his teeth hard together, and assumed what
he no doubtless believed to be his “fighting face”; and he certainly
looked fierce enough, Bumpus thought, happening to glance that way.

“Well, let’s have a bite to eat, first, and after that’s done with, I’ll
tell you all there is to the story,” declared Thad, who was evidently
“some tired,” as Giraffe liked to put it.

Then there _was_ a hustle, as every one tried to do something about the
fire, so as to hurry things along; for it became evident that Thad was in
no humor to talk until he had refreshed the inner man.

“Some of you fellers go back and sit down; there’s quite too many cooks
around here, and it hinders things more than it helps. Jim and me c’n get
along faster if left alone,” and with these words Giraffe “shooed” Step
Hen and Davy into the background.

Presently the coffee was boiling, and there was a scent of cooking food
in the air. While the three returned hunters were munching their supper
the others hovered around. Seconds seemed like minutes to them; while the
latter took on the shape of long hours, so impatient were the boys to
hear what had happened.

But after a time Thad announced that he was satisfied; and assuming a
comfortable attitude, he started in to talk, the others hanging on his
every word, and frequently interrupting to ask questions, when a certain
point was not wholly understood.

“We tramped all morning, and never started any game worth bagging,” he
began. “Of course, there were partridges, and if we hadn’t been out after
deer we might have brought in a good-sized bag of the birds. But you know
how it is—when you’ve got your mind made up to have venison, these other
things only annoy you.”

“All the same,” remarked Giraffe, “partridges are mighty fine eating; and
I’m going to bring in a bunch some of these fine days, if Davy’ll loan me
his gun.”

As yet nothing had been said about the bee tree, or the black thief
Giraffe had bagged; and the boy was holding the news back, in order to
spring it on the deer hunters, in order to show them that they were not
the only ones who had met with an adventure since sun-up that morning.

“At nooning,” Thad went on to say, paying no attention to the
interruption, for he knew the failings of Giraffe only too well; “we
stopped to eat our snack, and figure out which way we wanted to tramp
between then and night. Eli had his mind set on getting a deer, and all
of us were willing to stay out till we had dropped one, even if it took
all of to-morrow.

“Then once more we made a start, changing our course, and intending to
cover a larger territory, by making a big sweep. And about three in the
afternoon we managed to start up a nice fat young buck, which fell to our
rifles.”

Davy was seen making motions with his hands just at this juncture, and
the others had little difficulty in reading the signs to mean that in
reality the said fat young buck had fallen to the rifle of the speaker,
Thad, himself; and if the others could claim any share in the glory, it
was small indeed.

“We hung the prize up,” Thad went on, “intending to come back for him a
couple of hours later; since Eli had an idea we might scare up another
deer in the country just beyond; and Davy was wild for a chance to try
his buckshot cartridges on one.”

“But it wasn’t any use,” broke in Davy just then. “We just tramped and
tramped till even Eli said there didn’t seem to be any more deer moving
just then. Besides, I complained of sore feet; and I guess that was one
reason why the others determined to turn back, pick up our young buck,
and strike for home.”

“The place where we had left the deer was about seven miles from here,
down the wind,” Thad continued; “and we just knew that with that tramp
ahead, carrying what we wanted of the deer, it would take us a good time
to get here. But no matter, we headed straight for the spot which Eli had
marked down in his mind as being the big tree, to a limb of which we had
hoisted our game.

“On the way, Davy, who had changed his shells, knocked over a couple of
partridges very neatly. They are in one of those bundles there. I only
mention this fact because Eli believes that the discharge of the
double-barrel gun had something to do with what followed.

“Pretty soon we came in sight of the big tree; at least it looked mighty
like the one we meant to find; but we had to rub our eyes, and look
again; for do you know, there wasn’t any deer at all hanging there? Eli
said he had made no mistake, and Davy was as sure as I was that it must
be our tree all right.

“Just then one of us discovered that there was something lying at the
foot of the tree, that had the look of a deer, and we hurried forward.
Davy hadn’t forgotten about the wolves we heard howling, and was saying
that they must have dragged the buck down in some way. But Eli knew
better, and that it could not be the work of any wolf that ever trotted
on four legs.

“Then we came closer, and saw a sight that made us furious,” Thad went
on, a frown on his usually placid brow. “There was our lovely little
buck, all carved up as fine as you please, and by one who knew just how
to do the business, too. The best pieces had been carried away, and we
were left only what might have done for the foxes or wolves!”

“Whew!” burst out the impulsive Giraffe, “say, that was enough to make
anybody as mad as hops. I can just see Davy here jumping around like fun.
Of course you looked for a trail, didn’t you, Thad?”

“That was the very first thing we did,” resumed the other; “and there
wasn’t any trouble about finding one either; for Eli said they had jumped
off in such a big hurry he just knew they must have heard Davy’s shots,
and expected that we were coming back for our game. Well, there wasn’t
any use crying over spilt milk, boys. But we were so much upset by our
misfortune, and so mad at those fellows, that we just started off on
their trail.”

“Meaning to hold them up, if only you overtook the bunch?” suggested
Bumpus, who was listening with all eagerness, his eyes round with
interest.

“Oh! well, none of us hardly knew what we meant to do,” Thad answered; “I
rather guess our only thought just then was to try and recover the fine
venison those two rascals had robbed us of.”

“Then there wasn’t three of them again?” asked Giraffe, quickly; and Thad
smiled as he turned toward the tall scout, saying:

“I was just wondering whether any of you would notice that, when I said
it; but the fact is, there were only a pair of ’em; and Eli’s about come
to the conclusion the third man must be sick, or badly wounded. Well, we
did start off at a hot pace, Eli of course doing most of the trailing.”

“But just hold on there, Thad,” interrupted Davy Jones; “you know well
enough that three separate times you found the tracks when Eli had lost
the trail; and didn’t he say prompt enough that, for a boy, you certainly
did show a heap of smartness?”

“I think we must have followed that trail about a mile;” Thad went on,
giving Davy a smile for his compliment; “and it was beginning to get dusk
a little, when all of a sudden a gun banged away, somewhere ahead, and we
heard the whine of a bullet passing over close above our heads.”

“Say,” and again Davy broke in to express his own individual feelings in
the matter, “none of you fellers ever was shot at, and I just guess now
you can’t understand the queer feeling it gives you. I felt like the pit
of my stomach had kind of caved in, and there was a gnawing just like you
have when you’re _awful_ hungry. And when Thad says that there bullet
‘whined’ over our heads, he hits the mark all right, for that’s what it
sounded like. I dropped flat on my face in the scrub, and lay as still as
a ’possum playing dead.”

“We all dodged some, I imagine,” remarked Thad, with a smile at Davy’s
words. “I know I found myself behind a tree in pretty short order. Eli
began to creep up, and it seemed rather exciting about that time. Even
Davy and myself started to advance. And pretty soon there was Eli,
calling to us to come on, because there was no longer any danger, for the
birds had flown.”

“Skipped out, just like that,” and Davy, snapped his fingers
contemptuously; “all the while we kept laying low, and trying to see if
we could glimpse anything to bang away at. It was bad luck.”

“Well,” Thad resumed his story by saying, “with the night at hand, and
the two venison thieves a good half mile away by that time, even Eli saw
that it was useless trying to overhaul ’em. So we concluded to make our
way back to where our buck had lain, take what we could get of the
remains, and then start by slow stages for the cabin here. But we had
little to say on the way, for it seemed more like a funeral procession
than the return of a victorious hunting party.”

“And I’ll own up I was pretty nigh tuckered out,” admitted Davy. “That’s
one reason why Eli and Thad decided to come along home. Been limpin’ the
better part of the way, and I guess I’ve got a stone bruise on my heel
that don’t feel any too fine. But I’ll be all right to-morrow, fellers;
and then just see what we do to them that would take the bread away from
your mouth, if they had the chance.”

The others looked to Thad, as though what Davy had just said gave them a
cue.

“Is that the game, to go back there in the mornin’, an’ take up the
trail?” asked Giraffe, excitedly.

“This here seems to be the real thing, all wool, and a yard wide,”
muttered Bumpus; and then brightening up, he continued, with increasing
earnestness: “and then, if we should find a chance to capture those
slippery rascals, just think what we could do with all the nice money
that’s offered for their apprehension? Didn’t our friend the sheriff say
it was a whole thousand, and might be twice that by now? Count me in,
Thad, I want you to know, if we’re going to round up these bank burglars.
You may wonder why I’m so fierce about it; but you forget that my dad is
the president of our bank at Cranford; and who knows but what it might a
been that institution these hoboes looted. I’ve got a personal interest
in this matter, and I ain’t going to be left out of any deal either, just
remember that!”




                              CHAPTER XX.
                           A WONDERFUL FIND.


“Do you really think they meant to shoot you, Thad?” asked Step Hen,
after the fat boy had quieted down somewhat.

“We’ve been talking that over,” the patrol leader replied; “and come to
the conclusion that the shot was only meant as a warning for us to draw
up, and haul off; to tell us that they were desperate men, and would not
stand for any nonsense from a hunting party.”

“But that bullet _did_ whine, I tell you, fellers;” declared Davy,
emphatically; “no other word would explain just how it sounded, when she
went zipping past, so close to our heads that we all ducked without
thinkin’.”

“And like as not,” remarked Allan, who thus far had taken no part in the
discussion, “if we start taking up their trail in the morning, and come
anywhere close to our birds, we’ll be apt to more than hear the whine of
a bullet. They’re bad men, Sheriff Green told us, and if put in a hole,
with a chance of spending some years in prison, wouldn’t mind wounding a
few of us—perhaps worse than that, even.”

Thad looked serious.

“I’ve been considering that matter,” he announced, “and trying to make up
my mind just what a party of Boy Scouts, caught in such a puzzle, ought
to do. If our real scoutmaster, Dr. Philander Hobbs, was only here, that
would be a question for him to decide. I wish we had him along with us
right now.”

“And the rest of us are mighty glad business kept him tied down at home,
just at the time we had this great chance to come up into the Maine
woods,” chuckled Step Hen.

“You’re as able to settle anything as well as Dr. Philander,” declared
Allan. “And so, please let us know what came of your thinking this
subject over; because we all know you too well, Thad, to believe you’d
ever drop it without hatching out some sort of a scheme.”

“That’s the ticket; we all want to know,” echoed Bumpus.

Of course this sort of talk must have been exceedingly pleasant to the
young patrol leader. He would not have been a boy had he not been
thrilled by this showing of confidence which his chums placed in his
ability as a manager and scoutmaster; and so he hastened to oblige the
eager demands of the others.

“While we were tramping along homeward,” Thad continued, “I got to
figuring how best we ought to act. You see, somehow that thing of chasing
after those toughs didn’t appeal to me very much, after hearing how a
lump of lead can sound when it’s passing by so close to your head. And in
the end I had an idea. If you think it’s worth anything, why, we might
try the same out.”

“Sure we will!” declared Giraffe.

“And we know it’s the right stuff, even before you start in to explain,”
Step Hen volunteered.

“Don’t be too sure of that,” laughed Thad; “but here’s the scheme, boys,
and let’s hear what you think of it. Now, in the morning, sometime, we’ll
just pack up, and start along with our paddles, as if we meant to keep it
going through the whole blessed day. But that’ll only be a big bluff, you
understand; because, when we’ve got about a mile or so above here, and
the coast seems clear, why, we can land, hide our stuff, perhaps leaving
one to guard the same, perhaps, and the rest put back to the cabin here.”

