PAUL LAYS DOWN HIS BURDEN
"There! I just caught a squint of him, back of the trees!" whooped
William.
"And he's coming lickety-split, to beat the band, too. Oh! I hope it
isn't a messenger from Stanhope to bring us any bad news!" cried Tom
Betts; who had left a sick mother when he came on the trip, and whose
conscience, perhaps, caused him to have a sudden fear.
More than one pair of cheeks lost some of their color, in that quick
spasm of alarm, following this suggestion on the part of Tom.
"Listen, fellows; he's tooting his auto horn like fun! It gives me a
scare for keeps!" ejaculated Philip Towne.
But Paul laughed aloud.
"Don't get frightened, fellows," he exclaimed, "I sure ought to know the
sound of that old siren. That's my wheel; and who do you think's on it
but our good scoutmaster, Mr. Gordon!"
"Hurrah!" came from a dozen pairs of lips, as the boys swung their hats
aloft.
And this was the exciting picture that met the eyes of the scoutmaster
when he burst into view around a bend, and sighted the camp on the lake
shore.
Mr. Gordon was a very bright young fellow, with considerable experience
in training boys. He had a fair grasp of the grand possibilities of this
Boy Scouts' movement, and never lost an opportunity to pick up
additional information. Nor did he disdain to ask some of his scouts
concerning matters they had studied, but along which lines he did not
happen to be well informed.
There was a grand "pow-wow," as William called it, after he came. He had
to hear all that had happened since his leaving Stanhope on that
unfortunate business trip. The adventures at the church on both nights
were recounted by those who had taken part; and it was plain that the
story lost none of its comical features in the telling.
After that he heard about the grand march, the meeting with the circus,
and what the scouts had done to clear up their record for the day. Then
came the various things that had occurred; until at last the dismal
truth about the missing ham made Mr. Gordon laugh heartily.
"How did you manage with the Indian sign letters I left with you, sir?"
Paul asked, when he found a chance.
"Pretty well," replied the scoutmaster; "though once or twice your
meaning was not quite clear. I had to use a lot of commonsense to
understand whether a boy was pulled from the river, and brought around
all right; or if a poor fellow had been taken with the colic, and you
used a stomach pump on him. But then, as I said, my good sense told me
the former must have been the case. Who was it, and is he all right
again?"
"I'm the victim," declared Tom Betts, promptly; "and I guess the whole
show would have been broke up if Paul here hadn't yanked me out like he
did."
Mr. Gordon turned a look of sincere affection on Paul. He had studied
the boy often, and always found something new to admire about him.
Still, he knew it was not always wise to praise a lad to his face; and
so he only squeezed Paul's hand.
Paul was a happy fellow just then. It seemed to him that the load of
responsibility had slipped from his shoulders like magic with the coming
of Mr. Gordon. Now they could undertake all manner of interesting
stunts; and each day would be taken up with dozens of events in which
they wished to shine.
Presently the fishermen made their appearance. A shout went up at sight
of the glorious strings of fine trout they carried. Although they had
heard the cheers of their mates, and understood that Mr. Gordon must
have arrived, really they did not have the heart to break away, while
the fish were feeding so savagely.
"Welcome the coming, speed the parting guest!" cried Bobolink; "good-bye
ham, and how d'ye do Mr. Trout. I really don't know which I like best.
When I'm eating trout my thoughts go out to ham; and when I'm sitting
down to a rasher of bacon I do long so for a mess of trout. But they're
all to the good, fellows. Do it some more, will you?"
And when William and the other cooks served the fish at noon the boys
were loud in their praises. Some had suggestions to offer about the ways
of cooking them; but it was noticed that half the inmates of the camp
busied themselves immediately after lunch in hunting fishing tackle; and
the prospect for peace among the finny tribes in that lake was small.
There was no little rivalry between the trio of cooks. Usually this took
the form of good-natured chaffing, and trying new dishes, in order to
arouse the envy of other patrols.
Bobolink always hung around to hear these discussions; but William made
a great mistake when, thinking to bolster up his cause at one time, he
demanded to know what the member of the Red Fox Patrol thought about it.
"Huh!" grunted the wise Bobolink, "I'll tell you, if you promise not to
hold it against me, and give me the poorest grub in the bunch for
spite."
"All right, go on," said William slowly, as though he already began to
doubt the wisdom of asking his comrade's opinion; "I don't know as you
c'n settle this important question at all; but I promise not to hold
anything against you. Give us a straight yarn, now, Bobolink, hear!"
