BUMPUS TAKES A CHANCE.
"Everybody's getting bears but me," Bumpus was saying on the following
day, when, a new camp having been selected, further removed from the
noise of the rapids, the boys decided to stay over for a little while,
and try their luck hunting through the big timber lands around them.
The two runaway pack mules had been recovered. Just as the boys expected,
the trailing stakes had become caught fast in the rocks that lay up the
stream, and in which direction the panic-stricken pack animals had gone.
Both were found before darkness set in, and escorted back in triumph to
the camp.
The boys had also discovered that hungry trout lay in schools below the
foaming rapids, just anxious to grace the frying-pan of the scouts. And
the savory mess they had secured for breakfast that morning was one of
the reasons why, upon putting the question to a vote, it was decided to
stay over a while.
And after they had located the new camp, with the tents erected, and
things looking fairly comfortable, the complaining voice of Bumpus was
heard in the land, as he rubbed diligently at the shining barrels of his
Marlin with an oiled rag.
"Well, you had your chance, didn't you?" demanded Step Hen, with a wink
and a nod in the direction of Thad, who had paused to listen, while
stretching the great skin of the grizzly on a big frame, to start drying.
"I s'pose I did; but he was too far away for my buckshot to bring him
down," declared Bumpus; "but I hit him, didn't I, Thad?"
"In eight different places by actual count," replied the other.
"Altogether this pelt is shot so full of holes it won't make the finest
rug going; but whenever we look at it on the floor of our armory we'll
all remember the queer kind of fruit the trees out here bear."
"There is Giraffe, now," went on Bumpus, still hugging his grievance to
his heart; "he got a black bear when we were up in Maine, but I call that
just a snap. The old thief was astealin' honey from the tree we cut down,
when Giraffe, he just plunked him. Why, my dandy gun would have knocked
that bear over at such close range, the easiest ever."
"I guess it would, Bumpus," said Thad, consolingly, "and sometime,
perhaps you'll have your chance. We all hope you will, anyhow."
"I'm going to see to it that I do," grumbled the fat scout; and from his
manner one would be apt to think that really life was becoming very tame,
and hardly worth having, unless he might find his one great wish
gratified.
Bumpus really felt his failure of the preceding night very keenly. It was
not often that any of the boys had seen him so sober and sour.
He felt as though a cruel fate had taken pleasure in cheating him out of
honors he should have claimed. That ought to have been _his_ bear, by
right of first discovery; and also because he had fired both barrels of
his Marlin at the beast, and actually knocked him over.
The trouble was, old Charlie did not know enough to stay down; but had
persisted in giving them further trouble, until Thad engineered that
clever scheme for getting possession of a gun, when immediately the game
was up.
Had Thad ever dreamed of what a tenacious hold this newly-acquired desire
to shine as a mighty Nimrod, had taken upon the mind of Bumpus, he would
certainly have been more careful about leaving the tenderfoot to his own
devices.
The morning was still young when Giraffe proposed that they make up a
party, to take a look around.
"Who knows but what we might run across a deer; or one of those Rocky
Mountain big-horn sheep?" he added, as a clincher to his argument.
"That sounds good to me," declared Step Hen.
"I'll go along to help tote your game," remarked Bob White.
"And I'm in the ring," remarked Step Hen. "Why, my mouth's just watering
for some prime mutton chops."
Thad smiled. He knew that if ever they did secure a big-horn, the flesh
of that high jumping animal would probably be as tough as leather, unless
fortunately they chanced upon a young one.
It was finally arranged that besides Thad and Allan, Step Hen, Giraffe
and Bob White should make up the hunting party.
This would leave three in camp--Smithy who had no gun, Davy Jones, whose
head still felt sore from the effect of his accident on the previous
afternoon; and the despondent Bumpus, who was acting very strangely, for
one of his cheery disposition.
No one dreamed that any trouble could come upon the camp while part of
the scouts were away. Two of those who remained owned guns, though at the
last moment Davy Jones forced Bob White to carry his "pump" shot gun. But
then, what was there to fear? If the mate of the slain grizzly came
around, looking for the absent one, the boys had been instructed to take
to the trees; and Thad had even gone to the trouble of picking out the
best fortress available in this line, one that even the clumsy Bumpus
could readily climb.
"Think you could shin up that tree, in case the other old Mountain
Charlie came prowling around?" Thad asked Bumpus.
"Oh! I guess I could," replied the other, rather indifferently, Thad
thought.
"Tell you what, Bumpus," called out Step Hen, "if I was you I'd fix it
so's to have my ammunition up in that tree. Then, you see, if he sat down
at the butt here, to wait till you got ripe and dropped, why, you could
just keep banging away till you loaded him so full of little bullets he
couldn't get up off the ground. Great stunt, ain't it boys?"
The others readily declared that it was making things easy for Bumpus.
They were even kind enough to express a wish that another bear _would_
take a notion to come around, just to please Bumpus, for it pained them
exceedingly to see him looking so miserable.
But the fat boy did not grow at all enthusiastic over Step Hen's
proposal. He just watched all the preparations being made for the hunt;
and sitting there on the log, kept polishing his gun, although it
certainly showed no speck of rust or grime.
Presently all of them were ready to start.