“Wow! that’s the thing!” exclaimed Giraffe. “I get the idea, Thad. You
expect we’ll hide in here, and gobble the gentlemen up as soon as they
come along; ain’t that what you mean, now?”

“Not quite,” said Thad. “It might answer just as well, in case when we
got back here we could be sure they hadn’t arrived before us, and were
already quartered in the cabin. But if that proved to be the case, why,
we’d set to work and try to surprise Charlie Barnes and his pals. You
see, whatever we do, we want to keep in the background till we’re just
ready to spring our trap; and in that way prevent them from doing us any
bodily harm. I’m in charge of the patrol, and I’d feel pretty bad, now,
if on going home I had to show up with a bunch of cripples on my hands.
That’s what keeps me guessing, and trying to accomplish things without
taking too much risk.”

“It’s a good scheme, all right!” commented Step Hen.

“That’s what I say, too,” added Bumpus.

Davy, Allan and Giraffe also declared that they liked the plan immensely;
and even Eli Crookes grinned, Jim nodded his head in appreciation; while
Sebattis smoked on, and watched Thad admiringly out of the corner of his
black eye, as if he had never before run across such a smart lad, and
wondered what it meant.

“But of course,” Thad went on to say, “the success of such a plan depends
altogether on one thing to begin with.”

“You mean whether they’re bound to come to the cabin here?” asked Allan.

“That’s it,” the scout leader went on, calmly. “I thought that all over
carefully, and decided that, judging from the actions of that man in
looking in here, as well as their hanging around the vicinity when they
had ought to be well on the way to the Canadian border, that there must
be some sort of unusual attraction about this same old cabin for those
rascals!”

“Go on, Thad; we’re catching on to what you’ve got in mind,” hinted
Allan.

“We happen to know,” said Thad; “that this chief hobo, who calls himself
Charlie Barnes now, though he may have gone by another name years back,
must have been a Maine guide once on a time. If so, he is well acquainted
up in this region, and must know all about this abandoned cabin. Now, if
so be the third chap is sick, or badly hurt, as we’ve guessed, why, where
could they find a better place to stay for a while than right here?”

“Seems like it,” admitted Giraffe; “and say, p’raps that’s just why they
cribbed your venison like they did. If they expect to hole up here for
some weeks, lyin’ low while the sheriff and his posse go chasin’ all over
the country lookin’ for the runaways, why, they’d need a heap of grub;
and so they just couldn’t resist the temptation to grab your little buck.
It’d supply their wants for a long time, if they only jerked the meat the
way the Indians do, and made it into pemmican.”

“Glad to see you take that view of the matter. Giraffe,” Thad continued,
for it was always an object with him, as the leader of the patrol, to
tempt his scouts to think for themselves, and not depend wholly on others
to plan things.

“But Thad,” remarked Allan, about that time,—he had been watching the
face of the other for signs that would tell him what Thad had on his
mind; “was this the _only_ thing you stirred up, that would be apt to
keep these fellows wanting to get in this cabin so badly?”

“Well, honest now, Allan,” replied the other, smilingly, “it wasn’t. I
figured along another line too. I said to myself, that supposing now, a
year or so ago this same hard case of a Charlie Barnes had made another
haul, and escaped to the woods with his plunder, where would he be apt to
hide that same until the time when he could add to the pile, and then
skip across the border? And boys, I thought that this deserted old cabin
would offer him about as snug a hiding-place for his loot as any place I
knew!”

“Oh! Thad, do you really think that?” exclaimed Bumpus, a smile appearing
on his plump face; “just imagine us diggin’ up treasure, fellers, would
you; gold, and jewels, and all sorts of precious things that these
desperate yeggs have hooked in their bold operations? And when we
restored the same to the original owners, how they’d pour the fat rewards
into our pockets. Why, we’d just as like as not have our names in all the
papers down in New York, and be _fa_mous.”

“Hold on,” said Thad, “you make me think of the girl who was tripping to
market with a basket of eggs, and saying to herself, that after she’d
sold those she’d buy a pig; and when it grew up, she’d take that money
and buy a calf; and then, after that grew up to be a cow, with the money
she’d get from selling all the milk she could lay a nice sum by, so that
when the right young man came along she’d have enough to get her outfit
with, and——”

“Then she tripped once too often, fell over, and every egg was broken,”
broke in Bumpus, with a shout. “Sure, I’ve heard my mother tell that
story. It means we hadn’t ought to figure too far ahead. But Thad. I want
to say, I like your scheme; and in the mornin’ we ought to turn this here
old place upside-down, huntin’ in every nook and cranny for the hobo’s
plunder.”

“Not forgetting that loft up yonder, where our friend, the bear—” began
Giraffe, and suddenly broke off with a laugh, as he remembered that in
the other excitement he had forgotten all about his private surprise.

He immediately went and picked up the bearskin, and held it up before the
admiring eyes of Thad and Davy, who immediately started to ask
innumerable questions.

The story was by degrees told, and the late comers allowed to taste the
beautiful honey. Thad declared he had noticed that Bumpus and Giraffe
looked a little swollen about the head, but other things had kept him
from asking the reason, up to now.

The hour was growing pretty late, but strange to say none of the scouts
seemed to feel sleepy but Bumpus, who nodded occasionally as he sat
there, trying to listen to the conversation that passed among his mates.

Thad had meanwhile been using his eyes to some advantage. He noticed that
the stones about the hearth were rather large, and to his mind one of
them had the appearance of having been recently disturbed. Suddenly
getting up, as the fire burned low, and afforded him an opportunity to
come near without being scorched, Thad worked away for a minute or so,
trying to insert his fingers under this certain hearth stone.

“Here, try this for a lever, Thad,” remarked Allan, handing him a thick,
short stick; for somehow he had quickly guessed what the other had in his
mind, and was naturally intensely interested in the result.

So Thad, by inserting this under the stone, was enabled to raise it up.
Breathlessly the others leaned forward to watch the result; for by now of
course even the aroused Bumpus had guessed what Thad was doing.

The patrol leader seemed to be fumbling around in some sort of little
cavity he had found under the hearth stone. Then, with an exclamation, he
drew some object into view, and laid it on the floor. It seemed to be a
bundle of old clothes; but when Thad, with eager hands, had unrolled
these, the scouts held their very breath at the sight that met their
astonished eyes.

Thad had figured it all out, and now they understood just why that leader
of the yeggmen was so determined to get into the old abandoned cabin in
the woods; he had hidden the proceeds of other robberies there, and
wished to take it all along with him when he crossed over into a safe
asylum in Canada.




                              CHAPTER XXI.
                           THE DUMMY PACKET.


Bumpus dug his knuckles into his eyes, and then stared again at the pile
of plunder which had evidently been taken from some bank; for besides the
little rolls that seemed to contain gold eagles, and half eagles, and
fives, there were a number of packages of bank bills, and a lot of
bonds—at least that was what the boys guessed they must be.

“Somebody _please_ give me a pinch,” said Bumpus. “I sure must be
dreaming one of my old dreams about findin’ buried treasure. Hey! not so
hard, Step Hen; I’m awake now all right, because that hurt like the
dickens. But just look at what Thad’s unearthed, would you? Whew! I don’t
blame that feller for hangin’ around here. I’d refuse to be chased away
too, if I had all that stuff lyin’ under a stone in an old cabin.”

For some little time the boys continued to talk. Allan had wisely in the
beginning stepped over and hung something over the one little window of
the cabin. He seemed to understand that, with the finding of this stolen
plunder belonging to a bank that had been looted at some previous day,
they had taken up issues with these desperate men; and whether they
wanted to or not, from this time forward it must be a question as to
whether the hobo thieves recovered their prize; or were in turn taken
prisoner by the scouts, and the guides with them.

By unearthing this rich haul Thad had settled the question. They could no
longer hold aloof, and sit on the fence; but must enter into the game
with the yeggmen.

And so the plan suggested, which looked to the ultimate capture of the
rascals, appealed to the boys more than ever. If circumstances over which
they seemed to really have little control, forced them to take a hand in
the matter, it was the part of wisdom that they get in the first blow;
and not wait for the desperate fugitives of the Maine woods to attack
them, in order to try and force them to hand over this rich find.

“How’d it do to make up a dummy bundle, with these same old clothes,”
remarked Giraffe. “We could fasten it with the string, same as they had
it; and in case the fellers didn’t take the trouble to open the same,
why, we’d be that much ahead, you see.”

“That’s a good idea, and can do no harm to try,” remarked the patrol
leader, who was only too pleased to receive suggestions from the scouts,
even though at times they thought of plans that were wildly
impracticable; for it showed their minds were working; and anything was
better than that they fall into the state of letting some one else do
their thinking for them.

So Giraffe was set to work constructing the imitation bundle. Of course
it did not contain one blessed thing worth mentioning. Bumpus wrote the
single suggestive word “fooled” on a piece of paper, and wanted them to
insert that; but Thad remarked that it would be better not to further
arouse the anger of such lawless men. This was no child’s play in which
they were now engaged, but the most serious adventure of all they had
ever run across; and must be treated with the sober consideration
grown-up men would be apt to give to such a matter.

But even this rebuff could not quench the newly-aroused spirit in the
stout boy, Bumpus, who saw his dreams coming true. He could imagine the
wonderful results when they delivered these valuable bonds over to the
bank that had been looted. Surely there must have been a generous reward
offered for their return; which, with that they were certain to receive
for capturing the hobo thieves, would cram the treasury of the Boy Scout
troop, and open up many delightful chances for other vacation trips to
far-away places.

“But what will we do with all this glorious stuff?” he asked, as they
sat, and looked, and talked, while the night wore on.

“I’m going to make it up into a packet, somehow,” remarked Thad. “Then,
when I’ve got it in as small a compass as possible, I’ll wind a cord
around it every which way, and use a little piece of red sealing wax I
remember seeing in my haversack, to seal it up with. Then nobody can
break it open without our knowing it.”

“My goodness! I hope now, Thad, you don’t think any scout would be so
pokey as to want to meddle with it, after you’ve taken it in charge?”
remarked Step Hen.

“Certainly I don’t,” replied the patrol leader, quickly; “I know you all
too well for that; but I believe there’s a certain amount of red tape to
be carried out in a case like this; and I’m going to fasten it in the
presence of every one of you, so that you can hold up your right hands
and vow, if ever you are asked, that everything we found is sealed in
this package. And here goes for a tough job.”

Considering that he had little material to work with, it was a hard task;
but then, Thad possessed considerable ingenuity; and could adapt himself
to circumstances wonderfully well. And the result was all that could be
asked, since the package he produced was not very large, but quite
compact, and after being liberally daubed with the red sealing wax, so
that none of the cords could be undone, really looked very important
indeed.

“There, how will that do, boys?” asked Thad, when he had finished.

“Simply great!” declared Giraffe; “and it’s a wonder how you manage to
get such big results from small things. I never saw the like.”

“I was thinking,” mused Allan, “that since Charlie Barnes came here only
last night, what is to hinder him from paying us a visit again?”

“That’s so!” ejaculated Giraffe. “Say, mebbe that’s why Sebattis went out
a long time back. He’s the sly one, now, let me tell you. Chances are he
expects that we may have uninvited company some time around now; and if
the Wandering Willy tries to peep in at our window like he did last time,
why, he’s goin’ to run up against Sebattis, good and hard.”

“I knew that was why he went out,” Thad observed, “and it gave me a
comforting feeling; because I’m as sure as anything can be, that nobody
could steal up here on us with the Indian on guard.”

