The Radio Boys Rescue the Lost Alaska Expedition

CHAPTER XXIV.—A TALE OF PARADISE.

“Lookit here,” said Long Jim, as the circle gathered around him. “Art’s been tellin’ me the trouble you folks is in. Looks to me like you moughtn’t be able to make it out o’ this country.”

Mr. Hampton nodded grave confirmation.

“Well, I know of a place that’s paradise,” said Long Jim, impressively. “An’ I’ll take ye all there, an’ ye can spend the Winter—warm, game, everything there. Only thing, like I tol’ Artie here, is I hate to have to take them skunks o’ half-breeds in there. They’ll be a-comin’ back later an’ ruin the country.”

“But I don’t understand,” said Mr. Hampton. “What is it you are talking about?”

“Don’t blame ye,” said Long Jim. “Think maybe the ol’ man’s crazy, don’t ye? Don’t blame ye for that, neither. But, look here, night’s dyin’ an’ if ye stand up an’ look where I’m pointin’ ye’ll see somethin’.”

Mr. Hampton arose wonderingly, and the others also stood up.

“Thar,” said Long Jim, stretching an arm to the westward. “What d’ye see?”

“Why—a great bank of fog,” said Mr. Hampton, after gazing intently. “How strange. Fog in Winter. I don’t understand.”

“An’ ye all think that’s fog, hey?” asked Long Jim, turning to the others.

Nodding heads answered.

“Well, it ain’t,” he said. “That’s the vapor from hot springs.”

“Hot springs?” Mr. Hampton sounded frankly incredulous.

“Wait’ll you see for yourself,” said Long Jim, tolerantly. “I wouldn’t believe it, neither, when I first saw it. I thought it was fog, too. But bein’ as how heavy fog in the Winter were strange, I went to investigate. An’ I found paradise.”

Then, under Mr. Hampton’s skillful questioning, Long Jim told his story. He declared he had lived in this region now these two years, and that since first arriving he had seen nobody except themselves. Drawn by the seeming fog to investigate, he had come upon an almost tropical valley through which ran not only one but several rivers of water forever at the boiling point. These rivers, moreover, he said, were fed by hundreds of hot springs, which bubbled out of the ground in all directions. It was the steam from these which, condensing as it rose above the valley and struck the cold Winter air, had formed the fog which first attracted his attention.

“Once I were in South America,” said Long Jim. “Down clost to the Equator. Well, I’m tellin’ you, it were that hot all last Summer right in that valley. As for right now, ye’ll find it mighty pleasant an’ warm, an’ when snow falls it’s only rain by the time it passes through the heat hangin’ over that valley all the time.”

“Hurray,” cried Frank, exuberantly. “Let’s go. No snow fellows. Get that? I’ve had all the snow I need for one season, anyway, and I guess I can get along without any more for some time to come.”

Mr. Hampton smiled, but, disregarding Frank’s jubilation, proceeded with his questioning. And Long Jim, delighted with an audience to which he could talk all he pleased, after having been without companions for several years, continued unfolding new wonders.

This valley, he declared, was about 200 miles long and 40 miles wide. They were now near its upper end, to which point Long Jim had made his way by slow travel and exploration during the two years since his arrival at the southern end.

Game?

At the question, Long Jim grew even more eloquent.

He declared that, due to the heat generated by the hot springs and the boiling rivers, the fertility of the soil was amazing. The vegetation, in fact, achieved a jungle growth. Wild rose bushes grew tall as trees, with stems as thick as a man’s forearm and so dense that it was impossible to force a way through them. Willows grew to the size of big trees, with branches so thick it was possible to walk along them.

“An’ birches,” added Long Jim, “git to be hunderds o’ feet tall, so tall, in fact, they can’t hold themselves up but bend over an’ touch the ground.

“Likely you think I’m out o’ my head. Oh, I kin see it in your eyes. But I’m tellin’ you the God’s truth, men.” And Long Jim spoke with such honest sincerity, they were compelled to believe him. “In sich a place,” he continued, “it ain’t likely there wouldn’t be no game. Why, the animals there is thick as flees on a ol’ hound.

“Mountain sheep, goats, caribou, moose, bear, deer, wolves, foxes, oh, every wild animal o’ the whole North kin be found there—down in that valley an’ in the mountains enclosin’ of it. An’ I tell you the truth,” he concluded, his voice sinking for effect, “the moose git so fat they’re almost square an’ they’re so darn tame ye can almost touch ’em.”