"Well," said Bobolink, with a grin, "when I hear you learned cooks
disputing about how to do this, and that, I just have to think about the
blind men and the elephant, you see."
"What about 'em?" demanded Nat Smith, who belonged to the third patrol,
and had carried his mother's big cook book along into camp, thinking to
surprise his rivals by the vast extent of his knowledge concerning
cookery terms.
"Oh! shucks, d'ye mean to say you never heard that story?" said
Bobolink. "Well, a lot of blind men in the Far East disputed about what
an elephant looked like, though nary one had ever seen the critter. So
they went, one at a time, to find out. Now what d'ye think happened?"
"How under the sun do we know? Get along with the yarn!" exclaimed
William.
"Each feller came back with a different story," went on Bobolink
gravely; "the one that grabbed the tail of the elephant vowed the
wonderful animal was mighty like a rope. Another says a snake, because,
you see, he got hold of the swinging trunk. A third vows the elephant
was like a wall, just because he slammed up against his side. And a
fourth hugged his leg, and was ready to take his affidavy the famous
beast was made just like a tree! Get the idea, boys?"
Apparently they did, for a minute later Bobolink was seen flying for his
life through the woods, with three mad cooks in full pursuit, shaking
their fists after him, and threatening all sorts of vengeance.
Paul and Mr. Gordon concluded to push out from shore on the big raft,
and try the fishing in that style. Fortunately there was little air
stirring, so that the clumsy contrivance could be readily managed.
Mr. Gordon was not an expert fisherman; while Paul had had considerable
experience in the art during his several Summers in Maine. He cast his
flies with such skill that the scoutmaster expressed admiration, and
took lessons in sending out the oiled silk line, so that the imitation
flies dropped on the water softly.
They cast in toward the shore, of course, and near the spot where a
creek sent its waters into the lake, each of them had a strike.
Paul succeeded in landing his fish, which proved to be a fair-sized
specimen. Then Mr. Gordon tried again. In a short time he had a strike,
and with a quick motion of the wrist succeeded in fastening the barb of
the hook in the jaw of the fish.
"It's a dandy too, sir!" exclaimed Paul, as he saw a flash of rainbow
colors, when the big trout jumped wildly into the air, trying to break
loose by falling on the line; "keep a tight pull on him, sir, and if he
drags too hard let him have just a little more line. Oh! but he's a
beauty."
So coaching Mr. Gordon by degrees, he finally got the landing net ready;
and after the prize had been played until almost exhausted it was lifted
upon the raft with one swift and accurate movement.
After that the fishing seemed to slacken. Though the lake was
undoubtedly just teeming with fish, still they had their times for
feeding, and between these nothing could induce them to take hold.
Later in the day there were swimming tests started, and Mr. Gordon, who
was at home in this sport, showed the boys many tricks whereby their
prowess in the water might be doubled.
Paul had dressed, having cut his foot a trifle while walking on the
rocks. He and the scoutmaster, were standing there talking, Mr. Gordon
still had on his swimming trunks.
"I was just thinking, Paul," he remarked, "what a queer lake this is.
Have you noticed that it seems to have no visible outlet? Possibly some
of its waters manage to get to the Bushkill because there are several
streams running in; but where does it flow out?"
"Why, yes," returned Paul, "I did notice that. I suppose there must be
an outlet in the bottom of the lake somewhere."
"Just what I had concluded; and it would stand to reason that such a
hole might be somewhere near here. I'm a little anxious, because I've
had an experience myself with such a sucker-hole, and came near losing
my life in one. I managed to get hold of rocks on the bottom, and clawed
my way outside the terrible suction that was drawing me steadily in
toward the centre."
"Why, I noticed a peculiar swirl down just below where the boys are
swimming now. There, Andy Flinn has dived right into the spot! Oh! I
hope nothing will happen to Andy, sir. Perhaps you'd better call them
out, right away!"
Mr. Gordon uttered an exclamation of alarm. He turned his head and
seemed to be looking for something. Then Paul saw him snatch up a rope
that was coiled, and hanging from the stump of a tree close to the camp.
Mr. Gordon had placed it there himself, and for a purpose.
"Come with me, Paul!" he called over his shoulder; but there was little
need of his saying this, for the young patrol leader was already
hurrying after him, his face white with sudden fear.