The Boy Scouts at the Canadian Border

Besides, it was absolutely certain that the conspirators would also approach the object they planned to destroy from this side; and consequently Rob meant to extinguish the lantern, once he learned they were across the line.

“I can see something queer, like a pile of stones, ahead there,” announced Andy, who had particularly keen eyesight, and chanced to be looking forward at the time, instead of minding his steps.

“It is the cairn that marks the boundary,” said the Canadian boy simply.

A minute later and they had approached so close that all of them could easily see the object, which turned out to be a heaped-up pile of rocks, and on top was a broad stone slab, with some markings on it. Looking closer at the “monument” the boys read the words: “Boundary Line,” and underneath this “United States.” On the other side they discovered the word “Canada” below the same descriptive text.

“Well,” said Tubby, as they paused for a minute before crossing over, “just to think that I can sit here on this rock-pile, with one foot over in a foreign country and the other in our own home land. It seems queer!”

“Huh!” grunted Andy, always ready for a sly fling at good-natured Tubby, “take care then that you don’t have to sit on a stone-pile day after day, and wearing a striped suit. Please don’t get the habit, Tubby.”

“I won’t, I promise you,” retorted the other, “for it might be catching, like the measles, and you’d be a fit subject for contagion, Andy.”

“Start on, Donald,” said Rob, as he deliberately blew out the lantern, which he proceeded to carefully deposit at the base of the little pyramid of rocks, where they could get it again when on their way back to camp.

Evidently Rob did not believe there would be any further necessity for carrying a lantern. Besides, it was more or less of an encumbrance, since he had his rifle to handle in the bargain.

Tubby did not wholly like this. It would probably mean more frequent stumbles for him, and also knocks and scratches; but he did not remonstrate, knowing well that Rob was the best judge of what was right and proper.

So they all crossed the border, and found themselves treading the soil of Canada, for the first time in the lives of the three Boy Scouts of Hampton Troop.

“Why, it doesn’t seem one whit different,” said Tubby, in evident surprise, “and only for that sign on the slab of rock I’d never dream that I’d stepped over from Uncle Sam’s world, and was treading foreign soil.”

Andy was heard to snort as though highly amused, but he resisted the temptation to take a fling at the “unsophisticated farmer,” as he sometimes called simple-minded Tubby. As though there would be any perceptible difference in the soil and trees and rocks, because an imaginary line divided the continent between two entirely different nations!

Tubby sometimes knew better than he made out, and perhaps Andy was wise not to pursue the subject any further; he had been “stung” before, when attempting to take advantage of a “break” on the part of amiable Tubby.

“After this,” Rob was telling them, “be careful not to talk so loud. We don’t know which trail those men may take in passing across the border; but if they heard us speaking they would become suspicious at once. You must know that the very desperate character of their work would make them think everybody’s hand was raised against them; and the chances are they’d feel inclined to pounce on us, and at least make us prisoners.”

“Oh, that must never be!” said Donald, with deep feeling. “If they kept us fra warnin’ the bridge guards, ye ken, the whole thing wud be in the soup.”

After that they all fell silent, and the forward progress was carried out as so many ghostly specters in a country churchyard might stalk about at the hour of twelve, if, indeed, such visitors from the other world ever do visit this one.

For one thing the path actually seemed to be growing easier now, Tubby thought. At least he did not meet with so many obstacles to his progress, and could thank his lucky stars on this account. He really believed every square inch of his stout limbs below his knees must by now show signs of having come in rough contact with stumps, logs, rocks and all other manner of things. Indeed, Tubby had already made up his mind to apply in person to Rob for a portion of that healing salve, when a fitting opportunity arrived and their mission had been carried through successfully.

All of them listened anxiously as they went along. If a bird or a squirrel moved amidst the pine needles or the branches of a neighboring tree the sound, faint though it might be, gave them a corresponding thrill, because their nerves were all on edge, so to speak. Had a deer, lying in a thicket, suddenly bounded away with a crash of the undergrowth, Tubby feared he would faint, it was apt to give him such a terrible shock.

