The Grammar School Boys Snowbound
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H. Irving Hancock >> The Grammar School Boys Snowbound
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"Wow! You won't all live to tell the tale, then. Got any medicines with
you?"
"There, I knew we'd forgotten something," declared Tom Reade solemnly.
"S'posing any of us should get sick?"
"We'll make up our minds that we're not going to," replied Dave.
"Fellows camping out in winter haven't any right to get sick."
"Still, we might. Might have colds, especially," remarked Dick
thoughtfully. "Oh, I say, Joe! Haul up, quick!"
Dick was standing up, using his arms to signal an automobile that was
coming toward them.
"Well, who's sick?" smiled Dr. Bentley, stopping his auto.
"Doctor, I have six free patients here for you," Dick announced
solemnly.
"Good!" laughed the physician. "That's the kind I like best. What are
you boys up to?"
"We're going camping, doctor, out in the forest, and may be gone a
fortnight. Just this minute it struck us that we hadn't a bit of
medicine with us in case any of us got sick. We don't expect to be, of
course, but----"
"I see," nodded the doctor, smiling pleasantly. "One thing is sure. If
you have a few simple remedies along with you you're less likely to be
ill than if you had forgotten to make any preparation. In that case
worry might do its share. Now, let me see."
Dr. Bentley reached up a drug case from the bottom of his car.
"Here's a bottle of stuff for colds," he went on, selecting a bottle and
writing on the label. "There, the directions are straight. Going to cook
for yourselves?"
"Certainly."
"Then indigestion is your most likely trouble." Dr. Bentley began to
write on the label of a second bottle. "And here's a little vial, in
case any of you get a real fever. Be careful to follow the directions
closely."
Then Dr. Bentley took out his prescription book and wrote on two leaves.
"Here's a prescription for a liniment, and something else," he added,
tearing out the two pages and passing them to Dick. "You'll notice that
I've written on these that the druggist is to give you the goods with
all discounts off. That'll make the stuff come cheap, for I don't
suppose you're overburdened with wealth on this trip."
"And now, doctor, how much for the stuff you've given us?" asked Dick.
"Giddap," retorted Dr. Bentley, giving his machine a start. "I helped
introduce four of you boys to this world, so I'm in a measure
responsible for you."
"Stop at the drug store, Joe," Dick called out, as the horses were
started.
"Say, wasn't that fine of Dr. Bentley?" glowed Dick, as they rode along.
"Sure," nodded Dan, "but our folks will find it somewhere in their
bills, between now and summer."
"Dan, for that," warned Prescott, "we'll wash your face in the first
snow that falls out in the woods."
"We surely will," confirmed Tom Reade.
The stop at the drug store was made, whereby the cash capital was
lowered by eighty cents. Then Dick & Co. were off in earnest.
So late had the start been made that the boys did not expect to reach
their log cabin until after two o'clock. Over Christmas most of the snow
had disappeared. There was not enough for good sledding, but just enough
to make the going on wheels rather difficult.
Before noon, appetite asserted itself. Fortunately the boys had brought
along lunches for use on the road. These were devoured with much relish,
Joe Miller, of course, being invited to share with them.
By one o'clock the horses headed into the forest. For the first mile or
so there was a fair sort of road, but after that it dwindled down to
something more like a trail.
"Isn't this grand, Joe?" exclaimed Greg.
"What?" demanded Joe.
"This great old forest, this silence, this grandeur of solitary nature?"
"It ought to do first rate for lunatics, and such like," answered Joe,
gazing with disfavor at the bare trees and desolate looking bushes.
"What have you boys been doing that you've got to spend a fortnight away
from comfortable livin'?"
"Why, we're doing this for pleasure," said Dan Dalzell.
"Humph!" muttered Joe, and there the matter rested.
It was nearly half past two when the horses were finally hauled up
before the log cabin. But now the truck was bare of boys. Dick & Co. had
leaped overboard the instant they came in sight of the cabin, and had
scampered on before for a look at the place.
