Bart Keene's Hunting Days Part 16

"That's the stuff!" cried Fenn. "That confirms my theory. There's some place where these turtles hang out, and I'm going to find it. The three we found must have wandered away from the common camping ground of the turtles of this vicinity, but they all head back toward it. Now I'm going to find it."

He did not wait for the reptile he had captured to lead him to the place. That would have taken too long, but, after quickly scratching his initials on the back of the turtle's sh.e.l.l, together with the date, so he would know the reptile again, Fenn replaced it on the ground, and started off through the woods in the indicated direction. He had his gun with him, but he did not expect to do any shooting, and he carried a pocket compa.s.s, for the woods were unfamiliar to him.

For a long distance Fenn tramped on, plowing through the woods, making turns now and then to avoid streams, partly frozen over, leaping them when he could, fording them at other times, for he had on high, water-proof hunting boots, but keeping as nearly as he could in the proper course.

"Maybe I'll find a well-protected cave, where the turtles live during winter," thought the stout lad, as he made his way under some low hemlock trees, well laden with a blanket of snow. "If I do, I can get some new specimens, anyhow, and perhaps enough to sell to that man who wrote me the letter. Mighty queer about him. I wonder who he was? I wonder if, by any possibility, he could be up here in these woods?"

This idea caused Fenn to look around somewhat apprehensively, but there was no one in sight. He did see something, however, that caused his heart to beat faster, and this was a brace of plump partridges on a tree, not far away.

"I wonder if I can shoot straight enough to bag them?" murmured the lad, as he quickly raised his gun, and banged away, first with the left, and then with the right barrel. Somewhat to his surprise when the smoke cleared away, Fenn saw the two birds lying in the snow. He had made a good shot.

"Well, we won't go hungry to-night, anyway," was his comment, as he picked them up and put them in the pockets of his hunting coat. "But I'm going to keep on," he added.

He had gone perhaps half a mile farther, when he suddenly stopped and sniffed the air suspiciously.

"Sulphur spring," he remarked, half aloud. "Guess I'll go take a look at it. Whew! It's strong enough. I don't need any other guide than my nose."

Making sure of the direction in which the strong odor of sulphur was wafted to him, Fenn temporarily abandoned his quest for the place of the turtles. The odor grew more p.r.o.nounced, for some sulphur springs are so strongly impregnated with that chemical in solution that the smell carries for miles, especially on a windy day. The region where the chums had gone camping, as they learned later, was well supplied with these freaks of nature.

A few minutes later Fenn had come upon the object of his search. The spring gushed out from the side of a hill, and so strong was the sulphur that the stones, over which the spring, and the stream resulting from it, flowed were a yellowish white.

"Whew!" exclaimed Fenn again. "This ought to be good for whatever ails you, but I don't like it."

He remained looking at the spring for a few minutes, and, as he was about to move away he was startled by a deep, booming sound in the woods, off to his left. Fenn started.

"Blasting?" he exclaimed aloud, in a questioning tone. "No, it can't be that, either," he added. "They wouldn't be blasting around here!"

The next moment he heard a pattering around him, and several large globules of mud came down, seemingly from the sky. Some struck on his hands, and others dotted the white snow about him.

"That's queer," murmured the lad. "It's raining mud--or else--" he paused a moment, as the remembrance of the booming sound returned to him. "No," he added, "there must be a spouting, boiling spring around here. That's what it is! I'm on the track of it now."

Fenn dashed off to the left, through the forest. He was eager to see what had caused the curious shower of mud. In a few minutes he came to a little clearing in the woods--a clearing remarkable, among other things, from the fact that the ground there was devoid of snow. There was a warm, damp look about it, too, as when, in a snow storm, the sidewalk over a bakery oven is devoid of the white flakes.

But that was not the most curious thing that met Fenn's eyes. He made out numerous mud turtles crawling about over the patch of ground that was free from snow. There must have been a score of the reptiles.

Then, as Fenn looked, a curious thing happened. He had just noted that, in the centre of the clearing, there was a large patch of water, and, a moment later the middle of this spring seemed to lift itself bodily up.

Up and up the water spouted, and in an instant its comparative purity was changed to a deep mud color, as a miniature geyser of earth and liquid shot upward.

"A mud volcano!" exclaimed Fenn, as he understood what the phenomenon was. "A mud volcano! This explains the mystery of the turtles!"

An instant later he was under a shower of mud from the boiling spring.

CHAPTER XIV

BART'S FIRST SHOT

Fenn made a dash for the shelter of a spruce tree, and watched the descending shower of mud and water. It was soon over, and he stepped out again, to view the curious volcano. He crossed the open s.p.a.ce, free from snow, and a number of turtles scurried away at his advance.

