Produced by Annie McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]
Copyright, 1895, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.
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PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, JUNE 18, 1895. FIVE CENTS A COPY.
VOL. XVI.--NO. 816. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.
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[Illustration]
SNOW-SHOES AND SLEDGES.
BY KIRK MUNROE.
CHAPTER XXXI.
NEL-TE QUALIFIES AS A BRANCH PILOT.
Although disappointed of their guide there was nothing for the sledge
party to do but push on and trust to their own good judgment to carry
them safely to the end of their journey. So as much of the moose meat as
could be loaded on a sledge, or several hundred pounds in all, was
prepared and frozen that evening. Both then and in the morning the dogs
were given all they could eat--so much, in fact, that they were greatly
disinclined to travel during most of the following day.
The latest addition to the party, after being rudely awakened from the
slumber into which Jalap Coombs's singing had lulled him, called
pitifully for his mother, and, refusing to be comforted, finally sobbed
himself to sleep on Phil's bear-skin in front of the fire. Here he spent
the night, tucked warmly in a rabbit-skin robe, nestled between Phil and
Serge with all his sorrows forgotten for the time being. In the early
morning he was a very sober little lad, with a grievance that was not to
be banished even by the sight of his beloved "doggies," while the
advances of his human friends were treated with a dignified silence. He
was too hungry to refuse the food offered him by Serge; but he ate it
with a strictly businesslike air, in which there was nothing of
unbending nor forgiveness. To Phil's attempts at conversation he turned
a deaf ear, nor would he even so much as smile when Jalap Coombs made
faces at him, or got down on hands and knees and growled for his special
benefit. He was evidently not to be won by any such foolishness.
He was roused to an exhibition of slight interest by the tinkling music
of Musky's bells when the dogs were harnessed; and when everything being
ready for a start, Phil lifted him on the foremost sledge, and tucked
him into a spare sleeping-bag that was securely lashed to it, he
murmured: "Mamma, Nel-te go mamma."
The loads having been redistributed to provide for the accommodation of
the young passenger, this foremost sledge bore besides Nel-te only the
Forty-Mile mail, the sleeping equipment of the party, and their extra
fur clothing, the _chynik_, in which was stored the small quantity of
tea still remaining, what was left of the pemmican, and an axe. As with
its load it did not weigh over two hundred pounds, its team was reduced
to three dogs, Musky, Luvtuk, and big Amook. Serge still drove seven
dogs, and his sledge bore the entire camp equipment and stock of
provisions, except the recently acquired moose meat. This was loaded on
the last sledge, which was drawn by five dogs, and driven by Jalap
Coombs according to his own peculiar fashion.
As soon as the sledges were in motion, and Nel-te conceived the idea
that he was going home his spirits revived to such an extent that he
chirruped cheerfully to the dogs, and even smiled occasionally at Phil,
who strode alongside.
They crossed Fox Lake, passed up the stream that connected it with
Indian Trail Lake, and finally went into camp on the edge of the forest
at the head of the latter earlier than usual, because they could not see
their way to the making of any further progress. Although they felt
certain that there must be some stream flowing into the lake by which
they could leave it, they could discover no sign of its opening. So they
made camp, and leaving Jalap Coombs to care for it Phil and Serge
departed in opposite directions to scan every foot of the shore in
search of a place of exit.
On reaching this camping-place Nel-te looked about him inquiringly, and
with evident disappointment, but he said nothing, and only gazed
wistfully after the two lads when they set forth on their search. For a
time he hung about the camp-fire watching Jalap Coombs, who was too
busily engaged in cooking supper and preparing for the night to pay much
attention to him. At length the little chap strolled over to the
sledges, and engaged in a romp with the three dogs who dragged his
particular conveyance. Every now and then his shrill laughter came to
Jalap's ears, and assured the latter that the child was safe.
Alter a while the explorers returned, both completely discouraged and
perplexed.
"I don't believe there is any inlet to this wretched lake!" cried Phil,
flinging himself down on a pile of robes. "I've searched every foot of
coast on my side, and am willing to swear that there isn't an opening
big enough for a rabbit to squeeze through, so far as I went."
"Nor could I find a sign of one," affirmed Serge, "though perhaps in the
morning--"
"Hello! Where's Nel-te?" interrupted Phil, springing to his feet and
gazing about him anxiously.
"He were about here just as you boys kim in," replied Jalap Coombs,
suspending operations at the fire, and gazing about him with a startled
expression. "I heered him playing with the dogs not more'n a minute
ago."
"Well, he isn't in sight now," said Phil, in a voice whose tone betrayed
his alarm, "and if we don't find him in a hurry there's a chance of our
not doing it at all, for it will be dark in fifteen minutes more."
As he spoke, Phil hastily replaced the snow-shoes that he had just laid
aside. Serge did the same thing, and then they began to circle about the
camp with heads bent low in search of the tiny trail. At short intervals
they called aloud the name of the missing one, but only the mocking
forest echoes answered them.
Suddenly Serge uttered a joyful shout. He had found the prints of small
snow-shoes crossed and recrossed by those of dogs. In a moment Phil
joined him, and the two followed the trail together. It led for a short
distance along the border of the lake in the direction previously taken
by Phil, and then making a sharp bend to the right struck directly into
the forest.
