The Heroes of the School: or, The Darewell Chums Through Thick and Thin

CHAPTER XVIII

A NIGHT SCARE

“What sort of a place has he over there?” asked Bart, as Fenn came back in the canoe.

“Not much,” was the reply. “I don’t believe he’s camping out at all. I saw some things in a pile on the ground, but they looked more like a lot of instruments than anything a man would go camping with. Besides, I didn’t see any boat.”

“What sort of instruments were they?” asked Ned.

“Kind I never saw before. All brass or nickle plated. Then there were some boxes. He seemed to be drying them out, so maybe he did have an upset of some sort.”

“There’s his boat now,” called Frank, and, as the boys watched, they saw the tramp appear from the woods with a canoe on his shoulder.

The boys watched the man carefully place the frail craft in the water. Then he went back into the woods again and came to the shore with something bright and shining in his hands.

“That’s one of the instruments,” said Fenn.

“Maybe he catches butterflies with it,” suggested Frank.

“That was a jolly he was giving us, about being a naturalist,” said Bart. “He’s up to some game, but I don’t see that it concerns us.”

“What’s next on the program?” asked Ned. “Pack up and move along?”

“Rest awhile; good for the digestion,” remarked Bart. “I want to see which way the tramp goes.”

The boys, lying on shore, in the shade, saw their recent guest paddle slowly down stream. They watched him until he disappeared around a bend.

“Well, that’s another link in the queer puzzle for us to solve,” spoke Ned. “By the way, Frank, did you ever make any inquiries of Judge Benton about whether there was any prospect of a new trolley line going through?”

“Yes, and he said he didn’t know of any. I told him about the men, but he said they might be surveyors dividing the land up into building lots. Mr. Bender is anxious to improve his property, he said.”

They broke camp and reached Woodport about five o’clock, got the salt and one or two other things they happened to think might come in handy, and resumed their journey up the river. Woodport was a small place and they soon passed it, coming to a long stretch of water that flowed between densely wooded banks on either side.

“Good place to camp,” spoke Ned. “No one to bother us. There’s no fun camping close to a town.”

“Not unless you run out of salt or something like that,” replied Bart.

“Oh, well, one should get accustomed to doing without salt, or other things he can’t have,” Ned rejoined. “I believe I could get used to anything.”

“Good way to feel,” spoke Fenn. “I wish I could.”

“It takes strength of character,” Ned added.

“Don’t get preachy,” put in Frank.

“Say, instead of moralizing, you fellows had better be looking for a place to camp,” said Fenn, who, with Frank, was rowing. “I’m getting tired.”

“That looks like a good place over there,” came from Bart, indicating a spot where the trees did not seem to be so thick. “Little beach, too, for the boat to ground on so it won’t pound on the rocks if a wind comes up.”

The craft was put over to it, and a closer inspection showed the place to be well fitted for the purpose. The rowboat was tied to an overhanging tree and the tent was soon set up. Then a place was made for the stove and some supplies set out. A big tree stump served for a table and in a little while Fenn had a good fire built.

“What’s the menu?” he asked Bart.

“Open a can of chicken and we’ll fry it brown,” was the answer. “That, with bread and butter and coffee, will make a meal.”

Supper was soon on the “stump” and four very hungry boys gathered around it.

“Where’s the milk for the coffee?” asked Ned.

“I forgot it. It’s in the boat,” replied Fenn. “I’ll get it.”

He hurried down to where the craft was tied, and a moment later his companions heard him utter an exclamation.

“What’s the matter, did you fall in?” called Bart.

“No, but the can of condensed milk did, and it’s the only one we have.”

“Oh, hang it!” exclaimed Ned. “I can’t drink coffee without milk. What’s the matter with you, Stumpy?”

“I couldn’t help it. It slipped.”

“I’m thirsty for coffee, too,” went on Ned.

“Use it without milk,” suggested Bart.

“Can’t. Never could.”

“‘One should get accustomed to doing without salt, or other things he can’t have. I believe I could get used to anything,’” spoke Frank solemnly.

“What do you – Oh!” exclaimed Ned. He recalled that those were the very words he had spoken a little while before.

