The Rival Campers Ashore; or, The Mystery of the Mill, Page 2

  CHAPTER II

  TURNED ADRIFT

  Soon they were on their way again, with the sky lightening a little andthe rain almost ceased. They plunged through the tangle of drippingbrakes, down to the shore; pushed off once more in midstream, andstarted back the way they had come.

  There was not quite so much spirit to their paddling as there had beenon the way up. Every stroke had meant to their minds, then, just so muchof their journey accomplished. Now they knew they were striving only toput themselves on the right track again, and that there would be fourwet miles of wasted effort. However, they were still strong, and thecanoe went rapidly down stream.

  The two miles seemed nearer four when Henry Burns suddenly pointed withhis paddle ahead and said, soberly, "There's the place, Jack. I saw it,coming up, but I thought it was only a patch of bull-rushes. We can'tget a canoe through, anyway. Let's go ashore and have a look at thecountry."

  They paddled in and scrambled up the bank. Sure enough, there was whatwould be a small brook, at some stages of water, coming in from acrosscountry; doubtless with water enough, in the spring of the year, tofloat a canoe; but now impassable. They followed it up through a wheatfield to a road, from which, to their relief, a stream of about thedimensions of the one they had been following--not quite so large--wasto be seen. A horse drawing a wagon at a jog trot came down the road,and they accosted the occupant of the seat.

  "How many miles to Mill Stream by the way of Dark Stream?" he said,repeating their question. "Well, I reckon it's fifteen or sixteen. Waterenough? Oh, yes, mebbe, except p'raps in spots. Goin' round to Benton,you say? Sho! Don't esactly envy yer the jaunt. Guess there'll be morerain bime-by. Good day. Giddap."

  "Wall, I reckon," said Henry Burns, dryly, imitating the man's manner ofspeech, "that I don't ask any more of these farmers how many miles we'vegot to travel. According to his reckoning, we'd get to Benton sometimeto-morrow night. The next man might say 'twas fifty miles to Benton, andthen you'd want to turn back."

  "Never!" exclaimed Jack Harvey, grimly. "Let's go for the canoe."

  They got the canoe on their shoulders, and made short work of the carry.But it was after ten o'clock when they set their craft afloat in DarkStream; and the real work of the day had just begun.

  Knowing they were really on the right course, however, cheered them.

  "Say," cried Harvey, in a sudden burst of enthusiasm, "we'll not stop atBenton, at all, perhaps; just keep on paddling down Mill Stream past thecity, down into Samoset river, into the bay, and out to Grand Island.Make a week of it."

  But even as he spoke, a big rain drop splashed on his cheek, and anotherstorm burst over them. Down it came in torrents; a summer rainfall todelight the heart of a farmer with growing crops; a shower that fairlybent the grass in the fields with its weight; that made a tiny lake inthe bottom of the canoe, flooded back around Harvey's knees in thestern, and which trickled copiously down the backs of the two boysunderneath their sweaters.

  "What was you saying about Grand Island, Jack?" inquired Henry Burns,slyly.

  "Grand Island be hanged!" said Harvey. "When I start for there, I'll goin a boat that's got a cabin. I guess Benton will do for us."

  They looked about for shelter, but there were woods now on both sides ofthe stream, and through them they could get no glimpse of any farmhouse.

  "Well, I wouldn't go into one if I saw it, now!" exclaimed Harvey. "Ican't get any wetter. Pretty soon we'll begin to like it. I'll catch afish, anyway. This rain will make 'em bite."

  He unwound a line from a reel, attached a spoon-hook, cast it over andbegan to troll astern, far in the wake of the canoe. It was, in truth,an ideal day for fishing, and the first clump of lily pads they passedyielded them a big pickerel. He came in fighting and tumbling, makingthe worst of his struggle--after the manner of pickerel--when he wasfairly aboard. Once free of the hook, he dropped down into the puddle inthe canoe and lashed the water with his tail so that it spattered inJack Harvey's face worse than the rain. Harvey despatched the fish witha few blows of his paddle.

  "Guess I won't catch another," he said shortly. "I can't stand a showercoming both ways at once."

  Henry Burns chuckled quietly to himself. "Let's empty her out," hesuggested.

  They ran the canoe ashore, took hold at either end, inverted the craftand let the water drain out. Then they went on again. It was a fair andpretty country through which the stream threaded its way, with countlesswindings and twistings; but the rain dimmed and faded its beauties now.They thought only of making progress. Yet the rain was warm, they couldnot be chilled while paddling vigorously, and Henry Burns said he wasbeginning to like it.