When the boys reached the edge of the timber they found a low opening so
overhung by bushes as to be effectually concealed from careless
observation. The curtaining growth was so bent down with a weight of
snow that even Nel-te must have stooped to pass under it. That he had
gone that way was shown by the trail dimly visible in the growing dusk,
and the lads did not hesitate to follow. Forcing a path through the
bushes, which extended only a few yards back from the lake, they found
themselves in an open highway, evidently the frozen surface of a stream.
"Hurrah!" shouted Phil, who was the first to gain it. "I believe this is
the very creek we have been searching for. It must be, and the little
chap has found it for us."
"Yes," replied Serge. "It begins to look as though Cree Jim's son had
taken Cree Jim's place as guide."
Now the boys pushed forward with increased speed. At length they heard
the barking of dogs, and began to shout, but received no answer. They
had gone a full quarter of a mile from the lake ere they caught sight of
the little fur-clad figure plodding steadily forward on what he fondly
hoped to be his way toward home and the mother for whom his baby heart
so longed. Musky, Luvtuk, and big Amook were his companions, and not
until he was caught up in Phil's arms did the child so much as turn his
head, or pay the slightest heed to those who followed his trail.
As he was borne back in triumph toward camp his lower lip quivered, and
two big tears rolled down his chubby cheeks, but he did not cry nor
utter a complaint; nor from that time on did he make further effort to
regain his lost home. The boys had hardly begun to retrace their steps
when another figure loomed out of the shadows, and came rapidly toward
them. It looked huge in the dim light, and advanced with gigantic
strides.
"Hello!" cried Phil, as he recognized the new-comer. "Where are you
bound?"
"Bound to get lost along with the rest of the crew," replied Jalap
Coombs, stoutly. "Didn't I tell ye I wouldn't put up with your gettin'
lost alone ag'in?"
"That's so; but, you see, I forgot," laughed Phil. "Now that we are all
found, though, let's get back to the supper you were cooking before you
decided to get lost. By-the-way, Mr. Coombs, do you realize that this is
the very stream for which we have been hunting? What do you think of our
young pilot now?"
"Think of him!" exclaimed Jalap Coombs. "I think he's just the same as
all in the piloting business. Pernicketty--knows a heap more'n he'll
ever tell, and won't ever p'int out a channel till you're just about to
run aground. Then he'll do it kinder careless and onconsarned, same as
the kid done jest now. Oh, he's a regular branch pilot, he is, and up to
all the tricks of the trade."
Bright and early the following morning, thanks to Nel-te's pilotage, the
sledges were speeding up the creek on their way to Lost Lake. By
nightfall they had crossed it, three other small lakes, descended an
outlet of the last to Little Salmon River, and after a run of five miles
down that stream found themselves once more amid the ice hummocks of the
Yukon, one hundred and twenty miles above the mouth of the Pelly. Of
this distance they had saved about one-third by their adventurous
cut-off. The end of another week found them one hundred and fifty miles
further up the Yukon and at the mouth of the Tahkeena. It had been a
week of the roughest kind of travel, and its hard work was telling
severely on the dogs.
As they made their last camp on the mighty river they were to leave for
good on the morrow they were both glad and sorry. Glad to leave its
rough ice and escape the savage difficulties that it offered in the
shape of canyons and roaring rapids only a few miles above, and sorry to
desert its well-mapped course for the little-known Tahkeena.
Still their dogs could not hold out for another week on the Yukon, while
over the smooth going of the tributary stream they might survive the
hardships of the journey to its very end; and without these faithful
servants our travellers would indeed be in a sorry plight. So while they
reminisced before their roaring camp-fire of the many adventures they
had encountered since entering Yukon mouth, two thousand miles away,
they looked hopefully forward to their journey's end, now less than as
many hundred miles from that point. To the dangers of the lofty
mountain-range they had yet to cross they gave but little thought, for
the mountains were still one hundred miles away.
CHAPTER XXXII.
THE FUR-SEAL'S TOOTH CREATES A SENSATION.
One evening late in March the smoke of a lonely camp-fire curled above a
fringe of stunted spruces forming the timber line high up on the
northern slope of the Alaskan coast range. Kotusk, the natives call
these mountains. Far below lay the spotless sheet of Tahk Lake, from
which the Tahkeena winds for one hundred miles down its rugged valley to
swell the Yukon flood. From the foot of the mountains the unbroken
solitude of the vast northern wilderness swept away in ice-bound silence
to the polar sea. Far to the westward St. Elias and Wrangel, the great
northern sentinels of the Rocky Mountain system, reared their massive
heads twenty thousand feet above the Pacific. From them the mighty range
of snow-clad peaks follows the coast line eastward, gathering, with icy
fingers, the mist clouds ever rising from the warm ocean waters,
converting them with frigid breath into the grandest glaciers of the
continent, and sending them slowly grinding their resistless way back to
the sea.
On one side of this stupendous barrier our sledge party from the Yukon
was now halted. On the other side lay the frontier of civilization,
safety, and their journey's end. Between the two points rose the
mountains, calmly contemptuous of human efforts to penetrate their
secrets of avalanche and glacier, icy precipice and snow-filled gorge,
fierce blizzard and ice-laden whirlwind, desolation and death. It is no
wonder that, face to face with such things, the little group, gathered
about the last camp-fire they might see for days or perhaps forever,
should be unusually quiet and thoughtful.
