Tour of the Zero Club

OR Adventures Amid Ice and Snow

BY CAPTAIN RALPH BONEHILL AUTHOR OF “Neka, the Boy Conjuror,” “For the Liberty of Texas,” “Boys of the Fort,” etc.

NEW YORK AND LONDON STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1902 By STREET & SMITH

Tour of the Zero Club

CONTENTS.

TOUR OF THE ZERO CLUB.

CHAPTER I. ON THE TOBOGGAN-SLIDE.

“All ready?”

“All ready!”

“Then here we go! Hold on, everybody, unless you want to be sent flying when we reach the curve!”

As Harry Webb uttered the last words he gave his long toboggan, the Buster, a final shove, and hopped on behind his three companions, and away they started on the trip down Doublehead Hill.

It was a stirring scene. The upper and lower hills, although light in the full moon, were made doubly bright by the scores of bonfires and pine torches which blazed on either side of the narrow toboggan-slide.

Scores of boys and girls were out, and not a few ladies and gentlemen also, and all looked warm and happy in their gayly-colored toboggan suits.

The long, low sleds were out by the dozens, and Jack Bascoe, who was steering the Buster as best he could, had a difficult time of it, keeping clear of dangerous collisions.

“By jingo! but this is fine!” cried Andy Bascoe, Jack’s[10] younger brother. “Who would want better sport than this?”

“You’re right, it’s fine!” returned Boxy Woodruff, the most light-hearted boy in Rudskill. “A fellow would like to keep sailing like this forever, eh? Just spread out your arms and—wow!”

Boxy’s imitation of flying came to a sudden stop as the toboggan shot over a little hill and came down with a thump on the other side. He was thrown a bit to one side, and only saved himself by grasping Jack Bascoe around the middle with both arms.

“Hold on, Boxy!” cried Jack, a little alarmed.

“That’s what I’m doing,” returned Boxy.

“I feel you,” said Jack, grimly. “But don’t pull me off, please. I’ve got to keep my eyes open for the other toboggans and sleds, you know.”

“I’m all right now, and I’ll do my flying act some other time,” returned Boxy.

“Here comes the Whistler!” cried Harry. “We ought to be able to beat Pete Sully’s toboggan.”

“Of course!” added Andy.

“Everybody push!” put in Boxy, in a dry way that made them all laugh. “Maybe you would like me to get off and help pull,” he added, in mock seriousness.

As they were going at a speed little less than a mile a minute down the long hill, the others laughed louder than ever.

The Whistler, with Pete Sully, the bully of the town, and several of his chums, was creeping up by their side.[11] It was a brand-new toboggan, and slid along as though greased.

“You fellows ain’t in it any more!” shouted Sully to Harry, as he came within speaking distance. “Here’s where we leave you away behind!”

“You’ve got more weight!” returned Harry. “Give me the same weight, and the Buster will walk away from you with ease.”

“I’ll bet you a dollar you can’t!” shouted Sully.

“I haven’t got a dollar to bet, Pete,” replied Harry, and he told the truth, for, although he owned the Buster, Harry Webb was poor, and had not known what it was to own a dollar for several years, ever since his father had lost his money in an unfortunate real estate speculation.

“Oh, you’re afraid to bet,” cried Sully, mockingly. “Good-by, slow boots!”

“I’ll bet my pocket-knife against yours we can beat you!” said Harry, considerably nettled by Sully’s taunts. “We will take the same number aboard and try our skill.”

“Done!” yelled Sully, for he was now several rods ahead.

Down the last of the second hill and along the level road shot the Buster, and presently came to a standstill just where the Rudskill turnpike branched off across the railroad tracks. The Whistler had gone on a couple of hundred feet farther up the side of the tracks.

“Told you we’d beat you!” exclaimed Pete Sully, as he and his chums joined Harry and his friends. “You[12] had better not bet your pocket-knife unless you want to lose it.”

“I am not afraid to try against you, Sully, and perhaps it will be you who will lose his pocket-knife.”

“Humph!” sneered Sully. “No fear. And if I did, I guess I could buy another easy enough, even if somebody else couldn’t.”

This was a direct shot at Harry’s poverty, and made the ears of the poor boy tingle, while his handsome face flushed.

“Come on and try your skill and quit your talking,” exclaimed Jack Bascoe, rather sharply, and he faced Sully as he spoke. “There is no use in wasting time here.”

Had it been any one else than Jack Bascoe who had spoken thus suggestively to him, Pete Sully might have picked a quarrel then and there. He was a very overbearing boy, and never allowed a chance of whipping some other boy go by him.