“‘It takes strength of character,’” quoted Bart, still from the maxim Ned had laid down so recently.

“Oh well, of course I didn’t mean it just that way,” replied Ned, laughing at the trap he had fallen into. “I meant – ”

“You don’t know what you meant,” replied Bart. “Come now, drink your coffee black, as the swells do when they go out to dinner. You’ll get used to it.”

“Have to, I s’pose,” replied Ned, and he tried it, but made a wry face. However there was no help for it, and the boys were so hungry they didn’t mind it much, after the first sip.

Supper over, the dishes and food were put away, and, on Bart’s suggestion, they cut a quantity of wood to have in readiness for the camp fire.

“I don’t know’s we’ll need it,” he said. “There aren’t any animals but foxes, rabbits and coons in these woods. Still a fire looks cheerful, and it may be cold toward morning. Besides, it doesn’t seem like camping unless you have a fire.”

As it grew dark the boys looked to the fastenings of the boats for a wind might spring up and set them adrift. Then, starting a blaze between two big green logs, they got their blankets ready for bed.

They cut some cedar boughs which they laid on the ground to keep off the dampness, making several layers until Fenn, who tried it, said it was every bit as good as his spring bed at home.

“Going to stand watch?” inquired Ned.

“What’s the use?” asked Bart. “No one’s going to steal us. Besides I’m too sleepy. Let’s all go to bed. If any one happens to wake up and sees the fire is low, why he can throw a log on that will be all that’s necessary.”

They did not undress, but stretching out on the cedar boughs pulled the blankets over them and prepared to sleep. The fire cast a ruddy glow on the trees and shone into the tent which was placed near the blaze.

Ned, who was a light sleeper, was suddenly awakened, some time after midnight, by hearing a stick break. It sounded just back of him. He raised his head and listened. Behind the tent he could hear the cautious tread of some person or some animal. He was about to awaken Bart, who was sleeping next to him, when he saw a shadow cast by the fire, inside the tent, on the rear wall of the canvas. He looked out and was startled to see a figure between the tent and the camp fire. It appeared to be looking in on the boys. Ned stretched out his hand and touched Bart.

“Some one is in the camp!” he whispered in his companion’s ear, as Bart stirred.

CHAPTER XIX

THE FARMER AND THE BULL

“What’s that?” exclaimed Bart, suddenly sitting up.

“Hush!” cautioned Ned. “Some one is prowling around!”

But Bart’s voice had startled the intruder. Ned saw the figure move quickly out of the glare of the flames, and then dart down toward the river.

“They’re after our boats!” yelled Bart, who at that moment saw the figure. “Come on, fellows!”

He ran from the tent followed by his three chums. As he passed the fire Bart threw on some light pieces of wood that blazed up quickly.

In the glow the figure of a man could be seen, headed on the run for the little beach, where the boats were tied. As he ran his coat appeared to flap out behind him, the long tails bobbing about from his motion.

“It’s that tramp!” exclaimed Ned.

“Hi there!” yelled Bart.

They saw the man make a flying leap into a canoe that was drawn up partly on shore. The violence of the motion sent the frail craft well out into the stream and it was caught by the current.

By this time the boys had reached the shore. At first they supposed it was their canoe which the tramp had stolen, but a second glance showed them the green craft still in place beside the rowboat.

“It’s his own canoe,” remarked Frank as the boys watched it floating down stream. There was no sign of the occupant.

“Is he in it or did he set it adrift and start to swim?” inquired Fenn. All four were standing on the edge of the water peering out over the river in the darkness, the canoe being a deeper blur which alone distinguished it from the surrounding blackness.

“He’s probably lying down in it, thinking he may get shot at,” said Bart.

As if to prove his words the sound of paddling was borne to their ears, and the canoe seemed to move faster. The tramp had begun to propel the craft, but they could not see him.

“Let’s get back to bed,” suggested Fenn. “I think we’d better keep watch after this.”

“Not much use,” came from Bart. “That tramp isn’t likely to come back and there’s no one else around here. I vote we get what sleep we can.”

It was decided this was as wise a thing as could be done and after replenishing the fire, so it would burn until morning, the campers crawled back into the tent and slept until sunrise, no further alarms disturbing them.

