CHAPTER XVIII — A Match of Wits

It may be said that Zip had become the hero of the Boy Scout camp on Gosling Lake. He belonged to the finest breed of bloodhounds in the world and had given an illustration of that gift of his species which approaches the miraculous. The stories told by his master of his other exploits, and of what had been done by his kind on Long Island and elsewhere, were absorbingly interesting. As young Burton remarked, his study of this canine species had given him more knowledge than could have been the case otherwise, and he naturally did most of the talking on that cool August night in front of the bungalow. The bloodhound is one of the most dignified of dogs, and resents anything in the nature of familiarity by strangers. Alvin, Chester, Mike and several others tried to make friends with Zip, but he showed them plainly that he preferred to be left to himself.

“Ef it was meself that was as partic’lar as him to selict me associates,” said Mike, “I should faal mighty lonely, as Jim O’Toole remarked after he had been lost for six weeks in the woods. I’ll remimber yer coolness, Zip,” he added, shaking his finger at the dog nestling at the feet of Burton, “and to-morrer ye’ll faal so ashamed, after ye try to match wits wid me, that ye’ll resign as a bloodhound and become a poodle dog for the rist of yer days.”

“Don’t boast too soon,” said the guest; “I’ll put my stake on Zip every time.”

“And so will I,” added Alvin; “if Mike was half as smart as he thinks he is, we should all be fools compared with him.”

“Some folks don’t naad the comparisin to show they’re lacking in the first ilimints of sense,” retorted the Irish youth with fine sarcasm.

It was quite late when the boys retired for the night. No one would have objected to the presence of Zip in the bungalow, but his master preferred that he should spend the night outdoors, and he was waiting there the next morning when Burton, the first to arise, came out to have a romp with him before breakfast.

It was about eight o’clock that the whole party of Boy Scouts including their guest gathered on the front porch, eagerly interested in the test that was to be made of the skill of Zip the bloodhound in following a scent. Every one was on the qui vive, for the novelty of the proceeding appealed to them.

The arrangements, simple of themselves, had been made while the party was at breakfast. Three trials were to take place, involving that number of Boy Scouts. Each was to plunge into the woods and use every device possible to hide his trail from the dog, which was to take up his task an hour after the fugitive, as he may be called, left the bungalow.

The first runner was the diminutive Isaac Rothstein, the second, the tall, long-limbed Hoke Butler, and the third Mike Murphy.

“There is only one condition,” said young Burton, when everything was ready; “you must not make any use of the lake. Zip can track you only to the edge.”

“The lake is the only water shut out?” remarked Hoke Butler inquiringly. The guest hesitated a moment, suspecting some intended trick by the questioner.

“That is all.”

“How about the Sheepscot River?” asked Mike.

“If an hour’s start will enable you to reach that stream ahead of Zip, you win.”

Scout Master Hall turned to Isaac, who was standing in the middle of the group on the porch. The bright-eyed youth nodded.

Burton spoke to the hound which, knowing what was expected of him, came forward and sniffed around the Boy Scout’s feet and ankles. He did this for only two or three seconds, when he backed off and took his place beside his master.

“That means he is ready if you are.”

“I am to have an hour’s start?”

“More if you wish it.”

“That’s enough, and you are sure he will not attack me?”

“Have no fear of that, but I suggest that you do not tempt him.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked young Rothstein.

“Don’t tackle him first; and when he comes up with you, as he is sure to do, stop running. The Belgian dogs have a trick of dodging between the legs of a fugitive and tripping him, but the bloodhound prefers to drag him down.”

“In other words,” said Mike, “whin the dog gits ye down, and has his paws on yer breast, and is hunting out the best place to begin his feast, h’ist the flag of truce.”

Isaac, accompanied by Scout Master Hall and several of the boys, passed into the bungalow, closing the door behind them, and went out of the rear door which was also shut. The dog remained on the front porch with his master and the other scouts, each party out of sight of the other. A few minutes later, Isaac’s friends rejoined their comrades, Burton and several of the Scouts glancing at their watches to note the time. Zip lay at his owner’s feet, with his nose between his paws, as if intending to pass the interval in sleep.

Before starting, Isaac was asked to explain his plan. He replied that it was merely to do everything he could to puzzle his pursuer, and he was confident of succeeding. It was useless to make any effort at the start, and he walked away at his ordinary pace, quickly disappearing among the trees.

The moment, however, he was out of sight he began the precautions he had decided upon before starting. He turned at right angles, walked rapidly for a hundred yards, then changed again to the same extent. Since the shift each time was to the right, this made an exact reversal of the course upon which he set out, and being kept for a little while took him back to the bungalow, a rod or two from his starting point. No one saw him, since every one was at the front. Thus he made a second get away, which delayed him for a few minutes.

