[Illustration: “Stop her, somebody! We will all be drowned!” See page
74.]
Tour of the Zero Club
OR
Adventures Amid Ice and Snow
BY
CAPTAIN RALPH BONEHILL
AUTHOR OF
“Neka, the Boy Conjuror,” “For the Liberty of Texas,”
“Boys of the Fort,” etc.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK AND LONDON
STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1902
By STREET & SMITH
Tour of the Zero Club
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER. PAGE.
I--On the Toboggan-Slide 9
II--Lost or Won? 16
III--The Races 24
IV--A Moment of Peril 31
V--Getting Ready to Start 39
VI--Last Ride on the Buster 47
VII--By a Hair’s Breadth 53
VIII--The Stolen Iceboat 60
IX--The Tour Begins 66
X--Close Quarters 74
XI--A Lucky Shot 81
XII--Jack Becomes Lost 88
XIII--Jack’s Experience 95
XIV--A Fight With Reptiles 102
XV--Lost in the Snow 109
XVI--Settling Down in Camp 115
XVII--Hunting for Food 122
XVIII--Chased by Wolves 128
XIX--The Last of the Wolves 135
XX--What Could It Have Been? 142
XXI--Deer Hunting 148
XXII--Track of the Marauders 155
XXIII--The Cottage in the Woods 162
XXIV--Harry’s Prize 169
XXV--A Friend in Need 175
XXVI--The Unsuccessful Pursuit 182
XXVII--A Heavy Storm 189
XXVIII--Fighting the Flames 196
XXIX--Blue Times in Camp 203
XXX--Found Starving 209
XXXI--Immediate Wants Supplied 216
XXXII--Last of the Wildcat 222
XXXIII--The Snow Siege Ended 228
XXXIV--A Lively Time 235
XXXV--At the Country Dance 240
XXXVI--The Black Bear 246
XXXVII--End of the Tour 253
TOUR OF THE ZERO CLUB.
CHAPTER I.
ON THE TOBOGGAN-SLIDE.
“All ready?”
“All ready!”
“Then here we go! Hold on, everybody, unless you want to be sent flying
when we reach the curve!”
As Harry Webb uttered the last words he gave his long toboggan, the
_Buster_, a final shove, and hopped on behind his three companions, and
away they started on the trip down Doublehead Hill.
It was a stirring scene. The upper and lower hills, although light in
the full moon, were made doubly bright by the scores of bonfires and
pine torches which blazed on either side of the narrow toboggan-slide.
Scores of boys and girls were out, and not a few ladies and gentlemen
also, and all looked warm and happy in their gayly-colored toboggan
suits.
The long, low sleds were out by the dozens, and Jack Bascoe, who was
steering the _Buster_ as best he could, had a difficult time of it,
keeping clear of dangerous collisions.
“By jingo! but this is fine!” cried Andy Bascoe, Jack’s younger
brother. “Who would want better sport than this?”
“You’re right, it’s fine!” returned Boxy Woodruff, the most
light-hearted boy in Rudskill. “A fellow would like to keep sailing
like this forever, eh? Just spread out your arms and--wow!”
Boxy’s imitation of flying came to a sudden stop as the toboggan shot
over a little hill and came down with a thump on the other side. He
was thrown a bit to one side, and only saved himself by grasping Jack
Bascoe around the middle with both arms.
“Hold on, Boxy!” cried Jack, a little alarmed.
“That’s what I’m doing,” returned Boxy.
“I feel you,” said Jack, grimly. “But don’t pull me off, please. I’ve
got to keep my eyes open for the other toboggans and sleds, you know.”
“I’m all right now, and I’ll do my flying act some other time,”
returned Boxy.
“Here comes the _Whistler_!” cried Harry. “We ought to be able to beat
Pete Sully’s toboggan.”
“Of course!” added Andy.
“Everybody push!” put in Boxy, in a dry way that made them all laugh.
“Maybe you would like me to get off and help pull,” he added, in mock
seriousness.
As they were going at a speed little less than a mile a minute down the
long hill, the others laughed louder than ever.
The _Whistler_, with Pete Sully, the bully of the town, and several of
his chums, was creeping up by their side. It was a brand-new toboggan,
and slid along as though greased.
“You fellows ain’t in it any more!” shouted Sully to Harry, as he came
within speaking distance. “Here’s where we leave you away behind!”
“You’ve got more weight!” returned Harry. “Give me the same weight, and
the _Buster_ will walk away from you with ease.”
“I’ll bet you a dollar you can’t!” shouted Sully.
“I haven’t got a dollar to bet, Pete,” replied Harry, and he told the
truth, for, although he owned the _Buster_, Harry Webb was poor, and
had not known what it was to own a dollar for several years, ever since
his father had lost his money in an unfortunate real estate speculation.
“Oh, you’re afraid to bet,” cried Sully, mockingly. “Good-by, slow
boots!”
“I’ll bet my pocket-knife against yours we can beat you!” said Harry,
considerably nettled by Sully’s taunts. “We will take the same number
aboard and try our skill.”
“Done!” yelled Sully, for he was now several rods ahead.
Down the last of the second hill and along the level road shot the
_Buster_, and presently came to a standstill just where the Rudskill
turnpike branched off across the railroad tracks. The _Whistler_ had
gone on a couple of hundred feet farther up the side of the tracks.
