The Boy Scouts in A Trapper's Camp Part 2

"And the trapping?"

"Fair to good."

"Who's your partner? You haven't said a word about him."

"An old woodsman and trapper I sc.r.a.ped acquaintance with. He's a little rough, but when you get to know him I think you'll like him." There was a twinkle in Pat's eyes which neither Hal nor Walter caught.

"Now tell us about Alec Smith, and we'll let you off. How is that broken leg, and what is he doing? Say, he must have felt good when Black Charley confessed to having knifed The Mick! Looked pretty bad for Alec for a while, didn't it? Is he living up to all those good resolutions he made?"

"You bet he is!" Pat answered the last question first. "After Big Jim and I got him out to Woodcraft Camp he stayed there doing odd jobs around the camp until that leg was strong enough for him to go into a lumber camp as cook. He was there a month and then quit for the trap line. The last I heard of him he was somewhere up in the Smugglers'

Hollow country, and I guess probably he's there yet. You remember he had some traps cached up there. Leg's as good as it ever was, and he swears, and believes it too, that Walt here is the greatest little doctor that ever came into the woods. He'll talk any one who will listen deaf, dumb and blind on the Boy Scouts, and I believe he'd cut his right hand off any time for Doctor Merriam. Alec's all right."

"And Big Jim! What's Jim doing and how is he?"

"He's the same old Jim. He's the boss of the At.w.a.ter lumber camp this winter, with two crews under him and out to make a record cut. If the weather holds good he'll come pretty near to doing it. Jim's the best logging boss, as well as the best guide, in the North Woods. Now what are you fellows going to do with me in Noo Yor-r-k?"

"That's mostly up to Hal, I'm afraid," replied Upton ruefully. "You see I have to go to school next week. To-morrow is Sat.u.r.day, and a holiday of course, so I've got that free. No, I haven't either, come to think! I promised to take my patrol out for a hike to-morrow afternoon, and I don't quite see how I can avoid it now because there is no way of getting word to the fellows unless----" He paused and scowled thoughtfully. "I have it!" he exclaimed. "Scout McNulty has a 'phone in his house, and I'll send him around to notify the others to-morrow morning that the hike is off."

He jumped to his feet to go to the 'phone, but Pat stopped him. "What's the matter with us going on that hike?" he demanded.

Instantly Walter's face lighted with pleasure. "Will you? Are you sure you want to?" he cried. "The boys have heard so much about you that they will be tickled silly to have a real, live, sure enough guide from the woods with them. We were planning to go out to Bronx Park and try a little winter woodcraft and----"

"That settles it. If it's Bronx Park I'm right with you, my son, unless Hal has something else planned," interrupted Pat. "In that case, why, I be in the hands av me frind, of course."

"Suits me," declared Hal promptly. "We'll take Pat down-town in the morning and show him the sights and take him into Scout headquarters.

Then we'll go out to the park and show him that your Blue Tortoises are not so slow as he may think from the name. We'll frame up something else for the evening. That's a bully scheme. I'll bet that Pat will be jealous of that patrol of yours, Walt, before we get through. Just you put 'em on their mettle and give him something to tell that patrol of his at Upper Chain about. I suppose you're still leader of the Bull Moose, Pat?"

Pat shook his head. "Yes and no," said he. "You see I've been away so much that I had to resign. A patrol to be what it should be needs a leader on the job every minute, and so one of the boys at the sawmill is leader now, and he's a good one, too. He's a Scout of the first cla.s.s and is working for merit badges now. He's got five already--personal health, physical development, taxidermy, signaling and stalking--and has won a medal for saving life. When I happen to be at home I just give them my valuable advice." Pat grinned.

"Oh, we've got some little patrol up there in the woods, and I'm just waiting to be shown what your city Scouts have got on us," he concluded.

"That takes care of to-morrow, then," said Hal. "We'll plan doings next week so that Walt can be with us out of school hours. Then Friday night we'll head for the good old woods. My, but that does sound good to me!