Isaac chuckled, for he was sure he had played a cute trick upon the dog, which he believed would be puzzled thereby, and yet you and I can readily see that there was “nothing in it” at all.

Again the youth dived in among the trees, or broke into a rapid run, going straightaway, but taking as long steps as he could. Then he zig-zagged, first to the right and left, describing irregular circles which assuredly would have led him astray had he not caught glimpses of the lake now and then, and thus knew the course he was following, which in the main was toward the cabin of Uncle Elk.

He kept note of the time, and just before the hour expired made a long sweeping curve to the right, which brought him back to the opposite end of the bungalow from his starting point.

“Hurrah!” he called as he bounded up the steps among his friends; “where’s Zip?”

“On your trail,” replied his owner.

“Don’t be too sure of that; I’ve given him the task of his life.”

“Undoubtedly the easiest one; now that you have returned,” said Burton, “you may as well tell us everything you did.”

Isaac described his course from the first,—how he had actually started twice, often shifting and finally making a big curve, still marked by abrupt changes that were sure to baffle the keenest nosed bloodhound that ever tracked a fugitive into the depths of the Everglades.

“You couldn’t have given Zip an easier task,” said Burton; “when he left here a short time ago he circled about the clubhouse, and in three minutes at the most took your scent.”

“But didn’t the two trails puzzle him?” asked the astonished Isaac.

“There was a difference of a few minutes in their making and he took the freshest.”

This sounded so incredible that the guest qualified his assertion.

“Even if he accepted the older scent, it led him straight to the second. All your circlings and doublings availed you nothing; you never perplexed him for more than an instant.”

“How can you know that?”

“There’s your answer.”

Burton nodded toward the steps up which Isaac Rothstein had come some time before. There was Zip, who without baying or making any kind of outcry, galloped over the porch and directly to where the astounded lad was sitting. Stepping a pace or two away, he looked up at the youth and then walked over to his master and sat down beside his chair.

“You can translate his remarks,” said the latter. “Words could not be plainer: ‘There’s the young man who thought he could fool me, but never was he more mistaken.’”

Isaac joined in the clapping of hands. Zip preserved his dignity and paid no heed to strangers. All he cared for was the good opinion of his master and he knew he had that.

“Next!” called Burton, and the tall, stoop-shouldered Hoke Butler rose to his feet.

“I don’t want any help,” he remarked with a wink toward Isaac Rothstein, as Zip sniffed about his feet; “stay right where you are. Mr. Burton, a half hour start will be enough for me.”

“As you please, but you may have two hours if you wish.”

“And we’ll save our bouquets till Zip throws up the sponge,” said Mike, “or rather until I tries me hand with the intilligint canine.”

Instead of leaving the bungalow from the rear, Hoke walked deliberately down the eastern steps, and sauntered off where he was in plain sight of all until he entered the wood which approached to within a few rods of the lake. He had given no one a hint of the scheme he had in mind, but the feeling was general that whatever its nature it was original, and more than one-half suspected he might outwit the remarkable dog. In this list we must not include George Burton.

Now Hoke had learned that it was useless to try to throw Zip off the scent by any such artifices as young Rothstein had used. As the guest declared, the tracker had not bothered the dog to the slightest extent. It therefore would be folly for the second fugitive to repeat the experiment. He had no thought of doing so.

Mention has been made in the preceding pages of a brook which ran near the home of Uncle Elk. After a devious course this emptied into Gosling Lake at a point about halfway between the cabin and the bungalow. Hoke rested his hopes upon this little stream.

“Burton barred the lake,” chuckled the youth, “but he didn’t say anything of this stream, though I was awfully afraid he would. I guess he doesn’t know about it,—yes, he does, too, for he had to cross it on his way to the bungalow, but he forgot it. He can’t kick when he finds I have made his dog sing small.”

Allured by the single purpose, Hoke pushed straight on, turning neither to the right nor left. Recalling that he had shortened the time Zip was to wait, he broke into a lope. His build made him the fleetest runner in camp, and it did not take him long to reach the stream. He had crossed it so many times that the lower portion was familiar, and he turned as if to follow it to its source in the spring near Uncle Elk’s cabin.

He found it of varying width. It was so narrow where a regular path had been made by the passing back and forth of the hermit and his friends, that nothing in the nature of a bridge was used. A long step or a moderate jump served.

Nowhere did the depth seem to be more than a few inches, except where a pool or eddy occasionally appeared; but as Hoke Butler picked his way along the bank, he was pleased to note here and there a considerable expansion.

