So he pictured a dugout drawn up on the shore of the river which he was approaching; and he pictured a group of howling Zulus on the farther shore. He heard ikes and the splashing of water, and it fitted well with his heroic scheme to imagine these sounds were made by the howling Zulus, though in reality he knew, or thought he knew, that they came from farther up the river near the scouts’ camp.
He was within a few yards of the river now and pushing through the thick growth which bordered it.
His imagination was working like machinery, and had all the features and details of his daring act, pat.
“‘I am a boy scout,'” he repeated, “‘and can handle—-‘”
He raised his rifle and, aiming with dramatic gesture at nothing in particular, pulled the trigger, then dashed forward in a perfect frenzy of adventurous delight to the shore.
On the other side of the river the O’Connor boy was leaning back in the arms of one of a group of people, the boys in the boat were mending their efforts to get to shore; someone said, “There he is!” and then all eyes were upon him and Connover Bennett dropped the gun, reeled against a tree and stood staring as he realized that he was nearer to being the real Dan Dreadnought than he had dreamed.
A cold sweat broke out upon his brow, his first impulse was to run with all his might and main; but he could not stir.
CHAPTER XVII
THE REAL THING
It happened that same afternoon that Tom and Roy went up to Salmon River Village to purchase some provisions for camp. The two boys were on their way back from the village and were discussing an interesting discovery which they had made while there. This was a wireless apparatus which the storekeeper had shown them with great pride for he was one of that numerous class of wireless amateurs whose arials may be seen stretching from tree-tops to house-tops these days, and since it was his pleasure to sit into the wee hours of the morning with his head receivers on, eavesdropping on the whole world, the two scouts had agreed to exchange messages with him.
“Every man you meet seems to take some interest in the scouts,” said Tom, in allusion to the cordial storekeeper.
“Sure, even Mr. Temple’s got a light case of it.”
“Not much!” said Tom.
“Oh, yes he has; he’s got what Doc Carson calls a passive case. Doesn’t it beat all how Doc gets onto this medical talk? Did you hear that one he sprang the other night about a ‘superficial abrasion’? Cracky, it nearly knocked me over!”
“And ‘septic,’ too,” said Tom.
“Yes, ‘septic’s’ his star word now. Mr. Temple’s case is likely to become acute any time,” Roy added as he jogged along, jumping from one subject to another according to his fashion. “You know you can have a thing and not know it. Then something happens, you get a bad cold, for instance, and that brings the whole thing out. That’s the way it is with Mr. Temple–he’s just beginning to get the bug; he doesn’t know it yet. You ought to have heard him buzz me about tracking.
“Then he wanted to know how I knew one golf stick was hickory and another one maple. ‘Scout,’ said I. Oh, I’ve got him started-wait
till he picks up a little momentum and you’ll see things fly.”
“You’ll never land him,” said Tom.
“I landed you, didn’t I?”
“Sure.”
“I bet I land him before the Chief lands Mrs. Bennett.”
They walked along a little while in silence. “What-what-did Mary say?” Tom asked. He had asked the question half a dozen times before, but it pleased him to imagine that he had forgotten the answer. Roy understood.
“She wanted to know why you didn’t bring the pin yourself.”
“What’d you tell her?”
“Oh, I told her you were too busy to bother.”
“No–honest–“
“I told her you had no time for girls. She said it was just lovely. I don’t know whether she meant you or the pin. She said the tracking was miraculous.”
“She don’t know who–“
“No, her father’s not going to tell her. I’ve got him cinched. I wouldn’t be surprised if I was cashier in his bank in another six months-but don’t mention it at camp fire, will you?”
Tom laughed. “What did she say?” he repeated.
“I told you’s teen-eleven times.”
“Well, I forget.”
“You ought to have gone yourself, anyway,” said Roy, “then you’d have heard what she said.”
He pretended not to have any sympathy with Tom in this matter.
“What was that other thing she said?”
“What’s that shouting?” said Roy.
“What was that other thing she said?”
“What other thing?”
“You know.”
“I guess that picnic bunch is flopping around on the river from the sound.”
Silence for a few minutes.
“What was that other thing she said?”
“Oh, yes,” said Roy, “let’s see–I forget.”
“Go on–stop your fooling! What was it?”
“Do you have to know?”
“What was it?”
“She said she was going to recip–Oh, listen!”
“Re-what?”
“Reciprocate.”
“What’s that?”
“Pay you back.”
“I wouldn’t take a cent. I wouldn’t take anything from her,” said Tom. “I’m a sco–“
“Now don’t spring that! You better wait and see what she offers you first.”
“Would you take anything for a service?”
“Depends on what it was,” said Roy cautiously.
“I wouldn’t take anything for a service.”
“No?”
“I wouldn’t take anything from her.”
But he did just the same.
They had left the road and were jogging scout-pace along the beaten path through the woods which led down to the river. As they neared it, a confusion of sounds and voices greeted their ears and when they presently emerged upon the shore they found a scene of pandemonium.
