THE FIRST CAMP FIRE OF THE TRIP
“Holy smoke! so that’s what the matter, is it?” exclaimed Buster, as he
stared at the telltale track.
“A thief, that’s what!” breathed George, angrily, as he turned to glance
at the neighboring growth of trees, now partly lost in the gloom of
coming night.
“And to think,” remarked Herb, “that anybody could just slip along here
back of these bushes, and grab our grub without one of us seeing him.”
“Oh! we were all too busy doing our regular stunts to think of such a
thing,” explained Jack. “You see, Josh had all he wanted to do with the
fire; some of us were putting up the tent the second time; and George
had his hands full with his pet hobby, bothering over his engine. Why,
it was as easy as falling off a log for him to just crawl up behind
these bushes, reach out a hand, and then good-bye to all the fine stuff
Josh had laid out so nice.”
“Well, if that don’t beat the Dutch!” exclaimed Josh, staring hard at
the stone which bore such an important part in all this discussion, as
though he could hardly believe his eyes.
“Look here,” continued Jack, “and you can see where the ground is all
rubbed up; that’s where his knees scraped on the surface when he dragged
one leg after the other, you know.”
“My! it takes you to get on to these things, Jack!” declared Buster.
Andy had said nothing up to now, but seemed to be just as much puzzled
and disturbed as the rest. He managed to put in his oar at about this
point, however.
“Musha! they do be sayin’ that this same ould island do be ha’nted; and
’tis me own silf that will be belavin’ the same afther this, so I will!”
“Great governor! he means it was a regular ghost, Jack, d’ye hear that?”
cried Buster, throwing up his chubby hands in rank despair.
Everybody seemed interested at once; for, while several of the boys, if
asked to their face might have promptly declared they never believed in
ghosts; still, it was so very queer, finding some unknown party on the
island with the bad name, that they were inclined to listen with
interest when Andy aired his views. Ghosts--of course not,--because they
were all humbug, anyway; but it was mighty strange how that stuff
vanished so mysteriously.
Jack laughed out loud.
He was a level-headed, practical boy, and had not a grain of superstition
in his whole body. Many a time had he and Andy argued and disputed upon
this very score, and the one whose ancestors had come from the island
across the sea had apparently so far as outward appearances went, at
least, been convinced of the error of his ways, only to have the old
belief crop up again unexpectedly on the first occasion. It was in the
blood; and what is there cannot be argued away.
“Stop and think, Buster, and you, Andy,” Jack went on to say,
impressively, “ghosts wouldn’t be apt to wear big boots, would they, and
come creeping along, when they are popularly supposed to have the power
of making themselves invisible?”
“That’s so, Jack, you’re right!” burst out George, enthusiastically.
“Get your gun, and we’ll take a look for the rascal, and make him stand
and deliver.”
But Jack paid no attention to this fiery threat; if they tried to carry
out one-tenth of the things impulsive George suggested, it would surely
keep them busy, well and good.
“And whoever heard of a hungry ghost?” Jack went on to say, so as to rub
it in, good and hard. “This fellow, whoever he could have been, must
have been hungry; for he cribbed our ham and stuff the first shot. Well,
it’s gone; but thank goodness we’ve got plenty more; so I say, don’t
let’s have such a little thing make us feel bad. Get busy, some of you,
and fix the cook up with a second ration. Herb, cut two more slices off
the ham, and Buster, you turn your hand at carving that hunk of fish
we’ve still got. Such a trifle shouldn’t upset fellows who had been
through all we have, you know.”
“No more it hadn’t!” cried Buster.
“Bully for the Commodore; he’s the right stuff!” exclaimed Josh, waving
the stick of wood he happened to be holding in his hand at the time; and
looking very much like a real French chef with his cute little white cap
on his head.
“But hey, let’s first of all get every bit of our stuff in the tent, and
keep a close watch on the same,” observed suspicious George. “First
thing you know we’ll just have to abandon our week of fun down here
because we’re starved out. We didn’t agree to feed all the stray
fishermen, or hoboes in the country, when we laid in our supplies this
time; ain’t that a fact, Jack?”
