Luck or Pluck. A Story of the Northern Forests ebook

Contents

I. MUM'S THE WORD

II. ALL KINDS OF TROUBLE

III. THE TAKING OF TRUMP

IV. TROUBLE AT LAST CHANCE

V. BRUCE DECIDES

VI. THE TRAP

VII. THE CLEVERNESS OF CLIVE

VIII. THE DEAD CITY

IX. SKINNER OF SHEBA

X. THE SHORT-CUT

XI. CLIVE CLIMBS

XII. THE SECOND TRAP

XIII. THE ROPE-TRICK

XIV. FEAR IN THE FOREST

XV. THE GRIZZLY'S HOME

XVI. A BATTLE OF BEASTS

XVII. THE STRANGE CANOE

XVIII. LANKY LARSEN

XIX. THE GRIP OF THE WOLF'S MOUTH

XX. THE WATER-PIT

XXI. WHEN THE WATER SANK

XXII. FOUR MEN IN THE BOAT

XXIII. THE SECOND MEETING

XXIV. TROUBLE ON THE BEACH

XXV. THE RESCUE FAILS

XXVI. IN THE GIANT'S GRIP

I. MUM’S THE WORD

“DASHED unfair, I call it,” complained Clive Winslow, as he looked at the letters lying on his cousin’s plate. “Two for you, Bruce, and not a blamed thing for me.”

Big Bruce Lyndall looked up with a twinkle in his grey eyes.

“Don’t be an ass, Clive. Here, read Mother Morell, while I see what dad’s got to say.”

The long table was packed with boys of Overton School, all busy with their breakfast and talking sixteen to the dozen. It was only two days to the end of the summer term, and every one was wildly excited at the idea of getting home for the long eight weeks’ vacation. Bruce, by reason of being a dormitory captain, sat at the head of the table, and Clive next to him, so they were able to read their letters in peace.

Bruce’s letter bore a Canadian stamp, and the contents interested him so much that he never noticed the queer look which spread across Clive’s thin, clever face as he read the other letter. Presently Clive looked at Bruce and seemed on the point of speaking. Then he changed his mind, folded the letter, put it back in its envelope, and started quietly on his bacon and bread and butter. But, if Bruce had been watching him, which he was not, he would have seen that Clive was not eating with much appetite.

At last Bruce finished his letter.

“Lots of news, Clive,” he said, in his deep voice. “And dad’s sent two fivers, one for me, the other from Uncle Quentin for you. We shall be able to do ourselves proud these hols.” He broke off. “Hallo, what’s up?”

“Tell you afterwards,” said Clive in his quiet way, and Bruce merely nodded.

The two cousins understood one another remarkably well. Both finished their food as quickly as possible and went out together. They made straight for the small study they shared, and nothing was said until Clive had closed the door. Then he looked Bruce straight in the face.

“Masters is dead,” he said.

Bruce’s big powerful frame stiffened.

“Dead!” he repeated.

“Yes, Mrs. Morell says he had a heart attack on Monday and died quite suddenly. Read it.”

Bruce took the letter and glanced through it thoughtfully.

“This is a nice mess-up, Clive. To be quite honest, I’m not thinking of the poor old boy, for after all he didn’t enjoy life much, and I dare say he’s glad to get out of it. But it’s left us in a hole.”

Clive nodded. “I see what you mean. We can’t go back to Chilton. Mrs. Morell says the house will be sold. I suppose it means we shall have to stick here at Overton for the hols.”

Bruce’s lips tightened. “I’m not going to do that,” he said flatly.

“There’s no choice, old man. Even if we cabled to our people we shouldn’t hear for ages. It takes two weeks for a letter to reach Last Chance from rail-head. The hols, would be half over before we could hear.”

“I know that as well as you do,” said Bruce. “We must just shove along on our own.”

Clive stared. “You mean go out to Canada?”

“That’s the notion,” replied Bruce calmly.

“But how are we to get the money? We should want about fifty quid, and the Head will never run to that.”

Bruce grinned. “I’d like to see his face if I asked for it. No, we won’t say a word to Doodle. Why should we? We’ve got this ten quid and about five more saved up. That’s fifteen. Then there’s all our stuff at Chilton–guns and golf clubs and the rest. My notion is to sell what we don’t want. We ought to get twenty pounds easily, and thirty-five pounds will be plenty to get us across, steerage, and pay our rail fare the other end.”

Clive’s eyes widened as he listened. Clive was a slim youngster, much more lightly built than his big muscular cousin, but much more highly strung. He had more brains than Bruce and beat him easily in class, but Bruce had a way of going straight to the heart of things which sometimes made Clive gasp. There was a twinkle in Bruce’s eyes as he watched his cousin.

“Any objections, Clive?” he asked presently.

“A lot,” said Clive gravely. “Even if we do get enough money to reach rail-head at Tequam, we don’t know the way from there to Last Chance.”

“We’ll find that easily enough,” declared Bruce.

“Suppose we do, that trip alone takes a fortnight. By the time we get to Last Chance half the hols will be gone, and we shall have to turn straight back if we want to be here in time for next term.”

“We don’t,” Bruce answered. “I don’t anyhow. I wrote to dad weeks ago that I wanted to leave at the end of next term, and he said I could if I liked. One term doesn’t make much odds, does it?”

“N-no, I suppose not,” agreed Clive. “And of course if you leave I shall. All the same I’m rather wondering what your dad and mine will say when we turn up at Last Chance.”

“That’s the last thing you need worry about,” said Bruce promptly. “They’ll be jolly glad to see us.”

“Why?”

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