There was a sudden brilliant and dazzling flash, that must have been as fierce as the display of lightning when the bolt hits close at hand. And while those at the fire were schooled to repress their natural alarm, evidently the same could not be said of a looker-on not counted in the bill; for there was a hoarse cry of alarm from the bushes across the way, and the sound of crashing seemed to tell of a precipitate flight.

CHAPTER V.
JIM’S SECRET.

Indeed, even the sleepy Step Hen sat up and took notice that the two mentioned, as well as Jim and Eli, were already on their feet, exchanging significant looks. Words were hardly needed to proclaim that they deemed the circumstance as one worthy of investigation.

Just then Davy came in, bearing his little camera, and with a grin on his face.

“Got a fine picture that time, I reckon, fellers,” he announced, after the manner of satisfied camera fiends the world over.

“Did you give a shout, Davy?” asked Thad, thinking it best to settle that point in the start, before going any further.

“Not that I know of, I didn’t,” immediately replied the other.

“Did you hear one?” continued the patrol leader.

“Sure I did, and took it for granted that Step Hen or Giraffe had been scared by the fireworks display, in spite of my warning, and squealed,” Davy replied.

“That settles it, then,” Thad went on, turning to Eli and Jim; “get a torch, or the lantern, and we’ll see what it was.”

“Wow! this looks some interesting!” exclaimed Giraffe, beginning to show signs of excitement himself.

Eli picked up the lantern, and lighted it. Then he led the way into the bushes at the exact spot where, according to his educated ear, the snort and the crash had come from.

“Keep back, the rest of you,” said Thad, “and let Eli do the looking. If he finds anything worth while, be sure you’ll all know about it.”

A minute later the old guide called to them to come on.

“Bully for Eli; he’s lost no time in making good!” exclaimed Giraffe.

The whole party crowded around the old guide, who was on his knees on the ground, apparently examining some tracks he had found. He waved a hand to keep them from crowding too close to him, so as to interfere with his work.

Bending low, Thad could easily see the marks. Some one had been crouching there in the bushes, and spying on the camp. That he could not be an honest woodsman it was easy to guess, for as such he would have stalked straight into camp, sure of the warm welcome that is always extended to a stranger who looks good.

Eli pointed to the impression close to the footprints.

“Thar’s whar he rested the butt o’ his rifle,” he said, positively, and Thad knew it was exactly as Eli declared, just as though he could himself see the actions of the hidden man. “Got on his knees and crawled up to whar he c’ud poke his nose outen the scrub hyar, an’ watch us. And hyar’s whar he was arestin’ on jest wun knee; cause ye kin see the mark o’ his foot beyond.”

“What was he doing that for?” asked Thad, though deep down in his heart he seemed to instinctively know.

“Wall, I kinder guess naow thet he mout a be’n a tryin’ to see how he cud kiver wun o’ us with his gun!” replied Eli.

He beckoned to Jim, and that worthy approached. There was a troubled look on the face of the younger guide that Thad could not but notice; and he realized that the affair might not be so great a mystery to Jim as it seemed to the rest of them.

“Take a squint at them hood tracks hyar, Jim; p’raps ye mout sorter reckernize the same,” Eli remarked drily.

Jim only needed that one glance, and then he gritted his teeth as he observed:

“Oh! twar him, all right, Eli; I knowed it.”

“Wow! and again I say, wow! this here is sure getting mighty interesting!” muttered Giraffe, shuffling uneasily from one foot to the other; while Bumpus, filled with a sudden alarm, started back into the camp, to arm himself with his new gun.

“Do you mean Old Cale Martin?” demanded Thad.

“None other,” answered Jim, moodily.

“Then he must have seen you, Jim, sitting here?” the patrol leader went on.

“He shore did,” replied the short guide.

“And amused himself covering you with his gun, just as if to say that he could put a bullet in you, if so be he wanted; but he didn’t want to, did he Jim?

“Reckon he didn’t, sir,” the other ventured. “Yuh see, he ain’t jest thet mad at me, so’s tuh wanter kill me; jest sez as haow I gotter keep away from whar he camps, yuh know.”

“Sill, he said he meant to pin your ears to a tree, if he caught you up here; those were about the words your guide friend, Hen Parry, used, weren’t they, Jim?”

“Thet’s what they was; an’ he meant it, too,” Jim replied. “Thet’s one o’ his good points, thet he allers keeps his word. If them game wardens cud ever git Ole Dad Martin tuh say as he never wud kill game outen season agin, they’d know nawthin’ under the sun’d tempt him tuh do hit, not even if he was a dyin’ fuh a bite o’ meat. He ain’t all bad, this here Cale Martin.”

“But what about you, Jim; seems to me this is taking big chances in your coming up here, when such a lawless character has a grudge against you, and is waiting to put his stamp on you that way. And strikes me, Jim, that you must have had a motive in coming, that was more than just bluff. How about that?”

The young guide glanced at Thad when he said this, and evidently realized that the patrol leader could read his mind better than most people; he looked a little confused; then gave a short nervous laugh, and said:

“Wall, naow, sense yuh sized me up thet away, I’ll jest hev tuh admit thet I did hev a notion in comin’ up here, ‘sides takin’ ye through the Eagle Lakes. I hed my orders tuh come, an’ from one as I hes tuh mind.”

