The Campers Out: or, The Right Path and the Wrong

CHAPTER XXIV – SUSPICIOUS FOOTPRINTS

“You blunderhead!” called Bob Budd, forgetting his own peril in his anger, “you’ve killed Hero. I hope the buck will gore you to death.”

The triumphant animal seemed to be on the point of doing so, for he stood with head raised, his brown sides rising and falling like a pair of bellows from his severe exertion, looking at the young man that had fired the shot which ended the hunting career of Hero, as if debating with himself how best to end his hunting career.

It would be putting it mildly to say that Jim McGovern was dumbfounded. He was transfixed for an instant, and then, awaking to his own peril, he whirled about, threw down his gun, and dashed for the tree behind which he was standing a minute before.

Throwing both arms and legs around the trunk, as though it were a long lost brother, he began climbing fast and furiously.

It may be wondered whether a faint glimmering of the truth did not force itself through the brain of the buck that had had such a strange experience.

Can it be that he felt that the lad who had fired the last shot had in some way done him an inestimable service in removing the hound from his path?

Probably such a conception is beyond the reach of a wild animal, but, be that as it may, the buck, after staring a moment at the flying figure, turned and looked at Tom Wagstaff perched in the tree, and then gazed down at Bob Budd, who was doing his utmost to shrink into a smaller space than ever beneath the sloping trunk of the oak. Then, as if disgusted with the whole party, he turned about and deliberately trotted off in the woods, showing no further concern for those with whom he had had such a lively bout.

The wounds given by Bob Budd a short time before were so insignificant that, though they roused the animal’s rage, they could not have caused him any inconvenience or suffering.

Finally, when it was apparent that the buck had departed for good, Tom Wagstaff descended from his perch in the tree, Jim McGovern slid down to the ground, Bob Budd backed out from beneath the oak, and each one recovering his gun, they came together in the open space where the dead Hero lay.

It was a characteristic meeting. Bob was maddened over the loss of his hound, while he and all three felt an unspeakable relief in knowing that the terrible buck had withdrawn without killing them.

“Of all shooting that I ever heard of, that is the worst,” said Bob, with a sniff of disgust, pointing at the carcass of Hero.

“It was better than yours,” retorted Jim, “for it killed something, while yours didn’t hurt anything.”

“I hit the buck, any way,” said Bob, sullenly.

“The buck didn’t act as though he knew it,” was the truthful comment of Tom Wagstaff.

“I don’t see that you have any chance to talk,” retorted Bob; “for you fired both barrels at him and then yelled for us to come and save you.”

“But you didn’t come, and I had to run out here to help you.”

“Yes; and the minute you caught sight of the buck you took to a tree.”

“I was only doing what you had done a minute before,” said Tom; “only I had better sense than to try to crawl under a tree.”

“Because you hadn’t any to crawl under, that’s the only reason.”

“There aint any of us in shape to find fault with the others, for we have all made an exhibition that it’s lucky nobody else saw.”

“It seems to me,” said Bob, “that we don’t amount to much as hunters; what do you suppose has become of that buck?”

“He isn’t far off, but I don’t believe it will do to hunt him.”

“Why not?”

“There is too much danger of finding him,” was the significant reply of Bob.

The point of this remark was so apparent to all that they smiled and agreed that the best thing they could do was to return to camp. They naturally felt exhausted after their lively experience with the animal, of whose pluck they had gained a better knowledge than ever before.

“Suppose there had been two of them,” remarked Tom, leading the way down the mountain path.

“Then there wouldn’t have been any of us,” replied Jim, who was walking next to him, Bob Budd bringing up the rear.

“I don’t believe there’s half so much fun in hunting as a good many people fancy,” was the sage observation of young Wagstaff, who found it so much easier to walk down than up the path, that he felt inclined to discuss their recent experience.

“Well, for those that like that kind of sport, why, that’s the kind of sport they like. As for me, I’d rather stretch out in the camp and take things easy.”

This picture was so fascinating to the others that they hastened their footsteps so as to reach their headquarters with the least possible delay.

“I can’t help feeling grateful for one thing,” remarked Bob, from the rear of the procession.

“What’s that?” asked Tom.

