The Go Ahead Boys in the Island Camp

THE GO AHEAD BOYS IN THE ISLAND CAMP

THE GO AHEAD BOYS
IN
THE ISLAND CAMP

BY

ROSS KAY

Author of “The Search for the Spy,” “The Air Scout,”
“With Joffre on the Battle Line,” “Dodging the
North Sea Mines,” “The Go Ahead Boys
on Smugglers’ Island,” “The Go
Ahead Boys and the
Treasure Cave,”
etc., etc.

PREFACE

Every one who loves outdoor life knows the charm and the pleasures of camping. To look back on the days passed in a tent by the shore of some forest lake or stream is a source of never-ending enjoyment to those of us who have had that experience. In this book I have tried to describe the adventures of four boys who spent a vacation camping in the Adirondacks, and who indulged in water sports of various kinds while there. Many of the episodes are true or at least founded on the experiences of former boys who enjoyed them. If the boys who may read this tale will derive some of the pleasure in hearing about them that the real boys did in participating in them I shall feel repaid.

—Ross Kay

CONTENTS

[CHAPTER I—MAKING CAMP]
[CHAPTER II—A MISHAP]
[CHAPTER III—JOHN HEARS SOMETHING]
[CHAPTER IV—SETTING SAIL]
[CHAPTER V—THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS]
[CHAPTER VI—ADRIFT]
[CHAPTER VII—AN UNEXPECTED MEETING]
[CHAPTER VIII—A PREDICAMENT]
[CHAPTER IX—DANGER]
[CHAPTER X—WAIT AND SEE]
[CHAPTER XI—WHAT GEORGE DID]
[CHAPTER XII—A CHALLENGE]
[CHAPTER XIII—THE OUTCAST]
[CHAPTER XIV—TALKING IT OVER]
[CHAPTER XV—PREPARATION]
[CHAPTER XVI—GRANT MISSES]
[CHAPTER XVII—GEORGE’S STRATEGY]
[CHAPTER XVIII—A CLOSE MATCH]
[CHAPTER XIX—A CLOSE SHAVE]
[CHAPTER XX—GEORGE SURPRISES HIS FRIENDS]
[CHAPTER XXI—HOW THE PLAN WORKED]
[CHAPTER XXII—A STRANGE PERFORMANCE]
[CHAPTER XXIII—AN UNEXPECTED HONOR]
[CHAPTER XXIV—IN QUEST OF GAME]
[CHAPTER XXV—THE WORM TURNS]
[CHAPTER XXVI—AN UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER]
[CHAPTER XXVII—CONCLUSION]

THE GO AHEAD BOYS IN THE ISLAND CAMP

CHAPTER I—MAKING CAMP

“Here is the place to put the tent, String.”

“I think this spot is better.”

“Not at all. It’s higher over here and consequently we won’t be flooded by every rain that comes along and besides that, the flies won’t be so apt to bother us.”

“All right, just as you say.”

The boy addressed as “String” had been named John Clemens by his parents. He was six feet three inches tall, however, and extremely thin so that the nickname applied to him seemed quite appropriate. At any rate his friends thought so and that was the name by which he usually was called.

Talking with him and arguing about the location of the tent was Fred Button, a boy as short as John was tall. He was so small that the nicknames of Stub, Pewee and Pygmy had all been applied to him, the last one sometimes shortened to Pyg much to Fred’s disgust. He had found out long ago, however, that there was no use in showing his irritation at this for it only served to increase the frequency with which the name was applied to him.

These two boys, together with two of their friends, were pitching camp preparatory to spending a summer on one of the Adirondack lakes. Grant Jones was one of these boys and the other was George Washington Sanders. Grant was the most serious-minded of the four and everything he did he did with all his heart. As a result he was a leader not only on the athletic field but in his studies as well. The other boys usually came to him for advice and looked up to him in many ways. The fact that he was of a serious nature, however, did not mean that he was not oftentimes just as full of fun as anybody.

