CHAPTER VIII.
ANOTHER CAMP.
"Hello! Come to supper, boys! Come to supper right away!"
Half eagerly, half shrinkingly, Dol emerged from the woods, feeling avery torment of hunger quickened in him by the tantalizing sound of thatoft-repeated invitation.
A sight met him which, because of what went before and all that cameafter, will be forever chief among the forest pictures which rise inexciting panorama before his memory, when camping is a thing of thepast.
A broad dash of evening light, the sun's afterglow, fell upon a patch ofclearing bordered by clumps of slim, outstanding pines, the scouts oftheir massive brethren. That this was used as a camping-ground thefirst glance revealed. A camp which looked to the tired eyes of the lostboy a real "home-camp," though it consisted of rude log cabins, occupiedit. A couple of birch-bark canoes reposed amid a network of projectingroots. Withered stumps and tree-tops littered the ground.
In the foreground of the picture stood a man with a horn in his upliftedhand, which he had just taken from his mouth. He was minus a coat; andthe rough-and-tumble disarray of his attire showed that he had beenlounging by his camp-fire, or perhaps overseeing the preparation ofsupper. Dol had a vague impression that the individual was not aforest-guide like Uncle Eb, nor a rough lumberman such as he had heardof. He would have taken him for a pioneer farmer,--not having yetencountered such a character,--but there could be no farm on this littlebit of clearing. And he was too dazed to see that there were signs of acultivated intelligence in the tanned, beaming face under thehorn-blower's broad-brimmed hat. Indeed, the hat itself, its wearer, loghuts, canoes, and trees seemed to have a strange propensity to waltzbefore the lad's eyes, and there was a queer waving sensation in hisown legs, as if they, too, would join in the spinning movement. For ashe advanced into the light out of the sombre shadows, a dizziness fromlong tramping in the woods, and from a hunger such as he had neverbefore experienced, overcame him. He reeled against an outstanding tree,troubled by an affliction which Uncle Eb had called "wheels in hishead."
"Ho! you boys. Where in thunder are you? Come to supper, or the venisonwill be spoiled!" shouted the possessor of the horn again, shutting oneeye into which a crimson ray was pouring, while he swept the skirts ofthe woods with the other; and there was music as well as bluster in hisshout.
Lo! the first to answer this fetching invitation was the foot-sore,leg-weary boy, pale from exhaustion, with his strange equipment ofpowder-horn, coon-skin pouch, and ancient shot-gun, who, getting partlythe better of his giddiness, crossed the clearing slowly, as if he wasgroping his way. Within a few feet of the horn-blower he halted; for theman had lowered his horn, and was gazing at him with keen, questioningeyes. Dol tried to find suitable speech to express his need; but thoughwords came with considerable effort, his voice sounded hoarse and creakyin his own ears, and threatened to crack off altogether.
He was doing his best to brace up and speak plainly, when his sentencewas stopped by a noise of pounding footsteps. The next moment he sawhimself surrounded by three well-grown, daring-looking lads, one abouthis own age, one older, one younger, who were gazing at him withcritical curiosity. All the pluck in Dol Farrar rose to meet thisemergency. He felt as if his legs were threatening to smash under himlike pipe-stems. There was a whirling and buzzing in his head. It seemedas if his words had such a long way to travel from his brain to histongue that they got confused and changed before he uttered them.
But through it all he was conscious of one clear thought: that he was anOld-World boy on parade before these strapping New-World lads. He sethis teeth, drove his gun hard against the ground, and, as it were,anchored himself to it, while strange, doubting lights came into hiseyes as he tried to get a grip of his senses.
DOL SIGHTS A FRIENDLY CAMP.]
He succeeded. At last he addressed the gentleman with the horn, knowingthat he was speaking to the point,--
"Good-evening, sir," he said. "I--I--we're camping out somewhere in thewoods. I--I got lost to-day. I've walked an awful distance. Perhaps youcould tell me"--
But the man stepped suddenly forward, with a blaze of welcome in hiseyes; for he saw the brave effort which the lad was making, and that hisstrength was giving out. He put a kindly arm through Dol's, as if towarmly greet a fellow-camper, but really to support him.
"I'll not tell you about anything until you've had a good, square meal,"he said. "That's our way in woodland quarters,--to eat first, and talkafterwards. If you're lost, you've struck a friend's camp, and at theright time too, son; so cheer up! After supper you can tell us youryarn, and I guess we can set you right."
Here at last was a surprise of unmixed blessedness for poor Dol; namely,the brotherly hospitality which is always extended to a stranger in aMaine camp, whether that be the temporary home of a millionnaire or theshanty of a poor logger.
