The Game Warden's Visit
THE boy was really better; but very, very weak. Every time he opened
an eye, that next day, solicitous Mrs. Crane was ready with a bowl of
broth. Once he did not fall asleep immediately but followed her with
big, questioning blue eyes as she moved about the tent. He remained
awake for twenty minutes that time and even moved his hands slightly.
"You've been real sick," explained Mrs. Crane, sociably, her soft dark
eyes very kind and encouraging. "You're pretty weak yet, but you're
twice the boy you were yesterday. Could you eat more broth?"
For an instant something that looked like a genuine smile flickered
across the boy's lips; and his eyes, Mrs. Crane said afterwards, almost
twinkled. Then, in a very thin, weak voice, he said: "Please."
After that he again fell into a long, deep sleep. But now his prolonged
slumbers were no longer terrifying, for his breathing was natural, his
fever entirely gone.
"_Can't_ we see him next time his eyes are open?" pleaded Mabel,
waylaying Mrs. Crane in the provision tent, "and _couldn't_ I be the
first one? I found him, you know, so he's really mostly mine."
"Ye--es," replied Mrs. Crane, pondering this matter. "I guess it's only
fair that you should be the first. If you'll stay where you can see the
door of my tent, I'll wave a towel when the time comes. But it won't be
right away, for he's just gone to sleep again."
"That boat ought to get here to-day," said Mr. Black, who had been
expectantly gazing from time to time at the lake, "but I suppose that
rascal Dave stopped all along the way to set traps."
Mr. Black was quite right. Dave _had_ stopped to set traps. But first
of all, with characteristic stealth, the conscienceless half-breed
had begun his journey with a comfortable nap. For almost two hours,
within five minutes' walk of Pete's Patch, Dave had slumbered, with
no thought of anything but his own comfort. After that, he attended
leisurely to the numerous traps along his almost invisible trail.
Fortunately--or he might _never_ have reached his destination, he found
only a solitary muskrat. The big rat was still living. Dave eyed him
reflectively.
"Goo'-by, li'le son," said Dave, liberating the bright-eyed prisoner.
"You ees more bodder dan you ees wort', to-day. An' w'at for Ah'm eat
moskrat! Me, Ah'm go for eat dose bifsteak, dose pork shop, dose baked
bean hon top of Lakeveele. Go home, you son of a moskrat--Ah catch you
som' more nex' veek."
The limping rat splashed into the river, and Dave, after one
half-regretful glance at the eddying water, at last started briskly
along the trail that led to Lakeville.
He spent the night with his cousin on the outskirts of the town, who
refreshed him so generously that faithless Dave didn't know, next
morning, whether he was headed toward Lakeville or toward camp. So
he slept all that day and the next; while his good friend Mabel, at
Pete's Patch, made brave efforts to save him from threatened disaster.
Mabel and all the other girls knew that Dave had every reason to fear
the game warden. The youthful castaways, who were not very clear as
to the duties of game wardens in general, considered them the natural
enemies of all hunters and fishermen. Dave had once shown the girls
a battered, yellowed newspaper containing a full-length picture of
a brawny, khaki-clad game warden arresting a lawless sportsman. The
half-breed had said, half laughingly, half seriously:
"Eef you ees see dose man som' tam', Mees Mabelle, Mees Bet_tee_, don't
you go for tole her som't'ing about Dave Gurneau, or maybe, me, Ah'm
got maself lock up for sure. Or maybe Ah'm go for pay feefty dollar
fine."
The idea of a fifty-dollar fine had probably tickled Dave, who, at that
poverty-stricken moment would have found it impossible to pay even
fifty cents.
But the girls had been deeply impressed. They saw clearly that a visit
from the game warden would result disastrously to Dave, whom the
youngsters liked, in spite of his many irregularities; for the ignorant
half-breed was always good to them in his own peculiar way. And then,
too, Mr. Black had said that Dave was to be protected from all chance
visitors.
Very soon after the arrival of the nails, Mr. Black had built a
rain-proof shed to shelter the disabled "Whale." As it was possible to
reach this spot without tumbling into either the lake or the river,
Mabel often strolled that way to look for berries, flowers, mushrooms,
or mosses--she was apt to return with specimens of all four jumbled
untidily together in the skirt of her dress.
This fine morning, Mrs. Crane having suggested that a few mushrooms
would add flavor and bulk to the noon meal, Mabel and Henrietta, with
the praiseworthy intention of gathering a bushel or two, walked along
the swampy, woodsy road that led to Lakeville.