He turned away while speaking, as though not inclined to say more just then in the presence of so many; but Thad made up his mind there was a story back of the strange actions of Jim; and that a few point-blank questions might bring it out. Before he slept he hoped he would find a chance to get Jim to one side and ask him about it; for he had reason to believe the other was ready to confide in him.

“Do you think he’ll come back again to-night?” asked Davy Jones.

“Who cares?” remarked a voice at the elbow of the speaker; and turning, they beheld Bumpus flourishing his new double-barrel gun, as though only too anxious for a chance to hold somebody up at its muzzle.

“Here, you keep that cannon aimed the other way, if you please!” cried Giraffe, dodging behind a convenient tree. “You ought to be marked with a red flag ‘dangerous–dynamite!’ that’s what I think!”

“Come, let’s get back to camp,” remarked Thad. “There’s little chance of Old Cale coming back here to-night. He got the scare of his life when that flashlight burst on him so sudden like. I wouldn’t be surprised if he thought a rapid-fire machine gun was opening on him; or else that lightning had taken to camping on his trail.”

“Anyhow,” remarked Allan, “he just couldn’t help turning and running as if the Old Nick were after him. And from that we can guess that Cale never heard tell of flashlight pictures.”

“Well, can you blame him?” asked Thad. “Makes me think of the old fable, when the lion and the donkey went hunting together. The lion took up his station at the mouth of the cave where some goats had hidden, while the donkey went in; and made all sorts of terrible noises, braying. So the goats ran out, and the lion killed as many as he wanted. When the donkey came out he asked his partner if he had done the job in good shape. ‘Fine,’ said the lion, ‘and you would have frightened me too, if I hadn’t known that you were only a donkey.’ And that’s the way with us, fellows; we were on to the game in advance, or some of us might have taken to our heels too.”

“Here, that sounds mighty much like you were calling me a donkey,” remarked Davy, trying to display a certain amount of offended dignity.

“Oh! not in the least,” laughed Thad.

“If the shoe fits, put it on,” jeered Giraffe. “You know they say that wherever you see smoke, there’s sure to be fire.”

“Not much there ain’t,” burst out Bumpus, with a grin. “I’ve seen heaps of smoke started, without a sign of a blaze,” and Giraffe subsided into silence knowing what was meant.

“Did you get a good picture, Davy?” asked Thad, as they once more settled down around the fire.

“Seemed like it to me,” was the reply. “It was just when you were all laughing at what Eli here was saying. He had his hand up, like he was going to smack it down in the palm of the other, to emphasize a telling point in his story. Say, wouldn’t it be a great stunt now, if, when I developed that plate, I found a face sticking out of the bushes across yonder; and Jim here recognized it as belonging to that big terror of the pine woods, Cale Martin!”

“Say, that would be just great!” ejaculated Step Hen; and all eyes were turned toward Jim; but that worthy made no remark, though he must have surely heard what was said.

As the evening grew on apace Thad was watching for the chance he wanted, to get a few words in private with the younger guide. Jim somehow had interested Thad from the start. He never said anything about himself or his folks; but somehow the young patrol leader had been drawn toward Jim. He believed the fellow to be a sturdy chap, clean and honest as any guide ever employed by big game hunters in the Maine woods. And now that it began to appear that there was a little mystery attached to his past, of course Thad felt a deeper interest in Jim than ever.

Perhaps it was accident that took Jim off after a while; he may have just wanted to smoke his pipe alone, and ponder on the strange fate that seemed to throw him once more in contact with the man who had crossed his life trail in the past, and apparently not in a pleasant way either. But somehow Thad conceived an idea that Jim just knew he wanted to have a quiet little chat with him; and was thus making an opening.

Just as he had expected he found the guide leaning against a tree near by. The light from the flickering blaze of the camp-fire reached the spot, but faintly; and Jim did not even show any signs of nervousness when Thad drew near, which was one indication that he had half expected his coming.

Perhaps Jim even invited a chance to bestow his confidence on the young scoutmaster. He must have seen before now that Thad Brewster was no ordinary boy; and when a man has been brooding over something a long time, he often feels like having a friend to whom he may pour out the troubles of his soul, and from whom perhaps he may look for advice.

“Not thinking of changing your mind, are you Jim?” asked Thad, as he joined the other by the tree.

“If yuh mean ’bout goin’ back, an’ feelin’ like a whipped houn’ dog, sir, ’taint in Jim Hasty tuh do thet aways. Fact is,” the guide went on, with a stubborn ring in his voice, “meetin’ up with Ole Cale jest kinder makes me more sot in my mind than ever. I stays with yuh right through, yuh kin bank on thet.”

“Well, I only hope he’ll conclude to give us a wide berth, and make up his mind that he’d better keep his hands off,” Thad went on. “Seems like he doesn’t fancy you any too much, Jim?”

This was a plain invitation, and the other so regarded it, for he immediately answered:

“I kinder guess Ole Cale does hate me wuss nor pizen, sir. P’raps he’s gut reason fut hit; an’ agin, mebbe he hain’t. ‘Tall depends on the way yuh look at hit. I on’y done what any man o’ speerit’d adone, if so be he found himself up agin a stone wall like Cale Martin’s ‘no, not on yuh life!’ meant.”

