The Strange Cabin on Catamount Island

by Lawrence J. Leslie

  CHAPTER X.

  THE BUILDER OF THE STRANGE CABIN.

  "What is it, Bandy-legs?" shouted Steve, who, in spite of his constantquarreling with the other, felt a great amount of affection for him.

  He had pounced down upon the ax, which happened to be lying close by,and this he flourished around his head as he started to meet the figurethat was scrambling up the little bank above the beach.

  "Whoo, somethin' jumped at me!" replied the startled boy, panting forbreath; for he had fallen at least twice, in his haste to rejoin hiscampmates near the blazing fire.

  Max took hold of him as he came up, and started to ask questions.Perhaps he already began to suspect that Bandy-legs was allowing hisfears to run away with his judgment. There was such a thing as beingfrightened at one's own shadow.

  "Are you sure you saw something, Bandy-legs?" he asked.

  "Course I am," came the reply.

  "And it wasn't your shadow this time?" Max continued.

  Now, had Steve put It in exactly the same way, the boy would have shownimmediate indignation; but he seemed to understand that Max meant everyword, and was not simply trying to tease him. So he replied in like goodfaith.

  "It sure wasn't, Max. Why, just when I was goin' to bend down over mycanoe, to see how things looked inside, it gave a nasty little spitstraight in my face, and went whirling over the side. And, Max, it had atail as big as a broom, honest it did."

  "Oh, that means it must have been a 'coon," remarked Max, beginning tolaugh.

  "But what would a measly old raccoon want in my canoe?" demandedBandy-legs. "If he just had to come snoopin' around, why couldn't thecritter pick out a boat belongin' to somebody else? Seems likeeverything has a spite against just me."

  "Well, of course, I can't tell you that," remarked Max. "If you want toknow you'll have to ask the 'coon. Perhaps you may have dropped a smallpiece of food in your boat; and as he came prowling around, not verymuch afraid of us here, he got track of the same, and was hunting for itwhen you had to disturb him."

  "I don't wonder he sniffed in your face when you poked your head inthere," declared Steve. "Nobody likes to be bothered when they'reeating. Just try taking a bone away from a hungry dog or cat, once, andsee. He thought you a busybody, that's what, Bandy-legs. But he's gonenow, if so be you want to investigate, and find out whether the 'coonchawed another hole in your canoe."

  But Bandy-legs only threw himself down by the fire.

  His air was that of one who was determined not to be easily lured awayfrom so comfortable a place until it was time to go to bed. They couldsee that Bandy-legs was really becoming quite worked up over the queerway a fickle fortune seemed to be showering little adventures on hisshoulders, while the rest went scot free.

  "Ain't we goin' to stand guard to-night, fellers?" he asked later on;showing how the subject stuck in his mind.

  "Guard over what?" asked Steve.

  "Why, that critter is bent on stealing every bit of our grub, and weought to do everything we can to break up his game," Bandy-legsaffirmed, in a firm way that was rather new to him.

  "As how?" further questioned Steve; while the others listened as ifinterested.

  "Well, s'pose Max here laid out a plan that would give every feller twohours on the watch," pursued Bandy-legs, proudly, as though he hadconjured up this beautiful little scheme all by himself, while sittingthere staring into the fire. "If I had that shotgun in my hands, I'djust like to see anybody, or anything, sneak in on us, and steal as muchas an egg."

  "I guess you would be a pretty dangerous customer, with a loaded gun inyour hands, the way you feel right now," remarked Max, seriously. "Come,you mustn't think so much about it, Bandy-legs. Leave it to us, andwe'll try and fix it all right."

  "But I've got an idea of a trap in my mind I'd like to try out,"protested the other, eagerly.

  "That's all right," laughed Max, "so long as you don't fall into ityourself, and get us all up in the middle of the night. You must promisenot to creep out at any time, to see if there's anything in it."

  "Oh, you'll know it, all right, if it does ketch game," grinnedBandy-legs. "You see, I was readin' just last week about a crocodilehunter away off in Africa; and he used to set his traps about like theway I'm goin' to do mine now."

  "Go on and tell us about it, please?" asked Owen, always interested.

  "I've known farmers' boys to make the same sort of snare to grab rabbitsin the winter time," Bandy-legs went on, being a most accommodating boy,especially when he had anything to tell about his own doings. "You finda nice stout hickory sapling of the right kind, and strip it of all thebranches. Then you bend it over, and fasten it to a crotched stickyou've pounded hard in the ground. The end of the sapling has a stoutcord tied to it, and this is made in the shape of a noose. The bait isput in this, and bunny gets his leg caught in the loop, which tightens,so he tugs to get away. Then up goes the sapling, when the trigger issprung, and the game hangs there, kicking in the air."

  "Fine!" remarked Steve, admiringly; "and the chances are just two toone, old fellow, that if you set a trap like that for a visitor, you'llbe the first to fall into it."

  "Oh, say, can't you let a feller get up even a little thing like thatwithout throwing cold water on him?" complained Bandy-legs, in a grievedtone. "Max, don't you think it'd work, if I tried it?"

  "It might," came the reply; "and perhaps there wouldn't be any harm donetrying. It's a pretty smart scheme, let me tell you, Bandy-legs. And ifwe heard a yell, and crawled out to see the thief hanging there, all thecredit would be yours."

  That settled it. Words of praise from so good an authority as Max wouldbrush away all the sarcastic remarks Steve could think up. SoBandy-legs, with a look of triumph at his opponent, picked up the ax andsauntered off again. But he was very careful to keep within the magicalcircle of light cast by the blazing camp fire.

  They heard him chopping away presently.

