THE LONG VIGIL OF A SCOUT.
It really looked to Bumpus as though sooner or later they must come to
climbing a tree, no matter how cold they found it on such a perch. And
as it would presently be dark, since night was rapidly coming on, he
wondered whether he would not be showing good judgment in selecting the
proper kind of a tree, while there was enough light to see by.
But before he started to look around him, he thought it worth while to
ascertain how his companion was doing; although to tell the truth Bumpus
did not have the slightest hope of any good news.
"Ain't you gettin' anywhere yet, Giraffe?" he asked, as he rose
clumsily, and wearily to his feet; for his short legs felt very stiff
after resting so long.
The other gave a grunt as he replied:
"Oh! don't bother me with such silly questions, Bumpus. You make me
think of that story of Blue Beard, where the old feller's a waitin' for
his last wife to come down, and get her head taken off; and she keeps
callin' to her sister, who's in the lookout tower: 'Sister Ann, Sister
Ann, don't you see anything comin'?'"
"But I want to know before I--" began Bumpus, when the other interrupted
him.
"You _will_ know all right, if I get it. But you keep away from me,
Bumpus. Once before, you fell all over me, just when I was on the point
of grabbing a spark. If you know what's good for you, keep clear of me
now. I'm desperately in earnest, I tell you. So be warned, Bumpus!"
The fat scout realized that if he knew what was good for him he had
better give Giraffe a wide berth while he was strumming away with his
"old fiddle," as some of the boys sneeringly described the fire outfit
that continually refused to "fire" even a little bit.
"I'm going to look for a good tree," he said.
"All right, go, and climb up in it, good and hard," Giraffe answered
pettishly; "but unless you want to get lost, don't you dare go out of
sight of this place. Call if you lose sight of me, Bumpus, d'ye hear? I
don't want Thad to say I didn't keep an eye on you; but this is a
business that must be attended to."
All the while he was sawing away as if his very life depended upon
bringing the ordeal to a successful termination; and possibly Giraffe
thought it did.
So Bumpus began to look around him.
He realized that the tall pines were rather out of the question so far
as affording them a chance to climb up; and that he must find some tree
of a different type, with low branches.
It was not hard to find such a retreat in the shape of a thick hemlock,
with its glossy green foliage that had such a delightful scent. Bumpus
knew it well, because on numerous occasions the scouts had plucked
masses of similar "browse," to make the ground feel easier where they
slept.
If they had to climb a tree as a last resort, this hemlock would offer
all the advantages they wished. Why, Bumpus could even remember how Eli
had told of an adventure that had befallen him along somewhat similar
lines; and how in order not to fall from his perch in the crotch of a
tree, he tied himself there by means of some stout cord he happened to
have along.
Bumpus felt all through his pockets again, and was grievously
disappointed not to discover a hank of fishing cord.
"Seems like I'm just out of everything that a feller's apt to want when
he gets in a bad pickle like this," he grumbled. "Ketch me bein' in such
a hole again. Why, I'm goin' to make it the point of my life to always
carry a plenty of matches along; and a line that would be strong enough
to hold a feller, if I had to use it. How would Jim fished up his gun,
and shot them wolves, like he told us, if so be he didn't tear his shirt
into strips, an' made a rope, with a loop at the end, to slip over the
end of his rifle lyin' on the ground. Next time I get the chance I'm
goin' to fix a nice clothes line, and wrap it around me every time I go
out in the woods. Never know how handy such things might come in. Wonder
how Giraffe's gettin' along with his sawin'? But I don't dare say
another word, or he'll be so mad he might break his silly old bow on my
back."
He walked toward the spot where he could see the dim figure of the
industrious fire worshipper bending low over at his labor.
Again Bumpus sank down to the ground; although he was shivering with the
cold, he did not dare swing his arms around as before, lest it make him
remember how hungry he was.
Sitting there, he listened to the breeze sighing among the branches of
the pines; and to his excited mind it was actually laughing at the
predicament of the wretched chums.
Something else came stealing to his hearing, something that made Bumpus
suddenly sit up, hold his breath, and strain his senses trying to locate
the direction from which it seemed to spring, and at the same time guess
the nature of the sound.
"I wonder now, was that a wildcat growling?" he asked himself.
The thought was so disquieting, owing to the gathering gloom, that he
could not help reaching out his hand toward the heavy Marlin that he had
temporarily laid on the ground near by.
