The Grammar School Boys Snowbound
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H. Irving Hancock >> The Grammar School Boys Snowbound
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"Hey! Mr. Dock!" bellowed Dave, using his hands as a megaphone.
The rather distant constable turned to look back.
"Please wait! There's a boy to go with you," Dave called.
"A-a-a-ll right," the answer came back.
"Hurry, Hen," Dick advised.
"But--but I don't want to go," protested Hen.
"You'd better," Dick advised him. "We housed you while it was necessary,
but now there's a chance to get back to your uncle's, so you may as well
go."
"I don't want----"
"Never mind about that," Dick continued firmly. "You'll be better off at
your uncle's, and Constable Dock is headed that way."
"But my uncle doesn't want me," whined Hen.
"Then why should you think we can endure you, Hen, if your uncle can't?"
demanded Tom Reade, with a short laugh.
"Don't keep the constable waiting, Hen," Dick pressed him. "Get your
motion started."
"Oh, well, if you fellows want to be mean, I suppose I'll have to go,"
faltered Hen. "But I was enjoying myself here."
"You'll enjoy yourself better still with your aunt," Dick urged with a
smile. "Besides, you'll have your aunt's good cooking and a real bed to
sleep in. If the country highways aren't broken out yet, they will be in
a day or two, and then you can get back to Gridley."
"All right, if you fellows bounce me out of camp," sighed Hen ruefully,
as he began to pull on his overcoat. "But I think you're about the
meanest----"
"Save the rest of it, Anvil, if you please, until we're all at home in
Gridley," Dave begged him.
"Say, you stop calling me Anvil," snarled Dutcher. "I don't like that
name."
"Why not?" pursued Dave. "It fits you."
"Tell that boy to hurry up, if he's going with us," bawled Mr. Dock from
a distance.
"Brace, Hen," Tom advised. "There, now you're ready. Good-bye, and come
again when you're grown up."
"Those fellows don't know much about good manners," thought Hen Dutcher
ruefully, as he started to run over the snow crust.
"Now that Hen is gone we'll be able to stay here a day or two longer,"
Dave announced. "We'll have the food to do it with."
"There's one good point about Hen Dutcher, anyway," grimaced Tom Reade.
"He's a good, sincere eater."
"He was eating us out of camp," Dick replied. "Now, fellows, with Hen
and Fits gone, we're all by ourselves--just the crowd that we want. The
snowcrust will bear, and we can move about. We ought to have a jolly
time tramping about through the woods."
"Hunting!" proposed Harry. "We've got the air rifle."
"Fishing," added Tom. "We brought tackle on purpose. We must be able to
find some pond hereabouts."
"But say!" Dick suddenly interjected. "Do you fellows realize that we
haven't been in the old shack since Mr. Fits left it? Queer as it may
seem to some of you, I believe that Fitsey had a hiding place even in
that little room. Let's go in there and see what we can root out in the
way of mystery explained."
All six of the boys trooped around to the smaller structure at the rear
of their camp. The door was still partly open. Dick, in advance, pushed
his way inside.
"Well of all the boobies, what do you think of us?" demanded young
Prescott, in deep disgust.
"We wouldn't take any blue ribbons at a brains' show--that's certain,"
affirmed Tom Reade.
The cook shack went up to a pitched roof. Up under the roof some
brackets had been made fast to the rafters. These brackets held a
quantity of rough boards that looked as though they had been stored up
there, years ago, to season indoors. Now, a rope hung down from this
artificial garret.
"Let's see what we can find up there," suggested Dick. Taking hold of
the rope, after shedding his overcoat, Prescott ascended, hand over
hand.
"This is where Fitsey stayed daytimes," Dick called down. "And it's not
a bad place, either. Here are two fur robes."
Dick tumbled them down below, followed by four pairs of warm blankets.
"It's all stolen stuff, I'll wager," Tom called.
"Likely enough," agreed Dick.
