CHAPTER IV.

SOME WOODS LORE.

“What d’ye call that, now?” exclaimed Step Hen.

Giraffe assumed a superior air, as he hastened to remark:

“Next time you hear an old alligator bull bellow, you’ll recognize the

same; but to tell the truth, I’m kind of disappointed, myself, because I

expected to get something bigger’n that.”

“Was it an alligator, Thad?” demanded Davy; while Bumpus was seen to

involuntarily move a little closer to the tree under which the camp-fire

had been made, and the twin, khaki-colored, waterproof tents erected.

The scout-master shook his head in the negative.

“Giraffe’s got another guess coming to him this time,” he said. “From

all I’ve picked up, I reckon we’ll not be disappointed when we do hear

some old scaly bull bellow. But they tell me this happens generally

along toward dawn. And the sound is more like the roaring of a lion,

than what a regular bull gives out.”

“But what was that we heard, then, Thad?” persisted Step Hen; for long

ago these boys had taken it for granted that a scout-master should be in

the nature of a “walking encyclopedia,” as Bumpus called it, filled to

the brim with general information on every known topic, and ready and

willing to impart the same to the balance of the patrol on request; and

truth to tell they seldom caught Thad Brewster in a hole.

“Well, now, there are a lot of things in a Southern swamp, any one of

which might make a noise like that. If you asked me my plain opinion I’d

guess it might have been a wandering night heron, which has a hoarse

cry, some of you happen to know, because we struck them up in Maine that

time we spent a vacation there.”

“What other creatures are we likely to run across here, besides snakes

and alligators, runaway coons and the like?” pursued Davy, always

wanting to know.

“Of course there are muskrats, because you can find them in every swamp

east and west, north and south,” Giraffe ventured.

“Yes, muskrats are found, though not so many as in the north, and the

skins are sometimes hardly worth taking. But there are plenty of

raccoons and ’possums: and I’m told they get quite some otter down here,

the most valuable pelt that comes up from the South, selling at

something like seven dollars a skin.”

“Whew! that’s talking some,” muttered the interested Bumpus. “Did I ever

tell you fellows that I once had a great notion of starting in to be a

trapper? Yes, I even read up a whole lot about it, but kinder got

twisted in the directions of how to go about things, so as not to let

the cunning little varmints get the human odor.”

At that there was a general laugh, causing the fat scout to look around

indignantly; whereupon the others, notably Step Hen, Davy and Giraffe

exchanged winks.

“Ain’t that so, Thad?” demanded Bumpus, turning to the scout-master.

“You’re right about that, Bumpus,” came the reply. “Allan here, who has

had lots of experience, will tell you that the most successful trapper

is the man who manages somehow to keep from alarming his intended game,

both by making few if any tracks around the place where he’s put his

trap; and by eliminating the human odor that their sensitive noses

detect.”

“There, didn’t I tell you?” demanded Bumpus, triumphantly. “Think you’re

smart to just sit there and chuckle; but you’ve all got heaps and heaps

to learn about the secrets of the woods. I know my own weakness, and I’m

studying hard, trying to remedy it. You’d never guess what a lot of cute

things them pelt-takers have to put up, in order to fool the woods

folks; ain’t that a fact, Thad?”

Bumpus knew that so long as he could get the scout-master to corroborate

all of his statements he was sure of having his opponents in a hole; and

it was amusing to see how he managed to accomplish this same thing.

“Yes, it’s all mighty interesting,” Thad assured them. “Nowadays nearly

every up-to-date trapper makes use of a prepared scent which he places

on the trap, even if he baits the same. It is sold by dealers in skins;

and they say a trapper can get much better results by using this, to

attract the little fur-bearing animals.”

“What’s that, Thad; you tell us they sell this scent to trappers, or

such as think they have a call in that direction?” demanded Giraffe,

suddenly.

“Of course any one can buy any quantity, if he’s got the price,” Thad

assured him. “You seem interested, Giraffe; perhaps, now, you’re

thinking of embarking in the game?”

But the lanky one only shook his head, and turning on Bumpus he demanded

severely:

“Looky here, Bumpus, did you, when you read up about all these here

interesting things connected with trapping the fur-bearing animals of

the wilderness, ever go so far as to invest a dollar in buying any of

this wonderful stuff that they say is so fetching that the silly little

beasts just can’t resist it?” and as he said this Giraffe tried to hold

the fat boy transfixed with his piercing gaze—some of them had at one

time even called Giraffe “Old Eagle Eye,” earlier readers of these

stories may remember.

“No, I didn’t, if you want to know, Giraffe!” Bumpus broke out with;

“and I ain’t agoing to tell you any more about what I learned; because

you’re all the time apicking on me, and accusing me of things. I know I

make mistakes sometimes, and that one about not remembering whether I

fetched my mother back the medicine she wanted is abothering me like

everything right now; but the rest of you are in the same boat, ain’t

you? Here was Giraffe just a little while back awanting to rush after

that runaway convict, just as if we had lost anything like that. Course

it was a mistake and chances are we’d got in no end of trouble if he’d

had his way. Oh! everybody blunders sometimes; to-day it may be poor old

Bumpus; but to-morrow one of the rest of you is in the soup. Forget it,

now.”