“Well, fellows,” called Frank when the things had been put away. “What’s the program for to-day?”

“We’ll row up stream until noon,” said Bart, “camp and have dinner, and, if we like the place, stay all night. If we don’t we’ll move on to a better one.”

The boat was soon loaded and, with the canoe towing along behind, the trip was resumed. The river wound in and out through a wooded country for a few miles and then they came to a long straight stretch where it flowed between level fields.

As the boat was urged up stream under the impulse of the oars in the hands of Bart and Fenn, Ned, who was resting in the bow, called out:

“Steer her out a bit, Frank. There’s a man fishing just ahead of us and we don’t want to disturb him.”

Frank who was at the rudder lines glanced up and saw, about a quarter of a mile ahead, a man standing up to his waist in water.

“That’s a queer way to fish,” he remarked.

“Probably he’s hooked a big one and is playing him,” remarked Ned.

As they watched the man ran up out of the water and along the bank a few feet, and then, turning, he quickly waded out into deep water again.

“That’s a queer proceeding,” commented Bart, who turned to look at the man.

“Rather,” admitted Ned. “He must – Why a bull is after him!” he went on.

As he spoke the others saw a big black bull come tearing down the field straight toward the river. It stopped when it came to the water’s edge, opposite to where the man was standing in the stream up to his hips. There the beast lowered its head and, with an angry snort, pawed the soft mud.

“Row faster!” urged Frank. “Maybe we can help him.”

As the boat approached, the boys saw the man make several other attempts to leave the river. Each time he tried the bull would chase him back, but the animal seemed to be afraid of getting its feet wet, for it always stopped at the shore.

Sometimes the bull would withdraw some distance back into the field. At such times the man would wade along near shore until quite a ways above or below the animal. Then he would make a dash, hoping to fool the beast, but every time the bull heard him and came down with a rush.

The boys were now near enough to hear the man addressing the bull in no gentle tones. The prisoner in the water did not appear to notice the boat.

“Consarn your black hide!” he exclaimed. “Let me git out of this cold water, will ye? By Heck! Th’ next time I try t’ put a ring in your nose you’ll know it. Come now, Stonewall Jackson, let me out, will ye?”

But the bull seemed to have some grudge against the farmer for it lowered its horns and gave an angry bellow.

“If ever I git out of here I’ll hobble ye so’s ye can’t move, ye onery black critter!” the farmer went on. “I’ll whale ye till ye’ll wish ye’d behaved yerself, that’s what!”

This time the bull had gone back up the field and was browsing the grass. The farmer cautiously waded down stream and made a dash for shore. The bull heard him and came down so fast that its momentum carried it several feet into the river before it could stop. Meanwhile the farmer had hurried deeper into the stream, splashing the water all over himself in his haste.

“If I had a gun I’d shoot ye!” he yelled, shaking his fist at the bull.

“Can’t you swim to the other side?” asked Ned, as the boat came near.

The farmer looked around in surprise. He had been so engrossed by his contest with the bull he had not heard the craft approaching.

“I can’t swim,” he said. “Look at the plight I’m in. No one ever gets to this pasture. I come here to-day t’ put a ring in this critter’s nose. He broke away from the ropes I’d tied him with when I almost had it in, an’ he chased me into th’ water. He’s kept me here over an hour an’ I ain’t had my breakfast. Every time I try to get out he charges.”

“Why don’t you go away up or far down the stream where he can’t follow?” asked Bart.

“I’ve come down a mile from where I started,” the farmer said. “I’m plumb tired out an’ I know I’ll catch cold stayin’ in th’ water so long. If I ever git holt of that ’tarnation critter I’ll – ”

He didn’t finish, for, while he had been talking he had been drawing near shore. The bull was watching him, and made another dash that sent the farmer scurrying for deep water.

“That’s the way he does it,” he said to the boys, his voice showing the despair he felt.

CHAPTER XX

FOLLOWED BY SANDY

“I have it!” exclaimed Frank. “Get into our boat and we’ll land you anywhere you want.”

“Will ye?” asked the farmer. “That’ll be th’ thing. I’ll fool th’ savage critter. This is where I git ahead of ye, Stonewall Jackson,” he added, shaking his fist again at the bull.