While the sound, whatever it may have been, was not repeated, so far as
Bumpus could tell, still he felt far from satisfied about it. What if
the sly old cat was at that very moment creeping up on them? For all
they knew, it might be close by just then, "inching" its way along, just
as he had watched a tame Tabby do at home, when trying to steal upon a
sparrow it wanted for its dinner.
Bumpus became quite nervous over the thought. He drew back the hammers
of his double-barrel, and began to look around him. All sorts of stories
that he had heard told from time to time about these bobtailed cats of
the pine woods, with their cousin, the lynx, that had tassels on its
ears, now floated before his mind. Naturally they did not tend to ease
the strain under which he was laboring; for where he had before only
imagined he could see one pair of yellow eyes staring at him from out
the gloom, he now began to see them everywhere.
Why, the woods must be full of the creatures, and they were going to set
upon the unfortunate scouts, to make a meal for that cold night. And
another thing gave Bumpus great uneasiness; there was no use of trying
to get away from this army of "yellow-eyes" by climbing that hemlock;
since cats were as much at home in any kind of tree as on the ground.
No wonder Bumpus shivered now, with something more than the cold air.
They were certainly up against it, good and hard; and if ever they saw
Thad and the rest of the scouts again, how happy they should be.
Why didn't Giraffe quit his fooling with that silly old bow, and take to
thinking up some scheme that was worth while? It seemed the height of
foolishness for him to be wasting all his time with that ridiculous
fire-making dodge, that never could be done anyway. Bumpus was almost
tempted to stumble forward, and pretend to fall over his kneeling
figure, just to upset things, and make Giraffe come to his proper
senses. He would, only he was a little afraid that the tall scout might
be so furious that he would do something violent; for he was getting
"awful touchy" on the subject of making a fire in that way.
"If I could only make dead sure of one of them yellow eyes, I'd like to
knock the beast over," Bumpus was muttering to himself; and then he
rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, as if trying to see better, after
which he said disconsolately: "It ain't no use, they just keep dancin'
all around me. P'raps there ain't any cats there at all. P'raps I'm just
imaginin' things, like my dad used to say I did, when they put me to bed
in the dark, tellin' me the angels was all around me, an' wouldn't let
anything hurt me; but pretty soon, when the skeeters got busy, I let out
a whoop, and told 'em the angels was bitin' me something awful. P'raps
if I shut my eyes I'd feel better."
But when he started to try this, Bumpus found that it would not work.
The agony of not being able to see created new fancies in his mind, much
more dreadful than those that had gone before.
And so the anxious scout crouched there, not far from his industrious
chum, gripping his gun tightly in both hands, and breathing stertorously
as he twisted his fat neck around from side to side. He was trying to
figure out a line of action to be followed in case the worst came to
pass; and be it said to his credit that Bumpus was resolved to die game,
as became a true scout.
At any rate, Giraffe could not keep up that silly business much longer.
Either he would just have to give over through complete exhaustion; or
else his "bally bow," as Bumpus liked to call it, would break, as it had
a faculty for doing when the cord became weakened from constant
friction.
Bumpus only wished that time would hurry along, for he wanted Giraffe to
forget about his fad, and turn his attention to a more sensible way of
getting fire. Now, there must be a way of snapping an emptied shell into
a little pile of tinder, and catching the spark in some manner.
He tried to figure out how it could be done; but Bumpus never was very
bright with regard to details, for they confused him; so that he was
soon floundering about like a fish out of water; or a boy who did not
know how to swim, when he gets beyond his depth.
Why, it was real dark, and he could just barely make out the crouching
figure of Giraffe; but that everlasting humming sound still kept up,
until Bumpus thought it would set him crazy.
Now Bumpus started on a new tack. He tried to imagine the delight of his
companion if only he could suddenly remember having thrust a little box
of safety matches into his haversack before starting out; but he knew it
was useless to look, for he had certainly done nothing of the sort.
Then, all of a sudden, Bumpus was given an electric shock, when Giraffe
let out a shrill whoop; for with his mind so filled by visions of armies
of wildcats all ready to pounce upon them by and by, Bumpus was in a
condition to be startled.
He scrambled to his knees, and half raised his gun to his shoulder,
under the full belief that the crisis so long dreaded was at last upon
them, and they would have to fight desperately for their very lives.