It was strange how all the other boys almost invariably turned to Jack
when they had advanced a proposition; as though his guarantee was all
that was necessary to stamp the suggestion as a clever idea.
“Yes, you’re right there, George; and while the rest of you are doing
all you can to help Josh out, I’ll be collecting the duffle in the tent,
and fixing the same so it won’t bother us much. If any chap manages to
hook more of our stuff from under our very noses, he’ll deserve it,
that’s all.”
So saying, Jack started to carry things in under the canvas, for the
tent had been about fully erected at the time Josh made his astonishing
statement; and only needed to be fastened down a little more securely at
the base, so as to be ready to stand any sort of a blow, such as might
come along in the spring time here on the upper Mississippi.
The air was getting a little “nippy,” as Buster called it; so that
several of the motorboat boys had donned their sweaters. This made
Buster start to again bemoaning the strange disappearance of his new
one, that had the blue moon on the breast. He never could convince
himself that he had mislaid it in the shed where the boats had been
housed for the winter; and fancied that one of his chums must be hiding
it from him; because every little while he would watch each one in turn,
and with hope struggling afresh upon his rosy, plump face, only to have
it die out again when he realized they were not dragging the familiar
object out of their clothes bags.
Secretly Buster was determined that at the first chance he would rummage
through each one of those bags himself, and make positive that his
missing property was not reposing where it never should be found.
The supper preparations went on apace, and soon the most delightful
odors ever sniffed by hungry cruisers began to permeate the surrounding
atmosphere. Buster went into the tent, calling back over his shoulder:
“Just going to lie down a while on my blanket, to see how she goes,
fellers. Fact is, I’m that cramped after a session aboard the speed boat
that I c’n hardly stretch out. And then, to own up to the real truth,
them smells make me just wild, and I can’t stand it around the fire any
longer. Just call me when everything’s ready, Josh, that’s a good
feller. Oh! my! but that coffee is scrumptious; and the ham, goodness
gracious! whoever smoked that pig knew how to fix things so’s to set a
hungry boy half crazy. Yum! yum! Don’t forget to wake me, now, Josh!”
But of course it was not long before supper was declared ready, and the
boys proceeded to gather around the spot where Josh had set things.
Buster was not called, in fact there was no need, for he burst out of
the tent like a young cyclone just at this time, and hastened to find a
place to deposit his fat form in the circle.
“Hey! thought’d you steal a march on me, didn’t you, fellers?” he
demanded, trying to look very fierce, which was impossible, for he only
screwed up his face and seemed comical at such times; “meant to just eat
up my share, and then tell me you forgot all about giving me the high
sign. But I was on to your little game, let me tell you. Could hear
every word you said, and when Josh here told George to pass out his
pannikin, that gave me my cue. Thank you, Josh, I believe I will dip in
next; and Herb, fill my tin-cup with that coffee, please. Oh! ain’t I
glad we’ve got started at last. That last ten minutes was just awful to
me!”
So Buster rattled on until the others begged him to stop it.
“Let the food close that trap of yours, Buster, please,” said George.
“That’s the way he goes, ding-dong, the whole blessed day, fellows;
until I can hardly think straight, when I’m trying to figure on how to
bridle that high-stepper of a motor of mine.”
They were soon all hard at work, and after the first keen edge of their
appetites had been taken off, it was a merry group that gathered near
the fire, eating, chatting and with a continual flow of wit passing back
and forth.
Nevertheless Jack could not forget about the mysterious disappearance of
the food, and every little while he would get up, to take a stroll
around to the other side of the tent; just as though he half feared that
some daring intruder might try to cut into the back of the canvas, with
the intention of continuing his depredations.
“How about that old paper Andy brought with him?” asked George, after
they had eaten all that was possible; and even Buster was seen to shake
his head when Josh asked if anybody would have any more coffee, baked
beans, crackers, or cheese.
