"What's the matter, girls? You look as if you had the weight of the world on your shoulders."
Miss Ladd spoke these words lightly as if to pass judgment on the conference as entirely too serious for a Christmas holiday occasion. Marion and Helen did not respond in tones of joviality, as might have been expected. They met her jocular reproach with expressions of such serious portent that the Guardian of the Fire could no longer look upon it as calling for words of levity.
"What's the matter, girls?" she repeated more seriously. "You look worried."
"Sit down, Miss Ladd, and read these letters I received last night," said Marion without any change of tone or manner. "They will explain the whole thing. We were just about to call you aside and lay our trouble before you."
"Trouble," Miss Ladd repeated deprecatingly, "I hope it isn't as bad as that."
She drew an upholstered armchair close to the girls and began at once to examine the letters that Marion handed to her. Marion and Helen watched her closely as she read, but the Guardian of Flamingo Fire indicated her strength of character by a stern immobility of countenance until she had finished both letters. Then she looked at Marion steadily and said inquiringly:
"I suppose you have no idea who wrote these letters?"
"Not the slightest," replied the girl addressed, "unless the shorter one was written and mailed by some of the Boy Scouts at Spring Lake. Helen thinks it was, and I am inclined to believe with her that it doesn't make much difference to us who wrote it. The other letter is the one we are most interested in."
"I agree with you thoroughly," said Miss Ladd energetically. "And we have got to do something to prevent him from carrying out his threat."
"Ought we to inform the other girls now?" asked Marion with a sense of growing courage, for she felt that in the Camp Fire's Guardian she had found elements of wise counsel extending even beyond that young woman's experience.
"Why, yes," Miss Ladd replied. "I see no reason for delay. I'd rather tell them now than just before or after we get to Hollyhill. If we tell them now they'll have a couple of hours in which to stiffen their courage. There are eleven girls besides you two. Suppose you call them here in three lots in succession, four, four, and three, and we'll tell them quietly what has occurred and give them a little lecture as to how they should meet this crisis."
"All right," said Marion, rising. "I'll bring the first four and you get your lecture ready."
"It's ready already," said the guardian reassuringly. "It is so simple that I have no need of preparation."
"I'm afraid I need some drill in the best means and methods of reading character," Marion told herself as she walked back to the rear of the car. "I was really afraid to take the matter up with Helen or Miss Ladd for fear lest they recommend something foolish. Now it appears that each of them has a very clever head on her shoulders. Maybe I'll find the other girls possessed of just as good qualities. If I do, this day will have brought forth an important revelation to me, that the average girl, after all, is a pretty level-headed sort of person. Well, here's hoping for the best."
Marion selected the four girls farthest in front and asked them to approach the forward end of the car. They did so with some appearance of apprehension, for by this time all the girls had begun to suspect that something unusual was doing. This appeared to be evident also to the half-dozen other passengers in the car, whose curious attention naturally was directed toward the forward group of girls.
All of the girls received the information relative to the anonymous letters so calmly that Marion felt just a little bit foolish because of her groundless misjudgment of them. After the last group had read the letters and discussed the situation with the trio of informants, she spoke thus to them:
"Girls, you are real heroines, or have in you the stuff that makes heroines, and that is about the same thing. You take this as calmly as if it were an ordinary every-day affair in the movies. I'm proud of you."
"We ought to be wearing Carnegie medals, oughtn't we, girls?" said Julietta Hyde, blinking comically. "We can throttle anything from a black-hand agent to a ghost."
"No, you ought to be wearing honor pins, for things well done," Miss Ladd corrected. "We'll leave the Carnegie medals for those who haven't any Camp Fire scheme of honors. But really, girls, you have all conducted yourselves admirably in this affair. We will hope it won't result in anything very serious, but meanwhile we must take proper precautions."
"Shall we have to give up our vacation at Hollyhill on account of this?" asked Katherine Crane almost as dejectedly as if she were being sentenced to prison for violating a Connecticut blue law.
"That is up to you girls and the conditions that develop," answered Miss Ladd. "As soon as we get to Hollyhill we will take the matter up with the proper authorities and try to determine what the outlook is."
"My father will get busy as soon as he hears about this," said Marion. "I think we can leave everything to his management. He will probably advise us to give up the idea of doing anything for the strikers' families and have as good a time as we can entertaining ourselves at home."
"Oh, I hope not!" Katherine exclaimed, and the manner in which she spoke indicated how much she had set her heart on the work they had planned to do.
"It would be too bad to give it up," Marion said earnestly, "for I understand some of those people are greatly in need of assistance. There is not only much hunger and privation among them, but considerable sickness among the children. We can't do a whole lot in two weeks, but we can do something, and our training as Camp Fire Girls and in our nursing classes fits us to be of much assistance to them. It is a shame that they should take an attitude so hostile to their own interests."
"They probably don't understand your father or they wouldn't be striking now," said Miss Ladd.
"I'm sure they wouldn't," Marion testified vigorously. "I've often heard father say he'd like to do more for the men and their families but conditions tied his hands. Many of the miners are good fellows, but they get mistaken ideas in their heads and it's impossible for anybody whom they once put under suspicion to convince them that they are in the wrong."
