Boy Scouts in the Maine Woods; Or, The New Test for the Silver Fox Patrol

by Herbert Carter

  CHAPTER II.

  A WARNING FROM A GAME POACHER.

  "Did I g-g-get him?"

  Bumpus, as he spoke these eager words, managed to gain a sittingposition, though his first act was to rub his shoulder as though itpained him.

  There was a roar from all the boys at this remark, and indeed, even thetwo Maine guides grinned more or less.

  "Listen to the innocent, would you?" shouted Giraffe; "when his buckshottore up the water half way between the boat and the shore, till itlooked just like one of those spouting geysers we read about, out inYellowstone Park. Did he get him, boys?"

  Step Hen put his hands to his mouth, megaphone fashion, and bawled out:

  "Hey, answer that, Mr. Bear, please; let the poor boy know whether hetickled your tough old hide with one of his buckshot. Because, whoknows, fellows, but what it might a glanced off the top of the water,and landed," and he winked at Allan, who was in the canoe with Jim Hastyclose by.

  "I don't hear any answer floating back," remarked Thad; "and so we'llhave to believe that either the bear is lying there, stone dead, or elsehas skipped out to safe quarters. Bears never can stand being fired atby cannon, they tell me."

  "Cannon!" burst out Giraffe at this moment, for he had managed topossess himself of the new gun by pointing to it, and having Eli Crookspass it along. "Cannon! well, I should smile! What d'ye think he did,fellers? Just exactly what I warned him to beware of, when he saw game,and got excited; pulled both triggers at the same time! Gee! no wonderit knocked him over! I'd hate to have been behind that charge myself;and I've stood a good many heavy ones."

  "Ain't we going ashore to see if I did just happen to bowl that old bearover?" whined Bumpus, looking appealingly at Thad. "I'd never forgivemyself, you see, if I found out that he _had_ died, and no one evengot a steak off him. A scout never wants to waste the good things oflife like that, does he, Thad?"

  But the scoutmaster shook his head.

  "I guess there's no chance of that happening, Bumpus," he remarked. "Bynow your bear is a quarter of a mile away from here, and running yet."

  "Don't blame him," said Step Hen. "That new gun makes enough noise toburst your ear drums, Bumpus. And let's hope you won't ever pull bothtriggers again. Just practice putting one finger at a time in action.After you've shot the first barrel, let it just slip back to catch thesecond trigger. It's as easy as tumbling off a log."

  "Or going over backward, when you do bang away with both barrels atonce," added Davy Jones, wisely.

  As they were descending the river the work was comparatively easy forthe two guides. They would have their business cut out for them lateron, when their plan of campaign, looking toward reaching the Eagle chainof lakes, was more fully developed.

  In the beginning there had been three of the paddlers in the party; buta telegram had caught them as they left the train, calling the OldtownIndian, Sebattis, home, on account of the serious sickness of his wife.

  Thad was capable of assuming charge of one canoe, with the assistance ofStep Hen and Davy, both lusty fellows. And so they had not botheredtrying to fill the gap at the last hour. The chances were that theymight have had to take some fellow along who would turn out to besullen, or else a shirk; thus spoiling much of their pleasure on thetrip.

  These members of the Silver Fox Patrol had reason to feel proud, becauseeach one of them was at that time wearing a trifling little badge thatproved their right to call themselves assistant fire wardens, employedby the great State of Maine to forever keep an eye out for dangerousconflagrations, and labor to extinguish the same before they could domuch damage.

  It had come about in this manner:

  On the train they had formed the acquaintance of a gentleman, who turnedout to be the chief fire warden, on his way right then to patrol acertain district that nearly every year boasted of one or more severefires.

  He was greatly interested in Thad's account of the numerous things a BoyScout aspired to do each day; and as it was his privilege to take on asmany unpaid assistants as he chose, just as a sheriff may do in anemergency, the gentleman had with his own hands pinned a little badge onthe lapel of each boy's coat.