In mid-stream was their own boat, two-thirds full of water, and clinging to it were Tom’s erstwhile Bridgeboro friends and a frantic, shrieking creature whose streaming hair was plastered over his face and who was in a perfect panic of fright as every moment the gunwale of the loggy boat gave with his weight and lowered his head into the water.
On the farther shore one little group called futilely to the hapless crew, bidding them cling to the gunwale and hold still; sensible enough advice, except that no advice is of any use to a person in peril of drowning. The bedraggled creature in particular would have prevented any such orderly and rational conduct by his terror-stricken clutchings and cries of “Save me!” as if he were the only one in trouble. Another little group on the opposite shore was gathered about a figure which Tom and Roy could not see.
“Have you got a rope over there?” called Roy, kicking off his sneakers.
“No, we haven’t–“
“Got a shawl or a blanket?”
“Yes–what good–“
“Get it quick!”
“They always have camels’-hair shawls,” he said hastily to Tom. Then raising his voice, “Someone drowned over there?”
“No, shot.”
“Killed?”
“No.”
“Shin up that tree and see if you can get camp with your whistle,” he ordered to Tom, throwing off his shirt the while. “Whistle ‘Help’ by Morse–if they don’t answer, try semaphore with your shirt; if that don’t get them you’ll have to hoof it. Get Doc, whatever you do. Shut up, will you?”‘ he shouted to the frantic boy who was making all the noise. “Keep your mouth shut and you’ll be all right!”
All this took but a few seconds and presently the shrieking boy in the water grasped frantically at Roy.
That was all he knew. Something struck him, and when he recovered from his daze he was lying on shore with several persons about him.
The new Dan Dreadnought was a pitiable figure. The boy whom he had shot sat near him, ashen white, his arm bleeding despite all efforts to stay the flow of blood, and he himself, his voice husky from his futile shrieking, the red mark of Roy’s prompt but necessary blow standing out in bold relief on his white face, lay, half dead with fright and shock, and watched those about him as though in a trance. It was a sad and inglorious end to his adventurous career!
It took Roy but a few minutes to tear a couple of shawls and a blanket into strips and tying these together he took an end in his mouth and swam out for the boat. Tying it to the painter-ring, he called to the people on shore to pull easily and, himself guiding and holding up the loggy, half-submerged boat, as best he could, it was finally hauled out of deep water and its hapless crew helped ashore.
Just as Roy helped that redoubtable leader, Sweet Caporal, to scramble up the abrupt shore, a welcome shout came from a tree top across the river.
“They’re coming!”
Roy did not know whether it had been done by Morse whistling or by semaphore. Tom had done it, that was enough, and while he scrambled down from the tree and swam across the river Roy rearranged the clumsily made tourniquet which the picnickers had placed about the arm of the wounded boy, and tightened it with the leverage of a stick which successfully stayed the flow of blood.
“Some wrinkle, hey?” he said, smiling down into the white face of the boy. “You could lift the earth by leverage if you only had some floor for your lever; ever hear that?”
No, the O’Connor boy had never heard that, but he looked up into the cheery, brown eyes of Roy, whom he knew slightly, and smiled himself.
The real scout and the burlesque scout who lay near by presented a striking contrast. All the mock heroics of the Eureka Patrol of
Captain Dauntless seemed cheap enough now, even to the frightened Connover as he languidly watched this quiet exhibition of efficiency. Never had he admired Dan Dreadnought as he now admired Roy
Blakeley, this cheerful, clean-cut fellow who knew what to do and just how to do it; and the gang, with all their bravado gone, watched him too, feeling strange after the first bath they had had in many a day.
“Do you know what I’m going to do with you?” said Roy, as he leaned over the O’Connor boy and bathed his face. “I’m going to give you to Mr. Ellsworth for a birthday present; our troop’s two years old next week.”
It was not many minutes before the welcome sound of voices was heard in the wood and presently a half-dozen scouts appeared with a canvas stretcher. Mr. Ellsworth was with them and by his side was Doc Carson, or “Highbrow Doc,” with his neat little first-aid case. Doc was one of the ancient and honorable Ravens who were not unconscious of their dignity, and he had had the first-aid bee from the start.
It took him but a moment to determine that no fatalities were going to result from the affair, and that all Connover needed was a little reassuring that he would not be sent to jail.
While he was putting an antiseptic dressing on the O’Connor boy’s arm (the bullet had gone in and out again through the fleshy part), Roy and Tom heard for the first time the circumstances of the whole affair, as they were related to Mr. Ellsworth.
It seemed that upon the appearance of Connover with his gun he had been forbidden to go away and had obeyed, probably because he was too frightened and helpless to have any will of his own. His pitiable lack of command throughout the whole affair was not the least significant thing in his day’s work, and showed how far he was from the real scout trail.
The occupants of the boat, spurred by the emergency, had managed to get the frightened Connover aboard and it was in their clumsy progress across the river that one of the gunwales of the already loggy boat had gone under, shipping more water than the craft could carry besides its living occupants.
The O’Connor boy needed only prompt and efficient treatment and the only peril he was in was that of blood-poisoning. Doc dressed his wound antiseptically and though he was not unable to walk, they bore him to camp on the stretcher, for his loss of blood had weakened him and the shock had unnerved him.