  "Found the very hickory you wanted, have you?" called out Max.

  "Just suits the bill, O. K.," replied the busy one.

  After a little he came back for a piece of the rope.

  "Don't take more than you need," Owen remarked. "Before we leave herethat rope may come in handy. You never can tell."

  "Yes," said Steve, with grim humor; "and there's a mighty convenientlimb sticking out nearly straight and horizontal from that tree overyonder. If we happened to be out West now instead of ten miles fromCarson, the chances are they'd know what that same limb was meant for."

  "Oh, come, none of that stuff," Max protested, for he saw thatBandy-legs frowned and looked a trifle unwilling to go away from thecircle again. "This is a peaceful community, and they never use ropesthat way around here."

  Ten minutes later and they heard a sudden snap, accompanied by certainpawing sounds, and a great grunting. Hurrying over to where the trapsetter had been hard at work they found him with his hands on theground, and one leg held high up in the air by the noose he had made ofthe rope.

  Despite the efforts of Bandy-legs, he seemed unable to reach the rope,and only for the prompt assistance of his chums he might have had aserious time of it. Of course Steve laughed as if he would have a fit,even while the others were taking the unfortunate trapper down.

  "Works all right, don't it, Bandy-legs?" he demanded. "When they got anew play that they want to try out in some small city away from NewYork, they say they're trying it on the dog first. And looks like you--"

  "Shut up!" roared Bandy-legs, turning on his tormentor. "I wanted to seeif it would go off, that's all."

  "Well, it did!" remarked Steve, dryly.

  "And now I'm goin' to set it for fair," returned the other, who seemedto be so well pleased with the result of his labors that he could eventake Steve's chaffing with some degree of good humor.

  They left him there, all but Max, who stayed to render any assistancethe ardent trapper might need. For Max had an idea that perhaps the trapmight play a part in the discovery of the unknown thief, should he ta
kea notion to pay the camp another visit that night.

  Then they all sat around the blaze and chatted once more.

  "Does anybody know the history of this island, and who ever lived here?"asked Max. "That cabin must have been built a good many years ago, I'dthink, judging from the looks of it."

  "Say, I was thinkin' about that same thing this afternoon, when sittin'on that log fishing," spoke up Steve.

  "Then you remembered something about it, did you?" asked Owen.

  "That's what I did," came the ready response. "But it was a long timeago, and I must 'a' been only a little kid then, because I don't seem tojust recollect the whole story."

  "Tell us what you do remember, Steve?" suggested Max.

  "Yes," continued Bandy-legs, "I'd give a lot to know whoever was sillyenough to want to live on this wild-looking old island, where in thespring they say the flood sometimes nearly covers everything. You c'nsee the drift hanging to the butts of some of the trees right now, andall pointin' downstream."

  "Good for you, Bandy-legs!" exclaimed the pleased Max; "I never thoughtyou'd notice such things. Owen and myself were talking about it; butwhen you get to paying attention to such small matters it shows thatyou're just bound to make a good woodsman some fine day."

  "You bet I am," confided the other, cheerfully, his eyes glistening withpleasure at hearing one he respected so highly as Max Hastings hand outpraise in this manner.

  "Go on, Steve, tell us what you know," Owen observed, encouragingly.

  "Well, I just happened to hear my dad talkin' with another gentlemanonce, and it was about this same island up here. They called itCatamount then, like they do right now. He said that a long time before,a man by the name of Wesley Coombs had bought the place for a song fromthe owners, and with his wife and baby here, started to clear the timberoff. So you see 'twas him that put up the queer little old cabin here.He thought he could have a great home of it in time."

  "Yes, I saw a number of big trees that must have been felled with the axyears ago," Max remarked at this point; "and I was wondering about it."

  "W-w-what happened to W-w-wesley C-c-combs?" asked Toby.

  "It was a mighty sad thing, my dad said," Steve went on, a tremor in hisown voice, for Steve was tender-hearted after his fashion; "you see, thefirst winter he was here he made quite a heap of money trappin' furs,and fishing through the ice for pickerel that he sold in town. Then inthe spring the floods came and the whole little family was wiped out;though the cabin, bein' built so strong, held out against the freshet,and it has ever since, too."

  "All drowned, Wesley Coombs, his wife, and his baby, too; that's a toughstory of the old island you're giving us, Steve," remarked Owen.

  "Well, they said as how the man was saved, but he was stark starin' mad;and my dad said he died later on. I never could get that story out of mybead for a long time. It gave me a bad feeling this afternoon when Iremembered the same, and I thought of that little cabin once being ahappy home."

  "Gee! I hope one of them same floods don't take a notion to swoop downthis way while we're camped on Catamount Island!" declared Bandy-legs.

  "Oh, well, we'd get home in a hurry if it did," remarked Steve,indifferently. "You know, they said our canoes couldn't sink, becausethey've got air tanks fitted away up in the bow and back in the stern.All we'd have to do would be to lash ourselves to 'em with pieces ofthat rope, and float along till we got opposite Carson, when we'd yellfor help. Yes, Owen was right; that rope might come in handy one way oranother, yet."

  "For shame, Steve," called out Max; "trying to mike Bandy-legs nervousagain. There never was a flood at this time of year, take my word forit. But we'll try and make ourselves as secure as we can, with ourcanoes in the bargain; because, if those Shafters did take it into theirheads to raid us tonight, we want to be ready for them."

  And it was with that idea in mind that the campers busied themselves forhalf an hour or so before the time they had set for crawling under theirblankets, and "wooing the moose," as Bandy-legs put it, meaning to casta sly reflection on the well-known habit Steve had of snoring in hissleep when lying on his back.