  Presently, in the far distance, a village clock sounded the hour. Itstruck twelve o'clock.

  "My, I didn't know it was getting so late," said Henry Burns. "What doyou say to a bite to eat?"

  "I could eat that fish raw," said Harvey.

  "No need. We'll cook him," responded Henry Burns. "There's the place,"and he pointed in toward a grove of evergreens and birches. "Thatvillage is a mile off. We don't want another walk through this drenchingcountry."

  They were only too glad to jump out ashore.

  "You get the wood, Jack, and I'll rig up the shelter and clean thefish," said Henry Burns. Drawing out a small bag made of light duck fromone end of the canoe, they untied it and took therefrom two smallhatchets, a coil of stout cord, a fry-pan, a knife and fork apiece and astrip of bacon; likewise a large and a small bottle. The largercontained coffee; the smaller, matches. They examined the latteranxiously.

  "They're all right," said Harvey, shaking the bottle. "Carry yourmatches in a bottle, on a leaky boat and in the woods. I've been inboth."

  Taking the cord and one of the hatchets, Henry Burns proceeded tostretch a line between two trees; then interlacing the line, on a slantbetween other trees, he constructed a slight network; upon which, afteran excursion amid the surrounding woods, he laid a sort of thatch ofboughs.

  "That's not the best shelter I ever saw," he said at length, surveyinghis work, "but it will keep off the worst of the rain."

  It did, in fact, answer fairly well, with the added protection of theheavy branches overhead.

  In the mean time, Harvey, having hunted for some distance, had foundwhat he wanted--a dead tree, not so old as to be rotten, but easy to cutand split. Into the heart of this he went with his hatchet, and quicklygot an armful of dry fire-wood. He came running back with the wood, anda few sheets of birch-bark--the inner part of the bark--with the wet,outer layer carefully stripped off. They had a blaze going quickly,with this, beneath the shelter of boughs.

  They put the bacon on to fry, and pieces of the fish, cut thin with akeen hunting-knife. The coffee, poured from the bottle into a tindipper, they set near the blaze, on some brands. They they gazed outupon the drizzle, as the dinner cooked.

  Harvey shook his head, gloomily.

  "We're in for it," he said. "It's settled down for an all day's rain."

  "I hope so," responded Henry Burns, with a twinkle in his eye, "I likeit--but I wish I could feel just one dry spot on my back."

  They ate their dinner of fried bacon and pickerel and coffee beside afire that blazed cheerily, despite an occasional sputtering caused bythe rain dripping through; and when they had got half dry and hadstarted forth once more into the rain, they were in good spirits. Butthe first ten minutes of paddling found them drenched to the skin again.

  They ran some small rapids after a time, and later carried around alittle dam. The afternoon waned, and the windings of the stream seemedendless. It was three o'clock when, at a sudden turn to the right, whichwas to the eastward, they came upon another stream flowing in andmingling with the one they were following. Thenceforth the two ran asone stream, the banks widening perceptibly, the stream flowing far morebroadly, and with increased depth and strength. The way from now on wasto the eastward some three or four miles, and then almost due south toBenton, a distance of ten of eleven miles more.


  They were soon running swiftly with the current, shooting rapids, attimes, of an eighth of a mile in length, going very carefully not toscrape on submerged rocks. And still the rain fell. There were two damsto carry around, and they did this somewhat drearily, trudging along themuddy shores, climbing the slippery banks with difficulty, and with somedanger of falling and smashing their canoe.

  Five, six and seven o'clock came; darkness was shutting in, and theywere three miles from Benton. To make matters worse, with the falling ofnight the rain increased, pouring in such torrents that they hadfrequently to pause and empty out their canoe.

  A few minutes after seven, and a light gleamed from a window a littledistance back from the stream, less than a quarter of a mile.

  "There's our lodgings for the night, Jack," said Henry Burns, pointingup through the rain. "I don't mind saying I've had enough. It's threemiles yet to Benton, or nearly that, there are three more dams, and asfor walking, the road must be a bog-hole."

  "I'm with you," responded Harvey. "If it's a lodging house, I've themoney to pay--three dollars in the oiled silk wallet. If it's afarmhouse, we'll stay, if we have to sleep in the barn."

  Presently they perceived a landing, with several rowboats tied up. Theyran in alongside this, drew their canoe clear up on to the float, turnedit over, and walked rapidly up toward the house from which the lightshone.

  "We're in luck for once," said Harvey. "There's a sign over the door."

