Motor Boat Boys on the Great Lakes Part 15

Leaving the ca.n.a.l at its juncture with the river, they were soon in the neck of the lake. Far as the eye could reach, and many times farther, stretched the sparkling water, as clear as crystal; and cold enough to satisfy any one, even on as hot a day as this August one promised to be.

At noon they found a good chance to go ash.o.r.e. Nick of course was solemnly warned that this was sacred Canadian soil, and that on no account was he to try and purloin any strangely marked animals he might discover prowling around.

"You know they have some queer beasts in these foreign lands, Buster,"

George remarked, shaking a finger before the other's stubby nose. "And make up your mind right now that you're going to let 'em all severely alone. Some time you can join an expedition sent out to Africa, to scoop up all sorts of freak cats and sich; but while you're with us we'd rather you restrained that curiosity of yours. It's going to get you in trouble, some fine day, Buster, you hear me?"

"That'll do for you, George. Just wait, and see if I don't have a chance to get back on you yet," replied the other, complacently. "But would you look at Josh, what he's bringing ash.o.r.e now? Fish, as sure as you live.

Bully for Josh! White fish, too, the best that grow in these waters, barring none. Tell us, where did you catch 'em, Josh?"

"With a silver hook, and from one of the Indian guides," replied the cook. "He netted 'em in the rapids, I guess. Heard that earlier in the season they get tons and tons of fish that way; two men in a boat, one in the bow to use the net, and the other to hold the canoe against the current with a pole. Bet you they'll eat fine, too."

"I'll help you clean 'em, Josh," volunteered Nick.

"All right, then; get busy, Buster. Anyhow, you know a good thing when you see it," returned the cook, only too willing to hand over the disagreeable task.

"Well," remarked George, as he and Jack lay there in the shade, waiting for the lunch call; "We're well on our way to the Agawa river region.

Think we'll make it today, commodore?"

"I'm afraid not," replied Jack. "In the first place it looks dubious over yonder, as though we might get one of these famous Lake Superior storms you read about. If that drops in on us, we wouldn't like to be caught out on the open, you know, George."

"Well, excuse me, if you please," returned the other, with a shrug of his shoulders that spoke louder than his words. "Storms and my speed boat don't seem to agree very well. When one comes hustling along I prefer to be behind some sort of shelter, where I can laugh at the wind and the waves. But you spoke as if there might be still another reason for our not getting to the river tonight?"

"There is," Jack answered. "This time you may have the laugh on Herb."

"Say, you don't mean to tell me that the staunch old engine in the _Comfort_ has been up to any antics?" exclaimed George; not without a touch of exultation in his voice; for Herb had jeered at him so many times, on account of his troubles, it was only natural that he should feel a little gratification to know there were others.

"Yes, it developed after we left the Soo," Jack went on. "Just like these mean things always do, you know. He's been limping along for the last half hour. Of course there's no telling how serious it may be.

Let's hope we can fix it in short order. Some of us had better get at it right after lunch."

"If anybody can put it in apple pie order I guess you can, Jack," George said; "and if you need any help call on me, because you know Herb isn't much of a mechanic."

"That's kind of you, George," said Herb, who happened to be coming over to where the two were talking at the time. "That's the best thing about the motor boat boys; they like to josh each other, and get lots of fun out of things; but when it comes right down to trouble there isn't one of them who wouldn't do everything in his power to help a chum."

The call to eat caused them to make haste to gather around. In fact, there was always an involuntary sort of race to the mess table when the meals were eaten on sh.o.r.e, so that all partook. On this very day Josh noticed this fact particularly and made mention of it.

"Say, do you know you fellows are that prompt you just seem to jump into your places?" he said. "I start to pound a fryingpan with my big spoon, and before I get in five licks all of you are in a ring waiting for grub."

"Huh!" grunted George, "nothing funny about that. We have to!"

Nick of course took that as a reflection on him, and bridled up at once.

"That's unkind of you, George," he protested. "I was never known to take any fellow's share. An equal division is my rule always. And if some one chooses to decline a portion of his prog; and my appet.i.te is not satisfied, what harm in commandeering the remains?"

"Oh! you're all right, Pudding; George is only tapping you as he does us all, when he gets the chance," Herb said.

"Well, I take my punishment decently, when my turn comes, don't I?"

demanded George, as he received a generous portion of a delicious white fish, which had been rolled in egg, and cracker crumbs, and then cooked and browned in the grease from some salt pork placed in hot pans until it fried out.

"Sure you do;" Jack laughingly remarked. "And now forget all your troubles, fellows, and get down to work. Look out for bones. I've eaten white fish plenty of times, and they say they're never so good unless cooked right where they're caught."

"I believe it too," Josh continued. "Just like the pompano an uncle of mine used to tell us he caught down in Florida--used to jump in the boat, he said; and as they're a delicate, white-flesh fish like this, putting them on ice a week or so takes the flavor out. It also makes them crumble up when cooked."

