CHAPTER IV
SKATING

Lakeport was a thriving town with a large number of inhabitants. Early as it was many people were out, and nearly every passer-by was greeted with a liberal dose of snowballs, for the lads of this down-East town were as fun-loving as are boys anywhere, and to leave a “good mark” slip past unnoticed was considered nothing short of a crime.

When Joe and Harry reached the lake front they found a crowd of fully fifty men and boys, with a fair sprinkling of girls, engaged in skating and in ice-boating. The majority of the people were in the vicinity of the steamboat dock, for this was at the end of the main street, and a great “hanging-out” spot during the summer. But others were skating up the lake shore, and a few were following Dan Marcy’s new ice yacht, Silver Queen, as she tacked along on her way to the west shore, where an arm of the lake encircled the lower end of Pine Island.

“Marcy’s going to try to beat the lake record,” Joe heard one boy call to another. “He says his new boat has got to knock the spots out of anything that ever sailed on the lake, or he’ll chop her up for firewood.”

“Well, she’ll have to hum along if she beats the time made by the old Whizzer last winter,” came from the other boy. “She sailed from the big pine to Hallett’s Point in exactly four minutes and ten seconds. My, but didn’t she scoot along!”

It took but a few minutes for Joe and Harry to don their skates. As they left the shore they ran into Fred Rush, who was swinging along as if his very life depended upon it.

“Hello, so you fellows have come down at last!” sang out Fred, who was short and stout, and as full of fun as a lad can be. “Thought you had made up your mind to go to bed again, or stay home and look for more Christmas presents. Been having dead loads of fun – had a race and come in second best, got knocked down twice, slipped on the ice over yonder, and got a wet foot in a hole some fellow cut, and Jerry Little hit me in the shin with his hockey stick. Say, but you fellows are positively missing the time of your lives.”

“I want to miss it, if I’m going to have all those things happen to me,” returned Joe, dryly. Then he added: “Harry tells me you got a double-barreled shotgun almost like mine. How do you like it?”

“Like it? Say, that gun is the greatest thing that ever happened. I tried it just before I came down to skate – fired both barrels at once, because I didn’t have time to fire ’em separately. It knocked me flat, and a snowbank was all that saved my life. But she’s a dandy. I’m going to bring down a bear with that gun before the winter is over, you see if I don’t.”

“How are you going to do it?” put in Harry. “Offer to let the animal shoot off the gun, and kill him that way?”

“Don’t you make fun of me, Harry. You’ll see the bear sooner or later, mark the remark.”

The three boys skated off, hand in hand, with Fred in the center. The fun-loving youth was the only son of the town hardware dealer, and he and the Westmore lads had grown up together from childhood. At school Fred had proved himself far from being a dunce, but by some manner of means he was almost constantly in “hot water;” why, nobody could explain.

“Let Fred Rush pick up a poker, and he’ll get the hot end in his hand,” said one of the girls one day, and this remark came close to hitting the nail squarely on the head. Yet with all his trials and tribulations Fred rarely lost his temper, and he was always ready to promise better things for the future.

The boys skated a good half mile up the lake shore. At this point they met several girls, and one of them, Cora Runnell, asked Joe if he would fix her skate for her.

“Certainly I will,” replied the youth, and on the instant he was kneeling on the ice and adjusting a clamp that had become wedged fast to the shoe plate of the skate. Cora was the daughter of an old hunter and trapper of that vicinity, and as he worked Joe asked her what her father was doing.

“He isn’t doing anything just now,” was the girl’s answer. “He was out acting as a guide for a party of New York sportsmen, but they went back to the city last week.”

“Did you hear him say anything about game?”

“Yes, he said the season was a very good one. The party got six deer over at Rawson Hill and a moose at Bender’s, and any quantity of small game. I think pa’s going out alone in a day or two – just to see what he can bring down for the market at Brookside.”

“I wish he’d take me along. I’ve got a new double-barreled shotgun that I want to try the worst way.”

“And I’ve got one, too,” broke in Fred. “I’m sure we could bring down lots of game between us.”

Cora Runnell looked at the stout youth, and began to giggle. “Oh, dear, if you went along I guess pa’d have to hide behind a tree when you took your turn at shooting.”

“Whoop, you’re discovered, Fred!” burst out Harry. “Cora must have heard how you shot off both barrels at once, and – ”

“Oh, I can shoot straight enough,” came doggedly from Fred. “Just you give me the chance and see.”

“Well, you’ll have to see pa about going out with him,” answered Cora, and then started to skate after her girl friends, who had moved off a minute before, and were getting farther and farther away.

“Hi, there!” came suddenly in a shout from the lake shore. “Beware of the ice boat!”

“The ice boat?” repeated Harry. “Where – Oh!”

He glanced up the lake, and saw the Silver Queen coming along as swiftly as the stiff breeze could drive the craft over the glassy surface. The ice boat was headed directly for the three boys, but now the course was shifted slightly, and the craft pointed fairly and squarely for the spot where Cora Runnell was skating along, all unconscious of her danger.

“By gracious, Dan Marcy will run Cora down!” ejaculated Fred. He raised his voice to a yell. “Stop! stop! you crazy fool! Do you want to kill somebody?”

