CHAPTER XIX.
GIRAFFE TRIES FOR THE FOURTEENTH TIME.

“Talk about Thad and Step Hen camping out;” Giraffe went on to say, “why their troubles couldn’t be mentioned in the same breath with ours, and you know it. They had aplenty of matches along, and could get all the blaze they wanted.”

“And say, think of having the best part of a fine young buck to cook!” burst out Bumpus, with another groan. “As for us, we’ve got the game all right; but however can we get down to eating partridges that ain’t ever even been near a fire.”

“Quit talkin’ of eating, Bumpus; you fairly set me wild,” declared the tall boy, rubbing his empty stomach, as though its calls were growing more insistent with a knowledge that they must pass unheeded now.

“Then you must be hungry?” suggested Bumpus.

“Hungry ain’t no name for it,” Giraffe replied. “That’s always the way, I’ve been told. When there ain’t no water, a feller feels as if his tongue was stickin’ to the roof of his mouth. And Bumpus, bein’ hungry ain’t the very worst of it, either!”

The fat boy sat up, and looked at his companion in misery as though startled.

“What you mean, Giraffe, by slingin’ that scare into me; I’d like to know what’s worse than starvin’ to death in a single night?” he demanded.

“Oh! shucks! don’t you worry about that,” the other went on, with a sneer. “Not so much chance of our comin’ to such an end in so short a time. But there is real danger around us, Bumpus.”

“Say, do you mean about them wolves?” exclaimed Bumpus, with a tremble in his voice.

“That’s just what I do mean,” came the reply “When they tackled our comrades, why they were bold as anything, even if the boys did have a fire burning all the time. Think of how we’re up against it, without a single match to start a blaze.”

“Then there’s only one thing for us to do, Giraffe.”

“Suppose you tell me what that is?” demanded the tall scout.

“Climb a tree,” replied Bumpus, promptly.

Giraffe made an impatient gesture.

“Of course we could do that, as a last resort, Bumpus; but the chances are, if we did, we’d freeze before morning!” he declared. “I’ve heard old hunters say that of all the agony they ever endured, being kept in a tree all night was the worst. Feel in your pockets again, Bumpus; try everywhere, and see if you can only scare up one single match. If you did, we’d be mighty careful not to waste it, I tell you. This is a case of ‘my kingdom for a match!’”

So the fat scout commenced a systematic search, Every single pocket did he feel in with trembling fingers, while his comrade watched his face anxiously, knowing that it was likely to indicate the success or failure of the search.

When he saw a sudden grin come upon that broad countenance Giraffe felt like bursting out into a yell of joy.

“Got one, haven’t you Bumpus?” he exclaimed, eagerly. “That was a bully good idea of mine after all, you see, having you look again. Say, won’t we be careful of that one precious match, though? And won’t we have the fine dry stuff all ready to kindle, as soon as I strike it. You must let me handle things, Bumpus, because, you know, I’m more used to–what’s the matter with you? Don’t tell me it ain’t a match after all? Oh! thunder!”

Bumpus had slowly drawn his hand out of his pocket, and held some object up between his forefinger and his thumb. It was about the length of a match, but had a sharpened point, instead of a blunt head.

“A–a miserable toothpick that I just dropped into my pocket when we ate that dinner at the restaurant!” groaned the wretched Bumpus, staring first at the offending object, and then turning a piteous face toward his comrade.

Giraffe managed to rise to the occasion. Perhaps he remembered that Thad had really committed the other into his charge; and that it was to him the scoutmaster would look to give a good account of the expedition. And then again, Bumpus was so shocked by the series of calamities which had befallen them that he looked almost ready to collapse.

So Giraffe drew himself up, and assumed a confidence that he was far from feeling.

“Don’t take on so, Bumpus,” he went on to say, almost cheerily. “It may not be so very bad, after all. Don’t let’s forget that we’re scouts; and must keep a stiff upper lip whenever things turn out wrong. We’ll just do the best we can; and I reckon it’ll all come out right in the end. It nearly always does, you know.”

At least his words and manner had some effect on the almost exhausted fat boy, who brightened up more or less.

“Now, that’s nice of you talking that way, Giraffe,” he said. “You’re the right kind of a chum to have in time of trouble. But say, ain’t it gettin’ cold though? Is that why you’re slapping your arms around so?”

“Try it, and see how quick you feel warmer, Bumpus,” replied the other, with the patronizing air of one who is superior in knowledge, and willing to impart all he knows; “you see, the violent action starts the heart to beating nearly twice as fast as it does ordinarily; and that pumps the blood harder, so it gets to the very end of your extremities. That’s what Thad says, anyhow; and it sure enough works.”

So, for a minute or two both lads kept up a strenuous exercise, though it was too much for poor Bumpus, who presently stopped.

“Feel better, don’t you?” demanded Giraffe imperiously.

“A whole lot; but doin’ that has one bad point, I find,” said Bumpus.

“As how?” asked his companion.

“Why, it keeps on making you all the hungrier; exercise always has that effect on me. Why, Giraffe, I feel like I could eat a whole ham right now.”

“Didn’t I tell you to let up on that style of talk; you’re just making me groan inside every time you speak of eatin’. We ought to be tryin’ our level best to better our condition.”

“But I don’t know anything that would help us, Giraffe; so it’s up to you to get us out of this ugly hole. Perhaps we might use a shell from my gun, and by taking out most of the powder, snap it off, and start a fire going.”

