NICK WIPES OUT HIS DISGRACE
Everybody in the camp jumped up.
All eyes were turned toward the point from which this racket sprang;
and it was a strange sight that immediately met their astonished eyes.
Jimmie was jumping about as though he had accidentally stepped into a
bee's nest, and was now engaged in a hand-to-hand fight with the entire
swarm.
Nick happened to be in a position where he could see better than any of
his companions. And he immediately discovered that the troubles of the
Irish lad were not at all imaginary.
Something was leaping back and forth, now threatening to land on the
shoulders of Jimmie, and then springing to the low limb of a tree, or it
might be the ground.
Nick had never before set eyes on such a strange creature, yet he
realized that it was a wild animal. His late unpleasant experience was
of course still fresh in his mind; and his first suspicion may have been
that this was another specimen of a Canadian pussy cat.
Whatever it was, Jimmie seemed to be having the time of his life
fighting. True to his inherited instincts, the Irish lad had snatched up
some sort of stick, to serve him as a shillalah. It was a stout bit of
wood too, and he wielded it in a manner that proved him to be a "broth
of a boy." Several times it landed with a resounding whack upon the
flying body of his antagonist, and at each connection the unknown beast
was hurled heavily backward.
But evidently the furious animal was grim and determined. Instead of
being cowed by these temporary setbacks it only resumed the attack
with added zeal; so that Jimmie had often to throw up his left arm in
addition, to fend off his foe.
Now, Nick chanced to remember that at the very moment he was holding a
gun in his hands. With one of his chums in grave peril it seemed to
devolve upon him to engineer a rescue party.
"Come on, boys! Jimmie needs help!" he shouted, starting to run forward
as well as his bulk admitted.
"Careful of that gun, Buster!" called Herb.
"Yes, don't shoot Jimmie instead!" added Josh.
"Hold your fire till you can get 'em separated!" supplemented George;
who being a little farther away at the time, managed to bring up the
rear.
In this way then the quartette started to the assistance of Jimmie, who
was still whanging away with might and main. What with the loud shouts
of the aroused Irish lad, the whoops of the runners, and the angry
snarling of the enraged beast, one would think a menagerie must have
broken loose in the neighborhood.
Just then George happened to get a good look at the beast as it jumped
up on the limb, and whirling, crouched to make another leap.
"It's a wildcat!" he shouted as loud as he could. "Be careful, Nick!
Don't you try to grab it now, on your life!"
Nick heard, but was too busy to think of replying. The cat had sprung
again at the pugnacious Irish boy, to be met with another smart thump
that landed with a loud thud, and sent the beast sprawling to the
ground.
"Ye would, hey?" howled Jimmie in derision, though the blood was
streaked upon his face, where the sharp claws of the beast had scratched
him. "Thry for it again, plaze! And be the powers, ye'll foind Jimmie
Brannagan at home whin ye knock at the dure. Come on, ye omadhaun! I'll
soon knock all the breath out of the body of ye! Wow!"
The Canadian cat was a fighter. It looked it every inch, now that the
defiant defense of the intruder had aroused its fury. Once more it
sprang to the limb of the tree, as though recognizing that here it had a
better chance to leap than from the ground.
"Now! Buster! But be careful! Keep back Jimmie!" shouted George.
The others held their very breath, for they saw that Nick had the Marlin
repeater up at his bulky shoulder. Perhaps every one of them was
mentally hoping that he would not shut his eyes while pulling the
trigger; for a little swerve might bring Jimmie within range, and the
result be disastrous at that short distance.
Bang!
Instantly a series of whoops broke forth, and every fellow started
forward once more, as though meaning to be in at the death. George and
Herb and Josh had each managed to possess himself of some sort of
improvised weapon. The first had in his hand a hatchet which he had been
using at the time; Josh was waving his favorite big spoon, with which he
was wont to beat the summons to meals on a pan; and the skipper of the
_Comfort_ had picked up a billet of wood while passing the fire, which
he now flourished eagerly above his head.
Nick himself stood there, struggling with the pump-gun. As usual with
novices he could not work the mechanism; for in his excitement he
was trying to fire without having ejected the used shell; and no
self-respecting modern arm will stand for that sort of treatment.
Fortunately all around, no second shot was needed. The animal was
kicking its last upon the ground, and emitting agonizing screams of
anger and pain. Whether by accident or real accuracy of aim, Nick had
apparently managed to send the contents of the shell where it counted.
Already Jimmie was indulging in what seemed to be a war dance, waving
his stick, and singing. George was compelled to laugh just to see his
antics, streaked as his freckled face was with smootches of his own
gore.
"Ye done it, Buster, sure ye knocked the silly gossoon clane over!" he
called. "'Tis a broth of a boy ye arre, and afther me own heart. Look at
the baste, would ye? If he hasn't got tassels on his ears!"
"That's a fact!" declared George, now arriving to see the last kick of
the animal on the ground, and note the unquenchable fury shown to the
very end. "Why, I tell you what it is fellows. A Canadian lynx, that's
what!"
"It does look different from my cat--er, that other animal," admitted
Nick, as he cautiously advanced, evidently ready to beat a hasty retreat
should he discover any need.
"I've heard of the missing links," spoke up Josh; "but we never lost
any; so this critter couldn't belong to us."
