Kitabı oku: «Bart Keene's Hunting Days: or, The Darewell Chums in a Winter Camp», sayfa 5
CHAPTER XI
PUTTING UP THE TENTS
After the first paralyzing shock of the crash the passengers seemed to come to their senses. Women who had been screaming ceased, and children stopped their frightened crying. Men began to gather themselves together, to crawl out from under seats where the sudden stop had thrown them, and prepared to leave the car.
“What’s the matter, conductor?” called Bart to that official, as he was hurrying out of the car.
“Don’t know – yet,” was the answer flung back over his shoulder.
“We’ll go see,” spoke Ned. “Anyhow, our car’s not smashed; that’s one good thing.”
“No, and it doesn’t seem to have left the track,” observed Frank. “Maybe we only hit an obstruction.”
By this time the four chums were out of their car, and they were followed by a number of men passengers. From other cars a like stream was pouring.
One glance sufficed to show that whatever the wreck was, it was not a terrible one, for there were no telescoped coaches, and, in fact, none seemed to have left the rails, while as for the engine that, too, seemed to be in its usual place at the head of the coaches. The crowd was moving toward the forward end, and thither Bart and his companions went. Matters were becoming quiet, and it was evident that no one was seriously hurt.
The boys found quite a throng around the engine, and they could now see that the cab, on one side, was splintered, and that the forward end of the coach next to the engine, which was the baggage car, was also damaged.
“What’s the matter? What happened?” scores of voices asked the railroad men, who, including the fireman and engineer, were examining the locomotive.
“Driving rod broke,” explained the conductor. “It threshed around like a flail, and smashed the cab, on the fireman’s side of the engine. Luckily he was putting on coal, or he’d been killed. Then the engineer threw on the emergency brake, and the front end of the baggage car crumpled up. Luckily it’s no worse. Has any one heard of any persons being hurt?” the conductor asked the crowd.
“I guess bruises and cuts from broken windows will be about the extent of the injuries, conductor,” replied a fat man. “But how long are we likely to be delayed here? I have an important engagement in Vailton to-day.”
“We’ll have to wait until we can telegraph for another engine,” replied the railroad man. “It will take several hours, I’m afraid.”
There were some expressions of dismay, but, in general, the crowd was thankful that it was no worse. The engineer and fireman were busy trying to get the bent driving rod loose from where it had jammed up somewhere in the interior of the locomotive.
“Let’s go back in our car, and look after our things,” proposed Bart. “We can’t do any good here, and it’s cold,” for they had rushed out without their overcoats. The other passengers were returning to their coaches by this time, leaving the problem of moving the train with the railroad men.
The four chums had been in their seats but a short time, having found their possessions somewhat scattered, but safe, when a brakeman came hurrying in. He hastened to the glass-fronted toolbox, fastened near the ceiling in the center of the car.
“I’ve got to get out that sledge-hammer, axe and saw,” he explained to a woman, who was sitting in the seat under the case. “May I ask you to move, madam?” She did so, and then the brakeman was in a quandary, for it was necessary to break the glass in order to get at the tools. The trainman looked about helplessly, for he had not been on the road long. Bart saw his difficulty.
“Here, I’ll break the glass,” volunteered the lad. “Stand back,” Bart produced the black, lucky stone which Jed had given him, and threw it through the glass front.
There was a crashing, splintering sound, and the glass was in fragments. The brakeman could get at the tools, which he quickly did, hurrying out with them.
“Well, that lucky stone came in handy, after all,” remarked Ned.
“It sure did,” agreed Bart, “though he could have used the end of a flag stick just as well, if he had thought of it.”
While the engineer, firemen, and some of the brakemen worked over the disabled engine, another trainman walked back to the nearest telegraph office to summon a relief engine. Meanwhile the passengers waited with what patience they could.
“Well, suppose we eat now,” proposed Bart.
“Good!” exclaimed Frank. “Pass out the sandwiches,” which Bart proceeded to do.
In the seat across the aisle from the boys was a little girl. Hungrily she eyed the food as it came out of the baskets, and, in a voice that could be heard from one end of the car to the other, she piped out:
“Mamma, I’m hungry. Why didn’t we bring some lunch?”
“Hush, dear,” said the child’s mother. “We will soon be at our station, and we can get something to eat.”
“Not very likely to be there soon, ma’am,” observed the fat man, who was in a hurry. “By Jove, I wish I’d thought to bring a snack. I will, next time I travel on this road.”