As Long Jim’s speech came to a halt, Mr. Hampton turned and stared across the brightening landscape to the distant bank of vapor. Soon the short days would end entirely, and the perpetual night of the Arctic would arrive. Only a miracle could save them from perishing, all unprepared to face further travel as they were. Could it be possible that miracle had occurred, and that this trapper was telling the truth?

Jack looked at his father, and sensed what was passing through the older man’s mind. Truth to tell, some such thoughts were in his own. He went up to him and laid a hand across his shoulders.

“Come on, Dad,” he said. “I believe Long Jim is telling the truth. And we better make the effort to get to this valley. He may be exaggerating a little, but certainly it looks like a promised land.”

“That’s right, Jack,” said his father, shaking off his reverie, and his alert self once more. “We’ll have a hard enough struggle getting there, what with having to cross this waste of new-fallen snow without snowshoes or sleds. Well, let’s see what can be done.”

Eventually, the party got into motion. The canoes were cached, where they could be recovered in the Summer. There was little likelihood anybody else would pass that way, to appropriate them. Equipment was made into packs shouldered by everybody except Art and Bob. These two were to carry Thorwaldsson on a stretcher, improvised out of poles cut on the river bank, and blankets.

Fortunately, the crest of the valley to which Long Jim was guiding them was distant not more than five or six miles. Even at that, however, the going was tremendously difficult because of the mass of new-fallen snow. Had it not been for Long Jim to break the way on his snowshoes, moreover, it is doubtful whether they could have made it, heavy laden as they were. But Long Jim worked patiently backward and forward, breaking down the snow, and packing it a second and even a third time with his webs.

“How come you were out here, ol’ timer?” asked Art once, as Long Jim paused, and he caught up with him.

“Well, I git lonesome a leetle,” said Long Jim. “I was prospectin’ around in the mountains rimmin’ the valley yestiddy, an’ I saw you across the snow. Jest leetle specks you were, but agin the snow I thought you were humans. I couldn’t hardly believe my eyes, but I come along investigatin’. An’ then when night come on, you lit your fires, an’——”

“Sure was lucky for us, Long Jim, if you ain’t a-lyin’,” said Art.

Long Jim stiffened, and for a moment was prepared to stand on his dignity but then he smiled in a jolly way that sent crinkly wrinkles all around his blue eyes.

“Don’t blame ye for that, Artie,” he said. “Sounds like I were crazy, don’t it? But jest wait till you see.”

CHAPTER XXV.—VOICES FROM THE WILDERNESS.

One of the first things done by the boys was to erect their radio plant, and they succeeded without much difficulty in opening communication with the little Fort of the Northwest Mounted Police on the farthest rim of the settled country. MacDonald and Dick, with their prisoners, had arrived only a day or two before communication was opened, and the two parties exchanged the stories of their adventures by radio.

To Long Jim the radio was as great a source of wonder as Long Jim’s valley was to the boys. He could never get over marveling at it, and every time that it was brought into use, Long Jim, if he were in the vicinity, was on hand, sitting in rapt and open-mouthed astonishment while the boys operated the instruments.

Much time was spent in exploring this wonderful valley, at the resources of which Mr. Hampton could never express sufficient astonishment.

“It is a freak of nature, of course, boys,” he explained on one occasion.

“How wonderful that it should have remained undiscovered for so long,” said Jack.

“Not so marvelous,” said his father. “Few, indeed, are the people who ever have penetrated any distance into all this vast wilderness of northern Canada. It was supposed, and still is generally supposed, to be bleak and uninhabitable. You know from experience that the contrary is the case. It is delightful country in Summer, and man is so constituted that, if properly clothed and housed, he can stand any severity of Winter. Some day, I predict, all this vast wilderness through which we have been making our way will be settled. That day is far off, of course, but it is coming. The growth of world population will force the conquest of the sub-Arctic.”

The one thing making their stay in this valley of marvels unpleasant was the constant rainfall. For in the Arctic storm succeeds storm, sweeping down from the North Pole in never-ending succession. And these storms which they knew were burying the land beyond the valley under a pall of ice and snow poured torrents of water on them. The peaks of the mountain ranges rimming the valley were buried under snow, gleaming wan in the occasional moonlight between the storms, for by now the long night had come. But on them no snow fell, for as Long Jim had foretold the snow as it passed through the temperate air created by the eternally hot rivers and springs was transformed into rain.