“Then you asked him for something, did you, Jim?”

“Jest what I done, sir; which something war what he happened to keer more fur than anything else on the yarth,” Jim replied; and Thad could detect something soft and tender underneath the words, that gave him a clue.

“And that something, Jim?” he went on, invitingly.

“War his darter, Little Lina, ther purtiest an’ sweetest gal in all the Maine woods,” the guide made answer. “When he sez as haow I never cud hev her with all her carin’ fur me so much, I jest up an’ run away with her; an’ thet’s why Ole Cale, he hates me wuss nor cold pizen!”

CHAPTER VI.
TAKING A RISK FOR THE SAKE OF LITTLE LINA.

“And of course your wife has often wished she could see her father again, Jim?”

The guide groaned.

“Cried her putty eyes out, awantin’ tuh see her dad,” he admitted; “but what cud a man do ’bout hit, if Cale, he wudn’t forgive me? He sent word as haow Lina cud kim back, but me, never; an’ in course she wudn’t quit me.”

“But now, Jim; tell me about who gave you the orders you were saying something about a while ago?” pursued Thad.

“She done hit, in course,” answered the other, heaving a sigh. “I knowed the risk I war takin’, but I’d do a right smart more fur my Lina.”

“Then as I take it, Jim, you don’t really want to avoid Old Cale, this fiery father-in-law of yours; in fact, you mean to see him face to face?”

“Got ter,” replied the other, laconically; “’cause she sez so. Hit may be I kin do hit on the way up to the lakes; but if not then I’m acomin’ back with Eli an’ the canoes thisaways, arter yuh gits aboard ther train; an’ I’ll hang around this deestrict till we meets. Never’d dar’ show myself tuh her, ’less I done everything agoin’ tuh kerry it out.”

“And don’t you feel a little uneasy about your ears, Jim?”

“Wall, it wudn’t be jest the nicest thing agoin’ tuh lose ’em; but she sez as haow Ole Cale, he’s bound tuh cave when he hears what I gotter tuh tell him.”

Evidently Jim had said all he meant to, and Thad took the hint.

“Well, all I want to say is that I admire your nerve, Jim; and the lot of us will stand back of you if you get in any trouble,” he remarked, earnestly.

“Hit’s right nice in yuh tuh say thet, sir, an’ sure I ’predate hit,” the guide went on to say, with a tremor in his voice; “but arter all, I guess thar hain’t goin’ tuh be any row, if me’n Cale, we kims tergether. I’m willin’ tuh resk it. But I must say as haow I don’t like the ijee o’ him asettin’ thar in them bushes, aimin’ his gun at me. But Cale Martin’s a squar man, as wudn’t shoot daown another without givin’ him a show. An’ I guess he jest done it fur fun.”

So Thad went back to the fire, and sat down. But he did not join in the merry talk that was going around. His thoughts were wholly given up to Jim and his story. He liked the short guide more than ever; and in the same proportion detested the big Maine backwoodsman whose daughter Jim had run away with.

Presently some of the boys complained of feeling sleepy, and arrangements were made for passing the night.

Both Jim and Eli declared that it would be only the part of wisdom to keep watch. There could be no telling what deviltry Cale Martin, assisted by his two congenial spirits, Si Kedge and Ed Harkness, might attempt to do. Perhaps, thinking that it would reflect on the guides if they annoyed the party whom Eli and Jim were convoying into the Maine woods, they might even try to set fire to the camp, and thus spoil the entire trip.

When morning came Thad and Allan had taken their turn at standing sentry; but none of the other scouts were called upon, because the leader did not have the greatest of confidence in their ability to remain awake, not to mention hearing, and comprehending, any sounds that might arise, and which spelled danger.

A consultation in the morning showed that only once had there been heard suspicious sounds. It was while Allan held the fort; and he declared that to the best of his knowledge they were far distant voices on the river. But although he listened carefully, and was prepared to give the alarm if necessary, nothing further developed that might be considered a peril to the camp.

The boys were feeling pretty good that morning. They had most of them enjoyed a fine sleep, and were as active as young colts.

Davy in particular seemed to be full of animal spirits; and when he felt like it, there was no end of the capers the athletic gymnast could do. One minute he was hanging from his toes from a high limb, looking like a monkey; and the next he had let go, whirled over three times in the air, and landed lightly on his feet on the soft ground; after which he would make his little bow, just like the celebrated performer in the great and only Barnum’s Circus, after he has thrilled the audience with one of his marvelous acts.

Bumpus sat and watched all these performances with open mouth. Secretly the fat boy aspired to imitate Davy in some of his antics; though Giraffe always scoffed loudly at the absurd idea of a heavy weight like Bumpus trying to play the part of a nimble ape.

Several times had the ambition of Bumpus got the better of his judgment, and he had endeavored to follow in the wake of the active member of the party; but always with disastrous results; so that for some time now he had taken it out in gaping, and wishing, and longing for the time to come when he could get rid of his surplus fat, so that he might be nimble like Davy.

