“Smells like pepper,” replied Major Larry Colby, who was close at hand.
“Would anybody be mean enough to use that?”
“Perhaps.”
“Up!” cried Rockley once more. “Pull! pull! pull!”
His team gave a savage haul as ordered, and up came Tom’s men in spite of themselves. Then began a tug of war in dead earnest, with the rope nearly three feet in the Rockleys’ favor.
CHAPTER XXII
A SWIM AND SOME SNAKES
The majority of the cadets were now inclined to think that Rockley’s team would win the contest. They had seen Tom’s followers sneezing, but thought this might come from the dampness of the ground.
“Don’t give in, Tom!” cried Sam, dancing around. “You’ve got to beat him!”
“Bah! you act like a monkey,” said Lew Flapp. “Rockley’s fellows are bound to win.”
In the meantime the rope was moving rapidly backward and forward. Once Rockley and his men had Tom’s team dangerously close to the line. But Tom ordered a drop and there the team clung, refusing to budge an inch further.
“Time is almost up,” said George Strong. “Three minutes more!”
“Up!” cried Rockley.
“Up and pull for all you are worth!” cried Tom. “Pull, I tell you! Make every ounce of muscle count!”
And pull Tom’s team did as never before, and Tom with them, watching for the first sign of returning weakness. But the team was now on its mettle and made the Rockleys come over the line in spite of the frantic orders from Rockley himself to drop.
“It’s ours!” screamed Tom, and with a final haul brought the opponents over the line with a rush. Rockley, flat on his back on the grass, trying in vain to dig his heels into the soil, and the others floundering just as vainly.
A cheer went up for Tom’s team, while Rockley and his followers left the field in disgust.
“It was well won, Tom!” said Dick enthusiastically. “I never saw a better tug of war in my life.”
“I’d like to know who threw that pepper,” answered Tom, with an angry glance toward Lew Flapp and his cronies.
“Did somebody throw pepper?” asked Mr. Strong.
“I think they did, although I’m not sure. Anyway, something came along and made the most of us sneeze.”
“It’s too bad, Rover. I’ll try to make sure of this,” said the teacher. But though he made an investigation nothing came of it.
Some of the cadets were so delighted with the success of Tom’s team that they took Tom on their shoulders and marched around the entire encampment with him.
“I tell you, Rockley feels sore,” said Sam, a little later.
“Around the belt?” asked Tom with a grin.
“I mean in his mind. He and Lew Flapp are having a regular quarrel over the contest. I guess Flapp lost some money.”
“Perhaps, if he has, it will cure him of betting,” put in Dick.
Sam and Tom had received permission to go to the upper end of the lake in one of the rowboats on the following afternoon. Songbird Powell and Fred Garrison went along, and all took their fishing outfits and plenty of bait.
“Bring home a nice mess of fish,” said Dick, on parting with his brothers. “Sorry I can’t go with you.”
“Oh, you’ll have company enough,” declared Sam. “I heard that some of the country folks are going to visit the encampment to-day and perhaps those Staton girls will be among them.”
The four boys were soon on the way, two rowing at a time. The weather was ideal, and the water as smooth as that of a mill pond.
“What a beautiful spot this is,” declared Fred, as they glided long. “I’m sure Captain Putnam could not have selected a better.”
“I have already gotten some splendid pictures,” returned Powell, who possessed a good snap-shot camera, now lying on the stern seat of the boat. “I’m going to take some more pictures to-day.”
On the way to the upper end of the lake Sam did a little fishing and brought in one bass of fair size.
“This makes a fellow feel like a true poet,” murmured Powell, gazing dreamily at the water, and then he went on:
“I love to glide, By the green-clad side
Of the glassy lake,
And there to take
My ease with book
Or line and hook,
And spend the day
Far, far away
From care and toil,
On Nature’s soil.”
“Just to listen to Songbird!” cried Tom. “He grinds it out like a regular sausage-making machine,” and then he went on gayly:
“I love to swim,
In Nature’s soil,
By the green-clad side,
Of a mountain wide,
And there to bake,
My little toes,
On a garden rose,
And take a hose,
And wet the lake
With a hot snowflake,
In the middle of June—
If that isn’t too soon—
And sail to the moon
In a big balloon—”
“Oh, Tom, let up!” roared Fred. “Talk about a sausage-making machine—”
“And when in the moon,
I’d drive a stake,
And tie my lake
Fast to a star,
Or a trolley car,
Then jump in a sack
And ride right back—”
“To where you belong,
And stop that song!”
finished Sam. “Oh, but that’s the worst yet. Shall we duck him, Fred?”
“No, don’t pollute the water,” answered Garrison.
“He ought to be ducked,” came from Powell, in disgust. “Whenever I have a poetic streak—”
“It’s catching, as the fly-paper said to the fly,” finished Tom. “Let’s call it square and take a new tack. Who’s in for a swim when we reach the end of the lake?”
“I am!” was the united cry from the others. They were passing several small islands and now came to another turn in Bass Lake. Just beyond this was a small sandy beach, backed up by a mass of rocks and brushwood.
