Part 20 (1/2)
Ted said cheerfully, ”Guess we'll go home, Tammie. But we'll come back for the pack tonight, Mr. Callahan, or some of his friends, probably will be patroling here and there.”
That night there were three more letters, two from deer hunters who wanted the camp the usual first two weeks of the season and one from a grouse hunter who wanted the first week. Ted advised them of the camp's present status, put his letters in the mailbox and lifted the red flag to let the carrier know there was mail to pick up. The next night there were five letters, two of which had been sent airmail. Ted opened the first.
Dear Mr. Harkness: Your letter intrigued us no end. We haven't seen a good flight of woodc.o.c.k for ten years and didn't think there was any such thing any more. Should they come in, by all means call me and reverse the charges. My business phone is TR 5-4397; my home is LA 2-0489. Call either place and we'll start an hour afterwards.
There'll be seven of us, and I enclose a ten-dollar check as deposit.
Cordially, George Beaulieu
The second airmail letter read:
Bless you, Ted! You've started me dreaming of Damon and/or Pythias.
One or the other will do, but nothing else, please! By your own invitation, you're stuck with me for the full twenty-one days.
I'll see you the day before the season opens.
Gratefully, John L. Wilson
There was a check for a hundred dollars enclosed and almost grimly Ted folded both checks in his wallet. He'd have to spend some money for food, but not a great deal. The freezer was almost full and much of the garden remained to be harvested. He stared at the far wall.
He had not planned it this way. He had looked forward to a happy venture, to enjoying and helping his guests, and if he made money in so doing, that would be fine. Had things turned out as he'd planned, there was already enough money in sight to build and equip another camp. But that was not to be. Al had to come out of the Mahela some time. When he did, they were in for a fight, and money would be a powerful weapon in that all-out battle. They must win, and anything else must be secondary.
The other three letters were from deer hunters who wanted the camp the first two weeks of the season.
Ted devoted the next fortnight to harvesting the garden. He dug the potatoes, emptied them in the cellar bin and stacked squash and pumpkins beside them. Bunches of carrots and turnips were stored in another bin, and sh.e.l.led beans were put in sacks.
Almost every mail brought more letters, and two out of three were from deer hunters. Ted rented his camp for the season's third week. Maybe n.o.body could make a living from deer hunters alone, but anybody who had enough camps, perhaps ten or twelve, could certainly earn a decent sum of money from just deer hunters.
The Mahela changed its green summer dress for autumn's gaudy raiment and the frosts came. Woodc.o.c.k continued to drift in, and two days before the season opened, they arrived in force. Where there had been one, there were thirty, and still they came. Ted drove into Lorton and called from the drugstore.
”Mr. Beaulieu?”
”Yes?”
”This is Ted Harkness, Mr. Beaulieu. The woodc.o.c.k are in.”
”A big flight?”
”The biggest in years.”
”We'll be there tomorrow,” George Beaulieu said happily. ”Hold the camp for us!”
”I'll do that, and anybody in Lorton can tell you where to find me.”
”Thanks for calling. We'll be seeing you.”
8
TROUBLE FOR NELS
In the beech forest, just beyond Tumbling Run, a buck so young that budding antlers did little more than part the coa.r.s.e hair on its head stamped a front hoof and snorted. Old enough to have a vast admiration for himself and his own powers, but too young to have any sense, the little buck snorted again and tried to sound as ferocious as possible.
Nosing about for any apples that might remain under the trees near Ted's camp, he had stood his ground gallantly when Ted and Tammie approached.