"Say, this is great!" cried Greg. "The old cabin looks good and solid,
too."
"But how do you get in?" queried Dan, bracing his shoulder against the
door and pushing hard. "The place seems to be locked."
More boys tried their shoulders against the door, but it did not yield.
"We'll have to try the windows," proposed Dave. "Hurry and see if
they're fastened. This one is."
All the windows proved to be fastened.
"We don't want to break any glass," said Tom Reade ruefully. "We might
have a big freeze around here, and then we'd appreciate window glass."
Here was a poser, indeed.
"There doesn't seem to be any keyhole, and yet the door is locked,"
muttered Dick, studying the door. "Hold on! What's this string for?"
He took hold of a cord that appeared to run through the wooden barrier.
Giving the cord a hard pull, Dick once more pushed against the door. It
yielded and swung open.
"Hurrah!" sounded the chorus.
"We're bright ones," laughed Dick. "Thought we knew a lot about log
cabins, and we clean, plumb forgot the latch-string."
"Let's get inside and get warm," begged Dan.
"Let's get warm by tumbling the things off the wagon," dissented
Prescott. "I know Joe is in a big hurry to get started back."
So the stuff was bundled off in rapid order, after which Joe backed his
team and swung it around.
"I hope you fellows have a real, nice, loony time!" was Joe's parting
salute.
"Now, let's get the stuff inside," urged Dave. This was done with speed,
if not with order.
"Now, I'll go out and chop firewood," proposed Dave. "Who'll go with
me?"
"Let's all go out and take a look around," suggested Dick. "We want to
know all of our surroundings before dark, which isn't a great way off."
"We can't have a fire too soon to suit me," grumbled Dan.
Outside one of the first sights that met their eyes, back of the cabin,
was a pile of four foot logs that would have measured five or six cords.
"Now, that's what I call bully," gloated Dalzell. "It won't take us long
to have a real fire going in that big chimney-place."
"Let's see what this other little shack is," urged Dick, leading the way
to a log shanty some eight feet by ten. Again it was necessary to pull a
latch-string, after which the door of the shanty yielded.
"Why, there's a cook stove in here, and a table and a couple of chairs,"
cried Tom. "This must have been the summer cook house."
"We'll use it for our jail to lock up the bad ones in," jested Dick.
"There are no bunks here for sleeping."
"What do you say if we get some of those logs and start a fire in the
big cabin?" pleaded Dan. "I'm getting chilled."
The idea prevailed. But the youngsters found snow between the logs,
which were tightly frozen in place. After a good deal of work and much
panting, Dick and Dave succeeded in freeing one log.
"Huh!" grunted Dan, who had not done any of the work. "Getting these
logs is going to be harder work than chopping down young trees."
Whistling, Tom Reade had gone around to the cabin. Now, with a whoop of
glee he returned, bearing a crowbar.
"Found this in one corner of the cabin," he explained. "Now, we'll pry
logs loose in fast order."
His prediction turned out a good one. Within five minutes more than a
dozen of the logs had been loosened and Dick & Co. busied themselves in
carrying the logs around and into the cabin.
"Now, Danny Coldfeet, we'll soon have your flame red medicine ready,"
laughed Dave Darrin jovially. "Get one of the coal oil tins, Danny boy.
Greg, tear off some of the paper to stuff under the logs. Hurry! Then
I'll lay the fire. Tom, you and Harry bring the logs closer."
Some nearly burned bits of log lay in the broad fireplace under the
chimney. Dave bent over to lift these charred bits out. Three or four he
tossed back of him. Then suddenly he stiffened up, sticking a finger in
his mouth.
"Ouch!" he grunted.
"What's the matter?" asked Tom.
"I burned my finger," sighed Dave.
"Burned your finger--in a dead fire?"
But Dick, stirring the burned bits of wood with his shoe, suddenly lay
bare some dull red coals.
"Look-a-here, fellows," hailed Dan in the same moment. "Here's meat and
bread, and part of a can of tomatoes on the table. The bread ain't old
enough to be mouldy."