Strange to say, Giraffe did not seem to take to the idea, simple though it was; and later on commended by Thad and Allan, when they heard about the trouble. The fact was, Giraffe had suddenly remembered something.

“You leave it to me, and see if I don’t pull out a trick worth while,” he remarked mysteriously; and Bumpus saw him turn aside to get down on his knees.

For some time the fat boy sat there, apparently lost in bitter reflections. Now and then he would give a start, and look around him hastily, after which he would heave a great sigh, or else groan dismally. From this it might be assumed that Bumpus was allowing himself to dwell upon many a glorious supper he had devoured in the company of his Boy Scout chums; and just then he was enjoying things the best he knew how, he would remember the desolation that confronted himself and Giraffe.

Then he would pick up one of the two partridges that had fallen to his new Marlin ten bore, look critically at it, feel the meat on the plump breast; and then shake his head, as though the idea of having to turn cannibal, and devour the game raw did not appeal at all to him.

On one occasion, when he aroused himself from this abstraction he became conscious of a strange humming sound.

“What you doin’ there, Giraffe?” he demanded, as the noise certainly proceeded from the spot where his chum was down on his hands and knees.

“Why, you see,” replied the other, slowly, “I fetched my little bow and fire-makin’ outfit along with me, thinkin’ I might have a chance to try a scheme I got in my head. I’m gettin’ right into it now, because I want to start business before it’s real plumb dark!”

But far from reassuring the dejected Bumpus, these words only made him grunt. Had he not watched Giraffe working away for dear life with that miserable little outfit a dozen times, and always with the same result–getting perilously near success, but always missing it by a hair’s breadth?

What chance did they have of securing the much desired fire, if all depended on Giraffe succeeding in inducing that twirling stick to generate enough heat to throw off a spark that would catch in the dry tinder? None at all. It was only a hollow mockery. Some smart scouts might be able to do the little trick; but up to now it had baffled the skill of Giraffe. Why, even Thad had lost pretty much all hope of his ever succeeding, Bumpus suspected; and believed that the only good thing about the tall scout’s labors was his persistence.

So, shaking his head again dolefully, Bumpus allowed himself to once more figure out a bill of fare that he would like to commence on, if he only had the good fortune to sit down at a table in a first-class restaurant. It seemed to give him untold satisfaction just to imagine the heaping platters that were being brought before him in rapid succession. Why, in his vivid imagination he could almost get the delicious odors of the various dishes that had long been favorites with him; particularly the liver and bacon and fried onions. Oh! how tantalizing to suddenly arouse himself with a start, to look around at the rapidly darkening scene of those lonely pine woods, and hear, instead of the waiter’s cheery voice, only that continual grinding sound, as the boy with the never-give-up nature kept sawing away with his miserable little bow; and the poor stick kept whirling back and forwards with a violent motion, in the socket that held one end.

In the estimation of Bumpus, that was coming down from the sublime to the ridiculous. He had little confidence in all this labor of Giraffe; though goodness knows, that if ever success would prove a boon to a couple of stranded hunters caught in the darkness of a wintry night, with not a match in their possession, it was then.

CHAPTER XX.
THE LONG VIGIL OF A SCOUT.

“Ain’t you gettin’ anywhere yet, Giraffe?” he asked, as he rose clumsily, and wearily to his feet; for his short legs felt very stiff after resting so long.

The other gave a grunt as he replied:

“Oh! don’t bother me with such silly questions, Bumpus. You make me think of that story of Blue Beard, where the old feller’s a waitin’ for his last wife to come down, and get her head taken off; and she keeps callin’ to her sister, who’s in the lookout tower: ‘Sister Ann, Sister Ann, don’t you see anything comin’?’”

“But I want to know before I–” began Bumpus, when the other interrupted him.

“You will know all right, if I get it. But you keep away from me, Bumpus. Once before, you fell all over me, just when I was on the point of grabbing a spark. If you know what’s good for you, keep clear of me now. I’m desperately in earnest, I tell you. So be warned, Bumpus!”

The fat scout realized that if he knew what was good for him he had better give Giraffe a wide berth while he was strumming away with his “old fiddle,” as some of the boys sneeringly described the fire outfit that continually refused to “fire” even a little bit.

“I’m going to look for a good tree,” he said.

“All right, go, and climb up in it, good and hard,” Giraffe answered pettishly; “but unless you want to get lost, don’t you dare go out of sight of this place. Call if you lose sight of me, Bumpus, d’ye hear? I don’t want Thad to say I didn’t keep an eye on you; but this is a business that must be attended to.”

All the while he was sawing away as if his very life depended upon bringing the ordeal to a successful termination; and possibly Giraffe thought it did.

So Bumpus began to look around him.

He realized that the tall pines were rather out of the question so far as affording them a chance to climb up; and that he must find some tree of a different type, with low branches.

It was not hard to find such a retreat in the shape of a thick hemlock, with its glossy green foliage that had such a delightful scent. Bumpus knew it well, because on numerous occasions the scouts had plucked masses of similar “browse,” to make the ground feel easier where they slept.

If they had to climb a tree as a last resort, this hemlock would offer all the advantages they wished. Why, Bumpus could even remember how Eli had told of an adventure that had befallen him along somewhat similar lines; and how in order not to fall from his perch in the crotch of a tree, he tied himself there by means of some stout cord he happened to have along.

Bumpus felt all through his pockets again, and was grievously disappointed not to discover a hank of fishing cord.

