THE NIGHT ALARM
Steve was so ravenously hungry after his long tramp that he could not be
held back long. Doctors might say it was very bad to eat when exhausted,
but what boy was ever known to restrain himself on that account?
So they settled down on the logs, and had a surprise in store for them,
because Toby had actually fashioned a rude sort of table from several
boards fetched along in the wagon for that very purpose.
"This is something like," burst out Steve, when he found the dishes
being spread before him, and caught a scent of a savory stew the cook
had prepared in vast quantities, knowing Steve as he did.
"Sorry I haven't any tablecloth and napkins to do the thing up brown,"
ventured Toby, whereat a shout went up from the others, who violently
declared that such things were taboo in the woods, and never see unless
there were ladies in camp.
Of course it was only natural that Toby should be eager to learn of
their adventures during the long day; but he knew nothing could induce
them to talk until at least the raw edge of their clamorous appetites
had been taken off; so he continued to ply them with more food.
Jack, seeing the mute look of entreaty in Toby's face finally took pity
on him.
"Now, you'll want to hear what sort of time we've met with, Toby," he
said; "and how we had to hand over the laurel wreath of victory to one
old mother cat that somehow seemed averse to letting us go ahead."
"A cat!" ejaculated Toby, and then he looked wise; "Guess you must mean
a lynx, don't you, Jack, and with whelps in the bargain. Whee!"
"No, this was a wildcat of the ordinary variety," Jack told him. "A
Canada lynx is an altogether different object, and has tasseled ears
that make it look mighty queer. But Steve here will tell you why we
didn't dare tackle the old lady when she threw down the gauntlet."
"I want to know!" cried Toby. "Tell me how it came about, Steve. I
noticed that both of you seemed to be carrying pretty hefty clubs when
you came in. So there _are_ ferocious wild beasts at large up here
in the Pontico Hills country?"
"Ferocious is hardly the word to describe that wildcat, I tell you,
Toby," said Steve. "Wow! how she did spit and snarl until a fellow's
blood ran cold. And when we glimpsed her yellow eyes they seemed to glow
like phosphorous."
So the story was told by degrees, Steve liking to linger when he reached
the point where their progress was barred the second time by the
audacious and persevering feline foe.
"Wasn't it too bad you didn't have the shotgun along just then,"
observed Toby, "because you'd have easily knocked that beast over, and
ended its ugly career."
"Just what I said several times," Steve asserted, "and I'd have been
tickled half to death at the chance; but then I don't believe Jack would
have fired, even if we had the gun along. You see, it would have told
anybody within a mile of the spot how we were poking around, and that's
something against his plans."
They both looked yearningly toward Jack, but he only smiled, and made no
remark, upon which Steve sighed, and shook his head as if to confess
that it was no use trying to tempt their leader to anticipate his
promised disclosure by even an hour.
By degrees everything was told, even to some of the remarkable sights
that they had run across during their tramp. Steve spoke of the enormous
tree alongside of which he had stood while Jack snapped off a picture,
so as to show by comparison just what a magnificent old forest monarch
the mighty oak was.
An hour passed, and they were enjoying every minute of the time. It felt
so good to be back in camp again. Those among my boy readers who have
ever been through a similar experience can easily understand the
sensation of solid comfort that took possession of Steve as he lolled
there, filled to the limit with supper, and enjoying the crackling fire
in a way words could never describe.
Jack seemed to have recovered from his fatigue, for he was busying
himself in some sort of way. Steve, too well satisfied with his position
even to move, watched him for some time, while Toby, like the good
fellow he was, wrestled with the pots and pans and pannikins that had
been soiled with getting supper.
"Would you mind telling me, Jack, what in the wide world you're doing
with all that dark-colored cord, and those tin pans in the bargain?"
Steve finally burst out with, unable to restrain his bubbling curiosity
longer.
"I'm trying to save our bacon, that's all," replied the other calmly;
but this explanation only increased the mystery; so far as Steve was
concerned.
"I reckon I'm particularly stupid tonight, because I'm tired, Jack," he
went on to say, desperately; "but, honest now, I don't get the hang of
it at all. What do you mean by saving our bacon? Does that apply to our
fine pork products in the wagon yonder; or are you hinting that perhaps
our lives are in danger, and you're fixing up a game to keep us from
going under?"
Jack chuckled as he explained further.
"I've got our provisions in mind when I designate them all under the
general name of bacon, you understand, Steve."
"But how are they in danger of being carried off, Jack? I wonder now if
you suspect that hungry old mother cat would follow us all the way here,
with the idea of making a night raid on our well stocked larder. Could
she know we must have plenty of grub along in camp? Please explain a
little further, won't you, Jack?"
"It's a two-legged thief I've got in mind, you see," he was told. "Have
you forgotten what we said that perhaps the easiest way to make us clear
out of the Pontico Hills country would be by stripping us of all our
grub? Well, it's to prevent the possibility of such a calamity
overtaking us that I'm working this game right now."
