ORGANIZING THE CLUB
“Boys, we’ve got to organize a club,” said Joe, as they were talking the
matter over, and getting one thing and another ready for the trip.
“Just the thing!” shouted Fred. “Let us organize by all means.”
“What shall we call ourselves?” queried Harry. “The Outdoor Trio.”
“Or the Forest Wanderers,” came from Joe.
“Bosh!” interrupted Fred. “We’re going out with guns. You’ve got to put
a gun in the name.”
“How will Young Gunners do?”
“Gun Boys of Lakeport.”
“Young Hunters of the Lake.”
“Bull’s-eye Boys.”
“Yes, but if we can’t make any bull’s-eyes, what then?”
There was a general hubbub and then a momentary silence.
“I’ve got it,” said Joe. “Let us call ourselves The Gun Club. That’s a
neat name.”
“Hurrah for the Lakeport Gun Club!” shouted Fred. “Three cheers and a
tiger! Sis-boom-ah! Who stole the cheese?”
There was a general laugh, in the midst of which Laura Westmore came up.
“Gracious sake! what a noise you’re making! What is it all about?”
“We’ve just organized the Gun Club of Lakeport,” answered Harry.
“Indeed. And who is president, who is vice president, who is secretary,
and who is treasurer?”
At this the three lads looked glum for a moment. Then Joe made a
profound bow to his sister.
“Madam, we scarcely need so many officers,” he said, sweetly. “We’ll
elect a leader and a treasurer, and that will be sufficient. You can be
the secretary—to write up our minutes after we get home and tell you
what happened.”
“I move we make Joe leader,” said Fred.
“Second the commotion,” responded Harry, gravely. “’Tis put and carried
instanter. Mr. Joseph Westmore is elected to the high and dignified
office of president, etc., of the Gun Club of Lakeport. The president
will kindly deliver his speech of acceptance at the schoolhouse during
next summer’s vacation. He can treat with doughnuts——”
“Just as soon as his sister consents to bake them for him,” finished
Fred.
At this Laura burst out laughing. “I’ll treat to doughnuts on one
condition,” she said.
“Condition granted,” cried Fred. “What is it?”
“That you make me an honorary member of the club.”
“Put and carried, madam, put and carried before you mentioned it. That
makes you the secretary sure.”
And Laura accepted the position, and the boys got their doughnuts ere
the meeting broke up.
The news soon spread that the Gun Club of Lakeport had been organized.
Many boys who possessed guns asked if they could join, and half a dozen
were taken in. But of these none could go on the outing as planned,
although they said they would try to join the others just as soon as
they could get away.
“I’ll tell you one thing I am going to take along,” said Harry. “That is
a pair of snowshoes.”
“Right you are,” returned Fred. “Never had so much fun in my life as
when I first put on those things. I thought I knew it all, and went
sailing down a slide about a mile a minute, until one shoe got caught in
a bush, and then I flew through the air for about ’steen yards and
landed on my head kerbang! Oh, they are heaps of fun—when somebody else
wears ’em.”
It was decided that all should take snowshoes. In addition they were to
take their firearms, plenty of powder and shot, a complete set of camp
cooking utensils and dishes, some coffee, sugar, condensed milk, flour,
bacon, salt pork, beans and potatoes, salt and pepper, and half a dozen
other things for the table. Mr. Rush likewise provided a small case of
medicines and a good lantern, and from the Westmore household came the
necessary blankets. Each lad was warmly dressed, and carried a change of
underwear.
“It is going to be no easy work transporting that load to Pine Island,”
observed Harry, gazing at the stores as they lay in a heap on the barn
floor at his parents’ place.
“We are to take two low sleds,” answered Fred. “We have one and Joel
Runnell will furnish the other.”
The sleds were brought around Saturday morning, and by afternoon
everything was properly loaded. Joel Runnell examined the new shotguns
with care and pronounced each weapon a very good one.
“And I hope you have lots of sport with ’em,” he added.
Late Saturday evening Harry was sent from home to the mill to bring over
a sack of buck-wheat flour his mother desired. On his way he passed
Fred’s home, and the latter readily agreed to accompany his chum on the
errand.
