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THE SILVER RIFLE, 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
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 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/silverriflestoryOOguer 
 
E\)c Sillirr Btflr — Jrontisptrrr. 
 
 Isn't that old Mr. De Forest's rifle?" p. 42. 
 
THE 
 
 SILVER RIFLE: 
 
 A STORY OF THE SARANAC LAKES. 
 
 BY 
 
 CLARA F. GUERNSEY, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE SILVER CUP," "THE LEIGHTON CHILDREN,' 
 " SCRUB HOLLOW," ETC. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, 
 
 No. 1122 Chestnut Street. 
 
 NEW YORK : 7, 8 & 10 BIBLE HOUSE, ASTOR PLACE. 
 
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S71, by the 
 
 AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, 
 
 in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Mr. De Forest 9 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Mr. De Forest's Letter 32 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 The Woods 64 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 In the Wilderness 89 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 Lake Lois 125 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 A Long Night 149 
 
Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Search 172 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Lost in the Wilderness 194 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 The Hair-Line 207 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 The Panther 219 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 Conclusion •. . 248 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ME. DE FOEEST. 
 
 IT'S too late for father to come now," said 
 Allan Fitz Adam, in a tone of great disap- 
 pointment. "The train must have been in this 
 long while." 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so," said John, with a sigh. 
 " He '11 have had an uncomfortable time of it, 
 too, out there, at the old place, with the Marshalls. 
 I can't bear to think they '11 own the house. I 'd 
 rather it was burned down. I don't see why 
 such nice people as Mr. De Forest have such dis- 
 agreeable relations." Allan did not attempt to 
 answer this difficult question. 
 
 " I wonder what will become of Pedro and 
 Lorraine," he said. " I am sure they never could 
 go and live with the Marshalls." 
 
 " No, indeed ! Lorraine is so much more of a 
 
 9 
 
10 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 lady than Mrs. Marshall, and Pedro so much 
 more of a gentleman than Mr. Marshall, they 
 never would get on together at all : and the poor 
 dogs and the cats." 
 
 " Father said he thought it likely Mr. De 
 Forest had provided for them all in his will. 
 What good times we have had in that house, 
 John, and how kind he was to us always : it 
 seems now as if we had never thought half enough 
 of him. I can't feel that he is dead." 
 
 " Nor I : it seems as if we should certainly see 
 him, if we went there. I can't realize that we 
 shall never sit in the library again, and hear him 
 tell stories. I can see just how it looked, and 
 the two dogs and the two old cats on the hearth- 
 rug, and you and I with them, and he sitting in 
 his old chair, and all. I hate to think of the Mar- 
 shall pulling over his things, and looking into 
 all his drawers, and his desk." 
 
 " Do you remember the Sunday evening when 
 he showed us that old Chinese box, and what 
 was in it ? The little baby's shoes — his little boy's 
 that died so long ago — and. his little daughter's 
 old doll, and his wife's lace handkerchief, the last 
 she wore. I wish I had that box : I 'd take care 
 of it as long as I lived." 
 
 " Gus Marshall asked me once if I knew what 
 
THE SILVER EIFLE. 11 
 
 was in that/' said John ; " and I didn't answer him. 
 And then he said his mother believed it had 
 jewels in it, and that she thought her uncle might 
 give them to her; but it was just like the old miser, 
 to keep them locked up." 
 
 " If there is a boy on earth I despise, it's Gus 
 Marshall," said Allan, with emphasis. " I hope 
 you didn't tell him what was really in the box." 
 
 " Catch me ! But I can't bear to think of the 
 Marshalls looking over those things. A miser, 
 indeed! Why, Mr. De Forest paid all Gus's 
 school bills : I know he did." 
 
 " Certainly ; and money poorly laid out it was, 
 too, for he is the greatest dunce I know. He 
 thinks of nothing but money, too, and being 
 fashionable, and such stuff," said Master Fitz 
 Adam, with lofty contempt. " If all the old 
 things are to be sold, I hope father will buy some 
 of them for the sake of old times." 
 
 The two boys were together in the parlour of 
 their city home. The month was September, and 
 the twilight was beginning to close in so early, as 
 to give notice of the coming of long winter even- 
 ings. 
 
 The brothers were in rather a thoughtful and 
 saddened mood. Only two days before they had 
 heard of the death of an old friend, whom they 
 
12 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 had known from their childhood, and to whom 
 they had been much attached. 
 
 Mr. De Forest had been an elderly gentleman, 
 who had outlived his wife and children, and 
 whose nearest relation was a niece, whom he did 
 not particularly like, though he had always been 
 kind and liberal tow T ard her and her children. 
 However much he did for them, Mrs. Marshall 
 and her husband always thought that he might 
 do more; and though Mr. Marshall had an in- 
 come much larger than he spent, he made so 
 many demands on his uncle's purse, that Mr. De 
 Forest had been obliged to take a decided stand, 
 and refuse him the money for which he was 
 always asking ; for which reason the Marshalls 
 always spoke and thought of their uncle as miserly 
 and stingy, utterly forgetful of the kindness they 
 had received at his hands. 
 
 He lived in an old house in a lonely place 
 among the Catskills, with no companions but his 
 old servants, his dogs, his cats, and his books. 
 He led rather a secluded life, and Mr. Fitz Adam 
 and his two sons were almost the only guests whom 
 he ever received at his house. There, however, 
 the boys had been frequent visitors ; and it was 
 from Mr. De Forest that they had learned to shoot 
 and to angle ; and Allan had even acquired no 
 
THE SILVER EIFLE. 13 
 
 mean skill in the delicate manufacture of artificial 
 flies, which the old gentleman was supposed to 
 have carried nearly to perfection. 
 
 At that time the wilderness of north-eastern 
 New York, and the Adirondack range, had not 
 become the resort that it is now. Any amateur 
 sportsman who made his way into " John Brown's 
 tract" was thought to have performed quite a 
 remarkable feat ; and the region of the Saranac 
 Lakes and the mountains was unknown, except 
 to the professional trapper, and a very few gen- 
 tlemen whose love of forest life had carried them 
 into the recesses of the woods and waters. But 
 for many years Mr. De Forest had 'been used to 
 spend the autumn, and often a large part of the 
 early winter, in that wild region; and it was better 
 known to him than to any one, with the excep- 
 tion of a few old guides and hunters. Mr. De 
 Forest was not very fond of talking of his ex- 
 periences in the wilderness : perhaps he did not 
 care to do anything to make his favourite haunts a 
 place of resort for the multitude of sportsmen. 
 He had, however, often asked Mr. Fitz Adam to 
 accompany him, and that gentleman had always 
 intended to accept the invitation. Mr. Fitz 
 Adam was, however, a lawyer, distinguished at 
 the bar, and overwhelmed with business ; and lie 
 
14 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 had never yet been able to find the time when he 
 could give up a month or six weeks to such an 
 excursion, or go so far from the post-office and 
 the telegraph. He had always meant, and hoped, 
 to make the trip at that indefinite " some time," 
 to which busy men look forward all their lives, 
 and which they so seldom attain. Reserved as 
 Mr. De Forest was in general, he had always 
 talked freely to the boys about his adventures 
 among the lakes and mountains, — adventures 
 which, of course, the two brothers eagerly desired 
 to share. They had been promised that, when 
 they were old enough, they should go with their 
 old friend oil his annual excursion ; and they had 
 hoped that the long desired trip might have taken 
 place that fall. 
 
 Many a young gentleman who piqued himself 
 on his talents with rod and gun would have given 
 a great deal for the privileges accorded to John 
 and Allan. I fear that much of the attention 
 which the boys received from certain gentlemen 
 of their father's acquaintance, was owing to the 
 wish of said gentlemen to know more of Mr, De 
 Forest. Although their old friend had never so 
 much as hinted that he did not wish the stories 
 he told them to be repeated, yet still John and 
 Allan had a feeling that he would be better 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 15 
 
 pleased if they kept his confidences to themselves. 
 It is probable that their old friend liked them 
 all the better for their discretion, and that their 
 privileges at his house were more extensive than 
 if they had boasted of the favours received at his 
 hands. 
 
 Allan's first " real grown-up rod " and John's 
 first fowling-piece had been his gifts. It was he 
 who taught them some of the mysteries of fly- 
 fishing : and a most mysterious art it is. It was 
 he who taught them to manage a gun, and hit a 
 bird on the wing, and to use a rifle. Under his 
 instructions the boys had really attained consider- 
 able skill, and could be trusted to go out for a 
 day's hunting, without any great danger of shoot- 
 ing themselves or their companions. 
 
 They had been allowed to handle, and even to 
 fire, Mr. De Forest's famous rifle, with which he 
 was known to have performed some wonderful 
 feats. This rifle was the pride of the old gentle- 
 man's heart ; and he, and of course the boys, firmly 
 believed that it was the best of its kind in the 
 United States, — that is to say, in the world. 
 
 It had been "built" expressly for its owner 
 by a celebrated maker, and was not only remark- 
 able for the useful, but for the ornamental. It 
 was lavishly inlaid with solid silver, wherevei. 
 
16 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 such decoration could be bestowed, in curious 
 patterns of scroll-work and foliage, with figures 
 of birds, deer, and squirrels beautifully designed 
 and executed. 
 
 The price which Mr. De Forest had paid for 
 this rifle was a matter which he kept to himself; 
 but it must have been something very consider- 
 able. 
 
 When at home, this wonderful rifle was kept in 
 a case almost as valuable as itself; but its " travel- 
 ling carriage," as its owner called it, was a plain 
 ordinary gun-case : but it was secured by a com- 
 plicated lock. 
 
 It was not often, however, that the rifle was 
 out of reach of the old gentleman's hand during 
 his expeditions. The trappers and hunters of the 
 wild region he loved, called it " the silver rifle," 
 and regarded it with an almost superstitious re- 
 spect. 
 
 Mr. Marshall had more than once expressed a 
 fear that his uncle would be murdered, for the 
 sake of this rifle, by " some of those people " in the 
 woods. Mr. De Forest had smiled at the warn- 
 ing, however, and said that if he were ever killed 
 for any such reason, it would be by some member 
 of a gentleman's sporting society, anxious to get 
 possession of his fly-book. 
 
THE SILVER EIPLE. 17 
 
 Mr. Fitz Adam had received with much grief 
 the news of his old friend's death, and had gone 
 to the funeral two days before. To their great 
 regret, the boys had been left at home. . Mr. Mar- 
 shall's whole family was to be at the house, which 
 would be more than full ; and Mr. Fitz Adam had 
 felt that, with all his professional self-control, it 
 would be rather a trial to him to see the Mar- 
 shall in possession of his old friend's home ; and 
 he preferred that his sons should keep their last 
 memory of the place as they had been used to 
 see it during the lifetime of the owner. Perhaps 
 it might be that he had some dread of a collision 
 between John and Allan and the Marshalls. The 
 boys had consoled themselves with the thought 
 that they should not see Mrs. Marshall, whom 
 they greatly disliked, in possession of the home 
 they had loved so well. 
 
 They had expected their father that evening, 
 and felt very much disappointed that he had not 
 come. 
 
 "It's no use to wait any longer," said John, 
 lighting the gas: "we might as well have tea. 
 Let 's ask Mrs. Ray to let us have it here : it 's so 
 lonesome to go down into the dining-room with 
 no one but you and me." 
 
 Mrs. Ray, the housekeeper, — an exceedingly 
 2 * b 
 
18 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 good-natured woman/ — consented readily j and, as 
 she had a friend of her own to tea in her room, 
 she left the boys alone. They had hardly settled 
 themselves at the little table, when their cousin 
 Everard Fenton came in. 
 
 Everard was a young man of twenty-one, who 
 had arrived at the dignity of the sophomore class 
 in his college. He was a great favourite with the 
 boys, and, sophomore though he was, he was hardly 
 older in reality than his cousins. Everard was one 
 of those boys who seem to take a long time to grow 
 up, and who are younger at twenty-one than are 
 others at sixteen. He was a kind, gentle, light- 
 hearted sort of youth ; and notwithstanding his 
 age, and his dignified position as college student, 
 was, where John and Allan were concerned, rather 
 the led than the leader. 
 
 " Has n't Uncle Fitz come home ? " was his first 
 question. 
 
 " No. We thought he 'd certainly be here to- 
 night," said John. " I can't think what keeps 
 him." 
 
 " Have some tea ? " said Allan, pouring it out. 
 
 " Thank you : you need n't make it quite all 
 sugar and cream, though. Does Mrs. Ray trust 
 you two young ones to make tea for yourselves ? " 
 
 " Oh, you need n't put on the sophomore to 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 19 
 
 us," said John ; " I 've seen the animal before, 
 and it don't awe me ; not much. Why are you 
 not back at college ? I thought you were going 
 back to-day. You'll be late, and then you'll 
 catch it." 
 
 Everard put on a look of mystery. " I 'm not 
 going back, — not just yet." 
 
 " Why ? " said John and Allan, in a breath. 
 
 " Oh, for a reason." 
 
 " They won't let him," said Allan, in a make 
 believe aside to John. "He's been expelled, or 
 dismissed, or something." 
 
 " No, indeed," said Everard, earnestly, and 
 then smiling at himself for being in earnest. 
 " But there is a reason, and you are not to know 
 it just yet." 
 
 " Let him alone, and he '11 be sure to tell us," 
 said John. 
 
 " Maybe he 's going up into the Adirondack 
 hunting deer," said Allan, making what he 
 thought the most unlikely supposition. To his 
 surprise, however, Everard coloured, and said in a 
 tone of great surprise, " Why, how did you know?" 
 
 Both the boys jumped up in astonishment. 
 " You don't mean it ? How ? Where ? When ? 
 Who with ? " they asked, heaping one question 
 upon another. 
 
20 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 "Well, you see/' said Everard, rather em- 
 barrassed, "it was all settled, before you came 
 home from grandma's, that your father and 
 mine, and you and I, were going with Mr. 
 De Forest for a month or so this fall. He 's 
 always wanted Uncle Fitz to go, you know ; and 
 the last time he was in town, while you were 
 away, he and my father were talking together. 
 Now I must tell you what, perhaps, you don't 
 
 know, that Dr. C has been scolding both my 
 
 father and yours for working themselves so hard ; 
 and he told them both that if they did not take a 
 vacation, and a good long one, they would both 
 be breaking down, Uncle Fitz especially." 
 
 " I know it," said John, with some emotion. 
 " And father always says he 's going to ; and he 
 did go off with those people in the yacht this 
 summer, but he was telegraphed home, finally; 
 and everywhere he stopped there was a pile of 
 business letters to be answered; and, worst of all, 
 the other people all fell to quarrelling, and he 
 had to settle it: so he didn't have a very good 
 time." 
 
 " Why, John," said Allan, who was not so 
 observant as his brother ; " do you think father 
 is n't well ? " 
 
 " I know he isn't," said John. "And I heard 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 21 
 
 the doctor tell him myself, that if he did n't take 
 more care of his head and eyes, they would fail 
 him ; and grandma told him so too ; and he 's 
 always putting off his resting time, and putting 
 it off; and some time it will be too late ; and Uncle 
 Fenton is just as bad." 
 
 Allan looked alarmed. 
 
 " Do you mean there is any danger ? " he said. 
 " Now I think of it, father has complained of his 
 head a good deal lately. Oh, John ! if you knew, 
 why did n't you tell me ? " 
 
 " What is the use of worrying two people, 
 when it don't do any good," said John, shortly ; 
 " and they did n't tell me anything about it. I 
 only heard it by accident ; so I had no right to 
 repeat it. If he 'd only take more care of him- 
 self, and not work so hard, he'd do well enough. 
 Go on with your story, Everard. What hap- 
 pened next ? " 
 
 " Well, father and Mr. De Forest were talking 
 together in the bookstore, and Uncle Fitz and 
 
 Dr. G happened to come in. So I suppose 
 
 the doctor thought he would kill two birds with 
 one stone, and he knew he should have Mr. De 
 Forest on his side : so he talked to them both very 
 decidedly, and told me I ought to take care of 
 my father, — as if he would mind me," said Ever- 
 
22 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 ard, rather injured. "Then your father said 
 that he meant to take time by and by, and go to 
 see his brother in St. Louis. Mr. De Forest said 
 that would be no use : he would be writing letters, 
 and answering telegrams all the while ; and that 
 as for my father, the book-agents and beggars 
 would find him out, if he were anywhere within 
 thirty miles of the railroad. ' The only way for 
 both of you,' he said, ' is to come up into the 
 Adirondack with me this fall. I will take you 
 where you will hear or see nothing of law busi- 
 ness, or boards, or book-agents, and where the 
 telegraph cannot get at you. Dr. Fen ton can get 
 some one to take his pulpit, if not his place ; and 
 as for Fitz, here, he had better lose a dozen cases, 
 than bring on apoplexy, or something worse.' So 
 
 then Dr. C went at both of them, and Mr. 
 
 De Forest helped him ; and they fairly promised 
 they would go this month, and you and I were 
 t- go with them ; but I was told not to say any- 
 thing to you, because you'd be so disappointed 
 if anything happened to prevent; and besides," 
 and here Everard checked himself. 
 
 " You need n't stop," said Allan ; " I suppose 
 father thought, if we knew too long beforehand, 
 we should be all on end : but of course it is all 
 over now." 
 
THE SILVER EIFLE. 23 
 
 " I don't think so. I asked Uncle Fitz, when 
 I left him at the cars, if he meant to give up the 
 plan, and he said, No. He must get away from his 
 business ; and that Mr. De Forest had always been 
 wanting him to go ; and that he should like to see 
 the places where his old friend had spent so much 
 time, and hear what the people there could tell 
 about him, and that we would set out as soon 
 after he came back as we could." 
 
 " It will seem sad, too, going there without 
 Mr. De Forest," said Allan ; " but I would like 
 to see the places he has talked to us about so 
 much, and his old guide that he used to think so 
 much of." 
 
 " And is that what you have stayed at home 
 from college for ? " asked John of Everard. 
 
 " Yes, partly. You see father and mother don't 
 half like some of the ways at our college, and 
 neither do I ; and so, on the whole, father says I 
 may stay at home this term, and study what I 
 can, and go to Dartmouth in the spring." 
 
 " All right," said John. " I suppose Allan and 
 I are bound for the old place, too. It runs in 
 the family." 
 
 " You '11 go together ? " questioned Everard. 
 
 " Rather so," said Allan, with a bright look at 
 
24 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 his brother. " I could n't fight with any one else 
 half as comfortably as I can with John." 
 
 " You mean no one else would be able to put 
 up with your freaks/' said John. " But, Allan, 
 won't you like to see the lakes and the moun- 
 tains he has told us so much about ? Oh, Ever- 
 ard, we did use to have such nice times with 
 him ! He was so good to us." 
 
 " Yes. I don't wonder you miss him/' said 
 Everard. " I did n't know him so well as you, 
 but I liked him. I don't know as much about 
 hunting as you do; perhaps I don't care so much 
 about it. How much shot do you think a gun 
 ought to carry to the ounce ? " 
 
 " Shot ! " said John, with mingled wonder and 
 pity. " You don't think you are going out after 
 deer with a shot gun, do you ? " 
 
 " People do, I know." 
 
 " People ! " said John, scornfully. " People 
 may, if they choose : they don't know better. 
 I '11 tell you — " but the young gentleman's lecture 
 was interrupted, for a carriage stopped in front 
 of the house ; and Allan jumped up, exclaiming, 
 " There 's father, after all ! " 
 
 The boys rushed into the hall to meet not only 
 Mr. Fitz Adam, but also, to their great surprise, 
 Lorraine. 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 25 
 
 The latter, on seeing John and Allan, gave 
 way to the emotion she had been repressing all 
 day, burst into tears, and sobbed as if her heart 
 would break. 
 
 Mr. Fitz Adam led her into the parlor, and 
 seated her in a great chair before the fire. 
 
 " We Ve had rather a trying day," he said to 
 his sons. " She is quite tired out." 
 
 Allan put his arms round the old lady's neck 
 and kissed her affectionately. 
 
 " It 's so hard, I know," he said, with tears in 
 his own eyes ; his grief for his old friend renewed 
 by the sight of Lorraine. 
 
 John relieved her of her bonnet and cloak, and 
 considerate Everard brought her a cup of tea. 
 
 " Thank you, thank you, my dears," said Lor- 
 raine, trying to compose herself. "I did not 
 mean to, but seeing the young gentlemen brought 
 it all up to me so plainly." 
 
 " I understand," said Mr. Fitz Adam, sooth- 
 ingly. " Sit still, and get rested, Lorraine. John, 
 ring the bell, please, and tell them to get some- 
 thing ready for us ; for we have had no dinner. 
 A freight train was wrecked on the track before 
 us, and we have been waiting for them to clear 
 away. Lorraine was never on the cars before, 
 and she is tired out." 
 3 
 
26 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 " I think you look pretty tired, too, father/' 
 said Allan, remembering with anxiety what John 
 had said of the doctor's remarks. 
 
 " I am rather tired ; but I shall be better when 
 I get some tea," said Air. Fitz Adam, passing 
 his hand over his forehead. 
 
 Everard took his leave, and went home to talk 
 over the coming expedition with his father. It 
 was not till after dinner, when Lorraine, wearied 
 out, had gone to bed, that Mr. Fitz Adam told 
 the boys what had taken place at the old house. 
 
 " You will be glad to know that Pedro and 
 Lorraine are provided for," he said. 
 
 " I thought he would provide for them, if he 
 made a will," said John; "but so many people 
 never do." 
 
 " Mr. De Forest was not a man to neglect his 
 duty to his old friends in that way," said Mr. 
 Fitz Adam. " His will was made a long time 
 since. The house, and the land about it, are left 
 to Pedro and Lorraine for life, with a sufficient 
 annuity, on condition of their taking care of the 
 dogs and the two cats. After their death the 
 place is left to me, and the whole of the furni- 
 ture and everything in the house." 
 
 "Oh, I'm so glad!" said Allan. "Now it 
 won't all be pulled to pieces." 
 
THE SILVER EIFLE. 27 
 
 " The most of his property he has left to the 
 Marshalls. It was much larger than any one 
 supposed ; but they are greatly provoked, and dis- 
 satisfied that they are not to have the house too, 
 though it is of little value. There are a few 
 other legacies, one of five hundred dollars to 
 Michael Heath, the man who used to be with 
 him so much in the Adirondack. He has left 
 you, Allan, all his fishing tackle, including that 
 fine silver-mounted rod, and has given John his 
 silver rifle." 
 
 " Oh, father ! " said John, half pleased, half 
 sorrowful. " How much he must have thought 
 of us?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed, he did. The will stipulates that 
 you are to have the rifle immediately. I suppose 
 there are not many people who would trust such 
 a valuable piece to a boy of your age ; but I think 
 you will know how to use it ; and I am sure you 
 will be careful of it." 
 
 " Indeed I will," said John, who could hardly 
 believe that he was the actual owner of the 
 wonderful rifle. "Did you bring it with 
 you?" 
 
 " No ; I left the things to come down by ex- 
 press, and they will be here to-morrow. I sup- 
 pose he thought, perhaps, there was some differ- 
 
28 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 ence in the value of the two gifts, for he has given 
 Allan that pretty little silver tea-set." 
 
 " I 'm sure I never should have thought of 
 what the things cost," said Allan ; " and I 'd 
 rather have the fishing things than anything else. 
 I suppose the Marshalls did n't like it very well ; 
 did they ? " 
 
 " jS t o. They were greatly displeased, and said 
 some very insulting things, both to Lorraine and 
 Pedro, and to me ; but I hope I kept my temper ; 
 though I own it Avas hard work, when Mr. Mar- 
 shall spoke of the folly of putting such a valuable 
 thing as the rifle into the hands of a dissipated, 
 reckless boy." 
 
 " Dissipated, indeed ! " said Allan, in high in- 
 dignation, while John only laughed. " I wonder 
 when, or how? He did indulge himself rather 
 violently in mission schooling last summer, to be 
 sure. They had n't better say anything, when 
 every one knows how Gus goes on." 
 
 " Pooh ! What 's the use of minding," said 
 John, carelessly. " Every young fellow is dissi- 
 pated, according to Mrs. Marshall. You can't 
 go and get a saucer of ice-cream, without her 
 making out that you are going to ruin. But I 
 don't know what they thought Gus could do with 
 the rifle. He 's afraid of a gun." 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 29 
 
 " Sell it, of course," said Allan. " They 'd 
 sell their grandmother, if they could ; but I 'ni 
 so glad they can't turn out Pedro and Lorraine. 
 How did Lorraine happen to come down with 
 you, father ? " 
 
 " She wanted to get her mourning ; and then 
 she has a little nephew in town, whose parents 
 are dead, and whom she and Pedro are going to 
 adopt. Mr. and Mrs. Marshall behaved so to 
 the two old people, that I really felt obliged to 
 interfere. I am glad you did not go, boys. It 
 was disgusting to see the way they went on — in 
 that house — even before the funeral. I am made 
 executor, — Mr. Bland and I ; and I do not sup- 
 pose Ave shall have a very pleasant time, though 
 his affairs are all in excellent order ; but his niece 
 will be sure to think we have done her injustice. 
 She more than hinted to me that you and I had 
 understood how to make our own advantage with 
 the 'poor childish old man/ as she called him. 
 Never mind them ; I don't want to think any 
 more about them. One gets used to trials of 
 temper in my profession, or ought to; but I don't 
 think I ever had harder work to keep mine." 
 
 " Did you know that he had left us anything, 
 sir?" asked John. 
 
 " No ; only I knew he had made his will, and, 
 
30 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 as he did not ask me to do it, I thought probably 
 we were remembered in some way; but I never 
 thought of his leaving us the house. He spoke 
 of you both before he died. Lorraine will tell 
 you about it to-morrow. Has Everard told you 
 about this Adirondack expedition ? " 
 
 " We guessed it by accident/' said Allan. 
 
 " Do you really think you will go, father ? " 
 
 " Yes, my boy, I think I shall. I begin to 
 feel that the doctor is right; and that I must 
 have some rest from courts and referee cases, if I 
 want to be good for anything for the next few 
 years. You need not look so anxious, my sons. 
 There is no very immediate danger; and I don't 
 doubt a few weeks of out-door life will quite set 
 me up. Your uncle needs it more than I do. 
 How do you think Everard will stand it '? " 
 
 " It will be good for him," said John ; " only 
 he don't know much about a gun, or anything of 
 that sort." 
 
 " He has not had your opportunities. His father 
 was by no means a bad shot, when we were young 
 men together. But do you really suppose I am 
 going to let you go, too ? " 
 
 " Father," said Allan, imploringly, " you never 
 would go off there without us ? " 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 31 
 
 " I suppose not ; but what will the doctor say 
 at your being out of school ? " 
 
 " Oh, we '11 bring him home the most hideous 
 crawling creature we can find," said Allan, " and 
 then he '11 think it 's all right." 
 
 "How odd it is," said John, thoughtfully. 
 " Nothing ever turns out just as you expect it 
 will. We 've been looking forward to going so 
 long, and now we are going, to be sure, but 
 without Mr. De Forest. Things come about so 
 differently from the way you think they will. 
 Does n't it seem so, father ? " 
 
 " Have you just found that out, my son ? " said 
 the father, half amused, half saddened. 
 
 " You '11 find that truer every year you live, 
 I 'm afraid. Bring me the Bible, Allan, and we 
 will have prayers, and go to bed. To-morrow 
 evening we will talk over the matter, and see 
 what we shall want." 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 ME. DE FOREST'S LETTER. 
 
 LORRAINE, Mr. De Forest's housekeeper, 
 was a handsome stately old woman. She 
 was the daughter of a Seneca Indian and a 
 French Canadian ; but she had been adopted 
 when a child into Mr. De Forest's family, and 
 had remained there all her life, marrying Pedro, 
 who had grown up with her in the same house. 
 Pedro, too, had Indian blood ; but both he and 
 his wife were anything but uncivilized people, 
 being highly skilled in all matters relating to 
 their domestic duties, and most attached and 
 faithful friends to their " young master," as they 
 always called Mr. De Forest. 
 
 Both of them took great delight in petting the 
 two Fitz Adams; and John and Allan would now 
 and then try to vex their own good-natured house- 
 keeper by their praises of Lorraine's cookery, 
 which they declared to be infinitely superior to 
 anything at home. Pedro was as fond of a gun 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 33 
 
 and rod as his master; and the boys had passed 
 many a day wandering about the woods with the 
 old man, and listening to his stories. 
 
 Both he and Lorraine had endless legends of 
 the ancient glories of the De Forest family, — the 
 wonderful beauty, the dress and accomplishments, 
 of its daughters, and the surprising talents of its 
 sons ; the horses they used to ride, and their ad- 
 ventures in peace and war. 
 
 To hear all these tales did the boys^most seri- 
 ously incline. Pedro and Lorraine firmly be- 
 lieved that " the young gentlemen " were, beyond 
 comparison, superior in learning, manners, and 
 morals to any other young gentlemen of their 
 age. This opinion, however, they always thought 
 proper to disguise before the said young gentle- 
 men, and to assert that they never would be 
 quite equal to their own father, or to various and 
 sundry De Forests of long ago. Pedro was 
 very proud of John's steady hand and quick 
 eye in shooting; but John never made a good 
 shot without hearing from his old friend some 
 anecdote of what "young master" had done at 
 his age. When Allan took a prize in school, 
 Lorraine, fully believing that he had achieved the 
 very highest honours, nevertheless felt herself 
 bound to tell him, on principle, how Master 
 c 
 
34 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 Edmund De Forest had taken the gold medal ai 
 college, " and he only two years older than you 
 are, Master Allan." 
 
 This manner of discourse was adopted with the 
 laudable intention of repressing the vanity of the 
 young gentlemen, and producing that modest 
 opinion of themselves, and their own powers, 
 which Pedro and his wife considered essential to 
 properly educated young people. 
 
 The next morning John accompanied the old 
 woman to find the child of whom she had come in 
 search, and who, by the way, was Pedro's sister's 
 son. He was a pretty, delicate, intelligent-look- 
 ing little fellow of six ; and Lorraine's heart went 
 out to him, as he nestled in her arms and laid 
 his cheek to hers. He was quite willing to go 
 with her ; and it was with great pleasure that she 
 carried him back to Mr. Fitz Adam's home. 
 
 " You don't know how fond Mr. De Forest 
 was of you two," said Lorraine to the boys that 
 evening, as she sat before the dining-room fire 
 with her knitting in her hand. Little Theodore 
 was contentedly building houses with some old 
 blocks of John's which Mrs. Ray had found for 
 him. John and Allan were sitting on the hearth- 
 rug ; John with his dog's head on his knee, and 
 Allan serving as a parade-ground for the family 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 35 
 
 cat, who went purring over and around him, 
 now and then rubbing her nose against his with 
 effusive affection. 
 
 " I know he was always very good to us," said 
 Allan, with emotion. " I can't feel that he is 
 really gone, and that we shall never see him 
 again." 
 
 " Not here, my dear ; but I hope we '11 all look 
 forward to seeing him above," said Lorraine, 
 softly. " If ever there was a man who kept the 
 two great commandments, it was young master. 
 He didn't talk much about his religious feelings. 
 It never was his way; but they were very real to 
 him." 
 
 " I know," said Allan. " He always made 
 Sunday such a pleasant day. If all religious 
 people were like him and my uncle Fenton, I 
 should think every one would want to be a 
 Christian." 
 
 " Well, you see, dear, some folks are smooth- 
 grained Christians, and some are knotty Chris- 
 tians. Now young master he was one of the 
 smooth-grained kind. His dying so suddenly 
 was a great shock to me, at first; but I can see 
 now that the Lord's way was the right one, and 
 that it was a mercy he had no pain to suffer. 
 The night before he died I went into the library, 
 
36 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 as I generally did, about ten o'clock, and I found 
 him sitting before the fire, with the Bible open 
 on the stand before hirn. He was looking into 
 the blaze with a kind of thoughtful look on his 
 face. I asked him what he wanted for breakfast ; 
 but he didn't answer me for a minute ; and then 
 he said, without looking up, ' Lorraine, do you 
 know this is my wife's birthday?' Well, you 
 know, it sort of gave me a turn ; for I don't be- 
 lieve he 'd spoken of mistress three times to me 
 since she died. 
 
 " It was her birthday ; and Pedro and I had been 
 talking about it : and my mistress died on her 
 birthday, — thirty years ago that night. I said, 
 ' Yes, sir ; I remember.' 
 
 " ' Lorraine/ said he, ' I think it 's almost time 
 I went to her and my children.' 
 
 " You can't think, my dears, how it took me, to 
 hear him speak like that. 
 
 " ' Sir/ I said, ' I hope you will be spared to 
 us for many years yet.' 
 
 " 'That may be/ said he, with a smile, — such 
 a sweet look it was, as if he was seeing something 
 far away ! ' but for all that, I feel it is almost 
 time. I have provided for you and Pedro/ -he 
 went on. ' The old place will be yours as long 
 as you live, and after that the house and furniture 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 37 
 
 will go to Master Fitz.' You know we always 
 called your father so. It don't seem as if it was 
 more than yesterday since he was a boy like you. 
 Well, I was glad to hear him say so; for it had 
 always been rather a trial to me to think of Miss 
 Malvina — Mrs. Marshall, that is — taking posses- 
 sion of all the things that belonged to my young 
 mistress. She's not a bit of De Forest, Miss 
 Malvina ; she 's all clear Gibson. 
 
 " ' Yes,' he went on, as though he were talking 
 to himself. ' Fitz won't pull the old place to 
 pieces ; and I think the boys will like to come 
 back to the house ; and it will be a country home 
 for them to come to out of the city. Lorraine,' 
 said he, 'I rather wish the little fellows were 
 here now.' 
 
 " ' Why don't you send for them, sir,' I said. 
 
 " ' Oh, they are going out into the woods with 
 me this fall,' he said. 'Don't mention what I 
 have told you ; but look, here, Lorraine, — it 's a 
 fancy of mine, — if I should never see them again, 
 — though I know no reason why I should n't, — 
 tell them that I loved them, and thought of them 
 a great deal, sitting here alone by myself; and 
 that they must prepare to meet me where there 
 are no partings ; ' and then he said other things, 
 and asked me if I could remember. 
 4 
 
38 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 " Well, I felt so struck by what he 'd said, I 
 felt as if it was a forewarning, and I said : 
 
 " ' Why don't you write what you have to say 
 to the young gentlemen, sir? None of us can 
 tell, to be sure, when we shall be called away ; 
 and if it should be you were never to see them 
 again, — which I hope you will many times, — 
 they 'd love to have such a letter, I know.' Said 
 he : c Lorraine, I think I will ; and I '11 do it to- 
 night.' 
 
 " ' Don't you feel well, sir ? ' I said ; for I was 
 startled. 
 
 " ( Yes,' said he, ' as well as usual ; but, Lor- 
 raine, you know how your mistress left us, and 
 my father ; and I think I '11 take your advice. I 
 suppose it is the day has made me think of these 
 things.' 
 
 "So he opened his writing-desk; and I went out 
 and told Pedro; and he said it was only my 
 notion ; but we both sat up till he went to bed. 
 The next morning, when Pedro went up, he found 
 him lying, just as he had passed away in his sleep, 
 with a smile on his face, and looking so still and 
 happy. I shall always think he was forewarned." 
 
 "Do you know if he did write," said John, 
 in a low voice. Allan was too much moved to 
 speak. 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 39 
 
 " Yes, my clear ; I found the letter between the 
 leaves of his Bible, and took it, and kept it for 
 you, or I do believe Miss Malvina would have 
 read it. Here it is," and Lorraine drew from 
 her ample pocket a carefully folded paper, from 
 which she took the letter. It was directed " To 
 my two dear boys." Allan leaned over his broth- 
 er's shoulder, and read it through his tears. 
 
