EVENING AT PLEASANT POINT.
From the cooking kit the sheet-iron stove top, having two holes with
covers, was brought forth and placed over the fire, each end resting on
the edges of the flat-topped rocks. In this manner the cook stove was
made ready for use, and while Stone fried bacon, made coffee, opened a
tin of meat and carried forward all the preparations for supper, the
others unpacked and stowed away the rest of the outfit.
The ground-cloth was smoothly spread over the levelled tent floor and
made fast, after which, having decided on the positions of the beds,
everything to be kept beneath the tent was brought inside and placed as
conveniently as possible in the most limited space close to one of the
tent walls. Of course there was some discussion over the stowing of
these articles, but in the end it was Grant who decided how it should be
done. And it was the Texan who selected two tall, straight young trees,
each about six inches in diameter, standing some distance from the tent,
and instructed Crane to cut them down and trim them smoothly, that they
might be used as “bed rails.” Before these rails could be fully
prepared, however, Stone called them to supper.
“Ay-yi!” responded Crane, instantly dropping the axe. “Yeou bet that
saounds good ter me. I’ve ketched a few whiffs of that sizzling bacon,
and it’s made me so ravenous I could eat an old bootleg. Seems to me I
never was so nigh famished in all my life.”
The others were no less hungry, and they lost little time in seating
themselves, cross-legged, upon the ground about a box cover which Stone
had brought into use as a temporary table top.
“We can put up a regular dining table tomorrow,” said Ben; “but this
will have to do tonight.” He was pouring the coffee as he spoke. “No
milk, but plenty of sugar. Here’s the fried bacon, the canned meat, and
toast—burned a little, perhaps—and cheese. Not much of a meal, but it
will have to do for the first one in camp. Tomorrow we’ll have fresh
eggs and butter and milk and——”
“Fish,” put in Piper; “all kinds of ’em, right out of the water. Wait
till I get my fishing gear together and start out after the finny
denizens of this landlocked deep.”
“I’ll bet you’re a great fuf-fuf-fisherman, Sleuth,” grinned Springer,
winking slyly at Grant. “You know all about it, don’t you?”
“As a general all-round Nimrod,” replied Piper, forking a piece of bacon
and depositing it on a slice of the blackened toast, “I’m simply a
wonder. The fish don’t have a ghost of a chance when I get after them.”
“Hush!” cautioned Grant. “Speak low. There may be some fish near this
point, and, if they should hear you and carry the news of your presence
to their relatives and friends, it might produce a tremendous panic
among the ‘finny denizens of this landlocked deep;’ and we don’t want to
scare them all away.”
“I don’t know much abaout fishin’,” mumbled Crane, his mouth full of
food, “so I guess I’ll git yeou to give me some lessons, Sleuth.”
“Piper,” said Stone, seating himself after pouring the coffee, “must
indeed be a past master in woodcraft, hunting and fishing. He’s the only
fellow who has brought a sleeping bag. I say, Sleuth, where did you get
that thing?”
“Borrowed it of Jim Bailey, who outfitted to go to the Klondike ten
years ago and never went,” answered Piper. “Oh, you fellows can have
your beds, but I propose to do this thing up in style; and, while you’re
tossing restlessly on boughs and blankets, I’ll be snugly ensconced in
my cozy sleeping bag. They are great things when you’re camping out;
Bailey said so.”
Chattering and bantering in this manner, the boys thoroughly enjoyed the
meal, their faces lighted by the soft, warm rays of the sun, that was on
the verge of sinking behind the wooded range at the far side of the
lake. Already the white hotel could barely be discerned, and the
purplish shadows were creeping out from the base of the hills. The lake
lay like a mirror, with no breath of air rippling its glassy surface.
The peace of evening in the solitudes was closing in.
“Let’s hustle up a bit, fellows,” urged Grant. “We must cut some boughs
for our beds before it gets too dark. If we can only get some genuine
balsam boughs, it will be right fine.”
“There’s some balsam trees back beyond where I cut the firewood,”
announced Crane; “but now that I’ve et I feel so lazy I don’t care much
abaout cuttin’ boughs. What’s the use to trouble aourselves tonight;
we’ve got blankets to roll up in.”
“The blankets are all right,” returned Rodney; “but anyone who tries to
sleep in them with no boughs beneath him is sure going to find it
uncomfortable before morning. The ground itself gets mighty hard, as I
know from experience, and a chap who has been working and perspiring
will feel plenty cold before morning comes, no matter how warm and easy
he is when he first rolls in. I propose to have some boughs under me.”
