Tom Fairfield's Hunting Trip: or, Lost in the Wilderness

“Oh, if I only had something to eat! If I only could find the camp!” murmured poor Tom.

He reached a stump, and sat down on it to rest. He closed his eyes but suddenly opened them again.

Was that fancy, or had he heard a shot? He leaped up, electrified, and then hesitated. Perhaps it was Skeel and the others after him. But a quick look across the snow showed him no one was in sight. Tom reasoned quickly.

“Skeel and his crowd wouldn’t shoot unless they saw me, and then it would be to scare me. It can’t have been those men who fired. It must be the boys. But where are they?” Tom looked eagerly about.

Again came the shot. There was no mistake this time. Then Tom heard a shout. He tried to answer it, but his voice was too weak. Another shot cracked on the frosty air, and then came a series of confused calls.

“There he is!”

“We’ve found him!”

“Hurry up!”

A mist dimmed Tom’s vision. He cleared his eyes with a quick motion of his hand, and then he saw his three chums and Sam Wilson rushing toward him. They came out of the woods, and, a moment later, had surrounded him.

“Where were you?”

“What happened?”

“Where’s your gun?”

“You look all in!”

Fast came the questions.

“I – I am all in,” Tom faltered. “It’s that rascal Skeel. I – I – ”

He could not go on for a moment. Then he pulled himself together.

“Here! Drink this!” exclaimed Jack, producing a small vacuum bottle. “It’s coffee and it’s hot yet.” He poured some out into a tin cup and Tom drank it. It revived him at once. Then, with a little more of the beverage, and a hasty swallowing of a sandwich which formed part of the emergency lunch the boys had brought with them, Tom was able to tell his story.

Hot indignation was expressed by all, and then Jack related how they had found the road, but lost Tom, and how they had met with Sam. Their trip to Camp No. 2 had been fruitless, as we know, nor were they any more successful when they came to Camp No. 3. Tom was not there. Then they started for Camp No. 1, and were on their way thither when they came upon the object of their search. On the way they shouted and fired signal guns at intervals. The dog had found his way to Camp No. 1, after leaving Tom, but the animal could not lead Tom’s friends to him.

“And now to make it hot for those scoundrels!” exclaimed Sam. “We’ll prosecute them not only for kidnapping and robbing you, for that’s what they did when they took your gun and money, but we’ll bring an action in trespass against them. That shack where they kept you belongs to the hunting club.”

“And to think Tom was there all the while and we never knew it,” said Bert.

“Oh, I intended to have a look there, if we hadn’t found him at Cabin No. 1,” declared Sam. “But now let’s get busy! Can you walk, Tom, or will you wait here until I can go get a horse?”

“Oh, I’ll be all right soon. I was just weak from hunger.”

Soon Tom was able to proceed. They were about half way between Camp No. 1 and the shack where our hero had been kept a prisoner, and it was decided to go to the latter place and make an endeavor to capture Skeel and his cronies.

But our friends were too late. The kidnappers had fled, but Tom’s gun and all his possessions, save his money, were found in the cabin. Doubtless the personal belongings were too conclusive evidence against the plotters, to risk taking, but someone had succumbed to the temptation of the cash.

“Well, I’m glad to get this back,” Tom said, taking up his gun.

“Yes, and we’ll get those rascals yet!” declared Sam. “I’ll rouse the whole country after them!”

They went on to Camp No. 1 and there Tom had a good rest. It did not take long to pull himself together, and he was as eager as the others to start out on the trail of the scoundrels. For the time being hunting and the taking of photographs was forgotten. Sam sent word to the authorities, and a sheriff’s posse was organized. It was done so quickly that Skeel and the others, who had taken the alarm and fled when they discovered Tom’s escape, were apprehended before they could leave the neighborhood. The heavy storms had blocked the railroad and there were no trains. The men could not hire a sled and team and so were forced to walk, which put them at a disadvantage. They left a trail easy for the woodsmen, hunters and trappers to follow.

“Well, you got us, and you got us good!” said Murker, when they were arrested and confronted by Tom and the others. “I was afraid something like this would happen.”

“Why didn’t you say so, then, and keep me out of it?” asked Whalen, sullenly.

Professor Skeel said nothing, but he scowled at Tom. The plotter’s plans had fallen through, and he faced a long prison term, which, in due course he received, as did his confederates. The letter Skeel had tried to force Tom to write was found on the man and made conclusive evidence against him and the others. So the scoundrel-professor was cheated of his revenge and the money he hoped to get from Mr. Fairfield.

It became known that Professor Skeel had various experiences after Tom had last seen him. The man was in desperate circumstances when he formed a plan of kidnapping Tom, and holding him for ransom. It was a foolish and risky plan, but Skeel talked it over with his two cronies and decided to try it. They knew Mr. Fairfield was rich.

Then came Skeel’s trip to Elmwood Hall. The snowball was an accident he had not counted on, and it made him more angry than ever against Tom.

Professor Skeel’s injured ear, which looked, as Sam said, “like it had been chawed by some critter,” was the result of a fight he had with a man before this story opened, and with which we have nothing to do. Sufficient to say that it served to identify the man, and put our friends on their guard, so that justice was finally meted out.

The trial and conviction of the men came later. After the trio were safely locked in jail, Tom and his chums returned to the woods where they had been lost. But they were better acquainted with the forest now.

“And we’ll have some fine hunting!” cried Tom, now himself again.

“And get some photographs!” added Bert. “I want a view of that hut where the bear pulled the board off so you could get out.”

“That was queer,” said Tom, smiling. “I don’t believe I’ll like to shoot a bear now, after that one did me such a good turn.”

“You won’t have much chance,” Sam said. “I guess even the oldest and toughest bear is ‘holed-up’ by now. Better be content with deer!”

And the boys had to be, rather against their wills. But they were made happy when each one got a specimen, though none was as fine as was Tom’s antlered head. Moreover, Bert and the others secured all the photographs they wanted.

But deer was not the only game they shot.

Rabbits, partridges and squirrels were plentiful, and the boys had more than enough for their meals. They enjoyed to the utmost the holiday time spent in the hunting camps, and Tom paid his first visit to Camp No. 3.

“Well, take it all in all, how did you enjoy it, fellows?” asked Tom, when, after a last successful hunt they were preparing to go back to home and Elmwood Hall.

“Couldn’t have been better!” was the enthusiastic answer from all.

“But it was rather tough on you, Tom,” said Jack.

“Oh, I didn’t mind it so much, except the ‘hunger-strike’ I had to go on, after I escaped,” was the reply. “And I had the satisfaction of besting Skeel.”

“He’ll hate you worse than ever,” commented Bert.

“He’ll be a long while getting out,” Tom said. “That’s one consolation. Well, here comes Sam with the pung. I suppose we’ve got to go back!”

And with sighs of regret at what they were leaving, real regret in spite of the hardships, the boys prepared to return to civilization, at which point we will take leave of them.

THE END