Part 9

Charlie Kent and Rob M'Kenzie were the two youngest members of the Heatherton lacrosse twelve, and they naturally felt very proud of their position, which they had won by proving themselves the best players in the high school, and thereby attracting the attention of the Heatherton captain quite early in the season. The day when big Tom Brown called them both aside and invited them to play with the first twelve was one of the proudest in their lives; and Tom had had no reason to regret his invitation on any game that summer, for the two "young cubs," as he called them, proved themselves very useful additions, being quick, careful, plucky, and, best of all, thoroughly obedient, always doing exactly what he told them.

The next match with Riverside was of special importance, because it would be the final and decisive one of five which the two clubs were playing for a fine set of silk flags, which had been offered as a trophy by some generous friends of lacrosse in both villages. Each club had won two matches, and now on the approaching Saturday the fifth and final match would take place, rain or shine.

The rumour of Sam Massie being with the Riversides had reached Heatherton early in the week, and caused no little concern, some of the players being disposed to make a protest if he appeared on the field, and even a refusal to play. But Tom Brown would not listen to them. Sam Massie was, for the time being at least, a resident in Riverside, and to object to his playing would be acting in a way he did not approve of, so the dissatisfied ones were fain to hold their tongues.

The eventful Saturday came, and was as fine as heart could wish. It was Heatherton's turn to have the match, and the home team rejoiced at this, because it would in some measure compensate them for the advantage their opponents undoubtedly possessed in having Sam Massie with them.

Never before had so large a crowd assembled to watch the match. It really seemed as if half the population of Riverside and three-fourths of the population of Heatherton had turned out. The whole field was surrounded with a fringe of spectators, ready to applaud every good point in the game.

In due time the Riverside team made their appearance, looking very jaunty in their blue jerseys, caps, and stockings, and white knickerbockers, and all eyes were turned upon them to discover the redoubtable Sam Massie. It was easy to distinguish him from the others, and he certainly was a dangerous-looking player.

He was not of more than medium size, but the perfection of his condition, the graceful ease and quickness of his movements, and the unfailing accuracy of his catching and throwing, as the team indulged in the usual preliminary exercise, impressed everybody with the idea that he fully merited his reputation.

Charlie Kent's place was centre-field, his quickness and steadiness entitling him to that important position, while Rob M'Kenzie was the next man between him and the opponent's goal. Charlie was very anxious to see where the Riversides would put Massie, and was not at all sorry when that player took his place at cover-point, for now he would be certain to cross sticks with him more than once during the match, and find out just how strong a man he was.

Amid the breathless suspense of the spectators the two teams lined up, were briefly adjured by the referee to indulge in no rough play or fouls, and then in pairs departed to their places, the white and blue of the Riversides contrasting picturesquely with the white and crimson of the Heathertons as the players strung out from goal to goal.

"Are you all ready?" cried the referee.

The captains nodded their heads, the two centre-fields kneeled opposite one another for the face, the ball was placed between the lacrosse sticks, and with a shout of "Play" the referee sprang aside, and the struggle began.

There was a second's scuffle between the two centres, and then the Heathertons raised a shout; for Charlie had got the ball away from his opponent, tipped it cleverly to Rob, who, after a short run, had thrown it to "outside home," and the Riverside goal was in danger.

But before outside home could do anything, Massie was down upon him with the swoop of an eagle. With a sharp check he knocked the ball off his stick, then picked it up at once, and dashed away down the field, dodging in and out between his two opponents like a veritable eel. Not until he reached the Heatherton cover-point was he obliged to stop, and then he took a shot at goal, which, but for the plucky goalkeeper putting his broad chest squarely in the way, would certainly have scored.

Back the ball went, however, to the other goal, and continued thus to travel up and down for fully fifteen minutes before some skilful passing and sharp dodging on the part of the Heathertons brought it in front of the Riverside goal, when, after a hard tussle, it was swiped through by a lucky stroke from Charlie Kent.

Great was the elation of the Heathertons at scoring the first game.

"Guess they're not invincible, after all, if they have Sam Massie," said Charlie to Captain Brown.

"Mustn't crow too soon, Charlie," replied Brown cautiously. "We've got the afternoon before us yet."

When the Riversides, thanks to a brilliant run of Massie's, won the next game in five minutes, Charlie felt somewhat less confident; and when, after a severe struggle, they by a pure piece of luck took the third game in twenty minutes, he began to feel a little down in the mouth.

But the winning of the fourth game by the Heathertons braced him up again, and he went into the fifth and final struggle with a brave and determined heart.

The excitement had now become intense. It had been agreed before play commenced that the game should be called at six o'clock, and if not then finished, played over again at Riverside the following Saturday.

The Heathertons fully appreciated the advantage of playing oh their own ground, and were determined to settle the fate of the flags before six o'clock if at all possible.

