Chapter 4

A TERROR THAT CAME IN THE NIGHT.

Why, the second tent had utterly left the place where Thad remembered they had erected it. He had just a fleeting glimpse of something dingy white careering along over the ground among the trees, and then it vanished.

But there was a high time going on near by, where the contents of the interior of the late tent were scattered around. Blankets heaved, and legs were thrust out, while the owners of the same were screaming at the top of their voices.

"Oh! what is this?" bellowed Bumpus, who seemed to be almost smothered under the folds of his blanket, which he must have had up over his head at the time the catastrophe came upon them.

"It's a hurricane, that's what, and our bally old tent has been carried away!" shouted Giraffe. "Hang on to anything you can grab, fellers, or you may be taken next! Whoop! let her come! I've got hold of a tree now!"

"Not much you have," remarked Thad, "that's my leg you're hanging on to. Let go, and we'll soon find out what happened."

"Ain't it a storm after all then?" demanded Step Hen, as he came creeping out under the canvas of the back of the one tent that had been left standing, with most of his clothes hugged tightly in his grip, as though he did not mean to be utterly left without something to keep him warm, if the worst had befallen them.

Thad had by now gleaned an inkling of the truth. And it was so utterly ridiculous that he felt as though he must soon burst into peals of laughter.

"First tell me if anybody was hurt?" he demanded, feeling that it would be wrong to show any merriment if such should prove to be the case.

"I don't know," remarked Giraffe; "seemed to me something heavy came squash down on top of me like a thousand of bricks. Mebbe it was only the tent pole falling. Guess I ain't hurt much."

"How about you, Allan?" asked Thad, hardly thinking it worth while to ask Bumpus, who seemed to be all right; though he was already beginning to dance around, as the nipping fingers of Jack Frost got busy with his thinly covered shanks, about which he had only his flimsy pajamas over his underclothes.

"Never happened to step on me, though he came within three inches of my back!" replied the Maine boy; and there was something about his words to tell that Allan must already have guessed what had been the cause for all this commotion, and the stealing of their tent.

Bumpus caught at the words.

"What's all that?" he demanded quickly; "was it the work of some mean feller, after all? Hey, is that the way your old Cale Martin gets in his work, sneakin' up in the dead of night, when we're all sleepin' as innocent as the babes in the woods, and snatchin' off our covers before you could wink an eye, or say Jack Robinson? Well, I like his nerve, that's what; and he'd better look out how he keeps on tryin' tricks on travelers. Say, he switched our tent, too!" and Bumpus gave a whistle, as well as his trembling lips would allow, to emphasize his disgust.

"You can thank your lucky stars old fellow," said Allan, "that he didn't plant one of his hoofs square on your stomach."

"Hoofs!" echoed Bumpus, aghast; "say, then it wasn't that old poacher after all, was it? Hoofs? That must mean it was an animal. Looky here, somebody get the fire started again, so we won't shake to pieces while we're hunting our clothes, and listening to the explanation of this latest outrage."

"Oh! let Davy do it," said Giraffe; "I'm nearly frozen stiff myself right now; and besides," he added as a brilliant after-thought, "you know I don't carry matches with me any more. And of course you wouldn't want to wait while I swung my little bow."

"Where's my left shoe?" shouted Step Hen just then; for there never was a time when he could find _all_ his belongings; and in a case of excitement like this it was a certainty that his customary complaint would soon be heard in the land. "Who's gone and took my left shoe? I'm dead certain I had both of 'em when I started to crawl under the canvas. Somebody thinks it smart to keep playin' jokes on _me_ all the time. Why can't they let _my_ things be, Thad?"

"What's that sticking out of the pocket of your coat?" asked Allan, as Davy managed to strike a match, and apply the fire to the only lantern they carried with them on the trip.

"Why, whoever stuck that in there?" Step Hen went on, unblushingly. "Thinks it smart to do such silly things, and have me guessing all the time. Just switch off, and try it on one of the others, won't you?"

Knowing that he must have undoubtedly placed the shoe in that pocket himself in the haste of his departure from the tent that remained, Step Hen did not dare accuse any one in particular; but glared around at vacancy when thus addressing his supposed-to-be enemy.

