DRIVEN FROM THE LODGE
As soon as he heard Fred’s cry, Joel Runnell forgot for the time being
his trouble with Hiram Skeetles and Dan Marcy.
“A bear?” he repeated. “Where is he?”
“He’s coming right after me!” yelled the stout youth. “Shoot him, or
we’ll both be chewed up!”
The old hunter had his rifle in his hands, and now he ran to meet Fred,
who was coming up with his fishing rod and a string of fish. The stout
youth was tremendously excited, and, reaching the pile of traps on the
ground, he went sprawling headlong, while his catch scattered in all
directions.
“I see him!” exclaimed Joel Runnell, as the bear came into view, a
shaggy black fellow, weighing several hundred pounds. The animal was
among the trees, and to get a fair shot at the creature was next to
impossible.
Boy and beast had come up to Snow Lodge on the side upon which the
partly barred window was located, so it was easy for Hiram Skeetles and
Dan Marcy to note what was taking place without exposing themselves to
danger.
“Is it really a bear?” questioned the real estate dealer, in a nervous
voice.
“It is,” announced Marcy. “And a right big fellow, too. Like as not
he’ll give ’em a stiff fight. He looks hungry enough to tackle most
anything.”
“Do you—er—think he can get in here?”
“Not unless he comes in by this window, and we can shoot him if he tries
that.”
“Let us try to close up the opening,” came from Hiram Skeetles, and he
hurried to the pile of wood to get a stick for that purpose.
In the meantime the bear had reached the edge of the clearing, and there
he stood, upright, viewing the situation. The smell of fish was
tantalizing to his empty stomach, but the sight of two human beings
instead of one made him hold back.
Bringing up his rifle, Joel Runnell took the best aim possible and
fired. When the smoke cleared away, it was seen that the bear had been
hit in the front leg, but not seriously wounded. With a growl of pain
and rage, the disappointed beast dropped on all fours, turned, and sped
into the woods with all the speed at his command.
“Whe—where is he? Did you kill him?” gasped Fred, as he scrambled to his
feet.
“No; I only wounded him,” was the answer, as the old hunter reloaded the
rifle with all speed. “Wait here until I see if I can’t lay him low.”
“But supposing he comes back here?”
“I’ll be on his heels. You can take your shotgun and climb into a tree
if you wish.”
Without another word Joel Runnell ran off in the direction the bear had
taken, and soon the trees, bushes and deep snow hid him completely from
view.
“It’s funny he told me to climb a tree,” mused Fred. “It’s a good deal
safer in the lodge than anywhere else, and a heap sight warmer, too,”
and picking up his fish, he started to go forward, when he stopped short
and gazed at the traps and stores in astonishment. “What on earth made
Runnell throw these things out?” he mused.
“Keep back there, Fred Rush!” came in Dan Marcy’s voice from the lodge
window. “You can’t come in here, nohow!”
“Hello!” ejaculated Fred. “So you are back. Did you throw out our things
in this fashion?”
“We did,” put in Hiram Skeetles. “And what is more, they are going to
stay out. We’ve given you warning, and now I want the whole crowd of ye
to clear out.”
“Well, I never!” gasped the stout youth. “Of all the cheeky things to
do——”
“It wasn’t cheeky at all,” interrupted the real estate dealer. “As I
told Runnell, this is my land, and I won’t have none o’ ye on it.”
“Won’t you let me in to warm myself?”
“No.”
“Then all I’ve got to say, Hiram Skeetles, is that you are a brute.”
“I don’t want none o’ your talk, Fred Rush.”
“You claim to own this island, but we don’t think so, any more than we
think you own the old Anderson claim.”
This latter remark appeared to make Hiram Skeetles furious.
“Bringin’ that up again, eh?” he shouted. “I reckon as how them Westmore
boys set ye up to it. But I know what’s mine, and I intend to keep it.
Now you clear out, and be mighty quick about it.”
“What will you do if I don’t go?”
“I’ll make it warm, I can tell ye that!”
Skeetles showed his gun, and Dan Marcy exhibited a pistol, and, alarmed
at the unexpected show of firearms, Fred dropped back to the place where
the stores had been placed.
As he could not get into the lodge, Fred decided to follow Joel
Runnell’s advice and take to a tree. Armed with several blankets, he
climbed into a pine and made himself as comfortable as possible. The
storm that had threatened now started, the flakes of snow coming down
softly, and growing thicker and thicker every minute.
“This will make it bad for Joe and Harry,” thought Fred. “They’ll have
their own troubles getting back to camp if it snows too hard.”
From a distance he heard a rifle shot, proving that Joel Runnell was
still following the bear. But after that all was quiet for a good hour.
By that time Fred was hungry, and climbing down to the ground, he
procured such things from the stores as were ready to eat. He was just
finishing a cracker when Joel Runnell came into view.