George Washington Sanders having been named after the father of his country, had acquired the name of Pop. He was often in mischief and took especial delight in teasing his three friends. It was almost out of the question to be angry at him, however, for he never lost his temper for more than a moment himself and was always bubbling over with spirits and fun. He was the life of any crowd he was in.

While the argument between John and Fred was in progress Grant and George approached.

“What are you two arguing about?” demanded Grant.

“We’re trying to decide where to put the tent,” replied Fred. “What have you two been doing all this time?”

“Putting the canoes away,” said Grant. “Where are you going to locate the tent, anyway?”

“Well,” said Fred, “John wants it over in that hollow, but I say it ought to be up on this little plateau.”

“I think you’re right, Fred,” said George. “We won’t get so many flies up there.”

“Just what I said,” exclaimed Fred triumphantly. “What do you think about it, Grant?”

“I think your place is better,” said Grant. “Besides everything else we’ll have a good view of the lake from there.”

“All right,” said John, pretending to be very sad. “You all seem to be against me so I guess I’ll have to give in.”

“You see, String,” exclaimed George with a sly twinkle in his eye, “we all know so very much more about this business than you do that you might just as well take our advice in everything.”

“You talk too much, Pop,” said John shortly, which remark drew a laugh of glee from George who had tried to irritate his friend and was delighted at having succeeded.

“I say we all stop talking and get to work on the tent,” said Grant. “We can do all the fooling we want later.”

“Great idea, Grant,” exclaimed George, who was in excellent spirits at the prospect of all the good times ahead of them. “You’re a wonder.”

“You were right when you said Pop talked too much, String,” laughed Grant. “We’ll put him to work now, though.”

In an incredibly short time the white tent was erected on the little bluff overlooking the lake. It was spacious with plenty of room for the four young campers and all their equipment, which was speedily stored away inside.

“How about a few fish for dinner?” exclaimed George, when the tent was in place. “Personally I think they’d taste pretty good.”

“Go ahead and catch some, then,” urged John. “I’ll help you eat them.”

“Oh, I didn’t worry about your not helping me out in that way,” laughed George. “That’s the least of my troubles. What bothers me is who is to clean the fish.”

“The man who catches them always cleans them,” said Fred.

“Oh, no, he doesn’t,” laughed George. “Not in this case, anyway.”

“How about the cook doing it?” inquired John.

“As I am to do the cooking all summer I can’t say I approve of that plan,” laughed Grant. “That seems a little bit too much.”

“Well, he hasn’t caught any fish yet, anyway,” said Fred. “Let him do that first and we’ll argue about them afterwards.”

“Where are you going to fish, Pop?” asked Grant.

“I thought I’d try it off those rocks down on the point there,” said George. “That looks like a likely spot.”

“While you’re fishing I’ll cut some balsam boughs and make four beds in the tent,” said John.

“And I’ll get a place ready to make a fire in,” said Grant. “That’ll take a little time.”

“How about you, Fred?” demanded George. “It looks as if you were about the only loafer in the whole crowd.”

“I’ll help String cut balsam.”

“Very good,” said George haughtily. “You may go now.”

“I’ll put you in the lake if you’re not more careful,” said John threateningly, but he laughed in spite of himself.

A few moments later every boy was busied with his appointed task. George, armed with his fishing rod, made off for the end of the little wooded island. John and Fred disappeared in search of balsam boughs, while Grant remained behind to make a fireplace. This was an interesting piece of work, the secret of which he had learned from a guide some few summers before during a sojourn in the woods.

First he selected eight or ten rocks as nearly the size and shape of cobblestones as he could find. These he placed on the ground in two parallel rows some twelve inches apart. Both little stone walls thus formed he endeavored to make as nearly the same height as possible and before long his fireplace was complete. Between the two rows of stones the fire was to be made; pots and pans could thus be set over the fire and rest upon the rocks which formed the walls of the fireplace; in this way they could be kept from actual contact with the coals and at the same time most of the heat from the fire was concentrated upon them.

This is a very efficient method of making a camp-fire as Grant had learned from previous experience. Of course, in the case of a temporary camp or unless there are plenty of rocks close at hand, it is hardly worth while and it is not the kind of a fire that campers like to sit around in the evening. As a cooking fire, however, it is one of the best.

