A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE
"What's the prospect for the day, fellows?" Steve asked in a loud voice,
as he sat up, after throwing aside his blanket.
It was morning, though the sun had not yet shown up. Three other heads
appeared in view instantly, for the sleepers had been satisfied to
cuddle in their warm coverings, on account of the chill of the night,
which must have gradually crept into the tent around the early hours.
"Looks to me as though it hadn't rained much after all," Bandy-legs
announced.
"T-t-things a little w-w-wet out there," remarked Toby, who had hastened
to thrust his head part way through the opening near which he lay; "but
it's all r-r-right, fellows, because I c'n see b-b-blue s-s-sky
overhead."
They were soon dressed, and ready to begin the business of the day. The
camp fire was not hard to start, thanks to their wisdom in procuring
plenty of dry fuel when they had the chance; and breakfast began to send
out appetizing odors that excited their appetites--though that was
hardly necessary, since normal boys are always in condition to do their
share of eating.
As usual they talked of various things while they sat around, each in
his favorite attitude, disposing of the meal.
Bandy-legs seemed to have something on his mind, which he took this
opportunity for venting, for when a little lull occurred in the
conversation he turned to Max, and went on to say:
"After all we forgot something yesterday, Max."
"That so, Bandy-legs? Well, I hope it wasn't such a big thing that it'll
upset any of our plans."
"T-t-tell us what?" Toby ventured, as well as he could, considering how
full his mouth was of food.
"Oh! you're not in this, Toby," the other assured the stutterer; "and
I'm not much s'prised at me forgetting, but it's queer Max should,
because he nearly always remembers."
"Then it must have been something connected with the little excursion
the two of us took yesterday?" Max guessed.
"Just what it was," said Bandy-legs. "We didn't think to ask Mrs.
Ketcham about whether they kept a bull or not; and you know we said we
would, because that might explain the awful growling noise we heard and
which sounded like an escaped lion roaring."
Max laughed softly.
"I admit that we didn't bother asking her about it, Bandy-legs," he
remarked; "but that was because there was no need."
"But why?" insisted the other, greedily.
"Oh! I happened to see the bull myself," replied Max, quietly.
"Pretty good evidence, that, I'd say," chuckled the amused Steve; "and
so far as I c'n tell, your lamps are in good condition, Max. Seeing is
believing, they say."
"And you didn't even bother to tell me, either; was that just fair!" the
aggrieved Bandy-legs wanted to know.
"Well," Max told him, "it happened when you were helping Mrs. Ketcham do
something with the eggs, and I guess I must have forgotten all about it
afterwards, because we had a lot of other things to talk about. But
happening to look out of the window in the direction of the barn I just
glimpsed the heavy-set head of a big Jersey bull sticking out of a hole
that must have been made in his stall so as to give him air. He was
sniffing, as if he knew there were strangers around; but when I looked
again he had drawn his head in, and so I forgot all about him."
Toby heaved a disappointed sigh.
"That knocks all my c-c-chances of g-g-gettin' an old he lion this
trip!" they heard him mutter.
"Well, did you ever?" ejaculated Steve, staring hard at the other; "just
think of the nerve of him, would you, expecting to bag a terrible
man-eating lion in a trap like that! Honest now, I really believe Toby
here'd be happy if he could only go home in a few days with a whole
menagerie trailing behind him--elephant, rhinoceros, camel, lion,
tiger, and a ring-tailed monkey bringing up the rear."
"Oh! is that so?" Toby asked him, with a pretended sneer on his face;
"and while you're about it, Steve, would you be so k-k-kind as to tell
me what sort of a m-m-monkey that is? I never saw one in all my
l-l-life."
"I guess you've got me there, Toby," laughed Steve; "because I never
have, either, but I should say it was an ordinary monkey that could tie
his tail up in knots whenever he wanted to keep it out of mischief, just
like you turn up your trousers on a wet day."
They kept things humming until the meal was done; for every fellow had a
desire to make his opinion known.
"Now what's the programme for to-day?" asked Max, as they untwisted
themselves from their Turk-like sitting positions, and stretched to
their full height.
