Under Boy Scout Colors

CHAPTER XIX
THE ACCIDENT

“No, it’s not that,” he said quickly. “I’ve nothing at all to do with it. I had an inquiry this morning from some one who–a–probably knows it’s a scout specialty for a quotation on a number of rather elaborate houses that are wanted at once. There’s the list.”

Dazedly Dale took the paper and stared at it. It was a type-written list describing, with some detail, the eight bird-houses desired. Two of them, for martin colonies, called for something large and rather elaborate. All were distinctly of a more expensive class than was usually in demand. Even without figuring, he could see that his time alone, were it possible to finish the work inside of two weeks, would be worth over ten dollars. In spite of his doubts, his eyes brightened as he looked up at the scoutmaster.

“It’s a corking order!” he exclaimed. “It would put me all to the good. But I can’t understand why anybody would want bird-houses after the birds have all nested for the season. Who are they for, sir?”

“That I can’t tell you,” returned Mr. Curtis. “Now don’t go off at half-cock,” he added quickly, as Dale’s lips parted impulsively. “I’ve told you I had nothing to do with it in any way. The inquiry this morning was as much of a surprise to me as it is to you, but just because the person doesn’t wish to be known is no reason why you should balk at the offer. There may be any number of reasons. At least there’s no touch of charity about it. You’ll be giving full value received, won’t you? And you certainly build better houses than any other boy in the troop.”

For a second Dale hesitated, torn between a last lingering doubt and a natural eagerness to snatch at this wonderful opportunity. “You mean you–advise me to accept?” he asked slowly.

“I do. I see no reason why you shouldn’t treat it as a regular business proposition and make out your estimate at once.”

Dale hesitated no longer. The whole thing still seemed odd, but after all, as Mr. Curtis had said, he had nothing to do with that. He was still further reassured when he went over the specifications again, seated at a corner of the scoutmaster’s writing-table. The very detail with which these had been made out pointed to a distinct and definite want, not to a charity meant to give work to an unknown scout.

For two hours the boy sat making rough plans, measuring, figuring, and calculating with the utmost care. He conscientiously put his estimate as low as he possibly could, and when word came next day to go ahead he plunged into the work blithely, determined to give the unknown good value for his money.

Fortunately, school was over and Dale could give practically all his time to the undertaking. He took a chance and registered for the first two weeks at camp, but it was a close call, and the houses were delivered to Mr. Curtis only the very morning before the party was scheduled to start. That afternoon he had the money, and there was no happier boy in Hillsgrove as he hastily sought the scout store at the Y. M. C. A. and made his necessary purchases.

It was at the same place that the crowd gathered with bag and baggage next morning at six o’clock. Early as it was, the majority were on hand before the appointed hour, so there was no delay in getting off. Seats had been built along each side of the big motor-truck, and the moment suitcases and duffle-bags were stowed away beneath them, there was a scramble to get aboard.

Tompkins found himself presently squeezed in near the rear, next to Court Parker, with Sanson, Bob Gibson, and Paul Trexler near by. Most of the older fellows were farther front, and Mr. Curtis sat next to the driver. It was a perfect day, clear, sparkling, cloudless, and as the truck rumbled out of Hillsgrove and started southward along the fine state road the boys were in high spirits. Soon some one started up a song, and from one familiar air they passed to another, letting off a good deal of steam in that fashion. A lot more was got rid of by practising troop yells, and when the truck began to pass between fields of waving yellow grain, they found amusement in seeing how many of the laboring farmers would answer their shouts and hand-wavings.

But it wasn’t possible, of course, to keep up this sort of thing for the entire journey, and after a couple of hours they settled down to a quieter key. Naturally, the most interesting subject of discussion was the camp, and presently, in response to a number of requests, Mr. Curtis moved back to the middle of the truck to tell the crowd, that included many boys from other troops, all he knew about it. When he had described in detail the situation and its advantages and explained the arrangement of the camp which three other scoutmasters and a number of the other boys had gone down ahead to lay out, he paused for a moment or two.

“There’s just one thing, fellows,” he went on presently “that we’ve got to be mighty careful about. The land is owned by John Thornton, the banker, whose wonderful country-place, twenty miles this side of Clam Cove, you may have heard about. It seems that he’s had a great deal of trouble with boys trespassing, starting fires in the woods, injuring the shrubbery and rare trees, and even trapping game. It’s possible, of course, though I should hate to believe it, that some of this damage has been done by scouts, as he seems to think. At all events, he is very much opposed to the movement, which he contends merely gives boys a certain freedom and authority to roam the woods,–building fires, cutting trees, and having a thoughtless good time generally,–without teaching them anything of real value.”

“Humph!” sniffed Sherman Ward, indignantly. “Then why has he offered us this camping-site?”

“He hasn’t offered it to us as scouts. He’s loaned it to Captain Chalmers, who is a very close friend, and he as much as says that our behavior there will merely prove his point about the uselessness of scouting. Of course, he’s dead wrong, but he’s a mighty hard man to convince, and we’ll have to toe the mark all the time. I don’t mean it’s going to interfere with our having all the fun that’s going, but we’ll have to take a little more pains than usual to have a model camp. There mustn’t be any careless throwing about of rubbish. In getting fire-wood we’ll have to put into practice all we’ve learned about the right sort of forestry. When away from camp on hikes or for any other purpose, we must always conduct ourselves as good scouts and remember that it’s not only our own reputation we’re upholding, but that of the whole order.”

When he had gone back to his place in front there were a few indignant comments on Mr. Thornton and his point of view, but for the most part the boys took it sensibly, with many a determined tightening of the lips.

“I guess he won’t get anything on us,” commented Ted MacIlvaine, decidedly. “It’ll be rather fun, fellows, making him back down.”

There was an emphatic chorus of agreement, but little further discussion, for the question of lunch was beginning to be pressing. Though barely eleven, boxes and haversacks were produced and the next half-hour enlivened with one of the most satisfying of occupations. Toward noon they stopped at a small town for “gas.” When the car started on again, there was a pleasant sense of excitement in the realization that another couple of hours ought to bring them to Clam Cove.

