Chums of the Camp Fire | Page 6

s-s-some of s-s-staying up and g-g-goin' down to see the animals come to t-t-town," admitted Toby; and of course none of the others saw anything wonderful about that, knowing his great love for animals as they did; though Bandy-legs did see fit to try and josh him a little when he saw the chance.
"You certainly missed the biggest thing of your life when you didn't hire out to old Noah," he told Toby. "Just think what a treat it'd been to him, fellers, to stand there and check off all the animals big and little as they walked aboard the ark in pairs, the elephant and the kangaroo, and the little monkey too. But a measly storm oughtn't to keep you at home, Toby."
"But they won't get in till near two in the morning, I'm told," protested Toby; "and I guess my folks'd put the kibosh on my staying out that late on a stormy night."
"Hurrah! did you hear him say all that without a single stagger?" cried the boy with the bow-legs; "wisht my troubles'd be as easy to drop as his stuttering is. But mine stick with me all the time."
"There's a good place ahead of you, Bandy-legs," advised Max; "now show us what you can do. Steve is high notch so far with his gi-gantic mastodon frog. Beat him out at his little game, Bandy-legs, if you can."
The boy with the target rifle quickly added another victim to those whose prized hinder quarters lay in a heap in the trout basket Toby had slung over his shoulder.
"That makes fifteen, and only five more to get to cover the twenty," Steve announced; "but if they were all whoppers like mine, say, the basket wouldn't be big enough to hold them, I reckon."
The hunt went on, and by the time the sun had passed pretty well down the western sky, heading for the black bank of clouds that lay menacingly there, the frog hunters had completed the circuit of the big pond. They had exceeded their expectations also, for several beyond the score had been bagged.
"A good afternoon's work, I take it," remarked Steve, who was feeling very well satisfied, because he had secured the biggest frog ever seen in that part of the country, the patriarch of the lot apparently; nor did the fact that his face was still streaked with dried mud, and his clothes looked like those of a common hobo, seem to detract from his bubbling joy.
They started for home along the road that led to Carson. This was something of a favorite highway, and they were apt to meet various vehicles while tramping over the mile and a half that separated them from home.
Just as he had said he would do, whenever they chanced to meet a carriage Steve proved quick to dodge into the scrub, and after the danger had passed overtake his companions by hurrying. Steve was always good at hurrying; it was his favorite way of doing things, and nothing pleased him better than a chance to sprint, in order to come up with his mates.
They had perhaps covered half of the journey, and the church spires of Carson could be easily seen in the near distance when all at once they noticed a horse and buggy coming at a lively clip along the road.
"Looks like a runaway!" snapped Steve.
"It sure does," admitted Bandy-legs, "and what d'ye think of that, if the girl in the same ain't Bessie French I'll eat my hat!"
"W-what!" almost roared the now excited Steve, stopping in his intention to beat a hasty retreat, the neighboring bushes offering a splendid asylum.
"It's Bessie, all right," said Max; "but about her being run away with, I'm not so sure, because she knows how to handle horses first rate; and that old Bill of the Frenchs' never was known to cut up before."
But Steve apparently did not hear a single word that Max said. He was quivering with eagerness, and a wild desire to distinguish himself as a hero, in the eyes of the pretty girl whom he had been taking to barn dances and such for two whole seasons, and with whom he had lately had a little falling out.
He brushed his long football hair away from his eyes, and looked again. Yes, old Bill must have taken the bit between his teeth, if he had any left, and was renewing his youthful days; for they used to tell great stories about his having once upon a time been a clever race horse--about thirty-odd years ago, some people put it.
Steve started to run along the road. He had undoubtedly mapped out the whole affair in his mind, like a good general, and cared not what risks he assumed if only he might pull that galloping horse in, so as