The Boy Scouts on the Trail; or, Scouting through the Big Game Country

by Herbert Carter

  CHAPTER IV. THE IGNORANCE OF STEP HEN.

  All of them, guides as well as scouts, stared at the strange object whichStep Hen was holding up.

  "Looks like a little hand-bag of leather; but it's been used a heap, Ireckon," suggested Davy Jones.

  "Just what she is," replied Step Hen, as he lowered the article; andsomething in his manner of doing this impelled Giraffe to remark:

  "Reckon she must be kinder heavy, Step Hen?"

  "Heft it for yourself, and see," replied the other, as Giraffe came tohis side.

  "Whew! I should say, yes!" declared the tall member of the patrol, as helifted the old black hand-bag, and held it out in a horizontal positionfor a few seconds. "All of five pounds there, if there's a single one.Now, what d'ye suppose is in that thing?"

  "And how did it ever come in them bushes; that's what gets me?" queriedStep Hen, staring at the bag, which he had taken again, as though halfinclined to suspect that the mischievous little jinx, whom Giraffe alwayssaid played these mean tricks on him, might possess the power to changehis black package into this weatherbeaten little bag.

  "Oh! it's old, you c'n see," remarked Giraffe, carelessly. "P'raps thehunter that carried it up here got sick of his bargain; and slipping afew rocks inside, to weigh it down, he just gave her a heave out ofsight."

  "Think so?" remarked Step Hen. "Well, anyhow, it don't look a bit likethat lost package of mine, does it?"

  "Suppose you open it up," suggested Allan; "it might be you'd find yourmissing things inside."

  Doubtless he only said this in a spirit of fun, in order to hasten StepHen; but the other took it seriously.

  "Now, however in the wide world would my packet come in here, Allan?" heasked. "None of the boys ever set eyes on this bag before, have you,fellers?"

  Giraffe, Davy, and Bumpus thereupon solemnly raised, each one his righthand, and declared that to the best of their knowledge and belief theyhad never glimpsed that same bag until their comrade carried it out ofthe bushes.

  "Now, open her up, Step Hen, and let's see the kind of rocks it's gotinside," Giraffe demanded.

  Whereupon Step Hen proceeded to cautiously test the catch of the bag.Finding that it would give readily, he pressed it further, and then drewback the jaws of the leather receptacle.

  "Rocks?" he ejaculated, scornfully, just as if he had never taken theleast stock in that far-fetched theory himself; "what d'ye call that,fellers?"

  He had thrust in a hand, and was now holding something aloft. The dancinglight from the campfire shone upon the object, which seemed to glistenlike polished steel.

  Immediately Giraffe set up a laugh.

  "Well, I declare, fellers," he remarked, "some poor old carpenter's goneand lost his kit of tools. Shows that Step Hen ain't the only loonywanderin' about in these here pine woods, droppin' his things aroundloose, and then forgettin' where he put 'em. And to think it should bethe same sort of one that found these tools. Ain't that a queer case,though?"

  "Carpenter's tools," Step Hen went on, indignantly, as he held up asecond, and then other articles, which he took from the bag; "did youever watch a carpenter at work, Giraffe; and did you ever see him usetools like them? If you did, then believe me, that feller ought to a beenin the lock-up, that's what."

  "Lock-up!" repeated Giraffe after him, and he stared at Step Hen asthough he believed the other might be trying to play some sort of a joke.

  "That's right, in the lock-up," the other scout went on, firmly. "When Iwas down to New York with my dad last year, he had to see the PoliceCommissioner about a little business; and they were old friends too. Iwent along, and sat there in one of the offices nigh an hour. To amusemyself, I examined the heaps of queer things they had there, which Ireckoned had been taken from all sorts of crooks that'd been arrested foryears. And in the lot I saw some tools mighty like these, boys!"

  "Wow, and again I say, wow!" murmured Giraffe.

  "Thieves' tools, hey?" grunted Bumpus, pushing forward to handle some ofthe shiny articles himself. "P'raps now, one of these here might be whatthey call a jimmy, and another a centerbit. I always used to read aboutsuch things in every story in the papers of a burglary down in the city."

  Davy also wanted to examine the things at close range, and so they werepassed around. Even the two guides seemed to take a deep interest in thecontents of the little old black bag; and for several minutes a buzzfollowed, as each voiced his opinion concerning the merits of the toolsto accomplish such a job as breaking into a strong box of a bank.

  "But just stop and think," remarked Step Hen, presently, "how far this isfrom any town where these fellers could use their tools. No wonder theyhid 'em in the bushes right here. The only thing they could expect tobreak into up here would be the game laws."

  "Or the river," suggested Giraffe, with a sly glance toward Bumpus, whoflashed him back a scornful look.

  "My opinion is, fellows," observed Allan, who thus far had not taken anypart in the earnest discussion, "that these things might never have beenlost at all."

