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Pony Rider Boys in New England

<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> <h3>BLAZING A FOREST TRAIL</h3> "Every time you turn around the scenery has shifted," complained Tad Butler, as the four boys stood on a rise of ground gazing this way and that for familiar signs, while waiting for the guide, with whom they had been out hunting and studying woodcraft. "I thought I knew my way about in the woods, but I find I don't know as much as a yearling," answered Rector. "Where is that guide?" "Maybe he has gone home," suggested Stacy. "I guess he has not gone far," said Ned. "He said he wanted to get a look at an old burn some little way to the northward." "I'll go look for him," offered Walter. Tad Butler was already too good a woodsman to permit his friend to do anything of the sort. Tad said they must keep together. "For the sake of making conversation, which way would you go if you were about to follow Mr. Vaughn?" he asked. "That way," answered Walter, pointing. "And you, Ned?" "Just the opposite direction." "Chunky, which way would you go?" "I? I wouldn't go at all. I would just sit right down here, plump." "You would show your good sense in doing that very thing. Boys, you are all wrong, except Chunky. Mr. Vaughn went that way, to the eastward." "How do you know?" asked Ned. "Because I watched him and saw him blaze a tree with his hatchet." "But we don't see any blazes," objected Walter. "That is because we are on the wrong side of it, Walt," replied Ned. "Right you are," approved Butler. "But why doesn't he put the blaze on this side of the trees so we can see them?" questioned Walter. "For the very good reason that he marked the trees on the side that would be facing him when he returned," Tad informed them. "However, had he desired to mark his trees so that one approaching from the way he will return would not see the blazes, he would have blazed the trees on this side. That is what is called back-blazing." "Tad is the woodsman," nodded Rector. "He thinks he is," Chunky chimed in. "No, I don't. I have realized, since coming up here, that I don't know enough about the woods to tell when a tree is going to fall. Did you notice another trick of Mr. Vaughn's when we were coming out here?" The boys shook their heads. "He broke the tops of bushes at intervals. I noticed, too, that he bent them all in the same direction. I don't know the meaning of it, but I guess it had something to do with direction." "There he comes now. Ask him," cried Rector. "Hello! I thought you boys would be lost before this," called Cale, with a twinkle in his eyes. "We might have been, at that," declared Ned. "At least Walt would have been. Chunky wouldn't move and Tad, though he pointed the way you had gone, wouldn't let us move away. We were talking about your having bent over some bushes on the trail here. Tad said it was to indicate the direction we had taken as you bent them all in the same direction." "Master Tad has keen eyes. He is right. In venturing into strange forests, far from human habitation, one should do this occasionally in addition to blazing or marking trees with the hatchet. The way to do is to bend a green bush over in the way you are going, snapping the stem or clipping it with the hatchet, but letting it adhere by the bark, so that the under or lighter side of the foliage will be looking you in the face when you return." "Why, a man couldn't lose his way with that kind of a trail, could he?" asked Rector. "Well, he might," admitted Cale. "But, if he is being pursued by enemies, or for any other reason does not wish to leave a conspicuous trail, he had better not bend bushes. In blazing, remember that a single blaze should always be made on the side away from the camp. If the side toward the camp be marked it should be with two blazes instead of one. Remember that. It may come in handy one of these days. Master Tad, what is the gun signal when one is lost?" "A shot, a pause, then two shots," answered Butler promptly. "Right. What time of day? Wait! Let's see if any of the others know," said Cale quickly, seeing that Tad was about to reply. "I don't understand what you mean," said Rector. "What time of the day would you pay attention to that sort of a signal?" "Any time I heard it," answered the fat boy. "Provided, of course, that there wasn't anybody else to go." "I give it up," said Ned. "After four o'clock in the afternoon is the rule, I believe," answered Tad in response to a nod from the guide. "Yes, that's right. That is the hour the camp-keeper is supposed to blow his horn to call home the wanderers. We are too far away, of course, to hear the horn. We must be all of twenty miles from camp. We are now five miles from our ponies." "It strikes me that it is pretty near time for us to be getting to the animals, then," suggested Tad. "Why?" "Because it is going to rain and the afternoon is getting late." Vaughn nodded. He was losing no opportunity to teach the boys the art of woodcraft, and woodcraft, with all its tricks, was what the Pony Rider Boys wanted to learn. They were learning fast, too, though Tad Butler was the most apt pupil of the four. He never forgot a thing that had been told him. His memory, too, was of great service to him in the woods, as had been demonstrated on other occasions in previous trips. Once he had set his eyes on a peculiar tree or a rock or a formation, he never forgot it. A man with a short memory or lack of observation has a hard time in the woods, and usually a searching party has to go out after him in such a country as this where, were a novice to stray ten rods from camp, he might never find his way back without help. Great drops of rain began to patter down a few minutes after the subject had been mentioned. The party had left their ponies when the way became impassable for horses, and had gone on on foot. Stacy went with them because he did not relish the idea of being left alone in the woods. Otherwise nothing would have induced him to foot