A VOICE FROM THE SNOW-DRIFT.
It was a clear, cold afternoon in February. School had just been
dismissed, and among those who came down the stairs, and paused to put
on their gloves and pull the collars of their overcoats about their
ears before venturing out into the frosty air, were Sam Hynes and Leon
Parker.
These two were often seen together now, and we may add that the former
had twice been kept after school since Leon came home, and reprimanded
for fighting.
But Sam declared that he had never had a fight in his life. Perhaps he
hadn't; but it is nevertheless true that he had shaken one boy until
every tooth in his head rattled, and washed another's face in the snow.
It is hard to tell what Oscar would have thought if he had known how
faithfully Sam was carrying out his wishes.
The two boys walked together until they arrived at Mrs. Preston's
house, and there they separated--one turning in at the gate, and the
other keeping on his way toward home.
Sam, followed by Bugle, who came out to meet him, went into the
woodshed, and proceeded to fill his arms with stove-wood.
This done, he walked into the kitchen without ceremony, and deposited
the wood in the box.
Mrs. Preston, hearing the racket he made, came out to see who was there.
"Now, Sammy," said she, "I wish you wouldn't put yourself to so much
trouble."
"No trouble at all," answered Sam. "I happened to pass through the
woodshed, and thought I wouldn't come in empty-handed. Heard anything
from Oscar lately?"
"No, I haven't; and I begin to feel very uneasy."
"No use feeling uneasy," said Sam cheerfully. "They have had some hard
storms out there, and of course the roads are blocked. When the letters
do come, they'll come in a bunch."
While Sam was speaking, he was looking about the room, and, seeing that
the water-bucket was empty, he went out and filled it at the pump.
Mrs. Preston again protested, but Sam silenced her by declaring that he
happened to be thirsty, and didn't know any easier way to get a drink.
It was a singular fact that somehow Sam always "happened" to pass
through the woodshed about the time the box was empty and the
kindling-wood getting low, and that he always "happened" to be thirsty
when he came out of school and the water-bucket had to be filled.
Mrs. Preston had not lived alone since Oscar's departure. She had two
young lady boarders for company; and as Sam had a way of dropping in
and saying something cheerful just at the time when she was growing
downhearted and longed to see Oscar, she managed to keep up pretty good
spirits. Sam always brought sunshine with him, and the lonely mother
felt the better for his visits.
Having satisfied himself that there was nothing else he could do,
Sam departed, with the remark that he might happen around to the post
office that evening, and if he did, he would bring up Mrs. Preston's
mail, should there chance to be any.
He went there as straight as he could go, and, to his great delight,
three letters, addressed to Mrs. Preston in Oscar's well-known hand,
were pushed out to him.
With the muttered threat that if he did not find at least one letter
for himself from the same source somebody would hear from him, he
walked to the other end of the office and looked into his father's box.
It happened that there were two for him, and so Oscar escaped a blowing
up. One of the letters was bulky--it took three stamps to bring it
through--and the other was much smaller.
"I'll read the mean little one first," thought Sam, as he tore open the
envelope after putting the other letters into his pocket, "and save the
best for the last."
Sam took the letter out of the envelope and read it as he walked
along--that is, he read a few lines near the end of it. Then he
stopped, and stood motionless for a few moments, looking the very
picture of astonishment.
Suddenly arousing himself, he crammed the letter back into the
envelope, jumped up and knocked his heels together, at the same time
uttering a suppressed whoop, and started off at a rapid run.
The longer he ran the faster he ran, and the consequence was that when
he reached Mrs. Preston's house he was nearly out of breath.
"I've got three letters for you!" he exclaimed, as he burst into the
sitting room. "There they are!"
"And you have run all the way from the office?" said Mrs. Preston.
"Yes'm. This cold weather makes one pretty lively."
Sam banged the door again and set off at the top of his speed. He
ran past his father's house, and, mounting the steps that led to Mr.
Chamberlain's door, rang the bell furiously.