“Not much,” added Step Hen. “He’s got the ears of a fox, and can hear the
least sound.”

“Of a weasel, you mean,” Bumpus declared. “I never turn over in my sleep
but what, if I raise my head, there’s them black eyes of Sebattis
awatchin’ me, just as if he expected I was goin’ to have a fit, like Davy
here used to take.”

“Forget that, won’t you, Bumpus,” said the other hastily. “I reckon I’m
cured of that caper by now; but sometimes,” he added, as he saw Giraffe
looking at him, and grinning, “I do feel signs like one was acomin’ on
again, though it never really and truly does, you see.”

“Now, where will you put that, Thad?” asked Step Hen, pointing to the
sealed package that had been so officiously done up.

“Oh! keep it out of sight under my blanket till morning,” answered the
other. “Then we can hide it in one of the canoes, under the duffle, where
it’ll be safe.”

“We want you to take it in your boat, remember that,” observed Giraffe.
“You was the one to find the prize, and the only claim any of the rest
have to the reward will be that we stood ready to defend it.”

Thad looked squarely at him as Giraffe said this.

“That’ll do for you, Giraffe,” he remarked sternly. “I don’t want to hear
any more like that. There are six of us here, and two more at home. Every
scout will have an equal share in any reward that may happen to come to
us; yes, and more than that, the other five who are on this expedition
with me are going to be credited with their portion of the honor of
recovering this lost bank capital. We’re in the same boat, sink or swim,
survive or perish. Understand that, fellows; and now after this, I’ll
take it hard of you if any member of the Silver Fox Patrol tries to shove
more than a sixth of the glory on my shoulders.”

They saw he meant it, and their boyish hearts warmed within them at the
knowledge that they had such a splendid chum at the head of the patrol.
Where could another like Thad Brewster be found, they would like to know?

The dummy package was placed carefully under the hearthstone, and Thad
tried the best he knew how to arrange it just about as he had found the
treasure trove. And as one of them had said, if the hoboes in their hurry
failed to open it up, they might remain in ignorance concerning their
great loss, for some length of time.

“Now, I think that it must be nearly midnight,” announced Thad, “and a
lot of us are dead tired; so I put it up to you, fellows, if we hadn’t
ought to try and get some rest? We want to be in trim for other work
to-morrow.”

Giraffe held up his hand.

“Count me in,” he remarked, wearily.

“Ditto here,” said Allan, also making the high sign.

“Can’t crawl under my blanket any too soon to please me,” Davy added.

“Well, if the rest of you want to turn in, I’m there,” Step Hen declared,
yawning.

All eyes were fastened on Bumpus, waiting to hear his decision, so that
it might be made unanimous.

“Great Scott! he’s dead asleep, and sittin’ up at that!” exclaimed
Giraffe.

Which was a fact; for the fat boy had been so completely tired out with
his labor of the morning, when securing the store of honey; as well as
from the excitement and nervous shock brought on by the bee stings, that
he could not keep his eyes open any longer; and sitting there like a
heathen god, as Giraffe called it, he had gone fast asleep.

Of course they had to wake poor Bumpus up, so that he could take his
shoes off, and get ready to crawl under his blanket; but he started to
perform these little tasks grumblingly, because he had been disturbed.

“Might let a feller snooze where he was,” he muttered, working away, with
his eyes still closed. “I was just goin’ to sit down to the dinner table
at home, an’ it was Thanksgiving day too. Um! how that big turkey did
make me crazy to get at it. And then comes a budge in the ribs, and
Giraffe here sayin’ as how I’m takin’ all the room, an’ must roll over. A
feller never can be let alone when he wants to, in this——”

Bumpus did not finish what he was saying. Nor was he longer sitting there
with his eyes closed, groping at the fastening of his leggings in the
endeavor to get the shin protectors off. On the contrary he started
half-way to his feet, once more wide-awake.

For without the slightest warning there came to the ears of the scouts
the loud report of a rifle from some point just outside the cabin walls.
And they suddenly remembered what had been said only a short time before,
about the dangerous yeggmen coming back again on this night.

And also that Sebattis was on guard.




                             CHAPTER XXII.
                            THE NIGHT ALARM.


“What did I do with my gun?” cried Giraffe, darting around this way and
that, as he tried to remember in which corner he had stacked his rifle,
after coming in earlier in the night, from the bear hunt.

Already had Thad, Allan and Davy snatched up their weapons, and made a
bolt for the door, following the lead of Jim and Eli, and wildly excited
by the possibilities of finding that something of a tragic nature had
been occurring without.

Poor Bumpus, having no gun of his own, looked around in despair. He
certainly did not want to be left behind when all this turmoil was going
on; nor was he desirous of rushing out without some sort of means of
defending himself, in case he was set upon by enemies.

So he hastened to snatch up the same stout stick which had enabled Thad
to pry loose the heavy hearthstone. And swinging this vigorously, Bumpus
trotted after the other scouts, dragging his half-unfastened leggings
along with him as he went.

It was dark outside, for the young moon had gone to rest long before. But
then Thad, with his customary wisdom, had remembered this, and as he went
out he snatched up the only lantern they had brought along.

Bumpus could hear them all making for one point, and he followed suit.
Eli and Jim had been able to locate the quarter from whence that single
shot had come, and were now heading for it.

At any rate, there had been no succeeding shots, no bombardment of the
cabin. And Thad, thinking it wise to have some light on the subject,
stopped for a few seconds to scratch a match, and apply the flame to the
wick of the lantern, after which he again hastened on.

By that time the others had gone ahead, but his short delay served one
good turn, since it enabled poor puffing Bumpus to reach the side of the
patrol leader, which fact, no doubt, gave the fat boy considerable
gratification.

“What is it, Thad?” Bumpus managed to gasp, as they hurried along.

“I don’t know myself,” came the reply; “but we’ll soon find out now,
because I hear them talking just ahead.”

“And that’s Sebattis, too,” declared Bumpus, in a relieved tone; just as
though he may have been worrying over the possibility of the Indian
having been injured when that gun was discharged.

“Of course it is,” Thad said. “And I never thought it was any one else
but him who fired that shot. He must have believed he saw a suspicious
figure making up through the brush, or trying to damage our boats; though
why these men should want to do that, when they’re hoping for us to clear
out, surprises me.”

They were now close on the rest of the party; indeed, by the light which
the lantern gave, they could make the group out, all of the others being
clustered around the Indian guide, who was talking in his usual
short-sentence way.

“Hear sound, see something move, shoot!”

That comprised the whole business with Sebattis. Where a white man would
have described how he was thrilled to locate the suspicious noise; and
tell what his feelings were as he drew up his gun and blazed away; the
Penobscot Indian simply gave the bare facts—he came, he heard, he fired.

“You don’t think, now, it could have been one of those wolves we heard
yelping last night, do you, Sebattis?” Giraffe ventured to ask, more to
draw the other out than because he himself believed any such thing.

“Huh! when wolf speak does he swear hard?” asked Sebattis, quaintly.

“Oh! then he _must_ have been a man, because so far animals haven’t
learned how to use hard language,” admitted Giraffe, doubtless chuckling
at the success that had followed his little plan.

“He must have been pretty mad because you blocked his plans, to use hard
words like that,” ventured Davy.

“Hurt!” declared the guide.

“He means that he thinks he wounded the fellow,” explained Thad.

“Well, what else could he expect, to come nosing around our camp like
that, and even taking a sly shot at our hunters, after stealing their
nice buck?” demanded Bumpus, who could not be accused of acting as though
he were sleepy now.

“Where were they when you heard them first, Sebattis?” asked Thad,
wishing to get all the information possible.

“Round here, mebbe. Hear talk in whisper like, and know two men come.
Then fire just one shot. That all. They make off in hurry, quick!”

“Let’s see if we can find their tracks,” suggested Step Hen; but before
he spoke Thad was already circling around, holding the lantern close to
the ground, and carefully looking to see if there could be found any
signs telling that the Indian had not made a mistake.

“I hope they won’t think to take a pot shot at the lot of us while we
stand around here,” said Giraffe, uneasily.

“You needn’t worry,” spoke up Bumpus: “a sharpshooter couldn’t hit you,
because you ain’t wide enough to make a shadow. Think of me, and what
dreadful chances I’m taking all the time. They could get me by shootin’
with their eyes shut. But all the same, you don’t hear me whine. I’m
ready to take my medicine without showing the white feather.”

“What’s that over there; looks like a man kneeling down, and aimin’ a
gun!” called out Step Hen just then; and forgetting the boast that was
still on his lips, Bumpus threw himself on the ground, and started to
crawl behind a clump of thick bushes.

“It’s only a stump, after all,” announced Thad, throwing the light of his
lantern in the direction of the suspicious object.

“Get up, Bumpus, the coast is clear,” said Giraffe, sneeringly.

“These old leggings keep gettin’ under my feet the worst kind,” remarked
Bumpus, complacently, as though a poor excuse might be better than none.
“But see there, the Indian’s found something or other. Just as like as
not it’s them tracks we’re all lookin’ for.”

“Just what it is,” added Davy Jones, eagerly.

As scouts who yearned to learn the many interesting things connected with
woodcraft, it can be set down as certain that Step Hen and his comrades
gathered about Sebattis and Thad, then and there, convinced that
something was coming worth while.

“Just as Sebattis told us, there were two of them,” Thad was saying,
while he bent down to see the imprint of footgear at closer range.

“Seems to be something familiar about one of them tracks, Thad,” remarked
Giraffe.

“Yes, our old friend, the patched shoe, has turned up again,” chuckled
the patrol leader, pointing to the plain, unmistakable sign across the
toe of the impression of the shoe.

“Which of course means that Charlie is doing it again,” Step Hen
remarked. “He wants to be in every mix-up, seems like. But if here are
two, where is the other feller?”

“You know we decided that he must be sick or something like that,” Allan
pursued.

“They were coming straight at the cabin when our guard turned them
around, and sent ’em flyin’,” Giraffe put in. “That looks like they
wanted to see if we’d disturbed that stuff any. I guess they’re gettin’
rather nervous about our hangin’ out here so long. It sorter interferes
with their plans, p’raps.”

“Well,” Allan observed, drily, “they’ll see us getting out of here
to-morrow, if they keep their eyes open, which we hope will be the case.
And then perhaps this Charlie Barnes and his two cronies will think
they’re safe in entering the old cabin.”

“And putting up at the woods’ tavern for a time, feedin’ off our nice
venison, to beat the band,” grumbled Giraffe, who never could forgive the
hobo outfit for depriving the scouts of that young buck.

“I wonder, now,” piped up Bumpus, “if the chief means to start in
tracking these two men tonight? He’s thrown a good scare into ’em, seems;
and they’re running yet, I just reckon; but he gave ’em back the shot
they fired at Thad and Eli and Davy here. That’s the way we pay back our
debts. All good scouts are supposed to settle when they owe anything,
ain’t they? What’s Thad doing now, I wonder?”

“What do you take us for, Bumpus?” demanded Giraffe. “Don’t you
understand that Thad said he wanted us to do things with as little risk
as we could? And then, to think we’d try to foller up these hard cases,
holdin’ a lantern, just to ask ’em to bang away at us as much as they
pleased. We ain’t that green. The other plan promises to work best, and
you see if Thad don’t stick by it.”

“Well,” said the fat boy plaintively, “How was I to know what they’d
expect to be doin’? And when you’re puzzled what to think, ain’t it
policy to just hold off, and fight for wind? That’s what I was adoin’
when I said that. But Thad is lookin’ for something again, because he’s
movin’ off with the lantern.”