“That looks like a good place for a swim,” said Powell, forgetting all about his so-called poetry.
“Suits me,” returned Tom. “Let’s pull ashore and tie the boat fast, and I’ll put up—”
“A peanut reward for the first fellow in,” finished Fred. “Caught you that time, Tom, just as you caught Songbird with his doggerel.”
As happy as any boys could be, the four cadets tied up their boat. In doing this one started to splash in the water, followed by another, and as a consequence before the cutting-up came to a finish the seats of the craft were pretty well wetted.
“Never mind,” said Tom. “They’ll soon dry in the sun. We can put our clothes on the rocks.”
The boys were soon in the water and having a most glorious time. The lake was fairly deep off the end of the boat and here they took turns at diving. Fred and Songbird also went in for a race, the former coming in only a few feet ahead.
“I guess we had better dress now and try our hand at fishing,” said Sam after nearly an hour had passed.
“One more dive!” cried Tom and took one full of grace, to the very bottom of the lake.
As Tom came up to the surface he heard a cry from Sam, quickly followed by a yell from Fred.
“What’s up?” he called out, swimming toward the shore.
“Land on the boat, Tom!” cried Sam, and leaped into the craft, followed by Fred and Powell.
“All right; but what is wrong?” asked Tom, and climbed tip over the stern.
“We can’t get our clothes.”
“Why not?”
“Look for yo
urself.”
Tom looked and gave a low whistle of astonishment. And not without good reason, for there on the rocks where they had left their garments rested a big black snake!
“This is interesting truly,” murmured the boy, gazing at his companions in dismay.
“I’m going to get a rock and throw it at the snake,” said Sam.
A stone was close to the boat, and watching his chance, he picked it up and threw it at the reptile.
The snake darted to one side. It was merely grazed by the rock and now it hissed viciously.
The hiss appeared to be a signal, and in a moment more another snake and then another appeared, until fully a dozen reptiles each a yard or more in length covered the rocks where all of the cadets’ wearing apparel rested!
CHAPTER XXIII
A GLIMPSE OF AN OLD ENEMY
“We are in a pickle now and no mistake!” groaned Fred Garrison. He hated snakes as much as he did poison.
“It’s certainly bad,” declared Songbird Powell. “I wonder what we had best do?”
“Has anybody got a pistol?”
Nobody had, nor was there any weapon handy outside of a jackknife and a fishing rod.
“If we only had a shot-gun,” sighed Sam.
“But we haven’t one and we must do the best we can without it,” answered Tom. “Songbird, supposing you try to charm ‘em with some of that soothing poetry of yours. Or take a picture of ‘em.”
“This is no joke,” growled Powell. “I want my clothes.”
“Well, go ahead and take ‘em—I shan’t stop you.”
“I’m going to get another rock,” said Sam.
“Let us all get stones,” suggested Tom. “Then we can throw together.”
This was thought to be a good idea, and soon the stones were secured and each cadet took careful aim.
Three of the snakes were hit, one quite seriously. These retreated, but the other snakes remained as defiant as ever.
“There must be a nest under the rocks,” said Tom. “Were that not so I am sure the snakes would leave at once.”
“I’ve got another idea!” cried Fred. “Why didn’t we think of it before?”
“I haven’t thought of it yet, Fred,” grinned Tom. “What is it?”
“Let us take our fishing rods and tie one fast to another. Then we can turn the boat around and go fishing on the rocks for our clothes.”
“That’s the talk,” rejoined Powell. “A good idea, Fred.”
Three of the rods were pieced together, making a fishing pole over thirty feet long. The boat was then swung around, and while two kept the craft in place the others went fishing for the clothing.
The task was not so easy as it looked, and the snakes whipped around and hissed in a most alarming fashion. More than once they had a coat or other garment on the pole only to drop it again. But they persevered and soon had everything on board but Fred’s shirt and one of Tom’s shoes.
“Here comes the shirt,” cried Tom, at last, and landed the garment in the bow of the rowboat.
“And a snake with it!” screamed Sam. “Look out, everybody!”
Sam was right, the snake was there and in a trice was whipping around under the seat.
“Stamp on him, Fred!” cried Tom, and Garrison, who had his shoes on, did so. Then Tom caught the reptile by the tail and flung it into the lake.
After this there was but little trouble in getting the remaining shoe, and with this aboard they sent the rowboat out into the lake and lost no time in finishing their dressing.
“This was a truly horrible experience,” was Sam’s comment, after the excitement had died down. “Gracious, I feel as if the snakes were crawling around me this minute!”
“Don’t say that,” said Fred with a shudder. “You make me feel as if there was another snake in my shirt.”
“The best thing to do is to forget the snakes,” put in Songbird Powell. “Let us row around to the other side of the lake.”
All were willing, and soon the vicinity was left far behind. Then they came to where a fair sized brook flowed into Bass Lake, and here they came to anchor and began to fish, while Powell took several photographs.
