The boy scouts of Snow-shoe lodge

Front matter

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Contents

CHAPTER page

I. The Camp in the North Woods 9

II. The Man Who Lived by the Lake 23

II

‘"Whoop-ee!” cried Rob Grant, looking over the edge of his bunk in the cabin of the Buffalo Patrol next morning. ‘‘ It certainly looks cold out there on the floor ! Won’t somebody please turn on the heater ? ”

‘‘ Where do you think you are? ” said “ Injun ” Phil, who, already dressed, was piling fresh wood on the fire. You’ll be wanting the butler to bring your breakfast up from down-stairs next.”

“ I think we’re near the North Pole, floating ’round on a cake of ice,” volunteered the Wise Guy from his bunk on the other side of the cabin. “ My nose feels like an icicle; it gives me the shivers to touch it.”

Skipper, in the bunk above, leaned out and dropped a pillow squarely on the Wise Guy’s face.

That’ll warm your nose,” said he. ‘‘ One, two, three, jump ! ” He threw off his bed-clothes and leaped down to the floor.

In a minute more the rest of the scouts were hurrying into their clothes as if they were afraid of being frozen.

No sooner were they dressed than they opened the door and dashed down to the frozen lake like a pack of thirsty bear cubs sighting water. Skipper slid out on the ice, going a good thirty yards before he lost his balance and toppled over. After him came the others, shouting and waving their arms, all finally upsetting like ninepins in an alley. Then a bugle sounded, and the Buffaloes, now thoroughly warmed, dashed for the breakfast tables. It was a jolly crew that fell on the oatmeal and eggs and buckwheat cakes that morning. Then the Scout-master gave out the orders for the day, and after that for a half-hour the camp was a perfect bee-hive of activity.

The middle of the morning found the troop scattered in a dozen different directions. Skipper and Rob Grant and the Wise Guy strapped on their skates, and with their scout’s staffs in their hands, started on a tour of exploration. A good wind blew down the lake as they skated northward, and they pulled their woollen toques well over their ears. The ice was smooth as glass and they went at a steady 24 pace, slowing up now and then to look into some little bay or inlet. They might have gone a mile when Rob suddenly stopped and pointed with his staff. The other two, following his glance, saw a small shack on the shore to the left. A trapper’s hut,” muttered the Wise Guy. “ Quietly now,” whispered Skipper. See how silently you can skate.”

The three stole up noiselessly to the very edge, then round a small point, and came to the front of the shack. A man with a reddish beard was sitting on a box, whittling a long stick. He looked up, surprised to see his three visitors. For the land’s sake, where did ye drop from? ” he exclaimed, as if they might have descended from the skies.

“ We’re scouts,” said Skipper, and we’re camping down the lake. Are you a trapper? ”

The man grinned; he had a good-natured face, with friendly blue eyes. Ye might call me a trapper, I reckon,” he drawled. “ Leastways I do sometimes set traps. Glad to meet ye, scouts. My name’s Dan Taplow. Come ashore and rest your feet a bit.”

Now none of the three felt that their feet needed 25 resting, but they all felt that they shouldn’t miss an opportunity to talk w.ith a real trapper. So they accepted his invitation and stepped ashore.

“ Have a seat,” said Taplow, pointing to a bench, made of a piece of wood nailed to the sawed-off trunks of a couple of trees. He had stopped his whittling, and was filling and lighting a small black pipe. “ Out in the woods it comes nateral to pass the time o’ day, friendly like. Be you interested in animals ? ”

‘‘ In everything,” promptly answered the Wise Guy, nodding his head vigorously.

The weatherbeaten trapper grinned. You’re the living human question-mark, are you, sonny ? ”

“ Sure he is,” said Rob. ‘‘ Only he generally asks the questions and then tells us the answers himself. That’s why he’s called the Wise Guy.”

“ So that’s his name, is it? ” said Taplow. ''Well now, Mr. Wise Guy, what was the worst animal for the others to fight with in the old days in the North Woods; can ye tell me that? ”

" The bear,” guessed the Wise Guy. " The panther,” answered Rob; and Skipper suggested " The mountain lion.”

