The singing of the guide seemed to bring a spell upon them, for thereafter, that night, they talked little and laughed less. Yet this was undoubtedly because they were tired and sleepy and more than ready to seek their beds of piled leaves.
All were astir early the following morning. Immediately after breakfast they continued the descent to the lake, and, following the shore, encountered many obstacles, being compelled more than once to enter the water in order to avoid climbing over precipitous rocks. And as they went along, each one made careful notes of things seen and done; for it had been decided that the scout who showed the most knowledge of woodcraft and who wrote the best—that is, the clearest, fullest, yet most concise—report of the hike should be appointed leader of the signal corps.
In the course of the morning, as they were almost upon level ground again, not very far from Oakvale meadows and the town itself, Joe suddenly disappeared into the woods.
This was strange conduct, indeed, and they marveled at it no less than at his uncanny ability to slip from sight like an animal of the forest. They called and sought for him in vain, and Hugh and Spike were growing decidedly uneasy, when Joe was seen running toward them through the underbrush, apparently in great excitement.
“See um, see um?” he gasped, pointing through the trees and across the narrow valley, where, on the brow of a hill, Lieutenant Denmead’s party could be seen, with the aid of Alec’s field-glasses, making their way down.
“Yes, yes, we see. They got here before us, Joe.”
“Good t’ing! Good t’ing we get out of de woods. Woods a-fire! See!” He pointed up the hill they had just descended, and they saw a column of dark smoke rising against the sky. “Wind blow fire dis way. Comin’ soon, quick!”
“Je-ru-salem!” exclaimed “Spike” Welling.
“That’s so, that’s true!” Billy added excitedly. “What are we going to do now?”
“Hugh!” cried Alec, grabbing his rival’s arm. “See that old farmhouse over there?”
“Yes, I see it. What of——?”
“It’s right in the path of the fire that’s sweeping down this hill!”
Hugh sprang forward.
“Boys, it’s up to us!” he shouted. “Thank fortune, we’ve got our signal flags and heliograph with us! When the other half of our party starts for the town on the run, we’ve got to signal to them, telling them just where the fire is; then they can tell the firemen in Oakvale what to do.”
“Save that farmhouse!” yelled Alec. “Come on, boys! Out here on this high rock with me! Now, get out your flags!”
The crack of Joe’s rifle burst upon the warm morning air.
“That’ll attract their attention to us!” Hugh called out. “Ready now! Come on, begin the messages. Work those flags as we’ve never worked them before!”
While Alec and Blake remained at their post of duty on the rock, exchanging messages with Lieutenant Denmead’s half of the corps—who, as soon as they understood the need, hurried across the meadow, entered the town, and went directly to the only engine house of which Oakvale could boast,—Hugh and Spike hastened back some distance up the hill, to see whence the fire was coming and how far it had already spread. Joe, on his part, decided to set out for the farmhouse to give warning, if it should be necessary. He lingered only to make sure that Alec’s and Blake’s sendings were received and understood by the others in the town.
In the excitement attending the discovery of the fire, when he leaped down from the rock to follow Spike up hill, Hugh lost his little leather-covered tablet or note-book in which he had jotted down memoranda of the march. That is, it fell from his pocket and lay at the base of the rock upon which Alec and Blake stood waving and wig-wagging.
Alec saw it fall, and an expression of mean satisfaction stole over his face. Clambering down from the rock, for a moment, he ground the little note-book into the soft earth with his heel, then took up his position once more.
He did not see Joe watching this act, nor did he count on the halfbreed’s secret preference for Hugh. He only realized that without these notes Hugh would be unable to write a good report of the hike, and would therefore fail to win the leadership of the signal corps.
To their surprise, Hugh and Spike found that the breeze, instead of blowing the fire up hill, as it ordinarily would do, was sending it down the slope from a point about half way from the summit; also, that the fire was spreading in an irregular semi-circle which would sweep over the farm as it advanced. They made strenuous efforts to stamp out the end of the blazing curve by beating it with branches torn from a young sapling, and succeeded in getting a very small part of it under control.
