AN EXCITED CONSTABLE
“What was that?” whispered Marie.
“Some one is hurt!” murmured Natalie.
Mrs. Bonnell began a search for her useful little ammonia gun, but found
she had left it in camp.
“Where was that noise, fellows?” demanded practical Jack. Before any of
them could answer him the groan sounded again, louder than before. With
a bound Marie was out of the door narrowly missing a fall on the rickety
steps. Mabel followed, but Natalie and Alice stood their ground, perhaps
because Mrs. Bonnell had grasped each of them by an arm.
“Don’t be silly,” exclaimed Phil. “Probably it’s only a tramp who’s
talking in his sleep.”
“A tramp!” gasped Natalie.
“Come out of here!” demanded Alice, getting, ready for a retreat.
“It was upstairs,” said Blake, indicating a flight of rotting steps.
“Some one is up there.”
Again the groan sounded, and there was no mistaking it. It did come from
above their heads. Then a voice called:
“Is any one there? Help me! I’ve had a fall!”
“It’s old man Hanson!” exclaimed Jack. “He’s up there. Come on, boys!”
He sprang forward. Blake called after him:
“Be careful of those stairs. They look as if they’d come down if you
blew on ’em.”
“If they held him to go up, they’ll stand for me,” declared Jack. “Come
on!”
“Let’s go outside,” suggested Mrs. Bonnell. “If you need us, boys, you
can call us,” she added. “If he is hurt, I know something about
first-aid work.”
“We’ll call you if we need you,” replied Blake. “Now let’s have a look.”
Cautiously they went up the shaky stairs, one at a time so as not to put
too much of a strain on them. At first it was so dark in the second
story that they could see nothing. Then Jack called:
“What’s the matter? Who is it? Are you hurt?”
“It’s me—Hanson Rossmore,” was the halting answer. “I tripped in a hole
and sprained my ankle I guess. Can you help me down?”
“I guess so,” answered Jack. “Let’s get a little light on the subject
though,” and he opened one of the old solid-wood shutters, that covered
the glassless window.
They saw the old hermit, for such he was, lying in the corner of what
had evidently been a storeroom of the old mill. He seemed in pain, and
one leg was doubled under him.
“How did it happen?” asked Jack, as the boys raised him up.
“Ouch! Oh, my!” he cried, as the weight came on the injured foot. “I
can’t step on it.”
“Wait, I’ll get you a stick,” volunteered Blake, hurrying outside.
“Is he—is he dead?” asked Mabel.
“Dead! And him groaning the way he did? Not much!” cried the lad. “It’s
only a sprained ankle or something like that. We’ll get him to his shack
and he’ll be all right.”
“Poor old man,” murmured Natalie.
With the help of the improvised cane, and with a lad on either side of
him, they managed to get Old Hanson down the stairs, though they were in
fear lest every step would bring the whole flight down about them, so
rickety was it.
“What were you doing up there?” asked Blake, as they led him out of the
door, and toward his own little shack.
“Oh, just looking around—looking around,” he murmured. “I used to work
in this mill when I was a boy, and it has memories for me—memories—yes
memories. Some happy and some sad. I’m an old man!”
They got him to his hut, and then took off his shoe. His left ankle was
much swollen, though it appeared to be more of a cut than a sprain that
had caused the injury. Under the direction of Mrs. Bonnell they bandaged
it with rags they found, wringing them out of hot water, for Blake made
a fire in the old stove.
“It’s kind of you—right kind—to bother with an old hulk like me,” went
on Old Hanson. “That feels a lot better. I had a daughter once,” he
said, looking fixedly at Natalie. “She was like you, in a way. That’s
why I was so startled by your face the first time I saw you. But she’s
gone—gone.”
“Where?” asked Jack.
“How should I know?” came the rather angry retort. “I don’t know. I only
go up in the old mill when I want to think about her. I was there
to-day. I stepped in a hole—the old mill is falling apart, just as I
am—it’s getting old like me, only I’ll never be as old as that.
“It’s older than the Indians. The Indians were here once. They killed
some settlers in the mill. Sometimes in the night I hear cries—cries
of——”
“That’ll do!” interrupted Blake a bit sternly, seeing that the old chap
was getting on the nerves of the girls who stood outside the shack.
“You’ll work into a fever if you’re not careful. Never mind about the
past.”
