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[Illustration: "SOME ANIMAL HAS GONE ALONG HERE, SURE ENOUGH," SAID
X-RAY]
THE MOUNTAIN BOYS SERIES
PHIL BRADLEY'S SNOW-SHOE TRAIL
OR
THE MOUNTAIN BOYS IN CANADA WILDS
BY
SILAS K. BOONE
THE NEW YORK BOOK COMPANY
NEW YORK
Copyright, 1915, by
THE NEW YORK BOOK COMPANY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I--INTO THE LAND OF THE MOOSE AND CARIBOU
CHAPTER II--BESIDE THE FRAGRANT CAMP FIRE
CHAPTER III--FISHING THROUGH THE ICE WITH TIP-UPS
CHAPTER IV--LUB'S BEAR
CHAPTER V--X-RAY STRAPS ON HIS SNOW-SHOES
CHAPTER VI--A QUARREL OVER THE GAME
CHAPTER VII--NOT TO BE BLUFFED
CHAPTER VIII--AGAIN ON THE TRAIL
CHAPTER IX--THE WAIF OF THE SNOW FOREST
CHAPTER X--A RUDE AWAKENING
CHAPTER XI--ON GUARD
CHAPTER XII--LAYING PLANS
CHAPTER XIII--THE MYSTERY OF THE PINE WOODS
CHAPTER XIV--MR. JAMES BODMAN GIVES A DANCE
CHAPTER XV--THE FIRE VIGIL
CHAPTER XVI--BAYLAY'S HOME-COMING--CONCLUSION
PHIL BRADLEY'S SNOW-SHOE TRAIL
OR, THE MOUNTAIN BOYS IN CANADA WILDS
CHAPTER I
INTO THE LAND OF THE MOOSE AND CARIBOU
"That cold chicken Mrs. McNab put up for our lunch yesterday went fine,
fellows; and I only wish we had the like of it for to-day!"
"You always did have a weakness for fowls, Ethan."
"Just so, X-Ray Tyson; that's why they put me out in the left garden on
our Brewster baseball team so I could gobble all that were knocked that
way."
"Well, we've heard you boasting lots of times about that wonder of a
rooster you've got at home."
"Oh! you mean old Robinson Crusoe, don't you, Lub?"
"Yes, that sorrel-topped ungainly looking crow-factory we've all seen
strutting around your yard so often. I never ran across an uglier bird,
for a fact, if you'll excuse me for saying it, Ethan."
The boy who answered to the last mentioned name only laughed as he
continued:
"No apologies needed, X-Ray; because I know myself he's sure no beauty;
but say, let me tell you he's a scrapper from the ground up."
"How on earth did you ever come to call him by such a queer name, Ethan?
Did you happen to get him on Friday? Mebbe you found him on an island;
or fished him out after a shipwreck on the water?"
"You're away off your base, Lub. I'll proceed to enlighten you a bit.
It's a wonder to me some of you haven't asked about that before now.
First of all, we got him from a man named Robinson, who peddles
chickens, and collects eggs through Brewster territory. For a while we
always referred to him as 'Robinson's fowl.' Get that?"
"Yes, but go on, Ethan."
"Well, when he had his fierce fight with Zack Avery's game rooster that
had beaten everything to flinders, and Robinson actually whipped him, we
began to think he deserved a medal. After he had made the game run for
home he perched on the dividing fence and let everybody know about it
with his clarion voice; so I said right on the spot he ought to be given
the rest of the famous Robinson name because he _crew so_!"
"Oh! somebody take hold of me, or I'm liable to fall off the sled and be
left behind!" shouted the boy called Lub, and who was well named it
appeared, judging from his generous proportions.
The stout boy was duly restrained and hugged by X-Ray Tyson and Ethan
until he begged his companions to desist.
"I didn't mean that I wanted you to _squeeze_ me to death," he
complained; "that would be jumping out of the fryingpan into the fire.
I'm fully recovered now from my weakness: but, Ethan, _please_ don't do
anything like that again."
There were just four boys in the party, all dressed warmly for a winter
outing, and perched upon a number of bundles that went to make up the
cargo of the homely old Canadian two-horse sledge, built not unlike
those in common use around Moscow during a Russian winter.
Besides Ethan Allen, X-Ray Tyson and the stout youth, Lub Fenwick, whose
real name however was Osmond, there was a fourth lad, to whom the others
seemed to defer in a way that might suggest leadership.
In fact Phil Bradley did occupy this position among his chums, and with
reason, for none of them could compare with him in concocting clever
ideas, and also in carrying out the same.
They all belonged to the town of Brewster, which was situated hundreds
of miles to the southwest of where we find them on this crisp winter
day.
Those who have had the opportunity of reading the earlier volumes in
this series know how it happened that there was no school in session in
Brewster that fall and early winter, so that the scholars were given a
long vacation.
Phil and his three chums had come to call themselves the Mountain Boys;
just why we have not the time or space to explain here, except that it
may have had something to do with Ethan Allen's ancestors, who were
Revolutionary heroes, and connected with the famous Green Mountain Boys.