“Is that his name?” asked Ned.

“I named him that about an hour ago,” the farmer said. “He was wuss than a stone wall for me, th’ way he kept me from gittin’ out of th’ river. ’Fore that his name was jest plain William.”

“Named after any one?” inquired Bart as the farmer got into the rowboat.

“Not special. Ye see I took him for a debt a feller owed me, an’ I named him William ’cause I took him for a bill, see? Bill bein’ short for William.”

“Oh, you needn’t explain,” said Bart, as he joined in the laugh that followed.

“I’ve got th’ best on ye now,” the farmer went on, looking at the beast as the boys rowed the boat out into deeper water.

The bull seemed to think so, for with a loud bellow it went back to the middle of the pasture and began eating.

“He fairly had me,” the farmer said. “He could run along shore a good deal faster than I could wade in th’ water, and th’ pasture runs along th’ river for three miles, without a fence wuth speakin’ of. I couldn’t see no way of escapin’. It’s lucky you come along. Are you boatin’ for a livin’?”

“No, we’re taking a sort of vacation,” replied Ned.

“Had breakfast?” inquired the farmer.

“Oh yes, early this morning.”

“Wish I had. Next time I try t’ ring a bull’s nose ’fore I git my meal I’ll be a older man. I was goin’ t’ ask ye t’ have some breakfast with me,” he went on. “My name’s Garfield Johnson. I’ve got quite a farm.”

“Much obliged, Mr. Johnson,” said Bart, “but we’re just roughing it, and we’re not dressed for company.”

“Green onions! Neither be I!” exclaimed the farmer. “Look at my boots, all wet and my pants too. I wonder what Mandy’ll say. Mandy’s my wife,” he added, “an’ she’s dreadful particular.”

The boys beached the boat in about half an hour, and tying it fast followed Mr. Johnson to his house, facing on a lane which led out to a country road.

“We’ll go in th’ back way,” said Mr. Johnson. “Mandy’s particular about her floors, an’ I’m sorter – .” He looked down at his trousers, which still dripped water, and laughed.

Mr. Johnson introduced the boys to his wife, telling her what had happened. She insisted that the chums remain to breakfast which they did, though they had eaten a few hours previously. They declined an invitation to stay to dinner. Mr. Johnson made them take a big pail of milk, while his wife added a bag of home-made crullers and some cheese, which formed a welcome addition to their larder.

“If you row up stream a mile you’ll be right opposite the village, or you can go by the road,” said the farmer as they bade him and his wife good-bye.

Fenn and Bart decided they would walk, and let Frank and Ned row the boat up and meet them. They wanted to get some condensed milk and matches, of which they had run out.

The supplies were purchased and, in a little while the other boys arriving took Bart and Fenn aboard. Then the trip up the river was resumed. They kept on until late in the afternoon, as their double breakfast did away with the necessity for dinner. On the way they passed a number of steamers and barges bound for Lake Erie. Some of them were loaded with lumber and other commodities, while several were going up the river empty, to get freight.

The boys found a fine place to camp that night and liked it so well they remained there three days. They had pleasant weather and thoroughly enjoyed themselves, paddling about, fishing and going in swimming.

They decided they would go no further up the stream, and, having camped out at their last stop for another day they packed up for the return trip. The weather, which had been fine, seemed threatening, and they had not brought along clothing or blankets which would serve in case of rain.

“We’ll make it in two stages,” said Bart, referring to the home journey. “One night’s camp will fix it so’s we’ll not be all tired out when we get home.”

They started early in the morning, and planned to camp just above Woodport. It was nearly dusk when they neared the town.

“Hark!” exclaimed Ned, as the boats were gliding along close to shore. “Do you fellows hear anything?”

They all listened.

“Sounds like some one paddling a canoe behind us,” spoke Bart.

“That’s what I think. I’ve been hearing it for the last ten minutes,” Ned went on. “Some one is following us.”

“Maybe it’s that tramp,” suggested Fenn.

“I’m going to find out,” Ned remarked. “You and Frank row along slowly, Bart, and I’ll surprise whoever it is.”