The summons was answered by the principal, who looked at the boy in
great surprise.
"Oscar has gone and done it, sure enough!" exclaimed Sam, who was so
full of news, and so eager to communicate it, that he couldn't wait to
be questioned. "You remember the last evening but one that we spent
with you, do you not? You asked Oscar if he would have the courage to
hunt the savage animals we were talking about. Well, he has; and he has
proved himself a hero, too. I just got the letter out of the office,
and brought it around here, thinking that perhaps you would like to
hear it."
"Certainly I would," answered the principal. "It was very kind and
thoughtful of you. Sit down."
While Sam was talking, he and the principal had been walking along the
hall, and now turned into the library.
The boy, taking the seat pointed out to him, slammed his cap down upon
the floor, drew Oscar's letter from his pocket, and read as follows:
CAMP IN THE FOOT-HILLS,
January 25, 18--
DEAR SAM: I wrote you a long letter last week (I know you haven't
received it yet, for it is at this very moment lying snugly stowed
away in one of the pockets of my saddle-bags), but I want to
write just a few lines more, for I have something to tell you.
I have but a very few minutes to tell it in, because my guide is
getting ready to make another attempt to reach the fort. He tried
a few days ago, but the snow was so deep and soft that he was
obliged to turn back before he had gone five miles. He has made a
pair of snow-shoes since then, and will travel on them until he
strikes the prairie, where he hopes to find the snow all blown off
the trail. I tell you, Sam, you don't know anything about storms
or snow or drifts in Eaton. You ought to be here now; and I really
wish you were, for I hardly know what I shall do with myself while
my guide is gone. Of course, I might hunt, but I think I shall be
safer in camp. I saw something the other day, and since then I
have lost some of my enthusiasm.
The valley in which our camp is located is so effectually
protected that there is very little snow in it, and I have been
able to go shooting every day. I have secured a very fine pair of
mule-deer (called black-tails out here); but, although I have shot
sixteen elk, I have not yet found a specimen, the horns not being
as perfect as I wish they were. I have stalked one old fellow, who
carries a magnificent pair of antlers, more than a dozen times,
making use of all the caution and skill I was master of, but he
has always been too smart for me. I have a rod in pickle for him,
however, and in my next letter I shall tell you that I have got
him.
But if I have failed in one thing, I have been remarkably
successful in another. Give me a good grip and shake, old fellow,
and then go and look at that skin hanging up there. A black bear?
No, sir! You never saw one of that species with claws eight inches
long. It's a grizzly, and my guide says he never in his life
saw but one larger. I killed him myself with a single bullet.
How I did it, or how I had the courage to shoot at him at all, I
can't tell for the life of me. It seems more like a dream than a
reality. He was close upon my guide, who had wounded him and could
not run fast enough to get out of his way, and in a minute more
there would have been sad work in that little grove of scrub oaks,
had it not been for my lucky snap-shot which broke the bear's
neck. I don't hunt alone any more, and now you know the reason why.
Sam, not a word to mother about this. While I shall keep you
posted in everything, I shall be careful what I write to her.
Don't mention it to anybody who will be likely to repeat it.
But my guide is ready and waiting. I am going to see him a mile or
two on his way, and won't I be lonely when I come back to camp!
Remember me to all my friends in Eaton, pat Bugle for me, and
believe me, as ever,
Faithfully yours,
OSCAR PRESTON.
THE END.
THE FAMOUS CASTLEMON BOOKS.
BY
HARRY
CASTLEMON.
[Illustration: Specimen Cover of the Gunboat Series.]
No author of the present day has become a greater favorite with boys
than "Harry Castlemon;" every book by him is sure to meet with hearty
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his readers from page to page with breathless interest, and when one
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more."
Any volume sold separately.
