by Morgan Scott
CHAPTER XVII.
THE FIRST SNOW.
Rodney Grant seemed to take genuine pleasure in showing his disdain anddefiance of public opinion by openly associating with Lander and Davis,and he was seen often in their company. Even Roger Eliot, naturallybroad-minded and liberal, could but deplore this; and Stone foundhimself quite alone in any effort to defend or justify the actions ofthe singular boy from Texas. It was generally believed and proclaimedthat Grant had found associates to his liking, and more than once theold saw, “A person is known by the company he keeps,” was applied tohim.
The young people of Oakdale were making the most of the skating when,after a slight warning flurry, a slow, steady downfall of snow set in,growing heavier with the passing of a cloudy afternoon.
“No more fun on the lake for us,” moaned Chub Tuttle, standing morethan ankle deep outside the academy as the scholars came troopingforth. “This snow has fixed the skating all right.”
“Snow doubt about it,” punned Chipper Cooper, turning up his coatcollar and pulling his cap down over his ears. “We’ll have to take toanother line of sport, and it’s likely there won’t even be any slidingworth while for some time to come.”
Nearly all night long it snowed, but with the coming of another dawnthe storm ceased, the sky cleared, and the sun beamed cheerfully on aworld wrapped in a mantle of white, gleaming with the prismatic colorsof millions of diamonds.
At an early hour, having eaten breakfast, Rod Grant was viewing thescene with admiration and pleasure when he discovered two dark figurestracking across the open fields toward the cottage of Miss PriscillaKent. Immediately he recognized Lander and Davis, watching them withcuriosity and interest as he perceived that they were walking onsnowshoes. They hailed him as they drew near, and, with his trouserslaced into the tops of high, heavy leather boots, he waded outknee-deep to meet them.
“Top of the morning, Roddy,” cried Bunk, in his familiar way. “What areyou doing with yourself?”
“Morning, Lander. Morning, Davis. I was just getting ready to turnmyself into a human steam-plough and wield my aunt’s big shovel. Got toopen up the path as far as the road, you know.”
“That’s work,” grinned Davis, two missing front teeth in his upper jawgiving him anything but an appearance of comeliness. “Work was made forslaves.”
“But you Yanks took away our slaves,” reminded Rod jovially, “and so wehave to bend our backs like common people.”
“Eh?” grunted Spotty in surprise. “Your slaves? Why, Texas—why, I’vealways thought of Texas as a Western State, and——”
“We’re right proud to be called Southerners,” said Rod. “Find any sportwalking on those things?”
“Oh, it’s sport in a way,” answered Lander. “Besides, a feller can getaround almost anywhere on ’em, no matter how deep the snow is. I andSpot have been talking about going over to my camp Sat’day. Withoutsnowshoes we’d have to do some tall wading. If we can get a dog, andthe snow packs down some, perhaps we’ll try the rabbits a crack—and_that’s_ sport. Ever shoot rabbits?”
“Jacks.”
“Oh, yes, I’ve heard about them. Our rabbits are different; they’regood to eat. Say, it would be fun to shoot a few and have a rabbit stewover at my camp. I can make the stew, too.”
“That wouldn’t be so bad,” admitted Grant, who had a taste for hunting.
“Want to come in on it? Come ahead. I’ve been telling Spot I thought wemight borrow old Lem Sawyer’s hound, Rouser. He’s a good dog, though,like Lem, he’s getting rather old. Lem’s laid up with the rheumatismthis winter, and I don’t believe he will do much rabbitin’.”
“I’d have to have some snowshoes and a gun,” said Rod.
“Bet we could get them of Sawyer. You know how to shoot?”
“A little,” smiled the boy from Texas, “but I don’t know much aboutusing snowshoes, though, watching you fellows, it seems easy enough.”
Spotty chuckled. “Try it,” he invited. “Try mine. Go ahead.”
Obligingly he slipped his toes out of the straps and stepped off intothe snow. Grant was willing enough to make the trial and, wadingalongside, he mounted on Spotty’s snowshoes. Having inserted his toesbeneath the straps, he started off with a confidence that was soonupset, as he was himself by stepping on one snowshoe with the other,which plunged him to the full length of his arms, burying his face inthe snow. Nor could he rise until he had succeeded in getting his feetfree from the snowshoes, after which he floundered part way over andstood up to discover Both Davis and Lander convulsed with laughter.
“Looks easy enough, don’t it?” cried Bunk hilariously.
“Hang the things!” growled Rod, his face flushed with chagrin. “Theyseem contrary as an unbusted bronch. You fellows don’t have any troublemanaging them.”
“There’s a little trick to it that you’ll have to learn,” explainedLander. “To begin with, those boots of yours are too stiff and heavy.You see, I’ve got on moccasins, and Spotty’s wearing some limber-soledshoes. You’ve got to lift the front end of the snowshoes with your toeand let the heel drag, slipping the shoe forward as you step, thisfashion. Watch me and get wise.”
Grant watched Bunk walk around easily in a broad circle, which broughthim back to the starting point.
“I see,” nodded the boy from Texas, “and I reckon I can catch onto itafter a little practice. Where can I get a pair of moccasins?”
“Stickney carries ’em; he carries everything. Mebbe Lem Sawyer’ll havean old pair he’ll sell cheap, for he’s hard up and needs the money.I’ll find out if you want me to.”
“Go ahead. I’ve never yet mounted anything I couldn’t master, and,having been bucked off by a pair of snowshoes, I’m right eager to getbusy in proper fashion with the things. Think I’ll get the shovel nowand go at it opening the path. I won’t have much more than time tofinish that job before school.”
Having watched them depart, he went at his task, making the snow flywith a pair of lusty arms, which, in spite of the heavy work, betrayedno weariness until he had finished.
At noon that day Davis informed him that Lander had succeeded inborrowing Sawyer’s dog, gun and snowshoes for the following Saturday,and that Sawyer had agreed to sell his moccasins at a bargain if theywere what Rod wanted.
“We’ll show you some fun,” promised Spotty. “We’re going over to Bunk’sold camp to-night to see if everything is all right there. If it is,we’ll have the stuff ready for a stew Saturday, and as sure as we canstart any rabbits we’ll give you a feed that will be good for a hungryman. Watch for us in the morning. We’re going to show you how tonavigate on snowshoes.”
They came the following morning, bringing the snowshoes and moccasins,and Rod had his first lesson. As soon as he caught onto the knack ofit, he made satisfactory progress, and was praised by both Spotty andBunk, although he found it impossible to get over the snow for anydistance with as much speed and ease as they could.
“You’re coming all right, old man,” assured Lander. “I’ve seen lots offellers try it who didn’t get along half as fast. Just you keeppracticing, and you’ll break in fine.”
Rodney continued to practice, and by Saturday he had thoroughlymastered the art of getting around with considerable skill and easeupon snowshoes.
Friday night about an inch of light snow fell on top of the other,which had settled beneath the rays of the sun, giving a perfectopportunity for rabbit tracking, as Lander joyously explained when heand Spotty appeared at an early hour. They were leading Sawyer’s oldblack-and-tan hound, and, besides their own guns, they brought theman’s double-barreled breech loader for Rodney.
And so, thoroughly equipped, the boys set off for the day’s sport.
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