"Fellows," announced Dick Prescott, moving about, "there's some one
living here--some one besides ourselves!"
CHAPTER VII
THE PROWLER OF THE NIGHT
The six youngsters stood looking curiously at one another.
"I wonder who it can be?" muttered Dan.
"Some one who has no business here, anyway," returned Tom Reade
bluntly.
"I wonder if it's some one who did live here, or some one who thinks
he's going to keep on living here?" asked Dave Darrin dryly.
"Just the same, I'd like to know who has been living here," Dick went
on. "For that matter, who would want to live here, in the depths of the
woods in winter?"
"Well, we do, for one crowd," Greg reminded him.
"Yes; but we're boys with a craze for open air and something different,"
Prescott maintained. "Now, if men have been living here, the case is
different. Men don't care about schoolboy junkets. If the man or men who
have been living here are honest, I don't mind. Such men will move on if
they find that we're here, and that we alone have the proper authority
to live here. But suppose the men are not honest? Or rough characters?"
"It will depend on how many there are of them," responded Dan, with one
of his broad grins.
"Why?" challenged Dick. "If we had to fight for the right to live in
this cabin, how many do you think we could thrash?"
"Oh, I guess it won't come to that," remarked Tom Reade coolly.
"And I hope it won't come to that, or anything like it," Dick replied.
"But just the same, you're going to be scared until you find out? Is
that it?" laughed Harry Hazelton.
Dick flushed, but he answered honestly:
"Until something happens I can't tell whether I'm going to be scared or
not. Anyway, perhaps I won't show the greatest amount of fright that is
displayed around here."
"Now, you're answered, Harry," muttered Dave in a low voice, his eyes
flashing. "No fellow in this crowd has any right to doubt that Dick
Prescott is all there with the grit when it's called for."
"Can't a fellow joke?" asked Hazelton.
"But, while all this talk is going on," chattered Dan, "I'm not growing
any warmer."
"All lend a hand, and we'll get the fireplace cleaned out and the fire
going," urged Dick.
After that they made matters fly. The old ashes and hot embers were
taken outside and spread. Logs were laid and coal oil spread over them.
A match was touched, flames leaped up in response to the heavy draft of
the broad chimney, and the interior of the old cabin seemed ablaze.
"My, but that's going to be plenty hot, and some more," chuckled Dan.
"Who'll chop the ice at the spring and get two buckets of water?" called
Dick.
"I will," Harry answered, and departed, Greg going along to help him. In
a short time Dick had water boiling in a kettle that hung over the fire.
"I don't suppose anyone cares for coffee?" proposed Dick, glancing about
him.
In a very short time the beverage was ready.
"Aren't we going to have something to eat, too?" Dan wanted to know, as
the young campers gathered at the table.
"What's the use of spoiling our supper, which is only a couple of hours
or so away?" asked Dave sensibly.
Though the coffee was weak, it was hot. The youngsters soon began to
warm up, and all became cheery.
"Oh, but this life is going to be great!" sighed Greg exultantly. "Say,
fellows, I'm glad I thought of this way of putting in a vacation. Won't
the other fellows in town be crazy when they hear what a great time
we've had?"
"What I want to know," Harry broke in, "is whether rabbits really do run
in the woods in winter? My mouth is made up for some rabbit stew."
"Maybe we can buy a couple of rabbits, then, from some farmer's son,"
suggested Dick dryly.
"Buy 'em?" sniffed Hazelton scornfully. "Huh! Next thing we know you'll
want some one to come in and do the housework!"
"It would be better done, then, I don't doubt," laughed Dick. "Now,
fellows, the clock tells us that it's quarter of four. That means
something like an hour more of daylight. I guess we've a few things to
do, haven't we?"
"Get supper!" proposed Dan.
"That's one of the things," nodded Dick. "Then there's water to be
brought in. In this nipping air I'll bet there's already more ice over
the spring. Then we ought to bring in a lot more logs for the fire.
