ON DUTY BENT
About this time Rob ceased rubbing in the salve.
“There,” he told Donald, as he helped the other draw down his trouser
leg once more, “I’ve done all I can for the present. I’ll take the salve
along, and let you have another application later on, if you want me to;
or it may be your good mother at home will have something just as fine.”
Tubby had been impressed with the grit of the boy who had shown such a
commendable spirit. He understood what Donald meant when he said he was
bound to go along, no matter if he had to hobble, or even crawl a part
of the way. Tubby thought that if this was a fair sample of the valiant
fellows whom “Our Lady of the Snows,” as Canada is often called, had
sent across the sea, they would surely “do their bit” for the cause they
believed was just.
“Oh, Rob, we forgot one thing!” suddenly exclaimed Tubby.
“What’s that?” demanded Andy.
“Why, my uncle, you know, boys, will be coming back, perhaps before we
return, and he won’t know what to make of seeing our things here without
a word of explanation.”
“I’ve thought of that,” said the scout leader promptly, nor was Tubby
much surprised; it seemed as though Rob never forgot anything. “Sit down
and write a few lines in a hurry, Tubby, while the rest of us finish
what few preparations are still necessary. For one thing, I’m going to
fill the lantern again, because the tank is pretty low and I’ve found a
gallon of oil handy.”
“But what shall I tell him?” asked the other, as he dropped upon a seat
near the rude table on which were paper and pencil.
“Just say what’s fetched us up here, and that you’re going to leave the
paper he’s to sign. Then he can see that it gets back safe, in case
anything should happen to keep us from returning here.”
Tubby winced when he heard those words, they seemed so suggestive of
some unknown peril threatening them. He kept on asking questions.
“I’d better say something about where we’ve gone, and why, hadn’t I,
Rob?”
“Yes, just as little as you can; and now get busy. We’ll be ready to
leave here in less than thirty shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
So Tubby started in. He may never have taken the prize for rapidity in
penmanship and composition at school, for he was slow in everything he
undertook, save eating. Spurred on by necessity which knows no law, he
wrote hurriedly, telling in as few words as he could the “gist” of what
was required. If any of the teachers in Hampton High could have watched
Tubby as he sat there, with his tongue-tip between his teeth and a look
of grim determination on his ruddy countenance, and witnessed how his
pencil glided rapidly across the paper, they would have certainly
believed the world was coming to an end, or at least that wonders never
ceased, for Tubby could no longer be called “as slow as molasses in
winter” or possessed of the characteristics of the creeping snail.
“There, that’s done!” said the writer finally, with a sigh of relief.
“I’ve made a bully good job of it, too, Rob—saying just enough without
any superfluous language. I hope Uncle George doesn’t destroy this
message. I think it’s a real gem, and as good as anything I ever did.
I’d like to preserve it.”
“Well, we’re about ready,” said Rob quickly. “Andy’s got a snack of food
to take along, so we may be prepared for emergencies.”
“Oh, I hope now you don’t dream that we’ll get lost and wander all
around in a dense Canadian bush for days!” exclaimed the alarmed Tubby.
“Not at all, with two such clever guides along,” Rob told him. “You know
preparedness is one of the cardinal virtues of every true scout. I never
knew the time when some fellows would refuse to take a bite, especially
after some hours of rough tramping.”
They also saw to it that plenty of food was placed where the dog could
secure it, for it was utterly out of the question for them to think of
letting the animal accompany them. He might, by some inadvertent act,
betray them at a time when it would mean unnecessary risk and trouble.
Tubby had placed the valuable paper and his explanatory missive on the
table, so arranging them that they would catch the eye of his uncle as
soon as the sportsman entered the bunk-house. Wolf had been fastened
with a piece of rope, for it was not necessary that he should have the
freedom of the place. Tubby was too tender-hearted to neglect a single
thing in connection with the dog’s comfort while they were absent.
Accordingly, he had placed a bucket full of water within easy reach of
the dog.
“Good-bye, old chap!” he told Wolf, and received a friendly bark in
return. “We’ll see you later, perhaps in the morning. Make yourself at
home, and, above all things, be sure not to gorge too much. It’s a bad
thing to make a pig of yourself about eating, Wolf. I’ve known a human
to come back for a fourth helping, when he could hardly breathe, and he
was thin in the bargain, like you. So farewell, old Wolf, and take
things easy while we’re gone.”
At another time Andy might have flared up because of this direct
allusion to his particular failing, and declared that he “was not the
only pebble on the beach” when it came to “stuffing,” but there was so
much of a more thrilling nature to occupy his mind that he let it go by,
just as water might run off a duck’s back.
