Hal Kenyon Disappears

pine tree,

acon!-like

n, hik

-hike

arm!

ad!-Ra

ys of Lakefarm School were on their return from a day's outing in the mountains. Clad in Boy Scout uniforms and wearing Rough Rider hats, they pr

tendance during the summer term, evidence of the popularity of the school,

ill clung to it; in winter, it was a picture that called for deep admiration. It also might well have been named Echo Ca?on; indeed many in that part of

rs, ruins of whose homes were to be found here and there high up in steep places. The boys of Lakefarm knew these stories by heart. They ha

ric, but the boys of the school and the friends of the doctor did not agree. The boys loved him as few schoolmasters e

short, brisk, wide-awake man, who smiled frequently and shrewdly. Mr. Porter was an odd personage, dignified and very positive in all things, but an excellent instruct

m home. Why not stop here, build a fi

me time. Dr. Byrd had a boy's heart, and as there was no go

ng the near bank of a noisy mountain stream, and soon were returning with armfuls of dead wood. Most o

two serviceable pieces of dry cottonwood root. Having good, strong, sharp pocketknives, they proceeded to whittle and shave the roots. One was made flat and about three-fourths of an inch thick; the other was cut slim and round and sharpened at both ends. In one edge of the flat

ul of easily lighted shreds. The notched piece of wood was now placed on a flat rock, the drill was inserted in place and the string of the bow looped tightly over it. Th

presently a fine brown powder was flowing into the notch. In a few seconds t

p. The rest of the tinder was then applied, followed by some cedar bark and small wo

uel had been deposited on the burning heap. Immediately the ca?on

-fire

-punk

r, La

rah-

aken loose and come crashing down on the reckless Boy Scouts. Then the boys scattered again,

ced Dr. Byrd as the last load was dropp

Atkins, with a slap of his

e reason I haven't dyspepsia. Always forget your stomachs, boys, until they remind you of their exi

rst, commonly known as "Pickles" because

is just the time and

e boys in the Rio Grande several miles to the east early in the morning. As they had enough other f

supper. But he always appeared to have a poor memory and few ideas when on a trip with his Scou

nes, frying-pans were placed over them, and the fish were soon sputtering appetizingly. Fortunately, they st

e fuel was thrown on the camp fire, and all gathered before it for the next number of the unprepared program. For a

tell st

always favorably received by true Boy Scouts. There

t shall it

ntain," sugge

claimed Fr

face," proposed Clayton White, the jok

ally talking about "clipping somebody on the jaw," or "slamm

don't close your face," growled "Bad

ll afraid, as he was a year older tha

o add to the story of Flathead?

replied

unced the doctor, and all became attentive with a