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The High School Boys in Summer Camp, a fiction by H. Irving Hancock |
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Chapter 8. Visitors For The Feast |
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_ CHAPTER VIII. VISITORS FOR THE FEAST
"Let's go over and see what that means," proposed Tom. He jumped up, ready to sprint over to the clearing. "If you want advice," Dick offered, "I'd say to wait until the shooting is over. You might stop a stray bullet not intended for us." "But what can the shooting mean" wondered Greg. "When anyone is turning bullets loose," remarked Darry, "I'm not too inquisitive." So the boys waited until the firing had ceased. Then they heard what sounded like the noise of a horse moving through the brush. "Hello, there!" called Dick. "Hello, yourself!" came the answer, and a mounted man rode into view. He did not look especially ugly or dangerous; his garb was plainly intended for the saddle. As he came into sight the man slipped a heavy automatic revolver into a saddle holster. "What was up?" inquired Dick, rising and going forward to meet the newcomer. "Stampede," replied the other briefly. "We know something about that," Dick rejoined. "Do you know anything about the burning of the clearing?" asked the horseman, reining up and eyeing the lads keenly. "Yes, sir; we fired the grass," Prescott acknowledged. "To break the stampede?" "No, sir; to save our camp, which would have been destroyed." "Shake," invited the stranger, riding forward and bending over to hold out his hand. "Your fire cost us a few cattle, but I reckon it saved the destruction of a lot more, for there would have been many of 'em killed if they had charged on into the deeper forest." "Then the stampede has been stopped?" asked Prescott. "Yes; two of my men followed the parted trails, and came back to report the two herds halted and grazing. My name is Ross. I'm the owner of about a fourth of the cattle in the big herd." "I hope you don't feel angry with us for doing the best we could to save our camp," Dick went on. "You saved myself and the other owners a greater loss," replied Mr. Ross, "so I thank you." "You're quite welcome, Mr. Ross," smiled Tom Reade. "But what was the shooting about?" "I shot some of the cattle that appeared to be still alive, to put an end to their suffering. You boys haven't any ice here, have you?" "No, sir," Dick replied. "Too bad," said Mr. Ross. "If you had ice I could offer you a prime lot of beef that it will hardly pay me to move, as I can't get the animals cut up quickly enough and on ice, after the long haul I would have to make." "Are you going to leave the cattle on the clearing?" Dick asked in sudden concern. "We'll bury the carcasses," smiled Mr. Ross. "If we didn't the smell would soon force you boys to move your camp a mile or two. But see here! Ever have a barbecue?" "No, sir," Dick made answer, his voice betraying sudden interest. "Would you like one?" went on the owner. "A barbecue, real western style, with a whole cow on the fire?" "It would be great!" answered nearly all of Dick & Co. in concert. "Then we'll have one, as soon as I can call my men in," replied Mr. Ross cheerfully. "I'm bound to get some good out of the dead cattle." "We'll want a lot of firewood for that, won't we?" asked Dick, his eyes gleaming. "More than a little," nodded Mr. Ross. "And big wood, at that." "Dave, you and Tom had better take the axes and get some real wood," Prescott called. "Harry and Dan will help you and bring it in. Where shall we put the wood, Mr. Ross?" "In the middle of the burnt clearing will be better," replied the cattle owner. "Then the fire won't have a chance to spread in any direction. Besides, you won't want the heat of a great fire too close to your camp. After the meat is cooked we can bring it over here. Have you boys plenty of canned vegetables and the like?" "Plenty, sir," Dick answered cheerily, though his heart sank a trifle as he thought of how the cattle owner and his helpers might clean out their stock. Dick and Greg busied themselves with carrying over to the clearing such things as Mr. Ross said that they would need. Then it was decided that the vegetables should be cooked at the camp. "Let me see your stock of provisions and perhaps I may get another idea," proposed the cattle owner. "I see that you have flour, and oh, yes; you have all that will be needed for a pudding, and one of my men knows how to make one of the best boiled puddings you ever ate out under the sky." Drawing a small horn from one of his side pockets, Mr. Ross blew a long, shrill blast. "Jim