AT THE FOOT OF RATTLESNAKE MOUNTAIN
"Who?" demanded William, as he caught the low-spoken words of Joe Clausin.
"Yes, tell us about him, Joe," went on another of the scouts. "I never saw the man before, and I shouldn't like to meet him on a dark night either. Ugh!"
But Joe turned suddenly red, and shook his head, trying to pass the thing off with a laugh.
"Thought I knew the duck, fellers, but I reckon I must have been mistaken, 'cause you see, the man I took him for is away off at the other side of the world right now," he said. But Paul's keen eyes saw that Joe did not believe any such thing.
"Say, boys, Joe's taken to seeing double," jeered William; "the coffee must have gone to his head. We'll have to remember next time, and make him a cup of grandmother tea."
Paul had something to think over. In connection with the strange robbery of the feed-man's place, and the queer actions of Mr. Clausin then
and since, it was little wonder that the young scout leader connected this new event with the other.
He tried to figure it out, but all seemed a blank. No doubt, if he could at some time coax Joe to confess who it was he believed this stranger to be, who was in the vehicle, and who looked back so often as he whipped his tired horse, the puzzle might not appear quite so dense.
But Joe was apparently in no mood just then for any confession. He seemed to have set his teeth firmly together, as though determined that not one of his comrades must learn the slightest thing about his troubles.
Paul tried to picture the face of the man as he had caught it in that one rapid glimpse. Had he ever known him? There did seem to be some little familiar look about his expression; but try as he would he could not seem to place the other just then.
But Joe knew; Joe was not in a maze of doubt; and the knowledge did not seem to have given the Clausin boy any great pleasure either; which made the enigma all the more like a tangle to Paul.
Again the Banner Boy Scouts set forth. After the rest, and a little attention paid to their aching feet the cripples were able to keep up with the rest for an hour or so. By degrees they would perhaps become hardened to this sort of work. When a boy has never done much steady walking
it comes tough for a time. He may be used to playing all day, but that means a change of action. It is the steady grind, hour after hour, that tells on his lower extremities, until they get hardened to the test.
At three they came upon the river, and Paul understood that it would be more or less of a companion to their march from that time on.
Every fellow greeted it with delight. It seemed like an old friend, because they had been accustomed to skating on its frozen surface, and bathing in its pellucid depths, year after year.
"Don't it look good to meet with a familiar friend, though?" cried Bobolink taking off his hat, and making a most respectful bow in the direction of the gurgling water.
"Listen, would you?" scoffed William, always ready to get in a sly dig at his comrade; "to hear him talk you'd think we'd been away from home a solid month; when it was only yesterday we broke the apron strings, and sauntered forth, bent on adventure. What will he do when a whole long week has crawled along. Oh! me, oh! my! I see his finish, poor old Bobolink!"
But despite his words, even William cast many a fond side look at the noisy stream that was foaming among the rocks; for was it not heading toward Stanhope, where the softest of beds lay unused, and all manner of good things to eat were
doubtless going to waste during the absence of twenty hungry boys?
Wilder still grew the country. Even Paul had had no idea it could be so rough within twenty miles of home. But as a rule the boys of Stanhope had confined their tramps and wheeling trips to the other three sides of the town; since the roads were much better, and the country level; so that no one knew anything about this region, save through hearsay.
"Oh! look, there it is!" ejaculated A. Cypher, who happened to be in the lead just as they came out of a woody tract, and turned a bend in the rough road.
During the last hour Paul had abandoned all idea of holding the scouts in any sort of regular formation, so that it had become, what William called, a "free-for-all," with khaki-clad lads stretched out along fifty yards of space, usually in small squads, and a rear guard to round up stragglers.
Of course these words from Nuthin caused a great craning of necks. Those who at the time chanced to be in the rear hastened their steps, eager to discover what it was attracted so much attention on the part of their chums.
"Why, it's the mountain!" said Horace Poole, with a trace of wonder in his voice.
"Sure it is, old Rattlesnake, at home," declared William, promptly.
"Wow! don't it look awful big, fellows?" remarked the awed Tom Betts.
"And d-d-dark as a c-c-cellar!" remarked Bluff, solemnly.
Paul looked with considerable interest at the great pile of rock and brush that loomed up so close at hand.