Giraffe during breakfast was unusually silent and sober. Thad guessed where his thoughts were straying, and consequently it did not surprise him in the least to overhear the tall boy muttering to himself, while he shook his head stubbornly:

“I c’n do it all right; I just know I can!”

Step Hen amused himself watching a sharp-eyed little striped chipmunk stealing some bits thrown aside from the camp meal. Time was when Step Hen might have been guilty of trying to hit such a fair mark with a club or a stone; but that was in the past. He would not have lifted a finger now to injure that innocent little creature for worlds; but sat there, deeply interested in observing every movement it made, just as if it were a pet.

Jim seemed to be himself again; at least when Thad looked toward him inquiringly, the guide nodded his head, and smiled. Evidently Jim had slept over his trouble, and decided that he was doing the right thing. For the sake of Little Lina he was ready to go right along, taking big chances of losing his precious ears; for only too well did he know that Old Cale was a man of his word; and that he must have meant everything he said to the messenger who bore the threat to Jim.

Davy was wild to develop the film upon which he had taken that snapshot picture on the preceding night; but there were a number of obstacles in the way of doing that. First of all, there were five other exposures on that roll, as yet untouched; and as a clinching argument, Davy had not bothered bringing a developing tank, or printing outfit along with him, fearing that they would take up too much room.

And so he would have to be content to wait until they reached some place where a photographer held forth, who would undertake to do the job, for a consideration.

Of course the picture of that breakfast would hardly be complete without Step Hen suddenly breaking forth in his customary strain:

“Where’s my–oh, here it is, on my head, of course! How queer that I should forget I put it there,” and he had to actually take his hat off, and look at it, as if hardly able to believe his eyes, and that for once his anticipated difficulty had been smoothed over so easily.

Davy joined in the general laugh that greeted this outbreak; then he walked gravely over, and insisted on feeling of Step Hen’s neck.

“Hey! what you up to, now, you Jones boy? Keep your paws off me!” exclaimed the object of this solicitude, suspiciously dodging.

“I only wanted to make sure that the connection was sound still,” retorted the other; “because some fine day, all of us expect you to lose your head.”

“Well, I’ve seen you lose yours more’n a few times, when you got flustrated and excited; and it didn’t seem to hurt much,” Step Hen retorted.

“There’s a big difference in heads,” remarked Davy.

“I should say there was,” replied the other, meaningly; “and the gray stuff that’s in ’em, too. Some are hollow, like a punkin; while others, mine for instance, are just crammed full of thinks.”

“Well, I’d advise you to use a few of the thinks trying to remember where you put your belongings; and quit accusing the rest of us of playing tricks on you; or a silly little jinx of stealing things.” Davy went on, shaking his finger at the careless scout.

“If all you fellows are done eating, perhaps we’d better get a move on us,” suggested the scoutmaster; of course Thad was really only the assistant, for according to the regulations governing all troops of Boy Scouts connected with the parent organization, there had to be a grown-up acting in the capacity of scoutmaster; though Thad had passed an examination that entitled him to receive his commission as assistant, from the headquarters in New York City.

As this gentleman, a Dr. Philander Hobbs, had been unable to get away with them on this trip to Maine, he had relegated his authority to the shoulders of Thad; a proceeding that was greatly relished by the other five scouts, because they liked to feel that they were depending on themselves, with no grown-up along.

Accordingly there was a movement among the campers. Tents had to come down, and be stowed away; and all the material connected with the cooking department made into as small a compass as possible.

All of them worked but Giraffe, who was on his knees near by, doing something that Thad could easily guess the nature of. Knowing the stubborn qualities in the angular scout Thad felt sure that none of them would know any peace until Giraffe had finally managed to strike a clue, and effect the end he had in view, of making an actual boni-fide fire after the way known to the South Sea Islanders, with his little bow, his sharp-pointed stick set in a hole made in a block of wood, and his inflammable tinder, backed by indomitable energy, and “get there” spirit.

And for the sake of harmony in the camp, Thad really wished Giraffe would hurry up, and solve the knotty problem.

Inside of half an hour they were all packed, and ready to make another start in the direction of the Eagle chain of lakes to the north.

CHAPTER VII.
THE LONG-DRAWN HOWL OF A CANADA WOLF.

Bumpus was a natural musician. He could play “any old instrument,” and extract very good music from banjo, guitar, violin, or even an accordion; he also had a fine voice that often aroused the enthusiastic acclaim of his comrades while sitting around the fire of evenings.

Of course, then, he had been made the bugler of the troop as soon as the organization was commenced. It had not been deemed just the right thing for him to fetch his musical instrument along while the Silver Fox Patrol chanced to be in the Maine woods on a hunt; but then that was no bar to Bumpus, who could put his hands to his mouth, and give a splendid imitation of the reveille, assembly, taps, or any other military call.

So Giraffe had to climb into Eli’s canoe, looking very much discouraged. Really, it did seem as though an evil spirit took especial delight in baffling him, just when he seemed in a fair way to reach the goal of his present ambition. As he had once before complained, he had even had his tinder soaked by a sudden shower, and just at the critical moment when he felt sure it was about to burst into a successful blaze.

