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The Floating Press - J. Snell Roy

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114 pages

English

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Extrait

Description

Johnny Thompson is an amateur sleuth with an insatiable thirst for adventure. In this exciting mystery tale geared for younger readers, Johnny gets ample opportunity to show off his skills as a master archer in the dangerous wilds of northern Canada.

Sujets

Children's

Informations

Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 mai 2015
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781776590636
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

JOHNNY LONGBOW
* * *
ROY J. SNELL

*
Johnny Longbow First published in 1928 Epub ISBN 978-1-77659-063-6 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77659-064-3 © 2013 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
*
Chapter I - The Last Arrow Chapter II - Mysterious Fear Chapter III - The Knife in the Tree Chapter IV - Green Gold Chapter V - A Mad Moose Chapter VI - A Strange Meeting Chapter VII - A Look Beyond Chapter VIII - A Haven of Refuge Chapter IX - A Moving Island Chapter X - Treachery in the Night Chapter XI - The Dancing Shadow Chapter XII - The Great Banshee Chapter XIII - The Answered Challenge Chapter XIV - A Mysterious Visit in the Night Chapter XV - On the Trail of the Great Banshee Chapter XVI - Down with the Avalanche Chapter XVII - The Giant Hunchback Chapter XVIII - Saved by a Line Chapter XIX - Gordon Duncan's Story Chapter XX - Adrift in the Night Chapter XXI - The Battle of the Bears Chapter XXII - The Hunchback Leads On Chapter XXIII - Three Bear Skins Chapter XXIV - Left Behind Chapter XXV - Adventure in Pantomime Chapter XXVI - Into the Ice Jamb Chapter XXVII - Green Gold at Last
Chapter I - The Last Arrow
*
Johnny Thompson caught his breath as his feet shot from beneath him andhe plunged into a rushing torrent of icy water. Thoughts flashed acrosshis mind, mental pictures of homes and firesides. Echoes of laughtersounded in his ears.
Yet in this wilderness there was no laughter save the boisterous roar ofan Arctic stream. There were no homes save those of the muskrat, thebeaver and the white owl. The nearest cabin was fifty miles or more back.An all but impassable forest of scrub spruce, fir and pine lay between.There was time for but a flash back before Johnny found himself fightingfor his life against the torrent that was dragging him over rocks andsunken logs, splashing, ducking, pulling at him and threatening everymoment to make an end of him.
But Johnny Thompson was not one to be beaten at once by this rushingtorrent of northern Canada. Swimming strongly, warding off overhangingbranches here, dodging great protruding boulders there, he still watchedfor a gently shelving bank that might offer him so much as a moment'srest. Since no such haven offered itself at once, he shot the rapids likea salmon.
A long, slender oiled canvas sack hung at his back. Twice this threatenedto prove his undoing. It caught upon a tough willow branch and draggedhim beneath the surface. Hardly had he freed himself than this same sackthat apparently contained some stiff and stubborn affair of wood or steelcaught in a rocky crevice to throw him high and wide. This involuntarypole vault left him with breath quite crushed out, but still struggling.
Suddenly, straight ahead, he caught sight of that which must prove hissalvation or his undoing. Undermined by the torrent a green spruce treelay squarely across his path.
Ten seconds to wonder. Would he be caught in the branches and drowned, orwould he mount those same branches to freedom?
Sixty seconds of terrific battle and the splendid muscles of the boy wonagainst relentless nature. Panting, triumphant, he sat astride thebranches.
He was saved. There remained but to climb back to land. He was cold andwet. A roaring fire would remedy that. His blanket roll lay where he hadtossed it on this side of the stream before he attempted to ford thetreacherous tumult of water. The way back to his blankets would be roughgoing. He'd manage that.
But suddenly the smile on his face faded. His eyes had fallen upon thelong sack that had hung at his back.
"Gone," he muttered, "torn open by the same branch. And they're gone, allgone but one."
After adjusting the torn fastenings as best he could, he worked his wayover the swaying tree trunk to solid earth. Then with sober face, hebegan making his way back over the rocks to the spot where his blanketroll lay. The situation was a serious one.
An hour later he sat before a roaring campfire of fir and balsam boughs.Dressed in a change of clothing and wrapped in a blanket, with hiscostume of an hour before sending clouds of steam toward the sky, hemight have seemed the picture of contentment. He was far from contented.Presently he removed a small coffee pot from the fire and poured a cup ofdark brown liquid. The aroma of coffee seemed good. He smiled. Then,without sugar or cream, he gulped it down black and hot. Nor did he eatafter that. There was nothing to eat.