“I have always found it good fishing near a brook like that,” said Tom. “The fish come around looking for food from the brook.”
Tom’s remark was evidently true, for in less than an hour each of the boys had a good sized string of fish to his credit.
In the excitement of the sport the cadets forgot all about the adventure with the snakes, nor did they pay much attention to the flight of time until Fred Garrison glanced at his watch.
“Gee Christopher!” he ejaculated.
“What time is it?” asked Powell.
“Half-past four.”
“And we promised to be back at five-thirty!” put in Sam. “We’ll have to hustle, fellows.”
“Oh, we can get back in an hour easily enough,” put in Tom.
“But we’ve got to clean out the boat and clean up ourselves,” came from Fred. “Come, fellows, wind up and put away your hooks and poles.”
He started and the others followed. Then Fred and Powell took the oars, and the return to camp was begun. Not caring to go back the same way they had come, they sped along the opposite shore of the lake, where were located several coves and cliffs of rock.
“This is as pretty as the other shore,” remarked Songbird. And he began:
“Oh, dreamy days in summer time,
When purling brooks and shady nooks—”
“If you start up again I’ll jump overboard,” interrupted Tom.
“Do so, you need a cooling off,” grunted Powell; but that was the end of the poetry for the time being.
They were just passing one of the coves when they caught sight of a man sitting on an overhanging tree, fishing.
“Hullo, what luck?” cried Fred, good-naturedly.
“Fair,” was the somewhat surly answer. Then, as the man caught sight of the others in the boat, he turned his head away.
“That fellow looks familiar to me,” ejaculated Sam, in sudden and strong excitement.
“And he looks familiar to me, too,” exclaimed Tom.
“Do you think it is Arnold Baxter?”
“If it isn’t, it’s his double,” went on Tom. “Row the boat over quick, boys.”
“Who is this Arnold Baxter? The father of Dan Baxter?” questioned Fred.
“The same, Fred.”
“The fellow who escaped from prison, or the hospital?” asked Powell.
“That’s the chap.”
Without delay the rowboat was turned in toward the overhanging tree.
Scarcely had this been done when the fisherman pulled in his line with all speed, took up his string of fish and ran into the bushes between two cliffs of rocks.
“He is getting out, and in a hurry too!” said Fred.
“Hi, there, stop! We want to talk to you!” sang out Tom, at the top of his lungs.
“Ain’t got time,” roared back the strange fisherman, and on the instant he was gone.
“It must have been Arnold Baxter, beyond a doubt,” said Sam.
“If it was, what is he doing here?” questioned his brother.
“He’s keeping out of the reach of the law,” answered Powell. “I suppose he thought he was perfectly safe in such an out-of-the-way place as this.”
“And he was fishing just to kill time,” put in Fred.
“I’d like to go after him and make sure,” went on Tom. “What do you say, Sam?”
“I am with you.”
“But we may be late—” began Fred.
“Oh, Captain Putnam will excuse us when I tell him what delayed us.”
The rowboat soon reached the shore, and Sam and Tom leaped to the brushwood, whe
re the trail of the vanished fisherman was plainly to be seen.
It was decided that Fred and Powell should remain in charge of the rowboat, so that nobody might come and make off with the craft. Leaving their fishing outfits behind them the two Rover boys struck out through the bushes, and soon gained a narrow forest path running through the woods that skirted this section of Bass Lake.
“I wish we could catch Baxter,” said Tom, on the way. “It would be a feather in our cap, Sam.”
“We must be careful. More than likely he is armed, and he won’t hesitate to shoot if he is cornered.”
“Oh, I know that. The most we can do is to follow him until we reach some place where we can summon assistance.”
The path led deeper and deeper into the woods and then along a fairsized brook. They kept their eyes wide open, but could see nothing excepting a number of birds and an occasional squirrel or chipmunk. Once they heard the distant bark of a fox and this was the only sound that broke the stillness.
“It’s rather a lonely place,” said Sam, after a silence lasting several minutes. “I must say I shouldn’t like to meet Arnold Baxter here alone.”
“For all we know he may be watching us from behind some tree.”
Several times they got down to examine the path. Footprints could be seen quite plainly, but neither of the boys was expert enough at trailing to tell whether these prints had been made recently or not.
“It would take an Indian scout to make sure of these footmarks,” said Tom. “They are beyond me.”
“Let us go a bit further,” returned his brother. “Then if we don’t see anything, we may as well go back to the lake.”
“Hark!”
They listened intently and at a distance heard a crashing in the brushwood.
“That sounded as if somebody had jumped across the brook, Tom!”
“Just what I should say, Sam. Come on!”
Again they went forward, a distance of thirty or forty yards. At this point the path seemed to dwindle down to little or nothing.
“We have come to the end of the trail,” was Tom’s comment, as he gazed around sharply.
“Do you see anything?” queried his brother.
“Nothing much. One or two of the bushes over yonder seem to be brushed aside and broken.”
“What do you think we had best do now?”
The Rover Boys Megapack Page 118
