THE HELPING HAND OF A SCOUT
When Jack, listening, caught the same sound, he turned upon his
companion with a serious expression on his face.
"Let's kick off our skates and hang our packs up in the crotch of this
tree, Tom," he said.
"Then you expect to investigate, and find out what it means, do you?"
"We'd feel pretty mean if we went on our way like the Levite in the
old story of the Good Samaritan," remarked Jack, busily disengaging
his bundle of fish which Abe had done up in a piece of old bagging.
"I'm the last one to do such a thing," asserted Tom, "only I chanced
to remember that there are some tough boys up here somewhere--Hank and
his crowd--and I was wondering if this could be a trick to get us to
put our fingers in a trap."
Jack chuckled, and held up his gun.
"We ought to be able to take care of ourselves with this," he told his
chum.
"Right you are, Jack! So let's be on the jump. There! that sounded
like a big groan, didn't it? Somebody's in a peck of trouble. Maybe a
wood-chopper has had a tree fall on him or cut his foot with his axe,
and is bleeding badly."
"Just what I had in mind," remarked the other, as they started into
the shrubbery.
The groans continued; therefore, the two scouts had no difficulty in
going directly to the spot. In a few minutes Tom clutched his chum's
sleeve and pointed directly ahead.
"Ginger! it looks like Sim Jeffreys," he whispered.
"No other," added Jack.
"But what's the matter with the fellow?" continued Tom. "See how he
keeps tugging away at his right leg. I bet you he's gone and got it
caught in a root, and can't work it free. I've been through just such
an experience."
"We'll soon find out," remarked Jack, pushing forward.
"Be mighty careful, Jack," urged the other, not yet wholly convinced
that the groans were really genuine, for he knew how tricky Sim
Jeffreys had always been.
By this time the other had become aware of their presence. He turned
an agonized face toward them, upon which broke a gleam of wild hope.
If Sim Jeffreys were playing a part then, Jack thought, he must be a
clever actor.
"Oh, say! ain't I glad to see you boys," he called, holding both his
hands out toward them. "Come, help me get free from this pesky old
trap here!"
"Trap!" echoed Tom. "Just what do you mean by that, Sim?"
"I ain't tryin' to fool you, boys. Sure I ain't!" exclaimed the other,
anxiously. "Seems to me like an old bear trap, though I never saw one
before. I was out with my gun, lookin' for partridges, when all of a
sudden it jumped up and grabbed me right by the leg."
Neither of the boys could believe this strange story until they had
taken a look. Then they saw that it was just as Sim had declared. The
trap was old and very rusty. Jack saw that it had lost much of its
former fierce grip, which was lucky for poor Sim, for otherwise he
might have had his leg badly injured.
Still the jaws retained enough force to hold the boy securely; though
had Sim retained his presence of mind, instead of tugging wildly to
break away, he might have found it possible to bear down on the
weakened springs and set himself free.
Tom and Jack quickly did this service for the other, who was profuse
in his expressions of gratitude, though neither of the scouts believed
in his sincerity, for Sim had a reputation for being slippery and
double-faced.
"Why, I might have frozen to death here to-night," he told them. "Even
if I had lived till to-morrow I'd have starved sure. The bears would
have got me too, or the wildcats."
"Didn't you call when you first got caught?" asked Tom.
"I should say I did, till I could hardly whisper, but nobody seemed to
hear me shout," came the reply, as Sim rubbed his swollen and painful
leg. "Guess I'll have to limp all the way back to the hole in the
rocks where the rest of the boys are campin'."
"How far away from here is it?" asked Jack, wondering whether they
ought to do anything more for Sim or let him shift for himself.
"Oh, a mile and more, due west," the boy told them. "Where that hill
starts up, see? We haven't got much grub along with us, b'cause, you
see, we depended on shooting heaps of game. But so far I've knocked
down only one bird."
"Do you think you can make it, Sim?" persisted Jack.
The fellow limped around a little before replying.
"I reckon I kin. Though I'll be pretty sore to-morrow like as not,
after this silly thing grabbin' me the way it did. I know my way home,
boys, never fear, and I'll turn up there sooner or later. Much obliged
for your help."
