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Boy Scouts in a Trapper's Camp

<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> <h3>PAT SEES WHITE MAGIC</h3> Mindful of the lasting effect of first impressions Hal had contrived to give Pat no opportunity to get more than a fleeting glimpse of crowded streets and glaring lights. He had met Pat at the train, which had not arrived until the early winter evening had set in, hurried him to a big touring car with curtains drawn and then whirled him away to the palatial Harrison home on Riverside Drive without giving him a chance to sense more than a glare of lights and that confusion of sounds which constitutes the voice of a great city. The same car had brought them to Walter's modest home. While they had been making their brief call there the chauffeur, under Hal's orders, had put back the top of the machine, so that as they descended the steps Pat did not recognize the car at all. In fact, until that day Pat had never so much as seen a motor car, a buck-board being the most stylish equipage of which Upper Chain could boast. "Arrah, 'tis black magic!" exclaimed Pat as he settled himself comfortably between Hal and Walter in the tonneau, convinced at last that he was really in the same car which had brought him there. "And we're going to show you some white magic," cried Hal, as he leaned forward to give orders to the chauffeur. A quick run through side streets, comparatively deserted at this hour, brought them to Broadway at the junction with Sixth Avenue. Turning north the dazzling splendor of the "Great White Way" burst upon the startled eyes of the young woodsman. His companions heard him catch his breath with a little gasp. Then he closed his eyes for the space of a few seconds, opening them slowly as if he suspected them of playing him tricks. An instant later he seized a leg of each of his companions just above the knee with a grip that brought both half-way to their feet with a little yell of surprised protest. "'Tis true, then, and no drame," said he as he settled back with a little sigh of relief. "Sure and had I pinched mesilf I would not have believed me own sinse av feeling. White magic, did yez call ut? Sure 'tis the city av enchantment." It was a rare bit of thoughtfulness on Hal's part to give Pat such an introduction to America's greatest city. Whatever the disillusionment in the garish light of day he would always think of New York as he saw it for the first time—a fairy city of twinkling lights, the street crowded with pleasure seekers, the great buildings towering into the sky with all harsh and rigid lines softened by the protecting shadows, and above all the moving pictures in many colored lights of the advertising signs. These were indeed a revelation to the young woodsman, and he was soon oblivious to all else. The usual ready tongue was silent. Only once did he speak after the first outbreak and this was when the car was stalled for a few minutes where he had a full view of the famous chariot race from Ben Hur. As he saw that wonderful picture leap out of the darkness between two flaming torches, the driver leaning from his chariot and shaking the lines above the four galloping horses, Pat leaned forward with tense, eager face. Then the picture disappeared and he dropped back with a little sigh. "I knew ut was not true," he murmured half to himself, staring at the blank space between the lighted pillars. A second later the picture again flashed out of the darkness and the young Irishman relapsed into a silence that was not broken until, having gone up one side and down the other of the Great White Way, Hal proposed they spend the remainder of the evening at a theater. But this Pat vetoed and he did it so tactfully as to remove all possible sense of disappointment which Hal might have felt. "Ye may fill a cup no more than full," said he, "and one drap more would be making the cup av me joy run over. 'Tis poor shcoutcraft to be wasteful even av pleasure, and by the same token the Scout thot tries to see everything at wance remimbers nothing. I have seen the white magic, and thot be enough for wan noight. Tis just the two faces av yez I would be seein' now, and hearing the voices av yez to remoind me thot I be still Pat Malone av the North Woods." "We'll go back to my house and spend the rest of the time in my den with the pictures and other things to help make us think we are back in the woods," declared Walter. "I'm crazy to know about this scheme you fellows have cooked up for the vacation, and all the news from the woods. What do you say?" "Suits me to a dot," replied Hal promptly. "I'd rather have a good old gabfest than see the best show in the city, and if Pat feels that way too it's all settled." Fifteen minutes later the three boys were lounging comfortably in Upton's den and Pat was undergoing a regular bombardment of questions. "How's Doctor Merriam?" demanded Walter. "The Big Chief is just as fine and a little finer than ever," replied Pat, dropping his brogue. "He's one grand man. There's none grander blesses the earth with the touch of his feet. I've been living with him at Woodcraft ever since you fellows left, except for a week or two at a time on the trap line, and if ever I amount to anything it will be because of Doctor Merriam. 