The Ranger Boys and the Border Smugglers Part 8

"Why, it was partly curiosity, and partly because we heard that there was considerable smuggling in this part of the country, it being so near to the Canadian border line," said Garry cautiously. Then, carefully choosing his words, he went on:

"And if we did find evidence of any, we being in a branch of the State service, it would be our duty as good American citizens to run it down as far as possible and bring the smugglers to justice. Don't you think it would?" he concluded, looking sharply at old Dud.

"Yes sir," shot out the old gum hunter emphatically, and somewhat to the surprise of Garry, who had put the question merely to see what side the old timer would take. "I believe in upholding the laws of the land. I came from a family that has done that always. My Daddy fought in the Mexican War, and he was killed in Shiloh during the Civil War. I didn't tell 'em just the truth about my age in the Spanish War, and so I was in that myself; but they knew I was stretching the truth a little when I tried to get in the big sc.r.a.p in 1917. Ain't never one of our family done anything but uphold the law the way she was written on the books.

"Now as for this smuggling that you speak of, it does happen and it happens right in this region. There's a regular nest of 'em right in Hobart. Now mind I ain't saying anything, but if a person was to keep watch of certain fellows that always of an evening went through the back door at the end of the restaurant, he might some time know just who those fellows were. One thing, though, there ain't much help to be got from any of the townspeople when it comes to that practice. Lots of border people can't see the justice in paying duty on stuff that comes from a country that's as near them as Canada is. They don't seem to look on it as a foreign country at all. Guess it's because they are too familiar with it. And that's that. So now, boys, I'll bid ye a goodbye and trot along. I don't just know what you boys are up to, but I'll lay that it's all right, and I've just got this to say: Anytime you get into a bad hole, or need some help in the worst kind of way, remember and get to George W. Dudley, or old Dud the gum hunter. Everyone hereabouts knows who I am and where I can be found in a short time."

So saying, the old man shouldered his long rifle and went his way.

"Boys," said Garry elatedly, "the trail begins here!"

CHAPTER IX.

THE NIGHT VISITOR.

Night drawing on, the boys prepared their supper. The night's meal consisted of a real stew, for since they were so near to a place to purchase provisions they were able to indulge themselves a little more than when they were at their first station, so far away from a base of supplies.

Canned beef was used, and then a few potatoes and carrots were peeled and cut into small cubes. A good meat stew is one of the easiest things to make in the woods, provided one has a variety or two of vegetables.

All that is necessary to do is to cut the meat into small squares about an inch thick, then peel and cut the vegetables to the same size. Put just enough cold water in the kettle to cover the meat and vegetables, and then let the whole simmer slowly over the coals. From time to time the cook should take a look at the stew and see that it does not dry. It will be necessary to add a small quant.i.ty of water from time to time, and in about an hour and a quarter the stew will be ready, and after a long hike in the woods it is a dish that is fit for a king.

While d.i.c.k superintended the cooking of the stew, Phil and Garry replenished the wood supply. The stew put on the fire, d.i.c.k searched until he found a piece of sapling about an inch and a half in diameter.

This is peeled off the bark and so made a rolling pin. A gla.s.s jam jar was then emptied of its contents and laid to one side.

"Ah, I perceive that we are going to have hot biscuits for supper tonight," remarked Phil, smacking his lips.

"Regular little Sherlock, aren't you?" said Garry with a laugh. "When you see a chap make a rolling pin and a biscuit cutter, you immediately reach the conclusion that he's going to make biscuits."

That was what d.i.c.k was intending to do. With a hot stew, there is nothing more palatable than a stack of piping hot biscuits cooked in a spider over a bed of red embers. They require but little work, only one thing being necessary, and that is to rub the shortening through into the flour. Many amateur campers wonder why the biscuits are flat or doughy. It is because they either do not know that the shortening should be ground in, or else, which is too often true, are too lazy to do the work.

For the benefit of some of our readers who may want to go camping over a summer week-end, the proper making of a pan of biscuits will be described. To make a dozen biscuits, or enough for three hungry boys, take a pint and a half of flour, a teaspoon and a half of baking powder, half a heaping teaspoonful of salt, the equivalent of a heaping tablespoonful of shortening, which may be bought by the can, (lard or drippings will do equally as well) and about half a pint of cold water.

Stir the baking powder into the flour, then the salt. Then rub the shortening thoroughly into the flour, till not a bit of it remains in lumps or on the bottom of the mixing pan. Then stir in the water until you have a thick dough. In the meantime have a hot bed of coals, then dust a little flour on the bottom of one of your frying pans.

Finally roll out your dough with the home-made sapling rolling pin, and use an old gla.s.s jar or a small round tin to cut your biscuits out with.