 " My dear Lads," it began : 
 
 " Though I know no reason why I should 
 not hope to meet you again, and go with you on 
 our journey that we have so often talked about, 
 yet still, sitting here to-night, by the fire, I have 
 remembered that I am an old man, and that, like 
 some others of my family, my call may be sud- 
 den. You two have been very dear to me, and 
 your society has been the greatest comfort of my 
 old age. You have been good and dutiful boys 
 to me — " 
 
 " Oh, I was n't, I was n't," said Allan, with a 
 sob. " I pulled Sport's tail, and made him growl ; 
 and I meddled with the red hackle, when he told 
 me not." 
 
 " He never laid it up against you, my dear," 
 said Lorraine ; "that you may be sure." John said 
 nothing ; but he remembered, with a pang, one or 
 
40 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 two little things said and done, which now he 
 would have been glad to recall. 
 
 " You will see," continued the letter, " when I 
 am gone, that I have not forgotten you. Let me 
 ask you not to lend the rod and the gun to any 
 one but to each other. 
 
 " You will be going to college soon ; and you 
 will be much in the world ; and you will hear and 
 see a great many things of which I, in my solitude, 
 only hear and see the echoes and shadows. Allan 
 read to me once out of some of the poems he likes : 
 
 ' The old order changes, yielding place to new, 
 And God fulfills himself in many ways.' 
 
 "You are of the young generation, and must go 
 with it, — in many things which seem very strange 
 in my old eyes ; but trust me one thing, my 
 dears, in all the years I have lived, I have felt 
 more and more that Christ is ' the way, the truth, 
 and the life ;' and that whatever of good science 
 may teach you, or whatever wild notions men 
 may conceive and send abroad, ' no man cometh 
 unto the Father but by' him. Keep near him, 
 my sons. Love your father and one another. 
 You are very much united now. Don't let the 
 world part you. It has nothing half so good to 
 give as brotherly love and trust. 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 41 
 
 " May God bless you, and bring you into his 
 everlasting kingdom. 
 
 " Your old friend, 
 
 " Lawrence De Forest." 
 
 The boys drew closer to one another as they 
 finished, and sat in silence for some time, greatly 
 moved and touched by these last words, which 
 seemed to come now like a message from the 
 other world. 
 
 Little Theodore came to his aunt, saying that 
 he was sleepy, and wanted to go to bed • and Lor- 
 raine rolled up her knitting, and went away with 
 the child. 
 
 When the brothers were left alone, John put 
 his arm over Allan's shoulder, and drew him 
 closer. 
 
 "We'll try and remember this, won't we?" 
 he said, looking into the fire. 
 
 " Yes, indeed," said Allan, returning the caress. 
 " John, do you know I 've been ever so jealous 
 of Everard, sometimes, lately?" 
 
 " You silly fellow," said the other; " Everard's 
 a nice boy enough, and I like him ; but he is n't 
 you : nobody else is." 
 
 " All right," returned Allan, assenting to this 
 indisputable proposition, and then looking round 
 
 4* 
 
42 THE SILVER RIFLE, 
 
 to be quite sure that no one saw them, the boys 
 exchanged a kiss, though they were fifteen and 
 sixteen. 
 
 The next morning the expressman brought the 
 cases containing the silver rifle and the fishing 
 tackle, — Mr. De Forest's last gifts to his young 
 friends. 
 
 " Is n't that old Mr. De Forest's rifle ? " said 
 the expressman, with interest, as John opened the 
 outer case, and showed the inlaid one within. 
 
 " Yes," said John. " Did you know him ? " 
 
 " Is he dead, then ? " said the expressman, in a 
 tone of regret. 
 
 " Yes ; he died last week," said Allan, with a 
 sigh. " He left the rifle to my brother, and his 
 fishing tackle to me. We used to be with him a 
 great deal." 
 
 Mr. Fitz Adam had been obliged to send out 
 for change, so that the man had to wait for a few 
 minutes, and seemed not sorry to do so. 
 
 " He was a real nice old gentleman," said the 
 messenger, watching the opening of the rifle-case 
 with great interest. " I was raised in the village. 
 My father was a gunsmith there ; and if Mr. De 
 Forest wanted any little tinkering done, he used 
 to come to father. Many a time I 've seen him 
 with that rifle. And what a gentleman he was ! 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 43 
 
 There never was anything stuck up about him : 
 just the same to everybody. He was very good 
 to my father once. Father 'd been laid up with 
 the rheumatism, one fall, and could n't do any- 
 thing ; and after he was well, my mother she 
 took sick, and my old grandmother that lived 
 with us died j and what with sickness, and what 
 with the funeral expenses, we had n't a red cent 
 left in the world, and what to do my father did n't 
 know ; and we were in a peck of trouble, and in 
 debt, and it seemed as if our little home would 
 have to go; for you see father 'd mortgaged it, 
 and could n't pay neither interest nor principal. 
 Well, Mr. De Forest he heard of it; and he 
 never said a word, but he just goes and buys up 
 the mortgage himself, and told my father to take 
 his time to pay it, 'because,' says the old gentle- 
 man, ' I know you will, in time ; and at all events, 
 you see your wife and children must n't be with- 
 out a home.' And he did more, for he lent father 
 money to get stock, and said he thought he could 
 find work for him ; for that was all father wanted 
 to get on : for he understood his trade first-rate, 
 did father. And father says he, < This is what 
 I call Christian charity, Mr. De Forest.' 
 
 " ' Oh, no,' says the old gentleman, in his nice, 
 polite way. 'We won't" call it charity, Seth. 
 
44 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 It's only a little neighbourly kindness. I am 
 sure you would do as much for me, if I were in 
 trouble/ 
 
 " And father, he was so kind of beat out, you 
 know, he just sat right down on the bench and 
 cried. Fact ! 
 
 " Well, he did first-rate, and got on as well as 
 possible, and paid it all back again — 'cause we 
 none of us wanted anything given to us ; but it 
 was the way of it, don't you see ? Yes, he was 
 a nice old gentleman. Well, here 's the change. 
 Thank you, sir. Who 's to have the old place, 
 Mr. Fitz Adam, if it 's a fair question ? " 
 
 " The two old people, for their lives, and then 
 it will come to me or my boys," said Mr. Fitz 
 Adam, who had been pleased both with the 
 story and with him who told it. 
 
 " Well, I 'in glad of it," said the expressman, 
 heartily. " I kind of hated to think of them 
 relations of his taking possession there. There 
 is n't a house on m}^ beat where I hate to go so 
 bad. Well, good-morning, young gentlemen. 
 1 'm glad the things have fallen into such good 
 hands." 
 
 " How every one dislikes those Marshalls," 
 said Allan ; " and yet they are always so anxious 
 to please people whom they think are a bit finer 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 45 
 
 than they are. How beautifully nice that rifle 
 has always been kept. You must try and have 
 it so always, John. That 's the worst of a gun. 
 It's got to be cleaned; and no one will ever do it 
 for you as it ought to be done." 
 
 John laid the rifle carefully away, locked the 
 case, and putting the key in his pocket, felt with 
 mingled pleasure and regret that he was the 
 actual owner of the wonderful weapon he had so 
 often admired. 
 
 " Get the chisel and hammer, Allan," he said ; 
 " I suppose Pedro has packed the things all to- 
 gether in that case." 
 
 The boys unpacked the large box almost with 
 reverence, both for the giver and for its contents. 
 There was nothing but what renewed most vividly 
 these associations with their old friend. There 
 was the elegant cabinet containing all the thou- 
 sand and one materials of fly-making, carefully 
 assorted and labelled in their different trays. 
 There were stores of the best lines and hooks, 
 enough to last any one a lifetime. There was the 
 rod which Mr. De Forest had carried on his last 
 expedition, — Conroy's best work, — a plain, but 
 elegantly .finished instrument; and another, which 
 had been a present to Mr. De Forest, a most 
 beautiful thing in the eyes of an amateur angler. 
 
46 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 This rod had been got up quite regardless of ex- 
 pense, and was fitted and ornamented with solid 
 silver, and with every improvement which it 
 could have. If there was anything to be objected 
 to this rod, it was that it was rather too fine for 
 use. Mr. De Forest had always kept it with 
 great care ; but he had not often carried it, pre- 
 ferring, like most practical anglers, an instrument 
 not quite so showy, and thinking his friend's gift 
 too elegant and expensive to be subjected to those 
 numerous accidents to which fishing-rods are 
 heirs. 
 
 " Father," said Allan, " I believe I won't take 
 this up into the wilderness. It 's too nice; and I 
 might lose it, or break it, or something." 
 
 " I think you are right," said his father, rather 
 surprised at the boy's good sense. 
 
 " And don't you think I ought to take the rifle, 
 sir ? " said John, looking rather anxious and dis- 
 consolate at the thought of leaving it behind. 
 
 " That 's rather different," said Mr. Fitz Adam. 
 " A gun is not so likely to be broken as a rod ; 
 and I suppose there is no great danger of your 
 losing it." 
 
 " I 'd as soon lose my head," said John. 
 
 " I 've known you do that," said his father, 
 smiling ; " but I can't say I ever saw you neglect 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 47 
 
 your gun. Mr. De Forest always carried it ; so 
 I suppose you may. But what am I thinking of, 
 to stand chattering here with you two youngsters, 
 when I should be at the office hearing a case." 
 
 " Dear me/' said Allan ; " I wish there was n't 
 any office, and then you could be with us all the 
 time." 
 
 " I wonder what you think you would do for 
 your bread and butter, if it were not for the 
 office," said Mr. Fitz Adam; but he smiled to 
 himself as he went down the steps, thinking that 
 it is not every boy who wishes for his father's 
 company " all the time." 
 
 At the bottom of the box Allan found the little 
 old fashioned silver tea-set, which he remembered 
 in connection with more than one pleasant little 
 feast prepared at some odd time, on return from 
 some expedition among the hills, with Pedro, or 
 his master. 
 
 The boys carried all their possessions up into 
 their own room, and were presently joined by 
 Everard, who was, of course, full of the proposed 
 journey. The three spent a most delightful morn- 
 ing arranging all their treasures, and selecting 
 from among their stores such things as they wished 
 to take with them into the wilderness. 
 
 Allan and John bestowed a great deal of infor- 
 
48 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 niation on their cousin, perhaps more than was 
 absolutely necessary ; but E verarcl was very good- 
 naturecl, and did not resent the instruction which 
 his juniors lavished upon him. 
 
 Allan accompanied his advice with a generous 
 donation of " flies," and showed his cousin how 
 to make a proper book to contain these treasures. 
 Everard was more deft with his fingers than 
 many a girl, and readily put his cousin's direc- 
 tions into execution. 
 
 The three passed a most delightful day, and 
 Everard agreed to remain till evening, and talk 
 over the matter still further with his uncle .Fitz. 
 
 Allan went in the afternoon to see Lorraine and 
 her little nephew safe on board the cars ; and hav- 
 ing said "Good-by" to his old friend, he was 
 leaving the station, when he was accosted by 
 A ugustus Marsh al 1 . 
 
 There was very little liking between the two 
 boys, but still they were on speaking terms, 
 rather because Augustus was desirous of being 
 seen with the son of a distinguished man, than 
 from any great degree of self-restraint, or polite- 
 ness, on the part of Master Fitz Adam. Mr. 
 and Mrs. Marshall had regretted that their an- 
 noyance about the will had led them to treat Mr. 
 Fitz Adam with disrespect. Augustus had been 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 49 
 
 directed by his parents to behave to John and 
 Allan "just as if nothing had happened." He 
 accordingly greeted Allan with a sort of half- 
 familiar, half-fawning fashion, which he mistook 
 for the " easy elegance " described in the trashy 
 third-rate stories which formed his only reading. 
 These works were equally untrue to nature and 
 art. They abounded in the most surprising pic- 
 tures of fashionable life, lords and ladies, and bad 
 grammar ; and it was hard to tell in these books 
 which were the more vulgar and silly, the authors 
 or their works. 
 
 Allan had as little worldly pride as any boy in 
 the city. He would have walked down Broad- 
 way with a chimney-sweep, provided he had 
 liked the chimney-sweep, quite indifferent to the 
 opinion of the passers by. It was not long since 
 he had amazed Mrs. Marshall by carrying home 
 a basket of potatoes for an old Irish woman 
 whom he happened to know. And while so 
 engaged, he had bowed to the lady in her car- 
 riage, quite unconscious that he was doing any- 
 thing remarkable. 
 
 But there was something in Gus Marshall's 
 manners and customs which invariably irritated 
 and aggravated Allan, and developed in John a 
 5 D 
 
50 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 certain reserve and dignity quite wonderful to 
 behold in such a very young gentleman. 
 
 " Ah, Fitz Adam \ how are you ? " said Gus, 
 who, at seventeen, assumed all the airs of what 
 he supposed to be " a man of the world." " Been 
 acting as the old lady's beau, have you ? " 
 
 " I 've been seeing Lorraine on the cars," said 
 Allan, coldly, and walking on very fast. Gus, 
 however, kept at his side. 
 
 " Well," said Gus, " I suppose you are very 
 well pleased with what the old gentleman has 
 left you. Upon my word, Fitz Adam, I did n't 
 give you credit for so much knowledge of the 
 world and its ways, as to think you could get the 
 old fellow to do so much for you in his will." 
 
 " Gus Marshall," said Allan, hotly, " I '11 thank 
 you not to talk to me about your uncle like that. 
 I should think you 'd be ashamed of yourself." 
 
 " Now, look here, Fitz," said Gus, with an air 
 of superiority. 
 
 "My name doesn't happen to be Fitz," inter- 
 rupted Allan. 
 
 " Well, then, Fitz Adam. Now you see, of 
 course, I understand it all, and your reasons for 
 visiting him so much ; and I don't blame you. It 's 
 the way of the world, every one for himself. ' Dear 
 me, ma'am,' I said to my mother, 'why should 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 51 
 
 you blame the Fitz Adams for looking out for 
 number one ? Don't we all do it ? Of course, 
 it isn't to be supposed that two young fellows 
 about town, like John and Allan, would go and 
 bury themselves in the woods with an old man 
 like that, unless they expected to get something 
 by it ; ' and you 've done it : all right. I don't 
 bear any malice." 
 
 " I 'm not a young fellow about town," retorted 
 Allan, in high indignation; "and I wouldn't be, 
 for anything. Know the world indeed ! A 
 wonderful mean kind of world you must live in, 
 if you think everybody is as contemptible as all 
 that. Do stop talking about the matter. You 
 don't understand that, nor much of anything 
 else." 
 
 This remarkably candid speech astonished Gus, 
 who had supposed that his remarks were emi- 
 nently calculated to impress his companion with 
 a feeling of respect and admiration. Gus was 
 quite incapable of understanding the disgust and 
 angry contempt which his conversation inspired. 
 
 Except among a few silly boys who thought 
 him a model for imitation, a desire to avoid Gus 
 Marshall's company was very general in school 
 and society ; and there were probably few youths 
 of his age who subjected themselves to as many 
 
52 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 snubs and settings down as this young person, 
 who, with all his ambition to be considered ele- 
 gant and fine, had not the least idea of what was 
 essential to elegance or refinement. 
 
 " Oh, come now, Allan ! " he said, attempting 
 to take his companion's arm. " What is the use 
 of putting on airs to me ? Don't I know the 
 way of the world ? You did what your father 
 told you, of course; and a man don't earn his 
 place in his profession without knowing which 
 side his bread is buttered. Did n't I say I did n't 
 blame you ? " 
 
 " Do you mean to say," exclaimed Allan, turn- 
 ing on Gus with flashing eyes, "that when we 
 went to your uncle's, we did it with the idea of 
 getting anything out of him ? " 
 
 " No ; oh, no, of course not," said Gus, rather 
 dismayed. u Never mind." 
 
 " There, don't you make such insinuations 
 again," said Allan, quite fiercely, " about us, or 
 about my father. Do talk about something else, 
 if you must talk," concluded the boy, half aloud. 
 
 But Gus was determined not to take oifence. 
 He wanted to remark among the companions 
 whose society he most affected, that so and so 
 happened " when he was walking with young 
 Fitz Adam." 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 53 
 
 " Are you going back to school on Tuesday ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 " No ; I 'm going up into the north woods with 
 my father for a month." . 
 
 " Indeed ! Well, do you know I rather expect 
 I am going too ? " 
 
 " You are ! " exclaimed Allan, by no means in 
 a tone of rapture. 
 
 " Yes. Some fellows I know are going up as 
 far as Keeseville, at all events; and I am going 
 with them. Where are you to be ? " 
 
 " We don't know yet," said Allan, inwardly 
 determined to be nowhere where Gus might be 
 found. 
 
 " You won't have as much fun as we shall, be- 
 cause you'll be under your father's eyes, and 
 your uncle's the minister, all the while. I 
 heard he was going, and I suppose it 's with you. 
 You 'd better throw them over and come with us. 
 Mighty poor fun it would be for me to go to any 
 such place with a minister and my father." 
 
 " I 'd rather go with my father than with any 
 one else in the world," said Allan, with emphasis ; 
 " and I hope I don't do anything I 'd be ashamed 
 to have a clergyman know." 
 
 " Oh ! We all know you and John have laid 
 yourselves out to be saints," said Gus, laughing. 
 
54 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 " Well, it 's a line that pays, especially with the 
 girls." 
 
 " Gus Marshall," said Allan, who felt at that 
 moment in anything but a saintly frame of mind, 
 " I do just wish you would n't talk to me that 
 way, or any other. I never did see a boy — and 
 you 're nothing but a boy for all, as grand as you 
 feel — that had such contemptible notions as you 
 have about everything. I don't want to be rude ; 
 but you don't know how your talk sounds. If 
 you did, you would n't be so silly." 
 
 " Why, what gunpowder you are ! " said Gus, 
 colouring, but determined to keep his companion 
 as long as he could. " No wonder the boys call 
 you ' Fire-cracker Fitz.' " 
 
 " I don't care what they call me," said Allan ; 
 and having reached the stairs which led to his 
 father's office, he turned short round and ran up 
 three steps at a time, rushing into the office in 
 quite a little whirlwind of excitement. 
 
 For a wonder, just at that moment there was 
 no one in the room but his father and his uncle 
 Fenton, and Allan at once burst out with the 
 question : 
 
 " Father, is everybody in the world just as 
 mean and contemptible as they can be ? " 
 
 " Well, my son," said Mr. Fitz Adam, calmly, 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 55 
 
 " that 's rather a large general inquiry. I should 
 like to hear the special case before giving any 
 opinion." 
 
 " Well, now, are they ? " said Allan, appealing 
 to his uncle, who had smiled a little, but not un- 
 kindly, at the boy's excitement. " It's just that 
 Gus Marshall. He would walk with me ; and he 
 said such things, that we — you and I and John — 
 had been to Mr. De Forest's for what we could 
 get ; and that he — he — only just think of it ! — 
 did n't bear any malice toward us for it ! And 
 he said that you knew which side your bread was 
 buttered; and you don't, do you?" 
 
 " Let us hope not in the sense, or in the par- 
 ticular instance, which Master Gus meant. Com- 
 pose yourself a little, my boy, if you can. When 
 you have been a lawyer for a few years, you won't 
 be able to get up such a tempest at every silly or 
 low-minded speech you happen to hear." 
 
 The Rev. Dr. Fenton smiled slightly ; for 
 among his friends Mr. Fitz Adam was well 
 known to possess a fine talent for virtuous indig- 
 nation. 
 
 " And he said it was the way of the world, and 
 that nobody cared for anybody else, only for what 
 they could get, and that every one was like that. 
 Oh, father ! is that so ? I 'm sure, if it is, I don't 
 
56 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 want to keep on living/' concluded Allan, in some 
 emotion. 
 
 " My dear boy/' said his father, putting down 
 his papers and drawing his son toward himself; 
 " I am sorry you should have been so annoyed and 
 excited. I can only tell you my own experience 
 of the world in answer to your question. In our 
 profession we do not always see the best side of 
 humanity, and perhaps grow rather hardened ; but 
 even in my experience in my work, while I have 
 seen a great deal that was contemptible and selfish, 
 I have also seen magnanimity and kindness, jus- 
 tice done at the expense of great self-sacrifice, high- 
 mindedness and goodness coming out sometimes 
 where it was least expected. There are a great 
 many little worlds in the big one, and they are 
 ruled by different spirits. I suspect that what 
 Master Gus would call ' the world/ is perhaps 
 the smallest and meanest of them all ; ruled by 
 the very lowest and most contemptible of all 
 ambitions, — a desire to be considered knowing, and 
 a wish to be at once fast and fashionable. Judge 
 from your own experience of ' the world/ Allan. 
 Do you think that every one you know acts from 
 mean motives ? " 
 
 " No, indeed, sir ; not you, nor grandma, nor 
 my uncle. Mr. Do Forest did n't. Don't you 
 
THE SILVER EIFLE. 57 
 
 remember what the expressman told us this morn- 
 ing ? " 
 
 Here a gentleman entered, who wished to speak 
 to Mr. Fitz Adam in private. 
 
 " You had better ask your uncle what he can 
 tell you about this matter, Allan," said his father, 
 as he went into the inner room. 
 
 " I can tell you one thing," said Dr. Fenton, 
 " that there is nothing which so blinds people's 
 eyes to the truth of things as this assumption, 
 that all motives of action, however good and 
 generous the deed, are low and interested. There 
 is nothing which tends more to prevent any real 
 knowledge of men, and of the world, than that 
 view of life. For the most part, especially in 
 the case of a foolish boy like Gus Marshall, it is 
 just an affectation ; and too often it is because the 
 speaker judges his fellow-men by himself. I 
 remember reading a magazine article once where 
 the writer showed how mean and selfish and 
 foolish he had been when a child, and therefore 
 drew the conclusion that all children are incapable 
 of generosity or real affection. He showed one 
 thing very conclusively, and that was that he had 
 not grown up to be much more intelligent as a 
 man than as a child." 
 
 " I remember grandma being so disgusted with 
 
58 THE SILVER EIPLE. 
 
 that/' said Allan. " But, Uncle Fenton ; does n't 
 it aggravate you to hear people talk in that 
 way ? " 
 
 " Yes, Allan. If there is anything that vexes 
 me more than another, it is a habit of always 
 assigning low motives for good deeds ; and it is 
 rather a besetting sin of our times. I often wish 
 that some paper would make it a business to 
 chronicle all the good, unselfish, heroic actions 
 that one hears of every day, as carefully as the 
 newsmen do the murders, and scandals, and rob- 
 beries. Humanity is very mean sometimes, and 
 very grand at other times; but we have one per- 
 fect model of what it can be ; and trust me, we 
 shall never attain to his likeness by despising 
 and thinking the worst of our fellow-men, for 
 whom He died." 
 
 Here Mr. Fitz Adams came out of the inner 
 room with the gentleman with whom he had been 
 conferring. 
 
 "You'll see that it's done," said the gentle- 
 man. 
 
 " Yes, if it must be," said Mr. Fitz Adam, 
 rather reluctantly. 
 
 " It must," said the gentleman, smiling, and he 
 went away. 
 
 " There, Allan," said Mr. Fitz Adam, as the 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 59 
 
 door closed on his client. "There is a case in 
 point. If I tell you the story, don't repeat it. 
 That man has for years been trying to save money 
 to take himself and his wife to Europe. They 
 are not very rich ; and he has two or three times 
 had losses which prevented them from going. 
 Just now, however, he thought that he could 
 afford the journey. He had put the sum laid 
 aside in certain investments, which are in my 
 hands, and which could be turned into money 
 directly, and they expected to start next month. 
 But a nephew of his, a good sort of man enough, 
 but not very bright, has been unfortunate in his 
 business, and will be utterly ruined, unless he can 
 have immediate help. So Mr. and Mrs. Dale 
 have made up their minds to sacrifice their trip, 
 and take the money, laid aside, to help their rela- 
 tion. For years they have looked forward to this 
 journey, and gone over it all in imagination. It 
 is a very great sacrifice to give it up ; but they do 
 it without a word of complaint. I presume the 
 nephew will never know anything about the 
 matter." 
 
 " How kind ! " said Allan. " I wish I could 
 just give them the money, and tell them to go 
 by the next steamer." 
 
 " He would not take it, if you could." 
 
(JU THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 " Did you try to see if he would, Fitz ? " said 
 Dr. Fenton, quietly. 
 
 "Well, what of it?" said Mr. Fitz Adam, 
 colouring. " I Ve always known about him." 
 
 " Law is a very hardening sort of a profession," 
 said the doctor, with a smile. " Well, Allan, I 
 think you may go home comforted a little about 
 your fellow-creatures in a general way." 
 
 " Father," said Allan, that evening. " Do you 
 think it would be right if I were to give Gus 
 Marshall part of the things Mr. De Forest left 
 me?" 
 
 " Why ? " asked his father, surprised. 
 
 « Why, Allan ! " exclaimed John, before his 
 brother could answer. " What do you think he 
 would do with them ? He can no more throw a 
 fly than I can read Hebrew." 
 
 " Well, you see," said Allan, " I suppose he 
 thinks he should have had something : and after 
 all, Mr. De Forest was his uncle, and not mine ; 
 and I was pretty short with him, to-day. I know 
 I was." 
 
 " But, Allan, Gus Marshall ! " said John. 
 
 Mr. Fitz Adam paused, before he answered. 
 
 " It is a kind thought," he said, at last; "and 
 if it were any other boy, I think perhaps I 
 should tell you to do it. But Gus never showed 
 
THE SILVER EIFLE. 61 
 
 the least affection for his uncle ; and then, as John 
 says, those things would be quite lost upon him. 
 Besides, a large sum comes to the family from the 
 estate. Then our old friend gave you the things 
 because he knew you would value and care for 
 them ; and, perhaps, it would have been his wish 
 that you should keep them. Your feeling in the 
 matter would be quite thrown away upon Gus." 
 
 "Yes!" said John. "He'd be sure to find 
 some little mean reason for it." 
 
 " So, on the whole," said his father, " perhaps 
 you had better not do it. It is not as if there 
 was nothing coming to him from the estate ; and 
 I don't think he would value the gift as a mere 
 remembrance of his uncle." 
 
 " Not he ! " said Everard. " I have heard him 
 talk quite shamefully about Mr. De Forest. I 
 would n't have much to do with him, if I were 
 you, boys. I 've seen him coming out of places 
 where nobody would go that had much respect 
 for his own character, and going about in very 
 bad company." 
 
 " 1 'm sure I never want to have anything to 
 do with him," said John. 
 
 "JS r or I!" said Allan. "Now I think of it, 
 
 I 'm not sure but I told him so." 
 
 "That was hardly worth while," said his 
 G 
 
62 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 father. " I am rather sorry to hear that he is 
 going up north, too ; but it will be easy to keep 
 out of his way." 
 
 " I don't know about that/' said John, " if 
 Everard is along. Gus is very anxious to be 
 intimate with him." 
 
 " Oh, that 's all for my aunt Lily's sake," said 
 Everard, referring to his father's sister, Mrs. 
 Harold, who was rather a fashionable, and very 
 much of a fine lady. " Aunt Lily is afraid of 
 the Marshalls. I believe she ran away from 
 Saratoga last year, just to avoid them ; and they 
 did persecute her. It was quite pathetic to hear 
 her tell the story." 
 
 "What did she stand it for?" said John. 
 " Why, you know how good-natured she is ; and 
 she could bear almost anything rather than be 
 rude ; and it is not a mere hint that will answer 
 with the Marshall race. Uncle Fitz, what a 
 miserable thing it is, that ambition to be fine 
 and genteel, and this caring for nothing but just 
 amusement ! " 
 
 " Oh, wise young judge ! Have you just found 
 that out?" said Mr. Fitz Adam. "A most 
 miserable ambition it is, indeed : but come, I 
 think we have abused our neighbours cpiite 
 enough for one night. Take pen and paper, 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 63 
 
 Everard, and make out a list of what we shall 
 want, and to-morrow we will set about the pre- 
 parations in real earnest. Your father leaves 
 everything to me with such perfect confidence, 
 that I want to be sure and have things as com- 
 fortable for him as I can, without overloading 
 ourselves." 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE WOODS. 
 
 niHE middle of the next week saw Mr. Fitz 
 -*L Adam, Dr. Fenton, and the three boys, at 
 " Baker's," which was then by no means the 
 place of resort it has since become. In their 
 younger days, both the lawyer and the clergyman 
 had had considerable experience of out-door life, 
 and had known what to take on such an expe- 
 dition, and also what not to take, which is per- 
 haps more important still. All of the party were 
 quite resolved to go into the real wilderness. 
 
 At that period the hunting and fishing around 
 "Baker's" was better' than at present, as the tourist 
 had not yet invaded the region to any great ex- 
 tent. The boys, however, felt that they should 
 not be satisfied until they were quite out of sight 
 of a house. They longed to get away from the 
 comfortable table, and the beds of the little hotel, 
 into the actual wilderness, where they could build 
 their own shanty, make their own fires, cook for 
 
 6i 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE, 65 
 
 themselves the trout and venison which they ex- 
 pected to catch, and sleep in the open air. 
 
 Their desire to get away was shared by their 
 elders, and was by no means diminished by the 
 arrival of Master Gus Marshall, in company with 
 two other young " men" a good deal older than 
 himself. The manners and customs of these 
 young persons were so exceedingly distasteful to 
 Mr. Fitz Adam and the Doctor, that, during the 
 one day they remained at the hotel, they avoided 
 the company of Gus and his companions as much 
 as possible. But Gus was not a person easy to 
 avoid, and he was determined, if he could, to 
 strike up an intimacy with Everard Fenton. 
 Everard was exceedingly good-natured. He 
 could not bear to wound any one's feelings in the 
 slightest degree. He felt sorry to see a mere boy 
 like young Marshall on the high road to ruin. 
 His companions were evidently making a tool of 
 him ; while he, flattered by the attentions of those 
 whom he thought " knowing " and " fashionable 
 fellows," followed them in any direction they 
 chose. They used his things, and forgot to re- 
 turn them ; they borrowed his money, and forgot 
 to pay it back ; and they won it from him at 
 cards, where he was invariably beaten, no matter 
 what the game; and flattered and laughed at 
 
66 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 him by turns, as suited their purposes or incli- 
 nation. Gus, charmed at finding himself in such 
 " fashionable " society, and with " sporting-men," 
 thought the delight cheaply purchased at any 
 expense. 
 
 For all the distinction which he supposed him- 
 self to have achieved, Gus was by no means com- 
 fortable, either in mind or body. He was noth- 
 ing of a sportsman in reality. To the great dis- 
 gust of the two Fitz Adams, he had come unpro- 
 vided with any weapon but a huge fowling-piece, 
 fit for nothing but the heaviest " bay shooting." 
 
 With this gun he blazed away at everything, — 
 crows, owls, small birds, and woodchucks, — scat- 
 tering immense quantities of shot, but doing little 
 damage, as he invariably shut his eyes whenever 
 he fired. 
 
 His companions laughed at his want of success, 
 and left him a good deal to himself. The hotel- 
 keeper overlooked him ; the mosquitoes bit him 
 savagely ; the guides and hunters, with whom he 
 attempted conversation, snubbed him unmerci- 
 fully, and, I regret to say, told him so many and 
 such wonderful stories of wolves, bears, and 
 panthers, that he was almost afraid to go out of 
 sight of the house. 
 
THE SILVER EIPLE. 67 
 
 A dozen times Gus wished himself back in the 
 city ; but he dared not say so to his companions, 
 and consoled himself in his sufferings by thinking 
 he was in the same party as Lieutenant Cameron 
 and Tom Edmonds. Lieutenant Cameron had 
 been an officer in the army, but had resigned his 
 commission for reasons best known to himself 
 and the officers of his regiment, and was now 
 said " to live by his wits," and on an allowance 
 from his family, to whom he was at once a misery 
 and a disgrace. 
 
 Tom Edmonds's father was a man of great 
 wealth, and a leader in the sort of society to 
 which the ambition of the Marshalls aspired. 
 Tom had been expelled from Everard's college; 
 but so far from being ashamed of his disgrace, he 
 was wont to make a boast of how he had " been 
 too much for the college faculty." 
 
 Mr. Marshall knew perfectly well the character 
 of Messrs. Edmonds and Cameron, but he was 
 pleased to have his boy associate with those whom 
 he supposed to be fashionable young men, of what- 
 ever style the fashion might be. 
 
 Mr. Marshall was the son of a tailor, in a little 
 country village; so — by a common method of 
 self-betrayal — he naturally looked down upon 
 " persons in trade," and was so exceedingly aris- 
 
68 THE SILVER EIFLE. 
 
 tocratic as to be quite alarming to simple-minded 
 people. 
 
 The "aristocratic manner" on which Gus 
 prided himself was entirely lost on the society at 
 " Baker's/' and the boy really dreaded going out 
 into the woods and mountains. He had no love 
 for the wild life of the region ; he had no eye for 
 natural beauty, and no skill with the gun or the 
 rod ; and whatever bait he tried, the trout obsti- 
 nately refused to be caught. Poor Gus had had 
 an idea that fly-fishing was a genteel thing to do, 
 and had provided himself with several surprising 
 specimens of flies, selected without regard to the 
 time of year or the kind of fish for which they 
 were intended. He was utterly ignorant of the 
 art, which requires intelligence and a deft and 
 skilful hand, and had succeeded in catching 
 nothing but himself and his companions. At 
 the end of two days there were few parts of his 
 clothes, his hands or his face, into which he had 
 not stuck the hook. Flies and broken lines 
 hanging upon trees, or floating on the stream, 
 attested his various failures. When he had 
 utterly destroyed three rods, — two of his own and 
 one of his friend's, — he gave up the matter in de- 
 spair, and contented himself with eating the fish 
 which others caught. 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 69 
 
 The Fitz Adam party meant to start for their 
 first camp at night ; and on the evening of the 
 day on which Gus arrived, they had gone to the 
 lower Saranac, about two miles from " Baker's," 
 where they intended to take their boats and fol- 
 low the chain of lakes. At that day this region 
 was unfrequented, except by the hunter, and a 
 few gentlemen who cared too much for its wild 
 glories, and its plentiful fishing and hunting, to 
 advertise it in book or newspaper. It had hardly 
 been supposed possible that a lady could make 
 her way through the wilderness, or " camp out." 
 
 Then you might journey for miles, and not 
 meet a canoe, or see a human being but those of 
 your own party, or some wandering trapper or 
 Indian. Now the case is very different ; and some 
 people who remember the Saranac in the old days, 
 think that the wilderness was pleasanter then than 
 now. 
 
 It was a bright moonlight night, and the lake 
 lay glittering and rippling with a light breeze 
 from the north. The frosts had held off wonder- 
 fully, and the air was cool but not chill. The 
 mountains stood up in blue-black shadow, and 
 silver light hung here and there with slow trail- 
 ing wreaths of whitening mist. The boys, how- 
 ever, were too full of high spirits and the delight- 
 
70 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 ful excitement of actually setting off, to be 
 much impressed by the solemn beauty of the 
 scene. 
 
 Michael Heath, the guide, was skilfully pack- 
 ing the baggage in the little canoes, by the light 
 of the fire which John had built on the shore, 
 partly because it is the nature of a boy to make a 
 fire out of doors whenever he can, and partly to 
 keep off the mosquitoes. Mr. Fitz Adam and 
 the doctor were sitting together on a fallen pine, 
 chatting to each other, and smiling now and then 
 at John and Everard, who were, as boys say, 
 " skylarking " about, and making the woods ring 
 with their laughter at everything and nothing. 
 Sam Irmelin, the boy who accompanied Michael, 
 was feeding the fire ; and Allan, who thought he 
 should have time for a cast, had put together his 
 rod, and had flung out his favourite "white 
 miller," managing it in a way which had caused 
 Michael to remark, approvingly, that he was "a 
 smart boy, and would know something in time." 
 None of the party were greatly delighted to see 
 Mr. Cameron and Gus Marshall make their ap- 
 pearance. One of Michael's dogs ran forward 
 growling and barking at the strangers, while the 
 other, more experienced, kept his place near the 
 lire, and only lifted his large intelligent eyes to 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 71 
 
 see what his young friend was making such an 
 ado about. 
 