“That Jim shot poor Hero instead of me. I can’t understand how I escaped, for we weren’t more than twenty feet apart, and Jim was fully as far as that from the buck when he took such careful aim.”

“My aim was all right,” replied Jim, “but after the charge left the gun the hound and the buck changed places. If they hadn’t moved the game would have caught it.”

Since, as I have explained, large game was exceedingly rare in that section of the country, and since, also, the Piketown Rangers had been unusually favored in scaring up a fine buck on such short notice, it would seem they had no reason to believe there was any probability of encountering any more quadrupeds larger than a rabbit.

All the same, however, each member of the party should have seen to it that his gun was loaded before moving from the scene of the flurry with the buck. Such is the rule among hunters, and you will admit that it is a good one.

Nevertheless, all were trudging down the mountain-side with empty weapons and with never a thought of preparation for meeting any more game.

Had the buck suddenly made his appearance nothing would have remained for them but to take to their heels; but inasmuch as they would have done that if their guns were ready, I don’t see that it made so much difference after all.

A short distance farther the trio reached a tiny stream of icy cold and clear water, which bubbled from the rocks only a short distance away on their left.

Naturally they were athirst again, and, since all their flasks had been exhausted long before, they were driven to the necessity of slaking their thirst with the aqua pura.

This was done in the original fashion with which I am quite sure all my boy readers are familiar. Lying on their faces they touched their lips to the sparkling fluid, and each drank his fill.

“Ahem!” sighed Jim McGovern, drawing the back of his hand across his mouth, “that aint so bad when you can’t get anything better.”

“Yes,” assented Bob, “when a fellow is dying with thirst he can make out very well on that stuff, but it’s mighty thin.”

“I would hate to be obliged to stick to it,” added Tom.

And yet every one of that precious party knew in his own heart that the ingenuity of man cannot compound a nectar to be compared in soulful, refreshing deliciousness with the tasteless, colorless, odorless drink of nature.

Stick to that, boys, and never touch a drop of the enemy which, put in the mouth, steals away the brains and wrecks not only the body but the immortal soul.

“I think I can go a little more of that,” said Jim, kneeling down again and helping himself as before; “I shouldn’t wonder now that if there was a tax put on water the same as on whiskey a good deal more of it would be drunk.”

Tom Wagstaff was standing a few feet farther up the streamlet, carefully scrutinizing the ground.

“What are you looking at?” asked Bob Budd.

“Aint those dents the tracks of some wild animal?” he asked, pointing to the damp, yielding earth on the other side.

Jim and Bob stepped beside him and scrutinized the marks that so interested their companion.

“By jingo!” exclaimed Jim, “they are the tracks of something, and if they were made by a man, then he’s got the queerest feet I ever seen on anybody.”

Bob stepped across the brook and stooped down that he might examine the impressions more closely.

“What do you s’pose?” he asked, looking up in the faces of his companions with a scared expression.

“We s’pose we don’t know what made the tracks.”

“But guess” insisted Bob, with provoking deliberation.

“An elephant?”

“No.”

“A hippopotamus?”

“Nothing of the kind.”

“How can we guess?” asked Jim, impatiently; “if you know anything about it let us know, and if you don’t know, say so.”

“Those tracks were made by a big black bear!”

CHAPTER XXV – UP A TREE

“Gracious!” gasped Tom Wagstaff, “let’s run!”

“I agree with Tom,” added Jim, glancing furtively around, as though he expected to see the dreadful beast rush out of the woods after them.

“You’re a fine set of hunters, aint you?” sneered Bob; “after coming out to hunt game you want to run when you strike the trail of the very creature you’re looking for.”

“I aint looking for bears,” said Tom, “I haven’t lost any.”

“And besides,” added Jim, “there isn’t any fallen tree here where we can crawl under to get out of the way.”

“But there’s plenty of trees which you can climb —there he comes now!”

Tom and Jim each glanced affrightedly around, not knowing which way to run to escape the dreaded brute.

But it was a joke of Bob’s, and he made the woods ring with his laughter, while, as may be supposed, the others were in no amiable mood.

“I don’t see any fun in that sort of thing,” growled Tom.

“You may do like the boy in the fable, who shouted ‘Wolf!’ once too often,” added Jim, ashamed of his weakness.

The next instant Tom Wagstaff shouted: “There he comes and no mistake!”

