Motor Boat Boys on the Great Lakes; or, Exploring the Mystic Isle of Mackinac

And in that spirit he had picked up the Marlin; bringing it to his shoulder in a clumsy way, time after time, in order to get accustomed to the movement.

“Keep the muzzle turned the other way, Buster!” commanded Josh, noticing that he was working the pump action of the six-shot weapon, as if he liked to see the ejector send the shell flying out at one side.

“Guess I know enough for that Josh,” grumbled Nick, but at the same time moving still farther around, so that the cook might lose his fears; for when a meal was being prepared the fat boy always handled Josh with gloves, as he frankly admitted.

It was just as he was sitting thus that a sudden scream rang through the neighboring woods, sounding so shrill and angry that every one started as though a bolt of lightning had fallen from the clear blue vault overhead right into their midst, and exploded there!

CHAPTER XIV

NICK WIPES OUT HIS DISGRACE

Everybody in the camp jumped up.

All eyes were turned toward the point from which this racket sprang; and it was a strange sight that immediately met their astonished eyes. Jimmie was jumping about as though he had accidentally stepped into a bee’s nest, and was now engaged in a hand-to-hand fight with the entire swarm.

Nick happened to be in a position where he could see better than any of his companions. And he immediately discovered that the troubles of the Irish lad were not at all imaginary.

Something was leaping back and forth, now threatening to land on the shoulders of Jimmie, and then springing to the low limb of a tree, or it might be the ground.

Nick had never before set eyes on such a strange creature, yet he realized that it was a wild animal. His late unpleasant experience was of course still fresh in his mind; and his first suspicion may have been that this was another specimen of a Canadian pussy cat.

Whatever it was, Jimmie seemed to be having the time of his life fighting. True to his inherited instincts, the Irish lad had snatched up some sort of stick, to serve him as a shillalah. It was a stout bit of wood too, and he wielded it in a manner that proved him to be a “broth of a boy.” Several times it landed with a resounding whack upon the flying body of his antagonist, and at each connection the unknown beast was hurled heavily backward.

But evidently the furious animal was grim and determined. Instead of being cowed by these temporary setbacks it only resumed the attack with added zeal; so that Jimmie had often to throw up his left arm in addition, to fend off his foe.

Now, Nick chanced to remember that at the very moment he was holding a gun in his hands. With one of his chums in grave peril it seemed to devolve upon him to engineer a rescue party.

“Come on, boys! Jimmie needs help!” he shouted, starting to run forward as well as his bulk admitted.

“Careful of that gun, Buster!” called Herb.

“Yes, don’t shoot Jimmie instead!” added Josh.

“Hold your fire till you can get ’em separated!” supplemented George; who being a little farther away at the time, managed to bring up the rear.

In this way then the quartette started to the assistance of Jimmie, who was still whanging away with might and main. What with the loud shouts of the aroused Irish lad, the whoops of the runners, and the angry snarling of the enraged beast, one would think a menagerie must have broken loose in the neighborhood.

Just then George happened to get a good look at the beast as it jumped up on the limb, and whirling, crouched to make another leap.

“It’s a wildcat!” he shouted as loud as he could. “Be careful, Nick! Don’t you try to grab it now, on your life!”

Nick heard, but was too busy to think of replying. The cat had sprung again at the pugnacious Irish boy, to be met with another smart thump that landed with a loud thud, and sent the beast sprawling to the ground.

“Ye would, hey?” howled Jimmie in derision, though the blood was streaked upon his face, where the sharp claws of the beast had scratched him. “Thry for it again, plaze! And be the powers, ye’ll foind Jimmie Brannagan at home whin ye knock at the dure. Come on, ye omadhaun! I’ll soon knock all the breath out of the body of ye! Wow!”

The Canadian cat was a fighter. It looked it every inch, now that the defiant defense of the intruder had aroused its fury. Once more it sprang to the limb of the tree, as though recognizing that here it had a better chance to leap than from the ground.

“Now! Buster! But be careful! Keep back Jimmie!” shouted George.

The others held their very breath, for they saw that Nick had the Marlin repeater up at his bulky shoulder. Perhaps every one of them was mentally hoping that he would not shut his eyes while pulling the trigger; for a little swerve might bring Jimmie within range, and the result be disastrous at that short distance.

