BOY SCOUTS IN NORTHERN WILDS
Or, The Signal from the Hills
By
MAJOR ARCHIBALD LEE FLETCHER
Author of
"Boy Scout Rivals; or, A Leader of the Tenderfoot Patrol,"
"Boy Scouts on Old Superior; or, The Tale of The Pictured
Rocks," "Boy Scouts' Signal Sender; or When Wigwag Knowledge
Paid," "Boy Scout Pathfinders; or, The Strange Hunt for the
Beaver Patrol" etc., etc.
Chicago, 1913
CONTENTS
Chapter
I--A CAMP ON MOOSE RIVER
II--THE LITTLE BRASS GOD
III--THE CABIN IN THE SWAMP
IV--LOST IN THE STORM
V--A BOY SCOUT TRICK
VI--THE CAVE OF THE TWO BEARS
VII--AM EMPTY CAVERN
VIII--A TRAPPER'S TREACHERY
IX--TWO HUNGRY BEARS
X--BOYS IN A TIGHT PLACE
XI--THE HALF-BREED
XII--A SURPRISE AT THE CABIN
XIII--A FACE AT THE WINDOW
XIV--A CALL PROM THE DARKNESS
XV--A HUNTING EXPEDITION
XVI--ANTOINE ON THE RUN
XVII--"BOYS UP A TREE!"
XVIII--A PILLAR OF FIRE
XIX--THE SIGNAL FROM THE HILLS
XX--A SIGHT OF THE GOD
XXI--TWO RIFLE SHOTS
XXII--THE TWIN BRASS GODS
CHAPTER I
A CAMP ON MOOSE RIVER
Four Boy Scouts, of the Beaver Patrol, Chicago, were in camp on
Moose river. They were all athletic young fellows, not far from
seventeen years of age, and were dressed in the khaki uniform
adopted by the Boy Scouts of America.
If you take a map of the British Northwest Territories and look up
Moose river, you will discover that it runs through nearly three
hundred miles of wilderness, from Lake Missinale to Moose Bay. The
reader will well understand, then, how far "Sandy" Green, Will
Smith, George Benton and Tommy Gregory had traveled from
civilization.
The camp of the Boy Scouts was situated some fifty miles up the
river from Moose Factory, a trading point famous in old Indian days
for its adventurous spirits and its profits to the factors. Those
who have read the preceding books of this series will doubtless
remember the four Boy Scouts named above. Together they had
visited the Pictured Rocks of Old Superior, the Everglades of
Florida, and the great Continental Divide.
During all their journeys the boys had shown courage and
resourcefulness beyond their years, and because of these qualities
they had been chosen, by Mr. Horton, a noted criminal lawyer of
Chicago, to undertake a difficult and dangerous mission to the
Hudson Bay country.
They had traveled by way of the Canadian Pacific to Missanabie,
from which point they had proceeded to Lake Missinale. Here they
had purchased a "Mackinaw," a great flat-bottomed craft, in which
to transport their tents and supplies down Moose river to the bay
of the same name.
They had made most of the journey in native canoes, which they had
learned to handle with considerable skill, but now and then they
had taken refuge on the big boat, "just to stretch their limbs," as
they expressed it. They left Chicago late in September and it was
now almost the last of October.
Those who live in the Hudson Bay country declare that they have
three seasons in four months, Spring comes in June, summer in July
and August, and autumn in September. At the southern extremity of
James Bay, October may scarcely be called a winter month, although
during the latter part of the month ice and snow are not infrequent.
The sun was setting on the lads' first day in camp as the boys
rested from their labor of dragging in great quantities of both dry
and green wood. Their tents were of double canvas, specially
prepared for cold weather, and their bedding and suits had
constituted an important part of their baggage.
Almost the entire fronts of the tents were composed of fine, strong
silk mesh-cloth. The faces of the boys were well anointed with
grease, and masks of mesh-cloth hung about the tents ready for use.
Mosquitos and an insect known as the "bull-dog" had driven many a
trapper and hunter out of the swampy regions around Hudson Bay.
During the summer it is almost impossible to live in the swamps of
that country at all. By protecting their tents and faces, and
keeping great "smudges" going, the boys hoped to be able to live in
comparative comfort during their stay in that section.
"Look here, Will," Tommy said, as he laid down a great armful of
dry wood, "some one ought to invent some kind of a contraption to
kill these flying pests off by the billion. Here it is almost cold
enough to snow, and we're being eaten alive by mosquitos."
