A BAD NIGHT FOR PIPER.
“Why, Sleuthy,” drawled Crane, in pretended surprise, “I thought yeou
was goin’ to stand guard all night to keep off bloodthirsty redskins and
‘gougers,’ or other wild animals. Is it possible yeou’re goin’ to let us
snooze unprotected—is it possible?”
“Huh!” grunted Piper. “I guess there’s no danger, and I’m mighty tired.
There won’t anything touch us.”
“Then,” laughed Grant, rousing from his reverie and picking up the
guitar, “you no longer fear that tomorrow may see our scalps dangling in
the wigwams of the Wampanoags?”
“The progress of civilization,” returned Sleuth, “the irresistible
advance of the ruthless palefaces, has driven the red men steadily
toward the setting sun, and I have a conviction that not many Wampanoags
remain in this region.”
“But,” said Springer, rising to his feet, “it might be a good thing for
somebody to kuk-kuk-keep guard. The rest of us would sleep better. Why
don’t you do it, Pipe?”
“Why don’t _you_?” snapped Sleuth. “You needn’t think you’re going to
throw everything on to me.”
“P’r’aps he’s afraid of the spook that’s said to prowl around this
lake,” suggested Crane mischievously. “Yeou know folks claim the old
lake is haunted by the ghost of a hermit that used to live on Spirit
Island, and lots of people have heard the ha’nt wailin’ in the night.”
“Bosh!” sneered Sleuth. “Nobody believes such stuff these days. There
ain’t any ghosts.” Despite this assertion, his eyes were seen to roll a
bit nervously toward the near-by shadows.
“P’r’aps not,” admitted Sile; “but sometimes some folks see and hear
mighty peculiar things that they can’t explain.”
“Well, I’m not going to stay up all night watching for spooks,” retorted
Piper; “and, as far as wild animals are concerned, I’ll slip a couple of
shells into the gun and keep it right near me, and if anything comes
prowling round I’ll fill it full of lead. I’m a light sleeper, anyhow,
and it’ll be easy for me to wake up.”
Stone had relighted the lantern and hung it in the tent, that they might
see to undress and retire. Grant threw a few more sticks on the coals
and followed Ben into the camp, Piper at his heels.
While Sleuth was loading the gun and getting out the sleeping bag Crane,
struck by a sudden mischievous idea, whispered eagerly to Springer, who
clapped a hand over his mouth to suppress a giggle.
“Git him away from the tent, Phil—git him away somehaow,” urged Crane;
“and keep him till you hear me whistlin’.”
A few moments later Phil shouted from the water’s edge far out at the
extremity of the point:
“Ho, Sleuth! Come on out here! Sleuth! I say, Sleuth, hurry up!”
“Hey, what’s the matter?” Piper called back from the tent door. “Where
are you?”
“Out here on the pup-point; out close to the water. There’s something
jumping in the water, and I think it must be fish. You know all about
fish, so cuc-come out and tell me if I’m right.”
Piper hesitated and grumbled, but the others urged him to go.
“We want to know if there’s fish araound here,” said Crane, “for if
there is mebbe we can ketch a mess for breakfast. Go on aout, Sleuth,
and see.”
His vanity thus appealed to, Piper issued forth, crossed the patch of
light made by the reawakened fire and disappeared beyond, calling to
Springer. Barely had Sleuth disappeared when Crane hastily found a lard
pail in which various articles had been brought along, dumped the
contents, warned the wondering Grant and Stone to keep still, and passed
round to the rear of the tent, as the sound of his footsteps betokened.
It was not long ere he was back, bringing the pail with the cover
securely in place.
“Git holt of the mouth of that sleepin’ bag, you fellers,” he hissed.
“Hurry up, before Sleuthy returns.”
“What are you up to, anyhow?” questioned Stone cautiously.
“Never yeou mind. Don’t waste time askin’ questions naow. There’s going
to be something doing after Piper crawls into this old bag.”
They held the mouth open for him, and, removing the cover from the pail,
he dumped its contents inside the sack, chuckling all the while.
“What the dickens——” began Stone.