"Do you know, girls," interposed Violet Munday enthusiastically; "I believe we are going to get a lot out of this vacation experience, whatever happens. I'm interested in what Marion tells us about the miners. Let's make a study of coal mining, hold up everybody we can for information and watch our chance to help the poor families and their sick children whenever we can without doing anything foolhardy."
"That's a good idea," said Miss Ladd. "We'll keep that in mind and if Marion's father's advice is favorable, we'll take it up."
The train arrived at Hollyhill shortly after 2 p.m. Mr. Stanlock's touring car and two taxicabs were waiting at the station to convey the girls to Marion's home. The run to the spacious, half-rustic Stanlock residence at the northeast edge of the city occupied about fifteen minutes, and was without notable incident.
The cars passed through a massive iron gateway, up a winding gravel-bedded drive, and stopped near a white pillared pergola connected with the large colonial house by a vine-covered walk running up to a porticoed side entrance.
Mrs. Stanlock met them at the door and the travelers were speedily accommodated with the usual journey-end attentions. Marion then inquired for her father, but Mr. Stanlock had gone to his office early in the day and would not return until dinnertime. So the girl hostess decided that she must let the problem uppermost in her mind rest unsettled a few hours longer.
Evening came, but still Mr. Stanlock did not appear. Wondering at his delay, Mrs. Stanlock called up his office, but learned that he had left an hour and a half before, supposedly for home.
"How did he leave?" Mrs. Stanlock inquired nervously.
"In his automobile," was the answer.
That being the case, he ought to have been home more than an hour ago. His office was in the city and he could easily make the run in fifteen minutes.
Thoroughly alarmed, Mrs. Stanlock called up the police, stated the circumstances and asked that a search be made for her husband.
Two hours more elapsed and the whole neighborhood was alarmed. The news spread rapidly and was communicated by phone to most of Mr. Stanlock's friends and acquaintances throughout the city. The search was growing in scope and sensation. Treachery was suspected, a tragedy was feared.
Then suddenly and calmly, Mr. Stanlock reappeared at home, driving the machine himself. He had a thrilling story to tell of his experiences.
When Marion Stanlock selected the term High Peak as her Camp Fire name, her deliberations carried her back from Hiawatha Institute to the scene of most of the years of her child life in Hollyhill. Confronted with the task of choosing a name, she first consulted her ideals to determine what associations she wished to have in mind when in after years she recalled the motive and circumstances of her selection.
Home surroundings had always had much of beauty for Marion. From the beginning of his business career, Mr. Stanlock had had a large income and was able to supply his family with many of the expensive luxuries, as well as all the so-called necessities of life. But for Marion the artificial luxuries had little special attraction. She accepted them as a matter of course, but that is about all the claim they had upon her. She enjoyed the use of her father's automobiles, but she wondered sometimes at the scheme of things which entitled her to an electric runabout or a limousine and a chauffeur, while thousands of other quite as deserving girls were not nearly as well favored.
The ability and the disposition to look at things occasionally from this point of view contributed much to the generosity of Marion's nature. She was a favorite among rich and poor alike, except among those rich who could "understand" why the wealthy ought to be specially favored, and those poor too narrow and circumscribed to credit any wealthy person with genuine generosity.
Being of this artless and unartificial trend of mind, Marion must naturally turn to either nature or human merit for the selection of her Camp Fire name. She was not sufficiently mature to pick a poetic idea from the achievements of men, and so it fell to nature to supply a quaint notion as a foundation for her "nom-de-fire."
Seated in her room at Hiawatha Institute one evening, Marion cast about her mental horizon for some scene or association in her life that would suggest the desired name. The first that came to her was the picture of a towering mountain, conspicuous not so much for its actual loftiness as for its deceptive appearance of great height. In all her experiences at home, it had never occurred to Marion to think of this individual portion of prehistoric geologic upheaval as a mass of earth and stones. She thought of it only as the most beautiful expression of nature she had ever seen, graceful of form, rich in the seasons' decorations.
This mountain was probably about as slender as it is possible for a mountain to be. Compared, or contrasted, with a nearby and characteristic mountain of the range, it was as a lady's finger to a telescoped giant's thumb. High Peak, as the tapering sugar-loaf of earth was called, was located west of Hollyhill, close to the town. In fact the portion of the city inhabited by the main colony of miners' families was built on the sloping ground that formed a foothill of the mountain.
And so when Marion named herself as a Camp Fire Girl after this mountain she had in mind an ideal expressed in the first injunction of the Law of the Camp Fire, which is to
High Peak was her ideal of beauty and grandeur. It stood also, with her, for lofty aspiration. Thus she pictured the physical representation of the name she chose as a member of the great army of girls who seek romance, beauty, and adventure in every-day life.
On the day when the Flamingo Camp Fire arrived at Hollyhill, another train pulled in at the principal station several hours earlier. It came from the same direction and might, indeed, have borne the thirteen girls and their guardian if they had seen fit to get up early enough to catch a 3 o'clock train.