Taplow shook his head. “ No. He warn’t a big fellow, and he don’t look so dangerous to us, but he had a trick o’ leaving part o’ hisself stuck in his enemy. Wolf or panther or lynx, eagle or fox or anything else that tackled the porcupine, got stuck so full o’ quills they couldn’t get ’em out. They’d open their mouths to bite, an’ get their throats full o’ quills. The quills ’d keep their jaws open, and they’d starve. The big fisher weasel is the only critter that can down him. He throws him over on his back and goes for his smooth belly. It ain’t always size as wins out in the woods.”

“ How do trappers know where to set their traps ? ” asked Skipper.

Taplow scratched his chin. ‘‘ Well, consid’rable of the critters are to be found along the little valleys of the streams, muskrats and mink, otter and beaver and such like. Then those that feed on rabbits and mice, such as fox and lynx and marten, come down to the little streams for their prey. Beavers leave dabs o’ mud to show where they’ve been living, wolves have a trick o’ scratching with their hind feet, and bears tear the trees with their teeth and claws. Every animal leaves his mark if ye’ve got the eyes to 27 see it or the nose to smell it. There’s little signal flags all through the woods.”

It wasn’t often that Dan Taplow had such an appreciative audience as the three scouts, and he was glad to talk. Have ye ever seen a marten? Now there’s a cute one for you. You’d ought to see one after a squirrel; scootin’ over the ground fast as lightnin’, skimmin’ up the wall of a shanty or out on the limb of a tree ; sort o’ like a snake with wings it is, so quick and quiet it goes ; and when it takes to playin’ tag with a rabbit I put my money on Mr. Marten every time.”

Have you got a marten skin in your cabin? ” asked Skipper.

Taplow shook his head. Nary a skin,” he said. He took a few puffs at his pipe. “ But I got some things an Injun taught me to make.” He went into his shack, and came out with some pans and boxes and baskets all made of birch-bark. “ This is where Brer Porcupine’s quills come in handy,” said he. “ See the embroiderin’ on them boxes ; well, that’s all made of quills.”

“ But the quills are all sorts of colors,” said Rob, 28 examining the birch-bark articles. Did you paint them?”

“ Sure,” answered Taplow, but the paints didn’t come from no paint-box you buy at a store; they all came out o’ the woods themselves. The quills are white, with a needle already made at each end of ’em. When you want pink you cut into a hemlock tree till you get some o’ the inner pinkish bark. You boil that with the quills, and it dyes ’em pink. Butternut bark makes brown, alder bark makes orange, and oak chips, with some scraps o’ iron in the boilin’ water, makes the quills black. You get your red from berries, and when you want the colors mixed you mix the brews.”

“ That’s something you didn’t know,” Skipper said to the Wise Guy. The latter had taken a little note-book from his pocket and was jotting down the different trees and colors.

'' I’ve got some snow-shoes, too, made with ash for the frames and thongs of deer skin for the cords,” said Taplow. ‘‘ There ain’t hardly anything a man needs in the woods but what he can make with what’s provided, if he puts his mind to it.”

‘‘ What were you going to do with that? asked Skipper, pointing at the stick Taplow had been whittling when they had come upon him.

That ? Why, that’s for catchin’ pickerel through the ice. That’s the signal-stick. Look there.” He pointed out at the little bay that was in full view from his shack.

The scouts saw three round holes cut in the ice, with sticks lying across them. Bent on investigating, the three boys crossed the ice to the nearest hole, the man following them. “ I cut a good-sized hole, you see,” explained Taplow. Then I take a light rod ’bout two feet long, same as this one I’m whittlin’, and fasten a piece of white cloth to one end, somethin’ like a flag. This flag-rod is bound with some strong string at right-angles to another stick, and this other stick is laid across the hole, a couple o’ inches sti ekin’ out over the ice to each side. To the bottom o’ the flag-rod I ties my line and hook, with any sort o’ bait, minnows if I can get ’em in any hole where the ice ain’t tight. Now you see the flag-rod lies flat down across the other stick, the flag lyin’ out on the ice, and the fishline drops through the hole from the other end of the flag-stick, the short end.