“A good big dip right aout of the middle of that ants’ nest,” snickered
Sile. “Them little black bugs can nip like sin, and they’ll have Sleuthy
squirmin’ some in no time. Shake ’em daown to the bottom—that’s right.
Naow spread it aout jest as he left it. Don’t give it away to him, but
jest wait for the circus to commence after he pokes himself away into
that thing.”
He began undressing, whistling at the same time, and soon Piper and
Springer were heard returning from the point, engaged in an argument as
to whether or not they had seen fish “breaking” in the water.
“Never mind,” said Grant, as they entered; “I reckon we’ll find out in
the morning whether or not there are fish around here. Hustle up,
everybody, and turn in. I’m all ready, and don’t fancy having you gents
fussing and growling and keeping me awake.”
Ere Piper had undressed to his underclothes, which were of the athletic
variety and in which he proposed to sleep, all save Crane had wrapped
themselves in blankets and rolled on to the bed of balsam boughs, the
fragrance of which pervaded the entire tent.
“Git in, Sleuth, so I can put aout the light,” urged Sile. “Got yeour
old gun all ready, ain’t ye? Be sure to keep off cougars, and don’t let
anything git into the tent to bite ye in the night.”
Piper somewhat laboriously and bungingly stowed himself into the bag
feet first, Crane snickering in spite of himself as he watched the
performance, while more than one of the blanket-wrapped bodies on the
boughs quivered suspiciously.
“What are you laughing at?” demanded Sleuth resentfully, as he pulled
the top of the bag up around his shoulders. “Perhaps you think this
isn’t comfortable, but I want you to understand it is. I’ll get more
real good solid satisfaction out of this bag tonight than you will on
your old bough bed.”
“I was jest thinkin’,” returned Crane, “that it might be kind of hot
inside that thing this time of year. When I git too hot in the night it
sets me to scratchin’ something awful—makes me itch, like things was
bitin’ me.”
“You’d better have your bed examined,” sneered Sleuth pointedly. “I’m
never troubled that way.”
“Haow do you hitch this thing up raound yeour neck?” asked Sile,
examining the top of the bag. “I should think yeou’d want it fastened,
so yeour shoulders wouldn’t stick aout. I see haow it’s done, but it
must be consarned awkward to fasten it from the inside. I’ll do it for
ye.”
In spite of Sleuth’s protest that he did not want the top fastened too
tightly, the joker slyly drew it close and made it secure. This done, he
lost little time in folding his blanket round him, extinguishing the
light and rolling on to the boughs, where, like the others, he eagerly
awaited developments.
Save for the mournful peeping of a tree-toad in a near-by thicket and
the occasional crackling of the fire, the light of which flickered on
the tent and shone through the narrow opening in front, a profound
silence settled for a time over the camp. It was not long, however,
before the waiting boys heard Piper moving a bit restlessly in the bag,
and in a short time the sound of these movements became more distinct,
seeming to indicate that Sleuth was squirming about uneasily. Springer
turned a snicker into a poor imitation of a snore, and Crane poked him
sharply in the ribs. Almost immediately Piper was heard scratching
himself vigorously.
“Drat it!” he whispered to himself; and Springer’s body shook
convulsively.
Following this, the boy in the bag began jumping and twisting about, and
several smothered slaps were heard.
“Hey, what’s the matter with yeou, Sleuthy?” mumbled Crane in a
pretended tone of sleepiness. “Why don’t yeou keep still? Haow do yeou
s’pose anybody is goin’ to sleep with yeou kickin’ up all that rumpus?
Ain’t yeour old sleepin’ bag comfortable?”
“Sure, it is,” answered Piper; “only there was a hubble under me like a
stone. Gee whiz! I didn’t know it was so hot tonight.”
“Dud-dud-dry up!” growled Springer. “If you keep talking you’ll gug-get
me wide awake, and I’ll never go to sleep. Lie still, Sleuth.”
“I’m comfortable now,” assured Piper. “It’s all right.”
But barely had he uttered these words when he gave a tremendous jerk and
resumed his scratching more vigorously than ever.
