The Rambler club in the mountains — A Closer Reading

Both were about twenty feet long, but the former was narrow of beam and built mainly for the purpose which its name implied.

"What a grand summer we'll have," cried Tom Clifton, enthusiastically, as he stooped over to examine the trim-looking craft.

"Well, I rather guess so," said Sam. "But it's time now to get over and see Fenton."

Back to the yellow road they trudged. It led past farmhouses, and fields with growing crops, or orchards containing many kinds of fruit trees. It was a rich and fertile valley. Here and there, flowers grew in rich profusion, roses, lilac and rhododendrons mingling their color in harmonious contrasts.

The village was about half a mile from Rickham House. It had enjoyed a boom as a health resort, on account of newly-discovered springs near by, and the Resort House was one of the results which followed. Another hotel was in the near future.

The boys found a few loungers on the porch of the hotel. They stared at the Ramblers curiously. One in particular--a typical mountaineer--seemed the most interested. He was a tall, thin man, with deeply wrinkled face, scraggly brownish beard, and wore an expression which Dick Travers declared "made 'Big Bill's' face seem positively mirthful."

"Wal, wal! what's all this?" he growled. "Where did this parcel of boys drop from?"

"Not from an air-ship, that's sure," replied Dick, flippantly.

"That ain't answerin' my question, youngster. Be you a-goin' ter stay long?"

"Long enough to knock over a grizzly or two," laughed Dick. "Ever see any?"

"Did I ever see any?" snorted the tall man. "Boys--you hear that? Askin' old Joe Tomlin sich a question."

"He's makin' fun of ye, Joe," said some one, with a sly wink.

"No one kin do that," exclaimed the other, fiercely. "See here, kid----"

But the Ramblers had entered the hotel.

They soon found Howard Fenton, who introduced them to his father, a slender, grave-looking gentleman wearing a beard.

But they soon found that Mr. Fenton's cold appearance belied his nature. He entered into their talk with almost the zest of a boy, and all were really sorry when he declined an invitation to accompany them.

"Just the kind of weather for a sail," observed Howard, as they walked out upon the wharf.

The sky was partly overcast and the low clouds scudded before a breeze that deeply rippled the surface of the lake. Several boats moored to the pilings were lazily rocking or straining at their ropes. The largest was the "Dauntless," a staunch boat, built both for speed and safety.

"It's mine, boys," said Fenton, with a smile. "Jump in, and let me show you what a good sailor I've become."

The lines were cast off and the sail run up. In an instant it filled out. Careening over, under the full force of the wind, the "Dauntless" plunged her bow into the choppy water, and a cloud of spray dashed over the rail. Soon she was fairly racing toward the islands, Promontory rising grim and majestic against the lowering sky.

"Isn't this grand?" cried Bob. "See how fast we're leaving the shore. Where are you going to land us, Fenton?"

"On Promontory Island. But we have to go through the passageway and around on the other side."

It seemed but a short time before they were skirting the shore of Hemlock Island, while a little way off the more rugged sides of the other rose, in places, almost perpendicularly. Here and there, stunted growth struggled for existence, but the summit was crowned with a thick growth of trees. Hemlock Island was flat, and almost entirely wooded.

"Look alive, fellows!" warned Fenton, at length.

The boom swung around, the "Dauntless" shivered and shook, then, righting herself easily, sent the spray flying again, as she came about and headed for the passageway.

"What whopping big trees," cried Tom Clifton, admiringly, noticing the giants that rose here and there among the dark firs.

"Redwood," said Fenton. "This is a glorious country for trees and plant life generally. There are oaks in there, besides wild cherry and many other kinds. Of course some parts of the state are barren, with salt marshes and plains covered with sage-brush."

"Give me this part every time, then," said Bob. "Doesn't it look inviting in there, fellows? Imagine a nice little camp, and dinner under way."

"Wait until you see the other side of Promontory," put in Fenton; "it beats this all hollow."

At the proper time, the course of the boat was again changed slightly, and they entered a wide channel.

The passageway was almost in the shape of a letter V, with irregular sides.

In the shelter of the great crags, the speed of the "Dauntless" was considerably checked, indeed, within the channel, she was almost becalmed.

"Think of trying to climb that cliff, Chubby," exclaimed Sam Randall, glancing aloft. "Whew, wouldn't it be awful?"

"Makes me nervous to think of it, even," broke in Tommy Clifton.

"I can show you a way to reach the top without danger," laughed Fenton. "From there, you get a good view of Canyon River."

In a short time the "Dauntless" swung around a point.

On this side, the character of the island was different. In parts there were rocky cliffs, while elsewhere thickly-wooded slopes led upward. They were steep, but easily climbed.

Now and then they passed picturesque coves and wooded points, and the newcomers were thoroughly charmed.

