The Silver Fox Patrol is headed for the Maine woods for their next adventure! The trip will including hunting and fire starting, and a few more surprises along the way! When some unexpected guests crash their camp, the boys will have to keep their wits in order save the day, and their trip.
Herbert Carter is one of many pseudonyms used by St George Rathborne.
By : St. George Henry Rathborne (1854 - 1938)
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“I tell you, Bumpus Hawtree, I can do it as easy as turn my hand over, once I get the hang of the thing!”
“Oh! you don’t say so, Giraffe? Here you’ve been trying for these three days past, with your silly old bow and stick, twirling away like an organ grinder; and never so much as struck a single spark of fire yet.”
“Well, you see, there are a whole lot of things about the thing I don’t know.”
“Sure there are. You can do everything but the right thing. You spin that stick with the point that fits in the hole you made in that block of wood, like fun; but your fine tinder don’t even smoke, as far as I can see.”
“Huh! you’ll see it do more than that, and before the end of this Maine trip, I’ll give you to understand, Bumpus.”
“Oh! will I? How kind of you, Giraffe.”
“You needn’t say that like you didn’t believe I’d ever beat it out. I’ve made fires ten different ways, and you know that. And listen to me–I’m just bound to get one going in that South Sea Island method we’ve read about, ‘or give up trying!’ You hear me, Bumpus?”
“No trouble about that, Giraffe. Tell you what I’ll do, though, in the generosity of my heart–make a wager with you about that fire business; and it’s a treat of ice-cream for the crowd, for the loser.”
“I take you on that,” quickly snapped back the long-legged Boy Scout who was curled up in the stern of the canvas canoe that was being pushed along by the energetic arms of a sturdy guide, as straight as his name was the opposite, it being Eli Crooks.
“Then let’s have a clear understanding,” observed the fat lad, squatting rather awkwardly in the bow of the same craft; “say, you other fellows, d’ye hear what we’re talking about?” and he raised his voice a trifle, so that the occupants of the two other boats that were close by, might listen; just as if they had not been keeping their ears wide open; for when Bumpus and Giraffe got into a hot argument, there was generally plenty of fun in the air.
One of the other canoes contained three scouts, as could be told from various parts of their khaki uniforms that they wore, even when off on a hunting trip. The clear-eyed fellow who seemed to be in charge of the party was Thad Brewster; one of his companions was known as Step Hen Bingham, because, as a little chap he had insisted at school that was the way his name should be spelled, while the third was an exceedingly wiry boy, Davy Jones by name, and who had always been a human monkey when it came to athletics, climbing trees, and doing all sorts of queer stunts.
In the third boat was a shorter Maine guide, a sort of slow chap who came by the name of Jim Hasty just as the other did that of Crooks; and the scout with him was Allan Hollister, a lad born in the very State they were now exploring; and who assisted the scoutmaster in his duties.
All these six boys belonged to the Silver Fox Patrol connected with a troop of scouts located in a New York town called Cranford. Two more had been unable to take the Maine trip, which had already carried the bunch through some adventurous times in another part of the State, whither they had first gone in order to overtake a gentleman just then moose hunting, and with whom Thad had to get in touch for certain business reasons.
Now they were on the Aroostook River, the three boats, as well as the party, having been transported from Grindstone by rail, and launched at the junction of the Masardis with the first mentioned stream.
One of the guides having been brought up in this region, had promised the boys rare sport, if only they would trust to his judgment in the matter. The trip was of indefinite length, the only stipulation being that they should not go outside the United States, when approaching the New Brunswick border along the great St. Johns River.
All of them seemed to be just bubbling over with enthusiasm and spirits. With a new voyage before them, plenty to eat aboard the canoes, guns with which to secure game, tents provided by Jim Hasty at his home town; and “everything lovely, while the goose hung high,” as Bumpus had put it, really there was no excuse for any of the scouts to feel downcast.
In their former trip around the Penobscot region the boys had had the good fortune to be chiefly instrumental in causing the arrest of a couple of fleeing yeggmen, who had broken into several banks, and for whose arrest quite a decent reward was offered. Not only that, but they had recovered valuable bonds and papers, that would undoubtedly cause the bank officials to back up the offer they had made, which was to the effect that two thousand dollars would be paid to the parties returning the said bonds, and no questions asked.
Bumpus had been the one who seemed chiefly concerned over this money matter; for it happened that the fat scout wanted dearly to visit the Far West, and was always talking of California, together with the game to be met with in the famous Rock Mountains. And with this windfall coming to their almost exhausted treasure box, it now seemed as though the Silver Fox Patrol might get away when the next vacation came around.
Giraffe, the boy with the long neck, which he could twist around in a way his comrades despaired of ever imitating, had one particular weakness. He was a regular fire worshipper. They depended on Giraffe to start the fires, whether a cooking blaze or the big camp-fire around which they loved to sit or lie, after supper was over.
Many times did Thad have to caution him about his recklessness in this regard; and his vigilance increased, now that they were in a State where forest preservation was of such moment that a special fire warden, with many assistants, was employed, to see that the laws were strictly enforced; and intending hunters were not allowed to go forth without being accompanied by a licensed guide, to make sure that all fires were utterly extinguished before breaking camp.
Of course, when Giraffe took it upon himself to find out if he could not make a fire after every known method, there was more or less fun for the crowd. But he had proved that his studies in this direction were worth while; for he had used flint and steel, matches, a burning glass for the sun to do the business, and various other methods with stunning success.
