[Illustration: “STEADY NOW! KEEP HER HEAD STRAIGHT INTO THE WIND.”
_The Y. M. C. A. Boys on Bass Island_ _Page 57_]
The
Y. M. C. A. Boys
on Bass Island
Or
The Mystery of Russabaga Camp
BY
BROOKS HENDERLEY
Author of “The Y. M. C. A.
Boys of Cliffwood,” Etc.
_ILLUSTRATED_
NEW YORK
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
BOOKS FOR BOYS
By
BROOKS HENDERLEY
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.
Price per volume, 60 cents, postpaid.
THE Y. M. C. A. BOYS SERIES
THE Y. M. C. A. BOYS OF CLIFFWOOD;
or The Struggle for the Holwell Prize
THE Y. M. C. A. BOYS ON BASS ISLAND;
or The Mystery of Russabaga Camp
(_Other volumes in preparation_)
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY Publishers New York
COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
The Y. M. C. A. Boys on Bass Island
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE SCRUB BALL TEAMS 1
II. AN INVASION OF PIGS 10
III. THE BOY WHO HAD PROMISED 19
IV. MR. NOCKER SPRINGS A SURPRISE 32
V. A BRIGHT PROSPECT AHEAD 40
VI. MAKING CAMP ON BASS ISLAND 47
VII. IN THE GRIP OF THE SQUALL 56
VIII. THE FIRST NIGHT OUT 63
IX. THE RULE OF ORDER AND DISCIPLINE 72
X. THINGS BEGIN TO VANISH 79
XI. MR. HOLWELL GETS THE WELCOMING CHEER 86
XII. HAPPENINGS OF THE SECOND NIGHT 96
XIII. THE MYSTERY GROWS DEEPER 103
XIV. TRYING TO FIGURE IT OUT 115
XV. DAN TELLS SOME WHOLESOME TRUTHS 123
XVI. WAS IT A WILD MAN OF THE WOODS? 129
XVII. DICK’S PROMISE 137
XVIII. SETTING THE TRAP 144
XIX. A DAY OF REST 148
XX. A MISSION OF MERCY 155
XXI. THE BROTHERLY SPIRIT 163
XXII. WHAT NAT SAW 169
XXIII. THE TELLTALE FOOTPRINT 178
XXIV. DAN’S NEW IDEA 188
XXV. THE BERRY PICKERS 199
XXVI. POACHING ON STRANGE PRESERVES 206
XXVII. A NEVER-TO-BE-FORGOTTEN CAMPFIRE 214
XXVIII. WHEN THE PIT TRAP WORKED 222
XXIX. CLEARING UP THE MYSTERY 231
XXX. BREAKING CAMP--CONCLUSION 239
THE Y. M. C. A. BOYS ON BASS ISLAND
CHAPTER I
THE SCRUB BALL TEAMS
“A dandy drive, Peg!”
“Good for a two-bagger, any day!”
“Look at him cover ground, will you?”
“Nobody’d believe Peg limps when he walks, to see him hustle like that
in a game of ball!”
“Look out, Peg, he’s going to get you at second!”
“Slide, Peg! Slide, old scout!”
Amidst a cloud of dust “Peg” Fosdick went down safely to second, the
ball arriving just as he clutched the bag with his outstretched hand.
Peg arose to his feet, brushed himself off, and waved a hand to his
cheering mates on the side that was just then at bat.
Cliffwood boys were having a glorious time on the green devoted to
outdoor sports. Still, after all, these were only two scrub teams;
for, somehow, up to the present time the bustling mill town on the
Sweetbriar river had never mustered up enough energy to put a regular
representative nine worthy of support in the field.
Neighboring places, such as Creston, Emoryville, and Barrtown, boasted
good teams, and the boys of Cliffwood often found themselves openly
taunted on account of their lack of zeal in the matter.
“But things are liable to change from now on!” declared one of the boys
on the bench, when casual mention of this lamentable fact was made.
“It’s time Cliffwood woke up from this Rip Van Winkle sleep, and made
its mark in the world.”