But one thing was sure, these successive defeats only served to make him shut his teeth harder together, and resolve that nothing would ever prevent him from getting that fire, if it took him a year. He might be beaten once, twice, or fifty times; but there would come a day to the patient plodder when the door of opportunity would open for him. And surely success would stand for a great deal more if he had to work like this for it, than if easily attained.

Before noon came they had arrived at the place where the stream ran into the Lower Lake of the Eagle Chain; and when they stopped for lunch, it was upon the shore of this beautiful sheet of water.

Thad had been secretly keeping an eye on Jim. He knew that the guide must feel more or less anxiety, despite his brave outward showing. And when Jim thought no one was observing he would look out of the tail of his eye at every clump of bushes that seemed any way suspicious, as long as they were upon the river.

And hence, it was doubtless a positive relief when they started out on the broader water of the lake; for after that he would only have to watch one shore.

About one o’clock they again started. The air continued cold, but bracing, and this made paddling a pleasure, up to a certain point.

All of the scouts took a hand at it, even Bumpus, and received more or less valuable instruction from the two guides, as to how the paddle should be worked in order to have as little “lost motion” as possible; and at the same time secure the greatest amount of benefit. But when after half an hour of labor, they found their muscles beginning to tire from the unaccustomed motion, the boys considered themselves lucky to be able to turn the paddles over once more to the canoe men, who were used to the job, and could keep it up steadily all day, if need be.

When they drew near the outlet where the waters of the Lower Lake flowed into Lake Winthrop, Thad, happening to look back, managed to discover a canoe skirting the shore some miles distant. From the actions of those in it, they seemed desirous of remaining unnoticed; for they took advantage of every headland that jutted out; and when they had to make across the open, it was done with all possible speed.

Thad did not need to be told who was in that craft. And glancing toward Jim, he understood that the Maine guide had doubtless been aware of the pursuing canoe for some time; because he nodded at the scoutmaster when he caught his eye.

“It’s him, is it, Jim?” called out Thad; for the canoes were some thirty feet apart at the time.

“Yep,” came the answer, accompanied by an affirmative nod of Jim’s head.

“You know him, even at that distance, then?” continued the patrol leader.

“He’s workin’ the paddle right now,” replied the other. “Yuh cain’t mistake his way o’ swingin’ ther spruce blade. Ole Cale hain’t gut his ekal at thet in all the State o’ Maine.”

It was plain to be seen, then, that the giant poacher was on the trail of his detested son-in-law, possibly bent on carrying out his terrible threat; though Thad hoped such might not prove to be the case.

He knew that often these rough men of the woods could appreciate true bravery; and that there might be a chance, however slight, that Old Cale was lost in admiration for the recklessnes that could induce Jim to brave his wrath. What if he had been consumed by a sudden deep curiosity to know what really caused the other to take the risk and come up here? Could he suspect that Little Lina had sent a message to him?

All these things gave Thad occasion for considerable thinking. At the same time he did not mean to lose sight of the main reason for their having come so far from their homes, in order to get some hunting, and camping experience, that would prove valuable to his fellow scouts, anxious to learn all that they could at first hands, of wood-craft.

“I’m glad we were as particular as we were about putting out the very last spark of fire this morning,” Thad remarked, as the canoes moved along close to one another.

“Why?” demanded Giraffe, a little suspiciously; for every time that magical word was used he chose to think all eyes must be turned in his direction; just as though he should be placed in the same class with fire.

“Oh! because the wind came up like great guns shortly after we left camp,” Thad went on, always ready to point a lesson to those under him; “and from the river, too. Now, if we’d left any fire there, the chances are it would have been picked up, and thrown into the woods. As there was a lot of dry stuff around, you can see how easy a fire starts up here. And when it once gets going, I reckon it can burn some, eh, Allan?”

“If you ever have the good or bad luck to run across a forest afire, while we’re up in this section, you’ll see a sight that none of you’ll soon forget,” and he had to cast a meaning glance as he spoke in the direction of the fire worshipper.

But Giraffe only smiled in a satisfied way.

“Talk all you want,” he remarked; “but I think I’ve got that business down fine, now; and to-night, to-night I’m just bound to prove to Bumpus here that the cream is on him. I knew I’d get it sometime.”

“Well, don’t crow till you’re out of the woods,” remarked Bumpus, from the bow end of the canoe. “I’m willing to be convinced; and it’ll be worth all it costs me just to see you work that puzzle out.”

“But you just know I c’n do it, don’t you?” persisted Giraffe.

“Won’t say,” answered the fat boy, obstinately.

“Well, you might as well be counting up your spare cash, because I’m bound to show you at the first chance. It just can’t slip away from me much longer; and I reckon I’ve got it clinched this time,” and after that Giraffe would not talk, but seemed to be muttering to himself from time to time, as though he might be repeating a certain formula that he believed to be the winning combination.

They were not trying to make fast time now, because there was really no necessity for doing so. Having arrived on the chain of lakes that, with the St. Johns river, almost makes a great island of the northern portion of Maine, they were bent on enjoying themselves. That meant going into camp at some point where the guides were agreed they might have the best hunting; and from that time on taking toll of the woods’ folks as their larder required, wasting nothing, and refraining from hunting when food was not needed.