The country had changed greatly from that around Hillsgrove. It looked wilder, more unsettled. Instead of fields of ripening grain, orchards, or acres of truck-gardens, the road was bordered by long stretches of woods and tangled undergrowth. The farm-houses were farther apart and less pretentious. There was even a faint tang of salt in the air. At length, from the summit of an elevation, Mr. Curtis pointed out a distant hill showing hazily blue on the horizon.

“That’s Lost Mine Hill, fellows!” he said. “From there, it’s not more than three miles to our stopping-place.”

Eagerly they stared and speculated as the truck clattered down the incline, its horn sounding raucously. At the bottom there was a straight level stretch of a thousand feet or so, with a bridge midway along it. It was sandy here in the hollow, and the truck had made little more than half the distance to the bridge when all at once, with a weird wailing of the siren, a great gray car shot into sight around a curve beyond.

It was going very fast. Dale and Court, hanging over the side of the truck together, had barely time to note the trim chauffeur behind the wheel and a man and woman in the luxurious tonneau when the explosion of a blow-out, sharp as a pistol-shot, smote on their startled senses. The car leaped, quivered, skidded in the loose sand, crashed into the weather-worn railing of the bridge, hung suspended for an instant above the stream, and then toppled over and out of sight. There was a tremendous splash, a great spurt of flying water, and then–silence!

CHAPTER XX
FIRST AID

The car had turned turtle, and the great wheels, still spinning slowly, showed above the surface almost to their hubs. The water was roiled and muddy; bubbles and a little steam rose about the forward part of the car. Ten feet away floated a chauffeur’s cap. Nearer at hand, a light lap-robe, billowed by the air caught underneath, seemed for an instant to be the clothing of one of the passengers. But Dale swiftly understood its real nature, and with a choke he realized that the people were pinned beneath the car. All this came to him in a flash; then, as Mr. Curtis and the foremost of the scouts plunged down into the wide, but shallow, stream, he turned suddenly about and raced back to the truck.

It wasn’t the sick sense of horror that moved him. All at once he had remembered the troop first-aid kit, which he himself had carefully stowed away under one of the long seats. They would need it badly, and he did not think any of the others had stopped to get it. There would be plenty of them without him to lift the car.

Panting to the side of the deserted truck, Dale leaped into the back, and, dropping to his knees, tore and dug among the close-packed baggage like a terrier seeking rats. Swiftly he unearthed the square, japanned case and dragged it forth. When he reached the bridge again, the scene had altogether changed. Waist-deep in the water, a line of scouts was holding up the heavy car, whose weight was testified to by their straining muscles and tense attitudes. Already the two passengers had been dragged forth. The one whom at first they had taken to be a woman had been carried to the bank, and Dale saw, with a throb of pity, that she was a girl of not more than fifteen. Two scouts supported the limp figure of the man, and as Dale ran around the end of the bridge and down the bank a shout from Sherman Ward announced the discovery of the chauffeur.

“Get him out quickly!” tersely ordered Mr. Curtis. “You and Crancher look after him; you know what to do. Bob and Ranny see to the girl! I’ll take care of this man. Court, hustle for the first-aid kit; it’s under– Oh, you’ve got it! Good boy, Dale. Open it upon the bank and get out the ammonia. Then be ready with some bandages when I call for them. Frank, take one or two fellows and bring six or eight blankets here from the truck.”

Under the cool, dominating influence of the scoutmaster the situation speedily resolved itself into one of orderly method. The three patients were stretched out on blankets on the bank, and only those scouts actively interested in bringing them around were allowed in the vicinity. The others went back to the car and busied themselves with trying to right it–a rather futile undertaking, but it kept them out of the way.

The girl was the first to respond to treatment, but the older man opened his eyes not long afterward. While both were dazed by the shock, they seemed to have escaped with no more serious injuries than bruises. The chauffeur, however, was badly cut about the face and head, and Mr. Curtis himself superintended the work of Ward and Crancher in tying up and bandaging. When this was over he turned back to the other man, who was trying to get on his feet.

“Hadn’t you better lie quietly for a bit longer?” he asked quickly. “You’ve been rather badly shaken up.”

“Is Robert–all right?” asked the other, briefly, as he dropped back to the ground again.

“Practically. He’s cut about the head, but we’ve bandaged him up, and I think he’ll be all right until we can get him to a doctor.”

The man’s puzzled gaze wandered to the little group of scouts standing well to one side and then returned to Mr. Curtis’s face. “I don’t understand how you came to be on the spot so promptly,” he murmured. “Who–”

“My name is Curtis,” explained the scoutmaster, as the other paused. “I’m taking a party of scouts from Hillsgrove down to camp on Great Bay. Our truck wasn’t a hundred feet away when you skidded.”

The older man raised his eyebrows.

“Scouts!” he repeated. “Boy Scouts?” Again his glance swept the circle, taking in this time the prone figure of the chauffeur, whose head, swathed in workmanlike bandages, rested against a thin roll of blanket. “I understand,” he went on briefly. “I am very greatly indebted to you, Mr. Curtis. May I trouble you?”

He extended his hand, and this time the scoutmaster did not hesitate to help him up. Together the two assisted the girl to her feet, and Mr. Curtis reached for a blanket, placing it carefully around her shoulders.

“Thank you,” she murmured shyly. She had recovered from her fright, and seemed none the worse for the accident. “Dad, if we could only get a car or something to take us home,” she said pluckily.

“Our truck isn’t exactly comfortable,” suggested Mr. Curtis, “but I fancy it would be the quickest way.”

“Decidedly!” agreed the man. “The nearest house is two miles off, and my own place isn’t more than double that. But wouldn’t it be inconveniencing you?”

“Not a bit! We have plenty of time; and anyway, your man ought to have a doctor’s attention as soon as possible. The boys can wait here till the truck comes back.”