But there was no such alarm, and they were making steady progress all the while. Rob, as a rule, mapped out his plan of campaign beforehand, and he would have done so in this particular case also, only he considered that the honor of giving the warning should belong to Donald. The devoted Canadian boy had made a gallant attempt to carry the news of his terrible discovery to those in charge of the bridge’s safety; he had suffered all manner of pain and hardship in the effort, and it seemed only fair that he should reap most of the reward.

Besides, Donald knew the lay of the land in the vicinity of the bridge. Without his assistance as pilot to the expedition they might have strayed from the path and lost so much valuable time that even though they eventually arrived it would be only in time to hear the stunning report that would tell them the bridge was destroyed, and that the trainload of munitions had gone down into the gulf, a twisted mass of wreckage.

Tubby had conceived a new and somewhat alarming thought, and he wished that Rob had not placed that embargo on speech, for he wanted to ask a question very much. As it was, he had to take it out in looking anxiously upward every time they happened to be in an open bit of ground, where one could glimpse the clear heavens overhead, by straining the muscles of his neck terribly.

The fact of the matter was, Tubby had remembered about the aeroplane which all of them had so earnestly watched on that other day, when it sped across the line, descending low enough for the pilot to snap off a series of pictures of the ground below, together with the long railway bridge, and then once more scuttled away, heading for the American side of the border. He wondered whether those who meant to undertake the destruction of the bridge would come again in an aerial craft, and try to drop bombs upon the bridge at the moment the freight from the west was approaching the trestle.

Now, this was not so ridiculous as it might appear to some readers who may not know that Tubby, together with Rob and Merritt Crawford, had been abroad on the battlefields of Belgium and Northern France, where it was even then, in the early stages of the war, a common occurrence for aviators to soar over supply depots, railway stations, and various other central points, to try and blow them up by bombs they let fall from a great height. Why, Tubby could remember having looked upon a church used as an observation tower that had been successfully bombed in that way by a daring Teuton aviator.

He took a little more comfort, however, when presently he remembered that Donald had heard the plotters going over the details of their plans, and that according to all that was then said, they very evidently meant to use dynamite, planted under the trestle, and fired by means of a long copper insulated wire and a battery.

Plodding on, the little party began to ascend what seemed to be a gradual rise of ground. This would indicate that they were drawing near the railway line, for it was on a high bank at this place, a necessity caused by the fact of having to cross the river close by.

Tubby wondered what the next half-hour was fated to bring forth. He hoped they were going to meet with the success their efforts deserved, and that the miserable scheme might be nipped in the bud. Tired as the stout youth certainly must be, he was yet buoyed up by the excitement that had him in its clutches; and though the threatened bridge had been twice as far distant Tubby stood ready to keep going until he dropped from sheer exhaustion.

But the time was coming when the dull monotony of that advance was fated to be abruptly broken, and in a way calculated to give them a fresh thrill.

CHAPTER XVII

LYNX LAW

Donald had asked anxiously several times how the night was going. As a scout he might possibly have been able to tell this fairly well by the position of the heavenly bodies, particularly the planets; for every scout is supposed to include this woodsman’s trick in his education before he can call himself fit to wander at will in an unknown wilderness. But then Donald was hardly in a condition to depend on himself, and so he several times whispered to Rob:

“Is it gitting alang toward eleven, wud ye mind tellin’ me?”

It was still far from that, but evidently the particular hour Donald mentioned was wearing upon his mind, and he took counsel from his fears. Rob concluded that the long and heavily-laden munition freight was due at the bridge about eleven. And at the steady progress they were making he felt pretty certain they would be in ample time to give warning, unless something cropped up to detain them, which Rob fervently hoped would not be the case.

Tubby was still clinging to the rear, but doing nobly – for him. Even Andy felt a tinge of justifiable pride in the work of the stout chum, because he knew what a handicap Tubby always labored under when energy and sustained effort had to be looked to in order to pull one through. It meant a whole lot more for Tubby to accomplish this swift tramp than to any one of the other fellows, injured Donald alone excepted.

