CHAPTER XXIII

PIKE SPEARING THROUGH THE ICE

“Well, did you ever hear the beat of that?” asked Fred, in a whisper, after Link had made his outrageous request.

“Hush, we may miss something,” came from Joe.

“Stand on me head, is it?” asked Teddy, thinking he had not heard aright.

“Yes. Sing big song.”

“What shall I sing?”

“Sing, De Wacht am Rhine.”

“Eh? I can’t sing a Dutch song.”

“Did you hear that?” came with a suppressed laugh from Joe. “De Wacht am Rhine of all things for Teddy!”

“No sing Dutch song, sing Chinese song—Chow Chow Chippy Chow!” went on Link.

“Sure an’ I can’t sing Chinese ayther!” said poor Teddy. “I’ll sing The Wearin’ o’ the Green, if ye want me to.”

“White boy sing French song—La Loopa de Loopa,” came from Link.

“Sing Russian song—Tvitsky Smoultskyitvalitz,” put in Harry. At this there came a distinct snicker from behind the nearby trees.

“What a name for a song!” murmured Fred. “His teeth will fall out if he don’t take care!”

“Don’t know Frinch, or Russian,” said Teddy.

“Too bad, big Injun weep much tears,” sighed Link. “White boy sing Mary Has a Little Ox?”

“Eh? Do you mean, Mary Has a Little Lamb?” queried Teddy, in perplexity.

“No. Injun no like lambs—bad for Injun complexion. White boy sing What is Home Without Um Alarm Clock. Sing nine verses and can go home.”

“Sure an’ I niver heard o’ the song,” said Teddy. “Tell ye what I’ll sing,” he added, brightening. “I’ll sing ye a song me father made up.”

“Good!” shouted both “Indians.” “But must stand on head,” added one.

“Oh, dear,” groaned Teddy. “I never sang standin’ on me head before. Are ye sure you’ll let me go if I do it?”

“Yes, white boy run to bosom of family.”

With a great effort Teddy managed to stand on his head, balancing himself on his hands, a feat he had learned after visiting a circus which had once stopped at Lakeport. Then with even a greater effort he began to sing:

“Me father had an old blind mule, An’ he was very frisky, To git upon that muley’s back He said was very risky. The mule was swift upon his feet, Could run a mile a minit! He beat the hosses at the track— Not wan of thim was in it!”

“Fine song! Make Injun heap laugh!” cried Link and began to dance around as if greatly pleased.

“White boy sing more such song,” put in Harry. “Injun learn ’em.” And almost out of breath poor Teddy went on, wobbling from side to side as he did so:

“Me father’s mule he loved to eat Green grass and ripe pertaters, But niver cared a single cent To swallow ripe termaters! Wan day that mule stood on his head, A-facin’ two big Injuns, The Injuns roared to see him there—

“But he got up and walked away, fer he saw it was all a joke an’ he wasn’t goin’ to stand fer such nonsense any longer,” concluded Teddy, and arising to his feet, he squinted comically first at Link and then Harry. “Yer fine lads to play such a trick on me,” he added. “Supposin’ I’d had me gun an’ shot off both yer heads?”

The end of this speech was lost in a burst of laughter from behind the trees, and Joe, Bart and Fred ran into view.

“Hullo, Teddy, how do you like Injuns?” queried Fred.

“Teddy, your voice is fine when you stand on your head and sing,” came from Bart.

“Oh, stop yer foolin’,” said the Irish boy, calming down. “Sure, didn’t I know it was a joke all along.”

“Oh, Teddy, did you know it?” asked Harry.

“To be sure I did.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“All right then,” and the Irish lad tossed his head into the air. “I wasn’t goin’ to spoil——”

“Teddy, you’re drawing on your imagination,” burst in Link. “But we’ll let it pass.”

“Wait till I’m after gettin’ square,” said Teddy, and put up one finger warningly.

“Never mind, the song was O. K.,” said Fred. “Did your father really make it up?”

“And what’s the end of the second verse?” queried Link.

“No, me father had nothin’ to do wid it. I got it out of an old joke book, an’ I’ve forgotten the end of it. That’s the reason I made up an endin’.”

“Three cheers for Teddy, the acrobatic songster,” cried Fred, and the cheers were given with a will. The cheers put the Irish lad in a better humor; but it was a long time before he forgot how they had played Indian on him.

“What’s all the cheering about?” asked Joel Runnell, as they came back to camp, Link and Harry having first wiped the red mud off their faces and hidden away the feathers and blankets.

“We’ve been initiating Teddy into a secret society,” said Link.

“Didn’t know you had a secret society.”

“This is the Forest Wanderers,” put in Harry. “Teddy is now Head Chief of the Royal Frying Pan.”

“You’ve been cutting up high jinks,” said old Runnell, with a smile. “Well, it’s all right, but don’t none o’ you git hurt, that’s all,” and there the affair ended.

Joe and Harry had not forgotten about the three tramps, and were anxious to make a hunt for the rascals, but the next morning Joel Runnell asked all hands to go down to the lake front with him and help erect a shelter on the ice, from which they might spear some pike and other fish.

