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Updated: June 7, 2025
He pointed as he spoke to the late camping-ground, with its lodgment of clay, sods, pygmy trees, and pieces of rock, big and little. "The old camp's clean wiped out, boys," he said; "and I guess one of the men that built it is gone, or a'most gone, too. Stick your arm under his head, Cyrus, while I hunt for some water." Garst did as he was bidden, but his help was not needed long.
And this son of the forest, whose foot can make a bee-line to its destination through the densest wooded maze, is not only leader, but cook and general-utility man in camp as well. The guide must be equally grand-master of paddle, rifle, and frying-pan. For these tireless woodland heroes Cyrus Garst has a general admiration.
We didn't bring along a second suit of tweeds for the simple reason that we mean to do some pretty rough tramping with our packs on our backs, and then a fellow is likely to grumble at any unnecessary pound of weight he carries." "Shuah shuah!" assented Uncle Eb. "And that is why we left our fishing-rods behind," continued Garst. "You see, our main object this trip is neither hunting nor fishing.
I propose that we start back to our home-camp to-morrow. It will take us two days to reach Millinokett Lake. Then we'll set our faces towards civilization the first week in November, or thereabouts." "Oh, bother it! So soon!" protested Dol. "Now, Young Rattlebrain," Garst took the calm tone of leadership, "please consider that this is the first time you've camped out in Maine woods.
We can't roost in these trees all night." The hemlocks were throwing ever-lengthening shadows on the grass. A slow eclipse was stealing over everything. The motionless moose became an uncouth black shape. Garst muttered uneasily. His fingers tingled for his rifle a very unusual thing with him.
The three rested that night at Greenville, and began their tramping on the following morning. They trudged a distance of seven miles or so to the camp of Ebenezer Grout, which, as Garst knew, was situated between Squaw Pond and Old Squaw Mountain, the latter being one of the finest peaks near Moosehead Lake.
The English boys, open-throated, swelled the peal. But their cheering broke off as they came near, and saw the mask-like face over which Herb bent. "Is he gone, poor fellow?" asked Garst. "What do you suppose caused it the slide?" "Why, it was a thundering big lump of granite from the top o' the mountain," answered Herb, replying to the second question.
Garst was now warming into excitement himself. His bass tones became guttural and almost inarticulate, while he lowered them to prevent their travelling. On the reddish clay at his feet were foot-marks very like the prints of a large mastiff. He studied them one by one, even tracing the outline with his forefinger. "Then I'm going to call," whispered Dol, his words tremulous and stifled.
The negligence was scarcely his fault, however; for Cyrus Garst, who had never before undertaken the responsibility of entertaining a pair of inexperienced boys in woodland quarters, had not, at this early stage of the trip, arranged with his comrades to fire a certain number of shots to signify "Help wanted!" if one of them should stray, or otherwise get into trouble.
And, fearful of balking the expedition by a stir, he dared not turn his head to investigate the doings of his comrade, Cyrus Garst. Cyrus, though also city bred, was an American, and evidently an old hand at the present business. The Maine wilds had long been his playground.
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