Phil Bradley’s Snow-Shoe Trail

Silas K. Boone

Contents

“SOME ANIMAL HAS GONE ALONG HERE, SURE ENOUGH,” SAID X-RAY

THE MOUNTAIN BOYS SERIES

PHIL BRADLEY’S SNOW-SHOE TRAIL

OR

THE MOUNTAIN BOYS IN CANADA WILDS

BY

SILAS K. BOONE

THE NEW YORK BOOK COMPANY

NEW YORK

Copyright, 1915, by

THE NEW YORK BOOK COMPANY

PHIL BRADLEY’S SNOW-SHOE TRAIL OR, THE MOUNTAIN BOYS IN CANADA WILDS

CHAPTER I—INTO THE LAND OF THE MOOSE AND CARIBOU

“That cold chicken Mrs. McNab put up for our lunch yesterday went fine, fellows; and I only wish we had the like of it for to-day!”

“You always did have a weakness for fowls, Ethan.”

“Just so, X-Ray Tyson; that’s why they put me out in the left garden on our Brewster baseball team so I could gobble all that were knocked that way.”

“Well, we’ve heard you boasting lots of times about that wonder of a rooster you’ve got at home.”

“Oh! you mean old Robinson Crusoe, don’t you, Lub?”

“Yes, that sorrel-topped ungainly looking crow-factory we’ve all seen strutting around your yard so often. I never ran across an uglier bird, for a fact, if you’ll excuse me for saying it, Ethan.”

The boy who answered to the last mentioned name only laughed as he continued:

“No apologies needed, X-Ray; because I know myself he’s sure no beauty; but say, let me tell you he’s a scrapper from the ground up.”

“How on earth did you ever come to call him by such a queer name, Ethan? Did you happen to get him on Friday? Mebbe you found him on an island; or fished him out after a shipwreck on the water?”

“You’re away off your base, Lub. I’ll proceed to enlighten you a bit. It’s a wonder to me some of you haven’t asked about that before now. First of all, we got him from a man named Robinson, who peddles chickens, and collects eggs through Brewster territory. For a while we always referred to him as ‘Robinson’s fowl.’ Get that?”

“Yes, but go on, Ethan.”

“Well, when he had his fierce fight with Zack Avery’s game rooster that had beaten everything to flinders, and Robinson actually whipped him, we began to think he deserved a medal. After he had made the game run for home he perched on the dividing fence and let everybody know about it with his clarion voice; so I said right on the spot he ought to be given the rest of the famous Robinson name because he crew so!”

“Oh! somebody take hold of me, or I’m liable to fall off the sled and be left behind!” shouted the boy called Lub, and who was well named it appeared, judging from his generous proportions.

The stout boy was duly restrained and hugged by X-Ray Tyson and Ethan until he begged his companions to desist.

“I didn’t mean that I wanted you to squeeze me to death,” he complained; “that would be jumping out of the fryingpan into the fire. I’m fully recovered now from my weakness: but, Ethan, please don’t do anything like that again.”

There were just four boys in the party, all dressed warmly for a winter outing, and perched upon a number of bundles that went to make up the cargo of the homely old Canadian two-horse sledge, built not unlike those in common use around Moscow during a Russian winter.

Besides Ethan Allen, X-Ray Tyson and the stout youth, Lub Fenwick, whose real name however was Osmond, there was a fourth lad, to whom the others seemed to defer in a way that might suggest leadership.

In fact Phil Bradley did occupy this position among his chums, and with reason, for none of them could compare with him in concocting clever ideas, and also in carrying out the same.

They all belonged to the town of Brewster, which was situated hundreds of miles to the southwest of where we find them on this crisp winter day.

Those who have had the opportunity of reading the earlier volumes in this series know how it happened that there was no school in session in Brewster that fall and early winter, so that the scholars were given a long vacation.

Phil and his three chums had come to call themselves the Mountain Boys; just why we have not the time or space to explain here, except that it may have had something to do with Ethan Allen’s ancestors, who were Revolutionary heroes, and connected with the famous Green Mountain Boys.

Phil was an orphan who had been left a large fortune in trust, so that he could do almost as he liked financially; though he had no bad habits, and used his means in a healthy way for the benefit of others, as well as his own enjoyment. Lub had a rich aunt who spoiled him; and the parents of the Tyson boy were also considered well-to-do—by the way his name was really Raymond, but he was always so quick to see through things, that his playmates soon corrupted his first name as above.

