Phil Bradley's Snow-shoe Trail Part 1

Phil Bradley's Snow-shoe Trail.

by Silas K. Boone.

CHAPTER I

INTO THE LAND OF THE MOOSE AND CARIBOU

"That cold chicken Mrs. McNab put up for our lunch yesterday went fine, fellows; and I only wish we had the like of it for to-day!"

"You always did have a weakness for fowls, Ethan."

"Just so, X-Ray Tyson; that's why they put me out in the left garden on our Brewster baseball team so I could gobble all that were knocked that way."

"Well, we've heard you boasting lots of times about that wonder of a rooster you've got at home."

"Oh! you mean old Robinson Crusoe, don't you, Lub?"

"Yes, that sorrel-topped ungainly looking crow-factory we've all seen strutting around your yard so often. I never ran across an uglier bird, for a fact, if you'll excuse me for saying it, Ethan."

The boy who answered to the last mentioned name only laughed as he continued:

"No apologies needed, X-Ray; because I know myself he's sure no beauty; but say, let me tell you he's a sc.r.a.pper from the ground up."

"How on earth did you ever come to call him by such a queer name, Ethan?

Did you happen to get him on Friday? Mebbe you found him on an island; or fished him out after a s.h.i.+pwreck on the water?"

"You're away off your base, Lub. I'll proceed to enlighten you a bit.

It's a wonder to me some of you haven't asked about that before now.

First of all, we got him from a man named Robinson, who peddles chickens, and collects eggs through Brewster territory. For a while we always referred to him as 'Robinson's fowl.' Get that?"

"Yes, but go on, Ethan."

"Well, when he had his fierce fight with Zack Avery's game rooster that had beaten everything to flinders, and Robinson actually whipped him, we began to think he deserved a medal. After he had made the game run for home he perched on the dividing fence and let everybody know about it with his clarion voice; so I said right on the spot he ought to be given the rest of the famous Robinson name because he _crew so_!"

"Oh! somebody take hold of me, or I'm liable to fall off the sled and be left behind!" shouted the boy called Lub, and who was well named it appeared, judging from his generous proportions.

The stout boy was duly restrained and hugged by X-Ray Tyson and Ethan until he begged his companions to desist.

"I didn't mean that I wanted you to _squeeze_ me to death," he complained; "that would be jumping out of the fryingpan into the fire.

I'm fully recovered now from my weakness: but, Ethan, _please_ don't do anything like that again."

There were just four boys in the party, all dressed warmly for a winter outing, and perched upon a number of bundles that went to make up the cargo of the homely old Canadian two-horse sledge, built not unlike those in common use around Moscow during a Russian winter.

Besides Ethan Allen, X-Ray Tyson and the stout youth, Lub Fenwick, whose real name however was Osmond, there was a fourth lad, to whom the others seemed to defer in a way that might suggest leaders.h.i.+p.

In fact Phil Bradley did occupy this position among his chums, and with reason, for none of them could compare with him in concocting clever ideas, and also in carrying out the same.

They all belonged to the town of Brewster, which was situated hundreds of miles to the southwest of where we find them on this crisp winter day.

Those who have had the opportunity of reading the earlier volumes in this series know how it happened that there was no school in session in Brewster that fall and early winter, so that the scholars were given a long vacation.

Phil and his three chums had come to call themselves the Mountain Boys; just why we have not the time or s.p.a.ce to explain here, except that it may have had something to do with Ethan Allen's ancestors, who were Revolutionary heroes, and connected with the famous Green Mountain Boys.

Phil was an orphan who had been left a large fortune in trust, so that he could do almost as he liked financially; though he had no bad habits, and used his means in a healthy way for the benefit of others, as well as his own enjoyment. Lub had a rich aunt who spoiled him; and the parents of the Tyson boy were also considered well-to-do--by the way his name was really Raymond, but he was always so quick to see through things, that his playmates soon corrupted his first name as above.

These four boys were ambitious to take certain trips calculated to call for considerable expenditure of cash. The Allens, not being rich, and Ethan, being too proud to accept of continuous favors at the hands of Phil, for a time it looked as if the magic combination must be broken.

Between them the other three hatched up a wonderful scheme which they immediately put into operation. It has been spoken of in earlier books, but in order that new readers may understand the situation, a few words of explanation may not be amiss.