But the truth of the matter was, that he had once run up against Jack’s fist in a most surprising fashion. Blood had flowed freely, and from that time on the bully of Rudskill knew there were two boys in the town he dare not molest, Jack and his younger brother, Andy.

So, muttering something under his breath which Harry and his friends could not hear, Sully and his cohorts began to drag their toboggan up the long hillside. They were followed by the other boys, with the Buster. The walk was a tedious one, especially so to the two sides that wished to race each other.

“Whom shall we get to add weight?” asked Harry, as[13] they at last gained the starting-place. “I don’t see any of our crowd here; do you?”

“I don’t,” returned Jack.

“What’s the matter with Pickles Johnsing?” put in Boxy. “He’s got enough weight for two.”

Pickles Johnsing was a stout, round-faced colored boy, with big red lips, and teeth which reminded one very forcibly of double-blank dominoes set in twin rows. He was a very willing and decent sort of a young darky, and had many friends in the little river town in which my story for the present is located.

“He’ll do first-rate,” said Harry. “Hello, Pickles!” he shouted.

“Hullo, dar, Harry!” returned the colored boy. “Got yo’ tobog out ag’in, I see.”

“Yes, Pickles, and we want you to ride down with us this trip. Put your bread-shovel out of the way.”

“T’anks, Harry, I’se like to ride down on de Buster fust-rate,” grinned Pickles. “Wot yo’ gwine ter do, race Pete Sully?”

“Yes, Pickles, and we must beat him,” replied Andy. “You know just how to help us along.”

“Humph! if he ain’t going to take that coon on the trip!” sneered Pete Sully.

“You ain’t racing niggers, are you, Pete?” questioned one of his followers.

“I don’t know as I am,” returned Pete Sully, slowly.

He walked over to where Harry sat on his toboggan.

“I expected to race white fellows,” he remarked, sourly.

[14]“Pickles is all right,” said Jack Bascoe. “He’s the dark horse to win. If you are going to race, get ready, for Harry isn’t going to wait all night for you.”

“Where’s that knife!” demanded Sully, thus changing the subject.

“Here it is,” replied Harry, producing it. “Four blades, and every one in good condition. Where is yours?”

“It’s just as good as that,” retorted Sully, bringing forth his pocket-knife. “Four blades and a corkscrew.”

“Who’s going to hold them as stakes?” questioned Bill Dixon, Sully’s most intimate chum.

The matter was talked over for several minutes, and finally a gentleman who had come to the hill to look at the sport agreed to become stakeholder.

Before the matter was decided, however, Sully did a good deal of whispering to Bill Dixon, who immediately left the crowd, which had moved over to the largest of the nearby campfires.

At last all was in readiness for the start. Hearing of the race, many on the course left their toboggans and sleds to witness the contest.

“Now, remember, the first to reach the railroad track switch wins the race,” shouted the stakeholder. “Are you ready?”

“We are,” said Sully.

“Then—go!”

With a great push, Sully sent the Whistler on the downward course in fine style. Harry likewise gave the Buster a good shove, and his toboggan also started. But[15] he was a rod behind the other sled in the fraction of a second.

“Something is dragging under us!” cried Andy, quickly. “I can feel it plainly.”

“What can it be?” exclaimed Harry, in alarm. “Anybody’s clothing caught?”

“My clo’ all hunky,” replied Pickles. “Dat feels like it was a rope under dar. Did yo’ tie a rope to de tobog, Harry?”

“I took the rope off and left it with Mr. Bruley when we started,” returned the owner of the Buster. “It’s no use,” he groaned. “They’ll reach the tracks before we are half-way down!”

In the meanwhile Boxy Woodruff was feeling along the side of the toboggan. It was not long before his hand came in contact with an end of wash-line.

“Here it is, tied around the toboggan!” he cried. “I’ll bet this is some of Pete Sully’s underhanded work!”

“Yank it loose, can’t you?” exclaimed Harry, anxiously. “Cut it or break it—something.”

Boxy pulled with all of his strength, and the wash-line, which, luckily, was old and rotten, parted. An instant later it was clear of the toboggan bottom, and streaming along behind like the thin tail of a kite.

Freed from this hindrance, the Buster shot forward on its course. Like a comet it passed over the brow of the second hill, with the Whistler over a hundred feet ahead. Could they regain the ground they had lost?

CHAPTER II. LOST OR WON?

