Chapman Allen
Tom Fairfield's Hunting Trip: or, Lost in the Wilderness

CHAPTER VII
AT CAMP

Seemingly by common consent on the part of Tom’s chums, it was left for him to further question Sam Wilson and learn more about the man the caretaker had driven over to the hunting camp. And Tom was not slow to follow up the matter. He had his own suspicions, but he wanted to verify them.

“You say you drove someone over to our camp yesterday?” Tom asked.

“Not yesterday, the day before,” was the answer. “And it wasn’t exactly to your camp, but near it. Your camp is a private one, you know – that is, it belongs to an association, and I understand you boys are to have full run of all three places.”

“Yes, the gentlemen who make up the organization very kindly gave us that privilege,” assented Tom.

“Then you’re the only ones allowed to use the camps,” went on Sam. “I’ll see to that, being the official keeper. I’m in charge the year around, and sometimes I am pretty hard put to keep people out that have no business in. So, naturally, I wouldn’t drive no stranger over to one of my camps – I call ’em mine,” he added with a smile, “but of course I’m only the keeper.”

“We understand,” spoke Tom, and his tone was grave.

“Well, then you understand I wouldn’t let anyone in at the camps unless they came introduced, same as you boys did.”

“Well, where did you drive this man then – this man with – ” began George, but Jack silenced him with a look, nodding as much as to say that it was Tom’s privilege to do the questioning.

“I drove this man over to Hounson’s place,” resumed the camp-keeper, as he saw that all the baggage was piled in the pung. “This man Hounson keeps what he calls a hunters’ camp, but shucks! It’s nothing more than a sort of hotel in the woods. Some hunters do put up there, but none of the better sort.

“The gentlemen who own the three camps you’re going to tried to buy up Hounson’s place, as they didn’t like him and his crowd around here, but he wouldn’t sell. That’s where I took this Jersey man who complained of the cold. Kept rubbing his ears, and one of ’em was chawed, just as if some wild critter had him down and chawed him. ’Course I didn’t say anything about it, as I thought maybe it might be a tender subject with him. But I left him at Hounson’s.”

“Did he say what his name was?” asked Tom, but he only asked to gain time to think over what he had heard, for he was sure he knew who the man with the “chawed” ear was.

“No, he didn’t tell me his name, and I didn’t ask him,” Sam said. “Whoa there!” he called to his horses, for they showed an impatience to be off.

“Some folks are sort of delicate about giving out their names,” went on the guide when the steeds were quieted, “and as I’m a sort of public character, being the stage driver, when there’s one to drive, I didn’t feel like going into details. So I just asked him where he wanted to go, and he told me. Outside of that, and a little talk about the weather, him remarking that he come from Jersey, that’s all the talk we had.

“But maybe you boys know him,” he went on, as a thought came to him. “He was from Jersey, and so are you. Do you happen to know who he is?” he asked.

“We couldn’t say – for sure,” spoke Tom, which was true enough.

“Well, maybe you’ll get a chance to see him,” went on Sam Wilson. “Hounson’s isn’t far from your first camp, where we’re going to head for in a minute or so. You could go over there. You probably will have to, anyhow, if you want your mail, for the only postoffice for these parts is located there. And you’ll probably see your man.

“To tell you the truth, I didn’t take much of a notion to the feller. He was too sullen and glum-like to suit me. I like a man to take some interest in life.”

“Didn’t this man do that?” asked Tom, as he stowed his gun away on the straw-covered bottom of the pung.

“Not a cent’s worth!” cried Sam, who was hearty and bluff enough to suit anyone, and jolly in the bargain. “This chap sort of wrapped himself up in one of my fur robes, like one of them blanket Indians I read about out West, and he hardly spoke the whole trip. But you’ll probably see him over at Hounson’s. Well, are you boys all ready?”

“I guess so,” assented Bert, as he slung his camera over his shoulder by a strap. He hoped to get a chance at a snapshot.