Two events of importance marked their stay. One was the escape of their prisoners, together with some rifles which they succeeded in stealing. Pursuit in the darkness, and through the jungle-like reaches of the forest was almost hopeless and was quickly abandoned. Nor, although vigilant watch was kept to prevent surprise, did they ever see sign of the half-breeds again.

“It’s a big valley,” said Mr. Hampton, “and I doubt whether they will attempt to attack us. Rather, they will keep out of our way. They are poorly armed and inferior in numbers, since we have all come together. Their escape, I imagine, was incited by a fear of what awaited them if we succeeded in getting them back to civilization and the courts. Well,” he said, with a sigh, “I regret, of course, the loss of witnesses to substantiate the charges of deviltry which I shall surely bring against Grimm. Nevertheless, I am glad to be rid of them.”

It was a sentiment in which all concurred.

The other event referred to was the opening by means of relayed messages via the Mounted Post and Edmonton of communication by radio with Mr. Temple in faraway New York. When word reached Bob’s father that the Hampton party was safe and sound and wintering in the wilderness, he quit work for the day, despite the fact that a big business deal was clamoring for his attention, and sped by motor down to his Long Island home.

Bob’s sister, Della, was sitting in the library, staring spiritlessly out at the Winter landscape. Mr. Temple stole up behind her and, reaching over her shoulder, thrust the message from the radio corporation under her eyes.

Della’s glance fell and she began to read the printed words. Then she leaped up, whirled around, her eyes like two stars, and threw her arms around her father’s neck.

“Oh, Daddy, Dad-dee,” she screamed.

He held her off at arm’s length and looked at her. Her eyes began to fill up with happy tears, and once more she threw herself into his arms.

“Well, kiddy, cry all you want to,” he said, comfortingly, patting her on the back. “I guess that’s the medicine you needed. You’ll be all right now.”

Mr. Temple’s words bore reference to the fact that for months Della’s health had been failing, and she had shown so little interest in her studies that it had been considered wiser to take her out of the boarding school which she attended, and bring her home.

“Oh, yes, Dad-dee,” she sobbed, her face buried in his coat. “I’ll be all right now.”

Then she lifted her tear-stained cheeks and asked anxiously:

“It says they are all safe—all? Doesn’t it?”

Mr. Temple nodded, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“Yes, kiddy,” he said. “Frank’s safe, too.”

“Oh, Dad-dee, I didn’t mean that,” said Della, blushing furiously.

“No need to fib to me, kiddy,” said her father. “Bob is only a brother; but Frank——”

“No, you shan’t say it,” laughed Della, and she placed a hand over his mouth.

Nevertheless, it was to be noted that from that time on Della no longer moped and looked ill, but took an intense interest in all the daily affairs of life, even wanting to return at once to school.

“Marjie Faulkner will be dying to talk things over with me,” she explained to her mother.

“Why, dear, what do you mean?”

“Well—you know—she’s sweet on Bob.”

“Oh, you girls,” said Mrs. Temple, with a sigh. “You’ll be the death of me. At your age——”

“At our age you were engaged to Father,” said Della. “Now don’t deny it. Dad has even told me how you planned to elope, but were overheard by your mother who persuaded you to be conventional and have a wedding at home.”

Mr. Temple looked across the dinner table at his wife and grinned shamelessly.

“George, did you tell her that?”

“Why not? It was the truth.”

“Oh, George. Aren’t children nowadays hard enough to handle as it is, without letting them know how silly we older people were once?”

“Now, Mother,” said Della, rising quickly and going to her mother’s side, and kissing her. “Don’t scold Father. Can’t you see he’s dreaming of that day again?”

And dancing to her father’s side, Della dropped a kiss on the spot where his hair was thinning out, and then danced gaily from the dining-room.

Once more Mr. Temple grinned at his wife, as he sipped his coffee. Then putting down the cup, he leaned forward and said confidentially:

“You do remember that time, don’t you, dear?”

Mrs. Temple started to say something sharp by way of reproof for his silliness, but a softened look came into her eyes as she stared back. The years that intervened since their youth seemed to slip away.

“Why, George,” she said. “You look positively handsome.”

As for Della, a telegram to her friend, Marjorie Faulkner, apprised the latter of the message from the Far North to the effect that the lost had been found. And Della soon followed her message in person. Thereafter the two girls were never tired of talking about the possible adventures that had befallen the boys, and while Marjorie sang Bob’s praises, Della sang Frank’s. Poor Jack, it is to be feared, was somewhat slighted in these discussions.