“That time is going to come right away,” asserted the pitcher of his
nine, a vigorous lad, Dick Horner by name, and who seemed to be a
leader among the boys.
“It’s as certain as can be, or my name isn’t Leslie Capes!” declared
the catcher, who was Dick Horner’s most intimate chum.
“Well, Cliffwood,” observed a third youth earnestly, “is a far
different town from what it used to be before Mr. Holwell, the
minister, and Harry Bartlett, leader of our local Y. M. C. A.,
organized the Boys’ Department.”
“That’s what nearly every one tells us, Elmer,” returned the sanguine
Dick. “And by the coming fall we hope to be able to put a decent
football squad in the field, to stand for our home town.”
“I’m mighty glad to hear that, Dick!” exclaimed still another of the
players, Phil Harkness by name. And then raising his voice to a shout
he went on to say: “Three balls and two strikes, Andy! Make Nat put the
ball over, and meet his fast clipper for a homer!”
Almost immediately following the giving of this advice came the crack
of the bat as it caught one of Nat Silmore’s speediest balls “on the
nose.” The boy on second sprinted for home because he knew that was the
play, there being already two out.
Away out in deep center Alonzo Crane made a vigorous effort to get the
swift liner. He was coming in on a gallop, hoping to take the ball in
his outstretched hands before it could touch the ground.
The onlookers saw Alonzo fairly hurl himself forward in a gallant
attempt to make the spectacular play. Then he fell, rolled over several
times, and arose finally with the ball held triumphantly above his head.
Nat and his side emitted a roar of applause, and with wild whoops
started toward the home plate, as though that play ended the inning.
“Keep on running to second, Andy!” yelled Leslie Capes, excitedly. “He
dropped the ball, and snatched it up again off the ground!”
“Sure he did! I saw him do it!” added Phil Harkness, indignantly, for
there were several players on the opposing side who, like Nat himself,
in times gone by, had been known to attempt just such sly tricks as
this; and Alonzo was one of them.
“Aw! what are you givin’ us?” shouted Nat, with one of his old-time
bullying frowns. “That was the greatest play ever seen on these
grounds! He snatched the ball right out of the air before it ever
touched the ground. And he held tight through all his tumble in the
bargain. Your man is out, Dick Horner, and you know it, too!”
There threatened to be a furious dispute, which would break up the
game; for each side acted as if determined to hold its ground.
Fortunately, just at that critical moment a gentleman came sauntering
along and approached the squabbling ball players, whose voices were
mingled in a warm discussion, while all sorts of accusations were
flying broadcast.
“What’s the trouble, boys?” asked the gentleman, who, to judge by the
cut of his coat, was a minister.
The clamor ceased immediately. Even the turbulent Nat shrank back a
little, as though unwilling that the Reverend Thomas Holwell should see
one of his old-time frowns on his face, for Nat was supposed to have
broken away from his former life, and to be marching along the narrow
road nowadays.
“Why, it’s this way, Mr. Holwell,” explained Dick, himself quieting
down considerably, for the minister was known to be the best friend
the boys of Cliffwood had, and his unexpected appearance had cooled
their ardor as nothing else could have done. “We say Alonzo dropped
that liner and snatched it up again, which wouldn’t count for an out.
Nat and his side all say he held it tight. So we’re up against a hard
proposition, because neither side will give in.”
“Oh! I think I can settle that dispute easily enough,” said Mr.
Holwell, with a cheery smile. “You see, I was taking home this pair
of opera glasses for my wife, after having had them repaired. As I
came along I chanced to be testing them, and as luck would have it, I
followed Alonzo as he ran forward to take that liner.”
“Yes, sir!” said Dick, eagerly. “And if anybody could know just what
happened at the time he rolled over you should, I guess.”
“Alonzo did drop the ball, though he snatched it up instantly,” said
Mr. Holwell. “I saw him do it distinctly. Of course he is just trying
to have some fun out of the occurrence. Isn’t that so, Alonzo?”
The boy in question turned fiery red, and his eyes fell under the
steady gaze of the minister.