Still clad in their well-worn garments of fur they were engaged in
characteristic occupations. Phil, looking anxious and careworn, was
standing close to the fire, warming and cleaning his rifle. Serge was
making a stew of the last of their moose meat, which would afterwards be
frozen and taken with them into untimbered regions where camp-fires
would be unknown. Jalap Coombs was thoughtfully mending a broken
snow-shoe, and at the same time finding his task sadly interrupted by
Nel-te, who, nestled between his knees, was trying to attract the
sailorman's undivided attention.
The little chap, with his great sorrow forgotten, was now the life and
pet of the party. So firmly was his place established among them that
they wondered how they had ever borne the loneliness of a camp without
his cheery presence, and could hardly realize that he had only recently
come into their lives. Now, too, half the anxiety with which they
regarded the perilous way before them was on his account.
"I'm worrying most about the dogs," said Phil, continuing a conversation
begun some time before, "and I am afraid some of them will give out
before we reach the summit."
"Yes," agreed Serge; "To-day's pull up from the lake has told terribly
on them, and Amook's feet have been badly cut by the crust ever since he
ate his boots."
"Poor old dog!" said Phil. "It was awfully careless of me to forget and
leave them on him all night. I don't wonder a bit at his eating them,
though, considering the short rations he's been fed on lately."
The dogs were indeed having a hard time. Worn by months of
sledge-pulling over weary leagues of snow and ice, their trials only
increased as the tedious journey progressed. The days were now so long
that each offered a full twelve hours of sunlight, while the snow was so
softened by the growing warmth that in the middle of the day it
seriously clogged both snow-shoes and sledges. Then a crust would form,
through which the poor dogs would break for an hour or more, until it
stiffened sufficiently to bear their weight. Added to these tribulations
was such a scarcity of food that half-rations had become the rule for
every one, men as well as dogs, excepting Nel-te, who had not yet been
allowed to suffer on that account. Of the many dogs that had been
connected with the expedition at different times only nine were now
left, and some of these would evidently not go much further.
As the boys talked of the condition of their trusty servants, and
exchanged anxious forebodings concerning the crossing of the mountains,
their attention was attracted by an exclamation from Jalap Coombs.
Nel-te had been so insistent in demanding his attention that the
sailorman was finally obliged to lay aside his work and lift the child
to his knees saying,
"Waal, Cap'n Kid, what's the orders now, sir?"
"C'ap'n Kid" was the name he had given to the little fellow on the
occasion of the latter's debut as pilot; for, as he said, "Every branch
pilot answers to the hail of C'ap'n, and this one being a kid becomes
'Cap'n Kid' by rights."
For answer to his question the child held out a small fur-booted foot,
and intimated that the boot should be pulled off.
"Bad foot, hurt Nel-te," he said.
"So! something gone wrong with your running rigging, eh?" queried Jalap
Coombs, as he pulled off the offending boot. Before he could investigate
it the little chap reached forward, and, thrusting a chubby hand down to
its very toe, drew forth in triumph the object that had been annoying
him. As he made a motion to fling it out into the snow, Jalap Coombs,
out of curiosity to see what had worried the child, caught his hand. The
next moment he uttered the half-terrified exclamation that attracted the
attention of Phil and Serge.
As they looked they saw him holding to the firelight between thumb and
finger, and beyond reach of Nel-te, who was striving to regain it, an
object so strange and yet so familiar that for a moment they regarded it
in speechless amazement.
"The fur-seal's tooth!" cried Phil. "How can it be?"
"It can't be our fur-seal's tooth," objected Serge, in a tone of mingled
incredulity and awe. "There must be several of them."
"I should think so myself," replied Phil, who had taken the object in
question from Jalap Coombs for a closer examination, "if it were not for
a private mark that I scratched on it when it was in our possession at
St. Michaels. See, here it is, and so the identity of the tooth is
established beyond a doubt. But how it ever got here I can't conceive.
There is actually something supernatural about the whole thing. Where
did you say you found it, Mr. Coombs?"
"In Cap'n Kid's boot," replied the mate, who had just restored that
article to the child's foot. "But blow me for a porpus ef I kin
understand how ever it got there. Last time I seen it 'twas back to
Forty Mile."
"Yes," said Serge, "Judge Riley had it."
"I remember seeing him put it into a vest pocket," added Phil, "and
meant to ask him for it, but forgot to do so. Now to have it appear from
the boot of that child, who has never been to Forty Mile, or certainly
not since we left there, is simply miraculous. It beats any trick of
spiritualism or conspiring I ever heard of. The mystery of the tooth's
appearing at St. Michaels after my father lost it, only a short time
before at Oonalaska, was strange enough; but that was nothing to this."
"There must be magic in it," said Serge, who from early associations was
inclined to be superstitious. "I don't care, though, if there is," he
added, stoutly. "I believe the tooth has come to us at this time of our
despondency as an omen of good fortune, and now I feel certain that we
shall pull through all right. You remember, Phil, the saying that goes
with it: 'He who receives it as a gift receives good luck.'"
"Who has received it as a gift this time?" inquired the Yankee lad.
"We all have, though it seems to have been especially sent to Nel-te,
and you know he is the one we were most anxious about."
"That's so," assented Phil, "and from this time on Nel-te shall wear it
as a charm, though I suppose it won't stay with him any longer than
suits its convenience. I never had a superstition in my life, and
haven't believed in such things, but I must confess that my unbelief is
shaken by this affair. There isn't any possible way, that I can see, for
this tooth to have got here except by magic."