If he puffed and wheezed occasionally that was no more than might be expected. Every time Andy glanced over his shoulder on missing these familiar sounds, a faint fear oppressing him that the other had fallen out of line, he discovered the stout chum in motion not far back of his heels.

“Bully for Tubby; he’s all right!” Andy was saying to himself, for really he had a deep and abiding affection for the good-natured one, even though addicted to “rubbing it in” occasionally, when an evil spirit moved him to play practical jokes.

Then it happened!

Donald came to a sudden halt, and uttered a low but disgusted grunt.

“What’s the matter; lost the trail?” whispered Rob, for that was the first and most natural explanation that appealed to him.

“We’re in hard luck, I ken!” muttered the pilot of the expedition.

“In what way?” demanded Rob.

“It’s a muckle sair job, wi’ that awfu’ creature barrin’ the way. If ye look, Rab, ye can see his yellow eyes gleamin’ up yonder in the tree. The beastie is crouchin’ on a lower limb, and right o’er the trail. He will nae let us pass by, I fear me.”

All of them heard what Donald said, and every pair of eyes was immediately turned toward the place just ahead that he indicated. Sure enough something glowed in the semi-darkness, something that seemed like twin spots of phosphorus, about eight feet or so from the ground, and in conjunction with the lower limb of the big, bushy hemlock.

Even Tubby knew that only the orbs of the feline or cat species could display such glaring eyes in the night-time.

“Wow! a bobcat!” exclaimed Andy, fussing with his gun, though Rob instantly laid a detaining hand on his arm and hastily remarked:

“None of that sort of work, Andy, on your life, remember! It would ruin the whole business with us! It’s a dangerous job to try to shoot a cat when you can only see the glare of its eyes. Donald, what do you say?”

“First then, it is no common cat, but a big lynx, a fearsome creature for any man to tackle,” returned the young Canadian with complete assurance that told he knew what he was speaking about.

“Worse and worse!” grunted Andy, feeling a trifle disappointed because Rob had laid down the law, for he aspired to some day kill such a fighting monster as a full-grown Canada lynx, and it was too bad that circumstances over which he had no control were now fated to keep him from carrying out that somewhat ambitious desire.

Rob had been fumbling about his person, and suddenly there shot out a small but intense ray of light. The scout master had thought to fetch along with him that exceedingly useful little hand electric torch, and was now putting the same to good service.

Tubby stood on his tiptoes in order to see better, for he chanced to be just behind Andy, who somehow did not think to step aside. What he beheld gave him a further quiver along the region of his spine, as Tubby afterward admitted “just as if some malicious joker had suddenly emptied a bucketful of icy water down his back.”

There was no mistake about it. Crouching upon the limb of the hemlock they could see the beast, much larger than any wildcat they had ever met in all their travels, and plainly marked with odd-looking tasselated ears, and the hairy growth so like whiskers, that distinguish the true Canadian lynx.

The cat did not like that piercing glow from Rob’s dazzling light as was evidenced by a low fierce growling sound. Tubby had often heard the pet tomcat at home make that same noise when holding a captured sparrow between his teeth, and threatened by a rival and envious feline desirous of taking the prize away from the possessor.

At the same time the lynx showed no disposition to retreat, while they would not dare venture along the trail, because in so doing they must pass directly under its “roost,” as Andy called it.

Besides, Rob was not without caution, though on occasion he could be just as dashing as the next one. There was always a time when discretion might be deemed the better part of valor; and such an occasion now confronted them, Rob thought.

Donald, poor fellow, was figuratively speaking on “needles and pins,” what with his impatience to get on, and his knowledge of the dauntless habits of the animal that now disputed their right to that trail.

“There’s only one thing we can do,” said Rob decisively, for he was a great believer in “taking the bull by the horns,” or cutting the Gordian knot when it could not be untied, just as Alexander the Great is said to have done on occasion. “We must turn aside, and go around the brute. Let him stay in the tree where he is, if that’s his game. All we want is to get along, and lose no more time than is necessary.”

Andy was heard to give a sigh. How he did hate to “knuckle down” to a miserable old lynx that considered them trespassers on his domain, and perhaps knew they were just invading Yankee boys who had crossed the line despite the law that forbade trespass on the part of foreigners.

