THE BOY SCOUTS THROUGH THE BIG TIMBER
Or
The Search for the Lost Tenderfoot
by
HERBERT CARTER
Author of "The Boy Scouts First Camp Fire," "The Boy Scoutsin the Blue Ridge," "The Boy Scouts on the Trail,""The Boy Scouts in the Maine Woods,""The Boy Scouts In the Rockies"
Copyright, 1913By A. L. Burt Company
"Look out for it, Davy, and grab the noose when itcomes near," shouted Thad._The Boy Scouts through the Big Timber._ _Page 17_]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE I. The Camp. 3 II. What Frightened the Pack Mules. 13 III. When the Foxes Took to the Trees. 26 IV. Bumpus Takes a Chance. 38 V. The Missing Tenderfoot. 50 VI. Forced to Think for Himself. 62 VII. Turning the Tables. 78 VIII. A Scout Should Always be on the Alert. 87 IX. The Mean Trick Of The Timber Cruisers. 96 X. The Bob-Cat. 106 XI. Bumpus' Stock Above Par. 115 XII. The Swoop of the Storm. 123 XIII. The Bolt of Lightning. 131 XIV. Step Hen Looks Out for the Provisions. 139 XV. Through the Big Timber Again. 147 XVI. The Snake Bite. 155 XVII. More Trouble Ahead. 164 XVIII. Still in Pursuit, with the Trail Growing Warmer. 172 XIX. Another Shock. 181 XX. Finding Out How Bumpus Did It. 189 XXI. Caught in a Trap. 198 XXII. The Cripple Business Seems to be Contagious. 206 XXIII. The Way Blocked. 219 XXIV. The "Little Lightning." 227 XXV. "Catching a Tartar;" and a Fat One at That. 235 XXVI. "Tenderfoot? Well, Hardly, After This." 243 XXVII. Well-Earned Rest--Conclusion. 250
THE BOY SCOUTS THROUGH THE BIG TIMBER
CHAPTER I. THE CAMP.
"Call the roll, Mr. Secretary," said the acting scoutmaster.
Of course this was a mere matter of form, because everybody knew that theentire membership of the Silver Fox Patrol, connected with the CranfordTroop of Boy Scouts, was present. But nevertheless Bob White gravely tookout his little book, and made each boy answer to his name.
"Thad Brewster."
"Present," said the patrol leader, and assistant scoutmaster.
"Allan Hollister."
"Here," replied the second in command, a Maine boy, now living inCranford, the New York town from whence these boys had journeyed to thisfar-off region along the foothills of the great Rocky Mountains.
"Bumpus Hawtree."
"Ditto," sang out the fat youth, looking up with a wide grin; for he wasabout as good-natured as he was ponderous.
"Giraffe Stedman."
"More ditto," answered the tall lad, with the long neck, and the quickmovements, who was busying himself over the fire, being never so happy aswhen he could feed wood to the crackling blaze.
"Step Hen Bingham."
"On deck," replied the boy mentioned, who was busy with the supperarrangements.
"Davy Jones."
"O. K." came from the fellow who was walking on his hands at the moment,his waving feet being high in the air, where his head was supposed toappear; because Davy was a gymnast, and worked off his superfluous energyin doing all manner of queer stunts.
"Smithy."
"Present," and the speaker, a very natty chap, brushed off an imaginaryinsect from the sleeve of his coat; because it happened that EdmundMaurice Travers Smith, as he was known in his home circle, had been bornwith a horror for dirt: and it was taking his comrades a long time tobring him down to the ordinary level of a happy-go-lucky, care-free boylike themselves.
"Robert White Quail."
And the last named being the secretary himself, he merely put a crossdown, to indicate the fact of his being in the line of duty on thatoccasion.
"You neglected two other important members of the party!" called outGiraffe, who, of course had gained his peculiar name on account of thehabit he had of often stretching that unusually long neck of his, untilthe boys likened him to an ostrich, and then a giraffe.