"It beats the _Flying Dutchman_ and _Merrymaids_," said Jalap Coombs,
solemnly, as he lighted his pipe for a quieting smoke. "D'ye know, lads,
I'm coming to think as how it were all on account of this 'ere curio
being aboard the steamer _Norsk_ that she stopped and picked you up in
Bering Sea that night."
"Nonsense!" cried Phil. "That is impossible!"
Thus purely through ignorance this lad, who was usually so sensible and
level-headed, declared with one breath his belief in an impossibility,
and with the next his disbelief of a fact. All of which serves to
illustrate the folly of making assertions concerning subjects about
which we are ignorant. There is nothing so mysterious that it cannot be
explained, and nothing more foolish than to declare a thing impossible
simply because we are too ignorant to understand it.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
BOB, AND BIMBER, AND THE BEAR.
Bob Torrey was cantering slowly over the mesa, returning from an errand
to a neighboring cattle ranch, when he caught sight of a hawk's nest in
the top of a large cedar, and determined to learn whether it contained
any eggs. So he rode up to the tree and dismounted, the pony
understanding by the dropped bridle-rein that he was not to stray away.
His dog Bimber at once began a diligent investigation of the premises of
a badger, the front door of whose burrow opened between two large roots.
Bob had just reached the nest, after some hard scrambling, and was
intent upon its four brown-splotched eggs, when he heard Bimber begin
barking furiously.
"Guess he's found somebody at home. Teach him to keep out of other
people's houses," Bob said to himself, gleefully, but was too busy to
look down. The racket continued, and seemed to go away and come back.
Lowering his head below the nest to ascertain what was going on, the boy
forgot those eggs instantly, for he saw a grizzly bear loping over the
ground in close pursuit of that fool of a dog, who was _ki-yi-ing_ and
doing his best to reach the tree, while Bob's pony, head and tail up,
was making a record for speed in the opposite direction.
The bear seemed as big as an elephant, and was growling savagely. "Oh,"
he thought, "if I were only a hawk, like that one soaring overhead; or a
horse, like that one tearing across the prairie; or even a dog, like
Bimber, who--" But where _was_ Bimber? He had disappeared. Had the bear
eaten him up? No; the boy must have seen the capture if that had
happened.
Then a horrible thought came and nearly chilled his bones. Could a
grizzly bear climb a tree?
Suddenly the barking was heard once more, but in a queer, muffled tone,
as if the dog were far away, yet no glimpse of his white coat could be
caught anywhere, though Bob's eyes searched on all sides. Next the
barking would ring out sharp and clear close by, and the bear would give
a new roar, but nothing be visible. It was most puzzling.
"Where in the mischief is Bimber?" the prisoner kept asking himself,
until he almost forgot his own peril.
Then the terrier suddenly appeared, facing his big enemy, and scolding
the best he knew how. The grizzly whirled round and made a dash, but the
dog was twice as agile, and in an instant was safe, in that burrow
between the roots.
The bear tried to reach in, first one paw and then another, and so drag
its small enemy out, but such tactics were of no avail. The dog simply
retreated until Bob could scarcely hear its voice, and never once
ventured within reach of those formidable claws.
"Maybe I can frighten the beast," thought Bob, as he drew his small
double-barrelled pistol from his belt and fired.
The bear gave a roar as the little bullet stung his shoulder, and,
dropping the shot-gun, came rushing back to the tree, where it reared up
savagely, only to receive the contents of the other barrel, making a
scalp wound, which brought out another terrific growl, while Bimber was
able to take a nip at a hind leg and escape.
This last bit of impudence was too much. Bruin was thoroughly enraged.
He tore at the mouth of the burrow as though he meant to dig it out in
three minutes, but the tough roots were in the way, and before long he
gave up the task, and, as if decided upon a siege, lay down squarely
across the hole and began rubbing his sore head.
For an hour or more the boy sat there, when suddenly an idea occurred to
him.
His powder-flask still hung around his neck. Unscrewing its cap, he
poured into his left hand as much gunpowder as it could conveniently
hold, and replaced the cap. Reaching up to the nest, he lifted out one
of the hawk's eggs, broke it gently, and let a little quantity of the
sticky "white" run into the powder in his palm. This done, he mixed the
two together, adding more of one or the other as needed, until he had
formed a paste that suited him. This paste be shaped into a roll or cord
around a ravelling from his coat lining, which served as a sort of wick,
coiled it closely, and laid it on the branch beside him. This was a
"spitting devil," such as he had often used to make Fourth-of-July fun
with. He then made two more.
With as little noise as possible Bob crept down to the lowest limb,
where he was directly over the huge mass of fur, and twisted his legs
round the limb so as to leave both arms free. Holding the three "devils"
in one hand, he took a match from his pocket and lighted them rapidly,
then dropped the blazing things, one after another, upon the dozing
beast beneath him.
If Bruin noticed them at all, he doubtless supposed some twigs had
fallen upon his back; but before long their fizzing and snapping woke
him up, and the next moment they began to warm him well, especially one,
which had caught firmly in the ruff around his neck, and another among
the long hair on his haunches. He rolled over and over, but this only
ground the devils deeper into the fur, while Bimber, aroused by the
rumpus, rushed out to add his clamor to the commotion. Suddenly a
terrific explosion rent the air, and nearly knocked Bob off his perch
with surprise. The bear, in floundering about, had sat down upon the
gun, and, entangling the hammers in his hair, had discharged it; but as
the barrels were bent, of course the gun had burst.