But the thirteen girls would have been much interested if they could have beheld the eight boy passengers as they got off in a group and looked around to see if there was anyone at the depot who knew any of them.
Relieved at the apparent absence of anybody who might recognize the one of their number whose home was in Hollyhill or another who had been a frequent visitor there, the eight boys hastened to a corner half a square away from the depot and boarded a street car that was waiting for the time to start from this terminal point. The car started almost immediately after they had seated themselves, moving in a southwesterly direction through the business section of the city and then directly west toward High Peak, passing along the northern border of the mining colony and then making a curve to the north through a more prosperous residence district.
The eight boys all wore Scout uniforms. They were the full membership of one Spring Lake patrol, the leader of which was Ernest Hunter, whose home was in Hollyhill, and who had invited all the Scouts of his patrol to be his guests during the holidays. This invitation followed the receipt of information that Marion Stanlock had invited the members of her Camp Fire to spend the Christmas holidays with her.
Ernest Hunter was well prepared to entertain his guests in real scout fashion. His parents' home was not large enough to afford sleeping quarters and other ordinary conveniences for seven visitors in addition to the regular personnel of the family, but the boy had taken care of this deficiency long before he had ever dreamed that it might occur. The Hunter home included a large tract of land running clear up to the foot of the mountain, which, at this point, was rocky and covered with a plentiful growth of white pine, hemlock and black spruce. Hidden behind an irregular heap of boulders and a small timber foreground was a cave, formed by nature and nature's anarchistic elements, that could not fail to delight the most fastidious wonder-seeker. The entrance was about the size of an ordinary doorway, flanked by twin boulders like columns for an arched shelter. Within was a large room with fairly smooth walls and ceiling of Silurian rock and sandstone.
The cave as it now appeared would hardly have been recognized by its aboriginal frequenters. It had been converted into a place of civil abode or resort, retaining only enough of its pristine wildness for romantic effect. Ernie Hunter had done his work well. He had provided for heat for the cave by running a galvanized stovepipe up through a crevice in the rocks and filling with stones and cement all the surrounding vents to guard against the draining in of water from the mountain side. He also collected and stored at home a supply of old mattresses, blankets, kitchen utensils, a laundry stove, and other domestic conveniences usable in a place of this kind. A week before vacation he wrote thus to his 12-year-old brother, Paul:
"I'm going to bring seven boys home with me. We are going to spend the vacation in the mountains, with the cave as headquarters. Will you have the stove hauled there and set up and keep a fire in it a good deal of the time to dry the place out thoroughly? We will come to Hollyhill on an early train, so as to have plenty of time to haul the mattresses and other outfittings to the cave and get it ready for habitation. We will all have guns and will have some great times shooting game. Of course, you will be in on all this."
Paul did as requested. When the patrol arrived at the Hunter home, he reported to his brother that the latter's instructions had been carried out and all was in readiness for the removal of the outing outfit from the storeroom over the garage to the cave. Everything but the mattresses were piled into Mr. Hunter's seven-passenger touring car, the eight boys piled in on top and the first run to their holiday headquarters was made.
As the machine drove up toward the mouth of the cave, the boys were startled at seeing two rough looking men emerge from the entrance and slink away to the south, half hidden by the unevenness of the ground and the thick shrubbery. Their hurried movements and evident desire to avoid meeting the boys marked them as suspicious characters. Fearing that they might have committed some malicious act to render the place uninhabitable, Ernie hastened toward the cave, followed by the other boys, to make an inspection.
Before entering, however, Ernie, who was the patrol leader, asked four of the boys to return and watch the automobile. Division of the patrol with this in view was quickly arranged, and Ernie, Clifford Long, Harry, Gilbert, and Jerry McCracken proceeded into the cave.
The entrance of the cave was protected against the cold by a heavy blanket hung over a pole anchored at either end in the rocky side at the top. Pushing aside this wilderness portiere, the four investigators stepped in, lighting their way with two or three electric flash lights.
They were relieved to discover that no damage had been done to the cave or to the stove set up within. After satisfying themselves on this score they proceeded to replenish the fire, by putting in several cuts of spruce, a good supply of which had been provided by Ernie's brother. The cave was still warm and had been well dried out by the steady fire kept up by Paul for two or three days.
The entire patrol now reassembled and mapped out a plan for completing their day's work. It was decided that Ernie should return in the automobile to his home a mile and a half away and bring the mattresses and a supply of food that was being prepared for them at the house, while the others took upon themselves the task of cutting a supply of brushwood to lay on the floor of the cave as a kind of spring support for the mattresses. Accordingly Ernie got into the machine and drove away, while the other boys got busy with the task assigned to them.
The patrol leader returned, in less than an hour, accompanied by Paul and a farm hand employed by Mr. Hunter. They brought with them not only four mattresses, but the shotguns and rifles shipped by the boys from the academy for their mid-winter hunting. Ernie announced that their trunks and valises also had arrived and that George, the farm hand, would return for them in the automobile.
