Chums of the Camp Fire Part 6

CHAPTER VI

THE TERRIBLE ROAR

It was all of half-past four when the boys arrived at the place selected for a camp. Immediately all of them became very busy, for considerable work had to be done before night set in, so that they could feel fairly comfortable.

One staked out the horse so that he could crop the gra.s.s, and be contented, after being watered at the spring that ran close by. This fed a pond that Max told them could be reached in ten minutes or less, and which he believed might afford them some early fishing, if they felt inclined, as what boys would not?

The tent was quickly raised in a selected spot, where the ground sloped just enough to shed water in case of a downpour of rain; which is one of the first things to consider when making a camp.

From the way in which each fellow bustled around it was plain to be seen that they had had considerable experience in these things, and knew just how to set to work in order to get the camp in shipshape condition.

Toby built a splendid stone fireplace where the cooking might be done with a "minimum of discomfort and a maximum of pleasure," as he remarked, though stumbling badly over the words he used to express his meaning.

They had a grating taken from one of the ovens at home; it was open like a broiler, and about two feet square. When placed on the stone foundation that was to serve as a fireplace, it could not be equaled as a steady foundation for coffeepot, kettles, or fryingpan. The boys had once used metal rods, but found these apt to slip unexpectedly, and several mishaps had led Max to suggest this better way of arranging their stove.

This camping-out business is like everything else that boys run after.

After a spell they are apt to tire of it, and eagerly welcome home cooking with all the frills; but there remains the longing for the open, and the smell of the burning wood, so that after a certain time has elapsed they are just as eager as ever to go out again, and put up with all manner of inconveniences in order to be free from restraint for awhile.

From Max down to Toby all of them were bubbling over with happiness as they started to get their first meal ready. Even Bandy-legs seemed to have forgotten his woes in connection with Nicodemus, for he laughed and joked with the rest. Perhaps some of that forlorn look had been artfully a.s.sumed so as to cause Toby to believe he was breaking his heart over the necessity of having to part company with his pet cub. It might be possible that Bandy-legs was not so averse to getting rid of the prank-loving bear as he pretended to be.

The night settled in around them finally, while they were still in the throes of cooking that first supper in the woods. As this was just before Easter Sunday, and that event always comes immediately after a full moon, they could expect to be favored with more or less heavenly illumination during their stay in camp.

When later on they finally sat around to enjoy the supper that had been cooked it seemed as though their cup of happiness must be complete.

Everything tasted wonderfully fine to the boys, because they had their appet.i.tes along with them. But the surroundings no doubt had a good deal to do with it, for there was something of a tang in the air, it being only April; and from the woods arose a dank odor of rotting logs and leaf mold that was very pleasant to these lads.

Then the wood they were burning was for the most part hickory, ash or oak, hard stuff every inch of it; and the fumes that were wafted into their faces with each change of wind, while making their eyes blink and smart, were mighty gratifying to their sense of smell.

Those who really love the woods never pa.s.s through city streets, and get a whiff of hard-wood smoke, but what they draw in a big breath, and immediately picture the camp fire burning, with good chums seated around enjoying a tempting meal; and the boardinghouse spread looks less appetizing than ever after that glimpse into Paradise.

"I hope all of you have brought some lines and hooks along," said Max, after the first edge had been taken from their hunger, and they felt disposed to talk more or less; "because, while the ba.s.s season won't open until the end of next month we might pick up some big pickerel in that pond I spoke of. I've heard tall yarns about their size there, and the savage way they take hold."

"Fresh fish wouldn't go bad," Steve went on to say, reflectively, as he took a second helping of fried potatoes from one of the fryingpans, and then fished out another nicely browned sausage from the other.

"But seems to me it's pretty early to expect 'em to take hold,"

Bandy-legs ventured to say, as he filled his tin cup from the coffee pot, and then added some condensed milk of the kind known as evaporated cream, because it has not been sweetened in order to keep it.

"W-w-what, for p-p-pickerel?" exclaimed Toby. "Why, they're ready to b-b-bite any old t-t-time, ain't they, Max?"

"I never knew the time when they wouldn't grab at bait," the other replied. "You know they're built on the order of a pirate, and that's what a pickerel or a pike is, a regular buccaneer. Why, I've been out on the ice on a big lake in winter where dozens of little cabins and tents had been built, each sheltering a pickerel fisherman, who had as many as a dozen lines rigged through holes cut in the thick ice."

"I've heard something about that kind of fishing, but never had a chance to see how it was done," Steve went on to say.

"Tell us some more about it, won't you, Max?" Bandy-legs pleaded as well as a fellow could who was swallowing his supper in gulps.

"If ever you eat p-p-pickerel like you're chokin' things d-d-down right now," Toby hastened to say, "you'll have a n-n-nice lot of pitchfork b-b-bones stuck in your throat, b-b-believe me, Bandy-legs."