Fortunately, the ground was covered thickly with leaves and leaf-mould, damp after recent rains, and so the tongues of flame rose no higher than the lowest branches of the trees, which they licked greedily and then passed on, seeking whatever they might devour.
Finding their best efforts of little avail, Spike and Hugh hastened to rejoin their companions.
When they came to the rock, they found the others had gone on.
“Probably they’ve gone to the farmhouse,” said Spike. “Come on, Hugh! Which way? Hurry!”
“Look!” Hugh responded, glancing around and pointing to a huge fir tree, upon the trunk of which an arrow was freshly blazed. “There’s one of Joe’s signs. They’ve gone in the direction this arrow points.”
“I wond-wonder—what—sort o’ help the lieutenant and—and his scouts found—found in the vil-village?” panted Spike, as they ran on down hill, plunging through clumps of second-growth pines, now slipping over the smooth brown “needles,” now crashing through masses of trailing vines and tall ferns.
“Nothing but a one-horse engine and-and a bucket brigade, most likely!” Hugh replied, coughing in the smoke that came drifting between the trees.
Presently they emerged from the wood and came out upon the wide clearing in the center of which stood the farmhouse, the big red barn, and a group of smaller buildings. Before them lay a swampy meadow, evidently a hog-pasture, surrounded by a rail fence; on their right extended an orchard whose trees were heavy with green fruit; beyond that, a cornfield glistened in the sunlight; and, still further, acres of waving grain swayed lightly as the breeze passed over them. Strange to say, not an animal nor a human being save themselves was to be seen, and an uncanny silence reigned over the farm.
Hugh vaulted over the rail fence, followed by Spike, and together they began to pick their way as rapidly as possible across the pasture.
“Lucky thing this is swampy,” remarked Hugh, “because the fire won’t be able to crawl over this—ugh!—muck, and get near the barn.”
“No; but don’t forget it is creeping around from that side,” Spike answered gloomily. “There’s where the danger lies.”
“You’re right. But where on earth are the rest of the crowd? Is this place deserted?”
“Looks so, certainly. Hello! There’s someone coming from the house!”
Even as he spoke, an old woman appeared in the doorway and came forth, shading her eyes with one hand and blinking anxiously around her. Catching sight of the two youths as they ran toward her, she called out:
“Fer th’ land’s sake! More o’ yer! Boys, is it true there’s a fire broke out on ther mountain? Two boys an’ a wild-lookin’ man come along here, ’bout half an hour ago, yellin’ like demons from ther pit, and they scart me an’ my ol’ man out o’ our senses!”
“They told the truth, ma’am,” said Spike, with breathless politeness.
“But don’t be alarmed,” Hugh added reassuringly. “It may not be a very dangerous fire, and we’ve sent for help from Oakvale. Are you alone here? I mean, is there anyone who——?”
“Nary a soul but me and Jake,” returned the old woman. “Jake Walsh is my husband; he’s laid up in bed with the rheumatiz,” she added, by way of explanation, “an’ our son Tom’s gone to town with the calves.”
“Are there any cattle in the barn?” inquired Hugh.
“The ol’ bay-mare—but ye can’t call her cattle,” was the answer. “Ther cows is all in that meadow, yonder. But ther barn’s full o’ hay!”
In a flash, both boys thought of the destruction that wind-driven sparks might create, if they should chance to light upon that dry old barn.
“Oh, what’ll I do? What’ll I do?” wailed the poor woman, wringing her hands as she began to realize the seriousness of the situation. “I never dreamed as there’d be any danger o’ fire in the woods this summer, though Tom has often ernough spoke o’ folks’ carelessness a-lightin’ fires an’ leavin’ ’em lay. I can’t leave Jake! I can’t get away from here with him not able ter walk! An’ Tom’s took ther only wagon we have! Oh, what——?”
“We’ll help you, Mrs. Walsh,” declared Hugh. “Besides, the village fire-brigade will be here soon.
“Spike, you’d better climb up that windmill, and see if you can communicate with the village,” he added, and Welling hastened to obey.
