THE LUCK THAT CAME TO BUMPUS.
“Where’s Sebattis?” asked Step Hen, as they sat down to breakfast, there
being a rude table in the cabin, around which the boys could gather;
though the guides had to hold off, and either wait, or else munch their
food elsewhere.
“That’s a fact; I thought there was somebody missing!” exclaimed Bumpus.
Somehow or other they all looked toward Thad, as though he might be able
to give an explanation. And sure enough, he did.
“Why, he beckoned to me about the time I came out,” the scoutmaster
remarked, “and told me he was going to take a little turn along the trail
of that man. He hasn’t come back yet; so I guess he’s been able to follow
it some distance.”
“That sounds real woodsy now,” declared Giraffe. “Following the trail for
me. I’m struck on everything that seems like Cooper’s _Leatherstocking_.
Wonder whether he c’n keep it right up till he drops in on the crowd?
P’raps they ain’t so very far away from here, after all.”
“But I just saw Sebattis pass the window; there he is comin’ in right
now,” observed Step Hen.
The dusky-skinned guide was indeed entering the door. And no one could
tell by looking at his inscrutable face whether Sebattis had met with
success or disappointment in his recent labors.
From the fact of his coming back so soon Thad rather imagined that the
latter must be the case. He knew the Indian would volunteer no
explanation unless asked questions; and so Thad managed to corner him
while he was fixing his elkskin moccasins over by the fire. When
presently the patrol leader came back to the rest of the scouts, he was
greeted by numerous demands that he communicate what he had learned.
“Sebattis followed the tracks for some distance,” Thad went on to say, as
he poured himself another cup of coffee; “but after the fellow got a
certain distance from the cabin, he began to be more cautious. It was
just as if he thought some one might want to follow him, and he did not
mean they should succeed. At any rate, he covered his tracks so that even
Sebattis was unable to find the trail again.”
“Then it’s sure a fact that the hobo must be some woodsman himself,”
Giraffe declared. “I thought an Indian could follow the trail of a fox,
if he wanted.”
“Well, Sebattis said he was willing to go back again, and try further,
and that he believed he _could_ find the trail again; but he wanted to
make sure first that we cared enough about it. From certain remarks he
had heard some of us make, he thought we didn’t care to make the
acquaintance of the rascals. We even said, you may remember, fellows,
that we hadn’t lost any hoboes that we knew of, and didn’t mean to go out
of our way to find any. And so Sebattis came back to report.”
“What did you tell him, Thad?” asked Step Hen.
“Why,” replied the other, “that so long as they didn’t interfere with us,
we had no reason to bother our heads about these men. We had plenty of
things on hand, as it was, without trying burglar catching. If they only
let us alone, and didn’t run across our path, we’d forget there were any
such chaps in the Maine woods.”
“Just think of the lost chance to lay in a big wad of the long green,
enough to carry us all the way across the continent, and see something of
the Far West, like we’ve often talked about,” whined Bumpus.
Thad was indeed surprised to hear the fat boy talk like this, for Bumpus
was, as a rule, a very peaceful boy, never willingly seeking trouble.
Really, this anxiety in connection with that valuable letter, which he
could not place, try as he would, seemed to have upset him entirely, so
that he was no longer the same jolly Bumpus of old.
“Which would you rather do to-day, Bumpus,” the scoutmaster asked; “try
and find these desperate men, and like as not get the whole of us into
trouble; or hunt for a bee tree with Allan; while Davy and myself go with
Eli for a hunt?”
There was no hesitation now, for with a wide grin Bumpus shouted:
“Bee tree, first, last and all time for mine!”
“Ditto here!” Giraffe followed by saying, as he laid a hand on the pit of
his stomach, and bowed.
“Can you make the try, Allan?” queried the stout scout, turning
appealingly in the direction of the second in command of the patrol.
“Do for goodness’ sake oblige the little fellow,” urged Giraffe. “Because
we’ll sure hear of nothing else every hour of the day. When that feller
gets a thing on his mind he makes me think of the woman in the sleeping
car, who kept saying out loud in the night, again and again; ‘Oh! I am
_so_ thirsty; I am _so_ thirsty!’ till a traveler, who couldn’t sleep,
got up, and went and gave her a cup of water. He was just tryin’ to drop
off again when she started in, and this time she kept sayin’, ‘Oh! I
_was_ so thirsty! I _was_ so thirsty!’ Then he gave up tryin’ to get a
snooze till she tired out. And that’s the way with Bumpus, boys.”
“But can we make the try this morning, Allan?” persisted the stout boy,
when the laugh at his expense had died away.
“Better say yes, and save yourself a heap of trouble,” suggested Step
Hen, who was himself a little anxious to see how the search might be
conducted.