Grant had hardly finished this task when John and Fred returned to the camp. They were loaded down with balsam boughs and staggered under the weight of the loads they were carrying. With a sigh of relief each boy dropped his bundle on the ground and sat down to regain his breath.

“You fellows look as if you’d been working hard,” laughed Grant.

“We have,” panted John. “Just carry a load like that for a while and see what you think of it.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” said Grant. “Have you got all you want?”

“All the balsam, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I should hope so,” exclaimed Fred. “At any rate I refuse to go back after any more. My fingers are all gummy and sticky, too.”

“The boughs smell great, though,” said Grant admiringly.

“Don’t they?” exclaimed John. “They’ll be wonderful to sleep on.”

“You see, Grant,” remarked Fred, “String here is so tall we had to cut an extra supply to make a bed long enough for him. I’m really quite worried, too, for fear his feet may stick out beyond the flap of the tent, anyway.”

“I’m not as bad as that I hope,” laughed John. “It would be awful, wouldn’t it, if I couldn’t keep out of the rain?”

“You might stand on your head,” suggested Fred. “Your feet sticking straight up in the air could take the place of umbrellas. They’re big enough so that they’d shelter you, all right.”

“Look here,” exclaimed John, “that sounds like one of Pop’s remarks. I hope you’re not getting as bad as he is.”

“By the way,” said Fred, “where is he? He ought to be back pretty soon.”

“He’s still fishing,” said Grant. “I guess he hasn’t had very good luck.”

“He ought to have taken one of the canoes, anyway,” said John. “He can’t catch anything just standing on the shore.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Grant. “He might get some small perch or bass.”

“What I want is a good big trout,” exclaimed Fred. “I’ll consider this summer a failure unless I get one.”

“Maybe we’ll each get one,” said Grant. “They say there are lots of them around here.”

“Not so much in the lake as in the streams running into it, I guess,” remarked John. “It seems to me that the big trout are always in small pools.”

“Well, I’ll try them all,” said Fred eagerly. “I don’t want just to catch trout; any one can do that. What I want is a big one.”

“One you can take home stuffed, I suppose,” suggested Grant.

“That’s it exactly. I mean to have one, too.”

“Well, we might fix up the beds first,” said John. “It won’t take long. All we want is four piles and we can spread the blankets out on them when we are ready to turn in. Just think of it; a nice soft sweet-smelling bed to sleep on and we won’t feel any of the rocks and roots and bumps that may be under us.”

“It sounds fine all right,” laughed Grant. “We’d better get to work soon, too, for it’ll be dark before long.”

“I should think Pop would be back by now, too,” said John. “You don’t suppose anything could have happened to him, do you?”

“Why, I don’t see how—” began Fred, when he suddenly ceased speaking and listened intently.

“What’s the matter?” demanded Grant.

“Ssh,” whispered Fred. “I thought I heard some one call.”

CHAPTER II—A MISHAP

All three boys bent their heads and listened intently. The only sound that came to them, however, was the soft sighing of the breeze through the treetops and the occasional call of some bird preparing to settle down for the night. The sun was low in the west, just sinking below the fringe of the forest which skirted the little lake. All seemed quiet and serene.

“What did you think you heard, Fred?” demanded Grant after the lapse of several moments.

“I thought I heard a call. In fact I was almost—”

Once more he stopped suddenly and listened. “What was that?” he exclaimed.

“I heard something, too,” whispered John excitedly. “Listen!”

“I don’t hear a thing,” muttered Grant. “I must be deaf.”

“There it is again,” cried Fred suddenly.

“I heard it, too,” exclaimed John. “It came from that end of the island.”

“That’s the direction Pop took,” said Grant in alarm. “Perhaps there has something happened to him.”

“We’ll soon find out anyway,” cried Fred. “Come along!” and he began to run at top speed in the direction George had gone a short time before.