When the fish is hooked he tugs at the line, the line pulls the flag-stick, it stands up, and so long as the fish stays on, the flag is up an fly in’. They ain’t been bitin’ this mornin’, nary a flag’s been up; but some days they’re fly in’ every little while.”

Would you mind showing us some of your traps ? ” I kin catch fish,” Taplow answered, ‘‘ but I ain’t trappin’ no animals. Leastways not at present,” he added apologetically, as if he didn’t want to lose the boys’ good opinion of him. ‘‘You see, all this 31 land along the lake belongs to Mr. Satterlee, who’s got a big house just this side o’ the village. He’s a rich man from New York, who puts in part o’ his winters here. He don’t want the animals touched, there was enough killed afore he came here ; and so he has me keep an eye on the woods. It’s a big tract to cover, so I’ve got my shack down here near the middle, where I kin see both ways. I reckon you might say I was a Game Warden, but I don’t keer for no such high-soimdin’ name.”

“ But you know as much about trapping as if you really were one? ” said the Wise Guy.

I reckon I know most everything about the business, from treein’ coons to stalkin’ moose. If you’re ever in doubt about a pint o’ woodcraft just call on Dan’l Taplow.” He shook hands with each of the boys. “ Glad to see you any day at my house, Mr. Scouts.”

The three said good-morning, and sped away over the ice. The sim, however, as well as their appetites, warned them that it must be nearly time for dinner, and that they had better postpone their visit to the village. They turned about and went south, and before long found themselves right in 32 the middle of a hockey game on the ice in front of the camp.

“ Get out of the way ! ’’ yelled a couple of the skaters.

“ Break it up, fellows ! cried Skipper, and making a dart for the puck he caught it so neatly with his staff that he sent it flying across the ice to the bank. “ How’s that ? ” he cried. Some class to that!”

Three of the nearer players caught hold of him and carried him, struggling, to a big pile of snow, into which they dropped him.. “ Eat all the snow ice-cream you like,” said one. “ Serves you right. Skipper.”

The latter got to his feet, looking like a snowman. Well, we know a lot more than you fellows do, anyhow,” he declared. “ We’ve been talking with a real trapper. Haven’t we. Wise Guy?”

The Wise Guy, however, was too busy to answer. He was sitting on a stump in the clearing before the lodge, making notes in his little book of Taplow’s fishing signals, before he should forget them.

Ill

THE SKATE-SAILERS

That afternoon Mr. Grafton and Mr. Robins carried a lot of mysterious articles from the storehouse cabin down to the lake. The Scout-master said that he had the makings of a number of skate-sails there, and began to put the different articles together. Most of the sails are triangular,’’ he said; “we found them the easiest to handle. We cut some of the long spars that hold the sails in two and three pieces, so we could pack them more easily, and we fasten ’em together with joints of the ordinary thin steel tubing you can get at any hardware shop.”

He fastened three of the sticks together to form one spar, and two to form another. Then he laid them on the ice, and picked up a triangular piece of canvas, one length of which was three or four feet longer than he was tall. “The simplest way to 34

THE SKATE-SAILERS stretch the sail on the spars/’ he went on, is to have a wide hem or pocket along each edge of the sail, and slip the spar into that pocket. You see there are eyelets in the corners of the sail, and the hems have pieces cut out midway of their length. I fasten strings at the ends of the spars and tie them through the eyelets, and these pieces that are cut out of the hem let me get at the joints and give me a way to fasten the stretcher. There are a lot of other ways of putting on the sails, more elaborate ways, with snaphooks and buckles, but I’ve always found this way would serve my purpose.”