  The sign, indeed, seemed to offer them some sort of welcome. It bore anenormous hand pointing inward, and the inscription, "Half Way House."

  "I wonder what it's half way between," said Henry Burns, as they pauseda moment on the threshold of the door. "Half way between the sky andChina, I guess. But I don't care, if the roof doesn't leak."

  The picture, as they entered, was, in truth, one to cheer the mostwretched. Directly in front of them, in line with the door, a fire ofhickory logs roared in an old-fashioned brick fireplace, lighting up thehotel office almost as much as did the two kerosene lamps, disposed ateither end. An old woman, dozing comfortably in a big rocking chairbefore the blaze, jumped up at their appearance.

  "Land sakes!" she ejaculated, querulously. "What a night to be comin' inupon us! Dear! Dear! Want to stay over night, you say? Well, if thatain't like boys--canooering, you call it, in this mess of a rain.Gracious me, but you're wet to the skin, both er yer. Well, take themwooden chairs, as won't be spoiled with water, and sit up by the firetill I make a new pot of coffee and warm up a bit of stew and fry a bitof bacon. Canooering in this weather! Well, that beats me."

  "The proprietor, you say? Well, he's up the road, but he'll be in,soon. You can pay me for the supper, and fix 'bout the stay in' overnight with him. I jes' tend to the cookin'. That's all I do."

  She called them to supper in the course of a quarter of an hour, and hadclearly done her best for them. There was coffee, steaming hot, andbiscuit, warmed up to a crisp; bacon, freshly fried, with eggs; a dishof home-made preserves, and a sheet of gingerbread.

  "Eat all yer can hold," she chuckled, as they fell to, hungry aspanthers. "Canooering's good fer the appertite, ain't it? It's plainvittles, but I reckon the cookin's good as the most of 'em, if I say it,who shouldn't."

  She rambled on, somewhat garrulously, as the boys ate. They did fulljustice to the cooking, stuffed themselves till Henry Burns said hecould feel his skin stretch; paid the old woman her price for themeal--"twenty-five cents apiece, an' it couldn't be done for less"--andwent and seated themselves comfortably once more by the fire in theoffice. They settled themselves back comfortably.

  "Arms ache?" inquired Harvey of his comrade.

  "No," replied Henry Burns, "but I don't mind saying I'm tired. Iwouldn't stir out of this place again to-night for sixteen billiondol--"

  The door opened, and a bulky, red-faced man entered, stamping, shakingthe rain from his clothing like a big Newfoundland dog, and railingill-naturedly at the weather.

  "It's a vile night, gran'," he exclaimed; then espying his twonewly-arrived guests, he assumed a more cordial tone.

  "Good evening. Good evening, young gentlemen," he said. "Glad you got inout of the storm--hello! what's this? Well, if it don't beat me!"

  At the sound of the man's voice, Henry Burns and Jack Harvey had sprungup in amazement. They stood beside their chairs, eying the proprietor ofthe Half Way House, curiously. He, in turn, glared at them inastonishment, fully equal to theirs, while his red face went from itsnormal fiery hue to deep purple, and his hands clenched.

  "AT THE SOUND OF THE MAN'S VOICE, HENRY BURNS AND JACKHARVEY HAD SPRUNG UP IN AMAZEMENT."]

  "Colonel Witham!" they exclaimed, in the same breath.

  "What are you two doing here?" he cried.

  "What new monkey-shine of yours is this? Don't you know I won't have anyHenry Burnses and Jack Harveys, nor any of the rest of you, around myhotel? Didn't yer get satisfaction enough out of bringing bad luck to mein one place, and now you come bringing it here? Get out, is what I sayto you, and get out quick!"

  "You keep away, gran'," he cried to the woman, who had stepped forward."Don't you go interfering. It's my hotel; and I wouldn't care if 'twasraining a bucket a drop and coming forty times as hard. I'd put 'em outer doors, neck and crop. Get out, I say, and don't ever step a footaround here again."

  Henry Burns and Jack Harvey stood for a moment, gazing in perplexity ateach other.

  "Shall we go, or stick it out?" asked Harvey, in a low voice.

  "Why, it's a public house, and I don't believe he has a right to throwus out this way," said Henry Burns. "But it means a fight, sure, if wetry to stay. I guess we better quit. It's his own place, and he's arough man when he's angered."

  Ruefully pulling on their sweaters--at least dry once more--and takingtheir paddles, which they had brought with them, from behind the door,they went out into the night, into the driving rain.