They were true scouts, and believed in following the uplifting principles that govern the actions of the better class of sportsmen. As Step Hen so often declared, they did not want to be called “game hogs,” a term often used to describe the man who flings his catch of bass or trout up on the shore to die, no matter if he is taking ten times what he can use; or who shoots his deer in or out of season, and allows it to lie there, wasted, on the ground, food for the foxes or wolves.

“This country seems to be rather sparsely settled up here?” remarked Thad, after they had been moving along the shore of Lake Winthrop for some time, looking up a desirable camp site.

“In the summer you kin see a tent now an’ then, it bein’ sum party as wants ter enjy the fishin’, which is prime,” Eli replied; “but they ain’t many folks as keer ’bout stickin’ out ther winters hyar. Ye’ll admit they must be sum cold, this far up, nigh the Canady border.”

“But there must be plenty of game hereabouts, I should guess,” Thad went on. “Because, in the first place it has a gamey look to me; and then again, you wouldn’t have agreed to come along with Jim here, unless you’d heard good accounts of the region around the Eagle Lakes.”

“Jest what I has, though I hain’t never be’n all over ’em myself,” returned Eli. “But Jim hyar, he was bawn an’ fetched up in this kentry; so what he doan’t know ’baout hit hain’t wuth knowin’, I guess, sir.”

It was about the middle of the afternoon that Jim declared they had reached the point where their tents should be pitched. Thad noticed that the guide made not the least attempt at trying to hide the camp; indeed, the tents could surely be seen in any direction out on the lake.

This gave him to understand that Jim was not “taking water;” he had come here to this danger ground with the main idea of meeting his irate father-in-law face to face, be the consequences what they might, because his wife had begged him to; and there was as yet no sign of Jim turning out to be what Giraffe called a “quitter.”

Everybody soon found plenty to do. The rest had enough pity for Giraffe not to enter any complaint because he seemed to shirk his share of the ordinary labor attending the starting of the camp. They knew he had his hands full in solving what promised to be one of the greatest puzzles he had ever tackled.

And so he was allowed to go off himself, and work his little saw monotonously right along. Now it was the cord that failed to hold; again something else went back on poor Giraffe. But he kept patiently at it, grimly determined; and even the most interested of the lot, Bumpus, with whom the fire builder had laid his little wager, could not but feel a touch of admiration and sympathy when he saw how the tall scout kept at his task as the afternoon slipped away.

When supper was announced Giraffe came in smiling.

“Got it?” demanded Bumpus, eagerly.

“Well, just as good as done,” was the cautious reply. “I’ve mastered a heap of little irritating troubles; and just now the coast seems to be clear. Next time, now, and you’ll see something doing.”

“One more ribber to cross!” cooed Step Hen. “It’s always ‘next time,’ with Giraffe, you notice, fellows.”

But Giraffe was either too tired to argue, or else so confident of a speedy success that he felt he could afford to bide his time. Revenge would be very sweet, after all the chaff the fellows had poured upon his head. He would wait.

The supper tasted unusually fine that night, they all declared. Several of the scouts assisted in its preparation, wishing to show the guides just what knowledge of camp cookery they had picked up in their numerous outings. Even Bumpus superintended the heating of the “canoeist’s delight,” which turned out to be a hodge-podge, consisting of some left-over corned beef taken from a tin, some corn, and beans with several cold potatoes sliced in the same. And the hungry boys declared the only fault they could find with it was that it disappeared too soon.

But they had an abundance for all hands, even Giraffe admitting that he was satisfied when the meal was over. Then came the several delightful hours of lying around, as close to the cheery blaze as they dared, and having a “good old fashioned powwow,” as Step Hen called it.

Jim was quiet; but then he had never been a noisy fellow; and knowing what was on his mind right then, Thad felt that he had plenty of excuse for deep thought.

During a lull in the conversation later on, Bumpus sat upright, and exclaimed:

“There, did any of you hear it again; sure as you live it was the same long-drawn howl we caught on our other trip up the Penobscot region; and Sebattis, as well as all the rest, told us it was a wolf come down across the border from Canada. How about it Eli; was that one just then giving tongue?”

The old guide had not moved an inch; indeed, he seemed to be very little concerned over the strange sound; but he nodded his shaggy head, and made reply:

“Yep, thet war a Canady wolf all right; an’ as they hunt in packs thar must be more on ’em raound these diggin’s I spect.”

CHAPTER VIII.
THE UPLIFT OF A BOY SCOUT.

“Why not?” asked Thad, immediately; “when the wolf is no respecter of persons, and will pull down anything that can be used for food? The world over, they are hunted, because they do so much harm. It has always been so from the time the shepherds of Bible times tended their flocks on the hills of Galilee. And as long as living things stay on this old globe, man and wolf will never agree.”

“And in every State where they used to run, there has always been declared a fat bounty on wolves,” Allan observed. “Why, right now, Maine is paying large sums of money to get rid of her vermin, such as wolves, wildcats, panthers and snakes. I’ve read that as much as four hundred thousand dollars has been paid out in bounties since nineteen-three.”