  They were very proud of the honor, and expressed their intention ofserving as fire-wardens to the best of their ability--all but Giraffe.He used to shake his head every time he glanced down at his badge, andlook solemn. The fact of the matter was, Giraffe had all his life beenso wrapped up in _starting_ fires, that the very idea of spendinghis precious time in helping to _put one out_ did not appeal to himvery strongly.

  "Jim is telling me that we can expect to see the mouth of the LittleMachias River any old time from now on," remarked Allan; "and while Ihaven't come up this way exactly, to the Eagle waters, I guess he'sabout right."

  "Sure he is," ventured Giraffe, "for we passed the place where the BigMachias joins forces with the Aroostook some time back; and unless myeagle eye fails me, away up ahead I can see the junction right now,where we turn to the left, and leave this dandy old stream. Then the funbegins with the paddles."

  "What was that the fire-warden was saying to you, Thad, about some sortof bad man up in this region, that gave the game wardens more troublethan all the rest of the poachers combined?" Step Hen asked.

  Jim Hasty was seen to squirm a little; and Thad noticed this as heanswered the question.

  "Oh! yes, he was warning me to steer clear of one Caleb Martin, astrapping big fellow who used to be, first a logger, and then one ofthose men who get boats' knees out of the swamps and marshes up here;but who for some years has made up his mind to loaf, and take toll ofother peoples' traps, or shoot game out of season."

  "Caleb Martin, eh?" Step Hen went on; "seems to me it was another namefrom that?"

  "Well," Thad continued, "he did mention two others who were said to becronies of the big poacher. Let's see, I believe their names were SiKedge and Ed Harkness; wasn't that it, Jim?" and he turned suddenly onthe smaller guide.

  "That's right," answered the other, promptly; "though to be fair andsquar' with you, I didn't hear him speakin' o' 'em atall. But I lived uphyar, yuh knows, an' Cale, he's been akeepin' the hull kentry kinderriled a long time now. I'm hopin' we won't run a crost him any, an'that's a fact."

  "Sounds like there wasn't much love lost between you and this same CaleMartin?" ventured Thad.

  "They hain't," was the only thing Jim would say; and Thad knew theremust be a story back of it, which he hoped later on to hear.

  "But why should the wardens be afraid of just three men, when they havethe law on their side; that's what I'd like to know?" Bumpus demanded.

  Giraffe gave a scornful laugh.

  "The law don't count for a great deal away up in the wilderness,Bumpus," he remarked, in a condescending way. "All sorts of things aredone when men get away off in the Maine woods. They laugh at the law,till they feel its hand on their shoulder, and see the face of a wardenclose to theirs. Then p'raps they wilt. But this bully of the big woodshas had a free hand up yonder so long, that he just thinks he's the bossof all creation. He needs takin' down, I reckon. And p'raps, if wehappen to run across him, it might be the mission of the Silver FoxPatrol to teach him a lesson. Queerer things have happened, as we allknow, looking back a little at our own experiences."

  "We don't want to brag," remarked Thad. "Perhaps the shoe would be onthe other foot, and he might kick the lot of us out of his territory.But all the same, let's hope our trail won't cross that of Cale Martin."

  They were presently turning in to the left, and starting to ascend theLittle Machias; a pretty stream, which some years back used to fairlyteem with game-fish, but which, like many another river in Maine, hasfelt the effect of the continual work of thousands of fishermen, andworse than that, the sly netting at the hands of lawless poachers.

  Step Hen was interested in many things that opened to their view as theywent on, and his two companions did the paddling; for he had beenworking quite some time himself, and was entitled to a resting spell.

&n
bsp; This was a new trait in Step Hen. Time had been when he would hardlynotice a single thing when out in the woods, unless his attention wasespecially directed to it by a comrade. But it was so no longer; and theway his awakening came about, as mentioned in a previous story, isworthy of being recorded again, as showing what a trifling thing maystart a boy to thinking, and observing the myriad of interesting eventsthat are constantly occurring around him, no matter where he may happento be at the time, in a crowded city, or alone in a vast solitude.