“What about these swamp animals, Thad, or Allan; and why do you say the

skins don’t bring as good prices when they’re taken down here, as in the

North?” Step Hen wanted to know.

“Don’t it stand to reason that the colder the country the thicker the

fur Nature gives to the animals that bear it?” asked Allan.

“Why, yes, seems like that ought to be so; and I guess that must be the

reason Canada skins bring the best prices of all,” Giraffe admitted.

“Sometimes three times as much as ones taken far South,” Allan told him.

“I’ve no doubt that sooner or later we’ll find chances to examine the

tracks of ’coons, ’possums, foxes, muskrats, and even otter, while we’re

looking around,” Thad remarked; “and it’ll be interesting to notice what

difference there is between the various animals, as well as between the

same breed up in Maine and down here in Louisiana; for they grow

smaller, as a rule, the further south you go. A Florida deer can be

toted back to camp on the back of the average hunter, while one up in

Michigan or the Adirondacks would need two men and a pole to carry it

any distance.”

“This sure is mighty interesting,” observed Step Hen. “I’m always ready

to soak in information connected with the woods. I’m like a big sponge,

you might say; ready to give it out again on being squeezed.”

“On my part,” Giraffe mentioned, “I don’t seem able to get that coon out

of my head; because, if he was what we think, a hideout escaped convict,

chances are he must want a whole lot of things, from a blanket, gun and

clothes, to grub.”

“That’s unkind of you, Giraffe, to bother us with such gloomy thoughts

just as we are thinking of soon going to bed,” remarked Bumpus,

uneasily.

“But there’s some horse sense in what he says, don’t you forget it,

Bumpus,” pursued Davy.

“That’s a fact,” added Step Hen. “Just put yourself in his place for a

while, and try to imagine what your feelings’d be like, asneaking around

a camp of boys, nearly half starved at the same time, and scenting the

good smells that fill the air all around—of course I mean cooking meat,

coffee and the like. Say, wouldn’t it nearly set you crazy; and honest

now, Bumpus, don’t you think you’d take some risks to try and hook what

you wanted so bad?”

Bumpus, upon being thus deliberately appealed to, nodded his head in the

affirmative, and remarked:

“I sure would, and that’s a fact, fellows. Then you kinder look for a

visitor in camp to-night, do you? And that means everybody’s just got to

sit up and stand guard, don’t it? all right, you’ll find me as willing

and ready as ever to sacrifice my comfort for the public welfare. I’m

always there with the goods.”

“Hear! hear! Bumpus, we all know you like a book!” declared Step Hen,

pretending to clap his hands in enthusiasm, though no sound resulted

from the action.

“Yes, and if the will was father to the deed, there’d be nothing left

undone while Bumpus was around; for he’s always ready to try his best,”

Allan went on to say, while the object of all this praise turned rosy

red with embarrassment.

“Mebbe you’re only joshing me, boys,” he remarked uneasily, “but I’m

taking it for granted that you mean all you say, and believe me, I’m

grateful. If I wasn’t so full of supper I’d get on my feet, put my hand

on my stomach this way, and make you the best bow I knew how. Like a lot

more of things you’ll have to take the intention for the deed there,

too. It’s a case of the spirit being willing, but the flesh weak.”

“Well,” said Giraffe, “I didn’t know that there was anything weak about

you, Bumpus; but never mind starting an argument about it now. We’ll

just arrange things so that two scouts are on duty all the time through

the night. How would that suit you, Mr. Scout-master?”

“Just about right,” replied Thad; “because we are now eight, all told,

and that would allow us to divide up into four watches. And as Bumpus is

so anxious to do his whole duty by the camp, I’ll promise to take him on

as my side partner when my turn comes.”

“Well,” mused Giraffe, “it’s mighty nice to have a fellow along who

isn’t afraid of anything, and will even make a martyr of himself in

order to keep peace in the camp.”

“P’raps you wouldn’t mind explaining just what you mean by that,

Giraffe?” the stout scout quickly remarked, suspiciously.

“Oh! you’re as touchy as wildfire, to-night, Bumpus,” retorted the

other, with a chuckle, as though he felt that he had attained his

object, which was to excite the curiosity of the fat boy. “Just turn

your mind on what may happen while we sleep, and you’ll be happier. But

here’s hoping that breeze keeps acoming from that same quarter all the

night, because then we can plan better.”

Davy snickered audibly at this, but Bumpus assumed a lofty air, and

would not pay any further attention to those who were evidently bent on

badgering him.

The Boy Scouts Down in Dixie; or, The Strange Secret of Alligator Swamp · 第 4 / 28 章