Bang!

Instantly a series of whoops broke forth, and every fellow started forward once more, as though meaning to be in at the death. George and Herb and Josh had each managed to possess himself of some sort of improvised weapon. The first had in his hand a hatchet which he had been using at the time; Josh was waving his favorite big spoon, with which he was wont to beat the summons to meals on a pan; and the skipper of the Comfort had picked up a billet of wood while passing the fire, which he now flourished eagerly above his head.

Nick himself stood there, struggling with the pump-gun. As usual with novices he could not work the mechanism; for in his excitement he was trying to fire without having ejected the used shell; and no self-respecting modern arm will stand for that sort of treatment.

Fortunately all around, no second shot was needed. The animal was kicking its last upon the ground, and emitting agonizing screams of anger and pain. Whether by accident or real accuracy of aim, Nick had apparently managed to send the contents of the shell where it counted.

Already Jimmie was indulging in what seemed to be a war dance, waving his stick, and singing. George was compelled to laugh just to see his antics, streaked as his freckled face was with smootches of his own gore.

“Ye done it, Buster, sure ye knocked the silly gossoon clane over!” he called. “’Tis a broth of a boy ye arre, and afther me own heart. Look at the baste, would ye? If he hasn’t got tassels on his ears!”

“That’s a fact!” declared George, now arriving to see the last kick of the animal on the ground, and note the unquenchable fury shown to the very end. “Why, I tell you what it is fellows. A Canadian lynx, that’s what!”

“It does look different from my cat – er, that other animal,” admitted Nick, as he cautiously advanced, evidently ready to beat a hasty retreat should he discover any need.

“I’ve heard of the missing links,” spoke up Josh; “but we never lost any; so this critter couldn’t belong to us.”

“A good shot, Buster, old man!” declared George, bending down to see where the charge had struck the beast while crouching on the limb, and preparing for still another leap at Jimmie.

Nick swelled up with importance. Apparently this was one of the few occasions when he could assume an attitude, and receive congratulations. Usually it was just the other way; and like a wise fellow he believed in making hay while the sun shone.

“Oh! pretty fair, considering how quick I had to shoot!” he remarked, carelessly, as much as to say that, given a little more time, and he could have done better.

Jack now came running up, having of course heard all the row, and being consumed with curiosity to know its meaning.

“What is it?” he called, as he ran. “Another Canada pussy cat?”

“That’s just what it is,” replied George quickly.

“And is Buster at his old tricks again?” continued the other; at which Nick was compelled to grin amiably, knowing his hour of triumph was at hand.

“Buster was in the mix-up, all right,” George went on; “only this time he happened to be at the other end of the gun. Buster has covered himself with immortal glory. We all must knuckle down to him after this as the great Nimrod; for he has just slain the Jabberwock. Looky here, Jack; what d’ye call that?”

“Well, I declare, a big Canada lynx!” cried the newcomer, recognizing the dead beast as soon as he saw its queer tasseled ears, and its ferocious whiskers.

“It tackled Jimmie here, and they were having a hot old argument of it, Jimmie pounding with his club, and the cat using its claws,” Herb said, turning to the Irish boy, to see how badly he was wounded.

Jack became sympathetic at once, and anxious in the bargain.

“Only a few little scratches you say, Jimmie,” he remarked. “That’s true, they don’t seem serious; but it’s always dangerous to be marked with the claws of animals that live on carrion, like lions, grizzlies or wildcats. And I’m glad to say I’ve got something along for just such a case. Come on back to camp with me.”

Jimmie, still protesting, did so; while the others, dragging the lynx, made Buster head the procession, while they sang: “Lo! the Conquering Hero Comes; Sound the Trumpets, Beat the Drums!” greatly to the delight of the fat boy.

When Jack applied the purple colored tincture from a small bottle to the wounds on Jimmie’s face and hands, the Irish boy gave a whoop of pain.

“Sure, the rimedy is worse nor the disease!” he complained.

“That’s all right,” said Jack; “just stand the pain for a little. It’s an insurance against blood poisoning. Many a hunter has lost his life from little cuts no worse than yours, when they were caused by the claws of a wild beast. My father would not let me come out unless I carried this.”

