THE MISSING TENDERFOOT.
"It looks like poor old Bumpus is lost," said Allan, presently, breaking
the silence that had fallen upon them all.
"Lost--whew!" muttered Giraffe, with a suggestive whistle, and an
elevation of the eyebrows that stood for a great deal.
"That big booby lost!" said Step Hen.
"What on earth can we do?" Smithy asked.
Again they looked at each other.
Consternation had undoubtedly fallen upon the camp of the scouts, just as
though a wet blanket had suddenly been thrown on some pet project. It
would have been a matter of more or less concern had Davy Jones failed to
turn up after a day's hunt in the big timber, or Giraffe, or Step Hen;
but Bumpus, why, no one save himself had ever seriously contemplated the
possibility of the fat boy going astray.
And yet, now that they thought of it, how many times had they heard him
prophesying that if ever he _did_ find himself wandering about alone, he
would know how to take care of himself? Bumpus had for a long time been
making preparations looking to such a happening. The remembrance of this
seemed to cheer the others up a little, after the first shock had passed.
"He was always dreading just this same thing," said Davy Jones.
"And getting ready against the evil day," remarked Allan.
"That was why he bought his little compass," put in Giraffe.
"Ditto his camp hatchet," added Step Hen.
"And I reckon, suh," observed the Southern boy, "that Bumpus had it in
mind more than anything else when he took to carrying that piece of
window sash cord around with him."
"Sure thing," Giraffe went on. "I've heard him say it was apt to come in
handy lots of times."
"And it did," broke in Davy Jones, earnestly. "If it hadn't been for that
same handy rope, fellows, there's no telling what would have happened to
_me_; or what gloom might be ahangin' over this here camp right now."
"Good old Bumpus!" murmured Smithy, quite affected.
"Always willing to do his share of the work. You never knew him to shirk,
or get a cramp in the stomach," and as Giraffe said this he cast a severe
look over in the direction of Davy Jones, who turned red in the face,
gave a little uneasy laugh, and hastened to exclaim:
"Oh! that joke is ancient history now, Giraffe, I've reformed since I
joined the patrol."
Some years before, the Jones boy had really been subject to violent
cramps that gave him great pain, and doubled him up like a jack-knife, or
a closed hinge. He was always an object of pity at such times, and had
frequently been allowed to go home from school because of his affliction.
But the time came when the teacher observed that these convenient
"cramps" never arrived on a rainy day; and also that Davy recovered in a
miraculous fashion, once he reached the open air. And when Davy was
simply allowed to retire to a cloak room, to let the "spasm" pass,
instead of being started homeward, it was noticed that his complaint
quickly disappeared.
So on joining the scouts, Davy, whose dislike for exerting himself had
been his weakness, began to have those strange "cramps" whenever some
hard work was to be done.
But trust boys for noticing that the pains never, never attacked him when
a meal was awaiting attention. And Davy was soon made so ashamed of
himself that he did actually "reform," as he now declared.
"Well," Smithy went on to say, "it's some satisfaction, anyhow, to know
the poor old elephant is so well fixed, if he does have to pass a night
or two in the woods alone."
"He evidently took a lot of grub and matches along," said Davy.
"And if he has a fire, he can do without his blanket," Allan observed.
"While we're pitying him in this way, how do we know but what it may be
the best thing in the world for Bumpus," suggested Thad.
"Yes, he needs something like this to give him self-reliance. Bumpus was
always ready to follow at the heels of some one who led; but who ever
knew him to start out on his own hook?" said Allan.
"If only we could be sure of finding him again, after a couple of days
had gone by, it wouldn't be so bad," declared Smithy.
"Who'll tell his folks?" asked Davy Jones, dejectedly.
Thad turned on him like a flash.
"Here, we don't want any of that sort of talk," he said, severely. "We're
going to find our missing comrade again, all right. Get that fixed in
your mind, Davy. It may be to-morrow, or the day after, or even a week
from now, but we'll find him sooner or later, and he'll know more than he
ever did before, too."
"You just bet he will," chuckled Giraffe, as he mentally pictured the fat
boy stalking through that great tract of timber, solemnly consulting his
compass from time to time, and yet utterly unable to say whether the camp
lay to the north, south, east or west.
"It'll just be the making of Bumpus, fellers," ventured Step Hen.
"But see here," remarked Thad, "if he disappeared this morning, how is it
you two, Davy and Smithy, let the whole afternoon go by without trying to
communicate with us?"
Davy Jones took it upon himself to answer.
"You see, Thad," he began, "in the first place we didn't know for sure
the poor old silly was lost, till late in the afternoon. We just kinder
felt a bit uneasy, but every time I came to camp after fishin' an hour or
so, I expected to see him sitting here."
"But if you grew uneasy, it ought to have been your business to call us
in?" continued Thad, as the leader of the patrol.
"Just so, boss," Davy went on to say, "but you see, it happened that I
let Bob White take my gun; and when Bumpus, he let that silly notion to
wander get a strangle hold on him, why, he carried off the only other
shooting iron we had in camp."
