Oakdale Boys in Camp

by Morgan Scott

  CHAPTER VIII.

  ONE FROM THE SHOULDER.

  Spluttering, choking, snarling, the astonished recipient of this summarytreatment scrambled to his feet, dripping and as enraged as a mad bull.Brushing the water from his eyes with a sweep of his hand, he beheldGrant, hands on his hips, standing as if waiting, wholly unconcerned.

  With a roar, Simpson splashed out of the water, his boot-legs full andsloshing, and charged at Rodney.

  “Oh,” said Springer, recovering two of the trout from the water andtossing them back into the basket, “the performance is just beginning inthe big tut-tent; the circus has started.”

  The performance, however, terminated quite as suddenly as it hadcommenced. Stepping deftly aside as the fellow rushed, Grant swung hardand accurately, planting his fist against Simpson’s jaw. Down with acrash went the pugnacious rustic, dazed and wondering at a tremendousdisplay of fireworks, which seemed to be celebrating a belated Fourth,in his upper story. Indeed, for the time being the fellow had not theslightest idea of what had happened to him.

  It was a good thing for Jim Simpson that all the fight had thus quicklybeen knocked out of him, for Springer saw the old wild light ofungovernable rage blaze in Grant’s eyes, and beheld on the face of theTexan an expression which seemed to threaten utter annihilation for hisantagonist. And, as Rod took a stride in the direction of the chap whowas weakly trying to lift himself upon one elbow, Phil cried sharply:

  “That’s enough, Rod! Dud-don’t hit him again, or you _will_ knock hisbub-bub-block off.”

  The Texan checked himself sharply, and the fighting flare faded from hiseyes, while his face resumed its normal expression.

  “You’ve whipped him a’ready,” asserted Phil, still apprehensive. “Youtook the fuf-fight out of him with the fuf-first wallop. If he’s got anysense at all, he won’t want any more.”

  Three times Simpson attempted to lift himself before he was able to situp, and when he succeeded he was forced to hold his swimming head in hishands. His appearance was so pitiful that neither of the boys felt inthe least inclined to laugh.

  “Why, he can’t fight at all,” said Grant. “I wonder how he ever got thenotion that he could?”

  “Knocking the block off such chaps as Carl Duckelstein, I calculate,”said Phil.

  “I reckon that’s right. Heaps of these self-judged fighters get falsenotions of their scrapping abilities through whipping fellows no waytheir equals; and when that happens they’re pretty sure to go prancinground in search of other worlds to conquer, until somebody hands themwhat’s coming to them.”

  Slowly and weakly Simpson lifted his head and stared around like onejust beginning to comprehend. There was still a ringing in his brain,but the lights had ceased to flash, and he perceived his own positionand observed the fellow he had sought to attack standing near at hand,untouched, steady and now calm as ever. For the first time he began tounderstand that this calmness did not indicate timidity, and,understanding, he was filled with awe bordering on fear.

  “I reckon, stranger,” said Grant, “that you’re not hurt much; but I hopeyou’ve tumbled to the fact that you can’t fight any more than a gopherwith the croup. If this brook belongs to your governor, and you’d beenhalf decent about asking us not to fish in it, I reckon we’d foundplenty of other places to enjoy the sport. But you chose to come at uswith spurs on, and you got bucked a plenty when you tried your bronchobusting.”

  This caused Springer to laugh at last. “The idiom of the West iscertainly expressive,” he observed. “And one time we thought you a fakebecause you didn’t say ‘galoot’ and ‘varmint’ and such bub-book lingo ofsupposed-to-be Westerners.”

  Simpson made no retort, and, as he continued to sit there, the boysgathered up their tackle and the basket containing the trout andprepared to depart.

  “If, on further consideration,” said Grant, turning to him, “you shouldhold to the notion that you still have a grievance, you’ll find us overat Pleasant Point.”

  “So long, Simpy,” called Phil, unable to repress a parting fling. “Hopeyour headache don’t lul-last long.”

  They were some distance away when they heard him, his courage revived,shouting after them:

  “You better git! Come round this brook again, and see what happens toyou!”

  “Well,” chuckled Springer, as they pushed their way through thethickets, “this has been a real lul-lively morning. We’ve had sportenough for one day.”

  “I’m glad you called to me just when you did, Phil,” said Rodney. “I wasgetting a touch of that old blazing rage that always makes me lose myhead complete.”

  “A tut-touch of it! Great Caesar! I wish you could have seen your ownface. I thought you were going to obliterate Mr. Simpson then andthere.”

  At the camp Stone and Crane were waiting, and the smoke of the briskfire rose into the still air. The sight of the white tent, the dancingblaze and their waiting friends was good indeed to the returninganglers, who gave a hail as they approached. Sile answered the call witha question:

  “Did you fellers ketch anything? I’ll bate yeou ain’t had a bit of fun.”

  “Oh, is that sus-so!” scoffed Phil hurrying forward with the basket.“Fun! We’ve had more than you could sus-shake a stick at.”

  “But have you ketched anything?” persisted Crane.

  Springer waited until he could place the basket before them and lift thecover. When this was done they broke into exclamations of admiration anddelight.

  “Jiminy cripes!” sputtered Sile. “Here’s a breakfast fit for a king.Yeou _must_ have had fun, sure enough.”

  “All sorts,” said Phil; and then he proceeded in his whimsical falteringway, to tell of the encounter with Jim Simpson.

  “Just one cuc-crack, that’s all Rod had to hand him,” he finished. “Itcooked his goose quicker than you could say Juj-Juj-Juj-JackRob-bib-bib-binson.”

  “It sartain wasn’t so very quick,” returned Sile, “unless it was donequicker than yeou can say Jack Robinson. I’ll clean the fish. Ben, yeouget ready to fry ’em.”

  “Where’s Sleuth?” asked Grant.

  “Oh, he isn’t up yet,” said Stone.

  “Not up?” whooped Springer. “Then I’ll pup-pull him out in a hurry.”

  But Piper had heard them and was dressing. Presently he came forth,looking grouchy enough, and had no word of applause for the success ofthe anglers.

  Nevertheless, when the fish were cooked he ate his share.