It'll be harder work after dark. And some one ought to get potatoes
ready to put on over the fire. Then we ought to select our bunks and get
bedding in them. After that we want to tidy up this hard dirt floor.
Some one will need to wash the cups and saucers, and have 'em ready for
supper."
"Let's have some system to it, then," urged Dave. "Dick, you look about
and see what's needed. Then set each fellow to his task--and all the
rest will take any kicker down to the spring and duck him!"
"Lemme fix the potatoes, then," begged Dan. That being one of the
"disagreeable" tasks, no one objected. Dick parceled out the tasks, and
things were soon humming. While they were still busy, darkness had
settled down. But Greg had filled the lamp and the lantern, and had
them going, though the big, red fire filled the whole cabin with light.
"Whee! But this is jolly!" cried Greg, as he stood arranging his bedding
in the bunk he had chosen.
"It'll be more like fun to-morrow, though," suggested Dick, "when we can
have a whole, daylight day out in the woods. But I think we're all going
to be mighty comfortable here."
That was the general feeling. The Grammar School boys found themselves
filled with contentment.
"How are the potatoes coming on, Danny?" inquired Tom. "I'm so hungry I
can hardly stand up."
"Ready in ten minutes more, I reckon," Dan answered cheerily.
"Bully!"
Greg was cutting bread and getting butter out of a glass jar. Dave had
busied himself with opening two tins of meat. They had fresh meat, but
the latter was to be used on the morrow when their housekeeping
arrangements had been better made. For the present the meat and some
other perishable articles of food rested on the ground outdoors, under
an overturned box on which three large stones had been placed as
weights.
"It's six o'clock," called Dick at last. "Are we going to eat on time?"
"I'm all ready with the potatoes," Dan called back.
Dick once more busied himself with making weak coffee. Tom and Harry set
the dishes on the table with a cheery clatter. Then six fearfully hungry
boys sat down to table.
"There's no jam on the table," grunted Harry.
"Oh, wait until we get outside of the solid stuff before we bother with
sweets," begged Darrin.
It was nearly seven when the glorious meal was over. As nothing but
potatoes and coffee had depended on a cook, nothing went wrong with the
meal.
"Now, we can clean up and wash the dishes," proposed Dick Prescott.
"What's that?" demanded Tom Reade belligerently. "Work? Right on top of
a supper like that?"
"I guess we do all feel more like taking a nap," laughed Dick. "Well,
we'll rest for half an hour and see if we feel more like effort then.
What do you say if we all pull our chairs up to the fire?"
"How close to the fire?" asked Dan, screening his eyes with his fingers
as he glanced at the blazing logs.
"Oh, not too close for comfort, of course," agreed Dick. "But come on.
We can swap stories."
"Will they be anything like the spanking story that good Old Dut told
you last September, Dick?" teased Dave.
"Not right away, I guess," smiled Dick. "I don't believe any fellow,
after that big supper, feels as if he had energy enough to tell a
spanking story. But what kind of stories shall we tell?"
"I'll wait for some one else to start it," yawned Tom, as he took his
seat in the semi-circle at a respectful distance from the blaze.
"Who else is going to be a quitter or a loafer?" inquired Dave
scornfully.
There was a pause. No one appeared to have a story that he wanted to try
out on such a critical audience.
At last Dick remarked thoughtfully:
"As the man on the clubhouse steps said----"
Then he paused, as if he had forgotten the matter.
"Well," insisted Greg presently, "what did the man on the clubhouse
steps say?"
"Eh?" inquired Dick, gazing at him with mock blankness.
"What did the man on the clubhouse steps say?" repeated Greg.
"Oh--er--that is--it's really a secret," Dick replied provokingly.
"Now, see here, none of that!" growled Tom.
"Eh?" demanded Dan, awaking from a light doze, with a start and a
subdued snore.
"Dick Prescott, you tell us what the man on the clubhouse steps said!"
ordered Tom.
"But I've just told you that it's a secret."