That was the finishing touch. Singed, stung, and panic-stricken by the
powder on his back and the explosion in his rear, the grizzly uttered a
great howl and galloped away at the top of his speed.
KING ARTHUR AND HIS KNIGHTS.
III.--ARTHUR AND THE KNIGHTS.
"Arthur must have been tickled to death," said Jack, when his father
told how Sir Ector and Kaye knelt before him and hailed him as King.
"Wouldn't it be fine, Mollie, if somebody should ring our front-door
bell now, and come in and prove that you and I were King and Queen of
somewhere, and that papa was bringing us up for Queen Victoria or
Emperor William, for instance?"
"I don't think so at all," said Mollie. "I don't want to be Queen, and I
don't think you'd make a good King, either. You slide down the banisters
too much to make a very royal King. Kings don't do such things."
"I guess they would if they could," said Jack. "What's the good of being
a King if you can't do whatever you wanted to?"
"I'd rather be a President, though," put in Mollie. "Kings have to wear
solid gold crowns with prongs on 'em all the time, and it must be
dreadfully uncomfortable."
"Very true, my dear," said her father. "A crown is about the most
uncomfortable possession a man can have, and Arthur, I fancy, felt very
much at first as you do. He felt very badly indeed when he learned that
Sir Ector was not his father, and that Kaye was nothing but a chum,
instead of a brother, as he had always thought, for he loved them both
more than he did any one else in the world. So when Sir Ector knelt
before him and said, 'You are the rightful King of England,' Arthur
opened his eyes as widely as he could and started back in amazement."
"I guess he thought it was an April-fool," laughed Mollie.
"At first he may have thought that," said the Story-teller, "but when he
remembered that great Knights like Sir Ector wouldn't play jokes of that
kind he didn't think it any more. He began to grow uneasy and unhappy,
for instead of throwing his cap into the air and crying hurrah, as Jack
would do if he were elected President of the United States to-morrow, he
gave a groan and an exclamation of dismay.
"'Alas!' he cried; 'why do my father and brother kneel before me?'
"'I am not your father, nor is Kaye your brother,' replied Sir Ector.
"'Then who am I?' cried Arthur, in great distress.
"'That I know not,' returned Sir Ector, 'save that you are our King. You
were brought to me by Merlin to care for when you were an infant, and
from that day to this you have been treated as my son. Whose child you
are I do not know, nor have I ever known--nor has any one known except
Merlin.'"
"Didn't Sir Ector know who paid his board?" asked Jack. "Who'd he send
his bill to?"
The Story-teller smiled. "I don't believe Sir Ector charged anything for
his services," he said. "He was a true Knight, and was willing to
perform a knightly service for another without charging anything for it
or asking too many questions."
"You couldn't get anybody to do that nowadays, I imagine," said Mollie,
thoughtfully. "I think very likely they'd ha' sent him to an orphan
asylum if he'd lived now."
"I am not at all sure that you are not right about that," said her
father; "but whether you are or not, the fact remains that Sir Ector
took Arthur in, and without knowing whence he came or who or what he
was, was as good to him as he was to Kaye, his own little boy; and when
Arthur learned that Ector was not his father, it pained him deeply, and
he heartily wished he had never seen the sword in the stone which had
made known the secret of his high position to the world."
[Illustration: SIR ECTOR TOOK ARTHUR TO THE ARCHBISHOP AND TOLD HIM
ALL.]
"Then Sir Ector asked Arthur to be his gracious lord when he had become
King, and to make Kaye the steward of all his lands. This Arthur
promised, for, as he said to Sir Ector, he owed more to him and his wife
than he did to all others in the world. The promise made, Sir Ector took
Arthur to the Archbishop, and told him all that had occurred, and the
Archbishop was as much surprised as Arthur had been, and being a wise
man, he foresaw that all others would be surprised as well, and some of
them unpleasantly so, so he advised that the matter be kept secret for a
little while, when he would summon the Knights for another trial, at
which Arthur could do publicly what he had already done unobserved.
"On Twelfth Day the plan was carried out. The Knights again rode to the
church-yard and tugged at the sword, but no more successfully than
before. Then Arthur came forth to try, and they all laughed at him. Some
of them sneeringly asked why a mere boy should be brought forward to try
to do what they, the most gallant and the strongest Knights, had been
unable to do, but they soon stopped smiling and sneering and began to
frown. Arthur, as he had previously done, walked easily up to the stone,
and grasping the sword by the hilt, pulled it out with as little effort
as if it were a weed in a garden."
"That ain't always easy," said Mollie, who had tried weeding in her own
little garden patch.
"No," said her father; "not always, but sometimes they come up with
scarcely an effort, and that is the way the sword came out of the stone
as soon as Arthur grasped the hilt."
Jack chuckled. "You can bet on a boy to beat a man in a game o' stunts
every time," he said, proudly.
"Well, you can in many cases," said his father, with a smile, "but the
Knights did not like it any the better for that. They were not used to
playing games of stunts with boys, and in this particular instance the
prize was so great a one that their anger ran very high, and they asked
some very embarrassing questions.
