Kitabı oku: «Motor Boat Boys on the Great Lakes; or, Exploring the Mystic Isle of Mackinac», sayfa 6

CHAPTER XIII
THE GREAT INLAND SEA

It was just ten o’clock when the trio of little motor boats started out of the canal, and headed for the open lake far beyond. Long afterward they could look back, and see the stone electricity building between the two locks of the canal; and in imagination the picture as viewed from its top would haunt them, with the churning rapids occupying the center of the scene.

Leaving the canal at its juncture with the river, they were soon in the neck of the lake. Far as the eye could reach, and many times farther, stretched the sparkling water, as clear as crystal; and cold enough to satisfy any one, even on as hot a day as this August one promised to be.

At noon they found a good chance to go ashore. Nick of course was solemnly warned that this was sacred Canadian soil, and that on no account was he to try and purloin any strangely marked animals he might discover prowling around.

“You know they have some queer beasts in these foreign lands, Buster,” George remarked, shaking a finger before the other’s stubby nose. “And make up your mind right now that you’re going to let ’em all severely alone. Some time you can join an expedition sent out to Africa, to scoop up all sorts of freak cats and sich; but while you’re with us we’d rather you restrained that curiosity of yours. It’s going to get you in trouble, some fine day, Buster, you hear me?”

“That’ll do for you, George. Just wait, and see if I don’t have a chance to get back on you yet,” replied the other, complacently. “But would you look at Josh, what he’s bringing ashore now? Fish, as sure as you live. Bully for Josh! White fish, too, the best that grow in these waters, barring none. Tell us, where did you catch ’em, Josh?”

“With a silver hook, and from one of the Indian guides,” replied the cook. “He netted ’em in the rapids, I guess. Heard that earlier in the season they get tons and tons of fish that way; two men in a boat, one in the bow to use the net, and the other to hold the canoe against the current with a pole. Bet you they’ll eat fine, too.”

“I’ll help you clean ’em, Josh,” volunteered Nick.

“All right, then; get busy, Buster. Anyhow, you know a good thing when you see it,” returned the cook, only too willing to hand over the disagreeable task.

“Well,” remarked George, as he and Jack lay there in the shade, waiting for the lunch call; “We’re well on our way to the Agawa river region. Think we’ll make it today, commodore?”

“I’m afraid not,” replied Jack. “In the first place it looks dubious over yonder, as though we might get one of these famous Lake Superior storms you read about. If that drops in on us, we wouldn’t like to be caught out on the open, you know, George.”

“Well, excuse me, if you please,” returned the other, with a shrug of his shoulders that spoke louder than his words. “Storms and my speed boat don’t seem to agree very well. When one comes hustling along I prefer to be behind some sort of shelter, where I can laugh at the wind and the waves. But you spoke as if there might be still another reason for our not getting to the river tonight?”

“There is,” Jack answered. “This time you may have the laugh on Herb.”

“Say, you don’t mean to tell me that the staunch old engine in the Comfort has been up to any antics?” exclaimed George; not without a touch of exultation in his voice; for Herb had jeered at him so many times, on account of his troubles, it was only natural that he should feel a little gratification to know there were others.

“Yes, it developed after we left the Soo,” Jack went on. “Just like these mean things always do, you know. He’s been limping along for the last half hour. Of course there’s no telling how serious it may be. Let’s hope we can fix it in short order. Some of us had better get at it right after lunch.”

“If anybody can put it in apple pie order I guess you can, Jack,” George said; “and if you need any help call on me, because you know Herb isn’t much of a mechanic.”

“That’s kind of you, George,” said Herb, who happened to be coming over to where the two were talking at the time. “That’s the best thing about the motor boat boys; they like to josh each other, and get lots of fun out of things; but when it comes right down to trouble there isn’t one of them who wouldn’t do everything in his power to help a chum.”

The call to eat caused them to make haste to gather around. In fact, there was always an involuntary sort of race to the mess table when the meals were eaten on shore, so that all partook. On this very day Josh noticed this fact particularly and made mention of it.

“Say, do you know you fellows are that prompt you just seem to jump into your places?” he said. “I start to pound a fryingpan with my big spoon, and before I get in five licks all of you are in a ring waiting for grub.”