“I can see the engine-house,” Spike called down, a few minutes later. “There’s a little tower on it, and someone is up in the tower, waving a flag. It’s Don Miller; I can tell by the way he jerks the flag. He’s sending: ‘We get your message now—fire brigade rushed to farm—close by—do your best.’”
They did their best, too. Long before the little engine-and-hose-cart had reached the outskirts of the farm, they had carried old Jake Walsh on an improvised litter out of the house and some distance away to an abandoned cellar, roofed over with boards and sods. Leaving him there in charge of his wife, they had returned to the farmyard, drawn buckets of water from the well, poured them over the roof and walls of the dwelling, and had begun “policing” the farmyard, watching for sparks, when they were surprised and relieved to hear shouts at a distance.
The shouts seemed to come from the wood. They were accompanied by the thud of many galloping hoofs and a crashing through the thick underbrush.
Presently more than a dozen horsemen dashed into view, brandishing long poles wrapped with wet blankets. They were the advance guard of the fire-fighters, who had galloped to the scene along an old disused logging road through the woods. Without stopping to ask needless questions, these horsemen turned and made off at full speed, spiralling up the hill in single file, shouting and calling as they rode.
“Wish we could follow them!” said Hugh, gazing after the vanishing forms until they disappeared in the shadows of the forest and their shouts became mere echoes. “But I guess we’ll have our work cut out for us here.”
“That’s just what I was thinking,” answered Spike ruefully.
The two youths did not waste much time in unavailing wishes. Every now and then they ran to the outskirts of the farm and penetrated a little way into the wood, to learn, if they could, whether the fire was drawing nearer. Not being thoroughly acquainted with the topography of this particular tract of land, they did not know what obstacles the fire might meet in its path, such as green hollows, cup-like bogs in the depressions of the hills, streams, or even small ponds. All these were possible, for the country for miles and miles around Pioneer Camp was unusually varied.
As it chanced, there was a swiftly flowing brook—which in places widened to the size of a small stream—not far away, on the edge of the pasture where a few cows were stolidly grazing; and this stream was the hope of old Jake Walsh, the one bulwark against the attack of the dreadful enemy. On their tour of the farm, Hugh and Spike discovered this running stream, and they realized its value as a means of defence.
The worst danger, as they knew, was from flying sparks; so they kept a careful watch for these. Two old straw-stacks in the barnyard would go like tinder, if these were once ignited, and Mr. Walsh advised the boys to draw water from the horse-tank under the windmill, climb the stacks, and “souse ’em good an’ plenty.”
“I’d help ye, if I only could!” groaned Jake Walsh, after giving this urgent advice. “But, consarn these old good-fer-nothin’ limbs o’ mine! they ain’t a bit o’ use no more. I might’s well have one foot in ther grave as have my whole livin’ carkiss laid up like this!”
“Come, now; never you mind, Jake,” soothed his wife. “Me an’ ther boys is lively lads, and we’ll take good care o’ them stacks.” This was more easily said than done; nevertheless, with Hugh perched aloft on top of the stack, and with Spike and old Mrs. Walsh forming a bucket-brigade and handing pails of water up to him, the task was somehow accomplished.
In the midst of their labors they paused, hearing the sound of wheels along the road.
“Perhaps that’s your son returning?” suggested Spike.
“No, it ain’t him,” declared Mrs. Walsh, putting her hand to her ear. “Tom took ther heavy farm waggin, and it would make a louder noise than that. Besides, Polly always whinnies when she’s nearin’ home, an’ ther ol’ mare answers her.”
“It’s a horse and buggy,” Hugh announced from his look-out. “There comes another, with three men in it. Hand me one more bucket-full, Spike, old scout. Now! I guess we’ve soused the stack enough.”
He slid down the slippery side of the straw-stack, and the three workers awaited the coming of the first arrivals from the village.
“I’m goin’ back to see how my ol’ man’s gettin’ on; he’s like to be fussin’ an’ frettin’,” said Mrs. Walsh. “If Tom’s come back in thet buggy, leavin’ the waggin ter be fetched later, he’ll know what ter do now.”
So saying, she walked slowly away to the warm, dry cellar where her husband directed the proceedings like a general on a battlefield.