"See if you can find a lot of gold and gems up there," proposed Greg
Holmes.
"Nothing in that line. But stand below, two of you, and catch."
Dick began to toss down canned goods, sealed paper cartons of crackers,
canned fruits and the like.
"And to think that Fitsey took some of our poor food, when he had a
grocery store like that up aloft!" complained Harry Hazelton.
"Well, he didn't want us to suspect what he had hidden away around the
premises," Dick answered.
"Anything more up there?" called Dave.
"Nothing but one Grammar School boy," Dick announced, showing himself at
the edge of the simple loft. "I'm coming down. Each of you climb up
here, in turn, and see what a bully hiding place our old college chum
had."
One after another the boys inspected the place. It was small, but every
inch had been made to count by the late occupant.
"Fitsey pulled the rope up after him, and stayed here sleeping mostly in
the daytime," Tom called down, when aloft. "Say, fellows, after this,
when we're on the trail of a mystery, we want to look on the other side
of anything as big as a lumber pile."
Blankets, fur robes and food were transferred to the log cabin.
"But just how much better are we than thieves?" Greg suddenly asked.
"We've just been taking things that didn't belong to us."
For a moment or two that was a poser, for every member of Dick & Co.
tried, always, to be as open and honest as the day itself.
"Oh, well," grunted Dick at last, "we haven't been robbing Mr. Fits, for
a man of his habits never has anything of his own. All that he has he
steals from some one else."
"Then ought we not to try to find owners for the food we've brought in
from the shack?" queried Dave.
"Yes; if we can," agreed Dick. "But I doubt if the former rightful
owners of this food stuff would know their own goods. It's just such
stuff as one might find in anyone of a thousand grocery stores. We
couldn't identify any of these cans, ourselves, if we found it in any
one else's house. You see, these labels are all of common brands of
tinned foods. On the whole, fellows, I believe we have a clear right to
eat this food if we happen to need it while we're in the woods. It isn't
like stuff that a former owner could remember and identify."
The more they talked it over, the clearer this view became to the
Grammar School boys.
"We've time for a couple of hours of hunting, now, if any of you care to
go," Dick suggested. "We'll have daylight that long. But it won't do,
with any chance of Mr. Fits being about, for all of us to go at once. We
must leave at least two of the fellows, and they must close the shutters
and keep the bar on the door. The two fellows who stay behind can also
begin to get things ready against the supper hour. I'll be one of the
two to stay. Who'll be the other."
"No, you won't, Dick Prescott," retorted Greg. "You've been taking first
tricks at all the hard work. You've worked like a horse in this camp.
To-day you'll take the first trick at having some of the fun. I'll be
one of the two to stay in camp."
Dan also volunteered. Thereupon the other four, Harry carrying the air
rifle, started off into the woods, jogging along over the solid crust.
Though the air was keenly cold, to the boys it was all delightful. They
were warmly clad, even their feet being protected by heavy overshoes.
With caps drawn down over their ears, and warm mittens on their hands,
why should they mind if the mercury stood somewhat below zero?
Three of them were out on a trip of exploration. Hazelton, however, was
the young Nimrod. He wanted to bag a rabbit! Yet, seeing no game, Harry
finally persuaded Tom Reade to carry the rifle.
Then at last, all unexpectedly, Hazelton caught sight of a rabbit. The
little animal had hopped briskly over the snow, coming within sight of
the Grammar School boys. Ears pointing straight up, the rabbit sat on
its haunches, curiously gazing at these humans.
"Tom! Psst! ps-st! Halt!" called Harry hoarsely over the snow.
"Hey?" answered Reade, and all four came to a halt.
"There's a rabbit," called Harry softly, pointing.
"Bless me, so there is," agreed Tom.
"Well, why don't you shoot it? What are you carrying that air rifle
for?"
"To oblige you, I guess," responded Tom, not making any motion to raise
the rifle. "If you want to shoot the rabbit, come here and get the
rifle."