His new friend led him into the largest of the cabins, which containeda fireplace built of huge stones, where red flames frisked aroundfragrant birch logs, a camp-bed of evergreen boughs about ten feet wide,a rude table, a bench, and a few stools of pine-wood.
Over the camp-fire was stooping a bright-eyed, muscular fellow, whosedress somewhat resembled Uncle Eb's, but who had no negro blood in hisveins. He was frying meat; and such tempting whiffs mingled with thesteam which floated up from his pan, that Dol's nostrils twitched, andhis hungry longing grew almost unbearable as he inhaled them.
"I guess this chunk of ven'zon is about cooked, Doc," said thispersonage, as Dol's kindly host entered the hut, with him in tow,followed closely by the boys of his own camp.
"All right, then! Let's have it!" was the reply. "I'm pretty glad ourcamp-fare is decent to-night, Joe, for we've a visitor here; a hungrybird who has strayed from his own camp, and has wandered through theforest until he looks like a death's head. But we'll soon fix him up;won't we, Joe? Give him a mug of hot tea right away. Hot tea is worth adozen of any other drink in the woods for a pick-me-up."
A spark of fun kindled in Dol's eyes when he heard himself described as"a hungry bird." It brightened into an appreciative beam as the revivingtea trickled down his throat.
"Eatin's wot he wants, I guess," said Joe, the camp guide and cook,placing some meat and a slab of bread of his own baking on a tin platefor the guest.
Dol began on them greedily; and though the first mouthful or twothreatened to sicken him, his squeamishness wore off, and he gainedstrength with every morsel.
"How do you like Maine venison, my boy? Like it well enough to haveanother piece, eh?" asked his host, when he saw that the haggard, graylook was leaving the wanderer's face, and that the appalled, dazedexpression, the result of being lost in the woods, had disappeared fromhis eyes.
"I think it's the best meat I ever tasted," answered Dol heartily. "It'sso tender, and has a splendid taste."
"Ha! ha! It ought to be prime," chuckled the owner of the camp. "It wascut from the quarters of a buck which my nephew here, Royal Sinclair,"pointing out the tallest of three lads, "shot four days ago. He was aregular crackerjack--that buck! I mean, he was as fine a deer as ever Isaw; weighed over two hundred pounds, had seven prongs to his horns onone side and six on the other. Royal is going to take the antlers homewith him to Philadelphia. We were mighty glad to get him, too; for wehave been camping here for five weeks, and were running short ofprovisions. Roy had quite an attack of buck-fever over it, though hedidn't think he was killing the 'fatted calf', to entertain a visitor;did you, Roy?"
"I guess not, Uncle! But I'm pretty glad, all the same," answered Royal,with a smiling glance at Dol.
Young Farrar found himself in very pleasant quarters; and, now that hewas recovering, his laugh rang from one log wall to the other.
"What's 'buck-fever'?" he questioned, while Joe filled his plate withmore venison.
"A sort of disease of which you'll learn the meaning before you leavethese woods," answered his host merrily. "It attacks a man when he's outafter a deer, and makes him feel as if one leg stands f
irm under him,while the other shakes as if it had the palsy.
"Now I guess you'd like to know whose camp you're in, my boy, and thenyou can tell your story. Well, to begin with the most useful member ofthe party. That knowing-looking fellow over there, who cooked yoursupper, is Joe Flint, the best guide that ever pulled a trigger orhandled a frying-pan in this region--barring one. These three rascals,"here the speaker beamed upon the strapping lads, with whom Dol had beenexchanging sympathetic glances of curiosity, "are my nephews, Royal,Will, and Martin Sinclair. And I--I--
"Good gracious! Listen to that, Joe! What's up now? Another fellow lostin the woods? Somebody is firing a round with his rifle! Perhaps hewants help. Those are signal shots, anyhow!"
The camper whose horn had been Dol's signal of deliverance, broke offabruptly in his introductions, just as he had arrived at the mostinteresting point, and was proclaiming his own identity. He rattled offhis short exclamations in excitement, and dashed out of the cabin,followed by Joe, his nephews, and Dol, the latter limping painfully, forhis feet now felt like hot-water bags.
"That Winchester has spoken eight or ten times," said the leader,counting the shots fired by somebody away in the dark recesses of theforest from a powerful repeating-rifle. "Let's give the fellow, whoeverhe is, an answer, Joe!"
He seized his own rifle hastily, loaded the magazine with blankcartridges, and fired a noisy salute.
In the pause which followed, while all strained their ears to listen,the sound of a shrill, distant "Coo-hoo!" the woodsman's hail, reachedthem from the forest.