In a few minutes the buggy rattled into the farmyard, and Tom Walsh and his two companions sprang from it to pour a volley of questions and thanks upon the two boys. It was not long before the farmyard became the scene of a motley gathering of Oakvale’s livelier inhabitants, men, women, and children, who drove up in all sorts of vehicles, including automobiles, and brought every conceivable implement for fighting a forest fire. Most of them did not linger there long, but set out for the woods.
Billy Worth arrived on horseback.
“’Twasn’t possible to fetch the hosecart all this way up here,” explained Tom, “but we got everything else we could lay hands on.”
Presently, in a large touring-car owned by a resident of Oakvale, came Lieutenant Denmead, Walter, Arthur, and Cooper, and they brought with them Alec and Blake, whom they had picked up on the way. By unanimous wish, the scouts lost no time in hurrying to the woods after the other fire-fighters, and all did yeoman service in putting out the blaze.
Late in the afternoon the fire was finally extinguished. Fortunately the Walsh farm escaped damage, except for a blaze in a thatched cow-shed, and the farmer and his wife and son were deeply grateful. Mrs. Walsh insisted on serving supper to all who had remained until the danger was over; and when it was generally learned that the prompt arrival of the motley fire brigade was due to the warning given by the young signalers,—for, strange to say, the smoke in the woods had not been considered alarming by the village folk, who were used to camping parties among the hills,—Lieutenant Denmead’s corps were the guests of honor at that “spread.”
And such a feast it was! After all the work and excitement, they were as hungry as wolves, and the simple supper of ham and eggs, crisp fried potatoes, pancakes and honey, washed down with copious glasses of fresh milk, was a banquet fit for the gods! Afterward, they were invited to spend the night in the hayloft of the barn, if they chose; but the Scout Master thought it best to decline this kindly, apologetic invitation and to resume the trip back to camp. Accordingly they took leave of the Walshes, and set forth, with well-filled stomachs and light hearts, glad of another opportunity to camp out in the open that night.
Before noon of the following day they reached Pioneer Camp and were hailed as conquering heroes by their friends.
On the return march, Hugh discovered the loss of his note-book. However, he said nothing to anyone, not even to Billy. The blow was hard to bear, the accident crushing to his hopes of leadership; but he knew he had only himself to blame, and he resolved to accept the mischance with a good grace.
“Hist, old man!” Dick Bellamy whispered, slipping out of his bunk. “Something is up, and I can’t make out what it is. Don’t say anything,—just keep quiet and use your ears.”
Alec, strangely thrilled, listened intently. The sounds Dick had heard, and which now came to Alec distinctly, consisted of a muffled scraping outside the side wall of the cabin, at the window. Some one was working at the catch.
It was long after “taps” and all the other scouts of the Otter and the Fox patrols were sound asleep in the cabin; that is, all save Alec, who, being restless because of a troubled conscience, had been startled by the vision of his friend bending over him in the darkness.
“What d’you think it is?” was Dick’s question.
“Go to sleep again, Dick; it’s nothing,” Alec retorted scornfully. And the next instant he marred the effect of his own words by asking: “What on earth do you suppose it can be?”
“A bear, perhaps,—or the mate of Hugh’s bobcat.”
“Nonsense! There are no bears around here, Joe says, and you ought to know that a bob——”
“Speak lower, Alec. It may be one of those Canuk lumberjacks from the camp in the back-woods. You remember, Pioneer Camp was robbed last summer, and there was a row over the affair.”
“You certainly have a lively imagination, Dick! Do you think a thing like that is going to happen again so soon?”
“Well, why not? You can’t trust any one of those toughs. I heard cook say so once, and then he shut up like a clam ’cause he thought Joe might hear him. Joe’s respected father was a Canuk, you know. Someone is up to some treachery.”
The last word grated upon Alec’s ears. “Treachery?” he repeated. “You mean——? You accuse—Joe?”
“You were foolish to show off that roll of bills your father sent you to buy camera supplies with, this afternoon,” was the whispered response.
Alec gave a low laugh.
“What’s eating you, Dick, anyway? You’re twice as foolish to talk that way. Joe might hear you. Besides, he’s as honest as the daylight. Do you think the Chief would employ him if——”
“Hark! There’s that noise again. I’ll bet someone is stealing into the cabin.”
