Kitabı oku: «The Heroes of the School: or, The Darewell Chums Through Thick and Thin», sayfa 6

CHAPTER XVII
THE TRAMP’S HEADQUARTERS

Frank and Ned began pulling with long steady strokes. The boat with its load was not easy to propel through the water and they knew they could do better by taking it easy than by wasting their strength in useless hurry.

Up the stream they went, past Darewell, under the bridge spanning the stream just above the dock, and so on beyond the outskirts of the town until they were out into the country district surrounding the place. It was a pleasant sunshiny day, just warm enough to be comfortable, and with a little breeze blowing.

“I wish this could go on forever,” spoke Fenn, from where he was resting comfortably on the folded tent in the bow of the craft.

“Wait until it comes your turn to row,” said Ned.

They reached Riverton, the next town above Darewell about eleven o’clock and hired the canoe, a large green one, but very light to paddle.

“Shall we get dinner here?” asked Bart.

“If we’re going to camp let’s camp from the start,” suggested Fenn. “What’s the fun of going to a restaurant for your meals? Anyone can do that, but it isn’t everyone who can have theirs in the woods as we can. Let’s go up a few miles more and get dinner on shore.”

The others decided this would be the most fun, and the trip was resumed with Bart and Fenn at the oars. They made three miles before twelve o’clock and then, finding a shady, level spot near shore, tied the boat, and got out the portable stove.

“Now, Stumpy,” said Bart, who had been elected camp manager, “you get the wood. Ned, you dig some worms and catch fish, and Frank and I will get the meal ready.”

The little temporary camp was soon a busy place. Fenn had a fire going in the stove in short order as he found plenty of dry wood, and Ned, going up stream, to a quiet spot, in a little while had caught several fish. They were soon cleaned and put on to fry with the bacon. An appetizing odor filled the little glade in the woods and the boys began to sniff hungrily.

“When will they be done?” asked Frank, as Bart bent over the pan.

“About ten minutes. You can make the coffee if you want to. Ned, you open a can of condensed milk and Fenn, you get out the salt and pepper.”

“Everything but the salt,” announced Fenn a few moments later. “Here’s the box but there’s none in it.”

The others looked surprised and disappointed.

“By Jimminites: I forgot to put it in,” he added “I bought all the other things but I left the salt to the last and it slipped my mind.”

“That’s pleasant,” observed Bart grimly. “How are we going to eat fresh fish without salt? Fenn, you’re a dandy, you are. Thinking too much of the girls, that’s what ails you.”

“Anybody might forget,” said Stumpy in extenuation.

“Well, there’s no help for it, I suppose,” remarked Ned.

“Might use gunpowder,” put in Frank. “I’ve read of campers doing that.”

“Excuse me,” came from Bart, making a wry face. “Besides we haven’t any, so that doesn’t count.”

“There’s some one camping on the other side of the river,” said Fenn, pointing to where a little column of smoke arose through the trees, about opposite to where the boys were located. “Maybe I could borrow some salt from there.”

“Good idea,” said Bart. “Take the canoe and paddle over.”

Fenn was soon on his way. The others went on with the preparations for dinner pending his return, as the fish were not quite cooked. They watched Fenn paddle over, pull his canoe upon shore, and disappear into the woods. He was gone a few minutes and when he reappeared a man followed him.

“Maybe he wouldn’t lend any salt,” said Frank.

As the boys watched they saw the man get into the canoe with Fenn, who then paddled over.

“Looks as though he wouldn’t trust Stumpy to bring the salt over,” commented Bart. “Wonder what the man wants?”

In a short time the canoe containing Fenn and the stranger grounded on the little beach near where the boys were camped.

“Did you get the salt?” asked Ned.

“Yes, we have the salt,” replied the man, and then the three boys noticed with surprise he was the same tramp they had met the day they went swimming, and who had inquired about the man the boys knew as the King of Paprica.

“This is the gentleman who was camping on the other side of the river,” put in Fenn. “I asked him for some salt and – ”

“Allow me to explain,” interrupted the tramp, but in a polite tone. “You see it was this way. I am prospecting along the river, and last night my boat, with all my camping outfit, was upset. My food got all wet, and the only thing that didn’t get soaked was the box of salt. It happened to be waterproof.

“I was drying out my clothes and other camping things but alas, when I came to dry out the food I found it had spoiled. So there I was, with nothing but salt to eat. I was just thinking of trying for some fish when this young gentleman came along and asked if he could borrow some salt. I at once saw my opportunity. ‘Here,’ I said, ‘are persons with plenty to eat and no salt. Here I am with plenty of salt but nothing to eat. A fair exchange is no robbery.’ I at once produced my salt.”

“And I at once asked him over to dinner,” put in Fenn.

