: Snagged and Sunk; Or The Adventures of a Canvas Canoe by Castlemon Harry - Adventure stories; Canoes and canoeing Juvenile fiction; Camping Juvenile fiction; Voyages and travels Juvenile fiction; Cousins Juvenile fiction; Accidents Juvenile fiction; Theft

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SNAGGED AND SUNK; OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A CANVAS CANOE.

"Beneath a hemlock grim and dark, Where shrub and vine are intertwining, Our shanty stands, well roofed with bark, On which the cheerful blaze is shining. The smoke ascends in spiral wreath; With upward curve the sparks are trending; The coffee kettle sings beneath Where sparks and smoke with leaves are blending."

Joe Wayring's voice rang out loud and clear, and the words of his song were repeated by the echoes from a dozen different points among the hills by which the camp was surrounded on every side. Joe was putting the finishing touches to the roof of a bark shanty; Roy Sheldon, with the aid of a double-bladed camp ax, was cutting a supply of hard wood to cook the trout he had just cleaned; and Arthur Hastings was sitting close by picking browse for the beds. The scene of their camp was a spring-hole, located deep in the forest twelve miles from Indian Lake. Although it was a noted place for trout, it was seldom visited by the guests of the hotels for the simple reason that they did not know that there was such a spring-hole in existence, and the guides were much too sharp to tell them of it.

Hotel guides, as a class, are not fond of work, and neither will they take a guest very far beyond the sound of their employer's dinner horn. The landlords hire them by the month and the guides get just so much money, no matter whether their services are called into requisition or not. If business is dull and the guests few in number, the guides loaf around the hotel in idleness, and of course the less they do the less they are inclined to do. If they are sent out with a guest, they take him over grounds that have been hunted and fished until there is neither fur, fin, nor feather left, cling closely to the water-ways, avoiding even the shortest "carries," their sole object being to earn their wages with the least possible exertion. They don't care whether the guest catches any fish or not. But our three friends, Joe Wayring, Roy Sheldon, and Arthur Hastings, were not dependent upon the hotel guides for sport during their summer outings. Being perfectly familiar with the country for miles around Indian Lake, they went wherever their fancy led them, and with no fear of getting lost.

"And on the stream a light canoe Floats like a freshly fallen feather-- A fairy thing that will not do For broader seas and stormy weather. Her sides no thicker than the shell Of Ole Bull's Cremona fiddle; The man who rides her will do well To part his scalp-lock in the middle,"

sang Joe, backing off and looking approvingly at his work. "There, fellows, that roof is tight, and now it can rain as soon as it pleases. With two acres of trout right in front of the door, and a camp located so far from the lake that we are not likely to be disturbed by any interlopers--what more could three boys who want to be lazy ask for?"

"There's one thing I would like to ask for," replied Roy, "and that is the assurance that Tom Bigden and his cousins will go back to Mount Airy without trying to come any tricks on us. I wonder what brought them up here any way?"

"Why, they came after their rods, of course," answered Arthur. "You know I sent them a despatch stating that their rods were in Mr. Hanson's possession, and that they could get them by refunding the money that Hanson had paid Jake Coyle for them."

"But they have been loafing around the lake for a whole week, doing nothing but holding stolen interviews with Matt Coyle and his boys," said Roy. "I tell you I don't like the way those worthies put their heads together. I believe they are in ca-hoots. If they are not, how does it come that Tom and his cousins can see Matt as often as they want to, while the guides and landlords, who are so very anxious to have him arrested, can not find him or obtain any satisfactory news of him?"

"That's the very reason they can't find him--because they want to have him arrested, and Matt knows it," observed Joe. "But why Tom doesn't reveal Matt's hiding-place to the constable is more than I can understand. Did it ever occur to you that perhaps Matt has some sort of a hold on those boys, and that they are afraid to go against him?"

"I have thought of it," replied Arthur. "I have never been able to get it out of my head that Tom acted suspiciously on the day your canvas canoe was stolen. He played his part pretty well, but I believed then, and I believe now, that he knew that canoe was gone before he came back to the beach."

"I know Tom didn't show much enthusiasm when we started after that bear, and that he did not go very far from the pond," assented Joe. "It is possible that he saw Matt steal my canoe, and that he made no effort to stop him; but I think you are mistaken when you say that they are in ca-hoots. I don't believe they have any thing in common. Tom is much too high-toned for that. I know that he has been seen in Matt's company a time or two, but I am of the opinion that they met by accident and not by appointment."

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