“Seems like I’m just out of everything that a feller’s apt to want when he gets in a bad pickle like this,” he grumbled. “Ketch me bein’ in such a hole again. Why, I’m goin’ to make it the point of my life to always carry a plenty of matches along; and a line that would be strong enough to hold a feller, if I had to use it. How would Jim fished up his gun, and shot them wolves, like he told us, if so be he didn’t tear his shirt into strips, an’ made a rope, with a loop at the end, to slip over the end of his rifle lyin’ on the ground. Next time I get the chance I’m goin’ to fix a nice clothes line, and wrap it around me every time I go out in the woods. Never know how handy such things might come in. Wonder how Giraffe’s gettin’ along with his sawin’? But I don’t dare say another word, or he’ll be so mad he might break his silly old bow on my back.”

He walked toward the spot where he could see the dim figure of the industrious fire worshipper bending low over at his labor.

Again Bumpus sank down to the ground; although he was shivering with the cold, he did not dare swing his arms around as before, lest it make him remember how hungry he was.

Sitting there, he listened to the breeze sighing among the branches of the pines; and to his excited mind it was actually laughing at the predicament of the wretched chums.

Something else came stealing to his hearing, something that made Bumpus suddenly sit up, hold his breath, and strain his senses trying to locate the direction from which it seemed to spring, and at the same time guess the nature of the sound.

“I wonder now, was that a wildcat growling?” he asked himself.

The thought was so disquieting, owing to the gathering gloom, that he could not help reaching out his hand toward the heavy Marlin that he had temporarily laid on the ground near by.

While the sound, whatever it may have been, was not repeated, so far as Bumpus could tell, still he felt far from satisfied about it. What if the sly old cat was at that very moment creeping up on them? For all they knew, it might be close by just then, “inching” its way along, just as he had watched a tame Tabby do at home, when trying to steal upon a sparrow it wanted for its dinner.

Bumpus became quite nervous over the thought. He drew back the hammers of his double-barrel, and began to look around him. All sorts of stories that he had heard told from time to time about these bobtailed cats of the pine woods, with their cousin, the lynx, that had tassels on its ears, now floated before his mind. Naturally they did not tend to ease the strain under which he was laboring; for where he had before only imagined he could see one pair of yellow eyes staring at him from out the gloom, he now began to see them everywhere.

Why, the woods must be full of the creatures, and they were going to set upon the unfortunate scouts, to make a meal for that cold night. And another thing gave Bumpus great uneasiness; there was no use of trying to get away from this army of “yellow-eyes” by climbing that hemlock; since cats were as much at home in any kind of tree as on the ground.

No wonder Bumpus shivered now, with something more than the cold air. They were certainly up against it, good and hard; and if ever they saw Thad and the rest of the scouts again, how happy they should be.

Why didn’t Giraffe quit his fooling with that silly old bow, and take to thinking up some scheme that was worth while? It seemed the height of foolishness for him to be wasting all his time with that ridiculous fire-making dodge, that never could be done anyway. Bumpus was almost tempted to stumble forward, and pretend to fall over his kneeling figure, just to upset things, and make Giraffe come to his proper senses. He would, only he was a little afraid that the tall scout might be so furious that he would do something violent; for he was getting “awful touchy” on the subject of making a fire in that way.

“If I could only make dead sure of one of them yellow eyes, I’d like to knock the beast over,” Bumpus was muttering to himself; and then he rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, as if trying to see better, after which he said disconsolately: “It ain’t no use, they just keep dancin’ all around me. P’raps there ain’t any cats there at all. P’raps I’m just imaginin’ things, like my dad used to say I did, when they put me to bed in the dark, tellin’ me the angels was all around me, an’ wouldn’t let anything hurt me; but pretty soon, when the skeeters got busy, I let out a whoop, and told ’em the angels was bitin’ me something awful. P’raps if I shut my eyes I’d feel better.”

But when he started to try this, Bumpus found that it would not work. The agony of not being able to see created new fancies in his mind, much more dreadful than those that had gone before.

And so the anxious scout crouched there, not far from his industrious chum, gripping his gun tightly in both hands, and breathing stertorously as he twisted his fat neck around from side to side. He was trying to figure out a line of action to be followed in case the worst came to pass; and be it said to his credit that Bumpus was resolved to die game, as became a true scout.

At any rate, Giraffe could not keep up that silly business much longer. Either he would just have to give over through complete exhaustion; or else his “bally bow,” as Bumpus liked to call it, would break, as it had a faculty for doing when the cord became weakened from constant friction.

Bumpus only wished that time would hurry along, for he wanted Giraffe to forget about his fad, and turn his attention to a more sensible way of getting fire. Now, there must be a way of snapping an emptied shell into a little pile of tinder, and catching the spark in some manner.

He tried to figure out how it could be done; but Bumpus never was very bright with regard to details, for they confused him; so that he was soon floundering about like a fish out of water; or a boy who did not know how to swim, when he gets beyond his depth.

Why, it was real dark, and he could just barely make out the crouching figure of Giraffe; but that everlasting humming sound still kept up, until Bumpus thought it would set him crazy.

Now Bumpus started on a new tack. He tried to imagine the delight of his companion if only he could suddenly remember having thrust a little box of safety matches into his haversack before starting out; but he knew it was useless to look, for he had certainly done nothing of the sort.