"'Who is this boy?' asked some, and nobody was prepared to answer the
question. All Sir Ector knew was that he had brought him up from a baby,
and that he had been a very good boy, but this was not enough for the
Knights. With the crown at stake, they wanted to be certain that his
parents were people of high birth. They didn't want the son of a
stable-man to rule over them and to sit on the throne, and they grew so
bitter about it that to save trouble the Archbishop ordered another
trial to be held at Candlemas."
"I don't think that was fair," said Mollie. "He'd won, and they'd ought
to have given him the prize."
"True," said her father. "He certainly had won it, but the Archbishop
felt that having won it once, he would do it again, and it was better to
wait."
"He was all right," said Jack. "I think it wasn't quite fair as Mollie
says, but it was good business."
"Yes," said the Story-teller; "for, as you will soon see, Arthur didn't
lose anything by it except time."
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
NUMBER 100.
FRANK HOWELL'S OWN ACCOUNT OF HIS ADVENTURE IN A PRIVATE CAR.
BY WILLIAM DRYSDALE.
It was in a handsome private car without any name that I made the
acquaintance of Frank Howell. He was already in the car when I boarded
the train; and as the owner of the car, who was also the owner of the
railroad we were riding over, was busy at the moment dictating letters
to his private secretary in the little office at one end, Frank and I
were left alone together in the principal room, and we soon became
acquainted. I was surprised to see him there, for although I had made
frequent journeys in the car, I had never seen any boy in it before; but
he seemed very much at home and quite contented. He was a handsome
boy--or, rather, I should say he is a handsome boy, for this was only a
few weeks ago--with dark bright eyes and wavy brown hair, and a pleasant
manner that would make almost any one take an interest in him at once.
We soon fell into a little conversation, and I learned that he was a
Chicago boy, fourteen years old, and that he was spending the winter
with his father and mother in the Seminole Hotel, in Winter Park,
Florida. This accounted for his presence in that neighborhood, for we
were then riding through one of the central counties of Florida; but it
did not account for his presence in the private car, and when I dropped
a hint in that direction, he told me that he had known the owner of the
car for only about a week. When we had reached this stage of our
acquaintance, Mr. H. B. Plant, the owner both of the car and the
railroad, came out of his office and spoke to us. After shaking hands
with me he introduced Frank Howell.
"He doesn't look like a dangerous boy, does he?" Mr. Plant said,
smilingly. "But he had hardly got down into this country before he ran
away with my car, so I thought I had better take him along with me to
Jacksonville, for fear he might run away with the whole railroad."
"Indeed I think it was the car that ran away with me, Mr. Plant," Frank
broke in. "Anyhow, I brought it back again."
"He is the first person I have ever known," Mr. Plant went on, "to
travel about the country in a private car, without a cent of money to
buy anything to eat with. You must tell that story, Frank, while I
finish my letters; and try to tell it as well as you told it to me the
other day."
"How far did you go with the car, Frank?" I asked, when we were left
alone together again.
"About twenty-five hundred miles," he answered.
"What!"
"Twenty-five hundred miles, they say it was. I'll tell you about it," he
replied.
I saw there was a story coming, and that Frank was able to tell it well
in his own words; so I made no further interruptions.
"You know, after you've seen the lakes at Winter Park," he began, "and
the pine woods and the caged alligator, and a few hundred orange groves,
there isn't very much more for the people to see, so they go down to the
station about six o'clock every evening to see the last mail come in.
That brings through cars from the North--one sleeper from New York and
one from Chicago, that meet in Jacksonville. I got into the habit of
going to the station every evening too, and, of course, I soon got to
know all the sleepers by name. There were the Olivia, and the Tagus, and
the Marion, and perhaps a dozen in all, but only two in any one train.
"Well, one evening I was in the crowd looking at the passengers get off,
when I happened to see that there were three big cars in the train,
instead of two. The biggest of all, and the finest of all, was the last
car in the train, and I was sure I had never seen it before, so I pushed
down the platform to see its name. Queerly enough, it didn't have any
name at all: it just had the figures '100' painted in gilt letters on
its side. I looked in the windows, and saw that it was a great deal
handsomer than any of the sleepers. There were only two or three
gentlemen in the car, and they were sitting in big, comfortable
arm-chairs in a room that shone with mirrors and polished oak. There
were flowers on a table in the centre, and, at one end a couch that
looked as soft as down. But I needn't describe it to you, because it was
this very room, in this very car.
"It was only a glance I had before the train started, but that was
enough to show me that it was a private car, and to make me wonder
whether I should ever have a chance to take a ride in one. I didn't
suppose I should, at least not for a great many years. But you never can
tell about things, can you? After that the car seemed to be going up or
coming down every day or two, and I always looked into it whenever I had
an opportunity. One morning I happened down by the station, and there
stood No. 100 on a side track, with no engine, and nobody about it.
"'Here's my chance,' I thought to myself, 'to see the finest car on the
road'; and I went up to it, and walked all around it, and climbed over
the platforms, and saw just nothing at all, for all the shades were
pulled down tight.
"'That's too bad,' I was just saying to myself, or I guess I must have
been saying it out loud. 'I do wish I could see the inside of that car';
and the minute I said it I heard somebody alongside of me say:
"'Do you? Then come along with me, for I am going into it.'
"I looked around, and there was a gentleman I often saw in the hotel,
and, of course, he often saw me there.
"'Oh!' said I; 'can you get into it?'