Tom and Jim were standing on one side of the streamlet, facing Bob on the other side, so that his back was turned toward the point at which they were gazing.

The expression on the countenance of the couple was that of extreme alarm, though such a brief time had elapsed since Bob had given them a scare that they had not yet recovered from it.

“You’re right!” Jim added, instantly, as he and Tom wheeled and dashed off at the top of their speed through the woods.

Bob was determined they should not fool him. He laughed again in his hearty fashion, throwing back and shaking his head.

“You can’t come that, boys!” he called, “it’s too soon after my little joke on you.”

“But, Bob, we aint joking,” shouted back Jim, looking over his shoulder, but still running; “the bear is coming as sure as you are born.”

“You can’t fool me.”

Bob had not the remotest suspicion that his friends were in earnest, but the sight of them climbing the same tree led him to think they were pushing their poor joke with a great deal of vigor.

At this same moment he heard a crashing and trampling among the bushes behind him, and, checking the words on his lips, turned his head.

The bear was coming!

An enormous fellow of the ordinary black species had been descried by Tom and Jim when less than a hundred yards away, and he was advancing straight toward the spot where the three were standing.

They were in dead earnest, therefore, when they fled, calling to Bob the frightful news.

Had not Bob just played a joke on them he would not have doubted their sincerity, so that in one sense his peril was a punishment for his own misdoing.

It need not be said that the laughter on Bob Budd’s lips froze, and he made a break after his companions, who had so much the start of him.

“Gracious!” he muttered, “I didn’t think they were in earnest; I’m a goner this time sure.”

Nevertheless he had no thought of sitting down and waiting to be devoured by bruin, who lumbered along in his awkward fashion, rapidly drawing near him.

Bob’s hat went off, his gun was flung from his hand, and with one bound he landed far beyond the edge of the streamlet and made after his friends, throwing terrified glances over his shoulder at the brute, which took up the pursuit as though it was the most enjoyable sport he had had in a long time.

Once more the exasperating vines got in the way, and the panic-stricken fugitive fell sprawling on his hands and knees, bounding instantly to his feet and making for the tree where his friends had secured refuge.

By this time the bear was almost upon him, so close indeed that he reached out one of his paws to seize his victim.

No words can picture the terror of Bob Budd when he felt the long nails scratching down his back and actually tearing his coat, but bruin was a few inches too short, and the youth made such good time that he struck the tree a number of paces in advance of his pursuer.

The fugitive, however, did not stop, for before he could climb the brief distance necessary to reach the limbs, the beast would have had him at his mercy. He therefore continued his flight, yelling in such a delirium of fright that he really did not know what words escaped him.

“Why don’t you come down?” he called to his friends, “and give me a chance? Let him chase you awhile.”

It is unnecessary to state that neither Tom nor Jim accepted the urgent invitation of their imperiled comrade.

“Run hard, Bob, and show him what you can do!” called back Tom, who really thought it was all over with their leader.

This shout accomplished more than was expected. The noise led the bear to look up the tree, where he observed the two boys perched but a short distance above him. He seemed all at once to lose interest in the fugitive, who continued his flight some distance farther, when, finding his enemy was not at his heels, he sprang for a sapling, up which he went like a monkey.

The trouble with Bob, however, was that he climbed too high. It was a small hickory, not much thicker than his arm. This kind of wood, as you are aware, is very elastic, and the first thing the lad knew was that the upper part, to which he was clinging, bent so far over that it curved like a bow, and before it stopped he had sank to within six or eight feet of the ground.

Had the bear continued his pursuit, Bob would have been in an unfortunate predicament; but, casting a glance behind him, he noticed the beast had stopped under the tree supporting Tom and Jim.

Two courses were open to him, either of which would have secured his safety.

He had time enough to drop from the sapling and take to a larger one, up which he could have climbed and been beyond harm; or he could have slid a little farther down the hickory, so as to allow it to right itself, and he still would have been safe, for a bear is unable to climb a tree so slight in diameter that his paws meet around it.

But Bob was too terrified to do either. He simply held fast, and did the worst thing possible: he continued to shout for his companions to come to his help.

By this means he once more attracted the notice of bruin to himself, whereas, if he had held his peace, he would have given the whole of his attention to the two boys in the larger tree.