“But, mamma, I’m awful hungry,” insisted the child, as she gazed eagerly at the chums who were munching away in great enjoyment.
“Hush!” begged the mother, but the child repeated her request for something to eat.
“Here,” spoke Bart, suddenly, and passed over a chicken sandwich to the little girl. “Will you let her take it?” he asked the mother.
“Certainly, but I’m afraid it will be robbing you.”
“Not at all, we have plenty. Perhaps you’d like one too?” and Bart handed the woman one, which she received with thanks.
“I’ll give you a dollar for two sandwiches, young man,” said the fat man, eagerly.
Bart hesitated. At the same time several other children in the car, seeing the girl eating, began to demand food.
“I say, fellows,” said Bart, quickly. “I’ll tell you what’s let’s do! We’ll distribute our lunch among the youngsters on the train. There must be several of them, and they’re all hungry. It will be some time before they can get to where there’s lunch.”
To the credit of the Darewell Chums be it said that they did not hesitate a moment.
“Go ahead,” exclaimed Ned, and the others nodded assent.
“I wish you’d accept my offer before you came to that conclusion,” sighed the fat man. “But go ahead. The kids will be glad to get it. I’ll have to dine off chocolate caramels, I guess.”
Bart’s plan was soon in operation, to the delight of a number of boys and girls, no less than their distracted mothers. As for the chums, they had each eaten a sandwich before giving away their lunch, and they thought they could stand it until they got to Cannistota. They were given an informal vote of thanks by the grateful parents.
Then ensued tedious waiting until the relief engine came. There were many murmurs, and much fault-finding, but there was no help for it. The candy boy sold out his stock of sweet stuff in record time, even down to the chewing gum. At length a welcome whistle was heard, and soon the train was under way again.
“Well,” remarked Ned, as he settled back in his seat, “we will enjoy our supper, anyhow.”
“Yes,” remarked Bart. “I don’t altogether believe in Jed’s good luck signs. I’d just as soon he would have omitted some of ’em.”
“Oh, well, we’ll be in camp to-morrow,” announced Frank. “Then we can eat whenever we feel like it.”
The chums were late in arriving in Cannistota, and they went at once to a hotel. They had arranged to do this anyhow, as they knew there would not be time to put up tents the same day that they started off on their camping trip. After a substantial meal, to make up for their light dinner, they inquired at the express office, and learned that their camp stuff had arrived safely. They arranged for a teamster to take it to the woods where they had decided to pitch their tents, and early the next morning they were under way.
“It’s a dandy day,” observed Fenn, as he looked at the cloudless sky overhead, and saw the piles of snow on every side.
“A little too warm,” was Bart’s opinion. “Still, it may not be thawing so much in the woods. I’m anxious to get a shot at something. We can’t hunt deer, you know, when there’s tracking snow, but I hear there are bears where we are going.”
“A feller I know killed a big one last week, not a great ways from where you’re going,” observed the teamster.
“That’s the stuff!” cried Bart, as he looked to make sure he had his favorite rifle.
In due time the camping site was reached, the teamster helped them unload, and then drove back, leaving the four chums alone in quite a lonely stretch of wilderness. But they were used to depending on themselves, they knew they had plenty of food, and they hoped to procure more with their guns.
“First thing on the programme is to make the camp-fire, and then set up the tents,” declared Bart, who constituted himself a sort of leader.
Previous experience stood the boys in good stead, and in a short time a roaring fire was blazing, and a kettle of soup in the making was suspended over it. Then the canvas shelters were put up.
It was not easy work, and the boys labored hard, but at last the white tent stood among the trees, making a picturesque spot in the wilderness. Then the cooking shelter was put up, and the stove set, after which Fenn, who constituted himself cook on this occasion, served dinner.
The rest of the day was spent in cutting firewood, seeing to the fastenings of the tents, putting up cots, arranging their baggage and food supplies, and in putting together their shot guns and rifles, for each lad had two weapons.
By this time it was nearly night-fall, and some lanterns were lighted, and hung within and without the tent, giving the place a cheerful look.
As Fenn was walking about, getting ready for a late supper, he stumbled over something, and nearly fell.
“What’s that, a tree root?” asked Bart. “If it is, chop it out, or we’ll all be doing the same thing.”
“It wasn’t a tree root,” observed Fenn, as he turned to examine the object. “By cracky, boys!” he exclaimed. “Look here! It’s a whopping big mud turtle!”