Just as they started Connover broke down completely, clinging pitifully to Mr. Ellsworth and refusing to go home. His fear of arrest on the one hand and his fear of his parents on the other, made him go to pieces entirely now that the first excitement was over. His behaviour formed a ludicrous anti-climax for all the Dan Dreadnought bombast and
bravado, and if it was not borne in upon him then how harmful the books were, he at least began to see how ridiculous they were. Indeed, the redoubtable Dan had begun to lose prestige with Connover the moment he had shot that robin.
At the sight of this childish display, Mr. Ellsworth shook his head ruefully and said to Roy, “We got away with it in Tom’s case, but I’m afraid Connie’s a pretty big contract. What do you think?”
“He’ll come across,” said Roy. “He didn’t hurt Charlie O’Connor so very much, but I’ll bet he’s killed Dan Dreadnought all right.”
“Well, Connie,” said the scoutmaster, in a half-indulgent tone that was not altogether complimentary, “you’d better come along with us to camp.”
“Will you–will you–see my mother?”
“Ye-es–guess so.”
“He–he won’t die–will he?”
“After forty or fifty years he might,” said the scoutmaster. “Here, walk along with me, and tell me how you came to shoot that rifle.”
CHAPTER XVIII
MRS. BENNETT COMES ACROSS
Connover told him the whole story. In his extremity he felt drawn to Mr. Ellsworth though he showed it in a more effeminate way than Tom had shown it, and the readiness with which he made the scoutmaster a refuge rather jarred upon Mr. Ellsworth. Tom, at least, had never gone to pieces like this.
But the scout movement draws its recruits from every direction, and Mr. Ellsworth was the ideal scoutmaster.
“Well, then you think you wouldn’t like to kill Zulus, after all, hey?”
“N-no, sir.”
“Too bad we had to sacrifice an innocent robin to find that out, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
The maid at the Bennett bungalow had one good scout quality; she was observant and the fleeting glimpse which she had of Master Connover departing with the rifle was promptly communicated to Mrs. Bennett upon her return.
At the appalling picture of her son trudging across the road into the woods with a fire-arm over his shoulder, the good lady all but collapsed. Her first thought was, of course, that he would shoot himself, which seemed likely enough, and her fear for his safety entirely obliterated her amazement at his shameless disobedience. It was the day of Mrs. Bennett’s Waterloo.
Out she went, and even in her haste and excitement she picked up the Dan Dreadnought volume which sprawled on the veranda, and tossed it into the swinging seat, then hurried across the road and into the woods. The worst thing she had against Captain Dauntless was that he littered her tidy porch.
She followed the same beaten path to the river which Connover had followed and when she reached the bank a few belated stragglers of the picnic party were gathering up their belongings on the opposite side. One of them came over for her in the boat and told her briefly of what had happened.
“Is he alive or dead?” she demanded, hysterically. “Tell me the worst!”
Her inquiry was for Connover, of course, and upon being told that his only trouble was a case of utter fright, she said, “Oh, my poor boy!”
She followed the trail to Camp Ellsworth, hurrying along the beaten path which the scouts had made, until glimpses of their homelike little settlement were visible through the trees.
As she approached it she noticed, even in her anxiety, wide bands of bright red high up on the tree-trunks at intervals. She learned later that these were to indicate the path as well as might be, for a distance on either side of it so that no arrow or missile of any sort should be shot across it. It was one of several precautions to guard against the breaking of this inviolable rule. The path was sacred territory.
Mrs. Bennett was now within the outskirts of the camp and could smell the savory odor of cooking. She passed the tree where the Silver Foxes had spiked a piece of birch-bark with S. F. chalked upon it to indicate that the boys of that patrol were watching the industrious activities of a certain squirrel which patronized that particular tree. Another trunk bore a similar card with R. on it, showing that the Ravens were spying on the private affairs of an oriole which nested above. Little that oriole knew that seven photographs of him were pasted in the Troop Book.
At camp a Red Cross flag had been raised above Mr. Ellsworth’s own tent and except for the quiet comings and going of the scoutmaster himself and Doc Carson, all was quiet here. Mrs. Bennett had expected to find the camp a scene of commotion.
“Good evening, Mrs. Bennett,” said the scoutmaster, in a tone of pleasant surprise. The spider was in his web at last, but he concealed his feeling of elation. “You are just in time to grace the festive board. We’re going to have corn wiggles; did you ever eat a corn wiggle, Mrs. Bennett?”
“Where is my boy?” she demanded.
“Sit down, won’t you? He’s over there learning how to tell a mushroom from a toadstool–something every boy ought to know.”
“And this other boy?” she added, glancing inside the tent.
“Fine-doing fine. One of our boys hiked it to town for a doctor, and I thought you were he when the sentinel told me someone was coming.”
“You saw me coming?”
[Illustration: MRS. BENNETT “COMES ACROSS”]
“No, we heard you long before we saw you. I wish now that Connover’s sense of hearing were a little more acute. Then he’d have been able to distinguish the locality of a human voice. But there’s no use crying over spilled milk.”