Not wishing to be left in the dark, all the others followed Thad and
Sebattis, both of whom seemed to be searching industriously along the
ground, as if they had lost something which was worth looking for.

“P’raps they got a notion one of them fellers might a dropped somethin’,”
suggested Step Hen, himself unable to grasp the true meaning of the
strange actions of the two ahead.

“You’re closer to it than you think,” was the puzzling remark of Allan;
while old Eli and young Jim seemed too amused by the remark.

And while they all watched, and speculated, each according to his light,
they saw Sebattis come to a pause. He called to Thad, whose back happened
to be turned at the moment; and the patrol leader hastened to join him.

Sebattis was pointing down at his feet. The boys noticed that there was
something rather dramatic about his attitude while doing this; and
Giraffe voiced the feelings of his mates when he said:

“He found what he was looking for, believe me; and what d’ye suppose it
c’n be?”

The scouts pushed forward. Just as Thad was doing, so Allan, Step Hen,
Davy, Giraffe, yes, and even Bumpus, as curious as the rest, craned their
necks forward, and stared at the object in plain view beyond the tip of
the dark finger which Sebattis had extended.

There was a plain imprint of a shoe there, though not the one that bore
the mark across the sole. And there was something more than this; for
when Thad touched what seemed to be a little dark pebble, with the point
of a stick he had picked up, they realized what it was.

A drop of blood, showing that Sebattis had made no mistake when he
declared his random shot had at least slightly wounded one of the
prowling hoboes!




                             CHAPTER XXIII.
                           A FLANK MOVEMENT.


“I should say Sebattis _did_ hit something!” declared Giraffe, staring
hard at the tell-tale spot in the footprint.

“But it wasn’t Charlie that got hurt,” remarked Davy, evidently alive to
the fact that the track which showed the trace of blood did not have any
cross line, showing where the sole had been patched.

“No, it was the other fellow,” observed Thad. “Where was he hit,
Sebattis?”

“Left leg, not much, but bleed heap,” and the Indian pointed to several
other significant spots as he moved along the trail.

“Now how under the sun could he tell it was the left leg?” asked Step
Hen, evidently deeply puzzled to account for the positive manner in which
the guide made this assertion.

“Oh! that would be easy enough,” remarked the patrol leader. “Just stop,
and you’ll remember that each foot makes a different track. This one is
the left foot. And now you’ll be quick to think, even if you don’t say
it, that perhaps that drop could have fallen from the right foot as it
was raised, into the track of the left foot. Sebattis has other ways to
prove what he says. Show them, chief, won’t you; because they want to
learn all they can.”

“Huh! look this way, see how,” replied the dark-faced guide, leading the
several eager scouts to where he knew an extra-plain print of the foot in
question might be found.

Then he pointed out the difference between the mark of the right from the
left foot, and showed them that there was a heavier trail where that same
right shoe happened to be planted.

“You understand?” remarked Thad, who was following all this with
considerable interest himself, for he, too, had more or less to learn.

“Seems to me he means that if a feller happened to get hurt, sudden like,
in his left leg, he’d begin to limp,” Giraffe spoke up, eagerly.

“And when he limped,” Step Hen went on to add, “it stands to reason the
print of the foot on the leg he wanted to favor wouldn’t be near so plain
as the other. Why ain’t that the easiest thing you ever heard tell of?”

“Sure it is,” Davy Jones insinuated; “and after Columbus showed those
Spanish grandees how to stand an egg up on end by punching the top down
on the table, why, didn’t they think that was the silliest thing ever?
Oh! it’s just as simple as turnin’ over your hand—after another feller
has been and told you how.”

“All the same, it is easy,” Thad went on to say, “and next time, perhaps
some of you will be able to figure things out yourselves. That’s what
scouts ought to do every time. That’s the best part of the Boy Scout
movement, General Baden-Powell says; it makes boys stop depending on
other people, when they can just as well look out for themselves.”

“Will these hoboes haul off now, do you expect, Thad, and give the cabin
a wide berth?” asked Bumpus.

“Well, it begins to look as though they ought to steer clear of it, as
long as we’re in possession,” the patrol leader replied. “Still, you can
never tell. By now they must be feeling pretty ugly toward us; and when
such men have a grudge pushing them on, it’s hard to say what they
wouldn’t do.”

“Ketch me agoin’ to sleep then,” remarked Bumpus; but even while he was
making this brave remark, with one of his hands he was trying to suppress
a great yawn.

“Oh! I don’t suppose there will be as much danger as that,” Thad
continued, not wishing to alarm his chums unnecessarily. “The guides will
divide up the balance of the night into three watches; and if we like,
one of us can keep company; in fact,” he went on in haste, fearing that
Bumpus might, in the goodness of his heart, volunteer his services, which
it would be hard to decline, “I’ll appoint Allan here as one of the
assistants, to help out Jim; while Giraffe can stay up with Eli; and I’ll
share the watch of Sebattis, because I want to have a little whispered
talk with him as we sit alone.”

So it was arranged. Bumpus made out to feel a little hurt that he had
been overlooked in the distribution; but Davy showed him that both he and
Step Hen were in the same boat.

“Besides,” he added as a clincher, “you know you haven’t got any gun,
Bumpus; and don’t know much about firearms anyway.”

“Don’t you forget it,” remarked the stout scout earnestly; “I’m just
determined to know more about ’em right along, after this. The Boy Scouts
may stand for peace, all right; but I c’n see right now that the feller
that’s able to look out for himself is just the one that never gets
trampled on. Be prepared to defend yourself, and chances are you’ll never
be called on to do a blessed thing. Oh! I’m on to a few dodges. I ain’t
so much asleep as some of you think. Wait till we go off on our trip
across the Continent, with the money we’re going to rake in for
recovering this stuff, an’ capturin’ the thieves; mebbe I’ll show you a
thing or two then.”

“He’s got a programme all laid out, I do believe,” ventured Step Hen,
afterward to Giraffe; “and expects to take lessons in shooting, and all
sorts of stunts, once we get back to Cranford. But it’ll be the making of
Bumpus if he does wake up and do all kinds of things. He’ll quit bein’ so
fat then, and make muscle instead. And for one, I hope he carries it
out.”

The entire party went back to the cabin. Here arrangements for the
balance of the night were concluded, and the first pair sent out to take
their places as sentries.

Bumpus had declared that he would not sleep a wink; but once he lay down,
he really knew nothing more until he felt some one tugging at his sleeve.

“Is it my turn to be on guard? All right, I’ll be up right away!” he
exclaimed, and then began to sniff the air. “Say, what’s all this mean;
are you goin’ to eat breakfast in the middle of the night?”

“Go over to the door, and look out,” laughed Thad. “You’ll think it still
funnier to see the silly old sun poking his face up at such a time; but
he’s gone and done it, all the same.”

“Blessed if I ain’t slept the whole night,” muttered Bumpus, not knowing
whether to be pleased because he had obtained such a refreshing sleep, or
miffed on account of having been neglected when there was “a call for all
brave men and true.” Finally he concluded that what was done could not be
undone; and besides, that venison did smell mighty appetizing. So he
folded up his blanket, and went outdoors to chase the last remnant of
drowsiness from his eyes by a dash of icy water.

There was no haste, for they did not mean to leave their present
comfortable quarters until about the middle of the morning. This had been
decided on as the best policy to be pursued; since they hoped that their
actions would be observed by those in whom they were so deeply
interested.

By degrees they started to pack their belongings, and stow them away in
their regular places; for each canoe had its own complement, the object
being to divide the many things besides tents which they carried, so that
the boats might be about equally loaded.

It is no easy task to paddle a heavily charged canoe up against a strong
current, hour after hour. Muscles hardened by constant use are needed to
accomplish such a feat successfully without great fatigue. The scouts
knew this now, if they had not been so wise before; for at sundry times
each of them had been given opportunities to wield the spruce paddle, and
battle with the swift current.

It was in the neighborhood of ten o’clock that the last thing was stowed;
and after looking all around to make sure that nothing had been
forgotten, the patrol leader gave the signal to depart.

Bumpus did not have his bugle along on this expedition. He had wanted to
carry it, being a clever musician, and quite fond of practicing the many
fine calls whereby scouts may regulate their going to bed, rising in the
morning, assembling for meals, and other things. But Thad and Allan had
shown him the folly of sounding a bugle in the Maine woods, where, as
hunters, they were expected to keep as still as possible, so that the big
game they hoped to secure might not take the alarm, and flee wildly from
the vicinity of such weird sounds.

But Bumpus, not to be entirely undone, placed his hand to his mouth, and
managed to give a pretty good imitation of the bugle call; though he
subsided suddenly when he saw the patrol leader frowning at him.

So they left the spot where so many interesting, as well as exciting,
events had come to visit them. And they carried away quite a few things
besides the memories that would always haunt them. There was the honey,
for instance, fastened up in every possible receptacle that could hold it
securely; then they had some bear meat that would do to chop up into
hash; the fine skin that Giraffe meant to have made into a rug for the
floor of his den at home; and last but far from least, that precious
packet so carefully tied up and sealed, containing the plunder which some
bank must have lost a year or more back.

This, of course, had been carefully hidden, so that even though the
hoboes were secretly watching their departure, they could hardly guess
that the scouts were carrying off their ill-gotten loot.

Gaily they paddled against the current. Although they were warned not to
seem to stare around in too curious a fashion, most of the boys were
really watching the shore as they bucked up against the stream. And a
short time after they had quite lost sight of the cabin and landing,
Giraffe quietly informed Thad, who was close by, that he was pretty
positive he had seen a man peering out at them from a clump of bushes
along the river bank. He had not mentioned the fact at the time, because
he said he was afraid one of the “tenderfeet,” meaning possibly Bumpus
and Step Hen, might betray themselves by appearing too curious, and thus
bring a shot from the shore.

On they pushed until fully a mile had been covered. Thad allowed the boys
to emit an occasional shout, meaning that it should be carried back to
the ears of the man on the shore, and by gradually growing fainter and
fainter, convince him that the party had really gone for good.

“There’s the very place where we want to land,” said Thad, after a little
more time had elapsed. “Plenty of rushes growing along the bank, where we
can hide the canoes, and leave two to guard them, which will be Jim, and
Bumpus here. The rest of us ought to be enough to do the business, if we
manage to surprise the hobo crowd.”

Hearing what his fate was to be Bumpus groaned; but remembering what a
scout must promise to do when given an order by one in authority, he shut
his teeth hard, and doubtless determined that the next time he would have
a gun, and then they must consider that he had rights, as well as the
remainder of the party.

Once in the rushes the landing was made. It proved to be a splendid place
for slipping away without showing themselves, for the woods grew
unusually thick just alongside, and the sun happened to be hidden by
clouds at the time, which was near noon.

And this was the way Thad led his company back toward the lone cabin,
with himself and Sebattis in the lead, then Davy and Giraffe; and old
Eli, in conjunction with Step Hen and Allan, bringing up the rear,—seven
in all.




                             CHAPTER XXIV.
                          WHAT WOODCRAFT DOES.


After leaving the spot where they had drawn the three canoes into the
rushes, the little party started through the woods. Bumpus was very much
grieved to see the balance of the scouts go off without him. He did not
say anything; but his rosy fat face was eloquent enough, as he nodded in
turn to each one of his chums.

“Poor old Bumpus,” said Giraffe, to Davy, in a whisper, “he feels badly
cut up at not gettin’ a chance to earn that reward he’s had on his mind
so long. And you mark me, the first opening Bumpus gets, he’ll be buying
a gun, all right. He doesn’t like to be left out of the fun.”