“Why doesn’t he steal in through the door, then?”
“Afraid he’ll make too much noise, I guess. He’d rather take his chance of coming through a hole in the wall.”
“He’s making more noise than he would by using the door,” said Alec. “We’ll nail him when he gets inside. If it’s some of the fellows from the other cabin, Dick, we’ll force them to——Get up, then, and get ready for business.”
Silently the two lads swung to a sitting posture on the edge of their bunks, and, with straining eyes, peered through the thick gloom toward the wall from which the muffled sounds were coming. Suddenly, as they watched and waited, the lower sash of the window,—which, by the way, was next to Alec’s bunk,—was raised slowly, and a man’s head and shoulders appeared against the lighter background of silvery moonbeams. This human figure silhouetted itself sharply in the opening, evidently not striving for concealment, and an arm was thrust through. It seemed to be groping around in the darkness of the log-house, and finally a hand rapped softly on Alec’s bunk, almost touching his leg.
Alec crawled to the foot of his bed, slipped down, and stepped to Dick’s side. Dick also rose, and the two moved noiselessly upon the prowler.
The man grunted and breathed hard, while crawling through the window. Just as he was on the point of tugging at Alec’s pillow, both Alec and Dick seized him. Like a flash, he turned, without making a sound; it seemed that he was astounded, for a moment.
Yet his amazement was quite apart from the surprise of the unexpected seizure. A gurgling laugh sounded in his throat.
“You got me! You th’ boy I want to see,” he chuckled, turning to Alec.
The moonlight fell full upon his swarthy face.
“Joe!” gasped Alec. “What are you doing here at this time of night?”
“Want to see you,” explained the half breed, in a whisper.
“Me? What for? Why didn’t you tell me what you want after we got back yesterday?” Alec’s nervousness betrayed itself in the tones of his voice. “You could have spoken to me last evening at the council-fire. What’s the——?”
“No time then, no time to-morrow.”
“That’s so. I forgot we—the signal corps—are going to Oakvale to-morrow. The Chief told us last night, Dick, that Major Brookfield invited us to join his headquarters’ staff of signalers in the maneuvers, and so we’re going to the National Guard camp for a few days. Major Brookfield was in Oakvale yesterday, and the Chief saw him there. The major was pleased with the signal work we did during the fire.”
Dick Bellamy heard only a few words of Alec’s news. He kept his eyes fixed upon the face of the guide, wondering if by any unlucky chance Joe had overheard any of the insinuations which he, Dick, had uttered. At heart Dick was afraid of “Injun Joe,” as he called him—behind his back.
“Want to see you, Alec,” repeated Joe, moving toward the door, which, as Alec and Dick had forgotten, was locked on the inside. “Come out with me—out there.”
Something authoritative in his voice and manner made Alec obey without protest. Unbolting the door as noiselessly as possible in order not to waken the sleepers, and leaving Dick to crawl back to his bunk, the Indian and the white boy glided out into the open space between the two cabins, and stood facing each other in the moonlight.
“Joe find somethin’ to-day,” began the guide, fumbling in the pocket of his coat.
“Something of mine? Something that belongs to me?”
“No.”
“Why do you give it to me, then?”
“Becos you’re a scout, becos Joe a scout, too!” Joe’s unusually stolid features relaxed in a grim smile. “You no un’erstan’?”
Clad only in his pajamas, Alec shivered; but not entirely because of the chill night air on his body. The presence of the man before him, the vague reproach conveyed in Joe’s softly guttural tones, gave, him a curious “creepy” sensation of cold and a weakness in the knees.
“What-what is it?” he questioned, extending his hand.
“Here. You take this.”
Joe handed the boy a small, thin, oblong thing that felt damp and gritty to Alec’s touch.
“What is it? What shall I do with it? Oh, Joe, is it that book of trout flies you promised to sell me?” asked Alec eagerly.
Joe grunted, and gave his broad shoulders an expressive shrug.
“Wait,” he mumbled; “wait and see.”