"If I move it will scare him away," protested Hazelton. "Quick! Get him
before he goes off on a run!"
Sighting, Tom raised the rifle, glancing through the sights at the
little white furred thing.
"Confound him! He looks too cute for anything," muttered Tom. "I haven't
the heart----"
Abruptly Reade lowered the air rifle.
"See here, Harry, if your mouth is watering for rabbit stew you come
here and get the gun, and do the shooting yourself. I'd feel like a
criminal, taking the life of that cute, innocent little thing!"
"Huh!" growled Harry.
"Come here and get the rifle, if you want to shoot," insisted Tom.
Harry looked about as queer as he felt, for a moment. Then, picking up a
piece of branch that had blown from a tree, Hazelton shied it at the
rabbit, which promptly scampered away.
"That's much the better way to go hunting," nodded Dick approvingly.
After that no more was said about hunting. Tom continued to carry the
air rifle, though plainly the weapon was all for show.
By and by the Grammar School boys came across a pond, an eighth of a
mile wide, with a brook emptying into it.
"It will be worth while bringing the tackle to this place to-morrow, and
trying for fish," proposed Dick.
"And then, if you get one, you'll get a tender hearted streak and put it
right back in the water," grumbled Harry.
"Perhaps," Dick laughed. "But say, fellows, the sun is setting, and
we're a good way from camp. Hadn't we better turn back?"
"My empty stomach says 'yes,'" nodded Darrin. So the youngsters trudged
back over their course. It was dark before they got near the log cabin.
"Ha, ha, ha!" came a croaking laugh from inside the cabin as Dick and
his chums neared the door. "That's a good one."
"Hen Dutcher's voice!" muttered Dave. "How on earth did that fellow get
back here?"
Dick reached for the latch-string, opening the door. Then these four
Grammar School boys received a big surprise.
Hen Dutcher was there, but so were Fred Ripley, Bert Dodge and a half
dozen other young fellows, all of them older and larger than the members
of Dick & Co. To make the intrusion still more impudent, Ripley's crowd
were all at table, eating the best that the cabin afforded.
CHAPTER XIX
NOT A LOVE FEAST
At the same instant that Dick and his friends, all utterly astounded,
peered into the cabin from the doorway, Fred Ripley felt the draught and
looked around.
"Hullo!" shouted Fred gleefully. "Here are the other babies!"
"What are you fellows trying to do here?" demanded Dick sternly, as he
strode into the cabin.
"Minding our business, booby!" leered Fred.
"You've no right here. Get out!" Dick ordered.
All of the intruding feasters were now regarding Prescott mockingly. But
perhaps Hen Dutcher, who was seated on the furthest side of the table
from the door, was most pleased of all.
"Now, you want to shut your mouth, Dick Prescott, and keep it shut,"
advised Hen. "You're not running this show, and you'll find it out
mighty soon if you don't keep your tongue behind your teeth."
"My, how brave you've grown, Hen!" remarked Dick scornfully. "You were
taken in and looked after, and now you've brought this gang of hoodlums
down on us."
"Be careful there, small boy!" warned Fred Ripley, flushing.
"As for you, Ripley," Dick went on, "wouldn't your father be proud to
find you with a crowd like this, and stealing food that belongs to other
people?"
"See here, you little rat," snarled Fred inelegantly, as he leaped up,
kicking his chair over and striding toward the Prescott group, "you want
to keep your tongue under control, or you're going to be sorry that you
didn't."
"Let's take the kid down to the spring, break the ice and give his head
a soaking in the spring water," proposed Bert Dodge, rising, too, and
coming forward.
"Hurrah!" cheered Hen. "That's the stuff. Not a bit too good, either,
for a chump like Dick Prescott!"
But Dick wouldn't pay any heed to this renegade Grammar School boy who
had gone back on his own mates.
