CHAPTER XII.

A FACE IN THE WINDOW.

“Ugh! that right, Eli; wolf only cry like that!” said a voice close beside the two who stood there; and turning, they could make out a figure which they knew must be that of Sebattis; but so softly had the Indian slipped out, after hearing that well-known though faint howl, that even Eli, sharp ears though he possessed, had not detected his coming until he spoke.

“Where thar’s one wolf thar’s agoin’ ter be more,” remarked the old Maine guide, with the air of one who knew what he was talking about.

“Huh! wolf he always hunt in pack, never by self,” observed Sebattis, drily.

“That adds a little spicy flavor to our being up here, then,” Thad went on to say, being not displeased; for if only he could have that magical little rifle of Step Hen’s in his hands, he cared not how many of the fierce brutes he might run across; for with its quick-shooting qualities, and the deadly nature of the bullets it used, he believed he could take care of all comers. Besides, if hard-pressed, it was always possible to take to a tree, where one would be safe from the cruel fangs of the animals.

When they went inside, and told what they had heard, the boys received the news with various shades of enthusiasm. Giraffe was really pleased, for he meant to do something bold on this trip that would forever establish his reputation as a mighty Nimrod; Step Hen fondled his rifle, and then stood it in the corner close to the spot where he had spread his blanket, as though he had a faint idea he might find need for it in the night; Davy Jones shrugged his shoulders, and hoped he would not happen to run across the pack when alone; and as for Bumpus, he deliberately changed his blanket, placing it on the further side of several others, away from that open door.

But Eli had been examining that same door, and was of the opinion that, with a little effort, it might be coaxed to shut. This he proceeded to accomplish, and with a success that won him a cheer from the timid Bumpus.

“Never did like to sleep in a draught,” muttered the fat scout; “and I’m glad the glass stayed in that window all these years.”

“That is queer, for a fact,” observed Thad. “But I reckon now it would never have held out if some of the fellows we have in Cranford had come along.”

“You hit it right about that, Thad,” agreed Step Hen. “Take that Ambrose Griffin and his cronies, Eli Bangs and Walt Hopkins, and they never could pass an empty house without shyin’ stones at the windows. I’ve heard a smash many a time, and seen one of them scootin’ away like hot cakes. Guess they like to hear the jingle of the broken glass; it must sound like music to some fellers.”

“What’s thet ye say ’bout Eli?” asked the old guide, pricking up his ears.

“Oh! we weren’t talking about you that time,” laughed Thad. “It happens that you’ve got a namesake down in the town where we live, who’s up to every trick there is, that he thinks will afford him some fun;” and as the guide expressed an interest in the matter, Thad detailed a few of the practical jokes which were believed to lie at the doors of the three bad boys of Cranford.

When he heard about the lights going out at the church, just when a convert was about to be immersed, and the cries of the alarmed audience, together with shrieks from the frightened woman, who really thought she had been transplanted from this world into another, since everything became suddenly black around her, the guide grinned. He had never heard of such carrying on, and thought it was comical. But Thad knew that more than one person had need of a doctor after that episode; and that if actual proof could be procured concerning the culprits who cut the electric wires, they would have been severely punished by the town fathers.

Somehow none of the boys seemed in such a hurry to lie down now. Thad’s stories of events which they knew from first hands started them talking again; and by degrees some of the rest related other doings that were commonly laid at the door of the three Cranford scapegraces.

Bumpus changed his blanket three separate times in the course of half an hour. There was no draught now to complain of, since Eli had managed to get the door closed; but Thad noticed the fat and timid scout eying that wide throat of the chimney; and really believed Bumpus had come to suspect that it was large enough to admit of the passage of one of those hungry wolves, should they find all other avenues of ingress closed to them. And he did not fancy being directly in the road of the first one that came in.

Bumpus knew that he must prove a juicy morsel for any half-starved beast of prey; and that, given the chance, they were just sure to pick him out. Giraffe was playing safe under any considerations, for the animal that would prefer that bag of bones must be out of its mind.

And Thad also made up his mind that after Bumpus got fairly to sleep he would manage to get possession of the gun he had hitched closer to him, and which was the double-barreled weapon carried into the woods by Davy, who had made no protest when the stout boy coolly appropriated the same.

There could be no telling but that Bumpus, with his mind worked up over that bear, and the wolf that had howled away off up the river, might dream he was being hotly attacked. And a gun in the possession of a greenhorn can be even more dangerous under such conditions than if an adept handled it.

“I’ve just thought of a good thing,” suddenly exclaimed Bumpus.

“Then get it out of your system in a hurry, or it’ll hurt you,” said Giraffe.

“No danger of anything good ever hurting _you_, Giraffe,” declared the other, with a fine show of sarcasm that caused the tall scout to grin; for somehow, when he and Bumpus got to exchanging compliments, Giraffe always seemed rather tickled if the other managed to give him a sly dig.