“Say, that’s a fact!” cried Herb, “we went and forgot all about it. You
see, Jack crammed it in a pocket of his old jacket; and all of us were
that anxious to be off we didn’t remember to have the account of the
robbery read out. Got it yet, haven’t you, Jack?”
“Sure I have,” replied the other, “and if you wait a minute I’ll get the
same, so we can enjoy the thrilling story right here and now. Those kind
of yarns always sound better around the blazing camp fire, you know.”
“Kinder go with ghosts, and all that sort of thing, eh?” came from
Buster, who was eyeing the remnant of ham in the fryingpan, and heaving
a sigh, as though it really gave him a pain to think that his capacity
seemed to have been reached before the last bit had been disposed of;
that was next door to a sin with Buster, who would gorge himself rather
than see the least thing wasted, or thrown away.
“Ghosts don’t burgle any that I ever heard of,” observed Josh, calmly
picking up the said skillet, and with a fling sending a small portion of
the fatty end of ham flying into the bushes, at which Buster sank back,
disappointed.
“Arrah, sure they do the quarest things ye iver heard till on,” declared
Andy; and then gave a quick look at Jack, as though half expecting to be
taken to task because of his clinging belief in hobgoblins, and all such
things.
But Jack did not see fit to pay the slightest attention to anything so
trifling just then. He passed into the tent, to where he had hung his
coat; for with his sweater on he had not felt the need of extra
covering. And presently he came out again, carrying the paper in his
hand.
“Now, isn’t that too mean for anything, boys?” he remarked.
“What’s gone wrong now, Jack; I hope more of our provisions haven’t
taken wings, and skipped out?” observed George; while Buster just sat
there, hugging his fat knees and holding his breath while he waited to
hear the worst.
“Oh! no; nothing like that,” came the answer, “but you see I had this
coat on a good part of the morning, and I guess the paper must have got
wet somehow, for there’s only part of the first page left; most of the
account of the robbery is gone. But I’ll read you what there is, if you
want. It’s the tail end, of course. Too bad it had to happen that way.”
“Go on, then, and let’s have what there is, Jack,” urged Josh.
“About where the lines begin to run even it starts in this way,”
remarked Jack. “‘The only clues they have of the robbery consist, first
of all, in several tools which Mr. Hasty, the blacksmith, identified as
part of his machinist’s outfit, showing that they had entered his shop;
and the fact that yesterday a dapper little naphtha launch, painted
white, with a red band around the upper part, was known to be anchored
just above town. Two parties occupied the same, one a well-dressed young
fellow, with a sharp look about him; and the other a heavy man, more
like a mechanic. The police have no doubt that these parties are the
ones who broke into the bank, and cleaned out the vault. The smart
looking young fellow must have planned the scheme. He was seen in the
bank during the day, getting some information, and a big bill changed,
and it is supposed that he took his bearings at that time he was
chatting with the cashier. From the description the latter was able to
give of his visitor it has been learned from St. Paul that the smooth
faced young fellow was positively a well known and skilful crook called
by the name of Slim Jim. The authorities hope to be able to get on to
their track up or down the river shortly.’”
Just as Jack ended this report Buster was heard to give a startled cry.
“What ails him now?” demanded Josh, looking toward the fat boy.
“Just what I thought, he’s gone and overfed, and now he’s feeling a
gripe coming on; he’ll sure burst some fine day,” grumbled George,
groaning to think that all during the trip he must put up with such a
rolypoly of a crew as Buster Longfellow.
“’Tain’t neither,” snapped the other, indignantly. “I c’n breathe as
well as any feller present. I gave that little gasp-like because I was
staggered, when Jack, he read about that trim little boat painted white,
with the red trimmin’ around the gunnel. Want to know why, don’t you?
Well, the fact is, fellers, I set eyes on that pirate craft myself, and
not so very long ago either; fact is, just half an hour before we
struck here. Now, what d’ye think of that, hey?” and Buster expanded
perceptibly, doubtless feeling his own importance as the bearer of
startling news.