Read Ebook: The Bungalow Boys North of Fifty-Three by Goldfrap John Henry Wrenn Charles L Charles Lewis Illustrator

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Ebook has 1328 lines and 53422 words, and 27 pages

"Why didn't you look where you were going?" demanded Jack. "You gave us the scare of our lives!"

Sandy appeared to be about to make an indignant reply, but Tom checked him.

"You two fellows fight this out another time," he ordered sharply. "Sandy, get into the cabin right away. There's some hot tea on the stove. While you're getting into dry things I'll fix something up for you. Get a move on now."

Sandy, without a backward glance, took his way up the gangway, followed by the others. Both Mr. Chisholm Dacre, uncle of Tom and Jack, and his partner in the enterprise that had brought the party north, were away back over the snowy mountains on a trip to a distant post for provisions. The boys were not sorry for this, under the circumstances.

And now let us leave them for a time while Sandy is being half scalded to death with hot tea and vigorously rubbed with rough, scratchy towels, and explain in some detail, to those who do not already know them, who the Bungalow Boys are, and what they are doing in the frozen north in the dead of winter not long before Christmas time.

We first met the lads in the "Bungalow Boys," a volume devoted to their doings and adventures, grave and gay, in the Sawmill Valley in Maine, where, by a series of strange events, they fell "heirs" to a cozy bungalow, which fact resulted in their being known as the Bungalow Boys. It was a name bestowed upon them after they had routed a band of counterfeiters who made their haunt in the valley and caused all sorts of trouble for the boys, whom the gang viewed as interlopers.

Adventures came thick and fast to the boys and their companion, a certain wise and lovable, though eccentric, professor. The latter, by accident, stumbled on the counterfeiters' den, an odd, cavern-like place cunningly concealed on a cliff summit above a small lake opposite to the bungalow. The boys, too, had many thrilling experiences, the memory of one of which lingers particularly. Our readers will have no trouble in recalling Tom's adventure in the flooded cave following his battle with the enraged moose, and his subsequent adventures with the Trulliber gang. In this volume, also, Mr. Chisholm Dacre, the Bungalow Boys' uncle, appeared after a mysterious absence, the cause of which was fully explained in the unraveling of events.

We next encountered our fun and adventure-loving heroes down in equatorial seas. In the "Bungalow Boys Marooned in the Tropics" their experiences in search of sunken treasure were set forth in full. In an exciting narrative, warm with the color and life of the tropics, the tale of their adventures and perils below, as well as above, the ocean was told. How Tom saved Mr. Dacre's life from a huge devilfish far under the surface of the sea was but one of the experiences that occurred on that expedition. Jack and Sandy, too, came in for stirring times, not the least of which was the incident of the haunted cabin on the desert island and their "laying of the ghost."

The "Bungalow Boys in the Great North West" dealt with very different scenes. In this book we made the acquaintance of Mr. Colton Chillingworth, the sturdy, sterling-hearted ranchman and friend of Mr. Dacre. How the boys incurred the enmity of a band of Chinese smugglers and how they acquitted themselves in several trying situations may all be read there, together with much information about that wonderful section of our country.

The great bodies of fresh water lying on our northern boundary line provided the setting for yet another volume which was called "The Bungalow Boys on the Great Lakes." In a Lake Huron "hummer" the boys began a series of remarkable experiences. Setting out for a pleasure cruise, they found that they were once more called upon to face difficulties and dangers. Doubtless the hardened muscles and self-reliance developed in them by their other adventures helped them to meet these with fortitude and success. The secret of Castle Rock Island was one well worth finding out, as those who have read the book in question know.

Their object in navigating the Yukon was to establish winter quarters for an unique industry, namely, the trapping and breeding of the rare and expensive silver fox and black fox. The animals were to be taken alive in specially designed box-traps, and when enough had been captured they were to be shipped to Mr. Chillingworth's ranch in the state of Washington and set at liberty to breed in a climate believed to be excellently suited to them.

Perhaps some of our young readers may think this a very queer form of enterprise. To these it must be explained that the project in which Mr. Dacre, the Bungalow Boys' uncle, and Colton Chillingworth, the rancher, were partners was by no means a chimerical one. Good silver fox pelts bring in the open market from fifteen hundred to twenty-five hundred dollars each, and black fox pelts even more than that. If it was possible, therefore, to raise them in numbers, there would be almost literally a "gold mine" in the business. At any rate, both the partners thought well enough of the idea to sink considerable capital in perfecting their plans.

But already there were signs that what Mr. Dacre and Mr. Chillingworth had feared, namely, the enmity of the professional trappers of the country had been aroused. As small clouds precede a mighty storm, so slight signs may indicate coming trouble. Mr. Chillingworth had himself been a trapper when younger and he knew the wild, half-savage traits of most of this class of men well.

Jealous of intrusion on what they deem their rights to the wild lands, distrustful as wild animals and vengeful, and experienced in the ways of the silent places, they make enemies not to be despised. This fact the boys were closer than they thought to discovering, and that before many hours had elapsed.