“A gude idea, Rab!” exclaimed Donald, overjoyed. “Mair strength to yer elbow, man. And let us gang awa’ without anny more bother.”

“Oh, well, all right,” grumbled Andy, in a disgusted tone. “It’s hard lines, let me tell you.”

Tubby was not saying anything, but he did a heap of staring. He noticed that as they left the trail and began to make a half circle so as to pass around the big hemlock containing that audacious lynx, Rob continued to play his electric torch so that its glow fell upon the crouching beast. There was a double object in this, for not only could they keep watch over the animal, and feel assured it had not left that limb to follow them; but at the same time the lynx would have to remain under the mystic spell of the glowing orb that dazzled it.

Andy kept his gun in readiness, for he was determined that should the beast make any attempt at attacking them he could not be bound by any order which would prevent him from shooting. But there was no occasion for violence. The lynx twisted its head around so as to follow their passage, but when last seen it had not even changed its position on the limb. As Tubby told himself half humorously it “just seemed bent on seeing a disreputable rabble well off the premises,” when it could once more take up the necessary duty of securing a dinner.

Tubby was also concerned in casting his eyes about him in momentary expectation of discovering another pair of glowing eyes amidst the tangle of branches above; for he remembered that most cats hunt in couples, often surrounding their game. He was looking for the mate of the lynx in the hemlock, looking, but at the same time fervently praying that it would only be conspicuous by reason of its absence, for Tubby was not at all fond of any sort of cats, domestic or wild.

All of them breathed sighs of satisfaction when they could no longer see any sign of the ferocious four-footed hunter of the trail. Rob had now extinguished his light, for he did not wish to needlessly exhaust the little battery; it had already proven worth its price, and was likely to come in handy on still further occasions in the near future.

“Not much danger of his following after us, I suppose, Donald?” Rob asked softly. He felt that the Canadian boy must be much better acquainted with the characteristics of such a native animal than he could boast of being.

“Na, I dinna think so. The beastie is satisfied to see us go around and leave him in possession. He is nae lookin’ after the likes o’ us just noo. But I hae another trouble facin’ me.”

“You mean finding the trail again, don’t you, Donald?” asked Rob.

“Just so,” came the reply. “I know the general direction we must be goin’ till we reach the railway, but it wud be so much better if we were able to continue alang the path.”

“We turned off to the right,” said the observing scout master, “and so it is bound to lie over on our left. You could tell when you struck it, I suppose, Donald?”

“Oh! ay, if on’y I could see,” the pilot assured him.

“Well, we’ll soon fix that part of it easy enough,” remarked Rob, and once more he had recourse to his invaluable vest pocket edition of a hand torch.

He and Donald walked side by side, using their eyes to the best advantage as they slowly advanced. Rob, being a clever woodsman, could pick out a trail that had been frequently used by passing human beings and animals, even though he may never have previously set eyes on the spot himself. As for Donald, surely he ought to be able to equal the cousin scout from over the border, for he was quite at home in these Canadian woods.

Andy, not being able to assist, was well contented to follow after those in the lead, and let them shoulder all the responsibility. Andy had a little weakness in this direction, which sometimes cropped up; and many boys are apt to think it a good thing when they can get some one else to assume all the care, while on their part they go “scot free.”

Tubby was beginning to worry. He fancied they might have “rough sledding” ahead of them. Why, this even began to look a little as though they were getting lost; at any rate, the trail was lost, which amounted to nearly the same thing. So Tubby was feeling that queer sensation again in the region of his heart, which had begun to pump doubly fast. Tubby’s naturally timorous nature had never been fully conquered, and there were plenty of occasions when it gave him much trouble. He feared lest he might be disgraced in the eyes of his chums by appearing a coward, something he sincerely detested.

Several precious minutes passed. In vain did Tubby listen to hear either of the trail hunters declare that their efforts had met with success.