“That’s good!” he said to himself; “it will make it all the harder for that dog.”

He now put his scheme into operation. Without removing his shoes, he stepped into the brook, sinking halfway to his knees, and began walking up the bed of the stream. The water was as cold as ice, and he gasped at first, but became quickly accustomed to it. The bottom was so irregular that he progressed slowly, and more than once narrowly escaped falling. Here and there boulders protruded from the shore and he steadied himself by resting a hand upon them as he labored past. Those that rose from the bed of the stream itself and around which the current foamed, afforded convenient stepping stones and were turned to such use.

“Of course that wouldn’t do on land,” he reflected, “for the dog would catch the scent, but he can’t know I’m in the water, and will be hunting elsewhere for my trail. He’ll be the most beautifully fooled dog in Maine.”

CHAPTER XIX — The Final Test

“Mr. George Burton may think he has a mighty smart dog,” reflected Hoke Butler, as he picked his way up the small stream, “and he isn’t any slouch, but there are some things he can’t do, and one of them is to follow a fellow’s trail through the water. Funny that when Burton shut us off from the lake he forgot this brook. Since he didn’t mention it, I have the right to use it.

“Now,” continued the logical young man, “while I keep to the water I don’t leave any scent; I’m like the fawn which the hound can’t track through the woods, and when Zip comes to the point where I stepped into the water, he’ll be up against it—hello!”

He had come to a place where the brook expanded into a pool and more than fifty feet across. Opposite to where he halted, the foaming current tumbled over a series of boulders, and then spread out into the calm expanse, whose outlet was the small stream which Hoke had ascended to this point. The water lost a good deal of its limpidity, so that the bottom could be traced only a little way from where he stood.

“That’s bully!” exclaimed the Scout, after brief reflection; “I’ll walk across the pond—it can’t be deep—and step ashore on the other side, Zip won’t come within a mile of the spot.”

He began wading, cautiously feeling each step before advancing. Since the depth was unknown he could not be too careful, though confident that the little lake was shallow in every part.

Half across the icy water reached to his knees. He pressed slowly on, thrusting out a foot and making sure of a firm support.

“It ought now to grow more shallow,” he reflected as he felt his way forward; “when I get to shore I may as well go back to the bungalow and wait till Zip returns disgusted. I guess Burton can take a joke when it’s on him, and he’ll laugh with the rest of us——”

At that instant, Hoke stepped into an unseen hole and dropped out of sight. The sudden clasp of the icy element made him gasp, and when his head popped up, he spat and struck out frantically for land. It was remarkable that the only spot in the pond where the water was over his head was barely two yards across, and beyond it the depth was so slight that while swimming, one of Hoke’s feet struck bottom. He straightened up, and strode to land, shivering in his dripping garments.

“Who’d have thought that? I didn’t dream of anything of the kind—where did you come from?”

This angry question was addressed to Zip, who thrust his muzzle against Hoke’s knee, looked up and wagged his tail.

“I’d like to know what led you here, when you hadn’t any scent to follow.”

“It was his nose,” remarked young Burton some time later, when Hoke having exchanged his wet clothing told his story to the laughing group on the piazza.

“I left no scent when I stepped into the brook,” replied Hoke.

“Therefore he knew you were in the brook; and set out to find where you had left it.”

“He had to follow both sides in turn.”

“Not at all; from one bank he could detect, without the least difficulty, the scent on the other side. He failed to take it up, and therefore knew you had still kept to the stream. If you had not been in sight when he reached the pond, he would have circled around it and nothing could have prevented his discovering your trail within the next few minutes. But he saw you feeling your way across, and the direction in which your face was turned told him where you would come out,—so he trotted around to welcome you when you reached land.”

“Why didn’t he jump in to help me out of the hole?”

“The bloodhound is content to leave that kind of work to his brother the Newfoundland, and a few others. You are ready to admit, Hoke, that there are bigger fools than Zip.”

“Yes,—and here sits one of them. Mike doesn’t seem to care to match with him.”

“There’s where you’re mistook, as Bridget Lanigan said whin she picked up a red hot poker thinking it was a ribbon she had dropped from her hair. Come, boys.”

Mike sprang from his seat and addressed Alvin and Chester. There was much chaffing as the three passed into the bungalow and out at the rear. Zip had taken his place beside his master’s chair, where he sat with his long tongue hanging far out, his mouth wide open, and his big ears dangling below his massive jaws. He manifested no further interest in what was going on around him, though he must have understood everything.

The agreement with Mike was that the dog should remain on the piazza with his master and the other scouts until a full hour should have passed. Then he was to be allowed to smell of a pair of shoes which the fugitive left behind him. These belonged to Alvin Landon, who had brought some extra footgear. They had been worn by Mike for several days when he replaced them with his own, which he had on at the time he left the bungalow. Thus far everything was plain and above board.