Mrs. Bennett listened breathlessly while he repeated the story of the afternoon’s occurrences. While he was talking a scout approached, removed his hat, saluted Mr. Ellsworth, and handed him a paper. It was a memorandum of the temperature of the river water, an amateur forecast of the weather for the next day, and a “stunt” proposition for O. K. The scoutmaster asked one or two questions and dismissed the messenger. Mrs. Bennett was a little surprised to notice that the questions seemed to bear with practical sense and foresight upon the physical welfare of the boys.
“Do you give your approval to everything?” she asked.
“No–not always,” he laughed.
“And what then? You can’t watch them all.”
“Oh, dear, no; I just give my veto and forget it.”
“You take the temperature of the river?”
“Yes, and test it for impurities twice a week. Doc attends to that. Come inside, Mrs. Bennett.”
She greeted the reclining O’Connor boy and smoothed his forehead tenderly.
“Have his parents been notified?”
“No, I’m going to town myself this evening,” said Mr. Ellsworth. “I’ll tell them. My idea is to have him remain with us.”
“And who will care for him while you are gone?”
Mr. Ellsworth laughed. “Oh, Doc will be glad to get rid of me,” said he. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“You bathed it with carbolic, did you?”
“No, Doc tells me carbolic is a little out of date. How about that, Doc?”
Doc assented and there was something so eloquently suggestive of efficiency about Doc that, although Mrs. Bennett sniffed audibly, she did not venture to ask what antiseptic had been used. She had supposed that antiseptics of all kinds would be quite unheard of in a camp of boys, and here out in the woods she was being told by a quiet, respectful young fellow in a khaki suit that her favorite antiseptic was “out of date.”
She received the blow with fortitude.
At a little distance from the tent several boys were engaged in the preparation of supper and the setting of the long board under the trees. Others were busy with various forms of house-keeping, or rather camp-keeping, and her domestic instinct prompted her to cast an occasional shrewd look at the systematic and apparently routine work which was going on. What she could not help noticing was the general aspect of orderliness which the camp displayed. Not a paper box nor a tin can was to be seen. She had always associated camping with a sort of rough-and-tumble life and with carelessness in everything pertaining to one’s physical welfare. Cleanliness was, to her notion, quite incompatible with life in tents and cooking out of doors.
Her casual discovery of the practice of testing the river water at stated intervals was in the nature of a knock-out blow. She felt a little bewildered as she watched the comings and goings of the troop members. She did not altogether like the realization that the water which had never been tested for her own son’s bathing was regularly tested for this “Wild West crew.”
“What is that?” she asked.
“That’s our bulletin-board. Let me show you about the camp, Mrs. Bennett. You see, you are not our only visitor; we have a delegation from Barrel Alley, as well.”
A little way from the roaring fire, whence emanated a most savory odor, the gallant representatives of Bridgeboro’s East End were watching the preparations for supper. They had proved faithless to the excursionists and Mr. Ellsworth had invited them to dine at camp, supplementing the invitation with an offer to pay their way home by train, they having come gratuitously on a “freight.” Mr. Ellsworth looked far into the future, but just at that moment Mrs. Bennett was his game.
“Here, you see, is one of the patrol tents and over here is the other. We’re hoping for still a third. Here’s our wireless apparatus. The boys have just discovered that Mr. Berry, the storekeeper over in the village, has an outfit, so they’re in high hopes of having a little chat with him. Here, you see, are the drain ditches, so that the camp is free from dampness and stagnant water. We’ll be lowering the colors presently. Dorry, my boy, bring the Troop Book over so Mrs. Bennett can see it–and the Troop Album also. Ah, here’s Connie now.”
From among the group about the fire Connover came guiltily forward. Mrs. Bennett put her arm about him although she said nothing and seemed not altogether pleased. The recollection of his disobedience was now beginning to supplant her fear and anxiety. A little group of scouts, all on the alert for service, and anxious to advertise the details and features of their camp life, accompanied the trio about.
“What are those?” Mrs. Bennett asked.
“Spears,” said Roy.
“Do you throw them at animals?”
“No, indeed,” laughed another boy. “We spear papers with them, like this.” He speared a fallen leaf to show her.
“Camp is cleared every morning,” said Mr. Ellsworth, “and here is our first aid outfit–our special pride,” he added as they re-entered his own little tent. “We have better facilities for the care of an injured person than are to be had in the village.”
“What were those signs I saw on the trees as I came?”
“Just stalking notes; we study and photograph the wild life.”
There was a moment’s pause. “It is certainly nice to encourage a feeling of friendship for the forest life,” she conceded.
“It is not so much a feeling of friendship as of kinship, Mrs. Bennett.”
She turned about and looked sharply at one of the scouts who stood near by. “You are not the Slade boy?” she said.
“Yes-mam.”
“I hardly knew you.”