The bear had reared on his haunches, seemingly with the intention of striving to reach the lads, when he turned his head and took a look at the one in the sapling.

Stupid as is bruin by nature, he saw that it would be easier for him to reach the single fugitive than the others, and he proceeded to do so.

You need not be told that Tom and Jim, like Bob, had thrown away their guns again in their frenzied flight, through fear that they would retard their efforts to get beyond his reach.

Poor Bob, when he found himself once more the object of the animal’s undivided attention, felt as though he might as well let go and be devoured at once. All the same, though, he hung fast and continued his cries, which, had there been time, would have brought help from the distance of a mile.

He was clinging to the sapling with both hands, and his two feet, that were wrapped about the small trunk, only a short distance below his shoulders. This caused the centre of his body to hang down like the lower point of a horseshoe, the curve being sharper than that of the bowed hickory.

Halting directly under the howling lad, the bear reared on his haunches, reached upward with one paw and struck Bob a sharp blow. It caused him no material damage, but set the body to swaying back and forth. At the same time the hickory nodded, letting the lad sink a few inches and then rising with a regular, swinging motion.

This would have ceased in a moment of itself, but for the action of the bear, who, every time the body came within easy reach, hit it a sharp tap with his paw, causing it to swing back and forth in a sort of rhythmic accord with the dipping of the sapling.

It is said that some, and indeed all, animals possess a certain waggery of disposition which shows itself on rare occasions. The bear inflicted no injury on Bob, but the scraping of those long, sharp claws did considerable damage to his trousers, while keeping his fears at the boiling point.

It certainly was a grotesque scene.

There sat bruin, with his right paw raised, regularly tapping Bob, while the latter, with his hands and feet close together, and his body doubled up like a jack-knife, swung up and down with a steady motion, in response to the impetus given by the brute.

Of course the latter was silent, though if he had possessed the capacity to laugh, there can be no doubt that he would have done so, for, aside from the ever-present peril threatening the fellow, a more amusing sight cannot be imagined.

Even Tom and Jim, when they saw their companion was suffering no harm, broke into mirth, which grated on the nerves of the victim of a most unprecedented combination of circumstances.

But sooner than Jim or Tom suspected the moment came when the laugh was “on the other side of the mouth.”

CHAPTER XXVI – HUNTING THE HUNTERS

Bob Budd played the part of pendulum to the bear for perhaps ten minutes or less, during which he kept up his outcries, and Tom and Jim laughed till they were in danger of falling from their perch in the tree.

“If Bob had only known what was coming,” said Tom, “he could have had his trousers lined with sheet iron, and then he might have joined in the laugh too.”

“Why don’t he give the bear a kick with his foot and knock him over? He ought to have knowed enough to climb a big tree like us.”

“Helloa! what’s up now?”

Without any apparent reason bruin at this moment dropped down on all fours, and, leaving Bob Budd to himself, lumbered over under the refuge of the other two fugitives.

They felt no special fear, for it seemed impossible that the animal could do them harm.

Bob’s experience was not lost upon him. He realized the mistake he made when he took refuge in the sapling, and he now repaired it before the opportunity passed.

Letting go, he dropped lightly on his feet and ran for another tree double the size of the hickory, up which he hurriedly climbed to where the limbs put out a dozen feet above the ground.

Here, as he flung one leg over the strong support, he felt that at last he was safe against a regiment of bears.

Meanwhile, bruin was giving attention to Messrs. James McGovern and Thomas Wagstaff.

He first walked deliberately around the tree several times, as if searching for some vulnerable point, occasionally looking up at the grinning youngsters and snuffing like one impatient to secure his dinner.

“I wonder what he means by that” said Jim, with a vague feeling of alarm.

“He wants us to see what a big fellow he is.”

“He is a bouncer and no mistake,” was the truthful comment of Jim.

“I wouldn’t care if he was ten times as large – good gracious! look at that!”

Well might the boys start in alarm, for at that moment the brute began climbing the tree!

They had lost sight of the fact, if indeed they ever knew it, that the black bear is a famous climber when the trunks are big enough to be grasped without his paws interfering.

While Tom and Jim were congratulating themselves on being safe beyond all possible harm, they discovered they were not safe at all.