"None of that, now!"
"But I can't tell secrets!" pleaded Dick.
"It isn't a secret at all. It's a good story, and you've got to let it
come out. We need a good one to get us started."
All now joined in the demand, but Dick shook his head protestingly.
"Honestly, fellows, it wouldn't be right for me to tell secrets," he
insisted.
The inner bar that locked the door by night had been dropped into place
ere the boys sat down to supper. But now Harry rose, went over to the
door and raised the bar.
"Fellows," he called back, "give Dick Prescott just one more swift
chance to tell us what the man on the clubhouse steps said. If he won't,
then grab him and fire him out into the night until he knocks on the
door and promises to be good."
Tom, Greg and Dave made a laughing bolt for their young leader.
"Some one's pulling the latch-string from outside," reported Harry
Hazelton, too startled, for the moment, to let the bar fall. But Tom
wheeled like a flash, leaped forward and dropped the bar back into
place.
"It's the fellow, or fellows, who have been living here before we came,"
whispered Dan in a half-scared voice.
CHAPTER VIII
WORMING THE TRUTH FROM A WHINER
"Let me in--quick!" demanded a voice.
"Move on!" ordered Dave.
"Whoever they are, they can break in through the windows, at any rate,"
muttered Harry Hazelton, in a voice that was just a trifle unsteady.
"We have legal right to occupy this cabin," called Dick through the
door. "No one else has any right to be here."
"I know that," answered the voice, "but let me in before I freeze!"
To the amazement of some of the others, Dick Prescott raised the bar and
swung the door open.
In came a figure--that of a boy. His cap was pulled down over his ears,
and a big tippet obscured most of his face. But Dick grasped him by the
shoulder as the youngster started to enter, followed by a heavy swirl of
snow.
"What in the world are you doing here, Hen Dutcher?" Dick demanded.
"Yes! What are you doing here?" chorused the rest.
"Lemme get near the fire?" begged Hen, in a choking, sobbing voice. "I'm
nearly frozen."
"Don't shut that door yet," called Dan, moving forward. "We didn't know
it was snowing. I want to see if it's a big snow."
"You bet it is," chattered Hen. "It's a blizzard, and I don't care how
soon that door is shut."
"You're not giving orders here, remember," retorted Dan crisply, as he
went to the open doorway. The others, too, crowded to the doorway. It
certainly was a big snow. The flakes were of the largest size, and
coming down thickly to the tune of a moaning wind.
"It wasn't snowing at dark, and now there are at least four inches,"
cried Greg.
"Five inches," hazarded Dave.
"How many, Dick?"
"Say, are you fellows going to freeze me to death?" called Hen Dutcher,
his teeth chattering. He was facing the fire, roasting in front, but
with chills running down his spine.
"Close the door, fellows. We can't see much to-night at any rate, and
we'll see the whole storm in the morning," proposed Dick. "We don't want
to see Hen freeze to death."
"Nobody invited him here!"
Dick turned, wondering who had made that remark, but he could not make
up his mind.
"Take off your coat, Hen, and have some hot coffee. We have some left,
and it will warm you," Dick went on, after the door had been closed and
barred.
"I'll have supper and the whole thing," declared Hen promptly. "Don't
you fellows expect to feed your visitors?"
"We'll feed you," Dick agreed, "though we had made no plans for visitors
and didn't expect any."
Hen had some difficulty in getting off his coat.
"Are you as stiff as that?" asked Prescott, going to the other fellow's
assistance.
"I tell you, I'm just about frozen to death," moaned Hen. "My, how cold
it came on, just after dark! The wind began to howl, and I could feel
the ice forming on my chin every time I breathed. I thought sure I was
going to freeze to death in the woods. I'd about given up when I saw
your lights."
"How long has it been snowing?" Dave asked.
"Don't you fellows know?" Hen demanded.
"No; we were in here, getting supper and then eating it. We didn't know
that it had even started to snow."