"What's up, Jack? What's the trouble?" "It's something over by the fox cages." Jack's voice was vibrant with anxiety. As for Tom, he was up in a jiffy. In the cages, as has been mentioned, were some half dozen silver foxes and one black one. In all, about seventy-five hundred dollars' worth of pelts "on the hoof," as it were, were confined in the big wooden cribs.

That night before they had turned in, Tom and Jack, leaving Sandy in his bunk recuperating from his ducking of the afternoon, had visited the cages and fed their valuable charges with the fish which formed their main article of diet.

"It is really like being left as watchmen in a bank," Tom had laughingly remarked as they saw to it that all was secure for the night.

"Well, I don't think it is likely that anyone would care to tackle valuables like these foxes," Jack had rejoined, as the animals sprang snapping and snarling viciously at the fish, "that is, unless they were like the Spartan boy in the old reader come to life again."

"I'm not so sure about that," had been Tom's grave reply. "Before Uncle Dacre and Mr. Chillingworth left, they warned me to be constantly on the lookout for trouble, and to spare no pains in watching the foxes at every possible opportunity."

"But who in the world can they be afraid of up here in this desolate, uninhabited part of the world?" Jack had asked, gazing about at the solitary, snow-covered slopes, the drooping balsams and the long stretch of empty, frozen valley.

"As for its being uninhabited, I'm not so sure of that," Tom had replied. "You remember those two miners 'way back in the hills where we thought no human being had penetrated; and at this time of year, Mr. Chillingworth said the trappers are ranging all through this part of the country."

"You mean that you imagine they thought there would be danger of somebody bothering our foxes?" Jack had inquired anxiously.

"That is just what I mean," Tom had said. "Of course they didn't say so in so many words, but I'll bet that was what was on their minds. To lots of trappers there's a fortune right here in these cages."

This was food for reflection, and Jack had been in a wakeful mood all that night. What the hour was he could not imagine, but a short time before he aroused Tom, he had heard a soft crunching on the snow outside in the direction of the fox cages, followed by a sound as if the pens themselves were being tampered with.

He had leaped from his bunk with a bound and made for his brother's, Tom being the accepted leader of the Bungalow Boys.

"Close the shutters!" were the first orders Tom gave.

"What for?" Jack could not refrain from asking.

"So that no light can get outside" was Tom's reply, "while we jump into some clothes and see what's up."

The shutters he referred to were used when an unusually heavy wind came up. They were felt lined and excluded every bitter draft. At such times ventilation was obtained from a device in the roof of the cabin. Jack soon had the solid blinds closed and fastened, and then he struck a match and lit the hanging lamp. The next task was to arouse Sandy while they hastily dressed. The Scotch lad was hard to awaken, but at length he sat up blinking and drowsy, and Tom rapidly informed him of what Jack had heard.

"Huh! I'll bet it was nothing but just a wolverine," spoke Sandy scornfully.

Wolverines, the gluttons of the northland, had assailed the fox pens quite frequently, being attracted by the odor of fish. In one instance the black fox's pen had been almost demolished by the steel-clawed, truculent robber of the northern woods.

"Maybe that's what it was," said Jack anxiously, inwardly much relieved. As a matter of fact he had not much relished the notion of creeping out into the night upon possible human intruders.

"Well, if it is wolverines, we'll have a chance to nail them red-handed," said Tom, "so get a move on and jump into your 'parkee'."

Sandy saw from Tom's face that there was no use delaying any longer and he lost no time in obeying. Then, armed with rifles, having carefully extinguished the light, the boys crept softly out into the night.

It was bitterly cold, but to the north the famous "Lights" flashed and burned against the sky, shedding a softly luminous radiance on the white covering of the earth.

"Ugh!" shivered Jack under his breath, "isn't it cold, though!"

"Hoot!" grunted Sandy disgustedly, "if it hadna' been for you and your false alarms, we might ha' been in our beds the noo' instead of trapsing around oot here like a lot of gloom-croons."

"Hush!" breathed Tom impatiently; "what's the matter with you fellows? Can't you move quietly?"

"Oh, aye!" rejoined Sandy. "In my opeenion, yon noise was nought but a pack o' bogles."

"Then they're the first ghosts I ever heard of that carried hatchets," retorted Tom sharply, although in a low whisper. "Hark at that!"

Over against the hill there could be made out in the faint glow of the Northern Lights a number of dark blotches sharply outlined by their white background. These blotches they knew were the fox cages. In other words, the "safes" containing the four-footed wealth they had been set to guard.

"Can you see anything?" asked Jack under his breath.

"I'm not sure,--just a minute,--yes! Look there!"

"Where?" demanded Jack, his eyes burning and his heart giving a violent thump.

"Right by the last cage."

"The one that the black fox is in?"

"Yes."

"A man!"

"Holy smoke! What'll we do now?"

"Get after him, of course. Come on!"

Clutching his rifle in his gloved hands Tom started forward, but before he could move another step he stopped short. From over by the black fox's cage there came a shot and a blinding flash.

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