The Ranger Boys Outwit the Timber Thieves Part 19

The men walked with the long swinging lope of the true woodsman, and often the boys thought they would drop by the side of the road from weariness.

At noon a halt was called, and one of the men disappeared, to return after several minutes with a half dozen grouse. The boys then knew immediately that these men were outlaws of some sort, who paid no attention to the law, for the close season was on all grouse and pheasant.

A fire was built and one of the men skinned the birds preparatory to roasting them over the coals. Coffee was made and they were about to drink it black, when Garry bethought himself of the sugar and condensed milk in his knapsack. Thinking that a few favors on his part would perhaps return to them later on, he offered it to the men. The boy's hands were untied, and he rummaged through his pack until he found the articles.

The men took them without a word and used them. They divided the food fairly with all present.

Garry tried to engage the men in conversation, but all attempts failed.

The rest and the dinner occupied about an hour and then the march began again.

"See here," said Garry to the man addressed as King. "When are you going to give us a decent rest? We're played out."

"Well, you can be played out ef you want; you've got eight miles ahead of you yet till we get to Misery Camp," answered King.

"What is Misery Camp, and who are you fellows anyway?" again asked Garry.

"Misery Camp is where we live, and we fellows be squatters. Now shut up and walk," and King relapsed into silence.

Light instantly broke over the boys. They had often heard of the squatters scattered over the woods of Maine, queer nomadic people, who gleaned a precarious and lean living from the woods. Game and fish laws meant nothing to them. Birds of all sorts were shot, and woe be unto the deer that ran across the path of the squatter. Some little cultivation was carried on, in the way of corn and potatoes.

Wearily they trudged on. The last mile was almost agony to Phil and Garry, but they clenched their teeth and carried on, determined if possible to show no sign of weakening in front of these strange creatures of the woods.

At last Misery Camp was sighted. It was a patch of land that had been cleared away, evidently the logs that were cut being used to make the habitations of the squatters. A score of ragged children and some slatternly women came out to meet them, looking curiously at the boys.

They were thrust into one of the cabins, and a guard established at the door.

The weary boys dropped on the rude pallets and fell asleep almost instantly. So tired were they that it was the following morning before they awoke. They stretched their arms and legs, and then tried to open the door. The guard let them out, and warned them that any attempt at flight would be followed immediately by a shot.

"An' I ain't missed a squirrel in five year," boasted their guard, who was a boy of about their own age.

Privately the boys resolved to make an escape as soon as possible, but not while the rifle of the guard was trained on them, for they doubted neither his ability to shoot as well as he said he could, nor the fact that he would not hesitate to do as he threatened.

They looked over the clearing with some curiosity. It fitted its name well, for misery seemed to be on every side. King, who appeared to be that in fact as well as in name, called the boys to his own shack for breakfast. Here they found that the squatter leader had opened their knapsacks, and the contents were strewn over a rude table.

Both boys jumped to see if their wireless 'phone had been broken by the curious squatter, but were relieved to find that it had not been touched.

"What's that there contrivance?" asked King, pointing to the radio-phone.

"That's a wireless telephone," answered Garry. As he answered he had a vision of a way out of their difficulty, but subsequent conversation soon proved that they would not be able to put the plan into execution.

"I seen a telephone onct," said the squatter, "but it had wires. You don't mean that that thing will talk without a wire, do you?"

"Yes it does. Would you like to have us set it up, and talk through it, and have a message come through the air?" asked Garry, eagerly awaiting the answer, for he thought that if he could get the wireless up he could signal some way for help.

"No, I don't. I don't believe that ye can talk through the air without a wire, but ye might be able to an' I ain't agoin' to take no chances."

The squatter did not seem interested in the contents of the knapsack except for the little medicine case that Garry always carried. The boy noted, too, that all the foodstuff was gone.

"What be these things, medicine?" asked King.

"Yes," answered Garry briefly.

"Got anything that's good for chills and fever?" demanded the man.

"Not that I know of; most of that stuff is for use in an accident. You see it's mostly antiseptic and bandage and stuff," answered Garry.

King picked up a bottle that was marked poison and had the familiar skull and crossbones in red ink.

"What's this stuff with the red printin'?" he questioned.

"That's iodine; can't you read?" Phil broke into the conversation.

"No, can't read, never went to school. What's it for?"

"Why, it's to put on bad cuts so that you won't get blood poisoning, and it's good if you strain your wrist or finger or something like that."

answered Garry.

"Wall, you don't say so. Wonder if 'twould do this finger o' mine any good? I hurt it the other day when I slipped near the brook where I was getting water. It's my trigger finger too, and that's a bad one to have hurt."

Garry a.s.sured him that there was nothing better than the iodine and offered to paint it for him.

The squatter evidently decided that it could do no harm, and so Garry inspected the swollen finger and liberally painted it.

"That will help take the swelling out, and it will be all right in a couple of days," said Garry, as he put the cork back in the bottle and laid it on the table.

Then he noticed that a ragged youngster about three years old had been watching the process with wide open eyes. Inquiry developed that it was the squatter's child, and it was evident that the youngster was the one thing that the squatter king was really fond of. He told Garry and Phil that the mother had died a year before, when they had been driven off a timber tract by the lumbermen. Here the squatter launched into a tirade against the lumber owners.

The squatter idea is a peculiar one. They claim that the woods were made for man to take as he found them and could not understand the right of anyone to drive them out; yet they are responsible for great damage to the woods. As, for instance, at this place, a couple of acres of fine timber had been ruthlessly cut to make cabins for the nesters or squatters, and to provide a place for the scanty crop of potatoes and corn. Then too, many of the great forest fires are started by the squatters. There is one case on record in Maine where the squatters set fire to a whole mountain side, because they said that the blueberries would grow better on the burned-over ground.

Also the depredations against deer are numerous. Many a fine moose or stag has been brought down to provide food for the nomads.

The talk went back to the medicine again, and the squatter asked what the skull meant on the bottle.

"That's put on to warn you that it's poison," Garry informed him.

The work of painting his finger seemed to mollify the old man somewhat, and he drew a little out of his sh.e.l.l, and Garry, seeing the opportunity, asked him why they had been brought there.

The squatter then told them that LeBlanc had appeared on the scene a day or two before and told them that unless they agreed to keep some boys who would be brought there prisoners, they would be driven from the clearing by the lumberjacks. The squatters knew what this meant, since they had planted their corn for the summer, and moving meant that the lumberjacks would burn down the cabins and start them away. They knew from experience that it was useless to fight, for the enemy, so they considered the lumberjacks, would outnumber them ten to one.

Garry saw through the whole scheme and guessed that Barrows had known of their presence at the clearing and had kept them in mind for some time when he might require them to help in some of his schemes.

The squatter king took his rifle and offered to show the boys where their planting was done, and more for the sake of getting a little exercise than for any especial desire to see the corn patch, they agreed.

The other squatters eyed them as they pa.s.sed in company with old King, but said nothing. Some of the youngsters started to follow, but a mere threatening look was enough to set them scurrying away.

"You seem to be the boss around here," remarked Garry.

"Yes, I'm a King by name, and I aim to be king of these people so long as I breathe," answered the man gravely; and Garry, looking at his immense frame and stern eye, thought he had a good chance of continuing in his royal capacity.

They were looking at the corn patch with only a pretended interest, when they heard a scream from King's cabin.