It was now quite dark. The noise made by the oars drowned the sound of the paddles, if the unknown was still following the chums.

Ned was busy in the stern of the boat. He twisted a torch from papers and then soaked the end in kerosene oil from the lantern they had.

“Stop rowing,” he whispered to his chums, “but keep the oars in motion so they’ll make a noise as if we were still going. He’ll think we’re are on the move and keep after us.”

Frank and Bart did as Ned suggested. They could not hear the sound of the paddle but Ned could. Suddenly there was a little glow of light as Ned struck a match. Then there was a burst of flame as the oil-soaked paper caught. Ned tossed it away from the boat. It blazed up brightly and in the glare, as it floated on the water, the boys saw a canoe just behind them.

But the greatest surprise was occasioned by a sight of the paddler. As the light gleamed on him the chums saw he was Sandy Merton.

“Sandy!” exclaimed Ned.

Then the light went out, making the darkness blacker than before.

CHAPTER XXI

AT THE FAIR

“Quick! Hand me some more paper!” exclaimed Ned.

Bart passed him a wad. Without stopping to put oil on it Ned lighted the twisted torch. As the flame grew in brightness he held it above his head to cast a glow over the water. But there was no canoe in sight save the one trailing behind their own boat.

“He’s gone!” exclaimed Fenn.

“Well, we found out who it was,” remarked Ned, “and that’s something.”

“It would be more to find out why he was following us,” came from Frank.

“Maybe he’s camping around here,” suggested Bart.

“If he is, he was quite a way from camp,” put in Ned. “I’d been hearing soft paddling behind us for the last two miles and I determined to see who it was.”

“Guess he didn’t want to be seen, by the way he disappeared in such a hurry,” Fenn remarked.

“We’ll have to keep watch to-night,” said Bart. “We don’t want Sandy or any of his friends sneaking around.”

“That’s right,” assented Ned.

They lighted the lantern and, by the gleam of it, and by that from a fire they kindled on shore, they made their camp. A hasty meal was prepared and then the shelter tent was put up. A big pile of brushwood was collected for the fire and, dividing the night into four watches, of which Bart took the first, they spread out the blankets and the other three prepared to sleep.

But the weather, which had favored them all their trip, turned against them now. It began to rain about ten o’clock and from then, until morning, there was a steady downpour.

However they made the best of it, though the tent did leak, and the fire refused to do anything more than smoulder. It was rather a cheerless breakfast they had, for the coffee was only lukewarm and the bacon half done. But they made jokes about it and soon were on their way down the river.

“Guess it was too wet for Sandy,” observed Bart, as he tilted his hat so the rain would not drip down his neck.

They left the canoe at Riverton and made the best time possible to Darewell. Wet through, but happy in spite of it all they reached their homes, fully satisfied with their trip.

The next morning as Fenn was taking a short cut across lots to get to Frank’s house, he heard a noise as though two birds were calling to one another in a little clump of bushes. The notes came clear and sweet and Fenn paused to catch a sight of the songsters. As he did so something in the bushes moved, a robin flew out and John Newton came into view. As he did so Fenn realized that John was one of the “birds.”

“What were you doing?” asked Fenn, who was once more on friendly, if not intimate terms with John.

“Practicing that robin call.”

“What for?”

“I’m learning to imitate all kinds of birds,” replied John.

“Thought you were working as special delivery messenger at the postoffice?”

“I was but I gave it up. Too much inside. I want to get out where I can hear the birds. I can imitate twenty different kinds now.”

“What good is it?”

“Maybe I can get a job on the stage some day, and it will come in handy. I heard a fellow in a theater orchestra try to imitate a bird once, and it wasn’t anything as good as I can do.”

“If you get on the stage I’ll come and see you,” said Fenn, little thinking that his promise was some day to come true.

“Thanks,” replied John, as he walked off across the field, looking for more birds to practice with, while Fenn went on to Frank’s house.

That afternoon Ned and Fenn went over to Bart’s house and found him cleaning a small rifle.

“What’s up?” asked Fenn.

“Getting ready to go frog hunting,” said Bart. “Dad likes their hind legs fried in butter and I said I’d get him a mess.”