CAMPING OUT
The situation of their camp, in a fertile little valley, was found
to have so many attractions that the Ramblers, by a unanimous vote,
decided to spend all of the following day right there.
"Let that other crowd get as far ahead of us as possible," proposed
Dick Travers. "It may take them longer to get back, for I'm sure they
don't intend to give us any more peace than they can help."
"I think we can afford to forget them for a while," said Bob. "And now,
boys, what do you think of building a brush camp, or lean-to?"
"Just the thing," exclaimed Sam Randall, enthusiastically.
A dense wood surrounded the valley. Through its cool and shady
recesses, the dark, rich greens of firs and cedars could be seen.
"Why not build a lean-to right in the midst of them?" asked Tom
Clifton.
"Old Bill Agnew said it was better to camp in the open whenever
possible."
"Why so?"
"On account of insects and because it is generally safer. That ridge
over there looks like a good place. It has a gentle slope, which will
be just the thing for our bough beds."
"Oh ho, it seems to me there is nothing but work," groaned Dave, with a
yawn. "Why not sleep on the ground?"
"You lazy duffer!" exclaimed Dick. "Come on; think what fun you'll have
making all these things."
"I feel in a generous mood," laughed Dave. "I'm perfectly willing to
give you all my share."
The ridge lay some distance inland, but from its elevated position, the
motor boat could be kept in view.
Lots were drawn. To Tom and Dick fell the task of cutting poles and
collecting brush for the lean-to, while Dave, with a terrible grimace,
set about chopping sufficient fire-wood for their present needs. Bob
Somers and Sam Randall took their guns and started to look for game.
"Let's skirt along the river, if possible," suggested Bob; "perhaps we
may get a shot at some ducks."
"Agreed," said Sam; "but that underbrush looks a little thick right
here; I guess we'll have to go around."
The boys found that it was not an easy matter to push their way along
in any given direction. Growth of all kinds was luxuriant. Tangled
vines, provided by nature with very sharp little thorns, continually
impeded their progress, besides causing much discomfort, as it was hard
to entirely avoid them.
They were careful to keep their guns pointed away from each other, and
to keep the triggers free from low-hanging branches or underbrush.
At length, after a detour, the greenish expanse of river flashed in
view between the tree trunks.
Suddenly a low whirring sound, directly in front, startled both
hunters. A flock of ruffed grouse rose and flew with lightning-like
rapidity among the trees.
"Too late," sighed Bob, lowering his gun. "Next time we must be better
prepared."
"Yes, and what a supper we missed," said Sam, regretfully.
They had now come to an open space. Beyond it, along the shore of the
river, was a thick clump of trees.
"Do I see anything over there?" asked Sam.
"Looks like a lot of birds," answered Bob.
"Hope we'll surprise the fellows with a fine brace of something."
"So do I. Look out, Sam. Don't make so much noise."
"My foot slipped on a stone," said young Randall, apologetically.
The boys worked their way forward with the greatest care.
"Just a little further," said Sam, in scarcely audible tones; "then, oh
my, what a supper we may have."
"Don't talk," admonished Bob.
He took a long survey through his field-glass.
"Wood-ducks," he whispered, in a scarcely audible voice.
Sam's eyes sparkled. With the utmost care, he followed in Bob's
footsteps.
The two finally concealed themselves in the midst of a patch of tall,
rank grass and reeds. Not daring to even whisper, they slowly crawled
forward, never, for an instant, exposing any part of their bodies to
view.
Both being good shots, it looked as if their patience would be rewarded.
But, to their consternation, just at the critical moment, when they
were well within range, a shot rang out loudly, followed by a perfect
fusillade of others.
The ducks, with cries of alarm, arose en masse, flying swiftly away,
while Bob and Sam jumped to their feet, in the greatest disappointment.
"Those miserable fellows again!" exclaimed the former, angrily.
The "Nimrod" had rounded a point.
"Fine hunters, to shoot at such long range as that," grumbled Sam.
"What a nuisance they are."
"They spoil everything," declared Bob, in disgusted tones.
Disconsolately, the return trip was begun.
A series of harsh, rasping cries, issuing from the dim recesses of
the woods, betokened the presence of a blue jay, while at intervals
sounded the tap-tap of that busy workman of the forest--the woodpecker.
They concluded to return by the same route, in the hope of stirring
up some other game. Fortune favored them this time, a couple of
squirrels being bagged, which partly reconciled them to their previous
disappointment.
They found, upon returning to camp, that the three other Ramblers had
not been idle. Dave pointed with pride to a large pile of wood, while
Tom and Dick showed equal satisfaction in exhibiting a mass of pine
boughs, besides a number of poles. Nor was this all. Reposing on a flat
stone were three good-sized fish.
"Where did you get them?" queried Bob, in pleased surprise.
"Just a little way up the river," responded Dick Travers, proudly.
"We can now have a meal fit for a king," exclaimed Sam.
"How are you going to cook the fish?" asked Tom.
"Oh, I know," said Bob. "Let's find a couple of flat stones, fellows."
"I saw some down near the river," put in Dick.
He sped off, with Tom at his heels.
"That's the idea," said Bob, as each returned, lugging a good-sized
stone. "Now for a fire!"
When it was burning brightly, the stones were placed in the middle of
it.
"What is that for?" asked Tom.
"When they get hot as blazes," explained Bob, with a smile, "I'm going
to put the fish between 'em, cover the whole business with hot coals,
and let our supper bake."