These four boys were ambitious to take certain trips calculated to call for considerable expenditure of cash. The Allens, not being rich, and Ethan, being too proud to accept of continuous favors at the hands of Phil, for a time it looked as if the magic combination must be broken.

Between them the other three hatched up a wonderful scheme which they immediately put into operation. It has been spoken of in earlier books, but in order that new readers may understand the situation, a few words of explanation may not be amiss.

Ethan had always been a boy given to earning various sums of money by doing odd jobs, and at the recommendation of Phil he started to use some old traps he happened to own, with more or less success in securing such pelts as muskrats in the marsh, together with an occasional fox or mink, while even ’coons yielded up their hides for his benefit.

In the spring and summer Ethan scoured the woods for certain valuable roots such as wild ginseng, golden rod and others. These he dried, and when he had a quantity, shipped to a certain dealer according to the directions of Phil.

The results were certainly pleasing, for the checks that came back made Ethan very proud. But the fact of the matter was, this was all a little scheme of Phil’s. To tell the truth the pretended dealer in roots and furs down in New York was a certain rich bachelor uncle of Phil’s, who entered heartily into the game, once he learned the purpose of his nephew’s idea.

He even had letter heads and envelopes printed as though he might be doing a land-office business in purchasing such commodities. But if the wonderfully fine prices that he paid Ethan for everything he sent prevailed all along the line, it is likely that nine-tenths of the male population of the country would be turning their attention to such profitable pursuits.

Of course the reader can understand that nine-tenths of the money Ethan received in these complimentary letters came from Phil; but not for worlds would this intelligence be allowed to reach the proud trapper and root-hunter.

It was in one way rather a mean thing to do, but the intention was noble. It allowed Ethan to pay his share of the general expenses on their outings, and saved his self-respect. Granted that he never learned of the subterfuge everything would be well.

There were times, however, when Ethan quite naturally boasted just a little about his superior ability to dry roots better than anybody else; and also of his grand luck in trapping a prize black fox, when in reality the skin that brought him almost three hundred dollars was not worth more than five at the most.

On these occasions Lub would titter a little, though he quickly turned it off if Ethan turned to stare at him, by coughing, and complaining of a tickling in his throat.

Only when they were positive that Ethan was out of hearing did the three conspirators dare compare notes on this subject, and laugh over the success of their grand scheme. But as X-Ray once said, it was like skating over a “ticklish bender” on the frozen mill pond; because they might try it once too often, and excite the suspicion of the boy who was being hoodwinked, greatly to his profit.

Phil and his three chums had spent some time in camp up in the Adirondacks not a great while back. Their latest trip had been down on the Coast along a certain section on Currituck Sound, where Phil owned a “shooting lodge” that had been left to him by an old hermit. What amazing adventures developed during their stay on the salt water in pursuit of wild fowl have been given in detail in the preceding volume.

This trip up into the Canadian wilderness had been planned for a long time. In fact ever since X-Ray received a present on the last Christmas of a pair of fine Canadian show-shoes he had done little but talk of his desire to some time or other get up there where they always had plenty of snow, just to learn how to use his treasured gift.

Strangely enough there had never come about a time since then when he could do any decent work with his snow-shoes. When a fall of snow did come along it was followed by a soft spell that ruined the going; and so it came about that here they were, headed for a certain place in the Canadian “bush,” where they hoped to spend a week or two hunting, and enjoying themselves in every possible way.

Phil had been put in touch with an old Scotch farmer who had promised to take them bag and baggage into the woods, and come for them again at a certain date. On the previous morning they had started over the snow on his queer sledge, with a large quantity of luggage that was intended to make for their comfort. One night they had camped on the way, and “The” McNab, whose other name was Tammis, promised that before darkness rolled around again he would have them located in the best hunting region of the Saguenay country.

Of course X-Ray Tyson was not the only one who had snow-shoes, because there were three other pairs in plain sight. Phil alone really had had previous practical experience on the clumsy “gunboats,” as Lub called them; though X-Ray claimed to have paddled around in his yard many times on an inch of snow, without any dire disaster.

