CHAPTER XXVI.
DOC AGAIN.
Herb, turning back at that minute to wait for his party, experienced ashock of curiosity which was new to him, at seeing the three in closecounsel, shouldering each other upon a trail a couple of feet wide.
But the sensation passed. Dol for once was not guilty of anindiscretion, waking or sleeping. The woodsman got no hint of whatmatter had been discussed until more than two weeks later, when he stoodin the main street of Greenville, beside a tanned, muscular, newlyshaven trio, waiting for their departure for Boston.
A few pleasant days, marked by no particular excitements, had been spentat the log camp on Millinokett after that wonderful trip into theforests of Katahdin. Then the weather turned suddenly blustering andcold; and Cyrus, as captain, ordered an immediate forced march toGreenville.
Under Herb's guidance that march was made with singularly few hardships.He managed to hire a "jumper" from a new settler who had a farm a coupleof miles from their camp. This contrivance was a rough sort of sled,formed of two stout ash saplings, and hitched to a courageous horse. The"jumper's" one merit was that it could travel along many a rough trailwhere wheels would be splintered at the outset. But since, as Herb said,it went at "a succession of dead jumps," no camper was willing to trusthis bones to its tender mercies. However, it answered admirably forcarrying the tent, knapsacks, and trophies of the party, tightlystrapped in place, including Neal's bear-skin, which was duly calledfor, and the moose-antlers, more precious in Dol's sight than if theyhad been made of beaten gold.
Thus the campers journeyed homeward with their backs as light as theirspirits, caring little for the chills of a couple of nights spent undercanvas and rubber coverings.
Two gala evenings they had,--one with Uncle Eb in his bark hut nearSquaw Pond, where they were regaled with a sumptuous supper, for "coonswar in eatin' order now;" and the second with Doctor Phil Buck at hislittle frame house near Moosehead Lake.
Dear old Doc was as ever a power,--a power to welcome, uplift,entertain.
The campers sought him immediately on their arrival at Greenville; andhe stood by them while Cyrus made a full statement before the localcoroner about the death and burial of the half-breed, Chris Kemp, theFarrars and Herb confirming what was said with due dignity.
But dignity was blown to the four winds by the very unprofessional andvery woodsman-like cheer that Doc raised, and that was echoedthunderously by Joe Flint and a few other guides and loungers who hadcollected to hear the story, when Cyrus described the splendid rushwhich Herb made, with the dying man in his arms, and the clay of thelandslide half smothering him.
"I'm sorry I wasn't near to try and do something for the poor fellow,"said the doctor, later on, when his friends were gathered round ablazing wood-fire in his own snug house. "But I doubt if I could havehelped him. I guess he was born with the hankering for whiskey, and whenthat is in the mongrel blood of a half-breed it is pretty sure to wreckhim some time. We must leave him to God, boys, and to changes largerthan we know."
"I've a letter for you, Neal," added the host presently in a lightertone. "It was directed to my care. It is from Philadelphia, from RoyalSinclair, I think."
Neal slit the envelope which was handed to him, and read the few linesit contained aloud, with a longing burst of laughter.
Royal was as short with his pen as he was dash-away with his tongue. Theletter was a brief but pressing invitation to Cyrus and the Farrars tovisit their camping acquaintances of the Maine wilds at the Sinclairs'home in Philadelphia before the English boys recrossed the Atlantic.
"Come you must!" wrote Roy. "We've promised to give a big spread, andinvite all the crowd we train with to meet you. We'll have a great oldtime, and bring out our best yarns. Don't let me catch you refusing!"
GREENVILLE,--"FAREWELL TO THE WOODS."]
"We won't if we can help it," commented Neal; "if only we can coax thePater to give us another week in jolly America."
The campers slept upon mattresses that night for the first time in manyweeks.
The following morning saw them grouped in the main street of Greenville,with Doc and Herb on hand for a final farewell, waiting for thedeparture of the coach which was to bear them a little part of the waytowards Boston civilization.
Dol was turning over in his jostled thoughts the delicate wording of thehint which he was to convey to Herb about the rifle, when he becameaware that Doctor Phil was pinching his shoulder, and saying, while hedrew Neal's attention in the same way:--
"Well, you fellows! I'm glad to have known you. If you ever come toMaine again, remember that there's one old forest fogy who'll have adelightful welcome for you in his house or camp, not to speak of thething he calls his heart. And I hope you'll keep a pleasant corner inyour memories for our Pine Tree State, and for American Statesgenerally, so far as you've seen them."
Dol tried to answer; but recalling the evening when, wrecked at heart,with stinging feet, he had stumbled at last into the trail to Doc'scamp, he could only mutter, "Dash it all!" and rub his leaking eyes.
"Of course I'll think in an hour from now of all the things I want tosay," began Neal helplessly, and stopped. "But I'll tell you how I feel,Doc," he added, with a sudden rush of breath: "I think I can never seeyour Stars and Stripes again without taking off my hat to them, andfeeling that they're about equal to my own flag."
"Neatly put, Neal! I couldn't have done it better," laughed Cyrus.
"Shake!" and Doc offered his hand in a heart-grip, while the hairs on itbristled. "Boy! long life to that feeling. You men who are now beinghatched will show us one day what Young England and Young America, as agrand brotherhood under comrade flags, can do to give this old earth alift which she has never had yet towards peace and prosperity. We'relooking to you for it!"
"Hur-r-r-rup!" cheered Herb, subduing his shout to the requirements of asettlement, but sending his battered hat some ten feet into the air, andrecovering it with a dexterous shoot of his long arm, by way of givinghis friends an inspiring send-off.
"Tell you what it is!" he said suddenly, turning upon the Farrars, "Inever guided Britishers till now; but, wherever you sprung from, you'reclean grit. If a man is that, it don't matter a whistle to me whatcountry riz him."
A few minutes afterwards, with a jingle, jangle, lurch, and rattle, thestage-coach was swaying its way out of Greenville. Dol, stooping fromhis seat upon it, gripped the guide's hand in a wringing good-by.
"Herb," he said, "we three fellows want you to stay here for a few days,and not to do anything about a second-hand rifle until you hear from us.Mind!"
And so it happened that, ten days or so later, while the three wereenjoying the hospitalities of the Sinclairs and "their crowd" in theQuaker City, Herb, who was still in Greenville, waiting for a freshengagement as guide, was accosted by the driver of the coach fromBangor.
"Herb Heal, here's a bully parcel for you," said the Jehu, with aknowing grin. "Came from Boston, I guess. I war booked to takepertik'lar care of it."
And Herb, feeling his strong fingers tingle, undid many wrappers, andhauled out, before the eyes of Greenville loungers, a rifle such as itis the desire of every Maine woodsman's heart to possess.
A best grade, 45-90, half-magazine Winchester it was, fitted withshot-gun stock and Lyman sights, and bearing a gleaming silver plate, onwhich was prettily lettered:--
HERB HEAL IN MEMORY OF OCTOBER, 1891.
Underneath was engraved a miniature pine, its trunk bearing three setsof initials.
Herb stalked straight off a distance of one mile to Doctor Buck's house,pushed the door open as if it had been the door of a wilderness camp,and shot himself into Doc's little study.
"Look what those three gamy fellows have sent me," he said; and his eyeswere now like Millinokett Lake under a full sun-burst. "I thought theold one was a corker, but this"--
Here the woodsman's dictionary gave out.
Camp and Trail: A Story of the Maine Woods Page 27