CHAPTER XII
THE PLACE OF THE TURTLES
Fenn’s chums hurried over to where, in the gleam of a lantern, he was contemplating the slow-moving reptile. The turtle was a large one, of a common species, and was ambling along as if it did not at all mind the attention it had attracted.
“Grab it, Fenn!” exclaimed Ned. “It’ll be a dandy for your collection.”
“That’s what it will,” agreed the stout youth, and he grabbed up the turtle, which at once drew in its tail, head and claws, presenting no vantage spot to an enemy.
“By Caesar, here’s another!” exclaimed Bart, a moment later. “Another turtle, Fenn!”
“Yes, and here’s a third one!” added Frank. “It’s a big one, too, Fenn. Shall I catch it for you?”
“Wait a minute, fellows,” replied Fenn, earnestly. “Don’t touch those turtles!”
“Why not?” asked Ned. “Are they poisonous?”
“No, but there’s something queer about so many being out in the woods in the middle of winter. It isn’t natural. There is something out of the ordinary, and we must see what it is.”
“Maybe they’re hunting for the one of their number who wears the diamond bracelet,” suggested Bart, with a laugh, for, in spite of the gravity of the loss, he could not forbear an occasional joke at Fenn’s rather odd theory.
“No, it isn’t that,” went on Fenn earnestly. “But I did have a notion that perhaps the turtles might have escaped from the queer man who wrote and offered to buy my collection – the man we suspect of stealing the bracelet.”
“Why he isn’t in this vicinity,” remarked Frank.
“You don’t know whether he is or not,” was Fenn’s answer. “This seems to be a good place for turtles, though I can’t understand why they should be out in cold weather. But perhaps there is some reason for it.”
There was, and a strange one, as the boys soon discovered.
“Anyhow, they’re here,” observed Ned, “and what are we going to do about it?”
“Don’t touch ’em, I want to see in what direction they are traveling,” called Fenn, who, as soon as he had placed in a safe place the turtle he had caught, came over to where his chums were contemplating the other two.
“They’re both heading for the same place, wherever that is, if that’s any help to you,” remarked Bart.
“Yes,” spoke Fenn, “it may indicate something,” and he looked at the big reptiles, who were crawling along.
“They’re going in the same way as the one was you got,” declared Frank, and the others confirmed this.
For some minutes Fenn observed the movements of the turtles, until they disappeared under some bushes. Then he straightened up and said:
“Well, I don’t believe that mysterious man is in this vicinity, and certainly none of these turtles is wearing a diamond bracelet. I admit I’m away off on that, fellows. But there’s something queer here, and I’m going to get at the bottom of it. It isn’t natural for turtles to be out so plentiful this time of year, and there must be some cause for it.”
“Fenn, you can theorize about turtles all you like, but I want my supper,” called Ned.
“Same here,” came from Frank. “Dish it up, cook!”
Thereupon Fenn gave over watching the turtles, and, a little later, seated cozily in the tent, the chums partook of a supper of canned baked beans, with hard-tack or pilot biscuit, and coffee. Then they sat around, discussing various matters, from the railroad accident to their arrival in camp.
Cots were provided, with plenty of blankets, so they would not suffer from cold, and as an additional precaution a small fire was kept going in the small, sheet-iron, wood-burning stove, which they had brought along to warm the sleeping tent.
“Ah, fellows, this is something like life,” remarked Bart, as he arranged himself on his cot. “Listen to the wind howling outside. We’ll have more snow, I expect, before morning.”
“Let it snow!” exclaimed Frank. “We’re all right now. We’ll have to have our Christmas tree here, fellows. Did you bring anything along to put on it?”
“Oh, we’ll hang up our stockings instead of having a tree,” suggested Ned with a laugh. “But what’s the matter with you, Fenn? Why are you so quiet?”
“He’s thinking of some of the girls he left behind him,” mocked Bart. “Aren’t you, Stumpy? Which particular one last gave you a lock of her hair?”
“Oh, cut it out!” begged Fenn. “I wasn’t thinking of such nonsense at all. I was wondering where those turtles came from. This is a regular stamping place for them, and in the morning I’m going to go on a search.”
“Do you really think so many of them around here means anything?” asked Frank.
“It means something, certainly,” replied Fenn. “This part of the State is noted for turtles, however, there being a number of different species, but I never knew before that they came out in winter. That’s what puzzles me.”
