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The High School Boys' Fishing Trip, a fiction by H. Irving Hancock |
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Chapter 16. The Camp Invaded And Captured |
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_ CHAPTER XVI. THE CAMP INVADED AND CAPTURED Clad in their long fishing boots, none of the boys made anything like his usual speed in running. Grumbling inwardly at their clumsy gait, all three hurried as fast as they could into the near-by stretch of forest. There, in a path, they came upon a middle-aged woman accompanied by four girls, all of whom showed signs of unusual alarm. "Oh, Dave," called Belle Meade, "I'm so glad to see you!" "You usually are," laughed Darrin, "but I never knew you to make so much noise about it before." "What's the trouble?" Dick inquired, after a hasty greeting to Mrs. Bentley, Laura Bentley, Belle Meade, Fannie Upham and Margery White, the latter four all Gridley High School girls. "A man---he must have been crazy!" replied Laura. Her voice shook slightly, and she was still trembling, though the color was beginning to return to her face. "Did he offer to molest you?" flared Dick. "No, indeed!" replied Mrs. Bentley promptly and laughing nervously. "In fact, I think we must have frightened the man, for his desire seemed to be to get away from us as fast as he could." "But that face!" cried Miss Fanny. "I never want to see it again." "It must have been our Man of the Haunting Face," murmured Dick, turning to his chums. "That was he---just who it was!" declared Belle, with emphasis. "I don't know whom you're talking about, but 'haunting face' just describes the man who frightened us." "It was so silly of us!" murmured Laura Bentley. "It was clear nonsense for us to be so frightened, but when, we saw that face peering at us from behind a tree we simply couldn't help screaming." "Are you alone?" demanded Prescott in some astonishment, for these were carefully brought-up girls, and it was not like their parents to let them go into the woods without other guard than that of a chaperon. At that instant Dick's question was answered by the appearance of Dr. Bentley, who, on account of his weight, panted somewhat as he ran. "Did---these---young men frighten---you so badly---that you---made such a commotion---and caused me nearly to breathe---my last in running to---your aid?" demanded the good doctor gaspingly, his eyes twinkling. "No, sir; we came, like yourself, when we heard the girls scream," Dick Prescott explained. Then, amid much talking, and with as many as three people speaking at once, the story was quickly recounted for Dr. Bentley. "We've seen the fellow before," Dick explained, "but he always fakes alarm and vanishes. We call him our man of mystery---the Man with the Haunting Face." "Some poor, simple-minded fellow," suggested Dr. Bentley. "Probably one whose mild mania leads him to prefer to live in the woods, a regular hermit. My dears, I'm surprised that any of you should be so easily startled and make such noisy testimony to your alarm." "I'm indignant with myself now---when there are men standing by," laughed Belle. "But I wish you had seen that man's strange face, Doctor." "I would like to see it, and punch it, too!" muttered Dave. "Not a bit of it!" objected Dr. Bentley heartily. "No doubt the poor fellow is sadly afflicted mentally. He's what the Arabs call a 'simple,' and the Arabs have a beautiful faith that all 'simples' are under the direct protection of Allah. So, woe to him who offends one of Allah's 'simples.'" "How do you boys come to be here?" asked Laura. "I might ask the same question of your party," smiled Dick. "As for us, we are away on a vacation fishing and camping trip." "I knew you were going away," said Dr. Bentley, "but I didn't know just where. We are touring again, in my seven-passenger car. We are headed for the St. Clair Lake House, eight miles below here. But the roads are so bad that the chauffeur said it would take us more than an hour to get through. So I proposed to Mrs. Bentley and the girls that we leave the car at the road and cross over here to have our luncheon on the shore of this second lake. I have been here before, and remember it as a beautiful spot. Mrs. Bentley and the girls started on ahead, and I brought up the rear with the baskets of food. But they got further ahead of me than I thought. Now I must go back after the baskets, which I set down before I started to run here. Greg, will you go back with me and help me bring the baskets?" Greg at once accompanied the physician. When they came to the spot, however, they found but one basket, and that nearly empty. The second basket had disappeared altogether. "Fine!" grunted Dr. Bentley. "Greg, our committee of two must go back and report the disquieting news." "Not so very disquieting, sir," smiled young Holmes. "We have a camp full of food to offer you." That invitation Dick and Dave very quickly seconded when the doctor rejoined the party. "Especially if you can eat trout, sir," Dick went on. "Don't! Don't be cruel!" remonstrated Dr. Bentley. "I used to eat trout when I was a boy, but they are now an extinct fish." "Are they, sir?" inquired Dick, unwrapping a paper from around part of the morning's heavy catch, while Dave exhibited the contents of a similar bundle. Dr. Bentley rubbed his eyes. "Bless me, these are a fine imitation of brook trout as I recall them," he murmured. "What did you mean by saying that trout were an extinct fish?" asked Laura. "They're extinct for all but the wealthy," replied the physician. "Brook trout, in these days, generally cost all of a dollar and a half a pound, and I've heard of as high as two dollars a pound being paid for them." "There are plenty hereabouts, just now," Dick replied. "But we may take them all out of the water before we move from here." "Of course," nodded Laura's father. "That's what trout are for. They won't do anyone any good as long as