“What is it, Jack?” asked Herb, curiously.

“A strong tincture of permanganate of potash,” was the reply. “Just remember that, will you; and it’s got to be powerful enough to hurt like fun; eh, Jimmie?”

“Indade it did, that,” was the immediate response; while the Irish boy screwed up his good humored face in a knot.

Jack went back to his fishing, for he had already managed to take one pretty good specimen of the Lake Superior speckled trout that would have weighed nearly four pounds; and was eager for more.

All the while he sat there, employing every device he knew of to tempt the finny denizens of the depths to bite, he kept one eye to windward. That low bank of clouds interested him; for it seemed to presage a storm.

Since everything possible had been attended to in order to ward off any evil effects of a gale, Jack did not stop fishing until he had succeeded in catching a fine mess, that would please the heart of Buster.

Josh was preparing the fish as fast as they were caught. Indeed, he dispatched Nick several times to see if there were any more forthcoming; when the sportsman would toss ashore his latest catch, and the cook’s assistant hurry back with the prize, his hungry eyes fairly glistening with anticipation.

Of course it was a royally good supper that followed. Josh cooked the trout in the same capable manner he had served the lake white fish; and every fellow declared they had never tasted anything more delicious.

Still, there was plenty for all, and to spare. Even Nick had to shut his eyes with a deep sigh, because he had reached the extreme limit of his capacity; and a pan of trout remained untouched.

The growling of the thunder now became more pronounced. Across the heavens the zigzag lightning shot, in a way that was as terrible as it was fascinating. Supper done, the boys clustered near the fire, talking, and watching the coming of the gale. Again and again had Jack and George gone around, to see that every tent peg was clinched in the ground.

“They’re going to hold, unless the wind tears the blessed things to flinders!” Jack had announced; and at the same time he had seen to it that the boats were protected by the friendly point of land from the giant waves that would soon be sweeping in from the sea beyond.

Already were they rising in majestic grandeur that was awe inspiring. The storm was about to swoop down upon the shore line, and hurl the rising sea against the mighty rocky barrier, as it had done for countless ages past without success.

“Oh! ain’t I just glad I’m not out there!” exclaimed Nick, as he shudderingly surveyed the darkening picture of warring elements.

“But look there, fellows; what d’ye call that?” cried Herb, as he pointed a quivering finger at some object that had suddenly come in sight from the east.

It was a little motor boat, wallowing in the rising sea, and doomed to certain destruction unless able to make shelter immediately. And with the waves dashing wildly against the rocks, those aboard would never see the small opening through which the motor boat boys had come to their present snug harbor!

“It’s the Flash!” shouted Jack; “and unless we manage to show them the way in, it’s good-bye to Clarence and Bully Joe! We must do it, fellows. Come on!”

CHAPTER XV

HELPING AN ENEMY

Jack kept his wits about him.

He had snatched up something as he ran to the very point where he might best be seen through the flying spray. It was the conch shell which, with its apex sawed off, made a horn or trumpet that could be heard a mile away, under even the most discouraging conditions.

Reaching the point for which he had been aiming Jack immediately started sending a hoarse blast out over that tumultuous sea. The others waved their hats, and made suggestive motions toward the small inlet, to show that a boat could enter the cove where the stream of water emptied into the Big Lake.

“They see us!” shrilled Nick, dancing up and down in his excitement; for in this moment all past animosity was forgotten, because human lives seemed in jeopardy – the lives of those who had gone to school, and played baseball with them, in the days that were past.

“Yes, they’re waving their hands!” declared Herb.

“And now they put about!” George added. “Careful there, Clarence! You nearly keeled over then on your beam ends. That was a narrow squeak! I’d hate to have the poor old Flash meet such a fate, not to speak of her crew.”

“It’s all right now, fellows!” cried Jack. “They’re heading for the inlet. Run over, and be ready to give any help needed. In times like this let’s forget that Clarence and Joe have always been up against us. We’re all Americans now; and we must stick together!”

“Bully talk!” said Josh, hastening after George and Jack, leaving Nick to amble along in the rear.

