Grace Harlowe\'s Overland Riders in the Great North Woods

J >> Jessie Graham Flower >> Grace Harlowe\'s Overland Riders in the Great North Woods

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The bull pup's slumbers were not disturbed that night, nor were Henry's.
The bear lay at the rear of Mrs. Shafto's lean-to all night long, curled
up into a furry ball, but with the break of day he was off in the forest
for the choice morsels of food that he knew were there for him to pluck.

After the campers awakened, the forest woman's shrill call soon brought
the bear ambling back to camp, but they observed that he was restless,
now and then lifting his nose and sniffing the air, punctuated with an
occasional throaty growl, but the bull pup, flat on his back, feet in
the air, was sound asleep on his browse bed.

"Henry, what's the matter with ye? I reckon maybe ye smell some varmint
that's hangin' 'round waitin' fer the leavin's of the breakfast,"
scolded Joe.

The bacon was on the fire and the aroma of coffee in the air when a
loud hail warned the Overland Riders that they were about to receive an
early morning call.

Lieutenant Wingate answered the hail. A few moments later they descried
a horseman riding through the forest towards the camp.

The newcomer was dressed in khaki, wearing an army hat and high lace
boots. Grace recognized the uniform at once, having seen it before when
foresting with Tom Gray. Her identification was confirmed when she
caught sight of the bronze badge of the Forest Service, which the
stalwart rider wore on his left breast. His face was rugged and
weatherbeaten, and the strength of the wilderness was in his eye, though
the man's facial expression, at that moment, was far from pleasant.

The forest ranger, or fire warden, halted and surveyed the camp with a
slow, searching gaze, narrowly observing the crackling campfire, then
suddenly bent a stern look on each member of the Overland party.

"Morning, Buddy. You are just in time to sit in with us for a snack of
breakfast," greeted Lieutenant Wingate cordially.

"Put out that fire!" commanded the ranger sternly, pointing a lean brown
finger at the cook fire that had grown into a lively blaze.

CHAPTER XIV

THEIR DAY AT HOME

"What is wrong about the fire, sir?" questioned Grace pleasantly.

"Have you a permit to build fires in these woods?"

"We have not," spoke up Hippy. "Why?"

"Then put it out!"

"Just a moment, old top. Who sent you here?" demanded Hippy.

"The Dusenbery outfit that's cutting on Forty-three notified me by
telephone yesterday that a party of campers had set on fire and burned
off several thousand feet of timber. He said there were two men and a
party of women--that they were rough-necks, and a lot of other things. I
haven't anything to do with that, but I'm going to see to it that you
don't do any more damage to the forest."

"Peg Tatem, eh?" reflected Hippy. "How did you find us? Did Peg tell you
where we were?"

"I saw your smoke yesterday, but couldn't rightly place you till this
morning when I smelled your smoke and found I was close to you. Are you
going to douse the fire?"

"I think not, sir," answered Grace.

The ranger sprang from his horse and strode towards the campfire. Hippy
stepped between him and the blaze.

"Don't do anything childish. Let the fire alone. When we want the fire
out we will put it out ourselves," reminded Lieutenant Wingate.

The ranger drew back an arm as if about to strike at the Overland Rider
when a menacing growl at his side caused the forest man to spring back.
He had recognized that growl instantly. Henry, standing on his hind
legs, "arms" extended, was ready for fight, following a gentle prodding
and a "Sick 'im, Henry," from his mistress.

The ranger whipped out his revolver.

"Drop that gun!" yelled Joe Shafto. "That's my bear!"

"Don't shoot! He is a pet bear," admonished Lieutenant Wingate. "That is
Henry. Oh, are you awake?" he added, as Hindenburg rolled over, blinked,
and then dashed out and began barking at the stranger.

"What's this--a circus?" wondered the ranger.

"I give ye fair notice it'll be a circus if ye don't let that bear be,"
warned the forest woman in a shrill high-pitched voice.

"Put away your gun, Mister Man. There's nothing to shoot here, unless
you get too confounded obstreperous," urged Hippy, now smiling. "My
name's Wingate, Lieutenant Wingate, late of the Army Flying Corps in our
late unpleasantness with the Hun. What's yours?"

"Chatworth's my name. I'm the warden up here, and, not having a permit
to have a fire in the forest, you'll have to hit the lumber trail for
the open country."

"Nothing doing! You will have to dope out something better than that to
induce us to leave," grinned Hippy.

Grace demanded to know where the ranger got his authority for stating
that they should have a fire permit.

"It's my authority!" he answered brusquely.

"Who told you to assume such authority?" interjected Miss Briggs in the
calm judicial voice that was hers when trying a lawsuit.