Whereupon, with another shrug, he turned and strode rapidly away in the direction of his tent.
Alec looked down at the object in his hand. In the moonbeams he could scarcely make out what it was, for it was covered with mud-stains. Mechanically he opened it and turned what seemed to be pages soiled and crumpled and badly torn. All at once he uttered a little exclamation of astonishment.
“Oh!” he breathed. “It’s Hugh Hardin’s note-book!”
* * * * * * * *
When the signal corps reached the camp of the National Guard, late in the following afternoon,—having made the trip over to the Oakvale meadows on foot as far as Rainbow Lake, and thence in Tom Walsh’s farm wagon,—they were at once taken to Major Brookfield’s quarters and introduced to that officer. He received them with a genuine cordiality that straightway won their hearts, and he assigned them to the Blue Army.
“There is to be a sham battle next Saturday,” he told them, “and the Blues feel that they will be beaten because they are fighting the regulars, who compose the majority of the Reds, though they, the Blues, outnumber their foes. I want you boys to do all you can to save the day. Who is the leader of this corps, Lieutenant?”
“We have not yet elected a leader, Major Brookfield,” answered Scout Master Denmead, “owing to the fact that we hadn’t time, before coming here, to apply the last test which I had decided upon. You see, we left camp rather hurriedly this morning, in order to be here on time for the beginning of the maneuvers.”
“I understand. Well, it won’t make any difference, anyway. Perhaps the work these lads are going to do with us may be counted further toward some one’s election.”
“That’s an excellent idea.”
“The first ‘job’ you’ll have,” continued the Major, addressing his attentive listeners, “is to go out ahead with a detachment of Blues and help lay telegraph wires. I presume most of you are pretty well grounded in elementary surveying?”
The scouts replied by saluting.
“Well, then, follow my aide here, and he’ll put you in charge of the captain.”
In orderly array, the eight scouts of the signal corps left headquarters and were duly presented to the captain in command of the detachment of Blues. Their work began that very evening, for they were ordered to proceed from camp and take possession of a high mound east of the village, a strategic point which the Reds coveted, because it commanded telegraphic communication with Oakvale.
By the time this mound had been scaled and captured, after a skirmish with a few Red defenders, the eight new recruits, albeit thrilled by their first experience of mock warfare, were thoroughly tired. Wrapped in their blankets, they stretched themselves on the grassy slope of the mound.
“We’re safe enough here, and we can be comfortable,” said Alec to Walter Osborne.
“Good fun, this,” was Walter’s sleepy comment. “I’m going to sleep with one eye open.” He pulled the blanket over him, and yawned. “Forty winks for me, this night!”
“Forty-four thousand, you mean! I have a life-size picture of you sleeping with one eye open, after all we’ve been through to-day! Well, I’m dog-weary. Good night, old scout, and pleasant dreams.”
“Same to you, Alec.”
“You fellows shut up and go to sleep!” came Cooper Fennimore’s voice: out of the darkness. “Hi, there, Arthur! Quit punching me in the ribs!”
“Never touched you,” protested Arthur, in a drowsy drawl.
“Hugh, why so silent?” demanded Sam.
“Hugh is studying astronomy, fellows,” Blake Merton declared.
“No, I’m not,” said Hugh. “I was just thinking that ’way off in Pioneer Camp ‘taps’ is sounding now, and Billy the Wolf is wishing he were here with us. Good old Billy! Hope he wasn’t very much disappointed about not making the corps.”
It was characteristic of Hugh Hardin to wish that his chum might share adventures and good-fortune with him.
Suddenly, across Alec’s drowsy consciousness stole a slight jealousy of Billy Worth. Never had he felt this before; never had he wished that he and Hugh might be friends with no indifference on Hugh’s part toward him, and no hostility on his own. Surely if Billy Worth, whom Alec really liked, found Hugh worthy of respect and regard, Hugh must be a friend worth claiming. Yet what had he done to make of Hugh a friend? Nothing. On the contrary, he had been guilty of a mean and selfish act which, if Hugh suspected it, could not easily be forgiven.
“A scout is friendly. He is a friend to all and a brother to every other scout.”