“I don’t know what Mike has up his sleeve,” remarked young Burton; “no doubt it is something ingenious, for he and his two chums have been whispering and chuckling a good deal together, but Zip will defeat him as sure as the sun is shining in the sky. You have noticed that my dog does very little baying,—or rather, Isaac and Hoke have noticed it.”

“But he gets there all the same,” laughed Rothstein; “I should like to know what plan Mike has in mind.”

“We shall learn when he comes back and we hear his story.”

Prompt to the minute, Burton directed the attention of Zip to the pair of shoes that had been placed on the ground at the foot of the steps.

“Find him,” was the command of his master, and the hound fairly bounded out of sight around the corner of the building. He bayed once as he picked up the scent, and then vanished like a bolt from a crossbow. The crowd of Boy Scouts resumed their chat and awaited as patiently as they could the issue of the novel test.

Meanwhile, Mike Murphy and his two chums set to work to carry out the scheme which they had formulated, and which each one was confident must result in the humiliation of the wonderful dog and his owner. With abundance of time at their command they did not hasten, but walked with a moderate pace to a point some two hundred yards from the bungalow. They had straggled along side by side, without trying to make their trail hard to follow, and now halted.

“This is far enough,” remarked Alvin, as the three peered around without seeing any one.

His companions agreed. Then Alvin and Mike sat down on the ground and exchanged shoes. Not only that, but the former stooped and the latter mounted his back, his arms loosely around Alvin’s neck with his legs projecting in front and supported by the crooked elbows of his carrier. Then he resumed his walk with Chester trailing behind.

When the distance from the bungalow had been doubled, Alvin asked:

“How much do you weigh, Mike?”

“A hundred and forty-three pounds—when ye started.”

“I think it is about a ton now; how far do you expect me to carry you?”

“Not far,—say two or three miles.”

“I rather guess not; Chest, it’s time you took a turn.”

“Oh, wait awhile; you have only just begun.”

“This isn’t as much fun as I thought,” growled Alvin, resuming the task that was fast becoming onerous.

“I’m enj’ying mesilf, as Jerry Dunn said whin he tackled three p’licemen. When I git tired I’ll sing out, and we’ll make a change.”

Chester’s sense of justice led him soon after to help in shifting Mike to his own shoulders, and the progress was resumed much the same as before.

You will perceive the trick the boys were playing upon the bloodhound. Mike had not only changed shoes with Alvin Landon, but his new ones were not permitted to touch ground while they traveled a fourth of a mile through the unbroken woods. Moreover, for this distance the leaves were trampled by Mike’s shoes, but they were on the feet of Alvin.

The next step in this curious mixup was for Alvin, still wearing Mike’s shoes, to diverge to the left, while Chester, with Mike on his shoulders, went a considerable distance to the right, where he halted and the Irish youth slipped to the ground and stood in the footgear of Alvin, who was so far away that he could not be seen among the trees.

All this was prearranged, as was that which followed. Mike started off alone, aiming to return to the bungalow by a long roundabout course, while the other two came together at a new point, and made their way by a more direct route to where their friends were awaiting them.

“I wonder that Zip doesn’t show up,” said Alvin, when they caught sight of the building, and he looked back; “it is considerably past the hour, and he ought to be in sight.”

“It can’t be he was sharp enough to detect our track.”

“Impossible!”

And yet that is precisely what he did do, and later, when all were gathered on the piazza, including the dog, who arrived less than ten minutes after the astounded Mike, George Burton complacently explained how it had all come about.

“It was an ingenious scheme, Mike, and deserved success, but it did not bother Zip for more than a few minutes. If a dog can smile, he must have grinned when he penetrated your strategy. You made one mistake which was natural.”

“It looks to me as if our greatest mistake was in thinking the pup didn’t know more than ten times all of us together,” said Mike with a sniff.

“That, too, was natural in the circumstances, but when you changed your shoes with Alvin, then was the time you three should have parted company. Instead, you stayed together, and Zip kept to the trail, for it was the only one for him to follow. Had you separated, he probably would have followed Alvin for awhile, but not long. He would have detected the deception, run back to the point of separation and hit the right one.”

“But he virtually did that afterward,” remarked Scout Master Hall.

“A proof of the truth of what I said. No doubt Zip trailed Alvin for a little way or until he discovered that the scent had changed and he was on the wrong track. Then he turned back and hunted out the right one.”

