Lost Farm Camp Part 42

Bas...o...b..managed, with directions from Swickey, to break the trout's neck by putting his thumb under the upper jaw and bending the head back with a quick snap. Then he reeled in his fly. "I've a favor to ask, Swickey."

She turned toward him, deceived by the gravity of his tone.

"It's a great favor."

"What is it?"

"I can't a.s.sume the proper att.i.tude of supplication, owing to the skittish disposition of this craft, but will you please pa.s.s the worms?"

Bas...o...b..quickly duplicated Swickey's success. Sportsmanship was forgotten in the wild joy of playing and landing big trout that fought every inch of the way to their final and somewhat ignominious handling from the water to the canoe. Flies, landing-nets, and fussiness might do for story-books and catalogues: they were catching fish.

David sat quietly watching them and smoking. Now and then he swung the canoe back into position as it drifted from the pool. The rocks gleamed gray-white on the opposite sh.o.r.e as the sun touched the western end of the woods and the air became refreshingly cooler.

"I don't want to end the fun," he said finally, "but it gets dark soon after six."

"Why, Dave!" Swickey reeled in her line swiftly, "you haven't caught a fish!"

"Say, old man, why didn't you shout?"

"I enjoyed every minute of it," replied David, as Swickey caught up her paddle and swung into stroke with him. "The best part of fishing is just the opportunity to get away from one's self a while, isn't it?"

"I don't know," replied Bas...o...b.. "I never was much of a dreamer, anyway."

"Dreamer?" said Swickey, pausing to turn half round. "Dave isn't a dreamer-are you, Dave?"

"He's apt to be most anything, Swickey. He'll bear watching," said Bas...o...b.. "You don't know him as I do."

The canoe slid swiftly over the darkening surface of the water till they came to the place where they had embarked. They stepped ash.o.r.e and carried the canoe to the bushes.

"Now we'll have to travel, Wallie. I'm sorry your gla.s.ses are broken, but you keep close to Swickey and we'll make it all right. I'll go ahead."

"I'm agreeable," said Bas...o...b.. "but I feel like a hen with gla.s.s eyes."

He blinked helplessly in the sudden gloom as they entered the forest.

"This way," said Swickey. "It will be all right when you get used to it.

I don't believe it ever gets much darker or lighter in here."

Bas...o...b..stumbled along, doing his best to keep up with David's pace, that seemed unnecessarily fast, but was in reality much slower than usual. As they came to a gully which they had crossed on a fallen tree when they came in, Swickey took Bas...o...b..s hand, and, walking sideways, led him across carefully.

"It's muskeg down there, so be careful."

"Sure. I wish this log was a mile long. I like muskegs, don't you?"

"No, I don't," said Swickey, releasing his hand as they came to securer footing.

"Of course it's a matter of taste, Miss Avery. When blindness is bliss, 'tis folly to wear gla.s.ses, you know."

"Perhaps it won't be bliss all the way," she replied. "There's another stretch of swamp-you remember that place just after we left the old trail?-and it's black mud, and deep each side of the hummocks."

"Yes, I know-that you're absolutely bewitching-although I can't see as much of you as I should like to in this-wait a minute till I crawl under this log-neck of the woods."

"We won't be able to keep up if you stop to say such things," replied Swickey.

"I'm really in no hurry, even if I seem to be. I'm only trying to keep up with you. There! Hang it! I wish the chap that put that rock there had a little more sense of proportion. It's altogether too big a chunk to be lying around loose on the avenue. Hey, Davy, are you there?"

"h.e.l.lo! Here I am," called David.

"Thought you were lost. This route has got the N. M. & Q. frapped to suds. I've got a half-nelson on a friendly sapling and Swickey has deserted me, and it's mud from here to China."

Swickey turned back and laughingly helped Bas...o...b..to the trail again.

"It's your own fault-you will say things whenever I help you."

"That's me," he replied, squeezing her hand. "It's my nature to be gracious, you know."

"Well, here we are, on the old trail again," she said, as they came up to David.

They walked along in single file until the trail widened near the river, across which they could see the lighted windows of the camp.

"Father's home," said Swickey. "I wonder how Jim Cameron is? Pop's been to see him-Jim has been sick."

"Yes. Your father told me," said David. "Pneumonia, isn't it?"

"Yes; I hope he is better. Pop went down to tell Jim you were here. He said Jim would get well right away when he heard Mr. Bas...o...b..was with you."

"There, Davy! Talk about 'angels with healing in their wings.' I feel so sanctimonious it hurts."

"I wouldn't let it get too painful, Wallie. You know they call Cameron 'Curious Jim'-"

"There you go-blasting my fair illusions in the bud. For an out-and-out, cold-blooded vivisectionist of ideals, you're the heavy-weight champion of the scalpel, Davy-and you used to write poetry. Oh, Pegasus and autos!"

"Poetry!" exclaimed Swickey.

"Steeped in guilt," replied Bas...o...b.. nodding toward David. "He wrote the blankest kind of blank verse, and the most solemnly salubrious sonnets, and the loveliest lyrics! Remember that Eugene Fielder you did about the little boy and his pup?"

"If you had your gla.s.ses on, Walt, I'd-" David made a playfully threatening gesture.

"No, you wouldn't, Davy dear, for I could see you coming-and I'd run.

Besides, you'd have to drop that string of trout first."

After supper David went to his cabin to write some letters. Bas...o...b..stayed behind to chat with Avery about certain details of the work that was soon to be begun in the Timberland Valley.

"I reckon," said Avery, seating himself on the edge of the porch, "I reckon they's no sense in hirin' men fur the job till the new railrud gets to runnin'. Howcome they's some swampin' to be did-cuttin' a road from the creek to the sidin', and we kin git Jim, and a couple of men from Tramworth, and me, and go at it most any time now. Jim's comin'

around all right, and I calc'late to git him to do the teamin' later on.

'Course you and Dave'll boss the job. Now, about one thing: Dave says we won't make nothin' the fust year. Now, I ain't worryin' about thet. What I'm thinkin' of is who's goin' to look after things at the other end.

Somebody's got to do the sellin' and take care of the money when it do git to comin' in, and-"

"Davy and I talked it over," interrupted Bas...o...b.. "He thinks I'd better be back in town when things get to running here. He will probably speak to you about it."