“I’ll warrant you that Bob saved the day for them all,” Marjorie said on one occasion. “He’s so big and strong.”

“Well,” flashed Della, “Bob’s my brother, and that’s all right. But if they ever got in a tight pinch, I’m sure it was Frank that got them out. He’s got more brains than all the rest put together.”

“Oh, Della, how can you say that?” cried Marjorie.

“Well, just because Bob is my brother must I be always praising him?” demanded Della.

For a moment the two girls positively glared at each other.

Then the twinkle began to come, and they laughed.

Then they were hugging each other.

And then they were at it again.

CHAPTER XXVI.—TREED BY WOLVES.

“All right, boys,” said Art. “I’d like to stretch a leg, too.”

The four, accordingly, set out. In the forest surrounding the spot where they had chosen to erect their huts, there was no longer any game, for the animals had come to learn that these strange creatures brought destruction and had decamped elsewhere. Finally, after they had proceeded some distance without sighting anything, Art suggested they strike for a higher level on the adjacent mountain side. The huts had been erected near the foot of one of the ranges rimming the valley.

“Maybe we’ll run into a mountain sheep or a goat,” he said. “Anyhow, we can see better from a higher lever, for this forest down here is so thick you can hardly see a yard away. The moon’s out an’ up there the trees is thinner.”

With Art leading the way, the party began its upward climb. For some time they toiled upward until presently they reached a level unaffected by the more temperate air of the valley floor, and where, as a consequence, snow covered the rocks. Across a bare shoulder of rock from which the wind had swept all but a trace of snow they made their way and then plunged into a thick woods beyond.

Frank, who was in the rear, laid down his rifle and bent over to adjust the clumsy lacing of a thick shoe pack of the kind they had made for themselves from the skins of slain animals. The others plodding along, head down, did not notice he had stopped, and kept on going. He spent more time at the task than he had anticipated, and when finally he straightened up and picked up his rifle, they were not in sight.

Frank was not worried, however, for he felt sure he would be able to trace them in the snow and would soon catch up with them. He set out at a brisk pace. The snow grew deeper, however, where the wind had not had a chance to whisk it away, and the going was hard. He had proceeded some distance before he noticed that he had gotten off the trail left by his companions. Angry with himself for his carelessness, but still not worried, he halted to consider what was best for him to do.

“Shucks,” he said aloud. “Guess I better go back over my steps till I find where I left their trail.”

And with this intention, he turned to go back. Even as he did so, he saw a pack of long gray bodies racing through the trees in his direction. At the same instant they gave tongue. It was a pack of wolves. They had scented him and were now lifting the cry which announced their prey was near.

Frank started to fling the rifle to his shoulder, but then he lowered it. The flitting forms were still yards away. And although moonlight sifted through the bare limbs of the trees, it did not sufficiently illumine the scene to make the wolves good targets. He decided his best plan would be to seek refuge in a tree first of all, and then he could fire at the wolves at his leisure and with a sureness of aim that would not now be his. These thoughts or reflections flashed through his mind in an instant. The next moment he was putting his plan into execution, and climbing into a tall fir.

He was not a moment too soon, either, for the baying came closer and closer and even as he struggled frantically to climb higher the leader of the wolf pack reached the foot of his refuge, and sprang high into the air. Frank heard the snap of the great jaws, and looked down into a yawning red cavern of a mouth.

The next moment his rifle slipped from his grasp, and fell on the snout of the wolf who leaped aside in temporary panic. Then the rest of the pack arrived on the scene, jumping and snarling, their heads in the air, their wicked eyes agleam as they scented the prey they had treed but which temporarily had escaped them.

Frank threw an arm around the main trunk of the tree to steady himself, for he was sick with vexation at his own carelessness in not having properly, secured his rifle. Meantime the wolves circled close about the tree, looking up, and one big fellow even put his forefeet against the trunk and reared high till his head rested on the lowermost branch. Then he retired to join the others, and all squatted in an expectant ring close about the foot of the tree.

When his vexation had passed, Frank set himself to a serious consideration of his position. And at once he realized that he must try before it was too late and they got out of earshot to attract the attention of his comrades. Perhaps already they had gotten beyond reach. At that he had a moment of panic. Then he grew calmer. If they had moved away, he told himself, they would discover his absence presently and retrace their steps in search of him.