“If that explanation is correct,” said the amazed Mr. Hall, “it proves that the bloodhound was able to detect the emanations, or whatever it was that exhaled from Alvin’s feet, and could be differentiated from Mike’s even though it must have passed through the leather worn for days by Mike.”

“Unbelievable as it sounds we have to admit it, but,” added Burton, “we mustn’t lose sight of what doubtless was a contributing factor. It was not Mike’s shoes alone that told the secret, but his clothes. He brushed the trees and limbs when carried on the backs of his friends, and while walking. It was that which was probably the surest clue to Zip, as it was with Isaac and Hoke, and made it impossible for any one of the three to mislead the dog.”

CHAPTER XX — Speed the Parting Guest

George Burton and his dog Zip had won golden opinions from the Boy Scouts, who urged their visitor to spend several days with them, but he declined, saying he would set out on his return to Mouse Island directly after dinner, which was eaten at one o’clock. Truth to tell his tastes differed from those of his new friends. He cared little or nothing for bird lore, or the study of trees, or roughing it in the woods. But he was an athlete, who could outrun any one of the Boy Scouts and last longer on a tramp. He was putting himself through a course of training, with a view of making the football team when he should enter Princeton University, for which he had already matriculated. His sole companion on his long runs or the hours devoted to hardening his muscles was Zip, between whom and himself, as had been shown, there was a strong affection.

Accordingly, while the afternoon was quite young, Burton shook hands with all his friends, promising soon to see them again, and stepped into one of the canoes moored in front of the bungalow. He sat on the bottom with Zip between his knees, while Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes manipulated the paddles. Mike Murphy sat in front of Burton and assumed the airs of a captain. Burton had intended to pass around the eastern end of the lake, and over the rough trace to the highway, and so on to Boothbay and Mouse Island, thus reversing this tramp of the day before. Considerable of this long course could be saved by using the boat.

“I don’t see how you can reach Mouse Island before night,” remarked Alvin as he slowly swung his paddle.

“I can’t.”

“Then why not stay with us and make your start in the morning?”

“What’s the difference? The weather is clear and cool, and the moon is near its full. I can reach Boothbay Harbor some time in the evening and stay there over night, and hire a launch to take me to Mouse. Or if I feel lazy, I can find accommodations at Bovil, which you know is a little village between that frightful road over which your supply team labors and Boothbay. Zip and I don’t mind a little thing like that.”

“Hello!” exclaimed Chester, “are we never to be rid of those pests?”

On the shore of the lake to their right, two men were seen standing with their attention fixed upon the canoe and its occupants. The distance was so slight that the three boys instantly recognized them as their old acquaintances,—Buzby Biggs and Saxy Hutt. It would have been thought that after their recent experience they would have lost no time in getting out of the neighborhood, but it will be remembered that when they leaped in a panic from the wagon of our old friend Jake, instead of running away from Gosling Lake, they headed toward it.

Zip was quick to identify the vagrants. Looking toward them he emitted a throaty growl.

“He hates tramps so, that I have to restrain him when we meet them.”

“And why do ye reshtrain him?” asked Mike from his place in the boat. “Why don’t ye gratify his appetite for such spalpeens, though I’m thinking he runs risk of being p’isoned?”

“So long as the tramps keep out of mischief I am willing to leave them alone.”

“But that is what they don’t do; they seem to have a spite against Doctor Spellman and his family.”

“Against Doctor Spellman!” exclaimed Burton; “you don’t mean Doctor Wilson Spellman?”

“That’s his name.”

“Where is he?”

Alvin lifted his paddle and pointed a little away ahead and to the right.

“He has put up one of those patent houses among the trees, where you can’t see it from the lake, though we observe the smoke from his fire now and then. There he and his wife and little girl Ruth are spending several weeks in the most sensible manner possible.”

“Why, he’s my uncle,” added the surprised and delighted Burton; “I knew he had gone on an outing in Maine, but thought it was at the Rangely Lakes. Now, as the expression goes, isn’t that ‘funny’?”

“You will like to call on him?”

“Most certainly; I’m very fond of him, and of Aunt Susie and Ruth.”

The boat was sheered toward land at a point where the canoe of the physician was seen drawn up the bank. The two tramps stood so motionless and fixed in their attention that they suggested a couple of scarecrows. Mike turned his head and grinned.

“Head the boat toward them, as if ye intinded to call and lave yer cards.”

The bow was whirled further around, and pointed straight for the vagrants. Zip was tremulous with eager expectation. Resting his paws on the gunwales, he twitched his ears and growled. One good look at the canine was enough for the men. They turned about and dived among the trees as terrified as when the bullets of Doctor Spellman’s revolver whistled about their ears.