“Well,” remarked Allan, “nothing can be done until about noon. If the sun
seems fairly warm then, we might have a chance to see bees flying, or
catch the drone of the swarm of young ones trying their wings just
outside the opening of the tree hive. I’ll set you all to work watching
and listening; and we’ll see who the lucky one will be.”
“Seems to me a lot of fellows make a living, picking up things in these
Maine woods, from honey and bees wax, to lumbermen and pulp stuff
choppers?” Thad remarked, with an inquiring glance toward Allan.
“They do,” replied the other, promptly. “I could tell you a heap about
these people, some of whom I’ve even met in my trips around.”
“Then go on and tell us,” urged Davy.
“Yes, we always like to know what’s doing,” added Giraffe, as he helped
himself to another flapjack, which Jim, the younger guide, seemed to know
how to make in a way calculated to appeal to a hungry camper’s appetite.
“Well, first of all there’s the spruce gum hunter,” Allan started to say.
“You can follow the snowshoe trail of these busy chaps through pathless
stretches, and find their camp-fires glowing in many a lonely glen. They
get about between a dollar and a dollar and a half a pound, for the
stuff, and it’s worth all of that. They usually travel in pairs, and
collect many pounds in a season.”
“But how do they manage to climb some of these tall spruce trees we’ve
seen on our trip?” asked Thad.
“Oh! that’s easy enough,” laughed the other. “Every spruce gum hunter has
a pair of climbers with him. You’ve seen the telephone and telegraph wire
men use these, fastened to their legs with straps. He has to have warm
clothing; a curved chisel, in the handle of which a pole is set; a fine
jack knife; and a gun. In the night he sits by the fire, smoking, while
he cleans his day’s pick.”
“But he has to eat; tell us then how he totes his grub along; and where
does he put up at in the woods? We haven’t run across any hotels up here,
it strikes me?” asked Giraffe.
“As for his food,” Allan continued, “he drags on a moose sled, and it’s
either a deserted camp, or the lee side of a tree every night, as he
happens to find things. And he is satisfied with mighty little in the way
of food, trusting to his gun to eke things out. With plenty of work, a
few bushels of beans, some flour and molasses, and perhaps some coffee, a
gum picker thinks himself well off for a winter’s campaign.”
“He must have a good eye for gum trees?” suggested Thad.
“Just what he has,” replied the accommodating Allan. “A near-sighted gum
hunter, or even a careless one, would miss many a chance to fill up his
pack. The keen picker runs his eye along every trunk. Here and there he
sees a tall spruce marked by a seam, through which the sap has oozed,
perhaps for years. The bubbles have crept out, and been clarified day by
day by contact with sun and rain. There they are, nuggets of amber and
garnet, ready for the picker’s chisel. Sometimes he climbs up, and taps
away like a giant woodpecker. Then again, when it pays to do it, the tree
is felled; for of course he has his axe along; no man would ever go into
the Maine woods without that, you know.”
“If I was in that business,” spoke up Bumpus, “tell you what I’d do.”
“Go on, then,” said Giraffe, taking advantage of the fat boy’s
abstraction to pick the pancake off his plate, there being no more in the
main dish.
“Why, I’d just have a few acres of extra fine trees, and I’d scar ’em
good and hard, so they’d bleed. Then, in a year or two, I’d just gather
the gum, like they do in the turpentine regions down South.”
“Good idea, Bumpus,” declared Allan. “But another great man has thought
of that same idea, which isn’t copyrighted either. Every year this man,
who is called the spruce gum king, takes a certain circuit, and wounds
the trees. Then, a couple of years afterwards he wanders that way, and
reaps his harvest. There’s another industry that gives employment to lots
of men up here. That’s gathering hoop poles.”
“Oh! tell us something about that,” demanded Step Hen.
“Well,” Allan went on, “he follows in the wake of the logger, you might
say, for he just wants the second growth that springs up around the
stumps left after the tree is cut down. He takes what no one else seems
to want, the young birch and ash sprouts that are too plentiful anyway.
“He takes a horse with him on his tours, for he has lots to tote. He
hauls his day’s cutting to camp, and spends the evening fixing the poles.
It’s pretty hard work, I’m told, all around; but then the evenings are
pleasant, what with the crackle of the fire; the swish of the shaves at
work taking the bark off the poles; the pipe-smoking; and the
story-telling.”
“What do they get for the poles after they’ve been skinned?” asked Step
Hen.
“About two or three cents apiece, but that pays well for their work, and
they bring in a heap of stuff through a winter. Of course, you know that
these poles are split later, and used for barrels, the smaller ones for
nail kegs, and to put around boxes. Down South all the orange boxes have
such bindings.”
“Is that all the ways of earning a living up here in this wonderful
country?” Thad asked, deeply interested.
