LAST RIDE ON THE BUSTER.
By Saturday noon the iceboat was finished. It was nearly thirty feet
long, and boasted of a mainsail only. It was by no means a handsome
craft, and the boys did not doubt but what there were many crafts on
the river that could outspeed her.
“But she’ll be safe and sure,” remarked Jack, “and that is what we
want.”
“We must christen her before we make a trial trip this afternoon,” said
Andy. “We have suggested a hundred names, and not chosen any.”
“Let us put each name on a slip of paper, and put all the slips in a
hat,” suggested Boxy. “Then Harry draw one, and that shall be the name.”
This was at once agreed to, and nine names went into Andy’s cap. Harry
fumbled around, and finally drew a slip out and read it aloud.
“The _Icicle_! That suits me. Who wrote it down?”
“I did,” said Jack.
“It’s a good name for an iceboat,” put in Boxy. “Hurrah for the Zero
Club and the _Icicle_!” he shouted.
And three cheers were given with a will.
Directly after dinner the four boys shoved the clumsy craft down to the
ice, and made a trial trip on her across the river and back and two
miles up the shore. The _Icicle_ behaved very well, and Jack declared
that they would have no trouble in reaching their destination on her.
As soon as the trial trip was over they separated to get their various
things, for they were determined that all should be in readiness for
the start Monday morning at sunrise, and that nothing was to be done on
the Sabbath.
Blankets, skates, and other things were taken down to the meeting-room
in the Bascoe barn. Andy and Jack had shotguns of their own, and Boxy
had a rifle. Harry had no firearms, but borrowed from his father a
small shotgun. Each of the boys also provided himself with fishing
lines, and Jack took along a spear for spearing through a hole in the
ice.
“The sled will be pretty well heaped up, I’m thinking,” remarked Boxy,
who was doing the packing.
“Won’t it tip over if it’s too highly packed?” asked Andy.
“We’ll put a bent stick across the top,” said Jack. “That will keep it
from tipping only so far.”
“We want to make sure that nothing is forgotten,” said Harry. “It
would be fine to get miles from any house, and then find that you had
forgotten something you wanted the worst way.”
“I’ve got the list, and I’ve checked off the articles,” returned Andy.
“I’ve even got the forks and knives and spoons down.”
“Have you got a big carving-knife? We can’t do without that.”
“By gracious! I never thought of that!” exclaimed Andy, his face
reddening. “We wouldn’t be able to cut up a bear even if we shot him.”
“I’ve brought a hunting-knife,” put in Boxy. “See here--a regular
Mohawk scalping steel. Wah! wah! Me take white man’s scalp and dry him
hair for smoking tobac!” he went on, dancing around and flourishing the
knife in true Indian fashion--according to a dime novel he had once had
the patience to wade through.
“Beware of Bloody Ben of Digger’s Gulch!” shrieked Andy, in reply,
and he caught up his gun. “He is out to avenge the murder of his
twenty-fo-o-ur bro-o-thers!”
“Here, Andy, don’t point that gun at any one,” put in Jack, sternly.
“It isn’t loaded, Jack.”
“Never mind, put it down. There are too many accidents of that sort,
where somebody didn’t think the gun was loaded.”
Andy put down the firearm, and packing was resumed, Jack going into the
house to obtain a carving-knife for the trip.
At last the sled was loaded, and covered over with an old rubber
horse-blanket which Mr. Woodruff gave to Boxy. The load was strapped
on as tightly as possible, and over it was placed the stick Jack had
mentioned, the two ends sticking out and downward nearly two feet on
either side.
“Now we are all ready for the start,” observed Andy, as he surveyed
what had been done. “How I wish it were Monday morning, so that we
wouldn’t have to wait.”
“You mustn’t forget the rides to-night on the _Buster_,” said Harry.
“It may be the last time we can use the toboggan this winter.”
“Oh, I guess the snow will keep until we get back,” said Andy. “But I
am right ready for the sport to-night, nevertheless.”
The packed sled was locked up in the barn, and the boys repaired to
their various homes for supper.
“Well, Harry, all ready?” smiled Mrs. Webb, who took a keen interest in
her son’s doings.
“All ready, mother,” he returned. “Is supper ready? We are going
tobogganing for the last time to-night.”
“Yes, you can have supper at once, Harry. But I want some wood brought
in first.”
“That’s so! I didn’t mean to forget it!” he cried, and, dashing out
into the woodshed, which he had piled high with split wood ready for
the stove, the boy brought in an armful. “Paul Larkins has promised to
bring in wood and do errands for you while I am away,” he said. “So you
won’t miss me so very much.”
“Yes, I will miss you, Harry,” returned Mrs. Webb, affectionately.
“Oh, yes, I know. And I’ll miss you, too,” he replied, throwing his
arms about her neck and kissing her. “It will seem awfully queer to be
away from home.”
“You must take good care of yourself.”
“I’ll try to do that, mother.”
Harry did not spend much time at the supper table, and, his hasty meal
finished, he brought out the _Buster_, and examined the toboggan to see
if it was in good trim for the evening’s sport. Little did he dream of
the fearful peril a ride on the long, low sled was to bring him and the
others.
Boxy came over a moment later, and together they dragged the _Buster_
off toward the coasting hills. They had to pass the Bascoe homestead,
and here Boxy let out the peculiar whistle of the club for Andy and
Jack.
“They say the Doublehill course is as smooth as glass,” said Andy, as
he came out with a piece of cake in his hand. “Some of the folks don’t
dare go down it.”
“I’m not afraid,” cried Harry. “Are you?”
All of the boys agreed that they were not. Each took hold of the rope,
and they soon reached the top of the long double hill, where a bright
bonfire was already burning, although it was still almost daylight.
“We ought to have a brake of some sort, I suppose,” mused Jack, as he
surveyed the shining course, “It does look awfully slippery.”
“Oh, go ahead!” put in Boxy, impatiently. “I guess if we tumble off it
won’t kill us.”
He sprang upon the toboggan, and, seeing this, Andy and Jack followed.
Harry gave the customary push and clung fast, and away they started
down the first of the two hills.
Whiz went the _Buster_ over the smooth surface, rushing along with a
speed that fairly took away their breath.
“Talk about cannon-ball speed!” cried Boxy. “A cannon-ball couldn’t
catch us!”
“Hark!” cried Jack. “What was that whistle?”
“It’s a train on the railroad,” replied Harry. “It’s the extra Saturday
night express! I forgot all about it,” he went on, with a little gasp.
“We’ll have to turn off at the tracks,” put in Andy, nervously.
“If we can,” said Jack. “We are going so fast that perhaps it can’t be
done.”
“We must do it!” cried Boxy, in alarm.
“Yes! yes! we must!”
It was easy enough to say they must, but how could they? The toboggan
was rushing on faster than ever. Over the brow of the second hill it
went, and down the slope toward the tracks. Jack tried to steer to the
side, and so did the others, but all in vain.
And now they saw the train rounding the side of the hill, and coming
on at full speed, the bell ringing and the whistle blowing to warn
everybody off the tracks.
Jack, who was in front, made another desperate effort to change their
course. It was useless. Andy, who was next to him, tried to scream out,
but the sound stuck in his throat. It looked as if all four of the boys
were going to certain destruction.
[Illustration: “Jump for your lives!” See page 53.]