by Morgan Scott
CHAPTER XIII.
A BOND OF SYMPATHY.
With their assistance and advice, Rod finally found himself making someprogress at learning to skate. Slow progress it seemed, indeed, yet hewas genuinely elated when he finally found himself able to stand on theirons and stroke a little in an awkward way; for this was the promiseof better things to come, and, despite black-and-blue spots andwearied, wobbly ankles, he was determined to acquire skill at thatwinter pastime which all the boys seemed to enjoy. At intervals, havinglabored back to the shore, he sat down to rest, watching his twocompanions skimming hither and thither over the surface of the frozencove. Once they joined him.
“Pegged out?” questioned Spotty kindly.
“Not a bit of it,” replied Rod, with a touch of pride. “I’ve bustedbronchos in my day, and learning to skate is a parlor pastime comparedwith that job. I’m going at it again directly.”
“You’ll learn all right,” assured Lander. “Every feller gets his bumpswhen he first tries it. Boo! it’s cold to-night. Wish we had a nip ofsomething to warm us up.”
“Hot coffee wouldn’t be bad,” said Rod.
“Coffee!” laughed Bunk derisively. “I’d like something stronger thanthat, but you can’t get much of anything around this old town. Tell youwhat, I know where to find some slick old cider, and that would bebetter than nothing. ’Tain’t so easy to get it, though. My grandfatherput it up, and he’s got it bottled and stowed away in his cellar.Guards it like a hawk, too.”
“Can’t you swipe a bottle or two?” asked Spotty eagerly. “I know whatit is, for didn’t we have a high old time with some of it over at yourcamp in the swamp back of Turkey Hill?”
“I’d forgot about that,” laughed Lander. “We did have a racket, didn’twe, Spot?”
“Yes, and I had a headache the next day. Your old granddad’s cider isstout enough to lift a safe.”
“Oh, he knows how to fix it. He doctors it up with charred prunes andbrown sugar and raisins, and mixes a little of the real corn juice inwith it. A swig or two of that stuff is enough to make a feller feelfrisky as a colt. Maybe I’ll be able to get hold of some to-morrow.Say, Spot, I wonder if my old camp is still standing?”
“Guess it is,” answered Davis, “though the log we used to cross over onis gone, and you can’t get to it very easy.”
“We can get to it all right now the swamp is froze up. That was acorking place, and I had some fun there till I got caught. We’ll haveto take a look at it, me and you, the first chance we get. Maybe yourfriend Grant would like to come along.”
“Just now,” said Rod, “I’m particularly interested in acquiring the artof skating. What’s this camp you’re talking about?”
“A little old log cabin I built on sort of an island in the middle ofthe swamp back of Turkey Hill,” explained Lander. “It made a greatplace for fellers that was congenial to sneak off away from people andhave fun. There was a sort of path through the swamp, and, by cuttingdown a tree and dropping it across the worst place, we could get overto the island slick. I had that old joint fixed-up fine, too, withbunks and blankets and an old stove; and you should have seen the stockof provisions I put in—everything a feller needed to live comfortableand feed well for a month or more.”
“Where did you get all that outfit?”
“Oh, I got it all right,” answered Bunk evasively, while Spottysmothered a chuckle. “If it hadn’t been for that sneak, Barker, whocome prying around, I’d never had any trouble. Why, the greatdetective, Sleuth Piper, was fooled completely. He was all balled up onthe big sensation that had everybody in Oakdale talking, and hisdeductions about it would have made a horse laugh.”
“Don’t talk to me about him!” snarled Davis suddenly. “He’s one of thebunch I’ve got it in for, all right. A detective! Why, he couldn’tdetect anything.”
Rodney Grant could not help feeling a slight bond of sympathy betweenhimself and these lads who bore a strong dislike for the very fellowswho had accorded him such unfair and shabby treatment. True, there wassomething about them which gave him a sensation of distrust, yet theyalso were outcasts in a way, and he could not help thinking that theirmisfortune might not be wholly merited. Of a generous nature, hebelieved every person had redeeming qualities, and nothing irritatedhim more than the common impulse of the masses to jump on a fellow whowas down.
“You’ll have to come over and see my old hang-out sometime, Grant,”said Lander. “If the stove is still there, I imagine the camp might bechinked up a little and made pretty comfortable for some fellers whowanted to sneak off and have a little quiet fun. Of course everybodyaround here is watching me, and I’ll have to make a bluff at walking achalk-line; but I’m going to be careful, and any lobster who sticks hisnose into my business will stand a chance of getting it pinched.”
“That’s the talk!” cried Davis. “I don’t blame you a bit.”
Although he wondered what all this sort of conversation meant, Rod,following the true Texas code of manners, refrained from askingquestions. If they wished to take him into their confidence, well andgood; but, if they did not, he would not pry.
After a time they resumed their skating, and Rodney, still furtherelated, found that he was making decided progress. He even venturedforth from the cove in the direction of Bass Island, but Spotty skatedafter him and warned him to keep away from the southern end of theisland, where there were always “breathing holes” in the ice.
“There are currents come round both ways and meet there,” said Davis,“so it’s never really safe, even in the middle of the winter. Eliotbroke through all by his lonesome last winter and come mighty neardrownding.”
“Which would have been a terrible loss to the community,” laughedLander, skating backward near at hand.
“What have you got against him?” questioned Spotty. “He didn’t haveanything to do with handing you that swift poke you got.”
“Oh, no; but he always seemed to think himself too good for associationwith common people. Just because his father happens to have the dough,he has a way about him that I can’t stand. You know what he did to you.”
“That’s all right; I’m not standing up for him. Say, Rod, old feller,you’re coming fine. You were falling all over yourself a while ago, butnow you can get around pretty well. It won’t take you long to skatefirst-class.”
“Thanks for the encouragement,” laughed Grant.
“Come out here with us to-morrow night,” urged Spotty, “and we’ll giveyou another lesson.”
“Sure thing,” agreed Bunk.
“I’ll do it,” promised Rod.
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