Phil was an orphan who had been left a large fortune in trust, so that
he could do almost as he liked financially; though he had no bad habits,
and used his means in a healthy way for the benefit of others, as well
as his own enjoyment. Lub had a rich aunt who spoiled him; and the
parents of the Tyson boy were also considered well-to-do--by the way his
name was really Raymond, but he was always so quick to see through
things, that his playmates soon corrupted his first name as above.
These four boys were ambitious to take certain trips calculated to call
for considerable expenditure of cash. The Allens, not being rich, and
Ethan, being too proud to accept of continuous favors at the hands of
Phil, for a time it looked as if the magic combination must be broken.
Between them the other three hatched up a wonderful scheme which they
immediately put into operation. It has been spoken of in earlier books,
but in order that new readers may understand the situation, a few words
of explanation may not be amiss.
Ethan had always been a boy given to earning various sums of money by
doing odd jobs, and at the recommendation of Phil he started to use some
old traps he happened to own, with more or less success in securing such
pelts as muskrats in the marsh, together with an occasional fox or mink,
while even 'coons yielded up their hides for his benefit.
In the spring and summer Ethan scoured the woods for certain valuable
roots such as wild ginseng, golden rod and others. These he dried, and
when he had a quantity, shipped to a certain dealer according to the
directions of Phil.
The results were certainly pleasing, for the checks that came back made
Ethan very proud. But the fact of the matter was, this was all a little
scheme of Phil's. To tell the truth the pretended dealer in roots and
furs down in New York was a certain rich bachelor uncle of Phil's, who
entered heartily into the game, once he learned the purpose of his
nephew's idea.
He even had letter heads and envelopes printed as though he might be
doing a land-office business in purchasing such commodities. But if the
wonderfully fine prices that he paid Ethan for everything he sent
prevailed all along the line, it is likely that nine-tenths of the male
population of the country would be turning their attention to such
profitable pursuits.
Of course the reader can understand that nine-tenths of the money Ethan
received in these complimentary letters came from Phil; but not for
worlds would this intelligence be allowed to reach the proud trapper and
root-hunter.
It was in one way rather a mean thing to do, but the intention was
noble. It allowed Ethan to pay his share of the general expenses on
their outings, and saved his self-respect. Granted that he never learned
of the subterfuge everything would be well.
There were times, however, when Ethan quite naturally boasted just a
little about his superior ability to dry roots better than anybody else;
and also of his grand luck in trapping a prize black fox, when in
reality the skin that brought him almost three hundred dollars was not
worth more than five at the most.
On these occasions Lub would titter a little, though he quickly turned
it off if Ethan turned to stare at him, by coughing, and complaining of
a tickling in his throat.
Only when they were positive that Ethan was out of hearing did the three
conspirators dare compare notes on this subject, and laugh over the
success of their grand scheme. But as X-Ray once said, it was like
skating over a "ticklish bender" on the frozen mill pond; because they
might try it once too often, and excite the suspicion of the boy who was
being hoodwinked, greatly to his profit.
Phil and his three chums had spent some time in camp up in the
Adirondacks not a great while back. Their latest trip had been down on
the Coast along a certain section on Currituck Sound, where Phil owned a
"shooting lodge" that had been left to him by an old hermit. What
amazing adventures developed during their stay on the salt water in
pursuit of wild fowl have been given in detail in the preceding volume.
This trip up into the Canadian wilderness had been planned for a long
time. In fact ever since X-Ray received a present on the last Christmas
of a pair of fine Canadian show-shoes he had done little but talk of his
desire to some time or other get up there where they always had plenty
of snow, just to learn how to use his treasured gift.
Strangely enough there had never come about a time since then when he
could do any decent work with his snow-shoes. When a fall of snow did
come along it was followed by a soft spell that ruined the going; and so
it came about that here they were, headed for a certain place in the
Canadian "bush," where they hoped to spend a week or two hunting, and
enjoying themselves in every possible way.
Phil had been put in touch with an old Scotch farmer who had promised to
take them bag and baggage into the woods, and come for them again at a
certain date. On the previous morning they had started over the snow on
his queer sledge, with a large quantity of luggage that was intended to
make for their comfort. One night they had camped on the way, and "The"
McNab, whose other name was Tammis, promised that before darkness rolled
around again he would have them located in the best hunting region of
the Saguenay country.
Of course X-Ray Tyson was not the only one who had snow-shoes, because
there were three other pairs in plain sight. Phil alone really had had
previous practical experience on the clumsy "gunboats," as Lub called
them; though X-Ray claimed to have paddled around in his yard many times
on an inch of snow, without any dire disaster.
The McNab was a red-faced Scotch-Canadian, warm of heart, though
possibly a bit over fond of imbibing, and perhaps not as dependable as
he might be when in one of these bibulous moods.
He was greatly interested in the four lively American lads, and listened
to the many stories they told connected with their past experiences.
Thus the second morning of their tedious ride began to wear away.
Surrounded by the rough country that characterizes all this section of
northeast Canada, they began to feel that ere long they would be cut off
from all communication with civilization.
