At Whispering Pine Lodge - Lawrence J. Leslie
All of them were soon busily engaged in fixing up the camp. Since they
had thought it best not to try and fetch a heavy tent along with them
they knew it would be necessary to construct some such brush shanty
shelter every night unless they could find a convenient ledge under
which a camp could be made. But all of these boys had often slept under
the stars, with the heavens for a canopy overhead, so that they did not
feel at all worried over the circumstance.
As the sun sank lower and lower toward the horizon the camp began to
assume a comfortable air. The brush shelter had been finished, and
pronounced equal to any they had ever built before. It might not prove
wholly rain-proof, but as for keeping off the dew, and protecting them
against the chilly night air, it offered them "all the comforts of
home," as Steve put it.
Then supper was started, a fire having been built after the most
approved method in vogue among guides and hunters of long experience.
Indeed, Max and his companions were far from being green to the ways of
the woods. They had learned heaps through their many camping
experiences; and some time before a visit to an old trapper had
initiated them into dozens of secrets of the craft that would never be
forgotten.[1]
Again the talk was of the strange mission that had brought them up to
the Adirondacks. Bandy-legs could not seem to get over his belief that
they were bound to have all their trouble for their pains.
"What sort of a clue have we got to work on for a starter, fellows, tell
me?" he went on to say, just as they were starting in to enjoy the
supper that had been supervised by a trio of eager cooks, all as hungry
as boys could well be, and continue to exist. "All we know is that when
this boy, Roland Chase, left Sagamere, almost two years back, he was a
sickly, white-faced chap, and with only one decent trait about him,
which was his love for outdoors; though up to then it had been mostly a
_yearning_, because they wouldn't let him get away from the house much
on account of his delicate constitution. Well, we're looking for some
such chap; but up to now we haven't got on his track."
[1] "With Trapper Jim in the North Woods."
"But hold on, Bandy-legs," expostulated Steve, "you forget that we did
hear about a boy that answered that description, though nobody seemed to
know his name. He was sometimes seen in the company of a half-drunken
old guide named Shanks somewhere around Mount Tom district. And now
we've come up this way in the hope of crossing his trail. Not that I've
got much expectation myself that we'll be sure to find this same;
Roland, who turns out to be a sort of will-o'-the-wisp to us; but since
his old aunt was so kind as to finance this expedition, why we're bound
to do all we can to make it a blooming success, that's what."
"Well," commented Max, who seemed to be the most confident one of the
quartette, "remember, if we fail to make connections it'll be the first
time on record that we've really been stumped. I don't believe in
hard-luck stories. As a rule success comes only to those who deserve it.
And we've still got most of that two weeks' vacation ahead of us, to
hunt around for Roland Chase."
Somehow Max always seemed to say things calculated to make his chums
feel more satisfied. It is a mighty good thing to have a real optimist
in camp, especially when the weather gets bad, and everything else seems
to go wrong. Even Bandy-legs took on a more cheerful air, and brightened
up after hearing Max say this. They had more or less reason to feel
proud of the record they had made in the past, so far as accomplishing
things went. And the people around Carson would be apt to tell any one
inquiring about Max and his cronies that they had actually done several
exceedingly smart things, and were boys far above the average.
The supper was voted a huge success, and never had fish been fried a
more delicious brown than those in the pan. Perhaps Steve entertained a
private opinion of his own, to the effect that never had a higher price
been paid for a mess of fish than he offered up when he found himself
made a prisoner of the unseen giant residing under the quicksands; but
all the same, Steve devoured his share of the fish as smartly as the
next one. He doubtless felt that he deserved having a feast, after his
adventure in supplying the materials.
They were almost through eating, and feeling particularly well
satisfied, as is usually the case, when the appetite has been taken care
of, when Toby Jucklin was seen to be staring straight ahead.
"What ails you, Toby?" demanded Steve, discovering the mysterious
actions of the other. "Think you see a ghost; or was it a 'coon whisked
past, smelling our fine spread here? Speak up, can't you, and tell us?"
Toby managed to find his tongue, and as usual when excited made quite a
mess of his explanation.
"W-w-why, y-y-you s-s-see, I--t-that is, there's s-s-somebody--oh! look
for yourselves and you'll understand quicker'n I c'n tell you!"
Sometimes Toby seemed to become so provoked with his ungovernable vocal
organs that he would get angry, and wind up by speaking as plainly as
the next one.