“Huh!” grunted George, “nothing funny about that. We have to!”

Nick of course took that as a reflection on him, and bridled up at once.

“That’s unkind of you, George,” he protested. “I was never known to take any fellow’s share. An equal division is my rule always. And if some one chooses to decline a portion of his prog; and my appetite is not satisfied, what harm in commandeering the remains?”

“Oh! you’re all right, Pudding; George is only tapping you as he does us all, when he gets the chance,” Herb said.

“Well, I take my punishment decently, when my turn comes, don’t I?” demanded George, as he received a generous portion of a delicious white fish, which had been rolled in egg, and cracker crumbs, and then cooked and browned in the grease from some salt pork placed in hot pans until it fried out.

“Sure you do;” Jack laughingly remarked. “And now forget all your troubles, fellows, and get down to work. Look out for bones. I’ve eaten white fish plenty of times, and they say they’re never so good unless cooked right where they’re caught.”

“I believe it too,” Josh continued. “Just like the pompano an uncle of mine used to tell us he caught down in Florida – used to jump in the boat, he said; and as they’re a delicate, white-flesh fish like this, putting them on ice a week or so takes the flavor out. It also makes them crumble up when cooked.”

“How is it, Buster?” Herb asked; but Nick only rolled his eyes, and kept on munching as though the fate of nations depended on his ability to clear off his tin platter within a given time.

When Nick was eating he wasted mighty little breath in talking, leaving all of that for more convenient times. Besides, he had a perfect horror of some time getting a fish bone in his throat.

“Wouldn’t matter much with a lanky fellow like Josh, you see,” he once said, in commenting on this fear; “because anybody could stick his fist down, and yank the fish-bone out; but my neck is so fat I’d choke to death long before you could say Jack Robinson. So don’t bother me when I’m eating fish, please.”

Afterwards Jack and George took a look at the engine of the Comfort. After doing a little tinkering they announced that it would probably run fairly well during the afternoon; but before starting on another day’s trip more would have to be done to it.

This was not very comforting to Herb; but he made the best of a bad bargain; and with light hearts the motor boys again started forth.

Jack kept an anxious eye on the southwestern sky. He did not altogether like the looks of things in that particular quarter, and was resolved that if they discovered a promising campsite in the afternoon, they could not afford to pass it by, if it afforded an offing for the boats.

That tremendous sea, stretching for several hundred miles away to the west, opened appalling possibilities in the way of a gale. The staunchest steamers that ever plied the fresh water seas would sometimes be as putty in the grasp of a summer storm; and what of the three puny mosquito craft that were as chips on the water?

At three o’clock Herb announced that his engine was getting worse instead of better. And about the same time a welcome hail from George, who was moving along in the van as usual, told that he had by the aid of his glasses sighted a shelter.

“Then it’s us to go ashore,” declared Jack; nor was any one sorry in their hearts; since a little while before a distant sound like thunder had been borne to their ears from the low-down patch of hovering clouds.

The retreat promised to be all the shelter they wanted, though it would hardly have answered for larger boats. Immediately all became as busy as beavers, the two tents being raised, and stoutly secured, so that any ordinary gale could not carry the canvas off like a balloon.

Jack had hardly finished his share of the work before he got out his rod, and busied himself in trying for trout; for he fancied that they were to be found in the clear waters near by this cove, where a limpid little stream emptied into the Great Lake.

Nick, they all noticed, stuck close to camp. It would have to be something very attractive that could induce him to wander far from his fireside, especially when the camp was pitched on Canadian soil, where they grew such queer kitties.

This time it was Jimmie who seemed destined to get into a peck of trouble. Jack always declared that there seemed to be an evil spirit forever hovering around their camp, looking for chances to accomplish his work; and let there appear the least kind of an opening, and he was ready to jump in.

Jimmie was not much of a hunter or fisherman, though able to do either on occasion. But he did have a little fancy for wild flowers, and liked to pry around on occasion, seeing what he could discover.