"Hello, I see a boat!" exclaimed Bob, suddenly.

"And by the flying partridge, the smoke of a camp-fire," laughed Dave.

"And a tent," chimed in Sam Randall.

"Probably Jim Havens and Tom Sanders," put in Fenton. "Might as well land;" and so speaking, he headed the "Dauntless" toward the shore.

As they approached the camp, which was built on a knoll, three young men were seen lazily reclining on the ground. They sprang to their feet and walked forward.

"Havens, Sanders and 'Little Bill' Dugan," added Fenton, quietly, as a hail came from the shore.

"A jolly good place for a camp," observed Bob.

"But no game around worth shooting at," objected Sam. "Hello, look at that sign they've got."

On a strip of canvas, stretching from one tree to another, was painted in rude black letters, "Idleman's Club."

"Hello there, Fenton," came from the shore; "what crowd is that you've got?"

"Wait and see, Havens," replied Howard, smilingly.

The sail rattled down and the "Dauntless" glided slowly over the transparent water toward a boat moored close by. Havens caught a rope, and, in a moment, the boys were scrambling ashore.

Jim Havens was a sturdy-looking boy, with a rather pleasant face and manner, while Tom Sanders, slimly built, had sharp features and a loud voice. The Ramblers did not need to be told which was "Little Bill." That lad had the same aquiline nose, gray eyes and sour expression which characterized his uncle, the stage-driver.

"Come over to the camp, fellows," invited Havens, pleasantly. "This is a surprise, all right."

The Idleman's Club had chosen a most inviting situation. Not far away was a thick grove of trees, while the heights which rose back of them formed a most pleasing picture.

As the group walked toward the camp-fire, "Little Bill" trailed in the rear. He did not seem glad to see the visitors, and on learning who Bob Somers and his friends were, his manner became even less cordial.

Before the tent a brisk fire was burning. Suspended above it several pots were steaming merrily and sending forth a delicious odor.

The boys examined the camp with interest, peeped into the tent, and then looked at the game which the Idleman's Club had bagged the day before.

"Havens," said "Little Bill," suddenly, "I want to go over and see Mr. Barton this afternoon, an'----"

"Didn't you know he had gone?" asked Bob, in surprise.

"Gone?" echoed Dugan; "yer don't mean ter say so." A blank look came over his face. "Gone," he repeated, "since when?"

"About five days ago," answered Bob.

"Little Bill" made an angry gesture.

"An' I thought he wasn't a-leavin' till next week."

"Changed his mind," said Bob.

"Wal, wal--an' me here without known' a thing about it. Ain't that luck?"

Dugan seemed much perturbed.

"An' didn't he say nothin' 'bout me?" he demanded.

"Why, no," replied Bob. "Not in any of his letters."

"Mighty funny, for a fact. I've done odd jobs over at Rickham fur a long spell, now, an' I was powerful sure he'd give me the job of lookin' after his horses this summer. Ask Sanders if I wasn't."

"Sure you were," said the thin boy.

"He always called me 'Bill'--old Barton did. He says ter me, 'Bill, I'll see about it.' Say, why didn't Sam Bins go with him?"

"I don't know," said Bob.

"An' there's another thing. Seein' as how he wouldn't be here this summer, I wanted ter use the 'Spray.' I spoke to him 'bout that, too."

"Would he agree to that?"

"He didn't say nothin'," admitted Dugan, reluctantly, "but I'm powerful sure he intended to. Didn't tell me no. Anyway, I suppose it'll be all right, eh?" and "Little Bill" looked eagerly at Captain Bob.

"I'll write my uncle and find out. I'd like to oblige you, Dugan, but I'm responsible for things just now. Of course, if he says the word----"

"Guess anybody kin tell what that means," interrupted Dugan, fiercely. "Talk about the meanest luck yet--lose a job an' all the sport I was a-goin' ter have this summer--the whole business busted ter bits! Can you beat it? Mebbe you don't believe what I says, eh?"

Bill raised his voice--his eyes began to snap.

"Certainly I do," laughed Bob.

"Then won't yer let me have the boat like a good feller?"

"Honest, Dugan--I can't, 'til I hear. You can go out with us any time."

"Oh, ain't that partic'lar nice?" sneered "Little Bill." "Eh, Sanders, did you hear him?"

"Some people's middle name is meanness," was Sanders' diplomatic response.

Dugan was fast working himself into a passion.

"Old Barton intended to let me use that boat," he cried. "Onct he says ter me, 'Bill,' he says----"

"Here, here!" interrupted Havens; "you're raising an awful holler over nothin'."

"I'm standin' up fur me rights'. He says, 'Bill'----"

"Don't get mad, Dugan," said Bob, soothingly. "Come now--be sensible."

