The Boy Scouts at the Canadian Border

John Goldfrap

The Boy Scouts at the Canadian Border

CHAPTER I

A GLIMPSE OVER INTO CANADA

“Suppose we hold up here, and rest a bit, fellows!”

“We’ll have to accommodate you, Tubby. It really pains me to hear you puffing and blowing so hard.”

“Now, that’s just six words for me and half a dozen for yourself, Andy Bowles. Haven’t I seen you look longingly at every log we passed, as if you wished Rob would give the order to sit down and recuperate? Honest to goodness, I do own up that I’m a trifle winded. This pack seems to keep on getting heavier and heavier.”

“You only imagine it does, Tubby, that’s all. If a fellow is shaped like a wash-tub, what else could you expect of him when it comes to toting a load of duffle and grub over a Maine carry?”

“And when another angular chap I know is said to resemble a broom-handle, so far as symmetry and plumpness goes, you’ve got to expect that his greatest feats are accomplished when grub is served. That’s a time, Andy Bowles, bugler of the Hampton Troop of Boy Scouts, when you make competition throw up its hands in despair and retire from the field; your capacity in that line is without a peer.”

“That’s right, Tubby, take a swig of water from your battered old canteen after such a spread-eagle speech. I’m sure your throat must be parched, and as dry as a bone.”

“Here, fellows, suppose you let up badgering each other; and after we drop down on this log in the little open glade, what’s to hinder us from figuring out our next move in the search for Tubby’s Uncle George?”

The energetic speaker was Rob Blake. Those fortunate boys who have read any or all of the preceding volumes in this Series, do not need to be introduced to so prominent a character of the stories; but, of course, there will be many who are making the acquaintance of these wearers of khaki for the first time, and in justice to them it is only fair that we offer a few explanations while the trio stretch themselves upon that friendly pine log.

They all belonged to the famous Eagle Patrol of the Hampton Troop of Boy Scouts, Hampton being a Long Island town on the south shore. In times gone by many were the interesting happenings that came the way of some of the fellows belonging to that patrol. To even enumerate them here would take too long a time, and hence he who is desirous of knowing more about Rob Blake and his chums is referred to earlier volumes, where thrilling and uplifting scenes are depicted in a most entertaining fashion.

Some of these boys had visited the Panama Canal; had even gone abroad and been in a position to witness stirring action in the great war theater of Europe; spent delightful days wandering about the grounds of the wonderful Panama-Pacific Exposition out in California; chased over the torrid deserts of Mexico, when the revolutionist, Pancho Villa, was pursuing his earlier meteor-like career on bloody battlefields; and later still they had been connected with the amazing wave of preparedness that swept over our country from shore to shore.[1 - See “Boy Scouts Under Sealed Orders” and “Boy Scouts for Preparedness.”]

What brought the three lads far up toward the international border at this season of the fall can be easily explained. As the reader has already learned by reason of the words which Rob Blake uttered when suggesting that they rest from their labors, it had something to do with a relative of fat Tubby Hopkins.

“Uncle George” was a well-to-do gentleman, and a great sportsman. Every autumn he would slip away from business cares and spend a month with a couple of faithful woods guides hunting in the solitudes. Sometimes he went into the “bush” far up in the Canadian wilds after bull moose; or it might be seeking caribou in Labrador. This season it was not so pleasant to be within the boundaries of Canada, owing to the distracted conditions prevailing there, with young fellows enlisting for service abroad, and hundreds of men of German parentage and sympathies held in conce