“Howld on!” shouted Mike, “till we can talk politics wid ye, and thry to agraa as to whether the Bool Moose ought to be the next President.”

But the scamps paid no heed, and Mike looked commiserately at the dog.

“’Tis a cruelty thus to disappint ye, Zip, as me dad said whin he walked five miles to have a shindy with Terence Googhagan, and found he’d been drowned; but ye may git a chance at ’im later on.”

A few minutes afterward the nose of the canoe slid up the bank, and the boys stepped out. It being early in the afternoon, Doctor Spellman was seated in his camp chair in front of his house, smoking a cigar and looking over the Boston Globe. His wife, having set things to rights, had come forward to join him, with Ruth directly behind her.

The meeting was a pleasing one. When Burton remarked that he had time for only a call, the doctor and his family put so emphatic a veto upon it, that he was obliged to yield and agreed to remain until morning.

After mutual inquiries and answers had been made, Burton told of the forenoon’s test of Zip’s marvelous power of scent. The story was so remarkable that even Sunbeam, as she sat on Burton’s knee, silently listened. The two were old friends. The little girl was the only one besides his master whom the hound would allow to become familiar with him.

“I wish I had a dog like him,” remarked the doctor.

“That is impossible, for there isn’t another like him,” replied the owner.

“I have been so annoyed by a couple of tramps that I should like to get Zip on their track and have him drive them out of the neighborhood.”

Alvin and Chester had told the guest of the doings of the nuisances, and there was laughter at their panic when, looking over the side of the canoe, they saw the frightful head of the sea serpent, apparently in the act of rising up to crush the boat or them in its jaws.

“I can’t understand why they persist in staying in these parts, after the hints they have received,” said the doctor.

“Can they have any special design in view?” asked Burton.

“I have thought of that, but can’t imagine what it is. All such pests are thieves, but that is the worst that can be said of them. There is nothing in my home that is specially tempting; they know I have a gun and a revolver,—and that I am quite ready to use it if they give good cause. Yet when I kill a man,” added the doctor with a grim smile, “I prefer to put him out of the way in my professional capacity. There are no unpleasant consequences to myself.”

“Couldn’t one of the spalpeens be ill?” suggested Mike. “He may be trying to screw up his courage to the p’int of asking ye for a prescription.”

“He will find me ready, and I’ll charge him no fee.”

At this moment, the physician supplemented his words by a remark which, in the light of after events, was singular to the last degree.

“George, I have arranged a system of signals with my young friends here.”

“I don’t catch your meaning.”

“When young Jack Crandall broke his leg some time ago, there was no telling what complications would follow. It was therefore agreed that in case I was needed in a hurry, some of the Boy Scouts should fire one of their revolvers several times in quick succession. Then I would paddle to the bungalow as fast as I could.”

“Could you count upon hearing the reports?”

“Yes,—as a rule; there is nothing to obstruct the sound on the water, unless it might be a strong wind, and as to that we shall have to take chances. My signal may vary.”

“Your signal,” repeated the astonished nephew; “what need can you have for anything of the kind?”

“Probably not any, and yet there’s no certainty that I shall not. I brought some fireworks for the amusement of Stubby. Among them are a dozen sky rockets. If we should find ourselves in need of help at night, three rockets sent up in the sky will notify the Boy Scouts, who I know will make all haste hither, and a score of such young fellows form a force that even a half dozen men dare not despise. If I need them after they have retired I can use my rifle or revolver the same as they would use their weapon.”

“Suppose the emergency should happen in the daytime?”

“We have our firearms to appeal to; with them we can duplicate the call of the Boy Scouts.”

“I suppose the system is the best that can be devised,” said Burton, “and yet it strikes me it is as likely to fail as to succeed.”

“Why?”

“For your rockets to serve, some of the boys must see them,—and what certainty is there that they will do so?”

“Of course there’s the possibility that they may not,—but until Scout Master Hall and his charges retire for the night, all or a majority of them are on the piazza and some of them would be certain to observe the rockets as they streamed upward, leaving a trail of fire behind them.”

“But why talk of your needing our help?” asked Alvin; “it strikes me as absurd, though the reverse of the rule is sensible.”

“I may as well confess that I feel uneasy over the persistent hovering of those tramps in the neighborhood. I fear to leave wife or Ruth alone, and I never do so even for a short time without making sure my revolver is loaded and at her instant command.”

“When you come to the bungalow, you can bring Sunbeam and her mother with you,” said Chester Haynes, “as you have generally done.”

“That is my rule, but it leaves the house without the slightest protection, and those tramps, if they wish, can work their own sweet will.”

“You did not visit us to-day, doctor.”

