CAMPING OUT
The next day everybody came out to wish bon voyage to Pat and the boys
who were leaving on their camping trip for a week. All hands helped
them get their paraphernalia aboard the station wagon.
Pat was the last one to get in with the big box of fishing tackle in
his left hand and a huge picnic hamper packed with good food in his
right hand. Ann Mary had seen to it that they would eat well the first
day they started out. For the rest of the week they had the back of the
Bronc well stocked with canned foods which they expected to supplement
with the fish they caught.
They were all in the best of spirits. This was to be a real adventure.
Pat was taking them into the woods to a fishing camp where Jimmy’s
Uncle John Allen used to go every summer. Alf Powell and Jimmy were
the chief mechanics in case anything went wrong with the car, and Brook
and Pat were to be the cooks.
Marjorie and Judy had their noses slightly out of joint because they
had been hoping right up until the last minute before the boys left,
that perhaps they too would be allowed to go along. But the boys would
not even hear of it, and Penny thought it would not be a good idea,
either.
“Never mind,” Judy said in a consoling whisper to Marjorie. “Maybe
we’ll find the buried treasure while they’re gone.”
Just then Ann Mary came running out with an armful of freshly ironed
shirts for the boys.
“Mr. Taggart brought these,” she panted, “early this morning. I told
him he had to get them here before you left. Theresa just finished
ironing them.”
“Thanks,” Jimmy said, “but they needn’t have been ironed. For the next
week we aren’t going to care how we look.”
“Lucky dogs,” Marjorie said in an aside to Judy. “Do you know what
Penny said to me last night? She said, ‘From now on you and I ought to
change before dinner into something besides blue jeans.’”
“I guess she’s right,” Judy said reluctantly. “Mother has had the same
idea all along.”
But in spite of how they felt, the girls recovered from their sulks
long enough to wave cheery goodbyes to the boys.
“Have fun,” they shouted.
“Be careful,” called Penny.
And so at last, Jimmy, Alf and Brook were off on their great adventure.
After driving all day, Pat and the boys pulled into a little grove of
pines, deep in the woods near a beautiful, rock-strewn river. They
made camp and got out their mosquito repellent. Pat had told them the
black flies in this part of the woods were really vicious so they had
come well prepared for such an emergency. Jimmy and Alf got into their
high boots and waded into the river to fish. The results of this little
expedition were not quite as good as they expected, but the few small
fish they caught were very sweet when cooked.
They were up bright and early the next morning, but that day brought no
better results as far as fishing was concerned. Pat suggested that they
move camp deeper into the woods, near a little lake where he thought
the fishing would be much better. Jimmy seconded the suggestion and in
no time at all they were on their way again. This time they made camp
near the tip of the little lake and early the next morning they watched
the mist rise from the lake and listened to the birds singing in chorus.
This spot was so beautiful that Brook and Alf said they would like to
spend the rest of the week here, even if they didn’t catch a single
fish.
“I knew you’d like it,” answered Pat. “Mr. Allen always wanted to stay
here awhile,” he said to Jimmy.
“And no wonder,” said Jimmy, “I can’t wait until we get out there in
our canoe.”
The boys were all skillful with the paddle, and as they skimmed along
the lake widened, then narrowed till it was not much more than a
stream. Finally they reached the other end and drew the canoe into a
small bay. Pat led them to a small log hut hidden in the nearby trees.
Here there was a curious storehouse for food and extra equipment. It
was built of small pine logs and was raised high on a few posts. Pat
explained that this was to keep the food from getting damp, and that
if it were properly fastened no climbing bear could help himself to the
food.
The little bay where they had left their canoe was the outlet for a
stream in which Pat said there was wonderful fishing. Pat said they
would have to go upstream a way against some rapids to get to the
really good fishing spot. He also told them that there was a waterfall
nearby and the safest thing would be for all of them to do all of their
exploring, fishing, hunting, or anything else they decided to do, in
groups. Pat cautioned them about the strong current in the stream, too.
“Come on,” said Jimmy. “Let’s do some fishing now and go up those
rapids tomorrow.”
They caught a beautiful trout and a bass for their supper and
considered that a perfect end to a successful and happy day. They
decided to spend the night in the small log campers’ hut.
The next day’s plan was changed when morning came. The woods about the
camp were explored and found to be fairly open. It was full of birds,
squirrels, chipmunks and other small animals. Brook almost caught a
flying squirrel and claimed that he saw a wild cat. There were beavers
building in a small stream that wandered through the pines and widened
not far from the lake. A graceful deer took flight as Pat, who was
in the lead, approached. This caused considerable excitement and all
chatter ceased as they stole on in the hope of surprising another deer
or a bear.
They climbed trees, investigated nests and Jimmy kept looking for bees.
The boys wanted to know why, and he replied that the bees would lead
them to a “honey tree,” and there they might find a bear.
“Go to it, Jimmy,” cried Alf. “I bet we take the honey first.”
They finally did see a bear, a black one of moderate size. It ambled
off before them from the water’s edge. None of them had the heart to
shoot it or anything else they saw. They were having such a wonderful
time just investigating.