“Well, let’s hear what struck you, all of a sudden,” he remarked.

“It’s about our honey,” began Bumpus, seriously.

“What honey?” demanded Giraffe, pretending to look all around. “I haven’t seen any, that I know of.”

“Oh! you know what I mean;” Bumpus went on; “the honey we expect to get, when Allan finds the bee tree. I’m just as dead sure he’s goin’ to do it, as I am of having my breakfast to-morrow morning.”

“Well, I reckon Allan only wishes he was as sure as you are,” Giraffe remarked.

“Let him tell what’s on his mind, can’t you, Giraffe?” broke in Davy Jones. “I think it’s a shame how you badger that poor fellow. Don’t you know there’s a law against cruelty to animals?”

“Monkeys are included under that law, please remember,” retorted the fat boy, as he turned on his new tormentor. “But I suppose you fellows are just dying to know the brilliant thought that just flashed into my mind a little while ago?”

“Go on, and get it out,” begged Step Hen.

“Yes, we want to know, if we’re not from Missouri,” added Allan.

“Well, there isn’t any reason why we should waste a whole lot of it after all, if we only know enough to use our brains, and take advantage of our opportunities,” Bumpus went on, with exasperating slowness, as though this might be his method of getting even for the attack upon him.

“What sort of opportunities?” demanded Davy.

“Storage capacity,” answered the other, simply.

“Now, its all very well to want to save the honey,” observed Giraffe, eying the other suspiciously; “but if you expect us to fill up our kettles, and every dish we’ve got along with us, you’re off your base, Bumpus. We have to eat three times a day; and just fancy having even the coffee pot jammed full of sticky sweetness.”

“Guess again,” remarked Bumpus, composedly. “Well, I suppose that I’ll just _have_ to tell you, because you’d never get on to such a brilliant idea in a thousand years. First thing, you didn’t know I brought it along, perhaps. Don’t hardly understand myself just why I borrowed it from Smithy; but I must have thought it’d come in handy, sometime or other. And it’s going to, fellows; it’s going to.”

“What is?” shouted Giraffe, now at the end of his patience.

“Why, that cute little collapsible rubber foot bath belonging to our comrade, Smithy. You know he was such a clean feller, that he just couldn’t think of going anywhere at first, without carrying that tub along. It holds quite a lot; and if we filled it with nice sweet honey——”

But poor Bumpus did not get any further in his explanation. Roars of laughter broke in upon his story; for the idea of filling a rubber foot bath with the sticky product of a bee tree was too much for the rest of the boys. And Bumpus, after staring around in a hurt way, shrugged his fat shoulders, and relapsed into silence, simply remarking.

“Oh! all right; that’s all a feller gets for crackin’ his brain trying to think up things for the benefit of the whole bunch. I just guess that old bear’ll get the main part of our honey, after all.”

“What’s that? Do bears like honey, Allan?” demanded Giraffe.

“I should say they did,” replied the Maine lad, readily enough. “They’re just wild over it. A bear will overturn a hive, if ever he gets in a garden, and devour comb and all, like a regular pig.”

“But the bees,” continued the tall scout; “don’t they sting him at all? Think of the thousands of little critters, each with his poison lance, stinging that poor bear.”

“It doesn’t seem to bother the bear one bit,” Allan added. “I’ve known them to just clean out a hive; and when we shot the varmint just afterward, he didn’t seem to have a swollen head from any stings. But if we should be lucky enough to find a bee tree, perhaps we’ll coax our friend, the bear that was in this cabin, to come around; and then some of you can get a crack at him. His hide would make a rug to be proud of, especially if you had killed the beast yourself.”

“Count me in on that game,” said Giraffe, earnestly. “I boasted to the boys at home that I was goin’ to bag a big bear; and if I don’t make good they’ll give me the laugh, you see. And then we’ll find out whether this heavy old rifle that belonged to my uncle, ain’t equal to a new-fangled little popgun that shoots spreader bullets.”

The boys had begun to show new signs of quieting down. Some were yawning again, and the chances were the signal to crawl under the blankets would presently have been given by Thad.

It was Bumpus who suddenly aroused the whole party. He sat upright on the floor, and pointed directly at the window that was opposite to where he had last thrown his blanket down. Thad saw that the face of the fat boy really expressed surprise, not to mention consternation, as he cried out:

“Oh! I wonder who that was I saw peek in at the window just then, and draw back when he caught me lookin’ at him. A white man, too, fellers, it was, believe me; I ain’t foolin’!”

Everybody jumped up, the three guides as well as the boys, when Bumpus made this astonishing declaration. But although their eyes instantly sought the window indicated, the cob-webbed glass betrayed no sign of the presence of any one.