They passed outside, and the door was fastened with the bar. Wolf barked
several times, and there was a note of wonder in his dog language, as
though he could not at all understand what it meant. Then Tubby heard
plain sounds from within that told him his warning had fallen on deaf
ears, for Wolf was already starting in to have a glorious feast, after
which he would probably lie down contentedly and indulge in a sound
sleep; nor would he mind being left alone as long as the food supply
held out—he was only a dog, you see, with a dog’s nature.
“Good-bye, old shack!” said Tubby, who seemed to have a streak of
sentiment in his make-up, considerably more so than either of his mates.
“We’ve certainly enjoyed you as long as we were here, and hope to see
you again soon. Ta-ta!”
“Oh, let up on all that talk, Tubby!” complained Andy. “I really believe
you love to hear yourself speak. If there’s anything worth while to say,
it isn’t so bad. Better save your wind, because you’ll need it unless
all the signs fail.”
Tubby, knowing that these were really words of wisdom, managed to
“bottle up” as he was directed. Indeed, once they had commenced to
thread the mazes of the forest he found that he had all he could do to
follow the lead of the lame boy who served as guide to the expedition.
All sorts of obstacles lay in the way, and it seemed as though most of
these took especial delight in getting under Tubby’s feet. He had to
dodge snags, climb over logs, brush through bushes that plucked his
campaign hat from his head and scratched his face, slide down into
miniature gullies, and then painfully climb up the opposite side; and
all these various “ups and downs” kept repeating themselves over and
over again.
But Tubby was “dead game.” He had entreated to be allowed to accompany
this expedition across the line, and no matter what happened, his chums
would never hear a complaint from his lips, not if he died in the
endeavor to “keep up with the procession.”
Shame alone would have kept Tubby from showing any sign of weakness. He
knew Donald must be suffering agonies from that sorely injured leg of
his, for Tubby watched him limp at times when he forgot himself and half
drag that limb after him. Well, it would be disgusting, according to
Tubby’s notion, for a well and hearty fellow of his build to let a game
little Canadian chap, with a bruised leg in the bargain, leave him in
the lurch.
So they moved on, Rob had lighted the refilled lantern, believing that
while there was no danger of their being discovered it was wise to have
it burning, for the illumination, while scant in its way, might prove a
time-saver. This allowed them to see what obstacles lay in their path,
for which Tubby was very thankful; it undoubtedly saved him many a
stumble, and possibly not a few bruises.
Big Zeb followed behind Rob, who was second, and Andy came between the
woods guide and Tubby. In this order they were strung out along the
zigzag path which, thin as it was through less frequent use in these
days since the loggers had gone, could evidently be easily discovered by
the sharp vision of the young Canadian scout.
This grouping also allowed Rob to hold occasional communication with
Donald or Zeb, as the inclination or the necessity arose. After they had
been going for some time Rob thought it well to find out whether Zeb
agreed with the course along which the engineer’s son was leading them.
“I don’t suppose, Zeb,” he said softly, “that you chance to know of any
shorter way for crossing the International Boundary?”
“No, I don’t know,” admitted the big guide. “He’s goin’ as straight as
the flight o’ an arrow for the line. I knows this here path. Many a time
have I gone along it, with Mr. Hopkins, who wasn’t mindin’ much which
side o’ the line he got his moose on, so long as nobody bothered him.
An’ some o’ the border patrols could be fixed to wink at that sort o’
thing; because the moose, ye see, passed from one side to the other
right along. Yes, we’re gettin’ tha, younker, as neat as ye please.
Donald sure knows what he’s adoin’.”
This was comforting news for Rob. It also pleased the others. When there
is much need for accuracy two heads are often better than one,
especially when in full accord.
Tubby figuratively “shook hands with himself” when he heard this, for it
served to allay his last lingering suspicion that Rob feared they might
get lost in the wilderness.
Although the fact has not been thus far mentioned, it can be taken for
granted that the party left none of their firearms behind them at the
logging camp when they started forth upon this dangerous mission. They
did not know positively that any occasion would arise when the
possession of these weapons would save them a world of trouble. Since
they were about to compete with desperate plotters, who would naturally
be armed, every one believed it was good policy to be ready to defend
themselves in an emergency. As Rob said, “when you’re in Rome you’ve got
to do as the Romans do.”
“How far from the logging camp would you say the border lies, Donald?”
asked Rob, after more time had passed.
“Not more than two full miles alang this path,” came the answer.
“Right, to the dot!” commented Zeb.
“But surely we’ve come nearly that far by now,” Tubby up and said from
the rear, as he ducked under some bushes that developed a fondness for
scratching his face.
“We are nearly there,” asserted the guide, and then Andy hastily
exclaimed:
“Listen, boys! that sounds like the rumble of a train right now in the
near distance!”
“Oh! horrors!” gasped Tubby. “Can it be that we’re too late, after all?”