“Crandall is getting on so well there’s no need; he moves about so readily on those crutches you fellows presented him that his rapid recovery is assured. If to-morrow is fair, you may expect us over to dinner.”

Alvin and Chester felt that this visit really belonged to young Burton,—so, after remaining a brief while longer, the three bade them all good-bye and paddled back to the bungalow, which they reached in the latter part of the afternoon.

CHAPTER XXI — Call For Help

On the evening of one Thursday in August, Scout Master Hall and the members of the three patrols composing the troop of Boy Scouts were lounging on the piazza of the bungalow or clubhouse which stands on the shore of Gosling Lake in Southern Maine. It was the day succeeding the departure of George Burton and his bloodhound Zip.

The hours had been busy ones for our young friends. There had been fishing, strolls through the woods, investigation of the different kinds of trees, the study of birds, besides a “deer hunt.” I hasten to say that this was not a real hunt, a dummy being used with bows and arrows as weapons. This is one of the most popular forms of amusements among Boy Scouts, who enjoy it to the full.

So when the youths came back to headquarters, they brought keen appetites, overflowing spirits and healthy tired bodies. The gathering on the piazza was a pleasing reunion of all the members. There were experiences to be told, good natured chaffing, the laying of plans for the morrow, and now and then Mike Murphy, in answer to the unanimous demand, sang for them. As I have already said, this remarkable youth, despite his unrestrainable waggery, would never sing anything of a frivolous or “rag time” nature, but inclined to sentimental or religious themes. When that marvelous voice of his, like the notes of a Stradivarius violin in the hands of Ole Bull, or Spohr, or Kubelik, was wafted across the placid lake, it was easy to believe the story of the sirens of Lorelei.

Thus the party was grouped on the night I have named, and the hum and chatter of conversation was at its height, when Scout Master Hall exclaimed:

“Look!”

Every voice was instantly hushed. In the gloom the leader’s arm which he had instinctively extended could not be seen, but naturally all who were not already looking out upon the water did so. Every one was in time to see a swift ascending rocket turn and break into a shower of sparks as it dived downward again.

It was still in sight when a second whirred upward for two hundred feet or more, leaving a streaming, dazzling trail as it circled over, exploded and the stick plunged downward in the darkness.

Every one held his breath. Most of them rose and stared. It might be that the physician was sending up the rockets to amuse his daughter. If there were only two, they would mean nothing more; if there was another——

“There it is!” gasped Scout Master Hall; “something is wrong at Doctor Spellman’s!”

It was the signal which had been agreed upon in the event of their friend finding himself in urgent need of help.

It seemed as if several minutes passed before, through the tomb-like hush, stole a faint popping sound,—the report of the explosion ending its journey across the lake.

The dull, almost inaudible call acted as if it were a bugle blast. The whole party dashed off the porch and at headlong speed to the two canoes drawn upon the beach. Even Jack Crandall swung to the steps, and debated a moment whether he should not join the party of rescue, but his common sense told him he would be only a hindrance, and he reluctantly stayed behind and watched the shadowy forms of his friends as shown in the star gleam, the moon not yet having risen.

“He has called for us,” said Scout Master Hall, “and there isn’t a minute to lose!”

Standing on the edge of the lake he gave his commands as coolly as an officer marshaling his forces for a charge. In a twinkling the two boats were afloat in the deep water which came close to the bank.

“There are twenty-one of us; each canoe will carry no more than eight; the other five must hurry along the shore to the doctor’s house.”

The lads stood breathless, waiting for the leader to name those who must walk. He promptly did so:

“Isaac Rothstein, Hoke Butler, Gerald Hume, Arthur Mitchell, Gordon Calhoun.”

It was a keen disappointment to the five, but there was not a murmur.

“Come on, boys,” called Hoke; “if we do our best we shall not be far behind them.”

His long legs carried him at a pace that made it hard for the others to equal. In Indian file the procession, with him in the lead, loped along the beach and was speedily swallowed up in the obscurity.

The crews of the canoes worked like beavers. In a twinkling the boys had adjusted themselves and in each boat the two who were handiest with the paddles plyed them vigorously. Scout Master Hall was seated in the stern of one, among his companions being Mike Murphy, Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes.

At the moment the two craft put out from shore, Mike Murphy repeated the exclamation—

“Look!”

The startling performance of a few minutes before was repeated. One, two, three rockets streamed upward in the heavens, curved over, exploded and plunged downward among the trees.

“What can be the trouble?” was the question which everyone of the rescuers asked himself, as the oarsmen threw their energies into the task, and sent the heavily-laden craft with the utmost speed across the lake toward the home of their friend.

