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Bert Wilson at the Wheel

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<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> <h3>The Copperhead</h3> Bright and early next morning Bert awoke to find the sunbeams playing all over his tent. He noticed lazily what funny spots they made on Tom’s sleeping face. Then, with a start, he remembered that Tom had grumbled the night before because they would have to get up early to catch a mess of fish for breakfast. Thinking that he would wait a little while till Tom woke up, he rolled off his cot on to the floor so that he could command a view of the brook through the open tent flap. He had just made himself comfortable when an irritable voice hailed him from the direction of Tom’s cot: “That you, Bert? What are you doing awake at this unearthly hour?” “Same as yourself, I suppose,” came the calm reply. “Humph! Well, you’re not going to rout me out at five o’clock in the morning.” “Don’t be a bear, Tom. We’ve got to help the fellows catch that fish and you know it, so the sooner we start the better. A couple of the fellows are down there now.” [20] “Oh, well, I suppose we’ve got to, then, worse luck. They probably will guy us unmercifully, too, about yesterday. It’s a wonder they didn’t, last night,” which was all the credit the boys got for trying to save the feelings of the reckless volunteers. As the two comrades ran swiftly down to the water’s edge, they noticed that Shorty—Philip Strong had been nicknamed Shorty because of his very small figure—was tugging hard at his line. “Got a bite, Shorty?” they shouted, when they came within hailing distance. “Bet your life, and it’s pulling like a good fellow, too.” “Better let me help; I’m stronger than you,” offered Bob, who was sitting a little distance down the bank and whose luck hadn’t been of the best up to that time. Now, a very sore point with Shorty was his lack of strength, and whenever anybody referred to it, no matter with what good intentions, he always bristled up as if at a personal insult. This morning that very touchiness proved to be his undoing, for, as he got to his feet, intending to inform Bob that he could do very well without any of his help, the fish gave a sudden jerk to the line that made Shorty lose his balance and tumble head-first into the water. The boys, convulsed with laughter, fished him[21] up, dripping and sheepish. Without thanking the boys for their help, Shorty zig-zagged up to the tent, making, it must be confessed, a rather sorry figure. When they finally had managed to get the line up they found that the cause of Shorty’s undoing had escaped. “Poor little Shorty, he’s always getting into trouble,” one of the boys said when he had breath enough. Then, as the time was getting short, they all settled down in good earnest to their task and, before the camp was awake at half-past six, had caught a “corking mess,” as they expressed it. As each tent poured forth its several occupants, the fishermen took their mornings catch to the mess tent and went to report—some of them with sinking hearts, it is to be feared—to Mr. Hollis. However, the leader was very lenient with the offenders, merely reprimanding their carelessness and cautioning them not again to forget that they had pledged their word of honor to render him the most absolute obedience in every particular. Upon the boys eagerly promising that they wouldn’t offend again and upon Bert’s asking to be allowed to have another chance to find the camp site, permission was given and they sauntered away, filled with the happy anticipation of laurels still to be won. Soon after breakfast the “Red Scout” was[22] brought out and the original volunteers, their ranks swelled by three new recruits, Shorty among them, started off up the hill amid the cheers and good wishes of the fellows. For an hour they rode steadily up hill and down dale until they saw far off through the trees the faint gleam of water. Running the auto into the woods for a short distance, they all jumped out and started to investigate. The boys thought they had never seen the woods when they were as beautiful as on that day. They had not gone very far before Bert, who was in the lead, called back, “Come here, fellows and see this grove of chestnut trees. Isn’t it great?” The boys all hurried forward and there, sure enough, was a regular colony of chestnut trees, their huge branches giving promise of abundant harvest, when the frost came. “Say, fellows, its a shame not to be able to get any good out of these nuts that are sure to be so plentiful in the fall. Don’t you suppose we might arrange to stay until the frost comes?” Shorty asked. “I should think we ought to be able to fix it up,” said Frank. “We can ask Mr. Hollis about it anyway.” Then they started again, on the lookout for other finds. All the way along they came across[23] numbers of clear, cold springs and never failed to test each one. More than once they had to cross brooks on stones that were not over steady and, at one time, a very loose one nearly caused Shorty another ducking. At last they reached the border of the woods and looked out upon a sight that held them spellbound. There before them was a smooth, grassy stretch of ground, dotted here and there with beautiful, spreading oak trees. Sloping gently down, it stopped at the edge of a clear, transparent lake that reflected the radiant brightness of the sun. On the other side the ground was level for a short distance and then rose forming a small hill, richly carpeted with low shrubs and gorgeously colored wild flowers. Branches of trees drooped low over the lake, as if trying to catch their own reflections in its clear depths. Birds twittered and sang in the branches, joyously mingling their bubbling notes with the music of a rippling brook near by. It seemed as if the soft voice of Nature spoke to them in the murmuring of the trees, sang to them in the song of the birds, joyously called to them in the babble of the brook, smiled a welcome to them from the bright surface of the lake. “Gee!” said Tom, drawing a long breath. “It sure is wonderful!” “Wonderful!” Bert exclaimed. “It’s by far[24] the most beautiful place