“Well, then we’ll start,” went on Sam. “Pile in boys, and wrap them fur robes and blankets well around your legs. It’s colder riding than it is walking. So bundle up. It’ll be colder, too, when we get out of town a ways. We’re in sort of a holler here, and that cuts off the wind.”

“What about grub?” asked Jack. “Do we need to take anything with us? I see a store over there,” and he indicated one near the small depot.

“Don’t need to buy a thing,” said Sam. “Every one of the three camps is well stocked. There’s bacon, ham, eggs, besides lots of canned stuff, and I make a trip in to town twice a week. As for fresh meat, why, you’ll probably shoot all that you want, I reckon,” and he seemed to take that as a matter of course.

“Say, look here!” exclaimed Tom, determined not to sail under false colors, nor have his companions in the same boat. “We aren’t regular hunters, you know. This is about the first time we ever came on a big hunting trip like this, and maybe – ”

“Don’t say another word!” exclaimed Sam, good-naturedly. “I understand just how it is. I’m glad you owned up to it, though,” he went on, with a twinkle in his blue eyes. “Some fellers would have tried to bluff it out, but I guess me and some of the other natives around here, would have spotted you soon enough.

“But as long as you say you haven’t had much experience, and as long as you ain’t ashamed of it, I’ll see that you get plenty of game. I’ll take you to the best places, and show you how to shoot.”

“Of course we know how to use guns, and we’ve hunted a little,” Tom said, not wanting it to appear that they were absolute novices. And he added: “We’re pretty good shots in a rifle gallery, too. But it’s different out in the woods.”

“I know!” cried Sam. “I understand. You don’t need to worry. You won’t starve, if that’s what’s troubling you. Now I guess we’ll get along,” and the horses stepped proudly out over the snowy road. Bells made a merry jingle as the party of boy hunters started for their first camp.

“Say, Tom,” spoke Jack in a low voice to his chum, “do you think that was Skeel, the man with the ‘chawed’ ear, who was driven over to Hounson’s?”

“I’m almost sure of it,” was the answer.

“Well, what in the world is his object in coming away up here and at the same time we’re due?”

“Give it up. We’ll have to look for the answer later,” was Tom’s reply.

Out on the open road the horses increased their speed, and soon the pung, under the powerful pull of the animals, was sliding along at a fast clip. Much sooner than the boys had expected, they saw, down in a little valley clearing, a comfortable looking log-cabin, and at the sight of it Sam Wilson called out:

“There she is, boys! That’s your first camp!”

CHAPTER VIII
THE FIRST HUNT

The pung came to a stop at the head of a driveway that led up to the log cabin, which was situated in a little clearing in the dense woods all about it. Tom and his chums gave one look at the structure which was to be their home, or one of them for several weeks, and were about to leap out of the sled, when Sam stopped them by a sudden exclamation.

“Hold on a minute, boys!” he said. “I want to take a look there before you step out in the snow.”

“What’s the matter? Are there traps set under the drifts?” asked Bert.

“No, but it looks to me like someone had been tramping around that cabin. I never made them footprints,” and he pointed to some in the snow.

The snow on the driveway, leading from the main road through the woods, up to the hunting cabin itself, was not disturbed or broken by the marks of any sled runners or horses’ hoofs. There were, however, several lines of human footprints leading in both directions.

“Just a moment now, boys,” cautioned Sam, who was following a certain line of footprints, at the same time stepping in a former line, that he had evidently made himself, for his boots just fitted in them.

“What in the world is he doing?” asked George. “Has anything happened? Has a crime been committed? Is he looking for evidence? Why doesn’t he go right up to the cabin?”

“Any more questions?” asked Jack, as the other paused for breath. “It seems like old times, Why, to hear you rattle on in that fashion.”

“Aw – ” began George, but that was as far as he got. Sam was ready now, to make an announcement.

“I thought so!” exclaimed the guide. “There has been someone else up here since I left this morning. Someone has been snooping around here, and they hadn’t any right to, as this is private property.”

“Did he get in?” asked Bert, thinking perhaps all the “grub” might have been taken.