It was not often that Mabel and Henrietta paired off together, for
Henrietta was the oldest, Mabel the youngest of the five girls. But
in some ways pretty, black-eyed Henrietta was more thoughtless, less
responsible than Jean, Marjory, or Bettie. After the death of her
young mother, various relatives, including an inexperienced father and
a too-indulgent grandmother, had done their best to spoil attractive
Henrietta. They hadn't exactly succeeded; but the unrestrained little
girl, naturally impulsive, naturally a bit daring, and always very
high-spirited, was apt to act first and do her thinking afterwards. As
for Mabel--why, Mabel simply _plunged_ into trouble. Still, it seemed
safe enough to send this pair forth for mushrooms; so, with a basket
between them, a smiling sky overhead, they set forth merrily.
"It's funny about mushrooms," observed Mabel. "You can gather all there
are and the next day you find just as many more. But when you pick
berries that's the last of them for a whole year."
"I wish," returned Henrietta, "it were just the other way."
"So do I," agreed Mabel, her mouth full of big, red wintergreen berries.
"It never is," sighed Henrietta, sentimentally. "Every time there's a
storm, the sea brings in millions of cobblestones and only one agate. I
_love_ to hunt for agates."
"If they came in like cobblestones," said practical Mabel, "you
wouldn't have the fun of hunting---- Why! There's something coming down
the road. See! That way--toward Lakeville."
"A man on horseback!" exclaimed Henrietta. "Let's hide----"
"What for?" demanded Mabel, bravely.
"His clothes!" breathed Henrietta, in an agonized whisper, as she
dragged Mabel backward. "Can't you _see_? It's the game warden--I know
him by his leggings. Just like that picture. Hurry, Mabel--he's after
Dave!"
"Oh! do you _think_ so?" gasped Mabel, paralyzed with horror. "And
all that venison hanging near Dave's wigwam! And all those partridge
feathers on Mr. Black's land! They might arrest him, too! And us! Oh,
Henrietta! What'll we do?"
"Run," urged Henrietta, tugging at Mabel's dress.
"But--but I can't!" gasped Mabel, helplessly. "And, anyway, it's too
late--he's looking right this way. But, oh! We mustn't let him go
anywhere near Pete's Patch."
"Sh!" breathed Henrietta, warningly; but with a quick, decisive nod
that seemed vaguely reassuring. "Stop looking scared."
The rider, having cautiously and more or less successfully skirted
a bad bit of swamp, caught sight of the girls and checked his
travel-stained horse.
"Is this the way," he asked, politely, "to Barclay's Point?"
Henrietta's forefinger promptly pointed toward the north--directly
toward the concealed Point.
"Just keep going," she advised. "It's quite a long way, but you're
headed right for Barclay's."
"Yes," assisted Mabel, after a closer scrutiny of the telltale
leggings, "you just keep going."
"I'm looking," explained the man, "for Mr. Black. He's at Barclay's
Point, isn't he?"
"Sometimes," replied Henrietta, truthfully.
"How's the fishing up there?"
"I haven't fished," returned Henrietta, shortly. The game warden, it
was plain, would get no incriminating information from Henrietta.
"This road, you say, leads to the Point?"
"Ye--es," faltered Mabel; "yes, if----"
"Never mind the 'if,'" hissed Henrietta, into Mabel's surprised ear.
"Yes," she added aloud, and very convincingly, "it _does_ lead to the
Point. But you'd better hurry, or Mr. Black may be starting out for
some other place."
"I'd hate to miss him," said the man, touching his hat. "Thank you,
young ladies. I'll go at once--perhaps I'll see you later."
Mabel and Henrietta eyed each other in discreet silence until the sound
of hoofbeats had gradually died away.
"We've been bad," breathed Mabel.
"It was necessary," sighed Henrietta. "Goodness knows, I'd _rather_ be
good. And that road _does_ lead to Barclay's Point."
"Yes--if you're smart enough to find the turn off."
"That's why I told him to hurry--if he rides fast, he'll _never_ see
it."
"Nobody would," agreed Mabel. "Where does this road go, anyway?"
"Seventeen miles to an old lumber camp--Dave told me. There's another
camp, not so far, but it has a 'blind turn-off'--you'd _never_ find it
if you didn't know just exactly where to look. Even then you'd _think_
you were wrong. I guess it'll take him all day to find Pete's Patch.
Anyhow, I hope so."
"Shall we tell the others?"
"N--no," decided Henrietta, contemplatively. "By the time he's reached
the end of that swampy road without coming to anything he'll be too
tired and discouraged to _want_ to arrest anybody. He'll just make
tracks for home. But when Dave comes we'll tell him to hide his
venison."
"And," said Mabel, not knowing the depths of Dave's depravity, "he'll
surely be here soon--he'll hurry right back with my father."
"Why, that's so," laughed Henrietta. "Your father _is_ coming. Well,
he won't know you--he'll think you're some relative of Dave's, and
prescribe soap. But let's get those mushrooms. If that man comes back
he mustn't find us here--he _might_ ask questions we couldn't answer.
And I think we'd better roll a log across the turn-off to Pete's Patch
and throw a little old brush against it so it won't show."