As a rule they were supposed to keep absolute silence, and Giraffe knew
this, as did Davy. Hence the other only nodded in reply, and taking his
cue from this, the long-legged scout relapsed into quiet again.

But Giraffe was wide-awake. He meant to observe every little thing that
took place around him. With two such veteran guides as old Eli, and the
Indian, doubtless there would be more or less woodcraft displayed that
must be well worth treasuring up; because a Boy Scout cannot learn too
much along these lines.

And the first thing Giraffe noticed was the confident way in which the
leader started out. Why, he never seemed to bother his head in the least
as to what direction the cabin lay in. Giraffe marveled at this very
much. He realized that if the task had been left to him, he would have
had to cudgel his poor brains to remember all he had been told by Allan,
as to the various methods whereby woodsmen know what is north, when in
the dense forest, with the sun hidden from sight, and no compass along.

So Giraffe amused himself while he strode along as carefully as he knew
how. He attempted to picture himself in the rôle of guide to just such an
expedition, starting out to get to the cabin as quickly as possible, by
taking a short cut through the woods, rather than by following the
windings of the river.

What would he do first? Oh! yes, there was the bark of the tree to be
observed, and the fine green moss that grew only on one side, never all
the way around. He remembered that this moss was said to be almost
universally upon the north side of the tree, and that if it varied at
all, it leaned toward the northwest; because it was from that quarter
most of the severe wintry gales came.

But trees differ; and to his surprise Giraffe failed to find this moss in
the quantities he had expected. Evidently then pine trees are in a class
by themselves, he concluded.

But there were other ways of finding this out. How about the general
slant of the trees? Didn’t his instructor assure him that it only needed
one glance around, for an old traveler through the forests to tell where
north was? He would notice the slant of the trees, and if there were any
lying on the ground, observe the way they had fallen, when overturned by
the fierce wind. Why, that ought to be the easiest thing in the world;
and Giraffe was beginning to feel quite proud of the knowledge he
possessed when suddenly a very disquieting thought flashed through his
head.

He knew which was north, east, west and south all right; but how was that
to tell him where the old cabin lay? He might guess that in all
probability it was somewhere off to the southeast; but that was a pretty
big region, and the chances of his finding it might be set down as ten
against one.

Evidently, then, something else was needed besides the ability to tell
where the north lay. In fact, Giraffe was beginning to realize that a
good scout must keep a mental map of the country in his head. He may not
need a compass one-half so much as he has a use for constant wakefulness,
and the power of observation.

He should be able under such conditions as these to put a finger on a
certain point of the rude chart he draws, and say: “here’s where I am
right now, and there lies the cabin, exactly sou-south east of me; and I
can tell where that quarter is as easy as falling off a log.”

The more Giraffe got to thinking about this subject the more he felt
enthusiastic over it. Why, he had really never understood how intensely
interesting it was. And then and there the boy determined that he would
find out all about it. Allan knew, and Allan was only too willing to
instruct his fellow scouts in the arts pertaining to woodcraft.

Practical demonstration is worth many times over what a fellow might
learn from books. Take that Indian picture writing, for instance; a boy
might read about it, and think it rather interesting; but when taking
part in the game himself, puzzling his head over the meaning of the plain
pictures of men, animals, camp-fire smoke, canoes, tracks in the dirt,
and all such things, he would discover that is was intensely exciting,
and liable to beat any game of fox and geese he had ever indulged in.

All this while they were making fair progress on their way.

Sebattis never seemed to swerve once, except to avoid some obstacle. Why,
he was evidently as positive about his course as Giraffe might be when
walking along a street in Cranford. And doubtless, the trails of the
great pine woods were just as familiar to this dusky son of the
wilderness as those streets could be to one who had been born and brought
up among them.

Giraffe figured that they must be about half-way to the cabin by now,
though of course it had to be mere guess work on his part, since he had
no means of knowing the facts.

He did notice that Sebattis was growing a little more cautious. And also
that Thad, looking around just then as if to see how the others were
coming along, and catching the eye of Step Hen, put his finger on his
lips, as if in that way he would warn the greenhorn scouts to exercise
additional care.

It was certainly getting mighty exciting. Giraffe felt hot and cold by
turns; but he would not allow himself for one moment to believe that this
sensation had anything to do with the quality called fear.

He gritted his teeth, and put on a severe look. He would show them, if
the case came to a point where there must ensue a rough and tumble fight,
that because he had subscribed to the peace-loving rules of the scouts,
he could at the same time rise to a special occasion, when valor was
needed.

Why, this feeling was something the same as that which had attacked him
when about to fire his first shot at the big black bear. Allan had
described it to him once, when telling him how he must overcome the “buck
ague” upon getting his first chance to shoot a deer. And Giraffe was
determined to conquer himself now, so that he might not later on feel a
tinge of shame when speaking of the way they returned to the cabin, bent
on capturing the lawless hoboes.

Why, there was Sebattis bending low now, and advancing with redoubled
caution. They must surely be close upon the cabin; perhaps it was even in
sight, if one cared to raise his head above the tops of the bushes that
together with brushwood and dead treetops lay in the way.

No one could equal Giraffe in such a maneuver as this. Nature had given
him the advantage over his fellows when endowing him with that extra long
neck. And doubtless the shorter Davy, with his thick neck, envied
Giraffe, when he saw how easily the other surmounted difficulties in the
way of taking an observation, which were bound to prove a barrier to him.

Sure enough. Giraffe caught a fugitive glimpse of something that looked
like the back wall of the old cabin, for he saw neither door nor window.
How wonderful that the sagacious Penobscot brave could have taken them
directly there; and so far as he, Giraffe, had noticed, without once
feeling of the bark of the trees, or even sweeping one glance toward the
heavens.

Now that the Indian and Thad had dropped on their knees. Of course the
others were expected to do the same, and quickly did they follow suit. It
must be a part of the game; indeed, Giraffe would have been sorely
disappointed had they failed to go through this same experience. In all
the books he had read of forest trailing, and advancing upon an enemy’s
camp, it was absolutely necessary to go the last part of the journey on
hands and knees. And besides, it added vastly to the interest of the
thing, Giraffe thought.

So they crept along, getting gradually nearer and nearer to the cabin. So
far as could be seen, all was quiet around that place, just as they had
left it, in fact. If the hoboes had already arrived they certainly gave
no sign of their presence.

Perhaps Sebattis, with his wonderfully trained ear, was able to catch
slight sounds that would not reach some of the rest of them, bunglers at
best in the science of woodcraft. He seemed to be advancing with perfect
confidence; and yet at the same time Giraffe could not but notice that
the dusky-skinned Maine guide always kept his gun in a position for
instant use.

It made Giraffe remember what he had once read about the early Virginia
and New England settlers, pious men, all of them, to be sure; but
realizing that each was expected to do his part in taking care of home
and family. Giraffe had often repeated the words of their motto to
himself, and figured out just what it meant to say “trust in the Lord;
but keep your powder dry.” Sebattis felt perfect confidence in his
ability to reach the wall of the cabin unobserved; but at the same time
he was always ready for _accidents_.

But they were now about the end of the little creeping journey, for the
grim back wall of the trapper’s old weather-beaten cabin was at hand. One
by one the crawlers arrived, and ranged themselves as close as they
could, following the example of the two who had reached the goal first.

Giraffe was immediately conscious of some sort of movement within. It was
as if a party might be laboring at something that rather tried his
muscle; for besides the heavy breathing, there came a rustling noise, and
then mutterings.

“Gimme that piece of wood over there, Kimball,” a voice suddenly growled.
“This stone sure beats my time, the way she sticks. I never thort she was
half as heavy. Throw it acrost to me, if you don’t want to git up. Thet’s
the ticket. Now, will you be good, consarn you?”

It gave Giraffe a thrill. He seemed to guess that the speaker must be
working at the hearthstone, under which the scouts had found all that
wonderful plunder. What would happen when he discovered how the package
left there was only a false “dummy,” and that the bank loot had been
carried off? Before Giraffe could settle this at all in his mind, he
heard the man inside give a little shout.

“It’s all right, Kimball, I tell you! The stuff is here, under the stone,
and jest like we left it a year ago. They never once suspected, the
innocents, jest how near they was to a fortune. Things is atakin’ another
turn, and I reckon our hard luck’s skipped out. This knocks a big load
off my shoulders, believe me, Kimball!”




                              CHAPTER XXV.
                          SURPRISING CHARLIE.


Sebattis was quietly creeping, foot by foot, along the wall of the cabin.
Giraffe realized that it was the intention of the guide to make his way
along the side, so as to command the front, where the only exit could be
found. This they must cover, if they expected to hold the situation.

Old Eli had pushed up alongside the Indian. He seemed to feel that if it
came to a case of holding the hoboes up, the desperate rascals would be
more apt to surrender if they saw two determined men in the front rank of
those who covered them with their guns, than if they believed the whole
posse to be made up of inexperienced half-grown Boy Scouts.

Of course this started the others moving also, since no one felt like
being left behind. Being close to the wall, it was possible for them to
hear what was being said within; for the two men did not speak in
anything bordering on whispers. They did not dream of the danger that was
hovering over their heads; and the finding of the bundle, apparently
undisturbed, seemed to make them both happier than they could have been
for some time.

When they reached the corner of the cabin the creepers turned it. Now
they had to remember that the little window was here, and that if one of
the new inmates of the hut chanced to thrust his face close up to the
wonderful sash that had survived all these years of cold and heat, there
was danger that they would be discovered, should one of them stray from
the wall.

Giraffe was listening to what the men were saying. Somehow there seemed
to be a sort of strange fascination about playing the part of
eavesdropper in a case like this. But he did not allow himself to get so
deeply interested as to forget all idea of caution.

The man with the great, heavy voice he guessed must be the leader, who
went by the name of Charlie Barnes. He it had been, Thad and Allan had
declared, who led the flight of the hoboes through the great Maine woods.
And it had been this fact that seemed to convince the scoutmaster Charlie
must at one time have been playing the rôle of guide in these same woods.

Apparently he had not bothered undoing the bundle then, for there was no
trace of anger or bitter disappointment in his tones, such as must have
been the case had he learned of the cheat.

“How’s the leg, Kimball?” he was asking.

“Hurts pretty bad, let me tell you,” came the reply; “and the worst of it
is, I can’t get the bleed to stop. If this keeps on, I’ll keel over soon;
I’m feeling that weak, Charlie.”

The man with the bass voice said something that sounded like strong
language. At first Giraffe feared he had taken a notion to open up the
package, and learned of the cheat; but when he spoke, this proved not to
be the case.

“That’s hard luck, ain’t it, Kimball?” he went on. “The only feller in
our bunch thet knows a blamed thing about the doctor game, he’s gone an’
took sick hisself, an’ is alyin’ thar under thet ledge, whar we’ve hed to
camp out ever since larnin’ thet them hunters was occupyin’ this here
cabin. But after I’m rested a bit, tell you what I’ll do—you lay around
and take it easy, while I hike back and bring my brother-in-law here.
He’s on’y a light weight, an’ I guess as how I kin kerry him on my back.
Won’t be the fust heavy pack I’ve toted over the Maine carries, believe
me.”

“All right, Charlie,” said the other, who possessed a high voice, exactly
the opposite of that belonging to the big leader. “And p’raps, now, Dick
might be in one of his lucid turns, so he could tell me what to do to
stop this pesky bleed. I never knowed what a crazy job it was till now,
not to understand the first thing ’bout stoppin’ blood from flowin’ from
a wound.”

