PEDDLER HINMAN'S NEXT APPEARANCE
Camp was made at half-past four that afternoon, nineteen miles
having been covered. The tent was pitched in a bit of woods,
not far from the road, permission from the owner having been secured.
Dave had asked the owner if they might picket the horse out to
graze, but Dick had instantly objected.
"We don't want to feed our hired horse on green grass if we're
going to work him hard."
"That's right," agreed the farmer, so twenty cents' worth of hay
was purchased, to be added to the feed of oats.
"It's some fun to travel this way when we know we have money enough
to pay our way like men," Tom Reade remarked exultingly.
For Dick & Co. were well supplied with funds. As told in the
preceding volume in this series, they had, during July, realized
enough from the sale of black bass and brook trout to enable them
to have a thoroughly good time during this present month of August.
"Oh, Hazy!" called Reade, when it became time to think of supper.
"Here," reported Harry, rising from a cot in the tent and coming
outside.
"It's time for you and Dan to rustle the firewood and bring in
more water," Reade went on.
"All right," agreed Hazelton. "Where's Dan?"
Where, indeed, was Dalzell? That soon became a problem for all five
of the other boys. Danny Grin was nowhere in sight.
"Dan! Oh, Dan!" Dave shouted.
"Where is that grinning monkey of a football player?" demanded
Tom in disgust. "Did any of you fellows see him go away from
camp?"
It turned out that none of them had.
"It isn't like Dalzell to run away from his share of the work,
either," added Greg Holmes.
"If he won't stay and do his share toward getting supper, then
he ought to be passed up at table," grumbled Darrin.
"Before we pass sentence," proposed Dick, "won't it be better
to wait and find out whether he's guilty of shirking this time?"
"I suppose it would be better," Darrin admitted.
So the boys continued their preparations.
"What shall we have for the main thing to eat to-night?" Dick
inquired, after supper preparations were well under way.
"Canned corned beef?" suggested Greg.
"That would be about as good as anything," Tom nodded. "It means
two salted meats in one day, but this country is well supplied
with water."
"We can't ask Danny Grin's preference this evening," Dick laughed.
"I wonder what Dan would like, anyway?"
"Who's taking my name in vain?" demanded a laughing voice, as
Dalzell appeared between the trees.
"Oh, you-----"
"Shirk!" Reade had been about to add, when Danny held up a fat
string of fish. These were horned-pouts, sometimes called "bull-heads."
"How many?" asked Dick promptly.
"Nineteen---one for every mile we made in getting close to the
creek," Dan rejoined.
"Great!" cried Greg. "We haven't had any fish, either, since
we returned from our trip to the second lake."
"How do you cook bull-heads?" Dave wondered aloud.
"With the aid of fire," Hazy informed him with an air of superior
knowledge.
"But I mean---I mean------" uttered Darry disgustedly, "how do
you prepare bull-heads for cooking?"
"First of all, you clean 'em, as in the case of any other fish,"
proclaimed Tom Reade. "I defy any fellow to dispute me on that
point."
"And then you wet the bull-head and roll him in corn meal, next
dropping him into the pan and frying him to a fine brown," Dick
supplemented.
"But we haven't any corn meal," objected Hazy.
"Yes, we have," Prescott corrected. "I saw to that last night.
You fellows jump in and clean these fish, fast, while I get out
the corn meal and put a pan on the fire."
These boys knew much more about cooking than falls to most boys
in their teens. Frequent camping since their good old days in
Central Grammar School had made them able to cook like veteran
woodsmen.
Within two minutes, fat was sputtering in a hot pan, and Dick
was shaking corn meal onto a plate.
"Bring 'em up!" he ordered. "We'll start this thing going."
Twenty minutes later, using two pans, all the bull-heads had been
cooked, and now lay on platters in the oven of the stove.
"Three apiece, and one left over," Greg discovered. "Who gets
the odd one?"
"Shame on you!" muttered Reade. "The horse gets the odd one,
of course."
"A horse won't eat fish," Holmes retorted.
"Didn't you ever see a horse eat fish?" Tom challenged.
"I never did."
"Well, I don't know that I ever did, either," Reade admitted.
"So we'll give the odd one to Danny Grin."
