by Van Reid
“They are!” informed a small fellow, when he was asked, “Who is winning?” He and his cohorts were hardly seven or eight years old.
Durwood, Waverley, and Brink wasted no time but tipped their hats, leaped over the parapet-dodging several snowballs-and joined the eleven- and twelve-year-old boys behind the opposite bank.
This older regiment looked with mixed amazement and horror at the arrival of three grown men.
“Yes!” said Waverley. “Very good!”
“Sound the bugle!” said Durwood.
“I think we can rout them with one good charge!” asserted Brink. “Don’t you?”
“Yes, sir!” said one of the older boys, and the entire regiment burst into sunny smiles as visions of seven- and eight-year-old children running in terror danced in their heads.
Ephram, Eagleton, and Thump experienced a strange sensation as they climbed Winthrop Street: the perception that the top of the hill was further away the further they traveled. It had appeared quite manageable when they began their journey and not so manageable when they had covered about a quarter of the distance. When they stopped for breath at about the halfway mark, the crest of the hill seemed leagues away.
“Perhaps we really couldn’t see it from the bottom of the hill,” suggested Eagleton, and that seemed reasonable.
They were standing in the wind and the snow, thinking about this paradox, when several shadows became visible down a side street. Thump saw them first, and he peered past his friends as if he were attempting to read a distant sign. Ephram and Eagleton were not very conscious of the approaching figures before the boys were upon them, and two or three nearly ran Thump down altogether, as they were more concerned with what lay behind than before them.
“Good heavens!” said Eagleton.
“My word!” said Ephram.
“What can it mean?” wondered Eagleton, and no sooner had he said this than something of a reply was forthcoming and his hat flew from his head.
The boys hesitated to run further, being out of breath and supposing that the company of three adults might constitute protection.
Eagleton was looking for his hat and Ephram was pointing to it when Ephram’s hat took similar leave from its perch, and no sooner were they retrieving this piece of headgear than Thump’s topper bounced from its place. a he bent over, something hit Eagleton in the end that does not wear a hat, and he straightened up with a shout. a very large portion of snow caught Ephram in the shoulder, and while he was wiping the cold stuff from beneath his collar, he saw Thump chase after his own hat, which was being encouraged by several missiles to cross the street.
While the Moosepathians drew fire, the young boys, of whom there were eight or nine, were afforded some respite from attack, and they began to return nearly as good as Ephram, Eagleton, and Thump were getting.
Eagleton was conscious of laughter through the storm but hardly had the opportunity to look in its direction as he was being pummeled with a great many snowballs. Thump, however, retrieved his hat and stalked back to his friends, despite the white missiles that shattered and scattered against his broad chest. One snowball caught him in the chin, and were it not for his magnificent beard, it might have stung rather badly.
Ephram alone, once he had his hat back on his head, seemed immune to the continuing volley. “Good heavens, Eagleton!”
“Yes, Ephram!” called Eagleton, picking up his hat for the third or fourth time.
“Thump!”
“Yes, Ephram!”
“I believe we are under attack!”
“You better stay off the street!” came a shout from behind the lacy sheets of snow.
“You better watch out, Harold Marsh!” returned one of the boys standing behind Ephram, Eagleton, and Thump. a laugh came back in reply.
“Stay off the street?” said Ephram. “Well, I never! Have you, Eagleton?”
“No, not ever! Have you, Thump?”
“Well, once, I think.”
The volleys were less frequent now, and the Moosepathians were learning how to dodge them, more or less, with their hands raised above their shoulders like innocent bystanders at a robbery; to an uninformed observer they might have appeared to be dancing some eccentric Highland fling, leaping in the air, then ducking down or simply raising a foot. Even the younger lads behind them grew to like it.
“Who are those people?” inquired Ephram in the course of this joggling.
“Just some older kids from school,” said one of the younger fellows.
“Well, they are difficult.”