"'I think so,' said he, half laughing. 'I am the superintendent of the
road.'
"He unlocked the door with a key, and took me in, and that was the first
time I ever set foot in this or any other private car. It fairly took me
off my feet to see how fine it was. He showed me the office at the end,
with its big windows on three sides, and its soft sofa and velvet carpet
and rugs; and the two big state-rooms, each with its broad double bed
and its bath-room; and this dining-room where we're sitting, as big as
the dining-room in a French flat, and much handsomer; and the two
'sections' like a sleeper; and another bath-room; and the tiny
baggage-room; and at the end of the car the kitchen, all stocked with
copper kettles and pans; and the refrigerator, and away up over that a
berth for the cook. My, but didn't it all look fine! You see, it was the
first time I was ever in a private car; I wasn't so used to them then as
I am now.
"I asked whose car it was, and the Superintendent said it belonged to
Mr. Plant, who owned the hotel I was staying in and the other big hotel
in Tampa, and was president of that railroad and a dozen others, and two
or three steamship lines. No wonder he had a beautiful car all to
himself, was it? Well, I was just going to say that that was the way I
happened to get acquainted with the superintendent, and it was through
him that I happened to go down to Tampa alone a few days afterwards to
see the big hotel and the Steamships, because he was going down, and he
said he'd see me safe in the train to come back.
"You know how the trains start just back of the big hotel in Tampa?
Well, I was to take the 3.15 train in the afternoon to come home, and I
was there in good time; but I didn't see any thing of the superintendent
at first. I saw this car standing there, though, with its shades all
down; but it was some ways down the track, and not coupled to any train.
The last car of my train was the parlor car, and I got in that, for I
had exactly fifty cents left to pay my parlor-car fare with, besides my
return ticket, of course. In a minute or two the train began to back,
and I saw the conductor outside making signals to the engineer, so I
went to the rear door and looked out.
"What do you think? They were backing right down to this car, and in a
minute they had it coupled to my train; and just as the coupling was
made the superintendent opened the door and came out on the platform,
and as soon as he saw me he told me to come over there.
"I was sure then that he was going to ride somewhere in this car, and
maybe he might let me ride with him a little ways. Wasn't it the
luckiest thing in the world, I thought, that I happened to be there just
at the right minute? We both went inside, in the little office at the
end where Mr. Plant is now; and the first thing the superintendent said,
said he, 'I am going to take this car up the road, and if you like you
can ride up to Winter Park with me.'
"Well, sir, it was so sudden I didn't know for a minute whether I stood
on my feet or my head. But the train began to move off, so I saw it was
really true.
"'Isn't Mr. Plant going to use it?' I asked him--for I was so excited I
hardly knew what I said.
"'Mr. Plant sailed for Jamaica this morning,' he answered, 'and will not
be back for two weeks. The car is going up to New York now to bring Mrs.
Plant and some of her friends down. It has just been thoroughly cleaned
for her use, so I do not care to open it up much and let the dust in;
but you can make yourself comfortable here in the office while I look
over some papers. I am only going as far as Lakeland myself, about
thirty miles up the road; but you can go on to Winter Park in the car if
you'll be sure to slam the door when you get out. It locks with a spring
lock.'
"Make myself comfortable! Well I should rather say I could. I was as
proud as a peacock. It was foolish, of course, but, you see, I'd never
had a ride in a private car before. I was sorry none of my friends had
seen me start off in it, and that none of them would be likely to see me
get out, for the train was not due at Winter Park till after eight
o'clock. It seemed just like being in a house, it went so smooth and
firm; and when people looked in the windows at stations, I'd imagine
they were wondering what nabob that boy was, to be travelling in such
style. And then I'd think of having only fifty cents in my pocket, and
I'd have to laugh.
"It seemed just no time at all before we got to Lakeland, where the
superintendent left me. He told me to take a nap on the sofa if I got
sleepy, for I still had a four hours' ride, and to be sure and slam the
door when I got out. Then I had the grand car all to myself, and wasn't
I just prouder than ever! I wanted to go all over it and look at all the
handsome things, but I wouldn't do it, because that would be just like
sneaking over anybody's house. I staid right in the office, and pretty
soon it began to grow dark, for there was nobody to light the lamps in
the car, and I began to grow sleepy. So I spread out a newspaper for my
feet, and lay down on the sofa.
"Did you ever see anything as soft as these sofas? It was like floating
in the air, and I imagined myself riding on that magic carpet in the
_Arabian Nights_. But there was something lacking, as there always is. I
was as hungry as a bear, for I'd eaten nothing since morning. Then I
thought of the fifty cents in my pocket, and the buffet they always have
in the sleepers and parlor cars in Florida, and how easy it would be to
go into the next car and buy some supper. But didn't I fasten back the
catch of the door carefully before I went out? You see, I'd have been
only an ordinary passenger if the door had locked after me, for I
couldn't have got back.
"The waiter in the parlor car looked at me a kind of queer when I
ordered my supper. 'Do you belong in this car?' said he.
"'Oh no,' said I. 'I have a private car in the rear.' Well, sir, after
that you'd have thought I was the President of the United States from
the way he waited on me. My fifty cents didn't buy very much, but it was
enough.
"In a few minutes I was back on my sofa in No. 100, with the door
locked. It was almost dark, and getting chilly, but having a fine
private car all to myself more than made up for that. Just think of it!
