Early next morning the grounds about the high school were crowded with students. The building presented a sorry appearance, with its broken windows and smoke-begrimed walls. An odor of half-burned, water-soaked wood came from within.
Bob Somers produced a copy of the Kingswood "Times," and passed it around. The paper stated that the fire had been caused by an overheated furnace, and that the damage would amount to over five thousand dollars.
Professor Hopkins approached a group, among whom were Dave Brandon and several other members of the Rambler Club.
"Isn't this an unfortunate occurrence, boys?" he said; "I can scarcely believe that we all assembled here for study only yesterday morning. I want to thank you for your work last night."
"I'm very glad that we were able to do some good," said Dave. "How long do you think it will take to repair the damage, professor?"
"Months," replied the president, with something like a groan. "And I doubt whether we shall be able to find any place to hold the exercises."
Then, with a bow, he turned, and walked slowly away.
Soon after this, the group broke up, and, at an appointed hour next day, met in the hay-loft of Mr. Somers' barn.
Peter Lexington's ebony-hued countenance wore a broad grin, as the boys began to come in. Hackett and Nat Wingate arrived last.
Nat seemed to have lost some of the dashing air which formerly characterized him. His face was pale and drawn, while his movements lacked their accustomed energy.
"Fellows, this is a great scheme you've gotten up," he exclaimed, enthusiastically.
"Yes! My father says it's all right," declared Bob Somers.
"And they haven't been able to find a hall large enough," added Hackett, with a grin. "Professor Ivins told me so this afternoon."
"Anything else?" queried Sam Randall.
"Yes, he said that classes could not be resumed for about two months. How about you, Dick Travers and Tom Clifton? Think you'll be able to go?"
Both boys cast grateful looks toward Bob Somers.
"It's all right, Hacky," said Travers, gleefully. "When Bob told my father about the trip, and how much Mr. Somers would be pleased for the whole crowd to go, he consented."
"The same here," put in Tom Clifton, with a glowing face.
"And you, Chubby?"
Dave Brandon laughed. "I managed it easily," he said. "My folks have an idea that I don't exercise enough, and they think a trip of this kind will be just the thing."
"So it will be," said Nat. "You're beginning to look like a fat boy in a five cent show."
"Do you think there will be much work to do?" asked Dave, with pretended alarm.
"Well, rather—chopping wood, building camps, tramping twenty miles on hunting trips—oh, I guess you'll find enough to keep you busy."
"I 'clar' to goodness, boys, yo'll be froze," said Peter Lexington.
"A little snow and ice doesn't scare us, Peter," rejoined Bob, smilingly.
"Talk about hunting," put in Hackett, bringing a stick up to the level of his shoulder and squinting one eye along it. "I can hardly wait. Just let me get a crack at something—the bigger the better."
"That's the ticket," chimed in Nat. "It will beat a summer trip all hollow. Say, fellows, what will we need?"
"Help, befoah de voyage am over," interrupted Peter, with a loud chuckle.
"Now don't begin any croaking, Peter, or you'll scare our little friend from going."
"Indeed he won't do anything of the kind," retorted Tom Clifton, indignantly.
"We'll need lots of stuff," said Sam Randall; "tea, coffee, sugar, spices, flour, canned goods, potatoes, beans, molasses, bacon, blankets, skates, and snow-shoes."
"We can pack the whole business on a couple of sleds," observed Dick Travers; "and send them by freight to some station near the backwoods. Got your map, Bob?"
"Sure."
In a short time, seven boys were bending over a map which Bob had spread out on a bale of hay.
"Stony Creek—that looks like a good place to start from," said Bob, indicating a point with his forefinger.
"From there, we might hire a sleigh to take us to Mapleton," put in Dave Brandon, with a yawn.
"A good idea," said Bob. "The whole thing is settled, fellows. Now when shall we start?"
"The sooner, the better," declared John Hackett. "Who's going to buy the grub and other stuff?"
"Draw lots," suggested Dave Brandon, lazily.
"Skip around, Peter, and find a piece of paper," said Bob. "We want to fix this thing up right away."
"I can see my finish," groaned Dick Travers, comically.
The stable boy soon procured a piece of brown paper, which he tore in seven pieces. These were numbered consecutively and dropped in his cap.
"Shake 'em up, Peter," said Bob. "Fellows, the two who draw numbers three and five can consider that they have a job ahead of them."
The grinning Peter vigorously stirred up the bits of paper, then held his cap high over his head.
There was an interval of silence, after which seven boys eagerly glanced at the papers they had drawn.
"Stung!" groaned Sam Randall, with a comical grimace.
"Same here! I told you how it would be," added Travers.
"Ha, ha!" laughed Peter Lexington. "You fellahs certainly done got left—ha, ha!"
"Somebody make out a list," said Dick, with a sigh of resignation, "and we'll attend to it."
Bob Somers got to work. In addition to the articles mentioned by Sam Randall, he added a few simple remedies, such as they had taken on their previous trip.
"Now, you unfortunate chaps—hustle," said John Hackett, with a broad grin. "Don't hang around here. Wow! I'm thinking that by the time we get through, there'll be a few less deer and wildcats to roam around, eh, Nat?"
And the prospect of thinning out the animal kingdom made Hackett execute a few fancy steps around the hay-loft, much to the amusement of Peter Lexington.
Sam Randall and Dick Travers set about their allotted tasks with vigor. Before night, everything needful, including three sleds, had been purchased, and was ready for shipment to Stony Creek, the nearest railroad station to the village of Mapleton.
Some portions of the state of Wisconsin are wild and desolate, and the boys had selected a region where there was every likelihood of finding game in abundance.