But he had thus far been “stumped” as he himself expressed it, when it came to starting a blaze after the formula of the South Sea Islanders. His little bow was made according to directions, and would whirl the pointed stick with tremendous force in the basin that had the hole in the bottom; but thus far, just as Bumpus so exultantly declared, the aspiring Giraffe had failed to accomplish the object he had in view.
“Well, now,” remarked Giraffe, “since you’ve got all the bears and moose in the Aroostook country to listen, suppose you go and explain what we’re driving at, Bumpus,” when the other boys had declared that they heard the whole argument.
“The wager is cream for the crowd at the first chance,” the fat boy went on, with pointed emphasis. “Giraffe says he can start a fire with that bunty little bow of his, and the twirling stick that heats things up, and makes the fine tinder take fire–when you’ve got the hang of things. He’s got to do it before we wind up this particular trip; and at a time when one or more of us are on deck to act as witnesses. Hear that, fellows?”
“What he says are the exact conditions,” added the confident Giraffe. “And just make up your minds I’m going to do that same stunt yet. Why, half a dozen times already I’ve been pretty close to getting fire; but something always seemed to happen just at the last minute. Once my bowstring sawed through. Another time the plaguey stick burst. Then Bumpus had to fall all over me just when I felt sure the spark was going to come in the tinder. And the last time, you may remember, when I sang out that I had it, why, down came that heavy rain, and put me out of business.”
A general laugh followed these complaining remarks from the tall scout.
“Looks like you might be hoodooed, Giraffe,” said Davy Jones.
“All right, no matter what’s the matter, if grit and perseverance can accomplish the business, you’ll see it done in great style sooner or later!” cried Giraffe, who could be quite determined when he chose.
“Then let’s hope it will be sooner,” remarked Step Hen; “because you know him well enough to understand that we’ll have no peace of our lives till he either gets his little fire started, or else makes a failure of the game.”
“Anyhow,” broke in Allan from the rear, “no matter how it comes out, the rest of us stand to have a free feast later on. It’s ‘heads I win, tails you lose,’ for the balance of the Silver Fox Patrol. And in advance, we hand our united thanks to Bumpus; or will it be Giraffe?”
“And,” Bumpus went on, calmly; “while Giraffe is worrying his poor old head over that puzzle every time we get settled in camp, I’ll be improving each shining hour like the busy little bee, trying out my new gun. Told you fellows, I was going to invest the first chance I got; and here’s my brand new double barrel; that’s guaranteed, the man said, to knock the spots out of any big game that I hold it on.”
“Huh!” grunted Giraffe, who seemed a trifle grumpy on account of having his fire-making abilities made fun of, for he was quite touchy on that score; “chances are, it’ll knock spots out of you, first of all, or give you a few to remember it by, if you go and get excited, and pull both triggers at once, as you’re likely to do, if I know you at all, Bumpus.”
“What in the wide world did you go and get a big ten bore for, when you’re such a short fellow?” asked Thad, who had often wanted to find out about this particular subject.
Bumpus, who was fondling his new possession, grinned rather sheepishly.
“Well,” he remarked, “you see, Thad’s Marlin, and Davy’s gun are both twelve guage, and I thought we ought to have variety in the crowd, so I got a ducking gun. Besides, I knew it would be better when I came to shoot buckshot in it, just like I’ve got in the chambers right now, ready for any old moose bull that chooses to show up. And in fact, fellows, it was the only sort of shotgun I could buy, unless I took one of them pump guns; and I just couldn’t think of working all that machinery when I get so rattled, you know.”
“Please keep that blunderbuss pointed the other way, Bumpus,” said Step Hen.
“Yes, for goodness’ sake don’t you turn it around here!” called out Giraffe. “If ever you blew a hole in the bottom of this canvas canoe, we’d go down like a stone.”
“I’d be sorry for that,” remarked Bumpus, still fondling his new purchase lovingly, although he kept it pointed ahead, as directed; “because, you see, we’ve got a lot of good grub aboard this canoe, and it might get soaked.”
“Huh! thinking of the grub before you take me into consideration, are you?” grunted Giraffe; and perhaps he might have said more, only just at that instant Eli turned his head and made a remark to him which caused the long-necked boy to lift his head, and then shout out excitedly:
“A bear! A bear! over there on the bank ahead!”
“Oh! where did I put my gun?” almost shrieked Step Hen, who was forever misplacing things, and then finding them again in the most unexpected places.
“Bumpus, knock him over! There’s the best chance to try your new gun you ever saw! Let him have it, you silly!” roared Giraffe.
The fat boy heard all the clamor. He also sighted the lumbering bear, which, after taking one good look at the approaching canoes, turned to shuffle back again into the shelter of the protecting brush, as though he did not much fancy any closer acquaintance with the two-legged occupants.
Bumpus scrambled to his knees. He was trembling like a leaf shaken in the gale; but nevertheless managed to clumsily throw the double-barrel to his shoulder, after pulling back both hammers.
They saw him bend his chubby neck, as though to sight along the barrels. Then a tremendous explosion occurred, as though a young cannon had been fired; and the next instant Bumpus went over flat on his back, among the duffle with which the canoe was loaded, his feet coming into view as he landed among the blankets, and the packages of food, secured in the rubber ponchos to keep them from getting wet.
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