All that morning they had not seen a single house of any description.
The road over which the two sturdy Canadian shaggy ponies were dragging
the sledge was only a logging or "tote" road along which teams sometimes
went on the way to or from some logging camp situated nearer the river.
"We'll soon be leaving even this road, and taking to the bush, you say,
Mr. McNab?" Lub was asking, as he clutched the arm of Ethan in a sudden
spasm of fear lest he be shaken from his seat when one of the runners of
the sled struck an obstruction, tilting the whole load dangerously.
"Oh, aye, but I assure ye it couldno' be any worse than this. Ye ken
that the road is seldom used, and it gets in a peetiful state. But it
will not be for lang. When we turn off the going will be better, ye
understand."
Mr. McNab had a very broad touch of the brogue. Lub loved to hear him
roll the "R's" off his thick tongue, and often asked questions just to
be amused in that way.
"Look ahead there, will you?" cried out X-Ray just then; for when it
came to using his eyes to advantage the Tyson boy had all of his chums
"beaten to a frazzle," as Ethan used to say; "here comes a man walking
along the road. Why, we must be getting near a town of some kind."
"Aweel, laddy, nae doot ye think so, but it taks more than one man to
mak a toun. That party is a logger coming from the camp. I dinna ken why
he should be giving up his job so airly in the season, but it may be he
is seek, or has had some sorry news frae hame."
The brawny logger had an ax, with a small bundle suspended from the
same, slung over his shoulder. He stopped and waited for them to come
up, when he nodded his head in salutation.
"You're The McNab, I take it," he remarked, addressing the driver of the
shaggy ponies. "I'm one of the Sawyer bunch over on the river ten miles
away. On my way back home; wife down with a fever and the kids need me.
Get up later on if all goes well. What sort of a crowd are you taking up
into the bush this time, Tammis? Seems like a young outfit for such big
game hunting."
"Oh! ay, so it does," replied the driver, quickly; "but these braw
laddies hae seen muckle mair o' such business than most men that come up
this way. They weel know how to tak care o' themselves, nae doot. What
are the chances for game this season; and do ye know o' anny ither
parties in the bush?"
"I hear there are moose aplenty this year," the logger replied, as he
filled his pipe from the bag of tobacco McNab held out to him; "and so
far I've only heard tell o' one party o' sportsmen along these parts.
They're camped nigh the Hogback on Cranberry Creek."
"Seems to me I heard talk aboot the Baylay coming back to his old haunts
again. They did say he had reformed, but, mon, they leed, fo' that de'il
would never be annything but the toughest man in all the Saguenay
region, though he lived to a hundred."
"Yes, they say it's true, and one of our crew ran across him," the
logger returned, with a frown, and a shake of the head. "He is still
nursing a broken head; and bore the word from Baylay that if any other
loggers tried to take the quarrel up they knew where to find him."
"Oh, ay, he never hides _his_ light under a bushel, mon. And I only hope
that the laddies here will not run a foul of the braggart while they are
in the bush."
"Well, if they do they'd better knuckle under, and whisper small. There
isn't a man I know as would be willing to stack up against Baylay when
he's roused and in one of his quarrelsome moods. He is a terror if ever
there was one. But I must be on my way; the sooner I get home the
better. Good-by to ye, boys, and I hope ye have a fine time; but beware
Baylay!"
He struck out down the logging road with his bundle dangling from the ax
that lay across his shoulder. McNab chirped to his ponies and once more
the sledge started on its way.
Lub had an apprehensive look on his chubby face. His eyes sought those
of Phil in a mute inquiry.
"Would you mind telling us something about this man, Baylay, Mr. McNab?"
asked Phil; while both X-Ray Tyson and Ethan nodded their approval, for
their curiosity had also been aroused.
"Oh! ay, though the least said aboot him the better," replied the
driver, as he glanced uneasily on either side of the road at the thick
"bush" as though he half feared lest the party under discussion might be
within earshot of them and take offense; "he is a verra big and powerful
man who has a most ungovernable temper. He has gi'en the authorities a
great deal o' trouble in the past, but it is maist difficult to get any
one to try and arrest him. He has been a logger in his time, and one o'
the best ever known along the river. They say he used to smuggle across
the border; and to this day he kills game out o' season as he pleases;
yet the wardens are sore afraid to attempt his arrest."
"Whew! that sounds nice, I must say!" exclaimed X-Ray Tyson.
"Rather an unpleasant neighbor to have around, seems to me," added
Ethan.
"I should remark," declared Lub.
"I only hope," Phil finished with, "that we don't have the bad luck to
run across this Baylay while we're up here. For while it might be policy
for us to knuckle down and try not to cross such a quarrelsome man, it
goes against the grain of the Mountain Boys to be meek and uncomplaining
when they are in the right."
"That's what we all say, Phil!" declared X-Ray.
Tammis McNab looked at his charges, and rubbed his bristly chin
reflectively, as though it struck him there might be some lively times
in prospect in case these American lads and the Baylay did happen to run
up against each other in the bush.