"It would be nice now," said Thad, before departing, "if some of you
camp-keepers gave those trout another try. We may not get a shot at a
deer all the time we're gone; and if we fail on fresh meat, another mess
of trout would taste pretty fine."
"I should say they would, whether we strike game or not," declared
Giraffe.
"Haven't tasted anything so good since we were up in Maine last fall, and
had just one mess before the trout season closed," Allan observed.
"I'll try and accommodate you as far as I'm able," Smithy agreed.
"Same here," echoed Davy Jones.
But as for Bumpus, good-natured, jolly Bumpus, he seemed to have lost his
tongue, for he failed to add his promise to that of the other two scouts.
Thad looked at him as he turned away. He had never dreamed that the fat
scout would take anything so much to heart. Bumpus was not cut out for a
good hunter, either by instinct or bodily favor. Some of his enemies in
Cranford, like Brose Griffin and Eli Bangs, were wont to say that Bumpus
was not only ponderous of body, but "fat-witted" as well, by which they
probably meant his mind was slow to act.
Still, there have been successful fat hunters. Bumpus knew, for he had
made it a point to investigate in every way possible, and he was resolved
that he would shine as a successful Nimrod, despite the disadvantages
under which he labored. So much the more credit to him when he finally
proved his right to boast that proud title.
After the five hunters went away, Smithy found some bait, and wandered
down to the base of the rapids to fish. The gentle art of angling was
more in the line of the dude of the patrol than tramping through the big
timber after elusive game.
Here Davy Jones presently joined him, saying that Bumpus had urged him to
add a second rod and line to that Smithy already had out.
"Couldn't get him to try it, though," said Davy. "Told me he was no
fisherman, and nearly always fell in, he was that clumsy. And between us,
Smithy, that's pretty near the truth."
"Well, I can remember several occasions when Bumpus made a splash that he
didn't calculate on," remarked Smithy, who was usually just as careful of
his language as he was of his clothes, and no one could ever remember
ever hearing him utter any slang phrase.
Meanwhile the five hunters had gone off in high spirits. The day was
glorious, and a whole month of this sort of thing stared them in the
face. That was enough to make any bunch of boys happy, especially when
they cared as much for the Great Outdoors as Thad and his chums did.
Allan was a born hunter. What he did not know about stalking game and all
such things that a successful hunter must be up in, the boys had not as
yet learned.
He had noted the passing clouds, and observed the direction in which the
prevailing wind blew. It was of considerable moment for the success of
their fresh meat hunt, that they go _up_ the breeze. In this way they
would avoid having their presence in the timber made known in advance to
the wary game, through the medium of the wonderful sense of smell which
most animals possess.
The five scouts spread out at times in the shape of a fan, so as to cover
as much ground as possible.
Again they would come together for a little consultation, when they could
compare notes; and those who were not very much experienced in still
hunting, pick up more or less valuable pointers.
Noon came, but as yet they had not met with any success. Around them the
tall trees grew thickly, and some of them had trunks of such girth that
the scouts easily understood why this region was always referred to as
the "big timber."
As they ascended higher up the slopes of the foothills that bordered the
Rockies, they would find the trees growing smaller all the while, until
far up the heights the stunted mesquite or the dwarfed cedar alone
remained.
Not at all dismayed, after they had refreshed themselves with the lunch
brought for that purpose, the young hunters again started out.
The wind had veered somewhat, and with this fresh start they changed
their own course, so as to keep it coming toward them. Thad was just as
well pleased, for this new direction would serve to keep them within a
few miles of camp; and in case they did manage to secure meat, they would
not have so far to transport it.
Still the time kept slipping away, and the sun could hardly have been
more than two hours above the western horizon when suddenly a buck was
started. Every one was so eager to get in a shot, that a regular volley
rang out immediately.
There was positively no chance for the poor deer. He went down in a heap,
and was so near dead when he reached the ground that he did not even give
a last expiring kick.
Of course the boys were delighted, especially when Allan declared their
united quarry was a nice young buck, and that his flesh ought by all
rights be tender.
Using the greatest dispatch the deer was soon cut up. And when the
various packages of meat had been judiciously distributed, the five
scouts started on their return to camp.
Thanks to the knowledge of woodcraft possessed by Allan and Thad, they
managed to make the camp on a line as straight as an arrow, almost.
Indeed, Thad declared that a bee laden with honey, could make no more
direct drive for the hive than Allan had in leading them toward the
region of the camp.
It was just beginning to get a little dusk when they sighted the
crackling fire, and hurrying along, entered camp. Thad looked around.
Davy was busy over the fire, and the delightful smell of frying trout
told what his occupation must be. Smithy was cutting up some small wood
with the camp-hatchet. Both looked up as the hunters came in.
"Where's Bumpus?" asked Thad, quickly scenting trouble.
Davy and Smithy exchanged glances.
"We hoped he'd found you, and come back," observed the former.
"Found us? What do you mean by that?" demanded the scoutmaster.
"We went down to the foot of the pool to fish," explained Davy. "An hour
later I came back to get another hook, and I found that Bumpus had
disappeared, taking his gun with him."
Thad and Allan exchanged worried glances. With night at hand and that
clumsy tenderfoot lost somewhere in the big timber, it was no wonder that
a sense of impending trouble, that might yet end in tragedy, oppressed
them.