First at the North Pole Part 8

"We were afraid some of your bones were broken," put in Chet. "Are they?"

"I don't know." Slowly the man moved his arms and his legs. He winced a little.

"All right but my left ankle," he announced. "I reckon that got a bad twist. Beats the Dutch, doesn't it?" he added, with another attempt at a smile.

"It's too bad," returned Andy.

"No, you don't understand. I mean my coming to Maine to do a little quiet hunting, and then to get knocked out like this. Why, I've hunted all over this globe,--the West, India, Africa, and even in the Arctic regions--and hardly got a scratch. I didn't think anything could happen to me on a quiet little trip like this."

CHAPTER VI

A WORLD-WIDE HUNTER

The two boys listened to the man's words with keen interest. He had hunted in the wild West, in India, Africa, and even in the Arctic regions! Surely he was a sportsman out of the ordinary.

"You're like old Tom Casey," said Andy. "He fought the forest fires here for years, and never got singed, and then went home one day and burnt his arm on a red-hot stove. I hope the ankle isn't bad."

"I can't tell about that until I stand on it. Give me a lift, will you?"

Both boys helped the man to his feet. He took a couple of steps, and was then glad enough to return to the pine couch.

"It's no use--I can't walk, yet," he murmured.

"Do you think you need a doctor?" asked Chet.

"Hardly--although I'd call him in if he was handy. I'm pretty tough, although I may not look it. Who are you?"

"My name is Chet Greene, and this is a friend of mine, Andy Graham."

"I am glad to know you, and very thankful for what you have done for me.

I'll make it right with you when I'm able to get around. My name is Dawson--Barwell Dawson. I'm a traveler and hunter, and occasionally I write articles for the magazines--hunting articles mostly."

"Oh, are you the man who once wrote a little book about bears--how they really live and what they do, and all that?" cried Andy.

"Yes, I'm the same fellow."

"I've got that book at home--you once gave it to my father, when I was about eight years old."

"Is that so? I don't remember it."

"My father was up on the Pen.o.bscot, lumbering. He went out with you into the woods and you found a honey tree. You gave him the book for his little boy--that was me."

"Oh, yes, I remember it now!" cried Barwell Dawson. "So that was your father. How is he?"

"My father is dead," answered Andy, and his voice dropped a little.

"Indeed! I am sorry to hear it. And your mother?"

"She is dead, too."

"Then you are alone in the world? Do you live near?"

"I live two miles from Pine Run, with an uncle. It was I who told you how to get to Moose Ridge, when you were driving on the wrong road."

"Oh, yes, I thought I had seen you somewhere."

Here the conversation lapsed, for Barwell Dawson was still weak. He lay back and closed his eyes, and the boys did not disturb him.

It continued to snow, until the fresh fall covered the old to the depth of several inches. The boys kept the campfire going, and cooked such game as they had brought along.

"We are booked to stay here for a while, that's certain," observed Chet.

"No Lodgeport today."

After a while Barwell Dawson sat up again, and gladly partook of the food offered to him. His injuries consisted of a hard shaking up, a bruised ankle, and several cuts on his head.

"I am thankful that no bones are broken, and that I did not get killed,"

he said, and then he requested them to give the details of the rescue from the ledge. The boys related their story, to which he listened closely.

"It was fine of you to get me down," he declared. "Fine! I'll have to reward you."

"I don't want any reward," answered Andy, promptly.

"Nor do I," added Chet.

"Well, you ought to let me do something for you," persisted the one who had been rescued.

"You might tell us of some of your hunting adventures," said Andy, with a smile. "I'd like to hear about hunting in the far West and other places."

"So would I," added Chet. "If I had the money, I'd like to do like you have done, travel all over the world and hunt." And his eyes glistened with antic.i.p.ation.

"What do you do now?"

"Nothing at present. We can't get an opening at any of the lumber camps."

"I understand business is very dull this season."

After that Barwell Dawson asked for more particulars concerning the boys, and they told him how they were situated. He was surprised to learn that Chet was practically alone in the world.

"It is certainly hard luck," he said, kindly. "You must let me do something for you."

Then, after his ankle had been bathed in hot water, and bound up, the hunter and traveler told them of his trips to various portions of the globe, and how he had hunted deer and moose in one place, bears and mountain lions in another, and tigers and other wild beasts elsewhere.

He had two very interested listeners.

"It must be great!" murmured Chet. "Oh, that would suit me down to the ground--to go out that way!"