“Don’t I know it?” cried Matt, laying down his sandwich long enough to shake both his fists in the air. “But they won’t drive us away again, I bet you, ’cause it’ll be wuss for ’em if they try it. I’ll kick up sich a rumpus in them woods that every body will steer cl’ar of ’em; then what’ll become of them big hotels when they ain’t got no custom to support ’em? I reckon we’d best be gettin’ away from here this very night. I’m in a hurry to get to guidin’ so’t I can make some money before the season’s over, an’ besides I kinder want to get outen the way of that there constable. He’ll be along directly, lookin’ fur these things, an’ I don’t care to see him.”
“What’ll we do with the house?” asked the old woman. “We can’t tote it cl’ar to the lake on our backs.”
“Course not. We’ll burn it an’ the punt, too. They won’t never be of no more use, ’cause ’taint no ways likely that we shall ever come here agin’, an’ we ain’t goin’ to leave ’em fur them Mount Airy fellers to use when they come to the pond huntin’ an’ fishin’.”
The squatter need not have borrowed trouble on this score. There was not a hunter or a fisherman in the village who could have been induced to occupy his shanty or use his punt, for, like their owners, they were things to be avoided. But Matt and his family seemed to think that they would be accommodating somebody if they left them there, and the order to destroy them by fire was carried out as soon as they had eaten the last of the stolen provisions.
While his wife was engaged in removing the bedding and cooking utensils, and tying them in small bundles so that they could be easily carried, and the boys were at work hauling the punt out of the water and turning it up against the house so that the two would burn together, Matt busied himself in putting the rods into their cases; after which he walked around the canvas canoe and gave it a good looking over. Tom Bigden had told him that if he didn’t want to carry the canoe on his back, he could take it to pieces and carry it in his hand as he would a gripsack; but the trouble was, Matt did not know how to go to work to take it apart. Every thing fitted snugly, and he could not find any place to begin. The only parts of it that he could move were the bottom boards; and when he had taken them out, the frame-work of the canoe was as solid as ever. He spent a quarter of a hour in unavailing efforts to start something, and then giving it up as a task beyond his powers, he decided that the only thing he could do was to carry it as he would carry any other canoe. A less experienced man would have shrunk from the undertaking. It was fully twenty miles to the river which connected the two lakes, and the course lay through a dense forest where there was not even the semblance of a path. But there was no other way to get the canoe to Indian Lake.
Meanwhile, Matt’s wife and boys had worked to such good purpose that every thing was ready for the start. Each one had a bundle to carry, and the boys had set fire to a quantity of light wood which they had piled in the middle of the shanty. They lingered long enough to see the fire fairly started, and then turned their faces hopefully toward Indian Lake, the old woman leading the way, and Matt bringing up the rear with the canvas canoe on his back.
CHAPTER XIII.
SNAGGED AND SUNK.
HAVING plenty of time at their disposal, Joe Wayring and his friends were in no particular hurry to reach Indian Lake. After they entered the river they kept the skiff moving rapidly, but at the same time they did not neglect to keep their eyes open for “rovers”—that is, any objects, animate or inanimate, that would give them an opportunity to try their skill with their long bows. If a thieving crow, a murderous blue jay, or a piratical kingfisher showed himself within range, the sharp hiss of an arrow admonished him that there were enemies close at hand. Kingfishers were objects of especial dislike. The boys were fish culturists in a small way, and had stocked a pond on Mr. Sheldon’s grounds. On the very day that the “fry” were put into it, the kingfishers and minks made their appearance, and then began a contest which had been kept up ever since. By the aid of traps and breech-loaders the boys waged an incessant warfare upon the interlopers, and finally succeeded in thinning them out so that the trout were allowed to rest in comparative peace.
The boys did not stop at noon, but ate their lunch as they floated along with the current. The monotony of the afternoon’s run was broken by an hour’s chase after an eagle, which they did not succeed in shooting, although one of Roy’s arrows ruffled the feathers on his back, and by a long search for an otter which swam across the river in advance of them. About four o’clock in the afternoon they reached a favorite camping, or rather, anchoring ground, a deep pool noted for its fine yellow perch, and there they decided to stop for the night. The anchor was dropped overboard just above the pool, and when the skiff swung to the current, the bait-rods they had purchased to replace those that Matt Coyle had stolen from them, were taken out of the lockers, floats were rigged, a box of worms which they had been thoughtful enough to bring with them was opened, and the sport commenced.
The fish in that pool were always hungry, and the floats disappeared as fast as they were dropped into the water. A few “fingerlings” were put back to be caught again after they had had time to grow larger, but the most of those they captured were fine fellows, and heavy enough to make a stubborn resistance. In less than half an hour they had taken all they wanted for supper, and then the anchor was pulled up and the skiff drawn alongside the bank. Roy and Joe went ashore to clean the fish, and Arthur staid in the boat to put up the tent. This done, he brought out a pocket cooking stove which he placed on the forward locker, and by the time the fish were ready, he had an omelet browning in the frying pan. That, together with an ample supply of fried perch, bread and butter and a cup of weak tea, made up a supper to which they did full justice.