Now, at this late day in the season, he knew he was not apt to run across any of these pretty gems of the woods; but there seemed to be some sort of fascination about poking here and there examining a bunch of magnificent moss of a pattern he had never set eyes on before, measuring some giant ferns, and watching the antics of a family of squirrels. These had their home in an old hollow tree close by, and seemed filled with mild curiosity concerning the intruders on two legs that had taken up quarters so boldly adjoining the cove.

Herb and George were busily engaged with the balky engine, trying to find out just what ailed the thing, so that it could be remedied once and for all. In the end they felt positive that the blame could be located and effectually cured. At least it was to be hoped so; otherwise the Tramp would have to tow the larger boat back to the Soo, where the trouble could be abated at the hands of a machinist.

Josh, according to his custom, was pottering around the camp, making a better fireplace out of stones, at which he could carry out his part of the business with more comfort and dispatch. If they had been going to remain any length of time here, Josh would have constructed a “cooker” worth looking at; for he was an artist in this particular line.

Nick was apparently quite content to lie around, “getting up an appetite for the next meal,” as Josh sarcastically remarked.

“Just as if that were at all necessary,” was what the fat boy hurled back at him; and the argument was so clinching that Josh subsided on the spot; for no one had ever seen the time when Buster’s appetite needed to be coaxed.

Nick’s eyes finally alighted on the repeating gun which Jack had leaned against a tree at a point where it would be out of harm’s way. Now, Nick himself had seldom fired a gun, though ambitious to become a sportsman; because, as he wisely observed, “if I happened to be left in the woods some time, think I want to starve to death, with a gun in my hands, and plenty of fat game all around me? Not much!”

And in that spirit he had picked up the Marlin; bringing it to his shoulder in a clumsy way, time after time, in order to get accustomed to the movement.

“Keep the muzzle turned the other way, Buster!” commanded Josh, noticing that he was working the pump action of the six-shot weapon, as if he liked to see the ejector send the shell flying out at one side.

“Guess I know enough for that Josh,” grumbled Nick, but at the same time moving still farther around, so that the cook might lose his fears; for when a meal was being prepared the fat boy always handled Josh with gloves, as he frankly admitted.

It was just as he was sitting thus that a sudden scream rang through the neighboring woods, sounding so shrill and angry that every one started as though a bolt of lightning had fallen from the clear blue vault overhead right into their midst, and exploded there!

CHAPTER XIV
NICK WIPES OUT HIS DISGRACE

Everybody in the camp jumped up.

All eyes were turned toward the point from which this racket sprang; and it was a strange sight that immediately met their astonished eyes. Jimmie was jumping about as though he had accidentally stepped into a bee’s nest, and was now engaged in a hand-to-hand fight with the entire swarm.

Nick happened to be in a position where he could see better than any of his companions. And he immediately discovered that the troubles of the Irish lad were not at all imaginary.

Something was leaping back and forth, now threatening to land on the shoulders of Jimmie, and then springing to the low limb of a tree, or it might be the ground.

Nick had never before set eyes on such a strange creature, yet he realized that it was a wild animal. His late unpleasant experience was of course still fresh in his mind; and his first suspicion may have been that this was another specimen of a Canadian pussy cat.

Whatever it was, Jimmie seemed to be having the time of his life fighting. True to his inherited instincts, the Irish lad had snatched up some sort of stick, to serve him as a shillalah. It was a stout bit of wood too, and he wielded it in a manner that proved him to be a “broth of a boy.” Several times it landed with a resounding whack upon the flying body of his antagonist, and at each connection the unknown beast was hurled heavily backward.

But evidently the furious animal was grim and determined. Instead of being cowed by these temporary setbacks it only resumed the attack with added zeal; so that Jimmie had often to throw up his left arm in addition, to fend off his foe.

Now, Nick chanced to remember that at the very moment he was holding a gun in his hands. With one of his chums in grave peril it seemed to devolve upon him to engineer a rescue party.

“Come on, boys! Jimmie needs help!” he shouted, starting to run forward as well as his bulk admitted.

“Careful of that gun, Buster!” called Herb.

“Yes, don’t shoot Jimmie instead!” added Josh.

“Hold your fire till you can get ’em separated!” supplemented George; who being a little farther away at the time, managed to bring up the rear.