“Sho! thet’s nawthin’. I’ve seen a logger bleed right to death ’cause
nobody had any ijee how to do that same. You’d think loggers, of all
men’d larn sech tricks. Likewise, you’d expect sailors would every one of
’em know how to swim; but they don’t, in half the cases.”

“Say, Charlie, what we goin’ to do?” asked the wounded man, fretfully.

“What d’ye mean by askin’ thet, Kimball?” demanded the other.

“Supposin’ I get in trim to move in a day or two, how long must we hang
out in these here diggings, to take care of Dick?” Kimball asked.

“Wall, I want to do the right thing by the pore critter,” replied
Charlie, reflectively. “You remembers that he’s my wife’s brother. But in
course thar’s got to be a limit. We’re in danger every minit we stays
here this side the border. An’ with thet thar sheriff pokin’ ’raound
every which way, tryin’ to locate us, it’d be crazy fur us to hang out
here long.”

“Put a limit on the time, Charlie. He ain’t any relation of mine, you
see, and I just don’t feel like taking chances on twenty years to oblige
your wife’s brother. P’raps I couldn’t make it just as well without you,
but I know which is north, an’ that safety lies that way; so I’d just
keep on travelin’ till I learned I was over the line in Canada.”

“I tell you what, Kimball,” said the other, after a pause, “we’ll give
the poor feller till to-morry night. If he ain’t better then, we jest got
to leave hyar by the next mornin’ sure. The best we kin do is to fix him
comfortable like, with a plenty o’ water and grub handy, and let him take
chances. Now, as I hev got my hands on this hyar bundle o’ stuff again, I
jest don’t feel like bein’ caged.”

“That’s all right, Charlie,” replied the other. “I don’t like to desert a
man any more than you do; but what’s a fellow goin’ to do? We’d all get
caught if we hung out here too long. As it is, we can send the sheriff
word when we’re safe over the line, and he’ll find Dick. They ain’t got
much on the boy, you know; and if he’s sent up at all, it’d only be for a
few years.”

By this time Giraffe himself was crawling past under the little window.
He knew that he must be making more or less of a rustling sound while
moving along; to his ears all trifling things were magnified immensely;
why, he could even hear the pounding of his rapidly beating heart, and
wondered if it was calculated to catch the attention of those within the
cabin.

However, he realized that several things were acting in his favor. In the
first place the wind made more or less of a constant rustle through the
tops of the tall pines, and this in itself would have deadened other
sounds. Then again, the fact of the two hobo yeggs talking together acted
as a buffer, since they were not so likely to keep their ears on the
alert for suspicious noises from without.

There were Sebattis and Eli turning the last angle now. That must bring
them to the front of the cabin, where they could crouch down behind some
of the shrubbery that Giraffe remembered grew on that side. Doubtless the
keen-witted Indian had this very fact in mind when he chose to pass along
to this side of the door, rather than take the other route; as Giraffe
realized he must have done, simply because in that case he would not have
to pass under a window at all.

Did they mean to suddenly spring into the cabin, and cover the men before
they could snatch up their guns? Giraffe hoped not, for in that case the
rest of them might not have any share at all in the winding up of the
affair; and all the glory would pass to Sebattis, Eli, and perhaps Thad
and Allan.

But then, the fact that the leaders were now crouching there would seem
to indicate that just then at least there was no intention of going
further.

So Giraffe, also pulling his long figure forward, found a place where he
too could stretch out, and with his gun in his trembling hands, wait for
the next move in the game.

Now he remembered what the man with the heavy voice had just said about
meaning to start out after the sick member of the trio, after he had
recovered his wind. That looked as if Sebattis might be laying for him
there. And when he stepped into the open, doubtless the two guides
expected to suddenly spring to their feet, at the same time cowering him
by leveling their weapons.

Giraffe realized that perhaps this was rather queer business for a Boy
Scout to be in, rounding up desperate law breakers; but if Thad thought
it all right, why, there could be no objection.

Some one pushed up against him, and twisting that wonderful neck of his,
Giraffe was able to see that it was Step Hen, who in turn had arrived,
and taken his position in the line.

Davy was last of all to reach the shelter of the clump of brushwood, but
he came working his way along on his stomach, and pushing his shotgun
ahead of him as best he knew how; though the chances were he filled the
muzzle with dirt in so doing, and took chances of having a barrel burst,
should he try and discharge the weapon before cleaning this out.

Well, they were all there now, and only waiting for Charlie to be
accommodating enough to put in an appearance. It could not be for long;
though with his nerves all keyed up to concert pitch, Giraffe thought the
seconds were weighted down with lead, they passed so slowly.

There, was that a movement at last within the cabin? Some one was
certainly crossing the pine-covered floor with heavy steps. Still, it may
have been the wounded man, limping to new quarters.

Again Giraffe allowed himself to draw in some of the cool air; for in
that second of strain he had actually stopped breathing.

The crisis was only delayed a little, and was sure to come along before a
great while. He realized that those after whom he patterned were taking
it calmly; and if they could wait, surely he had no right to show
impatience. Many a plan doubtless owed its success to this quality of
being able to restrain hasty action; why, Giraffe remembered a saying to
the effect that “everything comes to him who waits.”

Well, there it was again, and this time surely it must be Charlie
starting up. The heavy boom of his voice could be heard, showing that he
was even then advancing toward the open door.

“I guess I ought to be back again inside an hour, Kimball; an’ if so be
you kin wait thet long, p’raps Dick, he mout be in trim to tell you what
to do ’bout thet leg o’ yourn. Take it as easy as you kin while I’m gone,
and make up yer mind as things is bound to move along arter this as slick
as grease, believe me.”

A bulky figure stepped out of the door. Sebattis waited until he had
taken as many as five steps away, his object being to prevent the man
from bolting back into the cabin, where he could defend himself with some
chance of success.

Then, as though by some preconcerted signal, the two guides, together
with Thad and Allan, suddenly arose, and swung their guns to their
shoulders. Thinking that this was an invitation for them to get busy, the
other three scouts also scrambled to their feet, and followed the example
of their leaders.

And that was the astonishing sight the hobo yeggman saw, as he turned his
head upon hearing the noise made by the boys in gaining their feet.




                             CHAPTER XXVI.
                    THE SHERIFF GETS HIS SHOCK, TOO.


“Throw up yer hands thar, Charlie Bunch!” Eli had said in a stern voice;
and from the fact of his mentioning another name besides that of Barnes,
Giraffe realized the old Maine guide must have recognized the yegg bank
burglar as one he had known in long days gone by.

The big fellow looked ugly for a few seconds, and Giraffe felt a shiver
run up and down his spine, as he wondered whether he were about to
witness a real desperate battle. But then Charlie, for all his fierce
looks, had a grain of common sense besides. Doubtless he also knew what
kind of man he had to deal with in old Eli Crookes. And then, it must
have been somewhat discouraging for even the most daring and reckless of
souls to see that grim array of seven guns, all covering his person, even
if five of the lot were held by boys.

So Charlie gave a sort of make-believe careless laugh, and obeyed the
order of the guide. He even thrust his hands up higher than there was any
real necessity for doing, as though he believed in going to the limit.

“Caught at last, and with the goods on, too!” he remarked, in his booming
bass voice. “How are you, Eli? So, arter all I’m goin’ to owe my bein’
passed over to a feller I used to chum with. But we never did git on
together, did we, Eli? Say, Kimball, show yourself here. Come out an’
jine in the dance. Thet’s the way it allers goes; when you think things
are breaking your way, kerflop she goes into the soup. Tie me up, Eli, so
I can’t do any damage when my mad comes on, like it will when I gets to
thinkin’ o’ how near I was to bein’ fixed for life.”

A face was seen in the doorway just then, a frightened face too. Thad
swung his gun around, and covered Kimball, who immediately showed new
signs of alarm.

“Don’t fire, there!” he called out; “I’m all shot up as ’tis, an’ losin’
pints of blood at a two-forty rate. I surrender, all right! If Charlie,
he gives in, there ain’t no show for a wounded man like me holding out.”

“Keep him covered, all the same, Thad, until we get this other one tied
up,” advised Allan, who possibly knew more about the type of rascal they
were dealing with than any other among the scouts.

Eli did the job himself. And that he knew how to go about it in the right
way Charlie himself testified in no uncertain tones.

“Reckon thet settles my hash, all right,” he declared, as he surveyed the
manner in which the stout cord was passed around his arms, so as to hold
them behind his back when the guide wanted to complete the tying. “You’d
do fur a sheriff, Eli Crookes. I s’pose this is jest what I ought to
expect, after playin’ the kind o’ game I hev all these years; but I don’t
give up the ship while there’s life. Mebbe so I kin git away yet.”

That was possibly the only thing that had kept Charlie from putting up a
desperate resistance when he found himself cornered. So long as there was
life there was hope; whereas, if he tried to fight, and was shot to
death, that ended it.

Then Thad had a chance to pay attention to Kimball. He saw that there was
not the slightest chance for the wounded man to try and escape. He was
really too weak to go far; and besides, that open cut did seem to be
bleeding seriously.

“Here, you just sit down and let me look at that leg,” Thad ordered,
after he had searched the man, and taken from him an ugly looking bulldog
revolver that was an exact contrast with the up-to-date automatic weapon
they had found in Charlie’s pocket, but which he had not dared attempt to
reach when faced by the seven foes.

“Are you a surgeon, boy?” demanded Kimball, a note of eagerness in his
voice. “I hope you are, because I’m feeling in a desperate way. Unless
something’s done to stop that flow of blood, why, I’ll be a goner before
to-morrow morning.”

“Oh! I’ll fix that, all right,” said Thad, reassuringly. “No, I’m not a
surgeon, or only a bungling one at that; but I do know how to stop a
wound from bleeding. That’s one of the things a Boy Scout learns when he
makes up his mind he wants to get a medal, and reach out for the first
class rank. You watch me, and see.”

There was quite an interested audience, for Giraffe, Davy, Step Hen,
Allan, and even the two guides hovered around, keeping tabs on all that
the patrol leader did.

Thad first closely examined the mark where the bullet of Sebattis had cut
across Kimball’s lower limb. Then he took a big red bandanna handkerchief
and tied it tightly around the leg, just below the knee, making sure that
the large knot came exactly on the artery which ran back of the joint.

After that Thad took a stick he had provided, and inserting this in the
handkerchief, he began to calmly twist it around several times. Of course
this immediately tightened the binding, and the knot being pressed in
against the artery, prevented the blood from coming to any extent at all.

The man had shut his teeth hard together, but he groaned once or twice
under the operation; though Thad believed this must be on account of the
strain he was laboring under, rather than because of any particular
bodily agony.

“Now, this is only temporary,” the scout advised, after he had washed the
wound with some tepid water, for, acting under his directions, Giraffe
had hastily placed an old pan with some water in it, on the fire, which
evidently Charlie had revived after finding his bundle intact under the
stone.

“We’re going to make a litter, and carry you up to the place we expect to
camp to-night,” he remarked a little later, when he had bound the man’s
leg up nicely. “And to-night I’ll see if I can do something about that
partly severed artery. It’s hardly a job for a boy, and I wouldn’t try it
only the case is desperate. And it happens that I used to go around with
an uncle of mine who was an old doctor, and he let me help him lots of
times.”

With that Kimball had to rest content. But the boy had done so splendidly
as far as he went, that the wounded hobo began to hope he might even go
further, and fix the artery, so that the benumbing bandage could be eased
up.