But before then Max, and perhaps the other pair in the bargain, had
discovered a figure advancing slowly toward them. Eagerly Bandy-legs
stared. Perhaps he began to already entertain a wild hope that the
newcomer would prove to be the very boy whom they had come so far to
find; but if this were so he must have almost immediately discovered his
mistake, for the other was a sun-burned and wind-tanned lad, sturdily
built, and apparently the son of some woods guide; for he carried a gun,
and was dressed in rough though serviceable khaki trousers and blue
flannel shirt.
Chapter III
OBED GRIMES BOBS UP
"Howdy, strangers!" said the other, as he slowly approached the spot
where Max and his three chums still sat around the fire, feasting on
their spread. "I happened to see yer blaze, and guessed I'd drop in to
see who yah might be. 'Taint often anybody comes up this way, though to
be sure thar was two gentlemen fishin' hereabouts last summer."
Somehow Max liked his manner of speech. He also thought he could detect
something like a love for humor in those sparkling eyes.
"Sit down, and have a bite with us, won't you?" he remarked, making a
suggestive movement with his hand, as though calling attention to the
fact that there was still plenty of room on the log which he and Toby
Jucklin had occupied in common. "Sorry the trout's given out, but we've
got plenty of other grub, and be sure you're welcome."
The sturdy woods boy was looking them over. Bandy-legs, suspicious as
usual, rather took umbrage at this action. He eyed the newcomer as
though not yet quite willing to echo the warm invitation accorded him by
Max. But Steve was already getting an extra tin-cup for coffee; and
fortunately there still remained an abundant supply of the amber fluid
in the capacious pot.
Apparently the newcomer had determined that it would be prudent for him
to comply with the invitation thus cordially given. So he sat down and
made himself at home. Up there in the woods there exists a genuine
hospitality that never hesitates to extend the right hand of fellowship
to any straggler who chances to enter the camp. There seems to be
something in the healthy ozone of the wilderness that makes all men
comrades for the time being. The latchstring is always out in camp; and
never does an appeal for help go disregarded.
Max proceeded to immediately introduce himself and his three chums by
name. He of course mentioned the fact that they came from a town named
Carson, situated far away from that region; but then of course the woods
boy could never have heard of such a place before. Still, his eyebrows
arched, and he seemed to once again observe his entertainers with fresh
interest; but then when Max Hastings chose to exert himself to make a
favorable impression every one fell under his spell.
And when Bandy-legs, Toby and Steve noticed that Max did not think fit
to say a single word about the queer mission which had brought them to
the mountains they too concluded that it would be just as well not to be
too hasty about telling all their business to a stranger. A little later
on, perhaps, when they came to become better acquainted with the other,
they might ply him with questions in order to find out if he chanced to
know such a weakly looking fellow as Roland Chase.
Of course after that it was up to the other to tell them whom he was. He
did not have any hesitation, from which Steve concluded there could be
no reason for keeping his identity a secret.
"Course I got a name, too, even if it ain't _quite_ so scrumptuous as
yours. But Obed Grimes suits me just as well, and it ain't never kept me
from eatin' three square meals a day--when I could get 'em," he told
them, soberly, though that odd little gleam in his eyes mystified Max
somewhat.
"I suppose you live around this section, then, Obed?" he remarked, as he
cleaned out the frying-pan that had contained the ham and eggs--the
latter having been carried all the way from the last small village they
passed through, and which supply would doubtless be the last they might
enjoy for a long time to come.
"Oh! yes, thar's a plenty of Grimeses up this way," the other replied,
promptly. "Fact is, the Grimeses are a big family, all told. Thar's
Grandad Grimes to start with, and he's going on ninety now; then there's
Uncle Hiram, Uncle Silas, Uncle Job, Uncle Sephus, Uncle _Nicodemus_,
and a whole lot more; besides Aunt Rebecca, Aunt Sophia, Aunt Hetebel,
and--glory to goodness, I could sit here for ten minutes and string out
the names of the grimeses there are in the mountains; but say I'm
_awful_ hungry, and you'll excuse me if I get busy with this fine grub.
The other names will keep till next time, I reckon."
"Whew! it must feel funny to belong to such a big family," remarked
Steve, who did not happen to have any close relatives himself.
"Oh! shucks! none of 'em ever bother about _me_ any," said the boy, as
well as he could with his mouth stuffed of the ham and bread, which he
presently washed down with a copious draught of hot coffee. "They just
know that Obed he c'n take good care o' hisself."