Clarence knew how to handle his boat with considerable skill; and once he drew close in, he was able to see how the ground lay. Those on shore also directed him as best they could; and the net result was that the Flash finally shot around the point, arriving in the little sheltered bay that a kind nature seemed to have provided for just such emergencies.

As Jack had more than once said, could they but look back hundreds of years, no doubt they would find that it had sheltered fleets of Indian canoes many a time, when the storm king rode the waves of the Great Lake.

When the Flash had been moored safely, her crew came ashore. Joe Brinker was looking a bit sullen, as though he did not much fancy the idea of accepting aid from these fellows, whom he had always looked upon as enemies. But Clarence walked straight up to Jack, holding out his hand.

“I say it’s mighty decent of you, Stormways, to throw us a line this way,” he declared, with considerable feeling. “I admit I was badly rattled, and thought we were in for a wreck. Neither of us glimpsed this opening here, and we’d sure have swept by, if you hadn’t signalled. I’m sorry now I ever – ”

“Let by-gones be forgotten while we’re here, Clarence,” spoke up Jack. “See, the storm is whooping things up out there now, and it’s just as well you’re not on the lake.”

Clarence did look, and shuddered at what he saw; for it was not a pleasant spectacle, with the lightning flashes, and the heaving billows, seen through the flying spray that even reached them by the tents.

“Get busy, fellows!” George called. “Carry everything inside. Yes, take that pan of fish, and the coffee, Nick. I guess our callers are hungry, and will be glad of a bite. Quick now, for here she comes with a rush!”

Hardly had they found shelter, and the flaps of the tents been secured, when down the rain pelted, to the accompaniment of the most tremendous thunder crashes any of them had ever heard; while the fierce wind tried its best to tear the canvas shelters from over their heads.

But the work had been well done, and the tents stood, though wobbling more or less under the fierce onset of the wind.

Clarence and Joe had been taken in with Jack and George, while the other four occupied the second tent. Seated on the ground, the two newcomers proceeded to break their fast, and drink what remained of the coffee.

“Guess you wonder what kept us back so long?” remarked Clarence, after they had finished the meal, and while a little lull came in the tempest without.

Jack and George looked at each other and smiled.

“We might give a good think,” remarked the latter; “seeing that I pushed the nose of my Wireless boat so hard into Mud Lake that it took an hour and more for the other two to pull me off.”

“Huh! that’s where you were lucky, then, George,” continued the other. “We didn’t have any chums to do the pulling act; and so we just had to flounder there for hours and hours. I reckon we must have spent the best part of two days sticking in the mud. Happened that nothing came along but some big steamers; and they wouldn’t stop to help a poor little motor boat off.”

“Well, how did you get away finally?” asked Jack, interested.

“Worked our way out of it by ourselves; and we’re proud to tell it,” Clarence proceeded. “I managed to climb up into a tree that hung over the boat, and threw down branches until we made a mattress that would bear our weight. Then we got out a block and tackle we carried, and fixed it in a way to get a strong pull. I kept the engine working for all she would go, while Joe bent to the tackle; and inch by inch we finally yanked the Flash out of her mud berth.”

“Good for you!” remarked George, with real emphasis. “Looking back, there’s always some satisfaction in remembering how you managed to get out of a bad hole by means of your own wits.”

“All the same, we wished many times we had some chums handy, who would give us a pull,” said Joe, whom the meal and hot coffee had put in a better humor.

All night long the storm raged on the lake. Any vessel that was so unlucky as to be caught out in it was to be pitied, or at least those aboard were. Morning saw its abatement; but the seas were beating wildly against the rock bound north shore and it was sheer folly for any one to dream of putting out while such a condition of affairs lasted.

So they concluded to make a day of it. Clarence for the first time in his life began to realize what fine fellows these motor boat chums really were; and how they stood ready to forget all the trouble that he and his crony had been only too willing to shower upon them in the past.

They talked of dozens of things, some of which were connected with their life in school at home, and others that bore upon the recent series of happenings on the St. Lawrence river.

“Looks like we wouldn’t have any more bother with Clarence after this,” said Josh to Herb, as they watched Jack and the other two doing something at the camp fire that afternoon, just as though the best of friends.