With that Sim started off as though eager to get his hard work over
with. And as there was nothing more to be done, the two chums returned
to the creek, shouldered their heavy packs after resuming their
skates, and went on their way.
It was just about dusk when they made the cabin on the bank of Snake
Creek; and as the others discovered their burdens a shout of joy went
up.
"The country's safe," said Jud, "since you've brought home a stack of
fine pickerel. Let's see what they look like, fellows."
At sight of the big fish the boys were loud in their congratulations.
"Wouldn't mind having a try at that fun myself one of these days,"
asserted Jud, enviously. "Paul, jot it down that I'm to be your side
partner when you take a notion to go down to the lake."
"Some of you get busy here fixing the fish, if we mean to have them
to-night," remarked Jack, who was too tired to think of doing it
himself.
"Too late for that this evening. We've got supper all ready for you.
The fish will have to keep till to-morrow," announced Bobolink.
"What's this I smell in the air?" demanded Tom. "Don't tell me you've
bagged a deer already?"
"Just what we have!" said Bobolink, his eyes glistening so, that it
required little effort to decide who the lucky hunter was.
"Why, he wasn't away from camp an hour," asserted Phil Towns, "when we
heard him whooping, and in he came with a young buck on his back. I
never thought Bobolink was strong enough to tote that load a mile and
more."
"Huh! I'd have carried in an elephant if it had dropped to my gun, I
felt that good!" declared the happy hunter.
"But all the adventures haven't fallen to you fellows who stayed here
in camp or wandered about in the adjacent woods," announced Tom,
mysteriously.
"What else have you been doing besides catching that dandy mess of
fish?" asked the scout-master, voicing the curiosity of the entire
crowd.
"Say! did you shoot some game, too--a deer, a wildcat, or maybe a big
black bear?" demanded Bobolink, eagerly.
"No, the gun was never fired," continued Tom. "But we've got a right
to turn our badges over for this day, because we performed a Good
Samaritan act."
"Go on and tell us about it!" urged Sandy Griggs.
"We heard groans, and weak calls for help," said Tom, unable to keep
back his news any longer, though he would have liked very much to
continue tantalizing the others, "and after we had kicked off our
skates and hung our packs in a tree, we went over into the woods and
found----"
"What?" roared several of the curious scouts in unison.
"Who but our fellow townsman, Sim Jeffreys, whining and groaning to
beat the band," continued the narrator. "It seems that he had got
caught in a trap, and expected to be frozen to death to-night, or
starve there to-morrow."
"A trap, did ye say?" asked Tolly Tip. And Paul noticed a sudden look
of enlightenment come into his face.
"Tell us what sort of a trap, Tom?" urged Bobolink.
"A regular bear trap!" replied the one addressed.
"Oh, come now! you're trying to play some sort of trick on us,
fellows," cried Spider Sexton. "How ever would a real bear trap come
there?"
"Ask Tolly Tip," suggested Paul.
"That's right, lads, I know all about that trap," admitted the old
woodsman, as he grinned at them. "I had an ole bear trap that had
lost its grip and wasn't wuth much. I sot the same in the woods, but
nothin' iver kim nigh it, and so I jest forgets all about the same.
But bless me sowl I niver dramed it'd be afther grippin' a lad by the
leg. All he had to do was to push down on the springs, and he'd been
loose."
"I could see that plainly enough," admitted Jack. "The trouble was Sim
fell into a panic as soon as he found himself caught, and all he could
do was to squirm and pull and shout and groan. It shows the
foolishness of letting a thing scare you out of your seven senses."
"But do you mean to say there are real, live bears around here, Tolly
Tip?" demanded Bobolink, his eyes nearly round with excitement.
"There's one rogue av a bear that I've tried to git for this two year,
but by the same token he's been too smart for the likes av me."
"That interests me a whole lot," remarked Paul; "and I mean to devote
much of my spare time to trying to shoot that same bear with my camera
in order to get a flashlight picture of him in his native haunts!"