The McNab was a red-faced Scotch-Canadian, warm of heart, though possibly a bit over fond of imbibing, and perhaps not as dependable as he might be when in one of these bibulous moods.

He was greatly interested in the four lively American lads, and listened to the many stories they told connected with their past experiences.

Thus the second morning of their tedious ride began to wear away. Surrounded by the rough country that characterizes all this section of northeast Canada, they began to feel that ere long they would be cut off from all communication with civilization.

All that morning they had not seen a single house of any description. The road over which the two sturdy Canadian shaggy ponies were dragging the sledge was only a logging or “tote” road along which teams sometimes went on the way to or from some logging camp situated nearer the river.

“We’ll soon be leaving even this road, and taking to the bush, you say, Mr. McNab?” Lub was asking, as he clutched the arm of Ethan in a sudden spasm of fear lest he be shaken from his seat when one of the runners of the sled struck an obstruction, tilting the whole load dangerously.

“Oh, aye, but I assure ye it couldno’ be any worse than this. Ye ken that the road is seldom used, and it gets in a peetiful state. But it will not be for lang. When we turn off the going will be better, ye understand.”

Mr. McNab had a very broad touch of the brogue. Lub loved to hear him roll the “R’s” off his thick tongue, and often asked questions just to be amused in that way.

“Look ahead there, will you?” cried out X-Ray just then; for when it came to using his eyes to advantage the Tyson boy had all of his chums “beaten to a frazzle,” as Ethan used to say; “here comes a man walking along the road. Why, we must be getting near a town of some kind.”

“Aweel, laddy, nae doot ye think so, but it taks more than one man to mak a toun. That party is a logger coming from the camp. I dinna ken why he should be giving up his job so airly in the season, but it may be he is seek, or has had some sorry news frae hame.”

The brawny logger had an ax, with a small bundle suspended from the same, slung over his shoulder. He stopped and waited for them to come up, when he nodded his head in salutation.

“You’re The McNab, I take it,” he remarked, addressing the driver of the shaggy ponies. “I’m one of the Sawyer bunch over on the river ten miles away. On my way back home; wife down with a fever and the kids need me. Get up later on if all goes well. What sort of a crowd are you taking up into the bush this time, Tammis? Seems like a young outfit for such big game hunting.”

“Oh! ay, so it does,” replied the driver, quickly; “but these braw laddies hae seen muckle mair o’ such business than most men that come up this way. They weel know how to tak care o’ themselves, nae doot. What are the chances for game this season; and do ye know o’ anny ither parties in the bush?”

“I hear there are moose aplenty this year,” the logger replied, as he filled his pipe from the bag of tobacco McNab held out to him; “and so far I’ve only heard tell o’ one party o’ sportsmen along these parts. They’re camped nigh the Hogback on Cranberry Creek.”

“Seems to me I heard talk aboot the Baylay coming back to his old haunts again. They did say he had reformed, but, mon, they leed, fo’ that de’il would never be annything but the toughest man in all the Saguenay region, though he lived to a hundred.”

“Yes, they say it’s true, and one of our crew ran across him,” the logger returned, with a frown, and a shake of the head. “He is still nursing a broken head; and bore the word from Baylay that if any other loggers tried to take the quarrel up they knew where to find him.”

“Oh, ay, he never hides his light under a bushel, mon. And I only hope that the laddies here will not run a foul of the braggart while they are in the bush.”

“Well, if they do they’d better knuckle under, and whisper small. There isn’t a man I know as would be willing to stack up against Baylay when he’s roused and in one of his quarrelsome moods. He is a terror if ever there was one. But I must be on my way; the sooner I get home the better. Good-by to ye, boys, and I hope ye have a fine time; but beware Baylay!”

He struck out down the logging road with his bundle dangling from the ax that lay across his shoulder. McNab chirped to his ponies and once more the sledge started on its way.

Lub had an apprehensive look on his chubby face. His eyes sought those of Phil in a mute inquiry.

“Would you mind telling us something about this man, Baylay, Mr. McNab?” asked Phil; while both X-Ray Tyson and Ethan nodded their approval, for their curiosity had also been aroused.