"Another Bill Agnew act," laughed Dave.
"You've guessed it."
Preparations continued, and after an interval, Bob sang out: "Those
stones must be hot enough by this time."
"Red hot, except that you can't see it," laughed Sam. "Hey there, be
careful not to roll 'em out on my feet."
Bob laughed.
"Keep out of the way of the cook, then."
The fish were placed between the stones, then covered with hot embers.
"Smells good, fellows, doesn't it?" observed Dave. "I can hardly wait."
The feast was even more delicious than they had been led to expect from
the appetizing odor, and Dave voiced the sentiments of all when he
declared that nothing could beat a meal out in the open.
The lean-to had to be made quickly, as night was settling over the
scene. The boys, therefore, started work with a will. A lean-to might
be described as a shelter, having one sloping side, which also acts as
the roof, and two vertical, the front being left open. By driving two
stout poles into the ground, about a dozen feet apart and securing a
cross piece at the top, they readily provided the principal framework.
Numerous saplings were next placed at short intervals against it. Dick
Travers busied himself forcing the ends into the ground, while the
other boys began placing spruce and hemlock boughs, in thick layers,
upon the sloping top thus formed. The sides were then attended to in
the same manner.
By the glare of the camp-fire, the lean-to was completed. Bob and his
companions surveyed its cozy appearance with much pride, but did not
desist from their labors until bough beds had been arranged upon the
ground within.
"Old Bill couldn't have done better himself," declared Bob. And the
others agreed with him.
The fire was replenished, the dancing tongues of flame lighting up the
surroundings with a fantastic glare. The Ramblers felt those peculiar
sensations which come to nearly all amateur woodsmen, especially
at night. Never before had the mysteries of nature, as well as the
immensity of the star-studded heavens, appealed to their imaginations
so vividly. Insects kept up an incessant chant, while from the woods
issued numerous familiar voices.
They were far from any human habitation, in a wild region, seldom
frequented by any one except an occasional sportsman. It seemed as if
they were alone in the midst of a great solitude.
But suddenly a starlike point of light appeared in the distance, then
another and another, until four, all moving in the most erratic
fashion, advanced slowly toward them.
"What does that mean?" asked Tom Clifton.
The sound of voices reached their ears.
"The Trailers, as I live!" exclaimed Sam Randall. "Just listen to them."
There was no need of this advice. The Nimrods possessed lusty voices,
and began using them to their fullest capacity. The result, while not
harmonious, proved effective.
"Here come the mighty Nimrod boys
And pirates of the deep,
And every one will make a noise
To drive away your sleep."
"That sounds like more trouble," said Bob, with a laugh.
"Pirates of the Bounding Deep," shrieked John Hackett.
"Of the bounding, bounding deep," echoed the others, in turn.
"And we're just as bad when off the sea,
As real ones on the ocean be."
It was Nat who uttered the last words, which he followed by a series
of frightful discords through the megaphone.
Straight up to the camp-fire, in single file, they came, swinging their
lanterns, as they ranged themselves around.
"I told you boys that this cheery blaze must mark the retreat of our
friends, the little ancient mariners, who sail on land and try to catch
dickey birds without the use of salt," laughed Nat.
"And we are overflowing with joy at this chance meeting," put in John
Hackett.
"And likewise have come to inquire if the birds and beasts who once
dwelt here have all been shot?" added Kirk Talbot. "I'll explain the
idea:
"When hunters brave as these
Go to shooting 'midst the trees,
Will the birdlets fly away,
Or will they boldly laugh--and stay!"
"You all seem to be poet laureates," said Dave Brandon.
"What has been done for a camp?" broke in Nat. "Is it near here? Say,
where did that strange looking pile of underbrush come from?"
The Nimrods had discovered the shelter.
"It's a fine one," said Ted Pollock, admiringly.
"That it is," assented Nat, suddenly reverting to a serious mood. A
trace of sarcasm seemed to lurk in his tone, however, and the boys, at
first, thought he was merely trying to deceive them. But in a moment
he caught Bob Somers' eye, and, nodding to him in his most pleasant
manner, continued: "We have come with the olive branch of peace. I hope
you bear us no ill will, and if any damage has been caused, please
accept our apologies."
"You must excuse our fun; a little joking never hurts any one," chimed
in "Hatchet."
"We can stand almost any amount, provided it doesn't knock our boat in
three or four pieces," returned Bob, who was far from being satisfied
that the Nimrods were acting in good faith.
"The fact is," said Nat, presently, "this seems to be an ideal place
for camping out. Why not cast our fortunes together for a week--what do
you say?"
There was a strange sort of eagerness in his voice that did not escape
Bob's attention.
"We don't intend to stay a week," he said.
"You surely don't mean that you are going to leave to-morrow?" inquired
Nat, now all seriousness.
"Oh, no, only--"
"Then we can join the camp, eh--why not? We can have a grand time and
forget any little differences. Besides," he added, after a short pause,
"the arrangement will only last for a few days."
This started an open discussion, in which all present had more or less
to say, but it finally became so evident that the Nimrods were anxious
to make amends for the past, that their arguments proved effective. Bob
and his companions were, also, quite satisfied that they could take
care of themselves should an emergency arise, while they all felt more
curiosity in regard to the possible course of the Nimrods than they
would have been willing to admit.
The Trailers sat around the fire for about an hour, then, picking up
their lanterns and promising to return on the morrow, they bade the
Ramblers adieu, and retired in an orderly and quiet fashion.