The work progressed rapidly and by the time the trunks and valises arrived the mattresses were all in position, the food and cooking utensils were stored away in the narrowest compass of space that could be arranged for them and a large pile of resinous wood had been gathered.
It was now 4 o'clock and the boys felt that they were entitled to a rest. A large boulder with a flat end two and a half feet in diameter was rolled into the cave and propped into position, with slabs of stone for a table. On this was placed a large kerosene lamp, which, when burning, lighted up the cave very well. A supply of camp chairs had been brought with the first load, so that everybody had a seat.
"I call this something swell, from the point of view of a smart rustic who hasn't absorbed any city nonsense," observed Miles Berryman, seating himself comfortably in a chair and gazing about with great satisfaction. "I think, Ernie, that we must all agree that you are a very wide-awake opportunist."
"Is that the kind of musician who plays an opportune at every opportunity?" inquired John St. John in a tone of gravity as deep as the cavern in which they were housed.
"Now, see here, Johnnie Two Times," exclaimed Miles portentously: "you know what we came near doing to you six months ago for springing that kind of stuff."
"We came near ducking him in the lake," reminded Earl Hamilton.
"Yes," continued Miles in the attitude of a stage threat, "and if we can't find a lake around here we can find a deep snowdrift to throw him into."
"I wonder if he catches the drift of that argument," said Clifford Long, with a wink at Miles.
"He not only catches it, but he understands, and hence he does snow drift (does know drift) of what the menacing Miles means," declared John, who had long answered to the nickname of "Johnnie Two Times," because of the combination of baptismal and family names by which he was legally known.
A roar of pun-protesting groans filled the cavern, and as several of the boys arose in attitudes of vengeance, the punster made a dive for the exit and disappeared beyond the blanket portiere. None of the protestors followed. They did not feel like engaging in any vigorous sport following the strenuous exercises they had had.
Five minutes later "Johnnie Two Times" returned. One glance at his face was sufficient guarantee that he had lost all his punning facetiousness. He held in his hand a bit of paper which he laid on the stone table by the lamp.
"Read that, boys!" he exclaimed, excitedly. "I found it outside. Those men must have dropped it. They're after Mr. Stanlock—going to hold him up."
The ten other boys needed no second bidding. They crowded around so eagerly that nobody could read.
"Here, I'll read it aloud," said Clifford, picking up the paper and holding it close to the lamp. Here is what he read:
"I will bring Old Stanlock along the foothill pike. Will slow up in the sand stretch. Be there ready to grab him. Jake."
"Boys, we've got to do something," declared Patrol Leader Ernie Hunter, breaking the gaping silence that followed the reading of the note.
"What shall we do?" asked Harry Gilbert, who was a good soldier, but no leader.
"We must go to Mr. Stanlock's rescue," Ernie replied. "There is no telling what those rascals are plotting. They may kill him if we don't get there in time to prevent it."
"It's a long hike, and we may not be able to get there in time," Paul Hunter warned.
"That means we've got to move mighty fast," Ernie said. "Boys, get your guns and a supply of shells. I hope we won't have to use them, but we'd better be well prepared. We're going to be late getting back, so you may as well grab some bread and dried beef and anything else you can find in a jiffy to eat on the way. We've got to start in three minutes. Now everybody hustle.
"Paul, you and Jerry had better run home and stay there till morning," Ernie added, turning to his brother. Jerry was scarcely any larger than Paul, although the latter was a year younger. Ernie felt a slightly nervous responsibility for the safety of the "twin babies of the bunch," as some one had already referred to them in the course of the day. Jerry, who, like Paul, was an extremely likable fellow, resented being called the baby of the patrol, a term sometimes applied to him when the Scouts were dealing in jocular personalities.
"Not much are we goin' home," declared Paul, energetically; "are we, Jerry? I'm goin' along and carry my target rifle with the rest. What do you say, Jerry?"
"I'm with you," the latter announced with spirit. "They can't leave us behind."
"But you can't make the trip fast enough," Ernie insisted.
"We'll have to run part of the way, and the ground is rough, and the snow and ice on the road make it hard traveling. We've got over two miles of that kind of hiking to do, and less than an hour to do it in."
"We can make it just as well as anybody else in this bunch," declared Paul, stoutly.
"Well, come along, then; but you will have to obey orders," said Ernie, speaking as one with military authority. "We're operating under martial law tonight, and if you insist on coming along you must expect to be treated like a soldier. Everybody bring your gun and flashlight. It's cloudy now and will be dark before long."
In scarcely more time than it takes to tell it, the boys had possessed themselves of their guns, flashlights, overcoats, hats, and "a bite to eat on the run," and were dashing out along the path leading down to the road that skirted the foothill to the southward. Presently, however, they slowed down to a "dog trot" at the suggestion of Clifford Long, who warned his fellow Scouts against "tuckering themselves out."
They continued along in this manner half a mile and then, by common consent, reduced their pace to a walking long stride. As they proceeded thus, Ernie said to Clifford Long and one or two others nearest him:
"I'm afraid we've made a mistake in not doing one thing that has just occurred to me. What I ought to have done was to hurry home, got the automobile and made a race for the police station while you boys made this trip. In that way we could 'ave had a double chance of catching those bandits. If everything had gone smoothly, I might even have beaten you boys to the scene of the hold-up with an auto load of police. I could 'ave left word, too, for someone to call up Mr. Stanlock's office and warn him, if by any cause he had been delayed."