"That's how it is," remarked the lad, "that the turtles are so numerous around here. It's as warm as toast around that mud volcano, and they don't have to hibernate. The ones we found near our camp must have wandered away in search of food, and were on their way back here. I've solved part of the mystery, anyhow. Now to examine this curious place."

The boiling spring, or mud volcano, as such phenomenons are variously called, consisted, in the main, of a large pool of muddy colored water, lying at the foot of a hill. All around it were dead trees, and the smell of sulphur, though not so strong as at the first spring Fenn had visited, was plainly noticeable. The water had a dead, stagnant look, after the eruption, and Fenn was careful not to approach too close, for he could not tell when the spring would spout up again. He saw a number of turtles on logs and bits of wood that extended out into the pool, and others plunged from the bank into the water at his approach.

"They don't seem to mind the sulphur and the mud," said Fenn to himself.

The lad had read in his school books of the mud volcanoes. They are of a type similar to the hot geysers of Yellowstone Park, though not so large or numerous. Though called boiling springs in some parts of the country they do not boil or bubble on the surface, as a rule, though there is a constant supply of warm water from some subterranean source, so, that, as in the case with the spring Fenn was viewing, the water ran over from the pool, and trickled off through the woods.

Mud volcanoes or boiling springs, while not common, are to be met with in New York and Pennsylvania. The writer recently visited a large one in New York State, near Lake Ontario. It was around Christmas, and a cold bl.u.s.tering day, yet the water from the spring was quite warm, and had melted the snow for quite a distance in all directions. The water was impregnated with sulphur and salt, and though there was not an eruption when the writer was present, there were marks on surrounding trees showing where mud had been hurled to a height of thirty or forty feet.

There are various theories to account for the action of the mud volcanoes. One is that steam is formed away below the surface, and, seeking an outlet, throws the mud and water with it. Another is that the force of water, flowing from some mountain lake, by an underground pa.s.sage, spouts up through the boiling spring, being heated in some manner in its pa.s.sage.

But Fenn did not trouble himself much about these theories as he looked at the curious spring. It was a gloomy, lonesome place, and the presence of so many turtles, some of them very large, added to the uncanny aspect.

"Well, there are turtles enough here to stock several collections,"

murmured Fenn. "Lots of different kinds, too. I will take some home I guess. Now if I had that mysterious man's address I'd send him word.

This mud volcano will be a curious thing to show the other fellows. I wonder how warm the water is?"

He approached, to thrust his hand into the edge of the spring, when an ominous rumbling beneath his feet warned him. He jumped away just in time, and, as he ran for the shelter of the trees, there was another upheaval of mud, and he received a share of it. He remained in the shelter until the spring subsided, and then made his way back to camp.

His chums were there when he arrived, and something in their looks prompted Fenn to ask:

"Well, where's the bear steak, and the partridges for roasting."

"No luck," declared Bart in disgust. "Never saw a bit of game! I guess we camped in the wrong place."

"Oh, no we didn't!" exclaimed Fenn in triumph, as he produced the two plump birds from his pockets. "Here's what I got, besides bagging a boiling spring for my morning's work."

"Say, where'd you get those?" asked Bart eagerly.

"Come on, show us?" begged Ned.

"Time enough," responded the stout lad. "I'm going to have dinner now, and then we'll have these birds, roasted, for supper. There's more where they came from. Now I'll tell you about the mud volcano," which he did, graphically, so that his chums were eager to go and see it. But they decided to wait until the next day, and to have a good supper of roast partridge that night. Fenn cooked his game to perfection, and was given a hearty vote of thanks.

A visit to the mud volcano was made the next day, and there were found to be more turtles than on Fenn's visit. The volcano was observed in action, much to the wonderment of the three lads, who had never seen anything like it, and once Ned, who was too venturesome, was caught under an unusually large shower of mud.

"Well, let's go hunting now," proposed Bart, after a pause. "I haven't had a decent shot since we came to camp. I've got to get that bear before I go back."

They tramped off through the woods, their eyes eager for a sight of game, large or small. Each one had a compa.s.s, so that if they became separated they could make their way back to camp, for the forest was dense. The snow had ceased, and the weather was clear and cold.

Fenn and Frank had shotguns, and elected to try to bag some wild turkeys or partridges, so they went off to one side, while Bart and Ned, with their rifles, kept together.

Suddenly Bart, after an hour's tramping in the woods, with never a sight of anything larger than a rabbit, which he would not fire at, came to an abrupt stop. Ned, who was right behind him, halted also.

"What is it?" he whispered.

"What is that over there?" asked Bart, also in a whisper, and he pointed to a black object near some bushes.