will come in as soon as possible, after hearing that sound," smiled the cattle owner. Jim Hornby rode in within five minutes. He was a lean, long, roughened and reddened farm laborer, but when told that a boiled pudding was wanted he walked straight to the place where the supplies were kept. "Everything here but berries," Jim explained. "Any of you boys know where to get some blueberries?" Greg knew, and promptly departed with a pail. Crackle! Crackle! Two brisk fires were now going in the burnt clearing, started by Dick at Mr. Ross' direction. By this time Mr. Ross' other helper had come in, reporting that the cattle were quiet and grazing, and now this helper and his employer began to remove the hide from one of the cows. "This cow was overcome by smoke and hot air as soon as it rushed into the blaze," explained Mr. Ross. "Therefore, this will be safe meat to eat. When an animal, however, dies in pain, after much suffering, its flesh should never be used for food. Bill, now that we've gotten the hide off you mount and ride back to the wagon. Bring it along." Dan and Harry were still bringing in heavy firewood and stacking it up, while the ring of axes in the hands of Dave and Tom was heard. It was a busy scene. "Prescott, you'd better begin piling on the big wood now," suggested Mr. Ross, after noting the sun's position. Things moved rapidly along. "You might as well halt your wood cutters, unless you want their product for your own camp," suggested the cattle owner, and Prescott sent the word to stop chopping. Within twenty minutes the big wagon, drawn by a pair of mules, came up with Bill Hopple driving and his horse tied to the tailboard. With a speed and skill born of long practice, Mr. Ross began to cut up the carcass of the cow. Bill was busy making greenwood spits and arranging them over the two fires, Dan and Harry helping him. Almost at a dead run came Greg Holmes through the woods, with two quarts of blueberries. Over at the camp, as soon as he saw the berries, Jim Hornby began mixing his pudding batter. He had already prepared his fire and had found a suitable kettle. From watching the pudding game, Tom strolled through to the two fires in the clearing. "This begins to look like a fine chance to eat," sighed Tom full of contentment. "Doing anything, Reade?" inquired the cattle owner, who had quickly learned all their names. "No, sir." "Then suppose you take this heart of the cow over to your camp. Put it on the fire in a kettle of salted water, and let it boil slowly. By that means you will be able to serve up the heart for your evening meal." "Is there no end to this cow?" gasped Tom. "Well, a good-sized cow provides several hundred pounds of meat," replied Mr. Ross. "Oh, what a shame that you boys have no ice, and no way of getting it or keeping it! I could fix you for a month's supply of meat!" "Dick, do you remember what we came out here in the woods for?" queried Tom. "To camp, and have a good time," Prescott laughed. "And, so far, we win. We're having a bully time!" "What else did we come out here for?" "To harden and train ourselves so that we can make a hard try for the Gridley High School football eleven this fall." "Will a week of training table undo the harm of to-day's big feasts?" groaned Reade. "No fellow is obliged to make a glutton of himself," retorted Dick. "Maybe not," quoth Tom, "but everyone of us will be sorely tempted. You ought to see that pudding that Jim Hornby is putting up." "Young man, are you going to get that heart to cooking before it goes bad in the sun?" asked Mr. Ross sharply. Tom meekly turned and started toward camp. "What's Greg doing?" Dick called after him. "Holmesy is watching, learning the way Jim Hornby puts up a boiled pudding," Reade called back. Honk! honk! sounded an automobile horn from the rough trail of a roadway an eighth of a mile away. The honking continued until Dick, realizing that it was a signal, gave a loud halloo. "Is that Prescott's camp?" called a voice. "It's the camp of Prescott and his friends," Dick shouted back. "Get ready for visitors, then!" called the voice again, and this time Dick recognized the voice as that of Dr. Bentley. "We won't eat you out of supplies, though," called the doctor, now heading through the forest. "We're bringing with us our own cold lunch." "Cold lunch!" Dick chuckled back. "You won't be able to eat it after you see what we have!" Through the trees now the fluttering of skirts could be seen. High school girls were on their way to share the barbecue, though as yet they did not know of the treat in store for them. _ |
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