"And where are the two friends we left here?" demanded Dick, undismayed
by the advance of Fred Ripley and Bert Dodge. Tom and Dave drew a little
closer to their chum, while Harry Hazelton flanked Dave.
"What do we know about your friends?" sneered Ripley. "What do we know
about any of your cheap crowd?"
"And what do you imagine we care about them, either?" demanded Dodge.
"Are you fellows going to get out of here?" Dick demanded.
"When we get good and ready," retorted Fred, grinning. "That may be
to-morrow or the next day."
"I suppose," Dick went on angrily, "you think you have a perfect right
to stay here and to go on stealing our food?"
"You call me a thief, do you?" flared Fred.
"Do you consider yourself any better?" Dick asked. He was at white heat,
fighting mad, and cared little what he said to these rowdyish intruders.
"Grab 'em, fellows!" ordered Fred, making a leap at Dick, while the
other intruders rose from their places at table.
But Dick's right fist landed on Ripley's face, leaving a big, red mark
there, while Dave's ready foot tripped the bully, sending him to the
floor. Ripley was on his feet again in a twinkling.
"Get back, Ripley!" ordered Dick, making a dash at him. "See here, you
rowdy, I'm smaller than you are, but I'm willing to go outdoors with you
and see if I can't teach you some manners."
"And I'll take pleasure in introducing myself to Bert Dodge at the same
time," announced Darrin, his eyes flashing.
"I'll do my best with any other tough who'll oblige me," added Tom
Reade.
"Bullies, toughs, rowdies, are we?" raged Fred Ripley, on his guard,
though just prudent enough to keep out of reach of Dick's fists. There
was a look in Prescott's eyes that the lawyer's self-willed son didn't
wholly like.
"You fellows know just what you are," Dick went on bitterly. "There is
no use in our calling you names. You can supply the names yourselves.
And, if you're afraid to fight us, man to man, then you know well enough
what else you are! Now, what has become of Greg Holmes and Dan Dalzell?"
"Oh, very likely they're still running as fast as they can go toward
Gridley," jeered Fred.
"That's a lie, and no one knows it better than you!" flashed Dick. "Greg
and Dan are not of the running kind."
"Oh, I'm a liar, also, am I?" choked Ripley.
"You know yourself better than any one else can," was Prescott's
taunting answer.
"Come on, fellows!" urged Fred. "Rush 'em!"
There was a prompt rush. Dick and his friends did not flinch, but met
the attack squarely. Hen Dutcher was the only boy present who did not
display much eagerness to get at too close quarters in the fray.
"Give it to 'em!" cheered Dutcher, hopping about at a safe distance
while the scuffle went on. "They need plenty! Give Dick Prescott and
Darrin each an extra one for me."
The odds against more numerous and larger boys were so heavy that it was
not long ere Dick, Dave, Tom and Harry were borne down to the dirt
floor. Nor were they handled generously. All four received many an
unfair blow. Fred's temper was up, for Dick had struck him on the nose,
bringing blood.
"Now we'll give 'em the rope treatment," laughed Ripley, hoarsely, when
Dick and his chums had all been downed and were being held.
First a noose was slipped over Dick's wrists, and made fast. Dave was
the next so favored. Tom and Harry rapidly shared that fate.
"Now lead these cattle to the stable!" roared Fred, gripping Dick by the
collar and yanking him to his feet.
The battle being lost, Dick and the others could do no more than submit
to being pushed outside the cabin, Hen Dutcher following and making
faces at all of the captives.
Around to the cook shack the four Grammar School boys were led. The door
was flung open, and in they were thrust.
There on the floor, bound hand and foot and gagged, lay Greg and Dan.
These two members of Dick & Co. had been overpowered and placed here,
but only one look at their faces was needed to show that both still had
their fighting blood up.
"Now, don't let us hear anything from you boobies," commanded Fred
Ripley, "or I'll send a committee out here to attend to you in mighty
short order!"
Then the door of the cook shack was closed on Dick & Co.
"Well, of all the downright mean tricks!" grumbled Tom Reade.
