Scott Morgan
Oakdale Boys in Camp

CHAPTER XVI.
ANOTHER ENCOUNTER

In the morning Grant was the first to awaken, but, although he got up as quietly as possible, Springer heard him and also crept out of the blankets.

“Needn’t think you’re going to sus-sneak off by your lonesome, you old Texas Ranger,” chuckled Phil, following Rod from the tent. “Like one of Sleuthy’s Wampanoags, I’m on your trail.”

They were surprised to hear a low voice behind them: “I’m watching you both. Nothing but cooking on a camping expedition is becoming somewhat monotonous, and I propose to get into the real sport this morning.”

It was Stone, and they grinned at him welcomingly.

“Come on, Ben,” invited Rod. “You’ve sure performed your share of the work, and you’ve a right to get in some fun. After a plunge, we’ll dress and hike out.”

They took a dip and a rub-down in the soft purple light of the breathless, balmy dawn, after which little time was lost in dressing and getting out the fishing tackle.

In the shadowy tent Sleuth and Sile slept on, the latter muttering and groaning occasionally, the former at last bound in peaceful slumber.

“They’re sure exhausted complete,” said Grant, as he brought the fishing outfit from the tent.

They paused near the canoe upon the sandy beach.

“Which way shall we go?” questioned Rod.

“I’ve got a feeling that I’d like to tut-try that brook again,” said Phil. “It’s handy, and we can feel pretty sure of catching something.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” admitted Grant. “Forbidden fruit is always the most attractive. Besides, three of us would crowd the canoe so that there would be little comfort in fishing. What do you say, Stone?”

“I’m ready for anything,” agreed Ben. “And if we keep to the near side of the brook, we know we’ll not be trespassing. Jim Simpson will have no grounds for raising a row.”

“And if he doesn’t raise a row,” laughed Phil, “we’ll all be sus-sorely disappointed. Come on.”

As they made their way along the shore they cast occasional glances toward Spirit Island, which seemed to crouch in the midst of the lake, dark, silent and mysterious, and therefore intensely fascinating to their youthful minds. In the broad light of day they might show a disposition to laugh at superstitious fancies, but, scarcely less than complete darkness, the shadowy, silent approach of dawn is conducive to sensations of awe and a pronounced inclination to credit the seemingly supernatural. And it is indeed a wholly unimaginative person who has never experienced a thrill over the apparently uncanny and weird.

At the mouth of the brook they were granted nothing but disappointment; the test of various flies failed to lure a single fish to rise to their hooks.

“It seems,” said Springer, “that we made a fearful mistake in bringing Piper with us, or, at least, in permitting him to try his hand at angling. Having frightened all the fish out of the water to hide in the woods, isn’t it pup-possible that, in their extreme terror, they may have lingered too long in their places of concealment and perished miserably?”

“I heard of a man once,” said Grant, “who taught a trout to live out of the water.”

“Easy! easy!” warned Phil.

“This gent I’m speaking of,” continued Rod, a twinkle in his eyes, “was an expert fisherman and hunter and lived alone in the woods. One day he caught a trout, and the minute he saw the creature he knew it sure was an unusually intelligent fish, for it was wide between the eyes and had a high, bold forehead. Fortunately, that trout had not been much hurt by the hook, and the hunter proceeded at once to place it in a tub filled with water. All day long he sat around watching the trout in that tub, becoming more and more convinced that he had secured an unusually intelligent specimen. Swimming around, the trout would occasionally look up at him and wink with such a knowing look in its eye that the man laughed outright.

“In the night, the hunter, still thinking of the fish, conceived a brilliant idea. Getting up quietly, in order that the fish might not hear him, he secured an auger, crept close to the tub, in the side of which, close to the bottom, he stealthily bored a hole that let out all the water without the trout ever becoming aware of it. The experiment proved to be a mighty big success, for there in the tub the following morning the hunter found his trout as lively and chipper as ever.

“After this, having convinced the fish that it could live on dry land as well as in the water, the hunter set about training it, and in a short time that trout would follow him around the camp like a faithful dog. It sure was a right queer sight to see the fish paddling around on its fins in the wake of its master, and it is said to be a solemn fact that the man spent a heap of time trying to teach Trouty to sit up and bark; but as to his success in this there is considerable doubt and more or less disagreement.

