CAUGHT IN A MOUNTAIN DEN
It required scarcely a moment of time for these boys, facing danger,
seeing one of their number in deadly peril, to carry out their maneuver
to save him from a watery grave.
Forgetting everything else, even forgetting much of the “safety first”
preachment, they sent Lanky out ahead, flat on his stomach, while Paul
came next and Frank Allen anchored on the feet of Paul. Frank stood
while the other two tandemmed to the edge of the ice.
In the meanwhile Buster, a good swimmer, dived when he realized that
his head was striking the covering of ice on top of the lake, and came
up again, this time at the very edge of the break.
In that moment Lanky reached out a long arm and grabbed the boy by the
shoulder.
Buster realized at the touch that help was grasping for him, and he
made a desperate effort to stroke himself to the hole.
“Hold steady, Frank!” called Paul, but Frank could see easily enough
what was being done.
Lanky’s fingers gripped again for the shoulder of Buster just as the
boy’s head popped above the surface of the water.
This brought Buster over clear of the break. The next thing was to get
him out.
“Put me closer!” gasped Lanky as he stretched his arms again to get
Buster--just as poor Buster started to go down again.
A hurried grab, a quick twining of an arm under one of Buster’s
shoulders, and Lanky was holding him, head clear of the water. Buster
seemed unable to help himself.
Lanky’s other arm went under the other shoulder of the boy, he gasped
back to Frank to pull, and Frank, putting his entire strength behind
the effort, started backward, digging his skates into the ice to hold
himself steady. Step by step, inch by inch, digging at each step, Frank
felt the weight coming out of the water, until, when it seemed the
effort had to stop, he felt a sudden release and knew that Buster was
free.
Quickly he pulled the two sliding boys, with their dead weight, for
several yards, then dropped Paul’s feet. Then all three of the boys
went to work on Buster.
He gasped several times, spit water out, but he could not move either
arms or legs! In going into the water and in making stroking efforts to
get to the hole, he had twisted the four lines around himself in such
manner that his arms and legs were almost completely pinioned.
Five minutes later they had Buster to his feet, shivering from the
thorough wetting with freezing water, but free of all entangling
alliances, as Lanky afterward called the lines.
Twenty minutes later they went into the commodious camp house and
hailed with glee the freely burning log fire which welcomed them back.
“Did you get a picture of the fish you caught?” Buster laughingly
inquired of Paul when he had gotten into a blanket and had hung his wet
clothes before the great fire to be dried. In the meantime Frank was
making a pot of hot coffee for all.
“Don’t want pictures of catching suckers,” dryly replied the young
snapshot enthusiast.
The day was broken up by the occurrence, but while the clothes dried
the boys enjoyed themselves drinking coffee and talking about the
experience, throwing in a joke now and then, since the serious side of
it had passed.
“Now that we’ve had a tenderfoot spoil our day’s fishing,” said Frank,
“what do you say if we go out on some different kind of exploring
to-morrow?”
The other boys acquiesced at once. They would have agreed to any
suggestion for activity which might have been offered. They were up
here to have some fun and not to decorate the inside of the camp. So,
going over the various things which might be done, they finally decided
on leaving fishing aside for a day or two and, taking their firearms,
go into the mountains to the south of the lake, mountains which looked
down upon them in all their bleak whiteness from the front door of the
cabin.
Two wrist watches and the alarm clock were all brought into accord, the
boys setting their watches by the clock, laughingly remarking that the
chances were that the alarm clock was most nearly right.
Instead of putting on pieces of the dry wood, they tried a large log
of the green wood which they had chopped previously, and enjoyed, all
during the late evening, the crackling of the log as the water boiled
out, sometimes making steam within the wood-cells, snapping with minute
explosions.
It was before daybreak again when they rose from their bunks, their
clothing all perfectly dry, and rushed through the washing of their
faces and hands and the preparations for breakfast. Taking turns at
cooking breakfast had been the agreement, though the boy who was cook
got many criticisms on the results of his culinary efforts. No mercy
was shown in this regard. However, it was remarked by Lanky Wallace
that none of the boys failed to eat every scrap of food that was placed
before him, it mattered not what he had previously said about the cook
nor what he said about the food while he was eating it.
“Well,” called out Lanky as he devoured his part of a rather sumptuous
meal for the morning’s start, “do we leave a fire here to-day so that
Buster can have a place to dry his clothes when we get back?”
This brought a storm of protest from that young man.
“I guess, since we have enough wood cut to last us a while, we might
as well leave a fire,” remarked Frank when the miniature tempest had
subsided. “I don’t know that I like the idea of leaving the place with
a fire in it, but if we use dry wood that won’t crackle out of the
fireplace too much, we might take a chance.”
Thus it was that dry logs were placed on the great fire in the living
room just prior to the boys grabbing up their guns and starting on the
day’s voyage of adventure.