Ethan had always been a boy given to earning various sums of money by doing odd jobs, and at the recommendation of Phil he started to use some old traps he happened to own, with more or less success in securing such pelts as muskrats in the marsh, together with an occasional fox or mink, while even 'c.o.o.ns yielded up their hides for his benefit.

In the spring and summer Ethan scoured the woods for certain valuable roots such as wild ginseng, golden rod and others. These he dried, and when he had a quant.i.ty, s.h.i.+pped to a certain dealer according to the directions of Phil.

The results were certainly pleasing, for the checks that came back made Ethan very proud. But the fact of the matter was, this was all a little scheme of Phil's. To tell the truth the pretended dealer in roots and furs down in New York was a certain rich bachelor uncle of Phil's, who entered heartily into the game, once he learned the purpose of his nephew's idea.

He even had letter heads and envelopes printed as though he might be doing a land-office business in purchasing such commodities. But if the wonderfully fine prices that he paid Ethan for everything he sent prevailed all along the line, it is likely that nine-tenths of the male population of the country would be turning their attention to such profitable pursuits.

Of course the reader can understand that nine-tenths of the money Ethan received in these complimentary letters came from Phil; but not for worlds would this intelligence be allowed to reach the proud trapper and root-hunter.

It was in one way rather a mean thing to do, but the intention was n.o.ble. It allowed Ethan to pay his share of the general expenses on their outings, and saved his self-respect. Granted that he never learned of the subterfuge everything would be well.

There were times, however, when Ethan quite naturally boasted just a little about his superior ability to dry roots better than anybody else; and also of his grand luck in trapping a prize black fox, when in reality the skin that brought him almost three hundred dollars was not worth more than five at the most.

On these occasions Lub would t.i.tter a little, though he quickly turned it off if Ethan turned to stare at him, by coughing, and complaining of a tickling in his throat.

Only when they were positive that Ethan was out of hearing did the three conspirators dare compare notes on this subject, and laugh over the success of their grand scheme. But as X-Ray once said, it was like skating over a "ticklish bender" on the frozen mill pond; because they might try it once too often, and excite the suspicion of the boy who was being hoodwinked, greatly to his profit.

Phil and his three chums had spent some time in camp up in the Adirondacks not a great while back. Their latest trip had been down on the Coast along a certain section on Currituck Sound, where Phil owned a "shooting lodge" that had been left to him by an old hermit. What amazing adventures developed during their stay on the salt water in pursuit of wild fowl have been given in detail in the preceding volume.

This trip up into the Canadian wilderness had been planned for a long time. In fact ever since X-Ray received a present on the last Christmas of a pair of fine Canadian show-shoes he had done little but talk of his desire to some time or other get up there where they always had plenty of snow, just to learn how to use his treasured gift.

Strangely enough there had never come about a time since then when he could do any decent work with his snow-shoes. When a fall of snow did come along it was followed by a soft spell that ruined the going; and so it came about that here they were, headed for a certain place in the Canadian "bush," where they hoped to spend a week or two hunting, and enjoying themselves in every possible way.

Phil had been put in touch with an old Scotch farmer who had promised to take them bag and baggage into the woods, and come for them again at a certain date. On the previous morning they had started over the snow on his queer sledge, with a large quant.i.ty of luggage that was intended to make for their comfort. One night they had camped on the way, and "The"

McNab, whose other name was Tammis, promised that before darkness rolled around again he would have them located in the best hunting region of the Saguenay country.

Of course X-Ray Tyson was not the only one who had snow-shoes, because there were three other pairs in plain sight. Phil alone really had had previous practical experience on the clumsy "gunboats," as Lub called them; though X-Ray claimed to have paddled around in his yard many times on an inch of snow, without any dire disaster.

The McNab was a red-faced Scotch-Canadian, warm of heart, though possibly a bit over fond of imbibing, and perhaps not as dependable as he might be when in one of these bibulous moods.

He was greatly interested in the four lively American lads, and listened to the many stories they told connected with their past experiences.

Thus the second morning of their tedious ride began to wear away.

Surrounded by the rough country that characterizes all this section of northeast Canada, they began to feel that ere long they would be cut off from all communication with civilization.

All that morning they had not seen a single house of any description.