Chapter XIII: A Momentous Step

The camp, which consisted of a sawmill, an immense bunk-house capable of accommodating more than a hundred men, and a number of scattered outbuildings, was picturesquely located in a depression between two great hills. A mountain stream that came tearing down the side of one of the hills furnished power for the mill. Later on, some of its waters would be diverted to the giant flumes, down which the logs would come hurtling to the valley below.

Just now it was by no means the scene of busy life that it would become in the late fall and throughout the winter. Then would come the bearded lumberjacks, hardy, red-faced giants of the woods, Swedes, Norwegians, Irishmen, Frenchmen, hard workers, hard fighters, hard drinkers, and the wood would ring with the clang of axes and the crash of falling trees.

At present there was little work going on. The sawmill, with a small force of men, was running in a languid sort of way, clearing up some of the by-products of the season before. The camp might be said to be in a state of suspended animation.

A sort of deputy foreman who was in charge gave the party a cordial greeting and showed them about the various points of interest, explaining volubly the processes through which the lumber passed from the standing tree to the shaped and finished product of the mills.

"We've got only a small force working in the woods just now," he explained. "They're nicking the trees, so that the men will know which ones are to be cut down this coming fall and winter."

"Sort of passing sentence of death, as it were," said Jack.

"I suppose you might call it that," smiled the foreman.

"It seems a pity that they should have to die," said Cora, as her eyes took in the stately trees that decked the mountain side.

"Especially after what Mr. Morley was saying yesterday about the trees being alive," remarked Bess.

"You girls are the limit," laughed Paul. "First you let the snake go, and now you want to save the trees."

"They'll be afraid to pick a nosegay after a while for fear that the flowers will bleed," mocked Jack.

"I wish my folks had believed in that plant theory when I was a kid," drawled Walter. "Then I wouldn't have had to weed the garden for fear of hurting the weeds."

"There's not a bit of poetry in you boys," said Belle reproachfully.

"You're mistaken there," denied Paul. "We love beautiful things. If we didn't we wouldn't be chasing after you girls."

There was only one other visitor to the camp, a sharp-eyed reticent man, who loitered about without betraying interest in anything especially. He made no attempt to join the party, but kept by himself.

"Who is our unsociable friend over there?" inquired Jack.

"I don't know," replied the foreman. "He's been hanging around off and on for several days. He doesn't talk much to the men, but he and I have chinned a little together. About all I know of him is that his name is Baxter. He doesn't let on about his business."

"Maybe he's an author in search of local color," hazarded Bess.

"More likely a detective," remarked Jack. "You'd better look out, girls. He's closing in upon you, knowing you are desperate criminals."

After the foreman had left them, they climbed the slopes of the hill, and enjoyed the magnificent view from the summit. Then, as it was nearing noon, Jack suggested lunch.

"I'm keen to see what Aunt Betty has had put up for us," he remarked, "and what I'll do to it will be a sin and a shame."

"Let's go out into the woods to eat it," suggested Cora.

"Isn't this woods enough for you?" asked Paul, as he looked around.

"Not while we're in sight of the mill," returned Cora. "I want to go right out into the wild wilderness."

"Mightn't we get lost?" inquired Belle rather doubtfully.

"It's easier to get into the wilderness sometimes than it is to get out of it," added Bess.

"I guess it's safe enough," remarked Jack. "We won't go very far, and I have a compass with me, anyway."

There was no further protest. The boys went back to the cars and got the lunch basket. Then they rejoined the girls, and the party plunged gaily into the woods.

"We don't know where we're going, but we're on the way," chanted Walter.

There was a trail that had evidently been used by the lumberjacks, and the walking was easy.

So easy, in fact, and the balsam in the air was so stimulating and delightful, that the party had gone a good deal farther than they had first intended to before they came to a halt in a mossy glade that seemed to be especially designed by nature for a picnic party.

A little brook ran near by, and the boys brought drinking water from this, while the girls brought out the napkins and spread on them the host of good things that Aunt Betty had had put up for them.

There were no dyspeptics in the party, and the food vanished in amazing fashion, to the accompaniment of a running fire of chaff and jokes.

When the last crumb had disappeared, Walter filled one of the drinking cups with the crystal water and raised it up.

"A toast," he cried. "I drink to Camp Kill Kare!"

They all responded merrily.

"I'm going to look around this place a little," exclaimed Cora, rising to her feet.

"I'm just too comfortable to move," said Bess.

"So am I," echoed Belle.

"You're setting an example of pernicious activity," said Jack.

"I won't go far," Cora assured him.

She strolled about for a little while, picking an occasional flower and observing with interest the nicks made in the trees by the woodchoppers. The woods closed around her and shut her out of sight of the others. But she gave no thought to this, for she knew that they could locate her by a call, even though she was invisible.

From the bushes in front of her, a mother bird darted out and ran along the ground, twittering sharply as though in pain or alarm. Cora gazed at her, and noticed that her wing was trailing as though broken.

Her sympathies were aroused in an instant.

"Poor little thing," she murmured to herself. "I wonder if I can't catch her and perhaps help set that wing."

She followed the bird for some distance, but it managed to keep just a little out of reach of her outstretched hand.

So much of design appeared in this that at last the truth dawned upon Cora, and she laughed outright.

"You little fibber!" she exclaimed. "You haven't any broken wing at all. You're just trying to draw me away from your nest, so that I sha'n't find your babies."

To make sure that her guess was correct, she followed the bird a little farther. Then the little creature seemed to realize that she had accomplished her object, and rising from the ground, she soared swiftly away.

"Sold!" laughed Cora to herself. "I'll have to tell the others about that. They'll have the laugh on me, of course, but it's too good to keep. But I'd better go back or they'll begin to get worried about me."

She turned in the direction of the picnic party, as she thought, and began to walk rapidly. But at the end of five minutes she saw no trace of them and a vague uneasiness began to take possession of her.

"That little cheat must have led me a good deal farther than I thought," she said to herself. "I guess I'd better call out to them."

She sent out a loud yodel, such as she and the other girls were accustomed to use as a call, and waited expectantly for an answer.

But no answer came.

She repeated the call, but with the same result.

"It must be these trees," she assured herself. "They smother the sound so that it can't go more than a few rods. I'll go on a little farther and try again."

She almost ran now, stumbling occasionally in her haste, and trying to crowd back an awful fear that was rapidly taking form.

Once more she stood still and called at the top of her voice, called desperately, frantically, repeatedly. But for all the response she received she might as well have been in the center of the Sahara desert.

Then she stumbled over a tree root and rolled over and over down the mountain side, to bring up at last in a wilderness of brushwood.

She was dazed for a few moments by the fall, but soon realized that she was not hurt. She arose and pushed her way in a zigzag course, trying to mount the hillside down which she had fallen.