Close behind him followed Grant and John. Every boy was worried and beset with a thousand and one evil thoughts as to what might have befallen their light-hearted and well-loved comrade. Almost everything conceivable in the way of misfortune suggested itself to their anxious minds.

“Keep close to the shore, Fred,” called Grant. “He was fishing, you know.”

Fred did keep as close to the shore as possible, but it was no easy task a great many times. The island was rough and rocky and heavily wooded, the trees growing down to the water’s edge in many places. Crashing through the underbrush and making a great deal of noise the three boys raced along. Whether or not the cry which John and Fred had heard was repeated they could not say, for the tumult of their own mad course drowned out all other noises.

After what seemed a long time they came to the end of the island. Here the forest gave way to the rocks which ran out a considerable distance, forming a small peninsula. At the tip end were several big boulders which had become separated from the main island after long years of action by the water and in order to reach them it was necessary to jump across several feet from one to the other. Towards these boulders the three boys made their way.

“I don’t see anybody,” panted John.

“Nor I,” agreed Fred. “I don’t hear anything, either.”

“Listen,” warned Grant, holding up his hand.

“And look, too,” murmured Fred under his breath.

Suddenly John started forward excitedly. “Look,” he cried, “there he is.”

“Where? Where?” demanded Grant.

“Down there in the water. Don’t you see him?”

“Help! Help!” came the call, and John, Fred and Grant sped to the assistance of their comrade. His head showed above the water and he splashed a great deal in an effort to remain afloat. That he was very rapidly becoming weaker, however, was plain to be seen.

“Give me a hand, somebody,” cried George.

“All right, Pop. We’ll be right with you,” Grant reassured him.

George was struggling in the water close to one of the big boulders. Its sides were so steep and high, however, that he was unable to climb out. From his actions it also appeared as if he were keeping himself afloat merely with his hands.

“Get a stick, Grant,” cried Fred. “You can hold it out for him to take hold of.”

“Where is one? Find one, quick!” exclaimed Grant excitedly.

“Here you are,” said John. “This one will do. Take this.”

He held out a stick some six or eight feet long which had been lying on the shore at his feet. Grant seized it eagerly and hastened to George’s assistance.

“Hurry up, Grant!” called George. “I can’t last much longer!”

“Here you are!” cried Grant, leaning out from the shore as far as he dared and holding the stick toward his friend. “Grab hold of this.”

After one or two unsuccessful attempts George succeeded in catching hold of the stick. Grant drew him up as close to the rock as possible and then Fred and John bending down over the edge seized him by his arms and quickly pulled him out of the water and to safety.

“How did you happen to—” began Fred, when John suddenly interrupted him.

“What have you got around your legs?” he demanded in astonishment.

“My fishing line,” said George, smiling weakly. “It tripped me up.”

“Well, I should think it might,” exclaimed John. “How in the world did you ever get it wound around you like that?”

“I had my rod in one hand,” said George, “and I tried to jump from that rock over there to this one. I landed here all right, but when I jumped the line got twisted around my ankles and I lost my balance. It finally tripped me up and I fell into the water. When I got there the line kept getting more and more tangled up the harder I kicked, until finally I could hardly move my feet at all. I had to keep afloat just by using my hands.”

“That was certainly a bright trick,” exclaimed Fred. “Why, you might have drowned.”

“I thought I was going to be,” said George grimly. “I was getting pretty tired.”

“Where’s your rod?” inquired Fred.

“At the other end of the line. A steel rod doesn’t float, you know.”

“That’s true,” laughed Fred. “Haul in that line, John.”

Of course all the line unrolled from the reel before the rod was rescued but it was finally brought safely to shore. A large section of the line, however, had to be sacrificed as it was found almost impossible to untangle the mass that had wound itself around George’s legs and ankles, and a knife was necessary to free him.

“Where are your fish, Pop?” inquired Fred. “I suppose you dropped them all when you fell in,” and he nudged Grant as he spoke.

“I had only one,” replied George ruefully. “He did fall in and I lost him.”

“What kind was it?”

“A black bass.”

“A big one, I suppose.”