The Riversides were equally determined to play out the time if they could do nothing better. Accordingly they concentrated all their strength upon the defence, and surrounded the redoubtable Sam Massie with the best men in the team.

Once more Charlie Kent won the face, and again tipped to Rob, who did not fail to send it well down towards the goal, but the stone-wall defence quickly sent it back. Again and again the rubber sphere went flying through the air or bounding along the ground towards the Riverside goal, and again and again it returned, not even being permitted to stay there a moment.

The minutes passed quickly, and six o'clock drew near.

"Charlie, can't you and Rob manage to get that ball down between you? Never mind your places; just play for the goal," said Captain Brown earnestly to Charlie.

"All right, captain, we'll do our best," replied Charlie, as he passed the word to Rob.

As luck would have it, the Riversides, grown bold by their success, opened out their defence just then, and moved nearer the Heatherton goal. Charlie's quick eye noted the change of tactics instantly.

"Look sharp now, Rob," he called, and Rob nodded meaningly.

A moment later the ball came flying his way, and springing high he caught it cleverly, amid a howl of applause from the spectators. Then, signalling Rob to keep parallel with him, he dashed off at full speed towards the Riverside goal.

Charlie was lightly built and long-winded, and constant practice had made him the fastest "sprinter" in Heatherton. But he had never run before as he had then.

The onlookers held their breath to watch him as he sped on. One, two, three opponents were safely passed! by brilliant dodging, and now only Sam Massie stood between him and the goal.

He knew it would be useless to try to dodge Sam. But there was a better play. Before Sam could reach him he tipped the rubber over to Rob. Instantly Sam turned upon Rob, and brought his stick down upon Rob's with a resounding whack. But the ball was not there. Already it was rolling towards Charlie, who had continued straight on, and scooping it up from the ground, with a straight, swift overhand throw he sent it flying through the goal-posts just in time to allow the cry of "Goal! goal!" to be triumphantly raised ere the six-o'clock whistle sounded the hour for calling the game.

Charlie Kent was, of course, the hero of the day. Sam Massie, brilliantly as he had played, was quite forgotten. But he did not forget to come up and clap Charlie warmly on the back, saying,--

"Bravo, my boy! You'll make a championship player some day. You must come up to Toronto. We want your kind up there."

*SNOW-SHOEING.*

Three things have the "red children of the forest" given to the white children of the cities which are so perfect in their way that it is hardly possible there will ever be an invention filed in the pigeon-holes of the patent-office that will surpass them. The canoe for shallow water and what might be called cross-country navigation, the toboggan, and the snow-shoe for deep snow, seem to be the very crown of human ingenuity, even though they are only the devices of ignorant Indians. One cannot help a feeling of hearty admiration when looking at them, and noting how perfectly they fulfil the purpose for which they were designed, and are at the same time as light, graceful, and artistic in form and fashion as the most finished work of highly-civilized folk. They all follow the line cf beauty so closely that it is no wonder the ladies love to decorate their drawing-rooms and boudoirs with them, or to have their pins and brooches modelled after them.

To the Indian the canoe, snow-shoe, and toboggan were quite as important implements as the spade, the plough, and the rake are to the farmer. Without them he could not in winter-time have roamed the snow-buried forests, whose recesses supplied his table, or voyaged in the summer-time upon the broad rivers and swift-running streams, whose bountiful waters furnished him their ready toll of fish. His white brother has in adopting them put them to a different use. He had no particular need for them in his work, but he was quick to see how they would help him in his play, and erelong they had all three become favourite means of sport and recreation.

Snow-shoeing disputes with tobogganing the honour of being Canada's national winter sport; for although snow-shoes have been seen in Siberia and Tartary, and are used to some extent in Scandinavia, in none of these places do the people derive much amusement from them. Simple as the snow-shoe seems, I would not advise any one to try to make a pair for himself. Only the Indians can do this really well, and even in Canada the vast majority of shoes are put together by dusky hands.

This is how they make a shoe of three feet six inches, which is a fair average size:--A piece of light ash about half-an-inch thick, and at least ninety inches in length, is bent to a long oval until the two ends touch, when they are lashed strongly together with catgut. Two strips of tough wood about an inch broad are then fitted across this frame, one being placed about five inches from the curving top, the other some twenty inches from the tapering end. The object of these strips is to give both strength and spring to the shoe. The three sections into which the interior of the frame has thus been divided are then woven across with catgut, each having a different degree of fineness in the mesh, the top section being very fine, the middle section, upon which almost the whole strain comes, coarse and strong, and the end section a medium grade between the other two. The gut in the middle section is wound right around the framework for the sake of greater strength, but in the other two is threaded through holes bored at intervals of an inch or so. Just behind the front cross-bar an opening about four inches square is left in the gut netting, in order to allow free play for the toes in lifting the shoe at each step. Both wood and gut must be thoroughly seasoned, or else the one will warp, and the other stretch and sag until the shoe is altogether useless.