Then, all of a sudden, Bumpus was given an electric shock, when Giraffe let out a shrill whoop; for with his mind so filled by visions of armies of wildcats all ready to pounce upon them by and by, Bumpus was in a condition to be startled.

He scrambled to his knees, and half raised his gun to his shoulder, under the full belief that the crisis so long dreaded was at last upon them, and they would have to fight desperately for their very lives.

CHAPTER XXI.
THE LITTLE FIRE BOW DOES ITS WORK AT LAST.

He hugged the little blaze with his body and hands while Bumpus, dropping the now useless gun, eagerly gathered a lot of dry pine needles, and made a pile of them close to his chum.

“Oh! glory! Bully for you, Giraffe! You’re the scout who can stick to a thing like a plaster. Don’t it look good, though?” cried the shorter lad; but the fire-maker would not let him loiter.

Presently there was no longer any dread of the fire burning out; and both of the scouts could get busy collecting fuel. Dead branches were in demand, and fortunately enough, there happened to be plenty of the same close by, so that without much effort they were able to get quite a heap near the fire.

“Now let’s sit down, and warm up a bit,” suggested Bumpus; although truth to tell, he was at that moment perspiring from his recent exertions.

“And if you want to talk about eating now, Bumpus, you’re quite welcome,” the taller scout went on to say, with a grin; “because there’s something to it. We’ve got the birds, and we’ve got the fire to cook ’em by. Who said I couldn’t start a fire by sawin’ at my fiddle till I burst a blood vessel? Wasn’t it Davy Jones? Well, you c’n just tell him for me, next time you see him, Bumpus, that he was all wrong. Why, it’s just as easy as fallin’ off a log; er, that is, after you know how.”

“Shall we start in plucking the feathers off these birds, Giraffe?”

“Might as well, if we mean to eat ’em; and speakin’ for my own feelings I want to say that a partridge’d go mighty well about now. Yum! yum! get busy with one, and I’ll tackle the other.”

Both boys knew how to do the job of plucking the birds, and soon had the feathers flying.

Both of them were feeling a thousand per cent better than before; and Bumpus even hummed as he worked. Giraffe’s thoughts very naturally kept along the line of his recent triumph. He had labored so long, and against such a handicap, that he might well be excused for feeling proud of his success.

“Good little bow!” he muttered; “you did the business, all right, didn’t you? The trouble was, I didn’t just know how to handle you; but I’ve got it down pat now, and I’ll never forget again, never. Wonder what the boys’ll say when they hear about it? And Bumpus, it came in right pat, didn’t it?”

“I should say it did, Giraffe,” replied the other, enthusiastically; “when we didn’t have a single match, night here, cold as the dickens, wolves howling pretty soon, and no way of cooking these plump partridges. Why, if you’d gone and arranged all the particulars, I don’t believe you could a had it hit us at a better time. It’s just great, that’s what.”

“And the cream is on you, Bumpus.”

“Shucks! who cares for that? Why, a little while ago I’d given all the spending money I expect to get as my share of the rewards for returnin’ those lost bank papers, for just one little penny box of matches. Why, I’ll be only too happy to treat the whole crowd six times over, after this. There, my bird’s done, Giraffe.”

“Same here; and now how are we agoin’ to cook ’em?” the other scout remarked.

Bumpus looked at him rather blankly.

“That’s so,” he observed, “we ain’t got a sign of a frying-pan, have we?”

“But there must be a way of cooking ’em by keeping the birds close to the fire. All old hunters cook their game that way. And don’t you remember, Bumpus, Thad and Step Hen took sticks, and stuck ’em in the ground, with chunks of venison on the other end. Step said it was just prime. Well, what’s to hinder our trying that same old game?”

“But the partridges are too big and heavy; they won’t ever cook through?” objected the fat scout, doubtfully.

“All right; I guess now we can manage to slice the same in half,” Giraffe continued, hopefully. “I’ve done the job for my folks at home, more’n a few times, when they wanted to broil a Spring chicken for some sick person. We’ll have our game broiled, Bumpus, see?”

“Sure we will; and while you’re about it, with that big-bladed knife of yours, Giraffe, give mine a rip down the back, so I c’n split it open. It’s easy to see you know how. Thad and Allan ain’t got so very much on you, when it comes to doin’ things.”

By this artful flattery did Bumpus manage to get his bird divided. He spread it out carefully, and then started a hunt for the long sticks, by means of which the bird was to be held in a proper position before the hot fire.

After considerable waste of energy, they finally managed, after a fashion, to get the birds placed so that they received a fair portion of the heat that came out of the fire. Several times the sticks either broke, or else failed to hold properly, so that the game fell into the ashes, to be hastily rescued, and wiped off before again being put over the fire.

The minutes dragged, and to the hungry scouts it seemed as though the two partridges had tantalized them long enough. They gave forth an odor that was positively appetizing; and finally Giraffe just could not stand it another minute.

“Say, they must be done by now,” he remarked, eying his bird ravenously.

“They look pretty brown,” remarked Bumpus, “though that may come from the scorching they got each time they dipped in the red-hot ashes. But I feel just like you do, Giraffe; and if you say the word, it’s a go.”

At that the tall scout started to savagely tear at one-half of his bird; and not to be outdone the other boy copied his example. Perhaps at home they would have complained long and loudly because the cook had sent food to the table only half done; but then circumstances alter cases; and sitting there by their lonely camp-fire under the pines and hemlocks, those two boys munched away, and nodded toward each other in a suggestive way, that told how much they were enjoying it.