“With my sleeping bag,” said Sleuth, “I need nothing of the sort.”
“Then,” said Rod, “you can gather up the dishes and wash them while the
rest of us are cutting boughs. Everyone must do something.”
Dish washing being especially abhorrent to him, Piper groaned and
grumbled, although he did not refuse to perform the task to which he had
been assigned. The others, provided with the axe, hatchet and strong
knives, set forth, Grant leading the way, in search of the necessary
boughs. Not far from the tent, in a little open spot, Sile paused a
moment to kick off the top of an ants’ nest and watch the frantic
creatures which were exposed to view in that manner.
“To-morrer,” he said, “if we’ve got it to spare, I’ll turn some kerosene
over this ’ere colony, and that’ll fix ’em. We don’t want any of them
things crawling into the tent to nip us at night. I tell yeou they can
bite some.”
“They must be almost as dangerous as Carl’s ‘gouger,’” laughed Rodney;
“but we can’t fool with them now.”
Crane had really located some trees of balsam fir, and, with the shadows
deepening, they made haste to cut several huge armfuls, which they
carried back and piled in front of the tent. This accomplished, the bed
rails were cut off at the proper length and smoothly trimmed of branches
and knots, after which they were placed lengthwise in the tent, one
being rolled up close against the wall, while the other, each end
protruding from beneath the canvas so that it could be pinned fast to
the ground, was laid parallel about four feet away. The space between
those logs was then filled with the boughs, all carefully spread out,
the softest tips being reserved for the top. It was necessary to light
the lantern that they might see to spread the blankets, but finally the
beds were arranged to their entire satisfaction.
Sleuth, having finished his task with the dishes, removed the stove top
and replenished the fire, reclined in the light of the blaze and with a
superior air watched his laboring comrades, secure in the belief that
his sleeping bag would provide luxury and comfort denied the others.
Grant had brought along a guitar, an instrument presented to him by a
cowboy on his father’s ranch, and this he now produced and put in tune,
seated on the chopping block near the fire. The rest found comfortable
positions near at hand, and, having strummed a while, Rod struck into
“The Spanish Cavalier.” He had a clear, melodious voice, and he carried
the air, the others joining, with the exception of Piper, who could not
sing a note to save his life.
“The Spanish cavalier stood in his retreat,
And on his guitar played a tune, dear;
The music so sweet he oft would repeat——
The blessings of my country and you, dear.
Oh, say, darling, say, when I’m far away,
Sometimes you may think of me, dear;
The bright sunny day will soon fade away,
Remember what I say and be true, dear.”
The hushed and breathless trees seemed to be listening. The melody of
the song floated far over the shrouded bosom of the lake, beyond which
the light of the hotel gleamed at the foot of the cliff, on the highest
crest of which a great white cross had been planted. The waving
firelight flooded over the boys, seated or half reclining upon the
ground, with the tent standing out snowy white against the black
background of the forest. There was no moon, and overhead a few vapory
stars peered through the haze which had spread across the sky. At times
the fire, rising, flung a gilded gleam out upon the placid water off
Pleasant Point.
The glamor and poetry of the time and place was distinctly felt by all
those boys. It was a splendid thing to be alive and to be there, a
little band of congenial friends and comrades granted the
ever-to-be-remembered delights of this midsummer outing in the best days
of enthusiastic, unsatiated, golden youth. In years to come, when the
hard, cutting edges of life’s experiences and cares had rasped away
their fervor and left them, perhaps, incapable of deep enjoyment of
simple things, they would sometimes recall this outing with the mingled
thrills of regret and pleasure which memory so often yields.
They sang other old-fashioned songs: “Swanee River,” “Aunt Dinah’s
Quilting Party,” “Bring Back My Bonny to Me;” and then, alone, strumming
the accompaniment on the guitar, Grant rendered that doleful pastoral of
the plains, “The Cowboy’s Lament.”
The mood for singing passed, and they were silent, even the Texan,
having put aside his instrument, leaned his elbows on his knees and
propped his chin with his hands to stare moodily into the sinking fire.
As the unreplenished flames died down, the shadows crept nearer and the
tent seemed to beckon to the embrace of its shelter.
Finally Piper shook himself, sat up, stretched his arms above his head
and yawned.
“Me to the sleeping bag,” he said. “I’m going to turn in.”