“Why, of course; glad to have you,” said Bart. “Frank, put another plate on,” he added waving his hand to the ground which served as a table. “Dinner is served,” and he laughed, the tramp joining him.

“Happy to meet you all,” the ragged man went on, not considering it necessary, it seemed, to mention his name or ask how the boys were called. “There is the salt,” and he handed over a large box full.

In spite of his ragged clothes and the heavy growth of beard on his face, the tramp’s hands and face were clean and he appeared to have washed his clothes, as, though they were in tatters, they were not dirty.

“Do you intend to camp around here long?” asked Frank.

“I can’t tell,” replied the tramp. “I am waiting for some friends to join me.”

He did not seem to recognize the boys as the ones he had met in the woods recently, or, if he did, he gave no sign of it.

“You said you were prospecting,” Ned added. “Not for gold, are you?”

“Hardly,” replied the ragged man with a smile. “The truth is I am a naturalist. I have heard there is a certain rare kind of butterfly to be found along this river and I am looking for it. It is called the Oiliander Tinicander. Perhaps you have seen it in your travels.”

“Guess we wouldn’t know it if we saw it,” remarked Ned.

“No, it takes years of study to recognize it. But if you will excuse me I think I will sit down.”

He crossed his legs comfortably in front of the plate that had been placed for him, and in a few minutes the dinner was under way. The salt certainly added zest to the fried fish and the boys, as well as the tramp, ate with excellent appetites.

“Best meal I’ve had in a long while,” said the ragged man. “I hope I can return the favor some time.”

“We’ll be happy to call on you,” said Bart, “but we are going to leave this afternoon. We are bound up the river.”

“Well, good luck to you. May I trouble you to put me on the other side?” and he looked at Fenn who nodded in assent.

“Well that was a queer coincidence,” spoke Ned, as Fenn and the tramp were in the middle of the river on the return trip. “What in the world is he doing around here? Looks as though the secret hadn’t developed yet.”

“We must ask Fenn what sort of headquarters he has over there,” suggested Bart. “He’ll soon be back. There I meant to ask him to sell us some salt! He’s taken his back.”

“We can get it at the next town,” put in Frank. “We’ll camp just above it.”

CHAPTER XVIII
A NIGHT SCARE

“What sort of a place has he over there?” asked Bart, as Fenn came back in the canoe.

“Not much,” was the reply. “I don’t believe he’s camping out at all. I saw some things in a pile on the ground, but they looked more like a lot of instruments than anything a man would go camping with. Besides, I didn’t see any boat.”

“What sort of instruments were they?” asked Ned.

“Kind I never saw before. All brass or nickle plated. Then there were some boxes. He seemed to be drying them out, so maybe he did have an upset of some sort.”

“There’s his boat now,” called Frank, and, as the boys watched, they saw the tramp appear from the woods with a canoe on his shoulder.

The boys watched the man carefully place the frail craft in the water. Then he went back into the woods again and came to the shore with something bright and shining in his hands.

“That’s one of the instruments,” said Fenn.

“Maybe he catches butterflies with it,” suggested Frank.

“That was a jolly he was giving us, about being a naturalist,” said Bart. “He’s up to some game, but I don’t see that it concerns us.”

“What’s next on the program?” asked Ned. “Pack up and move along?”

“Rest awhile; good for the digestion,” remarked Bart. “I want to see which way the tramp goes.”

The boys, lying on shore, in the shade, saw their recent guest paddle slowly down stream. They watched him until he disappeared around a bend.

“Well, that’s another link in the queer puzzle for us to solve,” spoke Ned. “By the way, Frank, did you ever make any inquiries of Judge Benton about whether there was any prospect of a new trolley line going through?”

“Yes, and he said he didn’t know of any. I told him about the men, but he said they might be surveyors dividing the land up into building lots. Mr. Bender is anxious to improve his property, he said.”

They broke camp and reached Woodport about five o’clock, got the salt and one or two other things they happened to think might come in handy, and resumed their journey up the river. Woodport was a small place and they soon passed it, coming to a long stretch of water that flowed between densely wooded banks on either side.

“Good place to camp,” spoke Ned. “No one to bother us. There’s no fun camping close to a town.”

“Not unless you run out of salt or something like that,” replied Bart.

“Oh, well, one should get accustomed to doing without salt, or other things he can’t have,” Ned rejoined. “I believe I could get used to anything.”

“Good way to feel,” spoke Fenn. “I wish I could.”

“It takes strength of character,” Ned added.

“Don’t get preachy,” put in Frank.

“Say, instead of moralizing, you fellows had better be looking for a place to camp,” said Fenn, who, with Frank, was rowing. “I’m getting tired.”

“That looks like a good place over there,” came from Bart, indicating a spot where the trees did not seem to be so thick. “Little beach, too, for the boat to ground on so it won’t pound on the rocks if a wind comes up.”

