The Boy Scouts
On the Trail
OR
Scouting through the Big Game Country
By HERBERT CARTER
Author of “The Boy Scouts’ First Camp Fire,” “The Boy Scouts
in the Blue Ridge,” “The Boy Scouts on the Trail,”
“The Boy Scouts in the Maine Woods,”
“The Boy Scouts In the Rockies”
Copyright, 1913
By A. L. Burt Company
“Did you get him, Thad?” shouted the boys. “Come over here, all of you!”
said Thad. Page 83
—_The Boy Scouts on the Trail._
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. What Took the Scouts up into Maine. 3
II. The Troubles of Bumpus. 11
III. A Strange Discovery. 20
IV. The Ignorance of Step Hen. 31
V. The Tell-tale Tracks. 40
VI. A Sheriff’s Posse. 51
VII. The Birch Bark Challenge. 60
VIII. Out for Big Game. 69
IX. “GOOD Shot! Great Little Gun!” 77
X. The Old Trapper’s Cabin. 85
XI. On the Wings of the Night Wind. 96
XII. A Face in the Window. 106
XIII. The Marked Shoe Again. 115
XIV. Figuring It Out. 123
XV. The Luck That Came to Bumpus. 131
XVI. A Little Knowledge, Well Earned. 148
XVII. The Coming of the Hairy Honey Thief. 156
XVIII. A Mighty Nimrod. 164
XIX. The “Whine” of a Bullet. 173
XX. A Wonderful Find. 181
XXI. The Dummy Packet. 190
XXII. The Night Alarm. 198
XXIII. A Flank Movement. 206
XXIV. What Woodcraft Does. 215
XXV. Surprising Charlie. 223
XXVI. The Sheriff Gets His Shock, Too. 231
XXVII. Down the River—Conclusion. 240
THE BOY SCOUTS
ON THE TRAIL
CHAPTER I.
WHAT TOOK THE SCOUTS UP INTO MAINE.
“There never was such great luck as this, fellows!”
“You’re right there, Step Hen; and never will be again, that’s sure!”
“Let’s see; first, there was that silly old epidemic breaking out in our
town, and forcing the directors to put up the bars in the school till
after the Christmas holidays; that was a great and glorious snap for the
Silver Fox Patrol of the Cranford Troop of Boy Scouts, wasn’t it?”
“But that was only a beginning, Giraffe; there were better things still
headed our way.”
“Sure there were, Davy. As luck would have it, just at that same time
Thad Brewster’s guardian found that it was mighty necessary he get word
to a gentleman by the name of James W. Carson. He wired up to Maine, you
remember, only to learn that Mr. Carson, who was a great hunter, had
started into the big game country after moose, with a couple of guides,
and wouldn’t be back until late in the winter.”
“Everything just worked for us, seemed like,” remarked the boy called
Davy. “Thad suggested that he be sent up to follow this party, and
deliver the message, and his guardian fell in with the idea right away,
didn’t he, Thad?”
“I think he was only too willing, boys; because he knew we wanted to get
up in Maine the worst kind; ever since our comrade, Allan Hollister here,
began to tell us such splendid stories of the fun to be had in the pine
woods of his home state. But go on, Step Hen, finish the story while
you’re about it.”
“Why, of course, when Thad, he found he could go, that gave him an idea;
and sure enough, the whole of the patrol got the fever. Bob Quail had to
give it up, because he had too much on hand to leave home just then; and
Smithy had the hard luck to get a touch of the plague that had dropped in
on Cranford for a visit; but didn’t the rest of us hit it up, though?”
“I should say we did, as sure as my name’s Davy Jones!”
“Well, the upshot of the whole matter was that one fine day six of us
left Cranford, bound for Maine, with all our camp stuff along; and here
we are at last, in the country of big game, canoes, guides, tents, and
everything along we need for a month of good times, or more if we want
it.”
“But don’t forget, Step Hen, that the one main object of the trip is to
find Mr. James W. Carson,” interrupted the boy named Thad; who seemed to
be looked up to as the leader of the scout patrol, which office he really
filled.
“Sure,” replied Step Hen, who was stretched out comfortably by a blazing
fire. “But we’ve got heaps of time for hunting besides, and trying out a
lot of things we’ve been learning as scouts. It was fine for our rich
chum, Bob Quail, to insist on handing in a big lump of coin to add to the
funds contributed by our folks. That put us on easy street; and now, here
we are, as happy as clams at high tide, just finished our grub, and
pitying the fellows left behind.”
“Poor Smithy; poor Bob!” exclaimed the one who had called himself Davy
Jones.
There were six of them in all, and it was easy to see from the various
parts of the khaki uniforms that were in evidence, these lads belonged to
a section of the Boy Scout organization.
Cranford had made a start in getting a troop together, and the first
patrol of eight had been formed for some time. Another patrol was
promised by Spring, to be followed by others as the boys became attacked
by the disease, and a desire to learn the numerous splendid things that
Boy Scouts find out.
Besides the acting scoutmaster, Thad Brewster, and his assistant, Allan
Hollister, there were Step Hen Bingham; Conrad Stedman, who on account of
his long neck went by the characteristic name of “Giraffe” among his
fellows; Davy Jones; and last but far from least a short, puffy,
rosy-faced boy who had once been christened Cornelius Jasper Hawtree; but
few people ever knew it, because he was called Bumpus by young and old
alike.