“That’s what I was doing, Mr. Holwell,” he finally managed to say, with
a nervous little laugh. “I knew there was a fine chance to have some
fun teasing the other side, and I tried it. But I dropped the ball, all
right. I did my best to hold on to the crazy old thing, though.”
Dick and Leslie exchanged glances. They felt pretty certain that only
for the opportune arrival of Mr. Holwell, Alonzo would have stuck to
his story through thick and thin. Nat shrugged his broad shoulders, and
looked disgusted at such signs of what he would call weakness.
“Oh! well, if he owns up, of course the play goes,” he remarked, with a
sneer, and an ugly glance at Alonzo. “Get back in your places, fellers;
and Peg’s run goes. Andy, take second, and count yourself mighty lucky.
Anyhow, the rest of us really believed he held it tight.”
Mr. Holwell presently left the scene of action and walked on, with a
serious expression on his face. Some time before he and the young man
who served as leader to the town Y. M. C. A. had organized a Boys’
Department, which gave promise of doing a vast amount of good among the
younger element in Cliffwood.
There had been more or less trouble with Nat Silmore and several of
his followers, although just at present they seemed to be getting on
pretty well. Mr. Holwell knew boys “like a book,” however, and from
the little incident of the day he feared the “snake was scotched, not
killed,” as the saying has it.
While the boys are continuing their game after the sudden dispute had
been settled by an umpire whose decision none of them ventured to
question, a few words concerning Dick and his comrades may not come in
amiss, especially to such readers as may not have read the preceding
volume of this series, entitled, “The Y. M. C. A. Boys of Cliffwood.”
Dick Horner lived with his mother, grandfather and little sister Sue in
a neat cottage close to the bank of the Sweetbriar river. They had been
barely able to get along on the veteran’s pension and the proceeds from
a small investment. Suddenly bad news reached them to the effect that
part of their little property had been swept away.
As has already been related in the previous story, a splendid thing
happened for the Horners, and they were now comfortably fixed, so that
Dick need not worry concerning his future.
Some of his friends were Leslie Capes, Dan Fenwick, Phil Harkness,
Elmer Jones, Andy Hale, “Peg” Fosdick, “Clint” Babbett and Fred
Bonnicastle.
Among the new members of the Boys’ Club was Asa Gardner, a boy whose
reputation had not been very good in times past, for he had always
been called “light-fingered,” being prone to take things that did not
belong to him. His mother, whom Asa dearly loved, had died not long
before, and the boy was said to have solemnly promised her at the
last that he would never again surrender to his strange weakness that
had amounted to what is called “kleptomania”--an itching to take the
property of others when an opportunity arises.
Some of the boys were doubtful as to Asa’s ability to overcome his
faults; but Mr. Holwell stood by the lad, and stoutly backed him up.
Dick, too, had a certain amount of faith in Asa, for reasons of his
own, in spite of the fact that Dan Fenwick, who was more skeptical, had
more than once urged him to “keep an eye on that Asa.”
Dick had been enabled to do Old Jed Nocker, the richest merchant in
Cliffwood, a great favor, whereby he found happiness in the possession
of a grandchild, little Billy, together with his only son’s widow,
Tilly Nocker. Since that time Mr. Nocker had lost much of his former
cynicism regarding boys in general, and found numerous opportunities
to stretch out a helping hand to the growing Junior Department of the
local Y. M. C. A.
It was the unexpected home coming of Silas Langhorne, a brother of Mrs.
Horner, from the Alaska gold fields, that had brought contentment and
peace to Dick’s family. That was a strange and dramatic homecoming, for
an account of which the reader is referred to the previous volume of
this series. These summer days were happy ones in the Horner cottage,
and little seven-year-old Sue, Dick’s sister, went singing about all
the time.
The boys had settled down once more to their game, and the greatest
interest was seizing upon them, with the score a tie, when all of a
sudden Phil Harkness, out in center field, was seen to be waving his
arms excitedly as he gave vent to a series of shouts.
“Hey! look yonder!” they plainly heard him calling. “See all that
smoke, would you? It’s Bratton’s barn afire!”