'Tis he that has taken the Irish from my tongue, though not from the heart of me. Shure I be as good an Irishman as iver, and the Saints defind me if I iver be anything else," he added, with a twinkle at this lapse into his mother tongue. "You're a wonder, Pat!" broke in Walter. "I wouldn't have believed that even Doctor Merriam could have taken that burr off your tongue. What did he do it with—a file? Gives me a funny feeling, as if you were not you at all, every time I hear you speak without it. Feel sort of—well, you know—like an old friend had disappeared. And—and—I don't think I quite like it." Pat's face suddenly sobered and rising to his feet he strode over to where Upton sat tilted back in his chair, his feet on the desk, and swung a big fist, hard as nails, perilously close to Upton's nose. "Take ut back, ye little spalpeen," he commanded. "Take ut back and tell me ye loike me betther for what I am than for what I was!" Walter ducked in mock fear. The sudden move threw him off balance, and with a crash he and the chair went over backward. One of Pat's big hands clutched him by the collar and lifted him to his feet. An exaggerated sigh from the young giant followed. "I don't know but that ye be roight afther all," he said mournfully. "The first toime we met ye gave me the best thrashing av me loife and I loved ye for ut. Now I have but to shake me fist to put ye down for the count. Shure 'tis not I that was, and yet if I be not I that was, who be I that I be?" The humorous blue eyes grew tense and earnest. There was a new note in the deep vibrant voice as he continued. "I am still Pat Malone, and proud of it. If I am not the old Pat I am proud of that too. And what I am to-day is due to Walt Upton, Doctor Merriam and the Boy Scouts of America. It was Walt who first blazed the trail for me. It is Doctor Merriam who is teaching me how to follow it, and it is the principles of the Boy Scouts which have brought out whatever of good there is in me. I tell you, fellows, if there is any one thing that I am proud of it is that I am a Scout." "Same here," interrupted Hal. "Scouting hasn't done any more for you than it has for me." "You fellows are surprised because I can speak the King's English without wholly murdering it, as I used to, and as I have a sneaking idea you liked to hear me," continued Pat. "Let me tell you it has cost me something. I've talked to the trees all day long when I've been alone on the trap line—just practicing, and even now it's easier to slip into the old way than to stick to the new. Don't for a minute think that I am ashamed of the old. I love it, and I always will. But I've begun to understand what education means, and this is the first step. It isn't easy. Don't think it. I have to keep guard on this slippery tongue every minute. I believe it's harder than it would be to learn a foreign language. It's up to you fellows to help me while I am here. I've used the old brogue to-night because I knew you liked to hear it, but I'm not going to any more unless it slips out when I am excited or my feelings get the best of me. Now this is enough about myself. What are the plans for the rest of my stay here?" "Hold on," protested Upton. "You haven't told us a thing about the woods or what luck you've had trapping, or what has become of Alec Smith, or what we are going to do if we go up there, or who your partner is. Now fire away and we'll make plans afterward. What are the woods like now?" "Two feet of snow and ten below zero when I left, and the beauty of them is not for the tongue to tell, but for eyes to see. It's even whiter magic than you have shown me this night, and I am not going to spoil it by trying to tell what it is like," replied Pat. "And the trapping?" "Fair to good." "Who's your partner? You haven't said a word about him." "An old woodsman and trapper I scraped acquaintance with. He's a little rough, but when you get to know him I think you'll like him." There was a twinkle in Pat's eyes which neither Hal nor Walter caught. "Now tell us about Alec Smith, and we'll let you off. How is that broken leg, and what is he doing? Say, he must have felt good when Black Charley confessed to having knifed The Mick! Looked pretty bad for Alec for a while, didn't it? Is he living up to all those good resolutions he made?" "You bet he is!" Pat answered the last question first. "After Big Jim and I got him out to Woodcraft Camp he stayed there doing odd jobs around the camp until that leg was strong enough for him to go into a lumber camp as cook. He was there a month and then quit for the trap line. The last I heard of him he was somewhere up in the Smugglers' Hollow country, and I guess probably he's there yet. You remember he had some traps cached up there. Leg's as good as it ever was, and he swears, and believes it too, that Walt here is the greatest little doctor that ever came into the woods. He'll talk any one who will listen deaf, dumb and blind on the Boy Scouts, and I believe he'd cut his right hand off any time for Doctor Merriam. Alec's all right." "And Big Jim! What's Jim doing and how is he?" "He's the same old Jim. He's the boss of the Atwater lumber camp this winter, with two crews under him and out to make a record cut. If the weather holds good he'll come pretty near to doing it. Jim's the best logging boss, as well as the best guide, in the North Woods. Now what are you fellows going to do with me in Noo Yor-r-k?" "That's mostly up to Hal, I'm afraid," replied Upton ruefully. "You see I have to go to school next week. To-morrow is Saturday, and a holiday of