Around the campfire that night they sang and told stories and when it
began to turn very chilly they turned in. They were awakened early in
the morning by the bird chorus. Alf said it was not so hard to get
up here as at home, in school time! They took the canoe up the rocky
stream with its dashing waters and strong current. By noon they had
reached the highest point from which these rapids started. It was quiet
at noon and the sun was hot. The perspiring boys sat around in their
bathing shorts and ate a cold lunch. Then they got down to the real
business of fishing. Jimmy drew in a handsome black bass, and then the
competition became keen. Brook caught a beautiful brook trout, and it
was a jolly group of boys that sat near the shore to clean their fish
in the late afternoon when they had returned to the hut.
Jimmy had started the fire and then joined the rest, picking up the
first fish at hand, a fine trout. “Who caught this?” he asked.
“I’ll have you know that I’m the guy,” grinned Pat, looking up from the
bass he was cleaning and waving his knife in the air. “It’s worth-while
fishing where there’s something to catch!”
“Isn’t this a walleyed perch, Jimmy?” asked Brook.
“I guess so.” Jimmy had started in vigorously to clean the trout and
now raised a loud voice in the ditty of “Ham and Eggs.” The others
joined in, making the shore ring with the sound. The fact that supper
was to consist mainly of fish made no difference. With young appetites
and overflowing energy they managed to consume all of the day’s catch.
The next day Jimmy and Alf wanted to take things easy and do some
swimming and lounging, but Brook wanted to do some more exploring. They
finally decided to spend the day near the hut, and Brook made a mental
note to do some exploring on his own when he could. While they were all
in swimming, he paddled off alone, down the main stream. He had gone
only a little distance before he was concealed from view by trees and a
curving shore. He entered the main stream, which was quite wide as far
as the fork.
There the division of waters left the wider stream to the right. But
that to Brook’s left offered the prettier outlook. It stretched almost
straight before him to some distance and descended in a little rapids.
These looked easy, he thought, and though there were rocks, the water
looked shallow enough for a good swimmer not to be troubled with any
difficulty about reaching shore or a rock in case the canoe upset.
A little peninsula, dotted with green trees and bushes, jutted out from
the left shore. Brook thought he caught a glimpse of someone moving
there and started into the left fork of the stream.
“After all,” he reflected, “as the crow flies I’m only a couple of
miles from camp. Maybe Jimmy and Alf have been out exploring and are
over there on the point.”
Then he saw something that made him paddle faster than ever. He could
hear the sound of dashing waters further on but he was too excited to
pay any attention to it. What he had glimpsed looked like a human body,
sprawling half in and half out of the bushes of a cove on the point.
Brook nosed his canoe into the cove, beached it, and climbed up the
gentle incline. Then he saw that what had attracted his attention was
only an old tattered coat. It was rain-shriveled and had obviously been
flung over a rock to dry. But from the stream it had looked like the
torso of a human body.
“Well,” Brook sighed with relief. “Thank goodness no one was hurt or
killed.”
He went into the brush, past a few spruces, and found a small clearing.
In the mud here were footprints which had obviously been made very
recently. It had rained the night before, clearing just before dawn.
Sometime between then and now someone had walked across the clearing
and into the brush. And back again into the woods on the other side of
the clearing, Brook reflected as he studied the footprints.
Whoever it was might have hung his coat on the rock to dry if he had
been caught in the early morning rainstorm.
“Probably a tramp,” he decided and went back to the coat. He lifted it
rather gingerly, and then, because he could not resist the temptation,
turned its pockets inside out. To his surprise, he found in the last
pocket a letter. It looked as though it had been soaked by the rain and
had been dried again by the sun which had been shining upon the coat
and rock all morning.
The address upon the torn envelope was blurred, and Brook’s curiosity
was hindered by the fact that it was almost lunch time and it might be
well to hurry back. Sticking the letter into the waterproof zippered
pocket of his bathing trunks, he hurried to his canoe, pushed out and
entered the stream again.
As Brook got back into the middle of the stream he suddenly discovered
that no paddling was necessary to make his canoe go! The descent which
looked so gradual drew canoe and the water itself down rapidly. The
current was much stronger than one would have thought! Brook used his
paddle skillfully. He was enjoying this exhilarating experience. It was
great!
But when he tried to skim around a few rocks to the point, he almost
upset the canoe and only by a quick push from a rock did he avoid
being thrown out. But the canoe righted and Brook sped on, past the
peninsula, around into a wider channel, for which Brook was at first
glad. There was more space between rocks.
But the current was stronger, his control over the canoe was getting
a little out of hand. Brook was just beginning to realize that he had
had no business coming off by himself, when he heard the sound of the
falls. His face grew pale, but he set his lips. The current drew the
canoe out into a wider part of the river, and when Brook looked ahead
for a minute he could see a white spray dashing high over a pile of
obstructing rocks. It did not seem so bad off to the right, and Brook
tried to edge over in that direction.
But what he saw ahead of him made him sick. It was still some distance
away, but the water was boiling over at a little curve and fell
somewhere below--he could not tell where!