Had you chanced to look into his pack you would have found there neitherfirearms nor ammunition. The nearest cabin that he knew of in all thatvast northern wilderness was fifty miles back over an ill-defined trail.That cabin was deserted. He had slept there four nights back.
So Johnny sat by the fire meditating, thinking on matters of greater orless importance. And as he meditated, at a point somewhat more than amile downstream, as the crow flies, a figure appeared among the rocksthat kept the rushing stream in tumult.
A girl in her late teens, she moved out from among dark pines into apatch of light. The touches of sunset, lighting up her dark brown hairand adding a touch of gold to her ruddy freckled cheeks, transformed herfor the moment into a goddess of the forest.
Sensing the change, she stood motionless as a statue for a full moment.Then, into that glory of the sunset she smiled, and the smile made herseem more alive than any wild thing that had ever ventured to the brinkof that tumultuous stream.
In her hand she held a rustic bucket. Its handle, a thong of caribousinew, its bottom a circle of wood cut from some fallen spruce tree, itssides white birchbark, this bucket seemed a part of the wilderness.
As she stooped to fill the rustic bucket, her eyes caught sight of someunusual object bobbing up and down in the water.
One moment, a flash of red and gold, she saw it. The next it was lost ina rush of foam. In a twinkling the bucket was dropped among the rocks andshe went racing downstream in hot pursuit.
A hundred yards, leaping from boulder to boulder, she plunged onwarduntil, red-cheeked, panting, she came upon an eddy, a still dark pool,twenty feet across, and at its very center, moving serenely about, wasthe coveted prize.
With the aid of the slow current and a long dry pole, she succeeded atlast in coaxing the thing ashore.
As she grasped it, a trio of bright feathers bound to a slender shaftcame to view. She caught her breath again. And as she pricked her hand onthe broad head sharp as a razor at the other end of the shaft, her facelost some of its heightened color.
Turning, she raced back to the spot where the crude bucket still rested.There, without pausing to complete her errand, she dashed up the slope toa spot where a tumbled-down cabin rested among the trees.
A man, very tall, very straight and quite old, a bearded patriarch, roseat her approach.
"Grandfather!" she exclaimed, almost in a whisper. "We must leave thiscabin at once."
The old man threw her a questioning look. For answer she held up thearrow she had found floating feather up in the stream.
Taking it from her, he examined it closely in the waning light.
"White man," he pronounced at last, as if reading from a book. "Somewhatnew at the game, but possessed of a considerable knowledge of the art. Avery good arrow.
"We must go up," he said after a moment of silence. "We will go up atonce."
They entered the cabin together. Some twenty minutes later, with wellarranged packs on their backs, they emerged from the shadowy interior togo marching briskly down toward the banks of the rushing stream. Therethey began leaping from rock to rock. In this manner they traveled aconsiderable distance without leaving a single tell-tale footprintbehind.
So they moved on into the twilight, a powerful old man and a short,sturdy girl, marched on into a wilderness that is acquainted only withthe voice of the wolf, the caribou and the white owl.
Once as they paused for a moment's rest beside a great flat rock, thegirl removed some object from her pack and held it up to the uncertainlight.
"It's strange," the old man rumbled. "An arrow, a well-shaped,well-constructed arrow with a death-dealing steel point! Had it been ashot gun shell, that would not have seemed strange. But an arrow!"
"But Grandfather, we—" The girl stroked a strong longbow that hung ather side.
"Yes, I know." The old man's smile was good to see. "But we are of abygone race, at least I am. This is 1928. Except for such as we are, thebow and arrow are of the past. But see!" He started up. "It is gettingdark."
A few yards farther down the strange pair left the stream's bank to goclambering up a rocky run. Even here they avoided snow. And so, marchingsturdily forward, they faded into the gathering darkness and deep shadowsof pines.
You have perhaps guessed that the arrow found bobbing its way downstreamcame from Johnny Thompson's quiver. In fact at the very moment when theold man and the girl left the cabin, he was engaged in the task of oilingtwo stout bows and waxing their strings. Having done this, he lookedsorrowfully at the single broadhead arrow that remained in his quiver,took one more long gulp of hot black coffee, then set to wondering whatlay before him.
To be facing a wilderness alone with bows and arrows as one's sole meansof securing food might seem bad enough. To have but one arrow; what couldbe worse? A missed shot, a shattering rattle against the rocks, and thisarrow m