The promise of more snow had not yet been fulfilled, and the night was a
clear one, with the sky filled with countless stars.
“I only hope it stays clear,” said Fred. “That is, until we reach the
lodge on the island. After that I don’t care what happens.”
“It might not be so jolly to be snowed in—if we run short of provisions,
Fred.”
“Oh, old Runnell will be sure to keep the larder full. He told me that
the woods are full of wild turkeys and rabbits.”
Having procured the sack of flour and placed it on a hand sled, the lads
started on the return. On the way they had to pass a small clump of
trees, back of which was located the district schoolhouse. As they
paused to rest in the shadow of the trees they noted two men standing in
the entryway of the schoolhouse conversing earnestly.
“Wonder who those men are?” said Harry.
“It’s queer they should be there at this hour,” returned Fred. “Perhaps
they are up to no good.”
“They wouldn’t get much if they robbed the place,” laughed Harry. “A lot
of worn-out books and a stove that isn’t worth two dollars as old iron.”
“Let’s go a little closer, and see who they are anyway.”
This was agreed to, and both boys stole along through the trees, and up
to the side of the entryway. From this point they could not see the men,
but could hear them talking in earnest tones, now high and then very
low.
“It ain’t fair to be askin’ me fer money all the time,” they heard one
man say. “I reckoned as how I’d settled in full with ye long ago.”
“It ain’t so, Hiram Skeetles,” was the reply in Dan Marcy’s voice. “I
did you a big service, and what you’ve paid ain’t half of what I ought
to have.”
“It’s more’n you ought to have. Them papers wasn’t of no account,
anyway.”
“Maybe—but you were mighty anxious to get ’em when——” And the boys did
not catch what followed.
“And that’s the reason,” came presently from Hiram Skeetles.
“Do you mean to say you lost ’em?” demanded Dan Marcy.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“One day when I was sailin’ down the lake in Jack Lasher’s sloop. We got
ketched by a squall that drove us high and dry on Pine Island. I jumped
to keep from getting hurt on the rocks, and when we got off after the
storm my big pocketbook with everything in it was gone.”
“Humph!” came in a sniff from Dan Marcy. “Do you expect me to believe
any such fish story? Not much! I want fifty dollars, and I am bound to
have it.”
A long wrangle followed, in which the bully threatened to expose Hiram
Skeetles. This angered the real estate dealer from Brookside
exceedingly.
“If you’re a natural born idiot, expose me,” he cried. “But you’ll have
to expose yourself fust.”
Dan Marcy persisted, and at last obtained ten dollars. Then the men
prepared to separate, and in a few minutes more each was gone.
“Now what do you make of that?” questioned Fred.
“I hardly know what to make of it,” replied Harry. “But I am going to
tell my father about this just as soon as I get home.”
Harry was as good as his word, and Horace Westmore listened attentively
to what his son had to relate.
“It is certainly very mysterious,” said Mr. Westmore. “The papers that
were mentioned may have been those which your grandfather once
possessed—those which showed that he was the owner of the land at the
upper end of the lake which Skeetles declares is his property. Then
again the papers may be something entirely different.”
“I think we ought to watch Dan Marcy, father.”
“Yes, I’ll certainly watch him after this.”
“You haven’t been able to do much about the land, have you?”
“I can’t do a thing without the papers—the lawyers have told me so.”
“If old Skeetles lost them we couldn’t make him give them up, even on a
search warrant.”
“That is true. But they may not have been lost even though he said so.
He may have them hidden away where nobody can find them,” concluded Mr.
Westmore.
Sunday passed quietly enough, the lads attending church with their
families, and also going to Sunday school in the afternoon. In the
evening Joel Runnell dropped in on the Westmores to see that everything
was ready for an early start the next morning.
“Funny thing happened to me,” said the old hunter. “I was over to the
tavern Saturday night, and met Hiram Skeetles there. He asked me how
matters were going, and I mentioned that I was to take you fellows up to
Pine Island for a hunt. He got terribly excited, and said you had no
right to go up there.”
“Had no right?” questioned Joe. “Why not?”