In this way then the quartette started to the assistance of Jimmie, who was still whanging away with might and main. What with the loud shouts of the aroused Irish lad, the whoops of the runners, and the angry snarling of the enraged beast, one would think a menagerie must have broken loose in the neighborhood.

Just then George happened to get a good look at the beast as it jumped up on the limb, and whirling, crouched to make another leap.

“It’s a wildcat!” he shouted as loud as he could. “Be careful, Nick! Don’t you try to grab it now, on your life!”

Nick heard, but was too busy to think of replying. The cat had sprung again at the pugnacious Irish boy, to be met with another smart thump that landed with a loud thud, and sent the beast sprawling to the ground.

“Ye would, hey?” howled Jimmie in derision, though the blood was streaked upon his face, where the sharp claws of the beast had scratched him. “Thry for it again, plaze! And be the powers, ye’ll foind Jimmie Brannagan at home whin ye knock at the dure. Come on, ye omadhaun! I’ll soon knock all the breath out of the body of ye! Wow!”

The Canadian cat was a fighter. It looked it every inch, now that the defiant defense of the intruder had aroused its fury. Once more it sprang to the limb of the tree, as though recognizing that here it had a better chance to leap than from the ground.

“Now! Buster! But be careful! Keep back Jimmie!” shouted George.

The others held their very breath, for they saw that Nick had the Marlin repeater up at his bulky shoulder. Perhaps every one of them was mentally hoping that he would not shut his eyes while pulling the trigger; for a little swerve might bring Jimmie within range, and the result be disastrous at that short distance.

Bang!

Instantly a series of whoops broke forth, and every fellow started forward once more, as though meaning to be in at the death. George and Herb and Josh had each managed to possess himself of some sort of improvised weapon. The first had in his hand a hatchet which he had been using at the time; Josh was waving his favorite big spoon, with which he was wont to beat the summons to meals on a pan; and the skipper of the Comfort had picked up a billet of wood while passing the fire, which he now flourished eagerly above his head.

Nick himself stood there, struggling with the pump-gun. As usual with novices he could not work the mechanism; for in his excitement he was trying to fire without having ejected the used shell; and no self-respecting modern arm will stand for that sort of treatment.

Fortunately all around, no second shot was needed. The animal was kicking its last upon the ground, and emitting agonizing screams of anger and pain. Whether by accident or real accuracy of aim, Nick had apparently managed to send the contents of the shell where it counted.

Already Jimmie was indulging in what seemed to be a war dance, waving his stick, and singing. George was compelled to laugh just to see his antics, streaked as his freckled face was with smootches of his own gore.

“Ye done it, Buster, sure ye knocked the silly gossoon clane over!” he called. “’Tis a broth of a boy ye arre, and afther me own heart. Look at the baste, would ye? If he hasn’t got tassels on his ears!”

“That’s a fact!” declared George, now arriving to see the last kick of the animal on the ground, and note the unquenchable fury shown to the very end. “Why, I tell you what it is fellows. A Canadian lynx, that’s what!”

“It does look different from my cat – er, that other animal,” admitted Nick, as he cautiously advanced, evidently ready to beat a hasty retreat should he discover any need.

“I’ve heard of the missing links,” spoke up Josh; “but we never lost any; so this critter couldn’t belong to us.”

“A good shot, Buster, old man!” declared George, bending down to see where the charge had struck the beast while crouching on the limb, and preparing for still another leap at Jimmie.

Nick swelled up with importance. Apparently this was one of the few occasions when he could assume an attitude, and receive congratulations. Usually it was just the other way; and like a wise fellow he believed in making hay while the sun shone.

“Oh! pretty fair, considering how quick I had to shoot!” he remarked, carelessly, as much as to say that, given a little more time, and he could have done better.

Jack now came running up, having of course heard all the row, and being consumed with curiosity to know its meaning.

“What is it?” he called, as he ran. “Another Canada pussy cat?”

“That’s just what it is,” replied George quickly.

“And is Buster at his old tricks again?” continued the other; at which Nick was compelled to grin amiably, knowing his hour of triumph was at hand.

“Buster was in the mix-up, all right,” George went on; “only this time he happened to be at the other end of the gun. Buster has covered himself with immortal glory. We all must knuckle down to him after this as the great Nimrod; for he has just slain the Jabberwock. Looky here, Jack; what d’ye call that?”

