THE CRY FOR HELP.
While the boys stopped to admire the silvery sheet of water, hedged
with wildwood growing to the very edge, the Woodranger reached silently
into a dense thicket of bushes hanging out over the shore of the pond,
and pulled from its hiding-place a birch canoe, with its paddle.
Norman and the Stark boys could not help expressing surprise at seeing
this done, but Rob Rogers said:
“Don’t let Woodranger surprise you, Mac, by pulling a canoe out of a
thicket like that. I honestly believe he has one in every pond and
stream in New England. And the fun of it is he can always lay his hand
on one when he wants it.”
“Nay, lad, it is one o’ man’s weak p’ints to be o’er confident. I
remember this summer o’ coming to a leetle strayed-away corner o’
water that I generally skim in my birch rather than tramp around, but
I didn’t find the canoe. Mebbe some red took it; mebbe it had drifted
away. I do not purtend to say. I know it cost me twenty miles o’
perambulating through a dense briar.”
“How many canoes do you suppose you have, Woodranger, in hiding like
this?” asked the boy ranger.
“I trust it is no indiscretion o’ mine to say that I have a goodish
number. I find ’em very convanient, too. Step in, lads, and we’ll cross
this bit o’ water in a jiffy.”
To four such boys, who revelled in the life of the woods, this trip
was already proving delightful. With that easy movement, born of the
forester, the Woodranger pushed the light bark out from its shelter,
and, springing nimbly in with his passengers, sent it flying over the
sparkling water. The day was clear, and the refreshing breeze coming
over the lake brought a feeling of exhilaration to the five.
“This is better than dragging through the brushwood, with the vines and
briars tugging at your jacket,” declared Billy Stark. “For my part, I
wish we could go this way all of the distance.”
“Where would be your deer you have boasted of bagging?” asked Rob.
“Oh, well, perhaps I should want to go ashore long enough to capture
that. But I didn’t know Massabesic was so large, Woodranger.”
“As I said, it is a goodish sized pool. It was a favourite spot o’ the
reds, who had a village on the north shore, until the plague killed so
many o’ ’em there weren’t enough left to be sociable. That was just
afore the whites kem, and over yender,” pointing to the right, “is the
ruined cabin o’ the last o’ their tribe in this vicinity, an Indian
maiden. She married the first settler in these parts, who kem here
while her people were dying at short notice. He was a negro, who had
kem with John Smith on his v’yage to this country. He was an escaped
slave, and their union seemed to me pathetic, being, as they were,
the outcasts o’ two races. But how the water has taken on its winter
clothes within a few days. There is snow in the air.”
“Water with winter clothes!” exclaimed Billy Stark, while the other
boys did not try to conceal their wonder at such a statement. “I never
heard of water having clothes.”
“Neither did you ever o’ the bear wearing a jacket, and yet his suit
o’ warm fur is in every sense his clothes. So it might be said o’
every creatur’ that runs or flies. I can’t say so positive o’ the
fish that swim in the water, but I have marked a difference in dress
o’ the streams and ponds in which they live. Take the babbling brook
in the summer and you will find it merrily dancing in its white and
silvery frock, just as if, like the human creatur’, it had thrown off
its gray garb o’ winter. But when cold weather comes you see that
same brook with a deep blue on. Then, too, in summer its song has a
gentle, babbling sound, as if it felt good-will toward all, but in the
cold season it rushes on with a harsh, gurgling noise, as if it were
fretting over the prospect ahead, for all the world like man, scolding
for what he knows not. It is the same with the pond. Last summer old
Massabesic had a sunny smile rippling all over her fair figure; but now
she is donning the dull, leaden hue o’ winter. How much more cheerless,
too, do the waves dash and break on her beaches. All things change with
the seasons, even to the coats o’ the bear and the beaver, the wolf and
the rabbit. But hark! do my old ears deceive me, or is that the cry o’
human throat? Your ears are keener than mine.”
“It is a cry for help from some one,” said Norman, and the others
nodded their heads, as they continued to listen.
“It comes from the east shore,” said Rob. “Who can it be and what is
the trouble?”
“We will soon know, lad, we will soon know,” and the Woodranger began
to send the canoe over the water at redoubled speed.
“If I only had a paddle,” said Rob.
“Nay, lad, let not that consarn thee. Whoever it be, he has lusty
lungs. Keep a sharp lookout, for were it not in peaceful times one
might be only called discreet if he looked on sich bawling as lacking
common sense.”
The boys needed no urging to maintain a close watch ahead, and it
wasn’t long before the blue line of the distant shore loomed up into
a rugged breastwork of forest. As the forester continued to ply his
paddle with vigorous strokes, they watched with increasing earnestness
the scene ahead. To their wonder, the shouts of the person had stopped.
“Look sharp, lads,” were the Woodranger’s words, while he kept at his
task with unabated power.
“I see something dark in the top of that maple off to the left, which
may be a man,” said Rob, pointing in the direction he was looking.
“So do I,” said Norman. “It is a man, who has climbed into the top, or
I am mistaken.”
As the canoe bore them nearer the boys became certain of this fact,
though the person remained perfectly quiet. The tree into which he had
climbed was not as high as others standing close at hand, while it grew
so near the shore that its branches hung out over the water.
“What does he mean by staying there?” asked Billy. “Hadn’t we better
shout to him, Woodranger?”
“Not yet, lad, not yet. Watch him as close as you would a cat, and have
your weepons handy. He may be there for a bit o’ an amazement against
our peace o’ mind, thinking we are greenies. It is a man sure, and he
do lay amazing still, seeing he has clumb so high.”
The Woodranger had himself taken a good view of the mysterious stranger
in the tree-top, before he resumed his paddling.
As the canoe continued to approach the spot the man remained without
moving, though once Rob believed he was motioning to them.
“He has seen us, that is certain. But what can his queer actions mean?
I can see his white face turned toward us.”
“It is Zack Bitlock!” exclaimed Norman, recognising the strange person.
“He cannot mean us any harm.”
By this time the canoe had got quite near, and with another vigorous
stroke the Woodranger sent it gliding within easy view of the man in
the tree-top, and then stopped to take a careful survey of him.