Oakdale Boys in Camp

by Morgan Scott

  CHAPTER IX.

  CARL DUCKELSTEIN FISHES.

  That breakfast was, in truth, one not to be soon forgotten. Suchappetites as those boys had, whetted and sharpened by bounding healthand the tonic of the great, clean, unpolluted outdoor world! It was thetempting sight and delightful odor of trout frying in a pan of deep fatthat really put the feather edge on their hunger. Fortunately, they hadbread enough, and, even though Carl Duckelstein had not appeared withmilk for their coffee, never in the memory of one there had food tastedso delicious.

  “Um-mum!” mumbled Crane, his mouth full. “I cal’lated I’d et fishbefore, but, by Jinks! I was mistook; this is the fust time. Stoney,either yeou’re a rip tearin’ cook, or them’s the sweetest trout thatever swum.”

  “I opine Ben is sure some cook,” said Grant; “but, likewise, I reckonthese trout must be pretty good.”

  “They ought to be,” grinned Springer, forking another fish on to his tinplate. “We had to fuf-fight for ’em. That is, Rod did.”

  “It wasn’t really a fight,” said the Texan. “I wonder if we’ll hearanything more from James Simpson.”

  “Don’t believe so,” said Phil. “It’s my opinion he got enough to satisfyhim. What’s the matter, Sleuthy? You’re yawning. Didn’t you sus-sleepwell last night?”

  “Bah!” mocked Piper. “You know I didn’t sus-sus-sleep well. I feel likea fool this morning.”

  “Sort of a natteral feelin’, hey?” laughed Crane unsympathetically.

  “Go to the ant, thou sluggard,” put in Stone, by way of a thrust. “Ireally don’t wonder that you shot a hole in that old sleeping bag, Pipe,for it certainly was alive.”

  “Is it possible,” said Grant, “that you failed to acquire wisdom fromthe owl last night? If you had listened attentively to its ‘frightfulvoice’ I’m sure the creature would have told you _who’s who_ aroundhere.”

  “Yah! I s’pose you think you’re funny, the whole of you!” rasped Piper,whose sense of humor, if he had any, was doubly dulled by the fact thatthe joke was on him. “I s’pose you’ve got to have somebody to pick on,but don’t rub it in too hard. That’s all I’ve got to say: don’t rub itin too hard. Many a man, driven desperate by similar treatment, hasrisen in his wrath and given his torturers just cause to rue theirrashness.”

  “Look aout for Sleuthy,” warned Crane. “Don’t forget that we’re in theland of the bloodthirsty Wampanoags, and if we drive him to desperationmebbe he’ll turn renegade and betray us into the hands of murderousredskins.”

  “That,” observed the Texan soberly, “would be right bad for us. I know,”he added reminiscently, “for didn’t I have an experience with paintedIndians shortly after coming to Oakdale? Why, they even tried to burn meto the stake.”

  “And by sus-so doing,” declared Springer, “they made a mistake, as theyafterwards found out. I ought to know, for I was one of those redskins.”

  Crane breathed a sigh, rubbed his hand over his stomach and gazedregretfully at the remnants of the fried fish.

  “I declare,” he confessed, “I didn’t cal’late when Stoney was cookin’them that there’d be half enough for us, but now I’m chock full, andI’ll be switched if there ain’t goin’ to be some scraps left.”

  “Mighty small scraps,” laughed Grant. “I think we’ve cleaned things uppretty well. But if Phil and I hadn’t made this catch we’d fared ratherslim, with Duckelstein failing to bring the provisions he promised tohave here bright and early.”

  “I don’t sus-suppose that sleepyhead is awake yet,” said Phil, movingback in a manner which indicated that he had finished. “We’ll be luckyif he gets our canoe over from Pemstock today.”

  “With plenty of fish in these pellucid waters,” said Piper, whosespirits seemed to be reviving, “there’s no reason why we should perishof hunger, even though the pack train of provisions is delayed.”

  “I guess that’s right,” chuckled Crane. “We mustn’t forgit that we havein aour midst an angler we can rely on when all others fail. Sleuthyain’t had a chance yet to demonstrate his ability in that line.”

  “I think I’ll do so right away,” said Piper. “I’ll get out my tackle andtry the fish without delay.”

  “You’ve gug-got another guess coming,” said Springer. “There’s dishes towash and other work to do around this camp, and we’re not going to letyou sus-sneak off to fish while the rest of us do the work. You can’tpup-play that game on us.”

  Baffled, Piper, who abhorred work, reluctantly abandoned his design, andagain it became his duty to wash the dishes, a task at which his soulrevolted.