"A good shot, Buster, old man!" declared George, bending down to see
where the charge had struck the beast while crouching on the limb, and
preparing for still another leap at Jimmie.
Nick swelled up with importance. Apparently this was one of the few
occasions when he could assume an attitude, and receive congratulations.
Usually it was just the other way; and like a wise fellow he believed in
making hay while the sun shone.
"Oh! pretty fair, considering how quick I had to shoot!" he remarked,
carelessly, as much as to say that, given a little more time, and he
could have done better.
Jack now came running up, having of course heard all the row, and being
consumed with curiosity to know its meaning.
"What is it?" he called, as he ran. "Another Canada pussy cat?"
"That's just what it is," replied George quickly.
"And is Buster at his old tricks again?" continued the other; at which
Nick was compelled to grin amiably, knowing his hour of triumph was at
hand.
"Buster was in the mix-up, all right," George went on; "only this time
he happened to be at the other end of the gun. Buster has covered
himself with immortal glory. We all must knuckle down to him after this
as the great Nimrod; for he has just slain the Jabberwock. Looky here,
Jack; what d'ye call that?"
"Well, I declare, a big Canada lynx!" cried the newcomer, recognizing
the dead beast as soon as he saw its queer tasseled ears, and its
ferocious whiskers.
"It tackled Jimmie here, and they were having a hot old argument of it,
Jimmie pounding with his club, and the cat using its claws," Herb said,
turning to the Irish boy, to see how badly he was wounded.
Jack became sympathetic at once, and anxious in the bargain.
"Only a few little scratches you say, Jimmie," he remarked. "That's
true, they don't seem serious; but it's always dangerous to be marked
with the claws of animals that live on carrion, like lions, grizzlies or
wildcats. And I'm glad to say I've got something along for just such a
case. Come on back to camp with me."
Jimmie, still protesting, did so; while the others, dragging the lynx,
made Buster head the procession, while they sang: "Lo! the Conquering
Hero Comes; Sound the Trumpets, Beat the Drums!" greatly to the delight
of the fat boy.
When Jack applied the purple colored tincture from a small bottle to the
wounds on Jimmie's face and hands, the Irish boy gave a whoop of pain.
"Sure, the rimedy is worse nor the disease!" he complained.
"That's all right," said Jack; "just stand the pain for a little. It's
an insurance against blood poisoning. Many a hunter has lost his life
from little cuts no worse than yours, when they were caused by the claws
of a wild beast. My father would not let me come out unless I carried
this."
"What is it, Jack?" asked Herb, curiously.
"A strong tincture of permanganate of potash," was the reply. "Just
remember that, will you; and it's got to be powerful enough to hurt like
fun; eh, Jimmie?"
"Indade it did, that," was the immediate response; while the Irish boy
screwed up his good humored face in a knot.
Jack went back to his fishing, for he had already managed to take one
pretty good specimen of the Lake Superior speckled trout that would have
weighed nearly four pounds; and was eager for more.
All the while he sat there, employing every device he knew of to tempt
the finny denizens of the depths to bite, he kept one eye to windward.
That low bank of clouds interested him; for it seemed to presage a
storm.
Since everything possible had been attended to in order to ward off any
evil effects of a gale, Jack did not stop fishing until he had succeeded
in catching a fine mess, that would please the heart of Buster.
Josh was preparing the fish as fast as they were caught. Indeed, he
dispatched Nick several times to see if there were any more forthcoming;
when the sportsman would toss ashore his latest catch, and the cook's
assistant hurry back with the prize, his hungry eyes fairly glistening
with anticipation.
Of course it was a royally good supper that followed. Josh cooked the
trout in the same capable manner he had served the lake white fish; and
every fellow declared they had never tasted anything more delicious.
Still, there was plenty for all, and to spare. Even Nick had to shut his
eyes with a deep sigh, because he had reached the extreme limit of his
capacity; and a pan of trout remained untouched.
The growling of the thunder now became more pronounced. Across the
heavens the zigzag lightning shot, in a way that was as terrible as it
was fascinating. Supper done, the boys clustered near the fire, talking,
and watching the coming of the gale. Again and again had Jack and George
gone around, to see that every tent peg was clinched in the ground.
"They're going to hold, unless the wind tears the blessed things to
flinders!" Jack had announced; and at the same time he had seen to it
that the boats were protected by the friendly point of land from the
giant waves that would soon be sweeping in from the sea beyond.
Already were they rising in majestic grandeur that was awe inspiring.
The storm was about to swoop down upon the shore line, and hurl the
rising sea against the mighty rocky barrier, as it had done for
countless ages past without success.
"Oh! ain't I just glad I'm not out there!" exclaimed Nick, as he
shudderingly surveyed the darkening picture of warring elements.
"But look there, fellows; what d'ye call that?" cried Herb, as he
pointed a quivering finger at some object that had suddenly come in
sight from the east.
It was a little motor boat, wallowing in the rising sea, and doomed to
certain destruction unless able to make shelter immediately. And with
the waves dashing wildly against the rocks, those aboard would never see
the small opening through which the motor boat boys had come to their
present snug harbor!
"It's the _Flash_!" shouted Jack; "and unless we manage to show them the
way in, it's good-bye to Clarence and Bully Joe! We must do it, fellows.
Come on!"