“Did you shoot him?” asked the youth, eagerly.
“No, he got away among the rocks,” was Joel Runnell’s reply. “I might
have tracked him farther, but I was afraid of falling into some pit, the
snow is that thick. I reckon this is going to be the banner storm of the
season. How did you make out with Skeetles and Marcy?”
“I made out—and that’s all,” grinned Fred. “They won’t let me come near
the cabin.”
“I thought as much, and as I came along I picked out a new spot for a
shelter—providing you and the others want to stay on the island.”
“We can’t leave until Joe and Harry come back. If we do, they won’t know
where to look for us.”
“Just my idee, Fred. We’ll go down close to the shore. Then they can’t
miss us when they come over.”
“They ought to be here by this time.”
“Perhaps they got on the track of more game.”
Without delay the stores and traps were packed on the two sleds, and the
pair started away from Snow Lodge. From the window Hiram Skeetles and
Dan Marcy watched them with interest.
“Don’t ye dare to stay on the island!” shouted the real estate dealer
after them. “If ye do, I’ll have the law on ye!”
“Oh, give us a rest!” retorted Fred. “Perhaps we’ll have the law on you
before this affair is finished.”
“I’ve got my rights——”
“And so have we, and the Westmores have got theirs, too. Some day
they’ll find those missing papers, and then you may hear a thing or
two,” and with this parting shot Fred moved off with one sled, while old
Runnell moved off with the other.
“Ha! did you hear that?” gasped Hiram Skeetles, clutching Marcy by the
arm. “Do you think——”
“Oh, don’t get scared,” came from the bully. “They don’t know any more
about those papers than they know about the man in the moon.”
“But they might have heard of my loss——”
“No, I think it was only a bluff, Hiram. They’ll leave to-day or
to-morrow, and that will be the end of it.”
“I hope they do leave,” sighed the real estate dealer. “I won’t feel
safe so long as they are on the island.”
“Do you remember the place where you dropped your pocketbook?”
“Not the exact spot. I was all shook up by the storm, and had a
splittin’ headache. I looked around for half a day, but it was no use.”
“Maybe the pocketbook and the papers went to the bottom of the lake.”
“I’d rather have that happen than that they should run across those
papers,” answered Skeetles, with another sigh.
The spot Joel Runnell had chosen for a new camp was located not far from
where Fred had been fishing. Here a clump of pines overhung a hollow
several yards wide, and sloping off toward the lake shore. To the north
of the hollow were a series of rocks, that, along with the pines, cut
off a good portion of the wind and the snow.
“I’ll cut a few saplings, and throw them over the hollow, and over them
we can place a double blanket and some pine boughs,” said Joel Runnell.
“Then we can clean out the place and start a fire near the doorway, and
we’ll be almost as comfortable as at the lodge.”
“They kept one of the deer on us. I think that was cheeky.”
“Never mind, we have the other, and we’ll have two more when Joe and
Harry get back. I don’t think they took anything else.”
But in this the old hunter was mistaken. Skeetles and Marcy had helped
themselves to a little of almost all the stores, but had not taken
sufficient of any particular article to make it noticeable.
It took over an hour to get the shelter into shape. Then the fire was
started between two large rocks, and here they proceeded to broil
several of the fish, and also set a pot of beans to baking as soon as
one of the rocks was hot enough.
“It’s queer that Joe and Harry don’t show themselves,” was Fred’s
comment, while they were eating. “In such a storm as this they ought to
know enough to hurry back.”
“I’ll wait a little longer and see if they don’t turn up, Fred. They may
have found the load heavier than they calculated on. Remember, too, it’s
quite a distance to where we left those deer hanging.”
“What do you think those shots meant?”
“I can’t say, except that they might have brought down some more small
game, maybe a partridge or some rabbits.”
Having finished the repast, both set to work to chop firewood, for it
was easier to do this than to drag it from the pile at the lodge.
“It galls me to think they’ll use up what we cut,” grumbled Fred. “But
I’m going to get square sometime, you see if I don’t!”
“I think, according to law, we could make ’em pay for that venison,”
returned Joel Runnell. “But I reckon it ain’t worth going to law about.
We can decide on what’s best to do after Joe and Harry get back.”
Slowly the afternoon wore away. In the meantime the sky grew darker, and
the snow came down so thickly that but little could be seen in any
direction.
“I must say I don’t like this,” remarked the old hunter, with a grave
shake of his head. “Reckon I had best go across the lake and see what
has become of those lads. You won’t mind staying here alone, will you?”
Fred did mind—not having forgotten about the bear. But he hesitated to
say so, and put on a bold front.
“Go ahead, but don’t stay away any longer than is necessary,” he said,
and a few minutes later Joel Runnell departed on his search for the
missing ones.