  There was still enough to do around the camp, and when the breakfastdishes were cleared away, the blankets brought forth and hung up for anairing and the tent tidied, they decided to build a dining table. Thiswas located beneath a tree that would afford cool shade in the middle ofthe day. There four stakes were driven into the ground for legs, to thetops of which, running lengthwise, were nailed long, straight poles,hewn flat on two sides with the axe. Then, taking one of the largerboxes carefully to pieces by drawing the nails, they obtained boardssufficient to form the table top. Following this, a bench on the sameprinciple was made on each side of the table.

  “There,” said Stone in satisfaction, as he stood back and surveyed thecompleted work, “that looks pretty good to me. Now we can dine incomfort, like civilized human beings.”

  By this time the forenoon was advancing and the sun blazing hotly froman unclouded sky. However, a slight breeze had risen to ripple the lake,and its tempering breath blew gratefully across the point, proving that,considering the season, the camping spot had been well chosen forcomfort.

  “I wonder where that sleepy Dutchman can be?” speculated Rodney.

  As if in answer, the sound of wagon wheels were heard, and in a fewmoments the old white horse came into view, drawing a farm wagon onwhich the canoe rested, bottom upward. Sitting on the wagon, a dumpyfigure held the reins and nodded with every swaying movement, eyestightly closed. Even when the old horse came to a full stop a shortdistance from the camp, Carl Duckelstein slept on.

  “What do you think of that, fellows?” laughed Grant.

  Awkwardly tiptoeing forward, Crane reached the wagon, bent forward,placed his lips within a foot of Carl’s head and gave utterance to anear-splitting yell. If he had expected to see the Dutch boy awaken in aterrified manner, Sile was much disappointed, for Carl slowly lifted onehand, brushed at his ear, and thickly mumbled:

  “Got avay, mosquito.”

  The laughter that followed caused Carl to pry his eyes open withconsiderable effort, following which he surveyed the laughing lads witha dumb, comical expression of perplexity.

  “Vot it vas?” he yawned. “Vhere iss it I am yet?”

  “Why don’t you do yeour sleepin’ nights?” snapped Crane disgustedly.

  “Some of my sleeping does do me nights,” returned the fat boy; “butenough of it couldt not get me. Goot morning. Your canoes I hafbrought—undt der milks undt der eggs undt der putter.”

  “You certain took your time about it,” said Grant. “You agreed to bringthe milk and eggs and butter early, and pack the canoe in to us lateron.”

  “Yah,” acknowledged Carl complacently; “but I out figured it dot Icouldt vurk save by doing him all at vunce. It iss now did; I haf withme brought eferything, undt I vill not haf to dood him twice.”

  “Carl,” said Stone, “you’ve got a long head.”

  “Yah,” returned the boy, with a touch of pride, “I peliefe a long headhass got me.”

  “But if we hadn’t cuc-caught plenty of fish,” said Springer, “we mighthave starved for all of you.”

  “Nefer mind dot. Didt you some fish catch already yet? Vhere didt desefish get you?”

  “Out of the brook over yonder, and I tell you they were bub-beauties;handsomest trout you ever saw. We run across a fuf-friend of yours overthere, a fellow by the name of Jim Simpson.�
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  “Chim Skimpson didn’t peen no friendship uf mine,” cried Carl, with asurprising display of spirit. “Efery time he sees me it iss a fight hevants to up pick. Dot Chim Skimpson didt not like me. Sometimes, ven derchance gets me, I vill hit him mit a club.”

  “It was right evident to us,” said Grant, “that Mr. Simpson thoughthimself quite a scrapper, but I opine he’s changed his mind some.”

  “I gug-guess he has,” laughed Springer. “Say, Dutchy, you should haveseen this Texas longhorn polish off Jim Simpson in double-quick time.Simpson tut-tried to drive us away from the brook, claiming it belongedto his old man; but Grant pitched him into the water, and then, when hecame tearing out, frothing for a scrap, Rod whipped him with asus-single wallop on the jaw.”

  “Vot?” squawked Carl, in still greater excitement, scrambling off thewagon. “Vot iss it you didt told me? Iss it dot you didt vhip ChimSkimpson? I couldt not peliefe it possibility.”

  “It’s a fact,” declared Phil, “and it only took one wallop from Grant’sfuf-fist to settle his hash.”

  Spluttering his delight over this piece of intelligence, the Dutch boyrushed at Rodney and clasped him in his arms.

  “Mine gootness! I vill hug you for dot. Mine cracious! I couldt kiss youfor dot.”

