The Outdoor Chums After Big Game; Or, Perilous Adventures in the Wilderness

by Quincy Allen

  CHAPTER III

  HOMEWARD BOUND, BY MOONLIGHT

  "Jump 'em!" shouted Frank as he threw himself upon the first fellow,floundering in the road.

  "I'm on!" echoed Jerry, suiting the action to the words by propellinghimself straight at the second motorcycle thief.

  This fellow happened to have come through his fall without getting hurt.The consequence was, he felt disposed to put up a much better fight thanhis confused companion, upon whose prostrate form Frank had straddled.

  He rolled over once or twice with remarkable agility, causing Jerry tomiss his guess when he thought to drop on him. Then, scrambling to hisknees, the man, who turned out to be a rough-looking chap, indeed,pulled something out of his pocket, which he aimed at the two boys aboutto pounce upon him.

  "Keep back, you!" he roared, his mouth being half filled with dirt afterhe had plowed up the earth of the roadway with his face.

  "He's got a pistol!" shrieked Will, who was fingering his cameranervously from a point somewhat in the rear; and they immediately heardthe little suggestive click that announced the pressure of a finger onthe trigger.

  Bluff was the quick-witted one on this occasion. He had his stickupraised at the time, ready to strike. Instead, he sent it from himsuddenly with all his power, and as the cudgel was no light one, when itstruck the extended arm of the kneeling thief the shock was so greatthat the shining object he had been gripping was hurled about five feetaway.

  Jerry instantly took occasion to possess himself of the same. The manwas nursing his wounded arm and muttering to himself, his face screwedup with pain.

  "Talk to me about your quick work! What could beat that, fellows?" criedJerry as he stood over the grunting and disgusted rascal who hadattempted to hold them off.

  "What had we better do with 'em?" asked Bluff, frowning at the severalscratches upon his machine caused by the accident.

  "Any damage done?" asked Frank.

  "Well, this man here has a sore arm, I guess; and the one you're sittingon looks as if his face might be a map, from the scratches," repliedJerry.

  "Oh! I mean the machines," laughed Frank.

  "Nothing serious here. How about yours, Will?" answered Bluff.

  "Mine seems to be all right. They weren't going fast enough to cause areal wreck. A little paint will fix it up," was the answer Will made.

  "Do you know either of these fellows?" went on Frank.

  The boys took a better look at the men.

  "Why, the one with the scratched face is Hank Brady, I'm sure. He usedto live in Centerville. The other is a stranger to me," remarked Bluff.

  "Well, I've seen him before. He was working in the office of the townpaper as a tramp compositor a week ago. I suppose he got uneasy, andwanted to be on the move again, and seeing a fine chance for hooking acouple of motorcycles, they yielded to temptation. If we took them backthey'd be locked up for this little job," observed Frank sternly.

  "I hope you won't do anything of the kind, kids," said the fellow whosearm had been stung by Bluff's stick. "We only wanted to have a lark withyou. Sure you don't think we'd be fools enough to run away with suchvaluable things as them motorcycles, when the telephone would get us atthe next town? It was done for fun, but I reckon we paid the piper, allright," and he scowled at Bluff as he spoke, nursing his arm as thoughit were still painful.

  Frank laughed. He was not of a vindictive nature. Besides, it did seemas though the two fellows had been punished enough already.

  "No matter, it was a mean trick, and you deserve all you got. Get up,Hank. You took a lovely cropper that time. Where did you learn how torun a motorcycle?" he asked, helping the prisoner to his feet.

  "I was a chauffeur a little time back. Sure we never thought to run offwith the gas-wheels. Saw you comin' along, and Flimsy said it would be agood joke to make you fellers think somebody was sick in the woods.Then, when we seen you all go by, I said to him, 'Let's run a couple ofthem machines down the road a bit, just to tease the boys.' Flimsy herode one once in his travels, and so we jumped on. The rest is history,and I got the map that goes along with it, on me face."

  "What say, boys? Shall we let it pass?" asked Frank, winking at hischums.

  Jerry, for reply, started to fire the revolver he held, until theentire six shots had been discharged.

  "Here! Take your gun, mister, and next time don't be so quick to pull iton a stranger. Think what would happen to you if you'd fired and hit oneof us? Some time you may even be glad that Bluff, here, was so quickwith his stick."