  "Oh! then you think they hid 'em here?" asked Step Hen.

  "Either that, or else just tossed them away, to get rid of carrying sucha heavy package any longer," the Maine boy went on. "Such men would nevercome up here to camp out, or to hunt. Only one thing would be apt totempt them to dive into the woods like this; they expected to be hunted,and are on the way to the Canada border as fast as they can pack."

  Somehow, the idea seemed to please the rest of the scouts; and even Jimand Eli nodded their heads, as though they quite agreed with Allan, afterhe had evolved the suggestion, which likely enough would have neveroccurred to them.

  "Say, d'ye suppose, now," Giraffe asked, "that these jail birds couldhave cracked a crib before they took to the woods?"

  "Well, just as like as not," answered Allan; "though we can't tell thatso easy. They must have tried to get away with some loot, though, andfound the officers hot after them. So, to escape being caught they'vetaken to the woods."

  "But that might be jumpin' from the frying-pan into the fire," Davydeclared. "If they happened to be greenhorns, now, it'd be apt to go hardwith 'em up here, with the winter comin' on, p'raps no blankets along,and only a little grub. Huh! they might even wish they'd let the officersketch 'em. Three meals, such as they are in jail, are better than nothin'to eat in the wilderness."

  "Oh!" Allan went on to say, "the chances are, they had a fellow along whoknew more or less about what to do in the woods, and what not to do;because you see, they seemed to get up this far all right."

  "What if there was a big reward out for their capture, and we managed tocrowd the bunch to the wall?" suggested Bumpus, enviously. "Say, we'd befixed then for a lot more of outings, wouldn't we, fellers?"

  Allan laughed. It was so strange to hear Bumpus, usually the mostpeaceable of the entire patrol, speak in so fierce a tone.

  "You don't stop to mention what these desperate chaps would be doing allthat time, Bumpus," he remarked, drily. "There must be two of them,perhaps more; and it stands to reason that they're hard cases, ready tofight at the drop of the hat. I guess we'll have to just attend to ourown affairs, and let the sheriff look after these jail birds."

  "But if we happened to run foul of them, wouldn't we be doin' the rightthing to try and grab the lot?" demanded Bumpus, loth to admit defeatwhen he had been conjuring up a bright idea.

  "Certainly, if it could be done without too much risk," replied theassistant scoutmaster, readily enough. "Such men are outlaws to society,and it's the duty and privilege, I've heard my father say, of all honestpersons to capture them, in case the chance comes along."

  "We've got a rifle or a shotgun apiece; and each of the guides isprovided with his gun too, so we ought to turn the trick easy enough,"Bumpus continued. "Eight determined men against two, or p'raps three, yousee. They may be tough characters, when they're in cities, but I just betyou now their old knees knock together if they saw a row of
eightfirearms all aimin' at their heads. That's talkin' some."

  "I should say it was, from you, Bumpus," remarked Allan; "but don't gettoo anxious to come to close quarters with these men. I can give a guesswhat they're like. I've seen what they call yeggs before now, rovingburglars who play the part of tramps, so as to get a chance to lookcountry banks over, and break in some dark night, when the town peopleare sound asleep. And I want to tell you, boys, I don't like the breed.If I have my choice I'm going to mind my own business, and let the lawofficers attend to theirs."

  "And," broke in Davy Jones, "up here our business is first of allfollowing the trail of Mr. Carson and his two guides; and after that, toget just as much hunting of the big game as we can."

  "What you going to do with all these clever little tools, Step Hen?"asked Giraffe. "I hope now, you don't expect to tote 'em along with you?If they turned out too heavy for the fleeing yeggmen to keep, think ofhow you'll suffer. Better give 'em a heave into the bushes again, and saygood-bye. They might get you into a peck of trouble, boy."

  "Oh! I don't know," remarked Step Hen, "I'll keep the bag till mornin'anyhow, an' then let Thad say whether we want to pick out a few of thesethings, just to remember the affair by."

  He laid the numerous tools in a heap beside him, and then turned the oldhand-bag over, as though meaning to clean it out before replacing thecontents.

  "Hello! what's this?" he exclaimed; "Oh! I thought at first it wasanother tool; but seems like it's only an old stick of dirty gray mud.Queer how that could a got in this bag, ain't it? Whatever did themyeggmen want carryin' hard mud around with 'em, I wonder?"

  He drew his hand back, evidently with the intention of throwing thearticle into the blaze, when a hand clutched his wrist, and the voice ofThad, a bit husky, sounded close to his ear:

  "Hold on! don't you think of tossing that into the fire, Step Hen! Why,are you crazy? Didn't you ever see such a thing before in your life. Nowonder Allan, there, was nearly scared to death when he saw what youmeant to do; because Step Hen, this stick of innocent mud, as you calledit, is really dynamite!"

  Step Hen weakly allowed his hand to open, and the scoutmaster possessedhimself of the deadly four-inch stick of explosive.