they remain in the water." "Let's hurry back, please," urged Dick. "I am anxious to see your luncheon under way." "Yes," teased Belle, "the sooner you have satisfied our appetites the sooner you may expect to see us gone and be able to enjoy yourselves and your comfortable solitude once more." "Now, just for saying that, Belle," uttered Dick reproachfully, "I'm going to consider the revenge of burning two of your trout in the pan." "Mercy!" cried Belle Meade. "Are you going to cook the trout?" "After you've eaten a trout cooked and served up by Dick Prescott," Dave declared, "you won't want them cooked by anyone else. Dick is the one trout chef in this part of the country." "Where did he learn?" teased Belle with a pretense of suspicion. "Mr. Morton---Coach Morton, of our high school eleven---taught Dick how to do it," Dave explained. "Right here, young ladies---attention!" called Dr. Bentley, holding up a warning finger. "If brook trout are as fine eating as they used to be when I was a boy, then you simply won't be able to keep it a secret that you've eaten some recently. Yet on one point I must insist. None of you must be dishonorable enough to name any spot within fifty miles of here as the scene of your trout luncheon. If you let the secret out all the trout fishermen in four counties will be swarming here to destroy all the fun your young men friends are having. So, please remember! Utter, dark, uncompromising secrecy!" "Is it as bad as that?" asked Belle. "Every real trout fisherman knows enough to keep his own secrets as to the streams that contain trout," Dave nodded. By this time they came within sight of the camp. Nor was it long before Tom, Dan and Harry caught sight of the visitors and ran forward to meet them. "Our friends have come just in time to have a trout feast," Dick announced. "I shall be jealous if they eat the trout," Tom retorted. "Or envious?" laughed Belle. "No; jealous," Tom assured her. "Dan and I have been fishing, too. Come and see what we caught." Tom led the way to where he had cleaned more than a dozen black bass, while in buckets of water lay nearly thirty more fine, sleek-looking fish. "Didn't you catch anything but bass?" Dave asked. "A few other fish," Tom admitted, "but we threw the inferior fish back into the water. Now, girls, which are you going to have---trout or bass?" "Both---if we may," ventured Laura, with a smile. And both were served at the meal. Motherly Mrs. Bentley laid aside her motoring dust coat and marshaled the girls for the various tasks to which she assigned them. What a hubbub there was in preparing the feast! Dick built two small fires for his own exclusive use. Tom built two more, while Dan and Greg skirmished for more wood. Dr. Bentley, his coat off and shirt sleeves rolled up, constructed a "warm oven" with stones topped by a large baking tin. Then he built another. Dick fried the trout, while Dr. Bentley started low fires under the two crude warming ovens. As fast as trout were fried they were dropped into one oven, Tom's bass being dropped into the other. Potatoes were boiling in one pot, tinned peas in another, and tinned string beans in still another. Tinned pudding was set in another pot of water to heat, while Mrs. Bentley made a sauce, and the girls set the table and made the other necessary preparations for the luncheon. Presently the meal was ready, though the boys did not seat themselves until they had seen their welcome guests served. "Daddy," murmured Laura, "I don't blame you for regretting your boyhood, if you had many trout feasts." "How's the bass?" asked Tom, almost jealously. "Just splendid," replied Laura, sampling her first fork full. "You boys are camping in a fisherman's paradise," declared Dr. Bentley. "I don't blame you for liking this life. When I was a boy fresh water fish were almost as plentiful as salt water fish. Now, we rarely find any fresh water fish in the markets. I can't understand how this choice retreat for fishermen has escaped notice, unless it is because of the almost total lack of inhabitants in this section, and the miserable apologies for roads. Once again I must caution all of you young women not to be indiscreet and spoil this fisherman's paradise for your young friends by talking about it to anyone." All four of the girls promised absolute secrecy. After they had all satisfied their hunger, Dick asked Dr. Bentley all about the St. Clair Lake House. He learned that it was a fine, modern hotel, accommodating about one hundred and fifty guests. It was just on the edge of the good roads, Dr. Bentley explained; this side of the hotel no roads worthy of the name existed. Dick was very thoughtful after receiving the information, for he had something on his mind. "How about that chauffeur of yours, doctor?" asked Dave suddenly. "Oh, we left him with a comfortable luncheon," replied Dr. Bentley. "He can't leave the car, you know." "Will you take him two or three trout, sir?" urged Dick. "And a bass, sir?" added Reade. "We'll wait for him to eat them in the car," replied the physician, "provided the poor fellow hasn't gorged himself on plainer food and has no room left for real fare like this." When the time came that the guests must really leave, five of the boys accompanied the party to the road. Hazelton remained to watch the camp. "Now, let's hustle!" urged Dick, as the car rolled out of sight. "When we get back to camp we have many long hours of work to do." "Work of what kind?" inquired Tom. "First of all," replied Prescott, with his most mysterious air, "we are going to build, close to camp, a make-believe ice-box. Then we're going to fill the box with ice." "And what will all that be for?" Dave wanted to know. "If you can't guess now," smiled young Prescott, his eyes gleaming, "you'll soon begin to see daylight through my plan! I don't know---but I believe that the plan I have in mind is going to work out in great shape!" _ |
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