THE LAST CAMP FIRE ON CATAMOUNT ISLAND.
"Hello! In camp, there, ahoy! Show a head!"
That was the way Max shouted, as he broke into the circle of light cast
by the camp fire, none too good just then, on account of lack of
attention.
Instantly several heads appeared in view, two at each tent flap, to be
exact.
"It's Max, all right!" shouted Steve.
"And, say, what's this he's gone and brought back with him, fellers?"
cried Bandy-legs, staring in surprise at the two men, with their gray
uniforms and brass buttons of authority.
The four boys now came creeping forth. And when he saw that all of them
were fully dressed, Max knew that sleep could hardly have visited the
camp during his long absence.
"These are my chums, gentlemen," remarked Max, as he bent a smiling face
on the staring quartette. "The one on the right is my cousin, Owen
Hastings; next to him comes Toby Jucklin; then this boy is Bandy-legs
Griffin, who is much better than he looks; and the last of all is Steve
Dowdy, or 'Touch-and-go Steve' we call him. And this gentleman is Mr.
Lawrence, while his assistant is Jenkins."
"From the penitentiary, of course; I can see the uniform?" remarked
Steve.
"Wrong again, old fellow," laughed Max. "They happen to be wardens from
the State Asylum for the Insane!"
"What?" gasped Steve. "Ain't they looking for a desperate escaped jail
bird?"
"Not at all, but an escaped lunatic; a man who got away some months
back, and has kept hidden ever since here on this island, while they've
been searching all over for him. And, fellows, you'll be surprised as
much as I was when you hear who the poor chap really is we've been
feeding with our ham and other grub. Steve, remember what you heard your
father say about the man who once started to make his home on Catamount
Island; but the flood came and upset his plans?"
"Say, do you mean Wesley Coombs?" demanded Steve, quickly.
"Yes," replied Max. "Well, you got things a little mixed there. He lost
his wife and baby in the freshet, but he was saved, though his mind was
always a blank; and all these years the poor fellow has been shut up in
the lunatic asylum. He managed to escape a while ago, and seems to have
been drawn back here to the place where he was last happy. And now
they've come after him to take him back, for he'd he frozen to death, or
starve, if left loose here winter times."
"But can they get him, d'ye think?" asked Steve.
"Oh, that's dead easy for them," returned the other, trying to keep from
displaying anything like pride in his voice or manner. "You see I've got
him shut up in the old cabin right now. We only came down here to get
you fellows, and then these gentlemen want to hike back there to make
the capture."
"Whoop! It takes Max to do big things!" shouted Steve.
"He never bites off more'n he can chaw!" asserted Bandy-legs, appearing
to be supremely happy over the improved prospect of things.
"I'm rather inclined to agree with you, boys," remarked the head warden.
"Max has certainly done himself proud on this special occasion; and
we're placed under a heavy debt of gratitude to him. But if you're
ready, boys, we might as well make a start. The sooner we have our man
in custody, the easier we'll feel. He's given us such a long chase that
it'll be good to know we can bring him back to his old quarters, where
he seemed fully contented until the chance came to skip. None of 'em can
ever let that pass by, no matter how satisfied they are. It's a part of
the disease, the doctors tell us."
So they started forth, taking both lanterns with them so that they might
have plenty of light along the way. Not one of the boys felt the
slightest alarm about leaving the camp unprotected now; especially after
Max had described how he gave Ted Shafter and his cronies such a good
scare.
"We saw the flash, Max," remarked Owen, "just when we were thinking of
getting under cover, like you suggested. And we heard the yells, too.
All of us thought we recognized the voice of Ted, and we had a pretty
good guess coming that you'd given 'em something to remember."
"Say," remarked Steve, laughingly, "when they went shooting past the
lower end of the island as fast as they could row, they were chattering
like a lot of old crows. We kept as mum as oysters, and let the lot go.
It was a good riddance of bad rubbish anyhow, and we didn't want to hold
'em back for one minute."
The return journey was easily accomplished, with Max to lead the way,
swinging one of the lighted lanterns in his hand.
As they left the shore and headed in toward the place where the old
cabin stood, all of them were listening to ascertain whether the inmate
were beating against the fast door, and perhaps shrieking as only a
madman might.
But all seemed very quiet.
"Chances are he's digging a tunnel under the wall, like you said he
might, Max," suggested Steve.
"Well, he's in there safe and sound, anyhow," replied Max, in a
satisfied tone.
After reaching the cabin the head warden went up to the door, and, with
the help of the others, threw both logs down.
"Hello, in there, Wesley Coombs, this is Warden Lawrence, come to take
you back to your comfortable quarters at the palace."