So ran the fourth law which Alec had promised to obey when he took the scout oath. And how had he kept that law? By treachery to another!
“Guess I must be tireder than I thought,” he told himself, trying to account for these disturbing reflections. “If I want to, I can return Hugh’s notes to him when we go back to camp; they’re hidden in my locker now. I suppose Joe meant that it was up to me to return them. Why didn’t he do it himself? It would be more like him, the sly dog! I wish he had! I don’t want to return them; they’re so much better than mine. Oh, well, perhaps——“
But here his brain and body seemed to yield all at once to the overpowering spell of tired youth, and he sank into dreamless slumber.
Such half-formed resolutions, good or bad, as those which had troubled Alec that night were naturally lost sight of in the stirring events of the next three days. Like the others in the signal corps, he was absorbed in the work assigned to them: surveying the countryside, working with the linemen who were sent on ahead to lay wires, sending and receiving telegraphic and signal messages concerning the movements of “the enemy.” It was a wonderful experience for the eight young scouts, and they entered into it with a will and with credit to themselves for their part in the general scheme.
Lieutenant Denmead was proud of them and delighted at the success of his idea in forming the corps.
Friday came all too soon, in spite of the fact that the eagerly awaited battle was to be fought on the morrow. When the Blues pitched camp that evening, they had advanced several miles into the territory supposed to be defended by the Red Army, and they found themselves in a rather advantageous position.
The Blues had selected their position with care. Two roads, one a highway, the other the logging road which skirted the Walsh farm, approached the town of Oakvale like the two halves of a wishbone, the best position being at the meeting point. Thus the Blues were so placed that the men were able to see down the valley and to cover the advance of the Reds whichever way they came.
When the camp was quiet and no sounds could be heard except the measured tread of a sentry going his rounds, Hugh, being warm and dusty after the day’s skirmishing and marching, longed to go for a dip in the nearby stream. The longing grew upon him to such a degree that he rose from his cot and stole forth beyond the picket line, going straight toward the place where the stream formed a deep and narrow pool between some rocks.
The night was warm for that season, and a crescent moon hung low in the heavens, only a little way above the tops of the tallest trees. Hugh found the light sufficient to guide him through the wood, and, reaching the pool, he shed his garments, and plunged in.
For a few minutes he swam lazily to and fro; then, all of a sudden he was startled by hearing a splash near him and a sound of spluttering, as someone else took the plunge. The next moment a head appeared above the inky ripples of the pool and with a vigorous shake came swimming toward him, the body to which it belonged being propelled swiftly and silently through the water.
“Is that you, Sam?” whispered Hugh.
“Yes. How did you know?”
“I recognized your crawl stroke, Sam; there isn’t one to beat it in Pioneer Camp.”
“I guessed where you were going, old man, and followed you here. Isn’t this great! Gee! I wish we could get up a set of swimming matches at night when we go back to camp.”
“What a crazy idea! The Chief wouldn’t consider it for a moment; it’s too dangerous.”
“’Spose it is,” admitted Sam. “I was only thinking what fun this is, and not of——Say, Hugh, did you hear footsteps just now?”
“I thought I did, but wasn’t sure. Listen.”
Floating easily on their backs, the two lads lay motionless in the water under the overhanging rock, and strained their ears to catch a suspicious sound. To their intense surprise, a man’s voice broke the silence.
“Captain Groome’s division is just beyond here,” it said softly. “He intends to meet your colonel half a mile beyond the intersection of two trails in the wood, at the rear of the Blue camp, and advance upon them from that point, early to-morrow morning. The Blues have no idea that we’re so close to them.”
“They’re looking for us down the valley,” responded a deeper voice. “Thanks for the information, sir. I’ll go back now and report it at once to the colonel.”
“And so will we, Sam!” added Hugh, in an excited whisper, when the unknown speakers had returned whence they had come. “Do you know what this means? Why, we’ve overheard two Red officers confiding plans for an attack on us to-morrow!”
“Sure this war game hasn’t turned your head, Hugh?”
“Of course it hasn’t! Didn’t you hear them with your own ears?”
“Yes, but I couldn’t make much sense out of what they were saying.”
