CHAPTER VI
THE FAT BOY'S REVENGE
The Pony Rider Boys had never had so interesting a guide as CaleVaughn proved himself to be. He always had something new to explainto them, and his explanations were put in a most attractive form.
It was late that night when the boys turned in, and early on thefollowing morning they were on their way to the next camping placewhere they might remain for a few days, taking short explorationtrips from that central base.
This day's riding was the hardest of all they ever had experienced.It is true they followed a small watercourse, but the going wasterrific. Not only did the trees stand so close together as to makeriding a terror, but saplings and thick underbrush, together withoccasional rocks, hidden fallen trunks, and other obstacles, madetraveling a perilous proceeding. There was danger to the boys, andthere was danger of the ponies breaking their legs. To add to theirtroubles, the mosquitoes got busy quite early in the forenoon, andsmacks of open palms against irritated cheeks were heard on allsides.
Stacy Brown's red face was the most conspicuous thing in the outfit.Cale Vaughn walked and led his horse, as did some of the others,but Stacy refused to walk so long as he had a horse that would holdhim up. As a result, the fat boy suffered more than all the others.The Indian, having been told where they would make camp, hadshouldered his pack and strode off through the forest, soondisappearing under the giant trees of the Maine Wilderness.
Ponies were irritable and rebellious by the time the party halted forthe noonday rest and luncheon. The boys by this time did not knowwhere they were. Tad knew that the guide was laying his course bythe little stream which came into view now and then, but the lad sawno signs of a trail. He was glad his was not the responsibility offinding the way for the party, for this was surely a primeval forest.
"Some woods, eh?" was Stacy Brown's way of describing it. "A fineplace to hide, in case someone were after us," he added.
"In that event we shouldn't be looking for a hiding place, youngman!"
"Maybe you wouldn't," retorted Stacy.
"Nor would you. You are simply talking to make conversation,"answered Tad.
The argument was ended by the voice of the guide ordering the partyto be on the move again. Cale knew that they would have to make timein order to reach before dark the place he had decided upon for thenight's camp. The Indian, no doubt, was already there. So the boystore their way through the thickets, here and there making widedetours to avoid an unusually rough piece of going. Twilight wasupon them ere they halted to make camp in a dense thicket of spruce,the tops of which they could not see in the faint light, but later onthe moon came up, silvering the tops of the pines. With it came thevoices of the night, the voices of the deep forest. Birds twitteredhere and there, a crow croaked hoarsely in a tree near at hand, andsomething went scudding away from the outskirts of the camp as Caleshied a stone in that direction. He was the only one who had heardanything at that point.
Suddenly there came the sound of what appeared to be human beingstalking in low tones. The boys started up, looking first at eachother, then at the guide. Vaughn lay before the fire, his headsupported by his arms. He was undisturbed. It was all too familiarto him, who had spent so many hundred nights in this sameimpenetrable forest.
"Wha--what was that?" stammered Chunky.
"Didn't you hear someone talking, Mr. Vaughn?" asked Tad.
The guide twisted his head from side to side two times.
"Didn't you hear it?" insisted Ned.
"I heard several things," answered Cale.
"Yes, so did I," spoke up the Professor. "I am quite sure it waspersons speaking."
"There it goes again," cried Tad.
"Didn't you boys ever hear that before?" smiled Cale.
The lads confessed that they never had.
"Why, that is the 'coons talking to each other."
"The 'coons?" exclaimed Chunky, opening his eyes wide. "This is afunny place for 'coons up in this wilderness. What do they liveon?"
"They browse for a living. I mean the four-legged kind. Animals!"
"Oh! I thought you meant--"
"Is it possible that that noise is made by 'coons?" interruptedProfessor Zepplin.
Cale nodded.
"Yes; they are conversational little gentlemen. Probably are tryingto decide upon the best way of getting a meal out of our camp.Boys, tomorrow morning we shall have to busy ourselves at daylight.We are going to have a lesson in permanent camp building, you know."
"Yes, sir," chorused the lads.
"Afterward, if you are agreeable, we will take a tramp over themountain to a place where a ranger friend of mine lives."
"Rangers?" questioned Stacy. "I didn't know they had Texas Rangers inMaine."
"Stacy, you are silly," rebuked Tad.
"Nor do they," answered the guide. "The kind I speak of is a forestranger."
"What do they range?" asked Walter.
"The forest," answered Rector. "That's all there is to range uphere."
"The forest rangers watch the forests," explained Vaughn. "It istheir business to see that no timber is cut unlawfully and to watchout for fires and warn campers and hunters to be careful. It is afine life."
"I should think it would be," agreed the fat boy. "But better forthem than for me, with the talking 'coons and other things that youcan hear but don't see. I'll get another ghost scare if this keepson. I wish it were morning."
"Morning will come soon enough," answered the guide.
Morning did. With it came work, and plenty of it. Vaughn let theboys do the work of making permanent camp, he instructing them in thework as they went along, applying some of the theories he hadexpounded to them on the previous day.