Joe instantly responded with a vehement "Coo-hoo! Coo-hoo-oo!" the firstcall being short and brisk, the second prolonged into a roar whichshowed the strength of the guide's lungs,--a roar that might carry formiles.
Shortly afterwards there was a crashing and tearing amid someundergrowth near the edge of the forest. A man bounded forth from thepitch-black shadows into the clearing, where a little daylight stilllingered. As he approached the group, Dol, who was in the background,gave a startled, yearning cry; but it was drowned in a loud burst fromhis host.
"Why, Cyrus Garst!" exclaimed the latter, peering into the new-comer'sface. "How goes it, man? I never expected to see you here. Surely youhaven't come to grief in the woods? You look scared to death!"
Cyrus--for it was he--grasped the welcoming hand which the owner of thiscamp extended to him. But his dark eyes did not linger a moment meetingthe other's. They turned hither and thither, flashing in all directionsrestlessly, like search-lights.
"I'm glad to see you, Doc," he said. "I didn't know you were anywherenear. But I'm half distracted just now. A youngster belonging to ourcamp is missing. I've been scouring the forest for hours, and firingsignals, hoping he might hear them. But"--
Here Cyrus caught sight of Dol, who with a cry which in its changinginflections was longing, penitent, joyful, was making towards him. TheHarvard student strode forward, and gripped the boy by his elbows. Inthe dusk their eyes were near together; Garst's were stern, Dol'sblinking and unsteady.
"Adolphus Farrar," began Cyrus in a voice as if he was making an arrest,"have you been here in this camp, or where have you been, while yourbrother and I were searching the woods like maniacs? What unheard-offolly possessed you to go off by yourself?"
Dol made a gurgling attempt to answer, but his voice rattled and diedaway in his throat. His eyes grew decidedly leaky.
"Say, Cyrus!" interrupted the man who had befriended him and now provedhis champion, "let the youngster get breath and tell his story fromstart to finish before you blow him up. I guess he wasn't much to blame;and if he was, he has suffered for it. He found his way here not quitehalf an hour ago, so played out from wandering through the forest thathe was ready to drop in his tracks. And I tell you he showed his grittoo; for he managed to brace up and keep on his feet, though he was asexhausted a kid as ever I saw."
The "kid," forgiving this objectionable term because of the soothingallusion to a trying time when he had behaved like a man, winked andgulped to get rid of his emotion, and twisted his elbows out of Cyrus'shold. The latter lost his angry look, and released them.
"I must fire three shots to let Neal and Uncle Eb know I've found you,"he said. "We parted company a while ago, and they're beating about thewoods in another direction. Whoever first came upon any trace of you wasto fire his rifle three times."
The signal was instantly given.
More far-reaching "Coo-hoos!" were exchanged. Ere long Neal was besidehis brother, looking at him with eyes which showed the same tendency toleak that Dol's had done a while ago, and battling with a desire tosqueeze the wanderer in a breathless hug. He relieved his feelingsinstead by "blowing up" Dol with withering fire and a rough choke in hisvoice.
But when, in response to an invitation from the genial camper whom Cyrusand Joe called "Doc," the whole party, guides included, had gatheredaround the camp-fire in the big log hut, and Dol told his story fromstart to finish, he became the hero of the evening.
His only fault had been a rash venturing into the unknown; and well itwas that he had not followed the unknown to his death.
"Why, boy!" exclaimed Cyrus, with a strong shudder, when Dol haddescribed the false trail which led him to the foot of the crag, "thatwasn't a human trail at all. It was a deer-road. The deer spend theirday up in the mountains, and come down to the ponds at evening to feedand drink. Now, a buck or doe in its regular journeys to and fro willfollow one line, to which it becomes accustomed. Perhaps fifty others,seeing the ground trodden, will run in the same track. And there youhave your well-used path, which looks as if it was made by men's feet!
"You may thank your lucky star, Dol, every hour of this night, that thefalse trail didn't lead you away--away--higher--higher--up the mountain,until you dropped in your tracks, and died there alone, as others havedone before."
A shocked hush fell upon the group around the camp-fire. Even the guideswere silent. But the fragrant birchen logs sputtered and glowed, dartingout playful tongues of flame. They seemed to call upon everybody todismiss gloomy thoughts of what might have been; to crack jokes, singsongs, tell yarns, and be as merry as befitted men who had a log hut fora shelter, fresh whiffs of forest air stealing to them through an opendoorway, and such a camp-fire.
Joe began to prepare supper for the three who had searched so long anddistractedly for Dol that they confessed to not having eaten for hours.While more venison was being cooked, the juveniles, American andEnglish, who had been secretly taking stock of each other, cast asiderestraint, and became as "chummy" as if they had been acquainted foryears instead of hours.
