MISERY CAMP
Now let us return to Garry and Phil, whom we left struggling in the
hands of their captors. Only one voice did they recognize in the orders
that were given, but this was enough to let them know that they were in
the worst kind of trouble. It was the voice of LeBlanc.
"Phil, that's LeBlanc's voice or I'm crazy," ejaculated Garry.
"Absolutement, ma frien's. It is LeBlanc. Once again I have you, and I
think this time you do not go until we have settled several old scores
that I have mark up against you."
As he spoke, several men took hold of the boys even more roughly, and in
a few moments their hands had been bound tightly behind their backs.
LeBlanc gave the order to march, and the strange procession wended its
way through the woods. It was almost pitch dark, but they seemed to be
following a well defined trail, and the leader was sure of every step.
An unknown man grasped the arm of each boy and guided them so that they
would not bump into a tree, and at the same time prevented a chance of
escape.
The boys took things philosophically, for there was nothing that could
be done with so many odds against them, and the darkness would have
hindered any chance of flight. They knew that they could not take more
than a dozen steps without smashing into the trees, and would soon be
captured. They resolved, the same train of thought running through the
minds of both of the captives, to wait for daylight before sizing
matters up.
LeBlanc kept hurrying the men along, and they covered nearly a half a
dozen miles before a halt was called. Now the first flush of day was
appearing in the sky, and soon there would be light enough for them to
see in what manner of hands they had fallen.
When dawn finally broke, both boys looked in amazement at the strange
figures that the light of day revealed.
LeBlanc, of course, they recognized at once, and they had half expected
to see his brother. But all the others,--there were half a dozen not
counting the halfbreed,--were total strangers. The men were for the most
part large and swarthy, unkempt of hair and ragged as to clothes. Their
garments were torn and dirty, and here and there was a raggedly sewn
patch where the clothes threatened to give way entirely.
They were taciturn men, and said little or nothing to each other, and
when they did, it was in a low tone. They paid absolutely no attention
to any order of LeBlanc, always turning to one of their number for
confirmation.
This man, evidently the leader, was a perfect giant of a man. He stood,
so the boys judged, at least six feet four inches, and was
correspondingly large of frame.
His face, what could be seen of it, for he wore a black, flowing,
tangled beard, was tanned by the sun, as one who lived entirely in the
open. His followers evidently respected, or at least feared him, for
whenever he gave an order, they sprang to do his bidding.
Garry and Phil wondered who they were and what their business
was,--whether they were hunters or what.
A fire was built and a meagre breakfast made. Phil and Garry were glad
of the food, for they were both hungry and tired. The eating done,
evident preparations were made to continue the march. Both boys were
cruelly tired. They had passed a strenuous day and night, and now they
wanted to sleep. But this was evidently not to be.
They were slightly surprised also when they learned from the
conversation that LeBlanc was not to continue to the destination of the
others.
"Now, King, you will take these boys to Misery Camp, and keep them until
you hear from those who have given you instructions. They will let you
know what to do, and you will be ver' careful not to let them make the
conge, to get away, for then you will have me, Jean LeBlanc, to deal
with."
"I'll keep my bargain, fer the fact that I give my word, an' a King
allers keeps his word; but never think that I fear ye, Frenchman, fer I
fear no man livin'!"
LeBlanc kept silence, and took his way back to the camp, while the weary
march forward was resumed. Short rests were given at long intervals and
the boys were thankful for the scant few minutes that were allowed.
The men walked with the long swinging lope of the true woodsman, and
often the boys thought they would drop by the side of the road from
weariness.
At noon a halt was called, and one of the men disappeared, to return
after several minutes with a half dozen grouse. The boys then knew
immediately that these men were outlaws of some sort, who paid no
attention to the law, for the close season was on all grouse and
pheasant.
A fire was built and one of the men skinned the birds preparatory to
roasting them over the coals. Coffee was made and they were about to
drink it black, when Garry bethought himself of the sugar and condensed
milk in his knapsack. Thinking that a few favors on his part would
perhaps return to them later on, he offered it to the men. The boy's
hands were untied, and he rummaged through his pack until he found the
articles.
The men took them without a word and used them. They divided the food
fairly with all present.
Garry tried to engage the men in conversation, but all attempts failed.
The rest and the dinner occupied about an hour and then the march began
again.
"See here," said Garry to the man addressed as King. "When are you going
to give us a decent rest? We're played out."
"Well, you can be played out ef you want; you've got eight miles ahead
of you yet till we get to Misery Camp," answered King.
"What is Misery Camp, and who are you fellows anyway?" again asked
Garry.
"Misery Camp is where we live, and we fellows be squatters. Now shut up
and walk," and King relapsed into silence.
Light instantly broke over the boys. They had often heard of the
squatters scattered over the woods of Maine, queer nomadic people, who
gleaned a precarious and lean living from the woods. Game and fish laws
meant nothing to them. Birds of all sorts were shot, and woe be unto the
deer that ran across the path of the squatter. Some little cultivation
was carried on, in the way of corn and potatoes.
Wearily they trudged on. The last mile was almost agony to Phil and
Garry, but they clenched their teeth and carried on, determined if
possible to show no sign of weakening in front of these strange
creatures of the woods.
At last Misery Camp was sighted. It was a patch of land that had been
cleared away, evidently the logs that were cut being used to make the
habitations of the squatters. A score of ragged children and some
slatternly women came out to meet them, looking curiously at the boys.
They were thrust into one of the cabins, and a guard established at the
door.