What if the meat was far from being well cooked, did not those who knew say that game should never be browned; and as for the gray ash that still clung to the outside of each bird, why, the wood was sweet and clean that it came from; and every fellow has to eat his peck of dirt sometime or other, they understood.

And so they kept persistently at it until nothing but the bones remained of the two partridges; and each boy was sighing because, like Alexander of old, there were no more worlds to conquer.

“That was just prime!” declared Bumpus; “and to think that I shot the dandy birds too; so you owe your fine supper to me, Giraffe.”

“I do, eh?” chuckled the other. “How about the fire, tell me that? How’d them same birds tasted raw? You wouldn’t have liked ’em as much, I reckon. So, you see, after all, Bumpus, honors are about even; you supplied the game, and I fixed up the fire. Better call it a drawn battle, and end it.”

“All right, just as you say; but the only trouble I can see is they wasn’t near big enough to fit in with my capacity. There’s a vacuum still under my belt; even if I don’t feel faint any longer.”

“Oh! I guess we can hold out now till morning,” said Giraffe. “Then we’ll take our bearings again, and make another start for the camp. And p’raps some of them might just be out looking for us right now; and seeing this bright fire, they’ll head this way. So we’ll act like we’re havin’ the time of our lives; and don’t you ever go and let on that we felt scared even a little bit, hear now?”

Bumpus, having a little pride of his own, readily promised. Besides, now that they had partaken of a very good supper, and had that bright and cheery fire to keep them company during the remainder of the cold night, things looked vastly different; so that it was hard to believe he had ever shivered and groaned as he contemplated their forlorn condition.

They sat there, talking about various things, for quite a little time. Once or twice Bumpus fancied he heard some sort of sound in the woods that caused him to send a quick glance toward where he had laid his “trusty Marlin” down; but then, as Giraffe did not seem to pay any attention to the noise, he soon forgot it.

But there came a time when both of them plainly heard a cough.

Giraffe grinned, and nodded his head.

“The boys are comin’ all right,” he said, as if pleased; “just like I said they’d be apt to do. Now, just sit where you are, Bumpus, and make out to be as happy as a king. We’ll make ’em believe we’re quite at home at this sort of thing; and the only thing we’re sorry for is that we can’t offer ’em a nice hot bird apiece. Look pleasant, now.”

Presently they caught what sounded like the low murmur of voices, and they seemed to be approaching too. It did not occur to the two scouts that the parties were coming from a direction opposite to the camp where their chums had been left; partly because they had not the remotest idea where that same camp lay.

Now they could hear the swishing of bushes, as though the newcomers were not very particular about how they walked. Then it must be Step Hen or Davy Jones who made all the noise, because they were greenhorns, and did not know how to walk noiselessly.

“I c’n see ’em comin’,” remarked Bumpus, who happened to be sitting in a position that allowed of his using his eyes.

“Remember, now, what I told you; just be feelin’ as fine as silk, as if this camp business was an old story with us,” and to further the deception Giraffe started to stretch his arms, and yawn at a tremendous rate.

Bumpus did not answer; and thinking this a little strange the tall scout turned his eyes that way. He discovered that Bumpus was staring as though his eyes would almost pop out of his head. That, of course, made Giraffe twist his long neck half way around, so that he might share in what had aroused his companion to such a state of excitement.

And Giraffe also experienced a decided thrill when he saw two men come half staggering into camp, who from their looks he knew must be Si Kedge and Ed Harkness, the rough and lawless game poachers and bullies of the pine woods.

CHAPTER XXII.
“BE PREPARED!”

The two poachers were undoubtedly partly under the influence of liquor; for the boys could see that they did not walk as straight as they should have done. Besides, their eyes looked red, and there were other evidences of drunkeness, familiar to Giraffe and Bumpus, who had often seen drunken men.

This made the situation the more critical, because in this condition men often do things that they might hesitate to attempt if not under the influence of strong drink.

They halted not far from the fire, and looked at the two scouts sitting there.

“On’y two boys arter all, Si,” remarked the one they supposed was Ed Harkness, as he swayed slightly to and fro, while coming to a halt. “I guessed as haow yuh must a be’n mistook w’en yuh said it mout be ther hull outfit. Les sit down, Si, an’ make us tuh hum.”

Fitting the action with his words he dropped on the ground, and held out a pair of red and trembling hands to the fire. His companion still stood there, glaring at the two boys, just as though they had done something to offend him. Plainly Si Kedge was something of a pine wood’s bully; and he thought it good policy to cow Giraffe and Bumpus right at the start, so as to take the spirit out of them.

Indeed, Bumpus looked so white and frightened that it encouraged the man to follow up his half-conceived idea.

“Say, whaz yuh doin’ here? Where’s the rest o’ the bunch? Know me? I’m Si Kedge, an’ I’m a bad man to rile; so don’t get gay now. Got anythin’ to eat ’raound here?”

Bumpus cast a quick, apprehensive glance toward his companion. His one prevailing idea just then was that they ought to get up, and skip out as lively as they could, leaving their nice fire for the two rough woodmen to enjoy. As far as he could see, neither of the men seemed to possess any firearm; at least they certainly did not carry guns, as might be expected.

But Bumpus saw something in the face of his chum that told him Giraffe was not thinking of giving up that hard earned fire. He had worked too long to get it, to desert the comfortable camp, just because two half drunken fellows chanced to wander that way.