“Don’t seem to have gone in,” replied Sam. “Whoever it was made a complete circle around the cabin, though, as if he was looking for something. You can see the tracks real plain,” he went on. “Here is where I came up this morning, to see that everything was all right, for I expected you boys this afternoon,” he went on. “And here is where I came back,” and he pointed out his second line of footprints. “And here is where Mr. Stranger started up, went around the cabin, and came out on the main road again,” the guide resumed. “No, he didn’t get in, but he looked in the windows all right.”

This the boys could see for themselves, for they were now out of the pung, there being no further need of not obliterating the strange footprints.

Tom and his chums noticed where the intruder had paused beneath several of the low cabin windows, as though trying to peer inside. And another thing Tom noticed; in the broad sole-impression of each boot-mark of the stranger’s feet was the outline of a star, made in hob nails with which the soles were studded.

“I’ll know that footprint if I see it again,” thought Tom. “But I wonder who it was that was spying around this cabin?”

Sam, however, did not seem to be unduly alarmed over his discovery. George asked him:

“Who do you s’pose it was that made those marks?”

“Oh, some stray hunter,” was the answer. “They often get curious, just like a deer, and come up to see what’s going on. No use getting mad about it, as long as no harm’s done, and they didn’t try to get in. Of course, in case of a blizzard, I wouldn’t find fault if a man took shelter in one of the cabins, even if he had to break in. A man’s got a right to save his life.”

“Do you have bad storms up here?” Bert wanted to know.

“I should say we did!” Sam exclaimed, “and from now on you can count on a storm or a blizzard ’most any day. So watch out for yourselves and carry a compass with you. But here I am chinning away when you want to get in and warm up and tackle the grub. Come on!”

He unlocked the door with a key he carried, and the boys gazed with interest at the interior of the shack. It suited them to perfection.

The cabin contained three rather large rooms. One was the kitchen and dining-room combined, another was sort of a sitting or living-room, made comfortable with rugs on the floor, and a fireplace in which big logs could be burned, while in the middle of the room was a table covered with books and magazines. The third room, opening from the living apartment, was where several bunks were arranged, and the momentary glimpse the boys had of them seemed to promise a fine place to rest at night.

A second glance into the kitchen showed a goodly stock of food. There was a stove, with a fire laid ready for lighting; and a pile of kindling and logs on the hearth was also prepared for ignition. In short, the place was as comfortable as could be desired, and with a blazing fire on the hearth, the knowledge that there was plenty of “grub” in the pantry, and with a blizzard raging outside, there was little more that could be desired – at least, the boys thought that would be perfect.

“Can you fellows cook?” demanded Sam.

“Well, we can make a stab at it,” answered Jack.

“We’ve done some camping,” spoke Tom, modestly enough. “I guess we can get up some sort of a meal.”

“All right. Then I’ll leave you, for I’ve got to get back to my farm,” the guide explained. “Of course there isn’t much to do in the Winter, but attend to the chores and feed the stock, but they have to be looked after. I live about seven miles from here,” he explained, as he brought in the baggage, guns and cameras. “Now the two other camps, that go with this one, are several miles from here, almost in a straight line. There’s a map showing just how to get to ’em,” he said, indicating a blueprint drawing on the cabin wall. “Study that and you won’t get lost. But if you can’t find the other camps when you want to, I’ll come and show you.”

“Oh, I guess we can manage,” said Tom, who was getting off his coat preparatory to helping start the fires and cooking.

“I’ll stop and see you about once in four days, in case you need anything,” Sam went on. “Just pin a note to the door of the cabin you last leave, saying where you’re going, or whether you’re coming back, so’s I’ll know where to look for you. My farm is located about half way between Camp No. 1, that’s this one, and Camp No. 3, which is the farthest off.

“Well, now if you think you can manage, I’ll leave you. It’s getting on toward night, and my folks will be looking for me,” and Sam prepared to start for home.

“We can get along all right,” Tom assured him. “And may we begin hunting whenever we want to?”

“Start in now if you like, but I’d advise waiting until to-morrow,” the guide said, with a chuckle.

“Yes, we’ll wait,” agreed Jack.