Mrs. Bennett’s housewifely instincts would not permit her to give any sign of surrender until she had proof of the cooking. But away down in her mother’s heart was an uncomfortable feeling which she could not overcome; a feeling of disappointment and dissatisfaction with her own son. She had too much pride to show it, but Connover felt in some vague way that she was not well pleased. She was a mother of high ideals and she was not undiscerning. Aside from her son’s disobedience, which had been a shock to her, what an inglorious afternoon had been his! It seemed that every one about her had done something worthy that afternoon except her own son. There lay his victim, the O’Connor boy, bearing his suffering in silence. She noticed that the boys seemed somehow to make allowance for Connover, and it touched her pride.
While the last few touches for this special meal were preparing, she and Mr. Ellsworth wandered a little way out of camp. He spoke kindly, almost indulgently, she thought, but as one who knew his business and was qualified to speak. He had stormed Mrs. Bennett’s fortress too many times to mince matters now.
“I don’t know that you’re really to blame, Mrs. Bennett–except indirectly.”
“I–to blame?”
“I blame Dan Dreadnought.”
“I never approved of Captain Dauntless’ books,” she said. “It was a compromise.”
“Look up there, Mrs. Bennett–see that nest? Would you believe it, the boys got a photograph of the young birds in that nest and the old bird never knew it.”
They walked along, he swinging a stick whick he had broken from a tree. “There is no such man as Captain Dauntless, you know. Captains in the army have other work to do than to write stories for boys. Captain Dauntless is a myth.”
“It is so hard to know what boys should read,” she sighed.
“It is not as hard as it used to be. Remind me to give you a paper before you go. You see, if Connie had been a scout,–well now, let’s begin at the beginning. If he had been a scout he wouldn’t have read those books in the first place; they’re really not books at all, they’re infernal machines. Then if he had been a scout, of course, he wouldn’t have disobeyed you; he wouldn’t have sneaked off—-“
Mrs. Bennett set her lips rather tight at that word, but she did not contest the point.
“If he had been a scout he wouldn’t have killed a robin–but if he had killed a robin, it would have been by skill and not by a silly, dangerous random shot–and he wouldn’t have been afraid of the presence of death or the sight of blood. If he had been a scout he could have determined unerringly the locality of sounds and human voices, and Charlie O’Connor wouldn’t—-“
Mrs. Bennett winced.
“If he had been a scout he would have known how to swim; there isn’t a member of my troop that can’t swim. And if he had been a scout he wouldn’t have been afraid to go home. Connie has the best home in the world, Mrs. Bennett—-“
“I have done everything for Connover—-“
“But you see, he was afraid to go to it–and so he came here with us.”
The cheerful call of the bugle told that supper was ready. Through the trees they could see the scouts assembling until each stood at his place at the long board under trees whose foliage had begun to dim in the fading light.
“It’s a pretty sight,” she said, pausing and raising her lorgnette to her eyes. “What are they all standing for?”
“Till you have taken your seat.”
Smilingly she started toward them with all the cultured affability of a true guest. She knew how to do this thing, and she was quite at home now. Mr. Ellsworth knew that her manner covered a sense of humiliation, but she carried it off well and so together they came out of the woods into the clearing.
“I was saying that he came here and–and we want him to stay here. Will you let him join us, Mrs. Bennett?”
“Would he have two blankets over him at night?” she asked after a moment’s dismayed pause.
The question was not a surrender; it was a flag of truce, meaning that she would discuss terms.
The surrender came after supper.
CHAPTER XIX
FIRST AID BY WIRELESS
IT never rains but it pours, and the conversion of Mrs. Bennett to scouting was shortly followed by the greatest catch of the season.
Charlie O’Connor came into the troop on the same wave which brought Connover, and East End contingent, though it did not surrender as yet, retired to the sweltering and almost deserted Bridgeboro, and tried to kindle a fire in Temple’s lot after the Camp Ellsworth fashion. The effort was not very successful.
The next day Jakie Mattenburg, on the strength of talk he had overheard in camp, tried his hand, or rather, his foot, at stalking, and was surprised to find that it was rather more interesting to watch the movements of a sparrow than to throw stones at it.
It could hardly be said that this band of seasoned hoodlums made much immediate progress toward scouting, but they remembered their rescue from the river at Roy’s hands, and they accorded him thereafter a grudging measure of consideration which, in the fullness of time, blossomed into genuine friendship. They were, in fact, the future Elk Patrol in its chrysalis form; but their career as scouts is part of another story.
A few days after the events of the preceding chapter the troop’s birthday was celebrated in camp and Connover and Charlie O’Connor submitted themselves to Roy, who tied a pink ribbon about the right arm of each. From Connover’s ribbon depended a card reading,
Chief
With Many Happy Returns from
The Silver Foxes
while Charlie O’Connor was presented as the gift of the Ravens.
The presentations were made at supper and the two tenderfeet were led (with rather sheepish faces) to Mr. Ellsworth at the head of the table and tendered to him in true birthday fashion amid much laughter.
Roy made a characteristic speech. “These two valuable gifts are presented to our beloved scoutmaster with twelve profit-sharing coupons. When you get one hundred of these coupons take them to Temple’s lot in Bridgeboro and receive a new scout.