Bandy-legs began to show a rising interest in the other. His suspicions
were beginning to give way under the genial ways of the said Obed. That
smile on the dusky face of the visitor in the camp had commenced to get
its work in. By degrees perhaps Bandy-legs might even come to like Obed
Grimes; though, truth to tell, he had always despised that last name,
for a boy answering to it had once treated Bandy-legs in a most
humiliating fashion, and this still rankled in his memory, although
years had fled since the occurrence.
"Do you mean from that, Obed," he went on to remark "that you're all
alone up here in the woods near old Mount Tom? Haven't you any of the
other Grimeses along with you?"
The boy shook his head in the negative, and grinned again. Max was
trying to study him, and he found the task one well worthy of his best
efforts. In the beginning he determined that Obed was no ordinary chap,
but possessed of sterling characteristics. He waited for the
conversation to get further along, confident that the other had a
surprise up his sleeve which he might condescend to share with them,
after he had become fully satisfied they were to be trusted, and that he
could look upon them in the light of friends.
"Nary a Grimes 'cept me inside o' twenty miles o' here, and that's a
fact," he assured Bandy-legs, after finishing his drinking. "Fact is,
most o' the family don't know jest where I'm at; and say, between us, I
ain't a carin' about tellin' 'em."
That looked a bit singular, Bandy-legs thought. His suspicions returned
again, though with diminished force; for somehow he could not look into
that frank and even merry face of the woods boy and actually believe he
was "off-color" in any way.
"But what do you do with yourself all alone, I'd like to know?" burst
out impetuous Steve. "Are you making a living playing at guide for
parties of tourists, or fishermen and hunters? And, say, you don't mean
to tell me you stay all alone up in this wilderness right through the
winter?"
Obed Grimes nodded his head cheerfully.
"I ain't got any choice in the matter, yuh see," he told them,
mysteriously; "just _got_ to stay. Why, it would bust the hull business
to smash if I 'lowed myself to skip out, even for a week or two. I'm
tied down to it, that's right."
Bandy-legs exchanged a significant look Toby Jucklin. He scratched his
head with the air of one who found himself up against a hard, knotty
problem. Apparently, if the stranger in camp was trying to mystify them,
he had already succeeded in tangling up the wits of Bandy-legs completely.
Max continued to sit there and take it all in. There was no need of his
saying anything so long as the other fellows had embarked on the task of
drawing Obed out and learning just what he was doing to keep him
marooned up there summer and winter, like a regular old recluse, or
woodchuck.
"But there must be heaps and heaps of snow here winters," suggested
Steve; "and I'd think you'd find it pretty hard getting about."
"Oh! not so bad when you have snow-shoes" Obed told him, with a shrug of
his shoulders, and another attack on the contents of his tin panninkin.
"'Course not," Steve hastened to say, as though he had guessed that this
would be the answer. "But when the law is on the deer and partridges it
must be hard to keep to a regular diet of trout. I c'n stand them for a
while; but in the end I'd get sick of the smell of 'em cooking."
"Oh! I have plenty of good grub along," chuckled Obed. "I was on my way
home at the time I glimpsed your fire; and bein' full o' wonder
concernin' who could be around these diggings right now I crept up to
spy on ye. But say, soon's I glimpsed your crowd, and saw that you was
only a bunch o' boys, why I felt easier, 'cause I knew then you couldn't
mean to bother me any."
Now that sounded queer again, Bandy-legs thought. Why should any one
take the trouble to "bother" Obed Grimes, unless, indeed, he had been
doing something that he hadn't ought to, and hence expected to be
visited sooner or later by emissaries of the law, possibly in the shape
of angry game wardens?
All sorts of strange thoughts flashed through that active brain of the
boy with the bowed legs. He wondered whether Obed could be a desperate
young criminal. Had his family, those excellent Grimes of whom he had
spoken in such proud accents, cast him out as altogether beyond hope?
Bandy-legs could hardly think this when he looked again into that face,
and caught the gleam of those merry orbs. No, Obed might be a _peculiar_
sort of fellow, but really there did not seem to be much of guile in his
make-up; if it turned out to be so, then he, Bandy-legs, was ready to
call himself a mighty poor reader of character.