Bruin was on the point of ascending to their perch, when he was tempted aside by the shouting of Bob Budd in the sapling, and he went off to have some sport with him.

Why the brute should have left Bob at the time he had him within reach it would be hard to say. It may have been he concluded that the single lad had afforded him enough entertainment, and the moment had come for the other two to take a hand.

The consternation of Tom and Jim may be imagined when they saw those massive paws embrace the shaggy bark, which began to crumble beneath the vigorous clawing of the nails, while the huge black body slowly but steadily ascended toward the limbs, where the white-faced youngsters watched his terrifying action.

Bob’s turn had come to laugh, and he called out:

“Wait till he gets up among the branches, then drop and run for a tree that is too small for him to climb.”

This was good advice perhaps, though it occurred to the boys, for whom it was intended, that if they allowed their foe to approach that near it would be too late for them to flee.

Bruin had not very far to ascend when his huge, pig-like head was thrust among the limbs, and he slowly drew his ponderous body after him.

He was now close to the fugitives, one of whom was perched above the other, and both as far out on the branches as they could get without breaking them.

The big, shaggy form being fairly among the limbs, at the point where they put out from the tree, bruin paused a minute, like a general surveying the battle plain before him.

There were the two cowering boys about a dozen feet off, apparently without any hope of escaping his wrathful appetite. All he had to do was to make his way out on the branches and gather them in.

It will be seen that there was some difficulty in the bear’s path, since his weight would not allow him to advance clear to his victims, unless he used some other limb for his support.

As ill-luck would have it, the very means required was at his command.

Directly beneath Tom and Jim was another branch, broad and strong enough to support two large bears. It was so near the ground that the boys used the limbs immediately above, with a view of making sure they were beyond the reach of the biggest kind of animal on terra firma.

“Here he comes!”

It was Tom who uttered the exclamation, and he spoke the truth, for at that moment bruin began cautiously moving out on the heavy limb just under them.

“It’s a good time to leave,” whispered Jim, who, while the words were in his mouth, let go and dropped to the ground.

Tom was but an instant behind him, imitating him so quickly, indeed, that he struck directly upon his shoulders.

But no harm was done, and they were instantly up and off.

It will be seen from this that the couple adopted substantially the advice of Bob Budd, which contained more wisdom than most of his utterances.

Like their leader, the fugitives heeded the dearly bought lesson, and, instead of taking refuge in a large tree or sapling, they chose one of precisely the right size, each perching himself where he was as far beyond reach as Bob Budd himself.

The lads were given plenty of time in which to take their new departure, since the bear, instead of leaping to the ground as they did, picked his way back to the body of the tree, and slid down that to the earth, tearing off a lot of the bark in his descent.

This required so much time that when he once more stood on solid earth all three of the boys were out of his reach, and could afford to laugh at his anger.

Halting a short distance from the tree, bruin looked at the boys in turn with such an odd expression that they laughed.

Gradually the idea appeared to work itself into the thick brain of the animal that there was nothing to be made by remaining in that particular part of the country, though his reluctance to leave caused no little misgiving on the part of all three of the youths.

If he should decide to stay until the party were compelled to choose between starving to death and coming down, the situation, to say the least, would have its inconveniences.

“There he goes!” exclaimed Jim, a quarter of an hour after this possible complication had been discussed by the youngsters from their different perches.

The bear seemed to have decided that it was useless to hang around the neighborhood, and began moving off in his lumbering fashion. He was attentively watched until he vanished in the dense wood.

“We’re all right now” called Bob.

“Maybe he is trying to fool us,” suggested Tom; “you had better stay where you are awhile longer.”

“Who’s afraid?” defiantly called back Bob, sliding nimbly down the sapling; “you don’t catch me running from a bear again; all I want is a chance to get hold of my gun and load it – Jewhilakens!”

A roar of laughter broke from Jim and Tom, who at that moment caught sight of the brute coming back at a faster rate than he had departed.

Bob was equally quick in descrying his danger, and the manner in which he shinned up the sapling would have surprised a trained athlete, who could not have surpassed it.

“When is the fraud going to leave?” he growled, looking down on the intruder that had stopped directly under him; “I don’t know whether bears are good waiters, but I hope he won’t try to keep us here more than a week.”