“Well, I declare, a big Canada lynx!” cried the newcomer, recognizing the dead beast as soon as he saw its queer tasseled ears, and its ferocious whiskers.

“It tackled Jimmie here, and they were having a hot old argument of it, Jimmie pounding with his club, and the cat using its claws,” Herb said, turning to the Irish boy, to see how badly he was wounded.

Jack became sympathetic at once, and anxious in the bargain.

“Only a few little scratches you say, Jimmie,” he remarked. “That’s true, they don’t seem serious; but it’s always dangerous to be marked with the claws of animals that live on carrion, like lions, grizzlies or wildcats. And I’m glad to say I’ve got something along for just such a case. Come on back to camp with me.”

Jimmie, still protesting, did so; while the others, dragging the lynx, made Buster head the procession, while they sang: “Lo! the Conquering Hero Comes; Sound the Trumpets, Beat the Drums!” greatly to the delight of the fat boy.

When Jack applied the purple colored tincture from a small bottle to the wounds on Jimmie’s face and hands, the Irish boy gave a whoop of pain.

“Sure, the rimedy is worse nor the disease!” he complained.

“That’s all right,” said Jack; “just stand the pain for a little. It’s an insurance against blood poisoning. Many a hunter has lost his life from little cuts no worse than yours, when they were caused by the claws of a wild beast. My father would not let me come out unless I carried this.”

“What is it, Jack?” asked Herb, curiously.

“A strong tincture of permanganate of potash,” was the reply. “Just remember that, will you; and it’s got to be powerful enough to hurt like fun; eh, Jimmie?”

“Indade it did, that,” was the immediate response; while the Irish boy screwed up his good humored face in a knot.

Jack went back to his fishing, for he had already managed to take one pretty good specimen of the Lake Superior speckled trout that would have weighed nearly four pounds; and was eager for more.

All the while he sat there, employing every device he knew of to tempt the finny denizens of the depths to bite, he kept one eye to windward. That low bank of clouds interested him; for it seemed to presage a storm.

Since everything possible had been attended to in order to ward off any evil effects of a gale, Jack did not stop fishing until he had succeeded in catching a fine mess, that would please the heart of Buster.

Josh was preparing the fish as fast as they were caught. Indeed, he dispatched Nick several times to see if there were any more forthcoming; when the sportsman would toss ashore his latest catch, and the cook’s assistant hurry back with the prize, his hungry eyes fairly glistening with anticipation.

Of course it was a royally good supper that followed. Josh cooked the trout in the same capable manner he had served the lake white fish; and every fellow declared they had never tasted anything more delicious.

Still, there was plenty for all, and to spare. Even Nick had to shut his eyes with a deep sigh, because he had reached the extreme limit of his capacity; and a pan of trout remained untouched.

The growling of the thunder now became more pronounced. Across the heavens the zigzag lightning shot, in a way that was as terrible as it was fascinating. Supper done, the boys clustered near the fire, talking, and watching the coming of the gale. Again and again had Jack and George gone around, to see that every tent peg was clinched in the ground.

“They’re going to hold, unless the wind tears the blessed things to flinders!” Jack had announced; and at the same time he had seen to it that the boats were protected by the friendly point of land from the giant waves that would soon be sweeping in from the sea beyond.

Already were they rising in majestic grandeur that was awe inspiring. The storm was about to swoop down upon the shore line, and hurl the rising sea against the mighty rocky barrier, as it had done for countless ages past without success.

“Oh! ain’t I just glad I’m not out there!” exclaimed Nick, as he shudderingly surveyed the darkening picture of warring elements.

“But look there, fellows; what d’ye call that?” cried Herb, as he pointed a quivering finger at some object that had suddenly come in sight from the east.

It was a little motor boat, wallowing in the rising sea, and doomed to certain destruction unless able to make shelter immediately. And with the waves dashing wildly against the rocks, those aboard would never see the small opening through which the motor boat boys had come to their present snug harbor!

“It’s the Flash!” shouted Jack; “and unless we manage to show them the way in, it’s good-bye to Clarence and Bully Joe! We must do it, fellows. Come on!”