“I should say decidedly not,” replied the other. “Why, I couldn’t begin
to tell you the different things men do up here, besides acting as
guides; fire wardens, to protect the woods; and logging. There’s the
professional honey hunter who spends most of his time summers in locating
bee trees. Then there’s the axe-handle man. He needs ash of a larger
growth than the hoop-pole fellow. The trees are chopped in the fall, and
then by means of a ‘froe’ and an axe, each handle is shaped out in a
rough state. Then they are buried, that they may season without
cracking.”
“How funny that is,” said Bumpus, who was listening to all this with
eager ears.
“For fear that the wood may split,” continued Allan, “each end is daubed
with a paint which is part grease; because ash goes to pieces mighty
easy, if the sun gets at it. The rough handles are sent away to a factory
to be nicely finished. Then there’s the fellow who hunts for ship knees;
and I tell you he has no picnic. I tried it once, and I give you my word
I don’t want to go out again.”
“Ship knees!” echoed Giraffe.
“Yes, and there are heaps of these picked up, but only after tough work.
The prospector goes out with his axe, hunting for hack or back juniper,
or tamarack. He must examine every one he finds to make sure it has just
the right kind of a bend or crook; and then comes the job of digging it
out, which is a muscle racking business, believe me.”
“Any more?” demanded Bumpus, when Allen paused to finish his coffee.
“Oh! yes, lots. I remember the fellow who goes after hemlock bark for the
tanneries. Then there are the Indians who make baskets: or who prefer to
have the old style birch bark canoe, to one of these elegant up-to-date
canvas ones, that are built on exactly the same model as those used
hundreds of years ago. Big birches are few and far between up in Maine
now, and sometimes, as Sebattis here has told me, one of the Penobscots
will travel nearly fifty miles before he can strike a tree large enough
to make a canoe, yielding a piece of bark without a crack, or a
knot-hole, where a branch has been lopped off.”
“That winds up the list, then, does it?” asked Step Hen, getting up.
“Far from it,” laughed Allen. “I could sit here for half an hour more,
and tell you about other queer occupations that these wonderful Maine
woods open up to the men who have a leaning that way. Why, I understand
that some smart fellows have even been dredging some of the streams after
the mussels or fresh water clams; and not only selling the shells to the
factories where pearl buttons are manufactured, but finding pearls every
little while.”
“Pearls, and up here of all places!” exclaimed Bumpus, as though amazed.
“Certainly,” replied Allen. “They’ve been taking a great many out in the
streams of Indiana, Missouri and other states in the middle West these
years back, and one man in the Moosehead region in Maine found a pearl
not long ago that brought two hundred dollars, and was worth many times
that when polished, I guess. And then, last but not least, are the
trappers who are scattered all over the state. Each winter they take a
tremendous amount of valuable fur; and as Maine is so far north, the
pelts being several times as much as those in warmer countries. A muskrat
hide from a swamp up here, is worth three times as much as one taken in
Florida or Louisiana. But some other time I may tell you more about the
resources of these great woods. It’s time we got busy doing things; and
here are Thad and Davy just waiting to be moving on their little hunt.”
“Well, I declare,” remarked Bumpus, “I never had any idea the woods up
here had such a lot of living in ’em for an army of men,” and he looked
around at the encircling trees with renewed respect.
The little hunting party was soon ready to launch forth.
“Be back before night, I suppose?” bawled out Giraffe after them.
“We expect to,” replied Thad; “but if we hold off, make your minds up
we’re all right, and don’t let Bumpus worry.”
“Huh! just as if Bumpus didn’t have enough to worry about as it is,”
grumbled the fat boy. “I dreamed last night that when I got back to
Cranford I found all my folks lined up at the station, and every blessed
one apointin’ an accusin’ finger right at me, an’ lookin’ real sad. Say,
I woke up all of a tremble, and was mighty glad to find that it was only
a silly dream. Course I must a delivered that note to the bank; chances
they’re ten to one I did; _but I wish I knew; I just wish I could be dead
sure_!”
He was a bit gloomy all through the morning, and sat there staring into
the red heart of the fire until Giraffe demanded to know whether he was
sick; and if he meant to go out with them after lunch to hunt for that
bee tree, or keep camp.
That seemed to excite Bumpus, and he again forgot all his troubles. But
evidently his pondering had not brought any happy result; and he was just
as far as ever from knowing whether he had carried out his father’s
instructions with regard to that precious letter, or not.
The sun had indeed warmed things up toward noon. It often does during the
fall season in Maine, and before the first heavy snow, making ideal
weather; the early morning being crisp and delightful, with the middle of
the day quite warm.
Allan had admitted that if ever they had a chance to find a bee tree that
day ought to tell the tale. He believed that the young bees would surely
be tempted to take some exercise before they were hived up for the long
winter. And when there is a swarm buzzing around busily in a clump, they
make quite some noise, that a keen ear can easily detect, if on guard.