“Save my girl!” came from the shore. “Cora! Cora! Look out for the ice boat!” But the girl did not heed the warning, and now the ice boat, coming as swiftly as ever, was almost on top of her. Then the girl happened to glance back. She gave a scream, tried to turn, but slipped, and then sank in a heap directly in the track of the oncoming danger.

CHAPTER V
A QUARREL ON THE ICE

It was a moment of extreme peril, and the heart of more than one onlooker seemed to stop beating. The ice boat was a heavy affair, with runners of steel, and a blow from that bow, coming at such a speed, would be like a blow from a rushing locomotive. It looked as if Cora Runnell was doomed.

But as all of the others stood helpless with surprise and consternation, Joe Westmore dashed forward with a speed that astonished even himself. He fairly flew over the ice, directly for Cora, and, reaching the fallen girl, caught her by the left hand.

“Quick! we must get out of the way!” he cried, and without waiting to raise her to her feet he dragged her over the smooth ice a distance of four or five yards. Then the Silver Queen whizzed past, sending a little drift of snow whirling over them.

“Git out of the way!” came rather indistinctly from Dan Marcy. “Can’t you see I’m trying to beat the record?” And then he passed out of hearing.

“Are you hurt?” questioned Joe, as he assisted the bewildered girl to her feet.

“I – I guess not, Joe,” she stammered. “But, oh! what a narrow escape!” And Cora shuddered.

“Dan Marcy ought to be locked up for such reckless sailing.”

“I think so myself.” Cora paused for a moment. “It was awfully good of you to help me as you did,” she went on, gratefully.

By this time the others were coming up, and the story of the peril and escape had to be told many times. Among the first to arrive was Joel Runnell, Cora’s father, who had shouted the warning from the shore. He had been out hunting, and carried an old-fashioned shotgun and a game bag full of birds.

“Not hurt, eh?” he said, anxiously. “Thank fortune for that! Who was sailing that boat?” And when told, he said he would settle with Marcy before the day was done. “Can’t none of ’em hurt my girl without hearing from me,” he added.

The excitement soon died down, and the skaters scattered in various directions. In the meantime, to avoid being questioned about the affair, Dan Marcy, who was a burly fellow of twenty, and a good deal of a bully, turned his ice boat about, and went sailing up the lake once more.

Some of the lads on the lake were out for a game of snap the whip, and Joe, Harry and Fred readily joined in this sport. At the third snap, Fred was placed on the end of the line.

“Oh, but we won’t do a thing to Fred,” whispered one of the boys, and word was sent along to make this snap an extra sharp one.

“You can’t rattle me!” sang out Fred, as the skating became faster and faster. “I’m here every time, I am. Let her go, everybody, whoop!” And then he had to stop talking, for he could no longer keep up. The line broke, and like a flash Fred spun around, lost his footing, and turned over and over, to bring up in a big snowbank on the shore.

“Hello, Fred, where are you bound?” sang out Harry.

“Where – where am I bound?” spluttered the stout youth, as he emerged and cleaned the snow from out of his collar and sleeves. “I don’t know.” He paused to catch his breath. “Reckon I’m in training for a trip to the North Pole.”

Half an hour later found the Westmore boys at home for dinner. There was something of a family gathering this Christmas day, mostly elderly people, so neither Joe nor Harry had a chance to speak to their father about the hunting trip they had in mind. Everybody was in the best of humor, and the table fairly bent beneath the load of good things placed upon it – turkey with cranberry sauce, potatoes, onions, squash, celery, and then followed pumpkin and mince pies, and nuts and raisins, until neither of the boys could eat a mouthful more. Both voted that Christmas dinner “just boss,” and the other folks agreed with them.

The middle of the afternoon found the lads at the lake again. It had clouded over once more, and they were afraid that another fall of snow might stop skating for several weeks, if not for the balance of the season.

“We want to take the good of it while it lasts,” said Harry.

Dan Marcy was again out on his ice boat, and Joe and Harry, accompanied by Fred, followed the craft to a cove on the west shore. There seemed to be something the matter with the sail of the Silver Queen, and Marcy ran the craft into a snowbank for repairs.

“Say, what do you want around here?” demanded Dan Marcy, as soon as he caught sight of the Westmore boys. His face wore an ugly look, and his tone of voice was far from pleasant.

“I don’t know as that is any of your business, Dan Marcy,” returned Joe.

“Ain’t it? We’ll see. I understand you’ve been telling folks that I tried to run into you and that Runnell girl on purpose.”

“You didn’t take much care to keep your ice boat out of the way.”

“It was your business to keep out of the way. You knew I was trying to beat the record?”

“Do you own the lake?” came from Harry.

“Maybe you’ve got a mortgage on the ice?” put in Fred.

Now the year before, Dan Marcy had been in the ice business, and had made a failure of it, and this remark caused him to look more ugly than ever.

“See here, for two pins I’d pitch into the lot of you, and give you a sound thrashing!” he roared.

“Would you?” came sharply from Joe. “Sorry I haven’t the pins.”