Without further delay he motioned Ward and Crancher to help the chauffeur and led the way to the truck. Full of interest and curiosity, the others watched them take their places, saw the engine started, and remained staring after the lumbering vehicle until it had passed out of sight around the curve. Then began an eager discussion of the whole affair, until finally some one suggested building a fire and drying out their wet clothes. The latter process was still going on when the truck returned, after nearly an hour’s absence, and Mr. Curtis leaped out. As he came up to the group he was smiling.

“Who was it, sir?” called several of the scouts at once. “Did you find out?”

“I did.” The scoutmaster’s smile deepened a little. “You can have three guesses.”

There was a moment’s puzzled silence; then, “Mr. Thornton?” hazarded Court Parker, flippantly.

“Not quite,” laughed Mr. Curtis; “only his brother and niece.”

Parker gasped in surprise; so did several others. Then a shout went up, and a volley of questions was poured at the scoutmaster.

“Did you meet Mr. Thornton?”

“Does he still think scouting isn’t any good?”

“He failed to say,” returned Mr. Curtis, his eyes twinkling. “I hoped, of course, that he’d fall on my neck and declare he was all wrong and that scouting was the most wonderful thing in the world. But apparently he isn’t that sort. There’s no question, though, that he was favorably impressed, and with this good beginning I trust we can bring him around before camp is over. Pile in now, fellows. We’re late already and mustn’t waste any more time.”

About an hour afterward they rumbled over a bridge, ran along a rather sluggish stream for a quarter of a mile or so, and then entered the little village of Clam Cove, where they found Captain Chalmers and Mr. Knox, one of the scoutmasters, somewhat impatiently awaiting them. Full of excitement, the boys piled out, gathered up their luggage, and made tracks for the two motor-boats tied to the end of the dock. There was the usual bustle and turmoil of embarking, but no delay, for every one was too anxious to see the camp to waste any time stowing himself away. In ten minutes the entire crowd was disposed of and the ropes cast off.

The bay was over a mile wide at this point. Its waters, stirred into ripples by the freshening breeze, glinted in the rays of the afternoon sun. Against the dark green of the farther shore a string of little islands showed and started a buzz of eager comment and question. About half-way across, the camp itself came suddenly into sight, a trim row of glistening white tents outlined against a background of fir and cedar, which brought forth a shout of delight.

“Gee! Don’t it look great? I can hardly believe we’re here, can you?”

But there could be no question of the reality of it all as they tumbled into the trailers and went ashore in relays. It was a rather small point, jutting out from the larger one into the comparatively quiet waters of the bay. For some distance back the undergrowth had been cleared away, but clumps of bushy cedars and glossy-leaved holly remained to give shade and diversity. Six wall-tents, each with a wooden floor and bunks to accommodate eight boys, were pitched on two sides of a square, at the corner of which stood a larger tent known as headquarters. Here dwelt the governing powers, in the shape of the commissioner and the three scoutmasters, and in front of it, on a rustic pole fluttered the Stars and Stripes. Across the square, among the trees, was a large dining-tent, and behind that a substantial frame cook-shack.

To the new arrivals, hot and dusty from their long ride, it all looked tremendously cool and inviting, and there was a rush to shed uniforms and get into shorts and undershirts. Dale Tompkins found himself placed in a tent with Court Parker, Sanson, Bob Gibson, Trexler, Vedder and Bennie Rhead, with Ranleigh Phelps as leader. The latter’s presence rather surprised him. He supposed Ranny would want to be with Torrance and Slater, two of his closest chums. Later, learning that Wesley Becker was tent-leader with that crowd, he decided that the arrangement was due to the camp heads rather than to Ranny’s personal preference.

But no matter what the cause, Tompkins was distinctly glad of the other’s presence. Though he tried not to build any hopes on what might be merely the result of his own imagination, Dale had a feeling that the fellow he admired and liked in spite of himself hadn’t been quite so distant lately. Besides, offish or not, just having Ranny in the same tent seemed, curiously, to bring him nearer, and Dale settled himself in the opposite bunk with an odd thrill of satisfaction.

Long before the hour for the afternoon swim the fellows were in their bathing togs, impatiently awaiting the signal. When it came, there was a regular stampede down to the beach, and in the space of thirty seconds every scout, save only three of the advance-party, who had been appointed life-savers, was splashing joyously in the water. They enjoyed every minute of that half-hour, and responded to the dressing signal with a reluctance that was considerably tempered by Mr. Reed’s announcement of an early supper.

There was no council-fire that night. The crowd that had come down was too sleepy to do more than listen to a brief talk by Captain Chalmers in front of headquarters tent, in which he repeated what Mr. Curtis had told them of the need of refuting Mr. Thornton’s peculiar ideas on scouting and briefly explained the camp rules and routine.

Each of the six tents, which were numbered, was to be daily assigned to special duty such as sanitary squad, cook’s helpers, commissary, and the like. In addition there would be a daily tent-inspection, and before each meal an inspection of the tables, which corresponded to the tents in number and for which the boys occupying those tents were responsible. All of these marks would be carefully kept, and the tent having the highest at the end of each week would be the honor tent, to be accorded special privileges besides having its individual marks go toward the winning of a camp emblem. This emblem, the captain explained, would be the highest honor a scout could obtain in camp, and when he had finished, almost every one of his hearers was keenly determined to carry the coveted trophy back to Hillsgrove on the front of his jersey.

It was barely dark when the talk was over, but already more than one tired scout was nodding and the clear notes of taps sent them stumbling tentward. Dale Tompkins lost not a moment in shedding his clothes and crawling in between the blankets. He heard vaguely the complaining tones of Harry Vedder as he climbed into an upper bunk, and the joshing comment of those who watched the diverting process. But even these sounds barely penetrated to his brain. In a moment more he was lost to the world, and in his next conscious moment he was opening his eyes to the dawn of another day.