At one time Thad thought of sending one of the guides up and having the
canoes brought back to the cabin; but for some reason this plan was
abandoned.

Giraffe and Davy manufactured the rude litter, acting under the orders of
Allan, who had seen one used in the past. It would easily hold Kimball,
who was not a heavy weight.

Believing that they might as well make use of the strapping big hobo,
Charlie, as a burden bearer, Eli unfastened his hands, and made him take
the front end of the litter, while he himself would look after the rear,
with some of the scouts to keep guard over the prisoner.

Of course in searching the two yeggmen there had been found the proceeds
of their recent robbery, in the shape of packages of bills, and some
gold. But when the little procession was ready to leave the cabin, and
Thad took up the bundle of old clothes, which he tossed into the fire,
Charlie let out a yell.

“Hey! thet’s a crazy thing to do, bub; don’t you know what’s wrapped up
inside them same ole clothes?” he called, evidently greatly excited at
the idea of a fortune burning up.

“I ought to know, because I put it in there myself,” replied Thad,
smiling at the big man’s excitement. “You see, Charlie, we began to
figure on why you wanted to get into this same old cabin so much, and
guessed that you had something hid away here. So we looked around a bit,
found the hole under the stone, took out the boodle you had put away,
fixed up a dummy to fool you; and there you are. So, let the old stuff go
up in smoke. It’s just as well to get rid of the duds that nobody wants.”

“Well, I swan!” muttered Charlie, staring hard at Thad, as though he had
begun to suspect that after all these Boy Scouts were worth considering,
if many of them could do the things this leader seemed to be capable of,
from managing a surprise party on a poor hobo innocent, to fixing up a
wounded leg that threatened to do for Kimball.

So they went off, taking the back trail; and Giraffe, who was observing
all these things now, noticed that they passed over exactly the same
route as when heading for the cabin. And he gave Sebattis credit for a
wonderful amount of ingenuity, which he feared must ever be beyond the
capacity of a tenderfoot scout.

Of course it was the intention of Thad to take the litter later on, and
acting on the directions which Charlie promised to give, seek the gully
where, under a shelf of rock, they would find the sick hobo, Dick, who
could also be brought to the camp.

“I rather guess we’ll have to break up our trip for a while,” Thad
remarked to Allan, as they walked along in company.

“Yes, I can see that plain enough,” replied the other; “because we’ve had
these sick and wounded hoboes shoved on us, whether we would or not, and
we just can’t do anything else. But some of our crowd can go down the
river in a big hurry, and after handing them over to the authorities in
the first town, come back to you and Sebattis here.”

“I’d want you to stay with me up here, too, Allan,” remarked Thad,
warmly.

In due time they reached the place where the boats lay, and hearing them
approaching, Bumpus and Jim came ashore. A camp was next in order, for
the boys really wanted to find themselves under canvas once more. Giraffe
exerted himself to get a fire going, while the tents were being erected,
and Thad with Allan had gone off to bring in the sick man.

This they had little trouble in doing. Dick was in a bad way, being
feverish; and while Thad gave him some medicine, he declared that they
had better get the man to a doctor as soon as possible.

So it was determined to make an early start. They would be up long before
sunrise, the tents stowed, and the boats packed. One more in each would
crowd a whole lot, but the guides thought it could be done by careful
management.

Supper was cooked, and the prisoners given their share. The wounded man
declared he was feeling considerably better; and Dick too showed signs of
having his high fever broken.

The scouts were lying around in any way they considered comfortable,
while Charlie and Kimball, with their hands tied behind their backs, and
a rope holding them to a tree, sat there, listening to the conversation,
though not in any too happy a mood themselves, when there was heard the
crash of approaching footsteps.

Then several figures loomed up, entering the camp. Sebattis had merely
glanced up, but made no move to reach for his gun; so Giraffe felt that
the danger could not be acute.

Well, of course it was no other than Sheriff Green, with his posse; and
as they advanced they were holding their guns in such fashion that they
had Charlie and Kimball covered; for evidently they had not discovered
that the pair were tied up.

“Run you down at last, have we, Charlie Barnes?” the sheriff was saying,
as he strode forward, and there was a vein of curiosity as well as
triumph in his voice. “Don’t bother getting up; we can put the irons on
just as well where you sit. But hello! if here ain’t our young friends
the scouts! What does this mean, I wonder?”




                             CHAPTER XXVII.
                       DOWN THE RIVER—CONCLUSION.


At that there was a roar from the scouts that must have shown the officer
how badly he had deceived himself; but then discovering the two desperate
rascals of whom he was in search, apparently sitting there, and taking
things easy, how was he to know they were prisoners. Besides, he had eyes
only for them, as he came advancing into camp.

“A little too late, Mr. Sheriff,” remarked Thad, advancing to meet the
other, “we found that in self-defense we just _had_ to take these
gentlemen in out of the cold ourselves. Besides, one of them was wounded
by Sebattis the other night, and a second is a pretty sick man, so we’re
going to send them down the river in the morning with part of our force.”

Of course the sheriff was greatly disappointed. To have his work cut out
for him by a parcel of lads wearing the khaki uniforms of the Boy Scouts
was hard on the officer. And Thad felt that Sheriff Green must begrudge
them the reward that had been offered for the apprehension of the
yeggmen, and the recovery of the plunder taken from the last bank they
had broken into.

“Tell you what we’ll do, Mr. Green,” he remarked, as they all sat around
the fire, with the three last arrivals enjoying a late supper; “suppose
we split that reward for the taking of the hoboes into three parts. One
will go to you, as you gave us valuable information; another we scouts
believe we deserve; while the third I want our guides to share among
themselves.”

“That’s a generous offer, my boy,” declared the sheriff. “Most people
would think they had a right to it all, as you really do. I accept for
myself and posse. And if you can take the wounded and the sick man along
in your boats, we’ll see that Charlie gets down there all right. Is it a
bargain?”

Thad glanced around at his chums, and each gave him a nod in the
affirmative. That settled the matter, for the silent vote had been
unanimous.

“It’s a go, sir, and we take you up on that,” declared the leader of the
scout patrol.

Accordingly they talked over the arrangements, and how they might meet
again in the town where the prisoners could be placed in charge of the
authorities, until the proper officers came to take them to Augusta.

Giraffe managed to get Thad alone later on in the evening. The sheriff
was feeling pretty good after his feed, and sat there by the fire
swapping stories with old Eli, while the rest of the scouts lay around,
listening and laughing.

“I noticed that you didn’t say anything about that other pile of stuff we
landed under the stone in the old cabin?” remarked Giraffe.

“That’s right, I didn’t,” answered Thad, readily; “and I kept mum on
purpose. In the first place, it was none of their business, because they
knew nothing about that plunder. And if they knew that we had it, perhaps
it might have made bad feelings. Just remember, and don’t mention it. Of
course, if Charlie happens to give the secret away later on, when he’s
with them, that can’t be helped. I wouldn’t think of denying it, if they
mentioned the matter right now; but I don’t believe it’s any of their
business. Understand, Giraffe?”

“Sure I do, and let me say I’m of the same mind too,” replied the other.
“I’ll just try and let Bumpus and Step Hen know, because, you see,
they’re kind of easy marks, and apt to talk too much. If that sharp
sheriff ever gets a hint of what we dug up, he’ll want to hear the whole
story.”

Of course, with an experienced officer to look after Charlie, none of the
scouts saw any reason for anxiety, or losing sleep in fear of the
desperate hobo breaking loose. Thad confined his labors to the sick and
wounded. He had managed to accomplish that delicate little surgical job
with a fair amount of success, considering his lack of experience.
Kimball was loud in his praise of the boy’s nimble fingers and ready
brain.

“You’ll sure be a great surgeon some day, younker!” he declared. “That
was as nice a job as many a doctor could have done. And I reckon I’m
agoin’ to get well now, and stand for that twenty year sentence the
judge’ll hand out to me. I wish there had been such a thing as Boy Scouts
when I was young; p’raps, then, there’d been a different story to tell
about me.”

Thad was sitting there, listening to the talk, when some one plucked him
by the sleeve, and looking up, he saw Sebattis. There was a glitter in
the black eyes of the dusky guide that surprised the patrol leader.

“Get gun—come ’long—think hear moose call ’gain,” whispered the Indian.

Thad was of course thrilled by this intelligence; but at the same time he
remembered that he had promised Allan the next chance, in case they had
reason to believe a moose were in the vicinity.

Accordingly, he spoke to the Maine boy, and then asked the others to
kindly moderate their noise; though Sebattis had already told him that
they would go fully a mile from the camp before answering the far-away
call.

Again did Sebattis seem to know where he wanted to wait to see if the
moose was to be drawn near the waiting rifles. He settled down at a
certain place, and sent out the strange call that, heard in the dead
silence of the Maine night, always makes the blood of the hunter leap
wildly through his veins.

There was an immediate answering call, and after waiting a little time,
they once more sent a challenge forth.

This was kept up for half an hour, but so far as Thad could see, no
advantage had been gained. Sebattis was grunting now, every time he
called. Perhaps he began to believe this must be a mighty queer moose, to
send back that rolling defiance, and yet not advance to any appreciable
extent.

“No good, bull!” he finally declared, as they heard the answer come from
some distance, and in exactly the same quarter as before.

“But if the mountain won’t come to Mohammed; why, he might go to the
mountain,” Thad suggested; “in other words, chief, what’s to hinder us
from heading that way, with you giving him a call every little while?
He’ll either have to run away, or face the music then, I guess.”

“Huh! just like Thad say; Sebattis ready; heap queer; never know bull
like that. Soon see!”

As they moved along, following the guide, who occasionally sent out a
call, Allan took occasion to say to his chum in a whisper:

“He’s some worked up about that answer, Thad, and I saw him shake his
head. Come to think of it, I really don’t believe it’s a moose at all.”

“What’s that?” exclaimed the patrol leader, quickly; “are you trying to
tell me Sebattis thinks some other guide is making all that row, and
trying to call a moose bull to the gun of his employer?”

“Just what I think; and Sebattis does too,” replied Allan, positively.
“You keep watching him, and see how he acts.”

This was a staggering idea to Thad.

“What if it should be the very man I’m wanting to see, to hand him my
adopted father’s important message, Mr. James W. Carson?” he exclaimed.

“Well, the chances are, that’s just who it’ll turn out to be,” replied
Allan.

As they advanced, the calls became louder. Evidently they were
approaching the place where that mysterious bull moose had taken up his
stand, and dared the other on, to lock horns with him in battle.

Presently Sebattis slung his moose call over his shoulder, and called out
aloud:

“How there, Louie! You do um purty well; fool me some time, hey?”

Voices were heard, followed by a loud laugh; and then two men appeared,
Thad having thrown on the light of his little electric torch.

“Is that Mr. Carson?” he called out, as the other approached.

“Just who it is; and who may this be?” asked the hunter, who had another
Indian guide with him, evidently from the same village as Sebattis, for
they immediately got together, and began talking in their own language.

“My name’s Thad Brewster, and I’ve been sent up here by my guardian, Mr.
Caleb Cushman, with an important communication for you. He tried to get
in touch with you at your home, but learned that you had started for your
annual winter trip into the woods of the big game country, and might not
come out again until Spring. Please take this packet, then, Mr. Carson;
and if there is any answer I’ll carry it back to my guardian.”

Mr. Carson sat down, and after looking over the important communication
that had followed him so strangely into the woods, wrote out an answer,
which he entrusted to the keeping of the patrol leader.