Though the four chums had never been to a real hunters’ camp before, they had often shifted for themselves in the woods, or at some lake, and though they were perhaps not as expert housekeepers as girls, or women, they managed to get up a good meal in comparatively short time.

The fire was started in the kitchen stove, and another blaze was soon roaring up the big chimney in the living-room. This would take the chill off the bunk-room, for it was very cold in there, the windows being covered with a coating of ice.

“Baked beans – from a can – bacon and eggs – coffee and canned peaches, with bread and butter. How does that strike you for the first meal?” asked Tom, who had been looking through the cupboard.

“Fine!” cried Jack. “But what about bread? If there’s any here, it will be as stale as a rock.”

“Sam had some in the sled. His wife baked it, I guess,” said Tom, indicating a bundle on the table. “I found some butter in a jar here.”

“Then start the meal!” cried Bert. “I’m hungry.”

They all were, and they did ample justice to the viands that were soon set forth. The cabin was filled with the appetizing odor of bacon and coffee, and wagging tongues were momentarily stilled, for jaws were busy chewing.

Rough and ready, yet sufficiently effective, was the dish-washing, and then came a comfortable evening, sitting before the crackling blaze on the hearth, while they talked over the experiences of the closing day.

They were all rather sleepy, from the cold wind they had faced on the sled ride, and soon were ready to turn in. Just before banking the fire for the night, Tom paused, and stood in a listening attitude near one of the windows.

“What’s the matter?” asked Jack.

“I thought I heard something,” was the reply.

“He’s worried about the man whose footprints Sam saw in the snow,” said George.

“Or the man with the ‘chawed’ ear,” added Bert.

“No, it was the wind, I guess,” Tom spoke. “But say, fellows, what do you think Skeel is doing up here?”

“Is he here?” questioned Jack.

“Well, that ‘chawed’ ear makes it sound so.”

They discussed the matter for some time longer and then sought the comfortable bunks. Nothing disturbed them during the night, or if there were unusual noises the boys did not hear them, for they all slept soundly.

They awoke to find the sun shining gloriously, and after breakfast Tom got down his gun, an example followed by the others.

“Now for a hunt!” he cried. “Some rabbit stew, or fried squirrel, wouldn’t go half bad.”

“Or a bit of venison or a plump partridge,” added Jack. “On with the hunt!”

CHAPTER IX
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING

Tom and his chums had no false notions about their hunting trip. They did not expect much in the way of big game, though they had been told that at some seasons bear and deer were plentiful. But while they had hopes that they might bag one of those large animals, they were not too sanguine.

“We’ll stand better chances on deer than bears,” said Tom. “For the bears are likely to be ‘holed up’ by now, though there may be one or two stray ones out that haven’t fatted up enough to insure a comfortable sleep all Winter. Of course the deer aren’t like that. They don’t hibernate.”

“What!” laughed Bert. “Say it again, and say it slow.”

“Get out!” cried Tom. “You know what I mean.”

“Well, we might get a brace of fat partridges, or a couple of rabbits,” Jack said. “I’ll be satisfied with them for a starter.”

“Well, I know one thing I’m going to get right now!” exclaimed Bert, with a sudden motion.

“Do you see anything?” demanded Jack, bringing forward his rifle.

“I’m going to snapshot that view! It’s a dandy!” Bert went on, as he opened his camera.

“Oh! Only a picture! I thought it was a bear at least!” cried Tom.

But Bert calmly proceeded to get the view he wanted. He was perhaps more enthusiastic over camera work than the others, though they all liked to dabble in the pastime, and each one had some fine pictures to his credit.

“Well, if you’re done making snapshots, let’s go on and do some real shooting,” proposed Jack.

He and Tom each had a rifle, while Bert and George had shotguns, so they were equipped for any sort of game they were likely to meet. For an hour or more they tramped on through the snow-covered woods, taking care to note their direction by means of a compass, for they were on strange ground, and did not want to get lost on their first hunting trip.

As they came out of a dense patch of scrubby woods, into a little semi-cleared place, a whirr of wings startled all of them.