Such a carnival of fun and noise was started through their combinedefforts in the old log camp, that its owner declared he "couldn't hearhimself think." Seizing his horn, he blew a blast which called fororder.
"Say, my boy, let me have a look at your feet," he said, cornering Dol."A deer-road isn't a king's highway, as I dare say you've found out toyour cost. Pull off your moccasins and socks, and let me doctor yourpoor trotters."
Young Farrar very gladly did as he was bidden.
"Humph!" said his friend. "I thought so. They're a mass of bruises andblisters. You've been pretty well branded, son. Moccasins aren't muchuse to protect the feet from roots and sharp stones, if you happen tostrike a bad place in forest travelling, unless you have taken theprecaution to put double soles in them; didn't you know that? Now, CyrusGarst," turning to the student, "you're all going to camp with usto-night. This lad can't tramp any more. As a doctor I forbid it."
"Are you a doctor, sir?" questioned Dol, with a thrill of surprise,which he managed to conceal.
"Something of the kind, boy," answered his host, smiling. "I don't lookmuch like a city physician, do I? I graduated from a medical college inPhiladelphia, and took my degree. But I had an enthusiasm for the woods.One hour of forest life in dear old Maine was to me worth a year spentamid streets, alleys, and sky-scraping buildings; so I fixed myheadquarters at Greenville, and have spent most o
f my time in thewilderness."
"Where every trapper, guide, and lumberman knows Dr. Phil Buck, whomthey disrespectfully and affectionately call 'Doc,'" put in Cyrus. "Andmany a poor fellow owes his life or limbs to Doc's knowledge and nursingin some hard time of sickness, or after one of the dreadful accidentscommon in the forests."
Dol could well understand this; for he now was benefiting by Dr. Phil'slively desire to relieve suffering, and was silently breathing blessingson his head. The doctor had bathed his puffy feet in warm water takenfrom Joe's camp-kettle, and was anointing them with a healing salve,after which he tucked them into a loose pair of slippers of his own.Meanwhile, he chatted pleasantly.
"This isn't the first time that your friend Cyrus and I have run againsteach other in the wilds," he said, "nor the first time that we've campedtogether, either. Bless you! we could make you jump with some of ourstories. Do you remember that night in '89, Cy, when you, with yourguide, came upon me lying under a rough shelter of bark and spruceboughs, which I had rigged up for myself near Roaring Brook, on the sideof Mount Katahdin?"
"I guess I do remember it," answered Cyrus, laughing.
"A mighty hungry man I was, too, that evening," went on Doc; "for I hadno food left but one little package of soup-powder and a few beans. Ihad been trying all day to get a successful shot at a moose or deer, andmuffed it every time. It wasn't the lucky side of the moon for me. Well,you behaved like the Good Samaritan to me, then, Cy; shared your meatand all your stuff, and we slept like twin brothers under my shelter."
"Yes; and a bear visited our temporary camp in the night!" exclaimedCyrus, bursting into uproarious mirth over some over-poweringly funnyrecollection; "he made off with my knapsack, which I had left lying bythe camp-fire. I suppose old Bruin thought he'd find something good init to eat; but he didn't. So he tore my one extra shirt and everyarticle in the pack to shreds, and chewed up the handle of my razor, sothat I couldn't shave again until I got back to civilization, when I wasas bristly as a porcupine."
"Perhaps Bruin tried to shave himself," suggested Dol.
"At all events, he had wisdom enough not to cut his throat," answeredthe story-teller. "We three--Doc, my guide, and myself--were stupidlytired, and slept so soundly that we did not discover the theft nor whothe marauder was until the following morning. Then we found my knapsackgone, and the tracks of a huge bear in some soft earth near our shelter.We traced his footprints through a bog until we found the spot, not faroff, where, overcome by greed or curiosity, he ripped up that strongleather knapsack as if it was _papier mache_ and made hay of itscontents."
The boys had all crowded near to listen. It was now the social hour forcampers. By the camp-fire more reminiscences followed; and the twoguides chimed in it with moose stories, bear stories, panther stories,wild tales of every imaginable and unimaginable kind of adventure, untilthe lads thought no mythology which they had ever learned could rival inmarvels the forest lore.
At this opportune time, Neal suddenly thought of describing, orattempting to describe, that strangest of strange calls which he hadheard, after the capsizing of the canoe, on the preceding night, whenCyrus and he were jacking for deer on Squaw Pond.
Joe grunted expressively. "So help me! it was the moose call!" heejaculated. "What say, Doc?"
