Comrades on River and Lake Part 14

He-uh didn't want nothin' but a chunk of the moon; He-uh--

Here the others broke in, and forced him to desist. Fleet's craze for "c.o.o.n" songs was a sore spot with them. Not to be outdone now, however, Fleet went off into:

By the old mill stream I'm waiting, Rosie, dear-r-r-r-r!

Fleet held the last note as long as possible, and the boys waited patiently until he had finished.

"Fleet's a fine singer of ill.u.s.trated songs," said Chot. "He's missed his vocation. Instead of going to school, he should be at work in a moving picture theatre."

"Aw, cut that out!" growled Fleet. "I never sing a pretty ballad but what you tell me that."

"It's because we're trying to rid you of your depraved taste for silly songs," said Tom.

"Depraved taste!" snorted Fleet. "I'd like to know why you're always telling me that?"

"Because," said Tom, "those songs are composed merely to suit the popular taste. Many of them bring their publishers fabulous sums, but they are mighty poor contributions to our American music, though I'll admit that they have their place."

"Tom is right," said Chot "Lots of songs are written in half an hour. A music publisher gets an idea. He rings up his lyric writer and tells him about it. The lyric writer gets busy, and probably dashes off two or three verses in ten minutes, much the same way as you compose yours, Fleet. Then the composer takes the words, and very often within the same s.p.a.ce of time he has fitted a melody to them. Then, of course, the orchestration has to be made, the song is given to the printers, a lurid cover is designed, and the first thing you know it's in the music stores, selling at the rate of many thousand copies a day."

"Oh, well," said Fleet, "your sermons are very pretty, but I don't see why I should not sing what I please, when I please."

Fleet always made some such reply as this, but invariably he did not sing any more ballads or "c.o.o.n" songs for some time.

"By the way," said Pod, "speaking of birds--"

"Who said anything about birds?" demanded Fleet.

"Well, speaking of them, anyway, did it ever occur to you that they were especially noted for their courage?"

"They're not," said Fleet "Most of them are cowards."

"Well," said Pod, "they die game."

"They die ga--oh, gee! that's a bad one. I'm going to bed on that,"

cried Fleet.

"Glad I found something to send you to bed on besides a full stomach,"

laughed Pod.

Fleet did not reply, but began making preparations to lie down under the tent. The other boys gradually arose, stretched themselves and also prepared to retire.

While they were fixing their blankets, there was a sudden low cry from Chot.

"s.h.!.+ Listen!"

For a few seconds there was a profound silence.

Then the sound of voices, came to their ears from up the lake, mingled with the m.u.f.fled splash of oars. Someone was approaching camp in a rowboat; that was evident, though nothing could be seen. It was very dark now, the camp fire having almost entirely died away. True, the stars were out, and the boys could see their reflection in the waters of the lake, but beyond imagining that they could see a dark splotch on the surface of the water, they could make but nothing.

As the boys stood listening, the talking ceased, but every few seconds the soft splash of an oar, or the clank of an oar-lock came to them from the lake.

"Someone is trying to surprise us," said Chot, in a low whisper, as the others gathered around him. "It may be the men whom we saw earlier in the evening. They may be figuring on holding us up."

"Say, they wouldn't get much," whispered Pod.

"s.h.!.+ Let's gather a big bunch of that dry gra.s.s we used to kindle our fire with, and have it handy where we can touch a match to it. Then we'll wait for these men to land, and see what their intentions are."

Pod agreed to get the gra.s.s ready and he crept silently off to the right, where he gathered quite a pile of it. He also put a lot of dry boughs and twigs on the hay, so that once a fire was started it would continue for some time after the hay had been consumed. Then he rejoined the others.

The low murmur of voices could again be heard, followed, by the splas.h.i.+ng sound as before. The boat was evidently approaching slowly.

"They're wondering if we're asleep," whispered Chot. "And of course, we are, to all intents and purposes."

Not a sound was made in the little camp, and gradually the noise from the lake grew louder. Soon the splash of the oars could be plainly heard, and then the sound of voices speaking in whispered tones. What was said could not be made out for they did not speak loud enough to have awakened even a light sleeper.

Then the sound of a boat being drawn partly upon the beach came to them, and a low voice said:

"Make her fast, Hank!"

There was a low-muttered response to this, which the boys did not catch, and then by lying close to the ground, they could make out the figures of two men against the starlit sky. The figures moved slowly up the slight incline leading from the edge of the lake to the Comrades' camp.

So softly did they come that save for the occasional snapping of a twig, not a sound was made.

"It's a good thing we were not asleep," thought Chot. "They'd have caught us napping, sure."

"I wonder where they are, Dave?" said a low voice, after a moment "I'm sure this is the spot."

"Sure, it's the spot. Didn't we hear 'em singing down this way not fifteen minutes ago?"

"That's right."

"Guess they must 'a' thought there wasn't no one about."

"Guess they must have. Say! what was that?"

"I didn't hear anything."

It was Pod, who, at Chot's order, was crawling again toward the pile of dry hay and sticks, with the command to touch them off the minute Chot whistled twice.

The men were nearly upon them now, still moving cautiously, when suddenly one of them made out the dim outlines of the tent.

"I see something white," he said in a low, startled tone.

"Yes; I see it, too," was the reply. "Get ready to rush 'em, Hank!"

The words were hardly uttered when Chot gave the signal to Pod. There was the crack of a match, the hay ignited quickly, and as the flames sprang up, throwing a yellow glare over the camp, the boys sprang to their feet, prepared to grapple with the intruders. But imagine their surprise when they found themselves gazing into the barrels of four revolvers, and a stentorian voice cried out:

"Hands up! By thunder, we've got you now!"