Straight toward the hills the young hunters strode, looking in neither
direction as they went, for the first streaks of dawn had not yet shown
themselves, and they figured they would see the sun rise from among the
mountains if they hurried.
Just as they were half way up one of the larger hills, which stood
about half a mile from the camp, they saw the majestic lights thrown
ahead to herald the coming of the king of day.
Then they agreed that they had not seen a beautiful thing the previous
morning, but merely a poor sample of what could be viewed in this great
region of mountains and lakes. The colors were more pronounced, more
varied, and the four boys stood entranced at the side of the hill as
they looked out over the tops of hemlocks, white pines, cedars and
tamaracks.
Turning from this, when the sun had fought off the last vestiges of
darkness and had taken full command of the skies for the next few
hours, they trudged their way up the side of the hill, grabbing here
and there to hold on some tree or spreading bush as the trail grew
narrow in places and steep declivities yawned below.
Over the sheering top of the hill they went, dropped off into the
valley, and there they caught sight of what they hoped for--a chance to
shoot!
A covey of partridges flushed and flew down further into the glen
between the hills, while the boys made an effort to get their weapons
around from their backs where they were slung. It was too late to take
a pot shot. The best thing was to follow down into the glen and learn
what could be done.
This was not a broken trail, only a path which they, themselves, were
making, for they were off the beaten track, into hills through which no
trails ran.
“We must watch which way we come through here,” said Frank. “It would
be very easy to get lost because it is not a regular path. Let’s put a
marker here and there.”
“What’s the use?” said Lanky. “Our footprints are enough to guide us
out of here when we wish to start.”
“How about just a little bit of a snowstorm blowing up?” asked Frank.
“You know, we’ve seen snow come quickly, and snow is falling ahead of
you even if the footprints might be fine just where you are at the
moment. It doesn’t take much snow to cover what little tracks we have
made.”
Whether this answer satisfied Lanky or not mattered little. Frank’s
common-sense was so often evident that the boys decided on putting
up rags to show their way, whereupon they used cleaning cloths and
handkerchiefs from that time, tying them to trees as they went along,
not too close together.
In the glen they followed the coveys of partridges around, taking shots
when they could, but getting absolutely nothing, though Paul tried
his former trick of taking last and careful shot when the birds were
flushed.
Up out of the glen they finally came, wearied of running the covey
“around a mile track,” putting it as Lanky did.
As they were climbing the opposite side of this hill, getting farther
into the mountains, the lads stopped for a while to look at a mountain
brook which was completely frozen over.
“What’s this?” Buster spied tracks in the snow at the foot of the
cascade which the brook made before darting down into the glen below.
“Bear tracks?” cried Frank as he looked carefully at them.
The four boys studied them carefully, decided they might be bear
tracks, though they had not heard of bear in this part of the country.
“However,” remarked Frank as they discussed the idea, “there might be a
few spare ones. You can never tell. Anyhow, let’s follow the tracks and
see what we find at the other end of the trail.”
The boys started after the tracks, seeing that they led forward and
back along the same route, seeming to indicate that the animal had come
for water and, finding none, had retraced its steps to its lair.
Frank led the way up the steep incline, watching ahead to see that the
animal did not turn out without their noticing it.
Presently the tracks turned sharply to the left and led into a cave.
The opening was not a large one and was between two trees which grew as
guardians to the mouth of this castle.
At the opening the boys peered, saw only darkness, and then stood
discussing what was the best procedure in such a case.
Smoking the animal out was not to be considered because they had no
paper with them and no way to get a fire started if the paper was at
hand. Shooting blindly within was just as quickly overruled, for there
was no object at which to aim. Again and again they peered, but saw no
eyes, nothing to indicate the presence of the animal save the tracks
which led in and out.
“Let’s crawl in,” suggested Lanky, offering a solution.
This seeming to be the only way to learn what they wished to know,
Lanky put his lean body through the hole first, followed quickly by
Paul, and then by Frank.
Buster was left outside to act as a guard, for fear something untoward
might happen.
The boys had brought no flashlight with them. Frank had some matches in
his case which he always carried for such emergencies.
He struck one of these, but it sucked out instantly, indicating that
this cave had an outlet somewhere at the other end.
“Let’s crawl further back,” said Frank, leading the way.
Stooping to see where they were going, even in the darkness, and to
save their heads from the rock roof, they slowly, little by little,
foot by foot, got back a few more yards into the cave.
Once again Frank struck a match, but it flickered and went out. He
tried a second time, but without success.
Looking back, seeing that the cave was straight, they moved on farther,
not knowing why, for if they met anything they would not be able to
carry combat against it.
Once more Frank struck a match--this time it flared up and lighted the
way ahead of them a few yards.
“Look!” yelled Lanky. A dozen snakes of all sizes were coiled or
lying in the path, guarding the entire width of the passage way! The
boys gasped as they saw the creatures ready to strike. They turned
involuntarily to go back to the opening.
With a grunt a great form heaved up ahead of them--and they saw they
were cut off from going out by the way they had come!