"I reckon it wouldn't do much good to invent a way of killing the
brutes," Will suggested, "as long as the swamps and pools of the
Northwest Territories are turning them out at the rate of a billion
a minute."
"I read a story about how to get rid of mosquitos the other day,"
Sandy said. "It might be a good idea to try it."
"You can always read how to do things, in the newspapers," Tommy
argued. "The only trouble is that the ideas don't work."
"This one will work," declared Sandy. "The way to kill mosquitos,"
he continued, "is to throw a great long rope up in the air. You
let it stay up in the air; that is, one end of it, and grease it
carefully with cold cream and tie a piece of raw beefsteak at the
upper end. That will attract the mosquitos. Then when you get
several millions up the rope, you cut it in two about twenty feet
from the ground and pull the lower end down."
"It'll be the foolish house for yours!" Tommy laughed. "How are
you going to throw one end of a rope up in the air and make it stay
there?"
"I didn't say how to make it stay up in the air," grinned Sandy.
"I just said you had to make it stay up in the air. Then when the
mosquitos get tired of staying up in the ambient atmosphere,
they'll come crawling down the rope and fall off where you cut it."
"I guess your dome needs repacking all right!" laughed Tommy.
"And then, when they come to the place where the rope has been cut
off, they'll take a tumble for themselves, and you stand under the
line and beat their heads off with an axe."
"Poor child!" laughed Tommy.
"If you leave it to me," George declared with a grin, "that story
about how to kill mosquitos came out of Noah's ark on crutches."
The sun was setting over the great wilderness to the west, and the
boys hastened to pile more wood on the fire. The forest was alive
with the cries of birds, and the undergrowth showed curious eyes
peering out at the intruders.
"This beats little old Chicago," cried George, bringing out a great
skillet of ham. "When we live in the city, we've got to eat in the
house and smell dishwater. When you live out doors, you've got a
dining room about a thousand miles square."
"And when you live in Chicago," Tommy continued, "you can't get
fresh fish right out of the brooks. When you want a fish here, all
you've got to do is to run out to the river, grab one in your arms,
and bring him in!"
"Then run out and get one now!" advised Will.
"Perhaps you think I can't!" shouted Tommy.
Seizing a head-net the boy dashed away to the margin of Moose
river. His chums saw him walking about in quest of a minnow for a
moment and then heard the swish of a line. In ten minutes he was
back at the camp with a whitefish weighing at least five pounds.
There is incessant fishing in the wilderness north of Lake Superior
throughout every month of the year. All through the long winter
the ice is cut away in order that the fish may be reached, and
there is every sort of fishing between that which engages the
labors of sailing vessels and men, down through all the methods of
fish-taking, by nets, by spearing, still-fishing and fly-fishing.
Though the region has been famous, and therefore much visited, for
many years, the field is so extensive, so well stocked, and so
difficult of access, that even today almost the very largest known
specimens of each class of fish are to be had there.
"These are the kind of fish the Indians live on during the winter,"
Tommy explained as he scraped the scales from his prize. "Only,"
he continued, "the Indians don't clean them at all. They simply
make a hole in the tail end of each fish and string them up like
beads on sticks which they set up in racks."
"I never did like cold-storage fish," Sandy declared, in a tone of
disgust. "They taste like dry corn meal!"
While the fish cooked and the boys sat in the protecting smudge of
the campfire, the sound of paddles was heard up the river. The
swish and splash came on steadily for a moment and then suddenly
ceased.
"I thought we were going to have company," suggested Will.
The boys listened for a time but no further sounds were heard.
"Now what would any one be doing in this wilderness?" Sandy asked.
"What would any one be sneaking around us for?"
"Perhaps they don't even know we're here!" argued George.
"With that great campfire going?" scoffed Tommy. "Why, they can
see the light of that fire for ten miles or more!"
"That's right," replied George. "I guess that fire wouldn't help
to hide our presence here any."
"Suppose I go and see what's doing?" asked Tommy.
"You know your failings, young man!" Will cut in. "If you go out
in the wilderness to see who's running that canoe, you're likely to
get lost, or come back here after a couple of days with a broken
leg or a busted coco! You'd better stay in camp."
"But I want to know who's sneaking around our tents!" insisted
Tommy. "You come along with me, Will, if you think I'm not
competent to go alone," the boy added with a grin.
Will hesitated for a moment and then providing himself with an
automatic revolver and an electric searchlight, the two boys left
the camp and soon disappeared in the darkness. They had been gone
scarcely five minutes when a shot came from the thicket.