Boy Scouts on Hudson Bay | Page 2

American black bear as its totem.
Ned Nestor had long been secretly in the employ of the United States Government, and had won considerable renown in carrying to a successful conclusion several difficult cases entrusted to his charge by the authorities in command of the Secret Service.
Jimmy, who had once been a typical Bowery newsboy, but now "reformed," fairly worshiped Jack, and had been his faithful henchman for a long time past. He was witty, brave, and as as true as the needle to the pole.
Then there was Frank Shaw, whose father owned and edited one of the great daily papers in New York; he had long ago shown a desire to be a correspondent, and was always on the lookout for chances to visit far-off corners of the world which did not happen to be well known, and about which he might write interesting accounts for the columns of his father's paper. He was a great admirer of the celebrated Frank Carpenter, whom he had met many times in his father's office.
Jack Bosworth's father was a wealthy corporation lawyer and a capitalist as well, always ready to invest in promising schemes of a legitimate character. And it was really because of this venturesome nature of Mr. Bosworth that these five lads had undertaken this tremendous journey, away above the outskirts of Canadian civilization, many weary leagues beyond the northern limits of Lake Superior, and with the almost unknown shores of the great Hudson Bay as their objective point.
The last boy was Teddy Green. He had a well-known Harvard professor as his father, and some day no doubt the lad anticipated following in the footsteps of his parent. Just now his greatest ambition was to be an explorer and endure some of the privations which such men as Stanley, Livingstone, Dr. Kane and other renowned characters in history were said to have met with in carrying out their tasks.
From the desolate character of their present surroundings it would seem that Teddy was in a fair way to realize his boyish dream. For days now they had not met with a living human being, even an Indian trapper far away from his tepee in search of game. Mountains and valleys, plains covered with scrub trees and seemingly endless bogs, and stretches of moss-covered land surrounded them day after day.
They had ascended one river until they could paddle their three canoes no further. At this point had come the first carry to another stream, and from that day on it had been the hardest kind of work as time passed on.
Already Jimmy had lost all track of direction, and often declared that it would not surprise him if they finally turned up somewhere over in Siberia, for to his mind it seemed as though they had come far enough to have passed the North Pole, even though they had seen no ice packs.
The taciturn Indian guide, who went under the name of Tamasjo, and the dusky voyageur, a French Canadian named Francois, assured them that all was well, whenever one of the boys ventured to voice a suspicion that they might have lost their way and wandered far past their objective point.
Both guides claimed to have hunted all over this country in times past, and the voyageur had even accompanied a noted explorer on a summer wandering up here. Hence their confidence reassured Ned, who often consulted a rude chart which had been placed in his hands before starting out on this journey, and thus verified the statements made by Francois.
Much paddling through rushing rapids and against the current of boisterous rivers had made the muscles of the boys' arms seem like iron. Every one of them appeared to be the picture of good health; because there is absolutely nothing equal to this outdoor life to build up sturdy constitutions.
Already all of them were at work. The tents went up so rapidly that it was plain to be seen these lads would easily take the prize offered for perfection in camp making, in a contest between rival patrols.
The canoes had been safely drawn up on the shelving beach, and doubly secured; because it would be nothing short of a calamity to lose one of the handy vessels while so far from civilization, and with no suitable birch trees around from which another light boat might be fashioned by the craft of the guides.
The day was nearly done, and when presently the smoke of their campfire began to ascend in the still air, night crept slowly about them. As it was the summer season and the days were very long up here in the Far North, the hour was later than they had ever started in to make camp before.
Plenty of supplies had apparently been carried along, to judge from the fragrant odors that