“Honorable Charles O’Connor has always had brothers enough, but now he has a few hundred thousand more, so he ought to be satisfied. This priceless gift” (grabbing Connover by his pink ribbon) “was very difficult to procure; it is what you have always wanted. If it
doesn’t fit you can exchange it. Honorable Bennover Connett is the only survivor, ladies and gentlemen–the only survivor of the extinct
Eureka Patrol! The Eureka Patrol was a part of the only original Cock and Bull Troop of Nowhere-in-Particular. The records of this troop, known as the Dan Dreadnought Series, are donated to Camp
Ellsworth for fuel in case the kindling wood runs short. Full and implicit directions go with each gift.”
It was a gala occasion in camp and the troop sat late about the roaring fire that night.
They were just raking up the last embers preparatory to turning in when they were startled by the sound of running footsteps, and out of the darkness emerged a dark-cloaked figure with streaming hair and glints of white under the heavy garment which she wore.
“I–lost the path,” she gasped, “and–and then I saw your–light–and-oh, Mr. Ellsworth–the house–was robbed and James–is shot and-there’s another man shot–and it was all planned for they’ve cut the wires–and we have to get help–a doctor—-“
It was Mary Temple who gasped this shocking news and then all but collapsed from fear and haste and excitement. An automobile coat had been donned over her nightdress. For a few moments she was utterly unable to give a coherent account of what had happened at Five Oaks. The few minutes during which she had been lost in the woods, together with the appalling events at home, had quite unnerved her and she clung to Mr. Ellsworth, looking affrightedly about her as if she were being pursued.
He did not wait to get at the details. Something had happened and medical aid was needed. That was apparent.
“Did they send you?” he asked.
“No–I just came–I know scouts can do anything.”
“Yes,” he said concurrently.
“Of course, we can’t get a real doctor, but–“
“We can try,” said a voice.
She looked up startled, and in the last dying glow of the fire she saw the stolid face of Tom Slade. It was the first time she had seen him since her mother’s mishap and their visit at camp, though she knew from Roy of his tracking feat and recovery of her pin. She knew too of his night in the lock-up, but no knowledge of his father’s connection with the affair had come to her.
“I meant–I was coming to thank you–Tom; truly, I was—-“
But Tom had turned away and presently she saw an agile figure spring after him.
“Are you going to try for it, Tom?” said Roy. “It’s after one o’clock.”
“He sometimes stays there till two–he told me–he’ll be there.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I want him to be.” “Mary thinks you snubbed her, Tom; why didn’t you speak to her?”
“I wish I had her ball to toss back,” said Tom.
It was odd that he should think of that now.
In the lean-to Roy lit the lantern and presently the whole troop was divided into two groups; one was getting ready the stretcher and helping Doc Carson, and the other stood about the lean-to watching Tom, who sat on the rickety grocery box before the wireless apparatus. Roy stood anxiously at his shoulder; the others waited, speaking to each other in an undertone occasionally, but never to Tom. By common consent they seemed to leave this thing for him to do, and there was about him a certain detachment from the others which suggested slightly his manner that day when he had been arrested.
Boys came and went, Mr. Ellsworth and others departed hastily with Doc, the little group in the lean-to watched and waited while Tom, apparently unconscious of all about him, sat there adjusting his spark gap. Occasionally he spoke in an undertone to Roy, but seemed oblivious of all else.
“R. V., isn’t it?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Roy.
“Better look and make sure.”
Roy consulted a note book. “R. V. is right,” said he.
Tom laid his hand upon the key and adjusted his head receivers. Then up into the darkness and out into the vast trackless sky went the call for R. V.
It was then the boys noticed the cloaked figure of the girl standing in the background watching. “I thought you went with Doc and Mr. Ellsworth,” someone said.
“He said I might stay,” she answered timidly.
Tom glanced around and saw her, but showed no interest. Roy sat on the edge of the instrument table, anxiously waiting.
“They can’t cut this kind of wires,” he said cheerily to Mary as if to make up for Tom’s silence.
Eagerly she watched Tom. She seemed fascinated with his absorption and with every slight move of his hand.
“Nothing doing?” said Roy with a note of discouragement.
Tom made no answer, only adjusted the sending instrument to a different wave-length.
“Too late, Tommy boy,” Roy said.
Tom paid no attention, only in dogged silence adjusted the sending instrument to another wavelength and readjusted the tuning-coil.
[Illustration: AFTER SENDING THE WIRELESS MESSAGE, TOM FINDS HIMSELF A HERO.]
Mary watched him anxiously. She too seemed all by herself–a strange, wide-eyed figure, standing apart with the great auto cloak about her, silently watching and not daring to ask a question.
“Who did you say was hurt?” Tom asked at length, without turning.
“A burglar and James–our chauffeur, you know–they were both shot.”
“Have you got him?” asked Roy excitedly.
“Nope.”
He adjusted the tuning coil again and waited patiently.
“Too late, Tom.”
No answer. Then suddenly Tom’s hand flew to the sending key, and as the letters of the Morse Code clicked away into the night a slight smile crept over his face. There was no member of the troop who could use the Morse alphabet with such rapidity as Tom, and he often thought (but seldom spoke) of that first message he and Roy had flashed together from the little tower on Blakeley’s Hill.