Ten days up among the big trees, where there's snow enough to make a footprint without having to photograph it in order to prove it isn't a fake; where the foxes and the other critters with nice fur coats are sitting 'round waiting to put their little footsies in our traps; where

"The Red G.o.ds dwell Neath a mystic spell; The red flame glows, And the red blood flows, And a man's a man For a little span."

A sofa pillow full in the face cut short this poetic outbreak, followed by an inquiry from Pat as to Hal's experience on snow-shoes.

"Never had 'em on in my life, but I'm crazy to," replied that exuberant youth. "Bought a pair yesterday purpose for the trip. Don't look to me as if it can be much of a trick to walk on 'em."

"Did you buy any liniment to go with them?" asked Pat.

Hal looked puzzled. "Liniment? What for?" he demanded.

"Oh, just to be prepared. You know a good Scout always is prepared,"

replied Pat evasively, at the same time tipping Walter a wink.

"Meaning what?" persisted Hal.

"It's a long, long way to Tipperary, especially on snow-shoes," was Pat's enigmatic reply. "I'd lay in a good supply of that liniment if I were you."

Hal made a wry face at Pat. "Quit your kidding," said he. "We'll take a gallon of liniment if you say so. Now tell us what else we'll need. Do we take guns?"

Pat shook his head. Then seeing a look of disappointment in both faces he hastened to say that the closed season was now on for all game excepting rabbits and hares, and if they wanted to hunt these they might take their 22 caliber rifles. In fact he wasn't sure but this would be a good idea, as bunnies were plentiful and hunting them on snow-shoes might afford some excellent sport.

"What about fish? Will there be a chance to do some fishing through the ice?" asked Hal.

Pat smiled at Hal's eagerness. "There are just as big pickerel under the ice as ever swam," he averred, "and if you are willing to do some real work and chop out holes I think I can promise you some whales without the trouble of swimming for them."

There was a general laugh at this thrust at Hal, whose adventure with a big pickerel, during which he and Plympton had been capsized from a raft, was one of the never-to-be-forgotten incidents of the search for Lost Trail.

"But you haven't told us yet just where we are going, where your camp is, you know," Walter broke in.

Just then the honk, honk of an automobile sounded from the front of the house.

"There's the car!" cried Hal. "We'll have to be getting a move on, or Pat will lose his beauty sleep and be in no shape for to-morrow. We'll be round at 9:30 sharp in the morning, Walter. I don't want to get Pat up too early."

"Early!" Pat fairly snorted. "Arrah now! Do yez play all night and slape all day in Noo Yor-r-k?" he demanded.

CHAPTER III

THE BLUE TORTOISE PATROL

Sparrer, otherwise Edward Muldoon, smallest Scout in the Blue Tortoise Patrol, darted back from the corner to the group waiting about the up-town entrance to the subway.

"He's coming!" he shrilled. "An' two guys wid him, de one wid de dough an' de biggest rube yer ever put yer peepers on!"

The announcement was electrifying and there was an immediate rush to look down the street.

"It's Walt and Harrison all right, but who in the d.i.c.kens is that with them, and where did they find him?" exclaimed Ned Patterson.

"Gee, look at the size of him! He's a rube, all right, by the looks of him, but I'd hate to tell him so," muttered Chick Parsons.

"Red headed and Irish at that! Say, fellers, we'll have some fun with him," chortled Jack Norwood.

"Quit your kidding and fall in for a salute!" snapped a.s.sistant Leader McNulty.

Instantly the patrol lined up and as Walter approached, Hal on one side and Pat on the other, seven hands were raised as one in the Scout salute. It was returned by the three older lads.

"Somebody's wised him to de game, all right," whispered the irrepressible Sparrer to his neighbor as his sharp eyes took note of the fact that Pat had saluted quite as if accustomed to it. "Mebbe he belongs to some rube patrol."

There was a nudging of elbows and here and there a half smothered giggle as the youngsters sized Pat up and noticed the awkward fit and rough material of his "store suit," the celluloid collar and the flaming red four-in-hand clumsily tied. In the eyes of his young critics he was branded by these things quite as much as if he had worn a placard "Just from the Country."

"Green goods right from the farm," whispered Chick to Sparrer. "I dare you to ask him how the caows are."