 The case was altered, however, when Gus gave 
 the advancing dog a heavy kick, which made him 
 howl piteously. Old Sport sprang up, with erected 
 bristles, and showing his fangs with a savage snarl, 
 darted forward to take his friend's part. 
 
 Michael called him back, and he obeyed, but 
 very unwillingly, and growled fiercely as the two, 
 followed by one of the guides from the hotel, came 
 into the circle, lit up by the fire. John and Ever- 
 ard desisted from their romping ; and the former 
 took up his rifle which he had left leaning against 
 the log beside his father. 
 
 Mr. Cameron, who was heartily tired of his 
 companion's society, bowed to the two gentlemen, 
 and remarking carelessly to Gus that " there was 
 not room for three," stepped into the canoe which 
 the guide unfastened from the bank and pushed 
 off into the lake. 
 
 Poor Gus was greatly mortified. Mr. Cameron 
 was going after deer in the fashion technically 
 known as "jack shooting," that is, attracting the 
 deer by a light, and shooting at the gleam re- 
 flected in the creature's eyes. Gus had not been 
 asked to go ; but he had walked the two miles 
 from the hotel in the hope of an invitation, and 
 
72 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 now to be left behind in that fashion was any- 
 thing but pleasant. The walk had been a very 
 uncomfortable one for him, for Mr. Cameron and 
 the guide, out of sheer mischief, had beguiled the 
 way with tales of wolves which followed travel- 
 lers through the woods ; bears that came out of 
 thickets and around corners, and, worst of all, 
 wily and savage panthers which lay in wait on 
 trees ready to pounce from overhead, and able to 
 carry away a man as easily as a cat carries a 
 mouse. 
 
 Gus had been so alarmed by these tales that, 
 young man, as he supposed himself to be, he 
 was just ready to cry, and heartily wished him- 
 self at home. No amount of " style " will con- 
 sole that unhappy mortal who is clawed by a 
 panther or chased by a bear, and of such mis- 
 fortunes Gus felt himself to be in great danger. 
 He started at every sound and every crackling 
 twig, saw a wild beast in every stump and log, 
 and heard the howl of the wolf or the scream of 
 the panther in every noise. That, after under- 
 going all this, he should be left to wait by the 
 shore of the lonely lake, or to make his way back 
 through all the dangers of the road, was cruel 
 indeed. 
 
 He knew that he was not very welcome to the 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 73 
 
 Fitz Adam party ; but he was glad to see them, 
 nevertheless, though he trembled to think what 
 would become of him when their boats should 
 push off, and he be left to the mercies of the 
 panthers. 
 
 Poor Gus's excited imagination represented to 
 him the said panthers as plentiful as grasshoppers 
 in a pasture ; and he felt equally afraid to wait for 
 Mr. Cameron or go back without him. 
 
 " I wish you 'd make your cur behave himself," 
 he said, snappishly, to Michael. " I '11 shoot him 
 if he runs at me again that way." 
 
 " Humph ! " said Michael. " I don't own no 
 cur that I know of, and if I did, I guess he 
 would n't be in very much danger." 
 
 " Those low-bred dogs are always snarling and 
 snapping," said Gus, in a tone of contempt; for 
 he was in a greatly irritated state of mind, partly 
 from the fear he had undergone and partly from 
 the slight put upon him by his friend. 
 
 ""Wow that just shows how much you know," 
 said Michael, calmly. " There is n't a better bred 
 dog in the country than old Sport, and if you 
 knew much about dogs, you 'd see it. But then 
 nobody expects boys from the city to know any- 
 thing." 
 7 
 
?4 THE SILVER RIFLE, 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Heath," said Everard, lift- 
 ing his cap and bowing politely. 
 
 " Well, you're not just exactly a boy ; and 
 your cousins there have been taught something ; 
 but there 's an odds in folks in the city as well as 
 here, is n't there ? " 
 
 " Yes, there certainly is," said Everard ; and 
 Michael, who was a man of few words, turned 
 back to his work, taking no further notice of 
 Gus. 
 
 Everard, who felt sorry for the boy, addressed 
 some kind words to him ; but he got very short 
 answers. Gus was watching Allan, who had 
 landed a fine trout, rather to his own surprise, as 
 angling from the shore is not always very success- 
 ful in lake fishing. 
 
 " What bait have you got ? " asked Gus. 
 
 " No bait at all," said Allan, good-naturedly, 
 taking his tone from his cousin. " It 's only this 
 white miller." 
 
 "White miller? What? Those things that 
 fly round the candle? I shouldn't think you 
 could catch enough of them." 
 
 " I did n't catch it," said Allan, laughing. " It 
 was made. It's only good for night fishing. 
 Some people say trout don't care what they bite 
 at, and will jump at anything ; and maybe they 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 75 
 
 don't in England ; but they know more here ; any- 
 way, I think so." 
 
 " I don't care much for bothering with flies," 
 said Gus, loftily. 
 
 The boys smiled slightly, but Everard re- 
 marked : 
 
 " I set out to learn the art under Allan and 
 my uncle, but as I discovered that it would take 
 all the time I should have in the woods to find 
 out how much I did not know, I concluded that 
 I preferred fish to science, and am content to 
 catch trout, if I can, with an inglorious worm, or 
 a grasshopper, or even to eat those caught by 
 some one else." 
 
 " It 's so much the nicest way of fishing," said 
 Allan, who had in vain tried to make Everard as 
 enthusiastic as himself. " I can't bear to handle 
 those cold slippery worms, and stick hooks into 
 the little squirmy wretches. Ugh ! " 
 
 " I suppose you think the trout like it ? " said 
 Everard. 
 
 " No, I don't suppose they do ; but they are 
 always eating each other; and then I don't let 
 them choke to death on the land. I think 
 it's mean. I kill them as soon as I get them 
 ashore." 
 
 "Well," remarked Everard, "the truth is, I 
 
76 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 was so much impressed in my childhood with the 
 story of the bad boy who would go fishing, and 
 was afterward, in poetical justice, caught on a 
 meat-hook himself, that I have never felt quite 
 easy in my mind about the matter, and feel almost 
 sure that if I were to catch too many fish, I should 
 be caught on a meat-hook too. I see you have 
 your rod, Gus ; why don't you try ? " 
 
 " I believe I will," said Gus ; and he baited a 
 hook almost big enough to catch a halibut, and 
 standing where his shadow fell directly upon the 
 water, flung the bait into the lake with a tre- 
 mendous splash. 
 
 Allan looked reproachfully at his cousin, and 
 reeled up his line and unjointed his rod. 
 
 " I don't think I shall have another bite," he 
 remarked, dryly. 
 
 " Have you had any luck with your wonderful 
 rifle ? " asked Gus of John, with a half sneer. 
 
 " I 've not been out with it yet," said John, 
 good - naturedly enough. " Why, Gus, you '11 
 never get anything, thrashing round in the water 
 like that; and what are you after with such a 
 hook — sharks ? " 
 
 " Opinions differ about such things," said Gus, 
 with an air of experience. " Do you think a 
 smaller one would do better ? " he asked, care- 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 77 
 
 lessly, longing to catch a fish, and ashamed to 
 confess that he did not know how. 
 
 " I say, Gus, let me fix it for you," said John. 
 " I '11 give you a hook ! " and John took out 
 one of his own, and with Gus's consent fastened 
 it in the place of the big one. " There, now, bait 
 that, and stand where your shadow won't fall 
 right on the water, and keep still ; and maybe 
 you '11 get some fishing while you are waiting for 
 Mr. Cameron to come back." 
 
 " Are you going right away ? " said Gus, terri- 
 fied at the thought of being left alone. 
 
 " Yes, just as soon as the boats are ready. I 
 say, Michael, can we help you? I 'in in a hurry 
 to start." 
 
 Michael stood up and faced the company, as 
 one who intends to make a speech. 
 
 " Gentlemen," he said, solemnly, " I regret to 
 say — " here every one started, and looked anxious, 
 fearing some serious accident. " I regret to say — 
 that the black pepper has been forgotten." 
 
 The boys drew a long breath. 
 
 " Is that all ? " said Mr. Fitz Adam. « I con- 
 cluded that the boats were all in holes, or that 
 several bears were coming down upon us. Is the 
 black pepper essential ? " 
 
 " Well, squire," — for so Michael had entitled 
 
 7 * 
 
78 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 Mr. Fitz Adam, — " that is the question. I don't 
 believe in taking too much into the woods ; but 
 then again I don't believe in too little ; and pep- 
 per and salt is good with fish. Now the question 
 is, whether we shall go without it, or whether 
 Sam here shall run back to the hotel and get it. 
 He can be back before long ; and there is n't any 
 such mighty hurry." 
 
 The boys would have gone without pepper, or 
 anything else, so anxious were they to set off; 
 but their elders decided to send back Sam, not 
 sorry to spend a little longer time by the lake 
 shore. 
 
 " I think I '11 go back with Sam," said Gus, 
 hastily rolling up his line, and glad to have com- 
 pany through the woods. Moreover, it had just 
 occurred to him that he should like to have a 
 little private talk with the boy who was to be the 
 companion of the two Fitz Adams in the wilder- 
 ness. 
 
 The politeness of the young people had made 
 no impression upon Gus. The boy was in an 
 evil frame of mind. He was provoked that John 
 and Allan should have seen him slighted by Mr. 
 Cameron, of whose intimacy with himself he had 
 often boasted; he was envious of them as the 
 owners of his uncle's rod and rifle; and he had 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 79 
 
 worked himself into the idea that he had been 
 greatly abused by his relative's will. 
 
 He bade the boys a sullen good-night ; replied 
 only with a nod to the polite good-by of the two 
 elder gentlemen, and set off on his way back to 
 the hotel, with some difficulty keeping up with 
 Sam, who was a rapid walker. 
 
 " Poor Gus ! " said compassionate Everard. 
 " It was mean in Cameron to go off and leave 
 him so. He was half frightened to death at the 
 idea of staying here alone." 
 
 " He thinks the woods are all full of panthers !" 
 said Allan, laughing. " The men have told him 
 such a heap of stories. There are none about 
 here, are there, Michael ? " 
 
 " Not very often ! " replied the cautious old 
 guide. " I won't say but I have shot a painter 
 within a mile of this place ; but they ain't quite 
 as common as blackberries ; and half the time 
 they are more afraid of you than you are of them, 
 unless they are uncommon fierce ; or it's a she one 
 with young ones. Mr. De Forest he's shot 
 more 'n one with that very rifle. I espect you 'd 
 like to do the same thing, young gentleman." 
 
 " Of course I should," said John, with a glance 
 of affection at his rifle. 
 
 " Well, I give you fair warning. You won't 
 
80 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 get a chance if I can help it. They are not nice 
 customers when they are in a corner; not the 
 kind of thing for boys to go for." 
 
 " Don't you think I could hit one ? " asked 
 John, a little mortified, and fervently hoping that 
 a " painter " might come in his way. 
 
 " I don't say but you could ; but you see I 'd 
 be afraid he might hit you first. You come here 
 three or four years from now, and keep up your 
 shooting," said Michael, consolingly, "and I 
 don't say but I might scare up one for you and 
 your brother among the rocks." 
 
 " When and how was it that Mr. De Forest 
 shot the panthers ? " asked John, as Michael lit 
 his pipe, and sat down on the shore to wait for 
 Sam. 
 
 " Oh, once, when I was with him, he shot one ; 
 and then another time, when he was alone, he 
 killed another." 
 
 " But tell us about it, please," persisted Allan. 
 
 "Why, that's all there is to tell," replied 
 Michael, who, as he expressed it, was " no great 
 hand to talk." "One was up a tree, and the 
 other one on a rock in the country just north of 
 Nodoneyo, — Mount Seward, most of the folks 
 call it now ; and he saw them, and shot them." 
 
 " Were they big ones ? " 
 
THE SILVER EIFLE. 81 
 
 " The first one was pretty big, and the other 
 one not so big as I Ve seen 'em." 
 
 " Did you ever kill one yourself? " questioned 
 John. 
 
 " Yes," replied Michael, patiently. 
 
 "More than one?" 
 
 " Well, yes ; quite a little pocketful of them, 
 first and last." 
 
 " What a nice pocketful ! " said John. 
 
 " But, Michael, do tell us how you did it?" 
 
 " Why, I took my gun, and shot at them, and 
 hit them ; and it killed 'em." 
 
 " At the first shot ? " 
 
 " No, not always." 
 
 " Did they ever hurt you ? " 
 
 " One give me a kind of scratch once ; but it 
 did n't amount to much." 
 
 " Oh, how was it ? " said the three boys, eagerly. 
 
 " With its claws." 
 
 " Come, boys," said Dr. Fenton, " let Michael 
 smoke his pipe in peace. Allan, you'll have 
 time before Sam comes back with the pepper. 
 Try another cast, and we shall have your fish for 
 supper. I '11 come with you ; " and the doctor 
 took up his rod and went off with his nephew 
 along the shore, followed by John. 
 
 Mr. Fitz Adam and Everard remained behind. 
 F 
 
82 THE SILVER EIFLE. 
 
 " You must not let the boys trouble you/' said 
 Mr. Fitz Adam to Michael. " They are quite 
 wild for stories of all sorts ; and I don't know but 
 ours is rather a talking family." 
 
 " Bless you, squire, they don't bother me," said 
 Michael, good-naturedly. " I have n't the gift to 
 make a long story out of nothing, like some of 
 the men. They '11 reel 'em off for you by the 
 yard. I hope to show those boys of yours some 
 sport. They 're just the kind to bring into the 
 woods ; and I like 'em partly for the old gentle- 
 man's sake and part for their own. They 're un- 
 common smart with their guns and tackle for their 
 age." 
 
 " I am glad you think so," said Mr. Fitz Adam, 
 pleased. "They used to go about a good deal 
 with Mr. De Forest." 
 
 " I 've heard him speak of them. I tell you, 
 squire, I miss the old gentleman. We 've been 
 together a great deal. He was an educated man, 
 and I was n't ; but we kind of suited one another." 
 
 " He has often spoken to me about you, and 
 your kindness to him." 
 
 " Well, I wonder what it was. He was always 
 just so to me. Those boys of yours have got 
 something of his ways; so have you, sir. Did 
 he leave any relations ? " 
 
THE SILVEE EIFLE. 83 
 
 " None nearer than a niece, a Mrs. Marshall. 
 That young man who went back with Sam is her 
 son." 
 
 " You don't say so ! I would n't have thought 
 there was a bit of De Forest in him," said Michael, 
 with emphasis. 
 
 " There is n't much," said Mr. Fitz Adam. 
 
 " He 's only a boy ! " said Everard. " Maybe 
 he '11 do better as he gets older." 
 
 " He 's not on the way to it, the company he 
 keeps," said Michael. " That Mr. Cameron is a 
 good shot enough ; but I should n't want a boy of 
 mine round with him, nor that other young fel- 
 low. I 'm glad the old gentleman left the silver 
 rifle to your son, and not to him." 
 
 " Perhaps some people would have thought it 
 rather imprudent to allow such a boy as John to 
 bring so costly a piece into the woods," remarked 
 Mr. Fitz Adam ; " but John values it as he does 
 the apple of his eye, and knows pretty well how 
 to handle it." 
 
 " I see he does," said Michael, approvingly. 
 " He does n't play any silly, fool-hardy tricks as 
 most boys do, — pointing at folks, and such non- 
 sense. The moonlight looks kind of nice on the 
 lake, don't it, sir," said Michael to Everard, fear- 
 ing, with the natural courtesy which belonged to 
 
84 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 him, that the young gentleman might feel him- 
 self left out of the conversation. 
 
 " Oh, it 's beautiful here," said Everard, who 
 had a keen feeling and real love for natural 
 beauty. " Look, Uncle Fitz, where the ripple 
 breaks up against the shore, just showing a silver 
 edge." And in the delight of his heart and his 
 youth, Everard, in his sweet tenor voice, began 
 to sing " The Shining Shore," then just beginning 
 to be heard. 
 
 Mr. Fitz Adam, who could sing well, joined 
 in, and the music rang out sweetly over the lake. 
 Then they passed on to the " Gloria in Excelsis 
 Deo." Everard belonged to a musical society, 
 whose members were fonder of the old schools 
 of music than of any new ones. Mr. Fitz Adam 
 could not often find time to attend the meetings 
 of the Union, as he would have liked ; but he was 
 a sort of honorary member. He and Everard 
 were fond of singing together, and often did so 
 in the family meetings. They did not murder 
 this most beautiful of all chants by uniting it to 
 any opera air, or by ruining words and sense for 
 the sake of sound. They sang it as all sacred 
 music ought to be sung, — with reverent gladness 
 of heart; and the old guide listened with pleasure, 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 85 
 
 though he did not understand the Latin words 
 which they had happened to use. 
 
 " May I ask what that is, sir ? " he asked, as 
 the last note died away. " It r B a hymn, is n't it ? 
 though I don't understand the language." 
 
 " Sing it in English, Everard," said his uncle. 
 Everard willingly complied. " We praise thee, 
 we bless thee, we worship thee, we glorify thee, 
 we give thanks to thee for thy great glory." 
 
 " I like that, sir," said Michael, after a few 
 moments of silence, when the music was ended. 
 " I don't know but it 's as good a place here to 
 sing that as it would be in a church. When a 
 man has time to sit down and think, the moon 
 and the mountains make it seem kind of solemn," 
 concluded the old guide, who had an appreciation 
 of natural beauty, which is, by no means, com- 
 mon to those who spend their lives out of doors 
 and among wild scenery. 
 
 Just then, however, John and Allan rushed 
 upon the scene, eagerly telling the story of how 
 their uncle had gone out on a log " ever so far," 
 and thrown his line, and how " no end of a big 
 fish " had taken the hook, and how the said fish 
 had been successfully landed, and proved to be 
 all of two pounds and a half in weight. " To 
 
86 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 them enter " the Rev. Dr. Fenton, carrying the 
 fish, and not unelated with his own unexpected 
 success. The " solemnity " of the moon and the 
 mountains to which Michael had referred was 
 quite put to flight by the capture of the big trout. 
 The chatter of the boys, and their " fighting the 
 battle over again " for their father's benefit, fully 
 occupied the time, till Michael began to wonder 
 what had become of Sam. Just as he was grow- 
 ing impatient, however, the boy made his ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 " What kept you so long ? " said Michael, 
 rather shortly. 
 
 " That young gentleman," replied Sam, laugh- 
 ing, but rather embarrassed. " He could n't keep 
 up ; and he was afraid to walk behind, for fear 
 something would catch him ; and he got entirely 
 out of breath, and I had to wait for him. He 's 
 safe at ( Baker's' now. I guess he isn't much 
 of a hand for the woods." 
 
 " Well, now, gentlemen," said Michael, " if 
 you are ready, we '11 start. Come, dogs." 
 
 The party embarked, to the great delight of 
 the boys, and was soon gliding swiftly onward 
 toward the head of the lower Saranac. 
 
 The fire which they had left on the shore 
 gradually died out, and silence settled on the 
 
THE SILVER EIFLE. 87 
 
 place lately so full of life and bustle. On their 
 way the party met Mr. Cameron and his guide, 
 who were coming back successful, having in tow 
 a fine deer. 
 
 " Ah, you are off, are you, Mr. Fitz Adam," 
 said the young man, courteously enough. " I 
 wish you good luck, I am sure." 
 
 " Thank you. You seem to have had it your- 
 self." 
 
 " Pretty fair, sir," said Mr. Cameron, carelessly. 
 
 " What did you do with Gus Marshall ? " he 
 added, laughing, and addressing Dr. Fenton. 
 " We were obliged to send to the hotel ; and he 
 went back with the boy. Really, Mr. Cameron, 
 it was hardly fair to leave him there." 
 
 " If you were as tired of that boy as I am, Dr. 
 Fenton," said the young man, in a tone of ex- 
 cuse, " you would hardly blame me. Gentlemen, 
 won't you turn in to the shore, and divide my 
 venison with me ? " 
 
 John, who was in the boat with his father, 
 pinched him violently, in sign of disapproval. 
 
 " Thank you," said Mr. Fitz Adam, smiling ; 
 " but my boy here would hardly forgive me, if I 
 ate any venison that was not of our own shoot- 
 ing ; and we have been delayed already." 
 
 " At least take these to add to your supper, if 
 
88 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 the young gentlemen should have bad luck," said 
 Mr. Cameron, lifting a brace of ducks from the 
 bottom of the canoe, " Come, doctor," he add- 
 ed, leaning over the side of his boat, and speak- 
 ing in a low voice, "you might let me do as 
 much as that for you, for the sake of old times." 
 
 The doctor, who remembered the pale, dissi- 
 pated-looking young man as a bright-faced little 
 boy, was a good deal touched. 
 
 "Surely I will, and thank you, Lewis," he 
 said, bringing the canoe, which he was paddling 
 himself, alongside of Mr. Cameron's. " Come 
 and see me, will you not, when you come back to 
 town, and we will talk over those old times. I 
 am glad you remember them." 
 
 " Too late, sir," said the young man, half scorn- 
 fully, half sadly. " Good-night, and a pleasant 
 journey to you, gentlemen. Give way," and the 
 canoe shot off over the lake. 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " said Everard, looking after 
 him. " He has some flashes of good in him yet, 
 has n't he, father ? " 
 
 " Yes, Everard," said the doctor ; " the trouble 
 is, they are all flashes in the pan." 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IN THE WILDEKNESS. 
 
 IT was the second day after the Fitz Adam 
 party had left the northern end of the lower 
 Saranac. They had had a delightful journey ; 
 the weather having been the very perfection of 
 September. 
 
 The boys had enjoyed every minute of the 
 time ; the voyage in the canoes ; the night spent 
 in the open air ; the feast partaken of by the camp- 
 fire ; even the " carry," usually thought so tedious, 
 had been matters of delight to John and Allan. 
 
 John had achieved one object of his ambition, 
 and shot a deer, furnishing the first venison for 
 the party, to his own unspeakable satisfaction. 
 Allan had caught trout innumerable, some of 
 them two and a few three pounders ; and even 
 Everard, who cared more for sketching and run- 
 ning about the woods than he did for hunting or 
 fishing, had contributed several partridges to the 
 camp feasts. 
 
 8* 89 
 
90 TUE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 The doctor and Mr. Fitz Adam began to feel 
 themselves growing young again. I fear that 
 many people, who entertain very high ideas of 
 the " dignity proper for a clergyman," would 
 have been quite shocked at the way the doctor 
 played with the boys, climbed rocks, built fires, 
 paddled the canoe, and delighted in his own 
 success with the rod. The brothers-in-law, each 
 overworked in his profession, enjoyed their va- 
 cation as only busy men can, and gave themselves 
 up to the spirit of their life in the woods with a 
 certain boyish simplicity and, if I may use the 
 word, " friskiness," which I think is rather a 
 peculiarity of Americans when they surrender 
 themselves to " having a good time." 
 
 They had reached the night before a point near 
 the northern end of the upper Saranac, where 
 they intended to make their permanent camp. 
 They had built their shanties with rather more 
 care than usual, as they were to serve for a home 
 for some time. 
 
 Michael was just then engaged in covering the 
 roof of one with strips of bark, to keep off the 
 rain if it should fall ; and the boys under his 
 direction were doing the same thing for the other, 
 taking great pains. They delighted to " help " 
 Michael whenever he would let them. Such, 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 91 
 
 however, was not always the case ; the old guide 
 often devising some good-natured excuse to send 
 the young gentlemen out of the way on such oc- 
 casions. 
 
 Michael, however, was fond of the boys, and 
 took a great deal of pains to please them, com- 
 plying with all their wishes, and going wherever 
 they asked him, like a respectable old deerhound 
 surrendering himself to the guidance of two frisky, 
 half-grown terriers. 
 
 The boys' more frequent companion, however, 
 was Sam Irmelin. 
 
 Sam was nearly nineteen, and tall and strong 
 of his age. The Fitz Adam party had overtaken 
 him first on the ride from Keeseville to " Baker's." 
 He had set out to walk the whole distance; and 
 Mr. Fitz Adam, pleased with the boy's looks, had 
 offered him a seat in one of their two wagons, 
 which Sam had accepted with thanks. He had 
 made himself very agreeable during the drive, 
 giving intelligent answers to all questions ad- 
 dressed to him, and showing a readiness to please, 
 and a knowledge of the woods, which recom- 
 mended him to the whole party, especially to the 
 boys. He had an agreeable, frank manner, equally 
 removed from subserviency or undue familiarity; 
 
92 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 and when he had hinted a wish to join the party, 
 Mr. Fitz Adam had felt very much inclined to 
 engage his services, rather than those of an older 
 guide. Michael, on being questioned about him, 
 had said that he " knew no harm of the boy," 
 which, from so cautious a person, might be con- 
 sidered as positive praise. 
 
 John, Allan, and Everard had been eager to 
 have Sam go with them ; and as there seemed no 
 reason why he should not, he had been engaged 
 to accompany the party into the wilderness. 
 
 No one had seen any reason to regret the ar- 
 rangement. Sam was always willing to do any- 
 thing, for anybody, at any time of the day or 
 night. He made himself very useful to Michael, 
 showed a great talent for cookery, cleaned the 
 guns for the two elder gentlemen, and for Allan 
 and Everard, when the two cousins were too tired 
 or too indolent to do it themselves. He would 
 have done the same for John, had that young 
 gentleman been willing to trust his beloved rifle 
 to any other hands than his own. Sam was never 
 heard to use any bad language. He could sing 
 a good song, had innumerable stories to tell of 
 adventures in hunting, fishing, and wandering 
 through the woods and mountains. In short, he 
 was a companion entirely to the boys' taste, and 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 93 
 
 the three cousins became really attached to their 
 guide. If he flattered them, it was done so care- 
 fully that they did not know it • and John, Allan, 
 and Everard looked upon Sam as quite a model 
 of excellence, and a hero in his own line of life. 
 
 Sam, of course, found many advantages in his 
 association with the young gentlemen, who were 
 quite willing to share with him all their own pos- 
 sessions ; but he was so obliging, so good tem- 
 pered, and so willing to do much more than fell 
 within the contract of his duties as guide, that the 
 boys perhaps received as much in return as they 
 gave. Dr. Fenton and Mr. Fitz Adam were 
 much pleased with the boy, and resolved to make 
 him a handsome present, over and above his wages, 
 on getting back to "Baker's." 
 
 " What are you going to do to-day ? " asked 
 Mr. Fitz Adam of his brother-in-law. 
 
 The doctor was lying on the grass watching 
 Michael and the boys at work, or glancing up at 
 the blue sky through the flickering branches 
 overhead. 
 
 " I don't think that I want to do anything just 
 now," said the doctor. "I want just to keep 
 quiet, and enjoy the delightful idea that the thing 
 is possible. I wish to realize that I shall not be 
 interrupted by any persevering young man who 
 
94 THE SILVER EIFLE. 
 
 wants subscribers for some book in which I am 
 expected to take an interest, because it is on some 
 religious subject which the author knows nothing 
 about. I want to enjoy, to the full, the delight- 
 ful thought that I shall not be invaded by some 
 man, or, worse still, some woman, armed with a 
 paper signed by some one wholly unknown to me, 
 and certifying that the wonderful virtues of the 
 bearer are only equalled by his or her misfor- 
 tunes, and that he or she must be ruined and 
 reduced to despair if not immediately furnished 
 with one dollar." 
 
 "And all of them," said Everard, "appealing 
 to the Rev. Dr. Fenton's well-known philanthro- 
 phy, etc. If you are weak - minded enough 
 to give to one, you immediately have a swarm 
 come down on you ; and if you refuse, they make 
 pathetic reflections on the hard hearts of this 
 world, and you never can help feeling a little 
 mean to say ' No,' though you know perfectly 
 well you ought to." 
 
 " Yes ; for there is about one chance in fifty 
 that there may be something in the story ; and 
 you always have an uncomfortable feeling that 
 you may possibly have denied yourself to a case 
 of real distress." 
 
 "And then if there has been an address 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 95 
 
 given," said Everard, "father always sends me 
 to look for it; and I never found the man or 
 woman yet." 
 
 " As if you were not more ready to go than he 
 was to send you/' said his uncle. " Do I not 
 remember your being so moved by the tears 
 of old Mrs. Rooney, and so shocked at your 
 mother's doubting her pathetic story about her 
 dying husband and starving children, that nothing 
 would do but you must set out at eleven o'clock 
 at night to find them, making me go with you 
 through a snow-storm, after I had been in court 
 all day." 
 
 " Do him justice, Fitz. He did n't make you 
 go," observed the doctor. 
 
 " Well, I could not let him go alone into such 
 a den," said Mr. Fitz Adam ; " so it was all the 
 same thing ; and never a Mrs. Rooney did we 
 find where she gave us the address, but stumbled 
 by accident upon her and the dying husband 
 entertaining a party of friends with roast turkey 
 and whiskey." 
 
 " And father's got no referee cases to hear, and 
 no young lawyers to keep in order," said Allan. 
 " My ! How I have heard them go on sometimes 
 when I 've been in the office, — about whether it 
 
96 THE 6ILVER RIFLE. 
 
 was the right thing for a witness to answer a 
 question." 
 
 "And you, I suppose, think you have no 
 lessons/' said his father. " In short, we have all 
 got a play spell ; and I hope we shall all improve 
 it to the best of our ability. What do you want, 
 boys ? " 
 
 " Oh, father," said Allan, " we do want some- 
 thing ; but I don't know whether you will let us 
 or not." 
 
 "Then it must be something very outrageous," 
 said Dr. Fenton. 
 
 " Now, uncle ; just as if we always had our own 
 way." 
 
 Dr. Fenton's elder sister, Mrs. Barker, had once 
 given Mr. Fitz Adam quite a lecture on the 
 " over-indulgence " which he showed to his boys ; 
 and it had ever since been a standing joke in the 
 family to represent John and Allan as spoiled 
 children. 
 
 " When, since we came out here, have you not 
 had it ? ' I shall by and by really feel it my duty 
 to remonstrate,' " said the doctor, quoting Mrs. 
 Barker. " You do not think, Fitz, that what you 
 call the pretty playful ways of innocent child- 
 hood will seem very different at fifty or sixty ? " 
 
 "Well, I don't know," said John. "Father 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 97 
 
 has a pretty good chance to see how they '11 seem, 
 Uncle Fenton, if he only looks at you." 
 
 " Did you make a remark, Johnny ? " said the 
 doctor, looking up through the trees. 
 
 " She was n't down on "us a bit more than she 
 was on Everard," said Allan; "and it was all 
 because we harnessed our dog to the tea-tray and 
 drew Lois round the back-yard on the snow, and 
 made believe we were Arctic explorers, and Ever- 
 ard and Jeanette were Esquimaux; and Ever- 
 ard pretended to be an old conjuring-man, and 
 got up on the dog-kennel, for the top of the 
 lodge, and tooted on Joe's tin trumpet, and made 
 believe to call the spirits as they do, and he only 
 called her." 
 
 " I 'm sure I was as much surprised as the 
 poor Mandan medicine man, who was trying to 
 raise the rain, and saw the first steamboat coming 
 up the river." 
 
 ' " Dear ! what a fuss she did make ! " said 
 John ; " and she said we were acting a lie, and 
 that we should all do all sorts of awful things 
 when we grew up, if we were let to go on like 
 that now ; and Jeanette cried, and little Lois was 
 so mad, and Aunt Caroline came out and took 
 our part." 
 
 " I 've never seen her that she has n't spoken 
 9 G 
 
98 THE SILVER EIFLE. 
 
 about it," said Everard, "and that was three 
 years ago. Well, I know I ought not to talk so, 
 father; I won't again, if I can help it." 
 
 " I believe I am quite as much to blame as 
 you are in the matter," said the doctor. " It 
 must be confessed your aunt Lavinia is peculiar; 
 but here, while you have been fighting your bat- 
 tles with her over again, we have not heard 
 whether these two children wish to set off for 
 the summit of Tahawus all alone by themselves, 
 or want to go into the Dismal Wilderness for a 
 panther, or down to the bottom of the lake after 
 trout." 
 
 " Now, Uncle Fenton, it is nothing of the 
 kind ; we only want to take Sam, and go up to 
 the top of that mountain by the lake, and see 
 what we can see. Sam says you can see seven- 
 teen different lakes from there." 
 
 "What's the name of that summit?" asked 
 Mr. Fitz Adam of Sam. 
 
 " Well, it has n't any name in particular, sir ; 
 most of the hills has n't." 
 
 " What do you say, Michael?" asked Mr. Fitz 
 Adam, turning to the elder guide. " Would it 
 be a safe expedition for the boys to undertake by 
 themselves ? I was going with you up the lake 
 for a deer myself; but I suppose we might take 
 
THE SILVEK KIFLE. 99 
 
 the dogs, and perhaps find one in that direc- 
 tion ? " 
 
 " Well, no, sir ; not very likely. You see the 
 deer like these meadows along the lake and 
 woods lower down ; and that mountain is all 
 rocks, and precipices, and such. There's some 
 pretty tough climbing ; but Sam 's a safe kind of 
 boy for his age, and your sons understand them- 
 selves pretty well. I don't see why they might 
 not go there as well as anywhere else." 
 
 " There, father ! " said Allan, eagerly. " Now 
 you see it's all right; and just think how we 
 run about the hills round the Hickories ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but the gravel hills of the southern tier 
 are rather different climbing from these sharp- 
 topped rocky mountains. However, if Michael 
 thinks it 's safe, I 've no objection to your trying 
 it ; though I don't feel very much disposed to go 
 up a mountain myself this morning. Allan, do 
 you think your ankle will stand it?" 
 
 This weak ankle of Allan's was a sore point 
 in more ways than one. The summer before the 
 two brothers had had a passionate quarrel, almost 
 their only one in their lives. In the affray, John 
 had thrown his brother down a steep bank, and not 
 knowing that he was hurt, had run away and left 
 him, helpless and alone, with a broken arm and 
 
100 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 a sprained ankle. A storm had come up, and 
 Allan had lain for some time unable to move, 
 and exposed to a drenching rain. A long illness 
 had been the consequence. The broken arm had 
 recovered itself sooner than the ankle, which had 
 been badly twisted, and for several weeks Allan 
 had not been allowed to take a step. Even now 
 it would sometimes pain him if he over-walked ; 
 but Allan would never complain if he could 
 possibly help it, for John's self-reproach had 
 been extreme ; and he never could think of what 
 he had done in his anger, without a pang of 
 remorse. As his father spoke, a shadow fell on 
 John's face, and he turned away. 
 
 " Oh ! yes, sir," said Allan, hastily. " Indeed, 
 it has n't pained me a bit, oh, not this long time. 
 We may go then ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Fitz Adam, smiling ; " only 
 I 'd like to know when one may expect to see you 
 home." 
 
 " Not much before night, sir," said Sam. " It 's 
 quite a roundabout way to get to the top of that 
 mountain, and some considerable climbing ; and 
 we 've got to come down a<rain." 
 
 " And that will be the worst of it, sir," said 
 Michael. " Now, Sam, don't you go cutting up 
 any shines, and getting the young gentlemen into 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 101 
 
 an j scrapes ; and look where you are going and 
 what you are about." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Sam, who was always very 
 respectful to his senior. " I certainly will : I 've 
 been up there myself once, or I would not try to 
 take them." 
 