"Who are they?" demanded Bob White, scenting some sort of joke.
"Mike, and Molly, the honest, hard-working mules here that we have forpack animals," replied the tall scout, with a chuckle.
"Oh! I reckon, suh, they don't count on the roll call," remarked BobWhite, who was a Southern boy, as his soft manner of speech, as well ascertain phrases he often used, betrayed.
"Well," protested Giraffe, sturdily, "if you think now, that our packmules ain't going to make an impression on our camping through the bigtimber, and the foothills of the Rockies, you've got another guesscoming, let me tell you."
"Mike strikes me as particularly worthy of mention in the log book of thetrip. He made a _distinct_ impression on me, right in the start; and lefta black and blue record of it that hurts yet," with which remark, fatBumpus--whose real name chanced to be Jasper Cornelius, began to ruefullyrub a certain portion of his generous anatomy.
A general shout went up at this.
"Well, what could you expect, Bumpus?" demanded Davy Jones. "When Mike,out of the corner of his wicked eye, saw you stooping over that way, andoffering such a wide target, the temptation was more than anyrespectable, well-educated mule could resist."
"Yes," put in Step Hen, who had divided his name in that queer fashion asa lad first attending school, and it had clung to him ever since; "youdidn't know the strong points of pack mules, Bumpus, or you would neverhave gone so close to his heels."
"And," continued Davy, humorously, "you turned over in the air threetimes, before you struck that dirty pool of water. And that time, Bumpus,I own up you beat me fairly at gymnastics; for try as I will, so far I'veonly been able to do two turns backward in the air, myself."
Bumpus, being so good-natured, only chuckled and kept on rubbing, as inimagination he saw the "cartwheels" he made in the air on that memorableoccasion.
"Only thing I deeply regret," continued Davy, "was that I didn't have mycamera focussed at the time. That picture would sure have been the gem ofour collection."
Bumpus presently sat himself down again, to watch those who were servingas cooks for that occasion, get supper ready.
And while it is preparing, with the fragrant odor of coffee in the air,making the hungry boys almost frantic with suspense, perhaps, for thebenefit of the reader who has not made the acquaintance of these lively,wide-awake boys in earlier stories of this series, a brief explanation ofwho and what they were, may be deemed appropriate at this point.
The Silver Fox Patrol had been organized for quite some time now, and theboys who made up the membership had been fortunate enough to take twolong trips, with the idea of adding to their knowledge of woodcraft, andsuch qualities as all good scouts are supposed to desire to possess.
The first one had been to the region of the Land of the sky. Robert Quailhad come from the Blue Ridge, in North Carolina, and it
was mostlythrough his influence and persuasion that the scouts had gone thence. Andwhile there, they had met with many adventures that have been faithfullychronicled in their log book, and portrayed in a previous story.
Their next trip came in very fortunately. An epidemic breaking out inCranford, the school trustees closed the doors of the places of educationuntil after the Christmas holidays. This gave the boys the chance theyhad long wanted to take a run up into Maine, and do a little camping, andhunting of big game; several of their number being very fond of handlinga gun; and Allan having told them thrilling stories of the sport to befound in his native State after the law had been lifted.
And while enjoying themselves hugely, the scouts had had the good fortuneto recover some stolen bonds and other valuables belonging to a bank thathad been robbed. The reward offered for their restoration was paid overinto their treasury, and was of such a size as to admit of their takingthis long-desired journey into the mountain region of the GreatNorthwest, when vacation time came around.
During the balance of the winter, after their return from Maine, thestory of the wonderfully good times they enjoyed there had so enthusedother boys of Cranford, that a second full patrol, called the Eagle, hadbeen organized; and a third addition to the troop, to be called the GrayWolf, was in process of forming.
But of course none of these lads had any share in the reward that hadcome to the members of the first patrol; so that accounted for their notbeing present on his occasion.