“I hope we won’t,” replied the other; “but you never can be sure of Clarence. He’s tricky; and besides, impulsive. Just now he means to drop all enmity toward us; because we’ve fed him, and treated him white. But wait till something rubs him the other way. That’s the time to see if the thing is more than skin deep.”

During the midst of their conversation George purposely mentioned the name of Jonathan Fosdick.

“What; do you know the old apple grower, too?” demanded Clarence, looking surprised.

Of course Jack told how they had found the old man sick in his stable; and helped him to his house.

“And he told us all about his runaway boy, Andy, too; and how word came he was working in a fishing camp up along this shore,” George went on.

“Yes, we promised that if we ran across the fellow we’d tell him he was wanted at home the worst kind,” Clarence remarked.

“And he was that thankful he just loaded us down with stuff – eggs, butter, and such. Couldn’t do enough for us,” Joe added, grinning at the recollection.

“History repeated itself then, for we promised the same thing,” laughed Jack.

“And he just wouldn’t take a cent in payment for the things we got,” remarked George. “But see here, Clarence, it looks like we’re in for another race between the Flash and the Wireless, to see which can get to the mouth of the Agawa first; for I hear there’s a big fish camp there, run by a man at the Soo, where they take tons and tons of white fish, the trout not being for sale.”

“I guess I get the notion that’s struck you, George; and let me say right here, I still believe the Flash to be the better boat,” Clarence went on, stubbornly.

“Shall we try it out then, tomorrow, when we leave here; in a friendly way of course, I mean?” George asked, eagerly.

“Take him up, Clarry!” said Joe.

“All right then, we’ll call it a go,” declared the other. “Only I wish we had something worth making a run for, a prize of some sort.”

“It will give me some pleasure to be the one to tell Andy Fosdick that he’s wanted bad at home,” George observed.

“Then we’ll call it a go; and this time you’d better look out for yourself, because the Flash has had a knot an hour added to her speed since we raced last. And besides, I didn’t have any heart in that trial of speed, you know. That smuggler was forcing me to run my boat, to get him out of a pickle; and for me to win only meant that my boat would be lost to me. I was really glad to play him a trick in the end, and throw the race.”

Jack and George may have had their own opinions with regard to the truth of the matter; but they knew enough to keep their tongues still. While the dove of peace hovered over the camp, it would be folly to stir these fellows up again.

Overhead the sun shone in a clear sky. Only for those waves the motor boat club could have easily continued on their cruise. But with the waning of the afternoon the seas began to sensibly decline.

“I prophesy a good day tomorrow for our race, George,” Clarence remarked, as, in company with the others he sat by the fire, enjoying a feast that Josh and his assistants, Nick and Jimmie, had prepared for the crowd.

Jack and George were both of the same opinion since all the well known signs seemed to point that way. They sat up until a reasonable hour, chatting and singing; and Clarence realized as never before what a fine thing he and Joe were missing in never having found a chance to join this merry group before.

The night was a peaceful one. At early dawn the camp was astir, for much had to be done ere they might put out on the calm lake.

“Looks like a big mirror; didn’t I tell you that wind had blown itself out?” remarked Clarence, upon casting his first glance beyond the point.

At eight they were all ready to leave the snug harbor that had opened so opportunely for the storm threatened crew of the Flash.

Clarence had charts also, and doubtless studied them eagerly when he had an opportunity to go aboard his boat again. For although this was only a friendly race, he always threw himself into whatever he did with a vim, heart and soul, that made defeat all the more bitter, should it come.

Of course Jack, deep down in his heart, knew full well that this was only a temporary truce in the warfare that had always existed between himself and Clarence. Once away from their society the other would soon drift back to his old way of thinking and acting. But Jack decided that not because of any unfriendly act on the part of himself or chums should these two find cause for again digging up the buried hatchet.

Leaving the cove, the four boats were soon moving along the glassy surface of the calm lake, headed almost due west. Somewhere, many miles away, lay the first goal, the mouth of the Agawa, which was to mark the expiration of the race.

“Ready, both of you?” demanded Jack, as the two rival speed boats ranged alongside the Tramp, one on either quarter.