With that he threw open the door, and lantern in hand stalked in. The
wild man was sitting there on the hard earthen floor, and engaged in
calmly eating. He merely glanced up as they entered, and paid no further
attention to them, which rather pleased Max, for he had feared a
terrible struggle, and secretly deep down in his heart felt a great pity
for poor old Wesley Coombs.
The crazy man seemed to recognize the badge of authority in the uniforms
of the two wardens, for he obeyed their slightest orders without the
least hesitation. But Max was pleased to see that there did not seem to
be cringing fear in connection with this obedience, such as would rather
indicate that he might have been badly used at times in the past by men
wearing these same uniforms.
They all went back to the camp; and since sleep seemed next to
impossible, after such exciting times, they just sat around talking. The
two wardens proved very pleasant fellows indeed; and declared that the
cup of coffee which was brewed for them was nectar, "ambrosia," Mr.
Lawrence called it.
When morning came the wardens took their prisoner away. Poor Wesley
Coombs seemed to cast one last pitiful glance back at the island ere he
passed from the sight of the youthful campers. No doubt he was safely
returned to the asylum; for some time later Max received a very
courteous letter from the superintendent in charge of the institution,
thanking him and his friends very warmly for the aid they had given the
wardens in effecting the recapture of the escaped lunatic, But it would
always give Max a queer little feeling of pain deep down in the region
of his heart every time he thought of the wild man of Catamount Island,
and what a sad memory of the dim past it had been that drew him back
there after so many years of blankness had ensued.
Now the balance of their stay on the island partook more of the nature
of a picnic than anything else. With the passing of the supposed "ghost"
of the strange cabin, there no longer remained anything to disturb their
peace of mind. Ted Shafter and his crowd would certainly give the place
a wide berth from that time out; and with reasonable precaution the boys
need not fear contact with any wild-cat or poisonous snake while staying
there.
On the last morning of their camping experience, while they were
beginning to dismantle the tents, and prepare for loading the canoes,
quite a flotilla hove in sight down the river, there being three boats,
each rowed by a couple of weary boys.
It turned out to be Herb Benson and some of his friends, who had started
from Carson very early in the morning, and had just been able to make
the island before noon. Of course it was mostly curiosity to see whether
Max and his chums had really spent the whole week on the island that had
brought them up.
But enough provisions remained to give the entire crowd a dinner; and
feeling refreshed after this, they were ready to start back with the
current, a much easier task than butting against it.
Sitting there, and enjoying the hospitality of the five campers, Herb
and his friends listened to an account of the many things that had
happened. And how their eyes did distend with wonder and interest when
they heard all about the wild man of the strange cabin of the island,
whose sudden appearance at the time the others occupied that shack had
driven them away in mad haste.
They frankly admitted that Max and the rest possessed more grit than
they had given them credit for, and that the little wager had been
decided in their favor. After all, our five boys had enjoyed the outing
more than words could tell; and were then, one and all declared, ready
to repeat the experience at the earliest possible opportunity.
That time was closer at hand than any of them suspected when speaking of
their desire to again get together under cover of the tents.
They made the return trip in pretty fast time, the canoes gliding along
as if drawn by unseen hands, as the paddles flashed in the light of the
westering sun. It had been a week of many surprises, and not a few
thrills, that would haunt them for a long time to come. And among all
the other things for which they believed they had reason to be thankful,
that little episode in connection with the Shafter crowd stood out
prominently. No doubt, in time, the fellows would learn what it was that
had given them such a grand scare; and they would also try to make out
that they guessed it all along, and had only fled because their presence
had become known; but Max would only smile if he heard that. He would
never forget the cries of genuine alarm that had gone up from that boat,
when the awful glare suddenly burst out from the bushes of the haunted
island.
Of course, one of the first things done after reaching town was to hand
the cedar canoe over to the local boat builder, and have him put a new
garboard streak in the bottom, to take the place of the defective one,
which had been bored through and then artfully plugged, in such a way
that it would not be noticed, yet must work loose at some time perhaps
when far up the river, as we know it did.
They never really found out just who was guilty of such a mean act; but
felt positive that it could originate in no other brain but that of Ted
Shafter, even if actually committed by his shadow, Shack Beggs.
The boathouse was soon improved, and made so strong that the boys felt
they could defy such conspirators; for they hardly believed Ted was
ready to set fire to a building, and take the chances of being sent away
to a reform school, in order to get square with some of those boys he
hated bitterly.
That his enmity would endure, and give Max and his chums further cause
for anxiety, all those who knew the stubborn nature of the Carson bully
felt convinced.
What befell the five chums on another outing trip which soon followed
the camp on Catamount Island, with many thrilling adventures, and a
mystery in the bargain, will be found recorded in the pages of the next
story in the "Camp Fire and Trail Series," entitled "Lost in the Great
Dismal Swamp."
THE END.