“Told you we’d beat you!” exclaimed Pete Sully, as he and his
chums joined Harry and his friends. “You had better not bet your
pocket-knife unless you want to lose it.”
“I am not afraid to try against you, Sully, and perhaps it will be you
who will lose his pocket-knife.”
“Humph!” sneered Sully. “No fear. And if I did, I guess I could buy
another easy enough, even if somebody else couldn’t.”
This was a direct shot at Harry’s poverty, and made the ears of the
poor boy tingle, while his handsome face flushed.
“Come on and try your skill and quit your talking,” exclaimed Jack
Bascoe, rather sharply, and he faced Sully as he spoke. “There is no
use in wasting time here.”
Had it been any one else than Jack Bascoe who had spoken thus
suggestively to him, Pete Sully might have picked a quarrel then and
there. He was a very overbearing boy, and never allowed a chance of
whipping some other boy go by him.
But the truth of the matter was, that he had once run up against Jack’s
fist in a most surprising fashion. Blood had flowed freely, and from
that time on the bully of Rudskill knew there were two boys in the town
he dare not molest, Jack and his younger brother, Andy.
So, muttering something under his breath which Harry and his friends
could not hear, Sully and his cohorts began to drag their toboggan
up the long hillside. They were followed by the other boys, with the
_Buster_. The walk was a tedious one, especially so to the two sides
that wished to race each other.
“Whom shall we get to add weight?” asked Harry, as they at last gained
the starting-place. “I don’t see any of our crowd here; do you?”
“I don’t,” returned Jack.
“What’s the matter with Pickles Johnsing?” put in Boxy. “He’s got
enough weight for two.”
Pickles Johnsing was a stout, round-faced colored boy, with big red
lips, and teeth which reminded one very forcibly of double-blank
dominoes set in twin rows. He was a very willing and decent sort of a
young darky, and had many friends in the little river town in which my
story for the present is located.
“He’ll do first-rate,” said Harry. “Hello, Pickles!” he shouted.
“Hullo, dar, Harry!” returned the colored boy. “Got yo’ tobog out
ag’in, I see.”
“Yes, Pickles, and we want you to ride down with us this trip. Put your
bread-shovel out of the way.”
“T’anks, Harry, I’se like to ride down on de _Buster_ fust-rate,”
grinned Pickles. “Wot yo’ gwine ter do, race Pete Sully?”
“Yes, Pickles, and we must beat him,” replied Andy. “You know just how
to help us along.”
“Humph! if he ain’t going to take that coon on the trip!” sneered Pete
Sully.
“You ain’t racing niggers, are you, Pete?” questioned one of his
followers.
“I don’t know as I am,” returned Pete Sully, slowly.
He walked over to where Harry sat on his toboggan.
“I expected to race white fellows,” he remarked, sourly.
“Pickles is all right,” said Jack Bascoe. “He’s the dark horse to win.
If you are going to race, get ready, for Harry isn’t going to wait all
night for you.”
“Where’s that knife!” demanded Sully, thus changing the subject.
“Here it is,” replied Harry, producing it. “Four blades, and every one
in good condition. Where is yours?”
“It’s just as good as that,” retorted Sully, bringing forth his
pocket-knife. “Four blades and a corkscrew.”
“Who’s going to hold them as stakes?” questioned Bill Dixon, Sully’s
most intimate chum.
The matter was talked over for several minutes, and finally a gentleman
who had come to the hill to look at the sport agreed to become
stakeholder.
Before the matter was decided, however, Sully did a good deal of
whispering to Bill Dixon, who immediately left the crowd, which had
moved over to the largest of the nearby campfires.
At last all was in readiness for the start. Hearing of the race, many
on the course left their toboggans and sleds to witness the contest.
“Now, remember, the first to reach the railroad track switch wins the
race,” shouted the stakeholder. “Are you ready?”
“We are,” said Sully.
“Then--go!”
With a great push, Sully sent the _Whistler_ on the downward course
in fine style. Harry likewise gave the _Buster_ a good shove, and his
toboggan also started. But he was a rod behind the other sled in the
fraction of a second.
“Something is dragging under us!” cried Andy, quickly. “I can feel it
plainly.”
“What can it be?” exclaimed Harry, in alarm. “Anybody’s clothing
caught?”
“My clo’ all hunky,” replied Pickles. “Dat feels like it was a rope
under dar. Did yo’ tie a rope to de tobog, Harry?”
“I took the rope off and left it with Mr. Bruley when we started,”
returned the owner of the _Buster_. “It’s no use,” he groaned. “They’ll
reach the tracks before we are half-way down!”
In the meanwhile Boxy Woodruff was feeling along the side of the
toboggan. It was not long before his hand came in contact with an end
of wash-line.
“Here it is, tied around the toboggan!” he cried. “I’ll bet this is
some of Pete Sully’s underhanded work!”
“Yank it loose, can’t you?” exclaimed Harry, anxiously. “Cut it or
break it--something.”
Boxy pulled with all of his strength, and the wash-line, which,
luckily, was old and rotten, parted. An instant later it was clear of
the toboggan bottom, and streaming along behind like the thin tail of a
kite.
Freed from this hindrance, the _Buster_ shot forward on its course.
Like a comet it passed over the brow of the second hill, with the
_Whistler_ over a hundred feet ahead. Could they regain the ground they
had lost?