"I don't think much of that suggestion," replied Clifford; "for, if they haven't got him started by this time, they're not likely to get him going their way tonight. But the other'd 'a' been a good one. It's too bad you didn't think of it sooner."
"Too late now," said Ernie. "We've got to make the best of it."
"Who do you suppose those two men are that we saw come out of the cave?" Miles Berryman inquired.
"The chances are ninety-nine out of a hundred that this affair is connected directly with the strike," Clifford replied, with confident assurance. "The highwaymen who plotted this scheme doubtless belong to the rougher element of the strikers. They are really dangerous men, and the community would be much safer if they were lodged in prison."
"How do you suppose they got your uncle to come away out here at the time when he usually starts home for dinner—that is, if he really came this way?" asked Hal Ettelson.
"That's the very thing that's bothering me most," Clifford replied, with puzzled air. "Uncle is usually pretty shrewd, and I am pretty certain that people who try to put anything over on him generally find that they have a hard job on their hands."
"I'd take it, from the note Jerry found, that this is a decoy game they're trying to work," Ernie remarked.
"It'd have to be a sharp one to get my uncle," declared Clifford. "He's a very clever business man."
"The smartest men get caught once in a while," was Ernie's sage remark.
"That must have been a chauffeur who wrote that note," observed Johnny St. John. "It read as if a chauffeur was the brains of this plot. If we get there on time, he won't have much to chauffeur it" (show for it).
"Oh, Johnny Twice!" groaned Earl Hamilton. "Don't spoil your good deed of finding that note by springing any more of that stuff. You're taking an unfair advantage of us, for we can't stop now to duck you in a snowdrift."
The road was not broken all the way for good walking, so that the boys were forced to put forth their best efforts in order to reach the place of the plotted ambush on time.
Their pace therefore varied from a rapid walk to a run, according as their "wind" and leg muscles supplied the needed endurance. Paul and Jerry found it pretty hard to keep up with the other boys during the last three-quarters of a mile, especially when they struck a poorly broken snowdrift or a stretch of ground covered with rocks or rough ice. They were quite elated, however, at their ability to keep their feet in these rough places, after seeing two of the larger boys slip and fall.
It was almost dark by the time they reached the vicinity of the "sand stretch" referred to in the note found by "Johnny Two-Times." This stretch was a sand bed of several acres in extent, between which and High Peak was a large stone quarry. The road ran between the "sand stretch," which, of course, was now frozen and covered with snow, and the quarry. The approach to this was sheltered, fortunately for the concealment of the boy rescuers, by a growth of timber extending down the mountain slope to the road.
Ernie called a halt about two hundred yards from the point in the road which appeared the most favorable place for an ambush.
"Let's leave the road and make our way through the trees," he suggested.
"There comes the automobile!" exclaimed Paul, excitedly, pointing down the highway to the southwest.
Yes, a machine was approaching, about two miles away. The long stream of light from the electric lamps could be seen, almost hitting the sky, as the auto began to climb a steep hill. Evidently it had just turned into this highway from another thoroughfare leading direct from the city.
"Come on! We must hurry," said Ernie, dashing into the timber. "Be careful; don't fall or run any branches in your eyes."
They made fairly good progress, considering the difficulties before them and the darkness in the woods. However, they kept close to the edge, where the tree growth was not very heavy and where the snow reflected sufficient light to guide their feet. Ernie ordered that none of the flashlights be used, and perhaps it was fortunate for the success of the expedition that this order was issued and obeyed.
The efforts of the boys were well timed. Everything went like clockwork, or so it afterward seemed. Two shadowy forms were discerned standing in the thicker darkness under the trees as the automobile arrived near the Southern edge of the quarry. The boys were within easy attacking distance from the place where the two men stood. Ernie whispered the word "Halt" loud enough for his companions to hear him. They gathered around their leader, who hurriedly spoke thus:
"Now, everybody listen to me for orders. When I give the word, 'fire,' you, Paul, John, Harry and Jerry, fire your guns into the air. Be careful, and shoot up toward the tops of the trees, so as not to hit anyone. Then I'll give the order to charge, and everybody let out an Indian war-whoop or something of the sort. We won't have to do any more shooting. Now, come on; we'll get closer. Those fellows are starting now."
Even as he spoke, the two villainous individuals, with masks on their faces, dashed out from the timber and planted themselves in front of the automobile, with pistols leveled at the driver. The latter, according to the plan outlined in his note discovered by "Johnny Two-Times," slowed down the machine before the highwaymen appeared. At the command to halt he came to a sudden stop and threw up his hands.
"Ready!—Fire!" commanded Ernie in a loud voice.
Two magazine shotguns and two target rifles exploded in quick succession. Without giving the two hold-up men time to determine whether they had been hit or not, the patrol leader issued his second order, thus:
"Now, boys, after them! Charge! No quarter for the rascals!"