"I'm not answering fool questions. You heard what I said. Are you
going?"

"Well--yes, of course we are going, but it may be a month or two before
we do go. If you will kindly give me your address I'll drop you a
picture card later on, telling you when we expect to leave the Big North
Woods," drawled Lieutenant Wingate.

"Hippy, I do not believe that Mr. Chatworth fully understands who and
what we are," interjected Grace. "We take such trips as this one every
summer, sir, and we are not greenhorns in the forest. We realize the
danger of fire to the forests as fully as well as you do. For your
information, I will merely say that we were in no wise to blame for the
fire at Section Forty-three. A tree fell over and scattered the embers
of our campfire, thus starting the forest fire and--"

"All the more reason why you're not fit to be in the woods," answered
the ranger roughly.

"Cut the rough talk!" admonished Lieutenant Wingate severely. "Had it
not been for us that blaze would have swept the whole state. We fought
it all night and until nearly noon next day. Stop growling! If you keep
on growling the bear and my bull pup will think you are an animal and
sail into you for keeps."

"As I was about to say," reminded Grace, "my husband is a forester and
is in the North Woods now on official business. He was with us when the
fire occurred, and will join us further along in a few weeks."

"Eh? What's his name?" demanded the ranger sharply, eyeing Grace with
new interest in his eyes.

"Tom Gray," answered Grace.

"Is he the fellow that's cruising the timber up here for the state?"

"Yes."

"Humph! Why didn't you say so before?"

"I presume because you did not ask me," returned Grace demurely. "Now
that you understand, won't you please sit down and have breakfast with
us? We have plenty and really shall be glad to have you."

"Well, I reckon I might as well," decided the ranger, striding over and
tying his horse to a sapling.

Hippy introduced him to the members of the Overland party, the ranger
bowing awkwardly, but with the quiet dignity so characteristic of those
who have learned their lesson from the heart of nature herself.

"Sorry, folks, that I had to be up a tree with you, but we must do our
duty and protect this forest. There are not many of 'em left in these
United States, and what there is, are going fast. I'll have a snack with
you."

"Peace has been declared," murmured Emma.

"Keep that menagerie away! I don't like bears nosing around me any
more'n I do wolves."

"Wolves!" exclaimed Nora. "We heard one last night."

"There are lots of 'em up here and they kill the game. The state offers
a bounty of seven dollars and a half for every one killed--every
full-grown critter; ten dollars for cubs."

"You say the state desires to get rid of them?" questioned Emma.

"All states do. They're varmints," answered the ranger.

"Why don't they try dynamite?" asked Emma. "Perhaps the wolves might eat
it and go off."

"Call the bear," suggested Hippy after a brief silence.

The Overland Riders shouted, and the forest ranger grinned, the bull pup
joining in the merriment by barking and dashing about the camp, taking a
gentle nip at Henry's flank as he passed that none too good-natured
beast.

"I reckon this _is_ a circus after all," choked the guide, trying to
talk and eat a slice of tough bacon at the same time. "Tell me what
happened about that fire. I reckon you haven't told the whole of it."

Hippy thereupon related what they had discovered after the fire, as well
as the experiences they had gone through preceding the fire, to all of
which the forest ranger lent an attentive ear.

"Hm-m-m!" he mused. "Reckon you haven't heard the last of that outfit.
Tatem'll have it up his sleeve for you long as he lives. Keep your eyes
peeled. That Dusenbery outfit is the biggest set of timber thieves in
the North Woods and I hope we catch 'em. Do I understand that your
husband is looking for 'timber-lookers' who are looking for easy money
on the sly, Mrs. Gray?"

"He may be," smiled Grace diplomatically.

"Mebby I'll run across him. Thanks for the snack. Thanks to you, Miss
Dean, for the wolf suggestion. I'll pass it on to the Game and Fish
Commissioner at St. Paul. I'll be off now."

"How about this campfire, 'Chatty'? Do you still insist that we put it
out?" questioned Hippy solemnly.

"Well," answered the ranger, stroking his chin reflectively, "being as
its you and further, being that I've broken bacon with you and heard a
real funny joke from Miss Dean here, I reckon I don't. 'Bye, folks. See
you some other time." The ranger led out his horse, mounted and rode
away.

"That obstacle overcome," announced Miss Briggs in a tone of relief, "I
wonder what next."

"If you will kindly cast your eyes downstream I think you will discover
three more obstacles on the way to the Overland camp, and, from the look
of them, I am inclined to feel that they are not harbingers of delight.
Girls, this really seems to be our 'Day at Home,'" said Grace Harlowe
laughingly.