“Maybe we’re over a hidden volcano, and it’s warmer than anywhere else in the neighborhood,” suggested Ned.
“Maybe,” assented Fenn, “only it doesn’t seem very warm just now. There’s a draught somewhere. Bur-r-r-r! No wonder!” he exclaimed. “The tent flap has come open. Who fastened it?”
“I did,” confessed Frank. “I’ll fix it.” The canvas was soon made secure, and then, while the wind whipped itself into a gale outside, the boys fell asleep in their warm tent, Fenn’s last thoughts being about a place where he had seen the three turtles.
CHAPTER XIII
THE MUD VOLCANO
Bart’s first act, on awakening in the morning, was to go to the tent flap, and look out. Then he called to his companions, who were still asleep:
“Say fellows, it’s a fine day; only it’s snowing.”
“Did you wake us up to tell us that?” demanded Ned, as he turned over for another nap.
“Well, you don’t want to sleep all day, do you?” asked Bart, looking at his watch. “It’s eight o’clock. If we’re going to do any hunting we’d better get a move on.”
There was much yawning and stretching, but finally the chums were up and dressed, and breakfast was served.
“Now for a nice lot of game,” exclaimed Bart, as he got out his rifle, and looked over his supply of ammunition. “I think I’ll load for bear to-day.”
“Do you mean to say you expect to go shooting in this storm?” asked Frank, for it was still snowing. The white flakes were of a considerable depth on the ground, but the two tents, standing as they did under some gigantic pine trees, were much protected.
“Of course we’re going hunting to-day,” declared Bart. “That’s what we came for. Some bear steak wouldn’t go at all bad, especially as we can’t get fresh meat here.”
“No, nor fresh bread, either,” added Ned. “I miss my rolls with my coffee.”
“I’m going to bake some biscuits for dinner,” declared Fenn. “I brought along some self-raising flour.”
“Good for you, Stumpy!” cried Ned. “Pity, though, you didn’t bring along some self-baking bread, and some washless dishes.”
“Well, if we’re going, let’s go,” proposed Frank. “Will it be safe to leave our stuff in camp, unprotected?”
“We can’t take it with us,” said Bart. “Besides, there isn’t any one within ten miles of this place. That’s why I wanted to camp here. It will be all right. Well, I’m ready if you are.”
“I’m going to take my shot-gun,” decided Frank. “Maybe I’ll see some wild turkeys or some partridge. They’ll do if Bart doesn’t get his bear.”
Fenn, instead of getting ready his gun, as the others were going, had gone to the box where he had placed the large turtle, captured the night previous.
“For cats’ sake!” exclaimed Ned, “aren’t you done playing with that yet, Fenn?”
“I’m not playing,” was the retort. “I’m going to try an experiment.”
“Aren’t you going hunting with us?” asked Bart.
“Not this morning. I’m going to solve this mystery of the turtles, if I can. Besides you fellows will shoot all that’s necessary. I’ll stay around here, and get ready for a partridge pot-pie or a bear roast, just as you prefer.”
“Oh, come on hunting,” pleaded Bart. “What’s the fun in staying here?”
“Well, I don’t know as I shall stay right in camp,” went on Fenn. “I’m going to make this turtle lead me to where the other ones went. In other words, I’m going to use this one as a guide.”
“You’re crazy!” scoffed Ned.
“Maybe,” admitted Fenn, calmly. “You fellows go on with your hunting, and when you come back maybe I’ll have something to show you.”
They tried to induce Fenn to accompany them, but he was firm in his determination to solve the “turtle mystery,” as he called it, and, in the end, Bart, Ned and Frank tramped off through the storm, for it was still snowing, while the stout lad remained behind, watching the turtle, which he had placed on a cleared place on the ground in front of the tent.
“Now go ahead, my fine fellow,” spoke Fenn to the reptile. “Which way do you want to head?”
The turtle seemed undecided about it, for some time after Fenn had placed it on the ground it did not move, but remained with head, legs and tail withdrawn into the protecting shell. But Fenn was patient, and knew better than to poke the reptile to make it move. Presently a long, snake-like neck was thrust out, and black, beady eyes glanced cautiously around, while the parrot jaws were slightly parted, as if to ward off any attack.
Fenn kept behind the turtle, which, in a few minutes, finding that it was not disturbed, stuck out its legs, and began to raise itself up, as if taking an observation. Then it turned partly around, and, to Fenn’s delight, started to crawl in the same direction as that taken by the other two reptiles the previous evening.