Then followed a scene that, for rapidity of action, is not often surpassed by motion picture speed artists.
If the two masked highwaymen had been crouching in position for a footrace to be started at the shot of a pistol, they could hardly have sprung forward more suddenly or have sped down the road more rapidly. One glance over their shoulders at what doubtless appeared to them to be something like a regiment of armed men was pouring out of the timber, as one of the boys afterward put it, was enough to make them "hot-foot along hot enough to melt all the ice and snow in their path."
All of the boys now produced the flashlights which they had carried in their pockets and turned them on to their own faces, in order that Mr. Stanlock might see who they were and have no doubt that they were friends. This was according to one detail of their pre-arranged plan, and worked successfully. The owner of the automobile recognized his nephew, Clifford Long, and the Scout uniforms worn by the boys, and realized at once that he had been rescued from the hands of a pair of unscrupulous rascals by a company of real boy heroes. He threw open the door, sprang out, and began shaking the hands of his rescuers in grateful appreciation of what they had done for him.
"I don't know what all this means," he said; "but I've got wits enough to understand there's been some pretty tough rascality on foot, and you boys have done me a very great service."
"We were hiking along this way and saw those two men with guns in their hands stop your machine" exclaimed Clifford, who thought it best not to reveal the discovery of the note in the presence of the chauffeur.
"You did mighty good work" declared the wealthy mine operator, enthusiastically.
"Does your Boy Scout training teach you to use your heads so successfully? One would think that this hold-up and the rescue were both plotted and planned some time ahead, judging by the skill with which you worked."
"Don't flatter us too much, uncle, or you may tempt us to help along the deception by leading you to believe that we really are a remarkable bunch of boys," Clifford warned, slyly.
"I not only believe it, but I know it," replied Mr. Stanlock with stubborn generosity. "So, if I am deceived, the fault is all my own. But, Clifford, I didn't know you were in town. When did you come? You haven't been over at the house yet, have you?"
"No, not yet, uncle," Clifford answered, slowly. "And I'm not coming over for a few days. The fact is, we are here on a hunting trip and a mystery mission, and we want you to help us keep our secret. Since we have proved ourselves to be a very unusual lot of boys, perhaps you will take special care to favor us in this respect. We are planning a surprise on the girls, and we don't want you to tell them we are in town."
"My lips are sealed until you unseal them," Mr. Stanlock assured them. "But where are you staying?"
"All of us are members of one patrol of Scouts at Spring Lake Academy, all except Paul Hunter. We came here on an invitation from Ernie Hunter, and we are living in a cave at the west end of Mr. Hunter's farm."
"In a cave!" Mr. Stanlock exclaimed with some concern. "Isn't that rather an unhealthful place for you to live? You don't sleep there, I hope?"
"We certainly do, uncle; or, rather, we are going to, for this is our first night. I wish you could come over and see it. It's as dry and warm as can be. Paul dried it out by keeping a stove burning in it for several days."
"A stove in a cave!" was Mr. Stanlock's astonished comment. "That is surely some combination of wild nature and mechanical civilization. I shall certainly inspect your domesticated wild-and-woolly retreat. When am I invited to come?"
"Any time, Mr. Stanlock," Ernie interposed, with the hospitality of host. "Name your time and we'll be there to receive you."
"You'll have quite a walk to the cave tonight, and the walking isn't very good, I venture. Pile in and I'll take you in the machine."
"I'm afraid we'll make more of a load than you can carry," said Ernie.
"This machine can carry seven, nine in a pinch, and eleven in a case of life and death," assured Mr. Stanlock. "But I've got an idea that will cut off the life and death. I am bringing home a large sled that a young manual training student made for my seven-year-old son, Harold. It has a good, strong rope attached, and we will hitch it on behind, and two of you boys can ride on that."
"Let's you and me hitch," said Paul to Jerry, eagerly. Jerry was just as eager, and the problem of carrying ten passengers and the chauffeur was settled.
"One of you boys get in front with Jake and show him the way," suggested the owner of the automobile.
"Jake!" The utterance of that name sent a thrill through every one of the boys, all of whom recognized it as the name signed to the note that "Johnny Two-Times" had found near the cave.
Ernie climbed up with the driver, the sled was taken out and hitched on behind, and six of the boys "piled in" with Mr. Stanlock. As soon as Paul and Jerry called out "Go ahead," they started.
It was not quite as jolly an adventure for the two boys on the sled as they had expected. The road was pretty rough and, although the chauffeur, obeying his employer's instruction, drove carefully, the "hitchers" were twice thrown off.
But they refused to give up, declaring it to be the most fun they had had "in a coon's age," which was really a boys' bravery fib, and finally the machine drew up within a hundred and fifty feet of the cave.