"Woodcraft, boys," explained the guide, "is, as perhaps you may know,the art of getting along in the wilderness with just what Nature hasplaced within your reach. When you are able to find your way throughan uncharted wilderness like this one, when you know the trees andthe plants, the animal life, when you know how to live comfortably,then you may call yourselves good woodsmen. I might say that thereare few of them in this day and age. And as a matter of fact, thereare not very many places in America where woodcraft is called for.This is one of the places where it is needed unless you expect to getlost and starve to death. From what I have seen of you boys I shouldsay you might easily get lost, but you all possess naturalresourcefulness. You would manage to live and keep going, though youmight have a hard time of it."
By eight o'clock the immediate work was finished. Cale announcedthat they would start off for a hike, as he had suggested the daybefore. When Stacy learned that they were going to walk, and thatthey would tramp ten or fifteen miles before they returned, hebalked.
"Not for me!" announced the fat boy firmly, sitting down on alichen-covered rock. "This cold rock shall jump out of his pit soonerthan I, and don't you forget that for a moment!"
"Oh, come along," begged Tad.
"No, sir. I'll ride, if the rest do."
"You can't ride where we are going," replied Cale.
"Then I don't go."
No amount of urging would induce the lad to change his mind, so theydecided to go on without him. Charlie John would be in the camp allday, so Cale said it would be all right for Chunky to remain. Hewarned the half-breed to see to it that Master Stacy did not strayfrom camp, knowing full well that the fat boy would lose himself werehe to get ten rods from the camp.
Stacy did. Not once, but six times before noon did he lose himself.Fortunately he had not strayed far. His yells reached the ears ofthe Indian, who, with many grunts of disapproval, stalked out andbrought the lost boy back to camp, sternly ordering him to remainthere. But Chunky was stubborn. He was determined to go out andback freely and try to find his way. That was why he became lost somany times. The noonday meal was the only thing that caused him tochange his mind.
After dinner, while Charlie John was washing the dishes and stowingthe foo
d, Stacy began rummaging about the camp.
All too soon this occupation proved uninteresting to one whopossessed Chunky's energy in finding useless things to do with allhis might.
"Even sleeping will be more fun," decided the fat boy. So hevanished behind the flap of his tent and lay down. His snoring,however, soon proved altogether too much for even the placid nervesof an Indian to endure. Charlie John stole in soft-footed, shakingthe youngster, then drawing him to his feet.
"What are you trying to do to me?" indignantly demanded Chunky.
"Too much saw-mill noise--no good," declared the Indian. "Make thatnoise again, then me show you something Indians do to stop noise."
Stolidly Charlie John departed from the tent, but there was nothingstolid about the fat boy's quivering rage.
"If Mr. Copper Face can't let me alone, I'll make him wish he had,"growled Stacy, shaking angry fists at the retreating Indian. In hisrummaging about the camp young Brown had discovered a ten-ounce bottleof anise-seed oil, and as Chunky now gazed at this bottle the lightof new mischief began to dawn in his eyes. Charlie John would havedone well to watch him.
"Heap big fun!" muttered the fat boy, choking down too visibleevidences of glee. "I'll scatter this around the camp and bring amillion-billion bees here. Then I'll hide in my tent, and, as thebees won't know where to find me, they'll devote all their time toCharlie. When he gets it too bad I'll holler to him to come into thetent and hear me snore. Wow!"
In a short time, while the Indian was at a little distance, Stacy hadsprinkled considerable of the oil on the ground. Charlie John,returning, sniffed suspiciously, but Chunky had the bottle out ofsight. Charlie, however, had a keen nose, so he watched in silence.
Stacy's innocent face betrayed nothing, and the boy kept onsprinkling a ring of oil clear around the camp. He was chuckling tohimself all the time, congratulating himself on the happy idea thathad come to him with the finding of the anise oil. Stacy wasconfident that he was going to have the time of his life.
In this the fat boy was right, though he did not realize fully tojust what that fun would lead. Had he realized, no doubt he wouldhave replaced the stopper in the oil bottle without the loss of asecond.
The buzzing of a bee recalled him to the peril of his position. Thebuzz was very businesslike, too. Stacy made a vicious strike at thesound, then dived for the protection of his tent. Reaching that, hejerked the flap shut and peered out, red-faced, big-eyed. CharlieJohn, who had been bending over a garbage hole that he had just dug,suddenly leaped straight up into the air, clapping a hand to the backof his neck. A busy bee had momentarily alighted there, and, beforeleaving, the bee had pricked the tough hide of the half-breed.
Ere Charlie had recovered from his surprise he got another sting.Stacy was about to yell again, but catching a glimpse of the Indian'sface, convulsed with anger, Stacy quickly withdrew into the tent,prudently closing the flap and tying it on the inside. The boy thensat down and, with arms clasped about his knees, rocked back andforth, fairly choking with laughter. He could hear the Indianthrashing about on the outside. The sound was sweet music to theears of the fat boy. Then a new sound was heard. It was a yell, andthe yell was pitched in a new key. Stacy stepped out to see what wasgoing on, then he, too, uttered a yell, louder and more piercing thanthat of the Indian.