Steve evinced new interest on hearing this. He even bestirred himself,
and limped over to see what Jack was doing at closer range. After
watching for a short time, he gave a laugh as though he had solved the
puzzling mystery.
"Oh! I'm on to your fine game now, all right, Jack, old scout!" he
exclaimed, as he saw the other fasten one end of the cord to a
collection of tins which he had assembled in a heap. "It's going to be a
sort of home-made alarm clock, I reckon. You've fixed that cord low down
near the ground, so a man can't get near the wagon without brushing up
against it. When he does he's apt to break the cord and that'll let the
bunch of tins drop down from where they're dangling. Whoop! what a
glorious jangle there'll be about that time. I warrant you the intended
thief will get the scare of his sweet life, and how he will run like
mad!"
"You've guessed it finally, Steve, though it did take you a long while,"
Jack assured him. "And we'll have the gun handy, so as to send a shot up
in the air, and add to his terror. Of course I may be off in my guess,
and no one may visit us tonight, or any other night during our stay. But
then lots of business men insure their houses and their goods when they
never dream that they will have a fire. This cord is our insurance
policy."
"Yes," sang out Toby, who had been eagerly listening to all this talk,
although up to that point taking no part in the same, "an ounce of
prevention is always better than a whole pound of cure. They say, too,
that a stitch in time saves nine, though I've had many a one in my side,
and it didn't save me at all. But Jack, it's a bully good scheme all
right, and ought to work first rate."
"I can just imagine three fellows about our size piling out in the wee
small hours of the night, clad in their striped pajamas, and hearing a
scared individual go whooping through the woods, banging up against
every other tree as he runs. It will be a great picnic, for us I mean,
boys; and I'm half hoping he does come along this very night."
"How about that rain, Steve?" asked Jack, quietly.
"Why, would you believe me, it has actually cleared up again, with all
the stars shining up there like fun? Which goes to show the folly of
borrowing trouble, eh, Jack? There I was, figuring out just how it'd
feel to be wet to the bone, and all that stuff, when never a drop came
down. I had my worry for nothing."
"It happens lots of times with most people," chuckled Jack. "There, I
think that ought to fill the bill. The string isn't very strong, and
even a slight knock will serve to break it, because you see it's being
held pretty taut by the weight of all those tin pans. Once that happens
and you'll hear Rome howl."
"I think I'll sleep easier, because of your precaution, Jack," asserted
Toby.
"Huh! I just _know_ I shall," added Steve. "I've worried a lot
about our supply of eats, and it gave me a pain even to think of them
being stolen. But if the trap only works like it promises to do, we'll
be safeguarded all right. If the marauder means to come over the same
distance we covered, Jack, he'll be doing great stunts. And then there's
that cat to consider in the bargain. Oh! I hardly think we'll be
bothered tonight, anyhow."
Later on they retired to their blankets. Steve declared that he would
not need to be rocked to sleep that night, and that there was nothing
like exhaustion to induce good sound slumber. Toby had kept himself busy
much of the day, finding many things to do about the camp, following out
various suggestions which Jack had mentioned in talking matters over,
and which of course he had meant himself to undertake when the right
time came along. So Toby was tired also and ready to welcome the "call
of the blankets," as Steve humorously designated the proposition to go
to bed.
Jack took a last look around. He wished to be sure everything was secure
in case a rain storm did drop in upon them during the remainder of the
night; or some light-fingered gentleman invaded the camp, on looting
bent.
Finally he too crept inside the canvas. They were eventually tucked away
snugly in their warm blankets, and had said the last goodnights as the
lantern was extinguished, and darkness reigned within the tent.
Outside, the fire burned low, since Jack did not see any necessity for
leaving much of a blaze when it was a summer night. Besides, there must
always be more or less danger of embers being blown about by an
increasing night breeze, possibly to start an incipient conflagration
amidst dead leaves gathered behind some log, and thus cause trouble, for
it is often much easier to start a fire than to put one out.
It must have been midnight or some time past when the trio of campers
were suddenly aroused by a most terrific clamor. It sounded as though
all the small boys in Chester had secured dishpans and such instruments
of ear torture, and assembled with the idea of giving a village serenade
to some newly wedded folks who would be expected to treat the bunch to
cakes and fresh cider.
Although possibly a bit confused on being so abruptly aroused from sound
slumber by such an unearthly din, Steve, as well as Jack and Toby,
instantly grasped the stunning truth--that was the alarm which had been
rigged up to give fair warning that their precious stores were being
raided. A thief had invaded the camp and unconsciously disclosed his
presence in this loud-tongued brazen fashion.
It was now up to them to appear hastily on the scene and add to his
alarm in every way possible. So acting in concert they all started to
crawl out from under the canvas, Jack clutching the double-barrel
shotgun in his hand.