“I’ll give you an order on our servant girl for two clothespins, if they’ll do,” put in Fred.

“Then you want that thrashing, do you?” growled Dan Marcy; but as he looked at the three sturdy lads he made no movement to begin the encounter.

“If anybody needs a thrashing it is you, for trying to run down Cora Runnell,” said Joe. “It was a mean piece of business, and you know it as well as we do.”

“You shut up, Joe Westmore!” Marcy picked up a hammer with which he had been driving one of the blocks of the sail. “Say another word, and I’ll crack you with this!” He advanced so threateningly that Joe fell back a few steps. As he did this, a form appeared on the lake shore, and an instant later Dan Marcy felt himself caught by the collar and hurled flat on his back.

“I reckon as how this is my quarrel,” came in the high-pitched voice of Joel Runnell. “I’ve been looking for you for the past hour, Dan Marcy. I’ll teach you to run down my girl. If it hadn’t a-been for Joe Westmore she might have been killed.”

“Let go!” roared Marcy, and scrambled to his feet, red with rage. He rushed at the old hunter with the hammer raised as if to strike, but before he could land a blow, Joe caught hold of the tool and wrenched it from his grasp.

“Give me that hammer! Do you hear? I want that hammer!” went on the bully. Then he found himself on his back a second time, with his nose bleeding profusely from a blow Joel Runnell had delivered.

“Have you had enough?” demanded the old hunter, wrathfully. “Have you? If not, I’ll give you some more in double-quick order.”

“Don’t – don’t hit me again,” gasped Dan Marcy. All his courage seemed to desert him. “It ain’t fair to fight four to one, nohow!”

“I can take care of you alone,” retorted Joel Runnell, quickly. “I asked you if you had had enough. Come, what do you say?” And the old hunter held up his clinched fists.

“I – I don’t want to fight.”

“That means that you back down. All right. After this you let my girl alone – and let these lads alone, too. If you don’t, you’ll hear from me in a way you won’t like.”

There was an awkward pause, and Dan Marcy wiped the blood from his face, and shoved off on his ice boat.

“We’ll see about this some other time,” he called out when at a safe distance. “I shan’t forget it, mind that!”

“He’s a bully if there ever was one,” observed Harry.

“And a coward into the bargain,” put in Joel Runnell. “Watch out for him, or he may play you foul.”

“I certainly shall watch him after this,” said Joe.

“We’re glad you came along,” came from Fred. “We want to ask you something about hunting. I’ve got a new double-barreled shotgun and so has Joe, and we want to go out somewhere and try for big game.”

“And I’ve got a new camera, and I want to get some pictures of live game,” added Harry.

“You can’t get any big game around Lakeport. If you want anything worth while you’ll have to go out for several days or a week.”

“We’re willing to go out as long as our folks will let us,” explained Harry. “We haven’t said much about it yet, for we wanted to see you.”

“We thought you might like to take us out, or rather go with us,” came from Joe. “If you’d go with us we’d pay the expenses of the trip, and give you your full share of whatever game we managed to bring down.”

At this Joel Runnell’s gray eyes twinkled. He loved boys, and knew the lads before him very well. All the powder and shot he used came from Mr. Rush’s hardware establishment, and his flour from the Westmore mill, and he was always given his own time in which to pay for the articles. Moreover, he was not the one to forget the service Joe had rendered his daughter.

“I’ll go out with you willingly,” he said. “I’ll show you all the big game I can, and what you bring down shall be yours.”

“Hurrah! It’s settled!” cried Fred, throwing up his cap. “We’ll have just the best time that ever was!”

“Where do you want to go to?”

“I was thinking of camping out up on Pine Island,” answered Harry. “But of course we have got to see my father about it first.”

“Pine Island is a nice place. There is an old lodge up there – put up five years ago by some hunting men from Boston. It’s a little out of repair, but we could fix it up, and then use that as a base of supplies.”

“Just the thing!” said Joe, enthusiastically. “If we liked it would you stay out with us for two or three weeks?”

“To be sure. There is a little game on the island, and we could easily skate to shore when we wished. When do you want to go?”

“As soon as we get permission,” said Harry. “We’ll find out about it to-morrow.”

After that the boys could talk of nothing but the proposed outing and what they hoped to bring down in the way of game. Harry wanted pictures worse than he wanted to bring down game; nevertheless, he said he would take along a gun and a pistol. “Then I can snapshot my bear first, and shoot him afterward,” he said.

It was not until the day after Christmas that the Westmore lads got a chance to speak to their parents about what was uppermost in their minds. At first Mrs. Westmore was inclined to demur, but her husband said the outing might do their sons some good.

“And they couldn’t go out with a better fellow than Joel Runnell,” added Mr. Westmore. “They’ll be as safe with him as they would be with me.”

As soon as it was settled that they were really to go, Harry rushed over to Fred’s house. Fred had already received permission to go, and now all they had to settle on was the time for their departure and what was to be taken along. Christmas had fallen on Thursday, and it was decided to leave home on the following Monday morning, weather permitting. As to the stores to be taken along, that was to be left largely to the judgment of Joel Runnell and to Mr. Westmore, who also knew a good bit about hunting and life in camp.