  Supper concluded, the talk naturally fell to the object of their expedition. The chart or map of the treasure-trove’s location was brought out and pored over in the firelight, for the nights were quite sharp, and a big fire had been lighted. “How soon do you think we will be within striking distance of the place?” inquired Rob. “Within two or three days, I should estimate,” replied the former officer, “but of course we may be delayed. For instance, we have a portage ahead of us.” “A-a—how much?” asked Tubby. “A portage. That means a point of land round which it would not be practicable to canoe. At such a place we shall have to take the canoes out of the water and carry them over the projection of land to the next lake.” “Anybody who wants it can have my share of that job,” said Tubby, “I guess I’ll delegate Andy Bowles to carry out my part.” There was a general laugh at the idea of what a comical sight the diminutive bugler would present staggering along under the weight of a canoe. “Andy would look like a little-neck clam under its shell,” chuckled Merritt. “Well, you can’t always gauge the quality of the goods by the size of the package they come in,” chortled Andy, “look at Tubby, for instance. He——” But the fat boy suddenly projected himself on the little bugler. But Andy, though small, was tough as a roll of barbed wire. He resisted the fat lad’s attack successfully and the two struggled all over the level place on which the camp had been pitched. Finally, however, they approached so near to the edge that Rob interfered. “You’ll roll down the slope into the lake in another minute,” he said. “Two baths a day would be too much for Tubby. Besides, he’d raise the water and swamp the canoes.” The fat youth, with a pretence of outraged dignity, sought his tepee and engaged himself in cleaning his twenty-two rifle. After a while, though, he emerged from his temporary obscurity, and joined the group about the fire, who were happily discussing plans. “One good thing is that we have plenty of arms,” volunteered Hiram, “in case Hunt and his gang attack us we can easily keep them off.” “Good gracious!” exclaimed the professor, “surely you don’t contemplate any such unlawful acts, major?” “As shooting at folks you mean,” laughed the major. “No indeed, my dear professor. But if those rascals attack us I hope we shall be able to tackle them without any other weapons than those nature has given us.” “I owe Freeman Hunt a good punch,” muttered Tubby. “I’d like to make the dust fly around his heels with this rifle.” “Goodness, you talk like a regular ‘Alkali Ike’,” grinned Hiram. “Bet you I could hit an apple at two hundred yards with this rifle, anyway,” asserted the stout youth. “Bet my hunting knife you can’t.” “All right, we’ll try to-morrow. This rifle is a dandy, I tell you.” “Pooh! It won’t carry a hundred yards.” “It won’t, eh? It’ll carry half a mile, the man who sold it to me said so.” “Minds me uv er gun my uncle had daown in Virginny,” put in Jumbo who had been an interested listener, “that thar gun was ther mos’ umbliquitos gun I ever hearn’ tell uv.” “It was a long distance shooter, eh?” laughed the major, scenting some fun. “Long distance, sah! Why, majah, sah, dat gun hadn’t no ekil fo’ long distancenessness. Dat gun ’ud shoot—it ’ud shoot de eye out uv er lilly fly des as fur as you could see.” “It would, really, Jumbo?” inquired Andy Bowles, deeply interested. “It sho’ would fer sartain shuh, Massa Bowles.” “Pshaw, that’s nothing,” scoffed Tubby, with a wink at the others. The fun-loving youth scented a joke. “My uncle had a gun that once killed a deer at three miles.” “At free miles, Massa Hopkins?” “Yes. It sounds incredible I know, but they had the state surveyor measure off the ground and sure enough it was three miles.” “Um-ho!” exclaimed Jumbo, blinking at the fire, “dat’s a wun’ful gun shoh ’nuff. But mah uncle’s gun hed it beat.” “Impossible, Jumbo!” exclaimed the major. “Yas, sah, it deed. Mah uncle’s gun done cahhey so fah dat mah uncle he done hed ter put salt on his bullets befo’ he fahed dem.” “Put salt on his bullets before he fired them, Jumbo! What on earth for?” demanded Rob while the others bent forward interestedly. “Jes’ becos of de distance at which dat rifle killed,” explained Jumbo. “Yo’ see, and especially in warm weather, dat salt was needed, ’cos it took mah uncle such a time te git to it after he done kill it dat if those bullets weren’t salted the game would hev spoiled. Yes, sah, da’s a fac’, majah.” A dead silence fell over the camp at the conclusion of this interesting narrative. You could have heard a pin drop. At last the major said, in a solemn voice: “Jumbo, I fear you are an exaggerator.” “Ah specs’ ah is, majah. I specs’ ah is, but you know dat zaggerators is bo’n and not made, lak potes.” Then the laughter broke loose. The hillside echoed with it, and Jumbo, who deemed that he had been called a most complimentary term by the major, gazed from one to the other in a highly puzzled way. “Reminds me of old Uncle Hank who keeps a grocery store near my uncle’s farm up in Vermont,” put in Hiram. “One night in the store they were talking about potato bugs. One old fellow said he had seen twenty potato bugs on one stalk. “‘’Pshaw!’ said an old man named Abner Deene, ‘that’s nothing. Why, up in my potato patch they’ve eaten everything up and now when I go outdoors I kin see ’em sitting around the lot, on trees and fences, waitin’ fer me ter plant over ag’in.’ “Then it came the turn of an old fellow named Cyrus Harper. Cyrus laughed at Abner. “‘Sittin’ roun’ on fences,’ he sniffed, ‘that’s nuffin’. Nuffin’ at all. Why whar I come from the potato bugs come right into the kitchen, open the oven doors and yank the red hot baking potatoes out of the stove.’ “My uncle hadn’t said a thing all this time, but now he struck in. “‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘all these potato-bug stories don’t begin to compare with the breed they had down near Brattleboro, where I come from. Down there I used to clerk in Si Toner’s grocery and general store. Well, the potato bugs used to come into the store in the spring and look over Si’s books to see who’d been buying potato seed.’” “Funny thing your uncle never met the wonderful rifle shot, Philander Potts,” said the professor musingly, after the laughter over Hiram’s yarn had subsided. “Philander Potts,” exclaimed the boys, “never heard of him.” “Too bad,” said the professor musingly, “he was the best shot in the world, too, I guess. Why, once he undertook to fire at a rubber target 2,000 times in two minutes. The way he did it was this. He had a repeating rifle and kept firing as fast as he could at the india-rubber target. The bullets would bounce off and he caught them in the muzzle of his rifle as they flew back and fired them over again.” “But what about the bullets that were coming out? Didn’t they collide with the ones coming back?” asked Andy Bowles in all seriousness. “No,” said the professor gravely, “you see, Philander was so swift in his movements that he was able to fire and catch alternately.” “I’ll have to practice that,” laughed Tubby. Soon after the narration of this surprising anecdote, the major looked at his watch. “Bless my soul!” he exclaimed, “nine o’clock. Time for lights out. Andy, sound ‘Taps’ and we’ll post the sentries for the night.” Tubby and Hiram were selected for the first watch. The major and young Andy were to stand the second vigil while the third period of sentry duty fell to Merritt and Rob. It seemed to the latter that they had not been asleep half an hour when the major entered their tepee and aroused them for their tour of duty. He reported all quiet, and a clear moonlight night. Hastily throwing on their uniforms the Boy Scouts turned out. For some time they paced their posts steadfastly without anything occurring to mar the stillness of the night. The moon shone down brightly, silvering the surface of the lake which could be glimpsed through the dark trees. Suddenly Rob, who had reached the limit of his post, which was not far from where the canoes had been hauled up, was startled by a slight sound. It ceased almost instantly, but presently it occurred again. Cautiously the boy crept through the forest toward the water’s edge. He took every advantage of his scout training and carefully avoided treading on twigs or anything that might cause a sound of his approach to be made manifest. Gliding from tree trunk to tree trunk he soon arrived at the spot in which the canoes had been dragged ashore. At the same instant he became aware of several dark figures moving about among them. Suddenly, right behind him, a twig snapped. In the stillness it sounded as loud as the report of a pistol. Rob wheeled round swiftly, but not before a figure leaped toward him from behind a tree trunk. Before Rob could raise a hand in self-defense another form sprang at him. The lad tried to cry out and discharge his rifle, but before he could accomplish either act he was felled by some heavy instrument, and a gag thrust into his mouth. The next instant, bound and incapable of uttering a sound, he was borne swiftly toward the canoes. |
|