CHAPTER XXI
LOST MINE HILL

Ranny nodded. “It sure is!” he agreed, in a half-friendly, half-embarrassed fashion. And then, almost as if regretting his tone, he sprang up and reached for his swimming-tights. “Everybody out for the morning dip, fellows,” he called authoritatively.

They needed no urging. Vedder was the only one who clung to his blankets, and the others lost no time in dragging these off and applying the sole of a sneaker with a dexterity that brought a howl of protest from the plump youth.

“Ouch! Quit that!” he roared, rolling over the side of the bunk and thudding to the floor. “Wait till I get hold of you, Court Parker, and I’ll–”

The threat ended in a sputter as the rest fled, giggling, to gather before headquarters for the brief ceremony of flag-raising. Then followed five minutes of setting-up exercises that sent the blood tingling through their veins and made them more than ever eager for the refreshing plunge, after which came dressing, the airing of blankets, and breakfast–and the day’s work and pleasure had fairly begun.

It was mostly work that first morning. Dale’s tent had pioneering duties, and for two hours or more he sweated with ax and grub-hoe, clearing out more undergrowth and making the camp shipshape. Ranny was no easy taskmaster. He kept everybody hustling without any let-up, and half an hour before inspection he had the whole seven hard at work on the tent, sweeping, folding blankets, and tidying up generally. There were a few grumbling asides, but the credit they received at the inspection silenced all that and made each boy resolved to be just as thorough every day. It wasn’t so bad, after all, most of them decided. Certainly they enjoyed their swim twice as much for the knowledge that the longest part of the day lay before them, unburdened by a single duty.

Both before and during dinner, there was a good deal of speculation as to what had been planned for the afternoon. But this was not revealed until the last spoonful of dessert had been consumed, when Mr. Reed arose from his place at the officers’ table.

“Most of you fellows have heard of Lost Mine Hill,” he said, “and are probably wanting to get a closer view of it. There’s a legend, you know, that before the Revolution there were copper workings in the neighborhood which were long ago abandoned and the entrance to the shafts, or whatever they were, lost track of. This afternoon we’ll take a hike over there and see if a little systematic scouting can’t solve the mystery. To make it more interesting, we’ll consider it a sort of competition on the treasure-hunt idea, each tent working together as a unit against the other five. If the entrance should happen to be located, the crowd that finds it will be given a certain number of credits toward the emblem. Everybody be on hand at headquarters at one sharp, for we don’t want to waste any time starting.”

The idea met with instant approval, and the burst of eager talk that followed showed how thoroughly it had stirred the boys’ imaginations. For the next twenty minutes the camp buzzed with interested discussion, and at one o’clock not a scout was missing from the throng before headquarters tent.

They started at once, with Mr. Reed and Mr. Curtis in the lead. There were no regular roads to follow, but after half an hour’s tramp through the woods they struck an overgrown track, and kept to it until it simply dwindled away into nothing and disappeared. A little distance beyond, the ground began to rise, gradually at first, but with increasing steepness, while outcroppings of rock showed more and more frequently. Presently, reaching a small open place among the trees, the scoutmasters paused and waited for the stragglers to come up.

“We may as well start the hunt here, fellows,” said Mr. Reed, taking out his watch. “I won’t make any suggestions as to how to go about it; each tent-leader must think that out for himself. Use your heads, that’s all, and don’t get too far away to be back here at four-thirty sharp. It’s taken us over an hour to make this point, so we ought to start back then at the latest. Remember, a little blazing will make the return trip easier, and if nobody finds anything to-day, we’ll take it up later in the week. Go ahead.”

The boys had been standing in little groups about him, and at the signal most of these started off hotfoot, as if they expected to gain their end by speed alone. Some hurried on toward the summit of the hill; others turned to right or left and, pushing through the undergrowth, disappeared along the side of the slope. Somewhat to Tompkins’s surprise, Ranny Phelps dawdled along until the others were out of sight. Then, however, he turned swiftly and led the way almost directly downhill.

“What are you going back for?” asked Court Parker, in surprise.

“I’ve got a hunch,” returned Ranny, briefly. Though instantly besieged with questions, he did not continue until they were well away from the clearing.

“It’s just this,” he said, without moderating his brisk pace. “We certainly can’t expect to find something that even the natives have lost track of, by just tramping around aimlessly. Of course, we might happen to stumble on it, but that would be a thousand-to-one chance. The best way is to use system. Did any of you notice the old fellow who brought over a load of fish this morning?”

“The man with whiskers you were talking to at the cook-shack?” asked Frank Sanson.

“Yes. Well, he’s lived around here all his life and is quite a character. I was asking him about this lost mine just out of curiosity and without having heard anything about the stunt this afternoon. He didn’t know much, but he finally did say his grandfather had once told him of an old building they used as a smelter, or something.”

“Gee!” exclaimed Sanson, excitedly. “And is this the way to it?”

“He hadn’t any idea. He’d never seen it himself, and of course it must have gone to ruin ages ago. But it stands to reason, doesn’t it, that a smelter would be more on the level and not on the side of a hill like this? They’d have to cart stuff to and from it along some kind of a road–”

“The one we came along!” put in Parker, eagerly.

“Maybe, though no road would keep open all this time without cutting. Very likely that’s just a lumbering-track. The point is, if we can only locate this building, we’ll be somewhere near the mine and won’t have to go prospecting all over the map. So that’s what we want to look for–a foundation of any kind or the least sign of a building. As soon as we’re down a bit farther we’ll spread out and hunt systematically. It may be clear on the other side of the hill, but at least we’ll have something definite to look for.”

“I’ll bet it’s on this side,” said Dale Tompkins, suddenly. “In the old days they didn’t have many roads and did most of their traveling by water, so I should think– Oh, shucks! I forgot the smelter would be near the mine and that might be anywhere.”

“It might,” agreed Ranny; “but it won’t do any harm to try this side first.”

Full of enthusiasm, they hurried down the slope, and when the steepest part was over they spread out in a line about twenty feet apart. In this formation they moved forward, keeping a sharp lookout for the slightest sign that might help them in the search.