“Yes,” laughed Thad, “and that’s where the joke comes in. I read that same article, which was mighty interesting too. It went on to state that some smarties are not content with getting the regular bounty. They grow a gray cat that looks on the order of the wild article–shorten the tail, draw out the claws, and then send in the skin, claiming the six dollars that is paid for each bobcat actually slain within the borders of the State.”

It was the turn of old Eli to laugh now.

“I heard tell o’ a sharper as cut off the rattles from a lot o’ tame snakes he kept shut up, and send ’em in for the bounties each rattle brings; and then he expects his pets ter grow new rattles, which howsumever, I don’t guess they kin; but thet air story goes ter show what some men will try an’ do ter beat the pore old government people.”

“Whew! and I just can’t stand for snakes at all,” remarked Step Hen. “If ever I felt one touch me, I believe I’d nearly take a fit.”

“Ha! let Davy do that!” cried Giraffe, quickly; at which there was a shout that must have made the two guides stare, until the joke was explained to them.

It seemed that once upon a time Davy had been subject to sudden severe cramps in his stomach, that used to double him up like a hinge, and render him incapable of action. His teachers at school had been duly warned, and many an afternoon had Davy been granted leave to go home because of a sudden attack; though it must have departed as suddenly as it came; since he was generally seen flying his kite on that same afternoon. And the cramps never attacked him on a dull, rainy day.

When he joined the scouts Davy, wishing to shirk hard work, had commenced to have these queer cramps; but wise Thad, believing that the other must long ago have outgrown the disorder, and was only shamming, laid down a course of treatment so severe that, singular to relate, Davy had ever since been utterly free from the infliction; which the rest of the boys considered simply wonderful.

And that was why there was a shout, with all eyes turned toward Davy Jones, when by mere accident Step Hen mentioned the word “fit.”

But Davy only colored up a bit, and grinned amiably.

“That’s a dead issue, fellers, so you needn’t stare at me that way,” he remarked, composedly. “Never again. Thad cured me right off the reel. ‘Nothing like heroic treatment, when all else fails,’ he said; and it did the job, clean as a whistle. I never can have a fit again, if I tried.”

“You’d better not,” remarked Bumpus, solemnly winking his left eye at Step Hen, and significantly touching a good-sized club he had at his side.

But that howling of the wolves, hunting their supper far away, did not keep the boys from enjoying a good night’s sleep. Of course there was some sort of watch kept; but those who were not entrusted with the vigil had no reason to bother their heads over it. All night long they slept in absolute safety. If Eli, Jim, Allan and the scoutmaster took turns being on deck, to make sure the camp was not raided, that fact did not keep the other four from slumbering as peacefully as though tucked in their beds at home, and under the parental roof.

Another dawn found them awake, and only too anxious to get a good warm fire started; for the frost was surely around them, and at that early hour it bit severely, too. But they could always depend on Giraffe to coax the wood to do its best in dispelling the cold atmosphere; and soon they were no longer shivering, but fully dressed, and assisted in getting breakfast.

Thad cast his eye upward several times during the progress of the meal.

“You seem to be anxious about something Mr. Scout Master?” remarked Step Hen, who had been highly favored that morning, being chosen to accompany the leader on a hunt for fresh meat; and Step Hen was therefore more interested than the others in what seemed to have aroused the attention of Thad.

“I was wondering whether we mightn’t get our first snow-storm before another sundown, that’s all,” replied the other, with a smile.

“Now, however could you tell that, when everything looks bright, and oh-be-joyful to me up yonder?” burst out the wondering Bumpus.

“Well, there are some things one can know, partly by instinct, and find it pretty hard to explain,” Thad went on to say. “I seem to feel a something in the air that says ‘snow’ as plain as words. It may be just a sort of dampness; but that’s the way about it. Then I notice the direction of the wind, which is northwest; and the cut of those few cirrus clouds lying low near the horizon. I can’t exactly explain so that you could understand, but if I was asked my opinion, I’d say we’ll see the snow flakes flying before many hours.”

“How about that?” demanded Step Hen, turning on Eli and Jim.

“He’s right, ’cause thar’s agoin’ ter be summat o’ a fall. P’raps ’twon’t amount ter much, nobody kin tell that; but it sez snow, all right,” the first guide observed, after taking a look all around.

“Me tew,” was all Jim said; but he accompanied the words with a vigorous nod in the affirmative, that stood for a lot.

“That settles it,” Step Hen declared. “I’m going out prepared for business. Never did like to be snowed under, any way you take it.”

“Too bad we ain’t got a snow shovel along,” remarked Giraffe, sarcastically.

“Oh! you can joke all you want to,” snapped back the other; “you’re so lofty you needn’t mind an ordinary snowfall. If it got up to your chin, you could still manage to stretch that rubber neck of yours around, and feel comfortable. But I ain’t in the same class, you see, with my ordinary figure, and short neck. But all I meant to say was, that I’d keep my sweater on under my coat, and stick my woolen gloves in my pockets.”

“Loan you my earmuffs if you say the word, Step Hen,” spoke up Bumpus.

“Well, now, that’s decent of you, Bumpus,” the other scout remarked; “but you see, this old corduroy cap of mine has earflaps that can be turned down. It’s just a bully thing for a cold, windy day. But after such a generous offer, Bumpus, why, I give you my full permission to turn over your badge. You’ve begun the day bright and early, by trying to do a generous deed for a comrade.”