"That's too complimentary a name for such human truck!" cried Dave
Darrin angrily. "Their first scheme, to come down here in the night and
try to scare us, wasn't so fearfully mean, but this is assault and
robbery."
"Never mind about it, now," Dick answered. "Our wrath will keep--no
doubt about that. But our first task is to get our hands free, if we
can. And Greg and Dan must feel pretty tired of being gagged as well as
tied."
A snort, the only noise he could make, was Greg Holmes's answer.
"How are we going to get ourselves free?" Tom demanded: "I've been
trying to wriggle my hands out, but I'll admit that I can't do it."
"Get over here in front of me," urged Dick, "and I'll show you just how
I can free you. Fred Ripley, like other blunderers, is likely to
overlook a few things."
It was not cold in the cook shack, for there was still some fire going
in the stove. The embers also threw a slight amount of illumination into
the room.
Dick dropped to his knees behind Tom Reade, and, reaching for the cords
that bound Tom's wrists behind his back, began to gnaw.
"Well, by hokey!" gasped Tom. "I never had head enough to think of
that."
"If we were gagged like Greg and Dan, we couldn't do the trick," Dave
rejoined. "Come here, Harry; get in front of me and I'll gnaw your
wrists free."
Dick paused long enough in his work to say:
"No need, Dave. When Tom is once free he can use his knife and have us
all turned loose in a jiffy."
Prescott possessed strong, fine teeth. He gnawed away at the cords to
such good advantage that Reade soon had the use of his hands.
"Now, I'll do as much for you, Dick," Tom proposed, reaching for his
pocket knife.
Within a very short time all six were free, and Greg and Dan, their
mouths free of the gags, told indignantly how they had been engaged in
preparing supper when the door opened and Ripley and his crowd burst in.
"And now I suppose the rowdies are eating up the supper," finished Greg
vengefully.
"I guess they've got it about finished by now," Prescott added grimly.
"But we six are free. If we're any good we'll get our cabin back and
make it our castle against all comers."
"Good!" cried Dave, a fiery flash in his eyes. "But how?"
"That's what we've got to figure out," Dick replied thoughtfully. "But
we'll do it."
CHAPTER XX
THE COOK SHACK DISASTER
"First of all," Dick continued, "it's going to be chilly, soon, in this
shack. Put on some fuel, Harry, won't you?"
Hazelton complied with the request. By a common instinct all of the
Grammar School boys gathered closely around the stove, extending their
hands and warming themselves.
"The battle can't be ours a bit too soon," observed Tom Reade dryly.
"We've simply got to eat soon. Too bad we carted all of Mr. Fits's
larder into the cabin this afternoon."
"But what are we going to do about retaking our cabin," pressed that
budding young war horse, Darrin.
"I'm thinking fast over every plan that comes to me," Dick answered
thoughtfully. "If any of you other fellows think of one first don't be
backward with it. I'll promise not to be jealous."
"Hang that Dutcher hound, anyway!" growled Tom Reade angrily. "I can't
get over his mean, dirty work."
"The best way is not to mention the fellow," Dick answered coldly. "He's
not worth it."
"Oh, he isn't, eh?" muttered a boy who had just stolen softly to the
outside of the shack door and now stood there listening. That
eavesdropper was Hen Dutcher, who had slipped out of the cabin to see
how life fared with the boys whom he didn't like.
Then Hen, still eavesdropping, listened to enough more to make sure that
Dick & Co. were all of them free of their bonds, and that these
enterprising Grammar School boys were actually discussing plans to rout
the enemy from the log cabin.
"Oh, I'll have to hustle back and tell this to Ripley's crew," chuckled
Hen gleefully. "It'll amuse 'em."
"What's that?" demanded Ripley, when the informer returned to the cabin
with his news. "Prescott and his collection of babies are going to make
trouble for us, are they? Can't they stand a good joke like men? Come
along, fellows, and we'll teach 'em a little more about being real men."
