AT THE FOOT OF RATTLESNAKE MOUNTAIN
"Who?" demanded William, as he caught the low-spoken words of Joe
Clausin.
"Yes, tell us about him, Joe," went on another of the scouts. "I never
saw the man before, and I shouldn't like to meet him on a dark night
either. Ugh!"
But Joe turned suddenly red, and shook his head, trying to pass the
thing off with a laugh.
"Thought I knew the duck, fellers, but I reckon I must have been
mistaken, 'cause you see, the man I took him for is away off at the
other side of the world right now," he said. But Paul's keen eyes saw
that Joe did not believe any such thing.
"Say, boys, Joe's taken to seeing double," jeered William; "the coffee
must have gone to his head. We'll have to remember next time, and make
him a cup of grandmother tea."
Paul had something to think over. In connection with the strange robbery
of the feed-man's place, and the queer actions of Mr. Clausin then and
since, it was little wonder that the young scout leader connected this
new event with the other.
He tried to figure it out, but all seemed a blank. No doubt, if he could
at some time coax Joe to confess who it was he believed this stranger to
be, who was in the vehicle, and who looked back so often as he whipped
his tired horse, the puzzle might not appear quite so dense.
But Joe was apparently in no mood just then for any confession. He
seemed to have set his teeth firmly together, as though determined that
not one of his comrades must learn the slightest thing about his
troubles.
Paul tried to picture the face of the man as he had caught it in that
one rapid glimpse. Had he ever known him? There _did_ seem to be some
little familiar look about his expression; but try as he would he could
not seem to place the other just then.
But Joe knew; Joe was not in a maze of doubt; and the knowledge did not
seem to have given the Clausin boy any great pleasure either; which made
the enigma all the more like a tangle to Paul.
Again the Banner Boy Scouts set forth. After the rest, and a little
attention paid to their aching feet the cripples were able to keep up
with the rest for an hour or so. By degrees they would perhaps become
hardened to this sort of work. When a boy has never done much steady
walking it comes tough for a time. He may be used to playing all day,
but that means a change of action. It is the steady grind, hour after
hour, that tells on his lower extremities, until they get hardened to
the test.
At three they came upon the river, and Paul understood that it would be
more or less of a companion to their march from that time on.
Every fellow greeted it with delight. It seemed like an old friend,
because they had been accustomed to skating on its frozen surface, and
bathing in its pellucid depths, year after year.
"Don't it look good to meet with a familiar friend, though?" cried
Bobolink taking off his hat, and making a most respectful bow in the
direction of the gurgling water.
"Listen, would you?" scoffed William, always ready to get in a sly dig
at his comrade; "to hear him talk you'd think we'd been away from home a
solid month; when it was only yesterday we broke the apron strings, and
sauntered forth, bent on adventure. What will he do when a whole long
week has crawled along. Oh! me, oh! my! I see his finish, poor old
Bobolink!"
But despite his words, even William cast many a fond side look at the
noisy stream that was foaming among the rocks; for was it not heading
toward Stanhope, where the softest of beds lay unused, and all manner of
good things to eat were doubtless going to waste during the absence of
twenty hungry boys?
Wilder still grew the country. Even Paul had had no idea it could be so
rough within twenty miles of home. But as a rule the boys of Stanhope
had confined their tramps and wheeling trips to the other three sides of
the town; since the roads were much better, and the country level; so
that no one knew anything about this region, save through hearsay.
"Oh! look, there it is!" ejaculated A. Cypher, who happened to be in the
lead just as they came out of a woody tract, and turned a bend in the
rough road.
During the last hour Paul had abandoned all idea of holding the scouts
in any sort of regular formation, so that it had become, what William
called, a "free-for-all," with khaki-clad lads stretched out along fifty
yards of space, usually in small squads, and a rear guard to round up
stragglers.
Of course these words from Nuthin caused a great craning of necks. Those
who at the time chanced to be in the rear hastened their steps, eager to
discover what it was attracted so much attention on the part of their
chums.
"Why, it's the mountain!" said Horace Poole, with a trace of wonder in
his voice.
"Sure it is, old Rattlesnake, at home," declared William, promptly.
"Wow! don't it look awful big, fellows?" remarked the awed Tom Betts.
"And d-d-dark as a c-c-cellar!" remarked Bluff, solemnly.
Paul looked with considerable interest at the great pile of rock and
brush that loomed up so close at hand.