He still had his revolver. At first he did not trust himself to handle it, because of the trembling of his hands. Then he grew cooler. His hand steadied. He thought he would shout to attract his companions’ attention first of all. And raising his voice, he sent call after call ringing through the forest.

The wolves gave back yelp for scream, and soon the whole pack was snarling and yowling and making a terrific, demoniac din.

The sound steadied him.

“Good,” he thought, “the boys will know there are wolves, anyway.”

Their own snarls reacted on the wolves, exciting them. And once more they came up to the foot of the tree, rearing their forefeet against it and leaping upward. It was Frank’s chance, and he took it.

With one arm clasping the trunk of the tree, he leaned forward and took careful aim at the biggest of the grey shapes below. At that moment, the wolf opened his mouth in a jaw-clashing howl. It was his last. Frank’s bullet plunged down his throat, and the wolf rolled over in the snow.

His mates without a second’s hesitation deserted their attempts to get at Frank, and began snarling over the dead body. The sight sickened Frank, and he closed his eyes a moment. Then the thought occurred that, if he added several more corpses to the ghoulish feast, he might divert the attention of the rest of the pack to such an extent that he would be able to slip away unseen, perhaps by making his way through the trees for a short distance before jumping to the ground.

There was no need now for care in aiming, as the wolves were in a thick mass over the body of the fallen, so Frank fired several shots in rapid succession into the mass. The effect was instantly apparent, for two more wolves went down, and the tearing and crunching announced a renewal of the awful feast.

Now, thought Frank, was his time to escape, if possible. He had heard no answering replies, and believed his companions must have gotten out of earshot. If so, he must depend on his own resources to make his escape. He was about to start swinging to a nearby tree, the branches of which interlocked with those of the tree in which he had found refuge, when the thought occurred that, perhaps, he would be able to obtain his rifle undiscovered by the wolves.

Cautiously he started to descend, his eyes alternately on the snarling wolf pack several yards from the tree and on the limbs he must grip in his descent. He had almost reached the lowermost limb when his grip slipped and he fell.

Frank thought his end had come, but as he struck the ground his hands closed on the coveted rifle, and he scrabbled to regain his feet, flinging the rifle to his shoulder as he did so.

His fall had been seen. One of the wolves turned aside from the outskirts of the pack, where he was not getting his share of the gruesome feast, and sprang for him. The next moment, as a shot rang out from behind Frank, the wolf dropped quivering at his feet.

“Steady, Frank,” cried Art’s voice. “Give ’em all you’ve got.”

Without looking around, mastering his trembling by a supreme effort, Frank brought the rifle to his shoulder and began firing into the pack, even as the three rifles of his companions also opened fire.

At that close range every shot told and not a wolf escaped. Eleven bodies, including the mutilated remains of the three which Frank had slain with revolver shots, were stretched on the snow under the trees.

When it was all over, his companions gathered about Frank and explanations followed. Then they made their way back to camp.

CHAPTER XXVII—CONCLUSION.

And then followed the biggest surprise of all, for out of the store came Mr. Temple and Della. For ten minutes the kissing and hugging went on, while Farnum, Thorwaldsson, Farrell and the rest stood to one side, their faces set in wide grins.

“What in the world?” demanded Mr. Hampton, at length, holding his partner and neighbor at arm’s length. “What in the world brought you here?”

“A motor boat,” said Mr. Temple. “That was a surprise for you. When we received your radio message via the post here, which relayed it to Edmonton—that first one, you know, announcing you were leaving for the outside—I decided I would have to be on hand to greet you. So I got into communication with Captain Jameson, and learned from him that I could reach one of his posts farther south by motor car, and then come up the river in a launch. So I decided I would come here to the edge of the wilderness.”

He looked at his son, Bob, about whom he still kept an arm, and smiled.

“Good old Dad,” said Bob, giving him a hug. “But what brought Della?”

“Oh, the same means,” answered his father.

“No, Dad. You know what I mean. Was it love for her straying brother?”

“Well, now, Bob, you’ll have to form your own opinion,” said Mr. Temple, eyes a-twinkle.

Della who had been standing close to Frank, her hands clasped in his, looked calmly at Bob.

“Marjie wanted to come, too, you know, Bob,” she said. “But her mother wouldn’t let her. She sent you a message.”

“Huh.”

Big Bob blushed, and let the conversation drop. Nevertheless, at the first opportunity he got his sister to one side, and, snatching the letter she tendered him, went off by himself to read it.