course, so I've got that free. No, I haven't either, come to think! I promised to take my patrol out for a hike to-morrow afternoon, and I don't quite see how I can avoid it now because there is no way of getting word to the fellows unless——" He paused and scowled thoughtfully. "I have it!" he exclaimed. "Scout McNulty has a 'phone in his house, and I'll send him around to notify the others to-morrow morning that the hike is off." He jumped to his feet to go to the 'phone, but Pat stopped him. "What's the matter with us going on that hike?" he demanded. Instantly Walter's face lighted with pleasure. "Will you? Are you sure you want to?" he cried. "The boys have heard so much about you that they will be tickled silly to have a real, live, sure enough guide from the woods with them. We were planning to go out to Bronx Park and try a little winter woodcraft and——" "That settles it. If it's Bronx Park I'm right with you, my son, unless Hal has something else planned," interrupted Pat. "In that case, why, I be in the hands av me frind, of course." "Suits me," declared Hal promptly. "We'll take Pat down-town in the morning and show him the sights and take him into Scout headquarters. Then we'll go out to the park and show him that your Blue Tortoises are not so slow as he may think from the name. We'll frame up something else for the evening. That's a bully scheme. I'll bet that Pat will be jealous of that patrol of yours, Walt, before we get through. Just you put 'em on their mettle and give him something to tell that patrol of his at Upper Chain about. I suppose you're still leader of the Bull Moose, Pat?" Pat shook his head. "Yes and no," said he. "You see I've been away so much that I had to resign. A patrol to be what it should be needs a leader on the job every minute, and so one of the boys at the sawmill is leader now, and he's a good one, too. He's a Scout of the first class and is working for merit badges now. He's got five already—personal health, physical development, taxidermy, signaling and stalking—and has won a medal for saving life. When I happen to be at home I just give them my valuable advice." Pat grinned. "Oh, we've got some little patrol up there in the woods, and I'm just waiting to be shown what your city Scouts have got on us," he concluded. "That takes care of to-morrow, then," said Hal. "We'll plan doings next week so that Walt can be with us out of school hours. Then Friday night we'll head for the good old woods. My, but that does sound good to me! Ten days up among the big trees, where there's snow enough to make a footprint without having to photograph it in order to prove it isn't a fake; where the foxes and the other critters with nice fur coats are sitting 'round waiting to put their little footsies in our traps; where <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "The Red Gods dwell Neath a mystic spell; The red flame glows, And the red blood flows, And a man's a man For a little span." </div> </div> A sofa pillow full in the face cut short this poetic outbreak, followed by an inquiry from Pat as to Hal's experience on snow-shoes. "Never had 'em on in my life, but I'm crazy to," replied that exuberant youth. "Bought a pair yesterday purpose for the trip. Don't look to me as if it can be much of a trick to walk on 'em." "Did you buy any liniment to go with them?" asked Pat. Hal looked puzzled. "Liniment? What for?" he demanded. "Oh, just to be prepared. You know a good Scout always is prepared," replied Pat evasively, at the same time tipping Walter a wink. "Meaning what?" persisted Hal. "It's a long, long way to Tipperary, especially on snow-shoes," was Pat's enigmatic reply. "I'd lay in a good supply of that liniment if I were you." Hal made a wry face at Pat. "Quit your kidding," said he. "We'll take a gallon of liniment if you say so. Now tell us what else we'll need. Do we take guns?" Pat shook his head. Then seeing a look of disappointment in both faces he hastened to say that the closed season was now on for all game excepting rabbits and hares, and if they wanted to hunt these they might take their 22 caliber rifles. In fact he wasn't sure but this would be a good idea, as bunnies were plentiful and hunting them on snow-shoes might afford some excellent sport. "What about fish? Will there be a chance to do some fishing through the ice?" asked Hal. Pat smiled at Hal's eagerness. "There are just as big pickerel under the ice as ever swam," he averred, "and if you are willing to do some real work and chop out holes I think I can promise you some whales without the trouble of swimming for them." There was a general laugh at this thrust at Hal, whose adventure with a big pickerel, during which he and Plympton had been capsized from a raft, was one of the never-to-be-forgotten incidents of the search for Lost Trail. "But you haven't told us yet just where we are going, where your camp is, you know," Walter broke in. Just then the honk, honk of an automobile sounded from the front of the house. "There's the car!" cried Hal. "We'll have to be getting a move on, or Pat will lose his beauty sleep and be in no shape for to-morrow. We'll be round at 9:30 sharp in the morning, Walter. I don't want to get Pat up too early." "Early!" Pat fairly snorted. "Arrah now! Do yez play all night and slape all day in Noo Yor-r-k?" he demanded. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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