“It’s too cold to stay out there without a shelter,” said he, and directly after breakfast they set to work.

The fishing-wigwam, as the boys named it, was a primitive affair, built up of long tree branches, set in a circle of snow. The branches were fastened together at the top, like the poles of an Indian wigwam, and then snow was packed around on the outside to a point just above their heads.

“Now this will make a comfortable place to fish in,” said Joel Runnell, and with a sharp axe began to chop a hole in the ice about a foot and a half square. “Of course this hole will freeze over from time to time, but once we are through the main ice it will be an easy matter to cut away whatever forms later.”

The tree branches made the fishing shelter rather dark inside. On this account they could look down into the water with ease, for the latter was lit up by the light on the outside of the shelter.

“This is great!” cried Joe. “Why the water is almost as bright as day!”

At last the hole was cut and finished off to old Runnell’s satisfaction. In the meantime the boys had prepared a fishing bait which the old hunter approved. The bait was nothing but a little imitation fish, made of wood and a bit of tinfoil.

“Now, wait till I have my spear ready,” said Joel Runnell, and brought out the weapon mentioned, which was fairly long and with a razor-like point.

In a few minutes he was ready for the test, and he showed Joe how to drop the bait into the hole and jerk it around in the water below.

For quite a while Joe jerked the imitation fish around in vain. Once a lazy looking fish came fairly close, but not close enough for old Runnell to use the spear.

“Perhaps we had better try a line and hook,” said Harry.

“Be patient,” said the old hunter. “You’ll never have any success at fishing if you are not patient. You must—ah, I guess we’ll get something now.”

Joel Runnell bent directly over the hole. A good-sized pike had shown himself. He darted off, but soon reappeared. Then, as Joe gave the bait another jerk, the pike came directly under the hole and sniffed at it.

It was a splendid chance and old Runnell was not slow to take advantage of it. His spear was up, and down it came with force and directness, taking the pike directly through the back. There was a twist and a short struggle, and in a twinkling the pike lay on the floor of the fishing shelter, breathing its last.

“Oh, but that’s a prize!” cried Bart, enthusiastically. “He must weigh three pounds!”

“You’d have a fine time bringing him in on a line,” was Joe’s comment. “He’d tire you out sure, or maybe break the line on the edge of the ice.”

All inspected the pike with great interest, and then Joel Runnell passed the catch over to Teddy to be cleaned.

“Can we get another one, do you think?” asked Bart, who was anxious to try his luck.

“Perhaps, although a big pike like this usually keeps his territory to himself. More than likely his home was under yonder overhanging tree.”

This time Bart took the spear and Link the bait, and nearly half an hour went by. But then a pike larger than the first appeared.

“Oh, my, what a chance!” murmured Link. “Now, Bart, don’t miss him!”

“I’ll do my best,” answered Bart, who was quivering with excitement.

All of the others were interested and drew around the hole hardly daring to breathe. Three times the pike came fairly close and then swam away. Once he passed directly across the opening, but so swiftly that Bart did not take the chance to hit him.

“He has gone,” said Fred, after a few minutes more had passed, but just as he spoke the pike reappeared and came up directly under the hole, where he began to turn around.

“Now!” cried old Runnell, and down went the spear, in something of a sideway fashion. But it passed through the pike near the tail, and with a whirl and a great splashing, he came up to the surface and out of the hole.

“Hurrah, you’ve got him!” cried Link, as he wiped the cold water from his face. “Say, he gave me a regular shower bath, didn’t he?”

“Oh, you mustn’t mind that,” put in Fred. “Why such a pike as that is worth a dip into the lake.”

“Not in this freezing weather,” came from Joe. “But he’s a beauty and no mistake. Four inches longer than the other and at least half a pound heavier.”

“There are a great many kinds of pike, aren’t there?” asked Link.

“Yes, a great number,” answered old Runnell. “The big muskalonge, the pike-perch, the pickerel, the wall-eye or glass-eye pike, and the gray pike, and half a dozen other varieties. The pike-perch of the Great Lakes sometimes grows to three feet and weighs fifteen or eighteen pounds.”

The fishing was continued for over two hours longer and one more small pike was obtained. Then Fred tried his hook and line and very soon brought in several small fish.

“Now, we’ll have fish to last us for awhile,” said Joel Runnell. “What we don’t use at once we can let freeze in the ice.” And this was done by simply throwing the fish in a hollow and pouring clean water over them.

The party had used up a good share of their deer meat, but the best part of one of the halves still remained—or rather, had been left at the camp when they went fishing. But now, when they got back, strange to say, the deer meat was gone.

“Hullo, what does this mean?” cried Joe. “Have we had another visit from Dan Marcy and old Skeetles?”

“Somebody has taken the meat, that is certain,” put in Bart.

Joel made a careful examination. The meat had been left hanging on one of the pine trees.

“An animal took that meat,” said the old hunter. “And I am pretty certain I know what kind of a beast it was.”