  “Don’t!” entreated Rod, pushing his overjoyed admirer away with somedifficulty. “I did it on my own account, although I will confess itafforded me additional satisfaction because of his boast that he hadthrashed you. Is that brook on Simpson’s land?”

  “His land didt begin der prook at.”

  “And he doesn’t own any territory on this side of the brook?”

  “Nefer a foot uf territories owns him this side uf der prook on.”

  “Then anybody can fish the brook without trespassing by following alongthe nearest bank?”

  “Yah,” nodded Carl. “Uf you fish along der nearest side avay from us,you vill not trespass. Undt you didt vallop Chim Skimpson! Dotinflamation almost makes me cry for choy.”

  “Come, fellers,” invited Crane, “let’s unload the canoe and launch her.Git holt.”

  Lifting the light craft, they bore it to the water’s edge in the sandycove, Sile expressing his eagerness to try it out. The paddles wereproduced, and soon Crane and Springer were afloat in the canoe,propelling it with considerable skill, the others watching them from thepoint.

  “Dot vas too much like vurk,” murmured the Dutch boy, shaking his head.“It vould not like me at all.”

  “Still fishing would be the sport for you, I judge,” said Grant.

  “Yah, undt der stiller it vas der petter. I vould like to try him now ufI had the outfits.”

  “Where would you fish?”

  “Der vater in, uf course. I vould like to haf a goot mess uf fish totake me home for dinner.”

  “We can provide you with tackle, but no bait for still fishing. We havenothing but flies for casting.”

  “Dot kind uf bait didt not use me,” said Carl solemnly; “but uf you villlet me haf the tackles, I vill der bait get. Yah.”

  Rodney brought forth a stout steel rod, which he quickly put togetherand to which he attached a line-wound reel. The line being run throughthe eyelets, he bent on a leader and hook and nipped some split shotinto place, to serve as sinkers.

  “There you are,” he said, handing the outfit over to Duckelstein. “Nowgo ahead and fish as much as you like.”

  “I vas much opliged,” grinned the Dutch boy. “I vill get some bait undtfish der rocks off, undt see what vill catch me. I hope it vas not aneels. An eels iss a pad fish und I didt not like him. An eels I vouldnot touch uf you vould a hundred tollars gif me.”

  “I don’t think you’re likely to catch an eel off those rocks,” said Rod.

  A short distance from the point was a bit of wet shore, where Carlproceeded to search for his bait, turning over a number of flat rocksand capturing some wiggling creatures, which he calmly put into hispocket. When he had secured enough of these, he proceeded to the rocks,sat down on one of them and baited his hook.

  “He’ll never catch anything there,” declared Piper. “If he does, itwon’t amount to anything.”

  “Never mind,” said Stone; “it will make him happy to fish.”

  In the meantime Springer and Crane had paddled well out upon the lake,and presently they turned back toward Pleasant Point. Approaching thecamp, they stared at the Dutch boy, who had dropped his baited hook intothe water and then serenely fallen sound asleep. There he sat, the roddrooping, his fat chin on his breast, snoring distinctly.

  “Look at that!” said Phil, as they silently swept near. “He mustsus-sleep pretty near all the time.”

  “By Jinks!” chuckled Sile. “He’d wake up pretty sudden if he was to fallin.”

  They landed in the sandy cove and hastened to call the attention of theothers to the snoozing fisherman.

  “We know it,” laughed Grant. “I rather wish he’d get an eel on now. He’sright scared of eels.”

  “Oh, is he, hey?” snickered Crane. “Well, mebbe I can pervide an eel forhim. Jest wait, fellers.”

  Over to the marshy shore he hastened, where, after some searching, hegot hold of the end of a root and tore it out of the muddy ground. Withthis pliable, slimy root, which was nearly five feet in length, Cranehastened to get into the canoe and push off. Expectantly the otherswatched Sile paddle round the point and get close to Duckelstein’sdangling line. Without awakening Carl, the joker drew up the line andtied it fast to one end of the root, which he then let down into thewater. In a few moments he was back on shore with his chuckling,expectant companions.

  “Naow,” he said, “jest yeou watch me wake him up.”

  Silently he sneaked up behind the sleeper, reached over, got the line inhis fingers, and made a loop, which he slipped over the reel-handle sothat it would not run out. Then he grabbed Carl by the shoulder andyelled into his ear:

  “Wake up! Yeou’ve got a bite! Yank him in!”

  Carl awoke and gave a mighty yank with the rod, which, fortunately, didnot break beneath the strain. Out of the water sprang the old root,seeming to writhe and squirm in a most lifelike manner. Straight at theangler the thing came, striking him in the face and whipping its cold,clammy folds around his neck.