 "If I were you, John," said Allan, with a 
 sudden and surprising spasm of prudence, "I 
 wouldn't take my rifle. You might break it 
 or lose it, tumbling around among the rocks. 
 Borrow Uncle Fenton's." 
 
 " Well ! " exclaimed the doctor ; " if I ever ! " 
 " But yours is a new one, you know, uncle," 
 said Allan, seriously, and then joining in the 
 laugh which the words raised. " I mean if it 
 was spoiled, father would get you another ; but 
 he could n't replace John's." 
 
 Here Everard rose, and, solemnly walking 
 around his cousin, surveyed him on all sides. 
 
 " Is this our boy ? " he asked, seriously. " Allan 
 showing prudence! Allan afraid of spoiling 
 something ! Impossible ! He has been changed^ 
 and this is the being who was a hundred and 
 fifty years old, and never saw soap made in an 
 egg-shell ! " 
 
 " Something is going to happen to that child," 
 
 remarked Mr. Fits Adam. "He showed the 
 9* 
 
102 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 same good sense about his best rod. I was rather 
 alarmed then ; but a second attack is indeed cal- 
 culated to awaken all a parent's anxiety. Don't 
 you think he had better go to bed?" 
 
 "Now, father," said Allan. "But, really, I 
 mean it." 
 
 " Indeed, sir," remarked Michael, " I think 
 he is quite right. They '11 want all their hands 
 for climbing • and if you don't mind, I do think 
 it would be better to take something not quite so 
 valuable as the silver rifle. There's places on 
 that mountain, where, if you dropped a gun, it 
 would be hard work to get it again." 
 
 " But why should we drop it, sir," said Sam, 
 looking a little annoyed. 
 
 "You mightn't, and then again you might. 
 It would n't matter much to you, but it would 
 make a sight of difference to John." 
 
 " So it would," said John, who had at first 
 looked rather dissatisfied at the thought of leav- 
 ing his beloved rifle behind. " If you don't 
 mind, Uncle Fenton, and will lend me yours, 
 I '11 be very careful of it ; and if you are not 
 going out, you won't want it." 
 
 " Oh, certainly," said the doctor ; " and I have 
 another gun if any of Gus Marshall's panthers 
 should come down on us." 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 103 
 
 "Well, get it and come along," said Allan, in 
 a hurry, as usual. " Everard, won't you come, 
 too?" 
 
 " No, my young friends," said Everard, assum- 
 ing the elder. " When you have arrived at my 
 age, you will have discovered that the mountain- 
 tops, which look so fair from the valley, are often 
 barren rocks at the summit, — that hope is but too 
 frequently the guide to anxiety and despair ; and 
 that — that — in short, it does not pay," con- 
 cluded the young gentleman, his eloquence giving 
 out. 
 
 " Soaring on eagle's wings, and coming down 
 on the wood-pile," said Allan. " I suppose you 
 want to stay at home, and fix up your pictures?" 
 
 " I confess I do ; also, I want to meditate, and 
 store up wisdom for those days when I shall be 
 your ' guide, philosopher, and friend.' " 
 
 " Do," said John ; " and put it up in the tin-pail, 
 and screw the cover on, when you 've got a good 
 parcel of it. Good-by, father ! We '11 be back 
 to supper, and maybe we '11 bring some birds : 
 perhaps we may shoot a bear ; who knows ? " 
 
 " If you see one, and he 's disposed to let you 
 alone, you 'd better let him alone," remarked 
 Michael. " Good-morning to you, young gentle- 
 men. I hope you '11 have a nice time." 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 " Now, Allan/' said John, in a low voice to 
 his brother, as they walked down to the boat, 
 " does your ankle hurt you ? Because if it does, 
 don't go ; please don't ! " 
 
 " Honestly, no," returned Allan, earnestly ; 
 " I have n't felt it this long while." 
 
 u I shall never forgive myself for that," said 
 John, with some bitterness. 
 
 " Now, don't be going back on that business, 
 John, don't ! " said Allan, imperatively. " Just 
 as if it was not quite as much my fault as yours, 
 and more too ! All ready, Sam ? " 
 
 " Yes : your uncle's rifle won't carry as true 
 as the other one. You were very anxious about 
 your brother's property." 
 
 Sam smiled as he spoke ; but his manner and 
 tone were not quite the same as usual, and the 
 boys looked up at him in surprise. 
 
 " Oh, it 's all right, of course," said Sam, care- 
 lessly, " and well thought of too. I might have 
 remembered it myself, only I don't want you to 
 think that we have any such dreadful places to 
 go through ; but Michael he is so awful careful. 
 Will you try to paddle, either of you ? If you 
 tried a few weeks longer, you 'd do it about as 
 well as your uncle." 
 
 Allan took up the paddle, but dropped it again 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE, 105 
 
 in a few moments, after all but overturning the 
 light bark canoe* 
 
 " I can't get the hang of it," he said, a little 
 mortified ; " and I shall spill us all. How do you 
 manage it so nicely?" he asked, rather vexed 
 with himself, as the canoe went steadily onward 
 under Sam's even swift strokes. 
 
 " Oh, it 's just the way of the thing : keep a 
 steady stroke, and give a little turn to your wrist 
 — so — when you lift. You 'd soon learn. Dr. 
 Fenton he knows how. Where did he find it 
 out ? I did n't know folks in the city could do 
 such things ? " 
 
 " Uncle was not brought up in the city ; and 
 after he was first ordained, he went to the West 
 as a missionary ; and he learned to manage a canoe 
 from the Indians," said Allan. " He knows sev- 
 eral things." 
 
 " He 's a real nice gentleman," said Sam. " I 
 like him and your father first-rate. There 's some 
 of the people that come up here, I can't bear. 
 Michael he won't go with any one he don't like ; 
 but then he can afford to be independent. There 
 were some gentlemen over from Canada last year, 
 and they offered him any money to go with them 
 to Racket River ; but he would n't." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
106 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 " Oh, he did n't like their ways. They were 
 too stuck up to suit his notions : he said they were 
 not gentlemen ; and he did n't want to mix him- 
 self up with them. I went, though." 
 
 "Did you have a good time?" asked John. 
 
 " No, sir. They paid me, and all that ; but they 
 did n't know how to treat a fellow. I went, and 
 old George Flint ; and they used to make George 
 mad, because they were always talking about 
 American wild animals being cowardly ; and it 
 sounded kind of aggravating. The bears they 
 said have n't any fight in them, and were cowardly 
 brutes, that would run if you shook a stick at 
 them; and the same with the panthers. Well, 
 once, one of them that had talked the most was 
 out in the woods with George. George he climbed 
 up a rock and got out of sight of the young man, 
 and all of a sudden he heard a terrible noise 
 down under the rock. So George peeped over, 
 and what did he see but this young gentleman 
 upon a sapling, holding on for life ; and an old 
 she-bear raving round below and trying to tear 
 the tree down; for, you see, it was too little for 
 her to climb, because she couldn't hug it. He 
 dropped his gun ; and he was in a bad fix, sure 
 enough. When he saw George, he screamed out 
 to him to shoot." 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 107 
 
 "' Shake a stick at her, sir/ says George, as 
 cool as could be. ' Shake a stick at her.' " 
 
 "Served him right/' said the two boys, un- 
 mercifully. " What became of him ? " 
 
 " Oh, George he killed the bear, of course ; 
 but it 's got to be a kind of byword round here 
 among the men, if anybody talks big and pre- 
 tends not to be afraid of anything. I haven't 
 seen that young gentleman round the woods this 
 summer. There, we '11 land here : and follow that 
 slope that runs round the shoulder of the moun- 
 tain. You could n't go straight up — not unless 
 you had wings." 
 
 It was noon before the three boys stood on the 
 summit of the nameless mountain. They had 
 had a toilsome but most delightful walk up 
 through fragrant birch and maple and hemlock 
 woods, changing to hemlock alone as they rose 
 higher, and then emerging on the bare rocky 
 summit, where the huge stones lay scattered as 
 though flung down from the sky, split and 
 cracked by the frost and storms of centuries, and 
 spotted with gray, green, and blackened moss, 
 and lichen. They had climbed from one ledge 
 to another, now and then following the course of 
 a stream, a brook hastening down 
 
 " To play around its mother mountain's feet." 
 
108 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 They had scrambled over rocks and fallen off 
 from them, and on them clambered over heaps of 
 fallen logs and tangled briers, pulled one another 
 up and down, laughing and chattering at first, 
 but growing silent as the way became harder. 
 When they finally came out on the topmost sum- 
 mit, they were glad to throw themselves down 
 and gather breath, even before giving a hurrah, or 
 looking at the wide wild landscape spread out 
 before them. John was the first to spring up, 
 and fire his gun as a signal to his uncle and 
 Everard, who, as he knew, would be watching 
 him from the camp ; and then his companions 
 joined him in three ringing cheers, postponing 
 the view to the dear delight of making a noise. 
 
 " Well, this was worth a scramble ! " said 
 Allan, at last. " Oh ! what a place ! " 
 
 The lake lay stretched at their feet, a shining, 
 clear expanse, hemmed in by its forests and moun- 
 tain walls. To the north lay a sea of wild hills 
 and mountains, bathed in golden sun and sailing 
 blue-cloud shadows. Among them shone the 
 silver glitter of their lonely lakes. To the south, 
 the peaks rose higher and wilder, until they were 
 crowned by the summit of Mount Seward, tower- 
 ing gray and barren over a wilderness of woods 
 and waters. 
 
THE SILVER SIFLE. 109 
 
 Boys at the age of John and Allan are not 
 often very susceptible to natural beauty, regard- 
 ing " all out-doors " rather a place available for 
 climbing, nutting, hunting, and fishing, than with 
 any view to the picturesque. But the education 
 of the two brothers, their habit of companionship 
 with Mr. De Forest and their father, had in 
 some measure opened their eyes to the beauty of 
 this world. For a wonder, they did not instantly 
 begin to chatter, but stood in silence, gazing on 
 the landscape before them with that mixture of 
 delight and awe which is, perhaps, as keen a 
 pleasure as can be felt by those who are capable 
 of such an experience. 
 
 " John," said Allan, " don't you see now what 
 that means, ' the strength of the hills ' ? " 
 
 " Yes. Look here, Allan ; if anything was to 
 happen to drive us out of the settled country, as the 
 Huguenots and the Waldenses were driven from 
 France, this would n't be a bad place to come," 
 concluded John, whose Huguenot St. Valery 
 blood was stirring within him. " These hills 
 are not the Alps, to be sure ; but it would be a 
 bad lookout for an army to follow people that 
 did n't choose to be followed round these regions." 
 
 " It makes me think of grandma's stories of 
 our own people that came over from France in 
 10 
 
110 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 the persecuting times. I'm uncommonly glad 
 they did. I think I never saw anything quite 
 so beautiful as this in my life. Just see how the 
 shadows sail over the water ! " 
 
 " Well, now," said Sam, who did not at all 
 understand the boys' enthusiasm ; "I wonder 
 that you, being used to see a settled country, and 
 nice farms all cleared up and in order, and all the 
 fine things in the cities, should like to look at 
 such a rough place as this." 
 
 " Why, that 's the very beauty of it," said 
 Allan, laughing. " John, take care, old fellow ! 
 Don't you go too near the edge," he added, as his 
 brother advanced to the brink of the precipice, 
 which sank down a sheer descent of four hun- 
 dred feet to a mass of loose rock and earth below. 
 
 "No, don't you," said Sam. "Take care!" 
 he shouted, but too late. The stone on which the 
 boy had stood gave way with his weight, and 
 plunged with a dull heavy sound into the ravine 
 below. Allan uttered a wild cry of grief and 
 horror, and flung himself on the ground ; for he 
 thought nothing but that his brother had fallen 
 the whole distance and been dashed to pieces on 
 the rocks beneath. Pale and trembling, Sam ad- 
 vanced cautiously to the edge and looked over. 
 
 " Hurrah ! " he cried. " He 's safe ! " 
 
€> Silfarr Btflf 
 
 'Hurra, hecried; he is safe!' 
 
 p. 110. 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. Ill 
 
 Allan sprang up, almost overcome by the 
 shock and the sudden relief. 
 
 " Where ? How can he be ? " he asked, trem- 
 bling from head to foot, and making a vain 
 attempt to steady his nerves. 
 
 "He's caught in a tree, and holding on. 
 Come here, but take care. The rock don't hang 
 over here, so there 's no danger, if you look out 
 for yourself. Hold on, John," he shouted, in an 
 encouraging tone. " You are safe now." 
 
 John was indeed safe, in so far that he was yet 
 in the land of the living ; but otherwise he was 
 in great peril. The overhanging stone on which 
 he had carelessly stepped without noticing the 
 wide crack behind him, being heavier, had of 
 course fallen faster than himself. It had 
 crashed through without demolishing the wide- 
 spread branches of the projecting hemlock, which 
 had intercepted John's fall, and which he had 
 clutched in desperation. He had managed with 
 the instinct of self-preservation to swing him- 
 self astride of a tolerably stout limb, and, 
 blind and dizzy with the fall, had but just 
 sense enough left to hold to his insecure perch. 
 The tree projected from a little rocky shelf 
 about ten feet below where the two boys were 
 standing. The rock hardly afforded foothold 
 
112 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 for a bird; and Sam saw at once that it would be 
 a matter of serious difficulty to rescue the boy 
 from his perilous position. 
 
 " We '11 soon have him up," he said, cheerfully, 
 to Allan, wishing to encourage both the boys, 
 and knowing how much depended on the state 
 of their nerves. " Look up, John," he called 
 aloud. " Can you hear me ? Are you hurt ? " 
 
 " No," said John, speaking faintly, but begin- 
 ning to recover himself in some degree at the 
 sight of his two companions and the sound of 
 their voices. 
 
 " You hold on tight, and don't move about, 
 and don't look down ! " said Sam. " I '11 go and 
 get a pole, and have you up. Our guns are not 
 long enough to reach you." 
 
 " Oh, if we only had a rope ! " said Allan. 
 " Sam, where are you going ? " 
 
 " I must go down the hill and cut a good stout 
 pole," said Sam ; " and I may be gone a minute or 
 two. Now look here, Allan, your brother's life 
 depends on your keeping your wits about you a 
 good deal. You sit down here, where he can see 
 you ; but don't you go nearer the edge till I come 
 back. Speak to him now and then, and kind 
 of encourage him. Do you see? Because 
 there 's no fear but what I can help him now ; 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 113 
 
 but if he loses his head, he'll fall. Do you 
 understand ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Allan, making an effort to com- 
 pose himself, and succeeding in some degree. 
 " Go, Sam ; but, oh, be quick." 
 
 " No fear. I '11 be back in a minute or two, 
 John," he called aloud, in a cheery voice. " Keep 
 a good heart, and sit still. Just think you are 
 sitting on top of a fence, and don't look 
 down, and there 's no danger," and Sam sped 
 down the hill, bounding from rock to rock like a 
 deer. 
 
 " You take care, Allan ! " called John, who 
 was beginning to recover his presence of mind. 
 " Don't you fall down, too ! " 
 
 "No danger. This is the solid rock. That 
 old stone you stood on was loose. I hope it 's 
 cracked all to bits," said Allan, quite spitefully. 
 
 " I don't believe it is. It could stand such a 
 fall better than I could. You thought I was 
 gone, did n't you ? " 
 
 " Yes. Oh, John, it was horrible ! Thank 
 God, you are in the land of the living ! " 
 
 " We ought to thank him ! " said John, very 
 
 earnestly. " I believe I did, when I first found 
 
 I was alive. Don't worry, Allan. It's just as 
 
 easy sitting here as it is on the bar at the gym- 
 
 10* H 
 
114 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 nasium, only it 's a little higher, if only the limb 
 don't break. I wish I was on the trunk." 
 
 " Don't try to move till Sam comes back," said 
 Allan, alarmed. 
 
 " I don't mean to ; but if I was once at the 
 root of the tree, and had a pole, I could scramble 
 up easily. I only hope they can't see us from 
 camp with their glasses." 
 
 " I don't think they can. I 'm sure I hope 
 not. It would be a little too interesting. You 
 are just like that fellow in Anne of Geierstein, 
 that the mountain tumbled down with, only 
 there 's no young lady here." 
 
 " No, and I 'm glad of it. Do I look very 
 badly scared ? " 
 
 " No, not now." 
 
 " Well, I feel so," said John, honestly ; " but 
 I 'm not going to give up to it. I tell you what 
 it is, adventures are a great deal pleasanter to read 
 about than they are to have." 
 
 " So it seems. I can't take my eyes off from 
 you. It seems almost as if you had come back 
 from the dead. Oh, here comes Sam." 
 
 Sam just then came in sight below, bearing over 
 his shoulder a stout sapling, the branches of which 
 he had trimmed away with his knife, leaving the 
 spikes of two of the largest at one end. It was 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 115 
 
 not so easy to come up the hill as it had been to 
 go down, and with all the haste Sam could make, 
 it was two or three minutes before he stood beside 
 Allan on the rocky summit. 
 
 "All right!" he said, cheerfully, to the boys. 
 " Now, Allan, I 'm going to give the forked end 
 of this to him to hold, and let him work his way 
 along carefully till he gets to the trunk. It is n't 
 more than a foot, I'm thankful to say," said 
 Sam, who feared greatly that the limb would 
 break. " I want you, Allan, to hold me, so 's to 
 keep me from going over, if there should be any 
 sudden pull. Do you understand ? So : so as to 
 make it safe, and yet not hinder." 
 
 "I see," said Allan, obeying directions in a 
 way that did him credit, though his heart beat 
 hard, and there was a ringing in his ears. 
 
 " Now, you see, John," said Sam, cautiously 
 extending the pole, " the danger in this matter 
 is about that limb. You hold on fast to the pole, 
 and work your way along careful to the trunk. 
 I dare say you 've done the like up in a cherry- 
 tree." 
 
 " I see," said John, whose gymnasium training 
 stood him in good stead. 
 
 Resolutely he bent his will to the one effort of 
 reaching the trunk, trying to forget the depth 
 
116 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 below and the awful possibilities of a fall. He 
 had all but reached the main stem, when he felt 
 the bough bend beneath him ; with one hasty 
 movement he flung himself forward on the trunk, 
 and at that instant the limb broke with a loud 
 snap, and whirling round and round in the air 
 was dashed on the rocks below. John lost his 
 hold of the pole, grew pale, and closed his 
 eyes. 
 
 " All right ! " called Sam, cheerfully. - " You 
 did n't go with it you know ; a miss is as good as 
 a mile. You are as safe now as if you were sit- 
 ting before the fire in the camp." 
 
 John did not feel so by any means ; but, 
 ashamed that he should seem so much moved 
 before Sam, he collected himself once more, and 
 said in a rather faint but steady voice : 
 
 " What 's to be done next ? " 
 
 " Can't you get to the root ? There is a little 
 shelf there you can stand upon." 
 
 John did so, though with some difficulty. 
 Allan watched his progress in breathless sus- 
 pense. 
 
 " It 's just like climbing a tree anywhere else, 
 if you only think so," said Sam. " There you 
 are ; all right now. I '11 put the pole down to 
 you. Try that little rock just above you, and 
 
THE SILVEK EIFLE. 117 
 
 see if it holds. Sure it holds ? Very well : keep 
 tight hold of the pole, and get your foot on that, 
 and then I can reach you." 
 
 John obeyed the directions given, and in a few 
 minutes was safe beside his brother, who held 
 him so tight as nearly to deprive him of what 
 little breath he had left. 
 
 " Oh, John ! " he said, and then, to his great 
 annoyance, Allan burst into a passion of tears, 
 and sobbed like a child. 
 
 John sat down on a stone, and leaned his head 
 on a rock behind him. 
 
 " Why, Allan ! " he said, with a faint smile. 
 " It 's all over now. Sam, you '11 think we are 
 no better than a pair of babies. I was scared." 
 
 " I don't wonder," said Sam, who was a good 
 deal moved himself. " Thank the Lord, you 're 
 safe." 
 
 " I hope I do," said John ; " and I thank you, 
 too. It 's your doing, Sam," he continued, hold- 
 ing out his hand ; " and we won't forget it in a 
 hurry, will we, Allan ? " 
 
 " No, indeed ! I am sure I never could have 
 got him up alone ; and you were so cool, too. Oh, 
 Sam, what should we have done without you ? " 
 
 Sam received the thanks and praises of the two 
 boys with great embarrassment. 
 
118 THE SILVEE RIFLE. 
 
 " It was no more than any one would do," he 
 said, looking down and coloring ; " and it was 
 my carelessness letting you step on that stone, so 
 near the edge," 
 
 " Just as if you were engaged to follow me 
 round like a nurse after a child," said John. " I 
 might have looked myself." 
 
 Allan dashed away his tears, and tried to com- 
 pose himself. 
 
 " You '11 think I 'm a perfect baby," he said ; 
 " but it was so horrible, to think he had fallen 
 down there. I never could have gone back to 
 father without him.''" 
 
 " I don't wonder you feel a good deal shaken," 
 said Sam. "Anybody might. If he'd been 
 killed, I never would have dared to show myself 
 to Mr. Fitz Adam or Michael. I'd have run 
 away, and quit the country. Don't you want to 
 come down into the woods and eat something? 
 The wind begins to blow pretty cold." 
 
 The beys, whose delight in the view had been 
 quite overcome by what they had gone through, 
 did not feel inclined to stay longer on the sum- 
 mit, and began their descent of the mountain. 
 They soon re-entered the woods, where the air 
 felt warm and still, after the keen breeze which 
 had begun to range about the more exposed 
 
THE SILVEE ElFLE. 119 
 
 summit. Sitting down by a clear, bubbling 
 spring, they ate the luncheon which they had 
 brought with them, and felt greatly refreshed. 
 
 Boys, for the most part, are made of very 
 elastic material. They had been greatly moved 
 by their adventure. It had been terrible while 
 it lasted. John was sincerely grateful to Provi- 
 dence for his escape from a dreadful death, and 
 Allan was very thankful to have his brother 
 again by his side. But it was all safely over, and 
 the young gentlemen began to feel as though it 
 was rather a distinction, than otherwise, to have 
 been concerned in anything so interesting. Then 
 the woods and the hills were all around them, and 
 the sweet inspiriting mountain air blew away the 
 last cloud of their recent trouble. In short, they 
 were boys full of health and spirits, and not half 
 an hour after they had finished their luncheon, 
 they were chattering away as though nothing had 
 occurred, and making the woods ring with their 
 shouts and laughter. 
 
 " I wish we had n't been in such a hurry to 
 come down," said John to Sam. " I wanted to 
 ask you the names of some of those hills and 
 lakes we could see from the top." 
 
 " Most of them have n't got any name," said 
 Sam. " But if you want another lookout, I can 
 
120 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 show you a place a rod or two from here where 
 you can see a good deal." 
 
 The boys followed Sam among the trees and 
 rocks for a little distance, till, turning round a 
 huge boulder, they found themselves on the little 
 platform of a crag that overhung a ravine below, 
 and in front of them was spread a wide expanse 
 of lakes and mountains, while to the southwest, 
 like a silver ribbon, ran Racket River. 
 
 " There ! " said Sam, pointing to the north-west. 
 " You see those first three hills that stand to- 
 gether and make a circle ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Allan. "They look almost as 
 if one could reach them." 
 
 " Well, you can't see it," continued Sam ; " but 
 down between those hills is the prettiest little 
 lake you ever saw ; and it 's the greatest place for 
 trout. Gentlemen don't go there generally ; for, 
 in the first place, it is not every guide that knows 
 about it, and, in the next place, we don't always 
 want to spoil all our own fishing, you under- 
 stand." 
 
 " Yes," said Allan, pleased that he and John 
 should be distinguished from the multitude of 
 sportsmen. " Is it a good place for trout ? " 
 
 " First-rate. I 've been there two or three 
 times myself; and I 've seen the trout at evening 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 121 
 
 just jump, jump, jump all over it like so many 
 grasshoppers, — big ones, too." 
 
 " I wish we could go there," said John, eagerly. 
 
 " Well, I was thinking," said Sam, " it is n't 
 such a very hard place to get to ; only it 's rather 
 out of the way. There 's one carry, and something 
 of a rapid, but not much of a one. If your father 
 would let you, we might go there to-morrow 
 night, and come back next day. We could camp 
 out, and have a good time j just you and I." 
 
 The boys, of course, caught eagerly at the 
 notion. 
 
 " Oh ! it would be splendid ! " said Allan. " I 
 dare say father won't object. We can ask him, 
 anyway." 
 
 "We will," said John. "What's the name 
 of the lake, Sam?" 
 
 " It has n't any that ever I heard of," said 
 Sam, looking out toward the three hills, and 
 nibbling a little twig. " You can give it one if 
 you want to, and I '11 try to make it stick." 
 
 "Allan," said John, struck with a sudden 
 thought, " Let 's call it Lake Lois, after 
 grandma. Don't you think it sounds well ? " 
 
 " By all means," said Allan, equally pleased. 
 " Lake Lois, you remember, Sam." 
 
 "Yes," said Sam, "I'll remember. It's a 
 11 
 
122 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 good name, too, to hold on by, because it 's got a 
 kind of ring to it. Come, now, I guess it 's about 
 time we were on our way home." 
 
 " Yes, I begin to want my supper," said John. 
 " I hope father had good luck." 
 
 " Young gentlemen," asked Sam, as they made 
 their way down the mountain, " do you mean 
 to tell your father about what happened up top 
 there ? " 
 
 " Why not ? " said John, surprised. 
 
 " Well, you see," said Sam, rather embar- 
 rassed, "it's all over now, and you are safe. 
 You told me your father came up here because 
 he was n't very well. Now, if you tell him about 
 it, every time you 're out of his sight he won't 
 be able to help feeling kind of worried, for fear 
 something like it is happening to you again. It 
 is n't like there will, but he '11 sort of feel that 
 way ; and it will trouble him, and rather spoil his 
 pleasure, for your father thinks a sight of you 
 two." 
 
 " That 's true," said Allan, greatly struck by 
 this view of the matter; " and John does n't mean 
 to tumble off a mountain again, do you, John ? " 
 
 " No ; and well, on the whole, perhaps we 
 hadn't better say anything about it till we get 
 home. We '11 tell him then." 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 123 
 
 " Yes," said Allan ; " I do believe that will be 
 the best way." 
 
 " And then," said Sam, " I don't really feel as 
 if it was my fault." 
 
 " Of course not, certainly not," protested both 
 the boys, eagerly. 
 
 "But Michael he'd give it to me like any- 
 thing, if he knew ; and the story might get about, 
 — and things get so big in the telling, — and, first I 
 know, some one will be saying of me, ' That 's the 
 fellow that got the two Fitz Adam boys into such 
 a scrape ; ' and all we guides have to depend on, 
 you know, is our reputation." 
 
 "I'm sure we wouldn't injure you for the 
 world, Sam," said John, warmly. " You saved 
 my life; and I want father to know that some- 
 time ; but I do think we '11 keep it to ourselves 
 till we get back to ' Baker's.' " 
 
 Perhaps both the boys felt that if the story was 
 known it might be an obstacle in the way of the 
 projected expedition to " Lake Lois," or of other 
 rambles with Sam. But if this motive influenced 
 them, they did not acknowledge its control, even 
 in their own minds. It was rather one of those 
 hidden feelings which we keep in some sort of 
 cupboard in our brains, and of whose existence 
 we are only half conscious. 
 
124 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 They did not want their father to be troubled ; 
 they did not want Michael to find fault with Sara. 
 Accordingly, when they reached the camp, though 
 they had a great deal to say about the delight 
 of their expedition, the splendid view from the 
 mountain-top, and the lake which they had named 
 after their grandmother, they never so much as 
 hinted at the peril in which John had been placed, 
 and his merciful escape. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 LAKE LOIS. 
 
 niHE next morning the boys laid before their 
 -L father their proposed expedition to the lake 
 among the three hills, and eagerly awaited his 
 decision. 
 
 " It appears, to me/' said Mr. Fitz Adam, 
 smiling, " that you young gentlemen are getting 
 very independent in your ideas." 
 
 Here Everard made a reference to the pro- 
 verbial independence of a frog on the ice, who, if 
 he cannot stand up, can always fall down. 
 
 " You see they think our company is too frivol- 
 ous," said Dr. Fenton ; " and they want to go 
 away, and meditate, and improve their minds." 
 
 " Now, uncle, we -don't, either ! " said Allan, 
 repelling the charge as something quite inju- 
 rious. " But Sam says it 's a splendid place for 
 trout; and we just want to see how it seems to 
 go oif and spend a night by ourselves in the 
 woods." 
 
 11 * 125 
 
126 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 " Well," said the indulgent father, " we will 
 ask Michael about it, and see what he says." 
 
 " And then you and my uncle, or Michael, can 
 come over in the morning," said John ; " and we 
 can all come back together." 
 
 The boys hurried away to put up their things, 
 for they had little doubt of Michael's sanction. 
 
 " If he thinks it is safe for them," said Dr. 
 Fenton, " we will go over in the morning, and 
 see how it seems, too. Do you remember, Fitz, 
 how, when we were at school in Canandaigua, we 
 went out to one of the little islands on the lake, 
 to spend the night and see how Robinson Crusoe 
 felt?" 
 
 " I do, distinctly ; and I also remember how 
 a thunder-storm came up, and the wind blew, 
 and how exceedingly scared we were, under those 
 circumstances; and glad enough we were to get 
 back to school the next day." 
 
 "And what did they say to you?" asked 
 Everard. 
 
 " On the whole, perhaps that part of the matter 
 had better be passed over," said his father ; " but 
 we were little fellows then, of ten and twelve, and 
 not quite so well able to take care of ourselves as 
 those two. Fitz, they are just now like what I 
 can imagine we might be, if we found ourselves 
 
THE SILVEB RIFLE. 127 
 
 suddenly endowed with wings. We should be 
 trying some pretty wild flights, just to see how 
 it seemed." 
 
 Here Michael, who had been building what are 
 called " smudges/' - — a defence, alas ! too neces- 
 sary in those regions, — came up, and Mr. Fitz 
 Adam told him what the boys had planned, and 
 asked him if he thought they could safely be 
 trusted to make such an expedition under Sam's 
 guidance. Sam, who was preparing some wild 
 ducks for dinner at a little distance, looked up 
 anxiously, but did not speak. Michael, instead 
 of answering Mr. Fitz Adam's question, turned 
 to the boy and asked what lake he meant. 
 
 " I mean that little one among the three hills, 
 sir, about three miles north-west of here. You 
 know what sort of a place it is." 
 
 " Ever been there yourself? " asked Michael. 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir, several times. I know the way 
 quite well. You know I could show the young 
 gentlemen some good sport ; and I thought per- 
 haps you and the other gentlemen would come 
 over iu the morning." 
 
 " You are quite sure you know the way ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir," said Sam, smiling. 
 
 " Because it would be an unpleasant thing to 
 get lost in the woods," said Michael. "Well, 
 
128 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 squire, I don't see anything against it, if you feel 
 to have the young gentlemen go. It's sort of 
 nature for boys to like to get off by themselves ; 
 and lots of scrapes they get into that way some- 
 times, too. Your sons have been more used to 
 running round the woods than most boys of their 
 age, or I would n't advise you to let them go. 
 But they 're both pretty fair shots ; and I really 
 think they've got some considerable sense for 
 their age, though they are so frisky. And if 
 they 've very much set on it, and I suppose they 
 are, I don't see anything against it." 
 
 These remarks, coming from Michael, might 
 be taken as exceedingly complimentary to the 
 young gentlemen, and Mr. Fitz Adam was 
 naturally pleased. 
 
 " Very well, then," he- said. " I suppose they 
 will have to go." 
 
 " Only this, squire," said Michael. " You 'd 
 better tell them not to go rambling off any- 
 where else. There 's a pretty wild country round 
 north and south of there; and though I know 
 the hills round here as well as any one, there 's 
 places there I 've never been in, and a great lot 
 of hills and mountains all lying round loose, 
 where any one might lose themselves, and never 
 be found again. Where do you mean to make 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 129 
 
 your camp, Sam, so that I can find you when 
 
 we come 
 
 9» 
 
 " Well, sir, I thought we 'd go to that little 
 rocky headland on the west side of the lake ; and 
 you could n't well miss us any way, for the lake 
 is n't more than two miles round ; and you can see 
 the whole of it." 
 
 " Very well," said Michael. " Be sure you go 
 there, and nowhere else ; and young gentlemen," 
 he added, as the two boys came out of the shanty, 
 " don't you go wandering off into the woods by 
 yourselves." 
 
 " No, boys, remember you don't," said Mr. Fitz 
 Adam ; " and promise me that you will go straight 
 to this ' Lake Lois ' of yours, and nowhere else." 
 
 "Yes, sir," said both the brothers. "And 
 you '11 come over in the morning ? Everard, why 
 won't you come?" 
 
 " You never asked me." 
 
 " Why, when we said we boys, we meant you, 
 of course," said John. 
 
 " Thank you. No, on the whole, I think I 
 won't. The boat won't hold four comfortably; 
 and if we take the two, it will make the carry too 
 tiresome. I '11 come over in the morning." 
 
 Everard Would have liked very well to join 
 the expedition. He did not care much for the 
 I 
 
130 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 fishing to which the boys looked forward; but 
 he would have liked to see the little lonely lake 
 among the hills by moonlight. In spite of his 
 twenty-one years, he felt something of the boy- 
 ish wish to get off by himself. But though Dr. 
 Fenton had not hinted that he did not wish his 
 son to go, Everard fancied that his father would 
 be a little uncomfortable if he went. He did not 
 feel that he was making any great sacrifice ; but 
 still he would have been glad to accompany his 
 cousins. 
 
 " Why did n't you say you would go ? " asked 
 the doctor, as the boys ran away to talk over the 
 matter with Sam. 
 
 " Oh, I did n't care so very much about it," 
 said Everard, lightly. 
 
 " If you care at all, go by all means," said his 
 father. " If your uncle can let Allan and John 
 go at their age, it would be rather absurd for me 
 to fidget about you." 
 
 " But yet you would, sir," thought Everard to 
 himself; and he answered aloud : 
 
 " Oh, I shall enjoy it more going in the morn- 
 ing. And I really don't care to fish, though I 
 have n't courage to acknowledge as much to the 
 boys." 
 
 It was noon when John and Allan left the 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 131 
 
 camp under Sam's guidance. They carried no 
 baggage but their guns and rods, a little hard 
 biscuit, a small piece of pork, and some coffee, 
 a little kettle, and an axe. They landed on the 
 shore of the lake about a mile above their camp, 
 and then carried their boat, by a rough and wild 
 way through the deepest woods, to a little foam- 
 ing, dashing stream, which, as Sam assured them, 
 ran into Lake Lois. They had not followed the 
 brook for more than a mile when they heard the 
 roar of a waterfall, and were told by Sam that 
 they must again land, and carry the boat round. 
 
 " Why, Sam ! " said John. " I thought you 
 said there was only one carry ? " 
 
 " Well, we don't generally reckon more than 
 one, because a good many people shoot that fall." 
 
 " Oh, let us do it," said John, eagerly. 
 
 " No, sir" said Sam, with emphasis. " I 'd a 
 good deal rather not. It 's pretty steep ; and we 
 three are a little heavy for this bit of a thing, and 
 you are not used to the work ; and if there was to 
 be an accident, it would be bad ; " and, in spite 
 of the boys' supplications, Sam steered the boat 
 to the bank. 
 
 " Michael might well say you are careful," 
 said Allan, half provoked. " You are a perfect 
 old granny." 
 
132 THE SILVER RIFLE, 
 
 " Just you look at the fall, and see," said Sam, 
 good-naturedly. 
 