Knead over the bits that are left from cutting the biscuits out until all the dough has been used. Put them in the frying pan, and if you have no cover, use a second inverted pan for one.

Put this on the hot coals about twenty minutes before your supper is to be ready, and a few moments later put on the coffee pot.

The result will be a supper that cannot be found in the finest of hotels, especially if your appet.i.te is sauced by a good hike and the fragrant balsamy air of the great forest.

Squatting about the glowing coals of the campfire, which cast a red reflection on the tall, sombre pines in back of them, they voted d.i.c.k a capital cook, and the supper one of the best they had eaten since they left the station where they had done fire patrol duty.

The meal over and the dishes washed, they discussed the advisability of establishing a guard as they had done when danger threatened them in past times.

Garry was of the opinion that it would be unnecessary for a time, as no one knew of their mission and they had seen nothing that would tend to alarm them.

The others were glad of this decision, for all were tired with the work of establishing the camp and the hike they had taken to the boundary line.

Shortly after midnight Garry was roused from his slumber by a nightmare in which he dreamed that LeBlanc and he were desperately battling on the top of a great cliff.

The dream was so realistic that when he woke, he shuddered for a moment.

Then feeling somewhat chilly, he found that the fire had died down, and rose to throw a few sticks of wood on the still red coals. He cast a glance about him and in the distance saw a gleaming pair of eyes!

Hastily drawing his flashlight from his pocket, and diving back into the lean-to for his rifle, he made sure it was loaded and then investigated the gleaming eyes. His flashlight was a good one, throwing a long white beam of light into the darkness.

What he saw was some sort of an animal that, unperturbed by the light, was advancing slowly. Snapping off the flashlight, and dropping it to his side, he threw his rifle to his shoulder. He took a careful aim at a point between the shining eyes, and fired. There was a snarl and a violent squirming for a moment, and then all was still.

Garry's shot had sent the wild echoes chashing through the still forest, and in a trice, Phil and d.i.c.k were awakened, and came rushing to his side, bringing their rifles with them.

"What is it, Garry?" shouted Phil. "Have we been attacked?"

"No, but there is no telling what he might have done. As far as I could make out, it's a big bobcat. I haven't gone near it yet, for I am not sure that it is dead, although it hasn't made a move since I fired,"

answered Garry.

"Well, let's go and take a look. Load your rifle again, and we can keep ours trained on the beast and make short work of him if he is still alive," said Phil.

Garry rescued his flashlight from the spot where he had dropped it when he made ready to shoot, and the three started cautiously for the still carca.s.s. Arriving at the point, d.i.c.k seized a dead stick from the ground and, throwing accurately, hit the animal in the ribs. It made never a move, and so the chums judged it was safe to approach.

The animal was stone dead. Garry's shot had pierced the brain right in the forehead, and the animal had evidently died almost instantly.

They examined the animal. It was a sort of a pepper-and-salt color with a pencil or streak of black hair extending from the back of the ears. As far as they could judge, it would stand about two feet tall, when erect, and must have been almost a yard from the top of its nose to the end of its abbreviated tail. The legs and feet were heavily covered with fur, and bore wicked, razorlike claws.

A snarl was on the face of the night prowler even in death. Garry seized it by the scruff of the neck, and hefted it.

"By George, I bet that animal weighs every ounce of thirty pounds," he exclaimed.

"Then it's the heftiest bobcat I've ever heard about," said Phil.

"Well, let's get back to bed again," yawned d.i.c.k. "I was sleeping like a log when I thought the whole shack had been pulled in about my ears.

Good thing I woke up though. I forgot to put beans to soak last night, and I am determined to have baked beans for tomorrow night's supper.

Guess I'll put them to soak and turn in again. Bring your old bobcat along and hang it to a branch, and we'll skin it tomorrow and try and tan it."

"Skin nothing," declared Garry. "I'm going to have that critter stuffed and mounted. It's one of the finest specimens I've ever seen."

"You fellows can argue all night if you want to," stated Phil emphatically. "I'm going to crawl into my blanket again. Good night!"

The boys returned to the camp, and still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, d.i.c.k put his beans to soak, and in a few minutes quiet had again descended on the camp, only the occasional snap of a burning knot breaking the majestic silence of the great forest that surrounded the sleeping boys.

When morning came, Garry was the first to awake. Glancing mischievously at his sleeping companions, he softly stole to where he had hung the body of the bobcat the night before, and hid it in the lean-to in back of the pile of cut firewood. Phil awoke a moment after, and coming out, looked for the animal to get a closer look at it in the daytime. He inquired in surprise where the carca.s.s had gone.

"If you can keep a straight face and deny everything, we will have a few minutes of fun with d.i.c.k," said Garry with a wink.

"Go to it, I'm on," laughed Phil. Garry proceeded to start the coffee and slice the bacon for breakfast.