"Oh, ho, glorious views around here," broke in Dave. "Going to stay long, Havens?"

Dugan took a searching look at the poet's smiling fare, sniffed audibly, and then lapsed into silence.

"Don't know exactly," said Havens, in reply to the question. "There's plenty of small game, an' fishin' is great. A feller gets sick of the village."

"Sick of it?" echoed Sanders. "Worse'n that--eh, Dugan?"

"I can't git away often enough," he said, sourly.

"Well, fellows," asked Bob, "what do you say to climbing the hill?"

"Count me out of it," said Dave, promptly.

"Oh, you won't find it hard," exclaimed Havens, reassuringly.

"I feel uncommonly sleepy," declared the poet, and he ambled leisurely toward a mossy bank.

"What will you do when we get to the mountains, Dave?" asked Bob.

"You fellows going there?" asked Havens.

The sour expression left Dugan's face. He looked interested and exchanged glances with Sanders.

"That's where you will find the big game," said Havens, "and I know how to pilot you around, all right."

"Great!" exclaimed Dick.

"It's pretty risky, though, if you're not good shots."

"We're not so bad at it," laughed Bob; "eh, Chub, over there? But say, fellows, come on. Let's get our legs in training," and he started off.

Fifteen minutes later, Bob sat down by the side of a huge boulder to rest. The others were some distance below.

"Little Bill" and Sanders, who had been conversing in low tones, were the first to approach.

"See here," began Dugan, in a whining voice, "yer ain't riled at the way I talked, a spell back, are ye? I'm an outspoken feller, I am."

"No, I'm not a bit mad, Dugan," assured Bob.

"Wal," "Little Bill" looked cautiously around, "there ain't nobody here who knows the mountains better'n Sanders an' me. Don't need ter go no further fur a guide. Yer couldn't never go there alone. Somebody out of the crowd would sure git lost, or fall down a precerpice, or be drownded in one of them mountain streams. It's certain as your name ain't Willie. Say--is it a go?"

"I'll have to talk to the other chaps, Dugan," answered Bob, evasively.

"But it's only right to take me, after what I've lost," persisted the other. "Ain't that so?"

"I'll talk to you about it later."

Captain Bob's manner was not encouraging, and Dugan's expression began to change.

"I suppos'n you'll have Havens," he snapped, "an' is skeered ter say so."

Bob made no answer, but a faint smile flitted across his face, and Dugan was quick to notice it. Two lines, rivaling those on his uncle's forehead, appeared, and he turned away abruptly.

"Wal, I don't keer what yer does," he snapped.

Stalking down the hillside, he rejoined Sanders, who had paused a short distance away, and the latter was heard to exclaim in a stage whisper, "Some people's middle name is meanness."

A moment later, the two were lost to view amidst the shrubbery.

When at length the tired boys reached the hilltop, a beautiful view repaid them. Patches of blue sky appeared between dazzling white clouds and straight ahead rose the frowning walls of Crescent and Round Mountains, with the gorge of Canyon River at the base of the former.

Making their way past a small cabin which stood in an open space, the boys walked out as far as they dared.

Exclamations of wonder and admiration escaped their lips. Far below them, the water foamed and madly tossed, as it rushed into the narrow confines of the gorge. For a long distance it stretched ahead, dark and gloomy, then disappeared behind a jutting crag at a point where the walls separated, leaving a grassy strip on each side of the river. To the left, at a great height, the weather-beaten summit of Crescent Mountain was partially obscured by a slowly-moving cloud.

"I never saw anything finer," declared Bob Somers, at length.

"Think of getting spilled into that current," murmured Dick, whose thoughts turned in another direction.

"You'd be a goner," said Havens, dryly.

"Suppose, after all, we won't see that waterfall," continued Bob, in a tone of regret, "eh, Sam?"

"Not much danger of seeing it, but lots trying to," grinned Havens. "I've climbed most of the mountains around, but I let those two fellows alone."

As they turned away, a flock of screaming crows circled close overhead.

"Let's take a look at the cabin," suggested Sam. "Seems most as old as the cliff."

"Nothing left of the door, and window isn't much better," said Tom. "Wonder who could have lived here."

"Most likely some old crank," put in Dick, as he peeped inside.

The cabin contained a shaky table, a stool with one leg missing and an empty box, all thickly covered with dust.

"Interesting, but it smells kind of musty," said Sam. "Let's skip."

The descent was made quickly.

"Well, well--what boat is that?" cried Fenton, suddenly.

The group, at that moment, had come in sight of the camp.

"As I live, the 'Dauntless'!" exclaimed Dick. "Doesn't that beat all?"

Sure enough, the graceful sailboat was slowly swinging out from the shore, and the grinning faces of Sanders and "Little Bill" could be plainly seen.