“He claims that Pine Island belongs to his family, being a part of the
old Crawley estate. But I told him that old Crawley didn’t leave the
island to him, and he had better mind his own business,” went on Joel
Runnell. “We had some hot words, and he flew out of the tavern madder
nor a hornet.”
“Can he stop us, do you think?”
“He shan’t stop me, and I shall protect you boys. Crawley was only a
fourth-handed relation of his, and the property is in the courts, and
has been for three years. At the most, Skeetles ain’t got more’n a sixth
interest in it. Sheriff Cowles is taking care of it.”
This news made the boys wonder if Hiram Skeetles would really try to
prevent their going to the island, but when the time came to start on
the trip the real estate dealer was nowhere to be seen.
“Gone back to Brookside,” said a neighbor. “He got word to come at
once.”
Down at the lake there were a dozen or more friends to see them off,
including Cora Runnell, who came to say good-by to her father. The start
was made on skates, and it was an easy matter to drag the two heavily
loaded sleds over the smooth ice.
“Good-by, boys; take good care of yourselves,” said Mr. Westmore.
“Don’t let a big buck or a bear kill you,” said Mr. Rush to Fred, and
then with a laugh and a final handshake the hunting tour was begun.
As the party moved up the lake they noticed that the _Silver Queen_ was
nowhere in sight. Dan Marcy had failed to break the record with his new
ice boat and had hauled her over to a carpenter shop for alterations.
“I don’t believe he is doing a stroke of regular work,” observed Joe.
“If he keeps on he will become a regular town loafer. He has already
gone through all the money, his folks left him.”
There was no sunshine, but otherwise the atmosphere was clear, and as
the wind was at their backs they made rapid progress in the direction of
Pine Island. The lodge which Joel Runnell had mentioned was situated
near the upper shore, so that they would have to skirt the island for
over a mile before reaching the spot.
Inside of an hour they had passed out of sight of Lakeport, and now came
to a small island called the Triangle, for such was its general shape.
Above the Triangle the lake narrowed for the distance of half a mile,
and here the snow had drifted in numerous ridges from a foot to a yard
high.
“This isn’t so nice,” observed Harry, as they tugged at the ropes of the
sleds.
“I’ll go ahead and break the way,” said Joel Runnell, and then he
continued, suddenly, “There is your chance!”
“Chance for what?” asked Harry.
“Chance for wild turkeys. They’ve just settled in the woods on the upper
end of the Triangle.”
“Hurrah!” shouted Joe. “Where is my gun?”
He had it out in an instant, and Fred and Harry followed suit—the latter
forgetting all about his precious camera in the excitement.
“You can go it alone this time,” said the old hunter. “Show me what you
can do. I’ll watch the traps.”
In a moment they were off, and five minutes of hard skating brought them
to the shore of the Triangle. Here they took off their skates, and then
plunged into the snow-laden thickets.
“Make no noise!” whispered Joe, who was in advance. “Wild turkeys are
hard to get close to.”
“Oh, I know that,” came from Fred. “I’ve tried it more than half a dozen
times.”
As silently as ghosts the three young hunters flitted through the woods,
each with his gun before him, ready for instant use.
Presently they saw a little clearing ahead, and Joe called a halt. They
listened intently and heard the turkeys moving from one tree to another.
“Now then, watch out—and be careful how you shoot,” cautioned Joe, and
moved out into the open.
A second later he caught sight of a turkey, and blazed away. The aim was
true, and the game came down with a flutter. Then Harry’s gun rang out,
followed by a shot from Fred. Two more turkeys had been hit, but neither
was killed.
“They mustn’t get away!” cried Fred, excitedly, and blazed away once
more. But his aim was wild, and the turkey was soon lost among the trees
in the distance.
Harry was more fortunate, and his second shot landed the game dead at
his feet. Joe tried for a second turkey, but without success.
“Never mind, two are not so bad,” said Harry, “It’s a pity you didn’t
get yours,” he went on, to Fred.
“Oh, I’ll get something next time, you see if I don’t,” replied the
stout youth. “I don’t care for small game, anyway. A deer or a bear is
what I am after.”
“Well, I hope you get all you want of deer and bear,” put in Joe; and
then they hastened to rejoin Joel Runnell, and resume the journey.