Kneeling on the ice he ran the spars through the hems of the sails, and fastened them together at the apex with strings. Then he picked up another stick, about as long as he was tall. This is the stretcher,” he explained. It had a crotch at each end that fitted over the spars near their joints. A doubled strap, fastened to the spar in front of the stretcher, with a snaphook that caught into a ring on the stretcher, served to help pull the stretcher forward and so stretch the sail by pushing the spajs wide apart. “ You see the object of this is,” Mr. Grafton explained, to be able to stretch the sail tight at first, 35 and then to take up any slackness from time to time without too much trouble/’ He took up a small light stick. The sail is really held by the upper spar and the stretcher,” he added, but it’s easier to hold if a fourth light stick is fastened across from the stretcher to the upper spar.” So saying, he fastened this stick in place, about the middle of the stretcher, and projecting back so that it made a handle.

Meantime Mr. Robins was busy rigging what he called a square ” sail, though it was neither square nor rectangular, but shaped like a giant kite, with a flat bottom, sides slanting outward, and a flat top. Following directions, the boys worked on other sails, and soon twelve were ready for use.

Putting on their skates, Mr. Grafton took a triangular sail, and Mr. Robins a square one, and each started out on the ice. There was a good wind blowing, and ten of the scouts were soon skate-sailing on the lake. Phil and Skipper, each with triangular sails, followed after the Scout-master. He called out directions from time to time, and after a little experimenting, they soon got the hang of the game. The sail was always kept on the same side of the 36

THE SKATE-SAH^ERS skater, so that on one tack it would be to windward and on the other tack to leeward. To go about, the skater simply had to turn up into the wind.

Dick Warner was trying one of the square sails. That kind of sail always had to be carried to windward, and when he wanted to go about he had to S7 pass it over his head, which was a little harder and took more time than it did to go about with the other sails. To make up for that, however, he found that he rested it on his shoulder, and leaning back against it, was practically held up by it. On the other hand, the triangular sail had to be held up by the skater's hands, and on half of the tacks was really pulling away, so that it was more tiring to carry.

All the scouts soon found that it didn’t take much practice for them to steer a good course and go skimming over the ice much faster than they had ever done on their own feet. The hockey skates served as both keel and rudder. Puffs of wind could easily be felt and taken advantage of, and cracks and rough ice quickly avoided. At first some of them found themselves sailing up the bank into bushes and trees at unexpected gusts of wind, but they soon learned to steer, and also to follow the Scout-master’s advice. When you can’t manage the sail, let go of it. It’ll sail off by itself, without making you any trouble.”

Presently Dick Warner, with his square sail, and Skipper, with a triangular one, found themselves heading down the lake, borne along by a good steady breeze. Dick leaned against his big sail, letting it 38

THE SKATE SAH^ERS propel him, while Skipper, quick at learning anything having to do with sailing, shifted his smaller canvas to meet every change in the wind, as a good sailor handles a catboat, and actually managed to gain a lead over Dick, in spite of the difference in the size of their sails. Such racing was great sport, and they kept on and on, until they found the lake making a bend, something like the curve in a hockeystick, and had to shift their sails to another angle.

See how those trees almost hide that little bay,'’ said Dick, and slanting his sail a little more away from the wind he skimmed over to what must have been a splendid harbor for canoes in summer. Trees partly hid a loop of ice and made a very inviting snug retreat. With the wind cut off by the trees he skated to the shore and rested his sail on the bank, Skipper following him.

‘‘ Looks as if somebody else had found this place before us,” said Dick, pointing to where the snow was trodden down into a narrow path.

H'm,” said Skipper, nodding. “ What do you suppose brings anyone to this lonely spot? And not on snow-shoes or skis, but in heavy boots, with good big hobnails in them.”

Let’s have a look at the trail,” suggested Dick. He took off his skates, and carrying them and his sail a short distance from the path, leaned the sail against a tree, where it was partly hidden by the underbrush, and fastened his skates by their straps in the crotch of a birch. Meantime Skipper was hiding his skates and sail on the other side of the path.