Thus, two days after their meeting in the barn, on a cold, clear day in the early part of January, seven boys, attired in suitable fashion to withstand the rigorous climate, met at the Kingswood railroad station. They presented a very formidable appearance, Bob Somers and John Hackett carrying repeating rifles and the others shotguns.
"Did you get our stuff off to Stony Creek all right, Steve?" inquired Nat Wingate of the ticket agent.
"Sure thing! Where are you fellows bound for now?"
"To the woods," replied John Hackett; "and we are going to do some tall shooting."
"You will, at any rate," said the agent, with a grin, as he surveyed Hackett's long figure. "When a wildcat comes over to say how-de-do, them legs of yourn ought to be mighty useful. Here comes number ten, right on the minute."
A whistle sounded, the train rounded a curve, and, in a few minutes more, the boys had clambered aboard.
"If anybody had told me about this last week, I wouldn't have believed it," said Sam, in great glee, settling himself comfortably in a seat. "Eh, Dave?"
The stout boy nodded, and closed his eyes.
"I'm going to make up now for all that hard work I did at the fire," he said with a laugh.
The train sped on, past snow-covered fields and rolling hills, over trestles, allowing momentary glimpses of ice-bound creeks, or ravines, purple and gray in the morning shadows.
At various towns, the train came to a halt. Several were manufacturing centres, where smoke rose lazily from chimneys, and jets of steam rivaled in their whiteness the dazzling snow. But the distances between these stopping places grew longer and longer, and when, at length, the conductor called out, "Stony Creek," the last town had been left miles behind.
"Wake up, Chubby!" cried Bob, giving the stout boy a vigorous shove. "Here's where we get off."
Dave stretched, yawned and rose to his feet just as the cars came to a stop.
"It doesn't look as if we were anywhere," he said.
"We'll have to get up a searching party and try to find the town," said Nat.
When the boys stood on the platform and gazed after the fast receding train, they felt that they were already on the edge of the wilderness.
Beyond the small ticket office was a freight house, while a lone residence, with a veranda at the side, stood opposite the station. A road skirted the railway tracks, and from this two others branched off, winding their way between broad fields, patched here and there with dark, gaunt trees.
"Looks like the arctic regions," said Nat.
"And feels like it, too," observed Tommy Clifton, pulling his coat collar closer around his neck. "Guess only birds live here."
"We'll have to rout somebody out and see about our stuff," said Hackett. "Hello, here he comes now."
A rather tall, spare man with a red, scraggly beard emerged from the ticket office and lazily ambled toward them.
"How d'y do, boys!" he said, with a broad grin. "Be you looking for anybody who lives hereabouts?"
"Is that the town, Jack?" asked Nat Wingate, pointing to the house opposite.
"Well! The idea! How did you guess my name?" exclaimed the station-master, with a look of pleased surprise. "Reckon I never seen you before, neither."
"We're the bounding brotherhood of brilliant guessers," grinned Nat. "Now, Jack, a few words with you; we want to know if you have a lot of boxes and sleds for us."
This rapid flow of words quite bewildered the old man. He scratched his head. Then an idea seemed to dawn upon him.
"Be them yourn?" he said. "A hull lot of stuff, an' sleds, too?"
"Now you're talking, Jack, old boy," said Hackett. "Trot out your papers, Somers, and show him."
"They're all in the freight house. You boys a-going ter stay in town fer a spell, I reckon, ain't yer?"
"Where is it?" asked Nat.
"Where?"
The station-master paused. A look of aggrieved surprise came over his rugged, honest face.
"Where?" he repeated, reproachfully. "'Tain't fur." He waved his arm in a wide circle. "Over there. Bless me—the idea! Sich a question."
"Can we get something to eat around here?" asked Dave Brandon. "I'm almost starved."
"Over to Hiram Sladder's, I reckon. 'Tain't more'n one o'clock, now. Going to stay in town long?"
"We'll keep right on to Mapleton," volunteered Nat. "How do we get there?"
"To Mapleton, eh? Well, there's two ways I know of, jest two of 'em."
"How?" asked Nat.
"One of 'em's walking, and the other's riding," replied "Jack," laconically.
"Ha, ha! Bully for you," roared Hackett. "Wow—that's a good one. 'Jack,' you're all right."
The station-master grinned, and looked at the boys with a mildly indulgent air.
"You certainly ain't a-going camping out, air you?" he asked.
"Of course we are," answered Bob. "But for that, we wouldn't be carrying around these guns."
"Jack" shook his head.
"A risky business—a purty risky business fur boys, I call it. Why, there's wolves—"
"And there's a gun all ready for 'em," interrupted John Hackett, holding up his rifle.
"An' wildcats."
"Well, we have some more guns."
"An'—an'—well, I call it a purty risky business. However, 'tain't none of my affair. Yonder right hand road takes yer to Sladder's."
"Come on, fellows," said Dave; "I'm hungry as a bear."
The stout boy jumped off the platform and began striding across the road. They toiled up a gentle incline, trudging in the middle of the highway. Once at the top, they saw a long descent. A flagpole was visible, rising above the crest of another hill.
"Where there's a flagpole, there's a house," observed Hackett.
His long steps soon put him in the lead.
"Oh, I say, hold on, 'Hatchet,'" puffed little Tommy Clifton; "this isn't a race."
"You want to hurry and grow a bit, Tommy," laughed John.
At length they began the ascent of the hill. The ruts in the road made walking difficult, and all breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the top. As they did so, the peaked roof of a building came into view, rising higher and higher until the entire structure was visible. It proved to be a long, two-story building, painted a dingy gray.
But what interested the boys most of all was an inscription across the front that read:
Roadside House
Hiram Sladder, Proprietor
Accommodation for man and beast
"Hurrah!" cried Bob. "Now for something to eat!”