They moved slowly forward through the forest, the fascination of the hunt gripping them more and more strongly. The sense of emulation, always keen with a crowd of boys, was intensified by the belief that, thanks to Ranny, they had just a little better chance of success than any of the others. The object of their search, too, stirred the imagination. There was a glamour of mystery about it which placed the whole thing in a different class from the games that they ordinarily played.

But little by little, as they found only the same monotonous succession of rocks and trees and tangled undergrowth, Dale’s mind began to dwell on the growing probability that they might not find the mine after all. Over an hour of close search had failed to reveal any trace of the ruined smelter. The ground on the river side of the hill had been thoroughly gone over, and they were now making their way inland, keeping well in toward the slope, and even spreading out a little on it. Without actually running into any of the other searching-parties, they had twice heard voices farther up the hill. The second time, in fact, these were so near that Dale could distinguish the familiar tones of Wesley Becker, and it was while peering curiously through the trees in that direction that he tripped over an obstruction and fell headlong, bruising his shin and twisting one wrist painfully.

“You want to look out for those feet of yours, Tommy,” laughed Frank Sanson, from the right. “They’re awful things to trip over.”

Usually quick enough with a retort, Tompkins made no answer. He had scrambled up and stood clutching his aching wrist instinctively. But neither his gaze nor his attention was on the injured member. Flushed, bright-eyed, he was staring eagerly at the obstacle that had caused his tumble.

It was nothing more than a line of stones, barely showing above the decaying vegetation of the forest floor. But the boy’s swift vision had already taken in the fact that the line was straight and true, and that the stones were held together by crumbling remains of mortar.

CHAPTER XXII
AROUND THE COUNCIL FIRE

“I guess you’ve hit it, old man,” he said warmly. “There’d hardly be any other foundation in this jungle. Let’s scrape away the leaves and mold a little and see if we can’t find a corner.”

Eagerly they fell to work, and before long had uncovered two sides of a rough stone rectangle, some eighteen by thirty feet, and even unearthed the ends of a couple of tough, hand-hewn oak beams which had fallen in and become covered with dead leaves and other debris. About the middle of one side was a solid, square mass of stone that looked as if it might have been the base of a forge or smelting-furnace. But there was no chance to proceed further, for Ranny suddenly jerked out his watch and gave an exclamation of dismay.

“Gosh! Almost four o’clock. We’ve got to start back right away.”

“Aw–gee! Let’s take just a few minutes more,” begged several voices at once.

“Nothing doing,” returned Ranny, decidedly. “If we’re not back at four-thirty, they’ll think we’ve found something, and we don’t want that. We’ve got something definite to start from next time; and if we keep it to ourselves, we’ll have a fine and dandy chance of putting it over on the rest of the camp. Everybody get busy and hustle some leaves and stuff over the wall so nobody else’ll stumble on it by accident.”

In a very short time practically all traces of their explorations had been covered over, and the fellows started back at a brisk pace. They were able to return much more quickly than they had come out, and reached the meeting-place in good season to find, with not a little secret satisfaction, that none of the other parties had met with success.

“But you fellows mustn’t let that discourage you,” said Mr. Reed, briskly. “As I told you before, you can’t expect to locate in an hour or so something that’s been lost for nearly a hundred years. We’ll try it again about Saturday, and–”

“Aw, Mr. Reed,” piped up Bennie, eagerly, “can’t we come back to-morrow and–”

He broke off with some abruptness as Ranny’s fingers closed over his shoulder in a warning grip. The scoutmaster laughed and shook his head.

“You’ve got it bad, Bennie,” he smiled. “Were you getting warm just when you had to stop? You’ll have to practise patience, I’m afraid. To-morrow we’re going up the river for crabs, and on Friday afternoon there’ll be an athletic meet. Don’t worry, though. The mine isn’t going to run away.”

“You chump!” whispered Phelps in the small boy’s ear as they started off downhill in a body. “Do you want to give the whole show away?”

“I didn’t mean anything, Ranny–honest. I didn’t think–”

“I should say you didn’t!” Ranny’s tone was severe, but his face relaxed a bit at the other’s comical expression of dismay. “Don’t let another peep like that out of you or we’ll have some of the crowd trailing us next time we come here. I’ll be surprised if Wes or somebody hasn’t caught on already.”

But apparently no one had. Doubtless they laid Bennie’s outburst to the irresponsibility of extreme youth and ignored it. On the way back to camp there was a good deal of general discussion and theorizing about the location of the mine, but the members of Tent Three managed their answers well enough, apparently, to prevent suspicion. After supper, too, the interest shifted to the morrow’s doings, and by the time the call for council-fire sounded through the dusk Lost Mine had been momentarily forgotten.

Out on the extreme tip of Long Point a great heap of branches and driftwood had been assembled, and around this the scouts gathered in a wide circle. Some sat cross-legged, draped in blankets, for the air was brisk and cool. Others sprawled at length upon the soft sand, shoulder pressing shoulder, arms flung carelessly about one another’s neck. Overhead the sky was brilliant with stars. From all about came the soft lapping of water, mingled with the lulling, rhythmic beat of surf upon the distant shore. It was a moment of complete relaxation after a long and strenuous day, and from many lips there breathed sighs of utter contentment.

And then the flames, creeping from a little pile of timber at the bottom of the heap, licked up through the dead branches to flare out at the top–a great yellow beacon that chased away the shadows and brought into clear relief the circle of eager, boyish faces. From where the officers sat came presently the soft chords of Captain Chalmers’s guitar mingled with the sweeter, higher tinkle of Mr. Reed’s mandolin, feeling their way from simple harmonies into the stirring melody of an old, familiar song. Of course the fellows caught it up, singing lustily to the last note, and their clear young voices, wafting out across the water, reached the ears of a grizzled fisherman coming in with the tide and carried him in a twinkling back fifty years or more into the long-forgotten past.

