CHAPTER XIII

THE MUD VOLCANO

Bart's first act, on awakening in the morning, was to go to the tent flap, and look out. Then he called to his companions, who were still asleep:

"Say fellows, it's a fine day; only it's snowing."

"Did you wake us up to tell us that?" demanded Ned, as he turned over for another nap.

"Well, you don't want to sleep all day, do you?" asked Bart, looking at his watch. "It's eight o'clock. If we're going to do any hunting we'd better get a move on."

There was much yawning and stretching, but finally the chums were up and dressed, and breakfast was served.

"Now for a nice lot of game," exclaimed Bart, as he got out his rifle, and looked over his supply of ammunition. "I think I'll load for bear to-day."

"Do you mean to say you expect to go shooting in this storm?" asked Frank, for it was still snowing. The white flakes were of a considerable depth on the ground, but the two tents, standing as they did under some gigantic pine trees, were much protected.

"Of course we're going hunting to-day," declared Bart. "That's what we came for. Some bear steak wouldn't go at all bad, especially as we can't get fresh meat here."

"No, nor fresh bread, either," added Ned. "I miss my rolls with my coffee."

"I'm going to bake some biscuits for dinner," declared Fenn. "I brought along some self-raising flour."

"Good for you, Stumpy!" cried Ned. "Pity, though, you didn't bring along some self-baking bread, and some washless dishes."

"Well, if we're going, let's go," proposed Frank. "Will it be safe to leave our stuff in camp, unprotected?"

"We can't take it with us," said Bart. "Besides, there isn't any one within ten miles of this place. That's why I wanted to camp here. It will be all right. Well, I'm ready if you are."

"I'm going to take my shot-gun," decided Frank. "Maybe I'll see some wild turkeys or some partridge. They'll do if Bart doesn't get his bear."

Fenn, instead of getting ready his gun, as the others were going, had gone to the box where he had placed the large turtle, captured the night previous.

"For cats' sake!" exclaimed Ned, "aren't you done playing with that yet, Fenn?"

"I'm not playing," was the retort. "I'm going to try an experiment."

"Aren't you going hunting with us?" asked Bart.

"Not this morning. I'm going to solve this mystery of the turtles, if I can. Besides you fellows will shoot all that's necessary. I'll stay around here, and get ready for a partridge pot-pie or a bear roast, just as you prefer."

"Oh, come on hunting," pleaded Bart. "What's the fun in staying here?"

"Well, I don't know as I shall stay right in camp," went on Fenn. "I'm going to make this turtle lead me to where the other ones went. In other words, I'm going to use this one as a guide."

"You're crazy!" scoffed Ned.

"Maybe," admitted Fenn, calmly. "You fellows go on with your hunting, and when you come back maybe I'll have something to show you."

They tried to induce Fenn to accompany them, but he was firm in his determination to solve the "turtle mystery," as he called it, and, in the end, Bart, Ned and Frank tramped off through the storm, for it was still snowing, while the stout lad remained behind, watching the turtle, which he had placed on a cleared place on the ground in front of the tent.

"Now go ahead, my fine fellow," spoke Fenn to the reptile. "Which way do you want to head?"

The turtle seemed undecided about it, for some time after Fenn had placed it on the ground it did not move, but remained with head, legs and tail withdrawn into the protecting shell. But Fenn was patient, and knew better than to poke the reptile to make it move. Presently a long, snake-like neck was thrust out, and black, beady eyes glanced cautiously around, while the parrot jaws were slightly parted, as if to ward off any attack.

Fenn kept behind the turtle, which, in a few minutes, finding that it was not disturbed, stuck out its legs, and began to raise itself up, as if taking an observation. Then it turned partly around, and, to Fenn's delight, started to crawl in the same direction as that taken by the other two reptiles the previous evening.

"That's the stuff!" cried Fenn. "That confirms my theory. There's some place where these turtles hang out, and I'm going to find it. The three we found must have wandered away from the common camping ground of the turtles of this vicinity, but they all head back toward it. Now I'm going to find it."