The craft was put over to it, and a closer inspection showed the place to be well fitted for the purpose. The rowboat was tied to an overhanging tree and the tent was soon set up. Then a place was made for the stove and some supplies set out. A big tree stump served for a table and in a little while Fenn had a good fire built.

“What’s the menu?” he asked Bart.

“Open a can of chicken and we’ll fry it brown,” was the answer. “That, with bread and butter and coffee, will make a meal.”

Supper was soon on the “stump” and four very hungry boys gathered around it.

“Where’s the milk for the coffee?” asked Ned.

“I forgot it. It’s in the boat,” replied Fenn. “I’ll get it.”

He hurried down to where the craft was tied, and a moment later his companions heard him utter an exclamation.

“What’s the matter, did you fall in?” called Bart.

“No, but the can of condensed milk did, and it’s the only one we have.”

“Oh, hang it!” exclaimed Ned. “I can’t drink coffee without milk. What’s the matter with you, Stumpy?”

“I couldn’t help it. It slipped.”

“I’m thirsty for coffee, too,” went on Ned.

“Use it without milk,” suggested Bart.

“Can’t. Never could.”

“‘One should get accustomed to doing without salt, or other things he can’t have. I believe I could get used to anything,’” spoke Frank solemnly.

“What do you – Oh!” exclaimed Ned. He recalled that those were the very words he had spoken a little while before.

“‘It takes strength of character,’” quoted Bart, still from the maxim Ned had laid down so recently.

“Oh well, of course I didn’t mean it just that way,” replied Ned, laughing at the trap he had fallen into. “I meant – ”

“You don’t know what you meant,” replied Bart. “Come now, drink your coffee black, as the swells do when they go out to dinner. You’ll get used to it.”

“Have to, I s’pose,” replied Ned, and he tried it, but made a wry face. However there was no help for it, and the boys were so hungry they didn’t mind it much, after the first sip.

Supper over, the dishes and food were put away, and, on Bart’s suggestion, they cut a quantity of wood to have in readiness for the camp fire.

“I don’t know’s we’ll need it,” he said. “There aren’t any animals but foxes, rabbits and coons in these woods. Still a fire looks cheerful, and it may be cold toward morning. Besides, it doesn’t seem like camping unless you have a fire.”

As it grew dark the boys looked to the fastenings of the boats for a wind might spring up and set them adrift. Then, starting a blaze between two big green logs, they got their blankets ready for bed.

They cut some cedar boughs which they laid on the ground to keep off the dampness, making several layers until Fenn, who tried it, said it was every bit as good as his spring bed at home.

“Going to stand watch?” inquired Ned.

“What’s the use?” asked Bart. “No one’s going to steal us. Besides I’m too sleepy. Let’s all go to bed. If any one happens to wake up and sees the fire is low, why he can throw a log on that will be all that’s necessary.”

They did not undress, but stretching out on the cedar boughs pulled the blankets over them and prepared to sleep. The fire cast a ruddy glow on the trees and shone into the tent which was placed near the blaze.

Ned, who was a light sleeper, was suddenly awakened, some time after midnight, by hearing a stick break. It sounded just back of him. He raised his head and listened. Behind the tent he could hear the cautious tread of some person or some animal. He was about to awaken Bart, who was sleeping next to him, when he saw a shadow cast by the fire, inside the tent, on the rear wall of the canvas. He looked out and was startled to see a figure between the tent and the camp fire. It appeared to be looking in on the boys. Ned stretched out his hand and touched Bart.

“Some one is in the camp!” he whispered in his companion’s ear, as Bart stirred.

CHAPTER XIX
THE FARMER AND THE BULL

“What’s that?” exclaimed Bart, suddenly sitting up.

“Hush!” cautioned Ned. “Some one is prowling around!”

But Bart’s voice had startled the intruder. Ned saw the figure move quickly out of the glare of the flames, and then dart down toward the river.

“They’re after our boats!” yelled Bart, who at that moment saw the figure. “Come on, fellows!”

He ran from the tent followed by his three chums. As he passed the fire Bart threw on some light pieces of wood that blazed up quickly.

In the glow the figure of a man could be seen, headed on the run for the little beach, where the boats were tied. As he ran his coat appeared to flap out behind him, the long tails bobbing about from his motion.

“It’s that tramp!” exclaimed Ned.

“Hi there!” yelled Bart.

They saw the man make a flying leap into a canoe that was drawn up partly on shore. The violence of the motion sent the frail craft well out into the stream and it was caught by the current.

By this time the boys had reached the shore. At first they supposed it was their canoe which the tramp had stolen, but a second glance showed them the green craft still in place beside the rowboat.