Bumpus saw more than that. Giraffe had his big old rifle across his knees. He must have reached out his hand and secured it, while his chum was still staring at the unpleasant couple who had invaded their camp.

That gave the fat boy an idea, following which he too reached for his gun, though not making any show of it, for fear of arousing a storm.

“We’ve been hunting, and got twisted in our bearings; so we thought it best to go into camp,” Giraffe started to say, trying to keep his voice from wabbling, as it seemed to be trying its best to do. “And as for grub, we haven’t got a single bite along with us.”

“They lies, Si!” burst out the second man; “’case I kin see a heap o’ bones clost ter whar they is settin’, like they’d be’n eatin’ some game.”

“We have,” replied Giraffe; “we knocked over a couple of birds, but they wasn’t half enough to satisfy us.”

“Huh! got any licker?” went on Si, still eying the boys steadily with that half threat in his bloodshot eyes, that Giraffe knew meant trouble, sooner or later, so that he almost instinctively allowed his thumb to draw back the hammer of his big bore rifle.

“We never use it; and on that account don’t carry a drop along with us,” he answered.

“I guess naow, ther foolin’ yuh, Si!” broke in the fellow who was sitting down. “And looky thar, d’ye see they gut guns? Them’s w’at we needs ther wust kind, sense Cale Martin took ours away, w’en he sez as haow we’re that drunk we’d git inter trouble with ’em. Bring me thet double-barrel. Allers did say as haow I’d like tuh own a scattergun, tuh use on pa’tridge. D’ye hear me?”

Bumpus looked to Giraffe. He was unable to grapple with the situation himself; but perfectly willing to do whatever his chum directed. Had the tall boy told him to step over, and present the poacher with his nice new Marlin ten-bore, Bumpus no doubt would have done it without a murmur.

“Get the hammers raised,” was what Giraffe said instead.

“Gee! are you agoin’ to fight?” muttered Bumpus; but obeying instantly.

The poacher who had made the demand made a move as though half tempted to get up and enforce his words; but seemed to think better of it.

“I’ll step over, an’ tackle yuh arter I got my hands warm, see ef I don’t,” he remarked.

Bumpus breathed again, for he had thought that the crisis was upon them. He saw that Si Kedge had also stepped closer to the fire, and thrust out his hands, as if not averse to taking some of the cold tingle out of them by the application of warmth.

“What we goin’ to do, Giraffe?” whispered Bumpus.

“Stand up for our rights, that’s what,” replied the other, in about the same style of voice. “They ain’t going to chase me out of this camp, not if I know it.”

“But they’re ugly, and mean to give us trouble,” urged the alarmed Bumpus.

“You mean they think they are,” returned Giraffe, grinding his teeth, as if by that method he could infuse his soul with more of the fighting spirit that was required to grapple with the situation. “When they start to making a rough house here somebody’s liable to get hurt. And as we hold guns, and they ain’t got any, you c’n easy see who it’s apt to be.”

“All right, Giraffe; tell me what to do, that’s all; because you see, I’m that rattled I just can’t think for myself.”

“Keep as cool as you can, Bumpus, and it’ll all come out right. If we can’t handle a pair of fellers as unsteady as they are, it’ll be some queer.”

“But if they keep right along comin’ at us?” queried the other, anxiously.

“Then shoot!” replied Giraffe, savagely, between his teeth.

“Right at ’em?” gasped the shorter scout.

“Oh! aim at their legs, like I’ll do,” returned Giraffe. “We’d hadn’t ought to do anything worse than that. But mark me, Bumpus, when they see we mean business, they won’t dare come far.”

Giraffe was still very white, but his eyes shone with resolution. He had made up his mind just how he ought to act under the circumstances; and being exceedingly stubborn by nature it would require something little short of an earthquake to make him change now.

Meanwhile the two men had been muttering between themselves on the other side of the fire. What they were talking about the boys did not know; but doubtless it must have had something to do with the nice guns which they expected were so soon to fall into their possession; for neither of them could imagine that these two city boys, as they deemed the scouts, would dare defy them, once they ordered them to lay the guns on the ground.

“Be ready!” whispered Giraffe again, and thus unconsciously repeating the motto of the organization to which both of them belonged, for preparedness is the cardinal virtue in every Boy Scout.

The two poachers had evidently managed to map out some scheme by means of which they expected to overawe the lads, and secure everything they chanced to have about them, which was worth taking.

Bumpus could see that they were about to get upon their feet, and this must mean they intended to force conclusions. He shot one last look at Giraffe, to imbibe some artificial courage, if such a thing were possible; and he saw that while the thin face of his chum looked ghastly white, it at the same time showed a pair of set jaws, and back of it gleaming eyes that told of a resolute spirit. And somehow the very realization that Giraffe could be brave gave the fat scout the consolation he sought.

He had followed out the injunction of the other, and both hammers of his Marlin ducking gun were drawn back, while his forefinger toyed with the trigger of the right barrel.

Yes, the two men were about to start trouble, for already had the one they knew to be Si Kedge gained his feet, as he seemed a little more spry than his partner in wickedness.

Bumpus saw that he was starting to go around the fire in such a way that it must be Giraffe who would have to look after him; while the second scoundrel, Ed Harkness, fell to his lot.

He elevated his gun a little, so that he could throw it to his shoulder in the wink of an eyelid, if necessary. Then he waited for the turn of events.

