Tom Slade at Black Lake

  He tried to calculate the remainder of the work in relation to the timehe had to do it. For of one thing he was resolved, and that was to befinished and gone before those two troops arrived, the troop from thewest and his own troop from Bridgeboro. They were to find these sixcabins waiting for them. Everything would be all right....

  He mopped his brow off, and rewound the handkerchief about his sorehand. The fingers smarted and tingled and he wriggled them to obtain alittle relief from their cramped condition. He buttoned up his flannelshirt which he always left wide open when he worked, and laid his axeaway in one of the old familiar cabins. It chanced to be one in which heand Roy had cut their initials, and he paused a moment and glancedwistfully at their boyish handiwork. Then he went down.

  As he passed through Temple Lane he saw that Uncle Jeb had been busytaking down the board shutters from the main pavilion--ominous reminderof the fast approaching season. Soon scouts would be tumbling all overeach other hereabouts. The springboard had been put in place at thelake's edge, too, and a couple of freshly painted rowboats were bobbingat the float, looking spick and glossy in the dying sunlight. TempleCamp was beginning to look natural and familiar.

  "I reckon it'll be a lively season," Uncle Jeb said, glancing aboutafter his own strenuous day's work. "Last summer most of the scouts wasbusy with war gardens and war work and 'twas a kind of off season as youmight say. I cal'late they'll come in herds like buffaloes this summer."

  "Every cabin is booked until Columbus Day," Tom said; "and all the tentspace is assigned."

  "Yer reckon to finish by August first?" Uncle Jeb asked.

  "I'd like to finish before anybody comes," Tom said; "but I guess Ican't do that. I'll get away before August first, that's sure. You haveto be sure to see that 5, 6 and 7 go to my troop, and the new ones tothe troop from Ohio. You can tell them it's a kind of a surprise if youwant to. You don't need to tell 'em who did it. It's nice up there onthat hill. It's a kind of a camp all by itself. Do you remember thatwoodchuck skin you gave Roy? It's hanging up there in the Silver Fox'scabin now."

  "What's the matter with your hand?" Uncle Jeb inquired.

  "It's just blistered and it tingles," Tom said. "It's from holding theaxe."

  CHAPTER XVIII

  TOM LETS THE CAT OUT OF THE BAG

  While they were having supper in Uncle Jeb's cabin, Tom hauled out ofhis trousers pocket a couple of very much folded and gather crumbledpieces of paper.

  "Will you keep them for me?" he asked. "They're Liberty Bonds. They getall sweaty and crumpled in my pocket. They're worth a hundred dollars."

  Mr. Burton had more than once suggested that Tom keep these preciousmementos of his patriotism in the safe, but there was no place in allthe world in which Tom had such abiding faith as his trouser sidepockets, and he had never been able to appreciate the inappropriatenessof the singular receptacle for such important documents. There, atleast, he could feel them, and the magic feel of these badges of hiswealth was better than lock and key.

  "Keep them for me until I go away," he said.

  Uncle Jeb straightened them out and placed them in his tin strong box.

  "Yer ain't thinkin' uv stayin' on, then?" he queried.

  "Not after I'm finished," Tom said.

  "Mayn't change yer mind, huh?"

  "I never change my mind," Tom said.

  "I wuz thinkin' haow yer'd be lendin' me a hand," Uncle Jeb ventured.

  "I'm going back to work," Tom said; "I had my vacation."

  "'Tain't exactly much of a vacation."

  "I feel better," Tom said.

  Uncle Jeb understood Tom pretty well, and he did not try to argue withhim.

  "Be kinder lonesome back home in Bridgebory, huh? With all the boys uphere?" he ventured.

  "I'm going to buy a motor-boat," Tom confided to him, "and go out on theriver a lot. A fellow I know will sell his for a hundred dollars. I'mgoing to buy it."

  "Goin' ter go out in it all alone?"

  "Maybe. I spent a lot of time alone. There's a girl I know that works inthe office. Maybe she'll go out in it. Do you think she will?"

  "Golly, it's hard sayin' what them critters'll do," Uncle Jeb said."Take a she bear; you never can tell if she'll run for you or away fromyou."

  Tom seemed to ponder on this shrewd observation.