“As the warm summer passed, the autumn faded and winter came hiking on, the trout’s master perceived that his pet was beginning to suffer more or less discomfort from cold whenever it went outside the camp; and, having a naturally tender heart, the man manufactured a sweater for the fish, made out of an old sock. He cut holes in this sweater for the trout’s fins, so that it could locomote pretty nearly as well as usual, and the little fellow was right comfortable.

“But one day a sad tragedy occurred. It was one of those warm, balmy days of Indian summer, and the trout, probably feeling the need of exercise, followed his master to a stream, over which he attempted to cross on a slippery log. Losing his balance on the log, the fish fell off into the water and was drowned. In this manner, doubtless, perished one of the most remarkable – ”

“Help!” cried Springer, clinging to the bole of a tree and gasping as if in great distress, while Stone, laughing heartily, had sunk upon the ground. “That’s the bub-biggest whopper I ever heard, and you sure told some beauts when you fuf-first hit Oakdale, Rod.”

The Texan regarded his companions with gentle reproof.

“You’ll observe,” he reminded, “that, like our interesting friend, Mr. Granger, I was careful to give the story as purely a matter of hearsay.”

“And, in spite of howling dogs, flashing lights, and ghostly figures,” said Ben, “there may be as much truth in one story as there is in the other. A hermit once lived on Spirit Island; doubtless a hunter once caught a trout and put it in a tub.”

“Nevertheless,” sighed Springer, “I’m almost tut-too weak to proceed on this little fishing expedition.”

He led the way along the nearest bank, exercising due caution in order not to frighten the fish in the pools; but, to the wonderment and perplexity of the young anglers, their efforts continued futile. Annoyed, they watched their flies bob in the little eddies or skim across the placid places, untroubled and untouched. This lack of success served to spur them on, and they followed the brook further and further into the woods, Springer still leading.

Finally Stone reached a broad, deep pool, spanned at its lower edge by an old limbless tree that had fallen from bank to bank. If there were trout anywhere, it seemed that they must be here, and Ben crept up toward the near end of the pool and made a cast. Over his head a red squirrel scolded at him from a limb, and he could hear the flute-like notes of the hermit thrush sounding from various parts of the woods. Suddenly there was a whirling movement on the surface of the water and a jerk at Ben’s line.

“I’ve got one!” he exclaimed, quickly stepping out upon the old tree in order to have plenty of elbow room for the task before him.

“And I’ll get you if you don’t skedaddle!” roared a hoarse voice, following which a grizzled, bewhiskered man crashed forth from the bushes on the opposite bank and sprang on to the log, a pitchfork in his calloused hands.

Of course Ben was startled, and, failing to give proper attention to his reel, he permitted the fish to dart under a projecting root near the bank, where it broke away.

“There, you made me lose him!” he exclaimed resentfully.

“But I won’t lose you, if you don’t hiper in a hurry!” retorted the man, advancing upon the fallen tree with the pitchfork threateningly poised.

“That’s right, dad!” cried another voice, and Jim Simpson rose from a place of concealment on the opposite bank somewhat further down the stream. In his hands he held an old muzzle-loading gun.

“What right have you to trouble me?” demanded Ben. “I’m not on your land.”

“But you’re fishing in my brook,” declared the man. “I’ll show you sassy young cubs that you can’t fish in this brook!”

He had reached the middle of the log, from which Ben now stepped back to the ground without showing a disposition immediately to retreat further.

Springer, above, had heard Stone’s exclamation when the fish struck, and, hurrying back, he reached the upper end of the pool as the man with the pitchfork balanced himself precariously upon the fallen tree. Instantly Phil lifted his fly-rod and made a skillful cast, which sent the hook sailing through the air to strike the collar of the man’s coat and cling there. Reaching out hurriedly, Springer grasped the line beyond the tip of the rod and gave it a pull.

It needed no more than this slight tug to cause Hank Simpson to lose his balance, and backward into the water he fell with a tremendous splash.