“We’re acomin’ ’raound tuh see yuh, kids,” called out Si Kedge, in a thick and meant to be threatening tone; “an’ see tuh it yuh don’t give us any trouble; er it’ll be the wuss fur ye. Stand up, an’ make us a present o’ them fine traps yer holdin’. It ain’t right thet boys shud be kerryin’ guns, w’ile men goes without. Go on, Ed; what yuh standin’ back fur?”

Ed knew. He did not like the way that double-barreled gun was aiming in his direction. The two boys had hastily climbed to their feet at the proper instant; and both of them were now standing there, presenting their guns, but not in the fashion Si had intended when he gave the order, for they were “muzzle to the front.”

“Just stand where you are, both of you!” said Giraffe, in a low but threatening voice. “I’ve got a bead on you, Si Kedge, and if you want to see how well I can shoot this big-bore gun, just take two more steps forward. Bumpus, got that other coward covered, have you?”

“You’re right, I have!” sang out the fat scout, trying to appear as bold as if the whole thing might be only a little comedy that he was enjoying immensely; when, to tell the honest truth, Bumpus could feel his fat knees striking each other just like he had seen the telegraph operator pound the key of his instrument; but if his gun wabbled, the fact was hardly apparent to the man he was trying to keep covered.

It was certainly a fine tableau, that would often come back to the memories of those two lads in future days. But while they seemed to be holding the fort, so to speak, Giraffe knew only too well that they were up against two desperate characters, and that if they slipped just one cog, it might have a different ending than the one they wished to see.

What to do with the two men, now that they had thrown down the gage of battle, and virtually made them prisoner, was a puzzle that Giraffe had to solve. But his success thus far gave him courage to go at the new difficulty with resolution. And Bumpus, content to bask in the glory of his chum’s more aggressive nature, gave promise of proving himself a good scout, obedient to the one in authority over him and capable of doing his little part in the game.

CHAPTER XXIII.
CAPTURING THE GAME POACHERS.

“You too!” Bumpus managed to call out; for since his comrade had shown the way, he did not find it quite so difficult to follow.

“Ther up, doan’t yuh see, ez far ez I kin git ’em!” complained Ed Harkness; and then seeing the fat boy elevating his gun, he made out to duck, under the evident impression that Bumpus might be tempted to pull trigger, and fill him full of bird shot. “Keep thet gun daown thar, kid; I don’t like ther way yuh handles ther same. Yuh got us fur keeps; an’ we ain’t squealin’, is we, Si?”

Giraffe thought fast. If they allowed these two men to go free, the chances were they would hang around, and try to give them all the trouble they could during the night that was now well upon them. And the idea of letting them remain there by the fire without being put under bonds, never occurred to the boy. He knew neither of them could be trusted further than they could be seen; that was stamped on their ugly faces, and the shifty look in their evil eyes.

There was really only one thing to do, and that was to make them prisoners. Once that had been accomplished, at least they might pass a peaceful night; and then in the morning, if the humor seized them, it would be just as easy to let the men go as to keep them.

But how on earth were they to tie the two men up? It looked like a hard proposition, and Giraffe had to cudgel his brains with considerable gusto before he was able to produce any result. But it dawned upon him finally that if the men were compelled to lie flat on their faces on the ground, and place their hands behind them, Bumpus might straddle each in turn, and fasten their wrists, while he, Giraffe threatened with the guns.

“Listen to me,” he said, with the air of a commander giving his final orders on the field of battle; “Both of you have got to lie down on your faces, and put your hands behind your back; do you understand?”

“Be yuh agoin’ tuh tie us up?” asked Si, his face as black as a thundercloud.

“Just that, and nothing more,” replied Giraffe, resolutely. “You think that because we’re only two boys that we’ll stand for a heap; but that’s where you’re away off your base. Get busy now, and down on your marrowbones, both of you!”

“Air yuh agoin’ tuh let us go free in the mornin’?” asked Ed Harkness, already on his knees, for he wished to placate that uneasy fat boy, who kept raising his gun again and again, as though anxious to press the trigger just a little harder all the time.

“If you don’t give us any trouble, we might; because so far as we’re concerned we’re not up here to help the game warden arrest you fellows. Lie down now, or else we’ll have to help you!”

This was a ferocious threat for Giraffe to make; and doubtless he would have been exceedingly loth to put it into operation; but then the case was a desperate one, and required a remedy of like nature.

Even such a fire-eater as Si Kedge “threw up the sponge,” as Bumpus put it, and knuckled down to the half grown tyrant. Perhaps he realized that in his half boozy condition he was in no shape to grapple with the dilemma by which he and his companion found themselves faced. What with their hands tied by the fact of their guns having been taken by Cale Martin, they were perfectly helpless. And two firearms held in the hands of a couple of determined boys can be just as dangerous as if grown men had them.

So, still uttering more or less protestations, coupled with hard language, both Si and Ed sprawled out flat on their faces.

“Now, Bumpus, it’s going to be your job to secure them both, while I cover you with the guns; and if either of them tries any funny business, he’ll wish he hadn’t right speedy, believe me,” said Giraffe, loud enough for the others to hear, for he wished them to wholly understand the situation.

Bumpus placed his shotgun close to the feet of his chum. Then he looked blankly around.

“That’s easy to say, Giraffe,” he remarked in a stage whisper; “I’m willing enough to do it, tell you that; but where in Sam Hill am I agoin’ to get the rope? We didn’t bring any with us, you know; though I’m resolved never to go off again without a whole clothes line along. How c’n a feller tie ’em up when he ain’t got even a top string with him?”