Bumpus was a musician, and had a fine mellow voice, which he often usedto entertain his mates while sitting around the roaring camp-fire. Hecould play on any instrument; indeed, with merely his doubled-up hands,and his melodious voice, he often imitated various calls on the bugle.And of course he had been elected as bugler to the troop, though on thepresent occasion they had induced him to leave his instrument at home,not thinking a hunting camp the place for such noisy demonstrations.
The boys carried guns of various sorts, though until lately Bumpus hadnever bothered himself about such a thing. But while in Maine the feverseized him, and he had purchased a big ten-bore Marlin double-barreledshotgun; because he always admired the twelve gauge of the same makewhich Thad owned.
Step Hen had a little beauty of a thirty-thirty six-shot repeating rifle,that had been given to him by his father on a recent birthday. Thadsometimes borrowed it, and could use the same with considerable skill. Itcarried those soft-nosed bullets that mushroom when striking, and thus doall the work of a ball several times the size. If big game must bekilled, the quicker the thing is over with the better. Besides, thatlittle fire-arm was "just as light as a feather," as Step Hen alwaysdeclared, when disputing with Giraffe, who carried the large rifle ownedby his respected dad, also fond of the woods and game.
Davy managed to get along with a shotgun, while Allan had a rifle. Smithyand Bob White had brought no weapons along, deeming the number on handamply sufficient to clean out most of the wild beasts inhabiting theRocky Mountain region. In fact, Smithy had never shot a gun in his life,and was timid about trying; but on the other hand Bob was quite used toworking with a good retriever in the grain fields, where the bird he wasnamed after fattened, away down in the Old Tarheel State.
Davy seemed to be unusually full of animal spirits on this occasion. Hejust could not keep quiet, but kept up his tumbling, and standing on hishead, even though no one paid much attention to what wonderful stunts theathletic lad was carrying on.
Close by them ran a noisy stream. It came out from the foothills of thegreat uplifts near by, and went brawling on its way. Indeed, it made somuch music that the scouts had to call out to each other at times; butsomehow the prospect of passing a night near such a rollicking streampleased them all. Besides, they were sure it must contain trout, andseveral promised to get up at break of day to try for the speckledbeauties, so that they might have a mess for breakfast, before continuingon their way.
"Say, has anybody seen my sweater around?" called out Step Hen, who wasbusily engaged looking over the contents of his pack, having turned overthe control of the cooking meal to Allan and Thad. "I'm just sure Istowed it away in this knapsack I carry, but it ain't there now. I'm theunluckiest feller you ever did see, about having my things taken.Everybody just thinks they're general property, and grabs 'em up. Pleasehand it over, whoever's got it. I might want it to-night, if it getscool."
Step Hen was careless. He had a long-standing habit of never knowingwhere he put his things, and hence, when he missed some object, loud werehis wails about being pursued by a "little evil genius," that was takingthe greatest delight in misplacing his possessions. Even when one of theother scouts, taking pity on Step Hen, would show him where he hadhimself left the article, he would pass it off as easily as a duck shakesthe water from its back.
The tents had been raised, and everything looked cozy and comfortable.Several of the scouts lay around, being footsore and weary; only thatnever-tired Davy was still exercising himself in all sorts of ways. Indue time he would work off his superfluous energy, and behave. They wereso accustomed to seeing Davy hang by his toes from the high limb of atree, or doing some similar act better fitted for the circus than a campof Boy Scouts, that little attention was ordinarily paid to his actions.
It came as a shock, then, when all of a sudden Thad started up with ashout, and started on a run toward the edge of the high river bank, whereone could look down on the tumbling waters of the churning yeasty rapids.
"Hurry, boys!" the scoutmaster was calling at the top of his voice, as hecovered the dozen yards separating the camp from the edge of the littlebluff; "Davy went too near the edge, and took a header right over intothe river!"
Every one of the other six lads hurried as fast as possible to join theirleader on the brink of the bluff; and when they reached there, they saw asight that for the moment seemed to freeze the very blood in their veins.