CHAPTER I

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The Boy Scouts in a Trapper's Camp

By Thornton W. Burgess

Author of "The Boy Scouts of Woodcraft Camp", "The Boy Scouts on Swift

River", "The Boy Scouts on Lost Trail"

Illustrated by F. A. Anderson

The Penn Publishing

Company Philadelphia

COPYRIGHT

1915

BY THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY

To

W. H. T.,

A lover of the open, and his three boys,

this book is affectionately dedicated

[Illustration: HE SAW SOMETHING MOVE]

Introduction

To those who have read the preceding volumes in this series, "The Boy

Scouts of Woodcraft Camp," "The Boy Scouts on Swift River," and "The Boy

Scouts on Lost Trail," some of the characters in the present volume will

be familiar. To me they are old friends in whose struggles and

adventures I have taken the keenest personal interest.

In this, the fourth and concluding volume, I have endeavored to portray

in some small measure the life of the trapper who in solitude and

loneliness pits his skill against the cunning of the fur-bearers, and

his courage and fortitude against the forces of Nature in her harshest

and most relentless mood; to bring to my young readers a sense of the

mystery of the great life eternal that broods over the wilderness to an

even greater degree when its waters are fettered in ice, and its waste

places wrapped in snow than when it rejoices in its summer verdure; to

show that the standards a man or a boy sets for himself are as binding

upon him in remote places where none may see as in the midst of his

fellow men; and lastly to demonstrate what a powerful factor in the

development of character and true manhood are the oath and law of the

Boy Scouts of America when subscribed to in sincerity and

conscientiously observed.

Man or boy is never so true to himself as when in intimate contact with

nature. Adventures such as herein described may not fall to your lot,

oh, boy reader, but be assured that whenever you heed the call of the

Red Gods and hit the long trail you will find adventure of a degree

awaiting you, and you will return stronger physically and mentally for

having come in closer contact with the elemental forces which we term

nature.

THE AUTHOR.

Contents

I. AN INTERRUPTED DREAM

II. PAT SEES WHITE MAGIC

III. THE BLUE TORTOISE PATROL

IV. "HELP!"

V. OFF FOR WOODCRAFT

VI. SNOW-SHOES AND FISH

VII. ON THE TRAIL

VIII. ALEC HINTS AT DARK THINGS

IX. SNOWBOUND

X. LIFE ON THE FUR TRAILS

XI. CHRISTMAS IN SMUGGLERS' HOLLOW

XII. A DEER YARD

XIII. POACHERS

XIV. THE SILVER FOX

XV. SPARRER'S TEMPTATION

XVI. THE CONFERENCE

XVII. THE CAMP OF THE POACHERS

XVIII. SMOKING OUT THE INDIAN

XIX. SPARRER SAVES THE SKIN

XX. THE BLACK FOX IS SOLD

ILLUSTRATIONS

HE SAW SOMETHING MOVE

HE JOTTED DOWN THE NUMBER

ONCE MORE THEY BUCKLED DOWN TO THE TASK

NOT TEN FEET AWAY WAS A BIG BUCK

FOR A FEW SECONDS HE STOOD MOTIONLESS

The Boy Scouts in a Trapper's Camp

CHAPTER I

AN INTERRUPTED DREAM

Walter Upton pushed aside books and papers, yawned, stretched, yawned

again, then settled back in his chair comfortably, his hands clasped

behind his head.

"I'm glad that vacation is only one week off," he murmured. "School is

all right, and I know I'm going to be mighty sorry when school-days end

for good. Just the same, this infernal grind to get a scholarship does

get a fellow's goat sometimes. If I don't win it I don't see how I can

go to college next year unless I can find some way to earn the money.

Poor old Dad! That slump in stocks pretty nearly bowled him over. Lucky

I thought of this scholarship when he tried to tell me that unless

business picked up he couldn't send me to college next year. It sure

did me good to see the shine in his eyes when I told him about this and

that I was going to win it. He's a great old scout, and I'm going to get

it now if for nothing more than to see that shine in his eyes again. My,

but it's a tough old grind! Wonder how it would seem to go to a prep

school like Hal Harrison and not have to think about money and where it

is going to come from. I guess scholarships don't bother Hal any. Wonder

if he is coming home for the Christmas winter vacation."

Idly Walter allowed his eyes to wander over the walls of his den. It was

a snug little room, simply furnished with a spring cot, which was a bed

by night and a couch by day, a desk, a deep-cushioned Morris chair, a

revolving desk chair, a foot-rest and two well filled bookcases. The

walls were covered with photographs. Nearly all of them were of outdoor

scenes, most of them of his own taking, for he was an expert with the

camera. A number were enlargements neatly framed. Among these was the

famous flashlight made during his first summer at Woodcraft Camp which

had furnished the evidence to put Red Pete, the outlaw and poacher,

behind the bars. There, too, were the splendid portraits (they were

nothing less) of the bull moose of Swift River, a lasting tribute to the

nerve of Plympton, the tenderfoot comrade of that memorable cruise.