“Guess you were right, Sile,” he finally admitted; “these sleeping bags
are hot things. Don’t know what makes me itch so. Oh, gee! feels like
something was nipping me.”
“Will you never keep still, Sleuth?” exclaimed Grant.
“I’m sorry,” said Piper, struggling to sit up; “but something is
stinging me like a lot of nettles. Oh, great smoke! it’s fierce. Say,
Sile, won’t you unfasten this old bag? I can’t seem to get out of the
thing.”
“No, I won’t unfasten it,” returned Crane in pretended exasperation;
“but if yeou don’t lay daown and keep still I’ll hit yeou with a boot or
something.”
“I can’t lie down,” protested Sleuth, rapidly becoming frantic. “I tell
you something is chewing me up to beat the band. I can feel things
crawling on me.”
“It must be all imagination,” put in Stone, who, although he enjoyed the
joke, really pitied the victim. “Still, imagination is very painful
sometimes. Why don’t you let him out of the bag, Sile?”
“Let him aout of the bag!” snapped Crane, rising on his elbow. “Well, I
guess not! Didn’t he tell us haow comfortable them things was? He
wouldn’t lift a hand to cut boughs for a bed.”
Piper groaned. “But I washed the dishes,” he almost wailed. “Say, unhook
me, Sile, and let me out, or I’ll have a fit. I tell you there’s things
crawling all over me, and they’re just chewing me up alive.”
“You don’t suppose they’re ‘gougers,’ do you?” snickered Springer.
“Oh, laugh—confound you, laugh!” snarled Sleuth furiously. “You think
it’s a joke, don’t you?”
“Sort of sus-seems that way to me,” admitted Phil.
“Oh, say!” wailed the miserable fellow in the sleeping bag. “If I don’t
get out of this thing I’ll go crazy. I tell you I’m being eaten up alive
by something.”
“Did you ever read a certain essay on the ‘Power of Imagination,’
Piper?” asked Stone. “If you ever have, you should realize that a person
may make himself very miserable by conceiving all sorts of foolish
things.”
“No, I’ve never read your old essay,” howled Sleuth, thrashing around in
the bag. “But I tell you this is no imagination; this is the real thing.
Light the lantern, somebody, for the love of Mike! I’m burning up. I’m
all afire.”
“But there ain’t no fire in the bag—there can’t be,” asserted Crane
relentlessly. “Just the same, somebody ought to git a bucket of water
and souse him. P’r’aps that would keep him still.”
Springer could hold himself in check no longer, and he burst into
shrieks of laughter, during which Piper, kicking and floundering, rolled
over and over until he was outside the tent.
At this point Stone sprang up and hastened out to bend over the writhing
victim, and the others, eager to see all there was to be seen, also rose
and peered forth.
It was with no small difficulty that Ben prevailed on Sleuth to keep
quiet long enough for the mouth of the bag to be unfastened. When this
was done, the boy inside scrambled forth, fiercely kicking the thing
from him, and by the light of the fire he discovered a number of black
ants running wildly about upon his person.
“There they are!” he cried. “There’s what bit me! I told you something
was doing it. Oh, murder! let me get out of my underclothes.”
Frantically he stripped off every rag and stood stark naked in the
firelight, still brushing and slapping and scratching.
“Well, I swan to man!” said Crane, who had also come out of the tent.
“If them ain’t ants, I’m a woodchuck. Haow do you s’pose they got into
the bag?”
“Must have been there a long tut-time,” said Springer. “Seems to me I’ve
heard that one of the troubles with sleeping bags was that they made
fuf-fine nests for ants and all sorts of insects. You’ll never gug-get
me to sleep in one.”
“You never will me—again,” vowed Piper. “Being eaten alive by ants is
worse than being burned to the stake by redskins.”
He was savagely shaking his underclothes as he spoke, having turned the
garments inside out.
Stone carried the sleeping bag some distance from the camp and flung it
over the low limb of a tree, and the boys urged Piper to make sure there
were no ants remaining upon his person or his underclothes before he
re-entered the tent.