Then he asked many questions, and was deeply interested in all that he
heard concerning the Silver Fox Patrol of Cranford Troop.

“I’d like to go back to your camp, and make the acquaintance of the rest
of the boys,” he remarked, as he shook hands with each of the scouts in
parting; “but all my plans are laid to leave this section at daybreak. My
guides are going to take me to where they promise I shall surely get my
moose. You were lucky in having a chance at one. We came out here to make
a last try, and were hoping our luck had changed when finally an answer
came. But both Louie and myself agreed that the bull was the most
cautious old animal we had ever met up with. And then, when Sebattis,
with whom I have often hunted, called out, it gave us a shock, I tell
you.”

So the boys and Sebattis went back to camp, and the others were
astonished as well as pleased to know Thad had been able to carry out the
wish of his generous guardian; and that they need no longer think of
dividing their forces in the morning, leaving Thad, Allan and Sebattis to
continue the search, while the others took the two cripples to the
nearest river town below.

The night passed without any more exciting incidents, for which the tired
boys thought they had reason to be grateful; for of late their sleep had
not been as sound as they might have wished, and every one of them had
much to make up. And besides, now that Thad had delivered his message to
Mr. Carson, his mind was free from worry.

With the coming of early dawn they were astir. Every scout had his
particular duty to perform. Two of them stowed the tents away in the
smallest compass possible; another couple began to pack the canoes; while
Thad and Bumpus assisted in getting breakfast; or rather the latter did,
for the patrol leader had his hands full in attending to his patients,
Dick and Kimball.

The sun had hardly appeared above the horizon when they were once more
afloat. Again did the merry paddles send the sparkling foam toward the
stern of each slender canoe, as they headed downstream.

Sheriff Green had declared that he would take Charlie about six or seven
miles down to a place where he knew he could get the use of a large boat,
capable of carrying four men; and in this he expected to arrive at
civilization not a great many hours after the others did.

By changing the cargoes it was found possible to carry the two extra
passengers, especially since neither of them happened to be a large man.

The boys were as happy as larks as they swept down the river. They
laughed, joked and sang by the hour, because now there was no longer any
reason for keeping silent, since they were passing out of the big game
country.

“But not near half of our time is up,” Giraffe would remark frequently;
“and after we get these two cripples safely landed, why, we mean to make
a fresh start. Allan says he’ll show us another trail, where we c’n meet
up with a new lot of adventures, have some fine hunting, and see more of
these great Maine woods. For one I’m just hopin’ we’ll run up against a
pack of them fierce old wolves like we heard howlin’ near our cabin that
night. A bear is all well enough, but I’ve always wanted to bag a wolf,
the worst kind.”

“Don’t you think you’re goin’ to run the whole shootin’ match,” remarked
Bumpus significantly. “There are others, Giraffe.”

“Hello! sounds like Bumpus has changed his mind, and feels like he had
ought to own a gun of some kind too!” declared Step Hen.

“That’s right, he does,” Bumpus hastened to declare, boldly. “If other
Boy Scouts c’n carry weapons in the woods, I don’t see why I hadn’t ought
to have the same privilege. My folks don’t like the ijee very much; but
then a feller’s just got to keep up with the procession. And it’ll be the
makin’ of me, I guess, if somethin’ coaxes me to get out in the woods,
and walk miles every chance that comes along. Let’s look at that fine
little gun of yours again, Step Hen. If I only can get one, that’s my
idea of a clever shooter. And it don’t wear a feller’s shoulder out,
either, carryin’ the same.”

“Glad to hear it, Bumpus; and I reckon you’ll be able to afford a gun,
with all your share of the fat rewards ahead. If you say so, I’ll go to
the gun store with you, and help pick out a good one. You really ought to
have an experienced hand along at such a time.”

Thad and Allan exchanged glances at this remark on the part of Step Hen;
for they knew full well that his rifle had been purchased entirely
through the advice of the patrol leader.

“Thank you, Step Hen,” Bumpus was heard to say sweetly in reply; “I’ll be
only too glad to have you along. But I’ve got one important piece of
business to look after the minute I get ashore, and within reach of a
telegraph office. If it busts my pocketbook I’m sure goin’ to send a wire
to our bank cashier, and ask him if I did deliver that letter my dad told
me was so important.”

“Why, I should think you’d rather send the message to your own house?”
Giraffe suggested, with a wink toward Thad, for the canoes were all close
together at the time.

“Me?” exclaimed the stout scout, drawing in a long breath. “Well, now,
I’d just be afraid to hear the news from headquarters, you know. What if
they had lost their lovely home and all because of my stupid
forgetfulness, d’ye think I could stand it to stay up here weeks longer,
havin’ fun? No, I’ve got it all mapped out, and know just what I want to
say to the cashier. And believe me, I’m hopin’ for the best, fellers.
Have a little pity on me, won’t you?”

“We do feel for you, old fellow,” said Step Hen, who was drawn toward
Bumpus more than ever, on account of this unconscious flattery regarding
his new gun; and besides, boy though he was, he could see that the other
was really laboring under a heavy strain, and actually suffering from the
pangs of remorse.

What the number of miles might be they covered that day, no one dared
even guess; but although they fairly flew at times, owing to the combined
work of current and paddles, another night had to be spent on the way.
But about noon of the second day they realized that they were getting on
the borders of civilization again. A dog barking was the first sign, and
then came the clarion crow of a barnyard rooster.

Afterwards a house appeared, then several more; and far beyond the spire
of a church reared itself against the clear heavens.

Bumpus looked frightfully pale—for him. He knew that the time had come
when he might learn the facts as connected with that letter, the disposal
of which he had never been able to solve; since the more he tried the
greater became his confusion of ideas.

And about the hour of noon the canoes were turned in toward the shore,
for they saw the town of Grindstone before them, with the railroad
leading southwest in the direction of the homes that were so far away.

Hardly waiting for the landing to be made, Bumpus got ashore, and was
seen hurrying off into the town. They knew that he had in mind the
station, where he could send off a hurry message; and Step Hen, receiving
a word from Thad, hastened after the fat boy, so as to make sure he did
not get into any trouble.

Once at the station Bumpus, who had made a rough draft of what he wanted
to wire the cashier, gave it over to the keeping of the agent, and asked
that it be sent at once. He would sit down and wait for the answer.

The clicking of the nimble telegraph key was about the only sound that
disturbed the silence in that station, for trains were evidently few and
far between on the Aroostook railroad.

It may have been an hour that dragged past, and it may have been much
more, Bumpus declared he had aged terribly since coming there; and Step
Hen tried all he knew how, to keep the other’s spirits up.

“There, he’s taking a message right now, and it may be for you, Bumpus!”
he said.

A minute later, the operator came toward them, holding out a yellow
paper.

“Here’s the answer from Cranford,” the telegraph man remarked, with a
smile; and Bumpus could hardly take the sheet, his hands trembled so
terribly.

Less than ten minutes later, a very stout youth, clad partly in the
uniform of the Boy Scout organization, might have been seen running
wildly down toward the river, followed closely by another, evidently
belonging to the same patrol. And as Bumpus ran, he was waving above his
head a yellow sheet of paper, while he let out frequent roars, that
seemed to be fashioned on one key, and that of joy.

“She’s come, fellers!” was the burden of his whoops; “and I did my duty
all right, just like I always said I must a done. He says I delivered the
letter that mornin’, when I met him on the street. That makes me happy,
and I’m ready to buy the best gun I c’n get in this town, and stay up in
the Maine woods a whole month, if the rest of you want me to.”

They did stay some weeks longer, and met with a series of strange
adventures, that some of the boys believed really excelled those that had
befallen them in the Penobscot region. What these happenings were, and
just how Thad and his five chums acted their parts most manfully in the
face of many difficulties will be found recorded in the pages of the next
volume of this series, now published under the title of “The Boy Scouts
in the Maine Woods,” or “A New Test for the Silver Fox Patrol.”

“By the way, Bumpus,” remarked Thad, later, as they sat around, taking
their ease, “did the cashier tell you what the nature of that
communication was; and did it turn out to be so dreadfully important?”

Bumpus grew red in the face and grinned.

“Oh! shucks! I s’pose you all have just _got_ to know,” he remarked. “It
was on’y a line from my dad, tellin’ the cashier he’d lunch with him that
same day, and take him out in his new Alco car. You know my dad’s the
president of the bank, but he’s been sick at home for a long time, and
had to get a car to take him out in the air. But who cares for expenses;
gimme two cents’ worth of gingersnaps? I’m feelin’ fine right now’, and
c’n afford to laugh at all my silly worryin’. Might a known a scout
wouldn’t do such a silly thing as to forget an important message. Shucks!
Step Hen, let’s go around and see if we can find that gun anywhere. I’ve
got the money to buy it all right.”

Of course the boys understood that the pretended anxiety of Bumpus in
connection with trouble coming to his family through carelessness on his
part had all been put on; but what he had feared was the reproaches of
his father, who had long been trying to cure him of this same fault.

The two injured men had been handed over to the proper authorities, and a
doctor was even then examining what Thad had done for Kimball.

“You owe this lad a lot of thanks, my friend,” the doctor said; “he
certainly has done a very neat job in uniting the lips of that artery.
I’m afraid you’d have passed in your checks for a certainty, only for the
prompt first aid to the injured which you received;” and Thad felt amply
repaid when he thus learned that after all, his crude work had not been
so clumsy as he had feared at the time.

To dispose of the three hobo yeggmen, it might be stated that they were
eventually sentenced to various terms in the penitentiary. The reward,
which had been increased to two thousand dollars, was paid over to the
boys, and by them divided, just as Thad had proposed. And everybody
seemed more than satisfied.

But of course that was only a small part of what was coming the way of
the six scouts. Thad soon learned that the bank recently robbed had also
offered a reward for the recovery of the bonds that had been taken; and
this eventually fell into the treasury of the Silver Fox Patrol.

Then there was that other plunder, which had been found under the stone
in the old cabin of the trapper, away up the river in the big game
country. Doubtless the plundered bank would be delighted to pay a big sum
for the return of those valuable documents, not to mention the cash that
had also been recovered.

Thad did not have the time just then to open up communications, for he
wanted to be off with his chums on another trip in a different direction;
and one that Allan had wished they could take at the time they were
compelled to follow on the trail of Mr. James W. Carson. So Thad placed
the sealed packet in the safe of a gentleman whom Allan chanced to know
right well, and who promised to open negotiations with the robbed bank,
while the scouts were up in the woods.

“I’m pretty sure,” the gentleman remarked, “that there is a very nice sum
offered in this case; and if so, you lads are to be congratulated
indeed.”

“It means a trip out West next summer for our whole patrol; and a hunt in
the wild Rock Mountains;” declared Bumpus, who was now wearing a
perpetual smile, because of the good news he had received from Cranford.

And it turned out that they did receive a splendid purse from the bank
people, who were overjoyed to get back papers that were of tremendous
value to them, even if of little account to others. What this amount was
there is really no necessity of telling; but it was enough, added to all
the rest they received, to make the six boys the happiest fellows in all
the great state of Maine. And doubtless, even before they knew to a
certainty just what they were going to receive, it can be set down for a
fact that they would start out on the second half of their vacation in
the Maine woods with lighter hearts than they had known for many a day.


                                THE END.




                          Transcriber’s Notes


--Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public
  domain in the country of publication.

--Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and
  dialect unchanged.

--In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the HTML
  version reproduces the font form of the printed book.)

--Added a Table of Contents.







End of Project Gutenberg's The Boy Scouts on the Trail, by Herbert Carter