There was room for Mr. Hampton and the boys on the launch, and in a canoe towed behind, and so, after a short rest, a start downstream was made at once. Thorwaldsson and the others set off with them, but soon fell behind amid a gay waving of farewells. Mr. Hampton was to make arrangements for their reception at the next post and at Edmonton. The launch would be sent back for them when the post was reached.

At Edmonton, a thriving city which in the comparatively few years of its existence has grown to the proportions of a metropolis, the boys got their first taste of the publicity which was to pursue them across the continent, reaching its height on their arrival in New York. For word of their coming had gotten out, and hosts of reporters awaited them, representing the great newspapers and news-gathering syndicates of not only North America but of Europe, too.

“You see, boys,” said Mr. Hampton, in their hotel rooms, when they protested to him at being besieged every minute of the day by reporters, “you are the center of the romantic interest of the world. You rescued the Lost Expedition and discovered strange new territory. You have had the wildest kind of adventures. How do you expect the world to take that calmly? It can’t be done. No, you may as well submit gracefully, and talk when questioned.”

The romance of Frank and Della also was exploited by the newspapermen, and pictures began to appear throughout the country, showing the daring young explorer and his sweetheart. When they were taken, neither Frank nor Della knew, but the truth of the matter was that they were together so much of the time it was the easiest matter in the world for a photographer to snap them.

In New York the same thing was gone through with again, only, if anything, worse. And this time, the reporters finding that Marjorie Faulkner appeared to greet the returned heroes, scented a new romance, and questioned the boys about it. Bob and Frank refused to answer, but Jack slyly tipped off the newspapermen that between Marjorie and Bob a real romance was, indeed, budding.

In reprisal, Bob and Frank put their heads together, and gave the newspapermen a story to the effect that Jack was champing at the bit to be off to old Mexico, there to greet a sweetheart who awaited him, none other, in fact, than the Senorita Rafaela y Calomares, daughter of an old Don who had a palace in the Sonora mountains. And in support of the story they told the newspapermen of their adventures several years before on the Mexican border, when they had rescued Mr. Hampton from captivity and Jack, they said, had fallen in love with the daughter of the Mexican leader responsible for Mr. Hampton’s capture.

It all made good copy for the reporters, who had about exhausted the possibilities of the northern adventure, and who now plunged head first into this former adventure, of which nothing had been known at the time.

Jack was furious, and threatened to wreak dire vengeance on Bob and Frank. But the latter pointed out that they had but turned the tables on him.

“Well, anyway,” he said, finally, beginning to smile, “you haven’t got the best part of the story yet.”

Their curiosity aroused, they tried to get him to tell what he meant. But he refused. Several days later he disappeared. When they asked Mr. Hampton what had become of him he finally surrendered and gave the secret away.

“Well, boys,” he said, “when we returned I found a courteous note from Don Fernandez y Calomares, saying he was in Washington on business connected with the government, and asking me to call. I guess Jack has taken a train for Washington, and gone calling.”

With which happy forecast of good luck to come to all three of the Radio Boys, we shall leave them for the present, secure in the belief that if at any future date they go adventuring they will be well able to take care of themselves, and also that they will get into adventures well worth reading about.

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    THE RADIO BOYS RESCUE THE LOST ALASKA EXPEDITION
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    THE RADIO BOYS SEEK THE LOST ATLANTIS
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    THE BOY SCOUTS OF THE EAGLE PATROL
    THE BOY SCOUTS ON THE RANGE
    THE BOY SCOUTS AND THE ARMY AIRSHIP
    THE BOY SCOUTS’ MOUNTAIN  CAMP
    THE BOY SCOUTS FOR UNCLE SAM
    THE BOY SCOUTS AT THE PANAMA CANAL
    THE BOY SCOUTS UNDER FIRE IN MEXICO
    THE BOY SCOUTS ON BELGIAN BATTLEFIELDS
    THE BOY SCOUTS WITH THE ALLIES IN FRANCE
    THE BOY SCOUTS AT THE PANAMA-PACIFIC EXPOSITION

For sale by all booksellers, or sent on receipt of price by the Publishers

A. L. BURT COMPANY, 114-120 E. 23d St., NEW YORK

Border Boys Series

By Fremont B. Deering

Mexican and Canadian Frontier Stories for Boys 12 to 16 Years.

PRICE, 50 CENTS EACH

POSTAGE 10c EXTRA

With Individual Jackets in Colors.