CHAPTER XXIII
A SURPRISE FOR VEDDER

Drawn together, perhaps, by the events of the afternoon and by the interesting secret they held in common, the members of Tent Three were gathered in a group on one side of the circle. Whether by accident or design, Dale sat close to Ranny and a little behind him, where he could watch the play of light and shadow on the leader’s handsome face. Scarcely a word passed between them, but Dale was conscious of something in the other’s manner which made him wonder, with a thrill, whether the hateful barrier that had existed for so long between them wasn’t growing a shade less formidable. Suppose some day it should vanish altogether! Suppose the time came when they could be real friends of the sort he had always dreamed about! He told himself that it was probably all imagination, but this did not take away his pleasure in the picture. And when Ranny, lazily shifting his lounging attitude, leaned carelessly back against the knees of the boy behind him, Dale thrilled to the touch almost as much as he would have done had he not felt the other to be quite unconscious of his presence.

The routine of the second morning in camp was much the same as the first had been. But directly after dinner the fellows piled into boats and rowed out to where the Aquita was anchored. As many as the power-boat would hold went aboard, leaving the rest, with a large assortment of crab-nets, hooks, lines, bait-boxes, and the like, in the trailers. They made a hilarious bunch as they chugged upstream past the straggling fishing-village, under the bridge, and on between the low banks of sedge and tough water-growth that lined the little river. But the noise was as nothing compared with the racket that began when they anchored and dispersed for the afternoon sport.

Some took to the boats, others went ashore and fished from the bank, while a few stayed on the Aquita. The tide was out and it was an ideal spot for crabbing. In fact, the creatures were so plentiful that many of the boys abandoned the slower, more cautious method of luring them to the surface with bait, and took to scooping them off the bottom with nets, to the accompaniment of excited shouts and yells and much splashing of mud and water. They kept at it for about two hours, and when the whistle summoned them back to the motor-boat they brought along a catch big enough to furnish several meals for the entire camp.

The last boat to come in was rowed by Dale Tompkins. Sanson and Bennie Rhead were with him, besides one or two others; but the interest and attention of those gathered on and about the Aquita was swiftly centered on Harry Vedder, perched precariously on the stern seat. His fat legs were drawn up clumsily under him, his pudgy hands tightly gripped the sides of the craft, while his plump face was set in lines expressive of anything but joy.

“What’s the matter, Puffy?” called Ranny Phelps, as they approached. “You look like Humpty Dumpty sitting on a wall!”

Vedder merely sniffed poutingly. The faces of Tompkins and Sanson expanded in wide grins. “It’s the crabs,” chuckled the latter. “They’re so fond of him they won’t let him alone. You see,” he added, his eyes dancing, “some of ’em happened to get out of the box, and the minute they saw Humpty they got terribly attached to him.”

“Yes!” snorted the plump youth indignantly–“to one of my legs, the beastly things! Hurry up, Dale, for goodness’ sake; I’m all cramped up!”

A snicker went up from the other boats. “You ought to have spoken to ’em sharply, Ved,” grinned Ranny, “and discouraged such liberties.”

“Yes,” laughed Court; “be firm with ’em!”

Vedder snorted again and, reaching for the rail of the Aquita, climbed aboard with remarkable agility. “Maybe you think that’s funny,” he growled, taking possession of the most comfortable seat in sight; “but I’d rather tackle a snake any day than a boat-load of crabs.”

He was so taken up with his own affairs that he quite missed the meaning glance that passed between Court Parker and Bob Gibson as they fastened their painter to the stern of the power-boat. He thought nothing, either, of the fact that they were first ashore, where, hastening to remove from under one of the seats a medium-sized bait-box covered with seaweed, they disappeared behind the cook-shack.

But later on, an uncomfortable suspicion came to him that there was something in the wind. Approaching the cook-shack, where a crowd was occupied in breaking up shells and extracting crab-meat for supper, he noticed Parker, Sanson, and Tompkins giggling and whispering with heads close together. As he came up they stopped abruptly, but after supper he saw them again, clustered in a group with Gibson and Bennie Rhead, and caught a grinning glance from the latter that deepened his suspicion.

“I’ll bet they’re up to some trick,” he said to himself.

Uneasily, he kept a sharp lookout, determined that they should not catch him napping. But oddly enough, the joke, whatever it was, seemed to subside, and for all his watchfulness Vedder failed to detect any more suspicious confabs during the evening.

Nevertheless, he remained on guard, especially after dark. He did not stray far from headquarters without peering about for such pitfalls as taut ropes, water-pails, and the like. At the council-fire he selected his place with especial care, and saw that no one approached from behind without his knowing it. But the evening passed uneventfully, and when he had reached the tent in safety and was undressing by the light of the single lantern, he decided he must have been worrying to no purpose.

“Guess I was wrong after all,” he thought, tying the pajama-strings about his ample waist. “My, but bed’s going to feel good!”

If there was one thing Vedder took pains about, it was in the arrangement of his blankets. To avoid the unpleasant exposure of toes he had worked out an elaborate system of folds and safety-pins until the combination resembled a sleeping-bag more than anything else. It was his habit to attend to this immediately after supper so that at bedtime there need be no shivery delay in getting fixed for the night. This evening he climbed ponderously to his perch, inwardly congratulating himself on his forethought, for the others, chattering busily on the day’s doings, were only beginning to spread out their blankets.

“It pays to be systematic,” he thought complacently, and thrust his legs between the warm folds with a luxurious sigh of content.

An instant later a howl of terror resounded through the camp, followed by a convulsive movement of Vedder’s legs and body which disrupted the neat arrangement in a flash. Dale Tompkins, sitting on the edge of the lower bunk, had no time even to roll aside before the fat boy, still gurgling with fright, landed on him with a crash that shook the tent.

CHAPTER XXIV
THE MISSING SCOUT

By this time the camp was astir. As Ranny took the lantern and went over to Vedder’s bunk, several boys from neighboring tents crowded in to see what was up. When they learned the nature of the rumpus they were vastly more excited than the other occupants of Tent Three, who seemed strangely unaffected by the situation.

