THE MOVIES CAMP
“Say, we can’t go there,” spoke Vic, as they followed an erratic dash
through the thicket, coming to a spongy meadow, a rise created with
undergrowth and finally the edge of a bog.
“We’ve got to,” declared Pep. “For the last ten minutes all of the bees
have disappeared except two of them, which flew right in among those
high rushes.”
“I say,” cried Vic, abruptly, “there’s a stream of them flying into the
bog! See--see! They’ve dropped! No, there they are again.”
The boys followed the edge of the swamp for over half a mile. Suddenly,
a few feet in advance of Pep, his companion came to a staring halt and
cried out:
“There they are!”
Pep hurried to Vic’s side to obtain a glimpse of an opening in the
flags and willows. A quarter of a mile away, sloping up ten feet above
surrounding water and bog land, was an island. It was well wooded,
but through the trees in the centre they could see some kind of a
high-boarded enclosure.
“See it?” cried the excited Vic. “I’ll bet we’ve discovered something.
Looks like a stockade.”
“We have located our people,” asserted Pep, with a thrill of exultation
in his voice. “The boards around that enclosure look just like those in
the film.”
“Let’s find out right off if my camels are in there,” spoke Vic,
eagerly.
Pep looked dubiously at the prospect before them. The large area
surrounding the island was at places covered with water several feet in
depth, at others with a sticky mass of black mire. There might be some
more secure way of reaching it from the other side of the swamp, but
this would necessitate a three or four miles’ tramp.
“I’ve a good mind to try it,” remarked Pep, after a brief thinking
spell. “See here, Vic, there seems to be more of mushy mud from here
across than at the first place where we struck the swamp. There’s
clumps of flag roots here and there, and I think we can get across.”
“I think so, too,” responded Vic. “We can try it, anyhow.”
The boys divested themselves of their shoes and stockings, rolled up
their trousers above their knees, selected two long stout poles from
the debris of a fallen tree, and started forth on their expedition, Pep
in the lead.
It was no easy nor pleasant task they had chosen. They discovered this
before they were half-way across the swampy stretch of ground. There
were places where a misstep sent them waist deep into a spongy mass of
rotted bog grass. At others a jump to a seemingly solid clump of roots
sent the water spurting up about them in cascades.
Twice Vic got mired in the mud and Pep had to pull him out. They were
fully an hour getting to the edge of the island. Thus far they had
caught no sight of anybody about the place. They were so exhausted,
that as they reached dry land at last they threw themselves down upon
the ground, panting for breath and completely exhausted.
“That was a hard pull,” spoke Pep, at length. “Say,” he added,
pointing, “just as we calculated there is a kind of a road, or rather
half solid path, leading from the island across that other side of the
bog.”
“I see it,” responded Vic and he got up and ran to the outside of the
high, board enclosure. “Pep! Pep!” he instantly whispered, beckoning.
In an instant both lads were peering through a broad crack between two
boards. Their hearts fluttered and their eyes distended. An old man was
setting up some painted scenery screens. Just beyond him was a kind of
shed, or covered stall. Within it, feeding on some hay, was a camel.
“Oh,” gasped Vic, tumultuously, “it must be mine!”
They could view only the hind feet of the animal and could make out
that one of these was encircled by a chain running to an iron stake
driven into the ground.
“We’ve found one of your stolen camels,” proclaimed Pep, in a satisfied
tone. “There don’t seem to be anybody around except that old man.
Judging from the costumes and features lying around, though, it’s easy
to see that this is a regular movies camp.”
“Perhaps the rest of the crowd have gone somewhere to act out a scene,”
suggested Vic. “Say, Pep. I’m going to find out if that is really mine
and if the others are here.”
As he spoke Vic drew from his pocket a three-tubed wooden whistle. Pep
had seen this before, for Vic had shown it to him on several occasions
and explained its use. Bill Purvis had given it to him, telling him
that it was a signal whistle to which the camels always responded.