Cloth Bound

    BORDER BOYS ON THE TRAIL
    BORDER BOYS ACROSS THE FRONTIER
    BORDER BOYS WITH THE MEXICAN RANGERS
    BORDER BOYS WITH THE TEXAS RANGERS
    BORDER BOYS IN THE CANADIAN ROCKIES
    BORDER BOYS ALONG THE ST. LAWRENCE RIVER

For sale by all booksellers, or sent on receipt of price by the Publishers

A. L. BURT COMPANY, 114-120 E. 23d St., NEW YORK

The Ranger Boys Series

BY CLAUDE H. LA BELLE

A new series of copyright titles for Boys 12 to 16 years telling of the adventures of three boys with the Forest Rangers in the state of Maine.

Handsome Cloth Binding.

PRICE, 50 CENTS EACH

POSTAGE 10c EXTRA

    THE RANGER BOYS TO THE RESCUE
    THE RANGER BOYS FIND THE HERMIT
    THE RANGER BOYS AND THE BORDER SMUGGLERS
    THE RANGER BOYS OUTWIT THE TIMBER THIEVES
    THE RANGER BOYS AND THEIR REWARD

For sale by all booksellers, or sent on receipt of price by the Publishers

A. L. BURT COMPANY, 114-120 E. 23d St., NEW YORK

The Boy Troopers Series

BY CLAIR W. HAYES

Author of the Famous “Boy Allies” Series.

The adventures of two boys with the Pennsylvania State Police.

For Boys 12 to 16 Years.

All Copyrighted Titles.

Cloth Bound, with Attractive Cover Designs.

PRICE, 50 CENTS EACH

POSTAGE 10c EXTRA

    THE BOY TROOPERS ON THE TRAIL
    THE BOY TROOPERS IN THE NORTHWEST
    THE BOY TROOPERS ON STRIKE DUTY
    THE BOY TROOPERS AMONG THE WILD MOUNTAINEERS

For sale by all booksellers, or sent on receipt of price by the Publishers

A. L. BURT COMPANY, 114-120 E. 23d St., NEW YORK

Frank Armstrong Series

By MATTHEW M. COLTON

Six Exceptional Stories of College Life, Describing Athletics from Start to Finish. For Boys 10 to 15 Years.

PRICE, 50 CENTS EACH

POSTAGE 10c EXTRA

Cloth Bound

With Attractive Jackets in Colors.

    FRANK ARMSTRONG’S VACATION
    FRANK ARMSTRONG AT QUEENS
    FRANK ARMSTRONG’S SECOND TERM
    FRANK ARMSTRONG, DROP KICKER
    FRANK ARMSTRONG, CAPTAIN OF THE NINE
    FRANK ARMSTRONG AT COLLEGE

For sale by all booksellers, or sent on receipt of price by the Publishers

A. L. BURT COMPANY, 114-120 E. 23d St., NEW YORK

The Boy Allies

(Registered in the United States Patent Office)

With the Army

BY CLAIR W. HAYES

For Boys 12 to 16 Years.

All Cloth Bound

Copyright Titles

PRICE, 50 CENTS EACH

Postage 10c extra.

In this series we follow the fortunes of two American lads unable to leave Europe after war is declared. They meet the soldiers of the Allies, and decide to cast their lot with them. Their experiences and escapes are many, and furnish plenty of good, healthy action that every boy loves.

    THE BOY ALLIES AT LIEGE;
    or, Through Lines of Steel.
 
    THE BOY ALLIES ON THE FIRING LINE;
    or, Twelve Days' Battle Along the Marne.
 
    THE BOY ALLIES WITH THE COSSACKS;
    or, A Wild Dash Over the Carpathians.
 
    THE BOY ALLIES IN THE TRENCHES;
    or, Midst Shot and Shell Along the Aisne.
 
    THE BOY ALLIES IN GREAT PERIL;
    or, With the Italian Army in the Alps.
 
    THE BOY ALLIES IN THE BALKAN CAMPAIGN;
    or, The Struggle to Save a Nation.
 
    THE BOY ALLIES ON THE SOMME;
     or, Courage and Bravery Rewarded.
 
    THE BOY ALLIES AT VERDUN;
    or, Saving France from the Enemy.
 
    THE BOY ALLIES UNDER THE STARS AND STRIPES;
    or, Leading the American Troops to the Firing Line.
 
