HANK MERWIN'S CABIN
"Oh, I remember him," said Bob, surveying the hunter with interest.
"He's the old fellow we saw at the Resort House."
"He of the sour face," added Dave, laughingly. "Seems real mad, eh?"
"Hey, you lot of wooden heads," shouted the trapper, "what are ye doin'
out here?"
"Enjoying ourselves," laughed Havens.
"Wal, if ye bother my game another time, ye won't," snarled Joe. "Were
you waterbugs crazy 'nuff ter come through the canyon on that thing?"
"Sure, Mr. Tomlin," grinned Dick.
"Don't give me none of yer imperdence, kid. I won't stand fur no sass."
"There might have been a dandy mixup if we'd been on shore," remarked
the "poet," grimly.
When the sun had sunk from view behind the range of mountains the raft
entered Lake Cloud, a beautiful sheet of water about two miles long,
three-quarters broad, and partly hemmed in by mountains.
The rich, dark evergreens and lofty peaks were reflected with wonderful
clearness in the limpid surface. Straight ahead, rising against the
golden sky, was a snow-capped summit, purple and hazy, while nearer at
hand were red-brown cliffs, with the higher walls still touched by a
glow of sunlight.
"No words are strong enough for this scenery," declared the "poet."
"Hank Merwin certainly knows where to hang out."
"There isn't a prettier place around," asserted Jim Havens. "And talk
about game--it's chuck full--bears and deer. But Hank can tell you all
about that."
"Beats any place I ever saw," said Bob, enthusiastically. "Now,
fellows, we'll have to desert this good old craft."
"Right you are," was Havens' rejoinder. "Hank's shack is over on the
north shore."
The raft was soon poled through the lily-pads and rushes bordering the
lake, and the boys jumped ashore.
"Feel kind of stiff, for a fact," said Dick.
"Haven't very far to go," put in Havens, cheerfully.
With a last look at the rude pile of logs which had served them so
well, the boys shouldered their outfits and started off.
Hank Merwin's cabin was in a clearing behind a spur of a mountain and
not far from the lake.
They found him sitting before the entrance, calmly smoking his pipe. He
looked up as the boys trooped forward, but no change of expression came
over his impassive face.
"How d'ye do, young uns?" he drawled, without rising. "I've been kinder
lookin' fur ye."
"And we've had a grand trip," said Havens. "A raft most of the way."
"Young uns will be frisky," commented the trapper; "but I reckon, lads,
ye're hungry."
The venison steak and corn dodgers, together with coffee made a very
enjoyable supper. When it was over, Hank assisted them in making bough
beds. Then they turned in, and were quickly lulled to sleep by the
whispering pines.
Next morning, up bright and early, Dick Travers made several
photographs of the surrounding scenery.
"Crickets, I can hardly wait for that jacklight trip to-night," he said
to Brandon.
"Time will be here before you know it," drawled Dave. "I'm going to
make a sketch of the lake."
Dave was only a beginner, but his work impressed Hank greatly, and his
delight was unbounded when the picture was finished and the boy, after
tacking it on the wall of the cabin, said that there it was going to
remain.
Before supper, the trapper got his fourteen foot boat ready.
"I can't take all of ye lads," he said, regretfully, "but some kin go
another time."
In drawing lots for the coveted position of assistant to the official
photographer, Dave Brandon secured the lucky number.
Eager with anticipation, Dick Travers scarcely tasted his food, and the
sight of Dave calmly munching away annoyed him.
"For goodness' sake, Chub, do get excited--or something."
"Let it be something," yawned Dave. "Nerve-tingling business isn't in
my line."
Hank Merwin lighted the lamp on the bow of his boat, and a powerful
reflector sent a stream of light to pierce the blackness.
"Jacklight's a-goin'--git aboard, lads," instructed the trapper.
The boys eagerly obeyed. In a moment, comfortably seated, they heard
the faint sound of ripples lapping against the sides of the boat, then
the fire in front of the cabin gradually grew smaller.
Hank handled the paddles with great skill, keeping far enough out to
clear the aquatic plants which grew in profusion.
"Lads," he said, in a low voice, "no talkin'. Our frien's kin do all
that," and Dave smiled, for the voices of the two on shore reached them
with astonishing clearness.
Occasionally, the cry of some bird or animal in the forest sounded
weirdly, while night-hawks, hovering over the lake, made their sharp
voices heard at frequent intervals.
"Oh, ho," murmured Dave; he lay back and repeated, in barely audible
tones:
"'Softly, oh, soft! Let us rest on the oar
And vex not a billow that sighs to the shore.'"
Meanwhile Dick Travers directed the rays of the lantern toward the
bank. They flitted fantastically from tree to tree, now darting between
and dragging into view some delicate tracery beyond, then shooting
across the inky black water, revealing lilies and rushes.
The steady, rhythmic sound of the paddle, barely heard above the soft
lament of the pines, the faint gurgle of the water, and the easy,
gliding motion, produced a dreamy, unreal effect, which charmed the
Ramblers and soon lulled one of them to sleep.
But Dick was ever alert. He strained his ears and eyes for the fairest
evidence which might indicate the presence of some wild animal, but
without avail.
Still Hank Merwin paddled on--his muscular arms seemed tireless--and
still Dick shot the blinding glare over water and shore. The end of the
lake was reached. Looming faintly against the sky, they now saw a great
snow-capped peak, and Dick Travers caught a low, musical murmur.
"A cascade," he whispered, and Hank, who had heard him, grunted
affirmatively.
Dick began to feel that his chances of getting a photograph were very
slim indeed.
A half hour passed; then a faint sound set his nerves to tingling.
"Hank--Hank!" he whispered.
"Sh--sh," came from the trapper.
Dick felt a gleam of hope, for instantly the boat shot ahead at
redoubled speed. In spite of himself, the hand that directed the
jacklight trembled. Gradually the sound grew more distinct; its nature
puzzled the youth more and more.
"What in the world can it be?" he thought. "Crickets, it sounds funny.
Wish I dared ask Hank."
But there was something in the boatman's manner which impelled silence.
They were skimming rapidly past the trees now. The boat shot ahead
almost noiselessly toward the mysterious sound, which seemed to be just
ahead.
Dick touched Dave on the shoulder.
"Wake up, wake up!" he whispered, excitedly.
"'Softly, oh, soft! Let us rest on the oar,'" murmured the stout boy.
Then he sat bolt upright, with an exclamation, and peered ahead.
"What's the----" he began.
But a low, stern injunction for silence from Hank Merwin cut him short.
Evidently something extraordinary was going on out there in the night.
Suddenly the beam from the search-light, shooting past a jutting point
of shore, fell upon a most remarkable spectacle and one which sent a
thrill through both boys.
Two great animals, engaged in terrific combat, reared and plunged, as
they charged each other with lowered heads.