it over the hills, through the tangled growth of blackberry and raspberry briars in old burns, stumbling over charred snags, fallen trunks and limbs, until there was scarcely a spot on any of their bodies that was not mauled to tenderness. A mile an hour is fair time through this sort of country. Cale decided that it was high time to be going. He took a keen look about him, eyed his charges, then turning to Tad said: "You lead the way." Tad started off confidently—in the wrong direction. Cale did not set him right. But the boy had gone but a few yards when he discovered his mistake. With flushed face, he retraced his steps to the starting point, then took a new course. The first course he had followed was the one Vaughn had taken earlier in the day. The present one led to the temporary camp where their ponies had been tethered. "You did perfectly right," approved the guide. "I made a mess of it at the start, sir," replied Butler. A new problem was confronting Tad. He saw that darkness would overtake them within a short half hour, and the boy did not know how he was going to find his way then. He knew it would be impossible to find the blazes or axe-marks on the trees. Had he been alone he probably would have made camp while it was still light enough to enable him to see the trail. Such a night would have been far from pleasant, but then when daylight came he would have the satisfaction of knowing where he was. The rain was increasing in volume every moment, and not having rubber coats with them the boys were soon soaked. This not being a new experience they uttered no complaints until Chunky finally wailed his disappointment that he had forgotten to bring an umbrella. Just before dark Tad called a halt, and, borrowing the guide's hatchet, peeled off a liberal quantity of birch bark, dividing up the load between his companions. Stacy complained loudly at being obliged to carry the stuff. He didn't see any reason why they should lug firewood to camp. They would find plenty when they got there. "Master Tad knows what he is doing, I reckon," nodded the guide, who understood Butler's motive. "Ordinarily I don't believe in the sixth sense business, but some persons are more adept than others in woodcraft. To me that means that some persons are more alert and observant than others. Master Tad has just proved this. He has used his powers of observation in several different directions since we started on the return. He was alert enough to discover that we were going to be caught out after dark." "There is one thing he doesn't know," piped Chunky. "What is that?" questioned Cale tolerantly. "He doesn't know enough to keep in out of the wet." "Do you?" asked Tad. "No, I don't, and I'm kicking myself because of it. You had better believe I shall know better next time. You don't catch me again this way, not if I am awake at the time. Are we nearly there?" "About five miles from the ponies," answered Mr. Vaughn. Chunky groaned dismally. "You had better light up now," suggested the guide. "Be careful not to drop any fire, even if the ground is wet." "No, not the rest of you," objected Tad, as the others began reaching for their matches. "One torch will be enough. Our torches won't hold out if we all light up at the same time." "Right," approved Cale. Tad lighted his torch while the guide held his hat over the match. Then the party moved on again. As darkness fell their progress naturally grew more slow. They had to use extreme care not to miss any of the little blaze marks on the trees, and at the same time to note every bush that had been bent toward them. Water was running from hat brims, clothing was soaked as was everything in their pockets, and water spurted from their boots with every step. "How would you like a pound or so of that bear steak, Chunky?" asked Ned, shouting in the fat boy's ear. "Hot off the frying pan," added Tad. "With a cup of steaming hot coffee added to it, while you were listening to the rain pattering on the roof of your tent," suggested Walter. "All sitting tight and snug as a bug in a rug?" asked the fat boy. "No, I couldn't stand it. My heart is too weak. I should die of heart failure. And, incidentally, if you fellows keep on nagging me, something's going to happen. Mind you, I am not making any threats." "You had better not if you know what is best for you," warned Rector. "But I am just saying what will take place, that's all. I—" Stacy did not complete the sentence. He stumbled over a dead limb and plunged head first into a bed of mold that streaked his face with black, filling his mouth and eyes, to the great delight of the rest of the party and the discomfiture of the fat boy. Stacy kept quiet for a long time after that. After four hours of this sort of traveling—it was now near ten o'clock at night—Tad halted, and, raising his torch above his head, gazed about him, trying to light up the shadows up in the trees. The Pony Rider Boy was trying to get his bearings. Cale was observing him with twinkling eyes. A twig snapped off to the right of them and a horse whinnied. "Here we are," cried Butler. "That was Silver Face calling to me." "I was expecting to see you go on past the place," chuckled Vaughn. "Well done, my lad! Had you lived all your life in the woods you could not have made a better campfall." "What, are we home?" cried Walter. "We are at our temporary camp. Luckily for us, too," said the guide, "for our torches have all burned out. Stamp that out, Master Tad. We will have a fire going in a short time." The boys turned toward their ponies, stumbling over obstructions, guided by the snorts of welcome from the little animals that they could hear but were unable to see. They were to learn some new tricks in woodcraft right then and there, something that they probably never would have learned of themselves. Even Cale Vaughn's resources were to be taxed somewhat in overcoming the difficulties that now confronted them. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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