The boys and Mr. Stanlock left the automobile in charge of the driver and proceeded to the Scouts' hunting headquarters. The visitor proved that he had not lost all sympathy for his youthful days, for he declared that he would like nothing better than to return to his 'teens and spend a mid-winter vacation with the young hunters in their cave. After the inspection was completed, Clifford again broached the subject of the highwaymen's attack, saying:
"Uncle, we didn't tell you how we happened to be present when those two men stopped you tonight, because we didn't want the chauffeur to hear what we had to say. The whole story is contained in this note, which one of the boys found after we had seen those men come out of the cave and hurry away. Here it is; read it. As you are more interested in it than anybody else, you may keep it."
Clifford drew the folded paper from his vest pocket and gave it to Mr. Stanlock. The latter held it close to the lamp and read.
"That's Jake, my driver; it's his handwriting I'm certain. What did be want to do that for? He must be in league with the worst element of the strikers. Probably they paid him well for this, or promised him a tempting bribe."
Mr. Stanlock mused thus aloud as he studied over the note. The situation puzzled him. What ought he to do? Of course, he must have the driver arrested, and there must be an investigation by the police. But, would it be safe for him to trust Jake to drive him home? Probably it would be safe enough, for doubtless the driver had no desire to be openly connected with the plot.
He was about decided to return home with the driver and say nothing to him about the note, when a slight noise at the entrance attracted the attention of all. Listening carefully, they could hear the sound of retreating footsteps.
"That's Jake," Mr. Stanlock exclaimed. "He overheard us. After him, or he'll run away with the machine."
The rush for the entrance threatened to cause some confusion and delay in getting out. Fortunately, however, the delay, if any, was not serious, and the pursuit soon indicated that there were some real sprinters among the boys. As they emerged from the cave, the driver was already within fifty feet of the machine. But he looked back over his shoulder and evidently thought better of his original purpose, for he turned to the left and raced down the hill toward the road at another point, leaping and striding with such recklessness that it seemed almost miraculous that he should escape a fall and serious injury.
Mr. Stanlock had no desire to attempt a capture of the traitorous chauffeur by physical force, and when he saw that Jake had given up the idea of fleeing in the automobile, he called the pursuit off. Then he announced his intention to drive the machine home himself, taking the route that led past Mr. Hunter's home. He had no fear of further trouble with the driver or his confederates, for he was certain that Jake was a coward at heart and the two highwaymen could hardly have arrived in the vicinity of the cave on foot, since they were driven off in mad haste in the opposite direction, even if they had been disposed to make another attack.
"Well, good-night, boys," he said, taking his place in the driver's seat. "You've done me a service tonight that I won't forget very soon. Come and see me, all of you, after you have sprung your surprise on the girls. I'll remember to keep your secret all right. Good night."
He put his foot on the starter, gave the steering wheel a few turns, and the throbbing machine moved over the sloping stretch of ground between the cave and the road. The boys, several of them with guns in their hands, followed him to the road and stood there ready to run to his assistance if they should see any evidences of another attack. They continued the watch for fifteen or twenty minutes, until the lights of the automobile, which pierced the darkness far ahead, indicated that he had proceeded between one and two miles without interference.
Perhaps it were better not to attempt to describe with faithfulness of detail the reception given Mr. Stanlock by his wife and family on his return home shortly before 9 o'clock that night. The fear that something of serious nature had intervened to prevent his appearing at the usual dinner hour had taken firm hold of Mrs. Stanlock, Marion, sister Kathryn, and brother Harold. The fact that the police had been searching for him for two hours or more and had been unable to make any hopeful report, had not tended in the least to relieve the tension of suspense, which became almost unbearable.
Then came the vague announcement from Mr. Stanlock's stenographer at the latter's home that he had been called away somewhere, but left no definite information. He had been called unexpectedly and left in a hurry. That was all the stenographer could say.
This information was communicated to the police, who increased the family's alarm by asking a string of questions over the telephone indicating the most direful suspicions. Had Mr. Stanlock seen or heard anything which caused him to believe that the strikers might do him bodily harm if they had an opportunity? Had he received any threatening letters? Had he appeared nervous or was there anything in his manner which indicated that he was apprehensive of trouble not already well known to the public?
Marion and her mother answered some of these questions over the telephone and half an hour later a police lieutenant called at the house and made further inquiry. There was no longer any possibility of dodging the most logical suspicions, namely, that Mr. Stanlock was the victim of a decoy plotted by some criminal element working with or under the shadow of the coal miners' strike.
And so the relief from this dread suspense was very great when he drove up to the house and walked in, smiling as if nothing unusual had happened. Marion fairly flew into her father's arms as if she had not seen him for sixteen months.
"Papa!" she cried almost hysterically; "where have you been? We've been telephoning all over the city, and the police have been searching for you for nearly two hours. Why didn't you call us up and let us know you were going to be late?"
"I was intending to call you, my dear," replied Mr. Stanlock, as he greeted her and the other members of the family with a rapid succession of hugs and kisses, indicating, in spite of his attempts to appear composed, that he had returned home not under the most ordinary circumstances.
"Why didn't you?" Marion insisted. "Do you know what a state of mind you had us in during the last two or three hours?"
"I delayed calling you because I wanted to find out how late I was going to be," Mr. Stanlock explained. "Then something happened, and I wasn't near a telephone, and something more delayed me, and I decided to come directly home without stopping on the way to telephone."