+GUNBOAT SERIES.+ By Harry Castlemon. 6
vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed
in colors. In box $7 50
+Frank, the Young Naturalist+ 1 25
+Frank in the Woods+ 1 25
+Frank on the Prairie+ 1 25
+Frank on a Gunboat+ 1 25
+Frank before Vicksburg+ 1 25
+Frank on the Lower Mississippi+ 1 25
+GO AHEAD SERIES.+ By Harry Castlemon. 3
vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed
in colors. In box $3 75
+Go Ahead+; or, The Fisher Boy's Motto 1 25
+No Moss+; or, The Career of a Rolling Stone 1 25
+Tom Newcombe+; or, The Boy of Bad Habits 1 25
+ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES.+ By Harry
Castlemon. 3 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth,
extra, printed in colors. In box $3 75
+Frank at Don Carlos' Rancho+ 1 25
+Frank among the Rancheros+ 1 25
+Frank in the Mountains+ 1 25
+SPORTSMAN'S CLUB SERIES.+ By Harry
Castlemon. 3 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth,
extra, printed in colors. In box $3 75
+The Sportsman's Club in the Saddle+ 1 25
+The Sportsman's Club Afloat+ 1 25
+The Sportsman's Club among the Trappers+ 1 25
+FRANK NELSON SERIES.+ By Harry Castlemon.
3 vols. 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra,
printed in colors. In box $3 75
+Snowed Up+; or, The Sportsman's Club in the Mts. 1 25
+Frank Nelson in the Forecastle+; or, The Sportsman's
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+The Boy Traders+; or, The Sportsman's Club among
the Boers 1 25
+BOY TRAPPER SERIES.+ By Harry Castlemon.
3 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed
in colors. In box $3 75
+The Buried Treasure+; or, Old Jordan's "Haunt" 1 25
+The Boy Trapper+; or, How Dave Filled the Order 1 25
+The Mail Carrier+ 1 25
+ROUGHING IT SERIES.+ By Harry Castlemon.
3 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed
in colors. In box $3 75
+George in Camp+; or, Life on the Plains 1 25
+George at the Wheel+; or, Life in a Pilot House 1 25
+George at the Fort+; or, Life Among the Soldiers 1 25
+ROD AND GUN SERIES.+ By Harry Castlemon.
3 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed
in colors. In box $3 75
+Don Gordon's Shooting Box+ 1 25
+Rod and Gun+ 1 25
+The Young Wild Fowlers+ 1 25
+FOREST AND STREAM SERIES.+ By Harry
Castlemon. 3 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth,
extra, printed in colors. In box $3 75
+Joe Wayring at Home+; or, Story of a Fly Rod 1 25
+Snagged and Sunk+; or, The Adventures of a Canvas
Canoe 1 25
+Steel Horse+; or, The Rambles of a Bicycle 1 25
+WAR SERIES.+ By Harry Castlemon. 4 vols.,
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+True to his Colors+ 1 25
+Rodney, the Partisan+ 1 25
+Marcy, the Blockade Runner+ 1 25
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+OUR FELLOWS+; or, Skirmishes with the Swamp
Dragoons. By Harry Castlemon. 16mo. Fully illustrated.
Cloth, extra 1 25
ALGER'S RENOWNED BOOKS.
BY
HORATIO
ALGER, JR.
[Illustration: Specimen Cover of the Ragged Dick Series.]
Horatio Alger, Jr., has attained distinction as one of the most popular
writers of books for boys, and the following list comprises all of his
best books.
Any volume sold separately.
+RAGGED DICK SERIES.+ By Horatio Alger,
Jr. 6 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra,
printed in colors. In box $7 50
+Ragged Dick+; or, Street Life in New York 1 25
+Fame and Fortune+; or, The Progress of Richard
Hunter 1 25
+Mark, the Match Boy+; or, Richard Hunter's Ward 1 25
+Rough and Ready+; or, Life among the New York
Newsboys 1 25
+Ben, the Luggage Boy+; or, Among the Wharves 1 25
+Rufus and Rose+; or, the Fortunes of Rough and
Ready 1 25
+TATTERED TOM SERIES.+ (FIRST SERIES.)
By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated.
Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box 5 00