THE BUNGALOW BOYS IN THE GREAT NORTHWEST
by
DEXTER J. FORRESTER
Author of "The Bungalow Boys," "The BungalowBoys Marooned in the Tropics," etc., etc.
New YorkHurst & CompanyPublishers
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Copyright, 1911,byHurst & Company
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CONTENTS
I. IN THE VALLEY II. A "BLOW-UP" III. AN INVOLUNTARY HAY-RIDE IV. BULLY BANJO'S SCHOONER V. A NIGHT OF MYSTERY VI. MR. DACRE SUSTAINS AN ACCIDENT VII. THE TALL CHINAMAN VIII. IN THE GRIP OF SIMON LAKE IX. FAST IN THE TOILS X. IN DIRE STRAITS XI. A LEAP FOR LIFE AND FREEDOM XII. SAM HARTLEY TURNS UP XIII. A NOTE OF WARNING XIV. AT THE CHILLINGWORTH RANCH XV. "STEAMER, AHOY!" XVI. AN ATTEMPT AT FOUL PLAY XVII. A STRANGE ENCOUNTER XVIII. THE ISLAND XIX. THE ROCKING STONE XX. BURIED ALIVE XXI. MR. CHILLINGWORTH FIRES--AND MISSES XXII. MUTINY XXIII. HEMMED IN BY FLAMES XXIV. THE ROUND-UP.--CONCLUSION
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The Bungalow Boys in the Great Northwest.
CHAPTER I.
IN THE VALLEY.
Turning over his morning mail, which Jared Fogg had just brought intothe little Maine valley, Mr. Chisholm Dacre, the Bungalow Boys' uncle,came across a letter that caused him to pucker up his lips and emit anastonished whistle through his crisp, gray beard. A perplexed lookshowed on his sun-burned face. Turning back to the first page, he beganto read the closely written epistle over once more.
Evidently there was something in it that caused Mr. Dacre considerableastonishment. His reading of the missive was not quite completed,however, when the sudden sound of fresh, young voices caused him toglance upward.
Skimming across the deep little lake stretched in front of the bungalowcame a green canoe. It contained two occupants, a pair of bright-facedlads, blue-eyed and wavy-haired. Their likeness left no doubt that theywere brothers. In khaki trousers and canoeing caps, with the sleeves oftheir gray flannel shirts rolled up above the elbow exposing the tan ofhealthy muscular flesh, they were as likely a looking couple of lads asyou would have run across in a muster-roll of the vigorous, clean-limbedyouth of America. Regular out-of-door chaps, they. You couldn't havehelped taking an immediate liking to Tom Dacre and his young brotherJack if you had stood beside Mr. Dacre that bright morning in earlysummer and watched the lightly fashioned craft skimming across thewater, its flashing paddles wielded by the aforesaid lusty young arms.
"Well, who would think to look at those two lads that they had butrecently undergone such an experience as being marooned in the Tropics?"murmured Mr. Dacre to himself, as he watched his two nephews drawnearer.
There was a fond and proud light in his eyes as they dwelt on his sturdyyoung relatives. In his mind he ran over once more the stirringincidents in which they had all three participated in the Bahamas, andwhich were fully related in a previous volume of this series--"TheBungalow Boys Marooned in the Tropics."
Our old readers will be able to recall, too, the bungalow, and the lake,and the country surrounding them. These environments formed the scene ofthe first volume of this series--"The Bungalow Boys."
How different the little Maine lake looked now to its appearance thelast time we saw it. Then it was swollen, angry, and discolored by thetumultuous waters of a cloudburst. At the water gate leading to the oldlumber flume stood Tom Dacre and Sam Hartley, horror on their faces,while out on the lake, clinging to a capsized canoe, were twofigures--those of a man and a boy. Suddenly the man raises his hand, andthe next instant a cowardly blow has left him the sole occupant of thedrifting canoe. Swept on by the current, the lad, his features distortedby fear, is being sucked into the angry waters of the flume, when afigure leaps into the water to the rescue, and----
But we are wandering from the present aspect of things. All thathappened a good while ago, when the Bungalow Boys were having theirtroubles with the "Trubblers," as old Jasper used to call them. At thattime the little valley, not far from the north branch of the PenobscotRiver, was, as we know, tenanted by a desperate gang of rascals bent onousting the lads from their strange legacy.