In fact he guided the animals through the whistle, which he had made
himself and which gave out a triple hollow note unlike any whistle Pep
had ever heard before.
“Try it, if you want to,” advised Pep, and Vic placed the whistle to
his lips. He blew one brief trilling blast.
“Gracious!” ejaculated Pep.
“It’s my camel!” exclaimed the overjoyed Vic.
That strange echoing call had produced a startling effect. There was
a roar from the shed confining the camel and then a ripping, tearing
sound. Out of the stall the animal swung, tearing up the iron stake
which now dangled from the end of the chain behind him.
The old man within the enclosure turned to view the aroused camel
with frightened eyes. He ran for a sharp-pointed spear nearby. Before
he could reach the animal, however, the camel--for the mark on the
forefoot proved that it was one of the stolen pets of Bill Purvis--had
made a reckless, devastating dash for the spot outside where the
familiar signal call had sounded.
“He’s coming straight for the fence,” shouted Pep. “Get out of the way,
quick!”
There was a frightful crash. The high boards went hurtling to
splinters. The animal crowded past the wreckage as if the barrier had
been made of tissue paper.
Overjoyed, but with a great deal of trepidation, Vic ran in the
direction of the beaten way forming a sort of passage to the mainland,
Pep accompanying him. The camel started after them, as if he, too,
sought a means of leaving the island where he had been a captive.
The animal dropped the furious manner he had shown when he had made his
onslaught upon the fence of the enclosure. He looked as pleasant at the
boys as a camel can look. Apparently there would have been no trouble
whatever, had not the old man rushed out through the hole in the fence
carrying a sharp, hooked pole.
As he saw the boys he shook his fist at them, as if connecting them
with the disaster of the moment. Then he ran up behind the camel and
viciously buried the pointed end of the hook deep in one flank. The
animal uttered a shrill cry of pain and then turned on the man and gave
him a savage nip in the arm.
Surprised and alarmed, the man turned and ran away. At that same moment
came other strange sounds from a sort of barn not far away.
“Look!” cried Pep.
“The other camels!” yelled Vic, joyfully.
He was right, from out of the structure three more camels had come.
They now ran to join the leader, and all trotted behind Vic and Pep.
“Let us lead them to that farm!” cried Vic.
“Yes, we had better get out of here while we have time,” was the
panting answer.
“We’ll ride!” went on the owner of the camels. “Wait, I’ll show you
how.”
He made two of the beasts kneel down and he climbed up on the back of
one and Pep got on the back of the other. Then the boys lost no time
in finding their way through the marsh once more. Several times they
looked back, but saw nothing of any pursuers.
They breathed more freely as, four hours later, they came within sight
of the Bacon place. The camels in their cumbersome but steady way had
kept up a tramp without a single halt.
There was a startled scream from the kitchen of the Bacon homestead
as its mistress caught sight of the camels walking into the yard and
approaching the water trough. From the direction of the fields Pep saw
Mr. Bacon and his two sons scampering towards them, attracted by a
distant sight of the unfamiliar intruders.
They had just reached the center of activity and Pep had barely made
them understand the situation, when two horsemen came dashing along
the road they had just followed.
One of them rode the piebald horse that had been so often described to
the boys during their search for its owner.
“You’ve stolen our camels!” shouted its rider, leaping to the ground.
“Slip the chain hooks on ’em, Ben,” he spoke to his companion.
“They are mine!” cried Vic. “You stole them once. You’d better leave
them alone and be off, or you’ll get yourself in a whole heap of
trouble.”
“No, he won’t be off,” sounded a grim voice, and Farmer Bacon, who
had momentarily run into the house, now ran out of it. He held a
double-barreled shotgun in his hand.
“See here, what is this your business?” demanded the first movies man.
“Just this! that horse of yours drove away with one of my bee hives
two nights ago. Dick,” went on the farmer to one of his sons, “Saddle
Nellie and get lickety-switch to Squire Bisbee. Tell him to fetch a
couple of constables with him. I’m going to sift this business and know
the rights of things before you leave this farm, stranger!”