Phil Bradley’s Snow-Shoe Trail

“SOME ANIMAL HAS GONE ALONG HERE, SURE ENOUGH,” SAID X-RAY

THE MOUNTAIN BOYS SERIES

PHIL BRADLEY’S SNOW-SHOE TRAIL

OR

THE MOUNTAIN BOYS IN CANADA WILDS

BY

SILAS K. BOONE

THE NEW YORK BOOK COMPANY

NEW YORK

Copyright, 1915, by

THE NEW YORK BOOK COMPANY

PHIL BRADLEY’S SNOW-SHOE TRAIL
OR, THE MOUNTAIN BOYS IN CANADA WILDS

CHAPTER I—INTO THE LAND OF THE MOOSE AND CARIBOU

“That cold chicken Mrs. McNab put up for our lunch yesterday went fine, fellows; and I only wish we had the like of it for to-day!”

“You always did have a weakness for fowls, Ethan.”

“Just so, X-Ray Tyson; that’s why they put me out in the left garden on our Brewster baseball team so I could gobble all that were knocked that way.”

“Well, we’ve heard you boasting lots of times about that wonder of a rooster you’ve got at home.”

“Oh! you mean old Robinson Crusoe, don’t you, Lub?”

“Yes, that sorrel-topped ungainly looking crow-factory we’ve all seen strutting around your yard so often. I never ran across an uglier bird, for a fact, if you’ll excuse me for saying it, Ethan.”

The boy who answered to the last mentioned name only laughed as he continued:

“No apologies needed, X-Ray; because I know myself he’s sure no beauty; but say, let me tell you he’s a scrapper from the ground up.”

“How on earth did you ever come to call him by such a queer name, Ethan? Did you happen to get him on Friday? Mebbe you found him on an island; or fished him out after a shipwreck on the water?”

“You’re away off your base, Lub. I’ll proceed to enlighten you a bit. It’s a wonder to me some of you haven’t asked about that before now. First of all, we got him from a man named Robinson, who peddles chickens, and collects eggs through Brewster territory. For a while we always referred to him as ‘Robinson’s fowl.’ Get that?”

“Yes, but go on, Ethan.”

“Well, when he had his fierce fight with Zack Avery’s game rooster that had beaten everything to flinders, and Robinson actually whipped him, we began to think he deserved a medal. After he had made the game run for home he perched on the dividing fence and let everybody know about it with his clarion voice; so I said right on the spot he ought to be given the rest of the famous Robinson name because he crew so!”

“Oh! somebody take hold of me, or I’m liable to fall off the sled and be left behind!” shouted the boy called Lub, and who was well named it appeared, judging from his generous proportions.

The stout boy was duly restrained and hugged by X-Ray Tyson and Ethan until he begged his companions to desist.

“I didn’t mean that I wanted you to squeeze me to death,” he complained; “that would be jumping out of the fryingpan into the fire. I’m fully recovered now from my weakness: but, Ethan, please don’t do anything like that again.”

There were just four boys in the party, all dressed warmly for a winter outing, and perched upon a number of bundles that went to make up the cargo of the homely old Canadian two-horse sledge, built not unlike those in common use around Moscow during a Russian winter.

Besides Ethan Allen, X-Ray Tyson and the stout youth, Lub Fenwick, whose real name however was Osmond, there was a fourth lad, to whom the others seemed to defer in a way that might suggest leadership.

In fact Phil Bradley did occupy this position among his chums, and with reason, for none of them could compare with him in concocting clever ideas, and also in carrying out the same.

They all belonged to the town of Brewster, which was situated hundreds of miles to the southwest of where we find them on this crisp winter day.

Those who have had the