“Two or three of them are very tall,” said Eagleton, who caught a glimpse of some larger figures behind the first line. The sport was too easy, it seemed, for the older boys were tiring of it and they drifted away in an organized retreat.
“We’ll be back tomorrow!” shouted one of the younger boys. He shook his fist in the air.
“Oh, my!” said Eagleton. “We are going to have to fight them tomorrow,” asserted the boy. “Thank you for your help.”
“Certainly, you are welcome,” said Eagleton, who shook the lad’s offered hand. “Anytime.”
“Would you come and help us tomorrow?” The small boy’s face beamed with sudden hope and inspiration.
“Tomorrow?” said Eagleton.
“It’s Sunday tomorrow!” said Ephram. It seemed altogether too warlike an activity for the Sabbath.
“There will be a big one after service!” said another child.
“You could throw further than any of us!” said a third.
“They’re all bigger than we are,” said the first boy, “but we’re not afraid.” He looked doubtful despite the assertion.
Now there is something in the Moosepathian soul (a soul that despises very little) that does despise a bully. Courage, on the other hand, is greatly admired, particularly after their reading, in Polly’s Conundrum by Elsa Wattel Berry, that “One who knows not fear can know no courage.” The leader of the younger boys was so obviously daunted by the prospect of tomorrow’s battle, yet so intent upon waging his side of it, that the three men could not think of abandoning them.
They were a sturdy lot, the boys, dressed in knee-lengths with coats barely warm enough for the weather. Some wore caps, and one, with his blond hair sticking out from beneath like straw, wore a battered bowler.
“We could never return fire ourselves,” said Ephram.
“That would be inappropriate,” agreed Eagleton. They did not want to be bullies in return.
“But we could-:-” began Ephram.
“Well, certainly, we might-” tried Eagleton.
“We shall lead them!” averred Thump. He looked very determined, with his hat cocked slightly to one side and his beard full of snow; they had all but forgotten the storm, and his friends were quite taken by the sight of Thump fleeced in white from head to foot. “We shall direct their forces!” he added.
“Bravo, Thump!” declared Ephram. “It is just the thing!” It did not occur to the Moosepathians, just then, that there was not a modicum of experience in tactics and strategy among them.
“Let us meet,” said Eagleton to the boys, “before the Worster House after services. Wind significantly decreasing by midnight, clearing by morning, tomorrow clear and bright.”
“High tide, adjusting for the distance from the ocean, should be about ten minutes before twelve,” calculated Thump.
“It’s twelve minutes past the hour of two,” announced Ephram.
“The woods are filled with Indians!” pronounced Waverley when the Dash-It-All Boys returned to the Worster House and found the Moosepath League drying themselves before the parlor hearth.
“We had no idea!” said Ephram, rather astonished.
“Is there forest nearabouts?” wondered Eagleton. He threw looks to several sides, as if he might see from the Worster House parlor these Indian filled groves. Their chairman had met a distinguished member of that race during the adventures of the previous fall, and they were accordingly m
uch interested.
“There were only the young boys we met,” said Thump seriously.
Waverley had been referring to these very lads by metaphor and was a little surprised at having been taken so literally.
“Were they good lads?” wondered Brink.
“There were some who were a little high-spirited, we thought,” offered Eagleton.
“Quite honestly?” said Waverley.
“Knocked our hats off with snowballs,” added Ephram.
“Good heavens!” said Durwood.
“Good heavens?” said Brink, who had never heard so polite an exclamation from Durwood’s lips.
“Yes,” said Durwood, looking bland. “Good heavens, I said.”
“We said much the same,” sympathized Ephram.
“And these young fellows assailed you with snowballs?” asked Waverley.
“There was a younger group of boys who took protection behind us.”
“Ah!” said Durwood. “Very gallant of you!”
Ephram, Eagleton, and Thump were abashed. “We are going to lead them into battle tomorrow,” said Thump.
“How grand!” said Waverley.
“You don’t think it will be taking a gross advantage of the older boys if we direct the actions of the younger?” wondered Ephram. This ethical question had plagued them.