"Oh! guess I've eaten pickerel lots of times," retorted the other, indignantly; "I always go slow when I'm on a fish diet, and don't you forget it. But, Max, tell us about what you saw that time. We don't get such fishing around here."

"Glad of it," muttered Steve. "There must be mighty little sport fishing through the ice when it's bitter cold; and I reckon all they do it for is the market."

"You're wrong there," Max advised him, promptly; "for while some men fish on the ice as a business, and make fair wages, many others do the same because they like it. They even keep a little stove or a fire of some sort going in those cabins and tents; and let me tell you it's some exciting watching the tip-ups signal here and there, when the fish are hungry, and biting fast and furious."

"Tip-ups, you call them; that has to do with the lines, don't it?" Steve asked.

"Yes, every line is rigged so that when a fish is caught the fisherman is notified in some way or other," Max went on to explain. "Some use little bells that tinkle with a bite; others have red strips of cloth that are pulled up to the top of a short stick; but the common way is to make a crotch cut from a branch of a tree answer. It tilts up when the line is tugged, and so you know that you ought to hurry there and get your prize. That's how they came to be called tip-ups."

"Well, as the ice has long ago gone out of the ponds around Carson I reckon we won't get any chance to try that queer sort of pickerel fishing," Steve observed; "but I brought my minnow seine along, so we ought to scoop up plenty of live bait, and they take with pickerel every time. You can trust Uncle Steve for bringing in an occasional mess of fresh fish."

"H-h-how about h-h-hunting!"

"Is the law on everything, Max?" questioned Bandy-legs.

"Pretty near everything," came the reply; "we'll look up the game laws in the morning, and see how we stand. I like to hunt as well as the next one, but all the same I don't believe in shooting game out of season, and I'd only do it if I was starving, and had to save my life that way."

"But whether we go hunting or not," ventured Steve, "we're all glad we thought to fetch our guns along."

They exchanged quick glances at that.

"Which is to say," remarked Mas, smiling, "that you haven't settled it in your mind yet, Steve, that what we saw disappearing was some barred dog belonging to a farmer, and not a striped hyena."

"Well, you never can tell," Steve stubbornly contended, with a wise shake of his head; "we know there must have been some beasts got away that they never did find again. Just what they were n.o.body seems able to agree. I've heard all sorts of guesses made; and a hyena might be one of the same, as well as anything."

"They come from India, don't they?" asked Bandy-legs, smoothly.

"Found in both Asia and Africa," Max explained. "I'm not sure of any being met with in Europe, though there are plenty of wolves. They feed on carrion mostly, and are cowardly by nature; but all the same, they're nasty looking brutes, and always snarling the worst you ever heard. It makes your flesh creep just to hear them growl, worse than the ugly tempered wildcat Toby owns."

"Well, me to carry my Marlin wherever I go up here," announced Steve; "and if it happens that I run foul of a striped beast, that I don't like the looks of, you'll see me knocking the spots out of him first, and then finding afterwards what his breed is. If he turns out to be a plain dog, then he's paid the penalty for looking like one of these hyenas, that's all."

"D-d-don't you hear 'em?" asked Toby just then.

Steve and Bandy-legs made as though ready to reach out for their guns, placed conveniently near; but hesitated when they saw that Toby was grinning, and showed no signs of being worried.

"F-f-frogs, and heaps of the same over there in that p-p-pond you was telling us about, Max. Yum! Yum! reckon now I'm in f-f-for some g-g-good feasts."

All of them could now catch a distant croaking that announced the fact as stated by the observant Toby; and they knew that with that pond so close by they would be apt to take all the bullfrogs they wanted during their stay.

"But we didn't fetch that little target gun along," remarked Bandy-legs, regretfully.

"Don't need it," Steve told him; "do we, Max?"

"Not that I can see," answered the one appealed to; "I've got a piece of red flannel with me, and some hooks. All you have to do is to cut a long pole, tie a stout line about two feet long to the end, with one of the hooks attached; and then fix a small clipping of the red stuff to the hook. When you see a big greenback on the edge of the water sneak up behind him, lower the flannel gently until it dangles in front of him, and you'll see some of the funniest happenings you ever set eyes on; that is they'll be funny to you, but death to the frog."

"I've caught 'em that way many a time," Steve told them. "Sometimes the old frog will crouch down like a cat sneaking up on a sparrow, and then make a fling up at the bright thing, which I reckon he thinks must be a juicy sort of a bug. As soon as he feels the barb of the hook he tries to climb up the line and jump all around like a trapeze performer. But only a cruel fellow would stand and watch him suffer. I always try to knock him on the head instanter, and get his boots in my creel."

"That's the only way," Max added, approvingly. "Even a sportsman can be merciful to his game by putting it out of pain as quick as possible."

"I always do when I've shot anything I want for food," Bandy-legs vowed.