Many a time during the past two years he had planned to make a run up
here, with the idea of seeing for himself if all the strange stories he
had heard about grim old Rattlesnake Mountain could be true. They had
always been broken up, either through his intended companion backing
down, or else some family flitting that took one of the boys away from
Stanhope during the holidays.
But now the long anticipated day had come at last. He was looking up at
the big mountain, only a short distance away; and while the scouts could
hardly expect to climb its rocky side that day, possibly camp might be
made at the base.
Even the cripples seemed to mend under the promise of reaching the foot
of the mountain that afternoon. They walked briskly for half an hour at
least, and then fell back into the same old limp, though proving game
for the finish.
"No signs of wheels around here, are there, Paul?" asked Jack, as he
sought the side of his chum at the head of the straggling procession.
"Now that's queer, but d'ye know I was just thinking about that same
thing," the scout leader remarked. "To tell you the truth I was
examining the ground as I went along. Perhaps you noticed me, and that's
why you spoke?"
"Yes, that gave me an idea," admitted Jack, readily enough. "I wondered
whether those fellows could have gone past us last night while we were
in camp, and are even now perched somewhere on the mountain, watching us
crawl along down here."
"Well, that's just what they've done. See here, you can notice the marks
of the bicycle tires in the road. Little travel away up here, and along
the side where it's smoothest they've gone single file, following the
motorcycle of Ward, I guess."
"Why didn't we see that before, then?" demanded Jack, frowning as he
eyed the tell-tale marks.
"I have looked a number of times," Paul went on; "but couldn't see
anything. So you can understand it gave me something of a shock just now
to discover the tracks."
"Have you reasoned it out?" asked his chum; knowing full well that Paul
would never allow such a problem to remain unsolved long.
"There's only one explanation Jack, that I can see. Perhaps you
remember noticing a little side road that joined with this one about a
quarter of a mile back?"
"Of course, I remember it. Then you think----"
"They must have come out of that road ahead of us," Paul went on.
"That's the way they got in their licks. Somebody knew about how it
turned around, and joined on to the main stem again. What do you say,
Jack?"
"Why, of course. And now I remember hearing Scissors boast that he had
the only map ever made of the Rattlesnake Mountain country--a logger
charted it one winter, hoping to get his governor interested in some
timber cutting scheme he had in mind, which fell through though."
"That settles it. They're on the ground first; but what do we care about
that, if they only leave us alone?" Paul remarked, seriously.
"There's a call for you, Paul, from some of the fellows in the rear,"
observed Jack, just then. "I think they want to snap off a view of old
Rattlesnake, with the troop stretched out along the road here. The sun
is dropping lower all the while, and if we're going to get a picture
we'll all want to keep, it ought to be right now."
"A good idea, and I'll do everything I can to help out," laughed the
leader.
The command was ordered to fall in, so as to present an orderly
appearance in the picture that was to be taken from the rear.
"We don't want to look like a bunch of hoboes trailing along," declared
Jud.
"And every fellow quit limping, or you'll just spoil the whole
business," pleaded the one who was delegated to use the camera, he being
the best expert the troop boasted in this line, and winner in the
competition of the preceding Autumn.
The picture taken, they once more broke ranks, and pushed forward.
At five o'clock they found themselves at what seemed to be the base of
the high and forbidding mountain over which the road wound.
"Oh! please say Alabama, here we rest!" called one of the limping
pilgrims.
Paul had been closely observing the ground, and as if in reply he made a
gesture that Bobolink readily understood. Immediately the bugle sounded,
and a cheer broke forth, since every member of the troop felt more or
less jaded with the long day's walk, and ready to call it off.
Immediately a scene of bustle ensued. The wagon was emptied of its load,
and tents confiscated by the various patrols. Good-natured disputes and
chaffing accompanied each tent raising; but the boys had by this time
become more or less accustomed to the various duties connected with
making camp, as well as breaking up, and so in what seemed a very short
time all the canvas was in place.
After that fireplaces were scooped out, just as on the previous
afternoon; only now they called it an old story. Every boy was learning
things he had never known by actual experience before. Reading of such
woodcraft in books is very good, but it does not compare with the
personal trial. Once these things are actually _done_ by an observant
lad, and he will never in all his life forget the lesson.
Long before dusk began to set in, the supper was under way; and hungry
fellows walked to and fro trying to stand the intense agony of waiting
for the summons.