He did not wait for the reptile he had captured to lead him to the place. That would have taken too long, but, after quickly scratching his initials on the back of the turtle's shell, together with the date, so he would know the reptile again, Fenn replaced it on the ground, and started off through the woods in the indicated direction. He had his gun with him, but he did not expect to do any shooting, and he carried a pocket compass, for the woods were unfamiliar to him.

For a long distance Fenn tramped on, plowing through the woods, making turns now and then to avoid streams, partly frozen over, leaping them when he could, fording them at other times, for he had on high, water-proof hunting boots, but keeping as nearly as he could in the proper course.

"Maybe I'll find a well-protected cave, where the turtles live during winter," thought the stout lad, as he made his way under some low hemlock trees, well laden with a blanket of snow. "If I do, I can get some new specimens, anyhow, and perhaps enough to sell to that man who wrote me the letter. Mighty queer about him. I wonder who he was? I wonder if, by any possibility, he could be up here in these woods?"

This idea caused Fenn to look around somewhat apprehensively, but there was no one in sight. He did see something, however, that caused his heart to beat faster, and this was a brace of plump partridges on a tree, not far away.

"I wonder if I can shoot straight enough to bag them?" murmured the lad, as he quickly raised his gun, and banged away, first with the left, and then with the right barrel. Somewhat to his surprise when the smoke cleared away, Fenn saw the two birds lying in the snow. He had made a good shot.

"Well, we won't go hungry to-night, anyway," was his comment, as he picked them up and put them in the pockets of his hunting coat. "But I'm going to keep on," he added.

He had gone perhaps half a mile farther, when he suddenly stopped and sniffed the air suspiciously.

"Sulphur spring," he remarked, half aloud. "Guess I'll go take a look at it. Whew! It's strong enough. I don't need any other guide than my nose."

Making sure of the direction in which the strong odor of sulphur was wafted to him, Fenn temporarily abandoned his quest for the place of the turtles. The odor grew more pronounced, for some sulphur springs are so strongly impregnated with that chemical in solution that the smell carries for miles, especially on a windy day. The region where the chums had gone camping, as they learned later, was well supplied with these freaks of nature.

A few minutes later Fenn had come upon the object of his search. The spring gushed out from the side of a hill, and so strong was the sulphur that the stones, over which the spring, and the stream resulting from it, flowed were a yellowish white.

"Whew!" exclaimed Fenn again. "This ought to be good for whatever ails you, but I don't like it."

He remained looking at the spring for a few minutes, and, as he was about to move away he was startled by a deep, booming sound in the woods, off to his left. Fenn started.

"Blasting?" he exclaimed aloud, in a questioning tone. "No, it can't be that, either," he added. "They wouldn't be blasting around here!"

The next moment he heard a pattering around him, and several large globules of mud came down, seemingly from the sky. Some struck on his hands, and others dotted the white snow about him.

"That's queer," murmured the lad. "It's raining mud--or else--" he paused a moment, as the remembrance of the booming sound returned to him. "No," he added, "there must be a spouting, boiling spring around here. That's what it is! I'm on the track of it now."

Fenn dashed off to the left, through the forest. He was eager to see what had caused the curious shower of mud. In a few minutes he came to a little clearing in the woods--a clearing remarkable, among other things, from the fact that the ground there was devoid of snow. There was a warm, damp look about it, too, as when, in a snow storm, the sidewalk over a bakery oven is devoid of the white flakes.

But that was not the most curious thing that met Fenn's eyes. He made out numerous mud turtles crawling about over the patch of ground that was free from snow. There must have been a score of the reptiles.

Then, as Fenn looked, a curious thing happened. He had just noted that, in the centre of the clearing, there was a large patch of water, and, a moment later the middle of this spring seemed to lift itself bodily up. Up and up the water spouted, and in an instant its comparative purity was changed to a deep mud color, as a miniature geyser of earth and liquid shot upward.

"A mud volcano!" exclaimed Fenn, as he understood what the phenomenon was. "A mud volcano! This explains the mystery of the turtles!"

An instant later he was under a shower of mud from the boiling spring.