"I'll tell you what I'm m-m-meaning to do," said Toby, "after we get
d-d-done the breakfast d-d-dishes. F-f-frogs!"
"Oh! I see, you're worried about all that chorus work they kept up last
night, and mebbe you think there were some who sang off-key, which
bothers your musical ear, so you want to pick 'em out, and even things
up," and Steve grinned as he said this, because he did not have as high
an opinion of Toby's accomplishments in the line of music as he might.
"I'm not pretending to have any such c-c-classical n-n-notion," the
accused one indignantly declared; "it's a c-c-case of dinner with me. I
l-l-like frogs' legs, and they l-l-like me first-rate; so when things
agree that way, what's the sense of k-k-keepin' 'em separate?"
"No use at all, Toby," admitted Steve, as though he had seen a great
light, "and if you feel like growing a pair of frogs' legs in place of
the ones you've got now, why, I wouldn't throw a thing in the way. Only
I warn you it would be dangerous practicing singing frog songs by
daylight."
Toby did not answer this thrust, only sniffed, and turned away.
Each of the others had a number of things scheduled for attention on
this morning. The camp was in pretty good trim by now, but there always
seems to be something that can be done in order to make it more
cheerful; and Max was one of those fellows who like to potter around,
making improvements.
Steve wanted to wander over in the direction of the farmhouse, and tried
to find some good excuse for going; but the milk supply promised to hold
out for the day, and they certainly would not need more eggs until the
next morning.
The fact of the matter was he had heard the accounts of how Max and
Bandy-legs had been so splendidly treated by Mrs. Ketcham with more or
less envy; because it happened that Steve was passionately fond of
doughnuts of the old-fashioned New England cruller kind; and he hoped
the farmer's wife might still have a nest of the same in her big stone
crock.
He even suggested that possibly Bandy-legs might like to go with him, so
as to take a picture of the big watchdog that had given him such a
lively time, in order to keep the adventure green in his memory. But
having other things laid out for that morning to keep him busy, the
other chum respectfully but firmly declined to be coaxed into making a
four mile tramp, when there was really no need of it.
So poor disappointed Steve had to give up for that day his hope of
obtaining any of those choice doughnuts.
"And chances are," he was heard to mutter to himself as he started to
get busy with something or other, "they'll be clean eaten up by another
day; but that's always my luck when doughnuts are around. It's too mean
for anything."
However Steve was too good-natured a fellow to remain gloomy very long
at a stretch, and in ten minutes they heard him trolling a comical ditty
as he worked away, showing that his "doughnut fever" had calmed down
sensibly.
Meanwhile Toby after awhile made ready to wander over in the direction
of the pond where that frog chorus inspired him with high hopes of
reaping a bountiful harvest.
He had arranged a long stout pole, with a short line and a hook at the
small end. This latter he ornamented with a piece of bright red flannel
some two inches square and supplied by Max, which he was wise enough to
tie securely to the shank of the hook, well up from the barb, but so it
concealed the point.
He also carried the trouting basket slung over his shoulder by the
canvas strap, and made sure that his hunting knife had a good edge to
it, for he meant to fix the frogs as he took them, thus saving himself
more or less of a burden in carrying the useless portions along with
him.
"Steve, would you m-m-mind doing me a g-g-great favor?" Toby asked, as
he stood there all ready to make a start.
"Sure I wouldn't mind, Toby; what is it?" the other asked quickly.
"I'd like to c-c-carry your g-g-gun along with me," said Toby.
"Not to shoot frogs with, I hope?" remarked Bandy-legs, in high scorn.
"K-k-keep out of this, p-p-please, Bandy-legs," the other told him.
"Steve knows I wouldn't be g-g-guilty of doing that. But you see, a
feller can't tell what he might run up against these d-d-days, when
there's some k-k-kind of mysterious animal p-p-prowlin' around. D-d-did
you s-s-say yes, Steve?"
"You're as welcome to the little Marlin as flowers in spring, Toby,"
Steve told him; "and here, put several more shells in your pocket.
Remember I've got a couple with buckshot loaded in the barrels right
now. If so be you _have_ to use the gun, be sure you know what you're
banging away at, because they'd have you up for murder if you hit a poor
man with that charge."