  "Best thing is ter stay up here whar yer sure yer welcome," the old mantook occasion to advise him.

  "One thing I'm sorry about," Tom said, "and that is that Barnard didn'tcome. I guess I won't see him."

  "He might come yet," Uncle Jeb said; "and he could give yer a hand."

  "I'd let him," Tom said, "'cause I'm scared maybe I won't get finishednow."

  "I'm comin' up ter give yer a hand myself to-morrer," Uncle Jeb said,"and we'll see some chips fly, I reckon. Let's get the fire started."

  Uncle Jeb was conscious of a little twinge of remorse that he had nothelped his lonely visitor more, but his own duties had taken much of histime lately. He realized now the difficulties that Tom had encounteredand surmounted, and he noticed with genuine sympathy that that doggedbulldog nature was beginning to be haunted with fears of not finishingthe work in time.

  Moreover, in that little talk, Tom had revealed, unwittingly, the twodominant thoughts that were in his mind. One was the hope, the anxiety,never expressed until now, that Barnard would come, and perhaps helphim. He had been thinking of this and silently counting on it.

  The other was his plan for buying a motor-boat, with his hundred or someodd precious dollars, and spending his lonely spare time in it, for thebalance of the summer, back in Bridgeboro. He was going to ask a girl heknew, the _only_ girl he knew, to go out in it. And he was doubtfulwhether she would go.

  These, then, were his two big enterprises--finishing the third cabin andtaking "that girl" out in the motor-boat which he would buy with his twoLiberty Bonds. And away down deep in his heart he was haunted by doubtsas to both enterprises. Perhaps he would not succeed. He still had hisstrong left arm, so far as the last cabin was concerned, and he couldwork until he fell in his tracks. But the girl was a new kind of anenterprise for poor Tom.

  His plan went further than he had allowed any one to know.

  Uncle Jeb, shrewd and gentle as he was saw all this and resolved thatTom's plans, crazy or not, should not go awry. He would do a littlechopping and log hauling up on that hill next day. Old Uncle Jeb nevermissed his aim and when he fixed his eye on the target of August first,it meant business.

  Then, the next morning, he was summoned by telegram to meet Mr. JohnTemple in New York and discuss plans for the woods property.

  So there you are again--Lucky Luke.

  CHAPTER XIX

  THE SPECTRE OF DEFEAT

  So Tom worked on alone. He made his headquarters on the hill now, seldomgoing down into the main body of the camp, and worked each day fromsunrise until it was too dark to see. Then he would build himself acamp-fire and cook his simple meal of beans and coffee and toastedcrackers, and turn in early.

  Every log for this last cabin had to be felled and trimmed of itsbranches, and hauled singly up the hillside by means of the rope andpulleys. Then it had to be notched and rolled into place, which was noteasy after the structure was two or three tiers high.

  Building a log cabin is essentially a work for two. The logs whichflanked the doorway and the window had to be cut to special lengths.The rough casings he made at night, after the more strenuous work of theday was done, and this labor he performed by the light of a singlerailroad lantern. The work of building the first two cabins had beenlargely that of fitting together timbers already cut, and adjusting oldbroken casings, but he was now in the midst of such a task as confrontedthe indomitable woodsmen of old and he strove on with doggedperseverance. Often, after a day's work which left him utterly exhaustedand throbbing in every muscle, he saw only one more log in place, as theresult of his laborious striving.

  Thus a week passed, and almost two, and Jeb Rushmore did not return, a
ndTom knew that the next Saturday would bring the first arrivals. Not thathe cared so much for that, but he did not see his way clear to finishinghis task by the first of August, and the consciousness of impendingdefeat weighed heavily upon him. He must not be caught there with hissaw and axe by the scouts who had repudiated him and who believed him adeserter and a liar.

  He now worked late into the night; the straining of the taut ropes andthe creaking of the pulleys might have been heard at the lake's edge ashe applied the multiple power of leverage against some stubborn log andhauled it up the slope. Then he would notch and trim it, and in themorning, when his lame and throbbing arm was rested and his shoulderless sore after its night's respite, he would lift one end of it andthen the other on his shoulder and so, with many unavailing trialsfinally get it lodged in place. He could not get comfortable when heslept at night, because of his sore shoulders. They tormented him with akind of smarting anguish. And still Uncle Jeb did not return.