They went single-file through the woods, care^ ful to make as little noise as possible, avoiding step^ ping on twigs that would snap like glass, and keeping a sharp watch for anything unusual. Dick spied a track on the snow made of two good-sized marks side by side and two smaller ones lengthwise behind, and declared that it was the trail of a cottontail, and they saw bird tracks, the little feather-like branching prints with the tiny dots behind them. Then Dick stopped and pointed to a small clearing on their right. Pieces of steel glistened in the faint winter sunlight that filtered through the woods. ‘‘ A fox trap,” he whispered. ‘H’ve seen ’em before.”

The path went on for a good half-mile more before it was crossed by a wire, which, running diagonally and fastened from tree to tree, seemed to 40

THE SKATE-SAILERS indicate a boundary line. The two scouts stepped over the wire and continued along the path, and after a few minutes’ walk came to a good-sized log-cabin.

There was no one about the cabin, no smoke came from the chimney, the door was fastened by a big padlock. Nobody here,” said Dick, after they had looked on all sides of the cabin. But somebody was here not very long ago,” said Skipper, as he picked up a few fresh-cut chips of wood and some apple parings that lay curled up on the snow.

Further search brought nothing new, however, and as it was now beginning to grow rather dark in the woods the boys decided it was time to take the back-trail. They climbed over the wire fence, found the fox-trap and left it again, and had almost reached the lake when they heard the crunching of snow not very far from them. They stopped, waiting to see what would follow. A man came round a bend in the path, a big fellow, with a bearskin hood over his head and tied under his chin. He saw the boys and stopped. What are you doin’ here? ” he growled, in tones very much like those of the animal whose skin he wore. '

WeTe on our way back to our camp up the lake/’ answered Dick, pleasantly enough.

‘‘ Where you been ? ” the man demanded, stepping a little closer and peering at them through the dusk. Then, without waiting for an answer, he raised his fist and shook it at them. This here’s a private trail,” said he, ‘‘ and I don’t want none o’ you snoopin’ round. There’s plenty o’ room in the woods without you cornin’ down to my part of ’em. Understand? ” With that he pushed his way by the boys and went on, the snow crunching loudly under his heavy weight.

Well,” said Skipper, “ he is a pleasant fellow, isn’t he? Guess he must have been living too long among the wolves. You might think we’d been hurting this private path of his. Hurry up, Dick. I want to make sure he didn’t eat our skates.”

The skates were safe in the tree, and so were the sails. The wind had by now died down, so that the scouts had to carry the sails rather than have the sails carry them. This took some time, so that when they reached the bank in front of the lodge it was quite dark. Two boys, however, were still out 42

THE SKATE-SAILERS on the ice, Max Talbot and the Wise Guy, and they were both practising the grapevine.

“ Look at this,^’ called Max, and making a beautiful sweep he suddenly sat down and slid a dozen feet.

Watch me, I invented this,’’ cried the Wise Guy. He made one stroke, jumped about, skated backward, jumped again, and fell on his hands and knees.

“ Well,” said Skipper loftily, I don’t see much to look at. Anybody can fall on the ice.”

Dick dropped his big square sail on the bank. ‘‘We found a bear in the woods,” he said, “ a human bear ; and he was as sore about our finding his path as a dog is about a bone.”

“ It’s my opinion,” put in Skipper, “ that he was the original Bad Man from the Bad Lands over back of Wicked Mountain.”

“ He might have been a hermit,” suggested the Wise Guy, who had picked himself up and was rubbing his sore knees.

“ He might have been a pirate,” snorted Skipper. “ I wish you’d seen him. Wise Guy; I’ll bet you’d have detected what his trouble was.”

“ Bet I would,” answered the Wise Guy, stoutly.

Oh, stop your arguing,” said Max, and save your tongues for supper.”

Sails and skates were put in the storehousecabin, and the scouts got busy with their duties for the night. The troop ate even more supper that evening than they had the night before. Then came the talk-hour before the roaring fire.