If Bumpus thought to get his chum in a corner with that question, he figured too soon, for the other had discounted it already.

“Here, take this,” he said, throwing his red bandana handkerchief on the ground; “and I reckon you’ve got the mate to it in your pocket. Use one to wrap around the wrists of each feller. And see to it that you tie it in half a dozen of the hardest knots you know how. Understand, Bumpus?”

“That’s right, and I c’n do it too. You watch me.”

As the fat boy spoke he picked up the large bandana handkerchief, and stepped gingerly forward, Giraffe accompanying him part way. Evidently Bumpus had recovered somewhat from his fright. Possibly this new boldness sprang from confidence in the ability of his comrade to handle the situation.

At any rate, he threw a leg over the prostrate figure of Ed Harkness, and seizing both his wrists, jerked them together. The man might have raised some protest, or even attempted to show resistance; but once that plump form of Bumpus came down on him he had the breath partly pressed out of his body, and must have experienced a sudden weakness.

At any rate, he lay still, while the other wound the crude rope around his wrists, and knotted it good and hard.

“Fine!” declared Giraffe, who had been watching the operation with one eye, all the while he kept the other on Si Kedge; “now take your own handkerchief, and use it on Si. And put in three extra knots, Bumpus, because he’s that much more a slick one than the other feller. Lie still, now, I warn you, Si; we ain’t going to stand for any fooling, I tell you!”

Si also relapsed into silence as soon as Bumpus dropped on his back; he was pinned to the ground almost as effectually as though secured there by ropes.

Bumpus finished his part of the job, and arose, perspiring, but triumphant.

“She’s done, Giraffe, and as good as I know how,” he said, exultantly. “I just warrant you that neither of them game stealers is agoin’ to break loose in a hurry now. What’s next on the little programme? This is sure turning out to be a warm night for us, Giraffe. Tell me, won’t the fellers stare when we walk into camp drivin’ these jail birds before us? Oh! my! Oh! me, I can see Davy and Step Hen give us the royal salute. And I’ll whistle ‘Lo, the Conquering Heroes Come,’ see if I don’t.”

“Well, we ain’t in camp yet awhile,” retorted Giraffe; “and give me a hand to assist old Si here over to that there tree. We c’n lean him up against the trunk, so he can keep warm, and look around him. Then Ed, he might have a place against this other pine, here. But Bumpus, there ain’t going to be any sleep much for us this blessed night, with two toughs to watch like these fellers.”

Bumpus sighed, for he was very tired after a whole day’s tramp.

“I suppose not, Giraffe;” he remarked, but stiffening up to add; “you’ll find me ready to back you up in anything you start goin’. I’m game for it, I reckon; and if you see me agoin’ to sleep in spite of everything, why, Giraffe, just give me a kick or a punch in the ribs. I want to do my duty every time.”

“Good for you, Bumpus; I ain’t goin’ to make fun of you any more, because of your size. Even fat fellers c’n come in mighty handy sometimes, especially when you’ve got a game poacher to hold down.”

They managed to get the two men against the trees, and as they still had their legs free this was not so difficult a task. Then the watch began. Giraffe kept his gun close to his hand. He spoke to his chum occasionally, more to see if Bumpus were awake, than because of any desire to engage in conversation.

The two men mumbled for a while, but finally their heads dropped on their chest and they seemed to slumber, though Giraffe was suspicious, and would never slacken in his watchfulness on this account.

He had made up his mind, however, that if Bumpus did fall asleep, he would not arouse him, when there was no necessity for more than one guard at a time.

An hour passed thus. Then Bumpus, who was just losing himself, in spite of his determination to remain on duty, felt his chum give him a shake.

“Oh! I’m awake, all right, Giraffe; no need to scare me that way!” grumbled the fat scout, stirring himself, and looking around.

“They’re coming, just like I said,” said Giraffe. “Looky over yonder, and you c’n see the lantern; and I reckon now, it’s old Eli that’s followerin’ our trail. But we don’t want to be fooled a second time, Bumpus, so get your gun ready for boarders.”

“Boarders!” muttered the fat boy; “now I like that, when they ain’t a blessed bit of grub in the pantry. Better skip this boarding-house, and go on further. But Giraffe, that sure is Eli; I c’n tell the way he swings along from here. Whoever is it with him, d’ye think; why, see, there are two of ’em, and men, not boys of the Silver Fox Patrol?”

Three minutes later, and Old Eli, grinning his pleasure, stalked into camp, to say:

“Huh! glad tuh find ye so well taken keer of, boys. An’ so yeou hed a wisit frum Si an’ Ed, did yeou; an’ wall, what d’ye think o’ thet, gents, here’s yer birds all triced up, ready tew be transported to jail. This here is the game warden o’ this deestrict, boys, lookin’ for them critters. Say as heow he don’t calkerlate ter bother with Old Cale yet awhile; but hearin’ as he’s be’n an’ contracted with a fox breedin’ company, they’ll wait an’ see heow it pans eout. Kinder guess they will. An’ we’ll jest stay by this fire till mornin’, when we kin start back tew camp. Thad knowed as heow yeou’d come out all right, Giraffe; but he thort along abeout noon I’d better take up the trail; and I met these gents a few miles back, wonderin’ if ther birds had made this here fire, so we stalked it!”

And Bumpus felt like venting his delight in one long loud yell of thanksgiving as he realized that their troubles were now at an end.