It was a little after the nooning hour. The boys had evidently been
paddling part of the morning, for there were three long canoes close by,
with as many men, doubtless guides, doing something to change the
luggage, so that it would allow of a more even keel during the voyage
up-stream.
These boys would have liked nothing better than to have come out here by
themselves, relying upon their knowledge of woodcraft to carry them
through; for several of their number were well versed in such things.
Their parents, however, would not hear of such a thing; and the
expedition must have been wrecked on the rocks before it really started,
only that the boys promised to take several guides along. And besides,
Allan had informed them that by the new laws up in Maine, hunters were
bound to employ regular licensed guides when going into the woods, to
render the risk of fires less probable; since some city men are so
careless about leaving a camp-fire burning when breaking up; and in
consequence whole districts have been burned over by the rising wind
scattering the brands among the leaves and pine needles.
But those three Maine guides were promised the easiest time of their
lives; since there were so many willing recruits to do the cooking; and
lend a hand at the paddling.
One canoe carried, besides Thad and Step Hen, a dark-faced, quiet fellow,
who was really a full blood Penobscot Indian, and of course named
Sebattis, as nearly all of them seem to be.
The second was given over to Allan and Davy Jones, with a young guide
named Jim Hasty; who, by the way was, about as slow and deliberate as any
one could be.
And the third boat had for a crew a real Maine character, Eli Crookes,
about as straight as a pine tree; Giraffe, and Bumpus.
Of course the tents and various stores were divided up so that each canoe
carried its share. Even so they seemed overloaded at times; but then
Bumpus was accustomed to declaring that the danger of their foundering
grew less day by day, judging by the amount of eatables that disappeared
after each meal.
The fall season had set in so far that it was getting pretty cold in the
Northern Woods; and the boys had come prepared for such severe weather as
might be expected. But they were a hearty lot, and capable of standing
almost any amount of fatigue. Already had the outdoor life of scouts
wrought a remarkable change in several who had been hitherto inclined to
be either lazy, or indifferent to their muscular development.
Bumpus Hawtree, fat little fellow that he was, could walk twice as far
now as when he first joined the patrol; and besides, his general fund of
knowledge had increased several hundred fold.
Step Hen, once the most careless and indifferent of boys, was nowadays
noticing the wonderful things that can be seen all around in Nature’s
working; and thus he discovered that a fellow might have a fine time,
even though left alone in the woods for a whole day!
Giraffe, too, had picked up amazingly; he never seemed to take on any
more flesh; but his arms and limbs were getting like iron; and he too was
beginning to take a decided interest in affairs relating to the trail,
the camp, and life in the open generally.
Then as to Davy Jones, who had once been known as the “Monkey,” because
of his indulging in all manner of acrobatic stunts, hanging by his toes
from a high limb of a tree; standing on his head; walking on his hands;
and turning back somersaults without the slightest warning, just as
though he belonged to a circus—even Davy was beginning to tone down
somewhat, and his breaks were not quite so numerous.
Of late however, strange to say, Bumpus had manifested an odd fascination
for imitating some of the tricks to which the acrobatic Davy was
addicted. He had begun to even fancy that he was actually becoming
supple, and could copy Davy with ease.
When these rivalries did not seem to be along a dangerous line Thad
wisely kept quiet, knowing that Bumpus would speedily realize his
inability to compare with the active one; and besides they often afforded
a deal of amusement for the balance of the patrol.
While the three guides were making sure that the last spark of their late
camp-fire had been extinguished, by pouring water from the river upon the
ashes, the boys were taking their places in the boats.
Davy was feeling particularly frisky; and resting his hands, one upon
either gunwale of the canoe, close to the bow, where he had his position
for the afternoon, he threw himself up, with his heels in the air,
cracking these together sharply.
“How’s that, fellows?” he demanded. “Don’t you call that a pretty good
poise? Why, I guess I could do it even if we were shooting the rapids.
Hey, Bumpus, that’s one on you, all right,” and the heels cracked
together suggestively.
“Mebbe you think I ain’t got the nerve to try that cute little dodge,”
remarked the fat boy, aggressively. “I’ve done a heap of things you
thought I couldn’t. Now, you just wait and see your Dutch uncle show you
a stunt worth two of that.”
“Careful, Bumpus, the water’s deep right here!” called out Thad, whose
back happened to be turned toward the other canoe just then, as he was
changing some of the stuff, so as to give his legs more room when he took
the paddle.
“And likewise cold!” added Giraffe, who was grinning with anticipation of
the fun that was coming.
But Bumpus was in deadly earnest. He gripped the sides of his canoe, just
as he had seen Davy do; and then, giving a flirt into the air, started to
extend his dumpy lower limbs upward.
But alas! Bumpus did not know how to stop going, once he got started. The
consequence was, that instead of remaining at an exact perpendicular, his
body kept on turning until he could no longer maintain his desperate grip
on the narrow gunwales of the canvas canoe. And as a shout broke out from
several of the scouts, poor Bumpus went over the bow into the water;
where he made a splash that must have dreadfully alarmed every speckled
trout that had not yet taken up its winter quarters.