“Oh! ay, though the least said aboot him the better,” replied the driver, as he glanced uneasily on either side of the road at the thick “bush” as though he half feared lest the party under discussion might be within earshot of them and take offense; “he is a verra big and powerful man who has a most ungovernable temper. He has gi’en the authorities a great deal o’ trouble in the past, but it is maist difficult to get any one to try and arrest him. He has been a logger in his time, and one o’ the best ever known along the river. They say he used to smuggle across the border; and to this day he kills game out o’ season as he pleases; yet the wardens are sore afraid to attempt his arrest.”

“Whew! that sounds nice, I must say!” exclaimed X-Ray Tyson.

“Rather an unpleasant neighbor to have around, seems to me,” added Ethan.

“I should remark,” declared Lub.

“I only hope,” Phil finished with, “that we don’t have the bad luck to run across this Baylay while we’re up here. For while it might be policy for us to knuckle down and try not to cross such a quarrelsome man, it goes against the grain of the Mountain Boys to be meek and uncomplaining when they are in the right.”

“That’s what we all say, Phil!” declared X-Ray.

Tammis McNab looked at his charges, and rubbed his bristly chin reflectively, as though it struck him there might be some lively times in prospect in case these American lads and the Baylay did happen to run up against each other in the bush.

CHAPTER II—BESIDE THE FRAGRANT CAMP FIRE

“I heard say that this Baylay had come back to his old haunts; does that mean he used to live up in this section, Mr. McNab?” asked Phil, a little later, showing that his thoughts were still fixed upon the unpleasant neighbor they were likely to have during their outing.

“Aweel, he did spend some time up aboot this way,” the driver replied. “You see, the mon has a family, for all his wild ways, and somehow he manages to support the wife and childer and a raft o’ dogs, though it’s a mystery how he does the same.”

“Children you say, and up here in this wilderness?” exclaimed Lub, looking more or less surprised.

“Oh! ay, a pair o’ thim I’m tawld, tho’ for the matter I couldno’ say for certain, since I never ha’ set eyes on the same. They tell me that the wife is a wee sma’ woman, but that she has been known to subdue her giant husband as no mortal man ever dared.”

“Gee! I’d like to see her do it, then,” asserted X-Ray, impulsively, of course never dreaming at the time that any such opportunity would drift his way.

When noon came they stopped and made a fire, so as to have hot coffee, which of course every one declared to be very refreshing, for they were chilled more or less by the long inaction.

Then it was on again deeper into the wilderness. The road had been abandoned for some time, since it turned sharply in the wrong direction, heading for the lumber camp on the river. Besides, the vicinity of such a place, where trees were falling all day long, and rough loggers calling out or singing at their labor, could not be reckoned a good hunting-ground, since the game would be scared away.

As the shadows began to lengthen the boys were cheered by hearing Tammis declare they were now close on the spot he had in mind. Once before some years back he had piloted a hunting-party up here, and from all accounts the prospects for big game were much better this season than for a long while back.

One of Phil’s hobbies was along the line of flashlight photography. Indeed, he had become quite fascinated with the idea of “shooting game with a camera,” and was even losing some of his hunter spirit that had until recently been such a pronounced part of his make-up.

He had already made quite a collection of wonderful pictures, and yearned for other worlds to conquer. Some of these days he declared he meant to take a trip into the fastnesses of Darkest Africa, where he could snap off the wild animals in their native haunts—elephant, lion, rhinoceros, hippopotamus and every other species of creature that lives in jungle and swamp and forest in the country which Roosevelt had recently visited on his great hunt.

Of course Phil expected to add to his collection while on this jaunt; and since Ethan was a born hunter, with X-Ray backing him up, they could supply the camp with what fresh meat was necessary, leaving Lub to manage the culinary department, and lend Phil a helping hand if necessary.

The sun was just about an hour high when McNab suddenly drew in his shaggy team.

“What mair cud ye want than this braw place, laddies?” he demanded, as he sat there, and swept his hand around in a semi-circle.

Phil followed his movement. He saw that indeed there could hardly be a finer spot for camping. It was on the shore of a lake, and they could look far out over the ice-covered surface to where the fir crowned hills came down to the further shore, fully a mile away.

Situated in the heart of the virgin forest, with the ax of the logger still a stranger to the splendid growth of timber, it seemed to offer them a glorious opportunity for spending their fortnight there in the wilderness.