"We'd better take something in our hands, then," proposed Dodge firmly.
"Those little fellows are regular spitfires. They may have something
ready to throw at us when we break into the shack."
"Oh, take axes, then, if you are afraid of the little kids," retorted
Fred scornfully. "My hands are enough for me."
Four or five of the rowdyish crowd picked up sticks that they had
carried through the forest that afternoon. Thus prepared, they went out
of the log cabin on tip-toe, making their way stealthily to the door of
the shack.
"Say, fellows," Harry was at that moment proposing to his friends
inside, "hadn't we better drop the bar across the door? We can't tell
when we may receive an unexpected visit from----"
"How will now do?" roared Fred Ripley, throwing the shack door open
before Greg could drop the bar in place. "So you young smarties managed
to free yourselves, did you? And you thought you'd find a way to put a
trick over on us? You'll have to take to getting up earlier in the day,
if you expect to get the better of any crowd that I'm leading."
Ripley's crew were now all of them in the shack, crowding the little
place.
"What is it that you're scheming to do, anyway?" leered Fred, enjoying
the looks of dismay on the faces of Dick & Co. "See here, don't you
little boys think that it's about time for you all to line up and start
a footrace out of these woods?"
"No; we don't," Dick retorted defiantly. "We think it's high time,
though, for your crowd to start just such a race."
"Hold your tongue, freshie!" ordered Fred roughly.
"Not for you!" Dick snapped, his temper going up as the mercury climbs
on a hot day.
"Then I'll make you!" offered young Ripley, making a spring at Dick.
But Dick & Co. were now all together, standing in a firm fighting line.
Fred received punches from the fists belonging to three different school
boys, and fell back, red and panting.
"Sail in, everybody!" ordered Fred. "These simpletons haven't sense
enough to stand a good joke on themselves."
It was an unmanly thing to do. Some of the boys in Ripley's crowd had no
idea of going further than having rather rough "fun." However, the
shack, in an instant, was the scene of a lively mix-up. In the midst of
the excitement Bert Dodge drove Harry Hazelton against the stovepipe. It
came down, showering soot all over Fred's face and down his neck. In the
excitement that followed, and during the rush of some of the boys to get
out of the flying cloud of soot, the stove itself was overturned. Red
embers flew about in every direction. The door being open, the wind
helped to set the cabin ablaze.
"Now you've done it!" panted Dick, holding up one hand and trying to put
a stop to the trouble. "Quit fighting and help put the fire out."
"You youngsters put it out yourselves, then," Fred retorted. "It was all
your fault that it started."
An indignant denial came to Dick's lips, but he forced it back. This
shack was another's property, and personal differences must be kept in
the background until the blaze had been extinguished.
"Let me past you," demanded Dick indignantly, but Bert Dodge barred the
doorway until the mounting flames scared Ripley, who turned and yelled
to Dodge to let the boys out. Dick & Co. raced to the log cabin, where
they caught up the water buckets, a dishpan and other utensils that
would hold water. Dick also snatched up a hatchet, for he knew that the
spring would be frozen over.
Fast as they worked at the spring, the shack was well ablaze by the time
that the Grammar School boys returned with the first water.
"Why don't you fellows brace up and do something, Ripley?" Dick queried,
as he ran up with water.
"What is there for us to do?" Fred demanded rather soberly.
"Find something to do. Show yourself a man."
"Now, don't you turn impudent again," Ripley warned young Prescott
angrily. "It was that sort of thing that started the first trouble."
"You'd better find something to do, for your father has charge of this
property," Dick shot back over his shoulder, as he ran toward the
spring.
[Illustration: Dick and Dave Were Boosted to the Cabin Roof.]
"Look!" called Dave, as Dick & Co. started once more for the spring.
"It's too late. This little bit of water won't do anything for the
shack. See the sparks fly! They'll fall on the roof of the cabin, and
that will go, too."
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