"It wasn't snowing at dark, but it began some time after," replied Hen,
as he took the chair Dick offered and sank into it before the warming
glow.
"Don't get too close to the fire until you thaw out a bit," advised
Dick. "If you do you'll feel it more."
"I feel it now," groaned Hen, beginning to moan. "My hands are frozen
stiff."
They weren't really frozen, though the hands had been badly nipped. It
was twenty minutes before Hen Dutcher cared to move over to the table.
Even then he complained severely of the "stinging" in his hands, feet
and chin.
"I'm going out," proposed Dave, reaching for his cap and coat. "I'm
going to see for myself just how cold it is."
No one offered to accompany Darrin. He paused, outside, to tap on one of
the window panes. Two minutes after that he was back, pounding for
admittance.
"Br-r-r-r!" Dave greeted his comrades, as he stepped inside. "Say, I
don't want any more of being out to-night. I'll bet it's away down below
zero. And how the wind howls and cuts!"
It took Hen Dutcher, after he got started, considerable time to eat his
fill. In the meantime the others, restrained by a sense of what was due
from hosts, held back their curiosity.
"There, I don't believe I could eat another mouthful," declared Dutcher,
at last, pushing back from the table.
"Now, Hen," invited Dick, "come over to the fire and tell us how you
came to be here."
"Why, I just naturally was hereabouts," declared Hen evasively.
"That won't quite do," replied Dick, shaking his head. "What brought you
into these woods to-night? Did you expect that we'd invite you in to
join us?"
"Nope. Not quite," Hen replied, a crafty look in his eyes.
"Then out with the truth, Hen Dutcher!" broke in Dave.
"I don't have to tell you fellows, do I?"
"Yes, if you want to stay here to-night!" blurted Tom Reade.
"You fellows wouldn't put me out in the cold again!" dared Hen.
"Wouldn't we?" retorted Greg Holmes.
"I just wanted a tramp, and took one," replied Hen sulkily.
"That's too thin!" snapped Dan Dalzell.
"Then you fellows can invent your own story," offered Hen.
"Out with him, fellows!" called Harry Hazelton, making a dive for Hen.
"Don't you dare!" blustered Dutcher tremulously.
"Out with Hen, if he doesn't tell the truth, and the whole of it,"
advised Tom Reade.
"Dick, you ain't going to let these fellows do anything of the sort, are
you?" quavered Hen. "Why, I'd die if I had to be put out into the storm
again."
"Why can't you tell us the truth, Hen?" asked Dick quietly, fixing a
searching gaze on Dutcher. Then, with a sudden flash of inspiration,
Dick added, "Who was out this way with you?"
"No one," Hen replied.
"Don't tell us that," warned young Prescott. "Who were the other fellows
in the crowd?"
"I tell you I came alone," Hen insisted, with rising color, as he
shifted under Dick's steady gaze. "Fred and----"
"Fred--who?" cross-examined Dick.
"Nobody," Dutcher answered, his eyes on the floor.
Dick thought a moment before a great light dawned on him.
"So, Hen Dutcher, Fred Ripley and some of his crowd knew we were coming
out here, and so they came along, too, and you with 'em, eh?"
"I tell you I wasn't with 'em," protested Dutcher.
"You walked all the way?"
"Most of the way."
"And how did Fred Ripley and his crowd come?"
"On a wagon, and----"
Here Hen Dutcher paused suddenly.
"I came alone," he bellowed wrathfully. "There weren't any other
fellows."
"Don't you call Ripley a fellow?" pressed Dick. "You said that he and
his crowd came on a wagon. So they're going to play pranks on us, are
they?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," protested Hen hoarsely.
Dave, Tom and Greg fastened on Dutcher, dragging him out of his chair.
This time Dick did not feel called upon to interfere.
"Now, you tell us all about this queer game!" commanded Dave Darrin, his
eyes flashing warningly. "If you don't, we'll shake it out of you; or
we'll roll you in the snow until we soak the truth out of you! What do
Fred Ripley and his crowd mean to do out here to-night?"
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