Alvin and Chester swung the paddles in their canoe, which speedily assumed a slight lead. There was little or no conversation, but each Boy Scout was busy with his thoughts, and burning with curiosity to learn the cause of the strange night call across the lake. Since every one knew of the doings of the two tramps, who had been lurking in the vicinity for several days and had been seen the previous afternoon, it was natural that suspicion should turn to them.

And yet it was hard to imagine a situation in which so plucky a man as Doctor Spellman, who owned a revolver and a repeating rifle, would have any fear of two unarmed vagrants. Impulsive by nature, and already resentful toward them, he would stand no nonsense at their hands.

And for a third time were three signal rockets sent streaming aloft, before the canoes had passed half the distance between the bungalow and the home of the physician. The urgency of the summons filled all with anguish. Mike and the Patrol Leader offered to relieve Alvin and Chester with the paddles, but they would not listen and bent resolutely to their task. The other canoe had pulled up alongside, and the two kept abreast with barely ten feet separating them.

The cause of the call of distress was revealed with startling suddenness and before the craft reached land. Through the gloom, Mike Murphy caught the vague outlines of a man and woman on the beach, and he shouted:

“What’s the matter, docther?”

The reply of itself was a partial answer:

“Is Ruth at the bungalow?”

“She hasn’t been there since ye brought her over the other day.”

“Then heaven save us! she is lost.”

It was the mother who uttered this wail, as she convulsively clasped her hands and walked distractedly to and fro.

The boys leaped out of the boats and gathered round the grief-smitten couple.

“Tell us what this means,” said Scout Master Hall, as he sympathetically clasped the hand of the physician, who spoke with rare self-command, though his wife began sobbing as if her heart was broken:

“We did not miss her until about an hour ago; I sat in front of the house smoking and talking with wife, when she remarked that it was time Ruth was in bed. I called to her, but there was no answer. Thinking she had fallen asleep inside, I lighted a match and looked around, wife joining me. A brief search showed she was not there. We hurried outside, and I shouted again.

“By that time we were in an agony of distress and wife was sure something dreadful had happened to her. As soon as we could command our wits we found that neither of us had seen her for nearly two hours and the thought struck us both that she had wandered off to the bungalow. If she had kept along the beach and walked steadily she would have had time to reach you, but there are so many other awful chances that I dared not trust to that, so I appealed to you.”

“And you did right; there is nothing that is possible for us to do that we will not do,” was the response of Scout Master Hall.

“She may still be wandering along the beach on her way to the bungalow.”

“Five of our boys are hurrying over the same course to this point, and will be sure to meet and bring her home.”

“Unless she has strayed off in the woods and been lost.”

“Let us hope that such is the fact, for then she will be safe and suffer only slight inconveniences.”

“Oh, it is worse than that,” moaned the mother, still pacing to and fro and wringing her hands; “she has fallen into the lake and been drowned.”

“I cannot believe that,” said the Scout Master, following the remark with such tactful assurances that the mother regained a part of her self-command, to the extent even of feeling a faint hope that all was well with her child.

The conduct of the youths was admirable. When they spoke it was in whispers and undertones, but every heart was filled with the sincerest pity, and all were eager to do everything they could for the smitten parents.

The Boy Scout does not content himself with words: his mission is to do a good turn, and where every minute was beyond value none was thrown away.

Scout Master Hall assumed charge. He directed six of the boys to take the back trail, as it might be called,—that is, around the eastern end of the lake to the bungalow. This would insure their meeting Hoke Butler and his companions, who in turn would meet the missing child if she had wandered over the same route. The six to whom this task was entrusted were under the charge of Mike Murphy.

The same number of boys were ordered to follow the opposite direction,—that is, to skirt the lake to the westward,—each of the two searching parties to keep it up until they came together at the bungalow. This arrangement left four Boy Scouts, including Mr. Hall and not mentioning the father and mother. The leader proposed that he, one of the lads and the parents should separate, plunge into the woods and pursue the hunt independently of one another. Since for a time the search must be a blind one this plan was as good as any that could be suggested.

The Scout Master took Alvin and Chester aside.

“I have selected you for a special work,” he said. “You are fleet of foot, cool-headed and have good judgment. The doctor has made no reference to those tramps, and yet I know he suspects they have stolen Ruth, and intend to hold her for ransom. I believe it is either that, or she has wandered off and fallen asleep in the woods,—with the possibility that she is drowned.

“I want you to make your way as quickly as you can to the little town of Bovil, where I think there is a telephone. If the tramps have kidnapped the Sunbeam, they will try to get out of the neighborhood. Telephone to the officers at Boothbay Harbor and other points, and get word to Burton at Mouse Island as soon as possible, and ask him to make all haste here with Zip. He’ll do it.”