At the same moment Grant, who a short time before had detected young Simpson hiding behind the bushes, which led Rod to ford the stream unperceived, sprang forward and landed fairly upon the fellow’s back. Seizing the gun, Rodney wrested it from Jim’s hands.

“I don’t opine you’ll do any shooting this morning with this blunderbuss,” said the Texan.

The young fellow, who had been knocked floundering to the ground, recognized his antagonist of the previous morning and began to scramble away on all fours in ludicrous haste.

Puffing and gulping, old man Simpson rose from the pool and stood up with the water rising to his waist. The sharp tug given by Springer had torn the hook loose, and now Phil, without pausing to reel in, hurried to Stone’s side.

“You confounded rascals! You young whelps!” spluttered Hank Simpson, shaking his dripping fist at the two boys. “I’ll smash ye!”

“If I were in your place, sir,” said Grant, holding the gun, “I reckon I wouldn’t try any smashing. We were careful to keep on the side of the brook that you do not own, and we give due notice now that we’ll fish here whenever we please.”

“What be you doing on that side then?” demanded Simpson.

“Oh, I just came over to interview your worthy offspring. That’s him back yonder in the woods calling to you.”

“Dad – hey, dad!” Jim Simpson was crying. “They’ve got the gun.”

It must be recorded that Simpson senior gave utterance to language that would not look well in print.

“I’ll have the law on ’em!” he fumed, as he recovered his pitchfork and retreated toward his own land.

“Go as far as you please,” said Grant, who had inspected the gun. “Why, this thing isn’t even loaded, and I don’t believe it could be fired if it was.”

With which he pitched the old musket toward Simpson and calmly recrossed the brook.

CHAPTER XVII.
WHAT CARL’S PAIL CONTAINED

Approaching the camp on their return, the three boys became aware that at least one of their companions was up and stirring, for the clear, ringing strokes of an axe were echoing through the woods in the vicinity of Pleasant Point.

Now there is in the sound of an axe, when heard in timberland, something strangely cheerful and enlivening, especially if the hour be early morning and the sun is in the sky. In a subtle way it seems suggestive of that mysterious time in the practically unknown Dark Ages when man, newly awakened to the knowledge of his superiority over all other animals, came forth from his black cave and built himself a house of wood. There is a joy, too, in the wielding of an axe by strong hands, in swinging it lightly and deftly and driving the blade home, and in the thrill of the yielding shock which passes with each blow from the handle to the fingers that grip it. And as a healthy, strength building, body invigorating exercise, the use of an axe in the open air makes tame by comparison the swinging of Indian clubs, tossing of dumb-bells or yanking at chest weights. As a tonic and a builder of strength and vigor, no doctor’s prescription can equal the use of the axe.

Gray smoke, rising from the point, told that a fire had been started, and near this fire, feeding it, sat Sleuth Piper. Crane appeared with an armful of wood, which he cast upon the ground. Then, perceiving the returning boys, he glowered upon them reproachfully.

“Think yeou’re smart, don’t ye?” he cried. “Think yeou’re smart, sneakin’ off without wakin’ a feller up. Well, what’d ye ketch?”

Sleuth, putting another stick on the fire, did not deign to look around.

“Nothing dud-doing,” confessed Springer, coming up and dropping the empty basket. “I’m afraid grim starvation stares us in the optic. And Piper is to blame for it.”

Still Sleuth did not turn.

“Piper is to blame for it,” repeated Phil, with pretended condemnation. “Even in the tributaries of this lake, the streams which flow into it, the fish have heard of his arrival and – ”

At last Piper turned. “Oh, go off somewhere by yourself and lie down,” he snarled. “You make me sick!”

“Dud-dear me!” grinned Phil. “The great detective, the bold pioneer, the marvelous angler, is extremely touchy this morning.”

“Joshing before breakfast sometimes produces unpleasant feelings,” laughed Grant. “We’ll all feel better, I opine, after we eat.”

“And, fortunately,” said Stone, “there’s a good supply in the larder.”

“You fellers didn’t have no luck at all, did ye?” chuckled Crane, evidently finding some satisfaction in this. “Up to date I’m the top-notch fisherman, and yeou’ll have to go some to beat me.”