There were studies of deer and other wild animals, views of Woodcraft

Camp, of scenes along Swift River, and of the various camps and points

of interest on Lost Trail, the relocating of which by Walter and his

four fellow Scouts of the Lone Wolf Patrol had won for them the

distinction of a special letter of commendation from national

headquarters of the Boy Scouts of America.

Above the door hung a hard-used set of boxing gloves. Crossed above one

window were a pair of snow-shoes, while above the other window were a

pair of fencing foils. In one corner, each in its case, were two

fishing-rods, a rifle and a tennis racquet. In the opposite corner

leaned a Scout staff and a couple of canoe paddles. A great horned owl

stared unblinkingly down from the top of one of the plain oak bookcases.

On the wall just back and above it was fastened a small banner having

the head of a wolf worked in black against a white background, and

bearing the one word "Persistence." It was the Lone Wolf banner which

had been carried on that never-to-be-forgotten search for Lost Trail. By

unanimous vote of the patrol, it had been presented to Upton at the

conclusion of the trip in recognition of successful leadership.

Several small silver cups on the bookcases and half a dozen medals

pinned to a little square of black velvet on one wall attested to

well-won victories in various lines of sport. The books on the shelves

were what one might expect in such surroundings, well selected stories

of adventure and exploration, treatises on hunting, fishing and outdoor

sports, a very complete nature library, handbooks on woodcraft, camping,

first aid, forestry and surveying, a well-thumbed Scout manual and other

books which attested to the owner's love of the great outdoor world. But

these were not all. A whole shelf was devoted to history, and another to

selections from standard American and English authors, including several

of our best loved poets.

Altogether, it was a room such as a keen, red-blooded, broad-minded boy

might well delight in. Upton did delight in it. Everything in it held

some special significance or sentiment for him, and now as his eyes idly

roved from one object to another one memory after another was stirred

within him. At last his eyes rested on the snow-shoes and remained

there.

"Wonder if I'll get a chance to use those things this winter," he

muttered. "Little old New York doesn't know much about that kind of

foot-gear. I suppose Pat has worn out two or three pairs since he gave

me those, and here I haven't had 'em on but once in three years, and

then there was hardly snow enough for an excuse. I guess I'd be some

tenderfoot all right, all right, on those things up in the woods. Good

old Pat! Wonder what he's doing. It's a long time since I've heard from

him. Well, I ought not to kick over a little extra grind! He's trying to

get an education and support himself and help his folks at the same

time. Wish he could come down here for the vacation. What fun it would

be to show him around and listen to his remarks on the big city. It

would be almost as much fun as going into the big woods in the winter.

Fact is, I envy him right now, and I'll bet he doesn't envy me a penny's

worth."

Swiftly his thoughts reverted to his first meeting with Pat Malone,

chore boy and bully of a sawmill village in the North Woods, and of the

thrashing he had given the young woodsman in spite of the latter's

advantage in weight and strength.

"It was all in the know how. Imagine me trying to do it now," he

chuckled. "Why, Pat could take me across his knee just as he did the

youngster who mistook him for a deer and put a bullet through his hat

last fall. I've never seen anybody take to an idea as Pat did to

scouting. He just soaked it up. It was the principle of the thing that

got him right from the start, and not just the fun that goes with it.

And just see what it's done for him! I don't know of any one it's done

so much for, unless----"

Almost unconsciously Walter turned to stare through the gathering dusk

at a photograph on the nearer of the two bookcases. A pair of frank

eyes, kindly but keen, looked down at him from a face good to see, the

face of a boy of about his own age. It was a handsome face and the

beauty lay, not in regularity of features, but in the strength of

character and purpose written in every line. It was the face of Hal

Harrison, son of a multi-millionaire, and comrade and fellow Scout in

the fun and adventures of the last three summers. It was the sudden

remembrance of Hal that had caused the abrupt break in the trend of his

thought. Not even for the poor, rough, tough young bully of the woods

had scouting done more than it had for this other lad, brought up in the

lap of luxury, his every whim gratified, toadied to, petted, spoiled.

From opposite extremes of the social strata it had brought these two

together on the common ground of true brotherhood--the brotherhood of

democracy. It had discovered to the young savage, for Pat was little

more than that, his own manhood. It had stripped from Hal, the cad, the

veneer of false social rank based on wealth and found there also a man.

And now these two--the one whom he had fought and the one whom he had

despised--Upton regarded not only as comrades and brother Scouts, but

almost as chums.

