Phil Bradley's Snow-shoe Trail Part 19

"How do you know?" continued the other, craning his neck to look.

"You can see it lying there over by the woodpile," Phil told him.

"Great Caesar! so it is, and with his feet up in the air. It's a dead dog, Phil; no fooling about that."

"Yes, and has been shot, but who did it we don't know yet, Ethan."

"Whew! I wonder if he bit that ugly red-faced sportsman you told us about, Phil? I don't wish my worst enemy to meet with such a fate, it would seem as if it might be a judgment on that bully and railroad wrecker if he did get a good scare."

"Queer where the rest of the party are?" continued Phil; "let's creep along this way a bit. We may get to a place where we can glimpse them."

"There may have been another dog that got away, and the rest are hunting for him in the bush right now?" suggested Ethan; but the supposition could not have struck Phil very strongly for he made no comment.

They made their way along as silently as they could. The soughing of the wind through the tops of the pines and the larches and the firs deadened any little scratching sound their snow-shoes may have made as they moved onward.

It was while they were making this change of base that suddenly without the slightest warning Phil laid his hand on the arm of his companion, and at the same time drew him down behind some bushes.

When the startled Ethan turned his eyes upon Phil he saw that the other had a finger pressed upon his lips. This indicated additional caution.

It also meant that silence was desirable for some reason or other, which of course Ethan could not immediately fathom.

Then he saw Phil gradually raise his head. He was looking carefully over the tops of the bushes at something. Ethan, quivering with suspense, could hardly restrain his natural impulse to follow suit; and fortunately for his peace of mind Phil just then made a gesture with his hand as though inviting him to join him.

As Ethan did so he saw his chum extend his hand with a pointed finger.

Looking on a line with this latter digit he made a discovery.

Something was moving near by. In place of a giant tree that had succ.u.mbed to the tempest many years previously, there had grown up a bunch of suckers, and some five of these offshoots had become quite good-sized trunks. They were arranged very much like the fingers and thumb of a partly-closed hand, so that there was a cup which the five protecting trunks surrounded.

It was just a natural hiding place, and apparently some one was even then occupying the cup; for as Ethan looked he saw a head projected, and held there for a dozen seconds, to be withdrawn, and then almost immediately come into view again.

Whoever the party might be he evidently had his whole attention taken up with watching the camp, as though it might hold something that had an important bearing on his condition of happiness and peace of mind.

"He's spying on the camp, Phil!" whispered Ethan, in the other's ear.

"Looks like it," murmured Phil.

"Can it be your fire-eater of a Baylay, then?" was the next thing Ethan suggested.

"Hardly," replied Phil. "This man is _afraid_; his every action tells that he's been in a big panic lately, and hasn't recovered."

"Go on, Phil?" urged the other, eager to know what next his chum would say.

"I think I know who he must be, Ethan."

"Good. Tell me then, Phil."

"Now watch again when he pokes out and take notice of what sort of a thing he's got on his head."

"There he comes once more, and he certainly does act like a man who's afraid. But what's this I see? Makes me think of the _chef_ in a hotel; for he's wearing a white cap without a peak!"

"Well, that's just what he is, the _chef_ these railroad magnates have fetched up with them to give them the best of meals while in camp,"

whispered Phil.

"But whatever can he be doing hiding that way, and acting as if he was in mortal fear of his life? If you've got an idea please tell me, Phil."

CHAPTER XIV

MR. JAMES BODMAN GIVES A DANCE

"I'm as much in the dark as you can be, Ethan," Phil told him.

"It's mighty queer, I say; and I'd give something to know what it means," muttered the other scout, who evidently had more than his allotted share of curiosity.

Phil seemed to be debating as to whether it was enough of their business to pay them for taking any more trouble. The only thing that tempted him in that direction was the chance that some one might have been injured during all that shooting, and he would like to be useful in an emergency. All right-minded people who go into the woods feel that way toward others.

"Well, let's creep up and interview the cook!" he suggested.

At that Ethan grinned as though greatly pleased.

"Sure thing, Phil!" he whispered.

They immediately started to carry out this plan. Phil kept his gun in evidence, and Ethan followed suit. This was not to be taken so much in the nature of a threat as an inducement to awaken confidence in the terrified _chef_. If he saw that they were also hunters he might feel disposed to remain where he was, and satisfy their curiosity, at least to a reasonable extent.

After more or less of s.h.i.+fting of their line of advance to meet the various conditions that arose, they found themselves close in upon the bunch of trees. And apparently the man who was hiding must have caught some little sound just then, for on turning his head he saw them.

Phil guessed he must be a little Frenchman even before he heard him give utterance to a single word, just from his appearance, and the tiny black mustache he sported. He was dressed in white, and they might not have noticed him at all because of the snow, only that the trunks of the trees formed a darker background, against which his spotless apparel stood out plainly.

He looked greatly distressed at sight of the two boys. At first they thought he was figuring on running, but somehow the camp did not seem to offer him a safe asylum; and as for the woods he knew next to nothing about such a wilderness, since he had come from a city like New York.

So the _chef_ compromised, as many a sensible man before him has found it profitable to do when confronted with a choice of evils; he elevated both his hands as if to let them know he surrendered unconditionally.

"Come on!" said Phil, on seeing this sign; "we'll ask him a few questions anyway."

They quickly joined the man in white. He was surveying the boys with a look of bewilderment on his pallid face.

"You do not look so terrible as heem!" they heard him say, in what might be considered a conciliatory tone.

"Who are you?" asked Phil, getting down to business at once.

"Francois Lavelle," came the prompt answer, as the _chef_ drew himself up with a bit of perhaps unconscious pride.

"Are you Mr. Bodman's cook?" asked Ethan, curiously.

"I am ze French _chef_," he was instantly told, as though there might be a vast difference; "I haf serve him for five years; and he would not even come up to zis heathen country unless Francois he accompany heem to serve ze meals he adores."