“Oh, but we sure did have fun,” returned Rodney.

“You bet,” eagerly agreed Phil; “regular circus. Wait till I tut-tell you about it.” Stuttering somewhat more than usual in his eagerness, he related the amusing story of the encounter with the Simpsons, and his ludicrous description of the elder man’s plunge into the pool caused even Sleuth to crack a smile.

They were still laughing over this affair when, to their great surprise, Carl Duckelstein appeared upon the scene.

“Whoa! Stop!” cried the Dutch boy to the old white horse, that was now attached to a light but rickety wagon. “It iss no further you vill haf to go py this direction. Pack up undt around turn.”

Before getting out he headed the horse away from the camp. This accomplished, he gave the animal some unnecessary advice about standing still and not running away, after which he turned cheerfully to greet the campers.

“It peen again a goot morning,” he beamed. “You vas glad to see me, I oxpect.”

“We sure are,” returned Grant, “though you near gave us heart failure by your early arrival. How did you ever succeed in waking up at such an unearthly hour?”

“Oh, sometimes I up vake when you didt not oxpect me,” replied Carl, getting the can of milk and at the same time carefully removing from the wagon a sizeable tin pail with a cover, the latter being held securely in place with a leather strap that passed the longest way round the pail.

Watching him, the boys noted that he handled that pail carefully, placing it gently on the ground some distance from the wagon, after which he delivered the milk.

“What yeou got in there?” asked Crane, pointing at the pail.

“Oh, nefer you mindt about dot,” was the mysterious answer. “Vot I haf in der pail got is somethings my own amusements for. Yah.”

He could not have chosen a better way to stimulate the curiosity of the boys.

“Show us what it is, won’t you?” urged Springer.

The Dutch boy shook his head. “I couldt not so do. It vould not be safety.”

“Oh, come on,” entreated Sile. “Jest give us a peek.”

“Maype vot I haf got vould out come.”

“It must be something mighty dangerous, considering the way you’ve got it sus-strapped up,” said Springer.

Piper rose to his feet. “I scent a mystery,” he declared in a low, sibilant tone, his eyes fixed on the pail as if they would bore it through.

Crane stepped forward, whereupon, with evident great excitement, Duckelstein hastened to intercept him.

“Don’t let it touch you!” cried Carl. “Maype it vill bite you.”

“Get aout!” retorted Sile. “There can’t be nothing in that pail big enough to hurt if it did bite.”

“I varn you to avay keep.”

“Then yeou’ve got to tell us what it is. If yeou don’t tell, I’ll open the thing anyhaow.”

“Maype you vould not peliefe uf I should toldt you.”

“Oh, go on. Course we will.”

Eagerly the boys gathered near while Carl seemed hesitating, and all urged him to tell what the pail contained. After shaking his head again and again, he repeated: “Maype you vould not peliefe.”

They assured him of their absolute faith in his veracity.

“Tell us quick, or open she comes,” threatened Sile.

“Vale, listen,” said the Dutch boy, with a sigh of resignation. “Didt you efer catch a young gougers?”

“Cougars!” exclaimed Rodney, regarding Carl suspiciously. “Do you mean to say you have young cougars in that pail?”

“Some young gougers hass me in dot pail,” solemnly asserted the fat boy. “It vas not easiness to catch does gougers.”

Crane suppressed a burst of incredulous laughter.

“What sort of a mare’s nest is this?” he scoffed.

“It vas a mare’s nest not,” snapped Carl; “it vas a gouger’s nest. I seen dot nest yesterday der voods in, but when it vas daylights dose gougers vill pite, undt I avay kept. Vhen it dark got I up crept undt der gougers caught. I haf them der pail in. Yah.”

“Tell it to Sus-Sweeney,” jeered Springer.

“Sweeney didt not know me,” answered Carl soberly, “undt so he couldt not tell it to me. You didt consist to know vot vas der pail in, undt now you haf out found.”

“Who do yeou s’pose is goin’ to believe such ridiculous stuff?” demanded Crane.

“I couldt not help him,” asserted Carl sadly, “uf it didt not peliefe you.”

“Take off that strap. Take off the kiver and let us see.”