It was one thing for the boys on the Buster to wish to range alongside of the Whistler again, but it was quite a different thing to do it.

Both toboggans were rushing along with furious speed, and now the end of the course was close at hand.

“Sit jess a little moah to de front,” was Pickles’ suggestion, and it was immediately acted upon.

“Didn’t I tell you you wasn’t in it?” shouted Pete Sully, derisively.

“There isn’t a toboggan around Rudskill can beat the Whistler!” put in Bill Dixon.

On and on went the two toboggans. The last little rise was passed and the speed began to slacken.

Suddenly the Whistler struck a snag—the dead limb of a tree, which was half-hidden in the snow.

It quickly swerved out of its course, directly in the path of the oncoming Buster.

“Get out of the way!” shouted Jack Bascoe, who was, as usual, in the front. “Turn her around, Sully!”

“Don’t run into us!” shrieked several on board of the Whistler. “To the right! To the right!”

Those on the Buster tried to do as advised, not only for the sake of their rivals, but also to save themselves. But[17] it was too late to do much. The Buster swung around a trifle, and then came up sideways with a bang, and out into the snow flew every one of the boys on both toboggans.

Fortunately, no one was seriously hurt, although several faces and hands were scratched, and Pickles got a bruise in the shin, his one weak spot. All were soon on their feet, and the toboggans were dragged to one side, out of the way of any that might be following.

“What did you mean by running into us?” demanded Pete Sully, hotly, as he stalked up to Harry.

“What could we do when you blocked up the course?” retorted the owner of the Buster.

“We didn’t block up the course!”

“You certainly did,” interposed Jack. “You ought to be thankful that we didn’t run right over you.”

“It wasn’t fair!”

“It was fair,” said Harry. “But I’ll tell you what was not fair—tying that wash-line under my toboggan, and that’s just what one of your crowd did.”

“What’s that?” growled Bill Dixon. “We didn’t touch your confounded bread-shovel.”

“Some one tied that rope on,” said Andy, picking up the line in question. “It smells like your rope, Longman,” he went on, to a boy whose father was the captain of a schooner on the river. “It’s a regular tarred line.”

“See here, because you lost the race, you needn’t claim a foul!” growled Sully, wrathfully. “You may think——”

[18]“Lose the race!” came in a chorus from those who had rode upon the Buster.

“We lost no race!” added Jack, vigorously.

“Yes, you did.”

“I certainly don’t see it.”

“You ran into us, and that gives us the race,” said Bill Dixon.

“Not by a jugful,” exclaimed Harry. “We were on the left, where we belonged. Had you kept to the right——”

“You’d have been all right,” finished Boxy. “Come on up the hill and try it over again.”

“I won’t do it,” returned Sully, sourly. “It’s my race.”

“He won’t race because we’ve found out about that rope,” said Harry, growing angry. “I’m going to tell the crowd about it as soon as we get to the top of the hill.”

“Do you mean to say that I placed that rope under your toboggan?” blustered Sully, stepping up to him with clinched fists.

“One of your crowd did,” returned Harry. “It was put there for the sole purpose of keeping us back.”

“If you say I put it there, I’ll hammer you!”

“You heard what I said. I am not prepared to say more—just now. You may hear from me later.”

Thus talking, the two crowds made their way to the top of the hill. Here they found an excited group of boys waiting for them.

“Did the Whistler win?” cried several.

“Certainly we won!” replied Sully.

[19]“It was no race,” explained Jack. “They struck a snag, and we ran into them while they were on our side of the course.”

“Somebody said that Dixon boy tied a rope under your toboggan,” remarked the gentleman who held the two pocket-knives, to Harry. “Did you find anything wrong?”

“We did!” cried the boy. “Here is the rope. Who saw Dixon do it?”

The question was passed around, and it finally leaked out that three boys in the crowd had seen the sneaking action performed. Dixon had taken the rope from Longman’s sled, and this Longman was finally forced to admit.

“No race,” said the stakeholder, promptly. “I will give both boys their pocket-knives. Dixon, you ought to be ruled off the slide,” he added to the bully’s toady.

“I don’t care, I claim that race,” said Sully, loudly. “I don’t care a rap about the pocket-knife. It’s not half as good as my own.”

Harry wanted to try again, but the bully declined, saying it was getting late, and he was expected home. In reality, Sully was afraid to race fairly.

“We’ll try our good points at the skating races day after to-morrow,” he said to Harry. “You mustn’t forget that I am in the five-mile race against you and Jack Bascoe, and Milne and the rest.”