The shoes are made in many shapes and of many sizes, ranging from two to six feet in length, and from ten to twenty inches in breadth. But for all practical purposes a shoe measuring three feet six inches by twelve or fifteen inches is the best. In racing, narrower shoes are used, but they rarely go below ten inches, that being the regulation measurement for club competitions. Then, again, some snow-shoes are turned up in front like tiny toboggans, instead of being flat, this kind being worn principally by ladies.

And now supposing that we have a pair of shoes entirely to our satisfaction, let us constitute ourselves members of a snow-shoe club, and take a tramp with it. Snow-shoeing is immensely popular in Montreal, as all visitors to the winter carnival well know. There are twenty or more organized clubs there, the membership in most cases being rigidly confined to the masculine gender, and every fine night in the week, all winter long, some club or other has a meet. Discipline is pretty strictly enforced at these club tramps, and seeing how earnestly the members go about the business, an onlooker might well be pardoned for thinking that there was quite as much work as play in this particular amusement. The pace set and the distance travelled are both beyond the powers of beginners, so that unless one is willing to stand a good deal of merciless chaffing, and have a pretty hard time of it altogether, it is better to wait until fairly familiar with the use of the _raquet_ (the French name for the snow-shoe) before joining a club.

Let us imagine, then, that it is one of those glorious nights in midwinter when this dull old earth of ours seems transformed into fairy-land. The snow lies in white depths upon the ground, dry and firm as ocean sand; Jack Frost has brought the mercury away down some points below zero, and the keen air sets every nerve a-tingle; a superb full-orbed moon swings high in the heavens, flooding the wintry world with her silver splendour, and a hundred active, muscular young fellows have gathered at the rendezvous, clothed in white blanket coats with rainbow borders, brilliant blue sashes and tuques (conical knitted caps sacred to snow-shoeing), knickerbockers of the same material as the coats, and stockings of the same colour as the sashes, while on their feet are soft moccasins skilfully decorated by Indian fingers. Sharp on time the club captain arrives, and in a trice all hands are down upon their knees fastening the raquets to their feet.

"Are you all ready?" shouts the captain. A hearty chorus of "Ay, ay," rings out on the keen air. "Off, then!" he answers, striding rapidly away, his followers stringing out in a long line behind, for the walking is always done in Indian file, and they set forth to attack the mountain, which towers up so grandly behind the city, forming one of the finest parks in the world.

The line of march is made up very simply. The captain who is selected for that much-coveted position because of his renown for speed and endurance, as well as his knowledge of the best routes, takes the lead. The rank and file follow in any order they please, and the rear is brought up by the whipper-in. Although the post of whipper-in is _not_ much coveted, that officer ranks next in importance to the captain, and should be one of the strongest and most experienced members in the club. His really arduous duties are to quicken up the laggards, assist the unfortunate, and inspire the despondent, for upon him it depends to have the club all in together at the end of the tramp. Wending along the snow-covered tree-bordered paths, or diving deep into the forest where there are no paths at all, the long thin line climbs steadily upward, growing longer as the steep ascent begins to tell upon the weaker ones, and they lag behind. At length the summit is reached, and a halt is called for a few minutes, that the panting, perspiring climbers may get their breath, and close up the gaps in their ranks.

"All up?" inquires the captain. "All up," is the cheery response. "Then forward!" and off they go again, this time down instead of up, with head thrown back, shoulders braced firmly, muscles at high tension, and eyes alert for dangers in the shape of hidden stumps or treacherous tree branches. Faster and faster grows the pace as the impetus of the decline is more and more felt, the shoes rattle like castanets, and the long line of white-coated, blue-capped figures undulates in and out among the tree clumps, appearing, vanishing, and reappearing like some monstrous serpent in full chase after its prey.

Ha! What's that? A fence right across the path? What is to be done now? The leader soon answers this question, for over the obstacle he goes as lightly as a bird, and his followers imitate him as best they may, some being content to crawl gingerly across by dint of hands and knees. One luckless wight, tripping on the top, takes a sudden header into the snow-bank on the other side, leaving only a pair of legs in sight to mark the place of his downfall. But the whipper-in comes to the rescue, and soon has him on his shoes again. What between fences, hedges, ditches, and other difficulties, the line is far from being well kept up. Gaps are frequent and wide. Some have fallen, and lost time in getting upright; others have been outstripped; but the leaders, like time and tide, wait for no man, and soon the welcome lights of the club-house, nestling in the valley, flash cheeringly across the snow.