“No matter; it’s important, all the same. The thing that puzzled me was: Why did they choose this spot so near our lines for their meeting just now?”
“Perhaps they couldn’t arrange for a safer place.”
“Come on, Sam, let’s go back. We’ve got to tell what we’ve just learned.”
A few strokes carried them to the edge of the pool; they scrambled out, dressed hastily, and hurried to the tent where Lieutenant Denmead was sleeping.
“Hate to wake you up, sir,” said Hugh, when they entered.
“But we’ve got most important news!” supplemented Sam, forgetting his previous scoffing at the war game.
“Let’s hear it, boys,” said Denmead, sitting up attentively.
They told him, not hesitating to confess their breach of discipline in stealing out of camp for a swim. When they had finished, the Scout Master smiled.
“The importance of the news excuses the offense—this once,” he said grimly. “Go back to your cots and get a few hours of good sound sleep in preparation for the work cut out for you to-morrow. But report this plan to Major Brookfield, the first thing you do. I’ll go with you now.”
* * * * * * * *
In the gray light of Saturday morning the “battle” began, with a rush of two troops of Red infantry upon the camp of the Blues.
The ground surrounding the camp was very uneven, and the advance of the Reds was impeded by thick bushes, trailing vines, and slippery stones embedded in the soil. Through these vines and thorny bushes the Reds fought their way, falling, stumbling, wet with perspiration, panting for breath, but obeying their colonel’s commands instantly,—only to be met by an alert and determined resistance on the part of the Blue Army.
The Blues disproved all that had been said in criticism of them when the maneuvers were first organized. They observed perfect discipline and acted with coolness and intelligence. Indeed, thanks to the information Hugh and Sam had been enabled to bring, they gave the attacking forces the greatest surprise of the whole “campaign,” by receiving them fully prepared and with a decimating fire of blank cartridges, under which, according to military tactics, the Reds might reasonably have retreated.
But they did not retreat. Instead, there was a steady, bold, cool advance, as the Reds poured out of the woods like a swarm of angry bees.
Although surprised by the number of the Reds, the Blues drove back one attack and successfully foiled another by sending a company to block the march of Red reinforcements up the valley. Not for one minute during the next two hours did the strain slacken, nor did the officers on either side call a halt. The action, both in the vicinity of the camp and further down in the valley, was fast and incessant, as at a good football game. The conduct of all the men in the “fight” was worthy of the highest praise.
It was when “the tide of battle” was at the full that Hugh and Alec, who had been sent to a lookout high up on the side of the hill, observed that no more Reds were coming from the valley along either road of the wishbone, and that the company of Blues who had gone out to check their advance were returning, triumphant.
By means of their semaphore flags, they signaled this news down to the other scouts, as well as to the regular signal men of the Blue Army, with the result that a new movement was decided upon:
The Blues made an unexpected sortie from their position, and prepared to charge the Reds.
In front of the border of woods were a hundred yards or so of open ground covered with high grass. At the edge of this grass, the Colonel commanding the Reds ordered the line to cease firing, drop, and wait for some movement on the part of the enemy.
They had not long to wait. Major Brookfield ordered his lines to charge across, and the Blue men did so under a heavy but ineffectual fire from the Reds. It looked like a skirmish line thrown out in advance of a regiment.
The Reds could not believe that so few men would advance with such confidence unless they momentarily expected large reinforcements, so, without attempting to stop them, they turned and ran. As their fire slackened, those who were returning from the valley saw them retreating, and the men in blue cheered—a long, derisive, parting cheer.
This charge ended the fight and won the day for the Blues.
* * * * * * * *
“Where are Hugh Hardin and Alec Sands?” inquired Denmead, a few hours later, when the divided armies had returned to their common camp on Oakvale meadows. “Hasn’t anyone seen them in camp?”
“No, sir,” replied Walter, giving the scout salute.
“Do they know we’re going back to our own camp to-day, by automobile as far as the railroad station nearest camp?”
“Yes, sir, they know it; but they haven’t showed up yet.”
“Can anything have happened to them, do you think, Chief?” queried Sam Winter.