A BOND OF SYMPATHY.
With their assistance and advice, Rod finally found himself making some
progress at learning to skate. Slow progress it seemed, indeed, yet he
was genuinely elated when he finally found himself able to stand on the
irons and stroke a little in an awkward way; for this was the promise
of better things to come, and, despite black-and-blue spots and
wearied, wobbly ankles, he was determined to acquire skill at that
winter pastime which all the boys seemed to enjoy. At intervals, having
labored back to the shore, he sat down to rest, watching his two
companions skimming hither and thither over the surface of the frozen
cove. Once they joined him.
“Pegged out?” questioned Spotty kindly.
“Not a bit of it,” replied Rod, with a touch of pride. “I’ve busted
bronchos in my day, and learning to skate is a parlor pastime compared
with that job. I’m going at it again directly.”
“You’ll learn all right,” assured Lander. “Every feller gets his bumps
when he first tries it. Boo! it’s cold to-night. Wish we had a nip of
something to warm us up.”
“Hot coffee wouldn’t be bad,” said Rod.
“Coffee!” laughed Bunk derisively. “I’d like something stronger than
that, but you can’t get much of anything around this old town. Tell you
what, I know where to find some slick old cider, and that would be
better than nothing. ’Tain’t so easy to get it, though. My grandfather
put it up, and he’s got it bottled and stowed away in his cellar.
Guards it like a hawk, too.”
“Can’t you swipe a bottle or two?” asked Spotty eagerly. “I know what
it is, for didn’t we have a high old time with some of it over at your
camp in the swamp back of Turkey Hill?”
“I’d forgot about that,” laughed Lander. “We did have a racket, didn’t
we, Spot?”
“Yes, and I had a headache the next day. Your old granddad’s cider is
stout enough to lift a safe.”
“Oh, he knows how to fix it. He doctors it up with charred prunes and
brown sugar and raisins, and mixes a little of the real corn juice in
with it. A swig or two of that stuff is enough to make a feller feel
frisky as a colt. Maybe I’ll be able to get hold of some to-morrow.
Say, Spot, I wonder if my old camp is still standing?”
“Guess it is,” answered Davis, “though the log we used to cross over on
is gone, and you can’t get to it very easy.”
“We can get to it all right now the swamp is froze up. That was a
corking place, and I had some fun there till I got caught. We’ll have
to take a look at it, me and you, the first chance we get. Maybe your
friend Grant would like to come along.”
“Just now,” said Rod, “I’m particularly interested in acquiring the art
of skating. What’s this camp you’re talking about?”
“A little old log cabin I built on sort of an island in the middle of
the swamp back of Turkey Hill,” explained Lander. “It made a great
place for fellers that was congenial to sneak off away from people and
have fun. There was a sort of path through the swamp, and, by cutting
down a tree and dropping it across the worst place, we could get over
to the island slick. I had that old joint fixed-up fine, too, with
bunks and blankets and an old stove; and you should have seen the stock
of provisions I put in—everything a feller needed to live comfortable
and feed well for a month or more.”
“Where did you get all that outfit?”
“Oh, I got it all right,” answered Bunk evasively, while Spotty
smothered a chuckle. “If it hadn’t been for that sneak, Barker, who
come prying around, I’d never had any trouble. Why, the great
detective, Sleuth Piper, was fooled completely. He was all balled up on
the big sensation that had everybody in Oakdale talking, and his
deductions about it would have made a horse laugh.”
“Don’t talk to me about him!” snarled Davis suddenly. “He’s one of the
bunch I’ve got it in for, all right. A detective! Why, he couldn’t
detect anything.”
Rodney Grant could not help feeling a slight bond of sympathy between
himself and these lads who bore a strong dislike for the very fellows
who had accorded him such unfair and shabby treatment. True, there was
something about them which gave him a sensation of distrust, yet they
also were outcasts in a way, and he could not help thinking that their
misfortune might not be wholly merited. Of a generous nature, he
believed every person had redeeming qualities, and nothing irritated
him more than the common impulse of the masses to jump on a fellow who
was down.
“You’ll have to come over and see my old hang-out sometime, Grant,”
said Lander. “If the stove is still there, I imagine the camp might be
chinked up a little and made pretty comfortable for some fellers who
wanted to sneak off and have a little quiet fun. Of course everybody
around here is watching me, and I’ll have to make a bluff at walking a
chalk-line; but I’m going to be careful, and any lobster who sticks his
nose into my business will stand a chance of getting it pinched.”
“That’s the talk!” cried Davis. “I don’t blame you a bit.”
Although he wondered what all this sort of conversation meant, Rod,
following the true Texas code of manners, refrained from asking
questions. If they wished to take him into their confidence, well and
good; but, if they did not, he would not pry.
After a time they resumed their skating, and Rodney, still further
elated, found that he was making decided progress. He even ventured
forth from the cove in the direction of Bass Island, but Spotty skated
after him and warned him to keep away from the southern end of the
island, where there were always “breathing holes” in the ice.
“There are currents come round both ways and meet there,” said Davis,
“so it’s never really safe, even in the middle of the winter. Eliot
broke through all by his lonesome last winter and come mighty near
drownding.”
“Which would have been a terrible loss to the community,” laughed
Lander, skating backward near at hand.
“What have you got against him?” questioned Spotty. “He didn’t have
anything to do with handing you that swift poke you got.”
“Oh, no; but he always seemed to think himself too good for association
with common people. Just because his father happens to have the dough,
he has a way about him that I can’t stand. You know what he did to you.”
“That’s all right; I’m not standing up for him. Say, Rod, old feller,
you’re coming fine. You were falling all over yourself a while ago, but
now you can get around pretty well. It won’t take you long to skate
first-class.”
“Thanks for the encouragement,” laughed Grant.
“Come out here with us to-morrow night,” urged Spotty, “and we’ll give
you another lesson.”
“Sure thing,” agreed Bunk.
“I’ll do it,” promised Rod.
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