Everything is very different in the valley now. The old lumber camp upthe creek--in the waters of which Jumbo, the big trout, used tolurk--has been painted and carpentered, and carpeted and furnished, tillyou wouldn't know it for the same place. Mrs. Sambo Bijur, a worthywidow, is conducting a boarding house there to the huge disgust of theboys. Somehow, exciting--perilously so--as the old days often were, theyhave several times caught themselves wishing they were back again.
"It's getting awfully tame," were Tom's words only the day before, whenhe had finished fishing the youngest of the Soopendyke family--of NewYork--out of the lake in which the said youngest member of theSoopendykes had been bent on drowning himself, or so it seemed. Hisdistracted mother had rushed up and down on the shore the while.
"Like an old biddy that has discovered one of her chickens to be aduck," chuckled Jack, in relating the story.
"And she kissed me," chimed in Tom, with intense disgust, "and said Iwas a real nice boy, and if I'd come up to the boarding house some dayshe'd let me have a saucer of ice cream."
Mr. Dacre had laughed heartily at this narration.
"Too old for ice cream since we defeated the wiles of Messrs. Walstein,Dampier and Co.--eh, Tom?" he exclaimed, leaning back in his big chairon the bungalow porch and laughing till the tears ran down hisweather-beaten cheeks.
"It--it isn't that, sir," Jack had put in, "but a fellow--well, heobjects to being slobbered over."
"Better than being shot at, though, isn't it, lads?" inquired Mr. Dacre,his gray eyes holding a merry twinkle.
"Um--well," rejoined Tom, with a judicial air, "you know, Uncle, we'veseen so much more exciting times in this old valley that it seemsstrange and unnatural to be overrun with Widow Bijur's boarders. If itisn't one of the little Soopendykes that's in trouble, it's ProfessorDalhousie Dingle, with that inquiring child of his. I never saw such achild. Always asking questions. The other day the professor caught a bugand proceeded to stick a pin through it as he always does.
"'Pa,' asked Young Dingle, 'does that hurt the bug?'
"'I suppose so, my son,' answered the professor.
"'Then the bug doesn't like it?'
"'I guess not.'
"'Will the bug die?'
"'Undoubtedly, my boy.'
"'Why do you kill bugs, papa?'
"'For the purposes of science, my boy,' answered the professor.
"'Pa?'
"'Yes, Douglas.'
"'What is science?'
"'It's--it's--ah, well, the art of explaining things, my boy.'
"'Does it tell everything?'
"'Yes, my boy.'
"'Then what killed the Dead Sea, Pa?'"
Up to this point Mr. Dacre had listened gravely enough, but here he hadto burst into a roar of laughter. When his merriment had subsided, hewished to know how the professor had dealt with such a "stumper."
"What did he say to that, Tom?"
"Well," laughed Tom, "I guess it was too much for him, for I heard himcall Mrs
. Bijur and ask her to give the lad a cookie. He said the boy'sbrain was so large it was eating up his mind."
This conversation is related so that the reader may form some idea ofhow the valley has changed from the last time we participated in theBungalow Boys' adventures therein. Mrs. Bijur had other boarders, butMrs. Soopendyke, with her numerous progeny, and Professor Dingle and hisinquiring son, were the most striking types. But while we have beenrelating something of the Bungalow Boys' neighbors, they have run theircanoe up to the wharf, made fast the painter, and, with paddles overtheir shoulders--for fear of predatory Soopendykes--made their way up tothe porch.
"Out early to-day, Tom," was Mr. Dacre's greeting.
"Yes, we thought we'd see if we couldn't succeed in getting a bass ortwo before the sun got too hot," rejoined Tom.
"And you did?"
For answer Tom held up a string of silvery beauties.
"Not bad for two hours' work," laughed Jack, leaning his rod against theporch.
"No, indeed, and more especially as Jasper has just informed me that weare almost out of meat. I was thinking of taking a stroll up to Mrs.Bijur's after a while, to see if I could borrow some. Do you boys wantto go?"
Tom threw up his hands and burst into a laugh in which Jack joined.
"Might as well," they chuckled. "At all events, there's always somethingamusing going on up there. By the way, the bugologist" (Tom's name forthe dignified Professor Dingle) "is off on a new tack now."
"Is that so?" inquired Mr. Dacre interestedly, "and what is that, pray?"
"Why he's got some wonderful notion about a new explosive. He's beenexperimenting with it for some days now."
"A new explosive!" echoed Mr. Dacre, in an amazed tone; "well, what doeshe expect to do with that?"