I’ve ever had the luck to locate! Come on, fellows, let’s take a look around.” So look around they did and found that every thing about this ideal spot was all they could possibly ask for—and more. After examining everything in sight they found that they were just about starved, so they sat down under one of the trees near the lake and spread out the contents of the lunch basket. After a feast of chicken, canned salmon, cornbread, maple syrup, and sweetened lemon juice, which, when mixed with cold spring water made a very tempting drink, they started off with the empty lunch basket, the latter being, as one of the boys remarked, “a heap sight lighter than it was when we started.” “That’s all right,” said Frank, “but I feel a heap sight heavier.” “You shouldn’t have eaten so much,” Shorty reproved him. “If I’d eaten as much as you have, Philip Strong,” Frank retorted, “I wouldn’t be able to walk.” “Speaking of eating,” said Shorty, sniffing the air inquiringly, “do any of you fellows smell cucumbers?” “What’s the matter, Shorty? Has the little[25] ducking you indulged in this morning addled your brains? Whoever heard of cucumbers in the woods?” said Frank contemptuously. “I know it sounds foolish but it’s the truth just the same,” and Shorty stood his ground stoutly. “Shorty’s right, boys: I noticed the cucumber smell quite a while ago and it seems to grow stronger the farther we go,” said Bert. “By George, that’s so! I smell it myself, now.” “I do, too.” “So do I.” and various other exclamations of the same sort showed that Shorty was right. The boys scattered all over trying to locate the odor, which was very strong at this time. Tom was the first to discover the cause of it. At his low, imperative, “Come here quick, fellows, but don’t make a noise,” they all ran to see what was the matter. Excitedly he pointed to a long, copper-colored snake, that seemed to be watching a bird’s nest built low in one of the bushes. The mother bird was hovering distractedly over her nest, uttering shrill, excited cries that brought her mate to her side. Just then the snake coiled ready to strike and the boys looked around desperately for stones but Bert had gotten ahead of them. As soon as he had seen what was happening he had slipped[26] noiselessly away to a brook they had just passed and, snatching up a heavy stone, had hurried back to the scene of the tragedy. So, as soon as the snake had its head in a position to strike he hurled the stone directly at it. Slowly and convulsively the snake untwined and finally lay still. “It’s strange I didn’t think of that cucumber smell being caused by a copperhead,” said Bert; “I used to kill them every once in a while when I was at my uncle’s farm.” Just then, Tom called their attention to the mother bird. “Doesn’t it almost seem as if she were thanking us?” And it really did seem so. The little bird had settled back on her nest with her black eyes fixed gratefully on her rescuers and making little, low, gurgling noises way down in her throat. Nearby on a low branch the father bird was swaying back and forth, pouring out his musical notes straight from a little heart bursting with gratitude and joy. Leaving the happy family to its own devices, the boys took up the trail again. In high spirits, they chased each other over fallen logs and through the dense foliage, peered into squirrels’ holes and rabbits’ burrows, commented upon the appearance and habits of the sly little chipmunk and other interesting, woodland creatures. Before they realized it they had come upon[27] the “Red Scout” standing just as they had left it in its leafy garage. While they were on the way home they examined the snake skin. It was a beauty of its kind. It was about a yard long and the sixteen copper-red, moccasin-shaped stripes were very clearly defined. As soon as they reached camp they gave in their report to Mr. Hollis. The boys all crowded around, eager to hear about the snake and camp site. The heroes of the day were deluged with questions. “How did you get it?” “Have you found a good place for camp?” “Where is it?” “What does it look like?” “Tell us all about it.” Finally, Mr. Hollis, seeing how tired and hungry they were, came to their rescue, proposing that they eat their supper first and save the tale of adventure until the camp council. At first they agreed rather hesitatingly but, as an appetizing smell issued forth from the mess tent, they found that they couldn’t get there fast enough. After supper the boys made a roaring fire and squatted around it, waiting for the roll-call. Then Mr. Hollis called the roll, beginning with Adams and ending with Taylor. As everybody was there, the reports were called for. Every boy reported his adventures and experiences during[28] the day; all of which would have been intensely interesting to the boys as a rule, but they were so anxious to hear Bert’s report that they passed over the others rapidly. When at last Bert’s turn came, they all crowded forward with eager interest, and they were not disappointed. Bert told his story simply and well, and was not once interrupted. When the tale was finished the boys fairly exploded. Cries of “Isn’t it great?” “Everything is sure going our way this year,” mingled with “How did you manage to get the stone without the snake hearing you?” “What are you going to do with the skin now that you’ve got it?” And to all Bert gave a satisfactory answer. It was a long time before the boys could quiet down and even then they felt like hearing something exciting. “Who can tell a good ghost story?” Bob asked. “Dave’s the boy. Come on, Dave, put on your thinking cap.” Dave Ferris had been elected official story teller at the beginning, because he always had a stock on hand, and they were generally thrilling tales of adventure or weird ghost stories, the kind that boys always revel in. Dave was silent, thinking for a little while.[29] Then he said, “All right boys, here goes. Are you ready?” To a chorus of “Sure thing, fire away, and break the speed limit,” they all gathered closer together around the fire and Dave began his story. <hr class="chap" />[30] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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