"Oh!" said Thad, "of course. You did all right, Davy. And besides,
there's a little chance right now, that Bumpus, in wandering around, may
glimpse our fire here, and come in."
"And on that account you mean we ought to keep a bumper blaze going all
evenin'," remarked Giraffe, eagerly.
Giraffe's weakness lay in his adoration of fire. It was forever on his
mind, and whenever he sat down to rest, his always keen-edged jack-knife
was busy whittling shavings.
"Oh! we might want to make a fire later on, who knows; and then these
shavings will come in real handy," he would say.
He knew about every means possible for producing a blaze without the use
of matches. The patrol leader, afraid lest Giraffe set the woods afire up
in Maine, where the law is very particular about such things, had given
Giraffe the job of official fire-maker for the camp on condition that he
agreed never to carry matches on his person, but to ask for them as
needed.
This put Giraffe on his mettle.
He began experimenting, first with a burning sun-glass, and a pinch of
powder to start a blaze in the dry tinder. Then he had used flint and
steel successfully. And from this old-time method he advanced along the
line, making fires in half a dozen primitive ways, until he came up
against one that "stumped" him for a long time.
This was the South Sea Island method of producing heat by friction. The
scout had studied it well, made him a little bow, and spent many hours
twirling the stick that was rolled back and forward by the cord.
How success finally came, and at a time when it seemed Giraffe really
needed a fire, if ever he did in all his life, has been already told in a
previous volume of this series.
But the passion for a fire was just as much a part of Giraffe's nature as
it had ever been. And this was why his face lighted up, while his eyes
glittered with happiness, when he heard the acting scoutmaster admit they
ought to keep a good fire going all evening.
Trust Giraffe for that; a wink was as good as a nod to him, when the
subject of fire-building was concerned.
Later on, they sat around enjoying the venison steaks, and the trout
which had been so beautifully browned in the frying-pan, after several
slices of fat salt pork had been "tried out."
"What are you putting that lot aside for, Davy?" asked Thad; just as if
he did not know the generous thought which impelled the cook to reserve
one good big portion of the supper.
"Why, I thought that mebbe Bumpus might poke along after a bit," replied
Davy, adding another crisp trout to the pile he had heaped up, "and if he
does, I guess he's apt to be pretty hungry. Bumpus is a good feeder, we
all know."
"What d'ye suppose made him do it, Thad?" asked Step Hen.
"There," said the scoutmaster, "that's the question. None of us really
know; but we can give a pretty good guess, eh, boys?"
"I should say, yes," spoke up Giraffe. "Bumpus has gone clean crazy over
this bear business."
"Said everybody was getting them but him," put in Smithy; "and I'm sure
that doesn't apply to me in the least. I never expect to get a bear; and
my only hope is that no bear will get me."
"And even if he didn't actually say the words." went on Giraffe, "his
manner stood for it all right--'you just wait, and I'm going to have my
chance before long.' And fellers, it's my opinion Bumpus just got tired
of waiting for his chance to come to him, so he went out stalkin' after
it."
"No use trying to pick up his trail to-night, is there?" asked Step Hen.
Thad shook his head.
"Not in the least," he said. "We'll have to wait until morning, and hope
he may show up yet. As I said before, we'll try and keep a fire going all
night, so as to show him a beacon, if by good luck he keeps on turning to
the left, as lost people nearly always do, and comes back this way."
They sat up rather late, talking. And although the conversation might be
of things that had happened in the past, it was easy to see what the
chief thought in every one of those boys' minds must be; for never did a
rabbit or a squirrel rustle the near-by underbrush that there did not
come a look of eager expectancy upon seven faces, that quickly died out
again with repeated disappointments.
There is an old saying to the effect that "you never miss the water till
the well runs dry." And these seven scouts of the Silver Fox Patrol did
not fully realize what a universal favorite Bumpus Hawtree had become
until he was missing from camp.
Many times that night when either Allan or Thad, being light sleepers,
took it upon themselves to crawl out from their blanket in the tent they
occupied, to fix the smouldering fire, they would sit there a bit, and
listen to see if by good luck they might hear a distant "halloo."
But only the usual noises of the night greeted them. Around lay the
mysterious big timber, and somewhere in the unknown depths of this wide
stretch of woods bordering the Rocky Mountain foothills their comrade was
camping in solitude, doubtless a prey to lively fears.
So morning found them.
Breakfast was quickly eaten. There was no "cutting up," or boyish pranks
shown on this morning. Every one seemed serious, gloomy, oppressed with
doubts, and a vague sense of coming trouble.
Thad saw to it that a complete understanding was arranged with the three
who were to remain in camp, being Davy Jones, Bob White and Smithy.
And then the others, having each made up a few rations of food to carry
them over possibly a couple of days, prepared to start upon the plain
trail of Bumpus, which had been easily found.
A last wave of the hand, a few "good luck go with you's," from the boys
in the camp, and then the trackers were swallowed up in the big timber.