What chance did they have of securing the much desired fire, if all depended on Giraffe succeeding in inducing that twirling stick to generate enough heat to throw off a spark that would catch in the dry tinder? None at all. It was only a hollow mockery. Some smart scouts might be able to do the little trick; but up to now it had baffled the skill of Giraffe. Why, even Thad had lost pretty much all hope of his ever succeeding, b.u.mpus suspected; and believed that the only good thing about the tall scout's labors was his persistence.

So, shaking his head again dolefully, b.u.mpus allowed himself to once more figure out a bill of fare that he would like to commence on, if he only had the good fortune to sit down at a table in a first-cla.s.s restaurant. It seemed to give him untold satisfaction just to imagine the heaping platters that were being brought before him in rapid succession. Why, in his vivid imagination he could almost get the delicious odors of the various dishes that had long been favorites with him; particularly the liver and bacon and fried onions. Oh! how tantalizing to suddenly arouse himself with a start, to look around at the rapidly darkening scene of those lonely pine woods, and hear, instead of the waiter's cheery voice, only that continual grinding sound, as the boy with the never-give-up nature kept sawing away with his miserable little bow; and the poor stick kept whirling back and forwards with a violent motion, in the socket that held one end.

In the estimation of b.u.mpus, that was coming down from the sublime to the ridiculous. He had little confidence in all this labor of Giraffe; though goodness knows, that if ever success would prove a boon to a couple of stranded hunters caught in the darkness of a wintry night, with not a match in their possession, it was then.

CHAPTER XX.

THE LONG VIGIL OF A SCOUT.

It really looked to b.u.mpus as though sooner or later they must come to climbing a tree, no matter how cold they found it on such a perch. And as it would presently be dark, since night was rapidly coming on, he wondered whether he would not be showing good judgment in selecting the proper kind of a tree, while there was enough light to see by.

But before he started to look around him, he thought it worth while to ascertain how his companion was doing; although to tell the truth b.u.mpus did not have the slightest hope of any good news.

"Ain't you gettin' anywhere yet, Giraffe?" he asked, as he rose clumsily, and wearily to his feet; for his short legs felt very stiff after resting so long.

The other gave a grunt as he replied:

"Oh! don't bother me with such silly questions, b.u.mpus. You make me think of that story of Blue Beard, where the old feller's a waitin' for his last wife to come down, and get her head taken off; and she keeps callin' to her sister, who's in the lookout tower: 'Sister Ann, Sister Ann, don't you see anything comin'?'"

"But I want to know before I--" began b.u.mpus, when the other interrupted him.

"You _will_ know all right, if I get it. But you keep away from me, b.u.mpus. Once before, you fell all over me, just when I was on the point of grabbing a spark. If you know what's good for you, keep clear of me now. I'm desperately in earnest, I tell you. So be warned, b.u.mpus!"

The fat scout realized that if he knew what was good for him he had better give Giraffe a wide berth while he was strumming away with his "old fiddle," as some of the boys sneeringly described the fire outfit that continually refused to "fire" even a little bit.

"I'm going to look for a good tree," he said.

"All right, go, and climb up in it, good and hard," Giraffe answered pettishly; "but unless you want to get lost, don't you dare go out of sight of this place. Call if you lose sight of me, b.u.mpus, d'ye hear? I don't want Thad to say I didn't keep an eye on you; but this is a business that must be attended to."

All the while he was sawing away as if his very life depended upon bringing the ordeal to a successful termination; and possibly Giraffe thought it did.

So b.u.mpus began to look around him.

He realized that the tall pines were rather out of the question so far as affording them a chance to climb up; and that he must find some tree of a different type, with low branches.

It was not hard to find such a retreat in the shape of a thick hemlock, with its glossy green foliage that had such a delightful scent. b.u.mpus knew it well, because on numerous occasions the scouts had plucked ma.s.ses of similar "browse," to make the ground feel easier where they slept.

If they had to climb a tree as a last resort, this hemlock would offer all the advantages they wished. Why, b.u.mpus could even remember how Eli had told of an adventure that had befallen him along somewhat similar lines; and how in order not to fall from his perch in the crotch of a tree, he tied himself there by means of some stout cord he happened to have along.

b.u.mpus felt all through his pockets again, and was grievously disappointed not to discover a hank of fishing cord.

"Seems like I'm just out of everything that a feller's apt to want when he gets in a bad pickle like this," he grumbled. "Ketch me bein' in such a hole again. Why, I'm goin' to make it the point of my life to always carry a plenty of matches along; and a line that would be strong enough to hold a feller, if I had to use it. How would Jim fished up his gun, and shot them wolves, like he told us, if so be he didn't tear his shirt into strips, an' made a rope, with a loop at the end, to slip over the end of his rifle lyin' on the ground. Next time I get the chance I'm goin' to fix a nice clothes line, and wrap it around me every time I go out in the woods. Never know how handy such things might come in. Wonder how Giraffe's gettin' along with his sawin'? But I don't dare say another word, or he'll be so mad he might break his silly old bow on my back."