The weary boys dropped on the rude pallets and fell asleep almost
instantly. So tired were they that it was the following morning before
they awoke. They stretched their arms and legs, and then tried to open
the door. The guard let them out, and warned them that any attempt at
flight would be followed immediately by a shot.
"An' I ain't missed a squirrel in five year," boasted their guard, who
was a boy of about their own age.
Privately the boys resolved to make an escape as soon as possible, but
not while the rifle of the guard was trained on them, for they doubted
neither his ability to shoot as well as he said he could, nor the fact
that he would not hesitate to do as he threatened.
They looked over the clearing with some curiosity. It fitted its name
well, for misery seemed to be on every side. King, who appeared to be
that in fact as well as in name, called the boys to his own shack for
breakfast. Here they found that the squatter leader had opened their
knapsacks, and the contents were strewn over a rude table.
Both boys jumped to see if their wireless 'phone had been broken by the
curious squatter, but were relieved to find that it had not been
touched.
"What's that there contrivance?" asked King, pointing to the
radio-phone.
"That's a wireless telephone," answered Garry. As he answered he had a
vision of a way out of their difficulty, but subsequent conversation
soon proved that they would not be able to put the plan into execution.
"I seen a telephone onct," said the squatter, "but it had wires. You
don't mean that that thing will talk without a wire, do you?"
"Yes it does. Would you like to have us set it up, and talk through it,
and have a message come through the air?" asked Garry, eagerly awaiting
the answer, for he thought that if he could get the wireless up he could
signal some way for help.
"No, I don't. I don't believe that ye can talk through the air without a
wire, but ye might be able to an' I ain't agoin' to take no chances."
The squatter did not seem interested in the contents of the knapsack
except for the little medicine case that Garry always carried. The boy
noted, too, that all the foodstuff was gone.
"What be these things, medicine?" asked King.
"Yes," answered Garry briefly.
"Got anything that's good for chills and fever?" demanded the man.
"Not that I know of; most of that stuff is for use in an accident. You
see it's mostly antiseptic and bandage and stuff," answered Garry.
King picked up a bottle that was marked poison and had the familiar
skull and crossbones in red ink.
"What's this stuff with the red printin'?" he questioned.
"That's iodine; can't you read?" Phil broke into the conversation.
"No, can't read, never went to school. What's it for?"
"Why, it's to put on bad cuts so that you won't get blood poisoning, and
it's good if you strain your wrist or finger or something like that."
answered Garry.
"Wall, you don't say so. Wonder if 'twould do this finger o' mine any
good? I hurt it the other day when I slipped near the brook where I was
getting water. It's my trigger finger too, and that's a bad one to have
hurt."
Garry assured him that there was nothing better than the iodine and
offered to paint it for him.
The squatter evidently decided that it could do no harm, and so Garry
inspected the swollen finger and liberally painted it.
"That will help take the swelling out, and it will be all right in a
couple of days," said Garry, as he put the cork back in the bottle and
laid it on the table.
Then he noticed that a ragged youngster about three years old had been
watching the process with wide open eyes. Inquiry developed that it was
the squatter's child, and it was evident that the youngster was the one
thing that the squatter king was really fond of. He told Garry and Phil
that the mother had died a year before, when they had been driven off a
timber tract by the lumbermen. Here the squatter launched into a tirade
against the lumber owners.
The squatter idea is a peculiar one. They claim that the woods were made
for man to take as he found them and could not understand the right of
anyone to drive them out; yet they are responsible for great damage to
the woods. As, for instance, at this place, a couple of acres of fine
timber had been ruthlessly cut to make cabins for the nesters or
squatters, and to provide a place for the scanty crop of potatoes and
corn. Then too, many of the great forest fires are started by the
squatters. There is one case on record in Maine where the squatters set
fire to a whole mountain side, because they said that the blueberries
would grow better on the burned-over ground.
Also the depredations against deer are numerous. Many a fine moose or
stag has been brought down to provide food for the nomads.
The talk went back to the medicine again, and the squatter asked what
the skull meant on the bottle.
"That's put on to warn you that it's poison," Garry informed him.
The work of painting his finger seemed to mollify the old man somewhat,
and he drew a little out of his shell, and Garry, seeing the
opportunity, asked him why they had been brought there.
The squatter then told them that LeBlanc had appeared on the scene a day
or two before and told them that unless they agreed to keep some boys
who would be brought there prisoners, they would be driven from the
clearing by the lumberjacks. The squatters knew what this meant, since
they had planted their corn for the summer, and moving meant that the
lumberjacks would burn down the cabins and start them away. They knew
from experience that it was useless to fight, for the enemy, so they
considered the lumberjacks, would outnumber them ten to one.
Garry saw through the whole scheme and guessed that Barrows had known of
their presence at the clearing and had kept them in mind for some time
when he might require them to help in some of his schemes.
The squatter king took his rifle and offered to show the boys where
their planting was done, and more for the sake of getting a little
exercise than for any especial desire to see the corn patch, they
agreed.
The other squatters eyed them as they passed in company with old King,
but said nothing. Some of the youngsters started to follow, but a mere
threatening look was enough to set them scurrying away.
"You seem to be the boss around here," remarked Garry.
"Yes, I'm a King by name, and I aim to be king of these people so long
as I breathe," answered the man gravely; and Garry, looking at his
immense frame and stern eye, thought he had a good chance of continuing
in his royal capacity.
They were looking at the corn patch with only a pretended interest, when
they heard a scream from King's cabin.
"That's my baby," said King in a frightened tone. "Something's hurt
her!"