But they were so accustomed to his failings by now that no one paid much attention to what he was saying. In fact, it would have been a cause for astonishment if twenty-four hours ever slipped past without an outburst from Step Hen in connection with some of his personal belongings, that seemed to have taken wings in the most mysterious fashion, and vanished, although they always turned up again.

"But what sort of an animal was it, Thad?" asked Bumpus, still dancing about, and slapping himself in every conceivable place in order to keep his blood in circulation.

"Ask Jim, or Eli," replied the patrol leader, who was really too busy just then getting some of his own clothes, to bother answering.

So the others turned to the two guides, who, not having removed any of their ordinary garments, did not feel the chilly night air as much as the lads.

"What was it banged us over, Eli?" asked Bumpus.

"Moose bull on the rampage!" replied the Maine woodsman, readily enough.

"A great big moose like that one we shot a while ago!" echoed Bumpus, showing great excitement. "Just my luck. Why, if he'd heard that I had a new gun, and was waiting to see what it could do, he couldn't have been kinder. Just knocked at our door; and when nobody answered him he went away again, and by jinks! carried the door and the rest of the house with him. However in the wide world do you suppose that happened, Eli? I guess you ought to know, because you're acquainted with the queer ways of these woods' critters."

"Never knew such a thing before in all my experience in woods," asserted the older guide, shaking his head. "Fire was out, wind blowing wrong way for moose to smell human critters; and he must a thought he heard 'nother bull on the edge o' ther water, wantin' to fight him. Anyhow he jest natchrally tore right through that tent. It got fast to his horns, and he's been an' kerried it off."

"Oh! what tough luck. If I'd only been on the watch I'd have the honor of shooting the first moose that took to wearin' clothes human way," groaned Bumpus.

"D'ye suppose, then, he's keepin' our bally tent; and won't we ever set eyes on the same again?" asked Giraffe, holding his chilled hands out toward the fire that in Davy's charge had been revived again until it sent out a genial warmth.

"Soon know," remarked Jim, who had a personal interest in the matter, seeing that the purloined canvas belonged to him; though of course he knew that his employers would stand for any loss he incurred while working in their service.

He took the lantern, and started away. Thad had managed to get some of his clothes on by this time, and he hurried after the shorter guide, who seemed to know exactly in which direction to pursue his investigations.

"I can see something ahead there," Thad remarked, presently.

"That's the tent, all right," remarked Jim. "I only hopes as how she ain't too bad cut up now. 'Twas nearly new, and good, and stout; so I guess the ole chap he had some trouble gettin' loose from the same."

They found the tent where it had caught on a sprout, and torn free from the branching antlers of the moose, commonly called his horns.

"Not so bad after all," remarked Jim, when he had examined the extent of the damage made by the tent's being so forcibly carried off. "I kin patch it up easy, when I gits a chance in the boat, to-morry. Guess as haow we gut off right smart, all things considerin', Thad."

And the young scoutmaster was ready to echo these words, when he got to thinking how one of a dozen things might have accompanied the mad rush of the moose through the camp.

They never did know what had really caused his charge; whether some vindictive spirit of rage provoked the huge beast; or that he fancied a rival bull were challenging him to mortal combat, just as in the case of the fellow, whom Sebattis had previously lured within gunshot, with his seductive moose call.

The balance of the night gave them only broken sleep; because of the sudden and rude shock of this awakening. Bumpus hugged his new gun close to his side; and raised his head so often to listen, that both Giraffe and Allan vowed they would be compelled to chase him outside if he didn't get busy, and capture some sleep right away.

Morning came in due time, and they found that little damage had been done by the rush of the moose, beyond some rents in the canvas of the tent.

Once more they started forth, and all that day plodded on, making many miles, and by evening reaching the spot where Jim said they could have their canoes and luggage carried over to Portage Lake by a man he knew, who owned a team and a wagon.

"How far is it across from here?" asked Thad, seeking information.

"Depends on what way yuh go thar," replied Jim, "but I guesses as Nick he likes the three mile carry best. Start fresh in the mornin' sure."

After they had partaken of an early supper Jim went off to find his friend who owned the team, while the others busied themselves getting their belongings in as small a compass as possible, looking forward to what was expected to happen on the following morning.

Later, when Jim came back, he reported that he had interviewed Nick, and made all necessary arrangements with him to take the three canoes, and the stuff that went with them, across the carry in the morning. The boys were expected to walk and if necessary push at the wheels of the wagon, should it get stuck in a creek bed of soft quicksand.

