Oakdale Boys in Camp

“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.

CHAPTER XVIII.

DISPOSING OF UNWELCOME NEIGHBORS

“To begin with,” said Grant, “I told you that I didn’t think the Dutchman was as sleepy as he looked, but I’ll confess I never reckoned him capable of putting up a joke of this sort.”

“Joke!” rasped Crane, shaking with mingled pain and wrath. “I don’t see no joke abaout it.”

“You cuc-can’t see very well, anyhow,” reminded Springer. “One of your eyes is plumb buttoned up. You’re a spectacle.”

“Yeou don’t have to tell me. Say, ain’t there nothing I can put on to stop the smarting? What are you all standin’ around for? Want to see me perish in horrible agony right before yeour eyes? Why don’t yeou do something?”

It is always advisable for campers, when planning to spend some time in the woods, to include in their outfit a medicine case containing such simple remedies as may be needed; but, unfortunately, the Oakdale boys had failed to provide anything of the sort. Therefore they were now at a loss to know what could be done to alleviate Crane’s sufferings, but presently Grant thought of something, and, taking care not to attract the still whirling and whirring hornets, he went back into the shadows of the woods and procured two heaping handfuls of soft, moist earth, which, as well as possible, was presently bound or plastered upon Crane’s wounds.

“Wait till I ketch that Dutchman!” Sile kept muttering through his set teeth.

“Keep still,” advised Rod. “The bandage will hold those dirt poultices over your eye and behind your ear, but you’ll shake off the dabs I’ve stuck to your jaw and in other places, if you keep on talking.”

So Sile relapsed into silence, save for an occasional bitter groan, and the others took into consideration the problem of getting rid of the hornets.

“We’ll have to destroy the nest somehow,” said Rod, “for as long as that remains where it is those pests will give us trouble.”

“We’ll find a way to fix them after breakfast,” said Stone. “As long as we don’t go near them and fail to attract their attention by our movements, there’s little probability that they will give us much annoyance.”

“This cuc-camping expedition is certainly proving rather sus-strenuous and exciting,” observed Springer.

For some reason Piper seemed to find it difficult to suppress a show of satisfaction, but this he tried to do, even though he could not forget with what glee his companions had joshed him about his unpleasant experience with the sleeping bag. Had Sleuth known that the victim of Carl Duckelstein’s “gougers” was responsible for that first night adventure, he must surely have regarded Crane’s misfortune as a piece of retributive justice. Unsuspecting, however, he refrained from gloating and pretended to commiserate with the wretched chap.

With the fire replenished, Stone put on a kettle of water, and, while that was rising to the boiling point, he peeled and sliced some potatoes from the small supply they had brought. Bacon, fried out, provided fat in which to fry the sliced potatoes, and the salmon Crane had caught was put into the kettle to boil. There was a supply of bread left over from the loaves baked upon the previous day; and, for variety, Stone made hot chocolate instead of coffee.

Now at home chocolate, although occasionally enjoyable, is liable to seem rather flat, insipid and tame; but for breakfast in camp, made with milk, either fresh or condensed, and served piping hot, there is nothing better or more satisfying.

And so, when the fish was properly boiled, the potatoes fried and the chocolate ready, their appetites being by that time keen and demanding, they sat down to a meal which seemed to all, with the exception of Crane, the best they had yet tasted. Even in spite of his still burning wounds, Sile ate with apparent relish. Once they all ducked as a passing hornet whizzed overhead with a humming sound like that of a tiny gas motor turning up at full speed. Crane was the only one who did not laugh; he growled.

Breakfast over and everything cleared away, they resumed consideration of their new and unwelcome neighbors, a few of which, apparently on guard, hovered around the nest.

“With a long pole we might smash the sus-stuffing out of that nest,” declared Springer.

“And probably get ourselves well stung while we were about it,” said Stone. “A smudge is the thing to cook them. A good, heavy smudge, started as close as possible to the nest opening, would smother them as they came out.”

“How close is as close as possible?” questioned Crane.

“Right up against the nest if we can put it there; not over six or eight inches away, at most.”

“Well,” drawled Sile, with a returning touch of whimsicality, “I’d sartainly like to see some of yeou fellers make that smudge and start it goin’.”

“Misery loves company,” laughed Rod. “I don’t judge there’s enough wealth in this outfit to tempt me to try that.”

“Perhaps we can work it without getting near enough to be stung,” said Ben.

“How? how?” they cried.

“If we can find a pole long enough to enable me to reach the nest and remain hidden behind the end of the tent, I’ll show you.”

Some time was spent in securing the pole, but eventually, some rods from the camp, a tall, straight, slender sapling was selected, cut and trimmed. Then Stone searched about for the material to make his smudge, stripping the bark, both wet and dry, from cedar tree trunks. He also secured a huge dry toadstool as large as his two fists.

With these things the boys returned to the smoldering campfire, where, placing the toadstool in the center, Ben wound and twisted and tied the strips of cedar bark about it, with plenty of the dry bark on the outside and numerous strips running through the elongated ball. The end of the pole, whittled sharp, was then carefully thrust into this ball, after which Ben set it afire and fanned it until it was sending forth a surprisingly heavy, rank cloud of smoke.

“Now,” he said, “to see what can be done with our friends, the enemy.”

His movements were watched by the others as, with the butt of the pole in his hands, he slipped swiftly round behind the tent. From his place of concealment he thrust the reeking smudge forth toward the hornets’ nest, where a few of the creatures, seemingly on guard, still circled with much angry grumbling. Up against the end of the nest that contained the opening, the smudge was pushed, and the nest itself was practically enveloped in smoke.

“Naow come aout, consarn ye, come aout!” cried Crane revengefully. “Mebbe that will cure yeour asthmy and stop yeou from wheezin’.”

It was impossible to see whether or not the hornets came forth, but certain it was that, did they attempt to do so, they were promptly overcome by the smoke, for the few that darted and circled in the vicinity were not augmented in number. Some of these, even, apparently making a desperate and reckless charge toward their threatened home, were seen to drop, overcome by the rank smoke.

Lowering the butt of the pole to the ground, Stone left the smudge burning against the hornets’ nest and rejoined his watching friends.

“We’d better keep watch to see that it doesn’t set fire to the woods,” he said. “By the time it burns out there will not be many hornets left to bother us.”

“You’ve got a great head on your shoulders, Stoney, old scout,” complimented Piper.

“I wish,” said Crane revengefully, “that I could hold that Dutchman’s nose in that smoke for abaout one minute. I guess he’d cough some.”

It was a long time before the smoke of the smudge died down to a tiny, wavering spindle of blueish gray; but when this took place the nest lay there, burned a bit and blackened at one end, a deserted looking thing indeed. If any of the hornets had survived, it seemed that they had departed in desperation or despair.

“Who is going to see if there are any left?” asked Sleuth.

“I think Sile would be a good one to do that.”

“What?” shouted Crane, glaring at the speaker with his unbandaged eye. “What d’yeou mean?”

“Why,” said Sleuth innocently, “if there should be any, and you happen to get stung two or three times more, it wouldn’t make much difference. You couldn’t feel a great deal worse.”