"Maybe we'll be glad to," laughed Dave. "I'm not sure that all
these bull-heads were alive when Dalzell picked them up."
"Huh!" snorted Dan.
Nothing spoiled their appetite for the fish, however, which were
cooked to a turn and of fine flavor. Tom Reade, however, got
the odd fish as being the only one whose appetite was large enough
to permit of the feat of adding it to three other fish.
"And now, what are we going to do?" asked Dave, after the meal
was finished and the dishes had been washed.
"Who has sore feet?" called Dick.
Not one of the six boys would plead guilty to that charge.
"Then we won't have to heat water," Dick announced. "Each fellow
can bathe his feet in cold water before turning in. But, when
one's feet ache, or are blistered, then a wash in piping hot water
is the thing to take out the ache."
By nine o'clock all hands began to feel somewhat drowsy, for the
day had been warm, and, at last, these youngsters were willing
to admit that their road work had been as strenuous as they needed.
"But to-morrow we'll do twenty-five miles," Dave insisted.
"My opinion is that we'll do well if we make twenty miles to-morrow,"
Dick rejoined.
"But what are we going to do now?" yawned Hazy, as they sat about
under the light of two lanterns.
"Go to bed," declared Greg.
"Hooray! That's the ticket that I vote," announced Hazy.
"I was just thinking of that mean lawyer we heard about to-day,"
Reade remarked.
"I was thinking of the same matter, but more about the poor old
peddler," Dick stated. "That poor old fellow! I'll wager he
has had a hard time all through life, and that he's still wondering
why it all had to happen. How old would you say Mr. Hinman is, Tom?"
"He'll never have a seventieth birthday again," replied Reade
thoughtfully. "My! A man at that age ought not to have to bother
with working. It's pitiful. It's a shame!"
"Maybe he finds his only happiness in work," Darrin suggested.
"I have known old people like that."
By this time Dan had taken one of the lanterns into the tent,
and was undressing. Dave soon followed, then Greg and Hazelton.
"Do you want to take a little walk down to the road, where we
can get a better look at the sky?" Dick proposed to Reade. "We
ought to take a squint at the weather."
"That will suit me," Tom nodded, so away they strolled toward
the road.
"If you fellows stay away from camp long, don't you be mean enough
to talk, or make any other noise when you get back to the tent,"
Darrin called after them.
Down by the road there was a breeze blowing, and it was cooler.
"I'd like to bring my cot down this way," Tom suggested.
"There's no law against it," Dick smiled. "The owner's permission
extended in a general way to all the land right around here."
"Will you bring your cot, too?" Tom asked.
"Certainly."
So, before any of the other fellows were asleep, Dick and Tom
reentered the tent to get their folding cots and bedding.
"Cooler down by the road, is it?" asked Darrin wistfully. "Then
I'm sorry you didn't find it out before I undressed."
"We'll sleep in our clothes," Dick replied. "Come along, Tom,
and give the infant class a chance to get to sleep."
After lying, fully dressed on their cots, which they placed within
ten feet of the road, Dick and Tom found themselves so wide awake
that they lay chatting for some moments.
At last Reade mumbled his answers; next his unmistakably deep
breathing indicated that he was asleep. Prescott thereupon turned
over on his side and dozed off.
It was shortly after their first few moments of sleep had passed
that a noise in the road close by awoke both boys.
Dick sat up leaning on one elbow, listening. Someone was coming
toward them.
As the stranger came closer, Dick, his eyes seeing well in the
dark, made out the unmistakable form of Reuben Hinman, the peddler.
"What's he doing out here at this hour of the night, and on foot?"
wondered Dick Prescott half aloud.
"Eh? What?" asked Reade in a low, drowsy voice, as he opened
his eyes.
"It's Mr. Hinman, the peddler," Prescott whispered to his chum.
"But I wonder what's wrong with him?"
"I wonder, too," Reade assented. "One thing is certain; something
has happened to him."
For Reuben Hinman half-lurched, half-staggered along, yet his
gait did not suggest intoxication. He moved, rather, as one who
is dazed with trouble.
The old man was sobbing, too, with a sound that was pitiful to
hear; as though some great grief were clutching at his heart.