The Camp Fire Boys at Log Cabin Bend: Four Chums Afoot in the Tall Timber

“How far have we hiked, Elmer, would you say?” “About twelve miles, at a rough guess, Perk.” “Huh! then we ought to be close to the ford, where this old river road crosses to the east shore of the Beaverkill, eh, Elmer?” “If you listen carefully, Perk, you’ll hear the gurgle of the water among the stepping stones that lie at the upper edge of Galloway’s Ford.” “That’s a fact; and say, I might have noticed it before now, only I was so busy watching some honey-bees working in the wild flowers alongside the road, and wondering if we’d be lucky enough to run across their hive, away up in the top of some hollow tree. Wow! the very idea makes my mouth water.” “Well, once across the river and we’ll have about four miles more to tramp before we can pitch camp; is that O.K., Elmer?” “A close guess for you, Wee Willie; but over a rough trail instead of this fairly decent road. Above the ford on this side there’s just a tote-road leading up to Si. Keck’s deserted lumber camp that lies, you remember, on the edge of Muskrat Swamp. This road crosses to the other side, and runs to Crawford Notch, ten miles away.” “Huh!” The chap who uttered this last exclamation half belligerently was what you might call a “horrible example” of the folly often displayed by boys when clapping a “nick-name” on some unsuspecting comrade. Really “Wee Willie” was a full head taller than any one of his three chums, having possibly “shot up” overnight when about fourteen, as often happens—he was three years past that age now. Perhaps at one time young Winkleman may have seemed puny and undersized, so that he really merited the queer sobriquet his mates had fastened upon him. But nowadays it seemed absolutely ridiculous, and few ever used it save when accompanied by a whimsical grin that must have become…