 The boys did so, and could not but acknowl- 
 edge to themselves that Sam was right. The 
 water fell full twenty feet, almost sheer down ; 
 and was dashed into foaming spray on sharp 
 black rocks, which stood up out of the water as 
 though ready to tear in pieces any boat daring 
 enough to venture down. 
 
 " Well, I should n't think anybody could shoot 
 that fall," said John. "Why, they'd be all 
 dashed to pieces at the bottom." 
 
 " 'T is rather a particular piece of work," said 
 Sam. " I never tried it alone, and only once 
 with old George Flint ; and I tell you I was n't 
 sorry when we got to the bottom. You would n't 
 like to have your silver rifle lying down there ? " 
 
 " No, indeed ! " said John, to whom it appeared 
 almost incredible that any boat could make such 
 a descent, and live. But he knew that men ac- 
 customed to handling a canoe could do wonderful 
 things, and he never thought of doubting Sam's 
 word. 
 
 " Well," said Allan, " I suppose if it is carry, 
 why, carry we must. Is it long, Sam ? " 
 
 " Not more than half a mile." 
 
 It was a half mile, however, that rather tasked 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 133 
 
 the boys' powers of endurance. It was up hill, 
 and through deep, wild woods and among huge 
 rocks, where it seemed almost as if no one had 
 been since the creation of the world ; so utterly 
 lonely and wild was the way. To the boys' sur- 
 prise, they did not follow the stream they had just 
 left, but turned oif into the wilderness. 
 
 " I thought you said the brook we left ran into 
 ' Lake Lois'?" said Allan, to the guide. 
 
 " It does, sir ; but when we get over this little 
 hill, we '11 come on a better one, that runs with a 
 smoother, deeper channel, and then we '11 go right 
 straight along. If you don't like to go on, young 
 gentlemen, — and it is kind of a lonesome place for 
 any one that isn't used to the woods, — why, we 
 can turn back." 
 
 Sam spoke with the most perfect simplicity, 
 and stood still, as though only waiting for the 
 word to turn about and retrace his steps. 
 
 The boys, of course, scorned to confess, even to 
 themselves, the sort of eerie impression which the 
 dark, unknown path had made upon their feel- 
 ings. The idea of going back, and acknowledg- 
 ing — especially to Everard and Michael — that 
 they had done so because the woods were darker 
 and deeper than they had expected, was not to 
 be thought of for a moment. 
 12 
 
134 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 " What nonsense ! " said Allan, colouring. " Do 
 you think we are afraid ? Go ahead ! " 
 
 "And we are more used to the woods than 
 you think/' said John, a little annoyed. " We 
 used to run round a great deal on the hills 
 about Mr. De Forest's ; and there are some pretty 
 wild places there, I can tell you;" and John 
 began to whistle. 
 
 Sam smiled to himself, for he quite understood 
 the state of the young gentlemen's minds ; but he 
 never hinted that such was the case. Never had 
 he made himself more agreeable than during the 
 remainder of that half-mile walk. He sang, and 
 talked, and told his best stories, and when they 
 reached the banks of the stream where they were 
 once more to embark, the boys had quite forgotten 
 their momentary feeling of discomfort, and were 
 in high spirits. The stream on which they now 
 launched their canoe was narrow, but deep, and ran 
 with a rapid current, which carried the boat swift- 
 ly along. It wound through deep pine woods which 
 the axe had never invaded ; by rocky, wild nooks, 
 each more beautiful than the other; and once, for 
 some distance, through a dark defile, shut in by 
 black cliffs and full of perpetual shadow, for, 
 above, the trees on each side the narrow ravine 
 interlaced their branches. Here not a sound was 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 135 
 
 heard but the rush of the wind and water, and 
 once or twice the wild, screaming voice of the 
 great owl. Now and then, however, the silence 
 was pierced by the slow, sweet, monotonous song 
 of the bird that some call the " Canada Whistler," 
 and others " the sleepy bird." 
 
 " Well," said John, at last, " this is certainly 
 the longest three and a half miles I ever went over. 
 It will be twilight before we get there." 
 
 "Oh, I meant three and a half miles straight, 
 sir," said Sam. " We could have gone straight, 
 but it would have been a great climb ; and we 
 could n't have taken the boat." 
 
 " All right ! " said Allan, accepting the ex- 
 planation. "But when are we going to get 
 there?" 
 
 " In a few minutes," returned Sam ; " and 
 then, young gentlemen, I think you will say it 
 was worth coming for." 
 
 In five minutes more the stream, making a 
 sudden turn, swept round the foot of a craggy 
 hill, and the lake opened before them. 
 
 The boys gave a cry of delight. 
 
 The sheet of water was almost an oval in 
 shape ; near where the stream entered, the banks 
 were low, and a level, park-like expanse dotted 
 with great oaks and maples ran back to the hills. 
 
136 THE SILVER KIFLE. 
 
 A little farther on, however, the hills came close 
 to the water, and at the farthest end towered 
 into a wild, rocky mountain, whose summit was 
 crowned by one sharp, gray peak, clearly defined 
 against the eastern sky. 
 
 The shadows were beginning to fall, and a 
 broad band of rose color, shading into gray, was 
 drawn along the eastern horizon, But it is to be 
 feared that the beauty of the landscape did not 
 so much attract the boys as the innumerable 
 circles which dimpled the water in all directions ; 
 for from the centre of each sudden ring sprang 
 and fell a fish, 
 
 " There, now ! " said Sam. " This is rather 
 nice ; is n't it ? " 
 
 " Nice ! " said John, with enthusiasm. " I 
 should think it was ! Push out, and let us 
 begin — " 
 
 " Well, I guess we 'd better land the kettle 
 and things first, and make our fire," said Sam, 
 " and then it will be all ready to broil our fish." 
 
 Rather unwillingly, the boys complied; but in 
 a few minutes their fire was built, a shelter of 
 boughs hastily erected, and then they entered the 
 canoe, and pushed out into the lake, Allan left 
 his gun on shore, but John put his into the 
 canoe. 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 137 
 
 " Are you going to shoot trout, sir ? " asked 
 Sam. 
 
 " I don't like to let my rifle out of my sight," 
 said John, laughing. " My ! what a big fellow 
 that was that jumped there." 
 
 The boys had excellent sport catching such 
 trout as they had never before seen ; and, after 
 a couple of hours on the water, returned tired, 
 hungry, and happy to the little point where the 
 glimmer of the fire seemed to invite them. 
 
 They were in a high frolic, cooking their fish 
 and chattering among themselves, when they 
 suddenly heard from over the water a long, wild, 
 shrieking laugh like that of a crazy person. 
 
 Though they knew what it was, they all three 
 started. 
 
 " It 's only a loon," said Allan, recovering 
 himself. " I never heard one so loud or so near : 
 he must be a big fellow." 
 
 "See, there he is!" said John, pointing out a 
 black speck on the water. " See him dive ! I 
 wonder they don't choke to death. There he goes 
 again ! " as the laugh again rang out, and was 
 answered by another. 
 
 " My dear friend," said Allan, addressing the 
 loon, which was coming nearer, "what is the 
 use of making such a noise as that ? I should n't 
 12* 
 
138 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 think it would recommend you to society in 
 general." 
 
 The loon screamed more frantically than ever ; 
 and another making its appearance farther up the 
 lake, the two united in a concert, which, heard in 
 a lonely place, was really horrible. 
 
 " I can't bear those critters," said Sam. " It 
 always seems just as if they were mocking at 
 me," and Sam took Allan's gun and fired at the 
 nearest bird, which merely dived under the water, 
 and, reappearing a little farther away, whooped 
 and laughed like a maniac. 
 
 " Oh, let him laugh ! " said John. " He has a 
 right, if he likes ; it 's niore his place than it is 
 ours. Come, sit down, and get your supper." 
 
 " I don't wonder people say ' as crazy as a 
 loon,' " said Allan, as the three sat down to their 
 feast. " "What a horrible noise it is ! I don't 
 envy Mrs. Loon, if that's the gentleman's usual 
 style at home; but I dare say she thinks it's 
 beautiful." 
 
 " Just like Aunt Elsie pretending to admire 
 Lyman's singing," said John; "and she knows 
 he can't sing, just as well as the rest of us 
 know it. I don't think anything ever was quite 
 so nice as this trout. I wish Everard had come 
 with us." 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 139 
 
 " So do I," said Allan. " Why, John, you are 
 not going to clean that everlasting rifle of yours 
 to-night, are you ? You make as much fuss over 
 it as Aunt Elsie over her children." 
 
 " No ; I don't mean to give it a regular clean- 
 ing," said John, refilling the kettle with water 
 after the coffee was made ; " only just wipe out 
 the barrels." 
 
 " I '11 do it for you," said Sam. " You must 
 be rather tired." 
 
 "No, thank you," said John; "it won't take 
 me but a minute or two." 
 
 "Well, mine will keep till morning," said 
 Allan, yawning ; " it wants a cleaning too. I 
 think a good deal of my gun, but I don't make 
 quite such an idol of it as John does." . 
 
 " I '11 clean it for you now," said Sam ; " and 
 then if you want to use it in the morning you 
 can." 
 
 " Oh, you don't want to bother with it now," 
 said Allan, reluctant to trouble Sam too much, but 
 willing to escape a piece of work which he disliked. 
 
 " Oh, I rather like to clean a gun ! " said Sam, 
 who had finished his supper, and he took up 
 Allan's pretty little, light rifle, — his father's gift 
 on his last birthday, — and began to clean it with 
 skill and care. 
 
140 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 " You see your brother is willing to trust me," 
 he said to John, half laughing, half in earnest. 
 
 " Oh, you know it is n't that ! " said John. 
 " But I know how Mr. De Forest loved this ; 
 and it's just a notion of mine to take care of it 
 myself. Why did n't you bring your gun ? " 
 
 " Oh, we did n't expect to hunt any, you know; 
 and we had things enough to carry, and two guns 
 were plenty. Don't you begin to feel ready to go 
 to bed?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed ! " said Allan, sleepily. " Don't 
 you?" 
 
 " I think I shall keep watch," said Sam. 
 
 " Why," said John, " we don't in the camp. 
 What is there to be afraid of?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing ; only it 's a lonely kind of 
 place, and I feel a little responsible." 
 
 The boys were rather pleased than otherwise, 
 with the idea of a watch being kept. 
 
 " But you must n't sit up alone all night," said 
 John ; " we can divide the night in three." 
 
 " You can take the first turn if you like, 
 and then Allan, and then I ; qx just as you 
 please." 
 
 " Oh, I don't a bit mind sitting up," said 
 Sam. " You 've had a pretty good tramp, and 
 are tired." 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 141 
 
 The boys, however, protested so vehemently, 
 and were so determined to take their turn in the 
 watch, that Sam gave way, and promised to call 
 one of the brothers at midnight. 
 
 " You can take my rifle in case any bears 
 should come," said Allan. " Come, John, or I 
 shall go to sleep sitting up." 
 
 The two boys, with another charge to Sam to 
 be sure to wake them, entered the little shelter 
 of boughs which had been put up. They said 
 their usual prayers, and lying down on the fra- 
 grant couch of hemlock twigs which Sam had 
 prepared, they covered themselves with their 
 blankets, and were sound asleep in two minutes. 
 
 When Allan first woke it was bright daylight, 
 and his brother was asleep by his side. 
 
 " There, now ! " said Allan, quite provoked. 
 "Sam never called us after all; and he said 
 he certainly would. John, wake up; it's morn- 
 ing ! " 
 
 " Morning ! " said John, starting up. " Why 
 did n't you call me ? " 
 
 " Because I 've only just waked up this minute 
 myself. If I don't give it to Sam for serving 
 us such a trick : I don't see him either," con- 
 tinued Allan, looking out. " Hop up, John, and 
 let 's find him." 
 
142 THE SILVER EIFLE. 
 
 John turned to take up his rifle, which, accord- 
 ing to custom, he had laid down at night within 
 reach of his hand : it was gone. 
 
 " Why, where 's my rifle ? " he said, startled. 
 
 " Sure enough," said Allan ; " and where 's 
 my rod ? I stood it right there, last night." 
 
 The boys sprang up, and, moved by the same 
 impulse, rushed out of the little shed. 
 
 The last embers of a fire that had not been fed 
 for hours were dying on the ground. The canoe 
 was gone from the shore, and Sam was nowhere 
 to be seen. 
 
 The boys looked at each other in amazement. 
 
 " Where can he have gone?" said Allan. 
 
 " Wherever he went, he had no business to 
 take my rifle," said John, much annoyed. 
 
 " I have refused to lend it to him before, and 
 told him the reason. And, why, Allan, he had 
 your rifle, too ! " 
 
 " Look for your rod," said Allan, in a troubled 
 voice. 
 
 John's rod was nowhere to be found ; and as 
 the boys looked farther, they discovered that the 
 kettle, and more than half their provisions, had 
 disappeared, and Allan's fly-book had been taken 
 from his pocket. 
 
 " Oh, John," said Allan, in dismay, " can it be 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 143 
 
 possible that he has robbed us, and gone off and 
 left us?" 
 
 " I can't, I won't believe it ! " said John, 
 vehemently. " Nobody could be so wicked. Per- 
 haps he has been carried off by some wild beast." 
 
 " No bear or panther would have carried off 
 the other things ; and if there had been any strug- 
 gle, we should have heard it; and there are no 
 tracks on the sand, only of our own feet. How 
 could he do it ? Oh, how could he ? " and Allan 
 turned away with a quivering lip, hurt to his very 
 heart by the sense of his friend's baseness and 
 treachery, and regret for his beloved rod. 
 
 " The mean little villain ! " said John, fiercely. 
 "Oh, if I could just catch him! But there's 
 no telling which way he 's gone. My rifle ! my 
 poor rifle ! I hope it will go off and shoot him ! " 
 and John paced to and fro in a tumult of passion, 
 bitter with the sense of betrayal and the loss of 
 his most cherished possession. 
 
 " Don't give it up for lost, John," said Allan, 
 trying to comfort his brother. " When Michael 
 comes over, he will be able to track Sam, I dare 
 say, and will get the things back." 
 
 " Perhaps so ! " said John, a little relieved by 
 this view of the case. " But if it had been any 
 one else, I should n't have minded half so much ; 
 
144 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 though I 'd rather have lost anything else I have 
 in the world ; but that he should be so mean, after 
 all ; and we 've been together so much, and I 
 thought he was just all he ought to be. Why, 
 Allan, I 'd as soon have expected you or Everard 
 to steal from us." 
 
 " Yes ; I can't hardly believe it, even now. I 
 never shall know how to trust any one again. 
 Let 's call, John ; maybe he 's only done it for a 
 trick." 
 
 " Pretty trick S " said John. " We can try ; 
 but I know it 's no use ; " and the two united 
 their voices, and called Sam again and again, but 
 there was no answer but the echo from the hills. 
 
 " Well, it 's no use to cry for spilt milk," said 
 John, trying to be heroic. " What we 've got to 
 do is to get our breakfast. We've got fish 
 enough left. Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! I canH bear 
 it ! " said John, suddenly breaking down in a 
 eob. "To steal that gun away from us while 
 we were asleep, and leave us not one thing." 
 
 " Don't grieve so, John," said Allan, putting 
 his arm round his brother. " It is almost too 
 bad to bear ; but I hope we can get the things 
 again. I wonder he didn't take our watches, 
 too." 
 
 " He could n't get them without waking us, I 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 145 
 
 suppose," said John, dashing away his tears. 
 " If I was to see him, I believe I could just kill 
 him." 
 
 " Oh, John ! " said Allan, who was of a more 
 placable temper than his brother. "We ought 
 not to say that." 
 
 " I could ! " said John, savagely. " There ! 
 Let 's have breakfast. We can't have any coffee, 
 for that mean scamp has taken the kettle, too." 
 
 The boys cooked their breakfast of fish in 
 gloomy silence, and sat down on the shore of the 
 lake to wait for their father and Michael, whom 
 they had expected by nine o'clock, at the very 
 latest. * 
 
 As the sons of a lawyer in large practice, and 
 dwellers in a great city, John and Allan had, of 
 course, known of the existence of crime, wicked- 
 ness, and treachery in the world. They had 
 heard and read of trusted clerks who had robbed 
 their employers; servants who had deceived 
 their masters ; even of sons who had stolen from 
 their fathers. But all these matters had been to 
 them mere stories. Sam's baseness was the first 
 thing that had ever brought home to them the 
 real sense of the actual nature of wickedness ; and 
 they felt almost overcome and crushed by the 
 bitter knowledge of the evil that is in the world. 
 13 K 
 
146 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 That the hoy with whom they had played, and 
 fished, and hunted; to whom they had looked up 
 as a model of excellence in all relating to his 
 way of life; whom they had trusted so frankly, 
 should have betrayed, robbed, and forsaken them, 
 seemed to the two brothers something almost too 
 monstrous to be true. The whole world was 
 changed. 
 
 Then there was the irreparable loss of their old 
 friend's gifts, — valuable in themselves, and ten 
 times more valued as having been his legacy. 
 It was a calamity which would have severely 
 tried older people than the two lads ; and it is 
 no wonder that, helpless as they were to recover 
 their lost treasures, with nothing to do but to sit 
 down and wait by the lonely shore, they felt 
 their courage and spirits give way. 
 
 The weather began to change, and gray clouds 
 rolled down from the mountain, blotting out the 
 landscape and covering the lake with mist. 
 Presently the rain began to fall, driving the two 
 boys for shelter under the little cabin of boughs. 
 It had been very hastily erected, and was no pro- 
 tection. John and Allan were soon quite wet 
 through. 
 
 Chilled, lonesome, and miserable, they sat to- 
 gether, holding each other's hands and growing 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 147 
 
 more eager every minute for the arrival of their 
 friends. The slow hours crept on, and still no 
 one came. John and Allan began to feel very 
 anxious. 
 
 "It's eleven o'clock," said Allan, at last; 
 " and father said he should certainly be here 
 early. I can't understand it." 
 
 " Allan," answered his brother, struck with a 
 sudden thought, "suppose they had tried to come 
 the other way, and been wrecked in shooting that 
 fall?" 
 
 " Don't say such horrid things ! " returned 
 Allan, turning pale. " Look here, John; do 
 you think that Sam meant to do this when we 
 started ? " 
 
 John rose, and walked up and down trying to 
 warm himself a little by motion. 
 
 " I 've been thinking it over," he said ; " and I 
 believe we have just been made fools of. I be- 
 lieve he meant to do it that day we went up on the 
 mountain, only I left the rifle at home; and, 
 Allan, I do think that was the reason he did n't 
 want us to tell father about my falling. He 
 knew that if father heard how careless we 'd 
 been, he would n't let us go off with him again." 
 
 " Serves us right, then, for keeping anything 
 away from our father," said poor Allan, passing 
 
148 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 a very hard judgment on himself and his brother. 
 "We ought to have told him. .But, oh! why 
 don't he come ? He 's always so particular to be 
 just the time he says he will. If he only knew !" 
 The poor boys waited in vain. Noon came 
 and passed ; the afternoon crept by ; the evening 
 shadows settled dark over the lonely lake ; night 
 came down black with rain and mist, and there 
 was no sign of any human presence but their 
 own. Time and again they raised their voices 
 and called aloud ; but there was no answer, only 
 the echo from the hills, and the long, wild, mock- 
 ing laugh of the loon. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A LONG NIGHT. 
 
 THEY won't come ! " said John, sadly, when 
 night began to close in, dark and chill. " I 
 wish we 'd started to get home this morning, and 
 we should have been there now." 
 
 " Oh, if we only were ! " said Allan, almost 
 overcome at the remembrance of the cheerful 
 camp-fire, his father, and his friends. "I'm so 
 afraid something's happened to father." 
 
 " There 's no use to look on the darkest side," 
 said John, trying to be cheerful. " Come, Allan, 
 let 's try to make a fire. We Ve got to stay here 
 to-night, at all events." 
 
 " It 's dreadfully lonesome ! " said Allan, who 
 was very sensitive to all outward influences, and 
 whose vivid imagination began to bring up to 
 him all the horrors of which he had ever heard. 
 " I hate the sight of it ; and I won't call such a 
 detestable place after grandma at all." 
 
 "Well, don't, if it makes you feel any better. 
 13* 149 
 
150 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 Let 's try for a fire ; though everything is so wet, 
 it will be hard to find anything to burn. If we 
 only had the axe ; but he must take that too ! 
 Well, something will come after him ! That 's 
 one comfort." 
 
 " I 'm glad, if it is to you," said Allan, rather 
 snappishly. " It 's none to me. If a dozen bears 
 went after him, it would n't bring back the rod 
 and the silver rifle." 
 
 " Now look here, old fellow, don't be cross ; we 
 are badly enough off without that." 
 
 " I 'm not cross ! " retorted Allan, sharply. 
 " You always say I 'm cross, John Lyndon Fitz 
 Adam ; but I 'm so wretched about father." 
 
 " And I suppose you think I don't mind," said 
 John, who was used to his brother's little freaks 
 of temper, and quite understood that Allan's 
 irritation was directed, not toward himself, but 
 toward their common causes of trouble. 
 
 " Oh, John ! I 'in a wretch ! I 'm a perfect 
 brute ! " said the poor boy, turning his anger 
 against himself. " And I 've got no more sense 
 than that old pig-headed loon in the lake, to go 
 and snap at you." 
 
 " I should like to see a pig-headed loon ; but 
 I do wish " he 'd stop that noise of his. It does 
 sound so — though I am a fool to mind it. Shoo, 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 151 
 
 you old nuisance ! " and John threw a stone at 
 the loon, which, as though aware that the guns 
 were gone, only dived, and came up nearer the 
 shore, repeating its savage laugh, as though it 
 were really mocking the misery of the two deso- 
 late boys. 
 
 "Just you wait till I have a gun over here 
 some time, you hoo-hooing old thing ! " said 
 Allan, really angry with the bird. " I '11 make 
 you laugh in a different fashion. Pooh, what a 
 fool I am ! Well, here goes for a fire. We 've 
 got our knives left, any way, and the matches 
 are in a tin box in my pocket, or they'd be 
 soaked." 
 
 After great trouble, and several failures, the 
 boys succeeded in building a fire under the 
 shelter of a rock, where they were less exposed 
 to the rain and the wind, which now began to 
 come down cold from the mountain. They ate 
 their supper of salt pork and hard biscuit, con- 
 suming all they had ; for they were very hungry. 
 They tried to dry their clothes and their blankets 
 at the blaze, but succeeded only in part ; for the 
 things were very wet, and they had not been able 
 to get dry wood of sufficient size to make such a 
 roaring fire as they had seen Michael build with 
 hemlock boughs and logs. 
 
152 THE SILVER RIFLE, 
 
 " We 'd better keep watch by turn/' said John, 
 " and keep up the fire. If there are any wild 
 creatures round here, it will keep them off. He 
 might have left us one gun. I wonder how he 
 came to leave your powder-horn." 
 
 " Because it hung right over my head," said 
 Allan, " and he could n't get it without waking 
 me, the little villain. Why, John, he 's only nine- 
 teen ! " 
 
 " I know. Well, if he don't catch it, there 's 
 no justice anywhere," said the other. "He's a 
 perfect Judas !" 
 
 " Only he won't ever bring anything back, nor 
 go and kill himself, as Judas did j but I don't 
 want to talk hardly about him, for I did like him 
 so much." 
 
 " What an odd boy you are ! That 's just the 
 reason I can't bear him now. I feel as if he had 
 taken me in, and made a fool of me ; and I can't 
 forgive him. I can't ! I can't ! " said John. 
 
 " But we ought to, you know," said Allan, who 
 always stood in some dread of his brother's latent 
 fierceness of temper. " You would n't want him 
 to be sent to prison ? " 
 
 " Would n't I ? " exclaimed John, with em- 
 phasis. " And father was so good to him, too. 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 153 
 
 Oh, Allan ! if we only knew where he was," said 
 John, hiding his face. 
 
 " Oh, some little thing prevented his coming," 
 said Allan, trying to speak cheerfully. 
 
 "Some little thing never prevented his keep- 
 ing a promise yet; and he would have sent 
 Michael, or uncle and Everard would have come. 
 Well, it 's no use to fret. There, the blankets are 
 about dry now. Lie down, Allan, and sleep if 
 you can ; I '11 sit up the first part of the night." 
 
 " No," said Allan, " let me sit up first. I 'in 
 in such a fidget now, I know I could n't sleep. 
 You lie down, and let me have my way." 
 
 "Very well," said John, the more willingly, 
 as he remembered to have heard that the morn- 
 ing watch was the hardest. 
 
 "But, John," said Allan, rather timidly, as 
 his brother prepared to lie down, " don't you 
 mean to say your prayers?" 
 
 " Allan," said John, after a moment's silence, 
 " I can't. I never hated any one before in all my 
 life, though I 've been angry at people. But now 
 I feel as if I could do anything, if I could only 
 pay that fellow off as he deserves." 
 
 "But we ought not to feel so," said Allan. 
 " Well, suppose it 's so. Did you never do any- 
 thing you ought not ? " 
 
154 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 " You know I have : that 's the reason. You 
 know father would say this was the very time of 
 all others when we ought to ask God to take care 
 of us." 
 
 " Look here," said John ; " if I could just give 
 that fellow one good thrashing, I might forgive 
 him afterward ; but I can't now." 
 
 Allan was somewhat amused at this theory of 
 forgiveness. 
 
 " I know how you feel," he said. 
 
 " No, you don't. You are so sweet-tempered, 
 you don't know what it is to feel real ugly." 
 
 "I sweet-tempered!" said Allan. "Well, 
 that 's a new idea ! " 
 
 " Oh, you scold a little, and make a fuss ; but 
 you don't feel as I do, — savage all the way 
 through, and fit to kill somebody. I hope he'll 
 lose his way in the woods, and the bears will 
 eat him." 
 
 " Now, you know you don't ! If you found 
 him in any trouble, you 'd be the first to help 
 him." 
 
 " I would n't," said John, quite shortly. 
 
 " Indeed, you would. Were you not just as 
 angry with Mr. Curtis? And, when he was sick, 
 did n't you go to see him, and take him grapes, 
 and books, and everything ? " 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 155 
 
 " Mr. Curtis said he was sorry ; and he had n't 
 injured us like this." 
 
 " And you said some pretty hard things to me 
 last summer," said Allan, coloring; " not but what 
 I deserved them ; and did n't you make a perfect 
 slave of yourself to me all the time I was sick ? " 
 
 " I acted like a fool," said John, turning away ; 
 " and you are my own brother." 
 
 "But, John— " 
 
 " Well, there then, have your own way ! " 
 said John, with a compliance half sulky, half 
 affectionate. " I can say the rest of the Lord's 
 prayer any way ; if I can't that, and, — well, yes, 
 I'll try, — and that's all you can expect of me." 
 
 Allan felt that it was indeed all that could be 
 expected under the circumstances. 
 
 The two brothers knelt on the wet ground, 
 and repeated their usual evening prayer with all 
 sincerity. Allan tried to put up a special petition 
 for his father; but his voice faltered, he could 
 not speak the words; but could only murmur, 
 " for Christ's sake. Amen ! " 
 
 " That is a kind of a comfort, any way," said 
 John, after a few minutes' silence. " I tell you, 
 Allan, people may say what they like, — I don't 
 pretend to see why things should be as they are, 
 I can't, and I don't ; — but I do know there 's 
 some one to hear and answer one's prayer just 
 
156 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 as well as I know you answer when you speak 
 to me : somebody that loves us." It was a great 
 deal for John to say, for he, like most boys, and 
 also men, of his temperament, was very shy of 
 expressing his deeper feelings. 
 
 " Yes," said Allan : " it 's so. Lie down now 
 and go to sleep. I dare say we shall find every- 
 thing all right at the camp in the morning." 
 
 John wrapped his blanket, now quite warm 
 and dry, around him, lay down under the shelter 
 of the rock, and soon fell asleep, leaving Allan 
 to keep up the fire. 
 
 It was a lonely watch. The fire burned low in 
 fitful flashes, hardly able to maintain itself 
 against the rain, which continued to fall in fine 
 steady drops. The light of the blaze only 
 illumined a small circle, and beyond that was 
 the dense black shadow of the woods on one side, 
 and on the other, the cold white curling mists of 
 the lake, and then darkness. 
 
 Out of the forest came the choked, gurgling 
 laugh of the little screech owl, the wild halloo 
 of the great barred owl, voices which Allan knew 
 very well, but which sounded inexpressibly dis- 
 mal in that lonesome place and the night. There 
 were other sounds too which he did not know. 
 Wild screams, as of agony and triumph, repeated 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 157 
 
 again and again, and ending, as it seemed, in 
 loud laughter. These cries too were those of the 
 owls, of which birds there are many kinds in that, 
 region, all of them greatly enjoying the sound of 
 their own voices, and capable of making noises 
 quite unimaginable to those who have never 
 heard them. Then there were other noises, howls 
 and yells, and, as it almost seemed, articulate 
 words, music such as that with which your own 
 soft-voiced pussy will make night hideous, only 
 louder and wilder. These sounds came from 
 above Allan's head, on the hillside, and presently 
 ended in a furious yelling and spitting, as of two 
 wild cats having a difference of opinion, which 
 was in fact the case. The boy knew that the 
 creatures would not be likely to attack him if he 
 did not molest them ; but still their near neigh- 
 bourhood was not pleasant. Then the loons, who 
 either did not feel the necessity of going to bed, 
 or else sat up all night to watch the two boys, 
 kept up their concert, and shrieked and laughed 
 frantically from one to another. The air was 
 full of rustling whispers, the water lapped on the 
 shore, the rain dripped from the trees. 
 
 It was no wonder that Allan grew nervous. 
 He was not afraid of anything in particular, but 
 the loneliness of the place, the dreariness of their 
 
 14 
 
158 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 situation, his anxiety about his father, all com- 
 bined to act on an excitable imagination, and 
 made him wish, as he had never wished before, 
 for the morning. 
 
 He made an effort to overcome his terrors, and 
 repeated to himself all the verses he could remem- 
 ber from the Testament and Psalms, and hymns 
 familiar to him in church and at home. Then 
 he tried to reason with himself. They had no 
 guns, to be sure ; but Michael had often told him 
 that, unless very much pressed by hunger, hardly 
 any wild animal will come within the circle of 
 the fire to attack a man. It was not the time of 
 year for any bear or panther to be very much 
 famished. Moreover, bears and panthers were 
 few and far between. The noises made by the 
 owls were dismal enough ; but after all they were 
 only owls. The two wild cats, which had raced 
 away to renew their dispute farther off, were too 
 much occupied with each other to trouble him, 
 even if they were so disposed, and the loons were 
 only water fowl. 
 
 " But, oh dear ! " said poor Allan to himself. 
 " I do wish they would hold their tongues ; for it 
 does seem as if I should go crazy. If we'd 
 only brought the dog ; " and with that Allan 
 thought of his own beloved little Spry at home, 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 159 
 
 the tiny spaniel that slept on his bed, and regu- 
 larly came to kiss him every morning ; and the 
 thought was almost too much for his manhood. 
 He would not give way, however, though his 
 overstrained nerves thrilled and quivered, and 
 his excited brain worked wildly, presenting to 
 him one dismal picture after another. 
 
 " I 'm no better than a baby," said the boy, 
 provoked at himself. " A pretty soldier I should 
 make, to be sure ! " 
 
 Allan did not know that many a soldier on a 
 night-watch has experienced the same sensations. 
 He paced to and fro, and wrapped his blanket 
 round his shoulders more closely. He sat down, 
 and pressed his hands to his temples to still their 
 th robbings. 
 
 The hours crept on, and it was midnight, and 
 Allan felt thankful that he might wake his 
 brother and hear the sound of his voice. Undis- 
 turbed by loons, owls, or cats, John had slept on, 
 hardly moving. Allan bent over him, and, much 
 as he longed to hear him speak, felt reluctant to 
 wake him. When John had lain down in his 
 damp clothes, he had wrapped his warm blanket 
 closely around him, and being in a great degree 
 sheltered from the rain, he had gradually grown 
 warm, and had fallen into as profuse a per- 
 
160 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 epiration as though he had been in a water-cure 
 pack. 
 
 " If he gets up now," thought Allan to him- 
 self, " and conies out into this cold air, it will be 
 enough to give him his death ; and if I wake 
 him, why get up he will. I '11 let him sleep, and 
 stand it out till morning," and with an unselfish- 
 ness which might truly be called heroic, Allan 
 rose softly from his brother's side, and nervous, 
 lonesome, and wretched as he was, prepared to 
 encounter the long hours that must pass before 
 the dawn. 
 
 As he paced to and fro, a sudden rustling in 
 the thicket startled him, and, looking up, he 
 saw the light of the fire reflected on two green 
 glaring circles, the eyes of some wild beast. 
 
 "An owl," was Allan's first thought, deter- 
 mined not to be alarmed, though his heart beat 
 fast. The next moment the gaunt, savage head 
 of a wolf peered cautiously from the bushes. 
 
 Like many people of sensitive nerves and 
 strong imagination, Allau had great presence of 
 mind in real danger. The sight of the wolf at 
 once restored him to himself. He caught up the 
 powder-horn, which he had hung round his neck, 
 and, pouring some of the powder on a stone, 
 touched it oif with a coal from the fire. 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 161 
 
 The wolf vanished in an instant, and Allan 
 shouted at the top of his voice, and flung on the 
 fire a branch of hemlock which had been cut the 
 night before for their cabin. 
 
 John sprang up wide awake in a moment. 
 
 " What 's the matter? " he said, instantly put- 
 ting out his hand for his lost rifle. 
 
 " Nothing much. I thought I saw something 
 in the bushes. Lie down again, and cover your- 
 self up. You are just as wet as if you had been 
 in a pack. Now, John, do. Suppose you were 
 to get sick here ? " 
 
 " Allan Fitz Adam S " said John, imperatively, 
 " tell me this minute what made you touch oif 
 that powder ? " 
 
 " Well, if you will know, a wolf stuck his 
 head out of that bush. He 's gone now." 
 
 " A wolf!" cried John, jumping up. 
 
 " Do keep yourself wrapped up, John," im- 
 plored Allan. " Just see what a state you 're in, 
 and suppose you get inflammation of the lungs 
 or something, here ? " 
 
 " Oh, you fuss ! " said John, wrapping himself 
 up, however. "How wise you are all of a 
 sudden ! Are you sure it was a wolf? " 
 
 " Quite sure. I thought it was an owl till I 
 
 saw his head. It was n't handsome. I don't think 
 14* L 
 
162 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 there is any great danger. There are too many 
 deer for him to be very hungry ; and Michael 
 says they are not dangerous, unless in winter, 
 and a good many of them together ; and he '11 
 never know we have n't got a gun. If we 'd had 
 any fire to speak of, he would n't have shown 
 himself." 
 
 " Well, you are a cool hand ! " said John. 
 
 " It 's a cool night," said Allan, smiling ; "but 
 I 've had the fidgets dreadfully, I can tell you ; 
 and I tried to say over something to put them 
 out of my head, and all the forlorn pieces of 
 poetry I ever read kept coming up, and saying 
 themselves over to me, like the Ancient Mariner, 
 and things I had n't thought of for years. I '11 
 never read any more poetry again," said Allan, 
 in irritation. " What's the use of it? A lot of 
 stuff strung together just to come and make a 
 fellow miserable when he don't want to remem- 
 ber it." 
 
 " It must be time for my turn now," said 
 John. 
 
 " Never mind if it is ! Lie still till you are 
 quite dry. Keep awake, and talk if you like; 
 but I am sure I could not go to sleep if I lay 
 down." 
 
 " But it seems so mean," remonstrated his 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 163 
 
 brother, "for me to be lying here warm and 
 comfortable, and you out there in the wet." 
 
 " I 'm not so wet now. I think the rain is 
 holding up ; and it will seem a good deal meaner, 
 if you are sick ; and we 've got a pretty hard 
 walk before us to get back to camp." 
 