"Oh! I'll be careful, sure I will, Steve; and t-t-thank you ever so
m-m-much for lending it to me," with which the overjoyed Toby shouldered
the weapon, and started forth.
"Sure you know where the pond lies, do you?" asked Max; "and don't
forget that the camp is due southeast of the same. When you start home
take your bearings, and if you're in doubt even once, give us a whoop.
Sometimes its possible to get lost in the woods, and that means a heap
of trouble, don't it, Bandy-legs?"
"Well, if you change that to a swamp I can say yes, all right, because I
have been there, and know," was the answer the query brought out.
But Toby had no such fear. He had spent considerable time in the open,
so that he had learned many useful lessons, though he sometimes did
allow himself to grow more or less careless. The pond was not so very
far away but what he could make those by the campfire hear if he wished
to shout; and surely a fellow must be a fool who could get lost under
such conditions.
He made a bee-line through the woods, as nearly as the nature of the
undergrowth would allow such a thing. Before long he had arrived in
sight of the pond, which he was pleased to see covered many acres, and
had the appearance of a splendid haunt for great big greenbacked frogs.
He could hear them grunting in various places, and this made Toby's
heart beat high with hope, for he was especially fond of the sport;
though not cruel enough to have indulged in it just for the sake of
killing the high jumpers; but the thought of the feasts to come spurred
him on to do his best.
It is not always the easiest thing in the world to circumvent a shrewd
old grandfather frog who has long grown suspicious of everything that
walks on two feet. To crawl up close enough to him to softly push your
pole far out, so that the red lure dangles in front of his nose and
within a few inches, often requires considerable labor, and necessitates
more or less skill as well.
Toby soon became intensely interested in his work. He would stand the
gun up against a certain tree while he ranged the immediate shore, and
possibly made several captures. It was not long before he was sorry he
had bothered fetching the firearm at all, because there seemed no reason
for doing so, and it made him many unnecessary steps.
His success was phenomenal, and for an hour he kept moving around the
edge of the pond, the banks of which were heavily wooded for the most
part.
By that time he had almost two dozen "saddles" in his trout creel, and
it was beginning to bother him by feeling heavy; as well as slipping
forward while he crept along on hands and knees, in order to get close
to some monster who seemed suspicious, and had to be approached
carefully.
Finally Toby fell into the habit of leaving the basket along with his
gun. When he made a capture he would immediately kill the frog, and toss
him over to where these things lay, if within throwing distance. Then,
when ready to move further on it was his habit to dress those victims he
had gathered meanwhile, after which he allowed himself to be tempted to
proceed "just a little further." That is always the way when
frog-hunting; one may decide that he has really obtained enough for the
time being; but then the conditions may never be as good again; and some
of the spoils can easily be kept over until another day by immersing
them in cold water.
So Toby toiled on, creeping, sliding, crawling, and doing about
everything an active, ambitious hunter might, in pitting his powers
against a wary species of quarry that had only to make one big jump in
order to baffle all his plans.
Finally he knew that the creel would not hold many more of those big
"saddles," and accordingly Toby promised himself that he would surely
stop when he had taken just five, in addition to those already bagged.
Three times he tossed a victim over to the bank, where he could see the
gun and the basket. A fourth fell into his hands after a long steal
through some reeds, and having put an end to the victim's struggles,
Toby turned to throw him to the bank, after which he would look for the
very last frog he meant to take.
He did not throw that defunct jumper, however, although his hand was
drawn back to make the cast. Instead Toby stood there staring, a wrinkle
stealing between his eyes just above his nose, as it always did when the
boy was puzzled.
"Now, what's that m-m-mean?" he grumbled to himself, as he started
post-haste toward the bank. "Mebbe Steve's come out to s-s-see how I'm
doing, and he's j-j-just snuck my b-b-basket away for f-f-fun. There's
the g-g-gun aleanin' 'gainst that tree all right, but where's my
b-b-bully lot of f-f-frogs, I want to know?"
And indeed it was just as Toby said; for the shotgun could be plainly
seen where he had laid it, against the base of a tree-trunk; but the
trout creel filled almost to the lid with the delicious white meat
"saddles" of his many victims had mysteriously vanished!