The High School Boys Fishing Trip | Page 9

you've had your turn for ten minutes. How much longer does my turn run, Dick?"
"Five minutes," replied Prescott, after glancing at his watch. "Are you going to be able to hold out that long?"
"Yes; if I live that long," sighed Tom.
Dick and Hazelton had each taken their fifteen minute turns at pushing the cart. The boys had already put some distance between themselves and Gridley. Dick & Co. were tramping down a well-shaded road bounded by prosperous-looking farms. Two miles further on the boys would branch off through a long stretch of woods where the road was rougher. Here two youngsters would be needed for the work, one pushing, while the other hauled on a rope made fast to the front of the cart.
Five of the boys were well laden with miscellaneous packages of food. Tom, on account of pushing the cart, had been permitted to place his load on the already well-packed cart.
"Time's up," called Dick. "Dave to the bat."
Smiling, Darry packed his own parcels in the cart.
"Whew! But it's good to get away from that thing," grunted Reade, mopping his forehead, as he stalked on ahead.
"Here, you, Tom!" called Danny Grin. "Take your personal pack off the cart and tote it like the rest of us."
Reade turned a comically scowling face to Dalzell.
"Danny," he demanded rebukingly, "why couldn't you hold your tongue?"
"Because, when I'm working hard, I don't like to see you shirk," replied Dalzell with a complacent grin.
"But consider Darry," urged Reade. "Note how strong, lithe and supple he is. Boy, he is much better fitted for pushing my personal pack on the cart than I am for carrying it."
"Stick a pin in the chat, Tom," advised Darrin briefly, "and take your truck off the cart. I want to begin enjoying myself."
"I'd carry twice as much as I have to, just for the sheer joy of hearing you kick like a Texas maverick by the time you've had the cart handles for two minutes," laughed Tom, as he took his own parcels off the cart. "Now, David, little giant, let us see you buckle down to your task---like a real or imitation man!"
Darry braced himself, gave a hitch, then started forward briskly.
"Get out of the way, you loiterers!" called Dave, overtaking Tom and Greg and shoving the front end of the cart against them. "Don't block the road!"
"That's what comes of hitching an express engine to a freight load," grunted Reade, as he made for the side of the road, brushing his clothes.
There was bound to be a lot of "kicking" over the work of handling the push cart, but Dick & Co. were in high spirits this hot July morning.
Weeks before, when first planning this trip, all had begun to "save up" toward outfits of khaki, leggings and all, and blue flannel shirts. These khaki clothes made the most serviceable of all camping costumes.
"I begin to feel like a soldier," laughed Dick contentedly.
"So do I," agreed Tom Reade. "I feel like a poor dub of a soldier who has been sent to march across a continent on the line of the equator. I believe eggs would cook in any of my pockets!"
"Cut out all the grumbling and the discomfort talk," warned Dave Darrin.
"Well, I don't know that I need to grumble, if you can feel contented behind that old cart," laughed Reade. "How does it go, Darry?"
"I haven't begun to notice, as yet," replied Dave coolly.
Tom eyed him suspiciously.
"Darry," he remarked presently, "you're talented."
"In what way?" Dave inquired.
"You're one of the most talented fibbers I ever encountered. You've been pushing that cart all of four minutes, and you pretend that you don't notice the work."
"I expected to work when I left home," Darrin informed him. "If I hadn't felt that I could endure a little fatigue, then I'd have remained at home and looked for a job sleeping in a mattress factory's show-room."
Tom subsided after that. Dave's fifteen minutes were up presently, but he declined to accept relief at the push cart until they reached the point where their road branched off on to the rougher highway. Now, Greg and Hazelton took the cart, Greg at the handles, Hazelton pulling ahead on the rope.
Thus they went along, for some five minutes, when Dick, who was in the lead, reached a small covered bridge over a noisy, rushing creek.
Just as Dick gained the entrance to the bridge his gaze fell upon a large white sheet of paper tacked there. The word "Notice," written in printing characters, stared him in the face.
Dick read, then called back quietly:
"Halt! Here's something we've got to look into at once."
The cart handlers willingly enough dropped their burden. All hands crowded forward to read what was written underneath on the sheet of paper. It ran thus:
"All passers-by are cautioned that a mad dog,