"Never heard of such a cheeky pair," put in Bob, indignantly.

"Good-bye, little boys," yelled Sanders. "We've borrowed yer boat fur a spell." Then, with derisive shouts, they waved their arms, pulled away at several ropes and the "Dauntless," catching the breeze, rapidly receded.

"Hey, there, come back with that boat!" yelled Howard Fenton.

"Oh, of course we won't!" came from "Little Bill."

"Swim out, Willie, and we'll throw you a line!" shouted Sanders, with a derisive laugh.

"Make a hundred yards' dash for it. I'll bet on the fat boy!"

"Give Fenton ten feet start, an' he wouldn't lose by more'n a hundred!"

"Dive off the cliff! Don't go in Havens' boat--it has a hole in it!"

These words, floating over the air, grew fainter, as the "Dauntless" drew away from the island, her sail, a shining patch of white in the sunlight, and her hull scarcely seen against the rippling water.

"Well, this is a pretty how-de-do, isn't it?" growled Dick. "Talk about cheek, eh? Looks as if they're going to take their time in coming back, too."

"Oh, never mind," said Fenton, resignedly. "As long as the boat isn't hurt, I don't care. Anyway, we can't help ourselves."

Jim Havens looked disturbed.

"Honest, fellows, I didn't know a thing about it," he exclaimed, earnestly. "Didn't think that Sanders would play such a mean trick."

"Fenton ought to punch him good and plenty," said hot-headed Dick Travers.

"Rather out of my line," laughed the New York boy. "It's only a bit of fun on their part. Let's be philosophical, like our friend," and he pointed toward Dave Brandon asleep on the mossy bank.

"Guess you're right," assented Bob. "Perhaps they won't be long. Awful nerve, though."

Jim Havens brightened up when he saw that the visitors were disposed to take it good-naturedly.

"They're not going to hurt the boat," he said; "but I'm afraid that Dugan will keep right on to the village. He's been wanting for some time to get a gun that he left with his uncle."

"Why didn't he take your boat, then?"

"Well, the 'Dart' ain't much for speed," admitted Jim, with a faint smile.

"Oh, that's it. But say, I've heard that 'Little Bill' is rather reckless with boats."

"Maybe, but Sanders ain't. Whenever you fellers are ready, I'll take you to the shore--that is, if the two don't get back before that time."

"How about that hole in the boat?" asked Tom Clifton.

"It isn't much. We ran into a rock yesterday and dented a couple of boards. It's all fixed now."

"And strong enough to hold a ton or so?" laughed Travers, pointing toward Dave Brandon.

The object of his remarks sat up and yawned.

"Had a fine nap--say, what's up?" he asked.

"You haven't been, for one thing," replied Dick. "Pirates have run off with the 'Dauntless.'"

"Is that all?" said the poet, calmly, rubbing his eyes. "Thought, from the way you looked, that something had happened. Tell me about it."

Dave smiled at the recital.

"Real saucy chaps," he said. "That bank makes a capital place for a nap. When the 'Dauntless' hoves in sight, let me know."

But when several hours had passed, and there was no sign of the boat, all concluded that Havens' surmise must be correct.

The boys sat around, talked about baseball and hunting, and stood up and talked about the same things. Then they strolled up and down the pebbly beach, and cast many an anxious look over the choppy water, for the wind was blowing much more strongly, and only Dave Brandon was content.

Finally they lounged around a cheerful blaze, while supper was being prepared.

Being accustomed to roughing it, none would have cared if they had been compelled to spend the night on the island, but Howard Fenton did not wish to worry his father by an unexpected absence. Therefore, when darkness began to approach, he asked Jim Havens to get the "Dart" ready.

They stayed, however, to finish their scanty meal, and then cleaned up, still hoping that the "Dauntless" would put in an appearance.

When Howard Fenton finally walked down to the water's edge, the tree tops were sighing noisily, and black, wild-looking clouds had risen above the top of the cliff. A sudden and rapidly growing darkness fell over the scene. It was apparent that the twilight would be very quickly blotted out.

"Guess we'll have a rough night of it," observed Bob.

"A downright stormy one," grumbled Dick. "Why don't those duffers come back?"

"We're in for a good ducking--that's what," put in Tom Clifton.

"I really have to get over to the shore, fellows," spoke up Fenton, earnestly. "My pater would imagine all sorts of terrible things."

"Well, here we go," said Havens, briefly.

"Pile in," added Bob, as he sprang on board the "Dart."

"By Jove, it certainly looks wild out there," declared Sam Randall, indicating the sombre expanse of lake.

"Enough to make a fellow feel kind of creepy, eh?" chimed in Tom. "The wind is freshening, too."

"Don't get scared," said Havens, calmly. "Let me run up a couple of these 'electric lights,' and we'll get under way with a rush."