“There they go – partridges!” yelled Bert, bringing up his gun and firing quickly.

“Missed!” he groaned a moment later as he saw the brace of plump birds whirr on without so much as a feather ruffled.

“You don’t know how to shoot!” grunted Jack. “You’re not quick enough.”

“Well, I’d like to see you shoot anything when it jumps up right from under your feet, and almost knocks you over,” was Bert’s defence of himself.

“That’s right,” chimed in George. “I couldn’t get my gun ready, either, before they were out of sight.”

“You’ve got to be always on the lookout,” said Tom. “Well, the first miss isn’t so bad. None of us is in proper shape yet. We’ll get there after a while.”

A little disappointed at their first failure, the boys went on again, watching eagerly from side to side as they advanced. No more did Bert use his camera. He wanted to make good on a real shot.

“Well, there’s game here, that’s certain,” said Tom. “If we can only get it!”

Almost as he spoke there was a whirr at his very feet. He started back, and half raised his rifle, not thinking, for the moment, that it was not a shotgun. Then he cried:

“Bert! George! Quick, wing ’em!”

George was quicker than his companion. Up to his shoulder went his weapon and the woods echoed to the shot that followed.

“You got him!” cried Bert, as he saw a bird flutter to the snow. Bert himself fired at the second partridge, and had the satisfaction of knocking off a few feathers, but that was all. But George, who had not thought to fire his second barrel, ran forward and picked up the bird he had bagged. It was a plump partridge.

“That will make part of our meal to-morrow,” he said, proudly, as he put it in the game bag Tom carried.

“Say, we’ve struck a good spot all right!” exclaimed Jack. “It’s up to us now, Tom, to do something.”

“That’s what it is,” agreed his chum.

But if they expected to have a succession and continuation of that good luck they were disappointed, for they tramped on for about three miles more without seeing anything.

“Better not go too far,” advised Tom. “Remember that we’ve got to walk back again, and it gets dark early at this season.”

“Let’s eat grub here and then bear off to the left,” suggested Jack.

They had brought some sandwiches with them, and also a coffee pot and tin cups. They found a sheltered spot, and made a fire, boiling the coffee which they drank as they munched their sandwiches.

“This is something like!” murmured Bert, his mouth half full.

“That’s what,” agreed George. “You wouldn’t know from looking around here that there was such a place as Elmwood Hall.”

The meal over, they again took up the march, and they had not gone far before Tom, who was a little in advance, started a big white rabbit. He saw the bunny, and then almost lost sight of it again, so well did its white coat of fur blend with the snow. But in another instant Tom’s keen eye saw it turning at an angle.

He raised his rifle.

“You can’t hit it with that!” cried Jack.

But Tom was a better shot than his chum gave him credit for being. As the gun cracked, the rabbit gave a convulsive leap and came down in a heap on the snow.

“By Jove! You did bag him!” cried Jack, admiringly.

“Of course,” answered Tom coolly, as though he had intended doing that all along, whereas he well knew, as did his chums, that the shot was pure luck, for it takes a mighty good hunter to get a rabbit with a rifle bullet.

However, the bunny was added to the game bag, and then, for some time, the boys had no further luck. A little later, when they were well on their way back, Jack saw a plump gray squirrel on a tree. Bert was near him, but on the wrong side, and Jack, taking his chum’s gun, brought down the animal, which further increased their luck that day.

“Well, we’ve got all we want to eat for a while. What do you say we quit?” suggested Tom. “No use killing just for fun.”

“That’s right,” agreed his chums.

“We won’t fire at anything unless it’s a deer or a bear,” went on Bert, laughing.

As they neared their cabin they were all startled by a movement in the bush ahead of them. It sounded as though some heavy body was forcing its way along.

“There’s a deer – or bear!” whispered Jack, raising his rifle.

“Don’t shoot at anything you can’t see,” was Tom’s good advice. And the next moment there stepped into view of the boys the figure of Professor Skeel. He was almost as startled on seeing the four chums as they were at beholding him.