Clarence Young - Jack Ranger's Gun Club - or, From Schoolroom to Camp and Trail

The weather was getting cold and snappy, and there were signs of an early and severe winter. These signs were borne out one morning when Jack crawled out of bed.

“Whew! but it’s cold!” he said as he pulled aside the window curtains and looked out. Then he uttered an exclamation. “Say, Nat, it’s snowing to beat the band!”

“Snowing?”

“Sure, and I’ve got to go to the village this afternoon. Look!”

Nat crawled out, shivering, and stood beside Jack.

“Why, it is quite a storm,” he admitted. “B-r-r-r-r! I’m going to get my flannels out!”

“No football game to-morrow,” said Jack. “I guess winter’s come to stay.”

“Say, Jack,” began Nat at breakfast a little later, “what are you going to the village for?”

“Got to get something Aunt Angelina sent me,” replied our hero. “I got a letter saying she had forwarded me a package by express. It’s got some heavy underwear in it for one thing, but I know enough of my aunt to know that’s not all that’s in it.”

“What else?”

“Well, I shouldn’t be surprised if there were some pies and doughnuts and cakes and – ”

“Quit!” begged Bony, who sat on the other side of Jack. “You make me hungry.”

“What’s the matter with this grub?” inquired Jack.

“Oh, it’s all right as far as it goes – ”

“Smithering slaboleens!” exclaimed Nat. “Doesn’t it go far enough in you, Bony?” and he looked at his tall chum. “Do you want it to go all the way to your toes?”

“No; but when I hear Jack speak of pies and doughnuts – ”

“You’ll do more than hear me speak of them if they come, Bony,” went on Jack. “We’ll have a little feast in my room to-night, when Martin, the monitor, is gone to bed.”

“When are you going?” asked Nat.

“Right after dinner. Want to come along? I guess you can get permission. I did.”

“Nope. I’ve got to stay here and bone up on geometry. I flunked twice this week, and Doc. Mead says I’ve got to do better. Take Bony.”

“Not for mine,” said Bony, shivering as he looked out of the window and saw the snow still coming down. “I’m going to stay in.”

“Then I’ll go alone,” decided Jack, and he started off soon after the midday meal. The storm was not a severe one, though it was cold and the snow was quite heavy. It was a good three-mile walk to the village, but Jack had often taken it.

He was about a mile from the school, and was swinging along the country road, thinking of many things, when, through the white blanket of snowflakes, he saw a figure just ahead of him on the highway.

“That looks familiar,” he said to himself. “That’s Will Williams. Wonder what he can be doing out here? Guess he’s going to town also. I’ll catch up with him. I wish I could get better acquainted with him, but he goes in his shell as soon as I try to make friends.”

He hastened his pace, but it was slow going on account of the snow. When Jack was about a hundred yards behind Will he was surprised to see the odd student suddenly turn off the main road and make toward a chain of small hills that bordered it on the right.

“That’s queer,” murmured Jack. “I wonder what he’s doing that for?”

He stood still a moment, looking at Will. The new boy kept on, plodding through the snow, which lay in heavy drifts over the unbroken path he was taking.

“Why, he’s heading for the ravine,” said Jack to himself. “He’ll be lost if he goes there in this storm, and it’s dangerous. He may fall down the chasm and break an arm or a leg.”

The ravine he referred to was a deep gully in the hills, a wild, desolate sort of place, seldom visited. It was in the midst of thick woods, and more than once solitary travelers had lost their way there, while one or two, unfamiliar with the suddenness with which the chasm dipped down, had fallen and been severely hurt.

“What in the world can he want out there?” went on Jack. “I’d better hail him. Guess he doesn’t know the danger, especially in a storm like this, when bad holes are likely to be hidden from sight.”

He hurried forward, and then, making a sort of megaphone of his hands, called out:

“Williams! I say, Williams, where are you going?”

The new boy turned quickly, looked back at Jack, and then continued his journey.

“Hey! Come back!” yelled our hero. “You’ll be lost if you go up in those hills. It’s dangerous! Come on back!”

Williams stopped again, and turned half around.

“Guess he didn’t hear me plainly,” thought Jack. “I’ll catch up to him. Wait a minute,” he called again, and he hastened forward, Will waiting for him.

“Where are you going?” asked Jack, when he had caught up to him.

“I don’t know,” was the answer, and Jack was struck by the lad’s despondent tone.

“Don’t you know there’s a dangerous ravine just ahead here?” went on Jack. “You might tumble in and lose your life.”

“I don’t care if I do lose my life,” was the unexpected rejoinder.

“You don’t care?” repeated Jack, much surprised.

“No.”

“Do you realize what you’re saying?” asked Jack sternly.

“Yes, I do. I don’t care! I want to be lost! I never want to see any one again! I came out here – I don’t care what becomes of me – I’d like to fall down under the snow and – and die – that would end it all!”

Then, to Jack’s astonishment, Will burst into tears, though he bravely tried to stifle them.

“Well – of all the – ” began Jack, and words failed him. Clearly he had a most peculiar case to deal with. He took a step nearer, and put his arm affectionately around Will’s shoulder. Then he patted him on the back, and his own voice was a trifle husky as he said:

“Say, old man, what’s the matter? Own up, now, you’re in trouble. Maybe I can help you. It doesn’t take half an eye to see that’s something’s wrong. The idea of a chap like you wanting to die! It’s nonsense. You must be sick. Brace up, now! Tell me all about it. Maybe I can help you.”

There was silence, broken only by Will’s half-choked sobs.

“Go ahead, tell me,” urged Jack. “I’ll keep your secret, and help you if I can. Tell me what the trouble is.”

“I will!” exclaimed the new boy with sudden determination. “I will tell you, Jack Ranger, but I don’t think you can help me. I’m the most miserable lad at Washington Hall.”

“You only think so,” rejoined Jack brightly. “Go ahead. I’ll wager we can make you feel better. You want some friends, that’s what you want.”

“Yes,” said Will slowly, “I do. I need friends, for I don’t believe I’ve got a single one in the world.”

“Well, you’ve got one, and that’s me,” went on Jack. “Go ahead, now, let’s hear your story.”

And then, standing in the midst of the storm, Will told his pitiful tale.

“My father and mother have been dead for some time,” he said, “and for several years I lived with my uncle, Andrew Swaim, my mother’s brother. He was good to me, but he had to go out West on business, and he left me in charge of a man named Lewis Gabel, who was appointed my guardian.

“This Gabel treated me pretty good at first, for my uncle sent money regularly for my board. Then, for some reason, the money stopped coming, and Mr. Gabel turned mean. He hardly gave me enough to eat, and I had to work like a horse on his farm. I wrote to my uncle, but I never got an answer.

“Then, all at once, my uncle began sending money again, but he didn’t state where he was. After that I had it a little easier, until some one stole quite a sum from Mr. Gabel. He’s a regular miser, and he loves money more than anything else. He accused me of robbing him, and declared he wouldn’t have me around his house any longer.