“No, he wasn’t either. He was pretty small. I didn’t have any luck at all.”

“You ought to have taken one of the canoes,” said Grant. “You can’t expect to catch anything from the shore.”

“He’d probably upset the canoe,” said Fred. “I don’t think we should allow him to do anything alone after this.”

“Huh!” was George’s only reply to this sally.

“Feel like walking, Pop?” asked Grant. “If you do we’d better go back to camp and get some dry clothes for you.”

“I was just thinking that,” said George. “I’m commencing to feel chilly. These nights in the Adirondacks are pretty cool, I find.”

“They certainly are,” John agreed. “Let’s go back.”

“I could eat something, too,” remarked Fred. “The cool air also seems to give you an appetite.”

“Come on,” cried Grant, and a moment later the four young campers were retracing their steps to the tent.

Arriving there, George made haste to change his wet garments for some dry ones. Fred and John collected wood for the fire while Grant made ready to cook the dinner. A short time later the odor of sizzling bacon filled the air, lending an even keener edge to four appetites that were sharp already. The first meal in camp was voted a great success by every member of the party, and all agreed that Grant was a wonderful cook.

“Isn’t this great!” exclaimed George, when the dishes had all been washed.

The four young friends were seated around a camp-fire crowned by a great birch log that blazed so brightly it lighted up everything for a considerable distance round about them.

“It surely is,” agreed John. “I don’t see how you could beat this.”

“Just think of it,” said Fred. “We’re here for all summer, too.”

“Oh, the summer will go fast enough. Don’t worry about that,” Grant warned him. “It’ll be over before we know it.”

At last the fire burned low until it was nothing but a mass of glowing embers. John arose to his feet and yawned. “I’m going in and try those new beds we made this afternoon,” he said. “I’m tired.”

“I’m sleepy, too,” exclaimed Grant. “Let’s all turn in.”

The few remaining coals from the fire were carefully scattered so that they could do no damage during the night. These four friends had had enough experience in the woods to know what a forest fire means. They also knew that all good woodsmen were careful about such things and always had regard for the rights of others.

Every one was sleepy and it was not long before four tired and happy boys were stretched upon four sweet-smelling balsam beds, sound asleep. How long he slept John could not tell when he suddenly awoke with the feeling that he had heard a cry for help.

CHAPTER III—JOHN HEARS SOMETHING

John sat upright and peered about him in the darkness, every nerve alert. He heard nothing, however. Perhaps he had been mistaken after all. George’s mishap that afternoon had been on his mind and probably he had dreamed of it.

Somehow the feeling that he had heard a cry still seemed very distinct, however, and it gave him a most unpleasant sensation. He listened intently. He could hear the deep and steady breathing of his three comrades lying asleep around him, and he heaved a sigh of relief. At least nothing had happened to them.

Not a sound came to break the silence of the night and John began to feel sure that he had been deceived. He prepared himself to lie down again and go to sleep. He must have had a nightmare, he thought. Who could be in trouble on a calm, still night like this? At any rate it was none of their party and undoubtedly was no one at all. It had all been a dream, though a most unpleasant one, and John shivered unconsciously at the recollection. His nerves had all been set on edge, but gradually he quieted down and once more settled himself to rest.

Barely had he closed his eyes, however, when the cry was repeated. There was no mistaking it this time, and John instantly was wide awake once more, the cold shivers dancing up and down his spine. Never had he heard such a voice. Some one evidently was in terrible distress mingled with fear with which hopelessness seemed combined. The voice trailed off in a wail of despair that brought John’s heart up into his mouth.

It seemed to him that the cry must have awakened his companions as well, but no, he could still hear their regular breathing even above the violent pounding of his heart. What should he do? There was no question about it this time; it had not been a dream. Some one was in trouble and needed help, and evidently needed it badly. Consequently it was needed quickly, too, and John was determined to do his best.

He leaned over in the darkness and felt for the boy who was lying next to him.

“Grant,” he whispered. “Grant, wake up.”

Grant merely groaned and stirred uneasily.