"Sell it to the government, I guess," chuckled Tom. "I'll bet, though,it won't be as effective as that electric juice we turned into thehandrail of the dear old _Omoo_ off Don Lopez's island."
"I think it would have to be pretty powerful to equal the effects ofthat, indeed," laughed Mr. Dacre, rising and thrusting the letter whichhad interested him so much into a side pocket of his loose linen jacket.He reached for his hat.
"Well, let's be starting before it gets really warm. By the way, boys,as we go along I've something to talk to you about. But first I want toask you a question. I want you to answer it honestly. Aren't you gettinga bit tired of your bungalow?"
Tom and Jack exchanged glances. As we know, the bungalow and the estatesurrounding it, was their "legacy" from their uncle, and not for worldswould they have admitted that they were getting a little tired of thepleasant monotony of their lives there. But being ingenuous lads theyhad not been able to conceal it--as has been hinted, in fact.
Tom and Jack exchanged glances. As we know, the bungalow and the estatesurrounding it, was their "legacy" from their uncle, and not for worldswould they have admitted that they were getting a little tired of thepleasant monotony of their lives there. But being ingenuous lads theyhad not been able to conceal it--as has been hinted, in fact.
"Come," said Mr. Dacre, a quizzical smile playing about the corners ofhis firm, yet kind, mouth. "Speak out; haven't you exchanged views aboutthe monotony of perfect plain sailing, or something of that sort?"
"Why, uncle, you must be a wizard!" exclaimed Tom. "Have you overheardus?"
Then both lads burst into a laugh, seeing how they had betrayedthemselves.
"There, there," chuckled Mr. Dacre, "you'd never do for diplomats--toohonest," he murmured, half to himself; "but, as Jasper would say--beingas how you have given yourselves away, I have something to propose toyou."
"Hurray!" shouted Jack, capering about, "a trip? I'll bet the hole outof a doughnut it's a trip!"
"And you would win that bet," cried Mr. Dacre, drawing out the letterfrom his pocket. "In the mail to-day there came a letter from a man fromwhom I have not heard for some time--a good many years, in fact."
A cloud passed over Mr. Dacre's face. They could see that for a momenthe was back in the old painful past. But it passed as rapidly as ashadow on the surface of the rippling lake.
"My friend has a ranch in Washington State," he went on, while the boys,with parted lips and sparkling eyes, fairly drank in his words. "Itappears that he read in the papers about our adventures in the tropics.This letter is the result. He informs me that if I am anxious to make aninvestment with a part of the treasure of the lost galleon, that nobetter opportunity offers than the timber and fruit country ofWashington. He says that he imagines that I must be anxious for restanyhow, and, to make a long story short, he extends to me and to my twocelebrated nephews"--the boys blushed--"a hearty invitation to visithim, renew old friendship, and take a look at the country. What do yousay, boys--shall we go?"
Tom drew a long breath.
"Say, ever since I read that book on the Great Northwest of our countryI've longed to get out there. Jack and I have talked it over many atime."
Here Jack nodded vigorously.
"Will we go, uncle? Well," Tom paused as he cast about for a fittingphrase, "well," he burst out, "if we _don't_, your Bungalow Boys will beGrumble-oh! boys."
"Then I will write him this afternoon that we will come," said Mr. Dacresoberly, though it was easy to see that he was almost as pleased as thelads at their decision. As for the boys, they joined in a wildhalf-war-dance, half-waltz that didn't end till Jack was almost waltzedinto the lake--not that in his frame of mind he would have cared.
At this stage of the proceedings an inky-black countenance, crowned witha tightly curling crop of grayish wool, projected from a rear door ofthe bungalow. It was Jasper--former servant of Dr. Parsons, but nowattached to the Bungalow Boys' uncle.
"Fo' de lan's sake!" he cried, throwing up his hands in consternation."Dem boys done be actin' up lak dey was two crazy pertatur bugs. MistoDacon" (Dacre was beyond Jasper), "Mr. Dacon, sah, does I git dat meato' does we dine on flap jacks an' bacum?"
"You get the meat," laughed Mr. Dacre, regarding with intense amusementthe tragic mien of his colored servitor. "Come, boys, give Jasper yourfish--just to ease his mind--and insure the safety of Mrs. Bijur'schickens--and then let's hurry on our errand. There's a lot to do beforewe start for The Great Northwest."
"The great northwest!" echoed Tom, picking up the now despised string ofbass. "If there are any two finer words in the geographies, I've neverheard them."
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