CHAPTER XXV

TEDDY EVENS THE SCORE

“You must have had a close call,” said Harry, when the others returned to the camp and told their story. “I am mighty glad that wolverene didn’t get a chance at me.”

“Sure an’ if I see wan of them bastes I’ll run for me life,” came from Teddy. “It’s worse nor a—a tiger they must be.”

“Worse than Injuns, Teddy,” said Link, dryly.

“Ah! Go run after your own shadow,” growled Teddy, in deep disgust. And then, as he turned away there was a merry twinkle in his eyes. “Sure an’ I’ll fix ’em to-night,” he murmured to himself.

Link and Harry had employed their spare time in making for themselves two pillows of pine needles. This was easy, for they had brought along some bags for nuts and had merely to fill these and then sew up the open ends.

Watching his chance, Teddy got hold of the two pillows and also the box containing pepper. Into each pillow he poured some pepper and also sprinkled the outside liberally.

It had been decided that an early start should be made the next morning in a search for the three tramps, and Joel Runnell advised that all hands turn in early.

“I’m willing,” said Fred, and was the first to lie down and go to sleep. Then the fire was fixed for the night and the others followed his example.

The silence in the shelter did not last long. Suddenly Link gave a terrific sneeze and Harry followed suit.

“Boys, get out of the draught or you’ll take cold,” came from Joel Runnell.

“I’m not in any—ker-chew!—draught,” answered Harry.

“I am—ker-chew—I think—ker-chew—” spluttered Link, and ended with a series of sneezes that brought all in the shelter to a sitting position.

“Hullo, what’s the matter?” sang out Bart.

“I-ker-chew! I think I’ve got the—ker-chew!” spluttered Harry.

“I think so myself,” went on Bart. “Got ’em bad, too.”

“Ker-chew!” exploded Link. “Ker-chew! Oh, my! Ker-chew!”

“Well, I never,” came from Fred. “Is this a sneezing match?”

“I’ll bet on the feller that wins,” piped up Teddy. “Now then, both start together.”

“Ker-chew!” began Link.

“Ker-chew!” came from Harry, directly afterwards.

“Didn’t start together,” went on Teddy, calmly. “Try it over again and see——”

“Ker-chew!” came from both.

“Teddy Dugan, did you—ker-chew!” began Harry.

“No, I didn’t ker-chew,” answered the Irish lad, with a wink at the others. “I don’t chew at all. My father won’t let me use tobacco, and so I——”

“Ker-chew!” broke in both of the sufferers.

“This is certainly queer,” said Joel Runnell, seriously. “What set you to sneezing?”

“Perhaps they tickled their noses wid straws,” suggested the irrepressible Teddy.

“I—I—ker-chew!—think there is pepper on my—ker-chew!—pillow,” spluttered Link.

Harry caught up his pillow and smelt of it.

“Sure as you—ker-chew! ker-chew!—are born,” he cried. “Now, who did this?”

He and Link looked at first one and then another of the party. All but Teddy looked perplexed. The twinkle in the Irish lad’s eyes was brighter than ever.

“Teddy Dugan, you did—ker-chew—this?” stormed Link, and made a dive for him.

“It’s snazin’ Injuns ye are now,” returned Teddy.

“Oh, I’ll fix you for this!” roared Harry, and catching up his pillow he hurled it at the Irish boy’s head. Link did the same, and down went Teddy flat on his back.

“Oh, stop!” he yelled. “I—ker-chew! Oh! Oh!”

He threw one of the pillows at Link. It struck Joe instead, and Joe sent it at Fred. Then the stout lad hurled it into the crowd. But it sailed too high, struck the fire, and the pillow burst open.

“Hi! hi!” called out Joel Runnell. “Take that out of the fire!”

“Can’t—it’s bursted,” answered Joe. He bent forward over the blaze. “Oh, what a smell! Ker-chew!”

The pepper was now burning, and the smell speedily became so strong that everybody had to sneeze and rush for the doorway. Into the open tumbled the boys, one on top of the other.

“Watch out; the shelter may get on fire!” said Fred.

“Oh, don’t say that,” groaned Teddy, becoming frightened on the spot. “Sure an’ I didn’t mane to carry the joke so far.”

“Then you did do it after all?” murmured Fred. “Well, it was a good joke all right enough.”

From the doorway Joel Runnell watched the progress of the fire. The pine needles soon died out, and the camp-fire became as before. But it was some time before they could stand the smell of the burnt pepper. The unburnt pillow was thrown out into the snow.

“It was only to git square for the Indian trick,” said Teddy. “Won’t you call it off now?”

“Yes, Teddy,” said Harry, promptly, and shook hands, and then Link did the same.

All would have overslept on the following morning had not old Runnell called them up ere it was daylight. He had already started the breakfast, and soon some of the others were helping him.

“Oh, must I get up so soon,” sighed Harry. “I could sleep three hours more.”

“No lazybones in this camp, young man,” cried Joe. “Remember, we are going to try to locate those tramps.”

It was a perfect day, with the sun shining brightly over the long stretches of ice and snow. There was no wind, and on every side all was as silent as a tomb, saving for the occasional cry of a winter bird, or the distant barking of a fox.

“This is genuine life in the open,” said Joe. “I tell you what, boys, we couldn’t have a finer outing.”

“I must try for some more pictures,” said Harry, and before he left the camp he loaded his camera with films, so that he would be prepared to “shoot” whatever struck his fancy.

From Teddy they had obtained all the information possible concerning the three tramps, and as soon as they were well on the road to the shore Joel Runnell allowed Teddy to go in the lead.

“Mind ye, I don’t say I can spot the rascals,” said the Irish lad. “But I’ll do me best.”

“That is all anybody can do, Teddy,” answered Joe. “Even if we don’t catch ’em it won’t be such a terrible disappointment, although I’d like to see the fellows brought to justice.”

“They ought to be brought to justice,” put in old Runnell. “Nobody in these parts will be safe with such rascals at large.”

“I wonder what has become of Dan Marcy and Hiram Skeetles,” mused Harry. “It’s a wonder they are not watching us, isn’t it?”

“Guess the cold snap was too much for them,” answered Fred. “I don’t believe old Skeetles cares much for an outing anyway. He’d rather stay in town and make money.”

“I’ve heard that he has been very mean to a great many persons,” said Link. “There was one old Irish washerwoman that owed him ten or fifteen dollars and he pestered the life out of her trying to get it.”

“That’s right,” came from Teddy. “It was the Widdy O’Rourke, an’ my folks and a lot of others made up a purse for her, so she could buy a railroad ticket to Caleville, where her married daughter lives. The daughter was too poor to pay for the ticket, but she wrote that if her mother would come on she would do the best she could to give her a home.”

“And did old Skeetles get the ten or fifteen dollars?” asked Bart.

“Sure he did. He wouldn’t let her leave town till she had paid. Oh, he’s a skinflint, he is,” concluded Teddy.