Phil Bradley's Mountain Boys

"I'd like to, Lub, for your sake; but the fact of the matter is we've got about another hour of climbing before us, as near as I can reckon."

"Oh! dear, that means sixty long minutes of this everlasting scrambling over logs, and crashing through tangled underbrush. Why, I reckon I'll have the map of Ireland in red streaks on my face before I'm done with it."

At that the other three boys laughed. They were not at all unfeeling, and could appreciate the misery of their fat companion; but then Lub had such a comical way of expressing himself, and made so many ludicrous faces, that they could never take him seriously.

They were making their way through one of the loneliest parts of the great Adirondack regions. There might not be a living soul within miles of them, unless possibly some guide were wandering in search of new fields.

The regular fishermen and tourists never came this way for many reasons; and the only thing that had brought these four well-grown boys in the region of Surprise Lake was the fact that one of them, Phil Bradley, owned a large mountain estate of wild land that abutted on the western shore of the lake.

All of the lads carried regular packs on their backs, secured with bands that passed across their foreheads, thus giving them additional advantages. In their hands they seemed to be gripping fishing rods in their cases, as well as some other things in the way of tackle boxes and bait pails.

Apparently Phil and his chums were bent on having the time of their lives upon this outing. Laden in this fashion, it was no easy task they had taken upon themselves to "tote" such burdens from the little jumping-off station up the side of the mountain, and then across the wooded plateau. There was no other way of getting to Lake Surprise, as yet, no wagon road at all; which accounted for its being visited only by an occasional fisherman or hunter.

Each year such places become fewer and fewer in the Adirondacks; and in time to come doubtless a modern hotel would be erected where just then only primitive solitude reigned.

Of course Lub (who at home in school rejoiced in the more aristocratic name of Osmond Fenwick) being heavily built, suffered more than any of his comrades in this long and arduous tramp. He puffed, and groaned, but stuck everlastingly at it, for Lub was not the one to give in easily, no matter how he complained.

Besides these two there was Raymond Tyson, a tall, thin chap, who was so quick to see through nearly everything on the instant that his friends had long ago dubbed him "X-Ray," and as such he was generally known.

The last of the quartette was Ethan Allan. He claimed to be a lineal descendant of the famous Revolutionary hero who captured Ticonderoga from the British by an early morning surprise. Ethan was very fond of boasting of his illustrious ancestor, and on that account found himself frequently "joshed" by his chums.

It happened that Ethan's folks were not as well off in this world's goods as those of his chums; and he was exceedingly sensitive about this fact. Charity was his bugbear; and he would never listen to any of the others standing for his share of the expense, when they undertook an expedition like the present.

Ethan was a smart chap. He knew considerable about the woods, and all sorts of things that could be found there. And he had hit upon an ingenious method for laying up a nice little store of money whereby he could keep his savings bank well filled with ready cash, and thus proudly meet his share of expenses.