“Hanged if there isn’t something here!” said Ranny, in a puzzled tone, looking down on the blankets. “Get a couple of sticks, fellows, and some of you hold down the edges of the blankets so it can’t get out.”

Court Parker turned his back suddenly and choked oddly; Tompkins’s face was flushed and twitching. But the new-comers obeyed the order with enthusiasm, and two of them, darting out, returned in a few moments with a couple of crab-nets and the heavy butt of a fishing-rod. Meanwhile, Ranny and several others had drawn the blankets taut across the bunk, revealing an irregular bulge down near the foot that certainly moved slightly.

“Everybody hit together when I give the word,” said Ranny. “One, two–three!”

The sticks descended with vigor, and there was a violent wriggling and thrashing about beneath the blankets. But the blows came thick and fast, and in a moment or two all movement ceased.

“I guess it’s dead, whatever it is,” said Ranny, just as Mr. Reed and Mr. Curtis appeared behind Vedder, still standing prudently in the background. “Let’s open it up and have a look.”

As he turned down the blankets, the boys gripped their sticks tighter, ready for instant action in case the reptile were not quite dead. But when a final twitch exposed the cause of the commotion, there was a moment’s silence, followed by a united exclamation of surprise and disappointment.

“Why, it’s nothing but an eel!”

Instantly a yell of laughter went up. Parker and several other occupants of the tent rolled on their bunks in paroxysms of delight. The two scoutmasters, smiling broadly, slipped away. Vedder, jaws agape, stared at Ranny as if unable to believe his hearing.

“An–eel?” he gasped.

“That’s all,” grinned Ranny. “You’ve got the whole camp stirred up over a blooming eel instead of a snake.”

The fat boy’s teeth came together with a click, and, with face flaming, he flounced over to his bunk. “You fellows put it there!” he accused angrily.

“Oh, never!” chuckled Frank Sanson. “I’ll bet it got fond of you, like the crabs, and climbed up there to make friends. And now they’ve gone and smashed the poor thing all up, and–”

A roar of laughter drowned his words, and Vedder, grabbing up the eel, flung it square at his tormentor. But Frank ducked, and the slimy missile flew past his head to land with a thud on the sand outside. A moment later the sound of taps sent everybody scurrying for his bunk; but for some time after lights were out subdued giggles could be heard from all parts of the camp.

For at least an hour next morning Vedder was very dignified and offish. But he was too easy-going to maintain a grudge very long, and before dinner he had become his comfortable, smiling self again. It was noticed, however, that during the remainder of his stay in camp he pointedly ignored the entire race of snakes, eels, and kindred reptiles.

The athletic meet was a great success. The scouts were divided, according to weight, into juniors and seniors, and there was keen competition in the running, jumping, and swimming events. But great as was the interest excited, it seemed excelled the following afternoon when the crowd set out to resume their hunt for the lost copper-mine. This was both a competition and a fascinating mystery, and a good many beside the members of Tent Three had apparently fallen victims to the spell.

When they reached the starting-point and separated, Ranny and his bunch lost no time in heading for the old foundation. A little digging opened up what seemed to have been the main entrance to the building, but, search as they might, they failed to find anything that in the least resembled a road or path or tramway leading to the mine entrance. Evidently the means by which ore was formerly brought to the smelter had been obliterated by the passing years, and it looked as if they would have to proceed from this point more or less at random.

“It can’t be so very far off,” said Ranny, as they lined up before him. “We’d better take the hillside first, and remember to look over every foot of ground. The entrance may have been covered by a fall of rock, so we can’t count on finding it open. Keep about the same distance apart as you were the other day, and whistle if you strike anything promising.”

They set off promptly, Dale Tompkins as before being about the middle of the line, with Court Parker on his right. The thick undergrowth and the rocks piled up in confusion made progress necessarily slow and prevented him from seeing very far in any direction. But every now and then the rustling of bushes or the cracking of dead twigs under foot on either side told Dale that he was keeping on the right course.

For over an hour he searched systematically, zigzagging back and forth along his beat and examining the ground carefully. The slope grew steeper, and at length he paused to wipe the perspiration from his forehead. The sound of foot-falls on his right was plainly audible, and through the undergrowth he glimpsed a khaki-clad figure.

“Say, Court,” he called, raising his voice slightly, “found anything yet?”

“It’s not Court,” came back in Frank Sanson’s familiar tones. “What the dickens are you doing so far over, Tommy? Did you change places?”

“Why, no!” Dale’s voice was puzzled; instinctively he moved toward the other boy. “I’ve been keeping right along the way I started,” he went on, as they came face to face. “Court was on this side then.”

“Sure! He was on my left. I haven’t seen him for half an hour or more, but I kept hearing him every now and then. You don’t suppose he could have strayed over behind you and to the other side?”

“I don’t see how. I’d have heard him, wouldn’t I?”

For a moment or so the two boys stood looking at one another in a puzzled fashion. “It’s funny,” Sanson said at length. “He wouldn’t have gone back, either. If he found something, he’d have whistled. Let’s call and see if he’s over the other way.”

Tompkins nodded, and together they walked briskly back a few steps. But it was Ranny Phelps who answered their hail, and in a few moments they saw him coming toward them through the brush.

“What’s up?” he asked quickly. “You haven’t found–”

“No; it’s Court,” interrupted Tompkins. “He started out between Frank and me, but he must have got mixed up somehow, for we can’t find him. We thought he might be over your way.”

“I haven’t seen him,” said Ranny, briefly. He hesitated an instant and then, pursing up his lips, whistled shrilly. “Best way’s to get them all together and straighten things out,” he went on. “If he’s off his beat, the chances are that part of the ground isn’t being looked over at all. This way, fellows.”