  At last, one night, that indomitable spirit which had refused torecognize his ebbing strength, showed signs of giving way. He had beentrying to raise a log into place and its pressure on his bruisedshoulder caused him excruciating pain. He got his sleeping blanket outof the cabin which he occupied and laid it, folded, on his shoulder, buthis weary frame gave way under the burden and he staggered and fell.

  When he was able to pull himself together, he gathered a few shavingsand built a little pyramid of sticks over them, and piling some largerpieces close by, kindled a blaze, then spreading his blanket on theground, sat down and watched the mounting tongues of flame. Every bonein his body ached. He was too tired to eat, even to sleep; and he couldfind no comfort in the cabin bunk. Here, at least, were cheerfulness andwarmth. He drew as close to the fire as was safe, for he fancied thatthe heat soothed the pain in his arm and shoulders. And the cheerfulcrackling of the blaze made the fire seem like a companion....

  And then a strange thing happened.

  CHAPTER XX

  THE FRIEND IN NEED

  Standing on the opposite side of the fire was a young fellow of abouthis own age, panting audibly, and smiling at him with an exceedinglycompanionable smile. In the light of the fire, Tom could see that hiscurly hair was so red that a brick would have seemed blue by comparison,and the freckles were as thick upon his pleasant face as stars in thequiet sky. Moreover, his eyes sparkled with a kind of dancingrecklessness, and there was a winning familiarity about him that tookeven stolid Tom quite by storm.

  The stranger wore a plaid cap and a mackinaw jacket, the fuzzy textureof which was liberally besprinkled with burrs, which he was plucking offone by one, and throwing into the fire in great good humor.

  "I'm a human bramble bush," he said; "a few more of them and I'd be anutmeg grater. I'm not conceited but I'm stuck up."

  "I didn't see you until just this minute," Tom said; "or hear youeither. I guess you didn't come by the road. I guess you must have comeby the woods trail to get all those burrs on you."

  For just a moment the stranger seemed a trifle taken aback, but hequickly regained his composure and said, "I came in through the stageentrance, I guess. I can see you're an A-1 scout, good at observing anddeducing and all that. I bet you can't guess who I am."

  "I bet I can," said Tom, soberly accepting the challenge; "you'reWilliam Barnard. And I'm glad you're here, too."

  "Right the first time," said the stranger. "And you're Thomas Slade. Atlast we have met, as the villain says in the movies. You all alone?Here, let's get a squint at your mug," he added, sitting on the blanketand holding Tom's chin up so as to obtain a good view of his face.

  Tom's wonted soberness dissolved under this familiar, friendlytreatment, and he said with characteristic blunt frankness, "I'm gladyou came. You're just like I thought you were. I hoped all the time thatyou'd come."

  "_Get out!_" said Barnard, giving him a bantering push and laughingmerrily. "I bet you never gave me a thought. Well, here I am, as largeas life, larger in fact, and now that I'm here, what are you going to dowith me? What's that; a light?" he added, glancing suddenly down to themain body of the camp.

  "It's just the reflection of this fire in the lake," Tom said; "thereisn't anybody but me in camp now. The season is late starting. I guesstroops will start coming Saturday."

  "Yes?" said his companion, rather interested, apparently. "Well, I don'tsuppose they'll bother us much if we stick up here. What are you doing,building a city? The last time we met was in a hole in the ground, hey?Buried alive; you remember that? Little old France!"

  "I don't want to talk about that," Tom said; "when I told Uncle Jebabout it, it made me have a headache afterwards. I don't want to thinkabout that any more. But I'm mighty glad to see you, and I hope you'llstay. It seems funny, kind of, doesn't it?"

  Prompt to avail himself of Tom's apparent invitation to friendlyintercourse, his companion lay flat on his back, clasped his hands overhis head and said, "As funny as a circus. So here we are again, met oncemore like Stanley and Livingstone in South Africa. And do you know, youlook just like I thought you'd look. I said to myself that Tom Slade hasa big mouth--determined."

  "I never thought how you'd look," Tom said soberly; "but I said you werehappy-go-lucky, and I guess you are. I bet your scouts like you. Can youstay until they come?"