“Wake up, Grant,” he repeated, shaking his friend by his shoulder. “Wake up, I tell you.”

“What do you want?” demanded Grant sleepily. “What’s the matter?”

“Matter enough,” exclaimed John. “There’s somebody in trouble out here on the lake and he’s calling for help.”

“Is that so?” cried Grant, now wide awake. “Are you sure?”

“I heard him call twice.”

“Was it a man?”

“I think so. I never heard such a voice. It was awful.”

“We’d better go see what we can do then,” exclaimed Grant. “Which direction did the voice come from?”

“I couldn’t say; it seemed to come from all over. Oh, Grant, it was awful.”

“Sure you didn’t dream it?”

“Positive. I know I heard it.”

“Come along then,” said Grant. “We’ll go outside and get one of the canoes and see what we can find. Maybe we’ll hear it again.”

“I don’t know; it sounded to me as though it was the death cry of some one. I never heard such a thing in all my life.”

“Get your sweater and some trousers,” directed Grant. “Don’t wake Fred and Pop yet. We’ll see what we can do first.”

John and Grant rose carefully to their feet and laid aside their blankets. Feeling their way, they soon located their clothes and a moment later, partly dressed, they stepped forth from the tent. The night was clear, and the moon, in its last quarter, lighted up the trees and the water in a ghostly manner.

“Are the paddles—” began Grant, when the cry was repeated. This time it seemed only a short distance from their camp and out on the lake. Perhaps some one had upset a boat and was struggling in the water.

“There it is,” cried John, clutching Grant excitedly by the arm. “Did you hear that? Isn’t that terrible?”

“Is that what you heard before?” demanded Grant.

“Yes, the same voice. Hurry! We mustn’t waste a second.”

“Wait a minute, String,” and in Grant’s voice was the suggestion of a laugh.

“What’s the matter?”

“Well, if that’s what you heard the other times, I wouldn’t be in a great hurry if I were you.”

“Why not? Are you crazy, Grant? Can’t you tell by that voice that some one is in trouble? Aren’t you going to help him?”

“Did you ask me if I was crazy?”

“I did, and I think you are, too. Please hurry, Grant.”

“Oh, no, I’m not crazy,” said Grant, and there was no mistaking the fact that he was laughing now. “I’m not crazy, but you’re loony.”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s a loon you hear out there.”

“A loon,” exclaimed John in amazement. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about a bird. That noise you hear is made by a bird named a loon. Haven’t you ever heard one before?”

“Never. I don’t see how a bird could sound so like a human being.”

“That’s what it is just the same,” said Grant, and he was almost doubled up with laughter now. “I think I’d better wake up Pop and Fred and tell them about your friend that’s calling for help.”

“Are you positive it’s a loon?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then don’t ever tell a soul,” begged John eagerly. “I’d never hear the last of it as long as I lived. It would be awful if George ever knew.”

“You’re not the first one who’s ever been fooled,” laughed Grant. “You probably won’t be the last, either.”

“Please don’t tell on me, though, Grant. Promise me you won’t.”

“We’ll see,” said Grant evasively. “I can’t make any promises though.”

“How should I know that it was a loon?” demanded John. “I never heard one before and you yourself say that other people have been fooled the same way.”

“That’s true. Still it’s almost too good a joke on you to keep.”

“What is a loon, anyway?”

“It’s a bird; it belongs to the duck family, I guess. They live around on lakes and ponds like this and spend their nights waking people up and scaring them.”

“I should say they did,” exclaimed John with a shudder. “I never heard such a lonesome-sounding, terrible wail in all my life.”

“There it is again,” said Grant laughingly, as once more the cry of the loon came to their ears across the dark waters of the little lake.

“Let’s go back to sleep,” exclaimed John earnestly. “That sound makes my blood run cold, even though I know it is made by a bird.”

“Don’t you think we ought to tell Fred and Pop about it?” inquired Grant mischievously. “It seems to me they ought to be warned.”

“You can tell them about it if you don’t mention my name in connection with it,” said John. “If you tell on me though, I swear I’ll get even with you if it takes me a year.”