Bruin went snuffing around the spot, clawing the guns curiously, gazing up at each lad in turn, and finally starting off once more.

The boys hoped his departure was for good, but you may be sure they did not discount it. When, however, a half-hour went by without his being seen, all felt there was ground for hope.

It seemed safe to experiment a little, and so Bob once more slid down the sapling, after carefully reconnoitering all the forest in his field of vision. He held himself ready also to climb again the instant the beast reappeared.

The boys were too frightened to attempt any jokes on each other, and when Tom and Jim reported that bruin was not in sight, Bob believed them.

His gun was lying not far off, and he began timidly making his way toward it. Step by step he advanced, glancing in every direction, and ready to dart back the instant he saw or heard anything suspicious.

Finally he stooped over and picked up the weapon. Still the bear was invisible, and Bob hurriedly reloaded his gun, though it cannot be claimed that he felt much more secure than before.

Thus encouraged, Tom and Jim ventured to descend from their respective trees, and they also recovered their weapons without bringing their enemy down upon them.

“It must be he’s gone for good,” said Jim, in a guarded undertone.

“It looks that way,” replied Tom, “and the best thing we can do is to follow suit.”

This was the unanimous sentiment, and it was acted upon without delay.

It cannot be said that a single member of the Piketon Rangers breathed freely until fully a half-mile from the scene of their adventure with the bear.

The slightest noise caused them to start and gaze around with rapidly-beating hearts; they spoke only a few words and they were in undertones, while they paused a half-dozen times in the belief that some stump or dark-colored boulder was the dreaded brute awaiting their approach.

But by the time the half-mile was passed they grew more confident. They spoke in ordinary tones, and did not start at the sound of every rustling leaf.

“That’s the last hunt I ever make up there,” said Jim McGovern, turning about and glaring at the mountainous slope as though it had done him a personal injury.

“I’m with you,” replied Tom Wagstaff; “them as like to have their brains banged out by bucks ten feet high or chawed up by bears as big as an elephant are welcome, but not any for me.”

“I feel sort of that way myself,” assented Bob; “it’s the first time I’ve tried it since I was a tot of a boy, but I’ve had enough to last me for the next three hundred and eighty-five years. I hope Uncle Jim won’t ask too many questions about Hero, because he thought a good deal of that hound.”

“He needn’t ever know that he departed this life through a mysterious dispensation of Providence,” replied Jim; “all that it is necessary to learn – and I don’t know that there’s any need of that– is that Hero went off on an exploring expedition and hasn’t yet returned. The particulars of his shipwreck are unobtainable, as is often the case with other explorers.”

“Oh! I can manage it, I’ve no doubt, for I was never yet caught in a scrape that I couldn’t get out of,” was the cheerful response of Bob Budd.

The day was well gone when the three reached their tent at the base of Mount Barclay, and they were glad enough to get back again.

During their absence Aunt Ruth had sent one of the hired men, as was her custom, with a liberal supply of delicacies, which were disposed of in the usual vigorous style of the three, who were honest when they agreed that they had had enough hunting of bears and deer to last them a lifetime.

“If we could only manage the thing without so much work,” said Bob, “we might find some fun in it; but we had to climb up that mountain, which is three times as high as I supposed, and when the danger came, why we hadn’t our usual strength.”

“I think we did pretty well,” replied Tom Wagstaff, “but all the same I don’t believe it would read very well in print.”

“Who’s going to put it in print?” asked Bob; “we know too much to tell any one about it, or, if we did, we would get it in a shape that would do us proud.”

“Well, being as we have had all we want of hunting, the next thing will be – what?”

“Doing nothing,” replied Wagstaff.

“We can do the next thing to that, which is just as good.”

“What’s that?” asked Bob.

“Fish; stretch out along-shore in the shade, where there’s no danger of rolling in, or go out in a boat and wait for the fish to bite, not caring much whether they do or not. The best thing about fishing is that you never have to tire yourself – ”

“Hark!”

At that moment the three heard a prodigious roar, rapidly increasing in volume, until the air seemed to be filled with one continuous reverberating peal of thunder.

“Heaven save us!” exclaimed Bob Budd; “the dam has burst!”

“And it is coming down on us and we can’t get out of its path!” added white-faced Wagstaff.