Then the captain pauses a few minutes, that those who have been distanced may regain their places; and all being once more together, a final spurt at racing speed brings them, with shouts of joy and sighs of relief, to their goal. Here shoes are slipped off tired feet, coats and tuques thrown gleefully aside, and parched mouths cooled with refreshing drinks. An hour or more is spent in rest and frolic, and then the return journey made by the well-beaten road with the shoes strapped upon the back.

The distance "across the mountain" is nearly three miles, yet it has been done by an amateur in sixteen minutes twenty-eight seconds, which, considering the nature of the course, is remarkably good going. The best amateur time for a hundred yards on the flat is twelve and a half seconds, so that, clumsy and cumbersome as the raquets may seem at first glance, they are really a very slight bar to speed when the wearer is thoroughly expert in their use.

Hare and hounds on snow-shoes is a sport that must commend itself to all strong and vigorous boys who have a taste for cross-country work, if only for the reason that the snow-shoes make the sport possible at a time when it would otherwise be out of the question. The "hare" can be followed by his tracks, thus doing away with the necessity of carrying cumbrous bags of paper "scent."

Snow-shoeing differs from many other sports in being very easy to learn. Once you have mastered the art of sliding one shoe over the other with very much the same motion that you would make in skating, instead of lifting it up high as though you were wading in deep snow, as you are sure to do at first--once you properly understand this your chief difficulty is conquered, and proficiency comes with a little practice.

Throughout the length and breadth of Canada snow-shoeing is popular with young and old. Every centre of population has its clubs. Competitions are held every winter, at which tempting prizes are offered to the winners in races at different distances, from one hundred yards up to ten miles.

*THE SWIMMING MATCH AT THE ARM.*

"Frank, Frank: Hold on there a second," cried Jack Stone breathlessly, as he ran after his friend.

Frank halted until Jack caught up to him.

"Well, Jack, what's your news? You seem to be excited about something," said he.

"So I am," panted Jack, "for I've big news to tell you. Uncle William has offered a sovereign to the fellow that makes the best time swimming across the North-west Arm. What do you think of that?"

"Why, I think it's just splendid of him, and I'm going to try, for one."

"And I, too, you may be sure. And George Murray and Hal Hemming say they're going in. I was telling them about it this morning. Of course we can't all win, but the more the merrier, you know, and I think you and I will stand as good a chance as any of them."

"Just about as good," assented Frank. "That is, if none of the big boys are allowed to try. Did your uncle make any rule about that?"

"Of course he did," replied Jack. "Nobody over fifteen can compete."

"Oh, that's all right! And it's only fair, too," said Frank, evidently much relieved.

"S'pose we go out and have a practice this afternoon," suggested Jack. "It's so hot that the water ought to be as warm as milk."

"All right!" said Frank. "Just wait till I leave this parcel at the house and get a couple of towels, and then I'm with you."

Accordingly, a few minutes later the two boys, with towels in hand, were trudging toward the North-west Arm, impatient to be in the water, for the sun was sending down lots of heat that summer afternoon.

Frank Brookfield and Jack Stone were very great friends; had been so, indeed, almost from their nursery days. They got along about as well together as two boys who had each his own share of spirit and selfishness could; and although they were rivals in a good many of their boyish sports, they had a wise way of looking at the matter, for, next to coming out first himself, each was eager that the other should, and consequently they had no occasion to quarrel over the result.

In the science of swimming they were very evenly matched; what Jack lacked in strength as compared with Frank, who stood an inch taller, being about made up by a superiority in style that was natural to him in everything he did.

Hot as the afternoon was, they were too eager for their dip to walk slowly, and when they reached the projecting rock from which they were accustomed to bathe--Black Rock it was called, being a mass of dark, rusty iron-stone--they were both very warm and in a high state of perspiration.

This, however, would not have mattered much if they had undressed immediately and plunged right in; but instead of doing so, they laid aside their outer clothes and then sat down to cool off, thus allowing a reaction to set in that came near having serious consequences.

When they thought they had cooled sufficiently, they finished their undressing and were ready for the water.

"I've half a mind to swim clear across," said Frank, as they stood out on the end of the rock, hesitating for a moment, as all swimmers do, before diving into the cool, green depths.

"Better not," said Jack, who was the more cautious of the two. "You might be too tired to swim back."

"Well, then, I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll swim out to the middle and back again, and that'll be just the distance for the race."

"All right! Here goes!" assented Jack.

And with a plump! plump! the two boys, like two gigantic bull-frogs, went head first into the water, coming up again three or four yards away, with dripping heads and blinking eyes, and striking out vigorously toward the centre of the Arm.

"Ah, but it's cold!" exclaimed Frank, half gasping.

"You bet," concurred Jack, very heartily--"cold as ice! What business has the water to be so cold on such a broiling day as this?"

"Oh, it's just a little way it has," said Frank. "But cold or not cold, I'm going out to the middle."