right,” Seth said. “We probably shouldn’t fish on the way up. It took me a long time to get up there last fall. Hey maybe we won’t have to build a camp the first day. Maybe we can spend the first night in the sugarhouse. There’s a shed off the back; I saw it last fall. There’s even a bunk and a stove in it. I bet if we cleaned it up a little, it would make a good camp. We could dump our stuff and go down to Lost Boy Brook and catch our dinner.”
“Good idea. Then the next day we could fish, lie around and stuff, and get ready for our climb to Eagle Ledge and Black Spruce.”
“Yeah.” Seth lowered his voice so his parents couldn’t hear. “maybe we could climb down the cliff on Black Spruce. Let’s take some rope.” Then his voice grew louder again. “When we got back, we could spend another night or two in camp and come home. Four or Five days. That’s what I told Dad.”
With that settles, the boys began to get their equipment together. They tried to divide the weight evenly between the two packs.
Each pack weighed about twenty-five pounds, easy to carry across a room, but another matter entirely to carry miles and miles up a mountain.
Early the next morning Seth and his parents arrived at Daniel’s house. As the boys prepared to leave, their parents stood chatting nervously, trying not to show the concern they felt. Old man Bateau was in the kitchen too.
Mr. Bateau was the next neighbor down the road. He lived alone. Almost every morning he came by to pay a call and gossip. The boys liked Mr. Bateau. He was the oldest man on the hill and full of stories about the wilderness. Until his wife died, Mr. Bateau had milked cows like the rest of the farmers on the hill, but he was never what you call a farmer, not the way Seth’s and Daniel’s fathers were. Old man Bateau never really cared for cows. He was first and foremost a woodsman, a logger. He was always the first man into the woods in the spring to cut next year’s fire wood. He was never really happy unless he smelled of sweat and pitch. Mr. Bateau was seventy-five now, but he could still work a day in the woods as well as any man. It seemed to the boys he knew more about the woods and the animals than any person alive.
He had taught them everything they knew about camping. He was the one that showed them how to make a lean-to out of poles and boughs, how to start a fire with yellow birch bark, how to build a fire pit so that food would cook slowly and not burn. He had been a good teacher.
When he heard the boys were making a trip, the old man’s eyes sparkled. He seemed almost more excited than they were. The boys knew somehow that only old man Bateau understood how much they wanted to go to the mountain.
“So you babies go to da woods, eh?” Mr. Bateau often called the boys babies. Had anyone else in the whole world referred to them that way they would have been fighting mad, but coming from Mr. Bateau it was okay. They understood; in fact, they liked it. “I wish I could go too. You little fawns be careful. Da woods is good. Dey make you grow, ‘cause you see strange t’ing der. You see fear. Dat good for you. But be careful! Da woods don’t care for you da way your mudder and fadder do. Day soon as see you die up der as come back. Da woods don’t hurt you, but dey don’t he’p you neider. You mus’ be smart in da woods, not dumb like a cow. Da woods dey stronger dan little babies. Watch like a deer, den you be okay.
“You boys go to da mountain too, no? Yes. I know. I go der once too, long time ago. You boys go look for da bones, too. I know, I know. Da bones no good! Stay away from da bones! Dat little baby lost and starved to death in dat cave, poor little t’ing, he go crazy; dey heard him cryin’ in da night. Stay away from da bones! My fadder seen ‘em once when he was young and dey turn his hair white as January. He see da fear too, only he be lucky; he come back. Babies you do what I ask you; don’t
“Good idea. Then the next day we could fish, lie around and stuff, and get ready for our climb to Eagle Ledge and Black Spruce.”
“Yeah.” Seth lowered his voice so his parents couldn’t hear. “maybe we could climb down the cliff on Black Spruce. Let’s take some rope.” Then his voice grew louder again. “When we got back, we could spend another night or two in camp and come home. Four or Five days. That’s what I told Dad.”
With that settles, the boys began to get their equipment together. They tried to divide the weight evenly between the two packs.
Each pack weighed about twenty-five pounds, easy to carry across a room, but another matter entirely to carry miles and miles up a mountain.
Early the next morning Seth and his parents arrived at Daniel’s house. As the boys prepared to leave, their parents stood chatting nervously, trying not to show the concern they felt. Old man Bateau was in the kitchen too.
Mr. Bateau was the next neighbor down the road. He lived alone. Almost every morning he came by to pay a call and gossip. The boys liked Mr. Bateau. He was the oldest man on the hill and full of stories about the wilderness. Until his wife died, Mr. Bateau had milked cows like the rest of the farmers on the hill, but he was never what you call a farmer, not the way Seth’s and Daniel’s fathers were. Old man Bateau never really cared for cows. He was first and foremost a woodsman, a logger. He was always the first man into the woods in the spring to cut next year’s fire wood. He was never really happy unless he smelled of sweat and pitch. Mr. Bateau was seventy-five now, but he could still work a day in the woods as well as any man. It seemed to the boys he knew more about the woods and the animals than any person alive.
He had taught them everything they knew about camping. He was the one that showed them how to make a lean-to out of poles and boughs, how to start a fire with yellow birch bark, how to build a fire pit so that food would cook slowly and not burn. He had been a good teacher.
When he heard the boys were making a trip, the old man’s eyes sparkled. He seemed almost more excited than they were. The boys knew somehow that only old man Bateau understood how much they wanted to go to the mountain.
“So you babies go to da woods, eh?” Mr. Bateau often called the boys babies. Had anyone else in the whole world referred to them that way they would have been fighting mad, but coming from Mr. Bateau it was okay. They understood; in fact, they liked it. “I wish I could go too. You little fawns be careful. Da woods is good. Dey make you grow, ‘cause you see strange t’ing der. You see fear. Dat good for you. But be careful! Da woods don’t care for you da way your mudder and fadder do. Day soon as see you die up der as come back. Da woods don’t hurt you, but dey don’t he’p you neider. You mus’ be smart in da woods, not dumb like a cow. Da woods dey stronger dan little babies. Watch like a deer, den you be okay.
“You boys go to da mountain too, no? Yes. I know. I go der once too, long time ago. You boys go look for da bones, too. I know, I know. Da bones no good! Stay away from da bones! Dat little baby lost and starved to death in dat cave, poor little t’ing, he go crazy; dey heard him cryin’ in da night. Stay away from da bones! My fadder seen ‘em once when he was young and dey turn his hair white as January. He see da fear too, only he be lucky; he come back. Babies you do what I ask you; don’t
Similar Books