"I guess it was," answered Dr. Phil. "It was either the cow-mooseherself calling, or some hunter imitating her with his birch-barktrumpet. It's a weird sort of experience, to hear that call for thefirst time; I shouldn't wonder if your heart went whack-whack, lad?"
"I only hope he'll get a chance to hear it again before he goes back toEngland," said Cyrus.
Forthwith, the Harvard man proceeded to explain that he was bent onpressing forward for a distance of sixty miles or so, to the heart ofthe wilderness, to search for moose, but that he intended to do thejourney in a leisurely, zigzag fashion, camping for a couple of nightsat various points, in order to do the honors of the forest to hisEnglish comrades.
"So you're English, are you! Ha! Ha! Ho! Ho!" exclaimed the doctor,looking at the young Farrars. "Well, I suppose we'll have to put ourbest foot foremost to give you a good time in American woods."
"I think that's what we're having, sir--such a jolly good time thatwe'll never forget it," answered Neal courteously.
"Yes, it's jolly enough now; but I tell you I didn't find it so to-day,"grumbled Dol, while his eyes gleamed like polished steel with the lightof present fun. "But as long as I live I'll remember the sound of yourhorn, Doctor, when I was dead-beat."
"Is that so? Well, I guess I'll have to make you a present of that horn,boy, when we part company, and you go back to civilization, and of thepiece of birch-bark, too, which led you to our camp. 'Twas Joe who fixedthat to the pine near the swamp; for my lads had a habit of followingthe trail to the alders, looking for moose or deer signs. He scrawledhis sentence on it with the end of a cartridge. I guess it would be asort of curiosity in England."
Dol whooped his delight.
"I'll put it under a glass shade! I'll"--
While he was casting about in his mind for some way of immortalizingthat bit of white bark, Doc's genial bluster was heard again,--
"Come! come! you fellows! No more skylarking in this camp to-night! It'shigh time for all campers to be snoring. Turn in! Turn in!"
But nobody was in a hurry to obey the summons to bed. While hands andfeet were being stretched out to the sizzling birch logs for a finaltoast, Royal Sinclair, who had a trick of speaking very quickly, with aslight click in his utterance, as if his tongue struck his teeth, beganto pour some communications into Neal's ear in rapid dashes of talk,--
"This is just about the jolliest night we ever had in the forest, andwe've had a staving time all through. We live in Philadelphia, and UnclePhil--we call him 'Doc' like everybody else--brought us out here for oursummer vacation. This old log camp was built several years ago by ahunting-party, of whom he was one. The walls were getting mouldy; but hecleaned up the largest of the huts, with Joe's help, and made it ourheadquarters. He never needs a guide himself; not a bit of it! He canfind his way anywhere through the woods with his compass. But he is agood deal away, so he engaged Joe to go out with us.
"He often starts off at a moment's notice, and travels dozens of mileson foot, or in a birch canoe, if he hears of a bad accident far away inthe forest. Sometimes a lumberman or trapper cuts his foot in two, ornearly chops off his leg with his axe; and these poor fellows wouldprobably die while their comrades were lugging them through the woods ona litter, trying to reach a settlement, if it weren't for our Doc.
"Once in a while, when he comes to visit us in Philadelphia, a fewpeople call him a crank, because he lives out here and dresses like asettler; but I call him a regular brick."
"So do I," said Neal with spirit.
"You're awfully lucky to be able to camp out during October," rattled onRoy. "That's the month for moose-hunting, jacking, and all the mostexciting sort of fun. We have to go home in a day or two, for ourschool has reopened, unless"--
"When Royal Sinclair gets a streak of talking, you might as well try tobottle up the Mississippi as to stop him," said Dr. Phil, laughing. "Ican't hear what he's saying, but I know that his tongue is clicking likea telegraph instrument. But I hope it has given its last message forto-night. You really must turn in, boys. I let you have an extra socialhour, because to-morrow will be Sunday, a day of rest after the travelsand excitements of the week. Think of it, lads! A Sunday in thewoods--God's first cathedral! May it do us all good!"
The guide, Joe, built up the fire. Fresh birch logs blistered andsputtered as creeping curls of bluish flame enwrapped them. Kindlingrapidly, they threw out fantastic lights, which danced like a regimentof red elves around the old log walls of the cabin.
"If a fellow could only drop off to sleep every night in the year seeingand smelling such a fire as that!" breathed Neal, as, accepting a shareof Royal's blankets, he stretched his tired limbs on the evergreenmattress.
"Then li
fe would be too jolly for anything," answered Roy.
Camp and Trail: A Story of the Maine Woods Page 9