“All right,” laughed Grant, “I won’t say anything about it. At least, not yet,” he added under his breath.

“What did you say?” demanded John, not having caught the last sentence.

“I said, ‘let’s go to bed.’”

“That suits me,” exclaimed John, and a few moments later they had once more crawled quietly over their sleeping comrades and again rolled in their blankets, were sound asleep.

The sun had not been up very long before the camp was astir. Sleepy-eyed the boys emerged from the tent, blinking in the light of the new day. A moment later, however, four white bodies were splashing and swimming around in the cool waters of the lake, and all the cobwebs of sleep were soon brushed away.

“That’s what makes you feel fine,” exclaimed George when they had all come out and were dressing preparatory to eating breakfast. “A swim like that makes me feel as if I could lick my weight in wildcats.”

“You must have slept pretty well last night, Pop,” remarked Grant.

“I did. Never slept harder in my life.”

“Well, I didn’t,” exclaimed Fred. “It seemed to me I was dreaming all night long. Maybe my bed wasn’t fixed just right.”

“What did you dream about, Fred?” asked Grant curiously.

“Oh, all sorts of things. I thought I heard people calling for help. That seemed to be my principal dream for some reason.”

“That’s funny,” said Grant. “You didn’t dream anything like that, did you, String?”

“No, I didn’t,” said John shortly.

CHAPTER IV—SETTING SAIL

“What shall we do to-day?” exclaimed George when breakfast was over.

“We might go fishing,” suggested Fred. “I want a big trout some time this summer, you know.”

“Oh, it’s too sunny for trout to-day,” Grant objected.

“All right then,” said Fred. “What do you want to do?”

“How about taking a sail?”

“Is there enough wind?”

“Of course there is, and unless I’m very much mistaken its going to get stronger all the time.”

“Suppose we take our lunch along,” said John. “We can be gone as long as we want then and can go ashore and eat wherever we happen to be.”

“Good idea, String,” cried George heartily. “I do believe you’re getting smarter every day.”

“What do you think of my scheme?” demanded John, completely ignoring his friend’s sarcasm.

“It’s all right,” said Grant. “I’m in favor of doing it.”

“We can take a couple of rods with us, can’t we?” said Fred. “We might get a few fish for dinner.”

“That’s right,” agreed Grant. “We can anchor and fish from the boat if we want.”

“Let’s get started,” exclaimed John.

A small catboat was a part of the equipment the boys had in order to help them enjoy their summer more thoroughly. It now lay at anchor in a little cove a short distance from the place where the tent was located. It was a natural harbor and afforded excellent shelter for the boats from the squalls and not infrequent storms that were apt to spring up during this season of the year. The lake was between two and three miles in length so that a comparatively heavy sea could be stirred up by the winds.

The island on which the four boys had pitched their tent was the only one in the lake and it was very nearly in the center. It was owned by a friend of John’s father who had obtained permission for his son and his three friends to camp on it that summer. The sailboat and two canoes were included with the island, so that there was no question but that these four boys were very fortunate indeed to be able to enjoy it all.

For months they had been looking forward to this summer and they had planned innumerable excursions and expeditions as part of their camping experiences. Now that the time was really at hand they meant to enjoy every minute of it to the utmost.

“Fred and I will get the boat ready,” exclaimed John. “You two can collect the rods and fix up the lunch.”

“Put me near the food and I’m satisfied,” said George. “Come on, Grant.”

John and Fred made their way down to the spot where the canoes were hauled up on the shore. The catboat lay moored at anchor some fifty or sixty feet out from the bank so that it was necessary to paddle to reach her. One of the canoes was selected and the two boys soon pushed off from shore.

“That’s a pretty good looking boat I should say,” remarked Fred as he glanced approvingly at the little white catboat. “I wonder if she’s fast.”

“She looks so,” said John.

“You can’t always tell by the looks though, you know.”

“That’s true too. We ought to be able to tell pretty soon though.”

“I wonder if they have water sports or anything like that up here in the summer,” said Fred. “If they do it would be fun to enter.”