The night passed quietly, and all hands managed to put in plenty of time sleeping, to make up for the loss of the previous one. In the morning the loud "whoa" of a stentorian voice announced the arrival of the expected team. They proved to be oxen instead of horses, and once the canoes, and other stuff, had been loaded on the big low wagon, the journey commenced.

Slow progress was the order of the day. Giraffe grumbled, but it did no good. And it was really noon when they finally came in sight of the lake.

The canoes were gladly launched, a light lunch eaten, the teamster paid off, and then again the voyage was resumed under a favoring sky; for the air was bracing, and so far not a sign of the first snow storm had made its appearance, though the guides warned their charges to be prepared for the worst, as a downfall was nearly due.

A cold wind was blowing from the northwest so that the wise guides hugged the sheltered shore of Portage Lake, since the waves were of pretty good size, and the flying spray would be far from pleasant in such weather.

Finally they reached the place where the lake had its outlet into a small stream, that, after flowing for a number of miles, emptied into the Lower Lake of the great and famous Eagle chain.

On the shore of this lake then, they made their next camp. From the grave manner of Jim, the scoutmaster easily guessed that they must by now have entered the territory where Cale Martin, the slippery old poacher, held forth. Jim seemed to look about him more than before. He also started at the least unusual sound, showing that while he might try to disguise the fact, he was really nervous. Still, he did not give the slightest indication of showing the white feather, or backing down, before a dozen like Cale Martin.

Davy had purchased a little snapshot camera at the town below, and also some flashlight cartridges with which he wished to get some views of the group around the camp-fire at night. No one had made any effort to perpetuate such scenes which Davy declared were the very best part of the whole trip. And now that they had become fairly launched upon the journey he was aching to start into business with his new outfit.

Davy knew a little about taking pictures, although far from being an expert. He had never used flashlight powders, or cartridges before; and after reading all the directions carefully, he declared he felt prepared to take a picture that would be viewed with the greatest satisfaction in the world by all his chums, when this great Maine vacation were only a memory of the past.

So Davy warned his campmates not to be alarmed if there suddenly flashed upon them a great light.

"I'd like to get you all in characteristic attitudes, if I could--that was the way the feller who sold me the camera called it; and he said the best pictures were the natural ones. What I mean is, that if I could grab Step Hen here, for instance, with that silly look of his on his face, saying: 'Anybody seen my camp hatchet around? Funny how it's always _my_ things that get carried off! The jinx never hides anything belonging to _you_ fellers!' I'd have something worth while."

"Oh! come off, will you, Davy; if I thought I looked like you say, I'd let all my traps disappear every day but what I'd kick up a row," and Step Hen assumed an air of indignation with these words that caused a general laugh to go around.

Of course it had to be explained to the two guides, for they were to be in the picture, smoking their pipes contentedly; and apparently Eli telling a story, to which the rest of the scouts were listening eagerly, possibly laughing.

Having fixed things to his satisfaction, Davy disappeared, slipping away from the camp-fire on the side he had decided upon as offering the best natural advantages for a flashlight view.

They could not see him, but guessed that he was working his way toward them as slily as he could; since he had announced that he meant to play the part of an enemy, stealing up to spy upon the camp.

Presently they did manage to get Eli started telling a story; for Thad knew it would be better for the picture if the guides seemed natural, and not on parade.

Meanwhile Davy was creeping forward, intent on reaching the place he had picked out beforehand, and where, without exposing himself, he could set his camera, and then fire the cartridge.

When to his uneducated mind--in the line of photography--Davy had things just about to his liking, he held himself in readiness for what he deemed an extra fine view, when the boys were laughing heartily at the climax of Eli's queer story of a scrape he once found himself in that was really humorous, though at the time it may have appeared anything but that to the actor.

"Now!" said Davy, partly to himself, as he fired his cartridge.

There was a sudden brilliant and dazzling flash, that must have been as fierce as the display of lightning when the bolt hits close at hand. And while those at the fire were schooled to repress their natural alarm, evidently the same could not be said of a looker-on not counted in the bill; for there was a hoarse cry of alarm from the bushes across the way, and the sound of crashing seemed to tell of a precipitate flight.