“Yes, I guess after all we must be lost!” the stout scout began to admit to himself forlornly; and, indeed, it looked rather serious.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE TRAIL TO THE TRESTLE

“It’s certainly queer where that trail can be,” Rob himself was saying. On hearing this Tubby’s heart took on an additional flutter, for he seemed to think things must be pretty serious when experienced Rob, who seldom allowed himself to show the least sign of discouragement, should speak in this strain.

“We hae already come twicet as far as I thought wud be necessary,” admitted Donald, “and naething yet o’ the pesky thing.”

“I’m dead sure we haven’t passed over it,” added the scout master. “While one pair of eyes might have failed two could hardly have been deceived. There’s only one explanation that I can think of.”

“Oh! what’s that, Rob?” hastily asked Tubby, making a great effort to keep that miserable tremor from affecting his voice, though he felt that he just had to say something.

“The trail must have taken a sudden bend just about that big hemlock,” Rob explained. “You’ve been over it so many times, Donald, I should think you might remember whether it does.”

“It’s verra curious,” spoke up Donald reflectively, “but I gie ye my word I was thinkin’ the same thing this minute. I am beginning to believe that it does the thing, ye ken. If that be so, then a’ we hae to do is to keep on goin’ till we fetch up once mair on the trail.”

“Well, let’s make an agreement,” said Rob. “We’ll keep along for five minutes, and if nothing shows up it would be better for us to abandon all hope of running across the path. Then we will have to shape our course as best we may, with both you and Zeb here to figure things out. There’s no doubt about our hitting the railway embankment somehow.”

“It is unco’ kind o’ ye to say that, Rab!” declared the Canadian lad, who blessed the lucky chance that had raised up such devoted and loyal friends as these cousins from over the border, when he was more in need of help than ever before in all his young life.

“Why not call on Zeb here to give his opinion, Rob?” mentioned Andy, having a sudden bright thought. It occurred to him that a veteran woodsman’s advice ought to be particularly valuable under such conditions as now confronted them.

“How foolish o’ us not to hae thought o’ that before,” said Donald contritely.

“Better late than never,” muttered Andy.

Rob, turning upon the big guide, hastened to say: “Zeb, you understand how it is, and why we haven’t bothered mentioning this before. Donald was supposed to know more about this region than any one else; but now he is up a stump, and perhaps you could help us out. So please tell us, if you know about this part of the country, and particularly this trail we’ve been following.”

“Wall, I sartin do have reason for rememberin’ that same big hemlock the cat was squattin’ in,” he said. Apparently the rough Maine woods guide was not cherishing any resentment because he had not been considered in the matter.

“It was under that tree Mr. Hopkins he shot the best moose bull he ever got. That was three winters ago. We was follerin’ this path, when he broke cover and went down all in a heap at the fust shot. Say, but Mr. Hopkins he was some proud o’ that shot, fur it took right behind the shoulder, and tumbled the big bull over inside o’ twenty yards.”

“Try and remember, Zeb, about the trail; forget all those other things. Did it make a twist and a turn somewhere about that hemlock?” asked Rob.

“It sartinly did, sir,” the guide assured him. “I remember it because we had occasion to look fur water, an’ hearin’ a stream nigh by I went on to scout for it. Yes, the path made a quick bend at the hemlock. It took up the old direction arter a bit.”

“That settles it,” remarked Rob, fully satisfied. “We go on further, and I expect we’ll soon run across our trail.”

“Good enough,” grunted Andy. “Nothing like corroborative evidence. Donald thought he was right, and now we know he was, as sure as shooting.”

“That’ll do, Andy,” cautioned Rob, who feared they were all doing more talking than discretion allowed. Who could say what hostile ears might not be within hearing distance, hidden by that semi-darkness surrounding them on every side?

They started on. Hardly had two minutes passed, fraught with untold anxiety to at least one of the party, Tubby, when Donald was heard to give a low exclamation. This time there was a note of joy and not dismay permeating the cry.

“Have you struck it, Donald?” whispered Andy, close behind the others.

“Faith, an’ I hae done that, laddie,” bubbled the Scotch-Canadian boy, so filled with delight that he could hardly refrain from shaking hands with each of his companions.

Rob saw that it was even so, for his quick and practiced eye told him the trail lay before them, as seen in the glow of the hand torch.