Some such thoughts as these were floating through his mind as he sat

there in the soft dusk of winter twilight. It was just the hour for

dreaming the dreams which every boy loves to dream, half thought, half

idle fancy. He tried to picture what the future might hold for himself

and for these two comrades. Hal would be a captain of industry. It could

hardly be otherwise. He would inherit vast wealth. He would in time take

charge of the great enterprises which his father had built up. Would he

apply to their management the principles of which as a Scout he was now

so earnest a champion? Pat dared to dream of some day becoming a

naturalist. Would he succeed? Remembering what Pat had been and what he

now was Walter somehow felt that he would. As for himself he could not

see his own career with a like clearness. He would like--

Ting-aling-ling! It was the telephone in the hall. With a start Walter

came back to earth and the present. He went to answer the call. Picking

up the receiver he called, "Hello." For a moment there was no response,

but he caught a sound as of voices and something that sounded like a

laugh. Then over the wire came a rich brogue that caused Walter to

nearly drop the 'phone.

"Hello, Misther Leader. I have to reporrt the discovery av the city av

Noo Yor-r-k and the losing av mesilf entoirely."

"Pat! You big red headed son of Erin! Are you really in New York? When

did you get in? Where are you? Are you----"

"Aisy, aisy now. Have ye not learned thot ye can make but wan bull's-eye

at a shot? Shure I be in Noo Yor-r-k, an' 'tis proud the city ought to

be av the honor I be doin' ut."

"Quit your kidding, Pat, and tell me where you are and when you came and

all about it," interrupted Walter.

"Shure, wasn't I afther telling ye thot I be in Noo Yor-r-k?" protested

Pat in a grieved tone. "'Tis at the illigant home av an illigant

gintleman thot I be, but begorra I forgot entoirely to blaze the trail

and I don't know how I got here at all, at all."

There was a sound of a scuffle and a smothered laugh, then another voice

broke in:

"Hello, old Scout!"

There was no mistaking that voice, and Upton grinned more broadly than

before as he replied:

"Hello, Hal. It sure does me good to hear your voice. I might have known

whose illigant home Pat is honoring. Where did you find him, and why

didn't you tell me? Didn't expect you home until the end of next week.

Funny thing, but I was thinking of you two fellows when the 'phone rang.

Same old Pat, isn't he? Gee, but it's good to hear the voices of you two

fellows! Now when do I see you and where?"

"Right after dinner. We'll drive around and pick you up and then give

Pat a glimpse of the Great White Way," replied Hal, answering the last

questions first. "I've had this all planned for a month by way of a

surprise. I have a week more vacation than you do, and I got in just in

time to meet Pat's train. Had hard work to persuade him to come, but I

got him at last. Say, got any plans made for your vacation?"

"Nary a plan. Been waiting to hear from you," replied Walter.

"Good! I've got the greatest little stunt you ever heard of to tell you

about to-night. Pat suggested it, and I had to promise to try to put it

through before he would agree to come down here. We've got to go clean

up for dinner now, but we'll be around about eight o'clock. So long

until then."

"So long," replied Walter, and hanging up the receiver he whooped

joyously and proceeded to execute a war dance that ended with a crash as

a rug slipped under his feet and he came down in a heap. It happened

that at that very instant his father, just home from the office, opened

the hall door briskly and a second later landed on Walter with a force

that brought a grunt from each. He had tripped over one of the boy's

sprawling legs. As quickly as he could disentangle himself Walter

scrambled to his feet. Concern was written in every line of his face as

he extended a helping hand to Mr. Upton.

"Oh, Dad, are you hurt?" he cried anxiously.

Mr. Upton's eyes twinkled good-humoredly as he replied: "Only in my

dignity. But tell me, son, why all this hilarity that led to the utter

downfall of the house of Upton? I heard you break loose, and was

hurrying to share in it."

"It's a shame," declared Walter contritely as he brushed off his

father's coat. "I ought to know better than to be acting like a wild

Indian in the house. Fact is, I had just got some mighty good news over

the 'phone. Guess what."

"Hal is coming home for the vacation," hazarded Mr. Upton promptly, for

these two, father and son, were chums, and he knew just how eagerly

Walter had hoped for Hal's homecoming.

"Right and wrong, both!" whooped Walter. "You're a good little guesser,

Dad, but you didn't guess enough this time. He's home already, and Pat's

with him!"

"Pat! Pat who?" A puzzled frown wrinkled Mr. Upton's forehead.

"Pat Malone, of course! As if there was more than one Pat! They got in

half an hour ago, and they're coming around here after dinner to get

me."

Mr. Upton's face lighted with a smile of pleasure. "That's splendid," he

declared. "It's news worth getting upset for. How ever did Hal lure

that young giant out of his beloved woods?"

"I don't know," replied Walter. "All I know is that he is here, and the

rest we'll find out when they get here. Hope he's going to stay through

vacation. It'll be no end of fun showing Pat around. Wish you could be

with us."