 About three o'clock John insisted on getting 
 up, and making his brother lie down. In spite 
 of his " fidgets," Allan fell asleep in a few min- 
 utes. John was less susceptible than his brother ; 
 but when the long hours had crept on in dark- 
 ness, he was not sorry to see the first streak of 
 dawn. Gradually the mists in the valley lifted 
 themselves and rolled away; the mountain tops 
 came out through the folds of vapor, and the 
 sunlight fell upon the lake. 
 
 John thougJit he would let his brother sleep 
 for a while longer. He cut a pole in the wood, 
 found a long piece of string in his pocket, bent a 
 pin for a hook, and, baiting it with a worm, 
 betook himself to fishing in the lake for their 
 breakfast. 
 
 It was a great coming down from his usual 
 style of angling to be sure, but the scientific 
 sportsman was conquered, or rather annihilated, 
 by the hungry boy. 
 
 " Not to leave us so much as a fish-hook ! " 
 
164 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 thought John, with a new feeling of anger at 
 Sam ; for they had left their spare hooks and Al- 
 lan's precious " fly-book " in the pockets of their 
 loose shooting-coats, which they had thrown aside 
 on going to rest, and the robber had probably 
 thought it a pity to part the rods and the hooks. 
 
 The trout, however, proved not particular, and 
 John had the satisfaction of landing three moder- 
 rate-sized fish with his primitive apparatus. Pres- 
 ently he was joined by Allan, who looked very 
 pale and tired. 
 
 " Fishing with a crooked pin ! " he said, with a 
 faint smile. " That 's science to be sure." 
 
 " No : it 's breakfast," said John. " How tired 
 you look ! I do wish we had any way to heat 
 some water and make a cup of coffee. What an 
 idiot I am to be sure ! We 've got our tin cups." 
 
 " So we have ; and Sam left us coffee enough 
 for breakfast, any way. How considerate ! Clean 
 your fish, and I '11 heat the water and make 
 what we can." 
 
 While they were preparing their scanty meal, 
 the boys kept watch on the entrance to the lake, 
 hoping in vain to see their father's boat glide 
 round the turn. 
 
 " It 's no use to look that way," said John, 
 with a sigh. " Eat your breakfast, and then 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 165 
 
 good-by to ' Lake Lois.' It 's a pretty place, but I 
 hate it." 
 
 To John's surprise, Allan sprang up, and 
 stamped his foot in sudden passion. 
 
 " John ! John ! " he said, in great excitement. 
 " This is no more ' Lake Lois ' than it is Lake 
 Leman ! I know it." 
 
 " Why, how ? " asked John, but with a sudden 
 conviction that his brother was right. 
 
 "That was between three hills. Don't you 
 remember the three sharp peaks he showed us 
 from the hill-side ? He did tell us there was only 
 one carry ; and he never said a word about its 
 being three and a half straight, and longer by 
 the stream; and I no more believe any canoe 
 ever shot those falls than it could shoot Niagara. 
 Here are dozens of hills, and one great moun- 
 tain, and where is the ' rocky headland ' where 
 he said he meant to camp ? Here we are flat on 
 the shore." 
 
 " Sure enough," said John ; " and we went 
 nearer seven miles than three and a half." 
 
 " And father and the rest will have gone over 
 there, and not found us ; and they'll think we 've 
 broken our word, and run off somewhere else; 
 and father will be so worried," said Allan, greatly 
 troubled ; " and they '11 look all over for us." 
 
166 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 " Well, we can tell them how we were deceived, 
 when we get back," said John. " But I 'rn glad 
 to know the state of the case ; for now I need n't 
 think anything has happened to father. But 
 what in the world did that fellow lead us astray 
 for?" 
 
 " Why, don't you see," said Allan, with a full 
 understanding of Sam's yillany, " so that father 
 and Michael should n't know for ever so long, 
 and he get the start of them, and get away." 
 
 " Oh, he 's a nice young man ! " said John, 
 bitterly. 
 
 " He 's a credit to his sex ! " said Allan, feeling 
 that he had said something very severe indeed. 
 " But it is a comfort to think we 've no reason to 
 suppose anything has happened to father ; but, 
 oh, how troubled they will be ! Michael might 
 well say that boys get into lots of scrapes when 
 they go off by themselves." 
 
 " It all comes from our not telling about my 
 fall," said John. . " I '11 never keep anything 
 away from my father again. See if I do." 
 
 " And to think how he persuaded us not to 
 tell ! Do you think he could have been planning 
 it then ? " 
 
 " I 've not a doubt of it," said John, with de- 
 cision ; " and that we should have been so con- 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 167 
 
 siderate for him and his reputation, and walked 
 into the trap with our eyes open." 
 
 " I 'in afraid it was n't all consideration for 
 him," said Allan, in a low voice ; " I 'm afraid 
 I thought if father knew how careless we 'd been 
 up there on the mountain, he would n't trust us 
 off with Sam again." 
 
 " I don't know but there was a little something 
 of that sort," acknowledged John. " But we 're 
 punished for it now." 
 
 " And to think how pleasant he was that day, 
 and all the time he was planning this piece of 
 wickedness ! But, John, I can see ever so many 
 little things now. His always wanting to get 
 hold of your gun ; his putting it into our heads to 
 come away by ourselves ; and his telling us that 
 we 'd better take off our coats before we lay down, 
 and, oh ! ever so many things." 
 
 " I can see, too, now it \s too late ; but who 
 ever could have suspected him of such a thing 
 beforehand ? " 
 
 " I do wish he was n't so bad," said Allan, 
 regretfully. " I never liked any boy better than 
 I did him. I can't bear to think he is as he 
 is." 
 
 " I don't see how we can help thinking so," 
 said John, who felt that the extremest view of 
 
168 THE SILVER RIFLE, 
 
 Sam's crime justified his own resentment. "He's 
 left us as bad off as we can be." 
 
 " No j we might be worse." 
 
 " I don't see how." ' 
 
 " We might be in his place instead of our 
 own. I 'd rather be where we are." 
 
 " That 's so. But come, if we 've finished 
 breakfast, we '11 start. Look here, Allan, let 's 
 leave the blankets : they are such heavy things 
 to carry ; and we can get them again when we 
 come back with Michael." 
 
 " All right," said Allan, approvingly ; for he 
 felt that it would take all his strength to reach 
 his father's camp on the Saranac, without burden- 
 ing himself with any load. " We 've nothing else 
 but the powder-horn and the tin-cups. Light 
 marching order, to be sure." 
 
 " You are quite certain we can find the way?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! Why not ? You see we Ve nothing 
 to do but to follow the stream up till we come to 
 the place where we put in the canoe. I 'm quite 
 sure I remember it ; and then across to the other 
 stream that he said went into the ' Lake Lois/ and 
 then the way 's straight enough." 
 
 " Very well," said John, folding up the 
 blankets, and hiding them away in the bushes. 
 " Fortunately, we 're on the right side of the 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 169 
 
 stream, and sha'n't have to swim across. Go 
 ahead ! " 
 
 The boys had a long and toilsome walk up the 
 solitary stream. 
 
 "There!" said Allan, stopping at last. "I 
 am sure this is the place where we struck the 
 stream." 
 
 " Yes," said John ; " I remember those three 
 big pines, and that pile of rocks, that you said 
 looked like a Druid's altar." 
 
 They struck off into the forest, and continued 
 their weary way through the deep, dark woods, 
 dank with the last night's rain. 
 
 " John," said Allan, at last, " I think it 's time 
 we heard those falls, or struck the stream." 
 
 " I think so too. I wish we had a compass. 
 There 's no seeing the sun here." 
 
 " Well, there is nothing to do but go on," said 
 Allan, whose weak ankle began to pain him 
 cruelly. 
 
 A few minutes more and the brothers found 
 themselves on the margin of a deep and wide 
 morass, surrounded by barren, lonely hills. 
 
 " We never came past any such place as this," 
 said John. 
 
 " No," said Allan ; " I don't think we did ; " 
 15 
 
 / 
 
170 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 and he sat down on a stone, utterly tired and dis- 
 couraged. 
 
 John walked up and down, pondering their 
 situation in his own mind. 
 
 " Brother," he said, finally, " I tell you what 
 we VI better do. We 'd better make our way 
 back to that lake we came from, and stay till 
 they come after us, as I think they will be sure 
 to do. We left our blankets there ; and I guess 
 we can get fish enough to live on." 
 
 " Well," said Allan, " that will be best, perhaps ;" 
 and he rose, though his heart died within him at 
 the thought of retracing that long, weary way. 
 
 The boys turned back, as they supposed. After 
 a few steps, John noticed that Allan walked 
 lame. 
 
 " Your ankle hurts you, don't it ? " he said, in 
 a troubled voice. 
 
 " Go on," said Allan, trying to speak cheer- 
 fully, " and let 's get out of this as soon as we 
 can." 
 
 The boys went on, Allan's ankle paining him 
 more and more at every step. The woods grew 
 darker and deeper. There was no trace of a 
 path. At the end of an hour's hard labour, they 
 came upon a little stream, which they followed 
 through a rocky channel for some distance. 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 171 
 
 Presently they heard the sound of falling water, 
 and, with some faint hope that they might have 
 reached the falls of the day before, they hurried 
 forward. 
 
 They found themselves standing on a little 
 rocky platform, from which the stream fell a 
 descent of a few feet, and beneath them lay the 
 same wild desolate morass. The boys looked at 
 each other in horror. 
 
 " John," said Allan, turning pale, as the dread- 
 ful suspicion, which had been growing upon his 
 mind, deepened into certainty. "John, we are 
 lost ! " 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE SEARCH. 
 
 >Y seven o'clock on the morning of the day 
 after the boys left the camp on the Saranac, 
 Mr. Fitz Adam, Michael, and Dr. Fenton were 
 on their way to " Lake Lois : " Everard remained 
 behind to take care of the camp, and, being 
 greatly interested in a sketch he was making, did 
 not care to join the expedition. 
 
 The way to " Lake Lois " was by the stream which 
 the boys had first followed. There was only one 
 carry, that around the fall where Sam had turned 
 off; for not the boldest boatman on the lakes 
 would ever have dreamed of shooting the cata- 
 ract. From thence a mile of easy paddling led 
 into the little lake among the three hills. 
 
 Michael led the way to the headland of which 
 Sam had spoken ; but there was no sign of a camp ; 
 and the little sheet of water, shut in among its 
 mountains, looked as though no paddle had ever 
 before broken its solitude. 
 
 172 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 173 
 
 " Well, now, that is n't right in Sam," said 
 Michael, displeased. "He told ine he'd cer- 
 tainly be here ; and now we shall have to go all 
 round to look for the camp." 
 
 " I don't exactly see where you are to look," 
 said Dr. Fenton, surveying the whole circle 
 of the shore, which was plainly visible from the 
 place where they were. " I see no sign of a 
 camp anywhere." 
 
 " No more there is n't," said Michael ; " but 
 maybe they 've gone oif into the woods a little way, 
 and we shall find the boat drawn up on the shore." 
 
 The party made the circuit of the lake, grow- 
 ing more silent and anxious every minute as they 
 found no sign of any human creature having 
 visited the place that year at least, 
 
 "If I don't give it to Sam," said Michael, 
 sharply. " He has gone oif somewhere." 
 
 "The boys should have known better," said 
 Mr. Fitz Adam, at once displeased and anxious. 
 " I charged them the last thing to go nowhere 
 else, and to be certain to make their camp in the 
 appointed spot." 
 
 " It is very unlike them to disobey you, Fitz," 
 said the doctor ; " after having given you their 
 word so particularly. The thing troubles me, I 
 confess." 
 15* 
 
174 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 " Excuse me, squire," said Michael, resting on 
 his paddle ; " but I 'd like to ask you one ques- 
 tion." 
 
 "What is it, Michael?" 
 
 " Were the young gentlemen, as a general 
 thing, given to minding you ; because you know 
 all boys ain't?" said Michael, apologizing for 
 such an inquiry. 
 
 " I think I may say they are," said Mr. Fitz 
 Adam. " Since they were large boys, I cannot 
 say that I ever knew them to break a promise 
 deliberately given to me." 
 
 " That is certainly so," said Dr. Fenton ; 
 "and I remember John saying the last thing, 
 ' You will find us where Sam says in the morn- 
 ing/ It would have been very wrong, to be 
 sure, but I wish I knew for certain that they 
 had forgotten their promise, in boyish heedless- 
 ness, and gone off somewhere else." 
 
 "Where could they - go, Michael ? " said Mr. 
 Fitz Adam, who began to feel greatly troubled. 
 " What other lake is there ? " 
 
 "Well, squire, there's a great many other 
 lakes. There 's one leads right out of this ; and 
 then there 's two more little ones out of that ; and 
 then, if you like to make a carry, there 's a pretty 
 considerable big one, and so on." 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 175 
 
 " What would you advise ? " said Mr. Fitz 
 Adam. 
 
 " I guess we 'd better go on through the out- 
 let," said Michael, sending the birch canoe for- 
 ward again with rapid strokes. " I don't know 
 as there's any particular call to be uneasy, 
 squire," continued the guide, who at heart felt a 
 good deal troubled. " You see, your boys under- 
 stand themselves pretty well, and so does Sam ; 
 and the young gentlemen had their guns." 
 
 " Look here, Michael," said Mr. Fitz Adam ; 
 " tell me the exact truth. What do you think 
 has become of the boys ? " 
 
 " Squire," answered Michael. " The fact is, I 
 don't know what to think ; but if Sam's gone and 
 led them into a scrape through not minding me, 
 if I don't give him a piece "of my mind when I 
 meet him ! If I thought anything had come to 
 your boys, I 'd tell you. They can swim, and, 
 even if the canoe had been overturned, it 's next 
 to impossible they could all have been drowned. 
 There 's no robbers round these parts ; and no wild 
 critters would ever have attacked and carried off 
 the three of them. I 'm puzzled, I confess." 
 
 " Suppose we do not find them," said the doc- 
 tor, " in any of these places where you are taking 
 us ; what will you do ? " 
 
176 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 " Well, sir," said Michael, " I 'd have one 
 of you gentlemen go back to ' Baker's,' and set 
 all the men I could find looking after them; and 
 I 'd take to the woods myself; and I 'd never 
 look Mr. Fitz Adam in the face again till I 
 could bring him news of his boys." 
 
 Mr. Fitz Adam knew that Michael regretted 
 having said anything to forward the expedition. 
 
 " I am sure I do not blame you, Michael," 
 said the anxious father. " The boys have often 
 been out by themselves, and spent a night in the 
 woods about their grandmother's home. Tell me, 
 what do you know about Sam Irmelin ? " 
 
 " Nothing against him, squire. His father 's 
 a respectable man; works in a tannery over at 
 Keeseville. Sam 's been a guide here for the last 
 two summers, and every one 's liked him ; and he 
 has an uncommon knowledge of the places for 
 such a young fellow. He 's never taken a party 
 all alone on his own responsibility ; he 's been 
 with some of the older men. Old George Flint 
 liked him first-rate, only he said Sam was just a 
 leetle too fond of money ; but we 've all got our 
 faults. Wherever your sons are, Sam is, you 
 may depend." 
 
 " Do you think Sam could get lost himself? " 
 
 " Not unless he struck off into some part of 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 177 
 
 the country where he 's never been ; then he 
 might. But the young gentlemen have their 
 guns and rods, and there is n't any starving while 
 there 's fish in the water." 
 
 " That 's true," said Dr. Fenton, a little com- 
 forted. 
 
 Vain was the search for the missing boys 
 through the little chain of lakes connected with 
 ' Lake Lois/ Michael, Dr. Fenton, and Mr. Fitz 
 Adam called, and shouted, and fired their guns 
 repeatedly, but there was no answer. 
 
 " What is to be done ? " said Mr. Fitz Adam 
 at last, when the search had been prolonged until 
 almost nightfall. 
 
 " Well, sir," said Michael, " I 'm really afraid 
 the young gentlemen are lost ; though how they 
 could be, passes me to tell. This is a lonesome 
 part of the country ; and not but very few hunt- 
 ers come here, because it 's no run for the deer ; 
 and it's out of the way of the gentlemen that 
 come fishing. It beats all, that Sam can have 
 carried them so far off. I do think you gentle- 
 men, or one of you at any rate, had better go back 
 to ' Baker's,' and set all the men you can to hunt- 
 ing. They '11 do it willing enough." 
 
 " I '11 offer a reward," said Mr. Fitz Adam. 
 
 " No need, sir ; there won't be a soul in the 
 M 
 
178 THE SILVER EIFLE. 
 
 woods that won't be ready to do all they can for 
 you, and will soon find them. Don't you be afraid 
 but what we '11 have them back to camp by 
 morning. 'T is n't as if they were just helpless, 
 shiftless city boys, like that young Marshall." 
 
 "And what will you do?" said Dr. Fenton. 
 
 " I, sir? I '11 hunt for them K two boys till I 'm 
 gray, but I '11 find them," said Michael, with 
 energy. " Dear little fellows ! I think a sight of 
 them boys, squire ; and I wish, as things have 
 turned out, that I VI been deaf and dumb before 
 I 'd said what I did. But I don't really think 
 there 's any danger, on account of their having their 
 guns. If they had n't, I should feel anxious." 
 
 " Let me go with you," said Mr. Fitz Adam, 
 who, distressed as he was, kept himself very 
 composed. " My brother-in-law will go back to 
 ( Baker's.' Offer any reward you like from me." 
 
 " I will join you, of course," said the doctor, 
 who was very fond of his nephews, and full of 
 anxiety and distress on their account and sym- 
 pathy for his friend. 
 
 " I will go directly," he said. " I don't really 
 feel that there is any reason to be anxious." 
 
 " But yet we all are," said Mr. Fitz Adam, with 
 a faint smile. " You '11 do all you can, I know." 
 
 "That I will. God bless you, Fitz; we shall 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 179 
 
 have John and Allan all safe to-morrow morning, 
 and laugh at our fears for them. We will meet 
 at the camp, I suppose ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Good-by, and God keep you and the children, 
 wherever they are!" and the doctor turned his 
 canoe and sent it flying oif over the water with 
 all the skill of a practised hand. 
 
 " And now, where ? " said Mr. Fitz Adam. 
 
 They were on a little lake, a mere pond in the 
 midst of the woods. 
 
 "Well, sir/' said Michael, "if you'll be 
 guided by me, you '11 come on shore, and let me 
 build a fire, and make some tea, and eat a bit of 
 supper. We 've had a long day, and you ; ve 
 taken nothing since morning ; and we 've got a 
 long walk before us." 
 
 " I believe you are right," said Mr. Fitz Adam ; 
 " though I cannot bear to be still." 
 
 " We '11 find them, squire," said Michael, cheer- 
 fully. "And if we don't, other folks will. The 
 whole country '11 turn out to look for them." 
 
 Michael built a fire on the shore, boiled the 
 water in the kettle he had brought, and, going 
 out on the lake, caught the fish for supper in a 
 few minutes. Mr. Fitz Adam exerted himself to 
 eat something, and drank some tea, Michael 
 
180 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 waited on him with unobtrusive sympathy and 
 courtesy. 
 
 " Suppose we try firing again," said Mr. F'itz 
 Adam, as they were about to set out once more. 
 
 " You can, if you like, squire," said Michael ; 
 and then, as the sharp report of the rifles rang 
 through the air, two shots replied to the sig- 
 nal. 
 
 Michael shouted, and was answered by a long 
 wild call. 
 
 " That 's not them, squire," said Michael. 
 " It 's some of the Indian hunters. I 'm glad to 
 meet them, though." 
 
 The call sounded again nearer, and presently 
 two young men came out from among the trees, 
 dressed in deer-skin hunting-shirts and leffgines, 
 and carrying their guns over their shoulders. 
 
 " I know them," said Michael. " It \s Peter 
 Sanantone (St. Antoin), and his brother. Nice 
 young fellows, too. How are you, boys ? Have 
 you seen anything of Sam Irmelin, and two boys 
 with him ? " 
 
 "Not a bit," said the elder. "What's the 
 matter ? " 
 
 In a few words Michael told him, and asked 
 his help in finding the lost ones. 
 
 " Of course ! of course ! " said both the brothers, 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 181 
 
 earnestly. " Your sons ? " asked the elder, of 
 Mr. Fitz Adam. 
 
 " Yes. I assure you I will make it worth your 
 while." 
 
 " Oh, that 's no matter," said the younger, with 
 a smile. " We find the boys, of course." 
 
 " Guess we find 'em," said Peter. " We know 
 the woods pretty well." 
 
 The two brothers held a consultation with 
 Michael, and with a renewed promise to Mr. Fitz 
 Adam to pursue .the search, they turned away 
 into the woods, and disappeared. 
 
 "That's good help, sir," said Michael, in a 
 tone of encouragement. " They 're two fine fel- 
 lows ; though they will drink now and then, but 
 not much for Indians." 
 
 " Have you any idea which direction the boys 
 could have taken ? " asked Mr. Fitz Adam. 
 
 " No, sir. If they did come here, it 's a very 
 long carry to the next lake, and a hard one. I 
 can't think they 'd have done it ; and I don't see 
 how they could, not unless they travelled all last 
 night. There 's another lake off that way, if we 
 go to the one they called 'Lake Lois.' Called it 
 after their grandmother, they did. I hope the 
 old lady won't hear anything about it till it 's 
 over." 
 
 16 
 
182 THE SILVEE RIFLE. 
 
 ' 1 1 hope not, for they are very dear to her," 
 said Mr. Fitz Adam, with a thrill at the thought 
 of what he might have to write to his mother-in- 
 law. "How far is it to this lake you speak of?" 
 
 "It's all of twelve hours' journey from here, 
 and a hard road. I have n't been over it in years ; 
 and I don't think there 's any likelihood of their 
 being there. I 'd rather keep on a little more to 
 northward, sir, if you are agreeable. There 's a 
 wonderful good place for trout up among the 
 hills, a few miles farther on ; and it 's just possible 
 we may find them there." 
 
 They reached the lake, or rather pond, to which 
 Michael had referred, by a little after midnight. 
 They found there a hunter's camp occupied by 
 three men, who all declared that they had seen 
 and heard nothing of the boys or Sam Irmelin. 
 
 Mr. Fitz Adam was worn out with fatigue, 
 anxiety, and grief, and the failure of this last 
 hope was very hard to bear. He sat down, and 
 covered his face with his hands. The men around 
 him exchanged glances of sympathy and pity. 
 
 " Now, look here, sir," said one, a wiry, gray- 
 haired old man, with a face like a polished brown 
 knot of wood, " you are about beat out, you and 
 Michael ; and no wonder ! Just you stay here 
 and rest ; and we '11 turn out and hunt different 
 
THE SILVER KIFLE. 183 
 
 ways. It 's uncommon strange about Sam 
 Irmelin." 
 
 " Thank you," said Mr. Fitz Adam. " I be- 
 lieve I must accept your kindness for the present. 
 Any reward that I can offer — " 
 
 " Bless you, sir," said the old man, " nobody 
 would ask a reward for helping a man to find his 
 children ! I 've got boys myself." 
 
 " Were your sons about fifteen or seventeen, or 
 along there ? " asked another. " One of them 
 black hair and eyes, and the other kind of light 
 complected and curly, fair hair ? ". 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Fitz Adam ; " have you seen 
 them?" 
 
 " I saw them at i Baker's,' sir. Nice boys they 
 are, too. One of them had old Mr. De Forest's 
 silver rifle. Ezra," said the hunter, turning to 
 his companion, who had not yet spoken, "you re- 
 member the old gentleman?" 
 
 " Yes. Any relation of his, sir ? " 
 
 " He was my old friend," said Mr. Fitz Adam. 
 " He left his rod and rifle to my boys." 
 
 " All right, sir ! " said the old man. " Any 
 of the boys 'round will do all they can for any 
 friend of the old gentleman's. Michael, there 's 
 the coffee and stuff; make yourself and the gen- 
 tleman to home. Keep a good heart, sir ; and I 
 
184 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 hope we '11 get track of your sons. Come along, 
 boys." 
 
 The men called their dogs, and went. 
 
 Worn out as he was with fatigue and anxiety, 
 Mr. Fitz Adam fell into a troubled sleep, which 
 lasted till morning. 
 
 The boys had left their father's camp at about 
 one o'clock, p.m., on Tuesday. It was now Thurs- 
 day morning : one of the three hunters returned 
 about nine o'clock, and reported that he had seen 
 and heard nothing of the missing ones ; and that 
 he thought it -useless to prosecute the search 
 farther to the north. They had hitherto worked 
 on the theory that the party must have gone from 
 the Saranac to " Lake Lois ; " but Michael now be- 
 gan to think that such could not have been the 
 case. 
 
 " There is a lake," said the guide, " about four 
 miles south-west of the one they set out for ; but 
 I can't think they would have gone to it from 
 there, for it's a hard road,, — two big hills to climb" 
 and go down ; and they never would have taken 
 the canoe. But if they turned off at the falls, 
 it 's a half a mile carry, and a pretty rough one, 
 to a stream that runs into the lake. But what 
 should take them there ? " 
 
 " What should take them anywhere but to the 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 185 
 
 place they promised to go?" said Mr. Fitz Adam. 
 " Let us go to this lake, Michael, and see what 
 we can find." 
 
 " I guess we might as well, squire ; though 
 the shortest way, but not the nearest, will be to go 
 back to the falls, and turn off. I expect there 's 
 parties out looking for them now that we don't 
 know of. You would n't think news would go 
 in this country, but it does some way; and I 
 would n't wonder at all if it got to ' Baker's ' be- 
 fore Dr. Fenton did." 
 
 Mr. Fitz Adam and Michael turned back, and 
 retraced their way to the falls. The rain which 
 had fallen had quite obliterated any trace which 
 Michael might otherwise have noticed. 
 
 It was five o'clock on Thursday evening before 
 he and Mr. Fitz Adam reached the camp which 
 the boys had left in the morning. It looked 
 dreary enough. The black embers of the extin- 
 guished fires lay before the little shelter of boughs 
 and beneath the overhanging rock where John 
 and Allan had passed the second night. The 
 extempore fishing-pole, with its string and crook- 
 ed pin, lay on the ground. 
 
 " Can this have been their camp ? " said Mr. 
 Fitz Adam. 
 
 Michael replied by holding up the two 
 
 16 * 
 
186 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 blankets which he 'had found hidden in the 
 bushes. 
 
 " Don't these belong to our young gentle- 
 men ?" he asked. 
 
 Mr. Fitz Adam recognized them in a moment. 
 They were crimson Mackinaw blankets, fine, soft, 
 and thick. The words, " Know now whether it 
 be thy son's coat or not," came into his mind. 
 
 " I bought those myself," he said. " There is 
 the mark on the corner. J. F. A." 
 
 " Well, it passes me what to think," said 
 Michael. " Why did they leave their blankets? 
 and where is Sam's ? " 
 
 " And why should they be fishing with a 
 crooked pin and a worm ? " 
 
 " As to that, Sam left his rod ; and he may 
 have fixed that up just to see what he could do 
 with such a contrivance." 
 
 Mr. Fitz Adam walked up and down, consider- 
 ing the case in his own mind. He was a lawyer, 
 accustomed to weighing and comparing evidence. 
 A sort of suspicion of the truth began to grow 
 upon him. 
 
 Michael carefully examined the traces the boys 
 had left behind them, — the blackened circles and 
 ashes, the fishing-pole, the little cabin, and the 
 two couches of hemlock, now damp and sodden, 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 187 
 
 on which John and Allan had passed their first 
 night. 
 
 " I 'm pretty sure," said he, at last, " that there 
 were three people here Tuesday night, and only 
 two last night. And what puzzles me is, that this 
 lire here by the shelter was a regular big, respect- 
 able camp fire, such as Sam would build ; and 
 this was just a kind of blaze made with small 
 branches, and such as any one could pick up ; and 
 here's bits of such wood lying by it, and this 
 young hemlock cut with a knife and not an axe ; 
 and here's the same thing again; and here's 
 where a tree was cut down with an axe." 
 
 "That might be," said Mr. Fitz Adam. 
 " The children would naturally take their knives 
 to help Sam." 
 
 "Oh, but you see, squire, the tree was cut 
 down all of twenty-four hours the first. I know 
 because of the wood turning colour so much more. 
 I 'm dreadful afraid the folks that built that second 
 fire had n't no axe ; no, nor yet no rods." 
 
 " Where do you think the canoe is ? " asked 
 Mr. Fitz Adam, whose suspicions grew stronger ; 
 but who did not care to express them till he had 
 heard Michael's opinion. 
 
 Michael sat down, and began to whittle a little 
 stick quite furiously. 
 
188 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 "I can't just say," he answered. "You see, 
 the rain and the lake washing up has smoothed 
 out all the tracks on the sand and the marks of 
 the canoe. You're used to putting things to- 
 gether, squire. What do you make of it ? " 
 
 " I begin to fear," said Mr. Fitz Adam, in a 
 low voice, " that there has been something worse 
 than we have imagined. I fear that there has 
 been treachery." 
 
 " It does look bad," said Michael, in a troubled 
 voice. " I 'm nigh about sure Sam was n't here 
 last night, and I 'in pretty certain your sons were. 
 But I hate to think the boy could be so awful 
 mean as to run off and leave them. And what 
 had he to gain by it ? " 
 
 " Their guns and rods, and the silver rifle," 
 said Mr. Fitz Adam. 
 
 " If he 's done that," said Michael, striking the 
 butt of his gun fiercely on the ground ; " if he 's 
 done that, he '11 find it 's the worst day's work he 
 ever did in his life. If it 's that, squire, depend 
 upon it he 's led them wrong on purpose, and told 
 them they were coming to ' Lake Lois.' He might 
 call this one by that name just as well as another." 
 
 The more Mr. Fitz Adam thought of the 
 matter, the stronger did the probability of Sam's 
 treachery appear. 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 189 
 
 " And the boys would expect us, and wait for 
 us all day Wednesday," he said, in a tone which 
 he tried in vain to render steady ; " and they 
 were here alone, unarmed, in the midst of all that 
 rain, and have tried to find their way back to 
 camp and been lost in the woods, unprovided 
 with anything." 
 
 " Well, squire," said Michael, " it 's a thing 
 that won't bear thinking on. We won't condemn 
 Sam till we know ; but I 'm awful afraid there 's 
 some truth in what you think." 
 
 The old guide neither swore nor exclaimed. 
 His ordinarily good-natured face grew stern and 
 cold. He looked carefully to his rifle, and made 
 sure that his pistols were loaded. His mouth 
 was set, his gray eyes shone bright. He looked 
 decidedly dangerous. 
 
 " I guess," said he, quietly, " that if I should 
 catch that young man with that rifle, I should 
 make things unpleasant for him." 
 
 This threat does not sound very awful in 
 words, but the manner was everything. 
 
 " Take care what you do, Michael," said Mr. 
 Fitz Adam. " The first thing is to find the boys." 
 
 " Don't you be afraid, squire," returned 
 Michael. " I 'm a law-abiding citizen, I am, and 
 I expect to stay so. But we guides and hunters 
 
190 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 have got our own laws too; and if Sam Irme- 
 lin has done this thing, he'll stand a first-rate 
 good chance to find out what we mean by them. 
 I think, sir, I '11 go back to camp after the dogs. 
 I wish I 'd had them with us to start with. If 
 there 's a dog can follow their trail, it will be my 
 old Sport," 
 
 " See ! " said Mr. Fitz Adam, starting. " There 's 
 two canoes now coming up the lake." 
 
 The boats drew nearer. One contained Peter 
 Sanautone and his brother. The other canoe, 
 which Michael instantly i^ecognized as his own, 
 was paddled by an old Indian. 
 
 " That 's old Tin Kettle, over from Chateau 
 Gay," said Michael. "He's one of the know- 
 ingest old fellows there is anywhere; but I 
 haven't seen him round these parts for along 
 time. But what's he doing with my boat ? " 
 
 "This yours?" called the younger Sanantone, 
 the moment they were within hail. 
 
 " Yes ; where did you find it ? " 
 
 " Hid in ? e bushes . t'other end lake," said 
 the old Indian, in the softest, sweetest voice. 
 "You no find your boys yet?" he asked Mr. 
 Fitz Adam, gently. 
 
 " No, not yet," he answered, with a sigh. 
 " We have found their camp." 
 
ffiljE Silfarr J&tfle. 
 
 " Vou no find your boys yet?" p. iflo. 
 
THE SILVER EIFLE. 191 
 
 The two boats drew up on the shore, and 
 the Indians got out. 
 
 " Look here, men," said Michael ; " you 
 would n't believe it ; but the fact is, we 're afraid 
 there 's been foul play." 
 
 " Me know it," said the old man, in a tone of 
 quiet conviction. 
 
 "He's. got a story to tell you, sir," said Peter 
 Sanantone, respectfully, to Mr. Fitz Adam. 
 
 It appeared that Tin Kettle had been, on 
 Wednesday morning, coming through the woods 
 to the south of the lake, where the party then 
 was. That on the way he had met a boy whom 
 all recognized by his description as Sam Irmeljn. 
 He had carried, besides a rifle very much orna- 
 mented with silver, a second and lighter one, tied 
 together with two well-made fishing-rods, over 
 his shoulder. The Indian had asked him how 
 he came to be so well provided ; and Sam had 
 told him that the guns and rods belonged to a 
 party of gentlemen on Racket River, who had 
 sent him over to the Saranac for these things, 
 which they had left in possession of some friends 
 with whom they had parted at " Baker's." Tin 
 Kettle, who had seen Mr. De Forest several 
 times, had recognized the silver rifle, which he 
 greatly admired, and had been told by Sam that 
 
192 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 it now belonged to a young gentleman, a relation 
 of Mr. De Forest's. 
 
 " So then he say in a hurry, and go on ; and 
 me come this way," concluded the old man. 
 " Then me meet the boys, and they tell me story. 
 Then me know he 'teal him rifle. Wish me 
 shoot him," concluded the Indian, not angrily, 
 but rather as one who regrets having neglected a 
 duty. 
 
 " Oh, that would n't do at all," said Peter San- 
 antone, who could speak good English if he 
 chose, and was of the new generation. But, on 
 the whole, Peter seemed to be rather sorry than 
 otherwise that it would not do. 
 
 Tin Kettle only uttered a contemptuous grunt 
 in reply. 
 
 Michael and the two guides were very bitter 
 against Sam. It was not only the utter mean- 
 ness and heartlessness of his crime, but the slur 
 on their profession which they resented. 
 
 Among the guides of that region there might 
 possibly be found those who would now and then 
 shirk their duties, or tell rather large stories, or 
 lead the inexperienced away from, rather than to- 
 ward, those deer which they preferred to shoot 
 themselves. But, as a rule, they were and are a 
 very respectable, honest set of men ; and they were 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 193 
 
 full of wrath, uot only at the injury done to their 
 professional reputation, but at the baseness of a 
 member of their class. 
 
 The younger Sanantone and old Tin Kettle 
 set off instantly in pursuit of the culprit, while 
 Peter and Michael remained to prosecute the 
 search for the boys. Sanantone had his dog 
 with him; but Michael would fain have gone 
 back for old Sport, on whose sagacity and ex- 
 perience he greatly relied. Sanantone, however, 
 like every young man, firmly believed that his 
 dog could do anything that any other dog could 
 do. To Mr. Fitz Adam every minute seemed 
 an hour ; and Michael did not like to insist on 
 a delay which he did not feel to be absolutely 
 necessary. 
 
 Sanantone made the dog, a fine, intelligent- 
 looking hound, smell at the blankets, and talked 
 to him in a language which the creature seemed 
 to understand. He sniffed, and snuffed, and 
 whimpered, and ran hither and thither, and 
 finally, with one ringing bark, sprang forward on 
 the trail. 
 