So, after they had partaken of a light lunch, they started out, leaving
Sebattis to look after the camp while they were gone.
Besides an axe, the boys carried a few things in which a supply of honey
could be brought back, in case success followed their efforts, and a
genuine bee tree was located.
Allan told them the comforting truth, that since this region had
apparently not been hunted over for some years, there ought to be a very
good chance of running across a hive. Of course they carried their guns,
because no one could tell when these useful articles would be needed. And
as Jim said, “when a man wants his gun, he gen’rally needs it in a big
hurry.”
As they went along Allan took occasion to point out numerous things that
bore some relation to the facts which he had so recently been telling
them.
“That’s a birch almost big enough to make a canoe,” he remarked, pointing
to a splendid specimen of the shapely tree that stood close by. “And over
yonder is a tamarack on the border of that swale. You generally find them
in swampy sections. And around this tree blown down by a storm, you can
see growing a lot of young shoots, which, as like as not, the hoop pole
man would cut for his use.”
Presently, however, he began to explain how they must stretch out,
forming a line through the woods, and covering the ground. At one end
Allen himself took up his station, with Jim the guide forming the other
guard. This was a precaution, lest one of the others showed an
inclination to stray. They were to keep in touch with one another by
occasional shouts, which were to serve as signals. Each one had his
particular and distinguishing call, and when Allen shouted, first Bumpus,
next in line, then Step Hen, and after him Giraffe and Jim were to answer
in order; that the one in charge could be sure that they were keeping in
something of a straight line.
And in case a hum was heard that sounded like a hive, a certain cry,
twice repeated, was to summon all the others to the spot.
The boys tramped for half an hour, with eyes and ears on the alert. Many
times no doubt they imagined they caught the welcome buzzing sound, but
upon coming to a halt in order to listen and make certain, before
bringing their companions hurrying to the spot, it always devolved into
something else, much to the chagrin and disappointment of the hunter.
Bumpus was fully awake to the great possibilities of the occasion.
Somehow this honey hunting had become a sort of mania with him. It was
not that he loved the sweet nectar of the hive any better than Giraffe
for instance; but his nature was such that he liked to find things that
were lost. And somehow the idea of locating a genuine bee tree appealed
immensely to the fat boy.
So he tramped sturdily along, looking upward with a great effort, on
account of his stout build, and frequently wishing Nature had endowed him
with that “rubber neck” which Giraffe boasted, and which must be an ideal
one for a wild honey hunter, Bumpus imagined. It was perhaps the first
and only time he had ever envied his comrade in the possession of such a
long neck.
But Bumpus really believed that fortune was going to be extra kind to
him. He kept telling himself that if any one discovered the wonderful bee
tree, it must be himself, because he had dreamed of it so very often.
Now and then he answered the calls which Allen sent out. He did this
because he had a horror of getting lost. These woods seemed everlastingly
big to him; and he could just imagine the terrible condition that must
face any tenderfoot scout who managed to stray away from contact with his
camp mates.
About three quarters of an hour had gone now, and as yet no cry
announcing the successful find had come pealing along the line. Bumpus
was beginning to feel tired, without any question. He admitted it to
himself, but grudgingly, for he did not want to halt the proceedings, now
that they were actually engaged in the bee hunt.
He refreshed himself at every water hole he came to, whether it were a
running brook, or just a tiny pond with a thin skim of ice along the
shore.
They were passing through a rather thick patch of woods when Bumpus felt
another thrill. He felt certain that he had caught something that sounded
like the buzzing of a swarm of insects; and as he had more than once
meddled with the hive his people had at home, Bumpus was well qualified
to know what the droning might be like.
Eagerly did he look upward, all around him. Then he began to locate the
quarter from which it seemed to come, and in so doing brought to bear
what little woods’ lore he had managed to pick up; for he actually noted
the direction of the slight breeze, and how the noise came to him more
clearly as he moved to a certain point.
Finally he believed it must come from one tree in particular. He made
several tests, and each time his conviction grew more and more positive.
And still the droning kept up. But the tree was a very tall one, and
Bumpus had never trained his eyes to detecting small objects at a
distance. In fact, some of his friends had even declared that he must be
near-sighted, though he stoutly denied this.
Then suddenly, he saw a confused blur between himself and the blue sky
above the tops of the trees. It actually moved back and forth in a
singular swaying way.
Bumpus thrilled now with new pride. He fully believed that in this tall
tree of the Maine woods he had actually located a bee hive that would
assure them all the clarified sweetness they could carry away.
And when he had made as sure of this as he could, Bumpus put his
trembling hands to his mouth, and sent out in his loudest tones the call
agreed upon to tell the others that he, Bumpus, had after all been the
one to succeed.