He walked toward the spot where he could see the dim figure of the industrious fire worshipper bending low over at his labor.

Again b.u.mpus sank down to the ground; although he was shivering with the cold, he did not dare swing his arms around as before, lest it make him remember how hungry he was.

Sitting there, he listened to the breeze sighing among the branches of the pines; and to his excited mind it was actually laughing at the predicament of the wretched chums.

Something else came stealing to his hearing, something that made b.u.mpus suddenly sit up, hold his breath, and strain his senses trying to locate the direction from which it seemed to spring, and at the same time guess the nature of the sound.

"I wonder now, was that a wildcat growling?" he asked himself.

The thought was so disquieting, owing to the gathering gloom, that he could not help reaching out his hand toward the heavy Marlin that he had temporarily laid on the ground near by.

While the sound, whatever it may have been, was not repeated, so far as b.u.mpus could tell, still he felt far from satisfied about it. What if the sly old cat was at that very moment creeping up on them? For all they knew, it might be close by just then, "inching" its way along, just as he had watched a tame Tabby do at home, when trying to steal upon a sparrow it wanted for its dinner.

b.u.mpus became quite nervous over the thought. He drew back the hammers of his double-barrel, and began to look around him. All sorts of stories that he had heard told from time to time about these bobtailed cats of the pine woods, with their cousin, the lynx, that had ta.s.sels on its ears, now floated before his mind. Naturally they did not tend to ease the strain under which he was laboring; for where he had before only imagined he could see one pair of yellow eyes staring at him from out the gloom, he now began to see them everywhere.

Why, the woods must be full of the creatures, and they were going to set upon the unfortunate scouts, to make a meal for that cold night. And another thing gave b.u.mpus great uneasiness; there was no use of trying to get away from this army of "yellow-eyes" by climbing that hemlock; since cats were as much at home in any kind of tree as on the ground.

No wonder b.u.mpus shivered now, with something more than the cold air.

They were certainly up against it, good and hard; and if ever they saw Thad and the rest of the scouts again, how happy they should be.

Why didn't Giraffe quit his fooling with that silly old bow, and take to thinking up some scheme that was worth while? It seemed the height of foolishness for him to be wasting all his time with that ridiculous fire-making dodge, that never could be done anyway. b.u.mpus was almost tempted to stumble forward, and pretend to fall over his kneeling figure, just to upset things, and make Giraffe come to his proper senses. He would, only he was a little afraid that the tall scout might be so furious that he would do something violent; for he was getting "awful touchy" on the subject of making a fire in that way.

"If I could only make dead sure of one of them yellow eyes, I'd like to knock the beast over," b.u.mpus was muttering to himself; and then he rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, as if trying to see better, after which he said disconsolately: "It ain't no use, they just keep dancin'

all around me. P'raps there ain't any cats there at all. P'raps I'm just imaginin' things, like my dad used to say I did, when they put me to bed in the dark, tellin' me the angels was all around me, an' wouldn't let anything hurt me; but pretty soon, when the skeeters got busy, I let out a whoop, and told 'em the angels was bitin' me something awful. P'raps if I shut my eyes I'd feel better."

But when he started to try this, b.u.mpus found that it would not work.

The agony of not being able to see created new fancies in his mind, much more dreadful than those that had gone before.

And so the anxious scout crouched there, not far from his industrious chum, gripping his gun tightly in both hands, and breathing stertorously as he twisted his fat neck around from side to side. He was trying to figure out a line of action to be followed in case the worst came to pa.s.s; and be it said to his credit that b.u.mpus was resolved to die game, as became a true scout.

At any rate, Giraffe could not keep up that silly business much longer.

Either he would just have to give over through complete exhaustion; or else his "bally bow," as b.u.mpus liked to call it, would break, as it had a faculty for doing when the cord became weakened from constant friction.

b.u.mpus only wished that time would hurry along, for he wanted Giraffe to forget about his fad, and turn his attention to a more sensible way of getting fire. Now, there must be a way of snapping an emptied sh.e.l.l into a little pile of tinder, and catching the spark in some manner.

He tried to figure out how it could be done; but b.u.mpus never was very bright with regard to details, for they confused him; so that he was soon floundering about like a fish out of water; or a boy who did not know how to swim, when he gets beyond his depth.

Why, it was real dark, and he could just barely make out the crouching figure of Giraffe; but that everlasting humming sound still kept up, until b.u.mpus thought it would set him crazy.

Now b.u.mpus started on a new tack. He tried to imagine the delight of his companion if only he could suddenly remember having thrust a little box of safety matches into his haversack before starting out; but he knew it was useless to look, for he had certainly done nothing of the sort.

Then, all of a sudden, b.u.mpus was given an electric shock, when Giraffe let out a shrill whoop; for with his mind so filled by visions of armies of wildcats all ready to pounce upon them by and by, b.u.mpus was in a condition to be startled.

He scrambled to his knees, and half raised his gun to his shoulder, under the full belief that the crisis so long dreaded was at last upon them, and they would have to fight desperately for their very lives.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE LITTLE FIRE BOW DOES ITS WORK AT LAST.