“Not at all!” assured Waverley.
“We won’t actually participate in the hurling,” added Eagleton.
“Won’t you?” asked Waverley.
Ephram, Eagleton, and Thump shook their heads, saying in chorus, “No, no, no, no.”
“What harm a snowball or two?” wondered Brink. “Knock one of the big fellows on his ear!”
“Oh, my,” said Eagleton.
“You’ve dealt with criminals and pirates in your day,” agreed Durwood. “These ruffians should be of little consequence to the Moosepath League.”
If not actually emboldened by this praise of their society, the members of the club were at least reinvigorated with a sort of robust pride. Just the knowledge that the readiness of the Moosepath League had communicated thus far to the public at large added to their resolve to see through the challenge of the morrow.
“Perhaps you have had some experience at snowballs yourselves,” said Thump, bright with sudden inspiration.
“Good heavens, no!” said Brink, who seemed to have caught Durwood’s decorous turn of phrase.
“We stay well away from such conflict,” said Waverley.
“Leave it to fellows like yourself,” said Durwood.
“Ah, well,” said Thump. “I thought you might have some thoughts on the matter.”
“Oh, we do,” assured Waverley, but he said nothing more, and Ephram, Eagleton, and Thump thought it was perhaps impolite to inquire further.
26. The Banks of Lake George
It was the crow that caused Capital to draw up, just the other side of the forest of fallen trees. They had almost begun to relax as they fled the woods, nearly silent and all but hidden by the snow. The black bird-perhaps thinking, after its discussion with Capital earlier in the day, that the bearded fellow was a kindred soul-lit before them on a fallen tree, where it flapped its wings and let out a terrific squawk. Capital pulled back on the reins and drew the horses to one side.
The old man stood on his seat and looked about them till he thought he saw the shadow of something moving parallel to their track. Moxie, lying on the two prostrate men, let out a low growl.
“What is-” Isabelle started to say, but Capital let out a “Heeah!” and snapped the reins above the horses’ backs. The crow shot into the snowy atmosphere without a sound, and they sped by the fallen tree.
Sundry saw them to the other side as well, forming a ring gauntlet beyond the veil of snow and a row of leaning pines. “Why don’t you scooch down, Mister Walton,” he suggested, but the portly fellow only shook his head and peered after the dark movements in the wood.
“Down!” said Capital sharply, but he was only warning them of a lowlying limb, and Sundry barely ducked his head in time. Frederick did insist that his wife hunker down, assuring her that they could argue about it later, and as they veered about another deadfall, he used the force of the turn to leverage her below the back of the seat.
“If you please, Mrs. Covington,” said Mister Walton quietly, and Frederick indicated his thanks to the man silently.
Mister Walton wondered how Capital and the horses could see far enough to keep them out of some trap of deadfalls, and indeed, they were sweeping through denser growth than they had traveled on the way in. Dark limbs and snow-streaked trunks loomed out of the blizzard like phantoms, and more than once they tottered over some long-fallen tree that lay just below the snow. Their self-appointed escorts flashed into view from behind a stand of trees or in a sudden, if temporary, decrease in the storm.
Sundry had the safety of the rifle on, but he fingered the button as he swung his head from one side to the other. He felt as if his heart were in his throat, and the silent chase and the blinding snow only made the swift minutes the more awful.
Then they broke from the acres of deadfall into an open grove, and emerging from the woods mere seconds after were a pair of sleighs on each side. There were two or three men in each sleigh, drawn by a single horse, and they only looked onward, with not a glimpse in the direction of their quarry. There was something eerie about this and Sundry felt like taking a shot at one of them just to gain their direct attention.
Capital shouted to the horses, and they picked up speed where the land opened up. He gave a fierce and frightful haw upon the reins, and the Percherons plunged to their left, crossing the path of the oncoming sleighs. a collision with their pursuers seemed imminent, the more so since the drivers had their heads thrust forward, but in the last instance the pilot of the first sleigh hawed as well and collided instead with the second sleigh. Snow and runners and limbs spun in a tangle, and only the horses kept their feet, dragging the remains of the vehicles in a path perpendicular to the sleigh in flight.