“It certainly would,” agreed John. “I don’t believe there are enough people on this lake though. As far as I can see we are about the only people here.”

“I thought you said there was another camp down at the north end of the lake.”

“That’s right, there is. I don’t know who’s in it though.”

“We might sail down and find out.”

“Let’s do that; it won’t take long.”

They had now arrived alongside the catboat, which was named the Balsam, and after having made fast the canoe, they quickly climbed on board.

“Any water in her?” exclaimed John.

“I don’t know. I was just going to look.”

“Lift up the flooring there and you can tell. It must have rained since she’s been out here and we’ll probably have to use the pump.”

“We certainly shall,” said Fred, who had raised up the flooring according to John’s suggestion. “Where is the pump anyway?”

“Up there under the deck. You can pump while I get the cover off the sail here and get things in shape a little, or would you rather have me pump?”

“No, I’ll do it. If I get tired, I’ll let you know.”

It did not take long to bail out the boat, however, and before many moments had elapsed the mainsail was hoisted and the Balsam was ready to weigh her anchor and start. The sail flapped idly in the breeze which seemed to be dying down instead of freshening as Grant had predicted. The boom swung back and forth, the pulleys rattling violently as the sheet dragged them first to one side and then the other.

John and Fred sat on the bottom of the boat and waited for their companions to appear with the luncheon. The two boys were dressed in bathing jerseys and white duck trousers. At least they had formerly been white, but constant contact with boats and rocks had colored them considerably. The feet of the young campers were bare, they having removed the moccasins which they usually wore. The day was warm and in fact the sun was quite hot. The previous night had been so cool it did not seem possible that it could be followed by a warm day, but such is often the case in the Adirondacks.

“Where do you suppose they are?” exclaimed Fred at length. “It seems to me they ought to have been ready by this time.”

“Here they come now,” said John. “Look at Pop; that basket is almost as heavy as he is.”

“He’s got lots of food in it, I guess. I’m glad too for I’m hungry already.”

“Why, you finished breakfast only about an hour ago.”

“I can’t help that. I’m always hungry in this place.”

“Ahoy there!” shouted George from the shore. “Come in and get us.”

“The other canoe doesn’t leak you know,” replied John, neither he nor Fred making any move to do as George had asked.

“We know that,” called George. “What’s the use of taking them both out there though?”

“Why not?” demanded John. “The exercise will do you good.”

“Are you coming after us?” asked Grant.

“Not that we know,” laughed Fred.

“I guess we paddle ourselves then, Pop,” said Grant to his companion.

“All right,” agreed George. “I’ll get square with them though.”

“How are you going to do it?”

“You let me paddle and I’ll show you.”

They spoke in a low tone of voice so that their friends on board the Balsam could not hear them and in silence they embarked upon the second canoe. Grant sat in the bow while George wielded the paddle in the stern. They approached the catboat rapidly where John and Fred sat waiting for them with broad grins upon their faces.

“You must think we run a ferry,” exclaimed Fred as the canoe drew near.

“Not at all,” said Grant. “We just thought that perhaps you’d be glad to do a good turn for us.”

“We’re tired,” grinned John. “Think how hard we had to work to get the sail up and to pump out—”

“Oh, look at that water bug,” cried George suddenly, striking at some object in the water with his paddle. Whether he hit or even saw any bug or not will always remain a mystery. One thing is sure, however, and that is, that a great sheet of water shot up from under the blade of the paddle and completely drenched both John and Fred.

“What are you trying to do?” demanded Fred angrily.

“He did that on purpose,” exclaimed John. “Soak him, Fred.”

“Look out,” cried George, “you’ll get the lunch all wet.”

“You meant to wet us,” Fred insisted.

“Why, Fred,” said George innocently; “I just tried to hit that water bug. How should I know that you would be splashed?”

“Huh,” snorted John. “Just look at me.”

“That’s too bad,” said George with a perfectly straight face. “If you had come in after us we’d have all been in the same canoe and you probably wouldn’t have gotten wet.”

“You admit you did it on purpose then?”