Many a time during the past two years he had planned to make a run up here, with the idea of seeing for himself if all the strange stories he had heard about grim old Rattlesnake Mountain could be true. They had always been broken up, either through his intended companion backing down, or else some family flitting that took one of the boys away from Stanhope during the holidays.
But now the long anticipated day had come at last. He was looking up at the big mountain, only a short distance away; and while the scouts could hardly expect to climb its rocky side that day, possibly camp might be made at the base.
Even the cripples seemed to mend under the promise of reaching the foot of the mountain that afternoon. They walked briskly for half an hour at least, and then fell back into the same old limp, though proving game for the finish.
"No signs of wheels around here, are there,
Paul?" asked Jack, as he sought the side of his chum at the head of the straggling procession.
"Now that's queer, but d'ye know I was just thinking about that same thing," the scout leader remarked. "To tell you the truth I was examining the ground as I went along. Perhaps you noticed me, and that's why you spoke?"
"Yes, that gave me an idea," admitted Jack, readily enough. "I wondered whether those fellows could have gone past us last night while we were in camp, and are even now perched somewhere on the mountain, watching us crawl along down here."
"Well, that's just what they've done. See here, you can notice the marks of the bicycle tires in the road. Little travel away up here, and along the side where it's smoothest they've gone single file, following the motorcycle of Ward, I guess."
"Why didn't we see that before, then?" demanded Jack, frowning as he eyed the tell-tale marks.
"I have looked a number of times," Paul went on; "but couldn't see anything. So you can understand it gave me something of a shock just now to discover the tracks."
"Have you reasoned it out?" asked his chum; knowing full well that Paul would never allow such a problem to remain unsolved long.
"There's only one explanation Jack, that I
can see. Perhaps you remember noticing a little side road that joined with this one about a quarter of a mile back?"
"Of course, I remember it. Then you think——"
"They must have come out of that road ahead of us," Paul went on. "That's the way they got in their licks. Somebody knew about how it turned around, and joined on to the main stem again. What do you say, Jack?"
"Why, of course. And now I remember hearing Scissors boast that he had the only map ever made of the Rattlesnake Mountain country—a logger charted it one winter, hoping to get his governor interested in some timber cutting scheme he had in mind, which fell through though."
"That settles it. They're on the ground first; but what do we care about that, if they only leave us alone?" Paul remarked, seriously.
"There's a call for you, Paul, from some of the fellows in the rear," observed Jack, just then. "I think they want to snap off a view of old Rattlesnake, with the troop stretched out along the road here. The sun is dropping lower all the while, and if we're going to get a picture we'll all want to keep, it ought to be right now."
"A good idea, and I'll do everything I can to help out," laughed the leader.
The command was ordered to fall in, so as to present an orderly appearance in the picture that was to be taken from the rear.
"We don't want to look like a bunch of hoboes trailing along," declared Jud.
"And every fellow quit limping, or you'll just spoil the whole business," pleaded the one who was delegated to use the camera, he being the best expert the troop boasted in this line, and winner in the competition of the preceding Autumn.
The picture taken, they once more broke ranks, and pushed forward.
At five o'clock they found themselves at what seemed to be the base of the high and forbidding mountain over which the road wound.
"Oh! please say Alabama, here we rest!" called one of the limping pilgrims.
Paul had been closely observing the ground, and as if in reply he made a gesture that Bobolink readily understood. Immediately the bugle sounded, and a cheer broke forth, since every member of the troop felt more or less jaded with the long day's walk, and ready to call it off.
Immediately a scene of bustle ensued. The wagon was emptied of its load, and tents confiscated by the various patrols. Good-natured disputes and chaffing accompanied each tent raising; but the boys had by this time become more
or less accustomed to the various duties connected with making camp, as well as breaking up, and so in what seemed a very short time all the canvas was in place.
After that fireplaces were scooped out, just as on the previous afternoon; only now they called it an old story. Every boy was learning things he had never known by actual experience before. Reading of such woodcraft in books is very good, but it does not compare with the personal trial. Once these things are actually done by an observant lad, and he will never in all his life forget the lesson.
Long before dusk began to set in, the supper was under way; and hungry fellows walked to and fro trying to stand the intense agony of waiting for the summons.