  Step Hen had once come upon a humble little tumble-bug, striving to pusha ball four times as big as himself up a forlorn road, at a point wherethere was a "thank-you-mum," intended to throw the water aside during aheavy rain, and save the road from being guttered.

  He had grown so deeply interested in seeing the little creature tryagain and again to overcome the stupendous difficulties that faced it,that he lay there for half an hour, watching; clapping his hands when hethought success had come, and feeling deeply sorry when a slip causedthe ball to roll back again, often upsetting the bug, and passing overits body.

  The astonishing pluck of the humble little bug had aroused theadmiration of the boy; and in the end he had picked up both ball andbug, and placed them safely above the baffling ascent in the road. Andafter that hour Step Hen awoke to the fact that an observing boy neednever lack for something intensely interesting to chain his attention,no matter where he might be. All he had to do was to keep his eyes open,and look. Nature had ten thousand deeply interesting and curious thingsthat appeal to the one who knows how to enjoy them.

  And so from that day Step Hen was noticed to be eagerly on the watch fornew sights. He asked many questions that proved his mind had awakened;and Thad knew that that half hour when the scout had lain alongside themountain road down in North Carolina, had possibly been the turningpoint in his career; for he would never again be the same old careless,indifferent Step Hen of the past.

  "There comes another canoe down the river!" suddenly cried Bumpus, whowas still squatting in the bow of the leading canoe, industriouslyrubbing his right shoulder as though it pained him considerably; a factThad noticed, and which had caused him to promise that he would take alook at the lame part when they stopped for their midday meal, very soonnow.

  There was only one man in the canoe that was approaching, and presentlyJim Hasty remarked that he knew him.

  "It's sure Hen Parry, from up where I used to hold out," he went on tosay; and then called out to the approaching Maine guide, as his make-uppronounced the other to be; "hullo, Hen, howd'ye? Glad tuh see yuh. Comecloser, and shake hands. How's everybody up to the old place?"

  The other dark-faced fellow seemed pleased to his old friend, andimmediately gripped the extended hand.

  "Guess ther putty well up thar, Jim; an' no need o' my askin' how yebe'n, 'cause yer lookin' prime," he remarked; and then suddenly anexpression akin to dismay flashed across his weather-beaten face, as hecontinued: "By the same token I got er message fur ye, Jim, in case Irun up agin ye on my way down to Squawpan, where I gotter meet a partythat's bound up huntin'. Ye won't like to hear it, neither, I kinderguess, 'cause it's from a feller ye got no use for."

  "Cale Martin?" burst involuntarily from the lips of Jim Hasty, while hisface turned a shade whiter under its coat of tan.

  "Ther same critter," Hen went on. "He's still runnin' things to suithisself up thar around the Eagle chain, an' larfin' at all ther gamewardens in Aroostook county ter stop him ahavin' his way."

  "Why should he tell yuh anything tuh say tuh me; an' how'd he know I wasacomin' up this aways?" asked Jim, firmly.

  "He sez as how he heerd thet you was agoin' to bring a pack o' boysalong up to the Eagles; p'raps it kim in a letter he hed from somebody,I don't know jest how thet mout be; but he seemed to know it, all right,Jim. Sez he to me, 'Hen, ef ye happens to run acrost thet thar measlylittle skunk what sails by the name o' Jim Hasty, jest you tell him furme thet if he dares to put his foot up hyar in _my_ deestrick, I'mbound to pin his ears to a tree, and leave 'em thar to give him alesson.' An' Jim, I guess from the look he had on thet black face obhis'n when he says thet, Cale meant it, every blessed word. And if 'twasme, I'd feel like turnin' back, to take my people another way."

  Thad fixed his eyes on Jim's face to see how the shorter guide took it.He realized that Jim was at least no coward, even though he might fearthe wrath of such a forest bully as the ex-logger, and present lawlesspoacher Cale Martin; for he had shut his teeth hard together, and therewas a grim expression on his face, as if he did not mean to knuckleunder to any such base threat as that.