So he, too, relapsed into temporary silence and let Steve carry on the
interrogations; which the said Steve considered himself very well
qualified to do since he aspired in his secret soul to some fine day
study to be a lawyer.
"But why should anybody want to bother you, Obed?" he asked. "To hear
you talk in that way a fellow would think you had a lot of enemies
hanging around, trying the best they knew how to give you trouble."
"Well, I ain't had any mix-up ever since I've been here," admitted the
other, with a slight frown crossing his face; "but lately I got wind o'
some news that's worried me a heap. Fact is, I'm afraid I'm goin' to be
right smart bothered with a bunch o' thieves who'd like to _steal_ my
outfit from me!"
Steve fairly gasped. He could not make head or tail of what the other
was so deliberately telling him. Max, listening, and watching that
expressive face of Obed, secretly believed the newcomer was purposely
drawing Steve on, meaning to surprise him when finally he chose to
explain it all. So Max did not attempt to interfere, but let things go
on as they were doing, satisfied that the answer to the conundrum would
soon come.
"Steal your outfit from you?" echoed Steve, when he could catch his
breath; "do you mean that you're carrying on some sort of business,
then, up here in the woods?"
"Reckon that's about right, Steve," Obed replied, and his familiar use
of the other's name could be easily explained by that spirit of "free
masonry" that exists among all boys. "I've got a business, which looks
like it was goin' to pan out right decent, and make me some money in the
bargain. That's why they're meanin' to rob me, I guess; anyhow, it
hinges on that same thing. And I thought you might be that crowd first,
but I soon saw I was mistaken, and that you'd be my friend."
"But what sort of business is it you're in, Obed?" asked Steve, boldly.
"Me? Oh! I'm only a farmer," confessed the other, chuckling as he spoke.
"A farmer!" echoed Steve, looking blank; "but how could anybody steal
your ground away, or carry off your crops, I'd like to know?"
"Why, yuh don't jest understand, Steve. I ain't no regular hayseed. I'm
a fur farmer, you see; and you could carry my crop of fox pelts away
easy enough on your own back!"
CHAPTER IV
BANDY-LEGS SUSPECTS
Max Hastings smiled. He at the same time drew a breath of relief,
satisfied to know that his first impression of the sturdy looking young
chap was confirmed, and convinced that the said Obed Grimes must be the
right sort of fellow.
Steve and Bandy-legs fairly gasped, as though they had received a real
shock. At the same time the eyes of the former glistened with
newly-awakened interest.
"A fur farmer, do you say, Obed? And raising foxes for the market, are
you?" he burst out with, delightedly. "Now, I've read a heap about that
sort of thing in the papers and magazines, but I never thought I'd
actually run across anybody that had the nerve and confidence to go into
it as a business. And you say you're making good, are you, Obed? That's
fine!"
"I've turned my 'tention to raisin' real black foxes, first thing,"
explained the other, with a touch of genuine pride in his manner, Max
could easily see; "and if the try turns out as profitable as I reckon
she promises to be, why, then, I'm figgerin' on tryin' to raise mink and
marten and sech other furs as fetch top-notch prices."
"Then I guess you must have trapped all sorts of wild animals before
now, Obed?" suggested Steve, eagerly, "so you know their habits to a
fraction; because, of course, only one who is posted in that direction
could ever hope to make a success of a fur farm."
Obed grinned and nodded his head.
"Oh! I reckon I'm up a little bit in all sech things," he said airily
enough. "And after all, it ain't so _very_ hard to raise foxes. I was
afraid fust off it might be what they told me, that blacks ain't to be
relied on to breed true to strain, but shucks! I've got some cubs that
are dandies. Wait till you see 'em, boys."
That sounded as though, sooner or later, Obed meant to have them visit
his fur farm, and see with their own eyes what he had been doing.
Bandy-legs, skeptical once more, told himself he only hoped the whole
thing might not turn out to be a myth, and that the said Obed himself
prove to be a deception and a fraud.
"I understand that the pelts of black foxes are worth a whole lot of
money," remarked Steve; "fact is, we know that to be so, because we once
had such a skin given to us by a man who made a business of trapping."
"It all depends on the quality of the pelt," explained Obed. "Some ain't
worth as much as three hundred dollars, because they've got defects, yuh
see. Then again a real fine skin has fetched as much as thirty-six
hundred dollars in London markets."