"What was it that happened, papa?" Marion demanded. "Was it anything serious?"
"Pretty serious, girlie," answered her father, pinching her cheek; "but your daddy is an awfully brave man, you know, and he can't tell his daughter any of his blood-curdling experiences unless she can listen to the roaring of cannons and the yelling of Indians without flinching."
"Now, papa, you're making fun of me," Marion protested. "Didn't anything really serious happen? The police thought you must have been waylaid."
"I see there's no way out of it, and I shall have to tell you girls a story that will make you all scream and dream nightmares filled with revolvers and skulking figures and masked faces and lonely highways."
All of the thirteen members and the Guardian of Flamingo Camp Fire, Marion's mother, sister, and brother were present at this scene in the big living room of the Stanlock home. Mr. Stanlock covertly watched the faces of his auditors and was pleased to note that his bandying words were rapidly bringing the tension back to normal. Young Master Harold at this point helped his father's purpose along remarkably by piping forth:
"It's mighty funny if a man can't be out after dark without a lot o' women jumpin' on 'im."
Nobody with a grain of humor in his soul, if that is where the sense of fun is located, could have restrained a laugh at that remark. In a moment it would have been difficult for any one of those present to realize how tragically serious they had all been a few minutes before.
After the chorus of laughter had subsided, Mr. Stanlock sat down in a large upholstered armchair, and remarked to his unconsciously brilliant son:
"You are a great protector of women-oppressed man, aren't you, Harold. Your chief virtue along this line is your ability to get the philosophical high spots of every-day gossip. But don't stop there, my able young advocate. Do you realize that your father has had no dinner and that this exacting bevy of girls is going to force me to suffer the pangs of hunger until I have told my story?"
"I just told Mary (the head maid) to get your dinner ready," Mrs. Stanlock interposed smilingly. "You won't need to go hungry more than fifteen minutes longer."
"I see that you don't appreciate an eager and attentive audience," Marion remarked, affecting to be deeply offended in behalf of her guests. "Very well, we'll wait until after you have satisfied a mere man's appetite, and then we'll condescend to listen."
"Oh, I can tell it in fifteen minutes while Mary is warming over the meat and potatoes. Now, get ready, all you young ladies, for the first shock. I was really and truly held up."
"Held up!" exclaimed several of the girls in chorus.
"Yes, held up, with guns pointed at the chauffeur's head by two masked men on a lonely highway."
"You're joking," said Marion, dubiously.
"All right," said the mine owner, settling back comfortably in his chair. "You insisted on my telling my story, and now that I have begun it, you won't believe my first sentence."
"Yes, I do believe it, papa," Marion said repentantly, going close to her father's chair and putting her arm around his neck. "I believe you were held up by two masked highwaymen with guns in a lonely spot, as you say. But how did you escape?"
"We were rescued by some boys!"
Although at the end of a sentence, Mr. Stanlock stopped so quickly that only a dull person could fail to notice it. His sudden stop, of course, was occasioned by the return to his mind of his promise to keep the secret of the Boy Scouts.
"Boys," said Mrs. Stanlock, wonderingly. "I didn't know that we had any heroes of that type in Hollyhill."
"They were some young fellows out hunting," explained the narrator. "They witnessed the hold-up and leveled their guns at the rascals and drove them away."
"Who are those boys?" Marion demanded, and one might almost have imagined from her manner that she had half a kingdom to bestow on the rescuers of her father.
"I'm afraid I can't give you their names," Mr. Stanlock replied slowly.
"You don't mean to say that you let them get away without finding out who they were, do you?" his daughter inquired with just a shade of indignation.
"No, not exactly that, for I can easily get all their names any time I want them. But I know also that they don't wish to get into the newspapers in connection with this affair."
"Can't you tell me who some of them are, papa?" Marion pleaded. "I want to know who it was that, perhaps, saved the life of my father."
"I can't tell you now, Marion. I have promised faithfully not to reveal their identity at present for very good reasons which they gave to me."
"Where is Jake, the driver, Henry?" asked Mrs. Stanlock. "I see you drove home alone."
"Jake proved himself to be a scoundrel and a traitor and when he discovered that I had found him out he vamoosed. I expect to swear out a warrant for his arrest tomorrow. Shortly before my usual time for coming home, I received a letter by messenger, supposedly from Mr. Mills, chairman of a special hospital committee that is looking after the sick members of striking miners' families. I had been expecting a call of a meeting and this letter stated that it was important that I be present. He lives out on the Foothill pike near the quarries. I thought that I would make a quick run out there and call you up from his home and let you know how late I would be. Well, I didn't get there. It seems that Jake was one of the conspirators in a plot to get me out there and waylay me. By the way, that makes me think I ought to call Mills up and find out if he did call a meeting. The notice was on his stationery and it is just possible that wasn't a fake."
In a few moments Mr. Stanlock was talking with Mills on the phone. The latter was astonished, declared that he had no idea of calling a meeting that night.
"Well, it's lucky I kept the notice," the mining president muttered. "That'll be something interesting to show to the police tomorrow."