“There are two extra blankets,” said Grant. “You can have them, Sleuth,
and make yourself comfortable as possible. We’ll light the lantern and
look around to make sure there are no ants left in here.”
Apparently none had escaped from the bag, and after a time Sleuth was
permitted to return and settle down with the blankets beside the bed of
boughs occupied by his companions. The lantern was again extinguished,
and finally, one by one, the boys dropped off to sleep, although the
occasional chuckling of Springer was heard even after some of the others
were breathing regularly and heavily.
Gradually Piper’s wounds ceased to smart, and, with no suspicion of the
fact that he had been the victim of a rather painful joke, he sought to
compose himself for slumber. Nevertheless, the experience through which
he had passed made it no easy matter for him to get to sleep, and he lay
there, turning now and then as the minutes slipped away into hours and
the hours lengthened. At times the odor of the balsam boughs mingled
with the faint smell of smoke which a fitful breath of rising wind
brought into the tent from the smoldering coals of the fire. The
tree-toad continued its mournful peeping, and away in the woods a bird
awoke and chirped. Once something fell from a tree, making a swishing
sound as it cut through the leaves and struck the ground with a soft
thud.
Although he no longer suffered much from the attack of the ants, Piper
found his every sense painfully alert. Through the opening at the front
of the tent he could see the faint, dull glow of the coals, which grew
dimmer until it finally faded completely. At irregular intervals the
night seemed to breathe with puffs of air which set the leaves rustling
as if they were whispering to one another. Off in the woods something
stirred, and there was the barely perceptible cracking of a twig, as if
it had been broken beneath a soft and stealthy foot.
Imagination was vigorously at work with Piper, and he fancied all sorts
of creatures to be prowling about in the vicinity. He was vexed because
close at hand his four comrades slept peacefully, while he remained thus
exasperatingly wide awake.
Suddenly, far away from the bosom of the lake, came a long, low moaning
cry that thrilled the wakeful lad from his toes to the roots of his
hair, for there was something weirdly doleful and terrible in that
sound. Instantly he thought of the ghost of the dead hermit, which was
said to haunt Spirit Island, and his teeth began to chatter a little.
Never had he imagined that a night in the woods could be so fraught with
awesome and terrible sounds. He was tempted to awaken the others, but
knew they would be angered and scoff at him if he did so. Of a sudden he
thought of the gun, and, thrusting out his hand, touched the cold barrel
of the weapon, which he had placed near by. Grasping it, he seemed to
feel his courage returning.
“If anything comes around here it’ll get hurt,” he whispered to himself.
“There won’t be any fooling about it, either. I’ll shoot.”
As if applauding this courageous attitude on his part, he heard a sudden
clapping sound, which seemed to come rushing toward the tent and cease
abruptly.
“Now what was that?” he speculated, sitting up and holding the gun
across his knees. “It was something. I’d just like to know.”
Getting out of the blankets, he rose to a crouching position and stepped
toward the front of the tent, the gun gripped fast in his fingers. The
darkness outside was not nearly as deep as he had thought it would be,
and he could plainly perceive the outlines of tree trunks near at hand.
Holding his breath, he crouched at the tent opening, gazing one way and
another.
A fresh strong breath of air swept over the point, moving the tree tops
and picking up a swirl of ashes from the fireplace, so that the last
remaining coals were uncovered and fanned into a glow. And then, within
ten feet of the fire, close to the trunk of a tree, he saw what appeared
to be a black human-like body, above which rose a ghastly white face
with two huge burning eyes. Those eyes of fire, seeming to glare upon
him, sent cold chills darting along his spine. Immovable as a statue, he
crouched, the gun in his hand forgotten for the moment.
Once more from the vague and distant bosom of the lake came that
dreadful, doleful cry; and, as if in answer, a hoarse voice, half human
yet demon-like, seemed to burst from the creature with the glowing eyes.
Gasping, Piper pushed the catch of the hammerless with his thumb, flung
the butt of the gun to his shoulder, levelled the weapon at that black
figure with the ghastly face and fiery eyes, and pulled both triggers.