Read Ebook: The Rambler Club's Winter Camp by Sheppard W Crispin William Crispin

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Ebook has 2428 lines and 53287 words, and 49 pages

The Rambler Club's

Winter Camp

BY W. CRISPIN SHEPPARD

"THE RAMBLER CLUB AFLOAT" "THE RAMBLER CLUB IN THE MOUNTAINS" ETC.

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY PHILADELPHIA MCMX

COPYRIGHT 1910 BY THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY

Introduction

"The Rambler Club's Winter Camp," though a story complete in itself, deals with the further adventures of the jolly club whose acquaintance we made in "The Rambler Club Afloat."

Although Nat Wingate has not always acted a good part toward Bob Somers and his friends, they are generous enough to forget past differences.

An enforced vacation, due to the burning of the Kingswood high school, gives the five boys an opportunity to accompany Nat and his friend, John Hackett, on a winter camping trip.

Life in the wilds, amidst snow and ice, has its discomforts and dangers, as well as charms, and many trying and exciting experiences fall to their lot; and these they meet with a cheerful, courageous spirit.

But this is not all; a series of happenings puzzle the boys, their wonder and curiosity increasing, as one strange incident follows another, until the mystery is eventually solved.

Their life in camp has done them a world of good; and they return home full of pleasant and lasting remembrances. Some of the further outdoor experiences of the same boys may be found in "The Rambler Club in the Mountains" and "The Rambler Club on Circle T Ranch."

W. CRISPIN SHEPPARD.

Contents

"WE CAN'T GET THERE TOO SOON"

"HELLO!" EXCLAIMED ONE OF THE STRANGERS

WITH GUNS TIGHTLY CLASPED, THEY STARTED

DON'T WASTE A SHOT

HOW ABOUT THE STOREHOUSE DOOR?

The Rambler Club's

Winter Camp

THE FIRE-BELL

Bob Somers, in his room on the upper floor of Pembroke Hall, was busily engaged in working out an algebraic equation. The cozy little study adjoined his bedroom, and was situated almost underneath a tower which rose above the surrounding trees. On the walls several engravings and photographs were tastefully hung, while close to the desk before which Bob was seated stood a table covered with the various odds and ends which boys are apt to possess.

It was one of those cold, keen winter nights when the comforts of a warm and cozy room seem especially attractive. The weather was clear, but the streets were white with snow, and a slight breeze made the tree-tops sigh and murmur.

Suddenly Bob Somers raised his eyes from the paper before him and listened intently.

The booming of a bell came over the frosty air, now very faint, then rising clearly, as the sound of the breeze sank to a low, droning whisper.

"My gracious!" cried Bob. "The fire-bell!"

For a second time, the ominous notes pealed forth, two coming close together, then, after a brief pause, seven in succession.

"Box twenty-seven! I wonder where it is."

The fire-alarm was seldom heard in the quiet little town of Kingswood, and the sound made his pulse quicken.

He hastily opened a door and made his way to an iron staircase which led to the tower. Up two steps at a time he bounded, until a small square room was reached. It had windows on all sides and commanded an extensive view of the surrounding country.

Bob Somers peered eagerly out at the icy winter scene. The limits of the snow-covered grounds of Pembroke Hall were defined by a row of electric lights on the highway. Beyond, several residences appeared faintly against the sky, but nearly all else was lost in gloom. Myriads of stars shone brilliantly.

A faint, hazy patch, as of smoke illuminated by an electric light, appeared above a dark line of trees.

"That must be the fire," murmured Bob, in some excitement. "Great Caesar! It's near the schoolhouse."

Dashing down-stairs, he quickly donned his overcoat and hat.

"Fo' goodness' sakes, what am de matter?" inquired Peter Lexington, the colored boy, in astonishment.

"There's a fire, Peter! Can't stop to talk now."

"Fo' de lub of goodness! a fire?"

The surprising intelligence seemed to deprive Peter of all movement, and before he could utter another word, Bob was off.

In a moment, he had passed between the tall gate-posts at the entrance.

The air was sharp and keen. Great banks of snow, heaped up along the sides of the street, shone brightly in the glare of electric lights.

As Bob Somers neared the scene, he learned to his astonishment that the high school was on fire.

Kingswood, a wealthy community, had an excellent fire department. It was equipped with a ladder truck and an automobile fire-engine, the motor of which also operated the pumps.

The high school stood back from the street, surrounded by spacious grounds. In the centre of the three-story stone building rose a cupola of attractive design. About a hundred feet distant, the road was bridged over a large pond.

Bob Somers, breathing hard after his run, mingled with the excited groups in front of the school.

A cloud of whitish smoke partially obscured the building, its heaviest portion being toward the western end.

"It's getting away from them, sure," said a man close by. "If they don't hustle along that steamer from Rockville pretty soon the place is a goner."

Breaks in the curling wreaths of smoke revealed a ladder leaning against the wall and a line of hose entering the window above it. The shouts of the volunteers rose above the continuous roar of the Kingswood engine and the excited murmur of the crowd.

"That man is right," thought Bob, with a tremor of excitement; "I only wish something more could be done."

From the midst of the crowd, at a point some distance away, rose a peculiar shout, somewhat like the hooting of an owl.

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