"I wish I could," replied Mr. Upton, smiling. "Suppose we eat dinner now

so that you will be ready for them when they arrive."

Promptly at eight o'clock a big touring car drew up in front of the

house, and Walter was down the steps before the two figures in the

tonneau could disentangle themselves from the robes. Three voices

mingled in a joyous shout, there was a swift clasping of hands in the

Scout grip, and then the three boys started up the steps to the open

door, where Mr. Upton stood waiting with outstretched hand.

"Welcome to our city, Pat!" he cried heartily.

"Thank you, sir. If everybody receives such a welcome as I have had it

is no wonder that we cannot keep people in the woods."

Walter actually gaped open mouthed at Pat. There was not a trace of

accent. Pat caught the look and his blue eyes twinkled. Suddenly he

whirled and hit Upton a resounding whack between the shoulders with his

open palm. "Did I not tell ye thot whin I got the leaves out av me hair

and the Irish out av me shpach I would come? And here I be. Tell me now,

do ye want to foight? 'Twas the reception I was afther giving ye whin ye

first came to the woods, and 'tis no more than roight thot ye should

trate me the same whin I land in Noo Yor-r-k."

Walter ran a calculating eye over the brawny young woodsman, six feet in

his stockings and broad in proportion, and backed away. "I waive the

privilege--out of politeness," said he with a low bow.

"'Tis loike Noo Yor-r-k to be gentle with the helpless. Shure 'tis a

foine settlemint and foine people in ut," retorted Pat.

"I am interested to learn how Hal induced you to come here, Pat," said

Mr. Upton as he ushered them into the library.

Hal chuckled. "I trapped him," said he. "I set a trap and baited it and

he walked right into it. Don't you think I'm some little trapper?"

"You certainly are," declared Mr. Upton, while Pat grinned. "Let's hear

all about it."

"Well, first I made sure that I could get passes from Dad. You know he

controls the railroad to Upper Chain. Dad was tickled to death with the

idea. Even offered to send up his private car. You know he's a great

admirer of Pat. Then for a bait I arranged through a friend to get an

introduction for Pat to some of the head people out at Bronx Park and at

the American Museum of Natural History. I knew that he just couldn't

pass that chance up, but to make sure I wrote to Doctor Merriam at

Woodcraft Camp, and of course he joined the conspiracy right away. For a

clincher I promised Pat that Walt and I would spend Walt's vacation with

him up in the woods."

Walter came out of his chair with a bound. "What's that?" he cried. "Say

it again!"

"I said that to get Pat down here I promised him that we--you and

I--would spend a week in the woods with him this winter. Is that

perfectly clear?" Hal spoke slowly and with emphasis.

"It sounds clear, but it isn't," replied Walter, glancing at his father

with a rueful smile. He was thinking of the expense and that as things

then were he could not afford the trip.

Hal intercepted the glance and understood. "Oh, yes, it is," said he.

"It is perfectly clear. We leave here next week Friday night and you and

Pat are my guests until we reach Upper Chain the next morning. Then the

three of us become the guests of Doctor Merriam at Woodcraft Camp for a

day or two, and after that you and I will be the guests of--guess who?"

Walter shook his head. He was a trifle dazed by the way in which Hal

took everything for granted.

"Pat and his partner!" cried Hal, while Pat grinned broadly. "Pat's

trapping this winter instead of lumbering, and we're going to spend a

week in a real trapper's camp, and snow-shoe and have no end of fun.

Won't it be great? Walt may go, mayn't he, Mr. Upton?"

Mr. Upton laughed aloud. "I wouldn't dare say no in the face of such

completely organized plans," he confessed. "Of course he may go. It's a

splendid idea, and I suspect that when he comes back for the next term

of the school year he will be feeling so fine that nothing can stop him

from winning that scholarship he has set his heart on, and has been

working so hard for."

"Then it's all settled!" cried Hal. "Pat is going to stay and go back

with us, and while he is here it is up to us to show him what New York

is like. We'll begin by showing him the Great White Way to-night. Get

your coat and hat, Walt. The car is waiting. Won't you go with us, Mr.

Upton?"

"Not this time, thank you, Hal," replied Mr. Upton. "I have an

engagement for this evening, though I would much rather join you

youngsters than keep it. I feel that I am to lose something really worth

while--a rare pleasure."

"And the loss is equally ours, sir," said Pat as they rose to don their

coats.

Once more Walter eyed Pat quizzically. It was clear that the young

Irishman had been pursuing his studies under Doctor Merriam to good

advantage. Without the rich brogue it was a new and wholly different

Pat. But he forbore to make any comment, and in a few minutes they were

off to show Pat one of the most wonderful scenes in the world, New

York's famous Broadway by night.