"Good night!" exclaimed Hippy Wingate after a quick glance downstream.
"Give Henry a poke in the ribs, Joe. Here's more trouble!"

CHAPTER XV

THE WAY OF THE BIG WOODS

Three horsemen were seen approaching as rapidly as the uneven going
would permit. Two of the trio were holding their rifles under their arms
at a position indicating readiness for instant action.

The Overlanders were observing them narrowly, and especially Joe Shafto,
who, having seen them first, and being suspicious of the newcomers, had
run for her rifle and thrown herself down behind a log, commanding Henry
to follow. The only other member of the Overland Riders who had a weapon
handy was Lieutenant Wingate, who wore the heavy service revolver that
he had carried while a fighting air pilot in France.

Hippy's hand was close to the butt of his revolver, but he made no
effort to draw it, even though he believed that he and his party were
about to have trouble.

"Keep clear, girls, and give me room," he warned. "May have to shoot."

As the three strangers, one leading the way, reached the edge of the
camp, the two rear riders threw up their rifles and covered the
Overland party with them.

"Put up yer hands!" came the command, sharp and incisive.

"Put up your own," flung back Lieutenant Wingate, and the newcomers
found themselves facing his weapon. "Tag! You're it. What is this,
anyway?"

"Drop that aire gun or I'll let ye have a hunk of lead!" threatened one
of the strangers.

"No you won't. You haven't the nerve. I'll tell you what I will do. I
will put my revolver back in its holster provided you put down your own
weapons. If you make a move to shoot I will draw and wing you before you
can pull a trigger. If you don't believe me, try it. At the same time,
old tops, I would advise you that, though you don't know it, you are
already covered by a repeating rifle, and further, that should you make
a false move, the rifle is likely to go off." With that Hippy Wingate
thrust his revolver into its holster. "Your move. What's the joke?" he
demanded, casting a quick glance at the log behind which the forest
woman was hiding, and observing that her rifle barrel protruded over the
log ever so little, though the woman herself was not visible.

The men did not lower their weapons, but the rider in advance rode right
into the camp.

"You carrying guns? I mean game guns--rifles?" questioned the man in a
tone of severity.

"Yes."

"Shot anything?"

"Not yet, but I came near shooting two men just now," answered Hippy,
scowling as savagely as he knew how.

"Let me see 'em!"

"There's one of them. Look at it! On that log yonder," he added,
pointing to Joe Shafto's rifle. "Want to see the rest of them?"

"I reckon that's enough," answered the stranger. "I've heard that ye
folks was a tough bunch, and up here for a big killing. I'm the game
warden. I don't suppose ye even went to the trouble to git a license to
hunt in this state. Folks like you think they can git away with most
anything, but ye can't do it in these parts."

"Game warden, eh? You guessed wrong, old Santa Claus. I have a license.
We all have licenses and we propose to do some hunting when the season
opens, though that is not the main purpose of our journey up here."

"Show me."

Hippy handed his license to the warden, which that officer read with
frowning attention. Handing it back he demanded to see the licenses of
the others, which Lieutenant Wingate had had the foresight to procure
before the Overland Riders came west.

"Reckon you're all right so far as licenses is concarned, but ye can't
carry guns up here till the season--the game season's open," said the
game warden, handing back the licenses.

"It's always an open season for the kind of game we are going to hunt,"
Hippy informed him.

"Eh? What kind's that?"

"Your kind," retorted Hippy sharply.

"That's all I've got to do with ye. I'd make ye give up the guns, but
these gents have something to say to you folks. They'll take care of yer
rifles and such."

The game warden backed his horse away. His two companions, taking their
cue from his move, rode to the fore.

Hippy surveyed them narrowly.

"Here comes the rub," Miss Briggs confided to Grace.

"We're deputy sheriffs," announced one.

"Charmed, I'm sure," greeted Hippy, bowing with much dignity. "Making
early calls seems to be the way of the Big Woods. What do you want? Let
me see. So far to-day we have had two wardens and two deputy sheriffs.
Speak your piece, but remember that you are covered. It's just as well
while talking to me to keep your muzzles pointed towards the ground."

"Are ye the fellows that burned up part of Section Forty-three?" asked
the deputy.

"No. The fire did that. We are the fellows that put out the fire, or
there would be nothing left of a good part of that section except
blackened stumps and dead tree toads."

"Seeing as ye admit it, that's all right."

Hippy nodded. Grace and Elfreda had stepped up, just to the rear of
Hippy, that they might miss nothing of what was being said. The second
deputy kept a watchful eye on them, presumably to see that they played
no tricks on his companion.