“Up?” asked Roy.
“Sure he’s up; wait till I get his O. K.”
Back through the night and down to this boy at the rough table and to the tense little group of watchers came the “O. K.” which assured them that the message was understood.
Tom rose and Mary Temple impulsively made a step toward him, then paused half-embarrassed.
She actually stood a little in awe of Tom Slade, of Barrel Alley, who had cheated her and stolen her ball. And Tom Slade, Scout, who was sure of himself and afraid of nothing, was very much in awe of this young girl. And Roy Blakeley, his chum, understood and took the timid, admiring girl into his own charge and so the little party made its way out of the dark woods and across the bridge to Five Oaks.
Mary Temple felt very much as Tom had felt the day after his own first essay at signalling. She knew it was a wireless apparatus he had used (she would have asked questions of him if she had dared), and she supposed that he was calling a doctor. She had experienced a thrill of admiration at the quiet, stolid exhibition of skill, and his apparent aloofness had only deepened her admiration into awe. But as Tom himself had felt so long ago, she wanted to see the tangible result of this work which was such a mystery to her.
Tom hurried stolidly along with Pee-wee and Charlie O’Connor, with that clumsy gait which he had never entirely overcome, and which, ever so faintly, suggested the old shuffle. Whether there was any foreboding in his mind none of his companions knew for he was never talkative, but in the light of what soon happened, it occurred to them afterward that he had known all along what was before him, that he knew what he should see at Five Oaks, and that, like the good scout, he was prepared.
On the way Roy gleaned from Mary more of what had taken place. It appeared that Mr. Temple, hearing sounds in the rooms below, had rung for the gardener who, with the chauffeur, had come from the garage and entered a back door, letting themselves in by means of the chauffeur’s key. They were just passing through the foyer when three masked men rushed out of the breakfast room. One got away carrying some loot, not, however, before he had shot and seriously wounded James, the chauffeur, who had dropped in the hall with a bullet in his thigh.
Neither of Mr. Temple’s men recalled what became of the second man more than that he disappeared, they thought, empty-handed. The third had made for an open window and was just climbing out when the gardener shot him and he fell to the ground outside, where he still lay when the scouts arrived.
The gardener insisted that the man had drawn a revolver, but no revolver could be found about him.
It was then discovered that the burglary was a well-planned affair, for the telephone wires had been severed, and it was upon discovery of this fact that Mary had hurried to Camp Ellsworth.
Doc Carson was busy with James, who had been lifted to a couch in the hall, when Mary saw the tangible result of Tom’s message in the form of two dazzling acetylene headlights coming under the porte
cochère, and the doctor stepping briskly into the house.
“Oh, Tom,” she exclaimed, with as much delight as the occasion would permit, and with gratitude in every note of her voice. “He came, just as you—-Oh, where is he?” she broke off suddenly, as she noticed that Tom was not there.
It was then and not until then that a quick thought flashed upon Roy and he hurried out and around the house.
There, under the bay-window, lay a motionless form. Tom was bending over it and Roy could hear his quick, short breaths as he tried to control his emotion.
“Is he dead, Tom?” Roy asked softly.
“It’s–it’s my father.”
“Yes, I know. Is he dead?”
“Get the doctor–I’m glad it was me sent the message for him.”
It was another culmination of another triumph.
“I’m glad too, Tom.”
“They’ll have to see him–they’ll have to know now. You tell the doctor. I got to be loyal. Tell Mr.–Mr. Ellsworth he’s got to remember what he said, that there wasn’t no First Bridgeboro Troop when he was a boy–you heard him say that.”
“He will remember it, Tom.”
“Get the doctor–quick!”
Tom bent lower over the motionless form of his father as if he were asking a question.
CHAPTER XX
TOM TOSSES IT BACK
When they brought the doctor around they found him still in that position and had to lift him gently away. The announcement that the wound was not fatal did not seem to move his stolidness in the least.
“I want to see Mr. Temple,” he said doggedly.
“What is it, Tom?” said Mr. Ellsworth putting his arm over the boy’s shoulder.
“I want to see him before he has him arrested–then if the wires are cut I’ll send a wireless for the constable–only I want to see Mr. Temple first. I’m not afraid of him now.”
“He couldn’t be arrested to-night, Tom, he–“
“I want to see Mr. Temple–you tell him,” he added, turning
suddenly upon Mary, almost with an air of command. “I did something for you–once.”
The girl was sobbing and seemed to hesitate as if not knowing whether to say something to Tom or to do his bidding. “Yes, I’ll get him,” she said.
It was not the scout fashion to order a young girl upon an errand, and it was certainly not the scout fashion, nor anyone else’s fashion to summon John Temple thus peremptorily. But Tom was a sort of law unto himself and even Mr. Ellsworth did not interfere.
The master of Five Oaks came around the house with his daughter clinging to him. And Tom Slade, who had knocked his hat off, stood up and faced him. It was not always easy to get Tom’s meaning; he often used pronouns instead of names and his dogged, stolid temperament showed in his phraseology.