Evidently, Obed was well posted, at any rate, whether he really had
such a fur farm of his own or not, Bandy-legs concluded. And then he
again allowed himself to give imagination free rein, and for a time
even looked on Obed as the essence of truth, doubly distilled.
Sitting there by the fire, which one of he boys replenished every little
while, Obed told them many very interesting things connected with that
strange farm of his. All this in his odd vernacular which Max tried to
get the hang of, in order to judge whether it signified that the country
boy lacked an education or not. He continued to be more or less
mystified, however, though concluding that Obed was just one of those
customary country boys often run across on farms who take especial
delight in joking and playing little tricks which they consider
humorous.
"But he isn't at all bad, I'll stake everything on that" Max also told
himself, as he sat and listened to the really interesting descriptions
given by the other of his successes, and first failures along the
difficult line of breeding foxes in captivity, with scores of things
against him, which had to be overcome.
An hour passed by in this manner. When Max saw their visitor showing
signs as if he meant to leave them, he took a hand in the conversation,
which up to then had been almost wholly monopolized by Bandy-legs, Steve
and the woods boy.
"It's very kind of you to invite us over to inspect this wonderful
little fur farm of yours, Obed," he went on to say; "but you'll have to
give us directions how we can get there, unless you mean to accept our
offer of a blanket by the fire here tonight, when we could go along with
you in the morning."
Obed looked sober.
"I'd like to stay longer with you, boys," he hastened to say, as though
he really meant it, "but I ought tuh be gettin' back home. Thar's some
duties waitin' for me to look after. And then I ain't quite easy in my
mind 'bout them two fellers that's up here in the woods. They ain't
meanin' to do any shootin', even if they have got Lem Scott along as a
guide, and he the meanest skunk in the hull county, lots o' folks do
say, and a poacher in the bargain that the wardens are layin' to grab
one o' these fine days. Now I'll jest up and tell yuh how to get to my
place. It's as easy as water runnin' down-hill."
He entered into explicit directions, and Max pinned them in his memory.
In fact, Obed simply told them to follow the stream up three miles until
they came to a bunch of seven birch trees on the right-hand bank. There
they were to pick up a trail they would find, follow it half a mile, and
at that they would see a cabin under the hemlocks and pines, which would
be his humble home woods.
"We've got it all down pat, Obed," said Steve, "and like as not you'll
see the bunch of us trailing along there some time tomorrow morning.
I've always been crazy to see a fur farm, after reading so much about
them, and you bet I don't mean to let this chance slip by me."
Max now thought it time to make a few inquiries himself. He wanted to
ask Obed whether he had ever run across a boy by the name of Roland
Chase, a sickly looking chap in the bargain. It might possible to pick
up a clue in this way; and they had reached a point where they could not
afford to let any opportunity for acquiring information get past them.
In order to pursue this course, however, Max realized that it would be
necessary to enter into some sort of explanation concerning the nature
of the peculiar errand that had tempted them to come to the Adirondacks.
"I want to ask you a question or two, Obed," he began, "but first of all
I ought to tell you what brings us here."
Accordingly, Max proceeded to explain how the school had be closed for
two or more weeks in early October, and what a singular thing came about
to tempt them into taking an outing. He was watching the woods boy at
the time he first mentioned Mrs. Hopewell, and spoke the name of Roland
Chase; but if the other gave any unusual signs of interest, Max failed
to catch the same. Still, Obed was listening with all his might, and it
seemed as though the unusual story of the inheritance that was to be
given to the said Roland in case he made good, interested him.
Max in this manner explained just why he and his three chums had
accepted the generous offer of the elderly lady, so deeply concerned
over the welfare of her nephew Boland, that she was ready to spend
almost any reasonable sum in order to at least learn that the poor boy
was alive, and in fairly decent health.
They had been told to assure him, in case they ever managed to locate
the elusive Roland, that he should not worry because of not being able
to comply with the absurd conditions of Uncle Jerry's ridiculous will;
because she had enough of this world's goods for both, and she meant to
leave it all to him, Roland; so she begged him to come back to her, and
live his own life again, even though he had spent the last penny of his
two-thousand-dollar legacy, and was as poor as Job's turkey.
All this made an interesting story, and must have amused the woods boy
more or less, because Max knew how to put considerable pathos in it.
Obed sat there shading his eyes with his hand to keep the glow of the
fire from dazzling him. Occasionally he would interrupt to ask some
natural question, which made Max think he was taking a fair amount of
interest in the account.