“It’s all I live in,” said the hermit simply. “But I won’t say anything
more. I wonder how I’m to get about?”
“It will be all right in a day or so,” said Mrs. Bonnell who had looked
at it. “It isn’t a bad cut. Just keep your weight off it. We’ll bring
you some food so you won’t have to go out.”
“Thanks,” he murmured, as he lay back in an old chair.
The boys did what they could for him, and then left with the girls in
the launch, promising to come back later with food enough to last for
several days.
This they did, the Camp Fire Girls insisting on providing their share,
for they felt kindly toward the old man, and, as Mabel said, they were
pledged to give service, and here was a chance to do it.
With the boys, they also paid him another visit, finding him much
improved. He could hobble about, and inside of a week he was able to
resume his odd tasks about the lake, for he was hired by a number of the
cottagers and campers to look after their places.
Green Lake was beginning to assume life. Many new camps were opened, as
well as a number of summer residences. The Camp Fire Girls were
delighted with their new life. They got into the swing of living in the
open, sleeping in a tent, and dining as they pleased.
“It’s the ideal of the simple life,” declared Marie. “I wonder we never
thought of it before.”
“And we all feel so much better,” added Mabel.
They had established a sort of routine, for Mrs. Bonnell realized the
necessity of this, and the work, well divided, was not a task at all.
Breakfast over they made the camp “slick,” as the boys expressed it,
though the lads did not always follow that injunction themselves. Then
came a row or a paddle on the lake, for they had hired a canoe, and a
row boat. Or perhaps they went out with the boys.
There was the trip to the nearest post-office for mail, or to drop
letters home and to friends. Then there was the buying of supplies,
though the butcher and grocer, now that the lake shores were better
populated, came every day.
Followed next the mid-day meal. Then more pleasures of the woods or
water, receiving visitors, or making calls on new acquaintances.
They did not lack for enjoyment in the evenings. Either they went to
their brothers’ camp, or the boys, their forces augmented by such of
their friends as they condescended to ask, called. Then there were
dances over to the “Point”, the place where a cluster of stores were
located. Then to bed, with the assurance of a sound sleep in that
healthful air. It was an ideal sort of existence.
On occasions they held the regular Council Camp Fires, with all the
prescribed ceremonies. There was the lighting of the fire, the singing
of the songs and the Indian music;—the song of the “Sky-blue Water.”
Sometimes it rained, and they could only sit in the tent, though when it
did not pour too hard they put on their bathing costumes, and went out
in the canoe.
“Who’s turn to get dinner to-day?” asked Marie one morning, as they came
back from a launch ride, bringing some dainties to supplement the
regular camp-fare.
“Mine, I think,” spoke Natalie. “What would you like?”
There were four different kinds of meals ordered, and each one insisted
on something different until breath-of-the-pine-tree exclaimed:
“Now I shall have to make up my own bill of fare. All of you go off in
the woods, and when it’s ready I’ll give our call.”
“All right, Natalie,” they assented and off they trooped.
Natalie, in her Camp Fire suit, which wonderfully became her, with her
dark braids down her back, and with a golden bandeau confining the locks
over her broad forehead set about her task.
She was setting the table, giving attention the while to the oil stove,
which evinced a propensity to smoke, when she heard the crunch of gravel
at the lake shore.
Looking up, expecting to see one of the boys, she beheld a grizzled,
stoop-shouldered little man approaching. On the breast of his coat was a
shiny nickel star, and as he saw Natalie, looking more than ever like an
Indian maid with her coat of tan, he exclaimed:
“I want you!”
“Wh—what?” she gasped, looking about in dismay for a sight of her
friends.
“I want you. No foolin’ now. I know you! You’re dressed jest as they
said you was. Now you come along with me or it’ll be th’ wuss fer ye!
I’m Constable Jackson, I be, an’ I know my duty. I’ve got th’ law with
me!” he added, excitedly tapping the star on his coat. “This is th’ law,
an’ I want you.”
Natalie shrank back frightened as the man advanced. She thought she had
to do with some over-bold tramp, and was about to call for help. Before
she could flee, the man sprang to her side. He was about to grasp her by
the arm, when he was suddenly whirled to one side, and the welcome voice
of Blake Lathrop exclaimed:
“That’ll do you! What do you want, anyhow?” and he stepped in front of
Natalie.