“That’s the stuff!” cried Fenn. “That confirms my theory. There’s some place where these turtles hang out, and I’m going to find it. The three we found must have wandered away from the common camping ground of the turtles of this vicinity, but they all head back toward it. Now I’m going to find it.”
He did not wait for the reptile he had captured to lead him to the place. That would have taken too long, but, after quickly scratching his initials on the back of the turtle’s shell, together with the date, so he would know the reptile again, Fenn replaced it on the ground, and started off through the woods in the indicated direction. He had his gun with him, but he did not expect to do any shooting, and he carried a pocket compass, for the woods were unfamiliar to him.
For a long distance Fenn tramped on, plowing through the woods, making turns now and then to avoid streams, partly frozen over, leaping them when he could, fording them at other times, for he had on high, water-proof hunting boots, but keeping as nearly as he could in the proper course.
“Maybe I’ll find a well-protected cave, where the turtles live during winter,” thought the stout lad, as he made his way under some low hemlock trees, well laden with a blanket of snow. “If I do, I can get some new specimens, anyhow, and perhaps enough to sell to that man who wrote me the letter. Mighty queer about him. I wonder who he was? I wonder if, by any possibility, he could be up here in these woods?”
This idea caused Fenn to look around somewhat apprehensively, but there was no one in sight. He did see something, however, that caused his heart to beat faster, and this was a brace of plump partridges on a tree, not far away.
“I wonder if I can shoot straight enough to bag them?” murmured the lad, as he quickly raised his gun, and banged away, first with the left, and then with the right barrel. Somewhat to his surprise when the smoke cleared away, Fenn saw the two birds lying in the snow. He had made a good shot.
“Well, we won’t go hungry to-night, anyway,” was his comment, as he picked them up and put them in the pockets of his hunting coat. “But I’m going to keep on,” he added.
He had gone perhaps half a mile farther, when he suddenly stopped and sniffed the air suspiciously.
“Sulphur spring,” he remarked, half aloud. “Guess I’ll go take a look at it. Whew! It’s strong enough. I don’t need any other guide than my nose.”
Making sure of the direction in which the strong odor of sulphur was wafted to him, Fenn temporarily abandoned his quest for the place of the turtles. The odor grew more pronounced, for some sulphur springs are so strongly impregnated with that chemical in solution that the smell carries for miles, especially on a windy day. The region where the chums had gone camping, as they learned later, was well supplied with these freaks of nature.
A few minutes later Fenn had come upon the object of his search. The spring gushed out from the side of a hill, and so strong was the sulphur that the stones, over which the spring, and the stream resulting from it, flowed were a yellowish white.
“Whew!” exclaimed Fenn again. “This ought to be good for whatever ails you, but I don’t like it.”
He remained looking at the spring for a few minutes, and, as he was about to move away he was startled by a deep, booming sound in the woods, off to his left. Fenn started.
“Blasting?” he exclaimed aloud, in a questioning tone. “No, it can’t be that, either,” he added. “They wouldn’t be blasting around here!”
The next moment he heard a pattering around him, and several large globules of mud came down, seemingly from the sky. Some struck on his hands, and others dotted the white snow about him.
“That’s queer,” murmured the lad. “It’s raining mud – or else – ” he paused a moment, as the remembrance of the booming sound returned to him. “No,” he added, “there must be a spouting, boiling spring around here. That’s what it is! I’m on the track of it now.”
Fenn dashed off to the left, through the forest. He was eager to see what had caused the curious shower of mud. In a few minutes he came to a little clearing in the woods – a clearing remarkable, among other things, from the fact that the ground there was devoid of snow. There was a warm, damp look about it, too, as when, in a snow storm, the sidewalk over a bakery oven is devoid of the white flakes.
But that was not the most curious thing that met Fenn’s eyes. He made out numerous mud turtles crawling about over the patch of ground that was free from snow. There must have been a score of the reptiles.
Then, as Fenn looked, a curious thing happened. He had just noted that, in the centre of the clearing, there was a large patch of water, and, a moment later the middle of this spring seemed to lift itself bodily up. Up and up the water spouted, and in an instant its comparative purity was changed to a deep mud color, as a miniature geyser of earth and liquid shot upward.
“A mud volcano!” exclaimed Fenn, as he understood what the phenomenon was. “A mud volcano! This explains the mystery of the turtles!”
An instant later he was under a shower of mud from the boiling spring.