Sundry thought he would leap out of his seat, and he let out a whoop of sheer delight. In this new direction they were that much farther from the pursuers who remained, and they were feeling a surge of triumph when a shot rang out and the snow erupted just ahead of the left-hand horse.
Sundry had the safety off from the rifle in an instant, and as the others very willingly ducked, he threw himself against the back seat and sighted over the barrel at the closest sleigh. “They’re shooting at the horses!” shouted Capital, and he actually veered the sleigh and its occupants between their pursuers and the Percherons. The sudden lurch nearly spilled Sundry from his seat, and before he had the opportunity to realign his sights, they were dipping over a steep bank.
“Hang on!” shouted Capital.
Past sheets of snow, Lake George lay like a plain below them, and Sundry was horrified to see the dark shapes of several sleighs waiting for them on the ice. “What are you doing?” he called out as Capital drove the horses in a direct line toward the sleighs before them.
“Get down!” shouted Capital, but with the two blond men piled at their feet and the rest of them hunkered down as best they could, there was little place for Sundry to go. Another shot rang out from behind, and the corner of the sleigh splintered over Frederick’s back. There were several shouts, one from Isabelle for her husband and another from Mister Walton for Sundry.
The sleighs before them were surrounded by people, many of whom had rifles leveled at the slope, and Sundry thought he was letting out his last gasp at the sight of fire and smoke erupting from that line of barrels.
“Take that, you-” Capital’s rough colloquialism was lost as the roar of those guns reached them. “Beg your pardon, ma’am. Mr. Covington,” he added, but he was grinning ear to ear and nearly laughing.
An unmotivated glimpse back told Sundry that the sleighs behind them had pulled up. Then he looked ahead. They were almost falling down the last stretch of bank,
the Percherons seemingly tireless as they thundered onto the lake.
Capital snapped the reins, which was a signal for the horses both to carry on and to ease their pace. Sundry’s trepidation of that row of rifles turned to confusion and then happiness as he recognized Paul Duvaudreuil, who had exchanged sleighs with them that morning, and Mr. Noel and Mr. Noggin, whom he and Mister Walton had met the night before.
The remainder of that armed band, some of whom were women, were relatives of Paul’s, and there was a concert of Canadian French amid the cheers and shots that greeted them. Capital pulled the sleigh around and lit onto the lake, where he was immediately attended by Mr. Noel and Mr. Noggin. Others were instructed as to the care of the two blond men, and several tended the horses, breaking them from harness, throwing blankets over the animals’ backs, and walking them down. Snow hissed on the Percherons’ backs.
“We didn’t really think to shoot till we saw them hit the sleigh, did we, Mr. Noggin?” said Mr. Noel.
“Certainly we didn’t, Mr. Noel,” said Mr. Noggin.
There was much praise in the air for Capital’s handling of the sleigh, and when his passengers looked back at the slope they had traveled to the lake, they wondered that they hadn’t all rolled down the bank, sleigh over, horse.
“That’s why I asked Capital along,” said Mister Walton to Sundry, “but I didn’t know it at the time.”
“It’s a wonder they were able to turn around on that slope,” said Sundry.
“They must have had to get out before the horses were able to pull those rigs back up.”
“I wasn’t watching,” admitted Mister Walton. “Are you all right?”
“Not a singe.”
“Gentlemen, I can’t tell you,” began Frederick as he and his wife approached them. “I can’t tell you how very fortunate I feel that you came with us and how very sorry I am as well.”
“We are only glad,” informed Mister Walton.
“If Moxie ever has any pups,” said Sundry.
“It is the very least we owe you,” said Isabelle. “Not to say Mr. Gaines and these other magnificent folk.” She spoke to one of the women nearby, and her French was very pretty.
