THE FIRST CAMP-FIRE
“Help, he’s going to eat us all up!” shouted Billy Button.
Felix and Rob Shaefer did not like the looks of the oncoming dog any more than did Billy. Being more pugnacious by nature, however, instead of making a frantic dash over the wire fence, and trying to crawl through between the strands at the risk of tearing their clothes, they hurried to snatch up some clubs which would serve them as a means of defence.
The dog acted as if he meant business. They were trespassing on his master’s territory, and as the guardian appointed to defend this ground he assailed the intruders without fear or favor.
They had quite a lively time of it, what with the shouting, the loud bursts of laughter from those scouts who were safe on the other side of the fence, and the agonized cries of Billy Button, caught fast in the grip of the barbed-wire, and expecting to be devoured.
Both Felix and Rob had luckily managed to secure fairly strong pieces of broken limbs from the trees. With these they boldly assaulted the dog, and kept him from jumping on the helpless comrade until some of the others came to Billy’s assistance, and by raising the wires allowed him to crawl through.
Tom and George hastened to join in the fray for it was evident that the savage dog would have to be beaten off before those who were in danger could find a chance to reach the road again.
With four enemies against him the dog concluded that he had done all that could be expected of him, and that it was now no dishonor to beat a masterly retreat; which he accordingly did.
The boys pretended to chase after him, with loud shouts; but seeing their opportunity to escape made haste to put the wire fence between themselves and the owner of those cruel white fangs. As long as he could follow them from his side of the barrier the dog continued to bark savagely; but did not offer to leave his own domain.
After all Billy Button was the only one to suffer, and he had a fine big three-cornered hole in his coat.
“Going into the real-estate business, are you, Billy?” asked Josh, who could always see a chance for a joke.
“Oh! am I?” retorted the other. “What makes you think that, Josh?”
“Because you’ve got a sign up ‘to rent,’” is what the other told him.
“Didn’t I see that dog take hold of you by the leg, Felix, at the time you struck him so hard on the head with your club?” Mr. Witherspoon asked.
“Yes, sir, but he only dented my leggings, you see,” the bugler replied, as he showed where the marks of the animal’s teeth could be plainly seen; “that’s the good of having extra-thick canvas leggings on; they save you from snake bites and all sorts of other things that you don’t want.”
“It was a pretty lively skirmish while it lasted, let me tell you,” admitted Rob Shaefer, who had seemed quite to enjoy the affair.
Another hour or more passed, with the column straggling along, and some of the boys showing positive signs of fatigue. Mr. Witherspoon had been consulting with the leader of the Black Bear Patrol, and evidently they had reached a conclusion, for presently the welcome order was given to turn into the woods, as the day’s hike was at an end.
Gladly did those tired lads obey the call. And one of the first things they discovered was that there was another cold spring nearby, the presence of which, of course, had been known to those who carried the chart of the region.
First of all they dropped down to rest themselves. Later on, when they were feeling more like doing things, they would start to put the camp in order, get the fires started, and perhaps erect some sort of rude shelter that to a certain degree would take the place of tents.
Finally some of the more enterprising began to stir around. Josh took it upon himself to provide a fireplace made out of stones which lay conveniently near. It was to be built according to the best formula he knew, something in the shape of a letter V, with the large end toward the wind; and across the top of the stones they would lay their iron rods, thus forming a gridiron on which would rest the frying-pan and the coffee-pot.
“I’ll duplicate your cooking fire, Josh,” said Rob Shaefer, who meant to show some of his new chums a few wrinkles he had learned when in camp on other occasions.
Half an hour before the sun went down both fires were crackling at a great rate; and when good beds of red embers should have formed operations looking to supper would be started by those in charge of the occasion.
Everybody took a deep interest in what was now going on. All sorts of suggestions were called back and forth as the ham was sliced and the potatoes put in the pots for boiling; while further along the fires the two coffee-pots began to emit a most delightful and appetizing odor that made the hungry boys wild with impatience.
The spot where they had determined to spend their first night out was in the midst of the woods. Around them the forest trees lay on every side, some being great oaks, others beeches, with drooping branches and smooth silvery bark—as well as other species, such as sycamore, ash and lindens.
Most of the scouts were bubbling over with enthusiasm concerning the outlook before them; but several of the less daring ones might be seen casting furtive glances about as though the prospect of passing the night amidst such lonely surroundings had already commenced to make them feel a little queer.
No doubt the pride of these fellows would carry them through the initial night; and after that by degrees they would become accustomed to their new experiences. Every soldier can look back to his first battle, remembering how he trembled in his shoes, and feeling that he would give all he possessed for the privilege of running away at top speed.
And when supper was ready, with the boys gathered around, each bent on doing the best he knew how to show his appreciation of the work of the cooks, it seemed to be the fitting climax to a most wonderful day. Would they ever forget that supper? Never had anything tasted so royally good at home.
“This is the life!” declared Josh Kingsley, buoyantly, as he passed his tin plate along for a second helping when he heard it mentioned that there was still a further supply not distributed.
“It certainly does taste pretty fine to me!” admitted Horace Crapsey, who had in times gone by been so finicky about his eating that his folks had begun to wonder what was going to become of him—yet who was now sitting there cross-legged like a Turk, wielding an ordinary knife and fork, and with his pannikin on his lap, actually doing without a napkin, and enjoying it in the bargain.
Mr. Witherspoon had the seat of honor, for the boys insisted that he should occupy the highest place on the log that had been rolled near the fires. He observed all that went on with satisfaction. Boys were close to his heart, and he never tired of his hobby of studying them. It was a constant source of delight to the scout master to listen to them chatter, and he noticed that a perceptible change was taking place in some of his charges since first joining the troop.
Finally when every youth admitted that he had had all he could eat, Mr. Witherspoon got up.
“Now it’s full time we started our real campfire,” he announced. “That was why I had you gather such a big heap of wood. Here’s the right place for the blaze, as we must be careful not to scorch any of the trees, the branches of which hang down over us, because this property belongs to some one, and we must respect his rights.”
He had no trouble about finding willing workers, because every one acted as if anxious to have a hand in the building of that first campfire, to be recorded in the annals of Lenox Troop as an event of unusual importance.
When finally the pyramid had been carefully built the scout master was asked to apply the match.
“Unfortunately I do not know the customary procedure on such momentous occasions,” he told the boys, as they formed a circle around the pile; “and all I can say is that with this match I am about to dedicate this fire to the useful purpose of bringing all our hearts in tune with our surroundings. For to-night then, we will try to believe ourselves real vagabonds, or children of the forest, sitting around the sanctuary at which every camper worships—the crackling fire!”
Then the blaze began to seize hold of the wood, and amidst the cheers of the enthusiastic scouts the fire got fully under way.
High leaped the red flames, so that presently there was a general backward movement, on account of the heat. Had it been November instead of June, they would doubtless have enjoyed the cheery warmth much more.
Each boy managed to pick out a comfortable place, and then the talk began to grow general. Plans for the morrow and the succeeding days were being discussed with much ardor.
It was while this was going on, and the scouts were all feeling most happy that with but scant warning a discomforting element was suddenly injected into Camp Content. Moving figures, harsh voices, together with the half strangled barks of dogs held in leash startled the seated campers. Two rough-looking men, evidently a farmer and his hired man, armed with guns, and holding a couple of dogs by ropes, came in sight close by.