“I have a good memory,” returned Harry, pointedly. “And you can rest assured that we’ll look out for any more rope tricks,” and with this parting shot he walked[20] off with his toboggan, accompanied by Jack and the others.

“Dat dere Sully makes me mos’ drefful sick,” said Pickles. “He t’inks de hull town must bow to him. It would be de best t’ing in de world if da would jess git togedder and run him off de co’s.”

“One of us must beat him in that race,” said Jack, decidedly. “If he wins, he won’t stop crowing for a month.”

“You can do it, Jack,” said Andy, who had great confidence in his older brother’s abilities. “He hasn’t near the wind you have.”

“That may be, but he’s got everlastingly long legs, Andy; don’t forget that.”

“I’ll bank on Harry,” put in Boxy, who was Harry’s most intimate friend, having lived next door to him for years. “His legs are pretty long, and his wind is right there every time.”

“Well, I don’t care if I do lose, if Harry wins,” said Jack. “So long as we keep the first prize away from the Sully crowd.”

“I’m going to do my best to win that race,” put in Harry. “Not only for the honor, but because I want the money.”

“Has Mr. Grimes decided to put up a purse?” asked Jack, quickly.

“He told me he would put up a gold medal, but if any one wanted it, he would buy the medal back for fifteen dollars. And if I had fifteen dollars I wouldn’t have to ask father for a cent of spending money for a year.”

[21]“And you could go on that tour with us, couldn’t you?” put in Boxy, quickly. “That is, if we go.”

“I suppose I could,” returned Harry, thoughtfully.

The idea of a winter tour had been in the minds of this crowd of boys for several weeks. Rudskill was situated upon the banks of a well-known river in New York State, and their idea was to build an iceboat, and cruise up the river a distance of some forty miles, and then start on a trip among the mountains to a sheet of water, which I shall call Rock Island Lake. Once on the lake, they would cross it on skates, and then locate a winter camp in the heart of the mountains on the western side, where they could spend several weeks in hunting and fishing and other winter sports.

The four boys had already formed themselves into an organization which they called the Zero Club—certainly a most appropriate name for winter use. Jack Bascoe was the president, and also general director of the club, which held weekly meetings regularly in the harness-room of Mr. Bascoe’s barn.

It was Andy who had first proposed this trip, and he had found that idea taken up with avidity. A fire in the town schoolhouse had closed that institution six weeks for repairs, and so the time could be taken without losing any part of the school session.

On the following day the four boys gathered together on the river, which, during the past ten days of severe cold, had frozen completely over, to practice for the coming races, which were to be three in number.

The races were gotten up by a Mr. Grimes, a wealthy[22] and eccentric resident of the town, who personally offered the prizes, which were six in number, a first and second for each race.

As the boys skated around they talked over the matter of leaving home for a time, and also of the expense of such a trip.

“I have reckoned it all out,” said Andy. “We can squeeze through on fifty dollars.”

“That is, if we get blankets and such stuff from home,” said Boxy.

“Certainly. Fifty dollars will only cover the cost of necessary provisions, ammunition and the like. We must furnish our own blankets, clothing, guns, snowshoes, and such things.”

“Well, that is twelve dollars and a half each,” said Harry.

“I can raise that,” meditated Boxy. “I’ve saved eight dollars, and I’ll get father to allow me something on account of my birthday in February next.”

The others laughed at this.

“Drawing on a birthday nearly three months off!” remarked Jack. “Your father will want a discount at that rate.”

“I’ve got the money, and more,” put in Andy. “And I know Jack has it, too.”

“I haven’t but fifty cents,” said Harry, with a light laugh to cover up his real feelings. “So, you see, it’s race or nothing with me.”

“I’ve a good mind to withdraw,” suggested Jack.

[23]“Not for the world, Jack. You must stick, and win it—if you can.”

“But I would rather have you win it,” persisted the president and general manager of the Zero Club.

“No, I won’t have it that way. Promise me you’ll try for the medal, and will do your best to win it.”

Jack demurred, but Harry would not listen, so finally he agreed to do as his friend wished.

The ice on the river was as smooth as glass, and the promises for some great races were very encouraging.

CHAPTER III. THE RACES.

The following day dawned clear and bright. The races were to come off at ten, half-past ten and eleven o’clock, and long before this time the river in front of the town was alive with skaters.

Harry had some work to do at home, and did not appear until a little before ten. He found his friends anxiously awaiting him.

“Thought you had given it up,” said Boxy. “I know you are fairly aching to let Pete Sully win that five-miler.”