 17 N 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 LOST IX THE WILDERNESS, 
 
 WHEN John and Allan first made the dis- 
 covery that they were lost, they had been 
 overcome by the sense of their desolate condition. 
 Tired out, and almost awe-struck in the midst 
 of the wild solitude, they had dropped down on 
 the little rocky ledge overhanging the morass, 
 and, with their arms round each other, had 
 remained for a few minutes silent in grief and 
 dismay. 
 
 But the two Fitz Adams were not boys to sit 
 helplessly down and starve to death in the wil- 
 derness without an effort to save themselves. 
 Allan was the first to speak. 
 
 " There 's no good in this," he said, with deci- 
 sion. " What 's to do next ? " 
 
 " We can go no farther to-night," said John. 
 " I 'm tired out, and you 're lame. Does your 
 ankle hurt you very much ? " 
 
 " No, nothing to speak of," said Allan, bravely 
 
 194 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 195 
 
 trying to suppress all signs of the pain, which 
 was growing sharper every moment. 
 
 " It ? s a good deal to feel, though," said John, 
 looking at his brother more attentively. " It 's 
 half killing you." 
 
 " It 's worse now I 've stopped walking. Don't 
 fret, John. I tell you what: just wet my hand- 
 kerchief in the brook, and take off my boot if 
 you can, and the sock, and wrap the wet cloth 
 round ; and I '11 cover it up warm with my coat, 
 and give it a pack, and it will be all right soon." 
 
 John obeyed his directions, only that he took 
 off his own coat to wrap over the wet bandage, 
 and then sat down holding his brother's head on 
 his knee. 
 
 " We 've got to stay here all night, for all I 
 see," he said. " Somebody will be out after us 
 before this time, and will find us after awhile, I 
 dare say." 
 
 Allan thought of more than one story that he 
 had heard of children who, lost in the woods, had 
 never been seen again, in spite of all the search- 
 ing parties sent out ; but very wisely he kept the 
 remembrance to himself. He was one of those 
 persons who come out strong in emergency or 
 danger. A troublesome lesson, a cold in his 
 head, some little annoyance or disappointment, 
 
196 THE SILVER RIFLE, 
 
 would make him fume and fret and scold. But 
 when seriously ill he was quite a model of pa- 
 tience, and now that helpless, unarmed, and suf- 
 fering he was lost in the wilderness, he was calm, 
 self-possessed, and did not utter a word of com- 
 plaint. 
 
 " We 'd better take stock," said John, " and 
 see what we 've got between us." 
 
 The boys took out, and laid on the rock, all 
 the contents of their pockets, which proved to be 
 as follows : 
 
 Two hard biscuits. One little flat cushion full 
 of different sized pins, which Jeanette had given 
 John on his going away from home. Allan had 
 had one, too, but had lost it. Two pocket-knives, 
 one good large jack-knife, the other smaller. 
 Two pocket-book diaries, kept at most irregular 
 intervals, containing a little loose change, and a 
 lock of their dead mother's beautiful long hair. 
 Two lead-pencils, and, to the boys' great delight, 
 Allan found one small fish-hook in the bottom 
 of his pocket. One small tin box containing 
 twenty-five matches. 
 
 " We must be very careful of them," said 
 Allan, " for they are what we shall have to 
 depend upon. John, I am ever so hungry. Do 
 you think we might eat these two biscuits?" 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 197 
 
 " Break one in two, and keep the other for 
 morning," said John, again packing up their 
 small possessions. "There's no trout in that 
 brook, I know," he added, looking with disgust 
 at the stream which trickled at their feet. It 
 was not a dancing, leaping mountain brook of 
 clear, sparkling water. It soaked down black 
 and impure from a bog higher up on the hill-side, 
 and found its fitting grave in the marsh beneath. 
 The place where the boys found themselves was 
 inexpressibly wild and dreary. At their feet lay 
 the dreary morass, a wide expanse of sullen pools 
 of dark water, blue-green flag beds and black 
 mud, looking like a ruined lake. 
 
 " This is a horrid place," said John, with a 
 little shudder. " Well, I may as well make the 
 fire, but these wet things will be hard to burn. 
 Plow sorry I am we left the lake." 
 
 " Yes, we 're like ' poor Thomas ' that ' went 
 from bad to worse,' " said Allan. " How sorry 
 I am we left the blankets. They 'd feel good 
 now." 
 
 " Well, there 's plenty of dry wood at all 
 events," said John, looking at the only advantage 
 their situation afforded ; and he rose and began to 
 gather the dead branches for their fire, and soon 
 had a crackling, roaring blaze. 
 17* 
 
198 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 " This is good/' said Allan, holding his chilled 
 hands over the flame. " You '11 have to be 
 watchman to-night, John, for I can't walk now ; 
 but I can keep up the fire. Let us have half a 
 biscuit, since that 's all we 've got." 
 
 The boys shared their scanty meal, and reso- 
 lutely put the other biscuit away for morning. 
 
 " Dear me ! " said John. " I don't wonder 
 people steal when they are hungry." 
 
 " Nor I," replied Allan. " It 's growing dark 
 again, is n't it ? It seems like three years since 
 we left the camp. If we only had our guns, I 
 would not mind half so much." 
 
 " No. We could provide for ourselves then," 
 said John. " Have you the least idea which way 
 we are from the Saranac ? " 
 
 "Not a bit," said Allan. "We've twisted 
 about so; but I certainly thought we knew where 
 to turn off there by the three pines and the rocks; 
 but then there are a great many pines and rocks 
 in this country." 
 
 "And we were talking and laughing so when we 
 came along that we never noticed the way much," 
 said John. 
 
 " What a noise the frogs make in the marsh," 
 said Allan ; and indeed the air rung with the 
 clamour of voices, from the deep bass of the bull- 
 frog to the shrill treble of the smaller species. 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 199 
 
 "I wish," said John, "that I didn't keep 
 thinking all the time about all the things I 've 
 ever had to eat. I can just see the dining-room 
 there at Saratoga, and how nice everything was." 
 
 " Saratoga!" cried Allan, suddenly raising him- 
 self from the ground. " Why, John, look here. 
 Don't you remember how the waiter brought us 
 frogs, and how good they were. It was the legs," 
 cried Allan, in a state of great excitement; "and 
 father said it was only the big green ones that 
 people ate." 
 
 "So he did," said John, jumping up ; "and 
 when we were at Lake George, I saw a boy get- 
 ting them in the marsh, for the hotel. I know 
 what kind they were. I '11 go after some straight, 
 before it gets quite dark. Give us a sharp stick ; 
 and you sit still. Hurrah ! we '11 have some sup- 
 per after all." John soon found a weapon, and 
 with some difficulty descended to the level of the 
 morass. Allan leaned anxiously over the rock 
 and watched him. 
 
 " Take care you don't get mired," he called. 
 
 " I will. There's lots of them here; but the 
 thing is to catch them." 
 
 John found it much more difficult than he had 
 expected to catch the frogs. They were very 
 nimble, and quite at home in the marsh, whereas 
 
200 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 he could hardly make his way, and was in con- 
 stant dread of losing his footing. 
 
 At the end of half an hour, however, he re- 
 turned, having killed six frogs. The boys cooked 
 the hind legs — the only part that is eaten — by 
 toasting them on the coals. They were not pre- 
 pared or served up in Saratoga style ; but they 
 were food, and tasted very good to the hungry 
 boys, who had eaten nothing since morning but 
 half a biscuit. 
 
 As Allan was picking out the last little bone, 
 he suddenly burst out laughing. 
 
 " Well, it 's you to find amusement," said 
 John. "What's the joke?" 
 
 " Only I was thinking of the difference between 
 this and Saratoga. That great dining-room, and 
 all the black waiters in their white jackets, and 
 the ladies in their fine things, and the tables set 
 so elegantly; and now here we are sitting among 
 the stones picking away at the bones, — which is 
 verse, though such was n't my intention." 
 
 " Well, if I ever go there again, I '11 give that 
 waiter something handsome ; for it was his bring- 
 ing the frogs' legs to us that day that made us 
 think of it. They are not bad little birds, at all. 
 The frogs, I mean, not the waiters." 
 
 " No, indeed ; only there is n't quite enough of 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 201 
 
 them. I 'd have caught some more, only I was 
 so hungry. Come, Allan, pick out a soft stone, 
 and go to sleep if you can. I 'm going to sit up 
 to-night, and keep up the fire. I '11 go and get 
 some more wood." 
 
 John collected a large quantity of the dry 
 wood, and then the two boys knelt together on 
 the stones and repeated their usual evening 
 prayer. They asked for deliverance and protec- 
 tion in all dangers of the coming night, and com- 
 mended themselves to the care of their heavenly 
 Father. Allan lay down as near the fire as he 
 could, and tried to go to sleep, but almost in 
 vain. The night was chilly, and they had no 
 covering but their coats. Allan's ankle pained 
 him ; but he would not complain. The frogs, 
 and the owls from the woods, filled the air with 
 their wild cries ; and in the dreary solitude in 
 which they found themselves, the boys felt as if 
 shut out from the living world. 
 
 It was a long, weary night. Toward morning 
 Allan did fall into a troubled sleep. John, after 
 a desperate effort to keep awake, yielded at last to 
 fatigue, and fell fast asleep by his brother's side. 
 Nothing, however, came near to harm the' two 
 boys, and it was bright morning when they both 
 awoke, roused by a wild scream from overhead. 
 
202 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 John sprang up rubbing his eyes, wakened 
 from a dream of home to find himself in the 
 lonely wilderness. The noise which had roused 
 him was the shriek of an eagle which had been 
 flying round and round above their heads in 
 ever narrowing circles. As John sprang up, the 
 great bird rose and sailed away over the hills. 
 
 John covered his face with his hands. 
 
 " He can fly, and we can't. It 's too bad ! It 's 
 too hard ! Oh, father ! father ! " 
 
 Allan put his arms round his brother and 
 kissed him. 
 
 " Do you know," he said, " what that makes 
 me think of? How He said, ' Foxes have holes, 
 and the birds of the air have nests ; but the Son 
 of man hath not where to lay his head.' He 
 knows how we feel." 
 
 " Yes," said John, sadly ; " but his Father was 
 always with Him." 
 
 " Is n't his Father our Father too ? " 
 
 " I can't feel it," said poor John. 
 
 " But He does, whether we do or not." 
 
 " Well, I won't break down, and pull you with 
 me," said John. " You 're stronger than I am. 
 How 's your ankle ? " 
 
 "Better. It doesn't pain me a bit," said 
 Allan, showing his brother that he could stand 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 203 
 
 and walk. " Let 's make the fire, and catch the 
 breakfast that is hopping round in the swamp 
 there. It rather goes against me to kill the poor 
 fellows, for I have a respect for frogs ; but I 
 don't see but we must." 
 
 " "Why, I dare say they 'd eat us if they liked 
 us, and could get us," said John, who was too 
 hungry to be very considerate for the frogs. " So 
 here goes." 
 
 " Practice makes perfect," even in the catching 
 of frogs. The boys made for themselves quite a 
 good breakfast, and then began seriously to con- 
 sider what they had better do next. 
 
 " I tell you," said John, " I think we had best 
 stay still where we are. Depend upon it all the 
 world will be out looking for us, and we may 
 just be running away from them. Somebody 
 says when you don't know what to do, do nothing. 
 Here is wood : by-the-by, we must n't let the fire 
 out, on account of saving the matches. There 's 
 a spring up on the hill, and we can get our living 
 out of the swamp." 
 
 " But it seems so stupid to sit down and do 
 nothing to help ourselves out of the scrape." 
 
 " But it would be a great deal stupider to help 
 ourselves into a worse scrape ; and we did that 
 when we left the lake. Besides, we need n't sit 
 
204 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 down and do nothing. We can go up to that big 
 rock, that will keep the wind off, and build up a 
 little shelter with these flat stones, and cut a lot 
 of spruce twigs for beds, and make ourselves 
 comfortable." 
 
 "Well, I believe you are right. Let's set to 
 work, for I hate to sit down and think, worse 
 than anything." 
 
 The two boys began to make their camp, and 
 growing occupied and interested in their work, 
 the whole morning passed away. They built up 
 against a rock two parallel walls of stones, laid 
 across them some of the partially-charred trunks 
 for rafters, and then went in among the spruce 
 trees to cut boughs for roofing and twigs for their 
 beds. 
 
 The boys were in quite good spirits when they 
 went into the little spruce thicket, and, laughing 
 and talking with each other, had soon collected a 
 large quantity of boughs. On their way back to 
 their shelter, they passed a pile of rocks where two 
 huge stones inclined together at their tops, leav- 
 ing between their gray sides a little arched cave. 
 
 Allan stooped and looked into it. 
 
 " Oh, John ! " he cried ; " come here. What is 
 this funny little beast ? " 
 
 The " little beast," a rolly-pooly, black, furry 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 205 
 
 creature, came out, grunting good-naturedly, to 
 meet the boys, and poked them with its nose in 
 quite an affectionate manner. 
 
 " You cunning little thing ! " said Allan, taking 
 it up in his arms, where it nestled quite con- 
 tentedly. " Is n't it pretty ? What is it ? " 
 
 " Why, Allan, it 's a bear's cub," said John, 
 startled. " I tell you we 'd better get out of this. 
 If the old lady comes back, it won't be nice at 
 all." 
 
 " That 's so," said Allan, alarmed ; " and we 'd 
 best be quick, too. She can't be far off." 
 
 " Good-by, you queer small beast," said John, 
 rather touched by the way in which the little 
 creature clung to Allan, like a kitten reluctant to 
 be put down. 
 
 " Yes. Tell your mammy we did n't hurt 
 you," said Allan, putting back the little cub in 
 its bed ; " and I advise you not to put so much 
 confidence in all strangers," he added, as they 
 hurried back to their shelter, which they were re- 
 luctant to leave after all their labour. 
 
 " It'll never do for us to stay here," said John. 
 " I 've always heard that a bear with cubs was 
 more savage than any other creature; and when 
 she comes home she '11 be after us, and what could 
 we do?" 
 18 
 
206 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 " Not much, in our condition. It 's a wonder 
 she never came after us last night. We have n't 
 much to pack up." 
 
 " I 'm sorry to go, too," said John, as they once 
 more turned away to wander through the wilder- 
 ness. " It seemed quite like home." 
 
 " Suppose we meet the bear ? " 
 
 " I don't think we shall. I noticed her tracks 
 going the other way." 
 
 " Good for you. John, it 's the greatest wonder 
 in the world that she did n't find us last night. 
 We were taken care of wonderfully." 
 
 " Where shall we go ? " 
 
 " Well, as long as we don't know where any- 
 thing is, we shall do as well to go one way as 
 another. Let 's strike off round the shoulder of 
 this hill, and see where we shall get to." 
 
 With a look of regret at their abandoned cabin, 
 the two brothers once more set out on their wander- 
 ings, going at every step farther and farther into 
 the trackless wilderness. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE HAIR-LINE. 
 
 I CAN'T go one step farther, John," said 
 Allan, sitting down and covering his face 
 with his hands. 
 
 John threw himself down beside his brother, 
 and for some minutes neither spoke a word. For 
 the first time the two boys gave themselves up to 
 despair. They began to feel that their case was 
 hopeless, and that they should die in the wilder- 
 ness. They had wandered all day Friday. Hop- 
 ing that if they climbed a hill they would see 
 some familiar landmark by which to direct their 
 steps, they had with great difficulty ascended the 
 nearest elevation. When, after a toilsome climb, 
 worn and exhausted, they at last came out upon 
 the bare, wind-swept summit, they saw a chaos of 
 mountains and woods spread out before them, but 
 nothing that they could recognize. 
 
 Tired, hungry, and worn out as they were, the 
 descent had been harder than the climbing up. 
 
 207 
 
208 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 When they had come to the bottom, they had 
 found themselves in a wild, dark ravine, where it 
 seemed as if no human being had ever before 
 stood. A water-fall sprang from the rocks above, 
 and not far from its foot was a deep, still pool, 
 where the boys hoped to find some trout. But 
 their string-line had been too weak, and the first 
 fish which took the bait had carried away the 
 cord and the crooked pin they had used, as Allan 
 had prudently refused to risk their only hook on 
 so slender a line. They had passed the lonesome 
 night cold and hungry, and the morning found 
 them more tired out in body and mind than ever 
 before. 
 
 John had made a bow and arrow with his 
 knife ; but he had nothing to point it with but a 
 crooked pin. More than one rabbit had crossed 
 their path. The partridge had whirred up from 
 before them, and the quail had piped in the open 
 places near the edge of the woods ; but both bird 
 and rabbit had escaped unharmed by John's 
 ineffectual weapon. 
 
 All day Saturday they wandered, growing 
 more and more silent and hopeless, and less able 
 to bear up under the long fatigue and suffering. 
 Night found them faint for want of food, tired 
 out in body and mind. 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 209 
 
 " Brother," said Allan, at last, " I don't see 
 but it 's all up with us now." 
 
 " I 'm afraid it is," said John. " If we die 
 here, we shall have been murdered more cruelly 
 than if that wretch who led us astray had shot us 
 as we slept. I wish he had. It would have 
 been easier." 
 
 " God forgive him ! " said Allan. 
 
 John was silent. He could not say the words, 
 and he would not trouble his brother. 
 
 "Your ankle is very lame, isn't it?" he said. 
 
 " Yes. Never mind, John. It won't hurt me 
 long." 
 
 " Oh, Allan ! Allan ! " said John, in bitterness 
 of spirit. " What have you done that you should 
 suffer like this? If I only knew that you were 
 safe with father, it seems to me I would not care 
 much for myself. And no one will ever know 
 how we were robbed, and left helpless to starve 
 to death, and that fellow will get off safe." 
 
 " Don't let us talk about him now," said Allan, 
 with a shiver. " How cold it grows ! There will 
 be a heavy frost to-night. I hope we shall go to 
 sleep." 
 
 John looked at his brother, and felt that if 
 Allan fell asleep, the probabilities were that he 
 would never wake. He was pale as death ; his 
 18* 
 
210 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 features were pinched and sharp. He looked as 
 though their four days' wandering had done the 
 work often years. As, faint for want of food, he 
 lay back on the ground and closed his eyes, he 
 seemed like one dying or dead. 
 
 Both boys presented a most forlorn appearance. 
 Their clothes had been torn almost to shreds 
 among the bushes, briers, and rocks through 
 which they had forced their way ; and their shoes 
 had all but fallen to pieces. Their faces and 
 hands were burnt by the sun and wind and torn 
 by the brambles. Grief, hunger, and fatigue 
 had so changed them, that it seemed almost as 
 though their own father would not have known 
 them for the two handsome, sturdy boys who 
 had set out four days before from the camp on 
 the Saranac. John was stronger than Allan, and 
 had yet enough force left to collect a few sticks 
 and kindle a lire ; but it was very hard work ; and 
 he had to sit down several times to rest before he 
 could accomplish his purpose. Then utterly worn 
 out he threw himself on the ground beside his 
 brother, and holding each other close, the two 
 boys waited in silence for the end, which seemed 
 so hopelessly near. They had suffered much that 
 day. Notwithstanding the repeated assertion 
 that it is impossible to catch cold in the woods, 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 211 
 
 the boys, lying out on the ground without their 
 blankets, had done it. Both, especially Allan, 
 had felt a separate pain in every bone, and had 
 been tormented by feverish thirst and head- 
 ache. But as the flame of life burnt lower and 
 lower, a sort of apathy seemed to creep over them. 
 As death drew nearer he laid aside his terrors, 
 and became almost a friend and deliverer. 
 John's feeling of hatred toward their false guide 
 seemed to dissolve and float away like a morning 
 mist before the great change which he felt was 
 close at hand. 
 
 They thought of their father and his grief; but 
 all suffering appeared like a passing cloud before 
 the sense of the presence in which they must 
 soon stand; and both felt that strange peaceful 
 assurance which often makes death so much easier 
 to the dying than the living. 
 
 They were on a little grassy platform part way 
 up the side of a high hill. The grass was dry 
 and brown and soft. Great gray rocks lay scat- 
 tered here and there. The tufts of the golden 
 rod waved to and fro in the sunshine, and two 
 great red and brown butterflies sailed happily 
 about from one flower to another. Through the 
 little meadow ran a stream that made a succession 
 of cascades from the hill above, and, after water- 
 
212 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 ing the little green plain, sprang from stone to 
 stone into the wooded ravine below. There was 
 a deep, still pool near where the boys had built 
 their fire, and as the shadows began to fall, more 
 than one fish leaped and glanced from the clear 
 water. 
 
 It crossed Allan's mind that if they had a line 
 they might yet be saved ; but in his then state of 
 mind he did not seem to care very much about 
 his life, and he lay still, and did not speak. 
 John, who was not so weak as his brother, re- 
 membered his diary in his pocket ; and it occurred 
 to him in a half-dreaming way that he might 
 write a line or two, which, if ever their bodies 
 were found, would tell their sad story to their 
 friends. 
 
 He took out the little book and found the 
 pencil in its pocket. There also was a paper 
 carefully wrapped about a lock of his dead 
 mother's hair. Mrs. Fitz Adam had had re- 
 markably long dark-brown hair. This tress was 
 fully a yard and a quarter in length, soft and fine. 
 
 John kissed it softly, and then an idea came 
 into his mind which once more made his heart 
 beat with the hope that there remained some pos- 
 sibility of saving his brother's life and his own. 
 He shook out the lock of hair to its full length. 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 213 
 
 " Allan," he said, faintly, " see here I " 
 Allan carried the hair to his lips with a trem- 
 bling hand. 
 
 " It 's mother's," he said, faintly. » Do you 
 think she'll know us? I hope it's not very 
 far to go," he continued, his mind wandering a 
 little. " I can't go far : I 'm so tired." 
 
 " Allan, dear," said John, quietly, " listen to me. 
 I want you to help me plait this into a line, 
 and fasten that one hook securely ; and if we can 
 do that, I think our lives will be saved. Yes, I 
 know it's mother's hair; but she'd be glad if it 
 kept us alive for father. Think, Allan 1 Try 
 and be yourself. He has no children but our- 
 selves. See the trout leap ! We have no right 
 to lie down here to die as long as there is any 
 chance left." 
 
 "I'm very tired and sleepy," said Allan, in a 
 dreamy voice. « Won't it do after I wake ? " 
 
 " My dear boy, if you go to sleep now, you '11 
 never wake," said John. "Come, Allan!" he 
 added, more imperatively. " Our lives are worth 
 trying for. Think of father, and all of them." 
 
 Allan made an effort to rouse himself from the 
 sort of lethargy that was stealing over him, and 
 tried to understand what John meant. When he 
 at last comprehended his intention, the faint 
 
214 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 hope thus kindled seemed to rally his failing 
 strength. He tried to sit up, but fell back on 
 the grass. John, who was not so utterly ex- 
 hausted, raised himself, and leaned against a 
 stone at his back. He divided the hair carefully 
 into two parts. 
 
 " The trouble will be in joining," he said; " and 
 you know how to tie the knots better than I do. 
 If you can't do it yourself, show me how." 
 
 It was an hour before the boys accomplished 
 their task. Allan's hand, weak as it was, had not 
 forgotten its old cunning, and he joined the two 
 lengths of hair securely together, and, after a great 
 deal of trouble, fastened on the hook. More than 
 once the boys were obliged to stop and rest; and 
 it was all they could do to resist the faintness 
 which they felt stealing over them. 
 
 But John's resolute will conquered. He talked 
 to and encouraged his brother, half persuading, 
 half commanding. He held himself up ;*he closed 
 his ears to the voice that whispered that all was 
 useless, and that nothing was left but to lie down 
 and die. When the line was finally woven, he 
 managed, he hardly knew how, to cut a pole from 
 the nearest thicket, baited the hook with a small 
 grasshopper, which opportunely presented itself, 
 and, sitting down by the edge of the little pool, 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 215 
 
 he dropped the hook gently on the water. He 
 had hardly done so before the bait was taken, with 
 a force which almost pulled the whole from the 
 boy's trembling hands. 
 
 He held it, however, and once more animated 
 with the hope of life, he seemed for the moment 
 to feel stronger. In his heart he thanked Mr. De 
 Forest for the instructions which had taught him 
 to use skill rather than strength ; and in a few 
 minutes he landed a moderate sized trout. 
 
 " Thank God ! " he said, and then for the first 
 time he began to cry, and kissed the hair-line over 
 and over. 
 
 " Mother 's saved our lives," he said, as he went 
 back to his brother. 
 
 The boys ate their fish with small dressing or 
 cooking. Allan hardly seemed to know what he 
 was doing for a few minutes. For two days the 
 boys had had nothing to eat but half a biscuit 
 apiece, and some sassafras leaves. It was too 
 early for nuts, even had there been any nut-trees 
 in the high desolate region into which they had 
 come, and too late for berries. 
 
 As Allan's fainting strength revived, his mind 
 in some degree recovered its tone. 
 
 "I believe I have got my wits back agaiu," he 
 said, with a little smile : " all there is left of 
 
216 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 them. Do you know, when you were talking to 
 me, and making me work at this, it seemed to 
 me as if you were very silly to take so much 
 trouble for nothing ? " 
 
 John drew a long breath of relief, for he had 
 heard stories of people lost in the woods, whose 
 minds had given way under the pressure of 
 hunger and loneliness, and he felt thankful to 
 hear his brother's natural voice once more. 
 
 " You did seem a little queer," he said ; " but 
 you were so faint. Do you feel better ? " 
 
 " Yes. Are there any more fish in that brook, 
 do you suppose? I never tasted anything so de- 
 lightful." 
 
 " Let me try for another? " 
 
 " Are you strong enough ? " 
 
 " I guess so ; if you can find another grasshop- 
 per. You blessed little fish - hook ! If ever I 
 get home safe, I '11 have you put in a frame." 
 
 The fish in the little pool were evidently quite 
 unsophisticated, for they sprang with frantic eager- 
 ness, even at a bit of John's torn handkerchief, 
 and in a few minutes the boys had caught trout 
 enough for a fine supper. Not being quite so 
 starved as when they made their first capture, they 
 dressed their fish, and, broiling it on the coals, 
 held a feast which they greatly enjoyed, and once 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 217 
 
 more, as Allan said, began to feel quite like them- 
 selves. 
 
 " We had best stay where we are," said John. 
 " It 's a better place than any we 've seen. We 
 only get worse and worse off as we go on." 
 
 "Yes," said Allan; "and nothing can come 
 near us in this open place without our seeing it. 
 There 's no use in your trying to keep awake to 
 watch. You '11 certainly go to sleep. Make up 
 as big a fire as you can, and then let us lie down. 
 This dry grass is better than the bare rock, or the 
 damp moss in the woods last night." 
 
 " I '11 take my knife and cut down as much as 
 I can," said John, " and spread it over us. It 
 will be something toward keeping us warm." 
 
 " You are too tired. I would n't. I can't take 
 a step, for my ankle is all swelled up as big as 
 two." 
 
 John persisted, nevertheless, and collected 
 several armfuls of the dry grass for bed and 
 covering. Then he made up the fire as well as 
 he could, and, nestling in the hay beside his 
 brother, was soon fast asleep. They slept on 
 soundly till toward midnight, when Allan woke, 
 and replenished the dyiDg fire. 
 
 As he did so, he thought he heard from some- 
 where, not far oil', a sound like the groaning of 
 19 
 
218 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 some one in distress. He listened, but it was not 
 renewed ; and he had been used to hear so many 
 strange noises, that this made little impression 
 upon his mind. 
 
 " It 's only an owl, or a coon, or something," 
 thought Allan, and he fell asleep again, and did 
 not wake till morning. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE PANTHER. 
 
 WHEN Allan woke, a great hawk, with a 
 partridge in his claws, was sitting on a 
 stone opposite, apparently wondering who and 
 what the two boys could be. 
 
 Allan shouted and clapped his hands, and the 
 startled bird dropped his prey, and rose on his 
 wings. Allan jumped up and seized the dead 
 partridge before he could pounce again, and the 
 hawk, with a scream, sailed away. 
 
 John woke with the noise, and Allan held up 
 his prize in triumph. 
 
 " So much for breakfast," he said. " It was n't 
 quite fair to take'it, to be sure ; but he can catch 
 another easier than we can." 
 
 " That 's quite splendid," said John, rising to 
 collect more wood for the fire, while Allan began 
 to pick the partridge. " It 's like the ravens that 
 fed Elijah." 
 
 " Only I 'm afraid the hawk won't come back. 
 How do you feel this morning ? " 
 
 219 
 
220 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 " How do you ? " 
 
 " Better; only I 'ni rather lame yet. That grass 
 kept us so nice and warm last night; it really 
 seems quite as if we had been to bed : but I 'm 
 tired, and I don't want to set off after any new 
 adventures to-day." 
 
 " Nor I. If the adventures will let me alone, 
 I '11 let them alone after this. I really did n't 
 think you 'd be alive this morning," said John, 
 with emotion. 
 
 " I do think I was very near gone," said Allan. 
 " I shall never be afraid of death again, if it is 
 as easy as it seemed last night ; but I 'm glad I 
 did n't leave you here all alone." 
 
 " I should n't have been long after you ; but 
 some way I feel more encouraged this morning 
 than I have at all, though I am so tired. We 
 were saved so wonderfully last night. It was 
 just as though some one had whispered to me 
 about making that line ; and we 've come through 
 so much. I feel as if it was not meant we should 
 die here. To-day 's Sunday, is n't it ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and let us make it a real day of rest, for 
 I am sure we need it. Have some nice coals, 
 John, and we'll have a breakfast worth while, 
 thanks to the hawk." 
 
 The buys cooked their bird, and enjoyed it 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 221 
 
 greatly. Then having taken a bath in the brook, 
 and shaken the dust and dirt out of their ragged 
 clothes, they sat down by the fire, and, as a sort of 
 exercise for the day, began to repeat to each other 
 all the verses from the Bible which they could 
 remember. 
 
 " I must get some more wood," said John, at 
 last, rising from his place. " It won't do to let 
 the fire go out, and use up our precious matches. 
 What a mercy it is the weather keeps so pleasant." 
 
 " Yes. We '11 build up some kind of a shelter, 
 to-morrow. Where are you going ? " for John 
 was preparing to descend the bank that led to the 
 bottom of the little fall. 
 
 " I 've got to go down a little bit for more 
 wood. I 've used up about all there is right here. 
 You sit still, and rest your foot. I '11 be back in 
 a minute." 
 
 " I can't bear to have you out of sight," said 
 Allan, nervously. "It's been a perfect night- 
 mare to me all the time, for fear that I should 
 lose you." 
 
 " I won't go only just down on this next ledge. 
 There 's a big tree there fallen down. I 'm on 
 the brook, and can't lose the way so long as I 
 know water won't run up hill." 
 
 " Well ; but call now and then, will you ? " 
 
 19* 
 
222 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 " Yes/' said John, and disappeared down the 
 little ravine. 
 
 He called to his brother two or three times, 
 and then there was a longer interval of silence, 
 and Allan grew anxious. He shouted aloud. 
 
 The next instant he heard a wild cry of " help ! 
 help ! " Then there was a long, savage yell, half 
 animal, half human, and almost simultaneously 
 two shots in rapid succession, and the sound of a 
 heavy fall. Greatly startled and alarmed, Allan 
 dragged himself to the edge of the little descent, 
 calling wildly again and again on his brother. 
 As he was about to throw himself down, careless 
 of his lame foot, he heard his own name. To his 
 unspeakable relief, John made his appearance 
 round a huge rock. Allan gave a cry of delighted 
 surprise, for his brother bore in his hand the silver 
 rifle. 
 
 The next instant, however, he started, for it 
 flashed across his mind that John had encountered 
 their false guide, and that Sam had been shot in 
 the struggle. 
 
 " Oh, John ! " he cried. " You have n't killed 
 him?" 
 
 " Quite the contrary," said John, in a tone of 
 repressed excitement. 
 
 " Then you are hurt yourself? " 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 223 
 
 "Not a bit. Come down here, if you can. 
 Let me help you." 
 
 Allan asked no more questions, but hurried 
 down the rocks heedless of his lameness. John 
 caught his hand, and, holding it very tight, led 
 him round the rock upon a wide craggy platform 
 that jutted over the brook at a height of perhaps 
 ten feet. On this platform lay Sam Irmelin, 
 quite insensible. Allan's rifle, and the rods tied 
 together, were near him, and close by the tawny 
 body of a huge panther yet quivering in death. 
 
 " Is Sam dead ? " said Allan, in an awe-struck 
 whisper. 
 
 " No ; I think he 's fainted. Did n't you hear 
 him call ? " 
 
 " I thought that was you," said Allan, with a 
 shudder. " Oh, it was so horrible ! But the 
 panther ? " 
 
 " He 's dead enough. I '11 tell you," said 
 John, who was remarkably calm and self-pos- 
 sessed. " I came down here after wood, and just 
 as I got to that big rock we passed round, I heard 
 the call, and ran round the corner and saw him 
 lying as he is there, and the panther on that log 
 opposite, just getting ready for a spring. The 
 rifle, thank God, lay right there at my foot, where 
 he 'd dropped it. I caught it up and fired, and 
 
224 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 hit the creature in the breast. He gave a yell, 
 and gathered himself for a spring, and I gave him 
 the other barrel. Thank heaven, they were both 
 loaded, and he made one bound and dropped 
 there." And trembling from head to foot, John 
 sat down on a stone and leaned his head against 
 his brother. 
 
 In his joy and thankfulness, Allan kissed first 
 John and then the rifle. 
 
 "So you 've really killed a panther?" he said, 
 
 " Yes," said John, and then he rose and knelt 
 down by Sam. 
 
 " He 's not dead. He 's only in a faint," he 
 said. "He must have fallen over the bank. 
 Help me bring him to himself. He 's hurt some 
 way. I guess he 's got his flask with him." 
 
 " Yes," said Allan, putting his hand in Sam's 
 pocket, and drawing out a wicker-covered bottle 
 with a little spirits in it. 
 
 The boys tried to force a little of the cordial 
 between Sam's lips, and bathed his face with 
 water from the brook. Presently he opened his 
 eyes, but closed them again with a groan as he 
 recognized the boys. 
 
 " Do you know me, Sam ? " said John, not 
 harshly, but rather coldly. 
 
 " Yes," said Sam, hiding his face with his hands. 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 225 
 
 "The panther is dead," said Allan. "See, 
 there he lies." 
 
 " Who killed him ? " asked Sam, faintly. 
 
 "John did. He saved your life. Oh, Sam 
 Irmelin ! What ever had we done to you that 
 you should treat us like this ? " 
 
 " How did you come here ? " said Sam, still 
 hiding his face. 
 
 " We lost our way trying to get back to father's 
 camp. We Ve been wandering about ever since. 
 We have been almost starved. How could you ? " 
 
 " I don't know," said Sam. " I should n't, if 
 it had not been for that Marshall boy." 
 
 " Gus Marshall ! " cried both the brothers at 
 once. " Why, what had he to do with it ? " 
 
 " That night I went back with him to ' Ba- 
 ker's,' he told me that he would give me twenty 
 dollars, if I would put the silver rifle into his 
 hands. I promised I would ; but after I got it 
 and the other things, I wanted to keep them for 
 myself." 
 
 The boys looked at each other in horror, quite 
 aghast at such wickedness. 
 
 "Who could have thought Gus Marshall was 
 as bad as that?" said Allan. " But what did you 
 think was to become of us, all alone in the woods 
 without our guns ? " 
 
226 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 " I thought your father would come for you." 
 
 " That was n't our lake where you took us, was 
 it ? " said John, quietly. 
 