“He told me when I joined the troop that I had to be loyal, and that’s the reason I’m doing it and not because I believe in being a burglar.” The naïveness of this announcement might have seemed ludicrous if Tom’s voice had not trembled with earnestness. “And he said there wasn’t no scouts when he was a boy–that’s my father there. And that’s what you got to remember too. I tracked him before and I got the pin and gave him my five dollars that I’d saved.”
Someone tittered: John Temple frowned and shook his head impatiently and there was no more tittering.
“I guess you know about that, and that I didn’t bring it to her ’cause I was scared, and I couldn’t help him coming here to-night. Only you got to remember there wasn’t any troop when he was a boy–you got to remember that. I’d ‘a’ been a burglar myself, that’s sure, only for him” (indicating Mr. Ellsworth) “and the troop–and Roy. And he’s sick– that’s most what’s the matter with him and I’d like to have him brought to our camp and have Doc take care of him till he gets well enough so’s Mr. Ellsworth can talk to him, ’cause Mr. Ellsworth, he never fails–he’s never failed once. But if you won’t do that–if you won’t leave him–let him–go like that–then you got to remember that there wasn’t any troop when he was a boy-’cause I’m rememberin’ it– and——“
“He will remember it,” said Mary, weeping. “Oh, he does remember it, Tom, he does.”
Mr. Temple drew her to him. “Go on, my boy,” he said. “I’m listening.”
“If you want me to send a wireless for the constable, I’ll do it, ’cause I got to do a service–only you got to remember–that’s only fair. And I got something else to say while I’m not scared of you-’tain’t because I got any reason to be scared of you either–but I’m sorry I threw that stone at you. That was what started him for
the bad–when he went away and left me–but it started me for the good anyhow–so that’s something.”
For a moment no one spoke. Mr. Ellsworth would not spoil the effect of Tom’s words by uttering so much as a single word himself. It was John Temple who broke the silence, quieting his daughter who seemed about to break forth again.
“I will do more than remember,” said he. “Come here, my boy. There will be no charge made against your father, so there will be no need of a service unless it is a service of my own. It has been borne in upon me lately that your good scoutmaster is a wonder-worker, and what you have just said strengthens that growing conviction. I have been thinking, too, how I might further the movement so well represented by him, and the story of your experience with your father has quite decided me. For every one of those five precious dollars that you were sensible enough to save and noble enough to give away, there shall be given a thousand to the cause whose precepts and principles you represent.
“Let this poor man be taken to your camp in the woods if you like, and let your doctor take care of him, and see that he does his duty. I will visit your camp myself to-morrow if I may.”
Mr. Ellsworth assured him that he might, and as for Doc, a half dozen chimed forth that he was the only ever, etc., etc.
Tom said nothing. He had never been much of a scout missionary, and the unexpected and altogether amazing conversion of John Temple quite overwhelmed him. He did not realize that he himself had done it, in his own stolid, crude way.
But would his hope be borne out? Would the Wizard Ellsworth indeed “get away with it,” and make a new man of poor, wretched Bill Slade? I should hesitate to affirm it; but I wouldn’t dare to deny it–not before the boys. So let us rest in the hope born of Tom’s own words that Mr. Ellsworth had never yet failed. Let us believe that the woods and the camp-fire yarns and the company of these boys may be a helping hand to the broken wretch who had no First Bridgeboro Troop to look to when he was a boy.
As they bore the stretcher over the bridge toward the woods beyond, Tom heard the sound of footfalls a little distance behind them, and paused.
It proved to be Mary Temple.
“Tom, is that you?” she said.
“Yes-it is.”
“I want to thank you, Tom. I was coming to your camp to-morrow, but I couldn’t wait. I-want to thank you, Tom.”
“What for?”
“Oh, for everything. You don’t realize the things you do and that’s the best part of it.” “I didn’t do noth–anything.”
“You got me back my pin. Oh, Tom, you don’t suppose five thousand dollars is all my father will give–he’ll give ten times that!”
Tom said nothing, and for a moment they stood there near the bridge, hearing the river rippling below.
Then, impulsively, she leaned forward and kissed him. “There,” she said, “that’s how much I thank you! And I’m coming to your camp again. I’m coming with my father,” she said, as she turned and ran toward home.
Still Tom said nothing. He could not handle a situation like this at all.
A little way down the road she turned and waved her hand, and he realized that if he were going to make any acknowledgment it would have to be done now. So he mastered his embarrassment as best he could, raised his hand awkwardly to his lips and threw a kiss to Mary Temple!
He had scarcely turned and started after the little cavalcade when he stumbled into Roy.
“I was just coming to see where you were.”
“Well, you took it, didn’t you?” Roy added, as they walked along together.
“Took what?”
“Something for a service.”
“I–I couldn’t help myself,” said Tom.
For answer Roy gave him a shove and laughed outright. “So your Uncle Dudley was right and you broke the scout law after all–ya-a-ah-a!”
They walked a little way in silence.
“Well, anyway,” Roy said, “you can say you tossed it back, can’t you?”
“‘Twasn’t her ball.”
“It was much better than a ball.”
“How do you know what I took and what I tossed back?”
“A scout is observant,” said Roy.
THE END