“It’s his own canoe,” remarked Frank as the boys watched it floating down stream. There was no sign of the occupant.

“Is he in it or did he set it adrift and start to swim?” inquired Fenn. All four were standing on the edge of the water peering out over the river in the darkness, the canoe being a deeper blur which alone distinguished it from the surrounding blackness.

“He’s probably lying down in it, thinking he may get shot at,” said Bart.

As if to prove his words the sound of paddling was borne to their ears, and the canoe seemed to move faster. The tramp had begun to propel the craft, but they could not see him.

“Let’s get back to bed,” suggested Fenn. “I think we’d better keep watch after this.”

“Not much use,” came from Bart. “That tramp isn’t likely to come back and there’s no one else around here. I vote we get what sleep we can.”

It was decided this was as wise a thing as could be done and after replenishing the fire, so it would burn until morning, the campers crawled back into the tent and slept until sunrise, no further alarms disturbing them.

“Well, fellows,” called Frank when the things had been put away. “What’s the program for to-day?”

“We’ll row up stream until noon,” said Bart, “camp and have dinner, and, if we like the place, stay all night. If we don’t we’ll move on to a better one.”

The boat was soon loaded and, with the canoe towing along behind, the trip was resumed. The river wound in and out through a wooded country for a few miles and then they came to a long straight stretch where it flowed between level fields.

As the boat was urged up stream under the impulse of the oars in the hands of Bart and Fenn, Ned, who was resting in the bow, called out:

“Steer her out a bit, Frank. There’s a man fishing just ahead of us and we don’t want to disturb him.”

Frank who was at the rudder lines glanced up and saw, about a quarter of a mile ahead, a man standing up to his waist in water.

“That’s a queer way to fish,” he remarked.

“Probably he’s hooked a big one and is playing him,” remarked Ned.

As they watched the man ran up out of the water and along the bank a few feet, and then, turning, he quickly waded out into deep water again.

“That’s a queer proceeding,” commented Bart, who turned to look at the man.

“Rather,” admitted Ned. “He must – Why a bull is after him!” he went on.

As he spoke the others saw a big black bull come tearing down the field straight toward the river. It stopped when it came to the water’s edge, opposite to where the man was standing in the stream up to his hips. There the beast lowered its head and, with an angry snort, pawed the soft mud.

“Row faster!” urged Frank. “Maybe we can help him.”

As the boat approached, the boys saw the man make several other attempts to leave the river. Each time he tried the bull would chase him back, but the animal seemed to be afraid of getting its feet wet, for it always stopped at the shore.

Sometimes the bull would withdraw some distance back into the field. At such times the man would wade along near shore until quite a ways above or below the animal. Then he would make a dash, hoping to fool the beast, but every time the bull heard him and came down with a rush.

The boys were now near enough to hear the man addressing the bull in no gentle tones. The prisoner in the water did not appear to notice the boat.

“Consarn your black hide!” he exclaimed. “Let me git out of this cold water, will ye? By Heck! Th’ next time I try t’ put a ring in your nose you’ll know it. Come now, Stonewall Jackson, let me out, will ye?”

But the bull seemed to have some grudge against the farmer for it lowered its horns and gave an angry bellow.

“If ever I git out of here I’ll hobble ye so’s ye can’t move, ye onery black critter!” the farmer went on. “I’ll whale ye till ye’ll wish ye’d behaved yerself, that’s what!”

This time the bull had gone back up the field and was browsing the grass. The farmer cautiously waded down stream and made a dash for shore. The bull heard him and came down so fast that its momentum carried it several feet into the river before it could stop. Meanwhile the farmer had hurried deeper into the stream, splashing the water all over himself in his haste.

“If I had a gun I’d shoot ye!” he yelled, shaking his fist at the bull.

“Can’t you swim to the other side?” asked Ned, as the boat came near.

The farmer looked around in surprise. He had been so engrossed by his contest with the bull he had not heard the craft approaching.

“I can’t swim,” he said. “Look at the plight I’m in. No one ever gets to this pasture. I come here to-day t’ put a ring in this critter’s nose. He broke away from the ropes I’d tied him with when I almost had it in, an’ he chased me into th’ water. He’s kept me here over an hour an’ I ain’t had my breakfast. Every time I try to get out he charges.”

“Why don’t you go away up or far down the stream where he can’t follow?” asked Bart.

“I’ve come down a mile from where I started,” the farmer said. “I’m plumb tired out an’ I know I’ll catch cold stayin’ in th’ water so long. If I ever git holt of that ’tarnation critter I’ll – ”

He didn’t finish, for, while he had been talking he had been drawing near shore. The bull was watching him, and made another dash that sent the farmer scurrying for deep water.

“That’s the way he does it,” he said to the boys, his voice showing the despair he felt.