The Gun Club Boys of Lakeport

“If it does the bottom will drop out sure,” added Link, with a grin.

“I don’t feel much like stirring from the fire,” came from Fred.

“See Fred, doubled up like a squaw,” cried Bart. “Fred, are you toasted yet?”

“Never mind, I noticed you grumbled as much as I did, during the night,” returned the stout youth.

“Did I?”

“Did you? Well, I just guess. You wanted all the extra blankets, you did.”

“Never mind, boys,” said Joel Runnell. “We’ll have a good hot breakfast, and that will warm us all up.”

Pancake flour had been brought along by Link and Bart, and that morning they had coffee, pancakes, and fried rabbit. They did full justice to the meal, and as old Runnell had said, all felt warm and in better humor after the repast was finished.

It remained cold all day, and the boys spent the time around the shelter, cutting more firewood, and fixing the place up so that the wind could not get in quite so freely. Link started another snowball fight, but it did not last.

Yet Link was out for some fun, and at supper time he reminded Harry of the trick to be played on Teddy.

“I’m willing,” came from Harry, readily. “But I think we ought to let the others know, so they can enjoy the fun.”

“I shouldn’t tell Runnell. He might want to stop us.”

So it was agreed to tell the other boys. All were much interested and did what they could to make Harry and Link look like Indians.

First some reddish dirt was dug up and thawed out, after which it was mixed with a little rabbit grease and smeared on their faces. Then some feathers were put in bands and stuck around their heads, and each wrapped himself in a camp blanket, in true Indian style.

“You’ve got to have weapons,” said Joe. “Here, each take a hatchet.”

“I brought along a bow and some arrows,” said Bart. “Link can take that.”

“And I’ll take my gun,” put in Harry.

“See that it is empty first,” said Joe, warningly. “We don’t want any accident.” And the weapon was discharged on the spot.

All these preparations were made in secret, while old Runnell was out looking for game. The boys had persuaded Teddy to go out, too.

When Joel Runnell and the Irish lad returned to camp Link and Harry were missing.

“They went up the north shore,” said Joe. “Teddy, they wanted to know if you wouldn’t follow them up. I think they have something they want you to help carry home.”

“All right,” answered the Irish lad, willingly, and set off at once, whistling merrily as he trudged along.

As luck would have it, Joel Runnell was busy skinning some rabbits found in the traps. Consequently he did not notice the actions of the boys and inside of a minute after Teddy left the camp they were following him up.

“Don’t let him see you,” whispered Joe to the others. “If he does the game will be spoilt.”

“You keep out of sight yourself,” returned Bart.

“And don’t talk so loud,” came from Fred. “Remember, it’s so quiet just now a fellow’s voice carries further than you imagine.”

After that they remained silent and took good care that Teddy should not see them.

All unconscious of the trick about to be played upon him, the Irish lad trudged on and on, until he was quarter of a mile from camp.

“Hello, boys!” he called out. “Where are you?”

No answer came back, and he continued to move on, until a sudden stir in some bushes caused him to halt. It was after sunset and the woods appeared dim and ghostly.

“I say, where are you?” he went on. “Link! Harry!”

Again there was no answer, but now he saw two forms moving silently from the bushes to a spot behind him.

Joe had seen to it that Teddy did not take his gun along, so the Irish lad was totally unarmed. He watched the figures in considerable alarm.

“Sure an’ they can’t be the boys,” he told himself. “Link! Harry!”

Slowly the figures drew closer and as they did so Teddy’s hair almost stood on end.

“Indians!” he cried. “Indians! Oh, I’m a dead b’y now!”

“Pa-wa! Pa-wa!” cried one of the advancing figures. “Bunk-a-bunk a busta-bust! Pa-wa!”

“Nunk-a-nuck!” came from the other. “White boy Injun prisoner!”

“Mercy on me!” shrieked poor Teddy. “Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me, Mr. Indian!”

“White boy big chief’s prisoner,” came from the second figure. “Maybe scalp white boy!”

At this Teddy clasped his hands in terror.

“Don’t ye do it!” he yelled. “Help! somebody, help! The Indians have come to murder us all in our beds! Don’t touch my hair! I nade it, I do!”

He wanted to run, but one of the wrapped-up figures caught him by the arm, while the other raised his hatchet threateningly.

“White boy be silent!” was the command. “No speak a word.”

“Fer the sake o’ me family!” groaned Teddy. “Please let me go!”

“White boy good to eat maybe?”

“To eat is it! Oh, my! just to hear o’ that now! No, I’m no good to eat! I’m tough, terribul tough! If ye try to eat me ye’ll break yer teeth!”

At this came a snicker from behind the trees.

“Say, but he’s scared right enough,” murmured Bart.

“Down on your knees – your Japanese,” went on Harry, giving his hatchet a wild flourish.