The Buffalo Patrol cabin was warm when the scouts turned in for the night. Skipper climbed up to his bunk, and then stuck his head over the edge to look at the Wise Guy beneath him. ‘‘Tell you who I think that crusty fellow was,” he said. “ I think he was Captain Kidd, afraid we’d find his hidden treasure.”

The Wise Guy blinked like an owl. “ Oh, stop your kidding me,” he muttered.

“For the love of Mike!” exclaimed Skipper. “ That’s the worst I ever heard I ”

“ But it’s not the worst you will hear if you keep talking to me,” said the other. “ I want to invent a trap to catch porcupines, and I think I can work it out better when I’m asleep.”

IV

There was need of getting fresh milk and a few other provisions the next morning, and it fell to the Buffalo Patrol to go to the village for them. So Philip, the leader, and Rob and Skipper and Max and the Wise Guy and Johnny Phelps and Sam Potter and Peter Swan, who was always called Duck,’’ set out over the ice. The eight had drawn lots to see who should take charge of the sled for the provisions, and Rob was the one to draw it for the north-bound trip. The sled was very light, however, and didn’t interfere with his skating in the least, so that the patrol skated fast. When they came to the point where Dan Taplow’s shack stood, hidden by trees, the three scouts who had met him looked for smoke above the pines, but saw none. Rob, skating closest to the western shore, looked to see if any of the little fishing-flags were flying, but it appeared the fish were not biting. With fine long 45 swinging strokes the scouts travelled on to the musical ring of steel on ice.

The village of Saulsbury was a very small place, most of it built along the road which ran at the side of the lake. Out from this road branched several lanes leading to scattered groups of houses. The post-office, which was the general store and the town meeting-place as well, was the largest building, and stood about midway of the village. The scouts skated up opposite to the store, took off their skates, and marched up the bank. On the porch before the store stood a tall man with a chin beard, who looked very much like the pictures of Uncle Sam. He seemed to be sunning himself in the fine air.

Morning,’' said the man, nodding to the boys.

How’s the weather down your way ? ”

Couldn’t be better,” answered Philip, and went into the store, followed by Rob and three of the others.

I heard tell you’d come to the camp down yonder,” said the man. Dan Taplow said you was a pretty good lot, ‘ slick as a pin,’ he says, and he’s a pretty good judge of nature, animal or human. Do you play baseball ? I once throwed a ball clean across 46 the lake down by the narrows/' He smiled with a certain pride. ‘‘Where d’you come from?" he asked, looking at Skipper.

“ My home's in New York," Skipper answered.

The man stroked his chin beard. “ Well, I've been down to New York, but take it all in all, I like Saulsbury better. So many houses make me feel kinder lonely, when I don't know the folks that live in 'em. Up in the woods you know what's going on, inside the houses as well as out; but down to New York you don't hardly know what you’re doing yourself. It makes you feel terrible ignorant."

“ But there's lots to learn there," said the Wise Guy, who always wanted to argue. “ And there's so much to do."

The man looked solemnly out across the lake, nodding his head thoughtfully, as if he liked to consider a point from all sides. “ But there's a lot to learn here too," he said, “ more than any man could ever learn. And as for doing things I reckon I've done more things than most any man in New York. I've been a blacksmith and a farmer and agent for mowing-machines and school teacher and run a stage-coach and sold real estate and preached in the 47 church when there weren’t no regular parson. So you see there’s two sides to most every argyment.” He grinned at the Wise Guy, who was eying him in amazement. ‘‘ Well, I must be going. Stop in to see me some day, second house out on the road to Satterlee’s. My name’s Ezra Whipple.”

The boys watched him walk down the road.

Golly,” said the Wise Guy, it does seem as if he’d been everything but a tight-rope walker ! ” Next minute Philip and the others came out of the store with the milk cans and other supplies. Then they drew lots to see which two should take the provisions back on the sled, and the lots fell to Max and Sam Potter. When those two had started for camp the others set out bn a tour of exploration.