"The owner of that section, Hi Dusenbery, reckons as ye've got to pay
fer the loss of the timber ye burned, and I'm here, fer one thing, to
serve the papers on ye in the suit. Do ye accept service?"

Hippy reached for the papers that the deputy held out, and, without
looking at them, tore them and dropped the fragments on the ground.

"You shouldn't have done that," rebuked Miss Briggs. "Grace, help me
gather up the pieces. The idea!"

"Anything else?" demanded Lieutenant Wingate. "I have had about enough
of this nonsense."

"I reckon there is something else. Ye're charged with bein' dangerous
characters. Information has been laid against ye by one William Tatem,
otherwise known as Peg Tatem, accusin' some person unknown, but
belongin' to this party, of shootin' him through the leg."

"It was a wooden leg, and the shots were not fired by any person or
persons in this party. We do not know who fired them," interrupted
Hippy.

The deputy sheriffs grinned.

"Ye are further charged with causin' certain wild animals, to wit, a
bear and a big ugly dog, to attack Peg Tatem and his men and do 'em
injury, to wit, bites and scratches, not to speak of a bad scare."

"Well? There must be something more," urged Hippy. "What do you want me
to do?"

"Peg opined that if ye would settle with him for the damages to his leg,
and pay him for the scare ye give him, and settle with his jacks for
what ye did to them, he might be willin' to let ye off."

Grace said something to Elfreda under her breath and Elfreda nodded.
Both saw that Lieutenant Wingate's good nature was slipping from him,
that his temper was rising.

"Don't do anything rash, Hippy," urged Grace in a low tone.

"If I refuse, what then?" he demanded belligerently, addressing the
man.

"That's up to ye."

"I refuse to pay one copper cent!" roared Hippy. "Go tell that
timber-legged friend of yours that if he bothers us again he will either
get a bullet through his real leg or land in jail or both. Put that in
your pipe and smoke it! I don't believe you are deputies at all."

"Then yer under arrest. The whole pack of ye is under arrest!" shouted
the deputy, suddenly throwing up his rifle.

_Bang!_

A bullet whizzed past the deputy's head, fired from the ready rifle of
Joe Shafto, who, with finger on the trigger, was glaring through her big
horn-rimmed spectacles, alert for a suggestive move on the part of
either of the three men, which would be the signal for another shot from
her rifle.

CHAPTER XVI

WILLY HORSE SHOWS THE WAY

Elfreda laid a hand on Lieutenant Wingate's arm, then stepped between
him and the deputy, who had lowered his rifle a little, hesitating, it
appeared, whether to shoot and take his chances or to adopt the safer
course. The fact that he chose the latter, and made no further effort to
intimidate them with his weapon, was significant to Miss Briggs.

"Mister Man, I am a lawyer, and I will speak with you. I believe you
just said that we are all under arrest," reminded Elfreda in an ordinary
conversational tone.

"Ye are that, unless ye settle up," blustered the fellow.

"Then, of course, you have warrants. Have you?"

"Well, well, no, I reckon I hain't. Don't need none. I'm an officer of
the law. This is my warrant," he said, tapping the rifle.

"We have similar arguments, arguments that are fully as potent," replied
Miss Briggs significantly. "We decline to recognize any authority
unless backed by proper credentials. What county are you from, may I
inquire?"

"St. Louis County," grumbled the deputy.

"And your companion--is he from the same county?"

"Yes. Come! I ain't got time for per-laverin' around. Are ye goin' to
pay up or go with us?"

"Neither! You have no warrant; you have no proof that you are officers
of the law, and you admit that you are from St. Louis County. Grace,
what county are we now in?"

"Beltrami County," replied Grace Harlowe, who had been consulting her
map.

Miss Briggs nodded.

"Out of your jurisdiction, Mister Deputy! It might be in order for me to
suggest that you remove your persons from our camp," finished Elfreda in
the same even tone with which she had carried on the conversation
throughout.

"I'll see whether ye'll go with us or not!" raged the deputy.

"Joe!" called Hippy sharply. "If these rough-necks don't go _instanter_,
trim 'em right."

"Don't set Henry on them. They might hurt him," called Grace.

"Get out!" commanded Hippy.

The three men got, but before going they warned the Overland Riders that
they would have the law on them for shooting at officers in the
discharge of their duty.

In reply, Hippy waved a hand and grinned, and the men rode away rather
more rapidly than they had come into the camp.

"Great thought of yours, J. Elfreda," complimented Lieutenant Wingate.

"Elfreda uses her head, Hippy. How much better than flying into a rage
and threatening your enemy with dire things," reminded Grace.