    THE BOY ALLIES WITH HAIG IN FLANDERS;
    or, The Fighting Canadians of Vimy Ridge.
 
    THE BOY ALLIES WITH PERSHING IN FRANCE;
    or, Over the Top at Chateau Thierry.
 
    THE BOY ALLIES WITH MARSHAL FOCH;
    or, The Closing Days of the Great World War.

For sale by all booksellers, or sent on receipt of price by the Publishers

A. L. BURT COMPANY, 114-120 E. 23d St., NEW YORK

The Boy Allies

(Registered in the United States Patent Office)

With the Navy

BY ENSIGN ROBERT L. DRAKE

For Boys 12 to 16 Years.

All Cloth Bound

Copyright Titles

PRICE, 50 CENTS EACH

Postage 10c Extra

Frank Chadwick and Jack Templeton, young American lads, meet each other in an unusual way soon after the declaration of war. Circumstances place them on board the British cruiser, “The Sylph,” and from there on, they share adventures with the sailors of the Allies. Ensign Robert L. Drake, the author, is an experienced naval officer, and he describes admirably the many exciting adventures of the two boys.

    THE BOY ALLIES ON THE NORTH SEA PATROL;
    or, Striking the First Blow at the German Fleet.
 
    THE BOY ALLIES UNDER TWO FLAGS;
    or, Sweeping the Enemy from the Sea.
 
    THE BOY ALLIES WITH THE FLYING SQUADRON;
    or, The Naval Raiders of the Great War.
 
    THE BOY ALLIES WITH THE TERROR OF THE SEA;
    or, The Last Shot of Submarine D-16.
 
    THE BOY ALLIES UNDER THE SEA;
    or, The Vanishing Submarine.
 
    THE BOY ALLIES IN THE BALTIC;
    or, Through Fields of Ice to Aid the Czar.
 
    THE BOY ALLIES AT JUTLAND;
    or, The Greatest Naval Battle of History.
 
    THE BOY ALLIES WITH UNCLE SAM’S CRUISERS;
    or, Convoying the American Army Across the Atlantic.
 
    THE BOY ALLIES WITH THE SUBMARINE D-32;
    or, The Fall of the Russian Empire.
 
    THE BOY ALLIES WITH THE VICTORIOUS FLEETS;
    or, The Fall of the German Navy.

For sale by all booksellers, or sent on receipt of price by the Publishers

A. L. BURT COMPANY, 114-120 E. 23d St., NEW YORK

The Oakdale Academy Series

BY MORGAN SCOTT

A series of real boys’ stories at the Oakdale Academy. Ben Stone, the hero, wins his way under peculiar circumstances and against great odds.

Clean-cut stories of real experiences in athletics and sports of academy life, with adventures, mysteries and clever descriptions.

Just the kind of books a boy 12 to 16 years would like to read.

HANDSOME CLOTH BINDING.

JACKETS IN COLORS

PRICE, 50 CENTS EACH

POSTAGE 10c EXTRA

Copyright Titles

    BEN STONE AT OAKDALE
    BOYS OF OAKDALE ACADEMY
    RIVAL PITCHERS OF OAKDALE
    OAKDALE BOYS IN CAMP
    THE GREAT OAKDALE MYSTERY
    THE NEW BOYS AT OAKDALE

For sale by all booksellers, or sent on receipt of price by the Publishers

A. L. BURT COMPANY, 114-120 E. 23d St., NEW YORK

The Rex Kingdon Series

By GORDON BRADDOCK

A fine series of stories for boys of High School age, written in an interesting and instructive style.

Rex Kingdon, the hero, a real, wide-awake boy, interested in outdoor games, enters into the school sports with enthusiasm. A rattling good baseball story holds the interest to the very end. Rex and his Ridgewood friends establish a campfire in the North woods; there, mystery, jealousy and rivalry enter to menace their safety, fire their interest and finally cement their friendship.

Stories boys will want to read.

CLOTHBOUND. JACKETS IN COLORS.

Copyright Titles.

PRICE, 50 CENTS EACH

POSTAGE 10c EXTRA

    REX KINGDON OF RIDGEWOOD HIGH
    REX KINGDON IN THE NORTH WOODS
    REX KINGDON AT WALCOTT HALL
    REX KINGDON BEHIND THE BAT
    REX KINGDON ON STORM ISLAND

For sale by all booksellers, or sent on receipt of price by the Publishers

A. L. BURT COMPANY, 114-120 E. 23d St., NEW YORK