Of course, what Step Hen referred to was the well-known rule by which the great body of members composing the Boy Scouts’ organization of America has been governed, in order to teach the units of each patrol and troop the benefits to be derived from making themselves useful to others.

In the morning every scout is supposed to pin his badge upside-down, on the lapel of his coat; and is not allowed to change its position until he has found an opportunity for helping some one, either by act, or advice that is really useful. It may only be a very simple thing; but it teaches the lad, first of all, the useful attribute of observation; and after that the still more precious one of service. Even though he but assist an old man across a street where vehicles are numerous; or take a market basket from the hands of a housewife, who is staggering homeward under the heavy burden, the effect is the same.

It makes his boyish heart thrill with a satisfaction that develops the trait of generosity; and gives every lad a more manly sensation; for he realizes that small though he may seem, he is of some value to the world.

“Oh!” said Bumpus, blushing, “I guess I hadn’t ought to take advantage of such a little thing as that, so’s to get my badge turned. I’ll find a chance to do something that’s more worth while, before the morning’s an hour old. And Step Hen, if you bring home the bacon in the shape of a noble six-pronged buck, you must let me take your picture, with your foot on the prize. Why, it will be the most valuable heirloom in your family, years from now. Your great grandchildren will point to it in pride, and tell how you slew the Jabberwock in the woods of Maine.”

“Well,” grinned Step Hen, “wait till I get the buck. I don’t count my chickens before they’re hatched. And I hope for one thing–that when we do come back, there’s going to be a little peace in the camp; and that our friend Giraffe here, will have solved the riddle that’s been worrying him so long. Them’s my sentiments.”

Giraffe made a mock bow, as he remarked in his most amiable way:

“Much obliged for making that wish, Step Hen; and from present indications I’ve got a sort of hunch that something is going to happen along them lines. Woke up in the night after having a dream, and it all came to me like a flash, where I’d been making a mistake. And as soon as I get through eating, I’m going to work trying to start things just like I saw in my dream. Oh! I’ll get there, sooner or later, by hook or by crook. You never saw me give a thing up yet.”

“Hey! what’s that?” remarked Davy Jones, quickly. “How about that time you got in old farmer Collins’ watermelon patch one night, and hooked a nice big melon he had doctored, so as to teach the boys a lesson. Oh! I know, because I was along with the crowd; and seems to me you gave up everything you owned, during that never-to-be-forgotten hour. I know I did; and I’ve never eaten a melon since without shivering.”

“Say, quit that melancholy subject, won’t you?” demanded Bumpus. “I don’t like to be reminded of my wicked past, because I’ve turned over a new leaf since I joined the scouts. Why, you couldn’t tempt me now with the biggest grandfather watermelon ever grown. B-r-r! It makes me shake, just to remember some things that happened in those old days, when I went with Giraffe, and Davy Jones, and the rest of that lark-loving crowd.”

Half an hour afterwards Thad and Step Hen started out, guns in hand. Knowing that the patrol leader was perfectly at home in the woods, no one bothered about giving them advice; or predicting all manner of direful calamities ahead. Let it snow and blow as it pleased, Thad was enough of a woodsman to know how to make himself comfortable, and get back to the camp on the lake shore in due season.

Of course Bumpus had been more or less disappointed because he did not have an early chance to prove the merits of his new gun, since he had been taking private lessons from one of the guides in the way of handling firearms. But Thad had promised that the fat boy and Giraffe should have the next chance for a hunt; they were canoemates, and seemed often thrown together, perhaps because they represented the “fat and the lean of it,” and as Bumpus was fond of saying, “extremes meet.”

Half an hour later, and the two young Nimrods had managed to get a couple of miles from the camp. But as yet they had not sighted that wonderful six-pronged buck which Step Hen was to lay low. They walked along about fifty feet apart, Thad generously allowing his companion to be a little in advance of him. This he did really because he wished Step Hen to have the advantage of the first shot; being confident that if the other failed to bring down the game he would still have some show before the deer could vanish from sight.

Then again, it was just as well to have Step Hen in front. He was inclined to be nervous; and some sudden whirr of wings, as a partridge flew out of a nearby thicket, might cause his finger to press on the trigger of his gun a little harder than he intended. Thad believed in being on the safe side, every time.

Step Hen carried a lovely little repeating rifle of the thirty-thirty type; and his ammunition was of the soft-nosed kind, which, as it “mushrooms” on striking, is just as serviceable as a ball three times as large; while Thad had his double-barrel Marlin shotgun, a twelve bore, with buckshot shells meant for big game.

As they were passing through what seemed to be a tangle such as is seldom met with in the pine woods of Maine, where they had to dodge trailing vines, Step Hen, in trying to avoid one that threatened to catch him by the neck, managed to stumble over a log, and go sprawling forward, his gun flying from his grip, but fortunately not going off. But immediately Step Hen commenced to thresh around, as he shouted out:

“Thad! Oh! Thad, hurry up, and help me out of this! My legs are twisted in the vine; and something bit me! I know it must a been a rattlesnake, and I’m a goner!”