"You don't always do that yourself," retorted Hippy. "Thanks, Joe. Had
it not been for you we might have had a disturbance."

"Aren't we ever going to have peace?" wailed Emma. "I know I shall have
nervous prostration at this rate."

"Cheer up. Let the voice of nature soothe your troubled spirits and rise
above such common things as mere officers of the law," comforted Hippy.
"What next?"

"Suppose we break camp and move," suggested Grace.

"Yes, yes; let's do so," urged Anne.

"Do you think they will come back, darlin'?" questioned Nora anxiously.

"Not before it is time for the swallows to build their nests under the
eaves."

Joe, muttering to herself, went out to fetch in her pack mules, June and
July, preparatory to loading the equipment on them for the start. Joe
was a little rougher with the animals than usual, and their ears, tilted
back at a sharp angle, indicated their resentment, but the guide was too
angry to notice this danger signal. A sharp slap on June's thigh to make
the animal step over was followed by a lightning-like flash of two tough
little mule heels, and Joe Shafto was lifted from her feet and hurled
against July, and then July began to kick.

The Overlanders, frightened for the safety of the guide, ran to assist
her, when, out of the mix-up, leaped the forest woman, her hair tumbled
down her back, and eyes blazing through the big horn-rimmed spectacles,
she having rolled under July and out of the way with amazing agility.

"I'll larn ye, ye beasts!" she shrieked, running for her club.

June felt the sting of it, and July grunted as the club descended on the
fleshy part of her hip, at the same instant shooting both hind feet into
the air; but this time Joe was out of reach.

"Here, here!" cried Hippy, springing forward to interfere. "We don't
permit any one to beat animals in this menagerie," he chided, grabbing
the woman's club.

"Leggo!" shrieked Joe, wrenching the club from his hands. "No man ain't
goin' to tell Joe Shafto what she kin do. Git out of here!" she raged,
advancing threateningly on Hippy. "I'll paste them mules when I want to,
and--"

"That's all right, old dear," soothed Hippy, backing up laughingly, but
Joe followed him, shaking the club before his face.

"Don't ye 'old dear' me. Mules is swine, and no better'n some men, and I
give ye notice no man ain't goin' to come 'tween me and my mules. I'll
paste 'em when I like, and I'll paste 'em like they did me, the
varmints, and I won't have no animile that walks like a man interferin'
'tween me and the mules and tellin' me what ter do. Git out of here
afore I give ye a wallop on the jaw, fer I'm goin' ter finish what I
begun on June, and her name'll be December when I git through, and don't
ye fergit it." Joe grabbed the mule by an ear, gave the animal a prod
with her club, then slapped June's face.

"Consarn ye, ye pore insect that's tryin to look like a hoss, but that
ain't even got the skin of one, I reckon ye'll be good arter this," she
finished, and threw a pack over the back of the now thoroughly subdued
pack-mule. "Git started, ye folks, and don't say nothin' to me, for I'm
li'ble to git mad arter the stirrin' up them mules give me."

"_Alors!_ Let's go," suggested Elfreda after the laughter of the
Overlanders had subsided.

They were on their way a short time later, laughing as they headed for
the section on which they hoped eventually to meet Tom, and make
permanent camp. The forest woman had never been in that part of the
woods, but, knowing the general direction, thought she could hold to it
and come out somewhere near the spot they desired to reach.

That night they lay down to sleep in the open, wrapped in their
blankets. For the week following the Overland Riders camped out in the
same way, and nothing occurred to mar the life of freedom and happiness
that they were leading.

The river had been left to the right of them, for the sake of what Joe
said might be better going, and a fairly direct course was followed for
several days more. One night, however, they suddenly found themselves on
the banks of the Little Big Branch where it had taken a deep bend. Hippy
declared that it had made the bend to be near Emma and murmur sweet
nothings in her ear.

"Listen well, little one," he admonished. "Tidings from the frozen
north, as well as messages intended for our ears alone, may be borne to
us through you. It is mighty fortunate that we have you with us."

The bank of the river was their camp that night. The party slept just
under the bluff, protected by it and lulled to sleep by the gently
rippling waters of the forest stream. Early on the following morning
they were aroused by an uproar in the camp. Out of the uproar came the
shrill voice of their guide.

"Get out of here, ye lazy good-for-nothin'. Think this 'ere is a
lumberjack hotel? Sick 'im, Henry! Sick 'im!" raged Joe Shafto.

Grace, hearing the bear growl, sprang up and ran out. Her companions
were not far behind her.

Sitting crouched over the campfire, which he had built, calmly cooking
his breakfast, was the Indian, Willy Horse, wholly undisturbed by the
uproar that his presence had created.

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