 " No, sir : I wanted time to get off. I started 
 over the hills for Racket River ; and I meant to 
 get over to Canada : but, young gentlemen, — I 
 don't know as you '11 believe me, — when I came to 
 think how mean I'd been, I couldn't go on; 
 and finally, day before yesterday, I started back for 
 the Saranac, to give myself up and bring back 
 your things ; but I lost my way, too. I fell 
 down here yesterday afternoon, and have lain here 
 ever since. I don't know what I 've done to my- 
 self. I don't seem to have broken any bones ; 
 but I can't move or stir, only my arms ; and I 
 saw the panther, and could n't reach the rifle. It 's 
 the judgment of God upon me for my wicked- 
 ness ; but, oh, young gentlemen, don't leave me 
 here alone to die, though I deserve no better at 
 your hands." 
 
 " We never could think of such a thing," said 
 John. " I can forgive you now, Sam, though I 
 could n't before." 
 
 " Yes," said Allan. " We did forgive you last 
 night, when we thought we were going to die ; so 
 say no more about it. John, I wish we could get 
 him up i:he. bank. It 's a great deal more com- 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 227 
 
 fortable there than in this damp place ; and, be- 
 sides, I have heard that where there was t one 
 panther, there would be another ; and where we 
 are, it is all open, so that we can see what is 
 coming." 
 
 " I can't take one step," said Sam. " I 'm not 
 in any pain, but I can't move nor raise myself. 
 It seems a sort of numbness." 
 
 Fortunately, there was an easier slope at a little 
 distance, and up this, with a great deal of labour 
 and often stopping to rest, the two boys conveyed 
 Sam. Having reached their fire, they laid him 
 on their bed of hay, and covered him over with 
 his blanket. During the whole time Sam never 
 spoke a word. 
 
 John loaded his beloved rifle, greatly rejoiced 
 at having it once more in his own hands. Allan 
 collected their other possessions, and among them 
 the kettle, which he filled with water and set on 
 the fire to boil, " simply to see how it looked," for 
 they had neither coffee nor tea. 
 
 " If you 'd get the panther's skin," said Sam, 
 timidly, as though fearing to address the boys, 
 " it would be worth keeping ; and if you have to 
 stay here any time, it would keep you warm." 
 
 " I 'm afraid we should only spoil it," said 
 John. 
 
228 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 " I guess I could tell you/' said Sam. " I 've 
 got, my hunting-knife." 
 
 By attending to Sam's directions, the two boys 
 did manage to get the panther's skin, and, having 
 done so, began to wonder whether a panther-steak 
 might be eatable. 
 
 " They do eat them," said Allan, " in South 
 America. It 's in Darwin's Voyage. He says it 
 is n't bad. Let 's try." 
 
 The boys selected a portion, and on questioning 
 Sam learned that he had heard the older hunters 
 talk of eating panther meat, though he had never 
 done so himself. Indeed, he had never before 
 seen a panther alive. 
 
 Hungry as the boys were, they found their new 
 dish so exceedingly tough and strong, that they 
 gave up the attempt to eat it in despair, and con- 
 cluded that Mr. Darwin's panther must have been 
 younger than theirs. 
 
 " We must have something," said Allan : " Sam 
 is faint for want of food. It don't seem right to 
 go fishing and hunting on Sunday ; but as long as 
 we can't live any other way, it is like the disciples 
 picking the ears of corn. I heard a partridge drum 
 up in the woods there this morning. Go and see 
 if you can find a bird or two, John, and I '11 get 
 some fish. Have you got my fly-book, Sam ? " 
 
THE SILVER EIFLE. 229 
 
 " Yes, sir/' said Sam, colouring crimson. " It 's 
 in my pocket. You '11 have to lift me, for I can't 
 stir, not one bit." 
 
 Allan gently moved the helpless boy, and 
 took from his pocket the precious fly-book, quite 
 safe. 
 
 "Poor fellow!" said Allan, pitying him. "I 
 wish I knew what to do for you." 
 
 " Oh, sir ! If you would n't be so kind," said 
 Sam, in a faltering voice. " Your brother saved 
 my life; and now you both stay here, when you 
 might find your way back." 
 
 " We did n't mean to go on to-day, at all 
 events," said John; "and I think we'd best stay 
 still, for whenever we 've made a move, it 's been 
 for the worse ; and of course we should n't go off 
 and leave you. Don't cry, Sam," for the helpless 
 figure was shaken with sobs. " I 'm sure you '11 
 never do such a thing again." 
 
 " He '11 be better when he gets something to 
 eat," said Allan, kindly. " Now, John, don't you 
 go too far off." 
 
 " I won't. I'll just go straight up the hill. 
 I 'm sure I '11 find something in those open woods ; 
 and you get some fish, and we '11 have a good 
 dinner." 
 
 Pretty soon John's gun was heard from the 
 20 
 
230 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 wood, and he reappeared, bringing with him two 
 brace of birds. 
 
 " They are as plenty as blackberries up there," 
 he said ; " and I saw marks of deer, too. There 's 
 no danger of our starving." 
 
 Sam ate the food which the boys prepared for 
 him with tolerable appetite. He did not com- 
 plain of any pain, only the strange numbness and 
 helplessness. 
 
 The boys, who had heard of such cases before, 
 and felt that it was very probable he would never 
 walk again, were full of pity for his wretched 
 condition, and tended him with a kindness which 
 seemed to make a deep impression on the unhappy 
 young man. 
 
 " Young gentlemen," he said, after a long 
 silence, " I should like to tell you all about 
 it." 
 
 "Don't trouble yourself," said Allan. "We 
 know you are sorry now. You don't want to go 
 over it." 
 
 " I 'd rather, sir ; for I don't think you know 
 anything how mean I have been. It began the 
 first night we started, when Michael sent me back 
 to ' Baker's ' for the pepper. You know young 
 Marshall went with me ; and he kept telling me 
 all the way how you and your father had cheated 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 231 
 
 him out of his uncle's property, and especially the 
 silver rifle." 
 
 " It 's no such thing/' said Allan, with great 
 indignation. "He left the Marshalls ever so 
 much more than the old house is worth ; and 
 father never knew a word about the will until it 
 was read after the funeral ; and as to the rifle and 
 things, what use would they have been to Gus ? " 
 
 "Hush, Allan," said John. "Let Sam tell 
 his story." 
 
 " Well, you see, he kept telling me about your 
 rifle, and how valuable it was, and what his uncle 
 had done with it ; and I 'd always heard the men 
 talk about it. Finally, he offered me twenty 
 dollars if I 'd bring it to him at a place on the 
 lake, near where we set sail. "Well, I would n't 
 listen to him at first ; but he kept on, and the 
 more he talked, the more I thought what a fine 
 thing it would be to get so much money all at 
 once, and finally I part promised to do it." 
 
 "But, Sam," said Allan, greatly disgusted, 
 "you needn't have been so mean because he 
 was." 
 
 " I know, sir. It don't make a wicked thing 
 any better because there 's two people in it instead 
 of one. I don't mean to excuse myself. Do you 
 remember the day after we camped, the two hunt- 
 
232 THE SILVEE EIFLE. 
 
 ers that came up the lake in a boat, I told you 
 one of them was old George Flint ? " 
 
 " Yes/' said John. " I hope he was n't con- 
 cerned in the matter ? " 
 
 " He, sir ! " said Sam. " No, indeed ! George 
 would never touch a pin that did n't belong to 
 him ; but he brought me a note from Mr. Mar- 
 shall, and in it he said he 'd give me double what 
 he 'd promised, if I 'd only put the silver rifle into 
 his hands. I believe old George would have 
 killed me, if he 'd guessed what it was he carried." 
 
 " Have you got that note about you ? " said 
 John. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Sam, taking a folded paper 
 from the little pocket in the breast of his hunting- 
 shirt. Gus Marshall's note ran as follows : — 
 
 " If you will bring me the gunn, I will make it 
 wurth your wile, and give you dubble what I 
 promiced. Augustus Marshall, Esq." 
 
 for stupid Gus could not forbear the dear delight 
 of his flourishing signature even to such a docu- 
 ment. 
 
 " That 's Gus, sure enough," said Allan ; " both 
 the hand and the spelling. The miserable fellow! 
 Well, go on." 
 
 " I tried to get hold of the rifle, if you remem- 
 
THE SILVER EIFLE. 233 
 
 ber, more than once," said Sara, addressing John ; 
 ' but you were so careful of it I could n't. That 
 day we went up on the mountain I should have 
 done so only that you left it in camp ; and then I 
 made up the plan I carried out ; but I thought 
 you would get back, or that your friends would 
 come and find you. I never thought you might 
 get lost, though I might have done so. Now I 
 see what you've been through. I wonder I 
 have n't got your deaths to answer for as well. 
 All that Mr. Marshall had said to me set me 
 to thinking how much I should like to have the 
 silver rifle and your rod, Allan, for my own, and 
 how easy it would be to get away and get over to 
 Canada ; and I thought you had so many things, 
 and your father was rich, and all ; but I had n't 
 half made up my mind I 'd really do it, not even 
 when we got over there to the lake, not even 
 when you went to bed and left me to watch. 
 And then when I was alone, it kept coming up 
 to me, just as though something kept whispering 
 in my ear, how easy it would be to take the 
 things, and get off with them. I thought I could 
 get over to Canada, and go up the Saguenay : and 
 I meant to sell your rifle, Allan, and your 
 brother's rod ; and that the things were worth so 
 much more to a poor boy like me." 
 20* 
 
234 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 " But, Sam/' said John, " seems to me that 
 was a very short-sighted plan on your part. You 
 must have known you could never come back 
 here, and your reputation as a guide would be 
 gone, and you could n't come back to your friends. 
 If it was n't for anything but the money, I should 
 think your good name would have been worth 
 more to you than the rifle." 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Sam, with, a sigh. "I saw 
 that when it was too late; but I was just blinded 
 by covetousness. Don't think I 'm excusing my- 
 self, young gentlemen ; I 'm only telling you what 
 I thought. Finally, I went in where you were 
 sleeping, and the sight of the things was too much 
 for me. If I had n't gone and looked at them, I 
 don't think I should have given myself up to my 
 wickedness, even then. Someway, almost before 
 I knew, I found myself in the canoe with your 
 guns and the other things. Half a dozen times, 
 before I reached the other end of the lake, I was 
 a mind to turn back. Oh, how I wish I had ! 
 But I did n't. I hid the canoe at the foot of the 
 lake, and struck across the country for Racket 
 River. I'd never been through there, but I 
 thought I could find the way. I never was afraid 
 in the woods before, but now it seemed as if there 
 was something walking eluse behind me all the 
 20* 
 
THE SILVER KIFLE. 235 
 
 time, and every step I took I expected to see 
 some one start out, and ask me what I was doing 
 with your guns and rods. I met an old Indian ; 
 and I think he suspected me, for he looked at the 
 things curiously, and asked me some questions, 
 but I put him off with some made-up story, and 
 went on a ways. But then it came up to me 
 more and more how mean I 'd been, and every 
 kind word you'd said to me, and how the doctor 
 and your father and Mr. Everard had treated 
 me so well, and how bad you 'd feel when you 
 woke up and found you 'd been robbed. It was 
 just like some one talking to me ; and finally I 
 made up my mind I'd just go straight back to 
 the Saranac and give myself up, and take back 
 the things ; and I started for your father's camp ; 
 but I was in such a worry and trouble of mind, 
 I suppose I had n't kept the bearings right, for I 
 lost my way. Yesterday afternoon I fell over 
 the rock. I guess I must have lain in a fit or 
 something for a while, for when I came to my- 
 self, it was growing dark. I tried to get up, but I 
 found I could n't stir, only move my arms. Oh, 
 I tell you, gentlemen, I suffered misery ! I 
 couldn't do anything, only lie still and think 
 what I 'd done, and how no one would ever know 
 that I 'd tried to bring the things back, and how 
 
236 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 I should leave my bones for the wild creatures, 
 and how my poor father and mother would feel. 
 I might have thought of them before I disgraced 
 a respectable name ; but, oh, it was dreadful ! " 
 
 " You poor fellow ! " said John, quite melted. 
 " How I wish I had known you were there last 
 night. I wonder you didn't hear us." 
 
 " The water-fall makes such a noise," said 
 Allan ; " and he could n't see our fire down there. 
 I thought I did hear a queer sound last night ; 
 but there are so many noises in the woods, and I 
 was so tired." 
 
 " And then in the morning before you came, I 
 think I fell into some sort of sleep or swoon, and 
 when I came to myself, there was the painter 
 couched just ready for its spring, lashing its tail 
 like a cat. And there lay both rifles loaded just 
 out of reach of my hand ; but they might as well 
 have been ten miles off, for I could n't move. 
 And the beast seemed to know how helpless I 
 was, for it crouched and drew back, and put its 
 head on one side, and made believe it was going 
 to jump, just as I 've seen a cat do with a mouse 
 she 'd caught. I called, though I did n't think 
 there was a living soul anywhere near; and then 
 I heard the shot, and I never knew anything 
 more till I found you both over me. I 've 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 237 
 
 treated you awful bad ; but I don't think you 'd 
 want me to suffer any more than I did last night 
 and this morning." 
 
 " Oh, Sam," said Allan, greatly moved. " We 
 did n't want you to suffer at all. Did we, John?" 
 
 " I did at first," said John. " I felt as if 
 nothing could be too bad ; but I 've got all over 
 it now." 
 
 " I suppose I 've stolen more than enough to 
 send me to State's prison," said Sam, after a 
 silence. 
 
 " Oh, father will never prosecute, if he gets us 
 and the things back safe ; and, besides, you 
 repented, and were coming back with what you 
 had taken. That makes it very different. Don't 
 it, Allan?" 
 
 " Of course it docs. I 'm so glad you did, for 
 I liked you so well, Sam. I could n't bear to 
 think of your doing such a thing. There ! there ! 
 It 's all made up now ; and if matters were ever 
 so much worse, who could come down on you, 
 now you are so helpless ? " 
 
 " What do you think is the matter with me, 
 sir ? " asked Sam, as Allan sat down beside him. 
 
 " I 'm afraid you have hurt your back some 
 way," said Allan, gently; " but I hope it will be 
 better after a little." 
 
238 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 " Are your parents over in Keeseville ? " asked 
 John. 
 
 "Yes, sir; and I've done what will go nigh 
 to kill them. I had as good a home and as kind 
 a father and mother as any boy need have. I've 
 got no excuse, for I was brought up respectable, 
 and taught to be honest. If I 'd minded my 
 father and mother, I need n't have been in 
 trouble. Father always said I was too fond of 
 money, and would some time do something mean 
 for the sake of it ; and many 's the time mother's 
 said it was hard for any one to keep on the 
 straight line that was as anxious to lay up money 
 as I was ; but I thought I knew more than they 
 did." 
 
 " You are really sorry, I am sure," said John, 
 who felt embarrassed, and hardly knew what to 
 say. 
 
 " Sorry ! " said Sam, with a groan. " Well, 
 there 's no use talking : I deserve all I 've got." 
 
 The boys looked at each other. They longed 
 to comfort Sam, but hardly knew how. 
 
 " Sam," said Allan, taking the boy's hand, 
 " why don't you ask God to forgive you "? " 
 
 " It don't seem as if he could," said Sam, draw- 
 ing his hand away; "and my hand isn't fit for 
 any gentleman to touch." 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 239 
 
 " Don't you believe we forgive you, when we 
 say we do ? " said John, bending over him. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; but it 's more than I can under- 
 stand. It is n't only what I ' ve got to go through, 
 and the disgrace, and all : for there won't be a 
 man round that will speak to me: but it's think- 
 ing how mean I was to you, that trusted me so. 
 I 'm as bad as Benedict Arnold." 
 
 " But God will forgive you if you truly repent. 
 Won't he, John ? " 
 
 "To be sure," said John. " Why, the Bible is 
 all full of it ; and I 'm sure you were trying to 
 do your best to make up for what you had 
 done." 
 
 " And if we two boys that were so angry with 
 you can get over it," said Allan, " why certainly 
 our Father in heaven will. Ask him, Sam. 
 If you would, you'd feel better." 
 
 " I '11 try, sir," said Sam, humbly enough, and 
 he turned his face away and was silent. 
 
 That night, as the boys were preparing their 
 supper, they heard a sudden rustling in the woods 
 beneath them. Their first thought was that the 
 panther's mate had come to look for him, and 
 they sprang up rifle in hand. 
 
 The next minute an old Indian came out of 
 the thicket upon the little plain. With a polite 
 
240 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 nod and smile to the boys, he called to some one 
 beneath him in his own language. Instantly he 
 was joined by the younger Sanantone, who, on 
 seeing the boys, sprang forward with a triumphant 
 whoop. 
 
 " You the lost boys ? " he said. 
 
 "That we are," said Allan, joyfully. "Did 
 you come to look for us ? " 
 
 " No ; we were hunting that little scoundrel 
 that robbed you," said Sanantone, and then seeing 
 Sam, who hid his face, the Indian looked at the 
 three in wonder. 
 
 " He started to bring the things back," said 
 Allan, hastily, "and lost his way, and fell down 
 and hurt himself; and we 've got the rifle and 
 all. Where 's our father?" 
 
 " Out looking for you. I would n't wonder if 
 you saw him before long, if the dog follows your 
 trail. You mean little villain ! " continued San- 
 antone, turning fiercely on Sam. " I 'in a great 
 mind to shoot you as ever I had to shoot a wolf." 
 
 "Oh, now," remonstrated Allan. "There's 
 no use in that." 
 
 " JSTo," said John. " And he was trying to find 
 his way over to our camp, and take back the 
 tilings. Were you not, Sam ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Sam, faintly ; " but I don't 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 241 
 
 expect any one will believe me after what has 
 happened." 
 
 "I should think not," said Sanantone, haugh- 
 tily. " It 's easier to lie than it is to steal." 
 
 " Well, we believe him," said John, who had 
 not thought of doubting the truth of Sam's story. 
 " And, any way, nobody hits a man when he is 
 down, you know." 
 
 Sanantone tossed his head, snuffed the air like 
 a young colt, and turned from Sam with a gesture 
 of contempt. 
 
 Old Tin Kettle had, in the meantime, been 
 examining the panther-skin, which the boys had 
 fastened down to dry at a little distance. 
 
 " Who kill um painter ? " he asked, in his 
 sweet voice. 
 
 " My brother did," said Allan, proudly. " It 
 was just going to spring on Sam, when he saw 
 him." 
 
 " Pretty smart boy ! " said the venerable sage, 
 in a tone of approval. " Pretty well ! " and 
 then he added, in his softest, most insinuating 
 tones, "you no got sixpince for poor Ingin?" 
 
 Young Sanantone, who prided himself on his 
 
 civilization, and could read and write, looked 
 
 somewhat shocked at this appeal ; and as Allan 
 
 poured the money from his pocket-book into the 
 
 21 Q 
 
242 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 old man's hand, he feigned to be wholly ignorant 
 of the transaction. 
 
 " Do you really think/' said John, " that our 
 father will be here ? " 
 
 " 'Spose he find your trail, guess he will," said 
 old Tin Kettle, well pleased. " Dis young man's 
 brother he take dog. Dis young man he take 
 me. He pretty good on trail ; but not so good 
 as ole Ingin. He waste him time, learn your 
 books, make black marks on paper, write and 
 read you say," and the old gentleman, with a 
 grunt expressive of contempt for those frivolous 
 accomplishments, squatted down before the fire 
 and lighted his pipe. He took no more notice 
 of Sam than if he had been a log, and Sam kept 
 his head under the blanket, and pretended to be 
 asleep. But his heart was full of bitter self- 
 reproach and sorrow, for he well knew how differ- 
 ently the two men would have met him in his 
 helplessness had they not known his story. Then 
 the old man would have pitied him, and young 
 Sanantone would have been kind as a brother. 
 
 " Perhaps I can find a deer somewhere about," 
 said Sanantone. " I rather think I can shoot a 
 little, though I have wasted my time," he added, 
 with perfect good-nature. " Will one of you 
 young gentlemen come with me ? " 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 243 
 
 " I will," said John. " My brother's ankle 
 is a little weak ; and it has pained him a good 
 deal. I think he 'd better keep still." 
 
 Allan yielded the more readily that he did not 
 quite like to leave Sam alone with the old Indian. 
 
 " I wish," said John, as he went away with 
 Sanantone, " that you 'd believe that poor fellow 
 when he says he was coming to give himself up. 
 I 'm sure he 's telling the truth." 
 
 Sanantone smiled slightly, and made no answer. 
 He would not contradict John ; but in his heart 
 he thought that Sam had imposed upon the pity 
 and inexperience of the boys with a made-up tale. 
 John saw that it was useless to argue the ques- 
 tion ; but he was convinced that poor Sam in his 
 helplessness had told the truth, and determined 
 to stand by his friend. 
 
 The deer hunt was successful, to John's great 
 satisfaction, and in little more than an hour he 
 and Sanantone returned to the camp-fire with a 
 fine piece of venison. 
 
 They found Allan with his boot off; and indeed 
 it was as well off as on, for it had become the 
 mere shadow of a boot, the boys for the last two 
 days having been barefoot in all but name. 
 
 The old Indian was rubbing the swollen ankle 
 softly with his long thin fingers, and murmuring 
 
244 THE SILVER EIFLE. 
 
 over it certain mysterious sounds supposed to be 
 highly efficacious in aboriginal practice. Then 
 he wrapped it up in some leaves dipped in warm 
 water, and assured Allan that presently it would 
 be " a heap better." Whether it was the rubbing 
 the leaves, or the charm, or all combined, certain 
 it is that in a little while Allan found his lame- 
 ness greatly diminished, and by morning he could 
 walk with perfect ease. 
 
 The two Indians looked at one another as John 
 raised poor Sam in his arms, and tried to make 
 him eat a portion of the supper which he was too 
 miserable to touch; but neither the old nor the 
 young man made any comment, and Sam did not 
 dare to address them. 
 
 About nine o'clock that evening, a big hairy 
 animal bounded into the circle of the camp-fire, 
 jumped upon John, and knocked him down, and 
 went tearing about from one to the other, bark- 
 ing, whining, yelping, and dancing in an ecstasy 
 of delight. 
 
 "Why," cried Allan, "it's Michael's old 
 Sport !" and to the surprise of the two Indians, the 
 boys hugged and kissed the old dog, almost as 
 much beside themselves as he. Sport dashed back 
 into the bushes, and presently returned with 
 Michael, Sanantone the elder, and Mr. Fitz Adam. 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 245 
 
 The other men, with true delicacy of feeling, 
 withdrew to a little distance, and talked to one 
 another until the father and sons could a little 
 recover from the joy and emotion of reunion. 
 
 Then the boys had to shake hands with every 
 one, and hear the story of the search, and tell the 
 tale of their wanderings. They softened Sam's 
 crime as much as possible, and told how he had 
 been tempted by Gus Marshall, for whom they felt 
 by no means so much compassion. They insisted 
 on the fact that he had repented, and was on his 
 way to restore the stolen property. But they 
 were sorry to see that not one of the men would 
 believe this part of the story, resting as it did 
 only on the word of one who had been guilty of 
 such treachery. 
 
 Seeing, however, that the boys would really be 
 troubled if they gave way to their indignation 
 against Sam, and having beside a half-contemptu- 
 ous pity for his helpless condition, the men were 
 silent on the subject, and ignored Sam's exist- 
 ence. Mr. Fitz Adam went and knelt down 
 beside him, where he lay motionless, wishing 
 that the earth would open and swallow him 
 up. 
 
 " Are you very much hurt ? " he asked, rather 
 coldly. 
 
 21* 
 
246 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 " Not hurt, sir ; only I can't move," said Sam, 
 in a whisper. - 
 
 " Oh, father ! " said Allan. " Don't be hard 
 on him : I know he did mean to bring the things 
 back." 
 
 " Yes, sir, I did," said Sam, sadly ; " but I 
 don't expect any one can believe anything I say. 
 It's no wonder." 
 
 Mr. Fitz Adam felt some softer feeling stirring 
 within him as he looked at the helpless boy, so 
 little while ago a model of strength and activity, 
 and noticed his utter misery and humiliation. 
 
 The stolen property was safe. His boys were 
 beside him uninjured, and had, as he thought, 
 shown great courage and manliness in the way 
 they had borne themselves during their perilous 
 journey. God had preserved and given him 
 back his sons, and had matters been much worse 
 than they were, Mr. Fitz Adam was not a man 
 to be hard on the broken-hearted creature before 
 him. 
 
 " Well, well, my poor fellow," he said. " You 
 have hurt yourself more than you have me. 
 If the boys can forgive you, I can." 
 
 There was so much to hear and tell on both 
 sides, that it was long before any one thought of 
 going to bed. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 T11HE next morning the boys were carried back 
 -&- to the Saranac in triumph, and were sur- 
 prised to find that they were not more than six 
 miles from their father's camp. 
 
 Sam, still quite helpless, was borne on a litter 
 hastily constructed of branches. He did not speak 
 one word until they reached the lake, and Michael 
 and Sanantone lifted him to lay him in the canoe. 
 
 " I wish you 'd drown me and have done 
 with it," he said, despairingly. 
 
 " No," returned Michael, dryly. " That would 
 make the boys uncomfortable." 
 
 " Do you suppose my father knows ? " 
 
 " I expect he 's down at the camp," said 
 Michael, more gently. " He thought you were 
 lost." 
 
 " I 'm sorry for him" said Sanantone. 
 
 Poor Sam looked up imploringly into Michael's 
 
 face. 
 
 247 
 
248 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 " I know I don't deserve that any one should 
 take my word/' he said. " But, indeed, I was on 
 my way back when I fell down." 
 
 " Well, maybe he was," said Sanantone, relent- 
 ing a little. 
 
 " I 'd be glad to think so," said Michael ; " but 
 how is a man to believe any one that laid such a 
 plan as he did, and against two innocent young 
 fellows like John and Allan, that trusted him 
 like a brother ? Nobody in the country ever did 
 such a mean thing before." 
 
 Sam turned his face away, and said no more. 
 
 I need not tell of the warm welcome which the 
 brothers received from every one, of the feast that 
 was made, the pancakes that were baked, and the 
 stories that were told. 
 
 Sanantone the younger was sent down to 
 " Baker's " with orders for the best dinner the 
 hotel could supply, to which all in that neigh- 
 bourhood who had joined in the search were 
 invited. 
 
 Gus Marshall and his friends had gone away, 
 which was fortunate for Master Gus, for great 
 was the indignation against him when the story 
 was known. It is not wholly impossible that 
 had he been present " things might," as Michael 
 said, " have been made unpleasant for him." 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 249 
 
 As to John and Allan, a change of clothes, a 
 good night's rest, the sense of home and safety, 
 quite restored the health and spirits of those 
 young gentlemen. 
 
 When their father, supposing that they had had 
 enough of the wilderness, proposed on the next 
 day to start for home, they protested quite 
 vehemently- against going back in ten days, when 
 they had come to stay a month. 
 
 " We sha' n't go off and get lost in the woods 
 again," said John. 
 
 " And, father, you and uncle want the rest now 
 more than ever you did," said Allan ; " and, oh, 
 let us stay a few days longer any way, and have 
 a good time." 
 
 " And of course," as Everard said, " the boys 
 had their own way." 
 
 Sam's meeting with his father was very pain- 
 ful to both. 
 
 Mr. Irmelin had indignantly refused to believe 
 the report of his son's baseness, and had supposed 
 that he had gone astray ; knowing, however, that 
 Sam was armed, and thinking that he knew the 
 woods, Mr. Irmelin had not felt much anxiety 
 until the third day, when, having business at 
 " Baker's," he had gone from thence to the camp 
 
250 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 on the Saranac, intent on disproving what he con- 
 sidered a slander on his son's fair name. 
 
 His grief, on discovering that the story was 
 true, was extreme. He could not reproach one 
 so helpless, and indeed no reproaches were neces- 
 sary to bring Sam to a sense of his own sin. 
 
 Mr. Fitz Adam and Dr. Fenton tried to find 
 some comfort for the unhappy father in pointing 
 out that Sam was young, and that he had been 
 tempted by another. 
 
 " No, gentlemen," said Mr. Irmelin. " It 7 s 
 kind in you to say so ; but I can't shut my eyes, 
 and think it's any better for him because some 
 one else is as bad. Besides, he did not mean to go 
 back to young Marshall ; and it 's no use my say- 
 ing the other boy's talk put the notion into his 
 head. He 'd no business to keep it there; but I 
 always told him he was too fond of money. And 
 to lay such a plot against the boys that had been 
 so kind to him, and that trusted him ! " 
 
 " But," said Allan, " he was coming to confess, 
 and bring the things back." 
 
 " I wish I was sure of that, sir," said Mr. 
 Irmelin ; " but the trouble is, I don't know how 
 to believe him now." 
 
 " Well, sir," said Mr. Fitz Adam, " I am a 
 lawyer, accustomed to weighing and judging 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 251 
 
 evidence, and those who give it ; and if it is any 
 comfort to you, I tell you that I think your son 
 speaks the truth." 
 
 " Do you, really, sir ? " said Mr. Irnielin, look- 
 ing relieved. 
 
 " Yes : I certainly do. I think the poor boy 
 is truly sorry for his wrong-doing, because he 
 does not try to throw the blame on young Mar- 
 shall, or to excuse himself in any way. I assure 
 you he has our full forgiveness, and I wish he 
 might have yours." 
 
 " And he saved my life up there on the moun- 
 tain," said John ; " and we 've come home all 
 right, and he is so sorry." 
 
 " And he feels so badly," said Allan, " and is 
 so helpless. Please don't scold him, sir." 
 
 " No," said Mr. Irmelin. " I certainly sha' n't ; 
 but I 've got to take him home to his mother. 
 I '11 have to ask some of the men to help me, for, 
 though not one of them will speak to him, I know 
 they '11 have a kind of feeling for us." 
 
 Old George Flint, Sam's former friend, offered 
 to help Mr. Irmelin take his son to " Baker's," 
 from whence he could go by carriage to Keeseville. 
 
 The two boys and Everard, who pitied poor 
 Sam with all their hearts, did all they could to 
 make him comfortable for the journey. 
 
252 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 " Will you shake hands with me, young gentle- 
 men, before I go?" said Sam, wistfully, as he 
 was laid in the canoe. "I don't deserve it, I 
 know ; but — " 
 
 " Why, of course we will," said John. " Did n't 
 you save my life up there on the mountain. I 'm 
 not going to forget that." 
 
 " And really," said Allan, " now it is all over, 
 do you know I can't help being rather glad it 
 happened. It 's better to look back upon than it 
 was to go through, to be sure ; but after all, John 
 never would have shot the panther if we had n't 
 been lost." 
 
 Sam smiled faintly. 
 
 " You 're very good," he said, as the boys gave 
 him their hands in token of free forgiveness. 
 " God bless you, young gentlemen. Don't you 
 worry about me : I 've got no more than I deserve ; 
 but it 's very hard on father." 
 
 " Oh, my boy," said Mr. Irmelin, " I hope 
 you '11 get better before long, when mother gets 
 hold of you. I can't find out as you are hurt 
 anywhere." 
 
 " Ah ! " said old George, aside to Everard, 
 "that's the worst of it. He'd better a great 
 deal have broken a bone or two. I don't believe 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 253 
 
 he '11 ever take a step again ; but it 's no use to 
 tell his father so, nor him, poor fellow ! " 
 
 " We '11 stop and see you when we come back," 
 said Allan. " I hope you '11 be better then. Are 
 you sure you are not cold? Good-by, Mr. 
 Irmelin. Take good care of him, George." 
 
 The boat pushed off, and the three cousins 
 stood watching it till a bend in the lake hid it 
 from their sight. 
 
 Sam was taken to his home in Keeseville. 
 
 After the Fitz Adams went home, Dr. C , 
 
 taking a vacation himself, went up to " Baker's " 
 for a few days. 
 
 The boys, hearing of his intended trip, begged 
 him earnestly to stop at Keeseville long enough 
 to see Sam Irmelin. The kind physician com- 
 plied willingly with their request. Not even his 
 skill, however, was of any avail in poor Sam's 
 case, and he could do nothing but earnestly 
 recommend Mr. Irmelin not to suffer his son to 
 be tortured by useless or painful quackery. For a 
 wonder Mr. Irmelin had the sense to take the 
 advice, which probably spared the helpless boy 
 much needless suffering. 
 
 It was months before Sam left his bed, and 
 then it was only to be lifted into a wheel-chair 
 which the Fitz Adams sent to him. 
 22 
 
254 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 So long as he lived, he never walked a step or 
 stood upon his feet. The injury to the nerves of 
 the spine had been such as to cause complete 
 paralysis of the lower part of the body. 
 
 Happily, he retained the use of his hands, and 
 being very ingenious with his knife, he managed 
 to add something to the income of the family by 
 the manufacture of trifles carved in wood, and 
 by making fishing-rods. He procured a set of 
 carving tools, and showed so much taste and in- 
 genuity, that his works found a ready sale in New 
 York and at the principal points of travel in 
 that region. 
 
 It was a sad change from the free out-door life 
 of the woods and waters to such close imprison- 
 ment ; but Sam bore it very bravely and patiently, 
 and hardly ever uttered a complaint. 
 
 At first, all his former friends among the guides 
 and hunters had nothing better to say than 
 " served him right." 
 
 Then, by and by, some one remarked that after 
 all that other boy was the meanest of the two, — 
 not that that was any excuse for Sam, though. 
 
 Next, it occurred to another gentleman that 
 Sam was only nineteen, and that it was hard on 
 a young fellow to be shut up like that, though he 
 might deserve it. 
 
THE SILVER RIFLE. 255 
 
 Then Michael told the story of how Sam had 
 turned back to surrender himself, and restore the 
 stolen property, and said that he ; Michael, had n't 
 believed it then ; but it might be true after all : 
 he guessed it was. Then Sanantone the elder 
 said that, suppose a fellow had done wrong, he 
 could n't do any more than Sam had tried to do, 
 could he? To which the younger responded 
 that he certainly could not, and that it was n't the 
 poor boy's fault if he fell over the rock. 
 
 Next, it occurred to some one that Mr. Irmelin 
 was a man who had to support himself by his 
 daily labour, and that his son's illness must make 
 things very hard for him. It was also suggested 
 that Sam's mother was a " real nice woman." 
 
 When public opinion had reached this stage, it 
 took up a subscription, and sent the money to Mr. 
 Irmelin for Sam's benefit, with a kind message. 
 
 As for Gus Marshall, shortly after the return 
 of Mr. Fitz Adam to the city, that young person 
 went abroad to a school in France. Mr. Mar- 
 shall gave as a reason for this step that he did 
 not think the American system of education just 
 the thing to " form the manners of a perfect gen- 
 tleman and a young man of family." 
 
 Perhaps an interview with Mr. Fitz Adam, 
 and a note from the principal of the institute 
 
256 THE SILVER RIFLE. 
 
 where Gus had been a pupil, had something to do 
 with Mr. Marshall's opinion of the two systems. 
 
 Gus never went to " Baker's " again. Had he 
 done so, I fear he would have met with an un- 
 civil reception. 
 
 Whether Gus Marshall ever improved, and re- 
 pented of his sin, I am unable to say ; but I fear 
 that one so " exercised with covetous practices " 
 when young would not be very likely to walk in 
 the ways of honor when old. 
 
 Envy of another, coveting another's possessions, 
 had led the wretched boy to tempt Sam to betray 
 his trust, and had nearly cost John and Allan 
 their lives. 
 
 Had Sam not been, as his mother said, just a 
 little too fond of money, he would never have 
 been prevailed on to commit the crime which 
 resulted in his being a helpless cripple for life. 
 
 It is not money, but the "love of money," 
 which is the root of all evil; wherefore I entreat 
 all who read my story to " beware of covetous- 
 ness, wherein is idolatry." 
 
 THE END. 
 
y * 
 
 A