"How is it, Buster?" Herb asked; but Nick only rolled his eyes, and kept on munching as though the fate of nations depended on his ability to clear off his tin platter within a given time.

When Nick was eating he wasted mighty little breath in talking, leaving all of that for more convenient times. Besides, he had a perfect horror of some time getting a fish bone in his throat.

"Wouldn't matter much with a lanky fellow like Josh, you see," he once said, in commenting on this fear; "because anybody could stick his fist down, and yank the fish-bone out; but my neck is so fat I'd choke to death long before you could say Jack Robinson. So don't bother me when I'm eating fish, please."

Afterwards Jack and George took a look at the engine of the _Comfort_.

After doing a little tinkering they announced that it would probably run fairly well during the afternoon; but before starting on another day's trip more would have to be done to it.

This was not very comforting to Herb; but he made the best of a bad bargain; and with light hearts the motor boys again started forth.

Jack kept an anxious eye on the southwestern sky. He did not altogether like the looks of things in that particular quarter, and was resolved that if they discovered a promising campsite in the afternoon, they could not afford to pa.s.s it by, if it afforded an offing for the boats.

That tremendous sea, stretching for several hundred miles away to the west, opened appalling possibilities in the way of a gale. The staunchest steamers that ever plied the fresh water seas would sometimes be as putty in the grasp of a summer storm; and what of the three puny mosquito craft that were as chips on the water?

At three o'clock Herb announced that his engine was getting worse instead of better. And about the same time a welcome hail from George, who was moving along in the van as usual, told that he had by the aid of his gla.s.ses sighted a shelter.

"Then it's us to go ash.o.r.e," declared Jack; nor was any one sorry in their hearts; since a little while before a distant sound like thunder had been borne to their ears from the low-down patch of hovering clouds.

The retreat promised to be all the shelter they wanted, though it would hardly have answered for larger boats. Immediately all became as busy as beavers, the two tents being raised, and stoutly secured, so that any ordinary gale could not carry the canvas off like a balloon.

Jack had hardly finished his share of the work before he got out his rod, and busied himself in trying for trout; for he fancied that they were to be found in the clear waters near by this cove, where a limpid little stream emptied into the Great Lake.

Nick, they all noticed, stuck close to camp. It would have to be something very attractive that could induce _him_ to wander far from his fireside, especially when the camp was pitched on Canadian soil, where they grew such queer kitties.

This time it was Jimmie who seemed destined to get into a peck of trouble. Jack always declared that there seemed to be an evil spirit forever hovering around their camp, looking for chances to accomplish his work; and let there appear the least kind of an opening, and he was ready to jump in.

Jimmie was not much of a hunter or fisherman, though able to do either on occasion. But he did have a little fancy for wild flowers, and liked to pry around on occasion, seeing what he could discover.

Now, at this late day in the season, he knew he was not apt to run across any of these pretty gems of the woods; but there seemed to be some sort of fascination about poking here and there examining a bunch of magnificent moss of a pattern he had never set eyes on before, measuring some giant ferns, and watching the antics of a family of squirrels. These had their home in an old hollow tree close by, and seemed filled with mild curiosity concerning the intruders on two legs that had taken up quarters so boldly adjoining the cove.

Herb and George were busily engaged with the balky engine, trying to find out just what ailed the thing, so that it could be remedied once and for all. In the end they felt positive that the blame could be located and effectually cured. At least it was to be hoped so; otherwise the _Tramp_ would have to tow the larger boat back to the Soo, where the trouble could be abated at the hands of a machinist.

Josh, according to his custom, was pottering around the camp, making a better fireplace out of stones, at which he could carry out his part of the business with more comfort and dispatch. If they had been going to remain any length of time here, Josh would have constructed a "cooker"

worth looking at; for he was an artist in this particular line.

Nick was apparently quite content to lie around, "getting up an appet.i.te for the next meal," as Josh sarcastically remarked.

"Just as if that were at all necessary," was what the fat boy hurled back at him; and the argument was so clinching that Josh subsided on the spot; for no one had ever seen the time when Buster's appet.i.te needed to be coaxed.

Nick's eyes finally alighted on the repeating gun which Jack had leaned against a tree at a point where it would be out of harm's way. Now, Nick himself had seldom fired a gun, though ambitious to become a sportsman; because, as he wisely observed, "if I happened to be left in the woods some time, think I want to starve to death, with a gun in my hands, and plenty of fat game all around me? Not much!"

And in that spirit he had picked up the Marlin; bringing it to his shoulder in a clumsy way, time after time, in order to get accustomed to the movement.

"Keep the muzzle turned the other way, Buster!" commanded Josh, noticing that he was working the pump action of the six-shot weapon, as if he liked to see the ejector send the sh.e.l.l flying out at one side.

"Guess I know enough for that Josh," grumbled Nick, but at the same time moving still farther around, so that the cook might lose his fears; for when a meal was being prepared the fat boy always handled Josh with gloves, as he frankly admitted.