Bob Gibson was the first to hurry up. Then came Trexler, Bennie Rhead, and lastly Vedder, panting with his haste. But Parker was not among them, nor did Ranny’s repeated whistling bring sight or sound of the missing boy. None of the others had seen him since leaving the old foundation, and as they stood there, puzzled and a bit anxious, Tompkins suddenly remembered that for some little time before the meeting with Sanson he had failed to hear the rustlings on his right that had kept him aware of Court’s presence. At the time it had seemed unimportant, but now he made haste to mention it.

“Bennie, you chase back to the smelter and see if he’s there by any chance,” ordered Ranny, crisply, when Dale had finished. “The rest of us get in a close line and beat back along Court’s territory. I can’t imagine anything happening to him that Tompkins or Sanson wouldn’t hear or know about–unless, of course, it’s a joke.”

His jaw squared in a way that boded ill for the volatile Courtlandt if this should prove to be one of his familiar escapades. But, somehow, Tompkins did not believe that this could be the explanation. Court had been too keenly enthusiastic about the search to delay it by senseless horse-play. Though he, no more than Ranny, could think of any accident which would render the boy unconscious without his making a sound of any sort, Dale took his place in the line with a feeling of distinct uneasiness.

So close together that they could almost touch each other’s outstretched hands, the scouts started down the slope. There was little conversation, for by this time all were more or less worried. Just where they expected to find the missing boy would have been hard to tell, but a rabbit could scarcely have escaped their close scrutiny of bush and rock and thorny tangle.

It was fifteen minutes or so before they came to a giant rock that thrust its lichened bulk up from the forest mold. At least that was what it seemed at first–a single, flat-topped mass of stone, ten or twelve feet through and about as high. But passing close to one side, Tompkins and Sanson discovered that it was split in two pieces, one of which had fallen away from the other just enough to leave a jagged crack, not more than three feet wide, between them. A spreading mass of laurel screened the opening from any but the closest inspection, and as he pushed this to one side Dale gave a sudden start and stared intently at the ground beneath it.

“Look at that!” he exclaimed, turning to Frank, who was close behind.

The latter pressed forward and glanced over his shoulder. “What? Oh! You mean– Gee! Didn’t you break it off?”

“No!”

Dale’s heart was beating unevenly as he bent to pick up the tiny broken twig. There were three leaves on it, as fresh and green as those on the parent bush; the broken end showed white and living. He met Sanson’s glance and, dropping the twig, stepped into the jagged crevice. A moment later he gave a smothered cry. At his feet lay a scout hat of brown felt. A few inches beyond yawned a black hole, the leaves and mold and rotten branches about its edges scuffed and torn and freshly broken.

CHAPTER XXV
LOST MINE FOUND

For an instant there was no sound. Then his words beat back on him in a queer, sardonic kind of echo that sent a shiver flickering down his spine. He called again, but still there was no reply. Staring down, he tried to penetrate the darkness, but his straining sight could make out nothing but black void. A vivid picture of the mine-shaft he had once seen in Pennsylvania flashed into his mind and turned him cold. Then a step sounded behind him, and lifting his head, he looked into Ranny’s set face.

“Does he answer?”

“No.”

“Let me get there.”

Scrambling to his feet, Dale flattened out against the rock and Ranny took his place. Two or three times the latter shouted Parker’s name, but only the echo answered. Then he stood up, and, squeezing past Tompkins, pressed through the crowd of boys gathered about the entrance to the crevice. His face was a little pale, but his jaw was square and he held a scout whistle in one hand. A moment later three long shrill blasts resounded through the woods.

It was the scout danger-signal–a call for help. The boys stood motionless, listening intently for an answer. Presently it came, two short blasts, rather faint and far off, from over the top of the hill.

“That’s Mr. Reed, I guess,” said Ranny. “I hope he’ll bring that coil of rope along. But of course he will. He’s not the kind to forget any–”

The words died on his lips; his eyes widened in startled surprise. The others, following the direction of his bewildered gaze, gasped and stared. Bennie Rhead, returned from a fruitless trip to the old foundation, cried out sharply, an undercurrent of fright in his voice.

Around the corner of the great rock Court Parker had stepped quietly into view. He was bareheaded and dirt-streaked, but his face nevertheless wore a broad grin, and after the first shock of surprise had passed, Bob Gibson started forward angrily.

“By heck!” he exclaimed irately. “If you think this sort of thing is funny, Court Parker, it’s about time somebody taught you–”

“Shut up, Bob!” cut in Ranny, curtly. His quick eye had taken in the streak of blood on Parker’s cheek and noted a slight twitching at the corners of the boy’s smiling mouth. “You’re not hurt, are you, Court?” he added quickly.

Parker shook his head. “Not to speak of.” He drew a long breath. “Well, we’ve found the mine,” he went on in a voice which failed to be quite as matter of fact as he evidently tried to make it.

In an instant he was surrounded by the excited boys and fairly bombarded with questions: “Did you fall down the hole?” “What’s it like down there?” “How did you get out?”

Court laughed a little shakily and sat down suddenly on a rock. “Give me a chance, can’t you?” he begged. “I’ve only got one tongue, even though I can make that go pretty fast.”

“Cut it out and quit worrying him, fellows,” ordered Ranny. “Take your time, Court, and start at the beginning. How did you get down the hole?”

“Cinchiest thing you know!” grinned Parker. “I just stepped on the cover and went through. You see, when I went into that crack the hole didn’t show at all; there were a lot of branches and stuff over it. One minute I was on solid ground, and the next I was flying through space.”

“Gee!” exclaimed Sanson. “How deep was it?”

“Seemed about a mile; but I guess it wasn’t more than twenty feet. Luckily there was a lot of leaves and stuff at the bottom, so I landed pretty soft. But when I tried to climb back I found it was too slippery. Then I lost my voice yelling, but nobody came, so I started to look around a bit. It’s just one long tunnel, running both ways and braced up by rotten old timbers and things. I had my flash-light in my pocket, so I wasn’t afraid of being lost. I took the right-hand turn and–I say, fellows, there’s a bear down there!”

“A bear?” chorused the astonished audience as one boy.