  "They're a pack of wild Indians, but they think I'm the only baby in thecradle."

  "I guess they're right," Tom said.

  "So you're all alone in camp, hey? And making your headquarters up here?Nice and cosy, hey? Remote and secluded, eh? That's the stuff for me. Itell my scouts, 'Keep away from civilization.' The further back you getthe better. Guess they won't bother you up here much, hey? Regularhermit's den. No, I'm just on a flying visit, that's all. Came to NewYork on biz, and thought I'd run up and give the place the once over. Imight loaf around a week or two if you'll let me. Suppose I _could_ stayuntil the kids get here, if it comes to that; _my_ kids, I mean. Afterall it would be just a case of beating it back to Ohio and then beatingit back here with them."

  "You might as well stay here now you're here; I hope you will," Tomsaid. "As long as you're here I might as well tell you why _I'm_ here,all alone."

  "Health?"

  "Kind of, but not exactly," Tom said. "These three cabins, the oldones--that one, and that one, and that one," he added, pointing, "arethe ones my troop always had. But I forgot all about it and gave them toyour troop. That got them sore at me. Maybe I could have fixed it forthem, but that would have left you fellows without any cabins, becauseall the cabins down below are taken for August. So I came up here tobuild three more; that way, nobody'll get left. They don't know I'mdoing it. I only got about two weeks now. I guess I can't finish becausemy arm is lame, on account of that wound--_you_ know. And my shoulder issore. I wanted to go away before they come--I got reasons."

  His companion raised himself to a sitting posture, clasped his handsover his knees, and glanced about at the disordered scene which shone inthe firelight. "So that's what you've been up to, hey?" he said.

  "When I told you in my letter to address your letters here, that's whatI was thinking about," Tom said. "Your troop and my--that other--troopwill be good friends, I guess. I'm going home when I get through andI'm going to buy a motor-boat."

  "Well--I'll--be--jiggered!" his friend said. "Thomas Slade, you're anold hickory-nut."

  "It was just like two trails," Tom said, "and I hit the long one."

  "And you're still in the bush, hey? Well, now you listen here. Can Ibunk up here with you? All right-o. Then I'm yours for a finished job.Here's my hand. Over the top we go. On July thirty-first, the flagfloats over this last cabin. I'm with you, strong as mustard. Buildingcabins is my favorite sport. You can sit and watch me. I'm here tofinish that job with you--what do you say? Comrades to the death?"

  "You can help," said Tom, smiling.

  "That's me," said Billy Barnard.

  CHAPTER XXI

  TOM'S GUEST

  Tom liked his new acqua
intance immensely, but he did not altogetherunderstand him. His apparently reckless and happy-go-lucky temperamentand his breezy manner, were very attractive to sober Tom, but theyseemed rather odd in a scoutmaster. However, he could think of no goodreason why a scoutmaster should not have a reckless nature and a breezymanner. Perhaps, he thought, it would be well if more scoutmasters werelike that. He thought that returned soldiers must make goodscoutmasters. He suspected that scoutmasters out west must be different.Of one thing he felt certain, and that was that the scouts in WilliamBarnard's troop must worship him. If he was different from somescoutmasters, perhaps this could be accounted for by the fact that hewas younger. Tom suspected that here was just the kind of scoutmasterthat the National Organization was after--one with pep. On the whole, hethought that William Barnard was a bully scoutmaster.

  At all events he seemed to be pretty skillful at woodcraft. The nextmorning he set to work in real earnest and Tom took fresh hope andcourage from his strenuous partner.

  "This is _your_ job," his friend would say; "all I'm doing is helping;sort of a silent partner, as you might say."

  But for all that he worked like a slave, relieving Tom of the heavierwork, and at night he was dog tired, as he admitted himself. Thus thework went on, and with the help of his new friend, Tom began to seelight through the darkness. "We'll get her finished or bust a trace,"Barnard said. They bunked together in one of the old cabins and Tomenjoyed the isolation and the pioneer character of their task. Relievedof the tremendous strain of lifting the logs alone, his shoulderregained some of its former strength and toughness, and the confidenceof success in time cheered him no less than did the amusing andsprightly talk of his friend.