It was almost as though I owned the car. Even the conductor didn't come
in, for they don't go into a railroad president's private car to ask for
tickets.
"I took a soft rug off the floor and pulled it over me, and thought I
might as well take a nap. It would be safe to sleep for an hour, or even
two, and I was tired with my day's travel. Of course I was asleep in no
time. My, how good it felt!--a private car all to myself, soft sofa to
sleep on, nobody to bother me."
[Illustration: "WELL, SIR, IT WAS ENOUGH TO MAKE A BOY'S HAIR TURN
GRAY."]
"Suddenly something woke me up. I didn't know where I was at first, but
it came back to me in a minute, and I was awfully cold. A little scared,
too, for if I had slept any longer I might have been carried past Winter
Park, and a pretty thing that would have been. I jumped up and looked
out, but it was too dark to see anything much. We were running very
slow, and I thought by the way things looked we were just getting into a
station. So I sat down by the window and watched, and, sure enough, we
were just about to stop. When we did stop, my car stood right square in
front of the bay-window of a station. And what do you think I saw? Well,
sir, it was enough to make a boy's hair turn gray. There was a big sign
on the front of the building, WAYCROSS; and the clock inside the window
said 4.35.
"Then I knew I was in for it; for Waycross, you know, is in Georgia,
about half-way between Jacksonville and Savannah, and nearly three
hundred miles above Winter Park. Instead of taking a little nap, I had
slept for eight or nine hours, and I was three hundred miles away from
my friends, without a cent in my pocket. My first thought was to get
out, but while I had my hand on the door-knob I thought better of it.
What would become of me if I got out? I had no money to go home
with--not even a cent to telegraph to my folks with. Go to the
conductor, do you say? You see, we were on an entirely different
railroad from the one we started on, and had a different conductor, of
course. This one wouldn't know anything about me, and probably would not
believe my story.
"It was a pretty tough place, wasn't it? Private car, soft sofa, fine
rugs, great style, and not a cent of money. While I was trying to make
up my mind what to do, the train started. But that was all right; for
somehow I couldn't get it out of my head that the best thing I could do
was to stick to the car. You see, I figured it this way: when I didn't
come home at nine o'clock, they'd begin to worry about me. They'd
telegraph to the superintendent, and he'd understand how it was, and
telegraph along the line, and have me found and sent home.
"Had it all reasoned out fine, didn't I? And it would have turned out
so, only for one thing. The superintendent drove out in the country
somewhere from Lakeland, where he couldn't be reached by telegraph, and
he didn't get back to Winter Park for two days. Nobody else knew that I
was in this car. Wasn't that a fix for you?
"But I'm getting ahead of my story. I'd made up my mind to stick to the
car, if I had to ride all the way to New York. But of course my folks
and the superintendent would find me long before that. You see, I've
read in the papers how lost boys in New York are taken care of by the
police, and their friends telegraphed to. But I had a better plan than
that to try first, if it came to the worst; I'd go to a good hotel and
get them to telegraph, and my father would send on money for me. The
summer clothes I wore would be some proof of my coming from Florida. You
see, I had to think out every little point.
"Well, I'll not tire you with telling you how I rode on and on and on,
and how nobody came into the car after me. You know the road, of course.
We were in Savannah, and then we were in Charleston, and in Wilmington;
but nobody inquired for me. I may as well own up that I was pretty well
frightened when night came on again. I kept the door locked, of course,
and most all the shades down, for somehow I didn't care much about
looking at the scenery.
"But I had to break my rule about not going through the car, for by
night I was almost starved. There must be something to eat in the
kitchen, I thought; and I went and looked. Not a thing there! Closets
empty, and all scrubbed out clean, refrigerator open and empty, not so
much anywhere as a scrap of bread. I'd have eaten some, you know, if
there'd been any there--for what would a railroad president care for a
slice of bread when a fellow was hungry? That made me kind of desperate,
and I tried the dining-room--this room. Well, sir, in the closet under
that cabinet in the corner I found a big earthenware jar half full of
Boston water-crackers--those fearfully hard ones, you know. But didn't
they taste good, though! I felt kind of mean about eating them, but it
was all right-- Mr. Plant says it was, and he's sorry I didn't find a
porter-house steak there.
"Lying down that second night was the worst time of all. Did I cry, you
say? Yes, sir, I did cry. Mind you, I'm only fourteen, and a bigger boy
than that would have cried. Then sometimes I laughed, too. When I began
to wonder whether I was a nabob travelling in a private car, or a tramp
looking for a supper, that made me laugh. It was frightfully dark, and
of course I did not dare light a lamp. It was cold, too; but I managed
that with more rugs. There were plenty of rugs. By that time I was
nearly a thousand miles away from my friends, and nobody seemed to be
making any inquiries about me. But I knew that was nonsense, for do you
think my mother wouldn't hunt me? When I thought of how she must be
worrying about me, it made me cry again, and I cried myself to sleep.
The next thing I knew somebody was shaking me by the shoulder.
"'Wake up, young man!' the somebody was saying. 'Are you Frank Howell?'
"'Yes, sir,' said I, as soon as I got my senses.
"It was a tall young gentleman, as I could see by the light through the
window, and the train was standing still.
"'Then come along with me,' said he. 'It's half past five in the
morning, and this is Washington. You've only about twelve minutes to eat
your breakfast in.'