  He handed the empty weapon over to the tramp printer, who let his headfall, as though really ashamed of his action.

  The boys started back to where the other machines had been left, whilethe two men slunk into the shelter of the woods, to patch up their hurtsas best they might.

  "Say! that was a queer ending to a rescue, wasn't it?" asked Bluff.

  "I only hope my picture comes out all right. It ought to show Franksitting on top of Hank, while Bluff and Jerry surround the other tramp,who is on his knees, aiming his old gun. Then my machine is lying there.Fellows, what need of words to explain what happened?" chuckled thegratified Will.

  Whenever he succeeded in securing a coveted picture the ardentphotographer was the happiest boy in the county. His pleasure caused himto fairly bubble over with good nature.

  "Tell me about that, will you!" said Jerry, pretending to scorn such anexhibition of joy over so trivial a matter. "Why, you'd think the chaphad knocked over some big game, to hear him chatter."

  "And so he had," declared Frank quickly, "according to his light. All ofus are not made alike, Jerry. One man's food is poison to another. Youand I are fond of fishing and shooting, but Will is more of an artist.He delights in stalking the timid deer in the close season, and shootinghim with his camera. Lots of people believe his way of securing pleasurebeats ours all hollow."

  "Anyhow, it doesn't thin out the game," asserted Will stoutly.

  Jerry stopped short to turn a look of pity on his comrade.

  "Think how hungry we'd all go out in camp if we depended on your blessedold box for supper," he suggested witheringly.

  "All very true," remarked Frank as they reached the other motorcycles,and prepared to continue their interrupted journey to the camp of thetrapper; "which is proof of what I say, that many men, many minds.There's room for all kinds in a party."

  "Yes; and nobody likes to look over my prints more than Jerry," grumbledWill, feeling quite offended.

  "Don't pay any attention to him. He doesn't mean anything by it. Youknow how he likes to joke every one. Now, we're off again, boys."

  Once more they made their way along the rough road. The sight of thosetwo unfortunates sprawling upon the ground was a lesson, warning theriders against trying for speed under such conditions, so they madehaste slowly.

  Upon arriving at the cabin home of the trapper they surprised him verymuch; and when Jesse Wilcox learned the object of their visit he wasmore pleased than ever.

  They spent some hours with him, and even assisted in getting the eveningmeal. From their long experience now the boys had become quiteproficient in this line, and were able to show old Jesse quite a fewtricks that delighted him.

  With the campfire blazing merrily, they ate supper alongside his roughcabin home. Of course, they fairly deluged him with questions about thehabits of the big game of the West, which he answered to the best of hisability.

  "Wait till we get out with Martin Mabie, fellows. He's on the ground,and can set us straight. Jesse has been trapping these little animalsaround here so long now he's a back number," joked Jerry, at which thetrapper laughed, for he was very fond of these four lads, and nothingthey said annoyed him.

  As they had planned, the run home was made by moonlight. Thisnecessitated that they walk with their machines until the good road wasgained, below the lumber camp.

  "I wonder whether those two tramps hit the high places, and got out ofthis neighborhood for keeps?" Bluff was saying, a
fter they had mountedand were bowling along merrily toward town.

  "The chances are that way. That tramp printer must be a bad sort ofchap, it seems to me, and if Hank keeps along in his society I can seehis finish," answered Jerry over his shoulder.

  They had not made more than a mile when once more Frank gave a quicktoot of his horn that brought the little procession up in a hurry.

  "What ails us now?" demanded Bluff.

  "Frank's bending over something in the road, as sure as you live!"called Will.

  "Tell me about that, will you! Seems as if our lively times haven'tstopped yet. It never rains but it pours, fellows. Hi! Frank, what's thematter? Say! Would you believe it? There's a man lying in the road!"

  Jerry made haste to push his heavy motorcycle forward so as to reach theside of his kneeling chum.

  "It's Hank Brady, boys, and he seems to be in a bad way. Something hashappened to him since we saw him last," said Frank, looking up.

  "Goodness gracious! Is he dead?" gasped Will, his eyes dilating inhorror.

  "I don't know yet, but I'm going to find out," replied Frank, bendingover so that he could press his ear upon the breast of the man in theroad.

  "And that tramp printer, where's he at?" asked Jerry suggestively. "Tellme that, will you?"