“I vould not do dot uf one thousand tollars vould gif you to me!” excitedly cried the fat boy. “Money couldt not inducement me. Der minute dot cofer peen off took der gougers vould out pop.”

“Aw, say, that’s silly. Yeou jest watch me take it off.”

Duckelstein grabbed at Sile’s arm.

“You vill avay let my gougers get!” he shouted frantically. “It vas not right vhen so much troubles has made me to catch them.”

Grinning, Crane pushed the anxious lad away.

“I’ll be keerful,” he promised. “I’ll jest unbuckle the strap and lift the kiver a bit, so we can take a peek without lettin’ the critters get aout.”

“Eferypody get avay off!” shouted Carl, as Sile advanced upon the pail. “Uf one of dose gougers does out come, he vill chump at you. Uf one of dose gougers should pite you, you vill knew it.”

Apparently very much alarmed himself, he backed behind the tent, round which he peered at Sile.

“Somehow, Ben,” said Grant, speaking to Stone in a low tone, “I’ve got a notion that it may be a right good plan to keep at a safe distance. That Dutch boy doesn’t seem as sleepy as usual this morning.”

Standing a rod or more from Crane, Piper and Springer eagerly watched the proceedings of removing the strap and opening the pail. On his knees, Sile performed this action, gently lifting one edge of the cover and leaning forward to peer through the crack. Suddenly something like a bullet seemed to leap forth from that opening, striking the inquisitive boy squarely between his eyes.

Over upon his back went Crane, giving utterance to a yell of astonishment and pain. One of his feet, flung out, struck the pail, which upset, the cover flying off. Instantly a swarming, buzzing mass of angry hornets rose from the nest that rolled out of the pail.

“Ow! Wow!” howled Crane, scrambling to his feet and frantically waving his arms around his head. “Jumpin’ Jehosaphat! Ow! Murder! Help! Confaound the – Ouch! Yeow!”

Attracted by his frantic gyrations, the hornets swarmed upon him in a mass, all of them as mad as hornets can be, and eager to do their duty. They plugged him on the jaw, back of the ear, on the wrist, and they got into his hair, and sought to bore through his clothing. Yelling like an Indian, he danced and thrashed about, while the others, without an exception, made haste to retreat from the zone of danger.

“I toldt you dose gougers vould pite!” shouted Carl. “You couldt not plame me when a varnings I gafe you.”

“Run for the water, Crane!” cried Stone. “That’s the only way to get rid of them. Run!”

For a moment or two the tortured lad stumbled round in a circle, and then, still uttering wild howls, he ran toward the lake, into which he plunged and disappeared. The hornets trailed after him and hummed angrily over the water, beneath which, encumbered by his clothing, Sile was swimming in a desperate effort to get as far away as possible before he rose for a breath.

“Lie low and keep still, everybody,” warned Stone, as a few stray hornets buzzed and circled around the point. “If we find it necessary to pull Sile out to save him from drowning we will do so, but he’s a good swimmer.”

All the way round to the end of the point Crane swam, rising eventually in the deep water close to the bold rocks. In this manner he succeeded in eluding his vicious little pursuers, and they soon turned back to circle and buzz around the nest that lay on the ground near the overturned pail.

“Are you hurt mum-much, Sile?” asked Springer, cautiously creeping toward the rocks, behind which Crane remained with only his head showing above the surface of the water.

“Hurt!” was the wild retort. “I’m killed! Bate them critters plunked me in more than twenty places. I’m dying! Wait till I get my hands on that infernal Dutchman! I’ll wring his neck! Can yeou see any of the critters araound here?”

“They’ve gone back to their nest, I guess. You can cuc-come out.”

Cautiously Sile lifted himself and crept out upon the rocks, to which he clung with some difficulty. One eye was almost closed, there was a huge lump on his jaw, and he was marked in various other places. His friends gathered near to condole with him.

“Yeou wait!” he moaned – “yeou wait and see what I do to the scalawag that played this miserable trick on me! Where is he?”

They looked around for Duckelstein, but he was gone, and the absence of the old horse and the wagon indicated that he had taken the precaution to depart in a manner that would not make it necessary for him to return immediately.